Now, the certainty of Caroline and Fern’s return set his mind alight, giving him real hope that it might be possible to right the wrong he’d done years ago. That, somehow, they could be together again as a family. Several bridges had to be repaired, as the saying went, but he had changed. Nicholas Giovanni Beaumont wasn’t the same possessive, jealous man he had once been. Permanent separation from the only woman he had truly loved — in spite of his whirlwind marriage to and divorce from media journalist Holly Deakin — had taught him that. The brief marriage to Holly had been a disaster.
‘Well?’ Lou prompted when Nick didn’t reply.
‘What? Sorry. Miles away.’ Aware of Lou looking at him strangely, he mentally regrouped. ‘Yes. Vince’s report. Very positive. However, with today’s economic climate, it could be a worthwhile exercise for us to consider further diversification of our capital.’
Lou’s gaze narrowed with interest. ‘In what way?’
‘I haven’t given it too much thought. Something different from commercial construction and housing estate developments, maybe in retail.’
‘Retail?’ Lou chuckled. ‘Shit, Nick, what do we know about retail?’
‘Dad originally started in retail, remember. Beaumont’s Appliance Stores. After the war he imported white goods from the USA, re-jigged the electrical wiring to comply with Australian standards and did well until Aussie factories got back on their feet again.’
‘That was over twenty years ago,’ Lou’s gravelly, Bronx accent drawled. ‘It’s a different ball game here now, more competitive, with Japanese and European imports.’
Nick’s hand rose as if to fend off an imaginary attack. ‘I know. All I’m saying is that we should get Vince, with his various contacts at the Stock Exchange, to sniff around. See if there’s anything interesting, something we could make a quick killing on. Like buying companies that are in financial difficulties to either build up and sell off at a considerable profit or, we could take their tangible assets apart and sell them piece by piece. It’s being done successfully in the US as I found out on my last visit.’ Californian Walt Bacharach, who’d married his mother, Therese, had started off in real estate and had suggested the idea, having turned himself into a multimillionaire by doing just that.
‘I don’t like the idea,’ Lou grumbled, ‘it sounds mean-spirited. However, I’m not averse to looking at new moneymaking ideas. We should have Vince check out a few angles for us.’
‘I’ll brief him tomorrow.’
Astute as usual, Lou broached the question. ‘Ummm, you seem preoccupied, Nick. Something on your mind?’
‘I talked to Fern last night. She and Caro are coming to live in Sydney. They should be here in about two weeks.’
‘Aahhh.’ Lou’s guttural sound held a wealth of meaning. He grinned at his best friend’s son, who’d inherited a fifty-fifty share in the business after Jack’s death. ‘I hope you’re going to play it cool this time. If I remember right, Caroline’s a lot like Laura.’ He wiggled his eyebrows. ‘Not a forgiving woman. Don’t expect her to welcome you with open arms, buddy, especially as you jumped right into bed with that Holly dame straight after the divorce.’
Nick’s good-looking features twisted in a grimace. ‘Don’t remind me. That was disastrous.’ At the time he’d needed someone to be with, to expunge the pain of being without Caro, and Holly, street-smart woman that she was, had held out against sleeping with him until he’d offered her a wedding ring. What a sap he’d been but, Jesus Christ, the honeymoon — no, correction — the sex had been mind-blowing, the whole two weeks of it! But from there on, it had been a downhill slide and, after nine months, they’d called it quits. Holly had walked away with a sizeable chunk of his money, and he had vowed that the only woman he would ever marry again, if the opportunity arose, was Caro. And she was coming back, within reach.
‘I’m older and wiser,’ Nick admitted. ‘I was about to sell the house at Palm Beach, I don’t use it often. With Fern coming home, I’ll keep it. We can hang out there on weekends. We’ll go sailing, too.’
‘Good idea. Keep the house. Real estate is starting to climb in Sydney,’ said Lou, who was an astute investor.
‘I wonder what Caro will do after she settles in?’ Nick said, thinking out loud.
Lou shrugged his massive shoulders. He wasn’t a tall man, but he was wide-shouldered and thick of chest. He scratched his thinning head of grey hair. ‘Who knows? Maybe something to do with the arts. I mean, she has all that experience in music. Anyway, it’ll be interesting to see if she wants to get involved with Ashworths and goes up against Michaela.’ He grinned at Nick. ‘Your half-sister is one seriously ambitious woman.’
‘Don’t I know it! I’m grateful that Dad willed her and Joel a cash inheritance when they turn twenty-five, rather than an involvement with B& S. Otherwise she’d be in here, angling to toss us out and take over the place herself.’
Nick’s expression was thoughtful as a mental picture of Michaela came to him. Willowy slim, with dark eyes and long black wavy hair, his half-sister was as lovely as she was determined. That sometimes embroiled her in confrontational situations with other family members. On the plus side though, she was a loving sister and especially protective of Joel, his half-brother. That was good, because Joel’s reputation for occasionally getting into tight situations at university and on a social level meant that more than once he and Michaela had had to bail him out of escapades.
Nick, not unkindly but realistically, considered his half-brother the weak link of the Beaumont family. Other family members had strengths aplenty, but Joel seemed to have inherited his Uncle Frank’s tendency to be reckless and irresponsible. Laura, he believed, had made the mistake a long time ago of making excuses for him, rather than making Joel face up to his limitations. However, basically, he was a good person who simply needed an infusion of backbone.
‘You coming out to the Windsor site?’ Lou asked.
‘No.’ Nick heaved himself out of the too-comfortable chair. ‘Too much paperwork to attend to. I reckon it manufactures itself overnight while we’re not here.’ In truth he’d let the paperwork wait a little longer. He wanted to think some more about Caro and Fern coming home and what it could ultimately mean to him.
‘Okay,’ Lou agreed easily enough.
Their positions in the company complemented each other. Lou oversaw the construction sites and Nick controlled what happened in the office, from design layout to costing, to office personnel and development, and all the attendant paperwork.
‘But, Nick, remember, we have to discuss your plan to branch out into Asia. I’m all for that. Vince has done the numbers, and the timing couldn’t be better. Madeline does a mean pot roast, you know. Why not come over to our house for dinner on Thursday night?’
With a mental tug Nick brought his thoughts back to Lou’s invitation. ‘Could we make it Friday night?’
‘Sure, buddy.’ Lou scrambled out of his chair, but not as gracefully as his younger partner had. ‘Be seeing you.’
With the clothes Michaela Beaumont wore — courtesy of Ashworths’ one-off fashion department — a passer-by could be excused for mistaking her for a high-fashion model. Dressed in a two-piece fire-engine red suit with black trimmings and accessories, she stood in the downstairs arrivals section of Sydney International Airport, trying not to let her impatience show as she and Joel waited for Caroline and Fern to clear customs. That she had to cancel two meetings to do with Ashworths fashions for next summer to be here irritated her, but she and Joel had decided earlier that this was the preferred option to having their mother come and get over-excited.
Laura was still refusing to hand over the reins to Daniel, who’d been with the company practically since its inception, and to give Michaela and Jo Levy more responsibility over the running of Ashworths. It was clear to all — though no-one dared say a word about it — that Laura was going through an emotional crisis brought on by ill-health and having to make the decision everyone knew
she had to make.
When her father had died some eleven years ago, Michaela remembered how, in the face of such tragedy, Laura had been unbelievably stoic. Accepting the unacceptable, hiding her tears.
Though Michaela knew her mother had wept a lot over Jack Beaumont’s passing, Laura had thrown herself into her work as a means to escape the pain. She had heard Laura’s friends, Ruth and Kitty and Mary Ellen, remark that that was how Laura always handled grief … by working at a feverish pace; she had done so when other sad situations had occurred in the past.
Michaela believed that Laura couldn’t imagine an Ashworths that didn’t include her, so she was going through some kind of denial about the state of her own health. For that reason alone her mother had to retire, whether she liked the idea or not. Michaela tapped one foot impatiently as she thought about it. And … she also had to admit that she had reservations as to Caroline’s true agenda in returning to Sydney when, for over fifteen years, Europe had been her home. Did her older sister intend to worm her way into Ashworths? If so, she’d have a fight on her hands.
One day she would run Ashworths. That had been her goal since the age of sixteen and she hadn’t shifted from it. From the time she had left school — she had refused to waste time at university — her energies had focused on learning the ins and outs of how the company ran. And even before that, as she’d grown up, she had preferred to spend school holidays mooching around the main store in Pitt Street and the office, steeping herself in the various aspects of the company, instead of participating in holiday activities. Now, at twenty-three and a half, while she might privately admit she wasn’t ready for the top job, she knew a damned sight more about running Ashworths than anyone else, other than her mother or Daniel Blumner.
Michaela didn’t believe in wasting energy on a premise that, at this stage, was only a possibility, so questioning Caroline’s motives now was pointless. The first thing that had to be done was to sort her mother out, and she hoped that her sister could talk some sense into her. She and Joel had tried, until they’d been told to stop pestering her.
‘Here.’ Joel handed Michaela a cup of coffee. ‘Plane’s late. I asked a customs officer and he said it’ll be another half hour before they’re through.’
‘That figures,’ Michaela replied dryly. One thing she hated was to have to stay inactive for a period of time; it annoyed the hell out of her. ‘Little Miss Fidget’ Sister Lucia at Rose Bay’s Kincoppal had christened her in kindergarten, and from an early age her parents had worked out that the most effective punishment for misbehaviour was to make her sit in the corner of a room for an hour or so and do absolutely nothing. She longed for a cigarette too, but again, like her friend and workmate Jo Levy, she was on her third attempt to give them up. She had begun to smoke as a gawky teenager, secretly, to have something to do with her hands and had tried to shake the habit twice. This time, she decided, she was going to make it, even if her nerves ended up frazzled for a while.
Twenty minutes later Joel nudged Michaela’s arm. ‘Look, passengers are starting to come through.’
Ten more minutes ticked by before they saw Caroline and Fern pushing two trolleys piled high with luggage. After hugs and kisses and greetings all round, Joel stared at the bulk of cases, his expression one of dismay.
‘We’re not going to get all these in Michaela’s car or mine. We’ll have to hire a cab to take the rest home.’
‘Whatever.’ Caroline smothered a yawn. ‘Just lead me to the bathroom for a shower and then the bedroom. I’m beat.’
‘I’m not,’ piped up Fern. ‘The flight was a blast.’
‘You like flying?’ Michaela asked as she gave her niece another hug. Perhaps it wasn’t going to be such a chore having Caroline and Fern at number fifty-two after all. She gave her half-sister a thorough, analytical once-over. Caroline looked tired and, at present, all of her forty-four years. The next moment she acknowledged something she had never given much thought to before: she hardly knew Caroline. Her sister had spent most of her adult life performing in Europe, with only the occasional trip home. And with the age difference between them, by the time she had been old enough to appreciate having a big sister around, that big sister was thousands of kilometres away.
‘Love it.’ Fern’s reply was qualified by vigorous nodding.
‘I’ve been flying regularly since I got my licence two years ago. I try to get up every second Sunday. At Bankstown airport I hire a plane — I’ve a standing request with my flight instructor, Rod O’Malley, to use one of his planes for six to eight hours. I’m trying to build up as many flying hours as I can. So far I’ve clocked up one hundred and fifty flying hours.’ Every fortnight she counted the days until she could fly again. ‘Maybe you’ll come with me one Sunday? Even your grandmother flew with me; we had a weekend to Surfers Paradise a few months ago.’
Fern grinned. ‘Sounds fantastic.’
Caroline, who hadn’t been paying much attention to the conversation, stifled another yawn. ‘Can we go now …?’
Caroline and Fern’s reunion with Laura was tearful and joyful for each of them.
‘I can’t believe how much you’ve grown,’ exclaimed Laura, fighting back tears as she hugged her only grandchild. Fern was almost as tall as she and would certainly pass her in the next year. She was pretty, too, like Nick to look at and a little bit like her Jack. Her gaze shifted to Caroline. Her daughter looked drawn and thin. She had lost weight which she could ill afford but, amazingly, there was a serenity about her that had been absent when she had visited her eight months ago in Paris. Time and having to come to terms with the end of her musical career had allowed her emotions to settle. They were both here now and it was wonderful. She smiled again and then thought she must look like the Cheshire cat she’d been grinning so much. It surprised her to acknowledge how much she had been looking forward to them becoming part of the family again.
There had always been a special rapport between Laura and her eldest daughter. More than the usual mother-daughter relationship, they were also friends, and though much of Caroline’s adult life had been spent away from home, the closeness remained. Now that Jack was gone, Caro, as Nick had dubbed her a long time ago, was perhaps the one family member she felt sufficiently comfortable with to confide in. And with a decision imminent about her working future, it would be good to share her thoughts, anxieties, with someone she totally trusted.
‘Daphne’s prepared rooms for both of you upstairs, at the back of the house where you can see the harbour,’ Laura said as she ushered them onto the verandah. Joel’s dog, Rufus, a black kelpie-cross, barked with the excitement of the occasion until she ordered, ‘Quiet, Rufus, be a good dog now.’ She watched indulgently as Fern bent down to pat the dog.
For several seconds a twinge of envy coursed through Michaela as she saw the rapt expression on her mother’s face, the result of Caroline and Fern’s arrival. She adored her mother, always had, but there were times — like now — when she felt almost superfluous. Caroline had always been the ‘special’ child, with her wonderful talent, and Joel had been the one who’d needed protecting, mostly from himself. So where had that left her? The odd one out.
‘I’m going back to work,’ Michaela announced with her characteristic forthrightness. ‘I’ve had to delay two critical meetings for next summer’s stock.’ She waved a brief goodbye to everyone as she got back in her car.
‘Thanks for picking us up,’ Caroline called out as she watched her younger, impeccably dressed sister drive away. Since the airport, coming to number fifty-two in the car she had sensed something about Michaela, a coolness, a distance — as if she weren’t pleased to see her. Don’t be foolish, she shrugged the disloyal thought away. Her sister was a busy businesswoman, a role she enjoyed wholeheartedly, and she was over reacting. Or maybe it was just jetlag!
As they moved across the tiled verandah, Caroline’s glance took in the front garden. Everything looked magnificent, well cared for, and most of all, familia
r, down to the bed of her mother’s much loved waratahs. She recognised the two people at the front door, Daphne and Porter. No-one knew if Porter had a first name, as everyone, even his wife, called him Porter. They both smiled a welcome at her and Fern. The good feeling she’d had since making the decision to come home magnified.
Unobtrusively, as they went inside, Caroline gave her mother a thorough once-over, but was at pains to disguise any reaction. At first glance she looked marvellous, as usual. Laura always looked marvellous. But closer inspection allowed her to see the tiredness Joel had spoken about, and a general air of fatigue in the way her shoulders drooped. There was tension in her expressive face, too, a tautness that hadn’t been there for years. A deep well of compassion opened in her heart. Her mother was not well.
She, more than others in the family, could see deeper than Laura Ashworth-Beaumont’s surface charm and energy, recognising that, at times, her mother used raw nervous energy to power her through her busy days. Right now she looked more than tired, she looked … worn out.
From phone discussions with Joel and Michaela, she had gleaned that both siblings hoped that her being here would act as a catalyst to encourage their mother to retire — a decision she was still procrastinating over. For several seconds Caroline didn’t relish the thought of that role being thrust upon her, coupled with the knowledge that she had to turn her mother’s well-known stubbornness around. She grimaced inwardly. Jack Beaumont had been the only one who could make Laura see reason when her mind became set on a particular path of action.
The next few days, weeks, were going to be interesting …
Chapter Three
Michaela Beaumont’s office was a mess.
Swatches of material and clothes design sketches were pinned on a cork-board that covered most of one wall, and there were boxes of samples heaped against another wall. A portable metal clothes rack containing more outfits stood at the side of her desk, and at least two dozen boxes of imported shoes were stacked precariously in a corner of the room. A graph on the wall just inside the door showed the company’s national sales for the last three years, its red, blue and black lines bisecting each other. The sales line rose, then fell, surged upwards like a ragged mountain range, then levelled, showing that the present sales trend had plateaued for three months and was beginning to decline.
52 Waratah Avenue Page 4
