The Fortune Teller's Daughter

by Diane Wood

  “Good God, woman, what the hell are you doing?”

  “Shit, you frightened me,” she exclaimed, turning toward the sleepy male voice in the doorway. “I forgot you’d stayed the night.”

  “Another nightmare?” he asked, tucking his T-shirt into his baggy old track pants. “It’s time you saw someone about those, you know.” His voice, although tired, sounded genuinely caring, and once again Nat was saddened that she couldn’t tolerate a relationship even with a loving, gentle man like Josh Dawson.

  “Soon,” she mumbled automatically. “I’ll see a shrink soon, but that doesn’t explain why you’re awake.”

  Raising an eyebrow in her direction, the tall lean man indicated that it definitely did explain why he was awake. “Nat, you were growling and calling out. It sounded like you were having a major struggle with someone—even worse than usual.”

  “Sorry.”

  “So what are you working on?” he asked, indicating the computer through the open doorway. “Or aren’t I supposed to know?”

  “Just another custody case that nobody wants to handle,” she replied vaguely. “An unemployed biracial mother with two kids fighting a wealthy manipulative Anglo husband. And all I can do is offer advice and write a few arguments.”

  “Aha, then it’s probably good that you don’t sleep well. You wouldn’t have time to do volunteer work at the Women’s Center as well as face the challenges of working in the prosecutor’s office,” he said with a grin, wondering if she’d pick up on his sarcasm.

  She didn’t respond.

  “Speaking of which,” he continued, “how is that going? I know you didn’t give up working as a lawyer and join the police only to be back in lower courts running minor police cases.”

  “Do you really want to know about that now?” she said with a laugh. “It’s three in the morning.”

  “Good point,” he agreed with a wink, moving to lean on the kitchen counter.

  Even after all this time it was hard for him to accept that they hadn’t been able to make it. He’d loved her, and wanted to understand, wanted to know her better. But she’d never given herself emotionally, and in the long run, what she’d been offering—delicious as it was—hadn’t been enough.

  “Kathy’s moving out today,” he stated, running his hands through his dark brown, short-cropped hair. “So I’ll take my gear with me and leave you in peace. I must admit it’s been nice having your place to run to when things went sour…and nice to catch up.”

  “Anytime,” she answered easily. “You’ve got the key, you’re house-trained and you’re used to someone screaming themselves awake in the middle of the night.”

  With a wave and a nod, he returned to his bedroom. His thoughts traveled to when they were working at the same police station five years ago. It had been love at first sight for him, but it had taken a long time to convince her to go out with him. All those accidental meetings and friendly cups of coffee before she’d finally agreed to a date. Things had moved quickly from there.

  She wasn’t his normal type. Not classically beautiful, nor even particularly feminine, but she was slim and sensual, and with a smile that disarmed and eyes that drew you like a magnet she was not to be ignored. And her voice had a cadence and timbre to it that reminded him of the lullabies his mother used to croon to him. It was easy to imagine how she could persuade a crusty old magistrate to see things her way.

  Thinking of their time together was getting him aroused. It was the one area he believed they’d been totally compatible—sex. Whenever he was in the mood, she’d been willing, and she was able to satisfy him in a way exclusive to her. However, the lovemaking had been as brilliant as the emotional side had been poor, and eventually, after six exciting but emotionally frustrating months, he’d moved back to his own place. They remained friends and saw each other regularly. They spoke often on the phone and he’d introduced his new lovers for her approval. He suspected Nat had also had the occasional lover, but he never met any of them, and nobody else had ever moved into Nathalie’s apartment. As a result, she’d allowed him to use the place whenever he needed to get away from one of his disastrous relationships. But she’d made it very clear the offer didn’t include sex.

  How he wished it did. Lying back on the bed and reaching downward, he allowed his imagination to take him back to how it used to be.

  * * *

  The police prosecutor’s office was as chaotic as usual and Nathalie’s head was pounding, but she had a stack of cases to review before court that simply wouldn’t go away. That meant two more headache pills, a hot tea and an effort of will to shake off the feeling of loss and anger from the nightmare. From experience Nathalie knew the feeling would pass, as would the headache, but the frequency of the nightmares was becoming a worry. At this rate she would be too exhausted to do her job.

  “Fuck! Police can be so lazy sometimes!”

  The voice was loud and coarse and right behind her head.

  “Oh God, Bella,” Nat moaned, putting her hands to her ears. “It’s not even eight o’clock and someone’s already upset you?”

  The woman was tall and skinny, and although only a few years older than Nathalie, she looked ten years older. “Take a look at some of these briefs,” she complained, throwing a pile of files onto Nat’s desk. “A six-year-old could do better. Some of them don’t even attempt to meet the proofs of the crime, but they expect a successful outcome in court.”

  “Well, when you’re commissioner you can sack them all,” replied Nathalie, only half joking.

  Bella Pittolo was ambitious and intended being the first Italian/Australian female commissioner of police. Like Nat, Bella was a fully qualified lawyer who’d chosen a career as a police officer. Both had ended up on loan to the Parramatta police prosecutor’s office, prosecuting minor offenses in lower court. However, where Bella had a plan for her career, Nat was happy to transfer between any squads that the hierarchy decided needed her.

  “So they’re finally going to start transitioning out police prosecutors and replace us with civilians,” Bella stated. “They’re starting with our branch.” Shaking her head, she continued. “Thank God they’ve finally realized that they can’t afford to have experienced police tied up prosecuting minor criminals, when we already have the Department of Public Prosecutions set up for the more serious shit. A prosecution’s a prosecution, for Christ sake. Anyway, we’ve got about three months. Can’t say I’m heartbroken. I need something more high profile if I want to move up. What about you?”

  “What about me…what?” mumbled Nathalie, trying to concentrate on the paperwork in front of her.

  “Surely you must have a preference about where you want to transfer? You’ll never get on if you let them hide you away in some obscure little cop shop.”

  “Don’t really care.”

  “Strikes me,” she said dramatically, “that you don’t really care about anything. How long has it been since you got laid?”

  “Fuck off, Bella! My head hurts, I’m very tired and I don’t want to hear how you can set me up with one of your friends.”

  “Then have a drink with us after work tonight. I’m meeting Jackie at the Castle, having a meal and then heading home. You haven’t got anything better to do.”

  “How the hell do you know?” She tried to sound indignant, but it didn’t work.

  “Just say yes, and I’ll leave you alone.”

  “Yes.”

  Smiling, Bella picked up her files and returned to her office. She had only been in the force a short time and had already made sergeant. For Nathalie being a police officer was something she’d fallen into after two years of boredom in a prestigious law firm. The money had been excellent and there had been the promise of more to come, but it had been mind-numbing and emotionally draining to defend people who, for the most part, she loathed. The law degree and top marks at the police academy ensured she was on the fast track, but her lack of ambition over the last six years meant she’d never exploite
d her opportunities. Still, among numerous other police courses on offer, she’d completed the detective’s course and worked briefly in the local police’s detective’s office before being rushed into police prosecutions. Idly it occurred to her that if transfers were imminent, it might be worth applying for a detective position in the inner western suburbs or Sydney central. At least that would be close to home.

  * * *

  Court took most of the day and then they were heading to the Castle.

  Bella was hard to like—perhaps that was the very reason they’d formed a friendship. Neither woman shared emotions or cared what others thought of them, but in every other way they were opposites. Bella was pale, large-boned and awkward, with a plain, serious face, while Nat was dark, athletic and attractive. While Bella could be aggressive and demanding, Nat seemed able to command the same level of respect with a few simple words or one icy look. Intellectually they were equals, and it had taken only a short time for each to conclude that the other could be trusted.

  Jackie was sitting at a table near the back of the room and waved as they entered. Every time she saw them, Nathalie wondered about how Jackie and Bella had got together. They seemed to have so little in common.

  Bella never discussed her private life at work. People assumed from her physical appearance that she was lesbian, although they’d never mention it to her face. The only reason Nathalie knew about Bella’s sexuality was because Bella had made the assumption that Nat was into women and had carried on a conversation accordingly.

  Nat had told her about Josh and left it at that, but Bella insisted that at the very least Nathalie should open herself to the option of bisexuality. This wasn’t a subject Nat wanted to discuss—even with Bella, whom she now considered a friend.

  Jackie was short and slim with glasses and blond, curly hair that appeared to always be in her face. She seemed pleasant enough, although Nathalie sometimes got the impression she was flirting with her behind Bella’s back. The two women had only been together a short time.

  “So glad to see you again,” Jackie greeted with a smile. “I was beginning to think you were avoiding us because of Bella’s efforts to turn you into a dyke.” The greeting came with a hug and a kiss that made Nathalie uncomfortable. She wasn’t a tactile person and would prefer to shake someone’s hand rather than embrace.

  “It’s good to see you too,” she responded automatically, taking a seat opposite the two women. “How’s your new job?”

  “Don’t ask,” she said with a grimace, looking toward Bella for support. “Anyone who tells you being a waitress is easy has rocks in their head.”

  “Well, you could try staying in one job for more than a month and you might not have to lower yourself to serving other people meals,” argued Bella, obviously not impressed with the girl’s new job.

  “She’s right of course,” agreed Jackie acceptingly. “But life’s too short to stay in boring jobs that don’t fulfill the soul.”

  “And being a waitress does?” snapped Bella in her usual aggressive manner.

  There was silence while Bella threw back her whiskey and raised her hand toward the waiter for another. Again Nathalie wondered what these two women could possibly have in common. Yet Jackie never flinched, accepting Bella’s comments with a giggle and a vapid smile.

  They chatted for a while about mutual acquaintances, about the job and about Nat’s social life or lack of it, and then Jackie asked about her work with the Women’s Center.

  “I don’t do much,” Nathalie explained. “I can’t represent anyone in court because with me being in the police it could become a conflict of interest. But I can offer legal advice or suggest lawyers who might help. Sometimes it’s just letting the women know their options.”

  “Sounds most altruistic,” muttered Bella, who had little time for what she called “needy women.” “But isn’t that what their own lawyer is supposed to be doing?”

  “Not everyone can afford a lawyer, as you well know, Bella,” Nathalie reminded her. “And, as you also know, sometimes it’s just a matter of writing a letter or pointing them in the right direction. Besides, I enjoy it.”

  “And it gives you an excuse not to have a social life,” she responded dryly, slurring her words slightly from the whiskeys she’d poured down her throat.

  “Bella, for heaven’s sake, Nathalie doesn’t look like she’s pining for love. And I’m sure if she wants someone she’ll have no trouble winning them. You’re not her mother.” The steely undertone in Jackie’s voice drew Nathalie’s attention, but all she saw was a smiling woman with a twinkle in her eye.

  Forcing a smile, she replied, “Thanks, Jack. It’s time someone told your girlfriend to get off my back about relationships. It’s becoming an obsession.”

  Shaking her head, Bella just laughed.

  While Bella was ambitious, Jackie was the opposite. Any job was a good job—for a while anyway. And her idea of a good book was a woman’s magazine. Yet, she could be witty and funny and something about her left Nat with the impression she was far more intelligent and cunning than she wanted anyone to know. And that puzzled her. Still, Jackie did put up with Bella, who, although dismissive of her, seemed quite fond of the girl. And together they could be good company.

  At the end of the evening, Nathalie dropped the two women back at Bella’s house and headed home.

  * * *

  The nightmares continued the rest of the week. By Friday evening Nathalie was exhausted, but it didn’t stop her going to the Women’s Center.

  The center consisted of an administration office, staff common room, large recreational area and five general offices. It provided medical and legal advice, a social worker, counseling and information services for women in difficulty. From time to time it also ran parenting, child health and basic money management workshops. Most importantly it provided a safe place for women to meet, share their experiences and support one another.

  Established by Jordan MacKenzie and her partner, Danielle Veillard—wealthy ex-prison workers—the center continued partly through government funding, but largely because of a yearly grant provided by this couple.

  While the center had numerous community contacts and a range of professionals who gave their time, they’d been missing the services of a psychologist. Recently they’d received information about a woman who might be able to help.

  “We’ve decided that you should be the one to approach her,” said Lenore Kingsley, the center’s social worker and manager, addressing Nathalie.

  “Me?” queried Nat, looking around the table at the faces of the other three volunteers. “Why me? I don’t know her any more than you do.”

  “But you’re the most persuasive,” declared Rena, the jovial Pacific Islander who lent her nursing skills to the center two or three times a week. “You could convince anyone of anything or, alternately, scare them into submitting.”

  Stunned, Nat drew a deep breath. That wasn’t how she saw herself, but it was how she thought of her mother. Was she really that much like her?

  “Who is she?” she asked reluctantly. “And what makes you think she’d want to put in time at the center?”

  “Her name’s Alexandra Messner,” replied Lenore, reading from the notes in front of her. “She’s a clinical psychologist at the women’s prison. A friend of mine works there as a social worker and recommended her because she’s got an excellent reputation among the prisoners and the staff. She’s straight down the line apparently and very good at getting her patients to acknowledge and find ways to deal with their problems.”

  “It definitely sounds like someone we could use here.” Rena nodded amiably. “Some of these women have big problems.”

  So it was decided.

  By the time she finished at the center, Nathalie was exhausted and grateful there was no work the next morning. Two glasses of port later, she sank into her first dreamless sleep for a week.

  Chapter Two

  Offers Of Help

  The no
ise wasn’t her alarm clock. It was shriller and more demanding. Even so it took a long time to penetrate the wonderful haze of a good night’s sleep. Moaning with annoyance and reaching out, she grabbed the offending handset.

  “Hello,” she growled, barely attempting to hide her irritability.

  “Ms. Duncan…Nathalie Duncan?”

  “Yes,” she replied snappily, assuming it was someone selling something.

  “My name’s Alex Messner. A Lenore Kingsley gave your phone number to my answering service last night…regarding volunteering at the women’s center,” she finished hesitantly. “I’m sorry if I woke you.”

  “No…no,” she mumbled, throwing her naked legs out of the bed and sitting up. “That’s okay.” Looking at the clock, Nathalie was stunned to see that it was ten fifteen. She never slept late.

  “Then perhaps you can tell me what’s involved?” the woman asked with a hint of humor, obviously aware that she had woken Nathalie.

  “Yes…yes. I’m sorry. I’m not usually so vague,” she mumbled. “I don’t know what Lenore told you, but she’s the manager of the Courtside Women’s Crisis Center in Strathfield, and I volunteer a few hours a week there. What I’d like, if you’ve got the time, is to meet with you to discuss the center and what we do…to see if we could interest you in helping out.”

  For a moment there was silence and Nathalie assumed she was going to turn them down point-blank. Instead, she said, “I see. Help you out in what way?”

  “To provide a counseling service for a few hours a week—many of our clients come with a range of emotional and personal issues.”

  “I see,” she repeated.

  “Look, it’s a little difficult discussing this over the phone,” Nathalie offered. “I was hoping you’d let me take you to lunch or at least buy you a cup of coffee…at your convenience. I realize you’re probably very busy, but the center does some great work and we could really do with some help.”