Madeleine (25 page)

A few months later, in October 1993, Ted drew up a new will, in effect cutting Madeleine out of his estate.
²
Madeleine's decision in 1990 to confront Ted over the Cargher money had done her little good. Ted was determined to ensure his oldest daughter had little claim on his assets. If Ted died first, Val would inherit everything, but each child would receive $10,000. If Val predeceased Ted, the will made different arrangements for what would happen upon his death: Madeleine would still receive $10,000, but the rest of the estate would be shared between Ed, Patrick and Colette, with special arrangements for the ongoing care of Oliver. It was a deliberate rejection of Madeleine in dramatic contrast to the way he intended to treat Colette. It is not known if Ted told Madeleine about the new will.

It was a tragic situation and perhaps inevitable. The mutual animosity between father and daughter was no secret within the extended St John family and some members took sides. But Madeleine had constructed enough emotional shields against the past to operate effectively, and her life was expanding, thanks to
The Women in Black
.

Madeleine and Esther Whitby grew closer in 1994 when Esther battled Andre Deutsch over her pension. Madeleine helped her through the difficult period, teaching her patchwork as therapy. The two spent hours sewing in the sunny kitchen of Esther's home in the northern London district of Chalk Farm. They gossiped and swapped life stories. Esther thought Madeleine was ‘wonderful company'.
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She suggested to Madeleine that she needed a literary agent and put her in touch with Sarah Lutyens, who had also worked at Andre Deutsch before setting up her agency in 1993. Lutyens & Rubinstein, formed with Felicity Rubinstein, was located in Westbourne Park Road, a few minutes' walk from Colville Gardens. It was the proximity that tipped the balance for Madeleine. On 4 October 1994, she wrote to Sarah:

My first novel,
The Women in Black
, was published by Andre Deutsch in February 1993 and in paper by Abacus in March 1994; I have written two more and am at present working on yet another, but none of these has yet been seen by anyone (including Andre Deutsch, who have first option on my next as per contract). So I dare say it is time that one or other of them was.
⁴

On 15 December, Madeleine wrote again to Sarah, this time in her sprawling hand: ‘I am very glad that you have decided to represent me…'
⁵
She had embarked on one of the most important relationships of this period of her life.

Madeleine was not long back from a trip to France. In September, Robert McPherson, her friend from the antique trade, had married his partner Georgina. Madeleine was among the guests, travelling with friends to the wedding, which was in a chateau near Amiens that was owned by Georgina's family. The chateau had been used as a field hospital during World War I and was steeped in history. The poet Roland Leighton, fiancé of writer Vera Brittain, died in the house from war injuries and he was buried in the military cemetery just outside the village. Madeleine loved the heritage: there was a dining table with axe marks from the time the Russians tried to take Paris in the early nineteenth century and there were original wallpapers in some rooms. The McPherson nuptials took place over a couple of days and Madeleine was in her element, secure among friends. Faded grandeur, whether French or English, was her thing. ‘Anything from the upper classes had to be okay—she had a deference to the English upper class in particular,' Robert remembered.
⁶

In Sydney, Ted was desperately ill in hospital. Weeks earlier he had been diagnosed with a lung complaint, which neither he nor the family thought life-threatening.
⁷
Ted was seventy-eight and had always been very fit. He was still absorbed in writing his anti-nuclear book—a decade after he had begun. But he must have been a little concerned about his health because shortly before he entered hospital, he told his sons and Val that he was now giving all his possessions to Val. The plan was that his will would be rendered irrelevant, because he no longer had money or property to bestow.
⁸
It seemed he was taking out insurance against Madeleine.

Ted deteriorated rapidly and the family realised he was dying. When Florence Heller heard of it, she travelled across London to break the news to Madeleine. Madeleine was composed. She told her aunt that she had ‘said goodbye to my father a long time ago'.
⁹
But the next day she phoned Florence to say she had had a strong reaction to the news. On 21 October 1994, Madeleine wrote a card to her father. She posted it to her cousin Annabel Minchin in Sydney, asking her to pass it on to Ted.

Dear Ted, Florence came here all my way from Highgate & then up all the stairs to bring me the sad news. Think of it. What a shame that you could send no answer to my last letter of so many months ago—but life is like that, isn't it? The memory of happy times long ago is forever bright in my mind. God be with you & my love, Madeleine.
¹⁰

The letter was conciliatory, but Madeleine could not avoid a sharp undercurrent, even as her father lay dying. Ted never saw the letter: Annabel had not received it when Ted died on 24 October. Madeleine never asked what happened to it, and Annabel, unsure what to do, put it in a drawer of her desk. Neither Ted nor Val nor her half-brothers nor Colette would know that Madeleine, estranged for so long, had made a last overture to her father.

A memorial service for Ted was held at St Luke's Anglican Church, Mosman, on 3 November. The eulogy was delivered by Justice Michael Kirby, who described Ted as a man with ‘a restless, reforming spirit', who ‘attracted calumny and praise in equal measure'. His admirers, Kirby said, saw Ted as a modern pilgrim.
¹¹

The
Sydney Morning Herald
reported that only one politician was there to mourn the man who had stood on principle, and had helped bring down a prime minister.
¹²
In federal parliament on 7 November, MPs made their formal condolence speeches. Labor's Barry Jones looked back at the Gorton incident in the 1960s when Ted had denounced his leader and noted there was a ‘puritanical flavour going through Ted St John which made it very difficult for him to understand what it was that made John Gorton tick'. Jones said that Ted ‘was a remarkable man' with ‘a very fierce independence of mind in a variety of areas'. Don Dobie, the Liberal member for Cook, with whom Ted shared an office in Parliament House, said:

We were very close friends for a period of three years…he was a man of real conviction. He was not scared by anybody in a senior position. He was not angered by Harold Holt's interjection during his maiden speech; he was annoyed by it—and so he should have been.

Then Dobie dropped a bombshell for the St John family. He told the House of Representatives that Ted had ‘a lot of tragedy in his personal life. He had three disabled children, which is more than most people have to face. He faced that, particularly with his second wife, Val, with great courage and great strength.'
¹³

When Madeleine heard about Dobie's comment she challenged him. He wrote back, saying that Ted ‘disclosed to me that he had two daughters who suffered from disabilities. That is the sum total of my knowledge.'
¹⁴
Dobie's inadvertent insult to Madeleine and Colette reflected Ted's views of his daughters in the 1960s when both women suffered depression. If there had ever been hope of reconciliation between Madeleine and her immediate family, Dobie's statements surely put an end to them.

Madeleine had sounded compassionate in the card she sent to Ted. But on 29 December 1994, when she wrote to Colleen Chesterman in Sydney, she was brutal:

Thank you so much of your letter in re. the ghastly Ted—it was extremely good of you to take this trouble—but as you will already have seen I hardly deserved it as I am just very sad at a wasted spirit & glad that he has gone where he can never hurt me or mine again:
I mean the whole situation was a fuckup, & need not have been.
Waste.
Oh dear.
¹⁵

Madeleine had spent much of her life swamped by negative emotions towards her father. At times, she had been circumspect in public; at times she hoped for Ted's approval; at times she had managed civility, even warmth towards him. But now, at fifty-three, Madeleine was, if not pleased, certainly relieved that Ted St John was dead.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
A Moment in the Sunshine

Madeleine was enjoying her new status as a published author.
The Women in Black
had sold few copies, but it represented a huge leap forward for Madeleine after decades scraping together an existence in council housing without a career and without a literary circle. Now, with agent Sarah Lutyens and her editor and friend Esther Whitby, she felt part of a wider world and was optimistic about building a life as a writer.

The Women in Black
opened doors that had been closed since the sixties. Clive James had no difficulty remembering Madeleine when he read
The Women in Black
soon after it was published. He thought the book was a comic masterpiece
¹
and recommended the novel to his old flatmate Bruce Beresford, now an established film director. Bruce was intrigued. He read it, loved it and bought the film rights—although a film was never made. Madeleine splashed out and bought several cashmere sweaters with the money.
²
Clive James recalled:

At least I can tell myself that I found the book, loved it and recommended it to Bruce, who at one stage had Monica Bellucci attached to the project [of the film].
³

Bruce Beresford had not been particularly close to Madeleine at university although she recalled that ‘unlike a lot of the blokes around that place [he was] a perfect poppet. He never teased you.'
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Now they discovered they shared an interest in classical music and jazz as well as literature, and, over the next few years, Bruce visited Madeleine whenever he was in London. He enjoyed her company, but found her hostile towards Australia, a stance he felt was directly due to her feelings towards her father.
⁵

Madeleine cut ties with Australia when she became a British citizen in 1995. But she was concerned about Colette and Aaron, and in September she embarked on her first trip home in fifteen years. Colette and Aaron met her at Sydney airport. Colette burst into tears, but Madeleine found the display of emotion difficult and backed away from her sister's embrace. Colette fretted that there were ‘so many conversations' she could not have with Madeleine about their past.
⁶
Madeleine did not visit Val or her half-brothers. She saw Pom Jarvis, her daughter Jonette and her granddaughter Siobhan. She had the cachet of being a published author and she counselled Siobhan to wait till she was much older before she attempted to write and then to write something humorous because there were already too many serious books in the world.
⁷

In Sydney, Madeleine had dinner with her cousins Antony and Annabel Minchin and Antony's wife, Eliza. It was an enjoyable evening, but Madeleine could not refrain from insulting some of their guests.
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She had high expectations of others' behaviour, but could often be very rude herself. Colleen and Michael Chesterman, who regularly saw her when they visited London, held a dinner in her honour at their Paddington terrace house. Madeleine was rather grand, performing for her old university friends in the role of author.
⁹

The visit to Australia rekindled Madeleine's interest in the St John family history. Back in London, she wrote to Antony to thank him for some family photographs:

Many, many thanks for the photographs—it's super to have them. I'm entirely fascinated by the story-of-the-forebears (which I find utterly tragic & awful & romantic & ridiculous and whatever else you've got) so any snippet you come across, do tell me or if no appalling hassle—send me a copy.
¹⁰

A few years earlier, Ted's brother Roland had written a memoir,
Memories
at Sunset
, which touched on his early life at school and in the vicarage. Madeleine read the unpublished manuscript and was excited about recovering the memories of Quirindi. She wrote to Antony:

I've been thinking that we ought each to write down what we remember about it and its inhabitants…those recollections…might make quite a nice (amazing, bizarre, unique) record for all those other (zillion) descendants who are so much further from it.
¹¹

But Madeleine's focus was on the micro-world of Notting Hill and inner London. She had been productive, given that she had turned to fiction only four or five years earlier. The procrastination of the past had evaporated. After Andre Deutsch accepted
The Women in Black
for publication she wrote a second novel but discarded it. ‘I knew I would have to write it in order to get to the stage where I could write one that worked,' she said later.
¹²
Then she wrote a novel that she felt was ‘much too short', and then another that was also ‘too short'. But she was ‘horribly pleased' with that one. Both of the complete but unpublished novels were ‘about 90s London…& extremely politically incorrect'.
¹³
They were written as Madeleine experienced the rapture and despair of being in love. An infatuation with a younger man, a neighbour who attended All Saints, had ended in tears and Madeleine looked back in anger and amazement at having allowed herself to be—in her terms, at least—badly treated. She confided in Judith McCue, who recalled later:

He was a neighbour and they often exchanged pleasantries. She would watch him come and go from her window…Madeleine became hopelessly infatuated with him but, as much as she fantasised about him, she never indicated to me that there was any reason for her to expect more than a platonic friendship. She was, however, heartbroken when he seemed to cut her dead and turned up in church (after being away a while, I think) with young woman in tow. To her, this was a sort of betrayal or disloyalty.
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