‘The last time we met you were a little girl about to leave on a great big ship for England. You knew me as Jessie.’
22
Olivia stared, almost speechless with shock. Yet, as she looked at the elderly woman before her, she could see now why she’d reminded her so strongly of someone. It was the eyes, the tilt of the head, and the bustling nature of the little woman, which had stirred up the memories. Age had withered her, but the very essence of Jessie was still there and she wondered how she hadn’t realised immediately.
She swallowed, aware of how rude her staring must appear. ‘But Irene said you were dead,’ she breathed.
Jessie patted her hand and got up again to pour tea. ‘She would,’ she said flatly.
‘But why?’ Olivia handed around the cups distractedly. ‘What’s it to do with Irene if I wanted to see you?’
Jessie loaded up a plate with cake and sandwiches and freshly baked scones and handed it to Sam. ‘She had a lot to lose,’ she replied enigmatically.
Olivia caught the knowing look that passed between them, and wondered just how much Sam was involved. ‘You knew the connection between Jessie and the family, didn’t you, Sam?’ she demanded. ‘Getting us up here was all a ruse, wasn’t it?’
‘Now, don’t go blaming Samuel,’ Jessie said mildly as she piled plates and handed them around. ‘He was just trying to help.’
Olivia pushed the plate aside. She’d lost her appetite for everything but straight answers. ‘Help? In what way?’
Jessie sipped her tea and replaced the cup in the saucer. ‘Samuel tells me Maggie already knows about Irene being her mother, and I’m sorry I wasn’t able to help her through what must have been an awful time. Irene is not the easiest person to deal with, and I imagine poor Maggie was put through the wringer.’
‘You don’t know the half of it,’ muttered Maggie, her expression bitter. ‘And as for you,’ she said to Sam. ‘Why the hell didn’t you say something? Just how long have you known about Jessie’s link to me and Olivia?’
Sam tried to put his arm around her shoulder and was shrugged away. ‘Aw, don’t be like that, Maggs. I thought it would be a nice surprise, and what with the storm and everything …’ His voice tailed off and he looked at Jessie for help.
Jessie lightly pinched Maggie’s cheek. ‘You’re here now, that’s all that matters, darling. And you have no idea how glad that makes me.’ She smiled, the tears evident in her eyes. ‘It’s definitely time for Samuel to settle down again, and although I will always miss my darling daughter, I just know she’d have approved of you.’ She sniffed, the earrings swinging. ‘I know there are questions you need to ask, and we will talk later, but for now, let’s try and keep a clear head about all this.’
She turned back to Olivia. ‘And what about you? Aren’t there things you wanted to talk to me about? Things that have worried you enough to bring you to the other side of the world?’
‘How did you know that?’ Olivia leaned back in the chair and stared at her.
‘I didn’t,’ she said with almost detached calm. ‘But after Irene’s visit I put two and two together, and your very presence here has proved me right.’
‘Irene came up to see you? When was this?’
‘About a month ago. Shortly after you went to see her, I imagine.’
Olivia tried to digest this piece of news and all the old bitterness rose again. ‘So, not content with lying about your death, Irene came up here to make sure you kept quiet?’ She looked into the sad, gentle face and decided this was probably not the time to heap on the misery by telling her of Irene’s expected demise. ‘I’m sorry if this has caused you trouble, Jessie. I never meant it to.’
Jessie patted her knee. ‘No worries, darling,’ she said comfortably. ‘Irene’s behaviour is water off a duck’s back,’ she said with a sigh. ‘She was obviously rattled, and thought she was being clever with her veiled threats. But I know her too well and realised almost immediately what must have happened.’
She sipped her tea. ‘It was a strange conversation. The sort where nothing much is said but the meaning is very clear nevertheless.’
‘Tell me what happened that day, Jessie.’ She shot a look at Maggie who was nestled in the crook of Sam’s comforting arm, but the inner tension could be seen in the line of her shoulders and in the look of her eyes. ‘And don’t be afraid of hurting our feelings, Maggie and I are tough. We can take it.’
The bright gaze drifted between Maggie and Olivia, and Jessie placed her cup and saucer on the table. ‘Tough you might be,’ she said finally. ‘But sometimes it’s better not to interfere in things beyond our control.’
‘I’ve come a long way, Jessie. I think I’ve earned the right to know the truth after all these years.’
‘Very well,’ sighed Jessie. ‘I’ll tell you what happened.’
*
Jessie had been cleaning the front windows when the flashy pale green and white Holden pulled up outside. With whitewall tyres, rear fins and a tinted sun visor, it was top of the range, and Jessie knew her youngest grandson had lusted after such a car ever since he’d seen one in a showroom down in Melbourne.
Intrigued, she remained hidden by the lace curtains. It was probably some city visitor trying to find their way around town. Then she caught her breath as the elegant woman stepped from the car and approached her gate. What on earth was Irene doing all this way north? She hadn’t visited for years – something had to be wrong.
Jessie dithered and hesitated as the sharp rap echoed around the house. Irene meant trouble, and Jessie had known her too many years to expect any change in her. Yet Jessie was not a woman who made a habit of avoiding the unpleasant, so she relented and went to open the door. ‘You’d better come in,’ she said flatly.
‘Try not to be too pleased I’ve come all this way to visit.’ Irene was obviously doing her best to swallow the sarcasm, but was unsuccessful.
‘Shut the door after you. You’re letting in the flies.’ Jessie realised she was being ungracious, but that was how Irene affected her and she was too old to change. She heard the screen door slam behind Irene as she led the way down the hall and into her lounge.
‘Better sit down,’ she said as she grabbed the marmalade cat and sank into a chair with it on her lap. She saw the curl of distaste on Irene’s lips as she silently debated whether to move the tabby or not, and the fastidious way she smoothed her skirts before she perched on the very edge of the most uncomfortable chair in the room.
‘What do you want, Irene?’ she asked finally.
‘Why should I want anything?’ Irene’s tone was almost careless as she stripped off her gloves and looked around in disgust at the room. ‘I see you haven’t changed the décor in years.’
Jessie ignored the insult. ‘Be a first if you didn’t want something,’ she snorted. ‘So why are you here?’
Irene brushed cat hairs from her skirt. ‘I have some sad news,’ she said with studied solemnity. ‘Mother is dead.’
Jessie eyed her thoughtfully. ‘I’m sorry to hear that,’ she said. ‘Eva was a fine woman.’
Irene was obviously growing impatient, Jessie could see it in the way she fidgeted and fiddled with those ridiculous white gloves. ‘Did you write to one another over the years?’ she asked.
Jessie realised where this could be leading and was careful in her reply. ‘For a while,’ she replied with a shrug. ‘Nothing regular.’
‘But you haven’t been in touch recently?’ Irene persisted.
Jessie wasn’t going to make this easy for Irene – not after all she’d put her through in the past. ‘Why? What’s it to you?’
‘No reason,’ replied Irene with haste.
Irene never did anything without reason – she was lying – but then why should I be surprised, thought Jessie? Irene wouldn’t know the truth if it bit her. ‘Heard from Olivia late
ly?’ she asked, knowing it would take Irene off balance and put the conversation back under her control.
‘We don’t keep in touch,’ she said shortly.
‘Pity,’ Jessie muttered. ‘Families should stick together.’ Her scrutiny was searing as she continued. ‘But then you never were struck on family togetherness, were you, Irene?’
Irene was obviously itching to give full rein to her legendary temper and Jessie wondered how long it would take for that icy veneer to crack. The younger woman looked down at her manicured nails, so red against the white of her skirt.
‘Olivia has her own life,’ she began. She raised her chin and the two women eyed one another with mutual dislike. ‘And now she’s inherited Mother’s entire estate, she can well afford to go back to England and live in comfortable ignorance. I can’t say I’m not bitter. Mother left me nothing but a few bits of old jewellery, but what’s done is done.’
‘Eva made provision for you when she left for England,’ retorted Jessie. ‘You had the choice of taking your share of the inheritance then or later. You chose to have it then, and can’t expect any more.’
‘My inheritance is none of your damn business,’ Irene hissed. ‘How dare Mother discuss it with you.’
Jessie shrugged. ‘You brought the subject up in the first place,’ she said gruffly.
Irene glared at her. ‘Olivia and I have never got on, but the future is what must concern us now,’ she said. She paused and licked her lips. ‘I would hate to see lives disrupted by tittle–tattle or gossip – or well–meaning interference on certain people’s part.’ The smile was stiff and false, the chill hardening her eyes. ‘Do I make myself clear?’
Jessie had already guessed why Irene had come to see her, now it was confirmed. Olivia had come to Australia and was probably still here, and asking questions. No wonder Irene was rattled.
‘I understand perfectly,’ she said with studied calm. She stood and dumped the cat back into the chair. ‘Your veiled threats don’t frighten me, Irene. I’m an old woman and I’ve seen too many things to be cowed by the likes of you.’
They glared at one another in silence before Jessie spoke again. ‘But for once I am in agreement with you. Olivia should be left to live her life without any interference from either of us.’
Irene towered over her as she stood and glared at her. Then she pushed passed Jessie and left the house. She stood for a moment on the garden path and breathed deeply before climbing back into her car.
*
‘I watched that fancy Holden roar down the street and disappear around the corner,’ said Jessie as she emerged from the memories. ‘I stood there for a long while, deep in thought, before turning away and coming back in here.’
She smiled at Olivia and Maggie, wishing she hadn’t spoiled their visit – wishing they didn’t look so pale and disturbed – yet they had demanded the truth, and it was their right, after all. She poured Samuel more tea. He was the only one enjoying the sumptuous meal she’d prepared.
‘This room doesn’t get much sun, and I’m grateful for that. It’s why I always keep the curtains closed. I’m getting too old to handle the eternal heat, the flies and the stinging, biting things we have up here – yet the idea of returning to England has never been an option. I’ve been away too long and my roots are firmly entrenched right here in Northern Queensland.’
‘Mum made the transition easily enough,’ said Olivia. ‘And she was out here for years.’
‘Eva had family to return to and the comfortable cushion of money and connections to sustain her,’ Jessie said with mild acceptance. ‘I realised there was nothing back in England compared to the opportunities I had here.’
She sat back in the chair and eyed the array of photographs. They were amongst her most precious possessions and she would never part from them. ‘I have six children, ten grandchildren and three great–grandchildren, with another one expected any day now,’ she said proudly. ‘There have been tragedies, of course. Like when my step–daughter, Stella and her little Paul were killed by that terrible fire and poor Samuel was almost beside himself with grief.’
She looked at her son–in–law and smiled. He had finally healed and was so very different from the man who’d come to her in almost inconsolable grief on his return from the war. She suspected the healing was due to Maggie, and she was delighted they had found one another.
‘I am at an age where sorrow and death are no longer strangers, and despite everything, this country has been good to me, and to my family. Australia gave me a second chance.’
Her gaze trawled the photographs and settled on the face of her second husband. ‘I met Joshua Reynolds shortly after coming north from Melbourne. He was a widower, with a young daughter, Stella. Eva lent us the money so we could move here to Port Douglas, and raise a family. We had a home and work and altogether a better, more comfortable life than any I might have had in England.’
‘Mum spoke of you often,’ said Olivia. ‘And I can remember you coming to Trinity for visits. But I never realised you still wrote to one another.’
Jessie sighed and re–arranged the photographs, pulling the sepia print to the fore. ‘We were as different as chalk and cheese,’ she said fondly. ‘Eva was a real lady, and I was privileged to become her friend. She picked up the photograph and gave it to Olivia. ‘They make a handsome couple, don’t they – Eva and Freddy?’
She waited for the photograph to be handed around and then replaced it on the dresser. ‘Eva missed him terribly when he went away for months on his surveying trips. She would confide in me, knowing I would never tell anyone just how deeply she felt about those absences. Yet she was like a young bride when he eventually came back home – excited and full of plans, the house coming to life again.’
‘Must have made it even harder when he had to leave for yet another trip,’ said Olivia.
Jessie nodded. ‘She seemed to shrink, physically, but her energy levels rose and she threw herself into charitable works until he returned. She worried me during those frenetic periods, for she seemed too driven.’
‘Irene must have changed things,’ murmured Olivia. ‘I remember mum telling me how she had so longed for a baby.’
‘There were miscarriages and disappointments, but Irene was her joy.’ She smiled. ‘Mine too. I looked on her as my own, and both of us invested so much love in that precious child – dreamed so many dreams.’
Jessie fell silent, the sadness making her feel old. ‘In hindsight, I realised we spoiled her. Made her what she is today.’
Her gaze fell on the photographs of Irene, and she bit her lip. She had once loved her with the same passion as Eva, yet it was all too easy to equate that golden haired child with the malicious woman she’d encountered before the hurricane. For the eyes were determined as they stared out of the photographs, the poses markedly self–possessed for one so young.
Jessie clicked her tongue with impatience. ‘Irene and I lived in Trinity for a while, during the Great War. We had the most awful rows. Irene was manipulative, even as a child, and I can still remember the tantrums, the jealousies, the almost wanton need to be the centre of attention that finally destroyed the relationship between Irene and her mother.’
‘’Was that when she was expecting me?’ asked Maggie.
Jessie looked at the slender, pretty young woman sitting so closely to her beloved son–in–law and felt a surge of love. ‘Yes,’ she said softly.
‘What happened between Irene and Mother to cause such a rift?’ asked Olivia. ‘It must have been very serious.’
‘It was,’ muttered Jessie. She eyed Olivia for a long moment and knew where this conversation was heading. Olivia had not asked the question she’d expected. The young woman was probing, questioning, leading this conversation into darker shadows. And Jessie knew she would not be satisfied until she had all the answers.
Jessie opened
a dresser drawer and took out the bundle of letters. Her spirits were low as she looked at the familiar handwriting. She missed Eva, and wished she were here to help. Missed the flow of news that had trickled steadily across the world over the years. For her letters had brought the woman who wrote them much closer. Had once again rolled back the years and strengthened the unlikely ties that bound them.
She fumbled with the envelope, gave up on it and put it in her lap. ‘I’ve left my reading glasses in the bedroom,’ she explained. ‘But I don’t need them. I know this letter by heart. It was Eva’s last, written almost a year and a half ago.’
‘So you knew she was dead when Irene came to see you?’ Olivia had tears in her lovely brown eyes. ‘What did she say in the letter, Jessie?’
‘She expressed her love for you, her gratitude for my friendship, and her deep regrets that the breach with Irene would never be healed. She also questioned certain decisions she’d made many years before, and the consequences of any action taken to destroy all traces of the truth. She begged me for guidance. Her conscience would not let her rest.’
‘Why? What had she done? Did she collude with Irene over my adoption? Is that what made her feel guilty?’ Maggie had thrust herself forward in the chair, her face pale, her eyes dark with anguish.
‘No, my darling. She had nothing whatsoever to do with what happened to you. In fact she tried her utmost to find you. But Irene was saying nothing and there were no records to be found. When Eva left for England with Olivia, she had to finally accept there was nothing more she could do but hope you were safe and happy.’
Maggie burst into tears and Sam held her. Olivia blinked away her own tears and tightly bunched her hands in her lap.
Jessie looked down at the faded handwriting and sighed. There had been no response to her urgent reply, only a letter passed on through a London solicitor, which contained the deeds for this little house and a cheque for a thousand pounds. Eva had thought of her right to the end, ensuring she was comfortable in her old age.
The fat ginger tomcat stalked across the room and wound himself around her ankles. His purr was a deep rumble, a reminder he needed feeding. Jessie stroked him absent–mindedly. ‘Wait on, Blue,’ she murmured. ‘I’m busy.’
Undercurrents Page 33
