‘Look, I need to tell you in person. You’d better come over here, so we can talk in private.’ He sounded drained.
I looked at the clock. Midday. ‘All right, but—’
‘The car’s out now but the driver can do a detour and pick you up in say, half an hour?’
It took all of the time allotted to me to finish showering, dress and leave a note for Pam. I raced down the path and dove into the car, thanking God that James could and was prepared to pay the demand.
As before, he met me at the bottom of the steps but my reception was vastly different. He rushed me up the stairs and into his study where the dog, who seemed to be a permanent resident of the room, stood up and wagged a courtly welcome. I gave him an absented minded pat, as James waved me to an armchair.
‘Eloise, it’s not good news. I can’t get huge sums just like that. There are regulations about these things, permissions to be sought from departments who deal with large sums of money. I can get four hundred thousand available by tomorrow afternoon and that will have to be approved by the relevant authorities. I made up a story about attending a house auction and wanting to pay cash. Thank God I wasn’t asked for the details. There’s a Significant Transactions Report which is called up when someone attempts to withdraw a large amount, and then there’s the Suspect Transaction Report.’
He looked grim. ‘My stockbroker has orders to sell parcels of shares for me which will raise half a million— hopefully the market will hold—but that’s going to take time too. I’ve arranged a line of credit, but again I can’t get a huge amount in cash. They’ll have to transfer it to one of my accounts. One good thing, I had two hundred and fifty thousand sitting in a deposit box at the bank. I was going to buy another car and take a trip, but changed my mind. It’s illegal to keep it there, but—’
He shrugged and remained silent for a moment, before continuing. ‘I have a Gullwing Mercedes and a vintage E-type Jaguar in the garage. I’ve rung a bloke from the club who’s always wanted to buy the Jag. I’ve arranged for a buyer from one of the leading galleries to check out the paintings this afternoon at three o’clock. I’ve got prints to put in place of the ones I lend to exhibitions or when they’re being cleaned. If the art world thinks I’m broke, so be it. No one’s likely to be here to look too closely at them in the next few days. In the meantime, I’d like to take time away from work, but I think it’s best if everything appears as much normal as possible.’ He looked at me intently. ‘They could very well be watching us. After all, they told us not to go to the police.’
Fear rippled through me. ‘Watching…me?’
‘They won’t hurt either of us, Eloise. They want the money too much.’ A thoughtful expression came over his face. ‘You know, I can’t put my finger on it, but I feel there’s more to this whole thing than money. There’s no way anyone but a billionaire could raise it in two days. I think someone wants us to suffer. All I can do is give them everything I can as they demand it and hope they’ll release her.’
What if they didn’t? What if…my chest tightened as my breath left my lungs in a whoosh. James’s voice receded; my hands felt as though they had been plunged into a bucket of crushed ice.
‘Eloise?’
Lights danced in front of my eyes. James held the back of my neck, quickly pushing my face down onto my knees until my faintness had passed, then helped me to the settee and tucked a rug around my icy body. Gradually my breathing returned to normal. He sat beside me, looking so tired and worried, that I hitched myself upright and leaned forward to wrap my arms protectively around him, wishing I could hold the world back.
For a moment he stiffened, but then he pulled my head against his chest and held me tightly. The one thought which kept pounding my mind, Will my child still be alive after the forty-eight hours are up?
CHAPTER 13
Sleuthing
Brie
Monday: 4.30pm.
The drive from the concert hall to the riverside of West End involved the usual home-bound traffic dramas, including pedestrians flinging themselves across the street in front of the traffic, but eventually I found a park outside Jess’s cottage. I walked up the garden path, stepped onto the front verandah and knocked sharply. The haunting strains of a violin playing Vaughan William’s Lark Ascending ceased, followed by footsteps in the hallway.
The door opened and Jess appeared dressed in jeans and sweater, her thick, black hair neatly coiled in a knot at the base of her neck. Gold hoop earrings dangled from her lobes, her feet were bare and even in the shadowed doorway, her toenails blazed with colour.
‘Oh, it’s you, Brie. What have you been doing?’ The tone of her voice could have shrivelled the testicles of a wharfie.
‘Tutoring. I heard you called in sick and wondered how you were.’ I hovered determinedly on the doorstep until she shrugged in a disinterested fashion and invited me inside, sharply reminding me to remove my boots, then walked back to the kitchen leaving me to close the door.
Her cottage was a monument to IKEA. No newspapers scattered themselves recklessly across the settee and no magazines waited to lure the addicted into idle hours. A few well-behaved novels cringed in a small bookcase by the door. Pride of place was extended to several elegant pieces of sculpture. None of their friends could understand how the girls lived together in London without strangling each other. Ally is what you might call easygoing and slightly untidy; Pam lives in perpetual clutter.
The only time Jess tolerated clothes on the floor was when they were tossed there in the throes of lust, but always gave the impression that at any moment she’d leap from the bed to fold them away, giving a whole new slant to coitus interruptus. It was a wonder to me how our relationship had lasted for even a few weeks.
She took milk out of the refrigerator, placed it on the table and then pointed to a chair. I must have looked untidy leaning against the kitchen bench. She poured coffee into two white mugs and sat opposite. No biscuits were produced; I wasn’t expected to linger.
‘So, how are you feeling? Recovered now?’ I asked, referring to her absence from rehearsals.
Jess did “disdainful” well. ‘I just wanted a day off. I’m fed up with eternal speculation and gossip about Ally,’ she said, with curled lip. Her obvious unconcern over Ally’s disappearance sent a tingle up my spine. She frowned and I knew there wouldn’t be much time for me to dredge for information. Any minute she would throw me out.
‘We had the police around all day. They interviewed everyone in the orchestra.’
‘Yes, I know you did. The Prescott woman was a total bitch,’ she snapped. That meant Jess hadn’t been able to pull the wool over the cop’s eyes.
I persisted. ‘So what did they ask you?’
She shifted in her chair and took a sip of coffee. ‘Oh, just about Friday night again. What Ally did, who she spoke to, what time was it when I last saw her.’ She smirked. ‘And how was she during the day and did she have a new lover?’
‘Did you see anyone you knew at the club?’ I asked, refusing to rise to the bait.
‘No, of course not.’
I wasn’t deceived. Her habitual lying was one of the reasons I’d broken off our relationship and as far as I knew, Jess didn’t realise I had seen the tape from Traynors.
‘So, how did you feel the concert went last night?’ I was anxious to keep the conversation going because I would be out on my ear any moment.
‘You know it was okay, Brie, so why are you asking?’ she snapped, glancing at her watch. I wasn’t about to take the obvious hint.
‘No news of Ally as yet,’ I commented, ignoring her bad temper.
Jess compressed her lips, as she stirred her drink in silence. I waited her out. Seeing I was determined to bring up the subject, she finally capitulated.
‘Well, what do you think happened to her, Brie? I can see you’re dying to talk about it,’ she said, lifting the mug to her mouth and watching me intently through the steam. Her lips twitched with the merest hint o
f a smile.
‘Well, one thing’s for sure, she didn’t just run off. The concert was too important to her. Someone must have taken her away. It stands to reason, doesn’t it?’
She remained non-committal. ‘Hm, it’s possible. But what if she lost her memory and just wandered off?’
‘That’s not likely, is it? She was excited about her big concert. There’s no way she would deliberately leave. She’s hardly got dementia.’ I finished, thinking of my grandmother who used to go bush after she developed Alzheimer’s. My parents used to get the dogs to find her. ‘Anyway, someone would have seen her wandering in a daze,’ I added, cringing as I heard my placating tones. I had a right to be concerned, for fuck’s sake, and Jess should have been as well. Should have been…
Her eyes narrowed. ‘What happened at the police station when you went there yesterday? Did you tell the cops that on Friday night, the doorman told you she had gone off with another man?’
‘Yes, but the evidence of the bouncers was more important than anything I knew. They saw her leave.’ I added, keeping my eyes on my cup. ‘Do you know if she was seeing any new friends?’
Jess banged her cup down hard sending coffee slopping onto the table. ‘Can’t bring yourself to come out and say what you really mean, Brie? If you want to know whether Ally had another man, why don’t you just ask?’
‘All right, was she seeing someone else?’
Her patience had run out. ‘Of course she was. Look, just leave, okay? Just get out, Brie.’
My gut turned over. Ally seeing someone else? I didn’t want to believe it. Jess snatched up her cup and hurled it into the sink. The handle broke off, flew across the top of the draining board and skittered to the floor. Coffee splattered up the splash board. She remained with her back to me, shoulders heaving. I waited a moment, then stood up and went over to her, trying to implement damage control. Something was very wrong. ‘I’m sorry, Jess. I didn’t mean to upset you.’
‘Go on, Brie, just beat it, will you?’
The phone rang, cutting into the tension like a diamond chip. Her mood changed as though someone had flicked a switch; her eyes sparkled with excitement. Obviously it was an expected call, but for a moment it appeared that she wasn’t going to answer. Then as the machine prepared to kick in, she rushed over to snatch up the receiver. I wanted to find out who was phoning and what it was she didn’t want me to know. I wandered to the draining board, slowly rinsed out my mug before sauntering down the hallway to the front door. Making a production out of dragging my boots on, I strained to hear snatches of the conversation.
’Yes, in a minute. Someone’s here, so—’ her voice dropped, —‘shortly, yes. Dinner? Of course.’
I lingered as long as I dared, then slipped out the front door, making eye contact with one of her neighbours, a self-righteous type, the sort of bloke who mowed his lawn on the same day every week whether it was necessary or not. He looked me up and down, pursed his lips and nodded coolly. I jumped into my car and drove to Ally’s house.
Pam had given me the front door key earlier in the afternoon with instructions to go and check whether everything was all right, water the plants and collect the mail. I’d jumped at the chance, but now I was there, I felt like an intruder.
I emptied the letter box, headed up the path and put the key in the lock. My footsteps echoed throughout the house, making me want to tiptoe as I walked down the long hallway. Her open bedroom door revealed the bed unmade, clothes scattered across it after the search. Some of the cupboards were open, drawers with her possessions spilling out. The police search?
The smell of her perfume lingered, bringing memories of days sitting in country parks, surrounded by carefully tended gardens, lying by a river, dragonflies buzzing. And hearing Ally’s soft laughter and gazing at her full, sweetly curved lips over which I spent many sleepless nights.
For the first time in my adult life, I actually yearned to be one of a couple. Me, the “slider out of relationships, the “wolf who walks by himself.” Realisation sprang into my mind. I’m so lonely. My gut wrenched. Ally would never two-time me. Jess was “stirring” the pot which my mind had become.
I put the mail on her desk in her office, glancing around at the neat piles of sheet music lying beside her laptop. Pam had told me how the police had combed through her emails and hard-drive hunting for any evidence of computer a cyber-stalker or internet threats. Like all of us, Ally had Facebook and Twitter profiles and a website.
I closed the door and moved back to the lounge, a room as alike to Jess’s as black to white. Well-thumbed books crammed the shelves. A large, scruffy coffee table was pushed against the wall, a mug teetering precariously on the edge. I picked it up and dumped it in the kitchen sink. My mind turned cartwheels. Was she in pain? Was she lying in a gully somewhere? What on earth would they want with a concert pianist? Or was it for something else?
My mobile vibrated hysterically in its pouch, startling me. My breath caught in my throat as I fumbled to open it.
‘Brie? Any news of Ally yet?’ The voice was instantly recognisable.
‘No, nothing, Karen. What do you want?’ My disappointment that it was my sister and not news of Ally almost overwhelmed me.
‘What do I want? Brie, you can be so rude sometimes. I wanted to tell you mum has asked all of us to dinner and you have to come. It’s lamb roast,’ she added slyly.
‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to snap.’
She huffed in my ear and then apparently decided not to take umbrage. ‘It’s okay. I know you, Briece. You don’t eat properly when you’re upset. Where are you now?’
‘I’m at Ally’s place,’ I answered testily. When Karen calls me Briece, she’s set to bully me.
‘What on earth are you doing there?’
‘I came over to check everything’s okay, right? I just want to go back to my flat, watch footy and have a beer. Besides, the cat has to be fed.’
Karen takes no prisoners. ‘She can wait. Listen to me, you little shit, you still haven’t spoken to mum and dad and you’ve not visited them for weeks! You know how mum worries about you. Now she’s all upset over Ally too.’
‘All right. I’ll come and watch the soccer. Have a beer with dad, then.’
‘You just make sure you get there.’ Her voice softened. ‘Brie, I know you’re worried, but not eating properly won’t help Ally.’ On that note, she signed off.
Ally’s iPod was lying on the top of the piano. I flicked idly through the menu and was startled when a glorious, powerful soprano rang out. Jacqui Mabardi singing the aria from Mozart’s Zaide, accompanied by Ally on the piano, as they hammed it up at an impromptu party in this room just ten days ago. Ally had been gone three days and now, four nights. A wave of loss swept over me.
I sat down at the piano and played a few bars, trying not to let my thoughts ricochet in panic. Then a bizarre idea popped through my mind. Pam had said her Aunt Eloise was in contact with Ally’s father. Maybe her disappearance had to do with him? Something he’d done— or hadn’t done? Maybe he was a big-time crook! Nah, crazy. The cops would have thought of that.
I closed the lid of the piano. My stomach rumbled; Mum’s lamb roast was looking good. I checked to see if the back door of the house was locked, made sure the windows throughout were still secure, closed the front door after me and tested the dead-lock.
No, Ally would not do the dirty on me. Jess was trying to wind me up and she’d succeeded.
As I walked down the front path to the car, I planned how to retrieve the bug I had planted on the underside of her kitchen table.
CHAPTER 14
But I Did
Georgie Hird
Monday: 6.00pm.
My parents were mad Parisians who had dived under hedges, blown up railways and generally lived by the skin of their teeth during World War II. When it was over they immigrated to Australia, having seen enough violence to last a lifetime. It’s entirely due to them I live on Masters Island and I wouldn’
t change my laid-back lifestyle for the world. I can come and go as I please, stay up all night or drop everything and take off to London, Zurich—anywhere I want to go. Eloise moved to the island twenty-six years ago, she’s always minded my current dog, so I have virtually no ties.
I can hear my mother’s voice: ‘I do wish you’d marry and have children, Georgina. Lovers won’t comfort you in your old age.’
‘Lovers require less maintenance than husbands, mum,’ I chortled. I made the decision not to have children when I was a girl, but of course people never leave you alone, do they? When I was in my twenties there was no hassling. Mid-thirties my family and friends got restless because I was the only one in my circle not married with kids. ‘Better hurry up, Georgie. You’ll get too old to have babies.’ Nobody realised then that biological clocks ticked our fertile lives away. We just knew you got too old to have children. But I didn’t care, until one by one my friends drifted off into a haze of school camps, soccer clubs, pony club and school activities. Eventually, I found myself, with the exception of another childless stalwart—a fellow painter and close friend—standing beside me like shags on a gynaelogical rock, ovarial wings folded in contemplation of what I, certainly, had denied myself.
Painting is my only source of income, but my needs are simple. I work best in the so-called winter which we enjoy off the northern coast. Some days are windy and the sea breeze can be cold, believe it or not. My exhibition work for the first half of the year is always ready by the start of spring.
My living is my commercial work—scenes of the island, seabirds, seals, whales and of course, Wild Pony Rock and the small art gallery in our village shifts a large amount of my work.
My real love, for which I am well known, is abstracts. Ally shocked me once when she was about twelve: ‘Aunt Georgie, why have you got a vagina hanging from a tree?’ It’s amazing how penetrating a child’s voice can be in a hushed moment. It was meant to be an ear. Oh, Ally, my precious god-daughter, what has happened to you?
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