52 Waratah Avenue

by Lynne Wilding

  Standing, she ran fingers through her blonde hair. It was time to stop the vacillating and debating and make a decision. She sighed as she walked into the kitchen with her empty cup. If only she could!

  Ashworths’ boardroom had been decorated in the mid-fifties and had a feeling of seclusion, of understated power. A New Zealand pure wool burgundy carpet covered the floor. Dark-stained panelled walls were adorned with coloured photographs, one being of the company’s founder, a much younger, blonde-haired Laura Ashworth-Beaumont. There were photos of the stores that had opened since the company began; the number stood at six, but there were also four smaller photos of their more recent experiment: large-scale, exclusive boutiques in several well-located shopping malls. The oval boardroom table and ten padded chairs were made of rare Huon pine, donated by Jack Beaumont and Lou Sardi. In the western corner of the room stood a bar complete with fridge, sink and tea- and coffee-making facilities.

  Around the table sat all the important people at Ashworths, everyone except Laura, who had surprised everyone by deciding at the last minute not to attend, and Daniel Blumner. There was Jo Levy, in charge of advertising; Neil McRae, chief acccountant and company secretary; Michaela Beaumont; Boris Jakelic, an ex-cop in charge of company security; and Neil’s secretary, Tania Wildman, who was there to take notes. Leith Danvers, from Markham and Associates, who sat opposite Michaela, was the only non-Ashworths member in attendance. All were waiting for Daniel to arrive so the meeting could begin.

  ‘How was your holiday, Leith?’ Jo asked, making polite conversation.

  ‘Where did you go again?’ put in Michaela. She had already noted that Leith Danvers looked fit and tanned and, while she found it disconcerting to do so, she made herself look straight into his deep-set, blue eyes. Somehow, and for no sensible reason that she could come up with, this man increasingly made her feel self-conscious, even gauche, and that he did, she decided, put her at a disadvantage.

  ‘Back home. Sweden, to see the family and do some skiing,’ he answered without a trace of a Swedish accent.

  Everyone at the table knew that Leith had lived in Australia for most of his adult life. He had arrived straight out of university as a backpacker and had worked his way around the countryside for twelve months. Then, deciding he liked what Australia had to offer, he’d enrolled at Sydney University to update his Swedish law credentials, and stayed. In his early thirties now, and having worked his way through several legal firms in the city, he’d come to Markham and Associates.

  Last year he’d been offered and had accepted a junior partnership in the firm.

  ‘I love skiing. I’d like to visit Scandinavia one day, too,’ Jo said in a wistful tone. ‘When the kids are a bit older.’

  While Leith and Jo talked about Sweden and skiing, Michaela continued the mental exercise of trying to pin down what it was about the Swedish transplant that made her feel less than comfortable. As a representative of Markhams, who acted for Ashworths in legal matters, Leith was always unfailingly polite when they met. Still — her gaze narrowed for a second or two — there was something … The intensity of his gaze when he looked at her, as if he enjoyed dissecting her one centimetre at a time and placing her in a special category that only he understood, unsettled her. His ongoing visual analysis made her feel acutely conscious of him.

  Michaela didn’t care for anyone to scrutinise her as closely as Leith Danvers did. Deep down she had an irrational fear that someone would find a few flaws, discover her real weakness — fear of failure, even though, so far in her young career, she hadn’t failed at anything she had taken on. But she remained afraid that one day she would attempt too much and end up on her proverbial backside. Also, with his spiky blond hair — at odds with his lawyer’s image — and regular features, he reminded her of a movie star: like Tab Hunter, who she’d seen in old sixties movies and as a teenager had developed a crush on. Silly, she scolded herself, she was past that stage. Yet she continued to be very much aware of Leith as an attractive member of the opposite sex, and that confounded her.

  Daniel breezed into the room. He glanced at the wall clock, which read 6.15 pm, and apologised. ‘Sorry to hold all of you up. A last-minute crisis in distribution. All fixed now.’ He looked at each of them. ‘Let’s get started. Everyone knows what this meeting’s about. Leith is going to tell us how Markhams stumbled onto our “little” theft problem.’ He looked at Leith. ‘Go ahead, Leith.’

  ‘Sure. The discovery came as a pure accident. One of our staff members, a law clerk, was drinking with mates at a pub down at Haymarket — the place was crowded. A guy came in and began hawking very expensive leather handbags around. I’m sure we’ve all seen this kind of thing at hotels from time to time, product that’s “fallen off the back of a truck” so to speak. Our clerk became curious, especially when he saw how well the guy was doing, selling everything at what appeared to be ridiculously low prices for quality European leather gear.’

  Leith paused. He looked at Michaela, then Daniel. ‘I wouldn’t describe our law clerk as being outspoken or brave, but he’d had a few beers, enough to feel confident. When the guy had sold almost everything and was having a drink at the bar, he went and talked to him. The upshot of their conversation was that this guy was quite open about how he’d come across the bags. He said he was part of a sales team, and they’d got the leather bags from a shipment of imports another party had knocked off from the wharves.

  ‘My law clerk bought a handbag, the last one. On Monday he showed me the handbag, then told me the story. Fortunately, I recalled having spoken to Boris, who’d acquainted me with the recent non-delivery of a shipment of leather handbags made by Gianni of Florence. My law clerk’s handbag had a Gianni label.’ He paused as he handed a report of the incident to everyone at the table. ‘I thought Ashworths should be informed of this coincidence. Boris and Neil had told me that leather handbags aren’t the only shipment that’s gone astray over recent months.’ He studied the paperwork in his folder. ‘Shoes from Madrid. A consignment of leather jackets from Buenos Aires. A range of frocks for next summer from a manufacturer in Paris.’

  ‘Why hasn’t anyone cottoned onto this before?’ Michaela asked, a frown marring her attractive features. This was obviously more serious than in-store pilfering. And, off the top of her head, she knew at least six staff members who had direct access to the information — shipping schedules — the thief must have had.

  ‘Because they’ve been selective.’ Boris Jakelic supplied the answer. ‘They know what’s coming in and when it’s coming and only target seasonal merchandise that can be moved quickly. There’s probably a network of gangs, or “crews,” shifting the stuff within forty-eight hours of it arriving on the docks.’

  ‘So there could be collusion between the docks and an insider, someone from Ashworths giving this thief the information when needed?’ Michaela pointed out astutely.

  ‘That’s a reasonable assumption,’ Leith agreed, smiling across the table at her.

  She wished he wouldn’t do that. Smile at her. There were few men she couldn’t read; most men’s thoughts — what they did and didn’t want — were pretty transparent. They were either sexually attracted to you and made that patently obvious, or they weren’t. In Leith’s case she wasn’t sure, and that’s what disconcerted her. Michaela forced her thoughts back to the problem at hand. ‘Potentially, this could be a serious negative for the company. We’re losing product. The companies we buy from won’t be impressed and may not want to deal with us in the future. And, departments in all our stores could be left with empty spaces that can’t be filled with quality merchandise.’

  ‘Yes,’ Daniel agreed. ‘The thief or thieves are, we feel, very sure they won’t be found out. So far, internal investigations by Neil and Boris have revealed nothing. Whoever’s responsible is covering their tracks quite cleverly.’

  ‘Shouldn’t we call in the police?’ Jo ventured.

  ‘We may have to,’ Daniel agreed. ‘However, it�
��s incumbent on all of us in this room to do our best in-house to ferret out the … saboteur. Frankly, the company doesn’t want to go public at this stage because, as I’m sure you’re all aware, Ashworths’ shares are in a slump and have been for months. Adverse publicity, coupled with the impending announcement that Laura will be retiring, could send share prices plummeting further and, at the least, make investors nervous.’

  He gave each of them a serious look. ‘We don’t want that, not when the AGM is only a few months away. Last year, because of expansion, shareholders didn’t get a dividend. They will expect one this financial year and,’ he glanced at Neil for confirmation, ‘will get one … somehow, if only to keep faith with them.’

  ‘About the thefts. What’s being done?’ Michaela wanted to know.

  ‘We’ll continue our internal investigations and, using the information Leith has given us, gather more external intelligence,’ Neil said. ‘I suggest that we leave things as they stand for a month, then meet again. I expect that Boris and I will be on top of it by then.’

  Michaela’s eyebrow arched upwards. It was too good an opportunity to miss. ‘And if you’re not?’

  Neil’s cheeks reddened. ‘Then we’ll re-assess the situation and go to the next step, the police.’

  ‘Okay.’ Daniel brought the meeting to a close. ‘I’m sure I don’t need to say this, but the fewer people who know about our problem the better. We don’t want unnecessary leaks. I’ll report the details to Laura myself, tomorrow, but from now on, I want each of you to be aware and on the ball.’ He sat up straight in his chair, his gaze including everyone at the table. ‘I’m sure we all will be.’

  Michaela smiled as she quickly left the room. She saw that Jo had been waylaid on some pretext by Neil, and Daniel was talking to Leith about a different legal matter. Boris Jakelic, a huge man who’d been a wrestler in his earlier years, rode the elevator with her to the first floor, where his office was located, and got out. She continued to the basement, where the company’s executives parked their cars.

  As she walked towards her car she fished deep into the bottom of her handbag for her car keys, cursing their penchant to hide from her in some corner of her cavernous bag. A growl of frustration left her lips because she couldn’t locate them. She dropped her bag onto the car’s boot and took several items out, one at a time. Sunglasses, make-up bag, bank and cheque books, perfume, wallet, brush, a pack of tissues. ‘Aahh, got you.’ Capturing the keys, she piled everything back in higgledy-piggledy.

  A noise, an odd sound like a rubber-soled shoe scraping on cement, made her gaze dart about the deserted basement which, when full, could house ten cars. It wasn’t the first time she had been spooked in the poorly lit area. She had petitioned Neil several times to have more lighting installed but, as usual, he prevaricated and finally declined, saying the expense couldn’t be justified. Tight arse!

  Another noise. The same sound and whatever or whoever it was, was close. Her spine went rigid, the breath caught in her throat. Very close.

  In the next heartbeat a small, wiry man popped up from where he had been crouching at the front of her car. Even with poor lighting, she could see he was grubby; his clothes were torn and, like him, in need of a good wash.

  ‘Okay, lady, give me your purse. Quick smart now,’ he growled at her.

  Michaela saw the metal rod he held in his right hand, and saw him raise it threateningly above his head. Edging closer, his free hand reached for what he wanted to steal. ‘Get out of here now, before I yell for security,’ Michaela said in her ‘you-don’t-frighten-me’ voice, praying it would be enough to scare him off.

  The mugger threw back his head and cackled. ‘Yell all you like, lady. A few minutes ago, I lit a fire in one of the rubbish bins in the lane out the back. Security is dealing with that at the moment, so I don’t think they’ll hear you.’

  Little creep! Michaela, as strong-willed as her mother and unwilling to give in to the man’s standover tactics, disregarded company policy, which dictated that in the case of a hold-up or threat, offer no resistance. She continued to clutch her bag to her chest.

  ‘Shit, lady, give me the bloody bag!’ His tone was more impatient now, with an edge of desperation to it.

  Michaela reckoned that she had one chance to catch him off guard before she made a run for the stairs beside the lift. ‘Okay, mate.’ She pushed her bag towards him, pretending to give in. Then, at the last moment, when she saw him stop moving towards her, she pulled away, turned on her heels and began to run.

  ‘You bloody bitch!’

  Ignoring the frustration in his insult and knowing she could only do a fast walk — not run — in ten-centimetre heels and her tight business skirt, she knew it would only take a few seconds for him to catch her. Unmindful of the threat he posed, she still intended to do her darnedest to make it difficult for him. Michaela was a metre from the stairs when something thumped into the middle of her back and then fell with a clang to the ground.

  A shaft of indescribable pain flashed down her spine. Jesus Christ, had he thrown a knife at her? Gasping, she pitched forward onto her knees, grazing her hands as they hit the cement and splayed across its cold surface. Her torso made contact with the floor and air whooshed out of her lungs. The bag fell from her grasp … but she was beyond caring. The pain he’d inflicted upon her was just too intense …

  Chapter Four

  Somewhere in Michaela’s panicked brain, she registered the ping of the elevator as it reached the basement. When the doors opened, she lifted her head and saw a man, his silhouette outlined by the elevator’s interior light. She didn’t recognise who it was as he stepped out.

  ‘Shit!’ The mugger, who was almost on top of Michaela, turned on his heel and scampered towards a dark corner of the basement.

  ‘Hold on!’ the man from the elevator yelled as he gave chase, skirting around the prostrate Michaela.

  Still trying to catch her breath, Michaela couldn’t move, the pain was so bad. She listened to the two sets of footsteps stomping across the basement floor as the man chased the mugger. The sounds faded, stopped, then she heard one set slowly retrace their way back to her.

  ‘He got away,’ Leith Danvers said as he knelt beside her; he wasn’t even puffed from the chase. ‘There’s a small window in the corner, at street level, just big enough for a very small man. He broke the latch to get in, then stacked a couple of boxes near it for a quick getaway. Before I could grab him, he’d clambered up and through the window.’ He grunted with satisfaction. ‘Cut himself on broken glass though.’ Leith paused for a couple of seconds, obviously assessing her situation. ‘Michaela, are you all right?’

  The pain came in waves, peaked and faded, then began again. She found it hard to get the words out. ‘M-my back. I think he stabbed me.’

  Leith looked closely at her back, taking in the tear in her suit coat and the blood seeping through. He scanned the floor for a weapon and saw something. ‘He threw a piece of metal at you, a short rod. It’s penetrated your coat and broken the skin. You’re bleeding.’ He didn’t add, profusely. Disregarding the ruination of his own suit jacket, he took it off and pillowed it under her head. That done he looked around for an in-store phone and saw one on the wall near the elevator. ‘Don’t move. I’ll call an ambulance.’

  ‘Not an ambulance. Want to go … home,’ she whispered through clenched teeth. She heard material tearing and realised he was shredding the bottom of his business shirt. Then she felt him push a wad of the material against her back, under her jacket where the wound was. She began to shiver with shock. Already sticky liquid, blood, was working its way around the side of her back, across her ribs and through her blouse. Damn that mugger! If she caught sight of him again, she’d wring his neck.

  ‘An ambulance. Definitely,’ Leith said authoritatively, ignoring her words. When he could do no more for her, he strode over to the in store phone, dialled and yelled into the receiver. ‘It’s the basement. Where the hell is security?
Ms Beaumont’s been attacked and sustained an injury. Call an ambulance, yes, straight away, damn it.’ And with more vigour: ‘Get Boris on the line. Now.’ He glanced back to where Michaela lay and shook his head, speaking more to himself than to her as he waited. ‘If a mugger can get in here so easily, it’s not hard to imagine that whole shipments of goods can be stolen. Company security needs tightening up, by God it does.’

  In the cavernous basement with its low roof, Leith’s voice carried across to where Michaela lay, unwilling to move because to do so hurt. She silently agreed with his statement about slackness, but answering meant she had to take a deep breath and that was painful. She kept quiet and listened to Leith berate Boris, telling him in no uncertain words that company security was piss-poor. She smiled at his choice of words. Lying there, feeling helpless, she continued to ruminate … How embarrassing it was to have Leith Danvers, of all people, come to her rescue — like some mediaeval white knight! Now she was indebted to him. She didn’t want to be and, inexplicably, that increased her discomfort about him.

  Then another thought ran through her head. What might have happened if he hadn’t come along? The mugger could have bashed her senseless or worse. Oh, hell. She sighed and tried to rest, feeling the coldness of the cement slowly seeping into her body.

  The casualty department at Sydney Hospital was, fortunately for Michaela, almost empty, so she was attended to quickly. A spinal X-ray was ordered to ascertain that the rod thrown at her hadn’t damaged her spine or fractured any of her vertebrae. It had missed by a mere one-and-a-half centimetres. She needed a tetanus injection and six sutures to close the wound. The attending doctor told her she had extensive swelling and bruising to the area, so she could expect to feel sore and sorry for several days. Hah! As if that were news to her.