The Deadly Caress
CHAPTER 1
Amanda Blake opened the door of the silver Rolls Royce and nervously sucked in the Monterey sea air. Oh God, she was terrified that this wasn’t going to go well.
She shouldn’t have accepted the invitation. She could’ve been in Tasmania taking photos of Tasmanian devils for National Geographic instead. The knot in her stomach tightened as she climbed out and hoped that she was up for whatever would happen.
The chauffeur hurried around to help her.
“Thanks, but I can manage,” she said. “Ricardo, isn’t it?”
He nodded and straightened his cap that partly covered his short black hair.
She fumbled in her purse for some notes, which were all the same color. Unlike home, she had to remember to tip everyone here. She pulled out ten dollars.
Ricardo he shook his head when he saw it.
Was the bill too much or too little?
“Mrs. Campbell pay me good. I work for Mrs. Campbell for many years. She ask me to look after you,” Ricardo said with a heavy Mexican accent.
Amanda bit her upper lip. Her first blunder and she’d just arrived. She shaded her eyes from the afternoon sun and stared at the modern brick, concrete and glass mansion perched on about an acre of prime California real estate. This house must have a dozen bedrooms from the size of it. It screamed of money and privilege…something she’d never experienced.
The contents of the letter that had shattered the illusion of her world and lured her half way round the world remained branded in her memory.
Dear Amanda,
It is hard to know where to begin. I regret that I never made contact with you before, but this was the agreement I made with your parents. Even now, I am writing to you now with the permission of your father, Samuel.
I wish there were a gentler way to break this news to you. Elaine is not the woman who gave birth to you, I am. Nor is Samuel your biological father. He can verify this. I know your life has been reasonably happy from the annual letters Samuel sends me.
I know you must have many questions you want answered. Please direct them to me, since I am the only one who can answer the circumstances of your birth.
I hope you can forgive me for this sudden intrusion.
Please come and stay with me as soon as you can. I have enclosed an open-ended ticket to California for you.
I want so much to see you.
Yours sincerely,
Jean Campbell.
Amanda had traveled from her home in Sydney to meet the woman who had given her up at birth. Now Amanda hoped her trip wouldn’t be in vain.
Google had provided a reasonable amount of information, but not the things she really wanted to know. What was this mother really like? And why did this woman feel compelled to break this news to her now? Twice, she picked up the phone to call this woman named Jean but stopped short. She’d been too nervous and didn’t know what to say to a stranger who was her mother. At least if she’d called, she’d have gotten to know her a little.
One of the double-fronted doors swung open. A short woman wearing a maid’s garb, with her black hair pulled back into a bun, hurried down the granite steps.
“Welcome. My name is Estella,” the woman said.
Startled, Amanda took a half step back. Chauffeurs, maids …what next? She heard the Rolls start forward. “Oh! My bags, my camera. He’s forgotten about them.” She swung around and waved, trying to attract Ricardo’s attention.
“Please do not worry, Miss Amanda. He will take your luggage to your room.” The maid spoke English quite well but her Mexican accent was still evident. “Mrs. Campbell is please you have come. She is waiting for you inside.”
***
“Jean, have you heard anything I’ve said?” Lionel Cohen, her balding and overweight lawyer asked, seated beside her on the cream damask sofa.
“I hope Amanda likes me.” Jean Campbell pressed her manicured hands to her temples. “Oh she’ll probably hate me, despise me. Be upset that no one’s told her. That I hadn’t contacted her years ago.”
“I did suggest it would have been better to leave it.”
Jean looked suddenly towards the door. “Is that Ricardo?”
She jumped up and straightened her silk skirt. “I should be out there to greet her.”
“Come back and sit down. We’re not done. Estella will bring her in.”
“But-” Jean began.
“You want to look calm, don’t you?” Lionel interrupted. “She doesn’t need to know how desperate you are for her acceptance.”
But I am, she thought. “And her love, Lionel… the child must feel abandoned by me. I have only one chance for a good impression.”
He put his glasses into his suit pocket and then picked up some documents from the coffee table. “I can’t say that I agree with the changes, but I’ll get them done and back to you tomorrow.” His tone was grudging. Lionel was a good lawyer, Jean mused, but he was an extremely old-fashioned man, with outdated ideas; he didn’t like that she’d gone against his advice. Though, she couldn’t divulge to him what she knew yet until it was confirmed. If all went as planned, tomorrow would be the day.
Jean pulled out a knitted baby’s bootie from her suit pocket. “I slipped it off Amanda’s foot the last time I saw her.” She shook her head as the memory of that heart-wrenching moment assaulted her. “You can’t imagine...”
“No, I guess not,” he said, giving her a blank stare.
Twice she’d managed to sneak into the nursery to see Amanda. It was during the second time that she’d taken the bootie off that tiny pink foot.
For many months afterwards, she’d cried herself to sleep. Every year, on Amanda’s birthday, she sank into the shadows where there was no hope, only alcohol, and lately prescription medications from any doctor whom her money could still convince. The melancholy took many weeks to lift and the supply of pills always dried up. Her daughter’s birthday was tomorrow. Now, for the first time in thirty years, she hoped they would celebrate it together.
“Is there anything else you want to add to this draft?” Lionel said holding up the pages in his hand. “I’m advising you not to leave-”
Jean held up her hand. “Lionel, I've agonized over this, you know that.” After staring at the bootie again, she put it back into her pocket along with the years of guilty memories. “Somehow, I have to try to make it up to her.” Something I should have done long before this, she said to herself.
“I’m tired of people telling me what I should do.” She lifted her head to look at Lionel. “I lived with that when Murray was alive. You know what it was like—he told me who I should see, who I could speak to, what I should wear. No one will dictate my life again. I’m sorry, Lionel, not even my closest friend.”
***
The sound of Amanda’s low heels on the stairs announced her arrival and with each step, she grew more apprehensive.
The white dress she wore, was it too casual? Perhaps she should have changed into a suit? However, the only one she owned was past its expiration date. She paused in her stride and tried to gain some strength from the confident woman she’d worked so hard to become. Well, at least, her workmates often told her she was fearless. Forget the dingoes and snakes, they’d been easy compared to what she was facing now. She’d even Googled a few places to stay just in case things didn’t work out today.
Did it really matter what Jean thought of her? She hated to admit it, but her opinion did matter. For all the reasons she had to dislike Jean and what she’d done, there was one reason to like her that outweighed them all. She would have a mother again. It had been a long, lonely eighteen years without one.
To still her nerves, she stared at anything and everything, from the ceiling-to-floor water cascade on colored glass, to the huge Andy Warhol by the wood and glass-paneled staircase.
What would her mother think of her? What if she didn’t like what she saw? Her breath caught. The thought made her turn to run outside.
“This way, Senorita,” Estella held open the door to the living room.
Too late for escape now, she thought.
A balding man carrying a briefcase and wearing a tight-lipped smile came towards her. “It's a pleasure to meet you, Ms. Blake.” He pumped her hand. “Lionel Cohen, I’m Jean’s lawyer. I’m the reason Jean couldn't meet you at the airport.”
Amanda found herself staring incredulously at an older copy of herself. A slim blonde, dressed in a white and navy suit, crossed the expanse of beige carpet towards her. This woman had given her up at birth. What sort of a mother would do that?
“Pleased to meet you,” Amanda finally said to the lawyer.
“Tomorrow around noon, Jean?” he asked.
“I’ll be here.” Jean said.
“No one would mistake you for anything other than mother and daughter. The resemblance is striking,” he said before he left.
“Amanda?” The name hung hesitantly between them.
“I can’t believe it.” It stunned Amanda to see what looked like her own, deep-blue eyes staring back; unlike her own, they seemed to be brimming with welcome and acceptance.
“I knew there was a likeness from the photo you sent me, but seeing you here now…well it’s wonderful,” Jean said.
“I’m surprised you still have a bit of an Aussie accent.”
“That’s what people tell me, but I can’t hear it myself.” The older woman drew her into a warm embrace. Nonplussed, Amanda stiffened at the unexpected display of warmth. She bent down a little to let her mother kiss first one cheek then the other. The scent of wildflowers and sandalwood lingered in the air as her mother withdrew.
“It’s so good to meet you at last,” Jean said. “I’m sorry I wasn’t able to be there at the airport. I hope Ricardo looked after you in my place.”
“Thank you for the invitation and the first class ticket, Mrs. Campbell.” Amanda was pleased how calmly she answered this woman even though her heart was drumming so hard against her ribs that she felt certain this woman could hear it.
“It was my pleasure. Please…call me Jean.”
The urge to call someone mum again, maybe this someone, was there inside her.
“I’ve left a smudge of lipstick. Let me wipe it off.”
The intimacy of Jean’s touch stirred an unexpected response from within, elation and something else that she couldn't identify, like being atop the crest of a wave, and the feeling was so new. She worked hard to stop tears from surfacing.
“Make yourself comfortable.” Jean buzzed the intercom beside the marble fireplace and asked for two cafe au lattes.
“That’s just the way I like it.” How did she find out? Who had told her? Amanda drew in a deep steadying breath, and took in the quiet ambience that she’d been too preoccupied to notice until now. She recognized two Picassos, a Degas, and a Monet among the paintings on the walls. Everything fitted together; everything was carefully matched, and mismatched. She sank into a wing-backed chair and stared the expansive view of the ocean that she only enjoyed on occasion, but for Jean it was a normal everyday outlook.
Jean smiled as she settled into the chair nearby. “How was your flight?”
“Good.” Amanda couldn’t return her smile; she couldn’t relax. “Thanks for the first class ticket.” My God, she’d thanked the woman again. Get a grip, she told herself as she suppressed a yawn, her coping mechanism. This woman would think her bored.
“I know it's a long journey from Sydney. If you’d prefer, you can go upstairs to your room and rest? We can talk later.”
So she’d caught her yawn. “I came here to find out so many things that I hardly know where to begin?”
“Ask and I will try to answer,” Jean said.
Amanda steeled herself. “Why did you wait so long?” When she saw the puzzled look on Jean’s face, she realized what she’d said. Jean must think her an idiot. She swallowed and began again. “Sorry. What I meant was…why contact me now? Why not years ago? Why contact me at all? I'd have probably not found out until Dad died, and found the adoption papers among his documents.”
Estella carried in a tray of petite-fours and hot drinks and set them down on the low table in front of them.
Jean watched the maid leave and then said, “I still remember your birth as if it was yesterday. I was only seventeen at the time. No money, no job.”
This woman recalled what…that she’d given birth to an unwanted child. “What about the father, my real father? Wouldn’t he support you?” Why didn't her mother address Amanda's first question?
Jean’s hand trembled as she sugared her coffee. “He moved away before I’d summoned up the courage to tell him I was pregnant.”
“I hoped that I would have a chance to find him.” He may have been a victim like her. It had been hell as a child not knowing from one day to the next what mood her mother, Elaine, would be in. “Did you know that Elaine, well I still think of her as my mother, was a manic-depressive? Dad told me when he thought I was old enough to understand. And…” She paused to get a lid on the sadness that welled up from somewhere deep inside. “Not long after that…I’m not good at this…I guess you know my mother committed suicide.”
“Samuel did write to me. I am sorry things worked out that way for you.”
“Sorry doesn’t cover it.” Was that all this woman could say! Amanda picked at the edge of a napkin as her eyes smarted with tears. “It wasn’t easy living with a mother like that.”
At times, it was terrifying. That was past and she’d done her best to bury it but it didn’t always stay that way. “Why did you give me up for adoption? Your family, wouldn’t they support you?” She wanted more justification for why Jean hadn’t been able to raise her. Furthermore, that Jean had really wanted her.
“My father’s business was bankrupt. My parents were in no position to help me. It was just about impossible in those days in a country town to keep your baby as a single mother. Orange, where I grew up, was no different.”
“Adoption was encouraged by everyone from the doctor to the hospital staff. Also, I thought you’d have a better chance at a normal life with a mother and father to care for you.”
How she wished her family had been normal. Amanda went to sugar her coffee but stopped herself.
She sipped her drink in an effort to suppress the urge to say what she really thought. I missed out on a mother because you gave me away. Elaine wasn’t a real mother to me.
“Who’s my real father?”
“I can’t remember.” Jean’s face colored, she would not meet Amanda’s gaze.
“I don’t care if he’s good, bad, single, or married; I just want a chance to meet him.” Amanda stirred her coffee as she battled to keep a calm exterior.
“I don’t know where you’d even begin to look for him. He was someone I knew for a brief period in my life. I’m sorry. I can’t remember his last name.”
“Record of birth at the hospital?”
“You were registered under my maiden name,” Jean sipped her coffee.
“I’d like to try and find him.”
Her mother’s face drained of color. “Don’t.”
“Why not?”
“He was…a married man.”
She was determined to go to the hospital when she got back home to see if she could somehow trace her father.
“If I could wind back the clock I’d have done things differently,” Jean said.
Agitated, Amanda pushed her fingers through her hair. “I can’t believe that mum and dad kept this secret from me for nearly thirty years.” She’d come home for a weekend’s break from her latest assignment, and Jean’s letter had been waiting for her.
“I agreed to this when I was too young to know better. I know this doesn’t excuse it but it’s a decision that I’ve bitterly regretted,” Jean said.
“Why didn’t you do something about it before?”
Jean’s eyes looked glassy. Was she holding back tears?
“Please, help yourself. They’re fresh from the French bakery.” Her mother gestured to the tray of petite-fours.
“You think I want cake? What about my father? She swallowed nervously, uncomfortable with Jean’s display of emotion.
“You can’t be watching your weight? You have a lovely trim figure.”
“Why are you changing the subject? Okay…I’ll have one.” You won’t want to know about that, she thought.
“You look a little flushed. Are you okay?”
“I’m still trying to adjust. Finding out you’re my mother and Elaine…not being. Meeting you.” Had this trip been a big mistake? For her own peace of mind, she’d known she had no other possible choice. Cool down, she told herself, give this woman a chance.
Jean selected a pastry. “My father died about ten years ago and about four years ago I brought my mom over here to live. But after mom was diagnosed with dementia, I had to put her in a nursing home. We can go there another day.”
Amanda leaned forward momentarily. “I’d like to visit her.”
“I’ll arrange it. Some fresh air might do us good.” Jean rose, crossed the room to the glass bi-fold doors, and opened them onto a wrap-around veranda. The distant sound of seagulls seemed to dispel some of the tension in the room.
Jean’s steps began to falter as she walked back to the wing-backed chair. Amanda wondered if she had an injury.
“My husband, Murray, passed away last year.”
“Your husband, he wasn’t my father, was he?” A stab in the dark to see what response it provoked.
Jean blinked. “No. I met Murray in my mid-twenties when I was on a working holiday in California. We fell in love…and eventually married.”
“Why should I believe anything you say when you’ve done your best to evade my questions?”
“I wouldn’t lie to you,” Jean said.
“Then answer my questions.”
CHAPTER 2
The Campbell home was perched on a cliff that jutted out to meet the ocean. From his vantage point on the beach, Brian McMahon saw the prearranged signal. Jean had opened the veranda doors.
He raced across the coarse gray sand, and past large boulders that seemed like some giant had strewn handfuls of them at the bottom of the cliff. His fingers skimmed the handrail as he bounded up the steps carved into the cliff's rocky face.
Slow down, he told himself when he reached the top; Jean needs time alone with her. Allow them both some time. However, he was dying to meet Amanda.
Borders of scented lilies and irises were just splashes of color as he hurried along the path that led to the covered courtyard. He felt the eagerness of a young schoolboy, the schoolboy he’d never been. It took all his self-control to pause at the back door. These boyish thoughts took him back to when he was fourteen and living on that run-down acre with that alcoholic he called a father.
He’d never known the carefree life of a teenager: to enjoy going to the local movie theater in the school holidays like the other boys did. He’d been too busy surviving.
***
Jean closed her eyes momentarily. “Give me a chance. That’s all I ask.”
“I’ve come all this way not because I’m just curious but to find out what I can and you keep putting me off. That’s so infuriating. You’re starting to sound like Samuel who won’t tell me anything no matter how many times I ask.”
“Your father was a sales representative for a large company that sold machinery and parts. It would be impossible to trace him.”
“Thank you.” Finally, she was getting somewhere.
“I know I must be repeating myself, but it’s wonderful to have you here at last. I can't tell you how much this means to me.” Jean turned away. Not before Amanda saw a tear roll down Jean’s cheek.
Amanda suppressed the sudden kindling of similar emotion. “If it hadn’t been for the photo shoot I was doing on dolphins in Western Australia, I’d have been here weeks ago. Right now, I should be in Tasmania doing a piece with a writer for the Australian Geographic.”
“Your job sounds demanding.”
“I’ve been taking photos ever since I can remember. Mostly since the part-time job at a photographic studio while I was in high school. Why I chose to do accountancy at university I don’t know.”
“What happened?”
“One year was all I managed before I threw it in. Then I was back at the studio. That’s where I learnt my trade.” The hobby that became her passion had kept her sane when the darkness in her mind seemed to overwhelm her, and she thought she would go down the same path as her mother. Well, the woman she’d believed to be her mother.
Jean picked up a ring-bound folder from the coffee table and handed it to Amanda. “I’ve kept a scrapbook of your work.”
Amanda leafed through it. “How did…that’s from Geo, and that spread, the National Geographic? Even the one I did for Black and White. That one shot. You’ve no idea. I had to hang upside down under a bridge.”
“Wasn’t that dangerous? You could’ve been killed.”
Amanda laughed, and couldn’t believe she had. “I had so many harnesses on me, I could hardly move.” Jean cared…she really cared. A welling of heartfelt feeling expanded in her chest, it was so unfamiliar that it threatened to overwhelm her. She took a deep steadying breath. “I’m surprised that you’ve collected all these.”
For more years than she could remember, she’d yearned for some small sign of interest in her work from Samuel. She’d driven herself harder and harder to win any show of pride from him. However, it was never enough.
“Mum…oh I mean Elaine-”
“It’s okay,” Jean said.
“Mum gave me my first camera for my twelfth birthday.” It was one of the few presents she’d ever received. After the Christmas holidays, her school friends would talk about their presents and Christmas parties. Not to feel left out, she’d invented grand parties, and extravagant presents.
“It was soon after that that she…she’d...” The guilt still hung over her even now. Psychologists had tried to convince her it wasn’t her fault. They'd told her that if she’d stayed home that day it wouldn't have made any difference. But she thought somehow, some way, she could have stopped her mum from killing herself.
“It must have been hard. How did you cope?”
“Dad got someone to cook and clean for us.” That was what this woman wanted to hear. Not that she was in her early twenties and sought help because she still blamed herself for her mother’s suicide.
“You have a boyfriend. Any long term plans in that direction?”
“I called off our engagement ages ago. Charles wanted me barefoot and pregnant right after we were married. Can you believe that?” Also, there had been another reason, one that she'd barely acknowledged until now: the fear that she would be the same type of mother Elaine had been. “How did you find out about him?”
“Samuel.” Jean said.
“Dad told you everything? How dare he!” Did he tell Jean about the anorexia? He couldn’t have. He’d never acknowledged that she’d had a problem. Her pent-up anger against him flared anew.
“He only told me of the milestones in your life. My letter must have come as a surprise to you.”
“You can’t imagine how it feels to suddenly find out that your mother wasn’t your mother. No explanation from Dad or from you in your letter. My whole life was suddenly a lie.”
Jean drew in a long breath. “I’m so sorry. I regretted giving you away from the moment I signed the contract. And the agreement…that I was not to have any contact with you.” She shook her head. “I was too young to know any different then. I wanted to call you, to hear your voice, so many times.”
Many times…her mother actually said that? One brick, from the wall around her heart, fell. “Really?”
Jean reached over and touched her hand. “Yes.”
Amanda shrank back, hesitant to accept what her mother said.
“I meant what I said,” Jean whispered. Tears welled in her eyes.
Amanda’s emotions were in the verge of spilling over. “Don’t cry. You’re making me cry too.” Amanda dabbed her eyes.
“I can’t help it.” Jean blew her nose.
“It’s okay.”
They sat in silence for a while until they had composed themselves. Embarrassing as it was, she had to acknowledge that Jean had done her a favor.
And, she wasn’t comfortable about Jean prying to her private affairs. “Thank you for paying my bills. I made a few bad investments-”
Jean held up her hand. “No need to explain. I’m glad I could help.”
“How did you find out?”
“I have my sources.”
Amanda reminded herself that there were still plenty of unanswered questions and this was why she’d come, so she ploughed on.
“After all these years of keeping secrets with Samuel…why…why now?”
Jean stared at the floor. “I wish I had contacted you sooner.”
Just when she thought that their relationship had grown a little, again her mother evaded the question.
“I have a twenty-two year old stepson, Dorian.”
“Your husband’s son?”
“Yes. Murray’s first wife died long before I met him.”
“What’s your stepson like?”
“Dorian’s studying entertainment law at Berkeley. He usually stays there through the week, but tonight he’s coming home for dinner. You’ll meet him then.”
“Anyone else I should know about? Any more brothers or sisters?”
“Only one and he’s outside waiting to meet you.”
“Are you serious?” Then she saw the look on her mother’s face. She glanced toward the door and started to rise. “My brother? My real brother?”
The mantelpiece clock chimed the hour as Jean nervously smoothed down her skirt. The stillness in the room seemed suddenly suffocating.
Long moments passed before Jean answered. “He’s your twin.”
“What?” Stunned, Amanda sat down again. Jesus, were there any more secrets?
“Did you raise him?”
“Brian was adopted as well.”
Amanda noticed Jean’s eyes were momentarily shadowed with what could have been pain. Was it for Brian? Why?
A thousand questions vied for primacy in Amanda’s head. “Tell me about him. What’s he like?”
“Brian works somewhere near Darwin as a stock hand on a large station, yes station. I’m sure he called it that.”
Amanda heard the front door slam and footsteps echoed down the hall.
“He arrived from the Northern Territory twelve days ago,” Jean said. “That should be him now. You both received an identical letter from me.”
Amanda’s heart pounded as a tall man strode in. His hair, a darker blond than hers, looked like it had been hurriedly combed into place.
She half rose, sat down, and then rose again, uncertain how to greet him as he crossed the carpet to her.
“My God, you do look like a younger version. You've got to be Amanda, I’m Brian.”
“Hi.” This man: her twin…had no hint of the typical Aussie outback drawl she’d expected after hearing that he was a stock hand. She drank in the sight of him with disbelief. The resemblance, although definitely male, was there. His eyes were deep green with hints of gold.
“Hard to take all this in, isn’t it, Sis?”
A full head taller than she, and she wasn't short, he had to bend over to kiss her cheek.
She didn’t like the liberty he took by calling her “Sis.” Her mind was in turmoil. She supposed she should embrace him but couldn’t.
He was still staring at her; she recalled he’d asked a question. “I’m still adjusting,” she said.
“Me too. It's weird isn't it?”
What had his life been like? Had it been as lonely as hers, longing for a sibling to grow up with, to share secrets with; and she had plenty of those.
“You’re looking lovely.” He leaned over, lightly pressed his lips to Jean’s cheek, and then made for an armchair. His suntanned frame seemed to slide into it in one lithe movement.
“How long have you known about me?” Amanda asked as she sat down again. He looked too well dressed for a country boy in slim-fit chinos and Ralph Lauren polo shirt.
Brian shrugged. “Almost a week now, Sis. So I've had a little more time to get used to all this.”
“Don’t call me Sis. I’m not sure if I like it,” she said. He was taking liberties, albeit not large ones, and it didn’t sit well with her.
“Oh, for God’s sake, I can’t see a problem. You’re not going to get all strange about this, are you?”
“You’re being pushy. You’ve had the advantage over me. You knew I was coming but I didn’t know that I had a brother, let alone a twin brother.” Amanda gritted her teeth to stop herself from snapping at him any further.
“Where did you grow up?” she asked.
He blinked. “We moved a lot. But, Wollongong mostly.”
“I grew up in Ryde.”
“Upper class, huh?”
She bristled. “No. Working class.”
“You haven’t met Dorian yet, have you?”
She shook her head.
“I wonder what you’ll think of him when you do.”
“Why?” Was Dorian handicapped or was it something else entirely?
Brian smiled. “Wait and see.”
She didn’t know what he was on about but she couldn’t think straight. It was as if a fog was settling on her brain and her eyelids were heavy. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me but I think I’ll have to lie down.”
“Pleasant dreams, Sis.”
CHAPTER 3
Amanda stifled a scream, and jerked herself upright in bed, her skin slippery with perspiration. Her heart felt like it was bursting through her chest. It was the same nightmare she’d had with startling regularity for the past month since she’d received Jean’s letter.
Her hand trembled as she switched on the bedside lamp. 8:00 p.m. How had she managed to sleep the afternoon away? No way would she sleep later tonight after the nightmare she’d just had.
The creepy part was that she could picture it as if it she were still there. The strange bedroom with hardly a stick of furniture from which she was desperately trying to escape, but her legs wouldn’t move. She stared at her hands smeared with blood. She was terrified of something or someone. Suddenly the dream had moved on, and she was in a little tiled room and she could hear running water. Then, as usual, she saw a woman lying on the floor, her blue dressing gown flung open. Somehow, she knew the woman was dead. Every time she tried to peer at the face, she woke drenched with sweat. However, this time, she knew why she did not dare see that face: she feared it was her own.
Now every dark corner seemed threatening. She flicked on the overhead lights, and ran to the ensuite bathroom. She locked the door behind her, and slumped against the wood. Breathe, she told herself. When her gasps returned to something more normal, she turned on the shower, undressed, and stepped under the stinging hot stream. The spray cascaded down her skin and relaxed her limbs as she lathered up. She stood there until her skin was wrinkled before she stepped out.
Amanda returned to the bedroom feeling refreshed and hungry. She dressed and made her way downstairs.
They might have eaten by now, she guessed. Leftovers might be all she’d be offered. When she was working late editing shots, dinner was whatever was in the fridge that still looked edible. Or she’d get take-away.
She picked up her digital camera—the professional equipment she’d left at home—from the French dresser and went into the hallway.
She passed Brian and Dorian’s rooms, which were opposite each other, as she continued to the staircase.
As she came down the stairs, someone burst in the front door and strode down the hallway.
Estella emerged from the living room carrying a tray of empty glasses and nearly collided with a reed-thin male. “Lo siento, Dorian. I did not see you.”
“Martini, Estella. You know how I like it.” He strutted into the lounge in his distressed designer jeans and t-shirt.
Amanda was a few steps behind him. “Hi everyone. Sorry I overslept. I guess you’ve had dinner?
“Just about to,” Brian said.
“What’s this, a party?” Dorian said.
“Dorian. You knew Amanda was coming today.” Jean clasped her hands together. “Are you feeling better now, Amanda?”
‘I had a nightmare,’ Amanda said.
“How awful. I hope it wasn’t the room.”
Her mother showed real concern. Well, it seemed real enough but she’d rather not had that horrible dream at all. “The room’s lovely. I’ve had this dream before. I don’t know why.”
“They’re only dreams,” Brian said.
“You never had a nightmare?” she asked.
He hesitated for a moment. “It's not like they mean anything.”
Although he was not admitting to this, she noted the pause before he spoke and thought he didn’t like to confess to any weaknesses.
“A beer,” Brian said.
“Nothing for me, thanks,” Jean said.
Amanda had guessed that her mother would refuse. How did she know what this woman liked? Was it some sort of mother-daughter thing?
“Would you like a beer, Miss Amanda?” Estella asked.
“I know I’m letting the side down but I can’t drink the stuff. Water,” Amanda said.
“Lo siento.” Estella apologized. “I thought all Australians liked it. I visited your country last year. My cousin drinks beer. She lives in Wollon…something.”
“It could be Wollongong if it’s down the coast from Sydney,” Amanda said.
“Do you eat fish, Amanda?” Jean asked.
“Love it.”
“Good. Estella, get Rosa to cook another serving, please.”
Dorian stopped beside a side-table pushed up against a wall and stared at her. His untidy brown hair fell to one side across his forehead; his features had no softness, from his hollowed cheeks to an angular jaw. “Oh yes. The only children to come from your womb are all finally here. Isn't that just so Brady Bunch.”
“Dorian, stop that,” Jean said.
“So what. Half of the Brady Bunch were step-children, Dorian,” Brian said.
Dorian ignored him and plucked one of the white lilies from the crystal vase on the table. He watched the water drip onto the carpet.
Amanda was surprised that her mother didn’t reprimand Dorian further. He certainly deserved it.
Understandable that he should feel like the two of them were muscling in on his turf, Amanda thought. However, it was not of her doing. She would have to tolerate his rudeness for the moment, she didn't plan on making him a regular part of her life. Who was he to her, anyway?
Brian glared at the other man. “Cut that out. You're going to ruin mum's carpet.”
Jean blinked when Brian called her mum. Maybe she was still getting used to him calling her mum. Amanda couldn’t bring herself to do so yet.
Dorian jabbed the flower back in its place. “So you're Amanda then?”
Amanda sat back. “In the skin.”
“How long are you staying?”
“I'm not sure yet.”
“Music?” He strode to the stereo, and scanned the list for tunes.
Brian drummed his fingers on the armrest when the deafening voice of a singer and his backing band—which Amanda had never heard before— filled the room.
“Please, turn down the volume,” Jean said.
Thank goodness, her mother had spoken up.
“Can you play something softer not that crazy thump, thump stuff?” Now Amanda was showing her age.
“Only trying to get into party mode,” Dorian said.
“This is not that sort of a party, mate. Some of us don’t want to compete with that,” Brian said.
“Dorian!” Jean yelled.
Her stepson turned down the sound. “I couldn’t wait to meet my dear half-sister. Although she isn’t quite that, is she?’
Jean’s mouth was set in a firm line. She looked angry, which made Amanda more annoyed at Dorian’s behavior.
‘Now what is she? Half stepsister. What a nice mouthful.” He flounced to Amanda’s side, bent over and kissed her cheek. “You must tell me what color eye shadow you’re wearing. I love it.”
Stunned by his behaviour and his question, it took her a moment to answer. He was trying to provoke her and it was working. “Straight-brown. I don’t know if it would suit you.”
Estella brought their drinks. “Dinner is ready. I can carry the drinks to the dining room.”
“Thank you, Estella,” Jean said as she rose.
They all made their way to the next room where a long walnut and fir table was dressed with a low centerpiece of hothouse orchids and silver candlesticks. “Could you sit there, Amanda, and you opposite, Brian.” Jean said.
Dorian’s sat at one end and Jean at the other.
The surrounding walls held artworks from old masters. “Isn’t that a Degas, and that one a Claude Monet? I love his work. His country scenes always remind me of summer.”
“You know something of art?” Jean said.
“I discovered Monet when I studied art in high school. I could rave on about him all day.”
“I buy what I like and I like his work.” Jean took a tiny sip of her drink.
Dorian rolled his eyes and yawned.
“Would you like some white wine, Amanda?” Brian asked.
She nodded and he poured a glass for her. “Do you mind if I take photos?”
“Go ahead,” Jean smiled as Amanda focused.
Brian pulled a face, and flung up his hands as she clicked.
“I hate photos,” he said.
“It’s for an album I’m starting for us,” Amanda said as she took more shots.
“Didn’t you hear me?” Brian said.
“Please. What’s wrong with a few family pics?”
“Too ugly, huh?” Dorian smirked.
“Drop it, Dorian. I don’t like to have my picture taken.” He turned his head away. “Put the camera away, Sis.”
Not wanting to upset him further, she put her camera down.
“I’ll put them all on CD and you can all have a copy.” She intended to put them onto her phone as well so she could remind herself that these people were her real family. For years, she’d wanted a sibling with whom to laugh and to hang out. Now this was happening, she had an urge to pinch herself and make sure she wasn’t imagining it.
As she took her place next to Brian, she noticed two gift boxes on the table. One slightly large box was in front of her seat and the smaller one in front of Brian. “My birthday’s not till tomorrow.”
Jean smiled. “I couldn’t wait. Go on. Both of you.”
“Thank you,” she said.
Brian lifted the lid on his present. “Thanks for the gold pen.” He scribbled on the paper napkin. “Well, it works.”
“I’d be very surprised if it didn’t.”
As Amanda slipped off the red ribbon, her eyes moistened. Many birthdays and Christmases had come and gone with hardly a gift from her parents…and now this… Sadness welled up in her throat and she felt like she was choking. She couldn’t bring herself to open the box.
She coughed. That somehow relieved the intensity of that emotion, and she glanced up. Her mother smiled a wistful smile. Could she read her thoughts? She hoped not.
“Go ahead and open it,” Jean said.
When she saw the gift, she sucked in a breath. “Pink pearls. I love them.” She put them back onto their bed of velvet. “I’m sorry. I didn’t bring you anything.”
A gift for a mother-come-lately wasn’t even a consideration when she’d booked this visit. She’d been too busy trying to come to terms with having a mother again. Now that she’d met this woman, and had been given a gift, she felt guilty. “I can’t possibly accept them.”
“Murray gave me those South Sea pearls for our first anniversary. Please, I want you to have them. I hope they’ll be as special for you now as they were for me then.”
“Thank you.” Amanda pulled her blonde bob aside and tried to put them on but she was so nervous that she couldn’t secure the diamond-encrusted clasp.
“Let me,” Brian said. Then he drew back. “They look nice.”
She fingered them. “They’re beautiful.”
A silver-haired white-aproned woman carried in a tray with their meals of grilled salmon with sautéed potato, asparagus, and salad.
“Thank you, Rosa,” Jean said.
The cook busied herself with offering each of them condiments.
“Got any ideas what you’d like to do tomorrow?” Brian asked.
Amanda picked up her wine glass. “No. What have you got in mind?”
“What about we catch the tourist spots around Monterey and Carmel, then we can lunch at a little café that I found in Carmel,” Brian said.
“Perfect.” She tasted her wine. “Nice.”
“Can I get a rain check on that? Lionel Cohen, the man you met earlier, is coming over. We have some urgent legal matters to attend to,” Jean said.
She shrugged. “I guess we can do something together another day.”
Jean must have sensed her disappointment because she reached over and touched her hand. “How about this Saturday the two of us go to Ano Nuevo State Reserve. It’s famous for its elephant seals and sea lions. And I know a great little Italian place where we can stop for lunch. Afterwards we can go visit your grandmother.”
“Sounds great and I can’t wait to see my gran.” Her spirits lifted at the thought. Amanda tucked into the salmon, which was delicious.
“Don’t get your hopes up. Half the time, she doesn’t recognize me when I visit,” Jean said sadly.
Dorian ate another mouthful of fish and suddenly pushed the plate away. “I’m going out.”
“Hot date?” Brian asked.
“None of your goddammed business.”
“Will it kill you to be civil, Dorian? You haven’t finished your food,” Jean said.
“I can’t see a reason why I should be nice to anyone here.” He stormed from the room.
From somewhere in the house, the ringing of a phone call intruded until it suddenly stopped.
Estella put her head in. “Sorry to interrupt but there is a call for you, Mrs. Campbell.”
“Please take a message, Estella,” Jean said
“It’s Horace Beare.”
“I’ll take it in the library. Get Rosa to bring the coffee and cake when she’s ready. Please excuse me. I have to take this call.”
“What have you been doing, Brian?”
“You know the usual stuff, sightseeing, A bit of shopping but I’m not much of a shopper. I think it’s a girl thing,” he said as he polished off his meal.
“I can’t do that day trip thing that some women do. A couple of hours and I’ve had enough. I must be letting the side down but I’ve never liked walking around looking at stuff for hours on end,” Amanda said.
Rosa walked in carrying a tray of chocolate cake and their coffee.
“The salmon was cooked perfectly,” Amanda said to the cook. “No cake for me, thanks.”
“Thank you, Senorita,” she said as she served Brian.
He spooned some sugar into his coffee and then fiddled with the teaspoon.
There was a tension in the room, which hadn’t been so evident to her before. It wasn’t what he was saying, it was the way he’d lifted his shoulders and clunked the spoon on the table as if something was worrying him. Perhaps he didn’t like her. Now from where had that thought come? He hardly knew her, so he surely would not have formed such an opinion. Whatever it was, it was irritating. She glanced at him, and finished off her glass of wine.
Brian reached for the slice of chocolate cake beside him. “So you like art.”
“I would’ve thought that obvious,” she said.
“I’ve never had an interest in that stuff.” Brian said. “You’ve demolished that fish.”
“I haven’t had a decent meal since I left Sydney yesterday. I’m not a good traveler so I don’t eat much on planes. I just take a couple of those little travel sickness pills, which make me drowsy and spaced out.” She rose. “I need the loo. Back soon,” she said and left.
Amanda walked into the hallway; she could hear Dorian and Jean's voices in the room across the hall.
“Why can’t I have the money? It’ll be mine someday anyway.”
“I’m not having your father’s hard-earned money wasted on some Metropolitan Community Church in San Francisco,” Jean said.
“It’s mine and I want at least part of it now.”
“I’ll tell you what I told you last week when you asked. No! You get more than enough to live on. Give them some of that. With $400,000 a year from the trust fund to play with, surely you can spare some.”
“On that pittance.” Dorian forced out an ugly laugh. “I should have had it all when Dad died. But you had to come along and make him crazy for you. And you weren’t satisfied till you had a wedding ring on your finger.”
Amanda hesitated. She shouldn’t have been listening. She was not used to family arguing. Her parents hardly spoke.
The door flew open.
“You,” Dorian said. “I’ll bet she didn’t tell you why she hadn’t contacted either of you before this.”
“No, please don’t.” Jean rasped.
“You’re so rude,” Amanda said.
He didn’t even acknowledge that she’d spoken. “Dad didn’t know she’d had children. I didn’t know myself until a month ago.”
“What?” Amanda said.
Jean whispered. “He’d said when we had just married, he didn’t want any more children. And he ran down unmarried mothers. I didn’t know how he’d take it if he’d found out I’d had twins when I was seventeen.”
“You couldn’t even tell him. Here I was thinking it was some other reason that you hadn’t invited me before this.” Her mother’s words were like wire barbs twisting in Amanda’s chest. Jean hadn’t had the courage to speak the truth to Murray. Amanda wanted to turn and run as far away as possible but couldn’t. “I wish I hadn’t come.”
“I’ve made a mess of things. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Amanda. I wish-”
“Liar.” Dorian interrupted. “You didn’t want your children. I don’t know why you bothered to contact them now.”
“What I said about Murray is the truth. Dorian, please,” Jean said.
Amanda gasped. This was tearing her apart. What sort of mother was Jean really? She would have been far better off not knowing that she indeed had a mother such as Jean. The woman who had raised her had been worse, but this…it was killing her.
Brian joined them. “I heard the shouting. What is going on here?”
“It doesn’t concern you,” Dorian said.
“Don’t speak like that to Brian,” Jean said. “Are you okay, Amanda?”
She nodded and told herself to breathe. She needed a dose of Ventolin but the puffer was upstairs.
Jean put her arm around her. Amanda shrugged her off. “Don’t, please. I need time.”
“I was going to tell you, but not like this,” Jean said as she blinked away tears.
“What’s between the three of you has nothing to do with me.” Dorian said. “I still need the money. I’ll get Lionel Cohen to sign more of my trust fund over.”
Jean expelled a long breath. “He won’t. He knows how impulsive you are, and; you know what a stickler he is for rules. Besides, the terms of your father’s will make it very difficult to do that. You’ll have to wait till you’re thirty to get the rest.”
“You just want to keep your hold over me. Make me come to you for any extra. I’ll get it somehow.”
Dorian pushed past Amanda. He took a few steps then swung around. “I don’t know why you came. If it’s money you want: don’t bother. She’s so goddamned tight you won’t get a cent till she’s in her grave.”
CHAPTER 4
Amanda zipped up her raspberry-colored dress, and then stepped into her sandals, her thoughts centered on Dorian’s argument with Jean last night.
She recalled her mother’s words before Dorian strode away. “I’m sorry. I was going to tell you.”
Still wounded by Jean’s confession that she hadn’t been able to tell Murray she’d had twins, Amanda pulled aside the silk drapes, and the weak morning sun streamed in.
More than half of last night, she’d mulled over how it must have been for Jean faced with that decision. How could she begin to understand when she’d never had children?
That she blamed herself for the loss of her own unborn child at the age of twenty had been more than enough guilt for her to carry. It had been a horrific way to wake up to what she was doing to her body and start eating properly again.
From her bedroom, she could see a path curving from the veranda, past a winding narrow garden of mauve irises and white lilies; and at the cliff face, steps that disappeared downwards to the beach. Near the steps grew two Cypress pines that clung precariously to the rocky cliff face and leaned towards the restless, churning, water.
Even after last night’s incident, and the conflicting emotions that had brought her here, she was glad she’d come and been given the chance to meet her twin. Being part of a family again made her feel whole. She opened the window and heard the ocean crashing angrily against the rocks and the wind wooing as it skidded past the house.
No matter what the weather brought, she was looking forward to spending time with Brian.
A glance at the clock told her it was seven-thirty. She picked up her earrings from the French provincial dresser, had pushed one hoop in her lobe when she heard a scream.
The woman screamed again. Amanda opened the door and hurried toward the sound, which seemed to be coming from a room at the far end of the hallway.
She stopped in the doorway to Jean’s room. Estella stood sobbing beside a writing bureau, her face buried in her hands. A broken cup lay at her feet. She looked up as Amanda entered.
“She’s….” Her voice trailed off.
Amanda couldn’t understand her, but she noticed the stricken woman staring towards the ensuite bathroom, its door half-open.
Heart hammering, she pushed the door open as far as it would go.
“No,” she gasped. “No.”
Jean was sprawled on the tiled floor, her eyes open, staring at nothing, her mouth agape as if wanting to say one last word. Her blue satin dressing gown had fallen open, revealing her negligee.
A sense of unreality gripped Amanda.
“Is she?” Amanda couldn’t say the word but she knew the answer to her question. There was no life left in her mother’s body.
A toothbrush lay beside Jean’s outstretched fingers. Amanda stared hard at them, wanting them to curl around the handle, to show some small sign of life.
Finally, she moved her gaze to the marble vanity. There lay the mundane necessities of the living—a half-drunk glass of water, an open bottle of mouthwash, toothpaste, an open bottle of pills, perfume, lipstick and a compact.
The blue dressing gown…
Was it still a dream...her dream? She opened her mouth to scream but no sound came out. The tap was running, and the sound echoed through her thoughts.
The scene swam out of focus. Her head felt light, and the room seemed suddenly darker. She could smell the soft scent of wildflowers and sandalwood as she felt herself sink to the floor.
***
CHAPTER 1
Amanda Blake opened the door of the silver Rolls Royce and nervously sucked in the Monterey sea air. Oh God, she was terrified that this wasn’t going to go well.
She shouldn’t have accepted the invitation. She could’ve been in Tasmania taking photos of Tasmanian devils for National Geographic instead. The knot in her stomach tightened as she climbed out and hoped that she was up for whatever would happen.
The chauffeur hurried around to help her.
“Thanks, but I can manage,” she said. “Ricardo, isn’t it?”
He nodded and straightened his cap that partly covered his short black hair.
She fumbled in her purse for some notes, which were all the same color. Unlike home, she had to remember to tip everyone here. She pulled out ten dollars.
Ricardo he shook his head when he saw it.
Was the bill too much or too little?
“Mrs. Campbell pay me good. I work for Mrs. Campbell for many years. She ask me to look after you,” Ricardo said with a heavy Mexican accent.
Amanda bit her upper lip. Her first blunder and she’d just arrived. She shaded her eyes from the afternoon sun and stared at the modern brick, concrete and glass mansion perched on about an acre of prime California real estate. This house must have a dozen bedrooms from the size of it. It screamed of money and privilege…something she’d never experienced.
The contents of the letter that had shattered the illusion of her world and lured her half way round the world remained branded in her memory.
Dear Amanda,
It is hard to know where to begin. I regret that I never made contact with you before, but this was the agreement I made with your parents. Even now, I am writing to you now with the permission of your father, Samuel.
I wish there were a gentler way to break this news to you. Elaine is not the woman who gave birth to you, I am. Nor is Samuel your biological father. He can verify this. I know your life has been reasonably happy from the annual letters Samuel sends me.
I know you must have many questions you want answered. Please direct them to me, since I am the only one who can answer the circumstances of your birth.
I hope you can forgive me for this sudden intrusion.
Please come and stay with me as soon as you can. I have enclosed an open-ended ticket to California for you.
I want so much to see you.
Yours sincerely,
Jean Campbell.
Amanda had traveled from her home in Sydney to meet the woman who had given her up at birth. Now Amanda hoped her trip wouldn’t be in vain.
Google had provided a reasonable amount of information, but not the things she really wanted to know. What was this mother really like? And why did this woman feel compelled to break this news to her now? Twice, she picked up the phone to call this woman named Jean but stopped short. She’d been too nervous and didn’t know what to say to a stranger who was her mother. At least if she’d called, she’d have gotten to know her a little.
One of the double-fronted doors swung open. A short woman wearing a maid’s garb, with her black hair pulled back into a bun, hurried down the granite steps.
“Welcome. My name is Estella,” the woman said.
Startled, Amanda took a half step back. Chauffeurs, maids …what next? She heard the Rolls start forward. “Oh! My bags, my camera. He’s forgotten about them.” She swung around and waved, trying to attract Ricardo’s attention.
“Please do not worry, Miss Amanda. He will take your luggage to your room.” The maid spoke English quite well but her Mexican accent was still evident. “Mrs. Campbell is please you have come. She is waiting for you inside.”
***
“Jean, have you heard anything I’ve said?” Lionel Cohen, her balding and overweight lawyer asked, seated beside her on the cream damask sofa.
“I hope Amanda likes me.” Jean Campbell pressed her manicured hands to her temples. “Oh she’ll probably hate me, despise me. Be upset that no one’s told her. That I hadn’t contacted her years ago.”
“I did suggest it would have been better to leave it.”
Jean looked suddenly towards the door. “Is that Ricardo?”
She jumped up and straightened her silk skirt. “I should be out there to greet her.”
“Come back and sit down. We’re not done. Estella will bring her in.”
“But-” Jean began.
“You want to look calm, don’t you?” Lionel interrupted. “She doesn’t need to know how desperate you are for her acceptance.”
But I am, she thought. “And her love, Lionel… the child must feel abandoned by me. I have only one chance for a good impression.”
He put his glasses into his suit pocket and then picked up some documents from the coffee table. “I can’t say that I agree with the changes, but I’ll get them done and back to you tomorrow.” His tone was grudging. Lionel was a good lawyer, Jean mused, but he was an extremely old-fashioned man, with outdated ideas; he didn’t like that she’d gone against his advice. Though, she couldn’t divulge to him what she knew yet until it was confirmed. If all went as planned, tomorrow would be the day.
Jean pulled out a knitted baby’s bootie from her suit pocket. “I slipped it off Amanda’s foot the last time I saw her.” She shook her head as the memory of that heart-wrenching moment assaulted her. “You can’t imagine...”
“No, I guess not,” he said, giving her a blank stare.
Twice she’d managed to sneak into the nursery to see Amanda. It was during the second time that she’d taken the bootie off that tiny pink foot.
For many months afterwards, she’d cried herself to sleep. Every year, on Amanda’s birthday, she sank into the shadows where there was no hope, only alcohol, and lately prescription medications from any doctor whom her money could still convince. The melancholy took many weeks to lift and the supply of pills always dried up. Her daughter’s birthday was tomorrow. Now, for the first time in thirty years, she hoped they would celebrate it together.
“Is there anything else you want to add to this draft?” Lionel said holding up the pages in his hand. “I’m advising you not to leave-”
Jean held up her hand. “Lionel, I've agonized over this, you know that.” After staring at the bootie again, she put it back into her pocket along with the years of guilty memories. “Somehow, I have to try to make it up to her.” Something I should have done long before this, she said to herself.
“I’m tired of people telling me what I should do.” She lifted her head to look at Lionel. “I lived with that when Murray was alive. You know what it was like—he told me who I should see, who I could speak to, what I should wear. No one will dictate my life again. I’m sorry, Lionel, not even my closest friend.”
***
The sound of Amanda’s low heels on the stairs announced her arrival and with each step, she grew more apprehensive.
The white dress she wore, was it too casual? Perhaps she should have changed into a suit? However, the only one she owned was past its expiration date. She paused in her stride and tried to gain some strength from the confident woman she’d worked so hard to become. Well, at least, her workmates often told her she was fearless. Forget the dingoes and snakes, they’d been easy compared to what she was facing now. She’d even Googled a few places to stay just in case things didn’t work out today.
Did it really matter what Jean thought of her? She hated to admit it, but her opinion did matter. For all the reasons she had to dislike Jean and what she’d done, there was one reason to like her that outweighed them all. She would have a mother again. It had been a long, lonely eighteen years without one.
To still her nerves, she stared at anything and everything, from the ceiling-to-floor water cascade on colored glass, to the huge Andy Warhol by the wood and glass-paneled staircase.
What would her mother think of her? What if she didn’t like what she saw? Her breath caught. The thought made her turn to run outside.
“This way, Senorita,” Estella held open the door to the living room.
Too late for escape now, she thought.
A balding man carrying a briefcase and wearing a tight-lipped smile came towards her. “It's a pleasure to meet you, Ms. Blake.” He pumped her hand. “Lionel Cohen, I’m Jean’s lawyer. I’m the reason Jean couldn't meet you at the airport.”
Amanda found herself staring incredulously at an older copy of herself. A slim blonde, dressed in a white and navy suit, crossed the expanse of beige carpet towards her. This woman had given her up at birth. What sort of a mother would do that?
“Pleased to meet you,” Amanda finally said to the lawyer.
“Tomorrow around noon, Jean?” he asked.
“I’ll be here.” Jean said.
“No one would mistake you for anything other than mother and daughter. The resemblance is striking,” he said before he left.
“Amanda?” The name hung hesitantly between them.
“I can’t believe it.” It stunned Amanda to see what looked like her own, deep-blue eyes staring back; unlike her own, they seemed to be brimming with welcome and acceptance.
“I knew there was a likeness from the photo you sent me, but seeing you here now…well it’s wonderful,” Jean said.
“I’m surprised you still have a bit of an Aussie accent.”
“That’s what people tell me, but I can’t hear it myself.” The older woman drew her into a warm embrace. Nonplussed, Amanda stiffened at the unexpected display of warmth. She bent down a little to let her mother kiss first one cheek then the other. The scent of wildflowers and sandalwood lingered in the air as her mother withdrew.
“It’s so good to meet you at last,” Jean said. “I’m sorry I wasn’t able to be there at the airport. I hope Ricardo looked after you in my place.”
“Thank you for the invitation and the first class ticket, Mrs. Campbell.” Amanda was pleased how calmly she answered this woman even though her heart was drumming so hard against her ribs that she felt certain this woman could hear it.
“It was my pleasure. Please…call me Jean.”
The urge to call someone mum again, maybe this someone, was there inside her.
“I’ve left a smudge of lipstick. Let me wipe it off.”
The intimacy of Jean’s touch stirred an unexpected response from within, elation and something else that she couldn't identify, like being atop the crest of a wave, and the feeling was so new. She worked hard to stop tears from surfacing.
“Make yourself comfortable.” Jean buzzed the intercom beside the marble fireplace and asked for two cafe au lattes.
“That’s just the way I like it.” How did she find out? Who had told her? Amanda drew in a deep steadying breath, and took in the quiet ambience that she’d been too preoccupied to notice until now. She recognized two Picassos, a Degas, and a Monet among the paintings on the walls. Everything fitted together; everything was carefully matched, and mismatched. She sank into a wing-backed chair and stared the expansive view of the ocean that she only enjoyed on occasion, but for Jean it was a normal everyday outlook.
Jean smiled as she settled into the chair nearby. “How was your flight?”
“Good.” Amanda couldn’t return her smile; she couldn’t relax. “Thanks for the first class ticket.” My God, she’d thanked the woman again. Get a grip, she told herself as she suppressed a yawn, her coping mechanism. This woman would think her bored.
“I know it's a long journey from Sydney. If you’d prefer, you can go upstairs to your room and rest? We can talk later.”
So she’d caught her yawn. “I came here to find out so many things that I hardly know where to begin?”
“Ask and I will try to answer,” Jean said.
Amanda steeled herself. “Why did you wait so long?” When she saw the puzzled look on Jean’s face, she realized what she’d said. Jean must think her an idiot. She swallowed and began again. “Sorry. What I meant was…why contact me now? Why not years ago? Why contact me at all? I'd have probably not found out until Dad died, and found the adoption papers among his documents.”
Estella carried in a tray of petite-fours and hot drinks and set them down on the low table in front of them.
Jean watched the maid leave and then said, “I still remember your birth as if it was yesterday. I was only seventeen at the time. No money, no job.”
This woman recalled what…that she’d given birth to an unwanted child. “What about the father, my real father? Wouldn’t he support you?” Why didn't her mother address Amanda's first question?
Jean’s hand trembled as she sugared her coffee. “He moved away before I’d summoned up the courage to tell him I was pregnant.”
“I hoped that I would have a chance to find him.” He may have been a victim like her. It had been hell as a child not knowing from one day to the next what mood her mother, Elaine, would be in. “Did you know that Elaine, well I still think of her as my mother, was a manic-depressive? Dad told me when he thought I was old enough to understand. And…” She paused to get a lid on the sadness that welled up from somewhere deep inside. “Not long after that…I’m not good at this…I guess you know my mother committed suicide.”
“Samuel did write to me. I am sorry things worked out that way for you.”
“Sorry doesn’t cover it.” Was that all this woman could say! Amanda picked at the edge of a napkin as her eyes smarted with tears. “It wasn’t easy living with a mother like that.”
At times, it was terrifying. That was past and she’d done her best to bury it but it didn’t always stay that way. “Why did you give me up for adoption? Your family, wouldn’t they support you?” She wanted more justification for why Jean hadn’t been able to raise her. Furthermore, that Jean had really wanted her.
“My father’s business was bankrupt. My parents were in no position to help me. It was just about impossible in those days in a country town to keep your baby as a single mother. Orange, where I grew up, was no different.”
“Adoption was encouraged by everyone from the doctor to the hospital staff. Also, I thought you’d have a better chance at a normal life with a mother and father to care for you.”
How she wished her family had been normal. Amanda went to sugar her coffee but stopped herself.
She sipped her drink in an effort to suppress the urge to say what she really thought. I missed out on a mother because you gave me away. Elaine wasn’t a real mother to me.
“Who’s my real father?”
“I can’t remember.” Jean’s face colored, she would not meet Amanda’s gaze.
“I don’t care if he’s good, bad, single, or married; I just want a chance to meet him.” Amanda stirred her coffee as she battled to keep a calm exterior.
“I don’t know where you’d even begin to look for him. He was someone I knew for a brief period in my life. I’m sorry. I can’t remember his last name.”
“Record of birth at the hospital?”
“You were registered under my maiden name,” Jean sipped her coffee.
“I’d like to try and find him.”
Her mother’s face drained of color. “Don’t.”
“Why not?”
“He was…a married man.”
She was determined to go to the hospital when she got back home to see if she could somehow trace her father.
“If I could wind back the clock I’d have done things differently,” Jean said.
Agitated, Amanda pushed her fingers through her hair. “I can’t believe that mum and dad kept this secret from me for nearly thirty years.” She’d come home for a weekend’s break from her latest assignment, and Jean’s letter had been waiting for her.
“I agreed to this when I was too young to know better. I know this doesn’t excuse it but it’s a decision that I’ve bitterly regretted,” Jean said.
“Why didn’t you do something about it before?”
Jean’s eyes looked glassy. Was she holding back tears?
“Please, help yourself. They’re fresh from the French bakery.” Her mother gestured to the tray of petite-fours.
“You think I want cake? What about my father? She swallowed nervously, uncomfortable with Jean’s display of emotion.
“You can’t be watching your weight? You have a lovely trim figure.”
“Why are you changing the subject? Okay…I’ll have one.” You won’t want to know about that, she thought.
“You look a little flushed. Are you okay?”
“I’m still trying to adjust. Finding out you’re my mother and Elaine…not being. Meeting you.” Had this trip been a big mistake? For her own peace of mind, she’d known she had no other possible choice. Cool down, she told herself, give this woman a chance.
Jean selected a pastry. “My father died about ten years ago and about four years ago I brought my mom over here to live. But after mom was diagnosed with dementia, I had to put her in a nursing home. We can go there another day.”
Amanda leaned forward momentarily. “I’d like to visit her.”
“I’ll arrange it. Some fresh air might do us good.” Jean rose, crossed the room to the glass bi-fold doors, and opened them onto a wrap-around veranda. The distant sound of seagulls seemed to dispel some of the tension in the room.
Jean’s steps began to falter as she walked back to the wing-backed chair. Amanda wondered if she had an injury.
“My husband, Murray, passed away last year.”
“Your husband, he wasn’t my father, was he?” A stab in the dark to see what response it provoked.
Jean blinked. “No. I met Murray in my mid-twenties when I was on a working holiday in California. We fell in love…and eventually married.”
“Why should I believe anything you say when you’ve done your best to evade my questions?”
“I wouldn’t lie to you,” Jean said.
“Then answer my questions.”
CHAPTER 2
The Campbell home was perched on a cliff that jutted out to meet the ocean. From his vantage point on the beach, Brian McMahon saw the prearranged signal. Jean had opened the veranda doors.
He raced across the coarse gray sand, and past large boulders that seemed like some giant had strewn handfuls of them at the bottom of the cliff. His fingers skimmed the handrail as he bounded up the steps carved into the cliff's rocky face.
Slow down, he told himself when he reached the top; Jean needs time alone with her. Allow them both some time. However, he was dying to meet Amanda.
Borders of scented lilies and irises were just splashes of color as he hurried along the path that led to the covered courtyard. He felt the eagerness of a young schoolboy, the schoolboy he’d never been. It took all his self-control to pause at the back door. These boyish thoughts took him back to when he was fourteen and living on that run-down acre with that alcoholic he called a father.
He’d never known the carefree life of a teenager: to enjoy going to the local movie theater in the school holidays like the other boys did. He’d been too busy surviving.
***
Jean closed her eyes momentarily. “Give me a chance. That’s all I ask.”
“I’ve come all this way not because I’m just curious but to find out what I can and you keep putting me off. That’s so infuriating. You’re starting to sound like Samuel who won’t tell me anything no matter how many times I ask.”
“Your father was a sales representative for a large company that sold machinery and parts. It would be impossible to trace him.”
“Thank you.” Finally, she was getting somewhere.
“I know I must be repeating myself, but it’s wonderful to have you here at last. I can't tell you how much this means to me.” Jean turned away. Not before Amanda saw a tear roll down Jean’s cheek.
Amanda suppressed the sudden kindling of similar emotion. “If it hadn’t been for the photo shoot I was doing on dolphins in Western Australia, I’d have been here weeks ago. Right now, I should be in Tasmania doing a piece with a writer for the Australian Geographic.”
“Your job sounds demanding.”
“I’ve been taking photos ever since I can remember. Mostly since the part-time job at a photographic studio while I was in high school. Why I chose to do accountancy at university I don’t know.”
“What happened?”
“One year was all I managed before I threw it in. Then I was back at the studio. That’s where I learnt my trade.” The hobby that became her passion had kept her sane when the darkness in her mind seemed to overwhelm her, and she thought she would go down the same path as her mother. Well, the woman she’d believed to be her mother.
Jean picked up a ring-bound folder from the coffee table and handed it to Amanda. “I’ve kept a scrapbook of your work.”
Amanda leafed through it. “How did…that’s from Geo, and that spread, the National Geographic? Even the one I did for Black and White. That one shot. You’ve no idea. I had to hang upside down under a bridge.”
“Wasn’t that dangerous? You could’ve been killed.”
Amanda laughed, and couldn’t believe she had. “I had so many harnesses on me, I could hardly move.” Jean cared…she really cared. A welling of heartfelt feeling expanded in her chest, it was so unfamiliar that it threatened to overwhelm her. She took a deep steadying breath. “I’m surprised that you’ve collected all these.”
For more years than she could remember, she’d yearned for some small sign of interest in her work from Samuel. She’d driven herself harder and harder to win any show of pride from him. However, it was never enough.
“Mum…oh I mean Elaine-”
“It’s okay,” Jean said.
“Mum gave me my first camera for my twelfth birthday.” It was one of the few presents she’d ever received. After the Christmas holidays, her school friends would talk about their presents and Christmas parties. Not to feel left out, she’d invented grand parties, and extravagant presents.
“It was soon after that that she…she’d...” The guilt still hung over her even now. Psychologists had tried to convince her it wasn’t her fault. They'd told her that if she’d stayed home that day it wouldn't have made any difference. But she thought somehow, some way, she could have stopped her mum from killing herself.
“It must have been hard. How did you cope?”
“Dad got someone to cook and clean for us.” That was what this woman wanted to hear. Not that she was in her early twenties and sought help because she still blamed herself for her mother’s suicide.
“You have a boyfriend. Any long term plans in that direction?”
“I called off our engagement ages ago. Charles wanted me barefoot and pregnant right after we were married. Can you believe that?” Also, there had been another reason, one that she'd barely acknowledged until now: the fear that she would be the same type of mother Elaine had been. “How did you find out about him?”
“Samuel.” Jean said.
“Dad told you everything? How dare he!” Did he tell Jean about the anorexia? He couldn’t have. He’d never acknowledged that she’d had a problem. Her pent-up anger against him flared anew.
“He only told me of the milestones in your life. My letter must have come as a surprise to you.”
“You can’t imagine how it feels to suddenly find out that your mother wasn’t your mother. No explanation from Dad or from you in your letter. My whole life was suddenly a lie.”
Jean drew in a long breath. “I’m so sorry. I regretted giving you away from the moment I signed the contract. And the agreement…that I was not to have any contact with you.” She shook her head. “I was too young to know any different then. I wanted to call you, to hear your voice, so many times.”
Many times…her mother actually said that? One brick, from the wall around her heart, fell. “Really?”
Jean reached over and touched her hand. “Yes.”
Amanda shrank back, hesitant to accept what her mother said.
“I meant what I said,” Jean whispered. Tears welled in her eyes.
Amanda’s emotions were in the verge of spilling over. “Don’t cry. You’re making me cry too.” Amanda dabbed her eyes.
“I can’t help it.” Jean blew her nose.
“It’s okay.”
They sat in silence for a while until they had composed themselves. Embarrassing as it was, she had to acknowledge that Jean had done her a favor.
And, she wasn’t comfortable about Jean prying to her private affairs. “Thank you for paying my bills. I made a few bad investments-”
Jean held up her hand. “No need to explain. I’m glad I could help.”
“How did you find out?”
“I have my sources.”
Amanda reminded herself that there were still plenty of unanswered questions and this was why she’d come, so she ploughed on.
“After all these years of keeping secrets with Samuel…why…why now?”
Jean stared at the floor. “I wish I had contacted you sooner.”
Just when she thought that their relationship had grown a little, again her mother evaded the question.
“I have a twenty-two year old stepson, Dorian.”
“Your husband’s son?”
“Yes. Murray’s first wife died long before I met him.”
“What’s your stepson like?”
“Dorian’s studying entertainment law at Berkeley. He usually stays there through the week, but tonight he’s coming home for dinner. You’ll meet him then.”
“Anyone else I should know about? Any more brothers or sisters?”
“Only one and he’s outside waiting to meet you.”
“Are you serious?” Then she saw the look on her mother’s face. She glanced toward the door and started to rise. “My brother? My real brother?”
The mantelpiece clock chimed the hour as Jean nervously smoothed down her skirt. The stillness in the room seemed suddenly suffocating.
Long moments passed before Jean answered. “He’s your twin.”
“What?” Stunned, Amanda sat down again. Jesus, were there any more secrets?
“Did you raise him?”
“Brian was adopted as well.”
Amanda noticed Jean’s eyes were momentarily shadowed with what could have been pain. Was it for Brian? Why?
A thousand questions vied for primacy in Amanda’s head. “Tell me about him. What’s he like?”
“Brian works somewhere near Darwin as a stock hand on a large station, yes station. I’m sure he called it that.”
Amanda heard the front door slam and footsteps echoed down the hall.
“He arrived from the Northern Territory twelve days ago,” Jean said. “That should be him now. You both received an identical letter from me.”
Amanda’s heart pounded as a tall man strode in. His hair, a darker blond than hers, looked like it had been hurriedly combed into place.
She half rose, sat down, and then rose again, uncertain how to greet him as he crossed the carpet to her.
“My God, you do look like a younger version. You've got to be Amanda, I’m Brian.”
“Hi.” This man: her twin…had no hint of the typical Aussie outback drawl she’d expected after hearing that he was a stock hand. She drank in the sight of him with disbelief. The resemblance, although definitely male, was there. His eyes were deep green with hints of gold.
“Hard to take all this in, isn’t it, Sis?”
A full head taller than she, and she wasn't short, he had to bend over to kiss her cheek.
She didn’t like the liberty he took by calling her “Sis.” Her mind was in turmoil. She supposed she should embrace him but couldn’t.
He was still staring at her; she recalled he’d asked a question. “I’m still adjusting,” she said.
“Me too. It's weird isn't it?”
What had his life been like? Had it been as lonely as hers, longing for a sibling to grow up with, to share secrets with; and she had plenty of those.
“You’re looking lovely.” He leaned over, lightly pressed his lips to Jean’s cheek, and then made for an armchair. His suntanned frame seemed to slide into it in one lithe movement.
“How long have you known about me?” Amanda asked as she sat down again. He looked too well dressed for a country boy in slim-fit chinos and Ralph Lauren polo shirt.
Brian shrugged. “Almost a week now, Sis. So I've had a little more time to get used to all this.”
“Don’t call me Sis. I’m not sure if I like it,” she said. He was taking liberties, albeit not large ones, and it didn’t sit well with her.
“Oh, for God’s sake, I can’t see a problem. You’re not going to get all strange about this, are you?”
“You’re being pushy. You’ve had the advantage over me. You knew I was coming but I didn’t know that I had a brother, let alone a twin brother.” Amanda gritted her teeth to stop herself from snapping at him any further.
“Where did you grow up?” she asked.
He blinked. “We moved a lot. But, Wollongong mostly.”
“I grew up in Ryde.”
“Upper class, huh?”
She bristled. “No. Working class.”
“You haven’t met Dorian yet, have you?”
She shook her head.
“I wonder what you’ll think of him when you do.”
“Why?” Was Dorian handicapped or was it something else entirely?
Brian smiled. “Wait and see.”
She didn’t know what he was on about but she couldn’t think straight. It was as if a fog was settling on her brain and her eyelids were heavy. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me but I think I’ll have to lie down.”
“Pleasant dreams, Sis.”
CHAPTER 3
Amanda stifled a scream, and jerked herself upright in bed, her skin slippery with perspiration. Her heart felt like it was bursting through her chest. It was the same nightmare she’d had with startling regularity for the past month since she’d received Jean’s letter.
Her hand trembled as she switched on the bedside lamp. 8:00 p.m. How had she managed to sleep the afternoon away? No way would she sleep later tonight after the nightmare she’d just had.
The creepy part was that she could picture it as if it she were still there. The strange bedroom with hardly a stick of furniture from which she was desperately trying to escape, but her legs wouldn’t move. She stared at her hands smeared with blood. She was terrified of something or someone. Suddenly the dream had moved on, and she was in a little tiled room and she could hear running water. Then, as usual, she saw a woman lying on the floor, her blue dressing gown flung open. Somehow, she knew the woman was dead. Every time she tried to peer at the face, she woke drenched with sweat. However, this time, she knew why she did not dare see that face: she feared it was her own.
Now every dark corner seemed threatening. She flicked on the overhead lights, and ran to the ensuite bathroom. She locked the door behind her, and slumped against the wood. Breathe, she told herself. When her gasps returned to something more normal, she turned on the shower, undressed, and stepped under the stinging hot stream. The spray cascaded down her skin and relaxed her limbs as she lathered up. She stood there until her skin was wrinkled before she stepped out.
Amanda returned to the bedroom feeling refreshed and hungry. She dressed and made her way downstairs.
They might have eaten by now, she guessed. Leftovers might be all she’d be offered. When she was working late editing shots, dinner was whatever was in the fridge that still looked edible. Or she’d get take-away.
She picked up her digital camera—the professional equipment she’d left at home—from the French dresser and went into the hallway.
She passed Brian and Dorian’s rooms, which were opposite each other, as she continued to the staircase.
As she came down the stairs, someone burst in the front door and strode down the hallway.
Estella emerged from the living room carrying a tray of empty glasses and nearly collided with a reed-thin male. “Lo siento, Dorian. I did not see you.”
“Martini, Estella. You know how I like it.” He strutted into the lounge in his distressed designer jeans and t-shirt.
Amanda was a few steps behind him. “Hi everyone. Sorry I overslept. I guess you’ve had dinner?
“Just about to,” Brian said.
“What’s this, a party?” Dorian said.
“Dorian. You knew Amanda was coming today.” Jean clasped her hands together. “Are you feeling better now, Amanda?”
‘I had a nightmare,’ Amanda said.
“How awful. I hope it wasn’t the room.”
Her mother showed real concern. Well, it seemed real enough but she’d rather not had that horrible dream at all. “The room’s lovely. I’ve had this dream before. I don’t know why.”
“They’re only dreams,” Brian said.
“You never had a nightmare?” she asked.
He hesitated for a moment. “It's not like they mean anything.”
Although he was not admitting to this, she noted the pause before he spoke and thought he didn’t like to confess to any weaknesses.
“A beer,” Brian said.
“Nothing for me, thanks,” Jean said.
Amanda had guessed that her mother would refuse. How did she know what this woman liked? Was it some sort of mother-daughter thing?
“Would you like a beer, Miss Amanda?” Estella asked.
“I know I’m letting the side down but I can’t drink the stuff. Water,” Amanda said.
“Lo siento.” Estella apologized. “I thought all Australians liked it. I visited your country last year. My cousin drinks beer. She lives in Wollon…something.”
“It could be Wollongong if it’s down the coast from Sydney,” Amanda said.
“Do you eat fish, Amanda?” Jean asked.
“Love it.”
“Good. Estella, get Rosa to cook another serving, please.”
Dorian stopped beside a side-table pushed up against a wall and stared at her. His untidy brown hair fell to one side across his forehead; his features had no softness, from his hollowed cheeks to an angular jaw. “Oh yes. The only children to come from your womb are all finally here. Isn't that just so Brady Bunch.”
“Dorian, stop that,” Jean said.
“So what. Half of the Brady Bunch were step-children, Dorian,” Brian said.
Dorian ignored him and plucked one of the white lilies from the crystal vase on the table. He watched the water drip onto the carpet.
Amanda was surprised that her mother didn’t reprimand Dorian further. He certainly deserved it.
Understandable that he should feel like the two of them were muscling in on his turf, Amanda thought. However, it was not of her doing. She would have to tolerate his rudeness for the moment, she didn't plan on making him a regular part of her life. Who was he to her, anyway?
Brian glared at the other man. “Cut that out. You're going to ruin mum's carpet.”
Jean blinked when Brian called her mum. Maybe she was still getting used to him calling her mum. Amanda couldn’t bring herself to do so yet.
Dorian jabbed the flower back in its place. “So you're Amanda then?”
Amanda sat back. “In the skin.”
“How long are you staying?”
“I'm not sure yet.”
“Music?” He strode to the stereo, and scanned the list for tunes.
Brian drummed his fingers on the armrest when the deafening voice of a singer and his backing band—which Amanda had never heard before— filled the room.
“Please, turn down the volume,” Jean said.
Thank goodness, her mother had spoken up.
“Can you play something softer not that crazy thump, thump stuff?” Now Amanda was showing her age.
“Only trying to get into party mode,” Dorian said.
“This is not that sort of a party, mate. Some of us don’t want to compete with that,” Brian said.
“Dorian!” Jean yelled.
Her stepson turned down the sound. “I couldn’t wait to meet my dear half-sister. Although she isn’t quite that, is she?’
Jean’s mouth was set in a firm line. She looked angry, which made Amanda more annoyed at Dorian’s behavior.
‘Now what is she? Half stepsister. What a nice mouthful.” He flounced to Amanda’s side, bent over and kissed her cheek. “You must tell me what color eye shadow you’re wearing. I love it.”
Stunned by his behaviour and his question, it took her a moment to answer. He was trying to provoke her and it was working. “Straight-brown. I don’t know if it would suit you.”
Estella brought their drinks. “Dinner is ready. I can carry the drinks to the dining room.”
“Thank you, Estella,” Jean said as she rose.
They all made their way to the next room where a long walnut and fir table was dressed with a low centerpiece of hothouse orchids and silver candlesticks. “Could you sit there, Amanda, and you opposite, Brian.” Jean said.
Dorian’s sat at one end and Jean at the other.
The surrounding walls held artworks from old masters. “Isn’t that a Degas, and that one a Claude Monet? I love his work. His country scenes always remind me of summer.”
“You know something of art?” Jean said.
“I discovered Monet when I studied art in high school. I could rave on about him all day.”
“I buy what I like and I like his work.” Jean took a tiny sip of her drink.
Dorian rolled his eyes and yawned.
“Would you like some white wine, Amanda?” Brian asked.
She nodded and he poured a glass for her. “Do you mind if I take photos?”
“Go ahead,” Jean smiled as Amanda focused.
Brian pulled a face, and flung up his hands as she clicked.
“I hate photos,” he said.
“It’s for an album I’m starting for us,” Amanda said as she took more shots.
“Didn’t you hear me?” Brian said.
“Please. What’s wrong with a few family pics?”
“Too ugly, huh?” Dorian smirked.
“Drop it, Dorian. I don’t like to have my picture taken.” He turned his head away. “Put the camera away, Sis.”
Not wanting to upset him further, she put her camera down.
“I’ll put them all on CD and you can all have a copy.” She intended to put them onto her phone as well so she could remind herself that these people were her real family. For years, she’d wanted a sibling with whom to laugh and to hang out. Now this was happening, she had an urge to pinch herself and make sure she wasn’t imagining it.
As she took her place next to Brian, she noticed two gift boxes on the table. One slightly large box was in front of her seat and the smaller one in front of Brian. “My birthday’s not till tomorrow.”
Jean smiled. “I couldn’t wait. Go on. Both of you.”
“Thank you,” she said.
Brian lifted the lid on his present. “Thanks for the gold pen.” He scribbled on the paper napkin. “Well, it works.”
“I’d be very surprised if it didn’t.”
As Amanda slipped off the red ribbon, her eyes moistened. Many birthdays and Christmases had come and gone with hardly a gift from her parents…and now this… Sadness welled up in her throat and she felt like she was choking. She couldn’t bring herself to open the box.
She coughed. That somehow relieved the intensity of that emotion, and she glanced up. Her mother smiled a wistful smile. Could she read her thoughts? She hoped not.
“Go ahead and open it,” Jean said.
When she saw the gift, she sucked in a breath. “Pink pearls. I love them.” She put them back onto their bed of velvet. “I’m sorry. I didn’t bring you anything.”
A gift for a mother-come-lately wasn’t even a consideration when she’d booked this visit. She’d been too busy trying to come to terms with having a mother again. Now that she’d met this woman, and had been given a gift, she felt guilty. “I can’t possibly accept them.”
“Murray gave me those South Sea pearls for our first anniversary. Please, I want you to have them. I hope they’ll be as special for you now as they were for me then.”
“Thank you.” Amanda pulled her blonde bob aside and tried to put them on but she was so nervous that she couldn’t secure the diamond-encrusted clasp.
“Let me,” Brian said. Then he drew back. “They look nice.”
She fingered them. “They’re beautiful.”
A silver-haired white-aproned woman carried in a tray with their meals of grilled salmon with sautéed potato, asparagus, and salad.
“Thank you, Rosa,” Jean said.
The cook busied herself with offering each of them condiments.
“Got any ideas what you’d like to do tomorrow?” Brian asked.
Amanda picked up her wine glass. “No. What have you got in mind?”
“What about we catch the tourist spots around Monterey and Carmel, then we can lunch at a little café that I found in Carmel,” Brian said.
“Perfect.” She tasted her wine. “Nice.”
“Can I get a rain check on that? Lionel Cohen, the man you met earlier, is coming over. We have some urgent legal matters to attend to,” Jean said.
She shrugged. “I guess we can do something together another day.”
Jean must have sensed her disappointment because she reached over and touched her hand. “How about this Saturday the two of us go to Ano Nuevo State Reserve. It’s famous for its elephant seals and sea lions. And I know a great little Italian place where we can stop for lunch. Afterwards we can go visit your grandmother.”
“Sounds great and I can’t wait to see my gran.” Her spirits lifted at the thought. Amanda tucked into the salmon, which was delicious.
“Don’t get your hopes up. Half the time, she doesn’t recognize me when I visit,” Jean said sadly.
Dorian ate another mouthful of fish and suddenly pushed the plate away. “I’m going out.”
“Hot date?” Brian asked.
“None of your goddammed business.”
“Will it kill you to be civil, Dorian? You haven’t finished your food,” Jean said.
“I can’t see a reason why I should be nice to anyone here.” He stormed from the room.
From somewhere in the house, the ringing of a phone call intruded until it suddenly stopped.
Estella put her head in. “Sorry to interrupt but there is a call for you, Mrs. Campbell.”
“Please take a message, Estella,” Jean said
“It’s Horace Beare.”
“I’ll take it in the library. Get Rosa to bring the coffee and cake when she’s ready. Please excuse me. I have to take this call.”
“What have you been doing, Brian?”
“You know the usual stuff, sightseeing, A bit of shopping but I’m not much of a shopper. I think it’s a girl thing,” he said as he polished off his meal.
“I can’t do that day trip thing that some women do. A couple of hours and I’ve had enough. I must be letting the side down but I’ve never liked walking around looking at stuff for hours on end,” Amanda said.
Rosa walked in carrying a tray of chocolate cake and their coffee.
“The salmon was cooked perfectly,” Amanda said to the cook. “No cake for me, thanks.”
“Thank you, Senorita,” she said as she served Brian.
He spooned some sugar into his coffee and then fiddled with the teaspoon.
There was a tension in the room, which hadn’t been so evident to her before. It wasn’t what he was saying, it was the way he’d lifted his shoulders and clunked the spoon on the table as if something was worrying him. Perhaps he didn’t like her. Now from where had that thought come? He hardly knew her, so he surely would not have formed such an opinion. Whatever it was, it was irritating. She glanced at him, and finished off her glass of wine.
Brian reached for the slice of chocolate cake beside him. “So you like art.”
“I would’ve thought that obvious,” she said.
“I’ve never had an interest in that stuff.” Brian said. “You’ve demolished that fish.”
“I haven’t had a decent meal since I left Sydney yesterday. I’m not a good traveler so I don’t eat much on planes. I just take a couple of those little travel sickness pills, which make me drowsy and spaced out.” She rose. “I need the loo. Back soon,” she said and left.
Amanda walked into the hallway; she could hear Dorian and Jean's voices in the room across the hall.
“Why can’t I have the money? It’ll be mine someday anyway.”
“I’m not having your father’s hard-earned money wasted on some Metropolitan Community Church in San Francisco,” Jean said.
“It’s mine and I want at least part of it now.”
“I’ll tell you what I told you last week when you asked. No! You get more than enough to live on. Give them some of that. With $400,000 a year from the trust fund to play with, surely you can spare some.”
“On that pittance.” Dorian forced out an ugly laugh. “I should have had it all when Dad died. But you had to come along and make him crazy for you. And you weren’t satisfied till you had a wedding ring on your finger.”
Amanda hesitated. She shouldn’t have been listening. She was not used to family arguing. Her parents hardly spoke.
The door flew open.
“You,” Dorian said. “I’ll bet she didn’t tell you why she hadn’t contacted either of you before this.”
“No, please don’t.” Jean rasped.
“You’re so rude,” Amanda said.
He didn’t even acknowledge that she’d spoken. “Dad didn’t know she’d had children. I didn’t know myself until a month ago.”
“What?” Amanda said.
Jean whispered. “He’d said when we had just married, he didn’t want any more children. And he ran down unmarried mothers. I didn’t know how he’d take it if he’d found out I’d had twins when I was seventeen.”
“You couldn’t even tell him. Here I was thinking it was some other reason that you hadn’t invited me before this.” Her mother’s words were like wire barbs twisting in Amanda’s chest. Jean hadn’t had the courage to speak the truth to Murray. Amanda wanted to turn and run as far away as possible but couldn’t. “I wish I hadn’t come.”
“I’ve made a mess of things. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Amanda. I wish-”
“Liar.” Dorian interrupted. “You didn’t want your children. I don’t know why you bothered to contact them now.”
“What I said about Murray is the truth. Dorian, please,” Jean said.
Amanda gasped. This was tearing her apart. What sort of mother was Jean really? She would have been far better off not knowing that she indeed had a mother such as Jean. The woman who had raised her had been worse, but this…it was killing her.
Brian joined them. “I heard the shouting. What is going on here?”
“It doesn’t concern you,” Dorian said.
“Don’t speak like that to Brian,” Jean said. “Are you okay, Amanda?”
She nodded and told herself to breathe. She needed a dose of Ventolin but the puffer was upstairs.
Jean put her arm around her. Amanda shrugged her off. “Don’t, please. I need time.”
“I was going to tell you, but not like this,” Jean said as she blinked away tears.
“What’s between the three of you has nothing to do with me.” Dorian said. “I still need the money. I’ll get Lionel Cohen to sign more of my trust fund over.”
Jean expelled a long breath. “He won’t. He knows how impulsive you are, and; you know what a stickler he is for rules. Besides, the terms of your father’s will make it very difficult to do that. You’ll have to wait till you’re thirty to get the rest.”
“You just want to keep your hold over me. Make me come to you for any extra. I’ll get it somehow.”
Dorian pushed past Amanda. He took a few steps then swung around. “I don’t know why you came. If it’s money you want: don’t bother. She’s so goddamned tight you won’t get a cent till she’s in her grave.”
CHAPTER 4
Amanda zipped up her raspberry-colored dress, and then stepped into her sandals, her thoughts centered on Dorian’s argument with Jean last night.
She recalled her mother’s words before Dorian strode away. “I’m sorry. I was going to tell you.”
Still wounded by Jean’s confession that she hadn’t been able to tell Murray she’d had twins, Amanda pulled aside the silk drapes, and the weak morning sun streamed in.
More than half of last night, she’d mulled over how it must have been for Jean faced with that decision. How could she begin to understand when she’d never had children?
That she blamed herself for the loss of her own unborn child at the age of twenty had been more than enough guilt for her to carry. It had been a horrific way to wake up to what she was doing to her body and start eating properly again.
From her bedroom, she could see a path curving from the veranda, past a winding narrow garden of mauve irises and white lilies; and at the cliff face, steps that disappeared downwards to the beach. Near the steps grew two Cypress pines that clung precariously to the rocky cliff face and leaned towards the restless, churning, water.
Even after last night’s incident, and the conflicting emotions that had brought her here, she was glad she’d come and been given the chance to meet her twin. Being part of a family again made her feel whole. She opened the window and heard the ocean crashing angrily against the rocks and the wind wooing as it skidded past the house.
No matter what the weather brought, she was looking forward to spending time with Brian.
A glance at the clock told her it was seven-thirty. She picked up her earrings from the French provincial dresser, had pushed one hoop in her lobe when she heard a scream.
The woman screamed again. Amanda opened the door and hurried toward the sound, which seemed to be coming from a room at the far end of the hallway.
She stopped in the doorway to Jean’s room. Estella stood sobbing beside a writing bureau, her face buried in her hands. A broken cup lay at her feet. She looked up as Amanda entered.
“She’s….” Her voice trailed off.
Amanda couldn’t understand her, but she noticed the stricken woman staring towards the ensuite bathroom, its door half-open.
Heart hammering, she pushed the door open as far as it would go.
“No,” she gasped. “No.”
Jean was sprawled on the tiled floor, her eyes open, staring at nothing, her mouth agape as if wanting to say one last word. Her blue satin dressing gown had fallen open, revealing her negligee.
A sense of unreality gripped Amanda.
“Is she?” Amanda couldn’t say the word but she knew the answer to her question. There was no life left in her mother’s body.
A toothbrush lay beside Jean’s outstretched fingers. Amanda stared hard at them, wanting them to curl around the handle, to show some small sign of life.
Finally, she moved her gaze to the marble vanity. There lay the mundane necessities of the living—a half-drunk glass of water, an open bottle of mouthwash, toothpaste, an open bottle of pills, perfume, lipstick and a compact.
The blue dressing gown…
Was it still a dream...her dream? She opened her mouth to scream but no sound came out. The tap was running, and the sound echoed through her thoughts.
The scene swam out of focus. Her head felt light, and the room seemed suddenly darker. She could smell the soft scent of wildflowers and sandalwood as she felt herself sink to the floor.
***