Silver Wattle (54 page)

A few days later, I walked to town to post a letter to Klara. She would not receive it until she arrived in Prague, but I wanted to write to her anyway. I had deliberated over mentioning Philip, and decided not to for now. I had a superstitious notion that declaring my happiness prematurely invited bad luck. I had been in love with Philip and lost him to Beatrice. I had come to adore Freddy and had lost him too. Happiness in my own heart was enough for now.

I stopped by the dressmaker’s shop and caught my reflection in the glass window. In a trick of the light, I was doubled. Just outside my reflection was another image of me—slightly fuzzy at the outline and ethereal. I had been many people in my life: Adela Ruzickova; Adela Rose; Adela Rockcliffe. Who was I going to be now?

I remembered my conversation with Myles Dunphy when I agreed to join him in the fight to save the blue gum forest. ‘Opportunities are made, Mrs Rockcliffe,’ he had said. ‘They don’t happen of themselves. I don’t want to read about the achievements of people with verve. I want to be one of those people myself. It’s not enough to be intelligent and thoughtful. You have to be bold.’

Those would have been Freddy’s sentiments exactly.

Many people I loved were still with me. I had not lost Klara, Thomas or Hugh, although they had all had brushes with death. Uncle Ota, Ranjana, Esther, Robert and the twins were happy and well. Even MP, despite being without a foot, seemed to have managed to dodge predators.

‘You have to be bold,’ Myles Dunphy had said.

Perhaps it was time I was.

When Philip helped me suit up for the flight the following Saturday, I was not frightened at all. The butterflies in my stomach were due to my excitement in being with him. I could hardly wait to be airborne. But Philip’s manner was less carefree than it had been the previous week. He seemed preoccupied.

The flight that day was smooth. The Hawkesbury River and its tributaries encircled Greater Sydney and I was astounded by its beauty—the shimmering water, the bushland and hills. But every so often I would see clearings in the forests and felled trees and my vision of cherishing and protecting nature stirred in me.

Philip brought the plane to land near a beach. I watched him take out the neatly packed portions of sandwiches, salad and fruit in precisely the order we would eat them. We used tin mugs and plates for our picnic but he smartened the setting up with a lace tablecloth over the rug and linen napkins.

‘Apart from Uncle Ota, I don’t know any other man with your domestic competence,’ I told him.

‘My mother wouldn’t hear of a helpless male in the house,’ he said. ‘Although we had several maids, she taught my father how to iron a shirt, just so he’d know.’

‘It sounds as if she was a very modern woman,’ I said, remembering Milosh stomping around our apartment in Prague and demanding Marie and Mother help him get ready.

‘She was twenty years younger than my father and what he described as “a healthy shock to the system”,’ said Philip. ‘You remind me of her. It’s very fashionable to be independent these days, but most women I know would still swoon if it would get a man’s attention. You don’t try to be fashionable, Adela. I like that. It’s just how you are.’

Silence fell between us. I understood Philip’s preoccupation now. For there was one thing left that stood between us and our happiness in being together: Beatrice. She was the unmentioned barrier to love. Sooner or later we would have to talk about her.

I glanced at Philip’s handsome profile. I would think of Beatrice later. All I wanted in that moment was to be blissfully happy. It might have been a false moment or a stolen one—for, despite Beatrice’s behaviour, Philip was still a married man—but all I could think of was bathing in this sweet happiness a little longer.

We returned to the cottage later than we had anticipated. The sky was darkening.

‘Come inside for a cup of tea before you go,’ I told Philip. ‘You need to warm up for the journey.’

Philip shook his head. ‘I’ll have to get going while I still have the sun.’

He looked in the direction of the cockpit but made no move towards it. ‘What is it?’ I asked.

He exhaled and clasped his hands in front of him. ‘You know those places I told you about? The Katherine River and Alice Springs?’

‘Yes.’

‘One day I’d like to show them to you, just as you want to show me the blue gum forest.’

A ripple of happiness ran up my spine. ‘Yes, I would like that.’

Philip smiled and took my hand, kissing my fingertips. Then he pulled me towards him and kissed me on the lips. His mouth was soft and it warmed me despite the breeze that was sending goose bumps up my legs.

‘Until next Saturday,’ he said, breaking away and reaching into the cockpit.

‘Stay,’ I said.

Philip turned to me. His jaw set into a grimace. ‘Beatrice…she won’t give me a divorce, you know,’ he said, looking at the ground then back at me. ‘Some mixed-up notion she has that it makes her decent to be married although we live on different sides of the globe. She even had the gall to say that divorce would be an offence to our religion.’

I had already guessed that Beatrice would not permit a divorce. I understood her character better now. No one could be happy without her permission. She did not want me to have what she could not. That was the reason she had tricked Philip into marrying her. Not because she had loved him.

‘Stay,’ I said, reaching out my hand.

‘I can’t marry you, Adela.’

‘But you love me?’

Philip’s gaze softened. ‘Yes. I’ve always loved you.’

He took my hand and we headed towards the cottage. The love we would share would not be the innocent, wide-eyed love of our youth. But it would be just as precious. We would flout convention, for what had obeying convention done for us except keep us separated for years? Philip was one of the country’s finest doctors. I had shown Australia in all its glory to the world. What else did we need to do to prove ourselves to others? It was time to live for ourselves.

‘I’ve got to wash my hands,’ said Philip, when we reached the house. ‘They’re caked in grease.’

I gave him a towel from the cupboard and he headed towards the bathroom. I stood in the sitting room and imagined a cosy scene: Philip reclining in the armchair, marking flight paths on maps, while I wrote letters to government officials about why trees were more precious than ‘progress’. A roaring fire crackled in the fireplace. I drank in the pleasure of the image, knowing that I had reached a point of bliss. I had found my life’s purpose and my life’s partner.

Something crashed in the kitchen. I rushed down the hall and turned on the light. The vegetable basket was upside down and carrots, beetroots and potatoes were scattered over the floorboards. MP poked his head out from the curtain under the sink, a cherry tomato clutched in his paws.

‘So!’ I said, happy to see him despite the mess he was making in my kitchen. ‘Didn’t I tell you it is not good to always be alone?’

Something blunt fell on my head. I glanced down and saw a candle lying near my feet. I kept a box of them on top of my kitchen cupboard in case of emergencies. I looked up to see another, slightly smaller possum sitting on the cupboard and peering at me.

‘At last,’ I said to MP. ‘Good boy.’

I left the kitchen window open so that MP and his companion could leave when they had finished devouring my food and closed the door behind me. I would clean up the mess in the morning.

I walked out onto the veranda for one last glimpse of the sun setting over the valley. The cool air was bracing. A lone magpie drifted on the breeze. Something rustled in the bushes near the steps, perhaps an echidna or a wombat.

‘Adela!’ Philip called.

I walked back into the house. Philip was in the sitting room with the towel in his hands. His face was pink and he smelt of rose soap.

‘What was that crash?’ he asked.

‘Never mind,’ I said, taking his hand and leading him to the bedroom.

He hesitated at the door. ‘Are you sure about this, Adela?’

‘I have never been surer of anything. I love you,’ I told him.

He took me in his arms and kissed me. Suddenly all the heartaches I had accumulated over the years vanished. I had been wrong in thinking that Philip and I could not be innocent or thrilled by life because of all we had been through. Everything was new and fresh. I saw us, young again, sitting together on the sands of Wattamolla beach, our future spreading out gloriously before us.

One of the great pleasures of writing
Silver Wattle
was researching the early Australian film industry. While it is not possible to list all my sources for inspiration here, some of my favourites included: John Tulloch’s
Legends on the Screen: The Australian Narrative Cinema, 1919–1929
; Elsa Chauvel’s
My Life with Charles Chauvel
; Simon Brand’s
Picture Palaces and Flea-pits: Eighty Years of Australians at the Pictures
; Eric Reade’s
History and Heartburn: The Saga of Australian Film 1896–1978;
and Ken Hall’s autobiography,
Directed by Ken G. Hall
. The three-part DVD series
The History of Australian Cinema 1896–1940
, is an excellent starting point for anyone interested in learning about the beginnings of Australian film.

Debate continues today among film historians about the role of the Combine in the decline of the Australian film industry as it did in the 1920s between local film producers and distribution and exhibition agencies. While I found the debate fascinating, I resisted being swayed by either side and tried to present the argument through the characters’ views as they would have seen them from their respective positions in the industry.

Angel, the brushtail possum joey, is reared on canned milk, but licensed wildlife carers are now trained to raise orphaned marsupials and have available to them special formulas and supplements to bring up these fragile creatures. Angel would have to have been a resilient possum to have reached adulthood on canned milk. Her upbringing in the 1920s was created in consultation with Sonya Stanvic, author of
Possums: Rescue, rearing, rehabilitation and release
, and Cilla Norris, an experienced possum carer with WIRES. Should you find an orphaned native bird or animal—or an injured one—do not attempt to raise or rehabilitate it yourself. Keep it warm and quiet and contact your nearest wildlife group or veterinary surgeon for further advice. As the brushtail possum co-ordinator for my local branch of WIRES and as a licensed wildlife carer, I have seen too many sad cases where a member of the public tried to raise a joey and did not call us until it was too late to save the possum. Also, never take an animal from the wild and attempt to turn it into a pet.

Applying a tourniquet and cauterising the wound was the standard method of treating snakebite in the 1920s, but this is not the current recommended first aid treatment and could lead to serious injury or death. It is best to familiarise yourself with an up-to-date first aid book before venturing off the track in bushland. Snakes are protected native reptiles and most bites occur because the victim was trying to kill the snake or pick it up. Have a healthy respect for snakes and their role in the environment and leave them alone—or observe them from a safe distance if you find them fascinating, as many people do. If
Silver Wattle
has sparked your interest in Australian wildlife and you would like to learn more, you can start by viewing the WIRES website at www.wires.org.au, contacting your nearest wildlife organisation or by visiting your local library.

While on the subject of native animals, possums were called ‘opossums’ in the 1920s and koalas were referred to as ‘native bears’. To avoid confusing contemporary readers while maintaining some nuance of authenticity, I chose to use the term ‘possum’ while keeping koalas as ‘native bears’.

Finally, to give a flavour of the Czech language to the novel, I used the diminutives for Adela and Klara’s names, Adelka and Klarinka, where appropriate. However, nouns in the Czech language, including names, change depending on their role in a sentence. I decided to stay with the ‘a’ endings in all cases to avoid confusing non-Czech readers. The Czech hachek alters the pronunciation of the letters below it in the following ways:

sh sounds like English
sh

ch sounds like English
ch

zh sounds like the s in English
leisure

For a straightforward guide on Czech pronunciation and grammar, I found David Short’s
Teach Yourself Czech
very helpful.

I hope you experienced as much pleasure in reading
Silver Wattle
as I did in researching and writing the novel.

Finishing a novel is like arriving home after a life-changing trip abroad. One’s suitcase is filled with happy memories of the experiences and the people one met along the way.
Silver Wattle
was a sojourn mostly in my own country and I have so many people to thank for making it a wonderful journey that I am afraid I will not have enough space to mention all of them here.

The story is expansive and multi-layered and involves many characters; it has been mostly a seven-day-a-week project. Therefore, first and foremost I have to thank my family for their encouragement, especially my husband, Mauro, my father, Stan, and my three stepsons: Michael, Brendan and James. I would also like to thank my friends for their understanding of my schedule and hope they have not forgotten what I look like in the daylight!

I would especially like to thank my inspiring agent, Selwa Anthony, and wonderful publisher, Linda Funnell, who encouraged me through the many drafts it took to write the novel. Their care, interest and experienced advice found their way into the weave of the story. Special mention should also be made of my talented editor, Nicola O’Shea, who is such a joy to work with, and Kate O’Donnell, my diligent HarperCollins editor, who went to great efforts to accommodate my requests for ‘more time’. Others I would like to thank at HarperCollins
Publishers
include: Shona Martyn, Publishing Director, for her unwavering support for me as a writer; publishing assistant Denise O’Dea; and the fabulous marketing, publicity and sales teams who put such energy behind sending my novels out to the wider world that I am in awe of how lucky I am to be published by such a dynamic, talented company.