When the Singing Stops Page 7

  As if reflecting her apathy, none of the clothes pleased her though there were some attractive executive outfits amongst them. They looked good on her but she couldn’t work up enough enthusiasm to buy one, to the barely disguised frustration of the salesperson. Then her eye was caught by a display in a resort wear shop. A plaster mannequin, high cheekbones, impossibly thin lanky body, stood poised in khaki shorts, a linen shirt and cotton vest buried under flaps and pockets, leopard print belt and cotton socks rolled over canvas boots. From under a stiff pith helmet her sightless eyes stared through the plate glass, across busy Military Road on Sydney’s North Shore, to some far off jungle horizon.

  Madison paused, strangely held by the slightly absurd display, then she turned away and headed for the nearest coffee bar conscious of an urgent need to read her brother’s letter.

  She had to smother her laughter at the description of the party and was horrified by Matthew’s account of the vampire incident. She read slowly, savouring each anecdote and his assessment of the country.

  ‘. . . There are massive problems here, not just in our area but within the country as a whole. The bureaucratic frustrations are endless and some basic consumer goods are unavailable. But the people are incredibly warm and hospitable and the mix of races and cultures is colourful. What intrigues me most is the vast interior. I’ve seen only a little of it but it’s very beautiful. It’s a pity it’s not more accessible. Before I leave I will definitely take a few trips. The Kaieteur Falls—five times the drop of Niagara mind you—is an absolute must.

  Madi, I do wish so much you were here to share some of this. I’ve been in some exotic places in the world as you know, but this place has something special. It’s so different in every way imaginable. It casts a spell. It would be good for you and it’s about as far away as you can get from Sydney! I repeat—make a move, sis! Mum and Dad are still fit and they’ve settled into their new business on the Gold Coast. They’re doing well without us.

  I know your skills and talents, and you could climb further up the corporate ladder at your hotel but you need to get into the international field. Get out and play in the big league, give London or Europe a shot. I know you can make it, give yourself the chance to prove yourself to yourself, Madi. Nuff said, I won’t nag you again. But I’ll be disappointed if you chicken out. You were always the one who dared me to do things. But at least consider coming here to visit me. Hang the cost, you wanted a break and there are NO swish joints and not a gold chain, white shoe, designer swimsuit or sunglasses in sight. Hey, I take back the gold chain bit, I was thinking of those dreadful Queensland resort developers. Here they’re worn by great black heavyweights who have so much gold about their bodies, the gold rope around the neck is almost a minor accessory. Haven’t sussed out these bods yet . . . just seen them from the safety of the company car.

  Anyway, as I said at the start, the big news is AusGeo has landed the management contract to whip the bauxite mine into some sort of order so the Guyanese can privatise it and earn some money. God knows they need it. Give Mum and Dad a hug next time you go up and I expect news of your imminent arrival here. By the way, the phone works most of the time, but the fax is very erratic. Pigeon post might be more reliable. Luv-ya-lots . . .’

  Madison carefully refolded her brother’s letter and headed resolutely back along the crowded footpath. Without hesitating she walked into the resort wear shop and pointed to the model in the window. ‘I would like to buy that outfit. Size ten please.’

  ‘The safari set? Very well, but I’m sorry the hat is just a prop, it’s not for sale,’ said the assistant who was dressed in a gold and silver painted sweatshirt.

  ‘Never mind, I’ll get my own hat,’ grinned Madison. ‘I’m sure I’ll find one in the wilds of Guyana somewhere.’

  The woman nodded sagely. ‘Oh, you must have a decent hat in Ghana, that African sun . . . ferocious . . .’

  ‘It’s Guyana, actually,’ began Madison but seeing the blank stare from the saleswoman, nodded in agreement. ‘Yes, I’m sure I’ll find something suitable.’

  A short time later she was standing outside the shop, bags in hand. The clothes fitted, the boots fitted, and they’d felt and looked good. Madison glanced up and down the street.

  ‘Guess I’d better find a travel agent.’ There was one across the road and as she waited for the lights at the pedestrian crossing, she wondered if she should wear this new outfit to the office when she announced she was quitting.

  She had reached this decision so easily, without even thinking about it. Whatever the reason it felt right. A sense of recklessness that she found exhilarating swept over her.

  Roger George, looking every inch the suave hotel general manager smoothed his Jerry Garcia tie, a small gesture towards frivolity and flamboyance that relieved the conservative starkness of the pinstripe Zegna suit. ‘My dear Madison, I am very distressed about your decision—on one hand. On the other, I have to say I am not surprised. You know your talents and abilities as well as we do and I’m sure you’ll have offers to choose from. It’s the nature of the hotel industry to wish to circulate to the, shall we say, more prestigious or challenging hotels in a network.’

  ‘Challenge. That’s what I’m after. Definitely. A challenge. I haven’t the language skills for the Georges Cinq,’ she gave a teasing smile in case he thought she was seriously considering the best hotel in Paris, ‘but I would like to see what I can achieve in, say, one of the boutique hotels in the UK or Asia.’

  ‘Aren’t we challenging enough for you?’ He lifted an amused eyebrow. ‘Seriously, Madison, I’m sorry to lose you because you’ve done an excellent job here. You’ve pulled off some spectacular events and done more than I ever anticipated could be done in the marketing of this hotel. You have a big future ahead of you and it is natural that you wish to spread your wings. I will of course be happy to recommend you to our hotels abroad.’

  Madison stared at him, wondering why no one in the hotel administration had ever bothered to tell her before that she was this good. Or was it just smooth talk to ease her way out the door?

  ‘What if I change my mind? Would you take me back on board?’

  His demeanour remained unruffled. ‘If there is a slot here, we will always take you on, Madison. You have proved yourself.’

  That was smooth, thought Madison. He doesn’t say what slot might be available. He could take me back in the housekeeping department and not be breaking his word. She shuddered, remembering the week she’d spent working in various sections of the hotel. Changing sheets had not thrilled her.

  ‘Just testing,’ she grinned and then became serious. ‘I intend to break through the plastic veneer of front of house and rise above the chandeliers to the walnut doors and cedar halls of senior management. I intend to run the place one day.’

  ‘Run this place?’ For the first time the unflappable Roger George looked somewhat taken aback. ‘You plan on managing a large hotel like this . . . well, perhaps in some Third World country . . .’ He gathered himself and gave her one of his patronising smiles. ‘That’s the spirit, think big and who knows where you might end up.’

  Madison rose. ‘I’ll end up at the top, Roger. The top is the only place I plan to go.’ She stretched out a hand. ‘Goodbye, and thank you.’

  ‘Thank you, Madison. And good luck. Wherever you end up.’

  ‘Thanks, Roger. I’ll always keep a slot for you too.’

  She left the wood-panelled office pleased she’d got in the last word. Petty it may have been, but he’d annoyed her. She wondered why she’d always felt intimidated by the GM’s private school old boy charm. Still, he had given her a glowing reference and contacts to look up in England and Singapore.

  Madi’s colleagues from the hotel took her to dinner at the end of the week. They went to a Paraguayan restaurant where great slabs of lamb were hacked from a carcass on the asado barbecue pit and served with potatoes and spicy sauce. As the meal wore on, carafes of red wine were passed
up and down the table. Madi was initially amused at the envy of her bold move, and the comments by her workmates that it was just what they expected of her.

  ‘You have “star” written all over you. You’re going to be big, be a big success, Madi,’ said Frank the accountant.

  ‘You’re going to be swinging from the chandeliers, not just crashing through the glass ceiling,’ said Louise from personnel. ‘We all knew you’d be the one.’

  ‘Be the what?’ said Madi feeling rather confused. She’d dismissed earlier compliments as the wine talking, but now she sensed these people she’d worked with for five years knew something about her that she didn’t.

  ‘Typical Madi, so modest. You’re going to be a huge success. Huge. You’ve all the right ingredients. You just walk into a room and people pay attention to you. It’s like actors. Some have it, some don’t.’

  ‘Hope you’ll give us a job when you’re running a hotel chain in Europe or America,’ added Tony who ran the kitchen staff.

  Madi laughed it all off. However, that night as she lay in bed and thought about what they had said, she felt a slow resentment build up inside her. She did have a lot of fun qualities and career skills. Other people thought so too. Yet all the while she’d been married to Geoff, he had been telling her she was a sham. Faking her way through a job beyond her capabilities.

  Whenever she’d told him of a marketing or promotional plan she was about to propose for the hotel, he’d sneer. ‘And whose idea did you borrow for that?’ And when she’d told him about the successful campaigns and events which she’d created and developed, he’d doubted her. ‘Yeah, you and how many others thought of it? You can’t fool me, Madi. I know you better than anyone. You’re going to fall, fall flat on your face. You’ll be found out one day.’

  And as tears sprang to her eyes, he’d turned away looking pleased with himself. Finally she’d say, ‘Find out what? What am I supposed to have done? Why don’t you believe me?’

  Now she was appalled that for so long she’d caved in to the assault of his verbal abuse. It had taken a counsellor to make her realise how he’d used her to counter his own inadequacies. As Matthew had said, it somehow empowered him to destroy a person like her who was an achiever, a decent and good person. Dr Geoffrey Churchill had embarked on a career as an arts administrator, after switching from academia at the University of Sydney where he’d completed his PhD and lectured in fine arts. Right from the start he’d found it hard to adjust to life outside the protective cloisters of the university. They’d met at a tennis club and looking back now, tennis was probably the most they’d ever had in common. He had courted her with a serious itinerary of opera and art gallery visits. Then he’d expounded at length on the background and finer points of the artists and performances in what he’d described as her introduction to the ‘better facets of culture’.

  Madi knew his knowledge far exceeded hers, though she found this assumption of his role as teacher and hers as student a little condescending. But she didn’t let it show because he took such pleasure in teaching her. He also gently criticised her dress sense and suggested she wear her hair pinned up in a smart French roll rather than the casual style she favoured. At first she enjoyed being ‘looked after’, even when he took to going shopping with her to choose her clothes. He also ran the finances and made decisions on where they should go for holidays.

  Madi had been attracted to his caring, nurturing attitude, so like her father and brother. He was an attractive man who was admired by other women, and she suspected he had an adoring ring of female students who found their charming and erudite lecturer very appealing.

  In those first months Madi had tried to change him, persuading him to go on picnics and hikes. He’d gone along with an air of indulging her rather than sharing the experience. He’d stopped such ‘frivolous’ activities within months after their wedding. At the same time he began to spend long hours at his new job. In leisure time at home, he’d play his treasured collection of classical CDs and watch obscure foreign films. They each became absorbed in their own interests. As time went on, she sensed he suffered low self-esteem because of his career demons, perceived or real. But in the privacy of their marriage, he refused to discuss his problems. Instead, he would assert himself over her and suck the energy out of her. Then he’d sail out to face the challenge of another day.

  After a night of insults, Madi was left drained and emotionally wrung out. She cried often in the car on the way to work, wondering what had happened to the dreams that had led her in a frenzied dash to the altar six years earlier. But once she drove into the dark pit of the underground garage beneath the hotel, she’d blot her eyes, take a deep breath, and by the time she reached her office she’d have a cheery smile for all.

  Each morning in the shower, Madi would stand and let the hot needles of spray bounce off her neck and shoulders and wonder what she was doing with her life. Then one morning she got up and decided it was time to go. Walk out the door. She did what she did every morning. She ironed his shirt and hung it on the bedroom door knob. She squeezed fresh orange juice and left it by the coffee pot while he was in the shower. She dressed carefully and opened the bathroom door and stood there holding her briefcase and an overnight bag. ‘I’m going, Geoff.’

  ‘So?’ He peered through the misty glass. ‘You have some flash meeting on, some plush lunch, some marketing do?’ His voice was critical, sneering. ‘Not like the rest of us hoi polloi who grab a sandwich or eat in a coffee shop.’

  ‘You told me you’d joined Tatt’s Club. Oh never mind, it doesn’t matter any more. I’m going.’

  ‘So? Go. Or are you telling me you won’t be home till late . . . some function or other so I should go ahead and eat, is that the reason for this touching farewell?’

  ‘Geoff, I’m going. For good. Leaving you. I’ll stay tonight at the hotel and we can talk about it tomorrow.’

  She quietly closed the door and took a deep breath. And another, realising she was close to hyperventilating.

  She was halfway down the hall when the bathroom door was slammed open. He grabbed her shoulder and spun her round. ‘Oh no you don’t. You don’t walk out of here after a comment like that. Just what do you mean?’

  ‘What I said. I’m leaving you.’ She spoke in a tired, resigned voice, avoiding looking at the dripping, furious man clutching a towel.

  ‘Like hell you are. What for? If you’re having it away with someone else, fuck you. Two can play at that game. Don’t think for one minute you’ll get out of this lightly. You won’t do this to me.’

  ‘There’s no one else, Geoffrey. We’re miserable. Have been for ages. Why go on like this? I can’t see things changing.’

  ‘You’re the miserable one.’ He jabbed a finger in her shoulder. ‘You’re the one who needs to change.’

  It suddenly struck Madi he was right. She needed to change, to get back to how she used to be, and the way to do that was to make a fresh start. In a flash of clarity, she saw there was no way forward together. This relationship was at an end. Had been for years. She looked at him without expression. ‘It’s too late for us, let’s face it.’

  He dropped an arm about her shoulders. ‘Hey Madi, you’re just having a bad time right now. If you want to get counselling, I’ll help you. It’ll be all right, don’t go to pieces.’

  Madi squirmed away from his arm, stunned to discover his touch made her recoil. Taking another step towards the stair, she said quietly, ‘I’m not going to pieces, Geoff. I feel very calm about this. It’s sad, I’m sorry, but it’s over’.

  ‘You’re a bitch, Madi. A screwed-up bitch. You won’t get a bloody penny out of me,’ he shouted at her as she went down the stairs.

  ‘It’s our money and I don’t want your money. And I’ve never felt less screwed up in my whole life,’ she called back.

  He leaned over the banister and shouted a parting shot. ‘You’re sick in the head, oh yes you are. You’re just like your mother. She’s never even pre
tended she liked me. I bet she put you up to this. Other women aren’t like you. Believe me, I know. Don’t think there aren’t plenty of women who will jump into your place in bed.’

  Madi reached for the front doorknob. ‘Have them lined up, do you?’

  ‘Yes! As a matter of fact I do. And have had for some time. You’re not the only one who works late at the office, fucking on the floor!’

  Madi pulled the door shut, too shocked and hurt to slam it in anger. Moisture stung her eyes as she got in the car, backing it out of the driveway by habit. But within a block she pulled over and burst into tears. It hit her for the first time that her husband had been sleeping with other women. Too many small incidents came to mind which she had chosen to ignore over the past few years. The late nights, the business trips away for a weekend. Phone calls where someone had either hung up or a girl had asked for Geoffrey and after a Yes-No conversation he’d dismissed it as a query from a girl at the office. Now it seemed so obvious. What a fool she’d been to put up with him for so long. But what hurt most was his assumption that she had been having an affair.

  It was true she had longed for someone in her life. Someone she could cuddle and laugh with, who made her feel happy, who told her how clever and wonderful she was, someone to enjoy sex with. Their sex life had dwindled to desultory Sunday morning interludes. She was left unsatisfied and lonely as he’d leapt from bed and gone off on his newly acquired mountain bike. They never kissed or talked during sex and for the past six months he hadn’t touched her. When she’d made advances he’d turned away. As Madi continued on her drive to the city, a slow anger took the place of self-pity and fuelled her conviction that she was doing the right thing.