The Unexpected Education of Emily Dean Read online

  ‘Excellent choice,’ William murmured to her as she sat down next to him.

  Her father, sitting in Lydia’s usual spot, smiled at her from across the table. She knew he had not even noticed what she was wearing. Or perhaps he thought it was hers anyway, for as her mother so often noted: We could walk around in sackcloth for all the difference it would make to him.

  ‘Hardly suitable travelling attire,’ Grandmother commented. Eunice, of course, murmured her agreement.

  But Emily did not care – she was determined to wear it. She took her serviette out of its ring and laid it across her lap. She did not want to risk a stain.

  William touched her on the arm to get her attention, and she turned to see him holding the parcel from yesterday, wrapped in newspaper. In the background, she heard Grandmother telling her father that she was relying on him to send Lydia home. She did not catch his response because William spoke.

  ‘Here,’ William said, handing her the parcel. ‘I hope you haven’t read it but, if you have, it won’t hurt to read it again.’

  ‘For me?’

  ‘The very same,’ he replied with a smile.

  She took the parcel and began to untie the string, but he put his hand on hers to stop her.

  ‘No, later. When you’re at home.’

  ‘Thank you.’ It felt inadequate, and she wanted to say more but William put a finger to his lips.

  ‘Enough,’ he said.

  At the end of breakfast she gave Uncle Cec a farewell hug before he left to check the water troughs. He told her to come and visit them again soon.

  Then she went to the kitchen, where Della and Florrie presented her with a tin of homemade biscuits.

  ‘Well, that’s that then, you better get going,’ Della said.

  ‘Don’t want to miss the boat,’ Florrie added.

  She put the biscuit tin on the kitchen table before throwing her arms around Della. Then she did the same with Florrie and they all bawled like babies.

  ‘Can’t see a blinking thing,’ Della said, wiping her eyes with a tea towel.

  ‘You shouldn’t swear,’ Florrie declared, and everyone laughed, including Florrie.

  Now, standing next to the passenger side of the car, she watched her father loading the last few things into the boot. From a chair on the verandah, William watched too, smoking a cigarette. Grandmother and Eunice stood side by side nearby, from where they would soon wave goodbye.

  All morning she had kept an eye out for Claudio. She had to say goodbye; she couldn’t leave without a farewell, but there had been no sign of him. Time had run out.

  Father closed the boot. ‘Ready, my dear? Final goodbyes and we’ll be off.’

  Grandmother stepped forwards and offered her cheek. It felt soft and smelled faintly of Elizabeth Arden skin cream. ‘You look lovely,’ Grandmother whispered in her ear, ‘even if it’s not entirely suitable for travelling.’

  She felt a huge lump in her throat and had to blink furiously to hold back her tears. ‘Thank you,’ she mumbled. ‘For everything.’

  ‘I’ll miss you,’ Eunice said, pecking her on the cheek then giving her arm a squeeze, and Emily knew that despite everything, she would miss Eunice too.

  When Eunice had stepped back and re-joined Grandmother, she looked across to where William was lounging in the wicker chair. He’d told her earlier that he hated farewells, and that there was no need to say one because he was coming to Melbourne soon anyway. He had an appointment at the repat hospital for the fitting of an artificial leg. But she could not leave without saying goodbye. And, in truth, there was something else too.

  She stepped onto the verandah.

  William met her gaze. ‘I told you, Miss P. No goodbyes.’

  ‘I know. It’s just …’ She hesitated. It was her last chance and she had to take it no matter how much it revealed and how foolish it made her appear. William knew all about it anyway. ‘I wondered if you’d seen Claudio. This morning.’

  ‘Ah.’

  He paused, and her worst fears were confirmed. She never should have asked.

  ‘You might try the stables. I heard Cec asking him to clean out the loose boxes.’

  ‘Emily,’ her father called from another universe.

  She locked eyes with William. ‘Tell my father to wait’, and with that, she raced away.

  Around the verandahs she flew, past the swinging seat, the red geraniums and the squatter’s chair, past William’s old punching bag and the hydrangea bed, leaping over the last bush and onto the gravel path. She ran down the path, through the gate and across the yard, arriving breathlessly at the open doors of the middle loosebox. She waited, catching her breath and then stepped inside.

  Everything went dark, her eyes blinded by the sudden transition from bright sunlight to the gloom of the stables.

  ‘Lydia?’ His voice came to her through the darkness.

  Of course, she was wearing the yellow silk dress. He was hoping it was Lydia; he didn’t know she’d gone. The whole thing was a dreadful mistake. She stepped back, into the sunlight.

  ‘Emilia?’ Claudio emerged from the murk. He rubbed a hand over his face and through his curly black hair and bits of chaff flew out, glinting in the sun like tiny chips of gold. It was too late to run. She had to make the best of it.

  ‘I’ve come to say goodbye.’

  ‘Goodbye? Where are you going?’

  She recognised the grammatical correctness of his enquiry and felt a glow of pride. ‘Home.’

  Claudio nodded but said nothing, and she knew that if she did not act immediately she would lose her nerve and moved towards him. Her mind was filled with fragmented thoughts: of Lydia, bold and brave even if she had run off and left Emily to tell the tale and even if she and Claudio had had a dalliance; and Dorothy, who was a bitch, but fearless in the face of authority; and Miss Maunder lecturing them on the virtues of restraint; and even Grandmother’s odd phrase about bees to the honeypot. And most of all William, telling her that writers must be courageous.

  And then there were no more steps to take, and she was face to face with Claudio. He looked a little startled, but suddenly she knew what to do. She moved her face towards his and their mouths met in a bumpy collision. With Fanny Hill as her guide, she had experienced her body in entirely new ways, but it was nothing compared to the shock of his lips against hers and the powerful sensations that flooded through her. She pressed against him and he moaned. She thought she might have too.

  The car turned out of the Mount Prospect drive and onto the road. Her father preferred to drive in silence, and she was glad that it was so. She replayed the last moments of her visit over in her mind. She and Claudio standing opposite each other, her body tingling from the intensity of their kiss. The car horn had begun to toot, over and over.

  ‘Arrivederci, Claudio,’ she’d said.

  ‘Goodbye, Emilia,’ he’d replied.

  The car picked up speed, and she gazed out of the window, watching the fence posts whizz past. On the back seat of the car was William’s farewell gift to her – the book wrapped in newspaper. She wondered what it was and whether it might be Jane Eyre. She laughed. She did not think it was Jane Eyre. Her father glanced across at her with a smile.

  ‘You see,’ he said. ‘I knew you’d enjoy yourself.’

  She returned his smile and then looked out of the window again. As each post slid away into the past she felt part of herself sliding away too, sloughing off like a snake skin.

  She was going home, and something new was beginning.

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  Heartfelt thanks to my publisher and editor, Aviva Tuffield, for picking up the novel in its early stages and guiding the process to publication with such immense care and skill. I thank the librarians at the State Library of Victoria for applying their research skills to my numerous questions. Thanks, too, to Peter Stanley for his advice on matters to do with the Second World War. It goes without saying that any mistakes in historical accuracy are all mine.<
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  I’m indebted to Antoni Jach for his unflagging encouragement and support. His masterclasses provided a wonderfully nourishing environment for the writing of my novel and introduced me to an inspiring group of fellow writers. Thank you to all the masterclass writers I met along the way, especially Stella Glorie, Lawrie McMahon, Patsy Poppenbeek and Rocco Russo whose ongoing feedback in our writers’ group has been ruthlessly good. So, too, the insightful advice and encouragement from Antonia Pont, Carolyn Marshall and Sally Marshall, all of whom read many early draft chapters. Thank you to generous fellow writers and creative spirits Trish Bolton and Jaye Krantz, for such staunch belief in me and the work. To Milena M, my ongoing gratitude for the work we did together. It made this novel possible.

  Most of all, love and thanks to Ana Kokkinos.