A shuddering sigh swept over her as she lay in the darkened room. If only her Jack were here to share the problem, she would worry less. And … she was going away, for four months. Oh, dear God, she hoped she was doing the right thing.
It was early Sunday morning, 7 am, and Michaela sat in the cramped cockpit of the Piper Cub she leased from her old flying instructor, Rod O’Malley. She taxied the four-seater single-engine plane out of the hangar at Bankstown Airport and onto the runway.
Her gaze swept the black ribbon of tarmac, which shimmered in the sunshine. Beyond lay the sky, its blue sullied by a layer of smog that often built up in the west during the working week. This was what she lived for, the thrill of flying, of not having to think about work, about Caroline, about her mother’s health and any other complications in her life. Once she became airborne, it was like stepping into another world: she and the plane, mind and machine in tune with each other, soaring above the suburbs and, today, flying due west over the Blue Mountains. This morning, the mountain range was indeed a hazy blue-grey colour due to the eucalypts, and beyond the range lay the fertile plains that stretched to the west.
She made contact with the tower, logged in her flight plan and received clearance to take off. Then, slowly and with a confidence borne of more than one hundred and fifty hours of flying time, put on full throttle until the motor’s noise was deafening. She aligned the rudder and concentrated on the runway in front of her. Once in the air, with her eyes on the compass, she banked to the west and climbed to a height of two thousand metres, then she set a cruising speed of approximately one hundred and thirty-five knots.
Flying allowed Michaela to be herself, instead of the person she believed other people expected her to be. That was another reason she loved it so. And it allowed her to see life from a more simple perspective. There could be no subterfuge or pretence up in the sky. Here she had to rely on her own abilities and that of the machine she commanded to get where she wanted to go. She liked that. Freed of the conventions she largely set upon herself, she could think matters through without anyone else’s input to distort things.
That thought took her to the recent police line up she and Leith had attended.
Leith had been the consummate professional, the lawyer intent on looking after his client’s interests, her interests. He had argued that the mugger, a Jerry Provost, who’d taken advantage of poor security in the building, should be kept in custody until his trial, but the police had assured them both that the accused wasn’t considered a threat to his client. Leith didn’t agree, but arguing got him nowhere and he’d had to accept the police prosecutor’s advice. Needless to say, in spite of her continuing mental admonishment to the contrary, Leith had made an impression, a very favourable impression, on her.
Slowly, whether unintentionally or deliberately, Leith Danvers was dismantling the reasons she thought she had to keep him at a distance. A smile flicked across her lips, but went as quickly as it came. It was getting harder not to think about him and the possibility that they could move from a business relationship to a personal one. There were good vibes between them. She was aware of them whenever they were in the same room, and she was pretty sure he sensed them, too. Her cheeks warmed in accordance with her thoughts and her imagination. Earlier Michaela had stridently rejected the idea of an involvement at present with him or any man. She didn’t have the time, she didn’t need the complication, but her resolve was weakening and her reasons now seemed a little silly. What was she afraid of? Herself? Leith? She wasn’t sure …
Hours of Rod drumming into her the importance of keeping her mind on the job brought her back to what she was doing. She was supposed to be flying, not daydreaming. She corrected the flight’s path and got her focus back. In just over an hour she would land at the small airstrip of Whyuna Downs Station near Parkes to have lunch with the Percy family, who’d been long-time customers and friends of Ashworths. The company had an impressive country clientele, some of whom she’d become friends with, and she was often asked to visit properties such as Whyuna. When her father’s inheritance came through on her twenty-fifth birthday, she planned to purchase a modest property in the country as a retreat: an escape from city hassles.
Since getting her licence, Michaela had deliberately built up her flying hours until she was confident enough to occasionally ask other people to accompany her on her flights. Everyone in the family had flown with her, as well as Jo and her children. Now she was looking forward to having Fern sitting next to her in the cockpit. Perhaps, one day, she would ask Leith to fly with her, too. That was an option if things worked out between them, but currently only a ‘perhapser’, as Caroline was fond of saying.
As she watched the compass, making sure she wasn’t straying from her flight plan, her thoughts skipped away from Leith to Caroline. She and her sister had formed a superficial truce since their mother had spoken to them. But she remained no less firm in her opinion that Caroline had to be watched and brought into line should the need arise. Her mother was right, she sighed mentally — wasn’t Laura always? Together she and Caroline could make a formidable team, once her sister understood the business properly and accepted the fact that Michaela was, ultimately, going to run it. Whether that happened remained an uncertainty, so for a while she would bide her time, until Laura went on her cruise. Then things would be easier.
Twenty minutes later Michaela began her descent to the station’s air strip, which was little more than a three-metre width of bitumen. She saw someone standing near a red dust-encrusted utility. Brenda Percy waved a greeting. Pulling the throttle back, Michaela lowered the flaps and made a perfect three-point landing.
Nick dropped his suitcase and attaché case inside the doorway to his office. His flight to Singapore was due to take off at 3.20 pm, which gave him enough time for some fine-tuning on the company’s proposal before leaving for the airport with Vince Lee, the company’s financial administrator.
This presentation was important. If the group of Singaporean businessmen he was dealing with accepted it in principle, it would internationalise B&S Constructions Inc.by giving them a foothold in the Asian construction market. He and Lou saw that step as a natural progression for the company — to get in on the ground floor — because a building boom was beginning throughout Asia. It had been wise to move from the domestic market to the commercial market years ago, and they were now well credentialled as a national construction company. Not as huge as McColl & Rigby or Multiplex but, nonetheless, as capable and as profitable.
He looked up from his desk as someone tapped on the door’s glass panel. It was his partner, Lou Sardi.
‘You’re ready to go.’ Lou pointed to the luggage.
‘Yes. Doing a few last-minute checks.’
‘Just popped in to wish you good hunting.’
‘Thanks,’ Nick drawled. ‘Vince and I will be doing our best.’
‘I’ve got a tidbit of information you might be interested in.’ Lou spoke slowly, as if he were still deliberating whether he should mention anything. ‘Vince heard a rumour, it’s only a ripple, that Ashworths have suffered some serious theft of product over the last few months. Straight off the wharves. It’s an inside job, Vince reckons. They won’t be giving investors a dividend this year, so the rumour goes.’ He glanced quizzically at Nick. ‘No-one in the family has said anything to you, I take it?’
‘Not a word,’ Nick confided. He scratched his jaw, contemplating what Lou had said, as he put together information he’d gleaned from Fern during their weekends together. ‘I’ve heard that Michaela and Caroline aren’t getting on, but the antagonism comes mostly from Michaela.’
Lou chuckled. ‘That’s not surprising. Your sister is a feisty piece of work, especially if she feels disadvantaged. And Caroline’s capable of digging her heels in, too, if she feels strongly about something.’ His bushy eyebrows rose meaningfully. ‘Your ex-wife’s no pushover, buddy.’ He grinned as he thought about what he’d said.
�
�Yes. Two immovable objects! Very interesting. Fern hasn’t mentioned anything about stock thefts or the lack of dividend cheques. Not unusual, I suppose. She is only fourteen, and I’m sure Caro doesn’t divulge every aspect of the business to her — she wouldn’t understand.’
‘Just thought you should know.’ Then, after a moment’s hesitation, Lou said, speaking quickly, ‘So, what are you going to do about Caroline?’
Nick shook his head. His partner never had been one for beating around the bush. When he wanted to say something, Lou came straight out and said it. ‘Do?’
‘Yeah, don’t pretend you don’t know what I mean. You want her back, don’t you?’
‘Damned right I do!’ Nick came clean with a boyish, slightly embarrassed grin. ‘It’s no good trying to rush Caro, she’ll retreat into that very effective defensive shell she’s built around herself. I’ve got to win her trust again and to do that is going to take time.’
‘So you have a plan?’ Lou wanted to know.
‘Sure do. Number one, I’m going to make it very hard for her not to see me — I won’t be playing the invisible man, though I’m sure that’s what she’d like me to do. As well, I have to make sure I’m back from Singapore in time for the Easter Sunday party at number fifty-two.’ He gave Lou a droll look. ‘I think Fern made Caroline invite me, grudgingly.’ Now he was doubly interested in attending because of what Lou had revealed about Ashworths. What was happening in the company concerned Caroline and his extended family, so he would keep close tabs on things to see what developed.
‘Well,’ Lou said in his gravelly voice, ‘you know how Madeline and I feel about Caroline. She’s a great lady.’ He waggled a warning index finger at Nick before he made his way to the door. ‘Make sure you get it right this time.’
On Easter Sunday morning, Caroline was up early to supervise the erection of the blue-and-white striped marquee, the arrangement of garden chairs and tables, and to greet the caterers and give them their instructions. An hour before she got up she had heard her mother, Michaela and Fern go off to Mass. She hoped Fern wouldn’t forget that she was in charge of hiding the Easter eggs for the half dozen small children who’d be coming with their parents — mostly from the McRae family. Fern had met Uncle Frank and Auntie Elsie, and today she would meet all the McRaes: Peter, Mark, Neil, Amy and Angela. Together with spouses and children it was quite a brood!
In all, with family, long-time friends of her mother’s, and several people from Ashworths, they were expecting close to thirty adults — including her ex-husband, Nick. Not that she believed she’d have much time to think about him, which was just as well. Lately she was finding his image and memories of their courtship and marriage slipping unwanted into her thoughts, just when she had considered herself cured of the emotional drain Nick had caused her.
In the kitchen Daphne and Porter were organising the glassware, cutlery and crockery. In the breakfast room Joel sat munching on toast and sipping coffee.
‘Another big night?’ Caroline commented drily as her glance swept over him. Dishevelled and unshaven, he’d surely slept in the clothes he was wearing.
‘Don’t talk so loud, sis, I’m a touch fragile this morning,’ Joel grumbled at her, momentarily closing his hands over his ears to deaden the sound of her voice.
Caroline shook her head. ‘A hot shower, shave and clean clothes will freshen you up,’ she suggested, ignoring his hangover. ‘And, do have it before Mum comes back from Mass. You don’t want her to see you in such a state.’
‘State?’ Bleary-eyed, he stared at her. ‘What do you mean?’
‘You look bloody awful.’ Caroline’s tone was frank.
It had been an awakening, of sorts, coming home to see Joel iron himself out on a regular basis. How he studied and passed the subjects he sat for was a source of amazement to her. Her brother was either brilliant or had a great retentive memory, she’d decided. On one of her more friendly days, Michaela had hinted that Joel’s excessive drinking had been going on for years, since his early teens, but they’d managed to keep his ‘problem’ under wraps and, as far as anyone knew, Laura remained unaware of his binges. She made a mental note to one day, soon, have a long talk with Joel. He had to seek professional help, before the problem got the better of him.
Something about the way she looked at him must have been effective because Joel dragged himself out of the chair, swallowed the last of his coffee, shuddering at its bitter taste, and without a word shuffled off towards the stairs.
Caroline sighed as she went out onto the patio. Of late, she seemed to do a lot of ‘talking’ to people. First her mother, then Michaela, and now Joel was on her list. She chuckled under her breath as she walked towards the marquee. Maybe she should consider doing a course in counselling; it seemed to be becoming her forte.
By the time the first guests arrived the garden looked delightful. An early cloudiness had broken away to patches of bright blue; it was going to be a nice day, if a little cool. Bunches of helium-filled multicoloured balloons had been placed around the garden to add a touch of colour because, going into winter, few plants were flowering. Garden chairs and tables, with the occasional umbrella for shade, gave the lawn a festive look, and Porter had rigged up an outdoor hi-fi system, which was playing pop music. The music wasn’t to Caroline’s particular taste, but she understood that not many guests were overly fond of classical music. She had seen Fern come back from Mass and have fun finding inventive places to hide clusters of tiny, brightly wrapped chocolate Easter eggs, and even Joel, who’d reappeared and looked more animated, was helping out.
Caroline saw her mother stiffen slightly when her brother and sister-in-law came in with their son, Mark, their only unmarried child. Ever since she could remember, her mother’s relationship with her brother had been difficult. Uncle Frank was a prickly individual, and his hazel eyes often betrayed his envy at what his sister had achieved. Historically, she knew that everything Laura Ashworth-Beaumont touched had turned to gold, more or less, whereas Uncle Frank’s endeavours — he’d had a small grocery chain, several cement trucks, a contract beer delivery business and other trucking endeavours — had ended in failure, more often than not. Hence the envy. As well, she had heard over the years enough talk from her mother’s friends to know that the source of his discontent went back to childhood days in Coogee, and Frank’s belief that their parents had favoured Laura over him — which no-one but him believed.
He leant heavily on his cane, his war wound troubling him increasingly these days and adding to his irritability. Frank McRae kissed Laura on the cheek, then turned to give Caroline a similar peck. She thought she glimpsed a rare fondness in his gaze as he looked at her. Unaccountably, Uncle Frank had always liked her, perhaps because she and his eldest son, Peter, were about the same age and he’d had more to do with her than with Michaela and Joel.
‘You’re looking good, Caroline,’ Frank said. His gaze swept about the back garden. ‘This looks very festive for an Easter get-together.’
‘It’s a kind of celebration, I suppose. We’re celebrating Mum’s retirement, my and Fern’s return, that sort of thing.’
‘I’m glad you’ve come home, girl. Europe’s a bit too far away for regular visits.’ He pointed to Fern. ‘Good Lord, I can’t believe how she’s growing. Getting to be quite the young lady, isn’t she?’
‘She is, so don’t you go embarrassing her by telling everyone you used to change her nappies and such,’ Laura piped up. ‘You know teenagers hate that sort of thing.’
‘All right.’ Frank scowled momentarily at his sister and raised his arm in mock protection. ‘I see we have a very protective grandma here.’
Caroline’s responsive grin said it all. She often found it impossible to stay annoyed with her Uncle Frank. He might be a crotchety old individual, but he had a certain charm when he wanted to exert it.
‘You’d better believe it, brother of mine. You have a handful of grandchildren. Six, I believe, and still counting
. To date I only have Fern.’
‘Should I have a chat with Michaela and Joel then? Tell them their mother wants more grandchildren,’ Frank joked, a twinkle in his eye.
‘You’ll do no such thing.’ Laura’s tone was sharp. ‘Joel might be too polite to tell you to mind your own business, but you know Michaela, she wouldn’t have a problem telling you to butt out.’
‘I remember,’ Frank said, nodding his head at his sister. ‘Who’s that bloke she’s with? He looks kind of well-to-do.’
‘Leith Danvers, he’s one of Jeffrey’s lawyers,’ Laura advised. ‘He came to her aid against that mugger. I told you, remember?’ Now that she thought about it, as she looked at them, they did look good together. Michaela, slim and so dark, Leith, tall and fair. Very nice indeed.
‘Course I do,’ Frank said quickly. ‘Joel doesn’t have a current girlfriend, does he?’
‘Not at the moment. He’s studying hard. No time for relationships, I imagine.’ Laura tried not to think that it sounded like an excuse. Since his late teens she knew there had been a steady stream of dates with the opposite sex, even the occasional girlfriend, but nothing too steady or serious. Perhaps a good woman was what her son needed to give him focus, but if he had a girlfriend tucked away somewhere, he wasn’t inclined to talk about her or bring her home to meet the family.
Mark McRae, standing on the fringe of the conversation, snorted rudely at his aunt’s comment. Laura caught his strangely derisive expression and wondered about it before he wandered off to join a group of McRaes. She couldn’t deny it, but she wasn’t overly fond of that particular nephew. Of all Frank and Elsie’s children, Mark was the oddest. Most of the McRae children, other than Mark and Neil, had their mother’s pleasant, warm-hearted personality. Neil, she had found over the years, had developed into an intense, uptight person, and Mark, at twenty-eight the youngest, was cynical and argumentative. The boy seemed to relish confrontations, many of which he deliberately initiated.
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