Kal (22 page)

Beresford, a retired engineer from Perth, smiled gratefully when Giovanni asked his wife to dance. ‘Go along, Henrietta,' he said. ‘Enjoy yourself.' And he waved at the waiter for another bottle of wine.

 

‘S
HALL WE, MY
dear?' At the Lavertons' table on the opposite side of the hall, Richard rose and offered his arm to Prudence. He would far rather have asked Kate but it was more than his life was worth. He could already sense his wife's annoyance with the amount of attention he had been paying to the young woman. But what red-blooded male could resist feasting his eyes on such a creature, he thought. Richard couldn't wait for the first progressive waltz when it was customary for the married men to ask women other than their wives to dance. Prudence could hardly complain then.

As Prudence fussed with her evening bag and adjusted her gloves, Evan rose uncomfortably. ‘Kate?'

But instead of taking his arm, she put her hand in his and gently shook her head. ‘No, no,' she said. ‘Let us sit for a moment. It is still very hot.' She took off her evening gloves, as she had seen many of the other women do, and Evan sat down gratefully. He felt guilty;
he knew she was longing to dance and that she was declining because of him. She had gone to a lot of trouble to learn all the steps herself and had painstakingly attempted to teach him. But he was like a bear with two left feet. This was the part of the evening Evan had been dreading the most. Perhaps if he had some more wine. He poured himself another glass to boost his courage.

‘A little later then,' he murmured.

‘Yes, a little later,' Kate answered. Poor Evan, she thought, he was not enjoying himself.

One by one, the other couples left the table to dance and Prudence, having made the final adjustments to her hat, was ready to join the fray. Behind his wife's back, Richard Laverton smiled at Kate. ‘I demand the progressive waltz, my dear,' he said softly, as if it were a promise she was waiting to hear.

Kate smiled back at him and, as he and Prudence swirled away, she leaned close to Evan and lisped in his ear, ‘What an ecthiting prothpect.'

Evan gave one of his barking laughs and nearly spilled his wine. ‘Stop it, Kate.'

‘Why mutht I thtop it?' Kate grinned impishly; she could always make him laugh. ‘He ith thuch a thilly man.'

They were overcome with a fit of the giggles and Evan felt himself start to relax. Several minutes later, when the others returned to the table and Laverton opened his mouth to speak, Kate and Evan had to fight to maintain their composure, neither daring to look at the other.

 

‘L
ADIES AND
G
ENTLEMEN
, take your partners for the progressive Pride of Erin waltz.'

It was the moment Richard Laverton had been waiting for. ‘May I?' He leapt to his feet with unseemly haste and bowed to Kate.

‘I would be delighted, Lord Laverton.' As she left the table on his arm, Kate cast a look back at Evan and there was such mischievousness in the curve of her lip and the gleam in her eye that Evan nearly laughed out loud. He controlled himself and asked Jeanne Renoir to dance instead, relieved that Gaston Picot was offering his arm to Prudence. Since his first onslaught of nerves, Evan had had three more glasses of red wine, to which he was unaccustomed, and had managed to flounder his way through the military two-step and even a fast polka with Kate. He was starting to enjoy himself at last.

 

‘M
AY
I
HAVE
this pleasure?'

Giovanni had danced with each of the women at their table, but this was the third time he had asked Henrietta Beresford. She loved the way he said ‘this' pleasure. She loved his accent and the way he danced, holding her close. She jumped to her feet, delighted.

Henrietta's husband had long since taken his gammy leg to the bar where he was drunkenly discussing the merits of the Goldfields Water Scheme with several others to whom the wine was of more importance than the conversation. Henrietta was having the time of her life. She felt twenty-five again, and found the handsome young Italian devastatingly attractive.

As Harry offered his arm to one of the other women, he raised an eyebrow and nodded at Giovanni who grinned back, but the suggestive encouragement was lost on him. Giovanni was aware of Henrietta Beresford's lust, but not at all interested in any form of reciprocation. He chose her to partner him simply because she was the best dancer.

The Pride of Erin was his favourite. It was a beautiful dance. He smiled at Henrietta as they completed their circular waltz and she glided on to the man in front. She smiled back regretfully. It was a pity it was a
progressive waltz, she thought. She didn't want to dance with every man in the room. She wanted to dance with Giovanni.

Giovanni himself found it all very interesting. One moment he was holding an overweight, middle-aged matron with perfect rhythm in his arms and the next a beautiful young woman with no sense of the music at all. Giovanni loved everything about the dancing. He had never in his life heard a ten-piece orchestra and the music was charging through his entire body. He wanted to dance forever.

He smiled at his partner as they completed the circular waltz and then he turned to the next woman. His arm encircled her and he felt the slim back beneath the satin fabric, her hand in his was small and gloveless. Some women were wearing gloves and some not. He preferred the touch of skin.

‘Good evening,' he said to the hat with its soft blue plume. And then the brim of the hat rose and his eyes met those beneath it.

He stopped. The music left him. All sense of rhythm was gone. There was nothing except the face of the woman in his arms. It was the face of the girl from the mountain.

Kate, too, was momentarily frozen. She looked into the eyes that were staring into hers. Where had she seen those eyes before? Where?

There was a mild collision behind them. The line of dancers was progressing and they were in the way.

‘I am so sorry,' Kate apologised, embarrassed, then smiled at Giovanni. ‘I think we are causing a problem.'

Her voice. It was the same voice. This was no apparition. Giovanni forced himself to dance again. The rhythm came naturally but all he could think of was the circular waltz. Only several more seconds before the circular waltz and then she would move on to the
next partner. He couldn't speak, he didn't know what to say.

‘I know you,' Kate said.

‘My name is Giovanni.' He blurted it out. It sounded clumsy. Only several more steps to go.

Of course. Everything came flooding back. The long, weary trek from the chalet. Her despair. The cold, cold night. The sound of the concertina and the young man singing. The beautiful voice reaching out to her through the still, icy air. The warmth of his fire and the scalding cup of black coffee. And the young man's kind eyes. She remembered thinking ‘the young man has a kind face'. She looked up at the face now. It was more than kind. It was beautiful. She wanted to touch it.

‘Yes,' she said. ‘Of course. Giovanni.' He was staring at her so, but she couldn't take her eyes from his. ‘My name is Caterina,' she heard herself saying.

‘Caterina.' They started on the circular waltz. ‘Caterina,' he said again.

‘Yes. And you are Giovanni and you are from Santa Lena. You see? I remember.'

They had finished the circular waltz and she was leaving him.

Giovanni did not see the next woman whose body was against his and whose hand rested upon his shoulder. It took only three waltz steps to deftly change partners with the man in front of him and Caterina was once again in his arms. The surprised indignity on the faces of the man and the woman was comical but it was lost on Caterina and Giovanni.

As they waltzed, Giovanni was once again speechless. All he could think of was the fact that she was here, in his arms. He was touching her skin. The hand in his was her hand. It was real The body he could feel moving to the rhythm of the music was flesh and blood. No longer an illusion his mind had manufactured in the
streets of Genoa or Fremantle. He was holding her to him. His girl from the mountain.

As they started the circular waltz, Kate felt Giovanni draw her closer to him and start to move out of the line of dancers and suddenly she was jolted back to reality. She looked around the crowded floor. Across the circle of dancers she could see Evan. He was watching them, distracted, forgetting to count the rhythm of the dance in his head, and his partner was trying to avoid his feet as he threatened to step on her.

‘No. Please. Stay in the line.' He hesitated. ‘Please,' she pleaded.

In the final swirl of the waltz Giovanni brought them back into the line and then she was gone. His eyes followed the blue hat as it danced further and further away from him but she did not look back.

Kate wondered why she felt guilty. What had she done? She had met someone from her past, nothing more. A ghost from long ago had momentarily awakened a girl who had ceased to exist. It had come as a shock, that was all.

By the time she reached Evan the unsettling spectre of her past was firmly in perspective. ‘I've been watching,' she smiled and whispered. ‘You're doing very well.'

‘I see you've met Giovanni.' There was nothing condemnatory in Evan's tone but something in his eyes was searching for reassurance.

‘Yes,' she answered, surprised. ‘How do you know him?' And then she realised. ‘Giovanni! Of course!' she exclaimed. ‘He is Paul's Giovanni.' The Giovanni of whom her son constantly spoke. Giovanni with his concertina. And his brother, Rico. She had seen him once. Watched him, fascinated, as he and Teresa had kissed unashamedly on the snowy mountainside. She had worked with Teresa at the chalet. And now Teresa and Rico were married and they were here. Here in
Kalgoorlie. And the brothers had bought Evan's mine with Harry Brearley.

Any remaining threat from the past left Kate in an instant. She laughed. All these months she had been sending scones and cakes to the Gianni household with Paul. ‘Paul's Giovanni,' she said again. ‘How strange life is.' Evan was looking at her questioningly. ‘I met him once many years ago. No, twice,' she corrected herself. ‘I met him twice. He comes from a village near my father's farm. A village called Santa Lena.'

She smiled, expertly avoiding Evan's feet as they completed the circular waltz, and moved on. Evan felt himself relax. The chill that had overcome him as he'd watched them dance had gone.

Giovanni's eyes followed the blue hat as the waltz progressed. Don't let the music stop, he prayed, don't let the music stop.

‘Well, well, here we are again.' It was Henrietta, who had also been praying that the music wouldn't stop. At least not until she was once more in Giovanni's arms. And now that she was, she prayed fervently that it
would
stop. Perhaps then he would ask her for the next waltz.

But the music didn't stop. Henrietta sighed regretfully and moved on and Giovanni watched as the blue hat came nearer. And nearer. Two partners away now. She caught his eye and smiled as she swirled. She was right beside him. Then the music stopped.

She smiled at him once more as her partner started to escort her to her table. He was about to say something but a hand was suddenly and firmly locked into the crook of his arm.

‘You dance beautifully, Mr … ?' His partner was waiting for him to escort her to her table.

‘Gianni,' he said. ‘Giovanni Gianni.'

The woman didn't initiate any further conversation and, as she resumed her seat, she wondered how a
foreigner, even one that handsome, had come to be invited to the banquet. He must be someone of importance, she concluded and, as he left, she turned to her husband to enquire who he was.

Giovanni did not return to his table. He had noted where Catarina was sitting and as the orchestra struck up the Glengarry waltz he wended his way amongst the milling guests.

‘May I have this pleasure?' he asked.

‘Giovanni.' It was only then that Giovanni noticed Evan seated beside Caterina. Evan stood. ‘I believe you and Kate have met before.'

‘Kate?' Giovanni looked from Caterina to Evan, confused.

‘Kate Jones,' she said. ‘I am Paul's mother.' She took her husband's hand as he stood beside her and Giovanni only vaguely heard what she was saying. Her voice seemed to come from far away. ‘I cannot thank you enough for what you have done for Paul. He thinks the world of you.' Kate smiled up at him and the smile was warm, sincere, but it was not the smile of the girl from the mountain. Not the smile of the girl he had just danced with, his Caterina. This was Kate Jones, Evan's wife.

Giovanni heard himself introduced to the rest of the guests at the table. He heard himself respond accordingly; he felt himself shake hands with the men, but it was if he were not there. His mind was saying Caterina, Kate Jones, Caterina, Kate Jones, over and over.

When the introductions were completed Giovanni remained standing, at a loss, and it was Evan who, uncharacteristically, initiated the conversation.

‘Giovanni and Kate met each other many years ago,' he explained. Damn it, he thought, he had to say something. Giovanni was staring so at Kate. Surely the others had noticed.

‘Oh, really? Where was that, Mr Gianni?' Prudence
asked. It was indeed intriguing to wonder where Kate Jones would have met a foreigner like Giovanni Gianni, Prudence thought. Given his name and his accent she could only presume he was Italian, although he certainly didn't look it. Weren't Italians swarthy?

But Giovanni seemed not to hear her. ‘May I have this pleasure?' he asked.

There was a jarring silence which Evan once again broke. ‘Go ahead, my dear, you and Giovanni can talk of old times.' He watched them walk onto the dance floor. He watched as they melded into each other's arms and danced as one. And the cold chill returned. They belonged together. Two beautiful people. In love. That was it, he thought. It was not just their beauty; they looked like lovers. Was that it? he wondered. Had they been lovers? Evan was in agony.