Silver Wattle, page 21
After the ice-cream, we continued our walk through the Gardens along the path to the ponds. A child ran past, chasing a ball that was gathering momentum as it rushed down the hill towards the water. Frederick and Robert sped after it, with Klara, her concert dress hitched up to her knees, after them. Philip slipped his arm through mine. ‘Come,’ he said.
I hardly noticed where he was leading me until we stood in a grove of trees sheltered from the sight of the others. He grabbed my hands and we clung to each other like two frightened children. His eyes searched my face. The breeze blew through the trees and rustled my dress and hair. Philip threw his arms around my waist and his lips swept over my face in search of mine. I felt delirious, as if I were sinking into a dream. But I woke from it with a start.
‘No, stop!’ I said, pushing him away. ‘Beatrice. You’re engaged now.’
Philip’s eyes flickered. ‘Perhaps now that she has finally agreed, it’s me who’s not sure.’
I swallowed. ‘Why do you say that?’
‘When I’m with you, I feel things I don’t with her. I’m engaged to the wrong woman.’
Since that day in the car, whenever I thought about Philip I tried to imagine that Beatrice was his sister. I was happiest when I could abandon myself to such fantasies. But fantasies could not become real.
‘Am I frightening you, Adela?’ Philip asked, his voice unsteady. ‘Or do you feel it too?’
If it was love he was feeling, then my heart was burning with it. I saw now that the flame had been ignited the first time I had met him in his cramped office and had grown steadily ever since. Now it was like a forest fire, in danger of engulfing everything.
‘Yes,’ I stammered. ‘I love you. I love everything about you. But I don’t want you to break off your engagement. Not unless you are sure.’
‘I am sure,’ he said, stepping towards me.
I rejected his embrace. ‘No, don’t see me for a month,’ I told him. ‘Be only with Beatrice. If you still feel the same way then I will see you, but not before then.’
I heard the excited voices of Klara and the others returning from the pond. I rushed out of the grove to meet them. The boy was on Robert’s shoulders, his rescued ball in his hands. Frederick was helping Klara, whose shoes were slipping on the grass, back up the hill.
Philip brushed his fingers down my back, then moved a step away.
Frederick drove us home, along with Robert, because Philip had to return to Broughton Hall for the evening rounds. Once we were in the house, I wanted nothing more than to take off my dress and disappear under the bedcovers. I was about to run up the stairs when Klara put her hand on my arm. She was too astute not to have guessed the cause of my distraction.
‘You’re in love with Doctor Page, aren’t you?’ she said.
‘God help me,’ I told her. ‘He is engaged to his childhood sweetheart. She is a wonderful person. I don’t want to hurt her. I don’t know what to do.’
Klara took a step towards me. There was love in her eyes but I did not feel I deserved it.
‘I can’t blame Philip for falling in love with you,’ she said. ‘Who couldn’t? And you are well suited.’
‘But Beatrice?’
Klara looked away and nodded. She was at as much of a loss as I was about the answer to that problem.
Uncle Ota screened The Ghost of Spooky Hill at Tilly’s Cinema. The audience booed it so much that it only ran for two nights. The curtains and the tablecloth on the set kept flapping, and in one climactic scene I was caught in the frame with the slate in my hand. The redeeming points were that Peter did not seem to mind the audience’s reaction and that Hugh’s cinematography was outstanding. If Hugh could get a start on one quality film, then he would have a magnificent career ahead of him. But there were few professional directors willing to give a one-legged cameraman a chance.
One day I received a note from Hugh asking me to meet him at the Vegetarian Cafe the following afternoon. When I arrived he was sitting in his usual booth with Giallo on his shoulder.
‘Hello, pretty!’ said Giallo, lifting his claw to scratch his head.
‘Where did he learn that?’ I asked Hugh. ‘Is that what you say to him?’
‘No,’ said Hugh, almost smiling. ‘He just knows what I’m thinking.’
I laughed, pleased to see Hugh was in a good mood. I was not so vain as to think he was flirting with me. I was sure I was the only woman he could say that sort of thing to because he felt safe with me.
We ordered cold milk and cheese sandwiches. When they arrived, Hugh spread his hands on the table. ‘I’ve got good news for you,’ he said. ‘Yet another Australian production company has gone to the wall and I managed to persuade the assistant director to give me some end-of-reel pieces of film. I’ve got about six or seven minutes’ worth. Enough for a decent short film. I can shoot something for you if you come up with a tight script.’
‘Truly?’ I asked, almost jumping out of my seat with joy. ‘You want to work with me?’
I was over the moon that Hugh had remembered the conversation we’d had about making a picture together. He seemed as pleased as I was by the unexpected windfall.
‘The only problem will be the developing and editing,’ he said. ‘That can be expensive.’
‘I can probably cover the development for a short film,’ I told him. ‘And my aunt can do the editing if you show her how.’
Hugh raised his eyebrows.
‘Quite often the films we get at the cinema are damaged. Ranjana has to cut and splice all the time,’ I told him. ‘She’s good at it.’
‘Well then, you just need actors now.’
‘Oh, I have those,’ I said. ‘I think it’s time you met my family.’
My good fortune in finding a talented cameraman and a supply of film was a welcome distraction from thinking about Philip. I had told him not to see me for a month but found myself fretting that I had not heard from him. Perhaps he had forgotten me and was busy planning his wedding. That would be better for everybody, but the idea vexed me so much that one afternoon, on my way to the cinema, I did not look where I was going and was almost run over by a tram. In the end I decided the only solution was not to allow myself to think about Philip at all.
I sat with Esther’s old typewriter under the silver gum and wrote a short film about a picnic where a boy sees a bunyip but nobody believes him. Uncle Ota and Klara agreed to act in the picture, while Esther took on the role of script girl and Ranjana offered to help with the catering. The boy was to be played by Mr Tilly’s nephew, Ben.
It took us two days to make the film. Uncle Ota was a natural actor, but Klara stole the show. In one scene she was sitting on the beach with Ben. She had not noticed that the camera was rolling and she was telling him about Mister Rudolf. Her animated facial expressions and Ben’s delight were magic. When Klara glanced at the camera and saw that Hugh was filming, she brought her hand to her cheek and smiled. Her face lit up with an incandescent beauty.
‘You were right,’ said Hugh, when we took a short meal break before moving the camera. ‘Your family are actors.’
Everyone sat down on a picnic blanket to eat the sandwiches that Ranjana had prepared. I noticed that Esther was sneaking glances in Hugh’s direction. There were tears in her eyes. Hugh and Esther’s fiance would have been about the same age. Her pity would irritate Hugh if he became aware of it. I diverted his attention to Giallo, who had moved himself to Thomas’s shoulder.
‘Rather good,’ Thomas said to Giallo, pointing at the harbour. He was starting to speak in short phrases and in a mix of Czech and formal English.
‘Hiccup!’ Giallo cackled.
‘Hiccup!’ agreed Thomas.
Ranjana burst into laughter. ‘God help us! My son is being taught to speak by a bird!’
‘Oh well,’ said Uncle Ota. ‘Not everyone can boast of a child fluent in English, Czech, Marwari and Cockatoo!’
Raymond Longford’s film The Blue Mountains Mystery was scheduled to screen at Tilly’s Cinema in September. Uncle Ota suggested that we premiere my film as a short teaser before it. But in order to get it on the program, we had to edit it quickly.
Ranjana, Hugh and I sat up after the last picture session each night for a week to cut and splice the film in the projection room. I’d had no idea that a six-minute picture could be so time-consuming, and now understood why the editing of a feature film sometimes took months.
‘It’s three o’clock in the morning,’ I said during one session, looking at my watch.
Hugh had a part-time job in a studio the following day so I told him to go home. There were only the final intertitles to be added and Ranjana and I could finish the edit in the morning. When we returned home, Ranjana’s eyes were drooping with exhaustion.
‘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.
