New Du Rose Matriarch

by Bowes, K T

  “I don’t know.” Fear prickled in Hana’s heart and she prayed for the empty car park to fill with help.

  Laval’s fingers stroked the front of her blouse in a covetous action, but he kept his eyes on hers. “What a pity it was such a waste of time for them. Father enjoys tea dances and the odd waltz. It’s where he picks up his rich grannies but it’s not my scene.”

  “What do you want?” asked Hana, aware Phoenix was no longer squeaking happily. Laval used his free hand to brush a strand of her red hair away from her cheek, letting his fingers trail down the side of her neck in a seductive motion.

  “I want you not to give evidence in the case against my father,” he said, “and you will withdraw your witness statement.”

  Hana shook her head. “I can’t, not now. It’s too late. We’re waiting for the date of the hearing; they won’t let me.”

  “You have to, my darling,” he said with quiet menace, leaning in closer to make his point. “I rarely do my own dirty work, but I couldn’t pass up the opportunity to see the lovely Hana myself. And it’s true, you’re delightful.”

  Hana squirmed, writhing away from him. She tried to remember the defence moves Bodie taught her, but they evaded her addled brain, rendering her feeble and pathetic before the quiet, terrifying male. Laval’s eyes lit up with dangerous intent and Hana worried for Phoenix, so close to the oozing menace. He spoke again, adding a stroking motion to Hana’s cheek. “Do as you’re told, Hana. Otherwise, I’ll restore your worst nightmare.”

  Rational thought crept back into Hana’s brain. She shook her head. “You know nothing about me! This is a school. You can’t hurt me here.” Maternalism told her as long as she kept Phoenix safe, it didn’t matter what happened to her.

  Laval wasn’t finished. “What’s your worst nightmare, Hana?” he asked.

  “You think I‘d tell you?” she mocked, trying to wrest her wrist free and pushing against his chest with the other hand. Move, her brain screamed.

  She lay hold of her confidence as the shock factor receded, slapping Laval hard across the face with her free right hand and dragging her foot down his shin. Laval blocked the slap with a ready hand but hadn’t allowed for the skin of his left leg to come in contact with the sole of Hana’s trainer.

  The action made Laval jump back against the door of the Mercedes. With little room between them, it was only enough for Hana to turn her right hand palm upwards and raise it, slamming the heel of her hand into the underside of his chin.

  Laval swore as blood dribbled onto his chin from a bitten tongue. Still quicker than Hana, he grabbed her around the throat, pushing her face against the car window and choking her with iron fingers. The hiss came through blood stained teeth, “Your worst nightmare, Hana, sweetheart, is another dead husband!”

  He released her and pulled his smart jacket back into place, still breathing in shallow puffs. Long fingers brushed a speck of dust from his trousers with a casual air and he smiled at Hana, running the back of his hand across his bleeding mouth. She turned, her body rigid with fear and watched him walk around to the driver’s side of the Mercedes. “See you soon,” he threw over his shoulder, his eyes sparkling with mirth at her obvious misery.

  The throaty engine roared to life and galvanised Hana. She fumbled with the key fob and opened her door, clambering in and activating the central locking before Laval’s car reversed back at speed with a screech of tyres. Reaching the first corner, he stopped to navigate the exit and turned back to Hana with dark, bottomless eyes like lumps of coal. He gave her a pointed, seductive wink before depressing the accelerator and driving off as though leaving a clandestine love affair after a lunchtime tryst.

  Spots of light danced before Hana’s eyes and she released the held breath, willing herself to let it go even though her body objected. She gasped, trying to control her lungs without success. Phoenix began to grizzle, shocking Hana back into reality and she pressed her hand against the heart pounding behind her chest wall. “Sorry, baby,” she apologised, her voice wobbling.

  Hana’s plans for the day, the people she intended catching up with and the errands she wanted to run, faded into nothing as she bolted for her home in the hills. Her mobile phone registered a text, but she kept driving, a sense of isolation descending on her like a lead weight.

  At Culver’s Cottage, she panicked over the gates closing behind her and didn’t relax until she was inside. The house was metres above sea level but she shut the curtains to feed Phoenix on the sofa in the living room. The baby fretted and wailed with the tension and Hana tried to ground herself, alternately crying and praying.

  When Phoenix was changed and sleeping in Logan’s bottom drawer, Hana remembered the text and sought her phone, hoping it was Logan.

  The message came from an unknown number, - short and to the point. ‘Tell anyone and it’s game over for Logan! This time there’ll be nobody there to pull him out and I’ll make sure it’s a painful death.’

  Hana stomach roiled as she read it over and over in disbelief. “This can’t be happening again,” she wailed. Pressing buttons, she turned it off and hid it in the bathroom drawer. She checked on the baby, finding Phoenix snuggled into her blankets in the bottom drawer, snuffling in her sleep.

  “What can I do, what can I do?” she panicked. She wandered around the house, closing curtains and repeatedly checking the gate alarm, unable to relax or settle. The threat tore at her sanity like nails on a blackboard and she muttered to herself.

  In desperation she submitted to compulsiveness under stress and gutted the house, polishing and vacuuming the whole thing from top to bottom. The baby stayed fast asleep even when Hana pushed the loud machine around the master bedroom, accidentally knocking against the four poster bed and making her wobble in her drawer.

  “God help me, I can’t do this again, I just can’t,” she cried out into the empty kitchen, familiar oppression threatening her as once again, she became the hunted.

  Hana went through the motions, making Bolognese for Logan’s dinner and wrestling with the problem until she couldn’t tell if she’d added or lost salient details. “How could he know about Vik?” she hissed. “Who told him?” The thought came to her as she scrubbed the bathroom, rising as a memory of a woman’s face. “Ethel Bowman,” she sighed.

  The older Michael Laval who preyed on wealthy widows, cheated the school teacher out of her life savings and she lost her home and moved away. He also pumped her for information on Hana and the gullible woman told him more than she needed to, during their brief conman-victim-relationship. “Ethel’s the better option,” Hana conceded. “Otherwise there’s somebody else; someone more recent.”

  Logan rang the landline at three-fifteen and Hana answered, not speaking until he did. His voice sounded reassuring and sparked tears in his desperate wife. “What’s up, love? Why aren’t you answering your cell phone?”

  “Sorry,” Hana said, struggling to sound normal. “I put it down somewhere.” She paused. “Why are you ringing me? Aren’t you on your way home?” Panic caused a red mist to blur her vision.

  “Heads of department are meeting now,” Logan said, sounding grumpy, “I forgot. I’ll be home as soon as I can get away.”

  “Logan!” Hana called into the phone as he started to disconnect, hearing him pause. “Please be careful?”

  “Always, babe,” he replied, “I’ll be home soon.”

  Hana turned the Bolognese sauce off and resisted the urge to turn her phone back on to see if it bore another threat. She wasted time ringing Amy’s landline and speaking to her grandson, Jas, for a while. He’d started school in the city and found the transition difficult, no longer the king of Claudelands kindy. “She says,” he grumbled about his new teacher, “if we’re naughty, she’s gonna sit on us!” He sounded appalled by the thought, misinterpreting the figure of speech as reality. “If she sits on me, Dad will never get me out! She’s got a really big...”

  He didn’t finish describing the part of his teac
her’s anatomy he was most afraid of, before his mother confiscated the phone. “Hey Hana,” she said, sounding jovial. “What’s the matter?”

  “Nothing,” Hana replied, hearing the sharpness of her tone. “Why should there be anything the matter?”

  “You sound strained, is all,” Amy replied, her police sergeant’s brain ticking.

  Unable to think of a ready excuse and not wanting to upset her son’s fiancé, Hana bluffed her way through. “You remember those self-defence moves Bo taught me a few months ago?”

  “Yeah.” Amy laughed. “How can I forget? He’s still got the bruises.”

  The sessions with Hana’s son were a disaster, usually resulting in Hana hurting herself, hurting her son or him wanting to hurt himself in frustration. “Well, I’ve forgotten some of the moves. I wondered if he’d be willing to give me a recap.”

  “I’ll ask him,” Amy replied, imagining Bodie’s horror at the thought.

  “Tonight?” Hana pressed and Amy hissed through her teeth with instant unease.

  “Has something happened?”

  Hana squirmed at the thought of becoming a regular liar, having already fibbed to Logan about her phone. “I feel vulnerable,” she replied truthfully, “with the court case coming up.”

  “I’ll talk to Bo.” Amy’s answer was smooth, “We’ll sort something out, but he’s working tonight.”

  Hana thanked her and enjoyed another chat with Jas, trying to convince him his teacher wouldn’t actually sit on him. She disconnected with a lighter heart, easier at the promise of her son’s help in arming herself. Laval’s persona confused and frightened her. He wasn’t overtly chilling, not like Flick. The criminal turned stockman had terrified Hana. Laval Junior was business-like, clipped in his approach, forceful yet playful in a creepy way. Hana’s encounters with the older Laval’s henchmen always left her with physical injuries, a broken arm, a slashed wrist and shattered nerves.

  Laval Junior frightened her in a different way. There was something sinister and stomach churning about him. He was a confidence trickster like his father, Hana guessed, drawing people in and gaining their trust before removing their security. Hana touched her lips with confusion, remembering how she sensed he wanted to kiss her. The thought sickened her. At least she’d been able to remember some of what Bo taught her, even if it was too little, too late. The testament to Laval’s strange predilections came in the enjoyment the fight gave him. He delighted at the spark of defiance in Hana, egging him on to worse. She shivered as a wave of fear passed through her. “What can I do?” she pleaded. “I’m trapped now. I can’t tell Logan or he’ll kill him this time.”

  Hana stressed over possible avenues of help, not doubting Laval intended to follow through on his threat. He meant what he said about hurting Logan. Something told Hana it wouldn’t be a face-to-face attack; it would be a dirty tactic Logan couldn’t see coming. Hana bent double in the kitchen chair and put her head in her hands. She desperately needed to tell someone, but it couldn’t be Logan. “He’ll go straight back to the underground world he extricated himself from, associating with the Triads again.” The thought of Mrs Che brought bile into Hana’s throat and she gagged at the remembered menace in the woman’s slitted eyes. “Think of a way of dealing with this!” she told herself, no ready answer presenting itself.

  Her son’s status as a police officer should have offered comfort, but his suspicion of Logan drove a wedge between mother and son and Bodie demonstrated his career came first. Hana was grateful for the aborted phone conversation with Amy, which could have caused more trouble.

  The first practical move was to get rid of her mobile phone. The last thing Hana needed was Laval constantly texting her; Logan would become suspicious if she received random text messages and deleted them. Caroline’s promiscuity left him wary and fine-tuned to detect deceit.

  “Sink?” Hana mused, staring into the porcelain. “Or toilet?” She held the device in her hand and shook her head. “Logan will find a way of drying it out.” In a moment of stupidity, Hana dropped it out of the bathroom window, hearing it smash on the concrete two floors below. Satisfaction coursed through her and she turned to leave, determined to go downstairs and stomp on the phone’s remains.

  The gate alarm sounded in the hallway, sending her into a panicked spin. She ran to the bedroom to hide the baby but then abandoned that plan and headed to the kitchen to grab a weapon. Clattering in a drawer, her hand clamped around the rolling pin and hefted it.

  Relief coursed through her body, flooding it with a curious weakness as Logan’s motorbike crested the steep slope and by the time he unlocked the front door, the rolling pin was back in the drawer and Hana worked hard to put a sane smile on her face. The broken phone went out of her head.

  There was a deep tiredness in Logan’s eyes as he removed his helmet and his smile lacked enthusiasm. Hana helped him take his heavy jacket off. “Didn’t the meeting go well?” she asked. “What’s happened?”

  “Something smells awesome; I’m starving,” he remarked, sniffing the air and ignoring her question. Hana dished up the Bolognese and watched her exhausted husband eat. She fussed around him, fetching him coffee and flicking off his questions about her day. “You not eating?” he asked with his mouth full.

  Hana shook her head. “No, I’m not hungry.” At least the truth sounded convincing. When he asked about her phone she acted vague and noncommittal. “I don’t know where it is,” she lied, sensing Logan’s narrowed eyes studying her face. Hana gulped and distracted him. “Tell me what happened at the meeting.”

  “Everard quit!” Logan said. “He stood up and said, ‘I’ve had enough of this crap’ and walked out. He didn’t look back once – just kept going.”

  “But he’s been there years.” Hana pursed her lips in surprise. “I wonder what that was over.”

  “No idea,” Logan sighed. “But now the physics department is leaderless. Dobbs went after him but came back alone, shaking his head.”

  “Maybe Dobbs going after him was the final straw!” Uncharacteristic spite glossed the statement and Logan’s eyes flashed at his wife.

  “Hana, what’s the matter?”

  “Nothing! I’m fine. Dobbs and I don’t get on, not for years.” Hana stood up and leaned against the worktop, finding it difficult to keep still as she squirmed under Logan’s perceptive gaze. Thoughts of Laval rushed unbidden into her head as she filtered the mess in her brain, looking for a rescue angle.

  “Hana!” Logan stopped eating and stared at her.

  She jumped and sat at the table, knocking over the salt in her fright. “Sorry.”

  “I asked you a question, babe,” he said, laying his fork down and reaching for her tangled fingers. “Come here.” Logan pushed his chair back and motioned to Hana to come to him. She switched from her chair to his lap with such eagerness, she nearly overbalanced the chair. His hair and neck smelled safe and familiar and Hana wrapped her arms around him, seeking reassurance and security.

  Logan smoothed his fingers down her back, his eyes narrowed in suspicion and his body rigid and unyielding. His instincts told him something was unravelling, but he played the long game, waiting for Hana to still. “I need to talk to you,” he said, keeping his voice without challenge. “It’s why I came to see you earlier.”

  Hana forced herself to tune in, snuggling into her husband’s neck and praying she wouldn’t let something slip to put him on alert. “Remember,” he said, pushing her shoulders back to make her face him. “Back in the summer, before the fire?”

  Hana nodded, relief mixed with dread. She remembered it in glorious technicolour. It haunted her at night when she lay in their double bed, feeding her baby and listening to Logan’s soft breathing. Miriam ran into the fire on a sickening film loop, always meeting the orange glare with sure steps and the same screech of agony.

  “Well,” Logan continued, struggling, “you were unhappy before that night. We went from being fine, to you unable to face me. I’ve t
hought about it heaps and you knew, didn’t you? Alfred isn’t my father and you found out, but couldn’t tell me.”

  Hana nodded and exhaled, her memory dragging her back into Logan’s room with the handsome old man and his magnetic smile. She dreaded Logan’s next question, but it was inevitable.

  “How?”

  “Reuben came to see you,” she faltered, watching Logan’s face grow tired and pinched. “I assumed it was you, but he found me. Your room used to be his and he knew the code for the door. I turned around and he stood there, watching me. He was so powerful, yet so gentle, like you. Everyone talks about your mana but his was tangible; such greatness. It was like he could do anything he chose. He had your hands, your hair and your face expressions. I wondered why you didn’t see it for yourself.”

  Logan gulped and closed his eyes. “They kept us apart. I saw him twice last year and something didn’t sit right, but he was drunk both times.” He nodded to Hana to continue and she spoke, her voice low.

  “I was afraid of him. He helped me off the ground and his fingers were scarred, like yours. When he reached out and touched my stomach...” Logan’s eyes narrowed and Hana saw his jaw flex in anger. “He didn’t hurt me,” she gushed. “It was sweet and his eyes danced with excitement. When he rested his hand over the baby, she jumped and kicked out at his hand. I sensed she knew him and he did too. He took his hand away, smiled at me and left.”

  Logan let out a ragged breath and Hana held his trembling hand in hers. She sniffed, overwhelmed by his sadness. “Why didn’t you tell me?” His voice was husky and filled with complicated emotions.

  Hana’s shoulders slumped. “How do I start a conversation like that? Oh, by the way Logan, Alfred’s not your father but the uncle you’re taking to court is...” Hana trailed off, not knowing how to finish the sentence.

  Logan nodded and pulled her in close. He reached for his default setting and pushed his fingers up her tee shirt, connecting with the soft skin and fighting for a distraction to dull the pain. Hana kissed his neck. “I thought nobody else knew, Loge. How could I knew the only person who didn’t, was you? I figured I stumbled over a well-hidden secret and it was only after they died, when Kane blurted it out I realised everyone knew.”