Excerpts
Chapter 1
May 1964 – London
Trish stands with her back to Lloyd; she gazes at the pedestrians below; the sun’s rays have just begun to reach into Milford Lane. Staring as pedestrians negotiate the roadworks and barricades as she did earlier. Watching them soothes her and gives her time to take in what Lloyd, today acting as her lawyer, just told her. He’s a dear family friend, having known her since she was seven. When after three long, lonely years in the orphanage, they were adopted by Ted and Joyce and arrived in Bowning. He’s always been there for her; she loves him dearly but today it’s hard.
Lloyd finally gathers his thoughts. “Trish, I’m sorry, but what did you say?”
She turns and looks at him. “I said thank God! He was a rat and he deserved it!”
He studies her for a moment. “Trish, as your lawyer, I strongly advise you not to say that again. Not
to anybody.” He takes a long breath and sighs. “He was murdered. If anyone hears you say things like that it could cause you a whole lot of trouble.”
She hesitates before saying, “I’ve been so scared, Uncle Lloyd. I thought he’d send someone after me. Nobody crosses Johnnie Lees!”
Lloyd remains motionless, observing her as she rubs her face nervously.
She returns to her chair, crumples over and begins to cry. “I don’t know how I could have ever loved that horrible man. Do they know what happened, who did it?”
“No, they have nothing, and they think they’ll have a hell of a time trying to find out. Nobody talks in
prison, especially in cases like this.”
She shakes her head slowly. “I’m sorry. I know I shouldn’t speak that way, but he killed my unborn baby and nearly killed me, and I’ll never be able to have another child. He’s stolen that possibility away from me forever.”
He leans forward. “I’m so sorry Trish. You were so fortunate that night that he was already under police surveillance. If their car hadn’t been across the road…” He shakes his head. “It doesn’t bear thinking about. Then the moles started to rat on him. He would have been going away for a long time.”
“When he followed me down the stairs after he’d pushed me, I thought that was the end. He was so angry. I’d never seen him that angry before.”
“He was evil, no doubt about that. You would never have been safe. You may not want to hear what I’m about to say, but according to his solicitor, Johnnie didn’t change his will. You inherit everything, whatever everything is.”
“The proceeds of crime?”
He seems to hesitate, appearing unsure of how to reply.She looks away as her eyes glaze with tears. Finally dabbing them away with her handkerchief, her hands are shaking.
“I’m sorry, you’ve certainly been through a lot.”
“Thanks Lloyd. My marriage to Johnnie was one huge mistake. A horrendous nightmare.”
“Don’t blame yourself. You weren’t to know. Who can blame you for wanting to find love and connection?
Fortunately, you’ve escaped relatively unscathed. It’s amiracle.”
She shakes her head slightly. “I was so stupid. I’ve ruined my life.”
He touches her outstretched hand consolingly. “Nonsense. You’re young; you’ll recover. We all make mistakes in life. Heavens, I’ve made mistakes with huge ramifications. But hating yourself for making
was a criminal. You were always far too good for him.”
Trish sighs and nods in agreement. “Thank you Gail.” “Anyway, on a brighter note, tell me where you found that dress. It’s stunning. I love it. Did your friend Val help you find it? She always has an eye for fashion.”
Trish wipes her face and laughs. “Got it in one. She’s got taste, our Val. Expensive taste, but thank goodness she also knows where to find the bargains.”
After her meeting with Lloyd has finished, Trish freshens up and bids him and Gail farewell. She
heads down the two flights of stairs into Milford Lane. Her thoughts are scattered, her body numb, as she looks back at Lloyd’s building and waves at Lloyd and Gail, who are peering through the Stevens & Stevens Solicitors lettering on their window. As she turns back, a wolf whistle from the workmen on the street lifts her spirits. She knows it’s crass of them, but the way she feels right now it’s good to know some people in the city are still happy and life is going on as normal. She skips a step then continues toward the Strand and her bus home.
Upstairs Gail and Lloyd smile and wave. “I love her outfit,” Gail says. “She’s blossomed so much since she arrived here from Bowning. When was that? Three years ago? The dress she arrived in then was
probably a left over from Joyce’s haberdashery shop. She looked so sad in it. What she’s wearing now looks like a Mary Quant. What do you think?”
Lloyd seems deep in thought as he watches Trish disappear. He finally turns to Gail. “How would I know! All I know is she looks great after what happened, but I’m worried about how she’s going to cope now, poor kid.”
Gail sighs. “I like her attitude; she’s positive. All those horrible bruises will mend and she’ll get through it. You’ll see.”
Lloyd arranges to meet Johnnie’s solicitor with Trish the next day. His office is also off the Strand.
“Free. I felt so imprisoned, so trapped. He changed after we married. I was just his possession.”
Chapter 1
St Albans, New South Wales, Australia – 30th June 2011
Pete gives the nut one last turn with the spanner. He’s been feeling better about life of late, even managing a laugh at times. But his mood changes to anger as his phone rings, glancing at the screen he curses and declines the call again. The sound of a car distracts him from any explanation. As he watches, a VW convertible creates a cloud of dust over his long dirt driveway. His muscles clench as he stands bolt upright recognising the young woman driver.
“Who the hell is that?” Ted asks, removing his large straw hat to scratch his thinning scalp.
Their two dogs taking the hint, run ahead of him to check their new best friend.
“Not on your nelly. Last thing I need is a young woman, she’d kill me.” Ted mumbles as he remains by the slasher.
The woman gets out of her car, waves, and stands her ground as the dogs bound up to her, sniffing her feet and crotch. As Pete gets closer, she smiles. “Hello, Mr Brady, I’m—”
“I’m sorry to barge in unannounced—”
“Yep. Like I said. Not interested.”
“But, I’ve been trying to call you.”
“No reception in the paddock, Clarrie. You’re wasting your time.” Staring at her, she’s certainly attractive, in her tight jeans and designer Tshirt. He wonders whether she’s dumb or just ignoring his replies. Probably the latter. Knowing Stan, he will have briefed her well.
Patting the larger dog, trying a different tack, she continues. “Nice dog. What kind is he?”
“Yes, it’s a lovely place. I can see why—”
“Clarrie. Nice to see you and all that but tell whoever sent you I’m not interested. Okay? They’ve wasted their time sending you all this way to St Albans. If you’re lucky, the pub should have a room you can stay at overnight. I wouldn’t go driving back in this fading light. Too many roos about.”
Clarrie stands defiant, silently staring at him. She’s obviously been ordered not to take no for an answer. Tilting her head to one side, she watches Ted from the corner of her eye as he picks up the spanner and starts approaching them. From the look of his frown, Ted’s not impressed with her intrusion either.
Clarrie allows a slight smirk, “It’s all right Mr Brady, I’ve been briefed.”
Pete casts an angry glance Clarrie’s way, his mind focusing on Stan and his briefings. No doubt they had a few laughs at his expense. Then focusing on Ted, “Dad?” He doesn’t like his father siding with the visitor. Stopping himself, he thinks better of having a go, after all his dad is right, he is angry, and has been for a long time. “How about we call it a day,” he says giving his dad a forced smile, “you get us a couple of beers. I’ll be in in a minute.”
“If you’re sure, son? Keep your cool though.”
Ted stops beside Clarrie, “I’m sorry, he wasn’t always like this⸺”
“Tell Stan. He’s the only one with enough authority … unless? . . . Has he been to the PM? Stan must have her authority to approach me.” Clarrie grins and nods. “All of the above.”
“You’re fucking kidding. They moved heaven and earth to stop me publishing my last book, without even seeing it. Nup. Thanks, and nice seeing you again, but please tell them politely, or otherwise, to fuck off.”
“Mr Brady, the director of the CIA doesn’t apologise to many people.”
“It’s Pete, not Mr Brady and Stan hasn’t apologised to me. He damn well owes me one; that’s for sure.” She’s persistent, have to give her that.
Glancing at her watch, she continues, “He’s phoning in two minutes. Please, this is so important … and urgent.”
Fuming, Pete stands looking at her in the fading daylight. He swore he was never going to have anything to do with them again after his last assignment. Scuffing his boot anxiously in the dirt, he waits for his fury to subside. “Yeah, it must be important to send you out here. If I recall, your president told Stan not to ever mention my name again. And Stan never grovels, how much do you know?”
“Yeh. The Arab Spring, the president deposed. Almost mob rule. What in the hell was she doing there? It’s a no-go zone for Westerners now, especially Americans. Is the girl crazy?”
“That’s why they need you. Your cover as a well-known Australian author is perfect.” Her phone starts ringing, and she grabs it from her jeans pocket, glancing at the screen. Grimacing, she answers. “Hello, Stan, you’re on speaker.”
“Hey, Clarrie, you found him?”
“Certainly did. He’s beside me.” She gives Pete a cynical smirk.
“Look, I’m … I’m sorry about that. Things got a bit overheated. You know, US politics, politicians, nominations, primaries. That sort of stuff.”
“So, is this an apology?”
There’s a noticeable silence on the end of the line, Pete glances at Clarrie, who’s looking somewhat bemused.
Finally, a low groaning sound filters from Clarrie’s phone. “Ooooh, all right. Yes. Yes, it is, Pete. I’m sorry about all that. How much do I have to grovel?”
“And what about that president of yours, Stan? What’s he got to say about this?”
“How much on board? I don’t want you getting cold feet when the shooting starts like it did last time. And don’t you dare try to stop the publication of my next book. That was just plain vindictive.”
“I tried to tell him, but you know as well as I do, sometimes they just won’t listen. Anyway, you won that case. You got published. We paid your costs and now⸺”
“And now? And now you need me to fix another of your problems.” Pete says, almost spitting the words.
“Yes, and your last book is very popular with the Arabs. It hasn’t endeared you to the Israelis, but⸺”
“Stan, I told you last time. The Israelis see the big picture, unlike some.” He waits and hears Stan draw a long, deep breath.
“The bottom line here is that we desperately need your help. Will you help us, please?”
“Whatever it costs. We need you. We need your cover, a pro-Arab author at that.”
“Right.’
“Clarrie will brief you. Perhaps catch you stateside someday?”
“Maybe.”
“Goodbye, Pete, and thank you. I owe you.”
“You so do Stan, take care, and keep your head down. If last year was tough, this year with the presidential primaries, it’s going to be a doozey.”
“Oh. Don’t I know it. I sure as hell don’t need this,” Stan says, then ends the call.
Pete looks at Clarrie. “Looks like we have a bit of work to do. Better go inside.”
