by John Kelly
Brad Murphy was in his element in front of the camera. A seasoned performer, he had been in and out of television over the past twenty years. He had come into the industry from radio where he worked initially as a programme manager. His first break in television came as a news journalist for the evening news, and later, reading the news bulletins in the middle of the day, a slot that helped bolster his strong following among women. His good looks and strong voice made him a natural for television. He had a loyal local following on NFQ Channel 12, with his light chat show format, where the demographics suited his layback approach. Wisely, he concentrated on topics free from controversy, steering clear of politics and other contentious issues. The climate in Queensland was warm enough without inviting a further rise in temperatures. The easy-going interview with someone who would not create waves suited him. Interviewing a visiting musician, or an author, or someone who had recently walked across the Great Sandy Desert for charity was where he performed best. His viewing audience, made up mostly of housewives, young mothers and the retired, loved that kind of story. His current visit to Cairns was part of a management policy of de-centralisation, of getting out of the big smoke and talking to the local communities.
Brad's show was usually taped the day before, but when 'on tour', it went out live. He was coming to the end of his show on Thursday afternoon, rounding up a chat with Lesley Cambridge, a visiting soprano from England who was in Cairns for a one night performance before heading off to Sydney for an extended engagement at the Opera House.
"Well, Lesley, we wish you well tonight. The concert is a sell-out, not a ticket to be bought anywhere."
"Thank you Brad. I take it you will be there too?" Lesley replied.
"I wouldn't miss it for the world," Brad replied with charm and flair, hiding his complete lack of interest in the upcoming concert, and wondering how he could excuse himself from attending. "And that brings us to the end of our show this morning brought to you from beautiful and very warm Cairns," Brad said turning his head toward the wrong camera. "Thank you to all the people who have looked after us while we have been up here. We're back to Brisbane next week and we look forward to your company at the usual time," he continued as his eyes finally located the right camera. "Just before we go, on a personal note, if perchance Irene and James Campbell, or anyone in the Cairns area knowing their whereabouts is watching, give me a call at the station will you. Two old friends of mine I'd love to catch up with while I'm here. Okay that's it for now, see you all next week, bye, bye." It was a highly inappropriate insertion and Brad knew it. Using a public facility to further a private cause was against station policy, but he simply couldn't resist it.
As Brad made his way off the studio floor, his producer looked at him surprised. "What was all that about?" the producer asked. "Oh nothing. It just sort of came out. I've been trying to track down some friends of mine without any luck. It was a spur of the moment thing," he said. It was nothing of the sort. During the short time Brad had been in Cairns, he had knocked on the door of all the Campbells listed in the local telephone directory without any luck. "The boss won't like it," his producer said. "Yes I know. Leave Gerry to me. Chances are he wasn't watching anyway." He was! It took just fifteen minutes before the call came from the Brisbane office. The station manager, Gerry Anderson was not impressed. "What were you on about with that little quip?' Gerry asked. "Sorry, Gerry, it sort of slipped out. I wanted to make contact with some people up here and this was a last resort. Just thought it might help," Brad said. "I fired someone a few years ago for that. It sets a bad precedent Brad. Next thing you know we will have the filing clerk asking for a special message to be broadcast asking his mother to put the roast in the oven," Gerry replied. "Yes, it was not a good idea, sorry Gerry." Brad apologised, anxious not to upset the station manager any further. "No more of that Brad, understand?" Gerry pressed him. "Yes Gerry, no more I promise."
The apology was genuine although Brad was not remorseful. He saw it as a last gasp opportunity to make some worthwhile enquiry for Warwick Steedman while he was in the area. He had also become quite intrigued himself with the whole business of trying to locate Mary Therese. The suggestion that something illegal had taken place in 1974, was itself enticing enough for Brad to realize that he might be on the trail of a good story, a story that could lead to who knows where. From the moment Brad began analysing the curious circumstances of the fire at the Aston Park office of the Western Family Agency, he had an inkling that there was more to the story than simply finding a missing family member. There was something about the whole story that fired his imagination. He had found himself in the middle of an intriguing series of events that suggested there was a story here for the writing, for the publishing, for the selling. Whether it was by newspaper article, magazine or book, there was something in all of this to write about. Brad Murphy could sense it, and nothing was going to stop him from pursuing his suspicions, until he got to the heart of it all. It wasn't long before his audacity seemed to pay dividends.
He was in his dressing room removing his make-up when the phone rang. "It's reception here Mr. Murphy. We have a lady on the line who says she knows Irene Campbell," the voice said. Brad's heart leapt with anticipation. "So soon, goodness me," he said, "Can you put her through please?"
"Hello, Brad Murphy here," he said. There was a pause on the other end of the line, before a nervous response filtered through. "Er, hello, my?my name is..is Gladys Goodfellow, is that Mr. Murphy?" Her voice was nervous and ageing and Brad moved quickly to re-assure the caller. "Yes, this is Brad Murphy, thank you for calling. I believe you can help me locate Irene Campbell?" he said softly, not wanting any of this conversation overheard by curious ears in the corridor. Nor did he want to alarm the caller either. His voice was warm, and engaging in a way that even he found calming. "She was my next door neighbour years ago, but she doesn't live here anymore," the caller said. Brad paused, as he absorbed the news. "Could I come and talk with you?" he asked.
"Er, yes all right," the caller answered. She gave Brad her address, which he scribbled down on a notepad.
"I'll be there in half an hour," he said, and put down the receiver. He sat there for a few moments, reflecting on the earlier discussion with Station manager Gerry Anderson who warned him not to use the media for personal quests. 'You may say what you will Gerry, but at least it got results,' he thought to himself. As he looked into the mirror in the make-up room, he felt a strange sensation. It was as if his image in the mirror was issuing a caution and was giving him a warning, 'Take care where you go with this!'
After finishing some paperwork in an empty office, Brad filed some papers into his briefcase and headed for the front reception area, keen to be on time for the meeting with Gladys Goodfellow. He was almost out the front door when the receptionist called out to him.
"Mr. Murphy, another call for you." Brad stopped and turned around. "Who is it?" he asked.
"A Mrs. Rosie Fitzgibbon would like a word with you." Brad looked at his watch. He wanted to leave now.
"Could you tell her I'm tied up, get her number and I will call her back?" The receptionist did as he asked and seconds later handed him a note with the name Rosie Fitzgibbon and her telephone number. Brad took the note, placed it in his pocket and left the building. 'What have I started here?' he wondered as he jumped into his rented falcon.
True to his word, he was on the doorstep of Gladys Goodfellow's home in suburban Cairns within thirty minutes.
"Do come in," she said excitedly. "I've never had a celebrity person in the house before." Crossing the threshold, Brad suddenly wondered if this was a ruse. Was this woman simply using the moment to indulge in a private fantasy? Had she lured him here just to enjoy the company of a TV personality? It wasn't a ridiculous thought. It had happened before. Many a time, a caller would try to gain a moment alone with him. Usually it was a lonely elderly lady, seeking to act out some daydream, some flight of the imagination. It was the price he had to pay as an unintentional h
ero of the geriatric brigade. It was circumstances just like this that made him nervous, but in the end, he didn't need to be. Following the usual offer of tea and biscuits, Gladys got to the heart of the matter quickly.
"You said Irene and James were old friends of yours. How can I help you then?" she asked. Brad was uncertain how to approach the matter. Should he come clean and tell Gladys the truth, or string along in the hope of learning what he wanted to know without revealing anything of his mission? He decided not to confuse the issue further. "Actually Gladys, I've never met them. I said that so as not to alarm anyone. An old university chum of mine in Melbourne asked me to make some enquiries for him." Brad said relieved that he was telling the truth, and realizing that if all this investigating came unstuck, at least his reputation would remain intact. "My friend told me that Irene and James had a daughter named Mary Therese, and he needs to get in contact with her. You said on the phone that they don't live here anymore," he added hoping to push things along. "No, they left here quite suddenly in 1980," Gladys replied and then added, "it was a bit of a shock at the time. James' company transferred him to their head office in Sydney with very little notice. Irene was very upset over the move. I don't think she wanted to go." Brad took a sip of tea and nodded. "And Mary Therese? I suppose she was just starting school around then?" he asked. "Oh yes, Mary, what a darling little thing she was," Gladys said. "She was adopted you know," she added. "Yes, I did know that," Brad replied. "Irene and James left here early one morning to go to Brisbane back in 1974 without saying anything to anybody," Gladys continued, "and then came back a few days later with Mary Therese," she said. "Oh dear, it was all so exciting."
Brad was elated. This was the confirmation he was hoping for. At last he was certain he was on the right track.
"So they moved to Sydney? Do you know whom James worked for?" he asked. Gladys nodded. "James worked for Argus Oil Company. He was transferred to their Sydney office. That's all I know," she said. "Argus Oil?" Brad queried. "They don't operate here anymore. They were taken over by Atlas Petroleum about five years ago," he said. "Were they? I wouldn't know anything about that," Gladys replied. "More tea?" she asked. "Thank you," he said. "I will. This is very good tea. Did you ever see them again after they left?" he asked, now feeling the adrenalin running. "No, but I met Mary's real mother." Brad was stunned. "Andrea! You met her?" he asked. "Yes she came here about two months after they left," Gladys said. "Nice young woman, she was from Melbourne."
Brad felt humbled by the forthright and innocent nature of Gladys, and wanted to be as honest with her as he could. "Yes, I knew that. You see, Gladys, the man I am making enquiries for, is Andrea's brother. Andrea died a couple of weeks ago, from cancer. Her brother is an executor of her will. That's why we are trying to find Mary Therese. She is a beneficiary of Andrea's estate." Gladys was momentarily stunned. "Oh my goodness. Oh dear, I'm so sorry," she said as she sat down. "I didn't know who she was when she came here, but she seemed such a nice young woman and she was very disappointed when I told her they had left, so I gave her the telephone number of Irene's mother." Brad almost fell off his seat at the wealth of information he was receiving. It all sounded too good to be true. "Irene's mother! You know her? Does she live in Cairns?" he asked, trying not to sound too excited. "Yes, she used to come and baby-sit Mary Therese. We often sat on the veranda and had morning chats. Irene used to work part-time at the local supermarket, so Rosie came over to look after Mary," she said.
"Rosie?" Brad asked.
"Yes, Rosie Fitzgibbon. Funny thing though, she called me the day after Andrea came here and asked me what information I had given her. I remember she sounded a little tense at the time. I asked her if everything was all right. Then she told me who Andrea was. She didn't say anything else about her. She didn't seem to want to talk about it. I got the feeling there was a bit of a problem and didn't want to get involved, so I left it at that. Perhaps you could talk to her?"
"Rosie you mean?" Brad asked, nearly choking on his biscuit in his excitement.
"Yes," Gladys replied. "I'm sure she would know where Mary Therese is now. How long is it, fifteen, sixteen years? She must be a lovely young woman by now. I could give her a call if you like and ask. Would you like to speak with her?"
The name Rosie Fitzgibbon set bells ringing in Brad's head. He remembered the note given to him as he was leaving the television studio. He checked his pocket for the note.
"Well, that's very kind of you Gladys, but I have Rosie's number. She called the studio just after you did." Brad was scarcely able to keep up with the avalanche of information he was receiving. 'Warwick Steedman won't believe this,' he thought.
"I'll give her a call myself when I get back to the hotel," he said. Then as an afterthought, "Gladys, do you like concerts. I have a couple of tickets to see Lesley Cambridge, the visiting English soprano tonight. I have to say I really don't want to go, not my stuff really. Would you like to have them? Perhaps you and your husband could have a night on the town?" Gladys' eyes nearly popped out of her head. "I'd love to go. I just adore Lesley Cambridge," she said. "Well, you have them then," he said as he ruffled through his briefcase. "Here they are, have a great evening. Just don't tell anyone where you got them from and thank you for all the help you have been. I have to go now, but I want you to know you have been very helpful."
After ridding himself of concert tickets he did not want to use, and pleased that he had passed them on to someone who would appreciate them, Brad Murphy excused himself, and left Gladys standing at the doorway waving him goodbye. He then returned to his hotel room. His only interest at this moment was to contact Rosie Fitzgibbon. He wanted to set the evening aside to speak with her. The very thought of attending a boring classical concert when he could be on the verge of learning the whereabouts of Mary Therese was unthinkable. He picked up the phone, dialled and felt a certain anticipation as he listened to the phone ringing, his heart beating a little faster as he waited for an answer at the other end.
"Hello," a woman said.
"Er, hello, would Rosie Fitzgibbon be there please," Brad asked.
"I'm Rosie," she answered. She had a deep voice, alluring, Brad thought. "Rosie, my name is Brad Murphy, I'm understand you called me earlier this afternoon?" There was a slight pause as Brad held his breath. "Yes, Mr Murphy I did. It was in relation to your request on television today for information about Irene and James Campbell," Rosie said. "I thought you would have called earlier," she added.
"I'm sorry," Brad said, "I was tied up for a while with someone, er, a friend of yours actually, Gladys Goodfellow?" he replied. There was a pause at the other end and Brad thought he heard a sigh.
"Oh dear," Rosie said, "What on earth has she told you?"
"Well, she was very helpful, I have to say. She told me that you are Irene Campbell's mother, Brad said, "and that you..." There was a sudden interruption from the other end. "What exactly do you want with Irene, Mr. Murphy?" Rosie asked with a firm voice bordering on anger. Brad was quickly jolted out of his earlier feeling of anticipation.
"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to upset you," he said. "Actually it's not Irene that I'm trying to locate, it's her daughter Mary Therese?" Brad stopped talking. He wanted to gauge Rosie's initial reaction to his mentioning the name of Mary Therese. There was another long pause. Brad could hear Rosie breathing more rapidly. His own heartbeat began to accelerate.
"Why?" came Rosie's guarded response.
"Because I was asked to," he answered.
"By whom?" Rosie enquired as if she were cross-examining a defendant in a murder trial.
Brad felt himself being compelled to answer every question being asked, as if being interrogated, such was the power of the woman's voice. "I was asked to make enquiries concerning the whereabouts of Mary Therese Steedman, by the trustees of the Estate of Andrea Steedman who passed away three weeks?." Brad was suddenly cut short. "The what of Andrea Steedman? What did you say?" Rosie asked with an almost
hysterical outburst. "Mary Therese is a beneficiary of Andrea's will. Naturally, the trustees want to find her," he added nervously.
"Andrea has died?" Rosie asked incredulously, "Is that what you are saying?" There was a short pause while Brad regained his composure. "Yes, I'm sorry to be the one to tell you. Andrea passed away a couple of weeks ago in Melbourne." There was another long pause, one that Brad did not want to interrupt, and he remained silent.
"How did she die?" Rosie asked at last.
"She died from breast cancer," Brad replied. There was another agonising silence until Rosie spoke again. "Who spoke to you?" Rosie asked. "I'm not sure what you mean," Brad replied. "You said you were asked to make enquiries. Who asked you?" she said quickly with a slightly raised voice. "Er, Warwick. Warwick Steedman, Andrea's brother." There was another longer pause, but given the direction the conversation was going, Brad was not surprised, and he waited for Rosie to speak. "Perhaps we should meet and have a talk," Rosie said in a less austere tone. "Where are you staying?" Relief overtook Brad and he felt a film of moisture on his forehead. "Oh that's all right; I'll come to your place. It's no problem," he said boyishly. Rosie would have none of it. "No, I don't want you to come here. I will come to you. Where are you staying?" she insisted. Brad decided not to argue and gave her the name of his hotel and room number. "I'll be there in an hour," she said. "Perhaps we could have dinner?" Brad suggested, in a feeble attempt to regain some lost ground. "Perhaps. Let's meet and talk first," Rosie said. "I'll see you in one hour Mr. Murphy."
For the next hour, Brad tried to grapple with the position in which he now found himself. 'What on earth have I just bumped into?' he thought. Surprised by the forceful nature of the conversation, he wondered what would cause Rosie to speak to him in such an abrupt manner. 'What did she know about her daughter's adoption of Mary Therese?' he wondered. Then, as he mulled over a series of questions that sprang to mind, he began to develop a mental image of Rosie Fitzgibbon. He imagined a tall, brown-haired woman with a solid frame, with piercing eyes, a pointed jaw and wearing a tartan skirt and epaulettes. Immediately the image intimidated him further. As the clock ticked away, he checked his appearance in the bathroom. 'Perhaps I can take off the tie,' he thought. 'That should make me look a little more relaxed.' He removed his tie, and combed his hair, straightened his jacket, went to the window and looked out. Nothing! Back to the bathroom, to undergo more meaningless adjustments, then back to the window. He was about to return to the bathroom when he realized that he was completely rattled. He took a deep breath. 'Get a grip of yourself,' he said silently to himself, as he turned on the television set, sat down on the bed and tried to relax.
When he heard a knock on the door fort-five minutes later, he had almost dozed off. He jumped to his feet and opened the door to discover his preconceived ideas of Rosie Fitzgibbon could not have been further from the truth. She was short, about 150 centimetres tall, blond, wearing a sleeveless floral dress and pearl necklace. She was well tanned, attractive, and looked much younger than her sixty years. "Mr. Murphy?" she asked. "Yes, er Brad, call me Brad. Mrs. Fitzgibbon I presume?" he answered. She nodded. "Yes, and you can call me Rosie," she said with an ashen face. "I wish I could say I'm pleased to meet you but I'm not sure if I am yet. Can I come in?" Brad ushered her into his room and closed the door. "Can I offer you anything? There is a bar fridge here, although I'm not sure what's in it," he asked. "A soft drink will be fine," she answered. "How long are you staying here?" she asked looking around the room. "I'm flying back to Brisbane tomorrow morning," he answered as he fumbled with a glass and a can, and poured her a soft drink. "Would you like to sit down somewhere? I'm afraid these rooms are not designed much for entertaining." There was a table and chairs near the window and Rosie made herself comfortable. Brad handed Rosie the drink, poured one for himself, and turned the television set off. "Thank you for coming," he said sitting down opposite her, and trying to kick-start the conversation. She nodded and stared at him for a moment as if trying to read his thoughts. "I like your show," she said in a quiet friendly tone. "Thank you," he said. "How do you get to interview someone like Lesley Cambridge?" she asked, deciding a little small talk was necessary. "Oh, well, er, it's either a case of us putting in a bid to get them, or them hunting up ways of promoting their show. Often it's a case of satisfying a mutual need. Lesley has a big show on in Cairns tonight, and it's a sell-out so she didn't need the publicity, but she's heading down to Brisbane and the southern states after that, so the publicity up here gets picked up by the network machine and so on it goes," he answered. "Hmm, interesting," Rosie replied. "All right then, let's talk?" she added. "I'm not sure where to start," Brad replied, relieved the small talk was over. "What did you want to know exactly?' Rosie asked.
"Pretty much what I said on the phone," Brad started. "I'm representing the trustees of the Estate of Andrea Steedman. Her daughter Mary Therese is a beneficiary and Warwick Steedman, her brother, who is joint executor, asked me to help." Brad said. "How well do you know Warwick Steedman?" Rosie asked. "He was a friend of mine at university years ago. We did a few things together over the years and then I moved up to Stradbroke Island. We haven't seen much of each other recently, but we've kept in touch, Christmas cards, that sort of thing. I've done a little work for him occasionally. Why do you ask?" Warwick queried.
"I have a different view of him. That's why I'm suspicious of you," Rosie replied, looking straight into Brad's eyes. "I'm sorry if I was abrupt with you over the phone," she continued. "I didn't know that Andrea died. I didn't even know she was sick. This news and your presence here is opening up some painful memories for me concerning my daughter Irene," Rosie said.
"Where is Irene now?" Brad asked. Rosie opened her mouth to speak and then paused as if to compose herself. "My daughter died a few years ago," she said. Warwick was stunned. "I'm so sorry, I had no idea," he replied. "She contracted a rare form of bone cancer known as Osteogenic Sarcoma." Rosie said looking up to the ceiling, attempting to contain her sadness. "Why do the young ones have to die?" she said quietly to herself. If Brad had felt intimidated by Rosie earlier, the news that Irene had died only served to compound the pressure he was feeling now, and altered the circumstances of his involvement significantly. Whereas previously, he felt that making contact with Irene would answer most of his questions, now he was dealing with someone, about whom he knew nothing, and who, it seemed, knew more about the person he was representing, than he did. What to do now? Rosie came to the rescue. "Mr. Murphy," she said, momentarily hesitating before continuing, "I've watched your show on television for a long time, and I think I'm a pretty good judge of character. Just out of interest though, can you tell me, is Andrea's estate a substantial one?" she asked.
"I believe so," Brad answered. Rosie gathered her thoughts. "I think that you are a good man and that you mean no harm. A man of your public profile doesn't want to be discovered swimming around in a dirty quagmire. You may not realise it, but your association with Warwick Steedman puts your career in jeopardy right now. I believe that he is up to no good. I'm of the opinion that you mean well, and that you have no idea of what's really going on here." Brad looked at her incredulously.
"Going on?" he asked. "What do you mean going on?"
Rosie continued. "The first thing you need to know is that the man you are making enquiries for, is a snake. Warwick Steedman has a hidden agenda. Does he know that you have contacted me?" she asked. Brad was surprised by the question. "No, he doesn't know that," he answered. "Well then, has he ever mentioned my name to you?" Brad considered the question. "No, his only interest is in finding Mary Therese to tidy up the Estate of Andrea Steedman."
Rosie laughed. "Rubbish. He wants to tidy up all right, but he doesn't give a hoot about Mary Therese personally. It's my bet that he is planning to deceive Andrea and gain a larger proportion of the estate for himself. If I know him, it will be more by stealth than legitimate means. I know all this sounds unbelievable, but two
weeks ago he came up here and warned me that if I made trouble for him, he would expose my son-in-law James to the police over the adoption process in 1974," Rosie said. Brad was shocked.
"He was here? Warwick was here, two weeks ago?" he asked.
"Yes," Rosie replied, "and he never mentioned anything about Andrea dying. I will bet my life there is a conspiracy going on, and he is at the heart of it. I think you have unwittingly become one of his pawns." Brad was speechless. He sat there, mouth half open, shocked at what he was hearing, and shocked more at the prospect that he was being used. But was it true? "How did Warwick know who you were? How did he know where to find you?" Brad asked. "Because he came here once before, about twelve years ago, and threatened both James and Irene, that if they didn't let Andrea see Mary, he would report the whole matter to the police," Rosie answered. "So, what happened?" Brad asked. "We did what he asked. James, Irene and Mary Therese, came up to stay with me for a weekend. He also insisted that he take a photograph of James and Irene." Brad was baffled. "Why?" he asked. "For his records, he said. We let Andrea see Mary Therese, but only on the condition that Mary Therese wasn't to know who Andrea was. Andrea agreed to that. She understood the trauma that might result if she suddenly landed on the doorstep and told Mary she was her real mother. It's not as if Andrea had her baby stolen. She was a willing party in the whole business. She did give Mary up," Rosie said indignantly.
"If Mary Therese is a legitimate beneficiary," Brad asked, "How could Warwick Steedman deprive her of what is rightly hers?" Rosie took a deep breath before answering. "I suspect he has ways and means. I also suspect that he never intended that you find Mary. I suspect that he thinks he has sent you on a wild goose chase. I think you are simply playing out a charade he has invented, so that he can document his efforts. Tell me, did he know that you were coming to Cairns? Did he know that you were planning to say something on television about this?" Rosie asked.
"Er, well he knew I was coming here for a television show, but no, he didn't know that I was going to say something on television. I didn't know I was going to do it, until the last minute," Brad answered. "I even finished up getting a rap over the knuckles for it," he added.
"So at best, he thought you might look up any Campbell in the phone book, and come up empty handed. Would that be a reasonable expectation?" Rosie asked. Brad shrugged his shoulders. "I don't know," he said.
"I am going to ask that you trust me, Mr. Murphy. The important thing right now is that we protect Mary Therese for the moment, until we discover what he's up to," she said. "What do you mean?" Brad asked. "I don't know yet, but I'm frightened that she might be in danger right now. I don't know how, but I'm going to figure it out somehow," Rosie replied.
"I don't suppose you can you tell me where Mary Therese is?' Brad asked. "She's in Sydney, living with her father," Rosie answered. "Does Warwick Steedman know that?" he asked. "Yes," Rosie replied. "He knows exactly where she lives. I suspect though, he doesn't care. I suspect that when he came here a couple of weeks ago, he was just making sure that we don't interfere in whatever he is planning," she answered.
"Can you tell me something of what happened back in 1974? Was there something irregular about the adoption?" Brad asked. Rosie hesitated and thought for a moment. "I'm happy to talk to you about that, but I would need some assurance from you that you would treat everything in confidence. Andrea and Irene are gone now, but James Campbell, my son in law, is still alive, and both his and Mary Therese's needs have to be considered," Rosie said. "Does Mary Therese know what happened back then?" Warwick asked. "No, she doesn't, but before we go into that, you have a choice. You can accept what I have told you and help protect Mary Therese, or you can go back to Warwick Steedman and tell him everything I have said, in which case he will probably deny it all. So mister television personality, what's it going to be?"
Brad found himself speechless yet again. What to do? His mind was swimming in uncertainty. He didn't want to believe the things Rosie had told him about Warwick Steedman, but then again, he knew nothing of Warwick's business affairs. On the other hand, he could see no reason why Rosie would tell him these things other than to protect Mary Therese. If Rosie was not telling the truth, what did she have to gain? It would only serve to delay Mary Therese receiving her inheritance. It didn't make sense. Brad also realized that his earlier thoughts about sniffing out a good story now looked even more possible. Rosie had the answer. "I have an idea," she said. "When we were on the phone you suggested dinner. I've never been to dinner with a celebrity before. I rather like the idea of walking into a nice restaurant in the arm of a famous person. What do you say? Would you prefer dinner and some information about the events of 1974? Or would you rather think it over, while you sit here alone in your lonely little hotel room?"
All during their discussion, Brad was conscious of Rosie's attractive looks, her exciting eyes, and young at heart personality. He realized that he was as much attracted to her, as he was intimidated by her. His mind was made up. "Let's go to dinner," he said.
27.
