The Girl in Steel-Capped Boots (28 page)

She squared her chin. ‘Fine. I’ll see you tomorrow.’

‘If that’s what you want.’ His voice was distant now and he was already turning away.

Court resumed at ten the next morning and Lena was there as promised. Dan joined her shortly before the hour with heavy-lidded eyes. It had been a rough night for him as well. She wasn’t surprised. If she’d had difficulty sleeping, she imagined he’d had no rest at all. He sat down beside her and took her hand, whether for support or in greeting, she didn’t care. As long as their closeness was important to him. That’s all that mattered to her.

Mr Carter’s next witness was Andrew Carrington, the manager of the MacArthur Lumber Mill, a thick-bearded man with red hair. He confirmed Dan’s testimony about what had taken place on the day of the accident, including the fact that there had been no need for Mark to enter the machine. New information was revealed when Sarah Michaels got up to cross-examine him about the operation of the feeder, but none of it was very useful. Lena sighed with relief when Andrew Carrington finally left the stand.

That was it for Mr Carter’s witness list. It was now Sarah Michaels’s turn to call her first witness.

Angela Hullog. As she was not only a witness but the plaintiff, she had been allowed to sit in the gallery and view the entire proceedings. Now, she sat on the stand, eyes downcast, skin splotchy with a cross between paleness and a flush staining her skin, and took her oath. Not that her word meant anything to Lena. She had practically asked Dan to lie for her, for goodness sake. Was she really about to tell the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth?

‘Ms Hullog, was your husband suffering from clinical depression at the time of the accident?’

Angela replied after a slight pause. ‘Yes.’

‘Is it true that prior to his death he had tried to commit suicide?’

Again she paused. ‘Yes.’

‘Since this attempt, how would you rate his recovery?’

Angela Hullog cleared her throat. ‘I would say very good, if not excellent.’ She fixed a contemptuous gaze on Dan rather than looking at the lawyer. ‘He was improving every day. I know, because his illness had been causing some problems in our marriage. But we were really starting to overcome them – really starting to build some bridges, make plans for the future and all that.’

‘Did you fight with Mark at all on the morning of the lumber mill accident?’

Angela lifted her chin. ‘Definitely not.’

‘What about the day before that?’

‘No.’

‘Did anything at all occur before the incident that would affect Mark’s stress levels?’

Angela Hullog frowned. ‘The only thing that stressed him out was work. His manager and brother, Dan Hullog, put Mark under a lot of pressure to get things done. Mark really looked up to Dan and didn’t want to let him down.’ Again she fixed that glare on Dan. ‘Despite my protests, Mark was always working late. By the time he got home he’d be so tired. And he was anxious too. I really think that the company and its managers have a lot to answer for when it comes to my husband’s mental state.’

‘Ms Hullog,’ Sarah managed to draw Angela’s attention back to her, ‘I believe you were pregnant at the time of your husband’s death. Is that true?’

‘Yes,’ Angela spat, the subject change clearly angering her. ‘My daughter will never know her father thanks to Oswalds.’

Sarah waited before asking her next question. Lena realised she was giving Angela a second to calm down. ‘Ms Hullog, how far along were you at the time?’

Angela swallowed and squinted up at the ceiling. ‘I would say . . . ten weeks. We were both really happy about it even though the pregnancy wasn’t planned. I love children and so did Mark. We were going to turn his study into a nursery. We –’

‘Ms Hullog,’ Sarah interrupted. ‘Did you say the pregnancy was unplanned?’

Angela hesitated, confusion clouding her eyes. ‘Yes.’

‘When did you find out you were pregnant?’

‘At about . . . er . . . nine weeks. I went to the doctor to have it confirmed. But I was suspicious for ages,’ she added as an afterthought.

‘When did you tell Mark about it?’

Angela turned pink. ‘I can’t remember exactly.’

‘But you did tell him.’

‘Yes, of course,’ Angela blustered.

‘How did Mark take the news that you were expecting an unplanned baby?’

‘Oh,’ Angela spread her hands dramatically, as if it were a foregone conclusion, ‘he was ecstatic, of course. Surprised and ecstatic.’

Sarah Michaels turned her attention back to the judge. ‘I have no further questions, your honour.’

Mr Carter stood up to cross-examine, leaning back into his hip as he eyed Sarah Michaels’s witness thoughtfully.

‘My colleague here is determined to link this case to Mark Hullog’s attempted suicide, so let’s discuss it, Ms Hullog. When and where was it?’

‘In the evening, at home,’ Angela replied quickly.

‘Can you describe Mark’s mood that day?’

‘Distracted, preoccupied.’ A spasm of pain creased her face; Lena saw a tiny bit of what the woman had gone through. ‘I knew there was something wrong. Not
how
wrong, of course.’

‘Did he prepare a note?’

‘Yes, there was one next to him when I . . . found him. It was very brief – he said sorry. Nothing more.’

‘So then, Ms Hullog,’ Mr Carter continued in that thoughtful manner he had begun with, ‘if we could just contrast this to what happened at the lumber mill. Was Mark preoccupied or moody that day?’

‘No, he was happy.’

‘And did he leave you a note concerning his death?’

‘No. It wasn’t a suicide.’

‘Thank you.’ Satisfied, Mr Carter sat down.

Sarah Michaels’s next witness was Mark’s doctor, a white-haired, balding man who looked like he’d been practising a long time. Lena hoped he had. Perhaps he could give everyone some direction – some information that wasn’t so uncertain. She looked at Dan but he grimly shook his head.

Great.

After briefly establishing the nature of Mark Hullog’s mental illness, Sarah moved into the guts of her questioning.

‘Dr Hendricks, in your professional opinion, do you think the incident at the lumber mill that killed Mark Hullog could have been suicide?’

‘In my professional opinion, no.’

Sarah Michaels nodded, a gentle smile curving her mouth. ‘Dr Hendricks, has your professional opinion ever been wrong?’

The doctor raised his bushy white eyebrows, unfazed by her question.

‘Well, it’s an opinion, counsel. It’s not a fact. Interpret that whichever way you like it.’

Sarah regrouped. ‘Very well, Dr Hendricks, have you or any of your peers ever thought someone was recovering and they weren’t?’

‘Patients can relapse very quickly,’ Dr Hendricks returned impatiently. ‘Sometimes there is little warning.’

‘What causes relapses?’

Dr Hendricks shrugged. ‘Anything and nothing. As we are talking about a person’s mind here, it’s their perception of the world around them that is the problem, not reality. If they think something has changed to increase their stress levels, then it has.’

‘Surely finding out that your wife is unexpectedly pregnant would increase the stress levels of any human being, especially someone who has recently emerged from a suicidal state?’

‘Yes,’ Dr Hendricks reluctantly conceded.

‘Just out of curiosity, Dr Hendricks, did you have therapy sessions with Mark Hullog the week before he died?’

‘Yes, I did.’

‘And during those sessions, did he mention that his wife was pregnant?’

Dr Hendricks reddened. ‘No.’

‘But wouldn’t a patient disclose something as significant as that to his doctor?’

‘I am not a member of his family. But I suppose I do encourage my patients to let me in on any drastic changes in their lives.’

Sarah Michaels nodded. ‘And just to confirm, Dr Hendricks, Mark Hullog was still on his medication at the time of the incident?’

‘Yes.’

‘Did you have any intention of taking him off it?’

‘No immediate intentions.’

‘What about the therapy sessions? Were you going to stop those?’

‘Eventually.’

‘So what you’re saying is, Mark Hullog was still quite seriously depressed, but was recovering over time?’

Dr Hendricks seemed annoyed. ‘He had a condition that was less serious than it had been three months previously.’

Sarah Michaels nodded. ‘Thank you.’ She looked at the judge. ‘That’s all, your honour.’

Sarah didn’t have any more witnesses. Lena didn’t know whether to be relieved or disappointed because as far as she was concerned the judge could swing either way. The evidence was all a list of maybes. True, they still had the closing statements by each of the lawyers to go the next morning, but she doubted they would provide more clarity. Dan looked exhausted. She too was feeling the effects of trying to concentrate on every word that was uttered in that room, not wanting to miss a single clue. Her muscles ached from clenching and unclenching. Her limbs were brittle from being held still for so long. Her skin was dry and sweaty from the air-conditioning that often blew too cold.

She was craving the finish line.

And yet at the same time she was scared of the verdict. She couldn’t even begin to imagine what Dan was feeling. They walked out of the court quickly, this time managing to avoid his family.

‘Dinner?’ she asked when they turned out into the street.

‘I’m not really hungry.’ He ran tired fingers through his dark hair. ‘But if you’d like to go somewhere, I’ll take you.’

Like she was going to make him treat her to dinner in his condition. ‘No, no,’ she said quickly. Besides, she wasn’t really hungry either, and a noisy restaurant was the last place she wanted to go.

What she did want though was to prolong this togetherness. She didn’t want him to spend the night alone, thinking, wondering, what tomorrow would bring. ‘Would you like to come back to my place for a while?’

His chin jerked down sharply as his eyes swung to hers. The air crackled with the silence.

He put out a hand and ran rough fingertips down her cheek. ‘Lena,’ he said, ‘as much as I want to –’

She grabbed his hand and laced her fingers through it. ‘Just for soup and company. You shouldn’t be alone tonight.’

He hesitated.

‘Okay.’

Lena’s first thought upon opening the door of her apartment was,
Damn, I wish I’d tided up a little this morning.

There was stuff everywhere – she was still in the process of unpacking her suitcase. Shirts and pants were strewn on the couch. Her usual junk – magazines, mail, make-up, shopping bags – was also scattered haphazardly on any other available surfaces.

‘It’s just tinned soup, I’m afraid,’ she said as she walked past the couch, grabbing and piling clothes over her arm at the same time. ‘I’m not a very good cook and I don’t generally keep fresh food in the apartment.’

Dan stood on the threshold, hands in his pockets, looking around with interest. ‘This is exactly what I thought it would look like.’

‘A mess?’ she grimaced. ‘Thanks a lot.’

He chuckled and shrugged. ‘No. Just you. Feminine, colourful and all over the place.’

She raised an eyebrow. ‘Isn’t that still just a nice way of saying I’m untidy?’

He raised his hands in mock defence. ‘Believe me, I can’t talk.’

‘Hmmm.’ She threw the clothes into the laundry and shut the door as he approached her, leaning her back against the door, hand still on the knob.

‘There is so much you haven’t told me about yourself,’ he mused. ‘And yet, sometimes I feel like I’ve always known you. Does that make sense?’

She nodded. ‘Absolutely.’

He followed her into the kitchen and when she turned around to face him, the space felt crowded. Her brain did a double-take.
The client is in my kitchen.

Dan Hullog – tired, vulnerable and completely at my mercy.

His black hair was curling just above the rim of his collar in that endearing way that made her fingers itch. He looked impossibly tall as he stood beside her dining table, watching her, watching him. The stove wasn’t on yet, but it sure felt like it.

Lena realised she was staring and turned around to busy herself with finding a pot and a tin. The pot was easy. She pulled it from the drawer under the sink and set it on the stove. Then she moved to the pantry, aware that his eyes were on her the whole time. She pulled two tins from the middle shelf and turned around.

‘Pumpkin or tomato?’

‘Definitely pumpkin.’ He came forwards, taking the chosen flavour from her grasp, their fingertips briefly touching in the exchange. ‘Let me do it,’ he murmured. ‘I feel like I’ve trespassed on your time enough for one day.’

‘Don’t be silly,’ she protested.

‘I insist.’ He took the can to the counter, rummaged in a drawer and produced a tin opener. She sat down at the dining table and watched his shirt pull taut over his bicep as he took the top off the can and poured its contents into the pot. His hand trailed across the edge of the counter as he returned
to the drawer to find a spoon and she suppressed the need to shudder. He fumbled through the choices and the cutlery clinked against each other. Finally, he pulled a long wooden spoon, which she never used, from the hidden depths of the cavity and turned around.

‘So is this your usual dinner routine?’

She shrugged. ‘I don’t know . . . sometimes. I eat out a lot when I live in Perth.’

‘I hadn’t realised how much I’d missed the city till we came back.’ He sighed as he placed the spoon in the steaming pot and rotated it in slow circles.

‘Perth is really pretty.’

‘I was thinking more . . . homey. It’s a cosy town. That’s what I love about it.’

‘Do you still have a place here?’

He shook his head without looking up from the stirring. ‘I’m staying in a hotel at the moment. All my stuff is in storage – has been for over a year. I plan to keep it that way till I get sick of big projects in the outback.’

‘The outback, hmmm?’ She got up in disgust, snatched the spoon from him and shoved him gently over with her hip. ‘No family, no home to call your own, a friendless workaholic, wandering the face of the earth, hoping to get lost in his own anonymity. Sounds just peachy.’

His eyes widened in surprise and he leaned against the neighbouring benchtop. ‘Well, it doesn’t sound great when you put it that way.’

‘It doesn’t sound great no matter how you put it. What are you trying to do? Bury yourself?’

He ran his fingers through his hair with a heavy sigh. ‘I guess I never thought of it like that.’

‘Tell me,’ she turned around and said lightly, ‘did you have any pets when you lived in Perth? Perhaps you gave them away, or worse, had them put down? Because clearly death was preferable to a life with you.’

He laughed. Real humour glinted in those rich, catch-your-breath eyes.

She stopped to drink in the lovely moment. He took advantage of her distraction and snatched the spoon back, shoving her over. ‘Now you’re just being cheeky.’

He carefully spooned out a mouthful, cupping a hand under it and blowing on it gently. He turned, closing the distance between them till their legs brushed, and raised the spoon to her mouth.

‘Is this hot enough for you?’

Hello!

The air was hot.

The room was hot.

The hairs up her bloody nose were hot.

The very question threatened to turn her body into liquid lava. Who cared about the stupid soup?

His eyes twinkled at her. ‘Go on, taste it.’

She parted her lips and he slid the spoon between them. That thick buttery pumpkin taste, creamy and wholesome, slipped over her tongue and down her throat. She licked her lips. It was the perfect temperature. It was the apartment that was the problem.

‘I think it’s done,’ she said and took a cautious step back.

Am I getting in over my head again?

He put his mouth where hers had been and took the remaining half sip. ‘I think you’re right.’

He turned off the stove and served up the soup.

They took their dinner to eat on the couch; and she caught Dan looking at the photo frames sitting on the cabinet by her television. There were three pictures in all. One of her and her parents, a Christmas photo that included them again with some of her other relatives and one of Lena and Robyn in Sydney on a trip they’d taken a couple of years earlier. The light-hearted expression he’d been wearing in the kitchen gradually faded under this unsubtle reminder of what he didn’t have. She swore under her breath but he heard and looked at her.

‘What?’

‘You were right.’ She sipped her soup. ‘You can’t hide anything from me any more.’

‘I’m sorry,’ he sighed. ‘It’s not your fault you had the perfect childhood.’

She snorted. ‘I wouldn’t say perfect. But it wasn’t unhappy.’ She didn’t like the whiteness around his mouth. ‘Dare I ask about yours?’

‘Don’t worry, I wasn’t abused or anything.’ He put his soup on the table and ran his palms down his knees. ‘Wasn’t loved either, but you must have guessed that by now.’

She thought back to his parents’ behaviour. ‘I wasn’t going to say anything, but it did strike me as odd that these people who nurtured you as a child could turn on you like they have. Especially when they appear to love Mark so much.’

‘Mark is their real child.’ Dan drew a weary hand across his forehead. ‘My mum was Dad’s first wife. She died.’

‘So,’ she said slowly, also putting her soup on the coffee table, ‘that woman in the courtroom is your stepmother.’

‘Since I was two. Really, she’s the only mother I’ve ever known. She tried. But I always knew she considered me an unfortunate remnant of my father’s past. I guess when Mark died she used it as ammunition to tip my father completely over to her point of view.’

‘Dan, that’s terrible.’

He shrugged. ‘It’s life.’

‘What did Mark think about all this?’

‘I don’t know; I never asked him. I hoped he didn’t notice. I loved Mark, maybe as much as the two of them did. He was the glue that kept us all together.’

She couldn’t help but wonder whether his family’s reliance on Mark had been the pressure that had crushed his spirit. She didn’t say it though – she didn’t want to layer any more theories on top of his possible suicide. Especially not one that in effect blamed Dan yet again.

His quiet voice, rough with tiredness and grief, interrupted her thoughts. ‘It’s okay. I’ve thought of that too.’

‘I’m sorry, I should be trying to take your mind off your family not encouraging you to dwell on it. Let’s talk about something else.’

He nodded, swinging his body round so one knee was bent up under him. He rested his elbow on the top of the couch and his head on his palm. ‘Let’s talk about you.’

Warmth infused her face. ‘What about me?’

‘Well, you know all about my family, tell me about yours.’

She chuckled. ‘Not much to tell. I’m one of two children. My parents are still together. They live on the outskirts of the city and are growing happily into their eccentric habits. Love ’em to bits.’ She shrugged. ‘My sister, Elle, is a bit of a free spirit. She lives in Melbourne. We’ve never been that close.’

‘That happens. I’m glad your parents are good to you though. Next question: how does a girl like you become an engineer anyway?’

She grabbed the pillow behind her back and threw it at him. ‘What do you mean a girl like me?’

He stuffed the pillow behind his back. ‘You know what I mean.’

She raised an eyebrow at him. ‘No, actually. I don’t.’

And then, in an unexpected move, he leaned forwards and pulled one of her feet out from under her. He pressed his thumbs deeply into her arch and she didn’t know whether to squeal or moan as delicious pain sent a shaft of relaxation straight up her leg. ‘Maybe it’s just because you’re young.’

‘I won’t always be,’ she said, struggling to keep her wits about her. ‘And stop avoiding the question.’

‘A girl like you. Hmmm. What did I mean?’ She thought he was teasing her, but also trying to figure it out. ‘Maybe I was thrown by your looks – no, wait: I’m not saying that’s fair,’ he protested, as she started to interrupt him. ‘I was wrong. Okay? Satisfied? But you must admit that you don’t have the same attitude as other engineers, male or female.’

She frowned. ‘I work
very
hard –’

‘Not that kind of attitude. I mean, you use your heart as much as your brain on the job. You organise social events, you take on board everybody’s opinions and I do mean everybody’s, and you let people see your . . . I don’t know . . . your
enthusiasm
. You’re like a really amazing preschool teacher – or a publicist or something. Engineers don’t talk like you do. I misjudged you because of that.’

‘Yes. You made it perfectly clear that you didn’t think I belonged on site.’

‘Well, you proved me wrong,’ he murmured, his gentle caressing moving up her leg.

She choked and lifted her chin. ‘I proved a lot of people wrong.’

‘Yes you did – and with such style too.’

This time she blushed, not quite knowing what to say. Had she really proven herself?

‘You’re not done yet, are you?’ he asked seriously.

His words made her think of her promise and of Kevin, and all the reasons why sitting there with him, her foot in his hand, was utterly ridiculous. ‘No,’ she swallowed hard. ‘Not yet.’

She pulled her foot back and tucked it away, putting her hand out imperiously for her cushion. ‘Give me my pillow back.’

‘Why?’

She rubbed behind her back and glared at him. ‘Because I need it.’

He pulled the spare pillow from behind him instead. Leaning forwards again, he passed the pillow over her head with both hands so that it came down behind her and she was cradled in the loop of his arms. They were nose to nose, so close she could register the individual eyelashes framing his deep cobalt eyes. Her heart rattled so loudly in her chest she was sure he must be able to hear it banging against her ribcage.

‘What’s wrong, Lena?’

She bit her lip, trying to quieten the train roaring through her head. ‘You don’t know me, Dan. I’m not who you think I am.’

‘You keep saying that,’ he whispered and closed the minute gap between them with the gentlest of kisses. His mouth sipped from hers and nudged insistently to deepen the kiss.

But his efforts were useless against the voices in her head.

You’re a fraud.

An engineer impersonator.

When he finds out the truth, he’ll never look at you the same way again.

With a sharp intake of breath she pulled away and he dropped his forehead to hers. ‘I’m sorry, I said I’d never do that again, didn’t I?’

‘It’s okay.’ She tried to keep her voice light but couldn’t meet his eyes.

With a heavy sigh, he put both feet on the ground, so that he was sitting normally. With a soft expletive, he ran a hand through his hair. ‘I know you’re afraid, Lena. But so am I. These last few days with you . . . I just . . . It’s got me thinking.’

Her eyes widened. ‘About what?’

He turned his head to look at her again. ‘I don’t want to keep running any more. I don’t want to live like this.’

She let out a breath she hadn’t realised she’d been holding. ‘Dan, I –’

‘No listen,’ he urged her. ‘I need to fly back right after the case is finished because I took too much R and R in Karratha and –’

She cut him off. ‘But what if the verdict . . . What if you need some time out?’