Silver Wattle (27 page)

‘Would you like a cup of tea?’ I asked her.

She shook her head. ‘I’m going to check on Thomas then go to bed,’ she said.

I was physically tired but my brain was racing. I was hungry too. I walked into the kitchen and switched on the light. I jumped when I saw Esther sitting there.

‘It was the war, wasn’t it?’ she asked, pushing back her hair. ‘That’s how he lost his leg.’

It was four in the morning. Esther was usually in bed by ten. She had been waiting up for me.

I told her what I knew of Hugh’s story. When I reached the part about being found outside Sydney Hospital, she rubbed her thumbs together but said nothing.

The following morning, Ranjana and I rose early to complete the editing before the first morning session. Esther came with us to catch up on the book-keeping. It was a chilly morning and I wound my scarf over my head while we waited for the tram.

‘It wouldn’t have made any difference to me if Louis had come home without his legs,’ Esther suddenly announced. ‘I still would have loved him.’

The tram arrived and we double-checked the bags we were carrying to make sure we left nothing behind. Esther slipped the strap of her satchel over her shoulder. I blinked. There was the butterfly resting on her arm. Esther’s eyes met mine. I turned away, not wanting to upset her all over again about not being able to see the butterfly.

Trying not to think of Philip was like trying to unlearn to ride a bicycle. I could go a few hours without dwelling on our situation, but the postman’s whistle always triggered my thoughts in his direction. It was wrong to pine for Philip but I secretly hoped that he would send me a letter.

Then a month to the day that we had talked in the Botanic Gardens, Philip appeared on our doorstep wearing a pair of plus fours and a vest over a white shirt.

‘I promised to take Adela to the National Park to photograph the rock formations,’ he explained to a surprised Uncle Ota. ‘Has she forgotten?’

‘Indeed, I think she has,’ said Uncle Ota, inviting Philip into the house. Klara, who was finishing her breakfast before leaving for school, sent me a glance.

‘Adela,’ said Uncle Ota, ‘you’d better hurry and get ready. The National Park is a few hours’ drive away.’

I was as embarrassed as if I had actually forgotten the arrangement, although we had never made such plans. Philip grinned at me. Klara followed me to the bedroom.

‘Bring a swimming costume,’ Philip called after me. ‘The lagoon is sheltered. It should be quite warm today.’

I quickly changed into a loose dress while Klara packed a towel, sunhat and swimsuit into a bag. Who went swimming in winter? But I did not think too much about that. Philip’s appearance had answered the question that had been hanging over me for a month.

‘I don’t know what to do,’ I said to Klara.

‘Yes, you do,’ she replied. She took my hand. ‘Listen to your heart. Philip is a good person and you are too. Neither of you will do anything reckless. But you have to do what is honest—even if someone else won’t like it.’

Philip’s car rattled along the dirt track into the park. I stared up at the towering gum trees. ‘I’ll take you to Wattamolla beach,’ he said, smiling. ‘It’s my favourite spot in the park.’

The menthol scent of the gums and the smell of damp earth were intoxicating. I glanced at Philip. He looked fresh and carefree. Had he told Beatrice? Had she accepted his decision gracefully? My heart leapt with hope as each mile passed. Philip reached across the seat and squeezed my hand. A thrill of joy ran through me.

He brought the car to a stop and we strolled along a track past banksias and cabbage tree palms to a clearing. I could see a sandy beach and the ocean below us. The beach was deserted except for a lone fisherman.

‘Put your swimming costume on,’ said Philip, turning his back to me and tugging off his vest and shirt. He undid his belt and slipped his trousers and underwear down his legs and kicked them off. I blushed at the sight of his buttocks, more athletic than I had expected from a doctor. He pulled on his swimming trunks and I realised, out of modesty, he had intended for me to turn my back to his while we changed. I spun around and undid my dress and stockings, pulling my costume up my legs and over my shoulders. When I turned back, Philip had already climbed out on the rock ledge. He beckoned me to follow him and offered his hand. I took it and inched after him on the slippery rocks to the cascading waterfall.

‘It’s safe,’ he told me. ‘We can jump from here into the lagoon. Ready?’

I flew with him into the air and plunged into the lagoon. The freezing water sent goose bumps over my skin. I broke the surface and looked for Philip. He surfaced a second later, pushing his hair from his face and swimming towards me.

‘Bracing?’ he said.

‘Not at all,’ I laughed. ‘I’ve swum in colder. I’m a Czech, you know.’

I saw that he was not the same Doctor Page of Broughton Hall. Droplets of water shone on his sun-kissed skin. He swam towards the sandbank and I followed him.

‘Wait here,’ he said, when we emerged from the water. ‘I’ll go back and get our things.’

I watched him scramble up the slope to retrieve our clothes and bags. He returned and spread out a blanket for us to sit on. The sun warmed us and the sound of the water lapping against the rocks made me sleepy.

‘So what have you been doing with yourself this past month?’ he asked.

I told him about the bunyip picture.

He leaned back on his elbows. ‘I should like to see it,’ he said. ‘I can tell from your photographs that you’re talented. Do you like it here in Australia?’

I cast my eyes over the rugged cliffs and the cascading waterfall. Klara was not the only one of us sensitive to the appeal of natural beauty. ‘Very much,’ I said. ‘It is spectacular.’

‘I was brought up to think of England as “home”,’ Philip said. ‘My children’s books were filled with hedgehogs and badgers. But when I arrived in London for my studies I longed for gum trees, kangaroos and beaches.’

We laughed. Then I remembered Prague. The cobblestoned streets and the markets. My thoughts darkened.

‘Does it bother you,’ Philip asked, ‘to think that your mother’s killer may never be brought to justice?’

‘It did at first,’ I told him. ‘But if I keep thinking of it, I will go mad. I concentrate on what I can do, and that is to help Klara through music school and safely to the age of twenty-one.’

Philip nodded and looked out to the ocean. His face twitched. ‘My mother was in our house in Bowral,’ he said. ‘Father and I were out riding when a flame jumped out of the fireplace and started to burn the floor. The house was a pioneers’ home and was ablaze within minutes. The servants managed to escape and formed a chain to the dam to try and save it, but Mother was trapped in her room on the top floor. My father and I saw the flames from two miles away. We galloped home but everything was gone except a staircase and the chimney. For months afterwards I imagined my mother’s screams in my sleep.’

A seagull squawked overhead and we looked up at the blue sky and the clouds moving across it. There was nothing we could say to each other about our mothers’ deaths. But we knew that the other one understood. I felt that I had known Philip all my life, and our conversations were simply to fill in the details.

‘Is that why you became a psychiatrist?’ I asked eventually. ‘To help people with bad memories?’

The torment disappeared from Philip’s face. He smiled. ‘My father would be dismayed if he knew that he inspired me to study psychiatry. He wasn’t always so serious. He became nervous after Mother’s death and now clings to familiar things, fearful that they will change.’

‘Life changes all the time, doesn’t it?’ I said. ‘You have to adapt yourself to it.’

Philip took my hand. My skin tingled with his touch. It seemed the most natural thing in the world to be sitting in this beautiful place and holding his hand.

‘Does Beatrice know?’ I asked.

He shook his head. ‘Helen has an inoperable tumour. Beatrice doesn’t quite believe it. It’s going to be hard for her. She and her mother are very close. We will have to be patient. I don’t like to sneak around behind her back any more than you do, but I have to pick my timing.’

‘Then you are sure?’ I asked him. ‘About us.’

Philip clasped my hand tighter and pressed it against his chest. ‘I love you, Adela.’

The disappointment I had felt that he had not yet told Beatrice disappeared with those words. Tears filled my eyes.

Philip looked down the beach. The fisherman had gone. ‘Come,’ he said, helping me to my feet.

He picked up the picnic blanket and moved it to a shady spot set back in the trees. When he had spread it out, we lay down and he pulled me to him and kissed me on the lips. His mouth was warm and velvety. His kisses swept down my neck. I stared up at the glimmering trees. I was a virgin and could never have imagined the ripples of pleasure his kisses sent through me. I ran my palms over his smooth, damp skin and felt the shiver of his muscles.

Philip knelt back and we fell silent, with only the sound of the rolling ocean and the birds about us. I wanted him to kiss me again and lifted myself towards him. But my hand caught the edge of my costume and the strap slipped down and exposed my breast. I was too mortified to think about covering myself up.

Philip lifted his hand to my breast and brushed his fingers over the nipple. My shame turned to desire. He withdrew his hand quickly. I wanted him to touch my breast again and kiss it the same way he had kissed my face. But he tugged my costume back over my shoulder.

‘I want you more than anything in the world,’ he said, his voice trembling. ‘But we must wait for the right time. I want our love to be special.’

I sat up and he pressed his cheek to mine. His hair smelt of the ocean.

‘We must marry first,’ he said. ‘I want to give you a child. I want it all to be perfect.’

‘Yes,’ I said.

Everything was perfect. Almost.

I
awoke the next morning with the sun making lacework on my arms through the curtains. I wanted to lie like that for hours, relishing the memory of the previous day with Philip. But Esther’s voice at the door brought me to my senses.

‘A note came for you,’ she said. ‘It was delivered by a chauffeur.’

I clambered out of bed, expecting something from Philip. I was discomforted to receive a message from Beatrice.

Dear Adela,

It has been too long since I saw my lovely friend. I am sorry I have been out of touch, but my wedding plans and trip to Europe have been on hold as Mother’s health has taken a turn for the worse. I miss my walks through the city with her. We seemed to discover so many curiosities that it was my greatest pleasure. I wondered if you might accompany me one day in her place? Soon? I miss your smiling face.

Your friend,
Beatrice

The tone of the letter suggested that Beatrice was being brave. She sounded as though she needed a friend. I remembered Edith had not come to the luncheon because she was staying in the country. I was not the right person to comfort Beatrice, but what could I do? She needed someone. I called her from the cinema and arranged to meet her in the city in the afternoon.

‘How good of you to come!’ said Beatrice, rising from her bench in Hyde Park where we had agreed to meet.

She was drawn in the face but her eyes were as full of life as ever. She launched into a review of the book she had been reading while waiting for me. ‘It’s about four young people at turning points in their lives,’ she explained. ‘In some ways it’s horribly depressing because the two women subjugate themselves to the men, but it’s also ripping good reading.’

Beatrice and I linked arms and headed towards the stores. She was in a better state of mind than I had been expecting.

‘I am very sorry to hear your mother is unwell,’ I told her.

‘It breaks my heart that I can’t do anything for her,’ she said. ‘Old Doctor Page came this morning and gave her a dose of morphine to ease the pain.’

I lowered my eyes. What could I say?

Beatrice nudged me. ‘Don’t cry for us, Adela. You have a tranquillity about you that is cheering. Besides, it’s not all bad news. Philip might hurry up and set a date for our wedding.’

My pulse quickened. I wondered if she would feel it through my arm. I had hoped that Beatrice and I could avoid the subject of Philip.

We strolled along Elizabeth Street and a dress in a shop window caught Beatrice’s eye.

‘Look at that glorious dress!’ she cried, pointing to a coral beaded sheath. ‘Isn’t it lovely?’

The dress was pretty but unsuitable for Beatrice. The colour would clash with her red hair and the style would accentuate her lack of a figure.

‘Should I buy it?’ she asked.

The dress on the other mannequin in the window was a raspberry colour that would set off Beatrice’s hair. The wide V-shape of the neckline would give her a bust. A ‘flattened’ chest was the fashion, but only worked on women with breasts to begin with. I sensed that Beatrice was looking to lift her spirits with a new dress rather than having her heart set on the coral one so I said, ‘Both these dresses are nice. Why don’t you try them on and then decide which looks best?’

Beatrice grabbed my arm. ‘Good idea!’

For a few moments, while we lost ourselves in trying on sumptuous dresses, I could almost put aside the fact that Beatrice was the obstacle to my being with Philip. I tried on a silk chiffon gown, the rose colour of which flattered my hair and eyes. The shop’s prices were too high for me but I decided I would choose a style I liked and make something similar for the premiere of my bunyip picture. Ranjana was a skilful beader and we could decorate the dress together.

‘That dress is lovely on you,’ said Beatrice, stopping to admire me. ‘You’re like a little doll.’ Sadness flickered across her face.

‘What is it, Beatrice?’

‘You remind me of my friend. Margaret,’ she said, sitting down in a chair by the mirror. ‘She died in Egypt. We were nurses together in the war.’

‘I didn’t know you were a nurse,’ I said.