three and Ondine was about to turn two when it first happened. With no money coming in but for the little Robert could afford to lend Albert, they were getting by on parcels of food relief from the Benevolent Ladies Society. One morning there was a knock at the front door. A messenger had an envelope for Anna. She opened it in front of him and found a ten-pound banknote.
“What’s this?” she asked.
She turned the envelope over. It had a St Vincent Place address. She knew straightaway it was from Dr Winton and the blood rushed to her face.
“Please take this back,” she said.
“Can’t do that, ma’am,” the boy said. “The doctor said that you could return it in person, or not at all.”
She left the children with Sarah McDermott and, flustered, hurried over to the doctor’s house, determined to return the money and let him know that his assistance was not required. He opened the door as if he had been expecting her.
“Hello Anna,” he said shamelessly. Not wanting to make a scene on his verandah in full view of the picnickers sunning themselves in the gardens opposite, she let herself be drawn into the darkness of his hallway. “I’m glad you came, but I’d implore you to keep the money.”
She looked at him, speechless. Her resolve failed her and, suddenly, she didn’t know what she was doing in this strange man’s house. He led her into a sitting room and positioned her in front of him on a leather couch, still standing while he spoke to her.
“I would like to help you, Anna. You and the children. And Albert, of course.”
She looked at him with suspicion and said nothing. She remembered the book by Dr W, the confronting illustrations, the sense of the illicit that had led her on as she walked through the city in search of some obscure thing that she could not possibly have put a name to.
“Will you allow me that?”
She tried to remain calm. She knew she was vulnerable, and as she admitted this to herself she scrutinised the doctor’s cultured, gentlemanly demeanour, searching for a hint of something more sinister, a propensity to exploit perhaps, a clue that would give him away and release her. Could it be his intention to humiliate her? He continued to speak and she endeavoured to listen, but the words rushed past her despite her efforts. Money, the children, his sincere desire to share his good fortune. Her heart was pounding so frantically it was all she could hear. She couldn’t bear it. The cool of the room caressed her and her skin prickled. She stood up. She had to get out, but his eyes seized her as she moved and held her just long enough for him to make his play.
“Any man could fall in love with you, Anna,” he said in an abrupt and impassioned turn. “But the thought of you loving
any
man is a travesty, an utter travesty.”
This sudden change startled her. Finally, the secret implication of Winton’s meandering, the secret she’d known all along, had worked its way to the surface.
“What are you talking about?”
The doctor paused, collecting himself. He breathed deeply for a moment, drawing in the air through tightly clenched teeth before regaining his composure.
“You wander from place to place,” he said. “One day you meet a man and stumble into a certain intimacy. How does it happen? What distinguishes him? Before you know it you’re doing the block with ‘your boy’, your heart’s idol, the romance of it all is overwhelming and in this realm of shadows you fancy that you are happy, contented, fulfilled. Good Lord! Only an idiot could put up with it, Anna.”
“It wasn’t like that,” she said, unable to disguise her annoyance.
“Of course it wasn’t. So why go on pretending? For the sake of respectability? A respectability that no one but yourself believes in?”
She met his stare and then quickly lowered her eyes again.
“I have no wish to, to…” But he couldn’t finish the sentence.
She wasn’t sure whether he was acting a part or not,
“What’s this?” she asked.
She turned the envelope over. It had a St Vincent Place address. She knew straightaway it was from Dr Winton and the blood rushed to her face.
“Please take this back,” she said.
“Can’t do that, ma’am,” the boy said. “The doctor said that you could return it in person, or not at all.”
She left the children with Sarah McDermott and, flustered, hurried over to the doctor’s house, determined to return the money and let him know that his assistance was not required. He opened the door as if he had been expecting her.
“Hello Anna,” he said shamelessly. Not wanting to make a scene on his verandah in full view of the picnickers sunning themselves in the gardens opposite, she let herself be drawn into the darkness of his hallway. “I’m glad you came, but I’d implore you to keep the money.”
She looked at him, speechless. Her resolve failed her and, suddenly, she didn’t know what she was doing in this strange man’s house. He led her into a sitting room and positioned her in front of him on a leather couch, still standing while he spoke to her.
“I would like to help you, Anna. You and the children. And Albert, of course.”
She looked at him with suspicion and said nothing. She remembered the book by Dr W, the confronting illustrations, the sense of the illicit that had led her on as she walked through the city in search of some obscure thing that she could not possibly have put a name to.
“Will you allow me that?”
She tried to remain calm. She knew she was vulnerable, and as she admitted this to herself she scrutinised the doctor’s cultured, gentlemanly demeanour, searching for a hint of something more sinister, a propensity to exploit perhaps, a clue that would give him away and release her. Could it be his intention to humiliate her? He continued to speak and she endeavoured to listen, but the words rushed past her despite her efforts. Money, the children, his sincere desire to share his good fortune. Her heart was pounding so frantically it was all she could hear. She couldn’t bear it. The cool of the room caressed her and her skin prickled. She stood up. She had to get out, but his eyes seized her as she moved and held her just long enough for him to make his play.
“Any man could fall in love with you, Anna,” he said in an abrupt and impassioned turn. “But the thought of you loving
any
man is a travesty, an utter travesty.”
This sudden change startled her. Finally, the secret implication of Winton’s meandering, the secret she’d known all along, had worked its way to the surface.
“What are you talking about?”
The doctor paused, collecting himself. He breathed deeply for a moment, drawing in the air through tightly clenched teeth before regaining his composure.
“You wander from place to place,” he said. “One day you meet a man and stumble into a certain intimacy. How does it happen? What distinguishes him? Before you know it you’re doing the block with ‘your boy’, your heart’s idol, the romance of it all is overwhelming and in this realm of shadows you fancy that you are happy, contented, fulfilled. Good Lord! Only an idiot could put up with it, Anna.”
“It wasn’t like that,” she said, unable to disguise her annoyance.
“Of course it wasn’t. So why go on pretending? For the sake of respectability? A respectability that no one but yourself believes in?”
She met his stare and then quickly lowered her eyes again.
“I have no wish to, to…” But he couldn’t finish the sentence.
She wasn’t sure whether he was acting a part or not,