The Opal Desert (5 page)

Milton was pleased with the effort that Kerrie was making to spend time with his girls, but there was little true warmth in their relationships. While they chatted with Kerrie about their friends and school, they never shared anything too personal or got too close to her.

Kerrie discovered that Renata often visited her father at his studio on the way home from school, when she had led Kerrie to believe that she had an extracurricular class, and Kerrie was quite hurt.

But Milton laughed it off. ‘She wants to have a little time with her father, weasel a few bucks out of me, and see what I'm working on. Actually, I think she visits me because she's keen on one of my assistants.'

‘But why keep it a secret?' asked Kerrie. ‘It makes me feel as though she still doesn't trust me.'

As Milton's success grew, Kerrie became busier. When her mother asked her if she had any time to herself, Kerrie shrugged. ‘I don't know where the time goes, Mum. Wendy's a treasure, but we seem to entertain a lot more than we did. And Milton relies on me to handle the business side of things now,' she added with some pride. ‘It lets him stay focused and on track. It's a great partnership.'

‘I hope you're enjoying it all. You certainly travel a lot.'

‘Mum, we'd love you to come with us, I don't know why you won't come and stay at the villa.'

‘Thanks for asking, but you know I don't like flying. Anyway, you have enough on your plate without worrying about me.'

As Milton's creativity continued to flourish and his work was more and more in demand throughout the world, he made a decision that his daughters vehemently opposed.

‘I have decided that the best thing for us all is that you girls start boarding at your school.'

His daughters wailed and protested.

‘I bet this is Kerrie's idea. She wants to get rid of us,' said Renata.

‘What about my horse?' Luisa started to cry.

‘You hardly ride him any more,' snapped Alia. ‘I won't like it. I'll be lonely.'

‘Girls, I promise you that you'll enjoy it,' said their father. ‘And you already have stacks of friends there. Besides, you can come home on the holidays. You'll only be gone in term time.'

‘But why do we have to board? Why can't we stay at home?' demanded Renata.

‘Because I think it will be easier for us all. Wendy says it will broaden your interests, give you greater stability and you'll learn to be independent,' said Milton.

‘You and Kerrie don't want us around,' snapped Luisa. ‘Next thing you'll be selling this house and going away with her.'

‘Girls, I think you're overreacting. This will always be your home, but Kerrie and I are overseas so often these days and Wendy doesn't want to work fulltime anymore, although she'll always be here for your holidays if we're not. Now I have the opportunity to work in Paris for a while and, rather than disrupt your lives, I think that boarding school is the best solution. We will come back and forth, and you can come to Paris in the holidays. Let's at least try it for a year. It really is simpler all round.'

‘It's a horrible idea,' said Alia, fighting back tears. ‘Wendy would never agree to letting us board.'

‘Well, that's where you're wrong. She knows what a top-notch education you'll get.'

‘I've told the girls about boarding,' said Milton as Kerrie entered the room. ‘It seems they aren't enthused.'

‘It wasn't my idea,' began Kerrie, ‘but I have to agree with your father and Wendy that this will be the best because it will be less disruptive.'

‘Naturally,' said Renata spitefully. ‘Well, I'm not going. I'm going to move in with my best friend. I'm sure her parents will agree.'

‘You can't send us away!' Alia began to sob.

Milton stood up. ‘There will not be any more discussion. You're all enrolled and the first term has been paid for.'

‘You can still see your friends every day,' began Kerrie. ‘There will be so many opportunities, Wendy says that you'll have more time to do drama, Luisa . . .'

‘I don't care. You'll never come and see me in any plays, you'll be swanning round Europe,' yelled Luisa and strode from the room, followed by her sisters.

Kerrie sighed. ‘I suppose it's a shock for them.'

‘It's a logical and sensible idea. Wendy is right. If the girls are to get the best education, they need to have as much stability as possible.' He kissed Kerrie and added softly, ‘Besides, it will be nice to have you all to myself. I love you, sweet girl.'

Kerrie loved Paris and for the first time in years she felt her creative juices flowing again. Everywhere she looked she saw pictures she wanted to paint. Cobbled streets, quaint bridges, street markets and interesting characters all excited her but when she told Milton he was dismissive.

‘Tourist stuff. Sunday painters. Very unadventurous. You can think of better things to do than that. Start looking at modern ideas, abstracts. In the meantime, we have some entertaining to do. A big gallery curator and agent are in Paris from the Guggenheim. I have to impress them.'

And so it went. Kerrie was once again caught up in Milton's world, mixing with the corporate and society art set and any time she'd hoped to have for herself evaporated. But one day she found she had a few spare hours.

‘You haven't had much time to yourself and I have to spend the morning at the studio workshop. Why don't you go shopping, darling?'

‘You're on track with that piece, aren't you?'

‘It's coming along, but I get a lot of interruptions what with artists calling in to talk to me and see what I'm doing,' he said.

Kerrie smiled. ‘Don't tell me you don't enjoy that. But yes, darling, I think I will take a stroll. You never know what I might find.'

Kerrie decided against her initial idea of going to St Germain and went instead to explore other parts of the Left Bank. She made no conscious decision as to which crowded little street to follow but suddenly she found herself outside a fascinating-looking business that announced that it had been established in the late nineteenth century and seemed to have changed little since then. The minute Kerrie saw Sennelier Art Supplies, she knew she had to go in. She closed her eyes in joy as she inhaled the rich smell of oil paints. In utter delight she prowled past the old wooden cabinets filled with every variety of paint.

‘This is an artist's wonderland,' she breathed aloud.

A woman wrapping a parcel smiled at her and spoke in thickly accented English. ‘It is indeed. Artists have been coming here and falling in love with our colours for more than one hundred years. Cézanne, Picasso. And the Sennelier family invented paints and pastels and watercolours especially for them.'

‘Really? How amazing.' Kerrie studied one cabinet filled with acrylic paints. ‘The depth of luminosity, the richness of the colours, I want to eat them.'

The shop assistant laughed. ‘Yes, Gustav Sennelier started creating his own paints using raw pigments from minerals and plants and bones, binding them with honey, egg whites, tree gums, and because his colours were so vivid, it changed the way some of the impressionists painted. If an artist wanted a special colour and it didn't exist, Gustav created one.'

‘What a clever man. It's a bit like our Australian Aborigines who use natural ochres and other bush materials.' Kerrie was entranced. Already she held several tubes of paint.

‘The family also invented metal tubes for paint so that painters could work outdoors. And Henri, Gustav's son, invented the pastel oil stick for Picasso so he could put it straight on any surface.'

‘And look at these watercolours . . . molten rainbows,' sighed Kerrie.

‘Would you like a basket for your supplies?' asked the woman as she saw Kerrie selecting a range of colours and paper. ‘You might find the brushes interesting; again, all handmade.'

Kerrie followed her in a daze, collecting art materials at will.

‘What medium do you prefer?' asked the assistant, seeing the collection in Kerrie's basket.

‘I've worked in all styles as a student. I'm still experimenting,' said Kerrie, suddenly feeling embarrassed that she hadn't progressed past being a student.

‘Where are you studying? Les Beaux-Arts? It is near here.'

‘Unfortunately, no. But my husband is a sculptor and he did give a lecture there recently.'

‘Is that so? And you a painter. What a family. Who is your husband? Would I know of him?'

‘Milton Faranisi. His family was from Italy but he . . .'

‘Is Australian. Of course. I know of him. His work has become quite famous. You are privileged to be married to such a man. I hope you enjoy your time in Paris and work well with your Sennelier supplies.'

Kerrie hugged the large parcel as she walked back along the Seine, smiling at people who had set up easels and were painting the familiar scenes. One woman sat on the grass swiftly sketching a bridge as a baby lay on a rug beside her. Kerrie paused, sighed and walked on. When she passed a small store selling exquisitely embroidered lingerie, she went in. After looking at several beautiful garments, a tiny pink baby's dress, embroidered with roses and pale pink smocking with puffball sleeves and a satin sash, caught her eye. It was the sweetest thing she'd ever seen.

‘You have the good eye, madame,' said the lady behind the counter. ‘
C'est magnifique, n'est pas?
'

‘I'm afraid I don't have anyone to give it to,' said Kerrie.

‘But this is an heirloom! A treasure,' exclaimed the woman. ‘One day you will have the perfect little girl for this dress.'

Without really knowing why, Kerrie bought the little dress and paid more for it than several of the items of lingerie she bought for herself. Back in their apartment that afternoon, she laid the lingerie on the bed but tucked the baby dress and art supplies into a suitcase in the closet.

Milton was elated at the sight of the lingerie and demanded that she put it on for him right away.

It was dark before they left the bed and Milton was ravenous.

‘Let's go to Pietro's to eat. What a wonderful day. I love Paris.'

Milton did not conquer just Paris. He was also acclaimed in Rome, London and New York as one of the world's foremost sculptors. He seemed to be forever working and the house at Rose Bay, at times, seemed more like a hotel than their home.

The girls were growing. Renata was at university, Luisa at fashion school. Alia was in her final years at high school. Wendy was still there for them at holiday time.

One afternoon as they shared a pot of coffee and Wendy's scones, Kerrie thanked her for the role she had played in the family.

‘I appreciate what you do for all of us. I know it hasn't been easy for you these past few years. But I respect you for all you've done for the girls. You've provided a stability in the household that I don't think I could have managed to bring about.'

‘Don't underestimate what you've done for those girls,' responded Wendy. ‘I think the fact you didn't tell their father about the time Renata came home drunk and Luisa got into trouble with that awful boy earned you a few brownie points.' Wendy smiled.

‘Well, I might have brownie points but I don't have their love. I don't think that I even have their respect.'

Wendy sighed. ‘They put their mother on a pedestal where no one can ever touch her. But I often wonder how they would have got on with her if she hadn't died. She was a beautiful and wealthy woman, but somewhat self-absorbed. I'm not sure she would have done all those things for the girls that you did: looking after the horse, driving that wretched animal around, cooking sausages at the school fundraisers, sitting through all those school sports events.'

‘Really?' said Kerrie. She felt pleased by Wendy's praise, but she also realised that no matter what she did for Milton's girls, she could never compete with their long-dead mother.

‘Happy birthday, Kerrie.' Glynis Jackson gave her daughter a kiss and settled back in her armchair as Kerrie undid the carefully wrapped parcel.

She lifted out the pretty scarf and a framed cross-stitched picture of a flower arrangement. ‘How lovely! This must have taken you ages, Mum. Thank you.'

Her mother looked pleased. ‘My eyes aren't what they used to be but I have this wonderful contraption with a magnifying glass and a little light so I can sew while I watch TV in the evenings.'

‘You sound lonely, Mum. I wish you'd spend more time with us. We've got plenty of room in the house now that two of the girls are out on their own. There's just Alia, when she's home on school holidays. She quite likes being the only one at home. Gets more of her father's attention.'

‘Then she doesn't need me around.' Her mother lifted her shoulders and sighed. ‘Of course, if you had a baby I'd be only too happy to be under your feet as much as possible.'

‘Mum, we've discussed this before. Milton doesn't want another family, you know that. A baby would be nice, I suppose, but we have a busy life. We'll see,' Kerrie added vaguely, hoping to deflect more talk about grandchildren.

‘Kerrie, you're in your thirties now. Don't leave it too late. Just do it. You devote your life to Milton, his work, his children . . . What about what you want? What about your dream to be an artist? Is that on hold too?'

‘There's plenty of time, Mum,' said Kerrie lightly. ‘Maybe when Alia leaves home . . .'

‘Milton only wants to work and that seems to involve a lot of travel. He won't want to deal with a new baby, I bet. Just make sure that you won't have regrets, darling.

I know how important children are. I don't know what I'd have done without you all these years. You've given me so much. You're my best friend as well as my daughter.'

Kerrie hugged her mother. ‘Stop fretting. Let's just take things day by day. Now, where's that cake you said you made for me?'