Silver Wattle (45 page)

When I entered the room, Klara was sitting in bed with her hands clasped around her knees, looking out the window.

‘Klara,’ I said, moving towards the bed. ‘We have received a letter from Doctor Holub.’

Klara changed her position slightly but said nothing. I read her the letter. ‘You see, the man in the audience, whoever he was, was not Milosh.’

‘Yes,’ she murmured. ‘That is what I heard you and Robert saying downstairs. The sitting room is beneath me and your voices carried.’

I moved closer to her. ‘Klara, if Milosh were intending to murder us why would he have turned up at your concert and made himself obvious?’

‘He had disguised himself with a moustache and a wig.’

‘If he was disguised, how do you know it was Milosh?’

Klara sighed. ‘Very well, I will accept your reassurances that I was mistaken and do whatever you wish.’ She sounded so faint and desolate that I had a sense that rather than being reassured, as I had intended, she was questioning the stability of her own mind.

When I returned downstairs Robert and Freddy were in the drawing room. Robert stood up. ‘How is she?’

I could see in his eyes that he was pleading with me to give him some glimmer of hope that Klara had improved if not in body then at least in spirit. I sank into the nearest chair. Robert’s gaze followed me. Freddy reached over and patted my knee. I laid my hand on top of his.

‘We called Philip Page,’ Robert said. ‘He’s coming to see Klara now.’

The implication of Robert’s announcement barely registered with me. Klara was sick. She needed the best help possible.

Philip arrived a short while afterwards, appearing at the same time as Uncle Ota, here to receive an update on Klara’s health. Philip glanced at me when the maid showed him into the drawing room, then turned to Robert. ‘Where is she?’

Mary and I had moved Klara to the sitting room upstairs. For Philip to examine Klara in her bedroom without a female member of the family in attendance would be unseemly, yet I feared that the presence of one of us would inhibit her in telling him everything. The men were looking in my direction; it seemed it had fallen on me to take Philip to Klara.

‘This way,’ I said, indicating the stairs. I walked up them ahead of him and my eyes met his in the mirror at the top of the landing. Our faces coloured. Were we to spend the rest of our lives like this: yearning for each other, but always having to turn away?

Philip spoke with Klara for an hour. When he returned downstairs, the Swans, Uncle Ota, Freddy and I were waiting for him.

‘The death of Klara’s mother was harrowing, to say the least,’ he told us. ‘Now that she’s married and having her first child without her mother present, it may be bringing up those memories for her.’ Philip did not look at me when he spoke, but I was aware that his body was turned in my direction. He paused, then added, ‘That doesn’t mean we shouldn’t take her claim seriously. But Robert has told me that the matter of the stepfather’s whereabouts has been confirmed. My advice would be to keep doing what you have been and to make sure Klara—and, I might add, Adela, for Klara is equally concerned about her—are not left alone. When the stepfather does not appear, she will calm down and turn her mind to other things.’

‘It’s an unsatisfactory situation,’ said Freddy. ‘There are two men and a woman in Europe who killed my wife’s and sister-in-law’s mother. An attempt was made on their lives as well. Until that man and his accomplices are brought to justice, how can either woman have peace?’

‘You are quite right,’ said Philip. ‘Part of the problem for Klara is that the matter is unresolved. Her mother’s killer is still at large, no matter his geographical location.’

Uncle Ota and I exchanged a glance. ‘We will wait until Klara is twenty-one,’ Uncle Ota said. ‘Then we will change the benefactors in the will. After that we will see what we can do about Milosh and his accomplices.’

Philip came to see Klara every day for the next fortnight. Sometimes he stayed for lunch at Mrs Swan’s request, but most often he would excuse himself by saying that he had patients to see. There was something unspoken between us and, while it remained unsaid, it hung heavily in the air whenever we passed each other in the corridor or on the stairs.

Each time Philip left, I had a sense that precious moments had slipped away. I was surprised that no one guessed the turmoil in my heart. Except Klara.

One day, after Philip had left, I went to take her lunch and found her dressed and reading by the window. I wondered if Klara was angry at me for not believing she had seen Milosh, but that afternoon, with the gentle autumn sun on her face, she looked better than she had in weeks. She smiled at me.

‘Have you finished rewriting your script?’ she asked.

I put the tray on the side table and sat down next to her. ‘I have a few scenes left to complete. Freddy says we can shoot it in the Blue Mountains even though it will escalate the budget.’

Klara threw back her head and laughed. ‘That man loves you, Adela. He’d do anything for you.’

‘I love Freddy too,’ I said.

Klara caught the pain in my voice. ‘What is it?’

I was cautious in how I worded the story of Philip and the lie Beatrice had told him. I’d had time to process the revelation but it was the first Klara had heard of the story. She was too shocked to speak for a few moments. Then she shook her head.

‘There was something about Beatrice that I did not trust from the beginning,’ she said. ‘She was too…too buoyant all the time. But I didn’t say anything. I wondered if I were jealous.’ A pained look pinched her brow while she gathered her thoughts. ‘And now you?’ she said, looking at me with pity in her eyes. ‘You still love Philip, don’t you?’

There was no need for me to reply. There were no answers. What could be said to help the situation? Truly, nothing at all.

During one of Philip’s visits, I was alone with Klara in the house, except for the maids who were cleaning the windows. After speaking with Klara, Philip entered the sitting room where I was trying to concentrate on a novel.

‘I’ve done all I can for Klara,’ he told me. ‘She needs to stand on her own feet now if she is to get better. Doctor Fitzgerald will be able to take her through to her delivery.’

The thought that this could be the last time I would see Philip brought me to my feet. ‘But Klara trusts you,’ I said. ‘After all she has been through…’

Philip turned away. ‘I’ve told Klara and she understands. She only asked that I explain it to you.’

His hands were trembling. I hesitated before speaking, then I took the risk.

‘I accept that we cannot be together as man and wife but I can’t accept not having you in my life at all. Can’t we even be friends?’

Philip flinched. ‘What good will that do, Adela,’ he said, ‘when seeing you is painful to me? I don’t want to visit you for cups of tea. I want to care for you. I want to be there when you need me—not as a doctor but as your lover and husband.’

Philip had expressed the desires I harboured in my own heart. If I took a step closer to him our safeguards would collapse. I thought of that dreadful moment in Broughton Hall’s garden when we had looked into each other’s eyes, knowing that we would have to walk away from each other for good.

‘Don’t you see, Adela?’ Philip pleaded. ‘I can’t love you unless I give you up. You did that for me once, remember?’

‘I was wrong,’ I said. ‘Look where it left you.’

‘But Freddy is a good man, isn’t he? He loves you and is honest with you?’

I drew a breath, dazed by pain. When I was with Freddy, I loved him with all my heart. But when I was with Philip, my soul was full of longing. Philip was right. It was impossible for us to be friends.

‘How did this happen?’ I asked him. ‘How did I find you and then lose you?’

Philip moved forward and took me in his arms. My body leapt to life when he pressed his lips to mine. I thought back to the day on Wattamolla beach; I wanted Philip as much now as I had then.

He pulled away. The withdrawal of his touch was like being plunged into cold water. ‘I’d better leave,’ he said, and rushed out into the hall.

The maids were still occupied with the windows so Philip fetched his coat himself from the closet and walked to the door. When he reached it, he turned and gave me one last look that said ‘farewell’.

The sound of the door closing was as sad as the first thud of soil on a coffin. He has gone for good this time, I thought. I reached up and touched my lips. They were warm from when Philip had kissed me.

I walked into the garden and wandered down to the maze. I sat on the bench at its centre, my eyes fixed on the pond, and tried to think but it was too painful. ‘It must be this way,’ I told myself. My heart would not believe it. But I could not be with Philip without going behind the backs of the people who loved me. That, of course, was impossible.

When I returned to the house, I found that Mrs Swan and Mary were home.

‘Adela, you are looking tired,’ Mrs Swan told me. ‘We don’t want you to fall sick as well. Why don’t you take tomorrow off? That’s your gardening day, isn’t it?’

‘I haven’t gardened for a while,’ I said, feeling self-conscious that everyone seemed to know how I spent my Wednesdays. ‘I have been too worried about Klara.’

‘She’s so much better now, and Mary and I can watch her tomorrow. You can come on Thursday with Esther. It won’t help Klara if you become ill too.’

I was grateful for Mrs Swan’s kindness. The truth was, I was exhausted and I needed time alone.

‘Potter around the garden, relax,’ Freddy told me, stooping to kiss my forehead before leaving for the office the following day. ‘You’ve been under enormous strain.’

‘I will,’ I said, stretching up on my tiptoes to return his kiss.

It was Rex’s day off and Regina had gone to the markets. I luxuriated in the peacefulness of the house over a cup of tea before changing into a skirt and cotton blouse. I wanted to plant the bulbs Mrs Swan had given me before they dried out and repot some cyclamens.

Rex kept my gardening tools in a shed behind the garage. My feet crunched on the gravel drive as I made my way towards it. The sun was behind a cloud but the day was mild and I was looking forward to spending a few hours amongst the trees and flowers. I was surprised to find that the door to the shed was open. I peered inside. The garden tools were on their nails and the pots were neatly stacked. I had hoped a possum had found its way in to make a nest on one of the shelves: I missed Angel and Cherub. But no such fortune.

Perhaps the wind last night blew the door open, I thought.

I went to the cupboard and took out a smock and searched around the shelf for my gardening gloves. I was surprised to find that they were tucked into each other in a ball, the way that Freddy liked his socks rolled. I never did that to my gloves. I always brushed them down after use and laid them out flat. I put the gloves in my pocket, picked up a trowel, hand-spade and bucket and headed for the beds at the end of the garden.

I set down my tools on the grass and played with the gloves in my pocket while I inspected the flowerbeds for weeds. The cold had kept most of them at bay but there were places where the grass was growing into the bed. I pulled the gloves out of my pocket and my fingers tingled. I had a sense that someone was watching me. I glanced around but there was no one there.

‘Mother?’ I said, for I smelled the distinct fragrance of lily of the valley and I knew there were none in the garden. The strangest sensation crept over me. It was one of enveloping peace and paralysing terror. But no sooner had the feeling come than it departed and I sensed that I was alone in the garden again.

A ghost had stood by me, of that I was certain. I was usually able to see them, but the sensation I had experienced left no doubt in my mind that I had been given a warning. I thought of Klara and wondered if something was wrong. I looked at the gloves in my hand. There was a lump in one of them, about the size of a walnut. I stared at it and was sure that it moved. Had a mouse gotten into my gloves?

I began to untuck them but my spine tingled and I threw them on the ground. I picked up my trowel and spade and prised them apart. At first nothing happened and the lump in the gloves remained where it was. I was about to pick them up again when two black legs emerged. A pair of fangs followed then more legs and I found myself looking at a large black spider. I was not an arachnophobe—I admired the webs the golden orb weavers made in the garden and the stripes of the St Andrew’s Cross spiders that hung in the lilly-pillies; I did not even mind the hairy huntsman spider that ran across the garage doors whenever I opened them. But I knew about this spider. Rex had warned me. ‘The funnel-web is the deadliest spider in the world, Mrs Rockcliffe,’ he had said. ‘One bite and you’ll be gone in a few hours.’ The paper had reported a woman dying of a funnel-web bite last summer. It had crawled into her washing basket.

I barely felt my legs as I stepped back from the flowerbed then turned and ran to the house.

‘But, darling, we’ve seen those spiders here before. The north shore is their habitat,’ said Freddy that evening, passing me a glass of brandy. ‘It’s all very nice to have a garden with native birds and animals but the spiders think they’re welcome too.’

‘You don’t understand,’ I said. ‘It was tucked into my glove. And the door to the shed had been left open.’

‘Maybe Regina used your gloves to cut some vegetables from the patch. Those spiders are known to climb into people’s galoshes and shoes.’

‘Then how did it get inside my gloves? They were balled up like a trap, and it must have been done recently otherwise the spider would have starved.’

Freddy sat down on the windowsill and folded his arms, thinking. ‘I’ve heard that they do crawl around a lot, you know, when they’re mating and after the rain.’

‘That’s in summer, Freddy. And it hasn’t rained for weeks. Someone put it there.’

‘Who in our house would put a deadly spider in your gloves? Adela? Rex? Regina?’

Freddy held my gaze. A shadow passed over his face and he stood up and paced the floor before sitting down next to me and taking my hand.