Getting Hitched Fiction - The Scent of Memories

By Owen Carmichael

"In recognition of your years of outstanding service, our hospital would like to install a plaque to you." Dr Wu, the Chief Executive Officer, smiled at Matron Kathy Haynes.

Kathy sat very straight in her uniform. "I'm honoured. What form would the plaque take?"

"It would list a summary of your achievements, especially in the field of intensive care, and would feature a sculpted medallion of your face."

She blushed. "Is that really necessary?"

"The committee feels it would make the plaque more personal." Dr Wu took a paper out of his 'Pending' basket and handed it to her. "Here's a copy of their recommendations. They suggest a particular sculptor - he did a similar plaque of Dr Davidson for the Queen Elizabeth. I've seen it and the craftsmanship is first-rate. The artist's address and phone number are at the bottom of the sheet."

The address was in the hills. "Would he come here?"asked Kathy.

"Apparently it's more usual for the sitter to go to his studio. You have the committee’s approval to go in working hours."

"I'll make it up later."

"Thought you'd say that." Dr Wu took off his glasses. "I don't know if you realize how respected you are in this hospital, Kathy. There was only one vote against your plaque." He held out his hand. "Congratulations."

***

The sculptor's studio was little more than a big shed and verandah in the bush at the end of a dirt road. A log hut had been added to the side. Nothing was painted.

A tall, slim man with a dark brown beard and piercing eyes answered her knock. There could be no hiding from those eyes. He gazed at her for a long moment. "I am Janos," he announced as he showed her in.

The room was almost bare, except for a workbench to one side and a kitchen area to the other.

He sat her on a high stool and circled slowly around her, gazing intently at her head.

"Mm," he muttered to himself. "The planes are good. I can do something with the highlight here and the shadows for contrast." He moved the side of his hand two centimeters away from her cheek. Kathy glanced sideways at his eyes and noticed the unusually long lashes. She could feel a tingle of excitement at his closeness. "You have very fine bone structure," he announced.

"Thank you," she smiled.

"No smiling please," he ordered. "It destroys the contours." He walked over to his workbench and took a handful of clay. "We begin."

Kathy didn't know where to look. Anywhere rather than at his full lips, his olive skin, and show the intense attraction she felt.

"Please not to look at the floor," he called.

Two hours later Kathy had developed a respect for professional models. "Could we have a break," she pleaded. "I'm feeling stiff in my neck and shoulders."

He frowned and tossed aside a lump of clay. "You like coffee?"

She nodded.

"Make it please. I will wash."

Kathy moved to the kitchenette. The table was littered with pieces of paper, mostly bills.

"I need some room," she called. "Where does all this paper go?"

"In the bin, except for my sketches."

She assembled everything in a neat pile at the side of the table. There was almost nothing in the kitchen but coffee beans and a half-finished pack of biscuits.

She started to grind the beans.

"More, more. You Australians never make it strong enough," he called from the hand basin.

It looked plenty to her, but she ground some more, then measured it into the tiny espresso machine.

He strode back across the room to the table, then stared in alarm at the pile of paper. "What have you done with my sketches?"

"They're all there." Kathy put the machine on the gas-ring.

"But it's all out of order," he shouted. "My sketches should be on top. The bills are not important."

"That's not what you'll say when they cut off the electricity."

"Stupid woman!" he yelled.

"All I did was tidy up some of your mess. You should be grown-up enough to do that yourself." Her green eyes blazed with anger.

Janos seized her chin between his thumb and forefinger. "Now we are getting somewhere. Now you show me some of your real temperament."

Kathy disdainfully snapped her head aside. Janos strode back to his workbench. "Before always so controlled." He tore away the clay eyes. "Now I start to see the real person." He destroyed all he had done so far.

Kathy winced. The coffee bubbled.

When Kathy got home there was a call on her answering machine from Stuart Crossin. Dr Crossin was Senior Pathologist at the hospital but, as usual, he wasn’t ringing her about work. Kathy knew there was trouble brewing as soon as she heard his voice, anxious and secretive:

"Kathy, I'd like to drop round for a drink. I'm having problems at home again and I need to talk to someone who can understand. Please phone me at the lab, not at my place."

She sighed but was about to lift the handset and dial him back when her phone rang. It was Janos, to check her drive home had been safe. She was so touched by his concern that she agreed to stay at his place for dinner after the next modelling session.

When she put the receiver down she wondered what on earth he'd give her to eat. There was nothing but coffee in his kitchen. She fell asleep dreaming of recipes for coffee biscuits and coffee ice-cream.

The first thing Kathy saw when she arrived in her office the next morning was the new budget allocations from the Financial Controller. She read them with growing dismay. 'How on earth are we going to run the intensive care unit properly on that?'

Her assistant called through on the intercom. "Dr Crossin would like to see you urgently, matron."

Kathy put down the budget and checked her hair. "Send him in."

Stuart Crossin wore an Armani suit, cut to minimize his spreading waistline. He came round behind the desk and made to kiss Kathy on the lips, but she turned her head so he could only peck her on the cheek. His handsome face looked annoyed.

“Don’t I get a drink?”

“I’m in a rush this morning. The budget just came in.”

"You didn't reply to my call last night." He filled the chair facing Kathy's desk as if he owned it.

"I was busy."

"Last night and all yesterday afternoon? It could have been an urgent medical matter, yet you failed to respond."

Kathy looked at him in surprise. Until recently they had been close friends, but now he was treating her like a pompous bureaucrat dressing down an underling.

"For someone who's being given a plaque," he continued, "surely you should maintain the standards for which you're being honored."

'So that's it, he's jealous. He wants a plaque himself.'

Stuart smoothed his hair back. In the past Kathy had found this gesture endearing. This morning it just looked conceited. She thought, 'Am I supposed to sit at home and wait for him to ring me any old time?'

"I really did want to see you," he insisted. "My wife is drinking too much again."

Kathy had heard this many times before. She knew Stuart was waiting for her to make a move, but Kathy felt frozen to her chair.

‘I should never have listened to him. This relationship has been simmering for five years now, but it’s going nowhere.’ Suddenly Kathy saw things as they really were, with painful clarity. ‘He’s never going to leave his wife for me. That’s just a ploy to arouse my sympathy. What a fool I’ve been.’

Kathy turned away from him. ”There were other things I had to do."

"Like posing for a plaque?"

She shrugged. "I don't feel this conversation is getting us anywhere." Her throat felt tense. 'Good grief,' she thought, 'can this be the same man who's come to me with all his problems, who's expected endless tea and sympathy from me? I wonder if he’s the one who voted against me.' She stood up to show the interview was over and picked up the budget.

Stuart snatched it out of her hands. "Kathy, I feel you should be prepared to make sacrifices in these difficult financial times."

She glared down at him. "What do you mean?"

"This business about the plaque. Don't you think it's self indulgent? Why don't you tell Dr Wu you've decided not to go ahead with it?"

"Because that would be a lie. May I have my budget back, doctor?"

The second modelling session at Janos' studio was more successful. He chatted with her as he worked, his long fingers nimbly shaping the clay. She learnt a little about his old life in Europe. He had been quite famous there, then he'd lost his confidence when his wife had left him for another man. He had had to sell up everything to come here, but his government had not allowed him to take even one of his precious sculptures out of the country.

All this time he was coaxing information out of her too. About the strict discipline of her training, her early work at a bush hospital in Western Australia - even her Florence Nightingale Award, which she rarely mentioned to anyone.

By the end of the modelling session he was satisfied with everything except the lips. Both Kathy and Janos were too tired to go on, so he lit the candles and served dinner.

To her surprise it was very tasty - hearty soup then chicken with dumplings. She complimented him. He smiled for the first time. "When a man lives alone he must learn to cook."

Janos cleared the dishes and she observed his movements with pleasure. Under his faded jeans his thigh muscles were firm and well shaped. ‘I could watch this man for a long time.’

They moved in front of the open fire. For dessert he brought out two perfect Lemon Bergamot pears from his own tree.

"Mmmmm, they smell so delicate." Kathy felt very relaxed.

"You know something Katya? I may call you Katya?"

She nodded.

"You also have your own subtle perfume. When you left here last time I could not forget you." They lifted their wine glasses to each other.

"Now we dance." He put on a cassette. They waltzed around and around the room. She could feel the warmth of his hand on her back He was a very good dancer.

At the end of the dance he kissed her slowly and tenderly. "Am I getting the mouth right?" he murmured.

"Oh, oh yes," breathed Kathy.

They didn't eat the pears until much later.

***

'Strange to think all that took place thirty years ago,' ponders Kathy as she sits dozing in her sunroom.

'It seems like yesterday.'

Suddenly the door bursts open.

"Look what I've brought you, grandma," says her favourite grand-daughter.

"A basket of fruit. How kind. Pears."

"Would you like to eat one? I'll fetch a knife."

"No dear, I'd rather smell them for now."

"What a strange thing to say, Grandma."

"They bring back memories." The old woman holds the golden fruit in her hand. "Call your Grandpa Janos, will you dear?"

***

© Owen Carmichael, 2008

More Features

• Short Stories
• Subscribe to Newsletter
• Further Reading