Elianne (16 page)

She’s missed the point entirely, Stan thought. He was surprised, for despite her vague lapses Hilda was usually astute in her observation of others. Dear God, it’s the good family that’s the worry, he told himself, they’re Micks for Christ’s sake! He didn’t care in the least if Alan bedded the Italian girl, it was time the boy lost his virginity and it might as well be with the Dago. But if something serious were to develop between his son and a Catholic, that would be a different matter altogether.

‘I may have made a mistake giving Paola a job here on the estate,’ he said thoughtfully. ‘Perhaps it would be better all round if she sought work in town.’

Paola had left school the previous year after completing her junior certificate and was now employed as a receptionist at the front desk of Elianne’s office, a position which had delighted her father Luigi.

‘No, dear, it wouldn’t,’ Hilda said firmly but gently. ‘In fact I believe such an action would be most unwise. If the two are as enamoured as they appear to be, then separating them would only enflame the situation. Better to wait. They will tire of each other in time. Paola will not submit to Alan’s advances, if indeed he makes any, and driven by a young man’s desire he will move on. Theirs is puppy love, Stanley, and puppy love never lasts.’

Sensing her husband’s uncertainty and keen to put him at his ease, she added, ‘Besides, were anything serious to develop, Luigi himself would be the first to forbid any form of union.’

Stan nodded. ‘You’re right,’ he said. She was, he thought. Hilda hadn’t missed the point at all.

Kate arrived home two weeks after Alan and was immediately embroiled in the situation for no reason other than her car.

‘Hey, if I sling on my L plates can I drive the Holden into town tonight, Kate?’ Alan said the day after her arrival, which happened to be a Saturday. He’d had his learner’s plates for just under a month, and cadged drives into town at every opportunity. ‘I want to take Paola to the pictures.’

‘What’s wrong with the bus?’

A privately operated bus service ran regularly between Elianne and Bundaberg, particularly during the crushing season when shift workers were transported to and fro from dawn until midnight. The service had diminished a little over recent times as cars had become more readily available, but it continued to operate throughout the year, even during the slack season. Employees were delivered to work, children to school, women to shops, and families to picnics at Bargara. And at weekends the bus remained an imperative mode of transport for young people, taking them to and from dances and the Saturday-night pictures.

‘The bus was fine for us when we were kids,’ Kate said.

‘Give us a break,’ Alan pulled a face, ‘it’s hardly as classy as the Holden.’

Ah, she thought, he wants to show off. ‘You do know you have to have a licensed driver in the front seat with you, don’t you, Al?’

‘Course I know that.’ He proffered a hopeful smile. ‘Do you want to come along?’

‘And how do you plan to get home?’ she asked, knowing the answer.

‘Well we could catch the last bus, I suppose,’ he said with a reluctant shrug, then he grinned. ‘Or you could come to the pictures with us if you like.
The Sound of Music
’s on at the Olympia,’ he added enticingly. ‘Everyone’s raving about it and Paola’s dead keen. What do you reckon?’

‘I reckon the sooner you get your licence the better,’ she said.

Alan couldn’t agree more. It was a source of constant frustration that, expert driver as he was, his legal licence was still a good two months away.

‘Is that a yes?’ he asked hopefully.

‘
The Sound of Music
, how could I possibly refuse?’

The Olympia Picture Theatre was an open-air cinema, or rather three-quarters of it was. The majority of the space was given over to canvas deck chairs, where the audience lounged comfortably beneath an open sky, knowing they could make a dash for the covered section at the rear should it happen to rain.

There was no likelihood of rain that night, however. The afternoon’s searing heat had gone and the warmth that lingered was sensual as people lolled in deck chairs, bare-legged and sandal-shod, men and boys in shorts, women and girls in light cotton dresses and skirts. Summer nights at the Olympia were invariably languid affairs.

‘
Do, a deer, a female deer
. . .’

As the youngsters on screen joined Julie Andrews in song, Kate glanced at her brother seated beside her. The Von Trapp children had apparently failed to captivate Alan, who was staring up at the stars. The Von Trapps may not have been wholly to blame though: Alan often disappeared into a world of his own.

Kate enjoyed the film more than she’d thought she would, but she was a little distracted by her brother’s inattention. Alan’s gaze continued for the most part to be directed either up at the stars, which were indeed vivid in a cloudless sky, or at Paola seated on the other side of him. The two held hands throughout, but Paola’s own gaze, from the occasional glimpses Kate caught of the girl’s profile, remained fixed upon the screen.

‘Isn’t he terrible?’ Paola said during the drive home. ‘A film as wonderful as that and he spends the whole time looking up at the sky.’

Or at you, Kate thought. ‘Didn’t you like it, Al?’ she asked.

‘Not much,’ he said, his eyes on the road as he drove. ‘I thought it was a bit soppy.’ He smiled apologetically into the rear-vision mirror at Paola, who was seated in the back. ‘Not enough action for me, I’m afraid.’

‘Not enough action?’ She was appalled. ‘They get chased by Nazis!’

‘Yeah, but only in the last few minutes and nobody’s killed.’

‘Your brother has no taste at all, Kate,’ Paola said. ‘Unless it’s a gangster film he’s not remotely interested.’

‘You’re lucky. It used to be cowboys and Indians.’

‘It still is.’ Alan accepted their ragging good-naturedly. ‘And if I can’t get a dose of either, I’ll look at the stars.’

Alan didn’t actually care what film he saw. All he could think of was the day when he’d have his licence and be able to drive Paola into town without someone else sitting in the front seat. He was sick of being treated like a child. And more importantly, he was sick of being made to appear a child in Paola’s eyes. But he was grateful to Kate.

‘It was beaut having the Holden tonight,’ he said as they pulled up in the front driveway after dropping Paola home. Kate had no idea whether there’d been a good-night kiss; she’d discreetly looked the other way as he’d walked Paola to the door.

The two of them climbed out of the car and started up the main steps of the Big House.

‘Thanks, Kitty-Kat,’ he said.

‘A pleasure, Al-Pal,’ she replied.

They smiled; they hadn’t used those nicknames for years.

How different everything is, Kate thought a little later as she lay in her bed, the lamp still on, gazing about at the familiar things that surrounded her; strange how everything can look the same and yet be so different. But then times have changed, she told herself. Alan’s grown up, Neil’s off at army camp, I’m at university . . .

But try as she might, she couldn’t distract herself from the truth. The changes in her life and her brothers’ lives were part of the natural transformation she’d sensed on her trip home the previous Christmas: she could not ignore the difference that now existed. This difference went far deeper than simply growing up and moving on: it was reflected in everything she saw around her. Even the past, now viewed through different eyes, would never be the same. The diaries had made sure of that.

Reaching out her hand, she switched off the bedside lamp. She must not think about Ellie. She’d determined that during this trip home she would put the diaries from her mind. An impossible task, she was aware – their revelations would always be with her – but to dwell upon the unanswerable questions they raised was a pointless invitation to torment. She rolled on her side, willing herself to sleep.

‘You and I must visit Elianne House today, Kate.’ The following morning over breakfast Hilda made her solemn announcement. ‘We must pay our respects.’

‘How can we?’ Kate replied bluntly. ‘It’s gone.’

Stan and Bartholomew glanced up from their plates, both mildly surprised by her brusqueness, but Alan stifled a smile as he tucked into his eggs and bacon. He loved his sister’s lack of pretension.

Hilda was not amused, however, by what she saw as her daughter’s blatant irreverence. ‘I am fully aware of that, Kate,’ she said, piqued and more than a little hurt, ‘but we must pay tribute to the demise of Elianne House. As a measure of respect to Grandmother Ellie if nothing else,’ she added tightly.

‘Of course.’ Kate smiled an apology. She hadn’t meant to sound terse; it had not been her intention to offend. As a rule she was happy to indulge her mother’s need for drama, but for some reason the words had just popped out that way. ‘We’ll go straight after breakfast, Marmee, I promise.’

A half an hour later, Kate pulled the Holden up in the front driveway of Elianne House or rather the untidy remains of what had once been the front driveway, for vegetation had steadily claimed the grounds of the old home. As for the house itself, there remained no visible sign that here had once stood an early Queenslander of impressive dimensions and gracious design. Verdant growth had reclaimed the site with a greed that seemed to denounce humanity’s right to have ever built here in the first place, vines and bushes and grasses vying for supremacy over the rubble and remnants that lay buried beneath.

The women climbed from the car, Kate circling to stand beside her mother.

‘Good God,’ she said in amazement, ‘it’s disappeared completely.’

‘Yes,’ Hilda replied, ‘isn’t that terrible? After seventy-five years Elianne House has been wiped from the face of the earth, just like that, gone forever. It’s more than terrible,’ she said, her face a mask of tragedy, ‘it’s shameful that such a thing should have been allowed to happen. The past has been stolen from us, Kate.’

Which is probably not a bad thing, a voice in Kate’s brain said, but she remained silent as together they stared at the mass of tangled growth that had sprouted to claim its own with such ferocity.

‘Big Jim built the house for Grandmother Ellie in 1890,’ Hilda said pensively, still seeing in her mind’s eye the old home in all its grandeur. ‘Elianne House was a gift of love.’

‘Yes, I know.’ Kate marvelled at the fact that she felt absolutely nothing. Surely this is a healthy sign, she thought, with a vague sense of relief. If only she could put her knowledge of the past behind her with the same ease as she could Elianne House, then perhaps . . .

Hilda, having turned to look at her daughter, was now studying her astutely as Kate gazed out at the landscape.

‘You’ve changed, Kate,’ she said.

Visited by an unrealistic fear that her mother might somehow have divined her thoughts, Kate started guiltily. ‘Changed?’ She tried her best to sound casual. ‘In what way?’

‘You’re confident now.’

‘Since when have I not been?’ What a strange remark, Kate thought.

‘I mean that you’re at home with your beauty, dear.’ Hilda examined her daughter’s face, clinically, unashamedly, like a doctor examining a patient for infinitesimal signs of a condition. Yes, she thought, Kate is no longer a virgin. She wears her womanliness like a badge and my goodness how it does suit her.

‘Oh my darling,’ she said fervently, overcome by a sudden surge of emotion, ‘I do hope he loves you. You deserve someone who can offer you true love.’ Then in typically mercurial fashion, the feyness vanished to be replaced by maternal practicality, and questions darted like arrows. ‘Who is he, dear, tell me? What does he do? Would I like him?’

Relieved though Kate was that no supernatural divination had taken place, she found her mother’s perceptiveness confronting. Rather than avoid the issue as she would normally have done, however, she chose to answer in all honesty.

‘He’s a university student, Marmee,’ she said, ‘and I don’t know if you’d like him. His name is Jeremy, he’s just finished his Bachelor of Arts and intends to go on to his Masters, and I’m not sure if either of us knows what “true love” is.’ She smiled, not wishing to sound callous. ‘To be quite honest, I think it’s a strictly fairy tale term.’

‘Oh, you modern young career women,’ Hilda gave an exasperated wave of her hand, ‘I don’t understand your cynicism, really I don’t.’ She wondered briefly whether she should offer a mother’s cautionary advice about ‘taking care’, but it hardly seemed necessary. Kate was far cleverer than she could ever hope to be. Besides, this was the sixties: things had changed. There was the contraceptive pill. Girls knew how to look after themselves these days.

She looked out again to where the old house had once stood. ‘Perhaps it is wise after all to be cynical,’ she said wistfully. ‘Perhaps you’re right to keep your expectations to a minimum. Not everyone is destined to experience a great love.’

Kate felt a stab of irritation. Hilda was wandering down some wishful lane to the past again, a past of her own invention.

‘Time to go home,’ she said briskly. She was no longer prepared to pander to the fantasy.

Any consideration Kate may have once given to the sharing of Ellie’s writings, at least in some part, with her mother had gone. She had decided not even to share them with her brother Alan. Not yet anyway. The diaries must remain a secret for the moment, their future uncertain. She had already embarked upon the painstaking exercise of their translation, which she intended to complete in time, but to what end she wasn’t sure. Perhaps for posterity – they were documents of historical interest after all – or perhaps to be kept locked away for future generations of Durhams. She might possibly, when she had completed their translation, let Alan read them for himself, thereby gaining a confidant who could help her decide upon a course of action. Right now she was certain of only one thing. She could not expose her parents to the lies and deceit upon which their lives had been based.

Private Neil Durham was granted ten days’ leave over Christmas and the New Year, his arrival home completing the family reunion.