Hero Duty (12 page)

The punch hurt. And it had been meant for Jessica.

No man who was a man, and not a dirt-eating worm, hit a woman. His opinion of Derek — never high — sank into furious contempt.

Jessica gasped and her fingers curled into the back of his shirt.

‘Has he hit you before?’ Brodie demanded.

‘No.’

‘No!’ Portia grabbed her son’s arm. He tried to shake her off, but she clung on. ‘Don’t. Think.’

Brodie watched him narrowly. If Derek attempted violence against his mother, Sydney Harbour was a long drop down from the high terrace.

Derek collapsed. He stopped trying to pull free of Portia and staggered back, falling into a wicker chair. He covered his face with his hands.

Portia stumbled with him and dropped to one knee beside the chair. She stayed there a moment, her head resting against the arm before she released him and stood. She moved jerkily, as people do when they’re in shock. ‘I thought…I wanted to show everyone…’ And devastatingly, rawly, from the heart of her, ‘Ian lied to us. He lied to me and to Derek, to the world and to you, Jessica. He lied and we all believed him.’

‘He was an actor,’ Derek muttered from his huddle in the chair. ‘Hell.’ He straightened with the effect of a long sigh. ‘Mum.’ He touched her shoulder briefly, glanced at Brodie and Jessica, and away. He walked to the railing and gripped it hard, looking over it to the dark water below.

Portia sat in the chair he’d vacated. ‘This weekend was meant to show us as a family. Ian’s legacy.’

‘A memorial to Dad,’ Jessica said uncertainly.

‘The lying, cheating bastard.’ Portia poured herself a glass of wine and gulped half of it.

‘I didn’t think you cared what he did.’ Jessica edged around Brodie.

He looped an arm around her. Her arm went around his waist. ‘You seemed to live separate lives, you and Dad. Just socialising together.’

‘The picture-perfect family.’ Portia swallowed more wine. ‘He never once told me that the money was yours.’

‘Would it have changed things?’ Brodie asked.

‘What do you think?’ Derek turned from the railing.

‘You would have sucked up to me,’ Jessica said.

‘I’d have been the best brother ever.’

‘You don’t have it in you,’ she said flatly.

His mouth twisted. ‘Not like Ian. Your father was a great actor. He fooled everyone in his role as big businessman.’

‘Numbat grew in the years Dad was chairman.’

‘I’ll give him credit.’ Derek had himself under control again. He refilled his mother’s glass and poured another for himself. ‘Ian could pick staff. There have been good CEOs. Joe was his miscalculation. Joe has his own plans. As you’ll discover.’ He raised his glass in a mocking toast and drank.

Brodie frowned. There was something he didn’t understand. Jessica defended her dad’s actions as chairman, but she didn’t challenge the derogatory claim that he only pretended to fill the role. ‘What did your dad do before he became chairman?’

‘Doesn’t he know?’ Derek’s amusement rang false. ‘I spoke the literal truth. Ian Trove was an actor.’

‘In theatre rather than television,’ Portia said. ‘That’s why people didn’t recognise him as an actor. He’d been strictly small-time.’

‘Dad spent more time working than resting,’ Jessica protested. ‘Most actors have to support themselves with other jobs.’

‘Whereas Ian cleverly married a rich man’s daughter.’ Derek drained his wine.

‘That’s more than you’ve managed,’ Jessica said.

Brodie grinned. A touch of spite meant she was fighting back.

‘I should have chosen a woman more like you,’ Derek said. ‘Ian easily kept you under his thumb.’

‘It’s my fault,’ Portia said suddenly. ‘I should have questioned why Ian resented you so much, Jessica. Instead, I was just damn glad he took to Derek.’

‘Not enough to trust me with the truth,’ Derek said.

Portia ignored him. ‘I thought Ian was one of those men who hate women.’

‘But he had mistresses.’ Jessica clapped a hand over her mouth. ‘Sorry.’

‘You are naïve. Having a harem doesn’t mean a man likes women. Quite the contrary. Ian didn’t respect women.’ Portia contemplated her wine. ‘He resented you because the money was yours, and he kept you guilty and scared so that you’d never challenge him for it.’

‘What?’ Brodie hooked a chair with his foot and pushed Jessica gently into it.

‘Hasn’t she told you?’ Derek’s blond hair caught the light, flashing gold as if with a halo. ‘Jessica killed her mother.’

***

‘It was an accident.’ Jessica swivelled in the chair, but caught herself before she could reach out for Brodie. She clasped her hands together in her lap.

He pulled up another chair and sat beside her.

‘Of course it was an accident,’ Portia said dismissively.

Jessica stared at her. The boating accident that had taken her mum and Pops had never been treated lightly in the family. She’d lived with the burden that her selfishness had killed the two people she loved most — and had robbed her dad of the love of his life. She had owed him any happiness he could find afterward, even Portia, Derek, and his mistresses.

‘I picked up the story over the years, when Ian was drunk or we met friends who knew him then.’

‘You never told me the full story, Mum.’ Derek sat down at the table, too. Seemingly out of habit, he poured two more glasses of wine and handed them to Jessica and Brodie.

Jessica set hers down before it spilled.

‘It was the Christmas holidays. Ian and Rebecca had been having trouble. She was planning to divorce him.’

‘What?’ Jessica couldn’t believe it. ‘They never fought. Not seriously.’

‘Couples always fight,’ Portia said. ‘Not necessarily in front of their children. Probably Rebecca didn’t want you to know Ian was cheating.’

Jessica breathed a soundless ‘no’.

‘Your grandfather hired a private investigator and had the proof lined up. As soon as your mum agreed to the divorce, Ian would be out in the cold. Infidelity. With your grandfather’s resources, Ian wouldn’t have had a chance in hell of getting a settlement. He knew it, so he convinced Rebecca to give them time. One final Christmas together. He must have thought he could talk her around.’

‘Dad wanted to go skiing. Switzerland, and what he called a proper Christmas. Didn’t I want snow? He kept asking.’ Jessica shook her head. ‘But I didn’t want snow for Christmas. I hate skiing. I wanted to go to Pops’ south-west beach-house like we did every year. I had friends there that I only met in the summer holidays. I told Mum that I wanted to go to Augusta as normal.’

‘And she agreed.’ Portia stared out at the stunning view of Sydney Harbour. ‘She was different to me, Ian said. Rebecca liked to pretend she wasn’t rich. Ironic, when he went on to pretend he was.’

‘Mum didn’t think money was important.’

‘Well, she could afford to,’ Derek sneered.

‘Your grandfather probably put the pressure on to holiday at home, too. He wouldn’t have wanted Rebecca flying halfway around the world with Ian conning his way back into her good books and the money bags. So you all went down to the beach house, and your mum and grandfather died in a boating accident and Ian took his chance. He took your natural grief and twisted it. When I think about it now, I feel sick, even if I played my part in undermining your self-confidence.’

‘Ruthless bastard.’ Derek sounded admiring. ‘He fostered your phobia of the sea and your sense of guilt. You believe it, don’t you? If you hadn’t insisted on a beach holiday, your mum and grandfather would still be alive.’

‘When it’s your time, you die,’ Brodie said.

The certainty in his deep voice cut through Jessica’s confused, painful emotions. ‘You can’t know that.’

‘I lived with the possibility of death. Call it chance, call it fate, we can’t alter the time of our passing.’

‘Ian used your grief.’ Portia ignored the side talk. ‘He used your phobia of the sea to reinforce your sense of guilt. Then he used your guilt to give him everything he wanted. The important point was to never let you pull away. To never heal. He kept you raw. We — I — should have gotten you counselling.’

By concentrating hard, Jessica got her glass of wine to her mouth without spilling any, and drank thirstily. The Rose was too light. She needed a heavy Merlot to chase away the chill inside her.

‘Ian lied to us.’ Portia repeated the theme of her story. ‘I thought I finally had everything and instead…’ She opened a hand and mimed releasing a handful of dust. ‘Nothing.’ She put her glass down. ‘I’ll cancel tomorrow’s party.’

‘Mum,’ Derek began a protest.

She looked at him. ‘Your Anabel will have told the world our situation. By morning there won’t be anyone who doesn’t know we’ve lost everything. My friends will tear me apart over Champagne and cake.’ She left the table, her spine rigid as she vanished through the terrace doors.

Jessica had never seen her stepmother display so much dignity. Or perhaps this time there was a difference. The straight, proud line of her spine was matched by integrity.

‘Mum’s wrong. No one is taking this from me.’ Shards from the glass Anabel had dropped splintered under Derek’s feet as he crossed to the terrace door. He slapped the frame with his open palm. ‘I can still have everything. And I will.’

The front door slammed a second time. In the silence, music drifted over the water from a party down the road. Then came the roar of Derek’s car.

Mae entered the terrace carrying a small vacuum cleaner.

Brodie rose to take it from her.

‘Did you hear?’ Jessica stood clumsily.

‘Yes. I came to announce dinner and…’ Mae gestured her helpless eavesdropping. ‘I am sorry, Jessica.’

‘Me, too.’ Jessica knew there’d be pain. It was there, deep in her, but for the moment she was numb, suspended in a void where the world and her own emotions felt light-years away. The noise of the small vacuum cleaner was reassuringly ordinary, and she watched Brodie wield it.

His muscles moved easily as he crouched, stood, studied the travertine floor and finally gave the vacuum cleaner back to Mae. ‘We won’t be staying for dinner.’

‘Family dramas. There is pain, but then there is healing. Or, there can be.’ Mae spoke to Brodie but looked at Jessica. ‘Accepting the truth is where we all start. Now, go. I will tell Louis that his dinner for twenty-four that became dinner for five is now dinner for none. There will be much swearing.’

‘And I have delicate ears,’ Brodie said.

Mae giggled, short and high-pitched. Surprised. ‘You are a joker. You look so serious.’ She frowned. ‘You should have punched Derek. Maybe you’ll get another chance?’

‘He’s a jerk, so I expect so.’

‘True. Look after our Jessie.’ Mae waved them off.

Jessica moved obediently to his guiding hand. Everything felt distant, as if she were on the other side of a bubble. ‘Not the hotel,’ she said as they got into the car. ‘Please.’

‘Where?’

She might as well face her fears while this strange anesthetised feeling lasted. ‘The nearest beach.’

Brodie parked in a brightly-lit car park. To one side, people sat at an ope- air restaurant, enjoying the night. Others strolled along the sand. Perhaps in the dark water one or two swam.

Jessica cracked opened the car door. Unlike the exposed and windy south-west coast she’d known years ago, the waves were gentle here. From the car park, she couldn’t hear them. Far louder was the noise of people and passing traffic.

She walked down the path to the beach. Her high heels were too loud, but there could be glass here, left by people as carelessly destructive as Anabel. Only when she reached the sand did she slip her shoes off.

Brodie strode beside her, silent.

‘I can hear the waves,’ she said. ‘I heard them whispering in my dreams for years. Do you know why the Ancient Greeks believed in Neptune, King of the Sea?’

He didn’t answer. He had to be uncomfortable in his good shoes, walking across the uneven sand, but he was simply there.

‘They had to believe when the sea stole their sailors that the men weren’t lost to death, left lonely, forever. ‘Full fathom five thy father lies; of his bones are coral made’. Shakespeare said it. The Elizabethans were sailors. They knew.’

‘Was your mother’s body recovered?’

‘Yes.’ She appreciated the stark question. No clouding, confusing, cowardly euphemisms. ‘They found Mum and Pops. They had life jackets on. Mum had a blow to the head. The coroner thought something struck her when the boat capsized. And Pops, he had a heart attack, out there, in the water.’ She stared out across the darkness. But where the Indian Ocean on Australia’s west coast went on and on bleakly to Africa, the view here ended in the warm, human lights on the other side of the harbour. ‘I’ve always thought Pops knew Mum was dead.’

Brodie hugged her against him, but she couldn’t feel comfort any more than she could feel the pain she knew was lurking in wait. She pulled away gently and walked to the water’s edge. The waves licked her toes and retreated. She stood there, mesmerised by their rhythm, as her toes froze.

‘Enough.’ Brodie picked her up.

She flinched as his body heat burned through the thin silk of her dress and told her just how cold her own flesh was. She was too big and too heavy to carry...She rested her face against his shoulder and trusted his strength.

At the car, he sat her in the passenger seat, got out a handkerchief and dusted the sand from her feet.

‘Don’t fuss.’ She touched his face, her fingers trailing down to trace the tense set of his jaw.

He tucked her cold feet into their expensive shoes and swivelled her fully into the car, then shut the door.

She waited for him to take the driver’s seat.

But he stood a moment at the front of the car, staring out at the bay, thinking who knew what. His shoulders moved. Not a shrug, more an acceptance of something. He got in the car. ‘A hot shower. Food. Room service.’

They were at the hotel in minutes, and the few grains of sand that still clung to her feet pressed against the leather of her shoes and into her cold skin as she walked. The hurt was distant, unreal.

The shock of the steaming shower stung. The hot water defrosting her ice-block toes was like wrapping her feet in jellyfish. The fierce pain shocked her back into her body. She no longer drifted through outer space. She took a sobbing breath and another until her breathing evened out and she’d controlled the threat of tears, or full-on hysterics.