Chapter Nine
CHAPTER
9
I’m threading stray ends of jasmine around the post that supports the letterbox when Aiden Lyon pulls off the road and winds down a window.
‘Can I give you a lift, Mac?’ He turns down the radio. ‘It’s chilly this morning.’
Aiden still has a New Zealand accent, even though sixteen years have passed since his family came to Australia. His father, an engineer, agreed to a two-year placement at the Summerfield mine, but the family stayed on permanently. Aiden, now also an engineer, moved back to Summerfield after university and now works for the council.
‘Thanks, but someone from the film crew will pick me up soon.’
He turns off the ignition. ‘Okay to wait with you?’
Tall and clean-cut with short brown hair, Aiden looks ready for a day in an office. His shirt is crisply ironed; the jacket draped on the passenger seat is the same shade as his pants.
He takes care as he hugs me side on. ‘I’m on my way to a conference in Wollongong.’
‘Is that why you’re up so early?’
He laughs. ‘I don’t sleep in like I did in my teens.’
Aiden and I went on a couple of dates in early high school, and we might’ve continued dating if I’d lived here permanently. As it was, not long after the court finally gave me permission to come back to Summerfield after Dad’s death, I left school to work with Grandpa. No more feeling like a fish out of water. No more failing to fit in.
‘How is Gordon?’ Aiden asks.
‘Not the best.’
‘You’ve had a lot to contend with in the past three years.’ He puffs out a breath. ‘I could have been more supportive.’
‘A lot of your friends were employed in the mine. I get it.’
His smile is tentative. ‘After Wollongong, I’ll be in Perth for two weeks. How about dinner the following Saturday? We could go to the pub.’
‘I eat with Grandpa.’
‘A drink afterwards.’
‘I don’t drink.’
He laughs. ‘Soft drinks on me.’
Occasionally I stayed behind on the set and socialised with members of the crew, mostly Leo and the horse trainers, but I haven’t been to the pub since the mine closed. Too many black looks. Too many turned backs. But …
If the documentary goes ahead, I’ve agreed to engage with the community. This could be a start. Anyway, Aiden is kind and thoughtful. Considerate.
‘Just a drink, Aiden, that’s all.’
‘It’s better than I had two minutes ago.’
‘Would seven o’clock be okay?’
‘I’ll meet you at the nursing home.’
‘Outside, not inside.’ I’m not sure what he sees on my face, but he puts a hand on my arm.
‘Is Gordon still sending visitors away?’
‘He claims I’m enough.’
***
I’ve been in the wardrobe caravans all day and, with the head of costuming and his assistant helping out when I’ve needed it, I’ve stitched minor repairs and cleaned and treated waistcoats and pants before they’re shipped to Germany for the winter scenes. James, in leather pants, a black lace-up shirt and boots, bounds up the steps.
‘I’ve come to take you for a drink.’ He wipes a make-up–stained cloth around the back of his neck.
‘You’re the second person today to make that offer.’
‘I have competition?’ He kisses both cheeks. ‘Impossible.’
‘Simon will be taking me home soon.’
‘He’s having a drink himself.’
There aren’t as many people on the set as there were a few weeks ago, but there’s a queue at the catering van and the marquees are buzzing. Chloe and a few other actors, chatting and laughing, sit at a large circular table beneath a market umbrella. When I select a table close to the van, James pulls out a chair.
‘What can I get you?’
‘Lemonade, please.’
‘Acquiring a taste for alcohol requires you to drink it. Has nobody told you that?’
‘No ice, thanks.’
When he rolls his eyes, I give him a shove. ‘Come straight back.’
James is still at the catering tent talking intently to a man dressed as an orc when the Viking, leather jacket over one shoulder, walks across the field from the carpark.
‘Kit!’ Chloe, willowy and graceful with dark hair curling at her shoulders, presses her body against the Viking’s. Then she threads their arms, leading him towards her table. Even among actors, the Viking stands out. It’s not only his looks and height—he’s confident and comfortable. He nods, laughs, pushes a hand through his hair as if it might need tidying. When Chloe, dressed casually in a close-fitting navy jumpsuit and matching runners, stands on her toes to kiss his cheek, he says something to her. With a bright smile in response, she scoops up a bright pink and gold sports bag and walks to me.
‘Welcome back.’ Like at least twenty other people have done today, Chloe kisses both cheeks. After pulling out a chair, she elegantly sits at the end of the table. ‘How is your collarbone? Your arm?’
‘Getting much better, thank you.’
‘Can you still draw?’ Smiling hopefully, she pulls a folder from her bag and takes out a piece of thick textured paper. ‘I have a favour to ask.’ She folds the paper in half, and then in half again. ‘This will be a card, an invitation. And …’ She scrolls through her phone. ‘This is a lily. Could you copy it?’
The open petals of the Casablanca lily are brilliant white, and the anthers in the middle are orange. ‘I only have lead pencils. Is that okay?’
‘Salut! Thank you. Could you do it now?’
I take a small timber box from my bag. ‘I don’t have much time, but sure.’
With Chloe watching on, I sketch an outline of the flower, regularly touching the phone to refresh the image.
‘Many of us are moving on to other work,’ she says. ‘Will you join us tonight for dinner? Astrid has booked tables.’
‘I visit my grandfather in the evenings.’
‘Every night?’
‘We eat dinner together.’
James bounds up, putting my drink at a respectful distance from the paper before sitting between me and Chloe. He puts an arm around my shoulders.
‘Is there anything you can’t do?’
‘Draw while you’re leaning on me.’
He laughs and lifts his arm before kissing my shoulder. ‘I thought you’d clocked off.’
‘Mac is doing me a favour.’ Chloe looks from me to James, smiles curiously. ‘I didn’t know about you two.’
I keep my eyes on the sketch. ‘There is no “two”.’
James rubs my back. ‘Yet.’
‘Does Mac know your reputation, James?’ She mock frowns. ‘I hope you’ll be kind.’
‘Are you kind to Kit Thorsen?’
She laughs. ‘The last thing that man needs is kindness.’
‘His tough exterior goes all the way through?’
‘He’s impenetrable.’
‘Maybe he’s built walls around his heart,’ James says, dramatically putting a hand on his chest. ‘It might’ve been broken.’
‘Not even a scratch,’ Chloe says firmly.
As I’m on the far side of James, I can barely see Chloe, but, like it or not, I hear every word. I inch further away and shape the petals.
‘What about a tortured upbringing?’ James asks. ‘That can harden a man.’
‘I had dinner with his family in Oslo.’ She dramatically sighs. ‘They are … what is the word? Sympatico. Even in her fifties, her mother is exquisite and the men, his father and two younger brothers, are as handsome as the devil. Kit is more talkative with his family. They are adoring and caring of each other. To me, an outsider, they were courteous.’
‘And doubtless you were charming.’
‘The end of the evening could not have come quickly enough.’
James laughs. ‘In other words, you weren’t the centre of attention. Maybe they were putting on an act?’
‘Kit guards his privacy,’ Chloe says. ‘He wanted them to do the same and, besides his mother who was clearly curious about our relationship, they complied. They’re a close family. Do you know of his mother? She’s well known in Europe.’
James links his hands, puts them behind his head. ‘I don’t believe so.’
When I push the phone towards Chloe, she looks into the screen and it lights up. I turn the card around, lighten the petals by shading the background.
‘Kit’s mother is Sigrid Aaberg-Thorsen. She was an athlete. A skier.’
‘Which wouldn’t, I’d have thought, make her well known in Europe.’
‘A medal-winning Olympic skier. After she’d retired from competitive skiing, she had a fall while holidaying with her family in France.’ Chloe puts her hands on her chest. ‘Paralysed from here down.’
I press too hard on the paper, then smudge the line to soften it. This is none of my business. I shouldn’t—
‘What a tragedy,’ James says.
‘Yes, but she has turned it to good purpose. Sigrid is Norway’s answer to Amal Clooney, an advocate for accessibility and other worthwhile causes throughout Europe.’
‘Now that you mention it …’ James glances at my drawing. ‘Kit has talked about her, hasn’t he? In the documentaries.’
‘Why is Kit here?’ When I say the words, they both look confused. ‘Tonight, I mean. Why is he here tonight?’
‘He tells me it’s because he wants to meet with Astrid,’ Chloe says. ‘I tell him it’s because he is desperate to see me again.’
James laughs. ‘Tell me about the rest of his family.’
I swap pencils and shade. Swap pencils again to outline the anthers.
‘Kit’s father is a scientist. His father, his brothers, they are private people.’
‘Fair enough.’
‘Kit didn’t choose to be famous.’ Her smile is tight. ‘Accordingly, my occupation is difficult for him.’
‘You’re a fine actress, Chloe, and celebrity will always be a part of that.’
‘Kit doesn’t care what people think. His passion is different. And that is why I’m drawn to him.’ She smiles. ‘Also, his looks.’
James whispers. ‘The sex is good?’
‘It is much better than good. It is … more. He is more.’
I press too hard again; soften the mistake. ‘Do you want a stem?’ My voice sounds loud and intrusive. ‘Leaves?’
Chloe smiles. ‘Thank you.’
She doesn’t care that I hear every word. I shouldn’t care either.
James stretches and leans back. He grins at Chloe. ‘Why would Kit have a problem with your fame? I’d say he’s more famous than you are.’
Chloe trills a laugh. ‘This is what I tell him!’
‘He keeps looking over here. Are you back together or not?’
‘Yes.’ She sighs dramatically. ‘And no.’
What does that mean? I shouldn’t care. I don’t care. But if they are back together, it would be good if she supported the Summerfield submission.
My pencil hovers over the drawing. ‘How did you know I drew flowers?’
Chloe smiles politely. ‘They’re in the designs you do for us here.’
‘I thought Kit might have mentioned that my grandfather is one of the applicants for the next documentary series. He included my drawings in his submission.’
‘Kit has been flying to many places. Queensland, Tasmania …’
‘Summerfield is the closest location to Sydney. Aren’t you going there next?’
‘For six weeks.’ She taps her fingernails on the table. ‘Summer-field would be best for the documentary, I agree.’
The Viking, head down, is still talking to Astrid. I imagine his frown. Concentration? Consternation? Chloe is beautiful, but also clever and talented. He must have liked her; he must still like her. Together or not, he clearly has no problem with seeing more of her.
‘Mac?’ James nudges my foot under the table. ‘I think Simon is ready to go. Have you finished?’
‘Oh!’ I define the leaves more sharply before holding the drawing away to consider the whole. A little more shading, then I pass the card to Chloe. ‘I hope this is okay. If you want me to do it again when I have more time, I could—’
‘Magnifique!’ Her smile is heartfelt. ‘Even better than I expected. He’ll adore it.’
‘Ahhh.’ James grins. ‘Methinks the card is for someone we know.’
‘You’re not to say a word.’ Chloe puts a hand over James’s mouth. ‘I’ll surprise Kit after dinner tonight.’
Will the Viking care that I drew the picture on his card? Would I have done it had I known? The thought hovers uncomfortably.
James grins. ‘I trust you’ll have lilies in the bedroom?’
‘Many months ago, when I told Kit they were my favourite flowers, he replied that he was not one little bit surprised. The appearance, the scent …’ She throws out an arm. ‘The extravagance .’
***
It’s only five but the shadows are long as I walk to Simon’s car and lean on the boot. The post and rail fences are black against the pinks and greys of the sky. Six weeks ago, Athena and I headed to the river and I fell. Back then, I heard footsteps too. Long determined Viking footsteps. Has anything changed?
‘Mackenzie.’ He’s still a few metres away.
‘I haven’t heard from Erik yet.’ I blurt the words.
‘When can I have your father’s film?’
It’s not in his nature to make polite conversation so I shouldn’t expect it. When Chloe calls his name, his mouth tightens. Chloe and the Viking. Yet another reason I shouldn’t expect anything from him.
‘Saturday afternoon?’
He pulls out his phone, checks the screen. ‘Four o’clock at the saddlery.’