The Winter Sea (13 page)

Giuseppe stared at Franco while he searched for words. ‘She is a very nice girl. A sweet girl. I admire her very much.’

‘Then it is settled. She will be a perfect wife for you. It would make me – all the family, in fact – very happy.’

‘You have welcomed me into your home, given me a good job, and now you offer to make me part of your family’s business and want me to marry your daughter. She is the kind of girl my parents would want me to marry; a good Italian girl. They will be very pleased.’

‘Evalina is happy to marry you and to help you start my business down there. I will help you both set up a home as well as the business. You won’t do any better, Giuseppe.’

Giuseppe was not sure if Franco was referring to the business offer or to his daughter, or both, so he nodded in agreement. ‘I am honoured by your offer. And it is something I would like to do very much. I have always dreamed of running my own – well – of being in charge of a fishing business. Of course I would like to speak with Evalina.’

‘Indeed. There is no rush, you must court her properly.’

Giuseppe wondered what his friend Antonio in north Queensland would think, but he knew his friend would tell him he’d be mad to pass up such a proposition. He could hear Antonio saying that, even if the girl was ugly, it was an offer too good to refuse.

And Evalina wasn’t ugly. She looked like many of the pretty girls in his village. She had light brown hair, dark eyes, a curvaceous figure, pleasant features and a kind smile. She was a good cook and she knew how to run a household. She would be a good wife. She was not from his village, but he knew that even Nonna Celestina would approve of his choice.

So it was all agreed.

South coast, New South Wales, 2011

It was not a
day to fall in love with Whitby Point.

The sea thrashed angrily onto the empty beach, flinging waves up against the rocky cliffs, and gnawed hungrily at the sloping dunes that protected the small lagoon lying behind the beach. Sea birds huddled at the edge of the lagoon, taking refuge from the howling winter wind.

A lone figure, bent against the wind, fists pushed deep into the pockets of her jacket, walked along the path that skirted the deserted caravan park and camping ground. A change in wind direction blew back the hood of her jacket and her curling hair burst from the restraint of its hair clip.

The woman lifted her head to the smarting sting of sea spray, and changed her mind about walking past the cliff into the small township and harbour. She turned and made her way back around the bend to Pelican Cove, where three isolated cabins were hidden. Despite being spoiled for choice at this time of year, she’d chosen to rent one of these older cabins from a real estate agent in the town because of its seclusion.

The cabins on either side of hers were empty, and their small porches were carpeted with decaying vegetation – feathery needles and leaves from the trees. Their drawn blinds gave them an air of hunched defensiveness; the setting looked nothing like a sunny summer holiday escape. Cassandra Holloway had arrived in Whitby Point a few days ago and, while she could visualise how this place would look in the height of summer, its wintry setting suited her bleak mood.

As she approached the cabins, she saw a car parked by the side of the small dirt road that ran beside her cabin. A man, probably in his sixties, well built and fit and wearing overalls, got out of it as she approached.

‘Mrs Holloway? I’m Geoff Spring, the repairman. The real estate agent sent me. A problem with the kitchen, is it?’

‘Yes, the stove isn’t working. I thought the gas bottle was empty but it’s not, so I have no idea what’s wrong.’

‘No stove makes cooking tricky. These places are getting old. Built in the eighties and haven’t been touched since, except for a lick of paint.’ He grabbed his toolbox and followed her as she unlocked the front door.

‘If it wasn’t for the weather I’d use the barbecue. I’m getting a bit tired of meals in a frypan. But I can still boil the kettle. Tea or coffee?’

‘You don’t have to do that. But if you’re making tea . . . Where’s the gas bottle? I’ll just check that first.’

Finding that it was indeed full he turned his attention to the stove. He fiddled with the knobs, peered into the oven and jiggled the gas line at the back of it. Fifteen minutes later, with the stove fixed, Cassie poured the tea into their cups as they sat at the kitchen table.

‘Nice view out there across the lagoon to the ocean between the dunes. Summertime this place is jam-packed. A lot of families have been coming here forever. Book the same spot in the caravan park year after year. It’s a bit off the beaten track but for those in the know, it’s paradise. This is an odd time of year to come here.’ Geoff gave Cassie an enquiring look.

‘I wanted a break and the peace and quiet suits me.’

‘I don’t suppose you’re staying long, but if anything else goes wrong, all you have to do is tell the office and I’ll be right back out.’

‘Thanks, but I’m hoping there won’t be any other faults.’

‘Righto. If you want to know anything the office can always help you out, or you can give me a ring. I’ve been here a good number of years now, I know what’s what and who’s who. Anyway, you probably won’t need help because this town is so small, you’ll know every inch of it in a day!’

‘How long have you been here?’ asked Cassie.

‘About twenty years. Usual story – my wife and I came on holidays and fell in love with the place. Quit a boring job in Newcastle and started doing handyman work and gardening. I like working outdoors. We lived in a caravan before I built our house. You should come back when it starts to warm up.’

‘I don’t know. I’ve only been here a few days but I’m enjoying the cool weather and solitude.’

‘You warm enough? Have you got enough wood for the pot-bellied stove and the barbecue? I know the office supplies some, but it’s rubbish. I can bring you round some better stuff. I’ve got a big stash of seasoned wood and a bundle of old fence posts.’

‘That’s kind of you. I’d like that very much. Could you bring it by tonight so I can have a nice fire in the pot-bellied stove?’ asked Cassie, getting up and putting the milk away in the old refrigerator.

Geoff drained his cup. ‘No worries. You sure you’re okay out here on your own with no phone or TV? ’Course you could rent a telly, there’s a connection they put in last year. But you’ll have problems with mobile phone coverage out here.’

‘Yes, so I discovered. But I found that if I walk out to the edge of the lagoon there’s a spot where it works. I don’t think I want a TV. For the moment I’m enjoying re-discovering the radio and the joys of a good book. But thanks for asking.’

Geoff nodded and took his cup to the sink, rinsed it and pulled a card from his pocket and left it on the bench before he walked out of the little cabin and closed the door behind him.

Cassie watched him get into his car, touched that he was concerned about her being there on her own. She hadn’t felt lonely or at all nervous staying among the whispering she-oaks. Right now she preferred not having people around. And she liked the idea of some good firewood. The little cabin would be cosier with a fire burning in the pot-bellied stove.

How very different it all was from the apartment she’d just left behind in Sydney. The slick, modern building that was only a short walk from the law firm where she and her husband had worked, seemed to be on a different planet from where she stood now.

Over the last few days she had tried not to think too much about the disaster that had happened in her marriage, but, now she’d opened that door, there was no closing it as the trickle of memories and emotions swiftly became a flood. She took a deep breath, picked up her pashmina, wound it around her shoulders, walked out onto the little porch, sank into the unravelling wicker chair and stared at the lagoon where the wind was whipping up small foaming waves.

She saw now that the apartment had symbolised her relationship with Hal. It was always about him and what he wanted. She’d argued with him about their first home. She hadn’t wanted to live right in the city, she would rather have gone somewhere like Manly, where she’d grown up in a rambling cliff-top house overlooking the ocean.

‘I don’t want an apartment in the city. The city is cold. Canyons of city blocks, like beehives with tinted windows and little worker bees slaving away inside them.’

Hal Holloway had merely laughed. ‘That’s us, babe. Worker bees. If you want to get ahead in a law firm, you have to be prepared to work long hours, so you won’t want a long commute at the end of the day.’

And he’d been right. They could walk to their office in Phillip Street. But Cassie missed having a garden like the wild sprawling one that her mother tended, as it battled the salt air. Although, as Hal pointed out, she didn’t have far to walk to beautiful Hyde Park to enjoy one of the best green spaces in Sydney, even if she had to share it with hundreds of others.

‘If you’re so keen to have a garden why don’t you grow herbs in a pot or something?’ he suggested.

So Cassie, who loved to cook, made plans to grow herbs and even tomatoes and salad vegetables on their balcony, but she never seemed to find the time. Indeed, both of them were so busy that they usually ate dinner in one of the restaurants they passed on their way home.

Even on the weekends they didn’t just hang out at home. Most Friday nights they went to a bar after work with colleagues, though occasionally Cassie met up with girlfriends when the macho shop talk and egocentric company of the men at her law firm became too irritating. Hal always worked on Saturdays, and often she would also use the weekend to try and stay on top of her very big workload too. Sunday morning was set aside for breakfast with friends, usually from their law firm, and afterwards Hal routinely popped back into the office to sort out what needed to be done in the coming week.

‘Hal, I wish we could socialise with people we don’t work with. Most of the men in the office drive me nuts, they are so aggressive. Can’t we spend time with people who are less ambitious?’

‘Cassie, you know that male lawyers are always in fight mode. Other lawyers have wives who aren’t involved in law and they don’t get it, which is why I’m glad you’re part of my world.’

When Cassie first met Hal, she was convinced they were right for each other, that they shared the same goals and dreams. Cassie was a bright girl at school and, because there was an expectation that clever girls went on to do either law or medicine at university, she chose to study law. She met Hal almost straight away as he was in the same year as she was and their paths crossed in class. He was hard to miss – exceedingly handsome, an athlete, articulate and ambitious. He was from a well-to-do family from the leafy, expensive suburb of St Ives. His father was the CEO of a finance corporation. Initially Hal had assumed that Cassie’s family business was little more than a fish and chip shop, but when he learned from other students that it was, in fact, the well-known Seven Seas restaurant in Manly, he dropped in with some of his friends and surprised her when she was working there one Sunday. He soon became a regular and he also sought out her company at the university and then they began going out together. A year later they moved in together.

Cassie was impressed by Hal’s plans. He told her that the law was the bedrock of a civil society and that although he would initially work his way into a top-level position in an important legal firm, what he really wanted to do was to become a judge. As a judge, he told her, he could make justice really effective.

After university they had both got jobs at the same law firm. Cassie remembered how excited she was when she thought that they would be working together, but it didn’t turn out that way. Hal was successful as a criminal defence lawyer and had become more senior while Cassie continued to work in the litigation department. He put in longer and longer hours at work, spending a lot of time with his team. Sometimes, if he was involved with a particularly stressful and tiring case, he’d come home slightly drunk after unwinding with his work mates. At first Cassie commented on his behaviour, but after he snapped and told her that she should know what tremendous pressure he was under, she began to sense that they were moving in different directions.

When Cassie reminded him about his ambition to become a judge, Hal dismissed the idea.

‘Don’t be silly, Cassie,’ he told her. ‘Being a judge is too isolating, and it doesn’t pay well enough. I can make much more as a partner in a top law firm.’

Now when Cassie spoke of truth and justice, human rights, legal aid, minorities or social issues, subjects about which they had once both been passionate, he became scathing.

‘That stuff won’t pay the bills or maintain our lifestyle,’ Hal sneered.

Then Cassie began to have her own issues to deal with at the firm.

She was shocked when Bronwyn, one of the few senior female lawyers and her supervisor, called her into her office and told her that before she’d hand back Cassie’s most recent report, Cassie would have to give her a neck massage. At first Cassie thought Bronwyn was joking, but then she realised the woman was serious. She was actually going to withhold Cassie’s work until her neck had been massaged. Cassie started to comply but realised that massaging her supervisor’s neck was not right so she stopped and excused herself. Ever since, relations between Cassie and Bronwyn had been very strained. When Cassie asked Hal whether she should say anything to the HR officer, he’d scoffed at her.

‘And who are they going to back? A senior lawyer or junior you? Get real, Cassie.’

Other instances that occurred in the office really annoyed Cassie because they smacked of double standards. It seemed that whenever a female lawyer wanted to sit down and discuss something with her boss, she was seen as flirtatious or sycophantic, whereas when one of the men in the office did the same thing, he was admired for being ambitious.