Chapter 37
All day Opal had been feeling restless. It had been over a week since the party, but she couldn’t seem to find any peace. The conversation with Debbie swirled around her mind, as did the kiss with Noah.
After that first day, her giddiness had subsided and left in its place anxiety and a dribble of dread.
Noah had made no effort to seek her out, and she had begun to fear that maybe he didn’t even remember their encounter at all, or worse still that he was avoiding her.
She stopped showing up for breakfast, and started taking her meals in the small sitting room.
The group dinners had dispersed in her absence, Hetty reported.
For a few nights now, no one had turned up to the dinner table at all.
It seemed the party had done quite the opposite of bringing everybody together.
Opal hadn’t even seen Martin. He’d given up with the notes altogether, but as she’d gleaned from Neil that Martin was no longer on the Hong Kong excursion, Opal had to assume he’d taken up a near permanent residence in the city.
The only thing that had benefited from the blanket of angst that seemed to enshroud the house was Opal’s painting.
She could barely contain herself. No sooner had she finished one canvas, than another figure, object or shape would manifest in her mind’s eye and she would need to exhume it onto a new sketchpad.
It was in this frenzied state that Johan found her, holed up in the furthest corner of the orangery. Outside the light was fading to peach.
When he had made his proposal to try and bring everyone together for that evening’s dinner, she’d been more than grateful for it.
Now that they were all here, sitting merrily around the dining table, Opal felt even more grateful.
So strongly did she feel in fact that as the evening wore on, it became nearly impossible to contain the burgeoning euphoria within her.
It was heartening to see everyone beginning to get along again and she didn’t want the night to end just yet.
She’d never been one to believe in mysticism.
Although now that she thought about it, she found herself wondering if like many of the strongly held beliefs in her life, that was simply a reaction to her mother.
Saffie had often sought the comfort of mediums throughout her life, particularly in the wake of her disintegrating marriages.
And that is how Opal had always characterised it, as a sort of comforting habit.
Now Adam was here in front of her, and she was in the midst of shedding the skin of her previous uptight self. She decided to embrace some of the very maxims by which her mother led her life. What was the harm in a light-hearted palm-reading session?
Everyone relocated to the lounge, and gathered around as Adam took Opal’s palm in his, a little sheepishly at first.
Johan seemed the keenest member of the audience. ‘So what does it say then, Adam? Don’t leave us all in suspense.’ His tone was more than a little mocking.
Adam turned her hand gently, and despite herself, Opal felt a strange sense of calm descend over her, and a shiver prick the back of her neck.
‘This is your life line,’ Adam explained in soft tones, tracing over the longest crease of her palm, ‘and then you have your head line, your sun line, your heart line and your fate line.’
‘Tell me about my fate line …’ Opal chuckled nervously; maybe she’d rushed into this. If there was any truth to this stuff, it was probably unwise to bare her soul to her guests like this.
‘Are you sure, Opal?’ Adam seemed to sense a shift in her mood and tried to pull his hands away, but Opal grasped on. In that moment she suddenly felt distinctly brave, and overwhelmed by a visceral tug of affection, maybe even love, for everyone around her.
Adam looked a little hesitant but he continued to examine her hand. ‘There are others too; there’s a line for babies and marriage …’ Adam trailed off. Realising a second too late perhaps that he’d hit a nerve, although Opal assumed that he didn’t know which of the two topics was the sorest spot.
‘I’m sorry – maybe this is a bad idea …’ Adam tried to retreat for a second time, and again Opal clung to him. Tears welled in her eyes inexplicably. She wasn’t sure if they had sprung from joy or sorrow.
‘What do they say?’ Opal’s voice was almost a whisper.
‘There’s two lines and they’re both … broken …’ Adam held Opal’s gaze as he spoke, watching for her reaction. She nodded ever so slightly. Giving him permission to go on.
‘The marriage line tapers off, and it’s …’ Adam shifted in his seat. ‘It’s quite short.’
‘And the baby line?’ Opal felt distinctly aware of most of the group around her backing away ever so slightly, all apart from Johan, who inched closer.
‘I feel a presence when I run my thumb over it like this,’ Adam whispered, studying her palm as a silent teardrop rolled down Opal’s face. ‘But she’s not of this world anymore. Again … the line is short.’
Adam looked up then and into Opal’s eyes. ‘But it’s deep. She’s certainly left her mark.’
Opal reached her breaking point then. She pulled her hands away, hoping in vain to catch the sob before it escaped her throat.
On the back of her closed eyelids, she was sure she could make out a childlike dancing figure.
Her heart ached in her chest and it felt impossible to know how much time she sat there, rocking through those alternating waves of joy and sorrow.
When she finally opened her eyes, the first thing her kaleidoscoping mind registered was the camera, framed by Johan’s hands, trained on her. It took a few more moments for the blast of the flash to fade from her vision.
Only then did it fleetingly cross her mind that she felt something rather different than drunk.