Flo and I ushered her down the stairs and out onto the verandah, where we waited for the smart-looking chauffeur to dash across, his umbrella at the ready.
“Angel puss,” I said as we waved the Rolls goodbye through the rain, “let’s keep your blossoming drawing skills our secret, eh? The clients are going to start Rollinghur-hur-hur-up in droves shortly, and we don’t want to let them know how we do it, do we? Mrs. Delvecchio Schwartz has to stay unique-she’s your shelter from a world that isn’t ready for you.”
And just like that I looked into her mind! Blurred outlines of institutional furniture flying past, the shock of pain as she threw herself against something, the myriad shards of an exploding window, the concerned yet uncomprehending faces. But all that, I understood, was as nothing before the love she harbours for her two mothers, the two Mrs. Delvecchio Schwartzes.
She smiled at me, nodding vigorously. Our secret.
“I wonder,” I asked as I put my hand on the door, “if the first edition is ever going to Pass Over properly? What’s your opinion, angel puss?”
Flo took three crayons-yellow, blue and green-from her pink pocket and drew a cockatoo and a budgie on the glossy white wall between 17d and The House.
Somehow I think that Mum isn’t going to be a scrap surprised when I ask her for permanent custody of Willie; undoubtedly it’s already been arranged.
Colleen McCullough, Angel
(Series: # )
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