Brittle Shadows (18 page)

Jemma gnawed
her lip, her mind tossing around solutions. “Who says she has to know? I could
be just another rejected wife, looking for advice.”

“If it’s advice
you’re looking for, try this: stay away from her! No good will come of it.”

“And what if
she knows something that could help unravel everything that’s happened?”

Distress
flecked Fen’s eyes. She lowered her gaze. “Can we talk about something else? Please.”

Tension hung
like a pall over them. Jemma supped her cold coffee. What was it about the ex
Mrs Mullins that had Fen so freaked? “Sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you. I’m
just trying to put all the pieces together, because at the moment nothing seems
to fit.” She set her cup down. “But let’s forget about that for now. What would
you like to talk about?”

Fen shrugged,
her gaze focused in the depths of her coffee cup.

“Tell me about
your family,” Jemma said. “Do you have any sisters or brothers?”

“One younger
brother.” Fen sighed, looked away and then back at Jemma. “I understand where
you’re coming from. I really do, but I can’t see that digging it all up again
is going to achieve anything except a lot of angst. Tanya’s gone and, as hard
as it is, we have to accept that. The best thing we can do for her is to live
life to the full. It’s what she would’ve wanted.”

“So you’re
ready to put Tanya’s death behind you without knowing what really happened?”

“No…” Fen
batted her eyes with the back of her hands. “No, I’m not, but I don’t know what
else to do.”

“Oh, Fen,
please don’t cry.” Fighting her own tears, Jemma caught Fen’s hand and
squeezed. “I didn’t mean it like that. I can be such an insensitive oaf at
times. You’re not alone in how you feel, believe me.”

Fen delivered a
weak smile. “You are more like your sister than you will ever know.”

… more like your sister than
you will ever know.

It had taken
Fen breaking down for Jemma to realize how unfair she had been. Not only was
her mere presence a constant reminder to her sister’s closest friend, she had
coerced Fen into joining her on her fact-finding mission. Revealing the news of
Tanya’s pregnancy couldn’t have helped either. She sighed. Her
single-mindedness would be her undoing if she weren’t careful.

The ‘Cross Now’
buzzer sounded. She stepped off the curb. A hand grabbed her and jerked her
back. A split second later, she felt a pressure wave and a bus hurtled past.
She turned to thank her good Samaritan, but he or she had merged with the group
already starting across the street. She took a quick breath, looked left and
right, and then made a dash for the other side.

Her day wasn’t
playing out at all as she had expected. She had hoped to talk with Fen about
the Bartletts and the various rumors circulating, but that wasn’t going to
happen. Fen needed her space. Prejudice or no prejudice, Chris was out of the
question. When it came to the Bartletts, he was less than forthcoming. And she
certainly couldn’t quiz Ash. Or could she? She had planned on catching up with
him, anyway. That’s if he would return her calls.

Lost in
thought, she rounded the corner and almost collided with the same peaked-cap
deliveryman from the other day.

“Steady on, lady.”

“Sorry,” she
said, sidestepping.

“Hey, I recognize
you.” He pulled his clipboard out from under his arm. “Jemma Dalton, apartment
367, right?”

Her heart sank
as she took in the bouquet of red roses, a clone of those from the previous
week. “I don’t suppose there’s a card?”

“Here, sign
this.” He shoved the clipboard at her.

She made a
mental note of the florist and signed where indicated.

“The card’s
inside,” he said, swapping the roses for the clipboard.

Her arms full
with the bouquet she shouldered through the glass doors into the foyer,
catching sight of Ethan strolling past as she turned. He waved, but was gone
before she could do the same.

The second she
was in the apartment, she ripped open the card.
For a special woman
, it
read on one side. She turned it over. No signature, no nothing. She tapped the
card against her palm. Why would anyone go to the expense and effort of sending
flowers anonymously? More to the point, who? Definitely not Ross. When she
tried thanking him for the last lot, it had been obvious from his reaction that
he had no clue to what she was talking about. Chris, then, trying to make
amends for ‘cousin Milo’s’ lecherous behavior at the barbecue? Maybe. Or Ash’s
magnanimous attempt to put things right? Maybe. Yet neither would explain the
first delivery.

After she put
the roses in water, she tried phoning Ash again. She counted the rings.
…seven…eight…nine…
Just when she thought it was going to divert to his voicemail, he answered.

“What now?”

She blinked.
“Ash?” It didn’t sound like him.

“Who else would
it be?”

“Please, you
have to give me a chance to explain.”

“What’s to
explain? You made your thoughts quite clear.”

“That is so not
fair. You’ve known me for less than a week, yet you think you can read my mind.
I’m not Tanya.”

He didn’t
respond straight away. “Don’t you think I know that? It’s obvious that
somewhere along the line we’ve got our wires crossed. How much Fen has to do
with that, I don’t know.”

Jemma breathed
out. “You know in her own funny way, I think Fen was trying to protect you. She
obviously doesn’t want to see you get hurt again.”

Ash grunted.
“Meddling more like.”

“Anyhow, now
that you’re talking to me again, how about getting together at some stage?”

“Sure, if you
think you can trust me.”

Ouch.

“Sorry,” he
added, “that was uncalled for.”

She started to
reply, but then decided against it. Face to face would be easier.

“Are you free
tonight?” he asked.

“I think I
might be. What did you have in mind?”

“Drinks,
dinner, whatever you want.”

“On one
condition.”

“What’s that?”

“You let me pay
this time.”

He laughed.
“Deal.”

They bantered
back and forth for a while, before finally agreeing to meet up at a bar a few
blocks walk from the apartment, called The Gap.

“Now, are you
sure you know where it is?” Ash asked.

“If I get lost,
I’ll call you. Ash, um…” She cleared her throat.

“Yes.”

“Don’t worry
about it. I’ll talk to you later.” It was unlikely that in his aggrieved state
Ash would have sent her flowers anyway.

She ended the
call and picked up the card. “For a special woman,” she read aloud. “For a
special woman,” she repeated, wishing it somehow made sense.

Exchanging the
card for the envelope it came in, she dialed the phone number listed beneath
the florist’s Collins Street address. She explained to the girl who answered
that the person who had ordered the flowers for her from them had neglected to
include his or her name. “Just an oversight I would imagine,” she said.

“I’m sorry,”
said the girl, not sounding it, “but he didn’t leave a name.”

“He?”

“Or she. I
don’t recall the order. If you hang on for a sec, I’ll check if anyone else
remembers it.”

Jemma waited,
listening to the muted sounds of people talking, the electronic ping of a cash
register, door chimes. A busy shop.

“Sorry to keep
you,” said the girl on her return, “but the person who would have looked after
that order has left for the day.”

Another dead
end. Why did that not surprise her? Frustrated, she chucked her phone down on
the table next to the card and envelope. It still baffled her to why anyone
would want to send flowers without the recipient knowing whom they were from.
What was the point?

Probably
something as cryptic as the note fragments she had found under the washing
machine. She scooped up the two pieces of paper from the kitchen countertop and
held them up, one in each hand.

AT?

E WHO CARES.

HOW WELL DO

YOU KNOW YO

Fen had said
Kerry Mullins had been behind anonymous letters to Tanya, implying Sean was
sleeping around with other women. Did that fit with what she was looking at?
With what she had, she couldn’t tell one way or the other. Her breath escaping
in a loud huff, she slapped the note fragments down on the counter, covering
them with her palms. Shame she wasn’t psychic.

Sandwiched between a Japanese
sushi bar and an antiquarian bookseller, The Gap was aptly named. Jemma pushed
through the heavy glass door, her initial reaction to cover her ears. The sound
inside was ten times louder than it was out on the footpath. Voices and music
competed for dominance, the noise of blenders crushing ice only adding to the
din. A polished-granite topped bar on the right ran almost the whole length of
the room. Dark crimson walls added to the tunnel-like feel. A scattering of tub
chairs, round low tables, and people standing occupied what space remained.

Toward the
rear, she spotted a staircase leading to an upper floor. She shouldered her way
through the crowd, inhaling a potpourri of floral perfumes and woody colognes
along the way.

She stopped
halfway up the stairs, using her vantage point to scope the room, looking for
Ash. Not finding him, she kept going.

The upper
lounge’s soft furnishings and dense pile carpet dampened the music and noise
floating up from the ground floor bar. She could hear herself think again.
Standard lamps threw circles of diffuse light over nests of deep couches and
low tables.

More intent on
each other, couples and small groups alike paid her scarce attention as she
weaved her way around them to a vacant couch near the window. Sinking down into
the couch’s thick cushioning, she delved into her bag for her mobile. One
missed call. Ash. Hoping she hadn’t been stood up, she pressed Call.

“Hello,” she
heard in stereo.

She jumped,
almost dropping the phone. Ash stood before her, looking relaxed in a white
open-weave shirt loose over stone chinos.

His mouth
stretching in a wide grin, he snapped closed his mobile phone. “So this is
where you’ve been hiding.”

“I’ve only just
got here,” she said, dropping her phone back into her bag. “I couldn’t see you
downstairs.”

“Not surprising
really. They’re bursting at the seams tonight.” He plonked himself down on the
couch, the cushion occupied by Jemma’s bag separating them. “At least we can
talk up here.”

“Ash, I want to
apolo—”

He sliced the
air with his hand. “No need. I probably should be the one apologizing. Let’s
say we just put it down to a misunderstanding and move on.”

She nodded,
only too happy to put the incident behind her.

A blond,
spiky-haired waiter appeared to take their order. Jemma snatched up the menu
from the table. “What would you recommend?” she asked Ash as she quickly
perused the list, reluctant to let the waiter go while they had him.

“How does an
hors d’oeuvres’ platter accompanied by something light like a Fumé Blanc sound?”

“Perfect,” she
said, closing the menu.

“So,” Ash said,
after the waiter left, “here we are.”

She shuffled in
her seat. “Yes, here we are. Did you get everything sorted out with your father
okay?”

“Nothing to
sort. Call it another of those miscommunications.” He stretched backwards,
throwing his arm along the back of the couch. “In fact, I would say relations
between us are better than they have been in a long while. Maybe it’s because
he’s finally coming around to accepting me for who I am and not who he wants me
to be. Like it or lump it, he’s stuck with me. You can’t divorce your kids.” He
scowled, his gaze turning inward. “Mind you, if that jumped-up gorilla had had
his way, I’d be disinherited by now.”

“Do you mean
Sean?”

“Who else? The wanker
– not to speak ill of the dead or anything – thought he could displace me as my
father’s successor.”

“You can’t be
serious.”

“Deadly.” Ash
gave a dry laugh. “Pun not intended. And don’t look at me like that. Do you
think if I had anything to do with his demise, I would be telling you any of
this?”

Jemma relaxed
her jaw. “Sorry, you just took me aback a bit. What do you mean Sean thought he
could be your father’s successor? How? Wasn’t he just Marcus’s chauffeur and
personal trainer? Tanya had more input into the business side of things than he
had, surely.”

“You would
think so, wouldn’t you? But no, as far as Sean was concerned he was the protégé
and I was just the pain in the arse no-good son. Why do you think I was shipped
out to the other side of the world?”