At Home With The Templetons (62 page)

She returned to the gate, this time wearing the coat. Back to the monitor. Ten minutes to go. Five minutes. Then the message the plane had landed. Would he be first out? Last? Fifteen minutes and many travellers later, she saw him. She stepped forward, stopped, waited.

She saw him scan the groups of people waiting, saw him catch sight of her, his expression changing as he smiled, the most beautiful smile she had ever seen. He started walking towards her. She met him halfway.

Around them, other passengers smil

ed too at the sight of the young man and woman in each other’s arms. He was talking, then she was talking as, hand in hand, they walked together to a row of seats, sat side by side, hands still entwined.

An hour later, they were still there, still talking, the words interrupted by laughs, kisses, smiles, both of them with so much to say, so much to hear, as if there wasn’t enough time for them to say all they needed to each other.

In the plush Bobbie Enterprises office in the centre of Auckland, Audrey turned away from the computer and urgently called her husband’s name. ‘Greg! Quickly!’

He was there in seconds. ‘Darling, what is it?’

‘That brother of mine, that’s what it is. That amoral, immoral brother of mine. Look!’

Greg looked at the screen. On it was a scan of a newspaper article, attached to an email that had just arrived from Spencer. The subject line was long: And so the family tradition continues. Read and weep, siblings!

The article was from the local Castlemaine newspaper. Most of the page was taken up by a full-colour photograph of Hope and Spencer standing in front of Templeton Hall. Tradition gives way to treatment, the headline read. The article announced the opening of a new drug and alcohol residential rehabilitation centre in what had formerly been the family home of the centre’s managers, Hope Endersley, and her nephew, Spencer Templeton. Both trained counsellors, they’d each also had personal experience with addiction issues, the journalist had written. ‘Our own journeys through the darkness of addiction means we not only have empathy with our clients, but we truly practise what we preach,’ Ms Endersley explained. ‘Our approach is called ASH, Abstinence through Strength and Humour. When you are in the grips of addiction, it can sometimes feel like there is no way out. We’re here to personally show our clients the path to a better life, a new life, lived with grace and integrity.’

‘Integrity!’ Audrey said. ‘They’re liars, the pair of them! Spencer’s never been an addict of anything except his own monstrous ego. And he told me himself the only training he’s done is an online course on how to give up smoking. Mum told me she’s convinced Hope is drinking again, and as for it being our family home, we now know we’ve got as much history with that house as, I don’t know, Bobbie has. And people are falling for it, can you believe that? Mum told me they’re booked out for the first three programs. It’s scandalous, isn’t it?’ She looked at her husband. ‘Greg? Don’t you think it’s scandalous?’

He coughed. He only ever coughed like that when he was feeling guilty about something. She didn’t like that cough. ‘What? Tell me? What is it?’

‘Look, darling, I haven’t decided anything. And I don’t need to yet. She said I can take all the time I need, that she and Spencer are in this for the long haul.’

Audrey could only stare at him. ‘All the time in the world to do what?’

‘To decide whether or not to accept her invitation. Hope’s been in touch with me, Audrey. With a proposition. A very interesting proposition, in fact.’

‘And you didn’t tell me?’ Audrey’s voice was getting louder. ‘What is it? What does she want? You said no, didn’t you?’

‘I don’t know yet what I’ll say. I’ve decided to think about it, meditate on it and then I thought you and I could discuss it.’ ‘It’s about Bobbie, isn’t it? She wants to trade on Bobbie’s name? Attract children to her clinics as well? Greg, no, we can’t let her! I always hated Templeton Hall. I’ve only got bad memories from that time. Why on earth would I want to go back there?’

Another cough. ‘Actually, the invitation was to me, not us. Audrey, you know I love Bobbie as much as you do. But he’s your career,

not mine. And I do miss the counselling, the interaction with patients, the sense of satisfaction when you bring healing to another human being. As Hope reminded me, that is my gift. And it wouldn’t even be fulltime. She’d fly me in for week-long residencies, she said. Their programs run for three months per group, with experts on all manner of treatments coming in and out. And the pay is very good. Very, very good. Audrey, darling, please don’t cry. Audrey, please …’

In her Chicago office, working late, Charlotte laughed loudly and for a long time when she opened Spencer’s email. If nothing else, she had to admire their front. After all, who could ever prove or disprove that Spencer had or had not been an addict, if that’s what he was now saying he was? As for Hope, whatever her formal credentials, she certainly had the jargon down pat, from what Charlotte remembered during their last unpleasant phone conversation over a year ago. If large numbers of deluded and troubled people chose to spend thousands of dollars holed up in a crumbling old pile in the middle of nowhere in the goldfields of Australia trying to get off drugs or drink or whatever took their fancy, who was she to say what they were doing was right or wrong?

She laughed again as she looked more closely at the photograph of the pair of them, there on the steps of Templeton Hall. Sorry, she couldn’t call it Templeton Hall any longer, could she? Not that she could call it by its new name either. She enlarged the photo, shaking her head. Spencer was clearly trying not to laugh, and if she wasn’t mistaken, Hope seemed to be pinching him and trying to maintain a suitably empathetic and authoritative expression. She just looked constipated, in Charlotte’s opinion.

There was an address for the Hope Clinic’s website at the bottom of the article. Charlotte couldn’t resist taking a look. She gave a low whistle as it appeared on screen. It was very impressive, well-written, consoling, businesslike … She clicked on the fees page and whistled again. It was also very expensive. It seemed an addicted fool and his or her money were easily parted. Every possible service was on offer, too - treatment for drug addiction, alcohol addiction, sex addiction, gambling addiction, bad relationship addiction … As Charlotte read on, she realised she hadn’t even heard of half of these possible addictions. What kind of sheltered life had she led?

Had Hope thought about offering treatment for food addiction? Charlotte wondered now, as she reached for yet another biscuit from the large tin beside her. She’d been quite shocked to realise during her last clothes shopping trip that she’d gone up yet another size. She wasn’t so much a plus-size woman any more as a plus-plus-size woman. She’d also recently realised something else. The business was now running so well under Dana’s expert, skinny guidance that Charlotte could think seriously about taking an extended break. Even Mr Giles said he thought some time away would do her good. He’d been saying that a lot since he’d taken early retirement himself. He was a changed man, making most of his phone calls from his yacht. ‘All work and no play will make Charlotte a dull girl,’ he’d said cheerily last time they spoke. She and his son, Ethan, had agreed Mr Giles was possibly having something of a midlife crisis at the end of his life. But perhaps there was something in what he said. Perhaps it was time to smell the roses a little. Or smell the gum trees, at least. During a break of, say, three months. A break on, say, the other side of the world …

Charlotte started to smile. It really could be quite good fun to test Hope and Spencer’s methods first hand. Good fun to go back to Templeton Hall, too - sorry, to the Hope Clinic - after all these years. She barely remembered it, if the truth be known, and truly hadn’t been at all surprised when she heard from her father that the whole inheritance story had been a big lie. Had any of them actually believed it could be authentic? All those ridiculous stories about ancient ancestors and early days on the goldfields? If her Templeton male ancestors were anything like the current bunch - her father and Spencer, to be precise - then the idea of any of them doing anything that involved hard work was out of the question.

As for the idea of Spencer being a counsellor - she could just picture him trying to keep a straight face, trying to pretend he was interested in any other human being than himself. And Hope? If what her mother had said was true and Hope was back on the bottle again, it wouldn’t be long before Hope would need counselling herself. The place would turn into a circus. Charlotte could just imagine the look on their faces if she was to turn up in the middle of it all, having registered and paid for her treatment under a false name …

She was laughing out loud again as she clicked on the link for Client Enquiries.

We’re delighted you’re keen to work with us on an updated edition of your seminal work, Mrs Templeton. As I’m sure you know, there’s been a resurgence in interest in the methodology of home education as a viable alternative to mainstream educational approaches, and ‘

‘Mr Drayson ‘

‘Please, call me Timothy.’

‘Thank you, Timothy, and please call me Eleanor. And I’m actually Eleanor Endersley these days. Eleanor Templeton was my married name. I was divorced four months ago.’

‘Of course, Eleanor. And am I right in therefore assuming that you’d like us to change your name to Eleanor Endersley on the new jackets of your book? You do like our proposed cover treatment, I hope?’

‘Thank you, Timothy. I would like that name change and yes, I do like the cover treatment very much. You flatter me, calling me a world-renowned expert in home education, but what woman doesn’t like a bit of flattery sometimes?’

‘Mrs

Term-, I’m sorry, Eleanor, I’m sure you spend your days fighting off flattery.’

She smiled, and picked up the business plan Timothy Drayson had couriered to her house a week before. It had come with a very impressive letter introducing himself as the new managing director of the small publishing house she’d signed with all those years before. He’d been looking closely through all the company’s backlist titles, the letter said, and had been astonished to see that her handbook to home education had been out of print for the past ten years, when cases of parents choosing to homeschool had been steadily rising. Would she be able to spare the time in her busy schedule to come in, meet his new team and discuss their exciting ideas for the future of not just her book, but the whole company? he’d asked. When she’d said yes, he offered to send a car to collect her.

She’d been here in his small but very neat Haymarket offices for the past hour. It had been a surprising morning in many ways. His plans for her book were indeed exciting. He had been surprising too. She’d expected him to be a go-getting thirty-yearold, a new broom sweeping clean. He was go-getting, that much was clear, but he was closer to her age than she’d imagined. Not at all handsome. Quite short too. But his eyes were full of life and intelligence, he had a beautiful voice and she really did like his ideas.

She picked up the proposed cover for the reprint of her book, to which she had just agreed to add a new section, updating it to include today’s university admittance standards and address the arguments for and against homeschooling.

She smiled. ‘It does seem quite amusing that people need to buy a handbook to learn how to homeschool. We’ll be holding classes in how-not-to-hold-classes next …’

‘Now, it’s funny you should mention that …’

He explained to her that during his long career in educational publishing he’d spent two years with the Open University. He now wondered whether a short series of lectures in home education methods might prove very popular. As he spoke, Eleanor couldn’t help notice that very nice smile of his again. In fact, he seemed to be a very nice man all round. Quite possibly the very nicest man she had met in many years.

Once upon a time she might have been more cautious. She might have thought it best to wait to actually be asked, before leaping in and possibly making a fool of herself. But she wasn’t getting any younger. She had a lot of ground to make up. She told herself this new approach had nothing, nothing to do with the fact that she had heard the day before that Henry was getting married again. To his much, much, much younger girlfriend, Adele. Henry himself had phoned from San Francisco and told her. Not only that, he’d invited her to the ceremony. It was taking place in what he called ‘a special place to us both’. For an awful moment Eleanor thought he meant he was having the wedding at Templeton Hall, that he actually thought she’d want to go back there, until she realised he meant a place special to himself and Adele. She hadn’t asked where that might be. It could be the prison on Alcatraz Island, for all she cared. It had taken her some self-restraint to keep her voice calm and say that much as she appreciated the kind thought, and his continuing - now year-long - attempts to forge a closer, more cordial relationship between them, she really didn’t think she would accept.

‘As long as you know you’d be welcome. You know I only ever want you to be happy too, Eleanor, don’t you?’

She’d thanked him nicely and finished the call as soon as she could. She hadn’t told any of the children yet. She’d decided to leave it to Henry to break the news.

Eleanor realised now that Timothy Drayson was still talking about a possible range of courses. She interrupted. ‘Timothy, may I ask one question before we go any further?’

‘Of course.’

‘Are you married?’

He blinked. ‘I was. We’re divorced, amicably. Two children, both grown up.’

Eleanor nodded. ‘Did you ever cheat on your wife?’ He blinked again, twice. ‘No, I didn’t.’

‘Are you lying?’ ‘No, I assure you.’ ‘Are you seeing anyone at the moment?’ ‘No, I’m not.’

‘Would you like to have dinner with me tomorrow evening?’ He smiled that smile again. She was oddly relieved to see his teeth weren’t very good. Henry had beautiful teeth. ‘I’d love to have dinner with you, Eleanor. Thank you.’