Jacaranda Vines

by Tamara McKinley

  According to Sharon, Martin had constantly humiliated her, refused to allow her to have the baby she desperately wanted – even beaten her. He’d been mean with his money and his time, and had merely followed in her father’s footsteps by bullying her into submission. What utter nonsense! Martin might have been the stronger of the two of them, but he’d never raised his hand or his voice to her. As for the lack of children – that was down to malformed ovaries and a reluctance to adopt.

  Daisy felt like ripping the magazine apart until it was shredded so small it could be carried like dust out into the ocean. Yet, as she sat there, stunned by the sheer venom of the article, she found a deep well of calm within herself and concentrated on regaining her equilibrium.

  Sharon must have got her story from somewhere. Or rather someone. The details were too vivid, the characters drawn too finely and assassinated too well for it to have been the work of an outsider.

  *

  Jane had already had a call from Edward. The poor man had been devastated by the revelations and was threatening to sue. Sharon Sterling had somehow found out about the time Jock had made him kneel on the hard boardroom floor for three hours while he ignored him and carried on with a meeting. It was Jock’s way of punishing him for not noticing a rival’s innovative expansion into new methods of bottling, and for having the audacity to ask for a day off to attend Charles’ graduation. The incident had taken place many years ago, but Jane knew it still rankled and could quite understand how Edward must be feeling now it was splashed all over the papers for the world to witness.

  Poor Edward. Jock had never forgiven him for inheriting the other fifty per cent of Jacaranda Vines along with Cordelia, and often used humiliation to get his revenge when the vote went against him. Yet her tears had little to do with pity for the rest of the family. They were for herself and the pain Sharon Sterling had caused.

  The telephone was ringing again, and with a sigh she dropped the magazine on the floor and went to answer it.

  ‘It’s me, darling. Philip. I suppose you’ve already seen that scurrilous article?’

  Jane swallowed back the tears. ‘Yes. And if I get my hands on whoever spoke to that bitch, I’ll kill them.’

  ‘At least you came out of it fairly unscathed. Everyone already knew you were Jock’s mistress, and of course you must be used to gossip-mongering after all your years in the theatre. But, my dear, to accuse me of pandering! I’ve never even been to those baths in Sydney, let alone picked up boys there. Not my thing at all, as you well know. And as for suggesting I might have full-blown Aids – well!’

  Jane knew about Philip’s predilection for older men in his youth, but she also knew his tastes had changed somewhat and that his latest lover was only just out of college. There had certainly been occasions in the past when scandal had been only narrowly averted by quick thinking and a fat cheque – but no hint of pandering or paedophilia. As for her coming out of this unscathed, he could have no idea of how wrong he was. ‘You’re not HIV, are you, Philip?’

  There was silence at the end of the line, and when he finally replied Philip’s voice was softer, more hesitant. ‘I’ve never had the nerve to go for the test but I don’t feel crook.’

  ‘Then I suggest you go and have it done,’ she said gently. The tears would not be stopped and she gripped the phone. ‘I’m sorry, Philip. I can’t talk now. Ring me later tonight when I’ve had time to take all this in.’ There was a headache lurking behind her eyes, and her legs were shaking so badly she could barely stand.

  ‘Fair go, Jane. This affects us all, you know. We have to do something. Today. Before Cordelia gets hold of it.’

  ‘She’s already been in touch, Philip. I’ve got an appointment with her solicitor this afternoon, but after having spoken to him on the phone this morning, there doesn’t seem to be much we can do. That Sterling woman has obviously had a team of lawyers go over her piece with a fine-tooth comb. She’s been very clever. Innuendo and personal opinion can’t be construed as libel, and she’s only come straight out with accusations she can prove.’

  ‘I’d like to strangle the bitch, personally. And whoever it was who gave her the dirt to dish.’

  ‘That’s something we’ll have to consider, certainly, and I have my own ideas about it. But not now, Philip,’ she insisted. ‘I’ve a migraine coming and I need to lie down.’

  ‘Take care, Jane. I’m just sorry you got dragged into all this.’

  ‘My fault for getting mixed up with Jock Witney in the first place,’ she said sharply.

  With the call disconnected, Jane slumped into a chair and stared out through the window. Poor Philip. He’d always relied on her for a shoulder to cry on. How dare that bitch rake up such filth? The anger mounted again and she picked up the magazine, leafed through until she got to the column related to her life, and read it once more.

  Jane Bruce was only twenty when she began her long affair with the forty-year-old Jock Witney, and yet she was already the target for gossip in the tight-knit, louche world of the theatre. Miss Bruce was a very attractive young woman, and there were rumours of several liaisons with other thespians – not all of them free, white and single.

  A player of insignificant parts before her affair, Jane Bruce was catapulted to stardom when she took the leading role of Blanche du Bois in A Streetcar Named Desire at the National Theatre in Sydney. A theatre sponsored heavily by the Witney family, though I’m sure this had no influence on the young actress’ career. Miss Bruce’s success was further enhanced by her screen role of Agrippina in the Australian Film company’s version of I, Claudius, for which she won an award. Jock Witney was very coy at the time when questioned about his backing for the film, but this reporter has it on good authority that it was his money that saw the project through.

  Jock’s wife Cordelia must have known of her husband’s philandering for it wasn’t the first time he’d flaunted his mistresses and certainly wasn’t to be the last. But this reporter wonders if she ever heard rumours of a baby? Perhaps she did and was part of the cover-up. For the truth is still so well hidden, not even the resources of G’Day magazine can get to the facts of the affair, and it is assumed that Miss Bruce will take the truth to the grave with her. But it is intriguing to think there might be someone out there who is unaware they have a right to claim from Jock Witney’s billion-dollar estate. How jolly it would be if they could be found to add yet another piece to the puzzle that makes up the family behind Jacaranda Vines.

  Jane could read no further. The pain behind her eyes was so intense she could barely raise her head from the cushions. She whimpered in anguish, invaded by memories she’d thought long banished. Yet there was a part of her which could still look with analytical calm at the whole scenario.

  The article was venomous and spiteful – yet it proved one thing. Whoever the informant was, they hadn’t known it all. For if they had, the truth would have been far more devastating for all concerned – and Sharon Sterling would have had a real scoop on her hands.

  *

  Charles didn’t feel at all well. Despite the windows being open, he was finding it hard to breathe. He unfastened his collar and took off his jacket. The effort of doing this made his heart thud painfully against his ribs, and he rested his head against the cushions so he could catch his breath. Yet his mind was tormented by what he’d read in that damn’ magazine, and he dreaded facing Vipia with it.

  The magazine lay on the table beside him, the glossy pages open, the graphic photographs looming up at him. He had no need to read the article again, the words were etched too deeply in his mind for him ever to forget them.

  There’s no fool like an old fool. And Charles has certainly fulfilled the requirements to warrant such an epithet, for how else could one explain his extraordinary marriage to the young and nubile Vipia? This reporter wonders if he was aware of this young woman’s past when he tied the knot – or if he knew and thought he could keep it quiet? Either way, it didn’t take long for the resea
rch team at G’Day magazine to expose the truth.

  Vipia was born in the north of Thailand into the poverty of a hard-working farming family. She was barely thirteen when she ran away to Bangkok and the bright lights and sleazy bars of that sinful city. She found work in a bar – not as a waitress but as a stripper, her wages supplemented by the men who flocked to Bangkok for the youthful sex trade. Vipia was eventually set up in an apartment by a rich American, but when he discovered she was using the premises to ply her trade, he threw her out. Vipia was resourceful, even then, and soon found another willing man to provide a roof over her head in return for her services.

  This man was known as Leroy Texas, a maker of pornographic films the like of which cannot be found even on the top shelf of your local video store. In fact, G’Day magazine is reliably informed by the Australian Police Commission that such material is banned in this country, and Mr Texas, alias Fred Brown, is now languishing in a Sydney jail for trying to import his filth.

  Vipia became a star of the screen where the parts on display had nothing to do with talent or even a hint of acting. G’Day magazine has managed to find one of these sordid tapes, and after viewing the scenes of degradation and multiple sex orgies that involve minors and animals, this reporter had to stand under a shower for a long time before she could feel clean again. The tape has since been destroyed according to police guidelines, and it is hoped the purveyor of this filth, Mr Texas, remains in jail for many years to come.

  It is rumoured that Charles met Vipia in a sleazy strip joint in the red light district of Bangkok – not introduced by a business acquaintance as he insisted on his return to Australia. The corpulent widower had been a well-known habitué of Sydney’s brothels before, during and after his marriage, so the whore-houses of Bangkok would have been no more than a busman’s holiday for him.

  My advice to Charles, who surely pays for his wife’s services in the diamonds and pearls he buys for her, and the endless shopping expeditions she makes to the exclusive boutiques of the city, is to consider buying her a scold’s bridle and a chastity belt as his next gifts. They might ensure her silence and continued loyalty – for there is rumour that Vipia’s favours are no longer exclusive, and that she’s getting far more than financial advice from a certain young stockbroker.

  Charles’ eyes snapped open as he heard the car pull up in the driveway. He looked through the window and watched the chauffeur hand Vipia out and follow her into the house, arms laden with designer label carrier bags. His pulse was uneven as he clenched his fists at his side and waited for her.

  The door opened and there she was.

  Charles looked at the doll-like features, the slender, almost childish figure in the wispy dress, and wondered why he’d never questioned her more closely about her past life in Bangkok. Never voiced his suspicions of her having another man here.

  Because he was too much of a coward, he admitted silently. Because Sharon Sterling was right. He was an old fool who’d allowed his balls to rule his brain, and he hadn’t wanted his suspicions confirmed. What he didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him so, like an ostrich, he’d buried his head in the sand and left his arse naked.

  ‘I found that dress I was looking for,’ Vipia said happily, obviously unaware of his anger or discomfort. ‘They will have to take it in, of course,’ she added smugly. ‘My figure is so much more petite than the average Australian whale woman.’

  There was no sign she was aware of the magazine article, but then that was hardly surprising. Vipia could neither read nor write, could only just about manage to sign her name. ‘Shut the door, Vipia,’ he said with far deeper calm than he felt. ‘We need to talk.’

  A few hours later, after tears, hysteria and offers of exotic sex had all failed to win Charles round, Vipia stood by in sullen silence as he wrote her a large cheque and vowed it would be the last money she received from him. There was no question of a divorce settlement after the lies she’d told him to cover up her unsavoury past. The pain in his chest was getting worse, but he chose to ignore it as he picked up the telephone and booked a one-way ticket for her on the next plane to Thailand.

  The tears were flowing, the hysteria rising as she knelt before him and clutched his legs. ‘Don’t send me back. Please, Charles. I will lose face. Have to work in street again.’

  He shrugged her off and rang for the maid. ‘You’ve done it before, you can do it again,’ he said coldly. ‘But I’ve given you enough to tide you over until you can find another drongo to set you up.’

  Angelina’s eyes widened as she took in the scene, but she obviously knew better than to comment and for that Charles was grateful. This whole episode was humiliating enough without having to explain himself, and he wondered if the maid had already seen the papers and come to her own conclusions.

  ‘Vipia is leaving,’ he said firmly. ‘See that all her clothes and anything she brought with her from Thailand is packed within the next half an hour. You are to bring the jewellery and any credit cards you find down to me. She is to take none of it – not even her wedding or engagement rings.’

  Vipia made to follow Angelina out of the room but Charles grabbed her wrist. ‘You’ll stay here. I no longer trust you not to steal from me. Sit down and stop that awful noise, it won’t do you any good.’

  Two hours later, as he watched her plane leave the runway, Charles muffled a cry of pain and turned to his chauffeur. ‘You’d better drive me to the hospital,’ he said gruffly. ‘I feel real crook.’

  *

  Mary had treated herself to a rich café latte as she read the Saturday papers. She, of course, had had to be included in the catalogue of vitriol, but there was nothing new exposed, nothing too damaging, for she’d managed to keep certain things hidden and had merely confirmed one or two rumours about past lovers and indiscretions that she had no qualms about revealing.

  She leaned back in the chair and smiled with satisfaction. Sharon had done a superb hatchet job, and she wished she could have been around when the rest of the family read about themselves. Dad was of course out of it, but even he might have taken some kind of pleasure in the way the knife had been twisted so expertly, and she chuckled to think of him looking down and watching them all squirm.

  The touch about the baby had been a masterpiece. She hoped that bitch Jane was suffering. She might have been a success once but now she was just a gold-digging has-been – an old tart with a taste for the good life.

  Mary had no evidence to suggest there had been a child, just a feeling something had gone on between Jane and Dad that had caused a glitch in their affair. Mum was tight-lipped about the past, but Jane was definitely hiding something. There was also the mystery of why the two women now shared an apartment. She smiled as she sipped the hot sweet drink. Strange how speculation and imagination could come up with such a good story – Sharon had positively drooled as Mary spun it out.

  ‘There’s no place in this family for bastards,’ she hissed. ‘If the bitch had got pregnant, then Dad would have made her get rid of it.’ The bitterness caught in her throat as she thought of her own pregnancy with Sophie. If she’d had her way, the kid would have been terminated or adopted. Given to the first person willing to take her. But she’d left it too late by the time Paul shot through and Mother had taken over as usual and insisted upon rearing the brat herself. Which meant the kid was a constant reminder of Paul – the one man she’d truly loved but who had never loved her in return.

  Mary sighed and set the magazine down. She eyed the telephone. It was time to ring her sisters and put on the act of disbelief and hurt she’d rehearsed over the past two days. They would find it odd if she remained silent, and although she had no regrets over what she’d done, she couldn’t afford to be found out.

  10

  Daisy walked into the boardroom and was hit by a wall of noise. She took in the scene with one swift glance and sat down at her usual place. Her absence would have been noted, but her presence would go almost unnoticed as usual. She gave
a grim little smile. To be ignored had always given her time to take stock and judge the temper of the family. Her judgement wouldn’t be sought, but it was surprising what you could learn from the outside looking in.

  A heavy rap of the gavel on the table made them all turn to look at Edward. ‘Sit down,’ he roared. ‘All this shouting will get us nowhere.’

  ‘So what do you suggest?’ sneered Mary. ‘That we take this lying down?’

  ‘It’s what you do best, dear,’ drawled Philip.

  ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ Mary’s face was almost as red as the scarlet nails clawing the table.

  Philip leaned back in his chair, assured of everyone’s attention. ‘I mean,’ he said deliberately, ‘that you conduct most of your business on your back. Sharon Sterling certainly got you pegged.’

  ‘She didn’t get you wrong either,’ Mary retorted. ‘Bloody shirt lifter!’

  ‘Enough,’ roared Edward. ‘I will not have this meeting turned into a bitching match. My son’s lying in a hospital bed and my sister’s out in the middle of nowhere worrying herself crook. We need to discuss this sensibly and calmly, not throw accusations about.’

  ‘I agree,’ said Kate. ‘And the first thing we have to do is find out who spoke to Sharon Sterling.’

  ‘What do you suggest? A lie-detector test?’ Philip studied his nails. ‘I hardly think the person responsible will put their hand up and confess, do you?’

  ‘Of course not,’ Kate retorted. ‘But we can rule out certain members of this family.’

  Daisy watched as her sister took a breath and hurried on through the chorus of denials. It was interesting to see the different expressions flit across their faces. Interesting to mark those who could hide their feelings and those who couldn’t.