Just Business (24 page)

Willem promised but his voice lacked conviction. Niamh hung up knowing that she'd have to tell Bruce about the call. It was disappointing, but she couldn't allow the possibility of Willem calling other employees at home with warnings of impending danger.

Scott put Jenny to bed about an hour later. While he settled her, Niamh got two more bottles of beer from the fridge and put on some music. Her hands and heart had the jitters. In a few minutes he would come downstairs and this time they wouldn't stop at kissing. They would cross the line, see each other at their most vulnerable. She wanted it, she was sure, but she was nervous and shy and scared that it wouldn't work out. She took a long swig from her beer bottle: Dutch courage. There he was, first smiling down at her on the sofa, then sitting close, arms and thighs touching, hands holding. He drank his beer and she hers. There was a long silence, one in which all her attention was focused on the stroke of his thumb against her palm. Slowly, his thumb moved upwards until it was circling the soft skin at the back of her wrist. Anticipation tingled through her. The noise from outside was an unwelcome interruption.

‘What's that?'

‘What?'

‘I heard something outside.'

She reluctantly took her hand from his and went over to the window, pulling back the drapes. She could see nothing through the darkness but she listened hard. There was another sound, minor, but they both heard it. Scott joined her at the window just as the view to the courtyard was illuminated.

‘The lights have sensors. There's someone out there …'

She unlocked the back door and he followed her outside. Footsteps echoed down the side of the house.

‘Who's there?' he called out.

He was answered only by the sound of the side gate shutting. He ran in pursuit, swinging the gate open, Niamh following. But there was no one around by the time they got to the front of the house.

Niamh went out on the street, looking up and down. There were a few joggers and a man walking his dog.

‘Don't worry. It's probably some kids,' said Scott, coming up behind her.

She turned and looked at the front garden more carefully. The shadows at the side of the porch seemed unusually black. She went closer. There was someone there, flattened up against the wall. Someone with glasses.

‘Willem!'

‘I'm sorry, I'm sorry,' he said, his head hanging as he stepped out of the shadows so he could be seen.

‘What on
earth
are you doing? You've frightened the life out of me.'

‘I was watching the house. I wanted to make sure you were safe.'

‘I told you I was all right on the phone!'

‘That was over an hour ago – they could come and get you any time.'

Scott, who had been watching silently, joined in the bizarre conversation. ‘Who could come and get her?'

Willem faltered. If he said he had heard Lucinda, there would be no going back. And it would be the lawyer's word against his. ‘The voices,' he replied weakly.

‘Come inside, Willem,' Niamh said, taking his arm. ‘And let me call Regina to come and get you.'

‘No. I have the car – I can drive myself home. I can go now I know Scott is here and you'll be safe.'

He freed his arm from her grasp and walked up the drive. Niamh couldn't think of anything else to say to make him turn back. His car was parked down the street and they waited until they heard its engine roar to life. Then they went back inside and deadlocked the doors.

‘Is there any truth in what he's saying? Could you be in danger?' Scott asked with a concerned frown.

‘No. Willem has schizophrenia. Conspiracies and voices are all part of the illness. I wish I had Regina's phone number – I hope he gets home okay.' She gulped the rest of her beer. ‘God, I feel even more jittery after that!'

He stroked the curve of her face. ‘Nothing needs to happen if you don't want it.'

‘I do want it,' she whispered, her heart beating wildly, her body a mass of trembles.

He took the bottle of beer from her shaking fingers and put it on the floor. He kissed her forehead, her eyes, every inch of her face. ‘Have I told you I love those freckles?'

She shook her head.

‘And your dimples … here and here.'

Again, she shook her head. Words were stuck somewhere in her throat.

He slipped her T-shirt up over her head and kissed along the line of her bra. ‘So beautiful,' he muttered into her skin as he undid the clasp. The bra fell away, her breasts were exposed to his touch. His fingers grazed across the nipples and caressed the soft skin along the sides. ‘So beautiful.'

The slow confidence of each touch, each whispered word, soothed her nerves away. She unbuttoned his shirt and pulled it down over his shoulders to reveal his chest, the same berry-brown as his face, broad and smooth. She ran her hands down his bare back, feeling the strength of him, pulling him closer so their skin touched. Then they kissed, the same deep intense kisses as before but this time with the added eroticism of bare skin. His mouth was hot on hers as one hand finally left her breasts to run along the waistband of her jeans. She gasped when it slid inside and she felt its coolness against her warmth. Massaging, massaging, taking her to the very brink.

‘Scott, wait …'

He stopped to allow her to remove both pairs of jeans, the denim falling to a pool on the ground. Her hand touched him and he moaned into her neck. She brought him to the brink, just as he had done with her.

‘You ready for this?' he mumbled, his voice thick with desire.

She nodded – she had never felt so ready.

Much later on they moved from the sofa to the bed and she dreamed of her dad. But this time it was different. His face wasn't black and starved of oxygen. It was happy, laughing. And he wasn't in the dark, dingy garage. He was at the beach. There was no seaweed, evidence in itself that it wasn't Youghal. It took a while before Niamh could see it was Manly. Her dad was in Manly.

‘The water's beautiful, come in,' he called to them.

‘You're not real,' she shouted back. ‘You're dead.'

‘What's dead?' he said with a rumbling laugh.

‘Aisling!' He turned his attention to his eldest daughter. ‘Bring the baby in!'

‘I'm not sure … she's only three months old …'

‘Come on, now. Hold her up in your arms. Let her little legs trail along the water.'

Aisling obeyed, wading in, wincing as the cool water lapped against her bare tummy.

Her dad held his arms out. ‘Here, sure, give the little one to me … I've been waiting all this time to hold her.'

Niamh woke just as her dad took the baby into his arms.

‘Dada … Dada … Dada …'

She could hear a baby. Aisling's baby? Here in Sydney? She shook the shreds of sleep away and realised it was Jenny. She was awake in the spare bedroom. Scott was dead to the world and didn't hear his daughter's summons. Niamh decided to let him sleep in.

Jenny was sitting up in the bed, looking unsure of herself in the unfamiliar surroundings. Niamh lifted her up. She was a solid child, made for cuddling.

‘Hello, gorgeous girl,' she said, kissing her soft face. Jenny looked uncertain but at least didn't scream.

‘Now, what's in this huge bag your dad brought with you? We must have everything we need here, surely.'

More than a little rusty, Niamh changed Jenny's nappy and carried her downstairs. Then she sat on the sofa with the child cradled in her arms as she drank her milk. Niamh thought of Aisling's baby and told herself that soon, very soon, she was going to pluck up the courage to go over to Ireland to see her new niece.

Steve Jones didn't know why he was parked outside Lucinda's house. He couldn't explain the urge that had compelled him to come. He'd tried to control his feelings, tried to stay away from her, yet here he was. His brow furrowed when he thought of Mary and what she would think if she saw him. They were flying to Fiji tomorrow, on Adam's and Donna's recommendation. Steve had packing to do and some loose ends of work to tie up. He could ill afford to waste time like this, but he just couldn't help himself.

At nine-fifteen the garage door opened to emit a people-mover. He was just wondering what had happened to Lucinda's Mercedes when he saw that the driver was not her. He was shocked even while he acknowledged that it was perfectly reasonable for Lucinda to move house in the three years since she had worked for him.

A neighbour, clad in a fluffy housecoat, darted out to pick up the morning paper. Steve jumped out of his car and pounced on her.

‘Lucinda Armstrong – she used to live next door to you,' he began, pausing to give the embarrassed woman the opportunity to blurt out what she knew.

‘Oh – she's gone – moved out years ago,' she answered quickly,
Mosman Daily
in hand as she turned to go back inside.

‘Do you know where she's gone?'

‘No – only know that it would be somewhere less expensive than here.'

Steve kept his face bland as he asked, ‘Why is that?'

‘They went broke. The husband was involved in one of those dotcom companies. They lost it all.'

‘Oh … I didn't know …' Steve was winded by the unexpected revelation that Lucinda's bubble had finally burst.

The neighbour forgot about what she was wearing and offered her own opinion. ‘She had expensive taste, the wife. She had Italian furniture in the house, imported directly. And the child only wore designer clothes.'

‘The baby,' Steve muttered to himself, thinking of the poignant image of Lucinda with the baby at the Christmas party all those years ago.

‘He was a lovely child. I often took him myself when the husband was having a bad day – he suffered from depression after they lost the money.'

‘Thank you.'

Steve backed away and hurriedly opened the door of his car. He drove off but pulled over again just a few streets away. He couldn't think straight enough to drive. His old infatuation with Lucinda had crept back. Just like the last time, it made him want to do crazy things – like watching her house, like leaving Mary. He had more to offer Lucinda this time around. She was penniless with a depressed husband. The enigmatic, unflappable Lucinda
was in an intolerable situation. Of course she would be tempted if he offered her a way out. Poverty would not become her.

Scott pulled into the driveway of his house. He was unstrapping Jenny from her seat when he became conscious of a moving shadow coming from behind. He lifted Jenny out and turned around. He was face to face with Ann.

‘Hello, baby,' she squealed to Jenny, her arms outstretched. ‘It's Mummy.'

Jenny was shy and burrowed her head into Scott's chest.

‘Ever think of calling ahead?' he asked sarcastically, searching his pocket with his free hand for the house keys.

‘I called a few times last night but there was no answer,' she replied, her eyes noting Jenny's pyjamas. ‘Looks like you had a sleepover. Did you stay at Deb's?'

‘No.' His response was deliberately short. He unlocked the front door and Jenny scrambled from his arms.

‘She's got so big.' Ann looked surprised when she saw Jenny standing upright. ‘Can I have a cuddle? Can you give Mummy a cuddle?'

Jenny ignored the outstretched arms for the second time, her legs unsteady as she toddled away down the hall.

‘Doesn't she know who I am? Haven't you shown her photos of her mummy?' Ann asked, clearly disappointed with Jenny's lack of interest.

‘Why should I do that?' Scott turned on his estranged wife. ‘I'm not going to do your parenting for you. If you can't be bothered to see or call your child, don't expect me to create a presence for you.'

Scott went inside and Ann paused for a moment before following him through the open door.

‘It looks so small,' she said, sizing up the living area. ‘Hard to believe that a place as small as this can be worth so much. I guess that's the craziness of the Sydney real estate market.'

If she was trying to make conversation, she had chosen a bad topic: the house, the subject of all those letters from her solicitor.

‘Is that why you're here? The house?'

‘Of course not – I came to see Jenny.' She looked over at her daughter who was busy pulling books from the bookshelf. ‘Do you let her do that?'

‘I let her go wild.' Scott was enjoying being sarcastic. ‘There's absolutely no discipline in this house, is there, Jen?'

Jenny looked up from the books to say, ‘Yeah.'

‘She can speak?' Ann looked overcome.

‘Just a few words – the usual stuff for kids her age.'

Ann went over to her child, crouching down beside her. ‘Hello, Jenny. It's
Mama
. I'm your
Mama
. Can you say
Mama
?'

‘Dada,' Jenny responded, pointing at Scott and ignoring her mother's prompts.

Scott laughed out loud.

Ann straightened, giving him an angry glare. ‘Is that how it's going to be, Scott? Are you going to use our child to score points off me?'

‘You can't come back here out of the blue and expect the red carpet,' he reprimanded her, his laughter gone.

‘I have a right to see Jenny.' Her face flushed.

‘I'm not going to stop that,' he countered. ‘Just don't expect a warm and fuzzy reception from either her or me after nine months.'

Jenny was back at the books, laughing with glee as each one hit the floor.

‘We need to come to an agreement about the house,' said Ann, walking towards Scott, her voice low. ‘Our divorce application will be filed soon. It's better to have the house sorted out on an amicable basis before –'

‘It's simple, Ann,' he cut her off. ‘I don't have the money to pay you out.'

‘You could sell to get the money –'

‘I'm
not
selling!' he shouted. ‘This is Jenny's
home
! She needs security, familiarity. This house is not being sold, got that?'

‘Don't fly off the handle in front of her,' Ann hissed, looking back at Jenny. The child was sitting amongst all the books, a large hardback open on her knees as she looked up at her parents.

‘Look, I think it's time for you to go now …' Scott put his hand on the small of her back to usher her towards the hall.

‘I want this to be amicable,' she protested.

‘There's no chance of that if you persist with this idea of selling the house,' he responded as he opened the door.

‘Well, then,' she stepped away from the arc of his arm, ‘why don't you tell me what you think is fair?'

‘Why should what's
fair
matter to you now?' Scott was mocking as he looked down at the woman who used to be his wife. He felt nothing for her. All he wanted was for her to go away so he could think over last night with Niamh. ‘Was it fair that you left us? That you saw no immediate need to come back?'

She wavered and he had a glimpse of the old, softer, Ann. ‘I think I had postnatal depression. I think that's why I had to get away.'

‘You should have phoned us from Malaysia when you figured that out. Was that at the start of the nine months or the end?'

‘It was a gradual realisation,' she said with apparent sincerity.
‘Some of the signs were there and I think we missed them. I felt trapped. I was indifferent to Jenny. Indifferent to you.'

Scott stared at her. Was it that simple? Had they overlooked the obvious? Had all the pain been caused by something that could have been treated and made better? ‘I don't know what to say …'

‘When can I see Jenny again?'

He sighed. ‘We'll work something out.'

Niamh didn't notice the black Honda parked across from her house. She reversed out of the garage and waited in the drive for a break in the stream of cars. When she was part of the heavy traffic her thoughts settled on Scott. What was happening with them? Was it love? Or was it, as he feared, on the rebound? So much had happened in the last few weeks it was hard to put a permanent label to anything. All she knew was that it felt good, it felt right. And the dream about her dad, where he was laughing on Manly beach, seemed like a good omen for a new start.

She flew up the bus lane and wasn't aware that the black Honda got left behind. She was thinking about Willem now. The hunted look in his eyes, his paranoia that someone was going to hurt her, the voices in his head. She would have to discuss it with Bruce. They couldn't allow Willem to prowl outside people's houses, no matter how good he was at his job.

She turned right inside the entrance to the carpark and automatically looked along the executive reserved parking for Lucinda's car. The lawyer wasn't in yet. Niamh parked and applied some lipstick before getting out of the car.

The lift had just arrived when she saw Bruce pull up in his four-wheel drive. She held the doors for him. As it was only
the two of them, she took the opportunity to discuss what had happened the night before. ‘I think Willem is becoming a problem.'

Bruce's frown was as fast as it was ferocious. ‘What do you mean?'

‘He called me at home last night. He was saying that someone was trying to hurt me. Later on I found him outside my house. He was going on about voices – voices that were telling him I was in grave danger.' Niamh couldn't help a wry smile as she recalled their weird conversation.

Bruce's frown eased to a look of concentration as the lift arrived at the executive floor. ‘He may not be as mad as you think. I've heard the voices,' he confessed as he stood back to let Niamh out first.

‘Not you as well,' Niamh giggled as they walked side by side down the corridor.

‘I'm being serious. They're coming from his airconditioning duct – I heard them.'

They stopped walking. They had reached Bruce's office.

‘Are you saying that there's a chance these voices are real and not in Willem's head?' asked Niamh.

‘Yes, definitely. I heard them loud and clear.'

‘Do you know who it is?'

‘Willem's office shares ducts with Lucinda and Helen. It must be one of them …'

He trailed off but Niamh's mind sprinted ahead at the mention of Lucinda's name. Everything seemed to come back to the lawyer.

‘Willem can hear what's being said in another office?'

‘The sonic lining is missing from the ducts,' Bruce muttered. ‘I saw it for myself.'

‘Willem seems to think I'm in danger,' she said thoughtfully. ‘I wonder what he heard. Maybe I've done him an injustice, assuming that his odd behaviour was related to his illness. I'll see if I can catch up with him later to talk to him properly.'

Bruce seemed to be lost for words so she wished him a good morning and continued on to her own office.

Helen was locking her car when she saw a figure emerge from the shadows of the carpark.

‘Phil …' Her heart pounded but she tried not to let fear sound in her voice. ‘How the hell did you get in here?'

‘You won't talk to me on the phone – I had no choice.' As he got closer she noticed an ominous sweat on his forehead.

‘I have nothing to say to you,' she said, looking past his broad rugby frame to see if there was anyone else around.

‘But
I
have something to say to
you
. I want you to realise what you've done to me – you've ruined me.'

‘You ruined yourself,' she snapped. ‘You don't have me to thank for that.'

‘You're a stupid bitch. I did nothing to you.'

‘You harassed me –
three
times!' Helen corrected him, taking another quick look to see if there was anyone around.

‘For fuck's sake, it was hardly anything. You must be a real prude if you freak out like this when a man touches you.'

He advanced further and Helen was trapped against the car. There was no way out. ‘I don't want you anywhere near me – get away from me – you make my skin crawl!' Her voice rose in desperation.

But Phil wasn't listening. ‘I could kill you – I could really kill you for what you've done …'

Helen's mobile rang and his threat was suspended in the air
as they stared at each other. She plunged her hand into her bag and luckily it made contact with the phone, her lifeline.

‘Keith … no, I'm in the carpark … I'll be in my office in a few minutes … can you hold a moment?'

She took the phone down from her ear but held it tight and close. ‘I promised you something, Phil, that day in your office. I said I would tell your wife. But I haven't. If you don't leave me alone I'll do it, I'll tell her. Do you understand?'

‘Don't threaten me!'

‘I'm not threatening you, I'm
telling
you. If you think you're ruined
now,
what will it be like if she finds out why you lost your job? I bet you haven't told her the real reason … Don't make me do it for you.'

Phil wavered; he understood blackmail.

‘Get out of here!' Helen pointed to the exit in case he didn't comprehend. ‘This is your last chance. Phone or harass me again
in any way
and I'll call your wife.'

They had another staring session before he backed away. She took a deep calming breath before putting the phone back to her ear. ‘Thanks for hanging on, Keith.'

‘What's going on there? Are you ok?'

‘Just stay on the line – call for help if I drop out or anything.'

She called the lift. For once it came promptly. ‘I'm fine now, Keith,' she said when she was safely inside. ‘Why don't you call me back later?'