Brittle Shadows

by Vicki Tyley

  “Tell me about your family,” Jemma said. “Do you have any sisters or brothers?”

  “One younger brother.” Fen sighed, looked away and then back at Jemma. “I understand where you’re coming from. I really do, but I can’t see that digging it all up again is going to achieve anything except a lot of angst. Tanya’s gone and, as hard as it is, we have to accept that. The best thing we can do for her is to live life to the full. It’s what she would’ve wanted.”

  “So you’re ready to put Tanya’s death behind you without knowing what really happened?”

  “No…” Fen batted her eyes with the back of her hands. “No, I’m not, but I don’t know what else to do.”

  “Oh, Fen, please don’t cry.” Fighting her own tears, Jemma caught Fen’s hand and squeezed. “I didn’t mean it like that. I can be such an insensitive oaf at times. You’re not alone in how you feel, believe me.”

  Fen delivered a weak smile. “You are more like your sister than you will ever know.”

  CHAPTER 20

  … more like your sister than you will ever know.

  It had taken Fen breaking down for Jemma to realize how unfair she had been. Not only was her mere presence a constant reminder to her sister’s closest friend, she had coerced Fen into joining her on her fact-finding mission. Revealing the news of Tanya’s pregnancy couldn’t have helped either. She sighed. Her single-mindedness would be her undoing if she weren’t careful.

  The ‘Cross Now’ buzzer sounded. She stepped off the curb. A hand grabbed her and jerked her back. A split second later, she felt a pressure wave and a bus hurtled past. She turned to thank her good Samaritan, but he or she had merged with the group already starting across the street. She took a quick breath, looked left and right, and then made a dash for the other side.

  Her day wasn’t playing out at all as she had expected. She had hoped to talk with Fen about the Bartletts and the various rumors circulating, but that wasn’t going to happen. Fen needed her space. Prejudice or no prejudice, Chris was out of the question. When it came to the Bartletts, he was less than forthcoming. And she certainly couldn’t quiz Ash. Or could she? She had planned on catching up with him, anyway. That’s if he would return her calls.

  Lost in thought, she rounded the corner and almost collided with the same peaked-cap deliveryman from the other day.

  “Steady on, lady.”

  “Sorry,” she said, sidestepping.

  “Hey, I recognize you.” He pulled his clipboard out from under his arm. “Jemma Dalton, apartment 367, right?”

  Her heart sank as she took in the bouquet of red roses, a clone of those from the previous week. “I don’t suppose there’s a card?”

  “Here, sign this.” He shoved the clipboard at her.

  She made a mental note of the florist and signed where indicated.

  “The card’s inside,” he said, swapping the roses for the clipboard.

  Her arms full with the bouquet she shouldered through the glass doors into the foyer, catching sight of Ethan strolling past as she turned. He waved, but was gone before she could do the same.

  The second she was in the apartment, she ripped open the card. For a special woman, it read on one side. She turned it over. No signature, no nothing. She tapped the card against her palm. Why would anyone go to the expense and effort of sending flowers anonymously? More to the point, who? Definitely not Ross. When she tried thanking him for the last lot, it had been obvious from his reaction that he had no clue to what she was talking about. Chris, then, trying to make amends for ‘cousin Milo’s’ lecherous behavior at the barbecue? Maybe. Or Ash’s magnanimous attempt to put things right? Maybe. Yet neither would explain the first delivery.

  After she put the roses in water, she tried phoning Ash again. She counted the rings. …seven…eight…nine… Just when she thought it was going to divert to his voicemail, he answered.

  “What now?”

  She blinked. “Ash?” It didn’t sound like him.

  “Who else would it be?”

  “Please, you have to give me a chance to explain.”

  “What’s to explain? You made your thoughts quite clear.”

  “That is so not fair. You’ve known me for less than a week, yet you think you can read my mind. I’m not Tanya.”

  He didn’t respond straight away. “Don’t you think I know that? It’s obvious that somewhere along the line we’ve got our wires crossed. How much Fen has to do with that, I don’t know.”

  Jemma breathed out. “You know in her own funny way, I think Fen was trying to protect you. She obviously doesn’t want to see you get hurt again.”

  Ash grunted. “Meddling more like.”

  “Anyhow, now that you’re talking to me again, how about getting together at some stage?”

  “Sure, if you think you can trust me.”

  Ouch.

  “Sorry,” he added, “that was uncalled for.”

  She started to reply, but then decided against it. Face to face would be easier.

  “Are you free tonight?” he asked.

  “I think I might be. What did you have in mind?”

  “Drinks, dinner, whatever you want.”

  “On one condition.”

  “What’s that?”

  “You let me pay this time.”

  He laughed. “Deal.”

  They bantered back and forth for a while, before finally agreeing to meet up at a bar a few blocks walk from the apartment, called The Gap.

  “Now, are you sure you know where it is?” Ash asked.

  “If I get lost, I’ll call you. Ash, um…” She cleared her throat.

  “Yes.”

  “Don’t worry about it. I’ll talk to you later.” It was unlikely that in his aggrieved state Ash would have sent her flowers anyway.

  She ended the call and picked up the card. “For a special woman,” she read aloud. “For a special woman,” she repeated, wishing it somehow made sense.

  Exchanging the card for the envelope it came in, she dialed the phone number listed beneath the florist’s Collins Street address. She explained to the girl who answered that the person who had ordered the flowers for her from them had neglected to include his or her name. “Just an oversight I would imagine,” she said.

  “I’m sorry,” said the girl, not sounding it, “but he didn’t leave a name.”

  “He?”

  “Or she. I don’t recall the order. If you hang on for a sec, I’ll check if anyone else remembers it.”

  Jemma waited, listening to the muted sounds of people talking, the electronic ping of a cash register, door chimes. A busy shop.

  “Sorry to keep you,” said the girl on her return, “but the person who would have looked after that order has left for the day.”

  Another dead end. Why did that not surprise her? Frustrated, she chucked her phone down on the table next to the card and envelope. It still baffled her to why anyone would want to send flowers without the recipient knowing whom they were from. What was the point?

  Probably something as cryptic as the note fragments she had found under the washing machine. She scooped up the two pieces of paper from the kitchen countertop and held them up, one in each hand.

  AT?

  E WHO CARES.

  HOW WELL DO

  YOU KNOW YO

  Fen had said Kerry Mullins had been behind anonymous letters to Tanya, implying Sean was sleeping around with other women. Did that fit with what she was looking at? With what she had, she couldn’t tell one way or the other. Her breath escaping in a loud huff, she slapped the note fragments down on the counter, covering them with her palms. Shame she wasn’t psychic.

  CHAPTER 21

  Sandwiched between a Japanese sushi bar and an antiquarian bookseller, The Gap was aptly named. Jemma pushed through the heavy glass door, her initial reaction to cover her ears. The sound inside was ten times louder than it was out on the footpath. Voices and music competed for dominance, the noise of blenders crushing ice on
ly adding to the din. A polished-granite topped bar on the right ran almost the whole length of the room. Dark crimson walls added to the tunnel-like feel. A scattering of tub chairs, round low tables, and people standing occupied what space remained.

  Toward the rear, she spotted a staircase leading to an upper floor. She shouldered her way through the crowd, inhaling a potpourri of floral perfumes and woody colognes along the way.

  She stopped halfway up the stairs, using her vantage point to scope the room, looking for Ash. Not finding him, she kept going.

  The upper lounge’s soft furnishings and dense pile carpet dampened the music and noise floating up from the ground floor bar. She could hear herself think again. Standard lamps threw circles of diffuse light over nests of deep couches and low tables.

  More intent on each other, couples and small groups alike paid her scarce attention as she weaved her way around them to a vacant couch near the window. Sinking down into the couch’s thick cushioning, she delved into her bag for her mobile. One missed call. Ash. Hoping she hadn’t been stood up, she pressed Call.

  “Hello,” she heard in stereo.

  She jumped, almost dropping the phone. Ash stood before her, looking relaxed in a white open-weave shirt loose over stone chinos.

  His mouth stretching in a wide grin, he snapped closed his mobile phone. “So this is where you’ve been hiding.”

  “I’ve only just got here,” she said, dropping her phone back into her bag. “I couldn’t see you downstairs.”

  “Not surprising really. They’re bursting at the seams tonight.” He plonked himself down on the couch, the cushion occupied by Jemma’s bag separating them. “At least we can talk up here.”

  “Ash, I want to apolo—”

  He sliced the air with his hand. “No need. I probably should be the one apologizing. Let’s say we just put it down to a misunderstanding and move on.”

  She nodded, only too happy to put the incident behind her.

  A blond, spiky-haired waiter appeared to take their order. Jemma snatched up the menu from the table. “What would you recommend?” she asked Ash as she quickly perused the list, reluctant to let the waiter go while they had him.

  “How does an hors d’oeuvres’ platter accompanied by something light like a Fumé Blanc sound?”

  “Perfect,” she said, closing the menu.

  “So,” Ash said, after the waiter left, “here we are.”

  She shuffled in her seat. “Yes, here we are. Did you get everything sorted out with your father okay?”

  “Nothing to sort. Call it another of those miscommunications.” He stretched backwards, throwing his arm along the back of the couch. “In fact, I would say relations between us are better than they have been in a long while. Maybe it’s because he’s finally coming around to accepting me for who I am and not who he wants me to be. Like it or lump it, he’s stuck with me. You can’t divorce your kids.” He scowled, his gaze turning inward. “Mind you, if that jumped-up gorilla had had his way, I’d be disinherited by now.”

  “Do you mean Sean?”

  “Who else? The wanker – not to speak ill of the dead or anything – thought he could displace me as my father’s successor.”

  “You can’t be serious.”

  “Deadly.” Ash gave a dry laugh. “Pun not intended. And don’t look at me like that. Do you think if I had anything to do with his demise, I would be telling you any of this?”

  Jemma relaxed her jaw. “Sorry, you just took me aback a bit. What do you mean Sean thought he could be your father’s successor? How? Wasn’t he just Marcus’s chauffeur and personal trainer? Tanya had more input into the business side of things than he had, surely.”

  “You would think so, wouldn’t you? But no, as far as Sean was concerned he was the protégé and I was just the pain in the arse no-good son. Why do you think I was shipped out to the other side of the world?”

  She frowned. “And that was Sean’s doing?” She glanced in the direction of the stairs. Where was that waiter?

  Ash shrugged. “It depends on whose story you believe. The official line was Dad needed someone on the ground in the UK whom he could trust.”

  “And London’s obviously not your scene?”

  “The lifestyle is completely different. I really am just a glorified beach bum at heart. Give me sun, sand and surf any day of the week.”

  It didn’t surprise her. She imagined Ash’s laid-back attitude probably frustrated his business-driven father at times. Had Sean played on that? “How long are you back for?”

  “If I can convince my father I’m more use to him here, for good, I hope.”

  “And if you can’t?”

  He shrugged again. “I’ll cross that bridge when I come to it. Ahh, about time,” he said, moving his legs aside to allow the waiter to set down his load. “We were about to send out a search party.”

  His face deadpan, the young waiter presented the silver-on-white labeled bottle of wine to Ash and waited for his approval.

  “That’s the one,” Ash said, dipping his hand into the bowl of wasabi peas on the table.

  Jemma couldn’t help but smile to herself when, after he had poured the wine, the waiter surreptitiously nudged the bowl of wasabi peas out of Ash’s reach, replacing it with an empty entrée plate. Not for long though.

  A chubby-cheeked girl materialized from behind the waiter and deposited a huge white platter, laid out with all manner of gourmet tidbits, on the table in front of them. Mouth agape, Jemma took in the stuffed button mushroom caps, smoked salmon topped rounds, fried goujons of some sort, mini meatballs on skewers, olives, sun-dried tomatoes, vegetable crudités, dips, tapenades, lavash, and Chinese spoons of various concoctions. If she managed to sample just one of each, she would be doing well. The joke was back on her.

  Ash chuckled and raised his glass. “Cheers.”

  She clinked glasses with him and sat back. “Go for it,” she said as Ash hovered over the table looking from her to the food and back again. “Don’t wait for me.”

  He gave her the broadest grin, one that lit up his whole face, and tucked into the food. He reminded her of an eager puppy, easy to please. And easy to like. She watched him, sipping her wine and thinking about the Bartlett dynasty.

  Wiping his fingers and mouth on a napkin, he angled his body to face her, his right knee bumping her bag. She pulled it closer to her.

  “So,” he said, tossing the scrunched napkin on the table, “where were we?”

  “Talking about your family.”

  “If you can call it that.” He reached for his wineglass.

  “How do you get on with your stepmother?”

  “Danielle?” He laughed. “Mirror, mirror on the wall, who’s the fairest of them all? Let’s just say we have an understanding. I keep out of her way and she keeps out of mine.”

  “Fen told me Danielle accused Tanya of having an affair with Marcus.”

  “Yeah, I heard about that. I wouldn’t put any weight behind it. Danielle thinks every woman is out to get her claws into Dad.”

  “Does she have any reason to worry?” Jemma speared a goujon with a toothpick and popped it into her mouth. Fish.

  “I don’t think so. She’s just your basic insecure gold-digger. The longer she stays married to my father, the more she stands to gain.”

  Jemma swallowed and helped herself to another. “To do with the pre-nup, I’m guessing.”

  “You guess right.” He flipped his hand toward the food. “C’mon, eat up. You don’t think I can do justice to this on my own, do you?”

  Half an hour later, the hors d’oeuvres’ platter whilst not finished was certainly depleted. The wine bottle, on the other hand, was empty. Noise or no noise, she could have easily curled up on the couch and gone to sleep. She rested her cheek against the back of the couch and looked at Ash. His eyelids at half-mast, he had slipped down into a semi-recumbent position. He gave her a lazy smile. She blushed and averted her face, thankful for the low light.
>
  “So what’s with the obsession with my family?” he asked.

  She tensed. “I wouldn’t call it an obsession. I’m trying to see Tanya’s life from a different perspective. Because whether I want to admit it or not, Tanya was more part of your family than she was her own. Over half her life was spent here in Melbourne working for your father, befriending you. You, her other friends, you all knew a Tanya I didn’t. I wasn’t privy to her innermost thoughts.”

  Ash sat upright, pushing his buttocks back into the seat. “And you think I was? Huh, I wish. Your sister was very selective with who she shared her thoughts.”

  “I thought you were best mates.”

  “Yeah, me, too. But don’t forget I was just as much persona non grata as you were for those last few months. You should be talking to Fen, not me.”

  “I have. How well do you know Fen?”

  He rocked his hand from side to side. “How well does anyone know anyone else? I thought I knew your sister. Look where that got me. So what did Fen have to say for herself?”

  “Not much. She seems a bit fragile at the moment, so I didn’t want to push.”

  “Fragile? Fen? We’re talking about the same woman, aren’t we? About so high.” He put out his hand at what would’ve been his waist height if he had been standing.

  “I don’t think she’s as strong as you think she is. What I did pick up on, though, was that she’s petrified of Kerry Mullins, Sean’s ex-wife. Maybe you can shed some light on what that’s all about.”

  “Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned,” Ash said in a baritone.

  “I get that, but there has to be more to it, surely. Fen sort of intimated that Kerry was capable of…” Jemma paused. “Well, capable of murder—”

  He clapped a hand over his mouth. “She did what? I need a drink.” He signaled a waiter.

  “You didn’t let me finish. She was under the influence when she said it, and she did retract it.”

  “And that makes it all right? I can’t remember the last time I got pissed and started throwing around wild accusations of murder. Can you?”