Eden's Child

Chapter 1

Vous êtes le français? After asking the question, the young woman looked confused.

That’s a surprise; I wonder what else is in there.

The man, tall and thin, raised a hand and gently tapped the young woman’s forehead. He said something more in French and she responded naturally. He attempted some German; she was able to make something out from what he said but her reply was not as fluent as with the French.

So you speak good French and have some knowledge of German.

She ran a hand over her forehead, pushing back the soft curly fringe of copper hair.

If only, she murmured, if only it told me who I am. It’s a clue of sorts, I suppose.

He shrugged.

And in answer to your question, I am not French, I am Corsican.

I know where Corsica is but I don’t know my own name.

You will one day but you must not rush yourself. Time will heal.

Time? Do I have time? Isn’t there someone concerned for me?

She’d been in hospital for eight weeks and in spite of the publicity, no one had come forward. She knew nothing of her past and the future terrified her. Her bruises—received in a hit and run accident—had healed now, but her mind was blank. She didn’t even know her own name.

The nurses had named her Cash because she’d been wearing a grey cashmere jogging suit. The clothes had put her into a well-off category but no one, banker, solicitor—anyone who might have had dealings with someone of her probable background, had come forward to claim her. She felt unwanted and unloved.

Over the weeks that followed and when she had long conversations comfortably in French with her doctor, she realized as did everyone else, that she was bi-lingual. She had to have worked or lived somewhere in France to be that fluent. Perhaps, she suggested, if they extended her story to the Continent, someone would recall her. Anytime now she would have to leave the hospital. Her physical injuries were better, she could no longer justify taking up a bed. There had been mention of a move to a Psychiatric Unit for more care, but she had balked at the idea—but with no money and no name, where could she go?

Anxiety put pressure on her to try to remember something—anything. The pressure brought headaches and depression; it was a vicious circle from which there seemed no escape.

Whenever Doctor Arnaud came in to see her, he always gave the gentlest of smiles. She was in turn always pleased to see him. Foolish as it seemed, there appeared to be a link between them. Of course it was only language they had in common but it was the best thing she had. This time his smile was broader. I have news.

You do?

He came and sat on the bed. Dark and attractive, he always was able to cause a little pleasant flutter of feeling inside her. She enjoyed it, for even if her mind had gone, her ability to feel pleasure had not. However, apprehension now tempered the flutter.

Someone has come to claim me?

You make yourself sound like baggage—you are far from that. But yes, someone believes they know who you are. I want you to be aware that even if they know you, you may not know them.

They won’t be... she shrugged, uncomfortable with the thought. ...crazy, you know, people who claim things that aren’t true?

We demanded absolute proof.

And they...they have it?

It would seem so.

While the doctor went to fetch the man, she fussed illogically with her hair, as if she had to make a good impression. As if she was up for adoption.

Don’t be a silly girl, she cautioned herself.

The door opened; in walked a man of medium height—but the thing about him, the thing that oddly shocked her was that he was so handsome. Each feature was perfect. A face that having once been seen would never be forgotten—but she had no recollection whatsoever of this man. No stirring of memory, no frisson of delight. The Doctor had caused a flutter; this other man awoke a feeling entirely different.

Maddy! he exclaimed, striding towards the bed. "It is you." He was English. He took hold of her hand. His palm was soft and fleshy, slightly moist; she did not like the feel of it against her own. Abruptly she moved her hand from his. He smiled. She remembered the smile of a crocodile. Instinct or intuition or both made her dislike him. Something about him made her insides crawl.

Oh Maddy, he said, you really don’t remember, do you?

Of course not, surely the doctor said.

But I thought it merely one of your games.

Games! I’m a person who plays games with people?

It would be diabolical to do such a thing, she said and meant it.

"It would but you...well you, my darling, adore the diabolical—just a little. He twinkled at her. You don’t remember us?" he asked in a rather little boy voice she found irritating.

‘Us’, the word sprang back at her.

Us! Is he my husband?

She looked at her hands—they were ring-less. The police said she had nothing on her but the grey cashmere track suit and a pair of soft flat shoes, almost as if she were going to bed and not out for a midnight jog.

You can’t have forgotten Mandorah?

I’ve forgotten everything! Her voice was strong and hard. Inside she wanted to cry. The momentous feelings that had cascaded through her when the doctor said someone knew her had quickly dissipated, leaving her miserable and depressed. She hated the person this man implied she was, inexplicably she also hated him!

I’m sorry, he said. Maddy thought he wasn’t sorry at all. Of course you’ve been through so much but it’s difficult to relate to you like this. Forgive me?

She nodded rather more graciously than she felt.

I’ve come to take you home

Home?

To Mandorah.

I’m sorry I don’t... She bit her lip, trying to jump the high blank wall her mind had become.

Mandorah, Queensland.

There was no memory but she recognised the name of the State.

Australia?

It was unbelievable. He was telling her she belonged in Australia. It didn’t seem feasible, the French thing, her essential European-ness. Her head started to spin. This man was her husband; he was going to take her thousands of miles to the other side of the world. She instinctively loathed him. Australia meant nothing to her. Her pulse began to race. She could feel the waves starting to come, felt she was floating, going away from it all. In the distance she heard the man calling for help as she slipped into a blissful state of nothingness.

Dr Arnaud wasn’t impressed.

It’s shock—you can’t expect to come here and dictate.

I wasn’t dictating, Colin Franklyn protested. I just thought mention of Mandorah would trigger something. After all at one time it was all she wanted.

I asked you to be gentle—not to rush things. I’m going to have to ask you to leave.

You can’t do that. I’ve come to take her back.

Not until I say you can.

With that the doctor turned on his heels and marched away.

Franklyn dug into his pocket and brought out a mobile phone. He punched in the numbers, but the hospital gave poor reception. He cursed. Swung around and went the opposite way from the doctor. Once in the car park, he tried again. The reception was better.

Hi, he said. "It is Maddy, but she really doesn’t seem to remember anything...sure...yes...she passed out at the thought of coming to Oz. Acting? Absolutely not. The Doctor roasted me over telling her too soon."

He listened to the voice at the other end of the line. Fine, he replied. I’ll do that.

* * * *

Maddy slipped into a light-weight jacket. The clothes had arrived that morning. They were expensive casuals. The undergarments were soft and silky and they too appeared to be very expensive. Everything was perfect yet just slightly too big, apart from the shoes, which were a perfect fit. She would go to a hotel in the country for two days and then they would fly out.

A nurse came and fussed kindly, telling her how pretty she looked. How lavender was her shade. Apparently, according to Colin Franklyn, lavender was her favourite colour. Perhaps that was in the past because she now thought it a somewhat insipid colour. Red, yellow, these were the colours that came into her mind. She shrugged. Perhaps her taste had changed. Maybe it was as the doctor said, a new beginning for her. She could start all over again.

Miserably she sank back onto the bed. She didn’t want to start again—she wanted to know, had to know everything. Colin Franklyn had been gentler on his next visit. He was much less cynical and teasing. It didn’t matter how he was with her, she felt repulsed by him. Something about him made her flesh crawl. When she’d tried to imagine a physical contact between them, she had felt only nausea.

It was hard to ask the question, dreading the answer as she did, but she willed herself, dared herself to ask. How long have we been married?

He laughed. What? he said, though he had obviously heard her; otherwise, he wouldn’t have laughed. Who said we’re married?

Of course, no one had. It was she who had put that spin on the thing. He had come and recognized her, suggested an intimacy and was going to take her back to Mandorah. I just thought…

"Oh Maddy, you would never have married me! Not when there were other, bigger sharks in the ocean."

He came close to her, put out his hand and stroked her face. She recoiled from his touch. It didn’t make him laugh, it made him angry. One day you’ll regret that. When you come and want—

The doctor came in, causing Franklyn to stop himself from finishing his statement. He rounded on the medic, said tersely, No one’s bothered to tell her the situation. What kind of outfit are you running here?

Maddy was too relieved to be angry with him or anyone. She wasn’t married to Colin Franklyn. He had no claim on her. It was going to be all right.

* * * *

Another week had gone by and she was ready to leave. The doctor was unsure but she knew she had to face the future. She had to confront her past. Maybe then she would remember who she was and why Mandorah had obsessed her

After saying goodbye to Doctor Arnaud, Franklyn led her out of the hospital. A chauffeur driven car was waiting. He said they would be going to a hotel in Sussex before leaving for Australia. She climbed into the backseat. Franklyn followed and purposely let his thigh crush up to hers. She moved swiftly. He cupped her knee possessively.

Take your hand off me! But he tightened his grip. If you don’t then I’m going to call Nevis.

He laughed but he moved his hand and settled himself away from her. Maybe I will tell Nevis a lot more.

I doubt it. She was amazed by her bravado; however, it paid dividends, for Franklyn merely sulked for the rest of the journey, not bothering to protest when she said she would have dinner alone in her room.

Nevis was obviously the key to controlling Franklyn’s insolence—but Nevis was in reality more frightening to her. Nevis was the man to whom she was married, and he was an individual, Franklyn advised, who was not to be messed with. Nevis was her husband and master of Mandorah.

Maddy pondered on her husband.

Why didn’t he come himself? Why send the obnoxious Franklyn?

Try as she might Maddy could not understand his neglect. He hadn’t spoken to her on the phone either, though she knew Franklyn was in touch with him. There had been all kinds of things to arrange. She had had nothing on her, had needed a passport. Nevis had been working behind the scenes, organizing all of this.

She was reluctant to ask anything of Franklyn. The less contact with him she had the more she liked it. Doctor Arnaud had said he had no idea why Nevis Ballantyne hadn’t come to collect his wife, but had sent his ‘office boy’. It was peculiar and Maddy suspected it didn’t bode well for their relationship.

You don’t have to go, the doctor had told her. You can wait and see if you recover your memory…

I have to go—maybe by confronting my past I’ll trigger some memory. I think being at home must aid my cure more than being in a hospital.

She didn’t admit that being in a psychiatric hospital terrified her, or that she felt that the devil she supposedly knew had to be better than that!

* * * *

It was a long journey but they travelled in the relative comfort of first class. At Singapore there was an overnight stay in a luxurious hotel. Whoever had booked the flight had shown immense consideration for her fragile state.

She wafted through it all, accepting the luxury as if used to it. As she couldn’t recall any aspect of her past, this may have been the reason. However, it could be that this was how she’d always lived. It intrigued her—she was moneyed, yet how had she ended up in a back street in London, stretched out against the kerb with no identity on her, not even a door key?

These thoughts made her temples ache, as they always did. She had to have patience. All would reveal itself. When she arrived home this too could jerk her memory.

At Cairns airport there was little hold-up at Customs. The airport was small and full of light but outside a storm was pouring sheets of rain towards them. As they stepped from the shelter of the veranda the rain slapped against her, amazing her with its ferocity.

Maddy, get in quickly, Franklyn ordered, opening the door of a four-wheel-drive. A black man was in the driver’s seat, his face partly shaded by the brim of his huge hat.

G’day, Ma’am, he said in a slow drawl.

The rain had soaked her and although it was warm, she shivered before acknowledging the man’s greeting.

Hello, she answered.

Get on with it, Joseph! Franklyn snapped, as the huge man turned around to look at her.

Guess you forgot the rain too, Joseph said, oblivious to Franklyn’s waspishness.

I’m afraid so, Maddy replied with a smile.

Mind you don’t catch cold.

He swung out of the vehicle to push their luggage, which Franklyn had left at the outside of the vehicle, into the back.

Maddy couldn’t stop the words, You could have done that!

It’s his job, he said churlishly. You’ve changed, he added, and it seems to me the sooner you get back your senses the happier we’ll all be.

The implication she was insane wasn’t lost on Maddy but she let it go. She was wet, feeling cold and tired.

Joseph returned with a huge plaid rug. Wrap this around you, Ma’am.

Thank you, Joseph.

The torrential rain made their journey slow and barely possible for Maddy to see anything outside the window. She was aware of alien trees and scalped fields. There was a perilous road eventually that wound around steep cliffs beyond which the sea looked grey and solemn. Nothing in the landscape seemed familiar—had London anyway awakened echoes in her mind? Infuriatingly she couldn’t even remember that! She’d taken everything for granted. However, the stark winter beauty of Sussex hadn’t been alien like this; there’d been something about it she’d taken for granted and accepted as the norm.

They turned inland, away from the lush dark-green forest-infested hills. There was a plantation of sorts, but like earlier, the fields were bare