Chapter 9
Meg waited until after five to return home, when the day was starting to cool down.
She dumped her bag, ran a bath and went into the kitchen to pour a glass of wine; her standard Sunday evening ritual.
She’d been doing it since she was in high school—without the wine back then, obviously.
When she was looking at rentals, she’d put ‘bathtub’ on her list of non-negotiables and every Sunday night she thanked herself for it.
She tipped in some shampoo, which she’d been using since she’d finished the lavender bubble bath Jenny had given her a few Christmases ago. She figured it was all just soap. The stream of water hit the amber liquid, transforming it into frothy bubbles.
She positioned the wine on the ledge beside the bath, along with her phone, undressed and gingerly dipped a toe in. Just right. She eased herself in and lay back against the end of the tub, exhaling loudly, closing her eyes, letting the tension seep out of her body. Bliss.
Beep beep.
She sighed, wishing she’d put her phone on silent, and looked at the screen. It was from Facebook: Your request to join Save Hartwell has been approved.
Hartwell again. She scanned the posts, then she tapped on the list of members.
There were two hundred and seven. The admin was Chris Baxter.
Brave man, Meg thought, to take on the Ashworths.
His profile picture was a long shot of a middle-aged woman standing between two pre-teen girls.
Their faces were in shadow, but she could tell they were smiling.
Her phone rang. Pete.
She sighed and swiped to answer. ‘Hi, Pete.’
‘Hunter! Have you got a minute?’ He sounded breathless, as though he was walking up a hill.
Meg raised her left hand out of the water and studied her wrinkled fingers. ‘Yeah, I guess.’
‘Have you spoken to Deb?’
‘Not since yesterday.’
‘Good. You’re gonna love this. I just had an intriguing conversation.’
‘Okay.’
‘I bumped into a mate at the pub. He told me a really interesting story about a guy he used to work with.’
‘Yeah?’ This was classic Pete. She never knew where his stories were going until he got there.
‘He’s a partner at Bartlett Brown, one of the top-tier law firms, started there as a grad.
Anyway, years ago one of the senior associates was fired abruptly.
The whole thing was hushed up, but the rumour is that he was working on a big property deal with one of the senior partners, and he was feeding confidential information to a mate at a construction company about a rezoning that was on the cards.
His friend made a fortune out of it, apparently, and the senior partner suspected this guy was clipping the ticket.
They couldn’t prove it, but he was “invited to leave”.
My mate reckoned he’d be lucky to work as a lawyer again, but guess where he popped up? ’
‘Where?’
‘Ashworth Property.’
Meg frowned, suddenly paying attention.
‘Turned out this guy’s father was a good friend of Malcolm Ashworth,’ Pete went on, ‘who was only too happy to take on a malleable, ethically challenged young lawyer.’
‘This is all very interesting, Pete, but why are you telling me this?’
‘Because Deb told me about your story idea, the Hartwell thing. I reckon it’s a goer. Have you guessed who this guy is yet?’
‘No idea. Are you going to tell me?’
‘Hugh Thorburn.’
‘Isobel Ashworth’s new fiancé?’ Meg felt her heartbeat pick up.
‘Bingo. And Ashworth Property’s General Counsel. He’s been working there ever since. Apparently, he works on a lot of their property deals. Deb spoke to Harry Madden. He’s keen for us to investigate it.’
‘Us?’ Meg and Pete didn’t work on stories together. Pete had been a leading reporter for The Times, but he stopped writing a few years back when he took the job in digital.
‘Yeah, I suggested we put both our names on it, so he would give it the go ahead. You can run the investigation in Hartwell, I’ll dig around up here. He’s agreed to put you on a retainer to go down there.’
‘He has? When?’
‘Tomorrow. Spend a week or two there talking to people, see what you can find out.’
‘But—’
‘But what? Isn’t this what you wanted?’
‘Yeah, it is, it’s just … sudden, that’s all. But it’s fine. It’s good.’
‘It might end up being nothing, Meg, but it could be massive.’ A beat. ‘It could be the story that defines your career.’
Meg spent the following hour throwing clothes, shoes and toiletries into an overnight bag, buzzing with the promise of a big story.
Something real. Something that mattered.
Something possibly career-defining, according to Pete, who knew a thing or two about career-defining stories.
He’d made his own career by blowing open a money-laundering racket, an exposé that sent a high-profile politician to jail.
She’d aspired to a similar trajectory and her plan had been working out well until the major shake-up that saw half the editorial staff made redundant and many of the major roles ‘streamlined’, which was corporate jargon for making one person do two jobs.
She reached for a Zimmermann dress she’d found at Vinnies and chucked it in, then glanced at a pair of heels, debating whether she’d need them. Hard to say. Probably not, but she chucked them in anyway, then sat on the bed to check through what she’d packed.
Whenever the funny feeling she’d had ever since she saw Jenny rippled up beneath the excitement, she dismissed it.
None of this had anything to do with her mother.
It was serendipitous, that’s all. If her mum hadn’t mentioned Hartwell, Meg wouldn’t have stumbled across the Hartwell Gaol redevelopment controversy, which was the best chance—the only chance—she’d had to get her career back on track since the redundancy.
After one final check of the contents, she zipped up the bag.
‘It’s you again,’ Jenny whispered, eyes wide. She was still in bed. Soft yellow morning light illuminated the garden beyond the window, but the room was dark.
‘I just dropped in to say goodbye, Mum. I’m going out of town for a week or so for work.’
Jenny shook her head, agitation rising. At first Meg thought her mother was upset that she was leaving town, but then Jenny sat up, her eyes flicking around as though she was looking for someone else.
‘Mum, it’s okay, I can’t stay.’
Jenny stared intensely, her brow creased. ‘Why do you keep coming here?’
‘I don’t know,’ Meg murmured, truthfully.
‘It’s not safe.’
‘Why’s that?’ Meg asked, wishing she hadn’t come. She could be halfway to Hartwell by now.
‘Because …’ Jenny’s voice trailed off. She looked around again. ‘They’ll know where I am.’
‘Who?’ Meg could hear the shortness in her tone. The judgment.
Jenny leaned forward abruptly and pressed the call button by her bed. Meg thought of the kind orderly who’d advised her to play along. Maybe he was right. It felt wrong though, patronising or something. She couldn’t bring herself to do it.
Meg pressed her lips together, inhaling deeply.
She knew that paranoia was a common symptom, but until now, Jenny had just been confused.
How did other people handle this? It would be so much easier if there was someone else to share this with.
A sister or brother. After everything Jenny had put her through, it was so deeply unfair that she was burdened with this alone. The ultimate injustice.
A young nurse appeared at the door with a cheerful smile, glossy dark hair in a high ponytail. ‘Everything okay, Jenny?’
‘Brooke,’ Jenny said, breathless, pointing to Meg. ‘She has to go.’
Brooke frowned. ‘Don’t be silly, Jenny, she just arrived!’ She had the sing-song tone people used when they spoke to toddlers. It rankled Meg.
‘She’s just confused,’ Meg said quietly, by way of explanation.
Brooke ignored her. ‘Let’s make you more comfortable,’ she said to Jenny, reaching for the remote control to reposition the bed.
‘No!’ Jenny yelled. Meg and Brooke startled. ‘She has to stop coming here!’
‘Okay, it’s okay, Jenny.’ Brooke put a firm, reassuring hand on Jenny’s arm. She looked at Meg. ‘Might be best if you go.’
Meg nodded and walked out the door. She stood in the hall, her heart racing, listening as Brooke attempted to placate her mother.
‘It’s okay, Jenny. Everything’s okay.’
Just as she was about to walk away, Meg heard her mother speak again.
‘Has Tina gone?’