by Vicki Tyley
“Of course if you have a better offer…”
“No, it’s not that. I’m just wondering if falling asleep at the table would be a good look.”
“You mean like that first dinner we had?”
She groaned. “Don’t remind me. Anyway, the answer to your question is yes, but something low-key, please. I don’t have the energy for anything more.” A thought struck her. “I hope you’re not doing this because you feel obligated.”
“Now, why would you think that?”
Though he couldn’t see her, she shrugged. “The annoying kid sister syndrome?”
“We all grow up. How does fish and chips in the park with the possums and mossies appeal? Low-key enough?”
She told him it sounded perfect. They arranged to meet at 7 p.m. and said their goodbyes.
No sooner had she hung up, when it rang again. She pulled a face and took a deep breath. The sooner she got it over with, the better.
“Scapegoat Hotline,” she announced, exasperation behind her flippancy. “How may I help you?”
“I hope you’re satisfied with yourself.” Marcus’s deep voice cut right through her.
She closed her eyes and exhaled. “As much as I would like to see you held to account, I am not the one responsible for posting that footage of you and Sean on the Internet. Nor did I write, publish or otherwise that allegation about you having Sean killed to protect your sordid secret.”
“What do you take me for? Stupid?”
“That depends on your definition,” she said, physical distance bolstering her courage. “What do you call screwing your personal assistant’s fiancé, your chauffeur?”
Marcus sighed. “We all make mistakes,” he said, his voice taking on a resigned tone. “Granted, some larger than others.”
“How big? Was your wife right when she accused you of having an affair with Tanya?”
For a few moments, he said nothing. “About as right as she was when she accused me of having an affair with you.”
Jemma pushed on. “Did you know Tanya was six weeks pregnant when she died?”
Another silence. “No.”
“Ash didn’t tell you then?” she asked, psyching herself up for the big question.
“What?”
“Don’t you two ever talk? Even when you’re living under the same roof as you are now?”
“Not as much as I would like.” Marcus gave a weary sigh. “Six weeks you say?”
“Yes.” She paused, lowering her voice. “Was it yours, Marcus?”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” he said, the hard edge back.
“What’s so ridiculous about it? It’s obvious you can’t keep your dick in your pants.”
“Talk to your aunt. Then you’ll understand.”
CHAPTER 37
Talk to your aunt… talk to your aunt… talk to your aunt…
Marcus’s words went round and round in Jemma’s head. Her hands shook as she dialed Gail’s number.
“Hello, Jemma, love. I hope you’re ringing to tell me what time you want me to pick you up from the airport.”
She swallowed. “Not exactly, no.”
“Oh. Nothing wrong is there?”
“I don’t know. You tell me.”
“You’re starting to scare me, love. Talk to me.”
“Marcus Bartlett.”
“Oh.”
“Is that it?” Jemma’s voice rose in pitch. “Is that all you’re going to say?”
“Your mum swore me to secrecy,” Gail said. “She didn’t even want Tanya to know.”
“Know what?”
“Oh.”
“Please stop saying that. Tell me.”
Gail coughed. “Oh dear, where to start?”
“The beginning would be good.”
“Yes, yes. I just need a wee moment.”
Jemma tensed, her heart thumping. Please don’t tell me what I think you’re going to, she thought.
“I don’t know how to tell you this, but Tanya was Marcus’s biological daughter, not—”
“No! How can that be? How, Gail? We were sisters. I’ve seen Tanya’s birth certificate. It clearly states Robert Benjamin Dalton is the father.”
“And in all the ways that count, he was. You are still sisters. No one can take that away from you. Your father was a very special man and your mother loved him with all her heart. She was already pregnant when they met, but nothing could change Robert’s feelings toward Karen, not even another man’s baby.”
“Are you saying as soon as Marcus found out Mum was pregnant, he abandoned her?”
“It’s not quite like that, Jemma, love. The relationship had already ended when your mother discovered she was pregnant. Marcus was also married.”
Jemma humphed. “Now why doesn’t that surprise me?”
“Anyway,” Gail continued, “your mum decided nothing would be gained by telling either of you. She made a pact with those in the know never to reveal the truth.”
“Our whole lives built on a lie,” Jemma whispered. Tears welled in her eyes. “So why send her to Melbourne? Her working for Marcus was no coincidence, was it?”
“I was at my wit’s end, love. Your sister was running wild, skipping school, drinking and partying all hours of the night. It was her way of handling the grief of your mum dying. Sending her to her father was a last resort, the only way I could think of helping her.”
“Did Tanya know Marcus was her father?” Jemma asked, bits of the puzzle beginning to fall into place.
“I don’t know. She wasn’t supposed to find out, but if she did, she kept it to herself.”
A vision of Ash’s face flashed through Jemma’s mind. “What about his family – his legitimate family? Did they know?”
“Again, I don’t think so, but I can’t know for sure. Only Marcus can answer that.”
“Bastard.”
“Please, love, he’s not a bad man. They were both so young. He and your mum did what they thought was best at the time.”
“Some things never change,” Jemma said under her breath.
“Pardon?”
“Nothing.” How could she tell Gail that Marcus had screwed his own daughter’s fiancé? What could be worse than finding out the man you were about to marry was having a homosexual affair with your boss? Finding out that man was your father, that’s what. Had Tanya known the identity of Sean’s lover? Jemma could only pray she hadn’t. “Why didn’t you say something sooner? Like when I asked you about Tanya’s wealth? It all makes sense now, but you must have known or at least had a pretty good idea where it stemmed from then?”
“I’m sorry, love,” Gail said. “I was just trying to protect you. You’ve had more than enough to deal with in your young life. I thought what you didn’t know, couldn’t hurt you.”
Jemma sniffed, searching in her bag for a tissue. “I’m not a child.”
“Of course not, and I don’t mean to treat you as one.”
Struggling to hold it together, Jemma made her excuses and hung up. She didn’t want her aunt to treat her like a child, yet here she was on the verge of bawling like one. She closed her eyes, her lungs expanding as she took a long, slow breath. After a count of ten, she released it. Misguided as they were, her aunt’s intentions were never meant to hurt. But they did.
And Tanya, how much worse must it have been for her to find out her father wasn’t her father and her sister was her half-sister? Not to mention the existence of a half-brother; a half-brother whom she might have unknowingly had an incestuous relationship with. Assuming, of course, that she knew. A life built on shadows.
CHAPTER 38
Jemma gulped air, the tension in her chest crushing her lungs. Her head pounded. Her emotions swung from an overwhelming sense of loss to feeling betrayed to anger and back again. The apartment’s four walls were closing in on her. She had to get out.
Her sandals exchanged for sneakers, she fled the apartment, headed for the park across the street. She left behind her mobile phon
e, taking only her keys. She didn’t want to talk to anyone. She didn’t want to see anyone.
The traffic lights changed. She ran and kept on running, down the avenue of plane trees, around the Royal Exhibition Building, behind the museum, past the tennis courts, pushing her body to its limits. Physical pain eased the mental anguish. What was real and what wasn’t? Who was real and who wasn’t? Even the one person she thought she could trust, her aunt, had deceived her.
With her lungs fit to burst, she veered off the path onto the grass, collapsing in a heap beneath the trees. She lay on her back on the hard ground, panting, sweat dripping from her every pore. Her eyes closed against the shafts of late afternoon sun, she tried to imagine a world where honesty counted for something. Unlike the world she inhabited, where nothing was as it seemed. For all she knew, Tanya wasn’t even her half-sister, her father wasn’t her father, her mother wasn’t her mother. And if Ash was Tanya’s half-brother and Tanya was her half-sister what did that make Ash to her? Jemma’s breathing slowed.
She woke with a start, the whiskers of a small white dog tickling her face. Jemma sat up before its female owner, carrying a leash, came into view.
“Sarge, come here,” the woman called.
The dog trotted away, leaving Jemma to brush herself off. The sun was a lot lower in the sky than she remembered it. How long had she been asleep? She felt more drained than rested.
After checking the ground to make sure she hadn’t dropped anything, she headed at a much slower pace back the way she had come. It wasn’t until she spotted Chris outside the apartment building, phone to his ear, wicker basket at his feet, that she remembered their date. She called out to him but he didn’t hear her.
The lights took forever to change. As soon as they did, she ran across three lanes, paused in the median strip, waited for a gap in the traffic and made a dash for it. “Chris, I’m so sorry,” she said, when she reached him. “I fell asleep.”
He looked her up and down.
She held up a hand. “Long story. I hope I haven’t ruined dinner,” she said, glancing down at the picnic basket, a folded tartan rug lodged under the handle. “I don’t even know what time it is. How long have you been waiting?”
“I haven’t ordered the food yet. The basket just contains drinks, insect repellent and the like. The time,” he said, twisting his wrist, “is 19:11.”
She pulled her keys from her pocket. How fast could she shower and change? She might have begged off if it weren’t for the expectant expression on his face. “Can you give me a few minutes, ten tops?”
He plucked a dry leaf from her hair. “No problem. I have a couple of calls I need to make anyway. I’ll meet you across the road in ten.”
Once inside the apartment, she raced for the shower, shedding clothes as she went. The water barely hit her before she was out again. She threw on a linen shirt, denim capris and flat sandals, making it out the door with a minute to spare.
In the lift on her way down to the street, she checked her phone for missed calls and messages. Ethan hadn’t called, but she was past caring. Almost.
She found Chris seated on a bench just inside the park. On her approach, he stood, closing his phone. “Dinner’s on it way.”
He led her toward a pond, spreading the tartan rug he had brought with him in a small grassed area in the lee between two trees. Not far away, another couple taking advantage of the balmy evening, stood hand-in-hand watching the ducks.
“Not too noisy, is it?” Chris asked, motioning for her to sit.
She shook her head. Though not far from the street, the trees muffled the sound of the traffic, creating a background of white noise.
Kneeling on the rug, he delved into the basket. Out came two wineglasses, followed by a bottle of wine encased in bubble wrap of some sort.
“Chris—”
His phone beeped. “Hold that thought,” he said, getting to his feet. “I’ll be right back.”
He disappeared through the trees, returning a couple of minutes later with a stack of white cardboard boxes.
“Exactly how many people do you intend feeding?” she asked, as he laid out the boxes between them on the rug. “Fancy fish and chips,” she added, when he lifted the lids to reveal prawns, calamari, scallops, and fresh lemon wedges.
“I aim to please.” He handed her a paper napkin. “Now what were you saying?”
She shook her head. “It can wait.”
One eyebrow went up, but he said nothing. He poured the wine and handed her a glass. “Bon appétit.”
She returned the toast, wishing it were true. Her appetite had disappeared along with her faith in people.
“Not to your liking?” he asked, when she hadn’t touched the food. “No problem. We can order something else. Italian, Greek, Mexican, Lebanese – you name it.”
“No, it’s lovely, really,” she said, managing a weak smile. “I’m sorry, I’m just not that hungry. I should have called you earlier and made it for another night.”
He frowned. “What’s happened, Jemma?”
“What hasn’t happened is more like it.” She skolled her wine. Her stomach contracted as the chilled liquid hit it and for one horrible moment, she thought it was all going to come back up again.
“That bad?” He refilled her glass.
She hugged her knees to her chest, her left hand gripping her right wrist, the fingers of her right hand wrapped around the wineglass. “I learnt something today I wish I hadn’t,” she said, the words coming out of her mouth at odds with her conviction that the truth should always win out. “Can I ask you something?”
“Sure.” He leaned back on his elbow and sipped his wine.
“Did Tanya ever mention her father to you?”
“He died a few years before your mother, didn’t he?”
“She didn’t talk about a different father?”
He sat upright. “You’ve lost me. Two fathers?”
“What would you say if I told you Marcus Bartlett was Tanya’s real father?’
Chris’s eyes boggled.
“I know,” Jemma said, “I couldn’t believe it either.”
“And Bartlett knew Tanya was his daughter?”
She nodded. “What I don’t know is if she knew he was her father.”
“Whoa.” Chris scratched his eyebrow. “Some bloody father.”
This time she didn’t contradict him. “You can imagine what’s been running through my head.” She gazed into the darkening water. Daylight was fading.
“Didn’t I tell you that man had no scruples?”
She didn’t answer.
“Look, you don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to, but it might help. We don’t have to stay here either,” he said, starting to pack up the boxes of food.
“Actually, if you don’t mind, I would rather stay.”
“I’m not leaving you out here on your own.”
She unlinked her arms and twisted her body to face Chris. “Would you stay with me?” She swallowed, her voice starting to crack. “I could really do with the company.”
He edged closer, putting his arm around her shoulders. “I’m yours for as long as you want me.”
She relaxed into the crook of his arm, resting her head against his firm shoulder. She smelled his masculine muskiness, felt the warmth of his body, his heart beat strong and steady. She thought of Ash and her meltdown in his arms. This felt different, somehow. She felt different. Desolate. Numb. Dead.
Darkness fell, but it wasn’t until a bright-eyed possum arrived to check them out that she realized how long she and Chris had sat there. She moved and the possum scuttled off. “I’m so sorry, Chris. I bet this is not at all how you planned tonight to go.”
In the gloom, she couldn’t see his expression. “That’s what friends are for.” He stretched his left arm up, rubbing his shoulder. “Although at the moment, I don’t think you know who your friends are.”
She scratched her ankles. “Not these damned mosquitoes,
that’s for sure.”
He stood and helped her to her feet. “Sounds like you’ve had enough of the wild outdoors for one night. How about I get you home?”
She tensed.
“Did I say something wrong?”
“No, it’s just that I can’t think of the apartment as home, temporary or otherwise.”
“Slip of the tongue, sorry.”
She caught his arm. “Don’t be. I’m the one with all the hang-ups…” Her fingers tightened and then loosened. “How easy is it to trace calls to a mobile?”
“What calls? Whose mobile?”
“Hypothetically speaking.”
“Well,” he said, “obviously if the caller withheld the number, it’s not going to be that easy. Not for the civilian whose mobile it is, anyway. If this civilian, however, say had a friend with access to police resources – hypothetically speaking, of course – then something might be able to be done.”
“Hmmn, interesting.” She collected the two empty wine glasses and poked them in the basket. “Let’s get out of here while I still have some blood left in my body.”
When they emerged from the park, a few minutes later, Chris asked, “Are you going to be okay on your own? I could sleep on the floor.”
She shook her head. “I wouldn’t do that to you. Besides, I think I’m safe inside the apartment. Unless someone is going to scale up the outside of the building in full view of all the other apartments and jimmy open the balcony door, no one can get in.”
“Keep your phone handy and don’t think twice about calling me.” Chris didn’t leave until he had escorted her across the street and seen her to the door.
The hypothetical phone calls started again at midnight…
CHAPTER 39
Jemma hung up from Chris. After yet another broken night’s sleep, she’d had no choice but to ask for his help in tracing the nuisance phone calls. With any luck, it wouldn’t be a payphone or a prepaid mobile.
Sighing, she tossed the phone on the couch next to her and stared unseeing out the balcony doors. What was her nocturnal caller hoping to achieve except to deprive them both of sleep? Unless of course, it wasn’t a human, but a computer programmed to call her number at set intervals. That, however, assumed a specialist knowledge.
