Dorothy Eden (24 page)

The cataclysmic events of the afternoon would not have altered the routine of the evening at Yarrabee in the very least.

‘Alannah, we have to talk,’ Colm urged.

‘Not now.’

‘Then when?’

‘Tomorrow morning in the garden, while you work at my portrait.’ She reached for his hand. ‘It will be better to have time to reflect.’

He reined in his horse, holding her hand so tightly that she had to slow her horse to a walk or be pulled from the saddle.

‘That’s what I’m afraid of. You’ll think of your baby, your husband, your house.’

‘I have to think of them,’ Eugenia cried in anguish.

‘You married a man you didn’t love. You don’t have to live all your life with that mistake. This is a big country. We can cross the Blue Mountains and lose ourselves.’

‘Colm, please! We’ll talk tomorrow.’

He dropped her hand. ‘I apologize for being so precipitate.’

‘Now you’re hurt. But you mustn’t be. I am simply not a person who can easily overthrow law and order. I must have time to reflect.’

‘Are you sorry that I gave you no time this afternoon?’

His voice, stiff with hurt, made her turn swiftly seeking his face in the darkness.

‘Oh, never! Never, never!’

‘Then why, in the name of God, are we being so melancholy?’

She began to laugh shakily, then, as he joined in, merrily and helplessly until her sides ached. Although even in her merriment there was something distraught and hysterical about her laughter.

‘Colm,’ she said at last in a sober profound voice, ‘adultery is no laughing matter. I can’t think why it should seem like a miracle.’

At Yarrabee everything was as she had anticipated. The candles fluttered, striking light in the silver and crystal, lying in pools on the polished wood of the table. Gilbert was carving the leg of lamb in his usual expert manner, only Eugenia noticing that the knife moved a little too quickly, betraying his irritation.

Mrs Ashburton, as was to be expected, was too inquisitive. She wanted to know if Eugenia had caught the sun, she looked heavy-eyed and flushed. Didn’t Gilbert agree?

‘I think she looks exceptionally well,’ Gilbert answered. His tone was unusually mild, and so different from the sharp impatience with which he had greeted her on her late return that Eugenia glanced at him uneasily. Did her guilt show? She still felt the honeyed warmth in her veins and scarcely dared to look at Colm lest the softness of her eyes betrayed her.

‘By the way, Mr O’Connor,’ Gilbert went on, ‘when can we expect this famous portrait to be finished?’

‘It’s almost done now,’ Colm answered. ‘There’s a little touching up necessary. The truth is, an artist never wants to let a picture go. It’s part of himself, you must understand.’

‘Yes, I can understand that.’ Gilbert leaned forward to fill Colm’s glass with wine. Eugenia made a protest.

‘Gilbert, aren’t you forgetting? Mr O’Connor doesn’t care for wine.’

‘I’m not forgetting, my love. But tonight I insist on his breaking his rules. Good heavens, man, you’ve been my guest for nearly a month and you’ve done no more than take a sip of my wines. It’s downright discourtesy. Now swallow that and tell me if it isn’t nectar. Eugenia, alannah—’

The wine decanter poised in his hand, he looked up, deliberately waiting for Eugenia’s startled glance.

‘Did that surprise you, my love? I learned the word from Erasmus. Deuced clever bird.’

‘It’s an Irish word,’ Eugenia said quickly.

‘I use it frequently,’ said Colm. ‘It’s a habit.’

‘Yes, I must say you Irish have a poetic way of talking. I’m just a plain-spoken Englishman. Anyway, this portrait. I believe I’m the only one not to have had a view of it, which seems unfair since I’m the sitter’s husband. I want you to hang it after dinner.’

‘But wouldn’t that be a pity before it’s finished?’ Eugenia protested. Her heart was beating too quickly. She didn’t like that bright look of slightly diabolical mischief in Gilbert’s eyes.

‘It’s very charming,’ said Mrs Ashburton. ‘Very charming. Good enough to be hung in the Royal Academy in London. I can’t think why Mr O’Connor isn’t in England making his fortune painting duchesses.’

‘Today at the lake he painted the black swans,’ Eugenia said. ‘You must show your work to Mrs Ashburton, Mr O’Connor.’

‘He can do so later,’ said Gilbert. ‘I believe you’re enjoying my wine, after all, my dear fellow. Let me refill your glass. I must say I would have been insulted if you had left Yarrabee without being able to talk knowledgeably of its wines. Don’t you think this one compares favourably with a French burgundy?’

‘I’m afraid I can’t answer that, Mr Massingham. I’m not a wine drinker, as I’ve told you.’

‘Then it’s never too soon to begin. That’s my motto. And I have a surprise for you later. A bottle of Napoleon brandy that I’ve been keeping for a suitable occasion.’

‘What is suitable about this occasion? Eugenia asked sharply.

‘The hanging of your portrait, my love,’ said Gilbert giving her his bright bland gaze. ‘Surely one couldn’t want for anything more important than that.’

Against all protests, Gilbert insisted that the portrait be brought down when they had finished dinner. When it was put in front of him he looked at it for a long time.

At last he said, ‘It’s a good likeness. I’ll pay you your fee, O’Connor, and five guineas over.’

‘I require nothing but my fee,’ Colm said stiffly.

‘Have it your own way. But at least take another glass of brandy with me.’

‘Thank you.’

‘I thought you would. There’s only one place for the portrait. Over the fireplace in the drawing-room. Let us see how it looks.’

‘Gilbert, it isn’t even framed yet,’ Eugenia protested.

‘That can be done later. I am sure Mr O’Connor would like to see its effect.’

Eugenia noticed that Colm had already swallowed all the brandy in his glass. There was a smoky darkness in his eyes, a look of elation and desperation combined. He was beginning to smile, however, for the first time since they had sat down to dinner. He picked up the portrait and led the procession to the drawing-room.

Balancing it on the mantelpiece he stepped back to study his handiwork. It was embarrassing that he should trip over a footstool and fall backwards on to the couch, more embarrassing that he should begin to laugh uproariously.

‘From this angle, I believe it looks better. Mrs Massingham, come and sit beside me and look at yourself preserved for posterity. There you are, the beautiful pioneer who braved the wilds, bringing grace and civilization to a country in desperate need of both.’

Eugenia took a quick glance at her painted self, thinking that whatever new emotions showed in her eyes after this day, she would never look so serene again.

Mrs Ashburton gave loud exclamations of praise, and Gilbert, his head cocked critically, declared once more that he was satisfied. It had been an excellent idea to have the portrait done. The workman who had made the elaborately carved mantelpiece with its bunches of grapes and twining leaves could now make a frame for the picture. He was a clever fellow who had made an unfortunate mistake at the beginning of his career. But who didn’t sometimes make a mistake of one kind or another, Gilbert asked in his friendly manner, stooping to pick up the brandy bottle.

‘Who indeed?’ said Colm, holding out his glass. ‘Glad you’re so understanding, my dear fellow. I thought at first you were a bit of a bore with your vineyard. Seemed to love it more than your wife.’ His voice was now a little slurred. His glass tipped, threatening to spill its contents. ‘Alannah—Mrs Massingham, where are you going?’

‘Upstairs,’ said Eugenia. ‘I’m tired, I hope you will all excuse me.’

‘Certainly, my love,’ said Gilbert genially. ‘I won’t be late coming myself. I may leave Mrs Ashburton to entertain our guest.’

Mrs Ashburton gave her high cackle of laughter. She, too, had collapsed into a chair.

‘Mr O’Connor and I will discuss wine. Isn’t it splendid, Gilbert, that we have converted him into thinking it not such a bore.’

Eugenia picked up her skirts, and ran upstairs. She couldn’t face that terrible scene another moment. Perhaps she was forsaking Colm. But how could she forsake someone who had already forgotten her existence? What could she do by staying, except dash the brandy glass out of his hand, and then he would merely laugh and get another one.

A remittance man, Gilbert had said in his intolerably sure voice. And she would never have believed it. Colm was charming, sensitive, clever, lonely, homesick, all those things. But not this other black one. She thought her heart was breaking.

She hadn’t begun to undress when Gilbert came up.

He said, ‘What, not in bed yet. Hurry up, my love. I’m tired. I want to blow the candles out.’

Eugenia went across to the bell rope. Gilbert protested.

‘No, don’t ring for Phoebe. I’ll help you undress.’

As his fingers fumbled for the pins in her hair Eugenia moved violently away.

‘Don’t touch me!’

He pretended surprise.

‘Are you angry with me? But I told you the fellow was a drunkard.’

‘Only because you made him one. You kept filling his glass.’

‘But I didn’t pour the wine down his throat. He did that. Willingly, too. I wasn’t as cruel as you think. He would have broken out sooner or later. These drinking fellows always do. I had to show you that before you began taking his poetic language seriously.’

He turned her to face him.

‘You weren’t taking him seriously, were you? Riding off to the lake like that without saying a word. I got into a fine state of jealousy. Do you blame me? Come, don’t look so tragic or I’ll begin to think you do care for the fellow. He’ll sleep this off by morning. He’s only had a half-bottle of brandy. I’ll warrant a whole one is his usual fare’

‘Stop!’ shouted Eugenia, her hands pressed to her ears. ‘Must you go on gloating about it? Do you think I’m content to be here with you while Colm—while poor Colm—’

Gilbert’s hands came down to press her arms against her sides in a painful grip.

‘You’re my wife, Eugenia. For God’s sake, you’re my wife!’

She nodded, her eyes closed, her whole body trembling.

‘Did you think I was blind? Did you think I didn’t notice the sheep’s eyes, the blarney? I let it pass until this escapade today.’

‘Gilbert, let me go.’

‘Am I not to touch you?’

‘I only wish you wouldn’t.’

His hands fell to his sides. ‘Then let’s stop arguing and get to bed.’ His voice was stiff with anger, or hurt, she cared little which it was. She watched him begin to strip off his clothes, and, struggling with her own buttons and buttonholes, thought that no one had ever told her marriage could be this sad ludicrous affair—two people determined to lie at the farthest possible point from one another all night.

There could be no talk between her and Colm in the morning. A little time would have to elapse before either of them knew what to say.

The talk was only postponed, she told herself, as, in the first light, she tiptoed downstairs.

There was a smell of stale brandy in the drawing-room. And a long inert figure sprawling on the couch deeply asleep. Eugenia pulled back a curtain, letting the pale morning light touch his face.

For the first time she was aware of the marks of dissipation. Gilbert had been right, she had been remarkably innocent and unobservant. But a sleeping face was a betrayal, the slack mouth, the lack of animation. The high intelligent forehead was still there, the slightly hollowed cheeks, the long dark lashes. She loved him unbearably. Together, she was certain, they could overcome his weakness.

Together… What a cruel word for lovers who must part.

For they must part temporarily, at least, to allow him to save his face. She had an unhappy intuition that otherwise he would never forgive her for having seen him like this.

She picked up the empty brandy bottle, thinking to remove the visible proof of his embarrassment. Then she went to her writing desk in her sitting-room and wrote,

Colm, my dearest,

Write to me. Tell me where we can meet. I love you.

Eugenia.

He stirred as she slid the note into his breast pocket. She went rigid, afraid that he would wake. But he continued to sleep heavily, and at last she had to tiptoe away.

She knew that he would be gone before she came down again.

She could not even begin to contemplate the frightening thought that she had ruined not only his life, but Gilbert’s, and her own.

S
OMEHOW THE LONG DAY
passed. Unexpectedly Gilbert came in to luncheon. He was disturbed because Eugenia ate almost nothing.

‘It isn’t you who had too much to drink last night.’ His tone was kindly enough, and might even have held a note of apology if she had allowed herself to listen for it. He could afford to be as charming and tender as he liked, since he had so successfully done what he had set out to do. He wasn’t looking beyond the present, of course.

Neither, at the moment, was she, for from tiredness and shock she had felt wretchedly ill all morning. She pushed her plate away, saying that she thought she had a slight fever. She would go upstairs and rest. Perhaps later Mrs Jarvis would bring Baby up. Could she bear to look at her baby’s plump lively face and consider leaving him? The two people she loved most in the world, Colm and her son—which was to be the dream and which the reality?

Colm had said they could cross the Blue Mountains and disappear. She knew all too well the stigma attached to a woman who left her husband and ran off with another man. No doubt it was just as great in Australia as in England, though here one could escape from society more easily. It might even be possible to live an honest life under an assumed name.

When Colm had found her note and answered it she would be able to make her decision. She could not plan anything today while her head ached so badly.

One day soon she might ride away from Yarrabee, her garden, Peabody, Mrs Jarvis holding Christopher and making him wave his fat hand, Gilbert narrowing his eyes against the sun so that that lonely look didn’t show… The little tableaux was sharply behind her eyelids. She stirred and woke with a start as Mrs Jarvis came in quietly with a tea tray.