Short and Sweet (22 page)

‘It was about time I stood up to him.’

She stared at Sam. She’d missed their times together. As she fingered the tablecloth, a daring idea started forming in her mind. A very daring idea, worthy of the most spirited of romantic heroines.

And another idea followed: she was suddenly sure that this was what Charles had intended to happen when he left her the house. ‘Come and sit down for a minute, Sam. Never mind the tea. I have something to ask you.’

He slouched over to a chair, looking at her warily. ‘If it’s to do with your brother . . .’

‘It’s not.’ She took a deep breath. ‘It’s to do with us, you and me.’

‘Oh?’

‘Sam, will you – will you, please – um, will you marry me?’

He goggled at her for a minute, then scowled down at the fists clenched in his lap. ‘No.’

‘Why not?’

‘Because I’m not a fortune hunter.’

It took several deep breaths, but then she marched round the table, shoved him down on the couch and sat on his knee. ‘You will marry me, you know,’ she said, giving him a big hug.

‘Oh?’ But his voice was gentle and he was smiling now. ‘Why will I?’

‘Because I can be as much of a bully as my brother if I really want something – and I do want this, so very much. It’s the way we Minchams are.’

‘I’m terrified.’ He looked at her, a steady serious look, and when she smiled encouragingly, he began to kiss her.

And she didn’t have to bully him into marrying her. In fact, Sam seemed quite taken with the idea.

Time

Anna’s Notes

Relatives came to stay with us quite often when we first emigrated from England to Australia, but as in this story, it was sometimes for longer than was quite comfortable, however hard both sides tried, however much we loved one another.

I was learning Italian when I wrote this, and had some Italian friends, so their background sort of crept into the story, too, though the characters are not based on real life in any way. I never use real people in my stories. They might not do what I tell them to.

J
enny Reid picked up the phone and smiled when she heard her daughter’s voice. Australia was so far away, but they called each other once a month, at least.

When they had chatted for a while, Sarah said firmly, ‘Mum, you promised to come out here for a nice, long visit once you’d got over Dad’s death. It’s been three years now. I think it’s time you kept that promise, don’t you? And it’s summer here, sunshine every day. I remember how cold Edinburgh winters can be.’

‘Well, all right. I’ll come for a week or two.’

‘When you’re travelling so far, you should come for longer, two or three months, at least. Get to know your grandchildren.’

And that thought tipped the scales. Jenny had never even met Tim and Pete, though of course she’d seen plenty of photos of her grandsons. They were already five and seven. Where had the years gone?

Three weeks later, she sat in the shade of a big gum tree, wincing as her two small grandsons raced round the garden, screeching at each other, followed by a yapping dog. No wonder the neighbours in the big two-storey house next door were not on good terms with her daughter!

Sarah didn’t believe in disciplining children, but letting them grow up free and happy. It made them hard to live with sometimes, though they meant no harm. Jenny sighed. Oh, for the peace and quiet of her own flat! Why had she let them persuade her to come for three whole months? Two weeks would have been enough – more than enough!

‘You all right, Mum?’ Sarah peered out of the kitchen window. ‘You mustn’t get yourself sunburnt.’

She said the same thing every day. Suddenly Jenny had had enough. Getting up, she marched into the house and confronted her daughter, hands on hips. ‘Do you remember how old I am, Sarah?’

‘Er – fifty-two, isn’t it?’

‘Correct. And do I seem to be getting senile?’

Sarah blinked in shock. ‘What?’

‘
Do – I – seem – senile?
’

‘No. No, of course not, Mum.’

‘Then will you please stop treating me like a child! You’ve been doing it ever since I arrived!’ She made for the asylum of her bedroom, resisting the temptation to slam the door behind her.

Once inside she plumped down on the bed and let out her breath in a whoosh, admitting to herself that she was bored! Sarah kept saying it was too hot to trail small children around sightseeing and making excuses to stay at home.

Jenny groaned aloud. Another two and a half months to go. So much time on her hands! She would go mad!

She had grown used to being a widow now, though it had been a shock when Paul died so young. At first the days had dragged and then, gradually, she’d developed new interests, even taken up painting again. She missed the companionship, though, and probably always would.

Her friend Elizabeth had suggested she join an Internet dating site because she was young enough to go out and meet some men. But Jenny hadn’t wanted to do that. The very thought of dating made her feel nervous.

She stared at herself in the mirror, pleased with what she saw. She was still slim enough for her generation’s taste, if not for this one’s. (Why did the youngsters today want to look like walking skeletons?) Her fair hair was sprinkled with grey now, but she had it styled regularly, and her complexion had always been good. Her daughter was showing sun-wear round her eyes already, from the harsh Australian sun.

Suddenly Jenny grew impatient with herself. What did it matter if she looked good or not? Who was there to care?

She glared round the tiny spare bedroom, rebelling at the thought of spending another afternoon mewed up here ‘resting’, to avoid those two ill-trained brats! Her glance fell on the novel her daughter had lent her. Such a miserable set of characters! Someone should have shot them at birth.

Then she brightened. That was it! She would go out shopping, buy herself a good novel, a romance or a story about a family. Several books, even! Cheerful books.

She opened the wardrobe and smiled. What’s more, she would wear her cream linen suit! She was sick of casual clothes and sticky fingers. The only social life Sarah and her husband seemed to want was Sunday barbecues – in the heat of the day, with dozens of children screaming round the garden of whoever’s turn it was to play host. They all made her welcome, but she found it wearing.

When she was ready, Jenny studied herself in the mirror again. What the suit really needed was a hat to set it off. People wore shady, wide-brimmed hats here to protect their skin. She had always loved hats.

There was a knock on the bedroom door. ‘Mum? Can I come in?’

‘Yes, dear.’

‘Oh, I love your suit, but—’

‘Thank you, dear.’

‘— but isn’t it – well – too smart for wearing round the house?’

‘I’m not staying round the house today. I’m going out.’

‘Oh. Did you change your mind about the Senior Citizens Centre?’

‘Certainly not! I’ve told you before: I’m not old enough to be a Senior Citizen. No, I’m going into Perth shopping.’

‘But there isn’t a bus until two and—’

‘I’m taking a taxi.’

Her daughter’s gentle worried face, so like her late husband’s, haunted Jenny all the way into town, but once there, she forget everything except the joys of leisurely shopping.

The centre of Perth was very attractive, she decided, standing in Forrest Place and eyeing the overhead walkways and cool verandas full of elegant shops. Just what she needed today.

She bought two novels and, out of guilt, a pretty scarf for Sarah. Then she found it – a shady cream straw hat trimmed with a drift of pale apricot flowers! Expensive, but irresistible. She had to have it. She wore it immediately. You don’t look fifty-two, she told her reflection smugly as she paid the bill.

Her feet were starting to ache, but she couldn’t face the thought of returning to that dreary box of a bedroom, so she got some brochures from the tourist bureau and sat on a bench to read them. She would come into town regularly, perhaps go for that cruise on the river. There were lots of things to see and do! Rebellion burned brightly within her.

She made her way to the Cultural Centre and found the art gallery. There was a café nearby, where she ordered a pot of tea and chose a table outside.

A silver-haired man passed by, then came back and stopped in front of her. Heavens, was he trying to pick her up? At her age! It must be the hat. It was too flamboyant. She felt her cheeks burning and had a sudden desire to run away.

He raised his hat. ‘
Scusi, signora
, but – are you not the mother of
Signora
Shilby?’

He looked vaguely familiar and he knew Sarah’s name. Who was he? Jenny’s first panic started to subside.

He gave a tiny bow. ‘Please – excuse me speaking to you, but I am the father of your daughter’s neighbour. I’ve seen you in the garden with the children.’

She relaxed a little, half-recognizing him now. Sarah and John disliked the Rinaldis, for some reason. Well, the neighbours had probably complained about the noise her grandsons made. ‘I’m pleased to meet you properly,
Signor
Rinaldi.’ She couldn’t help thinking what a nice smile he had.

‘It is not Rinaldi,
signora
– my name, I mean. My daughter is Rinaldi. I am Parvone, Niccolo Parvone.’

‘Oh, well – I’m Jenny Reid.’

Gravely he tendered his hand. She liked the way Europeans always shook hands. You felt they had truly noticed your existence.

‘You permit?’ He indicated the empty seat next to her.

‘Please.’

‘You are awaiting your daughter, no doubt?’

‘No. I’ve escaped for the day.’

He laughed aloud. ‘Escaped! Ha!’

She felt embarrassed. Would she never learn to watch what she said? ‘Sarah’s boys are a bit – er – lively.’

His eyes crinkled up at the corners. ‘I make a confession,
signora
. I, too, have
escaped
from my daughter for the afternoon.’

She relaxed and they exchanged smiles.

‘Have you ordered?’ he asked.

‘Yes.’

‘May I share your table? I, too, am hungry.’

It was pleasant to sit there chatting. Afterwards they went into the art gallery and walked round the permanent collection. She was entranced. What marvellous paintings!

‘Silly, isn’t it?’ he said at one stage. ‘I have never been here before. But I shall come again. I want to see the aboriginal collection next.’

‘Oh, yes, but I’m getting tired now.’ She looked down at her feet, grimacing, and then spied some seats. ‘Shall we?’

They sat in comfortable silence for a while. He was a very restful sort of man. ‘Are you visiting your family, Signor Parvone?’

‘No,
signora
. My wife died – oh, three years ago – and now I live with my eldest daughter.’

‘Is that wise?’ She could feel herself blushing. ‘I’m so sorry! How rude of me! I didn’t mean to – it’s none of my business.’

He threw back his head and laughed again. ‘But you are right, my dear
Signora
Reid, it is not at all wise to live with one’s children.’

‘Then why did you . . .’ Jenny clapped her hand to her mouth. ‘I’m sorry. It’s none of my business.’

He shrugged and stared into the distance. ‘I moved in with Gina because I wasn’t thinking clearly after my wife’s death.’

She reached out to pat his hand, he looked so unhappy. ‘I was exactly the same when my husband died, but luckily for me, Sarah was ten thousand miles away.’

He nodded and gave her a wry smile. ‘For women it is much easier to live alone, I think. For men like me, Italian men of my generation, housework and cooking are great mysteries.’ He stared down at his hands, spreading them out and turning them over as if he had never seen them before. ‘Yet it takes only two hands to do such things and these I have.’

He gave her one of his slow, warm smiles. ‘I think I must buy myself a house and move out.’ The smile faded and he began to pick at the crease in his trousers. ‘Only, this will offend my daughter, who works hard to look after me.’

‘Yes, I can see your difficulty.’ Jenny caught sight of her watch and gasped. ‘Oh, dear, look how late it is! I’ll certainly have offended
my
daughter,
Signor
Parvone, by staying out so long. I wonder – could you tell me where I can find a taxi?’

‘I have my car. It is no trouble for me to take you home.’

‘I couldn’t impose!’

‘It would be a great pleasure for me to have your company for longer.’

When they stood up, he contemplated her for a minute, then leaned forward. ‘
Scusi
. Your hat,
signora
.’ Very gently he straightened it.

The admiration in his eyes made her flush.

‘
Bellissima!
’ The word was a caress.

For a moment, their faces were close together. They were the same height. That felt strange in a man. Paul had been tall. She’d always had to look up at him and their steps hadn’t matched very well.

Sarah stared at her in horror. ‘Mum! Are you absolutely mad? You accepted a lift home with a strange man! I remember all the lectures you used to give me about that sort of thing.’

‘You were a young girl then. I’m not. Besides,
Signor
Parvone isn’t a stranger! He’s a neighbour of yours.’

‘And don’t we know it! You might have thought of us!’

‘I beg your pardon?’

‘You know we don’t get on with them, Mum.’ She scowled in the direction of the house next door.

‘That’s your business. I like
Signor
Parvone.’

‘But . . .’

‘I don’t choose your friends, dear, and I don’t expect you to choose mine.’

Sarah clutched the tea towel to her bosom. ‘You haven’t – you couldn’t have – you aren’t going to be seeing him again, are you, Mum?’

Jenny tried to look airy and confident, but wasn’t sure she’d succeeded. Then as her daughter started scolding again, she asked sharply, ‘Why should I not see him again? He’s a charming man.’

‘Mum, you
can’t
! After father, that lumpy little man! And what will John say? He can’t stand them! Why, he had a row with the husband only last week about their sprinkler system. No, no, you’ll have to tell him you’ve changed your mind.’