Sharon grimaced. ‘Been a long time since I put my shorthand to work. But if you insist.’ She put down her barely touched Martini and fished a notepad out of her capacious handbag. ‘I’ve already spoken to my editor. Our team of lawyers will go through my piece before it’s printed, and no journalist worth her salt ever reveals a source. So you’ve got no worries there.’
Mary took another sip of mineral water. She was suddenly nervous, her mouth dry, her pulse rapid. She had never dared go this far before, and wondered if, by doing so, she would lose more than she gained. What price would she have to pay for her spite?
‘You’re not backing out on me, are you, Mary?’ Green eyes watched her as Sharon’s pen hovered over the notepad.
Mary lit a cigarette, drew the smoke deep into her lungs then blew it out in a long stream to the ceiling. Sharon knew she was on the brink of a scoop and wouldn’t let go until she had it all. The news blackout enforced by Mother and Father had long ago ensured the family’s secrets remained hidden from the press. Until now.
Mary took a moment to gather her thoughts. She had come too far to back out now, she realised. The need for revenge was too strong.
‘I think the world should know just what a bastard my father really was,’ she began.
*
Daisy had barely slept, but when she did finally climb out of bed she felt more refreshed than she had done in years. After a long cool shower she chose her clothes carefully for the day’s business. For this was the first day of her rediscovered confidence. The first day of asserting herself within her family.
Discarding the dowdy print dresses she’d taken to wearing since Martin’s death, she chose a red shift dress. The colour enhanced her complexion and spoke volumes about her self-esteem. She added her three-strand pearl necklace and pearl studs, and swapped the usual sensible flatties for a pair of low-heeled black sandals. A touch of make-up and a dash of defiant red lipstick and she was ready. She didn’t give herself time to doubt or allow the fears to surface but slammed through the front door, determined to recapture her life and put it in order. Too much time had already been wasted.
Charles was in his office waiting for her, and after his secretary had poured them coffee and left the room, he gave a bark of laughter. ‘Bit surprised to see you here this morning, Daisy. What can I do for you?’
His sudden explosion of laughter would normally have made her jump. Yet this morning she seemed prepared for anything and merely smiled back. ‘I want you to tell me everything you know about Jacaranda Vines Corporation.’
His eyebrows shot up and his pale blue eyes widened. ‘You don’t have to worry your pretty little head about such things, Daisy. Edward and I will make sure you don’t lose out.’
She put down her coffee cup carefully on the polished desk. ‘Don’t patronise me Charles,’ she said softly. ‘I may have spent the last few years cocooned from the real world by Martin, but you’d be surprised how much I already know and understand about the corporation.’
Charles cleared his throat, clearly ill at ease. ‘Martin used to discuss business with you?’
‘You don’t have to sound quite so incredulous,’ she retorted. ‘I’m not a half-wit.’ She ignored his bumbling apology. ‘He used me as a sounding board. I don’t think he realised just how much of it I came to understand because he rarely waited for me to give an opinion. But he found it helpful to voice his concerns if he had a particularly difficult problem to tackle.’
‘I see.’ Her cousin looked thoughtful. ‘Martin was an excellent distribution manager. He knew his market and could sell ice to the Eskimos – not that he needed to, of course,’ he added by way of a joke. ‘But to tell you everything about the company would take months, Daisy. It’s impossible.’
‘Nothing’s impossible, Charles. Especially if you want it badly enough. I don’t expect you to sit here and give me a lecture, but I would appreciate your letting me go through the company files. I’ve had an idea.’
He gave her an indulgent smile. ‘My dear Daisy, I hardly think you’re in a position to know what’s best for the company. After all, you’re only a housewife. What would you know about high finance and corporate management?’
His tone made her prickle with anger. ‘You’re patronising me again, Charles,’ she warned. ‘I realise you all think I’m stupid and empty-headed, but I had a lot of spare time during my marriage to Martin and I didn’t waste it.’
The eyebrows were raised again but he didn’t speak.
Daisy was warming to her theme, and now she had him on the hook, she knew she couldn’t let go. ‘Just because I hate arguments and prefer to keep my mouth shut doesn’t mean I’m thick,’ she said firmly. ‘I took a degree in business management, accountancy and statistics. It’s amazing what you can do through the Open University.’
‘You did what? Charles wasn’t tactful enough to hide his astonishment. ‘Martin never said.’
‘He never knew.’ Daisy smiled when she thought of how her husband would have reacted if he had. He’d have been shocked at first, then patronising, and would never have taken her seriously. ‘I worked at my books while he was away at the office and hid them when he came home. It took me five years, and then another year to get my doctorate. I wrote a paper on the marketing and managing of a family corporation approaching the new millennium.’
She dug into her black patent handbag and pulled out the neatly bound thesis that had been hidden in the bottom of her underwear drawer for years. ‘Perhaps you’d like to read it in your spare time? You might find it interesting.’
Charles eyed the thesis as if it was a King Brown snake. ‘Strewth,’ he hissed. Then he seemed to gather his wits, blood suffusing his face. ‘Bloody hell, Daisy. Why didn’t you tell anyone about this instead of sitting in at the meetings like a dithering idiot?’
‘Because none of you would have taken me seriously,’ she said quietly. ‘Besides, when could anyone get a word in edgewise when you and Mum and Kate were expounding your theories? I knew that if I waited long enough, the time would come when I might be able to do some good.’ She sat forward in the chair. ‘This is the time, Charles. Will you help me or not?’
He spread his hands and let out a sigh. ‘Things have already gone too far, Daisy. Your father seemed determined to destroy this company before he died. Couldn’t take it with him, but he was damn’ sure he wouldn’t leave it behind. Dog in the manger bastard!’
‘Good thing he died before he could see it through then,’ she said firmly. ‘But despite Dad, I’m sure there must be a way to rescue at least part of the business.’
‘Better minds than yours or mine have already looked at the problem, Daisy. But if you think you can find a way, then of course you’ll have a free hand. What will you need?’
Daisy relaxed. She’d been afraid that Charles would laugh at her. Afraid she wouldn’t have the courage to stand up to him. ‘Before we go any further, I want you to promise to keep this meeting and my intentions to yourself. There’s been enough trouble already, and any more will only detract from what I might be able to achieve. I don’t want the rest of the family poking their noses in until it’s absolutely necessary.’
Charles nodded thoughtfully, amazement showing clearly in his eyes.
Satisfied she could trust him, Daisy took a deep breath. ‘I want to see the books for all the companies under the Jacaranda umbrella. Sales figures, projected profits and employment records. Then I want to see the offer made by the French and any contracts that may already have been drawn up. I understand Sophie has already paved the way should we decide to go public, so I’ll need to see what figures we have and the projected share price. But particularly, I need to look into the expansion programme Dad began. The bottle shops, the supermarket chain, and the plans for updating the winery.’
Charles’ breath came out in a long, low whistle. ‘That’s a mountain of work, Daisy, and we only have a matter of weeks to come to a decision.’
She eyed him st
eadily. ‘I have nothing else to do, Charles. Look on it as a challenge.’
*
Sophie had been driving for three hours, her mind still captured by the story her grandmother had begun to unfold. The thought of John and Rose bound for the opposite sides of the earth was almost too painful. They obviously loved one another, and it seemed cruel of the fates to keep them apart.
And yet, like the journey she was now making, perhaps that road would lead to unexpected encounters. To adventure none of them could have imagined. Perhaps fate knew what she was about, for who could have foreseen this trip she would take with Gran? What hidden purpose lay behind it? For Sophie firmly believed in fate. Everything in life had to have a purpose, even if the recipient couldn’t at first understand it. It had been proved to her time after time when she’d wondered just where her own life was heading.
She eased her back and shifted into a more comfortable position behind the wheel. They had started out later than planned because Cordelia had been slow to wake this morning, and Sophie hadn’t like to rush her through breakfast. She was still concerned by the old lady’s pallor and shot a glance across at Cordelia, dozing quietly beside her. This whole journey was crazy. Who in their right minds would drive across this great emptiness with a ninety-year-old woman?
Sophie turned her attention back to the road. It was a question she’d asked herself repeatedly over the past few days, but she still had no answer. Logic didn’t enter the equation where Cordelia was concerned, and she suspected the old lady would have made the journey with or without her. Yet that only served to make her even more frustrated with the whole episode, and she didn’t like the feeling that although Gran was kindness itself she was manipulating Sophie.
As the camper crested yet another hill, they were treated to a breath-taking panorama, and with her gloomy thoughts wiped away, she suggested: ‘Shall we stop and get a paper, Gran. It’s Saturday, and you can read the gossip columns out to me as I drive. That Sharon Sterling’s got a pen as sharp as a sword. I don’t know where she gets her information from, or how people let her get away with some of the things she says, but it makes for fascinating reading. I made sure I had a copy ordered each week back in England so I could keep up with it all.’
‘Nasty piece of work, if you ask me,’ muttered Cordelia. ‘Muck-raking is what I call it. Poking into other people’s business like that isn’t healthy.’
Sophie silently agreed, but still couldn’t resist her weekly snoop into the gossip. She pulled up at a long, low log cabin, with a shady verandah running along the front. The yard was sheltered by pepper trees that hummed with bees, and someone had hung baskets of flowers from the verandah posts, bringing a splash of colour against the earthy tones of the wood.
The interior was cool, the shelves well stocked, and Sophie soon found what she was looking for. With fresh bottles of water still icy from the fridge, and a bag of apricots, she tucked the heavy wad of the weekend newspaper under her arm and headed back to the camper.
Five miles down the road Cordelia let out a gasp of horror. ‘Bloody hell! I’ll sue. I’ll take the bitch to court and wipe her out.’
Alarmed by this uncharacteristic outburst, Sophie pulled into the side of the road. ‘What is it, Gran? You’ve gone a real funny colour. Whatever’s the matter?’
Cordelia’s hand was shaking as she held out the colour supplement. ‘That bitch Sharon Sterling has got us plastered over five pages. If I ever find out who talked to her, I’ll … I’ll …’ She was so angry, she was obviously lost for words.
Sophie took the magazine, her eyes skimming over the lurid headlines and the familiar photographs. ‘Strewth,’ she said softly. ‘Whoever it was certainly knew where to stick the knife.’
Cordelia snatched the magazine back. ‘Carry on driving, Sophie. I need time and silence to digest this piece of venom before I decide what to do about it.’
She folded back the pages, settled her glasses on the end of her nose and began to read. It wasn’t pleasant. Jock had been pilloried, and although he deserved most of it, there were things in the article that could only have come from a family member and were so private even she was shocked by the audacity of the informer in laying them bare. This could destroy the family.
9
Kate sat on her verandah, the colour supplement slithering to the floor from nerveless fingers as she stared out over the Dandenongs. The wounds of the past had been torn open, laid bare in black and white for all to pick over. The implication that she’d married her first husband for his money was hurtful and untrue, but to insinuate that her second darling man had merely been a further means to an end was plain wicked.
Tears blurred her vision and she didn’t have the strength or will to wipe them away. She had loved Matthew, and although he’d been several years older than her, that first marriage had been loving and happy. His sudden untimely death in a car accident had devastated her. No amount of money could have compensated her for his loss, and she would gladly have scrubbed floors for the rest of her life if it could have meant his still being alive.
Jonathan had come along just as she’d resigned herself to widowhood and a burgeoning career that filled her lonely days and nights. They had met at a civic reception in Melbourne’s Parliament House. He’d been an attractive man with a lively, inquiring mind who lectured in political sciences at the Victorian State University. He wrote books that were far too intellectual for her to understand and liked nothing better than a heated debate with his peers. Yet he was never once patronising and had encouraged Kate to expand her mind and see things differently. The birth of their son Harry had been a miracle, his death something that had brought them even closer. Thankfully the onslaught of Parkinson’s hadn’t been dragged out for too long, and Jonathan had died in his sleep just three years after it had been diagnosed.
The article was right about one thing. Those two marriages had made her a very wealthy woman, but what good was money when you were alone? A single tear rolled down her cheek, trembled for a moment on her chin, then splashed unnoticed on to her blouse.
Yet it wasn’t that particular accusation which had hurt the most. It was being dubbed a thoughtless mother with little time for her own son that really crucified her. The vicious article had suggested she’d been too busy with her social life and career, and had placed the blame for Harry’s death squarely on her shoulders. Although she still felt an insidious guilt, she knew she wasn’t the culprit, more the victim. It could have happened at any time. He’d been sent away to boarding school because he’d begged to go, not because she wanted him out from under her feet as the article suggested. Her fund-raising work had never been that important to her.
She sniffed back the tears and reached for the supplement. There was even a short piece on Phil. Trust that bastard to stick his two bobs’ worth in. Probably demanded a fee for doing it too. She clenched her fist around the slippery, shiny magazine. Now there was the real culprit. He was the one who married for money, and she’d been the stupid, foolish woman who’d thought his flattery was love. Who’d believed his lies, and cried when he’d gone off with Leanne having emptied their joint account.
Thank God for some common sense, she thought. At least I always kept that account down to the minimum, and he only got away with a fraction of what Jon and Matt had left me.
She looked down at the ruined magazine, then spread it out once more on the garden table. Sharon Sterling was one piece of dirty work, and she’d been extremely thorough in her character assassinations. There wasn’t one member of the family who’d escaped her vicious pen.
*
Daisy had spent the last two days and nights poring over the company books. The devastation of the corporation by her father was clear in nearly every page. He’d set out with clinical deliberation to destroy the business he’d spent a lifetime building, and knowing him as she did, she understood his reasons.
Jock Witney had come from lowly beginnings with not much more than a few acres of
prime land to his name until he’d forced Mother and Uncle Edward to hand over fifty per cent of Jacaranda. He’d spent his life clawing his way to the top, and like a lot of successful men, hadn’t cared about the people he’d trampled on to get there. When he knew he was dying, he’d looked at his achievements and had decided no one else was worthy of his life’s work. So began the slow, insidious destruction of Jacaranda Vines and all its umbrella companies. The plans for updating and expansion were merely a ploy to empty the coffers, but had been masked by a clever campaign to take the company into the new millennium and a more prosperous future. The buying up of the bottle shops and supermarkets was unwise in a shaky economy now the Asians were in such financial straits, but he’d steam-rollered through the objections and gone ahead. His tyrannical power had cowed the rest of the family. Those who’d dared object to what he was doing had been silenced with a demonic logic they had been unable to counter.
Daisy finally threw down her glasses and rubbed her eyes. It was Saturday morning and she was exhausted. Yet that exhaustion was tempered by a slow-burning excitement. She hadn’t been wrong. There was a way to save Jacaranda Vines despite Jock.
She left the table, the books and papers strewn across it. A visitor might view the sight as chaotic, but Daisy knew where everything was. She made a cup of coffee and pushed through the screen door to the verandah. The paper boy had thrown the bulky Saturday paper on to the floor and it was spread everywhere.
As she bent to pick it up, her hand stilled and she was transfixed by the photograph of Martin staring back at her from the colour supplement. With trembling hands she gathered the supplement together and sank into the cushions of the verandah chair, her gaze trawling the headlines and sweeping down over the endless columns of print.
When she had finished, she felt nothing but a hot white fury. Sharon Sterling’s article had torn into her, shredding her reputation and that of her husband. The insinuations had no foundation in truth, but their sly innuendo had made Daisy out to be an empty-headed, vain woman with no will of her own, who had turned away from a brutal, uncaring father only to marry a man just like him.
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