Lilly Hardegan continued to sit in her chair well after her visitors had gone. She didn’t feel like writing any more of the letter tonight and anyway, the Thai girl knew the rest of it. She wondered if Mai would see the irony of it all.

As she gazed at the picture of Percy on her sewing table, grief wrenched her to the core. She’d refused the policewoman’s offer of a priest, didn’t need one. What good was a priest, she thought, if you don’t have the religion to go with it? Lilly Hardegan had lost her faith in the jungles of New Guinea some sixty-odd years ago. (Image 22.2)

Image 22.2

THURSDAY

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

After a good night’s rest, Stevie felt energised for the first time in days. She dropped Izzy off at school and did some grocery shopping, stocking up the pantry and freezer with Monty’s favourites in preparation for his return from hospital. She bought soy sauce and egg noodles, Asian greens and coriander. It seemed a shame to condemn the fresh tiger prawns to the freezer, but she wasn’t exactly sure when he would be discharged and couldn’t risk food poisoning on his first day home. Wait a minute, prawns were full of cholesterol, weren’t they? Vegetable curry with lots of healthy chickpeas, she decided, that’s what they’d have, and enough chilli to blow the tongue off a giraffe.

She pulled up outside their house and looked seaward. A row of conifers guarded the coarse lawn of the beachfront near the café. Before their curry, if Monty were up to it, they’d sit there on the bench near the swings and watch the sun set, talk about anything but work, talk about Izzy, talk about their new house.

She found the revised extension/renovation plans waiting in a cardboard tube in her letterbox. The architect must have dropped them off while she was out—God only knew she hadn’t been home much over the last few days. There was a note saying that he’d implemented the changes they’d discussed at their last meeting, and as a result these plans would have to be re-submitted to the council. Christ, when was all this red tape and dilly-dallying going to end? Just as well she didn’t have a sledgehammer close at hand or she would’ve been tempted to start the demolition herself.

She spent the afternoon at the hospital with Monty, but omitted to tell him the latest developments with Mrs Hardegan and what she’d found out about the baby’s illegal adoption. Under normal circumstances she would have valued his input, but now she wanted him to think she had withdrawn or lost interest. She didn’t think she could cope with any more staged heart attacks.

They discussed the revised plans, which lay stretched over his bed like an extra sheet. She’d also brought in some interior decorating magazines and they pored over them together, selecting fittings and furniture, trying to balance the old-world feel to which they aspired with the comforts of modern life.

‘We’ll need air-conditioning,’ Monty said.

‘I don’t think so, too expensive and not necessary—besides, those things on the walls are a terrible eyesore. I’d prefer ceiling fans and sea breezes.’

‘It doesn’t have to be on the wall. I have a mate in the business, Frank Caravello, he’ll be able to give us a good deal on ducting.’

‘You have friends everywhere.’

Monty shrugged. ‘All ex-cops who left the job early enough to start again with new careers...’ He broke off and gazed at the blank TV screen above his bed.

Stevie knew the direction his thoughts were going. ‘I don’t think you should be thinking about that now. The doctor said you should take one day at a time. You’re still recovering; you mustn’t start making crucial decisions just yet. The house should be giving you enough to think about for the moment.’

‘If I’m not working, how can we pay for the house? We can’t borrow any more money from your mother.’

Stevie rolled up the plans and slid them back into the cardboard tube, her way of indicating that the conversation was over. Her mother was a wealthy woman, having sold the family cattle station when prices were high. She’d be beside herself if she knew how stretched they were despite her generous loan, and it was something they were both determined to keep from her.

Once more Mont insisted that she and Izzy stay at her mother’s for the night. ‘And then after that, they’ll be letting me out of this place and I can protect you.’

She smiled back at him, ‘Sure you can,’ and relaxed back into her chair. ‘God, I’m looking forward to getting back to normal again.’

‘I need to find some stairs.’ He wriggled his eyebrows suggestively; money worries apparently forgotten.

‘Our house has no stairs. Bad luck.’

‘Then I’ll practise on the beach steps.’ He took hold of her arm and pulled her toward him, cupping her breast in his large hand and giving her a full kiss on the lips. ‘Y’know,’ he murmured as he continued to knead her flesh. ‘I don’t think I’m going to need to practise for this at all.’

The door whooshed open. ‘Feeling better are we, Mr McGuire?’ the soft-faced Irish nurse said as they quickly pulled apart.

‘Home soon,’ Monty said.

‘Only if you behave yourself.’

For many years Stevie and her mother, Dot, had lived on the same street. It was a convenient arrangement that suited them both when Izzy was born and Stevie still very much on her own. Now, Dot’s was almost half an hour’s drive from their new place near the beach, though it still served as a home away from home for Izzy. Dot had a large backyard with a fishpond and a small gazebo. Her house was immaculate with deep spongy carpets, vanilla cream walls and a tasteful collection of antiques.

As if in keeping with the civilised surroundings, Izzy tended to behave like a model child when she stayed with her grandmother. Sometimes Stevie felt that Dot had no inkling about what the kid could be like at home, as if her tales of horror were exaggerated or made up. Which was why she couldn’t help smiling when she opened the front door to the sound of Dot’s raised voice and her own child wailing back at her.

‘What’s going on?’ Stevie asked her mother, who appeared red-faced from the kitchen, blowing a loose tendril of silver-blonde hair from her eyes. Stevie gazed into her own clear-blue eyes looking back at her. They had the same colouring, were physically alike in so many ways other than height. Dot Hooper was ballet-dancer petite, whereas Stevie took her height from her father’s side of the family. If she aged half as well as her mother, she reflected, she’d be happy. This reminded her of something. She hadn’t yet seen the age-enhanced picture of Jennifer Granger, and made a mental note to ask Col if it was finished.

She tuned back in to what Dot was saying.

‘She’s had a bad day at school; said she got in trouble with the teacher for not bringing her reading book back this morning. She wanted me to drive all the way to your place and get it. I told her no, and now she’s refusing to do her homework. The plumber didn’t come, you know, the guest room loo is still blocked, and I can’t find anyone to cart away that tree branch over the fence.’

‘Sounds like you’ve had a bad day.’

‘Tell me about it. About the only good thing that’s happened is that one of Izzy’s friends’ mothers thought I was you. When I explained I was the grandmother, her eyes nearly popped out of her head. Maybe those herbal skin pills really are working.’

Or maybe, Stevie thought guiltily, I’m so rarely at school for pick-up, no one knows who I am.

I am a bad mother.

‘I’ll go and have a word with Izz,’ she said, hiding the pang of self-knowledge.

Dot slipped the apron over her head and hung it over one of the hall hooks. ‘You do that. I need some fresh air, won’t be long—keep an eye on the roast will you? It’ll need turning down soon.’