Rudie knew very well that what Dulcie really wanted was to take Noël home with her, but Ross had refused even to consider it. Rudie guessed too that the holiday arrangements which Dulcie had spoken of so convincingly would be unlikely to materialize either, because of Ross’s jealousy. Yet Dulcie hadn’t allowed the officers to get even a glimpse of this. She courageously answered their probing questions about her husband and home life, creating an impression with the officers that Ross was in complete agreement with everything she said. Her only concern was that the officers should find no grounds to take Noël into their care.
Then, right at the end of the visit, the officers said they would need a written testimony from Ross that he shared his wife’s views. They left then, leaving Dulcie and Rudie completely stunned.
Dulcie recovered quicker than Rudie did. She said she would have to resort to blackmail – either Ross wrote that testimony, or she’d refuse to come home.
Rudie took the path up to the headland, stopping for a moment when he reached the top to look down at the Pacific Ocean pounding on the rocks far below. It was a sight that never failed to inspire him, a reminder of how it must have been for the first sailors who came to Australia, seeing all those daunting cliffs, then discovering the inlet into one of the safest natural harbours in the world. In the past he had stood in this spot and imagined himself as captain of one of those ships, or one of the felons aboard, and thought of their feelings as they approached the end of their voyage.
But today Rudie barely noticed the wheeling gulls or tasted the salt spray on his lips. His mind was centred on his past and what the future might hold.
He had loved two women before May, one was back in England, a young WRAC at the camp in Lincolnshire during the war, the second here in Australia. Like May, they’d both been pretty, blue-eyed blondes. Julie, the first, had jilted him for a dashing pilot; Claudine, the second, had thrown him over for a doctor. But he couldn’t say all blondes were bad news to him, for there had been many others over the years, brunettes and red-heads too – he’d had a great deal of fun and happiness with many women. But until he met May, marriage had barely entered his head, his art was all-consuming.
Looking back at that relationship now, with the benefit of so much more knowledge about May, he could see he had fallen for a mirage. It had been so thrilling to find someone so young, beautiful, charming and refined, yet so hot in bed. What a pathetic fool he’d been to imagine he’d taught her all she knew, or that the passion she responded with was real.
Yet the hurting was over now. By meeting Dulcie and discovering the whole truth about May, including the appalling business of that perverted Reverend Mother, he saw May quite differently. When he thought about her now it was not with regret, or love, only with concern she might be in danger, and sadness that she was such a troubled girl.
He had no real anxiety about Noël either, for in his heart he knew the authorities wouldn’t oppose a man’s right to keep his own son, not when he was so well known and respected. They might string him along for months, put him through every kind of test, but he’d win in the end, for the longer Noël stayed under his roof, the less easy they’d find it to remove him without a public outcry.
Dulcie was his real concern, for she was the one who was going to lose in all directions, and his heart bled for her. She had such a huge capacity for love, she gave it willingly and joyfully, expecting nothing in return.
As he stood there gazing out to sea and thinking of her writing the letter that would in effect destroy any possibility of her being free to return to Sydney to see Noël, or even to have him with her for holidays, tears came to his eyes. It wasn’t right, she had already lost so much – both her parents dead, a husband who was one in name only – and now her own sister had brought further heartache to her door.
But as the tears trickled down his cheeks, a sudden realization came to him.
He had fallen in love with her!
All at once he was trembling, he had to grip on to the pram handle to support himself. Why hadn’t he seen it coming? He’d liked her from the very first, admired her kindness, honesty and inner strength. Since then he’d found dozens of other attributes that were usually lacking in his women friends. Dulcie was capable, artistic, a deep thinker, and someone who got things done.
‘Oh God,’ he gasped, turning his eyes up to the sky. ‘Why have you done this to me? She’s perfect, but she’s not free to love me back.’
Now he could understand why his blood had almost boiled each time she’d put the phone down on Ross and burst into tears. Maybe it wasn’t the man’s fault that he couldn’t consummate the marriage, but that didn’t excuse him showing so little concern for his wife’s feelings about her nephew, or for behaving in such a cruel, dictatorial manner. Rudie knew that Dulcie’s love for Noël had grown day by day, just as his had, he saw the joy and delight in her eyes when she held him, felt the ache in her heart when she contemplated parting from him, and sensed how empty her life would be when she did go home.
At times he’d even been tempted to persuade her to fight for her right to take Noël back to Esperance, for she was an ideal mother. But he couldn’t do that, for the same reason she never voiced that this was what she wanted. They both knew it was unlikely Ross would ever accept him, let alone grow to love him, and that wasn’t fair to Noël.
Dulcie had often said how she would have thought a damaged child once grown up would actively seek to protect other children, but it didn’t always seem to work that way. Rudie guessed that most of the cruel nuns, and the Brothers at Bindoon, had been victims of cruelty themselves as children. They did what they’d been taught and saw no wrong in it, and that was the real horror of it, for unless someone stepped in and broke this hideous chain, it would go on into perpetuity.
But he didn’t want to think of such sad things, he would rather picture Dulcie’s sweet face. Now he could see why these last few days had been so happy, why he’d woken each morning full of excitement. He wished he could go home and tell her so, that he wanted to share everything, his success, home, wealth and Noël, with her for evermore.
A cloud slipped over the sun, and the sudden chill reminded him he couldn’t have her. It was no good. Her religious convictions and the vows she’d made to Ross wouldn’t allow her to accept his love, or return it. All he could do when the time came for her to return home was to let her go without the burden of guilt. Maybe he could tell her there was a home waiting here for her if she ever needed it, but he knew she wouldn’t take him up on it, she was far too noble to give up on Ross.
Noël yawned, stretched and opened his eyes. He saw Rudie looking down at him and gave a gummy smile.
‘You persuade her, little man,’ Rudie whispered, bending over to tickle him. ‘You’ve got more charm than me.’
September faded into October, and Dulcie and Rudie had several more visits from the authorities, and a great many letters passed between them, Mr Wetherall and the Welfare Department. Ross had written the letter to them, as instructed by Dulcie, agreeing that he fully supported his wife’s and Rudie’s plans for Noël, and there was no doubt now that in due course the joint guardianship would be formally approved.
But the letter Ross wrote to Dulcie at the same time he sent the one to the Child Welfare Department had a quite different content. He said that if she wasn’t back home by mid-November to help out with the harvest he would write again to the Welfare people and state that he’d only written the first one because his wife had pressured him into it, and that he was totally against her having any connection with the child. He said he considered Rudolph Jameson to be an immoral man, totally unfit to bring up a child because he had abducted a young girl and taken her to live with him, and in his opinion May fled from him because he ill-treated her. He finished up this letter by saying Dulcie had a duty to him and Bruce which she had neglected, but that he would put that aside if she came home and spoke no more about this child.
Dulcie cried bitterl
y as she read the letter, knowing Ross was quite capable of carrying out his threats if she didn’t comply with his wishes. The most tragic thing to her was that Ross had learnt nothing from his own harsh upbringing but personal survival, and he was prepared to let a child suffer to gain what he wanted.
Yet however unhappy Dulcie felt about the future of her marriage, and indeed returning to Esperance, she couldn’t help but feel joyful when she looked at Rudie and Noël together. Rudie was a superb father, deeply committed, loving and full of fun. Watching him spoonfeed Noël was a delight. Noël was as greedy as a baby bird, eager to try almost anything, and as Rudie fed him he would keep up a running commentary on the benefits of iron in spinach or protein in chicken, as opposed to the negative value of chocolate pudding which was Noël’s favourite. It seemed to Dulcie, too, that Noël was growing far more like Rudie, he had his long, slender fingers, and when Dulcie smoothed down his dark hair after a bath and parted it to one side, it made her laugh to see the similarity.
Their days together had fallen into a pattern. Rudie painted in the mornings, while Dulcie either did chores or took Noël out while Mrs Curston was cleaning. After lunch sometimes Rudie took Noël out alone, leaving Dulcie to paint or read, or they went out together. It was getting warm now, sometimes hot enough to have a swim in the sea, and they often took the ferry into Sydney to walk in the Botanical Gardens, dropping in later to see Nancy at the Sirius.
Rudie had found a nanny for Noël, Sarah, the nineteen-year-old daughter of a neighbour, who was at college studying languages. At present she only minded Noël occasionally for an hour or two to get them used to one another, but the plan was that once Dulcie had gone home Sarah would fit her hours with Noël around her lectures, an afternoon a couple of days a week, or evenings when Rudie needed to go out, and most of the day during the college holidays so that Rudie could paint. With Mrs Curston’s help too, Dulcie could see that there was really no need for her to stay on now. Rudie was perfectly capable of handling everything, and any forms which needed to be signed could be sent through the post. But neither of them spoke of this, and Dulcie knew Rudie was as reluctant for her to leave as she was.
On the morning of 20 October, Wetherall sent a letter confirming the blood tests Rudie had taken proved he was Noël’s father, and jubilantly pointed out that this meant there was no fear of any further interference from the Welfare Department, aside from routine visits from a health visitor. His only real concern was that May might suddenly turn up again and claim her child back. Since this was unlikely, as the police had failed to find her, they took the ferry into town for a celebratory lunch.
They got home at four in the afternoon, slightly merry after a bottle of wine, and left the front door propped open as it was a very warm day. Dulcie was changing Noël’s nappy on the floor and Rudie was making a cup of tea, when a male voice called out, ‘G’day, Mrs Rawlings, it’s the police. May we come in to speak to you?’
Dulcie looked up and saw a big man in a grey suit, with a smaller uniformed man just behind him. ‘Of course,’ she said, assuming they just wanted to report another line of inquiry about May which had led nowhere. There had been around five or six such visits in the past six weeks, though not by these two men. ‘Rudie!’ she called out. ‘It’s the police, will you make another two cups of tea?’
She picked Noël up in her arms, asked the men to sit down, and sat down herself to fasten up Noël’s romper suit. ‘What is it this time?’ she asked. ‘A new lead on May?’
It was only when the two men exchanged glances before speaking that she felt nervous. ‘Have you found her? Where is she?’ she said.
Rudie came out of the kitchen then carrying a tea tray and stopped short, perhaps sensing this wasn’t like all the other visits.
‘I’m very sorry to bring bad news,’ the plain-clothes man said, looking up at Rudie, then back at Dulcie. ‘But a young woman was found dead this morning on the Gold Coast, and we think it is your sister.’
Dulcie just stared blankly at him. She took in his red and black striped tie, the way the starched collar of his shirt appeared to be digging into his thick neck, even that he had very pale blue eyes and a sun-blistered face, but she couldn’t take his words in.
Rudie put the tray down on the coffee table with a clatter and took Noël from her arms. ‘You only think it’s May?’ he asked. ‘Don’t you know for certain?’
‘These things can never be exactly certain until the body has been identified,’ the man said. ‘But her description, what we know of her, all fits May Taylor. I’m so sorry to be the one to bear such sad news. I wish there was a gentler way.’
‘She’s dead?’ Dulcie said in a hoarse whisper. ‘How did she die?’
Rudie put Noël in his pram and wheeled him out through the kitchen to the garden. It was only then that Dulcie realized this wasn’t some quirk of her imagination but real. Rudie was wheeling Noël away because his sensibility wouldn’t allow anyone to speak of something so awful in his son’s presence.
‘She was drowned,’ the policeman said, wiping sweat away from his forehead with a handkerchief. ‘Her body was found at daybreak today on the beach by a man walking his dog. The local police hadn’t established her time of death when they contacted us, but it seems likely she went in for a swim the previous evening when the surf was high.’
The uniformed man began pouring the tea, aware Rudie and Dulcie were too shocked to do it. He put two sugars in Dulcie’s, stirred it and took it over to her. ‘Drink it up,’ he urged her.
It was Rudie who asked all the questions, all Dulcie could do was just sit and let it wash over her head.
‘But you centred your search for her on the Gold Coast,’ he said. In a previous visit the police had reported that a guard on a train to Brisbane had recognized May as having been on his train from a photograph he was shown, and later a taxi driver had said he drove her to the Gold Coast. ‘Why couldn’t you find her?’
‘It’s a big area to cover,’ the plain-clothes man said. ‘The police concentrated their search amongst –’ He broke off, clearly embarrassed.
‘Amongst prostitutes?’ Rudie finished it for him.
He nodded. ‘I really can’t tell you much more,’ he said. ‘All I know is they haven’t found out what she was doing or where she was living yet. My job was just to break the news to you and ask that you go up to Brisbane to identify the body. Maybe by the time you get there, there’ll be more information.’
It was then that Dulcie began to cry, remembering how May had said in that last letter to her she expected she’d come to a sticky end.
The police left soon after, asking that Rudie ring them later to make the arrangements. Dulcie vaguely heard them speaking of a small plane, and the need for urgency.
Rudie sat down next to her after they’d gone, and took her into his arms. ‘There’s nothing I can say,’ he said mournfully, smoothing her hair. ‘She was your sister and you loved her, it’s so, so sad.’
Dulcie sobbed into his chest. She knew he was right, there was nothing he could say. After the initial hope that May would return penitent and wanting to take care of Noël herself, they had begun to want her to stay away for ever. Had she drowned by accident? Or had she committed suicide because of what she’d done? Dulcie couldn’t bear to think it might be that.
By noon the following day, Dulcie and Rudie were at the mortuary. They had left Noël with Mrs Curston and flown up to Brisbane on the plane the police had recommended and would return at six in the evening. Both of them were still in a state of shock – on the journey here they’d barely spoken, both locked into their own private thoughts.
They were met at the mortuary by a local police inspector who introduced himself as Mike Haggetty He said little other than offering his condolences and suggested they got it over with straight away and talked later.
The white tiled room he took them into was as cold as a refrigerator after the heat outside and smelled strongly of chemicals. The body wa
s laid out on a marble table covered in a sheet. Haggetty waited only a second or two to make sure they were ready, then folded back the sheet to expose just her face and neck.
Dulcie gave a little cry and covered her mouth with her hands. She had spent the whole journey here trying to tell herself it wouldn’t, couldn’t be May, but of course it was. Her skin looked so pale and waxy, someone must have brushed her hair carefully for it gleamed under the bright light, the only colour in the white room, but in every other way she looked little different to how she’d been the last time Dulcie saw her over seven weeks earlier.
‘Is it May Taylor?’ the policeman asked formally.
‘Yes, it’s May,’ she whispered, reaching out to touch her hair, remembering how she used to plait it for her at the Sacred Heart. It was as long now as it had been then, and just as silky, tumbling down over the end of the table. She leaned over and kissed her sister’s cheek, but her skin was cold and unyielding. She turned away, overcome by emotion, and felt Haggetty catch her arm to steady her.
‘She was a very beautiful girl.’ he said softly. ‘You are very like her, Mrs Rawlings, and I’m so sorry she met her death so very young.’
Dulcie sensed Rudie was looking at May, but she didn’t turn to watch him, just walked blindly to the door, tears streaming down her face, suddenly chilled to the bone, for she’d promised her father and granny to look after May, and she’d failed.
Rudie stayed for just a moment or two longer, then Haggetty took them both to a small office up a flight of stairs. ‘I’ll get you both a cup of coffee,’ he said. ‘I expect you’d like to be alone for a little while.’