by Margaret Way
Joel shrugged. “One or other of them lost control. A fight resulting in an accident? Murder-suicide? Who knows? I mean, it was a long time ago.”
“I can’t believe you said that. We’re talking about my mother.”
Joel kept looking up the street. “She didn’t like me.”
To hear such a charge against her mother was devastating. “I never saw a single instance of her being unkind to you. The reverse was true.”
“She turned on me.” Joel’s face contorted for a moment before he composed himself.
“When?”
“Don’t push it, Nikki. Please,” he warned. “You must be very careful what you’re about. You’ve brooded about this for years. You always were an intense creature. No one has ever found concrete evidence of foul play. The best thing you could possibly do is forget it and get on with your life.”
“And let a possible murderer go free?” She stared at Joel, shocked and appalled.
“If such a person was around, what’s to stop them coming after you? I couldn’t bear to think of you as a victim. Forget it, Nikki, I’m begging you.”
She simply had to ask him, “Did you ever speak to Dr. Rosendahl about the burdens that were put on you?”
His eyes flashed as if someone had turned on a light. “Why mention him? Hell, I have nothing but contempt for him and all he represents. Headshrinkers. Charlatans. They can’t help themselves, let alone anyone else.”
Urgent questions rose to her throat, but she was uncertain how to handle Joel when he was feeling this way. “He helped me greatly,” she said. “Why not you?”
Given an opening, again no response. “Why didn’t anyone advise me of his death?” she asked next. “Didn’t anyone think I’d be interested?”
“Don’t look at me,” he said moodily, staring at some point over her head. “I never spent any time thinking about him. I never liked the man. Always stroking his beard. I never liked those eyes of his, either. Black as night. They seemed to push you to the limit, probing into your soul. I didn’t trust him.”
She gave him a look of mixed anxiety and inquiry. “What did you have to hide? Tell me. It was nothing, isn’t that true?”
“Of course it’s true.” His hand came out, closed around hers. “All I want is for you to be happy, Nikki.”
For the life of her Nicole couldn’t draw her hand away, nor could she trust herself to question him further. Joel had deliberately lied to her, but he looked so loving it deeply distressed her. Cabs started arriving.
“Let’s go,” he said, animated now as if a threat had been averted. “I can’t wait to get home.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
NICOLE SAT in the tiny parlor of her old nanny’s rented cottage, dabbing at her damp eyes and looking around her. Snapshots galore! Everywhere she looked there were photographs of herself, lined up along the mantel, on top of a glass-fronted cabinet, on the coffee table in front of her, on open display on the shelves of a plain pine bookcase, which held quite a collection of romance paperbacks. Dot had always been addicted to romance novels, treating them as proof life had happy endings.
So…herself at all stages and all taken outdoors—sitting on ponies, on fences, in trees, on swings, holding a kitten up to her face, smiling widely in the magnificent pool her grandfather had built in the garden after she told him that she and Joel wanted one. All those curls! She was a pretty child. Strangely, not one snap included Joel, which she thought very odd. They were always together like brother and sister. Dot had been nanny to both of them. Clearly she had been the favorite. Poor Joel! He hadn’t exactly had the best of times, which must have reinforced his idea of being different.
One small, surprisingly upbeat painting, hers—she had given it to Dot as a keepsake—highlighted the room’s general bleakness, if anything could be said to be bleak in Queensland’s perpetual golden sunshine and brilliant blue skies. But the room spoke of a lack of money and a general hopelessness, as though brightening things up wasn’t just financially impossible but simply not worth the effort.
Dot had greeted her with tears of joy streaming down her face. Nicole found herself doing the same, crying her head off. Now Dot had hurried off to her little kitchen to make tea.
Nicole had flown in that morning with Drake, who had a cattlemen’s meeting in the state capital. The premier and the minister for Primary Industries would be in attendance. Politics for Drake. For her the cover story of buying an appropriate outfit for Shelley and Brock’s wedding. She had told no one, not even Drake, she had come with the express purpose of looking up Dot. She wanted to find out exactly why Dot had left Eden. Had she truly gone of her own accord, or had she been pushed? And if so, why? Siggy was gruff, but not unfeeling. Her grandmother Louise was the kindest of women. She wanted a reason from Dot she could accept.
While she waited, Nicole sat on the edge of a worn armchair, lost in the past. The collection of old photographs had stirred up so many memories. She could see herself as a little girl being very naughty and high-handed, giving Dot a difficult time; Dot not knowing where she was or what mischief she was getting up to, other times sweet and loving, her arms flung around Dot’s neck. She realized now she must have been very spoiled. Her grandfather’s little princess, indulged in every way. In stark contrast, much of Dot’s life had been unutterably sad. Dot had scars all over her body, evidence of her husband’s brutality. Early on, Nicole had felt it absolutely imperative the family look after Dot. Not only to repay the debts of her childhood, but because she, herself, had in many ways lived a life of material privilege. She knew Dot would literally have given her life for her. It almost happened once at a station waterhole when Dot, fearing her young charge was in difficulties—she was only fooling around, for she could swim like a fish—waded in after her, moving farther and farther out into deep water, arm outstretched with the hope of pulling her in. Dot, unbelievably, given she was Outback born and bred, had never learned to swim.
“Here we are now!” Audibly puffing, either from excitement or physical exertion, Dot came back into the room bearing a tray set with a white paper doily and tea things.
“I’ll take that, Dot.” Nicole stood up immediately. Before Dot could protest, she took the tray from her and put it down on the coffee table in front of the single sofa, upholstered in a dismal brown velvet. “Scones, how lovely!” She looked up to smile.
“I made them specially for you.” Dot’s thin cheeks pinked. Nicole had rung from the airport to ask if it would be okay if she paid a visit.
“I was just looking at all the old photographs, Dot. They bring back so many memories.”
“All I had of you,” Dot said poignantly. She lowered herself stiffly onto the sofa, which gave alarmingly. She was wearing a lot of lavender scent that wafted with her movements. Nicole was reminded how in the old days Dot had always packed her dresser drawers with sachets of their beautiful boronia. “Old bones,” Dot said in wry explanation of the creaks.
“You’ve had your hair cut?” As long as Nicole could remember, Dot had always worn her hair in a rather straggly bun. Now it was short and mostly gray. It looked as though it hadn’t had a good conditioning in some time. Nicole made a mental note to do something about that. She was dismayed by how much older Dot looked, though she said nothing. She wouldn’t have offended Dot for the world. A little bent, probably from osteoporosis, Dot was all sharp jutting angles, though her short wiry frame had never carried much weight.
“A month or two ago,” Dot said in response to Nicole’s question, touching a hand to her head. “I don’t like it, but I couldn’t stand long hair in the humid heat. Brisbane is so humid, very tropical. It’s dry back home.” Nostalgia was easy to detect in her tone. That gave Nicole encouragement.
“Why did you leave, Dot?” she asked. “I was shocked when Siggy told me you’d gone. I thought you never wanted to leave Eden.”
“Still take milk in your tea, love?” Dot asked, apparently not eager to answer questions.
“Milk, no sugar,” Nicole told her absently, wanting to get back to the purpose of her visit.
Dot busied herself pouring. The scones looked light and fluffy—Nicole wasn’t surprised—topped with strawberry jam.
“Had to rush out and get that,” Dot said, smiling. For all her gauntness, her expression was the same as ever—sweet, patient, gentle. She indicated the jam. “I’m so thrilled you’re here, Nicole. It’s like a dream.”
“I always wrote to you, Dot. Kept up the phone calls,” Nicole reminded her, hating to think of Dot miserable.
“I know, love. I’ve got all your letters. I’ve read and reread them so much they’re falling to bits. You’re so beautiful. So much like your mother but not like her, if you know what I mean. I keep your mother’s portrait on my bedside table. Lovely, lovely lady. Such a tragedy you were denied her. I mustn’t cry. Mustn’t cry,” she chided herself. A tear splashed.
“Don’t upset yourself, Dot. Please don’t.” Nicole moved to the dreadful lumpy couch and hugged Dot’s bony shoulders. “I’m so happy to see you.”
“Not near as happy as me, love,” Dot said promptly. “This can be a lonely life.”
“Exactly!” Nicole gazed, puzzled, into her old nanny’s face. “What I don’t understand is why it has to be.”
Again as if stalling, Dorothy passed the tea. Nicole stared at the cups and saucers, the milk jug and the sugar bowl thoughtfully. Aynsley. Rather beautiful. White with a gold and ultramarine border. She knew it.
“Your grandmother wanted me to have this,” Dot said proudly. “Do you remember the piece?”
“I think I do.”
“This is the first time I’ve ever used this china,” Dot admitted. “It’s too good.”
Nicole leaned closer, accepting her tea. “It’s meant to be used, Dot. You really must. Why do you think Gran gave it to you.”
“What if I broke a piece?” Dot asked dramatically.
“I have complete confidence you won’t. Anyway, it’s yours.”
“I know.” Dot smiled with pleasure. “She gave me other things, too. Lovely linen and towels and things.”
“I hope you’re using them.”
Dot blushed. “I think I enjoy looking at them more than using them. I’d never get the sheets and pillow-cases to look like that again. So white and smooth.”
“Trust me, Dot. They’ll come up beautifully. Quality always does.” Nicole took a sip of her tea. She wasn’t much of a tea drinker—found the taste vaguely medicinal. She set the cup down into the saucer.
“Is there some mystery about why you left Eden, Dot? Something you can’t answer?”
Dot bent her head, looking as if she was fighting off tears. “The truth is, love, I lost my role long ago. I was no use to anybody. I had to go.”
“Never in this world!” Nicole protested strongly. “Had to, Dot? That’s not right at all. Siggy said you wanted to go. Gran was under the impression you did. From what I can see, you’re thoroughly miserable here on your own.”
“It’s okay,” Dot said, grasping Nicole’s hand with one sudden distraught movement. “Really it is, love. Your aunt took care of me. I can’t work anymore.”
“Why would you need to work?” Nicole asked gently. “You spent years and years looking after Joel and me. You can’t move out just like that. In fact, I implore you to come back.”
Dot looked away, red-cheeked, glittery-eyed. “I can’t, love. Mr. Holt would drive me out of the house again.”
Nicole was so shocked she laughed. “What does Mr. Holt have to do with anything? He holds no responsible position at Eden. He’s my aunt’s husband. He’s tolerated. You know that. You lived with us. You saw everything.”
Dot’s “yes” was almost inaudible.
“Are you telling me Mr. Holt, not Siggy, wanted you sacked? I refuse to believe it.”
Dot began to fidget with a fold of her skirt. “I decided it was best to go. I told Miss Sigrid I wanted to go. She questioned me just like you. She was very surprised, a bit insulted, but I knew for some time I had to go.”
Nicole looked at her in bewilderment. “There’s a story here, Dot,” she prompted. “Please tell me. What did Joel say, for instance? You were just as good to him as you were to me. Surely he had something to say about your going.”
Dot snorted her contempt for that. “Joel didn’t care anything for me, or anyone else as far as I could see. His heart belongs to you. He kept out of it, but I’d say he sided with his father, not that they talk much.”
“So you felt Mr. Holt wanted you gone, but he never actually said anything to you?”
Dot cocked her gray head. “That man, lovey, is a trained actor. He’s anything he wants to be. If you want to know, I’m frightened of him. That’s really the case.”
“Good God!” Nicole’s gaze turned inward. She was seeing Alan’s smooth impassive face, the gentlemanly facade. “Who could be frightened of Alan?” Her voice rose in amazement. “He’s never shown himself to be anything other than harmless.”
“Do you really know him, love?” Dot clutched Nicole’s shoulder. “I thought I knew my husband before I married him. I thought he was a good man, going to look after me. I married a monster.”
Nicole gave Dot a look full of outrage for the things that had been done to Dot during her violent marriage. “He’ll pay for his crimes, Dot, if he hasn’t paid already. Leave him to the hereafter. But what makes you couple your husband with Mr. Holt? On the face of it, it’s a mind-boggling accusation.” She threw up her hands. “Alan’s not physically violent. He wouldn’t dream of laying a rough hand on a woman.”
Dot looked painfully unconvinced. “I don’t want to sully his name. All I’m saying is I have this fear of him. Deep down here.” She pressed a hand to her chest.
“But there’s got to be a reason,” Nicole persisted, coming to the sad conclusion Dot was more than a little paranoid. Not that anyone could possibly blame her. “Has he ever done anything to make you wonder he might have some serious problems? Has he been unkind to you? Has he shouted at you? Given you dirty looks? Complained about you to Aunt Siggy?”
Dot spread her hands, the knuckles swollen and knotted. “I just sensed it, love.”
That wasn’t entirely sane, was it? Nicole made her voice soothing. “Could it be you had such a frightful time with your husband that some aspect of Mr. Holt’s looks or behavior triggers those old feelings? You were terribly abused, Dot.” Physically, mentally, sexually. Deeply traumatized. Nicole knew as well as anyone how that created lifelong problems.
“That man’s got secrets,” Dot said with considerable doggedness. “Like my man. They look okay. They can even act okay, but they’re twisted. There’s something dark inside them. If you ask me, it’s the devil.”
“I’ve never seen it, Dot.” Nicole spoke the simple truth.
“Because everyone loves you. They were there to protect you. Rich powerful people. I had nothing like that. You never wanted for courage or confidence. You couldn’t care less when your dad shouted at you. I had neither. Archie cleared me out of that. I lost the ability to have children. He did that to me.”
Nicole rubbed Dot’s arm up and down in an effort to console her. “Dot, dear, this seems to be all tied up with your husband. So many terrible things happened to you that you’re still fearful. You’re attaching far too much importance to Alan Holt’s behavior. I’d say he’s been eccentric all his life.”
Dot suddenly recalled a detail of great moment. “Do you know that man was crazily in love with your mother?” she asked, her smile grim. “I’m sure of it.”
Nicole braced herself for more disclosures. “Did you see something to support that?”
Put on the spot, Dot shook her head. “Nothing I could report to anyone. It was all up here.” She tapped her furrowed forehead. “I know he used to claim he was somewhere when he was someplace else. I do know that for a fact, but it wouldn’t have paid me to tell anyone. Not your Granddad. He despis
ed the man. Only put up with him because of your aunt.”
Nicole tensed, sitting upright on the dreadful sofa. “Where was he at the time my mother and David McClelland were killed?”
Dot met her eyes. “He claimed he was at Koomera Crossing picking up supplies.”
“Are you saying he lied? People saw him, Dot. They saw him in town. They saw him sleeping in his vehicle. That was pretty much checked out. Alan was never a suspect. He had no reason…”
Dot’s voice fell to a whisper. “He never came home that night.”
“Much too far to drive, Dot. That’s easily explained. My mother would never have been afraid of Alan.”
“She was like you, love. Afraid of nothing. But it pays to watch the people around you. I always do. You never know who might be mad. He’s an odd, odd man. He never helped his boy. He never took any interest in him, even though Joel has something of his father in him. More’s the pity!”
Nicole was quiet for a moment, thinking. “Why don’t you have any snapshots of Joel? They’re all of me.”
“Because you were a precious child!” Dot smiled. “I loved you. You were such a bright little girl, full of life. No malice. No spite.”
“I should hope not, Dot. That sounds terrible. But I was naughty. I do remember that.”
“What’s naughty? Nothing!” Dot scoffed. “You were sunny and loving. ’Course, your granddad spoiled you something rotten, but it never changed your nature. You treated me right. You were affectionate, always showing your emotions. Never hid them away like your cousin.”
“But you can’t interpret a natural reserve as malice and spite, can you, Dot?” Nicole went to Joel’s defense. “Joel just didn’t have my temperament.”
“You always did stick up for him,” Dot said. “I used to worry about it, all your taking the blame.”
“It was a two-way thing. Joel’s my cousin. I love him.”
“Not as powerfully as he loves you,” Dot said, groaning. “A different way. He’s a bit nutty, like his father.”
