Colleen McCullough - The Thorn Birds

Fritz answered the door, not clad in his smart navy chauffeur’s uniform, clad in his smart butler’s morning suit instead. But as he smiled, bowed stiffly and clicked his heels in good old-fashioned German manner, a thought occurred to Justine; did he do double duty in Bonn, too?

“Are you simply Herr Hartheim’s humble servant, Fritz, or are you really his watchdog?” she asked, handing him her coat.

Fritz remained impassive. “Herr Hartheim is in his study, Miss O’Neill.”

He was sitting looking at the fire, leaning a little forward, Natasha curled sleeping on the hearth. When the door opened he looked up, but didn’t speak, didn’t seem glad to see her.

So Justine crossed the room, knelt, and laid her forehead on his lap. “Rain, I’m so sorry for all the years, and I can’t atone,” she whispered.

He didn’t rise to his feet, draw her up with him; he knelt beside her on the floor.

“A miracle,” he said.

She smiled at him. “You never did stop loving me, did you?”

“No, Herzchen , never.”

“I must have hurt you very much.”

“Not in the way you think. I knew you loved me, and I could wait. I’ve always believed a patient man must win in the end.”

“So you decided to let me work it out for myself. You weren’t a bit worried when I announced I was going home to Drogheda, were you?”

“Oh, yes. Had it been another man I would not have been perturbed, but Drogheda? A formidable opponent. Yes, I worried.”

“You knew I was going before I told you, didn’t you?”

“Clyde let the cat out of the bag. He rang Bonn to ask me if there was any way I could stop you, so I told him to play along with you for a week or two at any rate, and I’d see what I could do. Not for his sake, Herzchen . For my own. I’m no altruist.”

“That’s what Mum said. But this house! Did you have it a month ago?”

“No, nor is it mine. However, since we will need a London house if you’re to continue with your career, I’d better see what I can do to acquire it. That is, provided you like it. I’ll even let you have the redecorating of it, if you promise faithfully not to deck it out in pink and orange.”

“I’ve never realized quite how devious you are. Why didn’t you just say you still loved me? I wanted you to!”

“No. The evidence was there for you to see it for yourself, and you had to see if for yourself.”

“I’m afraid I’m chronically blind. I didn’t really see for myself, I had to have some help. My mother finally forced me to open my eyes. I had a letter from her tonight, telling me not to come home.”

“She’s a marvelous person, your mother.”

“I know you’ve met her, Rain—when?”

“I went to see her about a year ago. Drogheda is magnificent, but it isn’t you, Herzchen . At the time I went to try to make your mother see that. You’ve no idea how glad I am she has, though I don’t think anything I said was very enlightening.”

She put her fingers up to touch his mouth. “I doubted myself, Rain. I always have. Maybe I always will.”

“Oh, Herzchen , I hope not! For me there can never be anyone else. Only you. The whole world has known it for years. But words of love mean nothing. I could have screamed them at you a thousand times a day without affecting your doubts in the slightest. So I haven’t spoken my love, Justine, I’ve lived it. How could you doubt the feelings of your most faithful gallant?” He sighed. “Well, at least it hasn’t come from me. Perhaps you’ll continue to find your mother’s word good enough.”

“Please don’t say it like that! Poor Rain, I think I’ve worn even your patience to a thread. Don’t be hurt that it came from Mum. It doesn’t matter! I’ve knelt in abasement at your feet!”

“Thank God the abasement will only last for tonight,” he said more cheerfully. “You’ll bounce back tomorrow.”

The tension began to leave her; the worst of it was over. “What I like—no, love —about you the most is that you give me such a good run for my money I never do quite catch up.”

His shoulders shook. “Then look at the future this way, Herzchen . Living in the same house with me might afford you the opportunity to see how it can be done.” He kissed her brows, her cheeks, her eyelids. “I would have you no other way than the way you are, Justine. Not a freckle of your face or a cell of your brain.”

She slid her arms around his neck, sank her fingers into that satisfying hair. “Oh, if you knew how I’ve longed to do this!” she said. “I’ve never been able to forget.”

The cable said: HAVE JUST BECOME MRS RAINER MOERLING HARTHEIM STOP PRIVATE CEREMONY THE VATICAN STOP PAPAL BLESSINGS ALL OVER THE PLACE STOP THAT IS DEFINITELY BEING MARRIED EXCLAMATION WE WILL BE DOWN ON A DELAYED HONEYMOON AS SOON AS POSSIBLE BUT EUROPE IS GOING TO BE HOME STOP LOVE TO ALL AND FROM RAIN TOO STOP JUSTINE

Meggie put the form down on the table and stared wide-eyed through the window at the wealth of autumn roses in the garden. Perfume of roses, bees of roses. And the hibiscus, the bottlebrush, the ghost gums, the bougainvillaea up above the world so high, the pepper trees. How beautiful the garden was, how alive. To see its small things grow big, change, and wither; and new little things come again in the same endless, unceasing cycle.

Time for Drogheda to stop. Yes, more than time. Let the cycle renew itself with unknown people. I did it all to myself, I have no one else to blame. And I cannot regret one single moment of it.

The bird with the thorn in its breast, it follow an immunatable law; it is driven by it knows not what to impale itself, and die singing. At the very instant the thron enters there is no awareness in it of the dying to come; it simply sings and sings until there is not the life left to utter another note. But we, when we put the thorns in our breasts, we know. We understand. And still we do it. Still we do it.