52 Waratah Avenue

by Lynne Wilding

  ‘Mum would love you and Daniel to be married in our garden, if you don’t want to do it in the synagogue. You can organise the rabbi. Mum’s always looked upon Daniel as a pseudo-younger brother.’

  ‘I’ll tell Daniel. Thank you.’

  ‘I’ve some good news myself,’ Michaela said, trying not to sound too pleased with herself. ‘The board has asked me to become a member.’

  ‘I know. Daniel told me, but swore me to secrecy. It’s wonderful and no less than you deserve.’

  ‘I guess.’ Michaela’s expression turned thoughtful. It had been her dream to be on the board, but she hadn’t expected to achieve the position before she turned thirty. It would bring her a step closer to her ultimate goal, MD and CEO of Ashworths.

  Joel and Professor Harry Grebeveski sat in the professor’s office studying an article Joel had unearthed from the highly respected medical journal The Lancet.

  ‘This Dr Engelbaum. I believe I’ve heard his name mentioned before, obscurely,’ the professor told Joel. ‘I read that he was experimenting with specific chemical compounds found in plants to retard age at his laboratory and sanitarium, which is located somewhere near Baden-Baden, a very picturesque part of Switzerland. According to what’s written here, he has forgone that line of research to concentrate on thoracic and cardiac rejuvenation.’

  ‘The article was specific, Professor. Engelbaum’s done independent clinical studies. He uses a combination of vitamin tablets — multivitamins he developed himself — exercise and a controlled low-fat diet and, according to this article,’ Joel couldn’t keep the excitement out of his voice, ‘he’s had amazing results. See, it’s all documented.’

  ‘Mmmm. I’d also be interested in speaking to the person who wrote this article, Dr Harriet Dressler, who’s based in the UK. I want you to track her down. Find out how accurate this information is; whether it’s on the up-and-up and not a beat-up. If it’s genuine I’ll make contact with Engelbaum and then go to Switzerland for a long talk with Dr Wilfred Von Engelbaum. I’d better brush up on my German, or is it French in that part of the country?’ He looked at his young associate. ‘I’d like you to come too, Joel.’

  ‘I’d love to, Professor, but I can’t. Finals start next week. I must pass these exams or …’ he grinned, ‘Elissa will kill me.’

  ‘Aahh, Elissa.’ Harry shook his head. ‘I don’t think she would kill you, Joel, but for your own sake you must do well. If I go, then I guess I travel alone.’

  ‘If Dr Engelbaum’s on the right track, why hasn’t he presented a paper himself?’

  Harry took off his bifocals to pinch the bridge of his nose. ‘Who knows? He could be waiting until he refines a special medication, so he can sell the formula to a pharmaceutical company in conjunction with the exercise program and diet. That would be my guess. Or he might be doing more clinical studies to gain further credibility.’

  Joel took that on board, and his thoughts centred around what the breakthrough, if genuine, could mean to his mother. Laura was coping well, considering. With medication as needed and without the stress of working a sixty-hour-plus week at the helm of a large company, she could live a relatively normal life, so long as she didn’t overtax herself. Engelbaum claimed that patients with similar cardiac problems to his mother could live a full and normal life not having to worry about stress or taking things easy if they followed his program. What that could mean to his mother was that, barring other health situations arising, she could enjoy reasonable health for many years.

  ‘Professor, we should celebrate,’ Joel decided. ‘How about dinner tonight? You, your wife, and Elissa. My treat. At the Blue Grotto Restaurant in Kensington. It’s a good restaurant. I know the manager, so we’ll get a table without too much hassle.’

  ‘Sounds good, Joel, if a little premature. I will ring Marta. I’m sure it will be fine with her.’

  Dinner that night was a success until Joel had his fifth beer and decided he had to have more. With the proverbial nudge and a wink to the waiter, a bottle of beer was brought to the men’s room and Joel didn’t leave until he had consumed it. But that wasn’t enough. All the beer in the world wasn’t enough when the thirst was in him.

  By the end of the main course, and another visit to the men’s room, he was fully gassed up.

  ‘It’s going to be great, Prof. That little old paper of yours will wow them next year in Vancouver. Make the Chancellor of New South Wales University pretty proud, I reckon.’ Smiling inanely, he beckoned to a passing waiter. ‘Bring another round, will you? Wine for the ladies, beer for us gents.’

  Elissa looked at Joel, dismay evident on her face. How had he got drunk so soon, was the question in her eyes. ‘I don’t want more wine, Joel. I think you’ve had enough too,’ she said quietly, but firmly.

  ‘Yes, Joel, why don’t we order coffee instead?’ the Professor said accommodatingly.

  ‘Coffee comes after dessert, Professor, and we haven’t had dessert yet,’ Joel countered, his words slurred as he swayed in his chair.

  ‘No more alcohol, Joel,’ Elissa repeated, her tone softly insistent.

  He regarded her solemnly for several seconds, then his mouth split in a comical grin. ‘You think I’m pissed, love, don’t you?’ He laughed. ‘I’m not even half-pissed yet. But,’ he stood up abruptly and nodded to the attending waiter, ‘going to go piss anyway.’

  After he’d left the table, the Professor, looking embarrassed, first looked at his wife and then leant across and patted Elissa’s hand; the gesture was meant to comfort. ‘It’s all right, Elissa. He’s just happy. Let him have his moment.’

  ‘That’s not it, Professor. You know, as I do, that when he starts to drink, he can’t stop. I … I thought I could handle things, help him to control the need.’ Her voice broke and she brushed a tear away. ‘But it’s not going to be easy. At times I think that walking away would be the smart thing to do.’

  ‘Don’t, Elissa. Joel needs you. As yet the boy doesn’t realise how much.’ He got up from the table. ‘I’ll go see what he’s up to.’

  Neither man would discuss it, and Elissa was unable to wring out of either of them what Professor Harry said to Joel in the restaurant’s men’s room, but whatever had been said it made Joel forgo another bottle of beer and instead order a coffee, black and strong.

  Three weeks later, as Joel prepared for his finals, Professor Harry Grebeveski flew out of Sydney bound for Switzerland.

  It was a perfect spring day, and Leith and Michaela were enjoying the Sunday afternoon sunshine. Dressed casually in jeans, T-shirts and joggers, they strolled about the foreshores of the Botanical Gardens.

  A breeze coming off the water ruffled Michaela’s dark hair, swirling it around her face and shoulders. She turned her head this way and that to keep it out of her face but, eventually, she reached into her jeans pocket, plucked out an elasticised band and bound it at the nape. ‘Sometimes, I think I’ll get it cut short, like Mum’s,’ she muttered, half to herself.

  ‘Don’t, please.’ Leith saw how the sun captured it, making the dark waves, with their tendency to curl, shimmer in the light. ‘You have beautiful hair, it would be a sacrilege.’

  She wasn’t averse to the occasional compliment and smiled at him. ‘You think so?’

  ‘I do.’ His tone was serious. ‘Besides, I’ve described you to my family with long hair. When they meet you, they will expect you to have,’ he grinned, ‘long hair.’

  She gave him a speculative look. ‘Meet them? Is this your round-about way of telling me that they’re coming to Sydney? When?’

  Leith didn’t answer straight away. He was deliberating over her words. ‘No. I thought we might go and meet them in Sweden, during the European summer. They want to meet you, Michaela. My sister especially, ‘cause I told her that you and she were similar in looks and nature.’

  For a moment or two Michaela’s expression became pensive, the corners of her mouth tucking in so she wouldn’t smile. Disguising her surprise — he
often caught her unawares with the things he did and said — she let her curiosity get the better of her. ‘Leith Danvers, how long have you been planning this?’

  He stopped walking, leant on the sandstone sea wall and appeared to follow the wake of a ferry as it made its way down the harbour. Should he tell her what was in his heart? Would it frighten her off? How would she react? These and myriad other questions ran through his mind in quick succession. They had been lovers for almost three months, three superb, exhausting months! But he wanted more, he wanted a commitment — from her.

  Turning towards her, he studied her for a short time. ‘Since I fell in love with you.’ He didn’t intend to tell her that he’d actually been in love with her for longer than three months, more like a year. He would admit that later. Watching her, he saw a range of emotions play across her expressive face. A softening came slowly, then a warmth came into her eyes as they widened with shock. Her gaze skittered away from his, darted here and there about the gardens, but then returned to him.

  He smiled at her. ‘Don’t look so surprised. I was sure you knew how I felt.’ Cocking his head to one side, he regarded her intently. After a while he added, the timbre of his voice husky with feeling, ‘I’m hoping you feel the same way.’

  She returned the smile almost shyly, and sighed before moving towards him until their bodies touched. Her hands worked their way up his chest and around his neck. ‘Yes, I do. I do love you, Leith. It’s just that what you said caught me unawares, that’s all. I … I didn’t expect …’

  ‘Good,’ he nodded positively, pleased by her answer. ‘I hope that where you’re concerned, I always do the unexpected, if it makes you look as you do now. Radiant.’ He kissed her tenderly, for a very long time. ‘In my family,’ he told her softly, ‘when one falls in love, it is usual for one to declare one’s intentions.’ He used his thumb to raise her chin so she had to look into his eyes. ‘I want to marry you, Michaela.’

  ‘M-marriage?’ Her eyes widened some more.

  ‘Not right away, if you’d prefer. We could live together for a while, providing your mother doesn’t object, and marry in a year or two. Will you marry me?’

  She pulled a face. ‘I think Mum would object … She’s Catholic and kind of old-fashioned.’

  ‘Then we marry sooner. Okay?’

  The way Leith smiled made Michaela’s insides tingle; then she realised that she had said what he’d wanted her to say and, while it hadn’t been an out-and-out yes, she knew he knew she had in fact accepted his proposal. Suddenly she smiled a secret smile. There were times when Leith was too clever for her but, in this case, she didn’t object. His proposal had come as a total surprise, an exceedingly pleasant one. ‘Yes,’ she whispered, smiling up at him. ‘That’s very much okay, but could we keep it to ourselves for a while?’

  It was his turn to look surprised. ‘Why, my darling?’

  She shrugged her shoulders. ‘I love the idea of having a secret. Knowing you know something no-one else does, if only for a few weeks, will be delicious.’

  He laughed happily, prepared to be indulgent. ‘If you want to, but we should make plans for a break to Sweden, book flights, that sort of thing. I thought mid-June might be a good time for you. Jeffrey will let me go whenever I want, providing I give him sufficient notice to rearrange court schedules.’

  ‘June would be perfect …’ Michaela couldn’t believe what she might have done to deserve such happiness. Being in love was wonderful. Correction: being in love with Leith was wonderful. And it was going to kill her not to say anything to anyone for a few weeks, especially to Jo and her family. They wouldn’t believe it, that she had finally succumbed and admitted her feelings. Oh, she could hardly wait to see the looks on their faces …

  Chapter Sixteen

  Laura couldn’t remember what woke her. She slept restlessly at the best of times in the big bed that she and Jack had shared. Normally the house was quiet at night; there was no expansion or contraction of timbers, the carpeted stairs didn’t creak, neither did the floorboards. For several minutes she lay there, listening, becoming more annoyed with herself because now she was wide awake and tense. There. Again! A scraping sound, not inside, somewhere outside, and close.

  Why wasn’t Rufus barking? she asked herself. He was a good watchdog.

  As the alien noise continued sporadically, she turned her head on the pillow to check the time on the bedside clock: 2.07 am. She dialled the Porters’ apartment at the back of the main house and waited until a sleepy voice answered. She told him about the noise.

  ‘We’ll meet in the kitchen, Porter. Be careful. It may be just an animal, but it could also be an intruder.’

  How long had she lived at number fifty-two, she grumbled to herself as she got out of bed. Twenty-one years. No-one had tried to break in before but, on her return from her holiday, Daphne had told her of two burglaries in the street and, she sighed as she acknowledged that times were changing. Thieves were bolder, more desperate. Should she wake Caroline? Yes.

  She got up and padded over to the window, pulled back the curtain fractionally to peer out. Light from a half-moon shone down on the garden, but she could see nothing suspicious … only hear the sounds.

  In less than two minutes she had woken Caroline and the two, in dressing gowns and slippers, were on their way downstairs. Caroline had picked up Fern’s tennis racquet, though God alone knew what she intended to do with it — use it as a weapon most likely, if they confronted anyone. Both women moved stealthily to the ground floor, stopping every now and then to listen.

  A masculine cough, then a muffled curse.

  ‘It’s coming from the back,’ Caroline whispered. ‘I’ll go first. Someone might be trying to get in through a back window at the dark end of the patio.’

  ‘We have an alarm. Why hasn’t it gone off?’

  ‘Porter may have forgotten to set the alarm before he went to bed.’

  ‘He never forgets that sort of thing,’ Laura defended her long-time employee. Then, as an afterthought, she said, ‘We should wait for Porter.’

  They looked out the kitchen window into the near darkness and glimpsed a shadow, someone or something hunched over near the swimming pool. Then they heard the sound of glass breaking on the flagstones.

  ‘Where can Rufus be?’ Caroline’s tone was tense. She and Laura stared at the empty wicker basket near the back door where Joel’s dog usually slept. ‘It’s strange that he’s not here.’

  ‘Very. Maybe he got locked out. That’s happened before if he’s off chasing frogs and other things at night.’

  ‘Yes, but why isn’t he barking at the intruder? Unless Caroline said in a worried tone, ‘he’s been incapacitated.’

  ‘Whoever it is, he’s on his hands and knees,’ Laura whispered as she stared at the figure. ‘He seems to be looking for something. If he’s a burglar, he’s a bit on the stupid side — doesn’t he know he’s making enough noise to wake the dead?’

  Looking in the same direction as her mother, something about the man’s shape seemed familiar, more than familiar. Damn. She knew who it was. ‘It’s Joel. I think he’s hurt himself.’ Sure of her identification, she went to the light switches at the back door and flicked the patio lights on, catching Porter tiptoeing towards Joel in the sudden flood of light. Porter had a cricket bat raised to deliver a blow.

  Joel looked up at the light, then at Porter, and swore loudly while, in the shadows, sitting calmly and watching his master’s antics, was Rufus. The dog gave Laura and Caroline a welcoming bark as they came onto the patio.

  ‘My God, he’s drunk as a lord,’ Laura pronounced. She was relieved it wasn’t an intruder, but seeing Joel like this confirmed her worst fears. Her son was a drunkard, plain and simple. What she wasn’t sure of, yet, was whether or not his need had become so great that he could be classified as an alcoholic, or whether he was still borderline. She intended to find out, and get his problem sorted out.

  Caroline and her mother stared
at Joel. He had manoeuvred himself into a sitting position on the flagstones and was cradling his left hand. Blood poured from a cut across the palm.

  ‘Hello, Caroline. Did I wake you? S-sorry,’ he slurred at her.

  ‘Joel, what are you doing out here?’

  ‘Celebrating, of course. Did the last bloody exam today. No more exams, ever, I hope. Damn good reason to celebrate, don’t you think?’ He stared at his hand, as if it didn’t belong to him. ‘Dropped the glass. Damned thing was half-full too.’ There was regret in his tone. ‘Went to pick the pieces up and cut myself.’ He grinned stupidly. ‘Made a bit of a mess, hey?’

  Caroline could see a pool of blood forming under his hand. She took her dressing gown’s waist cord off and wrapped it tightly around his hand, ignoring his complaint that it was too tight and that she was hurting him. She beckoned to Porter, who hovered indecisively near the pool awaiting instructions.

  ‘Porter, help me get him inside. I don’t know if he can walk.’

  ‘Course I can. Silly!’ Joel stood and promptly fell down again. He noticed his mother was regarding him with her sternest expression. ‘Hi, Mumsie. Did I get you out of bed too?’ He giggled as if that were amusing. ‘Naughty me to be so noisy.’

  Between Laura, Caroline and Porter, they herded Joel inside and into the breakfast room, plonking him unceremoniously onto the sofa near the window.

  ‘Better clean up his hand,’ Laura said to Caroline. ‘You can go back to bed now, Porter. We’ll manage.’

  ‘You sure? It’ll take an effort to get him upstairs,’ Porter advised, obviously unsure as to whether they could manage to get Joel to his apartment.

  Laura turned to study her son. His clothes were dishevelled, his blond hair untidy, and there was lipstick on the collar of his shirt. He could hardly keep his eyes open and he still had a silly smirk on his face, as if he had done something quite clever by getting drunk. How clever was that? Any idiot could get himself drunk.