Soon (27 page)

‘You. I care about you. It's been a difficult year. I've had a terrible fear of losing all of you.'

‘You've been depressed,' she said.

Depressed.
Beside myself.

‘Yes I've been depressed, but I've realised something. The only thing I care about is you. Our family.'

‘How ironic then, that you want to send our daughter away. To live with a woman who'll make sure I never see her.'

Simon watched the object borne away on the churning rip; it was far out at sea now, just a speck.

‘It's true,' he said. ‘I've done wrong. But how can I make it right?'

Power Junkie

They were grouped in the drive, waiting for the car. The Cahanes' luggage had been piled up by Chad and Shane, Sharon was giving orders and the Cock was pacing and talking on his phone. Ed Miles frowned, whispered savagely in Juliet's ear; she ducked her head and looked stricken.

Roza went on, ‘So respectable Helen Schlegel has an affair with Mr Bast. She runs away to hide the scandalous pregnancy, but her sister and Mr Wilcox catch up with her and find out. And when Mr Bast comes looking for her, Mr Wilcox's son hits him with the flat side of a sword. Poor little Bast clutches at a bookcase and it falls on him, and his weak heart gives out.'

‘Right,' Karen said.

‘They made a film of it. Mr Bast walks from the city into the country to look for Helen. He walks through fields of bluebells, all night, to go to her. It made me cry.'

‘How romantic,' Karen said.

‘Mr Bast's lower class but special. He loves music. Early on he tells the Schlegels about walking all night, from the middle of the city clear into the country. They think it's a terribly novel idea.'

Simon looked at his watch.

‘The twist in the story is that respectable Mr Wilcox has also been having it off with the lower orders. He's actually had an affair with Mr Bast's disreputable wife, ten years before, in Cyprus, when she was only a teenager. And left her in the lurch.'

‘It all sounds very complicated,' Karen said.

Roza said, ‘Oh, it's not really. I'm sure you could grasp the plot, Karen. If you concentrated. It's not much different from real life. Only the funny thing is, when it was published, people said the plot wasn't plausible, because it involved these liaisons between the classes. Well, they could believe Wilcox would have it off with Mrs Bast when she was a little slapper in Cyprus, but they absolutely couldn't go for the idea that Helen Schlegel would start bonking Mr Bast. It was unthinkable.'

‘Here's the car,' Simon said.

The driver brought the heavy BMW to a stop next to the pile of bags.

‘But these things do happen. Don't they, Simon?'

He faced her. ‘I don't think we've ever had quite the same level of class distinction here.'

‘You're looking very chirpy, darling,' David said, arriving with Ray and Jon.

‘I am in rather a good mood. It's such a beautiful day. I've been telling them about
Howard's End.
'

‘Oh yes. Is that the movie I can't stand with the old bat and the house and Anthony Hopkins acting like there's an umbrella up his arse?'

‘That's the one.'

‘Such a philistine, your husband,' the Cock said.

‘Isn't he.
Howard's End
was actually a novel before it was a film, by the way.'

‘No doubt,' David said.

Roza snorted.

‘My wife, meanwhile, packs so many bags that we need a bus. Fortunately she's expert at driving the Sherpas.'

Sharon came breezing around the car. ‘Are you coming?'

‘You mean you're actually ready? I thought you'd need another hour.'

There was a long farewell. Sharon kept thinking of another thing to say to Roza and the Cock was inclined to hang around, kissing Roza three times and vowing to get hold of a copy of
Howard's End.

‘I don't think my wife has ever read a novel. She prefers the
Woman's Weekly.
'

‘I'm like David,' Sharon said, looking at herself in a small mirror. ‘I don't have the time.' She painted some gloss on her lips. Mwah.

‘I know. You're too busy saving the world, darling. And getting your hair done.'

‘Stop droning on about
books.
You know you'll go berserk if there's traffic.'

Ray and Jon stood ready to open the gate, the driver drummed his fingers on the steering wheel; across the lawn Shane or Chad, wearing a wide-brimmed hat, skimmed the surface of the swimming pool with a long-handled net. Trent packed the last bag into the car and stood back, his eyes on the ground. He hadn't once looked in Sharon's direction.

Ford emerged from the side gate as the Cahanes drove past. He raised his fingers in what could have been a wave and then slung his towel over his shoulder and hurried off between the hedges. He would be keeping away deliberately, in a mood of fastidious high-mindedness, not wanting to shake Colin Cahane's hand.

And then the car passed through the gate and droned off along the coast road, and there was a desultory silence before the group broke up and trailed back across the lawn in twos and threes. Simon saw Ford already in the dunes, heading for the beach.

On the path to the house Elke appeared, dressed in tiny denim shorts, a halter top and high-heeled sandals.

‘There you are,' Roza said, kissing her cheek. ‘Ready?'

Elke nodded, her eyes sliding away from Karen. David came forward and the three of them stood in an awkward embrace, David, Roza and Elke. The Lamptons were forced to stop and wait.

‘Kodak moment,' Karen said.

‘She looks a bit like a model, doesn't she?' David said, and Roza made a play of inspecting the girl with pleasure.

Simon put a restraining hand on Karen's arm.
For God's sake, Roza. Since when were you such a ham?
But the look Roza gave Karen now wasn't sentimental, it was implacable and cold. Simon saw what she was thinking, what she had always been thinking: that Karen had stolen her child. All the time the Lamptons had spent caring for Elke didn't mean anything to Roza except insult and theft; their very presence was a reminder that she'd been an unfit mother. Now Roza was fit and Karen would be punished. In matters of love the mind is not rational, nor is it fair. Roza would have no mercy for Karen. There would be no mercy.

And Elke wouldn't look at them. If she felt rejected by Simon's suggestion she should leave them, Roza would reinforce that. Karen was right; the connection would be lost.

‘I'm going to pack,' Karen said.

The Hallwrights stepped aside. Roza smiled. ‘Get Trent to give you a hand.'

Simon watched his wife cross the lawn looking small and dumpy, her shoulders hunched. She raised the heel of her hand to her face, perhaps wiping away a tear. Roza drew herself up, her eyes actually seeming to shine. Her triumph was indecent; he was angry and then with wearying suddenness his imagination turned. What if, when I was young and desperate and ill, someone had taken possession of my child . . .

Roza said, ‘Here comes the Bible-banger. Let's rescue Johnnie and get going.'

Did Roza hate him too? He didn't think so. But what about those strange, charged remarks she'd made, when she'd seemed to suggest she might turn against him as well?

‘Where are you going?' he asked.

‘Into town. We're taking Johnnie to a movie. Then some disgusting burger joint.'

Tulei and the little boy were wandering across the grass hand in hand, Tulei carrying a bunch of lavender and Johnnie wearing a woven flax headband with feathers stuck in it.

‘I'm a Niuean chief,' he said.

Tulei picked him up; he hugged her, pressing his cheek against hers. She peeled him off and handed him to Roza. ‘Here's your chief.'

Johnnie said, ‘Can Tulei come to the movies?'

‘We're going to give Tulei some time off.'

‘I want her to come!'

‘Don't forget to wash your hands, ' Tulei told him.

‘God, how many times. A bit of dirt's good for him.'

‘Tulei likes movies. She told me. She likes
Star Wars
.'

‘Does she now. Right. Let's get going.'

‘Pecause you've been digging in the dirt and playing with feathers and there are germs . . .'

‘Oh, for God's sake. I'll dust him with insecticide. Will that make you happy, Tulei?'

‘I'm sorry Missus?'

Roza ushered Elke and Johnnie ahead of her, rolling her eyes at David. ‘Bye, darling. We'll take Ray. And Jon can drive.'

‘Can I hold Ray's gun?'

‘No!'

They went off across the lawn.

David said, ‘Tulei. Got any, you know?' He mimed smoking.

‘Oh, sure. How many you want?'

‘Give me three. Four. You got four?'

‘I give you whole packet. Five left.'

‘Have you got more for yourself?'

‘Sure, in my room.'

David winked and put a twenty dollar note in her hand; she tucked it in her pocket and went off towards the house.

‘You going to the pool?' David waved a cigarette and Shaun, who'd been lounging against a tree, snapped to attention and brought a lighter. David lit up and blew out a stream of grey smoke. ‘Roza's happy today,' he said.

‘Karen's not.' It was sharper than Simon had intended. He added, ‘She's just sorry the holiday's over.'

David consulted his giant designer watch. The chunky strap like chainmail, the series of implausible dials, as though for deep-sea diving. It looked suddenly absurd.

‘Shaun? Where's Dean? He's late.'

The young man nodded, flipped open his phone.

Two rosellas flashed between the trees. Simon asked politely, ‘How's it going with the arse?'

‘Roza says she can't understand why anyone would want a bigger arse.'

‘Maybe just firmer.'

‘Firmer. Stronger. No, prouder. That's it. I want a proud arse.'

‘Of course, you know Dean's . . .'

‘Gay. Yes. I've noticed that.'

‘So his interest in your arse is . . .'

‘A gay interest. You're impugning Dean's professionalism. He has a degree. In . . .'

‘Arses?' Simon's face was stiff with feigned heartiness.

‘He tells me his approach is
holistic.
' Bored and impatient, David walked over and punched Shaun on the arm. ‘Well?'

‘He's on his way.'

Simon shaded his eyes, scanned the dunes. ‘I think I'll go to
the beach.'

But David had turned away and was waving to Dean, who was dragging an enormous sports bag along the path. He thrust his cigarette at Shaun. ‘Get rid of this. Pretend it's yours.' He took out a little aerosol and sprayed it in his mouth. ‘How's that?'

Shaun said, ‘Peppermint and smoke.' David laughed.

Simon headed onto the hot sand hills, looking for Ford. The beach was crowded in every direction; squinting along the hot stretch he couldn't see Ford. Heat waves rippled over the sand, obscuring his view. There was a crowd of surfers out near the point, waiting for the best of the swells, and a lone swimmer chasing the waves, lifting both arms out of the water in a powerful butterfly stroke. Ford liked to bodysurf, although he'd condemned the waves at Rotokauri as pathetically small by his standards. He liked to go to west coast black-sand beaches like Piha and Karekare, and get hammered by real surf.

Simon's phone went off. In the bright glare he shaded the screen with his hand, couldn't see who was calling. He answered.

‘Dr Lampton. Marie Da Silva.'

Silence. He looked at the surfers riding over a big, smooth swell.

‘How are you, Dr Lampton?'

‘Good.'

‘Detective O'Kelly and I would like to see you again.'

‘Great.'

‘Glad you approve,' she said.

Simon sat down on the dune
. Aren't you sounding jaunty.
Little rare-eyed Marie.

‘Where are you now, Dr Lampton?'

He wondered if she could hear the waves. The seagulls. A quad bike droning by. It would be a mistake to sound uncooperative. Or would it? If only he knew how to do this.

‘Why do you ask?'

‘Because my colleague and I would love to see you.'

Love . . . He didn't like the satirical tone. It was way too cheerful.

He waited, then said, ‘Can't we just talk on the phone?'

‘I don't like the phone. I prefer face to face.'

‘I may come into the city tomorrow. I'm not sure. Can I get back to you?'

‘OK, shall we come and see you there?'

‘Where?'

‘At Rotokauri.'

‘Look, I've got to go to the hospital tomorrow. I'll be at my rooms briefly, at midday. How's that?'

‘Super.'

He closed his phone. Super. Was she sounding so bouncy because she'd uncovered something new?

A group of gulls had landed nearby and were edging towards him on their red feet. He looked at their round eyes with tiny black pupils, their white heads turning, as if they were conferring together. There was a tight feeling in his stomach. Miles was supposed to be fixing this. Ford had said it: the more often he was bailed up by little Marie, the greater the danger he would give something away. This must be way beyond routine inquiry now. They just wouldn't leave him alone.

The possibilities: perhaps Miles wasn't able to ‘calm things down'. A minister couldn't officially interfere in the workings of a police investigation. Or maybe Miles, or even David, had decided there was some advantage in letting the investigation run. Ford might have been wrong reckoning they'd do anything to make the police go away. Who knew how David had decided to play it; he was, after all, the most cunning person Simon knew. Had he seen an opportunity to get rid of the Lamptons, now he had Elke taken care of? Or was that fanciful? And how much control did David really have over Miles? That devious, manipulative prick could have ideas of his own.

He shouldn't have listened to Ford, couldn't even be sure his brother's offer of help was genuine. Ford was so awkward and eccentric, so (come to think of it)
bereaved
; there was no reason why he'd know how to deal with a delicate situation. He cursed Ford's confident self-righteousness, his fucking opinions. Big brother, always marching around telling people what do. Why had he listened, why did he always listen? Fuck Ford, fuck him.