Authors: Vicki Tyley
Jemma ran her fingers through the tops of the rosemary growing in
the garden next to her chair, releasing the herb’s robust fragrance.
“Unfortunate doesn’t begin to describe it. Why do you think she couldn’t see
through him?”
“I don’t know. She obviously saw something in him that we didn’t.”
“What about Ash Bartlett? What happened with him and Tanya?” She had
heard his take on it, now she wanted to hear a female perspective.
Fen gave a little laugh. “Darling Ash. Honestly, I think he was too
nice for your sister’s tastes, not to mention a bit on the young side. She
loved him, though, just not in the way he wanted. Sean made it his mission to
sever that relationship.”
“Why though? Surely, he didn’t feel threatened?”
“Not threatened: not exactly, anyway. He just wanted to control her,
and Ash was a bugbear in that. Like we all were. I just learned to play the
game better.”
The more Jemma heard, the more she realized how much of a hold Sean
had had over Tanya. She took a breath. “Do you believe Sean’s death was an
accident?”
Fen choked on her drink. “Tanya was right about one thing,” she
said, setting her glass down. “You’re not backward in coming forward. Are you
saying you don’t think it was?”
The arrival of lunch saved Jemma from having to answer. She didn’t
have one to give. She didn’t know what to think. Not anymore.
Not waiting, Fen descended on her torta with both hands and chomped
into it. Her mouth full, she made nodding motions at the exotic looking salad
in front of Jemma.
Jemma picked up a fork and poked at a walnut. She glanced across the
table at Fen who was chewing her way through the massive sandwich with gusto,
and wondered what rules she’d had to play by to stay in Sean’s game.
In between mouthfuls, Fen quizzed Jemma on her trip to Melbourne,
what she had been up to, who she had contacted, what she had discovered. With
nothing to hide, Jemma didn’t hesitate, hoping her frankness would encourage
Fen to do the same.
Fen dabbed her mouth with her napkin. “So you’ve had the pleasure of
meeting the third Mrs Bartlett then?”
“You know her?”
“Not personally, but Tanya talked about her often enough.”
Jemma’s breath caught. She dropped her gaze and stabbed an apple
slice, inflicting her hurt on it. The longer she was with Fen, the more she was
reminded of how little she really knew of her sister, how little of her life
Tanya had shared with her. Even before the Sean incident. “What did she say
about her?”
“You don’t know?”
Another stab. “Know what?”
“Danielle accused Tanya of being Marcus’s mistress.” Fen paused,
adding weight to her statement. “Ridiculous, I know. If Marcus was having an
affair, it wasn’t with his long-time personal assistant. Of course, that didn’t
stop the witch doing her damnedest to have Tanya sacked.”
“When did this all happen?”
Fen pursed her lips. “Let’s see, it would be a couple of years back.
It blew over fast enough, but the undercurrents remained. Danielle didn’t try
very hard to hide how she felt about Tanya and vice versa. Marcus tried to keep
the women apart as much as possible. I’m surprised you didn’t hear about it.”
Jemma pushed a bruised spinach leaf around the edge of her salad
bowl. Fen was right about one thing: Tanya had been on the scene for a lot
longer than Danielle had. If there had been anything going on between Marcus
and his loyal employee, then logic said it had to have been before Danielle’s
time. And Sean’s. “Were you aware that Marcus owns Tanya’s apartment?”
“Sure. So what? He’s in the property business.”
“Nothing. Just wondering, that’s all.”
Fen sighed. “Look, Danielle’s allegations were just that and nothing
more. Marcus and Tanya? Never.” She gave her head a vehement shake. “He only
set her up in the apartment after Sean died. But come to think of it, he owned
that one, too. As I understand it, it was part of her-slash-their salary
package.”
“I’m not suggesting anything, Fen, just trying to feel my way
through a maze and coming up against a lot of dead ends. You see, I can’t
believe Tanya intended to kill herself, but if she did, I need to understand
why. And why didn’t she leave a suicide note?”
Fen’s expression softened. “Suicides don’t always leave notes.
Sean’s death left her feeling as if she had fallen into a bottomless pit. She
couldn’t talk without crying. It was heartbreaking to watch.”
Swallowing hard, Jemma fought back tears. “She reached out to
someone. Who, Fen?”
Death and sex. If intercourse was
life affirming, pregnancy was the ultimate. In her grief, Tanya had reached out
to someone, but whom? Fen denied knowing of any post-Sean relationship, but
whether she knew of it or not, it had happened. Jemma wasn’t naïve enough to
believe in the immaculate conception.
Sighing, she
switched on the television and channel-surfed. Anything to thwart her obsessing
about the man Tanya had unprotected sex with in the aftermath of her fiancé’s
demise. Copulating lions filled the screen. She flicked to the next station:
mourners at a funeral. Sex and death. She hit the off button.
Her mobile
rang. The caller’s number was withheld. She hesitated, her finger poised over
the end button, and then changed her mind.
“Hello?”
“Jemma, Marcus
Bartlett.”
She breathed
out.
“Is everything
okay? Anything you need?”
“Thanks for your
concern, but I’m fine.”
“Pleased to
hear that. But if there is anything, don’t hesitate to give me a call.”
“Come to think
of it, there is something. Can you give me Ash’s phone number? I forgot to ask
him for it.”
“Ashley’s phone
number?”
“I understand if
you don’t feel comfortable giving it to me, in which case, would you mind
passing on mine to him?”
“I didn’t realize
you two had met.”
“I met him the
same day I bumped into you and Danielle on your way to lunch.” The words were
out of her mouth before she could stop them.
His voice took
on a brusqueness. “Wednesday?”
She winced.
“Yes. Is there a problem?”
“Not yours.” He
paused. “I’ll be in touch. Good day.” Click.
Dumbstruck, she
could do little except stare at her mobile phone. She didn’t know what trouble
Ash was in, but she knew she had somehow dropped him in it. And with no way of
contacting him, she couldn’t warn him.
She rose from
the couch and headed to the kitchen. In the throes of pouring herself a glass
of ice-cold Chablis, her phone rang. She didn’t recognize the number.
“Hi—”
“Ash!”
“That’s my
name.”
She took a
breath. “Sorry, you caught me by surprise.”
“Good I hope.”
“I was going to
phone you, but I didn’t have your number.”
“Likewise, but
I managed to wangle yours from Fen.”
“You didn’t get
it from Marcus?”
“What’s my
father got to do with anything?” Ash asked, his tone no longer light-hearted.
“Only that he
rang earlier and I asked him for your phone number. He seemed a bit taken aback
that we had met.”
“I bet he did.”
“Did I do
something I shouldn’t have?”
“Not you, me.
As far as dear old Dad is concerned, I’m still supposed to be holed up in a
dank London office making him squillions.”
“Oh Ash, I’m
sorry. I didn’t mean—”
“Don’t worry
about it. No harm done. His bark is worse than his bite.”
Somehow she
doubted that. Men like Marcus Bartlett didn’t get where they were by being
toothless. “How long have you been back in Australia?”
“Only a few
days. I was going to announce my arrival to the family this weekend anyway.
It’s not as if I haven’t been working. I just rerouted the office calls to my
mobile before I left. Emails, I can pick up from anywhere. So no big deal.”
“Technology
certainly makes it easy to be in more than one place at one time. Or at least
the illusion thereof. So what’s your next move? Get in first with the boss?”
“No, he can
wait. I have more important things to do…”
“Such as,” she
prompted when he didn’t continue.
“Such as asking
a young woman I met recently out to dinner.”
Did he mean
her?
“So Ms Dalton,”
he said with a mock upper-class British accent, “if you don’t have any pressing
engagements, would you do me the great honor of accompanying me to dinner
tonight?”
“Um… I… um…”
Why couldn’t she find the words she was looking for?
Dropping the
accent, he hurriedly added, “No strings. Friends. Casual. You have to eat.”
She breathed
easier. Enjoying his company was one thing, dating was another. “My dear Mr
Bartlett, I would be delighted.”
He laughed.
“Great. Shall we say seven-thirty?”
Jemma agreed,
said her goodbyes and left Ash to contend with his father. At least he had one.
Her and Tanya’s adored dad had died when the excavator he was operating
collapsed into a pit, four years before cancer claimed their mother.
No sooner had
she put the phone down, when it rang again. She glanced at the caller ID and
answered it.
“Hi, Chris.”
“Wow, you sound
brighter than the last time we talked.”
“What, you mean
not hungover?”
“You sound –
dare I say it – chirpy. Not that there’s anything wrong with being chirpy, of
course.”
“It’s amazing
what a decent night’s sleep can do.”
“Good, good.
Listen, the reason I’m calling is to see if you’re free tonight. A couple of
tickets to a local jazz club have come my way and I was wondering if you would
like to join me?”
“Would love to,
but I already have something planned. Raincheck?”
“Sure. No
problem.” His tone didn’t match his words.
“I met Tanya’s
friend, Fen, for lunch today.”
“What did she
have to say for herself?”
“Not much.
Small talk mainly.” Since discovering Chris had suffered the heartbreak of
losing a baby, Jemma was reluctant to bring up Tanya’s pregnancy with him
again. He didn’t need the reminder. “We were cramped for time, but we’ll catch
up again soon, I’m sure.”
“Not tonight
then?”
She gnawed her
lip. “Do you know Marcus’s son, Ash?”
“Can’t say I
do. Should I?”
“Thought you
might have come across him in your travels. He was a good friend of Tanya’s.
Anyway, I’m having dinner with him later.”
“Be careful,
Jemma.”
“You just said
you didn’t know him.”
“Like father,
like son.”
“God, what is
it with you and Marcus?”
“Trust me on
this, okay?”
She gritted her
teeth. “If you mean accept what you say without question, then no. I am not
that 9-year-old girl you knew in Perth. In case you haven’t noticed, I’m all
grown up now. You can’t warn me off someone without giving me a damned good
reason.” She paused for breath. “I think you’re a great guy, Chris, and I know
you mean well, but please don’t treat me like a child.”
“Point taken. I
wasn’t trying to play the overprotective big brother role.” He laughed, but it
sounded forced. “It comes naturally. In my job you learn very quickly not to
take people at face value. Sad but true.”
She lowered her
voice, holding the phone close to her mouth. “I can understand that, but unlike
your world, not everyone in mine is suspect. If you won’t tell me what your
problem with Marcus is, then lay off on the insinuations. Please, Chris. For
Tanya, if not me.”
For a long
moment, he said nothing. “You’re right, of course. I’ll shut up. Now,” he said,
changing the subject, “how are you placed tomorrow evening? Care to escort this
cynical old cop to a barbecue?”
Her little outburst
had come to naught. Still none the wiser to the reason behind the friction
between the two men, she accepted Chris’s invitation. In a more relaxed
setting, over a few beers or wines with his friends, he might be more inclined
to open up and tell her what she needed to know. Her only concern was that it
might involve Tanya; the one common denominator Jemma could see linking the two
men. Then again, perhaps she was reading too much into it. She knew nothing of
the circles each moved in.
She stoppered
the bottle of Chablis and replaced it in the fridge. The half glass she had
already poured, she carried through to the study. Wineglass in hand, she stared
at the clothes hanging in the wardrobe, more concerned with how Ash was getting
on explaining himself to Marcus than with what to wear. She sipped her wine. On
second thoughts, why worry? She imagined Ash could talk his way out of a
crocodile’s jaws if the need arose.