Hidden Legacy

At some stage before the turn of the twentieth century, Flying Clouds became a working sugar plantation using native labor brought in from the Melanesian and Polynesian islands. This scheme, at first a fairly innocent importation of cheap labor, quickly degenerated into the cruel practice known as “blackbirding,” when Pacific Islanders were more often kidnapped from their island homes than offered paying jobs. The Queensland government had finally outlawed the practice in the early 1900s.

These days the house was almost lost in a luminous green jungle that was forever breaking out in extravagant fruit and flower. It would be impossible to starve in the tropics. Tropical fruit in abundance, dropping most of the harvest on to the ground—pawpaws, papayas, mangoes, bananas, custard apples, passion fruit, melons, many new varieties she didn’t even know the name of. Every backyard had a macadamia tree, indigenous to Queensland and named after the Australian doctor John Macadam. This fine source of protein the aborigines had been enjoying for tens of thousands of years. Sated on fruit and nuts, one only needed to throw in a fishing line to avail oneself of some of the best seafood in the world.

The sparkling Coral Sea wasn’t visible from the ground floor, but there was a breathtaking view from the upper story’s balconies and more stupendous again, though a bit chancy in high wind, the widow’s walk. Zizi had always listened when Alyssa made up her endless stories about “The Captain.” It was a secret between the two of them. Her mother regarded Zizi as an endlessly fascinating eccentric, eccentricity being a perfectly acceptable part of the artistic temperament. Mariel, on the other hand, was of the firm opinion that her sister had lost all track of reality.

Neither woman visited Zizi much anymore. Mariel, as strong as a horse, always cited a growing number of psychosomatic ailments—high blood pressure, tachycardia, stress headaches and the like. She claimed she couldn’t abide the tropical heat, which was probably true, though she lived in subtropical Brisbane. Stephanie, though deeply fond of Zizi, was a topflight barrister who had little or no spare time to visit a place that required half a day just to get there.

An only child, Alyssa had grown up knowing her parents hoped she’d follow them into the law. She had bowed to their expectations, completing her law degree and working for three years as an associate in the firm. That was where she’d met Brett Harris, handsome, clever, ambitious. In those days he used to hang on her every word!

She hadn’t been unhappy at the firm. Most of the work allotted to her she found interesting and sometimes challenging, but her heart wasn’t in it. She actually preferred her voluntary work at the women’s refuge, where she’d made good friends and been truly effective. Zizi, realizing that she was floundering in her legal career, had come out of her shell to have an old friend of hers, the highly respected art critic Leonard Vaughn, take a look at the best of Alyssa’s work, which she’d painted while staying at the plantation.

The two of them worked wonderfully well together in Zizi’s large, airy, light-filled studio, which smelled of paint, turpentine, linseed oil, varnish, glue, fixatives and always the salty scent of the sea and a million tropical flowers. Alyssa continually strived to match Zizi’s brilliance. The irony was, within a few years she was receiving the critical acclaim, the hefty prices and certainly the media exposure that had eluded Zizi for most of her working life.

Her great quest was to persuade Zizi to give at least one showing. There were so many wonderful works of hers the public should see, if only she could persuade Zizi. So far, despite the fact that Zizi loved her dearly, she’d been unsuccessful. Zizi was adamant that her work would remain hidden from the world.

When I’m gone, my darling, maybe…

Alyssa couldn’t bear to think of the time her great-aunt would go out of her life. She comforted herself with the knowledge that Zizi was fit and healthy. Zizi might be seventy, but she easily could pass for a woman in her late fifties. And a beautiful one at that. Alyssa wanted her beloved great-aunt to live forever. There was simply no one who could replace her.

IT WAS A BRILLIANTLY fine Saturday morning three uneventful weeks later. Alyssa was extremely grateful for this hiatus, although she feared it was only the eye of the storm. Indeed, for days now she’d been tormented by a vague sense of unease she couldn’t shake off. Now she sat on her deck rereading Yann Martel’s Life of Pi when the phone rang. The kitchen extension was closest. She swung her legs off the recliner, put her book down on the glass-topped table, then went inside to answer it.

She expected it to be Zizi. She’d called her the previous evening and again earlier that morning, getting only Zizi’s charming, cultured voice saying, “I can’t come to the phone right now, but please leave a message after the beep.” She had done so. The older Zizi got, the more she intended to keep in touch with her, a daily call as opposed to twice a week. An old saying kept reverberating in her head. Live alone. Die alone. That couldn’t be allowed to happen to Zizi.

It was her mother, whose voice was so similar to Zizi’s Alyssa often mistook one for the other. Strange, how her mother, a beautiful woman, looked and sounded more like Zizi than she did her own mother, Mariel. Mariel had lacked Zizi’s beauty, although she was undeniably a force to be reckoned with.

MUCH LATER Alyssa would say she’d known at some level what her mother was going to tell her the instant she picked up the phone. Hadn’t she been experiencing those shivery little premonitions?

Her mother, the supremely calm, professional woman, sounded distraught. “It’s Zizi,” she said, with a sob. “There’s no good way to tell you this, darling, but she’s gone. We’ve lost her. A neighbor, an Adam Hunt, couldn’t raise her on the phone so he went to the house to check on her. He found her dead in the bathroom. Apparently she’d fallen while getting into the bath, cracked her head, and—” Stephanie choked on her tears.

Alyssa half fainted into a chair. “Mom, what are you saying? Zizi always took a shower! It couldn’t have happened that way. Zizi never used the bath. She’d slipped once and nearly broke her neck. She always took a shower after that.”

“Try to stay calm, darling,” her mother urged when she was anything but calm herself. “I’m so sorry. I know how much you loved her. We all did, but you two were especially close. Your father’s very upset. He took the phone call. So, of course, is poor Mother. She’s tremendously agitated. I had to call her doctor to the house but thank God he didn’t find much wrong with her. Your father can’t get away, so you and I will have to go up. This is an absolute tragedy. Zizi’s so young for her years. God, was so young. Why did I wait so long to see her?” Stephanie berated herself.

Alyssa tried to offer comfort. “Your heavy work schedule, Mom,” she said, fighting down her own grief until she got off the phone.

“Why did she choose to live so far away from us?” Stephanie lamented. “No one was happy about it. That bloody place, it’s beautiful but it’s so remote. I’ve always agonized that she might die alone.” Stephanie’s teary voice betrayed the extent of her grief. “I can’t believe Zizi’s left us.”

“Neither can I!” In the golden heat Alyssa found herself shivering convulsively.

THERE WAS AN AUTOPSY. Everyone accepted the coroner’s verdict. The blow to the head wasn’t the cause of death, although it was the major contributing factor. Zizi had drowned. She would’ve become dizzy, lost consciousness, then slipped beneath the water. It was all too tragic.

Once her body was released by the coroner, the funeral quickly followed. Zizi had expressed the wish to have her ashes scattered in the Coral Sea, but Mariel as next of kin wouldn’t have it. She overrode that wish, insisting on having Zizi’s casket flown to Brisbane where she could be buried in the family plot so “we can keep an eye on her.”

Such an odd way to put it!

It was a small, private family funeral, although Mariel had been too upset to come. No notice had been placed in the papers. Yet when Alyssa accompanied her parents back to the car after the short service, she saw Brett, dressed in a black suit with a white shirt and black tie, standing some distance off. The sight of him chilled her.

“Isn’t that Brett?” Stephanie asked. “I expect he feels dreadful.”

“How did he even know about Zizi?” Alyssa looked at her father. “Did you tell him, Dad?”

“My dear, Brett has left the firm,” Ian Sutherland answered.

“When was this? Why didn’t you say anything?” she asked incredulously.

“We felt you had enough to contend with. Brett handed in his resignation. I accepted it. I could see he was deeply distressed by the breakdown of the relationship. I don’t think there’s any question that he was—is—madly in love with you. I was sorry to lose him, but it’s better that way, the situation being what it is. He won’t have the slightest difficulty getting into Havelock Hayes. I told him I’d put in a word for him. Brett’s certainly clever, but I have to tell you now that the relationship is over, your mother and I feel relieved. We weren’t all that happy about you and Brett.”

Alyssa looked from one to the other, having difficulty taking it in. “You never said.”

Ian Sutherland smiled wryly. “You’re twenty-six years old, Alyssa. Your mother and I left it to your own good sense, didn’t we, darling?” He glanced down lovingly at his wife. “You deserve someone with a more open nature,” Ian Sutherland said, picking his words carefully. “More openhearted. I don’t know exactly what it is in Brett, but no doubt you do. There’s something…secretive about him.”

Alyssa tried to calm her thoughts. “Things bothered you both and you didn’t tell me?”

“Actually, darling, we were on the brink of expressing our concern.” Stephanie put an arm around her daughter and gave her a little hug. “But just as your father said, you handled it yourself. Trying to put up with someone who constantly needs attention is difficult. That’s going to be a problem for Brett. In a sense he’s his own worst enemy.”

Alyssa fell silent. She was too distressed to pursue the subject.

“Well, there you go!” her father exclaimed, as though that settled it. “Best acknowledge the poor chap. It was decent of him to come, although I always got the feeling he saw Zizi more as an opponent than a friend. Still, no reason not to be kind to him. Your mother and I will wait in the car.”

Alyssa felt no desire to acknowledge Brett. Had her parents known he’d struck her, things would be very different. Brett’s certainty that she wouldn’t tell them was evident in his coming here. He had plenty of self-confidence, the ingrained belief that he was always right, and she’d come to suspect he enjoyed danger. Why was he really here? It wasn’t to pay his respects to Zizi. It could have been sadistic curiosity. That was more in keeping with his character. Or perhaps he was trying to demonstrate to her what a civilized person he was.

She moved toward him but stopped halfway, forcing him to join her on the path. No way was she was leaving her parents’ sight.

“What are you doing here, Brett?” He appeared thinner than usual in his elegant Italian suit. There were dark shadows beneath his eyes as if he hadn’t slept. He wore an air of dejection, but that, of course, could be an act. She realized Brett had the ability to play many roles.

He seemed surprised by her question. “I came to pay my respects, of course,” he said in a subdued voice.

“How extraordinary, given your attitude toward Zizi.”

His smile was more of a grimace. “I wanted this chance to tell you I can never forgive myself for the things I said about her. I never meant a word of it, Ally. That was my jealousy talking. I’ve never loved a woman like I love you. I regret my behavior more deeply than I can ever say. I beg you to forgive me. I love you so much. I’ll never stop loving you.”

Alyssa nodded slowly. “I used to hear that all the time from men who beat up their wives and girlfriends,” she said. “I love you. I can’t live without you, followed by I’ll kill you and the kids if you don’t come back to me. Some of them did. You didn’t think you could get away with it, did you? With me?”

“I went crazy!” Brett said, abandoning that dull voice. “I’ve never struck a woman in my life before.”

“Somehow I have the feeling you have,” Alyssa answered, playing a sudden hunch. “I bet if I had the firm’s investigators make some inquiries, they’d come up with something. I’m reasonably sure I’m not the first female to suffer your aggression.”

Panic flashed across his face so quickly she would have missed it if she hadn’t been studying him intently. “You wouldn’t.”

“No, I wouldn’t.” She shook her head. “But you have a violent streak, Brett. You didn’t keep it hidden for long. My advice is to seek help. I mean that. What would you have done if the crack to my head had been more serious? Would you have called a doctor, an ambulance, my parents? Would you have relied on me to lie for you? I wouldn’t have.”

“Yet you haven’t betrayed me, have you?” A flicker of triumph came into his dark eyes as he stared at her.

Alyssa stared back in stupefaction. “I kept quiet for the sake of what I thought we had, Brett. Also, I’m giving you a chance to seek professional help. I have no wish to harm your legal career, but if I ever hear you’ve attacked some other woman, I’ll come forward to back her story. So watch out!”

He took a step toward her and despite herself Alyssa felt her blood freeze. “Ally, that will never happen.”

She was in control again. “Don’t touch me, Brett.” She wondered why she felt such alarm. He didn’t look threatening, but appeared to be buckling beneath the weight of remorse.

He drew back, smiling at her so tenderly it made her ill. “Sweetest love, will no amount of repentance wash away my sin?”

Another person, another role! “What are you playing at now, Brett?” she asked. “As far as I know, you have no links with any religion.”

He looked puzzled. “I believe in good and evil, Ally,” he said with absolute conviction. “I mightn’t believe in God, but I believe in the devil.”

“Maybe that’s because you’ve seen him!” She had no idea where that remark came from. “But you can’t have one without the other. If there’s a devil, there must be a God. Pick which team you want to be on.” She was on the verge of walking away from him. “I won’t thank you for coming today, bearing in mind your attitude to Zizi. It was just a pretext to see me.”

“I admit it.” Persuasion poured into his hypnotic eyes. “Perhaps you’ll see me some other time?” he asked, his voice full of a touching hope.

Alyssa didn’t reply.

“I give you my word I’ll seek help. I love you, Ally,” he repeated passionately. “I want to be with you. You were never in any danger that awful night.”

“On the contrary, you enjoyed punishing me.” She spoke with intuitive certainty. “And you wanted a whole lot more. You wanted forced sex.”

He drew a hand across his mouth as if wiping away a bad taste. “I just snapped, Ally. It was the way you seemed to be abandoning me for your aunt.”

She felt furious and humiliated. “That was all in your own mind, Brett. Don’t say any more. It isn’t working. We’ve buried Zizi today.”

“And my heart goes out to you, Ally.” He assumed an expression of deepest sympathy she knew perfectly well was feigned.

“That does nothing whatever to comfort me, Brett.”

She walked away.

She didn’t look back.

CHAPTER TWO

THE INTERIOR DOORS were never shut. Not unless there was a cyclone. Yet several of them were closed. Perhaps the police had shut them? Or Adam Hunt, the kindly neighbor. She intended to call on him. She and her mother had not made the long trip north following Mariel’s decision to have Zizi’s casket flown back to Brisbane. No family member had entered the house until now.

Flying Clouds was hers. She was her great-aunt’s sole beneficiary, excluding some things Zizi had willed to her niece and goddaughter, Stephanie. That included the beautiful portrait of Stephanie painted shortly before her marriage. It now hung in a place of honor above the white marble mantelpiece in her parents’ elegant living room. Alyssa had often wondered why Zizi, the most generous of women, hadn’t given it to her mother all those years ago. But for whatever reason, Zizi had decided not to part with it. What was puzzling was the fact that Mariel hadn’t even been mentioned in the will. Obviously Zizi had thought there was no need to make provision for her as Mariel was sitting on her late husband’s millions.

“It makes sense logically,” Stephanie said, herself puzzled about Mariel’s omission. “And yet, they were sisters….”

ALYSSA HAD BEEN too depressed to avail herself of a nap on the long flight. Nothing improved her mood. In the weeks after Zizi’s funeral, she’d found herself unable to sleep. Sometimes she imagined Zizi sitting on the side of her bed watching her or standing at the window watching her, as if she wanted to tell Alyssa something. The feeling was so incredibly strong that one night her heart had almost seized. Not in fright but in the actual belief that Zizi was showing herself.

“Zizi?” she’d cried out, unable to stop her tears, but silvery Zizi had faded from sight. Such was grief. The living often saw their beloved dead. Maybe the recently dead stayed around for a time, watching, neither side able to completely break off communication.

ALYSSA HAD RENTED a car that had been waiting for her at the airport. It was parked in the garage now. Tears flowing, she’d let herself into the house. The key had always been “hidden” among the spectacular psychedelic colored leaves of a potted caladium on the front veranda—silly place to hide it. They both used to laugh about it. That was probably the most likely place anyone intent on breaking in would think of, but Zizi had never had the slightest bother in all the years she’d lived there. Occasionally they’d driven into the town together, leaving the front and back doors unlocked.

For many years Zizi had kept dogs for company, usually two Labradors, so each would have a friend to play with. But since the death of old age of her beautiful golden Labrador, Molly, Zizi confessed she hadn’t the heart to buy herself another pet. Of course there was Cleo, Zizi’s sleek Abyssinian, who not surprisingly greeted Alyssa ecstatically and now accompanied her on her tour through the house, every so often snaking around Alyssa’s legs.

She had to find some way of properly thanking Adam Hunt. Her father had spoken to him several times on the phone and formed an excellent impression. What a shock Adam must have received coming on Zizi as he had. She’d imagined the neighbor as someone Zizi’s age, but her father said he sounded much younger. Whatever his age, her father had taken to him and apparently so had Zizi. The really strange—and, she had to admit, hurtful part—was that Zizi had never mentioned him to her. That was decidedly odd, given that she and Zizi talked about anyone new in their lives. She tried to brush the hurt aside. Zizi would’ve had a reason. Perhaps he was too recent to the area? A fellow artist? No, Zizi would’ve said something. A would-be property developer was more like it. It was boom-time North of Capricorn. Yet this stranger or near stranger had attained such a degree of intimacy with Zizi that she felt comfortable with his looking in on her.

Zizi, the self-styled recluse, must have liked him a lot. Alyssa couldn’t see Zizi trusting just anyone. Maybe Hunt was an art scholar planning a book that included a section on Elizabeth Jane Calvert. But wouldn’t Zizi have said? She definitely had to meet this mystery man. What exactly had drawn him to seek Zizi out? Pure coincidence? Perhaps they’d met while doing some shopping at the village. Alyssa told herself to put aside all the questions buzzing around in her head until she felt more able to cope.

How different everything was without Zizi! She supposed the raw grief would lessen with time, but right now the sorrow was practically unbearable. She inspected the labyrinth of rooms downstairs. It was a huge house, but she knew it so well she could’ve found her way blindfolded. Afterward, she mounted the cantilevered staircase that led to the upstairs bedrooms and sitting rooms. She glanced into Zizi’s bedroom—ivory and pale-green with a lovely canopied bed and an antique writing desk covered in informal family photographs in silver frames. The portrait Zizi had painted of her shortly before her twenty-first birthday hung over the mantel.

Who’d made the bed? It was Zizi’s practice to turn down the covers before taking her bath. So many questions to be answered, Alyssa thought, her shoulders hunched in a sob. She avoided the adjoining bathroom. Just thinking about how Zizi had met her end was like an icy cold hand squeezing her heart. She knew she’d have to get around to it sometime. Not now.

In her own bedroom, the one she’d chosen all those years ago, redecorated as she passed from childhood to adolescence to adulthood, she unlocked the French doors and let herself onto the veranda. Her spirits lifted as she was enfolded by the breeze with its delicious tang of salt.

Another glorious day in the tropics. The sky was a cloudless electric blue, the sea like turquoise satin. She stood there, holding Cleo to her like a talisman. The cat had been fretting. It was obviously very glad of her company, although Abyssinians were usually standoffish. The grounds—the roughly thirty acres that was left—didn’t look at all abandoned. Zizi must’ve had someone in to do some slashing, although there was still a tidal wave of jungle in rampant blossom—oleander, hibiscus, frangipani, gardenia, allamanda, strelitzias, golden rain trees, angel’s trumpets—beyond the mown areas surrounding the house. There were always snakes in the undergrowth but neither she nor Zizi had ever been bitten. Unless one actually trod on a snake, they took good care to keep out of the way, except for the one Zizi had nicknamed Cairo, who liked to slide along the front railings. Cairo, mercifully, was harmless and even frightened of Cleo, who used to speed him on his way with many a hiss and a spit.

“We miss her, don’t we, Cleo?” Alyssa murmured, stroking the cat’s amber coat. Cleo meowed loudly in acknowledgment. Everyone knew cats had special powers, and in Alyssa’s opinion. Cleo was more gifted than most.

She had stopped in the village, where she was well-known, to buy herself a few basic provisions—milk, fresh bread, butter, eggs, a few slices of succulent ham—intending to return the following day to place a larger order. People had come up to her, expressing their sympathies before taking themselves off. It would’ve been evident to them that she was very upset. Eccentric Zizi might have been, but these people had loved her and guarded her privacy. It seemed that they were about to pass their loyalty on to her.

Alyssa sat down in one of the old chairs on the deck, cuddling Cleo, while she rocked gently back and forth. As always, the warm perfumed air of the tropics had a lulling effect, so in spite of her unhappiness, she drifted off….

SOME TIME LATER—she didn’t know exactly how long—she was jolted awake by the sound of a heavy vehicle driving onto the property. She sat up in confusion, startling Cleo, who registered her disapproval by digging in her claws.

“Ouch, Cleo, that hurt!” She tipped the cat on to the timber deck, then made her way back into the house, briefly checking her appearance in the mirror. She looked composed enough. She quickly ran down the staircase, to the entrance hall. There wasn’t a soul for miles around. Very few people ever ventured along the private road unless invited. For one dismal moment, the luxuriant jungle that enfolded the house now seemed like prison walls. Her father hadn’t wanted her to come until someone could go with her. Who knew when that would be, considering her parents’ heavy workload and her grandmother’s “illness.”