A Case For Trust

by Gracie MacGregor

  ‘That I was right,’ Pippa whispered. ‘That I was right to blame my mother. That she was weak, and she didn’t love me enough to take us away from him. That she was selfish; she ran away and she left me there with him. That I was right to blame her. That I was right to hate her.’

  Matt was silent for long moments.

  ‘I can understand why you might have believed that when she died. They’re very natural things to feel, to think, when you’re a child, when you’ve just lost your mother. And you might have blamed her, but I don’t believe you ever really hated her.’

  Pippa sobbed into his shirt. ‘I wasn’t a child.’

  ‘You were her child.’

  ‘But I was old enough to know better than to blame her. He was a monster. No woman should have to live with that kind of abuse. He was so clever. He separated her from her family, from Aunty Patsy, from anybody who would have helped her. She had nobody. And she did the best she could. And I think what I hate most is not that she ran away, but that she came back. Why did she come back?’

  Her entreaty coloured the breaths between them.

  ‘I don’t know, sweetheart. But I think there’s every chance she was coming back for you. Perhaps she decided you were safer with her, even sleeping in the back of a car, than waiting for her to find you both a new home. She’d made plans, and she had money. She had a car. She had help. I can’t help thinking this time she was making the break. But you know what? Even if she was coming back to your father, she was a step nearer—several steps nearer—to leaving him completely. It’s nobody’s fault she died; certainly not her fault. Certainly not yours. Perhaps we’ll never know what was going through her mind that night. But if Patrice has any more answers for you, you owe it to yourself and your mum to find out, to know your mum a little better, to understand her a little more. Don’t you think?’

  ‘Yes. Okay.’

  ‘Okay? Good girl.’

  Pippa felt Matt brush a whispering kiss on top of her head. She knew she should move, that that was her cue to unfold her fingers from the shirtfront she’d been clutching, to wrestle herself out of the haven of his lap and back into reality, on her own two feet. But god, she was so tired, and his arms were so warm. He wasn’t pushing her away; his hand had started a slow, rhythmic stroking of her hip; anchoring, not seducing, calming and comforting. After a few minutes, she felt him reach one arm across to the edge of his desk, and resented the momentary loss of heat. Then he was back, arms wrapped round her again while he manipulated his mobile phone. Then he was talking quietly. Then he seemed to be waiting. Another voice, his calm response, and then he was holding the phone out to her.

  ‘Aunty Patsy? It’s me. It’s Pippa.’

  ***

  In the hours since she’d left her front kerb, it felt, Pippa’s world had shifted on its axis. So the miniskip bin with its sad pile of rubbish brought her up short, reminded her forcefully of all the things in her life that remained unresolved. But they would wait. Matt’s reassuring bulk a step behind her was all she was prepared to think about tonight.

  He took the door key from her unresisting fingers, led her past her bedroom and the half-packed boxes, past the half-empty living room with its couches covered in rolls of tape and scissors and stuffing paper, into the only room in the house that didn’t yet look like chaos. He shut the bathroom door behind her, leant over the bathtub and flicked the taps on. Almost immediately the tiny room started to fog, and Pippa watched him numbly, wordlessly as he appropriated her bath salts and dumped a generous third of a bottle into the tub. He added a capful of bubbles for good measure, then left her briefly, returning with an overfull wine glass which he placed, gently frosting as its chill collided with the steam, on the bench at the head of the bath.

  ‘Clothes off.’ His tone was soft but all brisk efficiency. Pippa obeyed, her fingers trembling with want. They’d never shared a bath. After the shocks of the day, she desperately wanted to sink into the rapidly foaming water, and into him. Into his strength. Into his passion. Into his hands, and his lips. The water was still flowing from the taps, but she dropped the last of her clothes to the floor and stepped gingerly into the bath. It was like a fragrant, silky welcome, its warmth perfectly easing taut muscles as she all but collapsed into its length.

  Matt was standing beside the tub, watching the water gushing, not looking at her.

  ‘Aren’t you coming in?’

  He looked at her then. Sighed a little, sat on the side of the tub. ‘I don’t think so.’

  ‘Oh.’

  If he wasn’t joining her, Pippa’s nakedness suddenly became a matter of embarrassment. She tried to brazen it out. ‘I guess you have somewhere to be. I’ve taken up a lot of your time today. Thanks …’ she trailed off, running out of courage, uncertain where the day’s events had left them. If it left them anywhere at all.

  ‘I don’t need thanks, and I don’t have somewhere else to be. But you’ve had a big day, and you need rest, and if I get in that tub with you, rest is the last thing you’ll get.’ He handed her the wine glass and she sipped it slowly, savouring the sudden shock of crisp, cold flavour. Matt’s gentle care of her was lovely, but not what she wanted. Not now. And if he didn’t want her, why was he still there? Why had he come to her in the first place? But he was there, and she wanted him to stay, so she let the questions die and sipped again at her wine.

  ‘What do you think you’ll do with the money? It’s not enough to save the house.’ His fingers were trailing in the water. Abruptly he shook his hand free of bubbles, reached across and turned off the taps. The room was abruptly silent.

  Pippa tried to break it lightly, but even to her own ears, her voice was brittle.

  ‘No, it won’t save the house, but it will still go a long way to …’ she trailed off again. The money her Aunty Patsy had kept for her all these years, her mother’s money, would help her start again. It would cover the bond and the first few months’ rent on a flat, when she found one that suited. It would mean she didn’t have to leave Brisbane, not just yet. She wouldn’t have to sell the ute, or her tools, so she’d still be able to work. If she could find a few small commissions, if Marissa was able to persuade the insurance company to continue her liability cover while they investigated her case, she might even be able to keep her business afloat instead of having to look for a job. She’d half-expected to hear from Marissa today. They should have received an answer from—

  ‘Consolgard. My insurer.’

  Matt was back to trailing his fingers in the water, back to not looking at her.

  ‘Matt? Your clerk, Simon, was sending the Consolgard files away?’

  ‘That’s right.’ His gaze never shifted from the water.

  ‘And Brax—Braxton Gale—he said something to you about Consolgard today?’

  ‘Mm-hmm.’

  ‘What was that about? What’s happening with Consolgard? Brax made it sound like something serious had happened.’

  Matt pulled his fingers from the water and rose from the tub, found a towel and seemed intent on wiping every trace of moisture from his hand. But he didn’t answer her.

  ‘So? What was that about?’

  ‘It was nothing. Consolgard is going to another firm. Simon was just getting the files ready to transfer. It’s normal practice when a client changes firms.’

  ‘They’re a big client.’

  ‘They were.’

  ‘Your firm’s had them for a long time.’

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘Why are they leaving you?’

  ‘We had a conflict of interest.’

  ‘After all this time? What kind of conflict?’

  ‘Philippa, it doesn’t matter. It was just a difference of opinion on some legal matters that meant we weren’t able to represent them properly any more.’

  ‘It was my case, wasn’t it.’

  ‘It wasn’t just your case. There were a number of instances in which Consolgard could have discriminated against businesses based o
n information they had no valid reason to collect or to factor.’

  ‘You’re talking about the family history of alcoholism question.’

  ‘That’s right. Your case brought the issue to light, but it didn’t cause the issue, and regardless of who brought the suit, the outcome was always going to be the same.’

  ‘And so they fired you? Because you didn’t anticipate it? Because you didn’t protect them from the suit?’

  ‘Technically, I resigned the account, but that’s only a matter of timing. They’d have fired me anyway when I wouldn’t defend it. Having advised them they could use the information to refuse you cover, they could rightly expect their lawyer to fight the merits of that advice on their behalf until they’d exhausted all lines of defence.’

  ‘And why wouldn’t you defend it?’

  ‘Because it was wrong. Legally it might have been legitimate—I guess that’s still to be tested—but ethically it was indefensible. When we gave them that information about your father’s history, we shouldn’t have encouraged them to use it against you; we should have advised them to remove it from their damned application form. To be honest, I can’t say I ever gave more than a cursory look at their form until it had your signature on it. And even then, I didn’t register the validity of the alcohol question. It should never have been sent to Consolgard.’

  ‘I thought you said it wasn’t you that gave them the information. It was Simon.’

  ‘It was Simon. But Simon acted on behalf of my firm, so to all intents and purposes, it was my action that cost you your business.’

  ‘And that’s cost you your client. Is that why you’re firing Simon?’

  ‘Firing him? No. Simon’s going to the other law firm with the Consolgard business. It’s a good move for him.’

  ‘And how did Braxton Gale know all about this?’

  Matt sighed and leaned up against the damp wall. ‘It was never going to stay quiet. A long-standing client leaves one of the city’s biggest law firms, that’s always going to be news in legal circles. It doesn’t matter. It will blow over soon enough.’

  ‘Is it too late to get them back?’

  Matt snorted. ‘I don’t want them back. Philippa, if it wasn’t you, it would be some other poor sod expecting to be able to rely on their insurance cover and finding out, right when they need it most, they’re not covered at all, and for a reason that just isn’t valid. I don’t want to work with clients like that. Not any more.’

  ‘A big client like that, though. There must have been more staff than just Simon working on the account. Will you have to lay them off? Or will they move with the account to the other law firm as well?’

  ‘A couple will. The rest I’ll find other accounts for. We’ll take on another insurer.’

  Pippa absorbed this information silently, only slowly becoming aware that the bubbles had mostly burst, that she was lying in a rapidly cooling bath, her puckered nipples and goosefleshed thighs breaking the water’s surface below the eyes of the still fully clothed and oh-so-sombre man who had broken her heart and wrecked her business and was now, apparently, wrecking his own business in some ill-advised attempt to make amends. If word was out that his firm had lost one of its biggest, most loyal clients, would it really be so easy to win new business?

  Matt had noticed she was cold. Hard to miss, really, with her nipples poking up like sentinels at attention. He handed her a towel, and Pippa eased herself out of the bath and onto the mat beside him, trying to control the blush she felt creeping along her cheeks. He’d seen her naked before. It was nothing new. It was just that the other times, he’d been naked too. And he hadn’t been so obviously reluctant to touch her.

  In the close confines of the tiny bathroom, her breath meshed with his breath and her arm brushed his arm as she wrapped herself in the towel. Pippa caught her breath and held it; while he didn’t reach for her, he didn’t step away from her either. The steam had left a slight sheen on his forehead. She reached up with the corner of her towel to brush it away, lingering a little at his temples. His nostrils flared, and his eyes fixed hers with an intense gaze she couldn’t interpret. So she asked him the question that had been taxing her since he’d arrived at her kerb.

  ‘Matt, why are you even here? I mean, I’m very grateful, more than I can ever say … but I wasn’t expecting to see you today. I wasn’t expecting to see you here again. Why did you come?’

  There was hesitation in his face, uncertainty. A yearning, quickly extinguished by the strident tone of her mobile phone in the hallway. Matt smiled ruefully and shook his head. ‘It doesn’t matter now. I’m glad you found the letter, and your Aunty Patsy. I’m glad about the money. I’m glad things are starting to look up for you. Take care of yourself, Philippa.’

  And before she could protest, he was gone.

  ***

  ‘I can’t thank you enough, Marissa, that’s wonderful news.’

  It was wonderful news, amazing, life-changing news, but standing towel-clad in her draughty hallway, Pippa wished Marissa would end the call. She needed to think. Needed time to work through the implications of all she’d heard, all she’d learned, since Matt sat beside her on the kerb all those hours ago. First, her mother’s letter. Aunty Patsy’s revelations. Her mother’s money. Matt’s explanation about Consolgard which, the more she thought about it, really wasn’t an explanation at all. The way she’d felt, all afternoon, all evening, being with Matt. The relief she’d felt to be in his company. The joy she’d felt in his arms. The hope she’d felt that, despite her words of a week ago, he’d come back to her. And now this.

  Her company was insured, was safe for now, and her business loan reinstated. She could start over, start again. There were things, urgent things, she needed to work out. She’d need to chase up some new business leads. And she still needed to be out of the house by the end of the month, would still need to find somewhere new to live. But with her insurance sorted she could go on working, and with her mother’s money she could afford to stay in Brisbane, where she at least had her business reputation and might be able to get some client referrals. The abrupt change in her circumstances, the overwhelming discoveries she’d made that day … she needed to think it all through. But Marissa was still talking, still trying to persuade her to take the next legal step, to sue Consolgard for damages. In the end, it seemed the only way to get Marissa off the phone was to agree.

  ‘Okay, okay, I hear you! Marissa, I hear you. I’ll consider it.’

  ‘You’ll let me draw up the paperwork?’

  ‘I said I’ll consider it. I don’t want you to think I’m ungrateful, I really appreciate all you’ve done for me. I just don’t know if I can handle a lawsuit when I have so many other things on my plate at the moment.’

  ‘Well, even if I lodge the papers this week it will be months anyway before anything happens. But let’s get it filed—’

  ‘Marissa! Truly, you are more bullheaded than your brothers and I could never have imagined such a thing was possible. But thank you. I promise I will think about it, and I’ll let you know tomorrow.’

  Finally, the call was wrapping up. Pippa headed for her bedroom, holding the phone with one hand and letting her towel drop to reach for a t-shirt. She was exhausted. As soon as Marissa hung up, she was falling straight into bed—

  ‘Hang on a sec, Mum wants a word.’

  Pippa nearly groaned with frustration, tinged with guilt. It was Eleanor, after all, one of her most loyal clients as well as a stalwart friend. At least she had been, until Pippa had stopped returning her calls weeks ago. Hearing Eleanor’s apologies for her son’s behaviour and her repeated offers of financial assistance had been more than Pippa could bear. She wouldn’t blame Eleanor for giving her a solid blast for her graceless ingratitude, now that she had her on the phone. Pippa took a deep breath, ready for the battering.

  ‘Philippa, darling. Thank you for taking my call. That is, I know it was Marissa who called you, but thank you for agreeing to talk to m
e.’

  Pippa let out all the air in a rush and garbled through her embarrassment. ‘Not at all, Eleanor, I’m sorry, sorry I haven’t called you back, I just …’

  ‘You’ve had other things on your mind. I know. And I can’t tell you how happy I am that you and Marissa seem to have found a solution, a temporary one anyway.’

  ‘That’s all thanks to Marissa, Eleanor, she’s been marvellous. Really, it’s wonderful news. In fact, it’s been a remarkable kind of day.’

  ‘I hope I can add to it. I wanted to ask your permission a few weeks ago to enter the kindergarten project in the Queensland Urban Design Awards, but when I couldn’t reach you—well, I hope you don’t mind, but I entered it anyway. And Philippa, you’ve won! That is, the project won. And I wondered if you would do me the great honour of accompanying me to the awards ceremony and collecting the award with me. It’s a very prestigious event, black tie …’

  Eleanor prattled on and Pippa tried to take in what she was saying, but it was too much. It was all too much. She contained the first sob, but after that it was game over.

  Chapter 18

  The electric blue dress was getting another airing. While her short-term financial emergency had abated, Pippa wasn’t risking so much as a dollar on anything that wasn’t essential to her future. That morning, she’d handed over a gulp-inducing slice of her bank balance to a realtor in bond on a flat ready for her to move into. There was no garden, but that was okay. With a little luck—and she’d already had quite a lot, but perhaps just a little more?—publicity about the design award would bring her enough new commissions to keep her from missing a garden of her own.

  Tomorrow her house sale would be completed, all going well. She’d pay out her mortgage and be debt-free. Clear to start again.

  And tonight? Tonight she was going to a ball, thanks to her fairy godmother Eleanor.

  The slamming of a car door outside her house told her her carriage had arrived. No footmen; but Justin was breathtakingly debonair in his tux as he helped her into the car.