Thornwood House (31 page)

‘He said to give you this.’

I read the now-familiar handwriting:
Audrey, gone to see a sick lamb, will be there soon, cheers Dan.

‘He had an emergency callout,’ Corey explained, ‘and had to arrange for his nurse to go with him.’

Oh, hello. ‘Nurse?’

‘He suspects his little woolly patient might have a heart murmur, and part of the test for that is to listen to the heartbeat via a stethoscope. It’s unavoidable, as it’s the only way to know for certain in this case if something’s wrong. Danny has an arsenal of whiz-bang gadgets designed to monitor pulse and breath and guage blood oxygen, but once in a while he needs to listen. Since for him listening is a dual impossibility – typical man that he is, as well as being stone deaf – he employs the assistance of a vet nurse. Danny hates to admit his limitations, but there are things he can’t risk overlooking. Hence, Nancy.’

‘Of course.’

‘She’s a real sweetie – just out of vet school, a local girl and a bit of a firecracker. You’d like her.’

I smiled stiffly. ‘Yeah, well . . . I hope you’re hungry?’

‘Starving.’

‘Great!’ I slumped off along the path, feeling flat as an image of Nancy flashed through my mind: tall, blonde, supermodel gorgeous. God, a firecracker – what did that entail, exactly? Danny was probably smitten with her, and who could blame him? Working closely together, relying on each other for important information. Providing encouragement when things went wrong, celebrating small victories. Well, good luck to them –

‘Hey, it’s amazing!’ Corey had stomped up the stairs behind me and now stood beaming about the lounge room. ‘I’m impressed, Audrey – it’s not what I was expecting at all.’

Her smile infected me, and I gladly abandoned my fixation with Nancy the Firecracker.

‘I knew you’d love it,’ I said, grinning back at her. ‘Come on, let’s dump this stuff out back and I’ll show you around.’

‘I can’t get over the furniture.’ Corey appraised the dining room in wonderment. ‘You’re right, Audrey, it’s not creepy at all, it’s
stunning. Smart move, to mix your own pieces in with Samuel’s old stuff.’ She drifted over to a set of tribal masks hung near the doorway. ‘What are they, African – ?’

‘They’re from the Sepik River. Aunt Morag acquired them when she lived in New Guinea in the nineteen-fifties.’

‘Aunt Morag lived in New Guinea?’

‘Born there. Her parents were missionaries.’

‘Fascinating . . . I can see we’re going to have to discuss the old dear in microscopic detail. I’m dying to hear all about her – oh.’

She’d stopped in front of a series of framed photographs: Bronwyn dressed as a fairy, her wings sparkling in firelight, her tutu decorated with tinsel stars. The photos had been snapped at a bonfire party we’d attended years ago. At three, Bronwyn had been delicate as a pixie with her mop of flaxen hair and sharp little features, delighting everyone with her tireless dancing. Further along was another snap of Bronwyn, age six, in the botanical garden at Daylesford being swarmed by ladybirds.

‘Audrey . . . are these yours?’

‘Yep, early ones on film, before I converted to digital. This one here,’ I said indicating the ladybirds, ‘was taken the year Tony walked out . . . I got a bit fanatical about trying to capture everything Bronwyn did. I guess I was still hoping that Tony would come back to us. Of course, that never happened – but I ended up with a lot of great images.’

Corey sighed. ‘Tony always was a bit of a dork.’

I found myself smiling, remembering how Glenda had called him that too. ‘I guess he was.’

‘A loveable dork, though. I’ve got a ton of funny stories about him as a kid – him and Danny were joined at the hip, more like brothers than best friends, a right pair of scallywags, always up to trouble.’ She looked more closely at the fairy photos, nudged me with her elbow. ‘These are special, kiddo. Got any more?’

In my studio I dug out a folio of newer work that I thought Corey might like: informal portraits, many in stark black and
white – a Sikh wedding; elderly twin sisters in their gothic Toorak mansion; a shy old Jewish man displaying his wrist for the camera.

‘Poor old codger, look at that.’ Corey bent closer to examine the numbers inked into the man’s forearm. ‘It’s a beautiful shot, but so terribly sad. God, look at his dear old face, so trusting. How could anyone even think about feeling trust after what he must have been through?’

She marvelled a moment more, then continued rummaging in silence. The mood had sobered between us. It seemed the right time to tell her, but I was struggling with where to begin. I decided to dive right in.

‘Corey?’

‘Hmmm?’

‘Bronwyn and I paid a visit to William Road this morning.’ A pause. ‘We met Luella Jarman.’

Corey straightened abruptly and looked at me, the photo pinched between her thumb and forefinger forgotten.

‘Luella? You met her?’

‘Yes.’

A pallor had risen, making her freckles dance across her face. ‘How . . . how was she?’

‘She was fragile,’ I recalled. ‘Nervous at first – although once we got chatting she seemed to relax. She and Bronwyn hit it off straightaway, they had a great old natter. Luella kept saying how pleased she was that we dropped in.’

Corey pondered my face as though she’d never noticed it before. ‘How did she look . . . I mean, is she all right?’

From the concern in Corey’s eyes, I knew what she was really asking: Had Luella neglected herself, had grief turned her into a shadow of the woman she’d once been? Had she, in her state of reclusiveness, let her house – and perhaps her sanity – fall to ruin around her?

‘She seems well, as far as I can see. And she looked great. The house is immaculate, not a speck of dust anywhere . . . and she’s
got some lovely old paintings of Tony’s dotted around the walls. We had morning tea on the verandah. She and Bronwyn spent most of the time poring over old photo albums. Luella must have enjoyed herself, because she invited Bronwyn back to see her again tomorrow.’

Corey blinked. ‘I confess, I’m flabbergasted. Gosh, I’d so love to catch up with her, it’s been years. Do you think she’d cope?’

Something in my expression must have betrayed my reservations, because she hurried on, ‘Hey, I should wait a while . . . let her get used to seeing you and Bronwyn first, before having to deal with the swarming masses. Maybe in a few weeks, when she’s feeling stronger?’

‘I’ll talk to her,’ I offered, ‘test the water. You could come along with us one day. I’m sure she’d be delighted to see you.’

Corey nodded, but she was obviously shaken. ‘I must say I’m glad you ignored my warning . . . Poor old Luella, it’s about time she had a bit of joy in her life. Heaven knows, it’s been a long time coming . . .’ She seemed about to say more, her lips parted and she took in a breath – but then faltered. To my surprise, her eyes filled. She blinked, not looking at me now, not even looking at the photo she still held in her fingertips, but somewhere in between.

I resisted the urge to slip my arm around her shoulders. I sensed she wasn’t the type to accept physical comfort, and I wasn’t the type to offer it. Besides, as Aunt Morag liked to say, the best remedy for anything was usually distraction.

‘Come on,’ I said, leaving the photos where they lay, patting Corey heartily on the back. ‘Let’s get that barbie fired up, I’m starving.’

By the time we reached the kitchen, Corey had regained her chirpy old self.

‘I don’t know where that brother of mine is,’ she said, wrestling open her cooler bag, pulling out a pile of white-paper
parcels, ‘but he’s holding up the show. Why don’t we start without him? These tofu snags are starting to get restless.’

I glanced at the clock. It was nearly five. ‘You’re right, by the time everything’s cooked, the girls’ll be feral with hunger.’ I grabbed the dish of marinated salmon steaks, and as we headed outside we passed the kitchen window.

The window looked onto the verandah and afforded us a clear view of Jade and Bronwyn, who were sitting side by side on the back steps. They had their backs to us, chattering quietly, heads together, taking turns to view each other through the wrong end of an old telephoto lens.

Corey nudged me. She put a finger to her lips, and we paused a moment to spy on them.

Jade adjusted the lens and passed it to Bronwyn.

‘Eliza says it’s worse when you reach fifteen, ’cos then they get all panicky about boys. Dad’s already showing signs of queasiness if I so much as mention a guy in class.’

Bronwyn removed her eye from the lens and regarded Jade. ‘Who’s Eliza?’

‘She’s Aunty Corey’s girlfriend. I call them Aunty Corey and Uncle Eliza.’ Jade’s dark eyes narrowed and she smiled mischievously. ‘Aunty Corey’s gay, didn’t you know?’

Bronwyn shrugged. ‘I do now.’

Corey groaned and shot me a woeful look. ‘Serves me right for spying,’ she whispered. ‘Not the most dignified way to come out of the closet . . .’

I didn’t reply. Jade had my full attention because she hadn’t finished. By the look on Bronwyn’s face, I wasn’t the only one captivated by the unexpected revelation.

Jade was obviously enjoying herself. ‘Have you ever seen two girls kissing?’

Bronwyn goggled. ‘No.’

‘It’s a bit gross at first, especially when they start groping each other, but definitely worse when they – ’

‘Jade!’

Corey rapped on the glass, making both girls – and me – jump. Marching out onto the verandah, she tossed her parcel of snags on the bench beside the Weber.

‘What?’ Jade said, shrugging.

Corey gave her niece a narrow look. ‘Haven’t I told you about polite conversation? Audrey and Bronwyn don’t want to hear the gory details of my private life . . . at least not before dinner.’

Jade shrugged again. ‘Sure. Where’s Dad?’

A resigned sigh. ‘Running late.’ Ripping open her paper parcel, Corey exposed a half-dozen limp grey sausages. She draped them onto the sizzling grill and prodded them with a spatula. Flopping into a nearby deckchair, she glowered at me, obviously awaiting my response.

I hovered over the grill, arranging capsicum kebabs in the gaps between Corey’s sausages. That done, I wrenched the tops off two Crownies and passed one to Corey. She eyed me as she took it, but I only smiled and settled into the deckchair beside hers, losing myself for a moment in a long smooth swallow of beer.

It felt good to have company. It felt good to see Bronwyn enjoying herself with someone her own age. It felt good to sit on the shady verandah, listening to the hiss of the barbecue and the twitter of birds, free from any pressing agenda, and – for the moment – free from any nagging worries. I decided to give myself permission, just for one night, to forget about Samuel and Aylish and my quest to uncover their story. I felt the tentacles of obsession retreating, leaving me in peace for once as the knots of my relentless curiosity began to unwind.

My moment was short-lived. A distant rumble infiltrated the onion-and-herb-scented tranquillity. The sound was barely there at first, the faint hum of an errant bee, getting louder as the car approached.

I tracked its progress in my mind. It would be at the base of the service road, a black Toyota truck with chrome wheels
and dog hair on the seats. Rattling along the potholed gravel, merging in and out of the shadows as it passed beneath the trees, along the rim of the valley with its bowl of emerald pastures, finally bursting through the eucalypt grove below the house as Corey’s Merc had done an hour before.

‘Dad’s here!’ Jade cried, and she and Bronwyn leapt up and ran out to greet him.

Corey took the opportunity, rounding on me the moment the girls were out of earshot.

‘Audrey, are you so terribly shocked?’

A twinge of guilt. Glenda’s diary entry about Corey trying to kiss her erupted in my mind, full technicolour. I should have confessed then. About the diary, about all of it. Glenda’s story competition and Cleve’s revelations about having known Aylish as a boy; his fight with Luella, and then his violent attack on Hobe Miller. About Bronwyn’s discovery of the tin box in the tree, and how, several days later, I’d happened upon Hobe with his arm in the hollow trunk, searching –