by Fiona Lowe
Harriet had experienced the same jaw-tensing sensation she got whenever a patient or relative became upset. She liked to fix things and as a surgeon she was very good at doing just that. There was no better high than fighting death and winning—slicing out cancer; easing pain; giving hope. The buzz that came from removing and repairing was addictive but when she couldn’t fix or mend, failure crept through her, casting doubt. She hated that. Right now she hated that she was the instrument of Nicki’s distress.
‘I wish I could keep you on but until the town has a change of heart, I’m at its mercy. You’ve seen the fall in patients and you’ve barely had anything to keep you occupied this week.’
‘Um, I could take my holidays. I’m owed two weeks.’
‘You could but I can’t promise there’ll be a job for you to come back to. If there’s a miraculous improvement then of course I’d rehire you but this town has a long memory. Right now everything’s still very raw. I think it will stay like this until after the court case.’
‘Um, when will that be?’ A flicker of hope had flared on Nicki’s pale face.
Harriet had hated that she was going to douse that hope like a fireman wielding a high-powered hose. ‘At the earliest, six months, but it’s likely to be as long as a year away. The police are still combing through documents, looking for more evidence.’ She’d cleared her throat against the familiar lump of fury, pain, distress and despair that rose up every time she thought about what James had done. ‘I’m not going to give you false hope. I don’t want you waiting around for a job that might never eventuate. I’ve written you a glowing reference and if you wish, I can make enquiries at the hospital about job openings.’ Oh, and won’t that be fun. You can do it at the same time you meet with the medical director to ask for increased hospital hours.
Four hours later, she was still regretting she’d made that offer to Nicki. Reg Davies would do everything he possibly could to make that meeting the most excruciating one of her life. He was still ticked off over her decision three years ago to drop back her public patient load and skew her practice toward predominantly private patients. Now she needed more public patients so she could work and pay her bills. He’d positively glow with gloating delight when she went cap in hand to see him and she knew exactly how much he’d make her squirm. He’d assign her every weekend for on-call work as if she was a registrar again and she’d have to take it. The only thing in her favour was the recent federal government funding to help whittle down surgical waiting lists—there was plenty of work in the hospital and although the patients could refuse to have her treat them, they had less choice than the private patients. They may just swallow their pride as she was swallowing hers.
Reg Davies wasn’t the only hospital employee who’d be delighting in her predicament. Every enemy she’d made—wittingly or unwittingly—over the last decade was now taking pleasure in her situation. Even her timid registrar had queried her over a decision today, which he’d probably regretted after the tongue-lashing she’d given him. Yes, her husband had upended her life and placed her in an unsteady financial situation. Yes, her social standing had lost more points than the Billawarre Panthers had lost in last year’s appalling season. Yes, she was estranged from her mother and her daughter, but she knew surgery and she knew it well. Right now, that was the one thing keeping her sane, but her workload was too light and she needed more of it.
The only upside to her diminished work hours was she had plenty of time to finesse her plans to try to keep Miligili. The message on her phone today had given flesh to that hope. She sliced open a box of water crackers and set them in a dish, positioning them next to a cheese platter that included a very ripe blue vein from Tasmania. After adding some pear paste, a handful of roasted almonds and a bunch of green grapes, she stepped back and surveyed her handiwork. The elegant white platter contrasted beautifully with the Baltic pine table and her grandmother’s gleaming silver cheese knife. She poured two glasses of pinot grigio, giving them time to lose a little of the chill and wake up the flavours.
She was just returning the bottle to the fridge when a knock sounded on the door. She grimaced. Odd how James’s moral compass had a totally new setting but his punctuality remained the same.
‘Come in.’
He strode through the door and into the small living space, heading straight to her as if he was going to kiss her hello. No way on God’s green earth, mate. She held out her arm, wrist cocked like a traffic cop, and he stopped abruptly, a look of discombobulation crossing his face.
‘No kiss hello? Okay. It’s hard to break a habit of a lifetime.’
‘Oh, I don’t know. You didn’t seem to have any trouble breaking the law-abiding habit.’ She gestured to the table. ‘Have a seat.’
Surprisingly, he didn’t fire a salvo back but instead sat and surveyed the table and the wine. ‘This looks very civilised.’
‘I thought we could try.’ She sat opposite him and cut a hunk of brie off the wheel.
‘Thanks for seeing me.’
She bit off the customary ‘That’s okay’ or ‘You’re welcome’ and got straight to the point. ‘Going by your voicemail, I believe you had a trip to Geelong for nothing.’
His polite façade faltered. ‘What the hell is going on? Why isn’t Charlotte back at school and why is she still at Glenora?’
She noticed flecks of silver in his hair that hadn’t been there a month ago. His blue eyes, which had always drawn and held her gaze, had paled and in the process lost their enticing power. The lines around his eyes were definitely deeper and had begun to carve into his temples. It appeared that crime aged a man both quickly and decisively.
‘You haven’t spoken to her?’
‘I’ve tried.’ His shoulders slumped. ‘She doesn’t want to see me and your mother isn’t helping. Edwina’s guarding her more closely than a eunuch guards a virgin.’
Harriet couldn’t stop the ironic laugh that spilled over her lips but she flinched as the sound bounced back to her. ‘Your daughter’s hardly that.’
He frowned. ‘Hardly what?’
‘Charlotte isn’t a virgin.’
He winced as if he’d just been punched in the stomach. ‘I don’t want to know that about my little girl.’
She took a slug of wine, knowing exactly what he meant but she refused to let him know she felt the same way. She had no intention of softening their daughter’s news or the way it was delivered. ‘You may wish to stick your head in the sand about her being sexually active but you won’t be able to ignore the results. She’s pregnant.’
For a moment James was ominously still and then his hands hit the table, sending the crockery rocking against the wood. ‘What the hell! How?’
She rolled her eyes. ‘Remember that party she wanted to go to in the second week of term? The one I said no to but you signed the exeat slip after she schmoozed you? Well, that bit of parenting backfired.’
‘Pregnant? Christ, that’s not what I wanted for her.’
She mustered everything she had to stay aloof and disconnected. The last thing she needed was to be tempted to bond with him over their mutual horror about the pregnancy. He’d lost all rights to sharing anything with her. His fingers tore at a patch of hair on the crown of his head and the uncharitable thought crossed her mind that it was thinner than it had been.
‘Fuck, H.’
‘I believe that is exactly what she was doing.’
He leaned forward and she caught the zip of the cologne she’d given him for Christmas, the cologne she always loved on him. Had loved. The bastard knew how she felt about that fragrance and he’d deliberately showered before coming over to see her. She knew from the tips of her hair to the painted nails of her toes that she had to keep one step ahead of him at all times in whatever this unnamed game was they were playing.
Right now though, sitting slumped and winded, he didn’t look like he was playing any games. He looked like a distraught father and his gaze implored her to reassure
him. ‘But you’re taking care of things, right? You know the best doctors to ask and after the abortion she’ll return to school.’
She leaned back, spinning the glass in her fingers and trying to keep her heart rate steady. It always galloped whenever she thought about Charlotte and Edwina. ‘She’s insisting on keeping the baby.’
‘That’s crazy. She’s a kid.’ His eyes narrowed. ‘What’s your game? Is this a way of getting to me?’
She gave a bark of laughter. ‘Has your foray into fraud made you paranoid, James? Of course I don’t want her to have a baby at eighteen. It’s Edwina who’s enabling her decision.’
‘You’re joking.’
She shook her head slowly.
‘None of this makes any sense.’
‘Actually, it does.’ The incandescent rage she felt for her mother made her pull a grape off the bunch with far more force than was required. ‘Charlotte has an unexpected ally supporting her and her choice. It appears your esteemed mother-in-law, the doyenne of Billawarre, got knocked up back in 1968. She was forced to give up the kid so now, forty-eight years too late, she’s taking a stand.’
‘Jesus.’ For a few moments, bewilderment played across his face, chasing itself in puzzled circles before rapidly clearing. His mouth curved up into a smile full of white teeth and devastating charm. ‘At least Edwina’s dirty little secret makes my misdemeanours slightly less conspicuous.’
Like a blast of liquid nitrogen, the blood in her veins chilled to icicles. ‘One can’t confuse a teenage pregnancy with fraud, James. They’re two very different beasts.’ She turned and reached for the manila folder she’d placed on the side table behind her. ‘Charlotte’s withdrawal from school solves the problem of how to find the money to pay the school fees.’
His face pinched. ‘She can’t give up school.’
‘No.’ She deliberately drank more wine. She intended to give off the air of being far more informed about their daughter’s life then she was and conveniently hide from James the fact that all her information about Charlotte currently came from Xara. ‘She has plans for her education.’
‘What plans? I’m her father. I should be involved.’
‘I think fathers who commit criminal offences automatically lose a certain amount of parental influence. Mind you, if she ever needs help with creative accounting, you’ll probably be her first port of call.’
His mouth thinned. ‘God, you’re a first-class bitch when you choose to be.’
‘I’m sorry,’ she said, her voice dripping sarcasm. ‘Am I incorrect in assuming you’re an expert at creative accountancy? So you’ve failed at that as well?’ She pushed the folder toward him. ‘Seeing as we’re talking about money …’
A flush started at his collar and quickly spread up his face, giving him the florid look of someone who drank far too much. ‘Your lawyer’s claim for your share of the property settlement is ridiculous. Hell, if Charlie’s not even living with you then I don’t need to pay you a cent for her support.’
She raised her brows. ‘That statement implies you actually have money to pay.’
A flicker of furtiveness lit up his eyes before fading quickly. Whether from guilt, secrecy or relief, she couldn’t tell, but it gave her pause. Had he stashed some funds somewhere? The Caymans? Switzerland? Was he hiding money to avoid it being seized? A sharp pain caught her between the ribs. That she thought him capable of doing something that low and despicable rammed home the fact that her marriage was truly over.
Before James’s duplicity, the concept of their marriage ending in divorce had never crossed her radar and yet now it was her reality. It hovered in the air she breathed, then it pressed down hard on her bones, dragging at her so heavily it almost impeded her movements. When she was alone she wept for the loss of their relationship. For almost a quarter of a century it had been such a source of pleasure and inspiration for her and now it was reduced to this bitter wheeling and dealing and loss of mutual respect.
She refused to show him how devastated she was that he’d torpedoed their life together and to that end, she clung to her anger. Telling herself that the honest, country-raised man she’d fallen in love with wasn’t the man sitting opposite her now stiffened her resolve. Somewhere along the way, James’s moral fibre had rewoven itself to the point where familiarity had vanished and now a stranger sat in his place. The divorce die had been cast the afternoon after her mother’s party when he’d blamed her for his financial impropriety.
‘All my accounts are frozen,’ he said tersely, ‘and you emptied the joint account. By rights, H, you should be the one paying me a weekly allowance.’
You’ll burn in hell before I do that. Using every gram of restraint she had in her, she didn’t rise to take his bait. She stayed focused on her plan, which doubled as her map, compass and torch in this heavily contested battle. She tapped the folder. ‘I have a proposal for you.’
The businessman in him sat up. ‘I’m listening.’
‘I want sole ownership of Miligili.’
He didn’t even blink. ‘I’m sure you do, but that’s sounding more like a demand than a proposal.’
‘My proposal is that you sign over your share of the house to me.’
He laughed. ‘Why would I do that?’
‘Oh, I don’t know,’ she said, linking her fingers together tightly to stop her hands from shaking. ‘Perhaps to protect your share of the house. If it’s in my name, your share can’t be pursued as part of a civil fraudulent conversion claim.’
‘You’ve been doing your legal homework,’ he said, fishing up a handful of almonds. The casual action belied the tension that riddled his body.
She had, although her lawyer didn’t know it. ‘If Miligili stays in joint names and we’re forced to sell, you don’t get any money and I’ll lose the house. We both end up losing.’
His slightly raised brows told her he didn’t totally buy her altruism. ‘The house and land is valued at three million,’ he said matter-of-factly. ‘If I sign it over, you immediately gain one-point-five million.’
‘One-point-five million that won’t be contested or lost. Isn’t it better I keep it safe for you?’
‘You’re asking me to trust you with that amount of money?’
Her chin shot up. ‘I’m not the one who broke the trust in our marriage.’
‘How about you just buy me out?’
When hell freezes over. Irrespective of the fact that at the moment, she couldn’t raise that sort of money, she believed he owed her ownership of the house for what he’d done to them. Miligili was her heritage, not his. It belonged to her far more than it belonged to him.
‘There’s the issue of my missing superannuation, the theft from the practice, and the large withdrawals earmarked for the mortgage repayments that never got paid.’ Years of working under pressure in highly charged situations kept her voice even but her heart thumped as hard and as fast as a labrador’s tail against bare boards.
He didn’t flinch or wince. ‘It doesn’t add up to one-point-five million.’
‘If you add interest, pain and suffering, I think it comes pretty damn close. The thing is, James, the initial charges laid against you are going to increase by a factor of ten. My deal is this. You sign over the house to me and I won’t tell the police about the theft of my super or the practice monies.’ She tilted her head in contemplation. ‘Surely reduced jail time is worth that?’
He considered her offer. ‘It’s not like I’ll get a year for every theft. I’ve been doing some legal research too, H, and in similar cases they bundle up the charges. I tell you what, I’ll sign Miligili over to you for the bargain rate of one million. How does that sound?’
She wanted to dive across the table and scratch his eyes out. ‘I don’t think so.’
He shrugged, sat back and crossed his arms. ‘Then you really don’t want Miligili badly enough.’
She’d thought the threat of jail time would move him but she’d been way off the mark—it was mo
ney that drove him. How had she lived with him for so long and not seen that? She’d thought his passion came from a combination of his desire to make money and his philanthropic endeavours but nothing about him now hinted at munificence. Time to tweak the plan. She zeroed in on his now evident personality flaw.
‘There’s no point me paying. It will just be taken off you like your share portfolio.’
‘It won’t if the money’s sent overseas.’
She didn’t know whether to high-five herself at her earlier prediction or sink into a pit of misery. ‘The police would be very interested in hearing about that.’
‘I doubt it. There’s no direct link between me and the money and no way to prove it.’ He shot her a crocodile smile. ‘So do you want Miligili or not?’
Cool. Calm. Detached. She repeated the mantra over and over because looking needy was weak and the weak got trampled on every time. ‘I do,’ she said thinking there was more than one way to skin a cat. She gave a long, put-upon sigh, hoping she could pull off her last gambit and make it look like she was doing him a favour. ‘I know you’re not happy with my lawyer’s opinion of what is a fair and equitable distribution of assets.’
He snorted. ‘That’s understating it.’
‘Which is where my proposal really comes in. There’s a way we can do this without involving the Family Court or any lawyers.’
He took the bait. ‘How?’
‘We act quickly. Choose a small conveyancing firm where we’re not known and sign a transfer of love, care and affection. This puts Miligili into my name. I’ll clear the two missed mortgage payments and the bank won’t object to the transfer. If you do this, I’ll absolve you of all financial responsibility to Charlotte and me.’
He studied her intently. ‘And you’ll call off your bitch of a lawyer.’
‘I will.’
‘I need more.’
She really didn’t want to sign anything promising him a share of the house down the track, a share she had no intention of giving him. ‘What?’