The Board imposed several Practice Conditions that would be in place until the next review that would occur in six months. That Dr Homer could work only in a group practice (group may be defined as at least 3 practitioners), that he was not to self-prescribe any psychotropic medication, that he was not to prescribe to himself or any patient any Schedule 4D or 8 drugs, including any narcotic derivatives, that he would need to attend weekly Urine Drug Testing in strict accordance with the Medical Council of NSW protocol, that he would need to seek Board approval if he were to change the nature of his practice and that he was to authorise the Board to notify any prospective employer(s) of his Employment Conditions. If, at the next review, there were no concerns of relevance raised by his managing psychiatrist, the independent Board-appointed psychiatrist or any other person, it was anticipated that a number or all of the initial restrictions would be relaxed or removed.
Bella resealed the envelope and put it back in the Homers’ post box. She swore quietly – Martin Macavity – as she slid back into her SLK and gunned it down the street.
REPRISING THINGS PAST
Martin arrived home a little after four and read the Board correspondence. It was unsettling but the bottom line was that the Board had concluded he was competent to practise.
How would he and Sarah interact that evening? Would the correspondence from the Board help reconcile Sarah to him, or would it reactivate the bad memories? He tried to distract himself from his thoughts by reading the paper. A little before five the phone rang.
It was Sarah. She sounded distraught.
‘Martin! You are at home…’
‘I’ve been in for an hour or so.’
‘And are you OK?’
‘I’m fine. The Board –’
‘You’re absolutely fine?’
‘Yes, the Board report is good –’
‘Oh Martin. I thought there’d been a disaster –’
‘Sar, what do you mean?’
‘I need to settle down. I’ll be there in thirty minutes. Please stay where you are, Martin. Don’t leave. Please.’
Martin tried to concentrate on the cryptic crossword and then the simple crossword but he couldn’t. He had not heard Sarah so distressed since the IVF failures years back. And she sounded so caring. He would prepare a special meal.
As soon as Sarah drove into the garage he went to meet her. She burst into tears when she saw him, clambered quickly out of the car and hugged him intensely, her tears coming in bursts. She then pulled back, looked him closely in the eyes, her face so serious, and said quietly, ‘I do love you, Martin.’
Martin felt himself starting to choke up and he pulled her closely to him. They hugged, rocking slightly for a minute before Sarah slowly pulled away. She spoke gravely.
‘We have a serious problem. Let’s go inside. I need a drink.’
They walked into the living room. Sarah flopped into the lounge and kicked off her shoes, punching a pillow while Martin prepared her a gin and tonic. One with lots of gin.
‘I was at work. And I had a call on my mobile asking if I was Sarah Homer, the wife of Martin Homer. When I said yes, the person on the other end said, “I am the physician in charge of the Emergency Department at Manly Hospital and your husband has been admitted here after a serious car accident and is not expected to live.” So I rushed to the hospital.’
‘But why didn’t you ring me? I had my mobile on all afternoon.’
‘I couldn’t think properly.’ Sarah took a large swig. ‘And when I got there, no one knew what I was talking about. I was frantic. I wondered whether it was the Emergency Department or some other ward that had called me. I was running up and down the hospital corridors. And then I wondered if I’d misheard the name of the hospital. It was only then that I thought to try your mobile.’
Martin growled. ‘Bella, we can presume.’
Sarah stopped crying. ‘You think?’
‘Absolutely. She pings both of us in one hit.’
‘What a vindictive bitch!’
‘She’s all of that.’
‘What shall she do next? Should we take out an AVO?’
‘It will just provoke her further. We just have to sit it out. Wait until she gets into another relationship that preoccupies her. Then she’ll no longer be a risk to us. I’m sure.’
Sarah finished her drink. ‘And Martin, when I heard your voice on the phone, when I knew you were alive, everything changed. All my anger about what you did just disappeared. I’ve always loved you. It got blanked out with resentment but that has gone.’
Martin went across to give her a hug but Sarah got up as he reached out. She smiled at him, took his hand and, without a word, walked him to their bedroom and indicated that he should occupy his rightful right side of the bed. He wondered whether he should undress but chose to follow Sarah’s lead. In bed, the two hugged and kissed, both in tears, sometimes one and, at other times, both together. Martin felt her body pressing against him and he slowly fondled her breasts, his long-time companions of comfort, contentment, consolation and now conciliation. He whispered the private words that had marked their conjugal lovemaking over the years, gentle invitational words, expressions of love. And yet she more felt lust. She had readily rejected the advances of her companion at the final London cocktail party, despite his attentiveness and attractiveness. And her current lust had other drivers. Bella released an unfettered licentiousness in Martin. Would Bella be the only woman to see that side of Martin? Why might she not experience it? She wanted Martin to, well, ravage her so that she could respond lasciviously. And yet, when she opened her eyes, such fantasies dissipated as she saw his gentle smile. She smiled back at him. A reflection of the warmth she again felt towards him. But it was also a smile of sadness.
Martin’s love of Sarah felt infinite to him at that moment. After what he had put her – his Dulcinea – through he wished only to be gentle and, as he continued to fondle her, he became more and more concerned that he was quite unable to develop an erection. Eventually, he apologised to Sarah. ‘Sorry, Sar. It looks as though Percy doesn’t want to party.’
Sarah laughed. Not a laugh of mockery but a companion’s laugh, albeit lightly laced with her recognition of the symbolism of the moment. She had to play her role. ‘Remember, Martin, when we were very young and had only been going out for a while? You had the same problem. Paradoxical when I always thought of you as an upright man.’
Martin smiled. ‘I have absolutely no memory of that at all.’
‘Oh, then I’ll have to remind you and take the lead again.’
And so history repeated itself. Before long, Sarah was slowly moving up and down on him, but now each looking directly at each other, both smiling in bliss before Sarah slid off Martin, to lie next to him and to continue to stare into his face.
She was comfortable about offering him affirmation. ‘I love you, Martin.’
‘Oh Sarah, you saying that after all we’ve been through is the second most wonderful thing that has ever happened to me.’ He smiled, perhaps his warmest smile for years. Looking at Sarah, his best mate and confidante, filled him with closeness and peace. Touching her so familiar body filled him with comfort. His life’s companion and he wished for no more in life. As he lay there he whispered a spiritual recommitment to her, a message of love.
And later, when they had both slept for an hour or so, they had then lain in each other’s arms idly chatting. And each reflected privately on the boundary between love and lust. It was very straightforward for Martin. Bella had never been his friend, he had never felt close to her, and never had any great need to converse deeply with her. She had never been his love – just his fantasy – and some fanciful conduit to arête, a construct that now appeared completely foreign to him.
It was less straightforward for Sarah. She had made her bed. Martin was a good man and his love had never lessened when she had become barren. She knew that with her, he was and would continue to be her staunch best friend, a man of ch
aracter, an honourable conservative man, viewing her in a constrained world. Life involved compromises and she could live with this one.
BELLA’S STORY: PARTS B TO…
We all have our own life story, our narrative, capturing a composite of our innate characteristics modified by life events, positive or negative. As summarised by José Ortega y Gasset, I am I plus my circumstances. Our story frames us, allowing us to explain ourselves to ourselves, and define ourselves to others.
Bella was always reluctant to tell her story. If asked about her background – whether personal questions or those name, rank and serial number questions such as Where do you live? – Bella was either cryptic or evasive in adroitly turning the conversation back on the questioner or by changing the topic. At times she appeared as enigmatic as a Fowlesian French Lieutenant’s Woman.
Late on a Thursday afternoon seven men met to discuss aspects of her labyrinthine life. They had assembled on the balcony of an Italianate house in Randwick. Each was introduced to the others by Mauricio Donna, a handsome Italian man dressed in a Zegna suit, who provided each with a business card identifying him as a property developer. While a housekeeper brought their drinks, Mauricio encouraged them to draw up chairs to form a circle. Six did. The seventh, Jameson Britton, a retired barrister and the owner of the house, broke the symmetry, moving his chair somewhat back from the circle. The others received the communication that he did not view himself as quite in or of the group. The ambience was sombre, as if they were at a wake.
Mauricio spoke slowly. ‘First, I’d like to thank Jameson for allowing us to meet at his home. Very generous of you.’
Jameson shrugged. ‘I rarely get out these days. It made for convenience.’
Mauricio nodded. He held out a sheet of paper and spoke slowly, turning to face each man for a similar interval, although Jameson chose to avoid eye contact when Mauricio turned to him.
‘As you know, I received this sheet in the mail last Tuesday. Some men in my life – and pictures of all of us, together with our names, contact details and some dates, although there were no dates in relation to Jameson. The next day I was contacted by the Gordon police. They had also received a copy of the sheet. They told me that Bella had been reported as missing and there was the possibility that she might be dead. I decided to ring each of you to try to work out what might be going on and how we all might best respond. Two of you have been interviewed by the police, I believe.’
Bruce Wallace, a horse trainer, interrupted. ‘Not me.’
Daniel Fairmont, a banker, added, ‘Nor me at this stage.’
Mike Matthew, a stock broker, frowned. ‘I’m due to be interviewed tomorrow. Is there anything to be particularly concerned about?’
Mauricio responded. ‘They’ll probably press you on details of your relationship with Bella and whether you’ve been in contact with her recently. They assured me they would keep things confidential. I took a lawyer along but, in retrospect, I don’t think that was necessary.’
Mike looked at Mauricio. ‘Is there any update on the details?’
Mauricio shook his head. ‘Not that I’m aware. But just to keep everyone in the picture, I’ll summarise. Bella’s boss contacted police after she hadn’t turned up at work for a week, and wasn’t responding to phone calls or texts from him. He asked the police to investigate, telling them she had been quite distressed the previous week. So they went to her apartment, found the front door open and week-old blood in the entrance hall. While she wasn’t there, her handbag, phone and credit cards were all in the bedroom. On checking, the credit cards hadn’t been used for a week. So they suspect foul play. They’re interviewing everyone at her work and, of course, us, because our names are on the sheet.’
Mike frowned again. ‘Do the police think we’re implicated?’
Ted, a ship owner, responded. ‘I doubt it. I simply explained that I, at least, had been in a relationship with her a few years back, and that I hadn’t seen her or heard from her in a long time. They didn’t appear very interested after that. Just said they’d get back if they had any further questions for me.’
Daniel shook his head. ‘Presuming it was Bella that sent out the sheets, why would she do that?’
Mauricio nodded. ‘I don’t get it either. That’s why I thought there might be wisdom in us getting together and sharing some of our knowledge of Bella. It may or may not explain the sheets.’
Peter Frank, an obstetrician, asked quietly. ‘I assume we all had a relationship with her?’ All nodded apart from Jameson, who just closed his eyes. ‘And that the dates next to each name correspond to the period of the relationship.’ The others nodded again.
‘But she had so many relationships,’ observed Daniel quietly. ‘Why limit the list to us?’
Ted responded rapidly, his eyes twinkling. ‘Perhaps we’re the magnificent seven.’
Certainly all were handsome – although Jameson might better have been described as stately, elegant and having a patrician presence – and all had markers of affluence. They appeared to be in their fifties or early sixties, although Jameson might have been in his seventies. Their interpersonal style evidenced their leadership roles, all confident in their identity, and authoritative if not authoritarian.
Daniel brought the discussion back to the agenda. ‘She sent the list out before she disappeared. Did she want to implicate us or involve us again in her murky life? We obviously are well off. Is there a money angle?’
Ted spoke slowly. ‘I wondered about contacting her parents to try to find an angle but the police said their Melbourne colleagues would be interviewing them next week and suggested I hold off.’
Mike interrupted. ‘But her parents are dead.’
Ted shook his head. ‘That’s news to me.’
Daniel added. ‘She told me that after her mother died, her father moved to Adelaide. He was apparently alive two years ago, although I never met him.’
Bruce chuckled. ‘Just to complete the options she told me her mother was alive and that her father had been murdered.’
Mauricio responded. ‘Well, she told me they were both dead. The reason why we didn’t ask them to our wedding.’
‘So you were married to her?’ queried Bruce.
‘Lasted all of six weeks,’ responded Mauricio with a wry smile. ‘She thought I was having an affair with my secretary, trashed the house and left the next morning. The divorce cost me a lot.’ He looked from one to the other. ‘None of you others married her, I guess?’
‘Shit no,’ laughed Bruce. ‘You’d have had to be mad to do that.’ He seemed to enjoy watching Mauricio’s face stiffen.
For the next little while the group sought to reconcile several details. Mike said he had met her in Perth and persuaded her to come to Sydney shortly after her twenty-first birthday. He had moved her into an apartment at Darling Point, and paid her university fees for the next year. Daniel expressed surprise. Bella had told him she had come from Nimbin and initially lived as a street kid in Kings Cross before joining a group of stray teenagers in a squat. Two others gave additional and varying accounts of her origins and reasons for coming to Sydney. As none had ever met her parents, a group consensus emerged that she had long been disaffiliated from them. All remembered Bella, describing how intensely she had hated her parents, particularly her father.
‘Something pretty nasty must have gone on with her dad,’ Daniel observed.
‘I reckon there was something pretty suss,’ nodded Bruce. ‘I reckon he was rolling his own.’
‘You mean incest?’ queried Peter.
Daniel responded. ‘If not that, it must have been some other trauma. She told me a story of a kid who was adopted in America. Over the next few years the adopting parents became increasingly sick but without any specific symptoms to allow the doctors to make a diagnosis. Turned out the kid was grinding dry dog shit in the blender and putting it into their muesli each morning.’
Mike looked questioningly at Daniel. ‘What are you inferri
ng here?’
Daniel responded quickly. ‘My point is that, while the story was clearly dreadful, I wondered why she told me such a story almost out of the blue. And I was struck by Bella’s emotions as she told it. She smiled most of the time as if she was relating to it in a vicarious way. I read it as more than simply expressing deep hatred for her parents. That there was something that excited her about it.’
Mike pressed again. ‘You’re not suggesting that she might have tried the same on her parents.’
Bruce paraphrased the query. ‘That she whacked them with the muesli?’ He laughed. ‘A cereal killer! I reckon we’d all agree that she was pretty good at retaliation.’
‘I’ve never met anyone so vindictive,’ offered Peter.
Ted nodded his head. ‘We broke up during a trip to the States. She flew back to Sydney two weeks ahead of me, having taken one of my credit cards. For two weeks stores were delivering all sorts of things to our home. TVs. Fridges. A potting shed. A new lawn. All ordered by her and paid out of my credit card. Maxed it out completely. Took a lot of explaining to my wife.’
Mike added his anecdote. ‘Once she whacked me across the chest. It was incredibly painful and I bled everywhere. Then I found she had superglued a dozen thumb tacks to her arm.’
All the men other than Jameson nodded, clearly relating to such stories.
Mike sought to centre the group. ‘What is it, or perhaps I should say, what was it, with Bella?’
Peter spoke pensively. ‘I described her behaviour to a psychiatrist friend. He said she clearly had a borderline personality disorder.’
‘What’s that in English and seasonally adjusted terms?’ inquired Bruce.
‘I understand it’s a diagnosis you give to a patient that you don’t like.’
Bruce cut in. ‘But there was another Bella. Not only was she beautiful but, my God, she could be so alluring and loving. She just made me feel so good about myself. She put me on a pedestal. Made me feel I was an all-conquering hero. Didn’t seem like bullshit either. Even now looking back. And she was so good in bed.’ He smirked. ‘Wasn’t she a great root?’
In Two Minds Page 24