Helen arrived back home. Chance was at daycare, so she was alone. Her injured cheek throbbed with pain. The heavy make-up she’d applied to hide the bruising was coming off, as the hot morning made her sweat. It revealed her face, purple and swollen. Confused and unsure, she went into the office, to e-mail Jason. They needed to get their stories straight. But when she got in there she remembered the computers had all been taken away by the police. She couldn’t phone or text him. When she’d tried to earlier, his ring tone sounded from behind the printer on Mark’s desk, where he’d accidentally left his mobile. Thank goodness she had found it before the police did.
The doorbell rang. Maybe it was Jason? Helen opened the door hopefully, to find Steven Gray, Mark’s senior partner, standing there. He introduced himself, all the while staring rudely at the young woman’s battered face. Helen blushed, although it was not noticeable through the bruising. She invited him into the living room, suddenly wishing she was wearing something more appropriate than a skimpy sundress.
Firstly, Mr. Gray extended his and the firm’s deepest condolences for her loss. Next he sought her agreement to allow the discreet reversal of the fraudulent transactions, thereby avoiding a scandal and allowing the firm to protect its reputation. Helen provided Mr. Gray with the necessary security codes out of the safe; the same ones she’d given to Jason twenty-four hours earlier. He explained to the relieved young woman that the police were willing to curtail their investigations in the light of Mark’s death, and providing that the funds were returned. Mr. Gray even told Helen that the firm intended to deposit a generous sum of money into her account in thanks for her cooperation, and to help with funeral and other testamentary expenses. Helen was very grateful. As he rose to leave, Mr. Gray gave her a comforting embrace. His arms lingered a little too long around her bare shoulders. She pulled free and hurriedly went to open the front door to see him out.
Helen was disgusted, not with Mr. Gray, but with herself. What sort of a person was she? With a flash of insight it occurred to her that her whole life she had depended on men to fulfil her needs. Be it happiness, or security, or status, or money or even revenge – couldn’t she do anything for herself? Her dependent plans always backfired anyway. After all, where were the men in her life now? Where was her father? Where was Mark? Where was Jason? Where was Konrad?
Konrad! She realised that she had heard nothing from her old friend since yesterday. Helen tried to phone him, but only succeeded in reaching his message bank. Impatient to talk to him, she jumped in her car and drove to his address, an old housing commission apartment block. She climbed a short flight of stairs and stood knocking at his weathered front door. A voice from above sung out. Helen looked up to see an elderly woman peering down from an upper balcony.
“That’ll do you no good Luv. He packed up and left last night.”
“I don’t understand?” stammered Helen.
“Said he’d come into a bit of money, and wanted to visit his daughter in Sydney. Didn’t even leave a forwarding address, and me and him’ve been friends for years. You never can tell about people, can you?”
“No,” sighed Helen. “You never can tell.”