Elianne (50 page)

‘Of course, darling,’ Hilda had replied, ‘any friend of yours is most welcome, as you well know. And Cook will be overjoyed. With Alan now living in town and your father at his club more often than not, she has no one to cater to these days.’ Hilda had been most intrigued. ‘I look forward very much to meeting your friend.’ So Kate is bringing a young man home, she thought, surely that must mean something.

Kate had been far less circumspect when she’d telephoned Alan. ‘Mind if I bring a friend to your wedding?’ she’d asked.

‘Someone special, I take it?’

‘Yes. Someone very, very special.’

Kate and Frank were lovers and had been for six months. They both agreed that their affair had been a foregone conclusion ever since
Planet of the Apes
and their first kiss, although in Kate’s personal opinion it had been eminently predictable for quite some time before that.

The affair itself may indeed have been predictable, but the strength of their love and the speed of its growth neither could possibly have anticipated. Very early on, when Frank had voiced his concern about their different backgrounds and the reaction their relationship would arouse in others, Kate had been instantly dismissive. She cared nothing for public opinion, she told him. And then she’d talked. She’d talked with a passion that to Frank was revelatory. She’d held nothing back. And after that, nor had he. The two had continued to share their most intimate secrets and innermost feelings, developing a trust and understanding both knew could weather any storm that might confront them.

Nevertheless, Frank was surprised by her suggestion he should come to Elianne.

‘Really?’ he said as they languished in bed one Sunday morning. Sometimes they spent the weekend at his Surry Hills terrace and sometimes at the little house in Campbell Street; today it was Surry Hills. ‘Meet the parents?’ He raised a deliberately comical eyebrow. ‘Already?’

‘Why not? I’d say you’re going to have to face that ordeal at some stage, wouldn’t you?’

‘Yes.’ He kissed her lightly. ‘I would say so, most definitely.’

Marriage had not once been mentioned, nor as yet even contemplated by either, but there was a recognition their relationship was destined to last.

‘Besides, I’d like you to see Elianne,’ she said, ‘and Alan’s wedding is the perfect opportunity.’ She added wryly, ‘Even though Dad’s boycotting the whole thing. Al told me he’s refused to set foot in the church. He’s locked himself away in a world of his own and won’t even acknowledge that the wedding’s happening. No one can get through to him. He really has turned into the most terrible ogre.’

Frank ran his fingers lazily over her right breast. ‘If your father’s so incensed by his son’s marriage to an Italian what on earth will he have to say about us as a couple?’

‘Nothing,’ she replied, ‘not yet anyway. As far as my parents are concerned you’re just a good friend. Shall I get the coffee?’ She was about to sit up, but he stopped her.

‘Later,’ he said, ‘much later.’

She was only too willing to acquiesce. ‘There’ll be none of this at Elianne though,’ she warned him regretfully. ‘Dad’d blow a gasket if he found out we’d slept in the same room.’

‘Then we’d better make the most of things while we can,’ he murmured.

Frank proved an instant hit with Kate’s parents, despite, or perhaps surprisingly because of the uncomfortable circumstances surrounding Alan’s impending nuptials. The atmosphere that pervaded The Big House was certainly strange. Stanley Durham refused to mention his son’s wedding, now only two days away, and he turned sullen if anyone else did, which meant that his wife also avoided the topic, although in fact she was most excited by the prospect. The arrival of a stranger in their midst brought about a whole new range of conversation that was eagerly embraced, particularly by Hilda, who loathed any form of social awkwardness.

‘Kate tells me you have a plumbing business, Frank,’ she said as Stan carved the roast lamb that Cook had delivered to the table and Ivy arrived with the platter of vegetables. How splendid, Hilda thought, to feel like a family again. ‘She says it’s in the very heart of Sydney and that it’s highly successful.’

‘The business is in the heart of Sydney, yes,’ Frank said, ‘but I can’t take any credit for its success I’m afraid. That I owe to my father.’

‘Who is Irish, I believe.’ Stan passed a plate of lamb to his wife.

‘That’s right.’

‘So you’re a Catholic.’

Frank registered the hint of accusation in Stanley Durham’s tone and at the same time felt Kate’s eyes on him from across the table, but he did not return her gaze, choosing to answer the man directly instead.

‘I must admit to being nothing in particular, Mr Durham,’ he said. ‘I align myself to no specific religion.’

The answer went down exceedingly well with Stan who, apart from a distinct aversion to the Roman Catholic faith, cared little for the church in any form. ‘A man after my own heart,’ he said passing a plate of sliced lamb to Frank, ‘too much bloodshed and strife brought about by religion –’

‘Do help yourself to vegetables, Frank,’ Hilda said before the diatribe could begin. She pushed the platter his way and started serving herself from the bowl of roast potatoes. ‘We don’t stand on ceremony here, dear.’

The evening progressed very smoothly after that. Upon Hilda’s enquiry they talked about the theatre and the concerts Frank and Kate had recently attended in Sydney, after which the two men discovered their mutual love of rugby union football and then the conversation turned to the obsession they shared, like most Australian males, with all forms of sport.

To Hilda, Frank Madigan presented a romantic figure with his black hair and piercingly grey-blue eyes. Such an intriguing-looking fellow, she thought, and impressively tall. I do hope Kate is in love with him, they make a handsome couple.

To Stan, Frank Madigan was a man’s man. You’d never pick him for a Southerner, Stan thought, he’s more like one of us. If this is Kate’s choice then she’s done very well for herself. An excellent match indeed.

The following day Kate took Frank on a long walk around the estate. Cobber plodded along behind, not attempting to match their pace, just hoping to keep them in sight, and on the occasions when they slowed down Ben rounded them up in his customary Cattle Dog fashion with a mock nip to the heels, but it was habit only. At nine years of age, Ben too was less active than he’d once been.

As they went, she gave him the full guided tour explaining the history of Elianne, but in a way she’d never done before, so much now relating to her personal knowledge of Ellie and Big Jim. She had told him all about the diaries and how they had so dramatically changed her life. Kate found it extraordinarily liberating to talk so freely of her family and the past.

They finished up at the mill, standing in its eerie stillness, the toffee smell clinging to the air, no sound from the giant machines but the metallic clink here and there of a maintenance mechanic’s tools. Frank was in awe: he’d never seen a sugar mill.

‘You should be here during the crushing season,’ she told him.

She introduced him to Luigi, who was working alongside the several others.

‘You come to my daughter’s wedding tomorrow, is good,’ Luigi said, shaking Frank’s hand enthusiastically, pleased to meet Kate’s new friend.

‘Yes, I’m very much looking forward to it: thank you for inviting me, Mr Fiorelli –’

‘Luigi, Luigi . . .’ The Italian turned to Kate, arms outstretched in a typically flamboyant gesture. ‘Who call me Mr Fiorelli, eh? Who call me Mr Fiorelli?’

Frank grinned. ‘Thank you, Luigi.’

‘Yes, yes, you come, you come. After we have big party at my brother’s home, much singing, much dancing, is big day tomorrow.’ Luigi was excited beyond measure at the prospect of his daughter’s wedding.

The next morning, Stanley Durham stood on the front verandah, watching the exodus. Look at them, he thought, all deserting me, the whole bloody household, and probably every staff member and worker as well. He had made no complaint about the fact, however, even allowing Max the use of his Mercedes. But he’d refused to acknowledge the occasion. They might just as well have been heading off for a picnic at Bargara. Stubborn to the end, Stan the Man was making a statement with his silence.

Max opened the passenger door for Hilda while his wife, Maude the cook, and young Ivy, both dressed in their Sunday best, piled into the back seat. Frank was driving one of the mill’s Land Rovers, which he and Kate had collected from the garage the preceding day, and he climbed into the driver’s side, leaving Kate to linger on the verandah as he knew she wished.

‘You could still change your mind, Dad,’ she whispered in her father’s ear.

Stan ignored her. ‘Have a pleasant time,’ he called loudly for the benefit of all, and Kate gave up. She pecked him on the cheek. ‘See you later,’ she said and started down the steps.

Ben bounded ahead, presuming he was coming along for the ride. ‘Stay,’ she ordered, and the dog dropped, dejected but obedient. ‘Where’s Cobber?’ The Labrador was nowhere to be seen. She looked up at her father. ‘Where’s Cobber?’ she asked.

‘No idea,’ Stan said. ‘Go on now.’ He shooed the whole lot of them away with an annoyed wave of his hand as if they were insects. ‘I’ll find the dog, Kate, go on now, go on.’ And he walked off into the house.

The church was crowded not only with family and friends of the bride: the groom’s party too was well represented, for Stanley Durham was alone in boycotting the event. His friends did not shy from attending a Catholic wedding. A host of Elianne employees was there alongside the Krantzes and many business acquaintances of Stan’s who now had dealings with his son. And the young Apex Club members were of course present in force, led by Alan’s closest mate Charles Watford, who had accepted the role of best man.

‘You sly bastard,’ he’d remarked when Alan had asked him, ‘you never said a bloody word. Why didn’t you tell us?’

Alan had shrugged off the enquiry with his customary nonchalance. ‘Didn’t think it was necessary, Charlie.’

‘You were scared we’d take the mickey out of you being a Mick, I’ll bet that was it.’

‘Yep, something like that.’

Following the wedding, the bride’s party, beribboned limousine to the fore, led the troops to Alfonso’s home where the reception was to be held al fresco in the rambling grounds surrounded by cane fields. The gathering was once again eclectic, but with a flavour purely Italian.

Volare oh oh
Cantare oh oh oh oh

Cousins Lucia and Gio were the featured vocalists of the so-called ‘Fiorelli Family Band’ but whenever a favourite song was played no one could stop the whole clan from joining in and, ‘Volare’ being a favourite, Gio’s solo performance was rather lost in the sea of boisterous voices.

The huge backyard of Alfonso’s house was festooned with white. The magnificent giant fig in the western corner was swathed in white streamers, Gio having climbed to the top to fling them about with gay abandon; white satin bows hung like unripened fruit alongside the lush orange spheres of the mango tree; the bushes and shrubs that lined the yard’s perimeter were draped with satin ribbons, some artistically, some haphazardly, depending upon the personality of the family member who had draped them; and in pride of place on each of the white-clothed trestle tables set up to accommodate a hundred guests was a massive floral decoration of Christmas lilies. Alfonso had certainly succeeded in his determination to do his younger brother proud.

The Fiorelli family had agreed that, given Stanley Durham’s antipathy to the marriage, it was advisable the reception be held at Alfonso’s house rather than Luigi’s, which was part of the Elianne estate, but the choice of venue had proved advantageous. Popular as Luigi’s home was for family gatherings it could never have accommodated such numbers.

The band segued on to ‘Ciao Ciao Bambina’ at Alfonso’s insistence, Domenico Modugno being a personal favourite. Lucia sang the lyrics in Connie Francis fashion, but she too was drowned out by the other clan members, ‘Ciao Ciao Bambina’ being another family favourite.

The five-piece band consisting of drum kit, bass and rhythm guitars, piano accordion and violin, was set up on the verandah. The Fiorelli cousins were not untalented and played regularly at family functions, Alfonso often joining in on his harmonica and his brother Enzo occasionally featuring on the mandolin. The five younger members were in particularly fine form on this most auspicious of occasions, having been diligently practising for weeks.

Paola and Alan were not joining in the family sing-along. They were on the dance floor that had been laid out on the grass beside the verandah, swaying gently in time to the music, oblivious to anything but each other, Paola the picture of bridal beauty in her classical lace wedding gown. Never had she been happier and never had Alan seen her more radiant. He’d been greatly relieved when she’d announced two weeks previously that she was not pregnant, although she’d boldly added that she wouldn’t have cared in the least if she were.

‘
Canzone Napolitana
,’ Maria called out when ‘Ciao Ciao Bambina’ came to an end. She and the other wives were mingling about with trays of hors d’oeuvres prior to serving the main meal, while Luigi and Alfonso stood at the drinks table refilling glasses of beer and red wine.

Alfonso’s wife Claudia took up the call. ‘
Si, si
,’ she cried, ‘
Canzone Napolitana
.’

Young Georgio who was on the piano accordion obligingly struck up with ‘O Sole Mio’ and the other members of the band joined in. No Italian wedding was complete without a bracket of Neapolitan songs, certainly no Fiorelli wedding anyway.

Several songs later, after ‘Santa Lucia’, the band took a break, the wives and daughters disappearing into the house to fetch the food while several of the younger men cleared the floral arrangements from the tables.

Paola automatically joined the women as they set off for the kitchen, but her mother waved her away, telling her to mingle with her guests.

‘A bride does not serve food,’ she said.