THAT WOULD BE ME xiv - serialisation of chick lit (if you must) novel of neo colonialism and identity

That Would Be Me

Chapter Fourteen
In which our heroine exercises the confidence she has risked so much to build and exerts her wiles to their fullest and in which the future opens before her as it did on the beach in North Queensland a lifetime ago.

Mrs Richardson greeted her at the door, 'Hello, you must be Iseult.'

She smiled.

She was dressed in her pale blue linen but had bought pink sandals and bag for this occasion. At the bottom of her throat lay a perfect length of very fine gold holding a heavy small gold clam shell cross she had bought in Noumea, over a year ago now. She had decided not to wear pantyhose. It would be hot but that was not the reason - she wanted to appear a little casual.

As she followed her, Mrs Richardson said, 'Lou's in the kitchen, he's fussing over something, a salad. It had to be ready but not too soon, if you understand. Something about the dill wilting. As he's chopped it to a powder, I can't quite see ... but you know what men are like in the kitchen.' At this Mrs Richardson turned to look at her response.

It showed that she didn't.

She decided that she had brought the right wine.

They passed into a living area. A man who was obviously Lou's father was reading the Sunday paper. He glanced up and after looking at his wife, rose. There was also a beautiful, slim, elderly woman with very well coiffured hair, an elegant dress and shoes. Her eyes glittered with malice.

'This is Lou's friend, Iseult ... I don't know your surname.'

She looked from Lou's father to the elderly woman as she considered this. She almost decided on 'Minefield' but smiling, said, 'Court'.

'Mutti, this is Lou friend, Iseult Court. Iseult this is Lou's grandmother, Mrs Schapiro.'

'I am not deaf!' Mrs Schapiro snapped. Her lips were trembling as she spent her malicious gaze on this girl.

'How do you do.' She smiled and turned, having absorbed the spectacle, to Lou's father.

'I'm David.' He was Lou in twenty-five years. The curls had receded and frothed white, there was a complacent paunch.

Lou appeared and went across to her and gave her a kiss.

Out of the corner of her eye she noticed Mutti in a paroxysm. She heard the woman hiss.

Lou spirited her out of the room.

She had known it was to be a fairly bizarre occasion. She had gathered there were to be no other young guests, that she was being invited to meet the parents, for their inspection and approval. As their approval was of no particular concern to her, she felt no qualms, though she did want to win them.

She had already dismissed Mutti.

Months ago, when she had realised Lou was getting very serious, Allison had briefed her extensively. He was quite a successful architect. Mutti had the real money. Everyone said he had married her for the house. Most of its land was still intact, though they had sold off a bit at some stage. Mrs Richardson's ancestors had planted heavily because it was on such a high piece of land and exposed to winds and storms. Oh, and he took her name. It was said there was almost a divorce when he had tried to alter the house.

Lou took her wine, unwrapped it, looked pleased, said he would put it in the fridge to cool a bit more for lunch. She asked where she should leave her bag.

'I will show you around after lunch,' Mrs Richardson said after settling the bag.

She made pleasant, easy conversation, trying to include Mutti who answered resentfully when she must.

She wanted to laugh. But at lunch she was a little alarmed to see Mutti rush to sit next to Lou and glare triumphantly at her upon securing that place. The parents seemed to ignore this but Lou indulged it with a smiling, complacent shrug at her.

She began to find the inconsequential level of conversation difficult to maintain. She complimented Lou on the salad again and inquired about the garden. She could glimpse it, dissolving into the haze. She wondered how long it would be before she would be offered a whisky, maybe to wander the grounds with between courses.

'And where are the parents then?' Mutti demanded.

As the question did not seem to be addressed to her, she did not answer, then she realised Mr and Mrs Richardson and Lou were looking at her in expectation of a reply. 'Oh I'm sorry, I didn't realise you were talking to me,' she said to Mutti and continued eating.

'You see?' Mutti informed the Richardsons.

She looked at Mr Richardson in appeal - how did one handle this mad woman?

'Mutti wants to know where your parents are,' was his response.

This was intolerable. 'Where?' she said, venting her anger and appearing mystified by the question.

'They're in England, Mutti,' Mrs Richardson answered for her.

'Why has she left them?'

'She's out here, studying,' Lou supplied.

'Why isn't she studying at home, in her country?'

The Richardsons looked at her.

Surely she wasn't being required to respond to this mad woman's impertinences? She saw that she was. 'What a lovely vase,' she said to Mrs Richardson.

'Yes, it belongs to the house.'

'You see?'

She felt the blood drain from her face. She was enraged. She speared the largest of the pink and dill powdered prawns, looked at it, laid her fork aside and took a sip of her wine. She was about to say how good she thought her wine was when she determined that she need not speak at all. So she did not.

She rather enjoyed the silence. She rather enjoyed the wine. She took her fork up and put it down again. She wondered what she would do next. She might ask for a whisky, or get her bag and go. Then she thought she might get her bag and call Cal to see what he was doing. He might like to zip up here and save her. She would just sit in silence and wait for him.

A peacock screamed.

'Oh,' she said, 'you have peacocks. How big is your flock? Are they Blues or Greens?'

'There are three, at the moment. A dog got in and killed one.'

'Foxes harry them where I come from, dogs too, of course. And the hounds.'

'And where is that, Iseult?' it was Mr Richardson, being gently but firmly insistent.

'I would so like to see them, I miss them - just outside of Coventry, my parents have a farm. They don't keep them themselves but every now and again - quite often in spring and summer, actually - one wanders in from the neighbouring estate. My father always says they're looking for my mother. She's a vet and Lord Loughlowland calls her in to inspect his birds every now and again. Oh, there one is. Are they all Indian Blues? Do you have Spaldings in Australia? They are my favourites.'

Lou asked what Spaldings were.

After she had explained, there was another silence broken by Mutti saying, 'She is looking for a roof over her head.'

'Are you talking to me?'

Mutti ignored her, looked triumphantly at her son and daughter-in-law and then clutched at Lou, drawing his head down to caress his curls and kiss them. 'You won't leave your Mutti, will you?' She held his head and gazed in adoration. Mutti then cast another triumphant look in her direction.

Lou bridled and shifted in his seat, cast his guest a coy look.

The father smiled indulgently at his mother and son.

Mrs Richardson gathered some plates. 'I hope you like pork,' she announced as she left with the plates.

The settings might be hugely different but the tensions were only too familiar. She took comfort from this, drawing a deep breath.

There was a bustle getting the second course in and served.

She longed to tell Lauren of her fortunate escape. Did Allison know? Why hadn't she told her about this?

'We're having a rosé with it,' Lou said.

'What else?' she said and was not sarcastic.

He smiled warmly at her in appreciation.

She was polite about her uni subjects over the pork. Asked about Mr Richardson's current project, Mrs Richardson about the house.

'She is studying to be a what?' Mutti said.

'Communications, like I was,' Lou responded.

'Ah.'

'Mutti did Medicine. But she didn't practice.'

'I can hardly say what a pity. It's such a demanding profession,' she addressed the latter at Mutti, as if she were deaf.

Mutti looked puzzled as to a response.

She smiled at her.

Mutti’s puzzlement wavered back towards hatred.

‘We’re very proud of Mutti, she’s a very – ‘

She interrupted Mr Richardson by rising.

Everyone looked alarmed.

‘I must see those peacocks!’

‘What about dessert?’ Lou said, ‘Mutti made a sachertorte, especially.’

‘For my darling.’ Mutti clutched at him again. ‘You mustn't eat too much or you'll get pimples.' Mutti stroked his thigh.

She looked at Mutti's hand, moving below the table.

Lou sprang up. 'O K,' he said, 'they're always hovering about waiting to be fed.'

'Don't throw it all over the lawn, you'll bring the rats.'

Outside, Lou said, 'Mutti's not used to visitors.'

She turned towards him and said, 'Do you think I could have a whisky?'

'Don't you want to see the peacocks?'

One was stalking across the lawn towards them.

She considered whether she should say, 'Oh it's only another Indian Blue.'

'Mum will want to show you the place.'

'Only if I have a whisky in my paw.'

'I don't know if we've got any.'

'Oh god. Really? Cognac will do' She added brightly. And then couldn't help laughing.

He hesitated then laughed too and hugged her. 'This is great. You're just being yourself.'

She led him back inside.

'The cake is delicious,' she told Mutti.

She lost her rage somewhat during the tour of the grounds and also managed to let Mrs Richardson understand she must leave as soon as the tour was over, which it must be soon.

Mutti was ensconced, pleased, watching the somewhat hurried farewell but sat up in alarm as her rival swept over and crouched in front of her, laying a hand over hers. Mutti snatched it away but it was taken back, firmly and gently.

She was oblivious of all but the terrified angry face before her. 'You know, ' she said to it, 'I am sorry you're so unhappy but you probably don't have to be. And you don't have to try to make other people unhappy too, it makes you so ugly.' With which she rose and left.

Mrs Richardson caught up with her son and his intended on the drive. 'You go and help your father clear up, I'll drive Iseult to the station.'

Lou, astonished, stopped and Mrs Richardson took the keys from him and got into the car.

She turned to have a good look at the place as the car rolled down the drive. Lou was still standing there. He raised his hand, so she turned back to gaze at the gate.

'That was wonderful,' Mrs Richardson breathed, 'she's such a dragon. She resents me too. Because it's my house. And because I'm not Jewish.'

She kicked off her sandals.

At the station Mrs Richardson said again, 'That was wonderful. I'm so sorry if Mutti was a bit difficult. She can be. And I don't think it was ... I think it was one of her difficult days, she gets arthritis, badly. And the pain ... You must come again, soon, I didn't get a chance to show you over the house properly.'

'It was lovely,' she said from the pavement, 'the grounds. Thank you for the lift.'

Cal got out the whisky he kept for her. She drank it in three drafts. 'Yum,' she said, 'I can't stand Australians.' And she held out the glass. As she slowly sipped the second, bigger one, she thought she might ring Lauren. No, she would ring Allison. She had to tell someone. On her third, she could see why she shouldn't say anything, instead she would stay the night with Cal.

He was very pleased, as she had not stayed with him since she had moved into 'Casuarinas', though he thought this had as much to do with his dalliances as her not wanting to explain her overnight absences to Mrs Coleman. 'Cal like Australian girlfriend best,' he murmured to her in bed in the morning.

She was planning. She would send Mrs Richardson a bunch of very simple flowers. And the briefest of thank you notes. And that would be that.

Mrs Coleman looked at her when she came in.

'Good morning,' she said. And went on to her room.

She went in to see Mrs Coleman in the sunroom as she was leaving. 'I'm on my way out again. I'm going into town first to send Mrs Richardson some flowers. She insisted I spend the night. Do you think I should send her a nightie? She lent me one of hers.'

Mrs Coleman didn't think that was necessary.

'I'll make the bunch up with some other things,' the girl said.

'But that is exactly what I don't want you to do.'

'But it's going to cost you the same, it's the minimum charge.'

'I want you to send just this - ' she indicated the bunch of pink boronia, 'and the note. Nothing else.'

The girl looked resentfully at her. 'Very well. Ma'am,' she added.

Lou rang.

She said she was on the bus so they arranged to meet for coffee.

He told her not to worry about Mutti. 'She's a Child of a Survivor.'

'Oh,' she said, 'I could see there was something.'

He went on to explain the psychopathology of Children of Survivors. 'Mutti's got it all,' he said, 'there's this really good book.'

She told him she had too much other reading at the moment but maybe when she had the time.

'How lovely,' Mrs Richardson breathed without any greeting straight into the phone. 'Lou must have told you I don't like those awful plastic arrangements they send these days. They lop the flowers. I suppose it saves them space.'

She allowed a puzzled silence.

'Hullo?'

''Oh, Mrs Richardson! I had such a lovely time. Thank you.'

'Good. Thank you for the flowers. We want you to come again. Soon.'

'That would be - Perhaps after Easter, I have so much uni work at the moment.'

Mrs Richardson was taken aback. 'Could you spare and hour or so if I came into town? I want to talk to you. About something.'

'Certainly. Where?'

Mrs Richardson dithered so she said, 'What about the Royal International? You know near the Quay.'

'Oh yes! Good idea. I think we took Mutti there for supper after a concert once. Oh.' Mrs Richardson stopped as if she had made a mistake.

'Is everything alright?'

'Yes. Let's say ... '

She said she couldn't make it then so they settled on another time.

She arrived early so she could have a whisky.

A man smiled at her.

She bowed slightly in reply.

He sent over another whisky which she was about to reject when he arrived at her table.

'Oh accept it, no strings attached.' He spoke with an American accent.

At that moment Mrs Richardson appeared.

'Over here, Mrs Richardson.'

'So sorry I'm late, those trains ... '

'This is Mr Wales, a friend of my father's. Mrs Richardson ... Mr Wales was just going.'

The American said 'how do you do'.

'Mr Wales is in Sydney - as you see - my father asked him to look me up.'

'Oh. How are you finding us? First visit?'

'No. I was here before. But it was a long time ago. Well,' he turned to her, 'I'll tell your dad I saw you. He really misses you. Good-bye,' he said to Mrs Richardson.

Mrs Richardson sat down.

‘Now if you think of anything more, we didn’t really have enough … Don’t hesitate, please.' And Mr Wales was going.

‘Thank you, I won’t forget,' she called.

'Wasn't that nice?' Mrs Richardson said after they'd watched him leave. 'Oh look, he didn't have time ... '

'He bought that for me,' she said, taking a sip of the whisky.

'I'm sorry I was late, I ... '

'It worked out well. I got him to meet me here. First. We had time for a pleasant chat.'

'What is his business?'

'Cheese. He imports and exports. We make a cheddar that they like in the States. He's very impressed with Australian cheeses.'

'They've certainly come a long way since I was a girl.' Mrs Richardson's account of the development of the Australian cheese industry was interrupted by the waiter.

She promised herself the rest of the whisky when this interview, or whatever it was, was over.

Mrs Richardson all but proposed. 'We all so much liked you. And admired you. I know - you must know yourself, of course, how keen Lou is. My husband and I are very keen not to see him disappointed. And I had ... Mutti was rather difficult and it rather spoiled things.'

She took a sip of her whisky. Mrs Richardson was staring at it so she said, 'Would you like one?'

Mrs Richardson would, rather. After she too had taken a sip, Mrs Richardson continued, 'As you saw, we could give you a good home. There's plenty of room.'

The prospect sickened her. 'I have a home, Mrs Richardson. Several. Mrs Coleman is very fond of me and there's the farm which I still miss.'

'Of course. You would. You could visit. With Lou. We would love to meet your parents.'

'They can't leave ... I am rather settled here. It's been nearly three years now and the lifestyle suits me. And the climate. I never liked the cold. The farm gets so muddy.'

Mrs Richardson looked pleased. 'And you'll be finished your degree this year and Lou got credit for some subjects for his Law degree. He seems settled on a career in Media Law, so nothing was wasted, really.'

'I might do honours,' she reminded.

'Oh yes.'

Mrs Richardson didn't know how to go on.

She smiled as if she was puzzled and slightly curious about the older woman's apparent difficulty.

'Well. It was just ... Lou is a bit worried, he seems to think the visit didn't go ... You seemed a bit distant, he thought, after.'

She said nothing.

'I realise of course that Mutti upset you. She didn't mean to. She's the Child of a Survivor. And such a brilliant woman, once you get to know her.' Mrs Richardson looked at her in appeal.

'So Lou said. He recommended a book.'

The tone was lost on Mrs Richardson. 'Yes. You should read it, it's all there.'

She continued to regard this woman. She could feel her anger mounting.

'Your parents could ... Your mother might like to see the peacocks. It's a pity I gave up my ponies. The neighbours complained they brought flies. They complain about everything.'

This was quite interesting.

'Once she got to know you, Mutti ... It would make such a lovely home for you. You’d be secure.'

‘Secure? If Mrs Coleman felt she needed the space but that's unlikely ... If anything happened to Mrs Coleman, my parents have provided a home here for me in Australia, in case. And it gives me a little extra income at the moment, I've rented it out.'

'Oh. But surely you get lonely?'

She shrugged and took a sip of her whisky. She thought she should have worn something darker for this, as now she felt like shifting the tone towards something sad. Therese's necklace was hopelessly wrong, she should stop wearing it. Maybe she should sell it. Or give it away. To whom?

'We would make you feel very wanted, very secure, at home.'

'But ... Your mother-in-law ... '

'Don't worry about her.'

'It's all very well for you to say that, Mrs Richardson but I have no intention of throwing myself into a situation where I am - where my presence is cross-examined and not appreciated.'

'I knew it! I knew Mutti upset you. She can be so horrible. But you handled her brilliantly. You could help me handle her. You would be such an asset.'

She clasped her glass very lightly. 'I would need assurance of that, of my being welcomed. Into Lou's family.'

'Of course! I assure you.'

'Isn't it usual in any case for the family to give an earnest of their regard? Lou has ... given me nothing.'

'Oh. I see.' Though Mrs Richardson was perplexed. 'The ring! A ring. He ... ' She could not exactly say 'perhaps he wasn't sure' now, could she? 'He can be a bit slow off the mark.'

'No, not a ring. Yet. I have so ... I am so fortunate, I have so much. What am I being offered? Of course if my father were here. If only Mr Wales had stayed ... He would help me, I'm sure. But I know they would say you need to be sure, how do you know this family means what they say? Not Lou, I'm sure of him but ... what am I getting myself into?'

Mrs Richardson astonished her by saying, 'What would you need? To feel sure.'

'Need? Do you know ...?' And she named her jeweller. 'They know me as Miss Woodburn. It's something my father arranged.'

Mrs Richardson nodded.

'They know my taste.'

Mrs Richardson finished her whisky, very unsettled. 'Miss Woodburn,' she said.

On the way home she determined Mutti would pay, whatever it cost, eventually in any case.

She hurried to talk to Rohan and Mr Clinton straight away. 'I think someone will come in in a few days and mention my name. They will be looking for something suitable.'

Rohan was gaping.

Mr Clinton considered this, then said, 'May we offer you our felicitations?'

'No. Not yet. I want you to be very careful and very discreet. My name is Iseult. Don't make too much fuss, just show them the bracelet and say I have admired it. The ring will come later. Perhaps. If things work out. Is there anything suitable? I'll come in and we could go through a selection - three or four - that I could choose from, at the time. You know my style, no fuss in anything. Let me see it again to make sure.'

'Her' diamond bracelet was brought.

She tried it on and took it off, pointed to the slightly duller stone near the clasp. 'Charge them the full price but remember I'm overlooking this at the moment. I might want it replaced later on, or some restitution. We know one another too well to play around.'

Rohan gaped on. Mr Clinton nodded, very serious.

‘Their name is Richardson. You'll probably recognise her,' she said to Mr Clinton, 'but remember, these are very conservative people so discretion, please. Oh look,' she said to Rohan with a bright smile so that he almost jumped, 'I'm wearing the beach necklace. I just felt like it.' She laughed a little.

Mr Clinton accompanied her outside. 'You can trust me. I'll watch Rohan. I'll handle it. Trust me, I'll be so discreet, Miss Woodburn.'

'Oh call me Iseult, after all this time. I know I can trust you.' And she leant across and brushed his cheek very lightly with her own. And was gone.

Mr Clinton went back into the shop with tears in his eyes. After composing himself he began lecturing Rohan.

She went straight back to the Royal.

He was waiting.

He ordered her a whisky before saying anything.

He was very polite, very interested. For a moment she wondered if the Richardsons had sent him to spy then his card flashed into her mind and she dismissed this idea. In any case, she didn't care. She told him she was Australian but from Melbourne, studying here because it had the best course in Media. Her name was Sandra Dangerfield. He said he was in banking but knew people in the media in New York, where he was based.

She agreed to go on to dinner with him.

Then back to his hotel room.

As he watched her dressing he asked if they could have lunch tomorrow.

She said she had uni.

What about the day after?

She chose a very fashionable restaurant. 'I'm not sure you'll get a reservation,' she said. 'do you want me to make it?'

He was taken aback then said no, he'd manage, he knew a few people.

She decided she'd go if she could get the right dress; maybe a yellow of some sort, something light, for lunch. And she wanted to wear her diamond circle brooch. She might get some striking accessories - probably mauve, maybe a hat.

She got them, of course.

FIN