Trilemma (18 page)

A teenaged girl with a full-lipped mouth, dark hair, and brown eyes like her father's, emerges from the house's other wing.

“Your aunt Lin,” says Alison.

“Hi,” the girl says.

Jess has the archetypal teenage expression in her eyes—annoyance
that she has been interrupted, embarrassment that these clumsy beings are her parents, tepid interest in any visitors over the age of twenty-five.

I take a step forward to hug her. With a look of alarm, she takes a step back.

I figure I should take my cues from my family. “Cool dress,” I say. She is wearing a caramel-colored shift draped in loose black netting, with clusters of beads and feathers decorating the bodice.

“She designed it herself,” says my sister proudly.

A golden-haired young man walks in the door behind us. Wal lays an arm across the boy's shoulder and pulls him forward.

“This is our nephew, Max. Your aunt Lin and her friend Ben.”

He offers me his hand and a shy half smile. “Mum says she'll be along later.”

Max has clear blue eyes, a halo of gold curls, and the kind of fair skin that flushes readily into pink, especially when embarrassed as he is now.

I glance at Alison and see her smile fade. There is a brief silence. Wal opens the French doors to the terrace and tells us to take a seat outside while he brings us a drink. Alison returns to the kitchen. I am given a Chardonnay and Ben and Max are handed cans of cold beer.

“Jess?” asks Wal and offers her a bottle of ginger beer.

Her mouth turns down, but she takes it. My sister carries out a platter of olives, sun-dried tomatoes, and pâté. She catches my eye and smiles, then carefully places the tray on the table. I keep staring at her, looking for the traces of my own face in hers.

“Sit down, Ali,” her husband tells her. She gives him a brusque dismissive grimace and returns to the kitchen.

Wal turns back to Ben and me. “How do you like Wellington?”

“It's very beautiful,” I say.

“You'll find it hotter up here,” Wal replies.

“Has the weather been good?” I ask him.

“Nah,” he replies. “Not enough rain.” He laughs. “You city folk think it's good when the sun shines and it's dry, but we farmers need the rain to grow grass to feed the lambs. We don't do too badly here; we're higher up so we get more rain, and the land is limestone so it holds the moisture in the ground.”

Max smiles, his face flushing. “We're biodynamic. We farm without chemicals. Uncle Wal pioneered our methods,” he adds. “I'm just the apprentice.”

“Dunno for how much longer we can keep it up. Organic certification is a nightmare,” Wal says. “The bureaucrats justify their existence by finding something wrong. You have to pay to fix whatever they demand and then pay for them to recheck everything. It's got to the point the cost of compliance is more than any premium you get for organic beef and lamb.”

“Maybe one day nonorganic producers will be the ones who have to pay the extra costs and fees instead,” Ben says.

“Fat chance in my lifetime,” says Wal.

“What about you, Jess?” I ask. “Are you planning to work on the farm too?”

“Not bloody likely,” she says.

“She wants to go to university and study fashion design,” says Wal. “But her mother's not keen on her going so far away.”

“What am I not keen on?” Alison joins us and hands her wine glass to her husband. “Chardonnay, Wal. Oh, Jess going to university? Of course, she can. But to the local institute, not the one down in Wellington.”

She gestures to Wal to refill my glass. “Do you like the wine, Lin? It's local. Clearview.”

“It is very good,” I tell her.

“Hawke's Bay makes the best Chardonnay in New Zealand,” she says with satisfaction.

She moves the platter and passes out the plates and forks and napkins that Wal had forgotten to distribute. She looks at
me and catches me staring at her and smiles again. It's okay for her, she is used to seeing a sister's face; she's been seeing Vivienne's ever since they were born. But I am not used to this sudden familiarity. I turn and look at Jess's profile, hoping to see something I recognize in her. But Jess has her father's features.
Perhaps something about our chins?

Wal keeps the conversation going while Alison ducks in and out of the kitchen. He laughs a lot. Max is quiet, but smiles and replies when Wal brings him into the conversation. My niece looks bored and soon makes an excuse to return to her room. She vanishes across the terrace with her hands before her, clicking away at her cell phone.

Ben watches her go with a smile. “Very like Emmy,” he says. “They're always on those bloody cell phones, aren't they?”

Alison calls Max into the dining room. “Can you chase up your mother, dear?” she asks in a loud whisper. “Dinner will spoil if we wait any longer.”

Max leaves the house. Wal opens more wine, and Alison takes her seat with us.

“Does Vivienne have a problem meeting me?” I ask.

She looks down at the table and straightens the food, moving the plate nearer to Ben.

“Vivienne is always late,” she says. “What do you think of the bread? I get it from Havelock North. Good, isn't it? Ben, have some more olives. Finish them, there's plenty left in the jar.”

She rises abruptly and takes the empty bowl into the kitchen to refill.

Ben reaches across and pats my leg. “Okay?” His blue eyes look into mine and he smiles encouragingly.

“Okay,” I reply. I put my left hand over his, briefly.

A cold draft blows across the back of my neck as a door opens behind me. The scent of something sweet, spicy, and exotic catches my nostrils. When I turn, she is standing there.

My other sister, Vivienne.

Vivienne's hazel eyes are large and her cheekbones high, her nose is straight and her mouth curved and generous. She has our father's auburn hair, coiffured in sculpted waves to her shoulders. Her elegant body, a slimmer version of Alison's, is encased in a ruffled black dress and her long, shapely legs end in high-heeled shoes.

She stares at me, taking me in just as I am her. No one says a word. Then Vivienne's face relaxes into a small, polite smile and she pats my arm with red-nail-tipped fingers.

“Lovely to meet you,” she says, and turns to Ben, ignoring his eye. “How do you do?”

Ben puts out his hand, and she touches it briefly.

“My husband, Christopher,” she says, gesturing at her two silent menfolk. “And my son, Maximilian.”

Christopher reaches out his hand.

“We've already met,” I say, taking it in mine, realizing that while he cannot recognize my face, my voice with its accent is unmistakable.

“What?” says Vivienne, her eyes widening.

“The lady who came to the door,” Christopher replies. “I forgot to tell you someone was asking for you.”

“I didn't give my name.”

“Dinner's on the table,” says Alison. “Come inside. Don't worry about your glasses. I've got fresh ones. Wal, haven't you opened the red wine yet?

“Lin, you sit there on Wal's right. Ben, you sit here next to me. Viv, put Christopher next to me and then you and Max.
Jess, over there next to your father. Oh, Jess, not those napkins. Go and get the black-and-red ones.”

Dinner is a large filet of beef, accompanied by roasted root vegetables, mashed potatoes, and a dish of green beans, broccoli, zucchini, and peas.

“So, what is it you do?” Vivienne asks.

“Wal, the wine.”

Wal pours red wine from a decanter into each glass. “It's Stonecroft,” says Alison. “The best Syrah in New Zealand.”

I am describing my working day. “And then the Government told us we must—”

“Darling, would you like yams?” Vivienne says to Christopher. He nods and she serves him two perfectly pink grub-shaped objects.

“Oh, dash, I've forgotten the—” and Alison leaps up and returns to the kitchen.

“Baked tomatoes,” she says and wedges the final serving tray on the table.

“Terrific spread, Alison,” says Ben.

“Yes, lovely,” I say.

Alison beams, her gift of food acknowledged.

I stop talking about what I do. No one is remotely interested in Chief Executive Lin Mere. It is curiously cathartic to be just me for a change.

“And what do you do, Ben?” asks Vivienne.

“I make furniture,” he replies. “One-offs mainly, on commission.”

“Oh, you must come up to the house,” she says. “I have some fine pieces.”

“Vivienne has excellent taste,” says Christopher and reaches out to touch Vivienne's arm. “She's made the house a showcase.”

Vivienne smiles and puts her hand over his.

“Where are you guys staying?” asks Wal.

Ben glances at me before replying. “We were planning to drive into Hastings to find a motel.”

“Oh, no, you mustn't do that,” cries Alison. “We have plenty of beds here. And you won't want to be driving these roads so late at night.”

Alison pauses and glances at Vivienne, whose face has stiffened.

“You guys stay with us, okay?” says Wal. “Plenty of room.”

I look at Alison's face and can see only kindness in her eyes. “If you're sure it's not an imposition?”

She smiles at me. “No, no, not at all.”

Ben asks Wal about organic farming practices, and the conversation rushes around the table like a Mexican wave.

For a moment I detach myself from the strands and let the voices wash over me. I look around the table at my newfound family. At Alison's kind face and comfortable body. She has welcomed me into her home and her family. She doesn't treat me like an alien. She doesn't treat me like a chief executive. She treats me like a sister. It is an odd feeling.

Vivienne is harder to fathom. She seems devoted to her blind husband. I glance across at her son, Max. A nice boy, looks nothing like either of them. Seems closer to his uncle Wal than to Vivienne or Christopher. I catch his eye, and he smiles automatically. Good-looking and doesn't know it.

And Jess? Scowling silently into her meal. I'll bet she's going to be a handful when she finally cuts loose from her parents.

“What have you made for pud, Ali?” asks Wal as she clears the plates away.

“Jess! Help!” she says to her daughter.

I stand up, but she shakes her head. “No, no, it's Jess's job. I've made prune cake,” she says in reply to Wal's question. “Figure they won't have had that before.”

“Never heard of it,” says Ben. “But it sounds terrific.”

I take another sip of wine, rest my elbows on Alison's white tablecloth, and let my body relax from its habitual stiff poise.

Later, after we have eaten Alison's cake, Vivienne and Christopher prepare to leave.

“Pop in tomorrow before you head off, if you want,” she says, with tepid enthusiasm. “Max, are you ready?” and they climb into their car to drive up the hill home.

“She's pretty black out here,” says Wal. “No streetlights so when the clouds cover the moon and stars, it's easier to drive between the houses.”

It must be cloudy tonight because as I look around I can see nothing apart from the taillights of Vivienne's car. You forget how very dark it can be without the city lights.

“Mind you, Christopher can walk the farm pretty easy, day or night. But we don't want Vivienne falling off those shoes of hers and into the roses, do we?” Wal laughs and shuts the door.

Back inside Alison is tidying the kitchen and refuses my offer of help. I return to the living room and Wal tops up my glass. The two men are having one of those male things, some kind of ritual of bonding. They talk about the cricket and then about the rugby, and match each other as they drink their beer, glass for glass.

Suddenly a rifle shot crashes into the silence of the night. I start and spill my wine.

“Max must be shooting possums,” Wal says. “You shine a flashlight up the tree and when you see their eyes shine back, wham!”