The Islands (3 page)

‘Thank you all so much for being here to share this evening. Thank you, Mum and Dad, for being . . . just so great. London . . .' She fingered the envelope. ‘I've always wanted to travel, but tonight, I have to agree with Dad, we are lucky to be here. We live in such a peaceful and beautiful place. With good neighbours, good friends . . . it's exciting to think about seeing the world, but it's always going to be good to come home. I hope you're all having a great night – I am!' She raised her arms and everyone applauded as she hugged her parents.

Rob circled the crowd and edged outside to cut through the kitchen.

‘Mum, I don't know what to say. This is too much,' said Catherine to her mother.

‘Nonsense, go now, before you settle down. Travelling isn't the same with kids and a husband. Have fun.' She raised an eyebrow. ‘Is Brian Grimshaw here?'

‘Yeah, he's here,' said Catherine, knowing her mother hoped their friendship would bloom into an engagement. ‘He's here with friends.' She didn't add that her ex-boyfriend had brought along a new girl he'd met at the picnic races a few weeks back.

Catherine was very glad she had something to look forward to and plans to make. She'd saved a bit of money working in her father's office, and now with the plane tickets she knew she'd be leaving the district for a few months.

As she embraced her mother's friend, Glenys, there was a sudden shout from outside.

‘Christ, someone's in the pool!' It was Rob's voice.

Catherine grinned at her mother. They'd had a bet someone would jump in the pool at some stage of the night.

But Rob's shouting was urgent and people were rushing to the patio.

As Catherine pushed through the crowd she knew something was wrong by the sudden change in atmosphere and the alarmed shouts calling for Doctor Haybourne. In the bright blue floodlit pool she saw Rob, dripping wet, dragging a young man from the water. He was fully clothed and seemed to be unconscious.

Rob knelt over him, trying to resuscitate him. Her father was kneeling beside him. An older man pushed through and hurried to join them.

‘Thank God, the doc is here,' said a guest.

As Doctor Haybourne leant over the young man, Rob turned the youth's head, and he began to cough and splutter.

‘C'mon, Dave, spew it up,' said Rob. ‘He's okay, he's coming to. How is he, Doc?'

They helped the young man sit up. ‘Let me check him, seems you got to him in time, Rob. You're a very lucky young man, I'd say,' he said to the dazed boy. Clearly he had drunk too much and had either passed out or tripped and fallen into the pool. ‘Rob's quick actions got you out before any damage was done.'

‘You booze too much, Davo,' said Rob cheerfully.

Keith headed back into the house. ‘Righto, show's over. Doc Haybourne has everything under control. Everyone inside, it's all okay.' In an aside to Rosemary he muttered, ‘Some of these boys drink themselves into oblivion. No bloody control.' He raised his voice and said brightly, ‘Now where were we?'

‘Are we cutting the cake?' asked Rosemary.

‘Good idea, love. Okay, everyone, cake time, gather round.' Keith tried to revive the jovial atmosphere as people were talking among themselves.

Rosemary put the large cake lit with twenty-one candles on the table. ‘Over here, everyone. I hope there's enough to go round. Blow out the candles and make a wish, darling,' she said, holding her daughter's hand.

Now that the drama was over, Catherine squeezed her eyes shut and blew the candles out in a rush, but to her surprise she couldn't think of a wish. It seemed to her that she had all she wanted in the world at this very moment.

Her father handed her a silver knife to cut the cake as the guests roared out the words of ‘Happy Birthday'.

Catherine sought Rob out after he'd dried himself and borrowed some clothes from her father.

‘Thanks, Rob. That could have been an awful accident.'

‘Just lucky I was trying to get to the front to get a good shot. Thought it'd be quicker to go round the outside than trying to squeeze through the mob inside. Then I spotted him. Gave me a shock when I saw him face down, thought he was a goner.'

‘Thanks again. Hope you haven't suffered any damage. Is your watch waterproof?'

‘Hope so.'

Rob's date rushed up and handed him a glass of beer. ‘Here you go. Wasn't he wonderful?' she gushed to Catherine. ‘Such a shame it nearly ruined your party.'

‘Aw, cut it out, Barb, it was no big drama.'

‘He would've drowned if you hadn't been there,' she exclaimed.

‘Yes, well, anyone would've done the same thing. Lucky I was on the spot, so to speak. Cheers, Catherine. It's a great party,' he said cheerfully.

‘Thanks, Rob. Enjoy yourselves.'

In the early hours of the morning as a cool breeze brought relief to those in swags and sleeping bags under the night sky, Catherine walked softly outside. Soon her parents and their friends would be in the kitchen brewing tea, starting breakfast. The hair-of-the-dog party would see the hungover young people hitting the bloody marys and beer again, until a big barbecue helped sober them up so they could start the long trek back to their properties.

Dawn wasn't far off and she could smell the earth under its layer of fine dew. A horse whinnied and the distant ridge of hills was a smudge against the lightening sky. This was home, everything familiar for as long as she could remember. She'd reached a milestone and she filed away these moments to take with her into the next stage of her life.

Catherine thought she'd never get used to the cold. And the drizzling rain of London never seemed to make its mind up to stop. She wished it would just get it over and done with and pour down in a weighty blanket of water. She missed the wild storms at home that swept across the paddocks in torrential streaming rain.

She picked her way between puddles, holding her coat to her throat and clutching her umbrella as she bumped into pedestrians with the same intent. It was grey, night closing in, yet it was still early afternoon. Lights were on in shops and pubs, car headlights shone on the wet pavement and roads. At the end of Aldwych she turned into The Strand and entered the grey stone building where the Australian flag flapped damply above the sign – Australia House.

With her name ticked off the list at the main desk she was directed to the small reception room where a drinks party hosted by Brian Lord, the Australian cultural attaché, was underway. He was an old school friend of her father's and had sent her an invitation when he knew she was staying in London. Shyly Catherine edged into the room with its dark panelling and sombre leather furniture. People were talking quietly in subdued groups. She glanced at the bright photographs of Australian beaches and landscapes and thought they looked almost garish compared to the grey afternoon outside.

A waiter proffered a tray of drinks – sherry, beer, lemonade or wine. She took a glass of wine and stood at the fringe of people around the attaché, who quickly stepped aside and drew her into the group. She introduced herself and he greeted her warmly.

‘Good to see you, Catherine, how's your dad? Had any rain up your way?'

‘He sends his regards and as usual they're hoping for follow-up rain. Thank you for inviting me.'

‘Pleasure. Hope you're enjoying Londontown. Working holiday?'

‘Bit of both. I'm planning to go to the continent soon.'

‘Wonderful. Now, let's see, do you know anyone here?

A few expats and a couple of Peace Corps volunteers from the US. Few military bods. Mainly people involved in the arts here and from home.' He gestured at the young people around him. ‘These fine fellows are from a theatre based in Melbourne and are currently touring the provinces.'

They smiled and nodded and Catherine glanced at their name tags but didn't recognise any names.

‘We host these little events every few months,' continued the attaché. ‘Now if you'll excuse me . . .' He headed to another group leaving Catherine with the actors.

Catherine made small talk, where are you from, how long are you here for, what is the play you're doing – though she had to confess she'd never seen it. ‘I live in the country, it's hard to get to the theatre.'

A man appeared beside her. ‘I hope you're making the most of your time here, the theatre is wonderful.'

He had an American accent and was wearing a smart US naval uniform. He smoothly joined their group, extending his hand. ‘Hello, I'm Lieutenant Bradley Connor, pleased to meet you.'

Catherine was last to shake his hand and introduce herself.

‘So you're not an actor? You're a country girl, you said. How long are you staying in London?' he asked.

‘Oh, it's flexible. I'm staying in a flat with friends and we all come and go. I'm trying to see as much as possible. What about you? Holiday or working?' asked Catherine.

‘I'm trying to do a bit of both. Although I'm with the US navy, I have a desk job at the consulate at present. What about you? What are you doing here?' asked Bradley.

‘Mr Lord went to school with my father. I doubt they've seen each other in years and years but, you know, the old school tie and all that.'

‘Oh, I think I understand what you mean.' He looked around. ‘This is a bit dull. Would you like to go for a decent drink and a bite to eat nearby? There're some great pubs around here.'

Catherine only hesitated for an instant. Bradley seemed charming, was very handsome, and she had nothing else planned. ‘I'd love to. Where'd you have in mind?'

‘The Cheshire Cheese in Fleet Street. It's always full of interesting characters. Journalists and the like.'

Catherine had a terrific evening. After the pub, Bradley took her to a small Italian restaurant and they talked for hours over a bottle of red wine. She'd told him about living on a property, small by Australian standards, and described her lifestyle. He was from California, had a brother and a sister at college and had joined the navy not just to follow in his father's footsteps, but also because he loved to travel.

Bradley dropped her off in a taxi after they'd exchanged phone numbers. Catherine bounced into the flat she was sharing to tell her flatmates about her great time only to find the other girls were out. The next morning she described her evening and the girls agreed that it sounded as though Catherine had the highest score in the date department for that week.

Her date rating went through the roof when the following Friday evening Bradley called at the flat in South Kensington to take her to dinner and gave her a posy of tiny pink rosebuds. Catherine introduced him to her flatmates, who told her later that he looked like a movie star.

And so Friday night dinner became a regular event and soon Saturday night as well. Bradley played tennis with fellow officers on Sundays and during the week his schedule was busy. Catherine could well imagine Bradley would be an attractive asset at the many events the consulate participated in and hosted.

While she enjoyed Bradley's company, she didn't want to limit her own experiences in swinging London. Bradley, she found, didn't like the disco scene, but they both enjoyed walking the streets of London exploring its nooks and crannies.

She planned trips to Paris, Spain and Greece. Bradley listened, offered advice and suggestions and gave her the impression that he'd be waiting and available in London when she returned.

‘Have you slept with him?' asked Donna, one of the girls in the flat Catherine shared.

‘No! Of course not. I mean, he's not like that.'

‘What's wrong with him? He's so attractive.'

Catherine smiled. ‘Yes, he is. But he's so . . . polite, gentle . . . considerate.'

‘Conservative, you mean,' said Donna. ‘I'd be seducing him if I were you.'

‘And have him think I'm cheap? I'd like him to be around for a bit.'

‘Aw, come on, Catherine. Make the most of it. You're not going to land this man on a permanent basis.'

‘Why do you say that?' asked Catherine huffily.

‘No offence, sweetie, but he's an officer in the US navy and going places. Up the ladder. He's probably got a girl back in California. He's too . . . different. Not our sort of fellow. Not the sort you settle down with. Can you imagine him in Peel?'

‘And you can't imagine me in California?' retorted Catherine.

‘Come on, Catherine, men like Bradley . . . well, they're different from us. And why do you always call him Bradley? What's wrong with Brad?'

‘Well,' said Catherine, ‘I don't think he likes his name shortened. He's not a Brad sort of person.'

‘Okay then, just enjoy yourself. He's generous, takes you nice places. Get on the pill, have a good time. Make the most of it while you can, I say,' finished Donna.

Catherine just smiled and thought that although Donna's comments were well meant, they contained a few sour grapes, but they challenged her. Bradley hadn't given any indication of wanting to take her to bed, but he kissed her quite nicely and he'd never mentioned another girl back home. He was always so decent and thoughtful, she felt sure he would have mentioned any other girl so as not to lead her on.

Catherine couldn't help comparing him to some of the boys back home. Bradley was so sophisticated, he'd certainly never get drunk. He wouldn't fall in a pool, or make a fool of himself. He'd once told her how naval officers were always on show, representing the navy, in or out of uniform. He didn't often talk about his work, instead they talked about the world in general, things that interested them, the shows, films and theatre that they saw in London. And they shared stories of their families and growing up.

‘So what are you going to do in Paris?' Bradley asked over dinner two nights later. ‘Have you friends there? Is anyone going with you?'