by Vicki Tyley
Sighing, she switched on the television and channel-surfed. Anything to thwart her obsessing about the man Tanya had unprotected sex with in the aftermath of her fiancé’s demise. Copulating lions filled the screen. She flicked to the next station: mourners at a funeral. Sex and death. She hit the off button.
Her mobile rang. The caller’s number was withheld. She hesitated, her finger poised over the end button, and then changed her mind.
“Hello?”
“Jemma, Marcus Bartlett.”
She breathed out.
“Is everything okay? Anything you need?”
“Thanks for your concern, but I’m fine.”
“Pleased to hear that. But if there is anything, don’t hesitate to give me a call.”
“Come to think of it, there is something. Can you give me Ash’s phone number? I forgot to ask him for it.”
“Ashley’s phone number?”
“I understand if you don’t feel comfortable giving it to me, in which case, would you mind passing on mine to him?”
“I didn’t realize you two had met.”
“I met him the same day I bumped into you and Danielle on your way to lunch.” The words were out of her mouth before she could stop them.
His voice took on a brusqueness. “Wednesday?”
She winced. “Yes. Is there a problem?”
“Not yours.” He paused. “I’ll be in touch. Good day.” Click.
Dumbstruck, she could do little except stare at her mobile phone. She didn’t know what trouble Ash was in, but she knew she had somehow dropped him in it. And with no way of contacting him, she couldn’t warn him.
She rose from the couch and headed to the kitchen. In the throes of pouring herself a glass of ice-cold Chablis, her phone rang. She didn’t recognize the number.
“Hi—”
“Ash!”
“That’s my name.”
She took a breath. “Sorry, you caught me by surprise.”
“Good I hope.”
“I was going to phone you, but I didn’t have your number.”
“Likewise, but I managed to wangle yours from Fen.”
“You didn’t get it from Marcus?”
“What’s my father got to do with anything?” Ash asked, his tone no longer light-hearted.
“Only that he rang earlier and I asked him for your phone number. He seemed a bit taken aback that we had met.”
“I bet he did.”
“Did I do something I shouldn’t have?”
“Not you, me. As far as dear old Dad is concerned, I’m still supposed to be holed up in a dank London office making him squillions.”
“Oh Ash, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—”
“Don’t worry about it. No harm done. His bark is worse than his bite.”
Somehow she doubted that. Men like Marcus Bartlett didn’t get where they were by being toothless. “How long have you been back in Australia?”
“Only a few days. I was going to announce my arrival to the family this weekend anyway. It’s not as if I haven’t been working. I just rerouted the office calls to my mobile before I left. Emails, I can pick up from anywhere. So no big deal.”
“Technology certainly makes it easy to be in more than one place at one time. Or at least the illusion thereof. So what’s your next move? Get in first with the boss?”
“No, he can wait. I have more important things to do…”
“Such as,” she prompted when he didn’t continue.
“Such as asking a young woman I met recently out to dinner.”
Did he mean her?
“So Ms Dalton,” he said with a mock upper-class British accent, “if you don’t have any pressing engagements, would you do me the great honor of accompanying me to dinner tonight?”
“Um… I… um…” Why couldn’t she find the words she was looking for?
Dropping the accent, he hurriedly added, “No strings. Friends. Casual. You have to eat.”
She breathed easier. Enjoying his company was one thing, dating was another. “My dear Mr Bartlett, I would be delighted.”
He laughed. “Great. Shall we say seven-thirty?”
Jemma agreed, said her goodbyes and left Ash to contend with his father. At least he had one. Her and Tanya’s adored dad had died when the excavator he was operating collapsed into a pit, four years before cancer claimed their mother.
No sooner had she put the phone down, when it rang again. She glanced at the caller ID and answered it.
“Hi, Chris.”
“Wow, you sound brighter than the last time we talked.”
“What, you mean not hungover?”
“You sound – dare I say it – chirpy. Not that there’s anything wrong with being chirpy, of course.”
“It’s amazing what a decent night’s sleep can do.”
“Good, good. Listen, the reason I’m calling is to see if you’re free tonight. A couple of tickets to a local jazz club have come my way and I was wondering if you would like to join me?”
“Would love to, but I already have something planned. Raincheck?”
“Sure. No problem.” His tone didn’t match his words.
“I met Tanya’s friend, Fen, for lunch today.”
“What did she have to say for herself?”
“Not much. Small talk mainly.” Since discovering Chris had suffered the heartbreak of losing a baby, Jemma was reluctant to bring up Tanya’s pregnancy with him again. He didn’t need the reminder. “We were cramped for time, but we’ll catch up again soon, I’m sure.”
“Not tonight then?”
She gnawed her lip. “Do you know Marcus’s son, Ash?”
“Can’t say I do. Should I?”
“Thought you might have come across him in your travels. He was a good friend of Tanya’s. Anyway, I’m having dinner with him later.”
“Be careful, Jemma.”
“You just said you didn’t know him.”
“Like father, like son.”
“God, what is it with you and Marcus?”
“Trust me on this, okay?”
She gritted her teeth. “If you mean accept what you say without question, then no. I am not that 9-year-old girl you knew in Perth. In case you haven’t noticed, I’m all grown up now. You can’t warn me off someone without giving me a damned good reason.” She paused for breath. “I think you’re a great guy, Chris, and I know you mean well, but please don’t treat me like a child.”
“Point taken. I wasn’t trying to play the overprotective big brother role.” He laughed, but it sounded forced. “It comes naturally. In my job you learn very quickly not to take people at face value. Sad but true.”
She lowered her voice, holding the phone close to her mouth. “I can understand that, but unlike your world, not everyone in mine is suspect. If you won’t tell me what your problem with Marcus is, then lay off on the insinuations. Please, Chris. For Tanya, if not me.”
For a long moment, he said nothing. “You’re right, of course. I’ll shut up. Now,” he said, changing the subject, “how are you placed tomorrow evening? Care to escort this cynical old cop to a barbecue?”
Her little outburst had come to naught. Still none the wiser to the reason behind the friction between the two men, she accepted Chris’s invitation. In a more relaxed setting, over a few beers or wines with his friends, he might be more inclined to open up and tell her what she needed to know. Her only concern was that it might involve Tanya; the one common denominator Jemma could see linking the two men. Then again, perhaps she was reading too much into it. She knew nothing of the circles each moved in.
She stoppered the bottle of Chablis and replaced it in the fridge. The half glass she had already poured, she carried through to the study. Wineglass in hand, she stared at the clothes hanging in the wardrobe, more concerned with how Ash was getting on explaining himself to Marcus than with what to wear. She sipped her wine. On second thoughts, why worry? She imagined Ash could talk his way out of a crocodile’s jaws
if the need arose.
One-handed, she rifled through the few dresses and separates she had thought to bring. She could only hope he wasn’t taking her anywhere too fancy. The long gypsy skirt and matching tangerine bustier was the only outfit she had with her versatile enough to crossover from beach party to five-star restaurant. Maybe not five-star, but then Ash didn’t strike her as a fine dining sort of guy. Privileged upbringing or not.
Decision made, she quaffed the last of her wine and headed for the bathroom. She stayed under the shower longer than intended, her mind drifting from Tanya to Tanya’s friends to home and her own friends and back to Tanya. At six weeks pregnant, what changes had her sister noticed in her body? Tracing the contours of her own, Jemma ran her soapy hands across her flat belly and up over her full breasts.
CHAPTER 15
Jemma slapped the air as a mosquito whined past her ear. “Have you heard Marcus talk about or do you know a Detective Sergeant Chris Sykes?”
Ash stopped chewing and swallowed. “The name sounds vaguely familiar, but I couldn’t tell from where. I’ve spoken with a quite a few cops, but I’m pretty sure he wasn’t one of them. Why do you ask?”
“He’s an old friend of Tanya’s.”
Ash frowned.
“From a long time ago,” Jemma said, with a flick of her hand. “A very long time ago. In fact, you could say he was Tanya’s first love.”
The frown lines deepened. He put down his knife and fork.
“She obviously didn’t talk about him.”
“No, but your sister rarely spoke of her past unless it involved you.” He stifled a laugh. “For all I know, she left behind a husband and tribe of kids in Perth.”
Jemma gave him a wry smile. “Not likely. She was only seventeen when she left home. Talking about kids,” she said, watching his face, “did you know Tanya was pregnant?”
His mouth fell open, his blue eyes widening. “No way.”
Another strike. “Yes way. Six weeks according to the pathologist’s report.”
“But…” He wiped his mouth, his gaze locking with hers. “But that’s not possible.”
“Why isn’t it?”
“Because… because… shit, I don’t know.” He thumped the heel of his palm against his forehead. “I can’t get my head around it. Did Fen know?”
“Apparently not.”
He shook his head, sucking air in through his teeth. “Who would’ve thought? Fen didn’t even tell me Tanya was seeing anyone.”
Jemma’s turn to frown.
“Just because she didn’t want me around her doesn’t mean I stopped caring,” he said. “Fen kept me in the loop.”
Something Fen had failed to mention when Jemma asked her about Ash. “She didn’t know.”
“Are you sure? Those two were as thick as thieves.”
She was beginning to think they weren’t the only ones. Who else wasn’t being upfront with her? “I’m only repeating what she told me. And she did sound genuinely shocked when I gave her the news.”
Ash swirled his wine, his gaze lost in the blood-red eddy, oblivious to everything and everyone around him.
Jemma stayed silent, leaving him to his thoughts. Her elbow resting on the balcony railing, she skewed her body around to take full advantage of the view. Southbank’s lights reflected off the Yarra’s tranquil waters, the city skyline its backdrop. Couples strolled hand in hand on the promenade, making her wistful for another era. She looked back at Ash, knowing he, too, was revisiting another time, another place.
The door onto the balcony opened. Greek music followed the black-aproned waiter as he stepped out to clear their plates. When the door clicked behind him, Ash looked up. “Sorry, what did you say?” The flickering candle cast his face in strange shadows, the flames mirrored in his eyes.
“Nothing. Where were you?”
“Just thinking.”
“That much was obvious.”
He skolled his wine and reached for the bottle. “We think we know people, but how much do we really know?”
“You’re talking about Tanya, right?”
He sighed and leaned in, his expression earnest. “Why, Jemma? Why did she do it? An unwanted pregnancy isn’t the end of the world, surely.”
She shook her head, her gaze not leaving his face. “Nooo…” she said drawing the word out, not sure why he would think that. “You’re not suggesting Tanya took her own life because she found out she was pregnant and couldn’t face having to make the decision whether to keep it or not?”
Ash slumped back in his chair. “No, you’re right, it’s totally illogical, but I just don’t want to accept she killed herself because she couldn’t live without that damned man.”
“I know what you mean.”
He sat up straight. “You do?”
“Some would call it denial.”
“Tell me about it. So what’s your take on Tanya’s death?”
“I don’t know if it’s a take as such, but I’m convinced there’s more to it than meets the eye.” Looking to Ash for confirmation, she drew her feet under her chair and moved in closer to the table. “There has to be. You knew Tanya. Would you have ever thought of her as the sort of person to take the easy way out?”
His jaw moved from side to side as if chewing on her words. “Are you saying what I think you’re saying, that Tanya’s death wasn’t suicide?”
She sucked in a lungful of the cooling night air and held it. Somehow hearing him speak the words aloud added more weight to them. She released her breath. “Maybe.” She shook her head. “I don’t know. But whatever, I just know we’re missing something.”
“What?”
“Well, if I knew that, I wouldn’t be missing it.”
“Sorry, stupid question.”
The waiter reappeared to tempt them with desserts, leaving a moment later with orders for Greek coffees and Metaxa.
Jemma waited for the door to close behind him. “And what if Tanya’s assertion that Sean didn’t die by his own hand, either accidentally or intentionally, wasn’t just the crazed ramblings of a grief-stricken woman like everyone seems to think?”
“Shit, Jemma, are you saying now that you think Sean was murdered? How much have you had to drink?”
Enough to lower her guard and loosen her tongue. “Forget I said anything.”
He clicked his fingers. “Just like that? All right, I know my comment was uncalled for, but you blindsided me. Just answer me one question: were you serious?”
“I said what if, I didn’t say that’s what happened. It’s a possibility, isn’t it? Just like suicide and accident are possibilities. Tanya didn’t believe Sean killed himself, so don’t we at least owe it to her to do everything we can to find out what really happened? And that way we might finally begin to understand Tanya’s state of mind at the time of her death. The police investigation centered on the obvious, but I think the truth lies hidden in the shadows.”
Ash studied her for a moment, his steepled fingers touching his chin. “Who else have you mentioned this to?”
“No one.”
“Don’t, because if there’s anything to what you say, you could very well be putting your own life at risk. Did you think about that?”
“What, you think I should just let sleeping dogs lie, accept the police and coroner’s findings, and get on with my life? I thought you of all people would understand.”
“I do, probably more than you realize.” His fingers still at his chin, he leaned in close, something akin to pity in his eyes. “But seriously, what do you hope to achieve?”
She averted her gaze, her eyes pricking with tears. “Truth, justice and… and…”
He filled in the blank. “A salved conscience?”
The arrival of the waiter saved her from having to answer. While he unloaded his tray, she pondered the night sky. Was Ash right? Was appeasing her guilt part of the equation? On a logical level, she knew she wasn’t to blame for what had happened, but emotion fought a hard battle.
Guilty conscience or not, though, she wasn’t about to wave the white flag. Not yet.
Hearing the door closing, she turned to see Ash with his nose deep in the large brandy balloon cupped in his hand. She followed suit, her palm warming the Metaxa and releasing its intoxicating aroma.
“So why did you ask if I knew this Detective Sykes?” Ash asked, taking the conversation back to before they had veered off into no man’s land.
Jemma peered over the rim of her glass at him, trying to read his face. “Only that I noticed some ill will between him and your father and I was wondering if you had any idea to its origin?” She sipped her drink, swilling the fiery liquid around her mouth before swallowing it.
He laughed, catching Jemma off guard. “Oh, I doubt it’s anything personal. Dear old Dad doesn’t think much of our police force, never has. Don’t worry, it’s mutual. My father thinks the thin blue line is elastic. So far it hasn’t snapped. It’s come close, mind you.” He chuckled into his glass, as if remembering some private joke to which she wasn’t privy.
CHAPTER 16
Jemma entered Carlton Gardens, the grand avenue of plane trees that led to the Royal Exhibition Building landmark dome stretching ahead of her. Dappled shade provided respite from the late morning sun as she walked, the noise of the city receding further into the background with each step. She breathed deeply, the baked eucalypt scented air tickling her throat.
Settling into an easy stride, her mind drifted back to the previous evening. Ash’s comment that the antagonism between his father and Chris wasn’t personal still bothered her. It didn’t gel with the way Chris arced up at the mere mention of Marcus Bartlett. An experienced officer of Chris’s rank had to have faced more than his fair share of hostility from the public; it was part of the job description. So what set Marcus apart from all the other police detractors?
Up ahead, she spotted the garden’s huge fountain, framed against the Exhibition Building’s giant arched entrance and quickened her pace. The last time she had visited Melbourne it hadn’t been flowing.
She was almost on top of him before she realized who the dark-haired man seated on the park bench to her right was. His cultured voice gave him away. He had his back to her, his arms wrapped around the platinum blonde whose face was buried in his chest. Not gay then.
