A Case For Trust (23 page)

Matt paused a long moment before answering. It was one thing to share a confidence with a brother similarly heartsick. Did he really want his whole family knowing just how hard he'd fallen?

‘I do.'

‘Okay then.'

‘I don't want her to know. That I'm working with you on this, I mean.'

‘Then don't tell her.' Marissa's offhand retort wasn't reassuring.

‘I'm hardly likely to get the chance.'

‘Then you won't have to worry, will you?'

He had to be satisfied with that. Any more sparring with Marissa and he was likely to lose his cool, and her cooperation with it.

He ended the call and walked thoughtfully to the glass walls overlooking the city. The last time he'd asked somebody to interfere in Philippa's business it had backfired in ways he'd never imagined. He was wiser now, humbler. Smart enough to know what he risked. If his insurance client found out, for example, that he'd settled a private negligence suit concerning one of their accounts, he'd lose that business. And then probably a dozen others. Enough to send his top-tier city firm back to the suburbs. Enough to have his partners demanding his resignation as managing partner, if not from the firm altogether.

It was the right thing to do, but there was a lot to lose, and not just by him.

You've already lost everything worth losing. You've already lost her.

The rest of it didn't matter a damn anyway.

***

It was past midnight. Pippa tossed restlessly, for once unable to find the sweet spot in her mattress that would send her straight to Dreamland. After a night shivering on the floor by the couch and another shivering in the ute, she
needed
to sleep. She punched her pillow again, then folded it around her middle and hugged it. It wasn't the damned mattress keeping her awake, it was the damned Masons. Not Matt or Justin or even Eleanor, not this time. This time it was Marissa.

Pippa had always been enchanted by Marissa, wondering how the vivacious, open-hearted, giggling girl could possibly have emerged from the same environment that produced Matt. Now, though, she was seeing distinct Mason characteristics appearing. Bullheadedness, for one. Arrogance, for another.

There was no doubt Marissa had called her with the best of intentions. They were just Marissa's intentions, not Pippa's. Sue Matt? No way. And it wasn't just because the very idea of deliberately hurting him lodged a cement slab somewhere in the vicinity between her lungs and her stomach.

Pippa had already reconciled herself, as much as she could be reconciled, to the knowledge she was losing her home. Dragging the whole sorry business out with a legal challenge that would fail anyway—because regardless of Matt's actions, she
had
lied on her insurance application, she couldn't say she hadn't—seemed a pointless waste of time. And if she did win … well, she didn't want to be indebted to him in any way. Didn't want to go through life knowing any success she might have was due to Matt's money. And she certainly didn't want to give him more proof that all he ever had to do to fix the people he'd hurt was to buy them out.

She wished she could jump on a plane as Lucy had, and fly away. Fly away from the bank. Fly away from the Masons. Fly away from Matt.

She had a new-learned sympathy for her mother, whom she acknowledged she had always judged terribly for the very great sin of loving Pippa's father. A week ago, she'd discovered just how much she loved Matt Mason, in spite of his threats, in spite of his arrogance. The past week had proved exactly how misplaced her love was. And yet … this afternoon, in the midst of her world crumbling about her, she'd still had to put the kitchen counter between them to prevent herself reaching for him. And if he was here, now, she knew she wouldn't resist the lure to curl in against his chest and breathe in his essence and search for the tenderness she was sure she'd sometimes seen in his eyes.

She had to get away. She couldn't afford a plane ticket, and she couldn't leave in a hurry, but still—she had to get away. She threw off the sheet again and went in search of her action list.
If
she could sell the house within a month and for the price the agent had suggested; and
if
she could then organise a payment plan with the bank; and
if
she could finish Eleanor's garden within the month—and it would be tough but she thought she could … then, in two months, say, she could be gone. Sooner if the house settled quickly.

And where will you go? How far is far enough away to avoid seeing or hearing or thinking or dreaming of Matt? If she were truthful, she doubted there was anywhere far enough to change the shape and colour of her dreaming. But for the rest—Toowoomba, perhaps, or the Blue Mountains. Somewhere landscapers—or even garden labourers, she wasn't proud—were needed by people who could afford to pay them. Where she could rent a little place and just quietly start again; pay off her debt to the bank; start to build up some reserves; create a new sanctuary for herself where lawyers were things other people needed.

And no more weddings. When she'd believed in happily ever afters, she didn't mind all the work for what amounted to little reward. She couldn't afford to waste time celebrating strangers' weddings any more. Couldn't afford the time, couldn't afford the heartache, and couldn't,
wouldn't
pretend any longer that she still believed in enduring love. From now on, Saturdays were for working on things that were real, that provided shelter and joy and beauty and certainty throughout the seasons, throughout the years.

That was a plan. At last, she had a plan.

You've had plans before. There was the plan to have your own business. The plan to pay off your own house. The plan to force Matt to see you were worthy of him, worthy of his love. You had all those plans. They haven't worked.

This one would work. This one had to.

***

‘Well, I don't know what else to do. She point-blank refuses.' Marissa's frustration as she pounded on his desk was almost as great as Matt's own. ‘In the end, Matt, she's the one who has to sign the documents. I can lodge them but she has to sign them. And she won't. I've argued myself hoarse with her for a fortnight, but she won't sue you. She's the most stubborn person I've ever met. Apart from you, of course.'

Matt closed his eyes and rubbed them as Marissa continued to catalogue Philippa's recalcitrance. In the end he cut her off mid-sentence. ‘Okay, okay, I hear you. Let's forget it. You've done all you can. I appreciate it. Now, let's just forget it.'

‘Well, at least this way you won't risk the Consolgard account. If there's no claim from Philippa, there's no case for you to defend, no conflict for you to declare—'

‘I've resigned the Consolgard account already. They'll transfer out at the end of the month.'

‘Oh, Matt, why?'

‘It was the right thing to do.'

‘It's going to cost you.'

‘It already has.'

‘Well, it's going to cost you
more
.'

‘Yes. I know.'

Marissa regarded her eldest brother across his massive silky oak desk. He'd always worked hard, but he looked wearier now than she'd ever seen him. He'd always been good looking, but now he looked his age. There were dark craters below his eyes and his end-of-day stubble emphasised the new hollows in his cheeks. Two weeks didn't seem like a long time, until you saw how it could change a man. She'd never seen Matt less than confident; now he looked defeated.

Impulsively she jumped up from her seat, rounded the desk and hugged him. He didn't reciprocate, but he didn't pull away either, and she thought she heard a small sigh before he leaned into her a little. Then he did pull away. ‘Thanks, kiddo. Unexpected, but appreciated. Now you'd best get back to work.'

Marissa was collecting her handbag from the corner of the desk when she saw the little square box half hidden under a sheaf of papers. She slid it out carefully, taking care not to disturb the documents. ‘What's this?'

Matt was pretending to read a file. ‘Hmm?'

Marissa flicked the lid open and gasped aloud at what she saw. ‘Oh, Matt. You really
were
serious.'

‘Mmm.'

Marissa was struggling to comprehend the enormity of Matt's commitment. She'd always assumed, vaguely, that he would marry and raise a family of his own, but she'd been equally happy for that to happen sometime in the distant future. It was a given that Matt always had time for his younger siblings, always dropped everything to deliver what they needed. She'd taken for granted he always would. The idea he was ready,
now
, for his own family, that he'd finally found a woman he loved enough to offer her his name and his life, was breathtaking. And possibly heartbreaking. Marissa trod carefully.

‘Did she say no? Is that why you still have the ring?'

‘Did who say no to what?' He was still pretending to read.

‘Oh, Matt, don't be dense. This is too important. Did Philippa say no to your proposal?'

‘I didn't ask her.'

‘For god's sake, why not?'

Matt sighed and closed the file he'd been scanning. He looked up at Marissa, and there was an uncharacteristic resignation in his eyes. ‘Because events … unfolded before I had the chance. Anyway, it doesn't change anything.'

Marissa groaned aloud with frustration. ‘It changes
everything
. Matt, you have to tell her. Tell her you love her and you want to marry her. Put the house and the business and the insurance nonsense aside and just tell her. If you love her, nothing else matters. And if she loves you, you can work it all out, I know you can.'

‘And what if she doesn't?'

The low, anguished question brought Marissa up short. ‘Well …' she stuttered. ‘Well … how couldn't she? I mean, you're gorgeous, for a man of almost forty. And, you know, intelligent. Rich. Generous, compassionate, kind, honourable …'

‘I doubt Philippa sees me that way. My firm filed a suit against her, remember?'

Marissa winced. ‘Yes. There is that. You know, I still don't understand how that happened. I get that you told Simon to investigate her, and I get that he uncovered her insurance application with the alcoholism question, but why didn't you just tell him to drop it?'

‘I thought I had.'

‘Then why
didn't
he drop it?'

Matt sat back in his chair and pushed his hands through his hair. He stared at her for a long moment before shaking his head with what looked like bewilderment.

‘It was stupid. Just a stupid miscommunication. He asked if he should file it, and I said yes, meaning file it …'

‘You meant, put it in a filing cabinet. And he thought you meant …'

‘He thought I meant,
file
it. So he filed the action.'

‘But Matt, that's perfect! I mean, it's practically the dumbest thing I've ever heard, but still … it's perfect. Don't you see? It wasn't your fault, it was Simon's!'

‘It
was
my fault. Simon should never have been investigating her, and should never have known about her father's alcoholism in the first place. That was an unforgivable breach of trust.'

‘Well, you weren't working for her, it's not as if you were bound by client privilege—' The severe eyebrows challenged Marissa to continue with the argument they both knew was fatally flawed. ‘Okay. So it
was
your fault. You were a mean, heartless, cruel and manipulative bastard. But Matt, you
love
her. That was then, this is now. And you love her now. Go and see her and
tell her
. What have you got to lose?'

Matt gazed at his sister for a long moment, then abruptly pushed his chair back.

‘I will. I will tell her. But I have to see someone else first.'

***

‘She did a great job, don't you think?'

Eleanor's voice came from behind him, and Matt swung around on the verandah where he'd been staring in stunned disbelief at his mother's backyard. Only six weeks ago, they'd held Eleanor's birthday party there and the work Philippa had done to transform the garden for that occasion was sensational. But this—this was nothing short of miraculous. As Eleanor joined him at the verandah railing, he turned back to the garden and marvelled.

He'd spent his whole life in that garden and knew every inch of it, and yet the vista before him—so very different from his childhood memories as to be unrecognisable—nevertheless looked as if it had always been there. Sure, some of the plants clearly had some growing up to do, but the paths, the terraces, the beds, even the old pavilion—all were perfect. She had the vision, and the skill, and the determination, and had made something truly special for his mother. He practically burst with pride. And for once, he didn't bother trying to hide it.

‘It's fantastic. I can't believe what she's achieved. And you too, of course.'

Eleanor waved her elegant hand at him. ‘I'll be happy to take credit for it with the neighbours, but you and I both know I had very little to do with it. The best ideas are all Philippa's. And the hard work too, of course. You know I've entered it in the Open Garden scheme and the Urban Design Awards? I've nominated the kindergarten project for the awards as well, for best community landscaping. I'd been thinking I'd hold a garden party here to officially launch it, so she could meet some of my friends and perhaps win some new commissions. But there's no point now.'

Matt frowned. ‘But that's a great idea. What do you mean, there's no point?'

‘She won't be here to meet them.' Eleanor shrugged with almost-convincing indolence, eyeing Matt sideways to check his reaction. He didn't bother hiding that either.

‘I wish you'd stop tormenting me, Eleanor. Where is she going to be?'