Blood Guilt. Lindy Cameron

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СКАЧАТЬ her services with just a phone number but realised that not all her clients would be happy meeting in the local pub or the Botanic Gardens. Whenever possible though, Kit offered to meet clients on their own turf, or at least neutral ground. She was certain, for instance, that Celia Robinson would never have paid such a large advance had she met with Kit beside a dying philodendron instead of a naked Greek hero.

      Kit dumped a couple of books on the piles of paper scattered on her desk to anchor them before turning on the ceiling fan. It never cooled the room down but at least it moved the hot, sticky air around, albeit in hot, sticky lumps. She kicked off her sandals, hung up the collection of wrinkles that had once been the jacket of her light-weight suit and opened the connecting door to the front office. Aurora Press was deserted. They were probably still at lunch. After all, it was only 3 p.m.

      Kit flicked the switch on the decrepit air-conditioning unit, grabbed a Coke from the fridge and dragged a chair into the doorway to try and get some relief from the heat. Putting her feet up on what was usually the clients' side of her desk she opened the file on Geoffrey Robinson.

      The photograph of the man in question was a black and white glossy taken, according to the details on the back, three months before in the Orlando House board room in St Kilda Road. Geoffrey Robinson stood casually, one hand in a pocket of his immaculately-tailored dark suit, by a floor-to-ceiling window with commanding views of the city. A broad-shouldered man, large but obviously fit, he wore his hair in a sort of dry Wall Street look, combed back with precision to make a feature out of his receding hairline. His eyes revealed absolutely nothing though his lipless mouth was spread in what for him possibly constituted a smile. His nose was neither big nor small but his ears should have been pinned back from birth as they gave his face the overall appearance of a fruit bat, though he was nowhere near as cute.

      Kit picked up the first page of computer print-out prepared by the bloodless Byron. It was headed 'Week One', which began the next day with an afternoon of social tennis with friends in Brighton. This was marked with an asterisk which meant Geoffrey would be in the company of his wife, though try as she might Kit could not imagine Celia Robinson playing anything more energetic than bridge. Geoffrey's next appointment, at 7.30 p.m. and underlined in red, was dinner at his club in Collins Street.

      What he did afterwards would perhaps reveal what Celia had called 'the mystery' as this was obviously where Kit was expected to start. Despite Celia's misgivings about hiring a PI to hang around in dark doorways that was probably what Kit would have to do. Even her best sequined gown would not get her into The Patrician, one of the few remaining bastions of male exclusivity in Melbourne - if you didn't count leather bars like The Rod and Sergeant York's.

      Sunday, the whole day thank god, was marked with an asterisk so regular surveillance would be on hold till Monday evening when Geoffrey was due to dine out with Miles Denning, William Zaber, Marjorie Finlay, Greg Fulton and others at The Stone Garden from 8 p.m. Tuesday he had set aside three hours for lunch with one Ian Dalkeith and the evening from 7 p.m. onwards, though containing no appointments, had been circled in red and highlighted with a question mark beside the word Patrician. Wednesday was a busy day: there was lunch with Marjorie Finlay and Miles Denning; an unexplained appointment out of the office scheduled for 6 p.m.; and another night subtly circled in red and queried by Celia's meticulous personal secretary. Thursday involved yet another luncheon appointment, this time with a person or persons unknown, and some sort of publishing industry do at the Hilton from 8 p.m. An asterisked notation beside the last appointment indicated that Celia would also be attending the function but only from 8 until 10.30. That was it for the first week. That was enough, even with an advance on payment for services rendered.

      Kit ignored Week Two and turned to the page which listed Geoffrey Robinson's friends and associates. Miles Denning, as Kit already knew, was OHP's publisher; William Zaber was managing director of Zaber Ink, one of the largest advertising agencies in Victoria; Greg Fulton was marketing director of OHP's overseas division based in London; Marjorie Finlay was Fulton's Australian counterpart; and Ian Dalkeith, whose name rang a bell, was a local property developer.

      Kit reached for the phone. It was time to ring Lillian and find out how her mother had gotten her into all of this. The number was engaged, as usual. She waited a couple of minutes then hit the redial button. There was no ringing tone but she heard her mother muttering on the other end of the line.

      'Mum? You must have been sitting on the phone.'

       'What? Who's that?'

      'It's me. How many women do you know who call you Mum?'

       'Oh Katherine. The phone didn't ring. I was picking it up to call someone. You could have been anybody.'

      'I suppose so Mum. Well, seeing you're obviously home can I come over for a coffee?'

       'No darling. I'm leaving in half an hour.'

      'Where are you going?'

       'Adelaide. Connie and I decided we needed a couple of weeks of R & R.'

      'What on earth do you and Constance need a rest from?' Kit laughed.

       'Very amusing Katherine. We just feel it's time we gave some more of our money away to the casino. Is that all right?'

      'We've got our own casino in Melbourne now Mum. Why do you need to go all the way to South Australia?'

      'It's a holiday darling. The casino is just a bonus. I promise I won't lose all your inheritance, if that's what you're worried about.'

      'It's not the casino that's running down the value of my inheritance, Mum, it's the speeding fines you get every time you drive over there. They'll take your licence away if you lose any more points you know.'

      'That's why we're flying this time, we - oh...' There was silence for a few seconds and Kit could picture her mother pushing a few strands of her slowly greying honey-blonde hair behind one ear while being totally distracted by a pot plant growing or a sparrow farting on her windowsill.

      'Mum? Hello?'

       'Did you want anything in particular Katherine or have you just run out of coffee at your place?'

      'Well, actually I wanted to ask you about Celia Robinson.'

       'Who?'

      'Celia Robinson. She says she went to school with you Mum. Short, round, outrageous hair, lots of money. You know, Celia Robinson.'

       'Oh you mean Chel Everton. Haven't seen her for ages. I didn't know you knew her darling.'

      'I didn't until today. She's given me some work. She said she got my name from you. So what gives?'

       'Oh isn't that nice dear. Well now that I think about it, I did bump into her about six months ago. We were both having a massage at Juno's and had lunch together afterwards. I'd totally forgotten about that. That's not like me.'

      Kit choked back a laugh. 'So what did you talk about? I mean how did I come up in conversation?'

       'What a silly question Katherine. Do you think I'm completely oblivious to your existence when you're not standing right in front of me to remind me of where you came from?'

      'No, of course not Mum. I didn't mean that,' Kit said. Sometimes I wonder though, she thought.

       'Besides СКАЧАТЬ