Mr Bates of the pub visits was in hospital. He’d had a stoke during the night and was found in the morning by the housekeeper who had called the ambulance straight away. But the news was not good.
‘How old is he?’ Neil asked when Jeanie told him.
‘Eighty-three,’ she said, absently. She was looking at his notes to see if anything else needed to be done. ‘He has a younger brother. Maybe I should ring him.’
‘Well beyond his allotted,’ Neil said.
‘Pardon?’ Jeanie was in the process of dialling the brother’s number in Wellington.
‘Pay attention, Beth Rhodes. I said, he’s already well beyond his allotted years. Men: it’s about seventy-eight. A little fact you should keep in mind.’
Jeanie stared at him stupidly as she paid attention to the telephone. ‘Oh, Mr Bates? This is Beth Rhodes of PeopleCare. I have some bad news. Your brother Alfred is in hospital. He’s just had a stroke. I’m sorry to have to ring you up like this.’
She came off the phone frowning. ‘How can people be so unfeeling? I’ve heard so much from our Mr Bates about this younger brother of his and he was barely interested. He said he’d send flowers. Honestly!’
‘What’s wrong with that? More than most,’ Neil said. ‘Look, it really doesn’t do you any good to get emotional about this business. Just stay calm and do your job, okay?’
Mrs Hanson had discussed the PeopleCare agreement with her lawyer who had advised against it. But, independent old biddy that she was, she signed anyway and gave the form to Jeanie when she arrived at their meeting.
‘And Betty tells me we’re going on outings each week,’ Mrs Hanson said. ‘I think that’s wonderful. When is our first one?’
‘It might be as early as next week,’ Jeanie said. It certainly felt good to make someone happy. She had a brief memory flash of how impossible it had been to make Pete happy. A hugely important aspect of anyone’s life, to be able to make someone feel good, even for an instant. She smiled at Mrs Hanson and felt a wave of warmth course through her entire being. A life-is-worth-living sort of feeling.
Her elation lasted even when she realized she had forgotten to tell Neil about the planned outings. Still, the Hanson agreement would sweeten the pot when she did tell him – a little swell of determination passed through her – or didn’t tell him. Maybe not quite yet. Maybe he didn’t need to know about the mini-van until they were a bit more committed. This was a service they should be offering and she could predict that Neil would think it a bit too creative – and, she could hear him say, any new thing always hit the cash flow. Maybe she could spin it a little to say it was the promise of outings that swung the balance to bring Mrs Hanson on board. If she needed to.
When Jeanie opened the front door at home, she paused. Somehow, the house had a palpable and uncomfortable atmosphere.
‘Anyone here?’ she called out. ‘Kitty? Are you home?’ Silence. She cautiously walked along the hallway and went into each room one by one. All was quiet. Everything was as she had left it that morning. She rubbed the goose bumps on her arms. Had she heard something? Seen something? She shook her head and told herself she had an overactive imagination. Living alone. She wasn’t used to it. Other than in the caravan in Australia, she hadn’t lived by herself, ever. She wandered around the house, closing up early. She couldn’t help herself looking under every bed and within each wardrobe. Nobody. She turned on the television – loudly – and tried to concentrate on it while grabbing a bite to eat before her planned visit to Mr Bates in hospital.
In the ward that evening, Jeanie met the young student who accompanied Mr Bates to the pub each day. Mr Bates was sleeping and looking pale, barely breathing. They were only allowed ten minutes and the nurse was grave when they asked about his condition.
‘He’s had another stroke,’ she said. ‘But I believe strongly in the healing presence of friends and relatives.’ She picked up his hand and stroked it. ‘Don’t I, Mr Bates?’ She turned to them. ‘And touch. It’s comforting and probably healing in itself.’
Jeanie smiled at her and picked up Mr Bates’ other hand. ‘You must rally, Mr Bates,’ she said softly. ‘Young Lionel here is waiting for your next visit to the pub.’ She glanced over to the young man.
‘Yeah, Mr Bates,’ he said gamely. ‘I like listening to your stories of the old days. Living history.’ She nodded at him. He cleared his throat. ‘I’ll tell you a story, Mr Bates.’ He proceeded to tell a long-winded story about fishing with his grandfather in England. They retired to an ancient pub with crooked windows and fishing trophies all over the walls every day after fishing. ‘I’ll show you the photos when you’re better,’ he said.
They left the hospital together. Jeanie thanked the young man for his story and for turning up at the hospital. Lionel was a find.
‘I like the old guy,’ he said. ‘He does remind me of my grandfather. And he likes fishing stories. Especially ones that end at the pub.’ He smiled at Jeanie. ‘I know Mr Bates used to be a keen fisherman in those streams that empty into Lake Taupo.’
Mr Bates died peacefully in his sleep that night.
When Jeanie arrived at the office, Neil was ringing real estate agents.
‘So soon? I thought it took months before probate and all that sort of stuff,’ she asked.
He grinned at her. ‘The beauty of our system is that we own that house. We had an agreement with him about what we do with the money it raises, but it’s nothing to do with his will. He made a “memorandum of wishes” that’s lodged within our trust. And that means we calculate all our costs, take off our slice from the total of what it cost us in the first place, then send the remainder to his heirs. The ones he mentions in his memorandum.’
‘The brother?’
‘Yup. In this case.’
‘What about all his bits and pieces? His furniture, his knick-knacks?’
‘We store everything until the will is probated. Then it’s the brother’s problem. I’ve already got a truck going over this afternoon to clear everything out. Actually, I’d like you to be there to supervise. And we have a mini-storage place where everything will sit until the will clears it.’
‘Fine,’ Jeanie said. She would make sure it all was packed up properly. ‘A storage place is a good idea.’
‘Necessary expense. Don’t want anyone saying we stole anything. You’ll have to go over the lists. The moving people are supposed to do it, but make sure they’re accurate, okay?’
‘Will do,’ Jeanie said. ‘I’ll give the brother a call right now and explain it all.’
The brother was silent for a second when Jeanie told him about Mr Bates’ death, then asked, ‘How much do I get? After you people take your share?’
‘I’ll have Mr Fulton send you the details, Mr Bates,’ she said, hearing the coldness in her voice.
After she hung up, Neil said, ‘Keep it cool, Beth. It doesn’t matter how the relatives react. Not at all. Just stay detached, okay?’ He had pulled apart the file and made several piles on the front desk. He was calm, bland even. ‘You’ve been in the house, of course. Tell me about it.’
‘Small villa. Maybe bigger than I think because there are stairs down to what may well be another floor. It’s on the top of a ridge – there’s not much of a front garden – but way down behind the house is a large undeveloped back garden sloping downhill. I guess you’d be able to step outside there from that floor below. The main part of the house is quite dark inside, like a lot of those old villas which face the road instead of the sun. The furniture is heavy, Edwardian, I guess. Old anyway.’ Neil grimaced.
‘Kitchen? Bathroom?’
‘Definitely not modernized. Fifties décor, I would say. Terrazzo bench tops, enamelled sink, that sort of thing.’
‘Bit of money to be spent then. I’ll get the builder out tomorrow when the place is cleared.’ He pulled one piece of paper from the biggest pile. ‘The only positive thing is we picked up his place five years ago and the market did wonders for a few years before it steadied. He was a bit expensive, your Mr Bates, with his pub visits and cleaners and lawn man, but we’ll do alright on this one even with the expenses of modernizing.’
When Jeanie arrived at the house, she rang young Lionel to tell him about Mr Bates’ death. He said he would come over.
‘I hope you don’t mind, but I wanted to come because he said he’d give me some things. Would it be alright to take them?’ he asked when he arrived.
‘Oh, Lionel, I really don’t think so,’ Jeanie said with genuine regret. ‘We have to be so above board about everything. I’m afraid it all belongs to the estate now.’
The young man looked crestfallen. ‘It’s just his old fishing equipment. He made it all himself, you know. The rods, I mean, and the lures.’ He led the way down the stairs from the hallway to a floor Jeanie had only guessed was there. It consisted of several large airy rooms with big windows facing north. The fishing apparatus was in a corner.
‘See?’ Lionel said as he picked up one rod. ‘Look how he’s made the rings out of safety pins. And bound them with linen thread.’
She touched the largest ring. It was beautifully crafted. ‘I’ve been in contact with the brother who inherits it all,’ she explained. ‘What if I ring him again and ask about the rods? If he’s no fisherman, he’ll most likely junk them.’
They wandered through the house seeing what needed doing. Jeanie took the sheets from the bed and put them through the machine, folding the duvet and blankets neatly. She pulled everything from the drawers and placed them into piles. Lionel emptied the refrigerator and the shelves of food and she told him he could take what he wanted of the perishables.
Jeanie rang the brother when they had finished. ‘I’m in the house now, Mr Bates. All the furniture is about to go into storage until you want it.’
‘Storage? No thanks. Horrid old stuff from my grandparent’s day. That place was theirs, you know. Alf inherited it, thank goodness, not me. And he never did a thing to the property. Far as I’m concerned the old guy lived in a slum. Get rid of the lot and I’ll be thankful for it.’ He paused. ‘I’d be grateful if you just let me know when my share of the cash is coming. To be blunt, the rest can go to the tip.’
Jeanie was nonplussed. ‘If I find photos?’ she asked. ‘Personal things?’
‘Dump them,’ he said. ‘I know what he had and there’s nothing I want. Nothing. Do what you will with it. Please. You’ll be doing me a favour.’
Jeanie finally got the message that this man’s life was very separate and different from his older brother. ‘So you mean you want nothing?’
‘Nothing.’
‘Then you are willing to just give it away? I think it’s….’
He made a noise that could have been a laugh. ‘Take it. Do what you want. It’s only old rubbish.’
‘I think it’s, well, not lovely, but interesting. I, for one, would love it. But what about his paintings and vases and … maybe there’s some silver? Valuable things?’ Jeanie petered out. This was a household. Full of things, mostly old.
The voice at the other end sighed. ‘There’s nothing valuable, believe me. It’s mostly junk and old junk at that. If you want any of it, take it. The lot. Otherwise throw it all out.’
‘Could you please drop me a note to that effect, Mr Bates? I would hate to think there could be a misunderstanding sometime later.’ She was aware her voice was a bit stiff, formal even.
‘Hang on,’ he said. Jeanie could clearly hear his instructions to a secretary to write a disclaimer. ‘Where do you want it sent?’
She was all set to have it posted to PeopleCare, when she realized that Neil would see this as a problem. She provided Beth Rhodes’ name and Kitty’s address.
‘You’ll get the note tomorrow. Thanks, I really appreciate that you’re taking care of this for me,’ he said to her surprise.
Lionel went off with a back seat covered with boxes of food and his boot full of historic fishing gear and a giant mounted trout that had been displayed above Mr Bates’ doorway. Jeanie told the movers to send the bill to herself, not PeopleCare. She called Neil and told him about the brother’s decision and he was relieved.
‘You gotta pay for the storage personally, you understand? Until probate.’
‘Of course. I knew that, Neil.’ The furniture was now as good as hers. Maybe she could take a furniture restoration night class. Jeanie couldn’t keep a grin off her face. Furniture, the first step to being independent.
The movers efficiently packed everything and soon she was standing in the empty house. All was quiet and dust motes danced in the sunbeams slanting through the windows highlighting the threadbare floral carpet. Sad. She had a last series of thoughts about Mr Bates as she locked up.
Mrs Johns’ outing was for Thursday. Lionel was to drive the rented mini-van and by the time all were on board, Jeanie was joined by five old ladies. They were headed for a clothing shop Jeanie had found which catered for their age group. The day was fine and Jeanie listened to an excited hubbub coming from the body of the van. She congratulated herself on following through with this idea.
Once in the shop, Mrs Hanson was in seventh heaven. Although several of the women thought the prices unbelievably high and were content to replenish only stockings and underwear, she chose three new outfits. She had Jeanie and Mrs Johns trotting back and forth from the changing rooms with armloads of clothes. In turn she was enthusiastic about a new frock Mrs Johns tried on and decided to buy. One of the other ladies bought a warm padded winter coat. She suggested and Jeanie insisted she also get matching gloves, scarf and hat.
‘This has been wonderful,’ Mrs Johns said to Jeanie when she was dropped off. ‘Thank you, my dear.’ She lowered her voice. ‘Just keep your eye on Ellie, though; she always was a spendthrift.’
Jeanie walked through the front door to the phone ringing.
‘How are things?’ Fred’s voice boomed out of the ear piece.
‘Pretty good, I would say,’ she replied. ‘I’m still really enjoying my job, in spite of losing one of my favourites this week. Stroke. But that’s part of working with the very old, I guess.’
‘Understandable. I don’t think I could do it myself,’ Fred said. ‘Did you find out anything interesting about your friend Neil?’
‘A bit.’ She filled him in on the partnership agreement she had found in the bottom drawer of Neil’s filing cabinet.
Fred whistled. ‘Only twenty percent of the business, and a gift at that. No wonder he needs to keep an eye on you. Just be really quiet, Jeanie. And have eyes in the back of your head.’
‘I will,’ she said.
‘I have bad feelings about this guy. He’s on the make, for sure,’ Fred said. ‘I wish I felt just a bit more confident that you’ll be alright. You obviously like the job and I’m sure you’re good at it but if you’re in any danger, you’ll have to get out.’
‘I do like it and I am good at it, I think. Yeah, I’ll get out if I think things are out of control. Don’t fuss, Fred.’
He sighed. ‘I’m thinking of you, just remember that.’
‘I told you not to worry, old friend. Anyway, how are things with you?’
He then started talking about Mai. How lovely she was, her wonderful mothering skills, her enthusiasm for Australia and how attractive she was. On and on. At one point, Jeanie held the receiver out to give her ear a rest.
‘I always thought Luella was pretty, but Mai is truly beautiful. Tall and willowy and so very graceful.’
‘Sounds like you like her,’ Jeanie said dryly.
‘And, would you believe, she likes me. She really does. We have the same sense of humour. We watch silly DVDs to all hours of the night, just laughing and talking. I couldn’t wait to tell you,’ he said.
‘That’s great,’ she said limply.
‘There’s something I was going to ask. Now, don’t read more into this than there is,’ he said. ‘But are you happy living with Kitty?’
Jeanie hesitated. What was he getting at? ‘Yes, of course. She’s away right now, but will be back on Sunday. Why?’
‘Oh, nothing. Just checking.’
And Jeanie knew. Suddenly and completely. Fred was in love. With Mai.
After extracting a bit of information about the banking problem – he said it was coming together – and the land deal – he thought there was a bit of hope there – she rang off.
Fred.
Her wonderful friend.
Shit, shit, shit. The end of an era.
She couldn’t eat the dinner she had prepared. The first bite hit her stomach and became a dead weight.
Fred.
What on earth did she expect? He was an attractive man. And years younger than she was. Years and years. Surely she hadn’t harboured hopes that something would come of their friendship? No, never. Well, almost never. And very inappropriate, she reminded herself.
So why couldn’t she just be happy for him? He had found someone else. No. He had found someone – no “else” about it. She had never been in the radar. And that was just good. Plain good. So why was she so upset? Jealous. Oh, gawd, she thought, I’m bloody jealous.
She survived the next day by ignoring the paper work and being on the road dashing from one client to the next keeping herself occupied with the minutiae of life for the elderly. She realized from time to time that she was angry. Certainly not at Fred, but at herself. Somehow she’d let herself fall into this situation with no conscious idea that it was happening.
The day was sunny, even a bit warm in sheltered spots. She grabbed a sandwich and a fruit drink for lunch and headed for a parking spot where she could look down over the mighty Waikato River. A deserted spot made for contemplation.
Fred had provided so much for her on her arrival into New Zealand. Like an angel who appeared when needed, he had folded her into his wings and allowed her time to heal without worrying about the necessities of life. But it was a fool’s paradise. Of necessity temporary. Eventually she would have to identify and deal to her own demons, and that time appeared to be now – the time to stand by herself and realize the potential of that long-ago Jeanie. This was her future, not Fred’s, and maybe that meant dismissing the idea of his language school. The thought left her breathless. But as she swept the crumbs off her lap and tidied the sandwich wrappings, she felt taller and stronger than when she had driven up there.
Later that day and almost without thinking, she again unlocked the back door after Neil had closed it for the night. Nothing was going to get past her again. Look out, world, she was now awake. And life was going to go her way. She was more than ready for another snoop. She returned late that night and went into Neil’s office which faced the back garden, turning the lights on. It was stuffy, so she opened the window. Not wide because heavy clouds were massing above the rooftops.
She opened the bottom drawer where the interesting documents were kept including the agreement between Mindi and Neil with details of the finances at the time of their partnership. She spread the documents over Neil’s desk. Even she could understand them. All the money in the business came from Mindi. Every last penny. A copy of her divorce agreement was appended. The farm. She had sunk all her proceeds from the sale of the farm into PeopleCare. Her capital slowly dwindled over the initial two years until the first of her old people died. It must have been a thin time, Jeanie thought. And she must have met the awful Neil then when she was undoubtedly vulnerable. Lucky old Neil; the business was set to take off.
Jeanie lifted her head from the documents when she heard thunder. The storm had struck. Rain sounding as solid as pebbles rattled against the window followed by a sudden gust of wind. Documents scattered off the desk and distributed themselves over the floor. She leapt for the window before any more damage was done, slamming it shut and closing the blinds. Rain had already dampened the sill. She wiped her hands dry before gathering up the papers. She should have placed some, at least, of them under the paperweight on Neil’s desk; it was a heavy piece of granite rock, useful in precisely these circumstances. She bent to the task of replacing everything as it was.
Jeanie then turned her attention to the files of share transactions in the upper drawers. Neil charted everything. No computer lived in the office; he was careful to take his laptop home each and every night. Connection cables trailed from a printer sitting on the wing of his desk – a printer was necessary to produce the masses of printouts found in the files. Interestingly, he was in the habit of noting his thoughts and reactions in the margins. He had easily recognizable handwriting. The deals were all brokered by Bert, the lawyer. The expenses in this business might have been huge, but the income, when it came in, was more than huge. The first sale of a home wiped out all the debt and the business flourished from that moment on. Why did Mindi bring in a partner? And Neil in particular? Thinking with her hormones, she supposed.
Driving home, Jeanie suddenly became aware of a green car which seemed to be following her through several intersections. Was she being followed? More importantly, had she been observed? She broke out into a sweat. What should she do? As she saw the 24-hour supermarket coming into view, she veered off abruptly and parked in its lot. She scurried inside and picked up a few non-essentials. She paid with shaking hands and took her time before venturing back to her car. Not a green car in the parking lot. Those she could see under the yellowish lights illuminating the area anyway. Besides, who would want to follow her? Neil? No, he drove a fancy grey car; in comparison, this one was smaller and plainer. Definitely green, not grey.
Plain clothed police? Her heartbeat soared. What about immigration authorities? Could they be onto her? She told herself not to be paranoid, clutched her unwanted groceries and headed to the car as fast as she could. Once inside with the doors locked, she circled the parking lot twice before leaving the back way. A minute later, she thought she spotted the green car once more, about three cars back and dread flooded her being once again.
She gripped the wheel while telling herself not to panic. She just needed to get inside the house and make sure it was all locked up tight. Not far. Her eyes more on the green car than where she was going, she swooped into the drive and dove for the front door, fumbling for the keys. The dog next door barked furiously. She glanced at the road as she closed the door and locked it. She moved to the lounge window and peered out. A car drove slowly down the street. As it passed under a street lamp, she saw it was green. Was it the same car? As it passed, the driver was facing forward without a glance in her direction. She tried to laugh it off, but failed miserably.
She gripped the closed sitting room curtains, her heart beating wildly. The dog stopped barking and did his usual sneeze. All was still and finally, finally, her heart slowed, mostly due to being safely back in Kitty’s little house. But she was left with cold reality: someone had been following her – the next logical thought occurred to her: whoever it was now knew where she lived.
Stupid, stupid, stupid!
She locked the doors with their security chains. She checked all windows – twice – and pulled the curtains tight before putting on the lights. She told herself she was being paranoid yet again. Who would want to follow her? Government authorities? But, her logical mind asserted, they would be more open. The police?
She started to shake, thoughts of how no one, not the police, not a judge and certainly not a jury could ever understand why she had killed Pete. She paced around the little house, thoughts whirling. Bedtime came and went with no respite. Later she poured herself a deep, hot bath, filling the bathroom with scented steam. After locking herself into the bathroom and keeping her cell phone on for once, she eased herself down into the water and brought to mind her old remedy for distress: that calm inducing vision of horses and paddocks and slanted yellow sunlight.
While the water changed from too hot to a comfortable warmth, she slowly lost the edge off the fear. But that allowed the ending of her life with Fred to well up again. Did he pull away when he found out about Pete? Fred had been such a loving friend. But things did change. She swished the water over her shoulders, now needing the warmth. Maybe she should just concentrate on what he had given her: a healing space, crucial time for her to catch her breath and become ready to move on. Just as he was moving on now. With all their talk of the future, her life with Fred had come to represent hope, something that had been missing in her life for decades. Never hope about being together; that was trivial. He had re-established hope in general. Hope. Such a small word, and so vital.
A new thought occurred to her. Did she provide something for him as well? Freeing him up so he could notice Mai when he met up with her again? The more she thought about it, the more Jeanie realized she must have contributed something vital for Fred in return. A release, maybe, from the bounds of the past? Jeanie felt a warm glow from deep within her being. She slid further into the warm water, relaxed for the first time that day. Dear Fred. She knew that just because he had a new relationship didn’t mean the end of their friendship, just that it would now be different. The end of an era and that part was sad, very sad. Surely she was allowed to grieve for that.