by Fiona Lowe
Harriet didn’t even glance at her watch. ‘Hell, yes.’
Her middle sister stared at her for a moment and then burst out laughing. ‘Just when I think I have you pegged, you go and do something like this.’
Harriet often had no idea what Xara was talking about and now was no different. ‘What?’
Xara’s eyes widened in pretend shock. ‘Break your own rigid rules? I thought the world came to an end if cake was served before the speeches. If you’ve told me once you’ve told me ten times, the speeches can’t start before ten.’
Harriet’s chin shot up. ‘If Edwina can break the rules by bringing an uninvited guest, then we can start the speeches early and eat cake.’ She spun around to the twins. ‘Come on, boys. Finish that game. It’s time to sing “Happy Birthday” to Mardi.’
She was on her way back to the bar to give the heads-up to the wait staff to pour champagne for the birthday toast when Debbie stopped her.
‘Lovely party, Harriet. The house looks amazing as always.’
‘Thank you.’ Harriet smiled at her business manager, thinking she looked different somehow. She was used to seeing Debbie in her work uniform of either black or navy blue pants and a contrasting blouse monogrammed with the practice’s logo. Tonight, Debbie wore a deep purple dress with a skirt that swirled around her thick waist in a very flattering way. ‘That colour and style really suits you.’
The woman beamed. ‘Thanks. I thought it was time to shake things up a bit and get noticed by Erica.’
‘Did it work?’
She giggled in the way all women do when they’ve met someone and are dreaming of possibilities. ‘We’re going on a bush walk tomorrow.’
The lesbian pool wasn’t huge in a town the size of Billawarre and Debbie had been alone for a couple of years since her long-time partner had left her for a horse trainer in Hamilton. Harriet felt for her; every woman deserved a partner who made her feel like she could take on the world. James had always made her feel that way.
Not so much recently.
She closed her mind to the unwelcome thought and the even more odious one that while she was in a personal drought, her widowed mother, at the age of sixty-five, was apparently getting plenty of sex. Instead, she focused on her post-party plan, becoming even more determined to make it happen. The moment this disastrous evening was over, she was tying James up and having her way with him.
A thick, warm feeling rolled through her, settling between her legs with an insistent and delicious throb. God, she wanted to push everyone out the door right this minute and drag James to bed. Actually, the couch would be far enough.
‘Um, Harriet?’
‘Hmm?’ She half listened, not quite ready to abandon the delicious buzz of excitement that was making her feel light and carefree.
‘Can you come in early on Monday? I want to run through the accounts with you now I’ve got those invoices from AB Medical supplies.’
Her lust instantly flatlined. ‘So they have been double billing us?’
Debbie shook her head. ‘No, it’s more complicated than that. AB Medical’s invoices all match up with our payments. It’s AAB Medical that’s the issue. I did some digging and I can’t find any evidence that the company exists.’
Harriet’s stomach rolled and acid shot up to burn the back of her throat. ‘Then what are those payments? Where’s the money going?’
‘I’ve asked myself the same questions and all I can think is that it’s a shell company.’ Debbie wrung her hands. ‘There are only three people with access to the accounts. You, me and James.’
A hot flash of indignation heated her skin. ‘What are you implying?’
Debbie’s shoulders stiffened. ‘Don’t shoot the messenger, Harriet. I’m just stating facts. Someone’s taking money out of the account at regular intervals under the guise of fake payments.’
‘Obviously, we’ve been hacked,’ Harriet said authoritively, while at the same time trying to squash needles of doubt that Debbie was raising this problem to cover her own tracks.
‘To the tune of twenty-two thousand dollars.’
The amount stunned her but at the same time it made her blood boil. Someone was stealing her money. Money she worked damn hard to earn. ‘Have you contacted the bank?’
Debbie nodded. ‘They’ve frozen the account until we can sort things out.’
‘Good. Thanks. Don’t say anything about this to anyone. We’ll talk on Monday.’ It was official; there was now no way this night could possibly get any worse. ‘Excuse me, Debbie, but I have go to and give a happy birthday speech and toast my mother.’
Lucinda had arranged Georgie’s amazing cupcakes on a five-layer tower stand and placed a tiny red heart on each one. At the very top she’d positioned a slab of white chocolate and inscribed Edwina’s name and Happy 65th Birthday in curly writing. Brown and white wired fondant stars burst out from behind the greeting, making it look like exploding fireworks. The cakes on their white cloth–draped table were both a centrepiece as well as fabulous cake art. People had been commenting all evening and Harriet would happily talk about it ad infinitum if it kept the conversation well away from Edwina and Doug.
As she walked past the alcove that was formed by the turret that had been added to the house in 1901, she heard a raised male voice say, ‘That’s bullshit.’ Wondering who’d had too much to drink, she stopped and turned, ready to smooth the situation. The last thing she needed was a drunken scene.
She blinked at the sight in front of her, willing it to change. James had his back to the lead-lined windows, his backside casually resting on the wide windowsill. It was his askew tie, dishevelled hair and gleaming white knuckles gripping the sill that told her he was far from relaxed. She recognised the profiles of the three men facing him. They were standing in a half circle, filling the outer rim of the alcove and blocking the exit.
‘The cheque for the respite-care house has been in the mail for five weeks, James,’ Steve said with an edge to his usually calm voice. ‘I’ve spoken to Kevin Duncan at the council and he said it was processed on time and both of you signed it. In fact, you apparently offered to hand deliver it to me. So where the hell is it?’
‘I was going to drive out to the farm but things got crazy with the golf weekend and then the car rally so I posted it,’ James said equably. ‘I think it’s safe to say that it must have got lost in the mail. I’ll set things in motion to cancel the cheque and draw up another one.’
‘Don’t bother with another cheque. I want the money direct debited on Monday,’ Steve said coolly. ‘In fact, I want to be there to see it happen.’
‘Mate, I understand you’re frustrated. Hell, so am I, but coming in to council and standing over an employee isn’t going to help matters.’ James spread out his hands, palms up. ‘You’re going to have to trust me on this.’
Steve stiffened and puffed out his chest. ‘That’s getting increasingly hard to do.’
A rip of anger bolted along Harriet’s veins. She didn’t recognise the belligerent man inside Steve. In the fifteen years she’d known him, her brother-in-law had always being laid back and easygoing. She couldn’t recall him ever being confrontational and he’d never taken advantage of family ties in any situation. If she’d known accosting James was his plan, she’d never have taken the damn water bottle to Xara. She took a step, intending to interrupt the conversation and support James’s reasonable response.
‘I wouldn’t trust him as far as I could throw him,’ David McGowan said gruffly. ‘There’s something dodgy going on with the rural relief fund too.’
Harriet’s heel fell back to the floor as if pulled by a force stronger than her. As much as she disregarded most things that David said—and she badly wanted to jettison his statement out of hand—somehow she couldn’t totally ignore it.
‘Is this another one of your conspiracy theories, David?’ James said, rolling his eyes. ‘As I’ve told you more than once, I’ve audited the books and I’ve explained the
discrepancy.’ His mouth curled. ‘It’s not my fault one of your volunteers can’t add up.’
The tension gripping Harriet’s stomach evaporated and she gave herself a shake, feeling foolish for having been tempted to believe David. This time she didn’t hesitate. ‘Gentlemen, I hate to interrupt but it’s time—’
‘So the cheque got lost in the mail and a volunteer can’t add up,’ Lewis said in a tone that would freeze fire. ‘I’m all ears for your explanation on the lack of dividends from the McCluskey development.’
James sighed, a long, put-upon sound that filled the small space. ‘I know we all had high hopes about that development, Lewis, but sales have been slower than expected. You knew the risks when you invested.’
Harriet stared at James, her thoughts a tumbled mixture of confusion and surprise.
‘That’s not what your wife told me,’ Lewis said, looking directly at Harriet. ‘You told me the take-up had exceeded expectations.’
James shot her a cautioning look and uncertainty whipped her. She fought it hard with the well-founded premise—the one their marriage was based on—that James didn’t lie.
‘Perhaps, Lewis, I misunderstood. I’m not privy to the intricate details of James’s business.’
‘The early sales were promising,’ James said reflectively, ‘and at the time I told Harriet it was looking like a real winner.’ He nodded at Lewis as if seeking a shared understanding. ‘As a husband, I try to protect her from the bad stuff.’
A wave of goosebumps rose on Harriet’s arms. It was as if he was talking about her parents’ marriage, not theirs. Her father had always protected her fragile mother from bad news and, in many ways, from the real world, but she and James had always been equal partners. They discussed things. They shared information.
She realised uneasily that it had been a long time since James had told her any in-depth details about his business. Was he speaking the truth now? She immediately threw off the unworthy doubt. Of course he was telling the truth. She had no reason to doubt him, only to wonder why he’d stopped telling her things.
She dredged her memory and recalled the conversations they’d shared over the last few months, but they’d been more about her seeking his advice regarding financial investments and her medical practice. Given his expertise in the area, she generally followed his recommendations. He managed her superannuation fund like he managed many others in the district and he regularly showed her the growth statements—the good news.
She knew her husband. How could you be married to someone for twenty years and not know them? And yet the sheen of sweat on his forehead and his behaviour earlier in the evening unsettled her. His general air of disconnectedness over the last few weeks that she’d put down to mismatching schedules unsettled her. Their lack of sex …
She became aware of a commotion behind her—a man yelling, people whispering loudly—and she swung around to see what was going on.
Rory Bateman, a former farmer and now a paraplegic after a quad-bike accident, was wheeling in fast toward them, so fast he almost knocked into the back of David McGowan.
‘There you are, Minchin, you weaselly bastard.’
‘Rory!’ Shocked at his unexpected and uninvited arrival, it took Harriet a moment to find her voice. When she did, she injected it with her best acerbic tone, one that had reduced interns to tears. ‘This is a private party.’
A silence loaded with fascinated curiosity and anticipation descended over the crowd. Everyone stilled, greedy and eager to watch things play out.
‘Yeah, well,’ the man snarled, ‘your husband’s been avoiding me for weeks so excuse me for gatecrashing.’
‘James will see you in his office on Monday morning,’ she said curtly. Her hands reached for his chair. ‘I will see you out.’
With the skill born from three years in a wheelchair, Rory spun sideways away from her and the three men parted to allow him room to enter the circle. He pointed at James, his face contorted in rage. ‘What the hell have you done with my million-dollar payout?’
‘Minchin,’ Lewis said loudly and clearly as if he was addressing a room full of doctors at a cardiac conference. ‘It’s all starting to add up to something rotten in the town of Billawarre and the money trail leads directly to you.’
Harriet wanted to scream, You’re wrong! She wanted to throw herself forward and defend James. More than anything, she wanted to banish these men and their evil accusations from her home. As she opened her mouth to speak, she caught sight of dawning realisation on Debbie’s face. Up against the other accusations of missing monies, the transfer of twenty-two thousand dollars into a shell company now seemed to point to James.
Her heart sped up as memories flashed across her mind: his ranting all those weeks ago about council’s ineptitude when she’d asked about the respite-care cheque. Nya’s firm insistence that James hadn’t paid her. James’s terse reply that he had and his insistence she not sack Nya for lying. Her mouth dried. Nya hadn’t been lying. It was James who’d lied.
He’s lying now.
No. Not possible.
But her chest burned and she struggled to breathe as the truth pressed in on her heavy as lead and just as poisonous. She didn’t want to believe James was capable of such acts but no matter which way she came at it, how hard she tried to find a way around it, the truth glowed in front of her as bright and as white as an incandescent searchlight. James was a thief.
Her blood dropped to her feet and silver spots cascaded in front of her eyes. Her knees threatened to buckle and she gulped, pushing down on the rising tide of champagne and salmon. She felt a hand pressing lightly on her back and she looked up to see Georgie and Xara flanking her, their faces creased with bewilderment and concern. She tried to speak but her throat was so tight it felt closed and her mouth seemed disconnected from her brain.
‘These accusations are libellous.’ James spoke loudly and from pale lips.
‘They’re bloody well true,’ David said, turning to the crowd for confirmation. ‘Anyone else here invested with Minchin and now missing money?’
‘He told me the ATO had stuffed up my tax return,’ Greg Quartermaine called out, raising his fist and shaking it. ‘You fucking prick, Minchin.’
‘Oh, God,’ Helen Papadopoulos wailed before slumping onto a chair. ‘When Con got cancer he invested everything with him so I’d be looked after.’
The silence of the room broke with accusations, shocked concern and a certain morbid delight. Snippets of conversations reached Harriet, flowing around her like the eddying and sucking treachery of floodwaters.
‘I always said his promised returns were too good to be true.’
‘Do you think there’ll be a fire sale? I quite fancy his classic Porsche.’
‘This has to be the most entertaining party they’ve ever thrown.’
‘We’ll need a new candidate for preselection.’ Phillip Ciobo’s disgusted voice rose above the rest and, like a slap from an open palm, stung Harriet with the full force of the situation.
Edwina and Charlotte materialised beside her. As expected, her mother’s face was pale with shock and she didn’t say a word. They rarely said anything significant to each other on a good day, so this wasn’t unusual, irrespective of the fact that her life was falling apart. What was unexpected was the steely glint in her mother’s vivid blue eyes. It rippled the waters of Harriet’s stunned stupor.
‘Mum?’ Charlotte’s voice sounded less like the self-assured young woman she’d been earlier this evening and more like a worried little girl. ‘Is what they’re saying true?’
‘All of you,’ James yelled, sweeping his arm dismissively in a large arc, ‘leave my house immediately before I call the police.’
‘Oh, that’s rich,’ Lewis said sarcastically. ‘I think we’re the ones going to be calling the police.’
James held out his hands to Charlotte and Harriet, smiling and urging them to come and stand next to him. She knew the strategy well, the political plo
y of presenting a united front to the world. She knew the power of projecting a tight-knit family given it was what the Mannerings and Chirnwells had done for generations. It was a sure-fire way to cast doubt amid gossiping rumours.
She’d happily stood hand in hand with James many times when he’d run for mayor, but back then being the good and supportive wife had been effortless; she’d believed in him and in what he could do for the district. Right now her mind was a mess of tangled, divergent thoughts and she didn’t know what or whom she believed.
He stole from me.
He allegedly stole from me.
Charlotte glanced between Harriet and James, worried and hesitating. Suddenly, the idea of photos of Charlotte standing next to her father appearing in the local paper or on the internet before she had all the facts in front of her appalled Harriet. She shot out an arm, catching Charlotte’s hand in hers and stalling her.
‘Thank you everyone for coming tonight and helping me celebrate my birthday.’ Edwina’s beautifully cultured voice, with its well-rounded vowels, boomed through the speakers and the room fell instantly silent. ‘It’s certainly the most memorable birthday party I’ve had, but all good things must to come to an end. Please pick up a delicious chocolate cupcake on your way out and have a safe drive home.’
At that moment, as her world as she knew it crumbled around her, Harriet experienced an unfamiliar and almost foreign appreciation of her mother.
CHAPTER
8
‘The kids are asleep,’ Xara said wearily, walking into the bedroom and kicking off her heels. ‘What a night.’
Steve paused his pacing, stopping halfway along the length of the built-in wardrobes. ‘Fuck, Xara. I’m sorry I blew up your mother’s party.’
She shook her head slowly, still struggling to come to grips with what had happened. ‘I think James did that all on his own.’
‘Yeah, but if I’d known what was going to happen …’ He unzipped her dress for her. ‘I should have gone to see him at the office but I was just so pissed off with the delay. I wanted to have it out with him there and then.’