The Family Tree (19 page)

Kate mustered up a smile as she nodded. Then she watched her cousin bounce out of the room and, shortly afterwards, the front door slammed behind her. It was true that she had been rather quiet the previous evening but that had not been so much to do with what she had discovered, as the inability to discuss it. As long as she could remember, they had discussed anything and everything. No secrets. So to hoard these incredible nuggets of information, and not be able to show them, was very difficult.

Kate finished her coffee and went upstairs to shower and dress before it was time to head next door. It was now even more important that she get some answers from Mrs Jarvis's poker cronies because, instead of answers, all she had succeeded so far was to collect more questions. Like who was Thomas? Why had Sophie Wharton thrown him over? When, where and why had her uncle spent time in jail? Had her parents
even
known
each other before their little roll in the hay, or the vegetable patch, or the Bedford? Had there even been any love at first sight involved?

Forty minutes later Kate was freshly showered and dressed casually in khaki-green pedal pushers and a sleeveless shirt. After a warm night the temperature outside was already in the low thirties, promising a very hot, humid day. Kate shut the door behind her and walked along the edge of the driveway over to the next door unit. The front door was already open and she could see through the screen door, which was made up of swirls of white iron-work and matching mesh. She pressed the door-bell and listened to the sounds of Edelweiss play out from within. Footsteps could be heard approaching and the screen door swung open.

‘Kate! Come in! I was hoping you hadn't forgotten, dear.'

‘Not a chance.' Kate smiled at Mrs Jarvis and moved inside. The unit was similar to Angie's, with a tiled entry and carpeted stairs leading up to the second floor. The décor, however, was very different. Where Angie had opted for relatively neutral tones, Mrs Jarvis had gone with the predominant theme of orange. A lot of it. A burnt-orange couch with brown vinyl armrests, a sturdy orange-tiled coffee table, mission-brown curtains flecked with orange, a walnut standard lamp with an orange shade. Even the three ducks flying diagonally up the wall had bright orange beaks.

Kate followed her host into the dining room, where an extension table surrounded by many chairs filled the room and a low overhead light glowed through orange glass, casting fiery highlights even into the corners that had managed to escape the colour scheme. Three elderly ladies were already sitting at the table and they looked up curiously as Kate entered.

‘And here's the reason I asked you three to come early,' announced Mrs Jarvis, waving a hand proudly towards Kate. ‘This is Kate. She is A Writer.'

‘Well, sort of,' said Kate, feeling awkward under their impressed gaze.

‘And she has some questions to ask you. For her Next Book.'

‘Are we going to be interviewed?' asked one of the ladies, who was wearing a transparent lime-green visor.

‘And is there any payment involved?' asked another, much shorter one, clearly sizing Kate up for potential profit.

‘I'm afraid not,' replied Kate apologetically. ‘But I'll definitely put you in the acknowledgements.'

The short mercenary one looked unimpressed with this offer. She pursed her lips. ‘What about a free book?'

‘Just ignore her,' suggested the third lady, who appeared younger than the others, but that may have been because she was also the plumpest, and her wrinkles were more padded.

‘Kate's writing a book about a lady who used to live in the area,' explained Mrs Jarvis in a proprietorial tone. ‘And she needs people who lived here way back then.'

‘Well, that's us!' laughed the plump lady. ‘Way back then is our speciality!'

‘What was her name?' asked the one with the visor curiously.

‘Sophie Wharton.' Kate held her breath, but all three looked back at her blankly and then at each other.

‘Does that ring a bell with either of you two?' asked the plump one of the others. ‘You've both been here since birth, whereas I only came as a teenager.'

The mercenary one frowned pensively. ‘Well, do you know what year she was born?'

‘Nineteen forty,' replied Kate.

‘Hmm, I don't recall her. Is that her married name?'

‘No, she married a man called Frank Painter.'

‘Frank Painter!'

While Sophie's name had brought not a flicker of recognition, Frank's met with a variety of reactions. The plump lady started laughing, one hand across her ample bosom, while the visored one turned to the mercenary one with a grin. ‘Well, Bev, do
you
know Frank Painter?'

‘I know
of
him.'

‘That's terrific!' Kate smiled with relief. ‘Then you'd have also known his wife, Sophie?'

The plump one nudged her mercenary companion. ‘Not as well as she knew Frank. Would that be right, Bev?'

Bev pursed her lips. ‘She was a bit before my time.'

‘Just as well!' chortled the visored lady, wiping her eyes.

Kate looked from one to the other and realisation dawned. With it came the unwelcome visualisation of her much-loved uncle and this short, rather sharp-featured, fiscally-focused elderly lady. She held her grimace within and tried to look sympathetic. ‘I gather you, um, saw him sometimes.'

‘Sometimes,' she answered reluctantly, steadfastly ignoring the amusement on either side of her. She pursed her lips again. ‘But that was a while after his wife left.'

‘So you never knew her then?'

‘Not really. Saw her around of course, but that was about it. So it's Sophie
Painter
you're writing about then.' She paused, thinking. ‘She wasn't raised here, you know. Only came when she married Frank.' She turned to the visored lady. ‘Do you remember the scandal, Margie?'

‘Margie?' repeated Kate, staring at the visored lady with surprise as she recalled the Valentine's Day card that had been tucked in her uncle's shoebox. Surely it couldn't be
this
Margie?

The lady in question smiled at her and then turned back to Bev. ‘Didn't she run off with an old boyfriend?' She looked around the table as she continued. ‘Left her baby behind as well. A little girl.'

‘How terrible!' said Mrs Jarvis, clearly shocked.

‘And was never heard from again,' added Bev rather melodramatically.

Margie took off her visor and polished the perspex with her sleeve. ‘Poor Frank.'

Mrs Jarvis frowned. ‘Are you sure it wasn't a case of . . . Foul Play?'

‘Or maybe even vampires?' asked the plump lady, with a sidelong look at Mrs Jarvis. ‘
That
seems fairly logical.'

‘Nonbeliever,' scoffed Mrs Jarvis with a smile. ‘You wait. You just wait.'

‘I went to primary school with Frank,' said Bev, staring off towards the orange island bench. ‘Lord, he was a handful then. A real little daredevil.'

Margie refitted her visor and smiled. ‘Yes, I remember. I was in the next grade up with his brother. What was his name?'

Kate's breath caught. Although she wasn't sure why she was so surprised. If these ladies knew Frank, then it was only to be expected that they also knew her own father.

‘James,' said Bev with certainty. ‘James Painter. Jimmy. He went out with my sister a few times. But then he went up to Mt Isa to work in the mines and she married Fred Armstrong instead. I don't think they were serious.'

‘Then why did she marry him?' asked the plump lady, looking confused.

Bev sighed crossly. ‘Not Fred, you numbskull.
James
.'

‘I think he died last year.' Margie turned to Bev. ‘Did you tell me that?'

Bev frowned pensively. ‘Mmm. I think there was some sort of tragedy about it. Can't quite remember.' She paused for a moment. ‘He married the Kimber girl.'

‘You're right. So he did.'

Kate felt her throat constrict and she coughed to clear it. ‘Um, what was she like? Rose Kimber, I mean.'

‘Good lord,' said Margie flatly.

‘They say never speak ill of the dead,' added Bev, pursing her lips piously.

Kate frowned, trying to make sense of this. Edelweiss suddenly sounded out from the front door and Mrs Jarvis hurried off. The plump lady picked up a pack of cards and started shuffling them with an anticipatory smile.

‘Horrid woman,' said Margie with a grimace. ‘Couldn't stand her.'

‘Never had a nice word to say about anyone.' Bev had clearly forgotten her never speak ill edict. ‘Not even as a child. Sly little thing, she was.'

Kate stared from one to the other defensively. ‘Hey! But –'

‘Couldn't understand why on earth that nice man married her.'

‘She trapped him, that's why. Got herself . . . you know. Poor Jimmy.'

‘No wonder he never married again. A few years with Rose Kimber would have turned anyone off.' Bev shook her head and then spied Mrs Jarvis leading two more ladies into the room. ‘Esme! Raine! Hope you two brought plenty of money!'

‘This is Kate,' Mrs Jarvis announced to the newcomers, her jowls wobbling proudly. ‘She is A Writer.'

‘And she's been interviewing us,' added Margie. ‘For her new book.'

‘We'll be getting a free copy,' Bev chimed in, as she emptied a Tupper-ware container of small change onto the table. A few coins rolled away from the pile and she slapped them down. Kate pulled herself together, managing to nod politely towards the new ladies, who were placing clingwrap-covered plates onto the island bench. Then they took their seats around the table, greeting the others cheerfully.

‘You ladies can get started on the first hand while I talk to Kate,' instructed Mrs Jarvis, taking Kate by the arm and ushering her into the kitchen.

‘Okay then, enough chatter. Dealing 'em up!' The plump lady fanned the cards out expertly and then palmed them before flicking them downwards until they formed a neat pile which she immediately scooped up and started dealing to the others. They were all ready, with coin piles before them and avid eyes watching the cards as they slid smoothly across the table.

‘Well, that went well, didn't it?' Mrs Jarvis let go of Kate's elbow and switched on an electric kettle. ‘Told you I'd know someone who knew her, didn't I? Cuppa?'

Kate shook her head. ‘No thanks. I'd better be getting back. But thank –'

‘And I'll write their names down for you. For the acknowledgements.'

‘Absolutely,' Kate mustered up a smile. ‘Look, I really can't thank you enough.'

Mrs Jarvis nodded proudly as the kettle started to hum. She turned away, pulling over a large silver teapot and an orange-lidded canister.
Feeling a little like she was in shock, Kate watched her for a moment and then looked back over at the group clustered around the dining room table. Each of their faces was a study in concentration, their cards held up in a five-pointed fan. Bev was the first to move, pursing her lips as she plucked three cards from her hand and tossed them disdainfully down on the table.

‘Oh, will you look at that?' One of the new women tutted at her cards and started to rearrange them. ‘I'm backwards!'

Margie shook her head without looking up. ‘No, dear. Just a little slow maybe.'

‘Very funny, Margie. We'll see who's laughing in a minute, shall we?'

‘I just wanted to say thanks again,' interrupted Kate, although she no longer felt as indebted to them as she had earlier. ‘And good luck.'

‘You're welcome.' Bev looked up briefly to smile, whilst the others nodded in Kate's direction. But it was clear that their minds were now elsewhere. There would be no more information coming from this quarter, even if Kate could have handled it. Which at this point she quite definitely couldn't.

The telephone was ringing as Kate let herself back into the unit, but she let Angie's answering machine pick up the call.

‘Hello? Kate? It's Sam. Are you there?'

Kate was lighting the gas ring underneath the kettle. At the sound of Sam's voice, she dropped the lighter and went back towards the telephone but, by the time she lifted the receiver, he had hung up. Kate replaced the receiver with some annoyance. She would have liked to speak to him, even if she didn't share, just yet, the newly discovered information that her mother may not have been the shining light she had always been painted. She thought about ringing him back but decided against it.

She walked back into the kitchen and made herself a cup of coffee. Then stood by the sink, staring at nothing in particular, with her hands wrapped around the steaming mug for warmth. She was aware of a
change around her, but wasn't sure where it had come from. The absolute stillness of the unit, which had been almost blissful, now seemed impersonal. And her solitude, instead of being luxurious, felt rather leaden and onerous. Kate took a sip of coffee and then put the mug down on the bench just as the telephone rang again. She hurried back into the lounge room. ‘Hello?'

‘Katherine Painter?'

‘That's right,' said Kate, disappointed.

‘Hi, it's Nigel Redfern from Redfern Titles Search. I'm just ringing with the information you requested. About the property in Ferntree Gully.'

Kate frowned, but only for a second, before remembering her request for details regarding That Bugger's property. She brightened up, eager for answers. ‘Excellent!'

‘We'll also be mailing you out a summary, for your records, but we like to give a courtesy phone call. Just in case time is important.'

Kate nodded. ‘It is.'

‘Well, the property that you enquired about was actually sold in 1974, to a firm of property developers, who subsequently subdivided it. But I believe your main interest was the name of the gentleman who owned the land prior to the 1974 sale?'