The Lace Balcony (64 page)

Mungo.

Felix consulted his gold watch as he had done at increasing intervals for the past two hours. Silent Jack the Waterman was in full verbal flight as the late afternoon shadows darkened the harbour to a dull slate-blue reflection of the sky.

Buffeted by the incoming tide the wherry lay in waiting, loaded with crates and packages of farm implements to be delivered to the scattered properties on the northern shore around Hunters-hill. Tethered on board was the reluctant cow destined for
Mookaboola.

‘D'you want to wait any longer, Mister L'Estrange? It's no skin off my nose but this is costing ye a small fortune.'

‘I'll say when it is time to depart,' Felix replied crisply.

Felix assured himself his conscience was clear. Last night had been an extraordinary tangled web, an unwanted revelation of Vianna's feelings for him – and for Mungo. But she had agreed to honour her contract.

He told himself he could afford to be generous, at least to the degree of being pleased by Boadicea's safe return. Despite himself he was curious about the cause of Mungo's capitulation. He played the curious phrases over in his mind.

‘Vianna's all yours, mate. I don't want her. But if you're the man I think you are, you'll do the right thing and marry the girl. You can give her the life she needs.'

Felix felt a wave of irritation. Mungo was playing the hero, setting Vianna free to accept Felix as second best. When the reverse was true. He prided himself he had spared no expense to ensure Vianna's happiness. The pregnant cow on board was a gift to her, to provide her not only with a bountiful supply of fresh creamy milk to drink, but also to bathe in, in the traditional way fabled courtesans preserved the perfection of their complexions. He suspected Cleopatra had in fact bathed in ass's milk, but held fast to the idea of Vianna bathing in milk, a touch of luxury he felt sure would please her.

Felix took another swig of brandy from the silver flask that had
become his close companion that afternoon. He had changed his mind about Vianna travelling ahead of him and had arranged for a chaise to bring her here to meet him on the wharf. Last night she had seemed as nervous as he was – but that dramatic chain of events would be enough to unsettle any lady. He had not the slightest doubt she would join him at
Mookaboola,
but even given a lady's traditional right to be late, her continued delay had begun to depress him.

I can't keep this damned heifer tethered much longer. I'd best deliver it into Hanson's hands. What if it suddenly drops its calf in the middle of the harbour? I know nothing of animal husbandry – outside of Father's account books. Mungo could probably deliver a calf with his eyes closed, damn him.

Silent Jack startled him. ‘Can't wait much longer. Do we stay or go?'

In a reflex action Felix consulted his watch. The damned cow was the deciding factor. With a surge of energy fuelled by brandy, he gave the order to depart.

‘You can drop me off and return here for the lady.'

•  •  •

Felix winced at the cow's plaintive mooing. She was wild-eyed, clearly frightened by the sharp, salty sea breeze, the white waves that chopped the harbour to signal an approaching storm, and the wherry rocking beneath their feet. Straining against her rope, the cow looked desperate enough to bolt and plunge into the waves.

Felix failed to summon up much pity, consumed by his growing fear – the dark, dull sense of rejection. There was still no sign of her on the wharf. Feeling trapped inside the weary body of an old man, he clung to his mantra.
Vianna promised to honour our contract. By God I'll hold her to it.

Silent Jack was driving him barmy with a constant stream of questions that the waterman answered himself to keep the one-sided conversation alive. Felix took refuge in the flask of brandy that had at first lifted his spirits but now plummeted them, colouring his world dark grey.
Suppose she's changed her mind?

He could see nothing in the beauty around him. The idea of a future without Vianna stretched before him in an unending chain of bleak days, devoid of all hope. Nothing else mattered. His mother's planned departure for Prussia, the perilous state of the L'Estrange
bank mortgages held by Wentworth's Bank of Australia, even his nightly adventures in the stars – nothing had any relevance. Only one thing was real – Vianna. Just when his dream of possessing his Venus was within reach, his half-brother had defeated him – just as the bastard had done all his life.

It was no consolation that Mungo had rejected her and disappeared from their lives. It had all come too late. He could no longer deny the truth. Vianna's confession had routed him.
My romantic dream has become a nightmare.

As he looked into the depths of the harbour, Felix tried to hold fast to his fantasy . . . transporting himself into the four-poster bed he had installed for them at
Mookaboola . . .
making love to her with all the passion long shored up in his soul and body . . . she was his! Then, right at the moment he was about to climax, Felix looked deep into Vianna's eyes – and saw Mungo's face reflected in her eyes!

‘Jesus Christ! No!' His agonised cry even silenced Silent Jack.

I would kill Mungo – if it wasn't for the grief I'd cause Father. Vianna is the only woman I ever wanted. To have lost her love to Mungo is unbearable. I've always been second best in Father's eyes. And despite everything I did to make her happy, I am nothing but second best in Vianna's eyes.

The impact of her words returned to cut deeper than any lethal knife wound . . . ‘I admire you more than any man I have ever known, Felix . . . the problem is, it is Mungo I love –
as a lover
.'

Felix took another swig of brandy. Depression weighed him down like a pall. He looked down into the fathomless harbour, felt its insidious power drawing him down to the depths . . . to escape this pain . . .

He felt a link of brotherhood with Goethe's youthful hero in
The Sorrows of Young Werther
.

Suicide the remedy for unrequited love . . .

He turned to look back at Henrietta Villa, the scene of his triumph, where he had rescued Vianna.
Will this be my last sight on earth? How easy suicide would be.

Felix remembered the night he had attended Captain Piper's final lavish party there. Unbeknownst to family and friends, Piper was suffering deep depression, his financial affairs so entangled with those of
his government role as Naval Officer and his other appointments that public disgrace was inevitable. Piper had slipped away from his party and ordered his musicians to play on a boat and row him out to sea. Outside the Heads, he jumped overboard. A violinist, the sole man on board who could swim, jumped into the ocean and saved him.

Piper's whole world collapsed. He probably regretted that man saving his life.

Downing the final dregs from his flask, Felix saw with blinding clarity that suicide was the perfect solution.
I shall make it appear an accident – to avoid my family's shame at a verdict of suicide.

Silent Jack's back was conveniently turned from him. Just as Felix prepared to slide noiselessly into the water, the pregnant cow gave a terrible bellow of pain – instantly followed by a voice from the shore that Felix recognised. The overseer was waving a welcome.

Damn Hanson. He'd recognise it was suicide. I can't do that to Mutti. I must find some other way to end my pain.

Feeling the coins in the pocket of his great coat, Felix reminded himself money had failed to buy him the one thing he craved – Vianna's love. He had no further use for filthy lucre. All he needed now was a few coins to pay the legendary ferryman to transport him across the River Styx to the life beyond death.

Instead, prompted by Silent Jack, he paid the earthly ferryman his fare.

‘Have a pleasant evening, Mr L'Estrange, if you know what I mean?'

He could not fail to interpret the man's broad wink. For weeks past Silent Jack had ferried across furniture for Vianna's boudoir.

Felix tried to hide his unsteady gait as Hanson welcomed him with due respect and began to lead the labouring cow up the track to
Mookaboola.
‘Seems her time has come, Sir. She's in good hands now. And all is in readiness just as you ordered. Fresh roses daily and champagne on ice. I chipped the oysters off the rocks myself this morning, I did. Your lady's quite taken with the place – never been here before, she said. Says it's far grander than she ever expected.'

‘
My lady . . . ?
' Felix stopped in his tracks, overwhelmed by confusion and the wonderful dawning of hope – as if the sun had just banished the storm clouds to herald the return of summer.

Vianna has honoured her promise! Mungo has disappeared from her life. My love has come to her senses! And to think I nearly drowned myself in the harbour! May God forgive me.

He dropped his cane and broke into a run, slithering and sliding along the rain-sodden track, laughing joyously even when mud stained his trouser legs and boots. Breathing heavily, his laughter caught in his throat as
Mookaboola
came into sight. She was observing his arrival. Her soft white hand discreetly closed the curtains at the dormer window of the bedchamber he had created for her. At the top of the garden steps he threw his hat in the air in triumph.

Heaven on earth. She's waiting for me. Mungo's gone! She's mine!

Inside the house he collided with Mrs Hanson, who smiled up at him as if he were her favourite son.

‘Your lady's upstairs waiting for you, Sir. And if I may be so bold, what a beauty she is, Sir.'

Felix could not believe what he did next. Like a gallant Frenchman, he kissed the old woman on both rosy cheeks and sprang up the stairs two at a time.
Should I knock? Should I just charge in and take her to bed?

He slung his greatcoat over a chair in the hall, combed his hair with his fingers, and in one swift movement knocked and turned the door handle.

The sight of her took his breath away. She was standing with her back to him, framed by the French doors opening onto the balcony. The outline of her naked body was clearly visible beneath the cloudy lace of a French negligee he had chosen for her. It was as if Vianna was offering him this vision as a gift, the fulfilment of the fantasy he had created around her.

Pinned at the nape of her neck was a mauve rose that she knew was his favourite flower. She had deliberately swung the bulk of her long hair over one shoulder out of sight, allowing him a tantalising unbroken view of her milky white back and the wonderful, forbidden sight of her long legs, screened by the film of lace.

‘My God, you are incomparably beautiful, my love. I have waited for this moment so long I am bereft of words.'

‘I hope I won't disappoint you, Felix,' she said in a voice that was light and young yet held no trace of the coquette.

And when she turned to face him he saw that her fingers rested on the end of his telescope where she had been gazing at the first stars of evening.

Slowly the pieces fitted together. At last Felix understood everything.

Her hand trembled on the telescope, but Molly's voice was sure and sweet.

‘Will you take me to the stars with you Felix?'

He could not answer.
It is all over . . . all over . . . all over . . .

‘I promise you I'll take your pain away, Felix – if you will give me time.'

There was a slight tremor in her voice, but despite his confusion, Felix was dimly aware of the depth of the girl's courage.

Drained of all feeling, he leaned back against the door, breathing fast, unable to do anything but stare at the young, barefoot nymph who had invited herself into his fantasy world . . . She was now crossing the room to him . . . her suntanned arms extended in open invitation . . .

Standing up on her toes, Molly drew his head down to her, taking his mouth in a soft invitation of a kiss. She was offering him her lips with her whole heart . . .

Felix gently withdrew her hands from his face but held them between his own. At last he found the words, grey and weary. ‘Forgive me, Molly, I have nothing left inside me to give you – or any woman.'

He made an ironic gesture that encompassed the romantic boudoir he had created for Vianna. ‘
This
was my dream.'

‘I know,' she said. ‘But
I
am
real.
'

Barefoot, she crossed to the bed, holding his eyes as she untied the ribbon at her breast. Her eyes were resolute but her hand was trembling as she twisted one end of the ribbon around her fingers and offered it to him.

‘I ask only one thing of you, Felix. Teach me – all I need to know to travel to the stars. The rest doesn't matter. I have enough love inside me for both of us.'

Miss Weekes, the tiny wizened receptionist at Sandy's surgery, had a steely determination that far outweighed her size. Standing barely taller than Mungo's belt buckle, she was unswerving in her refusal to allow him access to Dr Gordon. ‘Young man, I do not care if you are the Governor himself. We do not allow people to walk in off the street and jump the queue for an appointment. The Doctor is waiting on the arrival of an important patient – he does not wish to be disturbed.'

Hat in hand, Mungo tried to balance respect with determination.

‘I'm sorry to pressure you, Miss Weekes, but this really
is
a matter of life and death. So if you don't mind I'll wait here as long as it takes.'

‘If you insist. What is your name?'

Mungo hesitated. ‘Sean O'Connor, ma'am.'