On the Right Track

by Penelope Janu

  ‘If I do this, I want until December to get my payments up to date.’

  ‘I give you my word.’

  ‘Is it the same word you gave Grandpa when you told him you’d act fairly? Maybe I should have it in writing this time.’

  His lips tighten. ‘That was uncalled for. Your father was dishonest. So was your grandfather. It’s time you accepted that.’

  ‘You own your home at Clovelly, and hundreds of hectares at Grasmere. You have investments and superannuation. You don’t need the money you get from me.’

  All of a sudden Eric looks tired. ‘Do what Tor Amundsen wants, Golden. Cooperate with him.’

  My hand shakes when I take my finger off the button. It’ll be too dark to ride Pepper by the time I get home so I’ll calm myself down by cleaning out the tack room or raking the stable yard. Seashell will wipe her body against my legs, meowing and demanding her dinner as the horses munch on theirs. After I leave the stables I’ll get in touch with Tor. I don’t have a choice. I’ll cooperate.

  CHAPTER

  5

  I arranged to meet Tor at a Randwick cafe early on Thursday morning, before I start work at the Children’s Hospital. Tor told me his colleague from the UN, Nate Gillespie, would join us. Nate, with broad shoulders like an American footballer, is the only other customer here. He has fair hair and an open boyish smile.

  ‘Tor didn’t tell me you look like Angelina,’ he says. ‘That it’s obvious you’re sisters. Except for …’

  ‘Except for what?’

  His smile slips. He’s not as confident as he pretends to be. But I doubt the barista at the cafe, leaning on his coffee machine and listening in, has noticed.

  ‘Well …’ Nate says.

  I’m pretty sure his New York accent is genuine, but he was schooled somewhere else as well. Maybe England? There’s something unusual about the way he says some words.

  ‘Well?’ I say.

  ‘Angelina may be a little taller,’ he says.

  ‘She’s 178 centimetres. I’m 154.’

  ‘You have the same colouring.’

  ‘Yes, but Angelina’s eyes are blue.’

  He peers into my eyes. ‘Yours are …’

  ‘Dirty green.’ I narrow them. ‘How well do you know Angelina? She’s never mentioned you.’

  ‘I’ve seen her around, and Tor introduced us on Sunday night. She’s a gorgeous girl. Everyone seems to love her. She smiles a lot.’

  The light to my shade. I look at my watch. ‘It’s almost six thirty. I’d prefer to get to work early rather than hang around. When will Tor be here?’

  Nate stifles a yawn as he answers. ‘I’m sure he’ll turn up soon.’

  ‘I can’t be late.’

  ‘The Children’s Hospital, right? You won’t be. It’s just around the corner. How do you do animal assisted therapy there? I thought you worked from home.’

  ‘Assessments are done on Thursdays, to work out which children they’ll send to me.’ I look at my watch again. ‘We made it here on time. Why didn’t Tor?’

  Tor, dressed in a dark suit and tie, finally appears. His face is more attractive than I’d remembered, his damp hair even darker. He walks with long and graceful strides, just like a thoroughbred colt. I stand when he stops in front of me.

  His eyes are cool. He nods politely. ‘Golden,’ he says, shaking my hand, ‘thank you for fitting me in.’

  My fingers are rigid in his grip. Even so, his hand swamps mine. After a moment he lets go and turns to the waiter.

  ‘Could we move to an outdoor table?’ he says.

  Tor stands behind me as I reach for my bag, and waits for me to precede him into the courtyard. Star jasmine creepers climb up the posts and along the beams. White scented flowers hang off the vine; spent petals scatter on the rough brick floor. Tor hesitates when he sees there are low stools around the tables out here. But then he loops his foot around a stool leg and positions it in front of me. He takes my arm above the elbow. It’s a light touch, and impersonal, but it sets my teeth on edge. Unless I’m holding onto something like a chair back, I can’t bend my ankle and knee to sit on anything too close to the ground, not in a way that doesn’t hurt. How does Tor know that?

  I wrench my arm out of his grasp and place both hands on the stool. Then I swivel, and sit. I do my best to smother my gasp.

  Tor mutters under his breath and meets Nate’s eyes as they sit either side of me. Nate raises his brows. I imagine what he’s thinking. She’s terribly difficult to deal with.

  ‘Are you a spy?’ I say to Tor. ‘Do you know everything about me? Is Nate a spy too? Is that why he’s sniffing around my sister? It’ll be a waste of time if he is. All she knows about horse racing is millinery and champagne.’

  When Nate opens his mouth to speak, Tor silences him with a shake of his head. We all wait silently as the waiter brings water and coffees to the table. Tor’s coffee is black. He picks up the cup.

  ‘I’m sorry I was late,’ he says. ‘I was held up on a conference call.’

  ‘I suppose you wouldn’t admit to it, even if you were a spy, you’d just change the subject.’

  Nate smiles. ‘He’s not a spy, Golden. Neither am I. I ordered eggs, Tor. Hope that’s all right.’ He nods towards me. ‘I’ve been telling Golden how much she reminds me of Angelina.’

  ‘Why do you keep talking about Ange?’ I say.

  ‘You’re extremely protective of your sister,’ Tor says. ‘Why is that?’

  ‘I care about her. Are you protective of your brother?’ His twin brother is in the Norwegian Navy. He and his fiancée, the environmentalist Harriet Scott, were on the cover of National Geographic recently.

  His eyes are suddenly bright. ‘I’d do anything for Per.’

  ‘I suppose I’m protective of my sisters,’ Nate says. ‘There are three of them and they all look the same. Like you and Angelina do.’

  I scrape the chocolate from around the rim of my coffee cup with a spoon. ‘Eric says we’re as different as Bianca and Katarina.’

  ‘Who are they?’ Nate says.

  ‘Bianca and Katarina are the sisters in The Taming of the Shrew,’ Tor says. ‘Bianca is delightful. Katarina is … far more complicated.’

  As we eat, Tor catalogues what he wants. I have to compile a list of racing people that my father and grandfather knew.

  ‘My grandfather was friendly with just about everyone in racing,’ I say. ‘But I hardly ever saw my father, except when he was riding in Sydney. I’m not sure who he dealt with.’

  ‘Just give me what you can,’ Tor says.

  ‘You’ll profile the people on the list, and then I’ll introduce you to them? Even though some will want nothing to do with me, will turn their backs?’

  Tor shrugs as if he doesn’t care. Nate freezes as if I’ve said something significant. I look from one to the other.

  ‘Right … so the reactions of those who won’t speak to me will be just as instructive as those who will?’ When Nate sits up even straighter, I turn to Tor. ‘If Nate is a spy, he’s not very good. He gives things away.’

  ‘If you were as skilled at hiding your own emotions as you are at reading other people’s, you’d be formidable,’ Tor says.

  I lift my chin. ‘So read my expression now.’

  He drains his coffee cup. ‘Your stepfather forced you to assist me by threatening to sell your home. I gave him that idea. You’re angry and resentful.’

  ‘There’s more. I think you’re an arrogant bully, just like Eric.’

  He moves his cup to the side, lining it up with his plate. ‘And do you know what I think?’ His eyes are cold and dark. ‘That for most of your life, you’ve lived on dirty money.’

  I don’t know whether to breathe in or breathe out. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Dirty money is laundered money, money derived from the exploitation of vulnerable people. Drug and gambling addicts and their families. Whole underclasses of call girls, rent boys, and the dispossessed. Laundered
money funds criminal activities, including narcotic distribution, terrorism and war. It’s fed you and clothed you. It’s financed where you live and—’

  Nate’s hand shoots out and grasps Tor’s arm. When Tor yanks it away, Nate mumbles an apology. Then, at exactly the same time, they turn to me.

  I must look as pale and sickly as I feel. Tor frowns and looks at Nate. Nate gets up from his chair and squats in front of me. He gently touches my arm.

  ‘I’ll get the bill, Golden. Or would you like another coffee?’

  I shake my head as I watch Tor stretch out his fingers. The hair that was secured behind my ear comes loose. It curtains one side of my face, meaning Tor can’t see me properly.

  His voice is quiet but insistent. He must’ve said my name at least five times. ‘Golden?’

  I can hear Nate at the counter, chatting to the barista. I think they’re discussing American football.

  I look up. ‘What?’

  ‘You’re so damned …’ Tor takes a deep breath and releases it in a rush. Then he speaks so quietly I can barely hear him. ‘It doesn’t matter. I had no right to speak to you like that. All we have at present are hypotheses.’

  I’d like to walk out but I’m not sure my legs will support me. My hand shakes when I take a sip of water. I carefully put the glass back on the table. My voice is even quieter than Tor’s.

  ‘I didn’t know my father,’ I say. ‘Not well enough to assess whether he was a good man or not. I did know my grandfather. He thought the money in his bank account came from someone indebted to my father, that’s what my father had told him. Grandpa was trusting, not trained to be suspicious like you.’

  Tor’s words are considered, precise. ‘The money deposited into that account has been linked to Hong Kong. The first payment was significant, and made in the year you were born. It was a bank transfer, and we hope it will lead us to one of the people we’re after. Subsequent payments were smaller. They were made annually, in cash, presumably so they didn’t attract attention. The later payments aren’t traceable, but the first payment may be.’

  When I pick up the glass again, Tor puts his hand under it. ‘Give it to me, Golden. Before you drop it.’

  I support the glass with both hands, carefully placing it on the table. ‘Why do you think the money was transferred to my father? Assuming it was.’

  ‘I don’t know, but I believe your grandfather was paid to keep quiet about it, even after your father’s death. And we don’t even care about that. All we want is to establish some sort of connection between your father and the person who put the money into his account.’

  ‘And that’s where my list comes in?’

  ‘I’m sorry I have to involve you.’

  Sorry? I keep my gaze fixed firmly on the glass, leaving it safely on the table as I turn it around and around.

  ‘Don’t apologise,’ I say. ‘Not when everything you say is said for a reason, to get you what you want.’

  ‘That’s not—’

  ‘I shouldn’t have said you were a bully. Calculating and manipulative fit you much better.’

  ‘Look at me.’

  I do as he says. His eyes are unreadable. ‘What?’

  ‘You have a right to know the facts,’ he says.

  ‘You want me to be frightened, to know what’s at stake in respect to my father and Grandpa. And you want me to feel guilty about the dirty money. It makes me more useful.’ I put a twenty-dollar note on the table. ‘So, mission accomplished. You’ll get your list.’

  He doesn’t deny what I’ve said as he pushes the note back towards me. ‘I’ll cover your expenses.’

  ‘No! And you don’t have to worry about where the money came from. I work hard at what I do. I earned it.’

  When Nate returns he offers his hand and helps me to my feet. I let him support me while I get my balance.

  ‘Stay away from Angelina,’ I say.

  He smiles uncertainly, as if he’s not sure whether I’m joking or not.

  Tor doesn’t bother saying goodbye—he’d be well aware that my fists clench whenever he looks my way. There’s no sign of his widow’s peak now; his hair is dry and his fringe has fallen onto his forehead.

  Just in case the men are watching I take long steps down the footpath until I turn the corner. Then, jittery and breathless, I slow my pace.

  Pepper hurt a tendon and finished at the back of the field in her first and only Group 1 race. Her overseas owners allowed her to be spelled, but when she didn’t recover as quickly as they’d hoped, they talked about selling her to someone who’d race her on country tracks. Grandpa knew what that meant. She’d win against inferior horses until she broke down permanently. And if the damage to her leg worsened, she’d end up in a knackers yard. I’m not sure how much Grandpa had to pay for her. She was well bred, had potential before her injury, and a second chance as a broodmare. It must have been at least forty thousand dollars, maybe more.

  Did Grandpa use his nest egg like he said he did, or was it money from somewhere else?

  Will Tor look into everything Grandpa did? Will he examine the financial dealings of the people with a personal connection to Grandpa? I have nothing to hide, and I’m sure Eric and my mother are squeaky clean. What about Angelina? Tor won’t care what she did five years ago, but Eric certainly will. I reach for my phone.

  ‘Ange, it’s me.’

  ‘Golden?’ Her voice is thick with sleep.

  I glance at my watch. ‘Sorry I woke you. I wanted to let you know I’ve just seen Tor Amundsen. You know he wants me to help him with something?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Don’t panic, but he’s likely to be asking Marc Ferguson some questions.’

  Angelina doesn’t respond. She’ll be shaking her head. She always does that when you tell her things she doesn’t want to hear.

  I do my best to sound reassuring. ‘What happened with Marc isn’t relevant to anything Tor is interested in. But it’s possible it might come up.’

  ‘He’ll tell Dad, won’t he?’

  ‘I’m not sure what he’ll do. Today’s your day off, right? Can we meet at lunchtime?’

  CHAPTER

  6

  From the time I could walk, even before, I spent most of my days with Grandpa. I hung around with the children of stablehands, jockeys, horse trainers and owners. Even though I was often the youngest and smallest, and there weren’t many girls, the other children tolerated me. My father was famous, my grandfather respected. I knew when to keep quiet and do as I was told. Most importantly, I was fearless in the saddle. Marc Ferguson, the son of a third-generation bookie, was one of our crowd.

  Marc and I started going out the year before Grandpa got into trouble. I was going on twenty-one and Marc was twenty-six. It wasn’t public knowledge that we were together. He said he wanted to keep me to himself and I was stupid enough to believe him. So we went to racing carnivals as ‘friends’, and slept together afterwards. Eric and my mother had no idea about our relationship, but Angelina did, as did Grandpa. He didn’t approve of Marc but he wouldn’t say why. He told me I had to make mistakes in order to learn not to make the same mistakes again.

  When we broke up Marc said, ‘I love you, but that doesn’t mean you can give me what I need.’

  At first I thought he was talking about sex. The first time we’d done it he’d hurt my leg, and every time since I’d been anxious, tense and awkward. But as it turned out, our sex life wasn’t his problem. He wanted something from me that I’d never be able to give him—a woman who would network with casino owners and football club chairmen. Someone prepared to use their connections to ingratiate themselves with politicians like Eric and socialites like my mother. He required a partner who was vivacious and sociable and nice. Someone like Angelina. The fact that she was my sister and even younger than I was didn’t put him off.

  Marc contacted Angelina on the pretext of checking I wasn’t too heartbroken. Later, he convinced her I’d be hurt if I found out about them
being together. They’d been going out for over a month before Angelina confessed. By then I’d worked out why Grandpa didn’t like Marc—he used people.

  Angelina hadn’t cared for her other boyfriends the way she cared for Marc. He showered her with attention and gifts. And he sucked up to Eric, who did his best to overlook his daughter’s relationship with someone associated with racing. After they’d been together for six months, Marc convinced Angelina to invest in a betting scheme that was being developed offshore. It didn’t just focus on horse racing, but other sports like football and tennis. Marc’s family was comfortably off and could easily have provided the funds but his father, Marc senior, was old-school like Grandpa. They didn’t think it was right to encourage online gambling. Horse racing was different in their eyes because of the history and the number of variables—the quality and preparation of the horses, the state of the track and the skills of the jockey and trainer.

  ‘I need you to help me,’ Marc told Angelina. ‘We’ll be set up for life. Just fifty-thousand dollars start-up money.’

  Angelina didn’t tell me about the investment because I was barely talking to her. And she didn’t dare consult Eric—he’d never invest in anything to do with gambling, particularly as he’d have to publicly declare it because Angelina was still dependent on him. The media and opposition parties would have had a field day. They’d still make a fuss about it now.

  Marc told Angelina that their relationship was over, and she’d lost her money, a few weeks after she’d made the investment. Angelina wasn’t too concerned about the break up because she’d decided she wasn’t in love with Marc anyway. She was concerned about the money, particularly as Eric had discovered the fifty thousand he’d given her wasn’t in her bank account anymore. He demanded an explanation. When she couldn’t put it off any longer, she came to me.

  ‘Tell Eric you gave me the money,’ I said, ‘and I bought an interest in a racehorse. He always thinks the worst of me anyway.’

  Angelina is wearing black gym clothes and her hair is in a ponytail. She shouts as she runs across the park, ‘Golden! I’m coming!’