36. Theodora
36
THEODORA
MELBOURNE, FEbrUARY 2025
DIAMOND: Love, purity, enlightenment, abundance, new beginnings, life as a whole
I t’s late Friday afternoon, and I’m the last here, as usual. The door to my office at Little Stitches , Big Stories creaks in pain. Before I leave, I have my oldies to phone, and I must remember to oil those hinges. I’m waiting for a message from Star’s mother. Fingers crossed the early years co-ordinator at her primary school agrees to run the program next term.
The community has embraced it, with three schools participating so far. Star may have attested to not being much of a student, but like her mother, she’s a wonderful teacher. Despite her insistence that she doesn’t really like kids that much, her brilliant artwork and enthusiasm encourage and inspire their projects. Children arrive at the studio with drawings to work on with their mentors, their little faces smiling with joy as they select from a range of materials.
My oldies have embraced the program so exuberantly, I think their lifespans have been extended by decades. The collaborative efforts of art and life experience are evidenced in the positive benefits for young and old alike. With each small step, their welfare and stories come to fruition in a kind of creative alchemy. I take heart from the happy faces and am ever grateful to witness collaborations as they emerge. My greatest joy is when I see a withdrawn and anxious child flower into a confident and caring individual. There is so much love here. I can’t imagine my life without it.
Is it enough for me? Well , I made my choice.
With my head bowed and curls tangled across my face, I scan from my laptop and back to the page, trying to decide which photos best display English Daphne’s design. That squeaky door is getting worse. She’s been working with a young girl who’s planning the first square of her quilt. The timid twelve-year-old has developed a liking for horses, despite never having seen one up close. That will be my next project. I tap my pen on the paperwork spread across the desk.
‘ Such intense focus. One of the things I love most about you.’
Not only have my nerves been on edge all day, now I’m hearing the whisper of his voice in my daydreams as well. The intuitive brain takes some getting used to. But memories of Tristan crowd me like a shadow, and his presence is so strong tonight it’s unnerving. He’s hard to forget…
I stretch my neck from side to side and let out a sigh. Deep breath in…breathe out…
‘ So that’s a no, is it?’
The hairs on my arms stand on end, and a shiver grazes my neck. The room’s energy changes as he fills the space.
‘ Tristan ! What are you doing here? I thought you were in London with your father. How is he?’ I flick tousled hair from my face. I must look a mess.
‘ Much improved, both in health and attitude. Thank goodness. And to answer your question, I have unfinished business here.’ He hesitates, and the quiver of his lips flips my insides. ‘ And I’m long overdue for a holiday. Australia , Melbourne in fact, holds a certain appeal. Isn’t this where the Grand Final is played?’
‘ Er …not in February .’ I frown, pinching myself to see if I’m dreaming. No , he’s definitely real. And as handsome as he appears in my dreams. His hair curls on the collar of a checked shirt that matches his eyes, and tapered fingers tuck into the pockets of his jeans. The scent of ginger and cloves swarms around me, as delicious as I recall.
‘ What about you, Theodora ,’ He shrugs the jacket off his shoulders and moves to hang it over the vacant seat beside my desk. ‘ From all reports, your venture has been a resounding success. You look well with it too.’
‘ It’s even better than I’d hoped.’ I offer a smile, but my stomach is turning somersaults, ‘ Apart from trying to keep up with the paperwork.’
‘ I understand you’re in a better place now too.’ Damn Rosie . She really is a terrible gossip, but I can’t say I’m disappointed. ‘ And what about your ex?’
‘ Luke ? He’s long gone. I’ve finally well and truly finished sorting out his mess.’
‘ I’m pleased to hear it?—’
Is that a touch of irritation? ‘ I never expected he’d steal from me. All Gran’s investments…. It took ages to recover the funds and prosecute him, but I doubt he’ll accept what he did was wrong. I guess you can’t always know someone entirely.’
‘ Surely you don’t believe that? That you can’t trust your judgement to see the true essence of a person? You and I know one another far better than we might admit, Theodora . I’m sure of it.’ As always, the way he says my name makes me melt inside.
The sound of blood pumping in my ears is deafening. I stand before him, taking in the line of his jaw, his full lips. ‘ Yes …we do indeed.’
Tristan moves closer and takes my hands. The air is thick with words unsaid as we move about one another in an awkward dance. I’m uncertain why he is here and what he expects. I only know I want to be with him. I think I always have.
‘ Have faith,’ a voice whispers inside my head, ‘be brave. Trust .’
I lead him to the sofa propped against the wall near the filing cabinets. We sit facing each other for a few moments.
‘ I never apologised to you for what happened in Taormina , Tristan .’ A frown momentarily crosses his brow. ‘ No , I’m not sorry about that night, but the way I left you. I can’t imagine what you thought.’
‘ I was surprised and then disappointed to find you gone. I thought I might have frightened you away.’
‘ No . I was frightened of myself. I had to do the work and delve into my fears about my past. And I was still grieving the loss of Gran . But deep down I knew my feelings for you—’ I close my eyes, afraid to look at him.
‘ Tell me more about these feelings,’ he interrupts, ‘because mine certainly have not changed.’
A nervous giggle escapes my lips. It doesn’t matter what happens next so long as I tell him. Just tell him. ‘ I wasn’t able to face my future when I hadn’t dealt with my past. I needed to understand what happened to my family.’
‘ And have you resolved it? Have you had enough time to breathe?’
‘ I know the truth of my past and accept the accident was out of my control. I’ve faced who I am and how to use my gifts. But most of all,’ I cup his face, ‘ I know that I love you, Tristan . I’ve loved you from the very first moment...’
His lips tremble. ‘ My heart is yours, Theodora , whenever you are ready.’
‘ It took me a while to trust myself, that love can be enough.’
My heart pounds in my chest, and time stands still. His eyes cloud with desire and a frisson of energy passes between us when his mouth hovers over mine. ‘ Ye of little faith…’
The kiss takes my breath away.
I pull away briefly to lock the door.
‘ Come back to me,’ he growls and draws me to him. I’m exhilarated by the taste of his lips, starved of his touch for too long. Savouring his delicious scent, I kiss the skin at the base of his throat and, with my pulse racing, strip off my top and bra and straddle him. He moans into my mouth and soon the open plains of our naked skin heat with need. As our bodies move as one, sparks tingle from my head to my toes, anchoring my heart and soul to his. Forever .
I spend an hour deciding on my outfit for lunch the next day, finally choosing block-heeled cowboy boots, a paisley dress and chinoiserie-inspired earrings with teardrop pearls. Tristan looks sharp when he arrives at my door—more Florentine than Englishman . But the first thing he asks is for the book he gave me.
I confess that beyond the poem I’d not glanced at his gift and retrieve the aged volume. On closer inspection I notice the sheet of paper marking the poem’s page has the emblem of a grazing lamb on the masthead—a receipt from the Foundling Hospital in London .
‘ That’s the place where illegitimate babies and children were abandoned. I remember reading an article about the tokens the mothers left with them. It was terribly sad. I wonder who this belonged to?’
HOSPITAL for the Maintenance and Education of Exposed and Deserted Young Children
The 27th Day of March 1877,
RECEIVED a Female Child
But the note at the bottom tears at my heartstrings:
NOTE Let this be carefully kept, that it may be produced whenever an enquiry is made after the Health of the Child (which may be done on Mondays , between the Hours of Ten and Four ) and also in case the child should be claimed.
‘ Remember the gardens in Taormina ?’ Tristan points to the page, ‘ Florence Trevelyan …’
Beside the signature of the Secretary are the initials FT .
‘ Are you saying, FT is the same Florence Trevelyan ?’ I examine it again.
‘ A relative of my grandmother’s was left books from her collection in her will. “ As a token of gratitude for your kindness when I was a child,” was the reason, apparently. I’m not sure exactly what it referred to,’ he frowns, ‘although the family anecdote was about being thanked for finding a lost dog. They say Florence had an elephant’s memory for returning favours to those who deserved it.’
As I flick through the pages a dark lock of hair tied with a strand of silk falls into my lap. Then I see a sheet of paper—the finely drawn sketch of a child. The sweet smile on her face is flanked by chubby cheeks. It is signed Florence , and below is written Isabella , 9 months .
‘ Rumours in Taormina always refer to Florence’s apparent relationship with Edward VII when he was the Prince of Wales . But while there’s nothing to suggest it’s true, it is strange that she chose to live out her life in Sicily , isolated from what was an extremely large family. She never returned to England . Her cousin, Louisa Perceval , travelled with her for a time. Unfortunately , they parted some years before their deaths.’
‘ So , Florence had a child and gave her up? Wait a second—’ I retrieve Amelia’s diary from my bedside and lay the letter inside it down in front of Tristan .
A feeling of light and love bursts into my chest.
I see a woman opening her arms wide; she stares at me, smiling. Her Victorian dress is decorated with the motif of il giglio and around her neck is a long string of pearls. She holds the hand of a dark-haired man in a courtier’s dress, who beams at her with an indulgent grin. Florence ? I ask. She nods.
I cover my mouth with my hand. A voice in my ears urges me on. ‘ My ancestor Amelia was adopted—and her birth name was Isabella and—’ I show him the handkerchief, ‘ This belonged to her mother…’
Tristan traces the coat of arms with his finger, and a smile twists at the corners of his mouth. ‘ Something we’ve definitely seen before.’ He laughs and nuzzles my neck.
I lean in to him. ‘ Talk about six degrees of separation. To think, working on a Florentine quilt uncovered this…’
‘ And brought us together.’ Tristan grins.
A high pitch sound rings in my ears, suggesting there is more to investigate.
‘ Can I see the drawing again?’ I study the fine lines with the magnifying glass I carry for my needlework. The tiniest details are meticulously drawn.
‘ Tristan , see here. In the background behind the baby? Placement is a technique used in art mediums to explain the importance of an item. For example, the books beside the chair suggest education. But the fabric draped over the chair has figures that look exactly like those in the coperta! Yes , and there look to be entwined briars in the central motif. The couple here…well, we know who they are.’
In my mind’s eye, the woman embroidering the quilt curtseys and retreats; bars on a window dissolve to show a view that can only be Sicily . The figures of Tristan and Isolde spring to life from the quilt and dance and embrace under an arbour of interwoven vines.
‘ I think it’s more than a coincidence.’
I reach out and draw Tristan close, feeling his arms wrap around me. I am safe and content. ‘ A wise woman once told me there was no such thing, only paths of destiny our souls are guided to travel.’
His head drops level with mine and his beautiful eyes darken, filled with love. I recognise the signs so clearly now that the voices in my sight fade to a whisper.
‘ Then guide away, my love,’ his voice is thick and his lips murmur against mine, ‘because I promise to follow you, whichever path you choose.’
I have one final obstacle to hurdle. But I’m ready.
It’s a hazy autumn afternoon as we walk hand in hand to the busy marina; boats of all shapes and sizes are moored at the jetty. Marine traffic navigates in and out with continued frequency, a sight I usually avoid. I scan the docks for a charter boat aptly named The Sea Knight .
‘ Theodora ? I’m Pete . And you must be Tristan . Pleased to meet you. I hear you’re a sailor too, mate?’
The two launch into discussions about rigging and bungs and the sorts of things I needn’t worry about. My main focus is on getting through this trip. Sailing and the sea are a big part of Tristan’s life. If I’m to be part of it too I need to move past my anxiety and overcome my fears.
We cast off from Port Phillip Bay and sail at a steady pace towards Brighton Beach . I take deep breaths of the salty air to calm my racing pulse. Clasping Tristan’s hand tighter, I point out the iconic row of brightly coloured bathing boxes along the shoreline.
Out on a boat on a foreign sea Tristan can’t contain his enthusiasm. Once he sees I’m settled he excuses himself to join Pete at the helm and takes the wheel, utterly in his element. Above the hum of the engine their shouts float past me and into the clouds.
After a few minutes, the motor slows and then cuts, and we bob up and down on the spot. I close my eyes and freeze in my seat with my lifejacket strapped firmly around me. The loll and roll of the waves warn me to hold on, and I grip the towel across my knees, waiting for my fear to rise. But instead, all I note is the gentle rocking of the boat as it sways from side to side, and the tap-tap of lapping waves. The sun is on my face and, apart from the squawking of seagulls, there is peace. Warmth washes from the tip of my head and flows out through my toes.
When I open my eyes, I cup my hands to shade them against the sun lowering in the western sky. Suddenly something moves in my line of vision and sparkles on the water. Splashes send a ring of rippling waves. My mind is playing tricks. If I didn’t know better, I’d swear I saw a mermaid dive into the waves with the scales of a rainbow tail flashing and dazzling as she swam away.
Tristan stands at the bow of the boat with his hands deep in his pockets, gazing out to sea. Then he turns and beams a smile so wide it makes my stomach swivel a full turn. I’ve faced the turbulence of my past and am content and secure at last. He is here. He is real. At last, our story is complete.
I love him, now and forever. Body , heart, soul. And , as surely as the sea rises, and the sun and moon shine above, one day, our story will carry on into the next life.