Jane put her arm around the girl. ‘Zoe, darling. Since your mum died and I took you in, you’ve been like a daughter to me …’
Zoe leapt to her feet and walked away. ‘Stop it! You won’t talk me into it. Not this time.’
Jane gestured innocently. ‘I wasn’t trying to!’
Zoe backed away. ‘I know you too well. You’ve used me before to get information for you. And I’ve always done what you wanted, but I’ve paid my dues! It’s finished!’
The silence that filled the room was palpable. Zoe moved onto the balcony and eventually Jane followed her.
‘All right, girl. You win. Do you want this boy that much?’
‘Yes.’
‘Then there’s a few things you have to know. Come and sit down while I tell you.’
They sat together and Jane talked for ten minutes. She didn’t really tell Zoe very much at all. But she spoke of her love for George Everard and she hinted at Harold’s corruption.
‘He’s a bad man,’ she spat venomously. ‘He’s evil. He corrupts anyone who comes near him. My great fear is that one day he might corrupt Shayne.’ Zoe’s attention was captivated. ‘When I first saw Shayne at the reception for the Governor of Hong Kong,’ Jane continued, ‘I nearly dropped dead on the spot. Apart from the blond hair, he’s the living image of George Everard. I went over and spoke to him and Harold snarled like a caged rat.’ She brushed a wisp of hair away from Zoe’s face. ‘Shayne needs protection. That’s why I sent you to him. So I’d have an ear in his affairs and if anything went wrong, I’d be able to help him. I owe it to George. Do you understand?’
‘Of course I do.’
‘George Everard hated corruption.’ Jane laughed, ‘Oh, don’t get me wrong. He was a naughty boy. He’d bend the law to suit himself, but he always bent it to deal with criminals, or to protect his men. He believed in loyalty and in his own strange brand of honour. Then they turned on him. The lot of them. All of his men, including his own son.’
Zoe’s eyes were as wide as saucers. ‘What happened to him?’
Jane frowned. ‘Never mind, but I don’t want it to happen to Shayne.’
‘It won’t.’
‘Ha!’ Jane laughed humourlessly. ‘Don’t bet on it!’ She got up and paced the floor. ‘I should never have got you involved. I didn’t know you’d fall in love with him.’ She raised an eyebrow. ‘The way you’ve treated men in the past, I thought you’d wrap him around your little finger. I thought you’d feed me any information you received. I was going to use it to protect him.’ Jane shrugged and shook her head. ‘Well, sweetheart, we’re both involved in it now.’ Then she smiled at the girl. ‘Don’t worry, Zoe—between us we’re a match for anyone. With us in his corner, Shayne will come out a winner.’
Zoe smiled tremulously. ‘I hope so.’
‘Believe it, girl.’ Jane heaved a sigh, then a light twinkled in her eye. ‘Is he good in bed?’
Zoe pretended to be shocked. ‘Jane! Stop it!’
‘Woooo! His grandfather was dynamite.’ Jane laughed. ‘You know, he actually used to make me faint.’
‘Really?’
‘Yes, really! I’d pass out, literally.’
‘No!’
‘Yes! And that’s what you have to do to Shayne. Go to him Zoe, and make love with him until he forgets everything.’
On the third day of Zoe’s visit to the beach house, she and Shayne packed up the small boat and motor onto its trailer and returned it to the fisherman in Ettalong. It was a hot morning. By ten o’clock the bench car seat in Shayne’s Holden was hot enough to burn her bare legs. She placed a towel on the vinyl seat coverings as they drove into the car park of the Ettalong Hotel.
Graeme Wilkinson was a businessman first and foremost. He sold seafood from the rear of a van in the corner of the car park which opened onto the main street. He also owned several small boats on trailers, which he rented out to holiday makers through the summer season, and did a nice trade in suntan lotions at weekends on the local beaches.
Graeme watched the young man release the boat trailer from his vehicle and push it into a parking space near his van. The boy was tall and good looking, but Graeme very quickly lost interest in him when the girl got out of the car. He gaped at first, then, realising how stupid he must look, he tried in vain to look anywhere but straight at her. Eventually the couple were so close he could smell the fragrance of the scent she was wearing. It brought back his youth and memories of pretty young girls with clear skin, red-lipped smiles and ponytails.
‘G’day,’ the boy said. ‘Are you Graeme Wilkinson?’
The girl was wearing the shortest, short-shorts Graeme had ever seen. He dragged his eyes away from her legs and forced himself to address the boy.
‘Yeah. That’s me. Returning the boat, are you?’
‘My mate hired it from you. He said to leave it in the car park. Is that all right with you?’
‘Yeah, sure.’ Graeme stuck his head into the back of the van and took a deep breath of the seafood smells. The girl’s perfume was stopping his brain from working.
‘How much do I owe you?’ the boy asked.
‘Eh?’ Graeme pulled his head out of the van.
‘How much do I owe you? For the hire of the boat.’
‘Oh, er, nothing. It’s on the house.’
Shayne looked at Zoe and raised his eyebrows. ‘Well, thanks. I won’t argue with you. But the least I can do is buy you a beer. How’s that sound?’
‘Okay by me. Business is quiet for the moment,’ Graeme looked up and down the street. ‘Let’s do it now.’
‘Great!’ Shayne extended his hand. ‘My name’s Shayne. This is Zoe.’
Two hours later Zoe watched as Shayne laughed and relaxed with three local reprobates. Graeme Wilkinson had proved to be a very colourful and amusing man. He regaled them with stories about fishing and fishermen and had introduced them to two of his local companions, Tim O’Brien, a retired newspaper photographer and Old Jim, a delightful man in his late sixties.
Every ten minutes or so, Graeme would see people approach his van and he’d rush out to serve them. During these moments, the other two maintained a jovial conversation.
‘So what do you do for a living Shayne?’ Old Jim asked.
‘Well,’ Shayne looked at Zoe as he answered, ‘I’m a cop.’
Old Jim laughed and held his open palm out to Tim O’Brien. ‘You owe me a dollar, Timmy. I told you he was a copper. I can pick ’em a mile off.’ He looked at Shayne. ‘Where are you stationed, son?’
‘Sydney C.I.B.’
‘A detective, eh?’
‘That’s right. Only recently though.’
‘Old Jim was a walloper for thirty years,’ Tim O’Brien interjected. ‘Weren’t you, mate?’
‘That’s right,’ Jim replied. ‘Finished up my time as a sergeant. Mind you, I wouldn’t want to be a policeman nowadays.’
The conversation was interrupted by Graeme. He handed Zoe a brown paper bag. ‘There you go, Zoe. Some prawns and oysters for you and Shayne.’
‘Oh Graeme,’ Zoe replied as she watched his eyes search her like a microscope, ending inevitably at her crotch. ‘How lovely, but I insist on paying for them.’
‘I wouldn’t hear of it. You need the prawns to build up your strength and Shayne here’ll need the oysters to build up his, won’t you, mate?’ he said and winked at Shayne.
Old Jim and Timmy O’Brien laughed fit to kill themselves and Graeme announced it was his shout for the beers and headed for the bar.
‘Don’t mind him, love.’ Old Jim patted Zoe on the shoulder. ‘He’s a dirty bugger, but he doesn’t mean any harm.’
‘That’s okay, Jim,’ Zoe replied. ‘I’m used to it in my profession.’
‘What’s that, Zoe?’ Tim O’Brien asked.
‘I’m a model.’
‘Really!’
‘She’s not just a model, Tim,’ Shayne added. ‘She’s a famous one. You know, Tokyo, New York, Paris, Vo
gue magazine, all that.’
‘I could have worked for Vogue, you know,’ Tim O’Brien remarked wistfully. ‘A lot of years ago now, but I could have.’
‘Why didn’t you?’ Zoe enquired.
‘Aaaah!’ Tim waved a dismissive hand in the air. ‘It woulda meant going to live in the States. I was happy in Sydney. I worked for the Daily Mirror. Mostly crime stuff, you know? It was exciting back then. I worked a lot with Lucky Bill Norris,’ he nudged Old Jim. ‘Those were the days, eh, mate?’
‘Yep,’ Jim nodded. ‘They certainly were.’
‘Do you remember the Dirty Tree and the church shooting, back in ’56?’ Tim patted Old Jim on the shoulder. Shayne stiffened and Zoe looked at him quizzically. He was glad he hadn’t mentioned that his surname was Everard. ‘Jesus,’ Tim O’Brien continued. ‘That was a bloodbath, I can tell you. And a cover-up too.’
‘How do you mean, a cover-up?’ Shayne asked with a smile.
‘Don’t listen to him, son,’ Old Jim said. ‘It’s a load of bullshit. I know, I was there.’
‘They shot three kids! The Thirty-Three boys. They were bloody hard bastards, those blokes, I’m telling you, but that night they went too far.’ Tim O’Brien was warming to the subject. ‘It was Knocker Reid and Tommy Bromley.’
‘And they got bravery awards for it!’ Old Jim snapped.
‘Ha!’ Tim O’Brien laughed. ‘Something “dirty” went on that night, all right, and the Prince of Darlinghurst covered it up.’
‘The Prince of Darlinghurst?’ Zoe asked.
‘George Everard!’ O’Brien replied. ‘Head of the Thirty-Three. They used to call him the Prince of Darlinghurst. I’ll tell you something, Missy, he was the most terrifying human being I ever met.’
Zoe gave Shayne another look, but he shook his head almost imperceptibly and re-entered the conversation. ‘What do you reckon happened, Tim?’ he asked.
‘I bloody well know what happened! One of those three kids killed a copper that night at a dance. Stabbed him with a switchblade.’ Tim shook his head. ‘You got to understand what it was like in those days, boy. They were hard men, those cops. Not like today, with their fancy suits and poofter hairdos. Those old cops were bloody tough! And if you touched one of them you were gone for all money!’
‘He’s right about that, Shayne.’ It was Old Jim. ‘Nobody touched a police officer, let alone killed one. And if you did, God help you. You were as good as dead.’
‘And that’s what happened to those kids!’ Tim O’Brien continued. ‘Reid and Bromley caught them in a potting shed behind the church and shot them like rats in a barrel!’
‘It was a gunfight, Tim!’ said Old Jim.
‘Gunfight, my arse! Where would those kids get a gun in those days? Especially a fancy .32 automatic. Knocker Reid planted it on them. I was there! I was taking photographs and George Everard stopped me.’ Tim looked at Shayne. ‘If you don’t believe me, ask Lucky Norris. He was there.’
‘You mean the editor of the Mirror? Shayne responded.
‘He is now. Back then he was a reporter and a bloody good one, but George Everard scared the living daylights out of us both. We wrote it up as he described it. And may God forgive us.’
‘You can say what you like about George Everard, Tim,’ Old Jim growled, ‘but in my book he was the best cop I ever knew. Tough, fair and honourable. It was a privilege to serve with him. I swear it was.’
‘You might be right at that, Jim. One thing’s for sure, the coppers these days …’ Tim O’Brien raised his hand. ‘No offence, Shayne, but the coppers these days are all crooks. They’re in it for themselves and they don’t give a shit about the public.’
‘Hear, hear,’ Old Jim nodded. ‘And Old George’s son, Harold, he’s the worst of the lot.’
Graeme Wilkinson returned to the table with a tray of beers. ‘Well, you lot! Here we go! Beers all round.’
‘Oh, I’d better not,’ said Zoe as she stood up. ‘I think we should be going, don’t you Shayne?’
Shayne was staring at Old Jim, his face a mask. ‘Eh??’ he turned to Zoe. ‘Sorry love, what did you say?’
‘I said we’d better be going.’
‘Rubbish!’ Graeme interjected. ‘Have one for the road.’
‘No, I insist!’ Zoe replied. ‘I don’t want him drunk.’ She smiled at Graeme. ‘He’s got a long evening in front of him.’
Graeme Wilkinson’s face turned the colour of beetroot as the other two men laughed at her tease.
‘Oh! Right you are! Shayne, you’d better do what the lady wants. My advice is to get into those oysters as soon as you get home!’ Then he roared with laughter himself.
Zoe took Shayne by the arm and led him towards the door. As she opened it, Old Jim called out to them.
‘Hey, Shayne! What’s your surname?’ he asked. ‘I might look you up next time I’m in Sydney.’
Shayne paused at the door and looked back at the three smiling men. ‘It’s Buck,’ he said. ‘Just ask for Detective Buck,’ then he waved and disappeared through the door.
Zoe and Shayne spent the rest of the day on Putty Beach, alternating between the shade of a beach umbrella and the fierce heat of the afternoon sun. They swam several times and took a walk along the beach, but the heat would soon see them back beneath the umbrella.
Zoe flicked through several upmarket fashion magazines and they’d laughed together when she’d found herself in one of them advertising lipstick.
‘How much money do you get for doing that?’ Shayne propped himself on an elbow.
‘A lot more than you ever dreamed of, sonny boy,’ Zoe smiled at him.
‘So you’re rich, are you?’ he teased.
‘I’m doing okay.’
Shayne wanted to know more about her. ‘What did your parents do?’
Zoe looked out over the sparkling ocean and brushed her hair from her eyes. ‘I never knew my father, and my mother was a prostitute. She died when I was ten.’
‘Sorry.’ He hadn’t meant to pry, but he couldn’t resist asking further. ‘Is that how you know Jane Smart?’
Zoe raised a warning finger. ‘I won’t hear a bad word about her, Shayne.’
‘Hey!’ He smiled at her. ‘I like her. I met her at a vice-regal reception. I don’t care what she does and I don’t care what people say about her. I make my own mind up about the people I meet and she seemed very nice.’
Zoe smiled fondly. ‘Jane took me in when Mum died and she’s looked after me ever since. She sent me to private schools and even to finishing school in France. I owe her everything.’ She leant on her elbow and fixed his eyes with her own. ‘That’s about it. Tell me about your family?’
‘Not much to tell, really,’ he replied. ‘All cops. My grandad, my father and now me.’
‘Your grandfather must have been a hell of a fellow by the sounds of Old Jim and company at the pub.’
‘He sure was.’ Shayne’s gaze wandered to her breasts. ‘Pity my old man isn’t the same. We don’t get on too well.’
‘What about your mum?’
Shayne was silent for a moment, then said flatly. ‘Mum killed herself when I was eight.’
‘Oh Shayne, how awful.’
‘Yeah, well, that’s life, isn’t it?’ Shayne lay on his side and closed his eyes.
Zoe went back to reading, but she was only too aware that Shayne was surreptitiously watching her as he pretended to doze. Several times she altered her position affording him a better look and when he was totally engrossed in staring at her mound, she deliberately caught him out.
‘See something you want?’ she whispered.
‘What??’ He nearly jumped out of his skin.
‘Come closer, Shayne,’ she whispered tantalisingly, ‘It’s all yours.’
Shayne moved his body against hers and stroked her thigh. ‘I can’t quite believe I’m lying next to you.’
‘Why?’
‘Because you’re a famous model and you’re too beautiful to be tru
e.’
‘Smell me, Shayne.’ Zoe pulled his head onto her breast. ‘Smell my skin. Touch me. Go on,’ she urged him, ‘touch me between the legs. No one’s watching.’
‘You’re too beautiful to be true,’ he whispered as his lips suckled her skin and his hand stroked her inner thigh.
‘I’m just a girl, Shayne, that’s all.’ Zoe stroked his hair and the length of his arm. ‘It’s nice that you think I’m beautiful, but I’m still just a girl. A girl falling in love with a boy.’ Her hand covered his between her legs and then her fingers moved the crotch of her shorts aside, affording him access to her. ‘Go on, Shayne,’ she whispered, ‘I’m all yours. You can do whatever you like to me. Anything. Feel how wet I am, Shayne.’ Her breath began to shorten and she gasped softly as his fingers explored her. ‘You make me like that, Shayne. No one else can do that to me. Only you.’
As she whispered to him, Shayne began to tremble. His desire for her was overwhelming him.
‘You can take me if you want to, Shayne,’ she continued, ‘right here on the beach.’ She pulled his face to hers and kissed him, then she continued her song, whispering in his ear. ‘Anywhere. Anytime. I’m yours, Shayne, for as long as you want me. Forever if you want.’
‘Jesus, Zoe!’ Shayne groaned and sat up. ‘You’ll drive me nuts if you keep talking like that!’
Zoe laughed and sat up next to him. ‘Guess what?’
‘What?’
‘See those people sitting over there?’ she said pointing to a group of several young men and women.
‘Yeah.’
‘I want to go over to them and say, my name is Zoe Collingwood and my lover is Shayne Everard. He wants to take me, right here in front of you all and there’s nothing I can do about it, because I can’t say no to him. I can’t resist him.’
‘Don’t tease me, Zoe. I mean it!’ Shayne looked into her eyes. ‘I’m not joking.’
‘Neither am I, Shayne.’ Zoe returned his gaze. ‘I meant every word I said. Take me home and make love to me. Make love to me until I faint.’
A Necessary Evil Page 27
