by Mark Bailey
‘Anyway, you were making his interrogation of you look like amateur hour. He needed to turn things back in his favor, but in doing so was taking a risk. So, he folded his hand, as they say, with his “no more questions, your Honor”.’
‘Just then Dannii started humming The Gambler, by Kenny Rogers. Then she broke out in quiet song: ‘You’ve gotta know when to hold ’em, know when to fold …’
‘Shut up, Dannii,’ said Milly, grinning. Dannii continued humming.
‘So, when he summed up the situation, his continuing to talk with you failed the risk test, Milly. You and Dannii left then, but I stayed. It took Mason a long time to get his mojo back. You threw him, and I think he lost credibility with the jury. Up to then, it could have gone either way, in my opinion.’
‘So, Boyd’s in the shit then?’
‘Swimming in it, but funnier things have happened. They’ve made a bunk up for him at Casuarina Prison; they just haven’t tucked the sheets in yet. You know the ol’ song … It Ain’t Over Til It’s Over … but like I said, I’d hate to be in his shoes.’
‘There’s a real musical theme here today,’ noted Dannii and all three laughed.
A waiter took their order. The fare was Italian, the food magnificent. Milly forgot about her diet and gorged herself. ‘That’s the trouble with Italian food; you don’t realize you’ve had enough until you’ve had too much.’ None drank any alcohol; each had to drive, so they drank water. Jane left after an hour. She was on holiday but had another appointment and was keen to watch the end of the day’s proceedings in Court No. 2.
‘I hope to see you before you go, Milly.’
‘Thanks, Jane, for everything; catch you shortly.’
Milly and Dannii continued talking. ‘How did you go this morning at the meeting with your financial advisor?’
‘Good. It’s all sorted. The money will be invested in … hang on,’ said Milly as she reached into her bag and started reading from the printout she’d been given, ‘It will be invested in a growth portfolio.’
‘A growth portfolio?’
‘Steve Hopwood, the finance guy, wanted me to split it up and be a little more conservative, but I chose to put it all in a growth portfolio. So, the money will be invested in forty-five percent Aussie shares, thirty-one percent international shares, nine percent Aussie fixed interest …’
‘No worries, I get it, Milly. So, what’s the net result then?’
‘The return after five years, hopefully, will be around net 4.5 percent annually, on average, plus, let’s say at the current rate of inflation of 2.1 percent on the R.B.A. website, a gross return of 6.6 percent. However, Steve insisted that good returns under these plans were more often out to a ten- or even twenty-year investment timeline at a minimum.’
‘You haven’t locked it in for five years, have you?’ asked Dannii sounding slightly alarmed.
‘No, Dannii, I can take the money out any time I like.’
‘How much money will you end up investing?’
‘Okay, well, that’s interesting. Uncle James invested a large amount of cash, back in July 2011 when he first knew he had cancer. Apparently, he had decided to leave me the money. He purchased …’
‘Yes?’ interrupted Dannii again.
‘Stop interrupting me, will you, Kenny,’ said Milly smiling, adding her contribution to the musical theme. ‘Essentially, he purchased U.S. dollars for himself through his role at the bank when the Aussie was valued at $1:10 U.S. and sold those same U.S dollars when the Aussie dropped to 75 cents U.S. So, focusing on my part of the 10 mil, he increased it by around 45%, and ...’
‘How did you work that out, Milly?’
She stared back at the printout where she had written some notes.
‘Well, it’s 10 mil x 1.1 equals 11 mil U.S. divided by .75, which equals 14.666 mil AUD, then after …’
‘Don’t worry about it, Milly. Just tell me the net figure.’
‘God, you’re impatient, Dannii. Stop talking detail if you don’t want to hear any. Are we right now?’
‘Yes, Milly. I’m sorry. I don’t mean to be rude.’
‘Right, so in the end, I came out with a net sum of approximately 12.2 million dollars Aussie after tax, fees, and charges. Now, when I invest that at, and I stress … at the expected rate of return of 6.6 percent annually, that should return me an income of approximately $805,000 Australian per year.’
‘Unbelievable. How much tax will you have to pay on that?’
‘Nearly half apparently on most of it. Steve advised me to get a good accountant.’
‘Just going on your gross amount before tax then, that’s nearly 15.5K a week, Milly, or just over 3K a day, not including weekends,’ remarked Dannii as she worked the figures on her iPhone calculator.
‘Yeah, I know. It’s also three thousand good reasons not to get out of bed each day or three thousand reasons to play up. Ain’t life marvelous. Just when you think you’ve got it all worked out, something like this comes along. Aunt Christy compared the scourge of money to sarcoptic mange in wombats. I’m starting to think she might be right.’
‘Eh? Ah … okay, Milly, got ya; got that one too! Don’t worry. It’s how you manage it. You’ll get used to it.’
‘I know I should, Dannii, but I was completely hopeless without money. This could make things a lot worse.’
‘You’ve been thinking about it a lot, haven’t you?’
‘I have been thinking a lot about the money. Between that and the trial, I’ve thought of little else lately. The issue of the money in my inheritance is settled for the moment but having money spoils things … it takes incentive away. Why work your arse off to earn 100K a year when you can lie in bed, doing nothing, earning eight times that. Then why would I buy a business with all the stress when I don’t need to? As for my job at Watford Therapy, I was happy with my pay rise. I admit I had been thinking about moving on, but I’ve decided to hang in for a bit, depending on Theo and his attitude. Then I come back to Aussie, and I’ve got Mom and Christy on my back to come home permanently.’
‘I’d like you to come home too, Milly.’
‘But I’m not ready yet, Dannii.’ There was a short comfortable silence. ‘Why don’t you come to the U.K. and live with me for a while and start that vet business? You know neither of us has to worry about money … you with your parents and me with this inheritance.’
‘I’ve thought about it.’
‘To be honest, Dannii, I reckon I’ll end up with more bloody money. There’s Christy to consider when she dies, and there’s shit loads more than 10 mil there.’
‘How much money is there?’
‘I’m not saying. I promised Christy I wouldn’t.’
‘I respect that, Milly. You know I despise money too. How does that saying go?’
‘What saying?’
‘About God and money … that’s right ... if you want to know what God thinks about money, look at some of the fuck-wits he gives it too.’ They both giggled, and then Dannii snuffled and accidentally snorted like a car backfiring, which made things worse as she coughed more and Milly thought Dannii might fall out of their booth as she tried to recover. Other customers stared and started laughing too.
‘We haven’t had a drink yet,’ Milly assured them. She looked at her friend, sitting up as she slowly recovered, her hand patting her chest. ‘You’re hilarious, Dannii, you idiot.’ When she had finally composed herself, they decided to leave and head back to Cottesloe. Milly went to fix the tab, but Jane had already paid. ‘I’ll see you at home shortly.’
They arrived within ten minutes of each other and walked inside. ‘I’ve been thinking.’
‘What about?’
‘You coming back to the U.K. with me. Why don’t you?’
‘What would I do?’
‘Same as what you’re doing here, Dannii … nothing.’
‘I take your point, Milly. I’ve wasted the last two years. I finished my M.B.A., but I’ve virtually done no
thing else. I’ve tried to get interested in Dad’s company, but I couldn’t really care less about it. As for starting a vet business, I don’t really know if I could fully commit myself now … every weekday until 6:30 – 7:00 p.m. and weekends too. I guess if I’d really wanted to, it would be up and running by now. I’m not lazy, Milly; I’m just not motivated by money.’
‘We may not be motivated by money, but we’re not the same as the other ninety-nine percent of the population. They’re motivated by a lack of money. They need to earn a quid, to pay the bills. We don’t; the money is sitting there. It’s bloody dangerous, Dannii; I’ve slowly come to realize that.’
‘What do you propose to do then, Milly?’
‘I’ll probably stick to what I’m doing for twelve months and see if Theo improves. I can’t stop thinking about my sister, Sibby; then there’s Sim Charles and as for the money … well … like I said that issue’s settled for the minute.’
‘Sim Charles?’
‘It might have been a chance meeting at the airport, but it wasn’t a complete coincidence, in my opinion. I believe we had the timing of the trial in common. Me for my court obligation and he to slip out of Aussie before it started. I’d give odds that there’s something cooking between him and the Boyds. They would have been setting the ground rules, getting their strategy planned as much as they could before Matthew Boyd Sr. goes to prison.’
‘Well, there is something I haven’t told you, Milly.’
‘Yes, Dannii?’
‘It might be nothing, but I saw Simone speaking with … well … I presume now it was this Sim guy at the airport. He’s about 10-foot-tall, and he had a beautiful blonde girl, who I guess was Naomi, hanging off his arm. He’s gorgeous Milly, and so is she …’
‘Hang on a minute, Dannii, take me through this slowly, please.’
‘Alright then,’ said Danni, realizing her small diversion to take some pressure off her disclosure wasn’t going to work. ‘Simone followed me into the airport to get a coffee to take back to the car. I told her I wanted to meet you on my own because I didn’t know how you’d take to her being there. That’s why she waited in the car park.’
‘So, what happened? Did they speak with each other?’
‘Briefly. She shook hands with both. They only had time for a quick hello and goodbye at best. I was waiting in line to order a coffee when I turned and saw them. It was only a fleeting meet, but they had obviously met each other before.’
‘Why didn’t you say something?’
‘Because I didn’t think anything of it, even when you showed me the photo of Joe and Sibby at that castle thingy in Scotland. Then I looked at it again the next morning when I saw the photo on the breakfast bar; they are alike, but I’m just not that discerning sometimes.’
‘Why didn’t you say something when you saw the photo on Friday morning?’
‘Dunno, Milly. Like I said, I’m just not that discerning; I still wasn’t sure, I guess. I wasn’t feeling suspicious of Simone at all until you started discussing it on Sunday afternoon. I suppose I thought I needed to take it up with her before mentioning it to you. Anyway, as I said, it might be nothing. You know Simone is friendly with Matt Jr., so there might have been a chance meeting somewhere.’
Milly’s mind ticked over, picking through the new information. She was correct in her assumption that Sim was in Australia to visit with the Boyds. She knew too that Simone had been deliberately deceitful not mentioning knowing Sim Charles with all the discussion about him and Joe. ‘Alright, Dannii, does Simone know you saw her with Sim and Naomi at the airport?’
‘Not a chance, darling, I didn’t get ’round to mentioning it.’
‘Good. Let’s keep it that way, Dannii, please!’
Chapter 15.
British Airways flight BA1460 from Heathrow, London, was running twenty minutes behind schedule when it began its descent into Edinburgh, Scotland. Debarkation was re-scheduled for 23:30; twenty-five minutes from now, thought Milly, as she checked the time. She had turned her watch back seven hours at Heathrow while walking from her A380-800 flight from Dubai before waiting for her British Airways connection to Scotland.
She stared at today’s edition of the Sunday Times, purchased at Perth Airport. It wasn’t the article. It would be relatively benign in any damages claim if she made one. She would rather her private business was kept private, but as far as this publication was concerned, the story was harmless. She unfolded the paper, not to read it again but to look like she was busy so the old biddy sitting next to her would stop talking. She wondered where the information came from …
‘I don’t mean to pry, but is that your photo in the newspaper, dear?’
‘It is,’ replied Milly as she turned to the old lady sitting next to her in 21B. ‘Here you go, you can read it if you like.’ That should keep her quiet until we land, hoped Milly. She returned to her thoughts, picking up an in-flight magazine, so she looked busy again.
There was information in the public domain, in newspapers from the U.K. reporting on Sibby’s murder and the ensuing court case of Cailin Stewart. There were other sources such as work colleagues and Theo or possibly Stopford or even Windsor, thought Milly. God knows Stopford would sell his soul for some pouting lips with a honey-sweet smile and a big set of tits; Simone would have been perfect, she decided. As for Theo, she doubted it; it could harm his business, and then there was Windsor, but he was far too discreet to divulge sensitive crime information to some grubby reporter trying to write a story in an Australian newspaper; even if the crime had been solved. A likely source could be information shared between journalists working for other papers. She shuddered when she thought of an English tabloid working with the Sunday Times in Western Australia. What if they print the story in the U.K.?
The Sunday Times was owned by Seven West Media, which also owned the West Australian or The West as it was affectionately known in Perth. Cameron Chadwick and Simone worked for The West, which was the only locally edited daily newspaper published in Perth, W.A. Milly had ignored reporting of the court case for the three days Thursday through Saturday, content to let the bombs fly over as she lay holed up in her imaginary Cottesloe bunker waiting for her flight back to the U.K. She knew her reaction to media reports was overdone when Dannii claimed there was no reporting in any way slighting Milly’s character, but decided she didn’t feel like socializing after persistent urging from Dannii. By Friday afternoon she wondered why she hadn’t flown down to Tasmania for a couple of days to be with her mother and Christy.
The headline jumped out from the front page: ‘GIRL WITH NO FINGERPRINTS RETURNS TO THE U.K.’ That would get them reading, thought Milly, what a great way to start an article. She stared across at the old lady who hadn’t turned to page three yet. She was taken by the headline.
‘Can you fold your table up, please madam, in preparation for landing?’ asked the flight attendant as she checked their seat belts. Milly put the table up for her. She grabbed the paper, in the slight confusion, quickly turning it to page three, folding it in half to make it easier to read before the old lady started talking again.
The article continued. It hung like a picture in Milly’s mind. She had studied it for hours on her flight to London — ‘The jury is currently sitting to consider its verdict in the case of a wealthy Western Australian businessman, charged with drug offenses.’ It went on, jumping to page three where it explored Milly’s condition, her adermatoglyphia, making no further mention of Matthew Boyd. It related her family background, her Scottish origin and migration with her mother to Perth, W.A. It recounted the ‘sad’ circumstances of her birth and that of her twin sister Dr. Siobhan Russell, whom Dr. McTaggart had never met, except to view the body on a gurney in a morgue in Croydon, south of London. That was very personal, thought Milly; where did they get that information?
The scoop continued. It confirmed Dr. Siobhan Russell suffered the same genetic affliction, the very condition that enabled authorities to track Dr.
McTaggart down in the U.K. It didn’t discuss investigators’ use of their D.N.A. or Mia’s D.N.A. profile in eventually confirming Sibby’s identity.
The article ran the whole of page three. It alternated tastefully between pictorial and written narrative, switching to first-name terms after their formal introduction on page one. It talked of Milly’s Psy.D. in Clinical Psychology and Sibby’s medical degree and adopted parents in Scotland. It also described Milly’s relationship by marriage to the late James Anderson, a wealthy bank executive who had left a fortune believed to run into the hundreds of millions of dollars. It was the first time any media outlet had quantified the Anderson fortune with a number. It didn’t relate this to Milly, but Milly knew they weren’t finished with it — why else would they report it? They would look for the money; they wanted her to be a recipient, a beneficiary of James Anderson’s Last Will and Testament. It would enhance their story.
The Sunday Times took a laissez-faire attitude to the tale now. It didn’t follow the style of article in the West Australian the previous Wednesday. That was gossip and tittle-tattle with events blown up in a London tabloid-style depiction of Milly and Dannii, with a sex, money and privilege theme. It was the opening salvo, to garner interest in what would be a media trilogy, thought Milly, with at least one story to come after the jury verdict. They didn’t need to lie as much now; their lies would be diminished by the magnitude of the tale as it unfolded. They only need wait until the jury passed judgment on Boyd; then they would revert to court evidence and sex scandals. Milly shivered as she thought of a collaboration between journalists and media companies in Australia and the U.K. Perhaps she hadn’t flown away from all her problems in Perth, W.A., after all?
She glared at the front page as the old lady folded it in half before handing it back to her.
‘I won’t have time to finish it, unfortunately.’
‘Thanks.’
She sensed Milly didn’t want to talk. Indeed, they hadn’t stopped talking since the plane taxied onto the runway at Heathrow.
