Veronica Carter tucked her colourful scarf into the collar of her overcoat. ‘I just hope we get a seat.’
The first to spot them was a female reporter gripping a microphone sporting the 7 network logo. She bolted forward like a runner off the starting blocks and thrust the device in Lynsey’s face. ‘Ms Carter. Did you know what was going on at the Mindalby cotton mill?’
Lynsey pressed her lips together and firmed her hold on her mother’s arm.
‘Are you here to support your father?’
Lynsey’s heart began to thud and pins and needles broke out along her neck and shoulders. Schooling her features into an inscrutable mask, she navigated her way through an obstacle course of sound booms and TV cameras until she and her mother reached the entrance.
Inside the building, they hurried along a covered open walkway pausing at an elaborate wooden door with a fan-shaped window above it.
‘Well, we made it.’ Lynsey breathed a sigh of relief as they stepped inside the wood-panelled room. ‘I’ve never been in a courtroom before, have you, Mum?’
‘No, never. There’s a first time for everything though.’
The magistrate’s bench was empty, though the wooden table reserved for the parties’ legal representatives was occupied. A police prosecutor sat at one end looking through his file while two people who Lynsey assumed were part of her father’s legal team were deep in conversation at the other end.
‘How about we sit in there, Lynsey?’ Her mother pointed to some empty space in the last row.
‘No. He won’t see us if we sit up here.’ Lynsey scanned the room. A large group of mill workers and cotton farmers were seated on the left-hand side. Huddled inside their coats, hands pushed deep into their pockets, the Mindalby locals squashed together and spoke in hushed tones.
‘Down there.’ She pointed to a space wide enough for them to squeeze into in the third row on the right.
‘Thanks for coming, Mum,’ she whispered as they settled in.
‘Lynsey, there’s no need to thank me.’
‘I know. It’s just … I realise you’re only here because of me.’
‘That’s a good enough reason. And I’m driving you to the airport after this.’ Her mother undid the top button of her overcoat. ‘Who would have thought I’d feel better about you being in Brisbane rather than in your own home town. When I think how close that evil man who used to work for Julian came to getting his hands on you …’ Her mother shuddered. ‘It doesn’t bear thinking about.’
Lynsey was tempted to say ‘Don’t think about it, Mum’, but that wouldn’t have achieved anything. The only thing that would make her mother feel better was seeing her daughter on the first plane back to Brisbane.
Lynsey turned and studied the people still streaming through the door. Around them, those already seated squashed closer together in the bench seats. A court reporter and the judge’s clerk came in and took their seats below the bench. Off to the side, the seating reserved for the media was fully occupied.
‘All rise!’
The gallery pushed to their feet, necks straining to see as the presiding magistrate took his seat at the bench. He peered over the top of his glasses and scanned the packed gallery. ‘First up, I’ll deal with any adjournments.’
Lynsey grimaced and shifted to find a more comfortable position. The wooden bench was about as comfy as an old church pew. ‘I wonder how long this bit will take.’
Forty-five minutes later, her bottom was turning numb and most of the barristers and solicitors who’d been there to adjourn matters had left the building. The contingent of reporters remained, eager to capture the daily headline—the part Donald Carter had played in the demise of the Mindalby Cotton Company.
The magistrate looked up from his list. ‘Next, I’ll deal with the matter of the New South Wales Police and Donald Leslie Carter.’
One of the men sitting on the right-hand side of the bench stood up. Lean, and with a mop of greying hair that would have looked better cut short, the man dipped his head. ‘Your Honour. Vickers, appearing for the accused.’
The police prosecutor half rose. ‘The accused is being brought up from downstairs, your Honour.’
A stir went through the gallery. Lynsey moistened her dry lips. Beside her, Veronica tightened her grip on the handbag in her lap. There was the sound of a door opening followed by footsteps as someone mounted the stairs. In the few seconds it took for Donald Carter to stand in the dock, Lynsey caught a glimpse of him. Dressed in a suit, white shirt and a subdued tie, he could have been a mid-level manager from any company in Australia.
Lynsey searched her father’s face for any hint of remorse, embarrassment or shame. But he looked as he always had. Entitled, secretive, and remote. Then he turned and faced the magistrate, and only the back of his head was visible above the high panels of the dock.
The courtroom fell silent.
‘What are the charges?’ the magistrate asked.
The police prosecutor was on his feet again. Shorter and stockier than Vickers, he put one hand on the table and read from his file. ‘Your Honour, the charges are. That the accused, whilst a Director of the Mindalby Cotton Company, did engage in activity with the intention of defrauding the company and its shareholders. That the accused, whilst a Director of the Mindalby Cotton Company, did engage in activity with the intention of obtaining a financial advantage by deception for himself and others. That the accused failed in his duties as a Director of the Mindalby Cotton Company to act in good faith and for the benefit of all shareholders.’
A hum of hushed conversation rolled through the room. The magistrate peered at Donald Carter over his steel-rimmed glasses. ‘You may sit down.’
Her father disappeared from sight.
Then the magistrate turned to her father’s barrister. ‘Do you have anything to say, Mr Vickers?’
A chair scraped across the hardwood floor as the barrister stood up. ‘Your Honour. There is no admission to the charges. We are awaiting service of the police brief, but I would seek to address your Honour on the matter of bail.’
The magistrate spoke to the police prosecutor. ‘What do you say on the matter of bail, Mr Prosecutor?’
‘Your Honour, it is believed that the accused is a man of considerable means. He’s been a businessman for many years, your Honour, and it is understood he has resources at his disposal which would allow him to abscond from the jurisdiction. We have serious concerns that he would. Your Honour, there are allegations of substantial deficiencies in the company’s books including extensive monies owed to former employees. The accused holds a passport, your Honour. We fear that the risk of him absconding is high, and we request that bail be denied.’
The magistrate inclined his head once then turned to her father’s barrister. ‘What do you say on this matter, Mr Vickers?’
‘Your Honour, my client has been running the family business in Mindalby for many years. He is a well-known and respected member of the community.’
Jeers broke out, and a few of the mill workers booed, a reception normally reserved for rival sporting teams.
‘Your Honour, Donald Carter has very strong ties to the local community.’ Vickers raised his voice. ‘His family are locals. His friends are local.’
‘He ain’t got no friends in Mindalby,’ someone sounding a lot like Cody Nossiter called out.
Lynsey caught her mother’s startled gaze but a strong rebuke from the magistrate silenced the interrupter. ‘Go on, Mr Vickers.’
‘Your Honour, the accused is prepared to report to the Mindalby police station as and when required. He’s also prepared to surrender his passport.’
The barrister fell silent and returned to his seat. At the front of the room, the reporters waited, pencils poised on their notepads.
‘I’m setting bail at two hundred thousand dollars.’ The magistrate peered at Donald Carter. ‘Mr Carter, you will also surrender your passport and report to the Mindalby Police Station once a day. Do you
understand?’
‘Yes, your Honour.’
‘I’ll adjourn this matter for three weeks. That should be sufficient time for the police to complete and serve their brief upon the defendant’s lawyers. Next.’
Everyone around Lynsey stood up. Reporters charged up the centre aisle, phones in hands, tweeting the news to the outside world. Lynsey stared hard at the dock, willing her father to look out into the gallery and see her when he stood up. She wasn’t sorry for her actions but some part deep inside of her still wanted him to know she was there.
The back of Donald Carter’s head appeared briefly, and then disappeared as he was escorted back to the holding cells by the court official. Someone called out, ‘Good riddance.’
‘Well, that’s it,’ said Veronica, nodding to a few people she recognised as they waited to file out. ‘He’s out on bail.’
‘Not yet.’ Lynsey took hold of her mother’s arm and breathed a sigh of relief as they escaped the oppressive atmosphere of the court. ‘I’m not sure if he can get his hands on two hundred thousand dollars in cash, but he should be able to use the house as security, if it’s not mortgaged to the hilt.’
‘Well, that’s not for you and me to worry about, Lynsey. That’s a matter for him and his legal team to sort out. Let him draw it out of his stash in Bermuda.’
Lynsey smiled a little. ‘I know, Mum. Still, I would have liked him to have seen me.’ She lowered her voice as they neared the front door so the people around them couldn’t overhear their conversation. ‘Just so he knew someone was there for him.’
Her mother’s face fell and she squeezed Lynsey’s hand. ‘Oh, sweetheart, I’m sorry. He really doesn’t deserve you. I just wish I could take away your pain.’
‘It’s alright, Mum. I’ll be okay.’
But would she?
Things with Julian were wonderful, though not exactly settled. He didn’t expect her to give up her life in Brisbane and come home to Mindalby, but she’d gone ahead and promised him she would. Exactly how she was going to keep that promise, she had no idea.
When they stepped outside the court the sun had come out and the wind had dropped a little. But the reporters remained gathered on the footpath, desperate to reveal the truth behind the shock closure of the mill.
We’ve no friends here, Lynsey thought, taking hold of her mother’s arm and scanning the media scrum.
Chapter Thirty-One
Eight weeks after leaving Mindalby, Lynsey watched as the seven-year-old girl and her father inspected the small student desk in her apartment.
‘It’s in good condition,’ the father said, opening the drawers one at a time. ‘And it’s the right size—not too big. It’ll fit nicely in her bedroom.’
‘That’s why I chose it for here.’ A wave of melancholy swept through Lynsey’s body as she glanced around the cosy, one-bedroom apartment that had been her home for the past nine years. Cleaned in readiness for the next tenant who was moving in tomorrow, the desk was the last item of her furniture to go.
‘We’ll take it,’ the father said. He took the three drawers out of the desk and handed one to the little girl. ‘You carry that one and I’ll take these two.’ He looked at Lynsey. ‘We’ll put these in the car and come back for the desk.’
Lynsey nodded. ‘I’ll help you carry it down. It’s not too heavy.’
While the father and daughter took the drawers downstairs, Lynsey wandered over to the window. How many times had she stood here, staring through the branches of the jacaranda tree to the garden below, drinking a cup of coffee, content with the life and career she’d chosen?
Too many times to count.
But now it was time for her to leave. She’d worked out a month’s notice, and had finally managed to sub-let her apartment. She’d had farewell dinners with friends and workmates and sold a few items of furniture. What she couldn’t sell she’d given away to people like the nice man downstairs who’d found her desk listed in the online classifieds.
The downstairs door banged. Lynsey turned away from the window as the pair began climbing the stairs to her apartment again.
‘Why are you getting me a desk, Dad?’ The little girl’s voice drifted up the stairwell.
‘Well, when I came into your bedroom the other night, I noticed that you were doing your homework on your bed, and I thought maybe it’s time we got you a desk. You don’t get a lot of homework now, but the teachers will give you more as you get older.’
‘How much more?’
Lynsey smiled, though her heart ached as she listened to the happy conversation. She’d never experienced the thoughtful and caring kind of fatherly love that this man showed his young daughter. Don Carter hadn’t even bothered to call Lynsey after the Sid Akers attack which had put Julian in hospital and left her shaken, bruised and looking over her shoulder for weeks. Lynsey shuddered. That would be another court case she’d have to deal with when the time came. But for now, she was shifting that one to the back of her mind.
She slung the strap of her satchel diagonally across her chest, opened the flap and checked the important contents for the third time. Wallet, phone, glasses, passport and visa. Lifting out her keys, she closed the flap and looked around the apartment now devoid of the cushions, lamps and books that had made it a home. She’d arrived here with Julian Stone in the forefront of her mind, and she was leaving the same way. Over the past eight weeks their phone calls had grown fewer in number and their conversations more awkward, until she’d been left with the feeling there was something he wasn’t telling her.
‘You take the lighter end,’ the man said, breaking into her thoughts as he came back into the apartment. ‘I’ll take the end where the drawers go—it’s heavier.’
‘Alright.’ Lynsey put her house keys down on the breakfast bar. It was too late to change her mind now. She’d made her decision. She’d miss this place, miss her job at the lab and the friends she’d made, but it was time to step out of her comfort zone and take the next opportunity—wherever that might lead.
She smiled at the little girl and picked up the lighter end of the desk. ‘Would you hold the door open for us, sweetheart? Just let it close after you. It’ll lock automatically.’
The little girl obliged, and Lynsey didn’t look back.
***
Many things in Mindalby reminded Julian of Sid Akers, and one of those places happened to be the Mindalby showground. Forever and a day, Julian would look at its high timber fence and recall driving past it with Lynsey in the car while he desperately tried to outrun Akers. Not that he’d known it was Akers behind the wheel at the time. The truckie had been days away from inciting the riot at the CWA hall as a cover for stalking Lynsey.
Lynsey.
Julian rubbed a hand over his chest in an effort to ease the chronic ache. While his ribs had healed from Akers’s vicious assault, Lynsey’s departure had left a hole in his heart that was yet to close over. It had been eight weeks, and each new day seemed longer than the last.
He’d learned during one of their phone calls that Lynsey had received the date for her interview with the American Consulate. I’m not going, she’d said. By the end of their conversation he’d talked her into keeping the appointment. The outcome had been positive. Provided Lynsey had never held the position of Director or Company Secretary of the Mindalby Cotton Company, the United States shouldn’t have a problem with granting her a student visa. I’m not going to take up the scholarship offer, she’d insisted. He’d told her to think about it.
He worried that she thought he was pushing her away, but it wasn’t the case. He’d waited a long time for Lynsey Carter, and he was prepared to wait a while longer. That didn’t mean the ache inside of him was easy to bear. It only meant that when their time came it would be all the sweeter.
Now, as the showground disappeared in his rear-view mirror, he thought about the recent co-op meeting and everything they’d achieved over the past couple of months. The townspeople had pulled together, and the re
sult was a stronger, more cohesive community. The mill had reopened, and there was a renewed vigour in the town. And as the older farmers had predicted, the rains had come. He’d even heard on the grapevine that some of the farmers had followed through with Lynsey’s advice and had planted the new GM seeds.
Julian switched on his headlights and left Mindalby behind. Within minutes, he hit the open road that would take him all the way to Bourke. For despite the progress the town had made, there was still the unfinished business of Donald Carter. Only his conviction in Bourke Court would bring real closure to one of the darkest chapters in Mindalby’s history.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Lynsey drummed her fingers on the steering wheel and studied the house for signs of life. In the yellow glow of the street light she could see that the lawn was overgrown and the box hedges untrimmed as though the gardener hadn’t been for a couple of months. An interior light shone in one of the downstairs rooms but that didn’t prove her father was at home. The light could be on a timer. Don Carter could already be up in Bourke preparing for tomorrow’s hearing.
She had spent most of the ten-hour drive from Brisbane rehearsing what she was going to ask of her father. But now, sitting outside his house at four minutes to midnight, her life condensed into two large suitcases stowed in the boot of her rental car, she was again torn with indecision. What if he slammed the door in her face? What if he told her to get out and never come back?
She flung the driver’s door wide and stepped out into the cool night air, berating herself for procrastinating over what was essentially a difficult conversation. She slammed the car door, hoping the sound would alert her father to his impending visitor. Before she could hesitate again she strode up to the front door and rang the bell.
Too late to retreat now.
A Daughter’s Choice Page 18
