a few rusty marks of the time. However, behind them was the piece I loved the most. A roll-top desk. Lovingly, I ran my hands over it. ‘Oh Mum, look.’
‘If I remember correctly that piece is circa 1780 Paris. It still has its original marble top.’
‘Mmmm,’ I answered, busy rolling up the top to reveal a large writing pad and eight smaller drawers inside. ‘Oh my goodness.’
‘Will this help?’ Bea asked.
I looked around the room. ‘What, for Mr Carmody’s house? Mum it would be magnificent… perfect… what can I say?’
‘Well I daresay your papa would be very pleased.’ And Bea’s face showed it. ‘Finally he has done something right.’
*
We adjourned upstairs to the living room, where I nestled into the corner of one of the cream damask sofas. Placing my feet upon a plump cushion, I enjoyed the fading sunlight sparkling through a giant crepe myrtle tree outside the front door. Every March, Bea would fill our home at Kangaroo Point with huge vases of the heliotrope coloured crepe myrtle blooms cut from the trees in our garden there.
I glanced around Bea’s living room. Filled with romantic talismans - painted crosses, wooden hearts, keys strung on the end of rosary beads, the words armour embroidered on one of the cushions – it was the perfect Bea room.
The quiet was punctuated by the squeals of children playing in neighbouring yards. I liked the sound of it. Across from me, Bea, her eyes alive with excitement, spoke more of Papa than she had in my entire life. Or maybe it was just that I was ready to hear.
‘Your papa had a law degree when he first started out working with the best auctioneers in Lille and Paris. At 24, he became the youngest dealer in Chinoiserie for the European Biennale. His first shop was in Chartres and was opened solely on weekends catering to the Parisians who would make sabbaticals to their stately country homes. Weekdays, he spent passionately scouring antique markets and sourcing irreplaceable pieces from some of France’s most expensive private homes.’ She smiled. ‘He was passionate, intelligent and hardworking. You’re much like him Peach. Perhaps you have more of him, than me.’
I smiled at her. ‘But what of the chateau?’
‘Yes, the chateau and your grandmother, Helene, the doyenne of the family.’ Her voice still held an edge of dislike, even after all of this time. ‘When your grandfather passed away, your papa’s older brother Philippe inherited the chateau.’
I narrowed my eyes in disbelief. ‘I didn’t know there was an older brother.’
‘Yes, but when your papa was in his late thirties, Philippe, along with his wife and young son, were killed in a car accident. Of course, as was the done thing, your papa went home to run the family chateau, although he never gave up his involvement and love of antiques.’
‘Did he want to return to the chateau?’
‘Hmmm… I’m not sure that he had a choice, however from what I understand it was not entirely bad, as he had been coming and going for many years and seeing someone in the next town. Plus I believe his mother thought it was time he settled down.’
I narrowed my eyes. ‘Helene didn’t like you, did she?’
‘No, not at all. It was awful for me at the time, but I understand now.’
‘How so?’
‘Well she was a widow, and then her oldest son, daughter-in-law and grandchild tragically die. The younger son, she thinks will settle down at the chateau with a woman she likes… instead I turn up. A young inexperienced, flighty foreigner. In hindsight, she was right about me.’
I raised my eyebrows in a questioning look.
‘Well I didn’t stay, did I? And I was as bored out in the country as I had been in Tasmania. At that age, I really wasn’t interested in some old chateau. Of course I loved Alexandre.’ She glanced down at her hands. ‘Very, very much.’
‘But what about Dad, you loved him as well, didn’t you?’
‘Yes, but differently. Of course I loved Johnny, in fact I still do, but more like a favourite sibling. It’s not hard to love someone who is a genuinely good guy and loves you. He adored you girls and we had a good life. And let’s face it, Johnny is a great character, quite a larrikin, everyone loves him. The difference was, I was in love with Alexandre. Always was and always will be. From the moment we met, we could not deny the powerful force between us. For many years, I regretted leaving France so quickly and not giving him a second chance. However as I got older, I realised that although he loved me, he was always going to be a charmer with the women.’ She clucked her tongue. ‘Typical of so many Frenchmen. They are so charismatic and so terribly seductive.’ Bea played with her hair in a girlish way and pulled her legs up underneath herself. ‘They get into your blood and you can think of nothing else. The thing about them is that they genuinely love beautiful women. Almost worship them, in fact.’
My tone was droll. ‘I’m not sure that’s an excuse. Don’t all men?’ I drummed my fingers on the arm of the chair.
‘Yes and no. If you asked all men they would say they did, but men like your papa make it an art form. They let you know that they appreciate the beauty, they cherish it, and it makes them who they are. Their masculinity makes you all the more feminine. There is a magnetism about them. The way they speak of beautiful women, you feel it is an honour they have picked you. And you understand that they just can’t help themselves but enjoy the beauty of others.’
My voice held a certain edge, my recent past rising up to haunt me. ‘I’m not sure I understand. Surely it’s not something you can forgive?’
‘I tell you, with maturity, I would forgive Alexandre everything. And I did. He was, and is, the love of my life.’
I realised we were speaking of something else. ‘I’m not sure I could ever forgive Davis,’ I said quietly, absentmindedly playing with a silk tassel on a cream and gold brocade cushion.
Bea shrugged. ‘Who knows? The thing is, sex is a much more powerful thing for a woman than a man. Men can be spasmodic. For a woman, it is deep and meaningful. Anyway, I think the way you are right now, if that’s what Davis wanted, you would forgive him in a heartbeat.’
Giving my head a shake, I looked at her, screwing my nose up. ‘Why do you say that?’
‘Because it shows. But you know…’ and she paused, her eyes narrowing, while she carefully chose her words. ‘I know you loved Davis, but I’m not sure he is the love of your life. I think you are still to find him.’
I shrugged, unsure if she was right.
‘I know you don’t believe me right now, but I want to ask you something.’ She paused briefly. ‘Can you tell me he bought the best out in you?’
‘He certainly did in the business. We made a fantastic team,’ I said proudly, as much for myself as for her. I needed to remember that not everything had been bad, that there were times when we were phenomenal together.
‘That’s a little different. That’s called being a good boss or a good business partner. But what about who you are Peach, the real you, your dreams and what you want out of life. Did he enhance those things for you? Have you lived the life you wanted?’
Touché, she and I both knew I had not. I sat back. ‘Did Papa for you?’ I asked boldly.
‘Absolutely! When I was with him, my paintings were never better. He made me feel I could live the way I wanted, and be the best me. I didn’t have to pretend to be something I wasn’t. I was fulfilled. I was a better me. More me… if that makes sense.’
There was a part of me that understood what she was saying, but there was a huge part of me that wondered how she could have loved him so much, when he could never be faithful to her.
It