Kal (27 page)

Maudie looked down at Harry, confused. But Giovanni took no notice.

‘Our family is ruined,' he continued. ‘We are ruined because your husband betrayed us. In my country Harry Brearley would be a dead man.' Giovanni felt a resurgence of his anger but he fought to quell it. ‘Then would come a vendetta between our families. Our sons would kill each other, there would be much bloodshed.' He shook his head. ‘It would be a bad thing. This is Australia. We must not let it happen. But I tell you …'

He glanced down briefly at Harry, then back to
Maudie, and his voice was merciless. ‘If one of your family ever again wrongs a Gianni that man will be a dead man. I will kill him.' He walked away and Maudie stood motionless watching him.

From down the street, the Princess plodded towards Maudie's and the warm comfort of her stable. Jack saw Giovanni stride out of the yard and was about to call to him when the Italian turned back.

‘You Brearleys keep away from us!' he yelled. ‘You keep away, you understand?'

Jack forgot about the preservation of the eggs and urged the Princess into a trot.

‘From this day the Giannis and the Brearleys are
nemici
!' Giovanni shouted. ‘
Nemici
, you understand! We are enemies!' He stormed from the yard and took no notice of the old white horse as it trotted up to the gates.

Jack reigned the Princess to a halt. In the dust before him, bloodied and beaten, knelt his father. And Maudie, rifle in hand, stood beside him.

Giovanni left Maudie's and started to walk home, but several blocks down the street he had a change of heart and headed for the Golden Mile instead. It was a blistering hot February morning and, by the time he reached the outskirts of the town and could see the dumps and the poppet heads in the distance, sweat beaded his brow and his shirt clung to his chest. But he felt good. He had made his decisions.

The slate was clean. He could start anew. Whether his brother would be able to put Harry Brearley's betrayal behind him was another matter, but Giovanni would worry about that when the time came. It would be a while before Rico would be capable of taking any form of action, the injury to his shoulder was so severe. It was not, however, irreparable. He was weak. He had lost a lot of blood, but the bullet had gone clean through.

Giovanni was thankful that he had been spared the role of executioner. Now his main priority was to find a job, and the sooner the better. Until Rico was once more physically fit, it was Giovanni who would be the sole provider for the family.

He could get a job timbercutting, he supposed. But he was a miner, not a timberman. His work lay beneath the ground. Employment with one of the big mines would be the perfect solution. But he was aware that his
chances were not good. Very few Italians were employed by the big mines. The language barrier was the common excuse but Giovanni and his friends knew that it was really ethnic discrimination. The underground bosses stuck to their own kind.

Then the thought occurred to him. There was one underground boss who might give him a chance. Evan Jones. Evan was underground boss at the Midas. And not only was Evan a good man, Giovanni had sensed from the very beginning that he had little time for Harry Brearley. Surely he would be sympathetic to the Giannis' plight.

So Giovanni changed direction and headed for the Golden Mile. It was Sunday. He would not wait until Monday morning to line up with the others seeking work. He would visit Evan at his home. He would personally put his case to the man.

As he stood looking out over the Golden Mile, wiping the sweat from his brow, Giovanni thought of Caterina. In his mind, he rehearsed the scene ahead. He would not look at her. He would greet her briefly then he would turn his full attention to Evan. Perhaps Evan would suggest they retire to discuss their business in private. That would help. Perhaps Caterina would be tending to household chores or playing with little Briony and unable to lend her attention to Giovanni's visit. That too would help.

As he approached the house he noticed that Evan's horse was not tethered out the back. Nor was young Paul's pony.

Perhaps there was no one home, Giovanni thought as he knocked on the door. But he knew, before she opened it, that she was there.

‘Giovanni!' She stood before him, the air was filled with the smell of baking bread and suddenly her hand was upon his cheek. ‘You're hurt!'

He'd forgotten the cut on his cheek. The congealed blood formed a vivid track down the right side of his face.

‘What has happened?' she asked, alarm in her eyes, the touch of her fingers soft on his skin.

Nothing could have stopped him. He took her face in his hands and kissed her. One frozen moment of shock, then her lips parted and she returned his kiss. He gathered her in his embrace and, for several moments, the world could have been watching, but neither of them cared.

It was Kate who came to her senses first and pushed herself away from him. It took her a moment to regain her breath. Her eyes were fixed upon the ground, unable to meet his.

‘I am sorry,' she murmured finally.

Giovanni could see that she was deeply shocked. He was shocked himself, he certainly hadn't intended such a thing to happen. He tried to ease her discomfort as best he could.

‘Why are you sorry? There is no need for you to be sorry,' he insisted. ‘It is I who must apologise. Please forgive me. I had no right.' She said nothing but continued to stare at the ground.

‘I came to see Evan,' Giovanni explained, trying to sound as though nothing had happened. ‘But if he is not at home I can come back later.' He turned to go.

‘No.' She put out her hand, but stopped short of touching him. ‘No, there is no need.' Then she looked up at him and smiled, and it was a smile that made his heart ache. A smile so warm, so honest, that he had to fight the impulse to touch her again, simply to brush his fingers against her cheek, to stroke her hair. ‘Please,' she insisted, ‘please, come inside and wait. He will be home soon.'

Giovanni could do nothing but obey. He followed
her into the front room, sat on the chair she indicated and listened to her voice as she called from the kitchen.

‘Fresh lemons,' she was saying as she prepared them a cooling drink. ‘Mary Kinane, the accountant's wife, grows a beautiful lemon tree and she keeps me supplied.'

Giovanni looked around the little front room. There was love and attention in every detail, from the handmade curtains and cushion covers to the hardy homegrown flowers carefully arranged in the small glass bowl on the sideboard table.

‘Evan planted a lemon tree for me at the Clover,' she said, entering and handing him a large glass, ‘but it died. I hope you have a sweet tooth—I put in a lot of sugar.'

He sipped the drink and nodded. ‘It is very good.'

‘I'll get a damp cloth for your cheek.' And before he could protest she had disappeared again.

She returned several minutes later and handed him a small face towel. ‘I have soaked it in salt,' she warned, ‘it will sting.'

‘Thank you.' He held the warm cloth to his face and was grateful for the momentary distraction as the salt stung into his wound.

She sat in a hardback chair on the opposite side of the room and sipped at her drink as she talked. ‘How did you hurt yourself?' she asked.

‘I fell.'

‘Oh? From a horse?'

‘Just a foolish accident.' When she nodded, realising he didn't want to go into detail, he said jokingly to lighten the moment, ‘At least one side will match the other now, eh?' And he gestured at the scar which dominated the left side of his face.

‘Oh no,' she replied seriously, studying the scar from the knife wound, ‘it will not leave a mark like that.' The splendid blue eyes suddenly met his. ‘You were lucky
that night. He was a coward that man, the sort who could kill.'

Giovanni was taken aback. Why was she speaking of the past as if it was an intimacy they shared? They could not afford to have a past.

He drained his drink. ‘Will Evan be much longer? Perhaps I should—'

‘No. He will be home any minute. He and Paul have gone to fetch Briony from the Lavertons'.'

‘Ah.'

‘Little Lucy Laverton is four years old today, and they had a party for her. It started at ten.' She looked at the clock on the sideboard table, it was nearly midday. ‘He shouldn't be long.'

She seemed so relaxed. As if nothing had happened. And yet all Giovanni could think of was the texture of her skin and the moistness of her parted lips.

‘I am here to ask him about work,' he said, ‘at the Midas.' He must keep talking, he told himself. There must be no silence between them.

‘Work?' She looked surprised. ‘But why would you need work at the Midas? You and Rico have the Clover.'

‘Not any longer. Harry sold it.'

‘Harry sold the Clover?' Now she looked confused. ‘But I thought you were partners.'

‘That is what we thought also. There was a misunderstanding.' Her expression was one of such concern that he was distracted. He stared down at his glass as he hurried on. ‘So I need a job. As soon as possible. Rico has had an accident and cannot work so I must look after Teresa and the children.'

‘So many accidents,' she murmured. And when he looked up to meet her eyes he could stand it no more. If he did not leave he would have to touch her. He rose under the pretext of putting the face cloth and his empty glass on the table.

‘Would you like another drink?' she asked, also rising.

‘No. No. I think I should leave,' he replied. ‘I will see Evan another time. I will call at the Midas tomorrow.'

‘Stay, Giovanni. Please.' She indicated his chair. ‘Sit and wait.' And, when he hesitated, there was a definite plea in her voice. ‘Sit and wait for Evan. Please.'

He did as she asked, knowing that there was something she wanted to say to him, but they sat in silence for several moments before she spoke.

‘It would be wise if, from now on, we avoided each other whenever possible, particularly if you are to work with my husband.'

Giovanni stared at the floor, miserably nodding his agreement, and Kate studied him as he examined the floorboards beneath his feet. He looked like a boy, she thought. A beautiful, sad boy. She so wanted to go to him and cradle his head against her breast.

Kate had known from the moment she had responded to Giovanni's kiss that she loved him as completely as he loved her. She could no longer dismiss his love and she could no longer ignore her response to his love. Kate's guilt had disappeared when she returned his kiss. Their love was irrevocable and, although it could never be fulfilled, she felt a great elation in acknowledging its existence.

‘But Giovanni …
caro mio
…' He raised his head, bewildered by the endearment, and she continued to speak in Italian. ‘It would be foolish to torment ourselves by ignoring what is between us. It is better that we declare our love.'

He stared at her, dumbfounded. She smiled that glorious smile again and he could not believe the words he was hearing. ‘I love you, Giovanni. It's as if I have always loved you. And I know I always shall.'

‘Caterina …' He didn't dare move and he scarcely
dared breathe her name for fear he would break the spell. ‘You love me?' he whispered.

‘Yes.' Her smile faded. ‘I shall never speak of it again, but I believe it is more honest to admit it. If only to guard against it,' she added with a touch of regret. ‘Perhaps I am wrong but—'

‘No.' Giovanni felt such joy. She loved him. His girl from the mountain. His dream. His Caterina. ‘No. I love you. There is no shame in that.' He wanted to hold her, but she was not his to hold, and he could accept that fact now. Willingly he could accept it. She loved him!

From the opposite sides of the room they gazed at each other. Seated in hardbacked chairs against the walls, neither moving, they drank their fill of each other.

She looked at the man-boy with the gentle hazel eyes and the kind face. The beautiful face. She studied the scar which marred the symmetry of his beauty. She liked the scar—it was something they shared. She had been there that night. If she'd known then that the man was Giovanni … If their lives had once again become entwined that night…

Kate smiled. No, she told herself. No ‘ifs'.

Giovanni watched the smile twitch at the corners of her mouth. He watched the fine feathers of laughter form at the outer corners of her eyes, and he recalled that frosty morning on the mountain how the girl's blue eyes danced, how laughter bubbled beneath the surface of her beauty.

Her face had changed since then. It was no longer that of a girl, with the milky-white skin and the clear, wide eyes of a child. This was a woman. A woman of the goldfields. The skin was tanned and, although she was not yet thirty, life's experience was already etching itself upon her face.

She is more beautiful than ever, Giovanni thought. The blue eyes still danced and there was still laughter
beneath her beauty, but there was a strength in her now. The strength of a woman with a will of her own. She was magnificent.

‘Caterina. My Caterina,' he breathed.

‘Yes,
caro mio
.' She gave herself to him through her eyes. ‘I will always be your Caterina.'

They continued to sit in silence. Neither moved, but each was lost in the other's caress. As Giovanni's eyes slowly travelled down her throat, Kate could feel the insistence of his lips upon her neck, then her shoulder, then her breast. Across the distance of the room, she could feel their naked skin pressed together, the weight of his body and the strength of his hands as he pulled her to him. And, when he finally lifted his eyes to meet hers once more, Kate allowed her own gaze to travel down his body.

She looked at his mouth and Giovanni felt their lips meet. He felt the moistness of her tongue. Then the touch of her fingers caressing his shoulders and his chest. Her arms encircling him. The fullness of her breasts, her hands clinging to his back, pulling herself closer and closer to him.

For how long did they give themselves to each other? From their hard chairs on the opposite sides of the little room, how long? A lifetime? A moment? Impossible to tell. Then, outside, the sound of horses. Two horses. One at a canter, one at a trot.

They both heard the horses but still they did not move. ‘My name is Kate,' she reminded him gently. ‘Always Kate.' He nodded.

The cantering horse was pulled to an abrupt halt outside the front of the house. ‘I won!' It was Paul's voice.

‘Wait a few years, she'll beat you yet, won't you, Briony girl?' It was Evan's voice as the horse at a trot was reined in alongside.

‘We will never speak of this again,' she said.

‘I know. And we must never see each other alone,' he added. ‘Never.'

‘Is it possible to be so sad and so happy at the same time?' she asked.

‘Yes.'

They smiled and their eyes drank in the final moment. Then they rose and turned to the front door as the footsteps sounded on the verandah.

The door opened. ‘She's the best horsewoman, Kate. She took the reins as though she was born to them.' Evan stood there with Briony, barely three, on his shoulders squealing with delight and nine-year-old Paul, flushed and excited, beside him, and Giovanni felt no pang of jealousy as he watched Kate kiss her husband lightly on the lips.