Silver Wattle (41 page)

‘We are going to have to operate,’ the specialist told us.

After the operation, Thomas’s leg was in plaster from his hip to his ankle and he was subjected to the excruciating post-operative treatment of having wedges driven behind his knees to keep his hamstrings stretched. One day, I turned up at Watsons Bay to find Ranjana crying.

‘If it was me who was suffering, I could take it,’ she wept. ‘But how can I just look on when my child endures such pain?’

Thomas had been treated by the hospital’s best specialist but even he was saying he had done all that could be done and Thomas would have to accept life as a cripple. I thought back to the article I had seen on Philip. He was an advocate of progressive treatments for infantile paralysis. An idea grew in my mind. Perhaps there was someone else who could help us.

P
hilip’s rooms in Edgecliff were different from those of the specialist who had treated Thomas at the hospital. There were the graduation certificates on the walls of the reception area from the University of London, but instead of leather-bound volumes and
objets d’art
on the shelves there were teddy bears and rag dolls. I half-smiled when I saw the collection of mud-men that filled a cabinet of their own. A girl with a patch over one eye and a boy with his arm in a sling were playing with a train set on the floor. I helped Thomas to the couch then approached the nurse, who wrote down his details on a card. Behind her was a framed motto:

I had told Ranjana, who was working at the cinema that day, that I was taking Thomas to a new specialist. There was no reason why I could not have told my family that I was taking him to Philip. Even Freddy would not have stopped me where Thomas’s welfare was concerned. I had come for Thomas’s sake but I wanted to see Philip alone. I hoped that in seeing him again I would be able to put the memories to rest and give my heart wholly to Freddy. But as much as I tried to push the memories away, they kept floating up. I saw Philip in his cramped office at Broughton Hall and remembered the taste of his warm, salty skin when he had kissed me on Wattamolla beach.

Once the nurse had taken Thomas’s details, I returned to the couch. Thomas had joined in playing trains with the boy and girl on the rug. I glanced at the children’s mothers. One was absorbed in a magazine, but the other was watching them play. Thomas wound up the engine and sent it for a turn around the tracks. It made the distance before coming off the rails. The mother cheered for him. When Thomas had been in hospital I was sure someone would object to the presence of a dark child in the ward. But no one did. Perhaps suffering made people more generous.

Philip was running late and a tinge of apprehension fell over me. What would he say when he saw us? I had given the nurse my married name.

The door to the doctor’s office opened and a boy with a club foot stepped out with his mother. The pair were smiling as if they had just shared a joke. Then Philip came out to call in his next patient. He saw me and stopped in his tracks. I was equally stunned. Philip was no longer the fresh-faced young man I had known when he was a medical officer at Broughton Hall. His shoulders were broad and straight. His hair was brushed up from his forehead in a cowlick. The whimsical smile lit up when he saw us but the eyes above it looked sadder and the roses in his cheeks had vanished.

Philip stepped towards us. He gaped at me before remembering himself, and placed his hand on Thomas’s shoulder. ‘You’ve had a bad case of polio, I see,’ he said. ‘I’ll have a look at Mary’s eye and John’s arm and then I’ll examine your leg, Thomas.’

Philip’s eyes sought mine and I saw it there in his face. He loved me. He had never stopped loving me. I faltered, embarrassed, and averted my gaze.

Thomas’s turn came and Philip invited us into his office. I willed him to look at me again so I could confirm what I had seen in his face had been love, but he avoided my scrutiny. He sat Thomas on the bench to examine his leg. I glanced at his desk for a picture of Beatrice or their child, but there was none. I thought it strange because I expected Philip to be a devoted father. Where had he been all these years and what had he been doing? Did he enjoy working with children? I wanted to ask these questions but my tongue was stuck in my throat and Philip addressed his comments to Thomas rather than me.

‘I try to match the treatment to the child,’ he told him. ‘What is right for you may not be right for another child and vice versa. You’ve been treated conservatively with splints and braces but I’m going to concentrate now on more intensive therapy for you.’

Thomas, who looked like a little man in his tweed suit and tie, answered, ‘I did see some children getting massages at the hospital. I thought a massage might be nice.’

Philip did not laugh at Thomas. He looked him in the eye and answered, ‘I am in correspondence with a nurse who has had success with massage on polio sufferers in the Outback. But at the same time, we need to be careful, Thomas. Too much stimulation can sometimes cause more damage.’

Thomas held Philip’s gaze and nodded. It occurred to me that it was unusual for someone to speak
to
him. Most people looked over his head: firstly, because he was a child, and secondly, because he was dark.

‘When I grow up, I want to be a doctor like you,’ Thomas told Philip. ‘I want to be kind to children.’

After examining Thomas and writing out a program of treatment, Philip showed us to the door. Thomas manoeuvered himself out ahead of me with his crutch and Philip touched my arm. I lifted my eyes to his face. The rise in my blood was met by an opposing emotion: the need to run away. I took Thomas’s free arm and helped him out of the office. Philip had prescribed a three-month program but it would have to be Ranjana or Esther who brought Thomas to Edgecliff for the treatments. For I had come looking for the truth and had found it. My feelings for Philip, and his for me, were unchanged.

When I returned home, Freddy was not there. Some executives from Galaxy Pictures were in Sydney on business and their meeting with him must have been running late. Klara was staying the night with Uncle Ota and Ranjana. It was Regina’s night off but she had left a pot of pumpkin soup on the stove and a loaf of bread. Outside, a drizzly rain was falling and there was a chill in the air.

I ran a bath and soaked in the tub, trying to calm my racing heart. Nerves I had thought were dead had come back to life.

I dressed in a white blouse and black skirt and sprinkled my hair with rosewater. I put on every piece of jewellery Freddy had given me: the gold wedding band with its diamonds and cutwork highlights; the ruby engagement ring; the rose gold pendant and earrings he had bought for our first anniversary; the sapphire and diamond bracelet he had given me when
In the Dark
was released in the United States.

I returned to the kitchen and stared at the soup on the stove, wondering if Freddy had eaten yet. I took out a tin of wafers and laid them on a plate, topping them with a spread of cheese and olive halves. Freddy liked to have a mint julep waiting for him when he came home. I heard his car in the driveway. Freddy parked in the garage and ran through the rain. I held the front door open for him.

‘You’re a lovely sight,’ he said, taking the towel I offered and pressing it to his face.

‘Here, let me take your coat, it’s wet,’ I said. ‘Have you eaten?’

‘We didn’t have time.’ He looked into the sitting room where I had laid out the canapes.

‘I thought you might want to relax before dinner,’ I told him.

Freddy sank into a chair and accepted the julep from me. It was not unusual for me to spoil him when he came home. Seeing him smile gave me pleasure. But it was not pleasure I was looking for that evening and Freddy knew me well enough to sense it.

‘What’s wrong?’ he asked, when I sat down next to him.

‘I took Thomas to a children’s specialist today. It’s our old friend Doctor Philip Page. He’s back from England.’

Freddy did not say anything and I wondered if he had heard me. He sat motionless for a few moments staring at his hands. I cursed myself. I had tried to sound casual but had blurted everything out too quickly.

‘Will you be going to see him again?’ Freddy asked me.

It was difficult to tell from his calm tone what he was thinking.

‘I don’t think so,’ I answered, rubbing my forehead. ‘Ranjana or Esther will probably take Thomas to his appointments.’

Freddy lit a cigarette and blew a stream of smoke into the air.

‘Philip is considered the best children’s doctor in Sydney,’ I said. ‘He is confident that he can have Thomas walking normally again—or at least without a crutch.’

Freddy leaned back into his chair, thinking something over. He doted on Thomas, so I knew that Philip’s assurance would please him. But there were lines across his brow. ‘And how is Philip?’ he asked.

I picked up a wafer. Freddy and I were skirting around what we most wanted to say.

‘We didn’t have much time for personal chat,’ I answered. ‘We talked mainly about Thomas, but he seems well. A little older.’

Freddy stubbed out his cigarette and glanced towards the kitchen. ‘What’s for dinner?’

I was relieved and yet disappointed that the strained conversation had ended. I was relieved because I had told Freddy that I had seen Philip. Yet there was so much more I had to confess. But my husband was not like my sister. I could not tell him everything without hurting him. My father had always been fond of the saying ‘Better a lie that heals than a truth that wounds.’

During dinner Freddy and I talked about trivial day-to-day things. I told him about the hydrangeas I had planted in the garden and he told me that one of the executives at Galaxy Pictures in Hollywood had written to ask him if the picture director Adela Rockcliffe was his wife.

‘Freddy, they may not like you being married to an Australian director,’ I told him.

‘Well,’ said Freddy with a smile, ‘at least while they are grumbling about that, they haven’t noticed the local cinemas I’ve acquired with your uncle’s help.’

After dinner, we carried the plates to the kitchen and Freddy rested his hand on my hip. The silence that fell between us weighed on me but seemed not to bother him. He was usually like the Weimaraner Aunt Josephine had owned before Frip. The dog wanted to be the only living creature around Aunt Josephine and used to push everyone else away with his head. If a man struck up a conversation with me at the cinema or a party, Freddy would be at my side in an instant. But when it came to Philip reappearing in my life, he was surprisingly unconcerned.

Freddy returned to the sitting room and lay on the sofa. It was a habit of his to take a nap after dinner. I sat next to him and he pulled me closer, pressing my face to his chest.

‘If you want to go to see Philip about Thomas’s treatment, you can, you know,’ he said. ‘I want Thomas to get better and will pay whatever it costs to make sure he does. I don’t want you to think I don’t trust you. The past is the past, Adela. We are husband and wife now.’

I thought back to my visit to Philip’s office that day. Philip must have seen that my surname was Rockcliffe and yet he had not been surprised. He had not even mentioned it.

‘Freddy, have you seen Philip since he returned from England?’ I asked, pushing him away so I could look at his face.

Freddy’s head dropped then snapped up again. My nerves were on tenterhooks and he was nodding off to sleep! ‘It was only fair that I told him that we were married before he tried to find you,’ Freddy mumbled. ‘His union with Beatrice is a disaster. She’s still in England.’

‘Beatrice is still in England?’

Freddy yawned. ‘They’re estranged. Beatrice won’t give him a divorce although I don’t think they’ve had a day of happiness together since they married.’

I could not believe what I was hearing. I thought of the day Beatrice had asked me to go for a walk with her in the city and how she had told me she adored Philip and that he was her childhood friend, her confidant, and her reason for living. Philip had described himself as Beatrice’s warm, comfortable blanket. But it seemed she had discarded him the moment they married.

‘Freddy, you once said that there was more to Beatrice than meets the eye. What did you mean by that?’

Freddy did not answer. I thought he was thinking over the question. I waited a few minutes then turned to him. His chest was rising and falling in a slow, steady rhythm.

‘Oh my God,’ I said. ‘I am in torment and you are asleep.’

Freddy’s confidence that I would not be unfaithful to him was as unnerving to me as my fear that I would be if I saw Philip again. I had made Thomas promise not to tell Ranjana and Uncle Ota that we had visited Philip until I had a chance to explain it to them. The following morning I went to see them at the cinema.

‘Philip!’ said Ranjana. ‘He thinks that he can help Thomas?’

‘If anyone can, I’m sure he can,’ said Uncle Ota. ‘Thank you so much, Adelka, for thinking of it. It’s the best news we have had in months.’

Ranjana and Uncle Ota’s reaction added to the commotion in my head. When I explained to Ranjana that she and Esther would need to take Thomas to Philip’s rooms themselves, she did not bat an eye.

‘Oh course,’ she said, hugging me. ‘I understand that you are busy with Klara’s wedding plans.’

Uncle Ota and Ranjana took it for granted that now I was married to Freddy, my feelings for Philip had changed.

The one person who would have understood my confusion was Klara. But she had conflicts of her own.

Klara and Robert were to be married in the Swans’ garden. It should have been simple enough but, ironically for such a shy person, Mrs Swan had her heart set on a large society wedding. She and Klara had agreed on a pure white dress trimmed with Brussels lace but disagreed on everything else.

‘She is a lovely lady but when it came to the wedding I had no idea that she would be so obstinate,’ Klara complained to me one afternoon. ‘I want a bouquet of lilies of the valley in memory of Mother and she insists on calla lilies with bows. When I told her I wanted to follow our family tradition of a rosemary wreath around my veil she did not speak to me for two days. It is as if she expects me to just forget where I came from.’