Chapter 17
Jemma
‘Aren’t there laws against that kind of thing?’ her father asked.
‘Entrapment, you mean? Only if you’re in law enforcement,’ Jemma snapped, angry that she’d been manipulated into revealing the truth about her mother.
Her history was something she rarely allowed into her constructed present, aware that it created a chink in her armour.
‘Doesn’t apply to me. And in any case, our aim is to protect Tara, not to prosecute her.
So we’re not coming from the same place at all. ’
Hamish pointed at her with his fork. ‘The thing is, you and Tara are … vastly different.’
‘So?’
‘So, no offence, but I’m not sure that she’s going to see you as friend material.’
That sounded like a challenge. ‘You’ll be amazed at just how irresistible I can be.’
Hamish looked at her in complete silence for a long moment, as though they were the only people at the table. ‘Actually, I won’t,’ he said.
The laidback drawl was infuriating, yet, by taking his time, Hamish had her hanging on every word, waiting to hear what outrageous thing he came out with next.
‘But Tara will know you’re only passing through, so she’s not going to strike up a friendship.’
‘You’re not into ships in the night, then?’ Jemma said. If Hamish wanted wordplay, she could best him any day of the week. The farmer was proving unexpectedly fun to spar with.
‘No, that’s precisely what makes Jemma perfect for this,’ Sam interrupted. ‘It’s her … I don’t know, foreignness that will attract Tara.’
‘You mean exoticness adds to her allure?’ Hamish suggested.
Sam shook her head, obviously accustomed to his lines. ‘You know what I mean. Jemma’s difference is what makes her attractive.’
‘Among other things, I’m sure.’
Hamish’s comment earned a snort of exasperation from Sam.
‘Tara’s desperate to get out of Settlers Bridge, so being friends with someone so cosmopolitan will be the next best thing.
She’ll be so keen to copy your language, your mannerisms, your way of dressing, Jemma, that she’ll be blinded to the unlikelihood of your friendship. ’
‘I’d better remember to put my pants on around her, then,’ she said, though it stung a little to realise that Sam seemed to judge her unlikeable.
Not that she needed friends; since primary school she’d deliberately distanced herself rather than trying to excuse her mother’s behaviour or explain why she was living with her grandparents.
She caught the flash of memory cross Hamish’s face, quickly followed by a guilty glance toward her father. Good. If they were to be locked in an undeclared contest of trying to make one another uncomfortable, she would win.
‘Definitely make sure you have your pants on this afternoon, Jemma,’ Sam said. ‘I don’t think Pa’s heart will cope otherwise.’
‘Ah, yeah, that’s today,’ she said, a pleasant thrill fluttering through her.
The elderly couple were hilarious in their odd, mismatched way, and, thanks to Gerard’s agreement, she’d be able to spend some time helping them out.
She might need to keep an eye on the hours, though: evidently country life was insidiously relaxing, as she’d already lost track of the days.
She tapped the table, bringing the focus of the meeting back to where it needed to be. ‘We need to engineer an opportunity for me to run into Tara.’
‘Tomorrow night, after the footy. She’ll be at the clubrooms,’ Sam suggested.
Jemma wrinkled her nose. There was nothing appealing about that sentence.
‘You can introduce them, Hamish?’ Sam continued.
Perhaps the plan did hold a little appeal. She could rely on Hamish for some verbal skirmishing.
Hamish raised his left arm. ‘I’m not playing this season, so I’ve not been hanging around the club. Don’t need to rub it in that I’m missing out.’
‘There’s that lack of drive again,’ Jemma teased. ‘Thwarted by a sporting injury?’
Hamish reefed up the sleeve of his sweatshirt, displaying a livid scar along his muscular forearm. ‘Car rollover.’
‘At fault?’
‘Jemma,’ her father said on a groan. ‘Ambulance chasing …’
‘Sorry,’ she lied. ‘Work habit.’
‘Not at fault.’ Hamish’s tone was grim.
Her ears pricked. ‘Something I can help you with? GB she wasn’t that patient.
‘Justin? Don’t know him, so I can’t just turn up. It has to be something more public.’
‘You met him at the restaurant the other week,’ Hamish said. Then he grinned. ‘Of course, six-foot-six and built like a tree trunk, he’d be easy to overlook if your attention was … elsewhere. But it’s fine, you can come to his gig as my date.’
Hamish had tickets on himself, yet the cockiness combined with the banter was oddly attractive. ‘I said I was willing to help get the info from Tara, not commit myself to purgatory.’
‘Fair. But you know what comes after purgatory if you do it right?’
She had to think for a moment, then stifled her slightly appalled giggle. Heaven. ‘My nonna would drag you by the ear to the kitchen sink and wash out your mouth for that blasphemy.’
Sam glanced sideways at Dad and Jemma cringed. Her father wasn’t accustomed to seeing her flirt. Hell, no one was.
‘We’re going to Justin’s, too,’ Sam said. ‘It’s a fundraiser for the fire service, so everyone will be there.’
Jemma flicked open the calendar on her phone and groaned. ‘Can’t do. I’ve got a function in the city.’
Dad threw up both hands. ‘I thought you were supposed to give us a heads-up on your obligations?’
‘Well, then, here’s your heads-up.’ Jemma pushed her coffee mug toward Sam as the other woman silently offered a refill. ‘I didn’t mention it for a reason, Pierce. I can’t have you escorting me to every meeting, obligation and function for the foreseeable future.’
‘Yes, you can,’ her father growled. ‘And will. It’s not negotiable, Jemma. Not until either you or the police work out who’s behind this.’
‘Wait—behind what?’ Hamish said.
Jemma grimaced, annoyed that the levity had slipped from their conversation. ‘Nothing much. Just some empty threats.’
‘Not exactly empty,’ Sam interjected, her voice sharper than before. She turned to Hamish. ‘Someone threw a brick through Jemma’s grandparents’ restaurant window.’
‘There’s a vendetta against them?’
‘Sure, it’s the family Mafia connections,’ Jemma tried to joke. ‘Horse’s head in the bed, next.’
‘It was directed at Jemma.’ Dad’s voice was tight with concern.
‘Dad, you make it sound like it was an actual attack. It’s just scare tactics,’ she explained to Hamish, as though it was a common occurrence. ‘Clearly someone I’ve ticked off at some stage.’
‘But it is the reason why Jemma is staying here,’ Sam said, stacking the empty plates. Jemma had noticed that she had a tendency to tidy when she was worried. ‘And it’s why one of us will skip Justin’s party. She’s not going to this function by herself.’
Jemma struggled not to roll her eyes. ‘Sam, I appreciate your concern, but this is just a work dinner, black tie, formal, fancy clients. Posh venue, nothing dangerous.’
‘It’s a shame you and Kain broke up,’ her father remarked.
She swung to face him. ‘I kept his existence secret from Nonna for years because that is exactly the sort of comment I knew to expect from her. Obviously the matchmaking trait is genetic.’
‘Can’t tell you how not interested in your personal life I am,’ Dad said. ‘I only meant that his presence could have been useful at this function.’
‘He did make a great handbag.’
‘Jemma!’
Her father’s reaction was predictable, yet she couldn’t let it slide. ‘Fascinating, isn’t it? Men can parade their trophy wives, but when the shoe is on the other foot, the inequitable power dynamic is suddenly unacceptable. Even for my family, apparently.’
‘Particularly for your family. I dare you to let your grandmother hear your handbag line.’
‘Who do you think modelled how to assert my independence? You know that Nonna totally dominates Nonno. And you. And Uncle Dan, too.’
Her father stood, helping Sam clear the table. ‘It might look like Nonna makes the rules, but Nonno will put his foot down when he believes it necessary.’
She smirked. ‘Then perhaps I’ve learned something from each of them.’
‘Wait, circle back,’ Hamish said, doing well to get a word in. ‘A handbag?’
Jemma tossed her hair back over one shoulder, narrowing her gaze. ‘Kain looked pretty on my arm when I had to attend work functions. And, come to think of it, he was ever so useful at holding things,’ she added with a grin.
‘And yet he is no more?’ Hamish did a fair job of sounding perplexed, although his eyes crinkled at the corners. ‘Can’t imagine why.’
‘A girl likes to change her outfits … and accessories.’
‘You think that’s gender limited?’
She looked at Hamish with renewed interest. He might be a player, but he also knew how to play the game. Her game, now that she’d discovered this new entertainment.
‘You two want to get a room?’ Sam said.
‘Maybe don’t encourage them,’ Dad said dourly.
‘Anyway,’ Sam continued, ‘we still need to come up with a way to get Tara and Jemma in the same orbit.’
‘How about you give me your number, Jem, and I’ll text you when I come up with something?’ Hamish said.
Jemma didn’t meet her father’s eyes as she took Hamish’s phone and entered her number. Only the favoured few were ever allowed to shorten her name.