At Home With The Templetons (51 page)

But Gracie’s spirit had dimmed since the accident. Her joy, her enthusiasm to experience life had turned to a low flame rather than the blaze it once was. Eleanor saw it in herself, too. She’d felt her own interest

in so many things dwindle. Was it simply part of the ageing process? She was in her midfifties, after all. It felt more like disappointment. Sadness. Loneliness. Months had turned to years -without any contact between her and Henry. There were no longer outstanding bills to be paid. All he sent now was the figure they’d agreed when they first separated, which he’d somehow honoured, month after month, on top of the other debts she’d made him repay. Eleanor had barely touched it, living off her own earnings. She’d divide Henry’s money between her children one day.

She knew all four of them had relationships with Henry independent of her, but if they did meet up with him, they’d obviously decided not to tell her. They’d all seemed to come to terms with the separation. It was she who still hadn’t, who still found herself burning with slow outrage towards him, and even more infuriatingly, feelings of love, despite everything. What would it take to sever any feeling for him?

Perhaps if she knew where he was, where he lived, who he lived with, it would be easier. That’s what made it so difficult, not knowing anything. She understood Gracie’s anguish about Tom more than her daughter knew, the longing for some small detail, the silence harder than any facts would be. Was Henry living with another woman? Did he even have more children? It was possible. He had no reason to tell her if that had happened.

It was late, after eleven, but Eleanor was now too restless to sleep. An urge came over her to see photos of the Hall again. All the boxes of paperwork were still in the attic. There’d been no desire and no need on Eleanor’s part to go through the rest since that time eight years previously, when her heart had softened at the sight of Henry’s attempt to trace his family tree, when she’d wanted to invite him back home, until all her hopes were destroyed by everything that happened in Italy. She’d finish the job now.

Two hours later she was on her knees in the attic, surrounded by the final piles of papers, the remaining contents of the filing cabinets from Henry’s office at the Hall: old business plans, accounts, tourism newsletters, brochures, pages written in Henry’s strong handwriting, tales of the different rooms, the scripts for the tours of the Hall. Nearly three years of their life now tidied neatly into folders. It read like family history, not just paperwork. Perhaps Gracie might like to see it before she flew back, Eleanor thought. It might help remind her of happier times.

As Eleanor reached the bottom of the final crate and took out one last folder, she yawned, tired now. She expected it to be more brochures, more scripts, possibly even more of Henry’s hidden invoices. It took only a quick glance at the first page for her to realise it was none of those things.

Ten minutes later she was still there on the floor, reading through the sheaf of stapled, photocopied papers for a second time. She’d thought she could no longer be shocked by Henry; that there were no more deceptions for her to uncover. It seemed she was wrong.

It was the light in Australia that was so different, Gracie realised, as she drove beyond the airport, heading north towards the goldfields for the first time in sixteen years. On either side of the freeway, the scenery was changing from scattered suburbia to sunburnt rolling hills, clumps of gum trees, that big, big sky all around. She fiddled with the car radio, finally settling on a station playing classical music, in need of the soothing tones.

She’d promised to call Charlotte and her mother on her arrival, to phone Hope too, but she hadn’t yet. She’d ring once she got to Templeton Hall, she decided, once she was inside and had real news to impart, something beyond the obvious - that the flight had been long, the sky was blue.

Charlotte had been all concern in their final conversation. ‘You’re still absolutely sure you’re okay to go back? You won’t be too nervous there in the Hall on your own?’ A pause then. ‘You won’t do anything silly, will you?’

‘Like what?’

‘Go looking for Tom and Nina. I can understand you might want to find them, Gracie, I do, but I don’t think you should do something like that on your own.’

Sometimes Charlotte knew her too well, despite the years and distance between them. Because it had crossed her mind again as her departure date neared - more than crossed her mind. Perhaps if she saw them face to face, even for a minute, even if it ended badly, it would be better than the picture she’d imagined for so many years. Being there, in Australia, would surely make it easier to track them both down. She could go into Castlemaine, ask around. Someone there would know what had happened to Nina, and once she knew where Nina was, Tom would surely be nearby. It was at that point that her imagination kept failing her. She couldn’t picture him any more.

She’d once seen a documentary about young people with spinal injuries and her heart had filled with sadness. She’d seen so many bright minds in broken bodies, reliant on round-the-clock carers, their days punctuated by feeding, washing, their hopes and plans changed in a split-second. Many still had remarkable spirits, great senses of humour, changing their goals and ambitions to small, attainable things - lifting a finger, breathing on their own for a few hours a day. Some had married. ‘My body was damaged, not my brain. I can still communicate, still fall in love,’ one said. The interviews with the carers - almost invariably the mothers - were as heartbreaking. Footage of elderly women gently washing their grown children. ‘I did it when he was a baby. I’m happy to do it now.’ But what happened after the mother died? Hospitals? Nursing homes? Is that where Tom was now, confined to a bed, a wheelchair? And if she did find him, would he even allow her to see him, give her the opportunity to say

to his face how sorry she was, how sorry she would always be? Or would he send her away before she had a chance to speak?

Just over an hour later, something about the landscape made her slow down. A sign came into view, Castlemaine 25 km. She wasn’t far away now. She hadn’t been sure she would find her way so easily. There were no longer any roadside signs pointing to the Hall, after all. But it felt so familiar. The broad paddocks, gentle tree-covered hills, the big sky, the space: So much light and space. She stopped briefly to double-check her map and the smell when she opened the car door almost overwhelmed her: warm soil, gum leaves, the scents of her childhood.

Five kilometres later she was at the turn-off. The huge gum tree at the junction of the highway and the dirt driveway had always been their landmark. She indicated left and drove slowly, jolting over potholes and loose stones. As she tried to negotiate her way around the worst of them, she saw broken tree branches, crooked posts, gaps in the fencing. Her father would never have let the approach road look this uncared for. ‘First impressions are everything, my darlings,’ she could almost hear him saying.

The closer she came, the more neglect she saw: uneven patches of grass where there had once been smooth green lawn, bare brown earth where she’d once picked flowers, rows of fruit trees now left to grow wild, their branches heavy with unpicked, rotting fruit.

One final bend of the driveway and there it was in front of her. Templeton Hall.

She slowly brought the car to a halt, feeling as though her heart was trying to beat its way out of her chest. She’d expected the building to look smaller, but it seemed bigger. Two storeys high, large shuttered windows, an imposing front door reached by a flight of wide steps made from the same golden sandstone as the house itself. It needed painting, several roof tiles were broken and one of the window shutters was missing a slat, but it was still standing, almost glowing in the bright sunshine, as beautiful as she remembered.

As she walked towards it, the sound of the gravel crunching beneath her shoes mingled with unfamiliar bird calls from the trees all around. She automatically reached for the antique silver whistle, holding it tight in her hand.

She climbed the first step, the second, the third, wishing, too late, that she hadn’t offered to arrive early, hadn’t volunteered to be the first to step back inside the Hall again.

The front door opened before she had a chance to put the key in the lock.

In the seconds before her eyes adjusted completely from the bright sunlight, she registered only that a man was standing there. A tall man with dark, curly hair, holding something in his right hand. As she saw his face, she felt a rushing sensation from her head to her feet. She heard herself say his name as if from a long distance away.

‘Tom?’ She tried again. ‘Tom?’ ‘Hello, Gracie.’

He took a step forward into the light. ‘I’ve been waiting for you,’ he said.

She was imagining this. She had to be. She was still on the plane, daydreaming, picturing what she would most love to happen, the person she would most like to be there waiting for her. Tom, standing in front of her, tall, strong, looking down at her, his face as familiar as if she had kissed it only the day before, not eight years previously. His hair as dark and curly, his eyes as dark brown, his gaze as direct.

‘I was going to invite you to come in, but it probably should be the other way around.’ If he wasn’t real, if she was imagining this, how was he talking, stepping back into the doorway of the Hall, calmly waiting for her to come inside? If she was truly in charge of this, this apparition, he wouldn’t be saying that. He wouldn’t be keeping his distance. He would be smiling at her, throwing his arms around her, kissing her, telling her he had missed her so much, how hard it had been for them both. Of course he understood the guilt she felt, but at last, here she was. Here they both were ‘Gracie?’

She wasn’t imagining this. It was Tom, waiting for her to answer him. An unsmiling Tom. After years of imagining this moment, of rehearsing every line, every plea, every apology, she couldn’t think of a single word to say to him.

For a long moment they stood, staring at each other. Then they both spoke at once.

‘I thought you were … I always imagined you … but you’re walking. You’re ‘

‘I’m sorry to surprise you, but Hope told me you were arriving today.’

He smiled then, the briefest of smiles. ‘You first.’

She ignored for now his mention of Hope, having to say what she’d started, needing to know now. ‘You’re all right? You’re walking? You’re okay?’

‘I’m okay.’ A shutter came down over his face then.

She couldn’t stop her questions. ‘But Nina said you’d never walk again. She said ‘

‘It turned out she was wrong.’ Where there had been a wary expression on his face, there was now something different. A blaze of something in his eyes. Anger. At her? ‘Tom, I -‘ She stopped there. Where did she start? How could she explain everything? How happy she was for him, how shocked, how amazed, how confused. She was now filled with words she wanted to say, but there seemed to be no way to begin. ‘Why … ?’ Again, she stopped.

‘Why am I here?’ That brief half-smile again, too quick. ‘I wanted to see you.’

That smile was enough. It would be all right between them. She knew in that instant. He was here, she was here, the two of them, alone, so much to talk about, so many questions. She smiled back, relief flooding through her, the shock of seeing him fading so fast, replaced with something else. Wonder, a kind of happiness. She felt tears come into her eyes and didn’t try to wipe them away. ‘Tom, I can’t tell you how long,

how much…’ She laughed, the words suddenly rushing from her. She couldn’t tell him everything she needed to say quickly enough now. ‘I can’t begin to tell you, how it feels to see you, to see you’re all right. You must have been so tired of my ‘

‘Hello there.’ A voice interrupted her. A female voice. Gracie turned. Nina? Nina was here too?

It wasn’t Nina. It was a young woman, about Gracie’s age, maybe younger. A pretty woman with dark curls, as dark as Tom’s, in a crimson summer dress and blue cardigan. Gracie noticed every detail, as she stood, mid-sentence, watching the woman walk gracefully across the foyer to where she and Tom were still standing in the doorway, walk as if she crossed that tiled floor every day, so confident, getting closer, relaxed, curious, bright-eyed. Gracie could only keep watching as she came up close to Tom, looped her left hand through his arm and smiled again.

‘You must be Grace.’

‘Gracie.’ She sounded rude; she couldn’t help it. ‘It’s Gracie, not Grace.’

Another smile, a dimple appearing in the other woman’s cheek. ‘Sorry, Gracie. It’s just it seemed like a pet name and a bit forward of me to call you that when we hadn’t met yet.’

‘Who are you?’ She wouldn’t look at Tom. She could already sense what the answer would be and she wouldn’t, she couldn’t, look at him.

The woman held out her hand, keeping the other linked to Tom. ‘I’m Emily. Tom’s fiancee.’

The next ten minutes were the hardest of Gracie’s life. She felt as though she was suddenly in a stage play: an awkward, stiffly written play, with fake lines, fake manners, fake exchanges. Inside she was reeling, unable to take any of this in. Being back in the Hall again was difficult enough, but to be greeted by Tom, to be greeted by Tom and his fiancee, was a nightmare. She was dreaming it. She would wake up and she would be there on her own, none of this happening.

But it was. Tom, with Emily beside him, standing calmly and casually as if something like this happened every day, his voice as controlled as her questions were breathless.

‘How did you know I’d be here today?’ ‘Hope told me you were coming.’

‘Hope did? But how did she know where you were?’

‘She got in touch with our solicitor in Castlemaine. He’s always known where I was.’

Was there something in his voice? An accusation? But she had written to that solicitor herself. Not just once, either. Surely he knew that? But he was still talking.

‘She explained you were both coming back. Asked if Nina and I wanted to join you, be part of your reunion.’