Silver Wattle (39 page)

I turned to Freddy and clutched his hand.

‘You know the old saying, darling,’ he whispered. ‘Don’t think of it as losing a sister. Think of it as gaining a brother-in-law.’

At least I am seeing more of Klara these days, I thought. Not only was she living with us, but Freddy and I went with Robert and her to the same parties and functions.

Freddy had invited the reviewers of the
Sydney Mail
, the
Daily Telegraph
and
Everyone’s
magazine to the screening, along with Jack Lang, the Premier of New South Wales, and the musical star Gladys Moncrieff. I had watched the finished version of the picture many times, but now it had its first public audience I found my heart racing. Would they be drawn into the story? Would they be moved by the sad scenes and chuckle at the light-hearted ones? Or would they laugh in all the wrong places? I was still nervous about the theme. Perhaps some people would be offended. I sat on the edge of my seat, my fingers numb from clenching them.

‘Relax,’ said Freddy, prising my hand from the chair arm and squeezing it in his own. ‘You’ve done all you can to make a great film. The rest is out of your control.’

The lights lowered. When the picture came on, I could not watch it or look at the people around me. I dropped my gaze to my lap. But halfway through the screening I heard sobbing and looked up to see Klara and Esther crying. The native bear had just died. They had seen the picture before the screening so they knew that it was going to happen. Their reaction gave me courage to lift my eyes and look at the audience. All eyes were on the screen. Gladys Moncrieff’s mouth was gaping open. Not one person fidgeted or spoke until the lights came back on. When they did, the applause from the audience was deafening. I had captured their hearts and I was elated.

‘Stand up!’ said Freddy, pulling me out of my seat. ‘Receive the acclaim.’

‘Bravo, Mrs Rockcliffe!’ someone called from the crowd. Other voices soon joined him. ‘Well done! What a picture!’

When it was my turn to give a speech I emphasised that I could only take part of the praise. The magnificent camerawork was Hugh’s, the acting was a credit to the stars, and, of course, the story would not have come together without Freddy.

‘You should be very proud of your wife,’ I overheard the Premier tell Freddy at the reception party afterwards. ‘She has made a great Australian film.’

‘We made a great Australian film,’ I mouthed to Freddy. ‘
We
did.’

In the midst of our good fortune and happiness, Klara and I could forget that we were still fugitives. We felt almost normal. But I knew something had happened with Milosh when I received a call from Uncle Ota in February the following year.

‘Adela, you must come to my office right away.’

When I arrived, Esther quickly ushered me into Uncle Ota’s office and shut the door behind her when she left. There were circles under Uncle Ota’s eyes as if he had not had any sleep.

‘What is it?’ I asked him. ‘Another letter from Prague?’

He nodded gravely. ‘Doctor Holub has written that Milosh was involved in an extortion attempt on a client. Rather than report him to the police, the firm convinced him to retire from his partnership.’

I sat down and clenched my fists. ‘Mother spent a fortune buying Milosh that partnership and the company was very profitable,’ I told Uncle Ota. ‘If he had applied himself, he would be wealthy now. I had hoped something like that might happen and he would leave us alone.’

Uncle Ota pinched his chin. ‘Not wealthy enough for his extravagant wife it seems. Here, listen to this,’ he said, reading the letter out to me.

‘…I am afraid pan Dolezal is now so desperate for funds and in such debt that he is becoming careless. He arrived at my office two days ago and demanded to know where his stepdaughters were. The change in his cool, calculated demeanour was unnerving. I have employed a guard to accompany me to and from the office each day, and am convinced that your nieces are in greater danger than ever before…’

I shivered and pulled at my sleeve cuffs.

‘You and Klara have been carefree here,’ Uncle Ota said. ‘You have lived lives of liberty. Now I must insist that you be careful.’

I nodded in agreement.

‘If there is one comfort,’ he said, ‘it is that Milosh does not have any idea where you are. And that Doctor Holub will not tell him.’

Thomas was old enough now for Klara to teach him to play the piano. I was delighted to have my cousin staying with us one night a week for his lesson.

Seeing Freddy and Thomas together gave me an idea of the kind of father my husband would make. One of the changes I had made to our garden was to have a pond built at the bottom of it. To me, the pond was an oasis for frogs and birds, and was dappled with colourful water lilies and flowering marsh plants. But to Thomas, the pond was a lake. One morning, I awoke later than usual and stepped out onto the balcony to see Freddy and Thomas poised near the edge of it. Thomas was holding the toy boat Freddy had ordered from America. It was a Bermuda sloop with brass fittings and a mainsail and jibs. The scale of the boat matched Thomas in size, but my little cousin held it securely in his arms. He was dressed in a sea jacket and cap. I stifled my laughter when I saw the brightly coloured handkerchief Freddy had knotted at his throat. The morning was still and I caught their voices across the water.

‘We’ll be under way as soon as the ebb is set,’ growled Freddy in an affected seaman’s accent.

‘Aye aye, skipper,’ answered Thomas.

Freddy lifted his nose. ‘Smell that sea air. It brings the sense of adventure to boil in my blood, it does.’

‘Aye aye, skipper,’ Thomas said again.

Freddy asked Thomas if he was ready to pull away from the port and my cousin nodded his assent. Freddy grabbed the back of his sea jacket so Thomas would not fall into the pond.

Thomas launched the sloop and clapped with delight when it glided across the pond without listing. Freddy laughed.

The boat floated into the middle of the pond and wedged in the lilies. Thomas was crestfallen. Freddy searched around for a branch to push the boat free. But our trees were still young and not large enough to produce branches of any significance. He spotted a rake Rex had left against the gate and grabbed it. But no matter where he stood on the edge of the pond, the boat was always just out of reach.

‘It’s all right, Freddy,’ Thomas told him, the disappointment in his voice palpable. ‘Maybe a breeze will loosen it later.’

Freddy scratched his chin, thinking something over. Then he undid his belt and took off his pants, hung them over an azalea shrub and waded out to the middle of the pond where the water came up his chest. I was almost too scared to look. Freddy hated beaches or any natural environment without marble tiles and gold fittings.

Thomas jumped up and down at the edge of the pond and called out with glee. Freddy managed to grab the sailing boat and pushed it back to where Thomas was waiting.

‘I have another plan, my hearty first mate,’ Freddy said, hoisting himself out of the pond and squeezing the green water out of his cotton leggings.

‘What?’ asked Thomas. His face was full of admiration for his oversized playmate.

Freddy extracted a piece of slime from his waistband and grimaced. ‘Before we set sail into the blue yonder again, we’ll tie a piece of string to the bow,’ he said.

Thomas was able to read complex pieces of music but his hand span was small and Klara forbade him from playing them until he was older so as not to damage his tendons. Instead, she drilled him in correct posture and hand technique with simple pieces. He absorbed his lessons with only the occasional lapse of concentration.

‘Klarinka, if spiders use their webs to catch insects, how come they don’t get caught in their own webs?’ Thomas asked her one time. I enjoyed watching Klara teach Thomas, so I sat in on their lessons and sewed while Thomas played.

‘They can get caught in their own webs,’ Klara answered him, marking the fingering for the scales in his notebook. ‘They are only smarter than most insects and watch where they are going.’

Thomas thought over her answer. ‘Just like people,’ he said. ‘Mummy told me that a person should never set a trap for another lest they get caught in it themselves.’

After the piano lessons, if Freddy was working late, Klara, Thomas and I would have supper together with Thomas selecting the food. Usually he made good choices: roast pumpkin or spinach on toast, vanilla custard or poached pears. But one evening he requested whipped chocolate cream with porridge. Klara and I went to bed queasy.

On another occasion, after Klara and Thomas had completed their lesson, they decided to make a card for Uncle Ota’s upcoming birthday. I listened to their chatter about the design and what colours to use while I read the newspaper. They were undecided about whether the card should be trimmed in silver or gold foil.

‘What do you think, Adelka?’ Thomas asked me.

‘Both,’ I answered, flipping over the page. I caught my breath when I saw a photograph of Philip.

‘Two-toned?’ said Klara. ‘What a good idea. Do you think…?’

I did not hear the rest of her question. I picked up the paper and rushed to my room, locking the door behind me. I sank to my knees and stared at the picture again.
Doctor Philip Page, back from London, has opened his own practice in Edgecliff
, the caption read.

The article below it said that Philip had written several important papers on the child’s mind and physical health and was an advocate for progressive treatments for illnesses such as infantile paralysis and chickenpox. There was no mention of Beatrice or a child or anything else about him that I longed to know. It had once struck me as strange that Beatrice had never written to me or sent me a thankyou note for the wedding present, but then I stopped thinking about it. I ran my finger over Philip’s face. The luminous eyes were the same but the innocence in them was gone. He had taken on something of his father’s commanding figure.

After that, I lived a tormented existence. I loved Freddy but I found myself seeking out Philip. Whenever I caught the tram, I took a window seat and stared at the people on the footpath. My eyes would search for him in every man. I even thought about going to see Doctor Page Senior on some flimsy excuse to find out about Philip, but wisdom warned me against it.

One day, I was overwhelmed by a desire to see Philip and caught the tram to Edgecliff. I had found out the address of his practice and had carried it around in my pocket for days. The tram stop was at the corner of the street. I alighted, my legs trembling beneath me. I crept past a white picket fence covered in clematis to a gate with a red lantern.

Doctor Philip Page: Children’s Specialist
the brass plate read.

My heart leapt. Philip had achieved his dream.

I put my hand on the gate, unsure whether to proceed or not. What was the wild hope in my heart? What did I expect from seeing Philip? To look in his eyes and see that he still loved me? Well, even if he did, our love could never be.

The door to the surgery opened and woke me from my dream. A nurse came out with a boy walking on crutches. ‘Can I help you?’ she asked. Somehow the coolness of her tone brought the foolishness of what I was doing to light.

‘No. Thank you,’ I said, turning and hurrying away.

After that, I promised myself never to go near Philip’s surgery again.

The following morning, Klara slept in while Freddy and I took breakfast on the terrace. The upset of the day before had given me an appetite and my mouth watered at the sight of scrambled eggs and fresh toast and butter.

I sat down and the maid, Regina, filled my teacup. I took a grapefruit half and sprinkled sugar on it. As I did so I caught Freddy’s eye. He had a smug look on his face.

‘What is it?’ I asked.

‘I’ve been reading my correspondence this morning,’ he said. ‘And the film exchanges have confirmed what I already knew about
In the Dark
.’ He paused and smiled at me. ‘You’re a success, darling.
In the Dark
has been sold not only into the United States but into France and Germany too.’

I dropped the grapefruit. Freddy had named the largest film markets in the world besides Britain and Australia. I could not think of anything to say. I was not so foolish as to think that my first attempt at a feature film was as brilliant as Lang’s
Siegfried
but I had exceeded my own expectations.

‘That’s wonderful, Freddy…I couldn’t have done it without you.’

Despite having given me such astounding news, Freddy seemed to be keeping something back. ‘You’re teasing me,’ I said. ‘Come on, out with it. There’s more, isn’t there?’

‘Hmm,’ he said, picking up a slice of toast and buttering it.

‘Come on, Freddy,’ I begged. ‘This is too much tension for the morning.’

He threw back his head and laughed. ‘All right then,’ he said. ‘I’ll tell you. I sold your bunyip film as a short to go with the feature.’

‘Truly?’ I said, straightening my back and trying to hide my annoyance. Freddy was obviously pleased with himself and I did not wish to deflate him. But I had not expected my amateur film to go anywhere beyond its screening in Australia. It was unpolished in comparison with
In the Dark
. After all, I had made it with scraps of film and for less than two hundred pounds. I was not ashamed of it, but I had not wanted it to be sent out to the wider world.

‘The German distributor sent it out through the European market,’ beamed Freddy. ‘And guess what? It’s been sold into Czechoslovakia! It’s going to be shown in your home country, my dear.’

A chill froze my bones while my mind raced to recall details. For
In the Dark
I had used my married name, Adela Rockcliffe, for the director’s credit. But the bunyip film? My God! Klara had been the star!

Czechoslovakia and Australia were so geographically and culturally distant that I had never expected my films to be shown in my old country. What a fool I had been to put myself out in the public arena. I should have been content to stay hidden!