Versace Sisters (30 page)

The Paddington house hadn't known such a flurry of
excited activity since Tony and Sera's wedding day. Suitcases
were bumping up and down the staircase, children
were running in and out of bedrooms on futile errands
designed to keep them busy and out of the way (but often
resulting in the inverse effect), phones rang, Sera and
Joan were discussing, deciding on and discarding outfits
with lighting speed, while Tony checked and re-checked
documents, secured the house and made last-minute
arrangements with his building team.

They were going to Italy.

After the news of Tony's parentage had sunk in and the
family had embraced their new Italian heritage with dinners
of linguine amatriciana and stereo speakers bellowing
Verdi, Puccini and Bellini, Tony and Sera had pressured
Joan into calling Antonio.

Tony had been thrilled to discover his real name, Tony
Donizetti, and had threatened, in his excitement, to have
his name changed by deed poll immediately, until Sera
had calmed him down by reminding him about the kind
of administration headache involved in changing a name
halfway through life.

After hours on Google and many phone calls, they had
finally tracked down the Antonio Donizetti they were
after. There were four who lived in the Positano area but
only one was a master stone-mason, recently retired. It was
late at night in Sydney, mid-afternoon in Italy, when they
made the call.

'
Pronto
?' came the voice down the line, and although
gravelly with age, Joan knew in an instant she'd reached the
right number. Even time couldn't affect the rich baritone
she'd dreamed about for the last forty years.

'Antonio?' she whispered, her throat threatening to
close over.

'
Joan
?' came the reply.

'Yes,' she said.

The crackle of the international phoneline was the
only sound for several seconds as each was overcome
with emotion. They were unable to say anything,
charged with longing, with remorse for the years that had
passed, for the life that hadn't been.

Finally, the man in Positano spoke. 'My
bella signora
,' he
said with such need it sent tears flowing down Joan's face.
Tony and Sera perched on the edge of the couch on the
other side of the room, staring as the moment unfolded.

'Oh, Tony,' Joan replied. They both burst out laughing
in joy and relief that they were finally back in contact.
Tony grabbed Sera's hand when he heard his father's deep
chuckle for the first time, spilling from the mouthpiece of
the telephone and into their living room.

*

The call was the first of many. Over the next few days
introductions were made, secrets were shared, passionate
recriminations were laid to rest, apologised for and
forgiven, reunions and greetings took place, and loving
endearments were whispered. A cable, two millimetres in
diameter, faultlessly ferried this family theatre from one side
of the world to the other.

A family decision was made. Too much time had been
wasted. Not another second of this fragile relationship
should disappear in the temporal sinkhole. They were
going to meet him, this man who had so indelibly tattooed
his being onto the little family in Paddington.

Tony got onto the internet and booked tickets to
Naples, while the children ran around in a circle squealing
and chanting all the Italian words they knew: spaghetti,
cappuccino, Roma, Florentine.

Sera mustered up all her courage and cornered Joan in
her bedroom. 'Joan, darling,' she said and smiled to soften
the blow of what she was about to say. 'It's about time you
had a makeover.'

*

It was like dealing with a giggly debutante, Sera thought,
as she had Joan plucked and waxed at Paddington's Benefit
Boutique – day spa to the stars. A recent arrival from San
Francisco, the chic pink salon sat prettily in Oxford street
while Sydney's womenfolk raced though the door desperate
to be given the Benefit treatment and, better still, boast
about it later.

Joan's conversation had regressed to teenage level. 'Do
you think he'll like me? Did I tell you what he said last time
we spoke? Do I look fat in these pants?'

'Yes, yes and no, Joan,' Sera said, supervising the metamorphosis
from the chair in the corner. She was flipping
through the David Jones fashion catalogue, dog-earing the
pages advertising clothes suitable for a woman of certain
years about to embark on a European tryst.

The hair was next. Joan's Lady Diana brush-back was
softened and straightened until it tapered to her ears and
against her neck in a more flattering style. The L'Oreal
Luscious Red Joan had used for decades was replaced with
a honey-brown, highlighted with subtle warm blonde
streaks.

Joan's eyes went from the colour of algae to the
colour of emeralds in contrast to the new hair colour and
they sparkled in excitement as she admired the new do.
'Gracious me, I look ten years younger,' she said, and Joh
Bailey's premier colour technician smiled in pride.

It was time for Sera's specialty, and she perched Joan on
the stool at the Dior counter. She covered her mature skin
in Diorskin Sculpt number 010 which completely hid the
sun spots and age spots and minimised time's cruel lines.

She had always known Joan's colouring would far better
suit the paler shades in the summer palette instead of her
usual maroon and moss, which made her look like death
warmed up. Diorblush in Naïve Rose set off her prominent
cheekbones and eyeshadow 855 Diorsweet – a duotone of
oyster and pink – on her lids with liner and mascara made
Joan appear sophisticated yet pretty.

'Never believe the younger labels are just for the kids,'
Sera advised as she rifled through a rack of Lisa Ho she'd
dragged into the expansive dressing room. 'Every designer
has a piece for your shape. You just have to know what
you're looking for – aha!' she pounced and retrieved a taupe
canvas jacket fringed with a frilled collar and pinched-in
waist. 'And you're not a size sixteen, Joan, you've got a slim
figure. You should wear items that hug your shape, not hang
off you like a bag. You're a fourteen or even a twelve.'

When Joan arrived home that night, after her intense
grooming overhaul, Tony stood as a glamorous older
woman entered the room, and prepared to meet Sera's
new friend. It took him a few seconds to realise the stylish
woman with the broad smile was his mum.

Sera turned this way and that, admiring her new swimsuit.
It was a special figure-hugging number she'd bought at a
boutique in Rose Bay and it was guaranteed to make her
look five kilos lighter.

As she turned to look at her derriere she decided the
swimsuit was worth its exorbitant price. The sheer architecture
of the piece certainly lifted and flattened where it
was supposed to and she felt positively trim.

'Ooh, Mummy, you look beautiful,' Maddy cried,
running into the room.

'Thank you, darling,' Sera smiled, her hand instinctively
moving to cover her scar.

Maddy stared at the rarely exposed purple stain and
puckered skin on her mother's leg and Sera slowly took
away her hand and allowed her daughter to see the full
damage. Maddy had never mentioned the scar before, It
was as if she instinctively knew it was a taboo subject, but
now she asked, 'Mummy, how did your leg get hurt?'

'Well,' Sera answered, a twist of anxiety knotting in the
base of her stomach, 'I was just a little girl, littler even than
you, about as young as Harry, and I had a very bad accident.'

'Oh Mummy, you poor thing.' Maddy looked up, her
eyes filled with concern.

'Luckily Bella was there to help me, though,' Sera said,
hugging Maddy.

'But what was the accident, Mummy?'

Sera sighed quietly. 'You know how you kids aren't
allowed near the kettle, or the stove, or the fireplace?'

'Yeah,' Maddy replied, her eyes still on her mother's
leg.

'Well, that's because sometimes accidents can happen,
like it did with me. I accidentally tipped a saucepan of
boiling water on to my leg.'

'Oh no!' Maddy gasped. 'Does it still hurt?'

'No, not anymore, though it did then. I had to go to the
hospital for a very long time.'

'Did you?' Maddy looked up at her mother. 'Were you
lonely? Did you miss your mum?'

'Well, yes, a bit,' Sera smiled gently, 'but mostly I missed
Bella. Even though she came and visited me every day.'

'Aunty Bella is so nice, Mummy. She used to come
and play with us all the time. Why doesn't she do that
anymore?' Maddy asked, the scar forgotten.

'I know, I miss her too, but you have to understand,
Maddy, Aunty Bella's got her own life. She's very busy.
Besides, she does visit often, just not constantly.'

'But she used to help me do cartwheels. And colouring-in.
She did great unicorns.'

'But look at your unicorns now, darling, they're brilliant
without Aunty Bella. You can do wonderful unicorns and
cartwheels without her.'

'Yeah, I guess, you're right.'

'And besides,' Sera smiled, 'I think Aunty Bella's going
to be spending heaps more time in Sydney now because
she's got a boyfriend.'

'Really, is he nice?'

'Yes, it's Sam – you know, Issy and Alex's dad.'

'Wow, that's fantastic!' Maddy said, clapping her hands.

'They're really nice.' Maddy's brow wrinkled as she
thought a bit more. 'So now that I don't need Aunty Bella
so much anymore, she's coming back?'

'Yes, that's right,' Sera smiled, shaking her head at the
irony of the conversation.

'Isn't that funny?' Maddy said.

'It sure is,' Sera said. 'Now why don't you get out in
that spa with Daddy and Harry, and I'll be there in a few
minutes?'

'Okay, Mummy, I love you,' Maddy said, skipping
out.

Sera turned to the mirror again and took a close look at her
ravaged leg. Somehow the scar seemed to have shrunk –
not in size, but simply in importance.

For so long, all her life, she had allowed it to define who
she was. It was as if the slash down her leg was embedded
in her psyche. She ran her hand over the puckered flesh.
This was hers, this scar; this damaged stretch of skin, but it
was no more than that; no deep emblem or representation
of anything other than an awful accident, a moment in time
that was seared into her flesh.

Sera didn't want to hide anymore. She wanted to live
and laugh and enjoy her husband and children.

The sounds of splashing and squealing floated up to her.
She gave the mirror a smile and grabbed a towel from the
bathroom before stopping to wipe up the morning's toothpaste
parade from the charcoal tiles.

They'd added a spa to their new courtyard. Of course
they were hideous-looking things, spas, so very Kath
and Kim, but it didn't matter. Sera didn't care anymore.
Although she still admired beautiful things, they didn't run
her life as they used to. And when it came to something
fun, like the new spa, she became completely blind to the
aesthetic. The kids were crazy for the new toy and she
and Tony had enjoyed many a languid hour floating into
the night, sipping bubbly and romancing the togs off each
other.

Joan was happy with the spa idea when they phoned
her in Italy to suggest it. She didn't know when she'd be
back, maybe for Easter, but just to re-new her visa. She and
Antonio had travelled from one end of the Amalfi coast
to the other and were currently enjoying the beaches and
nightlife in Sorrento. They were to return to Positano at
the end of the week for another flurry of far-flung family
reunions.

Antonio had never married: his heart was taken by
another, he'd explained sadly to the many girls he had
known. But his patience had been well rewarded, he'd
explained to his cousins and second cousins as his arm
refused to leave Joan's waist. His
bella signora
had come
home, and she even spoke their language beautifully.

Sera hurried through a few last bits of tidying up so she
could join Tony and the kids. She popped into the children's
room to do a quick straighten up. The room had
recently been re-decorated in her much-wished-for hues of
tangerine, pumpkin and lime – but with plenty of flexibility
for the children's own style.

She plumped up a regency stripe cushion and popped it
on the daisy motif tub chair in Maddy's corner. She tsked
at Harry's effort at bedmaking and smoothed the Spiderman
doona into place and tossed a stray Dora the Explorer
cushion onto Maddy's Dora bed.

'There,' she said as she pivoted on bare legs at the door
for one more look back into the room. 'Perfect.'

Michelle Hamer would like to thank:

Her beautiful children Harley, Ruby, Darcy and Oliver
for their love, affection and support through the difficult
time that accompanied the writing of this book. Thanks to
Harley for the wonderful author photo.

The gorgeous Kelly Cooper and Tracey Caulfield,
who constantly offer their unfailing support and belief in
me. Where would I be without the girls at the end of the
phone? Thank you both for everything, I would be lost
without you.

Cate Kendall would not be possible without the dedication
and committment of my co-writer Lisa Blundell. I
would like to thank both Lisa and her wonderful husband,
Ian, for their support. Love your work!

Thanks, too, to John Meriton for his patience and feedback
during the editing process, as well as his expertise on all
things technical! And a huge thanks to the wonderful team
of publishing professionals at Random House who make
writing these books such a joy.
Thanks to our publisher, Larissa
Edwards, senior editor Roberta
Ivers, editor Jessica Dettmann
and the enthusiastic Random
House marketing team.

As always, my agent Selwa
Anthony continues to be a pillar
of support, inspiration and good
advice at the end of the phone.
Thanks Selwa!

Lisa Blundell would like to thank:

Selwa Anthony, a patient, skilled and outstandingly diplomatic
woman; the lovely Larissa Edwards, our publisher,
who seems to have limitless time to hash over issues as they
pop up; Roberta Ivers, our talented structural editor; and
Jessica Dettman, our proficient copy editor, who made a
molehill out of a mountain.

Thanks must also go to the people of the Cambodian
community who shared their stories and helped with our
translations; the rangers of Waverley Council for their intimate
knowledge of the Bondi Coastal Walk; and Gabriel
McMahon from Qantas, and flight attendants from Virgin.
Thanks, too, for the guidance of Melbourne artist Robby
Delves, and Sydney artist Jo Neville, Paper Couture,
Darlinghurst. To Lucy, Phil and Sam for listening to me go
on ad nauseum about this book during the writing process:
I am so grateful for your friendship. Thanks, too, to Steve
Weller for my author photo.

And thanks, of course, to my co-writer Michelle.

I would also like to thank australiasbiggestbookgroup.
com for choosing Cate Kendall as their author in their
valiant attempt to raise muchneeded
funds for Muscular
Dystrophy. Thank you to all
who participated in this important
fundraiser.

And as always, enormous
thanks to Darling Husband,
without whom our four children
would probably never get
fed!

For more information about
Cate Kendall's work please go
to
www.catekendall.com
.