The Winter Sea (40 page)

‘I’m pleased to hear from you,’ said Cassie. ‘I do hope you can clear up this confusion over Ricardo Aquino’s will.’

‘There is no confusion as far as I am aware, but we can confirm.’

‘Mr Walker, this has all come as a terrible shock to me. Ricardo Aquino could not possibly have left me a quarter of a million dollars. There has to be some mistake.’

‘I don’t think that is likely, but I can see you whenever you want to make an appointment.’

‘Is now too soon?’ asked Cassie.

‘If that suits you. Say in half an hour?’

Bruce Walker’s office was modest since, as his receptionist explained, his main office was in Nowra and he only used this one twice a week. He was a tall man in his late fifties with a clipped beard and plump pink cheeks. He held out his hand.

‘Hello, it’s Mrs Holloway, isn’t it?’

‘Yes,’ replied Cassie. ‘Soon to be ex-Mrs Holloway.’

‘I’m sorry, I didn’t realise. Please take a seat. It is my job to inform you, Cassandra Holloway, née Sullivan, that you are a beneficiary in the late Ricardo Aquino’s will to the amount of two hundred and fifty thousand dollars,’ he said with a smile on his face.

‘Mr Walker, I don’t understand why I am. Are you sure that I’m the right Cassandra Sullivan in the will?’

‘Please call me Bruce and yes I’m quite sure. But to confirm, can you tell me your parents’ names, old address in Manly and your most recent address in Sydney?’

Cassie told him and Bruce Walker nodded. ‘That’s what we have on our records, which confirms that you are the same Cassandra Sullivan who is named in Ricardo Aquino’s will,’ he said.

‘But it’s ridiculous. I only met the man for five minutes on his ninetieth birthday. Have you any idea why he would leave me such a large sum of money in his will?’

‘None at all. My job was only to draw up the document and then determine that you are the right Cassandra Sullivan and, in doing so, fulfil the terms of Ricardo Aquino’s will,’ Bruce replied. ‘And I can assure you that you are the right person.’

‘Can I ask when the will was first drawn up? Was it recently?’

‘No, not at all recently. Mr Aquino’s will was drawn up years ago and he never changed it. But why you are included among the beneficiaries, I can’t say.’

Puzzled, Cassie looked at the solicitor across his desk. None of this made any sense, but at least she could no longer be accused of evil intentions at Uncle Ricardo’s birthday party.

‘Bruce,’ said Cassie, deciding to take the bull by the horns and ask the question whose answer she dreaded. ‘I had no idea that there was any connection between my father and the Aquinos, but Frank Aquino tells me that my father went to prison for killing Carlo Aquino, Michael Phillips’s grandfather. Neither my mother nor I knew anything about such an event. Can you tell me if it’s true?’

The lawyer leaned back in his swivel chair. ‘Yes, it’s true,’ he said.

Cassie felt tears welling up. ‘Can you tell me what happened?’ she whispered.

‘Knowing Frank, he would not have broken that news to you gently. And if you have always been ignorant of it, it must have come as a terrible shock.’ Bruce Walker gave her a sympathetic smile. ‘It all happened in the late fifties. I believe my father was the solicitor acting for Patrick Sullivan. He was the only solicitor in Whitby Point.’

‘Is your father still alive? I’d love to ask him questions,’ said Cassie eagerly.

Bruce Walker shook his head. ‘No, Dad’s been dead for years.’

‘Do you know how my father was connected to the Aquinos? I hope you don’t mind all these questions, but I am so confused. I’ve just found out that I don’t know much about my father at all,’ said Cassie.

‘No, I’m sorry. I don’t. I suppose that he was a fisherman working for them. I can’t think of another explanation,’ Bruce Walker replied. ‘I’m afraid all my father’s files were destroyed in a fire a long time ago.’

Cassie frowned. ‘I’ve got one final question, if you don’t mind,’ she said. ‘I’m not sure that I have a right to ask this, but here goes. Do you think that the Aquinos will contest the will?’

‘That’s not for me to say. They are perfectly entitled to do so, but what I would say is that I think they would perhaps not have a strong case. The rest of the family has been well provided for and you are not a late addition to the will, so it is clear to me that Ricardo Aquino was quite sure that he wanted to leave you this money. They would need a lot of compelling evidence to suggest otherwise.’

‘Thank you, Bruce. You have been very kind,’ said Cassie, grateful that the lawyer had been so friendly.

*

The following morning, Michael called Cassie early. ‘Cass? It’s me. I’ve been thinking . . .’

‘Hi, Michael, me too.’ She sighed.

‘No, not about this whole mystery of the will and your father . . . I’ve been thinking about us.’

Cassie caught her breath. ‘And?’

‘I think we need a bit of time out together. I was thinking of taking my new boat for a sail – really christen her, I’ve only made a couple of trial runs. I’d love you to come. Can Trixie hold the fort?’

‘Yes, I think she can. It sounds a wonderful thing to do,’ said Cassie, laughing and feeling ridiculously happy, even relieved.

‘Probably best to leave Bill on shore. Later we’ll take him out and let him get his sea legs.’

‘What can I bring?’

‘The usual – warm jacket, sunnies, sunblock, hat. I have food and cold drinks, but if there are any leftovers of Trixie’s desserts, I wouldn’t say no.’

‘Gotcha. Where will I meet you?’

‘I’m moored down at the port where the trawlers are. I’ll pick you up at the wharf in about, say, an hour?’

‘Great. I’ll ask Geoff and Trixie if they’d mind Bill-sitting.’

Sitting on the end of the old wharf, Cassie’s heart leapt as she saw Michael rowing towards her from the yacht, the muscles across his shoulders taut under his white T-shirt.

He helped her into the small dinghy and in a few minutes they were beside the yacht as it bobbed gently at its mooring. Michael clambered onto the small but sleek sailboat, secured the dinghy and helped Cassie aboard.

‘This is lovely! Compact but comfortable. I love the timber decks,’ she exclaimed. Stepping below, she said, ‘Two bunks, a kitchen on one side and a dinette on the other, how civilised. Great design!’

‘Small gas stove. Everything is stowed and very streamlined. It’s got a good engine as a backup, should we need it. The head, that’s the toilet to you landlubbers, is in there. We could stay out overnight if the fishing is good, or if we just feel like getting away from everything and everyone.’

‘It’ll be fabulous in the summer. Find an inlet and moor the boat and swim, picnic, fish, or just explore. Do you know the waterways around here well?’

‘I had a little sailing boat as a kid. I’ve also sailed in Sydney Harbour, although that can be pretty crowded at times. Not like here. Have you sailed much?’

‘No, not really. Not what you’d call proper sailing. Junkets around Sydney Harbour on ostentatious gin palaces.’

‘With Hal and his cronies?’

‘Yes. Usually business related. I couldn’t stand the people and the superficiality of it all. They might as well have stayed at the wharf and partied.’

‘This’ll be nothing like that at all. For one thing, I didn’t bring any gin. We’ll just head out of the harbour – it’s calm enough to hit the ocean and the forecast says it’s going to stay that way. We’ll sail north and then duck into one of the inlets I know.’

Cassie quickly got the hang of sitting on the edge of the gunwale and holding the jib line as the Cavalier skimmed along. The stiff wind and spray in her face was exhilarating, and she and Michael kept exchanging looks and laughing with the joy of the moment.

‘The coastline looks different from the sea, doesn’t it,’ she shouted to Michael.

They tacked and headed into a channel, passing some tangled wetlands and marshy foreshores. Further along this narrow passage they came to a series of linked lakes. Here the breeze was gentler and they slid effortlessly, silently, across an empty lake. In the distance Cassie could see a flock of pelicans floating serenely. Rolling hills edged the lake and Cassie felt quite moved, not only by the peaceful scene, but being there with Michael.

He smiled at her and Cassie realised that he was possibly feeling the same.

‘There’s a bit of a cove over there, we can anchor and have something to eat. Are you hungry?’ he asked.

‘Yes. Must be the sea air.’

The sail flapped like a wet sheet as Michael manoeuvred the yacht into position.

‘We’ll take down the sails and drop anchor. We’ll bring the food on deck. We can use the hatch cover as a table.’

They shared a meal of baguettes filled with salmon, salad and cheese with pickled cucumbers, cherry tomatoes, olives, and a tossed green salad on the side, and a refreshing iced tea. As they finished it all off with one of Trixie’s divine desserts, Cassie smiled.

‘It doesn’t get much better than this. This was a lovely idea. Thank you.’

Michael looked serious. ‘I felt it was important for us to get away somewhere quiet. I know you’ve been a bit battered by this whole series of events over Uncle Ricardo’s will.’ He drew a breath and before Cassie could think of something to say, he went on. ‘I know it must be a shock to you – and your mum. It was for me too. But for better or worse, you and I are now linked and I don’t want this situation to come between us.’

Cassie nodded. ‘Me too, absolutely. I have to say I felt relieved when Bruce Walker told me that I had been named in Uncle Ricardo’s will a long time ago. What I hated was that your family thought I had come down here to extort money from him.’

‘As if. Cassie, that’s not what I wanted to bring you here to talk about, although I have to say it is a complication. What I want to tell you is that, from the moment I first saw you bring Bill into my surgery, I think I fell in love with you. Then I realised that you were working through a few problems. It’s not easy to end a marriage – I know from my own experience . . .’ He stopped talking for a moment and studied her face. ‘Initially, I just wanted to take things slowly, Cass, for both our sakes. But now, with all of this upheaval, my biggest fear is that these recent events could come between us. I don’t know how you feel . . . but I had to say this.’

Cassie couldn’t speak. It felt as if an emotional floodgate was opening. The rush of thoughts and feelings about her past and her future, and especially Michael, threatened to overwhelm her. Michael seemed to understand because he reached for her hand and held it gently.

Finally Cassie managed to say, ‘I’ve been feeling the same. In spite of the shock about my father, the money, and everything else that’s been going on, the thing that most frightened me was losing you. I love you so much.’ She managed a rueful smile. ‘So where to next?’

Michael leaned over and took her gently in his arms and kissed her. ‘Steady as she goes, skipper. As long as we both feel the same about each other, we’ll get through this.’

As they sailed out of the lake back towards the open sea, Michael, clearly happy, began to sing, surprising Cassie not just with his decent singing voice but his song.

‘My father used to sing that,’ Cassie exclaimed. ‘He said it was the only Italian song he knew. I used to climb into bed with him and Mum on a Sunday morning and he’d sing it to me. I have no idea how he knew it. Where did you learn it, Michael?’

‘From my mother. She’d learned it from her grandfather, Joe, who used to sing it to her as a little girl.’

‘Isn’t that amazing? We have something else in common now.’ And together they sang the chorus.

Sailing back into the harbour at Whitby Point, Cassie leaned against Michael while he held the tiller of the sturdy yacht. ‘I thought you were a bit keen when you came around with those food samples for Bill.’

Michael laughed. ‘He deserved some treats. After all, he’s what brought us together.’ He kissed the top of her head affectionately.

Things are definitely looking up, Cassie thought happily.

But the good feeling didn’t last. The next day she realised that people who’d previously passed the time of day with her in chatty exchanges were beginning to avoid her. She was particularly hurt when Ron the newsagent suddenly became preoccupied and busy when she went into his shop.

Then Steve told her that his fishing mate near Nowra had suddenly said that he didn’t have enough fish to supply the Blue Boatshed any longer.

‘It’s rubbish,’ said Steve angrily. ‘I bet Frank’s put the hard word on him. I’ve tried two other places but we’re running out of options. I don’t want to have to go up to Sydney every few days for seafood, especially when there’s better stuff right here.’

‘I’m sorry, Steve. I know it’s making your job difficult. But we can’t not serve seafood!’ exclaimed Cassie in frustration.

‘I have a couple of other options. Freelancers not on a contract to sell. Just means a bit more of a drive.’

‘I’m sure if you can set it up, Geoff can go and get it. I know he won’t mind and I’m damned if I’m going to let Frank defeat me,’ said Cassie.

‘I’m with you there,’ Steve replied.

But the day didn’t improve.

Cassie received a text message from Mollie, Trixie’s friend who had been working in the restaurant since it opened, to say she couldn’t work there any longer.

Cassie rang Trixie. ‘Mollie has sent me a message to say that she’s leaving. Have you any idea why?’

‘Good grief, that’s terrible. Perhaps it’s because Mollie’s husband works on one of Ray Aquino’s trawlers. Maybe she heard the gossip and thought that if she goes on working for you, he could lose his job. I’ll talk to her but in the meantime I’ll come over and help you.’

‘Trixie, I hate to impose on you like this but it would be a great help. You’re such a good friend.’

‘I feel bad about Mollie letting you down, Cassie. Things will turn out for the best eventually, you’ll see. Hang in there. I’ll be over there in an hour.’

Cassie was glad to see Trixie. The restaurant was fairly quiet, so she had time to tell her about her visit to the solicitor.

‘You know, Trixie, after seeing Bruce Walker the other day I am still none the wiser. I wonder if there is still someone around who remembers what happened. Mind you, they would have to be pretty old. Maybe there would be something in newspaper files. How long has the local rag been around?’