The Affair (24 page)

She hated having that money there, secret from James. It felt disloyal. She didn’t need an out clause and more importantly, she didn’t want one. And so she had spent it. All of it. On a dress. Just one dress. It felt decadent but fitting. Tonight was an important night and she had to look the part – sophisticated, glamorous and classy. And in this dress she felt all of those things.

Nina knew James liked it. All night he kept
finding excuses to touch her – a hand on her lower back guiding her through the crowded ballroom to their table, a gentle pressure on her leg as he leaned across the table to speak to his mother. And for most of the evening Nina was aware of his arm, along the back of her chair, encircling her protectively. She felt sublimely happy.

Patty was in fine form, excited to be out with her family, and her mood was infectious.

‘Whether we win anything or not, I am very happy to be here,’ she announced as soon as they were all seated. She beamed around the table at each member of her family and their special guests, Felix and his fiancée Miranda.

Frederick raised his glass in agreement. ‘I think we all second that. Here’s to you, my dear. You gave us a nasty scare and we are all very glad to have you here.’

Patty smiled graciously.

The meal was interspersed with the announcement of awards. Trophies were handed out to the different wine companies and associated industries. The family cheered each winner, not expecting to win themselves.

‘Give it a few years,’ Mark promised. ‘Then our reds will be up there winning everything, I promise you.’

So it was with some surprise that the Wilde family did hear their name announced on the podium.

‘… and the award for Wine Campaign of the Year goes to Wilde Wines.’

They all sat in shocked silence.

Electronic screens above the stage showed the winning Wilde Wines campaign, a series of postcards addressed to Mr Wilde, Mrs Wilde and Ms Wilde. Each carried the message, ‘Wouldn’t you rather serve your guests wine from your own estate? You’re a Wilde. Be proud.’

The TV comedienne who was host for the night explained the campaign.

‘These postcards were sent to the 14,000 people in Australia who happen to share that name. A simple idea. And an original one. Congratulations, Wilde Wines.’

Everyone at the Wilde table clapped and looked to Frederick, expecting him to go up and accept the award. He stayed seated.

‘This is your award, James,’ he said. ‘Up you go.’

James was too stunned to move anywhere.

Frederick smiled gently. ‘Go on, boy. It was your good idea and hard work that made it happen. Next year it will be Mark for those mighty reds. But tonight it’s your campaign that is being recognised. Well done.’

Nina grinned and pushed James to his feet. ‘Go on.’

James stumbled to the podium. He walked up the steps and across the stage. The head of the Australian Wine Federation and the TV comedienne handed him the wine glass mounted on a block of wood and stepped back.

James found himself alone at the podium looking out across an indistinct sea of faces. The lights
above him were dazzling and hot. They made it hard for him to see beyond the front row of tables. He was shocked to be standing there. His father’s words, ‘well done’, echoed in his head, giving him confidence. James felt humble and proud all at once. Nina held her breath as James cleared his throat, waiting while the applause subsided and taking the moment to get his thoughts in order.

‘When I was a kid I was something of a brat,’ he began. ‘I used to complain to my father that our name was too common. Wilde.

‘I didn’t think it carried the panache of say a Rockefeller or a Baillieu. My father, a long suffering and patient man, used to listen and say nothing. I feel very humble when I say I have realised the strength in that name. Not just in marketing terms, which this award recognises, but in far more personal terms.

‘To be born into the Wilde family with Frederick Wilde as my father was the smartest thing I ever did. My second smartest move was to hire him as my boss.

‘I dedicate this award to my hero, my father.’

It was the most personal and emotional speech of the night. As James walked off the stage, the audience cheered. Many of them were families, used to mixing blood and business. For some it meant bitter public feuds. They appreciated James’s humility. When he reached his own table Patty and Nina were both in tears. Even Amanda looked impressed.

‘Well done, James,’ she said.

He was moved by her sincerity.

Frederick looked embarrassed but proud. He ordered more champagne for everybody.

The successful evening and James’s spontaneous speech marked the end of hostilities. Frederick never mentioned the name Lloyd’s to James again. James assumed he must have explained to Patty what had happened but neither parent spoke of it.

Patty turned to Felix. ‘It is nice to have you here to share this moment of triumph. You have become a part of this family now. It’s a shame our new partner couldn’t join us. He is part of it now too.’

Felix shook his head.

‘I’m afraid that’s not his style. He has other interests. This may sound harsh, and please don’t take it the wrong way, but you are really nothing more than a page in his investment portfolio.’

Patty was about to ask more but Frederick interjected. ‘And a good thing too,’ he said. ‘The less he has to do with the business the less he will be tempted to interfere.’

Patty laughed. ‘Yes, I suppose you’re right. What about we send him a photo of us all holding our winning plaque? Would he like that for his wall, do you think? Or to brighten up a page in his boring business portfolio? Perhaps a bottle of one of Mark’s mighty reds to celebrate?’

Frederick snorted. ‘I would prefer it if this family stopped trying to befriend this man,’ he said. ‘We have entered into a business arrangement with him and before you go sending happy family snaps, Patty, I would like to point that out. It is not in our
interests to encourage him to take anything other than a distant view of what we do. I’m sorry if that sounds ungrateful or even uncaring, but there it is. That is how I wish it to be. Do I make myself clear?’ Frederick used a tone that they all recognised. It meant he wanted no arguments.

But Patty was having none of it, not tonight. She laughed merrily at her husband. ‘No-one would know what a lovely man you are from the way you go on at times,’ she said, her tone gently teasing. ‘Really Frederick, sometimes you are just too much …’ She leaned over and stroked her husband playfully on the cheek. ‘… but we all love you anyway.’

Frederick’s frown melted from his face.

When they got home James placed the mounted wine glass with the inscribed plaque on the mantelpiece beneath Nina’s painting.

They stood together admiring it.

‘What a night,’ said James.

‘Your speech was great,’ agreed Nina. ‘I was so proud of you.’

‘I guess I’m forgiven.’

‘I guess so. Your father was so touched by what you said.’

James pulled Nina to him. She helped him out of his suit jacket, then started to unbutton his shirt. When she got to his cuffs, she noticed for the first time that they were pinned together with safety pins.

‘Where are your gold cufflinks?’ she asked in surprise.

‘It’s all right. I – I – got rid of them.’

Nina looked confused. ‘You got rid of them?’

She was about to ask why when she noticed the look on James’s face. He looked caught out and a bit naughty. He grinned. In a sudden flash Nina understood.

She looked up at the enormous canvas that filled their lounge room wall, the painting that whispered to her of fresh, crisp afternoons, of winter air so cold her gums ached if she smiled outdoors. And the gentle-faced woman in the familiar floral frock with the tall silver-haired man by her side. The picture dominated the room and, it seemed to Nina, made the unmistakable statement that she, Nina Lambert Wilde, daughter of Jake and Dorothea, lived here.

She looked at James.

He shrugged and smiled. ‘A fair exchange, Nina, don’t you think?’

The echo of the doctor
’
s words reverberated in
Nina’s head. ‘Oh, by the way …’

They had nearly made it through the door, out of his office and would have been on their way. They were so close. What was this man playing at? Wasn’t there something in the doctor’s oath about confidentiality, minding their own business? Surely it was nothing to do with him whether Luke was James’s son or not? His role was purely medical, to check for a specific genetic weakness. He had done that. There was no genetic problem. His part was finished. Thank you. Goodbye.

But James, unsuspecting and ever polite, was turning back to face him.

‘Yes …?’

There was nothing Nina could do. She felt the chill of the unnaturally cold room seep into her bones. She hunted frantically for something to say to divert James’s attention. For one brief moment she considered pretending to faint but that would leave James alone with this doctor. Just moments ago he had been her saviour, telling her in medical language that she didn’t understand that James was healthy. He would live. Now he represented an insidious threat to her family, her marriage, her entire future. She braced herself.

‘How is business?’ asked the doctor.

It was such an unexpected question that Nina wondered if she had heard him correctly.
How is
business
?

James was equally surprised. ‘Fine.’

He looked questioningly at the doctor.

The doctor smiled, his heart thumping, his foot frantically tapping under the desk. He was so enjoying himself.

‘I have a bit of an interest in the wine industry myself,’ he said.

James smiled politely. Another would-be wine expert.

‘I have some money invested in a vineyard. It’s an up-and-coming family winery and won this year’s award for best shiraz, best chardonnay and, for the third time in the past ten years, the wine campaign of the year. And it just won a big overseas award, for one of the reds. I forget which one …’

James and Nina stood staring at him. Realisation
was beginning to dawn. The doctor could see it on both their faces.

‘Perhaps you might know it?’

James looked delighted. ‘Dr Jones? You’re
that
Dr Jones?’

James remembered the day he, Mark and his father had signed the papers. Felix had said his client was an old mate from school, now a Sydney specialist, a Dr Jones. James hadn’t remembered him from school and that had been the last time his name had been discussed. Felix had said his client had no desire to become involved in the business, which had suited Frederick.

Over the years he had become nothing more than the name at the bottom of the occasional document that had to be signed.

The doctor nodded, watching him carefully.
Yes,
I’m that Dr Jones. So nice to make your acquaintance.
But don’t you recognise me? I guess not. Why would you
Mr Hot Shot, Mr Sporting Star, Mr Olympic Hero?
Why would you remember me? It’s not like you noticed
me when I was standing right in front of you. I didn’t
register on your radar then, so why should you remember
me?

James was looking surprised and delighted. ‘Oh man, I want to shake your hand. You have no idea how you saved my life. You saved my whole family. If it wasn’t for you …’ James shuddered, remembering the whole awful summer of 1991 – the Lloyd’s debacle, his mother’s stroke. ‘It was the worst three months of my life. It doesn’t bear thinking about.’

James looked at the doctor with unabashed pleasure, like he was discovering a long-lost friend. ‘Nina,’ he said, grinning. ‘This is Felix’s client. Our investor. He is
that
Dr Jones.’

Nina nodded, looking fully at the doctor. His gaze was locked on James. There was something about the expression in his eyes that Nina found unnerving.

The doctor was enjoying James’s delight but there was an edge to his manner that scared her. He was controlled, confident and yet …

She wasn’t sure why her hands were suddenly clammy with sweat, when the room was so cool and dry.

The doctor was revelling in the moment. When his accountant, Felix Butterworth, had come to him and said he had a business proposition, a winery, owned by the little-known Wilde family, he had delighted in the irony. He had known the Wilde family. Or he had known one of them. James Wilde. The big school sports hero. There were two boys whose names were seared on his memory. James Wilde and the other champion of under-16 football, Malcolm Watson. It was always those two boys who chose the teams and they always left till last the skinny kid who couldn’t catch a ball. They didn’t care about his abject humiliation. Dr Jones, then a blushing fourteen-year-old in baggy shorts, would pray that this time he would be chosen. He never was. He was the last one left, dumped onto whichever team was unlucky enough in the draw to get him.

I
was beneath you. I was one of the little people who
existed to serve you. You’re the guy who gets the fame,
the glory and the girl. You were the winner. And I was the
loser. But you didn’t really win, did you? Your life is a
sham, propped up by my silence. I own you. I’m the
silent partner in your life.

‘It is
such
a pleasure, Dr Jones,’ said James.

The doctor accepted the compliment as his due, letting it warm him, enjoying the feeling of having James Wilde grateful to him.

‘We were at school together, you know,’ continued the doctor.

Nina started to stiffen. She had a nasty feeling about this man.

James stared harder at the doctor. ‘I’m sorry, I don’t remember.’

‘No matter, no matter,’ said the doctor. He turned to face Nina.

‘It is so nice to meet you both. The Wildes of the famous Wilde Wines family. But Dr Jones sounds so formal when we have so much in common. We are partners.’ He paused for the merest fraction of a second, then continued, ‘Please call me Leo.’

Nina felt the world stop. It was as if the blood ceased to move around her body. The air stopped circulating in her lungs. Understanding and recognition came in a bright and blinding flash. She was aware only of Leo, he filled her vision, his gaze locked onto hers. It was unrelenting, boring into her, bitter, accusing, challenging, triumphant.

James was oblivious to the change of mood in
the room. He kept talking, wanting to share with the doctor some of the business success that his injection of money had afforded them over the years. He was unaware that both Nina and the doctor had stopped listening to him.

‘… Thanks to your investment over the past ten years we have been able to not only clear our debts, but vastly improve our business. We are exporting to two overseas markets and looking at some fresh possibilities opening up in China …’

Nina stared at Leo with a mixture of shock and disbelief. James and everything in the room faded away. He looked so different. It wasn’t just age. His whole face had changed. Only the blue eyes seemed faintly familiar, as they bored into her. But their expression was not of anyone she knew, or felt she had ever known. They held no joy or mischief. The doctor’s eyes were dead and looking into them chilled her to the core.

Oh Leo, what happened to you?

She was completely motionless as the pain came, sharp and sudden, ripping along her nerveways. Its intensity shocked her. She hadn’t expected it. She had sealed off those emotions a long time ago. Or so she had thought. But seeing him, realising this strange-mannered, balding man with the bitter smile was Leo, it all came rushing back in a torrent of passion, tenderness, longing and guilt.

Nina was no longer standing with her husband in the vast light-filled room of a blood specialist. At that moment she was sitting in a tree, barefoot and breathless. She could feel the hard wood of the
branch under her thighs, through her cotton shorts. The air was wet, sultry and close. Large raindrops splashed onto the leaves, ricocheting into a hundred smaller droplets, down through the canopy to land on her bare skin. And Leo was gently, delicately nibbling her lower lip. Such exquisite sensations. She remembered feeling as if every muscle, every cell had melted into warm, liquid honey.

It was a poignant memory, a distant echo of overwhelming emotion, overlaid with other, stronger, conflicting emotions that came later and had torn her in every direction. She was suddenly aware that her legs had turned to jelly. Worried that they would not hold her weight, she moved back to the chair opposite Leo’s desk. She sank into it gratefully. Her blood pressure plummeted and she felt faint.

‘We will always be very grateful to you,’ she said weakly. She spoke softly and meaningfully, her voice ending on a whisper.

In the same instant Nina was remembering, so was he. But it wasn’t bittersweet memories of making love in the tree that were filling his mind. It was heat, scorching white heat. Flames licking up his thighs. Eyes burned dry. His throat raw from the smoke. He had called out to her. And she had scooped up Tiger and run away.

James’s voice became a low hum, blending with the sound of the air-conditioning. ‘… England now imports more Australian wine than French wine and our percentage of that gross has increased to …’

Seeing her now, Leo felt again an echo of that white seething anger. He had known for over a week that this meeting was coming. The medical questionnaire listing the most personal of details, and yet revealing nothing, had been processed at various points, passing through the office system to land in his in-tray. When he had read the name Nina Wilde, nee Lambert, mother of Luke Wilde, wife of James Wilde, he had been sitting at his desk and was struck dumb with the shock of seeing her name, after all these years. Nina, pretty Nina. The woman who had gently unwrapped his heart then killed it as surely as if she had set fire to it herself. She was married to James Wilde, that sporting stud from school, who had humiliated Leo all those years ago.

After Leo had composed himself he had rung Felix to check that he was right, the patient was the same James Wilde whose family owned Wilde Wines.

‘Is his wife called Nina?’ asked Leo, trying to quell the tremble in his voice.

‘Yes, that’s him. Don’t you remember him from school?’ Felix had replied. ‘He was an Olympic skier.’

Leo remembered him very well, but he stayed silent. He felt he had come full circle. The papers sitting under his clasped hands were a time bomb, just waiting for him to set them off. He held the secrets of Nina and James’s past in that cheap plastic folder. He had performed the tests. He had received the results. And when he discovered that
Luke didn’t have the same genetic identifiers as James, he had pulled out an old diary and worked out the dates over the summer of 1991. It had meant reopening so many painful wounds.

Then he had his own genetic code read. He sat at this desk, his heart in his mouth, knowing, without even opening the envelope, what the results would be. He was Luke’s father. Luke Wilde, ten years old, blood type O, with Antigen Η present and a typically homozygous ii reaction. Leo knew his son’s genetic blueprint. And yet he knew nothing about him. Did he like pizza? Did he inherit his interest in science? Did he look like anyone in Leo’s family? Did he like boats? The Wilde file didn’t even contain a photo.

Once the shock passed, the questions had burned inside him. How could she not tell him he had a son? It tore at Leo, stabbed into his heart.
How could she not tell him? After all she had done to
him, all she had taken from him, how could she? How
could she be so cruel?
Leo had screamed this question into the empty night, tortured and racked with pain. It was a molten ball in the pit of his stomach.

He had lived through the past week in a state of nervous anticipation, every moment filled with memories. He was thinking of her when he woke in the mornings. As his mind cleared away the last wispy images of sleep, she was there. Not always a visual image. Usually it was far more pervasive than that. It was a hint of her spirit, her energy, as if she had just left the room. He had been unable to rid himself of her and it had nearly driven him mad.

He had been able to think of nothing but this meeting. He felt that fate had just dealt him the ultimate vengeance hand. It was within his grasp to inflict maximum pain on these two people, the two people he hated most in the world.

He searched Nina’s face. She was shocked to see him. She had sunk back into the winged armchair, her face shielded from James.

James, still standing, was continuing to share his excitement over the wonderful growth the winery had enjoyed over the past ten years.

Nina looked like she had melted into the fabric of the chair. Leo watched her. He was looking for something. Shame. Guilt. Apology. Some emotion that might reflect his own pain. The recognition and shock was evident in her little pixie face. Her hands were clasped tightly together as if to comfort herself. All colour had drained from her face. Leo felt a fissure open, a small crack in the hardened steel inside.

Nina’s eyes pleaded silently across the desk. They were luminous and full of suffering. Leo was paralysed by their intensity. It was there. That something he was looking for was there in their depths. It reached out to him, communicated to him in a way that words never could. He felt the fissure inside him open a little wider.

She seemed so small and fragile sitting in the winged armchair. There was a quality about being in her presence that he had forgotten. The unique essence that made Nina so special. It swirled about her. It was in the way she held her head, the softness
in her eyes, her gentleness, her tenderness. His bitterness was rendered impotent in the face of it. Pretty, bubbly, funny Nina. She wasn’t laughing now, but still she carried that energy with her. He remembered it and he knew, with a poignant stab, that he could never willingly hurt her.

James talked himself to a standstill, suddenly aware that he had lost both Nina and the doctor. He sighed. He thought he had done it again – bored everybody with his talk of business. He tried to bring the conversation back on track, to include them.