by Fiona Lowe
‘No worries,’ he said, tilting his head as if he was trying to remember something.
‘I hope you enjoy your stay in Billawarre and all the planned activities.’
He laughed and the sound was filled with humour and tinged with chagrin. It made her feel as though she’d been locked out of a private joke. A shiver shot up her spine. ‘Did I say something funny?’
‘No.’ His tone was serious. He rubbed the back of his neck as if the sun had burned his skin and it was now itching and peeling. ‘It’s just … last time I was here I wasn’t welcomed quite so enthusiastically.’
‘I’m sorry to hear that,’ she offered up automatically, the manners that had been ingrained in her from childhood coming to the fore. ‘I hope this time we can reverse your opinion of our town. We’re hosting a breakfast tomorrow and I hope you can come.’
‘Will you be there?’
Something in the way he asked made her flash hot and cold. ‘Yes.’ She found she needed to clear her throat. ‘I’ll be in the kitchen but do come and say hello.’
‘Who will I ask for?’
‘Edwina.’
‘Jesus.’ He sagged against the car, his face suddenly pallid and grey as his brown eyes intently searched her face. ‘Edwina Mannering?’ His voice cracked over her name. ‘Eddy?’
He used his nickname for her so softly and so reverently that she was hurled back in time to their last night together forty-eight years ago. A night when the full moon had illuminated his face and his love for her. It was the last time she’d ever been truly happy.
CHAPTER
4
‘Take blood cultures,’ Harriet instructed her registrar, Blake, over the phone as she opened the door to accept the delivery of champagne. ‘And call me back when you have the results.’ She rang off without saying goodbye and immediately indicated to the truck driver where he should unload the boxes.
It was the day before Edwina’s party and Harriet had a to-do list worthy of an Olympic event. With razor-sharp prioritising, she was determined to clear it by day’s end. For efficiency’s sake, she’d dispatched James to Geelong to collect Charlotte from school. Her daughter was now officially on school holidays and home for the next two weeks. The thought of James driving to Geelong reminded her of last Friday when the two of them were supposed to have driven to Nagambie together. After all her plans and anticipation, it hadn’t eventuated. A pang of disappointment laced with lost opportunity slugged her yet again.
While they’d been packing the car for the trip, James had received a phone call about some council crisis or other. He’d ranted and raved about the moronic people he was required to work with and then stayed back to sort out the mess. Harriet had done her own share of fuming over the councillors’ ineptitude and driven to Nagambie alone. James had finally arrived on Saturday just before Charlotte’s race and, of course, he’d been instantly absorbed into the crowd of Harriet’s old school friends, who adored him. Between time spent at the regatta, the evening’s cocktail party in Melbourne and then the rowers’ luncheon at school on Sunday, she’d scarcely had any time alone with him. Her plans of seducing him in the luxurious Melbourne hotel she’d booked for them had taken a hit when he’d collapsed in an exhausted heap on the feather-top mattress.
This week had been no better. She’d put herself on the weekday on-call roster so she had the weekend free for Edwina’s party and she’d spent most nights at the hospital due to a cluster of emergencies. So this weekend was it. Come hell or high water, even if she had to tie James down, they were going to have sex. An anticipatory tingle shot through her and she smiled. The idea of tying him down was quite exciting and it might just be the sort of thing they needed to recharge their languishing sex life. It was a shame she hadn’t thought of tying him up earlier, because then she’d have had time to order something. Billawarre didn’t run to an adult shop but luckily she had a vast collection of silk scarves. One of those would do the trick nicely, thank you very much.
Her phone buzzed and she checked her email, rolling her eyes at the school’s efficiency in sending the term’s invoice before the students had even stepped off the campus. She forwarded it to James—he handled all the bill paying—and instead opened the one with the subject line, Student Academic Progress Report. Clicking through to the school’s online portal, she located Charlotte’s name, selected the current year, semester one reports, and quickly scanned the results.
She audibly gasped at the dramatic plunge in marks, the astonishingly poor attitude assessment and the less than stellar quality of work. It was as if she was reading the report of a completely different child from the one who’d got a glowing progress report at the end of the fourth week of term. What the hell had happened?
No, no, no. Not again. Not now. There’d been a couple of periods when Charlotte was twelve and fourteen where she’d lost focus. On both occasions, Harriet had been gripped with a real fear that Charlotte may be similar to Edwina. That had been enough to propel her to cajole, push and threaten Charlotte to keep her on track. The last two years had been drama-free, with Charlotte showing signs of being as focused as herself. Harriet had finally relaxed, concluding that puberty must have been the culprit of those momentary lapses.
As she re-read the report, a shot of acid burned her stomach. Charlotte couldn’t afford to lose focus in her vital VCE year; not when she needed an ATAR of at least 98.5. Anger surged in over Harriet’s stupefaction; a latent fury at the school for not having notified her earlier about this drastic drop in marks and work ethic. She brought up the number of Charlotte’s housemistress in her contact list and stabbed the name with her finger. While the phone rang, she planned a vicious tirade on duty of care.
‘Hello, Harriet.’ Bella Moretti’s calm voice carried down the line. ‘How can I help?’
‘I’ve just read Charlotte’s report.’
‘Ah.’ The sound was soft and knowing. ‘If it’s any consolation, you’re the fourth rowing parent I’ve spoken to this morning. I do understand it’s a shock when Charlotte’s always achieved such high marks but honestly, given the hours they’re expected to train, something always gives. In most cases it’s the academics.’
‘I managed both,’ Harriet said hotly as she paced across the Italian marble tiles of the l’Orangerie, unable to stand still.
Bella didn’t skip a beat. ‘Fortunately, term one’s short and Charlotte’s got the holidays to revive, reenergise and catch up. All her teachers have spoken with her and together they’ve devised a holiday study program. If she follows that she’ll start the new term back on track and,’ she gave a light laugh, ‘disaster averted.’
The quietly spoken words were a balm to Harriet’s shock and indignation. ‘So there are other girls in the eight in a similar situation?’
‘She’s not alone. We really do expect a lot from our young people so it’s not surprising this sort of thing happens. It’s early in the year and if she works hard from now on she’ll be back on track. The holidays are the perfect opportunity to discuss with her how to balance extracurricular activities in the coming terms.’
Harriet decoded the meaning. ‘Oh, God. She’s not still talking about auditioning for the school play, is she?’
‘Actually, I was talking about the parties,’ Bella said with a sigh. ‘Their impact spreads far beyond Saturday night, with the effects being felt through to weepie Wednesday.’
‘Charlotte will need to significantly improve her marks before I’ll be giving permission for any weekend leave next term,’ Harriet said tersely. ‘Thank you for the chat.’
‘My pleasure. Enjoy having Charlotte home for the holidays.’
Harriet’s phone rang as soon as she’d hung up from Bella and she took the call from her practice manager, trying not to sigh. ‘Debbie.’
‘Hi, Harriet, sorry to bother. I know you’re busy with the party preparations and—’
‘What’s the problem?’ Harriet asked, trying to keep the loquacious woman on t
rack.
‘I’ve been checking the bank statements and I’ve got a query about a series of payments.’
Hundreds of payments went through the practice each month and Debbie was responsible for the bulk of them. ‘Which ones?’ Harriet asked, walking into the laundry and opening the linen cupboard, all the while wishing the woman would get to the point.
‘They’re payments for AAB Medical and they vary from a few hundred dollars to eight thousand.’
Harriet lifted a pile of plush handtowels from the stack. ‘Debbie,’ she said, not bothering to hide the irritation from her voice, ‘that’s the company we purchase all our supplies from.’
‘We use AB Medical supplies.’
‘Yes and they merged with another company and changed their name, remember?’ A thought struck her. ‘God. They’re not double billing us, are they?’
‘I don’t know. The thing is, I can’t find any invoices from AAB and I’m certain I haven’t paid them. That’s why I’m ringing. To check if for some reason you’d paid them.’
‘I leave all that to you.’ A chill rippled through Harriet. ‘You haven’t left the computer logged in so someone else in the office could access the accounts, have you?’
‘No.’ Debbie’s indignation burned down the line. ‘Of course not.’
‘Sorry,’ Harriet said carefully. Office politics really wasn’t her strong suit. ‘Ring this new company and get them to resend the invoices. We’ll go from there. There’s probably a perfectly reasonable explanation and I’m betting the name change is the culprit. I’ll see you at the party tomorrow.’
Slipping her phone into her pocket, she walked back into the kitchen and saw Nya standing by the sink, obviously waiting for her. The woman had been cleaning all morning to make Miligili glow for tomorrow night’s festivities.
‘Do you need something, Nya?’
The diminutive woman’s hands fluttered nervously in front of her chest. ‘I’d like to be paid, please.’
Harriet didn’t follow. As today was an extra shift to help prepare for the party, she’d been the one to pay Nya. Her gaze drifted to the now clean and empty island bench. ‘I put the money in the usual place for you.’
‘That’s not the money I’m talking about.’
Harriet frowned, not understanding, and a bubble of exasperation formed in her gut. Why today? Nya had worked for them for years but at least once a year there was an uncomfortable situation around money. After the last misunderstanding, Harriet had taken to noting down the hours Nya worked so they were both on the same page.
‘What money are you talking about?’
‘The last two weeks.’
Nothing out of the ordinary had happened in the last two weeks. ‘Nya, Mr Minchin leaves your money in the kitchen for you each week.’
The woman’s nodding head stopped moving. ‘But there’s been no money this last two weeks. I thought he just forgot and you’d pay today.’
A vague memory of seeing cash on the bench as she left for work came back to her. Was that two weeks ago? Probably. What about the Wednesday just past? She couldn’t remember. ‘Mr Minchin definitely paid you two weeks ago.’
‘No,’ Nya said determinedly. ‘He did not.’
‘I saw the money on the bench, Nya.’
The woman pursed her lips and Harriet recognised the adamant reaction, the one that preceded Nya digging her heels in and refusing to cooperate. With her mother’s party tomorrow she really couldn’t afford to have Nya offside. ‘Fine,’ she said putting down the towels and stalking into the study to retrieve her handbag.
She returned to the kitchen and pulled notes from her purse before slapping them into Nya’s hand. ‘But I’ll be talking to Mr Minchin about this and if he says he left the money then this conversation isn’t over.’
‘I’ll take these towels for the bathrooms, yes?’ Nya picked up the towels as if they’d been talking about them rather than squabbling over money.
‘Thank you, Nya,’ Harriet said, filling the kettle and thinking that doing a complicated bowel resection was a hell of lot easier than juggling staff. Her male colleagues had it easy—their thoughts rarely turned to anything domestic and if they did, they just asked their wife to take care of it.
She heard the sound of tyres on gravel and smiled. James. Darling man. There might be days when having a wife would be handy but she had a husband who understood her career and did his best to share the load. Walking to the large sliding doors, she waved through the glass to her husband and her daughter and immediately noticed the absence of bright yellow learner plates on the windscreen of the car. Charlotte usually grabbed as many driving hours as she could, keen to accrue the massive one hundred and twenty–hour requirement before her eighteenth birthday in May.
‘Not driving today?’ Harriet asked as she gave her daughter a welcome-home kiss.
‘Too tired,’ Charlotte replied flatly as she walked into the house and collapsed on the couch. ‘All I’m going to do these holidays is sleep.’
Harriet folded her arms and caught her daughter’s gaze, slightly taken aback by the dark rings under her Mannering-blue eyes. ‘Sleep and study.’
Charlotte’s arms rose in the air before falling back against the dark green Chesterfield. ‘Jeez, Mum. I only just walked through the door.’
‘Give her a couple of days off, H,’ James said quietly as he carried Charlotte’s bags inside. ‘After Mardi’s party, you’ll get stuck into your school work, won’t you, sweetheart?’
Charlotte gave her father a grateful smile. ‘Yes, Dad. Meanwhile, I didn’t have breakfast and I’m starving. Will you make me a ham and cheese croissant, Daddy dearest?’
‘It’s a bit close to lunch for that,’ Harriet said, thinking of the ingredients she had in the fridge for a chicken Caesar salad. ‘Why didn’t you have breakfast? You know it’s the most important meal of the day.’
‘And welcome home, Charlie,’ Charlotte mumbled before shooting to her feet. ‘God. I’m barely through the door, Mum, and you’re at me. I’m going to my room to starve in peace. Call me when the healthy lunch is being served.’ She flounced down the corridor and the slam of her bedroom door echoed up the long hallway.
‘Good going,’ James said, picking an apple from the bowl and biting into it with a loud crunch.
‘What?’ It wasn’t like James to criticise her. ‘You know she should have had breakfast and this outburst is the perfect example of why. Now she’s hungry. She’s got low blood sugar, she’s irrational and we have to deal with the fallout. Honestly, she’s her own worst enemy. And have you seen her report? Those marks? I tell you, come Monday, that girl’s knuckling down to some serious study.’
Harriet waited for James to murmur his agreement but all he said was, ‘She’s not you.’
‘No,’ Harriet said. ‘But she can be.’
‘And if she doesn’t want to be?’
She stared at James and blinked before realising he was cracking a joke. She laughed and touched his cheek. ‘Thank you, I needed that. It’s been a total shit of a morning. I had a funny conversation with Nya. She said you haven’t left her any money for a fortnight. I know I saw the cash two weeks ago but did you forget on Wednesday?’
‘In ten years, have I ever forgotten?’ He picked up his keys. ‘I have to get to the office.’
Harriet barely heard him as a haze of angry vermillion blurred her vision. Of course James hadn’t forgotten. ‘I can’t believe Nya stood here in this kitchen and told me you hadn’t paid her.’ The full impact of the deceit hit her and she groaned. ‘Oh, God, I’ll have to sack her. Today. Right on top of Edwina’s party and then there’s the whole process of finding someone else.’
‘Don’t fire her,’ James said emphatically as he bounced his keys in his hand. ‘Hell, for years she’s gone above and beyond. Okay, for some reason she’s needed some extra cash and she found an inventive way of getting it but think of it as a bonus. Just let it go.’
Harriet wasn’t
so certain. ‘It’s not the money, James, it’s the lie. How can I trust someone who lies to me?’
‘Unless you want this party to be a disaster, you’re going to have to find a way.’ He opened the door and disappeared into the noon heat.
* * *
The bell rang and, over the cheers of the entire school community, the principal wished everyone a very happy holiday. The children scattered, leaving the teachers to wander back to their classrooms and do a final tidy up before they could relax into two lovely weeks of relative freedom. Georgie figured she really only had one week. In many ways her week in Billawarre was going to be a lot like school, only she’d be the little kid being bossed around by the big ones. On one level she loved her sisters. On another, they drove her nuts.
‘Knock, knock.’
She looked up from the archive box she was packing to see Ben leaning casually against the doorframe, his gaze fixed on her. With his hands in his pockets, his weight on his left leg and his right crossed over it, he exuded the confidence of a man comfortable in his own skin. His lips curved in a smile that combined pleasure and relaxed charm.
A genuine shot of joy whizzed through her. ‘Hey.’
It was two weeks since she’d telephoned him and cancelled their bike ride. At the time, he had sounded understanding but he hadn’t suggested they reschedule and she’d been too worried about Charlotte to think beyond the moment. Since then, he’d been dividing his time between two schools and she’d hardly seen him to say more than hi and bye in the staff room.
‘Have you been working here today?’
He shook his head. ‘I finished at Fitzroy Primary at lunchtime and I thought I’d call in and catch you before you leave.’ He pushed off the doorjamb and walked inside, ducking to avoid taking out the cardboard spiral artwork she’d strung around the room. ‘How’s your niece?’
She pressed the lid onto the archive box and gave him an honest answer. ‘I really don’t know. When I called you, I’d just put a teenager to bed who was so hysterical and distraught she couldn’t string a sentence together. A totally different young woman woke me up at six o’clock the next morning holding a cup of tea. She looked and sounded perfectly normal and she asked me to take her back to school so she could arrive in time for the rowing regatta.’