Present Tense

By Winfreda Donald

In 1993 Freya Prentiss returns to Australia after a whirlwind courtship and marriage in Scotland, looking forward to merging motherhood with meaningful work. Elated about reuniting with her own family after a thirteen year absence she is uneasy about meeting Reg’s parents. Startled by the wealth and lifestyle of her in-laws, qualms emerge around values and compromise.
While Reg is in New York on business, complications set in for Freya – her sister’s IVF baby, her grandmother’s dementia, the road accident that kills her parents and uninvited memories of first love. As Freya cares for Gramma, old family secrets and identity questions plague her again. When the old lady dies Freya reviews her priorities. Aided by good friends she applies to volunteer for humanitarian aid work.
In Africa the injustice of the 1997-1998 man-made famine in the south of Sudan and the desperate plight of the victims breaks Freya’s heart. Just when the tide is turning for the starving and dispossessed, her first love Alexander appears briefly out of the blue. Emotion flares but he is married with a child – taboo.
The emergency medevac of a colleague to Amsterdam takes her to furlough earlier than expected. Headed for the remote north-west of Scotland she vows to tackle her confusion about humanity in general and an out-dated emotional attachment.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Winfreda Donald
• Release date: Dec 16, 2013
• ISBN: 9780987529015

Winfreda Donald

WINFREDA DONALDNow retired from the paid workforce, Winfreda is able to indulge a life-long ambition to write fiction. Although she enjoyed her later work-life writing (research reports, policy documents, academic theses), the joy of allowing imagination to run is liberating. Farewell to the constraints of facts and statistics.Another ambition is to stay healthy for long enough to tap out the myriad fancies itching to take shape.Winfreda calls on experiences from a long working life and a fascination with family dynamics to fashion characters and plots. But as she writes, some alchemy happens to merge the temperaments and personalities of the characters with unforeseen events that often surprise her.Most of all Winfreda is interested in the rich and hidden stories of everyday people's lives - happy stories, sad stories, people in danger, exhilarating tales, ambitious exploits, self-sabotage and workplace skulduggery. Other incidents that weave into the fictions explode from our shared environment of tension, violence, and the increasing streams of news reports and documentaries of our times.Since 2013 Winfreda has published the first three books of The Long Shadows Series. This family and friendship saga traces the lives of young Freya Dunbar and Alexander Marcou, played out in the late twentieth century, against the legacies that World War II laid on both their families. Past Imperfect (Book One) begins the story with settings in Scotland and Australia. Present Tense (Book Two) and Future Hope (Book Three) follow the trials and adventures of the young lovers in Europe and Africa. The fourth story in the series, Tides of Time is still incubating (for publication at the end of 2015 or early 2016).Winfreda is also working on a short story assortment and possibly a memoir-ish collection of reflections.

Book preview

Part one

Echoes of the past . . .

Chapter one

January 4, 1993: Freya jerked awake. It took moments to work out where she was and what the weight against the top of her head could be . . . Reg’s left temple. Her headache pulsed to the steady throb of jet engines. She twisted gingerly to avoid disturbing Reg and gently moved the floppy pillow they’d bought at Heathrow to support his neck, slid the airline cushion between their heads and the folded QANTAS blanket between their shoulders. When done, she breathed a massive sigh at the relief of lightness.

Reg didn’t rouse. His cheeks puffed and popped in gentle spurts.

He’d been resigned to not sleeping, his tall frame ill-suited to the crowding rows of seats in Economy, but the break-neck pace of their lives in recent weeks had caught up with them both and they’d dozed at last.

The Christmas and New Year timetables were in chaos leaving thousands of passengers inconvenienced and distressed. Freya was grateful to be airborne, done with the interminable waiting and congestion, even in the relative comfort of the Members Lounge. They’d accepted the first seats on offer rather than endure the uncertain wait for Business Class berths.

The cabin was dark. Against the drone of flight all Freya could hear were minor snuffles, an occasional cough or murmur and the hiccups of a baby in the seat behind them; most everyone seemed in some semblance of ease. Her body craved drowsing again but wide-awake thoughts whirled through the recent past, swamping this first chance for calm in many weeks.

Everything since the beginning of December still felt unreal; especially their short-notice courtship in Glasgow and the leap into marriage.

There’d been no time to think beyond the immediate – late nights to complete a research report for the Health Department – the lightning Aberdeen trip and emotional wrench to farewell best friends Kirsty, Hamish and their daughter Isobel, her precious god-child. Sandwiched between packing up her flat and the apartment that she and Reg shared after the wedding, were the goodbye calls to other friends and colleagues and a visit with Mrs Brown, her grandmother’s old housekeeper.

An ache of longing surfaced, especially for Mama, dear Mama and her sad legacy. In the thirteen years she’d been in Scotland Mama had visited just once, her sister Ness a few times, and Papa not at all. The need to see and hold them that she’d controlled so tightly over the years rolled in like a surging tide. With a massive effort she refolded family memories to the secure corner of her psyche where they’d been stowed for so long. Their reunion was imminent; except for her brother Douglas, still working in far-away Chile. She suppressed a giant blip of yearning for him.

Freya chided herself. She needed to think forward, not backward – to prepare for meeting her new family. She stopped herself from digging Reg in the ribs. How little she knew; but a loaded sleeping plane wasn’t the place to garner the Prentiss family history. And he knew zilch about her family.

And no point thinking about the Prentiss parents either. Couldn’t get anywhere in a vacuum of ignorance. She leaned into Reg again, tucking her arm through his. Within minutes his radiating body warmth relaxed her into a nap.

Brisbane: Cabin bag trailing and with a coat and handbag over her arm as they found a place within the disembarking throng, Freya’s weary thoughts strayed to Reg’s unit in Norman Park. Their unit now – she was still adjusting to the reality of being married. Warm shower and bed were all she could think of. Jet lag was claiming her, making it hard to think about the first meeting with her in-laws.

Reg’s father was to meet them and drop them off at Norman Park. They’d rest before the family welcome dinner at Bridgeman Downs in the evening. The nerves would kick in then, for sure.

Although lethargic officials yawned through the arrival checking procedures, it was clear their well-practised routines were protection against early morning lapses. The queues moved in fits and starts through the maze of roped off lines of passengers. Freya balanced from foot to foot as she pulled on the handle of the cabin bag with each move forward while Reg made and received a string of calls on his mobile phone.

Their jet had been chock-full and two other flights were being processed as well. As they neared the exit desks, Freya noticed occasional delays in the adjacent row dealing with non-Australian passport holders. When the desk officer was stumped by the broadest Scots accents she empathised, remembering her own struggles with the brogue in Glasgow all those years ago.

Freya and Reg eased seamlessly through the questions and scrutiny before the wait and jostle in the Baggage Claim area. With their bags finally loaded on a trolley they headed for Customs. With a full quota of duty free allowances Freya supposed that one or both of them would have the hassle of showing the items or unpacking generally. Such a relief when they were waved on.

Running on auto as she emerged into the throng of waiting people, Freya recognised Robert Prentiss straight away. An older version of his son – tall, dark, hair shot through with ash grey and draped discreetly over a sparse spot on the crown of his head. The mid-torso thickening, insufficient to conceal an appearance of energy and athleticism, fitted with what Reg had said about him being a squash fanatic who swam regularly and had a golf handicap of four.

As Freya took her father-in-law’s outstretched hand he pulled her close and kissed her on both cheeks. Welcome daughter. I am so happy to meet you. Such blue eyes, my dear: you are even lovelier than your photographs.

Freya smiled through a prickle of discomfort with the overplayed gallantry, knowing how effectively the flight had wrecked her time clock and metabolism; the obvious legacies showing in swelled ankles and the heavy puffiness around her eyes. And her hair had resisted any attempt to give it volume despite forlorn efforts to repair its mousy lankness before landing.

Robert and Reg shook hands. Good to see you son.

Was there a suggestion of reserve in the father-son greetings – both ways? Freya wondered.

Robert took possession of Freya’s bag and coat. As they weaved towards the car park, he said, There’ve been a couple of changes since your last phone call Reg. The tenants in your unit asked for an extension of the let because there was a glitch with the final inspection of their new house. Your mother agreed on your behalf. They leave today, so although the place will be empty, the work Rube arranged to freshen it up for you won’t be finished until the end of next week. We’ve fixed up one of the guest annexes at home for you instead.

Freya struggled to keep track of the father-son conversation, almost overcome by nostalgia at the whiff of the subtropics that laced through exhaust fumes and the noise of revving buses, taxis and cars. With a deep sigh she drank in the dry warm air and the vastness of a totally blue sky. The special Australian light she’d missed embraced her. She was home.

With a hand on her elbow Robert guided Freya round an oblivious, gesticulating family group. He turned the talk towards her. We thought you’d prefer that over being in the house with us while you settle in. But we do hope you’ll join us for most meals. That would give us a chance to get to know you better as well; a real win-win outcome.

Freya suppressed a slight cringe, keeping the smile on her face. Management jargon felt out of place in thinking about family arrangements, but she was grateful they didn’t have to organise an alternative.

Robert continued, Your parents rang from Maroochydore late last night. Your Gramma is down with a virus. Claire said they didn’t want to leave her, and were loath to bring the bug down here in case any of us caught it – good of them as I’m sure they are impatient to see you, and to meet Reg. We look forward to catching up with them later. But your sister and her husband will join us.

No Mama yet! Freya swallowed her disappointment. It was very kind of you and Mrs Prentiss to invite them, and to arrange a place for us. Her feelings were complicated. Hyped up, she wanted to do Reg proud and find comfort with his family but this absolute moment she didn’t want to think about the mixed-family gathering tonight without her parents. And the need for sleep was overwhelming.

You must call us Robert and Ruby, the two Rs.

On the drive to Bridgeman Downs Freya sagged thankfully into the back seat of the Mercedes and let the flashes of talk haze around her – business in New York, meetings with clients from Italy, Brazil, and Melbourne. She knew about New York. She was to go with Reg when he set up a new office there, but the other places were surprising. Where else she wondered? The Prentiss dealings were more diverse than she’d appreciated.

When the car stopped briefly for the ironwork security gates to slide apart, it took a few seconds for Freya to realise they were at Reg’s family home. He’d said they had a big place, but she was unprepared for the obvious affluence. The car purred along the winding drive with its honour guard of conical dark green pines, to circle a mini-roundabout, spectacular with a profusion of purple and white agapanthus surrounding a stand of frangipani, luxuriant with creamy blossom.

Freya’s stomach churned. How could Reg have been so casual about this place? Had he purposely downplayed it; or was it so much part of his life that he hadn’t realised it would be startling for her? Were there other jolts in store? She remembered her initial surprise at the luxury of Reg’s apartment in Scotland but had assumed, because of a logo at the main entrance, that it was part of a multi-national corporate rental arrangement. Maybe she’d been wrong. An edge of uncertainty niggled.

Everything had happened so quickly. She and Reg had progressed from a lukewarm friendship over a few months, to a sudden suggestion of marriage, to actually being married within weeks. Why hadn’t she asked more questions?

Rob halted the car under a broad portico supported by white columns.

Ruby, in lilac Capri pants and matching halter, caramel blonde hair in a fashionable chin-length bob, and perfect make-up, was waiting just inside the light and spacious entrance hall. She hugged Reg, saying, Welcome home son. Let me see your charming wife. With a brief embrace for Freya she led them into a sitting room with a view of what seemed like endless gardens.

Freya’s involuntary, How beautiful and how restful: what a stunning trompe l’oeil, brought a smile of pleasure to Ruby’s face.

We commissioned it after we saw something similar in England. The artist happened to be free so she came back with us. Wonderfully skilful don’t you think, blending the English and native flora and fauna so naturally. Lovely girl, she stayed here for a good while. Reg was quite taken with her.

Over warm and perfect scones with strawberry jam and cream, the conversation was mannerly and stilted. However courteous Reg’s parents were, Freya felt herself under appraisal, and fancied her performance in their screening interview was only middling. Weariness had swallowed any vestige of spontaneity or vivacity.

During a lull in conversation, when Ruby had gone to top up the hot water jug, Freya’s sense of the ridiculous bubbled up. Taking a deep breath and trying to relax, she thought they were both too late: she already had the role of daughter-in-law. She suspected there was a challenge ahead, for all of them to find their way to comfort with each other. This unfamiliar and unanticipated territory of wealth and style unsettled her.

When Ruby came back she set down the jug before handing Freya an envelope. My apology, I opened that by mistake. I didn’t notice it was addressed to F., not R. Prentiss. It was only when I saw the words, confirming interview date, I realised it wasn’t for me. She turned to her son, You surely won’t want her to work Reg?

Freya almost blurted she wasn’t a puppet, that she could think and speak for herself.

Reg jumped in, It’s up to Freya, Mother. She wants to work and it will help her to find her feet here again. She’s been away quite a while. And I know how very talented she is. I met her at work, remember.

Thankful for the good timing and Mama’s foresight in sending the job advertisement to her in Glasgow, Freya was relieved this matter had surfaced straight away and that Reg’s support was clear. Noticing a certain stiffness in Ruby’s demeanour she realised the subject might not be closed.

Oh well, you haven’t got the job yet, and I see the project is only for three months anyway, and of course you won’t want work when the babies come along. . . . Look, you must be exhausted; we know what jet lag is like. Take the Merc Reg, and head off to the bungalow when you’re ready. She pulled Rob to his feet, Let’s go and let them relax. We’ll see you later; seven-thirty, for dinner at eight. . . . And Freya if there’s anything you need, please don’t hesitate to call me on the intercom. Or come on over if you prefer.

Freya and Reg stood as his parents were leaving and Freya said, Thank you Ruby. I just want a shower and a sleep.

The evening was a success. The privately catered meal flowed effortlessly as uniformed staff appeared and reappeared with courses, quiet as phantoms. Inconsequential chatter continued as they served, then reverted to the more personal, when they left the room. It was like a peculiar ballet to Freya. The unfolding menu was superb, from the fennel and pear salad entree, through mushroom soup, sole fillet, an appetising lamb dish, to the light and tangy lemon sorbet, followed by coffee and petit fours. She ate mechanically, only registering the fare on her plate to manage the cutlery or to murmur agreement when someone remarked on the presentation, an ingredient or an aroma. Wines changed with the courses.

Nessie was the centre of attention, lovelier than ever in silver-grey silk with a faint turquoise feather pattern that set off her dark hair and olive complexion. Muzzy-headed, Freya loosened up, observed, and was able to withdraw unobtrusively. The three men paid homage to Ness with flattering remarks and repeated glances. Ruby seemed mesmerised. While supposing Ness was used to the ritual, Freya’s keen eye detected the tension around her sister’s jaw and speculated that she and Brad were about to embark or were already on, the IVF merry-go-round. Her heart clenched for them. Two of her Scots colleagues had found the process daunting and they’d been insiders with nursing and medical knowledge.

Brad comfortably talked finances with Rob and Reg – names and numbers floated between them. A couple of times a calculator was used to test a prediction. Ruby and Ness chatted with enthusiasm about local and national fashion houses and discovered a shared taste in jewellery.

Freya nodded and smiled at the right times and laughed at the jokes. Aware that no-one else noticed she wasn’t a vital part of the company, a vague fretting over next week’s job interview floated, questioning her capacity to integrate into the work culture here. Thirteen years was a long time to be away and her experience then had been limited to less than a year in a child care centre. Surely her Scots qualifications in nursing, and follow-up roles in research and policy positions would comfortably cross country boundaries?

Chapter two

Early May 1993 – Wynnum: Nessie’s hand trembled – she was terrified by the internal shakes taking over her body. Tears blurred her vision as she tried to tap out Freya’s number on the phone. At the third attempt she got through . . . but it rang out. In despair she threw the whole shebang to the floor and was surprised to see it disintegrate against the tiles. Hands over head, shoulders hunched and elbows on the bench, her sobs shuddered out and bounced back from the wall.

She fought to recall Brad’s wise words of last night. They’d known it could fail. She’d read enough on her own account, the clinic staff and the psychologist had tried to prepare them, the clinic paperwork had reinforced it, and Freya had cautioned her.

Everyone knew the statistics. The likelihood of success for a first IVF cycle was only one in three. Why she’d been so sure they’d beat that, she didn’t know. Other thoughts kicked in. She knuckled her forehead, hard, with both hands. Someone had accused her of harbouring an unrealistic sense of entitlement – she couldn’t remember who, or the context. She’d been angry, but maybe they were right. Until now, nothing important had ever been really out of reach. Her few previous disappointments had turned to gold. . . . Where was Freya? . . . At work, of course.

Picking up the bits of the phone and conceding there was no way it could be made to work, she disconnected the base from the wall plug. After mopping her eyes and cheeks with a double length of kitchen paper from the roll on the bench, she staggered to the bedroom extension. Once there she realised Freya’s work number was in her handbag and trekked back to the kitchen to retrieve it.

Thankfully Freya answered, not the receptionist. Freya, I need to talk to you,’ she gasped. Can you come?"

Is it an emergency, Ness?

Not exactly. But it failed Freya and I can’t bear it.

Freya glanced at her diary, and mentally rejigged her afternoon commitments before saying, It’ll take me a while, but I’ll be there as soon as I can. I have to hand something over. That will take about ten minutes and then maybe thirty minutes to drive from this side of Brisbane if the traffic is O.K. and I don’t get lost. Hang on little sister.

Thank you Freya. I’m sorry to trouble you.

I should have been ready for it. I know that, but I just wasn’t. We decided to stay positive but I fell apart when Brad left for work.

Have you eaten today?

No.

Freya rifled through the fridge and pulled out the remains of a chicken along with lettuce, cucumber, beetroot, and mayonnaise. She made a sandwich as she spoke. You need to eat Ness. Keep life as normal as possible. Something may not have been quite right or ready the first time. There are other embryos aren’t there?

Yes. But it’s been so long already. We’ve been married almost four years now. And I’m scared. I’m starting to hate any of my friends who have kids. I’m becoming a monster. I only want our baby, Brad’s and mine, but sometimes I feel like walking off with someone else’s infant and keeping it.

Freya handed over the sandwich and pulled a purple serviette from a plastic box on the bench. O.K. you start on that and I’ll make some tea. And then we’ll talk.

As she ate Ness realised she was hungry. By the time she’d finished the last mouthful she felt a little better. You’re so practical Freya. What would I do without you?

Grow up, thought Freya. Irritation flooded her thoughts. Probably they’d all conspired to spoil Ness when she was young. She’d been so cute and always a beauty, so that even strangers fell under her spell. Papa and Douglas and she had tried to compensate for Mama being distant and inconsistent because of the depression; that terrible depression that had taken her so often into dark withdrawn places. Maybe they’d made life too easy for Ness – or maybe she was a bit like her grandmother, over-dramatising her own experiences.

Now Freya was peeved with herself. How terrible for Ness and Brad to lose an embryo, the fusion of their genes, the makings of their longed for child. For now she needed to concentrate on Ness, to set aside the tendrils of disquiet that were starting to test her desire for children with Reg. It wasn’t fair that her reaction to Ness should be coloured by relief that she wasn’t pregnant herself. So soon in their marriage! Especially as their mutual wish for a family had been the catalyst that transformed their friendship into commitment.

Freya pulled her thoughts back, and listened as Ness talked through the trauma of hearing the news yesterday, and how she and Brad had tried to comfort each other, and cried together. After she’d gone over it several times Ness was calmer. I’ll do what you say. Eat properly, exercise, rest, and think of other things. I’m sure it will happen next time. We decided to wait a while before trying again. . . . Thank you for coming Freya.

Over another cup of tea, Freya said, Why don’t you go up to Maroochydore and see how things are going with Gramma. Mama could probably do with a day or so of other company. And the old lady always enjoys having you around. It could relieve her restlessness to see someone else for a bit, might even change the tantrum pattern that is starting up.

I’ll think about it. . . . But perhaps I shouldn’t . . . in case it upsets me and interferes with the hormone cycle.

Chapter three

Mid-May 1993 – Brisbane: Just the four of them for dinner tonight; Rob, Ruby, Reg and Freya.

More than ever Freya felt like an outcast, almost an invisible trespasser, observing and reflecting from the edge of the company. As always the meal was flawless, this time cooked by Ruby.

Itching to refer to the tittle-tattle she’d been alerted to, Freya sensed no-one would welcome any discussion, or know how to cope with the implicit unpleasantness, no matter how she couched it. Freya assumed the men had no idea how the gossip had been sparked and that Ruby was unaware of her own chance insight about that incident. Perhaps they all thought she’d heard nothing. The conversation felt superficial and subtly strained, deliberately managed by Ruby it seemed to Freya.

It was like a charade. First, in response to his mother’s leading prompt, Reg complimented Ruby’s creativity with the table centre-piece.

Thank-you Reg. The smooth wood balances the spiky parts of the shell, don’t you think? Then she explained how she’d always wanted to show off the massive spider shell with its pink lustre interior as a table setting but lacked inspiration until she stumbled on the three pink-tinged and ocean-worn twigs while fossicking along the shore at Redcliffe.

Freya watched, listened, and thought her own thoughts. Curious to know why the Prentisses favoured evasion she decided to let the situation play out, wondering if an acknowledgement of rumours would ruin their perception of a perfect life. Why was the private facade of family solidarity paramount if it papered over a reality that could be resolved? It wasn’t like the evasions within the Dunbar family – they’d usually been a protection for Mama’s vulnerabilities.

Then, old chat faithfuls to the rescue – the weather and the state of the dams; and on to keeping lawns weed-free, the national cricket team’s latest victories, and the preparations for the local cycling team campaign for the 2000 Olympics in Sydney. Prentiss unity of opinion on all these side-stepped any connections with Freya’s work or interests.

Freya was at a loss. Why didn’t one of them just laugh off the oblique chitchat about a possible marriage split for her and Reg, fuelled by a social pages photograph of Reg with his secretary at a fundraiser to bring a jewellery exhibition to the Art Gallery? She’d been at a Community Health Centre meeting instead.

Ruby couldn’t know that Gloria, one of Freya’s project team had told her what she saw and heard. According to Gloria, Ruby’s loud and ambiguous comment to a friend about Freya’s absence within hearing of a journalist, followed by stirring a flurry of talk, had seemed intentional. The motivation was a mystery to Freya. Did Ruby hope to pressure her to stop working, or was she trying to engineer her separation from Reg?

As they sipped the last of their coffee amidst renewed compliments on another wonderful meal, Ruby said, Let’s leave the dishes. It’s a lovely evening. Freya I’d like to show you our plans for the new landscaping around the pool. Reg had a look the other day.

Freya’s nerve ends prickled; it wouldn’t be an innocent stroll. And what could justify changing the current pool surrounds, already so attractive? No doubt an attempt to outdo something they’d seen at a recent pool party, or on a TV program, or in a Home Beautiful magazine. It would cost for sure. She nodded to the men, folded her napkin and stood to follow Ruby.

Forcing herself to breathe normally by focusing on the beauty of her surrounds as they walked, Freya couldn’t subdue her sadness on behalf of the physically and emotionally wounded mothers and children she’d visited at the Refuge for Aboriginal Women last week. If only Ruby’s thousands of dollars could be donated instead to employ qualified Indigenous staff and support for further training; a much better spend in her opinion. Freya struggled to make agreeable responses as Ruby pointed, and stood, and stepped out the dimensions for an Indonesian type enclosure, the placement of various sculptures and rearrangement of the gardens.

When she’d exhausted her plans for the pool, Ruby directed their steps through an archway to circle the vegetable garden before returning to the house, clearly with more on her mind.

I hope you won’t mind me making a few suggestions Freya. You are new to our family and the company side of things. She ignored, or didn’t notice Freya’s clenched fists and went on, Our men-folk look to us women to further their business aspirations by managing the social occasions, and flying the flag with their associates – and entertaining international visitors and their wives and families. Now that people know Reg is married you should be seen at events with him. Our associates will notice your absence and wonder.

Still no mention of the gossip. Freya tried to contain her resentment. Reg had achieved success and popularity already, without her. What was different now? She’d seen enough of the women’s routines to squirm. Why should she squander time in salons having designer manicures, pedicures and hairstyles, or on endless discussions about fashions, fittings and accessories, being seen at the races and balls, and meeting the ‘desirable’ people?

It was an effort to find a civil reply and to keep her voice and her words even, It has taken years to develop my work skills. That’s what I’m trained to do and I think I’m good at it. Health services are different from business. They both contribute to the wider good in society but I feel my energy is better invested in the health arena. I accompany Reg when I can. He understands.

Ruby said, Of course Reg wants you to be happy, but do think about making room in your schedule for what matters most to him, Freya. He plays an important part in the family enterprise. It’s not just the two of you. We Prentisses make a big contribution to society too you know; fund raising for many worthy causes, and we make generous donations to a number of organizations. We send $100 to ten charities each year. And Rob sent three pairs of his out-of-date pants to Lifeline the other day.

Freya almost choked. $1,000 was generous from people who could spend $20,000 on an unnecessary pool renovation? With effort she repeated in a calm voice, "‘I do what I can when it fits with work.’

It was a surprise when Ruby asked, How is your project going Freya?

Nearly done. The final report will make a number of recommendations to the Health Department about attracting more funding, making better use of what is available, and increasing management support to the women’s health centres. She hesitated before continuing, Another evaluation project to look at the centres established in Queensland under the National Women’s Health Policy will be advertised next week. That policy has been on the go for a few years now. Marjorie, the Reference Group Chairperson asked me to think of applying for that.

An odd quality in Ruby’s voice grated on Freya. I bumped into Marjorie the other day. She told me how pleased the committee was to have the Prentiss name involved in the work. Of course my quiet word to her when I knew you had applied would have helped you to get the position in the first place. Marjorie and I have been friends since Girls Grammar days. Connections count for such a lot, don’t you think?

Freya suppressed any outward show of her instant reaction of rage, mixed with uncertainty about the truth of Ruby’s claim. Maybe Ruby had intervened, but it seemed doubtful given her initial effort to discourage Freya from working. Amazed at how unruffled her voice sounded, she said, I don’t need to make up my mind about an application for a couple of weeks.

Right then Freya firmed on a decision to follow up on quite a different advertisement she’d been vacillating over; for a permanent hospital position. And she wouldn’t tell even Reg until after an interview – if she got one. And she’d apply under her maiden name and use Scots references. They were still recent, and first-rate. . . . And whatever Ruby might do with Marjorie or anyone else, she didn’t care. And Reg’s expectations about New York wouldn’t steer her choices right now either. She couldn’t believe her presence there would be essential. She’d broach that with him if and when there was a job offer.

* * *

Late June 1993 – Norman Park: Over