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A young lad came along on a bike. ‘Hey, son. Want to make a couple of pennies?’ she asked him.

‘Yeah?’

‘Take this into that pub and deliver it.’

‘That’s all?’

‘One penny now and another when you’ve done it. I’ll be watching.’

‘Why don’t you do it?’

‘Because I’m grieving. Can’t you see I’m dressed in black? Someone has died and I need to let people know. Now will you do it?’

‘Where’s my penny?’

She gave him the copper and her note. ‘Off you go. I’ll be around the corner.’

‘Who do I give it to?’

‘Anyone behind the pub counter, but make sure they know it has to be handed to this man.’ She pointed to the envelope. ‘His name is Tom Catchlove. Can you repeat that to me?’ As he did, she nodded firmly. ‘Good. I’ll be waiting.’

Tom sat on the edge of his bed staring at the floorboards, watching a tiny spider wend its way towards him. What was it searching for? A mate? Food? A good place to set up a web? He pondered this, knowing it was simply a distraction from the words he’d just read. They were like a tornado of blades, each whirring up from the paper to draw blood as it struck home.

The letter sounded like Fleur and yet it was perhaps clumsier than he’d imagined she might be with a pen. However, he acknowledged that anyone shocked from the loss of a loved one rarely sounded normal.

The words felt like sandpaper against his mind as he played them through again to the final jagged cut of her letter, which, after the other small cuts, was too deep for him to stem the flow. Pregnant. Jimmy Coglin’s child. Fleur had slept with Jimmy and then ruthlessly slept with him as a way of forgiving herself and indeed giving herself a different future.

It was as though he was watching a film of their night together, remembering the caresses, the smoothness beneath his calloused fingers of her pale skin that never saw the sun. The silken and erotic touch of her hair on his tanned chest like a feather as she moved above him. He wanted to watch her face contorting beautifully in the pleasure he was bringing to her, believing it was an indulgence she hadn’t felt in a long time, or perhaps ever. But it seemed she had. Or had Jimmy raped her? No, the repercussions of any violence against her would have been swift.

Slowly he paced, got his body moving; he could no longer be still and helpless. She was letting him down kindly, feeling the weight of responsibility from her actions and now her father’s death. She had all but pleaded with him to leave her life. If he loved her, then he would do as she wanted.

He tried to find reason to go against that creed but no worthy rationale came up to challenge the fact. While she wanted him in her life, life was not going to let her have him. He did not want to raise Jimmy Coglin’s baby. He’d end up like his father . . . raising another man’s child because he loved the mother. There was too much potential to resent its presence and blame the child for intrusion, rather than Fleur.

Suddenly everything felt hopeless and pointless. Coming to Adelaide had been a mistake. He had run away from Farina, hoping to escape the emotional upheavals but all he’d done was add more to the rollercoaster.

And so, yes, he would go. He couldn’t imagine ever getting over losing Fleur, because she’d been that unreachable treasure for most of his life, and just when that treasure was glittering in his hands, someone else was snatching it away. But this was her choice and he needed to respect her wishes or he would be compromising his own view of life. He would leave, and he would learn how to keep Fleur locked away in a private place.

He couldn’t help dwelling on her loss. Her father’s death would crush her for a while, and Tom began to wonder whether the foul play that Fleur suspected had indeed taken place. He wished that he could do something to help before he left.

Curiously, it was his own father’s voice that arrived now. ‘Always a solution, son. No problem is impossible to solve, but it will usually mean a bit of haggling.’

Tom smiled, recalling his father’s laughter. He’d slapped Tom on the back as he’d given this pearl of wisdom. ‘Life is all about bargaining, lad. You give some, you lose some. Sometimes you have the edge, other times someone else does. Look for the edge.’

The edge. Where was the edge in this scenario? Tom rolled it over in his mind. He had believed Fleur when she said that Irma had had a plan for Henry. It may not have involved killing him, but Tom suspected Irma wouldn’t be mourning him hard. She would have been left a wealthy woman, going by what Fleur had said, and her plans to marry off Fleur to someone who could control her in the business was inspired. Dark, but inspired. He recalled Fleur telling him how Irma had spat on the photo of Mae Appleby so openly and with such glee, and that Irma had deliberately not passed on the message that he had been found in hospital. If he believed Fleur, then Irma was working against her in every way possible, and that included letting the Coglins know where Tom was staying. She may not have ordered the beating – he couldn’t see how that served her interests, unless she thought it might scare him away from Fleur. Even so, she probably would not have discouraged Jimmy’s anger. Did she know about Fleur’s pregnancy? Maybe that was why she wanted any new men out of the way . . . It likely suited Irma’s plans for Fleur to be helplessly bound to Jimmy through a baby. Maybe Jimmy was the answer.

The more Tom wrestled with this notion, the more it made sense that he needed to try to make a difference to Fleur’s dilemma. An idea took form, and it seemed to be the edge that his father had referred to.

Well, he would use that edge now; it would be a farewell from him to Fleur. Tom swallowed two of the tablets he’d been given and pulled on his jacket. He knew what he had to do.

23

Fleur opened the door to the policemen. ‘Miss Appleby?’ There were two of them. Both removed their hats.

She nodded. ‘Yes. Thank you for coming.’

‘I’m Detective Inspector Peter Green from the CIB, and this is DC Bowers.’ His partner nodded behind him. They wore dark suits with neatly knotted ties, both holding out their warrants for her to view. ‘I was told there has been a suspicious death?’ Green said, glancing up the stairs.

‘Yes. My father.’