Margaret Way - It Happened in Sydney

“So go, then.” A soft poignancy replaced the anger in her voice. “How will it end, David?”

Abruptly the wild clamour that was in him turned to an even odder tenderness. He found himself turning back to cup her face in his hands. “I can’t think about it right now, Sonya. I truly can’t. We have to find out what’s going on with Marcus.”

“He was so excited! It was a flag signalling trouble.”

She was the very image of lamentation. It caused his anger to flash back. “Has Marcus ever kissed you? I mean, really kissed you?” There was conflict here. The disloyalty associated with having to ask; the fear of how he would handle it if the answer was above and beyond yes.

She threw up her head. He would never give his trust. “This love affair is in Marcus’s head. His life has been so lonely, for a woman, I mean. I know you all love him. It’s extraordinary when you think about it. A kiss on the cheek, dinner, a few outings, one day on his yacht, and suddenly he can’t part with me.”

Holt forced his hands to drop to his sides. “Look at you! Why would he?” he asked harshly. “That’s what falling in love is all about, Sonya.” He moved with purpose to the door. He had to get away from her fast. Hunger for her was at cyclone-force, a headwind that could drive him back to her.

“I am not going to marry Marcus,” she called after him.

“You need to marry someone.” His retort was delivered with quick fire. “It doesn’t do for a woman like you not to be safely contained.”

They learned early the next morning Marcus had suffered a heart attack. He would be released in a few days, allowing time for the battery of tests. A top cardiac specialist had been called in. Sonya took flowers and fruit to the hospital. When she arrived at his private room she could see Lady Palmerston was there, looking, as ever, marvellous and so stylish in her tailored suit, slim black skirt, black and white jacket.

Marcus’s face lit up. Lady Palmerston’s did not. “Marcus has just been telling me you’re engaged?” she said, looking towards Sonya.

It was a far cry from the warm friendly tone Sonya had become used to. “I think Marcus has to give me time to catch my breath, Lady Palmerston,” she said, moving to the bed to kiss Marcus’s cheek. “How are you feeling, Marcus?”

“Much better,” he said, his eyes dazzled by her youth and beauty. “Sorry I gave you and David such a fright. It was just a warning, the specialist said. I’m going to do exactly as he says. Life is too sweet.”

“I’m sure the first thing is to put all excitements out of your mind, Marcus,” Rowena said with a touch of severity. “A bit of quiet is called for.”

“Now, now, Aunty dear.” Marcus waved an affectionate hand at her. “I’ve had enough quiet all these years. The flowers are splendid, Sonya.” He turned his head to admire them. Sonya had assembled six or seven red torch ginger flowers with some beautiful big glossy pinkish-red anthurium flowers and a few exotic tropical leaves. She intended to place them near the window.

“I have a vase with me,” she said, lightly touching Marcus’s hand. If only, if only he hadn’t fallen in love with her. She did so want him as a friend. “I’ll just fill it with water.”

Less than ten minutes later a nurse came to the door. “Time for a rest now, Mr Wainwright,” she said, crisply pleasant, but her eyes whipped over Rowena and Sonya with the message, Time to leave.

The lift to the ground floor was crowded, visitors, staff, a doctor in a pin-striped suit looking as though he was very important in the scheme of things. Noise and bustle everywhere. A hospital was never truly silent. Peace was hard to find. They were outside the hospital, walking to one of the parking areas, before Lady Palmerston spoke.

“You might tell me what this is all about, Sonya. An engagement?” She lifted her arched brows, her expression grave, but withholding judgment.

“I’m sorry, Lady Palmerston. I didn’t see it coming.”

“Call me Rowena, dear,” Rowena said impatiently. “Marcus of all people to totally lose his head,” she lamented. “Why, you’re hardly more than a child.”

“I’m twenty-five.”

“A great age!” Rowena scoffed. “Marcus is thirty years older.”

“So what should I have done?” Sonya implored. “I thought I had found a friend. I wasn’t looking for a partner.”

“Good Lord, Sonya, you must have had some idea where it was all going? An intelligent young woman like you.”

“I regret I didn’t speak out earlier. Initially it was the last thing I expected. I admire Marcus. He’s a dear, distinguished man. Not an easy thing to tell him what he didn’t want to hear. In my own defence I have to say I didn’t encourage him. I didn’t give him to understand our friendship was moving to another stage. Surely a smile isn’t a big come-on? Enjoyment in good conversation? Sharing the things we have in common? I know all about loss, just as Marcus does. The trouble with rich people is they think they can have anything and anyone they want.” She waved an agitated hand in front of her face.

Rowena considered. “There may be a touch of that,” she frankly admitted. “But why, oh, why did you wear Lucy’s emeralds, Sonya? That was a huge mistake. You’ve no idea how much gossip that caused.”

“Gossip won’t kill me,” she said hardily. “People can say what they want.” Sonya lifted her head to give Rowena a high mettled look. “Marcus was insistent. I had no idea the necklace would be so grand. There was such a look of pleasure in his eyes. For a moment I thought he was even on the verge of tears. I should have refused, but I was loath to take that light out of his face. My mistake.”

“Well, it certainly put you in the line of fire,” Rowena said quietly. “All of a sudden people are intensely interested in you. Who are you exactly? They all know now you’re a florist. In my view the best florist in town, but a working girl.”

“So, tough to be a working girl!” Sonya exclaimed with a satirical edge. “Naturally I masterminded a plan to land myself a millionaire.”

Rowena took Sonya’s arm. “My dear, you know as well as I do, it’s every other young woman’s goal to marry a millionaire.”

“It is not mine.” Sonya enunciated the words very clearly. “As it happens no one, including you, Lady Palmerston, knows the extent of my finances.”

“How would I know?” Rowena asked in exasperation. “You never talk about yourself, Sonya. It’s as though you’re afraid to let anyone come near. I can see your attraction to Marcus. Marcus wouldn’t have pressed you for information. I’m here for you, my dear. I like you. More, I’ve come to care for you. I readily understand how you’ve come to find a place in Marcus’s heart. But your life before you came to this country appears to be a closed book. You’re obviously well bred—” She broke off as if bewildered by Sonya’s stand.

“I promise you, Lady Palmerston, I will tell you all about myself when I can.” Sonya gently pressed her arm.

“So, no Rowena?” Rowena smiled.

Sonya’s expression was intense. “I have such respect for you, Lady Palmerston, I think I should work up to calling you Rowena.”

“As you wish, my dear.” Rowena glimpsed another Sonya, a young woman from a different background, a different world. Sonya gave such an impression of poise, of near regal self-assurance, then, out of the blue, a hint of a scared little girl. What did it all mean?

Two days after Marcus Wainwright was discharged from hospital he suffered, as others in similar circumstances had suffered before him, the one fatal heart attack. Even with a warning his death came as a pulverizing shock.