Starting Over

by Susanne Bellamy

  Paul nodded. He hated thinking, let alone talking, about those dark days. Four years on and still a small part of him, one he usually kept locked deep inside, wanted to lay hands on the man who had defeated his father. It was history. He had to leave it in the past, where it belonged. But still his fingers twitched with a need for justice. ‘Dad was horrified he’d been part of a scam and involved his friends, however innocently. Then the bank demanded immediate payment of the loan he’d taken and suddenly, we looked set to lose the farm.’

  Returning from his conference to utter chaos and his father hospitalised following a major heart attack, Paul had no choice but to borrow against his business to save his father and his family.

  ‘So what did you do?’

  ‘I took out a second mortgage. Dad would have sold the farm to repay his friends. He felt responsible for having recommended the scheme, but he was taken in by Frankston the same as everyone else.’

  ‘And you stepped in to help?’

  ‘I couldn’t let him lose the farm. This commission from Don Carter was going to be enough to pay off the second loan and let me focus on the art school. A couple of weeks ago I signed a contract on the Cotton Bale. Stupidly, I didn’t wait until the money from Carter was in the bank.’ The coffee turned sour in his stomach and he tipped the rest down the sink. ‘I have to go; I have an appointment with the solicitor to talk through my options. I doubt I have any.’

  ‘May I come with you and meet her? I mean—’ Serena’s words trailed off and she turned away.

  He felt like the world’s biggest louse, a big, mean, grumpy louse who didn’t recognise kindness when it touched him. Serena’s idea was generous and his overreaction to her sketch niggled at him.

  The sketch!

  It would be interesting to see if Penny saw the likeness or if he was seeing bogeymen where none existed. Penny had been criticised for mixing her romantic relationship with Frankston with preparing his legal documents, but the scam had eventually been uncovered because of her attention to detail.

  ‘Look, I’m sorry about … before. Yes. Come with me. I’m happy to introduce you to Penny. Bring your sketches and run your fundraising idea past her too. She draws up watertight contracts, if you need one.’

  Really tight contracts, like his contract on the pub. Damn it, he was totally screwed.

  ***

  Paul held the glass-panelled door of Penny Fordham’s office open for Serena and then followed her, allowing the door to swing gently closed behind him. Wide floorboards dated the building to the turn of the previous century, and dated lithographs of the original building jostled for space beside two bright Pro Hart prints. He approached the counter and leaned over, looking for Penny’s receptionist. Paper rustled nearby as he checked his watch then tapped the old-fashioned bell.

  ‘Damn.’ A metallic clunk was followed by a thump before the pink-tipped blonde-haired head of Annabelle, Penny’s legal assistant, popped her head around a partition. She sucked on her index finger as her gaze connected with Paul’s. A flush of colour stained her round cheeks. ‘Sorry. Hi, take a seat. Penny—sorry, Ms Fordham—won’t be long. She’s in the middle of a call.’

  ‘No problem. Ah, everything okay back there?’ He nodded to indicate the work area from which Annabelle had appeared.

  She rolled her eyes. ‘I just tried stapling my finger to the barrister’s brief.’

  ‘Sounds dangerous.’ Serena perched on the edge of an ancient hunter-green Chesterfield and gripped the strap of her handbag.

  ‘If only. I thought working in a legal office would be exciting and exotic. So far it’s hole-punching, staples, document dividers and endless photocopies. And everyone wants their case dealt with like yesterday.’ Her gaze dropped to the folder in Paul’s hands as the door to Penny’s office opened. Her blush returned, deeper than before. ‘I didn’t mean you, of course.’

  Penny walked smartly across the floor, her heels clipping a regular tattoo. She patted Annabelle’s shoulder and smiled at Paul and Serena. ‘People are anxious, especially since the closure took everyone by surprise. Sorry to keep you waiting. Come on through.’

  As they entered the solicitor’s office, Penny paused to speak with Annabelle. ‘Bob Jackson said he’s impressed by his contact with you. You’ll do a great job with that brief. Just cross-check the dates with the documents and the indexes.’

  ‘Thanks, Penny.’

  Fortyish and with a streak of white hair above her brow, Penny knew her stuff. Paul’s first lease—the saddlery—and his later purchase of the building had gone smoothly thanks to her, but she’d counselled caution when he dived into the new contract of the Cotton Bale. As always, Penny had been right. Of course he’d been confident nothing could go wrong with his plans. Nothing had morphed into the closure of the ginning mill and now it was more than just his dreams and livelihood on the line. He glanced across at Serena. The tension in her body zinged around the room as she set a folder on the desk and he introduced her to Penny. Why hadn’t he put a rein on his mouth? He stared at her portfolio. Of all the people in Mindalby, how had she managed to find the one who could strip away every skerrick of control he’d worked hard to achieve?

  ‘How can I help?’ Penny pulled a yellow legal notepad in front of her and picked up a black pen with the distinctive white Mindalby Cotton Company logo emblazoned on it.

  ‘Couple of things, Penny. We’re both looking for whatever legal recourse we might have to recover money from Don Carter. Serena’s got an idea to put to you, and I have a private matter I need to raise after that.’

  ‘Fine. Why don’t we begin with your shared problem? Do you have a signed contract with Carter?’

  Serena shook her head. ‘Yes, but not with me. All my paperwork is in Sydney. I can ask my partner to scan and email a copy, if that’s any use?’

  ‘That will be fine.’ Penny took a business card from a clear acrylic cardholder on her desk and handed it to Serena. ‘The email address is on the card.’

  ‘Thanks.’ Serena turned away and fiddled with her handbag, taking her time to withdraw her wallet and stow the card.

  Paul pulled out a plastic sleeve containing the contract he’d signed with Don Carter and handed it to Penny. Was it even worth the paper it was printed on?

  She scanned the document before looking him square in the eye. ‘It won’t be easy. There will be a long line of creditors, all of whom probably have legitimate claims like yours. Unless a way is found for the mill to continue trading, I suspect there won’t be much in the kitty to go around. Ten cents in the dollar is considered good in these circumstances, but don’t spread that beyond this office. That’s my opinion by the way. At this stage, there isn’t any firm detail available.’

  Ten cents in the dollar? His stomach took a dive. They might as well file for bankruptcy right now and be done with it.

  ‘Surely there would be more than that?’

  Serena’s straight back sagged into the chair and a soft groan slipped through her lips. ‘Do you mean there is nothing I—we—can do to make that man pay what he owes?’

  Penny set her pen precisely in the middle of the yellow page and met their gazes. ‘It depends on what assets owned by the mill can be sold to cover its commitments. My guess is that some equipment will have been leased so it won’t go into the kitty. And then there is the lifestyle led by the Carters.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Just an observation, Paul. I shouldn’t have mentioned it only—’ Penny pressed her lips together, ‘—so many people in town are doing it tough while Mrs Carter has flaunted her good fortune in their faces. Maybe it’s just my profession making me suspicious. Forget I said that, will you? For now, my advice on this subject is to wait and see. I’m not at liberty to say more than that.’

  Suddenly Paul’s collar was choking him. The saddlery had been offered as collateral against both the second mortgage and the contract. Without payment, he’d lose everything.

  Serena’s ton
gue touched the corner of her mouth and she drew an audible breath. ‘Am I in the same position with my commission for the festival? I’ve invested heavily in materials, labour, and promotional material, and—’ She paused; her fingers twined together in her lap and pressed so hard, her knuckles lost all colour. He wanted to reach over and squeeze her hand, reassure her that they would both come out of this, but he didn’t believe it. And he didn’t want their fledgling relationship tainted by lies. Not even one told with good intentions. Instead, he jumped into the lengthening silence.

  ‘We need something positive in the doom and gloom. Serena has an idea for a fundraiser—sketches of locals following the mill closure.’

  Serena set the two sketches on the desk, fingers trembling as she turned them to face Penny. He should have reassured her that Penny wouldn’t jump down her throat like he had.

  ‘I have a friend who owns a gallery. I think I could convince him to show the sketches—and maybe even some of Paul’s work. Profits would go towards helping people thrown out of work by the closure.’

  ‘A great idea, Serena. But even with friends, you’ll need a contract to go with that offer.’ Penny picked up the first page, and Paul held his breath. Would she recognise her ex-fiancé?

  Penny’s eyes narrowed and she frowned. Pressing her lips together, she dropped the sketch on the desk as though touching it made her feel dirty and looked at him.

  He hadn’t made a mistake.

  Somewhere in Serena’s short stay, she had seen Frankston.

  If the rumours were true and the conman meant to buy the mill, Mindalby was up the creek with no boat, no paddle, and no hope.

  They needed help.

  They needed inspiration.

  They needed … a miracle.

  Because Frankston wouldn’t buy the mill to help the town.

  Frankston would buy the mill and bury them.

  Chapter Ten

  Serena led the way out of the office without speaking. The solicitor’s reaction had been understated, but no less powerful than Paul’s. And it sent chills through her body. They hated the man in her sketch with a vengeance.

  My father.

  The conman whose crime had nearly killed Paul’s father, assuming her composite sketch was accurate.

  She stopped and Paul ran into her back, knocking her bag out of her hand. He scooped it up and held it out.

  ‘For a moment in there, I wondered … That is, tell me to shut up if you don’t want to talk about it, but it seems you’ve got more invested in this town than just a fashion show.’

  Her breath caught in her throat. She didn’t dare look into his face. Paul didn’t know the half of it, but when he found out Frankston was her father—

  Might be. She held onto that tenuous hope. The conman might not be her father. She raised her chin and met his gaze. It lacked any sign of accusation for a woman tainted by her relationship with a criminal. Then she remembered. Paul didn’t know she was searching for her father. He didn’t know the sketch was her attempt to find the nameless man who had fathered her. He didn’t know. And she didn’t want to tell him—ever. So what did he think he’d worked out about her?

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Look, I don’t mean to pry but if I can help in some way, even if it’s just a friendly ear. Or shoulder or—’ His gaze dropped to her lips and, for the briefest of moments, she forgot why she wouldn’t kiss him again.

  She gripped her handbag with both hands. ‘Thank you. It’s my problem but thanks for offering.’ From deep within her bag, the sound of a train horn tooted. She pulled out her mobile and checked the screen. ‘Thanks for letting me tag along to see your solicitor. Penny is lovely, and incredibly kind.’

  ‘She’s an old family friend. Look, would you like to grab a coffee?’

  Wishing her life was simple and that grabbing a coffee with Paul didn’t mean analysing the heck out of the ethics of it, Serena held up her phone. ‘That was my reminder. I agreed to meet Max at Joe’s Café.’

  In a way having to meet Max was a relief. At least she didn’t have to wonder about the rights and wrongs of telling him to take a flying leap if she didn’t like what he said.

  ‘Ah, your journalist friend.’ Paul shoved his hands into his jacket pockets.

  A wave of regret washed over her. Paul really was a kind man and she enjoyed his company. She would miss it once he knew— Cutting off that line of thought, she smiled. Until she had certainty on her side, she’d make the most of their time together. ‘Until tomorrow.’

  ‘Sure. Trev and I will swing by your place about six-thirty.’ He waved as she headed along the main street to meet Max.

  Max the smarmy, Max the arrogant, Max who, she realised now after they were long finished, had been all wrong for her.

  Or she was wrong for him. It cut both ways.

  And wasn’t she all wrong for the man she was beginning to have feelings for? The kindest thing she could do for Paul Carey was to take herself out of his life.

  Starting with the dinner invitation to his parents’ home.

  After she’d spoken to Max, a phone call to Paul politely declining dinner with his family was next on her list. Confused, she drove with only half her mind focused on her lane, and parked across the road from Joe’s Café. Tapping her fingers on the steering wheel, Serena sat and watched Max. He was seated at a corner table, back to the wall and his laptop open on the table in front of him. His fingers stilled on the keys and he tipped the screen down as Beryl sashayed up to his table carrying a tray. She placed a mug and a glass of water near his right hand and gave him one of the smiles she reserved for the male of the species. In the cold light of day, Serena’s initial shock at Max’s appearance in Mindalby had disappeared. Surprisingly, a small ball of hurt lingered, tinged with resentment. He’d deserted her, not the other way around. She wasn’t good enough for him to stay and support her when her mother was hospitalised? So why did he want to talk to her now?

  What do you want from me, Max? she thought.

  Max turned his attention to Beryl. Even from across the road, Serena could see the gleaming white expanse of his expensive dental work as he chatted to the waitress.

  ‘No matter how winningly you smile at her, you won’t get your espresso shots there, Maxie-babe.’ Gritting her teeth as her childhood habit of voicing her thoughts resurfaced, she grabbed her keys and bag and got out of the car. Then she stood, hand on the door, wavering between crossing the road and climbing back into her car and heading off somewhere he wasn’t.

  But Max wasn’t in Mindalby on her account. With his Italian suits and shoes, nothing less than the prospect of a front-page story would have enticed Max into this dusty landscape. He covered national business and finance. Was Don Carter implicated in a scandal? What if Max knew something that could help Paul and his friends? If she listened nicely instead of allowing her hurt to surface and accusations to fly, maybe he’d tell her.

  As if he ever shared anything with me, even while we lived together.

  Pale sunlight peeked through grey-tinged clouds that promised rain. Taking that as a good omen, she crossed the road, pushed the door open and stepped inside.

  ‘Serena darling. Glad you could make it. And you’re early! Can I take it that you’re as anxious to see me as I am to see you?’ He took hold of her free hand and leaned in to kiss her mouth.

  At the last second, she turned her head and his lips brushed her cheek.

  A slight tightening of his hold suggested displeasure, but he stepped back and, holding her hand high and to the side, gave her a once-over. ‘You’re looking fabulous. Who’d have thought the back of beyond would agree so well with you?’

  ‘It’s not your usual stamping ground either. I must admit I was surprised when you walked into the pub.’

  He held her chair and his hand stroked her hair with a possessive touch before he took his own seat and closed his laptop. Serena loosened the green leaf-patterned scarf draped around her shoulders. Surel
y once upon a time, she had welcomed his touch? Now, it simply annoyed her.

  Leaning his elbows on the table and linking his fingers, he examined her face. ‘It’s good to see you, Reeny. I’ve missed you.’

  There was another thing she hadn’t missed: that silly pet name he’d insisted on using, never mind how often she told him she disliked it. If this meeting did nothing more than sever the last threads of a dead relationship, she was glad she’d plucked up the nerve to cross the road and speak with him.

  ‘I wasn’t the one who walked out, Max.’

  ‘I admit that wasn’t my finest hour, but I was under pressure at work.’

  ‘And I wasn’t? I spent that night and all the next day at the hospital when Mum went in for emergency surgery.’

  Max covered her hand with his. ‘I’m sorry I wasn’t more supportive. Look, we’re both here now. What do you say we get back together and—’

  ‘What?’ Pulling her hand free from his, Serena pinned him with a glare. ‘Are you serious? Is that what this is all about?’

  ‘Why wouldn’t I want to get back with the sweetest woman I ever met?’ Charm oozed from him, but his eyes lacked that sincerity Paul’s had.

  ‘The only event of sufficient interest to drag you from the city is the mill closure. And I can’t imagine why one small cotton mill on the edge of the outback would catch your attention, unless you’re following a bigger story?’ She allowed the implied question to hang, and waited.

  Max tapped his fingers on the table. ‘I dig for juicy details. Beneath the surface, that’s where the interesting stories are.’

  ‘What’s juicy about—?’ The solicitor’s comment ran through her mind. One small hint, that’s all she wanted Max to drop, and she’d pass it on to Paul. ‘Are you investigating Don Carter? What do you know about him?’

  ‘What do you know about Don Carter?’

  As always he answered a question with a question, but his tone implied he was interested in her answer. So that meant something about Carter had raised a red flag for him.