Chapter 5 #2
It was obvious now: he really didn’t care. Roxane wasn’t the one behind his cruel texts – that had been wishful thinking.
Katrina stumbled out of the bathroom and flung herself into bed. She shoved her pinging phone back under Craig’s pillow, then rolled herself up in her doona.
There would be no tender reunion. No Marriage 2.0. Craig was gone, and Katrina was well and truly on her own.
As far as she was concerned, the world could carry on without her.
* * *
‘You want me to wait in the car?’ Rolf’s dismay was obvious.
‘For ten minutes.’ Michelle switched off Bizet’s ‘The Pearl Fishers’ Duet’ (so dreamy) and pushed open the driver’s door. ‘You’ll have time to enjoy the view.’
‘The view?’ He stared at her as if she’d lost her mind, and for a second Michelle wondered if she had. But then she took a second look.
Glint of Blackwattle Bay through the trees. Sliver of Anzac Bridge. It might not be a herd of buffalo thundering across the Great Plains, but it was definitely a view.
‘I won’t be long. You brought a book, didn’t you? Read that.’
‘Why is your voice so loud?’
Michelle’s voice was so loud because she’d overdosed on caffeine. After working feverishly until the wee small hours, then rising early, she’d slammed down three double-shot espressos just to keep alert. Now she was feeling the results: racing heart, dry mouth, shaky hands, loud voice.
‘Wait here. I’ll be back soon.’ She shut the door behind her, cutting off her father’s anxious objections.
Though it was barely 10am, and his biannual Military History Society of Australia lunch at Gladesville RSL didn’t start until eleven, he was concerned about hitting a major traffic snarl and he didn’t trust the newfangled mapping software.
‘How would a computer know? It’s not out here on the streets,’ he’d fretted.
Walking away, Michelle felt guilty, but she couldn’t let Rolf distract her.
She had to concentrate on finding Ilse Eklund.
Tracking her this far hadn’t been difficult; Ilse scrupulously posted shots of every conference, board meeting, charity event, yoga class and awards dinner she went to.
From social media, Michelle had quickly worked out that Ilse headed for Blackwattle Bay each Saturday to ‘unearth her inner dragon’.
Trouble was, so did a lot of other people.
Reaching the grassy foreshore, Michelle was buffeted by heaving knots of men in lycra dragging orange boats out of the water, so she knew she’d come to the right place. Now she just had to find a woman with a sleek, silver bob and Chanel sunglasses.
‘Michelle? Is that you?’
Michelle turned. Ilse was towelling herself nearby, her spare frame sheathed in black thermals.
Though pushing eighty, she looked about twenty years younger, thanks to botox, exercise and a beauty routine so rigorous that she trimmed her own hair every week to keep it perfectly angled.
She spent at least half the year jetting off to festivals and symposiums, the other half shelling out advice to CEOs and bank boards.
Trying to catch her on the phone was always a challenge.
For her undivided attention, you needed to bail her up, face to face.
‘Hi, Ilse! How’s it going?’ Michelle leaned in for an air kiss, acutely conscious of the file she was carrying. It didn’t belong in this waterside park.
‘What’s that?’ Ilse was famous for not mucking around. She whipped off her sunnies and peered at Michelle’s file. ‘Is it for me?’
‘It is. Sorry. I know how much you love your dragon boat racing, but—’
‘Dragon boat? Please. This is Va’a outrigger. Much more exclusive.’ Lowering her voice, Ilse added, ‘And I don’t love it, I loathe it. I only do it to piss off Max Duffield.’
‘Oh – is he here?’ Michelle looked around and saw a wiry, balding athlete telling some of the younger men how to stack boats. She’d heard a lot about Max Duffield. His anti-Eklund lobbying had forced Ilse into retirement a few years earlier.
‘He started his own crew,’ Ilse explained. ‘All people from work. He wants to boss them around on weekends, as well.’
‘And you joined?’ Michelle couldn’t understand why.
‘He hates it. He couldn’t say no because he pretends to be a nice guy, but he hates me being here. I show him up. People make jokes about the little old lady outclassing him.’ She gave a happy sigh. ‘I’m ruining his day.’
Christ. Michelle reminded herself never to make an enemy of Ilse.
‘So I was wondering if you could glance over some contracts for me? I’m starting a new business, and it’s kind of a grey area.
Never done before. I’ve used templates, but none of them are quite hitting the mark.
You’re the only one I could think of who might spot any holes.
’ She took a deep breath. ‘We see our first client in just over a week so there are time constraints. Your fee should reflect that.’
Ilse’s eyes were small and dark and gleaming, like a bird’s. They immediately brightened. ‘Who’s “we”?’
‘Just an old friend from school. Katrina Quigley.’ Who hadn’t answered any of Michelle’s calls or texts that morning.
It made Michelle nervous, but she wasn’t going to let negative thoughts get in the way of a money-making business opportunity.
She would front-foot it. Think outside the box.
And hustle Katrina along with her, if she had to – because Michelle was a marketing expert, after all.
She could definitely sell this idea to Katrina.
‘We identified a gap in the market: widowed or divorced people who’d like to come home to a wife again. ’
Seeing Ilse’s eyebrows shoot up, Michelle added hastily, ‘Not for sex. For comfort, support, reinforcement. Domestic bliss.’ She went on to describe Dreamwives as the crowds thinned out around her and boats piled up nearby. The smell of sunscreen yielded to the smell of post-exercise coffee.
‘. . . just want to make sure the parameters are clear and every possible error of judgement anticipated,’ Michelle finished. ‘I know the greatest challenge will be defining our service. Making sure there are no misunderstandings.’
Ilse’s expression was gleeful. Leafing through the contracts, she said, ‘Goodness, this is a departure.’
‘Do you think it’ll work?’
‘I’ve no idea. Have you done any market research?
If not, it’s impossible to say. But you’re highly competent and your idea is crazy enough to be a roaring success.
Look at crypto, for God’s sake.’ Ilse tucked the file into her designer backpack.
‘I can’t promise you a result any time soon.
I’ve got a sustainability symposium on Monday, and then I’m off to Japan—’
‘Michelle! Are you going to introduce me?’ a familiar voice asked.
It was Rolf. Somehow he’d extracted his walking frame from the car and tottered to the foreshore. Michelle could only thank God that the walk had been so flat, with plenty of kerb ramps. Still, she was furious.
‘Dad—’
‘I wanted to make sure you hadn’t drowned,’ he joked.
In honour of his military lunch, he’d clipped his nose hairs and donned his Harris tweeds, complete with tweed cap, and was filled with the kind of confidence you only get from good grooming.
‘Rolf Redlin,’ he said, touching his cap bill and offering Ilse his most dashing smile. ‘I don’t think we’ve met.’
Inwardly, Michelle cringed. ‘Dad, this is my friend Ilse. The lawyer. I’ve told you about her.’
‘You didn’t tell me how stunning she was.’ As Michelle tried not to faint with embarrassment, Rolf said to Ilse, ‘I never realised how attractive that kind of get-up could be. Not as alluring as a cocktail frock, but it certainly shows off your figure. I like a nice set of gams on a woman.’
Michelle didn’t know what to do. She glanced at Ilse, trying to convey how mortified she was. But Ilse seemed completely unfazed.
Sliding her sunglasses back on, she held out her hand. ‘Nice to meet you, Rolf.’
‘Likewise.’ No sooner had he grasped her hand and bent to kiss it than she extracted it, very smoothly.
‘Michelle told me about your hip replacement,’ she said. ‘I suppose that’s why you can’t drive?’
‘No, my dicky knee is to blame for that!’ Rolf gave a manly honk of laughter. ‘Just as well I’ve got Michelle. She’s a real blessing, the way she puts up with an old crock like me.’
Startled, Michelle wished he would occasionally tell her that, instead of subjecting her to endless complaints and bouts of self-pity.
‘You got any kids?’ Rolf went on, listing towards Ilse like a shonky tower block.
‘No,’ said Ilse.
‘See, that’s where I’ve got the advantage.’ Rolf chuckled – something Michelle hadn’t heard before. Maybe he only made that noise when he was on the prowl. ‘Invest in your kids when they’re young and you’ll reap the rewards when they’re grown. Someone to take care of you in your old age.’
Ilse pursed her lips. ‘Yes. Quite. You clearly have it all worked out.’
‘I certainly do!’ Rolf’s manner was becoming expansive.
‘The other secret is to keep busy. Always important, at our age. Bit of power-walking. The odd swim. I see you’re filling your time in a healthy way.
Nice of these young guys to make room for you, I reckon. Gives you something to aspire to, eh?’
Michelle nearly passed out. If Ilse had been a customer, Michelle would have lost the account, then and there.
But Ilse had a long history of dealing with impossible men.
Instead of stalking away, she turned to Michelle with a brisk, ‘I must get on, but I think you’ve had a marvellous idea.
Really marvellous. And I’ll get back to you asap.
’ Gripping Michelle’s shoulder, she squeezed it. Hard. ‘I can see you need help.’
‘Oh!’ Michelle was startled by Ilse’s sudden about-face. ‘Well . . . thank you so much.’
‘I can see you really need help.’ Peering over the tops of her sunglasses, Ilse held Michelle’s gaze for a few seconds, her eyes swimming with compassion, before she lifted a hand to Rolf. ‘Make sure your daughter takes care of herself. She needs your support as much as you need hers.’
Next thing Michelle knew, she and Rolf were alone. Ilse was able to put on a fair bit of speed, even while lugging a backpack; Michelle could only admire her finely honed ability to extricate herself. She wished she had the same skill.
‘Seems like a bit of a battle axe,’ Rolf remarked. ‘Reminds me of your mum. You’d better be careful – she’s exactly the type who’ll take over.’
‘Oh, for God’s sake.’ He was so stupid and careless and creepy and delusional. ‘Come on,’ she growled. ‘If we’re late for the lunch, you’ve only yourself to blame.’
Next stop: Gladesville RSL. And from there, it was off to Katrina’s.