‘Well, it was a penthouse, not a house house …’
Okay, perhaps not the most important detail here.
‘I accidentally set fire to it. Accident.’
‘Totally not deliberate,’ Esmerelda chimed.
‘It’s true,’ Mother agreed. ‘We’ve met with the police and they no longer consider Indigo a person of interest.’
Again, mostly true.
The lawyer patted the air in a calming gesture. ‘If everyone could relax,’ he pleaded. ‘I understand this is a stressful situation, let’s just try to begin with some introductions.’
He put his hand out to me, ‘I’m Richard’s lawyer, Thomas Woods.’
I blinked. ‘Earl Stevenson is Richard’s lawyer.’
‘True, however I specialise in wills and estates.’
The older woman tried to speak again, but Woods beat her to it.
‘Mrs Hasluck-Royce … Jones … Bombberg,’ he stumbled, ‘may I introduce Shirley and Harrold Smith. And their children, James and Elise.’
Everyone except Esmerelda exchanged frigid handshakes. Who were these people?
Woods looked at Esmerelda. ‘I’m not sure who you are, young lady, but this is a private reading, if you could please wait outside.’
I felt a jump of panic, although I’m not sure why since I had been wishing Esmerelda away since our first meeting. She looked like she was preparing to cause harm to Woods.
‘If you don’t mind, Mr Woods, Esmerelda is my personal assistant. I have been under some pressure of late, and Esmerelda is documenting any matters that may require my attention later, lest I neglect to recall them.’
Esmerelda eyeballed me. A minuscule smile appeared on her lips. It was official, I had said it out loud, and in front of a solicitor no less. She was my personal assistant. Undoubtedly the most unorthodox PA of all time, and one I predicted would be performing some unorthodox assisting.
Woods nodded reluctantly. We all sat.
There was a knock at the door. It was Michelle Little, Richard’s long-time PA. Michelle was a fit, small-ish blonde woman, probably in her forties. She looked substantially younger, thanks no doubt to heavily discounted Botox, fillers and lifts from her plastic surgeon boss. She had a thin, pinched nose (not Richard’s work), unnaturally round breasts (not Richard’s work either) and perfectly filled lips (Richard’s). She was exceptionally efficient and relatively likeable.
‘Michelle Little?’ Woods enquired.
She nodded and he signalled her to be seated.
‘I’m so sorry about Richard, Indigo,’ she said sympathetically. ‘He was a wonderful man, a great boss.’
‘Thank you Michelle,’ I said.
If Richard had offshore accounts Michelle would probably know about them. Although this was not the optimal time to ask.
Not that running offshore accounts was unusual. Most people did it, mainly to avoid tax. Billionaires loved stories about the government misspending ‘our’ tax dollars: $7 million on skylights in Parliament House, $26,000 for a statue of Mary Poppins, $130,000 on research into prostitutes in China, $36 million on ants. Yes, ants.
In my social circle tax evasion was a highly regarded recreational sport. Grandmother was an Olympic gold medallist.
The estate lawyer cleared his throat. ‘I think we’ll skip the formalities and get right to it.’
I helped myself to a glass of water from the decanter on the table.
Woods pointedly considered the older couple for several beats. ‘To my parents Shirley and Harrold Smith—’
I spat water across the table and coughed it out of my nose.
Richard was an orphan. His parents died in a car accident when he was sixteen.
I stared at the Smiths. They had water spots across their shirts and faces. Shirley wiped her face with her hand and flicked the excess drops on the floor. She gawked in astonishment at me. Hard to blame her since I’d just spat at her, and if Woods was right, until sixty seconds ago she’d thought I’d murdered her son. This day was just full of surprises.
‘Mrs Hasluck, ah, Jones-Bombberg,’ said Woods in fake surprise, ‘Are you okay?’
‘Richard,’ I stammered, shaking my head. ‘Richard …’
It was all I could get out. My head raced. How could this be? Was Richard adopted? Were these his birth parents? Perhaps his adopted parents were the ones who had perished? If so, why had he never spoken of it?
I glanced at Mother. Eyes wide, she shrugged her shoulders in bafflement. Esmerelda appeared amused.
Get it together, I thought, these could be his parents. If so, they had just lost their son. I took a deep breath, ‘Are you Richard’s birth parents?’
Harrold looked confused. Shirley looked angry.
‘Parents, aye, yes!’ barked Shirley. ‘Course we’re his birth parents!’
Her accent got stronger the more annoyed she grew.
‘What the hell kind of question is that?’ said the man I was now rapidly deducing was Richard’s biological father.
‘I am sorry,’ I said genuinely. ‘Richard did not tell me he was adopted, nor that he was in touch with his birth parents.’
It seemed there were a few things Richard did not tell me.
‘Ricky was adopted?’ said the daughter Elise, stunned, to the mother Shirley Smith.
Oh God. If they were his parents, then the young man and woman must have been his brother and sister. I felt sick. Again. Oh my God. I thought my dead husband’s brother was hot. I was going to so many types of marriage Hades. Perhaps I was already there.
Elise stared at her mother in shock. ‘Ma?’
‘Elise!’ Shirley barked at her daughter. ‘Richard was not bloody adopted.’
‘I’m very confused,’ I said, shaking my head.
‘You’re confused lass?’ said Harrold Smith, the father. ‘I’m completely bloody lost.’
My mother stepped in. ‘I think I understand.’
‘Yeah,’ smirked Esmerelda. ‘Me too.’
We all looked at Mother expectantly.
‘I think, for whatever reason, Richard perhaps didn’t tell you the whole truth about his parents,’ she said calmly.
‘Richard wouldn’t do that,’ I retorted. ‘If he said his parents died, then they must have.’
I looked desperately over at Shirley and Harrold. ‘Was he raised by an aunt or someone?’
Shirley was dead still and dead silent. She gazed down at her hands, clasped tightly together on the table as her eyes filled with tears.
Harrold looked like he was going to explode. ‘Listen lass, that boy was born and raised up by us.’
Elise wrapped her arms around her mother.
‘Why?’ Shirley wept looking at her daughter. ‘Why would he say we were all dead?’
‘To be fair,’ I chimed in, ‘he only said his parents were dead, not his siblings. He said he had no siblings …’
That probably didn’t help. I had been a daughter-in-law for three minutes and the entire family hated me.
‘God! I’m so sorry!’ I blurted, scanning the family. ‘I didn’t know! I didn’t mean …’
‘It’s grand, girl, don’t blame yourself,’ said Harold, reaching cardiac-level red. ‘If your man told you that, you’d no reason not to believe him.’
He was right. Why wouldn’t I believe Richard? Who lies about their parents being dead? Or having no siblings? And why?
‘His surname?’ I said, more to myself than anyone else. ‘His surname was Bombberg, not Smith.’
Oh no. Oh God. Could it be? Could I really be Mrs Hasluck-Royce-Jones-Smith?
His badly dressed but Bond-bodied brother James fielded this. ‘He considered Smith a bit common, changed it at university. Bombberg is me Ma’s maiden name. Your man thought it sounded more surgeon-like.’
I remember thinking Bombberg sounded Jewish, but Richard was not Jewish, he was not anything.
Elise rolled her teary eyes. I immediately saw the sibling similarities.
&n
bsp; I examined James more closely. He was a darker blond, taller, more broadly built, but the resemblance was there. It was like Doug and Brad Pitt. They looked like brothers. And sure, Doug was okay, but Brad! Well next to Brad, he was just Doug.
‘Richard was concerned about names?’ I mumbled, coming out of my Doug-Brad daze.
James laughed and leant forward on the table. His hands were beautiful and he smelt good. ‘Most people are. He didn’t want to be a train driver like his pa or pop. Fair enough. Your man wanted more.’ He slowly ran his eyes around the room. ‘For all the good it did him.’
‘I’ve never been out of Ireland,’ lilted Shirley Smith.
Richard told me he was from a quaint English village north of Bath called Pucklechurch. He even had a British accent.
Woods cleared his throat. ‘It was Dr Bombberg’s wish that you all be physically gathered together for the reading of the will. He made generous financial provisions for the transportation and accommodation of his family.’
I studied the Smiths. They were real, regular people. A family. My heart broke for them, which was an uncomfortable and unexpected experience.
‘Well,’ I said, clearing my throat and mustering up bravado I was not sure I could carry off. ‘Let us be introduced again. Mrs Smith, Shirley, my, ah, mother-in law, I am delighted to meet you.’
I stood, leant over the table and shook her hand. Mother regarded at me with an expression that I think was pride. We worked our way around the table shaking hands with the Smiths. Michelle joined in. Esmerelda, suffice to say, did not. Deceit was afoot, she was in Doberman mode.
I thought I might suffocate when Harrold pulled my arm in from a handshake to a hug. He was a big man. Instead I felt safe. That was familiar too.
I tried to avoid hugging his brother James but failed. When he too pulled me in, I found my head nestled on his wide, soft but firm chest. He wrapped his arms around me and my hands moved to the very small of his back. And I do mean small, his waist was tiny. A soundless moan escaped me as I inhaled him. He wore Amouage. I involuntarily closed my eyes. He was all kinds of Cupcake.
‘Please don’t think me rude,’ said Woods, looking around at all the activity, ‘but I do need to continue with the reading. Could we all be seated?’
Everyone nodded and I uncoiled myself from James. I tried to remain steady as I walked in a stupor back to my seat.
‘I’ll begin again,’ said Woods. ‘To my parents Shirley and Harrold Smith who worked so hard, I leave my love and gratitude, and half of my 50 per cent share in the Sydney Plastics franchise. I also leave them 40 per cent of all the funds in any and all of my bank accounts and 10 per cent of my share portfolio. I wish for the second half of their lives to be more secure than the first.’
‘Franchise?’ said Shirley and looked at me for answers.
‘Yes,’ I said nodding my head. ‘There were, I mean are, several practices.’
Although truth be told, I did not exactly know how many. I looked at Michelle. I had almost forgotten about her.
‘Michelle?’
Everyone looked at her. Michelle seemed shell-shocked. Her eyes glued to the Smiths, her mouth fixed open an inch.
‘Oh, um, yes. There are twelve surgical practices, with around 100 employees in total, under the Sydney Plastics banner. And there are several other subsidiaries.’
There were twelve Sydney Plastics centres? I knew Richard had been busy but twelve? And subsidiaries? I did not know about any subsidiaries. This whole thing was getting stranger by the moment. Having said that, how much stranger could things get?
‘Subsidiaries?’ I said studying her.
‘Ah ha,’ she said nodding her head and finally pulling her eyes from the Smiths. ‘A chain of new discount plastic surgery centres.’
‘Discount plastic surgery?’ That didn’t sound good. ‘How is that possible? Were surgeons getting paid less?’
I asked this question hopefully because the alternative was that Richard was using cheap or inferior medical equipment. That was bad. Very, very bad.
‘No, well yes,’ she began, looking a little panicked.
I had no sympathy for her. She was his right-hand woman. If Richard was doing something illegal or unethical she was up to her neck in it too.
‘Michelle?’ I demanded. ‘How did he do that?’
‘Well,’ she offered, ‘Richard discovered a loophole in the medical laws here. You see to perform some surgeries, like breast enhancements, which are very popular, you don’t actually have to be a surgically qualified surgeon.’
‘Richard hired non-doctors to operate on clients?’
Everyone including the estate lawyer looked at Michelle with shock and disgust. This was monstrous!
‘No, no, no,’ she pleaded. ‘They’re doctors, they’re just not FRACS surgeons.’
My mind scrambled to make the distinction. ‘Pardon?’
‘FRACS means they’re a Fellow of the Royal Australasian College of Surgeons,’ she explained. ‘FRACS have over twelve years of medical and surgical education.’
Crickets.
‘You see, we use doctors who have a MBBS, Bachelor of Medicine and Bachelor of Surgery, instead of FRACS,’ she said, as if that cleared things up.
Everyone continued to stare, dumbfounded.
‘So they are qualified surgeons, but just not from this Royal College?’ I guessed.
‘Well, again, yes and no,’ she said.
If this area was any greyer it would need its own swatch.
‘Doctors with only a MBBS degree are not trained for invasive surgical procedures. Whereas FRACS surgeons are. But there’s no legal requirement for a MBBS doctor who wants to perform some surgical procedures to undergo any specific training in surgery.’
I squinted at her. ‘Richard had doctors, who could technically call themselves surgeons because they have that MBBS degree, but who had no actual surgical training because they did not attend the Royal College thing, operate?’
‘Again, yes and no,’ she said.
I wanted to thump her head, or mine, on the table. Hard.
Then I heard an actual thud on the table. Harrold’s face was red from the top of his beard to his hairline. ‘For God’s sake! Give your woman a straight answer!’
Amen. I think.
‘Okay. So no, they were not trained by any surgical college, but they did receive surgical training—’ She stopped short. Again.
‘Oh for frigg’s sake lady!’ growled Esmerelda. ‘You’re starting to piss me off.’ She stood up and headed towards Michelle.
Michelle’s eyes went wide. ‘Richard trained them!’ she blurted.
Mother instinctively touched her face, as if checking for areas that might have been illicitly operated on. ‘That’s legal?’
‘Yeah. Completely legal, if the patient agrees.’
‘And people agree to this?’ exclaimed Mother, still checking her face.
‘Sure,’ nodded Michelle.
‘So, you like tell your customers that Dr Slice-and-Dice isn’t one of them FRACS doctors?’ questioned Esmerelda, unconvinced.
‘Umm, no. Well, only if they ask. We say they’re surgeons, which according to the title in their degree is true.’
I was mortified. ‘How many people ask?’
Michelle wrinkled her nose. ‘Not many.’
‘Any?’ I asked.
‘No, none so far, not before the surgery anyway.’
I did not even want to know what that meant.
‘And?’ said Esmerelda to Michelle.
I turned to Esmerelda. ‘There’s more?’
‘Dude,’ said Esmerelda. ‘There’s always more.’
I looked back to Michelle. ‘There’s more?’
She fake-coughed and moved around in her seat. ‘Well, to keep prices at a minimum we also perform the surgeries in rented office spaces instead of a theatre, using a local anaesthetic instead of a general.’
Jaws dropped around the room. I had visions of someo
ne being operated upon on a desk, among staples, paperclips and keyboards.
‘And like they think I’m dodgy,’ muttered Esmerelda.
‘It’s a con,’ said Harrold slowly to his son James.
‘A con?’ queried Shirley.
‘No!’ James replied. ‘No, that’s not a con. It’s … it’s … I don’t know what the hell it is, but you don’t cut someone up on a con.’
If looks could kill Michelle would have been as dead as Richard, and the Smiths behind bars.
CHAPTER 10
YES. SURE. DEFINITELY. ABSOLUTELY
Woods inched his chair away from Esmerelda and rechecked his paperwork. ‘I’m sorry but I must insist we continue.’ Lawyers. ‘Where were we? Yes, Mr and Mrs Smith have half of his 50 per cent share in the Sydney Plastics franchise, 40 per cent of the cash funds and ten per cent of the shares.’
‘We don’t want it,’ Shirley said.
‘Not even the cash?’ shot Esmerelda.
‘It’s not right, funny operations.’ Shirley paused. ‘Or profiting from Ricky’s passing.’
Harrold nodded in agreement.
Wow. I knew people, wealthy people, who would walk over a loved one’s body, dead or alive, for an inheritance.
‘To be fair, those subsidiaries are just one part of what Richard did with Sydney Plastics. He also did free reconstructive surgeries for children in third world countries. They would have suffered greatly without him.’
I was defending him?! It was true he helped people, although it seemed he financed it with some highly unethical, if technically legal, surgeries in Australia. Plus, I didn’t want his family walking away with nothing but heartache and tainted memories.
‘Richard wanted you to be looked after. It must have been important to him. Please, think about it.’
‘I never expected to outlive any of my children,’ Shirley said.
‘That’s alright love,’ said Harrold, placing his burly arm around her. ‘You didn’t outlive him. We’re dead, remember?’ And he let out a deep throaty chuckle.
Shirley pursed her lips, trying to hold back a quickly forming smile. Laughter escaped in short barks. Elise and James joined in, Elise holding a hand over her mouth as her giggles leaked.
Shirley wiped her eyes and blessed herself. ‘Lord help me, I’m going to hell for laughing at that.’
Heiress On Fire Page 8
