52 Waratah Avenue

by Lynne Wilding

  Laura’s features remained impassive. ‘Sounds interesting, dear, and I can understand why Teddy would want you — you’ve a wealth of musical experience. Is it something you really want to do?’

  Caroline made a fluttering expression with her hands. ‘I’m torn in two directions. I enjoy the work at Ashworths — it’s made me realise just how much you’ve accomplished over the years, but you also know that my first love has always been music.’

  ‘Wouldn’t conducting be very different from what you’ve done in the past?’ Laura probed in that subtle way she had, neither criticising nor encouraging.

  Caroline looked at her hands. It was late afternoon and they were beginning to stiffen. She needed an hour’s piano practice to free up the tightening muscles and dissipate the swelling in the joints. ‘Yes. There are advantages in that, though. I can’t kid myself. I’ll never play professionally again but, with my experience, I know I can be of some use to the music world.’

  ‘Sounds as if you’ve already decided what you want to do.’

  Caroline looked at her mother, instinctively knowing that she was disguising any disappointment. ‘I have, I think. Mum, I don’t want to let you down. You hoped that Michaela and I would run Ashworths one day. Now that she’s no longer antagonistic towards me, in time that’s a distinct possibility. If I leave …’ She waited for her mother to pick up the cue.

  ‘You have to do what’s right for you, not for me.’ Laura paused for a few seconds. ‘I admit that I’m disappointed. As a mother I claim that right. However, more than anything else, I want you to feel fulfilled and, if that means you train as Teddy’s stand-in conductor, then,’ she smiled warmly, ‘you have my blessings.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Yes. Really.’ Caroline had been fitting into the Ashworths management well, better than expected, even with Michaela’s temperamental attitude towards her. Daniel and Warren said she showed potential to become a future MD. Still, Laura knew her daughter too well, and knew that her heart really wasn’t in the retail trade — unlike her sister, who lived and breathed it. She should return to her first love, music, and as hard as it might be, Laura accepted that.

  Deeming it wise to change the subject, Laura got the postmortem ball on Elissa rolling. ‘Now that that’s settled, what do you think of Joel’s girlfriend?’

  ‘I like Elissa,’ Caroline said straight up. ‘She’s what Joel needs, someone with purpose, to organise him. He can be a bit soft sometimes, you know.’

  Laura nodded. ‘Me too, I agree. Joel needs a strong woman to guide him. My concern is for Joel more than Elissa. She’s like her parents, a survivor. But, if she walked away from him, he’d be devastated.’ Laura smiled at Caroline. ‘However, I don’t believe that will happen. That young woman is very much in love with Joel. I just hope he’s good enough for her.’

  Lenny had made arrangements to meet his mate at a pub called The Seaman’s Drift, down by the wharves; it was one of his favourite haunts. He glanced at his watch before he lit a cigarette. 7.30 pm. His little mate was late. Unusual for him, he was the punctual type down to the second. He amused himself by studying the half-empty bar. Most of the wharfies had wended their way home, leaving only the die-hards to drink themselves under the table or wait for a half-decent whore or two to come in and offer their wares — if they were capable of performing, that was.

  He wasn’t, after he’d had too many beers. Thinking about sex, his thoughts automatically turned to Michaela. Tomorrow they were flying north, just the two of them, to Armidale. He’d become used to the routine of it now, those Sunday flights. Atrociously early mornings, up at the ungodly hour of 5.30 am. The small plane with its noisy engine. Seeing her look so perfect, as if she’d just stepped off the cover of Harper’s Bazaar or some similar fashion magazine. How he managed to keep his desire to grab her and kiss her and make wild love to her under control when he was with her continued to amaze him. It was easier if someone was with them, like Fern or her older sister. What was her name? Caroline, the ex-concert pianist, Fern’s mother. She was an older, paler version of Michaela.

  Michaela: achingly gorgeous, oh, so sexy Michaela! Now restless and aroused, he rubbed his hands together. Christ, he thought about her when he was awake and when he was asleep, too, in highly erotic dreams. Sometimes he woke to find that he’d wet himself, like a randy teenager. Shit, that was embarrassing. If he didn’t have her soon he’d go crazy.

  Donger and Earl had given him questioning looks as to why he hadn’t made a move on the socialite businesswoman. They didn’t understand. How could they? If they wanted a woman badly enough, they made no bones about letting her know and pressing their case until she gave in, as most of them did. Philistines. He loved Michaela.

  He could admit that now, and he had never allowed himself to fall in love with any woman before. She deserved finesse, kid-glove treatment, and she was getting it. But, he grinned to himself, finally, over several months, she trusted him. She’d even visited his Tamarama home for coffee, and tomorrow there would be just the two of them. Real progress.

  He didn’t like her talking so much about Leith Danvers though. They were obviously in a relationship and, Christ, he hated that. It churned his guts into mincemeat thinking about them together. He’d hoped the affair would run its course, that she’d tire of the blond Swede. If that didn’t happen soon, then maybe he would have to find a way to take the competition out of the picture. He stubbed out his cigarette as he thought. That was beginning to look like a distinct possibility.

  Out of the corner of his eye, Lenny watched his mate come into the bar; he wore a nylon raincoat because it was pissing down outside. He looked decidedly uncomfortable amongst the seventies decor and the few, huge wharfies lounging about at various tables. Good. He liked his mate to be slightly uncomfortable, it gave him the edge.

  ‘How’re you going, mate?’ Lenny said as he pumped the man’s slightly damp hand. He had the urge to wipe his own dry on his trousers, but didn’t. Men with limp, wet handshakes were dickless bastards. That was his considered opinion and everything he knew about his mate confirmed that to be the truth. ‘How’s business, mate?’

  ‘B-busy as hell, Lenny.’ Mate’s tone was tense; he was always tense around Lenny. ‘And you?’

  ‘I’m not complaining.’ He wasn’t. Overall, his business group had had a highly profitable winter and spring. Plans for summer looked good, too. ‘Hang on while I get us a couple of beers.’ He toddled off towards the bar, grinning. He liked his mate to sweat it a bit. Yes, he liked that.

  Lenny brought back two schooners of amber fluid and put them on the table. He looked across at his companion. ‘What have you got for me, mate?’

  ‘Got for you?’ mate repeated, blinking owlishly at Lenny. ‘What do you mean? I told you that access to Ashworths’ shipping schedules has been drastically restricted.’

  ‘You’re a clever boy, mate, you can figure a way around that. One more job, hey? What do you say?’

  Mate stared across the table at Lenny, as if he’d been asked to commit murder. He scratched the side of his temple, and the right side of his mouth began to twitch. ‘Not possible, Lenny. It’s too risky.’

  Lenny didn’t care for that answer. His fingers began to drum on the top of the beer-stained table. He stared at his mate, really stared hard until the other’s gaze shifted away uncomfortably. ‘Such a defeatist attitude, mate. I’m disappointed.’ He knitted his fingers together and began to twiddle the thumbs slowly as he contemplated. ‘Let me see if I can find a way around this, shall I?’

  ‘Th-there’s n-nothing I can do. If I make the schedules available to you, the finger could point directly to me. That’d be crazy, Lenny.’

  ‘Yeah, sure,’ Lenny agreed, his tone soothing. ‘Don’t want them to twig to the source, do we?’

  Mate relaxed. He took a sip of his beer, leaving a thin white foam moustache on his upper lip until he wiped it off with a handkerchief.

  ‘I’ve got it!’
Lenny said, as if he’d given the matter serious thought. ‘What if there was a break-in at the Ashworths store? It’s possible. Your security man, Jakelic, thinks his blokes are the best, but Earl reckons your company’s security stinks. It wouldn’t be difficult to pull a job if someone on the inside were to leave a particular door unlocked, say the one that leads to the roof. And switch off the burglar alarm.’

  ‘You’re kidding, aren’t you. How …?’

  Lenny touched the side of his nose with his index finger. ‘Leave the details to me, mate. Just know that it can be done. I could bring in a safe man to do the main safe. The company keeps a goodly sum of cash there overnight, don’t they? The jewellery department, it has some very nice stuff too. Jewels, watches, even cameras are easy to carry and to move.’

  Mate was shaking his head vigorously. ‘I don’t know … A guard checks each floor on the hour.’

  The drumming of Lenny’s fingers became more insistent. ‘Look, mate. All I need from you is a plan of the building, where the burglar alarm is and the type, also what’s on each floor and where the stairs are. That sort of thing, plus the location of the main safe. On the night, you stay back, hide somewhere, and then you open the door to the roof to let us in. We’d come in and out that way. Wouldn’t bother the security guards at all. It’d be dead easy, mate.’

  A quiver ran through the other man’s body. He straightened up and put his beer to one side. There was a strange expression on his face, as if he’d come to some kind of decision. ‘No. I can’t be involved.’ He shook his head vigorously. ‘It’s too dangerous for me. If something went wrong …’

  ‘Can’t! Did you say can’t? That’s not a word I’m overly fond of, mate.’

  ‘Sorry, Lenny. My nerves were shot for a week after that warehouse job. I’m not cut out for, for … what you want me to do.’

  Lenny frowned furiously, his eyes hardening. ‘Not cut out. Shit, mate, who the hell do you think you’re talking to? You’re in this as deep as I am. Up to your bloody armpits, you gutless shit. If I tell you to jump, you ask, “How high, Mr Kovacs?” Get my drift, mate?’

  ‘I get your drift, but …’ There was a pause and mate licked his lips. ‘The answer is still no. I want out. I’ve had enough.’

  Something about his mate’s tone, the unexpected decisiveness, made Lenny aware that something else was going on inside his old acquaintance’s head. His gaze narrowed as he stared at the man he’d known since his early teens. He thought he knew him so well, but … did he? ‘You … cunning … little … sod.’ He said the words slowly for extra emphasis. ‘You’ve got something of your own going down, haven’t you?’

  ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

  ‘Bullshit. What is it, mate?’ Then almost conversationally he added, ‘Before I beat it out of you.’

  ‘I wouldn’t do that if I were you, Lenny.’ Mate sat back in the seat, a smug expression coming over his face. ‘I’ve made certain arrangements. If anything happens to me, such as an untimely demise, or if I’m bashed to within an inch of my life, I’ve left a letter with my lawyer for the police. It details our deals together and what I know about your whole operation.’

  ‘What!’ Shock forced Lenny to lean back in his seat, too gobsmacked to speak for a minute or two. He nodded as if, suddenly, he found something worth respecting in the man. ‘Mate, I’m impressed. I didn’t think you had the balls …’

  Mate stood up and downed the last of his beer. ‘I’m glad I’ve surprised you, Lenny. This is the last time we’ll meet. But,’ a cunning expression flicked across his face and was just as quickly gone, ‘watch the newspapers over the next month. My relationship with you, the robberies, etc. — they were all a means to an end for me. I needed a lot of money fast and you enabled me to get some of it.’ He actually smiled: it was a sly, secretive smile. ‘I’ve got what I want now and I don’t need you any more. You’ll understand everything when you read about it in the paper.’ Then, with a nod goodbye, he turned on his heel and walked out of the hotel.

  Lenny stared open-mouthed long after he’d gone. He sat perfectly still for several minutes. Struth, what was the world coming to? His mate had given him the flick. Shit, what would his colleagues think about that? That he was losing his touch! A natural meanness came to the fore as his gaze narrowed thoughtfully. He’d make his mate pay for tonight’s performance. How and when he didn’t know but, yes, he would pay. Big time.

  Chapter Fifteen

  He peeled the raincoat off and let it drop to the floor as soon as he stepped inside his cramped two-bedroom apartment. All the way from the hotel on the wharves — it was only a ten-minute drive — his heart had pounded fit to burst through his chest. He had finally rid himself of the monkey on his back, namely Lenny Kovacs. A brief, triumphant smile softened his serious features as he walked into the small alcove that served as a kitchen, took out a glass, opened the fridge and poured whisky over three ice cubes. He had done it! Severed the years of association with the one person who, probably because they went back so far and because he knew how dangerous Lenny could be, scared him shitless.

  Even as a kid, trailing behind his father as he’d delivered kegs to various hotels, he’d held Lenny in a kind of childish awe. The smaller, wiry youngster had artfully pilfered liquor from bars, stolen cash from jemmied-open cash registers, taken on men twice his size and beaten them with his dirty fighting. To a teenager who had two brothers he didn’t get along with, all this had made Lenny seem a heroic figure. No longer, though. He’d grown up, but he still had a healthy respect for the man’s reputation — he was feared amongst most of the Sydney underworld, which was why he’d left the letter with his lawyer. It was his personal insurance policy.

  He grinned, really grinned as the full import began to sink in. He had stood up to him and Lenny had taken it. Wonder of wonders! The hot, sharp liquid made him grimace as it slid down his throat. It made him cough. He didn’t need Lenny any more. He didn’t need anyone. He was on the brink of taking control of his life, without help from anyone. They, the McRaes and the Beaumonts, were going to be amazed by what Neil McRae was soon to accomplish.

  Neil cackled to himself as he shrugged out of his suit coat and flopped into a chair. God, how he looked forward to the look on their faces when he told them that he, with the McRae proxy he had supervised for years, controlled forty-two per cent of Ashworths’ shares and, with proxies from other investors he had approached personally, he now had fifty-two per cent — sufficient shares to control the company. He didn’t think his family would object to his plan either. After all, it would make them, in the long run, much wealthier.

  He sighed as he stared into the amber depths of his glass and continued his reflections. It had taken every cent he had, apart from what he gave his bitch of an ex-wife, Stacy, for maintenance of their two kids, and ten years of planning to reach this point. He shook his head as he thought about the things he’d done to enable him to buy shares through the dummy companies he had established: Micronita and The Brothers. Throwing his hand in with Lenny, taking his share of the robberies’ profits and letting him control him. And more. He wiped a line of sweat off his upper lip … So long as no-one discovered precisely how he’d managed to get cashed up, he was safe.

  They wouldn’t, he shook his head confidently. It would take a terrier of an auditor to dig deep enough to uncover the creative bookwork he’d been doing at Ashworths for years. Gradually, so as not to arouse suspicion, he had filched millions of dollars from various company accounts and hidden the cash under several dummy account names until he had the money needed to buy up the shares.

  Neil was aware of what everyone, even members of his own family, thought of him: a nondescript, tightfisted, typically small-minded accountant. Well, he would show them all and show them good. The first to go would be his cousin, Michaela. He grinned maniacally. How he was looking forward to the look on her face when he gave her the sack! That would be sweet, indeed. Then Jo Levy, who had rej
ected his advances; she’d go, too.

  After he re-shuffled the company’s executive to his liking, he would begin the task of returning Ashworths to the kind of business it should have remained. An elite department store for the wealthy. Neil rather fancied the idea of being the head of a company that catered only to the rich of the land and those in cities around Australia. His very specific plans for Ashworths did not include Michaela’s ridiculous 18 to 28 boutiques either! He’d stop work on that and cut the company’s losses.

  His gaze narrowed and he began to crack his knuckles as he went over his master plan. Soon, yes soon. Before too much finance was expended on the 18 to 28 project …

  It was Ashworths’ normal monthly business meeting. Winter sales had come and gone, the spring sales were doing exceptionally well. Everyone who sat at the boardroom table was feeling moderately pleased with themselves. Michaela’s project was up and running. Caroline had decided to delay her resignation from Ashworths to help her out until Jo fully recovered from her operation. Daniel Blumner had the look of a man pleased with his life, and Neil, who rarely smiled or wore a jocular expression, appeared to be in an uncommonly good mood.

  Boris Jakelic, the last to arrive, gave his security report and an update on the warehouse robbery investigations. ‘They found a match for the fingerprint lifted from the guard’s room,’ he reported. Deciding not to look at Neil, he said matter-of-factly, ‘It belonged to Mark McRae. He had a couple of petty convictions in his youth, so his prints were still in police records.’

  ‘So what!’ Neil suddenly exploded. He was a McRae and McRaes defended their own, whether right or wrong. ‘That doesn’t make him involved. For God’s sake, he worked at the warehouse for a few weeks. Mark probably went to the guard’s room several times while he was there.’

  Boris held up his hands defensively. ‘You didn’t let me finish, Neil. The police interviewed Mark this morning, that’s why I’m late. I’ve been talking to the investigating officer. Mark has, according to the police, a watertight alibi for that night. They’re still checking it out. All I’m doing is reporting the progress on the fingerprint. It’s a clue that, unfortunately,’ he shrugged his massive shoulders and let his frustration show, ‘led nowhere.’