Blaze (77 page)

The hostess returned and asked if they wanted to order lunch. Gordon gestured to Miche, letting her make the decision to stay or go.

‘Just something light. A salad. Quiche perhaps.' She was feeling light-headed and her stomach was churning. Food might help. Painful as all this was, she wanted, she needed, to hear it. She might never see him again, so this was the moment to have her unanswered questions dealt with. They quickly gave their orders then Gordon pushed the box towards Miche who slowly lifted the lid.

There were letters tied in bundles, a slim photo album and a small cardboard box about the size of a shoebox. She lifted out a packet of letters. They were addressed to Mrs Lorraine Birchmont, the string around them neatly tagged with a date. Slowly Miche went through the piles, not undoing them, but aware all had been returned to the sender. A few were addressed to Miss Michelle Birchmont, one pile of fatter envelopes was tagged, ‘
Birthday and Christmas cards
'. These too had been returned unopened.

A small claw began to scratch at Miche's heart. ‘Why did these come back?' She recognised the old addresses.

Gordon sipped his wine. ‘Your mother preferred it that way. She was possibly afraid of losing you. I had a family out here, she really only had you. She was worried I might take you away, so she severed all contact. It was very hard for me.'

‘Me too!' The words sprang from Miche. She was in shock, this was a scenario she hadn't anticipated. She closed the lid on the box, as if trying to lock back in the memories and the issues that it held, then she didn't know what to do with it.

Gordon understood and he gave the box a little shove. ‘I think it would be a good idea to take all that away with you. Lift the lid again when you're ready. Sorry about the late delivery.'

She smiled weakly and mumbled a thanks, then put it beside her chair.

‘Now, tell me how you're doing out here. Coping with the eccentricities of Oz?' he asked brightly, instantly changing the mood. ‘What are your plans?'

She was relieved to be back on neutral ground. She told him about her research for a series of articles about the Hunter for
Blaze
.

‘Terrific idea. Why not extend it and come to the Barossa? I'd love you to see my vineyard. The Barossa is interesting, old German connections. I've been trying to lure Jeremy over. Why don't you both come?'

‘Maybe. I don't know what Jem's plans and time are like,' she said cautiously.

‘I'm sorry. I don't want to pressure you. I just thought you might find it . . . interesting. There's a little bit of the vineyard dedicated to you, by the way.'

She stared at him. ‘What do you mean?' It suddenly occurred to her she hadn't asked about his present life. He said he'd remarried. ‘Do you have family there?' she asked tentatively.

‘No. Sadly my wife died a number of years ago. She had two sons from her previous marriage. They're both married – one is an investment banker in Perth, the other an accountant in Adelaide. Not interested in the actual producing of wine, but they like to visit when they can. And take away a couple of cartons of our best,' he laughed. Then added, ‘They know about you. That I lost touch with you. And there's something else I want you to know. There is a small rose arbour at the house with a little fountain and a seat. There's a small plaque that simply says Michelle's Place.'

‘I don't know whether to believe you.' It seemed too convenient, too unreal.

‘It's true, Miche. And it has been there a long time.' He leaned across the table. ‘Miche, please look through that box. Contrary to what you may have believed, I have never stopped thinking about you. You are my only child. The older I become, the more regrets I have about losing you . . . and your mother. Please, give me a chance to make it up to you. I was so sorry to hear about what happened to Lorraine. She devoted herself to you, yet that career of hers didn't give her the peace and happiness she deserved. I want more than anything else to make sure you are happy. Please, give me that chance.'

Miche bit her lip, and couldn't speak as tears again rolled down her cheeks. And she could see tears shining in her father's eyes.

Silently the hostess put the food on the table and asked gently, ‘Bread? More wine?' Gordon shook his head and she quickly left, aware that this was no time to intrude with service niceties. He took a deep breath and pulled himself together as Miche took a tissue from her bag. Somehow they both managed to concentrate on the food. It had come at the right time. Gordon made polite comments about the quality of the cuisine, and Miche responded with the information that she was a fresh food fanatic, hated takeaway fast foods, and was opposed to genetically modified food ingredients. It was an overreaction, but it worked for her. She was back in control.

As they ate, Miche reflected that Nina Jansous was right. There was always another side to every story. While Miche had always loved and understood her mother very well, she now saw a small bright light shining into the dark corner that represented her absent father. And, in its beam, she saw a man who'd tried as best as he could, and had suffered too.

Gordon lifted his glass of wine. ‘Here's to the future, Miche. Let's just take it as it comes, okay?'

She raised her glass to his and managed a little smile.

By the time Jeremy arrived to collect her, Miche was feeling light-headed from the wine and emotional overload. They met in the bar and all that Jeremy needed to know was written large in the smile of welcome that she gave the moment she saw him.

She went to him and kissed him lightly. ‘Thanks for taking the gamble, Jeremy. It's been a memorable lunch.'

‘Well, that's made my day,' he said with relief and pumped Gordon's hand.

‘Made mine too, mate,' said Gordon, happily thumping Jeremy on the shoulder with his free hand.

They chatted for a while about the wine business and the forthcoming convention, then Jeremy took Miche's hand and smoothed the parting. ‘We'll see you tomorrow then. Miche is coming to the cocktail party.'

Gordon leaned forward and kissed Miche on the cheek. She hesitated for a second, then put her arms around him and gave him a hug.

‘Thank you for that, Miche,' he whispered and turned away so the two young people wouldn't see a dam that was bursting inside his chest, threatening his shaky composure.

Jeremy put the box on the back seat and gave her a questioning look, but she closed her eyes. ‘Later, Jem. I'll tell you later. But, thanks, it was easier than I thought in lots of ways. Harder in others. It wasn't as black and white as I always believed it was.'

Jeremy squeezed her hand. ‘Tell me when you're ready.'

That afternoon Miche lay on the bed, the pale lemon curtains fluttering in a slight breeze. Faint sounds of machinery, far-off voices, the closer hum of insects in the garden, birds singing in trees next to the house, combined in an hypnotic and harmonious symphony that enhanced the dreamlike state in which she drifted. She felt as if she were walking along a high and narrow ridge, a great divide between two worlds, the what-was or the what-might-have-been and the here-and-now on the other side. With her eyes closed, she tried to fit together the jigsaw of her life from a fresh perspective.

Her mother, Lorraine, had been outwardly strong, self-disciplined, ambitious and talented, yet she'd always clung to her young daughter who'd often felt the protector of the vulnerable and insecure side of her mother. They had needed each other and together had coped. But now the second half of her being – her father – had emerged from the depths, from the unknown. She had always imagined him to be a cold, heartless, uncaring loser. Instead she'd found a man of charm and success who had loved her mother and her, but hadn't been strong enough to fight for a failing marriage. A man who hadn't been strong enough to fight a wilful wife who'd wanted her career and her child above all else. It was a war they'd all lost.

As Miche lay there, she tried to imagine what her mother would say about today's reunion. It was impossible to answer that with any certainty. More importantly, what did she, Miche, think about the new family picture that was becoming a reality that required a fresh attitude and offered so many unexpected opportunities? She still had to come to terms with value judgements on his sincerity and his proclaimed enduring love. Was he being totally honest about all this? It was one of many nagging questions that she worked through ever so slowly.

Cynical, testing questions. But that was what her mother had taught her. Be strong, be in control, before you are walked over. It was an uncomfortable exercise, but it had to be done.

Nina's words about taking life day by day, came back to her. Today had been a massive step. And it was still to be completed.

Miche sat up cross-legged on the bed and drew her father's cardboard box to her.

She went through the piles of letters, registering the dates that went back to when she was eighteen months old. She put them aside and turned to the pile of cards, which she opened for the first time since they'd been sealed by her father. They brought tears to her eyes. There were birthday cards and Christmas cards from him, wondering how the year had been for her, was she happy, what was she doing at school . . . questions that had gone unread and unanswered for so many years. But what made her cry the hardest were the contents of the shoebox. It was marked, ‘
Souvenirs for Michelle
' and contained a collection of small objects a father might pick up on a walk with his daughter on the beach or in the bush . . . each sealed in little jars or plastic tubs, labelled with a place and a date. On so many occasions, when she had been in his mind he marked it by something he had picked up – a shell, a bird's feather, a dried flower, a teddy bear badge, a bird's nest. As the years went on, he'd added more grown-up items – a pearl on a chain with a ‘
sweet sixteen
' gift tag, a small pair of gold earrings marked ‘
18
'. And then, in a small plastic folder, was a collection of special wine labels and an explanatory note, ‘
Put down for Michelle for her twenty-first birthday. The best of every vintage of Birchmont wines. Stored in cellar CV12
.'

The thought that had gone into these tokens touched her more than she could bear. To realise he had saved the mundane, sweet things like a pretty bird's feather, and had thought of her, that he had indeed remembered every birthday and special occasions – and she'd never known – almost broke her heart.

She cried and she cried, face down on the bed, the mementoes so lovingly collected by her father crushed to her heart.

*

Miche awoke from a deep, dreamless sleep. It was after five o'clock. And she felt wonderfully refreshed, cleansed somehow. She stood luxuriating under the shower and then took pains doing her hair and make-up. Her eyes were still a little red, but she hoped no one would notice. She then added the gold earrings, the small pearl on a chain and pinned the whimsical teddy bear badge to her shirt. By the time she walked out of the room, she could hear voices on the verandah and felt happy about joining them. The crisis was over.

Jeremy rose as she appeared and held out his hand. ‘You okay?'

Miche nodded. ‘Thank you, Jem. Everything is okay. Really okay.'

Helen Palmerston passed a plate of scones. ‘We're all so happy for you, Miche. You and Gordon are going to be the star turn at the party tomorrow. That is, if you want to break the news,' she hurriedly added.

‘Very much so,' smiled Miche. ‘I want everyone to meet my dad.' But for an instant her joy dimmed as the pinched face of Ali flashed into her mind. Could there ever be such a reunion for Ali and her father?

Gordon extended his stay after the conference and spent time with Miche and Jeremy. Reluctantly Miche was the one to leave first, explaining that she had to go back to Sydney for the big farewell bash for Ali. It was a case of doing the right thing. Also, Nina had told her about Larissa coming back out with Gerard, a secret she had shared with Jeremy. ‘Her return hasn't been announced yet, but it means I'll have to give up the Paddo house and find a place of my own. And Nina asked if you and Dad want to come with me to Ali's party. They're taking over Catalina's for the evening. It's a Friday, so why not stay for the weekend?'

‘Sounds fun. What about your dad? Is he going?'

‘I haven't asked him yet, but I'll bet anything that he'll come.'

Nina invited Miche to dinner to hear all about her reunion. ‘It's wonderful, Miche. It's like a fairytale. And I'd like to meet your father, and Jeremy too. Will you write about this do you think?'

‘I don't think so. It's too personal. And not everyone's story has such a happy outcome as mine.'

Nina insisted on hearing every detail about the contents of the box of memorabilia from her father and it was some time before Miche had the opportunity to ask, ‘How does Ali feel about leaving?'

‘She's adjusting now her move is seen as a step up rather than sideways. She is anxious to return to New York and get an apartment, but it's not practical that she bases herself there. Still, we'll deal with that problem as it arises.'

‘What's happening to the apartment she had here?'

‘I'm moving Larissa and Gerard into it. Gerry will have to find a studio to paint in.' She gave Miche a grin, ‘Unless you let him use the space at the Paddington house. You'll stay on there, won't you?'

‘Wow! Nina, like a shot. Thanks so much. If Gerry could put something towards the rent he can have the whole back area and family room as a studio.'

‘I'm sure we can work something out. Miche, has your father said anything about . . . helping you out either financially or in other ways?' asked Nina quietly.

‘He made the right noises. But I said I didn't want to talk about that. The main priority for me is getting to know him and enjoying his company. I'll miss him when he goes back. We had a terrific time roving round the Hunter vineyards together. I learned a lot. He's very famous in his world you know,' she added with pride. ‘He did offer to bring Jem and me over for a holiday any time we want.'