‘Garcia is playing host behind the bar,’ Tor says. ‘Stay here with Nate while I greet him. He wants to discuss casinos, so I’ll suggest his office.’
‘Just hurry up.’
‘You look like a rabbit caught in headlights.’
‘A swan caught in stagelights,’ Nate says.
‘I wish you’d both shut up.’
Tor frowns. ‘Would you like a glass of champagne?’
‘Yes, please.’
‘I’ll have a juice,’ Nate says.
Nate and I watch Tor cross the patio on the way to the bar. Even though it’s impossible to stride like a thoroughbred because the other guests are in the way, his gait is assured. People signal him with a wave, call him over or even step in front of him, forcing him to acknowledge them. He smiles at everyone. A number of men shake his hand. Women do the same, or touch his arm, or kiss him.
I shoulder bump Nate. ‘How does he know all these people?’
‘He’s fluent in a fair few languages, he has charm and good looks, and he remembers people’s names, that’s a good start. And it’s October. We’ve been in Sydney on and off for most of the year.’
‘Spying on people at parties?’
He grins. ‘Nah. He’s a diplomat. It’s part of his job, getting invited to social functions and meeting people. It’s a good environment for networking, sharing information, working out political affiliations, things like that.’
‘It sounds like spying to me.’
Nate doesn’t say anything for a while, then he touches my arm. ‘When you disappeared in the storm at Clovelly he was beside himself. I’ve never seen him like that.’
‘He felt partly responsible. It’s not really Tor’s fault though, Eric selling my home.’
‘I think it makes him feel worse, the fact you’re decent about it.’
‘There’s no point blaming him.’ I shrug. ‘It’s just the way it is, the way it’s always been with Eric and Mum.’
A man laughs loudly, the sound ringing out over the other laughter and the background noise of people talking over each other. I take a step closer to Nate. My anxiety must be written all over my face because he drapes an arm around my shoulders.
‘You’re doing great,’ he says.
‘When I go to friends’ parties I arrive on time and leave early, or help out in the kitchen. I’d have escaped to Eric’s study by now if we were at Clovelly.’
Nate lets me go when he reaches for a canapé. Waitstaff, dressed in beige chinos and white polo shirts, are handing them out. I’m hungry but I’m worried I’ll choke if I eat. When Tor returns and hands me a glass of champagne I take a sip. Nate takes the strawberry out of his orange juice before he drains it. Tor isn’t even pretending to drink.
‘Garcia will be here shortly,’ he says. ‘Are you okay?’
‘I will be. Don’t worry. Follow your lead, right?’
‘And keep your head down. Try to smile too, as if you actually want to be with me.’
‘Lie, you mean?’
He doesn’t say anything, just shakes his head.
‘He’s coming our way,’ Nate mutters.
Alessandro walks across the patio with his head held high. I imagine what sort of horse he’d be. Maybe one of the Queen’s carriage horses? A well-proportioned Cleveland Bay, beautifully groomed, glossy brown, with a black mane and tail.
He takes my hand and kisses my cheek. I’d much prefer to smell horse instead of aftershave, but it’s not like I can push him away. I have to be a spy like Tor.
‘Golden,’ Alessandro says, ‘how wonderful to see you again. Welcome to my Bowral home. I trust Eric and Emily are well.’
‘Yes, thank you.’
‘Have you been to the Bong Bong picnic races before? It’s an entertaining day.’
‘Yes. With my grandfather.’
Alessandro frowns, and then his expression clears. ‘Of course, John Saunders, wasn’t it?’
Tor takes my hand. He’s probably worried I’m going to say something indiscreet. I feel a combination of lust and pain as I pull my fingers out of his hold. I’m dimly aware that Alessandro is staring, but I can’t drag my eyes away from Tor’s. They’re dark. Hurt? He blinks, and whatever I thought I might have seen is gone.
‘Tor! How are you?’
I had no idea she was there. A woman—dark-haired and attractive, tall and curvaceous—kisses his cheek. Only it’s not his cheek, it’s slightly to the left of his mouth. Her lipstick stain, dark red like her dress, marks the spot, and she carefully wipes it away with her fingertip before she acknowledges Alessandro, Nate and me.
Tor smiles at the woman. ‘Ashleigh, you know Alessandro and Nate. This is Golden Saunders. Golden, Ashleigh Milan.’
She hesitates before taking my hand.
‘I know your name from somewhere,’ I say.
‘I’m an actress.’ Her voice is melodious but her words run together. Is she slurring them? She doesn’t look drunk. Maybe that’s just the way she speaks.
‘Sorry, I didn’t recognise you. I don’t watch much television.’
When she laughs, there’s something fake about it. ‘I’m rarely on television. Are you a theatre-goer?’
‘Not really.’
‘Golden is a speech pathologist,’ Nate says, as if that explains why I don’t watch television or go to the theatre.
Tor and Alessandro exchange glances. ‘Please excuse us,’ Tor says. ‘Alessandro and I have things to discuss before I head back to New York next week.’
It makes sense that he’s leaving. This is the weekend he’s set aside to find out what he can about my father. I won’t see him again once he’s gone. All we can do is pretend.
He touches my arm. ‘I’ll be back as soon as I can.’ Then he glances at Nate. I think he’s warning him to keep an eye on me. I’m not sure how I’m going to get away with talking to Tomas Farmer in private tomorrow.
Ashleigh turns to me. ‘So you’re Angelina Latimer’s sister?’
‘Yes. Do you know her?’
Nate holds up his hand. He looks … flustered. ‘Another drink?’ he says.
My glass is almost full, but Ashleigh’s is empty. She holds it out. I don’t want to leave my secluded spot near the bougainvillea to go to the drinks marquee, but I’m reluctant to stay here alone with her. I grab Nate’s arm.
‘We’ll come with you,’ I say.
Nate picks up a beer for himself and hands Ashleigh a glass of champagne. She’s definitely unsteady on her feet and doesn’t seem inclined to go back to the patio, so we stand on the timber floor at the edge of the marquee. The party must be due to wind up soon but no one seems to be making a move to leave. The laughter gets louder and louder. I stand on my toes and look over people’s heads. I want to go as soon as Tor comes back.
‘You don’t look like Angelina,’ Ashleigh says, ‘except for your colouring.’
‘I think they’re very alike,’ Nate says.
‘Are you with Tor?’ she asks me.
I shrug. ‘For now.’
‘You’re into short-term relationships, then? Like your sister?’
‘Let’s change the subject,’ Nate says.
Ashleigh touches Nate’s arm. ‘I know you adored Angelina, just like most men do. I would have warned you what she was like if I’d known you back then.’
I grasp the stem of my champagne flute more tightly. ‘Don’t talk about my sister like that.’
‘Why not? After what she did.’
I glance at Nate. ‘Angelina and Nate are still friends.’
Ashleigh is studying her empty glass. I’m not even sure she heard what I said. When a man picks up two glasses of champagne from the bar she steps in front of him, smiles and takes one out of his hand, replacing it with her empty one. Then she puts a hand on my arm. I try to disengage but she tightens her grip.
‘Nate isn’t the only person who’s been hurt by Angelina,’ she says. ‘I’d lived with Joshua Khan for two years when she decided she want
ed him.’
I tug my arm free. She sways for a moment but then steadies herself. Joshua Khan? I know the name but haven’t ever met him. Was he the man Angelina went to Thailand with?
‘If Joshua was unfaithful, maybe you’re better off without him,’ I say. ‘Who needs a man like that in their life?’
Nate grimaces. Ashleigh, as tall as Nate in her heels, sucks in a breath. Her face is blotchy with uneven patches of colour. I think I’ve said the wrong thing.
‘Joshua and I are back together, no thanks to your slut of a sister.’
‘What!’ When two waiters look my way I lower my voice. ‘Take that back.’
‘It’s the truth.’
Ashleigh is drunk and she’s been hurt, but it’s still no excuse. I glance at Nate. He hasn’t said a word. He knows Angelina. She’s generous and kind, and in her own way she’s honest. She falls in love easily but doesn’t hang around once she finds out she was wrong. Suddenly I’m angrier with Nate than I am with Ashleigh.
‘What about you, Nate? I thought you and Angelina were friends. Why aren’t you sticking up for her?’
He speaks quietly and holds out his hand. His beer glass forms a partition between Ashleigh and me. ‘Calm down, Golden,’ he says.
‘Don’t tell me to calm down!’ I push his arm away, and watch in horror as a cascade of beer shoots out of his glass. It hits Ashleigh square in the face and runs down her neck. Foam slides into her cleavage and wets her dress. Her breasts, barely contained before, heave precariously.
‘You little bitch!’ she says.
Nate mutters something about getting a cloth, and disappears. Ashleigh towers over me, glaring and swearing.
‘You assaulted me!’
‘It was an accident!’
She points a shaking finger towards the patio. ‘They were talking about you up there. About your family. They said you had no right to be here.’
I’m breathing just as hard as she is now. Guests look down on us from the patio. On the grass outside the marquee, other guests form a loose semi-circle. I recognise some of them—casino owners, socialites, business people I’ve seen at Clovelly or at Eric’s parliamentary functions. There’s no one I know well. No jockeys or strappers or stablehands. No children with stutters or speech delays. No one who means anything to me.
My voice is low with anger. ‘Apologise for what you said about my sister.’
Ashleigh brings her face so close that I smell champagne on her breath. It’s mixed up with the scents of perfume and beer. She raises her voice.
‘Angelina Latimer is a slut.’
I lift my glass, emptying the contents on her head. Champagne flows down her face. For a moment she freezes. But then she splutters and staggers, teetering like a skittle. I grab a handful of her dress to steady her and she grasps my arm. But she’s taller and heavier than me and I can’t hold her up. She falls on her bottom, pulling me with her.
My heel catches on a tablecloth, bringing down buckets, ice and water. They crash around us, flooding the floor. My glass rolls out of my hand.
‘Ahhhh!’ Ashleigh screams, shoving me off her lap.
I land flat on my back in the puddles. Men tower above me. Two security guards shout out. ‘Stand aside! Get back!’ One of them takes my arm and yanks me to my feet.
Ashleigh screams again. ‘She assaulted me!’
‘You deserved it!’ I say, struggling to free myself. ‘Let me go.’
Nate pushes his way through the crowd. ‘This is a misunderstanding,’ he says, looking from one security guard to the other.
Three more security guards appear and form a wall behind Nate. Ashleigh is sobbing theatrically, her hair all over her face and her dress hitched up to her thighs. An elderly man with thick grey hair makes his way through the crowd and stands in front of my guard.
‘She’s a tiny little thing,’ he says. ‘Let her go at once.’ When the guard ignores him, the man looks around. ‘Where is Alessandro? Quickly, someone, fetch my nephew.’ He points to my arm. ‘You’re hurting her. I insist you let her go.’
I wasn’t conscious of my arm before he spoke, but the skin is bright red on either side of the guard’s massive hand. I try to pull away again.
‘Let go of me!’
‘Golden, would you leave this to—’ Nate doesn’t get another word out because two guards roughly grab him by the arms, sandwiching him between them. The men aren’t as tall as Nate but they’re stocky and strong. Their necks are at least as thick as my thigh; their jackets fit tightly over their muscled arms.
Nate doesn’t seem to be concerned. When our eyes meet he purses his lips, telling me to keep quiet. The elderly man asks my guard again, politely, to loosen his grip. Eventually the fifth guard—I think he’s in charge—snaps a response.
‘Stand back, sir. We’re taking her off the premises, nothing more.’
‘Arrest her!’ Ashleigh says.
‘You should arrest her,’ I say, ‘she’s the one who’s squealing like a pig.’ My guard shakes me, almost lifting me off my feet. If my arm wasn’t bruised before, it will be now. I kick the guard’s shin but it’s only a glancing blow. ‘Let go of my arm!’ He shakes me again, and this time I land awkwardly on my leg. My knee twists and I gasp. ‘Ow!’
Tor appears out of nowhere. He stands behind my guard and wraps his arm tightly around his neck. The guard blinks in surprise. Tor’s eyes are wild.
‘I’ll break your fucking neck,’ he says, slowly lifting the guard so he’s balanced on the toes of his boots. ‘Get your hand off her.’
When the guard lets me go I take a couple of steps back, rubbing my arm to get feeling back into it. Tor still has the guard by the neck—the guard’s eyes are bulging and he’s red in the face.
‘Let him go, Tor. He didn’t mean to hurt me.’
As soon as our eyes meet, Tor’s expression shifts. Now it’s heated in a different way, concerned, possessive. And something else, something I’m not certain of. Guilt? Why would he feel guilty?’
‘I’m fine, really I am.’
When Tor loosens his grip and releases the guard, the man clutches his neck and massages it. But then he stiffens, and throws his weight backwards, cracking Tor in the mouth with the back of his head.
‘Tor!’
I’ve hardly got his name out before he spins the guard around and headbutts him back. The guard collapses, groaning at my feet, blood streaming from his nose. There’s a lull. And then the four other guards act in unison, tackling Tor to the ground. He’s lost in a maelstrom of arms and legs and thuds and grunts. Most of the guests are screaming now, including me. Nate wraps an arm around my waist and an arm around the elderly man’s shoulders, and bustles us behind the bar table.
‘Don’t move!’ he says.
I’m sure my heart only starts beating again when I see Tor is back on his feet. Two of the guards he was fighting are sitting, groaning and bleeding, on the ground alongside my guard, who’s now on his hands and knees. The fourth guard, a murderous look on his face, is standing opposite Tor. Nate is behind the fifth guard, with one hand on his shoulder and another on his elbow.
He drawls in the guard’s ear, ‘I can dislocate both your joints at once. It’ll be tricky as hell to get them back into place. The docs might have to anaesthetise you first, assuming you haven’t passed out already.’
The guard’s eyes widen. ‘Please, no.’
‘You think not? It’s tempting. Tor? You taught me how to do this. What do you reckon?’
‘He’ll scream and upset the guests. Take him down quietly.’
Nate changes his hold, throwing the guard over his hip and onto his back. When the guard is lying at Nate’s feet, gasping for breath, Nate nudges him with his foot.
‘Stay there,’ he says.
There are shouts from the house. The crowd draws apart and Alessandro appears. ‘What the devil is going on here?’
Tor looks at the fourth guard, a couple of metres away. ‘Have you had enough?’<
br />
‘I’ll get you!’ the guard says, putting his head down and rushing at Tor like a bull. Tor waits a split second and then he kicks out, hitting the guard in the stomach, then elbowing him in the jaw. The man lurches sideways, crashes into a pole and slides to the ground. He lifts his arms, wrapping them protectively over his head.
Even Ashleigh is quiet. All eyes are on Tor. There’s a rip in his shirt. A few buttons are open. Slowly but deliberately he buttons and tucks in his shirt, adjusts his tie and does up the middle button of his jacket so the hole in his shirt doesn’t show. Then he squares his shoulders. Besides having blood on his mouth and ruffled hair, he looks much the same as he did when we arrived. He surveys guests, standing safely on the patio, and the waitstaff and other guests, gathered on the grass around the marquee. He narrows his eyes when he looks at the guards. The guard that seemed to be in charge is sitting on his haunches with his head bowed. My guard has blood all over his shirt—he’s leaning against a pot plant and pinching his nose. The other guards are on their hands and knees, or struggling to their feet. Nate’s lips twitch when Tor looks at him. Finally, rubbing his jaw, Tor’s eyes meet mine. His face is stern. As he walks towards me he slowly shakes his head.
He cups my face with gentle hands and presses his cheek against my cheek. He whispers. ‘What happened?’
‘Ashleigh insulted my sister.’
‘Anything else?’
‘She said I had no right to be here.’
‘You okay?’
‘I didn’t keep my head down, did I?’
He stares into my eyes. His are darkest grey. ‘Is this why you don’t like parties?’
When he brushes his lips across mine I taste blood. I hold trembling fingers against the graze above his mouth.
‘It was my fault you got hurt, wasn’t it?’ I say. ‘I distracted you.’
He smiles, then winces. ‘I should be used to that by now.’
CHAPTER
36
Tor and Nate exchange glances over the bonnet of the car, before Nate climbs into the driver’s seat. Tor carefully extracts my tangled hair from beneath my coat collar, mutters ‘soggy ballerina swan’, then opens the back door, shepherding me onto the seat and sitting next to me. As he reaches for his seatbelt he sucks in a short sharp breath.
On the Right Track Page 24