Where There Is Smoke

by Elisabeth Rose

  ‘Yes. God knows why Angus got himself mixed up with him, the bloody idiot.’

  ‘Will he hurt me, or the vet? Oliver was just trying to protect me.’

  ‘He’s a ruthless man, Krista.’

  ‘Will you pay him?’

  ‘I’ll find Angus first.’

  ‘But he doesn’t have the money or he wouldn’t have promised him Calypso.’

  Viivi’s voice cut off his response. ‘Hugh, our guests are arriving, what are you doing in here? And Krista, you should be out there mingling. I can’t do everything myself.’

  ‘Coming, my love.’

  Hugh squeezed Krista’s arm gently but it wasn’t affectionate. ‘Invite your friend the vet. I’d like to meet him,’ he said in a low voice.

  ‘To warn him? He should know, don’t you think?’

  ‘If he saw Moran’s men as he left, he’ll already know.’

  ‘He won’t come.’

  ‘Make him. I want to thank him.’

  Hugh strode away to where Viivi was fidgeting and fuming in the doorway.

  ‘It’s always business with you, isn’t it?’ she said. ‘Even when we’re celebrating our anniversary. Couldn’t you put me first for once? Krista, come. You’re needed.’

  ‘Krista has to make a phone call first. Another guest.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘A friend of hers. I asked her to invite him.’ He took her arm. ‘Now, my darling, let’s greet our guests.’

  ‘Is that what you’re wearing, Krista?’ Viivi asked. ‘Surely you have something better than a housedress. You could make a bit of effort for my sake.’

  Krista went upstairs to change and make the call she really didn’t want to make. Why on earth did Hugh want to meet Oliver? Even as she asked herself the question, she knew the answer. Hugh liked control. He wanted all the pieces in place so he could evaluate their usefulness or otherwise. Oliver was a pawn in this affair thanks to her and she had no doubt he wouldn’t be thanking her for it.

  Chapter 6

  After phoning Oliver, Krista took her time changing. To her surprise he was coming. She needed to look her best and the blue dress wasn’t up to the task. No rush now. She took off the offending silk number and showered again, standing under the cascade of warm water while her body recovered from the shock of Moran and his threats. She changed her underwear to suit the slim fitting long dress and slipped on the right shoes. Her phone rang as she was smoothing the silver fabric over her hips and checking her reflection in the full-length mirror on the wardrobe door.

  A little twinge of disappointment made her shoulders sag as she picked up the mobile. Oliver? Cancelling and using a sick cow as an excuse?

  That was mean, he wouldn’t lie to her. If he hadn’t wanted to come he would have refused and if a cow was sick of course he’d go.

  ‘Hello.’

  ‘It’s Angus.’

  ‘Where the hell are you?’ Why did he sound so calm? What was he up to? And where?

  ‘At the airport.’

  ‘Which airport?’

  ‘Melbourne. I’m flying out in a few minutes. I just rang to tell you I took your apartment keys.’

  ‘Is that where you’ve been? At my place?’

  Took her keys? She hadn’t noticed because her car had keyless entry and she’d zipped the bulky key into a separate part of her bag to reduce the keys on the key ring. The conniving …

  ‘Yes, listen, will you? I’ve posted them to The Grange.’

  ‘Well, thank you very much. Have you any idea what’s been happening here thanks to you? Your friend Stefan Moran sent his thugs to threaten me and take Calypso, then when I refused, with the help of the vet who discovered your stupid plan to paint Arch Rival’s foot, Moran turned up just now and threatened all of us, including Hugh, if we don’t pay your debt by Monday at five.’

  ‘What did Dad say?’

  ‘No. What did you expect him to say? How much do you owe this man?’

  ‘A fair bit.’

  ‘Meaning?’

  ‘Nine hundred thousand.’

  ‘What? You complete idiot. How dare you run away and leave us to deal with this?’

  ‘I’m getting the money, I promise.’

  ‘How? More gambling? We have till Monday and Hugh and my mother are leaving for Tokyo on Monday. That leaves me and the vet, who by the way has nothing to do with this at all but you’ve dragged him into it, to be punished by Moran in your place.’

  ‘He won’t do anything to you.’ He didn’t sound convinced and she certainly wasn’t. ‘I’ll get the money, Krista. You can tell Moran that.’

  ‘And he’ll believe me, of course. Just before one of his heavies breaks my fingers. Where are you going?’

  A voice sounded in the background, coming over a PA system. She caught the word Auckland, or thought she did. He was leaving the country.

  ‘Better you don’t know. I have to go.’

  He disconnected. The total bastard! Not even a goodbye or a sorry.

  She stomped into the bathroom to redo her make-up.

  ***

  Oliver drove back out to The Grange wondering why he’d accepted Krista’s invitation. He couldn’t deny curiosity was the main reason. Curiosity about The Grange and its owners. He wanted to meet Hugh Littlejohn and he wanted to ask him a few pertinent questions about the men who’d threatened Krista and who had turned up this afternoon, presumably as guests, as he was leaving. He wanted Littlejohn to make it clear to these people he was in no way connected with anything his family might be involved in, and he wanted the man’s assurance of that.

  If treating Firebrand was going to implicate him in some way, he would refuse to come out again and they could call in their regular man.

  Whether any of that would wash with a billionaire he had no idea. Probably not, in which case why was he showered, shaved and in his best shirt and pants with a nervous flutter in his belly? The other reason and one he also couldn’t deny, was Krista.

  When he heard her voice on the line, the rush of pleasure it brought was unstoppable. She’d sounded hesitant and awkward, unusually so for her. It sounded as though she assumed he’d refuse and she even said as much, finishing the invitation with, ‘Hugh wants to meet you and thank you for treating his horses.’

  So if that were true, it was Hugh’s idea, not hers, which was a whole different scenario. The hole in that scenario, however, was that when he’d phoned about the account Hugh was hardly grateful enough to invite him anywhere.

  ‘Do you want me to come?’ Oliver asked her.

  ‘I owe you,’ she said.

  ‘You’ve paid my account.’

  ‘Not that, I mean you helped me and…’

  He waited.

  ‘I would like you to come.’

  He hesitated just long enough to make her uncomfortable. ‘Okay. What time?’

  ‘Whenever you’re ready. Guests are here now. Dinner is at eight.’ The relief washed through the connection.

  ‘Do I need a tie?’

  ‘Have you got one?’ He visualised her smile.

  ‘Of course. Just the one.’

  ‘No need. It’s too hot. Be comfortable.’

  ‘Right. And thank you.’

  ‘You’re welcome.’

  The same bozo was at the gate, checking names. He scowled when Oliver wound down the window. Beads of sweat ran down his face and the white shirt had dark stains under the arms.

  ‘G’day. Remember me?’

  ‘Name?’

  ‘Johnson, Oliver. Vet.’

  ‘ID?’

  Oliver pulled out his driver’s licence. The man glared at it, grunted and made a show of running his pen down the list of names.

  ‘I’ll be right at the bottom,’ Oliver said, hoping like hell someone had added his name. ‘Late invitation.’

  ‘Go ahead.’

  Grinning, Oliver continued on to the next checkpoint but this time the man opened the driver’s door with a flourish and said he’d park si
r’s vehicle. Sir got out and walked across to a decorated gateway leading to the gardens. Music from a jazz guitar trio wafted on the warm evening air. They must have been flown in, no-one local played that well. A woman in a stylish pink dress, with silvery grey hair in an equally stylish bob, smiled her welcome. Had she been waiting for him?

  ‘Hello, you must be Oliver, Krista’s friend. So nice to meet you. I’m Brenda. If there’s anything you need, just ask. I know everything.’

  How had he gained the status of Krista’s friend in this house? Acquaintance was more like it, and technically, she was a client.

  She directed him down the path to the lawn where a white marquee was set up housing the band and tables and chairs. The sides had been rolled up for ventilation but the guests wandered about on the lawn seeking shade either from the large umbrellas dotted about or the leafy deciduous trees lining the boundary. No shortage of water here by the looks of the lawn and the heavily scented roses lining the area. Must have a bore.

  ‘Come and meet your hosts, Hugh and Viivi, then get yourself a drink and find Krista.’ She made it sound as though he’d need a drink. Either that or get the duty out of the way and then enjoy himself. Maybe she meant both. He’d assumed Krista would be on hand to greet him.

  She led the way to a small group on the terrace. Krista’s mother was easily identified by the willowy, blonde good looks, although on her the natural slimness had taken on a gauntness absent in her daughter. The two men in the group were similarly tall, with the paunchy softness acquired by sitting at a desk, long boozy lunches and no exercise. Brothers, at a guess, and he had no way of telling which one was his host.

  Brenda said, ‘Excuse me, Hugh, this is Oliver Johnson. Oliver, this is Hugh and his wife Viivi. Hugh’s brother Edgar and his wife Shirley.’

  Oliver shook hands all around, conscious of two pairs of assessing eyes on him and two pairs openly curious. Shirley’s were obscured by big round dark glasses but the lenses were turned on him like laser guns.

  ‘Glad you could make it,’ boomed Hugh. He was the larger of the brothers, both in height and girth. Neither could be accused of good looks with the greying hair retreating across the broad expanse of skull, a wide fleshy mouth and bulbous nose unfortunate family acquisitions.

  ‘Thank you for the invitation.’

  ‘Oliver is a friend of Krista’s,’ said Brenda. ‘Excuse me.’ She darted away, leaving Oliver captive.

  ‘How do you know my daughter?’ asked Viivi. That was a surprise. Surely Krista had mentioned the incident, but if she hadn’t known about the last-minute invitation she hid it well.

  ‘I treated her horse after the accident.’

  No reaction. She could do iceberg far better than her daughter.

  Shirley couldn’t. ‘Krista never mentioned an accident with a horse,’ she said. ‘I didn’t know she rode.’

  ‘She doesn’t. She wasn’t in the accident, the horse was,’ said Viivi shortly. She glared at Oliver. ‘You must be the vet.’ The Medusa-like gaze was turned on her husband, the message clear. How dare he invite a common as muck vet to her party?

  ‘I am,’ he said. ‘Congratulations on your anniversary. It’s a lovely setting you have here.’

  ‘Thank you. Get yourself a drink, bar’s in the terrace room,’ said Hugh. ‘Krista’s about somewhere. She’ll be pleased to see you. Someone her own age.’

  Viivi proffered a tiny brittle smile while the other two chuckled at his witticism.

  Thus dismissed, Oliver said, ‘Thank you, I will. Excuse me.’

  He walked cross the terrace and into the coolness of the house. His confrontation with Hugh would have to wait. The room he entered was a large, open sitting room with a permanent bar at one end rather than a temporary set up for the function. Waiters circulated outside with drinks but he approached the barman and asked for a beer.

  ‘Nice party,’ he said.

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘You’re not local, are you?’

  ‘No, sir. The client always uses the same catering company and they always use the same staff.’

  ‘So you were flown in specially?’

  ‘Yes sir, from Sydney this morning.’

  ‘Are you staying overnight?’

  ‘In a motel at Taylor’s Bend.’

  ‘Wow.’

  The barman smiled. ‘All the entertainment has been flown in. The Littlejohns don’t do things by halves.’

  ‘So I see. Bit out of my league.’

  The man smiled. ‘Enjoy the evening, sir,’ he said. ‘Excuse me.’ He moved away to refill glasses for a waitress.

  Oliver took up a place by the doors to the terrace where he could look out over the lawn. Krista wasn’t in the room behind him and he couldn’t see her from his raised vantage point. It would help if he knew what colour dress she was wearing. There were a lot of blonde-haired women, although the vast majority were a generation older. His parents would fit in well here.

  The random thought made his mouth tighten. His father and Hugh had quite a bit in common. They both wielded their authority with a sense of divine right. No-one else’s opinion mattered because no-one else was ever right, unless it was on a subject or in a profession they took little or no interest in. Then they didn’t care, they just expected it to be done correctly and to their satisfaction. And why was that worthy of praise or thanks?

  He sipped the beer, the tall glass imparting a welcome chill to his hand. Getting his nose inside The Grange was a first for a peasant from the Bend. He hid a smile. Margie would be all over him for gossip. She’d expect a rundown of the celebrity guest list but this crowd would be a sad disappointment for her. He didn’t recognise anyone and there certainly weren’t any actors or entertainers here beyond the jazz trio. The faces out there more likely belonged to politicians and people in the upper echelons of the business world. No-one he knew, or wanted to, particularly.

  An elderly woman in pale purple paused in the doorway, empty wine glass in hand, her expression slightly glazed. ‘My goodness it’s hot out there,’ she said. ‘I have to sit down in the air conditioning.’

  ‘Let me take your glass.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  Oliver led her to a cane chair away from the small crowd near the bar. ‘Stay right there and I’ll bring you some water.’

  ‘You’re very kind.’

  A quick trip to the bar and he was back with a glass of iced water. He sat next to her. She drank a few mouthfuls and rested her head back. Her face under the make-up was pale, skin clammy.

  ‘That’s much better.’

  ‘Drink it all. It’s easy to become dehydrated in the hot weather,’ he said. ‘You must be sure to keep up your fluid levels. Are you here alone? Can I find someone for you?’ Her fingers on the glass were clogged with precious stones set in silver and gold.

  ‘No thank you. Are you a doctor?’

  ‘No, a vet.’

  To his surprise she burst out laughing. ‘I’m sorry, she said. ‘I’m not laughing at you. I just didn’t expect you to say that.’ She drank more water. ‘I didn’t know Hugh knew any vets. Although he does own a stud farm, I suppose.’

  ‘Don’t worry. I’m as surprised as you are. I’ve only just met him and I’m not the regular Grange vet. I’ve known Krista a bit longer.’

  ‘Krista’s the stepdaughter?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I don’t know her. I don’t know Viivi well either, although we have met socially on occasion.’

  ‘They look very alike. So why are you here, if I may ask?’

  ‘I’m on the same board of directors as Hugh. A charity.’

  ‘I see.’

  She raised a pencilled eyebrow at his expression. ‘It’s the way the game is played when you’re rich and powerful and want to stay that way.’ She straightened and leaned forward. ‘It’s not something I’d do, invite a whole bunch of business associates and so on to a personal celebration, but Hugh is adept at greasing the wheels.’


  ‘And you’re one of them? The wheels.’

  ‘I can be a particularly squeaky one.’

  ‘Why accept the invitation?’

  ‘I just told you.’ She swallowed the remains of the water. ‘I do feel better now, but I must go and powder my nose. Excuse me.’

  She rose to her feet and held out her hand as he rose too. ‘Eleanor De Vere.’

  ‘Oliver Johnson.’

  ‘So nice to meet you, Oliver, and thank you.’

  ‘Remember, stick to the shade and drink enough water.’

  Oliver resumed his seat, sipped his beer and watched the guests on the lawn outside. How many were actually the type of friend a regular person would invite to a party like this? One brother and sister-in-law were in attendance with the possibility of more. The son wasn’t here. Krista was, somewhere, but although he understood now why she wasn’t keen on attending, it didn’t explain why she hadn’t appeared, knowing he was coming.

  He glanced at his watch. He’d been here nearly half an hour. If she didn’t show up within the next fifteen minutes, he’d plead an animal medical emergency and leave.

  A very overweight man with a completely bald head wheezed across to the chair vacated by Eleanor and collapsed into it. He raised a pudgy hand and clicked his fingers at a waitress heading for the door with a laden tray. ‘Service,’ he called. She changed tack.

  ‘Champagne,’ he said. She handed him a full glass. ‘Leave another.’ She placed a second on the coffee table between the two chairs.

  ‘Would you like a refill, sir?’ she asked Oliver.

  ‘Yes, please.’ He swapped his empty beer glass for a full. ‘Thank you very much.’

  ‘My pleasure.’ She favoured him with a tiny smile.

  ‘Bloody hot,’ grunted the man. ‘Don’t know how they stand it out here.’

  ‘It gets hot in the city, too.’ Grime, fumes, baking concrete and tall enclosing buildings increasing the heat factor.

  ‘Too many flies and dust. Bloody horrible.’ He squinted at Oliver. ‘What’s your game?’

  ‘I don’t have a game. I’m a vet.’

  ‘A vet? You mean animal, not military, I take it, if you’re a local.’ He contemplated that unlikely profession for a few moments. ‘What’s your name?’