The Opal Desert Page 3

  ‘It was just a date, Mum.’

  ‘But when you said you were going out with a sculptor, I assumed it was someone from your art school. A student, not a teacher. You’re only twenty-two and this man looks so much older. I’m not sure what your father would think.’

  Kerrie waited for another comment about her late father, a man who had died when she was eleven, but whose presence was always in their lives as her mother had raised him to a level close to sainthood. Kerrie had warm memories of him but her mother had declared that no other man could measure up to her late husband. So she devoted herself to the home they had made together and raised their only child. Glynis Jackson had worked as a secretary in a small building firm, but her husband had left them comfortably off in their northern beaches home, near the good school where Kerrie had been sent.

  Kerrie could not fault her mother’s devotion and perhaps the only criticism she could make of her mother was the fact she kept so much to herself. Her mother’s best friend was her late husband’s sister whose two sons worked interstate and rarely visited, so Kerrie hadn’t grown up with much family around. Even at Christmas the two of them had enjoyed the time by themselves, generally going to the beach for a picnic lunch. At other times of the year they might go to barbecues at neighbours’ places. As a teenager Kerrie sometimes spent time with girlfriends’ families, but never stayed away much more than a night.

  ‘Well, I hope you know what you’re doing, Kerrie. Older men can be very . . . casual. Don’t get too serious. I don’t want you getting hurt,’ said her mother.

  Kerrie was amused by her mother’s advice. Glynis was a woman who’d always prided herself on the fact that she’d never gone out with any man other than Kerrie’s father. ‘You sound very worldly, Mum. Don’t worry, we’re just having fun.’

  ‘No offence, darling, but why on earth would a man as sophisicated as Milton Faranisi be interested in you?

  I know you’re young and pretty, but I think that you could be just an easy target.’

  The remark was said quite innocently and Kerrie knew there was no deliberate malice, but the blatant comment made her laugh out loud. ‘He says I make him feel young. He likes the fact I’m deeply interested in his work. I don’t make any demands on him. His daughters are very immature, so they don’t really provide him with stimulating company.’

  ‘So he has a family? Have you met them yet?’

  ‘Oh, Mum, lighten up.’ Kerrie laughed. ‘I’m happy, I’m having a good time, and there are no strings attached, I promise.’

  ‘Well, I hope that you’re right.’

  ‘He’s not a bad man, Mum. He’s full of life, and he’s kind and generous. I know he’s famous in Australia, but he makes me feel important, too. He really does like talking with me,’ said Kerrie with some heat.

  ‘Talking!’ snapped her mother. ‘Well, I just hope you know what you’re doing. Please be careful.’

  ‘Mum, I’m just fine. You worry too much and there’s no need.’

  Not surprisingly, Kerrie and Milton did become lovers and Kerrie never felt more womanly or sensuous. Milton was unlike the boys she’d previously had sex with. At the time, she had thought that they were enamoured and deeply in love with her, but she now saw how shallow they’d been, merely satisfying themselves. Any time they subsequently spent with her seemed like an obligation for a sexual payoff.

  Milton was different. He pleasured her, lingered over her body, played with her, teased her and satisfied her. Sometimes she skipped a class to while away an afternoon in his studio where he had a single bed and a long table littered with hand-painted bowls, empty pizza boxes, a wine decanter and sketchbooks. A shelf held some of his clothes. There was a small kitchen and in the garden was an open-air shower hooked to the roof. Its floor was merely wooden slats and the water ran underneath it and onto a garden that contained one of his bronze works rising from a small pond. A large cement square at the end of a driveway was specially constructed with scaffolding designed to hold weighty stones which could be lifted in place by a hoist. A shed was fitted out with a forge and also contained woodworking tools and more machinery and equipment for making moulds and casts than there were at the art school.

  Kerrie loved Milton’s studio, a large space in the inner city completely surrounded by a thick wall of bamboo. If it wasn’t for the banging and the sound of the machinery Milton used when he worked, few would have known of this oasis.

  Once or twice he’d taken her to the house where he lived with his daughters when they were at school. It was a large home in Rose Bay with panoramic views, a pool and an overgrown garden. When Kerrie peered into the girls’ rooms, she saw that they were filled with stuffed toys, posters and piles of messy clothes.

  The master bedroom was coolly white with a large black and white Brett Whitely drawing on one wall and little else. The bed faced double windows with an expansive view of the harbour. But the house, apart from the girls’ rooms, seemed impersonal to Kerrie.

  Curled up in Milton’s arms, Kerrie asked, ‘Why don’t you have anything more personal here? This is like a hotel room.’

  ‘I’ve never liked this house. My wife bought it. I prefer my studio. I also have a little place in Italy that I like.’

  ‘Why don’t you have a place here that you like, too? Isn’t Australia your home?’

  ‘Would you like to see my place in Italy?’ he asked suddenly.

  ‘Of course I would!’ exclaimed Kerrie.

  ‘I can go next week. Come with me.’ He was matter of fact – as if this invitation presented no problems at all.

  ‘Milton! I have art school. I have an assignment to do. What about your daughters? Will they be coming too?’

  ‘No, they have school. The housekeeper will look after them. And they are used to me coming and going these days. They’ll be fine. Kerrie, if you come with me to Italy, you’ll learn more about art than a year of lectures at that school.’

  ‘You said it was a good school,’ protested Kerrie.

  He nuzzled her hair with his lips. ‘But my school is better. Come with me. I like having you around. You’ll like Italy.’

  Kerrie sensed that Milton’s offer was not an idle one and if she didn’t take it their relationship would founder. In an odd way it was a kind of test.

  ‘You’ll have to meet my mother first.’

  ‘Mothers always like me,’ he said simply and kissed her. The decision was made.

  Not surprisingly, Glynis was dubious at first.

  ‘I think that you’re throwing away your career prospects. You’re in your final year. You should finish the course.’

  ‘Mum, wait till you meet Milton. This is a fantastic opportunity. Just think what he’ll show me. I’d be mad not to take up the offer.’

  And Milton was right. Her mother was charmed. He persuaded her that he’d look after Kerrie like the precious treasure she was and, by taking her to the best galleries and museums in Italy, he’d give her a better education in art than she’d ever get in Australia.

  ‘I know every statue, carving and painting in every gallery and street and piazza in all of Roma!’ he proclaimed.

  ‘I can see why you’re smitten with him,’ agreed Glynis later. ‘I know that I should protest, but I also know that it wouldn’t do any good.’

  ‘Thanks, Mum. I’ll bring you back a really good pressie,’ said Kerrie, pleased to accept the olive branch.

  Kerrie ignored her friends’ digs about Milton and her impending trip to Italy. She knew that they were all wildly jealous and she took the whole thing in her stride. Sam told her that he thought that her c’est la vie approach to life made her a refreshing change for Milton, since he was probably used to more manipulative women who were after his money. But while Kerrie had no guile, she was not naive. She knew that Milton liked her directness and honesty and her ability to make him laugh. Moreover, the fact that she genuinely admired his work and was keen to learn from him flattered his ego.

  They spent
a month in Italy and Kerrie wished their time there would never end. She was thirsty to see as much as she could and because of Milton’s growing reputation, they had entrees to private showings and meetings, and often dined with arts administrators, curators and other prominent artists. The two of them seemed so compatible that only once was Kerrie asked if she was Milton’s daughter.

  ‘I think that we’ve had enough art for the time being,’ Milton announced one morning. ‘How about we go down the coast so that I can show you my little villa?’

  ‘Where is it?’

  ‘Porto Ercole, a couple of hours south. I bought it years ago. One of the smartest things I’ve ever done. Back then Porto Ercole was a quaint fishing village, now it’s a massive marina and tourist place but in the off season, like now, it’s still a liveable place.’

  Looking back, Kerrie always thought those days at Milton’s very modest but delightful old villa with its views over the sweep of the bay and the town below were quite magical. Milton worked on sketches and ideas for a new work he had been commissioned to do, while Kerrie shopped in the small market and learnt to cook local dishes. She kept a diary in which she put small pen and ink sketches of people and scenes, as well as watercolours of the landscape and the buildings in the old quarter.

  Milton didn’t share his work ideas with her, nor ask to see what she was doing, although she did once catch him flipping through her sketchbook, then putting it to one side without commenting. However he was effusive and complimentary about her cooking of the regional dishes, and made her promise to make him an Italian meal at least once every week after they got home.

  They took a break from the villa and Milton hired a convertible. Kerrie held her breath as he drove ridiculously fast and kept asking him why he had to drive like he was in a grand prix.

  ‘Just keeping up with the traffic,’ he assured her even when they’d left the autostrade and were driving along the spectacular coast road. Kerrie couldn’t bear to look at the sea below them as they wound towards Amalfi but once they were cruising through the picturesque towns and villages, she was entranced. They stopped for coffee and then wound uphill to the town of Ravello where they had lunch with one of Milton’s friends in a villa which had spectacular views across the valley to the sea.

  Afterwards they wandered around the small square, dominated by the cathedral, and along the narrow lanes behind the walls of villas with their hidden gardens and stunning views. Kerrie was enchanted. Milton took her to see the magnificent gardens of the Villa Cimbrone and there, over lunch on the terrace, he gave her a beautiful gold filigree bracelet.

  ‘It’s from the jewellery store next to the duomo steps. You can change it if you don’t like it,’ he said. ‘Put it on so I can see how it looks.’

  ‘I love it. But Milton, it looks so . . . expensive,’ she exclaimed. ‘I’m not sure that I should accept it.’

  ‘Nonsense. I am simply thanking you for your excellent company over the past few weeks. The bracelet suits you because it is not ornate. It’s understated and tasteful. Like you. Actually, you do dress rather well,’ Milton said, looking at her simple sundress. ‘But I think that you could use some better sandals. While we’re here, we’ll shop for shoes for you.’

  Kerrie lifted her foot and inspected her narrow brown foot and her basic, if somewhat worn, leather sandal.

  ‘Thank you, Milton. But I don’t like glitzy shoes,’ she said. ‘I don’t want to accept any more presents from you. I owe you quite enough.’

  ‘Rubbish. You owe me nothing. Your company has been my payment. But your shoes! I think that we should buy a pair of Italy’s softest and finest leather sandals. You’ll see. And your feet will thank me.’ He blew a kiss towards her toes.

  ‘I like being spoiled,’ said Kerrie.

  ‘Enjoy, cara. I want you to be happy. Remember times like these when I am deep in my work and you might feel neglected.’

  Ten days later Milton announced that he was going to Holland about a commission for another work, so Kerrie had to make her own way back to Australia.

  Glynis Jackson didn’t ask too many questions about the sojourn in Italy and when Kerrie went back to art school, she refused to tell her classmates much about the trip at all, except to say that it had been educational.

  A week later Milton turned up in a flurry of talk, plans and good humour, bearing gifts for Kerrie and her mother.

  ‘I’m so over Dutch food. You can cook me something Italian,’ he said to Kerrie.

  ‘I’m glad my mother didn’t hear you say that,’ she replied.

  ‘Why? Do I make you sound like my servant?’ he asked, surprised.

  ‘Well, she does think you boss me around.’

  ‘I think if you love someone, you would want to cook for them. If you like, I could cook something for you then . . .’

  ‘Please, don’t. I’ve sampled your cooking and know why you buy so much takeaway pizza! All right then, I’ll make us some pasta.’

  ‘Perfect. And after dinner I’ll show you my plans for the Dutch work. The formwork I can make in the studio in Australia and then ship it over and do the casting and finishing in Holland. We’ll be away for several weeks, or longer.’

  Kerrie stared at him. ‘You expect me to go to Holland with you? For weeks, months? To cook?’

  ‘Not as my cook, my darling. I can always hire someone to do that for us.’

  ‘Milton, be practical! I can’t drop my life and go to Holland with you for however long you’re there, even with a cook supplied,’ laughed Kerrie.

  ‘I enjoy having you around. You’re good for me. Anyway, what plans did you have when you finish these art classes?’

  Kerrie felt confused. ‘I told you, if I’m good enough to support myself painting, then I will. If not, I guess I’ll have to look into advertising, graphic design or something.’

  ‘And that’s what you want? You’ll learn far more travelling with me than burying yourself here, in Australia. I am rescuing you, Kerrie!’

  ‘From what? My life is happy. I have a passion I’m pursuing, I have friends . . .’

  ‘You have a boring life. You still live with your mother, who is nice enough, but your home life isn’t very exciting. Don’t you want to spread your wings? Please, can’t you make me the passion in your life?’ He grabbed her shoulders and pulled her to him, forcing his lips to hers. Kerrie pulled away and stared at him, breathless and at a loss at this outburst. But he wasn’t finished. ‘We can do wonderful things together. I promise you that if you marry me, you will have a life you never imagined or dreamed.’

  2

  KERRIE’S LIFE WAS QUICKLY turned upside down. She had little time to herself. Milton wanted them to get married before he had to return to work in Holland.

  ‘A three-month engagement doesn’t seem very practical,’ said her mother. ‘We have a wedding to plan.’

  ‘Milton doesn’t want a big fancy affair, he likes things to be more casual, more fun, not formal,’ said Kerrie. ‘After all, he’s been married before.’

  ‘But you haven’t!’ exclaimed Glynis. ‘You haven’t even got an engagement ring.’

  ‘Actually, I do. He gave me one last night,’ said Kerrie holding out her hand to show her mother the diamond and emerald ring. ‘He had it made.’

  ‘It’s very nice, Kerrie, lovely, in fact. But this decision seems rather sudden. Are you sure you’re not being swept up in the glamour of this man and his life? What about his daughters? What do they think of this engagement?’

  Kerrie sighed. ‘They don’t know yet. Milton is breaking the news to them and then we’re having a family dinner. I’ve only met two of them, briefly, but I don’t think they realised Milton was serious about me. Alia is the youngest, then Luisa, then Renata is the eldest. They’re all very close to their father.’

  ‘That’s hardly surprising, since they have no mother. Who looks after them when their father’s away?’

  ‘He has a housekeeper. A nanny, I guess. She’s be
en with them since their mother died. Wendy’s her name and she’s a former boarding house mistress. Strict with the girls, according to Milton, but very loving. Apparently the girls adore her.’

  ‘How do you feel about a readymade family? How old are they? Thirteen, eleven and nine? They might still be children, but they’re not much younger than you. You might find them a bit of a handful.’

  ‘We haven’t had a chance to get to know each other yet. I’m hoping I can relate to them in a different way, more of a big sister or young aunt and not a parental figure.’

  Glynis didn’t look convinced. ‘I think you’re being optimistic. Perhaps you should get to know them before the wedding is announced. They will feel threatened by you. It won’t be easy for you in that situation.’

  ‘He loves me, Mum. And I love him. The girls will get used to our marriage . . . eventually.’

  But Kerrie’s optimism was shattered when she encountered the hostility and coldness with which Milton’s daughters greeted her. They were polite, shook her hand, but did not smile.

  Renata said to Kerrie in a very cool voice, ‘We give you our congratulations and hope you will make our father happy. Now we have to go and help Wendy in the kitchen.’

  Alia stood, staring balefully at Kerrie. ‘We don’t want you as our mother.’

  ‘Alia! Be nice to Kerrie,’ said Milton. ‘I told you Kerrie will be your friend.’

  ‘Is she going to live here?’

  ‘Of course. This is a large house,’ said Milton affably, going to the sideboard and pouring two glasses of wine.

  ‘I can never replace your mother, Alia,’ said Kerrie. ‘But I hope we can be friends and I can help you. I’m sure that we will all get along and make your father happy.’

  ‘We have enough friends already. And we have Wendy.’

  Kerrie didn’t want to get into an argument with an angry nine year old. She glanced at Milton, hoping that he would say something to support her, but he just shrugged and handed her a glass of wine.

  ‘Alia, come and sit on my lap and give me a hug. I’ve missed you,’ he said.