Chapter Thirty-Two
Adelaide had thought she was past the point of learning anything new.
When a person has been on Earth for a while, travelled the globe a few times, lived in different cities with different languages, met all sorts of people, she can be inclined to think she has seen it all, heard it all, if not done it all.
What she has learnt over the past few days, though, is this: she should never have taken her friendship with Daphne for granted. More than that, she should never have betrayed her all those years ago simply because she desired someone she could not have but deluded herself into thinking she could.
She remembers that she once believed Hector would leave Daphne for her, and at the time she also believed the fact that he hadn’t was evidence that the course of true love was not running smooth.
Like many a young woman indoctrinated by stories told by others, she believed that true love was the acme of her existence and she should strive for it, setting aside all other concerns.
If that meant she had to take something – someone – belonging to another, so be it. That was the price of true love.
Oh, the folly of youth. She and Daphne had been friends for a few years by that stage, but Adelaide hadn’t been alive long enough to realise how significant the connection was.
Once she was older, and Daphne stayed in touch by writing letters that found her wherever she was, Adelaide came to appreciate that Daphne was steadfast. A true friend.
So far from Australia, Adelaide was even able to tell herself another story: that the betrayal hadn’t been that big. It was so long in the past. The child, her son, was now part of someone else’s story. She and Daphne could continue to be friends and nothing would get in the way.
The truth will out, though. Adelaide has studied enough of The Merchant of Venice, and most other plays in Shakespeare’s brace, to know that the Bard knew what he was talking about.
Therefore she should have known not to ignore the ending of Romeo and Juliet; to remember that the fates are against star-cross’d lovers, not in their favour.
Not that Adelaide can avoid her own agency in what happened.
Hector was in the position of power, yes – any man in any situation tends to have more power than the woman involved – but she was not coerced.
She was willing. And she set in motion the end of her friendship with Daphne the second she succumbed to Hector.
Now she has to manage the consequence of that: the loss of Daphne, which seems permanent. Adelaide cannot blame Daphne for that.
She has stopped trying to contact Daphne. No calls. No letters. She has avoided the frock shop, and hasn’t returned to the house – how could she? So Daphne is lost, and Adelaide has only one dear person left: her brother.
Although she would say she is close to Louis, they don’t talk often. While she lived overseas he didn’t send her many letters, and she didn’t send him many either. The bond of family felt strong enough to rely on.
Now she is going to test it again because she has to talk to someone about Desmond. The secret has been hers for so long and now it feels like it’s bursting open, and she doesn’t know how to manage everything she is feeling. Everything that is changing.
Desmond wants to see her again, and this is the part Adelaide is struggling with: what to tell him about Hector. Whether to actually try to arrange for him to meet Hector – which, she knows acutely, would involve talking to Daphne, or Janet, and cause yet more pain.
Going back and forth about it in her head is causing her pain, so she wants to talk about it with someone she trusts. With Daphne gone, Louis is the only candidate. So she has called him and asked if she could come over.
The old family home is on the high side of Musgrave Street, which means climbing stairs.
These days Adelaide has to gear up to climb stairs.
She has done it, though, and rung the doorbell – and now Louis is opening the door and smiling that affable smile he’s always had.
The one that suggests everything is fine, and even if it’s not you won’t know.
‘Hello, my dear.’ He kisses her once on each cheek, something he was doing well before she lived in Europe, where it is practised widely.
‘Hello,’ she says, and she feels bashful now that she’s in his presence and about to reveal something so serious.
On her way over here she considered which Louis might consider the greater offence: the son himself or the lie about him.
Having experienced Daphne’s reaction, she thinks it may well be the latter.
Which makes her think that for most people, most things on this earth can be managed if they are just brought into the light and not stuffed into the dark, especially not for decades.
The longer the lie has continued, the greater the injury to the lied-to party.
Although how can anyone know? If Daphne had been told about the affair at the time, and about the baby, would that have made it easier? She had children of her own to consider.
Oh god, Adelaide is feeling that now – the peril she put them all in. She and Hector. And the peril may not be over yet.
‘Is Prue home?’ she asks.
Louis’s wife has an active social life, so she’s rarely home according to him.
‘Art class,’ he says, standing back for Adelaide to precede him into the front sitting room, where she finds a decanter full of whisky and two tumblers on the coffee table.
‘That’s serious business,’ she says, pointing at the set-up.
He gives her a funny look. ‘Isn’t that what you’ve come to discuss?’
She feels exposed. ‘How did you –’
He inclines his head and she knows what he means by it: he knows her. There are some things that don’t need to be said.
And, today, some that do.
‘You haven’t been yourself,’ Louis says gently as he pours them both a drink.
‘I’m not sure who that is any more,’ Adelaide says and takes the offered glass.
‘Well … exactly.’ He raises his glass in a toast and she responds in kind.
‘Life in Sydney not quite suiting you?’ he says.
Adelaide takes a sip and feels the fire of it running down her throat. ‘You could say that.’
‘Whatever you want to tell me, just say it. Nothing shocks me.’
He cradles the glass in his hands and sits back in his armchair. It’s the one he always sits in. The same one their father loved, re-upholstered by Prue.
Their father never knew about her pregnancy, or if he did, he didn’t let on.
Their mother wouldn’t speak of it again after instructing Adelaide to never tell Louis – or anyone. The shame it would bring on them, she said. The scandal.
Adelaide spent years trying to work out if the scandal would ever have materialised, but that’s a treacherous path to take and it’s led her to many a sleepless night. So much time spent wondering and worrying, and it got her nowhere.
She takes another fortifying sip. ‘How did you know I wanted to tell you something?’
That incline of the head again.
She nods. Takes a big breath. Another sip. Another breath.
‘I had a baby,’ she says and dares herself to look at him.
He looks so calm. So unsurprised. ‘I know,’ he says.
Now she’s the one who is shocked. ‘How?’
‘Mother told me.’
Adelaide gasps. The woman who made her swear to never tell managed to tell it herself. The hypocrisy of it. The sadness.
‘You were overseas,’ Louis goes on. ‘It wasn’t long before she died.
I said something about how I wondered if you’d regretted never having children.
She told me you had a child. I thought …
’ His eyes drift to the family photographs on the mantelpiece.
‘I thought she might have been imagining things. But she gave dates. A location. The timing matched with when you went away. To the country.’
‘You didn’t say anything to me!’
Not that she can lay blame in this regard, having kept her own secrets for so long.
‘I thought you were the one who didn’t want anyone to know.’
‘Is that what she told you?’
‘No, but …’ He pauses. ‘We were close enough that I thought you’d have told me if you wanted to.’
‘She told me not to!’ Adelaide is fired up now, or maybe the whisky has emboldened her.
‘I’m sorry I didn’t say anything.’ He puts his glass down and sits forward. ‘I’m sorry you were alone in this.’
She swallows, feeling unwell all of a sudden. ‘Does Prue know?’
He shakes his head slowly. ‘It wasn’t my place to tell her.’
‘Did Father know?’
‘I doubt it. He left the domestic domain to Mother.’
Adelaide closes her eyes and tries to shut off all the thoughts racing around her head. The knowledge that Louis could have said something years ago and she wouldn’t have felt so alone.
There is also this: no one knew who the father of the baby was. She didn’t tell their mother, and now it’s the last lie she’s holding on to. The one that might make Louis hate her.
‘The father was Hector.’ There, now it’s out, except she feels even more unwell.
Louis blanches. ‘Hector? Daphne’s Hector?’
‘Yes.’ She inhales and exhales sharply. ‘However terribly you’re thinking of me now, believe me I have thought worse.’
‘It’s not for me to judge, Ade—’
‘Of course it’s for you to judge! You’ve known me my whole life! If you can’t judge me, who can?’
‘But I don’t want to,’ Louis says evenly.
‘You must!’ she almost shrieks. She feels herself starting to breathe raggedly, so she puts the tumbler on the table and braces herself on the wood.
‘You must.’ It’s softer but her breathing is still hard.
‘Why?’ Louis says, moving to her side. ‘Because you are tired of judging yourself?’
Adelaide wails then. Half a century of censuring herself has sharpened to a point that jabs her right in her solar plexus, bending her double.
Louis puts his arm around her and kisses her temple. ‘My sweet sister,’ he says. ‘Let it go.’
But she keeps wailing, and he holds her and holds her and holds her until she stops crying.
When he finally releases her she feels cleansed, if not clean.
‘I will never judge you,’ Louis says, and his eyes are damp.
Adelaide closes her eyes and feels the gravity of what he has said. The purity of it. He loves her so much that he will never judge her. Surely that is unconditional love? And it was here the whole time.
‘Thank you,’ she says weakly. There is nothing else she can say.
‘Please stay for dinner. Prue will be home soon.’
Adelaide nods slowly. She has nowhere else to be – and nowhere else better to go.