detected a touch of irony in Vivienne’s remark. Maybe her mother was a widow as well. Or divorced. But then he recalled Marion saying something about Vivienne inheriting some money recently. That usually meant a death in the family. But who? He would have to tread carefully. He didn’t want her getting upset.
‘You sound like you’ve had some personal experience with emotionally fragile mothers,’ he said.
‘Yes. Yes, I have, actually. Dad divorced Mum when she was still quite young and she never got over it. She died a couple of years ago. Heart attack,’ Vivienne added, hoping it would stop Jack asking further questions about her mother’s death. If she told him the truth it would be like opening Pandora’s box, which she preferred to keep solidly closed.
‘That’s sad, Vivienne. And your father?’
‘Oh, I haven’t seen him since he walked out on Mum when I was about six. He went overseas and never came back.’
Jack’s sidewards glance showed true shock. ‘What kind of man would do something like that?’
Vivienne knew that there were excuses for her father’s behaviour but to explain them would be delving into that Pandora’s box again.
She shrugged. ‘To give him credit, he did leave us well provided for. He gave Mum everything they’d accumulated during their ten-year marriage: the house. The furniture. Two cars. And he paid child support for me till I was eighteen.’
‘And so he should have!’ Jack said, clearly outraged. ‘He should also have kept in touch. Been a proper father to you. I presume it was just you, Vivienne? Sounds like you don’t have any other brothers or sisters.’
‘No. There was just me,’ she said, her chest tightening with the effort of staying calm in the face of memories which were better kept buried.
Jack shook his head. ‘It never ceases to amaze me how some men can just walk away and turn their backs on their families, especially their children. Why have children if you’re not going to love and care for them? Bloody hell, did you see that?’ he growled, thumping the steering wheel at the same time. ‘That stupid idiot in that four-wheel drive almost took my front off.’
Vivienne was extremely grateful that that stupid idiot in the four-wheel drive had interrupted what was becoming an increasingly awkward conversation, giving her the opportunity to deflect Jack’s attention onto other less painful subjects.
‘So how long do you think it will take us to get to Port Stephens?’ she asked.
‘Mmm. Let’s see... It’s going on eight and we’re about to turn onto the motorway. It took me two and half hours last Sunday from here, but I didn’t stop anywhere.’
‘You don’t have to stop anywhere for me,’ Vivienne said. ‘I’ll be fine. I had a big bowl of porridge for breakfast which usually keeps me going till lunchtime.’
Jack’s eyebrows lifted. ‘Fancy that. I had porridge too. And you’re right. It does stick to your ribs. But I think we might still have a coffee break at Raymond Terrace.’
‘I’m not sure where that is. I haven’t been up this way before.’
‘Really?’
‘To tell the truth, I haven’t done much travelling of any kind. Never even been out of Australia.’ Or Sydney, for that matter, she didn’t add. No point in courting more awkward questions.
‘I haven’t travelled all that much, either,’ Jack replied. ‘If and when I do take a break, it’s to places that it doesn’t take long to fly to, like Bali or Vanuatu and Fiji. You know me—busy, busy, busy.’
‘Maybe it’s time you slowed down a bit.’
‘I couldn’t agree with you more. That’s one of the reasons I bought Francesco’s Folly.’
‘Francesco’s Folly,’ Vivienne repeated thoughtfully. ‘Do you know why it was called that?’
‘The estate agent said Francesco was the name of the Italian who built the place back in the late seventies. The folly part will be self-explanatory once you see the place. I gather our Italian had a large family, most of whom he outlived. He finally passed away a couple of months ago at the age of ninety-five. His two great-grandsons inherited the place but they both live in Queensland and wanted it sold, pronto. Which is where I came in.’
‘I can’t wait to see it,’ Vivienne said.
‘And I can’t wait to show it to you,’ Jack replied.
IT TOOK THEM longer than anticipated to reach Port Stephens, stopping for over half an hour on the Pacific Highway just north of Newcastle. Jack answered several missed business calls and Vivienne had a nice long chat with Marion, who was pleased to hear that her friend was feeling better and planning to get back to work, though not necessarily with Classic Design.
After leaving Raymond Terrace, it took them a good forty minutes to drive to Nelson’s Bay—the main seaside town in Port Stephens—where they picked up the keys from the agency handling the property, then made their way to Francesco’s Folly, which was near an area called Soldier’s Point. Despite having enjoyed the drive and the scenery, by the time Jack turned his Porsche into the driveway of their destination, Vivienne was keen to see the house.
And what a house it was! Only two storeyed, but it looked like a mansion perched up on top of a hill. Mediterranean in style, it was cement-rendered in a salmon-pink colour and had more archways and columns than Vivienne had seen outside of a convent or a museum.
‘Heavens to Betsy!’ Vivienne exclaimed as Jack drove up the long, extremely steep driveway.
Jack grinned over at her. ‘It’s pretty spectacular, isn’t it?’
‘Not quite a traditional Aussie holiday house, I have to admit. A mad mixture of Tuscan villa and Greek palace. What’s it like inside?’
‘Extremely dated. Trust me when I say you’ll have your work cut out for you to transform it into something I could live with on a permanent basis. But the views, Vivienne. The views are to die for.’
‘But Jack, it’s enormous!’ she said as they drew closer and she began to appreciate the true proportions of the place. ‘Are you sure you want to buy a place this size? I mean...it would be different if you were married with a big family, like Francesco was.’
Jack shrugged. ‘I have two married sisters with a total of five children between them. And a mother with a lover. They’ll use the place, too. Though, to be brutally honest, I’m not buying it for them. I’m buying it for myself.
‘I knew the moment I walked out onto one of those balconies up there that I wanted to live here,’ he said, pointing to the balconies, which spanned the full length of both floors. ‘Maybe not twenty-four-seven just yet, but at least at weekends and for holidays. Call me crazy if you like but that’s the way it is. Now, stop trying to talk me out of this, Vivienne,’ he said as they drove round to the back of the house. ‘It’s a done deal.’
The back of the house was where the
