Just Business (20 page)

‘Why did we get married? Can you remember?' Flashbacks of her parents' divorce were making it hard to concentrate.

‘Me?' This time his response was more considered. ‘I guess I thought that I should settle down, I was at that age. Now I have learned enough about myself to know that I'll probably never be conventional and settle down with one woman. Now,
you
… you got married because you were trying to prove something. Trying to prove you were different to your parents and could make a happy family. I'm sorry I couldn't give you that happy family, Niamh, I really am. But we're both at fault, not just me. We both raced up the aisle without taking the time to know each other. If we had slowed down for a moment, we would have seen we weren't at all compatible.'

She hid her face behind her hands. Because he was right again. It was harsh, but it was a lawyer's precise and accurate assessment of their relationship. They had never been in love and they had been in too much of a rush to realise it.

‘When do you want me to move out?' he asked eventually. He could afford to soften his voice now that the finish line was close.

‘Get out now – just get out and leave me alone. I can't believe you've done this, humiliated me in front of my colleagues like this …'

‘I don't think anyone saw, if that's any consolation.'

She took her hands down from her face, her voice furious as she shouted, ‘Somebody
did
see! How do you think I found out? They've been leaving me notes, sending me clues …'

She was conscious of him standing up, collecting the briefcase
and the folder from the kitchen. They were all he needed; he had a change of clothes at the office. Chris was doing the leaving. He was the one moving out. He was strong. He was in control. And he had no qualms, no second thoughts. If he hadn't been so determined that this was the end, Niamh guessed her own insecurity would have been looking for a way to work it out.

But she could hear her voice, still yelling at him, finding words of its own accordance. ‘I
hate
you – for going off with other women – for not even trying to be a husband – I hate you for wasting two years of my life!'

He only said, ‘I'll give you some space tonight. I'll be back in the next few days to get my stuff.'

The door gave a humiliating bang. She thought about the joker. The joker knew about Chris and Lucinda. Who else at the office knew? The laughing face of the joker was replaced with the image of her father hanging in the garage. She hadn't seen the scene of his death but her mind had a vivid picture that flashed its horror whenever her defences were down.

She stumbled to the phone and somehow managed to get her shaking fingers to dial Aisling's number. The ring tone sounded faint and far away.

‘Where are you?' she sobbed as the phone on the other end rang and rang and rang. ‘Where are you?
I need you!
'

Even though the phone had stopped ringing and was now beeping, she clutched it in her hand, crying so much she could hardly catch her breath. There was only one other person she could call, even though it killed her to do it. Her mother.

Tom was at Niamh's door within fifteen minutes. Her mother's rheumatism confined her to the house and he had been her legs for years now. He was carrying a travel bag; it presumably held some clothes so he could stay overnight. The bag was left in the hallway and Niamh sat on the sofa while Tom made the tea. He was from the old school where boiling the kettle was the first step in dealing with a catastrophe.

He set the steaming mugs down on the coffee table. The cushion next to Niamh sank beneath his weight.

‘If it wasn't for Mum and Dad I would have left Chris ages ago,' she whispered, dry tears caking her face. ‘I was afraid of divorce, Tom, of the hurt it brings. I was trying so hard to pretend it wasn't going to happen to me as well.'

‘I know, girl.' He squeezed her shoulders as they silently recalled the devastation of twenty years ago. They both forgot about the tea. It was some time before she spoke again.

‘I can't believe Chris did that to me … in front of my
colleagues … and there have been other women too.'

‘You're worth more than that.'

‘How can you say that, Tom?' She looked into his tormented eyes. ‘Wasn't Mum unfaithful to Dad with you?'

‘No.' He shook his head. ‘There was nothing like that – there was no sex until after she separated from your father … We fell in love, Niamh. It was so pure and strong that we had to follow our hearts.'

‘Was it worth it?'

He took his arm away from her shoulders and hunched forward with his hands clasped tightly together. ‘No.'

‘Haven't you and Mum been happy together?'

‘How could we be happy, girl? Every day we think of him. And should we ever forget, there's you with his looks and his sense of humour to remind us.'

It was the first time they had ever spoken about this and now that the embargo was lifted there were lots of questions to ask.

‘How did you know about his sense of humour? Is that something Mum told you?'

‘I was one of his friends,' Tom confessed.

Niamh had no idea that Tom and her dad had once been friends. As a child she hadn't questioned how Tom had come into their lives, only why. To her, it felt like he'd appeared from nowhere, falling from the sky, smashing through their family on landing. But evidently he'd been around for some time before in the guise of a family friend.

‘Where are
your
friends tonight, Niamh?'

‘What do you mean?' she looked at him, confused.

‘You called your mother for help. Wasn't there a friend you could call?'

‘Aisling is the only one who's that close to me …'

Tom didn't say anything but his clasped hands tightened, his knuckles whitening with the pressure.

‘Are you ever going to go back to Ireland?' she asked him after a few minutes. ‘Even for a holiday?'

He shook his head sadly. ‘No, girl. We've been exiled by the guilt. We can hide here, pretending nothing happened, pretending that we've moved on. Aisling is the only one of us that has any guts. And now she has a baby over there that we haven't even seen.'

His raw grief brought her a strange comfort. A happy-ever-after ending for her mum and Tom wouldn't have been fair. Her dad's life and death had to mean something.

Keith Longmore was intrigued. For a private investigator, he wasn't a very curious individual. He found that excessive curiosity wasted time. However, he'd never been asked to trail an executive before. And a lawyer to boot. Most of the people he followed were lower down the food chain and too often they were oversexed husbands.

The first thing he found out about the beautiful Lucinda Armstrong was that she didn't live where her employers thought she did. He wasted two days sitting outside a North Shore house before he discovered, from a neighbour, that she'd moved on three years ago. Helen had got the address from the payroll system, which suggested that Lucinda's group certificate and other employee correspondence had been sent to the wrong house. Unless there was a long-standing forwarding arrangement with Australia Post.

One of Keith's contacts in the police department ran a check and confirmed that Lucinda didn't have a criminal history. It was impossible to run a check on her family and friends for
now. For a start Keith needed to know their names. Without her home address, it wasn't going to be easy to find out who she was close to.

Reluctant to go back to Helen without first using his own initiative, he decided he would follow Lucinda home from work. But she sped through amber lights and weaved in and out of lanes while he got left hopelessly behind. He lost her for good on Parramatta Road and could only assume that her new home was somewhere in the western suburbs.

Helen had asked him to keep her updated with his progress and he was treating the assignment with the sense of urgency he'd got from her the day they'd met in the bar. When he arrived home from Parramatta Road, he typed a brief email with two fingers while his wife massaged his tired shoulders.

 

 

It transpired that Helen didn't know the husband's name. She knew the son's name, Jack, but that was all. But she was able to give Keith a consolation prize – details of Lucinda's previous employer. He called them the next day. They were an old-style firm of lawyers with low staff turnover. He didn't have to go further than the receptionist to find someone who remembered Lucinda.

‘I'm an old friend of hers,' he explained. ‘I've been overseas
for the last few years and I called at her house last weekend. A neighbour said she moved on years ago.'

‘Was that the house in Mosman?' the receptionist asked.

‘That's the last address we have as well.'

Keith sighed with exaggerated disappointment. ‘Maybe I could try the phone book. She got married, didn't she?'

‘Yeah, she was still with us when she got married.'

‘I never met her husband. Do you remember his name?'

‘It's Marcus.'

‘Marcus Armstrong! Great!'

‘No, Armstrong is Lucinda's maiden name. She didn't take her married name – I wouldn't blame her,' the receptionist giggled.

‘Tell me – what's so funny?' Keith encouraged, giving a chuckle himself for good measure.

‘It's Diddams,' she giggled again. ‘His name was Marcus Diddams. Wouldn't you think a successful businessman like him would have had the sense to change his name by deed pole or something?'

Keith liked this receptionist. His job would be a lot easier if there were more people like her in the world. ‘What did Marcus do for a living?'

‘Oh, he had his own company – something in computers – don't ask me what, I'm not very technical.'

‘Listen, thanks for everything. I'll mention you to Lucinda when I get hold of her.' Keith hung up with a satisfied smile.

Old Mrs Barnes was in hospital with pneumonia. The doctor said it was an unusual time of the year for such an illness. Helen
worried that there might be something more serious wrong. Her mother hadn't been in the best health for the last month. Her lingering cold had turned into a lingering chest infection before the onset of pneumonia. She had been lethargic, barely interested in holding a conversation.

It was seven before Helen got to the hospital. ‘I'm sorry I'm late, Mum. Something came up just as I was about to leave.'

‘Don't worry, love. I was happy watching the TV.'

She did indeed look happy. Helen pulled up a chair and watched the programme with her.

‘I should be able to go home next week,' her mother said when the ad break came on.

‘That's great. What day?'

‘The doctor doesn't know yet … That's a nice necklace – I haven't seen it on you before.'

Helen knew her mother's comment about the necklace wasn't a casual one. Her fingers inadvertently touched the pearls.

‘Yes, it's a gift. From a friend.'

The old woman's eyes were knowing. ‘A boyfriend?'

Just as Helen was about to respond, the tea lady knocked on the door to ask if they wanted something to drink. Her mother chatted with the woman as she poured two cups of tea. Helen looked on, realising that her mother had more company and space in the hospital than she had in the apartment. It was no wonder that she was happier.

‘Yes, it is a boyfriend. I'd like you to meet him, Mum,' she said when the tea lady had backed her trolley out of the room.

‘Is it serious, Helen?'

‘Yes. We haven't been seeing each other that long but it's very serious.'

‘When can I meet him?'

Helen was meeting Yoshi for dinner later in the evening. ‘I can ask him to drop by here before I leave.'

‘Do I look presentable for visitors?' Mrs Barnes asked, anxious now.

‘I'll change your nightie and you'll look gorgeous,' Helen assured her. ‘Just give me a minute to call him first.'

Helen made the call, changed her mother's nightie and they resumed watching the TV. The programme was just finishing up when there was a knock on the door to the private room.

‘Come in,' they both said in unison.

Yoshi came in and old Mrs Barnes couldn't hide her surprise. He wasn't what she had expected at all.

Tom woke Niamh early the next morning. He believed that no personal trauma stood in the way of an honest day's work. His culinary skills were limited but a hearty breakfast was something he could manage. She ate it robotically before she set off for work like an obedient child going to school.

But work provided neither direction nor distraction. She stared aimlessly at her computer screen, unable to focus on even the mundane task of reading her emails. Out of the corner of her eye she became aware that Sharon was casting curious glances in her direction. She got up and shut her office door. Scott! She'd call Scott. She needed to tell him about the reference check. Maybe he would come into the city and meet her and she could leave the office and Sharon's discerning eyes behind for a while.

Scott didn't take any persuading to come into the city at short notice; he didn't even ask why. They agreed to meet in Martin Place again but this time it was saturated with rain. He wore a brown leather jacket and didn't seem to mind the teeming rain
on his bare head. Jenny sat next to him on the bench, appropriately dressed for the weather in a pink Barbie raincoat and gumboots.

‘I'm sorry, this wasn't the best place to meet considering the weather,' Niamh apologised from the shelter of her black umbrella.

‘It's okay. We've been having fun while we waited.'

Jenny's blue eyes fixed on Niamh with open curiosity. Niamh winked at her and was rewarded with a traffic-stopping smile.

‘We've been looking at ourselves in the puddles,' Scott laughed, cuddling Jenny closer.

Niamh's automatic reaction was to look down. She saw her blurred reflection. It was grim. ‘That company called me for a reference,' she said as she sat down on the dripping bench.

‘I know. They rang me this morning to call me back for another interview.'

‘Great.' She smiled her first smile in days.

‘It's thanks to you. The agent said your reference was spectacular.'

‘Glad to be of service.'

There was nothing left to say about the reference and she felt foolish for asking him to meet her when they could have had the same conversation over the phone.

But he didn't rush away. He sat there with rivulets of rain running down his face and Jenny sat still too, as if she sensed that something big was coming.

‘Chris and I …' Niamh faltered. ‘We … we've come to that conclusion you were talking about … we're getting a divorce.'

‘I'm sorry.'

They stared at each other before she turned her eyes to the nearby fountain. She felt his free hand envelop hers.

‘I'm very sorry, Niamh.'

She was mesmerised by the gushing water as it escaped the top of the fountain and fell to the pool below.

‘I wanted to tell you because –'

‘Because I'm getting divorced too,' he finished the sentence for her. ‘I did the same. I sought out every divorcee I knew when Ann went to Malaysia. I needed reassurance that life could go on.'

It wasn't really that. It was because, with Aisling so far away, he felt like her only friend. Much to her embarrassment, she started to cry. His hand moved up to her face, his thumb wiping the tears away. Jenny watched with round eyes.

‘I should go.' He took his hand away and Niamh's face felt exposed without it. ‘Is it all right if I call you later in the week? Just so that I know you're okay?'

She nodded and he got to his feet, hoisting Jenny up on one hip. Niamh also stood up, a little unsteady. He hugged her to him, her face touching the wetness of his jacket, her nostrils filling with the scent of the leather, her eyes level with Jenny's. Then he was gone, Jenny held high in his arms