“Let’s sit here under this tree to wait for the other guests. We can talk and give thanks for the good life Ken lived. Come, Joanna…” With her mother seated between Father Conlon and Richard, Jessie led BJ to the garden seat on the east side of the contemplation garden.
“It really is a beautiful day,” she said, as they sat down. “Dad would have loved it. He always enjoyed spring and summer best. The flowers, the bees, the land. He was happiest at this time of the year.”
“Did your father and Frank get on?”
“It’s hard to say, but I don’t think so.”
“And what do you think of your Uncle Frank?”
“To be honest, I never really liked him much. He’s so full of himself. Dad wasn’t like that. He didn’t try to big note himself. I remember when Uncle Frank, Aunt Hilda and Tom used to visit us at Christmas when we were all kids. Being a good Christian woman, Aunt Hilda loved to celebrate Christmas. She used to spend lots of time in the kitchen, cooking with Mum. But Uncle Frank locked himself away in the old shearing shed. I remember Dad and Uncle Frank yelling at each other over something to do with the shed. I can’t remember what it was about. But it certainly made Dad angry as hell. Dad burned down the shed years ago. It’s that charred spot on the bank near the wombat holes. Anyway, it all seemed to blow over, and they patched things up, I expect. Now poor Mum has to get the one hundred thousand dollars back from Uncle Frank that Dad lent him. I can’t see that being an easy job.”
“Who’s that waving to you?” He pointed towards a cluster of red rose bushes around which two young women appeared.
“Goodness. It’s Mia and Kate. I used to go to school with them.”
Still bright-faced under mops of red hair, the identical twins rushed to Jessie with effusive, straight-toothed smiles. Throwing their arms around her, they alternated between exuberance at seeing their friend and sadness of the occasion.
“Girls, I’d like you to meet my boyfriend, BJ.”
“Hi…” he said, obviously confused as to who was who.
“I’m Kate. I’ve got the curly hair. This in Mia, she has the straight hair.”
“Got it. Kate, curly. Mia, straight.” His face split in a good-natured smile.
“We all went to school together. We usually catch up once a year when I come back home for Christmas,” said Jessie, stepping between her friends.
“We’re so sorry about your dad, Jessie.” Kate clutched her hands, making her wince. Recoiling, she noticed Jessie’s scabbing skin.
“Did that happen when that madman kidnapped you?” asked Mia.
“How do you know about that?” asked Jessie, alarm rising in her voice.
“The Yass Tribune broke the story in today’s paper.”
“Oh, God.” She turned to BJ, abject despair on her face. Just as she was about to speak, a noisy disturbance to their left interrupted.
“Jessie Hilton. Oh, Miss Hilton. Can we talk to you about your kidnapping? What did it feel like? How are you feeling now?” Rushing towards her like a freight train, a group of photographers and reporters hurried along the pathway. Pulling away from the pack, Ricky and Jasmine sped forward. BJ dashed to meet them. “Jasmine, you go to Jessie. Ricky, you’re with me.”
While the men marched back towards the melee of unwelcome intruders, Jessie dropped onto the seat with Mia, Kate and Jasmine, hiding her as best they could.
Holding up his hand like a crossing guard, BJ advanced. “Stop right there. Miss Hilton has nothing to say. For God’s sake, this is her father’s funeral. Leave her alone.” The force of his command brought the media ruck to a halt.
One smart-mouthed, young reporter boldly stepped forward. “I’m from Channel Nine News in Melbourne, and we just want a statement from…”
“I don’t care if you’re a bloody angel from heaven. Get out of here.” His voice growled deep and low. Knowing too well what the menace in his tone meant, Jessie grimaced. He was losing his patience.
“I suggest you all do an about-face and leave. Otherwise, there may be more than one burial today,” said Ricky, standing shoulder to shoulder with his mate.
“Are you threatening us?” snapped some prissy woman with too much make-up.
“Not at all,” said Ricky. “It’s just a recommendation. Call it a best health practice.”
As Jessie peeked through the barrier her friends afforded her, she saw BJ push the television camera out of his face and snarl. Stalking like a wild leopard, he advanced, and they scattered like frightened gazelle. Once satisfied they’d retreated to an acceptable distance, he nodded to Ricky, and they paced back to the contemplation garden.
“Oh my goodness.” Father Conlon blinked up at him.
“Sorry, Father, I’m not one to start a fight, but I will finish one when it’s needed. I couldn’t let them intrude on Jessie or her family.”
“Quite right,” the priest conceded, although visibly shaken by the unexpected drama.
“Thank you, Brad.” Joanna reached out a grateful hand. He leaned down, pecked a kiss to her cheek and rejoined Jessie. “Are you all right?”
“Yes. Thanks,” said Jessie, although the scene had unsettled her nerves.
“Vultures, all of them,” sneered Jasmine. “It’ll be across all news platforms now. What do you want to do with David? Do you want me to speak to him for you or what?”
Jessie’s composed posture slumped. How would he react to all this coverage? That one of the senior artists had been kidnapped while on leave for her father’s death would horrify him. David was not a believer that all press was good press. He staunchly adhered to the theory that bad press could kill a ballet season. Yesterday it all seemed so simple to keep the kidnapping and her injuries a secret from him. Now it would all be exposed for the world to see. But what could she do? Nothing. She pulled a face.
“What? What is it?” asked Jasmine.
“To hell with David. I’m through worrying about what he’s going to think. It’s not my fault I got kidnapped. Don’t say anything to him when you go back. If he asks you, tell him the truth. I’m uninjured and ready to return to work once I sort out family matters. Tell him I’ll see him on my return.”
“Good for you,” cheered Jasmine. “About time you didn’t take any more crap from him or Tabitha Simpson for that matter. I don’t like to say it, but this kidnapping saga has shown you how strong you really are. I’m so proud of you.” Throwing her arms around Jessie’s neck, she squeezed tight.
“Second you on that,” said BJ, patting Jessie’s knee.
“Who’s David?” asked Kate.
“And who’s Tabitha Simpson?” asked Mia.
Explaining the behind-the-scenes workings of a ballet company, Jessie found some humorous respite before the invited funeral guests arrived.
With BJ and Ricky standing guard against the media scavengers, the priest gathered the fifty or so mourners to Ken Hilton’s graveside for the service and burial. As Father Conlon spruiked Ken’s qualities, achievements and contribution to the local community, Jessie fixated on her father’s coffin. Suspended above the hole in the ground on strong, durable bands and decorated with a massive spray of red and white roses, Ken Hilton’s highly-polished, honey-coloured, timber coffin shone in the sunlight. Inside is so dark and lonely, like being trapped in a limestone cave forever. She clung tighter to her mother’s hand. Glancing over to her brother, she noticed he looked dazed and insecure. They’d all been set adrift by Ken’s death.
When he finished, Father Conlon nodded to Joanna. Releasing her children’s hands, she stepped forward and sprinkled earth on the coffin as the cemetery workers lowered it into the grave. Down it went, deeper into the darkness. I’m never getting buried. Never. Cremate me. Burn me up. But never leave me in a dark hole. Still tearless, she accompanied Richard to the grave side, and they sprinkled dirt onto the descending coffin. Locked arm in arm, she, Joanna and Richard steadied themselves as the mourners filed past. Ever poised, Joanna accepted condolences from
friends, while Jessie and Richard managed thin smiles in appreciation. Slipping away after a suitable time, she and Jasmine headed to BJ and Ricky who patrolled the perimeters.
“You okay?” asked BJ, tucking her under his arm.
“Yes. I think the worst is over now. The sooner we get out of here the better.”
“Agreed.” He leaned closer and whispered, “Love you.”
“Love you too.” She kissed his cheek.
“Come on you two. Richard’s calling us over. I think it’s time to go.” Hand in hand, Jasmine and Ricky moved to leave.
In a final farewell, Jessie returned briefly to her father’s grave with BJ by her side. “Goodbye Dad. I love you. I wish I’d known you better. I’ll miss you.” Scooping up a handful of rose petals from the memorial basket, she raised her hand high, sprinkling them into the grave. The graceful, silky white and red petals danced on their way to the coffin—elegant in their beauty, unafraid of their destination. For you Dad, next time is for you.
Chapter 40
The temperature inside the community hall felt hot enough to roast a chicken. The ladies dabbed handkerchiefs at their glistening faces trying to stem the flow of perspiration, while men fanned themselves with Ken’s funeral programs. Stationed against the far wall, BJ and Ricky hung back from the cake-eating, tea-drinking group, while watching them share happy memories of the deceased.
“So, what do you think?” asked BJ, as he sipped a cup of tepid instant coffee poured from the urn.
“The coffee sucks.” Ricky frowned, curled his lips and discarded the half-drunk cup on a nearby table.
“Not the coffee. The uncle.” Expressionless, BJ did his best not to draw any attention to their tête à tête.
“After everything you told me. I agree. There’s something off about him.” Assuming the same disinterested expression, Ricky lounged beside him feigning casual conversation.
“Aside from obviously brow-beating his wife and turning his son into a budding narcissist like himself, Frank Hilton has stayed clear of Father Conlon the entire morning, at the cemetery and now here. I think it’s very odd he hasn’t spoken to the priest at all.” He set his unwanted cup down next to Ricky’s.
“Yeah, I noticed.”
“Did you also notice Father Conlon doesn’t seem interested in going anywhere near Frank?” They both cast a furtive glance towards the ageing priest.
Ricky frowned. “Yeah. It looks like there’s something between Frank and the priest that neither wants to dredge up by the look of it.”
“Something that Jessie’s dad knew all about, or at least suspected, as it was Ken’s dying wish for Father Conlon to preside over his funeral. Maybe Ken hoped that bringing Frank and the priest together would expose whatever that something is.”
“Would you boys like one of my scones?” Aunt Hilda trundled up to them, holding a platter of freshly made fruit scones, slathered in butter.
“Thanks, Mrs Hilton.” BJ grabbed two halves and nudged Ricky. “These you have to try. Best scones ever.”
“Thanks, Mrs Hilton.” Ricky politely selected one plump scone half.
“You’ll be sorry you didn’t take two.” Having devoured the first half in record time, BJ wiped butter from his mouth. A look of contentment spread across his face.
Within moments, Ricky wore the same expression. “Bloody great scones.” He licked his fingers while scanning the room for Hilda Hilton. On spying her, he noted the platter was already empty. He pouted and grumbled in disappointment.
“I told you to take two.” BJ snorted, licking his fingers. “So when are you leaving?”
“Straight after this, so Jasmine can make the show tonight.”
“And last night? How did that work out?” He cocked an enquiring brow.
“No sex if that’s what you want to know.” Ricky pouted again.
“And are you seeing her again since she’s not putting out?”
“Yeah. Sex or no sex, I’m interested. Jasmine’s like no woman I’ve met before. She tells it like it is. Calls a spade a spade. I like that. A lot.”
“Well, I’ll be damned. The old dog is being taught new tricks.” BJ sniggered.
“Yeah, yeah, yeah, very funny.” Ricky nudged his mate in the ribs. “What’s your plan once this has finished here?”
“Drive back to Coodravale. See what happens then. Joanna has to get the money back from Frank over the next day or so, and I want to be close by when she speaks to him. After that, we’ll see how quickly things work out. I know Jessie wants to get back to Melbourne as soon as possible.”
“Let me know if you need anything, okay?”
“I will. But I figure it should all be straight forward from here.”
BJ unloaded the sympathy flowers from the Jeep and helped Richard carry them inside the homestead. At his feet, Whiskey bounded and whined, eager for attention. “Sorry to leave you alone again, girl. I’ll get these flowers put away, and we’ll play soon.” Reaching down, he ruffled her ears, sympathetic to his dog’s escalating boredom over the past couple of days.
The strong smell of lilies, roses and other sweet floral fragrances greeted them as they entered the house. BJ placed the last of the floral tributes where Joanna indicated on the sideboards. With the kettle on the boil in the kitchen, Jessie busied herself setting up the cups and saucers on the dining room table, ready for service.
“Thank you, Jessica.” Joanna settled into the chair at the head of the table.
“You relax for a while, Mum. Jess and I will look after everything,” said Richard, as he followed his sister into the kitchen to help.
“Brad, come sit next to me for a minute.” Patting the chair to her right, Joanna indicated the preferred position. “You have been a wonderful help here at Coodravale, with Jessica and with Ken’s death. In fact, with everything since you’ve arrived.” She paused for a moment. “Has Jessica told you about the money?”
“Yes, she has.” He noticed how the backdrop of pretty, pastel flower arrangements accentuated her blanched face and reddened eyes. But her strength of will remained undefeated.
“Good. I’ve decided not to let sleeping dogs lie. I’m going to broach this with Frank as soon as they arrive. Ken’s funeral is probably the best time to appeal to Frank’s better nature. I would like you to stay while we have this family meeting.”
“Are you sure? I doubt Frank will be impressed.”
“I will be telling Frank in no uncertain terms how unimpressed I am that he still owes us one hundred thousand dollars—particularly since it is such a long outstanding debt.” The annoyance gripping Joanna’s face foretold of a battle she was willing to fight.
“Of course I will stay and support you.”
“Thank you. I am determined to get this money back.”
“I know it’s none of my business, but can I ask something?” BJ shifted in his chair.
“Of course.”
“Do you think your husband expected this money to be repaid? I mean, it seems unbelievable that Frank never paid his brother back.”
“I’ve asked this question myself, over and over. I’m sure Ken reminded Frank of this over the years. But Frank is a bully. He probably thought Ken would eventually let it go. But I can’t afford to. I need that money now, more than ever.” A bright blush coloured her cheeks.
“Don’t worry, Joanna, whatever you need, I’m here.”
The sound of Frank’s car tyres crunching on the driveway filtered through the open front door. She stiffened. “Jessica, Richard, bring the tea. I’m going to talk to your Uncle Frank.”
As Frank, Hilda and Tom wandered into the dining room, Jessie and Richard carried in the tea tray. Remaining in her chair, Joanna waved her hand. “Please, everyone, let’s sit together. Frank, you sit next to me on this side.”
Clever woman, BJ thought, putting her adversary directly opposite me.
“Jessica, you sit next to Brad, Hilda next to Frank, Richard next to Jessica, and Tom next to your mo
ther.” It was obvious to everyone that Joanna had purposely lined up both sides of the Hilton family across the table. Something serious was about to transpire. “Jessica, will you and Richard pour the tea, please?”
No one dared to refuse. Joanna Hilton was the grieving widow and whether they wanted more tea or not, today was not the day to deny her wishes. Once everyone had a dainty cup and saucer in front of them, she began. From an attaché folder nestled on the floor beside her, she produced a document that she slid towards Frank as she eyed him suspiciously. “Do you recognise this, Frank?”
He glanced at the folded paper, then looked away. “Perhaps.”
“What is it?” Hilda craned her neck trying to see.
“Be quiet, woman,” he snapped.
Joanna looked directly at Hilda. “It is a loan agreement in which Ken loaned your husband one hundred thousand dollars when we first bought Coodravale. Back then, we took out a higher bank mortgage, so Ken could loan Frank this money. We’ve paid off the mortgage, but Frank hasn’t paid back any of this outstanding loan.”
“What?” whispered Hilda, as her hand flew to her throat. “That’s over twenty-five years ago, Frank?”
The pallor of Tom’s face turned chalky white, while Frank’s ruddy complexion deepened to the purplish hue of eggplant. Under the table, Jessie clutched BJ’s hand, yet neither broke from their sombre expressions. Richard’s wide-eyed stare contrasted with his mother’s cool composure—all of them staging a striking tableau worthy of an artist’s brush. Remaining stony-faced, BJ admired Joanna’s approach. Blunt, no nonsense. She sure knows how to kick the hornet’s nest.
“I would prefer if you and I discussed this matter in private, Joanna.” Frank puffed out his chest.
“And I prefer to discuss this in front of family, Frank.”
“He’s not family.” Frank jabbed a finger at BJ who merely cocked an eyebrow.
“He soon will be. He and Jessica are getting married.”
“What?” shrieked Richard, listing from his chair.
Retribution: Who would you kill to escape your past? Page 22