Sun gleamed off the round bowls of the soupspoons as Stella laid them out on the weathered planks of the back verandah. Since she’d come out here after breakfast she had polished nine of them. There were another fifteen to go. Then there were all the knives, forks, teaspoons, dessertspoons, bread-and-butter knives, and serving spoons … It was a daunting task, but Stella welcomed it. The repetitive movements – rubbing on the Silvo, then using a soft cloth to polish it away – made her feel calm. The gradual completion of one utensil after another helped tie the passing moments to the steady rising of the sun in the sky.
It was nearly ten o’clock. Laurie and Zeph were now due to arrive at any time.
Stella put down the spoon and reached for the next one. Her hair fell forward in a curtain, hiding her face. She had washed it this morning, and the smell of Grace’s lavender and rosemary shampoo lingered in the silky strands. She had put on mascara as well, for the first time she could remember – just a very fine coat that darkened the sunbleached tips of her lashes, but could otherwise not be seen. She’d dressed in her usual jeans, but had added the green twill shirt given to her by Grace. She knew it looked good on her – the rich colour sat well against her skin, and the cut of the garment followed the shape of her body perfectly.
Stella gazed out to sea. Her thoughts kept wandering, restlessly. She tried to pick out the distant spire of the lighthouse on the horizon. Then she searched amongst the kelp weed flopping in the swell, in case there was a seal to be seen. Or the fin of a dolphin, further out …
She made herself pick up the next soupspoon and smear it with polish. She watched the grey cream turning dark in the air. Then, with a soft cloth she rubbed away the tarnish of years, bringing out a flawless shine. Holding up the spoon, she glimpsed her reflection in the bowl. A tiny Stella. A fairy’s child … Turning to the handle, she polished out the last dull traces of Silvo from the lines of the Boyd coat of arms.
The lily. The star. The cat … A symbol of bravery.
Carla. Where are you, little cat?
Stella told herself the cat would most likely be dead by now. A cat’s life was short, compared with a human’s. Did Carla survive to old age, she wondered? Or did some disaster befall her? Stella remembered meeting a sailor at a party, years ago. She’d been drawn to him when she overheard heard him commenting that he liked to have a cat on board.
‘I lost one recently, though,’ he said.
‘What happened?’ Stella asked.
The sailor told how the cat had gone to sleep in a furled sail. When the wind changed, and he hauled the sail up the mast, the cat had been thrown into the sea.
Stella stared at him, imagining a desperate attempt to rescue the frantic creature. ‘What did you do?’
‘I got another one at the next port,’ the sailor said. ‘A cat is a cat, really. Something to cuddle when you’re lonely …’
He let his eyes run over Stella’s body then. She’d turned and walked away.
She’d met other sailors like that. Tough, lonely men who had spent long years at sea and who seemed to enjoy pitting themselves against the elements. She always wondered, as she listened to them speak, if they had been different when they were younger. If it were possible that loneliness and the sea crept into a man’s soul in the end – and made it cold.
Stella did not hear Grace’s footsteps as the woman approached the doorway – but then her mother’s tall figure appeared in front of her, cutting out the sun.
‘They’re here,’ Grace said. ‘I’m going to serve tea in the kitchen before they begin making a mess.’
Stella approached via the side door, pausing in a place where she could not be seen and peered into the kitchen.
Zeph was facing away from her. He was wearing a worn shirt of faded sky-blue. He sat upright with his shoulders squared – as though he felt ill at ease in Grace’s kitchen. Laurie lounged beside him, legs outstretched and his arms folded over his chest.
In the middle of the floor was a double sink coated with dust, and a pile of loose plumbing fittings.
By leaning sideways, Stella could just see Zeph’s legs under the table – he wore jeans cut off roughly into shorts that ended just above his knees. His bare calves curved down to meet thick woollen socks. Stella’s eyes lingered on his well-worn boots. They were elasticsided ones: the kind used by every Tasmanian who worked hard on land or sea. The toes had been rubbed through, revealing the glimmer of steel caps. The whole surface of the leather was scuffed; the elastic sides sagged. It was a good sign, Stella told herself. Jamie’s dad used to say you could tell a lot about a man from his boots. ‘You can tell if he’s for real,’ the fisherman said, ‘or just a poser.’
‘Where’s that Stella, then?’ asked Laurie, looking around. He saw her hovering in the doorway. ‘There you are. Come on. We’re hungry.’
As Stella entered the room, Zeph stood up. Stella glimpsed Grace’s look of approval at his action, and Laurie’s raised eyebrow, in the seconds it took for Zeph to turn around …
Stella stopped mid-step as she met Zeph’s gaze. His eyes seemed to burn with a green light – a wild fire, able to jump the gap between them.
She caught her breath. In that instant it was as if she had not seen him since the day he sailed away. The encounters they’d had – outside his house, at the beach with William, in the car – had been crowded by emotions dragging her in different directions. Now, here, there was only him.
Suddenly she became aware that Grace was speaking to her. She saw her mother put down a steaming teapot beside a plate of sliced cake. ‘I’ll pour some tea.’
Grace’s voice sounded calm, light. Stella looked at her and then at Laurie. Was it possible that they did not see, did not feel – anything?
Stella sat beside Laurie. She licked her lips, though they were not dry. Without planning to, she started talking about the birds – how carefully she and Grace had washed and bagged and frozen them. How they had written the dates on tags, so that they would be used in the right period of time. Her words tumbled out too quickly. She felt sure she was speaking too loud.
She didn’t care. She could feel Zeph watching her – picking up every movement of her lips, the tilt of her head, the wave of her hand and the swish of her hair as she lifted it back from her face.
Laurie nodded approvingly. ‘That’s good,’ he said. ‘It occurred to me that the health inspector might want to take a look in your freezer. I reckon if you’re writing lists for him to see, it might just be best to call everything turkey. Keep it simple. It’s the best way with those blokes from the council.’
As he spoke, Laurie took a piece of cake from the plate and then went to stand by Grace’s sink. He rested his hand on the spotless draining board. He looked across to Zeph.
‘What do you reckon?’ he asked. ‘Shall we just hoe into it, and rip out the old one?’
Grace paused in the act of pouring tea, turning to Zeph in alarm.
‘I’ll have to think about it first,’ Zeph said. ‘I need to work out a plan. Design the new cupboard.’
‘That’s what he’s like,’ Laurie said to Stella. ‘Has to do everything properly.’ He took a large bite of cake and chewed hungrily. ‘That’s beautiful, Grace,’ he said with his mouth full. ‘What kind of cake do you call that?’
‘That’s Aunt Eliza’s recipe – for a cake called “Cut and Come Again”,’ Grace responded.
Stella looked at the table. She picked at a stray crumb with her finger. Did Zeph remember, she wondered. This was the cake she’d brought to the coves on Christmas Day.
‘That’s a funny name,’ Laurie said. ‘What’s it mean?’
‘You can guess,’ Zeph said. ‘If you share the cake, it means you will return.’
Stella stared down at her hands – unspoken words circling in her head.
But you didn’t come. Not then, when I needed you.
She could feel Zeph’s gaze fixed on her. Slowly, she lifted her eyes and met his. She tried to hide the darkness that stirred inside her, but as she looked at him, she thought she could see its shadow reflected in his face. Then, the moment passed. Zeph gave her a smile, and handed her the plate of cake.
‘It’s a family recipe,’ Grace added. ‘Not my family – William’s.’ She looked at the cake appraisingly, her head tilted to one side. ‘I’ve always thought it was a bit too moist. And a bit sweet as well.’ She looked between the two men. ‘Have another slice,’ she said. ‘You’ll need the energy.’
When they’d finished their tea, Grace washed up the cups and saucers. She did the task slowly, carefully – as if this last wash-up in her old sink were a ritual to be savoured and memorised. Stella dried the crockery with a tea-towel, piling it up beside the draining board.
Zeph sat at the table, making a diagram on the back of an old envelope. Stella stole snapshot looks at his hands – at long fingers cradling a pencil, fingernails cut short, skin toughened by weather and work. She saw that his old blue shirt was made of finely woven linen. When it was new, she guessed, it would have been very expensive.
Stella began to put the cups and plates away where they belonged. Wherever she moved in the room she felt Zeph’s presence, like an axis upon which she turned.
Zeph got up from the table and asked Grace to move aside from the sink. Then he unreeled his measuring tape and checked lengths and heights. His movements were quick and sure, but Stella sensed in them a veiled tension that matched her own.
When his drawing was finished, Zeph began bringing in his tools, laying them out on the floor. He buckled a nail pouch around his hips and rolled up his sleeves. Soon he was crouched beside Laurie, helping to unscrew the pipes under the sink. Grace went outside, preferring not to watch the dismantling, but Stella stayed in the kitchen, rearranging one of the other cupboards to take the things they’d removed from under the sink. As she worked, she kept looking over at Zeph. When she could see murky water beginning to leak from the u-bend, she leaned over to give him a plastic bowl. He looked up at her as he took it, his fingers brushing against hers.
Soon the old sink came free and Stella helped Laurie carry it outside. The day had become hot – the sun beating down through the cloudless sky.
Laurie wiped a hand over his face. He asked Stella to go and bring a box of tiles from the back of the Jeep.
When she returned, Zeph was sawing timber while Laurie held the planks steady.
‘Here,’ Laurie said, ‘take over from me. I’m going to work on the plumbing.’ He pointed towards the pipes that ran along the outside of the kitchen wall nearby. ‘I’ll be right here if you need a break.’
Stella held the timber firmly in place, preventing any movement as Zeph continued sawing it into lengths. Though the timber looked grey and ordinary on the outside, it was honey-gold inside. Stella smelled the fragrant resin of huon pine.
Zeph squinted with the effort of following his pencil lines. Standing beside him, Stella took the chance to study his face. His hair – cut short – was thick and almost curly. His cheeks were leaner and marked with laugh lines. The scar on his chin was still visible – but had faded now, to white.
Muscles tightened under the rolled sleeves of his shirt as he pushed the saw through the wood. Sawdust floating in the air settled in a fine yellow dust on the skin of his arms.
Stella lifted a new plank up onto the sawhorses. Though its surface was deeply weathered, it had not been used before – it was free of nail holes. She recognised the look of milled wood that had been drifting in the sea: probably deck cargo, carelessly secured by the first mate, and lost to a wave in a storm.
‘Where did you find the timber?’ Stella asked, raising her voice over the sound of the saw.
Zeph stopped work. ‘Down at the coves. I got a whole load. Enough to build my kitchen.’
Stella pictured his house, with its driftwood window frames.
‘You must have had a good collection,’ Stella said.
‘It took me nearly a year to get all the materials together – after I decided to stay.’
The two looked at one another in silence – the air between them thick with unasked questions. Then Laurie called out from his place by the wall.
‘I told you to use proper wood, Zeph. You could’ve been finished by now.’
Zeph smiled at Stella. ‘I’m in no hurry to finish.’ He looked into her eyes. ‘Are you all right, holding that?’
Stella nodded. ‘I’m fine.’
He began sawing again – working his arm steadily back and forth. Sweat formed on his skin, glistening in the sun.
When it was time for lunch, Grace called everyone round to the verandah.
‘I’ve laid out a picnic there,’ she explained. ‘It’s too messy in the kitchen.’
She led the way through the house, Laurie and Zeph following behind her. Stella came last. As she stepped out onto the open-sided verandah, she faltered in surprise. Grace had spread out a cloth over the floorboards – not a cheap cotton picnic cloth, but a large square of red plush edged with a gold fringe that Stella had not seen before. There were cushions from the sea room around its edges. The centre was covered with food. It was simple fare, but Grace had set it out like a feast. There were plates of dried fruit and salted nuts, hunks of cheese, sliced tomatoes sprinkled with chopped herbs, and early lettuce just picked from the garden. There was a large bowl of preserved apricots and peaches left over from winter. And two large jugs of lemonade. In the middle was a vase of spring flowers.
Stella smiled at Grace. ‘It looks beautiful.’
‘It does,’ agreed Zeph. His gaze shifted from the food up to the view. He looked north, towards the coves. After a long moment, he turned to Stella. ‘We could almost see each other.’
‘It’s further than it looks,’ Stella said.
Zeph seemed about to speak, but Laurie drew his attention.
‘Did you bring the bread?’ he asked.
Zeph shook his head. ‘I left it in the Jeep. I’ll get it.’ He moved round the edge of the picnic, towards the steps.
Laurie lowered himself onto one of the cushions. He looked up at Grace. ‘You must come to my place next. I’ll cook you a … turkey.’
Grace laughed. ‘The blue-feathered kind?’
‘That’s the one,’ said Laurie.
Stella sat down facing the sea, with her back resting against the wall of the house. Grace remained standing, hovering like a dinnerparty hostess until Zeph reappeared.
He held a round loaf of bread in his hand. On the way, he’d picked up an offcut of the plank he’d been sawing. He placed the loaf on the board and added it to the spread. The smell of huon-pine oil and yeast mingled in the air.
Grace pointed to the cushion beside Stella. ‘Sit there,’ she said to Zeph, ‘so that you can look at the view.’
Stella and Zeph sat cross-legged on their cushions, side by side. With the feast laid out in front of them, Stella imagined they looked like an oriental prince and princess looking out over their domain.
The sea was a vast veil of silk, encrusted with diamonds. Wisps of cirrus cloud hung high in a blue sky. Birds fluttered around the orange poker plants that grew near the granite boulders. Butterflies danced beside wide-winged dragonflies. Crickets sang in the grasses.
Stella smiled. The beauty of the scene seemed like a gift offered specially to her – to them. She looked sideways and found Zeph already watching her.
‘Let’s eat,’ Grace said. She began passing food and pouring drinks.
They all ate with their hands, not bothering with plates. They scattered crumbs over the red cloth and dripped syrup from the peaches. Laurie sliced the bread and handed some to Grace and Stella.
‘Try that,’ he said. ‘Best bread you’ll ever taste.’
Stella chewed on the soft dough. He was right. The bread had a faint but distinctive flavour. ‘How do you make it?’ she asked.
Laurie pointed to Zeph. ‘Ask him.’
‘It’s seawater bread,’ Zeph answered. ‘You use yeast, flour, sea - water – and honey. I use Joe’s honey.’
Stella looked into his eyes. A memory danced between them – a boy and a girl eating smoky honey, dipping their fingers into the jar …
‘He’s a sailor,’ Laurie said to Grace. ‘That’s why he cooks with seawater.’
Grace laughed – a low, warm sound. She turned to Zeph. ‘Tell us about your travels, then,’ she said. ‘Where have you sailed?’
Zeph told stories of some of the places he had been on his yacht – north to Greenland, and as far south as Heard Island. He’d not really settled anywhere, he said, until about eight years ago when he began his business.
‘Very successful business,’ Laurie added proudly. ‘He’s an inventor. I read about him in The Australian – before I even knew who he was.’
Stella gathered every snippet of new information, piecing them together like bits of a puzzle.
At the end of an account of sailing between ice floes, Zeph turned to Stella. ‘And you?’ he asked. ‘Where have you been?’
It was Stella’s turn, then, to tell about her own life – her work, and her constant travelling. Zeph listened intently, taking it all in. When she fell quiet, he nodded slowly.
‘It sounds – good,’ he said. ‘Interesting work. Important work.’
‘She’s done well,’ Laurie commented, ‘that’s for sure. She was a lucky girl – getting the chance to go away to school and spending all that time in England. It’s not so easy to make something of yourself if you’re stuck here in Tasmania.’
The man’s words fell into a sudden stillness. Zeph’s hand froze, a glass poised halfway to his mouth. Grace stopped chewing. Stella looked down at hands, clenched in her lap. She felt the darkness gathering again inside her – the pain of what really had happened to her all those years ago. She didn’t know if Zeph was hearing this story for the first time – or if he’d already been told about her supposed trip to England. Either way, she wondered what his feelings were as he thought back to that time. Perhaps his conscience was eased by the knowledge that she would not have been here anyway, if he’d kept his promise and returned.
She glanced sideways at him. He was staring out to sea. There was a distant expression on his face – as if he had chosen suddenly to retreat from her.
Guilt made people do that, Stella thought …
Laurie went on eating, clearly oblivious to the tension in the air. But no one accepted the dishes he offered.
Then, Zeph stood up. After thanking Grace for the meal, he looked into the sky, squinting at the sun. ‘If we’re going to get that new sink in,’ he said, ‘we’d better get on with it.’
His voice sounded strained. Stella peered up at his face. There was no trace of the warmth she’d seen there earlier on. She began to wonder if she had only imagined it – if it had been nothing more than a projection of her own emotions. But what she’d felt had seemed so real … She looked away from him. With a sense of panic, she realised she could not trust her grasp of what was happening. Perhaps he had not changed towards her. It was just that the darkness of the past had risen up and coloured her view.
Grace began to collect the plates and bowls. Stella helped her – bending her head over the cloth to hide her face.
By the end of the afternoon the double sink was in place, with new stainless-steel benches stretching out to each side of the draining boards. Below the sink, a new cupboard had been built, perfectly matching the new dimensions of the sinktop. Instead of ordinary knobs, the doors had handles made of curved pieces of driftwood.
Laurie opened and shut them half a dozen times. ‘Look at that,’ he said. ‘It fits like a glove – hugs your hand. Looks good, too.’
Zeph began packing his tools away inside a hinged wooden box with a leather strap. Stella helped gather them up. She felt a sense of despair as she picked up each hammer and screwdriver, feeling its solid weight in her hand. They were symbols of him. As they disappeared into the box, one by one, she knew his departure was drawing closer. She felt as though they’d been given a chance to come together – but that she’d let the darkness intrude and spoil it. Now the day was over – the opportunity lost.
Soon, the four stood out by the Jeep, late sun slanting across their faces.
Grace thanked the two men for coming, and handed Laurie a cake to take home.
Zeph went round to the passenger side. Stella followed him. She wanted to ask him if he would come back again, but she didn’t want to risk hearing an answer that was polite, but vague.
‘Thank you for coming over,’ she said.
‘I enjoyed it,’ Zeph replied.
The words passed between them like dragonflies skimming a pond, all the deep water beneath untouched …
Laurie started the engine, and the old car jolted roughly away.