by Maggie Brown
Daisy pulled into the parking lot and hurried to the front door of the Chelsea. She knew what was imperative to do first. After she finished her lunch, she’d have to work out a way to announce Lindsey’s prosthesis to the world.
Chapter Nineteen
As usual, the charming dining room was crowded. Daisy spotted her mother’s table.
“Sorry I’m late, Mum,” she murmured. After giving her a peck on the cheek, without preamble she picked up the menu. “I guess you’re waiting to order.”
“Held up with something important?” asked Sheila.
Daisy studied the menu, taking her time to answer. “Nothing world shattering. Just some odds and ends I couldn’t leave for tomorrow.”
“Hmm…I think I’ll have the calamari salad. What about you?”
“I’ll have the Thai prawns and peppers.”
A waiter immediately appeared, took the order and disappeared.
“So,” said Sheila, toying casually with the cutlery. “Allison told me you’re living for a couple of weeks on the Jamieson-Ford estate.”
Daisy nearly rolled her eyes. She would have to speak with Allison about what she told her mother. She was fishing already. There was no doubt she would have found out how important Lindsey was. “Yes, for two weeks. Would you like a glass of water?”
“Please. They say Lindsey is quite a mystery woman.”
“Who says?”
“Oh…everyone,” said Sheila with a vague wave of her fingers. “Nobody seems to know a thing about her.”
“Really? How odd,” Daisy murmured, feigning surprise.
“What is she like?”
“Nice. Intelligent. A regular person.”
Sheila peered at her, clearly annoyed. “You’re not going to tell me, are you?”
“Come on, Mum. I’m renting her cottage. That’s all.”
“If it’s just that, why are you being so close-lipped about her?”
“Because the woman deserves her privacy. I’ve no intention of gossiping when she was kind enough to let me rent.”
“What on earth are you doing to require accommodation way out that way?” asked Sheila, clearly not ready to let it go.
“I’ve a client nearby,” Daisy replied, tempering irritation as she rattled off her bogus explanation. When her mother raised an eyebrow, she added, “She’s disabled.”
“Oh.”
Thankfully, the waiter appeared with their meals, which gave Daisy an excuse to change the subject. “How is Aunt Di after her op?”
It did the trick. On another tangent now, her mother began a detailed description of her sister’s gall bladder operation. Daisy tuned out and peered around the room. A fair-haired woman sitting at a table in the corner with two men in suits caught her eye. Dressed casually in cargo pants and an army military green shirt, the woman looked completely out of place. Though from the easy way she was waving her fork to make a point, she looked like she didn’t care what people thought. Daisy smiled. She knew her well—what you saw was what you got with Mackenzie Griffith. When she caught her eye, she acknowledged the reporter with a nod. Mac smiled back with a little wave.
Daisy reached for her glass, her mind racing as an idea crystallised. The best way to tell the world about Lindsey’s arm would be through a press article. Publicity was a touchy thing though. Any noteworthy news caused a flood of social media, which invariably included a few downright nasty ones. Lindsey’s state of mind was far too fragile to cope with some idiot slagging her. No, the article had to be watertight, with no room for trolling. And who better to write it than Mac, a respected one-time war correspondent and one of the top journalists in Australia. She would jump at the chance to get the prized interview, a huge coup considering Lindsey had shunned the press for so long. Pleased now she had a plan, Daisy shifted her attention back to her mother.
Sheila was gazing at her with a frown. “I swear you didn’t hear a word I said.”
“I was thinking about something.”
“Why are you so preoccupied? You turn up late without an explanation and drift off into fairyland. Care to share?”
“I can’t,” said Daisy with a noncommittal shrug. “Client confidentiality.”
“Whatever it is, it doesn’t seem to have affected your health. You look glowing.”
“Huh! Is that a polite way of saying I’m putting on weight?”
Sheila gave a soft laugh. “No, it’s not. It means you look happy.” She peered closely at Daisy. “Have you met someone?”
“Noooo,” she answered and bit into a prawn as Lindsey’s image popped into her head without warning. Heat touched her cheeks. The slight flush was not lost on her mother who had an inbuilt maternal radar when it involved her daughters.
“There is someone,” she said triumphantly. “I knew it.”
“There isn’t, Mum. Believe me, I’d tell you if I was romantically involved. She’s just a friend I’ve been taking sightseeing.”
“And you wish there could be more?” Her mother studied her intently.
Flustered, Daisy dropped her eyes and fiddled with the corner of her serviette. She couldn’t consider her that way but when Lindsey had become upset this morning, Daisy had felt such a surge of protectiveness that she’d even called her sweetie. She hoped that Lindsey hadn’t noticed that slip-up. “It’s not like that…she’s not available…but…well…we like the same things and have the same sense of humour. I’ve found in my line of business that it’s not common to get on so well in such a short time.”
“That’s a pity, dear. Maybe she has a sister.”
Daisy chuckled. Her mother was always the optimist. “That’s enough about my love life or the lack of it. Do you want dessert?”
“Why not. Let’s share a piece of that lovely lime cheesecake we had last time.”
Daisy pushed back her chair. “You order. I want a quick word with Mackenzie Griffith over there. Won’t be a sec.”
Determined to go forward with her idea, Daisy wound her way through the room until she reached the table. The trio stopped talking and looked up at her as she approached. She cleared her throat. “Sorry for interrupting but I was wondering if I could have a quick word with you, Mac.”
Without hesitation, the reporter rose with a smile. “Excuse me please, gentleman. Hi Daisy, how can I help you? Do you want to go somewhere private?”
“No, no. This will only take a moment. I won’t hold you up. I was wondering if you and I could get together soon. I’ve a proposition for you that I’m sure you will really like.”
“That’s sound intriguing. Would later this afternoon suit?”
“Super. I’m free after lunch.”
“Then how about we meet at the Coffee Club down on the corner at three?”
“Perfect. I’ll see you there,” said Daisy and with a spring in her step, wove her way back to her mother.
“Planning an article about your agency, dear?”
“It’s for a friend,” Daisy replied without elaborating.
Sheila pursed her lips. “You’re full of yourself today, missy. That is a secret too I presume.”
“Yes, Mum, it is. When I can tell you, I shall.”
“Well I’ll say this for you,” said Sheila with a twinkle in her eye. “You’re far more discreet than Meg.”
Daisy snorted, having been the topic of her sister’s babbling and sometimes nasty tongue often enough. “Meg’s a conduit for gossip—it runs in and it flows straight out. You don’t have to even flick a switch.”
“How true. But the trouble is,” murmured Sheila, “she doesn’t do anything remotely as interesting as you. Ah—here’s our dessert. It looks divine.”
* * *
Mac was already waiting on the footpath outside the Coffee Club when Daisy arrived a few minutes before three. They shared a quick hug before walking through the entrance. The pleasant aroma of ground coffee beans drifted past the woman behind the counter as she took their orders. On the way, Daisy had debated whether
she should refer to Lindsey as an acquaintance, colleague, or friend. Unable to divulge their real association but not wanting trivialise their relationship, she decided on friend.
Once they had settled into a quiet corner booth, Mac looked at her expectantly. “Now what’s this all about?”
“I want your advice,” Daisy began. “Well, more than advice really. It’s about Lindsey Jamieson-Ford.”
“The head of LJF Robotics. You know her?”
“She’s a friend.”
Mac gave her an appraising glance. “Really? Nobody has been able to get near that woman for years. She’s ignored all overtures from the press, and believe me, we’ve all tried. I hope you’re going to say she wants to give an interview?”
“She does. Are you interested?” The twinge of guilt was ignored. She would work out later how she was going to break it to Lindsey.
“My oath I am, I’d jump at the chance.”
“Good,” said Daisy, relaxing now the first hurdle was over. “But there are certain requirements for this article. She wants you to write a piece about her work, not her personal life.” When Mac looked puzzled, she plunged on. “The thing is, Lindsey has a problem and she’s touchy about it. I’ll let her explain…it’s not my place to break her confidence. She’s agreed to the article because she’s sick of being a hermit and wants more of a life. To go places and meet people.”
Mac tapped her pen on the table, silent for a long moment before she focused back on Daisy. “Now I’m really curious.”
“All will be revealed when you talk to her. I can only say I think the world of her and she’s a brilliant scientist. Her company is launching new products soon. What she needs is exposure.”
“Hmm. I think I can give her that without too much trouble but I’m at a loss to understand why she needs it. She’s widely regarded in her field. She would have to be wealthy. Do you know if she does anything for charity?”
“Plenty. She has a program set up for kids who have lost limbs because of land mines. You’ll be fascinated by her research.”
“So,” said Mac, leaning forward with interest. “You’ve obviously seen her work. Do you think she’ll show me?”
Daisy shook her head. “I doubt it. Scientists are paranoid about their research.”
“How did you meet her if I may ask?”
Daisy paused, not having planned a reply for this particular question. She should have, of course, but overcome with her brilliant idea, had rushed into things. “Oh…she’s a friend of a friend of my cousin. She introduced us at…um…at her office in town. They’re work colleagues,” she answered vaguely. “Lindsey’s interested in anthropology. We became friends.”
“Right. Tell me about her.”
“Well, she lives on an estate in a large two-storey house with—”
Mac waved her hand impatiently. “No, Daisy. I want to know about the real woman.”
“The real Lindsey…yes, well, okay,” she mumbled, feeling like a Judas. “The first time I met her, she looked like one of those dragon bosses. You know what I mean…damn scary… made of ice except when she’s breathing fire. That couldn’t be further from the truth. But it’s all a front…she’s incredibly shy. Mind you, she doesn’t abide fools, but then again,” she twiddled her eyebrows, “nor do you.”
The reporter chuckled. “I don’t. Rachel says it’s my worse fault. How does being wealthy affect her interaction with people?”
“She has a big house, a housekeeper-cook that she’s known all her life, and a chauffeur-cum-handy man but that’s all. She doesn’t seem to care much about money, more interested in her research. She’s an entirely different person in her lab. I suspect she probably doesn’t even know how much she’s personally worth. She doesn’t splash it around that’s for sure.”
“You obviously like her,” said Mac, watching her closely as she took a sip.
“We get along really well,” said Daisy and added to explain the unlikely friendship, “I’m doing a bit of work for her, but that’s confidential.”
“Naturally.”
“When can you set up a meeting?”
“I’ll let you know. Sooner the better though.”
“I’m at your disposal.”
“I’m aware you’re freelancing now. What would be the best platform for your article: a paper, magazine or TV?”
“TVs out. Too intrusive. Online is also out—it’s too open to trolling,” Mac said with a reassuring smile. “If you want the target market to be women, a magazine would be ideal. The Woman’s Weekly is the top selling women’s magazine in Australia but it’s a monthly publication. I presume you want to get onto it immediately?”
“As soon as possible.”
“Woman’s Day comes out weekly so we may have to go with that one. There’s also Time Australia, The Monthly, or one of the financial or science magazines considering her business reputation.”
“What do you suggest?”
“A woman’s magazine—for the sympathy factor. Cosmos, the popular science magazine, would without a doubt be the right place for the article but it wouldn’t have the readers you want. Maybe we could put it in both. I could tailor the text to suit each production.”
“Right,” said Daisy with authority, “let’s do it.”
“Then that’s settled. You give the time and place for the interview and I’ll make sure I fit it into my schedule.”
“Will do,” said Daisy, pushing aside the feeling she may have bitten off more than she could chew. Persuading Lindsey mightn’t be quite this easy.
“Sorry, I have to run in a minute,” said Mac, glancing at her watch. “We’re having a dinner party at the end of next month if you’d like to come. I know that’s six weeks away but I was going to get on to you. Bring a friend.”
“I’d love to, though it’ll be only me.”
“Then make sure you do. We’ve a couple of very nice unattached ladies coming.”
Chapter Twenty
It took a while for Lindsey to settle down after Daisy disappeared out the door. And as always when agitated about her arm, the memories flew in like black crows on the wind.
* * *
2004
Lindsey opened her eyes to an empty room. A moment of blind panic until she worked out where she was. She swallowed with difficulty. Her tongue felt bloated and her mouth tasted foul, but it was a relief to find the artificial airway had been replaced with an oxygen mask. She tentatively pressed her chin down to look at her body. Wires and tubes were running everywhere like a busy city intersection—an intravenous drip ran into a cannula in the back of her right hand and the monitor was attached by a string of wires to her chest. Pain shot through her body when she attempted to move, so she lay still and croaked, “Hello?”
A stocky woman in a blue uniform immediately bustled in. “Good, you’re awake, Lindsey,” she said in a low clipped voice and fiddled with the IV before she continued. “The button for your pain medication is near your fingers so you can self-administer when you need relief from now on. Don’t worry…you can’t give yourself too much.”
As she was edged up onto the pillow, Lindsey felt a strange sensation. Her body seemed lopsided. Now that her head was elevated, she could see both her legs from the upper thighs downward were swathed in bandages. A sharp pain suddenly sliced through her left shoulder as she craned forward for a better view. She dropped her head back with a gasp.
When the medication finally kicked in, the agonizing spasm receded enough for her to rotate her head. For a moment, she barely comprehended what she was seeing. When it sank through the narcotic fog that the arm was no longer there, that it had been amputated, a fierce wave of nausea hit her stomach like a jackhammer. She silently screamed. It was a ghastly nightmare—a free pass to hell. She blinked out two tears, too exhausted for more.
The next time she woke, she had arrived in hell. Her mother stood at the foot of the bed staring down at her with an expression she knew only too well. Intense disapprov
al mixed with distaste.
“Well, you’ve really done it this time, my girl. Are there no depths to your stupidity? What possessed you to ride on a motorbike and more to the point, with a common girl like Amy Cross?”
“How is Amy?” Lindsey whispered urgently. It was all coming back. Leaving the party on the bike—on the beach with the wonderful girl—meeting the truck on the corner. She squeezed her eyes closed, forcing the memories away.
“She’s gone.” The words were spat out.
Lindsey opened her eyes to stare at her mother. Amy…lovely Amy was dead. She began to sob. “Tell Kirsty I need to see her.”
“That friendship is finished. I sent her on her way and she won’t be back. As you well know she’s Amy’s cousin.”
“She’s my best friend,” Lindsey said, attempting to sit up. A film of perspiration formed on her lip and she gulped wildly. “You can’t stop her coming to see me.”
Her mother curled her lip. “I can and I will. You only have your family now and we’re saddled with you. No self-respecting man would touch you after you went off with a filthy lesbian. And who’d want you anyhow. You only have one arm.”
* * *
For the last time in the private hospital rehab unit, Lindsey picked up her coat on the way out and meticulously folded it over her arm. Two years after a very taxing regimen, she had finally been pronounced fit. It had seemed to take forever. Her arm had been ripped off and the end of her shoulder crushed to almost nothing, with little skin remaining—just raw, meaty pulp. She would have been finished much earlier except for the three skin grafts. They had dragged on the need for exercise therapy, and delayed the healing of the shoulder.
