Good News, Bad News

by Maggie Groff

  Moaning softly I turned to him. He cupped my chin in his hand and kissed me, tenderly at first, and then deeply and passionately as if the world was about to end. He groaned lustfully, and with reckless abandon we tore off each other’s clothes. When we were both naked he released me and held me at arm’s length.

  Casting his eyes over my body he said, ‘Is this really all mine?’

  I smiled at him. ‘No, it’s mine,’ I teased, ‘but you can play with it if you want.’

  Chapter 31

  Rafe and I were having breakfast in bed. Yesterday’s dismal weather had been replaced with brilliant sunshine, and the view from our window showcased a sparkling blue harbour with a shiny coat-hanger bridge.

  We’d ordered room service, as we had done last night, and were munching our way through eggs Benedict and fresh fruit salad. As had become our custom when we spent the night together, Rafe had given me my morning insulin. I had never allowed anyone else to do this for me, and for both of us it was an experience of incredible intimacy. I don’t know why. It just was.

  My body felt wonderful. I had been well and truly ravished throughout most of the evening, the night and the early hours. Every nerve tingled to every touch; colours appeared brighter, and the air seemed easier to breathe. Thoroughly sated, I leaned over and kissed Rafe lightly on the mouth.

  ‘Would it be bad form if I went onto the balcony and shouted, “Yippee”?’ Rafe said, grinning mischievously at me.

  ‘You might want to put on some pants,’ I suggested. ‘Otherwise we might have women trying to break in the door.’

  ‘They’d be out of luck.’ Rafe put down his coffee cup, sighed loudly and leaned back against the pillows. ‘I’m done.’

  I pushed away the breakfast tray and nestled into the crook of Rafe’s arm, resting my head against his chest. For a while we lay silent and I listened to the steady rise and fall of his breathing. I couldn’t remember ever having felt so safe. So physically content.

  Neither of us had mentioned the end of my relationship with Toby. Besides, it would have been unseemly to discuss the matter while in bed with Rafe. I knew that Rafe knew that it was over, and he knew that I knew that he knew. It was enough for the time being.

  ‘So, why are you really here?’ Rafe asked, stroking my hair. ‘Apart from needing me to jump your bones, that is.’

  Laughing, I gently dug him in the ribs. ‘If I told you, I’d have to kill you.’

  ‘You have almost killed me.’

  ‘Mmmm, but what a way to go.’

  ‘So?’

  He stroked the side of my face and ran his finger across my lips, making it difficult for me to concentrate.

  ‘I’m following up leads,’ I told him. ‘It involves a yacht that went missing during a storm in Sydney Harbour thirty years ago. A sailor called Mick O’Leary was drowned. I’ve an appointment with a yacht chandler this morning to look over a similar yacht.’ I wasn’t game to admit that this had anything to do with the infamous Anemone Sisters and risk heckling from the constabulary.

  Apart from that, it would be unwise to tell Rafe the finer details as he was bound by his professional mandate to follow up a suspected crime. He knew I would inform the authorities when I was ready, and he was mindful not to press me further. I thought for a while, trying to recall what it was that I had wanted to ask him to find out for me. Then I remembered.

  ‘Any idea how to find a retired New South Wales police officer called Smith?’

  ‘Rank?’

  ‘Inspector, I believe.’ I told Rafe that Norman Smith had worked on the missing yacht case and it would be helpful if I could talk to him.

  Rafe checked his watch. ‘I’ll make a couple of calls after eight. If I find him I can’t give you his contact details, but I can call him and give him your number. How’s that?’

  ‘Perfect, thank you.’ I looked up at him and asked, ‘Are you attending the police course today?’

  ‘Mmmm.’

  ‘Well, don’t fall asleep,’ I warned, settling my head back down.

  ‘I’ve got the afternoon off. I’ll come back here and sleep. Where do you want to go for dinner?’

  I gasped. I’d almost forgotten. ‘My mother has organised a family get-together. It’ll probably be one of Dad’s lamb barbecues. We have to be there about 6 pm.’

  I looked up again to gauge Rafe’s reaction and watched as a broad grin spread across his face.

  ‘What’s so amusing?’ I said.

  ‘I’m to meet the family!’ He sounded inordinately pleased. ‘Will your daughters be there?’

  ‘Yes, and my nephew Max, Harper’s eldest.’

  ‘Are your daughters as beautiful as you?’

  ‘Beautifuller,’ I said coyly, and Rafe kissed me warmly.

  We dozed for a while in each other’s arms and I could happily have stayed there for the rest of the day. At 8 am I knew that if I didn’t make a move soon I never would.

  ‘Time for me to get going,’ I said, reluctantly extricating myself from Rafe’s embrace and the tangled sheets. As I walked to the bathroom I turned around and saw him reach over for his phone. Ten minutes later he stepped into the shower behind me and put his arms around me.

  ‘Any luck with finding Inspector Smith?’ I asked as he started to move his body against me.

  ‘Uh-huh.’ Rafe playfully nibbled my neck.

  ‘And?’

  ‘And I was wrong,’ he whispered in my ear. ‘I’m not done.’

  Owing to the length and thickness of my hair, it takes a long time to dry, and by the time I’d tamed my locks into a respectable side plait and I was out of the bathroom, Rafe had already left for his morning seminar.

  The remains of our breakfast had been removed and the small red rose that had been on the tray was on top of a yellow post-it note on the bed. The note, from Rafe, said he had made contact with Norman Smith, who was happy to talk to me about the missing yacht, remembered the case and would call me.

  I sat on the bed and my eye caught sight of another post-it note stuck on the bedside lampshade. Looking around the room I saw several other notes attached to the window, the door, the wall and furniture.

  Intrigued, I pulled the note off the lampshade. It was covered in kisses. I moved around the room and gathered the notes, all of which were resplendent with kisses. Smiling happily, I took an envelope from the hotel stationery wallet, put the notes in the envelope and then tucked it safely into my suitcase. Such things were for keeping.

  My phone rang. It was Harper.

  ‘How are you this morning?’ I asked cautiously.

  ‘I could retch for Australia at the next Olympics.’

  ‘Are you at school?’

  ‘Yep. I’m looking at the photo you sent of Andrew and that person. Did you remember where you’d seen her before?’

  ‘Not yet. What do you think?’ As we talked I turned on my laptop, dug the USB out of my bag and plugged it into the side of the laptop and opened the photograph.

  ‘I think she’s mid-twenties and butt ugly. And I think she looks European in a cheap, tarty sort of way,’ Harper said nastily.

  I clenched my teeth, annoyed that Harper was obviously ignoring the advice that it didn’t look like Andrew and the woman were having a romantic relationship. However, she had a point about the woman looking European, and the backpackers hostel supported this theory, but no one could say she looked cheap or tarty, or deny that she was pretty.

  ‘Is Andrew still staying at the hospital?’ I asked, and wondered if Harper had told him not to come home.

  ‘Yes, and I’ve told him I don’t want him here,’ she said, confirming my suspicion. ‘You don’t need a medical degree to figure out why I’m throwing up in the morning, and I don’t want him knowing about this baby until I know who that tart is.’

  Oh, boy!

  ‘Look,’ I said, trying to be helpful. ‘Why don’t you stop torturing yourself and ring Andrew and ask him who she is?’

  ‘What, and lis
ten to his lies? No way. I’ll wait, thanks, and find out from the private detective.’

  Uh, that would now be me, I thought with more than a little consternation. Abruptly I changed the subject and told Harper about tonight’s family dinner, and Mum changing poolside into her undies.

  At some point I was going to have to tell my sister that I would be introducing Rafe to the family this evening. Lord knows I didn’t want her to hear about it after the fact, and someone was bound to tell her. Besides, my mother had probably already told her that Toby and I were finished, although Harper hadn’t mentioned it, so perhaps Mum hadn’t.

  I was about to launch into a flowery Jane Austen version of my love life where I, as the heroine, had eventually succumbed to the attentions of a previously disliked but handsome hero, when Harper jumped in and told me she’d read somewhere the rate of miscarriage in women over forty-five was high, and that more than anything in the world she wanted to have this baby.

  I made statements about her being fit and healthy and how I was sure the statistics reduced with the more children you’d had, and the biggie, that she was only one year over forty-five.

  ‘I wasn’t asking for reassurance,’ she said frostily, and I immediately realised my omission.

  ‘And I really want you to have this baby, too, Harps,’ I said with way more enthusiasm than I felt. ‘It’s all very exciting.’

  ‘That’s what I wanted to hear,’ she replied, her tone lighter.

  A loud school bell suddenly drowned our conversation.

  ‘Are you still there?’ I asked when the cacophony had ceased.

  ‘Uh-huh.’

  ‘Toby and I have called it a day,’ I said quickly, before I had a chance to back out. ‘I’ve met somebody else. I didn’t tell you before as you’ve had a lot on your plate.’

  My conscience eased that I’d finally told her, I readied myself for a verbal spanking. When none was forthcoming, I bravely added, ‘I’m taking my new man to meet Mum and Dad tonight.’

  Still no reaction.

  ‘Harps?’

  ‘Shh! I’m thinking.’

  Nervously I twiddled my plait around while I waited. Harper had really liked Toby and I knew she would be upset. I anticipated nothing less than the Spanish Inquisition.

  ‘When did you meet your new man?’ she asked eventually.

  ‘I’ve known him for a long time, but we first dated in March, after Toby left for Afghanistan.’ Keep it simple, Scout. Keep it simple.

  ‘And when did you and Toby call it a day?’

  ‘On Saturday, when he came home,’ I said truthfully.

  ‘So you’ve been wrestling with your conscience the whole time Toby was away?’

  ‘Mmmm.’

  ‘And?’ she said.

  ‘And what?’

  ‘And who is the new man?’ She sounded mildly exasperated.

  Harper had already met Rafe back in March when she and I had been sitting on my verandah and Rafe had stopped by. He had made quite an impression on her and I knew she’d remember him. Women did.

  ‘Do you remember the policeman who called in when I was recovering from broken ribs?’ I said.

  ‘The one who was at school with Toby?’

  ‘The very same.’ I bit down on my bottom lip, prepared for a fiery lecture on friendships and disloyalty.

  ‘Scout,’ she said calmly. ‘As much as I love Toby, it’s always concerned me that you have invested so much effort into a relationship with a man who’s never there. I know you like your independence, but your life will be much richer with a partner who’s in the same town. And might I add that you have chosen well!’

  Her reasoned response surprised me. ‘Thank you,’ I said gratefully.

  ‘Hey,’ Harper shot back. ‘Don’t get too carried away. I’m still mad you didn’t tell me before! Look, I gotta go. Love you.’ And with that she hung up.

  Slightly bewildered by her positive reaction to my news, but pleased that we had finished our chat on a good note, I sat and stared at the photograph of Andrew and the young woman for some time. Where the hell had I seen her before?

  ‘Who are you?’ I finally asked aloud. ‘And what the hell are you doing with my brother-in-law?’

  Chapter 32

  At 10 am I was sitting in the very nautical sales office of Bosuns Marine near the Spit Bridge at Mosman, admiring the navigational charts on the wall. Geoff Shaw was making coffee for his father, Bill, and me. Office tea has been off my radar since the budget nazis canned the daily tea trolley.

  I was also looking very nautical in jeans and a blue and white striped long-sleeved top. I’d tied a small red cotton scarf sporting a skull and crossbones motif at the end of my plait and I had on navy boat shoes. To complete the effect I’d rolled up the hems of my jeans. Over the years I’ve found that folk are often more candid with you if you look like their kind of people.

  ‘Where’s your parrot?’ Bill asked, surveying my outfit with an amused expression on his face.

  I blushed, and Geoff, sensing my discomfort, asked, ‘Are you looking forward to a sail?’

  ‘Absolutely,’ I told him, although I was having second thoughts. The office was on a floating pontoon and the movement was already making me queasy. It didn’t bode well for the high seas.

  ‘It’s a good day for it,’ Bill said. ‘We’ll sail around to Manly, buy some fish and chips for lunch, and we should be back here by one, one-thirty. That do you?’

  I smiled at him. ‘Yes, thanks.’

  The Shaws bred their men short and stocky. Bill, the older sea-dog, was silver-haired with a pleasantly weathered face, and he looked strong and dependable. Geoff was exactly the same, except his hair was light brown. Between them I guessed they were the team of experienced brokers I’d read about on the net.

  Coffees distributed, we sat at Geoff’s cluttered desk, he in his captain’s chair on one side and Bill and I on the other. Bill handed me a manila folder.

  ‘I’ve made copies for you of the O’Leary sales,’ he said.

  Thanking him, I opened the folder and studied the contents. The first few sheets were the bill of sale, which showed that two identical yachts, safety equipment and insurance had been purchased. Various sails and a dinghy were also listed, as well as an outboard motor. The original bill was for $82,500, and the workings for the discount were in the right-hand column. The documents confirmed the final sales price of $80,000.

  Bill tapped a finger on the list of safety equipment. ‘Do you know if a dinghy was recovered with the wreckage?’

  ‘It wasn’t,’ I said. ‘Why do you ask?’

  ‘Because it was an inflatable dinghy,’ Bill said. ‘And a good one.’

  I looked at him. ‘Is that important?’

  ‘It could be,’ Geoff interjected. ‘The first thing you’d do if the vessel you were on was sinking, after you’d radioed for help, would be to inflate the dinghy and grab the oars to save yourself.’

  Taking a sip of coffee, I thought about this. I’d read the description of the storm and didn’t think even Hercules would have made much headway inflating a dinghy and rowing it on Sydney Harbour on that particular day. Running my eyes over the list of items again, I stopped at the outboard motor. ‘This outboard motor,’ I said. ‘Would it work on an inflatable dinghy?’

  Both men nodded. ‘On a good one it would,’ Geoff said.

  ‘And that was a good one,’ Bill repeated.

  Geoff’s phone rang and he excused himself and went outside. I carried on studying the list of safety equipment—life jackets, bailer buckets, oars, waterproof torches, marine radios, magnetic compasses and a host of other accessories.

  ‘In my opinion,’ Bill said eagerly, ‘he could have already had the dinghy trailing behind him, inflated and ready for escape with the motor attached. He could have radioed the mayday when he was not too far from shore and then scrambled into the dinghy, cast off from the yacht and, though it would have been dangerous, made it to land.’

&nbs
p; ‘Is that feasible?’

  ‘Yes, especially if he was strong.’

  I suppressed a satisfied smile. Bill had probably just described exactly how O’Leary had engineered his disappearance, although I doubted I could ever prove it.

  Once again, I needed to quell Bill’s enthusiasm for amateur sleuthing, so I said, ‘On the other hand, the yacht could have sunk in the storm, O’Leary could have drowned, and his wife could have the other yacht, as well as the dinghy and the outboard motor.’

  He looked slightly crestfallen. ‘Can’t we ask her?’

  ‘I haven’t been able to find her,’ I lied rather guiltily. ‘She’s probably remarried.’

  ‘She would have remarried,’ he said confidently. ‘She was one hell of a looker.’

  Ignoring his blokey remark I studied the other documents in the file. Both applications for yacht registrations were in the name of Michael O’Leary, and he had used his birth certificate as proof of identity. As a Justice of the Peace, Bill Shaw had witnessed the documents.

  The last papers in the folder were the boat specifications.

  ‘This is a great help,’ I told Bill, and put the folder in my bag.

  Geoff stepped back into the office. He had a dissatisfied look on his face. ‘That was my mate Tom, the boat code agent. He found O’Leary’s original 1983 registration numbers for both yachts, but regos have to be renewed annually, and those never were.’

  ‘What about cross-referencing the registration numbers with HINs?’ I asked.

  ‘He tried that. He didn’t even come across any private or commercial registration for a Michael O’Leary in New South Wales or Queensland. The trail’s cold, I’m afraid,’ Geoff said. He handed me a piece of paper on which he’d noted the registration numbers and I slipped it into the folder. Even though I’d guessed Tom wouldn’t find anything useful, I was a little surprised a computer hadn’t thrown up a document connection with the ‘Leary’ part of Mick’s name, but then Tom had probably done only a cursory search.

  ‘Shame about your story,’ Bill said, assuming this had been the death knell.

  ‘Win some, lose some,’ I replied, mirroring his glum expression.