‘Arthur,’ Max said. ‘I hope my team are treating you well?’
I was relieved to know that it was Arthur himself, and not his daughter, who was with Max’s ‘team’。
‘I understand – and they have been instructed not to harm you,’ Max said. ‘All we need is for you to sell your shares back to me and then you will be returned to your home.’
There was silence for a few seconds; I presumed Arthur Spriggs was favouring my husband with some choice words.
‘You’re in a van,’ Max said patiently. ‘Where we drive it is up to you. I’m hoping you cooperate, so we drive you home, after which we never have to cross paths again. If that’s what you want, you’re going to have to –’
Max stopped, presumably because Arthur had cut him off. After a moment, he said, ‘You don’t seem to understand that you’re not in a position to negotiate. I have no wish to harm you, but if you don’t cooperate, I will.’
Another silence. When Max spoke again, he sounded irritated. ‘Look, Arthur, we can do this the easy way, or we can do it the hard way. It’s up to you.’
Now the longest silence of them all. I wondered what was happening. Was Arthur calling his bluff? Surely not. But if he did . . . what did that mean? Max couldn’t actually kill him. He wouldn’t. Was that what Arthur was banking on?
When the silence continued, I found myself walking out of my study into the hall and through the door to Max’s office.
Max turned to face me, but his attention was elsewhere. It allowed me to get up close beside him and put my ear to the phone.
‘Fine,’ Max said. ‘Have it your way. Baz –’
‘No!’ I shouted, and then I heard the gunshot.
54
PIPPA
NOW
Mei calls while I’m still in bed. It’s just after 7 am – an ungodly time for most, but not a bad time to catch me. Gabe has gone for a surf; the girls are asleep. Normally I’d be in the kitchen, unloading the dishwasher and getting a head start on the day, but I haven’t been able to motivate myself to get out of bed, not even for coffee. It seems as good a time as any to talk to Mei.
‘Hi,’ I say, settling back against the pillows.
‘You’re a hard lady to catch,’ Mei says. ‘I called twice yesterday.’
‘I know, sorry.’
I hear the girls stirring in the next room. It always starts this way, with Asha letting out a spectacular yawn. In a few minutes, she’ll roll over and try to rouse Freya, who will protest for exactly three seconds. Then they’ll scamper into the living room, bright-eyed and mischievous and aggressively hungry.
Mei still hasn’t spoken.
‘What?’ I ask.
‘You tell me,’ she says. ‘What’s happening with Max? And don’t say nothing. I saw him in town yesterday.’
I curse internally. Unfortunately, Portsea is a small place. If I saw him, it wasn’t really surprising that Mei did too.
‘I’m worried, Pip. I know I said I wasn’t going to tell Kat, but –’
‘You can’t, Mei. Please.’
‘I don’t want to, believe me. She’s still sick as a dog, and she worries enough about you as it –’
‘What? Why does she worry about me?’
‘Because you’re her sister,’ Mei says, as if it’s obvious. ‘And sisters worry. But now she’s pregnant, I’d rather not upset her.’
‘Then don’t!’ I say. ‘Honestly, Mei, everything is fine. Max probably has a holiday house down here, that’s all. What rich person doesn’t?’
Mei considers that. ‘So you haven’t see him?’
‘No,’ I say. ‘Of course not.’
‘Good. Because Max Cameron is not the kind of enemy you want. He knows some dangerous people.’
Dangerous. That word gives me pause. Gabe had said something similar. Max Cameron isn’t the nice guy everyone thinks he is. I recall my night with him. The fact that I hadn’t sensed his dark side makes me question my judgement – about everything.
‘So Gabe’s still insisting Amanda’s death was a pure coincidence?’ Mei says, when I don’t respond.
‘Yes,’ I say, ‘because it’s the truth.’
‘All right,’ she says, although it’s clear she isn’t convinced. ‘But if I were you, I’d be asking Gabe a direct question: Is there something going on that I don’t know about?’
‘You’ve got it all wrong, Mei,’ I say. ‘And, frankly, I’m a little surprised by how quick you are to cast aspersions on Gabe’s integrity. I thought you were friends!’
I hear the thump of feet on the floorboards. A moment later, two little faces peer around the doorframe. I wave at them, and they run over and jump onto the bed. But I keep the phone pressed to my ear, waiting for Mei to apologise, to assure me that of course she and Gabe are friends, that she would never think him capable of anything sinister.
Instead she says, ‘Ask him.’
And ends the call.
Ask him.
I’m still thinking about my conversation with Mei as I strap the girls into their car seats an hour later. Why does she keep saying that? It irritates me, because I can’t defend Gabe, and I can’t understand why she is so desperate for me to confront him.
I don’t need to ask him, I want to cry. Because Gabe isn’t the one who did something wrong – it was me!
But of course I can’t say this. I can’t say anything at all.
I’ve rescheduled the girls’ vaccinations for this morning before preschool, and since I don’t have a meeting this morning I decided to go to the appointment with them and Gabe. Once the girls are strapped in, I get into the passenger seat. Gabe is driving.
‘Why do I have to have a shot?’ Asha says apprehensively.
‘Because the shot is full of superheroes,’ Gabe says. ‘The nurse will shoot them into your body, so they can be there to fight against germs. These superheroes stop you from getting sick.’
The girls look doubtful.
‘You can have ice cream afterwards,’ I say.
‘Yay!’ the girls chorus.
I scan the streets anxiously on our way to the health centre. I can’t help it. Unfortunately, it’s Friday, and Max looks exactly like every other wealthy fifty-something man with a holiday home in the area. I see several men that could be him – each one causing a brief interruption to the blood flow in my body, or at least that is how it feels. But none of them is Max.
We pull up a few doors down from the health centre. The girls are reluctant to get out, so Gabe heaves them both onto his back in a double piggyback. They look like a scene from a movie – the two giggling girls and their handsome father. Passers-by steal looks at them and smile.
‘I had an appointment for my daughters this morning, but unfortunately I can’t find them,’ Gabe says to the woman on reception as we enter.
‘We’re here!’ the girls squeal from his back. ‘We’re here, Daddy!’
We are taken to a room behind a curtain and seated side by side on plastic chairs with the girls on our laps. Gabe has Freya, I have Asha. The receptionist stands nearby, poised to blow bubbles, a distraction technique to take the child’s mind off the sting of the needle.