Hero Duty (19 page)

The Botanic Gardens were quietly busy with people exercising. Everyone was represented: elderly walkers, kids wobbling on bikes with training wheels, fitness fanatics running, training in groups and collapsed on the grass, sucking in sports drinks. Tourists wandered among them, taking photos.

Jessica sat on a bench in the sun. She’d left her phone at home, Joe’s call unanswered. Truth was, she’d fled the hotel. A bus had brought her here. It was a place of quietness that she’d discovered as teenager. People were busy, but embracing them all was the nurturing green of the plants. In the gardens, one could simply be.

Except that today the magic failed. Birds could call, but all she heard was Brodie’s voice, harsh with accusation and rejection. Flowers could bloom, leaves could shiver in the wind, and all she saw was the hotel door, slamming shut behind him.

And if she forced herself to think, to breathe past the emotional pain, then the mess she’d made of her family and Numbat rose like a storm surge to smash her into the dark waters of her life.

She put her elbows on her knees and dug her fingers into her scalp.
Grief
. She grieved for her dad, that he’d lost the life he enjoyed, and that they’d both lost a relationship that should have brought them strength. If she’d been stronger…

Fear made a big, ugly mess of life.

When her dad had died she’d lost her last sense of belonging to someone. He might have been a terrible parent, but lots of parents were. That didn’t mean the relationship vanished. She’d had a place to call home, even if she hated the white mansion. It had been somewhere to go for Christmas and birthdays. It had linked her into the rhythms of life.

She dropped her hands and studied them as they fell between her knees. She linked her fingers, tugging at them, tugging at her thoughts and the painful truths.

She could have built her own family, but she’d believed she didn’t deserve love. Her dad, stepmother and Derek’s grudging inclusion of her in the family had been her gauge of self-worth.

And Brodie agreed with them.

None of them saw her as a person separate from her money. Billionairess Jessica Trove, sitting on a park bench with no idea what to do. The beautiful blue of the flowering jacaranda trees was wasted on her. She hardly saw the bright flash of Rainbow Lorikeets, although she heard their screeching cries.

When she returned to the hotel, would Brodie’s stuff be gone?

She shouldn’t want him when he could judge her so harshly. Wrongly.

Doubt twisted her mind and her fingers. Had she tried to buy him?

No. All that money. She’d thought she’d found someone to share the burden of it with her, to make something good come of it.

If she’d given Derek the money, the role of Numbat chairman, everything he wanted from the beginning, then none of this would have happened. She’d have continued at the university, living her quiet life and existing on the fringes of Portia and Derek’s lives. Anabel would have had her society wedding.

But it would have been a surrender too far. She knew it. In her fear and search to protect herself, she might have handled things badly, but she was right to protect what Pops had built. Numbat wasn’t about Derek’s ego or Portia’s social status.

So what was it about?

Building a better future. Giving people good lives. It wasn’t about the money.

If she didn’t charge Derek with theft, Numbat would be threatened. Maybe not as dramatically as Vera hinted, but then again, Vera knew the company. She knew the inner workings. Jessica had inherited it all, unearned. She had to prove her loyalty.

Time to stop running.

It hurt to stand. She’d sat for too long and with all her muscles tensed. Ligaments cracked as she moved. Just a few hours ago, Brodie had recommended a hot shower. It had helped. Now, her emotions hurt worse than any muscle. A hot shower wouldn’t fix those. And Brodie wouldn’t care.

***

At the hotel, Jessica picked up her phone. She despised the treacherous hope for a message from Brodie. She’d checked. His gear was still there.

Two messages from Joe and five hang-ups.

Brodie wouldn’t call and not leave a message. Nor would her friends. Or Derek.

Journalists. The financial blog had broken the news. Now they’d be chasing the story.

Jessica headed for her room in the suite. She’d keep the suite for Brodie when — if — he returned. But as nice as the hotel was, it wasn’t secure. You had to pay real money for protection from the media. The five-star hotels specialised in it.

One-handed, she started throwing clothes onto the bed as she hit the button to return Joe’s calls.

If she kept busy, maybe she’d survive the conversation.

‘Jessica, finally.’

It could be argued that Joe worked for her. He was CEO of a billion-dollar corporation, but she owned the corporation. Reminding herself of these facts didn’t help. Jessica braced for his anger.

‘Derek’s been busy.’

‘I know,’ she said apologetically. She stuffed trousers into the bottom of her bag. Not all of her new clothes would fit in her luggage, but she had a couple of shopping bags left from her buying spree. It wouldn’t be classy, but she’d need the outfits. In the next hotel, she’d pay for someone to sort out the crumpled mess she was making. ‘Vera phoned me.’

‘I thought she would.’

Jessica stopped packing to frown. Anticipating anger, she thought she had to be going mad: Joe sounded satisfied. She sat on the bed to give her complete attention to the conversation.

‘Journalists will be contacting you for comment,’ he continued. ‘Refer them to me.’

‘Um.’ If she did that, hand-balling to Joe communicated the very clear message that it was her and Joe against Derek. She had decided it had to be that way, but she resented his unsubtle manipulation.

‘Is Derek in contact with you?’ he asked. ‘Portia?’

Testing her loyalties.

‘No.’

‘Then trust me till Monday’s meeting,’ he said.

It puzzled her. Joe liked to be in control. She’d thought he’d be closing this down, calling an emergency meeting and instructing lawyers. Perhaps he could set things in motion to charge Derek with theft without her approval. She ventured cautiously. ‘Vera said you’d be upset?’

‘I’ve known what sort of man Derek is for years.’

Ouch. ‘Will you…I mean do we have to…?’ She couldn’t frame the words to ask if they’d destroy Derek, and Portia with him.

‘Monday,’ Joe said firmly. ‘And Jessica, don’t worry.’

‘Don’t worry?’ Blank disbelief.

But he’d hung up. She contemplated re-dialling him, but Joe had chutzpah enough to ignore her call. It seemed everyone in her life knew what they were doing, except her.

Uncharacteristically annoyed by the observation, she packed swiftly and lined up her bags by the door.

That left one last task. She couldn’t leave Brodie a note. Not only was that cowardly, but it ran the risk of an enterprising journalist intercepting it. Hotel staff could be bribed. She’d have to call him.

Her stomach tried to turn itself inside out, but she dialled anyway. She had no idea what she’d say.

His phone was switched off and went straight to message bank.

She collapsed back against the wall at the anti-climax and only belatedly remembered that she needed to say something. ‘Uh, Brodie. I’ve…um…Derek’s done something stupid. I think the media will get involved so I’m switching hotels. The suite is yours as long as you want. Um. Bye.’

Leaving a phone message really oughtn’t leave you wanting to cry.

Jessica picked up her bags, muscles hurting, and with her foot, hooked the hotel room door shut behind her. For a while she’d tried to pretend she could be ordinary, but the price was too high. She was rich and in the next hotel, she’d have to accept that life.

The media would make sure of it.

***

This hotel suite was more like a luxury apartment. Jessica roamed through the rooms. Family holidays in her late teen years had introduced her to a range of exclusive hotels around the world, but she’d thought she’d left that world behind. It was one of smothering shame and constraint.

The shame had been her family’s self-conscious, arrogant acceptance of service. Dad, Portia, Derek, they just demanded and took. They didn’t say thank you, and they definitely didn’t share. Not born to wealth, they’d been clumsy with the hotel staff employed to cater to their every expensive whim. To a teenage girl hyper-aware of criticism, the staff’s judgement had shown in a hundred scornful ways. To a girl raised in an Australian belief in egalitarianism — and with a grandfather who had embraced that view fervently even as he made multiple fortunes — she had cringed. The hotel staff had been compassionate and kind to her in her outsider status within the family unit, and that had worsened everything.

The price of luxurious service was constant surveillance — how else was your every whim to be satisfied?

Jessica had gotten out and vowed not to go back.

‘Now here I am.’ She curled up on a window seat, looking out across the city. At night, the lights would glow like jewels.

Her clothes had been taken away. An unknown person would wash, press and hang them in her walk-in robe. If she wanted, she could add to her clothing by calling down to the boutiques in the lobby. A selection of clothes in her size would be sent up for her to choose from. Anything she wanted, she could have. Except freedom.

Her phone rang, again.

Again, it was an unknown number. A journalist.

Each time her heart raced, thinking it might be Brodie. If she hadn’t been waiting for his call, she’d turn the phone off.

Maybe she should, anyway.

He would probably just text a message,
Got my gea
r, to let her know she could cancel the hotel suite. He’d want to pay for the suite, but she’d anticipated him there. She’d paid before she checked out and the hotel had her credit card to charge additional days against.

The phone rang. ‘Derek calling.’

She put her knees up under her chin. From the window, she could see the corner of Numbat’s tower. She could ignore the call. But look where cowardice had gotten her.

‘Hi, Derek.’

‘You’ve left your hotel.’

‘Yes.’

‘But your bodyguard’s gear is still there.’

He’d checked. Her rotten stepbrother had snooped.

‘Trouble in paradise?’ he had the nerve to ask.

‘How’s Anabel? Is she impressed by your plans for your financial future?’

‘Ooh, miaow.’

So he thought she didn’t have claws — or rather, the guts to use them.

‘Joe phoned me,’ she said.

‘I thought he would.’ He sounded bored.

‘You’ve been stupid, Derek. Do you know where Portia is?’

‘Yes, Mae said Mum had vanished. Clever of her. She’ll re-emerge when it’s time to share the spoils.’

‘It won’t work.’

‘That’s where you’re wrong. But I know you’re not clever, Jessica. I thought I might have to explain the situation to you. It was a shame Mum burst Ian’s guilt bubble so dramatically. He had you nicely under his thumb.’

Her stomach churned with nasty emotions. ‘I can hang up any time, Derek.’ She did not have to listen to this.

‘But then you won’t know what I’m planning for you.’

‘A media circus, leaks to the press, making my life a misery.’

‘All actions have consequences,’ he agreed. ‘But you’ve led a dull, blameless life. What could I share?’

She dreaded the happy anticipation in his voice.

‘And then I thought of how very, very private you are, Jessica. People don’t trust quiet people. They wonder what they’ve been up to. They speculate.’

There was nothing in her careful life for anyone to speculate about. Not for her wild parties. The false guilt her dad had instilled in her had served one purpose: she had never, ever indulged in careless behaviour that could harm someone.

‘Mum had the family photo albums out a couple of weeks ago. You were always Ian’s annoying daughter, shrinking into corners, never fitting in. It was surprising to look at the photos and see something completely different.’

Jessica had hated those photos. Portia had taken loads on family holidays. They hadn’t been friendly snaps to be shared laughingly. There had been a strategic intent to them. They had been visual proof of perfect lives. Jessica had learned to smile on command. More than that, to look happy. It had saved a lot of nagging.

‘Blonde hair,’ Derek said. ‘People believe a lot of things about blonde, blue-eyed girls with leggy figures. Even at sixteen, you filled out a swimsuit.’

Ew
. He was her stepbrother.

‘I borrowed a few of those photos. They’ll confirm my story quite nicely. I’m sorry to do it, Jessica.’ He didn’t sound sorry at all. He sounded gleeful. ‘I’m going to have to tell people how you seduced me when you were sixteen and I was nineteen and home from uni. Don’t worry. I’ll tell them how irresistible you were. You were practiced and had all the moves.’

She hung up, ran for the bathroom and vomited.

It was a vile lie.

With her trust issues, she hadn’t felt comfortable enough in a relationship to take that step until she was nearly twenty. Her boyfriend then had been an older student, more interested in his research than a girlfriend, but she’d appreciated the undemanding nature of their relationship. Only he’d been offered a scholarship in Germany and gone. Months later, she’d learned her dad had been behind the scholarship. It was part of his method of separating her from support and undermining her self-confidence.

The media would eat up the story, and how could she disprove it? Derek would have covered his bases, mixing truth with lies, making it seem plausible.

Ugh. She rinsed her mouth, brushed her teeth, and fought the urge to gag again. She braced her hands on the basin and stared at her reflection. Even the luxury hotel’s flattering lighting failed to hide the strained lines of her face and shadows under her eyes.

If Numbat went after Derek for his theft, he would destroy her personally.

***

There was never enough leg-room in a plane. Brodie stretched one leg then the other. They were over the Nullarbor Plain, headed home for Perth. One of the pilots walked down the aisle accompanied by a stewardess who stopped beside an elderly man in a navy suit that was too big for his shrunken body. The stewardess made introductions.