Elianne (52 page)

‘What a pity Frank couldn’t stay on a little longer,’ Hilda said over breakfast one morning, ‘he could have spent Christmas with us. A guest would have added to the festivity.’

‘Oh I think he would rather spend Christmas with his father, Marmee,’ Kate said, ‘they’re very close.’ It wasn’t the first time Frank had featured in Hilda’s conversation. She’d brought his name up on several occasions, either fishing for information or signalling her approval, Kate wasn’t sure which, but the reference was never subtle.

‘How nice,’ Hilda said, ‘Christmas should be shared with family. And with friends too of course, which reminds me, Stanley,’ she added turning to her husband as she continued seamlessly, ‘I would rather like to invite some friends to luncheon this Christmas, the Krantzes and several others.’

‘As you wish, my dear,’ Stan said amicably.

Hilda cast a meaningful glance at her daughter and Kate realised that this time around her mother had been not only subtle, but distinctly manipulative. The introduction of Frank’s name had been purely in order for Hilda to steer the conversation towards a Christmas gathering. How clever, Kate thought, she’s planning a family reunion.

‘Lovely,’ Hilda said. ‘Cook will be so pleased having a party to cater for, I think around twelve to table would be ideal – it’ll be just like the old days.’

Kate waited for her mother to list the other guests she intended to invite, presumably Alan, his new wife and his new wife’s immediate family, but Hilda left things as they were for the moment.

‘More tea, dear?’

‘Yes, thank you.’ Stan rose as she poured him a fresh cup. ‘I’ll take it to my study and leave you girls chatting,’ he said.

When he’d gone, Kate leant in to her mother. ‘Do you think he’ll agree?’ she asked quietly.

‘We can only hope so, darling. He’s been much more amenable of late. I shall ask him as soon as Alan and Paola return from their honeymoon. He must surely see that this schism in the family is so silly and so very wretched.’

‘We’ll front him together,’ Kate said. ‘He’ll have to give in to the two of us.’

But as it turned out, even the combined forces of mother and daughter proved insufficient to budge Stanley Durham, who simply would not accept his son and his son’s wife and family under his roof.

‘Alan’s made his own bed, let him lie in it,’ Stan said when they approached him with the suggestion some days later. He was not angered by their request, but quite adamant in his refusal. ‘The boy’s a Fiorelli now. He can spend his Christmases with them.’

Kate found her father’s obstinacy infuriating. ‘For goodness sake, Dad,’ she begged, ‘don’t you see what you’re doing? You’re tearing this family apart! You should embrace the Fiorellis. They were your friends once. They were like family to us as children – what in God’s name has changed? What have you got against them?’

‘I have nothing at all against them,’ Stan said, his tone maddeningly reasonable. ‘I am quite willing to accept them as friends on a professional basis. I like and respect the brothers and their sons, hard workers every one of them, and Luigi is immensely gifted, there’s no one in the district with a greater knowledge of all things mechanical –’

‘Except perhaps Alan,’ Kate interrupted pointedly, but her father ignored her and went on.

‘Respect and friendship, however, are one thing, Kate; marrying into a family is something entirely different. Alan is no longer a Durham, he has forfeited the right. He married a Roman Catholic and an Italian one at that, and such a marriage is a betrayal of his family.’

‘He fell in love!’ Kate fought against the urge to scream. Exasperated beyond measure, she wanted to physically grab her father and shake some common sense into him. ‘You can’t choose who you fall in love with!’

‘Perhaps not,’ Stan agreed, ‘but you can most certainly choose who you marry.’ He smiled benignly at his wife. ‘Look at your mother and me, the perfect match. Two of a kind from families of like-standing in the community and we’ve been happy for years.’

The remark, although intended as a compliment, was an extremely backhanded one and Hilda returned a perfunctory smile in order to keep the peace. She’d opted out of the argument altogether by this stage. Hilda knew a lost cause when she saw one.

‘In marriage it’s important to stick to your own kind, Kate,’ Stan continued, determined to drive his point home. ‘Alan lost sight of that fact a long time ago, but you haven’t and I hope you never will. Take your friend Frank, for instance. If Frank were to prove your partner of choice, I would approve the match. He’s one of us. He may not be from a wealthy family, but then nor were we in the old days – Big Jim built Elianne from nothing. Frank’s done well for himself and I admire a man like that. I’m prepared to be flexible, as you can see, Kate, but there are certain barriers which should never be crossed.’

Kate decided that now would probably not be a good time to tell her father Frank was black. It would ruin Christmas for them all, so following her mother’s example she opted for silence.

Stan, however, demanded a response. ‘You do get my point, don’t you?’

‘Oh yes, I get your point, Dad, I get it loud and clear.’

‘Good. Enough said then.’

Christmas luncheon proved abysmal. The Krantzes were there, mother, father and son, Ivan with his recently acquired arrogance and Henry as pompous as ever. To flesh out the numbers, Hilda had offered a last-minute invitation to her bridge partner, Barbara Woodley, together with Barbara’s husband Kenneth and daughter Susan. The Woodleys didn’t really want to be there at all; Barbara would have politely reneged on the invitation, but she’d agreed to alter the family’s Christmas plans upon her husband’s insistence. Kenneth considered it advantageous that his business acquaintances should know he’d spent the day at Elianne as the guest of Stanley Durham.

Eighteen-year-old Susan was having the most awful time. Everyone was ancient. There was no one anywhere near her age at the table. Well there was Kate who was twenty-three, but Kate might just as well have been thirty she was so smart! Susan was sulky. She could have been with her cousins at the family party in Bundy instead of sitting around this stuffy table being waited on by servants and having to watch her manners every second.

Hilda, mindful of all about her and aware the day was proving a failure, dived into the Dom Perignon and as the luncheon progressed became overly gay in her determination that the festivity of the occasion should not be lost.

‘To families and friendship . . .’ she said. Her first toast, and then ten minutes later, ‘To Christmas and the spirit of peace and good will . . .’ The toasts went desperately on.

Hilda’s guests presumed their hostess’s performance normal, she was after all the mistress of Elianne and they were dining at The Big House, but Kate knew otherwise. Kate realised that this was the first time she’d actually seen her mother drunk. Hilda Durham had been in the grip of alcohol for years certainly, but never had the effects been so markedly evident. Poor Marmee, Kate thought, poor dear Marmee.

The agonising lunch eventually came to an end and Hilda farewelled her guests, propped up against the sideboard for support, seeing them out with a gracious kiss on the cheek or a shake of the hand like royalty, which was eminently acceptable to all who had no idea of her condition. Then when they’d gone she made her way upstairs for her customary afternoon lie-down with slow, measured step and a firm grip on the railings. Kate accompanied her, although she did not offer any physical support; Hilda was obviously determined to manage on her own.

‘Thank you for being my daughter,’ she said as she lay back on the bed and allowed Kate to take off her shoes.

‘Thank you for being my mother,’ Kate replied pulling up the coverlet.

Hilda was gently snoring as Kate closed the door behind her.

Stan had retired to his study, Max and Ivy were cleaning up in the dining room and Cook was scrubbing pots and pans in the kitchen when Kate returned downstairs. She took a chilled bottle of Dom Perignon from one of the ice buckets on the sideboard and walked out onto the front verandah where Ben was curled up half asleep.

‘Stay,’ she said as the dog rose and stretched in preparation for their customary walk

Ben sat watching dejectedly while she went down the stairs and, in the still-scorching heat of late afternoon, set off up the road towards South Mill Row.

She could hear the music from some distance away, a piano accordion and a male voice singing ‘Viva Las Vegas’, and upon arriving at Luigi’s house she walked around to the rear to discover the back door open, the kitchen packed and the party in full swing, as she’d known it would be. The Fiorelli Family Band wasn’t playing, but Georgio was pumping away at his piano accordion while Gio gave an excellent impression of Elvis Presley and the other cousins clapped along in time to the beat. Georgio and Gio, both devout Elvis fans, knew every one of ‘The King’s’ hits and regularly teamed up as a duo.

‘Kate’s here,’ someone called and Alan instantly appeared at the back door.

‘Mind if I join the party?’ She held up the bottle of champagne as an offering.

‘That was the plan, wasn’t it?’ Alan had asked her to come along after the luncheon at The Big House. ‘It’ll be a damn sight more fun than the Krantzes,’ he’d promised. ‘Merry Christmas, Kate,’ he said.

‘Merry Christmas, Al.’ They hugged each other then he ushered her inside, where she was warmly welcomed by all, and for the first time that day she felt it actually was Christmas.

‘Champagne?’ He raised his voice above the cacophony and was about to open the bottle, but she stopped him.

‘No thanks, Al, leave it for the others, I’m a bit champagned out.’ She glanced at the carafes of red wine that sat on the table. ‘I’d much rather go a red if that’s OK.’

‘Red it is.’ He fetched a fresh glass and poured her a wine.

The family meal was over. The wives were at the sink in the corner washing and drying dishes, while the brothers were seated on the wooden bench against the wall, puffing away at their Christmas cigars. Baskets of bread and platters of cheese and fruit remained on the huge wooden dining table, which was never left devoid of food and drink at any family gathering, but the table itself had now been dragged to one side to make room for the younger ones who wanted to dance.

And dance they did. At the conclusion of ‘Viva Las Vegas’, Georgio launched into ‘Jailhouse Rock’, Gio grabbed his cousin Paola and along with several of the others they started jiving while the onlookers belted out the lyrics.

Alan nudged Kate, indicating they should go outside where they could talk and, looking across at Paola, he pointed to the back door. Without breaking rhythm for one second, she smiled and nodded and blew him a kiss.

Brother and sister wandered out into the modest backyard, which was mostly taken up by a healthy vegetable garden either side with a path down the middle. Maria grew nearly all of the produce the family consumed. They walked down to the far end where a small bench looked out across the railway track that led from the pumping station to the mill, beyond which lay the ever-present expanse of cane.

The music followed them as they sat with their glasses of red wine – ‘Jailhouse Rock’ had become ‘Shake, Rattle and Roll’ – but at least it was quiet enough that they could hear one another speak.

‘Was it as bad as you thought it’d be?’ Alan asked.

‘Worse. Poor Marmee got drunk – I’ve never seen her like that.’

‘Oh.’ Alan’s face clouded. ‘That’s sad.’

‘Yes, I found it sad. I don’t think anyone else realised, strangely enough, except maybe Dad, but he didn’t care. He just couldn’t wait for everyone to leave, and I must admit neither could I.’

‘What a bugger. Poor Kate.’ Alan raised his glass to her. ‘Thanks for giving it a burl anyway. I suppose it was worth a try.’

‘Thanks for giving what a burl?’

‘The attempt at a family reunion.’

‘Oh, that was Marmee’s idea, I can’t take any credit; although as I told you I did go into bat pretty hard.’ She took a swig of her wine and shook her head in frustration. ‘God, he’s an obstinate bastard, he won’t listen to sense at all. You’ve switched alliances and you’re a Fiorelli, to Dad it’s that simple.’

‘Perhaps he’s right.’ A hard note crept into Alan’s voice. ‘Perhaps I have switched alliances and perhaps I am a Fiorelli. I can tell you one thing, being a Fiorelli’s a damn sight easier than being a Durham.’

‘Oh Al, don’t give up on us. Please!’ Sensing a distance in her brother, Kate felt suddenly desperate. ‘We’re still a family. A dysfunctional one, I grant you, but you’re still my brother and I don’t want to lose you.’

‘You’ll never lose me, Kitty-Kat.’ He grinned to put her at her ease. ‘Hell, you’re the only sister I’ve got. I’m never going to let you go. That’s a promise,’ he added seriously, once again raising his glass.

They clinked and drank a silent toast to each other.

‘Hey, there’s something I didn’t tell you,’ Kate said with a smile. ‘Dad thinks Frank’s the ideal man for me.’ She punched the air theatrically and growled an imitation of her father. ‘“He’s one of us!” That’s what Dad reckons.’

Alan laughed outright. He knew of Frank’s background; she’d told him some time ago. ‘Crikey, that’s a turn-up for the books.’

‘Yes it is rather, isn’t it?’ There was a mischievous glint in her eyes as she added, ‘I thought about dropping the bombshell that he’s black, but decided it probably wouldn’t be a good idea.’

‘It’d be only one of many bombshells you could drop on the old man,’ Alan said laconically. ‘Come on,’ he rose from the bench, ‘let’s go back inside, I need another red.’

She drained her glass and stood. ‘Me too.’

‘What are you doing New Year’s Eve?’ he asked as they walked down the path.

‘No idea.’ Her glance to him was wry. ‘Something wildly exciting at The Big House, I should think.’

‘Come into town and spend the night with Paola and me. We’re going to a party at Charlie Watford’s, there’ll be heaps of people you know.’ She appeared hesitant so he added, ‘You can get as drunk as you like, there’s a spare room at the flat.’