‘I d-don’t know …’ Even though winter’s chill had invaded the lane as darkness encroached, the man’s hand rose to wipe a sheen of perspiration off his forehead.
‘We can make three times as much money this way, mate. Trust me, I know what I’m doing. It’ll be dead easy.’
‘I guess. You’re the … expert, Lenny.’ The man’s tone became weak, submissive. ‘A-and you’re sure about the money? Three times as much?’
‘Bloody oath, mate.’ Lenny grinned, though he was sure his mate couldn’t see it. Money was the key to participation for this cowardly ingrate. Now for the coup de grâce. ‘Guess what, mate, you’re going to be in on this job. It’s time you got your feet wet. Did some of the dirty work.’
There was a sharp intake of breath, and ‘Me?’ came out in a squeak. ‘That was never part of the deal. I got the information and you stole the product, remember?’
‘Yeah, well, the situation’s changed. You can’t get the information we need any more, can you? So it’s time for some innovation.’ Lenny’s tone was uncompromising. ‘Got a problem with that?’
‘I … I … But …’ His mate tried to come up with an excuse and couldn’t verbalise one. ‘I don’t have any experience in what you and your men do. I might make a hash of it.’
‘Mate, it won’t be too strenuous. We need a lookout, in case something unforeseen comes up when we’re inside. You could do it real easy, believe me.’ Lenny’s tone turned persuasive. ‘Think of the money, mate, the money.’
‘I see.’ There was a long, thoughtful pause. ‘When?’ Mate gave in.
‘I’ll let you know, the usual way,’ Lenny said. He reached forward to grasp the man’s hand. ‘It’s a deal?’
‘I … guess so.’
‘Right, now go. Donger’s waiting in the car for me. We’re off to the Mandarin Club.’
Lenny watched him walk away. His mate’s shoulders were hunched over, his feet were dragging. Mate really was scared shitless. He shook his head in disgust. He’d have Donger keep a watchful eye on him when they did the job. Mate was so gutless he could do something stupid and cruel it for all of them.
He walked out of the shadows of the lane into Pitt Street, blinking at the difference between the gloom and the street lighting, and barrelled straight into a man and woman who were hurrying along the street towards Circular Quay. The woman, who was tall, was thrown off balance. She clutched her partner’s arm for support, muttering something uncomplimentary and undecipherable under her breath.
‘Sorry, lady. Didn’t see you,’ Lenny apologised. Then he recognised her. He straightened to his full height, his tone suddenly solicitous. ‘You okay?’
Michaela Beaumont stood on one leg to rub her ankle with her free hand. ‘I guess so. No permanent damage,’ she said with a grimace at the businessman.
‘You sure?’ Leith Danvers asked. He was staring belligerently at the smaller man, who’d almost made his date fall flat on her face. There was straight-out criticism in his tone.
‘Mister, you should watch where you’re going, you know.’
‘Yeah, I was miles away. Sorry.’ Lenny wasn’t scared of the blond-haired, much bigger man’s annoyance. He had a small army of men who could rough up such types if he so much as snapped his fingers. However, he was in ‘businessman mode’, therefore he had to appear politely interested. He didn’t give a shit about the man or his intimidating frown, but he was completely taken by Michaela Beaumont. He recognised her because she’d spasmodically haunted his dreams since he’d seen her photo in the paper. In the flesh she was twice as beautiful and much more vivacious. Magnificent was the first but not the only superlative that came to mind. He reached into the breast pocket of his coat and took out his business card.
‘This is my business, Plan Early Pty Ltd.’ Lenny spoke exclusively to her. There was no real business, just a phone line at his Tamarama home with an answering machine facility. ‘If I have done serious damage, I’d be more than willing to compensate you. Please, contact me if there’s a need.’ He tried not to stare like a love-struck schoolboy but, damn it, it was hard. She had a flawless complexion, silky black hair and dark brown eyes that a man could drown in. Shit! What was he thinking of? Was he going crazy? Pull yourself together, man.
‘That’s kind of you, but I think I’ll be fine,’ Michaela said, slightly mollified by the man’s politeness.
‘Take the card, please,’ he said softly, in his most persuasive tone. ‘Just in case.’
Lenny’s gaze narrowed thoughtfully on the other man as Leith reached across Michaela. He took the business card and, after reading it, tucked it into the top pocket of his suit coat. ‘Thank you, Mr Kovacs.’ He turned towards Michaela. ‘If you’re okay, we’d better hurry. We’ll miss the opening.’
‘My apologies again,’ Lenny murmured as he watched them walk away. He knew that in less than five minutes they’d forget the little drama enacted outside Ashworths Boutique Department Store. He wouldn’t, though. Couldn’t! His life had irrevocably changed. He had just met the most superb, the most desirable woman in the world. That’s what his dick and other relevant body parts were telling him. He had the most unbelievable hard-on and had to button his double-breasted coat to disguise the inconvenience.
For what must have been several minutes, Lenny stood in the middle of the footpath watching Michaela and the man until they were swallowed up by the darkness. Suddenly he was overcome by curiosity. He wanted to, had to know all about her. Where she lived, what she liked to do. He wanted to know everything. Was she serious about the blond man with her? He’d put his most trusted employee on the case to find out what made Michaela Beaumont tick. What made her laugh and what he had to do to make her say yes!
Deep inside him, feelings he’d never before experienced were taking control. His heart had started to beat at a ridiculous rate, and he couldn’t get his mind off her. Michaela Beaumont. Lenny wanted her like he’d never wanted any other woman … ever. His pugnacious jaw jutted forward as he began to walk towards the car where Donger sat waiting for him … And he was going to have her.
Chapter Ten
Caroline opened the letter from the lawyer who represented her in Paris and read the contents, which confirmed the phone call she had received almost two weeks ago. A buyer had been found for the apartment on the Ile St-Louis. The amount offered was considerable, better than expected, and she had no reason not to accept the deal. Now she had sufficient funds to buy a Sydney property, but she hesitated. Should she? Fern was comfortable at number fifty-two and so was she, most of the time. Only when Michaela was being difficult was it unpleasant. Usually they dealt well enough with each other, but a sense of distance, the feeling of not being trusted no matter what she did, remained between them and the doubts remained — if only in Michaela’s mind. The estrangement made things awkward for Fern as well, because she adored both Joel and Michaela.
Sitting in the living room, she waited for Nick to pick her and Fern up for a sail on the harbour. She had given in and had decided to get it over and done with so, while waiting, Caroline browsed through the business section of the Saturday edition of the Sydney Morning Herald. The item was tucked into a corner of the financial news and she almost missed it. It was no more than eight or ten lines. A financial expert was advising readers that Ashworths’ shares had dropped another two percentage points. ‘Shares are being traded at a brisk pace,’ said the expert amongst other, not-so-subtle comments about falling sales.
Caroline pondered how the ‘expert’ had got the information about the company’s sales figures. Was a company member feeding financial people information and, if so, for what reason? Then she thought about the continuing sale of shares. At times that wasn’t a true negative, because sell-offs could spark speculative investor interest from those who perused the stock market looking to pick up shares at a lower price, with the expectation that they’d soon rise. Still, she couldn’t deny the downwards slide. The drop could make other Ashworths’
shareholders nervous enough to decide to bail out with a small profit, rather than risk an overall financial loss. Caroline had some experience with shares, having a modest European portfolio. She also had a seven per cent stake in Ashworths and shares in Nick’s company, too.
It was puzzling why Ashworths continued to lose points. She knew that all companies went through market rises and falls but, overall, her mother’s company was stable, even if sales were below budget and had been for the last six months. To her mind, the gradual drop in the share price lacked a logical basis. And of additional interest was the fact that while shares were being sold, they were just as quickly being re-purchased. She had phoned the broker who handled their business and ascertained that a few weeks ago.
Takeover! The word screamed inside her head and remained to gather momentum. Her heart jumped a beat or two as she began to concentrate on it. Was it possible that simply because her mother had retired, the share price was weakening? Or were other factors involved? Could a competitor perceive, accurately or otherwise, a weakness in the company and want to take advantage of that? Was it one company or were many small speculators buying the shares? And how large a percentage was needed to instigate a takeover bid? The Beaumont family jointly owned forty per cent of the company. The McRae family, as a whole, owned fifteen per cent, which together gave them a fifty-five per cent controlling share of the company. The rest of the shares were owned by parcels of small investors. Who, she wondered, could want Ashworths — Farmers, Grace Bros, David Jones — to absorb Ashworths into their own conglomerates? Or could it be a newcomer, perhaps an international investor?
A frown creased her forehead as the questions tumbled through her brain one after another and with them came the real possibility that she could be magnifying the situation out of all proportion. She needed to talk out her fears to someone, but to whom? Daniel. Michaela. Nick — possibly. His company, B & S Constructions, had resisted a takeover themselves only last year. First though, she should make further discreet investigations of her own. She made a mental note to start first thing Monday morning.
Fern bustled into the living room, an overnight bag slung over her shoulder. ‘Dad’s here.’
‘Okay. Let’s go.’ Caroline knew there would be time later to ponder what she had begun to explore. For now, she had to get through the day with Nick in close proximity. Thinking about that pushed concerns about shares and takeovers from her consciousness.
It was cool but not chillingly cold on the harbour and at least the sun shone, even if it provided little warmth. In spite of believing the day would be a chore, that she was participating to please Fern rather than herself, Caroline found it all enjoyable. Nick’s other crew members, a married couple named Lee and Michelle Davis, who were saving to buy their own yacht, were a pleasant twosome. Caroline marvelled at her daughter’s expertise on the water. Fern had only sailed with Nick about six times, yet she seemed an old hand at it. Trimming the mainsail, winching the jib, tying a variety of marine knots on the ropes, and even steering the yacht. It was obvious that Fern loved the ocean and that she loved being with her father. She pushed aside melancholy memories of all the times Fern hadn’t been with him, and what Nick had missed, too. Today she was determined not to think any bitter thoughts; it would spoil things if she did.
When Lee and Michelle unfurled the dark blue spinnaker, the yacht, Caro One, jerked forward as the wind caught and ballooned the sail out. Caroline was almost knocked off balance by the suddenness of the deck pitching down and forward beneath her feet.
Nick caught her by the arm. ‘You okay?’
‘Yes.’ She laughed to hide her embarrassment. She didn’t like to feel awkward or dependent on Nick as she did right now. Her hands had automatically locked onto his forearms for support as they both shuffled to re-establish their footing, which brought them closer. A stiff breeze whipped his dark hair across his forehead and, with his all-year-round tan and dark eyes — for a moment Caroline let her imagination take hold. In bygone days he could have passed for a daring pirate. Oh, for God’s sake, stop being fanciful! She let him go and righted her balance by grabbing the handrail rope which ran around the sides of the yacht.
‘We’ll make a sailor out of you yet, Mum,’ Fern decreed with a giggle as, sure footedly, she padded down the deck towards them. ‘I was like you, all wobbly, until I found my sea legs.
Wasn’t I, Dad?’
Nick nodded. ‘Everyone is at first.’ He studied Caroline closely for a few seconds. ‘You’re not getting seasick, so that’s a plus.’
‘Where are we sailing to today, Dad?’
‘Well,’ Nick pretended to think about it, ‘there’s not much traffic on the harbour, so we might sail across the heads as far as Manly, then head towards Balmoral Beach. A café near the beach does a wonderful Balmain bug chowder. It’s a popular place on weekends, so I booked a table for 1 pm. Chowder with crusty bread, it’s just the thing to warm one up on a wintry day.’
‘How do we get to the beach?’ Caroline wanted to know. ‘There’s no wharf at Balmoral, is there?’
‘We’ll use the runabout.’ He pointed to the yacht’s cabin. ‘The yellow inflatable dinghy tied to the cabin’s roof has a detachable outboard. It’ll take two trips, but most of us will make it to shore without getting our feet wet.’
‘Come on, Mum, I’ll give you a tour of the boat. Then I’ll teach you how to tie a few maritime knots,’ Fern offered. She looked at her father and grinned. ‘Just the easy ones, Dad. Not the hard ones like the bowline or the blackwall hitch.’
‘You’re all heart, darling,’ Caroline said, tongue in cheek, aware that their daughter was enjoying showing off her seaman’s skills. And what a switch! The daughter teaching the mother, instead of the other way round. No wonder Fern was grinning from ear to ear.
‘Okay, let’s do it.’
When it came to disembarking at Balmoral, Nick, who’d put on his calf-high gumboots, insisted that he carry both Fern and Caroline onto the sand.
The beachside restaurant was crowded with Sunday tourists, but that didn’t stop the five yachties from having a delightful meal in enjoyable company. Caroline tried not to be overly aware that Fern was watching her and Nick closely, her young, expressive face betraying the hope that, perhaps, today might mark the beginning of a reconciliation between them. She did not want to think about that.
Nick was his usual, effusive self. He talked easily about a variety of subjects to Lee and Michelle and gave Fern his full attention when she told him about her week at school. As well, she’d have had to be half-blind not to be aware of the several interested glances he received from other women in the café. Why not? She could understand their interest. Nick Beaumont was an attractive man who’d always stood out in a crowd, and he oozed an aura of success. Still, oddly, the fact that the women were making their curiosity obvious irked her, and she wasn’t sorry when they stepped back on board Caro One.
The return trip to the Royal Sydney Yacht Squadron’s marina at Kirribilli was accomplished with a combination of sail and lastly, as they neared the marina, the yacht’s auxiliary motor.
Fern was sitting at the bow of the yacht, studying the waves as they crashed into white foam over the prow. The Davises were tidying up and enjoying a cup of coffee in the galley. Nick steered the yacht and Caroline sat on the deck near the stern, watching a multitude of magnificent harbourside mansions pass by.
As she watched the real estate go by, her serene expression masked a confusion of thoughts. She had enjoyed today in spite of herself! She had liked being with Nick. The breath caught in her throat. Liked being with Nick. The phrase repeated itself several times and she couldn’t deny the truth of it, though she might want to. Amazing, and yes, it was a little scary. Could she still have feelings for him?
God, she’d asked that question before, after the Easter Sunday party at number fifty-two, and not come up with an answer that brought her true peace of mind. Then she remembered something Jo had said
at work one day. Jo Levy was scared to get back on the ‘marriage-go-round’ because she couldn’t bear another failure. Caroline sympathised with that, and had the same concerns. It was safer to maintain the status quo than risk being hurt again or, worse, failing.
While his back was turned to her, her gaze ran over Nick’s physique. His black hair gleamed in the afternoon sunlight, and checking out his wide shoulders, narrow hips and taut backside caused a shiver of awareness to slide down her spine. That brought with it a heavy throb low in her stomach. She let out a sigh, which was instantly dispersed into the sea breeze. The status quo might be the safe way to go, but taking risks, going with emotions, brought other, sometimes delightful and definitely interesting com pensations. But … she had to ask the question: was she ready?
Nick turned towards her, catching her off guard. ‘You look miles away, Caro. A penny for your thoughts.’
Caroline flushed — if only he knew! To compensate for her confusion, she said the first thing that came into her head, blurting out her concern over Ashworths’ shares even though, earlier, she had decided to keep her doubts private until she knew more.
He listened without interrupting. ‘You’re worried, aren’t you?’
‘I don’t know.’ She hesitated for a few seconds. ‘Maybe. I could be exaggerating everything.’
52 Waratah Avenue Page 18
