Silver Wattle (38 page)

Freddy and I married in the sacristy, not at the altar, because of our different faiths. When we emerged from the room behind the altar, Uncle Ota, Hugh and Robert burst into applause and Thomas danced a jig out of happiness. The priest reminded them that they were in the house of God, not a cinema.

Freddy had wanted a society wedding with hundreds of guests and part of the church steps cordoned off for the press. I had forbidden it. ‘We can have that sort of thing for the premiere of
In the Dark
,’ I told him, ‘but not for our marriage.’

The night before the wedding, I woke with a start. Klara was shivering so violently that the bed frame was rattling. I turned on the light. Her face was flushed and strands of her hair stuck to her forehead in wet stripes.

‘Have you caught a chill?’ I asked, pulling the covers over her.

Klara rubbed her neck. ‘Just night shivers,’ she said. ‘I get them sometimes.’

I had never noticed Klara shivering at night before and we had shared the same bed nearly all our lives. The pallor of her complexion worried me. I had been caught up in my wedding preparations and realised that I had neglected my sister.

‘Do you want a cup of Horlicks?’ I asked her.

She shook her head. ‘Go back to sleep, Adelka. It is your wedding day tomorrow.’

Klara’s trembling subsided and she drifted off to sleep holding my hand. I watched her for an hour. Klara had suffered night terrors as a child and often dreamed of monsters under the bed. There had been many nights in Prague when I had held her hand until her mind settled and she could sleep. Had she had a nightmare and not wanted to tell me? Perhaps, for all her support regarding my union with Freddy, Klara was apprehensive. I had been glad when everyone agreed that after Freddy and I returned from our honeymoon, Klara should come and live with us in Cremorne. ‘We will miss you both,’ Ranjana told me. ‘But Klara would be lost without you.’

‘I will always watch over you, Klara,’ I whispered. ‘I promised Mother that.’

I put my head on my pillow but my mind was on edge. It would be useless to try to fall asleep now. I pulled on my dressing gown and tiptoed down the stairs. Perhaps seeing Angel and her joey, Cherub, would calm me. I slipped out the back door, intending to sit in the garden and watch them for a while. I moved towards the steps and bumped into someone. I stifled a scream as I realised that the figure in the coat and nightcap was Uncle Ota.

‘Can’t sleep either?’ he asked, smiling at me.

I shook my head and sat down next to him. He put his arm around me. We gazed at the full moon with the clouds moving by it before Uncle Ota whispered:

The poem ‘May’ again. What was the connection between that sad tale and Mother, Uncle Ota and Aunt Emilie? I looked up into Uncle Ota’s face. Kissed by the moonlight it was a young man’s countenance.

‘Mother cried when you wrote of your marriage to Ranjana,’ I told him. ‘But after your second letter she said that your wife sounded delightful and suited to you. She was glad that you were happy.’

Uncle Ota turned to me. Something passed in his eyes. A memory? He held his hands to his chin as if he were praying. ‘Your mother and I made a mistake,’ he said after a while. ‘We thought we had all the time in the world. We thought that because we were young, we and everyone around us would live forever.’

‘You loved Emilie, didn’t you?’ I asked him.

He nodded. ‘I told you that your father and I first saw your mother and aunt at the opera, didn’t I? That is true. But I fell in love with Emilie when our family was invited to paní Navratilova’s soiree and Emilie read Karel Hynek Macha’s “May”.’

‘“May” is a tragic poem.’

‘So is life. I should have seen it as a warning. But I only heard her voice. I fell in love with it.’

I saw Angel make her way down the trunk of the silver gum. Cherub, who was now independent, followed her. They looked at me, wondering what treat I had brought them. But they would have to wait. I wanted to hear Uncle Ota’s story. I was ready for it now.

‘I had journeyed through Italy and France by then,’ Uncle Ota said. ‘Adventure was in my blood. Emilie was fascinated by the idea of seeing the world but…’

Angel scampered across the grass and into the lilly-pilly beside me. Cherub watched from her position on a branch. Angel hung by her tail and swept her paw at my hair. I gently pushed her away and she climbed onto the orange tree and bit into one of the young fruits.

‘But what?’ I asked Uncle Ota.

‘But your mother didn’t want her sister to go away. So she worked your family against me.’

I was stung by his words. It was not how I pictured Mother: Always gracious and warm. Always so lovely. How could she have done such a thing?

‘Yet…she married Father,’ I said. ‘Did she turn him against you too?’

Uncle Ota sighed. ‘He convinced me to go away rather than destroy the bond of the two sisters.’

‘And you did,’ I said, at last understanding Mother’s strained expression when Aunt Josephine read Uncle Ota’s letters to us. ‘It destroyed Emilie.’

Mother loved Emilie. Whatever she did, it would have been motivated by that. But how misguided she must have realised she had been. I thought of how Mother had acted when Uncle Ota asked after her in his letter. It was as if she had been relieved of a burden. Uncle Ota was an honourable man, he would have taken care of Emilie. She must have regretted her interference bitterly.

‘Emilie was heartbroken,’ said Uncle Ota. ‘But what destroyed her was her misdirected rebellion. She threw herself into the arms of a rogue and when he was finished with her she had no reputation and nothing left to live for.’

‘Mother wrote you a letter,’ I told him. ‘Milosh destroyed it before I could send it to you. She quoted “May”.’

The thoughtful expression returned to Uncle Ota’s face.

‘I think she was writing to you to ask for your forgiveness,’ I said. ‘But you had already granted it, hadn’t you?’

A tear glistened in Uncle Ota’s eye. ‘I hated your mother for a long time. First of all for separating Emilie and me, then for allowing her sister to become involved with that man. But when Antonín was killed in the war, I couldn’t hate her any more. Your mother had suffered enough. I wanted to write to my brother’s daughters. I wanted to know you.’ Uncle Ota smiled and touched my cheek. ‘I’m glad I did.’

‘Mother entrusted us to you.’

‘It was the highest compliment she could have paid me,’ said Uncle Ota, folding his arms over his knees and resting his chin on them.

‘Are you still sad over Emilie?’ I asked.

He nodded. ‘Always, Adelka. I love Ranjana. I love Thomas. But I’ll never forget Emilie.’

As I’ll never forget Philip, I thought. But I will cherish Freddy.

The following day at the wedding lunch, my attention constantly drifted to Klara and Robert. Klara never took her eyes off Robert and he maintained contact with her, whether it was his arm around her shoulders or his hand to her elbow. He was loveable and well suited to my sister. It was confronting to me to admit that I saw him as a threat too. Klara’s life had become a whirl of tea parties, theatre openings, lunches, dances and concerts. Robert was one of those people who could sleep two hours and then get up and do it all again the next day. But could Klara keep the pace? I remembered her shivering the previous night. What if she became sick again?

I understood the position my young mother had been in regarding Emilie. Mother had thought that she was protecting her sister. I shuddered: but what terrible consequences! One day I would have to let Klara go into the protective arms of Robert. Meanwhile, I would watch over my sister as vigilantly as Angel watched over Cherub.

Freddy and I honeymooned at the Hydro Majestic Hotel in a room that overlooked the Jamieson Valley. The morning after our first night there, while Freddy savoured an extended sleep in bed, I stared out the window. My eyes drifted past the hotel’s lawns and potted shrubs to the magnificent blue forest. Everywhere I saw magic: in the cloud formations, the valleys walled in by perpendicular rock, the sheer sandstone cliffs, the cascading waterfalls, and the dells and gullies. It was the forest of my ideal picture.

Freddy sighed and rolled over. The previous night I had emerged from the bathroom to find him lounging on the bed in his dressing gown. There was a red rose on my pillow and champagne in an ice bucket on the side table. We’d had a wonderful wedding and when Freddy and I had danced the bridal waltz, it was as though I was bathed in a sublime light. But one look at Freddy’s come-hither eyes and apprehension gripped me.

‘Just a moment,’ I told him, disappearing into the bathroom again.

I shut the door and leaned against it. I shuddered at the thought of Freddy lying on the bed so expectantly. It seemed…
abnormal
. Memories flooded back of the day Philip had taken me to Wattamolla beach. We had come together naturally. Tears welled in my eyes. This is a terrible mistake, I thought. It was not the physical act that frightened me, for Freddy and I had already discussed that—he would take precautions so that I would not become pregnant for at least two years. ‘You ought to make another picture first,’ he had said. ‘Otherwise you might resent children, and I want you to be happy.’ It was the idea of emotional intimacy with him that suddenly was so abhorrent.

I sat on the edge of the bath. ‘I can’t do this,’ I said, breathing in gulps of air. ‘I can’t be Freddy’s wife.’

I tried to calm my thinking and envisioned us remaining friends and not consummating our marriage. That would be grounds for divorce, I remembered. But perhaps Freddy would not divorce me. He could have a string of beautiful starlets to amuse him and I would look on benevolently, like a queen blessing the king’s consorts. The fog in my mind cleared and I shook my head. No, queens tolerated those arrangements because they were tired of having children. I wanted children. Maybe not immediately, but I did want them.

I raised myself from the bath and splashed cold water on my face. I turned to the door. Everything seemed quiet on the other side. Maybe Freddy had fallen asleep? Perhaps I could delay this awful moment until later?

‘Adela,’ Freddy called.

I bit my lip. He was not asleep. I would have to face him now.

‘Yes?’ I called back.

‘Are you all right?’

I put my hand to the door and drew a breath before opening it. Freddy had switched off the lamps and lit candles on the mantelpiece. The glow of the flames sent beams of golden light flickering around the room. There was a bracing smell too: witchhazel and sandalwood; Freddy’s aftershave. The knot gripped my stomach again.

Freddy looked up at me. ‘You’re beautiful,’ he said, holding out his hand. I crossed the rug on the balls of my feet and took his fingers in mine. He tugged me onto the bed.

‘Nervous?’ he asked.

I nodded.

He gathered me into his arms. ‘I won’t hurt you,’ he said.

My heart ached: Freddy, usually so brash and clumsy outside of the bedroom, was sensitive and caring in it. I did not deserve him but I would do my best to make him happy. I reached up to put my arm around his back but somehow managed to bring my elbow up so that I struck him in the eye. He pressed the heel of his palm to his head and collapsed onto the pillow. I had a pointy elbow and I had hit him in the eye socket. It must have been agony.

‘Freddy!’ I cried. ‘I’m so sorry!’

Freddy lifted his hand. The flesh around his eye was red and swollen. It might even be black tomorrow.

Freddy’s shoulders began to shake. I thought he was crying, but then the boom of his laugh echoed around the room. I had always liked his laugh. It was from the heart.

‘I had no idea you were so violent,’ he said. ‘I’ll have to keep my place with you.’

The humour of the moment caught me and I laughed too. Before I knew what I was doing I leaned forward and kissed Freddy’s eyelid. I nestled my cheek against his shoulder and he slipped his arms around me. My breath caught with surprise as desire lifted me up then gently dropped me down again like a wave on the ocean. Freddy rolled over to face me and kissed my forehead. I brushed away the lock of hair that had fallen across his face. The paralysing fear that had held me captive only a few minutes ago vanished. I laughed again. Freddy pushed open my dressing gown and ran his fingertips across my stomach and hips. ‘Lovely, beautiful, exquisite,’ he whispered. I slid my hands over his chest. Everywhere Freddy touched me tingled to life. He continued his explorations down my legs and up my torso to my breasts, stroking me until I ached with yearning. He eased himself into me, checking my face for signs of discomfort. There was no pain, only pleasure so intense that I could not recall anything like it.

‘What are you looking at?’ Freddy asked.

My mind returned from the recollections of our wedding night to the morning sun glistening on the valley. Freddy was awake and propped up on his elbow. I was relieved that his eye had not turned black.

‘If we made a picture here, we would not need a studio to “stylise” nature,’ I said.

Freddy reached for his dressing gown and joined me at the window.

‘This is the place I want to make my next picture,’ I told him. ‘I love it.’

Freddy wrapped his arms around me and kissed my cheek. ‘And I love you.’

I returned his embrace before looking towards the valley. I want to live here one day, I thought. Then I would wake up to this magic every morning.

In the Dark
premiered at the Lyric Wintergarden Theatre on 8 December 1925. The same night Robert and Klara announced their engagement.

‘We’re not trying to steal your limelight, Adela,’ Robert announced in his speech to our family, who had gathered for a celebration at our home before leaving for the theatre. ‘We only wanted our engagement to be announced on a day when wonderful things were happening.’

Klara looked radiant in her buttercup yellow dress. Who could deny such a charming person her happiness?