Chapter 32
CHAPTER 32
D ivorce was still on Angus’s mind when I dropped him at school Monday morning.
‘I don’t mind,’ he said. ‘Jack thinks it’s great. He has lots more toys, lollies and everything. Are you coming in to see Mrs Lombardy?’
‘No, Angus, why—’ And then I remembered the note she’d sent home last week requesting a meeting with me about the Christmas concert. ‘Yes, of course.’ I hesitated at the kiss-and-drop zone before deciding it would be social suicide to stop. I whizzed around the corner, narrowly missing three chattering children jaywalking, and parked.
At the school gate, I was blocked by eager year six students raising money for the school band excursion. I bought five raffle tickets then put in an order for two dozen Christmas crackers – fundraiser for covered walkways – and quickly made my way down to Mrs Lombardy’s class before any other children could nab me. I had no more cash in my wallet.
The classroom door was locked. As there were still a few minutes before school started, I waited and watched as Angus kicked pebbles with his shoes .
‘Don’t do that, Gus.’ It made no difference. He continued kicking stones.
I walked towards the administration building. Turns out Mrs Lombardy was away today. I left a note with the school’s executive assistant and noticed a pile of Living Christmas Tree brochures on his desk.
‘Interested?’ he asked. ‘We’re raising money for new after-school care equipment.’
‘Why not?’ I slipped a brochure into my bag and scooted out the door. ‘Angus, remember you’re going to after-school care this afternoon.’ I have no idea whether he heard me or not, but five other Anguses in the playground turned to look at me.
Sarah’s book was waiting for me on the workbench in the studio, along with a Post-it note from Fern: K, Look. Later, F. I pushed it aside and got on with preparing the set for Graeme’s next shoot, ‘ Bush Magic: An Outback Christmas ’.
After I’d completed my to-do list, and with Graeme and Mara still missing, I played with the tripod and Hasselblad. Having the cameras hooked up to a computer made the shots instant and accessible.
I arranged watermelon pieces with blueberries and strawberries on a white plate and snapped off several photos. Then I got creative with chilled beetroot soup. But I didn’t stop there. The all-white paper lanterns, damask napkins, elegant glassware and delicate porcelain, was begging for attention. I just needed to throw in splashes of red – Christmas bush, flowering gum, and bottlebrush. Next, I retrieved the white Christmas tree (meringue tower) and white chocolate cake from the cold room to complete the picture .
Three hours later, having taken too many photos to count, I was feeling inspired and confident.
At my workbench, I ran a hand over the cover of Sarah’s book. I opened it and stared at the acknowledgements page. A hint of a smile crossed my lips. No mention of friends, only colleagues and several editors at Venus Publishing. At least I had friends. I glanced at my watch. How did it get to two o’clock already? I didn’t have time to look at Sarah’s vanity project now. I needed to chase up print details with Fern.
She wasn’t in, so I popped the best of my test shots for Graeme’s shoot on her desk and headed across the street to buy a sandwich.
In the queue, I recognised a voice I hadn’t heard in years: Sarah Stanthorpe.
‘Kate, after all this time.’
Too stunned to respond, I said nothing.
‘I was shocked to hear you were working for Fern. I’d have thought she’d have called me first. After all, her magazines are prized for their consistent high quality. I’m not suggesting you’re not up to it, Kate, but I am published. Of course, I wouldn’t have accepted such a lowly position.’ She paused. ‘How are you, by the way? You look tired.’
Cool and calm, I finally answered. ‘Sarah, nice to see you again.’ Though Fern had told me Sarah’s publishers occupied the same building, I never imagined I’d be standing face to face with her.
‘Having lunch with my editor.’ Sarah waved to a nondescript, middle-aged man with a goatee sitting at a window table. ‘Did Fern tell you I have a three-book deal?’
A solid kick in the guts. Three books! ‘I’m pleased for you,’ I lied through gritted teeth. The queue was very long. There were still four people ahead of me .
‘You had dreams of publishing a book, didn’t you? Or was it a gallery you wanted to open?’
‘I can’t quite remember.’ I felt numb. Numb with humiliation. Sarah used to accuse me of having delusions of grandeur back when we were at college. She was implying much the same now.
‘I thought you’d abandoned your photographic aspirations for a life of domestic bliss – or should that be drudgery?’
Sarah was still acting like a queen bee, fifteen years later.
‘And now here you are.’ She coughed. ‘Food photography, so dreary, don’t you agree?’
I was saved by my ringing mobile. ‘Excuse me.’ I reached inside my bag.
‘Mrs Cavendish? It’s Tania Westley from Lexi’s school.’
‘Mrs Westley?’ I cupped my hand over the phone. ‘My daughter’s school,’ I told Sarah.
‘Enjoy.’ She flapped a hand and sauntered to her table.
‘Everything okay?’ I asked.
‘Mrs Cavendish, I’m calling to ask you the same. From what Lexi tells me, on the very rare occasion she attends school, you are very ill. Almost dead, in fact.’
‘Really?’
‘Yes, and she’s been taking rather a lot of time off to care for you. Lexi was about to leave school again when I suggested we call you first. But Lexi assures me she needs to leave right now to give you a sponge bath and change your bedclothes.’
‘Is that so?’ I walked out of the café so I could hear properly. I cringed, wondering who else was listening on the other side of the line. All the teachers in the staffroom were no doubt having a great giggle. The least of my concerns. ‘What else has Lexi told you?’
‘After your affair with the gardener?—’
‘We don’t have a gardener! ’
‘Lexi’s father left, and you had a mental and physical breakdown.’
‘Hence why she needs to change my bedclothes?’ Patrons at an outside table looked up from their lunch in surprise.
‘Exactly.’
‘This won’t happen again I can assure you. Lexi won’t be taking any more time off for at least a few years. I’ll be there in thirty minutes.’
I’d kill her, that’s what I’d do – as soon as I recovered from the shock of Lexi telling her principal I was having sex with our non-existent gardener.
Back inside, I ran up the stairs two steps at a time.
‘Kate, have you got a moment?’ It was Fern.
‘Not really. Lexi’s pulled a prank at school. I have to leave.’
‘You will be back, won’t you?’ It was Graeme. ‘We have a shoot at Palm Beach tomorrow, and I know how much you’re looking forward to it – natural light and all.’
‘Ignore him, Kate. Everything okay with Lexi?’
‘Yes, though she’ll be grounded till she’s twenty-five.’ I fiddled with my shoulder bag and keys while Graeme conspicuously checked his watch at the studio door.
I hurried past him, impatient to sort out my wayward daughter.