Afterwards Angie, Louise and Moira returned to the barn.
‘Shouldn’t she contact the police?’ asked Louise.
‘What can they do? She doesn’t know for sure who did it,’ replied Moira.
‘If she thinks it’s this Maggie woman, Jen could apply for an AVO.’
‘Wouldn’t that inflame her more?’ asked Angie.
Nobody knew the answer.
‘Did anyone notice a strange car parked outside today?’ asked Louise.
‘We were all too busy talking,’ replied Angie. She almost added, ‘and painting’, but that was always secondary to the chatter.
‘We’ll need to watch over Jen,’ said Moira. ‘In case it escalates.’
When she said that, they all shivered. Was a person who sent vicious texts and keyed your car likely to do you physical harm? Or would she be a coward, attacking your possessions but fearing actual contact?
While Louise made herself another cup of coffee, Moira, who was giving her a lift, looked impatient.
‘Louise, could you hurry up? I’m meeting Bert at four.’
Angie glanced at Moira, whose face gave nothing away.
‘It’s about the emporium,’ said Moira.
‘That’s what I need to talk to you about,’ said Louise. ‘You can’t tell anyone you heard this from me. Promise.’ Louise spoke in a childlike whisper, as if she were asking them to cross their hearts and hope to die.
‘Of course we do, Louise. How long have you known me? Since we were kids. Have I ever broken a confidence? And Angie’s secure as a bank.’
‘Bob told me the heritage officer is recommending the DA be approved. With minor modifications. They’re going to pass it at the next council meeting.’
‘Do you know what the modifications are?’
‘The second-storey façade will have to be built in the vernacular style. I didn’t like to ask him what that meant.’
‘It means it will look fake, like part of a movie set from a Western,’ said Angie. ‘The emporium is a typical 1870s merchant’s store. In original condition. It shouldn’t have a second floor at all.’
‘Anyway, FOTE is still investigating other options,’ said Moira.
‘Bob says FOTE hasn’t come up with anything tangible, only hot air. Sorry, but they were his exact words.’
‘Are you okay with us telling Bert about this?’ asked Angie.
‘As long as it can’t be traced back to me.’
‘That’s not a problem. One of us could have overheard something in a café. This town leaks like a sieve,’ said Moira.
‘If Bob ever found out it was me, he would . . .’
Angie and Moira looked at docile, dutiful Louise. Both pondered the nature of her relationship with the mayor.
‘Don’t worry. He’ll never find out. And thank you for your courage in telling us,’ said Angie, giving Louise a hug.
Despite the uncertainty about the emporium and the nastiness affecting Jennie, Angie was feeling brighter than she had in weeks. Her sense of optimism was twofold – the prospect of a candidacy for council and a possible romance, each complicated, yet exciting nonetheless.
She knew the days of walking into rooms and turning heads had long passed. The dewy physical perfection she’d once worn so cavalierly in her youth had been replaced by all the signs of ageing listed in cosmetic advertisements and known to every woman over fifty. The wolf-whistles and attention that had once annoyed her would now be welcome, if they ever came her way. But, of course, they didn’t. Not any more. So, when an attractive man of mature years took an interest in her, it was an affirmation that she was desirable, if only to a certain demographic.
On Thursday she set off for her lunch at Geoff’s apartment. The time of day mitigated the intimacy of dining at his place. All the same, she was nervous. She had a feeling that things were escalating too quickly. Perhaps she should have consulted with Jennie on the etiquette of contemporary dating. But Jennie had other things on her mind and anyway, Angie knew what Jennie’s advice would be: Never sleep with a man on the first date, but the second is negotiable. Today was Angie’s second ‘date’ with Geoff Goodmann.
As she buzzed the intercom to his building, her hand was shaking. She took the lift to the top floor. Direcly across the hallway, Geoff was standing at his open door, waiting for her. He greeted her with a light kiss on the lips. Inside was a jaw-dropping view. Much better than his office. You could see for kilometres up and down the coast. In front of the wall of windows stood a tripod topped with binocuars.
‘I spotted a pod of dolphins a while ago. They may still be there.’ He showed her how to use the binoculars, leaning so close that she could smell cinnamon and allspice.
The apartment was as immaculate as the car. Floorboards shone as if they’d just been polished with a machine. Stainless steel appliances gleamed without a single smudge or fingermark. A huge white modular sofa held primary-coloured cushions arranged in perfect rows. Hanging on the wall above the sofa was a large abstract canvas whose splodges matched the cushions. Glass-fronted kitchen cupboards displayed their porcelain and glass contents as if they were artworks. On the island bench there was a cooktop with a teppanyaki grill. Beside it were four soft-shell crabs and a marinade already prepared. This man was a serious cook. Even her Phil, with his reputation as a barbecue-meister, couldn’t have competed with this.
Geoff poured glasses of champagne.
‘I know you have to drive and I have to get back to work,’ he said, ‘but one won’t hurt.’
On an elegant glass platter sat perfect rows of glossy olives, marinated feta and crescents of celery stuffed with blue cheese. Peggy Lee was on the CD player. Angie’s favourite singer, apart from Tony Bennett.
‘Can I help with anything?’ she asked.
‘You’re my guest, Angela. Just take a seat and relax.’ He indicated the bar stool in front of the bench.
‘Please call me Angie.’
‘But Angela is such a pretty name.’
Whenever he used her full name, she felt like a child again, being addressed by her parents or her teachers. Still, if he thought it was such a pretty name . . .
While she perched on a stool, he chopped coriander and ginger, displaying impressive knife skills.
‘Are you sure you’re really a solicitor?’ she teased. ‘I think you might be a famous chef in disguise.’
‘Have you ever noticed how those cooking shows are loaded with lawyers wanting to escape?’
‘But you don’t want to escape, do you?’
‘No, I love the law – the statutes, the torts, the clauses and sub-clauses. The framework is important to me. I could never be an artist like you. It’s too unstructured.’
‘Actually, the technique provides the structure, but you’re right, art is about reaching beyond the boundaries.’
She sipped her champagne slowly. She was starting to feel comfortable in Geoff Goodmann’s flat and it wouldn’t do to get drunk. He brushed the crabs with marinade and placed them on the hot grill.
‘Five minutes a side,’ he said, setting the timer.
While the crabs were grilling, he placed mats and cutlery on the table. It was one of those invisible ones – clear Perspex with matching chairs – the antithesis of Angie’s ten-seater mahogany table and solid balloon-back chairs. In fact, his apartment was so uncluttered it made the Manse, with its old furniture and bric-a-brac, look like the Old Curiosity Shop.
As he plated up the crabs beside a mound of rice and a salad of coriander, bamboo sprouts and red chilli, she thought it could easily be the most exquisite dish she had ever seen. The smell alone was intoxicating.
‘Is there hoisin sauce in the marinade?’ she asked, hoping to pry the recipe from him.
‘It’s a secret.’ He placed the plates on the invisible table and held out a Perspex
chair for her.
She could barely wait to take her first bite. The crab proved to be succulent and spicy without being too hot.
‘Wow! This is delicious. I’m guessing there’s lemongrass. And a smidgin of fish sauce.’
‘I’m glad you like it,’ he said with a wry smile.
Since he wasn’t going to reveal his ingredients, she decided to seek his advice about something else.
‘Geoff, can I ask you a favour?’
‘Anything.’
‘It’s about my friend, Jennie. She’s being harassed by someone. Obscene texts and damage to her car. It’s a new Audi – the doors and the bonnet were keyed.’
He took a sip of champagne. ‘Do you know who did it?’
‘We suspect it’s her boyfriend’s ex.’
‘Have you any proof?’
‘Not yet.’
‘If Jennie establishes that the ex-wife is involved, she could seek an interim AVO.’
‘That’s what another friend said. But I wondered whether it might just make the culprit angrier.’
‘In this kind of case, an AVO can be a deterrent or a trigger. Depends on the personality of the offender. But it might be the only legal recourse you have, unless this woman is caught in the act or you can trace the texts back to her. Has your friend contacted the police?’
‘No, I think she’s too embarrassed,’ Angie replied between mouthfuls of crab.
‘Well, I’m on good terms with the local cops. The magistrate too. He’s an old mate from uni days and we go swimming together some mornings. I could have a quiet word on Jennie’s behalf before she lodges an application. Test the water, so to speak.’
‘That’s kind of you, but she doesn’t live here.’
‘In that case, she could have a chat with her local chamber registrar. See what he suggests.’
‘There’s just one other thing. I’m concerned the behaviour might escalate. Is that likely in this kind of situation?’
‘Probably not. But you never know, particularly if the offender’s attempts at revenge are frustrated. I think it’s worth letting the police know. The car incident is malicious damage, a criminal offence. It should be reported.’ Geoff was giving her a curious look. ‘This Jennie. It’s not you, is it, Angela?’
She started to laugh. ‘No, it’s definitely not me. First of all, I don’t have a boyfriend. And secondly, I don’t own an Audi, though I wish I did.’
‘I’m sorry. It’s just that clients often come to me, ostensibly on someone else’s behalf, when it’s really their own situation and they’re ashamed to talk about it.’
‘Nothing eventful ever happens to me, Geoff. I live a dull old life.’
‘Well, how about we enliven it?’ He reached across the table and kissed her. Even though the kiss was as enticing as his soft-shell crab, she didn’t want to make love to him today. Not on the second date. As their mouths separated, she was about to say something about progressing slowly, when he kissed her gently on the forehead and began taking the dishes to the sink.
‘Do you fancy some dessert?’ he asked, producing glass bowls holding fresh fruit, diced and swimming in sticky sugar syrup.
‘You’re full of surprises,’ she told him.
‘This is only the start.’
After they finished dessert, Angie offered to help him rinse the dishes and load the dishwasher, but he said he had his own way of doing it. When he finished, he polished the stone benchtops until the specks of granite sparkled like jewels.
Geoff checked his watch. ‘I’m sorry about this damned three o’clock appointment, Angela. I would have rescheduled, but they’re important clients.’
‘That’s fine.’
‘Would you like to come back for dinner?’
‘I can’t, Geoff.’
‘Well, what about next Friday?’
‘Sorry, I’m booked solid all through next week.’
‘If I didn’t know better I’d think you didn’t like me, or that you’re playing hard to get.’
‘No, I’m just a busy person and I live a long way away.’
‘Well, I’ll be in your home town for a conference the week after next. On the Monday and Tuesday. Why don’t we catch up then?’
The words ‘home town’ made her pulse race, until she realised he was referring to Sydney. ‘Let me just check my diary,’ she said, looking at her phone in an attempt to gain some thinking time.
‘You’re such a busy girl, Angela,’ he said, watching her scroll down the screen.
That week was devoid of bookings. And she’d been planning to visit the boys in the near future anyway. Their lives were so hectic, it might only be a get-together over coffee, but at least she could see them in person and be reassured they were eating right and getting enough sleep.
‘How about the Monday?’ she suggested.
‘Great. Let’s have dinner.’
Oh dear. She had been thinking more of a casual lunch. Dinner would mean staying over at Vicky’s, but she had already prevaricated too much.
‘Dinner would be lovely.’
‘Good. We can confirm the details by text. That is, if you’re not sick of me sending messages.’
‘Not at all. They always cheer me up.’ It was true. He had been sending texts several times a day – just short notes to say hi and that he was thinking of her. Signed Alan A. Whenever she saw the code name, it made her smile.
Hand in hand, Angie and Geoff took the lift to the basement car park. Before they got into their respective cars, he put his arms around her and kissed her gently. As she inhaled his spicy scent, it was like coming home.
14 HER MYSTERY MAN
Angie had just stripped the beds and put the sheets in the washing machine when her mobile rang. It was Geoff.
‘Are you calling to cancel our dinner?’
‘Hardly. It’s just that I was missing you. So I thought I’d give you a quick call between clients.’
Phil used to phone her from the hospital in quiet moments – not that there were many of those in the emergency department.
‘I’m glad you did. And thank you for the text messages.’
‘If you moved to Flynns Bay permanently, we could see each other in person. Have you given it any further thought?’
‘I have commitments here, Geoff.’
‘The boys have their own lives, Angela. You need to do the same thing. You could be very happy here.’ Whenever he addressed her as Angela and made serious statements of that kind, she felt like a child being berated for a misdemeanour. She changed the subject. ‘How’s your family?’
‘I had Elizabeth and her husband over for dinner last weekend. But I don’t see the other two.’
‘How do you feel about that?’
‘Sad. Angry. Twenty years ago my first wife took the children and moved to Melbourne. I might have fought for joint custody except that Diana didn’t want them. In fact, she didn’t even want Elizabeth once she was born. Postnatal depression. Then it turned into mental illness. You can’t imagine what I had to put up with. Anyway, I shouldn’t burden you with this, Angela. What did you call it? Old stuff I should throw away.’
‘It’s not a burden, Geoff. That’s the basis of a good friendship. Being able to vent from time to time.’
‘Is that what our relationship is, Angela? Just a friendship?’
‘What we have, Geoff, is a friendship with intriguing potential.’
‘When will we turn the unrealised potential into a reality?’
Angie laughed. ‘Let’s just see how things unfold.’
‘Angela, do you recall when you said you didn’t have a boyfriend? Are you sure there isn’t someone in Sydney?’
‘I can say, quite unequivocally, there is no boyfriend in Sydney. The only Sydney man with whom I’ve ever been romantically involve
d was my husband.’ It was the literal truth. Jack Parker had been a secret affair lasting a single Millbrooke summer. As for Richard, he’d never counted as a boyfriend, let alone a lover.
‘I’m sorry for interrogating you like that. You must think I’m a jealous prat.’
‘Of course not. And I don’t blame you for asking.’
She couldn’t very well be upset at his questions when she’d already told him so many lies herself.
For someone who used to pride herself on being honest, she had become an expert at spinning the facts, not to mention concocting blatant untruths. And the longer she procrastinated about telling him the real story, the worse it became. She would have to come clean at their dinner in Sydney.
When Angie arrived at the café, Richard was already seated at their table by the window.
‘I didn’t think you were coming.’
‘I had a phone call.’
‘Was it from your older man?’
‘Maybe.’
‘How was the rendezvous at his place?’
She was about to tell him to mind his own business, when she decided it wouldn’t hurt to say: ‘Lovely. He cooked soft-shell crab.’
‘A cook as well as a millionaire. You’ve done well for yourself.’
‘He’s a very nice person.’
‘When is he coming to Millbrooke so we can check him out? Or has he already made a private visit?’
‘He leads a very busy life. I doubt whether he’ll be able to come here.’
‘Is he a politician? Now that you’re contemplating political life, it would be fitting to have a partner in the same game.’
‘He’s not a politician and I have no intention of making him my partner.’
‘Only kidding. Anyway, I know he’s a doctor. A Macquarie Street specialist. An old friend who’s always hankered after you.’
A Place of Her Own Page 16