Authors: Maris Morton
At two in the morning, Clio was still running through possible scenarios in her head, a long way from sleeping. Locked into the euphoria of playing and being with fellow musicians, the day-today life on Downe became remote and dreamlike, with music the real, true life.
Certainly, she would miss Downe. She loved the countryside, the wide expanses, the busyness of running the place; the scent of the air, the feel of rain and sun on her face, and above all the knowledge that all the years of planning and hard work started by Ellen were at last bearing fruit, even though she herself was only responsible for a fraction of it.
Ellen had died years ago, and still the work went on. It would go on, too, after she’d left.
I
N THE MORNING,
Clio’s eyes had been heavy, but the euphoria was still with her, her decision made.
After breakfast, Richard rounded them up for one last session of playing. They settled on the verandah again; the morning sunshine was muted by a veil of high cloud so the instruments would be comfortable, and there was no wind.
‘We’ll play something to match the way you look this morning, Mario: great changes about to be made. Schubert sounds about right.
Death and the Maiden
. Okay?’ He handed the music to each of them.
Clio and Richard had played it at the Con with the Tartinis, and she knew it would come back to her easily, especially with her new confidence. They tuned their instruments and gathered their thoughts, reading the music and remembering how this piece went.
‘You know how passionate and dynamic this is,’ Richard reminded them. ‘Full of angst. Death coming for the maiden, the maiden protesting. The driving rhythm, the silences.’
Clio smiled at him. ‘Is this the Richard I used to know,’ she asked, all innocence, ‘who kept on about music being only a series of notes arranged in some abstract mathematical order? With no stories, absolutely no stories …’
‘I was young,’ Richard said, ‘and I liked getting up Tallis’ nose. He was so damned precious, and you girls sat around lapping it all up. Now, I want to bring out the contrast between the angst in the Allegro, Scherzo and Presto, and that driving rhythm that sounds like Death galloping inexorably on his pale horse, with the calming, lullaby G-minor Andante, said to represent Death’s soothing assurances that everything will be all right if only she’ll lie down quietly.’
Remembering now, Clio shivered. When they’d played it as students, death hadn’t been real to most of them, no more than a fantasy figure out of German Romanticism. It had been so easy for them, then, to laugh about Death on his pale horse, galloping, galloping. But she’d already lost her mother to the pale horseman. Now that she’d lost Allegra, and David, too, death had become much more real. And terrifying.
F
OR A SECOND
, M
ARY WONDERED WHO
this stranger was, walking in through the back door. She’d opened her mouth to challenge him, when she realised that it was Paul. He must have cadged a lift home from Gloria on the bus. With stitches in his forehead and a shaved patch of scalp stained with Mercurochrome, and with a great swollen bruise upsetting the symmetry of his face, he looked utterly unlike himself.
When she went to tell Clio that Paul was back, Clio surprised her by asking, ‘How is he?’
‘He looks horrible. When I asked him how he was feeling, he just grunted,’ Mary said with a smile. ‘Does that mean he’s okay?’
‘Probably.’
‘He said that he and Martin plan to fly to Perth as usual on Friday, and stay there till Monday week for the Show.’
‘Good!’ Clio carefully manoeuvred herself up higher in the bed. ‘Ten whole days to ourselves.’
O
N
T
HURSDAY,
Angus and Cec carefully loaded the chosen rams into the truck, and Cec set off on the long drive to the city, leaving Angus in charge of the rest of the sheep. When Paul and Martin flew off on Friday, a holiday air settled over Downe.
By the middle of the afternoon, Clio was sitting in the rosy armchair while Mary made tea.
‘How did your talk with Martin go?’ she asked.
Clio gave a wry smile. ‘As I suspected, Martin and Alyssa have different expectations of their marriage. They haven’t discussed any of the important things at all. It looks like a recipe for disaster, but what do I know?’
Clio took the cup of tea Mary offered her, in the delicate blue lustre cup, and initiated a new topic. ‘Have you seen anything of Angus since …’
Mary had to think for a moment. ‘Oh! You mean since that Saturday visit?’
‘Would you really have hit him with the rolling pin?’
‘I might have. You have to be careful with those old, heavy-duty implements, though; you could kill someone quite easily.’
Clio was silent for a minute. ‘I couldn’t believe it was happening,’ she said slowly. ‘I couldn’t believe he’d have the nerve.’
‘These things happen, Clio. They can legislate till they’re blue in the face but they’ll never stop sexual harassment. It’s a fact of working life, and you have to learn to deal with it.’
‘With a rolling pin, if necessary.’
‘Angus is a sad, silly old man,’ Mary said. ‘I should have known he’d take ordinary friendliness as an invitation to have sex. I’ve run into that one before but I keep on being surprised. I must be a slow learner.’
‘He never would have done such a thing before.’
Mary looked at her, waiting for more explanation. ‘Before?’
‘When I was well, he never would have dared.’
‘I don’t think he saw you sitting there,’ Mary said, ‘until just as he was leaving.’
‘That’s not the point. It’s my house, Paul’s house. The boss’s house, if you like. It’s a matter of respect.’
Clio seemed to be upset about an incident that to Mary was no more than a minor annoyance. ‘I wouldn’t let it worry you, Clio.’
‘It’s as if I don’t matter any more,’ Clio said, and suddenly there were tears in her voice. ‘As if I’m not here any more.’
‘I don’t think that’s true. They all ask after you. And, to answer your question, I haven’t seen anything of Angus. Garth says he’s avoiding me like the plague. He was obviously drunk, and now he’s embarrassed. But I’m not going to hold my breath while I wait for an apology.’
After a pause, Clio’s expression lightened. ‘No, you’re right. Now, what have you got planned while the men are away?’
‘Well, once the school holidays start the boys will take over the lamb feeding. It’s been fun, though … you can really see the little things grow.’
‘Yes, I used to like it. While they’re tiny they’re very sweet, as long as you don’t let yourself dwell on how much money they might be worth. I used to have sleepless nights worrying that I’d do something wrong, till I woke up to the fact that if I wasn’t feeding them they’d have died, anyway.’
Mary nodded. ‘Quite.’
‘I’d forgotten about the school holidays. I suppose Janet will be on her own while Cec is up at the Show, and the Grayson kids will be running wild. Have you spoken to Gayleen lately? How’s she coping?’
Mary was surprised at Clio’s interest. ‘I think Gayleen’s coping well. And how are you feeling, Clio? You’re sounding much brighter.’
‘Don’t worry about me, Mary. I’m as well as can be expected.’ She flashed the ghost of a smile at the trite saying. ‘And if I’ve sounded happier lately, it’s because I’ve been remembering a happy time that made me think about … some things … in a different way.’
She was plainly not going to say any more, so Mary tried another tack. ‘You asked what my plans are. Well, I’m going to do some fancy cooking. I’m going to play the piano, and read some more of Ellen’s diaries. I expect I’ll go and visit the reserve another time or two, as long as I can use Gary’s bike. Riding around here is quite different from riding in the suburbs, much more pleasant. Anyway, I’ll do that, and I’ll go for some walks around Downe, too. Store up some memories.’
Clio’s look was suddenly anxious. ‘That sounds as if you’re getting ready to leave?’
‘Why, yes, Clio. I won’t be here forever. The arrangement was that I’d be here for two or three months. That still stands. I’ve got another job lined up in Perth.’
There was shock on Clio’s face. ‘I hadn’t realised. I’m nowhere near being ready to take over, Mary.’
Seeing the panic on Clio’s face, Mary felt dreadful. What Clio had said was plainly true: she was nowhere near well enough to run the house. ‘I’ll stay as long as I can but I have to get back to Perth at the end of October. I’m committed.’
‘Oh god.’ Clio buried her face in her hands. ‘What’ll I do?
Mary spoke gently. ‘You’ll manage. Alyssa will be here. I’m sure she’ll help out.’ Clio was regarding her with horrified eyes. Trying to help ease the woman’s distress, Mary asked her, ‘How did you cope before I came?’
‘You know, I can hardly remember,’ she said at last. ‘I suppose I went on the way I’d always done, cooking and cleaning … until I got sick and went up to Perth. That seems like a lifetime ago.’
She stared out through the window for a long moment. Then she turned to Mary. ‘I wouldn’t like you to think … I don’t hate Paul. If I did, I couldn’t have stayed.’
Mary waited for more.
‘If you’ve read Ellen’s diaries you’ll know how she idolised Paul, right from when he was a toddler.’
‘Yes, I noticed that.’
‘Uncritical adoration is easy to take, especially when you’re a child — an only child, at that — but it’s not exactly character-building.’
‘No, it isn’t.’
‘I’ve thought about this a good deal, and I’ve come to believe that Ellen actually damaged Paul.’
Mary considered this. ‘Through an excess of love …’
‘That’s right. Paul’s not an introspective man. Nothing has ever penetrated the … the armour of his self-regard. Anything that threatens to breach that defence is rejected, often with … unreasoning rage.’
Clio’s words made sense. ‘Like your music …’
‘Since I understood that I’ve felt sorry for him. So I just kept on, earning my keep … until I no longer had a choice.’
T
O GET RID
of the sadness of Clio’s revelations, Mary went for a walk around the garden. Away from Clio, out in the open air, the reality of her own situation was clear. She’d learnt all she wanted to about the running of a famous stud farm. While she liked the empty spaces, the feel of the air with its scent of distant sheep, and those marvellous wildflowers, she could leave here tomorrow without a moment’s regret. It was time for a new challenge.
As she walked, it occurred to her that everything growing in the garden had been imported from another world, another climate and another culture. She looked towards the distant green fields: all of it was alien; the wheat, oats and barley; the pasture plants and even the yellow capeweed blooming along the firebreaks; the fruit trees and vegetables, the pine trees, the big old oak tree; all were imports.
She considered the contrast of these plants with those flourishing in the reserve, with their outlandish glory of leaf and flower, so strange to anyone who had grown up among roses and apple trees. She remembered Cec and his fossils, and his quiet voice explaining that once this area had been lush, tropical forest clothed with rushes, araucarias and even ginkgos, and she marvelled at the slow tide of change that had moved — and was still moving — through the natural world on a scale that made human endeavour seem utterly insignificant. There must be a lesson here somewhere, Mary thought. But I don’t know what it is.
‘G
OOD MORNING
,’ M
ARY SAID
, looking up from her polishing at Clio framed in the doorway of her room. She indicated the copper art-nouveau maiden gracing the door. ‘Do you know where these came from? They’re plainly older than the house.’
Clio searched her memory. ‘Ellen might have got them at a clearing sale. They’re definitely local.’
‘Really? I had no idea there were any grand houses around here.’
‘You probably thought you were coming to work in one, didn’t you? Yes, there are a few very grand houses not too far away.’ She stepped back into her room. ‘Come in and do my bed. I woke up early this morning.’
Mary followed Clio into the room. The sun was laying toffee lozenge shapes on the polished boards. ‘I must admit that this house was …’
‘A disappointment?’ Clio said. ‘Especially now that you know how much money we make from our wonderful ultrafine wool.’ She settled in the blue velvet chair.
Mary threw back the bedclothes. ‘Well, yes.’ She could be frank with Clio now. ‘You said Paul wanted to keep the place the way it was when Ellen was alive.’
‘There’s that,’ Clio agreed. ‘But really, Paul’s always been a fool with money and there have been times when we had very little of it, and certainly none to spare after the wages and Martin’s school fees were paid.’
Mary began to reassemble the bed. ‘Really? He doesn’t have a gambling problem or anything like that, does he?’
‘Well, I suppose you could call it a gambling problem,’ Clio said. ‘Paul had this school friend, Russell Kingsley. They used to get together up in Perth. Even before I knew him, Paul was handing over vast sums of money for Russ to invest.’ She read Mary’s reaction on her face. ‘Yes, I know. Owning Downe would surely be enough for most people!’
‘Is it a man thing, do you think? Always to want more money than they can possibly spend?’
‘Or guilt, because they don’t think they deserve to be rich so they throw it all away? I don’t know, Mary. Anyway, first there was the nickel boom; that was when Ellen was still alive.’
‘Some people made huge fortunes out of that, didn’t they?’
‘For everyone who made a profit, someone else had to lose money.’ Clio paused. ‘With Paul, it was usually mining shares. The promise of El Dorado.’
‘What a tale of woe!’ Mary tucked the sheet in, folding the turnback over the duvet and tugging it straight. ‘All finished. Do you want to get in again?’
‘Mm? No, I don’t think so. I’ll come out to the kitchen for a while.’ Clio eased herself up from the chair and struggled into her woolly gown, then followed Mary out.
That information about Paul had been illuminating. ‘Is Paul still investing in shares?’