Switchback Stories (13 page)

‘Forgiveness needs understanding, but we just can’t understand how this lad got drunk and killed out daughter. If he’s here with us every week, perhaps, in time, he’ll learn to grieve for her the way we do. To suffer the same grief is the only worthwhile punishment that makes any sense to us.’

The article explained so many things about Stuart that I had simply taken for granted. Ever since I’d known him he’d never touched a drop of alcohol. Not even at parties or on our anniversaries or birthdays. And despite the loving, caring side to his nature, there was one thing he had never bought me. Roses.

• • •

Stuart was waiting quietly for me in the back garden. A light breeze sauntered through the air, depositing dry brown leaves along the edges of the garden path.

‘Are you bitter you’ve had to do this all these years?’ I asked, feeling as though my heart was crying out for him.

‘Bitter? Oh no…’

He shook his head.

‘I’ve never felt bitterness. Years ago I was angry at myself for what I’d done. I used to get incredibly depressed. But those feelings faded. After all, it’s been a long time now. After a while, in those early years, I started to feel a sense of calm come over me whenever I was out there with the Radcliffes. I started to get to know them and learn a little more each time about K.C and the sort of girl she was. I knew it was going to be important for me to lead as decent and helpful a life as I could. It was the only possible way I had to show my respect for the life she’d lost.

‘I don’t even need to come here any longer, haven’t for quite some time. The court’s requirements ended, and both Mr and Mrs Radcliffe have since died. I kept sending flowers from time to time, and whenever I felt the pressures of work getting to me, I’d come out here on the Friday. Sometimes for a few weeks in a row. Something about the ritual I suppose, it’s always helped me put things in perspective.’

‘Helps to keep you grounded?”

‘Yes.’

‘And lately, with the finances, you’ve been stressed to the max.’

‘I’ve been out here the last few Fridays-’

‘You’ve always been a creature of habit.’

‘Karen had no brothers or sisters, her boyfriend moved away and, with her parents gone…seems like I was the only one left.’

He forced back tears.

I hugged him to me. I’d never loved him more than I did at that moment.

‘Must seem damn stupid of me,’ Stuart said.

‘Not at all. And I can feel it…the calm you spoke of.’

We stood quietly for a while.

‘I would very much like it,’ I said, ‘if you’d let me come with you sometimes, and I’d like to bring some flowers of my own.’

Stuart said, ‘If they’d still been here, Mr and Mrs Radcliffe would’ve welcomed you.’

He smiled at me and I was warmed by the compassion in his eyes. I could feel the pain he felt, for the grief he’d caused, and for the loss of the girl he’d never known, but who he’d come to know through her parents.

I could feel it as well.

We simply stood and held each other, closer at that moment than I could ever have imagined.

R
obert Madden saw her the moment he turned his car into the parking station. She was standing beside a bright red sedan, looking toward him. She raised her arm, signalling him, and his pulse raced. She’s beautiful, he thought.

He drove his convertible into the first available spot, stepped from it and approached the young woman. She was tall and leggy, dressed in a figure-hugging green dress.

‘So damn stupid,’ she said. ‘My keys, I’ve locked them in the car.’

‘You’ll have to call for road service. Only straightforward way to break into these modern cars is by breaking a side window.’

‘How can I do that?’

Robert gave her a quizzical look. ‘No need for that. Call for-’

‘I’m late for a meeting that I absolutely must attend. Missing this meeting will cost me a whole hell of a lot more than getting a broken window fixed.’

‘You’d rather bust the window.’ Robert was incredulous. Then again, if he needed to be at a vital meeting, he would do exactly the same thing himself. ‘I’ve got a toolbox in my boot.’

‘If you could help-’

‘Just hold on for a tick.’

He dashed over to his car and reached for the screwdriver in his toolbox, glancing at his watch. Eight-forty am. Twenty minutes before his second interview with the six-man board of directors.

Robert had worked for the law firm of MacInnes and Partners for three years and today was the day he’d been waiting for.

An associate partnership was available, and the choice of who would be offered the position was now down to himself and a colleague, Jennifer Shaw.

He walked back over to the woman and the sedan.

‘You can get into my car with that?’ she said, puzzled.

‘I haven’t tried it myself, but I believe if the screwdriver is fitted down into the top of the crevasse at the edge of the window, like this…’ he manoeuvred the screwdriver into place, ‘…and then I very quickly remove and twist it at the same time, it will shatter the glass.

‘Thank God. I feel like a real fool. I’m not holding you up or anything am I?’

‘Not at all,’ replied Robert, flashing his debonair smile. ‘I have twenty minutes before I’m due at a meeting. This shouldn’t take more than a few seconds.’

He braced himself and then pulled and twisted the screwdriver.

No effect.

‘This could be trickier than I thought,’ he commented. ‘But not beaten yet. If I’m successful, perhaps we could celebrate over some lunch today. Just be ready to jump in and turn off your alarm once the window breaks. Hopefully, I’ll be celebrating a promotion as well.’

There was no reply. Playing a little hard to get, thought Robert.

But then I haven’t switched on the full extent of the charm yet.

He tried again. Nothing.

I’m being too gentle, he thought.

Time to get serious.

He manipulated the tip of the tool, pushing it a little deeper, then twisted and pulled with every ounce of muscle to could muster.

The glass shattered and the piercing wail of the alarm assaulted his ears.

Maybe meeting this stunning blonde is the start of a lucky day for me.

‘Success,’ he shouted above the alarm. ‘And by the way, my name is Robert.’ He straightened up and turned to face her.

‘Stay right where you are!’ A uniformed police officer was sprinting across the car park towards him. Robert looked about for the woman.

There was no sign of her.

A little awkward, he thought.

‘Not what it looks like, officer.’ Robert smiled. ‘Just helping out a young lady. She locked her keys in her car.’

The office glared at him.

Robert shrugged. ‘Well, she was here a moment ago.’

‘You’re to accompany me to the station, sir,’ said the constable. A second police officer came running up to them.

Robert wondered what was going on.

‘There’s some news about the ownership of that car you’ll find surprising …’

• • •

‘Take a seat, Jennifer,’ said Arthur MacInnes. ‘I must say this has been a remarkably close contest. The board’s vote was shaping up as a deadlock – three votes for you, three votes for Robert. Until just a moment ago, that is.’

‘Oh?’

‘Robert didn’t arrive for his final interview this morning. Then an hour ago my secretary received a call from him. He was at the local police station. Arrested. Something about trying to steal a policeman’s car.’

‘Robert? That’s ridiculous,’ said Jennifer.

MacInnes shrugged. ‘Caught red-handed, apparently, but yes, it must be some kind of mix-up, surely. Can you imagine the embarrassment to the firm if one of our barristers goes up on a car theft charge? Anyway, this will take a little while to resolve, but it throws a different light on things. As you know, the final decision had to be made today, as it will be more than a month before all the members of the board can be brought together again. The board is unanimous now in appointing you our new associate. Congratulations.’

‘Thank you, sir. I’m … well, for once I’m totally speechless.’ Jennifer shook his hand and left his office. She felt slightly giddy.

It was a dream come true.

Back in her office, Jennifer picked up the phone and dialled her long-time friend, Carly Walker.

Carly worked just a few city blocks away.

‘I got the associate spot.’

‘Looks like you owe me one,’ said Carly, tossing back her long blonde hair.

‘So it went as planned?’

‘Like a dream. As I said last night, Jen, I can see straight across from my office window into the car park. That copper parks there every morning, about an hour before Robert Madden arrives. All I had to do was stand by the car until Madden drove in. I called the police station on my cell as he was parking, just enough time to set things up and then, while he was turned away from me, I slipped out the side exit before the officer arrived.’

‘Let me know next time you’re competing for a promotion,’ said Jennifer, ‘We’ll see what a little lady luck can do for you.’

As she replaced the receiver, Arthur MacInnes switched off the intercom that was placed on the boardroom table. After the phone call from Robert Madden, and his claim he was the victim of a set-up, MacInnes had been intrigued. It took less than an hour for experts to come in and place a tap on Jennifer’s line.

‘It seems our Miss Shaw is a devious operator, gentlemen. I never would have believed she had it in her.’

The other members of the board murmured their surprise.

‘Are we all agreed then?’ asked the man next to MacInnes. They all nodded.

‘Good,’ said MacInnes. ‘It’s pleasing to know we have partners who take the necessary steps to ensure winning. So our decision to appoint Jennifer Shaw stands.’

T
here was no other house like this one, she was sure of that. Just as she was certain that within ten or fifteen years, all the homes of the very wealthy would be just like this – electronic fortresses that left the current decade far behind.

Cynthia Crawford arrived at the mansion at 11am every day. It still amazed her that she needed only to speak into the intercom attached to the front wall to gain entry into the grounds. The security system was programmed to identify her voice. It then automatically opened the wrought-iron gates, and closed them again after she’d driven the car through. The technology and the expense seemed to whisper at her from every corner of the lush, green surrounds:
crime does pay, crime does pay. For some.

The walls that surrounded the property were twelve metres high and topped by an electric grid. However, the wall was covered by a canopy of green ivy, which climbed and criss-crossed its way up and over the grid, disguising it and presenting a picturesque display that was pleasing to the eye.

Alexander Crayton’s residence had often been referred to as The Fortress, although its official title was The Ferns. It was named after the sweeping plants that were landscaped in rockeries, hedges and groves around the estate.

As always, Cynthia was met at the front door by Hooper. She’d never learned his Christian name, and no-one ever used the prefix “Mr” when addressing him. He was just Hooper. He called himself the butler but, of course, serving Alexander Crayton’s meals was only a fraction of his duties at The Ferns. He was, in fact, the complete manservant to Alexander Crayton – his aide, confidante, and the overseer of the residence and its staff.

‘Good morning,
missy
,’ he said. Cynthia hated that word, and Hooper knew it. Hence, he always used it, and accentuated it as he did so. ‘Plenty of cleaning for you today. Especially in the main lounge. Mr Crayton threw one of his parties last night. Business colleagues, you know the crowd. Messy buggers. But then, you know that as well as I do.’

‘Suits me, Hooper. I like to keep busy.’

‘Really? I don’t think that’s the impression Mr Crayton has been getting,’ he retorted, his sneer stretching from ear to ear.

He likes to stir, Cynthia thought. It’s probably the only pleasure he gets out of life. She observed him for a moment. His face was all smooth planes, devoid of the lines and cracks and bumps that add character. It was a nondescript face, difficult to picture when it wasn’t in front of you.

He’s faceless, she thought, that’s the only way to describe him.

‘Oh, but Mr Crayton fancies me, Hooper,’ she shot back, grinning. ‘I’ve told you that before. Haven’t you noticed the way he looks at me? I can just imagine the things he’d like to do to me.’

Hooper tried to stifle his annoyance, but his expression was plain to see. Although he didn’t believe a word of what she was saying, Cynthia’s comments managed to irritate him anyway.

She brushed past him and into the main entertaining area which adjoined the entrance lobby. Dirty ashtrays, half-finished drinks and a trail of savouries littered the room. An invisible cloud of stale cigarette smoke hung in the air. Otherwise the room, like the rest of the house, was magnificent. Thick pile carpets covered the floor. The stylish furniture was crafted of mahogany, red cedar and oak. The colours were soft, muted, warm. Paintings by half-a-dozen well-known Australian artists were strategically placed around the walls.

Cynthia was by now familiar with the seductive charms of this house – by observation, not personal use. It was an electronic marvel, wired for symphonic sound: different music could be piped to different rooms. Touch-activated remote-control panels made it possible to turn lights up and down to match a mood, or send vertical drapes gliding across the windows. An enormous LED screen dominated one wall.

This is
his
world, Cynthia reflected bitterly. Wealth, prestige, power, and all the necessary status symbols to prove it. But no depth, no character, no heart or soul.

That’s what I hate most about Alexander Crayton and his world, she thought. No heart, no soul.

She took off her coat, fetched the vacuum cleaner and set to work. Converting all her pent-up frustration and anger into sheer physical energy, she left the room spotless from carpet to ceiling and the air sweet with the fragrance of herbal scents.