Fishing for Stars by Bryce Courtenay Read Free Book Online Page A

Hamilton appears seemingly moments after Saffron departs.
    ‘Good morning, Marg,’ I say, not sure I’m thrilled by her arrival.
    Marg makes for the chair beside my bed, slightly breathless, clasping her large handbag. She bends over and kisses me. ‘I can’t stay long. After your unfortunate peregrinations yesterday, you’ve given me more than enough to do without having to play catch-up.’ She smiles, dropping into the chair. ‘How are you, darling? I couldn’t sleep a wink worrying about you.’
    ‘Fine. Well, a bit sore, but I can’t complain. I’m lucky – it could be a hernia.’ It’s a feeble enough joke and she doesn’t respond. ‘Thank you for taking care of me yesterday, Marg. Did you pass Saffron on your way here?’
    ‘Saffron? But she doesn’t even know you’re here. I phoned the hotel this morning to say I’d pick her up in the taxi on the way, but she didn’t answer.’
    ‘She told me about how you’d banned her coming last night. She checked every hospital in the Yellow Pages .’
    Marg’s right eyebrow arches slightly as she prepares to defend herself. ‘When I called and left a message at five, she was still out gallivanting. She called me well after six, just as I was leaving for a dinner engagement and I told her you’d had a small accident, just so she wouldn’t be alarmed. You were out like a light even before I left, so I refused to tell her where you were.’ Marg attempts to further justify her action. ‘She’s always been a strong-willed child; she’d have ignored my advice and been over to see you in a flash.’
    ‘She wasn’t gallivanting; she was at a tattoo parlour,’ I explain. Then realise what I’ve just said.
    ‘A what?’ Marg’s eyes almost pop out of her head. ‘Did I hear you correctly, Nick? Did you say tattoo parlour? Why that’s . . . well I’m shocked. Deeply shocked! What on earth has she had done?’
    ‘Got a butterfly as a tattoo, on her shoulder,’ I say calmly, trying to hide my amusement. ‘It’s her graduation gift from me.’ Please don’t let this stop now, God! I beg silently.
    Marg’s throat is wobbling like a turkey cock’s. Mid-wobble she senses my amusement. ‘It’s not true, is it, Nick?’ she exclaims, relaxing.
    I don’t want Saffron to be castigated over her tattoo. Marg has known her since she was a child and has always believed she has full reprimanding rights, earned when Saffron attended boarding school at the Presbyterian Ladies’ College here in Sydney. In a half-fib, I chide, ‘Just getting my own back, darling.’ Then add, ‘Saffy had every right to know where I was when she called you last night.’
    To my surprise, Marg apologises, a very rare event. ‘I wasn’t myself, Nick. I was worried and upset about you. I now realise I should have told her your whereabouts.’ She lifts her chin slightly, making up her mind. ‘I shall apologise to Saffron . . . although I wish you wouldn’t call her Saffy. Saffron is such a nice name.’
    She really is a grand old dame; always has to have a comeback. I guess at seventy-seven with all her marbles and with a burning desire to save a world from which she will soon enough be departing, she has to be admired, despite her sometimes overweening manner.
    ‘That’s very gracious of you, Marg.’ Then thinking it’s probably better to delay the shock, I say, ‘By the way, do keep my little joke about the butterfly tattoo to yourself when Saffron returns. She’s gone to fetch coffee. Don’t want her getting ideas, do we?’
    ‘I wasn’t fooled for a minute! As if she would go to a place like that!’ Marg snorts, her confidence in Saffron and her expensive education at PLC Pymble restored.
    Saffron bursts excitedly into the room, takeaway coffee in one hand and the Daily Telegraph clutched in the other. ‘Uncle Nick, you’re in the paper, on the front page! Look!’ She props, clutching the Telegraph to her breast. ‘Hi, Great Auntie Marg,’ she