The Auction a Romance by Anna Erishkigal Read online

  "The way he describes it," I said, "he left her because she didn't leave him any choice."

  "Did he tell you why?"

  "No."

  Linda stared at her hands. They were good hands, with long fingers that could weave and plant and play the piano, a bit arthritic, with swollen joints that ached on those rare occasions it rained. She stared at her hands and played with the wedding band she still wore even though her husband had been dead for more than a decade.

  "Why, Linda?" I asked. "Why did Adam abandon his wife? He seems so ... conflicted about it all."

  "I only know the innuendos and the rumors," Linda said. "Adam was always complicated, even as a kid. You'll just have to pry the truth out of him."

  We sipped our tea in thoughtful silence. Linda had gone out of her way to welcome me into town, but she'd been friends with Adam's family all the way back to his maternal grandparents. I would get no further information out of her unless she decided betraying Adam's need for privacy had an overwhelming justification.

  I decided to confide in her, hoping that she would confide in return.

  "Eva called last night. She wants to resume seeing Pippa every other weekend."

  Linda's surprisingly youthful face wrinkled into a frown, causing her to look her age.

  "That's not good," Linda said. "The few times Eva demanded to see her, Pippa was a basket case when Adam brought her back."

  My voice warbled sharp with frustration. "Then why does Adam let Eva take her?"

  Linda patted the bat which clung to her hair. Dumpty squeaked, a plaintive little cry for help.

  "Don't get angry at Adam for following a court order," Linda said. "Eva only wants Pippa as a way to get back at him."

  "I don't understand how he ended up with custody of Pippa in the first place," I said. "From what Pippa tells me, her mother has never worked, while Adam has always been the breadwinner."

  Linda's expression grew wary.

  "Adam's a very private man," Linda said. "It takes him a long time to warm up to people, and even longer to trust them. I think maybe it's best if you let him tell you these things?"

  I sipped my tea, understanding from Linda's body language that I had crossed some magical line of prying. Humpty squeaked. I set down my tea and wrapped him tighter in his towel.

  "So you still haven't answered my question," I changed the subject. "What should I get Adam for Christmas? Besides me, all dressed up in a sexy red teddy?"

  Linda laughed. The fruit bat clamored around to her shoulder. Dumpty's small, black eyes watched me out of her foxy face.

  "A red teddy? I doubt you'll find something like that at the Christmas Bazaar, but maybe you could order one from R.K. Thomas in town?"

  "You have bats in your belfry!" I laughed.

  "Why thank you!" Linda stroked the bat which clung to her hair, her expression thoughtful as she thought of a real suggestion of a present. "Perhaps you could make him something? Do you knit?"

  "Not well," I said. "All I'm good at is crocheting granny squares."

  "You could crochet him an afghan?"

  "I don't have time. It's only three and a half weeks until Christmas."

  We both took another sip of tea.

  "Men like food," Linda suggested. "Adam was always partial to his mother's homemade cookies."

  "But I'm only a mediocre cook."

  "It can't be any worse than what his wife's been feeding him all these years." Linda laughed. "Adam's mother said Eva wouldn't lift a finger to cook or clean. She expected her domestic staff to read her mind, and when they didn't, she used to ream them out. Why do you think the other governesses all up and quit after Pippa's original nanny retired?"

  I fiddled with my spoon against the fragile porcelain of my teacup.

  "Pippa's other governesses," I asked softly, "what were they like?"

  Linda gave me a calculating stare.

  "Old," she said at last. "Eva Jackson may be a philandering bitch, but she always made sure nothing caught Adam's eye but her."

  Philandering bitch? That's what the supermarket tabloids claimed, but nobody ever paid those rag-sheets any mind. I wish now I'd taken the time to read the story behind the headlines, but I'd never been one for celebrity gossip-mongering. Until I'd met Adam and Pippa, I could have cared less about a spoiled oil heiress and her invisible, long-suffering husband. I opened my mouth to ask if that was the truth, but Linda changed the subject, sudden-like, to clearly communicate she'd said more than she'd meant to say.

  "So tell me what you've got cooked up for Pippa for the summer?" Linda asked.

  I took the hint. We discussed my plans to keep Pippa busy with frequent trips to the library, any local museum or park I could find, playdates with Emily, and suggestions as to where I might find a horse that Pippa could lease. I wished fervently that my mobile phone got reception so I could get online and do a little research of my own.

  Chapter 19

  Eva's impending visit hung over the household like the pallor of smoke from a distant brushfire. Adam retreated behind a silent, distant wall of politeness, while Pippa, dear, sweet Pippa who had been even-tempered and cheerful the entire time I'd been here, began to fluctuate between manic excitement and bouts of weepiness the closer it came to Friday. Between her mood swings, and the way Adam skittered away like a nervous colt every time I got near him, it was a relief when his next scheduled business trip came and he abandoned me to deal with Friday's pre-arranged pickup.

  The scent of baking muffins filled the air as I sat at the grey Formica table and poured through the old textbook Adam's mother had used to homeschool Pippa. Grey letters spelled ADAM on the text block, and within the dog-eared pages were computations scribbled in the margins. I ran my fingers along the faded pencil. My hand tingled as, just for a moment, I could almost see Adam as a young boy, chewing on his eraser as he worked out the answers to each of these problems. I flipped through the index, searching for exercises that would teach a struggling math student how to multiply a fraction.

  Thunderlane sat at my feet and whined.

  "What's the matter, sweetie? Pippa won't let you in her room?"

  Thunderlane shook his tail in that sad little doggy wag pets do when they think they're in trouble, but they're not quite sure what they did to arouse your ire. I glanced down the hallway to where Pippa had locked the dog out, announcing her mother would be upset if she found dog hair on her clothing. The soft rip of a zipper unzipping filtered through the wood as Pippa unpacked her suitcase for the eleventh time today.

  "You poor thing," I commiserated with the dog. "Pippa still loves you. She just wants to make a good impression. That's all."

  I scratched his ears and gave him a hug, earning in the process a shirt full of long, black fur.

  "Aw, yuck!" I laughed. "You're shedding!" I spat the fur out of my mouth and made a futile attempt to brush it off of my shirt. "I guess if I wore a fur coat in this heat, I'd want to shed it all off, too."

  The kitchen felt like an inferno as Pippa's math-muffins filled the air with fruity decadence. I opened the door so Thunderlane could go for a run.

  "C'mon, boy. It's hot as Hades! Run on down and take a swim."

  Thunderlane bolted out the door. I watched his fluffy tail disappear into the tall grass and scrub. I watched enviously, wishing -I- could go for a swim. As soon as I got this kid exchange over with, I intended to do just that.

  I stabbed the muffins with a steak knife to verify they were cooked, jiggled them out of their tin, and carefully arranged them on a tray. One of the muffins broke and looked too terrible to present to a wealthy oil heiress. Poor little muffin. I showed it some love by immediately stuffing it into my mouth, so hot I had to chew with my mouth open and fan my lips as I wolfed it down. Strawberry sweetness, tempered by the crisp sourness of rhubarb, burst onto my tongue. I separated out an equally unloved-looking muffin for Pippa to snitch and arranged the rest into a masterpiece of domestic hospitality for the woman who was the source
of my employer's woes.

  I sank into a red vinyl-and-chrome chair and stared at my failed attempt to fashion a math curriculum. Some teacher -I- turned out to be. I couldn't even teach a fifth grade student fractions!

  "Pippa!" I called. "Come out, sweetheart. You still have math homework to do."

  "But I'm not ready!"

  "You've been in there all morning. What's taking so long? You're only going for the weekend."

  Pippa came out wearing a different outfit than the one she'd been wearing the last time I'd coaxed her out of her room twenty minutes ago. It was her fourth outfit today, a pale blue T-shirt with a fairy on the front, blue plaid shorts, matching socks and a headband for her hair which, despite the heat, had been brushed straight down her back to create a much older look. Her lip trembled as though she was about to cry.

  "What's the matter, sweetheart?"

  "There's a stain on my shirt!"

  "Where? I don't see a stain."

  "Here!" Pippa pointed at a miniscule discoloration which was barely visible between the fairy's cheek and magic wand. The so-called stain was no larger than the dot of a pencil.

  "It's clean," I said. "That shirt just came out of the wash."

  "But it's not perfect! Mommy will be angry if I wear dirty clothes."

  "It's not dirty," I said. "It's just a stain. Look. You can barely see it. Nobody will notice it unless you tell them."

  "Mommy will notice."

  "No she won't, honey. Your Mommy misses you or she wouldn't come all the way out here to see you."

  Pippa's silver eyes clouded over with worry. Despite the differences in their eye color and shape, her expression reminded me of Adam whenever he made any mention of Eva Jackson.

  "Come here, sweetheart." I hugged her, and then I tickled her until she giggled. "If it bothers you that much, go change it again. But pick your clothes up and put them back in your drawer! I'm not the cleaning lady!"

  Pippa disappeared back into her room. I heard the drawers open and close as she worked on outfit number five.

  I gave up on the math textbook and shut it with a sigh. I was, it seemed, no more capable of focusing today than Pippa was. Her mother's impending arrival hung over us like the pendulum in Edgar Allen Poe's tale about the pit. What was she like, this woman who drove her own daughter to tears, and whose very name caused Adam to retreat? Would she approve of the woman Professor Dingle had chosen to care for Pippa in her stead?

  I set teapot onto the stove to boil. Eleven-forty-five. If Eva arrived at noontime as agreed, the teapot would whistle just as Pippa's mother pulled up into the driveway.

  At last Pippa came out, reasonably happy with the outfit she'd pieced together. It was far too sophisticated for a ten-year-old with its short hipster skirt and scoop-neck shirt, like something you'd see in one of those television shows geared for teenagers, but I bit my tongue.

  Pippa picked up on my frown, hyper-vigilant to the slightest criticism.

  "Maybe I should go try on something else?"

  "No, sweetheart," I said. "You look fine just the way you are. I'm just not used to seeing you without a pony or fairy plastered onto your shirt, that's all."

  "I like those shirts a lot better." Pippa's voice sounded small. "But Mommy says they make me look like a baby."

  I gave Pippa a hug.

  "Whenever you're with your mother, wear whatever makes you feel comfortable around her," I said. "But when you come home, you should wear whatever you like."

  Pippa gave me a weak smile. She moved over towards the front picture window in the living room and stared across the courtyard, a silent sentry waiting for her mother's arrival.

  The tea kettle whistled, twelve o'clock exactly. Any minute now, the dragon lady would arrive. I busied myself picking up around the house even though housecleaning was not officially one of my duties. Adam had broken out the vacuum before he'd left and overseen Pippa as she dusted, but quite frankly, both of them did a terrible job. How the house looked would reflect badly not only on them, but also on me if Pippa's mother was as much of a neat freak as Pippa's behavior insinuated.

  Twelve-thirty, and still no sign of Eva. Pippa stood, unmoving, in front of the window. She acted distant and silent, the same way Adam had become after he'd almost kissed me and then Eva had called to toss a wet blanket over my daydreams.

  "Maybe she was delayed, honey," I said. "She is travelling all the way from Brisbane."

  Pippa didn't even turn around.

  "Mommy is always late," she said. "Sometimes she doesn't show up at all."

  It was not her words which hit me in the gut, but the apathetic monotone in which they were delivered. I'd felt that same frustration as a student teacher. There'd been this one little boy who struggled to learn every word. I scheduled four parent-teacher meetings to brainstorm, but each time the mother forgot. My own mother, despite her many shortcomings, was punctual to a fault.

  One o'clock. Still no sign of Eva.

  "Do you want to go outside and play?"

  "No," Pippa said. "If I go outside I might get dirty."

  Given how obsessed Pippa had been about finding the perfect outfit, I decided not to press her. The last few days she'd taken to bursting into tears. I finished tidying up around the house, and then hunted down a load of laundry to throw into the washing machine. One-thirty, and still no sign of Eva.

  "Perhaps she got hung up in traffic?"

  Pippa didn't answer. She just stared out the window.

  Two o'clock came, and then two-thirty. How long had it taken me to drive from Brisbane to Nutyoon? Two and a half hours. The only way Eva could be this late was if she'd left the house when she was supposed to be here. Had I somehow misunderstood Adam's instructions?

  "Has your mother ever visited you here before?" I asked.

  "No," Pippa said without turning around. "She swore she would never set foot upon Grandpa's station."

  "Maybe she got lost?"

  Pippa didn't even shrug.

  I turned on the telly, searching for news about bad weather or a pile-up on the state highway, but there was nothing. Australia hadn't seen a whit of rain for weeks, and if there had been a horrific accident, the newsman chose to withhold it. If Eva was late, it was due to some snafu on her end.

  Three o'clock, and then three-thirty. Pippa didn't move, not even when I tried to tempt her with a cucumber sandwich. Should I call Adam in the Surat Basin? I dug through the list of emergency numbers which, unfortunately, didn't list the phone number to call his ex-wife and shout: 'what the frig is wrong with you, lady??? '

  At three-thirty-seven. Pippa jumped up and grabbed the suitcase she'd set beside the door.

  "She's here! Mommy's here!"

  Pippa rushed out the front door and stood on the front walkway, her suitcase held in front of her like a shield as a black stretch limousine pulled up in front of the house. I stood behind her and put a reassuring hand upon her shoulder. It was impossible to see who sat inside the dark, reflective windows as the uniformed driver got out, far too broad-shouldered to simply be a limousine driver, and walked around to open the passenger side door.

  The longest pair of legs I've ever seen stepped out of the limousine, tastefully clad in a pair of pale blue silk trousers and cream Guiseppe Zanotti pumps, followed by the tall, slender figure and white-blonde hair of Eva Jackson-Bristow, the woman whose face adorned every rag sheet I'd ever seen since primary school. Black sunglasses hid her eyes, but her perfect, scarlet lips immediately pursed into a frown.

  "Go into the house and change," Eva said.

  Pippa turned, her eyes filled with tears. There were no words spoken, but I could see the accusation. 'See. I told you my mother wouldn't like my clothes.'

  It took every ounce of strength to bite my tongue. Had Adam not pleaded with me not to spar with Eva no matter how terrible of a tantrum she pulled, it would be more than words I would have given Adam's ex-wife, but a well-deserved riding crop across her backside.

 
'Don't mess things up for Adam. Don't mess things up for Adam. Oh, dear lord! Please give me the strength not to scratch this woman’s eyes out!'

  "Hi." I forced myself to don a false smile. "I'm Rosie. Rosamond Xalbadora."

  Eva stared at my hand as though it was dirty, and then she reached out and shook it, her red lips curving up into a mercenary smile which reminded me of the slash on a redback spider's back.

  "I'm Eva. Adam's wife."

  My hand tingled a warning as she shook it. Watch out for this one. She will use you if she can. I could almost see the calculations running through her mind. Short. Kinda mousy. So -this- is the twit who convinced Adam that Pippa's summer should be wasted learning math?

  "Adam tells me you are a terrific teacher?" Eva said.

  I swallowed. Every hair on my body stood up in its follicle as that sense of knowing warned me I'd just been sucked into the game.

  "I'm one of Roberta Dingle's former students," I answered carefully. "I am licensed to teach at a state primary school."

  "Well," Eva said, "let's just see, then, what you are teaching my daughter, shall we?" She turned to her limousine driver. "Frederick … put Pippa's belongings into the boot."

  "Yes, Mrs. Bristow." His eyes met mine as he bent to retrieve the suitcase. God, this woman is a bitch. I can't wait to drop her home.

  I smiled at him.

  The driver gave me a nod. There was a hyper-alertness about the way his eyes scanned the courtyard for threats. Not just a driver. This man is also a body guard. Frederick straightened, and then walked solemnly around to place the suitcase in the boot. He stood, arms crossed, waiting for Pippa to emerge from the house.

  Eva headed in the front door without asking permission. I scurried after her, thankful I had cleaned. Her nose wrinkled as she moved into the living room and scanned the dated 1970's décor.

  "So this is where my husband grew up?" Eva said with disdain.