Nick’s dark eyes probed her features. ‘That’s not like you, Caro. You’re not prone to blowing things out of proportion.’ He thought for a moment. ‘Would you like me to do some checking, see if the shares are being bought up by one party? My financial administrator, Vince Lee, is a great investigator. He’s well known at the Stock Exchange and on the Sydney business scene. If something’s a bit fishy, he’ll find out.’
It was nice of Nick to offer, but would she be imposing? She could think of several reasons why she should refuse, yet his offer was so tempting and to have someone to share the problem with would ease her mind. And, in spite of past personal problems, she trusted Nick’s business instincts. He and Lou had turned Jack’s construction company into a multimillion dollar business and since Nick’s successful trip to Singapore, B&S had moved into the international construction business. What could she lose if she said yes?
‘It would be no trouble, really,’ he coaxed.
‘All right.’
‘Good.’ Smiling, as if he’d won a victory, Nick throttled back on the yacht’s motor as they neared the marina berth.
Michaela, features tense, pored over the advertising campaign Jo Levy had roughed up as part of her business plan to rejuvenate Ashworths. It was excellent. Jo had an uncanny ability to come up with the right angle to promote new products, such as her 18 to 28 scheme. She glanced at her watch. They were meeting in five minutes and today, because they’d be talking about her 18 to 28 — that’s what she’d codenamed it — for extra privacy they were going to City Tattersalls Club in Pitt Street for lunch.
Fine drizzle greeted Jo and Michaela as they stepped out of Ashworths’ main entrance. Within ten minutes they were seated on the first floor of the club, with plates piled high with smorgasbord fare.
‘I can see we’ll have to visit this place sparingly. The food’s much too tempting,’ Jo commented as she tucked into what was on her plate.
‘You’re right.’
Neither had to worry about their weight; both were blessed with a good metabolism and exercised regularly. And neither had noticed the man who had discreetly followed them from Ashworths to City Tatts and who sat alone several tables away, watching them as he ate. Jo and Michaela were used to being looked at, especially by men, so they took little notice of the appraising glances from several well-dressed businessmen as well as the other interested party. Besides, they were busy discussing Michaela’s 18 to 28 plan.
‘I’m almost ready to go. The cost estimates are in. It’s not going to be as expensive as I thought. That will be a plus for the board,’ Michaela told Jo. ‘Your advertising plan will clinch it, I hope.’
‘Will you wait till Laura comes back?’
Michaela pulled a face. ‘I don’t think so. Officially, Mum has retired and, legally, no longer has a vote on the board or, theoretically, anything to do with running the company, though she remains the largest single shareholder with nineteen per cent of company shares. I think it would be smart to present it before her return. Even if the board decides not to make a decision until it’s discussed with her — as a courtesy — I’d like to put it to them as soon as possible.’
‘What about Caroline?’
‘What about her?’ Michaela threw back the question, her features impassive. She knew Jo didn’t share her anxieties about the possibility of Caroline having a secret ambition to run Ashworths. She alone seemed to think it was something to be wary of.
Jo shrugged her shoulders, her expression showing her awareness of the semi-estrangement between the sisters.
‘It could be a good move, perhaps a wise one, to have Caroline on your side, even though she isn’t on the board. Daniel and Warren seem to respect her opinion, despite the fact that she’s been at Ashworths for only a short time. Besides, Caroline’s a pretty forward-thinking person. If you share the details of your plan with her, I think you’ll find her an ally rather than an enemy.’
Michaela sat back and gazed thoughtfully at Jo. She took her time answering. ‘I’ll think about it.’ There was a risk in involving Caroline. What if she pre-empted her plan and blabbed it to someone on the board before she presented it properly? That could scuttle the whole idea. She opted to change the subject … Smiling, she said, ‘Enough about Caroline. Now, you have to tell me, how did your date go with Neil?’
‘You were right. Neil’s a bit too heavy to take. He tried hard to be congenial though. Too hard! Nothing was a problem for him. We went to an expensive restaurant and had the best wine and food,’ Jo admitted with a sigh. She waggled a finger at Michaela. ‘Don’t you dare say I told you so.’
‘Okay.’ Michaela grinned back like a self-satisfied Cheshire cat. ‘You had to find out for yourself. Neil and Mark are pains. I saw Mark hovering around the store last week, even though Daniel had dismissed him from the firm because of the ruckus on Easter Sunday. He was told not to darken our doors again. The little twerp would cause trouble if he could. I told Boris to smarten security and make sure Mark doesn’t come into the store. I don’t trust him, especially after that Easter Sunday thing.’
‘Someone in personnel told me she’d seen Mark.’ Jo added what she knew. ‘He said he was in the store to pick up a severance cheque.’
‘A likely story!’ Michaela scoffed. She studied Jo with an unusual intensity for several seconds, before she said, ‘Now on to more interesting things than my cousins. Are you going to tell me what you and Daniel were talking so cozily about down on the second floor yesterday? And don’t say it was business, ‘cause I won’t believe you.’
Jo laughed. ‘You’re hopeless, you know. We were just … talking.’ She saw the disbelief on her friend’s face and added, ‘Oh, all right. He asked the children and me out. A cousin of his, Dieter de Lucey and his family, are coming over from Amsterdam to stay with him for a week. Dieter’s children are the same age as Joshua and Kirra and speak English. Daniel asked if we’d like to join them for a picnic, to the National Park, or maybe on a harbour cruise. It was nice of him to ask.’ She paused for a brief reflection. ‘You were right about Daniel, he is a lonely man.’
‘Can I say I told you so now?’ Michaela’s smile was pure cheekiness. ‘I wouldn’t exactly classify it as a date though, but it is a beginning.’
‘No, you cannot,’ Jo replied with vigour, but the corners of her own mouth turned up in a secretive kind of smile. ‘Come on, let’s grab a coffee before we go back to work, shall we?’
The man who’d been watching them throughout their meal continued to observe and, when they left the club in a hurry to get back to Ashworths, so did he.
Joel slit open the envelope with the letter opener, but took his time removing the sheet of paper. He could take a fair guess at the contents. Eventually he glanced down. Right again. He hadn’t passed the obstetrics case study exam — he’d failed it by three lousy marks. Damn! Joel took an empty pleasure in scrunching the paper into a tight ball and, aiming it at the small trash can by his desk, scoring a direct hit.
Frustrated, he ran his fingers through his hair. Shit, what the hell was he doing with his life? Kidding himself that he could be a responsible, capable doctor! Why didn’t he give the thing up, fill a backpack with clothes and take off and bum around Europe or South America for a year or two? He grimaced as he admitted the appeal of the idea. But then he took the other viewpoint — he had come so far. He was almost there … And he and Professor Grebeveski were making headway on the research paper into weakening cardiovascular systems and non-surgical alternative methods of treatment. Besides, there was Elissa. What would she think of him if he threw his hands up in the air and gave up? Thinking about her made him sit up straight on the side of the bed.
What Elissa Markovitch thought about him was important to him. He closed his eyes so he could picture her more easily. That superb hair of hers. God, he longed to run his fingers through it, longed to touch her, longed to kiss her, and more. He grimaced again. Shit, mate, you’ve got it seriously bad this time.
He thought back over what had happened at uni last week. They’d finished work at the same time, as they often did. They would then share a meal, but this time she had wanted to get home, so he’d walked her to her car. Her ten-year-old Corolla wouldn’t start and while he was good at tinkering with motors — he did it all the time with his much-loved Corvette — he couldn’t get the compact car’s motor going. Then she said she wasn’t in the NRMA because her older brother, Mischa, took care of any mechanical problems she had. Gallantly, and because it was well after 8 pm and it would take hours for her to get home by public transport, he’d offered to drive her home. Elissa had accepted.
The drive to Bankstown had been wonderful and he’d driven as slowly as he could get away with. During the drive they’d talked and talked. She told him about her family: Mischa, who was her eldest brother, and Illya, who was a year younger than herself, and her father, Vladimir, who’d been an educated man in his home village in the Ukraine, and her mother, Tilda. Vladimir had emigrated to Australia in 1960, but his teaching diploma hadn’t been recognised and, with his broken English, the only work he could get was in the construction field, and later on with B & S Constructions. Her mother, Tilda, whose English was still very poor according to Elissa, still worked in a clothing factory for minimum wages. Between them, the Markovitchs had raised and educated their three children. Mischa was a mechanical engineer, and Illya was studying
journalism and political science. Elissa had become a proficient secretary and had saved almost enough money to put down a deposit on her own apartment.
From the way Elissa had talked, Joel could tell she was proud of what the Markovitchs had achieved in their adopted country. Perhaps that’s why she was so fiercely independent. He admired her deeply for that.
Suddenly Joel growled deep in his throat as his thoughts returned to the present. What he needed was a good, strong drink … several drinks, in fact. However, the solace alcohol brought him would have to wait because he was due at the professor’s rooms in an hour; they were beginning to collate facts and figures for Harry’s paper.
‘You look glum, Joel. What’s wrong?’ Elissa asked as soon as he’d sat down.
She didn’t miss much, he noted. Her hazel eyes, as well as her tongue on occasions, could be very sharp indeed. ‘Nothing much, just failed an exam, that’s all.’
‘That’s all!’ she repeated, mimicking his voice far too well. ‘I don’t think that’s good. Did you study for it?’
‘A bit,’ he admitted. His half-boyish, half-guilty grin hoped for sympathy. He didn’t get any.
‘That’s not good enough, Joel Beaumont. Goodness — don’t you see? — you’re almost there. If I were you I’d be studying my brains out to make sure I passed every subject, aiming for credits or distinctions, too.’
‘You’re not me,’ he replied, more sharply than he meant to. ‘There’s a lot of pressure, you know …’
‘Oh, spare me!’ Elissa’s gaze narrowed and her expression hardened. ‘Poor little rich boy, can’t stand the pressure. Do you know how lucky you are to have the brains and the money to be doing medicine? Lots of students who didn’t quite make the grade would give everything to be in your position. And what do you do? Whine about not passing an exam when it’s your own fault that you didn’t.’
‘Elissa, Elissa.’ Harry Grebeveski came out from his office to see what the commotion was about. ‘Have faith, Elissa. Don’t be too hard on our Joel.’ He turned to the young man, noted his misery and that it was caused more by her verbal sharpness than by failing the exam. ‘You can take a supplementary exam, can’t you?’
‘If the dean of the faculty lets me,’ Joel said, still smarting from Elissa’s lack of sympathy. Her words stung most because she spoke the truth and, sometimes, the truth was hard to take. He was a lucky bastard, always had been, except for that one time when … when … his father … Joel shook his head to clear the memories, force the sadness back to his subconscious. He ran his tongue around the inside of his mouth. He’d kill for a drink. Alcohol eased the pain of failure, helped to dull the hurt, if only temporarily. Christ, he might be a lucky bastard, but he was also a weak one. Other people had worse experiences in their lives and got on with things without the crutch he had developed such a need for. Why couldn’t he?
Joel stood up, the legs of the chair scraping the floor in his haste. He couldn’t stay, his need for relief and, ultimately, oblivion was greater. ‘I’ve got to go.’
‘You’ve just arrived,’ Elissa pointed out succinctly. ‘You and the professor have work to do.’
Though he didn’t look at her, he could feel her studying him intensely, as if she had the facility to see into his head, into his very soul. That scared him. She might see through to the sham of the man he really was. He didn’t think he could bear for her to know his weakness; she was so strong and would despise him for it. ‘There’s something I’ve got to do.’ He wiped the back of his hand across his dry mouth. ‘I-it can’t wait.’
‘We can do the work later,’ Harry Grebeveski muttered accommodatingly.
‘You’d better go then,’ Elissa remarked coolly. Her gaze moved back to the computer screen as if already dismissing him.
The closest pub was the Doncaster and that’s where Joel headed. The first beer hardly wet the sides as it went down, the second too. By the time he was on his fourth, he had begun to relax. The alcohol was doing its work, dulling everything, even the memory of the criticism in Elissa’s eyes.
He had just ordered his fifth schooner when Elissa Markovitch marched into the sparsely populated bar. She sat on a bar stool next to him.
‘I wasn’t sure where you were. I went to the Castellorizian Club and the White Horse Hotel first. Then I saw your Corvette parked on Anzac Parade and knew you were here,’ she admitted to her detective work a little breathlessly, as if she’d been rushing.
‘It’s best if you go away,’ Joel told her as he reached for his glass and in his haste almost knocked it over. He was a quiet, eventually morose, drunk, and he was almost halfway to his goal of total inebriation.
Elissa’s lips pursed. She considered his suggestion. ‘I could do that, now I know what your need is. That would be the smart thing to do, walk away and let you swallow a bellyful.’ She placed a hand on the sleeve of his jacket and her tone was caring. ‘I want to help, Joel.’ She watched him down a quarter of his schooner in one swallow.
‘Shit, Elissa, no-one can help me.’ He glanced at her and for a moment the depth of his self-torture showed in his troubled blue depths. ‘I’m beyond help. Just go away and let me do what I have to do.’ His words were punctuated with a couple of hiccups — he’d drunk his last beer too quickly.
She winced at his slurred tone and her chin firmed with determination. ‘Joel, you don’t have to do what you’re doing. You can fight this …’ she chose the word carefully, ‘dependency. Let me help.’
‘Why do you want to?’ Curiosity made him ask. He blinked at her twice because it was getting harder to see her clearly.
Elissa took a deep breath. ‘Because I … care. About you. About what happens to you.’
Her frankness — a trademark of Elissa’s nature — made him put his glass down on the bar. He gave her a searching look for maybe thirty seconds or so. ‘D-do you know what you’re saying, Elissa? What you could be letting yourself in for?’ He shook his head in amazement that she even wanted to try, but at the same time his right hand grasped the glass again. He didn’t raise it to his lips. ‘I’m not worth it.’
‘You will be,’ she said confidently. ‘If you want to, finish your beer, then we’ll go. The professor’s given me the rest of the day off, and we’re going to take a nice long walk around Centennial Park — that should sober you up — and, during it, you’ll tell me what the real problem is.’ Her hand reached up to turn his face so he had to look into her eyes. ‘Can you do that, Joel?’
‘I don’t know.’ His answer was nothing if not honest but,
strangely, her expression told him that she was satisfied by it. ‘I’ll try.’
Earl Conway walked up the flight of steps to the front door of Lenny Kovacs’ Tamarama home in the darkness, a folder tucked under his left arm. Donger let him in, passing on the information that Lenny was in the kitchen eating dinner.
Lenny glanced up from his meal as Earl joined him. ‘Hi, Earl, want a coffee? Help yourself.’ He knew Earl never ate before they did a job and tonight they were going to execute a big one.
‘Thanks.’
Earl made his coffee then sat at the table opposite Lenny, who continued to hoe into his medium-rare rump steak, chips and a leafy side salad.
After watching Lenny eat for a while, Earl said in a distinctly English accent, ‘I got the information you wanted, it’s pretty comprehensive.’
Lenny looked suitably impressed. ‘You were quick.’ He cut another piece of steak, stabbed a chip, put the lot in his mouth and began to chew rhythmically.
‘Wasn’t hard. Michaela Beaumont’s life is an open book.’ Earl pushed the folder towards Lenny.
Suddenly Lenny wasn’t hungry any more; he pushed the plate aside. His curiosity about Michaela peaking, he leafed through the folder, studying each page and its information carefully, committing the important parts to memory. She was a class act in every way, no doubt about it, as was her mother, whom he’d periodically read about for years in the Sunday papers’ social columns. He made it a point to be well read, in spite of his background and poor formal education. Lenny had grown up in a two-bedroom semi-detached house in Zetland, the youngest of four boys, idolising a mother who’d worked herself into an early grave and having respect, if not liking, for his rough-and-tumble father. His father, Bert, had been built like an ox and, for most of his working life, had heaved kegs from pub to pub for Reschs Brewery until he’d keeled over on the job, dead in an instant from a massive heart attack at the age of fifty-three. His father’s premature death when Lenny was seventeen and his own humble beginnings made him determined to better himself in whatever way he could. That’s when he’d met Mate, all those years ago …
52 Waratah Avenue Page 19
