Dark Oasis

by Dulcie M. Stone

  She grimaced. “My head tells me make to make the best of a bad bargain. My heart …”

  “He’s not beating you!”

  “He promised and he’s kept his promise. Jake’s a good father, a good provider.”

  “That he is.” Jill was sarcastic.

  “There is something wrong!”

  “Don’t take any notice of me. I’m just having a bad day.”

  “Is there anything I can do? Is it Mick? Is something wrong at home? Is Mick playing up?”

  “Please, Gail. Just drop it.”

  “It is Mick! I thought you two …”

  “It’s Jake.”

  It’s Jake. Of course it’s Jake.

  “I’m sorry, Gail. You have to be told. Jake’s got a mistress.”

  Thank you God.

  Jill was anxious. “Did you hear me?”

  “I heard you. I’m glad you got it off your chest.”

  “Is that all you have to say?”

  Friendship was a fragile thing. She needed this one true friend.

  Jill was uncomfortable. “You aren’t upset?”

  “Why would I be? If you want the truth – I’m relieved.”

  “I can’t believe that. He’s making a fool of you. Doesn’t that hurt?”

  “I’m past being hurt by him.”

  “I thought about not telling you. Mick said I shouldn’t.”

  “It’s not that important. What made you decide to tell me?”

  “I saw one of Mick’s papers. He left it open on his desk. He could have left it open on purpose.”

  “Would he do that?”

  “Possibly. He’s very concerned about you. We both are.”

  “I told you. Jake’s keeping his promise. He’s not like he used to be.”

  “There are other ways to hurt you, Gail.”

  There were. He could still find a way to make her abandon Jess. Yet he had been different. He had changed. She thought he’d changed. Nothing had changed.

  “Jake’s rearranging his finances. If you ever leave him, no matter what the circumstances, you’ll never get a penny. Nothing!”

  “I wouldn’t touch his money.”

  “You’d rather starve, I know,” Jill mocked.

  “If I lose Jess, I’d rather die.”

  “Have you any idea where this woman fits in?” Jill asked. “We all know he hasn’t changed. He’s always played the field. This time it’s so blatant. He flaunts her. Mick’s quite sure he intends you to find out.”

  “About her? Or about the finances?”

  “The two have to be linked. Knowing Jake.”

  “I don’t know how.”

  “Can you take a guess? Somehow he thinks you’ll leave.”

  “I’m going nowhere. I’ll stick it out, Jill.”

  “It may not be that easy.”

  “He did his worst, and I’m still here. He knows nothing will make me leave.”

  “Not even if he flaunts a mistress in your face?”

  “He wouldn’t do that,” she argued. “His good name is important. He’d lose credibility. He’d lose business.”

  “Not now. He might have once. But not now. Times are changing, Gail. That’s the point. Attitudes are changing.”

  “He wouldn’t do it to his children!”

  “You’re missing the point,” Jill retorted. “It’s not whether he can or can’t do it. He’s planning to try. He intends to see you out of here without your children.”

  He’s planning to try. His promises, his reformed behaviour – lies, ruses to lull her. Just as he’d formerly sent the detective to warn her, Mick had arranged that Jill warn her now. But if she should ever contemplate taking Jake to court, for any reason, no Belleville lawyer would represent her. Including Mick.

  She’d let her guard down. She must never again, in even the smallest way, trust Jake. Someday Jake would pay. In the meantime she’d continue to play the role the Campbell’s had assigned her. She’d also play it on her terms – as mistress of her own household.

  The third pregnancy was deliberate; a calculated strategy to deceive Jake and his mother. Born on the tenth day of July 1954, Alison Marie was a Mitchell. Unlike her older brother and sister, Alison was tawny-eyed, dark-haired, complex and serious. Even from as early as a few days after her birth, Alison’s intelligent eyes seemed to see more deeply than a baby’s should. She was less easy to love.

  Following the birth, by mutual consent, she and Jake no longer shared the bed, the bedroom or sexual activity. Jake had achieved his primary aim – the illusion of a stable family and a son to inherit the family name. Meanwhile he bought, sold, divided, extended, modified, deviously manipulated and turned the land into bankable gold. He was a very rich man whose wife was blessed with the trappings of great wealth and whose children were enjoying the best available education.

  There were rumours, and there was conjecture. In Jake Campbell’s world, the line of demarcation between legal and illegal was frequently shadowed. The era was the fifties, the place Belleville. Situated at the junction of three states, no one could dispute the region’s advantages to people of dishonest intention. Just as seasonal labour attracted undesirables, so did long-term employment. Failed businessmen, questionable public servants, shonky tradesmen and petty criminals on the run, distanced from central authority and intense scrutiny, found comparatively safe haven in Belleville. In this climate, where rigidly honest men were ill at ease, and sometimes at risk, Jake Campbell’s power was not to be challenged.

  Never overtly questioning him, she continued to play the roles of dutiful wife, loving mother, elegant hostess and stalwart champion of the family. A chameleon blending into the local social pattern, she determined to build a reputation for diligence and reliability. Diligence and reliability required regular, though fortunately passive, participation in kindergarten, school, and social clubs.

  Except for Jill Murphy, she made no close friends. Barbara sold the house in Melbourne, bought an apartment on the Gold Coast, and frequently travelled. Though Barbara was tough, had frequent affairs, and corresponded from long distances, she remained the only person she fully trusted.

  With experience her only teacher, the unforgiving desert the site of her tertiary education, and the desert people the subjects of clinical observation, she quickly learned. She learned that in the desert interdependency is paramount, involvement in group activities as essential as breathing. She also learned that, for her, interdependency was not only alien, it weakened.

  Having for the present no choice but to continue on the path she’d chosen the next step was, therefore, entirely logical. She stepped from passive to active. She sought, and accepted, the responsibility and commitment of positions in voluntary management: secretary, treasurer, vice-president, president.

  Throughout the late fifties and early sixties, as evidenced by the rapidly escalating media reports, Gail Campbell successfully scaled the management ladder of volunteer service. In the mid sixties, she reached the upper elite levels of state and interstate management. She won supporters. She won power. In an outpost where most who pursued power transferred to more important pastures, there were few to challenge her. By the late sixties, confident in her ability, she contemplated the political arena; and discarded it. There, she’d directly encounter Jake or his sycophants. She’d lose.

  For many reasons, her heavy schedule was a bonus. Not the least because, surprisingly, she greatly missed Alison and Angus who’d been at distant boarding schools since primary school. Jess was different. Jess had no professional goal, no wish to leave Belleville, and no desire for anything other than simple happiness. Whatever the cause – birth trauma, the years of intensive recuperative effort, her gentle father’s inheritance, an admixture of all three or something else altogether – Jess was truly contented. Amply satisfied with her job as an assistant in Thompson’s Pharmacy, her safe life in the luxurious house, her friends and family, Jess was much loved and knew how to love.

  The de
cade of the sixties had been a time of growth. She’d played the Campbell game to her own advantage. Though revenge still waited, she was stronger, harder, more resourceful, and less vulnerable. When the time came, she’d know it. And she’d act.

  The day, as most days, had been busy. This morning’s extraordinary meeting of the Hospital Board had been important. The incompetent C.E.O., who’d been protected for too long, had not been easily dismissed; the battle had been stimulating. This afternoon’s fund-raiser for the kindergarten had been unimportant, and mildly enjoyable. She’d be home before Jess. She’d come home to a house cleaned and a meal prepared by the daily help, a garden maintained by the weekly service and the prospect of a peaceful night of no meetings and no Jake. He was, as he was so often was, away on business.

  She parked the red Mercedes in the three-car garage, unlocked the front door, threw satchel, handbag and hat on the hall table. About to start up the stairs, she halted at the unexpected sound of the radio. Anticipating that the cleaner had stayed later than usual, she made for the kitchen. A stranger was at the work bench.

  “Gail!” The woman was startled. “I didn’t hear you come in!”

  “Who the hell are you?”

  “I’m the new help. Didn’t Jake tell you?”

  “Of course he told me,” she lied. “I didn’t realise it was today.”

  “Would you like a coffee? Or tea? The kettle’s boiled.” Probably in her early forties, the woman was tall, leathery and bronzed. Open-faced and brown-eyed, her sun-bleached hair short and straight, she seemed at first sight to be more suited to the outdoors than house-work.

  “Thank you, no. It’s way past your knock-off time. Don’t let me keep you. I take it you’ll be keeping the same hours.”

  The candid eyes clouded. “You don’t remember me, do you?”

  “Should I?”

  “It was a long time ago. It’s Flo – Flo Murphy. I’m not someone you’d want to remember.”

  “I’m sorry. I really don’t remember you.”

  “I’m to blame for you getting so badly sunburned. I felt so awful. I can’t tell you.”

  “The picking! You showed me how to pick!”

  “I left you in the sun. I can’t tell you how sorry I am about that.”

  Flo Murphy had left her in the sun, and Rick had found her. “Some good came of it.”

  “It didn’t look like it at the time. I can’t tell you how sorry …”

  “You could have told me then. I was there long enough.”

  “Me! In their house! You have to be joking.”

  “I thought you were all good friends.”

  “Depends on who we’re talking about.” Flo’s laugh was hearty.

  “Not her highness! Not after I managed to inflict you on them.”

  “That’s idiotic. If you mean Amy, she was wonderful to me.”

  “Of course she was. She always is.”

  She was acutely uncomfortable. “It was a long time ago. Can we forget it?”

  “If that’s what you want. Honestly, I’m sorry about this. I told Jake I wouldn’t come until he squared it away with you.”

  “No problem.” He’d made a new arrangement without warning her; not unusual. “Don’t worry about dinner. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  “He didn’t tell you.”

  “I told you … it’s no problem.”

  “Oh God!” Flo was forthright. “You really don’t know. I’m to live in.”

  Careful!

  “Honestly, Gail. I thought you knew.”

  Opening the fridge, she poured a glass of iced water. She needed thinking time. There was nothing wrong with Flo. She could even learn to like her. More importantly, she couldn’t afford to make an enemy of this woman who was to live in her house. Should she try to enlist her as an ally?

  “Has he assigned you sleeping quarters, Flo?”

  “Shit! I didn’t bargain for this. He’s really dropped me in it. You really haven’t a clue. Jake and me go way back. The old lady wouldn’t have none of it. You know her …”

  A chain with missing links. Some of the pieces, not all, were falling into place. Flo had to be the mistress Jake was reputed to have. For how long had they been together? Amy would never have approved of Flo, any more than she had of herself.

  “You’re mad.” Flo turned from the work bench. “I’ll leave. Jake’ll work it out. He’s good at working things out.”

  The marriage bargain! And Jake’s sudden financial success. Careful … “Why now, Flo? Why didn’t Jake bring you here before?”

  “Because I wouldn’t come. Because I lost Mum last week.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “We didn’t own the house. Anyway, I couldn’t stay there on me own. Too many memories. Jake wanted me here. It wasn’t a good idea. I’ll …”

  “No! Wait! Tell me – what’s the arrangement? Exactly.”

  “Officially, like I said. Live-in housekeeper.”

  “And unofficially?”

  Flo shrugged. “I guess you’ve worked that out.”

  The arrangement was a success. Jess and Flo, equally straightforward and uncomplicated, liked being together. Whether Jess knew that Flo sometimes shared Jake’s bed, she didn’t know. Nor did she know if Jake had expected Flo’s presence would spur her to finally leave. What she did know was that she was enjoying surprising freedom. Secure in the knowledge that Jess was being well cared for by the live-in housekeeper, she was free to considerably extend her business trips. No questions asked. No one asked where she was, what she was doing or when she’d be back. Except Jess, and her questions were asked with love.

  Flo reported that local gossip seemed to believe she was no more than a live-in house keeper. They believed it because the alternative was unbelievable. It was also admirable. Jess was not to be left alone when her socially active and socially responsible parents were off about their benevolent business.

  Jake’s public image depended in part on his wife’s public image. Though cash money was ruthlessly monitored, he never balked at exorbitant accounts for jewellery, clothes, travel and all the other trappings required to maintain the fiction of the beloved wife every man would desire and every woman could envy. When she thought about it, she deeply resented the dependence. She seldom thought about it. But she hardened – and she waited. Because revenge waited.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  1971 SUMMER. MELBOURNE

  When she entered the restaurant, heads turned. Heads always turned when Gail Campbell walked into a room. Any room. But here at the Sheraton, where the rich the famous the beautiful the elegant and the influential regularly dined, her ability to turn heads was remarkable. Possibly because she strode into the room with extraordinary poise. Probably because she moved with flawless elegance. Certainly because she was beautiful.

  But Gail Campbell was more than beautiful. Her pampered creamy-skinned body was sleekly sinuous, essentially sexual, subtly scented and glowing with commanding vitality. Her long dark hair, usually, was piled high on her head and her long narrow feet were encased in high stiletto heels. Her make-up, always, was calculated to accentuate her dramatic features; high cheekbones, broad forehead, firm jaw line, leonine eyes and full lips.

  On her tall, slim frame she wore clothes that, though understated, successfully conveyed ostentatious wealth. Around her long slim neck she hung equally ostentatious, yet tasteful, jewels. Usually diamonds. On her hands, too, she wore diamonds. Equally enchanting was her voice. When she spoke the illusion was not shattered. Rather it was reinforced. Carefully cultured, intriguingly husky, feminine but not saccharine, she contrived never to chatter. When she spoke, people listened. Assured confidence held her audience – when she wanted it to.

  At forty-five years of age Gail Campbell exuded self confidence. While discomforting men in general, she had the power to attract individual men in particular. Women, in general, avoided her.

  Angus and Alison, the two youngest of her three children, saw none of t
his, not the exotic beauty nor the proud carriage. Nor did they see that tonight she’d made an effort to be less conspicuous Tonight she’d dressed in an unadorned midnight blue chiffon frock, wore a single-strand pearl necklace, and a small diamond ring on one elegant hand. She’d also bound her long hair in a tight chignon and donned comparatively low-heeled shoes that did not augment her daunting height. Her children saw none of this. They saw what they expected to see.

  Her embarrassed children saw a woman who turned heads. They saw a pampered, selfish and erratic woman who had virtually blackmailed them into meeting her here for this last dinner before she went back home to Belleville.

  That’s if she went home. It was always on the cards that their mother would never go back to the place she hated so much. Nor to the man she hated so much, or said she hated. They’d spent their young years observing the complex relationships under their own roof and left – just as soon as they possibly could. Their father had paid board and education bills, as he’d paid all the family bills; though they vowed they’d have left even if there’d been no money. Not so Jess, who would always stay with her beloved mother. Sadly. Because their mother used Jess’s love as a pawn in the bitter battle with their father.

  A battle about which they knew almost nothing. In their limited years in the same house, though they’d seen and heard the battle, there’d been no clue about the reason for it. However growing maturity and objective distance had brought many questions. The first – if their mother hated their father so much how had they ever managed to conceive three children? Then there was Flo, the resident house-keeper who filled in for their nomadic mother – in every way.

  Seated at a secluded table, they watched their glamorous mother glide across the floor towards them. On one arm was a midnight blue silk handbag, on the other her escort. No surprises here either. The man was Hollywood handsome, young, tall, muscular and sleekly-groomed. It wasn’t the first time she’d imposed her current partner on them. Nor would it be the last.

  “We’ve already eaten,” Alison complained. “You’re late.”

  “You’re early.” Slipping into the cushioned chair, she set her handbag on the fine linen table. “Kids – meet Philip.”