The Opal Desert Page 5

  ‘Where are you studying? Les Beaux-Arts? It is near here.’

  ‘Unfortunately, no. But my husband is a sculptor and he did give a lecture there recently.’

  ‘Is that so? And you a painter. What a family. Who is your husband? Would I know of him?’

  ‘Milton Faranisi. His family was from Italy but he . . .’

  ‘Is Australian. Of course. I know of him. His work has become quite famous. You are privileged to be married to such a man. I hope you enjoy your time in Paris and work well with your Sennelier supplies.’

  Kerrie hugged the large parcel as she walked back along the Seine, smiling at people who had set up easels and were painting the familiar scenes. One woman sat on the grass swiftly sketching a bridge as a baby lay on a rug beside her. Kerrie paused, sighed and walked on. When she passed a small store selling exquisitely embroidered lingerie, she went in. After looking at several beautiful garments, a tiny pink baby’s dress, embroidered with roses and pale pink smocking with puffball sleeves and a satin sash, caught her eye. It was the sweetest thing she’d ever seen.

  ‘You have the good eye, madame,’ said the lady behind the counter. ‘C’est magnifique, n’est pas?’

  ‘I’m afraid I don’t have anyone to give it to,’ said Kerrie.

  ‘But this is an heirloom! A treasure,’ exclaimed the woman. ‘One day you will have the perfect little girl for this dress.’

  Without really knowing why, Kerrie bought the little dress and paid more for it than several of the items of lingerie she bought for herself. Back in their apartment that afternoon, she laid the lingerie on the bed but tucked the baby dress and art supplies into a suitcase in the closet.

  Milton was elated at the sight of the lingerie and demanded that she put it on for him right away.

  It was dark before they left the bed and Milton was ravenous.

  ‘Let’s go to Pietro’s to eat. What a wonderful day. I love Paris.’

  Milton did not conquer just Paris. He was also acclaimed in Rome, London and New York as one of the world’s foremost sculptors. He seemed to be forever working and the house at Rose Bay, at times, seemed more like a hotel than their home.

  The girls were growing. Renata was at university, Luisa at fashion school. Alia was in her final years at high school. Wendy was still there for them at holiday time.

  One afternoon as they shared a pot of coffee and Wendy’s scones, Kerrie thanked her for the role she had played in the family.

  ‘I appreciate what you do for all of us. I know it hasn’t been easy for you these past few years. But I respect you for all you’ve done for the girls. You’ve provided a stability in the household that I don’t think I could have managed to bring about.’

  ‘Don’t underestimate what you’ve done for those girls,’ responded Wendy. ‘I think the fact you didn’t tell their father about the time Renata came home drunk and Luisa got into trouble with that awful boy earned you a few brownie points.’ Wendy smiled.

  ‘Well, I might have brownie points but I don’t have their love. I don’t think that I even have their respect.’

  Wendy sighed. ‘They put their mother on a pedestal where no one can ever touch her. But I often wonder how they would have got on with her if she hadn’t died. She was a beautiful and wealthy woman, but somewhat self-absorbed. I’m not sure she would have done all those things for the girls that you did: looking after the horse, driving that wretched animal around, cooking sausages at the school fundraisers, sitting through all those school sports events.’

  ‘Really?’ said Kerrie. She felt pleased by Wendy’s praise, but she also realised that no matter what she did for Milton’s girls, she could never compete with their long-dead mother.

  ‘Happy birthday, Kerrie.’ Glynis Jackson gave her daughter a kiss and settled back in her armchair as Kerrie undid the carefully wrapped parcel.

  She lifted out the pretty scarf and a framed cross-stitched picture of a flower arrangement. ‘How lovely! This must have taken you ages, Mum. Thank you.’

  Her mother looked pleased. ‘My eyes aren’t what they used to be but I have this wonderful contraption with a magnifying glass and a little light so I can sew while I watch TV in the evenings.’

  ‘You sound lonely, Mum. I wish you’d spend more time with us. We’ve got plenty of room in the house now that two of the girls are out on their own. There’s just Alia, when she’s home on school holidays. She quite likes being the only one at home. Gets more of her father’s attention.’

  ‘Then she doesn’t need me around.’ Her mother lifted her shoulders and sighed. ‘Of course, if you had a baby I’d be only too happy to be under your feet as much as possible.’

  ‘Mum, we’ve discussed this before. Milton doesn’t want another family, you know that. A baby would be nice, I suppose, but we have a busy life. We’ll see,’ Kerrie added vaguely, hoping to deflect more talk about grandchildren.

  ‘Kerrie, you’re in your thirties now. Don’t leave it too late. Just do it. You devote your life to Milton, his work, his children . . . What about what you want? What about your dream to be an artist? Is that on hold too?’

  ‘There’s plenty of time, Mum,’ said Kerrie lightly. ‘Maybe when Alia leaves home . . .’

  ‘Milton only wants to work and that seems to involve a lot of travel. He won’t want to deal with a new baby, I bet. Just make sure that you won’t have regrets, darling.

  I know how important children are. I don’t know what I’d have done without you all these years. You’ve given me so much. You’re my best friend as well as my daughter.’

  Kerrie hugged her mother. ‘Stop fretting. Let’s just take things day by day. Now, where’s that cake you said you made for me?’

  Kerrie’s mother didn’t raise the subject of a baby again. Once she wondered if she should say anything to Milton but she knew it was not her business to interfere in her daughter’s marriage. Kerrie seemed very happy and Milton certainly seemed to idolise her. But, thought Glynis, while some men in their fifties enjoyed starting a family, or a second family, Milton didn’t seem to want to. His work was his obsession and his sculptures, his own creations, were his children.

  While the older girls had moved out of the house, their lives still impacted on Kerrie and their father, though Kerrie felt she bore more of the brunt of their problems than Milton did. The girls visited frequently, and often brought their laundry home to be washed as well as helping themselves to the freezer, pantry and Milton’s wine while they were there. Kerrie sometimes felt that they treated her like the maid, and so for once she put her foot down.

  ‘You’ve moved out of home and your father pays you a very generous allowance, so you don’t have to support yourselves. But you have to be responsible, and that means paying your bills, doing the shopping, looking after yourselves and not expecting us to do it for you.’

  ‘Look, Kerrie, this is our home and we’ll come and go as we please. You can’t stop us.’

  ‘I’m not trying to. I’m just suggesting that you stand on your own two feet.’

  ‘You mean like you did? Where was your career? You’ve just sponged off Dad.’

  ‘That’s not right. I’ve worked very hard to further your father’s career. And I’ve always tried to be supportive and helpful to you girls but you’ve always shut me out.’ Kerrie turned on her heel and left the room, surprising the girls with her vehemence.

  Several days later, when she went into the laundry, she found the girls’ clothes still in the dryer. With a resigned sigh and a shrug of her shoulders she pulled out their washing and began folding it.

  ‘Darling, what are you doing? I’ve been looking for you and here I find you being a laundress! I pay Mrs Anderson do the washing. Come on, the girls have prepared us a lovely lunch.’

  Kerrie refrained from telling him that she had made the quiche and a fruit compote and had asked the girls just to do the salad. ‘No, these clothes belong to the girls. I’m just getting them ready so they can take them
with them later.’

  ‘Why are you doing this? Don’t they have a washing machine?’

  ‘Actually, I don’t know,’ confessed Kerrie. ‘They bring their gear here and sometimes Mrs Anderson does it, if she’s around, but if she’s not, I do it.’

  ‘That’s ridiculous. You’re not their servant. They can look after themselves,’ said Milton and went to confront his daughters as they sat down to lunch.

  ‘You must stop treating Kerrie like your personal maid! This is not a damned Chinese laundry! Why can’t you do your own washing?’

  ‘My machine is broken, it’s so old,’ started Renata.

  ‘I need a new one.’

  ‘Then take your stuff to a laundromat. Why can’t you buy a new machine? What do you do with your allowance? What about the money you get from that boutique where you work?’

  ‘She buys half their stock,’ giggled Luisa.

  Milton continued as though he hadn’t heard her. ‘If you must bring your things here to be washed, then do it yourself. You’re old enough. It’s not on, having my wife wash your dirty clothes. You’re spoilt and selfish and bloody rude to Kerrie. I see how you treat her, you know. She’s tried for years to be kind and helpful to you and you have never made an effort to try and meet her even halfway.’

  The girls stared at their father in shock.

  ‘Milton, it’s all right,’ said Kerrie as she came into the room.

  ‘It’s not all right. I’m ashamed of you girls. Come on, Kerrie, I’m taking you out to Watsons Bay for a fish lunch.’ He looked back at the girls. ‘And clean up after yourselves. This isn’t a tavern for travellers passing through.’

  ‘No, it’s our mother’s house,’ said Renata spitefully.

  Her father stared at her. ‘Well, that does not give you the right to abuse its privileges.’

  ‘I wish you hadn’t made a scene,’ sighed Kerrie as Milton poured her a glass of wine.

  ‘I should have said something years ago. I don’t always pay attention to what’s happening under my nose. I apologise for my spoilt daughters. I know it hasn’t been easy for you but you’ve been wonderful to them and very patient. I always hoped they’d come around.’

  Kerrie thought that it was a bit late for Milton to be thinking about this now. Had he been firm with the girls from the moment they were married things may have been different. But she pushed the thought away. Milton was Milton and maybe she was also partly to blame for not standing up to them sooner. ‘They’ll settle down eventually, you’ll see.’

  Milton smiled and raised his glass. ‘I’m glad you think so. Thank you, my darling. No matter what, we have each other. Are you going to have the John Dory?’

  Kerrie lost track of the time between their lazy lunch at Watsons Bay and the time she called the Nightmare. Relations between her and the girls did not improve. Indeed, at times, Kerrie thought that they got worse. But as they had, by now, all left home, she did not have to see them so frequently. When they did meet, it was frosty. But if there were still problems with her stepdaughters, there were none with Milton. His reputation as an artist continued to grow, culminating with a retrospective at the Tate gallery in London. He had finally established himself.

  On a summery morning some years later Milton made love to Kerrie, kissed her, showered, dressed, threw a change of clothes, some food, his newspaper and spectacles into a bag, and cheerfully headed off to the studio.

  ‘I think I’ll stay there tonight. As much as I need my assistants, sometimes I can get more done without them. Feel free to pop in and interrupt any time!’ He grinned. ‘There’s cold wine in my fridge.’

  ‘Thanks, darling, but I have to take my mother to the cardiologist again. She’s getting so frail. She doesn’t seem to eat anything at all, and she’s always so short of breath. I’m very worried about her.’

  ‘I know you’re concerned, but her doctor is trying to do the best for her. If you want to, why don’t you stay the night?’

  They held each other tightly, then he kissed her quickly. ‘Go back to sleep. I love you.’

  ‘Love you, too, and I might just do that. I’ll see,’ said Kerrie, and pulled the sheet around her, deciding to try to return to sleep to block out the thought that she might lose her mother.

  After taking Glynis to the doctor’s where the news was not terribly optimistic, Kerrie spent the afternoon with her mother, cooking dinner for them both. She planned to have a nightcap with Milton on her way home but Glynis wanted to talk, as if she knew her days were limited, and Kerrie decided to take Milton’s advice and stay the night. Her mother took Kerrie around the house pointing out photographs, a silver candlestick, ornaments and special books that had belonged to her parents.

  ‘When I’ve gone, I want you to look after these things, Kerrie. I so wish I had grandchildren I could give them to. I know they’re not valuable, but they mean so much to me, especially your father’s medals from the Korean War. You will look after everything, won’t you? Don’t throw anything away, you know what I mean, dear?’

  Kerrie put her arm around her mother, shocked again by her thinness. ‘Mum, I’ll treasure everything. I grew up with these things too, remember. Anyway, you’re talking nonsense. You’re going to be around to enjoy them for many years to come.’

  In the morning they shared breakfast together on the sunny back patio and Kerrie was pleased when her mother managed to eat an egg as well as her usual solitary piece of toast and honey.

  Back at home in Rose Bay, Kerrie showered and changed and rang Milton at the studio. She knew it was time to discuss her mother’s future. Glynis needed someone to come in every day to help. Her mother was neglecting her hair and nails and didn’t seem to notice that the top she was wearing had food spilled on it. Kerrie was shocked that the house, which had always been so spick and span, now looked decidedly grubby.

  There was no answer from Milton. Kerrie left a message telling him that she was bringing his lunch over.

  As soon as she walked into the courtyard in front of the studio she felt something wasn’t right. Milton’s car was there but everything was too quiet. He normally had a classical CD playing loudly, competing with the radio, while he banged his chisel extra hard when he disagreed with a point someone was making. But today there was no whistling, hammering, clanking of tools, no music. Kerrie walked faster, going around to the yard where he worked, calling out his name.

  There was no answer.

  She rushed inside, plausible scenarios racing through her mind: he’d wandered down the street for a coffee . . . One of the girls had come by and taken him out . . .

  A neighbour had asked for his help . . . She pushed from her thoughts the possibility that anything could be amiss. But nagging at the back of her mind was a vision of the tall ladders, the hoist and the scaffolding he used when he was working high above the studio floor.

  Nothing seemed out of place. Then she noticed the lights were all on. She hurried towards the kitchenette and stopped, gasped and then caught her breath.

  ‘No! No . . . No. Milton!’

  He was lying face down, an arm stretched towards the refrigerator. He was wearing the shorts and T-shirt that he’d left the house in the morning before. He looked composed, with a slightly surprised expression on his face. Kerrie crouched beside him, tears running down her cheeks, her breath now came in long shuddering sobs. Slowly she reached out and touched his pale face. It was eerily cold, like the marble he sometimes sculpted.

  She didn’t know how long she sat there stroking his hand and letting thoughts of their time together come and go, floating through her mind like drifting shadows or bright flashes.

  Eventually she picked up her mobile phone and rang Milton’s doctor.

  ‘I’ll handle matters, Kerrie,’ he said. ‘This is terrible, a great shock.’

  The doctor prescribed medication for Kerrie to keep her calm and help her sleep, but she refused to take it, preferring to be involved in all that was happening. She wished the
doctor would give something to Milton’s daughters who were hysterical and kept questioning Kerrie as to how this could have happened. The explanation Milton’s doctor gave about a massive and unexpected heart attack, which could have happened at any time, didn’t pacify them. There were veiled accusations and demands.

  ‘Why wasn’t he seeing a doctor for checkups?’

  ‘He ate too much rich food and drank too much and you let him.’

  ‘He didn’t do enough exercise. How come no one checked on him yesterday?’

  On and on it went. Kerrie dully plodded through the arrangements for the funeral, gradually relinquishing control of it to his daughters, who battled between themselves over every detail.

  Even though Milton’s daughters took over the organisation of the funeral, Kerrie found herself exhausted and emotionally drained each night when she fell into bed. Sometimes, when she reached out for Milton’s comforting shape and found only a cool empty sheet, she cried. If she was lucky, she would eventually fall into a dreamless sleep.

  There were bills to pay, documents to sign, arrangements to make. To Kerrie, watching as if through a fog, it was like a performance, a theatrical extravaganza, stroking the egos, calculating how much time each eulogy should have and listening to Milton’s friends’ and colleagues’ reminiscences. Kerrie was patient, unfailingly polite and hospitable. But what she really wanted was to be left alone to deal with the dreadful shock of her husband’s sudden death and the knowledge that her mother was dying.

  And so here she was – lunching alone where she and Milton had shared so many happy, casual occasions at the waterfront at Watsons Bay, eating freshly caught fish. She glanced at her watch, a gift from Milton. She’d asked the driver to come back for her in an hour. She still had twenty minutes to spare. She went to the bathroom, removed her dark stockings, then paid the bill, thanked the maitre d’ and the owner and, carrying her shoes, walked along the sand, letting the water wash over her feet.

  Everywhere she looked she could see Milton: in the broadness of a stranger’s shoulders, in the glimpse of a profile with a roman nose, in a shock of greying hair. Kerrie realised that being in surroundings that they’d shared and enjoyed was going to be too hard to bear.