by Cate Kendall
‘That’s fabulous, darling,’ Tori said. ‘Why don’t I come up next week and we’ll have lunch and big talks, okay?’
‘Thanks, Tori, that’d be great.’ Jess picked up the phone and her bag and climbed out of the car.
‘Love to Richard and the family. Tell him to get well really soon.’
‘Shall do. Bye, Tori.’
45
The heavy front door of her father’s apartment closed behind Jessica with a resounding click that echoed through the marble foyer. She couldn’t face sleeping alone at her flat tonight. She’d spent the day there catching up with Still Life paperwork, but as darkness fell she wanted the comfort of her dad’s things around her.
She had dropped in to the hospital on the way to his apartment. There was no more news, but it was good to see her dad sitting up and looking a tiny bit better than he had that morning.
She switched on the lamp at the entrance to the opulent living room, the soft greys and silvers providing the perfect foil for the jet black Eames day lounge framed against the French windows, which were draped in metallic platinum sheers.
Jessica stopped in front of what her father lovingly named the Hall of Fame. But unlike his contemporaries, who proudly displayed images of themselves rubbing shoulders with power brokers and dignitaries of the globe, Richard’s shots were framed prints of family and friends.
She wandered down the wall of memories, giggling at Richard with sideburns holding a six-year-old Angus, and laughing out loud at a photo of her parents dressed for a dinner dance: her dad in white shoes and a grey suit with lapels so wide he could potentially fly, and her mum, with long straight hair and lurid green eyeshadow, in a caftan. Jessica felt the stress of the last twenty-four hours slipping away.
She smiled at a photo of Eva Wainwright pulling a silly face. It was such a relief to be able to think of her mother with love and happiness instead of only the pain of loss. Jessica was relieved she’d made the decision to stay here tonight. She felt practically joyous. Everything was going to be all right.
Just then her mobile rang. A nugget of panic suddenly lodged in the back of her throat. She inwardly cursed herself for her premature optimism.
‘Hello, Jessica Wainwright?’
It was the doctor. ‘I have good news,’ he said, immediately allaying her fears.
Jessica’s throat cleared; her heart surged.
‘Your father’s latest scans are back and it’s looking very positive,’ he said. ‘It would have been much worse had your father not been so fit,’ he said. ‘But barring another stroke, we anticipate he will make a complete recovery. As we were unable to locate the source of the bleed, however, it is crucial that Richard rests while his body heals.’
‘Thank you so much,’ Jess breathed, hanging up.
Her world suddenly made sense again; her thoughts were clear and ordered. Her dad was going to be okay, and she couldn’t imagine better news than that right now.
She burst into hot tears of relief and folded herself into her father’s favourite chair, delighting in his smell that lingered in the fabric.
Jessica was cooking dinner for herself in Richard’s granite and stainless steel kitchen an hour later when her mobile rang again.
‘Hello?’ she said and, flicking the little Nokia onto speakerphone, rested it on the bench so she could continue to stir her pasta sauce.
‘Hi, Jess, it’s us.’
‘Hey, Rainbow. Hiya, Songbird.’ Jessica was thrilled to hear their friendly voices.
‘How’s your dad? ’ Songbird’s voice was strained through the little speaker.
‘So great, guys. I can’t tell you how relieved I am. He’s expected to make a full recovery.’
‘That’s brilliant news, doll. We’re rapt, aren’t we, Rain bow?’
‘Yaaaayyyyy,’ Rainbow’s voice was faint in the background.
‘Rainbow can’t come to the phone right now: she’s skipping,’ Songbird said.
‘So what’s up with you? Any news on the terra preta plant?’ Jess asked.
‘Yeah, I’m afraid it’s all bad. We’re being shut down,’ Songbird said woefully.
‘Shut down? By whom?’ Jessica said, staring at the phone.
‘The council. Someone’s dobbed us in. The council reckons we’re breaking zoning laws. Apparently we’re not allowed to make electricity in a suburban backyard.’
‘Bloody cheek!’ Rainbow called in over Songbird.
‘They’re probably right, but there’s got to be a way around it. What does your mystery investor say?’ Jess asked, serving her pasta onto a plate.
‘We haven’t told him yet, but the problem is he’ll just pull out: there’s no sense in investing in a business that’s not allowed to operate.’
‘Oh no, what a shame. He will too. So how did the council find out about you?’
‘We thought you might be able to help us with that one. You know everybody in town. Somebody complained to the council about the smell and, when I rang up to look into it, apparently that same somebody has been asking a lot of questions around the council and is planning to take a huge chunk of land down here and turn it into a housing estate. Of course, there are no plans submitted yet and we could be panicking over nothing, but my source at the council is the same bloke that told me about the new marina in Harbourtown that ended up ripping out all those mangroves, and he was right about that, so why wouldn’t he be right about this? I asked who it was that had been enquiring and he said there was no name given. We’re freaking out down here, Jess.’
‘Jesus, Songbird,’ Jess flicked her phone off speaker and picked it up so she could hear more clearly, ‘that’s outrageous. We can’t have a housing estate in Stumpy Gully! It will destroy the town. What next? Formula One?’ Jessica was appalled. How could this be possible? She felt almost personally responsible. As if by leaving her village unsupervised, everything had spun out of control.
‘I’ll come down as soon as Dad’s out of hospital,’ she said, pacing up and down the kitchen in anger. ‘But I’ll also do what I can from here, okay? I’ll look into it. Off the top of my head though, girls, I can’t think who would do such a thing. Where is this subdivision meant to be taking place? It’s all zoned regional down there, except for our property, of course. Perhaps it’s that farm behind the supermarket? That’s due for a restructure. I bet that’s it. Leave it with me: I’ll get right onto it in the morning and phone you back.’
‘Thanks, Jess, we just knew you’d know what to do. Oh, and by the way, Taylor has a message for Richard. He woke up in the middle of the night desperate that we pass the message on.’
‘What is it?’ Jessica stopped pacing.
‘The union wants to build,’ Songbird said.
‘What the hell does that mean? Like a trade union?’
‘I don’t know,’ admitted Songbird. ‘His messages only ever make sense after the fact, which kind of defeats the purpose of premonitions. Anyway, just pass it on, will you? I told him I would.’
Jessica hung up. It was a disaster. Songbird and Rainbow’s terra preta operation had failed before it had even started. She wished she were there to help.
From the foyer came the sound of the front door opening. Jess gave a start as footsteps approached the kitchen.
‘Oh, Genevieve, it’s you!’ she said as the older woman appeared. ‘How lovely, I could use some company. Would you like to stay for dinner?’
‘Er, why yes, thank you,’ Genevieve said, seeming a little startled to see Jessica at the apartment.
‘The doctor rang, the test results were all good and they expect Dad to make a full recovery,’ Jessica explained, taking another plate from the cupboard.
‘Yes, I know. I was there when he came in with the news,’ Genevieve replied.
Jessica considered discussing Stumpy Gully’s latest dramas but something stopped her. She didn’t think that Genevieve would truly understand the seriousness of the situation.
She served up a second pla
te of pasta while Genevieve whipped up a salad and opened a bottle of wine. They were soon sitting across from each other at the bench discussing physiotherapy and Richard’s recovery plan.
After a while silence fell over them. Jessica couldn’t help notice the ring on Genevieve’s right hand. The ring that had Caro in such a flap. She considered Genevieve’s response to the news of Richard’s recovery. She hadn’t seemed terribly excited. But then again, she’d had an hour to absorb the information and she was no doubt exhausted.
‘What a beautiful ring, Genevieve,’ Jess said finally, embarrassed that she had obviously been staring at it.
‘Thank you,’ Genevieve said, glancing at the ruby-and-diamond piece. ‘It’s Bulgari.’
‘Where did you get it?’ Jessica asked, hoping she sounded innocently curious.
‘Just up here at the Collins Street store,’ she replied.
‘For a special occasion?’ Jess asked.
‘Yes, actually, I bought it for myself to celebrate a work promotion earlier this year.’
‘Oh, congratulations! I didn’t know you’d been promoted,’ Jess said. ‘That’s great news.’ She cleared their plates and wiped the marble bench down with a flourish. Ha! Wait till she told Caro that her fears for the family fortune were completely unfounded after all. Genevieve was no gold digger.
46
Jessica slept deeply, safe in the knowledge that her dad was going to be okay. She woke in his guestroom feeling lighter and more optimistic. Outside the weather was bleak and grey, but nothing could dampen her bright mood. It was three days since Richard’s stroke and his doctors were becoming increasingly confident about his recovery. The next step was rehab, and eventually he would be back to normal. The world was good and beautiful, Jess thought, staring out the window where the wind was whipping the city into a frenzy of dancing litter and fallen leaves.
Her father and Genevieve had a planned a meeting for that morning so Jess decided to leave her visit for the afternoon. She had taken some time off work and felt at a loose end on a Monday morning when she would normally be briefing her team and starting a new week at the office.
She dressed quickly in a thick jumper and jeans, made herself some tea and toast and decided to spend the morning sorting out Richard’s study.
The pile of paperwork was simple to work through. After all, she had set up his filing system ten years ago, and it seemed she was the only one who kept it up. She gave a rueful smile as she went through the trays. Telstra bills: all but one were marked paid. Old board papers she shredded in case they held sensitive information.
As the pile got smaller – receipts filed, junk mail turfed, bills paid – Jessica came across a receipt from Bulgari, dated December twenty-second. The description was clearly outlined. A two-carat ruby, flanked by two half-carat diamonds. Jessica gasped out loud at the price. You could buy a house and land package in the outer suburbs for that. Then she saw the payment advice. Paid, by Richard Wainwright’s Amex card. She sat on Richard’s office floor holding the paper in her hand as the realisation sunk in.
Genevieve had lied to her. An outright, bare-faced lie. Jessica was furious. She grabbed the phone and dialled Genevieve’s advertising agency.
‘Kendall, Keyes and Morton,’ a chirpy voice answered. ‘How may I help you?’
‘Hello, my name is Mary. I work for ER PR,’ Jess said. ‘We need to send a sample to your Head of Creative. Who is that, please?’
‘That’s Mike Mulligan,’ the girl replied.
Jess asked a second question: ‘And what about Genevieve Walters, what’s her position?’
‘Oh, she’s been one of our creative directors here for ten years.’
‘So she still holds the same position she’s always held?’
‘Oh, yes, same position as always.’
Jessica said goodbye and slammed the phone back into its cradle. There was no promotion.
‘That bitch,’ she spat, and then her mouth dropped open as another thought filled her mind.
She raced down to the master bedroom and pulled open doors until she found Genevieve’s slick patent leather briefcase. Jessica rifled through the papers it contained and found what she was looking for. She slid the elastic from the cylinder of paper and opened it onto the bed. Just what she thought: first draft rough drawings for the subdivision of the farm.
It was Genevieve who had shut Rainbow and Songbird down and was planning to turn Stumpy Gully into a concrete jungle. But worse than that, she wanted to sub divide the Wainwright property. How could she?
Jess carefully replaced the plans and returned the case to the cupboard, trembling with anger and shock. It took all her selfcontrol to stop herself from shredding the plans then and there. She suddenly felt so stupid for trusting Genevieve; even looking to her as some sort of mother-substitute. Genevieve had fooled everyone – except for Caro, who had tried to warn them all along.
She would have to tell her dad straightaway. He deserved to know the truth about this woman he wanted to marry.
47
‘Richard’s dead.’
‘Excuse me?’ Jess looked up from where she sat cross-legged on the floor of the study. Her world tilted. Had Genevieve just said that the lift was broken? That they had run out of milk for coffee? Surely that must have been it. There wasn’t enough emotion in her voice for it to be anything else.
‘Your dad died this morning,’ Genevieve repeated. ‘I’m so sorry, Jess.’
‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ Jess scoffed at the woman. ‘Last night the doctor said he was doing really well. He’s going to be fine. I’m just sorting out his desk for him. He’ll be so pleased when he comes home: he likes everything neat and tidy...’ Her voice was high and wavering; her heart a thumping boulder in her chest. He had been in hospital for three days; he was doing well. The doctor had said. Genevieve was just making a bad joke.
Jessica needed time to stop; for the room to stop spinning so she could take a breath, just get her thoughts in order, because something bad had just happened and she couldn’t quite work out what it was. She looked down at the papers in her hands, at the solid reliability of her father’s desk. He loved that desk: it was strong, dependable, the kind of desk that would be in a family for generations, he had told her when he’d bought it.
What was I doing? Jess thought. She shook her head uselessly. There was a very bad noise humming inside it and a terrible pain somewhere in her body. She looked up. Genevieve was staring at her blankly. It was something that woman had just said, wasn’t it? She really had to talk to her dad, she had important things to tell him ... Something broke deep within her and realisation floated to the surface of her mind.
‘Dad,’ she croaked.
48
‘Yes, hello, it’s me again. Sorry I had to get off the phone before. Look, it’s all go, thank you, that’s the plan I’d like to go with. Please draw it up as a final draft. I’ll send a cheque this week. There has been a rather tragic development, but never mind, at least we won’t have any more hold-ups. I’ll call you later today to arrange a meeting. I might be in a position to lodge plans with council in a couple of months so I need the plans ASAP. Goodbye.’
49
Jessica mashed her lips together to stop herself from crying and picked up the phone. She dialled and waited.
‘Graham here,’ came the voice on the other end.
‘Hello Graham, it’s Jessica.’ She stared across the paddocks at the cows trying to huddle under gum trees to escape the driving rain. Their faces were forlorn and their ears drooped as if they were aware of the sadness enveloping the property.
‘I know it’s you, I have caller display,’ Graham said.
Jess sighed. ‘I’m ringing to tell you that my dad, that Richard, passed away on Monday.’ One cow raised its head and let out a deep, mournful bellow.
‘Oh, I already knew: I saw it in the paper,’ Graham said.
‘Right, okay then.’ She steeled herself and continued, ‘I am rin
ging, Graham, to ask you to please bring the boys to the funeral on Thursday.’
She needed her boys with her; she needed to feel the energy from their vital little bodies and to remind herself of the good, positive things in life. And besides, Richard had been their grandfather, he had loved them and they had adored him and they had the right to farewell him with the rest of his family.
‘Thursday! Jessica, that’s tomorrow. It’s a bit inconvenient, honestly,’ Graham said. ‘I’ve got a conference all day. And all the way down there ... You can’t do it in town, I suppose? I could escape for an hour, maybe. No, I guess not. Look it’s just not doable. Sorry.’
Once, Jessica would have conceded and hung up. But, no, fuck him, she thought. ‘No,’ Jess said. ‘No, that’s not good enough, Graham.’ Her voice was thick with tiredness and grief, but for once her thoughts were clear and she felt her resolve strengthen; she’d had enough of this bullshit. ‘You listen to me, you nasty, nasty little man. Those are my boys too. I have contributed to most of their lives, I love them and I need them here tomorrow. You will get them here or I will make your life so ugly, so bloody messy with court orders and custody hearings that you’ll wonder what’s hit you. You got it?’
‘Right ... okay ... I’ll see what I can do,’ he answered, too shocked to fight back.
The morning of the funeral crawled around. The sense of deja vu for Jessica was stifling: it was the same house, the same mourners, even the same kind of miserable, drizzly weather, as when her mother died. Jessica floated through the homestead, distant from the action, unable to anchor herself to any reality.
Caro had bustled in with her usual efficiency and had taken over – which was a relief. This was so much worse than when her mother had died. Jess hadn’t known then how terrible the pain was going to be. Now she could see the long road of sadness and grief that stretched out before her, and she couldn’t shake the dreadful, painful thought that she was an orphan. The natural order of things seemed out of balance: there was no one behind her, supporting her. She was grief-stricken, mad with sadness and furious at Genevieve.
