Irene stripped off her clothes as she ran the bath, and after a long soak she wrapped herself in a towelling robe and padded back into the kitchen.
The range had yet to be lit, and because it was already stifling, she didn’t bother. The larder was full of tins, the Deloraine cook had left her bread and milk and butter on the slab of marble, and there were the remains of a joint of mutton in the meat safe. Pouring a gin and tonic, she took her sandwich and padded out to the front verandah.
The sky was black, the moon playing hide and seek amongst scudding clouds. There were few stars and the night had brought no relief from the heat. She sat in one of the two chairs she’d brought over from the homestead and listened to the silence. The very essence of this primal land seemed to call her, to wrap her in its cloak of ancient mystery and sweep her into the endless darkness.
The loneliness closed in as the full impact of what she’d lost began to take hold. And for only the second time in her life she experienced the agony of being abandoned. The tears came unheeded, rolling down her face to splash on her hands as she was reminded of that first time.
*
The shabby little room above the feed store in Flinders Street looked even more drab than she remembered as Irene waited for him to arrive. She paced the dusty floor, stopping now and again to pull the sagging net curtain aside to peer anxiously down into the street. He was late, and if he didn’t come soon she would have to leave. Jessie was already suspicious and had made a point of telling her she must be home within the hour. Irene knew that if she was late, Jessie would tell Eva of her suspicions – and another row was the last thing Irene needed.
The sound of his feet on the stairs made her start, and she brushed her coat and patted her hair. She had taken a great deal of care over her appearance today, and despite the sleepless nights and the morning sickness, she knew she had never looked lovelier. Yet, would that be enough to prove her mother and Jessie wrong in their estimation of him? She hoped so, for it was her only weapon.
He burst through the door, his handsome face glowing with the cold. ‘Sorry I’m late,’ he said as he embraced her. ‘But I had some errands to run for your father, and couldn’t get here any sooner.’
She melted into his embrace, the touch of his lips warming her and making her tremble with longing. She clung to him, wanting the moment to go on, needing his warmth and his strength to imbue her with courage for what she had to tell him.
As they finally drew apart she reached up a gloved hand and touched his hair. It was the colour of burnished copper, with strands of gold that gleamed in the poor light from the window. His eyes were the deepest brown, flecked with amber beneath the tawny, winged brows. The nose was straight above the thick moustache and cleft chin, the mouth sensuous and made for laughter. He was handsome, his youthful exuberance belying his thirty–eight years.
He kissed her nose and her brow. ‘I’ve missed you,’ he murmured. ‘We have so little time before I have to leave. Where have you been these past few days?’
She wanted to tell him, but first she had to know the truth. ‘Do you love me?’ she asked, the doubts creeping unbidden into her voice.
He frowned and pulled her closer. ‘Silly girl,’ he muttered as he ran his lips over her face and down her neck.
She pulled away. If he carried on like that she would be lost, and she needed straight answers to her questions. ‘Well, do you?’ she demanded.
He ran his hands through his hair, making it flop into his eyes. ‘Of course,’ he said as he reached for her again. ‘Come on Rene, don’t let’s waste time by talking. Time together is precious enough without all this nonsense.’
Irene placed her hand firmly on his chest and held him at bay. ‘You said you’d leave your wife for me,’ she said. ‘Is that true?’
His feet shifted and he looked ill at ease suddenly. ‘It’s difficult at the moment,’ he said. ‘The girls are still so young, and Helen doesn’t have the best of health. It’s hard enough for her when I’m away for so many months at a time.’ He looked down at her. ‘You haven’t said where you’ve been these past few days.’
‘Running errands,’ she snapped. ‘And don’t try and change the subject.’
His eyebrow lifted. ‘Oh, dear,’ he said with a sigh. ‘We’re not going to have another tantrum, are we?’
Irene shook her head. She didn’t want to upset him, and certainly didn’t want to lose him by behaving like one of his children. ‘But we do need to talk,’ she said. ‘I have something important to tell you, and you must listen.’
His gaze was immediately wary and he folded his arms across his broad chest. ‘I’m expected back at your Father’s office,’ he said. ‘Make it quick.’
Irene swallowed. She could feel the rapid tattoo of her pulse and the squirm of terror rising inside. All her future plans hinged on this one moment. ‘I’m expecting a baby,’ she said breathlessly.
The dark eyes were piercing as the colour was swept from the handsome face. ‘I hope not,’ was all he said.
Irene was trembling. She’d had no idea how he’d react, but this didn’t even approach her wildest dread. She ran her tongue over her dry lips. ‘It was confirmed yesterday,’ she whispered. ‘I hoped you’d be pleased.’
‘Whose is it?’ His voice was hard, so unlike the soft, lover’s voice that usually sent shivers down her spine.
‘Yours,’ she said, the hurt clear in her tone, the shock of his question resounding in her head.
‘And how can I be sure of that?’ he returned. ‘I was not the first, Irene, and I doubt I’ll be the last.’
‘You bastard,’ she shrieked as she whipped out her hand to slap his face.
He caught her wrists, held her tightly and glared down at her. ‘How could you be so stupid?’ he snapped. ‘I thought you knew how to take care of things.’
Irene swallowed. When he’d broached the subject at the onset of their affair she hadn’t understood what he could mean, and unwilling to appear gauche and unsophisticated, she’d lied. Yet, as time had gone on and she began to believe they really could have a future together, she’d realised the only way of truly wresting him from his wife was to have his child.
‘I did.. I do..’ she stammered. ‘I don’t know how it could have happened.’ She looked up at him. ‘I’m frightened,’ she admitted. ‘Mother is threatening to send me away and she absolutely refuses to believe you’ll stand by me.’ The tears were hot on her cheeks as she leaned against him. ‘But you won’t desert me, will you? Not after all the things you said? The promises you made?’
He gently pushed her away and ran his hands through his hair again. ‘What can I do, Irene?’ His voice was soft, cracked with emotion. ‘I’m at least twenty years older than you, with a sick wife and four young children. This was only meant to be a bit of fun – I thought you understood that? I thought I’d made it very plain right from the outset. If I stand by you the scandal will ruin my entire family – ruin everything I’ve worked so hard for all these years.’
‘And what about my reputation?’ she snapped, the fear making her sharp.
He went and stood at the window, his hands on either side of the glass, his head resting on the frame as he looked down into the street. ‘There’s a woman I’ve heard about. Lives down at the port. I’ll make enquiries.’
Irene frowned. ‘Woman? What woman?’
‘A woman who will solve your little problem,’ he muttered. ‘For a price.’
Irene shivered as the full impact of his words finally made sense. ‘But I love you,’ she gasped. ‘This is our baby you’re plotting to murder.’ She ran to him and grasped him around the waist as she leaned against his broad back. ‘Please don’t do this. Tell me you meant all those things you said when we were making love, and that we’ll be together always. Tell me you want this child and that you’ll stand by us no matter what.’
&n
bsp; ‘They were just words said in the heat of the moment,’ he murmured. ‘Dreams voiced that I thought neither of us really expected to come true, but were pleasant to while away an afternoon.’ He turned from the window, the anguish clear in his face as he put his arms around her. ‘I’m sorry,’ he whispered. ‘So very sorry.’
Stunned by his rejection, the full horror of her predicament became crystal clear. The chill of foreboding swept through her as she felt the pressure of his kiss on her forehead. Then he was gone. She heard the slam of the door and the pounding of his feet on the wooden stairs, followed by silence.
Her wail of anguish rose and swirled to the ceiling as she sank to the floor. ‘But you said you loved me,’ she sobbed. ‘You said we’d be together always. I did this for you,’ she howled.
There were only the silent dust motes to hear her as they drifted softly on the frail beams of light radiating through the grimy window.
*
Irene sat on the verandah in the sultry night and stared into the darkness. It was as if she could still hear those sobs. Could still feel the stab of anguish when she finally realised all her plans for entrapping him had gone astray and that he wanted no part of her or the child she carried. His ambition had been too strong for her – her fear of what her father would do if he discovered the truth, a sure–fire way of keeping her silent.
She blinked and lifted the glass to her lips, barely tasting the strong gin and tonic as the memories came back to haunt her.
An envelope had arrived two days later. It contained a name and address of a woman down in Port Phillip – and forty pounds in single, grubby notes. The note with this Judas gift demanded she use the money for the purpose it had been given, and that he didn’t wish to see or hear from her again. If she decided to go against his wishes, then he would deny all knowledge of her, or the child.
Eva had found Irene in tears and had demanded to read the letter. To give her credit, Eva had not said ‘I told you so,’ but had held her as she sobbed. That night she and Jessie had tucked her into bed and stayed with her until she slept, just as they had done when she was a child.
It was to be the last time she would sleep in that house in Melbourne. The last few hours of any intimacy between her and Eva, for the rift when it came had been irreparable.
*
Irene came down the stairs the following morning to discover the hall cluttered with suitcases and hat boxes. She finally found Eva and Jessie in the drawing room, deep in argument.
‘I ain’t leaving you ‘ere,’ said Jessie, arms akimbo, face red with anger.
‘You’ll do as you’re told,’ retorted Eva, her tone brooking any argument.
‘It ain’t right,’ muttered Jessie. ‘You’re ‘er mother, should be you going with ‘er, not me.’
Irene had heard enough. She stepped into the room. ‘Nobody’s going anywhere until I know what’s happening here,’ she said firmly. ‘What are my cases doing in the hall?’ she demanded.
Eva turned from Jessie and clasped her hands in front of her. ‘You and Jessie are going north,’ she said. ‘I’ve made arrangements for you to catch the evening train.’
Irene shot a glance at Jessie, whose colour was still high, expression bordering on the belligerent. ‘I don’t want to go with Jessie. Why can’t you take me?’
‘Believe me, Miss, I don’t want to be going all that way on me own with you, neither. But yer ma won’t ‘ave none of it.’ The arms were folded tightly beneath the pendulous bosom.
Eva took a deep breath. ‘Your father is leaving at noon for this expedition into the Northern Territories,’ she said, the tight grip on her emotions making her voice unsteady. ‘I must remain here until he returns.’
‘You could leave a forwarding address,’ said Irene stubbornly.
‘No, I couldn’t,’ retorted Eva. ‘You will do as you are told for once, Irene. I have enough to worry about without you behaving like a spoilt brat.’
Irene weighed up her options. She certainly couldn’t stay in Melbourne. The woman down in the port was not an option either – far too dangerous. But the thought of travelling in Jessie’s company for longer than a day or two was not her idea of a good time.
‘How far north are we going?’ she asked finally.
‘Cairns,’ replied Eva.
Irene’s eyes widened in horror. ‘It’s the other end of the country,’ she gasped. ‘It will take days to get there, and where will we stay?’
‘I’ve arranged for some money to be transferred to a bank up there and Jessie will buy a house where you will stay until the child is born. I will come as soon as I’ve had word your father is safe.’
‘But that could be months,’ protested Irene.
‘Let’s hope not,’ replied Eva firmly. ‘Either way, you will present yourself as a young widow.’ She sighed. ‘Unfortunately, in this time of war that will be only too believable. You and Jessie can work out a suitable story during your journey, and once decided you must stick to it if you want to avoid any scandal.’
‘Will we come back here when it’s all over?’
Eva shrugged. ‘It will depend entirely on how you comport yourself after the child is born. There must be no more scandal.’
‘I’ll put it up for adoption,’ said Irene firmly. ‘What do I want with a baby?’
Eva’s gaze was unwavering as she looked into Irene’s face. ‘Perhaps you should have thought about that earlier,’ she said flatly.
*
The journey north seemed endless as they changed from one train to another. Irene ignored Jessie for most of the time and stared out of the window as they rattled through desolate plains that shimmered in the heat. Born and raised in a city, Irene couldn’t compare the stations they passed through with any other she had seen – for they weren’t really stations, just sidings with water for the engine – the only sign of life a man on a horse waiting for a lift to the next dusty outpost.
She frowned as they passed isolated homesteads surrounded by scrub and silver grass where sheep and cattle grazed beneath a vast sky, and wondered what kind of people could bear to scratch a living in such isolation. It must take a special man or woman to withstand life out here, she decided – but it was not for her. There was too much space – too much sky.
Yet her father loved this desolation, this emptiness, and despite his declarations to the contrary, was obviously impatient to leave Melbourne after only a short break between his surveying assignments. Life in the city had no hold on him, and although he professed to love his wife and daughter, it seemed to Irene he loved freedom more. What strange creatures men were, she mused.
After a week of travelling they began to chug through green hills and the verdant cane fields that lay at the foot of hazy, blue mountains. A sweet aroma permeated the air, increasing as they approached the tall grey chimneys at El Arish, and Irene asked one of the other passengers what it could be.
‘It’s the refineries,’ came the answer. ‘The sugar’s processed here and then the distilleries turn it into rum.’
Irene turned her attention back to the window. It was another world up here in the tropical north of Australia, where palm trees grew higher than houses, and lush green plants with searing pink and orange flowers spilled over dark rocks where waterfalls tumbled into rivers and lakes. Exotic birds flew amongst this green, their colours rainbow bright against the mysterious dark foliage and she exclaimed with delight. Perhaps her enforced exile wouldn’t be so bad after all.
They moved into a small hotel in Cairns, and Jessie began to hunt for a temporary home for them both. Three weeks later they had settled into the small wooden house perched on the dunes that overlooked the sea at Trinity. It was further north than they had first planned, but it was the only house Jessie and Irene could agree upon.
Irene’s pregnancy advanced as the heat and humidity rose and the
summer took hold. The wet season arrived, flooding the dirt streets, drumming on the tin roofs and masking the horizon. The sea changed from turquoise to slate, whipped into foamy peaks by the hot winds that came from the Torres Straits. These squalls of wind and rain lasted only for an hour or so, and soon the sun was beating down again, the earth steaming beneath a clear sky.
Irene began to hate the child she was carrying. It squirmed and kicked and made her feel sick, and she couldn’t wait to be rid of it. She avoided mirrors, for she looked fat and ungainly, and none of her pretty clothes fitted her any more. She also began to despise Trinity and the poky little house she’d been forced to share with Jessie. She missed her friends in Melbourne, missed her mother and her horses. There was nothing to do, nothing to take her mind off her predicament and she was sick of pretending to be widowed and could barely dredge up the energy to appear enthusiastic about this damn baby.
The social life consisted of earnest, dowdy women sitting about knitting for the boys fighting in Europe, or feverish fund–raising which involved selling home–made jam. Irene soon came to realise she had nothing in common with these unsophisticated country women, and used the excuse of her ‘widowhood’ to avoid their company.
Jessie fussed around her, making tempting meals in the stifling kitchen, and knitting tiny jackets and bootees for the coming child. Irene gave up telling her she would have the kid adopted the minute it was born – her words fell on deaf ears – Jessie was adamant she would change her mind.
Irene wrote long letters home, surprised at how keenly she missed her mother. The news from Melbourne was worrying, for the expedition had run into trouble, and there had been no word and no sighting of the intrepid explorers for some months. Her father and her lover were deemed missing, and Irene’s frustration grew as each week passed. She was so far from civilisation – so divorced from the reality of life at home – so reliant on news from others, and although she could have done nothing tangible, she knew she could have rested easier if she was back in Melbourne.
Undercurrents Page 23
