52 Waratah Avenue

by Lynne Wilding

  Disgusted by him, her tone was firm. ‘He can sleep here on the sofa. Off you go. Daphne will be concerned.’

  Caroline attended to Joel’s cut, which wasn’t deep and only required antiseptic cream and a bandage. He lay back on the sofa, a pillow behind his head, and closed his eyes. The two women looked at him, slumbering like a baby, as if he hadn’t a care in the world. Laura shook her head, but there was also a determined gleam in her eyes.

  ‘You’ve known about the drinking, haven’t you?’ Caroline said astutely, after studying her mother’s expression for a few moments.

  ‘Of course. Your father was an alcoholic. The symptoms might vary from person to person, but there’s also a certain uniformity of behaviour that gives them away.’

  ‘What are we going to do?’

  ‘What we, or rather I, should have done a long time ago,’ Laura said with a sigh and in an uncharacteristically despondent tone. ‘I’m partly to blame for letting it go this far. I turned a blind eye to what he was doing to himself, hoping it was something he’d outgrow. Young men often drink heavily in their youth. My brother Frank did, but nowadays he hardly touches the stuff.’

  ‘Elissa has tried hard to get him off the sauce. I thought she was being quite successful until tonight,’ Caroline admitted. She recognised the pain in her mother’s eyes. For her it was a replay of the past. Her father Eddie’s drinking problem had caused Laura a good deal of anguish, and now it was happening again to her much-loved only son. Caroline hoped that Laura was strong enough, healthwise, to cope with it. If Joel’s problem caused a relapse of some kind, her brother would never forgive himself.

  ‘It’s gone past that.’ Laura’s tone was decisive. ‘He needs professional help and I’m going to see that he gets it. I’m sure that Elissa will be supportive, as I know she loves him, but I believe that nothing we do will work unless Joel gets to the bottom of why he drinks. I’m no psychiatrist, but I think I know, even if Joel can’t admit it to himself. He believes he’s to blame for Jack’s death, and until he makes peace — comes to terms with that — he’ll have psychological problems and that makes him drink.’ She looked across to her daughter and patted her cheek affectionately. ‘Come on, love, let’s get some sleep. Tomorrow’s going to be a long day, for Joel and all of us.’

  For Joel the following several weeks were a version of hell, or at least what he thought hell might be. When his mother decided on a course of action, she brooked no alteration to the course she had set. Whether he wanted to be or not he was put under the care of a psychiatrist, who suggested he admit himself to a private sanitarium to dry out. That Christmas-New Year period was the first dry holiday he’d had since his early teens. It came and went. The days were long, the weeks without a drop of alcohol seemed longer. He got his exam results. He had passed every subject and was scheduled to start his internship at St Vincent’s in the middle of February.

  Without his family and especially Elissa, Joel would have gone crazy. They worked out a timetable so he wasn’t alone for long periods, and even Porter and Daphne were called in to act as companions. What finally broke the back of his problem was the sanitarium’s outpatients’ group therapy sessions.

  After one such session, sitting with Elissa on a bench in the sanitarium’s garden, Joel was finally able to verbalise many of the things he’d kept bottled up inside him for years.

  ‘Hearing other people talk their problems out has helped me see that I’m not alone. I thought I was the only one with a drinking problem, but some of the things others have had to deal with make my weakness seem insignificant.’ He shook his head as he took hold of her hand and tucked it inside his coat. ‘I don’t know why I waited so long to sort myself out.’ He frowned at his words, then corrected himself. ‘Yes, I do. First I didn’t want to admit that I had a problem, then I thought, naively, that I could get a handle on it and control it.’

  ‘You couldn’t, though I know you tried.’ Elissa was sympathetic.

  He looked at her long and hard and when he smiled, his grin was slightly lopsided. ‘You’ve seen me at my best and worst. I marvel that you still want to bother with me.’

  ‘Oh I do, but only because I love you and I can see the man you’ll be one day.’

  He nodded, humbled as always by her level of maturity. She amazed him in so many ways. Without her support and encouragement, he doubted he would have survived the last few weeks. ‘I blamed myself for Dad’s death.’ He had to brush a sudden moistness from his eyes.

  ‘I’ve thought I was at fault for years, but I haven’t been able to say the words out loud. I can now.’

  ‘You weren’t to blame, Joel. How could you have seen the lorry approaching? Blaming yourself is as silly as blaming the driver, or Michaela or Caroline.’

  ‘I realise that now. Talking to other people in the group has helped me see that it was just a tragic accident, no more, no less. I guess that at eleven one can blow things out of proportion. That’s what I did.’

  ‘And you compensated for the guilt by drinking to block it out.’

  He grinned. ‘You know, Lissa, you’d make a pretty fair psychologist. You’re right on the mark.’ Suddenly he chuckled out loud. ‘I thought I’d kept my problem a deep dark secret from Mum, too, but she knew.’

  ‘Mothers always know,’ Elissa said sagely.

  ‘I guess.’ Joel was silent for a while, mulling over what they’d said. He felt as if some enormous weight had lifted from him. The guilt, or perceived guilt, had been like a smothering blanket which had enveloped his emotions for years. Still, he wasn’t going to kid himself, he knew he had a long way to go. Alcoholics weren’t cured; if they responded, they learned to control their need and live one day at a time with the disease. He was confident that now he’d accepted the truth of what had happened, the internal healing would continue and it would bring about a lack of need for liquor to drive the demons away.

  He stood up and dragged her to her feet. He kissed her until she gave him a playful push to back away. ‘Come on, let’s go get a …’ he paused dramatically, ‘…cup of coffee.’

  A week after his mate Neil’s defection, Lenny Kovacs’ temper still simmered. Who did the little creep think he was? Didn’t he know who he was dealing with? He was prepared to bide his time though, to wait for the most opportune moment to retaliate, and he had been intrigued by Neil’s mysterious inference that he should watch the newspapers. What was the little shit up to? Not knowing was like having an itch in a place he couldn’t satisfactorily scratch. An uncanny instinct to sniff out devious activity — seeing he was pretty much an expert at it himself — told him it had something to do with Ashworths. Over several years it had become apparent that Neil bore the company he worked for and its owners a grudge, so seeing what his little mate was planning to do could be interesting. But if, in any way, it adversely affected Michaela, then McRae was going to be in big, big trouble.

  Thinking of the woman he’d fallen in love with caused all his frustrations in that regard to rise to the surface and dominate his thoughts. Sitting in the living room as he went over the monthly accounts — progress reports from his various groups — the blood in his veins began to pump faster just thinking about her. Was he making any progress with Michaela Beaumont? Yes and no.

  She seemed to trust him now, ‘cause they’d made several flights during which she hadn’t thought it necessary to include a chaperone. That was a plus. They could talk to each other easily, too. That had mixed blessings, because she told him about her upcoming court case with the man who’d assaulted her, and she talked openly, if not intimately, about her relationship with Danvers. He stroked the stubble on his jaw contemplatively as he thought: he could do something about one situation if he wanted to and, in Danvers’ case, he might have to.

  As he lit a smoke he glanced at the clock on one of the wall units which covered the entire back wall of the living room. Earl would be here in a few minutes with more information on Danvers. He knew of several ways to disc
ourage the lawyer. He grinned mirthlessly as he sorted his ‘business’ paperwork into a neat pile. He and Earl would go over the options.

  Ten minutes later Earl Conway breezed into Lenny’s living room.

  Earl saw the papers on the coffee table. ‘How’s it going, Lenny?’

  ‘Tracking well, my friend. The boys have done very nicely this month. There’ll be several bonuses, I think.’ He liked to reward his men when business went well; he believed it assured him of their loyalty — well, as loyal as most self-interested crims could be. He looked questioningly at Earl. ‘What have you got for me?’

  ‘Danvers is beginning to make a nuisance of himself. He’s asking lots, and I mean lots, of questions about Lenny Kovacs and his company Plan Early Pty Ltd. He’s scrutinising your other interests, too. Looks like your usual smokescreen didn’t fool him. So far I don’t believe he’s checked with the police regarding your prison record. That could be tricky for him to track down since you changed your surname by deed poll from Kroner to Kovacs when you came out of prison. Still, it’s only a matter of time before he gets that. The man seems thorough and from those in the know, the word is he’s no fool.’

  ‘What about him and Michaela?’

  Earl shifted in his seat, looked a trifle uncomfortable. ‘I’ve had a man watch Danvers’ apartment block. She’s there a good deal, Lenny.’ He looked away and cleared his throat before he proceeded. ‘Sleeps over several nights a week and she’s always with him from Saturday afternoons when she finishes work at Ashworths through to Sunday evenings. Except on the Sundays she flies you wherever you ask her to. Rocco — he fancies himself as an amateur dick — even took photos. They look pretty cosy together, as in a serious relationship, he reckons.’ He paused for a breath, then continued. ‘At my request Rocco tailed them for a whole day, a Sunday, a few weeks ago.’

  Taking out a notebook, Earl read from it. ‘They breakfasted at a small café close to his apartment, then jogged down to the Botanical Gardens, where they walked around for a bit. Got very lovey-dovey down by the sea wall that borders the harbour.’ His gaze flashed to Lenny’s face. ‘Those are Rocco’s words, not mine. Then, after about an hour at the park, they came back to his apartment. She left around 11.30 pm to go back to Vaucluse.’ He looked at his boss. ‘Sounds pretty full on to me.’

  ‘Yeah!’ Lenny’s tone was distinctly sour and, deep inside, jealousy ran rampant. He tried not to think about it, but he couldn’t help it — Danvers, with his hands and everything else all over her. Jesus, it was enough to drive a man out of his mind. There was silence in the room while he finished his cigarette and stubbed the butt out viciously in the ashtray. His other hand continued to stroke his chin, something he did when he was thinking seriously. Finally, nodding at the man opposite, he said, ‘I’ve got two jobs for you, Earl.

  ‘Number one is, go ahead and plan the Ashworths job. We’ll do it without Neil. It’ll just require more planning. You’ll have to locate a plan of the building — it was substantially renovated for Ashworths in the late 1940s, so that shouldn’t be too hard. And find out where the main safe is. My guess is that it’ll be somewhere on the fifth floor, where the offices are. The night we do it, we’ll plant someone in the store to switch off the burglar alarm and unlock the roof door after hours. We’ll also need to work out a clean entry and exit via the roof. Okay?’

  ‘Okay. When do you want to schedule the job?’

  ‘Within a month. Our ex-buddy Neil’s up to something, and I’d like to execute it soon, before he decides it might be worthwhile dobbing us in.’

  ‘He wouldn’t do that, Lenny, your mate’s not that stupid. He knows you’d kill him if he did.’ Earl spoke with the utmost confidence, sure that Lenny would do precisely that if his mate squealed.

  ‘Yeah, but I don’t trust him any more. I reckon he’s going a bit funny in the head, on some kind of power kick, and it’s to do with Ashworths. Now, with regard to Danvers, this is what I want you to do. Get Ferdie and Rocco to …’

  Fifteen minutes later Earl Conway left Lenny’s Tamarama home, the briefs given to him firmly outlined in his head.

  Neil was sweating. He only sweated when he was nervous and, day after day, as Coberg’s team of auditors laboured over the company books, invoices and accounts, the sweats increased. He had no doubt that eventually Coberg would discover the fraud he’d been perpetrating for years. The paper trail he’d established long ago would take time to uncover, but he knew Coberg’s: they had the will and the tenacity to sniff it out and reach the obvious conclusion. So action, soon, was imperative.

  He spent most of Sunday night going over his options, planning his strategy down to the last detail, double-checking that what he was going to do was within legal bounds. Monday morning he sent a memo to each member on the board of directors and to specific executive staff members that an extraordinary meeting would be held in the boardroom on Wednesday afternoon. All were expected to attend. No excuse was acceptable.

  On Wednesday afternoon Jo whispered to Michaela as she sat opposite her at the conference table. ‘What’s this about? No-one seems to know.’

  Michaela shrugged her shoulders. ‘Haven’t a clue but …’ her dark eyes glinted with mischief, ‘maybe Neil’s called the meeting to advise us of his resignation.’

  ‘Could we be that lucky?’ Jo snorted back at her. ‘He’s given me the cold shoulder completely since Daniel and I announced our engagement.’

  Michaela remembered seeing him walk down one of the office corridors last Friday. Neil hadn’t been walking, he’d been strutting. Very uncharacteristic behaviour for her cousin. She had been concerned that he might be planning to cause trouble with the 18 to 28 department, which was ahead of schedule but, in the end, she rejected that. Intuitively, she believed Neil’s scheduling of the special meeting was for another reason entirely. A premonitory shiver ran down her spine. What was her dear cousin up to?

  Board members and specific executive members such as Caroline, and even Boris Jakelic, which was unusual, came into the room and found seats. Everyone who had received a memo was present, except Neil. Within minutes he came into the room with a flourish, the usual folder tucked into his left armpit.

  ‘Thank you all for coming. This won’t take long,’ Neil began. He looked at each person, acknowledging them with a nod of his head.

  ‘What’s this extraordinary meeting about, Neil? What’s the subject?’ Daniel asked, frowning at the irregularity of the procedure. As the company’s CEO, it was clear that he was as much in the dark as everyone else as to what was going to occur.

  ‘Ladies and gentlemen,’ Neil began formally. ‘We all know the state of Ashworths. It isn’t good. Robberies on the wharves, a robbery at the warehouse. Falling share prices and shareholders bailing out in droves. And Laura having to shore up confidence by liquidating assets to provide cash for dividends for those shareholders who’ve remained loyal. It isn’t a rosy picture. However, there are going to be changes, major changes, very soon, and I’m confident that when they’re done the company will regain ground.’ He paused for a moment to let them digest his words.

  ‘Ashworths is going to go through a big shake-up in-house, from the top to the bottom, and I believe that at the end of it, when the dust settles, the company will have regained its rightful market share.’

  Michaela listened, nonplussed by his vague inferences, his irritating ‘accountant speak’. She could see that he was leading up to something, but what? His words prompted her to interject. ‘Wonderful rhetoric, Neil, but “a big shake-up, from top to bottom”. What exactly do you mean?’

  ‘As of today, Michaela, I’m taking control of the company.’ Neil said the words simply and confidently.

  There was a momentary silence in the room, then …

  ‘What?’ was echoed by half-a-dozen people. The remainder sat in stunned silence.

  ‘Preposterous! Neil, what are you talking about?’ Daniel wanted to know, his cheeks suffused with colour as Ne
il’s shock tactics took effect.

  ‘It’s all legal, Daniel. You can check it out with Markhams. You know that I control the proxy for the McRae shareholdings, that’s fifteen per cent. I have also acquired, through my investment companies Micronita and The Brothers Inc., a substantial amount of shares that have recently been sold off by disenchanted shareholders, bringing the total number of shares to forty-two per cent. That’s two per cent more than the total Beaumont family holdings.’

  Daniel spoke up quickly. ‘You need fifty-one per cent for a controlling interest. You’re nine per cent short.’

  Neil smiled smugly. ‘A while ago I wrote to the eighteen per cent of independent shareholders. Some have been customers from the time Ashworths started and invested in the company when it went public. In confidence I told them of my belief that Ashworths wasn’t being run the way I thought it should be. Nine and a half per cent of them agreed with me and have pledged me their proxies, thereby giving me a total of fifty-two per cent. Enough to control the company.’ He paused for breath and to stare at each of them. ‘So, with that controlling interest, I’m exercising my right to assume the CEO’s position.’ He stared hard-eyed at Daniel. ‘Consider yourself stood down from the completion of this meeting, Daniel.’

  ‘Are you out of your mind?’ Warren said. He jumped out of his seat and waggled a finger at Neil. ‘You can’t do this.’

  Director Murray Winterson nodded his head vigorously. ‘You won’t get away with it, Neil. Laura will tear your head off when she finds out.’

  ‘What do you plan to do, Neil, run the company into the ground, or are you intending to put it on the market for the highest bidder to snap up?’ Caroline asked quietly from the end of the conference table.

  ‘Neither, cousin. With the right staff, who’ll support my goals, I intend to restore Ashworths to the kind of business your mother designed it to be, for the elite and wealthy of Sydney and interstate, too.’