Out of the Shade

By Thea Gilich

Manda’s husband Steve regards her sketches mere bits of paper and has no qualms in burning them.
Devastated she feels she’ll never be able to draw again. Yet, lacking something to do in the new flat in Mission Bay, she is soon drawn back to her old passion.
Slowly her life changes as her passion turns to obsession she finds she no longer wants to fit the mould of everyone’s expectations. Her rebellion widens the rift between her and Steve and divides family and friends as they take sides.
This is an artist’s journey, and the story of a woman’s growth to emancipation.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Thea Gilich
• Release date: Aug 23, 2014
• ISBN: 9780473284671

Thea Gilich

A refugee from Europe, arriving in New Zealand at the age of fourteen, she finished her education at Sacred Heart College in Christchurch and St Mary’s College in Auckland. When Thea, married Leo they looked forward to having a large family. However, when they were unable to have children they decided to adopt.Today, a widow, Thea has four children, sixteen grandchildren and three great-grandchildren. Thea’s passion is writing – articles, short stories and novels. Her other interests have been diverse. Reading (six books a week was the norm.); Croatian history – (both in Croatia, and that of Croatian migrants in New Zealand) and Politics – (she and Leo were involved with bringing CIR to New Zealand.). They were also instrumental in petitioning the New Zealand Government to recognise Croatia as an independent state and organising the Croatian Relief Committee. Thea was also a member of the inaugural committee of the Croatian Cultural Society.

Book preview

Out of the SHADE

Copyright 2014 Thea Gilich

Published by Westridge Publishing at Smashwords

Smashwords Edition License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your enjoyment only, then please return to Smashwords.com or your favorite retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means, electronic, mechanical photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publishers.

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organisations, events and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, re-sold, hired out or otherwise circulated without the publisher’s prior consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

Table of Contents

Dedication

Acknowledgements

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty One

About Thea Gilich

Connect with Thea Gilich

Dedicated to

Leo Gilich who was everything that Steve Zornich is not.

Acknowledgements

I would like to thank James George for his knowledge and wisdom.

I am also grateful to Ellen Kerssens for being a sounding board and for her endless cups of tea.

Thanks also to Dorothea Salvaro for giving me the painting that inspired Manda’s passion for art.

Last but not least, my thanks go to Lois Armiger for being there when I needed her.

Chapter One

The wind had stripped the last leaves from the apple and pear trees. Manda looked up from the sink and out the window. Misty sheets of rain moved across the orchard - shades of grey upon grey over black skeletal trees. She took a sheet of paper out of a drawer and started to sketch. How, she thought, to draw the magic with which the mist hid the boring, everyday things of life?

Within seconds she was absorbed in her task. Few people would believe Manda to be in her fifties when she was drawing. With pencil and paper she entered an enchanted world. A world of her own - a magic place.

Her eyes were distracted by movement. Grey raincoat, grey hat, grey boots - what was Steve doing out there in the rain? There was someone with him - a stranger. Manda remembered seeing a late model station wagon parked in front of the packing shed and wondered.

She watched Steve walk towards the packing shed. Something in his posture reminded her of the first time they met. He had been the most graceful dancer in her kolo group when, as a young girl, she had danced in the club.

Steve shook hands with the man, then waved goodbye as he watched the car drive towards the gate. As he walked back to the house there was a spring in his step.

Manda put on the coffee pot. She took some fritule, the recipe for which, had been handed down from mother to daughter for generations, out of the cake-tin, and put them on a plate.

From the porch came the sounds of Steve removing his wet gear and gumboots.

She looked up from pouring the coffee when Steve came through the door.

He seemed thoughtful. Then he took a deep breath and grinned. ‘Ah, coffee, just what I need!’ They sat opposite each other at the kitchen table.

Still grinning, Steve took another deep breath and settled into his chair. Taking a sip of coffee, his eyes fell on the drawing. Gone was the grin - his mouth tightened, and his brow knit.

Manda noticed the frown and returned the sheet of paper to the drawer. She pushed the plate with the cakes closer to Steve. ‘You look pleased with yourself.’

Steve bit into a fritula and the broad smile returned. ‘You know that developer who was here last year? He came back today. He’s offered me two and a half million!’

Manda was stunned. ‘Two and a half million dollars,’ she repeated her voice slow with wonder, ‘That’s a million more than the last offer.’

A hint of a smile touched Manda’s lips. How West Auckland has changed, she thought. Little more than thirty years ago, when she’d married Steve and came to live out here, Henderson, together with Glen Eden and Oratia was Dally country. Many of the orchards and vineyards were owned by Dalmatians, small tight-knit communities where she had many relations and friends.

But Auckland mushroomed. Lincoln Road, which once was a country road, became one of West Auckland’s main thoroughfares. Ten years ago the first of the developers knocked on their door, but Steve had been reluctant to sell. Every now and then another developer called. They watched the shopping and office complexes going up around them. Once or twice they’d talked of selling but each time Steve would say, ‘We’re making a good living, why change?’ In the meantime the land was gaining in value.

Steve poured himself another coffee. ‘Well, none of the kids are interested in the orchard.’

True, Manda thought, nor were they likely to be. None of them would wish to leave their profession, or change their lifestyle.

‘What will you do if we sell?’ There was trepidation in her voice. After all, the orchard was his life; he’d done nothing else. ‘You’d never be able to get another orchard this close to the city’... and I’d hate, Manda thought, to be still further out of Auckland, now that all the children lived in the city.

Astonished, Steve stared at her. ‘Oh come on Manda, you know that this was always just a job, one my father pushed me into at that!’ He looked down at his rough hands and old overalls. Anger flashed across his face as he pulled at the frayed sleeve. ‘I should have worked in an office or maybe in sales…’

‘I know,’ Manda put her hand over his, trying to calm him, ‘but it hasn’t been a bad life.’

‘Pape let both Mate and Vic go to university…’

Not that again, she thought, will he ever forgive his father for saying that he didn’t have the brains for university?

‘Well,’ said Manda, ‘You’re getting the better of them all in the end.’ Steve beamed, ‘You are right, you are so right…’

‘So,’ she smiled, ‘What are you going to do?’

He took another fritula. ‘I’ll be sixty soon. With that kind of money we can retire.’ He was warming to the subject and the excitment caused him to talk faster. ‘We could buy a block of flats. Better than the one Vic has in Herne Bay. I’m thinking of one of the classy seaside suburbs, like Mission Bay or Kohimaramara. I’m sure there’ll be lots of things we can do. I might join a bowling club. You’ll be able to spend time with the grandchildren…’

Manda was flabbergasted. ‘You’ve really thought this through, haven’t you?’ It had never occurred to her that Steve might want to retire. ‘Well, if you’re sure...’ I’m no mother hen, she thought. But, they were a close family. Particularly now Maria was pregnant with their very first grandchild. Manda and Maria were close when Maria was in her teens. Something changed, though Manda couldn’t put her finger on it. She supposed that Maria had just grown up. Yet…

*

Within days they were looking at blocks of flats. It amused Manda that in the classy suburbs they were called apartments, not flats. Steve wanted one with three or four flats so they could live in one and have an income from the others. They found one in Mission Bay right across from the Selwyn Domain. Manda particularly liked that the park bordered the beach. The flat on the third floor was empty, the others were all rented.

Manda looked around the airy rooms and thought of their heavy old oak furniture, inherited from Steve’s parents. Beautiful old pieces that she loved, but they’d be incongruous in these rooms.

Steve came to stand next to her. ‘It’s so light in here. I never realised how dark the house in Henderson was.’

Manda nodded, ‘I was just wondering about the furniture…’

‘That old junk!’ Steve, laughed. ‘It’s either old-fashioned, worn out, or both. No you’re right, that stuff would be all wrong here. It’s time we had some new things anyway.

You go and buy what you want. Ask Claire to go with you. She can tell you what’s classy. Our John sure knew what he was doing when he married her.’

‘Right.’

*

‘I’ll start sorting out what we’ll take with us,’ Steve said, as Manda was leaving for the city. He pecked her cheek. ‘You have a good time with Claire.’

I will, thought Manda. Both her daughters were too busy to go shopping with her. Although she also worked, Claire often managed to find a spare hour or two to spend with Manda. She was fond of Claire and nowadays recalled with a smile how she had dreaded meeting Claire’s parents. Manda knew Anne and Jack Malcolm lived in one of those grand old houses in Remuera, that Jack was a director on several boards and that they both played golf. To Manda’s delight, the Malcolms turned out to be unassuming people who thought John walked on air.

‘So, where shall we start,’ said Claire when they met.

Manda pulled out a list, ‘I’m glad you were able to take off the whole day today. I’m afraid this will take forever.’

For a moment Claire studied the list. ‘I don’t think it’ll be too bad. With the interior of the apartment being white we don’t have to worry about matching colours. Let’s do the dining table first. I’ve seen what I think would be perfect. Italian marble …’

As they shopped Manda’s misgiving grew. It wasn’t just the money they were spending. She knew they could afford it - yet it still went against everything she had been taught since childhood. It was the speed, with which everything was changing that made her feel as if she’d taken a step too many; as if she was floundering in water that was too deep.

The day was exhausting, but at last they were finished. She should have felt great, though somehow her uneasiness continued as she drove home.

*

As soon as Manda turned into the drive, she saw the smoke billowing from behind the packing shed.

Steve came out of the shed carrying a large box. A box she knew well!

Before Manda could stop the car, he tossed it onto the fire. Panic gripped her innards. She jumped out of the car. My sketches… The thought screamed in her mind. She ran to the packing shed. They were gone. All gone… Tears streamed down her face. Manda crouched in the corner where her boxes had been, her knees hard against her chest, arms covering her head, silent sobs racking her body. She felt as if a part of her had been torn out and burned on that pyre.

Steve came in, looking for more things to burn. He stared at her in surprise, ‘Hey,’ he said, ‘What’s the matter with you?’

‘How could you?’ Her voice was a hoarse whisper, her eyes filled with despair, ‘How could you burn all my drawings?’

‘Come on Manda,’ Steve blustered. ‘What are you getting upset about? Bits of paper?’

‘They were not bits of paper to me,’ she whispered, looking down at her hands, not wanting him to see the hatred she felt for him at that moment.

His voice became soft and pleading, ‘Did you really think you could take them to Mission Bay? Where would you put them?’

Rising, she wiped away the tears. I’m sure I could have come up with something, she thought. ‘You could’ve asked me.’ This time she didn’t bother to hide the look of scorn in her eyes.

‘And then?’ Steve’s bluster returned. ‘This is ridiculous! I should have done it years ago! I refuse to feel guilty - when I’m right!’

Manda said no more. She was certain Steve enjoyed destroying her drawings.

She walked out of the shed. For a while she watched the fire. The smoke carried with it bits of black paper. She felt as if she was watching her own cremation.

*

Three weeks had passed since they moved into the apartment.

It was a fine spring morning and as it was a Sunday, the men were out sailing, so Manda had the girls over for lunch.

Crumbing the schnitzel, Manda glanced at Maria standing by the window.

Maria had always been the most ambitious of Manda’s children. Being a corporate lawyer suited her. But there was a sharp edge to her nowadays. She’d become hard and selfish. Would motherhood change that?

‘What a gorgeous apartment,’ Maria smiled at Manda. ‘You were so lucky to find it. And the view…’ She stepped out on the terrace. ‘This is going to be great in summer - and to be right across from the Mission House...’

‘Well,’ Manda shrugged, ‘It’ll always be just the park to me.’

‘It’s easy to look after too,’ said Claire. ‘It’s got all the mod cons you could wish for.’

Manda laughed. ‘It’s too easy. I had all the housework done and the garden watered by half past nine this morning.’ The garden! How could anyone call a few boxes and pots on the terrace a garden? The garden on the farm had occupied much of her time. It never occurred to her that she would miss it. ‘Lunch is ready,’ Manda said, putting the last dish on the table.

‘There’s always cooking and baking,’ said Maria, helping herself to potato salad and chicken schnitzel.

Nella, the youngest and most unsettled of Manda’s children, raised her wineglass to her mother. ‘To the best cook in the world! As usual, this is scrummy. I’m sure we’ll all agree to come over and help you eat whatever you cook, whenever you like.’

Manda shook her head. ‘The freezer’s full of emergency meals and I’ve run out of cake-tins. There’s only so much we can eat. I’ve made up a box for each of you to take home.’

After the noise of all the girls thanking her at once died down, Maria said. ‘Dad tells me he’s joined the local bowling club.’

‘I’ve got to admit, I was worried about your father. I thought he’d be bored, but he’s as happy as Larry since he started to play bowls. He spends more time at the club too. I see less of him now, than when we had the orchard.’ Saying that, Manda thought it was she who was at a loose end. She knew the answer - but how could she return to drawing, with the pain of her lost sketches still fresh in her mind?

‘I thought the two of you were going to tour the country,’ said Nella. ‘Isn’t that why dad bought the Land Cruiser?’

Manda smiled. ‘He dreamed of that for a long time. Well, we’ve got the car - all he needs to do is find the time.’ The pause was brief before Manda laughed. ‘He enjoys his bowls so much; he might never get around to it.’

Only Claire felt Manda’s discontent. ‘Why don’t you take up a hobby as well?’ she said.

‘Yes. Whatever happened to that potter’s wheel we gave you for Christmas?’ asked Nella.

‘I think your father’s put the box in the garage.’ Claire’s right, Manda thought, I need something to occupy me and this could be it.

*

‘I’m glad you’ve decided to give this a go,’ said Steve putting up the potter’s wheel in a corner of the garage.

‘We’ll see, I’ve never had much interest in pottery,’ said Manda, moving the bag of clay closer. She made several pots for the terrace. The wet clay was smooth, cool and a pleasure to work with, but pots and plates bored her. She tried to model figures, but they refused to keep their shape.

Her eyes moved from the lump of clay that had been her latest creation to the pile of library books on Steve’s workbench. Quickly she washed her hands, picked up the books and went upstairs. Amazing, she thought as she made her coffee, I had gone to the library to get a book on pottery and found all this treasure. Michelangelo, da Vinci, Rembrandt, Monet, Picasso... Manda was astonished at how much information about painting, sculpture and the artists who created them could be found in books. And that librarian she thought, she was so kind. When I asked her whether there were any books about New Zealand artists, she gave me what she had and offered to find more from other libraries.

Without realising it Manda had found a fresh slant on an old interest..

Chapter Two

One day, browsing through a large stationery shop in Auckland’s main street, Manda found herself in the art department. Large pads, small pads, easels, coloured pencils, pastels, felt tips, watercolours, acrylics and oils,