Winds of Change

by Anna Jacobs

  ‘Worse than ever. He was getting very strange; Alzheimer’s starting, the doctor thought.’

  ‘What about the will? How are things left?’

  ‘I’ll tell you when you get here.’

  ‘What’s the big secret?’

  ‘Nothing you need to be upset about. You’ll get your share.’

  She put the phone down, chewing her thumb. Not a good time to be nipping off to Australia. But still, if Nikki was only six weeks gone, there was still plenty of time to sort out an abortion after she got back. She’d make it a quick trip, just a week or so.

  She went on line and booked herself a seat to Perth, then began to pack.

  The following day, which was a Saturday, Sebastian and his wife arrived while Miranda was having her breakfast and walked straight in without even knocking. She pushed her plate aside, losing her appetite completely at the sight of him.

  ‘I rang Regina,’ he said by way of a greeting. ‘She’s coming to the funeral.’

  ‘Oh, good. I’ll get a room ready for her.’

  ‘No need. She’s staying with us.’

  ‘But—’

  ‘Finish your breakfast. I’ll start going through the things in Father’s bedroom and sitting room. Dorothy will do the living room. We’ll leave the kitchen till later.’

  Did he think there were papers or valuables in the kitchen? she wondered. ‘I’ve nearly finished eating. I’ll come and help you.’

  ‘It’s not your job. I’m the executor as well as the main beneficiary, so it’s up to me to make all the decisions about what’s thrown out.’

  ‘What if I want to keep something?’

  He looked round scornfully. ‘Most of this stuff’s rubbish, but you can go through the discard piles afterwards, if you must. Anything valuable will be considered part of the estate, however.’

  Her appetite gone completely, Miranda scraped the rest of her scrambled eggs into the rubbish bin as she listened to the sound of his heavy footsteps. In the living room Dorothy was opening and shutting cupboards and drawers. She and Sebastian were avid collectors of antiques and had been dying to get their hands on this house and its more valuable contents for years.

  A door squeaked. Miranda recognized that sound and hurried along to her bedroom. Inside she found Sebastian opening a drawer.

  ‘What on earth are you doing in here? This is my room!’

  ‘I’m just looking at this chest of drawers.’ He made as if to pull the drawer right out and she prevented him.

  ‘I don’t appreciate having you go through my things.’

  ‘I need to check that it’s a genuine antique. We’ll have to catalogue all the furniture. This is about 1820, I should think. The wood’s in excellent condition, mahogany, and that bow front is very elegant. I reckon it’ll go for a couple of thousand pounds.’

  She shoved the drawer back into its slot. ‘No, it won’t. The furniture in here is mine, so are quite a few of the other good pieces in the house. You were working on that project over in Sydney at the time I got them and it was before you got interested in antiques.’

  ‘I didn’t think they were particularly valuable.’ He sounded as if he disliked the thought.

  ‘My mother’s aunt said they were nice pieces, but I like them because they’re attractive not because they’re valuable.’

  ‘Your great-aunt wasn’t wealthy and, anyway, I’m pretty sure I remember this chest of drawers from a long time back. Can you prove that it’s yours?’

  She stared at him open-mouthed. Did he really think she’d lie about this? The days of him browbeating her into doing what he wanted were over, and he wasn’t getting his hands on her things. ‘I can easily prove it. I still have her will and her lawyer’s letter to me and a list of what she left me.’

  He scowled at her as he looked round. ‘Does that include everything in this room?’

  ‘All except my mattress. That was new last year. Father did pay for that, so if you want it . . .’ She went and tugged at a corner of it as if to pull it off the bed.

  ‘Don’t be stupid, Minnie. I hope you’re not getting silly again.’

  He looked at her smugly and she felt herself shrivel at the implications of that. He wouldn’t. Surely he wouldn’t do that again! ‘I’m telling you the simple truth.’

  ‘Well, I shall want to see your aunt’s lawyer’s letter. We have to do things properly.’

  She recovered enough to say, ‘Good. You can start by using my proper name: Miranda. Now Father’s gone, I’m going to use that. I never did like being called Minnie, just because I was a small baby.’

  He let out a scornful grunt. ‘I couldn’t think of you as anything but Minnie now. The name suits you.’ He walked to the door with a last regretful glance at the chest of drawers, but popped his head back inside to add, ‘What about your mother’s jewellery. That’s too valuable to leave lying around. If you give it to me, I’ll put it into the bank for you.’

  ‘That’s not part of the estate, either. Father left it lying around and you didn’t worry then.’

  ‘I’m just trying to help. I didn’t agree with him on that. Keeping expensive jewellery at home in a rambling old house like this is asking for trouble.’

  ‘I’ve put it somewhere safe, don’t worry. Father had it in his drawer. But there are two items missing, the most valuable: a diamond brooch and matching necklace. If I don’t find them, I’ll have to call in the police.’

  There was silence, then, ‘Ah. Dorothy borrowed those to wear to a special function. I’ve got them at home in my safe. No need to worry about them.’

  Miranda nearly gave in, because he was so hard to pin down, and as he’d said, the most valuable jewellery was safe, which was the important thing. But she was angry at the casual way he’d dismissed the idea of using her proper name, angry that her sister-in-law was using the jewellery without even asking her and found the courage to say, ‘I want them back. Straight away.’

  ‘There’s a ball coming up. They go really well with Dorothy’s blue dress, which is why father lent them to her.’

  ‘Then you’d better buy her some diamonds of her own. I want mine back.’

  ‘Don’t be foolish. You never wear them.’

  She was so angry, she forgot her usual fear of him. ‘That’s not the point. You shouldn’t have borrowed them without my permission. I want them back tomorrow.’

  ‘I’m busy all day. You’ll have to wait till I have time to sort it all out.’ He fixed her with that gloating gaze which always made her shiver. ‘You are acting in a foolish way today. What’s got into you?’

  When he’d gone, she collapsed on the bed, blinking away the tears. She’d tried to be brave and face up to her bully of an older brother, but as usual, he’d ignored her wishes. He might not hurt her physically these days, but he still continued to put her down and trample all over her. And he still continued to threaten her with her greatest fear. He didn’t need to put it into words, only hint and she caved in.

  She got out some yellow stickers and went round the house, putting them on her own pieces of furniture. She and Dorothy had sharp words about this several times. It appeared her brother-in-law had coveted these particular pieces for some time and had intended to have them moved out.

  After that Miranda stayed mainly in her bedroom until her brother and wife left in the late afternoon. She made short forays to the bathroom or kitchen, glad that such an old-fashioned house still had locks on the bedroom doors.

  They didn’t call goodbye, so she knew Sebastian was seriously annoyed with her and she could expect some sort of retribution from him.

  Well, she was angry too. Only, what good had that ever done her before?

  When she bought her own house, she would look in a country town, as far away from her brother as possible. Or go to live in England, as Regina had. Her mother had been English and her father had made sure Miranda kept her British passport up to date, because he considered it a valuable thing to possess.


  Miranda strolled along the street, intending to go to the corner deli for some bread and ham. But before she got there she gave in to temptation and took a detour through the small park, which was looking parched with the summer heat. It’d start getting cooler soon. February was the hottest month of the year, usually.

  She came here sometimes for a bit of peace, snatching a few minutes to sit in the cool shade of a huge Moreton Bay fig tree.

  Lou watched the woman walking towards him, thinking how sad she looked. He’d seen her a few times before and she never looked happy. Harried, yes, upset, yes, but never, ever happy. That intrigued him. Since he’d come out of hospital he’d been confined to a damned wheelchair, with only the short range of an electric mobility scooter when he went out.

  He was a lot better now, though, and was planning how to reorganize his life to cope with his new disability. In the meantime he came here most days just to get out of his flat. He could only sit and watch others, for lack of energy to do more, but that was better than watching the wall. You could only spend so much time on a computer, after all.

  The woman sat down on an empty bench, and brushed back her fair hair impatiently as she stared across the murky water of the small lake at the two black swans sailing majestically past.

  When she wiped away a tear, he could bear it no longer. She was such a tiny, slender creature, surely not more than five foot tall, and had a vulnerable air. He moved his chair forward, stopping beside her bench. ‘Lovely, aren’t they?’

  She jumped in shock as he spoke, but no one was afraid of a man on a mobility scooter, and he watched her relax a little.

  ‘I’ve seen you here before,’ he offered, hoping for some conversation.

  ‘I’ve seen you too. Just in the past few weeks. Have you recently moved to the area?’

  ‘Yes.’ He held out one hand. ‘I’m Lou Rayne.’

  ‘Miranda Fox.’

  ‘Great name.’

  She looked at him in surprise. ‘Do you really like it?’

  ‘I wouldn’t say so if I didn’t.’

  ‘My family call me Minnie. I hate that.’

  ‘Tell ’em not to.’

  ‘They refuse to change.’

  Perhaps they were the ones who were putting the deep sadness into her face. ‘I can’t resist asking: do you come here often?’

  She smiled. ‘Yes. I love to watch the birds. And it’s so peaceful.’

  He moved his scooter slightly so that he was facing both her and the water. ‘You live in that big house on the corner a couple of streets away, don’t you? I’ve seen you go in. I love the wrap-around verandas. They built much prettier houses a hundred years ago.’

  ‘It’s not quite that old. It was built for my father and his first wife. He died yesterday, so I have to move out soon.’

  ‘I’m sorry. Both about your father and you having to leave.’

  ‘He was ninety-four and ready to go. I always knew I’d be leaving after he died. I’ve a half-sister and brother to share the inheritance with, you see.’

  ‘Chucking you out to sell it, are they?’

  ‘I wouldn’t want to stay. The house is far too big for one person and the past few years haven’t been easy, so the place doesn’t hold very good memories for me. I’m looking forward to buying my own home. Where do you live?’

  ‘In that block of flats custom built for people with disabilities. Ugly place. The architect should be shot, and the sooner the better before he inflicts any other monstrosities on the world.’

  ‘Why did you move there, then?’

  ‘I was between houses when I fell ill. My niece bought the flat for me when I was in hospital. I wasn’t in a state to protest at the time. It was touch and go whether I’d recover.’

  ‘But fortunately you did.’ She stood up. ‘I’d better get back, I suppose.’

  ‘I’ll keep you company as you walk, if you don’t mind. I haven’t heard a human voice all day.’

  ‘I don’t mind at all. Would you like to come in for a coffee? We can sit on the veranda and— Oh! There are steps.’

  ‘I can manage steps if I take them slowly. I just can’t walk far. That’s why I have my trusty steed.’ He patted the scooter affectionately.

  Miranda set off, matching her pace to his. Impossible to be nervous of being alone with this man, not because he had some sort of disability, but because he had a friendly, open face – cheeky even, for all his hair was silver and very thin on top.

  There was a book in the basket at the front of the scooter and she studied the title. ‘Dean Koontz. Do you like horror stories?’

  He grinned, a surprisingly boyish grin for a man who must be at least ten years older than her. She couldn’t help smiling back.

  ‘I love ’em,’ he said. ‘Silly, I know.’

  ‘I couldn’t sleep if I’d read something that frightened me.’

  ‘They don’t frighten me. Most of them amuse me, though this chap writes better stories than most. I don’t sleep much anyway, so it doesn’t matter.’

  He said that matter-of-factly, not in a self-pitying or angry tone. Her father had been very angry after his stroke and had let the whole world, which mainly meant her, know it.

  She watched Lou climb painfully up the veranda steps, then settle in the big, upright chair her father had used. She went inside to make the coffee, bringing out a home-made cake as well. It was gratifying that he ate two large pieces.

  ‘I’ve not eaten anything as delicious for months!’ he said as he pushed his plate away.

  ‘I can wrap you up a piece to take home.’

  ‘Yes, please!’

  They didn’t talk much or if they did, she didn’t remember what they’d said. But time passed pleasantly and she was sorry when he said he’d have to get back.

  ‘I’m afraid I need a rest now.’

  ‘It must be hard coping on your own.’

  He shrugged. ‘You get used to it. I have a carer come in every day to help me shower, and a cleaner three times a week. My niece brings me food, or I have it delivered.’

  ‘I’ll walk back with you. I need something for tea from the deli.’ She’d thought she wasn’t hungry but now realized she was.

  They stopped outside his block of flats and he scowled at it. ‘Ghastly, isn’t it?’

  ‘More like an egg box. Did you have a stroke?’ Miranda felt herself flushing. ‘Sorry. None of my business.’

  ‘It’s cancer of the spine that’s put me in a wheelchair. I had a minor heart attack and while I was in hospital they found the cancer. They operated a couple of times and now they’ve given up on me. I’ve got about six months to live.’

  ‘Oh, Lou, I’m so sorry! I shouldn’t have asked.’

  ‘I don’t mind you asking. And I’m sorry too. I’d wanted to slay a few more dragons before I shuffled off this mortal coil. As soon as I’ve sorted a few things out, I’m moving into a house more to my taste, whatever my bossy niece says. These flats are designed for disabled people, with lifts, wooden floors and wide doorways, but they’re pokey places and the building echoes like a damned cave. It drives me crazy.’

  ‘Your niece is probably trying to do her best for you.’

  ‘She doesn’t listen to me, just tells me what I want.’

  ‘I can relate to that. Family can be . . . difficult!’

  ‘Tell me about it. Your brother sounds a real control freak.’

  ‘He is. And he’s always so sure he’s right. I can’t wait to get a place of my own, I must admit.’

  When she got back, she found she’d left the front door unlocked and got angry with herself for being so careless. Picking up the weekend papers, she took the property pages into the kitchen and indulged in some research and daydreaming as she ate a simple meal.

  Nikki listened to her mother’s parting instructions and waved goodbye from the window as the taxi pulled away from their smart town house. Not that her mother bothered to look up at her, she never did, was too busy rushing somewher
e.

  Rain was beating against the windows as she went to sit down, feeling wobbly. She’d been sick that morning, but had managed to hide it from her mother.

  Two hours afterwards she woke, so late for school that she didn’t even bother getting ready. She was feeling better so she had something to eat then worked on revision for a coming test.

  When the doorbell rang she peered through the little spyhole. Her heart sank at the sight of Tim standing there, hunched up in a hooded anorak. She made no attempt to open the door, willing him to go away. But he didn’t.

  He rang again, then called out, ‘I know you’re in there, Nikki, because there’s nowhere else you could be in weather like this.’

  The bell rang again and again, until in the end she flung the front door open and yelled, ‘Come in, why don’t you? How lovely to see you. Not.’

  She ran through into the living room, terrified of throwing herself into his arms, but he followed and pulled her close. She struggled half-heartedly for a minute or two, then gave into temptation and sagged against him, doing what she’d promised herself not to: bursting into tears.

  He rocked her and made soothing sounds until the sobs stopped.

  With her arms laced around his waist, she looked up at him. His face was bony and boyish still, but he’d be quite good-looking once he filled out a little. ‘Sorry, Tim. I didn’t mean to do that to you.’

  ‘Doesn’t matter. Come and sit down. You look terrible.’

  She led him through to the kitchen. ‘I’ll have a cup of peppermint tea. Can’t stand coffee just now.’

  ‘So it’s true.’

  She closed her eyes, furious at herself for blurting that out, when she’d tried so hard to keep her news from him. She opened her eyes to find him gazing at her so seriously that for a moment he looked just like his father. Not that she minded that. Everyone should have a father like Mr Heyter. ‘How did you find out?’

  ‘I met your mother in town yesterday and she stopped me to say she thought it pretty bad of me to abandon you at a time like this, when we’d been an item for so long. When I said I didn’t know what she meant, because you had dumped me, she looked surprised. She told me you’re having a baby. Is that true?’