Lindsay Armstrong - From Waif To His Wife

In fact, she’d often thought that Maisie Wallis had disappeared, been swallowed up in her new life. She’d even contributed to it-for some reason, she’d never visited Manly, she’d never gone back to see the Amelie or her parents’ house. She’d left it all in Jack’s hands.

She had a music tutor and she’d embarked on her Master’s Degree with enthusiasm.

But now, sitting in front of her piano at seven and a half months pregnant, there was not an ounce of enthusiasm in her for anyone or anything, least of all herself, and she knew precisely why.

It all came under one heading-Rafe. And the fact that that it had been a vain assumption that she’d closed the door on how she felt about him.

He was kind, he took an interest in her interests but she sensed a brick wall between them below the surface and, as she’d once feared, it was hurting her almost unbearably.

He was rarely home, but even when he was in Brisbane he didn’t always sleep at the house, he used the apartment, and that added another torment for Maisie. Did he have a mistress, and if so, could she blame him?

He certainly wasn’t going to want her now that she was heavy, swollen and slow. Who would?

And when she couldn’t control her imagination, she had a mental cast of potential lovers he might chose from, from statuesque brunettes through to creamy, glorious blondes.

If you added to all that blotches of brown pigment on your skin, heartburn that interfered with your sleep and the conviction that this pregnancy was never going to end, it wasn’t easy to feel chipper.

Not even the nursery she and Sonia had decorated, the shopping they’d done for the baby, not even the thought of her child, the lifeline she’d clung to for so long, was helping her because she’d started to question her suitability as a mother.

Who wouldn’t, she thought, when you couldn’t give your baby a father because you’d ignored all the conventions and good sense you’d been brought up with and allowed yourself to be swept off your feet and, if that wasn’t bad enough, when you’d fallen in love with another man not long afterwards?

Was it any wonder Rafe Sanderson viewed her as foolish, if not worse? She was…Although she still hoped and prayed that she hadn’t given away what she felt for him.

She’d also come to the growing realisation that being a single parent was extremely lonely on a mental plane, even leading the cushioned, want-for-nothing life she was living.

Yes, she could talk to Sonia about anything to do with babies and birth but nothing could replace the link she was missing, the spiritual link she needed with the other half of her baby’s creator. Not that Tim Dixon could have ever given her that, she knew; no one could now-that was what made it so lonely.

‘Yoo-hoo! Anyone home?’

Maisie scrubbed her face urgently as Wes stood up and barked once then wagged his tail.

It was Sonia, but despite her bright greeting she looked unwell, even unusually haggard, as she walked into the den that had been converted into a music room.

‘What’s wrong?’ Maisie asked.

‘Nothing! I’m as right as rain.’ She patted Wes then she added rigidly, ‘What I need is a good, stiff drink.’

Maisie opened her mouth, closed it and said, ‘Sit down, I’ll get you one.’

And she did so as fast as she could.

‘Now,’ she handed Sonia a crystal tumbler with a generous tot of brandy in it, ‘what’s wrong?’

Sonia accepted the glass, sipped and choked. ‘Liam’s asked for a divorce,’ she said with tears rolling down her cheeks. ‘And it’s all my fault.’

‘Why?’ Maisie queried gently.

‘Because I’m a fool,’ Sonia said tragically. ‘It’s taken this to make me realise that I drove him away because I’m really cynical about letting anyone get too close to me. I thought I could have Liam yet keep him at arm’s length. I was even convinced,’ she laughed hollowly, ‘that he’d come back after he asked for a separation, it just needed a little time.’

She breathed raggedly then continued, ‘I thought I should always be in command of myself but that led to wanting to be in command of him too on top of,’ she paused and pressed her fingers to her temples, ‘a natural tendency to bossiness anyway,’ she said with bleak honesty.

Maisie sat down on a cushioned footstool in front of her sister-in-law. ‘Oh, Sonia, I’m so sorry. But-why? What made you like that?’

It was Sonia’s turn to scrub her face. ‘When you grow up in a war zone you tend not to allow yourself to feel anything too deeply.’

Maisie’s eyes widened. ‘A war zone? I don’t understand.’

‘My parents had a love-hate relationship that was,’ Sonia shook her head, ‘deeply disturbing, sometimes terrifying as a child living through it. I suppose I took my mother’s side instinctively and subconsciously decided never to put myself in a position as painful as hers.’

She pleated her skirt and shrugged. ‘But, you know, you grow up and you think you’ve put it all behind you-until one day you wake up and realise it caused you to build a fence around your emotions that you can’t seem to break through. Or couldn’t.’ New tears welled. ‘And now it’s too late.’

Maisie put her arms around her.

And she sat deep in thought after Sonia had left.

Were daughters more vulnerable in that kind of situation? In other words, how had his parents’ turbulent relationship affected Rafe? Was he just as cynical in his own way as Sonia?

Did that explain why a man who had so much to offer, you would have thought, had no time for a wife and family?

What had he said to her once? Something about neither of them, for reasons of their own, viewing love and all the trimmings through rose-coloured glasses…

‘The evidence,’ she murmured aloud, ‘seems to be piling up against him ever falling in love with you, Maisie, if that’s what’s in your secret heart-and of course it is! Not that this makes any difference. Tim Dixon was always going to effectively scotch that possibility but why does this news disturb me so much?’

It was a question she couldn’t answer, she could only acknowledge that it lay heavily on her mind.

It was to be a day of bad news.

Rafe came home earlier than he usually did on a weekday, and found her in the kitchen making dinner.

‘What are you doing?’ he asked as he pulled off his tie and flicked open the top button of his shirt.

‘I am concocting,’ she said brightly-she’d perfected a bright, breezy manner with him, ‘a chicken casserole with Marsala, mushrooms, parsley, capsicum, shallots and that’s about it.’ She waved a hand over the series of bowls containing her colourful ingredients. ‘Oh, and bacon.’

‘Where’s Grace?’ He opened the fridge and took out a can of beer and a bottle of unsweetened apple juice, which happened to be Maisie’s favourite drink of the moment.

‘She’s gone to a choir rehearsal. Anyway, I felt like cooking.’

He poured the beer into a long glass and the apple juice into a shorter one. ‘Come out onto the patio, I need to talk to you.’

‘That sounds serious. Can’t we talk while I cook?’

He shook his head and after a moment she untied her apron and turned off the pan she’d been about to sauté the mushrooms, shallots, capsicum and bacon in.

And she followed him out onto the patio where he studied the Mary-Lue bobbing a bit on the end of the jetty as a boat wake rocked it.

Then he turned to her. ‘Tim-has died, Maisie.’ And he watched her reaction like a hawk.

SHE went white and had to sit down heavily. ‘Died?’ she repeated hoarsely. ‘How?’

‘In a diving accident in Vava’u. He actually saved someone’s life at the expense of his own.’ He told her some of the details. ‘He…I’m bringing his body home; I’ll leave this evening in about an hour, so I should be home tomorrow morning. We’ll only stay to refuel.’

She stared at him, still clearly in shock. Then she placed her hands on her stomach as if trying to shield her baby from the news, and Rafe Sanderson made his own deductions.

‘I’m sorry,’ he said very quietly.

‘I-I don’t know what to say.’

‘You don’t have to say anything. I have my own regrets about Tim. You were right, it wasn’t easy for him growing up in my shadow and with an embittered mother in the background. I should have-taken that into account a lot earlier than I did. That’s why I don’t want him to make his last journey home alone.’

Tears were sliding unnoticed down Maisie’s cheeks and once again Wes, who followed her everywhere, put his paw on her lap.

‘But,’ Rafe went on when she tried to speak but couldn’t, ‘what time will Grace get home? I don’t want to leave you alone…I know, I’ll ask Sonia-’

‘No.’ Maisie found her voice. ‘She’s-got her own problems. And Grace should be back shortly.’

‘What problems?’ He frowned.

‘Liam wants a divorce and it’s hit her for six.’

He swore softly. ‘I’ll give her a call. Maisie-will you be all right?’

‘Yes. Really! I’m fine, so don’t worry about me.’ She looked away from him. ‘It-it was just-a shock.’

‘Naturally.’ He paused. ‘Come and help me pack.’

‘I…Would you mind if I just sat here alone for a little while, Rafe?’

For some reason he frowned but then he shrugged. ‘Sure. But think of this, Maisie. He died a hero and that’s how Tim was. He could be very bad but when he was good he was good.’ And he went inside.

Leaving Maisie to ask herself exactly what she did feel over this news. Shocked, of course. Moved to tears for her baby, who would never have the opportunity to know her father and might have wanted to one day, whatever he was like, and who was to say he mightn’t have reformed his ways? Perhaps.