Charlotte could hear Craig in the background, demanding the phone back.
‘Give him back the phone, Cassette,’ Charlotte said.
‘Well, I could,’ she said. A series of clicking sounds followed, and when Cassette spoke again, her voice was echoey. There was a dull hammering sound in the background.
‘I’m glad you called, Charlotte,’ Cassette continued.
‘I didn’t call you, Cassette,’ Charlotte reminded her.
‘Oh well, too bad. Why does Emily hate me so much?’
‘Are you serious?' Charlotte didn’t want to be drawn in, but how could she ignore a question like that?
‘Well, obviously things are awkward now, but she’s never liked me: always giving me those haughty looks as though I wasn’t good enough to be around her. What did I ever do to her?’
‘Do you remember the opening night of the Evans Gallery, Cassette?’
‘What? What about it?’
‘You destroyed one of her paintings. We’d never even met you before then. It wasn’t a good place to start.’
‘That was an accident!’
‘Well, you could have apologised!’
‘So that’s it. That’s why she won’t ever talk to me.’
‘You kind of get in people’s faces, Cassette. Most people don’t like that.’
For a moment, Cassette was silent. When she spoke again, her voice was small. ‘Is that why I don’t have any friends?’ she asked.
‘Are we really having this conversation now? I’m sorry, Cassette, but I need to speak to Craig.’
Cassette exhaled audibly. ‘Yeah, yeah. Okay. He’s about to knock down the bloody door anyway. Charlotte, for what it’s worth, I’m sorry. I know I took things too far tonight. I know I fucked up with Geoff. I just want to say I’m sorry.’
Charlotte was stunned. What happened between her demented exit from the Moorehouse Gallery and now? Who was this woman on the other end of the phone?
‘Okay, Cassette. Can I talk to Craig now, please?’
‘Okay,’ she said, and there was more clicking, followed by a kerplunk. The phone went dead.
Charlotte stared at it for a moment. And then, all she could think was Cassette had hijacked their conversation just after Craig had hesitated. Just after she asked him about the development approval.
When he didn’t call back, she tried him again. Fifteen times. His phone rang out at first and then went straight to his message bank on each subsequent call.
She needed a cup of tea.
Why had Craig hesitated? Why was he now ignoring her calls? Logic told her his conscience was not clear, and she should think the worst of him. But experience, especially with Craig, told her things weren't always what they seem.
Nothing about Craig was what it seemed to be. Did he know about the bribe? If he did, how was he involved? Charlotte sighed heavily. She didn’t have the energy left to get mad at him again. She was spent.
And regardless, if the man was so impossible to understand, or follow, or predict, why the hell was she so crazy about him? She knew why. Craig Carmichael was smart, inspiring, hopeful, humble and entirely charming. He respected her, revered her, and he wasn’t threatened by her. He made her want to stand up and be counted. He made her want to shine.
Her previously fulfilling life suddenly didn’t seem whole; there was something missing. Craig. She would always come up short without him.
For an independent, head-strong woman raised by a feminist, this revelation was hardest to accept. But the magnetism between them overruled all reason and stripped her of everything but her primal need for him. He hadn’t just shown her what was possible; he’d given her a glimpse of what was possible with him.
Charlotte stared into her teacup. It had been yet another shitty night. She forced herself to think of something good that had come of it, something unrelated to Craig Carmichael.
Emily had sold out her show. That was great. Charlotte had found a new friend in Gareth. That was nice.
Feeling a little better, she tipped half a cup of cold tea down the kitchen sink. In her bedroom, she stripped off and crawled in to bed in her underpants. Perhaps she might actually get some sleep.
No sooner had her head settled on her pillow than someone started pounding on her front door. Oh God, please let it be Craig.
Charlotte grabbed a dressing gown and raced to the door, double checking everything was concealed along the way. She ripped the door open, to find Geoff swaying on his feet, his face grim and threatening.
‘She’s not here, Geoff,’ Charlotte said and stepped aside to prove it. He searched the apartment, cursing her as he went. Once satisfied she wasn’t hiding his wife, he stopped in the middle of the living room and sat down on the coffee table, drooping.
‘I don’t know what to do, Charlotte,’ he said, changing his tone and appealing to her. ‘Why won’t she talk to me?’
Charlotte glared at him unsympathetically. Not only had he dragged her out of bed, he wasn’t Craig, and he was a complete arsehole. ‘I don’t think there's anything you can do, Geoff. You fucked it up royally. She’s not going to forgive you.’
Geoff looked at her. He'd left denial behind some time ago, and he knew her words to be true. ‘I don’t think I can live without her.’
‘You’re going to have to, Geoff. It’s over.’
He started to sob. Oh great, thought Charlotte. Sleep was looking less and less likely. She offered Geoff tissues, but no other comfort.
Realising none would be forthcoming, he pulled himself together.
‘Go home, Geoff,’ Charlotte suggested. ‘Sleep off tonight, get up tomorrow and move on with your life. Just take it one day at a time. Hell, go overseas. That always works for me.’
He obliged, with the going home part at least. She hoped he might take the rest of her suggestions on board. At least then she might not see him for a while, and he might desist from haunting Emily. She locked the door behind him and went back to bed.
Perhaps she should heed her own advice.
No, the idea of running away from this, from Craig, held no appeal.
Why didn’t he answer her calls? What did he know? Whatever it was, she wanted to hear it from him before she did anything.
An idea formed.
If he wouldn’t take her calls and she had to accost him in his office, then so be it. Morgan Carmichael was going to get a slightly irritable visitor in the morning.
The resolution allowed her to finally fall asleep.
Until five minutes past ten the next morning, five minutes after she should have opened the gallery. She flew out of bed and threw on one of her favourite wrinkle-free polyester dresses, hastily applied some make-up and disregarded the grumbling in her stomach. Ben could feed and caffeinate her.
On her way out of the door she was halted by an insistent tapping on the French doors. Emily was out on the balcony, signalling to be let in. She was ruffled, sweaty and looked like shit. Last night’s kaftan clung to her in the mid-morning heat, her make-up was smudged, and her hair was unkempt in a homeless kind of way. She didn’t appear to have had any sleep.
‘What are you doing out there?’ Charlotte asked, ignoring Emily’s appearance because she didn’t have time to ask. She paused long enough to open the doors but not long enough to hear Emily’s answer as she continued on her trajectory. She cast an ‘I’m late,’ over her shoulder as Emily called after her.
Charlotte raced past Bean Drinkin’, or would have, if it hadn’t taken an age for Ben to raise his head and notice her. She signalled for a coffee and toast from the footpath outside and paused momentarily to wonder what he was so despondent about, before a customer arrived at the door of the gallery and she stepped up to open it.
Inside, she breathed easily, happily showing off the genius of Tyson Heller.
When she was alone once again, Charlotte slowed down. Her early morning resolution returned to her, and the great big knot reformed in her stomach.
How
was she going to play this? She could easily march in to Morgan Carmichael without an appointment, but would Craig be there? What if he was in a meeting or on a site visit? Should she wait? At least his assistant, Margie, seemed nice. She might not mind if Charlotte waited for him. But how much time would she waste? Perhaps if she could figure out Margie’s direct line, she could ask after Craig’s schedule. Could she do that without alerting Craig?
Ben interrupted her spinning machinations by delivering her breakfast. Emily arrived hot on his heels, although he was unaware she was there until he turned his heavy head to go and almost collided with her. Charlotte watched curiously as they danced awkwardly around each other. Emily frowned, shook her head and hissed something at Ben, which made him slump his shoulders even further and trudge miserably back next door.
Charlotte was pleased to see Emily. She was bursting to share her plans with someone and Ben was far too morose to be receptive.
Emily had made some attempt to tidy her appearance. The streaks of make-up were gone, and her hair was pulled back afresh. She was wearing one of Charlotte’s dresses. ‘I need to talk to you,’ she said.
‘Me too,’ Charlotte exclaimed. ‘You won’t believe what else happened last night.’
‘Neither will you,’ Emily murmured.
Preoccupied, Charlotte launched in to her tale. ‘As I was…’
‘Charlotte.' Emily’s deadly tone cut her off. ‘I need to talk to you.’
‘Okay…’ Charlotte said and waited, taken aback.
Emily drew in a deep breath and released it with a heavy sigh.
‘I slept with Ben last night.'
‘Excuse me?’ Charlotte couldn't have heard correctly. ‘I thought you just said you slept with Ben last night.’
‘I did.’
Charlotte stared at her sister in silence.
Emily continued, looking at her feet. ‘I don’t know how it happened. It just did.’
‘How could you?' Charlotte’s anger came out of nowhere.
‘What? Are you jealous, Charlotte?’ Emily was incredulous.
‘Of course I’m not jealous! But now I know what the hell is wrong with him today. What did you do to him? What did you say? Fucking hell, Emily, he’s your friend. How could you do that? God, you didn’t even drink that much last night.’
‘It wasn’t intentional, Charlotte,’ Emily snapped. ‘Can you please just drop the righteousness for one second? I know he’s your best friend but fuck you, Charlotte, I am your sister. I need you to be on my side this time.’
‘This time Emily? This time? I am always on your fucking side. Whose couch have you been sleeping on for the last month? Who gave you half the gallery to give you space to paint? Who went along last night, even though it could have been total humiliation for me, to be there to support you? I can’t believe how selfish you're being, Emily. You cast me aside when it suits you, after I gave everything, my whole fucking life, up for you. And now you’ve gone and used Ben and cast him aside as well.’
Charlotte wasn’t sure where her rage was coming from. But after a sleepless night, she was unleashing on Emily as she had done when they were teenagers still coming to terms with their father’s death.
Emily fought back, but feebly. ‘I never asked you to give anything up for me, Charlotte. That was your choice.’
Ignoring her point, Charlotte continued, to press her own. ‘I am always on your side, Emily. But where have you been when I’ve needed you? I know you’ve been through hell, but it hasn’t been a walk in the park for me. While I've been propping you up, I found out Andrew is a junkie, I discovered you don’t really give a rat’s about this gallery, which I am waiting to have knocked down around me, and I’ve fallen in love with the man who is going to do that. And now I find out you’ve screwed my best friend and taken away the one person I might have been able to rely on to get me through this. Fuck you, Emily. How about you be on my side for a change?’
Emily fell silent, but tears trailed down her cheeks, making Charlotte repent, though she wasn’t about to back down.
Finally, Emily spoke. ‘I haven’t taken him away from you, Charlotte. Nothing is going to come of it.'
‘No, I didn’t think it would. By the look of him you’ve broken his heart.’
Emily was completely deflated. The counsel she’d come looking for wasn’t on offer. Charlotte was too angry.
‘I’m sorry, Charlotte,’ said Emily, turning to leave.
Charlotte couldn’t resist one last bite. ‘Have you told Ben that?’
Charlotte gave Emily time to disappear, then poked her head into Bean Drinkin’. Ben barely looked up from the espresso machine and shook his head at her, signalling he was not ready to talk.
Dour, Charlotte returned to the gallery to find Craig’s nana, waiting for her. Where did she come from?
‘Hello, Charlotte,’ she said, her voice all crisp and business-like, matching her white linen pant-suit and severely secured hair. Nothing at all like the little-old-lady-lost she’d met at the markets. Today she seemed powerful. Like someone you didn’t want to mess with. Why was she here?
As Gwen took note of her flushed cheeks, Charlotte fought to subdue her escalating sense of foreboding.
‘Hello, Gwen,’ she returned, her apprehension undisguised. ‘How are you?’
‘I’m well thank you, dear. But as much as I do find you charming, I would rather like to skip the pleasantries this morning and get straight to the point.’
Direct seemed to be the flavour of the day.
‘What can I do for you?’ Charlotte asked nervously.
‘I understand you've been asking about the Council approval for the development proposed for this site. Can you tell me why you're concerned?’
Charlotte hesitated. If the woman before her had been anything like the one she met at the markets, she might have thought she could trust her. Clearly she couldn’t. This straight-backed no-nonsense woman was a far cry from the previous incarnation she’d tangled with. Which meant the woman was very adept at deceiving people to get what she wanted. Whatever that had been that day at the markets.
Charlotte was also clearly out of her depth, so she decided to start with a small dosage of the truth. ‘I am concerned there's bribery involved.’
‘Can you be more specific? What gave you this impression?’
Charlotte tentatively drip fed some more truth. ‘I overheard a conversation.’
Nana Gwen’s eyes narrowed fractionally, and she pressed her lips firmly together. She considered Charlotte for a moment. ‘Hmm,’ she said eventually. After another thirty seconds she added, ‘Tell me about your feelings for my grandson.’
It was Charlotte’s turn to start. ‘What do you mean?’
‘Come now, don’t be shy. You’re clearly attracted to each other. I just want to know how deeply that runs.’
Flushing, Charlotte fumbled for a response. ‘We’ve spent some time together. Despite our conflict of interest, we get along quite well.’
‘You get along quite well,’ Gwen repeated. ‘That wasn’t really Craig’s take on it.’
‘What did he say?’ As soon as she asked, and watched the knowing smirk form on Gwen’s face, Charlotte kicked herself for falling in to the well-laid trap. Recovering, she asked, ‘Why are you even asking me that?’
Gwen changed tact. ‘Do you trust him?’
There was that question again. Did she? Yes, no, yes, no, yes, no. Where was she up to? A week ago she would've said no, but now she couldn’t go to the police until she’d spoken to him and heard his explanation. Why was that? Probably because deep down she accepted he may know about the bribe, but she didn’t believe he was involved. He might not have called her back since last night, but he’d obviously been speaking with his grandmother about her.
Instead of answering Gwen’s question she asked, ‘Why are you here?’
‘My answer to that question depends on your answer to mine.’
Charlotte could have laughed.
It was such a Craig thing to say.
‘Yes. I do trust him,’ she told Gwen, her voice heavy with resignation.
‘And do you believe in your heart Craig has anything to do with what you might have overheard?’
Charlotte met Gwen’s steady gaze. ‘No.’
Gwen softened and reached out to put her hand momentarily on Charlotte’s cheek. ‘I knew you were too smart to think otherwise.'
‘In answer to your question, I’m here to find out what you know and stop you from doing anything hasty. I imagine you've been entertaining thoughts of reporting what you heard to the police? But I doubt you've already done so.’
‘I haven’t. I want to speak to Craig first.'
‘And you will in good time. But for now, you need to give Craig some time, Charlotte. And you need to hold off on reporting what you heard. You do know what will happen if you do go to the police don’t you?’
Charlotte didn’t.
Gwen filled her in. ‘You will fill out a report, and they will tell you they’ll look into it. But because you have no evidence, and you have a vested interest in the development, they’ll doubt you. It will go on file, and that will be the end of it. They won’t do anything, Charlotte.’
‘Then there’s no harm in me reporting it then, is there?’ Charlotte challenged.
Gwen considered this, or at least how to respond. ‘Perhaps not. But there will be a file, a record that might resurface years down the track and you never know what damage it might do then.’
‘You seem to know a lot about this kind of thing.’
‘I do.’
‘I need to speak to Craig.’
‘Yes. He said much the same to me this morning about you. I advised him to wait too, just as I am advising you. Charlotte, it is most important you sit tight for now and give him the time he needs. And trust him, do not doubt him.'
‘That’s quite a lot to ask of me. I’m really not sure I can trust you, Gwen. You might recall when I met you at the markets a few weeks ago you were nothing like you are now. How do I know you're not playing me?’
Gwen laughed softly. ‘Good point, my dear. I was playing you then. I wanted to see what kind of woman had my grandson all tied up in knots. I’m not playing you now, Charlotte. I love Craig dearly and am quite willing to go to any length to look after his interests. You are his interest, Charlotte, and I am here to look after you. Craig will be in touch as soon as he can.’
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