The Last Time

by Sharon Haste

  'Now, what's this all about?' asks Rebekah, taking a sip of her drink.

  'It's about Clare and Ashley Richter,' Sam says. 'We're talking to everyone who was at their party on Saturday night.'

  She nods, her smile fading, and Sam senses a shift in the other woman, a slight edge of apprehension.

  'What do you want to know?' Rebekah asks, straightening her legs and reaching for her glass. She avoids Sam's intense gaze.

  'How long have you known the family?'

  'I've known Thomas the longest,' she says, avoiding a time frame. 'He was practising law, and I was looking for someone to handle my legal affairs. His firm came well-recommended.'

  'What kind of legal affairs?' Sam asks, watching the other woman fidget with her glass.

  'I was a model, the face of Jabo and then Graco,' Rebekah says, raising an eyebrow and waiting for the recognition. Sam frowns, jotting the names down in her notepad, oblivious to the other woman's fame.

  'I was too young to recognise if I were being offered a good deal, so I used Thomas's firm to read the fine print and provide advice. That sort of thing.' Her long fingers twirl a lock of ebony hair. 'Thomas was amazing,' she gushes before catching herself and losing the smile. 'In the business sense, of course; he knew his job well. I was travelling overseas a lot, doing photo shoots, so I didn't spend much time at home.'

  Her statement is like a script, bereft of emotion, which strikes Sam as odd given her long relationship with the family.

  'I met Clare on her wedding day...bit of a shotgun wedding, if you know what I mean.' Rebekah smirks with her eyes dancing. 'Everyone who was someone was there.'

  'Shotgun wedding?' Sam breaks her silence.

  'Well, Clare was pregnant, and there was family pressure for Thomas to do the honourable thing.'

  Sam finds this information interesting given that Edward Attenborough was adamant that Clare's father did not want the union.

  'Did Clare's father give his daughter away?'

  Rebekah frowns, looking perplexed by the question, and she takes a few moments to answer.

  'Yes, I do believe he did,' she says, sounding hesitant.

  'So the Richters married because of Charli? Did they have a happy marriage?' Sam asks, chewing on the end of her pen.

  Rebekah's lips curl, although they do not reach a smile. She sips her water before responding. 'Well, that's not for me to say. You need to ask Thomas.' She smiles as if for the cameras, showing just enough white teeth.

  'Clare and I became better friends when I bought this.' She spreads her arms to indicate the house. 'Nine years ago.'

  'And your relationship with Thomas?'

  She bats her lashes, sassy and bold, in Sam's direction.

  'Sorry?'

  'You said it was a business relationship. Did you become more than business associates?'

  'Of course. I was often a guest in their home. It was inevitable that Thomas and I got to know each other better.'

  'Why do you have a remote to the Richter's front gate?'Sam asks, her eyes never leaving the other woman.

  There's a slight tightening of her jaw and narrowing of her eyes before she flashes a professional smile and laughs deep in her throat. 'Oh, you want to know why that photographer snapped me going through their gate?'

  Sam nods.

  'Clare gave it to me quite some time ago.' She frowns as if trying to recollect the reason. 'I think they were heading off to London for a few days. Wanted me to keep an eye on things for them. Guess I forgot to return the key, and they never asked for it back.' Her intense gaze, above her smile, is haughty and daring. 'I found it quite by accident in my car when I went to visit Thomas and give my condolences.'

  Sam nods, making notes. 'What kind of man is Thomas?'

  She pauses before answering, lifting an eyebrow and looking like someone who has a secret. 'He's a good, family man and a kick-ass politician. Everyone around here likes him. Except that man, the leader of the other party....um, what's his name? He's always on TV.' She frowns in deep thought. ‘Harvey Walter,' she almost shouts his name, jabbing her finger in the air. 'Harvey's not fond of Thomas, never has been, but that's not a secret.'

  Sam looks up with her pen poised.

  'Harvey showed up at the house on Saturday night and caused a bit of a scene,' Rebekah says. ‘Thomas took him aside, and they had a heated discussion in the study before Harvey left. He shouted something about revenge.'

  Sam leans forward, eyes on Rebekah's animated face. Her excitement is palpable.

  'Do you know what they were arguing about?'

  Rebekah settles back in her chair, crossing her legs in front. She continues to curl strands of her silky hair around her finger.

  'He was drunk and accused Thomas of cheating in the election. Said he was a fraud and the public deserved to know what kind of man he was. Wind and air as far as I'm concerned. He's always been jealous of Thomas's popularity. It's the same old argument that he's been going on about for years.'

  'Did he threaten Thomas?'

  'He always threatens Thomas; he has spent most of his political life threatening people. I don't know what he's still doing in parliament. He has such a bad temper.' She arches her eyebrows. 'He beat his wife, you know. It was on the news and everything; he almost went to jail.'

  Rebekah goes on to describe the public incident that saw Harvey before the judge for slapping his wife in public and spitting on her in a drunken rage. Sam scribbles some notes.

  They talk about Clare Richter, who by all accounts sounds like a community dynamo, dividing her time between volunteer work and family life. Rebekah swipes at a tear while she talks about her friend, her face dropping. She apologises as she rises and finds a box of tissues.

  'Take your time,' Sam says. 'Did Clare have a history of depression or other illness?'

  Rebekah talks about postnatal depression after Ash was born, but she is vague on the details when pressed. Sam asks if there's anything else unusual about Saturday night that Rebekah remembers, but she doesn't offer any further information, stating it was the same crowd as previous years and she left around midnight.

  'Rebekah, were the Richters a happy family?'

  'Yes, on the outside, anyway. They always looked the picture of perfection,' she says with her face neutral. 'But who knows what goes on behind closed doors? I know Clare wanted to leave Thomas. She told me so, but she never told me why. I wondered if there were another man in her life.'

  'Did she tell you she was seeing someone?'

  'No, but why else would she want to leave?' She shrugs, eyes boring into Sam's.

  'Thank you for your time,' Sam says, rising from her seat. She thrusts a card into Rebekah's hand. 'Please call if you remember anything else.'

  Rebekah glides to her feet in a single graceful movement and smiles at Sam. 'Sure,' she says.

  Sam follows her to the door, deep in her own thoughts. She bids her farewell on the doorstep and makes her way to the front gates that are opening before her.

  Once in her car, she's assailed with unease. Did Clare Richter have a lover? She doesn't seem the type, but who knows? She's bothered by the interview and Rebekah's lack of emotion and tears. She suspects Rebekah is lying to discredit Clare. Rebekah doesn't act bereaved, like a woman who has lost her best friend. Sam wonders if it's because her best friend is still very much alive.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Clare Richter was sure she was being followed. When she turned to look, the noisy shopping centre was packed with strangers in the usual flurry of activity. The hairs on her neck prickled as she checked her watch and moved to the next shop. She only had an hour before she had to be at the school to collect Ash. She was trying to get a few early Christmas gifts to avoid the last-minute crowds. Her hands were laden with parcels. She glanced into the shop windows that were aglow with tinsel and twinkling lights and couldn’t help but smile as her eyes feasted on the season. She inhaled the aroma of fried and spicy food as she neared the eatery, the noise
levels rising. She passed through without purchasing anything, despite her rumbling stomach, and entered the street, depositing her bags in the boot of her Mercedes. She locked the car and hurried down the street, the turbid day forming beads of sweat on her brow. In her haste, she almost stumbled on a homeless man who sat cross-legged on the footpath while he clapped two sticks together and crooned a song. She stopped, dug in her purse, and threw twenty dollars in his upturned hat before rushing on. He looked after her, mouth stretching into a toothless grin.

  'Thank you,' he called, scooping the money up. 'Thank you.'

  Clare turned to smile at him and caught her reflection in the window. There was someone staring at her across the street. She froze, heart skipping, and a familiar anxiety seeped into her body. Is that him? She itched to turn and check, but she chided herself instead. It's all in your head. She closed her eyes, and he was gone when she opened them again. She hurried on, concentrating on her 'to do' list and leaving the ghosts of her past standing in the street. Her therapist had told her to think about positive things whenever she had this feeling. She frowned, searching for a happy memory as she rounded the corner and disappeared into a tailor shop. An elderly man greeted her with a warm smile and moved from behind the counter to take her hands in his withered ones.

  'Clare,' he said with warmth.

  Lin Chin was like a father to her; he was often a guest at her parent's dinner table, and now he was one at her own. Clare felt herself relax beneath his touch, and she smiled back at him, forgetting what she saw on the street as they chatted about the weather and the upcoming Christmas party. She needed to get Thomas some new suits and ties and pick up the suits he dropped off last week for repairs.

  At two-thirty, Clare exited the tailor’s and made her way back to her car, stopping to buy two bottles of water and some ripe mangoes at one of the pop-up stalls littering the street. Delany was bursting with tourists in the dry season, and the stalls created popular markets; they were adored by the visitors and locals alike. But this was the wet season; it was too hot and humid for visitors. The merchants were desperate, bored, and melting. Clare liked to buy a few things to keep the local economy going. A woman at one of the stalls greeted her in Spanish, holding out a rainbow bag to buy. Clare stared at the bag, her mind travelling back to her holiday in Chile – the holiday.

  It was just before she started university. She went with Melissa, her 'blood sister'. They'd been inseparable since kindergarten, so it was natural they'd want to celebrate the end of school together. Mel was the polar opposite of Clare: the vibrant party girl who was flirtatious and daring. She was always getting Clare into trouble and pressuring her to do things she didn't want to. But the Chile trip was an exception. Clare was desperate to travel and see a bit of the world, and her parents had offered to pay for it so they could stay in hotels and avoid backpacker hostels. Clare vividly remembered the holiday at Port Del Mar, two hours from Seruso on the coast of Chile. She could still smell the ocean and feel the white sand between her toes and the breeze on her face. She shuddered, remembering the night that changed her forever.

  Mel was exuberant with excitement, more so than usual. She had a blast for the last two weeks, making the most of every minute by drinking and dancing until early dawn with a local boy, Ramon. It was their second to last night before catching the bus to Seruso and flying back to Australia. She could still see her, although the image made her throat tighten. Her blonde hair fell in silky waves, and her green eyes danced with mischief. Her arms and legs were tanned from weeks of baking and sipping cocktails in the sun. She was clad in tiny, white shorts with a shimmering silver top just restraining her blooming breasts. Clare took one look and urged her to swap the shorts for a longer pair of pants. Mel peered into the mirror, applying makeup with intense concentration and sipping tequila from the bottle. Clare was stretched out on the bed in jeans and a more conventional red top. Her makeup was light. She was sipping tequila and orange juice, taking it slow.

  After another half hour of preening, Mel was ready to go. She was already more than a little tipsy. They started at a bar, a block from the hotel, where Ramon and his brother bought them drinks. It didn't take Mel and Ramon long to hit the dance floor, leaving Clare alone with his brother, Pedro. He was easy on the eyes, but he was also arrogant and gave Clare the wrong vibe.

  Her eyes searched the room for Thomas. They'd met the night she'd arrived in Port Del Mar. Mel had convinced her to go straight to one of the bars after they dropped their bags at the motel. They'd had a few days in Seruso, before boarding a bus to bring them here. It was supposed to be just a few hours drive, but a series of events had meant they arrived well into the night. Clare was exhausted, but she could never say no to Mel. Besides, they were on their first holiday alone. The bar was crowded and noisy.

  After the first drink, Clare's eyes grew heavy, and she knew she needed to crash. Mel was already deep in conversation with a group of tourists and was set to party all night, so Clare decided to go it alone. She walked the half block back to their room and tripped on the uneven footpath, straight into the arms of Thomas Richter. She was apologetic and embarrassed, stuttering over her words and tongue-tied. He was a perfect gentleman, catching her fall and steadying her with firm, strong hands. She was smitten as soon as his eyes met hers. They reminded her of warm chocolate, and he smelled divine. He insisted on walking her to the door, kissing her hand as he left her on the threshold. Clare was in a daze when she entered her room, and the feeling never left her. Her heart leapt when she spotted him in a coffee shop a few days later and had to refrain from leaping into his arms. He invited her to join him, and they were inseparable after that, which suited Mel, who met Ramon on that first night as well.

  Clare glanced at Pedro and continued to eye the room for Thomas. She couldn't see him anywhere and was eager to try their regular club, with the hope that he was waiting for her. She eyed Mel on the dance floor and watched as she danced the tango with Ramon, oblivious to the world around them. She knew it would be some time before they came panting to the table for a drink. She decided to go on alone, confident that Thomas would be waiting.

  When she stood up, she felt dizzy. She dropped back to her seat, her head spinning faster; she was unable to focus. She looked to the dance floor, her eyes pleading with Mel to look up and notice something was wrong. The ground moved when she stood, and she staggered, confused by how little she had to drink. Pedro was beside her, his strong arm around her, steering her outside. She resisted, but she found no strength in her arms. She looked back at Mel, who was smiling at Ramon. This was her last memory until Thomas woke her in the early hours of the morning.

  He was frantic, trying to cover her naked body with a towel; his knuckles were bruised and bleeding. There was sandpaper on her tongue, and her head throbbed. She tried to move, but her muscles burned with pain and fatigue. She pushed herself up with effort and started to cry, knowing something was very wrong. Thomas put an arm around her and helped her to the bathroom, leaving her to use the toilet, all the while apologising. She cried out in pain, and there was blood on the paper when she wiped. She knew she had been assaulted and cried harder.

  Fear coursed through her. Did Thomas do this? She shook away the thought, remembering the passionate nights they'd spent together. He insisted on calling the police and told her not to shower. The rest of the day was a blur; Thomas was the only constant. Her cheeks burned at the shame of undressing for strangers, having swabs and samples taken, going to police interviews, and calling her parents. Mel did not come home; there was no sign of her. Her purse and passport were gone. Thomas remained, hovering on the periphery and reassuring her that they would find Mel. They never did, despite staying an additional two weeks. She remembered the moment her parents landed at the airport and falling into her father's strong arms and sobbing into his chest. They even hired a private detective, but they never found a trace of Mel. She disappeared into thin air. Nobody even saw her leave the club.

/>   The trip home was interminable. Arriving in Sydney airport and then Delany seemed to take a lifetime. Facing Mel's parents was the worst. Her mother's face was full of despair, and there was a haunted look in her father's eyes. Clare wished she had something positive to say, but all she could do was cry. Being at home was worse than staying in Chile. She had to face the reality of a life without Melissa, which was almost unbearable.

  She's left with scars, both physical and psychological. She sustained internal injuries during the assault.

  'The damage may be permanent. You may find it difficult to conceive, but we won't know for sure until you want to have a family,' the grey-haired physician said.

  She remembered the heartbreak and the tears bursting from her in shuddering sobs. All she ever wanted was to get married and have children, and she felt her dream slipping away. Her mother told her she's luckier than Mel, and she knew she was right.

  In the weeks that followed, she was in a constant state of lethargy and nausea, her weight plummeting to an all-time low. Thinking she was going to lose her daughter, her mother hauled her into the physician's rooms, demanding answers. Being pregnant was the last thing she expected after her last visit. It was bittersweet news, and it gave her a tiny thrill before her mother's shrill voice reminded her who the father of this child was. She rocked back on her chair, numb with shock, as her mother demanded a termination.

  'There's no way she can keep that man's child,' she screamed, hysterical. 'She's leaving for university next week.'

  The doctor calmed her, reminding her that this was a big decision. Given the circumstances, they might need a night to think about it. Her mother was adamant that they would not change their minds. Clare hadn't told her about sleeping with Thomas and pressed her lips closed, harbouring a secret hope that the baby was his. Of course the choice wasn't hers in the end; her parents insisted, and she didn't have the strength to fight it. The clinic visit was booked, and Clare moved on with her life, travelling to Melbourne three days later to start her business degree.