A Darker Music (21 page)

Clio smiled: Tallis never forgot that he was a teacher. She read the words she knew by heart, until she came to the end.

As you play the notes the music will soar, riding on the silence like
an eagle riding a thermal, and you’ll be with all of us again, and
not alone.

Your friend forever,

Tallis

Clio let the letter fall to her lap and leant her head back against the chair, blinking away the tears. Tallis had been right about the suites. Playing them had kept her sane through long, lonely years. They were difficult enough to be a challenge, lovely enough to be balm for a soul deprived of music, with the element of mischief that lifted the heart. Each time she played them, it had brought the spirit of Tallis back into her life.

Reading the letter again after so long, she could see that loving him hadn’t been a disaster, even though the ending had brought her such heartache. It must have been painful for him, too. At the time, intent on her own grief, she hadn’t given a thought to that possibility. He hadn’t done anything to make her fall in love with him, except be himself. And they had grown to have a rapport that embraced more areas of their lives than just music. He’d miss that as much as she did. As much as she still did.

Lost in a daze of memories, Clio sat without moving. Then, hearing Mary approaching along the passage, she rose to her feet, still holding the letter, and went to the shelf where the other papers were. What should she do with Tallis’ letter? What should she do with all of them?

M
ARY WAS PICKING ORANGES
when she heard Janet call, and went over to the fence. Janet was wearing a faded mauve chenille dressing gown, and her woolly slippers were getting wet on the dewy grass.

‘Mary!’ Janet was beaming. ‘They’ve sold that bale of wool! Apparently it’s made the news in Perth. The local paper’s just rung up. I heard Cec say something like a million four, but I won’t be certain till he gets off the phone. Isn’t that wonderful news!’

‘Garth said it could go for over a million dollars.’

Janet sniffed. ‘What would Garth know? He’s just a mechanic.’ She turned her head, alert and listening. ‘He’s off the phone.’ She was on her way back into her house for the details, still talking, probably to herself as much as to Mary. ‘I wonder why Paul didn’t phone and let us know? He must have realised … the sale must have been finalised on Friday. I wonder why Paul …’

Mary watched her retreating. She’d quiz Paul when he arrived home from Perth later today. Should she cook something celebratory? No, they would have done their celebrating already in the city, in a fancy restaurant, with French champagne and all the trimmings. It was exciting, though. A record price! And while she was living here!

Paul must have a network of friends up in Perth that would celebrate with him — not to mention the woman he must surely spend half of every week with. They would be celebrating together, too.

Then it dawned on her that with Clio not being well enough to make the trip to Perth for the wedding, this other woman would probably take over the role of mother of the groom. Mary wondered if Paul and Martin were so insensitive that they’d allow this to happen. Of course they were. She felt desperately sorry for Clio.

W
HEN HE ARRIVED BACK
, a smiling Martin told her that the price achieved for the wool was indeed one million, four hundred and fifty thousand dollars, close to their best-case estimate. Ellen would have been delighted. Paul and Martin stayed in the house only long enough to eat and change their clothes before heading into town to spend the afternoon enjoying the envy of their peers.

When they’d gone, Mary went to tell Clio.

Clio was reading and looked up. ‘They’re back?’

‘Yes. And there’s some news. They’ve — you’ve — sold a bale of wool for a record price.’

Clio laid down the book. ‘That would be from last year’s clip. They’d have had to do all the testing … How much?’

‘Martin said one-point-four-five million. Could that be right? It sounds such a lot.’

‘Did he say who bought it?’

‘Yes. Some Chinese buyers.’

Clio raised an eyebrow. ‘I didn’t know the Chinese were throwing that kind of money around. It used to be the Japanese and the Italians. Well, Ellen would be proud. And I am, too. It’s what we both worked for. I suppose Paul’s taking all the credit.’

‘He and Martin went into town.’

‘He’ll be wanting to show off in front of his mates. Mustn’t begrudge him his moment of glory, even if he can fairly claim the credit for no more than keeping out of Cec’s way.’ She turned back the bedclothes and swung her legs out of bed. ‘Ah, well … if they’ve both gone out, I’ve got some papers I want to burn.’

While Clio fed crumpled papers into the stove, Mary set about making tea. Clio moved over to the table and sat down. ‘Just clearing out some old things,’ she said. ‘A bit of spring cleaning. Has anyone said anything to you about the Show?’

‘The Show?’

‘The Perth Royal. Cec will be taking some of the young rams and ewes, and Paul and Martin will probably stay there for the duration. They always do, and with this record price to celebrate there’s even more reason. I expect they’ll be lionised, or find themselves the objects of bitter envy.’ Clio smiled at this thought. ‘Or both.’

‘Still, that record price won’t do your sales any harm, will it.’

‘Maybe they’ll arrange an auction. That’s what I’d do. Really, the timing couldn’t be better.’

Mary was pleased to see Clio taking an interest in Downe’s success; she’d half expected her not to care any more. She poured tea for them both and cut small squares of almond and orange cake.

Clio broke a little piece off the corner and tasted it. ‘What’s this? It’s very rich.’

‘Yes, it is. It’s got almond meal instead of flour.’

‘And oranges?’

‘Yes, whole ones, boiled to a pulp.’

‘I don’t think I can manage to finish it.’

Mary was disappointed. This cake was a classic from the Middle East. Paul and Martin had enjoyed it when she’d served it to them with cream, so it would be worth making again even if Clio didn’t like it. It was a good way of using up some of the oranges, now that they were fully ripe. ‘So we’ll have the place to ourselves, will we? For a whole week?’

‘Probably ten days, counting both weekends. What a treat, eh?’ Her face became serious. ‘But, Mary, I’ve been thinking. I ought to make a last effort to talk to Martin.’

‘About?’

‘About this marriage. I met Alyssa, did I tell you? She came to visit me in hospital. Ages ago.’

‘Did she? What’s she like?’

‘She’s lovely. Well brought up, I think; she was trying to do the right thing.’

She paused, and Mary prompted her to go on. ‘And?’

‘As far as I can recall — and you have to remember that I was not long out of surgery and far from clear-headed — her expectations of the marriage are a far cry from Martin’s. Not that I know exactly what Martin does expect, but I’m pretty sure he thinks they’ll be living here, and Alyssa will naturally step into my shoes’ — she gave a wry smile — ‘when I’m ready to step out of them, of course.’

‘That seems like a reasonable expectation,’ Mary agreed.

‘But Alyssa’s training to be an opera singer. Apparently she’s very good. And I really feel I ought to help clear up this misunderstanding. I’d be happier if I knew they had some notion of each other’s agendas. So I think I ought to have one last stab at behaving like a mother to Martin before I hand him over to Alyssa.’

Mary was surprised. Clio had consistently avoided contact with Paul and Martin. On the other hand, thinking back to her own brief conversations with Martin, there’d been a wistfulness in his voice when he’d spoken of his mother.

‘The thing is, Mary’ — Clio was sounding so serious that her speech quavered — ‘I’m going to need your help.’

Mary had a sinking feeling that she was going to be asked to do something she wouldn’t enjoy.

‘Would you have a word with him — some time when Paul’s off playing golf and he’s on his own, naturally — and ask him to come to my room for a visit? Don’t make it sound heavy. I can’t force him to come, after all.’

Mary was relieved. That shouldn’t be too difficult. ‘Yes. I’ll do that.’

‘You’ll have to be careful.’

‘But Martin often asks how you are. I’m surprised he hasn’t been in to see you already.’

‘He wouldn’t do that. Paul’s forbidden him from coming to talk to me.’ She made an effort to smile. ‘And it’s Paul who holds the purse strings.’

‘What?’

‘That sounds dramatic, doesn’t it, and unkind. But it’s true. Martin’s dependent on Paul for his trips to Perth, the use of the unit up there, for everything, really. He hasn’t any money of his own. I know just how that feels.’ She looked away for a moment, then back at Mary.

‘While I have to admit that David was my favourite,’ she said, her voice low, ‘I loved Martin, too, and I tried to make it plain that I didn’t blame him for David’s accident. If it was anybody’s fault, it was Paul’s. But Martin shut himself off from me anyway — I have a feeling Paul might have had something to do with that — and we’ve never managed to establish a good rapport. Having him go away to boarding school so young didn’t help, but Paul insisted on that. I had hoped that when he grew up we could have an adult friendship, if we couldn’t have a normal mother-and-son one, but that never worked out either. It’s probably too late now.’

In the bright fluorescent light, Clio’s face was skull-like, her dark eyes fathomless, and Mary was moved by compassion. ‘That must be hard, when he’s your only child.’

‘Only surviving child,’ Clio said. ‘Who knows how the others would have turned out?’

‘Do you often think about them?’

‘I think about David. He was a really sweet little person, and great fun to be with. Watching his mind stretch as he learnt to do things was fascinating.’ She stopped, and Mary wondered whether it was because she didn’t want to talk about this painful subject any longer, but when she was ready Clio continued. ‘With Allegra it happened too soon, she was hardly a person at all, although if you’d ever carried a baby — you haven’t, have you? — you’d know that by the time they’re born you’re intimately acquainted with them … all that kicking and heaving about inside you …’ She looked up at Mary and tried a smile that brought out the myriad fine lines in the skin covering the bones of her face. ‘So I’d have to say I’ve made just as big a mess of motherhood as I have of love and marriage.’ Silence hung between the two women, broken only by the crackle of the fire.

‘What about your own family, Clio?’ Mary knew that when one’s life seemed to have hit a dead end, it could be a comfort to backtrack to familiar relationships.

‘My mother died when I was sixteen. She had breast cancer, and it was a long, slow torture — for all of us — until she finally died.’ She drew a deep breath. ‘My father, bless his faithful little heart, married his mistress before the grass had time to grow on my mother’s grave, and they’ve had a whole new family. I don’t know how many children. I lost touch years ago. My sister, as far as I know, is still in England, and we never had tribes of cousins or any close relatives.’

‘You must feel very much alone, then.’

Clio tried another one of her unsuccessful smiles. ‘We’re born alone and we die alone.’

‘True. But most of us would rather not live alone. Your music must have been a great help.’

‘It kept me alive. While it lasted.’

Mary couldn’t bear any more of this and turned away.

Clio struggled out of the chair. ‘I’ll go back to bed now. Thank you for listening, Mary.’

C
EC WASN’T AT HOME
in the stone house, but Mary tracked him down in the first of the wether sheds. He was surveying a pen full of animals that were slowly milling about, nibbling food from their elevated trough. So soon after shearing they were still very white, and as lean as whippets, their jackets hanging loose. The sound of her footsteps on the metal mesh alerted Cec, and he looked up with a grin.

‘I came to congratulate you, Cec. That’s a tremendous achievement. Well done!’ She stopped beside him and leant against the pen’s cool steel railing. ‘Mrs Hazlitt asked me to give you her congratulations, too. She was delighted to hear the news.’

‘Did she? Did she really? That means a lot to me. You can tell her that we should do even better with this lot.’ He nodded down at the sheep; one of them rumbled a bleat as if agreeing. ‘I thought maybe she’d lost interest, with being so sick.’ He looked away from Mary, embarrassed to be making such a personal comment. ‘The Missus was very much involved in the stud side of things. We miss seeing her around the place. Do you think …’ His high forehead creased with worry. ‘Is she …’

‘No, Cec. For a while I thought she seemed better, but I was wrong.’

Cec turned back to the sheep. ‘I was just having a word with these fellows, telling them they’ve done real well. These are the ones.’

Mary looked at the animals with respect, but they seemed the same as all the others in the shed. ‘How do you know it was these?’

‘I know their faces! Well, almost. Mary, these animals are so well documented that I know if one of them has‹ a bad dream. See the ear tags? They’re coded. I punch the code into the computer and up comes his life story, and his parents’ life stories, the quality of the wool and the prices, everything, including what he’s had to eat.’

Mary felt stupid; she should have known that little would be left to chance in this business, but she hadn’t seen Cec come into the homestead to use the computer in the office there. ‘Where do you keep your computer?’

Cec nodded to the end of the shed, where a cubicle was partitioned off to form a tiny office. ‘All the records are in there.’

‘Ah. So, do you give them something special to eat, to celebrate? Champagne, or the sheep equivalent?’

‘Would if I could!’ Cec chuckled with her. ‘But I’ll leave all that to Paul. If past history’s anything to go by, he’ll be celebrating for the lot of us.’

21

N
EXT MORNING, THERE WAS STILL NO SIGN
of Paul or Martin. It wasn’t till just before dinnertime that Garth came over with the news.