“Trouble in paradise?” He switched his gaze to her face.
“No.” Her smile stretched her lips in an insincere grimace.
“It looks like there is. An ambulance leaving here in a hurry.”
She shrugged. “Everything’s fine. Just a routine precaution.” Oh, how she hoped those words were true. Billy would be fine. Kids fell off ponies all the time. Kids bounced; they didn’t break. Except for Billy’s arm. Hopefully not his head.
“I’m glad to hear it.” He brushed imaginary dust from the arm of his suit. “I wonder if you’ve had a chance to consider my offer, Ms Pellegrini.”
She clenched her jaw. Did he never give up? “I have. The answer’s no. Just as it was to your previous offer and the one before that.”
“I think you’ll find it’s a generous one. Do the research.”
“I don’t need to. The answer’s still no.”
The ambulance was nearly out of sight, sweeping up the main road towards the hospital. The lights and sirens were still on. Billy must be enjoying the ride.
“Going to the university hospital?” Wakefield said. “Nothing serious, I hope.”
“No.”
“Horses are dangerous brutes.”
“Not mine.”
“Still.” He shrugged. “A lot of overheads on a big place like this. I hope you’re well insured.”
Nina moved back through the gate and closed it. It was a flimsy barrier at best between them, but the solidity and permanence of her land underneath her feet gave her confidence. She lifted her chin. “You’re wasting your time, Mr Wakefield. Please do not come again.”
He rested a hand on the gate with studied casualness. “Two million, three hundred. I think you’ll find it’s more than generous. You could do a lot with that. A fine education for your daughter. A lovely modern house to live in.”
“The answer’s no. It will always be no. I’m not selling.”
For a moment longer, his cool grey eyes studied her.
Nina lifted her chin and met his stare until he turned away.
“Don’t lose my business card. You may need it.”
The arrogant bastard. Nina gripped the gate with both hands. Nothing could make her sell Banksia Farm. Nothing.
Chapter 2
Her feet must have swelled. Maybe wearing work boots all the time had made them spread. Whatever the reason, Nina’s shoes rubbed her feet. Her left big toe seemed jammed against the end of her smart dress shoes—the only suitable pair she had for a trip to Sydney’s business district. Surreptitiously, she eased her foot from the pump and wiggled her toes. She flicked a page of the glossy magazine on her lap and glanced around the reception area.
Plush carpeting and recessed lighting enhanced the smooth timber of the expansive reception desk. No doubt it was milled from a solid slab of rainforest timber, polished to perfection by an army of third-world workers, and had cost more than Nina made in three months.
The receptionist’s gaze lingered on Nina’s bare toes, and she had a rather supercilious expression on her face.
Nina smiled at her and resisted the urge to jam her foot back into the too-tight shoe. She turned another page of the magazine and pretended to read.
“Nina Pellegrini?”
Nina looked up.
The soft carpet had muffled the approach of the big-boned, severe woman now standing in front of her. Her helmet of grey hair was cut in an angular style that did nothing to soften her look. She was dressed all in black: a black blouse with a high neck tucked into tapered, black pants, ending in soft leather shoes—black, of course.
Nina struggled out of the too-soft leather chair and tried to push her foot back into her shoe at the same time. “Yes, that’s me. You must be Leigh Willoughby.” She held out a hand, but the attempt at professionalism was spoilt when her toe caught on the carpet and she overbalanced.
The woman caught her elbow to steady her.
“I’m sorry.” Nina stooped to replace her shoe. “Thank you for seeing me, Ms Willoughby.”
“I’m Grizz Jankowski, Leigh Willoughby’s paralegal. Let me take you through.” Grizz smiled. It brought her face alive and made her seem more approachable.
Nina smiled back. Thank goodness for a friendly face after the haughty receptionist. “Yes, thank you. Of course. I should have known your name. I saw your picture on the company website.” Inwardly, she cursed her inattention. She’d studied the team photos; Leigh Willoughby was blonde and younger than her paralegal—maybe around thirty. In the photo, Leigh was smiling slightly, to inspire confidence no doubt, but the effect had still been somewhat distant and professional. Nina imagined Leigh Willoughby as tall, slender, and elegant, with obfuscating formal language—like all lawyers.
“No problem.” Grizz waited until Nina picked up her bag, and then she buzzed open a security door into the main office.
The route she used was obviously the one for clients; it bypassed the cubicles of admin assistants wearing headsets and typing at breakneck speed, and skirted rooms with desks piled high with papers. Nina craned her neck to catch a glimpse of the real world of Petersen & Blake outside of the row of glass-fronted offices and the streamlined corridor softened with artwork. The final door stood open, and Grizz led the way inside.
“Leigh, this is Nina Pellegrini.” With a professional smile at Nina, Grizz left and slid the glass door closed behind her.
Leigh Willoughby stood and came around her desk, hand outstretched.
Wow. The photos on the website, while accurate, hadn’t portrayed the gleaming perfection in front of her. Ms Willoughby was a tiny, slender woman standing maybe 170 centimetres in her high-heeled pumps. Leigh Willoughby’s blonde hair was coiffured into a tidy pleat, with not a single strand left loose. Her make-up was discreet with neutral shades on her eyes. Only her lips stood out, a dark and glossy red, like overripe berries.
Nina’s gaze swept over her from top to toe, taking in the glasses with large, black frames, and the cream silk blouse and dark skirt. Sheer tights, of course. Nina’s own bare legs, her patterned skirt, and her newest T-shirt that had seemed suitable when she had dressed that morning in her bedroom at Banksia Farm now appeared cheap and shabby. Still, this woman was her best chance, and she wasn’t going to blow it by slinking away in shame. She took Leigh’s hand.
Leigh’s clasp was firm but brief, a literal press of the flesh. She gestured to the leather chairs in front of her desk. “Please take a seat.” When Nina was seated, Leigh steepled her fingers in front of her. “Now, how can I help you?”
Nina swallowed, the words she’d rehearsed in front of the mirror that morning scratching in her throat. “Thank you for seeing me. I researched lawyers who would best be able to help me, and your name came up at the top every time.”
Leigh inclined her head in acknowledgement but remained silent.
Nina dragged in a deep breath and crossed her legs. “I’m the owner of Banksia Farm. It’s a little over nine acres—about 38,000 square metres—in the outer western suburbs. My gran left me the land, and I run it as a sort of smallholding. I also run a program called Barn Kids. It allows children age seven to twelve the opportunity to experience a slice of rural life in the city. The kids learn animal care and the chain of food from soil to table. They also learn to ride a horse.”
Leigh nodded once. Her face wore a polite expression of interest.
“Barn Kids is a paid program, but it relies heavily on volunteers. Occasionally, I’ll take on a deserving kid for free who can’t afford to pay, and in return a parent volunteers around the farm. One of those kids is Billy Moran. He’s seven. He’s not a special needs kid, but he’s a little different. A bit slower, more introverted. Seems younger than his age. Gets picked on by other kids if someone doesn’t watch out for him.” Billy’s sweet, earnest expression jumped into her head as she told Leigh more
about him and the circumstances leading up to the accident.
“My daughter, Phoebe, offered to take Billy for his riding lesson. She’s done it before many times.”
“How old is Phoebe?” Leigh studied Nina’s face from behind the enormous glasses.
“Twelve.”
“I see.” Leigh picked up a pen and jotted a few notes on a blue legal pad. “Go on.”
Had that been a disapproving tone in Leigh’s voice? Surely lawyers were supposed to be non-judgemental. “Phoe’s been around horses since she was five.” She cringed at the defensiveness in her voice. She needed Leigh on her side. But her voice shook as she related the accident. Billy’s comments about Superman nearly undid her completely. She’d thought he was okay. Wanted him to be okay. Believed he would be fine.
“I called his mother that night, of course,” Nina continued. “Stella was relaxed about the whole thing. Billy’s arm was in plaster, and she said the hospital had kept him in that night for observation.”
More notes on the blue pad. Leigh’s writing was small and neat, as she was, and the pen was a proper fountain pen. Its gold cap twinkled in the overhead light.
“Billy was released the next day, and a few days later, he came back to the farm with some carrots for the ponies. Stella was there, and she, too, seemed okay. But a couple of weeks later, I got this served upon me.” Nina reached into her bag and drew out a sheaf of papers. She laid them on Leigh’s desk with trembling fingers. On the immaculate surface, the papers seemed dirty and dog-eared. There was an orange juice stain on the front page. She’d kill Phoebe later. “It’s something called a Notice of—”
“Claim. Yes, I can see that.” Leigh picked up the document and flicked through it.
Nina twisted her hands in her lap and watched as Leigh read quickly, a small line forming and fleeing her forehead.
Leigh put the papers down on the desk and picked up the pen again. “I assume you have public liability insurance? You don’t need me for this. Give the form to your insurer.”
“I have. They’ve declined to cover me since an underage child was in control of the pony when it happened. My policy states it must be someone sixteen or over.”
“I see.” Leigh’s neat writing reached the end of the page, and she flipped to a fresh one.
“I make everyone sign a waiver. Surely that will protect me.”
Leigh tapped the pad with her pen. “Most of them aren’t worth the printing costs. They don’t cover negligent acts. This alleges that you were negligent in allowing a minor to have control of a dangerous animal, that the pony is dangerous, that you should have ensured that the paddock was free from rabbit holes—”
“Do you know how ridiculous that last one is? That all of those things are? It’s a farm. I can no more keep rabbits out than I can fly.”
“Nevertheless, it’s part of the claim. Along with the defective helmet you supplied and the lack of instruction Billy received.”
“It’s bullshit.”
“Many claims are.” Leigh’s pen tapped a staccato beat. “Unfortunately, you still have to respond to it.”
“Can you help me?” Nina leant forward. She held her breath. If Leigh agreed, it would be all right.
“Yes.” Her glance flicked up and down Nina’s body. It was an assessing glance; Leigh was judging her worth and her ability to pay, of that she was sure.
“So you’ll take me on?” Nina’s shoulders relaxed, and her body sagged as the tension left her. Something like this must be peanuts to Leigh. It would be done and dusted in a couple of weeks. Leigh would bluster and bullshit and write a couple of letters in stiff legalese, Stella would crawl off, and the whole thing would be dropped.
“You need to sign the cost agreement, provide me with more information, and deposit twenty thousand dollars into our trust account, and I can get started.” She picked up the phone. “Grizz, can you bring me the information sheet on defending personal injury claims? I’m taking on Nina Pellegrini.”
Nina sat frozen in her chair. Twenty grand? She must have misheard. No one could possibly charge that. Even given the opulence of the office, she’d figured on a couple of thousand at worst. Distantly, she realised Leigh was saying something; those glossy raspberry lips were moving, but it was as if she were underwater. Everything was blurry, and Leigh’s voice had a slow and distant quality.
“Nina?”
Leigh waited for her response. Probably her clients usually nodded and wrote a cheque for twenty grand as if they were buying a latte.
“Did you say twenty thousand dollars?” That was what Leigh had said—she was sure it was—but she had to be certain.
“Yes. You can transfer the money when you’re ready to begin. However, you have a time frame within which to respond, and that’s only ten days away. So I suggest you don’t delay.”
“I don’t have twenty grand. I didn’t think it would be that much.”
Leigh frowned. “Then I suggest you approach your bank as soon as possible. Set up a line of credit against the property.”
“I can’t. The property’s mine, but I’m forbidden to borrow against it. It was a term of Gran’s will.”
“Is there someone who can lend you the money? Family?”
Nina shook her head. She was starting to feel like a puppet, pulled hither and thither by Leigh’s words but always in the wrong direction. Her stomach contracted as if she’d swallowed an ice block. “I thought it wouldn’t take much. A few letters over a couple of weeks.”
Leigh’s lips compressed. “I’m sorry, but no. It’s more complicated than that. Look, if you don’t have the money for legal fees, then I suggest you make a quick offer to settle. You’ll almost certainly have to pay something anyway—these things seldom go away. The mother’s a single parent, I think you said?”
“Yes. Money’s tight for her.”
“Then write a letter denying liability but offering a commercial settlement for a quick resolution. Offer ten thousand and leave it open for seven days. If the mother is financially strapped, it will probably be tempting.”
Nina could barely force the words past the lump in her throat. “I don’t have that much money.” How could she have been so naive, so utterly stupid? She was completely out of her depth here. She’d been good to Stella and Billy; she’d taken one look at Billy’s eager face when he had seen the ponies, and her big, soft heart had urged her to take him on. And look where that had gotten her: a fancy office on the twentieth floor of one of the ritziest office buildings in Sydney, being stared at by a lawyer who probably spent more on a restaurant meal than Nina spent on a week’s worth of groceries.
Nina could no more raise ten thousand than she could ride Mr Petey to the moon. She could already imagine the bank manager’s apologetic face if she approached him for a loan. Ten grand. It was impossible.
“How about offering two grand?” Nina tried a smile, but it felt more like a grimace.
Leigh’s eyes softened for a moment. “I’m sorry, but even to someone on a low income, two thousand will sound like peanuts.”
“It’s not peanuts to me.”
“I’ll ask Grizz to give you the contact details for community legal. They won’t be able to represent you, but they might offer more advice.”
“Thank you.”
A tap on the door and Grizz entered the room. She set some papers on the desk and smiled at Nina. “Would you like a cup of tea while you complete the forms?” Her broad face seemed like a safe harbour after Leigh’s remote coolness.
“There’s no need for that, Grizz,” Leigh said. “Nina is just leaving. Can you bring her the contact details for community legal? She’ll be in reception.” She stood and held out her hand. “Thank you for considering us. I’m sorry we can’t be of assistance.”
Nina stood. Her legs were shaky, as if she’d galloped circuits of Randwick racec
ourse. “Thank you for your time, Ms Willoughby. I’m sorry it was a waste for you.”
Leigh inclined her head. “No problem. I wish you the best of luck.”
Head high, Nina walked through the door.
“To the left,” Grizz said from behind her.
Nina didn’t trust her voice, so she simply walked to the reception. She should have known the second she set foot in this palace that it wouldn’t be cheap. Opulence like this didn’t come for nothing. She was out of her depth. Banksia Farm’s lived-in shabbiness wound through her mind, and the need to be home curled on the couch consumed her. She would have to figure out what to do. She would need to find money.
Tears pricked at the back of her eyes as she walked the quiet corridor to reception, and she willed them not to fall. Leigh must be worth a fortune. Weren’t lawyers some of the richest people in Sydney?
No wonder. No bloody wonder.
Chapter 3
Leigh stared at her computer screen. Incoming emails rolled past, the usual dozens and dozens that marked the start of any workday. She ignored them. Grizz would arrive soon, and she would sift through those same emails and handle what she could, which would be most of them. Then Grizz would grab money out of their joint fund, descend twenty floors to the coffee shop in the foyer, and return with a coffee for each of them. For fifteen minutes, they would update each other on the priorities for the day and progress on files while they sipped coffee. Generally, they shared a snippet of their private lives too.
Leigh switched screens and opened the Defence on the Matheson matter. She typed quickly, rebutting sections of the claim, flagging others for Grizz to research.
She was engrossed when Grizz slid the door open with her foot, limped across the carpet, and set the coffees on Leigh’s desk. “End-of-the-month muffins. They’re raspberry and white chocolate.” She added a paper bag. “We made budget; all’s right with the world.” She sat opposite and took a muffin, then slid the bag across to Leigh.
A Heart This Big Page 2
