Jill lived in Bondi in one of four Art-Deco apartments on New South Head Road. It was up two flights of stairs on the second floor. The rent was more than she could afford, but she was prepared to pay it because it was within walking distance of Bondi Beach. It was one of the nicest places she had ever lived.
Jill was in the bathroom putting the final touches to her make-up when she heard the knock at the front door. She quickly applied some lipstick and took one last look in the mirror. She didn’t normally wear make-up, her complexion was clear enough that she could get away with only wearing tinted SPF 30 sunscreen. She combed her fingers through her hair. She had decided to wear it out tonight instead of tying it back in a ponytail. The heels she was wearing added another five centimetres to her height. Her father had told her she took after her mother’s side of the family in the height department. In her stocking feet she stood at one hundred and sixty-five centimetres.
She removed the brass security chain and opened the door. She stepped back, but before she had a chance to say anything, he pulled her to him. She closed her eyes and he kissed her. He wrapped his arms around her and then his hot breath was on her neck. He kissed her again, touched her hair and throat. Intimate. Maybe it might work out between them after all.
‘You’re beautiful,’ he said.
She pulled away from him. Her face blushed and she waved him into the only armchair in the room. She hoped he wouldn’t notice the grease stains on the arms. She should have told him to sit on the lounge instead.
Before William arrived, she had run the vacuum cleaner over the floorboards and had even thought to pick up a bunch of gardenias from the greengrocers on her way home, but they had been a mistake. The scent was overpowering in the confines of the small apartment. ‘I’ll get us something to drink. Red wine okay?’ She said.
She went into the kitchen and grabbed an open bottle of Shiraz from the bench, and two large wine glasses. When she returned to the lounge room he was standing, looking at the art on the walls. ‘You painted these?’
She nodded.
‘They're very good.’
‘You’re just being polite. I painted them when I was at University.’ She put the wine and the glasses down on the coffee table, walked up to him and stood by his side. ‘They're technically competent I suppose, but I lack what it takes to make a great artist. Kevin Taggart on the other hand, has no formal training, yet he has passion, vision. He's a genius.’
‘I was impressed by his latest works, but what about you? Are you still painting?’ he asked.
‘Wish I had the time. I used to go down to the beach with my sketchpad before I took over at the gallery. I keep promising myself I’ll enrol in life drawing classes, but something always seems to get in the way.’
‘Life’s like that. What was it that John Lennon said? Life is what happens to you while you’re busy making other plans.’
‘You’re a Beatles fan?’ Jill asked.
‘Yeah, got all their albums. Grew up playing them on my old 45 record player.’
‘I wasn’t even born when John Lennon died and I don’t even know what a 45 record looks like,’ Jill said.
‘What are you trying to do, make me feel old?’
‘Not at all, old man.’ Jill laughed. ‘Come and sit down.’ She poured him a glass of wine. She had planned to tell him after dinner but changed her mind. She knew it would be better if he heard the truth from her, rather than finding out about it in the morning papers. ‘William, there’s something I have to tell you.’ She filled her glass and sat down on the ottoman opposite him.
‘Sounds serious,’ he said.
Jill took a mouthful of wine. It brought colour to her cheeks. She fell silent for a moment, then she looked up at him. ‘Did you hear about the woman they found in the warehouse in Chatswood today?’
‘I heard it on the news on the way over here.’
‘And the girl washed up at Woolwich Baths?’ She said in a quiet voice.
‘I remember reading something about it in the papers.’ He leant over and put his glass down on the coffee table. ‘Where are you going with all this? You’ve left the police.’
Jill took another mouthful of wine. ‘The two women are thought to be involved in this art fraud racket that’s been in all the papers and that everyone’s been talking about.’ Jill looked down at her hands and picked at her nails. ‘You remember, Nick Rimis?’
‘Of course I do. Funny you should mention him; he came to see me the other day about Kevin. He gave me his card and was asking all sorts of questions about my mother and the Blake sisters. He’s convinced Kevin had something to do with their deaths and told me if Tommy Dwyer hadn’t killed my mother, Kevin would have. I couldn’t believe he said that to me, after everything Kevin did for the elderly women in the street.’
‘Nick Rimis takes his cases seriously. I think in some way he holds himself responsible for those women’s deaths.’ She saw the puzzled look on his face.
‘So, he’s working on this art fraud business then?’
‘We’re working on it together.’
‘Together? What are you talking about?’
‘I was assigned to a special task force to help with the investigation because of my art background.’ Jill looked at him. ‘I haven’t resigned from the service.’
William got to his feet. ‘What the hell are you talking about?’ There was anger in his voice.
‘I haven’t resigned. I was working at the Dunworth as an undercover operative.’
‘Are you serious?’
She stood up from the ottoman. ‘I had to immerse myself completely in the assignment and convince everyone that I was the assistant director of the Meghan Dunworth Gallery. Not even Bea Travers knew.’
Silence.
William looked at her. Frown lines appeared on his forehead. ‘I hope you find whoever killed those two women.’ He stood and put his empty glass down on the coffee table. ‘And thanks for the wine. You’ll understand if I don’t take you to dinner. I’ve lost my appetite.’
Jill stared at him. No, she didn’t understand why he had changed his mind about taking her to dinner. During the investigation into his mother’s murder, Jill had learnt that Rose Phillips had lied to him about who his father was and that his birth mother had given him up to Rose Phillips to raise. Perhaps that was why he was so sensitive to any form of deception.
Jill leaned on the balustrade and watched him leave. She wanted to run after him but she knew she should let him go.
‘Good luck saving the world,’ he called out on his way down the stairs. She expected him to turn around, to apologise, and to tell her he had been caught off guard, but he didn’t look back. She listened to his footsteps as they thumped down the stairs. The last sound she heard was the shudder of glass in the lobby door.
Jill walked back into her apartment and dropped onto the sofa. She picked up the bottle of wine and refilled her glass to the brim. She thought about phoning Rimis for a reason she didn’t quite understand, but decided against it. What would he say to her? He had told her William Phillips was bad news from the start, and he had been right. She should have listened to him and left William alone. She emptied her third glass of wine and knew if she didn’t find some balance in her life, she would end up like Rimis.
It could have been the alcohol or the maudlin state she was in, but she couldn’t stop herself from thinking about her father. He was the most decent and kind-hearted man she had ever known. Morrissey’s description didn’t match the memory she had of him. Morrisey said her father had been hot-headed, had a quick temper. She remembered his outbursts, but she had been a difficult teenager, hadn’t she?
She poured herself another glass of wine and knew she needed more than ever to understand what happened four years ago in Lakemba. She staggered to the bookcase and picked up the photo of her parents on their wedding day. They looked so right together, but she knew the timing had always been wrong for the Brennans.