‘I have to taste the food, Phillip,’ she snapped sarcastically, slamming down a pan.
Phillip backpedalled hastily: ‘I didn’t mean that as a criticism … you look … er … extremely well.’
‘Good, because I think you’ve put on some weight yourself. Must have been all that high-calorie Continental food.’
Phillip glanced down at himself, alarmed. ‘Do you think so?’ He tugged nervously at his waistcoat and Julia sighed. What a bitch she was.
‘Only kidding, Phillip, you’re as sleek as ever. Well-fed, but sleek.’
He relaxed, reassured, and Julia sighed again. She shouldn’t take out her frustrations on Phillip. She had put on weight. Other people pined away for love, but Julia’s metabolism reacted with characteristic waywardness. She was hungry, constantly, a burnin
g, nervous, compulsive hunger and she ate to reassure herself that she really was alive. She didn’t feel alive, she felt desiccated, shrivelled, she felt thin. It was a shock to look in the mirror every morning expecting to see a gaunt skeleton and be confronted instead with a blooming image. Her body was firm and resilient, her eyes sparkled, her hair shone. It was the exercise that did it… she had been forced to take up jogging, which she loathed intensely, to keep herself down to a reasonable size. Every time she went out, torturing her body with speed and distance, she was torturing her mind with memories, and, over and over, the futile question why?
Right up until the end she had been confident that she could reach him, that there was a way but that she was too inexperienced, too ignorant to find it; that given time she would. But time had run out on her, and with it her shining dreams.
Why? Why? the question was pounded out on the neighbourhood pavements. Because he was afraid? Afraid of what? Some future hurt? Surely his logic should tell him that all of life is a gamble. He wasn’t a coward. Cautious, perhaps, but not a coward. Didn’t his instinct tell him that she would never, never hurt him? Obviously not.
Ironically, her last sight of him had been almost an exact reverse of the first … in her rear vision mirror, slowly dwindling to disappear as she turned the bush-lined curve of Craemar’s driveway. Until that moment she had truly believed that he would relent. How wrong she had been; completely, shatteringly, excruciatingly wrong, throwing into doubt everything she thought she had known about him.
She had wanted to turn around and drive straight back, to confront him, but it wasn’t just pride that restrained her. Ann Farrow had been standing beside Hugh under the portico as he farewelled his family, probably well aware of the elegantly framed picture they made. The perfect couple. Julia’s own goodbye, perforce a formal, public one had rung sickeningly hollow in her ears.
She had cried, on and off, all the way back to Auckland, stopping at laybys every now and then to wipe away the blinding tears with a sodden handkerchief. She wanted to hate him; oh, how she longed for a nice, cleansing hatred, but it wasn’t in her nature to be bitter and her compassionate heart felt such pain for Hugh that it almost equalled that she felt for herself. She had so much love to give, and such a longing to give it. If Hugh had opened his heart and mind to her she could have enriched both their lives.
Why?
She had looked forward in desperation to Phillip’s return, but the rash of dinner parties he initiated hadn’t been the magic formula for recovery. Her concentration was affected, though she was too much a professional to let it show in her superb meals. Her hands performed their duties mechanically while her mind roamed wild and free.
All about her spring was breaking into bud, the new growth emphasising the wintry bleakness that remained within, the stunted limbs of what had promised to be such a glorious blossoming. Julia forced herself into a new awareness of her environment, the small, precious gifts of nature: the fragile, fragrant freesias that burst upon the air; the tiny, tentative, lime-green leaves unfurling on the stark oak trees at the bottom of the garden; the soft, warm caress of the spring breezes. The sadness that clung to her threw each individual moment of pleasure into sharp relief, intensifying her need to discover a reason for hope. Spring was that reason, the endless cycle of renewal. There was a season for everything, Julia knew, and this was her season for weeping.
Gradually, as she sought a path through pain, and anger, and confusion, she became convinced of one thing. That her love for Hugh, though it would fade and change with the years, would always be a part of what she was, of the life she made for herself. And she wanted it to be so. She couldn’t discard a love because it wasn’t returned; the beauty of the freesia was no less beautiful for being fleeting, the miracle of the leaf no less a miracle because it would wither in order to save the tree.
‘So, what do you think, Julia?’
‘What?’ She stared blankly at Phillip. Had he been talking all this time?
‘You haven’t heard a word I’ve said!’ he accused, unused to such inattention. ‘I said I’m thinking of taking up permanent residence in the Caribbean.’
‘The Caribbean!’ echoed Julia stupidly. Was Philip taking up beachcombing?
‘For tax purposes.’ He explained it all again, with a sarcastic slowness that was an accusation in itself. ‘I wouldn’t have to live there the whole year round, just long enough to establish resident status.’
‘Is this a roundabout way of telling me I’m fired?’
‘Pay attention, Julia! I want you to come with me, that’s what this whole conversation is about!’
Julia ignored his irritation. A couple of months ago she would have been over the moon, but now the first thought that popped into her head was how far the Caribbean was from Hugh Walton. By straining credulity she could imagine Hugh seeking her out in Auckland, but going with Phillip would really be burning her boats—patched and leaky as they were!
‘You don’t seem very enthusiastic’
‘Yes, well …’ she said, trying to summon some animation, ‘… could I think it over?’
‘Of course,’ he said stiffly. ‘There’s a considerable amount of red tape to go through yet, and the real estate firm haven’t found me a suitable location yet. I certainly won’t be moving until the new financial year.’
‘I’m sorry, Phillip,’ said Julia, conscious of having offended him once again. ‘The idea of the Caribbean is fantastic, but all my family’s here, and I’ve had my years of travelling.’ Now all she wanted to do was settle down with the right man!
‘Good Lord, Julia, you sound middle-aged! What’s come over you the last few weeks?’
‘It’s spring, maybe I’m feeling the nesting instinct.’ She ventured the truth under guise of lightness.