Whispers Through the Pines

by Lynne Wilding

  ‘To us,’ she toasted enthusiastically, sitting beside him.

  ‘To us,’ he repeated, not quite so warmly, as he took a deep gulp of the fizzy liquid.

  ‘You’ll move in here, of course.’ She wanted that. She could have him all to herself then, and it would tell anyone interested, which would be half the people on the island, that their relationship was serious.

  ‘I think it’s better if I don’t. She might use that against me later on, in the divorce.’ Personally, he didn’t believe that Jessica would, but he wasn’t quite ready to make that type of commitment. He wanted time alone, to think, to plan his next move, because he wasn’t giving up on the money, her money. Not yet.

  ‘But…’ Sue saw the determined look in his eye and let the matter drop. Patience, girl, patience. All she had to do was to wait a couple of months, and she could do that. Of course she could. ‘You know best, darling,’ she whispered in his ear. ‘We’ll just continue to be discreet.’

  ‘Okay.’

  ‘And don’t worry about her money,’ she said with a curl of her lip. ‘Let the bitch keep it. You’re oh! so clever, you’ll find a way to make your project happen once we’re back in Perth.’

  ‘Possibly,’ he agreed, ‘but it would be easier the other way. Now I’ll have to lobby more people in the medical field to make up the shortfall, and we’ll probably end up with a smaller share of the profits.’

  Sue didn’t like hearing that. She was getting rather fond of the mental picture she had of being a wealthy doctor’s wife at sometime in the future, living in a luxurious home and driving a prestige car. ‘I hadn’t thought of that,’ she said half to herself as she cuddled into his chest. ‘You know, you could try that other idea we talked about. You remember, having her declared incompetent.’

  ‘I threatened to,’ he said, rather proud of himself. ‘She didn’t appear to be overly fazed. Just challenged me to do my worst.’

  ‘Well, maybe you should, lover. You deserve that money, or at least a good chunk of it, and it would make things easier.’

  ‘I know, but…’

  ‘But what…?’

  ‘Jessica’s a well-respected barrister in Perth. The legal fraternity would be behind her and, trying to harass the money out of her, even if it’s legal, might harm my reputation.’ He looked at her. ‘And, whether I win or not, I’ll look like a moneygrubbing creep. Her legal eagles will make sure that I do.’

  ‘I see. Yes, there’s a risk to it but sometimes, when you’re playing for high stakes, as my useless father used to say, you have to take big risks.’

  ‘I don’t know…’ Uncertainty was evident in his tone. ‘And there’s Marcus. He wouldn’t support an incompetency claim.’

  Sue drank the champagne thirstily. ‘Oh, pooh, to Marcus. We’ll bring in a proper doctor,’ she emphasised the word proper, ‘a psychiatrist. His opinion would carry more weight than Hunter’s.’

  Simon made a grumpy sound in his throat and ran a hand through his hair. ‘I’m tired of the whole thing.’

  ‘Of course you are, it’s been traumatic for you. We’ll talk about it later,’ she soothed. She kissed him long and hard and slid her hand down his body until she reached his crotch and began to caress his telltale hardening. ‘Now, I wonder where you’re going to sleep tonight?’ Her eyes held an inviting glint.

  He grinned lasciviously. ‘Here, of course.’ He began to fondle her breast and, when he spoke, his tone was slightly husky. ‘We mightn’t get much sleep.’

  ‘Oohh, lovely!’

  After they’d made love twice and Simon had fallen into a heavy sleep, Sue, still restless, sat watching him for a while. A sense of triumph raced through her, as well as a degree of wonderment. Who would have thought it four months ago? Not even she could have dreamed that the course of her life would be changing so much. She got out of bed and, proudly naked, went to the kitchen and pulled out the half-empty bottle of champagne. Sitting on the lounge, she brought the bottle to her lips and drank deeply.

  Aahhh, wonderful. Some liquid slipped out the side of her mouth, ran down her cheek and onto her neck. She giggled as the fine stream tickled her skin. Continuing to drink, she sighed as the alcohol began its work, coursing through her, relaxing her. When the bottle was empty, but her need unfulfilled, she looked for more and found a bottle of brandy in the kitchen cupboard. Greedily she brought it to her lips and gulped it down as if she couldn’t get enough.

  By the time she’d gone through and emptied every ounce of alcohol in the apartment, she was paralytic.

  Sarah stood in a corner of the verandah, watching Jessica, admiring the manner in which she had held her emotions in check. Her composure was remarkable and, in a way, she reminded her of her employer, Cynthia Stewart. They both had class, a certain style about them. Unashamedly eavesdropping on Jessica’s conversation with Simon, she had felt anger at his whining, unmannerly responses. The man had not only proven himself to be weak, he was also stupid. He’d forsaken his wife for a woman who was little more than a scheming pisspot, and she expected him to rue the day he’d taken up with her. That he wanted Jessica’s fortune, of which she apparently had a great deal, angered Sarah, and she prayed he would not prevail in this regard. As far as she could see, Jessica was well rid of Dr Simon Pearce and all he stood for. She decided that without a moment’s hesitation.

  Even so, sympathy tugged at her for Jessica’s plight. Ending a marriage was something not done lightly, and she sensed that many hours of heartbreaking deliberation had gone on inside Jessica’s head before her decision was reached. Time, she knew, would heal the disillusionment, and there was Marcus…Yes, Marcus, of her own blood, who cared for Jessica very much and would make her a good mate, in time.

  Suddenly disliking the emotional pull on her, Sarah focused her attention on the painting, critically assessing how Jessica had filled in the fourth face. It was a fair likeness, she conceded, and ably painted.

  Aahh, Timothy. She shook her head as she looked at his face. Such a foolish young man and so unsuited to army life. She amused herself by recalling some of the things Maude had told her about him as they’d prepared meals and cleaned the Stewarts’ house.

  The second eldest in a family of eight, Timothy had been ‘pushed out of the nest’ because his parents had too many mouths to feed, and had been encouraged to join the army because the Queen’s forces would see him housed, fed and adequately clothed. But what a mismatch he had made in joining up with the likes of Waugh, Dowd and the wily McLean! Maude had told her that the three hardened soldiers had soon shown Timothy how to make the best of army life, how to shirk his duty when superiors weren’t vigilant and Timothy, naive, and desperate for friends because the other soldiers considered him a milksop, had hung on the older men’s every word.

  In hindsight she could see how easy it had been to turn Timothy to Waugh’s dark purpose the night they’d abducted her. Bullying and fear of reprisal had made it virtually impossible for him to go against their wishes. But in the doing, Timothy had signed his death warrant.

  For weeks she had watched Timothy try to cope with army life, once his mates were no longer around to protect him from other bullies in the company. They made daily life a living hell for the youth, relishing embarrassing, humiliating and rough-housing him, until he was isolated from all and sundry in the barracks.

  One day he had reported in sick and been told to return to his cot in the barracks. There, several hours later, a group of soldiers found him hanging from one of the rafters, stone cold dead. A note pinned to his tunic read:

  To my mother,

  Better the afterlife of hell than the continuing cruelty of a living one on Norfolk.

  May God forgive me, Timothy.

  He was buried beside Dowd in the part of the cemetery alloted for murderers and suicides, in unhallowed ground.

  With Timothy’s death, Sarah’s vengeance was sated and so began the long wait…for Jessica.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

 
; Jessica studied the several photographs she had taken of the Kingston settlement buildings and other places, trying to choose one as the subject for her next painting. Bloody Bridge, with its gruesome history—convicts had attacked a guard there when it was being built, killed him and hidden his body in the foundations of the bridge—would make an interesting subject. Its lichen-covered hand-hewn rocks set against the background of a carpet of lush grass and towering dark pines would transpose well into a watercolour.

  Her decision made, she prepared the paper and attached it to the easel.

  Then she began, with light pencil strokes, to sketch the subject.

  The work absorbed her, gave her a focus and helped to allay any depression which could have sprung up due to the break-up of her marriage. Had she been thinking about it, she would have admitted to a sense of relief that it was over, that the pretending, the agonising, the frustration caused by weeks of indecision were of the past. For a long time, probably on and off for several months, she had tried to pinpoint when things had started to go wrong between her and Simon. The seeds of discontent between them had been subtle, insidious and stretched back to when he had first become engrossed in his plans for a geriatrics complex.

  Initially she had thought it a good idea, until it began to dominate so much of his waking moments. There’d been meetings with architects, builders, financial people—the whole bit and, at the time, she hadn’t thought a great deal of it because she’d been involved with caring for newly born Damian. In retrospect, she saw that Simon hadn’t been able to keep his project in perspective. He had become obsessed by it to such a degree that she and Damian had been relegated to possessions to whom he carelessly gave affection and on whom he showered minimal interest, when he thought to, which hadn’t been often enough.

  And when she’d had her breakdown, he’d made it clear in his own inimitible way that the timing was inconvenient—almost, but not quite, accusing her of breaking down on purpose to delay his plans. She understood now that only a sense of conscience had made him bring her to Norfolk for rehabilitation. She was sure that his decision had been based not on love but on being seen to do the right thing as a caring husband. She gave a low chuckle as she thought that being seen to be proper had always been important to Simon, something she believed his parents had drummed into him since childhood.

  Jessica shook her head and her hair swayed about her face, then slowly settled. She’d done it tough over the last six months, but she was well now. Strong, as she had been before Damian had left them. She knew it was so, because she never would have had the strength to cut ties with Simon had she still been dependent on him.

  But there was a lasting, deep sadness inside her, too, for something that had been precious, happy, fulfilling. Their marriage had become another statistic. And now a sense of disorientation periodically invaded her, because she didn’t have to consciously, or even subconsicously, think about Simon: worry about his feelings, ask what he’d like for dinner, do his laundry, make sure his favourite whisky, etc…was replaced. From now on, all she had to do was to think of herself and map out a future, a new future which would take her into the new millenium.

  Just the thought of that sent an odd ripple through her of what? Apprehension, pleasure, anticipation? Yes, all three. She was alone at Cassell’s Cottage, and had been since he’d taken his belongings two days ago and left, frozen-faced, after issuing another series of threats.

  As she began to stroke a light blue sky onto the painting, over which she’d add a dash of windswept clouds, she admitted to herself that up to today she had deliberately shelved thoughts about what she would do now that she was virtually free. Oh, the divorce would take about a year to process but, to all and sundry, she was back to where she had been more than ten years ago, a single woman…with decisions to make by herself.

  She thought about Max and David, her partners in the Perth legal practice. They expected her to return at the end of May, but would she? Did she want to live in the same city as Simon? Would it be awkward if they ‘bumped’ into each other with Sue Levinski on his arm? Did she want to continue to practise law? Aahh, yes. That was the crunch question.

  Her gaze moved from the easel to the view from the window of the meadow and the ocean. She remembered saying to Simon once that she’d have difficulty forgetting this view, its lushness, its tranquillity. Being on Norfolk for—how long? four months—had given her a taste for the peaceful life. Previously, that hadn’t related to the life she had led. Her mouth quirked in a smile as she qualified her previous thought: in spite of the manifestations of Sarah and in spite of being dragged into her mystery, that is. She loved this place, she realised. Didn’t miss the bright lights of Perth, the abundant restaurants, the parties or the theatre. And, she didn’t miss court life either, the tension or the queasiness she experienced before she faced a judge, waiting on his decision over a case. In fact—her eyebrows shot up with the truth of it—if she never saw the inside of a law court again, it wouldn’t worry her one little bit.

  She stood back from the easel to check what she’d been doing. Already it was beginning to look good. A sigh escaped her. So hard to judge one’s own work. Her glance encompassed her finished works, leaning against the far wall of the verandah. They were beginning to mount up, almost seven now. Should she see if she could sell one or two? Nan Duncan said they were good enough. Is this, painting, what I want to do for the rest of my life? she asked herself.

  A weighty question. Indeed. She knew that if she chose not to, she didn’t have to work another day in her life, but being idle held little appeal. There was too much of her father in her to be satisfied with that. She could start a practice here on the island, she thought, and paint in her spare time. But was there enough work for two solicitors with such a small population base?—even though the place was reputedly a haven for companies who wanted to avoid certain levels of income tax. That’s why so many companies were registered on Norfolk. Perhaps it was an avenue she should explore over the next week or so.

  Having thought that, she suddenly realised that she had made a decision—to stay on Norfolk, to live here, indefinitely. Her next thought brought a flush to her cheeks and made her brush-stroke pause in midair. Marcus. Her heartbeat began to race as she closed her eyes and conjured up a mental image of him. I love him. That was the most important reason why she wanted to stay.

  The truth of her feelings hit her like a biblical revelation. Her hand went to her throat, fingers touching the pulse beating erratically, and her body warmed as her veins raced with…acceptance. Of course! Since she had met him, he had become her rock, the very foundation on which she could, if things worked out, build a future. God, why hadn’t she recognised the signs before? The sense of awareness, feeling so good when he was around, their compatibility, the little thrills that coursed through her when he looked at her and she, covertly, looked at him. All the while he was helping her work through the ‘Sarah phenomenon’, it had been happening, and she hadn’t been aware of it till this very instant.

  But…did Marcus reciprocate? She was sure of her feelings for him, but not how he felt about her. Idiot! She accused herself. He wouldn’t say anything even if he were emotionally involved. He was a decent man, a good man. He knew she was married, and that alone would preclude him from speaking out.

  She tried to regain some focus on what she was painting, but couldn’t, her thoughts skittering this way and that. Maybe she was crazy, after all. No. What had happened these past few months on Norfolk had taught her one thing: she was as sane as the next man or woman.

  The phone ringing made her put the palette down and go into the kitchen.

  ‘Hello.’

  ‘Darling, how are you? Looking forward to your family visiting next month?’ Alison Marcelle laughed. ‘I’ve missed you being around and, you know, the kids are really looking forward to it. Andrew’s got his Ps and wants to drive all over the place, but Keith and I have reservations about that happening.’

>   Jessica smiled into the receiver. ‘Alison. I didn’t expect you…’

  ‘So how are things with you and Simon?’

  Jessica was silent for a moment. As yet she hadn’t told anyone about her separation from Simon. Now was as good a time as any…

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  ‘It’s okay, love, we understand. It’s sad, but every Amarriage isn’t meant to last a lifetime.’ Nan’s tone was kind.

  Jessica had just spent the last ten minutes telling Nan and Marcus that she and Simon had separated. Getting it out without having to bare all the details hadn’t been easy. There’d been some embarrassment, an awkwardness, but she could see sympathy and understanding in Nan’s and Marcus’ expressions, which helped to ease her discomfort. As well, explaining about Sue and Simon and the fact that she believed their affair to be ongoing had been extremely difficult.

  Telling her sister over the phone had been just as hard. Alison had asked a lot of questions, too many, and she’d fobbed her off with a promise to explain all when they came over for their holiday. She felt, though, that no matter how often she said, ‘We’re not a couple any more,’ the words would never come out easily.

  Her partner Max Lowe had organised the separation papers and also filed for divorce on her behalf, but she knew it wouldn’t happen quickly, for she expected Simon to make things difficult in the hope that he could pressure her into changing her mind and sharing her share portfolio with him. Max, however, was confident that Simon’s threats wouldn’t come to anything, despite how bitter the deliberations might become.

  ‘The man’s mad,’ Nan muttered in disgust. ‘Sue Levinski’s nothing but trouble, she’s a tart with a reputation as long as our island. I tell you, there’ll be no “happy ever after” for them. Simon doesn’t know what he’s got himself into.’