Читать книгу Bangalore - Roger Crook - Страница 5

Getting to know the family.

Pat hadn’t had a chance to see the dining room at Bangalore. It was a big room dominated by portraits of ancestors and landscapes of not only the Gascoyne region, but also, she presumed, of Scotland. The big table could easily seat twelve, so the five places had been set at one end, two on each side and one at the head of the table. Pat looked at it again and realised the table could be extended beyond its current size to maybe seat twenty. Down the centre of the table was a white linen runner on which had been laid two bowls of salad, salad cream and the condiments. Angus sat Pat and Rachael together and Roddy and Michelle opposite them.

The dining area was barely half of the room. Twenty or more people could easily fit into an area furnished with big sofas and armchairs and small tables of all shapes and sizes, pieces of furniture collected through the ages. On the far wall was a huge stone fireplace, now fitted with a modern slow combustion stove, wood neatly stacked at each side. Above the fireplace was what she presumed to be the Sinclair Coat of Arms.

At first, looking round, she thought it a strange room as it was in the middle of the house with one window facing north. Inside there were heavy wooden shutters the same as on the outside. Angus noticed and reading her mind explained. “I think old man Sinclair built this room to be the strongest room in the house. They were always concerned about, maybe frightened of, cyclones. The north-facing window intrigued me until I realised that the room would seldom be used during the day, and in the afternoon the summer sun would have passed, and in the winter, for what winter is up here, a north-facing window would provide little warmth. So this is the cyclone shelter really. I’ll put the lights on one night and you can see how I’ve played with the features. It really is a great room for a dinner party. They say John Forrest had dinner here several times, and other Premiers after him.”

Once seated, Rachael whispered in Pat’s ear and they both got up and left the room only to return a few moments later carrying five plates with fillets of fish garnished with parsley and a wedge of lemon. Pat sat down and Rachael went back to the kitchen and returned with a dish of freshly boiled and buttered small potatoes. Angus exchanged glances with his daughter and he smiled. They both knew that it was only a matter of time before Alice and Michelle came face to face. He knew that Alice would not stray from her end of the house and he knew that Michelle would not break the habit of a lifetime and go into the kitchen, especially if Alice were there; just the same, he knew that they could not avoid each other for ever.

Pat was pleased that lunch was dominated with easy conversation. The fish melted in the mouth; the chardonnay was cold as was an old and golden bottle of Riesling. Roddy congratulated Angus on his wine and asked intelligent questions of both her and Rachael.

Michelle for a while, held forth about the coming opera season and the rumour that Placido Domingo would do two farewell concerts in Perth. When no one showed any interest in those remarks she told them in detail about their new house at Dunsborough. As she talked the mood around the table changed. Now Michelle had the floor and she held forth as she would at any lunch among friends.

Roddy had bought the house next door and they had bulldozed both houses and made one big block and construction had nearly finished on the new house. While they were away she told them, she had made a quick trip to Italy to choose the tiles for the floors and the furniture for the dining room and lounge, as she couldn’t find what she wanted in Perth. By the time she got to the bathrooms Rachael had had enough. “Mother, how many days a week are you going to live in this new palace?”

“Hardly a palace, darling. It only has four bedrooms.”

“All en-suite, I suppose?”

“Of course, darling.”

“And a tennis court, at a beach house?”

“Some people don’t like the beach. They might like to play tennis.”

“You don’t like the beach, Mother, and you’re never going to be there anyway.”

“Yes I am, at the weekends and for holidays in the summer. Anyway it’s there for the family, isn’t it, Roddy? Anyone can use it.”

Roddy didn’t answer Michelle’s question. Instead, he fixed Rachael with the same stare he’d used on Pat when they had first met, only this time he wasn’t smiling. He looked a little annoyed at the way Rachael had challenged her mother. “It’s an investment, Rachael, you know that. When you’ve qualified as a specialist and can charge patients what I am sure you are worth, you’ll be looking for the same thing. It’s called insuring your old age.” His tone was sufficiently patronising to show that he didn’t like Michelle, and by default him, being examined so bluntly.

Rachael looked at him for a moment, unblinking. “You mean it’s a tax lurk?”

“Tax minimisation. Superannuation.”

“Same thing. But no, Roddy, I’ll pay my taxes like everyone should and next June, after I’ve qualified in obstetrics, I’m off with Médecins Sans Frontières, for a couple of years at least.”

At this news Angus looked at his daughter with a quizzical smile and she reached over the table and held his hand. “Sorry, Angus, should have told you, but it only became final last Wednesday.”

“Where are you going, do you know?”

“Back to the country of my ancestors, India. About 200 kilometres north of, would you believe, Bangalore? I didn’t choose that. I just said India, if I could. There’s a little hospital there without a trained obstetrician and about ten births a day and that’s a lot considering that most women have their children at home. The hospital gets the problem births and the sick babies.”

“You’ll probably find that you’re related to some of them.”

“Hope so. Wouldn’t that be exciting?”

Michelle looked hurt at being excluded from a brief moment of touching between father and daughter. She smiled and said, “But, Rachael – your Indian ancestors are four or five generations ago. You’re hardly Indian, well only a little bit.”

“Sorry Mother but it’s not that far back – my great great-grandfather remember, married an Indian princess. Look at me, Mother, I’m a throwback to the sub-continent. Put me in a sari and I’d pass as an Indian any day, a little pale, maybe an Anglo Indian. There are plenty of them out there.” She pointed to a portrait next to the fireplace. “Over there, Pat, that’s my great, great grandmother, Indira Sinclair. Can’t you see the likeness?”

Before Pat could reply Michelle stood up and put her napkin on the table. “We have a long night ahead of us in case any of you have forgotten. My son is somewhere out there maybe injured or worse and we haven’t mentioned him all day. I’m going to lie down for a couple of hours.”

Rachael went over to her mother and put her arms around her. “Come on Mum, we haven’t avoided talking about Ewen, it’s just that there is nothing to say. All we can do is wait. I’m sure we’ll get a phone call as soon as the army knows anything positive. You go and have a lie down. I’ll take Pat down to the pool. I’m sure she hasn’t been there and we’ll have a swim before dark. Dinner is any time we want it. Alice has made more salad and put some steaks and chicken pieces to marinate, so you can sleep for as long as you like. Angus will do the barbecue and we’ll eat outside, whenever. I’ll light the mozzie coils in plenty of time and Alice said she bought some of those big flame torches that have a repellent, citrus I think, so we’ll be quite comfortable outside. You go and lie down.”

Michelle gave Rachael a kiss on the cheek and left the room. After she’d closed the door Angus said, “You go, Rach. Roddy and I will stick this stuff in the dish washer and the fridge. Take the Mercedes.”

“C’mon, Pat, off for a swim. Is that okay?”

“I haven’t got any bathers.”

“Neither have I. You won’t need them. There’ll just be you and me so we can swim in the buff.” Before Pat could reply, Rachael was in the hall shouting, “I’ll get the towels. See you at the car.”