The Lost Valley

Chapter 17

Chapter 17

Mum’s progress was agonisingly slow – three steps forward, two steps back. But she was improving, and that was the only solace in Emma’s grim existence. Going to work each day was a special kind of hell, especially on Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays. But the other days were nearly as bad. Having to kowtow to Melvyn, call him Monsieur. Having to put up with his small familiarities, as if they shared something real between them.

Emma had tried her best to be discrete. Nothing could be more humiliating than her loathsome arrangement with Melvyn becoming public knowledge. However, rumours soon grew. She became an object of both contempt and envy among the other staff; a wicked combination that stripped her of friendships and ruined her reputation. Contempt for being an old man’s slut, and envy for receiving his largesse. Melvyn treated Emma generously and it raised eyebrows. Thankfully her neighbours in Sparrow Lane hadn’t caught wind of the scandal. They lived in the poorest quarter, moved in different circles, so the nightmare didn’t follow her home. But Launceston was a small town. It was merely a matter of time.

Emma didn’t blame her co-workers for despising her. She despised herself, and refused to think any more of Tom, or the fledgling love that she’d left behind in Hobart. That proud, innocent girl he’d known was dead. Risen in her place was a poor, sullied creature who allowed herself to be abused and manipulated; an unlovable wretch who deserved no respect. That other girl would never have got herself into this sort of trouble. Not the girl who won a scholarship to Campbell College and wanted to be a doctor. Not the girl who’d stolen Tom’s heart. That girl would have had a clever plan to turn the tables on Melvyn.

Emma did think of Karma though, and the other zoo animals. How she longed to see them again, make sure they were being cared for. Find out how Alison was getting on. Karma often came to her in dreams, whispering in a soft, sad voice, ‘Poor Emma, poor thing. As doomed and trapped as I am.’

A month passed, then two, then three, while each day Emma went through the motions. How she hated her life. If not for her mother, she may well have cast herself off the bridge at Cataract Gorge, as carelessly as one might cast away a scrap piece of paper. Commit her body to the cascade, where the wild South Esk river spilled into the Tamar. Let the current carry her to the river mouth, past the watchful eye of Low Head Lighthouse, and release her spirit into the vast, tumbling waters of Bass Strait.

Summer declined into autumn. Jack sent her letters almost every week, full of chatter about the places he’d been and the people he’d seen. Emma read them to her mother. ‘“I’m in Sydney. Hard to believe the size of the harbour here, and so blue you’d think it was painted. When Mum’s well, you’ll both have to come and see it for yourself.”’

He was a good boy, and it consoled her to know he was happy. A few shillings always fell out of the envelope - once even a pound note. She wanted to tell him not to bother; that she didn’t need his money, but she could never bring herself to write back.

One Friday at work a buyer arrived; an important one apparently, by the way Melvyn fawned over him. ‘Meet my top model,’ he said, calling her over. ‘Emma, this is Monsieur Angelo.’

Angelo was an attractive man. Mid-thirties. Tall and lean, with shiny blue-black hair and amused eyes. ‘Please.’ His gaze held hers. ‘Call me Tony.’ He reached for her hand, and drew it to his lips. ‘Charmed.’

Emma felt a certain frisson when he touched her, and something unfamiliar stirred inside.

‘Our friend here is considering an investment in Trés Chic, my dear.’ Melvyn licked his greedy lips and puffed out his chest. ‘It would mean opening new outlets in Hobart and Melbourne.’ He peered at her triumphantly, hoping for some sign that she was impressed.

Emma turned her attention to the mannequins near the window.

When Emma let herself into the upstairs flat after work, Tony Angelo was waiting. A bottle of champagne stood in an ice bucket on the side table. He leaned back on the curved walnut sofa of cream leather, one long leg crossed over his knee, smoking a cigarette – the very picture of casual elegance.

Emma looked around for Melvyn.

‘Monsieur Dupont isn’t here.’ Tony offered her a cigarette and she shook her head. ‘He really is a revolting little man, Emma. How on earth do you put up with him?’

Emma wasn’t sure what to say, but Melvyn’s absence came as such a relief that she managed a shy smile. Tony stood, popped the champagne cork with a bang, poured two glasses and handed her one. ‘Sit, please.’

She took a sip of the icy bubbles, and perched herself on the edge of the sofa.

‘How old are you , Emma?’

‘Seventeen, sir.’

Tony looked thoughtful. ‘Do you know what your odious employer has promised me, Emma? A night with you in return for an investment in his business. What do you think of that?’

Emma weighed up the question. She wasn’t really surprised. She already knew that no wickedness was beyond Melvyn Spriggs. Whatever else, it meant she would not have to submit to him tonight.

‘What do I think?’ she said. ‘I think Melvyn is a monster – yes, that’s his real name – but not because of any promise he made to you. He is a monster because he has coerced me into becoming his w***e against my will. Whether I become your w***e as well, sir, is of no concern to me.’

Emma finished her champagne. She liked the way the bubbles tingled as they slipped down her throat.

Tony refilled their glasses, and her eyes noticed the wedding ring on his left hand. ‘I have no intention of forcing you, Emma. I’m content to drink champagne and enjoy your company.’ His hand crept closer to her knee. ‘That is, of course, unless you’re … willing?’

Emma studied his features, so boldly handsome, and saw how much he wanted her. This was not Melvyn’s stomach-turning brand of pitiful, panting need. This was the natural desire of a fit, healthy man for a woman. Just as the stallion back on the farm had desired his mares. And she realised the power she held, and that she wanted him too. Wanted to know what it felt like to be held in a real man’s arms. What did she have to lose that wasn’t already lost?

Emma swigged down her champagne. ‘Yes, Tony. I am willing.’ Still he hesitated. Slowly she unbuttoned the bodice of her dress. He watched her, hypnotised, as the swell of her pale breasts peeped through.

He put a hand around her waist, and drew her to him. ‘So young,’ he whispered. ‘So lovely. So wasted on that preening old fool.’

During that wild night, Tony Angelo opened her eyes to the pleasures of the flesh. He taught her what he knew and she discovered much more for herself. How naïve she’d been, imagining that she might only enjoy s*x with a man she loved and married. What a silly, childish notion. Tony was a skilful, considerate lover, strong and arousing – as different from bumbling, ham-fisted Melvyn as a cockroach was from a lion. But the two men had one thing in common; a powerful weakness for what she could offer them in bed. She must learn how to use that weakness. Use it to somehow wrest back her life.

Emma lay lost in thought, as the faint light of dawn crept in the window. Trying to make sense of last night, and what she’d learned, and how it had changed her.

Staying all night in the flat was a first. Elsie was perfectly capable of looking after Mum, but Emma had always escaped at the first opportunity. So far Melvyn hadn’t minded. He always fell asleep afterwards anyway, but lately he’d been angling for her to stay. ‘An extra hour’s sleep in the morning,’ he’d offered, as if negotiating a pay rise. An extra, vile s****l encounter, more like it. The thought of waking up with Melvyn beside her made Emma ill, and how could she explain an overnight absence without exposing her shame to Elsie?

Tony stirred, and tried to wrap her in his arms. She shrugged him off, went to the bathroom, stood in the tub and turned on the shower. Hoping the hot water on her bare back could drum some answers into her. Tell her what she was supposed to do. Last night with Tony had made her current life even more unbearable. How could she stomach Melvyn now that she knew what a real man felt like?

Emma retrieved her clothes from the wardrobe, slipped into them and put up her hair. She checked her watch. Wearing the same dress as yesterday would no doubt inspire a fresh round of hateful gossip downstairs, but so what? Why should she care what they thought?

She was putting on the kettle in the kitchen when Tony appeared, wet skin shining from the shower, wearing nothing but a smile. He bounded over and pulled her in close for a kiss. For an awful moment she thought of how shocked her mother would be to know a naked man was taking such liberties. A few short months ago she herself would have been just as shocked. Emma cast the thought away. Too late for those sort of delicate sentiments where she was concerned.

‘Where are you going?’ said Tony, his voice husky with desire.

‘Downstairs. Mind my hair.’

She twisted away from him, but he grasped her by the shoulders and sat her down at the table. ‘Emma, sweetheart. Listen.’ He licked his lips and glanced briefly at the roof, like he was thinking on his feet. ‘I must see you again. Come to Hobart with me. I’ll rent you an apartment. Lovely clothes, an allowance to buy pretty things. We’ll paint the town red.’

How stupid did he think she was? She needed to get away, but not by swapping one trap for another. ‘And your wife?’ she said. ‘Will she be there too?’

‘Don’t be like that, sweetheart.’ He pouted like a thwarted child. ‘Lily … Lily and I have an understanding. She won’t get in our way.’

Poor Lily, thought Emma. Tony was another Melvyn, just younger and better-looking. Were all men the same? No, not Tom. He would never treat another person with such contempt.

‘Come on,’ he coaxed. ‘You’re something special, sweetheart. Any red-blooded man would give his eye teeth for a night like we just had. You don’t want to stay here with that bloody old rogue, do you? Someone who was happy to pimp you out to make a deal?’

She studied his face, surprised at her own detachment. A plan was forming.

‘Leave the old man behind,’ he urged. ‘Don’t you want to come to Hobart?’

‘Yes, but I have a sick mother, who must come with me.’

‘Whoa,’ he said. ‘Mama’s not part of this arrangement.’

‘I don’t want another arrangement,’ said Emma. ‘I want to be in control of my own life, make my own money – a great deal of it. Enough for my mother to go to an expensive rehabilitation hospital in Hobart.’ She looked him coolly in the eye. ‘Is there somewhere a girl like me could make that sort of money, Tony? I imagine a man like you might know these things.’

He shook his head. ‘You don’t know what you’re saying. What kind of life would that be for a young girl?’

‘What kind of life is this?’ Emma shrugged. ‘A w***e is a whore.’

Tony took a step backwards, disappointment written large on his face, and something else. Sadness perhaps. Then he went to the desk and scribbled down a name, address and phone number. ‘This lady may be able to help. She’s always looking for talented girls. Models and … more. Tell her I sent you.’ He took a wad of notes from his wallet. ‘A contribution towards your mother’s hospital fund.’ He left the money on the desk, and added his business card. ‘Call me when you get to Hobart.’

She put the card and money in her bag. Twenty pounds. More than enough to pay for her trip and cover Elsie’s wages while she was away.

‘Wait for me,’ said Tony, throwing on some clothes.

Emma waited, quite looking forward to the stir when she came downstairs.

‘Are you really going to invest in Trés Chic?’ she asked.

‘Not if you don’t want me to.’

‘I don’t want you to.’

‘Then I won’t. It was touch and go anyway. Old Melvyn’s been cooking the books.’ He spun her around for a last, heart-thumping kiss. ‘My God, sweetheart. You’ve bewitched me. I must see you again. Promise you’ll call.’

When Melvyn saw Emma, he hurried over with what almost looked like shame in his eyes. ‘My dear, I didn’t sleep a wink.’ He ran his tongue over his lips. Every staff member on the shop floor had stopped what they were doing and turned to watch. For once Melvyn didn’t reprimand them for laziness. He didn’t even seem to notice. ‘Can we speak privately, Mademoiselle?’

They moved to his office.

‘I may never forgive myself for last night,’ he said. ‘And for not warning you first. I assume that Monsieur Angelo, that he, ah—.’

‘He did.’

‘I see.’ He sniffed, and sighed, looking decidedly miserable. ‘Well, we must find a way to put this unpleasantness behind us. It was ultimately in a good cause, my dear, for your … cooperation will help seal his investment in the business. However, I could never countenance such a thing again. Frankly, I was green with jealousy. It was all I could do not to burst in and throw the cad out.’

Melvyn was sweating now. He pulled a silk handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his florid face. Then he extracted a little box from the desk drawer, and gave it to her.

‘Open it.’

Inside was a gold ring, set with a brilliant blue stone in a cluster of diamonds.

‘Hope you like sapphires, my dear. I got a great deal on this ring from a chap whose engagement fell through. His loss, our gain, eh?’ He took Emma’s hand and slipped it on her finger.

‘You want to marry me?’

‘When you’re of age, yes. Make an honest woman of you.’ She opened her mouth to speak and he held up his hand. ‘Don’t thank me, Emma. The truth is you are good for me. You make me feel young again.’

He leaned in to kiss her lips and she turned away. ‘I’m tired,’ she said, staring at the ring, wondering what it might be worth. ‘May I take the rest of the day off?’

‘In the circumstances I think that’s fair. Tomorrow we shall announce our engagement, and set a wedding date.’ He tried to kiss her again, and this time she endured it. He made a satisfied grunt in the back of his throat. ‘Now, off with you. I have business to discuss with Monsieur Angelo.’

Emma decided to escape out the back way. With head held high, she marched past the shop girls, who were giggling and talking behind their hands. Past the other models who, along with trying on frocks for the morning showing, were also pointing at her and laughing. Past Jane in the cutting room, thick-waisted with child.

She did not say goodbye or look back. In the space of a few hours her life had utterly changed. She’d changed too. For better or worse, she didn’t know yet.

When Emma arrived home, she went straight in to see her mother. Turning off the radio, Emma took her hand. ‘I’m going away for a few days, Mum. To Hobart, to look for work. The boutique hasn’t panned out.’

She felt Mum squeeze her fingers. It was happening more and more often lately.

‘Elsie will look after you. I’ll get Peggy from down the road to come in twice a day and give Elsie a hand turning you. You know Peg. She’s a sweet girl, and strong too.’

Emma blinked back a tear. What was Mum feeling in that very second? Was she straining to connect with her fingers and toes? Was she struggling to get words out of her head and into her mouth? Or was she forever lost in a foggy brain, damaged beyond repair.

‘Don’t worry, Mum. When I find a job, you’ll come with me to Hobart. Dr Dennisdeen has promised you a place in his new hospital. I’ll get you the best care money can buy.’

That was the plan, anyway. Emma spent the rest of the day packing. She went shopping to stock the cupboards. She spoke to Elsie. ‘I’ll be employing you directly from now on,’ she said, handing the surprised nurse ten pounds. Emma imagined Melvyn’s pudgy face when she didn’t show up for work in the morning. How could she? Tomorrow, she and her savings would be boarding a bus to Hobart.