Birthright

by Fiona Lowe

  ‘I doubt it. You saw her. She can’t move and her eyes … God, they’re vacant. Why couldn’t it have just killed her?’

  When Sarah had summoned them to the hospital, they’d been shocked by Margaret’s condition. Unlike the previous stroke, this one had left her totally incapacitated, dribbling and unable to speak. The doctor told them there was no chance of recovery. Sadly, her heart was strong, so they were keeping her comfortable as death might be a long time coming. This was the first time the stylish and indomitable matriarch had been felled by her body, a vessel that had always been exceptionally good to her. Now her attractive face sagged as the damaged muscles pulled her mouth down, giving her the wizened look of a miserable and disagreeable crone. Anita shivered just thinking about it.

  It wasn’t until later that evening, after they’d told the girls about their grandmother, answered their questions and settled them into bed, that they had another chance to talk.

  ‘Poor Sarah.’ Anita accepted a glass of Baileys from Cameron. ‘She looked absolutely devastated.’

  ‘Poor Sarah? You’ve got to be kidding. She caused this.’

  ‘Oh, Cam. I know you’re upset. I know she’s being a bitch about Mill House, but as much as you want to blame her, she’s not responsible for Margaret’s stroke.’

  ‘She bloody well is. What the hell was she doing taking Mum to Albury for the day? Jesus!’

  ‘We took her to the Tarrawonga races last week,’ she said gently. ‘The doctor said the stroke could have happened anywhere and at any time. Isn’t it better to know she was out enjoying herself when it happened?’

  ‘But she’d been getting better and now …’

  ‘Oh, Cam.’ She stood up and hugged him tightly. Her husband was blinkered when it came to his mother. No one except him believed Margaret had been improving. Since her first stroke, her confusion had increased exponentially. The few times Anita had forced herself to visit and endured being harangued, Margaret had been heavily rooted in the past with no grasp on reality.

  The day at Tarrawonga had been interesting. Cameron hosted a marquee for prospective clients, inviting them to experience a local event. The aim was that, under the influence of fine wine and hopefully a win on the horses, they’d fall in love with the idea of buying a property in the valley. Knowing how much Margaret loved fashion and the races, Anita had, against Cameron’s wishes, bought her a new dress and hat for the occasion. Her mother-in-law had been giddy with excitement and positively sparkled at the event. What struck Anita the most about the day was her mother-in-law’s behaviour. Whenever Margaret was on Cameron’s arm meeting his clients, she appeared to make sense. But when he was occupied talking business and Margaret spent time with Anita and the girls, she was convinced she was at the 1980 Melbourne Cup and celebrating with the Sangsters. The laugh of the day was when she’d said, sotto voce, ‘I’d have expected them to serve better champagne than this.’

  ‘Darling, Margaret was always more alert with you than she was for anyone else. The only thing we can hope for is that this awful event might make Sarah easier to deal with. Family’s important at times like this.’

  He grunted. ‘Unlikely. You’d have to be blind not to notice Sarah left the hospital as soon as we arrived. Ellie wasn’t even there.’

  She thought about how reasonable Ellie was being about Mill House. ‘She probably visited before or after us.’

  ‘Hah! Since when are you attributing empathy to my spoiled and self-obsessed sister?’

  ‘I think she’s put all that behind her. Right now, she’s being a lot more rational than Sarah.’

  He shot her a bemused look. ‘Given she’s forcing us down an expensive legal path to get access to what is rightfully ours, how did you manage to draw that conclusion?’

  Anita was yet to tell Cameron about the agreement she’d struck with Ellie. As insurance, she’d sworn the girls to secrecy too, using much the same theory he’d proposed for Vintage Glamour: the surprise is better when you can prove your success. It had almost killed her not sharing with him the rave reviews she’d got on Facebook after the first two high teas and the new bookings that were coming in. But a tiny part of her worried that if he knew she was using Mill House, he might go storming up there to demand more access and break her hard-earned détente with Ellie.

  She ran a finger around the rim of her liqueur glass. With Margaret barely conscious, surely the siblings would want, and be open to, reconciliation. Since the lock-out, Ellie was the only one of them to have extended anything that resembled an olive branch. Surely that had to count for something? Before the fight, Sarah and Cameron were closer to each other than to Ellie and therefore had less distance to travel before reaching unity. It was time to get the ball rolling.

  ‘Ellie’s letting me use Mill House for Cooked By a Friend.’

  ‘What?’ His cheeks flushed purple. ‘How did this happen?’

  ‘I went to see her.’

  ‘You went to see her?’

  ‘Shh, Cam. You’ll wake the girls.’

  ‘Bloody hell, Anita! Do you have any idea what you’ve done?’

  ‘Yes.’ A combination of annoyance and determination swept through her. ‘I’ve gone out to bat for my business.’

  ‘You should have consulted me first.’

  ‘I did! We discussed and agreed on a strategy. When you didn’t apologise to Ellie, I did what I had to do to save my business. I agree with you about Sarah being a bitch, but you’re wrong about Ellie. I negotiated with her and she was pleasant, professional and sensible.’

  He slammed his fist into his palm, the sound as loud as a clap. ‘You stupid, stupid girl.’

  She flinched, not able to believe he’d hurled those hurtful words. Since they’d met, he always called her ‘his girl’ and ‘baby girl’ as a nod to their age and height difference. She’d never objected because they were terms of endearment. Not once had he called her stupid. Completely thrown by his offensive remark, she fought for composure.

  ‘I am not stupid. I’m the adult in this situation. Not only have I saved Cooked By a Friend, Ellie and I have created an avenue for reconciliation between you and your sisters.’

  ‘No! What you’ve done is fuck everything up!’

  His unfamiliar aggression battered her and she blinked, trying not to cry. ‘I—I haven’t.’

  ‘You have.’ His grey eyes narrowed to flinty slits. ‘The one thing our case rested on was the fact they locked us out and banned us from rightful access.’

  Relief raced in and she reached out, touching his arm. She needed to calm and reassure him and find her loving husband in the process. ‘But I don’t have full access. I don’t even have a key. I can only be there at predetermined times and either Ellie or Sarah are always there.’

  He threw out his arm, tossing away her hand. ‘But you were the one seeking an agreement.’

  ‘Yes, but I didn’t get everything I wanted.’

  ‘Christ, Anita.’ He slumped onto the couch. ‘You don’t get it, do you? You’ve set us back weeks.’

  Guilt, anger and frustration burned her. She hated that she’d upset him but this wasn’t all her fault. ‘Perhaps if you’d explained things to me instead of promising me something and then doing nothing, I wouldn’t have gone to Ellie. But I wasn’t going to stand by and watch my business languish after such a solid start. You’d fight for Prestige Country Properties if it was under threat.’

  ‘Look,’ he said, exasperation rising off him like steam. ‘I know you love Cooked By a Friend but this issue with the house is bigger than a small, hobby-based business. We have to keep our eye on the big picture.’

  Hobby? The dig hurt. She tried to rise above it, cutting him some slack for a very difficult day and acknowledging the havoc grief was playing with his state of mind. ‘You said if Cooked By a Friend operated out of Mill House it worked in our favour. If that’s not the big picture, then what is?’

  His eyes held hers for a long moment. Finally, he sighed and
patted the couch next to him. ‘Sorry, baby girl. It’s been a bloody awful day.’

  ‘Huge.’ She slid in next to him, welcoming his arm around her and his return to normal. ‘I get it. You’re in shock. Your mum kind of died today.’

  ‘Yeah. But I shouldn’t have taken it out on you. It’s just with the new will still unsigned and—’

  ‘Not signed?’ She sat up with a start. ‘But you have power of attorney. Why can’t you sign it?’

  He scratched his head. ‘I was shocked too, but if seems the powers don’t extend that far.’

  ‘But if it’s not signed, does that mean we could lose—’

  ‘Shh. Rupert’s on top of things but he might advise us to pull Cooked For a Friend out of Mill House until it’s all resolved and …’ His sympathetic gaze met hers. ‘Before you get all bent out of shape, sometimes in business we have to take small pains for big gains. But whatever happens, promise me you won’t talk to Sarah or Ellie about any of this. Information is power, Annie. We don’t want to give my sisters any more power than they’ve already got.’

  Anita hated that Cooked By a Friend might take a hit but with Margaret possibly lingering for weeks or months, she was stuck between a rock and a hard place.

  ‘If Margaret had died today, would the old will be current?’

  ‘Yes. But the moment she dies, we lodge a caveat at the probate office and get a court date to argue our case for the new will.’

  ‘But if that fails, Mill House was left to us in the old will, wasn’t it? So that won’t change?’

  ‘It shouldn’t but the law isn’t always fair. Stop worrying. Rupert knows what he’s doing.’ He kissed the top of her head. ‘Let’s talk about happier things. Tell me about the high teas. Did Phoebe rock the cello?’

  Anita dropped her head back on Cameron’s shoulder, pride swelling at the thought of her eldest daughter’s talent. ‘She was fantastic and Ruby looked amazing in her black and white maid’s uniform.’ She rattled on about the petit fours, the ribbon sandwiches and French pastries, relaxing into Cameron’s interest and trying not to worry about the future of her beloved business.

  CHAPTER

  20

  Sarah might have looked normal on the outside but inside her mind whirled like a dervish. If discombobulation could be bottled and sold, Sarah would be wealthier than ever. Roaming freely for days, it stole her concentration and created havoc, making her jittery and jumpy and giving her a short fuse. Not even in the sanctuary of Edmund’s bed, at his mountain-resort apartment with its glorious views of the craggy blue-green Crosscut Saw, could she rid herself of its effects. Poor Edmund; he was so kind and considerate, working so hard for her pleasure, and all she’d been able to manage were the sounds of an orgasm, not the real deal. Thankfully, she didn’t think he’d detected the lie.

  When Alex had declared, ‘I’m not happy,’ he’d gutted her. Had she known that his betrayal was just the start of chaos, she might have run away and hidden from her life. Eight days earlier, her mother had not only detonated the foundations the Jamieson family was built on, she’d exposed them to be utterly false. Sarah was struggling to adjust her perception of who Margaret and Kevin really were and attempting to piece together the true story of their marriage.

  The professionals advised that talking to someone about emotional trauma helped and Sarah needed to talk to someone, but every time she opened her mouth to tell Edmund that her mother was not only an adulteress, but that she’d been so jealous of her younger daughter she’d failed to protect Ellie from being sexually abused by her biological father and that Sarah’s own father was likely gay, she closed it again. Telling Edmund felt wrong, which shocked her. She’d been convinced she could tell him anything. She was convinced she had told him everything over the years. But like so many other things she’d believed to be true, this too was smoke and mirrors. As dear and understanding as Edmund was, he didn’t know Ellie. He didn’t really know Margaret and he was ignorant of the mythology her mother had carefully constructed around the memory of her father.

  He wasn’t Alex.

  The familiar and desperate ache hit her again, stealing her breath. Shame came hot on its heels. For six weeks she’d sought solace in Edmund, unquestioningly accepting his love for her and telling herself their current situation was a natural extension of their close friendship. Convincing herself that if she couldn’t have Alex, then Edmund was the next best thing. But her family crisis exposed the huge chasm between her love for Alex and the paler version she felt for Edmund.

  It hasn’t stopped you from sleeping with him or accepting today’s invitation. She didn’t want to think about what sort of person that made her. Oh God, was she a user of people like her mother? Sweat broke out under her arms. She’d justified today’s trip up the mountain as a deserved day off from sitting by her unresponsive mother while she wrestled with the secrets she wished she’d never learned.

  Edmund, although clueless to the exact cause of her anguish, was accurate in detecting her guilt.

  ‘Your mother’s stroke is not your fault,’ he’d said each time he caught her staring off into space instead of focusing her attention on him. ‘Be kind to yourself, darling. It could have happened anywhere at any time.’

  Except she had a horrible suspicion that by taking Margaret to the club and questioning her about Robert, she’d increased the odds. After Margaret’s first stroke, Sarah had noticed the dementia made her mother progressively unguarded. Out in the hospital’s garden and with a cigarette in hand, Margaret was gregarious and happy to talk about her glory days, even dropping bombshells about sex. But whenever Sarah tried to get her to divulge information about her assets and will, she’d get a glint in her eye and clam up. Sarah had almost given up, thinking it an impossible task, but when Ellie had revealed her story to her, the zeal for the truth drove her every waking moment.

  Her rage at Robert Horton was so primal, so savage, and terrified her so much, she was avoiding Dan. He looked almost identical to his father and he was much the same age as Robert was when he’d assaulted Ellie that she feared she’d lose control and say something. As much as she wanted to rip the blinkers from Dan’s eyes and reveal the true deviancy of his father, it wasn’t her story; the telling rested entirely with Ellie.

  And then there was Margaret. Discovering the role she’d played in Ellie’s ordeal had shattered Sarah’s mother–daughter trust and destroyed all the small allowances she continually made for Margaret’s ‘little quirks’. All her life, she had craved Margaret’s affection, turning herself inside out for crumbs and, on reflection, apparently rewriting Margaret’s hurts and slights into more palatable memories. For forty-five years, Sarah had been a marionette and Margaret the puppeteer, pulling the strings to get her own way and using her like she used everyone. Her belief that she and her mother were close was pure fiction, as was the ‘mother’ Sarah had loved. Her desire to uncover the real Margaret had become an obsession.

  After re-reading Robert’s letters, the decision to take her mother to the Albury Club, one of their lovers’ rendezvous, was both calculating and deliberate. Sarah had reasoned that, with its feel-good memories of Robert, a visit to the club might prompt Margaret to divulge information from her fast-dissolving mind. Only, she’d got way more than she’d bargained for. Although her mother hadn’t stated that Ellie was Robert’s, the look on her face and the bizarre reaction confirmed it. What had happened next was like watching a horror film as her mother unravelled, taking them back in time to shine a spotlight on a marriage that was morbidly fascinating and heart-achingly sad.

  If Sarah was to believe Margaret’s maniacal raving, her father was gay. It was almost impossible to contemplate but the base and vitriolic language her mother spat was so raw it couldn’t have been fake. During her student days, Sarah had shared a house with a gay guy, but he’d been a drama student and outrageously camp— absolutely nothing like her father, despite his penchant for musicals. Kevin had been a man’s man, quick wit
ted and well respected by the men at the mill. Although he’d seemed increasingly distracted with work and had travelled a lot during her last few years of high school, he was there if she ever needed him: tall, solid, dependable, loving and ready with a hug. He was her go-to parent every time. But homosexual? Not a hint. Then again, she’d not been looking and her father obviously didn’t want her to know.

  Her heart twisted. Oh, Dad. You must have been miserable.

  The day after her mother’s catastrophic stroke, Sarah had worried Kevin might not be her father either. Did gay men have heterosexual sex? But she only had to look in the mirror and see her father’s eyes and distinctive nose—it had always suited his larger face better than her smaller one—to know her darling dad was her father. She’d dismissed her concerns about her parentage as irrational and stupid but that didn’t lessen the other questions that continued to plague her— questions that were unlikely to ever find answers. Had her father married her mother knowing he was gay or had that realisation come later? When in their marriage did Margaret find out Kevin had a lover? Was it before or after her long-time affair with Robert Horton?

  Clouds gathered, easing out the previously blue sky and casting a shadow across the bed. She felt a reluctant pang for her mother. Was it worse when you discovered your husband was betraying you by loving another man instead of a woman? Margaret had done some shocking things but had Kevin played a part in who her mother had become? Sarah stomped on her empathy. No matter how much her father’s secret hurt her mother, it didn’t account for the appalling way she’d abandoned Ellie.

  Sarah was still spending most mornings searching Mill House, but now she was looking for anything that belonged to her father. She’d spent hours googling ‘Gary Longmuir’ but hadn’t found anything. Even if she had, it was hardly going to gift her with the words ‘lover of Kevin Jamieson’. She’d drawn a blank on any evidence her father was gay but she’d learned her mother’s homage to her happy marriage to Kevin was limited to an extremely thin veneer of carefully chosen photographs, including the beautiful portraits taken a few weeks before he died. Sarah’s favourite was the one of her father sitting in a chair with Ellie on his lap and love in his eyes. Did he know Ellie wasn’t his? How she wished the photo could come to life and answer questions, but all she saw was a man looking thinner than she remembered. Had the failing business taken its toll on him? Had his double life? Had he killed himself?