At Home with the Templetons Page 14

  ‘You haven’t finished talking yet?’

  ‘That’s it.’ He waited until the door closed and then turned his attention back to Nina. ‘My apologies. You were about to tell me why you decided you didn’t like us.’

  ‘I’m sorry. I don’t even know you. It’s unfair.’

  ‘Life can be unfair. But I’m curious now. We don’t have much to do with local people.’

  ‘No, that causes some problems.’

  ‘It does? But why?’

  ‘Gossip abhors a vacuum, I suppose. What people don’t know about you they make up. You chose to keep your distance, so people decided —’

  ‘That we think we’re better than them?’ At Nina’s nod, he continued. ‘So the fete didn’t work? That’s why we decided to hold it, you know. To show everyone locally what we were doing.’

  ‘They thought you were just showing off.’

  ‘I suppose we were.’

  ‘It worked, then.’

  He smiled. ‘Nina, I really should have called over to you earlier. This is fascinating. We’ll get back to you and Tom in a moment, I promise. I want to find out more about ourselves first, before Gracie comes back. Tell me, why else do people dislike us?’

  After today she’d probably never speak to Henry Templeton again. She may as well tell the truth. ‘Initially it was because you didn’t hire locals to help with the renovations.’

  ‘But we needed experts. We needed the work done quickly. You mean there were qualified stained-glass repair people nearby? Interior designers experienced in the recreation and sourcing of colonial-style wallpapers, carpets and linen? Authentic 1860s furniture suppliers? So we were condemned for using imported experts. I’d argue that point, but never mind for the moment. Why else don’t people like us?’

  ‘Because you haven’t joined any of the local associations or business groups.’

  ‘But why should we?’

  ‘Good manners? Curiosity? Good business practice?’

  ‘But it’s good business practice to keep ourselves apart. That’s the whole mystique of us, surely? Why would people pay good money to visit the Hall, to hear us talk, to go on our tours if they’d already met us for coffee or stood next to me at a local sausage sizzle?’

  The casual term made Nina smile. ‘What do you know about sausage sizzles?’

  ‘We read the local paper from cover to cover. We like to keep in touch. I’m not being sarcastic. I mean it. Nina, one of the best forms of business promotion is word-of-mouth. Let me put it like this. If you were a visitor to the area, and someone said to you (a) there’s a family of English people living in a big house near here who run a kind of museum. In fact, there’s one of them now, in a tracksuit, or (b) there’s a very peculiar English family who seem to think they’re living in colonial times and we hardly ever see them in town. There’s something very odd about them. Which would intrigue you the most? Which would make you determined to go and investigate for yourself?’

  ‘B, of course. That’s why you keep yourself so apart?’

  ‘That, and the fact that the blasted Hall takes so much work that Eleanor and I barely have time to talk to each other and the children, let alone any already hostile and suspicious local people. Also, I don’t like meetings. Can’t bear them.’ He smiled. ‘Thank you. For someone tucked away in the middle of a paddock like this, Nina, you have your finger on the pulse. This is wonderful, like market research without all the bother.’

  ‘I’m not telling you anything you wouldn’t hear from anyone else. You could walk down the main street of Castlemaine and you’d hear far more than I could tell you.’

  ‘Ah, but none of them would be as friendly as you. Or such a good listener. I feel like I could talk to you for hours.’ He laughed then. ‘Perhaps it helps that you’ve not been married to me for nearly twenty years. Eleanor always tells me I am too vain, but it’s not vanity talking about yourself, is it? It’s curiosity, I think. I find it helps to talk aloud when one is trying to understand one’s motives, beliefs and experiences. Now you, Nina. Tell me about you. Who you are. Why you’re here. About your painting.’

  She tried not to react to the sudden switch in subject. Hilary appeared in her mind’s eye again. ‘Have fun. Enjoy this. How often do you talk to attractive men?’ An admission in itself that she found Henry Templeton attractive? But he was, in a tall, lean, English way. She changed position in her seat, trying to appear relaxed and poised, all at once. It was quite difficult. ‘I’m not from here either. That’s the starting point, I suppose.’

  ‘Ah, so you’re one of us. A blow-in. Isn’t that the term?’

  ‘That’s it, though my arrival was a little less flamboyant than yours, I think.’

  ‘Oh, I don’t know about that. I’m sure you would stand out in any crowd. Your colouring is very striking, by the way, that dark hair and those lovely eyes.’

  He didn’t say it in a sleazy way. He just sounded matter-of-fact, which made it all the more affecting. Nina found herself abruptly changing the subject and asking after Eleanor, whether she’d be away long.

  ‘We don’t know yet. Eleanor’s taken her sister home, back to friends who have a house in Surrey. The difficulty with Hope, you see, is —’

  ‘Can I come back in yet? I’ve run out of distractions and I can’t find Spencer or Tom anywhere.’ It was Gracie, back again.

  Henry smiled at his daughter. ‘Gracie, perfect timing. Come in. I’ve just finished telling Nina all about our family. But it turns out she knew most of it already.’

  Gracie looked pleased. ‘We can tell you even more things once you start visiting us, Nina. You can come too, you know. It’s not just Tom we want to hire.’

  ‘Ah, yes, the financial arrangement. Thank you, Gracie, for subtly moving the subject in that direction. And once again, Gracie, I need you to make yourself scarce. I’m sure Nina would rather have a conversation about money with just one of us, not the whole family.’

  ‘Gracie, you don’t need to leave. I don’t need to be paid, Henry, and nor does Tom. I’d be insulted if you paid us.’

  Gracie frowned. ‘But you banned Tom from seeing Spencer again. You rang in a fury. I heard Mum and Dad talking about it. That’s why we thought we’d have to offer you money. Mum said things had come to a pretty pass when she had to start buying friends for Spencer, but if that was the only option, so be it. That’s what she said, Dad, isn’t it?’

  Henry shot Nina a brief, amused glance before turning to his daughter. ‘Thank you, Gracie, but please, off you go again. Five more minutes.’

  ‘But where do I go this time?’

  ‘The boys are probably down at Tom’s new tree house,’ Nina said. ‘In the paddock near the main road.’

  ‘A tree house? Not just a cubbyhouse? I love tree houses.’ She ran outside.

  Henry turned his attention back to Nina. ‘I’m sorry not to couch this in any more elegant or less desperate terms, but can we call on your neighbourly assistance with Spencer? Perhaps Tom might even enjoy Spencer’s company, or all our company over at the Hall? You might even enjoy some peaceful time yourself?’

  ‘Peaceful? After what you’ve told me Spencer gets up to and what I know Tom would like to get up to?’

  Henry smiled. ‘Perhaps it will be a case of like meeting like, the two of them burning themselves out and immediately turning into studious, book-reading, stay-at-home boys?’

  ‘Either that or you and I could take turns checking them for explosives.’

  Henry smiled again. A genuine, proper smile. Not the practised, persuasive one she’d seen several times that afternoon already. This was different. The angular lines of his face softened, his eyes creased. He changed from being remotely attractive to being completely attractive, the soft laugh he gave only adding to it all. She suddenly understood why Hope could have done everything she had.

  ‘You’re sure we can’t pay you, Nina? Pay Tom, even? Put this on a business footing?’

  ‘No. I mean it. I�
�d be insulted.’

  ‘Then I’ll have to think of some other way to show my gratitude.’ He gave her that smile again. The real one. ‘Nina, thank you again. So we have a deal?’

  ‘We have a deal,’ she said.

  They were just reaching across to shake one another’s hand when they heard the sound of running feet. Gracie appeared in the doorway, white-faced. ‘Dad, quick. Call an ambulance. Spencer’s cut off his arm!’

  Two hours later, all five of them made their way from the local hospital’s emergency department back to Nina’s car. Spencer hadn’t cut off his arm, but had fallen from the tree house, badly cutting his hand on the barbed-wire fence on the way down. Nina had hurriedly got everyone into her car, while Henry used his shirt to staunch the blood. After a fortunately short wait at the hospital, Spencer’s wound had been disinfected, stitched up, bandaged and his arm put in a sling. The bravado or recklessness Henry had described earlier wasn’t evident. Spencer was now just a little boy who needed his father.

  As she drove along the main road for the twenty-minute journey back to the Hall, Nina kept glancing in the rear-vision mirror. Henry and Spencer were in the back seat with Gracie. She noticed how gently Henry was holding Spencer, the constant checking that he was okay. She’d seen that same display of love when they’d run to the scene of the accident, seen it as Henry picked up his son and carried him across the paddock.

  It hurt. She’d thought her jealous feelings were gone and yet here they were back again, bigger than ever, come to life in her car. It was as if they were all acting out some kind of family scene, mum and dad and their three children, heading home together after an eventful afternoon. She forced herself to look only at the road, to listen to Gracie’s constant chatter about the wards in the hospital, to smile at her perfect pronunciation of different operations, appendectomies, tonsillectomies …

  Driving up the avenue to Templeton Hall made her feel even stranger. She pulled in beside the front door, as if this was normal, as if it wasn’t the first time she’d been there in two years. And even though she wanted to just wave goodbye and drive away, she got out too and followed them inside: Henry, with Spencer in his arms, Gracie and Tom.

  Henry stopped in the hallway. ‘I’ll be right back,’ he said to Nina. ‘I’ll just get him settled upstairs. Gracie, fix Nina a drink, please.’

  ‘Henry, thanks, but we won’t stay.’

  ‘Of course you will. We’ve all had a shock. Please, Nina, stay.’

  ‘I don’t think so. Tom’s very tired.’

  ‘I’m not,’ Tom said immediately. ‘I’m fine.’

  ‘We’ll go home,’ she said firmly, not looking at her son. ‘It’s been a big day for you all.’

  ‘But you’ll be back tomorrow?’ Gracie said. ‘Don’t we have an arrangement now?’

  ‘We’ll put that on hold, won’t we?’ Nina asked Henry. ‘Until Spencer is better?’

  ‘I’m fine,’ Spencer said, suddenly reviving. ‘Tom, can you come over tomorrow?’

  ‘Mum, can I? First thing in the morning?’

  How could she say no? When not just her son, but three of the Templetons were gazing at her, so sure of themselves, sure of their appeal.

  They agreed on nine a.m.

  It wasn’t until ten o’clock that night, after Tom had taken more convincing than usual to go to bed, that she was able to phone her sister and fill her in.

  ‘But this is all great,’ Hilary said. ‘Why do you sound so worried?’

  ‘Because I liked them too much. Gracie, Henry, even Spencer —’

  ‘Well, that’s something to worry about. It would be much better if you were sending your son over to play with a family you hated. Nina, what’s got into you? First you decide you don’t like them before you know anything about them, and now you decide you don’t like them because you do like them. If that makes sense.’

  ‘About as much sense as I’m making, I guess. But it was just so unexpected, Hilary. How easy it was to talk to Henry, especially.’

  ‘Your problem is —’

  ‘It’s been too long since I’ve spoken to any man apart from the butcher, the baker and the candlestick maker. Yes, I know. He’s also married, Hilary.’

  Hilary laughed. ‘Nina, I’m not saying you should run off with Henry Templeton. I’m just saying relax, enjoy his company, enjoy the whole family’s company. It’ll do you good to meet new people, get out a bit more. They must have all sorts of parties and soirees.’

  ‘They don’t. He said they’re so busy he and his wife barely get time to talk to each other let alone anyone else.’

  ‘Oh, no. The old “my wife doesn’t understand me” line. So he was making a pass at you?’

  ‘He wasn’t. I’m over-reacting.’

  ‘Yes, you are. Just go with it. See what happens. It’ll be good for Tom and good for Wild Boy or whatever his name is.’

  ‘Spencer.’

  ‘That’s their main problem, if you ask me. They named their poor son after underwear. Tell your darling Henry to give him a different name, a manly name like Wolfgang or Hank, and his problems will be solved immediately.’

  Nina felt calmer after she hung up. She always did after she’d spoken to Hilary. But she still found it hard to sleep. There was no going back now. A connection had been made between herself and Tom and the Templetons, whether she wanted it or not. She knew the next day would be just the start of Tom visiting the Hall. Why would he be happy with just her company when there was a huge place like the Hall to play in, a family as interesting and as unusual as them to get to know? She’d found them fascinating enough herself. She could only imagine how they seemed to a twelve-year-old boy.

  It was after two before she slept. Even then, she was plagued by bad dreams. One in particular. Tom, standing on the front steps of the Hall, surrounded by the Templetons, telling her he’d decided he wanted to live with them from now on.

  CHAPTER NINE

  At Templeton Hall three days later, Henry had just hung up from talking to Eleanor in London and was looking for his youngest daughter. He found her in the morning room, curled up on the window seat, apparently reading but clearly waiting for him. Her expression was eager as she looked up.

  He smiled. ‘It’s a yes, Miss Gracie, I’m pleased to say. Your mother agrees it’s not fair that you should be doing any work while your brother is making merry with his new friend, so you’re on holidays now too until she gets back on the weekend.’

  ‘Hurrah!’ Gracie said. She hopped up, put down her book and followed her father downstairs. ‘It’s all working out, isn’t it? Spencer’s so much better since Tom’s been allowed to come and play.’

  ‘Better? Out of sight, perhaps. I’m still waiting for the sound of something exploding.’

  ‘Don’t worry. They’re only using bicarbonate of soda.’

  Henry stopped mid-step. ‘What do you mean “only using”? Using for what?’

  ‘Their volcano. They’re building it out in the stables apartment. Spencer said it will send lava spewing more than ten metres into the air. But he’s going to add twice as much petrol to the soda, to see if it will go twenty metres. Dad? Dad, where are you going?’

  The next morning, Gracie relayed the entire story to Nina. ‘It wasn’t as bad as Dad thought it would be. I’d got it wrong about the petrol. It was just bicarbonate of soda and kerosene.’

  ‘It still could have exploded,’ Nina said. ‘It’s lucky you told him when you did.’

  ‘Spencer was furious at me. I think Tom was too. Spencer called me a squealer. That’s why I came here. There was no one to talk to at the Hall. You don’t mind, do you?’

  ‘No, Gracie. It’s nice to see you.’

  Nice, if surprising. Nina had planned to spend the day priming canvases. She’d got a faxed order for a dozen landscape paintings. It was as broad a brief as that. The company had received an order from a colonial-style restaurant. Gum trees, dams, hazy blue mountain range in the background, that kind
of thing. It was as well she didn’t harbour a huge artistic ego, Nina thought. Painting by numbers, painting to order. It had kept her and Tom going for nearly three years, though. She wasn’t going to complain.

  ‘Can I help?’ Gracie asked. ‘You’ll need to tell me what it is you’re actually doing, but then I’ll happily lend you a hand.’

  Nina fought a smile. Gracie spoke as though she’d learnt English from watching too many BBC period dramas, a funny mixture of stiff formality and excellent vocabulary. Nina explained what she was doing, applying undercoat to the canvases to give her a clean working surface. She got Gracie an old shirt and set her up with the paint and brushes. They worked in silence for less than a minute before Gracie spoke.

  ‘Nina, how did you know you wanted to be a painter?’

  ‘I didn’t. I thought I wanted to be a gymnast. I used to watch the gymnastics at the Olympics and longed to be one of them. I tried swinging from our clothesline once, fell, broke my arm and gave it up then. While I was waiting for the plaster to come off, my sister bought me a colouring book and pencils and that got me started.’

  ‘But how did you know you were any good?’

  ‘I didn’t at first. I had to learn how to do it. And I’m still not that good. These aren’t works of art, Gracie. I paint whatever it is people ask me to paint.’

  ‘I think they’re beautiful. I think you have a great talent.’

  ‘Thank you very much.’

  ‘And where is your husband, Nina, if you don’t mind me asking?’

  The question took Nina by surprise. All the answers she normally gave suddenly seemed inappropriate to say to a child like Gracie. It didn’t work out between us. We’re no longer together. She also knew that if she said those, Gracie would only ask another question. Why not? Where is he now? She hesitated for just a moment before answering.

  ‘He died, Gracie.’ The truth felt strange in her mouth.

  Gracie put down her paintbrush. ‘He died? He’s dead? How?’

  ‘It was a car accident.’

  ‘Oh, Nina.’ To her amazement, Gracie’s eyes filled with tears. ‘But that’s so sad. When did it happen?’