On the Right Track Page 17

  ‘I won’t change my mind,’ he says.

  ‘Most of the documents are irrelevant. Some are personal. You have no right to them.’

  In three long strides he’s standing in front of me. His jaw is tight and he’s white around the mouth.

  ‘What about last night? Doesn’t that give me a right to personal?’

  Last night I lay against his chest, floppy like a ragdoll. I was trusting and compliant. But he’s a diplomat and a spy. He has to save the world from people like my father and grandfather. His investigation comes before anything else. The realisation claws at my stomach and makes me feel sick. I have to get rid of him.

  I wave my arm in the direction of the living room. ‘What happened last night was sex. You must’ve done it hundreds of times, thousands. I shouldn’t have trusted you. I should have known you’d use it against me.’

  Shutters crash down in front of his eyes, hiding his expression. When he picks up the boot box I hold out my hand.

  ‘Put it down,’ I say.

  ‘No.’

  ‘Let me finish what I’ve started.’

  He looks around my room. ‘That night at Clovelly, when I found out you’d spoken with Farmer, I got Nate to follow you home. You didn’t let him in here, did you? You tricked him into thinking he was respecting your privacy, when all the time …’ He speaks between his teeth. ‘That was weeks ago.’

  I lift the edge of the rug with my toe. ‘It took me a while to get going.’

  ‘You were afraid of what you would find.’

  ‘No!’

  ‘Liar. Your grandfather was dishonest, just like your father.’

  ‘I’m next in the family tree. What about me?’ When I pull off his jacket and throw it at him, he makes no effort to catch it and it falls to the floor. ‘My grandfather was a good man. You don’t know anything.’

  His eyes are cold and black. ‘You said I know about sex. Should I talk about that?’

  My chest aches. I cross my arms over it. ‘No.’

  He looks me up and down. ‘You’re sexually inexperienced, afraid.’ His mouth hardens. ‘Men have hurt you.’

  I’m cold. I must be pale. I have goose bumps everywhere. Not that he cares. He’s only interested in punishing me.

  I shake my head. ‘Don’t.’

  ‘But you can enjoy sex. I proved that last night.’

  ‘Please don’t.’

  ‘You would have let me go further.’

  ‘Stop.’

  ‘All you need is a man who knows what he’s doing.’

  Whatever was between us was fragile and delicate. We’ve ruined it. I wipe tears off my cheeks with the back of my hand.

  ‘I need a man I can trust.’

  He picks up his jacket. ‘You’re incapable of trust.’

  ‘Get out.’

  He slams the bedroom door and then the front door. His car wheels spin on the gravel. I imagine him turning at the red gum, speeding on the back roads, heading for the highway and then the freeway. He’s returning to the city, the airport. His life.

  CHAPTER

  24

  I’m mucking out Pepper’s stable when Nate arrives a few hours later. He looks at my face, red-eyed and blotchy, and puts an arm around my shoulders. It’s tempting to let him get away with it because he means well and it’d be comforting to be held, but I force myself to shrug him off.

  ‘Get Tor’s permission to sort the documents here,’ I say. ‘That way I can be involved.’

  ‘He’s on his way to Hong Kong.’

  ‘Call him when he gets there.’

  Nate hangs around the stables, lounges on the sofa, flicks through books before selecting one and reading for hours. He refuses to leave without Tor’s consent. It’s late in the evening by the time he finally gets through, and tells Tor what I’ve said. I’m sitting in the armchair but Tor’s voice, tired and ragged, comes through clearly enough.

  ‘What the fuck is she up to?’ he says.

  I shout. ‘I want to know what’s in the folders before you get your hands on them. Someone has to protect my family’s interests.’

  I’m not sure what Tor says to Nate after that, but Nate nods a lot, undoes his laces and kicks off his shoes.

  It was over two weeks ago that Tor told Nate the folders could remain in my room—so long as Nate stayed at my house every evening. I don’t know whether Tor’s protecting the documents or keeping tabs on me, and Nate says he doesn’t know either. I’ve worked at night and on the weekends, separating the papers that might be useful. Grandpa didn’t seem to be hiding anything. The funds from my father and Grandpa’s joint account were used to pay the mortgage to the bank. The money he earned was used for living expenses and for buying Fudge and Pepper. I flag everything labelled ‘James’s insurance policy’ for Nate. I estimate the dates of undated documents and make notes when I recognise my father or Grandpa’s handwriting. The papers that relate to my parentage, schooling and medical records, I wave in Nate’s direction. Then I seal them into boxes and label them, writing personal in red permanent marker.

  Tor,

  My grandfather’s papers have been taken away so Nate has nothing to guard. He’s been here for three weeks. Please tell him to get out of my house.

  Golden,

  Nate stays with you until I’ve finished here. He’s sent me the documents. Your notations were useful. Thank you.

  Tor,

  You may as well say my name perfectly. With the O sound, I suggest you focus on words with a drawn out O, like ‘own’. With the E sound, practice saying words with a drawn out E, like ‘she’. These words will be familiar to you.

  Golden,

  I’ll say your name however I want.

  I’ll be in Hong Kong for another couple of weeks, at least. After that, New York, then Sydney.

  Incidentally, refusing to answer your phone when I call is fucking immature.

  Nate is messy around the house, but for the past month he’s brought takeaway food home almost every night and been unfailingly cheerful. He and Angelina are friends again.

  He walks into my office, lifts his hand and high-fives Ramsay. Ramsay is almost smiling as he reaches for his iPad and clicks on an American football icon.

  ‘Whoo hoo!’ Nate says, hand passing an imaginary ball. ‘Quarterback Ram at number 33.’

  ‘What colour is the football, Ramsay?’ I say. ‘Will you make a sentence for me? Don’t forget the joining words.’

  Ramsay taps at the iPad. Football brown and white.

  The football is brown and white. ‘Good work. Can you tell me how the football makes Nate feel? Then we’ll go outside.’

  Ramsay pulls at his hair, stands and runs around my office. But then he sits down again. Nate grins and pretends to kick a ball.

  Happy.

  Nate is happy. ‘Fantastic work! Shall we go to the stables?’

  Ramsay doesn’t make eye contact when he tugs on my shirt and pushes me towards the door. In the past week he’s lost another front tooth. He’s cute and small, but one day he’ll be a teenager and then an adult. He won’t be able to communicate by using physical force to get what he wants when he grows up.

  I kneel down on my good leg. Then I hold out his iPad. ‘Show me what you want, Ramsay. You have to do it in words.’

  Ramsay presses icons. I see horse. Golden see horse. He points towards the stables, and makes a guttural sound. It’s not a word, but he’s communicating verbally. He only does that rarely.

  ‘I heard your voice, Ramsay. I love to hear your voice.’

  Tor’s words tumble into my head. I love to hear your voice. He was holding me in his arms, and his eyes were troubled when he said, ‘You care about them’. Something about his childhood makes him unhappy. And he doesn’t have a home. But I can’t worry about that, not any more.

  I reach for Ramsay’s hand. ‘Let’s go down to the stables.’

  CHAPTER

  25

  Eric’s assistant telephoned over a week ago a
nd told me Eric needed to speak to me urgently.

  ‘I’m not coming to Parliament House specially,’ I said. ‘I’ll meet him before his retirement dinner on Friday.’

  When Eric arrives in his office, ten minutes late, I’m sitting on his desk, holding a small bronze statue, a Degas reproduction. The ballerina has a wide-eyed innocent expression, and her adolescent body looks like mine probably did when I was her age. She’s small with a slender frame, and her curves are only hinted at.

  Eric doesn’t even attempt to kiss me. ‘You’ve been avoiding me all month,’ he says.

  ‘I didn’t want to give you the chance to rant and rave.’

  ‘You let Tor down. You let me down.’

  I get off the desk and sit in the chair opposite his. I’m wearing long black boots and tights. My dress is short. I pull it down and adjust it to straighten the black and white horizontal stripes.

  ‘I had my reasons.’

  ‘Which you’re not, I presume, going to tell me about.’ He frowns as he points to the ballerina. ‘The Degas is another mystery. I never understood why you liked her so much. You never went to ballet classes. All you cared about was those damned horses.’

  I carefully put the statue on the desk. ‘She’s beautiful. I missed her when you took her out of your study at Clovelly.’

  ‘After Angelina quit ballet, your mother went off her.’

  Angelina and I were both still in primary school—I’d just turned twelve and she was ten—when I went to her ballet concert. It wasn’t long after my father had died, and Grandpa thought if I accepted Mum’s offer to attend the concert with her and Eric, it would be a way for me to show I’d forgiven her for not being upset about his death. Only I hadn’t forgiven her, even though I understood by then that neither Mum nor my father had ever really cared about each other. Grandpa drove me to the theatre where the concert was going to be held and parked the car. ‘I’ll wait here, Gumnut,’ he said, ‘because by the time I get home it’ll be time to come back again.’

  I didn’t want Grandpa to miss out on hearing the race calls on the radio, so I lied and told him I knew exactly where Mum and Eric would meet me. The concert must have been a third of the way through when one of the ballet teachers, rushing through the foyer with a gaggle of ballerina signets, noticed me standing in a corner. I hadn’t found Mum or Eric and I was desperate to get back to Grandpa, but not before I’d given Angelina her flowers. Grandpa had gone to a lot of trouble to find a bunch of sweet pea.

  The ballet teacher wasn’t sure what to do with me, so she took me backstage to Angelina. When Ange saw I’d been crying she burst into tears herself, and refused to leave my side. Mum and Eric sat through the whole ballet performance waiting for her to appear. They came backstage after the curtain call and Angelina made a declaration. My sister doesn’t like ballet and neither do I.

  Eric clears his throat to get my attention. ‘I was premature in thinking you were doing the right thing in helping Tor.’

  ‘I don’t need your approval, Eric. I’ll be twenty-seven next week. And Tor got what he wanted in the end.’

  Eric frowns. ‘I’m well aware of your birth date. And Tor getting what he wanted, as you put it, isn’t the point. Hiding something about Ferguson doesn’t help your case, either.’

  ‘Marc has nothing to do with what Tor is looking into. And what do you mean, my case?’

  Eric won’t meet my gaze. ‘My agreement not to sell your grandfather’s land, my land, was conditional. You promised to cooperate with Tor.’

  It’s an effort to speak calmly. ‘But I did what Tor wanted. I made a list of my father and Grandpa’s associates. I took Tor to Solomon, and Marc. We saw Alessandro Garcia. At the time you and Tor forced me to get involved, I had no idea of the significance of Grandpa’s folders.’

  ‘Tor doesn’t want your involvement. He hasn’t wanted it for months.’

  ‘I’m aware of that.’

  Eric slams his hand on the desk. ‘You threatened him. You kept information to yourself.’

  Just like I thought, Tor and Eric tell each other everything. I’m choked up all of a sudden.

  ‘You should be happy I want to work out why my father went to Hong Kong, and why Grandpa felt compelled to protect him. Last time I was here you said I should accept the truth. I’m doing my best to work out what it is.’

  ‘Leave it to Tor.’

  ‘I can’t trust him.’

  Eric’s lips tighten. ‘So he’s said on numerous occasions. And all I can say to him in response is, “You’re in good company because she doesn’t trust me either”. But I’m warning you, Golden, he’s had it up to here,’ Eric makes a chopping motion above his head, ‘with keeping you under control. Which is an ongoing problem, now he’s aware of the connection between your father and Garcia. Garcia is hiding something to do with you. It isn’t strictly relevant to what the UN is interested in, but Tor will follow it up.’

  ‘Nate said Interpol and local prosecutors are taking over,’ I say, ‘that they’ve got the Hong Kong criminal they’ve been after, the one who put the money into my father’s account.’

  ‘Irrespective of that, you have to do as you’re told for another month at least. We have to maintain the fiction that your only links to Tor and Nate are social ones—through me, or Angelina.’

  ‘I don’t want social links. I can be useful, I want to be involved.’

  ‘Which brings us back to where we started. Ferguson.’

  ‘Marc is irrelevant.’

  ‘How can I believe you? You hid your discussion with Tomas Farmer, and your grandfather’s papers. Tor is concerned you’re hiding something else. Something potentially relevant to his investigation, and risky to you.’

  ‘He’s wrong.’

  ‘So tell me about Ferguson.’

  Eric knew money had left Angelina’s bank account, which gave him a responsibility as a member of parliament to work out where it had gone. Instead of that he accepted Angelina’s explanation. It would serve him right if I told him the truth. But that’d just make everyone unhappy.

  ‘Don’t make me tell you, Eric.’

  ‘Tell me what?’

  ‘I don’t want to say.’

  ‘Damn it, Golden! I’m as fed up with your secrets as Tor evidently is. And added to that, I have your grandfather’s legacy to consider, such as it is. It’s been nothing but a source of conflict since he died.’

  ‘It doesn’t have to—’

  ‘Golden!’ Eric is flushed. He takes a handkerchief out of his pocket and dabs his forehead. ‘I’m seriously considering selling.’

  I stand so abruptly that my chair almost tips over backwards, and in five strides I’m on the other side of the office. I grasp the bookcase shelf. My eyes are tightly shut. Eric will dig his heels in if I shout, so I try to speak quietly.

  ‘You gave me until the end of the year.’

  ‘You gave me your word you would cooperate with Tor. You haven’t.’

  ‘My work is at Lilydale, Eric. So are my horses. I’ve spent my whole life there. It’s my home. You can’t take it away from me. Not when I’ve tried to do the right thing. I have helped Tor. And I’m almost up to date with the interest payments.’

  ‘The vast majority of capital is still outstanding.’ He expels a breath with a puff of his lips. ‘And there are other matters to be considered. It’s time you moved forward in your life, left the past behind you where it belongs. Live in a townhouse or an apartment, something closer to the city and Clovelly. Get rid of that big black horse of yours, and the other one. Maybe you’d like to travel? You’ve hardly been—’

  ‘No!’

  He gets up from his desk. ‘We’ll continue this conversation another time. But be warned, Golden, I’m serious about this. Your mother believes it’s for the best.’

  I’m immediately lightheaded. ‘What does Mum have to do with this?’

  Eric’s coat is in a cupboard near the door. He yanks it off the hanger and shrugs into it. He
opens his mouth to speak and then closes it again. The silence stretches. Finally he finds his voice.

  ‘She’s your mother, Golden.’

  ‘But she’s never been involved in my affairs. It’s only ever been you. She said something about Lilydale ages ago. Why would she do that?’

  ‘She was aware I was displeased with how you’d behaved.’

  ‘So you told her it would serve me right if you sold? Mum is encouraging you to do this, isn’t she? Did I make things worse at the golf club? Saying I wasn’t your daughter? Are you getting back at me?’

  Eric leans over his desk and tidies his pens. They’re lined up and colour-coded by the time he meets my eyes.

  ‘I should have sold immediately your grandfather died. For everyone’s sake.’

  ‘For your sake!’ I take a deep breath, and lower my voice. ‘My home is a reminder of what went wrong in your lives, Eric. I get that, I accept it. Just promise you won’t sell. Please.’

  ‘No.’

  When I walk out, he’s muttering about his lift pass and searching through his drawers. He shouts after me.

  ‘I’ll meet you at the elevator.’

  It’s difficult to see the handle of the fire exit door through my tears. And my hand shakes when I reach out and turn it. But I grasp the railing tightly and walk down four flights of stairs. Until, on the third last step, just before I get to the door that leads to the basement, my ankle rolls and I stumble.

  ‘Oh!’

  My head swims as I ease myself into a sitting position. The sound of my breath bounces off the concrete walls. I put my head between my knees until the pain subsides to a dull throbbing ache. My right boot slips off easily. The left one is more difficult to remove because my ankle is already swollen.

  What would Tor say if he saw me now? It serves you right? This will teach you a lesson? I warned you, Golden. I said I’d go to Eric.

  CHAPTER

  26

  The sun has gone down by the time I hobble through the fire exit door to the footpath. I look down Hunter Street and watch the cars coming towards me, headlights on. Some turn right and pass me on Macquarie Street, others turn left, towards the Opera House and Circular Quay. I need a taxi to take me to the carpark. I’m contemplating hopping to the kerb when a man approaches.