Time Will Tell (9 page)

Two mouths dropped open and wide eyes stared back at her, and then at Grace who was curled up in her bed in the corner, oblivious.

‘He
shot
at her? Why?' Jake said.

‘His excuse was that he was warning her, joking or something,' Emily replied with a shrug. She was surprised to find her eyes filling with tears; had thought it no longer affected her. ‘I just wanted to protect her – I'm the only one who can,' she said, wiping a hand across her nose, which had started to run a little.

‘Oh Em, I had no idea,' Des said, reaching across and patting her hand while shaking his head slowly. ‘Why didn't you tell me?'

Emily raised her eyebrows and looked at him knowingly.

‘And then he had the nerve to rip you off!?' Jake cried. ‘I would have thought he'd have wanted to pay you off so you didn't tell anyone what a piece of shit he is. Apologies for the language, but I just can't believe what I'm hearing!'

‘No one around here would really care,' Des said to Jake. ‘Farmers shoot work dogs all the time – if they get into the sheep, if they don't come when they're called, if they go left instead of right… It's what they do.'

‘Sounds barbaric.'

‘I agree, but it's apparently quite acceptable behaviour. He would have just explained it away and made out that Emily was throwing a hissy fit. Being a townie – not raised on a farm – her reaction would have been brushed aside as typical.'

Jake's jaw hung open in disbelief. ‘So instead, he told your mother you left because he demolished the cottage – like you
had
just thrown a hissy fit? Why not tell her the real story, Em? I don't get it.'

‘I guess I didn't want to shatter her impression of him – however deluded.'

‘Why ever not? After the way he treated you! I wouldn't mind betting that a man capable of tearing down a cottage out of spite and shooting at your dog just for fun wouldn't have been the nicest of husbands all round.'

‘No. No he wasn't, actually.'

At that moment Emily was bombarded with the very vivid mental image of John laying his steel-capped work boot into the kelpie they'd had before Grace. It was the moment she had decided that she could not –
would
not – have children with a man so cruel; she would never have children at all, because marriage was for life.

And now it struck her that she was no longer under that particular obligation either. Emily had so forcefully put the notion of children out of her mind that she didn't know how she felt about it now, other than somewhat unsettled. She was days away from her thirty-second birthday. Would her biological clock start frantically ticking at some point? God, it was too much to contemplate. She almost put a hand to her forehead, but stopped herself just in time, and instead forced her attention back to Jake, who had just asked her a question.

‘Well, why let your mother continue to think otherwise, especially now you've left him?'

‘My wife, whom I do love dearly, bless her, tends to get a bit star struck,' Des said. ‘When Emily married the most eligible man in the district – supposedly anyway – Enid thought it was the best thing since sliced bread,' he continued. ‘Even if Emily had told her the truth, it wouldn't have made any difference. She has the Strattens so high up on a pedestal that she would never hear a word against any of them. In her opinion Emily blew it. John couldn't do anything that would warrant her leaving, because the Strattens have the wealth and social standing Enid has always craved. The wealth I couldn't give her, as it turned out,' he added quietly.

‘Money isn't everything,' Jake asked.

‘I'm afraid Enid has never quite grasped the concept that money doesn't buy happiness.'

‘But surely she can see it now; that his money wasn't enough to keep her daughter happy?'

‘No, I'm afraid she just thinks Emily is a fool. Sorry dear,' he added, grimacing at his daughter.

‘And I haven't had the heart to tell her that he's actually quite broke – well, he was until the payout from the family company,' Emily said.

‘He is? He was?' Des said in disbelief.

‘Yep,' she said, taking a sip of cordial. ‘Last time I saw the bank accounts they were almost empty.' Emily left it at that. She could have told them about the trips to the casino, the amount he spent on beer, hard liquor, and cigarettes each week, but chose not to.

Emily couldn't believe the frank discussion she was having with her father. She felt a little exhilarated; pleased it was out in the open, but at the same time disappointed. The person who really needed to hear all this – her mother – wasn't hearing it. Again she had the unsettling feeling that everything had changed yet nothing was different.

She and Des reached for the jug at the same time. It seemed they were both trying to fill the awkward silence.

‘Sorry,' they muttered to each other.

‘Allow me,' Jake said, picking up the jug and filling up their glasses. They settled back into their separate thoughts.

As Emily leant back from the table, the urge to continue the conversation about her mother's issues sat like a heavy cloud over her. But she couldn't ask her father – he was probably already regretting what he had said.

If Enid knew and understood, would it make things better? Or could it actually make things worse? Her mother, after all, was an expert at seeing what she wanted to see and ignoring what she didn't.

Emily hated that about her; the apparent vagueness, like a roller blind coming down when something arose that Enid didn't want to hear, believe or confront.

She supposed she must have got her own forthrightness from her father – though he rarely showed it like he had today. He kept a lid on it when Enid was within hearing. How could someone live like that, day after day, year after year? And why would they?

Emily went over what her father had said and how he'd said it, and thought she detected an undercurrent of guilt – as if Enid was somehow the way she was because of him. Because he hadn't been wealthy enough.

No. It probably had more to do with Enid feeling second best. She remembered their conversation from only a week or so ago, when Des had told her about his first – and possibly only – true love, Katherine Baker; how she'd been killed in a riding accident all those years ago. How sad he'd seemed, sitting under the apricot tree just up the gully. It was as though it had only happened yesterday, not four decades before.

Emily wondered if John was
her
first true love and if she'd ever get over him. But she couldn't imagine he'd still bring tears to her eyes in a year, let alone decades. Perhaps that was the difference with someone dying as opposed to a relationship ending.

Oh, who was she kidding? She had thought she loved him, but really, if she was honest with herself, it wasn't the deep, Romeo and Juliet type of love people talked about.

What would Gran have said about it? The woman who gave up an Indian prince to spend her life in the sticks doing it tough with a farmer. She'd never know.

Again the urge came upon her to look for the rest of Gran's diamonds, but she knew now that she'd never be able to part with them. Their sentimental value was too great. Part of Emily knew it was ridiculous, but another part wondered if they perhaps held some kind of magical power on account of their being from India.

Was it coincidence that she had finally gained the strength to leave John so soon after she'd been given the button jar?

‘Gosh, I didn't realise how late it was getting,' Emily said, staring at her watch a little disbelievingly. It was almost six o'clock. ‘There are plenty of leftovers for us to pick at for tea. Or perhaps you'd just like tea or coffee and some fruitcake.' She'd meant to get it out just after lunch, but Jake had produced a huge box of chocolates that they'd immediately begun devouring.

‘I'd love a cuppa and some cake, but I'm not sure I can fit it in,' Jake said.

‘Seriously mate, Emily's fruitcake is well worth finding room for,' Des said.

‘It'll still be here later or tomorrow, or possibly next week,' Emily said with a laugh.

‘Oh, what the hell,' Jake said. ‘May as well go the whole hog. It
is
Christmas after all. I'll have some cake and a cup of Milo – if that's okay – and then later I'm going to sit and do some drawings and notes for your project here.'

‘Surely not on your weekend off.'

‘Just a few doodles; it's not exactly work. And anyway, I'm excited by the potential; I want to put together some options and suggestions for you.'

‘Well, that would be great. Thanks Jake,' Emily said, trying to sound brighter than she felt.

‘My pleasure. Anyway, I've got to do something for my keep – I might be imposing on you quite a bit over the next few months. If you let me.'

I like the sound of that
, Emily thought, and would have said the words aloud if her father hadn't been sitting right there.

Chapter Nine

Emily would have served the tea and cake in the lounge room, but there were only two old armchairs. Bringing in a hard wooden kitchen chair would completely ruin what little ambience there was. And of course, being a gentleman, Jake would have insisted she sit on one of the comfy chairs.
One day I'll fill the room with decent furniture
, she told herself, and then sighed; there were so many things that would have to come before that, when funds permitted. Why did everything have to revolve around money?

When they had finished their cake and the men had refused a second slice, Emily suggested they go and rest in the lounge while she rinsed the few dishes they'd just dirtied. Jake tried to help her, but she was almost forceful in ushering them out of the kitchen and across the hall.

‘Best not to argue, mate,' Des Oliphant said, leading the way.

Emily was glad to be left to her own thoughts for a few moments; she'd join them soon. Bloody John. A few weeks ago she'd been okay with the knowledge that he'd ripped her off, and had pretty much washed her hands of the whole business. But the revelation of just how much – and how badly she now needed the money – made her feel very depressed and angry.

Not that she had any choice but to make the most of things. As Gran had been fond of saying, ‘There are plenty of people worse off than you, dear. Count your blessings.'

And what are they?
She wondered with a stab of self-pity.

Several hundred thousand dollars' worth of uncut diamonds?
That I can't do anything with
, she added bitterly. Why all the bloody torment over money? Maybe it was a sign from the universe. But of what, that it's a cruel, heartless place?

If everything revolved around karma; good begetting good, bad begetting bad, then what the hell had she done wrong? Was it marrying John? Or perhaps leaving him? And why wasn't he being punished, after the way he'd treated her?

She felt the hairs all over her body stand up. A shiver rippled through her for barely a second before leaving again. She was left feeling slightly rattled, but with no idea why.

She forced her concentration back to the dishes in the sink. Emily moved her hands back and forth, enjoying the warmth of the water through her rubber gloves. But thoughts of John didn't stay banished for long. Seconds later he was back on her mind.

This time it was the night of their honeymoon when he'd forced himself on her. At the time she hadn't thought of it as rape. He was her husband. It was his right, right?

She'd pretended to laugh it off – a trick she'd learnt while being bullied at school – but she had felt violated and dirty. Who could she have told anyway? Her mother? And be told simply that it was her wifely duty?

And this wasn't something Emily could share with Gran.

No, she had decided at the time, for now she would just have to grin and bear it. But not long after that, she discovered that it wasn't enough to just ‘lie back and think of England'. She had to learn to fake orgasm as well.

John's ego, and, she quickly realised, his own pleasure relied upon this charade. Otherwise he would spend ages humping and heaving on top of her before it was finally over.

Emily wondered if she would ever enjoy sex. Perhaps John had ruined her for any man in the future; she certainly couldn't imagine trusting anyone so completely again.

The thought should probably have made her more melancholy than it did. As it was, she just felt impassive. She shrugged as she stood there at the sink with one hand stuffed inside a mug, staring out the window at the old shearing shed flanked by a scrub-covered hill.

No matter how hard it would be to go it alone, at least she wouldn't have to submit, and then hate herself for the hypocrisy.

This is good
, she thought.
A vital step on the path of healing – learning to be detached. One can only find true happiness with someone else when one has found it alone.
Or something like that; she couldn't remember exactly how the saying went.

Regardless, the last thing she wanted was to share her heart – actually even just her
space
– with anyone else.

It was lovely having Jake stay, but as much as she enjoyed his company, she was glad it was only for the weekend. She would enjoy being on her own again.

It was the same reason she did not want Nathan Lucas moving in with her, no matter how much money he brought with him. No, she wanted – needed – to be alone. Having him move in for his money would be following her mother's path, and she was past that now, wasn't she?

Well, I'm getting there.

A feeling of fierce determination settled upon her. She was going to make it work on her own, whatever
it
was. She felt buoyed, empowered to succeed. And it had nothing to do with John and his money. If only she could figure out where she was meant to be directing this energy.