 
ANDREA'S

Secret

By the same author:

Satan's Little Helper

Hiroshima Sunset

Saints and Relics

Andrea's

Secret

John Kelly

Published by: John B Kelly

51 Roy Street, Donvale 3111 Victoria Australia

Email: aquinine@optusnet.com.au

This book is a work of fiction. The characters and incidents portrayed are the product of the author's imagination and are not real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons or real organisations similar in name and description, is purely coincidental.

First published in 2006

Copyright © 2006 by John B Kelly

Smashwords Edition 1.0

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner, without the written permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations contained in critical articles or reviews.

The National Library of Australia Cataloguing-in-Publication data:

Kelly, John Bernard, 1945- .

Andrea's secret.

ISBN 0 646 45260 6.

A823.4

Cover design: 'Woman in Pastel' reproduced with the permission of the artist, Muriel Crabtree.

1.

1974

"Push Andrea push. It's coming. We're nearly there. It's nearly there, push, push!" It was Nurse Jenny Mahoney's first night in the labour ward and the excitement in her voice carried all the way down the corridor, reaching as far as the maternity reception desk. Two expectant fathers sat uncomfortably in the adjacent waiting room and looked at each other nervously, as the sound of Nurse Jenny Mahoney's excited squeals reached them. Inside the labour ward, Doctor Melissa Andrews grinned behind her face-mask, happy that things were going well and that, if nothing else, Nurse Mahoney was providing an amusing distraction, allowing her to concentrate on a successful delivery. Andrea Steedman, the subject of both their concerns was exhausted and her level of enthusiasm was not the same, as she grabbed hold of the oxygen mask for yet another gasp.

"I'm pushing, I'm pushing you stupid, stupid woman," she answered, her voice sharp, her eyes blazing with anxiety, and annoyed beyond comprehension at the perceived harassment.

"Excellent, excellent, we are nearly there," Jenny said, ignoring what she knew to be the natural expression of apprehension, the natural response of a woman about to give birth.

"You are doing wonderfully. This is so exciting. Aren't you thrilled? You are almost finished," Jenny's enthusiastic voice bellowed out again, aggravating Andrea beyond imagination. "Would someone take this person outside and shoot her?" Andrea cried out in desperation. Jenny burst out laughing. "Oh, you don't mean that," she chuckled. Doctor Andrews intervened. "You are doing well Andrea," Doctor Andrews said, thinking it was time to bring an element of qualified encouragement into the fray. "Another minute or two and it will all be over." Hearing the Doctor's voice was a welcome relief for Andrea who had endured three hours of labour pains and was quite ready to die rather than endure another minute. Having also to put up with the overly enthusiastic ravings of a labour ward junior was not helping. Nothing had quite prepared her for what she was now experiencing. No self-help text book she had read over the past few months, quite matched the moment now at hand.

"Okay Andrea, now give it your best push," Doctor Andrews said in a controlled, authoritative and reassuring tone. "This will be it, I promise." Gritting her teeth and with one almighty, sustained effort to thrust down all the muscles of the pelvic region, Andrea did as she was asked, and, moments later, to her delight and unbelievable relief, discovered that the Doctor was right.

It was 1974, the International Year of Women and in Australia, Ruth Dobson was appointed Ambassador to Denmark. She was the first woman ever to be appointed Australian ambassador to anywhere. In the same year, Olivia Newton John won two Grammy awards, a Sister of Mercy recorded a vocal version of 'The Lord's Prayer,' which sold more than two million copies. ABC television aired the landmark series 'Rush', and six school children and their teacher were kidnapped from their school at Farraday, in Victoria. People were earning more money, and spending freely, but rising world oil prices, sent inflation soaring into the teens. Unemployment rose sharply and suddenly optimism made way for insecurity. It was a year of great economic instability as a relatively new Labour Government, led by Gough Whitlam, seemed to threaten long standing conservative values. 'Advance Australia fair' replaced 'God Save the Queen' as the country's national anthem. The French and Chinese were conducting nuclear tests and Saturday mail deliveries came to an end. And on December 7th, the Queensland State Government under the premiership of Joh Bjelke-Petersen, won a thumping victory at the State elections. Earlier that year, Brisbane experienced the worst floods in eighty-one years, when six hundred millimetres fell, inundating the city. In some areas, in the ensuing floods, homes were swept away, and people drowned. But of all the events around Australia in that year, socially and politically, probably the least noticed, occurred in early December, at Princess Alexandra Hospital, in Brisbane, when a twenty-three year old woman from Melbourne, Andrea Steedman, gave birth to a girl, whom she called Mary Therese.

"It's a girl, it's a girl," Nurse Mahoney blurted out, unable to control her joy. "How wonderful! Isn't it wonderful?" she went on. Andrea let go the oxygen mask, released her iron grip on Mahoney's arm, dropped her head back onto the pillow and let out a deep long breath. Finally it was over. She had done it. Journey's end!

"Well done Andrea," Doctor Andrews said behind the mask. Suddenly a squeal echoed around the labour room walls, followed by a fully charged cry straight out of the lungs of a one minute old baby girl. Doctor Andrews handed the tiny frame over to Nurse Mahoney who ever so gently placed it into the arms of her mother.

"Isn't she beautiful," Mahoney gushed. Five minutes earlier, Andrea would quite happily have had this bubbly junior nurse lined up against a wall and vaporized. But that was five minutes ago. As she took her first look at the miracle that was this tiny bundle in her arms, all that animosity and anxiety faded away. "We must let your husband know," Mahoney said without thinking. "Is he outside?" Andrea looked up at Mahoney with a forlorn vacant expression. "There is no husband," she said. "Oh, I'm sorry, of course, I wasn't thinking. Is there someone we can call? Your mother or someone?" Andrea looked down again upon her baby daughter, and tears welled up in her eyes. "No, no mother either. Just Louise. Could you tell her? She's outside in the waiting room."

Mahoney looked across to Doctor Andrews who looked back and nodded. As Mahoney left the ward, Andrea kissed her baby on the forehead and her thoughts focused on the journey thus far, on where she had come from, to get to this point, and on the immediate future. Unmarried and alone in a strange city, she had achieved what she had set out to do. She had delivered her baby safely into the world without having to reveal her pregnancy to her mother. She had avoided what she perceived to be the shame of having to tell her family, and left open the various options that she had considered during her confinement. Having skilfully engineered herself into this position, she now faced an agonizing choice. She could return to Melbourne and reveal to her family, the real reason she had come here. Or, she could place her daughter up for adoption, and return to the comfort and security of her home in Melbourne, as if nothing had happened.

Andrea was no stranger to the idea of adoption. It was her birth mother's lustful folly to conceive her in a moment of unguarded passion, with an incredibly good looking and persuasive young man, who backed her up against the garden shed early one Sunday morning in the nineteen fifties. Her mother, she was told, chose to go to term with the resulting pregnancy and acknowledge that the baby was hers rather than succumb to the pressures of an image conscious family intent on disguising the baby's unwed parentage. But inevitably, social pressures brought to bear, and her mother gave her up for adoption when Andrea was three months old.

It was Elsie and Arthur Steedman, who chose to adopt her back in 1952. At that time they were parents to seven year old Richard, an intellectually disabled child and to both five-year-old Warwick, and three-year-old Margaret. Richard had become too difficult to care for adequately and had just been placed into institutional care at Elm Tree Cottages. Elsie had been advised by her doctor that it might be wise not to have any more children. Emotionally tortured with the pain of giving Richard up, she turned to adoption. Throughout Andrea's life that gave her cause for great joy. She had been chosen. The fact that her adoptive mother also had a habit of bringing home just about anything that strayed into her path from time to time did not bother her. It was not unusual for Elsie to bring home the odd cat or dog that needed a good meal; even a pet turtle that she later discovered had roamed from its rightful owner.

Andrea therefore had some experience when it came to adoption. Five years after she was adopted, and quite unplanned, Elsie gave birth to baby Robert. Then disaster struck. Robert was just two years old when his father Arthur, decided to go swimming in the river one warm Sunday morning. Arthur was seen by several people that morning as he swam up and down the river parallel to the bank and none noticed anything amiss. The coroner's report stated he drowned after suffering a heart attack. Elsie was suddenly a widow with four children to support. It was a shock that sent a shudder into the heart of each child, but Elsie endured out of sheer necessity making whatever sacrifices were necessary to raise her children.

For Andrea, the guilt of finding herself pregnant and facing the ordeal of telling her adoptive mother, weighed heavily on her mind. She never told the father of her baby daughter that she was pregnant. She knew from the beginning, that she would be on her own. It was at a point only four months into her pregnancy, and realizing that she was in exactly the same position as her birth mother, that she decided not to reveal her condition to Elsie, or any other member of the Steedman household. Demonstrating admirable inner courage, she decided to absent herself from her family in Melbourne. Confiding in her closest friend and work boss, Terri Carney at Flyworld Travel, a solution to the problem was found. Terri secured for Andrea a transfer offer to Flyworld's Brisbane office, classified as an internal lateral move, and the Brisbane office nominated one of their rising stars to take Andrea's place in Melbourne.

"They have free hospital care in Queensland," Terri told her. "You will be able to have the baby at hardly any cost. What do you think? Are you interested?" It didn't take long for Andrea to decide to accept the offer, and a few days later, when the arrangement was finalized, Andrea broke the news to Elsie.

"It will only be for eight or nine months," Andrea told her adoptive mother. "They are experiencing unprecedented growth up there. They are literally run off their feet up there. They need an experienced person to step in. Our office here is half a person overstaffed anyway, and they'll put on an apprentice to cover me," she fibbed.

"Where will you stay?" Elsie asked.

"The company will subsidize fifty per cent of my accommodation. I might be able to share a flat or something. They will put me up in a motel for two weeks at no charge to begin with." Andrea replied. All of this was true. Terri Carney had called in a few favours, and pulled a few strings to help her friend.

"I'll miss you so much," Elsie said. "Who will help me feed the cats and dogs, and the turtle?" she asked, resigning herself to the inevitable. "You should have returned the turtle years ago. You know where it came from. Serves you right," Andrea said with a chuckle.

The parting was a tearful one as mother and daughter embraced each other. Elsie was sad at losing her daughter albeit temporarily, but consoled herself somewhat in the belief that this was a good career move for her. Andrea was sad to be leaving her mother and siblings and the only home she knew. But her sadness was compounded by the deception that concealed the real reason for her departure. Nevertheless, with nothing more than a meagre suitcase containing pretty much everything she owned, and a doctor's certificate in hand, Andrea arrived in Brisbane in late July. She took up her position as consultant at Flyworld Travel, found shared accommodation with a fellow employee, also arranged by Terri, established contact with Melissa Andrews, the local family doctor, and settled in for what would ultimately be a life changing experience.

Andrea's flat mate was a woman, thirty years of age. Her name was Louise Whiltshire, single, attractive, and highly motivated, she was a career woman on the move. She owned the flat Andrea shared with her, and Andrea negotiated a fair rent. Up until the time Andrea's baby was due, money was not an issue. Flyworld valued her services and paid accordingly. Louise was friendly, and accommodating in matters associated with the pregnancy. She recommended Doctor Andrews to Andrea. She assisted by driving Andrea to the doctor for most of her monthly appointments and encouraged her to sign up for antenatal classes. As the birth date drew closer, Louise organized a baby shower, ensuring many of the essential items were provided as gifts from her friends. She became a confidant, someone Andrea could talk to with honesty, and share her feelings, and her fears.

But as most people know, little in this world happens as we wish. Andrea's waters broke mid-morning of the day she gave birth. The contractions began in the early evening and Louise was there to help her pack, reassure her, and drive her to the hospital. In every way, Louise was a caring, thoughtful friend, providing all the support Andrea needed. It was a busy night that Sunday night. In the space of just two hours, four babies were born.

When Nurse Mahoney returned with Louise into the labour ward, Andrea looked up and burst into tears. At that precise moment, Louise was the nearest thing to family Andrea could embrace. Louise beamed a smile as broad as the doorway when she looked down upon mother and daughter. "You did it," Louise said, as she kissed her on the forehead. "Congratulations, you actually did it."

2.

Andrea spent just four days in hospital before returning with her baby daughter to her flat and the selfless care of Louise Whiltshire. Nothing was too much trouble for Louise. But, as Andrea grappled with the demands and complexities that are an integral part of caring for a new baby, not even the re-assuring presence of Louise could hold back the ever encroaching, physical, psychological, and social dynamics that haunt the mind of those who face the prospect of single parenthood from an unplanned pregnancy.

While breast-feeding her daughter Mary Therese, emotional depression began to intrude upon Andrea's initial joy, and erratic, uncharacteristic behaviour overtook sound judgment. Andrea thought that motherhood would be a joyful experience, but with a nasty dose of colic, Mary Therese provided Andrea with little joy, little sleep, little opportunity to bond, and a perception of failure as a mother in that first month. In the early days of 1975, as Andrea watched on television the ongoing aftermath of Cyclone Tracy's devastating impact on the people of Darwin on Christmas day a few weeks earlier, she was shocked at the destruction and dislocation of whole families. As relatives from all parts of the country offered shelter to the homeless, Andrea Steedman suddenly became acutely conscious of her own isolation. 'Where is my family? Why am I not with them? How can I care for this baby who just cries, and cries, and cries?' As the days passed, Andrea's negativity, and feelings of inadequacy increased. She needed to return to work, but shuddered at the thought of being with other people. Her savings were in serious decline after providing the essentials for Mary Therese. She found herself constantly crying, and neglecting her diet. Her life, in the space of a few weeks, became a nightmare and in desperation, she came to a momentous decision. 'I want to go home,' she decided.

As Andrea's postnatal depression deepened, she turned to her flat mate Louise. She poured out her feelings of guilt, her confusion, her uncertainty about wanting to keep the baby, and an underlying fear that she may do something to harm Mary Therese.

"I can't keep living like this," she said. "I can't afford to stay here and not work. I have to earn money to look after her," she said, the tears flowing freely, her distraught state fully exposed.

"Don't worry about the money. You don't have to pay me any rent while you are away from work," Louise told her. There was a slight pause in the conversation as Andrea absorbed Louise's reassurance.

Then, as if realizing that this was the perfect moment, Louise added, "I know someone who might be able to help."

"What do you mean?" asked Andrea.

"I don't want to upset you but I know someone who knows about adoption." Andrea was temporarily stunned and opened her mouth to speak but the words would not come.

"Don't be shocked," Louise continued, "there's nothing wrong with thinking about it. It might be an alternative for you. I know someone who knows how it works and all that. They will find some loving couple to adopt your baby," she said. Andrea was not totally shocked. The thought had passed across her mind before Louise had suggested it. She knew that it might be a possibility from the moment she decided to come to Brisbane. She knew that the demands that would bear down upon her as a single parent would be enormous. She wondered if she would be up to the task, and in search of alternatives, her mind often drifted toward the idea of adoption.

"I know someone who could arrange it for you," Louise repeated, and then after a short pause added, "and pay you as well." Louise bit her lip. "Pay me?" Andrea said, surprised and confused. "I don't want to be paid." Andrea was taken aback at the very suggestion. Of all the possibilities she had considered, payment had never surfaced in her mind. "I have thought about lots of things I could do," she answered. "I could adopt, or I could go home with Mary Therese and tell my mother the truth. If I keep her, I know it's going to be a huge struggle and I don't know if I'm ready for that. There are things I want to do with my life," she said pleading. "I want a career, I want to travel and see the places I spend so much time talking to other people about. But none of that will be possible unless I can be sure that Mary Therese finds a good home, something better than I can give her."

"These people can do that. That's what they do, and they are very mindful of your wishes," Louise said. "And anyway, why shouldn't you get paid? You are the baby's mother. You are making a huge sacrifice, giving up your own flesh and blood. It's only fair that you receive something in return; some compensation for all you have gone through."

It did not occur to Andrea at the time, that Louise made no mention of the likely psychological impact that might result as a consequence of parting with her baby; never to see her again, never to know what happened to her.

"Will I know who the new parents are?" she asked.

"Yes, but once you hand over the baby, it is best not to know anything any more. You'll get back to your normal life and soon you won't think about it any more," Louise advised her. "You sound like you have had some personal experience with this?" Andrea said.

"Me! Goodness no. But I have seen others go through it." Louise replied. "Would you like me to make some enquiries for you?"

Andrea went silent. She looked at the tiny baby in her arms, back at Louise and again at Mary Therese. "It would all be legal and everything won't it?" she asked. "There would be all the proper paper work and everything?"

"Yes of course. All adoptions have to be approved by the Department of Children's Services. The people who do this look after all of that. You would just have to sign some papers."

"I do get to say who adopts her though, don't I?' said Andrea, suddenly concerned that she would not play any part in the final decision.

"Yes of course you do. If you don't like a particular couple, then you don't have to agree to it."

Privately arranged adoptions became illegal in the state of Queensland from the introduction of the Adoption of Children Act of 1964, when all adoptions were processed through the Department of Children's Services. Some assessment work was contracted out, and private arrangements for adoptions by relatives could take place, but even then, they still required the Director's approval. That however, didn't mean that private arrangements not involving relatives stopped occurring. Louise Whiltshire had a friend, who had a friend who knew about these things. Trading in new-born babies brought financial rewards. As babies became more difficult to find, desperate young couples with enough money to spend could negotiate a private adoption. All it needed was a birth certificate, and the birth mother to endorse a claim that a relative was adopting the child. It was a practice that was not without its risks, but greed, opportunity and desperation were regular bedfellows, and given the amount of money involved, risks were taken. When Andrea Steedman gave Louise permission to make some enquiries, little did she realize that Louise was well versed in the business of private adoptions. Little did Andrea realize that she was just one more unsuspecting mother who had fallen prey to the trade.

3.

In the modest offices of the Western Family Agency in Aston Park, a suburb ten kilometres west of Brisbane, one of the consultants, Julie Macleod, an attractive single woman, thirty two years of age, was on the phone. The Western Family Agency was funded privately, through the local church, and set up to undertake such noble tasks as family counselling, child health issues, social services for the elderly, and provide the local community with a variety of advice on access to government departments. It also conducted preliminary assessment work on adoption cases on behalf of the Department of Children's Services. Under the direction of the Agency manager Ross Davidson, a team of four consultants worked together. The senior consultant, Julie Macleod was working on an adoption assessment when the phone rang. It was Louise Whiltshire. Acting surprised and a little agitated, Julie spoke quietly into the phone. "You should not have called me here," she said softly. Louise was unapologetic. "That prospect I mentioned to you yesterday, I think you should make contact. She's ready to go ahead," Louise said. "What's her name?" Julie asked. As Julie took down Andrea Steedman's details, another consultant for the agency, Elizabeth Ashford had returned to her desk adjacent to Julie, with coffee for both of them. "Okay leave it with me," Julie said to Louise and quickly hung up. "Here's your coffee," Elizabeth said. "Thanks," Julie replied. "Another case query?" Elizabeth asked. "Umm, yes maybe," Julie answered, without thinking. Distracted by the call from Louise Whiltshire, Julie sipped her coffee, as Elizabeth returned to her own desk. Julie's mind was racing. An opportunity had come to make some money, an opportunity that might not come again. The illegality of the act she was considering was blurred by the lure of real money.

'Why not?' she thought. 'Who gets hurt? Nobody. Everybody gets what they want and no one needs to know. Why not?' Her thoughts were suddenly interrupted by the agency manager, Ross Davidson who called out from his office. "Julie can I see you for a moment?" Julie took another sip of her coffee, and disappeared into the manger's office. A few minutes later, she emerged with a piece of paper in hand and collected her briefcase. "I have to check on something for Ross," she said to Elizabeth. "I'll be back in half an hour." With that she left the building leaving her desk as it was.

Forty-five minutes later Julie telephoned Elizabeth. "Elizabeth, I'm going to be a while with this case Ross has given me."

"That's okay," Elizabeth said, "everything is fine here."

"I was about to call someone just before I left," Julie said. "Would you be a pet and do it for me? The details are in the file on my desk. Would you mind giving them a call and setting up an interview?" she asked. "Fine, yes I'll do that," Elizabeth replied. "Anytime in the next day or so," Julie said. Elizabeth hung up, took a quick sip of coffee, and checked Julie's rather messy desk. There was an unmarked file sitting there. On top of the file was the note containing the details Julie had written down about Andrea Steedman. Believing the note to be a part of the unmarked file, Elizabeth clipped the note to the outside of the file and sat down to call Andrea and arrange an interview.

Elizabeth was a fifty-three year old woman, recently divorced and living alone. A year earlier, her husband had run off with another woman twenty years her junior, and her two adult children were both married with young families of their own. It was partly for financial reasons that she found herself back in the workforce, but as a lively, energetic mother, she had also involved herself in community work. Suddenly finding herself alone in middle age, she felt a strong need to feel useful and productive. Her new position as consultant at the Western Family Agency was a godsend, and she was particularly keen to excel. She had been with the agency just four months, and, not in anyway unsure of herself, was keen to impress those around her with her efficient and diligent nature.

"Hello, my name is Elizabeth Ashford," she said to the person on the other end of the line. "I'm from the Western Family Agency. Your name has been passed onto us and I wonder if I could arrange an interview with you about your baby?" Thinking that the caller was responding to a referral from Louise Whiltshire, and that an interview was just that and nothing more, Andrea agreed. "Err, yes, um, you can come anytime I suppose." Andrea said tentatively. With a relatively light agenda on her plate, Elizabeth decided to arrange an interview and take on the case herself. After arranging a suitable time that afternoon, she completed a preliminary application form containing the information on the piece of paper she had clipped to the front of the file, and without looking at anything else, slipped the form inside the file. Half an hour later, Julie Macleod called Elizabeth again to say that she would be further delayed.

"Oh, by the way," Elizabeth said, "I've arranged an interview with that new case on your desk. I will be seeing her this afternoon. Is that okay?"

"Yes that's fine," Julie replied. "Did you see a note I left on my desk when you got the file?" Julie asked.

"Yes, I got that," Elizabeth replied.

"Could you put that note in my top draw for me?" Julie asked.

"Yes. What about the file?"

"No you keep the file. You have made the first approach. You can start it off. Just put that note in my top draw if you would."

After hanging up the phone, Elizabeth did as Julie asked, removing the note from the front of the file, and placing it in the top draw of Julie's desk.

That afternoon, as Elizabeth Ashford knocked on the front door of the flat where Andrea Steedman lived, she could hear a baby crying inside. Seconds later the door was opened by a young woman, still in her nightgown, holding a baby in one arm, and a bottle of mother's milk in the other.

"I'm Elizabeth Ashford from the agency," she said, "You're Andrea?"

"Yes, do come in. Sorry for the mess. I'm having a difficult morning."

Elizabeth knew instantly that Andrea was having a difficult time. Apart from the flat looking like a bombsite, it wasn't morning at all. The time was one thirty in the afternoon, and the woman she saw for the first time looked anxious, tired and appeared unable to cope.

"You certainly look as if your hands are full. And this is...?" Elizabeth asked, looking down lovingly at the crying Mary Therese. "Oh, this is Mary. I was just trying to put her down for an afternoon nap. Would you excuse us for a minute? Just make yourself at home. I'll be back in a moment."

A few moments later, Mary Therese began to cry. It was not a whimper but a fully-fledged cry, suggesting to Elizabeth that Mary Therese did not want to be put down for an afternoon sleep. Andrea retreated from the nursery room and closed the door, determined that Mary would not get her way. "She does this every time I try to put her down. She takes a while to settle but eventually she'll go to sleep," Andrea said, with a faint tinge of uncertainty in her voice. "It's a difficult time for you isn't it," Elizabeth said, sensing Andrea's insecurity. "How have you been sleeping lately?" Elizabeth asked, noticing the dark shadows under her eyes. "Okay," she answered, and then added, "well, not very well actually. The baby won't sleep well during the day, so I sort of expect she will go out like a light at night, but I still have to get up to her at least three times every night." Elizabeth nodded thoughtfully. "Have you asked your doctor to give you something to help Mary sleep at night?" she asked. Andrea looked surprised. "No, I didn't think about that. Is there something I can give her?" Elizabeth looked surprised now. "Yes, there is. It's a very light sedative, nothing too strong but it will help her sleep and of course it will help you sleep too. You might think about that, the next time you see your doctor," she said.

As the two women spoke, they gradually became aware that Mary Therese had stopped crying, and that a serene calm had descended upon the flat. Andrea put the kettle on to make some tea, and the two women eventually sat down together to discuss the purpose of the visit. When Elizabeth asked Andrea why she was considering adoption, Andrea explained her circumstances. "I had no idea what it was going to be like. I was so excited at first and then after the baby was born things changed. I feel so isolated here. I am from Melbourne, and I came here to hide the pregnancy from my family. My flat mate Louise has been wonderful, but I can't keep relying on her. I have to work and that frightens me. I would have to find someone to care for Mary all day."

"Don't you think your family would welcome you and the baby back, if they knew?" Elizabeth asked.

"No I couldn't. I just couldn't. I was adopted myself. I would be too ashamed. I would feel as if I had let them down terribly."

"Do you realize that there are some issues you will have to deal with down the track if you go ahead with the adoption?" Elizabeth said to her.

"What sort of issues?" Andrea asked.

"Personal issues," Elizabeth said. "I'm talking about issues that go to your emotional stability. There will be feelings of guilt, of failure, of desertion that can sometimes paralyse the mind. There will be difficult times for you," Elizabeth said. Andrea looked at her with a vacant expression. "I thought I was doing what was best for Mary. I'll be all right. I can go back home to Melbourne and start my life over again. I'll be all right, it's Mary I want to see settled into the right family." Elizabeth nodded thoughtfully, but not totally convinced that Andrea was as sure of herself as she thought. The discussion continued as Andrea prepared two cups of tea. "I'm afraid I only have dry biscuits to offer you. Would you like some?" she asked Elizabeth. "No, tea will be fine thanks, white and two."

Despite her reservations about Andrea's intentions, Elizabeth Ashford decided to proceed with some of the preliminary paperwork. She was unconvinced that adoption was the best outcome in this instance but felt she should at least appear to begin the process, if only to re-assure Andrea. Settling back into the comfortable armchair, she opened the file she had brought with her only to discover that the details inside pertained to another applicant. 'This is not Andrea Steedman's file,' she thought.

"Oh dear," she said without thinking. "Something's wrong here. It seems I have the wrong file." Andrea looked up surprised.

"What does that mean?" she asked a little concerned.

Elizabeth quickly recovered and said, "Not to worry. I have some blank application forms in my briefcase here. No problem." Elizabeth ruffled through her briefcase and, finding the necessary paperwork, continued the interview as if nothing had happened.

"We at the Western Family Agency don't handle adoptions as such," she said. "We simply do assessment work. The Department introduces you to some prospective parents for your baby, and then if you are happy to proceed, an application is filed with the Department of Children's Services for the Director's approval. Once that approval is obtained, the baby is handed over to the new parents."

"Where is that done?" Andrea asked.

"Oh right here, if you wish. The parents will come with a representative from the department, and the transfer will happen here."

"I'll know who the parents are won't I, their names and things like that?" Andrea asked.

"Yes, but," Elizabeth hesitated momentarily, "we don't think giving you too much information is good either for you or the baby, or the new parents either. It's best that if you are planning to go home that you return to Melbourne, and take up where you left off. After all that was your original plan wasn't it?"

"Yes," Andrea replied rather sheepishly, as both women heard the faint but unmistakable sound of Mary Therese starting to cry again. "I'd better check her," Andrea said getting up. "That's fine, I'll just finish off here," Elizabeth answered. A few moments later, Andrea returned.

After completing the preliminary documents, Elizabeth said, "Okay, well, I have enough information for now. What I'd like to do is take a photo of Mary Therese for our records. Would that be all right?"

"Yes if you wish. She's still awake. How long would all this take before new parents are found?" Andrea asked, now starting to accept some inevitability about the future.

"It is best that it happens quickly. But perhaps you might like to give it more thought before you decide. The department has approved couples just sitting by the phone waiting for a call, so when you say a definite yes, it will only be a matter of days I would think."

The suddenness of it shocked Andrea. "That quick?" she queried as she went toward the bedroom to bring Mary Therese out for the photo.

"Yes. It's best for the both of you that way. You are not left wondering. That would only cause you additional trauma, and the sooner Mary Therese is placed with her new parents, the better she will be in the long run." Elizabeth said, as she went with her.

"Oh yes I suppose so," Andrea replied vaguely. "Don't bother getting her out of the cot. I'll take the photo as she is." Elizabeth said.

While Elizabeth Ashford was interviewing Andrea, Julie Macleod returned to the office and immediately checked to see if Elizabeth had placed the note she had written containing Andrea Steedman's details in the top draw of her desk. It was there. Julie took the note and placed it in her handbag. She then left the office once more on the pretext of placing some money in the parking meter. Using the nearby public phone she called Louise Whiltshire.

"This prospect you have given me," she said to Louise, "how sure are you that she is willing?" Julie spoke quickly as if time was running out. "She's willing. She's my flat mate and at her wits' end. She came here from Melbourne to have the baby so her family wouldn't know. She wants to go back as soon as possible," Louise told her.

"I have a couple who don't want to wait, Julie said. "They are prepared to pay so long as everything is straight forward and done quickly," Julie said. "They live in Cairns, which is good for us," she continued. "I'm sure they would be willing to come down tonight and see the baby tomorrow. If they say yes, it will have to be done in the next couple of days. Is Andrea prepared for that?"

"I think she is. Yes! Bring them down. I'll spend time with Andrea tonight and see to it that she is ready to see them tomorrow."

"Okay, then lets do it." Julie said with determination and single-mindedness.

Not far away, Elizabeth Ashford was finalizing her meeting with Andrea. "She's such a darling little baby isn't she," Elizabeth said. "I have two grown children of my own and you know something?" she said as Andrea walked her to the door. "What's that?" she asked. Elizabeth turned to her and said, "I wouldn't trade the time I had with my children for anything." Andrea felt a tinge of guilt, unable to answer. There was a part of her that knew Elizabeth was trying to help her reconsider. At the same time her longing to return home and resume her normal life overshadowed the alternative. As Elizabeth said goodbye, she touched Andrea gently on the arm and said, "Don't worry, everything will turn out for the best. I'll be in touch soon."

4.

Fifteen hundred miles north of Brisbane, Irene Campbell, a pretty blue eyed blond, had returned from the supermarket to her small home in suburban Cairns. When the phone rang, she was unpacking the weekly groceries for herself and her husband James. James and Irene had been married two years. They were a happy couple, both employed, earning a good income and living in their modest three-bedroom weatherboard house. They enjoyed a small circle of friends, the respect of their neighbours, and while not wealthy, were untroubled financially. It was a year earlier, that James' widowed father died suddenly one afternoon while playing bowls. Being the only child he inherited his father's estate, which enabled him and Irene to buy their house without the need for a mortgage and still have money left over. Their lives might have been idyllic but for the one thing that was missing. James was unable to have children. They had applied to the Department of Children's Services to adopt and completed the various interview stages, but the opportunities for adoption were scarce and many other couples were doing the same. It was a three-year waiting list. Three years! There were alternatives. They could travel to Thailand, the Philippines. Others, they were told, had done this, and were delighted with the results. They knew of two couples who had successfully adopted overseas in quick time. But that avenue they felt was not for them. It was on a business trip to Brisbane some months earlier, that a fellow employee, who knew about James' efforts to adopt, introduced him to Julie Macleod. Something could be done locally for a reasonable sum of money he was told. There were mothers willing to adopt outside the system for the right price, he was told. There were people like Julie Macleod, who were willing to act as brokers. James was curious enough to contact Julie, and that meeting subsequently led to a meeting between Julie and Irene one weekend when Julie flew to Cairns for a departmental conference. That weekend changed everything for Irene. At last she could see the possibilities. The prospect of adopting an Australian born child quickly was intoxicating, so much so that the illegal realities of the transaction were clouded, overlooked, and pushed into the background.

When the phone rang that afternoon, a bolt of adrenalin shot through Irene's body. Something deep inside convinced her that this call was going to change her life forever. She hurriedly placed the groceries on the kitchen table, picked up the receiver and felt a touch dizzy, when she heard Julie Macleod's voice. Her heart leapt. The expectation was breathtaking. She had dreamt this call would come. It occupied her mind constantly. She and James were prepared. They had converted the second bedroom into a nursery in anticipation.

"Can you be in Brisbane tomorrow afternoon?" Julie asked Irene. The shock of the question presented in all its bluntness stiffened her.

"That soon? I don't know. I'll have to get in touch with James." Irene replied. Julie was firm. "The opportunity is here and now. The baby is only four months old. It's a girl. You wanted a girl, didn't you? You will have to move now or miss out."

There was a pause at the other end. Julie could hear Irene breathing heavily, the stress of the moment bearing down heavily upon her. Then she heard Irene suck in a deep breath. "Yes, okay. We'll be there tomorrow morning. I'll call you from the airport when we arrive," Irene said.

"We'll need to get some money from you," Julie added almost as an afterthought. "That's okay, we're right with that," Irene answered.

When Irene put down the phone she could not think straight. Her mind was so pre-occupied with the expectation of having a daughter to mother that she took several minutes before realizing that she needed to contact her husband immediately. Recovering from the initial excitement she made the call. James was in the office tied up in a sales meeting. The office receptionist advised her as much, but Irene would have none of it. "Tell him it's an emergency," she said. The receptionist broke into the meeting to say that an urgent call had come for Mr. Campbell. James excused himself from the meeting and took the call at the reception desk. "We have to be in Brisbane tomorrow morning," Irene said. James was stunned. He asked the receptionist to transfer the call to an empty office. "What's happened?" he said, sitting down in the empty office. "Julie rang," Irene replied. "There's a four month old girl. It has to be done quickly. She wants us there tomorrow." Speaking quietly into the phone, James said, "That's not going to be easy. I'll have to make up a reason." Irene was ready with a plausible excuse. "Tell them my mother is seriously ill and I'm too upset to go there alone," she said.

The following morning, James and Irene Campbell flew to Brisbane. It was a two-hour flight, marred by some minor turbulence, which under any other circumstances would have been somewhat disconcerting for Irene. She did not like air travel. Given her current psychological state however, she hardly noticed it. On arrival at Brisbane airport, James telephoned Julie and one hour later the three of them met at a corner coffee house close to Andrea's flat. Julie went through the details of the transaction they were about to undertake. "And she knows we are coming this morning?" James asked. "Yes," Julie answered, "I spoke to her last night. Now, remember she hasn't met me yet, and thinks I am from the Department of Children's Services, so it's important that you let me do the talking. We should not stay long, but you need to convince her by your actions and manner that you will be the perfect parents for Mary. More importantly, when I signal that it is time to go, don't oversell your selves. Be simple, straightforward, and say something like, 'hope we see you soon,' or something like that." Irene was very tense. "What happens after that?" she asked. "We will talk with her again later today and if she is willing to go ahead, we will arrange for the hand-over tomorrow." Julie answered. "Is she still breast-feeding?" Irene asked. "No, she didn't like it. She weaned Mary after about six weeks." Irene looked relieved. "I have everything I need with me, formula, nappies and things. We have everything ready back home as well," she said nervously. Julie felt her tension and tried to reassure her. "You will be fine. Just be yourself. I'm sure Andrea is just as apprehensive as you are."

When the details were agreed to, they walked the short distance to the flat, and knocked on the door. When Andrea opened the door, Louise Whiltshire was with her, and Julie Macleod, introduced herself as a representative from the Department of Children's Services. Louise immediately took control and invited everyone inside. Andrea was nervous, Irene was tense. But for the cold, calculated calm of both Julie and Louise, who handled those first tentative steps across the threshold of uncertainty, the moment could well have descended into a pathetic slush of soap opera. But it didn't. With consummate ease and professionalism, the two older women brought an air of relaxation and calm into the room. Then, from the moment Andrea brought Mary Therese into the lounge room and placed her into the arms of Irene, something happened. Irene was transformed.

Never could a moment have been so joyous. Never could there be a time past or future, she thought, that could surpass this moment. She was speechless, as Mary Therese's tiny eyes lifted to look into her very heart and soul. James moved across to be by her side, and share the moment. Such warmth, such wonder. There was at once, a warm, friendly, and sympathetic demeanour that radiated from them both, and created an immediate and favourable impression with Andrea. Later as everyone sat and enjoyed the atmosphere with morning tea, James described to Andrea his employment as a sales representative, and Irene, a receptionist, who couldn't wait to give up work to care for a baby. They looked upon Mary Therese very lovingly, and held her in their arms. There was an instant bonding and Irene knew there and then, that Mary Therese was just the baby she was hoping for. Andrea began to relax, and found herself drawn to Irene, unable to fault her. She was impressed with James, and saw them as a very appealing couple.

It was Julie who decided that it was time to bring the meeting to an end. As Irene handed Mary Therese back to Andrea, she felt as if she was giving her up. "I hope we will see you very soon," she whispered to Mary.

When they left, a euphoric feeling of anticipation swept through Andrea's fragile emotional state. 'It all seems to be working out. I can go home soon. The baby will be well cared for. I will be better too. I can get on with my life. I can study, get some qualifications, and start afresh.'

When Julie Macleod and the Campbells were gone, Louise decided to allow Andrea some space. She left the flat to return to work. Over the space of the next few hours, Andrea relaxed. It was for her, the most relaxed she had felt since coming to Brisbane. It was as if the journey was at its end. Early that afternoon, the phone rang. It was Louise.

"Are you okay?" she asked.

"Yes," Andrea replied.

"What do you think about the couple you saw?" Do you think they were okay?"

"They were lovely."

"Do you want to see more couples or would that only confuse you?"

"I'm not sure," Andrea replied.

"The Campbells are just over the moon," Louise continued. "They would really love to adopt Mary." Louise exuded enthusiasm, trying to persuade Andrea to agree to proceed with the Campbells. "If you are happy with them, we could proceed straight away. If you were to see more couples, it would slow things down and only unsettle you I think."

"How long does it take to get approval?" Andrea asked.

"The agency will file for approval immediately. Today!"

"So soon? Will the lady who first came to see me, be coming back?"

"What lady?" Louise asked.

"The lady from the agency. Her name was Elizabeth. She took a photo of Mary Therese."

Louise was confused. To the best of her knowledge no other person had made contact with Andrea. She steadied herself.

"Ummm, err, what else did she do?" Louise asked.

"She filled out a form with some personal details, and then said she would come back to me soon, with some news."

There was complete silence from the other end of the line. Louise had no idea to whom Andrea was referring.

"Umm, I'll check on that for you," she said, as she collected her thoughts. There wasn't supposed to be anyone else involved. 'What had Julie done?' she wondered.

"Oh, I remember now," Louise said as she recovered from the initial shock of realizing a third party had made contact. "That lady who came first was just making initial contact. You said her name was Elizabeth?"

"Yes," Andrea replied. Louise was now anxious to dispel any initial uncertainty. "Well, she handed over the application to her supervisor. The agency would then have submitted a formal request to the department and that's how come Julie was able to contact you, and arrange for the Campbells to come and see Mary."

"Oh that's right, I forgot," Andrea replied, "Julie, who came here today with the Campbells, was from the Department wasn't she?" she said, as she tried to work her way through the procedure.

"Yes, that's right," Louise replied. "Someone from the department has to be there, when the prospective parents meet the birth mother and the baby. The department recommended the Campbells to the agency. They have been on their books for some time," Louise lied.

"Oh I see," Andrea said, once again but not really understanding, completely unaware that everything Louise was telling her was a fabrication. "Well," Louise persisted gently, "Do you want to go ahead?"

"Yes, I guess so," she replied, not without a hint of uncertainty. "You said something a few weeks ago about money, about being paid?"

"Yes I did. Leave that to me. I'll take care of that."

"No, what I meant was, I don't want any. I just want Mary to be with a good couple," Andrea said. There was a moment's hesitation on the other end, before Louise replied. "Okay, that's fine," she said.

After her phone conversation with Andrea, Louise immediately contacted Julie Macleod.

"Andrea is ready to go ahead," she said to Julie. "But she mentioned something about someone else calling on her the other day, someone called Elizabeth. Did you send someone else out to see her?"

"What? Jesus no. Elizabeth? Oh Christ." Julie steadied and gathered her thoughts. She recalled the conversation with Elizabeth earlier in the week. "Christ, she's gone off to the wrong place," Julie exclaimed realizing what had happened. "All right. That's okay. I can fix that. I gave over a file to someone. She must have got the two confused. I'll find out what happened and straighten it out. Don't worry. It's not a big problem," she reassured Louise.

"It might be," Louise argued. "Andrea said she took a photo." There was a long pause at the other end. Finally Julie spoke. "That's okay. We do that sometimes. Don't worry. I'll get the file and the photo. Elizabeth Ashford won't be involved anymore."

Two days later, the Campbells arrived to receive Mary Therese. Accompanying the Campbells, was Julie Macleod. Louise was there with Andrea to greet them. There was a high level of tense energy in the room, not the least of which was emanating from Louise and Julie Macleod. This was not the first time that they had participated in such a deception, but somehow each occasion generated its own pulse, and created its own unique characteristics.

"We just need you to sign a few documents Andrea," Louise said to her, in a comforting, reassuring tone, as the others waited expectantly. Andrea did not read the documents. She simply took Louise on trust and signed away. "Perhaps you could bring Mary Therese out now," Louise suggested, desperately trying not to appear too anxious. Andrea nodded. She went to the bedroom and moments later emerged with Mary Therese. She handed over a bag containing milk formula, and a few nappies. Looking poignantly into Mary's eyes, she said, "Now you be good for your new mummy and daddy, won't you?" Blissfully unaware of the nervous expectation of everyone in the flat, Andrea handed Mary over to Irene Campbell. As soon as Irene held Mary in her arms, Julie Macleod, quickly encouraged both her and James to leave. She gently guided them toward the front door, while Louise stayed with Andrea.

And then they were gone.

After the exchange, Andrea stood motionless, stunned, as if in shock. The room was deftly quiet. The tiny baby she had nurtured and cared for these few months was gone. She was suddenly alone as never before. Louise put on the kettle to make a cup of tea. Concerned for the initial reaction, she distracted Andrea by handing over an envelope containing in cash, the sum of two thousand dollars, the equivalent of three months salary. Andrea took the envelope but did not open it. While Louise poured the tea, Andrea walked into her bedroom. The first thing she saw was the bassinet where Mary Therese had slept. The scent of baby powder was strong. It evoked a feeling of loss; a feeling that something was missing; something or someone. She sat down on the bed, her mind floating across the year past. She recalled the day the doctor confirmed she was pregnant. She recalled the fear and the awesome responsibility she felt at the time. She pictured her mother Elsie at home in Melbourne, completely unaware of the trauma she had experienced these last few months. Her mind fell vacant. Suddenly, there was nothing; no sorrow, no emotion, no feeling; only the stillness and silence of everything around her. Louise brought the coffee into the bedroom on a tray, placing it on the bed. She then sat with Andrea, putting her arm around her shoulder. Andrea, her mind still occupied with thoughts of her mother, felt the tender caring touch, and responded. The two women embraced in silence.

It was a different experience for Louise. For her, there was no loss. For her, it was success, it was mission accomplished, as once more, a vulnerable, confused, frightened young mother, still suffering from post-natal depression, was lured into the ever-welcoming arms of those who preyed upon such people for profit.

Unknown to Andrea, within a matter of hours, James and Irene Campbell, and their newly adopted daughter, were on their way back to their home in Cairns, in far north Queensland, a small town, that survived on the sugar cane industry and little else; a town that enjoyed a wonderful climate for nine months of the year, but which in summer became so humid, that being there felt more like being in a sauna. The only documents they took with them to confirm their rightful status as adoptive parents of Mary Therese, were a birth certificate, and a letter signed by Andrea, identifying herself as the birth mother and giving her consent to the adoption. They had paid the sum of fifteen thousand dollars, and so long as Andrea made no further enquiries about the welfare of her child, a condition of the letter she signed but never read, then no one would ever know the true circumstances of their daughter, Mary Therese. For Julie Macleod and Louise Whiltshire, it was a very risky and flawed practice, but somehow the lure of quick profits, clouded even the most astute of evil minds, and for the time being, they had succeeded.

5.

1980

On balance one would say, little had changed as 1980 came along. The public faces were different of course. Malcolm Fraser was Prime Minister now. The Olympic Games were due to be held in Moscow, but a USSR invasion of Afghanistan caused Malcolm Fraser to recommend that Australia follow the lead of the United States and boycott the games. The Australian Olympic Federation decided otherwise. The world's first 'test tube' baby was born in Melbourne and in August, Azaria Chamberlain, a nine-week old baby, disappeared at Ayer's Rock.

It was in mid-March, and a thousand miles away from the events which saw the illegal separation of Andrea Steedman and her daughter six years earlier, that Gerard Martin, forty-eight years old, tall, thin, and slightly greying, sat in his tractor, defiant of the cold wind sweeping across the low rolling Victorian hills. He cast his eyes across the long raised mounds of earth, where he had just buried the seed potatoes for the next crop. His heart beat proudly, as he stared at the deep red potato soil for which the Baldargo area was famous, a soil that would produce a high quality yield in the spring. His confidence was brimming as he recalled the season just passed. Things were going well and the confidence of all the potato farmers throughout the region from Winter's Hill, Berry, and Walton was high. Good winter rains were expected, and in any event Lake Burra was full, as were the smaller reservoirs. It would be a bumper crop.

As he admired his acreage, he was disappointed he didn't have more land to sow more crops. Across, the narrow valley, old George Kenny, now seventy-five, was doing the same in his field adjacent to the Martin's farm, admiring the view of his own holding, all the way to the distant pine trees low on the horizon. George had more land than Gerard, but he was old now. He still enjoyed the land, but he couldn't go on forever. Soon he would want to retire and sell off part, if not all his property, Gerard thought. Hopefully not too long down the track Gerard would gain access to at least some of the adjoining land and expand and diversify, grow oats maybe or something else, or perhaps just stick with what he knew best.

George Kenny was thinking about retiring, putting his feet up and relaxing, although he always thought he was most relaxed when he was in the fields. But he knew his time in the fields was running out, and often looked to his finances. Yes, he could sell off some of the land, and supplement a comfortable retirement. The value of the land as a working property however, was less than he could obtain from the ever increasing army of city-dwellers, who were buying up small lots just so they could tell their friends at the Saturday night dinner party that they had a 'place in the country'. Estate agents were everywhere these days, always on the lookout for a small plot, preferably with off-highway access, a degree of privacy and perhaps a brook at the bottom, or a stream running through, bursting with trout or red fin. The sort of property the city-dweller could escape to, bring the caravan, and spend the weekend away from it all. George Kenny's land met all those conditions and he didn't mind the idea at all. City-dwellers were notorious for having big ideas, big plans but never enough time to implement them. Other farmers had set aside and cut off twenty acres here and there and sold them for twice the rate per acre that they would get if they sold the land to another grower. Then, the new owners would visit each weekend for a few months, bring their friends, lay about, maybe even plant something and see themselves however temporary, as men and women of the land. Then after a while the novelty would wear off. They would visit less often, find other things to do, neglect their plantings and just forget about it. There was always next weekend, next month, next holiday, next year, and anyway, what did it matter. To them the land was cheap, and it would appreciate over time. In years to come, natural population expansion would see it increase in value. George Kenny had seen it happen, had heard of it happening in other areas, in Gippsland, in the Western District, and up on the Murray. He knew it would be years before any of these would-be suburban farmers would ever apply for permits to actually do anything. In the meantime he would have his money, and to all intents and purposes, the land would never be touched. Well, not in his lifetime anyway. And so, despite the fact that he knew Gerard Martin had been eyeing off part of his property, 'the western paddock' they called it, the estate agent had told him that this section was the best section to cut adrift and sell off to the city-dwellers. George had given the local agent, Bill Jacobs, the nod, and all that was needed now, was a buyer.

So, as the two men waved to each other that Saturday afternoon from across the fields, both had there eyes and their minds on the western paddock, each with a different expectation. George Kenny turned his tractor around and headed back to the shed and the house. Gerard did the same but headed in the opposite direction. As George returned to the shed, and the house, he saw the welcome sign of smoke billowing from the chimney. His wife Audrey had lit the fire and had dinner waiting. They ate early this pair. No airs and graces here. Their diet was meat and spuds. Whether it was chops, sausages, maybe lamb occasionally, it was always with spuds and a few slices of bread. Audrey had a way with spuds. Mash them, boil them, roast them, or go with oven baked in the casserole dish, Audrey had a way of making the humble spud, a treat other women could only dream about. George parked the tractor, and made his way inside.

On the other side of the valley, Gerard Martin made his way back to the house. Gerard's family had been in the district three generations. His great grandfather had arrived in the district back in the eighteen forties, just one of hundreds of thousands fleeing a famine ridden Ireland and the dreaded blight. Great Grandpa brought with him little more than his knowledge of the potato, but that was enough. He bought a small plot, put his skills to work, passed on the knowledge and the family prospered such that one hundred and thirty years later, Gerard and each of his brothers had their own property. As Gerard motored up to the shed, his son Frank was replacing the spark plugs on his 1970 Valiant. The car had been a bit sluggish and Frank wanted to tune the old bomb before going off for the evening with his friends. There was a social at the football club that night and he needed the old bomb to be in good order for whatever eventuated. Gerard and his wife Maureen, would go to the football club social too. It was a family involvement, indeed a community involvement. Even those who detested football would join in the festivities.

In earlier years, young Frank worked the land with his father, but farming was not his life's wish. He was a bright young man with a sharp mind, who saw opportunities where others did not. However, when it came to the daily grind of the farm, he was neither well disposed toward, nor gifted in any practical way to its needs. He was studying law at St. Michael's University College in Melbourne and was home for the weekend. Maureen was preparing the evening meal. Like Gerard, her side of the family was a product of the Irish Diaspora, and she too had a way with potatoes, but tonight's dinner was a slap up affair. She had spent most of the afternoon preparing the food for the one hundred or so expected at the social, and the boys could look after themselves for a change.

Maureen smiled as the two men entered through the kitchen. "How's everything?" Maureen asked. "Fine," Gerard replied. "I've finished the field. I would have kept on going right into George Kenny's western paddock if the fence wasn't there," he said. "Well, you can help yourself in the kitchen tonight. I've been cooking all afternoon for the social," she said. "Sounds all right I suppose," Gerard replied with just a hint of disappointment. "Frank," she said turning her attention to her son, "you go and clean up before you do anything else. Your hands are full of grease. Don't put them down on anything until you get that muck off," she said. "Yes mum," Frank said and headed for the bathroom.

Meanwhile at the Kenny's, some news awaited George as he walked in the house. "Bill Jacobs called. Wants you to call him back," Audrey said not even looking up from the table in the kitchen where she was reading a fashion magazine. "Did he say what he wanted?" George asked. "No, but I guess he's has some news on the western paddock for you," Audrey replied. George's heart rate jumped. He went into the hallway, picked up the phone and dialled.

"George, I have good news," the estate agent Bill Jacobs said. "I have a buyer for the western paddock. A young woman from Melbourne, looking for a secure investment. She wants forty acres, all of the paddock. She'll pay a thousand an acre and the cost of sub-dividing. She has no plans at the moment, just wants to hang on to it. What do you think?" George was thrilled. "Hang on Bill," he said, as he went back into the kitchen. "Forty Thousand for the western paddock, what do you reckon," he asked Audrey who was still perusing the fashions. Looking up to the ceiling from the kitchen table, Audrey thought for a moment, and said, "Gerry Martin won't be happy, but he couldn't pay that much. I think you should take it. It's our future we have to think about, not his." George returned to the phone.

"I'm a bit worried about Gerard Martin, Bill. He won't be happy," he said. "I have an idea about that," Bill said. "I think I know a way you can sell the property and pacify Gerard at the same time." When Bill Jacobs had finished explaining what he meant, George was convinced. "We'll take it Bill. Do what you have to do," George said, and with that the deal was done.

"You had better tell Gerry tonight at the social, after he's has a few," Audrey said with a sigh. "Do it gently, he'll be disappointed." George sat down at the table and thought about Gerard Martin. "Bill Jacobs said the buyer is a young woman looking for an investment. That suggests she's not going to do anything soon. He reckons there's a way we can sell the paddock and look after Gerry as well," he said.

That evening the community gathered at the Mechanics hall for the social. Spirits were high among the football team. That afternoon they had beaten Walton in a practice match, by a healthy margin, and the classy little rover for the team, Jimmy Wilson said the results of the x-ray showed no bones broken. There were however, a few black eyes and bruises from the altercation in the centre. The fight broke out because Jimmy Wilson copped a boot in the face from a Walton ruckman who had more brawn than brains. Fights at the football were pretty much par for the course, and not only among the players. Every father of a football playing son was a proud man on Saturday afternoons, and never hesitated to demonstrate a willingness to back up the somewhat ambitious claims made with a physical heave ho or two. But winners are grinners and once the game was over and the crowd had dispersed, it was all behind them. At the social the band struck up a tune and the 'oldies' began to dance the quickstep. The players gathered at the bar to toast the day, the girls gathered at the other end of the hall and chatted away, hoping one or two of the boys would show some gumption and invite them to dance. It was a forlorn hope and soon the girls gave up their hopeless expectations and danced among themselves.

It was later in the evening that George Kenny took Gerard Martin aside and broke the news. "The paddock, the western paddock, you've sold it?" Gerard asked, not wanting to believe what George had said. "It was a very good offer Gerry, not one that you could have matched, and I would never have asked you to. Audrey and I have to look to our remaining years. We need that money." George said. "I really wanted that land George. This is a bit of a blow you know," Gerard said. "Well now, I just might have a solution to the problem," George said. "What do you mean?" said Gerard.

"It's like this. The woman who wants to buy the paddock is from the city. She is looking at an investment for the future. I'm betting that she doesn't plan on doing anything with it you see," he said.

"So what does that mean to me?" Gerard asked.

"Well now, as you know Gerry, the paddock goes over the hill from the road. The natural fall of the land conspires to keep it hidden from view. Almost half of it you can't even see from the road. What I'm suggesting to you, is that after the harvest in the spring, we remove a section of the fence and you can come in and sow the back half of the field. It won't be any of my business, and I don't think the owner will ever know, least not until she decides to do something with it. You could have several seasons growing crops on land you didn't pay a cent for. Do you see what I'm getting at Gerry?"

Gerard stroked his face and thought the matter through.

"Several seasons you think?" he said to George. "I think so. And even if it was only one or two, think of the profit without the interest payments," George replied. "Well, now I suppose that requires a bit of thought doesn't it? Gerard mused. "Just think it over, there's plenty of time to plan. But I think it can work," George added.

"It wouldn't exactly be the honest thing to do though would it?" Gerard said with a moment's thought. "Gerry, I wouldn't be the one to say it would not. But think about it. You'd be filthy rich."

The two men stood together facing each other but with both sets of eyes fixed to the floorboards. Slowly each raised his head until their eyes met, and wry smiles expanded across their faces. "Yes well," Gerard said, "with my boy Frank studying law, a little bit extra would be welcome. It would certainly come in handy, wouldn't it?" As the sheer simplicity of the plan dawned on Gerard Martin, a wicked grin spanned his face, and both he and George Kenny shook hands on the deal. Then, overtaken by this somewhat surreal moment of brilliance, both men gleefully tuned into the dancers on the floor, and began to move with the rhythm of the music. They swayed to the left, and swayed to the right, with as much finesse as those on the dance floor, but with less energy expended. Their finesse came with light-headedness, and mental relaxation, born of small achievements.

6.

One month later, the contract of sale was finalised. George Kenny gave up ownership of forty acres of land, and the young woman from Melbourne, Andrea Steedman, became the owner of the western paddock. Andrea's life had in more overt ways, returned to normal when she returned to Melbourne six years earlier. Her mother Elsie, a calm loving woman with a strong set of ethics was delighted to have her daughter back, not for one moment suspecting the trauma that had taken place. While the eldest sibling, the intellectually disabled Richard had grown up at Elm Tree Cottages, her next elder brother Warwick, tall and good looking, but with a superficial charm, was a man on the move, upwardly mobile, forging a business empire in public relations. Her older sister Margaret, plump and pretty by contrast, was indifferent, ambivalent and self-centred, much preferring things to be done for her than to be pro-active like her brother Warwick. And then there was Robert, the baby of the family, shy, overshadowed and bullied by Warwick, he harboured hidden resentments.

Warwick stood in sharp contrast to his sister Margaret's insecurity, and his younger brother Robert who lacked both business prowess and ambition. The sudden demise of their father when the children were young left a huge gap in the family. Warwick suddenly finding himself the eldest male in the household, matured ahead of his years. Robert was left somewhat isolated as he grew up. The lack of a father figure left him floundering. Andrea dealt with her insecurities by attaching herself to Elsie and looking up to Warwick as the man of the house.

While each of her children searched out their dreams, Elsie was a regular visitor to Elm Tree Cottages spending time with her son Richard. While her other children avoided Richard, she did not. How could she? Richard was now thirty four, and had for some time been placed under the care of Maria Stewart, supervisor of Unit 49. Most of his days were spent at adult education centres, where devoted, committed staff cared for him and helped him engage in productive activities. But Elm Tree Cottages was his home, and Maria Stewart his carer. Over time, Elsie and Maria Stewart became friends. Beyond her loving care for Richard, there was something about Maria that teased Elsie. It took a while but she suddenly realized one day that not only did Maria bear a sharp resemblance to her daughter Andrea, but her mannerisms were also similar. It was the way she tilted her head when speaking to Richard, her smile, her laugh. She said nothing but decided one day to bring Andrea to Elm Tree Cottages to see Richard, and have the two women meet. While Elsie kept her suspicions to herself, she was more convinced than ever that Andrea and Maria were related.

Andrea had shown no interest in her origins. It was Warwick's drive, his determination to succeed that inspired her to greater heights and broader expectations. She and Maria did not connect in the beginning. Andrea had returned to her job at Flyworld, but it was short-lived. Her friend and boss, Terri Carney was a constant reminder of that trauma, and on other occasions when she needed to discuss work matters on the phone with Louise Whiltshire in Brisbane, the memories of the events of 1974, and Mary Therese, loomed large. It was all too much. She had to leave. She took up a junior position within a large real estate firm, studied, obtained some business qualifications, and immersed herself in work. Warwick became her business counsellor, her mentor. He gave generously of his time and encouraged her to open her eyes to life's opportunities; he suggested she write herself a business plan, to set herself goals. She took his advice, followed his lead.

The western paddock was not her first venture. This was to be a long-term investment strategy, something to set aside for the future. So, at the age of twenty-eight, Andrea had begun to invest in the property market. Taking advantage of the sale of a deceased person's estate, she had purchased her first flat, and promptly set about restoring, redecorating, and renovating. She discovered a new independence living on her own and proud of the innovative way she had achieved a substantial increase in the value of her property. An offer from an interstate buyer was too good to refuse, and she accepted. It then occurred to her to find another bargain property, and do it all again.

There were huge opportunities. She had read in a magazine somewhere that ninety-five per cent of the world's millionaires had made their fortune in the property market. She had studied how, and set about following in their footsteps. Her immediate interests were in buying run-down flats, moving in, renovating and letting after a year or so. The mortgage was then paid with the rental returns from the tenant, as she would complete one project and go on to another. There was no shortage of run-down properties, no shortage of tradesmen ready to compete for the work, and no shortage of banks ready to provide finance to budding young entrepreneurs. Using the proceeds of the sale of one of her properties, she was able to pay cash for the western paddock, a rock solid piece of dirt, unencumbered. She was pleased. It kept her busy, it kept her mind occupied.

Not in any way however did it keep her mind from the thought that just six years beforehand, she had given birth to a daughter. Just six years ago, she had experienced the wonder of giving birth to new life. She had known this new life; she had suckled this new life, and then darkness. This new life was gone. Her daughter was not there anymore. She was with someone else, a stranger, someone who took her away. Even though her well defined business plan occupied her mind, helped her set her goals, drove her on, thoughts of Mary Therese were always there. What did she look like? Was she pretty? She constantly wondered where she was and what she was doing. Today, yesterday! What was she wearing? Did she laugh? Did she cry? Did she have friends? Whenever Andrea drove past a primary school and saw children playing in the school grounds, she thought of Mary Therese. She often parked the car outside a school, watched as the children played, and picked out one special child, imagining as she watched her, that this was her child. It was the same at the supermarket, as she watched mothers struggle with young children riding in the open trolley. It was the same as she watched television. Any news story involving children, happy stories, sad stories, children missing or hurt sent the pain of loss running through her blood.

It was months before the purchase of the 'western paddock' that Andrea enrolled at St. Michael's University College, to study part time and upgrade her qualifications. It was here she met the young Frank Martin, son of Gerard from Baldargo. Frank was studying Law, and it happened that one of his first-year subjects coincided with the area of Andrea's study. The two were similar in many ways. They were both commercially ambitious, of sharp mind, able to recognise opportunities and the means to take advantage of them. Frank was always ready to accept advice and encouragement from those he perceived to be knowledgeable, experienced and adept. Andrea embodied all of these things and Frank recognised her as such. She was five years his senior and his fresh, boyish charm appealed to her. They became friends, often enjoying lunch in the university cafeteria, or the occasional night out.

But Frank was also devious. When Andrea mentioned to him that she was interested in buying a rural property, he suggested she contact Bill Jacobs, a local agent in Baldargo. He knew that George Kenny wanted to sell off the western paddock. He knew his father could not afford it. He knew that Andrea had no immediate plans for the property and quietly discussed the whole scenario with Bill Jacobs.

Andrea knew nothing of this and admired Frank's determination to succeed. And so it was, from these modest beginnings, with constant and invaluable support both personal and commercial from Warwick that Andrea began to accumulate wealth. Young Frank Martin took note of her business sense, and his admiration for her increased. To him, her commercial prowess was inspirational as he watched her establish a solid portfolio. There were one or two men in her life, but she was cautious. Never again would she allow herself to be caught out. The hurt ran deep. Except for Warwick, and the young Frank Martin, she was wary of men who showed an interest in her, and while she liked their company, she avoided occasions where they might take advantage of her. Not that! Never again that!

Then, in the Spring of 1980, six months after the purchase of the western paddock, an event caused her attention to focus more determinedly on the one area of her life that remained a source of anguish and pain, the matter of her missing daughter, Mary Therese.

It was Andrea's sister-in-law, Susan Steedman, the wife of her brother Warwick, who unintentionally kick-started the series of events that would set brother against brother and sister against sister. Susan gave birth to a baby girl, her second. It was a happy event to be sure, and all the family rejoiced. The Steedman family rallied around Susan and Warwick, and in the process, also celebrated Warwick's mother Elsie, who by the event became a grandmother. The one member of the family, who found it impossible to celebrate the occasion, was Andrea. The very first time she laid eyes on baby Joanne, she lapsed into depression. All the painful memories, sitting just below the surface of her emotional consciousness, rose up and went into overdrive. That tiny face, so adorable! That little baby, innocent, and helpless, magnified in Andrea her own painful loss.

Elsie noticed the change in Andrea's emotional state and eager to be of comfort, raised the subject of her thoughts about Maria Stewart. Although deep down, Andrea knew her mother would love and support her, she could not bring herself to reveal her true secret. It was out of a sense of respect for her mother that she therefore showed an interest in Maria, and agreed that the two of them pursue the matter of a possible blood connection. But thoughts of Mary Therese haunted her constantly. All the business success she had enjoyed could not counter the deprivation that enveloped her. She had to find Mary Therese. Life would never be the same until this agonising yearning was satisfied. She had to find her daughter. But how?

During a coffee break, one morning at the office, she telephoned Terri Carney. "Can I meet you for lunch? It's important, I don't want to talk about it over the phone," she told Terri. Terri had no idea what was on Andrea's mind. Her first thoughts were that she would ask for her old job back. Not possible, she had been replaced. But Terri agreed to the lunch meeting anyway. A couple of hours later at a restaurant on St. Kilda Road, the two women met for the first time since Andrea had left her job at Flyworld. Andrea was nervous and it showed. Terri did her best with the small talk, but she could feel the tension in the air and invited Andrea to tell her what was on her mind.

"I need to find my baby," she said without thinking, the image of baby Joanne still fresh in her mind. "What? What do you mean?" Terri asked, stunned by Andrea's bluntness. "I need to find Mary Therese. I have to find her. I can't sleep, I can't think straight. Every time I see a baby in a pram I think of her, wondering what she's doing, what she's up to. I can't go anywhere without bumping into situations that remind me of what I did six years ago. Now my sister in law has just had a baby and I'm reliving the whole business over again. Will you help me please? I just have to find her."

Terri reached out and took Andrea gently by the arm.

"Hey, calm down. Where is all this coming from? I don't hear from you for a few years and now you are suddenly in a panic over not having seen your daughter since she was a baby. What's been happening to you?" Terri asked. Andrea covered her face with her hands and began to sob. She told Terri of the business ventures she had embarked upon since leaving Flyworld, as if they were little more than a passing interest. She quickly moved on from there, and told her of her inability to engage with men, the emptiness inside her, the pain of loss, the depression. Terri was sympathetic and understanding.

"Okay," she said, "let's just take this one day at a time." Andrea recovered her composure and the two sat there holding hands across the table. "I thought perhaps you could contact Louise Whiltshire and ask her to make some enquiries," she said to Terri. "Louise?" Terri asked. "What's she got to do with this?" Andrea explained Louise's role in finding an adoption agency. "She introduced me to people at the Western Family Agency who interviewed me." Terri looked surprised. "Funny, she never mentioned any of that to me," she said. "In any event, Louise has left Flyworld, she's gone overseas on a working holiday. I wouldn't know how to get in touch with her." Andrea looked vacant and stunned. Terri anticipated another bout of sobbing and moved quickly. "You mentioned this agency, the Western something?" Andrea recovered. "Yes, the Western Family Agency, they arranged the adoption," she answered. "Okay, do you remember who handled your case there?" Terri asked. "I met two people, one was from the agency, a lady called Elizabeth, but I only saw her once. The other woman was called Julie something. Mac...er Maclan...um Macleod...yes, that's it Julie Macleod, I think. She was from the department." Terri suddenly felt an air of uncertainty about the way Andrea answered her questions. "Perhaps it might help if you told me exactly what happened from the moment you decided to allow Mary Therese to be adopted," she suggested. "It was Louise who first suggested it," Andrea replied. Hearing this further unsettled Terri, and she shifted uneasily in her seat. "Just tell me everything, right from the beginning," she said.

For the next fifteen minutes, Terri sat silently listening to Andrea's story about the initial meeting with Elizabeth Ashford, the subsequent interview with Julie Macleod, and the ever-encouraging Louise, standing by her and reassuring her. She listened as Andrea explained the meeting with Irene and James Campbell. Terri began to realize that the speed with which the adoption was handled, and the apparent lack of departmental paper work, was highly irregular, and the very thought of it sent a cold chill though her body. It wasn't until Andrea mentioned the two thousand dollars paid to her in a brown paper bag that Terri realized Andrea had in all probability, become the victim of a criminal act. "Who gave you this money?" she asked. "Louise gave it to me after the Campbells had taken Mary Therese away," Andrea answered. Terri was shocked. "Do you have any documentation, any paper work, anything on departmental letterhead?" Terri asked. "No," Andrea replied in a childlike way. "I signed something but I didn't see what it was. I don't have anything in writing." For a moment, Terri was so shocked she could not speak. Then, shattered as she was at the prospect that Louise Whiltshire, someone she knew and regarded as a friend, was involved in this deception, she gathered her thoughts and said, "Andrea, we have to be very careful here."

She was about to speak again, when a waitress came to the table asking if she could remove the plates. Terri nodded and asked, "Could we have some coffee please?" She then looked back at Andrea. "I hate to be the one to say this, but I think you have been the victim of an illegal process," she said. "What do you mean?" Andrea asked. "I think that the process by which you gave up Mary Therese was a sham. Nobody gets paid money to give up their baby, not if the process is followed properly. It sounds to me as if these people who were involved in this were running a bit of a racket," Terri said.

"But Louise? What about Louise? She wouldn't do that. She was wonderful to me. She was so helpful, so kind, she even allowed me to stay at her flat rent free for some of the time." As Andrea extolled the virtues she recalled in Louise, it suddenly dawned on both of them that the kindness and caring nature Louise demonstrated during Andrea's confinement was all part of the plan. As Andrea spoke, the light dawned in her mind. "Oh God," she said in despair. "How could she do that?" Andrea's emotional state began to deteriorate. Terri felt that this was a good time for them both to leave the restaurant. She cancelled the coffee and asked a passing waitress for the bill.

A few minutes later the two women were walking slowly along St. Kilda Road. "I don't know what to say," Terri said. "I feel responsible in a way. I was the one who arranged your move to Brisbane. I asked Louise to help get you settled." Andrea took Terri's hand in hers. "Will you help me?" she asked. "Will you help me find her?" Terri, responded, squeezing Andrea's hand. "I'll do what I can, I promise. The first thing I think we should do is write a letter to this agency. What was it called?" she asked. "The Western Family Agency," Andrea replied. "Right, well, that's where we should start," Terri replied.

7.

It was six weeks after the lunchtime meeting between Terri Carney and Andrea Steedman in Melbourne, and two thousand miles to the north, where Mary Therese Campbell, a six-year old girl, living in Cairns, was completing her first year at school. Her mother Irene Campbell, left home to pick up her daughter from school that hot, humid, afternoon as threatening storm clouds gathered above the dark blue mountains and the rich green fields of cane sugar. Minutes later, the postman rode by and delivered a letter into the letterbox at their home.

"Did you have a good day?" Irene asked, as Mary Therese climbed into the front seat of their 1975 Holden sedan. "Yes mummy. Lucinda says she's going to get a Barbie doll for Christmas. Can I have one too?" she asked. "I guess we'll have to wait and see won't we?" her mother replied. "Can we go to the Zoo tomorrow?" an excited Mary asked, her head filled with all the excitement of Christmas and the upcoming, long holiday break. "We'll see," Irene said hoping to contain Mary's excitement. "Can I play with Lucinda when we get home?" Mary asked. "We'll see," her mother replied.

The storm broke as the two arrived home. They ran inside as the heavy drenching rain poured down, so heavy in fact, that Irene did not bother to check the letterbox. As the two ran from the car to the house, Irene waved briefly to Gladys Goodfellow, her next door neighbour, who was standing on her front porch, having herself just retrieved her mail. It was the wet season and monsoonal rains had begun. Cairns almost shut down in the wet season. The sugar mills were closed. The marlin fishing was on hold. Tourists were scarce. Most of the shops closed around midday on Saturday's. On Friday nights it was different, as people walked around the town, and the Salvation Army band played on the corner. At the local council meeting, there was an air of excitement as the town's leaders' spoke of airport upgrading, international tourists and boom times ahead. But when the rains came down, everybody went for cover.

These past years had been good for the Campbells. Their sudden return to Cairns with Mary Therese five years earlier had been greeted with joy and excitement by their friends. No one suspected anything unusual in the adoption. Irene and James explained their way around the happy event by telling family and friends they wanted to keep their adoption plans quiet.

"I didn't want to say anything, because I was afraid it would never happen," Irene told the baker, the milkman, and Gladys Goodfellow, the next-door neighbour.

"We thought if we told you what we were doing you would feel sorry for us," she said to Gladys, who came knocking the morning after they arrived home from Brisbane. Gladys was certain she heard a baby crying next door and her curiosity got the best of her. It was a similar story for James.

"We weren't sure if this was the trip where we would be bringing home a baby, so we didn't want to say anything," he said, when he told his boss, his workmates, and the barman at the corner hotel the good news. And so, the sudden trip to Brisbane on the pretext that Irene' mother was ill was the perfectly understandable act of two people, anxious not to allow their expectations to exceed their good judgement. How sensible. How wise. How understanding were the neighbours and the community in general, as they shared the excitement that a new baby brings to a family and social circle.

As Irene and Mary Therese settled themselves inside the house, James Campbell was returning from Tully, several miles south of Cairns, and officially the wettest place in Australia. As he drove along the Bruce Highway, passing through Innisfail, he could see the dark clouds rolling in off the coast. James was a sales representative for Argus Oil, an American multi-national corporation that had ventured into the Australian market ten years earlier. He was good at his job, supervising the company's network of service stations and farm agencies from Tully to Cooktown. So good in fact, that he had received a call from his Sales Manager in Brisbane earlier in the day asking him to report to the Brisbane office the following Monday. His Sales Manager didn't want to pre-empt what the Branch Manager intended to discuss with him, but suggested in the most confidential of terms, that a promotional transfer to the Sydney Head Office was on the cards. The storm broke as he reached Babinda, where he needed to stop and fill up, and also write up some credit notes for Allan Marshall, the local service station proprietor. As he pulled into the site, a clap of thunder rocked his car, and felt so close, that for a brief moment, he thought he had blown a tyre.

In Cairns, the storm had calmed and Irene was preparing a salad for the family's evening meal when she remembered the mail. "Mary," she called. "Would you go and see if there's any letters in the letter box please?" Mary returned a few minutes later and placed three letters on the kitchen table, just as the phone rang.

"Hello," Irene said as she picked up the receiver. It was James.

"Oh hello Darling, how's everything?" she asked when James spoke. "I'm fine," he answered, "but I'm afraid the weather isn't. I'm in Babinda waiting for the rain to stop. I might be a bit late. What's it like up there?" Irene could hear the sound of rain through the phone and looked out the window. "It's clearing here. Just a light drizzle," she answered. "Okay," he answered, "I'll wait a little and head off again when it lightens up. See you in an hour or so. Got some news," he said as Irene was about to put down the receiver. "What news?" she asked. "You'll have to wait until I get home," he answered cheekily. "Tell Mary Therese I have something for her," he said and hung up.

Irene grinned. James was always bringing something home for Mary Therese. She finished preparing the salad and settled herself with a gin and tonic before turning her attention to the mail Mary Therese had brought inside. Two of the letters were bills. The third envelope was overprinted; It read, 'Western Family Agency' and immediately Irene became concerned. She opened it quickly and as she began to read the contents, she slumped into the kitchen chair, displaying a look of horror.

"Dear Mr. And Mrs Campbell,

I am writing to advise you that I have in my possession a letter from a Miss Andrea Steedman ,who claims to be the birth- mother of a girl called Mary Therese, who she says was placed for adoption though our agency. The letter was sent to us here at the Western Family Agency, but we have no record of an adoption process commenced through this agency for any child by that name. Our records do show that an initial application for assessment was lodged by you in 1974, but it appears that application has never been processed. As Miss Steedman mentions your name in connection with the adoption of her child, we are understandably confused. I would be pleased to hear from you and any information you can offer that might help us resolve this matter. Meanwhile we have advised Miss Steedman that we are looking into her request, and will reply to her as soon as we can.

Yours faithfully

Ross Davidson

Agency Director

An overriding fear engulfed Irene as she tried to absorb the enormity of this seemingly simple request. In her apprehension, she felt the moisture oozing from her forehead. Pulling her thoughts together, she grabbed the telephone and tried to remember the number of the general store at Babinda. 'Perhaps James was still there,' she thought. Holding the phone to her ear, she tried to remember the number from previous calls she had made there. 'What is it? What is it?' she said inside her head, over and over again, as small droplets of perspiration fell from her forehead onto the letter. Giving up on memory, she hurried into James study where his work papers were filed. On his desk she found his address book and opened the index at B. Nothing there! 'Where is it?' she pleaded to herself. 'Babinda is a privately owned site, not a company site.' She opened the index at P. Yes, there it was. Using the telephone extension in James office she dialled the number."Babinda General Store, Allan speaking," the voice said.

"Allan, it's Irene Campbell, is James still there?"

"Well, hello to you too. No, I'm afraid he just left. Run out of milk have you?"

Irene forced a calmed composure. "No, I'm sorry. I was just anxious to ask him something before he got home. Doesn't matter. Sorry to bother you," she said. Replacing the receiver, Irene took a couple of deep breaths. Her mind was spinning in a dozen different directions. Past events flashed in and out of her consciousness. She hardly remembered what Andrea Steedman looked like. But she remembered all too clearly that she and James had done the wrong thing. She remembered the desperation she felt at not being able to adopt a child. She remembered the waiting list. 'Three to four years! How could anybody be expected to wait that long?' 'You can go to the Philippines or Thailand', someone suggested. 'Things can be arranged quickly there,' she was told. 'No, that's not what we want.' She recalled. 'We want an Australian baby.' Each agency they approached told them the same story. Three to four years! 'How could anyone wait that long?' Then, the breakthrough! She and James met with Julie Macleod from the Western Family Agency. Perhaps something could be done, but not through the agency. It would have to be done privately and it would cost a bit of money, but it could be done. Recurring thoughts were spinning around in her head as Irene tried to rationalise the situation. 'What does she want? More money? She got paid. How did she remember our names? That was a mistake. We shouldn't have given our real names. Oh God, I don't believe this is happening.' Unable to concentrate her mind on anything other than the letter and its ramifications, Irene slumped onto the lounge chair behind Mary Therese, who was sitting on the floor watching television.

"Will Daddy be home soon?" Mary asked. Irene didn't even hear the question. "Mummy what's the matter?" Mary asked, getting up from the floor and sensing an air of disquiet. Irene composed herself enough to tend to the needs of her daughter. 'You are my daughter. Mine! Not hers,' she thought as she looked upon Mary standing at her side. 'You didn't want her. I did! I've raised her. She's mine.' It was these forthright thoughts that helped Irene regain her mental strength enough to respond to Mary.

"It's all right Darling, Mummy was just thinking, that's all," she replied. "When will Daddy be home?" Mary asked again. "Soon darling, soon. He's been caught up in the storm. He'll be home soon." Mary's interruption to Irene's thoughts was a blessing in disguise. It helped settle her. 'After all,' she rationalised, 'nothing is going to happen right now. I can relax. There's no need to go hysterical. We can work this out. We will come up with a way to fix everything.'

Over the next hour while waiting for James to arrive home, Irene thought of ways to handle the letter. She considered several possibilities. They could simply ignore the letter and wait to see if another one came. They could return the letter marked 'not known at this address'. 'No, that wouldn't work. Our number is in the local telephone directory.' They could respond and claim no knowledge of Andrea, suggesting some possible confusion with another applicant. 'Yes, that would work. We could say that she must have confused us with someone else.' The one final and least attractive option, Irene thought, was to simply disappear. They could leave Cairns. Run away and hide somewhere. Leave the country. Go to New Zealand, start a new life there. Leaving would create problems though. 'What if they came up here looking for us and spoke to the neighbours? The neighbours would mention Mary, and say how old she was. That would start a manhunt. That would be telling them we had her.'

By the time James arrived home, Irene was an emotionally exhausted woman. She had neglected Mary Therese, who was eating dry biscuits and still watching television, unfed and unbathed, when James came through the front door. James' dinner was no further advanced, other than the prepared salad still sitting in the refrigerator, and Irene was lying down in the bedroom in the dark. As James walked in and surveyed the scene inside the house, a terrible fear shot through his chest. He walked over to Mary sitting on the floor. "Hello sweetie, where's Mummy?" he asked kissing her on the forehead. "In her room lying down," she answered. "Have you had your dinner?" James enquired. "Not yet. Mummy's lying down," she said, not taking her eyes off the television. James made a move for the bedroom, and as he passed by the kitchen noticed the open letter on the table. Pausing briefly he scanned the letter quickly. As he read, he slumped into the kitchen chair. He was momentarily stunned, unable to move. Pulling himself together, he hurried to the bedroom, where Irene lay across the double bed. She had fallen asleep. He sat down on the bed and gently stroked her forehead, taking care not to arouse her suddenly. She opened her eyes, looked into his, and flung her arms around his neck, and the two embraced each other tightly in silence.

"You've read the letter?" Irene asked, finally releasing her grip. "Yes" he replied. "What are we going to do?" she asked. There was a pause while James considered their position. "Well, I can tell you what we are not going to do. We are not going to panic. There is a way out of this," he reassured Irene, recalling the conversation with his Sales manager about a possible move to Sydney, "and we can still have Mary Therese. That I promise you."

As James reassured his wife that they would overcome any obstacle that might result from the letter, he knew it would not be an easy road. Deep down, he knew from the very first day he and Irene brought Mary Therese home to Cairns, that one day they would be called to account for their actions. Whatever their motives, their actions in side-stepping the appropriate procedures for adoption would eventually catch up with them. While considering running away from the problem, he knew that it would never be a permanent solution. Little did James Campbell realize as he sat on the edge of the bed, holding his traumatised wife in his arms that it would be another sixteen years before this error of judgement would be resolved.

8.

1996

Sixteen years later

The day itself, began simply enough. In the early morning darkness, Julian Knowles, thirty-five years old, stirred to the sound of the digital alarm clock setting off its nauseating, monotonous beeping. It was five o'clock. It was time to get up, shower and dress for the long day ahead. It was time to put aside the comfort of a warm bed, which offered a certain security of tenure. He shut the alarm down quickly hoping not to disturb his wife Annette, facing the other way, still sleeping soundly by his side. Climbing out of bed, all he heard was the sound of his own breathing, and the squeal of Annette's cat Foofo, as he brushed past on his way to the bathroom, and then to the kitchen. As he prepared for the day ahead, his mind was a wandering disoriented array of thought, expectation and perhaps anticipation. Thirty minutes later, as daylight was breaking, he climbed into his taxi, his place of work. He logged on to the GPS satellite system, entered his PIN number and placed a tape into the cassette player and drove the short distance to the deserted shopping centre in suburban Doncaster, twenty kilometres east of Melbourne, where other taxi drivers were parked, already engaged in deep discussion on the ills of the world and forcefully espousing their own personal plans to set things right. This was a morning ritual for Julian and his fellow drivers as they waited for the six o clock bookings to be called. The six o clock bookings might score one or two of them a prized fare to the airport, 40 kilometres away, but in the meantime, there was a pressing need to try and solve the world's problems.

"Look at the mess we are in," said Alberto as he leaned out from the side window, waving his hand in the air. "It hasn't changed in a thousand years, or even longer. Genocide, pollution, starvation, wars here, wars everywhere. A thousand years, it hasn't changed. Now, it seems, we have nuclear weapons gone missing in Russia."

"It's the Americans," Jacques replied with equal passion. "They interfere in everything. They spy, and they topple foreign governments covertly. They impose their culture on all the rest of the world through their giant corporations. They throw money here and there, buying loyalty and subservience. They are the culprit."

Julian Knowles pulled up slowly alongside Alberto Antonini's car. Alberto was the owner of the taxi Julian drove. Alberto had several taxis, a fleet no less, all inherited from his father several years ago. Not one license encumbered. On paper, Alberto was worth a fortune. Like most taxi license owners however, he was asset rich, but cash poor. The industry was going through a difficult time, and to supplement his income, Alberto had taken up some part time work as a debt collector for a loan shark who also happened to be his cousin.

"Good morning gentlemen, what is business like so far?" Julian asked.

"Nothing so far," Jacques replied. "It's so quiet. Nobody is going anywhere this morning." He took a deep draw on his cigarette.

"I am taking my cousin to the airport at eight o'clock," Alberto volunteered. I need something good before that. Not the same old five dollars here, five dollars there, which gets you nowhere; something to the city at least. Is the car running okay?" he enquired of Julian.

"Yes fine," Julian replied.

"The small jobs are okay," Jacques replied. "So long as you get a good mix! So long as the big jobs come as well," he added.

"Just something local for me will be fine until I start my permanent runs." Julian said.

"Ah yes, you are lucky with your runs," Alberto acknowledged. "Permanent runs, that's what I would like. But I don't know if I could handle the intellectually disabled the way you do," he said.

"They are fine," Julian replied. "They respond well to whatever you ask of them. They don't answer back, and you don't have to talk to them if you don't want to. It's those people who won't stop talking I can't stand. They tell you their whole life story in ten, fifteen minutes of non-stop rambling. It's as if they have not spoken to anyone since the last time they were in a taxi, and they have to make the most of the time they spend in your car before they climb back into their silent lonely world."

Yes," said Alberto. "Let them tell their priest or their psychologist. Why lump it on to us?"

"There are a lot of lonely people out there. For some, we are the only ones they speak to. Us and the supermarket checkout girls," said Jacques with a grin. "And we don't charge for advice," he added.

As the three men continued their discussion, they did not notice a young lady walking toward them from the rear. Dazed and dishevelled, she crossed the car park, clutching her handbag as she moved, her face revealing all the symptoms of shock and dismay.

"Don't be too hard on the American's," Alberto said in their defence. "They are the ones who will defend us when we are attacked."

"Attacked? Attacked by whom?" Jacques asked.

"The Indonesians of course! Who else?" Alberto insisted

"Oh yes, of course, and what are they going to do, land at Broome with one hundred thousand soldiers? What then? It's a long walk to anywhere from there. If the heat doesn't get them the taipans will," he joked.

Suddenly the young lady thrust her face in the passenger side window of Julian's car. "Take me home please," she begged.

Startled at this unexpected 'walk up' from nowhere, Julian took a moment to collect his thoughts, before speaking to Alberto.

"Which of you was here first?" he asked. "I was," Jacques replied, "but that's okay you take her," he indicated to Alberto.

"No, you were here first," Alberto replied. "You take her. I'll wait for a radio call." This mutual display of generosity was a smoke screen. They both wanted the airport booking. As they bantered away, the lady became more distressed. "Who will take me home?" she cried. "No, she is yours," Jacques insisted, intent on taking whatever the six o clock bookings would offer.

"Will somebody take me home please," the lady screamed.

"Hop in," Julian said, realizing the lady was not in a fit condition to put up with this foolish exchange. As the lady climbed into the back seat of Julian's car, Alberto agreed to take her, but it was too late. Julian was off. The meter was on!

"Where is home?" Julian asked. She gave him the address. "Gracedale Street in Mitcham," she said.

"What happened to you?" he continued, now realizing the lady was crying. "I was attacked just after I got off the bus. A man approached me from behind and tried to grab my handbag."

"Where? Did he hurt you?" Julian asked, quite shocked. She pointed down the street. "He pushed me to the ground."

"Do you want me to look for him? Do you want to go to the police?" he asked. "That's what you should do. I will take you there now if you wish."

"No, no, take me home please. He didn't get anything. I wouldn't let my bag go."

Despite his many years experience as a taxi driver, this had never happened to Julian before and he deferred to the lady's wishes although he felt strongly the need to bring the matter to the attention of the police. 'The assailant might not be far away,' he thought. 'Perhaps he could be caught quickly. But no, take the lady home first.' As he observed her through the rear vision mirror, he estimated her to be in her early twenties, with dark brown hair, brown eyes and generally speaking, a very attractive young woman.

"What did this man look like?" he asked as they drove along. She gave him a vague description. "I didn't get a very good look at him, it all happened so quickly. He was tall, he had dark hair, he wore jeans." "This is a dreadful business," Julian said. "The country is falling apart. Where is the respect anymore? Where is the order?" Julian's comments were designed to offer support, while not quite knowing how to handle this difficult situation.

Seven minutes later, Julian pulled up outside the lady's house in Gracedale Street, Mitcham. It was a modest weatherboard cottage sandwiched between two more modern brick dwellings, off the main thoroughfare. "Thank you for helping me," she said. "How much do I owe you?" Julian was initially reluctant to charge, even though the meter displayed ten dollars fifty cents. But business was business and after all, this was his job. So he took the money. The woman thanked him once again, and climbed out of the car. "You should report this to the police," he advised her once again. She nodded in agreement. "I'll think about it." As he drove off he took a mental note of her address, thinking that he might go to the police himself and report what happened.

Returning to the taxi rank at the shopping centre where he had begun the day, he noted both Jacques and Alberto had gone. Perhaps they had scored their six o clock bookings and were on their way to the airport. Not without a touch of regret did he also realize that if either driver had taken the young lady, as they should have, he himself might now be on his way to the airport. Never mind. He still had his runs at Elm Tree Cottages, with the intellectually disabled, and they were better than an airport fare. As he waited for the time to pass, there was little activity on the radio. Troubled by the incident with the young woman, he decided that he would report the matter concerning the young lady to the police on the way to Elm Tree Cottages. 'Perhaps the fellow who attacked her had done this repeatedly? Perhaps the police already knew of him? Yes, better to report it.'

When he arrived at the police station, the duty officer, Constable Beverley Ashton was on the phone. When she finished her conversation with the caller, making a note of the discourse in the logbook, she attended to Julian.

"I just thought I should report it," he concluded after telling Beverley the events of the morning. "Maybe the lady will come in herself. Maybe not! I don't know. But I thought I should report it."

"That's fine," Constable Ashton said. "Let me have your name and address in case we need to contact you again," she said. "There's not much we can do, if she doesn't come in herself. But we have a record of it here now and if anything comes of it we can take it from there."

It was with great personal satisfaction that Julian drove down the Eastern Freeway to Elm Tree Cottages. If he wasn't of much assistance to the young lady, at least he had brought the matter to the attention of the authorities and therefore he had played his part, done his civic duty, so to speak. As he drove, he turned on the cassette player. He loved his music. His collection of tapes made little room for anything else in the glove box. They were an important part of his work comfort. Music relaxed him. It was a buffer between him and those maniacs on the road who made a mockery of the basics of road safety. Mostly it was the young ones, the P platers, who had just been given their license to drive and did not understand the meaning of the words, 'road courtesy'. As Dame Kiri Te Kanawa sang the beautiful 'Marietas Lied' by Korngold, a rendition that almost sent him into a rapturous daze, Julian took the exit ramp at the Chandler Highway and was soon passing through the main entrance to Elm Tree Cottages.

For the past three years, he had been coming to this place each morning, to collect the four residents he had come to know so well. They had become a small part of his life, these poor unfortunate victims of nature's mistakes. Elm Tree Cottages had for over fifty years provided in one form or another, a home for people who through no fault of their own, were born intellectually disabled. It was a home and a place of refuge. A place where they could be given the care and attention needed. But in the cold hard light of business, its future had recently been decided. Its commercial development potential was irresistible.

As Julian drove along the upper main road, over the larger than usual road humps that prevented travelling at a speed of more than twenty kilometres per hour, he wondered about the fate of the residents after the developers had had their plans approved by the State Government. As he passed by the row of white mini buses parked and ready to take the residents to their day care centres and sheltered workshops, he wondered also about the magnificent English elms that so elegantly grace both sides of the road, providing a dense green canopy above him as he passed underneath. Would they too be given their marching orders?

His first passenger at Unit 33 was Loretta, a woman in her forties, overweight and profoundly deaf and consequently mute apart from those moments when she was sufficiently provoked enough to vent her anger. Make her angry and her vocal chords let fly; not with coherent well timed, enunciated instructions, but rather a high pitched scream that left no doubt as to her displeasure, and had staff jumping every which way to pacify her enraged demeanour. At such times, she was not beyond taking matters to the physical and attempting a well-timed left jab to the rib cage of a distracted staff member. She had become used to seeing Julian walk into the lounge where she sat waiting patiently, and often walked to his car without any prompting. The one basic rule with Loretta, that Julian and the staff needed to remember, was never to let her see her bag; the one necessary item that carried all her essentials. Her medication, her lunch, her diary and any additional item of clothing considered important for the day's activities were in her bag. Never let her see her bag! Her bag had to be delivered into the boot of the car secretly. What it was about the bag that so infuriated her, no one could establish. On some occasions however, Julian's appearance was enough of its own to set her off on one of her tantrums, that would leave him and the staff perplexed to the point where, when she refused to get into the car, the staff gave up and she stayed home. Loretta was unpredictable but on this morning she was happy to travel and settled into the front seat without a murmur.

"She seems happy today," Julian remarked to the staff member Anthony, as they guided her into the car, Julian taking her arm, Anthony walking behind them with her bag behind his back.

"She's been good this morning," Anthony nodded as he quietly placed her bag in the boot of the car. The placing of the bag into the boot had become a well-executed ritual. "I checked her diary this morning. It says she will be going on a picnic today. I think she understands that and is looking forward to it." Anthony added.

Julian turned on the meter and continued on to the next pick up point at Unit 49. Here he greeted Maria Stewart, a woman in her late forties, and the unit supervisor of some twenty residents, now classified as clients, by a system that seemed to favour viewing the institution in corporate terms, with each member a cost centre showing a credit or a debit. It was Maria who, three years earlier asked Julian if he would be willing to take on the responsibility of doing a permanent run each morning and afternoon. Maria was the one who had convinced him to at least give it a try, with promises of its fulfilling and rewarding nature. Julian had accepted the offer to take on the run, but only on a three-month trial basis. It was agreed between the two of them that if he felt that he was not able to continue, then he could just say so, and that would be the end of that. Three months somehow became three years.

"Hello happy face," Maria said as Julian walked into the lounge. The lounge was a huge room, a common room for perhaps a dozen or so residents who gathered after breakfast to watch morning television while waiting to be picked up by other taxi drivers, or staff drivers, who took them to their placements each day. Most of them that is! Some had nowhere to go, and sat around for much longer than a normal person could stand, until something was organized that would at least have them engage in some meaningful if not productive activity.

"Morning Maria," he replied.

Richard is ready, and Rowland is in the bathroom," she said as she tied the shoelaces of a resident. "The dockets are on my desk."

Richard Steedman was fifty one, and had lived most of his life at Elm Tree. He struggled to walk unassisted without falling over, and always wore a protective leather head-guard. Within the confines of Elm Tree Cottages he generally shuffled around with the aid of his big red walking frame. He had a fascination for water, shining, glistening, shimmering water. He often needed to be restrained from falling in, when taken to the indoor pool for exercise. Unable to enunciate clearly he was still capable of conversation, had a remarkable capacity to recall names and addresses, and loved music.

"P-p-lay A-ABBA t-t-ape J-j-ulian," he said as Julian collected the dockets and guided his big red frame toward the car. "Okay," Julian said. "ABBA it is today."

Julian's third passenger was Rowland, mute and disruptive, he generally had to be herded from the unit into the car. Never keen to leave the Cottages, he initially resisted going, but eventually acceded and relaxed once inside the car, until the fourth passenger Daphne, was picked up from Unit 50. A fifty one year old, with a physical deformity in her legs, she was a bombastic, overbearing, bossy individual who took control of Rowland as they sat together in the back seat. Rowland was always wary of Daphne, and rarely played up when she was in the car. He did, however have an unfortunate tendency to remove some of his clothing without notice, and his shoes were never safe on his feet.

With his four charges on board and safely belted in, Julian set off to the first of three drop-off points, a sheltered workshop, and two educational facilities for adults with intellectual disabilities. ABBA was not Julian's choice of music. He would much have preferred Mozart or Bach and often he encouraged Richard to appreciate the classics. Richard however had his own ideas about the music he most enjoyed. As Julian's car exited Elm Tree Cottages and joined the morning mainstream traffic chaos, Richard could be viewed bouncing up and down to the very loud sounds of ABBA singing "Thank you for the Music," Loretta was taking a swipe at Daphne who was bellowing abuse at Rowland as he attempted to throw his shoes out the window, all to the great consternation of passing motorists who could be seen gawking at the goings-on, and running the risk of a minor collision. For passing motorists it seemed like a side show, a curious distraction, but for Julian Knowles, it was business as usual.

9.

It was one hour later, on that warm morning in March, when the phone rang. Warwick Steedman was in his office at Steedman and Associates, Public Relations consultants, on busy St. Kilda Road, conducting a staff meeting. All his line managers were present. Alexander Smith, Media manager, Julie Quirk, Accounts and Administration, Michael Anderson, Sales. They were discussing a request from Doncaster Power and Gas, to provide damage control, following a disastrous computer malfunction which left a 96 year old lady in a retirement village incorrectly served with a summons following non-payment of an electricity account. It was a minor matter in the overall scheme of things, but the Gas company were sensitive to any adverse publicity, and wanted the matter dealt with expeditiously and asked Steedman and Associates to wrap it up quickly.

Warwick's secretary Jill Toogoods excused herself from the meeting and answered the call. Then, with a resigned expression, gestured through the glass window that separated her from those gathered at the meeting, miming four words that caused Warwick Steedman's stomach to lurch forward... 'it's your mother.'

Warwick Steedman's relationship with his mother was not one that favoured making social calls during office hours, so he knew instantly that something had happened. He excused himself from the meeting and took the call at Jill Toogoods desk.

"What's the matter mother, what's happened?" Warwick asked.

"It's Andrea," Elsie Steedman said in a faltering voice, "Dr. Hickey says she's slipping away. Can you go there now? Susan is with me, we are leaving now."

"I'm on my way," he answered sympathetically and replaced the receiver. He looked up at Jill. "It's Andrea, I have to go. Can you tell the others," he said, as he turned his eyes toward the people in the office. Jill Toogoods nodded. He smiled gratefully and headed for the lift. Minutes later, Warwick Steedman was on St. Kilda Road, driving to the hospital where his sister, Andrea Steedman, lay dying.

As he made his way through the city, there were other things on his mind. His daughter Joanne, had recently given birth to his first grandchild, a girl, and both he and his wife Susan were pre-occupied with the new addition to the family. The pressure to get Doncaster Power and Gas, out of their unfortunate mess was persistent and although he had little personal sympathy for their plight, the fee for his firm's efforts was very generous, and there was the promise of more challenging work to come. So, as he continued driving, his mind replete with work matters, his sister Andrea's condition, did not fully resonate with him.

It was eighteen months earlier, while showering one morning that Andrea discovered a small lump, in her left breast. Maintaining an open mind, she nevertheless hastily rearranged her schedule for the day, and visited her doctor. When her doctor first mentioned the word 'cancer', she went numb, and then strangely detached herself momentarily, as if the doctor was speaking to someone else. "I'm going to refer you to a specialist," he said. "It's quite possible that it's a cyst and harmless, but I would prefer that you be in the hands of someone who deals with this on a daily basis," he said. Andrea's reaction passed from detached, to disbelief, to scared, anxious and then angry. 'How dare such an unwelcome intrusion come into my life at this time,' she thought. It was a time when she was the most productive she had ever been.

"The oncologist's name is Maureen Hickey, and she's very good," the doctor said. "She will conduct a biopsy. In any event, you should not be overly concerned at this stage. Early breast cancers can be treated successfully. Whatever it is, Doctor Hickey will discuss the various options for treatment." Andrea nodded, and tried to look calm. "When was the last time you had a mammogram?" he asked. "About two years ago," Andrea replied. "I was meaning to have another soon. I've just been so busy, I haven't got around to it," she answered. "Is their any history of breast cancer in your family?" he asked. Andrea stumbled. "No, er..I don't know actually, I was adopted. I have since been reunited with my sister, but neither of us knows anything about our biological parents," she answered. And your sister has had no problems?" the doctor asked. "No, nothing," Andrea answered. "Okay, well, try not to worry. As I said, it may be a cyst. I'll make an appointment for you now," he said, picking up the phone, and handing Andrea a referral letter.

When Doctor Hickey examined Andrea, she took a biopsy for analysis. Two days later, she advised that the biopsy was inconclusive, and asked her to return for a second biopsy. The results of the second biopsy indicated calcification and a large amount of ductal carcinoma in-situ. Because it was pre-invasive, no treatment was prescribed, just regular checks. Andrea returned to her local doctor to discuss the results and was told not to worry. Her frantic workload however, predictably saw her forget about the lump until twelve months later, when another biopsy was scheduled. This time the lump was removed and found to be benign. It was three months after that, following constant prompting by Terri Carney, that Andrea had another biopsy. This fourth biopsy revealed an invasive cancer, that had subsequently spread outside the breast to the lungs. It was a secondary cancer and it was too advanced to operate.

Arriving at the hospital, Warwick made his way to the reception desk. He knew where Andrea was. He had made several visits both to her home and to the hospital, over the past weeks, as he watched her progressively deteriorate. Checking at the desk though, gave him time to collect himself after the drive from the office. He even felt he had seen the Ward Duty Nurse sufficient times lately, to be on first names with her.

"Is the doctor with her?" he asked, as Nurse Veronica Paul raised her eyes above her desk and noticed him walking toward her.

"She's just stepped out for a moment. You can go straight in Mr. Steedman. Miss Steedman was asking for you," she told him. He smiled and thanked her and made his way down the corridor to room 22. When he entered the room, he cast his eyes upon the lonely, emaciated figure in the bed by the window; the figure of a woman about to die, a woman he had known her whole life, a woman he admired, respected and in his own way, loved. Andrea turned her head and watched as Warwick Steedman entered the room. She raised her forearm as a sign of relief, and beckoned him closer knowing that brother and sister were together again for the last time.

For all of the twenty-two years since Andrea left her home in Melbourne and travelled to Brisbane to have her baby, she had continued to harbour two dark secrets. One, she confided only with Terri Carney. No member of her family was ever aware of the existence of Mary Therese. The other, she kept to herself. As disciplined as she was however, she knew that ultimately she could not keep this information hidden. The greater family, she concluded, had a right to know. They would know anyway, once the contents of her will were revealed. Thus, she had waited until what was virtually her dying breath, to reveal the whole story to the one man she believed would handle the matter in the proper way.

In the quiet, peaceful setting of a private room at the Royal Women's Hospital, Warwick Steedman pulled up a chair and sat down alongside his dying sister. Over the space of the next hour, Andrea would explain to Warwick, the long and complicated chronology of events, dating back twenty-three years, revealing to him events that would, in the weeks to follow, threaten to tear the family apart.

One hour later, the meeting between brother and sister concluded, Andrea's mother Elsie Steedman, elderly, grey-haired, arrived at the hospital with Warwick's wife Susan. Warwick immediately made way for her to sit by her dying daughter. "Can I get anything for you Andrea," Elsie asked, as Andrea's eyes opened and closed intermittently. There was no answer forthcoming, just a slight shake of the head. The end was now very near.

As Elsie sat by her daughter's bedside, Andrea's sister Margaret Sanders arrived. She was a middle aged, slightly overweight, dark haired bullish woman with a short temper, a lack of sensitivity to anything, who for most of her life had shown no patience for anything other than her own pet causes.

"How long is this likely to take?" Margaret Sanders said to Warwick Steedman, as the two of them stood back from the bed, one calm and resigned, the other anxious, unsettled, longing for closure.

"You don't have to stay," Elsie replied sharply overhearing the insensitive remark.

"Of course I do," she protested. "How would it look if I just walked out now? What would people think?" Margaret rolled her eyes from left to right indignant at the very suggestion.

"When have you ever cared for Andrea or for that matter what people think?" her mother replied slowly and patiently, hurt but devoid of recrimination.

"That's not true. I have always loved Andrea," she said, and added without any embarrassment, "even if she isn't a blood relative."

The question of legitimacy was a sensitive matter in the life of Andrea Steedman. It was out of devotion to her mother that all these years, she maintained a disciplined silence about the birth of Mary Therese. It was a silence that demonstrated an inner strength, not experienced by any other member of the Steedman household. Somewhere in the depths of her mind, a voice said, 'no, don't tell her. It's not fair on her. She gave me a life. I won't disappoint her. I won't burden her with this.' Through all of it though, she gave Margaret no reason for her indifference. But then, biologically, as Margaret had so coldly pointed out, she wasn't one of the Steedman clan anyway.

"She's my daughter," Elsie answered slowly, not bothering to take her eyes off Andrea. While the serenity of the moment was now clearly disturbed by Margaret's insensitivity, Elsie's attention to Andrea was not. She took her daughter's hand and stroked it gently, her heart consumed with memories of her full and rewarding life.

Elsie did tell Margaret the circumstances of Andrea's arrival into the family, but not until she was twenty-one. Until that time, Margaret didn't remember the day Andrea was brought home from the 'hospital'. Margaret was a self-centred, self-absorbed sibling of little compassion or understanding of her mother and sister, and Elsie knew that an earlier revelation of this family secret would probably result in an acute sibling rivalry based on biological preference. Better that she didn't know, Elsie thought.

"Bloody hell, will you two shut up. A woman is dying here." The whispered voice was that of Andrea's younger, dim-witted brother Robert, who had joined the gathering shortly before Margaret, and was standing at the back of the room. Robert, dark and moody, and five years Andrea's junior, was at least the match of Margaret's insensitivity, but he was quite a different piece of work when it came to his own good fortune. He was greedy and self indulgent in a way Margaret was yet to understand.

"Who cares if she wasn't a blood relative," he said, "what will happen to the money now?" he muttered.

Robert's abrupt intervention in the mother-daughter spate, was a true reflection of his ambivalence to Andrea's imminent departure from the living and no surprise to Warwick Steedman, and his wife Susan, who were standing by the window. Robert's constant ribbing of Margaret was, however, a smoke screen to hide his own serious shortcomings. He had three problems that he struggled to deal with, fast women, slow horses, and slow paying poker machines. His concern for the impending distribution of Andrea's estate, related more to an outstanding debt he owed to a loan shark, rather than any genuine concern for a fair and equitable disbursement. Robert had recently extended his credit card limit of five thousand dollars, and to clear the debt had sourced the money through a friend of a former girlfriend. The source had called in the debt, leaving Robert with the unequivocal impression that should it not be paid within a fortnight, his present good health could not be guaranteed. Collection of the debt had been handed over to taxi operator and part time debt collector, Alberto Antonini. Robert was feeling the heat.

"That's just like you isn't it," Margaret said as she turned her head and confronted her younger brother, her eyes on fire with fury. "That's all you are interested in, you self-centred little prat."

"Please can we have some civility here," Warwick Steedman pleaded with his siblings. "Can't you two put your differences aside for the moment and show some respect?"

Robert ignored Warwick's plea. "Oh, shut up you fat ugly bitch." he continued, intent on testing Margaret to her very limits. Robert was used to trading such outbursts with his older sister. He provoked her often enough with his snide remarks about her excessive weight problem, and her failing marriage.

While this sibling bickering continued unabated, Andrea Steedman, forty-five, lying comfortably in her private room, safely removed from the frenetic activity of the street activity three floors below, her frail body riddled with cancer, lifted her right arm to gesture a final wave goodbye, and with that, closed her eyes and stopped breathing.

The gesture went unnoticed, as Margaret and Robert continued trading insults and Elsie continued stroking Andrea's hand. Moments later, Oncologist, Dr. Maureen Hickey, entered the room and without any formal acknowledgment of their presence, tended immediately to Andrea. Her brief observation completed, she turned to Elsie, and placed her hand on her shoulder. "She's gone I'm afraid, my sympathy to you all."

The street noises below, offered little comfort to the solemnity and the serenity of the passing of a life. The screeching of car brakes, and horns blasting, both filtered upwards as a gentle afternoon breeze carried into the private room through a partially opened window. Andrea Steedman, adopted sister to Richard, Warwick, Margaret and Robert, who lived a full and rewarding life, was gone. Her mother Elsie, herself now eighty one, a generally healthy figure, looked up to the ceiling searching for answers, unable to explain why it is that some mother's do bury their children, when the cosmic order of things would suggest the reverse. She looked around the room at each one of her brood, and then slowly rested her head on Andrea's bed, weeping as she did so.

As Andrea lay peacefully, her life over, the pain gone, the struggle now passed, the man to whom she had entrusted her story, stood tall and aloof behind Elsie. Looking down on this still, now lifeless form, Warwick Steedman pondered the information she had earlier revealed to him. 'Why had she not mentioned some of this before? Why now?'

Why indeed! But, like it or not, Warwick Steedman had unwittingly taken up the baton. As he stood there at Andrea's bedside, taking in this bizarre repertoire of insults being transmitted from one family member to another, his thoughts cemented themselves in the depths of disquiet that surrounded him. The shock of all that he had learnt one hour earlier had overtaken what should have been his moment of first bereavement. Silently he begrudgingly congratulated Andrea for keeping it to herself all these years, and then cursed her for the awesome burden she had placed upon him.

Then, a moment of reconciliation, as his sister Margaret Sanders, solemn and pensive, put the spate of words just spoken behind her, and took her mother in her arms. Robert retreated to the chair adjacent to the door, grim faced and silent. Of the gathering, only Warwick's wife Susan, broke down weeping uncontrollably as she reached out for her husband's support, burying her head in his arms.

10.

Twenty kilometres and another world away from the final minutes of the life of Andrea Steedman, Julian Knowles was driving his taxi down the narrow winding roadway of Contented Acres Retirement Village in Doncaster. He travelled at a snail's pace, carefully negotiating his way past the elderly residents who wandered up and down the roadway, either blissfully unaware of, or ignoring the concrete footpath specifically constructed for their safety and comfort. He was conscious too, of the possibility that at any time, a resident might well suddenly reverse direction and step out into the middle of the road. Such events were to be expected, or at the very least anticipated, at Contented Acres. Of greater concern was the possibility that one or other resident who still had a licence to drive, might suddenly reverse out of a carport straight onto the road with not the slightest warning given as to their intention. Many of the residents still had cars, as if to signal to the world that they may have succumbed to the serenity of life inside the village, but that didn't mean the rest of the world was safe from their ever-erratic driving habits. While some struggled to see over the top of the steering wheel, others drove with such trepidation, and anxiety, their right foot became a mechanical lever, moving up and down, up and down, jerking the car forward a few metres, then coming to a halt, jerking forward again, coming to a halt again. Danger was lurking everywhere.

Julian cruised past the community centre where early lunch was being served. Through the large bay windows he caught sight of a handful of tables where those residents who could no longer prepare their own meals in their private units, sat patiently waiting for their three course daily offering. He passed the lily pond, home to a dozen or so ducks who constantly wandered the grounds of the village. The ducks had recently become a major political issue. They had a most unfortunate tendency as they wandered about, to leave their droppings in the middle of the driveway of the units, and residents were forever walking over the green droppings as they moved to and from the unit, carrying the residue inside and onto their beige coloured carpets. Village meetings to discuss the 'duck problem' had been held and chaired by the village manager Jim Coutts, a fifty-three-year-old retired Army Major. Jim had seen service in Vietnam and Malaya. He had commanded a company of battle hardened, highly trained soldiers under fire. He was used to instant acceptance of orders. He neither expected nor tolerated dissent. Now, in his role of village manager, he was commanding another army where dissent was rampant, particularly when it came to the issue of duck droppings.

Julian waved to Jim as he passed underneath the timber footbridge. He had been coming here for so long now, he was almost a part of the village. Along the footbridge, the motorised scooter brigade rattled along, terrorising pedestrians, yet another hot political potato for Jim Coutts to deal with. As Julian pulled up outside unit 170, Myra Applewood was wheeling her way out of her unit, with her walking frame, loaded up with her sketching board, her box of pastels and charcoal, ready to travel into the city for her weekly art class. At ninety-six years of age, Myra was as active as the day she retired thirty-six years ago, from her position as professor of Chemistry at St. Michael's University College.

"Hello Myra, sorry I'm late," Julian said. "The traffic at the railway crossing was banked up again. The sooner they put an overpass there, the better," he added. "Oh that's all right," Myra replied. We still have plenty of time." Myra was a regular taxi user. Unable to drive since accidentally running into the garden plot outside the community centre three years ago, she relented and handed in her license to the local police station. It was then that Julian first met her. Unable to cope with the boredom of village life, Myra had set about re-educating herself in the arts. Pastels were her favourite, although she could swing over to oil painting or water colouring at will. She attended classes at the State Artists Centre on the outskirts of the city twice a week. She was an active member and co-founder of the local campus of the University of the Third Age, often lecturing on her vast travels around the world over the past fifty years. Her strong suit was the Middle-East and Central-Asia. Julian answered a radio call to pick her up one day, two years earlier, and the two of them clicked somehow, and he became her permanent driver ever since.

He was fascinated with her knowledge, her lucidity and her ability to teach through simple discussion. She would read the newspaper thoroughly each morning before Julian arrived and have several items marked for discussion with him. Through these discussions Julian supplemented his limited education, and saw world events through her eyes, her knowledge, and her experiences. She had become his de-facto tutor.

Julian helped settle Myra into the car, and began the gentle cruise back up the hill to the main road. "How are we feeling today," Julian asked. "Oh I'm all right; well maybe not. I'm not sure if I should be going today. Don't quite feel up to it, but I can't stand the thought of staying in this place all day," Myra replied as she ruffled through her basket to pull out the morning paper. "Any more news about the summons?" Julian asked, referring to the computer generated demand notice from Doncaster Power and Gas. "Oh goodness me, don't get me started," she answered. "Those stupid fools! Don't they realize I simply forgot! You'd think they would realize that an address in a retirement village would be enough to prompt a phone call or something," she answered. "It's a computer world Myra," Julian said. "The computer doesn't know who you are or even care. It just spits out bills and records payments. If you don't pay, it automatically gets angry and starts sending out reminder letters. If you don't answer them, it just moves on to the next process."

Julian arrived at the freeway entrance as Myra scanned the paper. "I suppose they'll have another nude for us today," Myra sighed, her thoughts projecting forward to the day's art lesson. "Male or female?" Julian asked. "Oh female of course! A male nude would be too much to take," she answered. Myra didn't like nudes. It was not her style although she regularly drew them, and would often comment on how beautiful the young girl was, and what lovely hair she had. If Julian knew that Myra was going to paint a nude, he would make a mental note of it, and remind himself to take a peek at the results on the return journey. Travelling along the freeway into the city was quick. Most of the morning peak traffic had gone and vehicles moved briskly. "When you pick me up later, could we stop off at the supermarket? I need some fruit and vegetables?" Myra asked. "Sure, no problem," Julian replied.

*

Later, the same day, as Warwick and Susan Steedman walked away from the hospital on that balmy March afternoon, Warwick pondered the information his sister Andrea had earlier revealed to him. He knew the longer he delayed telling the family all that Andrea had revealed to him, the more compromising would be his own position. He knew that to withhold such information, would certainly leave him exposed at some later stage. As executor of Andrea's estate he had to be transparent, and be seen as such. He knew the news would shock them. How would he go about telling them that Andrea had a daughter who was to be included in the list of beneficiaries? Was his mother Elsie aware? Were there others that knew? How would he tell them? This was his dilemma.

Returning home along the Eastern Freeway, Warwick and Susan crossed the Yarra River as it snaked its way around Fairfield Park. They passed the Royal Talbot Rehabilitation centre on the left with its grim reminders of the resultant injuries sustained by road traumas. Above them on the right, was Elm Tree Cottages. Further along, Kew Residential Services, nestled on top of the hill. The two properties spread across a huge expanse of prime acreage. Elm Tree Cottages was a separate facility from Kew Residential Services, but like Kew, it was for years the envy of property developers across the city, eager to access the commanding 'view to kill for' vista that image conscious buyers drool over.

As Warwick and Susan Steedman drove along the busy freeway, inside Elm Tree Cottages, Maria Stewart was preparing to journey home after her ten-hour shift at Unit 49, when the phone rang. She replaced a file in her cabinet and took the call. On the other end of the line, was Nurse Veronica Paul, calling from the Royal Women's Hospital. It was the call Maria was dreading, but knew was coming. Maria Stewart listened as Veronica gave her the news. "I'm so terribly sorry Maria. Andrea passed away an hour ago. I wanted to call you sooner, but the whole family was here and I didn't think that would be wise." As Maria absorbed the news she took a deep breath and sat down in silence. She had been expecting a call virtually at anytime, after spending the previous evening at Andrea's bedside. Doctor Hickey had indicated to her that it was unlikely Andrea would survive the next twenty-four hours. Maria stayed until late in the evening, knowing that in all probability, this would be the last time she would see Andrea alive. She rested her head in her hand, saddened but relieved that it was over.

"Were you able to speak with her today?" Maria asked. "Just to say hello, nothing else. We were very busy all day." Veronica answered. "Thank you Veronica," she said gratefully. "I really appreciate all the help you have been these last few weeks. How was Elsie?" she asked. "Better than I expected, all things considered," Nurse Paul replied. There was a long silence as the news sank in. "Okay, well, I'm just leaving work now. I'll call Elsie when I get home," Maria said.

"But Andrea is your sister," Veronica protested. "This isn't right. You should have been here. Do you want me to come over tonight? I'm not on duty, we could talk." Veronica asked. "No, that won't be necessary. I'll talk with Elsie. I don't want to see the others. I'll have to call Michelle and tell her. She'll come over. We can console each other." Maria said. "Well, let me know if there's anything I can do," Veronica said. "I will," Maria replied. She slowly replaced the receiver, and sat in silence for a few moments, reflecting. Elsie's earlier suspicions about Maria and Andrea had been vindicated. Maria was five years older and information about their parents was vague, but adoption information and DNA tests had confirmed that they were related. They were sisters. Well, almost. They shared the same mother, but not the same father. That unfortunate fact only served to detach Andrea further. What should have been a joyous discovery, an epiphany, left her distressed. The thought of a mother of questionable moral standing, stood in sharp contrast to Elsie, the mother she had known her whole life. Andrea did not receive the information with great excitement. She and Maria did not bond strongly although they became friendly and maintained contact. Andrea preferred it that way, at first, not wanting Maria to be too close. But then Andrea found Michelle and matters changed.

Collecting her things together, Maria gave a few last minute instructions to the afternoon duty supervisor and made her way to the car park. It was just after five in the evening and the east bound traffic travelling downhill toward the freeway entrance was banking up. Maria reached the exit from Elm Tree Cottages and seeing the likely delay chose to take the suburban arterial route home instead. Surviving the roundabout roulette, where the exit from Elm Tree Cottages merged with Princess Street, she made her way along Willsmere Road in her 1995 green Ford Laser. She soon found herself cruising comfortably along Belmore Road, and her mind drifted back to the news she had just received, such that she did not notice her speed creep above the limit of sixty kilometres per hour. By the time the flash of light from the speed camera went off in front of her, she had allowed the car to drift up to seventy kilometres per hour, and no time to adjust. "Damn!" she said, in full knowledge that her lack of concentration had just cost her one hundred and thirty five dollars. "Damn!" she said again, realizing that had she taken the freeway option she could have sat comfortably on one hundred kilometres per hour, and arrived home financially much better off. "Damn!"

Meanwhile Warwick and Susan Steedman continued their journey along the freeway. Further ahead, the police had set up a Booze Bus inspection point, and the traffic had slowed considerably. Warwick eased up on the accelerator and relaxed a little.

"There's going to be some problems with Margaret and Robert," Warwick said breaking the silence.

"What sort of problems?" Susan asked.

"Money problems," he replied.

"What do you mean?" she said sniffing and clearing her throat.

"Andrea has appointed me joint executor with a firm of trustees, Sinner, Brady and Capper. The terms of the will are complicated and will need ongoing management. Margaret and Robert are not going to like it."

"How do you know that Andrea has appointed you executor?"

"She told me earlier, when we had a private chat, before all of you arrived."

"What did Andrea decide to do with her money?" Susan enquired.

"She's been generous with everyone, but a little cunning too. It will have to be managed by the firm of trustees."

"How much is there?"

"I'm not sure of the exact amount. It will depend on property valuations, but it's close to three million. But that's not the main problem unfortunately," he answered.

"What else is there?" Susan enquired. Warwick hesitated for a moment, unsure whether to go on. In the end, he felt he had to tell someone, something of his conversation with Andrea, and who better than his own wife.

"Andrea has told me she has a daughter," he said, biting his lip as he did so.

"What?" Susan said disbelievingly.

"She was put up for adoption when she was four months old. Andrea wants me to find her. She's in her early twenties."

"You're kidding me?" Susan said incredulously. "Andrea has a daughter, and no one in the family knew?"

"No," Warwick answered.

"Not even Elsie? Surely Elsie knew?" she asked.

"It appears not," Warwick said. "I don't know how mother will react when I tell her," he said.

"Are you sure that she knew what she was saying?" Susan asked.

"She certainly left no doubt in my mind," Warwick answered.

"Did she explain the circumstances, who the father is and all that?"

"She didn't say anything about the father. I didn't want to go into that. I felt it was better to let her tell me what she wanted to, and not press her too hard. She's given me some information. I'm not sure yet how to go about finding her," Warwick answered.

"Did she say where she thought she might be?" Susan pressed.

"She gave me the name of the adoption agency in Brisbane. I'm thinking I might ask Brad Murphy to make some initial enquiries for me."

Maria Stewart was now approaching the intersection of Elgar Road and Doncaster Road from the south. After the delay caused by the Booze Bus, Warwick and Susan Steedman in their red convertible Saab had taken the Doncaster Road exit from the freeway and were heading up the hill toward the same intersection approaching from the west. Maria, her mind replete with the news of Andrea's death and the events of her day at Elm Tree Cottages, and now compounded by the intrusive and unfair nature of the speed camera and its resultant cost, slowed down as she noticed the lights ahead were red.

As Warwick Steedman accelerated up the hill, he glanced at the fuel indicator on the dashboard and considered pulling into the service station on the left to fill up with premium super. Noticing however that the traffic lights two hundred metres ahead were green, he chose to continue and accelerated harder to make sure he reached the Shoppingtown intersection in time to cross through safely.

"Careful darling you are going a bit too fast," Susan said as she felt the sudden surge in power.

At the same time as Warwick Steedman accelerated east up the hill, Julian Knowles was approaching from the western side of the intersection, driving his yellow ford falcon taxi down the hill. Julian's day was nearing an end having returned Myra Applewood safely home from art class. He had completed his afternoon run to Elm Tree Cottages, and only minutes earlier, picked up his last fare for the day. His fare, a businessman from Sydney, was travelling home and keen to get to the airport as soon as possible. The shortest route to the airport was along Williamson's Road, which meant turning right at the intersection at Shoppingtown. On learning from his passenger however that time was of the essence, Julian chose the freeway option and accelerated due west down the hill, every bit as keen as Warwick Steedman to insure safe passage through the green light. His passenger however, familiar with the journey, suddenly asked him to turn right at the intersection, just as Warwick Steedman's red Saab was passing through. At that moment, fifty metres away, the lights at Elgar Road turned green, and Maria Stewart turned into Doncaster Road.

It was perhaps five minutes or so later, that a call came through to Constable Beverley Ashton, still on duty at the Doncaster Police station, four kilometres to the east of the intersection.

"There's been an accident at Shoppingtown," the nervous faltering voice exclaimed.

"What kind of accident?" Constable Ashton asked.

11.

A few miles off the coast of Brisbane, lies North Stradbroke Island. It is home to approximately three thousand local inhabitants and a virtual army of day-trippers searching for the perfect wave or an encounter with the myriad of sea life abounding in its warm water. There were four settlements on the island. Amity and Dunwich, occupied the northern end. Point Lookout and Point Particular, lay to the south. Along that part of the coastline that served as home to the tiny community at Point Particular, noted psychologist and television talk show favourite, Brad Murphy, was helping his wife Jenny, and fifteen year old daughter Sonia, during rush hour at the local general store. For Brad, this was personal therapy time; winding down after a day of consultations at his successful practice at Haven's Point on the mainland, just thirty minutes away by water taxi. For Jenny, it was her anchor; a business of her own, set on a cliff above the beautiful South Pacific; a panorama so magnificent that in quiet times she could simply gaze out at the dazzling dark blue ocean rising above the tree line, and drift off into a vacant, timeless dream-world, in awe of it all.

It was around midday, two days after the death of Andrea Steedman, when the phone rang. Brad answered. He had taken the day off from the practice. There were only two appointments anyway and he had re-scheduled them for the following day. The call was for him. It was Jill Toogoods, secretary to Warwick Steedman calling from Melbourne and it sounded sufficiently urgent, that the trivialities and small talk that usually began with calls of this nature were dispensed with quickly.

"Hi there what's up?" Brad asked.

"It's Warwick," she said in a distraught quivering voice. "Both he and Susan have been in an accident. There was a collision."

"Is it serious? Have they been hurt?" Brad asked.

"No, they are okay. I'm not clear on the details, three cars apparently. They had to go to hospital although Warwick is not as bad as the others, but he asked me to call you.

"And what about Susan?" Brad asked.

"She's okay, just shaken up a bit. Warwick wants you to do something for him. It shouldn't take more than a week or so. Would you be available?"

"What does he want?" Brad asked somewhat intrigued.

"Well it's not what you normally do, but you are in the right geographical zone. It's a bit complicated and the whole thing is outlined in a letter I'm putting in the mail to you tonight. Warwick needs to find someone, a woman, and for some reason he thinks she is in Queensland."

"Sounds a bit strange. Can you tell me any more?" Brad asked.

"Not much," Jill replied. "Warwick's sister Andrea passed away a couple of days ago, the same day as the accident. In fact they were on their way home from the hospital when the accident happened. I don't know if you ever met her but she had been ill with cancer for some time."

"No, I'm sorry. I never met her," Brad said.

"Well she passed some information on to him just before she died. Most of it is outlined in the letter. I don't want to talk about it on the phone. It's to do with family. If you could have a look at it and call me back?"

"Can't I contact Warwick direct?" Brad asked.

"I'm not sure whether he will be here, home or still in hospital. Probably best to call me at this stage."

"Okay then. Are you sure the two of them are okay. Can I arrange for something to be sent to his room?"

"Warwick is at Box Hill, but you know he hates flowers. Susan is already home. They think Warwick might be a further day or two, that's all."

"Okay, I might give Susan a call at home. Send up the letter and I will get back to you as soon as I have read it."

"Thanks Brad, talk to you later," Jill said, and hung up.

As Brad pondered on the news just received, his pretty wife Jenny came out to the back room of the store.

"Who was that?" she asked. Brad related the conversation with Jill Toogoods almost word for word.

"Perhaps I should call Susan," Jenny said.

"Yes, good idea. There's nothing else we can do for the moment, until the letter arrives. I'd like to take the dogs for a walk along the beach. Will you be okay in the store for a while?"

"Yes. Sonia is here to help if any customers come in," she answered.

Five minutes later, with his two Great Danes, Fixem and Mixem, racing ahead of him, chasing the tennis ball he had thrown ahead of them, Brad, tall and handsome for all his fifty years was walking along the vast expanse of Deadman's beach, absorbing the continuous roar of the ocean as it drowned out any other sounds. Constantly chided for calling his dogs by similar names, he argued that it was a testament to their intelligence that they recognized their names when called individually. His mind pre-occupied with Jill Toogoods' call, he felt restless. His friendship with Warwick Steedman went back forty years. They were former schoolmates in Melbourne in the 1960's, a friendship that continued through their university days. Their respective careers, Warwick in commerce and Brad in Psychology had seen them separate, when Warwick took up a post in London for five years, but even then they maintained close contact. Occasionally, Warwick asked him to do some public relations consultative work, relying on Brad's high public profile to score quick results. Brad found it unsettling however at the prospect of taking time off to do some work for Warwick outside of the normal parameters. This had never happened before, and he wondered why it was, that Warwick would ask him to undertake what sounded like a private investigation.

12.

Meanwhile back in Melbourne, Julian Knowles was doing a bit of soul searching. He had been a taxi-driver for nearly ten years, and until now, he had been the cause of just one accident over that period. It was in 1989, on a cold wet morning in July when accelerating uphill he took a corner too quickly, causing his taxi to plane across to the other side of the road and into the path of an oncoming car. The aftermath of that event was minor; a few scratches to both drivers. This current lapse in concentration however was more serious.

While Warwick Steedman had suffered minor bruising to the head and some minor leg injuries, at least he was conscious. Julian Knowles was also conscious and once again had escaped serious injury. Maria Stewart who had been a third party victim to the careless nature of Julian Knowles's driving however, was in a coma. The collision between Julian's car and the Steedman's sent Julian cannoning into Maria Stewart, who had pulled up at the intersection. Julian Knowles's passenger, who had failed to fit his seat belt, was thrown from the vehicle as it collided, landing on the median strip, and miraculously walked away, unhurt.

When Julian's wife Annette, arrived at the hospital to take him home, he was feeling guilty. As the aftermath of his actions began to take its toll, he realized he was the one responsible for the pain and suffering of other individuals, particularly Maria Stewart. For the time he was in hospital, every available moment was spent in her room, sitting by her bed in the Intensive Care ward. Annette had sat with him, praying for her recovery. Julian's wife was a 'born again' Christian, and believed deeply in the healing power of prayer. Julian was not religious, but he was happy and willing to be a part of any treatment, physical or spiritual, that might lead to Maria's recovery. Travelling home in the car, sitting in the front passenger seat, he suddenly realized what his passenger must have experienced as the accident occurred. 'To suddenly find oneself hurtling toward another car and unable to control one's destiny must be a life changing experience. To stare death in the face and live through the ordeal must bring about changes in the way one views life,' Julian thought. 'Perhaps this is how non-believers like myself, find God,' he thought.

As they continued along Doncaster Road, they passed by a church, and Julian caught sight of the sign outside. It read, 'Jesus heals all wounds'. The sign made Julian think. His thoughts turned to his wife Annette sitting alongside him driving. She believed in the power of prayer. She attended prayer meetings. What did they do there? Often on television he had seen the 'happy clappers' singing and swaying to the music, hands in the air, waving to and fro. He had seen people praying in tongues. 'Gibberish,' he thought. 'Manufactured,' he thought. 'It was nothing more than ordinary people being taken up with the power of the moment, wanting to be a part of something extraordinary.' Julian had heard of incredible claims of healing before. He had heard claims by people with cancer, and other terminal illnesses, arthritis, headaches and the like, all claiming to be healed by the power of the Spirit. He never believed it, because he never had to. It was someone else's idea of entertainment. But Annette believed in it. As he pondered these things, his thoughts turned to Maria Stewart lying in Intensive Care. Gradually he began to realize that he too needed it. Not for himself but for Maria. She needed something more powerful than medical science. She needed the power of healing prayer.

"Alberto called this morning," Annette said breaking the calming silence inside the car. "He has another car for you while yours is being repaired. Very generous of him, particularly after you have cost him fifteen hundred dollars in insurance excess." Julian took the news in silence. Alberto owned the car he drove and nearly destroyed and Alberto accepted full responsibility financially. Now he had another car available for Julian to drive.

"I'll wait a day or two. I'm still a little wonky in my head."

"Wonky?" Annette asked. "What do you mean?"

"I don't feel all that sure of myself at the moment. I'll wait a day or two." Then as an afterthought, he asked, "When is your next prayer meeting?"

The question came as a surprise to Annette. Julian had never asked when she was going to prayer meetings before. She would always have to remind him.

"Tomorrow night. Why?"

"Nothing, just asking," he said. Annette looked at him strangely, as she pulled into the supermarket car park. "I just need to pop in and get some food for Foofo," she said. "Poor little dear, she's been neglected a bit over the last day or so."

13.

Sitting at a table on the veranda of the General Store at Point Particular, the continuous roar of the ocean in the background, Brad Murphy read the letter from Warwick Steedman.

Brad,

I hope you won't find this too strange but I need your help. Last week my sister Andrea died. She had suffered a long time with cancer and thankfully she is now at peace. Just prior to her passing away she revealed to me some information, which as co-executor of her will, I must investigate. Andrea's estate is significant, and her immediate family are the principal beneficiaries of monies to be managed both by myself, and a firm of trustees

Andrea has told me that she has a daughter. It has come as a complete shock to me, but I have to accept that she was alert and lucid when she told me and I have no reason to doubt her. She wants me to locate her daughter if possible, and ensure that she is adequately taken care of under the terms of the will.

The reason I am asking your help is that the daughter whose name is Mary Therese Campbell, and who would by now, be in her early twenties, was adopted out to a family in Brisbane through the Western Family Agency when she was three or four months old. I felt that, with your fairly high profile up there, the agency might be more willing to help and not go too protective on us. Enclosed is a photo of Andrea when she was nineteen. Other details are as follows...

As Brad Murphy continued reading the letter from Warwick Steedman, his daughter Sonia came out from the store.

"Dad, there's a call for you. It's Warwick Steedman."

Brad stopped reading and went to the phone.

"Hello Warwick, how are you? I'm just reading your letter. How's Susan?"

"Hello Brad. I'm fine. We are both fine. It's all just a terrible inconvenience. It was some stupid bloody taxi driver in too much of a hurry as usual. The stay in hospital also caused us to miss Andrea's funeral too, which was a huge disappointment."

"I'm sorry to hear about Andrea, although given the nature of it all, I suppose it's a relief that she's no longer suffering."

"Yes that's true. Actually it's about Andrea that I'm ringing. There's a piece of information that Jill left out of the letter. It's the name of a lady who handled the arrangement when Andrea's daughter was adopted. If you have any difficulty with the agency, you might be able to contact this woman for help. Do you have a pencil and paper handy?"

Grabbing a pen and paper, Brad said, "yes, okay go ahead. "The lady's name is Elizabeth Ashford." Brad took down the name and address.

"I guess it must be pretty important finding the daughter. How sure are you about her name? Is this the name of the adoptive parents?"

"Yes. I believe it is. But that's all Andrea could tell me. It's really all we have. That's why I was hoping that with you being a big-shot psychologist and well known up there, the agency may be more willing to co-operate with us."

"Are you sure the agency is still operating?" Brad asked.

"Yes it is. I've already checked that out. The address I've given you in the letter, is the current one. There's another address at Aston Park, but I don't think it's used anymore. They are close together, so you can check out both at the same time. Maybe the people working at the new address might have been there since the old one closed and remember something about it." Warwick said.

"Okay, well I'll start with the current address tomorrow, and see where that takes me. I'll get back to you as soon as I have something."

"Thanks Brad. I really appreciate your help."

"Haven't done anything yet. I may not be any help."

"Well, it's a start. I'm sure you will give it your best shot for me."

"And Therese Mary too, I suppose," Brad added.

The conversation concluded, and Brad returned to the veranda of the store to consider his next move.

14.

In the kitchen of her inner city housing commission flat, Elsie Steedman tended to the dishes after breakfast. At eighty-one years of age, she did not move quickly. Just getting up each morning was a chore. But she knew she had to. She wanted to continue to be vigorous, alert, and knew that lying in bed was not conducive to an active life. It was two days since the funeral of her adopted daughter Andrea. It had been a good funeral, marred only by the absence of her son Warwick and daughter-in-law, Susan who were recovering from the motor vehicle accident. The funeral had been held in the chapel at the funeral director's premises. Former associates of Andrea had said nice things about her. They played her favourite music. As Elsie reflected on the funeral, she felt a certain satisfaction that she had been the one responsible for giving Andrea opportunities in life. She had provided opportunities that might otherwise not have happened, had Elsie not adopted her. As she washed the breakfast dishes, she gazed out the window and watched as young children from the housing commission played in the quadrangle. Thoughts of Andrea playing in the back yard of the rented family home as a child came to mind. She hoped the young children she watched playing, would have opportunities in life similar to Andrea's. It was nine o' clock when the doorbell rang. Drying her hands, Elsie opened the door to find her son Robert standing in the passageway. Looking slightly nervous, Robert did not wait to be greeted.

"Have you heard anything?" He snapped.

"What?" Elsie said.

"Have you heard anything? About the money? About Andrea's will?"

"Robert, how insensitive can you be?" she replied. "Your sister's remains are still warm in the urn, her sister Maria is lying in hospital in a coma, and all you can think about is money. What on earth has made you this way?" It was a rhetorical question. "Come in and sit down. I'll get you a cup of tea."

"I don't want a cup of tea, and I can't do anything about Maria. I want to know what is happening with Andrea's money," he insisted, his nervousness now compounded with agitation.

"You will have to talk with Warwick," she answered. "He is the executor. He has all the details and when the time is appropriate he will have a family meeting and everything will be dealt with. Now why don't you come inside and relax while I get you something to calm you down. What is the matter with you anyway?"

"Warwick. Bloody Warwick." He answered.

Robert's demeanour troubled Elsie. He was dim-witted, impatient and impulsive, but his behaviour this morning was troubling.

"Are you in trouble? Do you want to come in and talk?" she asked.

"No. I'm fine. I don't want to come in. I have to meet someone." He answered and made a move to leave.

"Would you like me to give Warwick a call?" she asked knowing that he was too frightened to call him direct.

"I'd like to know what's going on," he answered. "That's all."

"Okay. Well, you go off to your meeting, and I will speak to Warwick today and call you at home tonight. How does that sound?"

"Okay. Whatever." He answered begrudgingly.

Within minutes of Robert's departure, Elsie's phone rang. It was her daughter Margaret Sanders. She too bypassed the trivial opening greetings.

"Have you heard anything?" Margaret asked excitedly.

"Is that you Margaret? Good morning, how are you?" Elsie said, trying to settle her down.

"I'm fine. Have you heard anything?"

"Goodness me, this is ridiculous," Elsie muttered. "No Margaret, I haven't heard anything. I presume you are referring to Andrea's will. I have just told Robert the same thing. Warwick is in charge of all that and he will attend to it in good time. Are you the slightest bit interested in how Maria is? What on earth is the matter with you and Robert?" There was a momentary pause. Margaret bypassed the reference to Maria and broke the news.

"I'm leaving George," she said. "I can't stand it anymore. He has someone else on the side. I just know it. And anyway I have met someone else. Now that I'm going to inherit some money I don't have to stay with him. I can start again," she continued, enjoying the release of tension as she poured out her intentions. Elsie sighed as she listened, surprised that Margaret had opened up to her about a new relationship, but somewhat relieved that she had at least come to a firm decision, albeit somewhat late in life.

"You have never said anything before about meeting someone else. Who is this man?" There was a long pause.

"Margaret...are you still there? Tell me about this man."

Another long pause...then finally Margaret spoke.

"It's not a man," she said.

An eerie silence washed across the airwaves as both women drew breath. Margaret's adrenalin flowed, freeing the tension that had been building inside her. From head to toe she felt a release never experienced before. The truth was out. What a relief! Elsie was speechless, momentarily shocked, but stable. She had lived too long, seen and heard too much, to succumb to a knee-jerk reaction. It was Elsie who spoke first.

"I see," she said slowly. "And how long have you felt this way?"

"Ever since I met her," she replied. It was the most wonderful feeling. I didn't realize what was happening for weeks until it hit me."

"What is the lady's name?"

"Her name is Annette. She's a few years younger than me."

"Where did you meet her?" Elsie asked.

"Promise not to laugh?"

"Why would I do that?"

"I met her at a Christian Pentecostal prayer meeting," Margaret confided with a nervous faltering laugh.

"My God. What on earth were you doing at one of those?"

"I find them very uplifting if you must know," Margaret answered defensively, now finding strength in her convictions.

"But you have never been a religious person before. What brought this on?"

"One guess, mother!"

"What?"

"That pig of a man I married. What else? For years that man has ignored me, shut me out. He hardly ever talks to me anymore; he socializes with his friends and whoever else. He barely gives me enough money to live on."

"Darling I'm sorry. I didn't realize it was like that. You've never spoken to me about it before," Elsie sympathized.

"I was too ashamed to speak about it until I started going to prayer meetings. No one is too ashamed of anything there. Everyone pours out their problems, and there's always someone ready to listen. It's not all singing, and hand-clapping, and praying you know. They actually help."

"How did you get involved with them?"

"It was one Sunday last March, George and I had a fight and I stormed out of the house and went walking. I passed a church where there was some singing inside and it sounded nice, so peaceful and warm. It was also starting to rain, so I went inside."

"Last March! So you've been going for a year already?"

"Yes it's about that long. I hadn't really thought about it in terms of time."

"And that's where you met this woman...Annette did you say?"

"Yes. It's a bit more complicated than that, but yes, that's how it began. There was this Pastor or priest or something and he spoke from the pulpit with such conviction. He invited everyone to come along the following Wednesday to a seminar and promised that if we did, our lives would be transformed in a very special way."

"So you went?" Elsie concluded.

"Yes. I told George I was going out with the girls and off I went."

"And what happened?"

"There was lots of singing and hand-clapping; lots of body language, lots of spontaneous praise, and worship by different people. Such faith! It was very weird at first and I felt quite uncomfortable. I was almost about to leave when this lady came and stood alongside me and began talking with me. She made me feel more comfortable, less inhibited. I can't even remember now what she said, but it was enough for me to decide to stay a little longer."

"Was this Annette?"

"No. I met her later. It was a couple of meetings later. She gave a talk one night. It was so powerful. She said that everyone who was at the meeting that night, had been brought here by the power of God's Spirit. She said the Holy Spirit, the third person of the Trinity had called us here to find a new life; a new purpose in our lives. She said we had been called to experience a new relationship with Jesus."

"Well, excuse me," Elsie interrupted, "this new purpose, this new relationship with Jesus didn't seem to stop you from a behaving in an utterly insensitive, callous and shameful way at the hospital the day Andrea died."

"Yes I know, I'm sorry about that. It's Robert. He brings out the worst in me I'm afraid. Sometimes I think he is the manifestation of Satan."

"Goodness me, I can't believe I'm hearing this." Elsie said. "You sound so unlike the person I know. I'm going to take a bit of time absorbing all of this."

"I didn't intend telling you all of this. Not yet anyway. It just came out. I just wanted to know what was happening with Andrea's money. I'm at a point where I want to make some hard decisions and I need to know where I stand financially." Margaret said.

"Well I'm sorry to hear about you and George. I wish the two of you could make things right. But if you can't or don't want to, then separating is probably the best thing for you. As for this Annette, well, I don't know what to say about that."

"You don't have to say anything Mum. Time will sort all of that out. Can you talk to Warwick and ask him to at least tell us what he knows?"

"Why can't you talk to him yourself? He's your brother. He won't bite you." Elsie replied.

"I don't want to. I find Warwick intimidating. He makes me feel uncomfortable. He makes me feel..." Margaret hesitated, unsure whether to continue. "He makes you feel what?" Elsie prompted. There was a pause before Margaret spoke again.

"....He makes me feel a failure. As if my life has been a waste. There he is, all happily married, wealthy, fine house, car, all the trappings, it's intimidating mother! When I speak with him, it's like we're not equals. It's like he's the club president and I'm just somebody in the room. I hate that. And now he's controlling the purse strings to Andrea's money and that just vindicates all the feelings I'm having about him."

"Okay," Elsie interrupted, "you don't need to say anymore. I understand. I suspect Robert feels the same way judging by the way he reacted earlier. All right, I'll speak with him and call you back sometime later. Please don't do anything rash until you know where you stand. Don't say anything to George just yet."

"Thank you mum. I'm sorry to dump this on you."

"That's all right. I'll call you tomorrow. Bye."

Elsie replaced the telephone receiver, letting out a huge sigh as she did. What had she done wrong she wondered, that her children, her middle aged children couldn't even talk to each other without feeling uncomfortable. As she made her way back to the kitchen, her eyes caught sight of the family photograph standing on the sideboard. The photo showed her late husband Arthur, herself, Warwick, Margaret, Andrea and Robert, all smiles, all happy. With a deep breath, and another sigh, her face took on a melancholy look, a resigned sadness. This photograph did not include everybody in her family. Richard was missing, her first born, for whom her heart beat a sad, melancholy lament.

15.

The sign outside the high set single story terraced house on Ipswich Road, Millers Bridge read, 'Western Family Agency.' Brad Murphy checked the details in the letter. Yes, this was the place. He folded the letter and parked his car outside. Inside, behind a reception counter, an attractive young woman was typing on the word processor. The room was tastefully appointed with carpet, a lounge area, coffee table with magazines. It was comfortable and relaxing, with soft music playing in the background. As Brad Murphy approached the young lady she turned her head in his direction and immediately recognized him from his television show.

"Oh my goodness, you're Mr. Murphy aren't you?"

"Yes that's right." Brad replied somewhat embarrassed.

"What can I do for you?" she asked.

"Could I speak with the manager please? I don't have an appointment, but I won't take a minute."

"Just a moment Mr. Murphy. I'll see if Miss Macleod is free." The young woman picked up the phone. "Miss Macleod there's a gentleman here to see you; a Mr. Murphy, Brad Murphy actually, the one on television," she said with a silly giggle. "He says he won't keep you a minute."

Seconds later a middle aged woman emerged from her office. She was tall and thin, in her fifties, brown hair swept up at the front, wearing a grey skirt and cream blouse with epaulettes. Peering over the top of her glasses hunched half way down her nose she smiled and extended her hand as she approached Brad.

"Good afternoon Mr. Murphy, I'm Julie Macleod, how can I help you."

"Good afternoon Julie, can I call you Julie?" Brad asked. "Yes certainly," came a rapid, inviting reply. Brad nodded. "I wonder if I might have a moment with you in private. It concerns an adoption your agency supervised many years ago."

"By all means," Julie replied. "Would you like to come into my office?" she said.

Seated comfortably in Julie's office, Brad began to explain his visit but was quickly interrupted.

"Can I offer you some tea, or coffee?" Julie asked.

"No thanks, I won't keep you long." Brad replied.

"Oh a soft drink then?" Julie asked as she flipped back her hair.

"No nothing thanks," Brad replied.

"Well then," she said, a trifle disappointed that the social side of the visit was cut short, "what can I do for you?"

"I'm here representing the executors of the estate of Andrea Steedman, who passed away recently in Melbourne." Brad began.

"Yes," Julie replied quickly. "How can I help?" she asked.

"The terms of the will provide for her daughter Mary Therese Steedman, who was born here in Brisbane at Princess Alexandra Hospital in 1974. Mary Therese was put up for adoption through your agency a few months later. It was conducted from an office in Aston Park, which is now closed. The executors are trying to locate Mary, who would be twenty-two now, and thought that you might be able to help them."

"I see," Julie said. "Do you have anything official for me to see, a letter requesting information or something? I mean, I know who you are of course, I watch your show on television," she added with a nervous grin, "but I would need something in writing before I could pass out any information. You understand I'm sure?"

"Certainly," Brad agreed. "I can leave you with all the information they have passed on to me. It's all contained in this letter," he said as he passed the letter to Julie. She took a brief look, noting the letterhead of Sinner, Brady & Capper, Trustees and Executors, and the opening paragraph authorizing Brad to enquire on their behalf.

"Yes, well this looks fine," she said nervously. "I don't have any information here for something going back this far. As you are aware, the Aston Park office is closed now, but we still use it to store records. The information you are seeking is most likely stored there somewhere."

"So you don't have computer records handy?" Brad asked. "Not for something as far back as this." Julie answered. "What information were you looking for specifically?"

"We're looking for anything that would help us to discover her whereabouts. The adoptive parents, her surname, anything," Brad said.

"She could be anywhere now; a young woman just starting out in life," Julie said turning her head to the window. "Well, I'll do what I can. It will take a day or two to sift through it all. Of course under the provisions of the Adoption Act, I would have to check with the Department of Communities who, strictly speaking are the only adoption agency in Queensland. We only conduct assessments for them. They will have to approve the release of such information."

"Will they do that?" Brad asked.

"Yes, provided no objection has been lodged by either party. Can I contact you somehow?" Julie asked.

"Yes, of course," Brad answered, and handed over his business card. "You can call me anytime on my mobile."

"Is this sort of thing something you do often?" Julie asked, curious that a well known television personality would be making enquiries of this nature, and hoping to extend the conversation a few more minutes."

"No," Brad replied. "I'm doing this as a personal favour for one of the executors, Warwick Steedman. We have known each other for years and it was just convenient for me to be able to help."

"Oh," Julie said, looking surprised, a trite confused, and uncomfortable. "Well then, let me see what I can find out and I'll call you back."

Julie walked with him as Brad passed out through the reception area, nodding his appreciation to the receptionist.

"Okay then," he said, turning once more to Julie. "I'll look forward to hearing from you shortly."

"Yes, I will call you as soon as I find something," she answered.

As Brad walked away from the agency, Julie Macleod watched him intently and her face went white with fear. Thoughts raced across her mind. 'What in God's name is going on here? What the devil is he up to? Is he testing me? The Campbells? So long ago. Where on earth would they be now? How are we going to fix this?' she thought as she looked down and noticed her hands were shaking. 'My God! Andrea's letter! Where is it? What did I do with it?'

As Brad drove back toward the city, he passed the Aston Park office of the agency where Julie had told him the records of adoptions going back to the time of Mary Therese's birth were stored. It was a run down timber shop-front premises, between two more modern dwellings, and looked quite out of place in an area that was undergoing redevelopment. The shop had no identification on the front door and the windows were covered with curtains, preventing any opportunity to peer inside. Satisfied that he had done enough at this stage, Brad headed for the Television studio where he was due to record another chat show.

16.

For several days following the accident outside Shoppingtown, and his release from hospital, two things constantly bothered Julian Knowles. Firstly, the likelihood of a reckless driving charge loomed heavily on his mind. He had been responsible for the accident and the police would certainly take appropriate action to deal with that matter at some stage. But of greater concern to him was the condition of his friend Maria Stewart who lay in a coma in hospital. Each day after his release, he visited her and sat by her bedside, holding her hand, talking to her. He was upset that his reckless action had led to this. Even though he realized that making a sudden right-hand turn was an impulse action, not premeditated, it did little to console him. This was not in keeping with his usual form when driving. It was out of character. He was careful, considerate of others, and his driving record vindicated that. Zero points against him over the past five years. Not one infringement. Nothing! What had caused him to abandon his best driving practice in such a thoughtless way?

As a taxi-driver of ten years standing, Julian Knowles also felt he knew people and their weird little idiosyncratic tendencies better than most. He knew when people were nervous and uncertain. He knew when people were being evasive with something to hide. He knew when people were upset and trying to conceal it. He knew when people were being genuine and when they were not. And he was able to anticipate other drivers' conduct on the road. Ten years in a taxi had taught him things about people, their little quirks, and their behavioural patterns. He once picked up a psychologist and during the course of some amiable chat, asked the professional if he had received his training from a fully qualified and practicing taxi-driver. The psychologist was not amused and the remainder of the trip passed in silence. Julian realized that his off-handed comment had offended the sensitive nature of a professional who took great pride in his work. Julian was generally tuned into such sensitivities, which made it difficult for him to understand why he suddenly departed from all that he valued on the road, and commit himself to an act that left Maria Stewart in her present serious condition. It was this remorse and a desire to make reparations, which prompted Julian to seek some kind of spiritual enlightenment, and agree to accompany his wife Annette to the local prayer meeting that evening.

As people began filing into the small suburban hall on the corner of Doncaster Road and Turner Street in Doncaster, Pastor Douglas Bilby stood at the door, greeting the faithful. Douglas Bilby was the Pastor of the Church of Mystical Seekers, a church movement he founded himself after his expulsion from the Anglican community where he had spent five years ministering to his flock. The expulsion was prompted by an alleged indiscretion with a member of the congregation. It was claimed that he was seen in a compromising position in the sacristy late one evening, with another member. What the claimant discovered was never revealed and the matter had been judiciously handled by church authorities, without any adverse publicity. When the matter was reported, Pastor Doug received a stern warning from his Bishop, but decided to leave anyway, and set up the Church of Mystical Seekers, which he funded from a family inheritance. Many of his congregation followed him out the door, including Michelle, a twenty two year old young lady, who played the organ at Prayer meetings he conducted twice weekly. While the identity of the person Pastor Doug had allegedly been involved with was never revealed, many in his community were under the impression that it was Michelle.

"Good evening to you; lovely to see you," Pastor Doug said, as each member of the flock in turn filed past and entered the rented hall. Julian Knowles joined the queue, and presented himself with Annette. Although his mind was full of scepticism, his heart said that if there was anything he could do to help Maria Stewart, then he should at least try, regardless of how he felt about it personally. As people arrived, the low dulcet tones of the organ could be heard in the hall; soft soothing music, designed to relax the mind, and settle the nervous tension brought on by a day's work in the city. The faithful were familiar with each other and greetings extended to hugs and kisses. The gathering was a small but devout following of the Pastor. Regardless of their thoughts on the matter of the Pastor and Michelle, they had come to celebrate a common joy in the risen Jesus. Sinners all, their minds were focused on the Lord, not the private goings-on in the back room behind the podium.

As Annette and Julian Knowles reached the front door, Pastor Doug noticed one unfamiliar face. "Good Evening Annette, lovely to see you," he said. "And who is this we have with us. Don't tell me this is Doncaster's resident taxi-driver come to visit our community?"

"Pastor, this is my husband Julian," Annette said nervously. "He's come along tonight to see what it's all about."

"And so very welcome you are too Julian," Pastor Doug replied, with a big cheesy smile that Julian recognized instantly as forced, but not without sincerity.

"Always delighted to welcome newcomers," the Pastor said. Julian accepted the handshake and thanked the Pastor for his welcome and with Annette by his side then entered the hall. Even before the prayer meeting began, Julian could see that the people who had come were hooked on something. He could see that they were deep believers in what they were doing, and that their outward expressions of joy and happiness were the manifestation of that belief. Annette too, seemed to change, when greeted by her friends. She suddenly became very animated, smiling and laughing with people Julian had never met before, but who seemed to be on intimate terms with Annette. As they came to her, one by one, Julian realized that there was a side to his wife that he had not seen before.

A few minutes later, the music stopped and Pastor Doug took to the podium, striding up to the front of the hall with athletic enthusiasm.

"Welcome to you all tonight," he bellowed with deliberate eagerness, "especially those here for the first time. Let's begin our celebration, our joy in our re-birth, calling on the Lord as we sing, 'In the name of Jesus.' Michelle, would you lead us please," he said nodding to the young lady sitting at the organ.

Right on cue, Michelle began the introduction and from the very beginning of the lyrics, the faithful burst into boisterous hand clapping, and hip swivelling gyrations, that would do justice to their children at any rock concert. Suddenly, propriety and conservatism were thrown out the window as the intensity increased. Not content to gyrate in the one place, there was a procession of movement around the hall, as Pastor Doug led the fray. Julian was taken by surprise. Ambushed! 'What the hell is this', he thought to himself as his wife Annette went wild with expression, her hands waving about above her. He stood there not knowing what to do. 'Join in? Fake it? Stand erect? Resist this foolishness? What to do?' He remained stoic, stunned and isolated. He hated how he was feeling. Even if he believed in none of this foolishness, it would be better to join in, look less isolated. Slowly, he felt an urge to cast aside his inhibitions, and began ever so tentatively to clap his hands, and sway a little to the left and right. After all, it was only music. Everybody gyrated to music at some time or other. He shut the lyrics out of his mind, and pretended he was at a party. 'Stupid,' he thought to himself. 'Whatever made me want to come here?'

The singing continued, a constant repetition of lyrics, over and over again, until the end, when the entire gathering burst into spontaneous applause. Rousing cheers all round! Then, they were off again into another song, equally boisterous, equally repetitive and the whole process continued with more songs, each time under the very enthusiastic direction and leadership of Pastor Doug. As the devotion continued Julian surveyed the hall. 'All these people are expressing their faith without the slightest concern for who might be watching them,' he thought. As he watched, his eyes fell upon Michelle. He had not noticed her earlier as she faced away from the congregation. But now as she played, she turned her head, and to Julian's surprise he recognized her as the young woman he had taken home, that morning, the day of the accident; the woman who said she had been attacked by a man as she walked away from the bus that day.

'I wonder if she reported the matter to the police?' he thought. Just then, a somewhat overweight woman, singing, and throwing her hands into the air, brushed past him and took up a position next to Annette. The two women looked at each other and smiled as they continued the singing.

After several songs of praise, Pastor Doug called for a moment's reflection. "Praise you Jesus, praise you Lord," he said, his voice projecting around the hall. "Spirit of God, you have called us here tonight to experience a new relationship with you. You have brought us into the light to find new life in your great love for us, to find a new peace and contentment. You have called us to experience a deeper understanding of your will. Praise you Jesus." His comments sparked a rush of responses. "Praise you Lord, praise you Jesus," came the cries from the faithful. As he spoke Michelle began playing some very soft, reflective music. The meeting had very subtly moved up a notch, Julian observed. 'What would happen now?'

As Pastor Doug continued with his ad lib praise, invoking the name of Jesus constantly, the faithful bowed their heads in meditation. They were licking up the words of Pastor Doug like honey off their fingers. Some began muttering to themselves quietly; an inaudible murmur that sounded like a humming bee circling around the petals of a flower. As Doug's praise intensified, so too the murmurings until, 'bloody hell, what on earth is going on here?' Julian wondered.

Suddenly the hall erupted in mutterings. Suddenly the entire gathering was overtaken with a form of gibberish, strange sounding words that made no sense.... 'Kelia kumria setata conanimbria heliamate batena shumia shumata.' As the gibberish intensified so did the volume of the music. As the volume of music increased, so too did the voices of the faithful. Before long the voices reached a plateau and held themselves at that level. 'Eliosha comate coshanunda selia someanta shundia coliana munda.' As Julian listened and watched, he realized they were almost in perfect harmony. It was like a choral chant in a foreign language and to Julian's amazement, his wife Annette was caught up with the frenzy. As she garbled fearlessly, her eyes closed, her head erect, facing the podium, he noticed she was holding hands with the woman who had brushed past him earlier, the one who had taken up a position next to her during the singing. With both arms extended forward, they appeared to be in some kind of trance.

Then as gradually as it began, it subsided, its softening soothing tone, retreating back to an eerie quiet. In a matter of a moment or two, the hall was silent, so silent the only audible sounds were the traffic noises outside, and the gentle calming breeze filtering though the open windows. Michelle stopped playing and stood, her head bowed in silence. "Let us wait on a word from the Lord," Pastor Doug said. More silence. "Let us wait for a Prophesy," he said, his eyes closed, his head bowed in expectation. Silence, dead silence. Then after a minute or two, it came from the back of the hall; a lone, deep, male voice. "I have come that you may have life and have it to the full," the voice cried out. "Praise you Jesus", the gathering muttered in reply. More silence interrupted only by an occasional cough or sneeze. Another voice from the side, this time it was a woman. "I have come to heal the afflicted," she proclaimed. "Praise you Lord," the gathering responded. More silence. "There is someone with us tonight who suffers," a voice called out. "The Lord is telling me that there is a woman here tonight who has great pain, great suffering." A murmur of sympathy rippled through the hall. As the prophetic impulses of a deeply devout congregation manifested themselves in several bible quotations, and the power of the moment filtered through, Pastor Doug played his ace. "Come forward if you are suffering. Come to the healing heart of the Lord." He cried out. No one moved. "There is a dark shadow hanging over us tonight," Doug pronounced. "There is one here tonight who suffers from cancer. Come forward to feel the healing power of the Lord." Not a sound could be heard. "The Lord is telling me he wants to heal you. Come forward. Fear not," he said, his head still bowed down.

Julian, somewhat stunned by this sudden change of pace, turned his head slowly, searching for some movement among the faithful. Around him, all heads were bowed down, each person in the hall meditating deep within. Out of the corner of his eye he noticed an elderly lady take a step forward from the rear. Slowly, step, by step, she moved forward up the side of the hall, as Pastor Doug continued to make the call. "Come and feel the healing power of the Lord," he said. As the faithful waited, the silence was broken gently by subtle, soft, soothing music as Michelle resumed her seat at the organ. Pastor Doug also caught sight of the elderly lady now standing nervously at the side. "Come," he said and beckoned gently. The lady stepped forward and spoke in whispers to Pastor Doug. "Let us pray with Mary," he said as he beckoned those in the front row to come forward. "Let us surround Mary with the healing power of the Lord. Let us lay our hands upon her and call upon the healing power of God's Spirit." Several people moved forward and surrounded Mary, laying on hands and once again erupting into ecstatic gibberish. 'Shimdiamata cobera kioushu kadata manata eloshi a mera,' they muttered. Once again the perfect harmony enveloped the gathering with Pastor Doug's voice rising above the others, encouraging them to greater heights, greater intensity of prayer. As the voices increased in volume, so too, did the music. Julian, feeling more isolated than ever, observed Annette and the woman who had remained alongside her throughout, were now facing each other, heads bowed, holding both hands and chanting the gibberish. The elderly lady, Mary, had been provided with a seat by a considerate member, and the half dozen stood over her, laying on hands, praying in tongues. Julian's mind was now one of great expectation. He had heard of such phenomenon before; people with incurable illnesses, being healed at prayer meetings by people praying in tongues. 'Did it really happen? If it did then maybe it could work for Maria Stewart too.' He watched intently as the process of healing prayer continued at the front, not noticing that Annette and the lady who joined her now had their arms around each other.

The praying began to subside, the music softened and the faithful stepped back from Mary, allowing her to stand and thank those around her. As she returned to her seat, Julian was confused. 'Was that it? Was she cured?' Nobody seemed to know or care. Mary resumed her place at the rear and Pastor Doug continued praising the Lord for His goodness to all.

Thirty minutes later, Pastor Doug brought the meeting to an end, but not before reminding the faithful of the fiscal overheads associated with conducting these meetings. So, after generous notes of money were placed in the basket being passed around the hall, the meeting ended as it began, with boisterous singing and more praising. As the gathering began to disperse, Pastor Doug spoke to Julian while Annette and the lady who had been with her, adjourned to the restroom. "I hope you enjoyed the evening," said Doug. "Yes," replied Julian. "All very interesting. I'm curious to know what happened to the elderly lady though. Has she been cured?" he asked. "That is a matter for God, Julian," Pastor Doug said. "We can only act as instruments of his will. Only Jesus cures. Only time will tell if our efforts here tonight have been successful." Julian nodded in agreement, but retained a vacant, confused look. Pastor Doug asked, "What do you think it was that brought you here tonight Julian?" Julian wasn't sure if this was a trick question. He decided to give a straightforward answer. "There's this lady I know who is in hospital in a coma. I thought coming here might help her somehow," he said. Doug answered as if Julian's response was irrelevant. "Julian, the Holy Spirit brought you here tonight. The Spirit of God is moving within you. When we lay hands on someone and pray for them, we don't question whether or not we have succeeded." Julian decided to ignore the reference to the Holy Spirit, thinking that a door-side chat on that subject was not what he wanted right now. "What if your efforts haven't worked? Doesn't that bother you?" Julian enquired. "No." Doug answered quickly. "It is not our place to question the will of God. Where were we, when God created the universe, made the rivers flow, created the Sun? No, it is not our place to question the will of God. We are but his servants."

As the two men talked, Michelle was tidying up, placing the music sheets in a cabinet alongside the organ. Julian noticed her and asked Doug "Who is that woman, the one who played the organ tonight?" Doug turned around and smiled. "Oh, that's Michelle. She has only been with us a few months, but she is a great asset to us. Without her music I don't think our meetings here would be the same. Er, why do you ask?" he added. "I met her last week," Julian replied. "She was a client. I drove her home one morning. She said that she was attacked by a man near the bus stop where she got off. I took her home. She was pretty shook up. I wanted her to go to the police." Julian answered. "Oh yes," Doug said, dropping his smile, and looking more serious. "She told me about that. She decided not to bother the police. It was a domestic thing, she said. I think it's all been straightened out now," he said unconvincingly, as he fidgeted for something in his pocket.

As people said goodbye to Doug, Annette emerged from the ladies restroom alone, and joined Julian and Doug. "Time to go," Annette said to Julian. "Thank you Pastor. It was a lovely evening," she added. Doug smiled superficially. "Thank you Annette," he replied, relieved that Annette had unwittingly rescued him from Julian's questions. "Perhaps we will see you again Julian?" Doug said. "Yes, perhaps," Julian replied as Doug made a move to speak to other departing members.

Julian and Annette began to move away. "Something a bit odd about him," Julian said to Annette as they walked toward the door. "Shush. He will hear you," she replied. "Who was that lady who was with you during the meeting?" Julian asked. "Oh yes, I want you to meet her. Her name is Margaret. Now where did she go?" Annette said looking around the hall. Margaret was nowhere to be seen. "It doesn't matter. There will be another time," she said.

17.

Warwick Steedman had called the meeting for 10AM sharp. His line managers had responded to the late night call by Jill Toogoods. Warwick was returning to Melbourne from interstate on an early morning flight and wanted everyone ready when he arrived at Steedman and Associates, Public Relations consultants. Alexander Smith, Media manager, Julie Quirk, Accounts and Administration, Michael Anderson, Sales, were present and ready for whatever Warwick wanted. Warwick walked into the manager's meeting room at six minutes past ten. "Good morning everyone, sorry I'm late. We had to circle Lake Eildon for fifteen minutes would you believe; too much traffic at Tullamarine. Jill could you get me some coffee?" Jill nodded and left the room.

"Okay let's get down to it. Things have got a little behind lately due to the accident. When we met last week we were discussing Doncaster Power and Gas' little dilemma with the old lady from the retirement village. I realise this is a piss-ant little matter, but if we do it well, and wrap it up quickly, there is more work where this came from, so let's treat it as if it were something really big. As of last night, their little dilemma just got worse. I received a call from the manager of the village. It seems the old lady whose name is Myra Applewood, suffered a heart attack last night and has been rushed to hospital. It wasn't fatal and her condition is stable but if the media get hold of it they will crucify the power company. We need a strategy and we need it quickly. Has anybody got any ideas?"

"Do we know what the lady was doing when she had the attack?" asked Julie Quirk. "Does that matter?" Warwick asked. "Well, replied Julie, "I'm sure she wasn't pushing up weights at the time but if we know what she was doing we might be able to counter any initial assault by the media that it was stress related, brought on by the summons.

"Good point Julie, we can find out quickly enough. But what if it was stress related? What if she was sitting down reading the paper or watching television last night, and read something about the Power Company's computer crash and that kick-started the whole thing?"

Silence.

"Jesus she's ninety-six years old. A cat's fart could frighten her enough to set it off, surely?" Alexander Smith suggested. "She wouldn't need much else."

"Living in a retirement village, there would be plenty of things that could upset a ninety-six year old. Perhaps an ambulance drove past her unit to attend to someone else. Perhaps a friend of hers took ill and had to be carted off somewhere," Michael Anderson said.

"Well," Warwick said, "I guess it could have been anything. But we need to find out. Julie, the name of the manager is Jim Coutts. Could you give him a ring at the village and see what you can find out. Michael, I need some sort of statement the Power Company can issue, if and when the spaghetti hits the fan. Make it deeply sincere, sorrowful, heartfelt, all that crap. Liaise with Julie and incorporate anything she finds out from Jim Coutts."

"Perhaps you could also find out if she has a pacemaker." Michael Anderson suggested. Everyone turned and stared at Michael.

"No harm in asking," he added as Jill Toogoods entered the room with coffee.

"That's an excellent idea Michael." Warwick said, taking the coffee from Jill. "What on earth made you think of that?"

"My Aunty has one," he replied. "She's only eighty-five."

"I don't get it," Julie said, "Aren't pacemakers supposed to help look after your heart?"

"Yes," replied Michael, "So long as the battery is charged, and doesn't go flat." Jill Toogoods returned to her desk outside, to answer the phone. It was Brad Murphy calling from Queensland. She quickly signalled to Warwick who excused himself from the meeting, anxious to take the call.

"Morning Brad, how are things?" he said. Brad was calling from the store at Point Particular and had the morning paper in front of him. "Not very good I'm afraid." Brad gave a detailed report of his efforts the previous day when he visited the Adoption Agency. "That all sounds very positive Brad, so what are you not happy about?"

"I've just been reading the paper this morning and it says that the second shop front owned by the agency at Aston Park, where they keep all their records from the early years, caught fire and burned down last night."

"What? You're kidding me?"

"Not likely. This means that if the records concerning Mary Therese Steedman were there, they are most likely lost to us."

"How did the fire start? Does the paper say?"

"It seems the fire began in the adjoining building, a residential property. The Fire Department thinks it was an electrical fault."

"Seems an incredible coincidence to me," Warwick said as he tried to think it through. "Wait a minute. I gave you another contact didn't I?" "Yes," Brad answered, "Elizabeth Ashford, the person who handled the original application for adoption. Do you want me to follow up on that?"

"Yes please Brad. That would be appreciated."

"Okay leave it with me and I'll get back to you."

No sooner had Warwick hung up and returned to the meeting when Jill Toogoods interrupted once more to let him know that his mother was on the phone.

"Bloody hell! What now?" He signalled his apologies to the meeting with a shrug of the shoulders and came to the phone. "Yes mother."

I'm sorry to trouble you Warwick," Elsie said, "but it's just that both Margaret and Robert have been to see me and they are both concerned about Andrea's will."

"Yes. Well, why am I not surprised? Warwick answered. "Her body is still warm, and those two have stepped over her and gone straight to the money pot," he replied in a terse, irritated manner. "Okay, let's have a meeting and get it all out from under the table. Tell them I'll call them and let them know when we can get together for a preliminary briefing."

"Briefing? Elsie said surprised. "Can't you just tell them what they are inheriting and how long it will take before they see some money."

"It's not as simple as that mother. Andrea has made provision for them, but there are other factors to consider and there are one or two conditions."

"Conditions?" Elsie queried.

"Yes. Look mother, I'm a little tied up at the moment. Perhaps you could call both Robert and Margaret, and let them know that I'm working on it, that I'll be in touch with them in a day or so, to organize a family meeting, where I will be in a position to answer any of their concerns."

"They both have problems at the moment Warwick. Margaret more so, I think, although if you had seen Robert when he came here yesterday, I think....

"Robert came to see you about Andrea?" Warwick interrupted.

"Yes. I'm a bit worried about him. I think he may be in a spot of bother." Warwick knew his younger brother and his history well enough to know what sort of bother he might have brought upon himself.

"If I know Robert, it's either gambling debts or a woman or both."

"Warwick, he's your brother!"

"Mother, he's a foul-up waiting to happen, that's what he is! Still, you are right. You can let him know that we will meet as a family in a day or so."

"Well, you should also know that Maria is still in a coma," Elsie said.

"I can't do anything about that mother. I have to go now," he said,

rolling his eyes with indifference, and handing the phone back to Jill Toogoods, who was sitting at her desk listening to the entire conversation.

"Everything all right?" she asked.

"Yes. Nothing I can't handle," he replied as he looked into her eyes. Jill replaced the receiver and out of sight of anyone in the office, slid her hand into Warwick's hand, and gave it a gentle squeeze.

"Can we meet tonight?" she asked.

"Yes," he answered softly. "Susan thinks I have a meeting with the trustees. Can you get Barry Capper on the phone when I finish with the others? I need to clarify a few things before I call a family meeting." Jill nodded. "And please, no more calls until I wrap up in here," he said pointing to the managers' room.

Michael Anderson had assumed control of the meeting in Warwick's absence and greeted Warwick as he returned. "We think we have a strategy worked out boss. Julie has just spoken with Jim Coutts at the retirement village. He says that Myra Applewood has a history of heart problems. This is her fourth visit to the hospital in twelve months. And yes, she does have a pacemaker, although he has no idea whether that has anything to do with it."

"Okay, well," Warwick pondered, "that gives you something to work on with the statement. Julie, if anyone from the power company calls, fill them in, otherwise wait until the statement is ready and then give it to me. No, better still, I'll call them and fill them in now. Better they hear it from me, than I hear it from them. Now, there were one or two other matters. Alex, it would help us if you could make some discreet enquiries with someone in the papers, or the television news department, to see if anyone has picked up on the story yet."

"Right," said Alexander.

As the meeting continued, Jill Toogoods heard the sound of the lift door opening and automatically fixed her eyes on the office entrance. There were other tenants on the floor, but Steedman and Associates were the closest to the lift and it was always a distraction. Seconds later, a middle aged man entered the office and approached Jill. "Could I talk to Warwick Steedman please?" the man asked.

"Er, do you have an appointment?" Jill asked, knowing full well he didn't.

"No, I'm Robert his brother, I just want to see him for a minute." Robert was nervous and unsteady. Jill smelt alcohol in the air.

"Mr Steedman is tied up in a meeting at the moment. If you would like to leave a message, I'll see to it that he contacts you as soon as he is available," Jill told him. Robert became agitated, and stepped back, seemingly unsure how to handle this rebuttal.

"He's always in a bloody meeting isn't he?" he slurred. "Just tell him I want to know about the money. Can you do that? Can you tell him that?" Jill held her nerve.

"Yes, Robert, I can pass that on to him. Perhaps you would like to take a seat and wait for him?" Robert became further agitated and as he swayed from left to right, the smell of alcohol wafted across Jill's desk.

"I don't want to sit down," he said abruptly, "I want to know about the money, hic."

Jill maintained her composure although Robert's aggression unsettled her.

"I take it, he knows where to contact you?" she said. "I'll make sure he calls you the minute he is out of the meeting." Robert stood there for a few moments, staring at her, swaying slightly.

"Okay, that'll be okay then," he said incoherently. Jill smiled, barely retaining her posture, and watched as Robert made a slow, stumbling exit. When the lift doors finally closed with Robert inside she called Warwick.

"Your brother Robert was just here asking after you. I think he was drunk," she said.

"Bloody hell, what did he want?" Warwick sighed.

"He said he wanted to know about the money. Does that make sense?" Warwick sighed again. "Yes, he's in some sort of trouble I think, and probably sweating on his share of Andrea's estate. Leave it with me. Sorry, you didn't need that did you?" he said. "That's okay. He was gone as quick as he came. I told him you would contact him later," she answered.

"Okay, thanks, we'll be through here shortly." Jill hung up and began to check her listing for Sinner, Brady & Capper, Trustees for the Estate of Andrea Steedman. She quickly put the incident with Robert behind her. Barry Capper was responsible for the estate with Warwick Steedman as joint executor. Jill had been instrumental in securing Andrea's estate with Sinner, Brady & Capper. Barry Capper was her brother.

"Good morning Barry, it's Jill here," she said when Barry answered on his direct line. "Hi Jilly, how's things?" Barry's office was located on the fifty-sixth floor of the new Augustine Tower in Lonsdale Street providing a panoramic view of the city and surrounding suburbs, parks and gardens. He swivelled in his chair to face in the general direction of St. Kilda Road where Steedman & Associates were located. "The weather looks good down your way," he added. "Yes it's fine. Just checking to see if you were in. Warwick would like to talk with you shortly, as soon as he comes out of a staff meeting."

"That's fine. I'll be in all morning. Is it about Andrea's estate?"

"Yes I think so." Jill replied.

"Do you know if he's had any luck finding the missing daughter?"

"That's what he wants to talk to you about I think, as well as one or two other things. Could I meet you somewhere for a quick lunch, say around half twelve?"

"Arrmmm...sure. Just let me check my diary......yep. Where?"

Fifteen minutes later, Warwick emerged from the meeting room, with the others trouping out after him. He smiled at Jill as she looked up.

"Sorry about Robert," he said, "I'll try to see that doesn't happen again. Could you get me Barry now please?" he asked as he moved into his office closing the door after him. While waiting, he pondered the unpredictable nature of Public Relations. 'Some people pay you to get their names in the papers. Others pay you to keep them out. What a circus! Maybe I should move into the trustee business. Sounds less complicated,' he thought to himself. He spent a few moments reflecting on the evolving way he and Robert's lives had developed. While he, Warwick, had applied himself, taken risks, cut a few corners and come out on top of the pile, Robert on the other hand, had sat back waiting for it all to happen. 'Why should I feel sorry for him?' he thought. His reflections were interrupted when Jill buzzed him to advise that Barry Capper was on the line.

"Morning Barry, how's the air up there in the clouds," he asked as Jill switched him through.

"Not a cloud in the sky as you well know," Barry answered. Warwick had often made light of the fact that Barry worked so high off the ground, particularly as Barry had said he suffered from vertigo, and swore he would never work in a high-rise tower.

"Barry, I just want to run one or two things by you about Andrea's estate." Warwick said, not wanting to prolong the conversation.

"Sure. What do you need to know?" Barry asked.

"Well, notwithstanding the annuity provisions for Margaret and Robert, is it possible that one or either of them could receive a small lump sum in the interim just to give them something to help through a temporary hardship?"

"Are they experiencing a hardship?"

"Not sure. They might be. Robert probably is. He has a history of gambling debts. It's possible he's in trouble again. I'd just like to give them something to settle them down."

"Well, as I recall, Andrea specifically wanted Robert to have an annuity rather than a lump sum to stop him from throwing it all away in one hit." Barry replied.

"Yes, I know. It's just that both of them have been in touch with mother wanting information. She said that Robert in particular was anxious to know what he was to receive. He's just been here looking for me, so I suspect he's in debt and in trouble. I'm planning to have a meeting with them, probably tomorrow night if I can get them together, so I can fill them in on some of the detail," Warwick said.

"Just offhand I don't know if we can do anything other than comply with Andrea's wishes, but I suppose we could extend him a line of credit, tied directly to the annuity. How much were you thinking of?" Barry asked. "Could we go to ten thousand, say?" Warwick asked. "I wouldn't want it to be more than a few thousand. We are not exactly in the credit business," Barry said. "I'll have another look at it. I suppose if push came to shove, we could approve a one-off payment of ten thousand, and deduct that from the annuity. It means they would get less each month though," he said. "Yes I'm sure you could," Warwick answered. "They don't know how much they are getting each month anyway," he added. "Do they know about Mary Therese?" Barry asked.

"No. That's the other thing I wanted to talk to you about. I have a friend, Brad Murphy; he's trying to locate Mary Therese by doing some door-knocking for me in Brisbane, but incredibly the building where most of the adoption records were stored burned down last night."

"You're kidding?"

"No, I wish I was. That fire might have destroyed some vital information. There is another lead that Brad is going to follow up on. I have the name of the person who handled the adoption twenty odd years ago."

"How did you get hold of that?"

"Andrea told me the day she died."

"Okay, then." Barry concluded. "You need to tell the family about Mary Therese, and the sooner the better. The annuity calculations must include her, so they have to know, and Andrea has also left her one of the residential properties in Melbourne. I'll take a second look at the terms of the will to see if there's any leeway on how the annuity is to be managed and you get back to me if you hear anymore from your friend in Brisbane. What's your plan with the land at Baldargo?"

"Still working on that," Warwick replied.

"Incidentally," Barry added, "I'm having lunch with Jill today. If anything else pops up between now and then, just ask her to pass it on." Warwick nodded thoughtfully. "Okay," he said.

Following the phone call with Barry Capper, Warwick hung up and cleared his desk. He then called Jill back into his office.

"Jill, I want you to take down a letter for me. It's a personal letter to that idiot taxi driver who smashed into me the other day, so don't use company stationary, use my private letterhead." Jill nodded and sat down opposite Warwick, who began to dictate.

"It's to a Mr. Julian Knowles, at 51 Reagan Street in Doncaster. Dear Mr. Knowles. I am writing to you in reference to the most unfortunate motor accident you were responsible for on the night of Monday, 14th March. Notwithstanding third party comprehensive insurance claims that are being prepared, I wish to draw your attention to the unintended consequences of your carelessness. These include, but by no means total, time lost, personal trauma to myself and my wife, and the resultant impact of my absence from my business operations. I wish to advise that it is my intention to bring an action against you to claim compensation in respect of this horrendous experience. If however you are willing to settle this matter privately, I would be prepared to accept an amount of Ten thousand dollars as appropriate settlement. Should you chose not to acknowledge this offer, I will instruct my solicitors to commence proceedings against you. Signed, Yours Sincerely, etcetera, etcetera. You can finish it off," he said to Jill.

Jill finished the transcription and looked up. "I don't think you can do this," she said. "I don't think this will work."

"Don't worry about it," Warwick said. "Just type it up. You never know. It might turn out to be worth it." Jill raised her eyebrows, but chose not to debate the point. "Okay I'll type it up and hold it for you, in case you change your mind," she said, leaving Warwick's office.

Warwick sat there for a few moments, before picking up the telephone and dialling. A few moments later, he spoke into the receiver. "I'm on my way," he said, and hung up. He put on his suit coat, and placed some papers into his briefcase, before speaking briefly with Jill Toogoods again. "Jill, I'm going out for an hour or so. Have a nice lunch with your brother. See you later." He then left the office.

18.

Taking the Eastern Freeway Warwick motored out to the Contented Acres Retirement Village in Doncaster. His meeting was with the manager, Jim Coutts, but the reason for his visit had nothing to do with Myra Applewood. On his arrival at the village, Warwick entered the foyer of the community centre, where residents gathered to exchange the daily gossip. Warwick walked to where Jim was sitting in his office waiting for him.

"Did you bring the plans?" Jim asked, as Warwick closed the door and sat down. "Yes," Warwick replied. He opened his briefcase and retrieved a file. "They arrived by courier yesterday." Jim cleared his desk and Warwick spread the plans out across the top. "It's a very similar design level to this place, but scaled down a bit. The Draughtsman made one or two suggestions which I agreed to, but essentially it's the same." Warwick looked very pleased with himself. Jim Coutts perused the plans before him. "This looks good. Only sixty units though, I thought we were going for a hundred?" he asked.

"The land dimensions only allow for sixty. I'm looking at the possibility of acquiring more land, but this will give us a good idea of what it will look like," Warwick replied. "Once we get the land, we can be more definite." Jim sat back in his comfortable armchair. "What's the latest on the land?" he asked.

"My sister Andrea, has left the land to me," Warwick said, with delight. "I told her I didn't want any money. She wanted her daughter to be in on the deal, but left it up to me. I'm happy to bring her in with us, but I don't want to delay the project unnecessarily, in case we are unable to locate her. Once we've secured the land, we can move along," he said.

"Have you had a look at this land recently?" Jim asked.

"Yes, a few months ago, although only from the road. It's a fantastic location. There are pine trees everywhere, and it's only five minutes by bus from the local supermarket. But, because it's on the other side of the highway, it still retains that rural feel. The area has grown enormously since Andrea bought it sixteen years ago. Andrea never saw it as a residential prospect. The latest figures are based on its rural potential and undervalue the property. As a commercial or residential concern it must be worth over half a million. It looks like there is some crop growing there. Maybe the neighbouring farmer is using it. Doesn't matter, we'll take care of that in time," Warwick answered. Jim Coutts examined the plans further.

"And there's no problem about re-zoning and getting a building permit?" he asked. "No," Warwick replied. "I've engaged a solicitor there to take care of that. His name is Frank Martin. He says it's in the bag." Jim smiled and opened up the side draw of his desk and retrieved two glasses and a bottle of whiskey.

"Do the other members of the family know that Andrea has willed the land to you?" he asked. "No, we haven't discussed that. I don't see a need to tell them. I suppose it will come out in the wash sooner or later. I don't think any of them even knew Andrea owned it," he replied. "Let's see now," Jim said as he checked his calculator, "sixty units, each costing one hundred thousand, another two hundred thousand for the roads, that's six point two million. We sell them at two hundred thousand and collect twelve million, split two ways. Not bad, I'll drink to that! Your land and my money!" Jim said with a satisfied grin. "Here's to a fat reward for effort," Warwick said. "What happens if you cannot locate the missing daughter?" Jim asked. "We still proceed," Warwick answered. "The land is left to me," he said. Then after a moments reflection, added, "But we'll still keep looking for her. We do want to find her!"

Reflecting in the enjoyment of plans for the future, the two men drank their whiskey. It was Warwick who changed the subject.

"You know about this problem Doncaster Power and Gas is having with Myra Applewood, don't you?" he said. Jim nodded with a wry grin. "I'm acting for the gas company," Warwick continued. "What is she like?" he asked. "Is there some way we can fix this quietly, make it go away, sort of thing?" he asked. Jim took a sip of Whiskey. "She doesn't want any trouble. She's a very easy going woman," Jim answered. "If you want my opinion, if you want to nip the whole thing in the bud, just send her a letter of apology, and a peace offering. Perhaps you could offer her a month's free electricity and gas. I'm sure that would be the end of it," Jim said. Warwick thought for a moment. "She's in hospital isn't she?' he asked. Maybe I should go and visit her while I'm in the area?" Jim smiled. "She was in hospital. They let her come home this morning. Nothing much to it, as it turned out. A bit of heartburn I think." he said. "Is she here then? Could I see her?" Warwick asked. Jim reached for the Village internal phone book and dialled a number.

"Myra, it's Jim Coutts at the main office here. How are you feeling?"

A short pause!

"I have a gentleman here from the gas company who would like to pop down and say hello. Would that be all right?"

Another short pause!

"Okay. His name is Warwick. He'll be down in a few minutes. Everything else okay?" Pause. "Right then, bye now!"

Jim replaced the receiver. "Over to you, Mr. Diplomat. She's in Unit 170," he said.

Warwick decided to walk the short distance from the village reception centre to Myra's unit. It gave him time to mentally collect and collate his much valued inter-personal skills that were so much a part of the business he conducted. As he walked past the duck pond, where several ducks were swimming, he was struck by the serenity of the village grounds. One or two residents sat outside their units chatting, another pottered in the garden. A few practiced their bowling on the synthetic green. 'A good place to be,' he thought. 'Perhaps this is where I'll finish up.'

Minutes later, Myra answered the door, and invited Warwick inside. "I suppose they have sent you to wave your magic wand, and calm the waters," Myra said with just a hint of sarcasm. Warwick decided that appeasement was the best approach. "Yes, I suppose it's something like that. Firstly though, how are you feeling?' I heard you had some sort of heart attack recently?" he said.

"It wasn't that bad," she said, catching just a whiff of whiskey vapour in the air. "It smells like you and Jim Coutts have been on the bottle already," she said, quite unabashed.

Warwick was taken by surprise. Myra continued, letting him off the hook. "The doctor panicked a bit. They kept me overnight for observation. I came home this morning. Just a bit of indigestion actually. Can I offer you anything?" she asked. "No, I'd better not. I'm driving." He answered.

"I didn't mean alcohol," Myra said. "It's evident you've had some of that already. I meant tea or coffee?" Warwick felt a tinge of embarrassment. He was surprised at how sharp Myra appeared, and a touch annoyed that he had so easily handed control of the conversation over to her.

"Er, no, er, well maybe coffee, thank you. That would be nice." He said sheepishly.

Myra put the kettle on and prepared two cups. "Well," she said, not wasting any time, "what do you want to do about this summons thing?"

19.

After calling Warwick Steedman with the news of the fire, Brad Murphy finished breakfast, and took the dogs for a walk along the beach. It was a little after ten o clock and the sun was now high above the horizon. The wide sandy expanse of the beach gave him a feeling of freedom, physically and mentally. The waves crashing into the shore with such fury exhilarated him as he watched Fixem and Mixem race after the two tennis balls he hurtled toward the water. The dogs loved the water. Nothing it seems would stop them from retrieving the balls, as they thrust themselves into the swell with a fearless determination.

As he walked, young children played at the water's edge, but Brad's thoughts kept returning to the news of the fire. It had been no more than a day and a half since he visited the Adoption Agency and spoke with Julie Macleod. She had been very helpful and co-operative. Perhaps she had been to the Aston Park office before the fire, and located the file on Mary Therese, he thought. Perhaps there was no need to be concerned that the information he sought might be lost. Perhaps he could call her. 'Yes call her.'

When he returned to the store with the dogs, Brad dialled the adoption agency number. Not surprisingly it was engaged and remained so for several subsequent attempts. He decided to leave the island early and drive to the agency on the way to the television studio, intending also to take a look at the fire scene along the way. All morning, the news of the fire bothered him. Even though the fire department had reported that it began in the adjoining property, it all seemed too much of a coincidence. He decided to take with him too, the address and telephone number of Elizabeth Ashford, the person who had handled the adoption of Mary Therese. If all else proved fruitless, he could at least continue his efforts, albeit from another direction.

Travelling north along the Brisbane-Gold Coast motorway, he took the Aston Park exit and merged with the Ipswich Road traffic. It was a warm, humid morning and he had the air-conditioner running in the car. At eleven o clock the normal hourly news bulletin on ABC radio began, and what he heard shocked him to the core.

'Here is the news....Police have just advised that they have discovered a body in the shop destroyed by fire last night in Aston Park. The fire that began in the adjoining house completely destroyed both properties, and it was believed that no one was inside either building at the time. Police say that the as yet, unidentified body appears to be that of a male in his late thirties or early forties. They believe he may have been a homeless squatter using the unoccupied building as a shelter.'

Shocked and bewildered by this totally unexpected turn of events, Brad pulled off to the side of the road, and turned the engine off. He sat there for a few moments allowing time to digest the news. He then tried to call the agency again on his mobile phone. 'Still engaged!' Continuing his journey along Ipswich Road, he could see the fire scene ahead. The fire department still had one unit present. The Police had sealed off the block extending some one hundred metres and traffic was banking up as cars were being diverted to the opposite side of the road. With the traffic moving very slowly, Brad was able to take a close view of the damage as he drove past. There was little by way of any discernable structure of either house or shop remaining, and the ruins were still smouldering. "Keep moving please. Keep moving," the policeman called out as cars slowed down to take a look. Brad realized nothing could be learned from being there, and after passing by the scene, he once more pulled over to the side of the road, deciding to try the agency one more time. Finally he got through and asked for Julie Macleod.

"Julie Macleod," the voice said at the other end.

"Good Morning Julie, this is Brad Murphy. I came to see you two days ago. I just heard about the fire at Aston Park. Were you able to obtain the information I was asking for?"

"Umm, Brad, yes, err no. What was it about again?" she said sounding dazed and disoriented.

"I came to see you about an adoption you worked on in 1974. Mary Therese Steedman? You were going to check on some details for me." "Oh yes Brad. I am sorry. We are in a bit of mess here. Police and the press are everywhere. Umm, I'm afraid all our records at the Aston Park store are destroyed. There's nothing left. The only thing I can suggest is that you contact the Department of Communities and see if they will help you. They will have some information there I'm sure."

Disappointed but determined, Brad scribbled on a piece of paper. "Okay. I'll do that. Sorry to hear about the fire. I hope things get back to normal quickly," he said, deciding not to mention the body at the fire. 'None of my business,' he thought.

Not wanting to deal with a government department without first checking with Warwick Steedman, Brad chose to ring Elizabeth Ashford, the person whom Warwick said had handled the adoption of Mary Therese some twenty-two years ago. Dealing with government departments involved a lot of red tape. If there was a short cut, Brad knew Warwick would prefer that. Rifling though his papers he found the telephone number, and made the call.

"Good morning, my name is Brad Murphy. I wonder if I could speak with Elizabeth Ashford please."

"I'm Elizabeth Ashford," the frail voice replied.

"I'm sorry to bother you," Brad began, somewhat excited that he had reached her without any difficulty. "Are you the same Elizabeth Ashford who worked at the Western Family Agency in Aston Park some years ago?"

"Yes I worked there for ten years. But I haven't been involved with them now for a very long time," she answered

"I am making some enquiries concerning an adoption I am told you were associated with about twenty-two years ago. I wonder if it would be possible for me to come and see you."

"Oh dear, you are not a parent or something are you. I don't want to have to get involved in anything."

"No I'm not a parent. I'm making enquiries on behalf of the trustees of a deceased estate in Melbourne. They are trying to locate somebody. I won't keep you long, I promise."

"Who did you want to know about?" Elizabeth asked.

"The baby's name was Mary Therese Steedman. She was about three or four months old. The year was 1974."

"The name is vaguely familiar," Elizabeth replied after a brief moment of thought. Why don't you check with the agency?"

"I have, but unfortunately the building that was used to store the details of adoptions at that time, was destroyed by fire."

"My goodness. The building where I used to work?" Elizabeth asked. "Yes I'm afraid so. It only happened last night."

"Goodness. I haven't bothered to listen to the radio this morning. I've been out in the garden. What happened?"

"If I can just pop in to see you, I can tell you all about it," Brad said trying to push things along.

"Well, I suppose I could spare a moment," she answered.

"I won't keep you long," Brad promised.

"Well, I suppose it will be all right. What did you say your name was?"

"Murphy, Brad Murphy."

"Oh," she said with a girlish giggle, "the same name as that television person?"

"Err, yes, that's right," Brad answered slightly embarrassed.

"Well, all right. When did you want to come?"

"Well, actually I'm in the area right now. I could be there in about fifteen minutes if that's not too inconvenient," he answered.

Fifteen minutes later, Brad was knocking on the door of Elizabeth Ashford's house. It was an old cream coloured timber dwelling, high set with an iron roof, facing east to take advantage of the cool breeze that brought relief from the thick, stifling humidity. The character of the old dwelling was greatly enhanced by the lush, well cared for garden, thriving in the sub tropical climate.

When Elizabeth Ashford opened the door, she immediately recognized the face standing outside and was taken completely by surprise.

"Hello, I'm Brad Murphy," he said. "We spoke on the phone earlier?"

"Oh, my goodness, hello. You didn't say that you were the same person as the one on television. I watch your program all the time. Do come in," she said.

"Sorry," Brad answered, "I was a little embarrassed." It was with hidden delight that Brad Murphy felt his high profile was about to pay dividends. All too often, celebrity status had its drawbacks. From being recognized almost everywhere he went, and sometimes suffering unsolicited, unflattering comments, to being constantly asked to attend this function or that function to lend weight to some charitable cause, all took their toll. Here though, he was being ushered in by a seemingly delighted senior citizen, whom he felt would probably go to extraordinary lengths to tell him everything he wanted to know. 'What a change of pace?' he thought.

"Can I get you anything," Elizabeth asked as she showed him into the lounge. "A cup of tea or something cool to drink perhaps?"

"Tea would be lovely." He answered.

"Would you like a biscuit or a piece of cake?"

"Either would be fine, thank you."

"Do sit down, I won't be a moment."

While Elizabeth was in the kitchen, Brad surveyed the lounge room. It was a large wallpapered room, with ageing furniture and fittings. A picture rail extended around all four walls and three walls contained sepia photos of what Brad presumed were deceased relatives.

"Won't you be late for your program?" she called out from the kitchen. "Your show starts in about an hour or so."

"No. It's pre-recorded. We taped today's show yesterday," he said as he continued to absorb the character of the room.

"Oh, I didn't realize that. I suppose that takes some of the panic out of it," she said from the kitchen.

"Panic?" Brad asked.

"Well, recording the day before, would enable you to edit out something you didn't like, wouldn't it?" she asked.

"Oh yes. It certainly does," he replied, still gazing around the room. On the wall above the old sideboard, Brad noticed an unusual number of photographs, all tastefully framed, mostly of young children, some photographed with adults. A small number were of babies, photographed in black and white. The photos looked quite old as if taken several years ago, and it was with a gasp that Brad guessed these were children placed for adoption while Elizabeth Ashford worked at the Western Family Agency. Immediately it sprang to his mind that one of these babies might well be Mary Therese.

"I see you have met my children," Elizabeth said as she returned to the lounge room with a tray containing a plate of biscuits and cakes.

"Your children?" he answered. "Not all of them surely?"

"No, goodness me, no. These are my children from the agency. These are some of the children I helped find parents for."

"Was this normal agency practice?" Brad asked.

"Oh yes, sometimes. But these are not agency photographs. These are mine. I always took two of them and kept one as a personal memento of a wonderful occasion; a new life, with a new family. It was so exciting." Elizabeth said excusing herself once again as the whistle of the kettle could be heard in the kitchen. Brad turned back to look at the photos, to see if any names were tagged along the bottom. No names.

As Elizabeth returned with two cups of tea on a tray, the two settled down in two roomy armchairs, and addressed themselves to the business of Brad's call.

"Elizabeth, as I said on the phone," he began, "I'm making enquiries on behalf of the executors of the estate of the late Andrea Steedman who passed away two weeks ago in Melbourne. Just before she died, Andrea told her brother Warwick, who is one of the executors, that she had a daughter twenty-two years ago, whom she subsequently put up for adoption through the Western Family Agency here in Brisbane. The baby was born here. Her name was Mary Therese. None of her family knew of the pregnancy, or at least that's what Warwick thinks is the case. Andrea apparently moved up here from Melbourne to hide the fact that she was pregnant. At the time, she told the family it was a company posting that prompted the move."

"I see," Elizabeth said thoughtfully.

"Andrea would have been twenty three at the time." Brad said as he handed over the photo of Andrea when she was nineteen. Elizabeth took the photo and studied it closely for some time. She cast her mind back to a time now long past, a time she enjoyed enormously and as she did a flood of memories returned.

"Hmm, yes this face is familiar," Elizabeth said as she perused the photo. "A young woman, about twenty one or thereabouts, no family."

"You recognize her do you?" Brad asked.

"Yes! Andrea! I remember her. I remember visiting her. She said she was unable to care for the baby. She was very frightened, as if she was doing something terribly wrong. She was suffering a lot of guilt. She wouldn't tell me very much about her family or the father. She said he was just a one night stand or something like that."

"You spoke with her then? You remember her?" Brad asked.

"I wasn't sure about her. I wondered if she was ready for something like this. It's a huge step to take you know. There was a couple from Townsville...or was it Cairns. Not sure now, but I'm sure I have some detail here. Just a minute!"

Elizabeth rose up and went to the sideboard. She opened up the left door to reveal a bunch of files in manila folders.

"I kept a lot of stuff at home in case I needed to do some work here. Somehow it all just accumulated and after I retired," she said as she waded through the folders, "I just filed it all away. I suppose that wasn't the right thing to do was it. The Department of Communities wouldn't be very happy about it, but it all just accumulated you see. I should have destroyed it all. You won't tell on me will you?" she said in a timid manner.

"What you have here is your business Elizabeth. It has nothing to do with me. But if there's any information you can give me that will help me find Mary Therese, I'm sure the executors would be very grateful."

"Well, let's see," she said as she ruffled through some files. "Yes, here it is," she said as she produced an envelope. "This was them."

Brad couldn't believe his luck. Elizabeth returned to the armchair and opened the envelope. She took out a completed application form.

"Yes, now I remember. This was a strange one. I was never very sure about this one."

"What do you mean?" Brad asked.

"Well," Elizabeth began. "There was always something strange about this one. I interviewed Andrea and I took a photo of the baby, Mary, but that was the last contact I had with them. These were the people though," she said, looking at a handwritten sheet of paper. "They came from Cairns. A young couple who couldn't have any children. James and Irene Campbell. There is an address here but that doesn't mean they are still there of course. But you can have it if you wish."

"Yes please," Brad replied as he reached for his pen and notebook. "What do you mean when you said you were never sure about this one?" he added.

"Well, as it turned out I wasn't supposed to go there. It was all a bit of a mistake. My supervisor asked me to take over a file and I contacted the wrong person. I met Andrea and completed an application form but when I went to discuss it later with Julie Macleod, she said I went to the wrong place and took the file off me. That was the last I heard of the matter until about five years later, when I typed a letter for the agency director."

"Who to?" Brad asked.

"This couple here, the Campbells. Apparently Andrea wanted to make contact with them and wrote to the agency asking for details. At the time Julie Macleod was on holidays overseas, so Ross Davidson looked into it. He couldn't find any record of Andrea having been a client of the agency. It was when he was dictating the letter to me, that I told him about my visit to see Andrea." Elizabeth said.

"What letter? To whom?" Brad asked

"Andrea mentioned the Campbells in her letter. We had an application from them on file from a year or so earlier, but nothing ever came of it. We then checked with the department, and they had no record of an adoption involving Andrea either. Ross Davidson wrote to the Campbells asking if they knew anything about it."

"Forgive me for saying so Elizabeth, but all this is starting to sound a bit bizarre," Brad suggested.

"It was! Well, until Julie came back from holidays, that is. She sorted it all out, but I still didn't learn the final outcome. Around the same time, Ross left the agency and Julie was appointed director. She's been there ever since," Elizabeth said. "So how do you know that the Campbells adopted Andrea's daughter?" Brad asked.

"I asked Julie about it one day after Ross had left. She said it was a simple filing error or something. The department had sorted it out and everything was now fine. That same afternoon, Julie was out and I took a call from Cairns. It was Irene Campbell wanting to talk with Julie. I said I'd get her to call back and took her number. Then just as an afterthought I asked her how Mary Therese was getting on and she said, 'fine,' and hung up. It sounded to me like it was a slip of the tongue. That's when I started to feel very uncomfortable about the whole business of Andrea and her baby."

20.

Inside O'Reilly's Irish Pub, at the corner of Richmond Road and North Avenue in East Melbourne, Jill Toogoods was waiting for her brother Barry Capper. Outside the weather was near perfect; a typical Melbourne Autumn day. Jill would have preferred to sit at one of the tables outside on the footpath, but they were all taken up with office workers enjoying their lunch break. The passing traffic and its associated noise level was constant; cars, trams and cyclists. As she sat looking out the window, a taxi pulled up outside, and Barry Capper emerged from the front passenger seat. Barry paid the driver and made his way around the patrons to where his sister Jill was waiting inside. With a gentle peck on the cheek for her, he sat down.

"That taxi driver who bought me here has a wonderful appreciation for classical music," he said to Jill. Barry had just enjoyed listening to Dame Joan Sutherland sing Verdi's Gualtier Malde...caro nome, from Rigoletto, Now sufficiently relaxed from the tensions of the morning, he was on course for an even more relaxing lunch.

"Taxi driver, classical music! Isn't that a contradiction in terms?" Jill asked. "A bit off the norm I would say, but there you are. How is everything? Get you a drink?" he asked. Jill nodded. "Yes please, a gin and tonic." As Barry went for drinks at the bar, Jill pondered how she would approach the nature of the problem she wanted to discuss with her brother. Minutes later she was sipping her gin and tonic, with Barry drawing on a light ale.

"How's Father?" she asked. "He's fine. He asks after you a lot. Why don't you call him sometime?" Barry enquired.

"Don't know. Just too busy I guess," she replied. An uneasy silence passed before Barry took up the baton. "How's Frank?" he asked, referring to Jill's husband. "All right I suppose. He's away for a few days on business." She answered with a vacant expression, that left little doubt in Barry's mind, that all was not all right.

"What's up Jilly. You haven't asked me to lunch to chat about nothing. What's the problem?" he asked.

"What would happen if I left Frank?" she asked out of the blue. "Bloody hell, what do you mean?" he replied.

"Simple enough. What would happen? Financially, I mean," she said. "Where is all this coming from?" Barry asked. "I thought you two were fine. Are you serious?" Jill's eyes began to betray her emotions as tears rose to the surface. "No, we're not fine," she said as she took a sip of gin. "We haven't been fine for ages. It's all an exterior display, for our friends, family and so on. What would happen if we split up? How would our assets be worked out?" Barry leaned back on his chair, no longer relaxed but needing some support to carry the mental weight of his sister's extraordinary revelation. "Well, there's no children so it would be a simple fifty-fifty split, I would imagine. There's the house. You are both employees, so I suppose your respective superannuation balances would have to be taken into account. Bank accounts, furniture, that sort of thing. There wouldn't be any need for arbitration if you were to both agree on disbursement."

"Arbitration?" Jill asked.

"If you both agree on a property settlement, there would be no need to bring in lawyers," he answered. "What has gone wrong?" he asked.

"Oh, I don't know. We just drifted apart. He spends so much time away. We are both career bound. Can we order something? A sandwich would be fine. I don't feel like much else."

As Barry went to the snack bar, Jill contemplated telling him the other part of the story; the real reason why she wanted to leave her husband. When he returned with pre-wrapped sandwiches, he posed the question, "Have you thought about where you would live? What if Frank doesn't want to sell the house, and chooses to pay you out instead?"

"I'll find somewhere to live for the time being until...." she said before hesitating. "Until what?" Barry asked, his mouth full, but chewing temporarily suspended.

"Until Warwick and I move in together," she answered.

Barry swallowed his mouthful of sandwich with a thud.

While Jill Toogods and her brother Barry continued their lunch break, Julian Knowles was engaged in his taxi, taking an elderly lady home with her shopping. His last job was dropping a businessman off at O'Reilly's Irish pub in East Melbourne, and he was working his way home for a short break before starting his afternoon runs with his clients from Elm Tree Cottages. His mind was preoccupied with the events of the previous evening. He wondered if there was anything in the evangelical movement that would be of benefit to Maria Stewart. Singing joyful songs and happy clapping was one thing but this healing ritual was something else entirely. From his own limited observations, it seemed that it was more a matter of one mind exerting its influence over, even dominating another, with no tangible benefit to the afflicted, save an expectation of a cure. Such an influence, Julian thought, could be used for good or evil, depending on the parties involved. This, to Julian, did not seem to be a healthy partnership.

"Turn left at the next street please driver," the lady said. "Okay," Julian replied. As he turned left, he realized he was in Gracedale Street in Mitcham, the same street he had taken the young woman who had been attacked; the lady he saw subsequently at the prayer meeting. 'What was her name again? Michelle, that's right.'

"Number forty two please driver," his passenger said and Julian pulled into the driveway. "Seven dollars fifty please," he said.

"Would you mind helping me with the groceries? I have a bad back and I struggle with them. If you could just leave them on the veranda, she said as she handed him ten dollars. "Keep the change," she said.

"Sure," Julian replied and proceeded to take the groceries from the car to the veranda. Directly across the road, he saw the house where he had taken Michelle. Parked outside was a late model, dark blue, Ford Falcon. He stopped momentarily, and stared across, as if caught in some sort of trance. Michelle had somehow captured a part of him that was rarely seen. There was a charismatic attraction, simply felt but difficult to define. It was curiosity blended with mystery, and perhaps a touch of the romantic.

"Do you know the lady across the road?" he asked his passenger.

"Not very well," she replied. "I've spoken to her now and then. She keeps to herself, although she does have a gentleman calling regularly. That's his car there now; none of my business. Do you know her?" she asked. "No not really," Julian replied. "I picked her up once that's all." The passenger's groceries were now stacked neatly on her veranda and Julian returned to the car. He checked the time and realized he had a half hour to spare before the afternoon runs began.

It was Julian's custom to take a short break each afternoon before commencing the afternoon return run to Elm Tree Cottages. If he was close to home, then that's where he would go. On other occasions when time did not permit going home, he simply bought a cup of coffee, and enjoyed a quiet moment, reading or having an early afternoon nap. As he was close to home on this occasion, he decided a short break was in order, before he began the run. When he arrived home there was a strange car in the driveway. 'Annette must have a visitor,' he thought. She did!

He entered through the front door, almost tripping over Foofo, and walked down the hallway.

"Julian, come into the family room, I'd like you to meet Margaret," Annette said as she welcomed him. Immediately Julian walked into the room, he saw the overweight lady from the prayer meeting, sitting on the couch.

"Hello I'm Margaret," she said with a big cheesy smile.

"Hello," Julian replied. "I remember! You were at the prayer meeting the other night," Julian added. "Yes I was. Did you enjoy it?" she asked.

"Hmm, not sure if enjoy is the right word. It was certainly interesting, and different." Julian answered.

"Oh Darling, I forgot. There was a message on the answering machine. The hospital rang. They want you to call them back. Something about Maria Stewart," Annette said.

A deep pain passed from Julian's heart to his stomach. He had visited Maria everyday since the accident. Each time she was the same. Lying there, motionless, alive but lifeless. He was dreading such a call. Maria's doctor had told him on his visit the previous day that she could continue in her present condition indefinitely; or she could wake up; or she could simply die. It was impossible to know which way things would go.

"How long ago?" he asked. "I'm not sure, we only arrived here half an hour ago. I was out for two hours." Julian picked up the phone. His hands were trembling. "Ward six please," he asked of the receptionist who answered. As the seconds ticked by Julian's heart rate increased dramatically. "Ward six, Nurse James speaking. Can I help you?"

"Yes, er my name is Julian Knowles. Someone rang here with a message about a patient, Maria Stewart."

"Oh yes Mr. Knowles. I'll just check and see if you can speak to her." Julian's reflexes were lightning fast. "Speak to her! You mean she's alive...er I mean she's conscious?"

"Yes Mr. Knowles. She woke up this morning, as if nothing happened," Nurse James replied. "The doctor is still with her. I'll just check and see if she can talk to you." Julian was ecstatic. He turned to Annette and Margaret and shouted, "She's awake. She's awake."

"Oh praise the Lord," Annette cried out as she took Margaret's hand. "Praise you Jesus," Margaret exclaimed. "How wonderful is the Lord."

"Mr. Knowles, are you there?" Nurse James asked.

"Yes, yes." He answered.

"The doctor said she cannot come to the phone but has suggested you come by this evening to see her."

"Oh, fantastic. That's great. That's terrific. I will. I will. Would you tell her I called and I'll come by tonight?"

"I'll let her know." Nurse James replied. As he hung up Julian glanced at his watch. Time to go. "Great news isn't it?' he said to the two ladies in front of him, his whole person, body and spirit now transformed, elated and completely oblivious to Annette and Margaret's more than friendly embrace of each other. "I'm off to pick up the family," he said referring to his intellectually disabled clients.

As he left the house, Annette and Margaret looked each other in the eyes and kissed. "We did it," Margaret said. "No. Jesus did it!" Annette said. "We were just his agents. Jesus did it! He healed her! Praise Jesus."

Julian skipped his way down the front steps to the car. Suddenly his day had been transformed from the ordinary to the special, all from one simple phone call. As he made his way along Doncaster Road, he turned left into Turner Street and fumbled for a tape to play on his tape deck. Without looking at the tape, he slipped it into the deck. Seconds later, he was listening to Giulio Caccini's beautiful rendition of 'Ave Maria,' sung by Inessa Galante. The poignancy of the moment struck him deeply as he made the connection between the song and the healing of Maria Stewart. 'Perhaps there is something to this healing thing after all?' he thought. Five minutes later he drove through the gates of Eastern Adult Development, (EAD) where Loretta and Rowland were waiting to be picked up and taken home.

"She's awake," he called out to Joanne Kirby who stood at the main entrance, carefully guarding her charges. "Maria woke up."

"Yes we know," Joanne answered. "They called from Elm Tree this morning. Isn't it wonderful?" she added just as Loretta, her bag in hand, took a sideswipe at Rowland, connecting with the shoulder. "Oops, lets get these two settled before we have a war on our hands."

Rowland was happy to retreat to the relative safety of the back seat, while Joanne ushered Loretta into the front seat. "I'll pop in to see her tonight," Julian said. "I just hope she can forgive me for causing her so much trouble."

With two clients secured, Julian left EAD, and headed for his next pick up at Walter Adult Support (WAS), a distance of some two kilometres. As they drove through the shopping centre, Rowland removed his shoes and, as was his custom, threw them out the window, this time in full view of a police patrol car trailing behind. As Julian heard the siren, and saw the flashing red and blue lights behind, he knew exactly what had happened. He pulled over to give Rowland a sharp word. Rowland however was impervious to such admonitions. Fully aware of his transgressions, which he no doubt regarded as achievements, he sat there his eyes glued on Julian, taking in Julian's entire stern rebuke and responding at the end with a wicked grin and a scratch of the head.

"Good afternoon driver," the officer said as he arrived at the driver's side door. "Were you aware that one of your passengers discharged one or more objects from the vehicle whilst it was in motion?"

"Yes officer. I'm sorry. I wasn't in a position to stop him." Julian said.

"Can I see your driver's license and your Taxi driver's certificate please?" As Julian complied, the officer then addressed himself to the occupant in the back seat. Taken by surprise at what he saw, he said, "Oh...Oh I see, having a little playtime at your expense was he?"

"Yes I'm afraid so. I'm sorry about the shoes. I'll go back and get them," Julian said, as he passed his license and certificate across. "No need," said the officer, "my partner is retrieving them." The officer perused the papers Julian had given him, and then looked at him more closely as if he recognized him. Julian suddenly recognized the officer too. He was one of the police who attended the scene of the accident at Shoppingtown.

"Julian Knowles. Hmm, you were involved in an accident a week or so ago at Shoppingtown weren't you?"

"Yes I was," Julian answered. "Hmm, you're a lucky man. The woman who has been in a coma woke up today. It seems she is going to be okay."

"Yes, I know. I found out about an hour ago. I'm going to see her tonight. She's a friend of mine. She supervises these two at Elm Tree Cottages," Julian said pointing to his passengers, and relieved in some way that he was able to make what he thought was a sympathetic connection with Maria Stewart.

"Well, you will still most likely be charged with reckless driving, but that's not nearly as bad as it could have been," he said, handing Julian back his documents. The second officer then tapped on the front passenger side window, holding a pair of track shoes in his hand. "Anyway," the first officer said, "I won't add to your problems just now. I suggest you secure the gentleman in the centre seat of the rear, and make sure you have his seat belt fastened. That might act as a deterrent. And I suggest you keep the rear window wound up when he's in the car. Okay, you can go."

With great relief, Julian accepted the shoes from the second officer and thanked them both. He drove off quickly, not wanting the police officers to notice anything out of order with his cab; like the coat hanger substitute for a radio aerial, or the tiny crack in the front windscreen, both items for which an infringement notice could be issued. Enough already! Julian continued on his run, arriving a few minutes later at WAS where he picked up Richard and Daphne.

"P-p-play A-a-a-B-B-A," Richard said as he was eased into the back seat. "Yes, yes, yes, all right," Julian replied a little agitated as he pushed Rowland into the middle of the back seat to accommodate Daphne. "What about a bit of Luciano instead?" he suggested. "P-p-play Lu-lu-luciano," cried Richard. "What a great idea," Julian answered, and with the musical programming settled, the journey back to Elm Tree Cottages was underway.

Fifteen minutes later, at journey's end and climaxed by Pavarotti's magnificent rendition of 'Nessum Dorma', the taxi pulled into the Elm Tree Cottages car park at Unit 49. Rowland made his usual lightning fast exit from the car realizing he was home again and Julian helped Richard out of the back seat.

"Did you have a good day today?" Julian asked as he took Richard in arm and guided him to the front entrance of the unit. "Y-y-yes," Richard replied. "What did you do today?" Julian asked. Several seconds elapsed as Richard absorbed the question and set his mind to answer. Finally it came, "S-s-w-i-m-m-ing," he said. "S-s-song and d-d-ance," he blurted out. "Swimming, Song and dance," Julian exclaimed. "And what did you do, sing or dance in the pool or both?" Richard again took the customary fifteen to twenty seconds to absorb yet another challenging task and eventually found voice, "S-s-w-i-m-m-ing, t-th-e-n D-d-dance," he replied. "What sort of dance did you do? Was it foxtrot or rock 'n roll?" Julian asked.

As they arrived at the front door to Richard's unit, he had absorbed the question and was ready to deliver the answer. "H-h-hok-key P-pok-k-ey," he replied with a feeling of satisfaction and with an enormous smile that transformed his entire face. Julian could not help himself and burst out laughing. The image of Richard following the prompts and rendering anything remotely similar to a hokey-pokey was just too much. "That's terrific. Perhaps you could demonstrate it for me one day," Julian replied. Greeted at the door by a staff member, Julian handed Richard over and said, "See you tomorrow." Richard took several seconds to construct his reply and as Julian headed back to the car to safely deliver his remaining charges, Richard stammered out, "d-d-e-mon-st-rate f-for J-julian," as the door closed behind him.

21.

That evening, the hospital was unusually crowded with visitors. As Julian exited the lift and made his way to Ward six, every patient it seemed, was happily engaged in conversation with a loved one. The kiosk and flower shops were doing brisk business, as visitors snapped up sweets, papers and a bunch of roses or gerberas. As Julian made his way to Maria's room, a feeling of great apprehension enveloped him. What would her reaction be when she saw him? Would she remember the accident? Did she know he was the driver responsible for putting her in this position? Would she blame him? Would she shun him? When he walked into the room, Maria was lying down, her head propped up with two pillows. There were two people with her already; a young male he didn't recognize, and a young woman he instantly recognized. It was Michelle. Julian was dumbfounded but tried not to show it. 'What on earth was she doing here?' When Maria turned her head and saw Julian, at first she seemed not to recognise him. Then, she smiled and raised her hand. She spoke under her breath, and although her words were inaudible, it was a friendly welcome and Julian felt enormously relieved. He walked straight to the bed and took her hand. She grasped it as would any friend, and whispered 'hello' in return. He said hello back, and as he did so a lump arose in his throat, and he was unable to speak further. He looked across at Michelle with a facial expression that begged some sort of explanation.

"Hello," she said extending her hand. "I'm Michelle. You're Julian aren't you?" Julian nodded. "This is Michael," she continued, and to Julian's complete surprise, added, "Michael is Maria's son, and I am her niece." She then turned to Michael and said, "This is the taxi driver who took me home one morning last week, and," she continued, turning to Julian, "you were also at our prayer meeting the other night weren't you?"

"That's right," Julian replied.
"And he's been coming here everyday, Aunty, to see you," Michelle said as she turned her head toward Maria. Maria seemed to understand Michelle, and smiled, once more extending her hand to Julian. "How is she?" Julian asked of Michelle. "She's getting better, but at this stage we don't think she remembers anything of the accident." Michelle replied stroking Maria's forehead.

"She doesn't know it was me who caused it then?" Julian asked.

"You?" Michael said.

"Yes. I'm sorry," Julian said, startled at Michael's curt response. "I thought you would have known."

"I certainly didn't know," Michael insisted, looking to Michelle for some support.

"I did." Michelle admitted.

"How did you know?" Michael asked.

"That doesn't matter. You have never met Julian before. I know his wife Annette. She told me." Michelle said. "That's funny. She never mentioned that to me." Julian said, now somewhat confused. "It doesn't really matter," Michelle said, now looking a trite embarrassed as if she was sorry the subject came up. As this verbal interchange ensued, Maria Stewart watched and listened, her eyes moving from one side of the bed to the other as each of her three visitors made their point.

"But it's his fault she is here. Should we be talking to him?" Michael questioned. "There is going to be a hearing isn't there?"

"Oh probably. I don't know. It doesn't matter Michael. Julian has been here everyday since the accident. He obviously feels very badly about what happened. Let's show some willingness to forgive. He didn't mean it. It was an accident." Michelle's forthright, magnanimous and gracious gesture brought an end to the tension that had been building, and Michael went sullenly silent. As Julian looked across at Michelle, he suddenly felt something touch his hand. He looked down and saw that Maria had moved her hand into his, and as he looked at her she opened her mouth, and ever so softly whispered the words, "It's all right. Don't worry."

That same evening, Warwick Steedman and Jill Toogoods dined at a restaurant in Lygon Street. It was one of several occasions when they had been able to meet away from the office, away from their respective spouses, and simply enjoy one another's company without any pressure applied. The evening had been good. They enjoyed a fine meal, a nice wine that relaxed them both from the stress of the day's events.

"Where did you go this morning?" Jill asked taking a sip of wine. "It's not like you to leave the office without telling me," she added. Warwick smiled. "I went to see Myra Applewood, at the retirement village. I didn't want anyone to know, in case it turned out a disaster," he answered. "And did it?" Jill asked.

"No, it was very productive. Tomorrow I will dictate a letter we will send her, apologizing and offering her thirty days free gas and electricity. We will send it off straight away, and I think that will be the end of the matter," Warwick said, proudly.

"Excellent!" Jill said. "I take it she succumbed to your irresistible charms?" Warwick quickly removed the smile from his face and replaced it with one of relief.

"Hardly! She's too clever by half that one. I had to pull out all stops to assure her we were not buying her off," he said. "By the way, you'd better get that other letter off too, the one to that idiot taxi driver that smashed into my car. I don't want that matter dragging on. I want him to think he's going to pay plenty for the time lost, and the inconvenience he's put me too," he added.

"Do you really think it will do any good?" Jill asked.

"Well, at the very least, I want him to sweat a bit. Make him think twice about the way he drives in future. He might even be silly enough to pay up," Warwick joked.

After the meal they took a walk along Lygon Street through its myriad of Italian restaurants, side-walk cafés, and shops, displaying an endless variety of cheeses, cakes, condiments, olive oils and other delicious attractions. The street was full of young people, old people, and children, all out enjoying the balmy March evening. It was the first year of the Grand Prix in Melbourne and Ferrari flags were everywhere. It was rumoured that Michael Schumacher would be coming for a visit. The traffic was bumper to bumper. As Warwick and Jill strolled along, checking the windows of each shop they passed, they did not notice Warwick's younger brother Robert sitting at one of the side-walk café tables, engaged in a tense discussion with two gentlemen. They did not notice him, but he noticed them.

Sitting at the side-walk café table with Robert, was Alberto Antonini and his cousin Alphonso. The meeting had been arranged by Alberto in the light of a small debt of five thousand dollars Robert owed to Alphonso, which Robert seemed either reluctant or unable to pay.

"It's like this," Alberto said to Robert in a gentle, almost paternal manner. "If you feel you are unable to satisfy my cousin with repayment, I will give you the opportunity to work it off."

"How?" Robert asked, nervously.

"As you are aware," Alberto said, "I have a small fleet of taxis and I am always on the lookout for new drivers. I would be willing to help you gain your Taxi Driver's certificate and you could work for me. Generally I keep fifty percent of your takings. However in your case, I will keep seventy-five percent, until you have paid the money off. You have no work at the moment, so I think this would serve two purposes. My cousin Alphonso will get back his money and you will have a job. Everybody wins. So what do you think?"

Robert was intelligent enough to realize that Alberto was not one to meddle with, and as he sat there resigned to the prospect of driving a taxi, nodded in agreement. As he shook hands on the deal just concluded, he looked up to see his brother Warwick strolling along the footpath with the lady he spoke with earlier in Warwick's office. He watched them intently as they moved up Lygon Street, window shopping as they went.

"This is good," Alberto said, unaware of the distraction. "I can see you are keen on the idea. There are new rules for getting your taxi driver's certificate these days. The Government is trying to smarten up the industry. You will have to do a forty-hour TAFE course, but don't worry. You will pass it easily."

"Can I go now?" Robert asked abruptly, keen to follow his brother.

"Yes of course," Alberto said, "but don't make any other plans. I will be in touch with you. My cousin Alphonso here will also help you learn the things you need to know to pass the course. You understand?"

"Yes," Robert said, no longer feeling intimidated, his eyes firmly fixed on Warwick. "You know where I am," Robert said as he made a move to go. Alberto took his arm in a firm grip. "Yes. We will always know where you are. You do realize that don't you?"

Robert looked him in the eye and nodded. There was something unmistakeable about Alberto's last comment and as he moved quickly up Lygon Street keeping a safe distance behind Warwick and Jill, Robert realized the gravity of the position he was in. He also realized that seeing Warwick with another woman, presented an opportunity that just might help extricate himself from his present parlous circumstances. As he followed them, Warwick and Jill stopped to look at the shops, each time they embraced while perusing the various retail outlets, each time they looked into each other's eyes, and kissed, each time the kiss was longer. Robert was stunned. He couldn't believe his eyes.

It was ten o clock when Warwick and Jill arrived back at the undercover car-park at the rear of the shops. For a brief moment they held each other, embraced and kissed under the light at the concrete pillar. Jill had wanted to broach the subject of their relationship tonight. She had wanted to talk to Warwick about her plans to leave her husband, and find a place of her own, but somehow the moment did not present itself. She was satisfied that they had spent this time together and that they would be together in the office the next morning. That would have to do for now.

As they made their way to their cars, Robert followed in the shadows. They made their way down past row after row of vehicles, until they arrived at where their own cars were parked. Robert waited in the half-light and observed the two kiss each other passionately, and embrace tenderly. 'Bingo', he thought. 'Gotcha'.

The following morning Warwick Steedman was in his office early. At eight thirty, Jill Toogoods came in and settled herself at her desk before going to the kitchen to make some coffee. She was wearing a light red summer sleeveless dress, and her hair was down around her shoulders. On returning to her desk, she noticed the flashing light on her phone and realized Warwick was already in his office. As she made a move to enter Warwick's office, Alexander Smith, Media manager came through the front door. "Good morning sexy," he said joking lightly. "Please don't refer to me that way Alex. I know you mean well, but it's not really appropriate in the office." Alex was taken aback. "It's not as if it's the first time I've called you that," he said. "I know. Sorry, I'm a little tense this morning. I've got a few things to deal with." Alex made for the kitchen, and Jill opened Warwick's door. He was on the phone speaking with Brad Murphy.

"Is there anyway you can check if they are still up there?" Warwick asked Brad as he waved Jill to the seat on the other side of his desk. Jill responded and waited for the conversation to finish. "Well, keep in touch. Let me know as soon as you find anything. If necessary, I'll come up and have a talk with this Julie Macleod person if you think it will do any good." With that Warwick hung up, his eyes still firmly fixed on the phone. He had temporarily forgotten that Jill was in the room. "Good morning," she said trying to distract him. "Remember me?" Warwick's glazed eyes melted. "Sorry, I was in another world," he said. "What's up?" Jill asked as Warwick leaned back into the luxury leather chair.

"That was Brad Murphy. He was giving me an update on his attempts to track down Andrea's daughter. The trail is getting very strange," he said. "Why? What has he discovered?" Jill asked.

"Well," Warwick began, "first he makes contact with the Western Family Agency, the organization that Andrea told me adopted out her baby. They aren't able to give him anything specific but promise to check their records and get back to him, but the very next morning the property where the records are kept goes up in flames. Then the police find a body in the ruins. Then Brad contacts a former employee, again from information I received from Andrea. She has this stack of information in her home about past adoptions, and tells a bizarre story about a couple called Irene and James Campbell, from Cairns who she is sure adopted Mary Therese, but after checking, Brad finds the relevant government department has no record of it. The former employee is certain that she was told by the agency director that the whole matter was straightened out with the department. It's starting to sound suspiciously like there was a bit of funny business going on in early 1975 which is going to make finding Mary Therese very difficult. And now as you know, I'm meeting the family tonight to explain Andrea's will and try to pacify everybody."

"What is Brad Murphy going to do now?"

"Well, as it happens, he is scheduled to do a live broadcast of his chat show from Cairns on Friday. That's one of the reasons he called. He's flying up there and wanted to know if I would like him to make any follow-up enquiries. He says he's checked the Cairns telephone directory, and there are a number of Campbells listed. "

"What did you say?" Jill asked.

"I said please, go ahead. Do whatever you can. At least that's something I can tell everyone tonight, and show that I'm working on it. He's been extremely helpful and I'm very grateful to him."

"Do you expect trouble tonight?" Jill asked

"Not really, Robert might be a little edgy. I suspect he's in dire need of money. He probably needs to pay off some debts. From what my mother tells me, Margaret seems to have something going on, so she's probably a little anxious. The thing is, none of them is aware that Mary Therese exists, and I'm going to have to tell them."

22.

Warwick Steedman would have preferred that the meeting took place at his home, his palatial Tudor-style dwelling set on an acre of land in the fashionable outer suburb of Templestowe. Here he felt in complete control, the obvious examples of his success all too apparent to his brother and sister, who he hoped would be so overcome and intimidated that they would defer to all his suggestions concerning the estate of Andrea Steedman. 'If a two-storey dwelling, with five bedrooms, three bathrooms, a four-car garage, swimming pool, tennis court and an entrance hall bigger than his mother's entire commission house, was not going to impress them sufficiently into compliance, what would?' he thought.

But Warwick's mother Elsie was aware of the effect his success had on Margaret and Robert, and under no circumstances would she allow either of them to be intimidated in such an obvious manner. When Warwick had proposed two days earlier, that Elsie join him and Susan for dinner at home ahead of the family meeting, the proposal was met with a stern rebuke. "No Warwick," she said firmly, "your place is not a satisfactory venue. I'm surprised you do not realize that." Warwick felt rather sheepish. He knew he was over-stepping the mark and not surprised his mother had pulled him up so quickly. "Well, I was only thinking of the comfort and the space for everybody to settle back and relax," he said. "You were thinking of no such thing," she countered. "You were trying to intimidate Margaret and Robert and I won't have it. We can have the meeting here at my place," Elsie said.

Warwick knew better than to argue with his mother, despite his unease at the cramped conditions. Elsie's housing commission flat was very much a product of the times twenty years earlier, when public housing shortages precipitated a flurry of activity that concentrated more on volume than either space or quality. "Okay, fine mother, let's have it at your place," he said. While Elsie had no intention of allowing Warwick the psychological advantage of a holding a family meeting at his home, she knew that his influence would still dominate proceedings. She knew that Robert felt uncomfortable near Warwick. Robert was easily intimidated. Unemployed, on benefits, and living alone after his second failed marriage, he struggled to cope. His first wife left him with their only daughter, claiming that he physically abused her. His second wife realized after two years that she was supporting him. At the same time she decided to leave him, a spectacular real estate boom spread across Melbourne's inner suburbs, doubling the price of their home. That fortuitous event gave Robert the opportunity to buy a small one-bedroom flat after the property settlement. Even then, it was Elsie and Warwick's idea that he should do so. Robert would have quickly lost it all on a slow horse or a get-rich-quick scheme. Elsie knew that if Robert were to attend a meeting at Warwick's home, he would not cope well, and the ill-feeling that she knew he felt for Warwick would overshadow his judgement and co-operation. She knew that his visit to her a few days earlier was a true reflection of his distrust and dislike of Warwick. What she didn't know, was that Robert had discovered something about Warwick, something that empowered Robert and now made Warwick vulnerable.

Elsie was also worried about Margaret, who was somewhat more stable than Robert, but also not without her marital problems. She too felt intimidated by Warwick and although less likely to allow it to cloud her judgement or behaviour, would still feel uncomfortable 'at home' with Warwick and Susan. No, the meeting had to be held on a level playing field. The meeting had to be at Elsie's place.

It was eight o clock in the evening, when Elsie answered the doorbell. Robert arrived first. Elsie was pleasantly surprised. If anyone was going to be late, she thought, it would be Robert. Yet here he was, first to arrive and smartly dressed. Even more surprising, he had a smile on his face. "Hi mum," he said as he pecked her on the cheek and entered the flat, making his way straight to the kitchen and the refrigerator where he knew a can of cold beer would be waiting.

"Got some good news," he said as he pulled the ring top and prepared to down the contents of the can. "What is it?" Elsie asked, taken by surprise at Robert's uncustomary positive attitude. "I've got a job," he said. Elsie's eyes lit up, her mouth opened and she clapped her hands together. "That's wonderful Robert. What are you going to do?" Robert took a large slow mouthful of beer, swallowed and said, "I'm going to be a taxi-driver."

"A taxi driver?" Elsie queried. "You need some sort of licence for that don't you?" Robert, feeling a rare moment of supreme confidence took another mouthful of beer and nodded. "Yep, it's all being arranged. I should have it in a day or two, and start driving from then. I know a taxi owner who has promised me a car and that's all there is to it," he said. Elsie was momentarily surprised. This was a new Robert she was seeing. The unusually well groomed, well dressed Robert with the positive mental attitude took her by surprise. "Robert, that's wonderful. I'm delighted to hear this,' she said. Robert put the can down on the bench and nodded. "Good. I'm glad you feel that way. In fact things are generally looking up for me right now. I have a good feeling my life is about to turn around." While Robert's comments were welcome, a strange disquiet clouded Elsie's mind. Robert had rarely shown bursts of enthusiasm in the past, and usually they were associated with either a woman or a win at the races. Sometimes he would call her, brimming with excitement over a new scheme that was, he assured her, foolproof and potentially worth mega-dollars. Each time, the enthusiasm would reach its zenith and then begin a sometimes slow, sometimes very fast decline as all the hype, all the false promises, all the dreams began to fade. When that happened, Robert would be left with nothing. Elsie had seen it happen before. This time was slightly different though. This time Robert was actually going to work, real work that gave him real money, even though from a variety of sources, she knew taxi drivers were not well paid. She quickly adopted a positive approach, not wanting Robert to sense her uncertainty. "Where will you have to go to get the car, when your licence comes through?" she asked. "It's not actually a licence. I already have a driver's licence. It's called a Driver's Certificate and it's issued by the Taxi Directorate. The taxi owner is a fellow I met at the races. We both won on the same horse and collected at the same window. We just got to talking and I told him I was out of work and one thing led to another and then he told me how the taxi industry works. Then he suggested I think about it." The real story of how Robert's association with Alberto began was quite different from the version he was giving to his mother, but Robert had no intention of allowing the truth to get in the way of a good story.

There was a knock on the door, and this time it was Margaret. Elsie welcomed her inside and a brusque greeting passed between her and Robert who had settled into Elsie's arm-chair in front of the television. Margaret appeared nervous and uncertain, a condition she often displayed when Robert was within eye-contact. Although her junior, Robert took a bizarre joy in bullying Margaret. Her weight was a constant target and a lack of self-esteem manifested itself in a defensive manner. She was attractive, with bright blue eyes, and light brown hair, but shy and easily dominated, particularly by the men in her life. Margaret quickly bypassed Robert and ushered her mother into the kitchen as if she had something important to discuss privately with her.

"Did you speak to Warwick about our discussion the other day?" she asked in a low wavering voice out of earshot of Robert.

"Yes, don't worry about anything," Elsie replied, "I'm sure Warwick will explain everything tonight and you will be able to sort things out." Elsie was far from certain of anything Margaret would sort out, but she was concerned for Margaret's mental state and the psychological burden she was enduring. She felt it more important to re-assure her than to speculate on what might or might not happen this evening.

"I'm sure Warwick will put everyone's mind to rest tonight. I know he's been very busy trying to help everybody. Don't worry. It'll all work out I'm sure. Why don't you try to talk with Robert. He's just told me he's about to become a taxi-driver," she said.

"A what?" Margaret shrieked aghast. "God, who would dare ride in a taxi with him?" she exclaimed, this time within earshot of Robert, who appeared unperturbed by the remark.

"Well, I guess we'll find out soon enough, won't we?" he said. It would have been Robert's normal behaviour at this point to turn on Margaret with a barrage of taunts about her weight, her marriage, her nervous disposition, but Robert was strangely magnanimous.

"I'm branching out," he said. "I'm about to broaden my life's experiences, and I feel somewhat proud of that. It might just be the making of me," he added. Margaret heard the words he spoke but found it difficult to associate them with her younger brother. Turning to Elsie her mouth open in wonder, all she could say was, "What's overtaken him?" Elsie was quick to settle Margaret's astonishment. She could see that, if left unchecked this little repartee between the two siblings could easily get out of control.

"He's in a good mood. Let him be. He's being very positive at the moment, so let's not spoil it," she said softly. "Have you had dinner?" Elsie asked in a louder voice, intended for them both. "I have some party pies in the oven if you would like something." Robert responded, "Yes please." Margaret showed less enthusiasm. "No thanks. I have eaten. I'm trying to diet again." Normally this would be the excuse Robert would use to pass some disparaging remark about Margaret's weight and she steeled herself for his response. When Robert brushed passed her to attack the party pies, his only words were, "Excuse me sis," as he picked up the plate and returned to the armchair. Margaret was stunned. No insulting remark from Robert! "What has happened to you?" she asked.

"Margaret!" Elsie snapped. Still Robert was unperturbed.

"That's okay. I'm fine with that," he said to Elsie. "The fact is things are changing for me. Perhaps more than even I realize. I can't explain it in any great detail, but having a job obviously helps," he said. "And knowing that there's a little pot of gold somewhere in the future does wonders for my confidence too, so there you have it," he concluded. Little did either Elsie or Margaret realize that the pot of gold Robert was referring to, had nothing to do with Andrea's will.

A knock on the door distracted the three of them from their discussion. All three knew who it was. Warwick had arrived. Elsie was relieved that finally some clear information would emerge for everybody. Margaret was anxiously anticipating some information that she felt would bring her freedom, a new life. Robert was outwardly calm and relaxed. Deep down however, he was brimming with delight. He was supremely confident. He had never felt this way before.

Warwick entered the flat, kissed his mother on the cheek, looked in to see both Robert and Margaret and said, "Good evening everyone. Sorry I'm a bit late, had to tie up one or two things at the office."

"Would you like a drink," Elsie asked. "Yes that would be great. A rum and coke if you have it, mother," he answered as he placed his briefcase on the dining-room table. "Looks full," Robert said, referring to the briefcase. "Yes it is actually," Warwick answered, surprised not so much at the comment, but that it came from Robert. Taking a second look at his younger brother, Warwick noticed his changed appearance, the suit, the clean-shaven face, the positive attitude. "So, you look like you have another engagement tonight," he said to Robert.

"No, I don't, but I bet you do" Robert fired back.

Warwick was taken aback. He did have another engagement tonight but not one that he was willing to divulge to Robert or anyone else. "Er, no, I'm off home from here," he replied, annoyed that he had suddenly found himself on the defensive.

"Here's your drink Warwick," Elsie interrupted. "Thanks," Warwick said. "How are you tonight Margaret?" he asked, deflecting attention from his uncomfortable encounter with Robert. "I'm okay, thank you," she answered with a quiver in her voice. "I'm hoping you will be able to explain things for us tonight. It means a lot to me," she added, her nervousness now clearly evident. "Yes I'm sure I can. Why don't we get down to it now and perhaps have a little supper afterwards," he said looking to Elsie. "Yes let's," said Robert.

As the four of them arranged themselves around the dining-room table, and Warwick began removing files from his briefcase, a hush descended upon the room. Warwick put on his reading glasses and carefully perused each document he removed from his briefcase. He paused a moment as if undecided as to which piece of news he should give them first. Then, sensing the apprehension, he put the papers down and carefully looked around at each person sitting at the table.

"First of all, let me allay any fears you may have about Andrea's will. She has been generous to all of us. Her estate as you probably know is significant, but also a little complicated. There are shares, property and cash, all of which will need to be settled before proper disbursements can take place. However, all of you will receive a small cash sum and then an annuity," he said.

"What's an annuity?" Margaret asked.

"It's a regular sum of money paid monthly for a period of time or until it runs out." Warwick answered. "It will be managed by a firm of trustees Andrea has appointed. Their name is Spinner, Brady and Capper. They have an office in the city.

"What was that about a cash sum?' Robert asked, staring directly at Warwick. Warwick turned his head to look at Robert. "Andrea has allowed for each of us to be paid a cash sum of ten thousand dollars. I suppose she was thinking that it would enable those who need it most to take care of any outstanding debts, or anything else that was needed," Warwick answered. "And when do we get that?" Margaret asked. "The trustees will release that immediately probate has been settled, probably in about a month or so. If you are in some dire need for some money now, the trustees would be willing to advance some of the ten thousand now out of their own funds, but it would be better to wait until probate has been finalised." There was a silence in the air as both Robert and Margaret digested the detail that had so far been revealed to them. "That however is not the main point of my wanting to have this meeting tonight. There is something else you need to know," Warwick said slowly, taking a deep breath as he paused.

Elsie felt his tension and asked, "What is it Warwick?" As Warwick looked around the room, he wondered about the impact the next piece of information would have on each of them, particularly his mother.

"What is it?" Elsie repeated.

"Andrea has a daughter," he said with trepidation, uncertain as to the possible reaction. There was no reaction. Stunned silence! It was as if a bolt of lightning had struck suddenly leaving each of them momentarily paralysed. It was Elsie who recovered first.

"What?" she said, as if convinced that she had not heard him.

"Andrea has a daughter. Her name is Mary Therese. She's twenty-two years of age and she was born in Brisbane in 1974." Warwick allowed the release of this further piece of information the time it needed to be digested. The three of them sat there staring, and still no reaction until finally, the silence was broken.

"How do you know this?" Margaret asked.

"Andrea told me the day she died. She gave me all the details and asked me to find Mary Therese and ensure that she was included in the will. The same information was included in the documents held by Spinner, Brady and Capper. I have kick-started the process engaging an old university friend in Brisbane to help with the search. This is the complication I was referring to earlier. Until we find Mary Therese, we will not be able to formalise the annuities because we won't know the amount we can settle on. This was a condition of Andrea's will. We have to find Mary Therese.

"I don't believe it," Margaret said without thinking. Robert was stunned. His confidence level had been at an all time high but this sudden surprise had altered his state of mind. "How do we find her? I mean how do we start?" he asked. "Mary Therese was adopted when she was about four months old," Warwick replied. "There was an adoption agency involved somehow but from investigations already started, it seems that the records relating to that adoption have been lost. There is also something a bit odd about the way in which the adoption was handled and I'm beginning to think that it might have been an illegal process. Apparently there is no record of it with the relevant government department."

"What does that mean?" Robert asked. "It means our job in finding Mary Therese is going to be that much harder," Warwick answered. "What I've been able to establish is, that the couple who adopted Mary Therese lived in Cairns for a time. The fellow who is making enquiries for me will be in Cairns this week and hopefully he will come up with something."

All the time as Warwick spoke and the two siblings tried to absorb the news, Elsie sat silently at the kitchen table. This unexpected revelation had shocked her. As she sat there, no longer listening to Warwick, her mind was transported back in time to 1974, when Andrea came to her with the news of her transfer to Brisbane. The temporary career move that lasted a year or so before Andrea returned home again. What had happened to her? Was she pregnant before she left? Was her transfer simply staged to get her away for the period of her confinement? Why didn't she just say she was pregnant? How was it that it never came to light later, when Andrea was financially independent and could have supported her daughter? Questions circled in Elsie's head until her mind could take no more. "I have to lie down," she said.

"Mother, can I get you something?" Margaret asked. "No, no don't do anything. I just want to lie down for a few minutes. Perhaps you could put the kettle on and make some tea or something," Elsie answered as she rose and walked to her bedroom. Inside the confines of her bedroom, Elsie stood motionless, her head erect, and her shoulders straight, her eyes fixed firmly on the dressing-table mirror. She stared into the mirror. It beamed back her reflection, faultlessly, precisely. She took account of the years passed, as she glanced briefly at her wedding photograph sitting on the dresser. How young she was then. She stood there for a few moments, staring at the photograph. She looked intently at the image of her husband Arthur. Then, as the memories came flooding back, suddenly it came. Overwhelmed by grief she collapsed onto the bed. She fell back, her hands clasping her face, fearful her body was about to fall apart. The tears welled up and poured from her eyes. She opened her mouth to release the pressure inside, but she made not a sound. Her children in the next room would not hear her cry. Her body rocked from side to side as she cried, her hands wringing wet as they covered her face. Then as quickly as it came it stopped. A respite from the pain. The body had taken enough and needed rest. She let her hands slide away from her face and she stared toward the ceiling. The mental image of her adopted daughter crystallized in her mind. Andrea's entire life flashed across her mind, from the day she and Arthur brought her home, to her growing up, going to school, and then blossoming into the beautiful young lady she was, all flashed across Elsie's pain-shattered memory. And now it was revealed to her that Andrea had a daughter. 'How could I not have known this?' she asked herself over and over again. 'Why did she keep it from me?' Elsie's mind poured over the past, searching for a clue, a word, a phrase that Elsie might now interpret differently. 'Did she say anything that I missed? Was she trying to tell me something and didn't know how?' A gentle knock on the bedroom door brought her back to real time.

"Mother, would you like some tea? I have a cup here for you. Can I come in?" Margaret asked tentatively. Elsie sat up quickly and composed herself.

"Yes Margaret, come in," she said. As Margaret entered the room Elsie wiped her eyes with her sleeve, but Margaret noticed and asked, "What is it mother? Is it Andrea?" Elsie took the tea from her daughter and nodded. "I had no idea she had a daughter. Did you know anything about this?" she queried. "No, it's a complete surprise to me. She never said a word," Margaret replied.

"Well, what on earth are we going to do? We have to find her. Not for the money's sake though. We just have to find her. I have a grand-daughter out there somewhere. I have to find her." Margaret looked at her quizzically. "Well, technically she's not really your grand-daughter, not like my daughter," she said, biting her tongue the moment the words came out. Elsie let the insult slide. This was no time for temperamental outbursts.

"Believe me, Margaret, if you had ever adopted someone you would know that every part of them becomes a part of you, and it never ends, even after their death. If Mary Therese is out there somewhere, then she is my grand-daughter and I need to know her. If, God forbid, something has happened to her and we never meet, then she is still my grand-daughter and I need to know what happened in the intervening years. Nothing on this earth could possibly change that."

The two women sat on the bed together and Margaret tried to console her mother. Elsie slowly recovering from the shock began to reflect on the events, and her thoughts suddenly focussed on the one person she thought might know something.

"I wonder if Maria Stewart knows anything about this?" she asked.

"Maria Stewart?"

"Yes," Elsie snapped. "Maria Stewart. Andrea's sister. Remember? I realise that you hardly know her, but she's still her sister. She's a good and caring woman, and it galls me that neither you, Robert nor Warwick have taken the slightest interest in the fact that she's lying in hospital at the moment recovering from the same car accident, Warwick and Susan were involved in."

An embarrassed Margaret made no attempt to reply as Elsie composed herself and returned to the lounge room.

23.

Julian Knowles pulled his taxi up outside Michelle's house in Mitcham. He had arranged to take her to see Maria Stewart who had improved dramatically since regaining consciousness, and her doctor was even suggesting the possibility of an early discharge. He tooted and within seconds Michelle appeared at the front door. "I'll only be a minute," she called out.

As he sat in his taxi waiting for her, Julian reflected on this lovely young woman who had entered a corner of his world. Twelve years his junior, she had somehow captivated him from the first moment he drove her home that morning two weeks earlier. He then saw her again, at Pastor Doug's prayer meeting. 'Pastor Doug? Hmm, not sure about him,' he thought. Michelle played the organ and was obviously a close member of his community. 'What did the old woman from across the street say when I dropped her off last week?' Julian tried to recall the conversation with the old lady. 'Something about a regular visitor driving a dark blue falcon.' Julian chose to ignore the reference as he recalled the occasion he and Michelle had met once more at the hospital when he visited Maria and lo, he discovered she was Maria's niece. This seemingly coincidental, but constant recurrence of chance meetings, played out a pattern in his mind and with it came a longing to be closer to her. He did not know how to manage this longing, this unexplained but welcome intrusion into his world. It confused him, when it rested in a parallel position alongside thoughts of his wife, Annette. It did not yet occur to him that the two might be connected in some way. His heart suddenly jumped when she came out the front door, danced down the steps and walked toward his car. How lovely she looked, her shoulder-length hair swinging gently in the breeze, her dress swaying to and fro. He felt a wonderful thrill when she climbed into the front seat. She was sitting alongside him. "The hospital please driver," she said with a giggle. "Certainly miss," he answered with a serious look, pretending she was a fare-paying passenger. "Well!" she said as he began to drive off. "Well what?" he replied. "Turn the meter on," she said. "No", he replied. "This is not a fare." Michelle countered with a look of surprise. "Oh yes it is," she said, "I can't have you giving me a free ride. I have to pay."

"Won't hear of it," he said, "besides, it's only a short distance. And I don't want you to."

"Why?' she asked. "Because, I just don't," he said. "Well, I'll have to make it up to you some way," she said innocently. Julian's heart jumped again. This was an unexpected delight. The very thought that Michelle might in some way feel indebted to him was exhilarating. "Won't hear of it," he said with a commanding authority, as if that was the final word on the matter. A short silence ensued while Julian converged with the traffic on the main road and each of them gathered their thoughts. He was thinking of her. She began thinking of Maria. "Won't it be wonderful if Aunty Maria can go home in a few days," she said. This remark brought him back to earth. "Yes, it certainly would. She certainly looked better yesterday. So bright and cheerful, almost her old self again," he replied. "She'll need a bit of looking after for a while," Michelle said. "Michael is very good, he will take care of her, but he has to work so I might spend some time with her each day," she continued. "Don't you work too?" he asked. "Yes, but I can take some time off. I have plenty of holidays owing," she replied.

Another silence settled comfortably, until Michelle asked, "How long have you been driving taxis then?" Julian grinned with a resigned look on his face, "Too long," he answered. "I fell into it, when I was retrenched about ten years ago." Michelle thought for a moment. "What was your best day?" she asked. Julian might well have answered, 'Today, taking you,' but he thought better of it. "I got a trip to Albury once," he said, "from the airport. That was probably the longest journey I've had," he said. "But they don't come too often," he hastened to add. "And what has been your worst experience?" Michelle asked. "Having to deal with drunks, I suppose?"

Julian thought for a further moment. "A man once had a heart attack in the car. That was the worst day," he answered. "That's awful," Michelle said. "What on earth did you do?" she asked. "It was more a case of what I couldn't do," he answered. "I found out later, that if I had administered CPR, I could have saved him. That bothered me a lot." Michelle noted a change in Julian's voice. "Did he..." she asked, unable to say the word. "Did he die?" Julian asked the question for her. "Yes, he did. Not in the car though. I raced him to hospital and he died there shortly afterward. It wasn't a good day at all. I had only been driving taxis for a few months at the time. So I decided to do a course in CPR after that," he said. "Ever needed to use it since?" Michelle asked. "No," Julian answered. "I don't expect I ever will, but at least I know how to do it now."

It was early afternoon. Julian would shortly begin his afternoon runs with the clients from Elm Tree Cottages. The traffic was light and he was distracted by Michelle's soft perfumed scent. Thoughts of Elm Tree Cottages naturally included Maria and he decided to indulge his curiosity. "How are you related to Maria?" he asked. "Is it on your mother's or father's side?" Michelle suddenly began ransacking her handbag. "Oh damn. I left my tissues at home," she said as she sneezed. "Oh my goodness, sorry," she said as she sneezed again. Julian reached across her to the glove box, where he retrieved a small packet of tissues. "There you are," he said. "Oh gosh thanks so much," she said. As she took the tissues from him, her hand brushed across his, and his heart jumped once more. "What was that you asked?" she said. "Oh, she's on my mother's side," she answered. "Where is your mother now?"

"My mother is dead," she replied. "She passed away five years ago, when I was seventeen. We lived in Adelaide then. My father is still there. We came from Queensland and moved around a lot with his work. A few months ago, I wanted to come to Melbourne, so my father decided it would be best if I came to live with Aunty Maria. I had finished University, and I was able to get a job here, so I agreed and here I am."

"But you don't still live with Maria?" Julian asked.

"No, I found a place of my own after a few weeks. I like living alone. It suits me. I'm still very close to Maria. We have a good connection. I just thought it was time to move out," she replied. The word 'connection,' jolted Julian's memory back to the prayer night at Pastor Doug's. "How did you get involved with the prayer group?" he asked. "Oh that just happened. I used to go to the Sunday services at another church where Douglas was the pastor. Then he left and started up this other prayer group and I sort of followed him."

"Douglas?" Julian queried not having heard the pastor referred to in such an informal way. "Well, I call him that," she replied. "Others are more formal, but they don't have to be. He's just an ordinary man like you. Nothing special." As the hospital came into view, Michelle asked, "Are you coming in to see Maria?" Julian looked at his watch. "No, I can't. I have permanent work at Elm Tree Cottages. Would you say hello to Maria for me, tell her I'm off to pick up Richard, Rowland, and the others and take them home. She'll like that. I'll give you my telephone number and if you need to get in contact with me you can," he said handing her his business card. The car pulled up alongside the main entrance to the hospital and Michelle made to leave. "Thank you for bringing me. I will make it up to you some way. Are you going to come to our prayer meeting tonight with your wife?" she asked. "Not sure about that. I don't really think it's my style," Julian answered honestly. "Well, have a think about it. Sometimes it grows on you if you give it a chance. Anyway, I'll call you and let you know how Maria is," Michelle said as she climbed out of the car. "Thanks. That would be great," he replied, thrilled again that he had established a genuine link with this young lady. As he watched her enter the hospital, he realized he was becoming increasingly besotted with her, infatuated in the most stimulating way. He sat there staring at her until she disappeared. The drivers of the cars banking up behind him were unaware of his longing thoughts and romantic dreams. The honking brought him back to the reality of the day. "Get a move on fella," the hospital porter called out, responding to the din from the traffic behind. Julian drove down the driveway and out onto the street, uplifted and light in the head, setting a course for the sheltered workshops to pick up Richard, Rowland, Daphne and Loretta, and return them to Elm Tree Cottages.

When Julian arrived at WAS (Walter Adult support), Mary-Anne Roxburgh, supervisor for both Richard and Daphne, was waiting outside the front entrance with Daphne by her side. She greeted him with the news that Richard was not there. He had been returned to Elm Tree Cottages earlier in the day, suffering from a seizure.

"Why didn't you ring me?" he asked Mary-Anne.

"It all happened very quickly, just after his swim," she replied. "When we contacted his house supervisor at Elm Tree, they said they had a vehicle in the area at the time and that they would come and pick him up. They arrived fifteen minutes later," she explained. Julian nodded and helped Daphne into the car. It was not unusual for Richard to suffer seizures. He was an epileptic, and although they were rare, they could occur at anytime. Having the client return to Elm Tree Cottages was the normal procedure although on most occasions, the seizures were mild and no further medication was deemed necessary. "Was it a bad one?" Julian asked. "No, not really. He just went into that vacant stiff daze as he does occasionally, but we can't take any chances or assume too much, so we called Elm Tree," she answered. "Okay, I'll probably see him when I arrive there with this lot," he said. With Daphne safely secured in the back seat, Julian drove off and headed for EAD (Eastern Adult Development) to collect Rowland and Loretta.

It had been a party day at EAD, to celebrate the birthday of another client. All the clients were treated to cakes baked on site that morning and lemonade. The staff had provided paper party hats and balloons, music to dance to, and games to play. When Julian arrived to collect Rowland and Loretta, the din from inside attracted Daphne's interest and she insisted on joining them. Without waiting for Julian's permission, she quickly removed her seat belt and hurried inside, quick to absorb the party atmosphere. For just a moment or two, this sudden intrusion unsettled the joviality of the group inside and the noise subsided to a hush. While the music continued playing, a dozen or so clients stood motionless, unable to continue until they had sufficiently comprehended this unexpected arrival. Then, as if satisfied that Daphne's presence meant no threat, one after the other they continued their celebration. Daphne, ever the extrovert, began to dance on her own, until offered a piece of cake and a glass of lemonade by a carer. She was to all intents and purposes, a stranger in this small community, but her disability also made her a sister to everyone in the room, and the staff welcomed her as they would one of their own. It was a good fifteen minutes later, before all of Julian's charges were guided back into the taxi to continue the journey back to Elm Tree.

Twenty minutes later, Julian dropped Daphne off at Unit 50. He then continued on to Unit 33 to return Loretta home safely, and then on to Unit 49 to deliver Rowland and to enquire about Richard. As he escorted Rowland into the lounge at Unit 49, he noticed an elderly lady whom he had never seen before, sitting on the sofa with Richard. The elderly lady held Richard's hand and she was speaking to him in low, soothing tones, as would a loved one visiting a sick friend. Richard sat there, calm and alert, listening to her. Julian looked around for a carer just as Helen Woods, who had assumed the position of Unit supervisor in Maria Stewart's absence greeted them both.

"Hello Julian, hello Rowland, did you have a good day today?" she asked. Rowland nodded and immediately removed his shoes and sat on the floor.

"I guess you found out we brought Richard home earlier," she said to Julian. "Yes, how is he?" Julian asked looking across toward both Richard and the elderly lady.

"He's fine. It was just one of his usual seizures. It didn't amount to anything," Helen replied.

"Who is that lady with him?" Julian asked.

"Oh that's his mother Elsie. We always ring her if anything happens with Richard. She always wants to know. She came down to see him. Actually if you are available, I was just about to call a taxi for her. Could you take her home?" Helen asked. "Yeah sure, where does she live?" Julian asked. "Oh somewhere in Albert Park, a housing commission place I think." Julian looked at his watch. "Okay, I'll take her. I should have enough time before shift changeover. You let her know and I'll go wait in the car outside. See you tomorrow," he said as he walked out the door and back to the car to wait for Elsie Steedman.

24.

A few minutes later, Elsie emerged from Unit 49.

"Hello, are you the one who is taking me home?' she asked Julian. "Yep that's me, hop in," Julian replied. Elsie climbed into the back seat. "Paul Road in South Melbourne please; the housing commission flats. Do you know them?" she asked. "Yes I do." Julian answered, starting the engine and moving off toward the entrance gates of Elm Tree Cottages. The traffic was building now, as the peak period approached. Once through the busy junction just south of Elm Tree, Julian chanced a conversation. "Helen at Elm Tree tells me you are Richard's mother," he said, not quite knowing whether to phrase it as a question or a statement. "Yes," she said. "Helen tells me you are his regular taxi driver," she answered. "Yes, I am," Julian replied. "I have known him now for a few years. I get along well with him. We both love music, although our tastes differ somewhat," Julian added. "Thank you for looking after him. Helen says you have a good rapport with him," Elsie said. "How long has Richard been at Elm Tree?' Julian asked. "Most of his life," she answered. "I had to place him there. I just couldn't cope with him at home. It's just so hard," she continued. "I had two other children to care for. It was hopeless. The mental strain it places on your family is enormous." The journey continued through the busy inner city streets, then onto the freeway toward South Melbourne. Julian went quiet, so too, Elsie. Such moments were common in a taxi. A burst of conversation often ran its course with no where else to go and a silence followed. Julian observed the woman through the rear vision mirror; his dark sunglasses hiding his curiosity. The grey hair, her ageing diminutive frame, the lines on her face, her sad eyes, all told their own story. Julian surmised that this lady had been through much suffering, much hardship. He felt it prudent not to ask too many questions. His questions would only pressure the lady to reveal unhappy memories. Better to leave her alone.

Ten minutes or so later, after pulling up outside the multi-level commission building in Paul Road, South Melbourne, Elsie paid Julian the metered fare. "Thank you for driving me home, and thank you again for all the kindness you show Richard. If you would like to give me your number, I could call you when I want a taxi to visit Richard," she said. "Certainly," Julian said, always on the lookout for permanent work. "Here's my number," he said, handing her his business card. "Perhaps I will see you again sometime?" Elsie took the card from him and said, "Yes, perhaps you will. My name is Elsie, Elsie Steedman.

Julian watched, as Elsie made her way toward the front entrance of the housing commission building. There were children playing in the courtyard of the multi-story complex. The children appeared to be unsupervised. The perimeter of the property was fenced off, but there were no gates. Anyone could come and go as they wished. Security was non-existent. Julian noticed an elderly man standing by the fence watching the children. He appeared unsteady, uncertain. He made a move toward the pathway that led to the front entrance where the fence stopped, all the time his eyes firmly fixed on the children. Julian then watched as Elsie disappeared inside the building. There was a little girl about six years of age, and two older boys, perhaps eight or nine playing on the swings and slide. Julian looked around the property, in search of an adult who might be in charge of them. There was no one. The elderly man began to move toward the children. Julian was about to drive off but was held back, his attention focused on the elderly man. All too often, he had read articles in the newspapers and seen stories on television about child molestation, children being stalked, abducted and never found alive again. A fearful tremor ran through his whole body as he watched the elderly man approach the children. 'This was not right. This should not be happening,' he thought. 'I'm the only one here,' he realized as he looked around once more hoping to find an adult supervising the children. The man reached the children and began speaking to them.

'That's it!' Julian decided. 'I have to do something.' He leapt out of the taxi and walked quickly up the footpath to the opening in the fence, and then, straight for the man. "Hey you," he called out. The man looked around. "What do you think you are doing?" Julian asked. The children looked startled and grouped together at the bottom of the slide. When Julian reached the man, he could see the fear in his eyes. Realizing he had startled the man sufficiently, he asked again, "What do you think you are doing? What do you want here?" The man took a backward step. He was unsteady. "I meant no harm," he answered. "I just wanted to ask if the children knew someone who lives in this building." Julian did not believe the man for a moment. "Then why ask the children?" Julian queried. "Why don't you ask at the reception desk inside?" The man looked to the front entrance of the building. "There is no reception desk in there. There is nothing. No register, no list of tenants, nothing!" he said. Julian was perplexed, and beginning to wonder if he had overacted. "Well you shouldn't be bothering the children. They won't know the names of every tenant. You should contact the Department of Housing or something," Julian said, not quite knowing what to say but determined to maintain the higher ground. Julian surveyed the man. He looked as if he was in his sixties, clean-shaven, plainly dressed in a dark grey shabby suit, wearing a hat. His eyes were watery and reflected an inexplicable melancholy. "Perhaps I can help you. I drop off at this building everyday," Julian lied. "I know a lot of the people who live here," he lied again. The man looked at Julian with an expression of interest. "All right," he said. "The person I am looking for is an old woman. Her name is Elsie Steedman. I am told she lives here in this building." Julian could not believe his ears. 'Wasn't that the lady I just dropped off here?' he asked himself. 'Yes it was!' "Err, what does this lady look like," Julian asked, thinking that if the description fitted the woman he knew, the man must be genuine. "I don't know," said the man. "I've never met her. I was just told she lives here and I wanted to see her about something." Julian tried to think quickly. He was still in control of the discussion and didn't want to relinquish that role. "Err, go off and play kids," he said to the children who up until this point were still standing alongside watching the conversation unfold. "Go off now. There's nothing here for you now." The children responded and Julian then turned his attention to the man. "I don't know a woman by that name," he lied a third time, "but I see several people from this building each week. All I can suggest to you is that you give me your name and a contact number and I will make some enquiries for you. How does that sound?" The man looked disappointed. "Isn't there a quicker way?" he asked. "I'm not from Melbourne. I wasn't planning on staying long." Julian thought for a moment. "Well, you could always go to the local police station and ask them. They probably have ways of finding out who the tenants are. Or you could go to the housing commission. They will be able to tell you." The man suddenly showed signs of fear, hesitating and fidgeting. "Oh no! I don't want to go to the police. They will ask all sorts of questions. So will the housing commission. Besides I'm too old to be doing that. I'll give you my details and leave it up to you. I'm staying at a hotel down the road. How long do you think you will be?" he asked. Julian could see the man was easily intimidated and began to feel sorry for him. He could not imagine this person being any serious harm to anyone and began to adopt a friendlier manner. "I'll make some enquiries this afternoon and tomorrow morning and I'll give you a call around midday tomorrow. How would that be?" The man looked pleased. "Okay. I'll wait for your call. I'm staying at the Four Clovers hotel in Coventry Street. It's just an ordinary hotel with a few rooms upstairs. I only arrived here today and it was all I could find in the area." Julian nodded. "Yes, I know the Four Clovers. Where did you come from?" Julian asked. "Baldargo. I came down on the train today." He answered. "What is your name?" Julian asked. The man hesitated as if this was the point where he had to decide if Julian was the person in whom to place all his trust. Julian noticed the faltering pause. "It's all right. You can trust me. I won't let you down. Not unless I see your photo in the paper as a serial rapist or something," Julian said with a grin.

"My name is Gerard Martin," the man replied, as he rifled through his pocket for a piece of paper. "I have the phone number at the Four Clovers here somewhere, yes here it is." Gerard handed over a hotel business card. "Okay I will call you tomorrow. Now you should not loiter around here any longer. People get suspicious when men loiter near children. It is always possible someone will call the police and have you questioned. Do you understand?" Gerard nodded. "I meant no harm," he said. "I'm not like that. I just wanted to see if I could locate the woman called Elsie Steedman." Julian looked at him again and felt certain this man was no threat to anyone. He also felt an interest in trying to help him. "Did you look up the phone book to see if she is listed at this address?" he asked as a last minute thought. "Yes," Gerard replied. "There are plenty of Steedman's, but not one of them is at this address." Julian nodded and looked at his watch. He had stayed at this place longer than he thought, and his night driver would be waiting for the car. "Okay," he said, "I have to go now. My name is Julian, and here's my card. You can contact me at home if you need me. But I will call you tomorrow, okay?" Gerard nodded. Julian left Gerard standing on the footpath outside the housing commission flats and returned to his car. Driving home, he could not get the man out of his mind. Such an incredible coincidence! First he meets Richard's mother, takes her home and then finds an elderly man from Baldargo waiting outside the building where he had dropped her off, and the man is looking for her, but doesn't know what she looks like or in what unit she lives. He thought deeply about the circumstances, wondering how he could help the man. Then it came to him. 'Maria! Maria Stewart would know Elsie Steedman's address. Of course she would. She probably knows her well. They might even be friends. Elsie was probably a regular visitor to Elm Tree' Delighted with this logical conclusion, Julian decided to visit Maria at the hospital that evening. He also thought of Michelle and as he did so, he considered going to the prayer group meeting that evening as well.

Thirty minutes later, Julian arrived at his home where he expected to find his regular night driver waiting to take over the car. Instead, as he pulled into the driveway he noticed Alberto sitting in the car across the road waiting for him, with another man sitting in the passenger seat. Both men walked across the road toward him. "Good afternoon Julian, did you have a good day?" Alberto asked. "So, so," Julian replied as he studied the man walking with Alberto. "Julian, this is Robert," Alberto said. "He is a new driver. He will be starting his first shift tonight. I thought he should drive this car because it is the newest, and doesn't have any annoying little problems." Then turning to Robert he said, "Robert, this is Julian." Julian shook hands with Robert. It was a cool handshake, consistent with the degree of uncertainty that Julian felt when handing over his car to a new driver. There was something about new drivers that unsettled Julian. Would they be responsible and look after the car? Would they be back in time the next morning? Would they have an accident overnight and put Julian off the road the next day? All sorts of uncertainties sprang into his mind. It was pure superstition, but every driver felt it.

"Okay. Do you want me to show him how things work?" Julian asked Alberto. "No, I'll do that. The only problem is that Robert does not have a car at the moment. So, when he comes back in the morning, would you drop him off at his home?" Julian nodded. "I guess so, where do you live? Is it very far?" Robert shrugged his shoulders and said, "I live about ten kilometres from here in Hawthorn. My car is in for repairs today, I'll be picking it up tomorrow, so it will only be this one time." Julian nodded and said, "Okay, what time will you be back?" Robert looked at Alberto as if he was expecting some sort of direction from the owner. Alberto chipped in, "He'll be here at six in the morning, won't you Robert?" Robert was quick to agree. "Yes, right here." As Julian gathered his things together, he was feeling distinctly uncomfortable about the arrangement, but resigned himself to the inevitable. "Okay, I'll see you here tomorrow morning at six then. See you later Alberto." Julian left the two men where they were, and walked up his driveway to the front door, his head replete with the events of the day. As he stepped inside the front hallway, he could hear the sounds of two women talking in the kitchen. Both voices were familiar. Annette greeted him warmly with a kiss, as Margaret looked on. "Hello darling, you remember Margaret don't you, from the prayer meeting last week. We are off there again tonight. Margaret is going to join us for dinner. Would you like a cuppa?"

"No thanks," he replied, "I think I'll have a shower, and freshen up. I'd like to come to the prayer meeting with you tonight, but I want to visit Maria in hospital first." Annette and Margaret nodded. "Oh that's nice," Annette said. "Wonderful," Margaret added, "you might become our prize recruit." Julian let out a sly grin. "Anything's possible I suppose," he said to Margaret, thinking that the only reason he was planning to go to the prayer meeting that night, was to see Michelle. "The Spirit is moving within you," Margaret said as Julian made for the bedroom en-suite. 'Not the way you're thinking,' Julian whispered to himself.

As Julian's day was drawing to a close, little did he realize that in the space of the last twelve hours, he had crossed paths with almost the entire Steedman family. He had met Elsie at Elm Tree Cottages, taken her home and discovered that she was Richard's mother. He had met Robert, who was now about to become the night driver in the cab that he drove during the day. He had met Robert's sister Margaret, who had twice visited his home and was now an intimate part of his wife's strange infatuation with a Pentecostal group. And Robert and Margaret at this very moment were unaware that they were just metres away from each other, one outside Julian's house, the other inside. As he undressed in the bedroom, Julian took a look out the window. Alberto was still outside with Robert, going over the items of equipment that Robert needed to operate. There was something odd about Robert, something about his face, his manner, even his looks, that Julian could not quite put his finger on. 'Have I met him before?' Julian pondered. Checking his trouser pockets, he came across the card given to him earlier by Gerard Martin, the man outside the housing commission flats, the man who said he was looking for Elsie Steedman, and as he perused it, Julian remembered the reason why he wanted to visit Maria Stewart.

25.

The hospital was as busy as ever during visiting hour with people moving in all directions. When Julian entered Maria's room, she was sitting up, alone reading a book. She looked up and smiled. "Hello stranger," she said, with an alert, sprightly lift in her voice and with full colour in her face. "Geez, you look terrific," Julian said. "I feel terrific," Maria answered. "Guess what?" she said. "What?" Julian asked. "I'm going home tomorrow. How good is that?" Julian was flabbergasted and delighted at the same time. "Are they sure it's okay? Is your head all right?" he asked. Maria laughed. "I don't think they would be letting me out if I wasn't. Everything is fine. I had the results of the brain scan today. There is no problem. I have to take it quietly for a week or so and then I can go back to work." The look of relief on Julian's face said more than his words could possibly express. Maria was touched by his overt display of emotion and care. She took his hand in hers and squeezed it tight. "You don't have to worry about anything. It was an accident and now it's all over," she said. "Not completely," Julian answered. "There's still the little matter of a charge for dangerous driving to face. However that's minor compared to everything else." Maria smiled, "Well, you can deal with that when it comes. Don't burden yourself with it just now. You never know, maybe they won't bother when they see that everything has worked out all right." The prospect of a charge not being laid had not occurred to Julian and the very suggestion of it gave him a lift. "Never thought of that actually. Anyway did Michelle tell you I brought her in this afternoon?" he asked. "Yes, she said you were on your way to pick up Richard and the others." Julian nodded. "Yes, that's right," he said. "How are they all? I can't wait to get back," she asked. Julian was quick to reassure Maria. "They are fine. But something happened today. Richard apparently had a seizure and they took him home earlier in the day. When I arrived back at Elm Tree with the others, his mother was there with him. Do you know her? Her name is Elsie." Maria looked at him intently. "Of course I know her. I've known her for years, for as long as I've known Richard. She visits him every week. The seizures are fairly commonplace with Richard. You are lucky he has never had one in the taxi, although it's possible he has had a minor one without you even being aware of it. I take it you met Elsie, did you?" she asked him. "Well, yes I did," Julian continued. "I took her home to her flat and we had a little chat along the way. But something else happened after I dropped her off."

"What was it?" Maria asked.

"There was a man," Julian said, "an elderly man waiting outside the flats. I thought he was spying on the children playing in the courtyard, so I approached him. He said he was looking for Elsie, but he didn't know what her flat number was, and now I come to think about it, he didn't know what she looked like either because if he did, he would have seen me drop her off and approached her then."

"What did he want?" Maria asked.

"He didn't say. He just said he was trying to get in touch with her. He said he was from Baldargo, and had come down on the train today. He is staying at a hotel in the area. I said I'd find out what I could and get back to him."

"Well, you had better ask Elsie about it first, don't you think?" Maria suggested. "Yes, that's what I was thinking. Do you know her flat number, or better still, do you have her telephone number? Apparently she's not in the book."

"Yes, I have her number at work. Her number is not listed because her eldest son Warwick, is a security freak and won't let her have it in the book. I can call Elm Tree now for you if you like. Her number is in my address book in the office," Maria said.

"Okay, if it's not too much trouble. The elderly man's name is Gerard Martin, does that mean anything to you?" Julian asked. "No, not that I can recall, she answered. "I don't think he means any harm," Julian replied. Maria picked up the telephone receiver on her bedside table and dialled. Two minutes later, she gave Julian Elsie's telephone number, and her flat number. "Thanks, I'll call her in the morning. You mentioned her son Warwick. Does he look after her?" Julian asked, somewhat intrigued. "Yes and no," Maria replied. "Warwick is a successful Public Relations person. He has his own company and he is quite wealthy. He has long wanted Elsie to go and live with him in Templestowe but she is not interested in leaving the house where she has lived for many years. He thinks he's looking after her by not letting her have a listed number. He pays for most of Richard's needs but never comes to see him. Nor do any of the others."

"Others?" Julian asked.

"Richard has another brother and sister, and..." Maria stopped herself from going any further, as if she had already said too much. Her eyes looked downward, then across to the window. "What is it?" he asked. Maria looked at Julian for a few moments, and then turned her head toward the window. Sadness filled her eyes. "What's up?" Julian asked, concerned at this unexpected reaction.

"There are complications," Maria said as she took a tissue from the box on the bedside table and dabbed one eye. "It's all very complicated. Almost a soap opera, you might say. The family is very troubled. They have long ago buried things that should have been addressed and dealt with. But they didn't, and now half of them are in denial, the other half live in ignorance, and really, you don't want to get involved," she said. Julian, realizing that he had touched upon a sensitive nerve, retreated.

"Okay, well if you say so," he said. "It's just that I sort of like Richard as you know. Today was the first time I had ever met anyone from his family, so I thought knowing something about them would help. But that's okay, I don't want to intrude." Maria took his hand in hers. "I understand. One thing it won't hurt you to know is that Elsie is a wonderful lady, who has devoted her life to caring for Richard. She endured years of guilt, having him placed into full time care and even today, she still feels as if she has let him down," she said. Then, Maria hesitated for a moment. Julian could see that she was perplexed. "What is it?" he asked. Maria looked at him, quivered slightly and then said, "You're a good man Julian. It won't hurt to tell you, but you must never repeat this unless I say so." Julian nodded as he realized something was about to be revealed to him, something very important. "Okay, what is it?' he asked.

"On the day of the accident, Elsie's daughter Andrea died of cancer," Maria said. "Oh that's awful," Julian said, suddenly feeling the pain that accompanies the news of someone else's loss. "That's only part of it," Maria added as she took a deep breath. "Andrea was also my sister." Julian was confused. "How," he asked. "Elsie isn't your mother is she?" Maria grinned. "No, she's not. Andrea was adopted. So was I. It was Elsie that started the whole thing off by remarking on how much I looked like her daughter. Andrea and I met each other through Elsie, some years ago, and when we realised we were both adopted, we decided to look into it. We had a DNA test that turned up positive, and then Jigsaw, the organization that helps fractured family members locate each other, helped us fill in the blank spaces." she said. Julian smiled. "How fantastic for you," he said. "Well, not completely," Maria said. "As it turned out, we found that we had the same mother, but not the same father. Andrea didn't take too well to that piece of news, so we haven't been that close until recently."

"Hang on," he said, suddenly realizing the connection. "If Andrea is your sister, and Michelle is your niece, doesn't that mean Michelle is Andrea's daughter?" Maria smiled. "Yes she is, but it is very important that you never repeat that to anybody, not to anybody, do you understand. Not even to Elsie or even Michelle for that matter." Julian was silent as he tried to absorb all the bits and pieces that had been revealed to him. "Do you mean that Elsie and Michelle don't know about each other?" he asked. "Elsie doesn't know about Michelle. Andrea never told her. There was a further pause while Julian absorbed this last piece of the puzzle. "Why not?" he asked. "The answer to that is a little complicated and now very delicate since Andrea died. It will all sort itself out very soon now. It's just very important that you never mention this to Elsie or anyone else. If you were to mention to anyone that you know this, it could have some very awkward repercussions. I don't know who this man is, who is trying to contact Elsie, but check with her first before you tell him anything. I would hate to think there was something else that might come out of the woodwork and upset her even more," she said. Julian nodded thoughtfully, his mind still ticking over the detail. But he trusted Maria enough to let the matter rest there. "Okay. I won't say anything. We'll leave it at that for the time being. I'll call Elsie in the morning and go along with whatever she wants." Then, looking at his watch, he said, "I'd better be off. I said I'd go with my wife to a prayer meeting tonight."

Julian was not so much concerned with the time, as he was with the prospect that Michelle would be at the prayer meeting too, and the very thought sent a tingle from his stomach straight through his heart into his mouth. "Michelle will be there too," he said to Maria. "Is there anything you would like me to ask her? Does she know you are going home tomorrow?" The very thought that he might be the carrier of a message that would give him legitimate reason to engage in conversation with Michelle was tantalizing. Maria, recovered from her moment of reflection and smiled. "Yes, she's coming to pick me up. This prayer meeting business, I know you have been before, but are you really into it? It doesn't sound like you." Julian shrugged his shoulders. "I only went in the first place because I thought you were going to die. My wife Annette is into it, and I thought that maybe going along would help make you better. Looking at you now, I think it must have worked, but then maybe you were going to get better anyway, I don't know." Maria smiled. "You did that just for me? I am touched." Julian felt embarrassed. "Well, I was worried. Anyway, do you want me to tell Michelle anything?" he persisted clumsily. "My, we do sound anxious. No, there's nothing I can think of. She'll be here tomorrow morning. Do I detect a certain interest there?" Maria teased innocently. The very suggestion rocked Julian who blushed with embarrassment. "Of course not, I'm married. I just think she's a very nice person and I'm glad that she's able to look after you," he said desperately trying to mask his awkwardness. A gentle silence followed as they looked at each other, one feeling the discomfort that flows from hidden feelings being exposed, the other, the strange sensation that accompanies an awakening, a realization. Maria studied his face, and detected the subtle give-a-way signs.

"Julian, do you have feelings for her?" Maria asked. Julian was silent and Maria realized the question was a gross intrusion. "I'm sorry, I had no right to ask you that." Another embarrassing silence followed until Maria tried to stabilize the moment.

"She's in a relationship at the moment," she said.

"Oh yes, is she really? That's nice." Julian's reply was quick, artificial and ill at ease, even for him. The prospect that Michelle might be involved with someone else did not occur to him. He was after all a man. Men didn't think that way when the first romantic chimes, the first overtones of love, heralded from the heavens.

"Yes," Maria added. "She's got herself involved with that idiot Douglas Bilby, the pastor at the prayer meeting. I guess you didn't know about him either, did you?" Julian looked at her unable to hide his disbelief.

"Him? He's weird. I could see that from the first moment I met him." Maria nodded in agreement. "Well, you won't have an argument with me on that one. I've tried to tell her. Perhaps you could drop some subtle hints if the opportunity presents itself. I'm sure he means well, but he just doesn't have enough between the ears to stop himself from being a twit. And he's too old for her. I sometimes think she sees him as a father figure," she said. Julian recalled Michelle mentioning her father earlier in the day. "She said her father is in Adelaide," he said. Maria nodded. "Her adoptive father yes, and she misses him a lot. Her adoptive mother Irene died a few years ago. Michelle came to Melbourne to stay with me, a few months ago." Julian was confused once more. "How did Michelle come to stay with you?" he asked. "When Andrea finally found Michelle, she asked me if I could look after her. She didn't want Elsie to know about her just yet. I think she was planning to tell her, but it didn't happen. I said earlier that things were complicated. I'll explain it all to you another time, but anyway Michelle came to live with me, and before long found herself hooked up with that Anglican minister. I thought it was just a bit of homesickness at first, but that little twerp of a fellow is still around."

The prospect of Michelle being involved with Pastor Doug, filled Julian with dismay. This wasn't part of his fantasy, and disappointment spread through his body. What had promised to be an evening full of anticipation had suddenly become devoid of any further pleasure. The complicated revelations surrounding Michelle's family only served to further dampen his mood. His only interest now was to go home. With a disconsolate, melancholy sensation he resigned himself to a lonely night in front of the television. "Well, I had better go," he said to Maria, indicating a loss of eagerness for anything. Maria tried to regenerate his zeal. "Okay, well, you will call Elsie Steedman tomorrow about this man you spoke to?" she reminded him. "Yes, I'll do that. I'll let you know how it turned out." With that, Julian turned and took a step away, then hesitated, and stepped back, leant over the bed and kissed Maria on the cheek. "I guess I'll see you back at work in a week or so," he said. As Maria watched him leave, she realized he was hurt. She realized that his feelings for Michelle were real and that if anything were to eventuate, it would be a case of out of the frying pan and into the fire for Michelle. "Oh dear," she said, as she watched him walk down the corridor. "What a mess!"

26.

Brad Murphy was in his element in front of the camera. A seasoned performer, he had been in and out of television over the past twenty years. He had come into the industry from radio where he worked initially as a programme manager. His first break in television came as a news journalist for the evening news, and later, reading the news bulletins in the middle of the day, a slot that helped bolster his strong following among women. His good looks and strong voice made him a natural for television. He had a loyal local following on NFQ Channel 12, with his light chat show format, where the demographics suited his layback approach. Wisely, he concentrated on topics free from controversy, steering clear of politics and other contentious issues. The climate in Queensland was warm enough without inviting a further rise in temperatures. The easy-going interview with someone who would not create waves suited him. Interviewing a visiting musician, or an author, or someone who had recently walked across the Great Sandy Desert for charity was where he performed best. His viewing audience, made up mostly of housewives, young mothers and the retired, loved that kind of story. His current visit to Cairns was part of a management policy of de-centralisation, of getting out of the big smoke and talking to the local communities.

Brad's show was usually taped the day before, but when 'on tour', it went out live. He was coming to the end of his show on Thursday afternoon, rounding up a chat with Lesley Cambridge, a visiting soprano from England who was in Cairns for a one night performance before heading off to Sydney for an extended engagement at the Opera House.

"Well, Lesley, we wish you well tonight. The concert is a sell-out, not a ticket to be bought anywhere."

"Thank you Brad. I take it you will be there too?" Lesley replied.

"I wouldn't miss it for the world," Brad replied with charm and flair, hiding his complete lack of interest in the upcoming concert, and wondering how he could excuse himself from attending. "And that brings us to the end of our show this morning brought to you from beautiful and very warm Cairns," Brad said turning his head toward the wrong camera. "Thank you to all the people who have looked after us while we have been up here. We're back to Brisbane next week and we look forward to your company at the usual time," he continued as his eyes finally located the right camera. "Just before we go, on a personal note, if perchance Irene and James Campbell, or anyone in the Cairns area knowing their whereabouts is watching, give me a call at the station will you. Two old friends of mine I'd love to catch up with while I'm here. Okay that's it for now, see you all next week, bye, bye." It was a highly inappropriate insertion and Brad knew it. Using a public facility to further a private cause was against station policy, but he simply couldn't resist it.

As Brad made his way off the studio floor, his producer looked at him surprised. "What was all that about?" the producer asked. "Oh nothing. It just sort of came out. I've been trying to track down some friends of mine without any luck. It was a spur of the moment thing," he said. It was nothing of the sort. During the short time Brad had been in Cairns, he had knocked on the door of all the Campbells listed in the local telephone directory without any luck. "The boss won't like it," his producer said. "Yes I know. Leave Gerry to me. Chances are he wasn't watching anyway." He was! It took just fifteen minutes before the call came from the Brisbane office. The station manager, Gerry Anderson was not impressed. "What were you on about with that little quip?' Gerry asked. "Sorry, Gerry, it sort of slipped out. I wanted to make contact with some people up here and this was a last resort. Just thought it might help," Brad said. "I fired someone a few years ago for that. It sets a bad precedent Brad. Next thing you know we will have the filing clerk asking for a special message to be broadcast asking his mother to put the roast in the oven," Gerry replied. "Yes, it was not a good idea, sorry Gerry." Brad apologised, anxious not to upset the station manager any further. "No more of that Brad, understand?" Gerry pressed him. "Yes Gerry, no more I promise."

The apology was genuine although Brad was not remorseful. He saw it as a last gasp opportunity to make some worthwhile enquiry for Warwick Steedman while he was in the area. He had also become quite intrigued himself with the whole business of trying to locate Mary Therese. The suggestion that something illegal had taken place in 1974, was itself enticing enough for Brad to realize that he might be on the trail of a good story, a story that could lead to who knows where. From the moment Brad began analysing the curious circumstances of the fire at the Aston Park office of the Western Family Agency, he had an inkling that there was more to the story than simply finding a missing family member. There was something about the whole story that fired his imagination. He had found himself in the middle of an intriguing series of events that suggested there was a story here for the writing, for the publishing, for the selling. Whether it was by newspaper article, magazine or book, there was something in all of this to write about. Brad Murphy could sense it, and nothing was going to stop him from pursuing his suspicions, until he got to the heart of it all. It wasn't long before his audacity seemed to pay dividends.

He was in his dressing room removing his make-up when the phone rang. "It's reception here Mr. Murphy. We have a lady on the line who says she knows Irene Campbell," the voice said. Brad's heart leapt with anticipation. "So soon, goodness me," he said, "Can you put her through please?"

"Hello, Brad Murphy here," he said. There was a pause on the other end of the line, before a nervous response filtered through. "Er, hello, my...my name is..is Gladys Goodfellow, is that Mr. Murphy?" Her voice was nervous and ageing and Brad moved quickly to re-assure the caller. "Yes, this is Brad Murphy, thank you for calling. I believe you can help me locate Irene Campbell?" he said softly, not wanting any of this conversation overheard by curious ears in the corridor. Nor did he want to alarm the caller either. His voice was warm, and engaging in a way that even he found calming. "She was my next door neighbour years ago, but she doesn't live here anymore," the caller said. Brad paused, as he absorbed the news. "Could I come and talk with you?" he asked.

"Er, yes all right," the caller answered. She gave Brad her address, which he scribbled down on a notepad.

"I'll be there in half an hour," he said, and put down the receiver. He sat there for a few moments, reflecting on the earlier discussion with Station manager Gerry Anderson who warned him not to use the media for personal quests. 'You may say what you will Gerry, but at least it got results,' he thought to himself. As he looked into the mirror in the make-up room, he felt a strange sensation. It was as if his image in the mirror was issuing a caution and was giving him a warning, 'Take care where you go with this!'

After finishing some paperwork in an empty office, Brad filed some papers into his briefcase and headed for the front reception area, keen to be on time for the meeting with Gladys Goodfellow. He was almost out the front door when the receptionist called out to him.

"Mr. Murphy, another call for you." Brad stopped and turned around. "Who is it?" he asked.

"A Mrs. Rosie Fitzgibbon would like a word with you." Brad looked at his watch. He wanted to leave now.

"Could you tell her I'm tied up, get her number and I will call her back?" The receptionist did as he asked and seconds later handed him a note with the name Rosie Fitzgibbon and her telephone number. Brad took the note, placed it in his pocket and left the building. 'What have I started here?' he wondered as he jumped into his rented falcon.

True to his word, he was on the doorstep of Gladys Goodfellow's home in suburban Cairns within thirty minutes.

"Do come in," she said excitedly. "I've never had a celebrity person in the house before." Crossing the threshold, Brad suddenly wondered if this was a ruse. Was this woman simply using the moment to indulge in a private fantasy? Had she lured him here just to enjoy the company of a TV personality? It wasn't a ridiculous thought. It had happened before. Many a time, a caller would try to gain a moment alone with him. Usually it was a lonely elderly lady, seeking to act out some daydream, some flight of the imagination. It was the price he had to pay as an unintentional hero of the geriatric brigade. It was circumstances just like this that made him nervous, but in the end, he didn't need to be. Following the usual offer of tea and biscuits, Gladys got to the heart of the matter quickly.

"You said Irene and James were old friends of yours. How can I help you then?" she asked. Brad was uncertain how to approach the matter. Should he come clean and tell Gladys the truth, or string along in the hope of learning what he wanted to know without revealing anything of his mission? He decided not to confuse the issue further. "Actually Gladys, I've never met them. I said that so as not to alarm anyone. An old university chum of mine in Melbourne asked me to make some enquiries for him." Brad said relieved that he was telling the truth, and realizing that if all this investigating came unstuck, at least his reputation would remain intact. "My friend told me that Irene and James had a daughter named Mary Therese, and he needs to get in contact with her. You said on the phone that they don't live here anymore," he added hoping to push things along. "No, they left here quite suddenly in 1980," Gladys replied and then added, "it was a bit of a shock at the time. James' company transferred him to their head office in Sydney with very little notice. Irene was very upset over the move. I don't think she wanted to go." Brad took a sip of tea and nodded. "And Mary Therese? I suppose she was just starting school around then?" he asked. "Oh yes, Mary, what a darling little thing she was," Gladys said. "She was adopted you know," she added. "Yes, I did know that," Brad replied. "Irene and James left here early one morning to go to Brisbane back in 1974 without saying anything to anybody," Gladys continued, "and then came back a few days later with Mary Therese," she said. "Oh dear, it was all so exciting."

Brad was elated. This was the confirmation he was hoping for. At last he was certain he was on the right track.

"So they moved to Sydney? Do you know whom James worked for?" he asked. Gladys nodded. "James worked for Argus Oil Company. He was transferred to their Sydney office. That's all I know," she said. "Argus Oil?" Brad queried. "They don't operate here anymore. They were taken over by Atlas Petroleum about five years ago," he said. "Were they? I wouldn't know anything about that," Gladys replied. "More tea?" she asked. "Thank you," he said. "I will. This is very good tea. Did you ever see them again after they left?" he asked, now feeling the adrenalin running. "No, but I met Mary's real mother." Brad was stunned. "Andrea! You met her?" he asked. "Yes she came here about two months after they left," Gladys said. "Nice young woman, she was from Melbourne."

Brad felt humbled by the forthright and innocent nature of Gladys, and wanted to be as honest with her as he could. "Yes, I knew that. You see, Gladys, the man I am making enquiries for, is Andrea's brother. Andrea died a couple of weeks ago, from cancer. Her brother is an executor of her will. That's why we are trying to find Mary Therese. She is a beneficiary of Andrea's estate." Gladys was momentarily stunned. "Oh my goodness. Oh dear, I'm so sorry," she said as she sat down. "I didn't know who she was when she came here, but she seemed such a nice young woman and she was very disappointed when I told her they had left, so I gave her the telephone number of Irene's mother." Brad almost fell off his seat at the wealth of information he was receiving. It all sounded too good to be true. "Irene's mother! You know her? Does she live in Cairns?" he asked, trying not to sound too excited. "Yes, she used to come and baby-sit Mary Therese. We often sat on the veranda and had morning chats. Irene used to work part-time at the local supermarket, so Rosie came over to look after Mary," she said.

"Rosie?" Brad asked.

"Yes, Rosie Fitzgibbon. Funny thing though, she called me the day after Andrea came here and asked me what information I had given her. I remember she sounded a little tense at the time. I asked her if everything was all right. Then she told me who Andrea was. She didn't say anything else about her. She didn't seem to want to talk about it. I got the feeling there was a bit of a problem and didn't want to get involved, so I left it at that. Perhaps you could talk to her?"

"Rosie you mean?" Brad asked, nearly choking on his biscuit in his excitement.

"Yes," Gladys replied. "I'm sure she would know where Mary Therese is now. How long is it, fifteen, sixteen years? She must be a lovely young woman by now. I could give her a call if you like and ask. Would you like to speak with her?"

The name Rosie Fitzgibbon set bells ringing in Brad's head. He remembered the note given to him as he was leaving the television studio. He checked his pocket for the note.

"Well, that's very kind of you Gladys, but I have Rosie's number. She called the studio just after you did." Brad was scarcely able to keep up with the avalanche of information he was receiving. 'Warwick Steedman won't believe this,' he thought.

"I'll give her a call myself when I get back to the hotel," he said. Then as an afterthought, "Gladys, do you like concerts. I have a couple of tickets to see Lesley Cambridge, the visiting English soprano tonight. I have to say I really don't want to go, not my stuff really. Would you like to have them? Perhaps you and your husband could have a night on the town?" Gladys' eyes nearly popped out of her head. "I'd love to go. I just adore Lesley Cambridge," she said. "Well, you have them then," he said as he ruffled through his briefcase. "Here they are, have a great evening. Just don't tell anyone where you got them from and thank you for all the help you have been. I have to go now, but I want you to know you have been very helpful."

After ridding himself of concert tickets he did not want to use, and pleased that he had passed them on to someone who would appreciate them, Brad Murphy excused himself, and left Gladys standing at the doorway waving him goodbye. He then returned to his hotel room. His only interest at this moment was to contact Rosie Fitzgibbon. He wanted to set the evening aside to speak with her. The very thought of attending a boring classical concert when he could be on the verge of learning the whereabouts of Mary Therese was unthinkable. He picked up the phone, dialled and felt a certain anticipation as he listened to the phone ringing, his heart beating a little faster as he waited for an answer at the other end.

"Hello," a woman said.

"Er, hello, would Rosie Fitzgibbon be there please," Brad asked.

"I'm Rosie," she answered. She had a deep voice, alluring, Brad thought. "Rosie, my name is Brad Murphy, I'm understand you called me earlier this afternoon?" There was a slight pause as Brad held his breath. "Yes, Mr Murphy I did. It was in relation to your request on television today for information about Irene and James Campbell," Rosie said. "I thought you would have called earlier," she added.

"I'm sorry," Brad said, "I was tied up for a while with someone, er, a friend of yours actually, Gladys Goodfellow?" he replied. There was a pause at the other end and Brad thought he heard a sigh.

"Oh dear," Rosie said, "What on earth has she told you?"

"Well, she was very helpful, I have to say. She told me that you are Irene Campbell's mother, Brad said, "and that you..." There was a sudden interruption from the other end. "What exactly do you want with Irene, Mr. Murphy?" Rosie asked with a firm voice bordering on anger. Brad was quickly jolted out of his earlier feeling of anticipation.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to upset you," he said. "Actually it's not Irene that I'm trying to locate, it's her daughter Mary Therese..." Brad stopped talking. He wanted to gauge Rosie's initial reaction to his mentioning the name of Mary Therese. There was another long pause. Brad could hear Rosie breathing more rapidly. His own heartbeat began to accelerate.

"Why?" came Rosie's guarded response.

"Because I was asked to," he answered.

"By whom?" Rosie enquired as if she were cross-examining a defendant in a murder trial.

Brad felt himself being compelled to answer every question being asked, as if being interrogated, such was the power of the woman's voice. "I was asked to make enquiries concerning the whereabouts of Mary Therese Steedman, by the trustees of the Estate of Andrea Steedman who passed away three weeks...." Brad was suddenly cut short. "The what of Andrea Steedman? What did you say?" Rosie asked with an almost hysterical outburst. "Mary Therese is a beneficiary of Andrea's will. Naturally, the trustees want to find her," he added nervously.

"Andrea has died?" Rosie asked incredulously, "Is that what you are saying?" There was a short pause while Brad regained his composure. "Yes, I'm sorry to be the one to tell you. Andrea passed away a couple of weeks ago in Melbourne." There was another long pause, one that Brad did not want to interrupt, and he remained silent.

"How did she die?" Rosie asked at last.

"She died from breast cancer," Brad replied. There was another agonising silence until Rosie spoke again. "Who spoke to you?" Rosie asked. "I'm not sure what you mean," Brad replied. "You said you were asked to make enquiries. Who asked you?" she said quickly with a slightly raised voice. "Er, Warwick. Warwick Steedman, Andrea's brother." There was another longer pause, but given the direction the conversation was going, Brad was not surprised, and he waited for Rosie to speak. "Perhaps we should meet and have a talk," Rosie said in a less austere tone. "Where are you staying?" Relief overtook Brad and he felt a film of moisture on his forehead. "Oh that's all right; I'll come to your place. It's no problem," he said boyishly. Rosie would have none of it. "No, I don't want you to come here. I will come to you. Where are you staying?" she insisted. Brad decided not to argue and gave her the name of his hotel and room number. "I'll be there in an hour," she said. "Perhaps we could have dinner?" Brad suggested, in a feeble attempt to regain some lost ground. "Perhaps. Let's meet and talk first," Rosie said. "I'll see you in one hour Mr. Murphy."

For the next hour, Brad tried to grapple with the position in which he now found himself. 'What on earth have I just bumped into?' he thought. Surprised by the forceful nature of the conversation, he wondered what would cause Rosie to speak to him in such an abrupt manner. 'What did she know about her daughter's adoption of Mary Therese?' he wondered. Then, as he mulled over a series of questions that sprang to mind, he began to develop a mental image of Rosie Fitzgibbon. He imagined a tall, brown-haired woman with a solid frame, with piercing eyes, a pointed jaw and wearing a tartan skirt and epaulettes. Immediately the image intimidated him further. As the clock ticked away, he checked his appearance in the bathroom. 'Perhaps I can take off the tie,' he thought. 'That should make me look a little more relaxed.' He removed his tie, and combed his hair, straightened his jacket, went to the window and looked out. Nothing! Back to the bathroom, to undergo more meaningless adjustments, then back to the window. He was about to return to the bathroom when he realized that he was completely rattled. He took a deep breath. 'Get a grip of yourself,' he said silently to himself, as he turned on the television set, sat down on the bed and tried to relax.

When he heard a knock on the door fort-five minutes later, he had almost dozed off. He jumped to his feet and opened the door to discover his preconceived ideas of Rosie Fitzgibbon could not have been further from the truth. She was short, about 150 centimetres tall, blond, wearing a sleeveless floral dress and pearl necklace. She was well tanned, attractive, and looked much younger than her sixty years. "Mr. Murphy?" she asked. "Yes, er Brad, call me Brad. Mrs. Fitzgibbon I presume?" he answered. She nodded. "Yes, and you can call me Rosie," she said with an ashen face. "I wish I could say I'm pleased to meet you but I'm not sure if I am yet. Can I come in?" Brad ushered her into his room and closed the door. "Can I offer you anything? There is a bar fridge here, although I'm not sure what's in it," he asked. "A soft drink will be fine," she answered. "How long are you staying here?" she asked looking around the room. "I'm flying back to Brisbane tomorrow morning," he answered as he fumbled with a glass and a can, and poured her a soft drink. "Would you like to sit down somewhere? I'm afraid these rooms are not designed much for entertaining." There was a table and chairs near the window and Rosie made herself comfortable. Brad handed Rosie the drink, poured one for himself, and turned the television set off. "Thank you for coming," he said sitting down opposite her, and trying to kick-start the conversation. She nodded and stared at him for a moment as if trying to read his thoughts. "I like your show," she said in a quiet friendly tone. "Thank you," he said. "How do you get to interview someone like Lesley Cambridge?" she asked, deciding a little small talk was necessary. "Oh, well, er, it's either a case of us putting in a bid to get them, or them hunting up ways of promoting their show. Often it's a case of satisfying a mutual need. Lesley has a big show on in Cairns tonight, and it's a sell-out so she didn't need the publicity, but she's heading down to Brisbane and the southern states after that, so the publicity up here gets picked up by the network machine and so on it goes," he answered. "Hmm, interesting," Rosie replied. "All right then, let's talk?" she added. "I'm not sure where to start," Brad replied, relieved the small talk was over. "What did you want to know exactly?' Rosie asked.

"Pretty much what I said on the phone," Brad started. "I'm representing the trustees of the Estate of Andrea Steedman. Her daughter Mary Therese is a beneficiary and Warwick Steedman, her brother, who is joint executor, asked me to help." Brad said. "How well do you know Warwick Steedman?" Rosie asked. "He was a friend of mine at university years ago. We did a few things together over the years and then I moved up to Stradbroke Island. We haven't seen much of each other recently, but we've kept in touch, Christmas cards, that sort of thing. I've done a little work for him occasionally. Why do you ask?" Warwick queried.

"I have a different view of him. That's why I'm suspicious of you," Rosie replied, looking straight into Brad's eyes. "I'm sorry if I was abrupt with you over the phone," she continued. "I didn't know that Andrea died. I didn't even know she was sick. This news and your presence here is opening up some painful memories for me concerning my daughter Irene," Rosie said.

"Where is Irene now?" Brad asked. Rosie opened her mouth to speak and then paused as if to compose herself. "My daughter died a few years ago," she said. Warwick was stunned. "I'm so sorry, I had no idea," he replied. "She contracted a rare form of bone cancer known as Osteogenic Sarcoma." Rosie said looking up to the ceiling, attempting to contain her sadness. "Why do the young ones have to die?" she said quietly to herself. If Brad had felt intimidated by Rosie earlier, the news that Irene had died only served to compound the pressure he was feeling now, and altered the circumstances of his involvement significantly. Whereas previously, he felt that making contact with Irene would answer most of his questions, now he was dealing with someone, about whom he knew nothing, and who, it seemed, knew more about the person he was representing, than he did. What to do now? Rosie came to the rescue. "Mr. Murphy," she said, momentarily hesitating before continuing, "I've watched your show on television for a long time, and I think I'm a pretty good judge of character. Just out of interest though, can you tell me, is Andrea's estate a substantial one?" she asked.

"I believe so," Brad answered. Rosie gathered her thoughts. "I think that you are a good man and that you mean no harm. A man of your public profile doesn't want to be discovered swimming around in a dirty quagmire. You may not realise it, but your association with Warwick Steedman puts your career in jeopardy right now. I believe that he is up to no good. I'm of the opinion that you mean well, and that you have no idea of what's really going on here." Brad looked at her incredulously.

"Going on?" he asked. "What do you mean going on?"

Rosie continued. "The first thing you need to know is that the man you are making enquiries for, is a snake. Warwick Steedman has a hidden agenda. Does he know that you have contacted me?" she asked. Brad was surprised by the question. "No, he doesn't know that," he answered. "Well then, has he ever mentioned my name to you?" Brad considered the question. "No, his only interest is in finding Mary Therese to tidy up the Estate of Andrea Steedman."

Rosie laughed. "Rubbish. He wants to tidy up all right, but he doesn't give a hoot about Mary Therese personally. It's my bet that he is planning to deceive Andrea and gain a larger proportion of the estate for himself. If I know him, it will be more by stealth than legitimate means. I know all this sounds unbelievable, but two weeks ago he came up here and warned me that if I made trouble for him, he would expose my son-in-law James to the police over the adoption process in 1974," Rosie said. Brad was shocked.

"He was here? Warwick was here, two weeks ago?" he asked.

"Yes," Rosie replied, "and he never mentioned anything about Andrea dying. I will bet my life there is a conspiracy going on, and he is at the heart of it. I think you have unwittingly become one of his pawns." Brad was speechless. He sat there, mouth half open, shocked at what he was hearing, and shocked more at the prospect that he was being used. But was it true? "How did Warwick know who you were? How did he know where to find you?" Brad asked. "Because he came here once before, about twelve years ago, and threatened both James and Irene, that if they didn't let Andrea see Mary, he would report the whole matter to the police," Rosie answered. "So, what happened?" Brad asked. "We did what he asked. James, Irene and Mary Therese, came up to stay with me for a weekend. He also insisted that he take a photograph of James and Irene." Brad was baffled. "Why?" he asked. "For his records, he said. We let Andrea see Mary Therese, but only on the condition that Mary Therese wasn't to know who Andrea was. Andrea agreed to that. She understood the trauma that might result if she suddenly landed on the doorstep and told Mary she was her real mother. It's not as if Andrea had her baby stolen. She was a willing party in the whole business. She did give Mary up," Rosie said indignantly.

"If Mary Therese is a legitimate beneficiary," Brad asked, "How could Warwick Steedman deprive her of what is rightly hers?" Rosie took a deep breath before answering. "I suspect he has ways and means. I also suspect that he never intended that you find Mary. I suspect that he thinks he has sent you on a wild goose chase. I think you are simply playing out a charade he has invented, so that he can document his efforts. Tell me, did he know that you were coming to Cairns? Did he know that you were planning to say something on television about this?" Rosie asked.

"Er, well he knew I was coming here for a television show, but no, he didn't know that I was going to say something on television. I didn't know I was going to do it, until the last minute," Brad answered. "I even finished up getting a rap over the knuckles for it," he added.

"So at best, he thought you might look up any Campbell in the phone book, and come up empty handed. Would that be a reasonable expectation?" Rosie asked. Brad shrugged his shoulders. "I don't know," he said.

"I am going to ask that you trust me, Mr. Murphy. The important thing right now is that we protect Mary Therese for the moment, until we discover what he's up to," she said. "What do you mean?" Brad asked. "I don't know yet, but I'm frightened that she might be in danger right now. I don't know how, but I'm going to figure it out somehow," Rosie replied.

"I don't suppose you can you tell me where Mary Therese is?' Brad asked. "She's in Sydney, living with her father," Rosie answered. "Does Warwick Steedman know that?" he asked. "Yes," Rosie replied. "He knows exactly where she lives. I suspect though, he doesn't care. I suspect that when he came here a couple of weeks ago, he was just making sure that we don't interfere in whatever he is planning," she answered.

"Can you tell me something of what happened back in 1974? Was there something irregular about the adoption?" Brad asked. Rosie hesitated and thought for a moment. "I'm happy to talk to you about that, but I would need some assurance from you that you would treat everything in confidence. Andrea and Irene are gone now, but James Campbell, my son in law, is still alive, and both his and Mary Therese's needs have to be considered," Rosie said. "Does Mary Therese know what happened back then?" Warwick asked. "No, she doesn't, but before we go into that, you have a choice. You can accept what I have told you and help protect Mary Therese, or you can go back to Warwick Steedman and tell him everything I have said, in which case he will probably deny it all. So mister television personality, what's it going to be?"

Brad found himself speechless yet again. What to do? His mind was swimming in uncertainty. He didn't want to believe the things Rosie had told him about Warwick Steedman, but then again, he knew nothing of Warwick's business affairs. On the other hand, he could see no reason why Rosie would tell him these things other than to protect Mary Therese. If Rosie was not telling the truth, what did she have to gain? It would only serve to delay Mary Therese receiving her inheritance. It didn't make sense. Brad also realized that his earlier thoughts about sniffing out a good story now looked even more possible. Rosie had the answer. "I have an idea," she said. "When we were on the phone you suggested dinner. I've never been to dinner with a celebrity before. I rather like the idea of walking into a nice restaurant in the arm of a famous person. What do you say? Would you prefer dinner and some information about the events of 1974? Or would you rather think it over, while you sit here alone in your lonely little hotel room?"

All during their discussion, Brad was conscious of Rosie's attractive looks, her exciting eyes, and young at heart personality. He realized that he was as much attracted to her, as he was intimidated by her. His mind was made up. "Let's go to dinner," he said.

27.

Julian Knowles was in a state of uncertainty. His mind was swimming in a sea of intrigue. Maria Stewart had opened up a minefield of information, which he neither sought to know, nor wanted to know. Like it or not however, he realized he could no longer look upon these people with whom he now found himself linked with the same innocent detachment. He was hooked at both ends. He liked Maria Stewart and he liked Richard, and Elsie was Richard's mother. Elsie, he now learned, had an adopted daughter, Andrea, who had died recently, and who was Maria Stewart's biological sister. He more than liked Michelle, and now he had to conceal from her, facts he was aware of, that directly effected her. 'And who was Warwick Steedman, this overbearing big brother of Richard's, who paid all the bills but had no personal contact or interest in Richard? And Michelle? How could she get involved with that weirdo, whacko, bible bashing dickhead, Douglas Bilby?' It was difficult enough coming to terms with the realization that his life with Annette was sliding away, down the slippery slope of ambivalence. Their childless union of five years, had earlier happier moments, but recently things had fallen flat. She seemed disinterested, detached, in another world almost. Her involvement in the charismatic side of Christian fellowship, which had led to an unhealthy fundamentalist bent, worried him. There were too many 'Praise the Lord,' ejaculations, too many, 'That is the evil work of Satan,' pronouncements coming from her lips, often in the most innocent of circumstances. Satan seemed such a clever fellow. He was everywhere!

Julian was familiar with Satan. Raised a Catholic, he had long since rejected its teaching on Satan, and in the process rejected the Catholic Church. Looking back on his formative years, he realised the church was little more than a bully. Priests, brothers, nuns, had threatened him relentlessly with the everlasting fires of hell. He had suffered nightmares as a child. He had woken up some mornings in a cold sweat. In the end however, it all became counter productive. In his early adult years, rather than frighten him into submission, it became a way out. 'If I don't believe, then it cannot harm me,' he reasoned. 'Those ensnared within its doctrines and dogmas were on a never-ending merry-go-round of entrapment. The only way to escape was to challenge its credibility and authority.' In so doing, Julian believed the only reason the church existed was to perpetuate itself. Once he accepted this, he viewed all religions as human invention, and this became his gateway to the world of the Atheist. He became a free man. Annette's obsession with Christian fundamentalism marked the beginning of the downward slide in their life together, although he didn't realize it at the time. Her increasing lack of interest in sex compounded the problems in their relationship. Her life and his became not one, but two different lives under one roof. They shared the same bed, the same meals, the same friends, well almost, but their minds were streets apart.

As Julian drove home that early evening, he wrestled with the avalanche of information gleaned from his visit with Maria earlier. He was embarrassed that he had unwittingly revealed his feelings for Michelle to Maria, but at the same time pleased that he had shared something with his friend. He knew she would treat the matter in confidence and with great sensitivity. He looked at his watch and realized that the prayer meeting was now in full swing. Should he go? In the end, his heart ruled his head and he made his way to the hall. Travelling along Doncaster Road, he arrived at the intersection with Turner Street, and noticed his taxi parked on the taxi rank on the corner. Robert Steedman was sitting quietly in the front seat. 'First night,' he thought. 'I wonder how he's doing?'

As he turned right, and drove the car into the car park at the side of the hall, he could hear the all too familiar singing coming from inside. The organ was playing which meant that Michelle was there. He could also hear the sounds of tambourines and guitars. 'How am I to handle this?' he thought to himself. 'Perhaps I shouldn't go in.' Through the open window he caught a glimpse of Pastor Doug leading the throng. 'Bloody dickhead,' he thought. 'Bloody cheek of the fellow to fake his way through all this pious crap when all along he's having an affair with Michelle. What an arsehole!' Julian knew that he could do nothing about Pastor Doug without upsetting Michelle and to confront him would only ruin any chance he may have with her. Still the temptation to ridicule him was strong. As he entered the rear door he could see Annette and Margaret together, holding hands as they sang. There were perhaps forty people present and the positive energy that flowed from their voices, their body English, was unmistakable. They had no idea what was about to happen.

Outside, across the road, Robert sat in his taxi. He was restless. For two hours he had sat at the rank waiting for work. His opportunities to make some money were limited. The GPS dispatch system was foreign to him. There was no on-going radio contact and the silence unsettled him. He was never sure where he was in the queue, and constantly re-plotted to check his position. The screen read, 'You are No 4/ Jobs last hour: 1.' 'Jesus,' he thought to himself, 'If it stays like this I'll be here another four hours before I get another job.' From across the road, he could hear the harmonious sounds of the faithful singing under Pastor Doug's direction. This too, unsettled him. He was not religious, he was not anything, he was a man without direction in his life, and he resented the fellowship he imagined existed in the hall. His mind was stuffed with thoughts of receiving his inheritance from Andrea's estate. The annuity provisions explained to him at the family meeting were confusing. His principle interest was in receiving the ten thousand dollars cash that his brother Warwick had mentioned. His mind was also consumed with thoughts of blackmail. How would Warwick's wife Susan react if she were told about the woman from Warwick's office? Using the newly acquired mobile phone provided by Alberto, he decided to ring Warwick and apply some pressure,

It was Susan who answered the phone.

"Hello," she said.

"Hello Susan, it's Robert here, could I speak with Warwick please?" Susan didn't like Robert and was happy not to engage in small talk. "Just a moment Robert," she answered. Moments later Warwick picked up the phone. "Yes Robert what is it?" he said impatiently. "Haven't interrupted anything have I?" Robert said smugly. "No, but its getting late. What can I do for you?" he replied. "Well, I'm sitting in a taxi doing fuck all right now, and I think we should have a little talk. I think you should get in your car and come to the corner of Doncaster Road and Turner Street. I'll be in the car park." There was a brief moment's silence before Warwick answered. "Now why would I want to do that?" he asked.

"Because," Robert continued, "Two nights ago, I saw you in Lygon street, in Carlton, in a very interesting position with that receptionist woman from your office, that's why."

There was no sound from the other end as Robert waited for a response. He continued to wait, determined that he would let his brother sweat it out. Finally, Warwick spoke. "I'll be there in ten minutes." The grin on Robert's face was broad. "Excellent," he said, and turned his phone off.

Across the road in the hall, the singing had subsided, and the gathering was now infused with the melodic and harmonious sound of people praying in tongues. The first time Julian heard this phenomenon, two weeks earlier, he was somewhat bemused. On this next occasion however, he was overtaken by the sincerity and conviction of those who practiced it. Not for one minute did he believe that it was divinely inspired, but then, 'What was it that caused otherwise sane, normal people to engage in gibberish?' he thought. It was a sobering moment for Julian which caused him to forget his animosity toward Pastor Doug. Instead, he stood and listened to what was, by any standard, a beautiful, unrehearsed, and spontaneous response to Pastor Doug's prayers. When it came to a slow, subsiding conclusion, there was only silence. But for the traffic outside passing along Doncaster Road, one could hear one's own breathing. As happened on Julian's previous visit, various people then began uttering prophetic impulses, an experience with little or no rational explanation, an experience born of a deep abiding faith that they were being moved by the Holy Spirit to say whatever came into their heads. Julian noticed Michelle. She was standing by the organ, her eyes closed, her arms spread out in front, in a trance-like state. To him she never looked more angelic, more beautiful.

Pastor Doug concluded the prayer and praise, with a brief expression of gratitude and appreciation that so many had come to the meeting. He then asked everyone to sit down. He drew breath and began to speak....

"The Lord," he said, "came to me in a dream last night, and told me not to worry. I was not alone he said. You have nothing to fear, he said. Your pain is real, but beyond that, you have nothing to fear. Your pain is the manifestation of an intimidating force that has captured your mind. It has captured you, but it cannot hold you, for you are free of complicity. It is an evil invasion, but its source is weak. Its source will evaporate if and when you confront it. Even the knowledge of its tenuous hold, its parasitic clasp, will help you overcome the pain you feel each time it invades your mind." Pastor Doug spoke with an air of sadness, but also defiance as if answering a challenge. The congregation were taken by surprise as he spoke. "Go to the source in your reflections, and root it out, the Lord said. Isolate it, so that it stands naked, its own fragile nature exposed. You are strong, it is weak. That is why it provokes and intimidates you. It fears you. That is why it bullies, and tries to dominate you."

The congregation listened in stunned silence. This was a departure from Pastor Doug's mainstream sermons. One or two members of his flock looked to the person next to them as if to ask, What is wrong? Why is he speaking like this? Julian too, felt something was wrong. Pastor Doug continued.

"The Lord came to me in a dream last night to help me overcome my fear. From deep within me, there is a part of him that lives, and he promised to guide me, for he was a gentle, kind, and strong man. He knew how to cope with intimidators, bullies and others who hide their own weaknesses behind a veneer of propriety while persecuting others." From around the hall a few murmurings could be heard, people became unsettled. A heaviness filled the hall. Still, Pastor Doug went on...

"Forgiveness and reconciliation will take away the pain, the Lord said. Engage with the source in the spirit of peace and a genuine desire to restore and normalize relations. Untie the knots. Let the strands hang free. Release yourself from what pains you, he said, and your actions will release others from their pain. Each of us carries pain inflicted by others. Unwittingly, we in turn react in ways that hurt others. Most often, we don't realize we are doing this. Most often, we are simply protecting ourselves from further pain."

Pastor Doug then looked paternally upon his charges. "Forgive those who have caused you pain, and talk with them," he said. "Let them know how you feel. Sometimes we have to expose ourselves, our fragile nature, our sensitivities. Sometimes we have to take risks and hope that in doing so we might help others untie their knots. Forgive, Engage, Apologize, and Reconcile. Banish fear," he concluded. The congregation sat in silence, unsure how to respond. Pastor Doug then thanked them for their support and asked everyone to stand and join in singing 'Over Many Summers.' The people stood, Michelle played the introduction and Pastor Doug led the singing. He continued singing with the people until they were in full swing, and then as the singing reached a plateau, he quietly made his way to the door behind the podium, and entered the rear office. Few even noticed.

Outside, across the road in the car-park, two men sat in a taxi. "What do you want?" Warwick Steedman asked his brother Robert. "I want five thousand dollars," he said without blinking, without stumbling, without fear. Warwick looked relieved. "I can arrange ten thousand for you tomorrow from Andrea's estate," he said. "No," Robert interrupted, "I want five thousand from you. The ten thousand from Andrea has nothing to do with this." Warwick stared at him, as his anger began to rise up from inside and burn. "You listen to me you snivelling little shit head," he said. "Don't you dare threaten me. My personal life is my business. Don't interfere, I'm warning you." Robert knew he had the upper hand. Ordinarily if Warwick had spoken to him like this, he would have caved in, but he felt strong. For the first time he was experiencing power. He knew he had the means to bring Warwick to heel. "You can say anything you like. I'm not afraid of you anymore. You're just an ordinary person with the same weaknesses and failings as everybody else. You had me bluffed for a long time, but when I saw you with that woman in the car-park, I thought, well, well, well, he may be a big successful PR man, but underneath all of that, he's no better than the rest of us. So, say what you like, but if I don't get the five thousand by the weekend, Susan gets to hear about your little bit on the side, and that I suspect will cost you far more than what I'm asking," he said defiantly.

As Robert spoke, the lights at the intersection turned red on the Doncaster Road traffic. The noise level subsided and suddenly there was a sharp, loud, cracking sound from across the road. Both men heard it, and turned their heads in the direction of the hall.

"What the hell was that?" Warwick said. Within seconds, screams could be heard from inside the hall. Then some people came rushing out, running towards the car park.

"Something's happened across the road," he added. Robert was unmoved. This was an unnecessary distraction. He wanted his meeting with Warwick concluded. "It's none of our business," he said trying to re-direct Warwick's attention. "So, do we have an understanding or not?" Warwick's did not answer. His attention was focused on one of the ladies he saw running from the hall. "Christ," he said, "that's Margaret over there!" Robert looked in the direction of the hall. "Margaret who?" he asked. "Our sister, you fucking idiot!" Warwick replied. "Come on, let's get over there."

As the two men made their way across the road, inside the hall it was pandemonium. Many in the hall, had rushed outside once they realized what had happened, including Margaret and Annette. Some of those who remained inside were sitting, crying, some were in shock, some were frantically calling the police and ambulance on their mobile phones. In the midst of the chaos that followed the sound of the shot, it was Julian who reacted first. He ran toward the door and tried to open it, but it was locked from the inside. Julian instinctively put his foot up to the door, and with one hefty thrust, split the timber door, broke the lock, and the door flew open.

Inside, Pastor Doug lay in a pool of blood, half his head blown off, with bits and pieces of flesh and brain scattered around different parts of the walls and floor. Directly behind Julian, Michelle rushed in. She took one look at the carnage and screamed, taking several steps back before she collapsed onto the floor, hitting her head on the side of the organ. As morbid as his last sermon had been, no one suspected that this was Pastor Doug's final statement to the world. No one suspected the depth of his depression and the torment that he had been suffering. As Warwick and Robert made their way through the front entrance, the rear office area was blocked with half a dozen people, clamouring to see what had happened. Outside, the sound of an ambulance could be heard in the distance. Warwick ran outside towards the car-park, where he had seen Margaret running. Moments later, he found her on the ground, curled up in the foetal position, clinging to Annette, both of them resting against the front tyre of Margaret's car. Both women were in shock, holding on to each other and shivering. Inside, Robert made his way to the rear office. He pushed people aside as he tried to see what had happened. He got to the door, and looked in to find Julian, sitting on the floor and clutching his foot, his trousers, shirt and hands covered in blood. Alongside him, lay the body of Pastor Doug.

Outside, Warwick tried to comfort his sister. "It's all right, Margaret, you're safe. Nothing is going to happen to either of you. Do you have a rug or something in the car?" Still shaking, Margaret fumbled for her car keys. "Julian," Annette said, "I should see what's happened to Julian," she said as Warwick retrieved a rug from inside the car and began to drape it around the two women. "Don't leave me," Margaret screamed hysterically, "don't leave me." As she spoke, Robert came to the car. Warwick turned towards him. "What happened in there?" he asked.

"I don't know," he answered. "There's a man lying on the floor in the back room. I think he's dead. There's blood everywhere. There's a taxi driver in there, I know him," Robert said. "I just met him today. He's in there with blood all over him. I don't know if he's the one who did it or what?" Annette listened as Robert spoke to Warwick. "That's Julian, my husband," Annette cried. "He broke down the door when we heard the shot." The deafening sounds of the ambulance magnified as the MICA unit arrived. Close on their heels, the police car, its siren also blaring, pulled into the car park and two officers jumped out and ran inside. Seconds later, a second ambulance arrived and a second police car. "What happened? What did you see?" Warwick asked Annette. "Pastor Doug, Pastor Doug," she said as she gulped for air. "He shot himself, in the back room, he shot himself, why, why, why?" she pleaded, as Margaret began to scream again. "Robert, can you race over to my car. There's a brandy flask in the glove box? These two need some reinforcement," Warwick said as he handed Robert his keys. Robert nodded silently, and made his way across the street back to the car park.

Inside, the police had taken control of the situation and an uneasy calm developed. One of ambulance crew tended to the dead body, the other tended to those who required medical assistance. Michelle had recovered, although she had blood coming from the back of her head, and she began to scream. The ambulance officer gave her a sedative, and she agreed to be taken to hospital for observation. Julian was also advised to go to hospital and have his foot x-rayed. The police began taking names and asked for those willing and steady enough to make a statement. As Michelle and Julian were escorted outside, and assisted into the ambulance, Annette saw them and ran to her husband. "Julian, Julian," she cried. "It's all right, I'm okay. I'm going to go to the hospital with Michelle," Julian said. "I have to have my foot looked at, and Michelle will need a bit of support. Could you go home and get some clothes for me. A pair of trousers, a shirt and some sneakers and bring them to the hospital? Can you do that?"

Warwick and Robert helped Margaret to her feet and brought her over to the ambulance. "We'll do that for you," Warwick said, "Which hospital are you taking them?" Warwick asked the driver. "Box Hill," the driver replied. "Okay," Warwick said. "We'll take care of your wife and come to the hospital." Julian looked at Warwick quizzically. "Who are you?" he asked. "I'm Warwick, I'm Margaret's brother. Is the young lady hurt?" he asked, referring to Michelle. "She's in shock, and she has a cut at the back of her head. The officer has sedated her," Julian replied. The driver then asked everybody to step aside as he closed the rear door of the ambulance.

As the ambulance sped off, the MICA officer tended to Michelle. She was drowsy and restless. "It's my fault," she said. "It's all my fault." Julian took her hand. "Don't talk, just rest," he said. "This wouldn't have happened if only I had talked to him," she said. Julian stroked her hand gently. "Don't talk," he said. "Just rest."

Back at the hall, Robert returned from the car park across the road with a flask of brandy. Warwick poured a nip and handed it to Margaret. "Here take this, it will settle your nerves," he said. As Margaret drank, something bothered Warwick. "Who was the young lady in the ambulance?" he asked. "That's Michelle, she plays the organ," Margaret answered, She's very fond..." Before Margaret could finish, Annette cut her off. "I think I'd like some of that," she said, asking for some brandy. "Michelle is part of our congregation," Annette, said, giving Margaret a side look. "Why do you ask?" Warwick handed her a brandy nip. "Nothing, she just looks familiar, that's all," he said. "By the way, I'm Warwick, Margaret's brother. You are...?" Annette took a sip of brandy. "I'm Annette," she said. "Annette," Margaret said, "This is my brother Warwick, and this is my other brother Robert. What were you two doing here anyway?" she asked. Both men looked at each other and stumbled, not knowing what to say. "Er, we were just having a discussion about some things, weren't we Warwick?" Robert said. "Yes," Warwick replied, "a bit of a chat, that's all. Now, let's get you home to pick up some clothes for your husband," he said to Annette.

28.

At the hospital, Michelle and Julian were taken to casualty. Fortunately it was a quiet night and they were not left waiting long. After Julian was treated for his sprained ankle, and with the aid of a walking stick, he went in search of Michelle. He found her close by. She too, had been examined and allowed to rest in a cubicle. Neither of them was suffering a medical condition sufficiently serious enough to require admission. Julian entered the cubicle, drew the curtain, and sat by her stretcher, his clothes still stained with Pastor Doug's blood. She appeared to be asleep. He took her hand and stroked it gently. 'So beautiful,' he thought. 'perhaps we could become more than friends somehow,' he thought. Moments later she opened her eyes, saw Julian, and began to cry. "It's all my fault," she said, as she recalled the events at the hall and unable to control the flow of tears. "You shouldn't think that way," Julian said, placing his finger on her lips, "No one can anticipate something like this," he added. "You don't understand," she said. "I could have prevented this. I wouldn't talk to him. I didn't know what to do." Julian did not understand what Michelle meant and, although he had promised Maria Stewart earlier in the day that he would not divulge what she had told him, he decided to throw caution to the wind.

"Michelle," he said, "I know about your relationship with Douglas." Michelle looked at him. "What do you know?" she asked, surprised and curious. "I know that you and Douglas were having an affair," he said. "No we weren't," she answered, "who told you that?" Julian was taken aback. "Maria Stewart, your aunt. She told me today at the hospital," he answered. Michelle rolled her eyes in exasperation.

"She doesn't understand. I have told her repeatedly not to think that way. She shouldn't have said that. Douglas and I were not in a relationship. He was like a father to me. Besides," Michelle said, "we couldn't be. He was gay."

Julian couldn't believe his ears. "He's gay?" he asked without thinking. "Maria never liked him," Michelle continued, unaware that Julian was interpreting this piece of news in an entirely different way from her. "She just didn't understand him. He was a very fragile man and after what happened this afternoon, I should have behaved differently. I should have been more understanding," Michelle said. "What happened this afternoon?" Julian asked.

Michelle blew her nose with a tissue. "After I left Maria at the hospital this afternoon, I went to Douglas' house," she said. "I wanted to talk to him about the music for tonight. I knocked on the door but there was no answer. I peered through the windows and that's when I saw them," she said. "Saw who?" Julian asked. "Douglas and another man," she said. "I don't know who he was. They were...," she hesitated. "They were what?' Julian asked, his pulse rate climbing. "They were doing it," she answered with a censured expression. "Doing what?" Julian pressed, his joyous expectation brimming. "You know, THAT! They were doing THAT!" she said as she began sobbing again. The accent in Michelle's voice left no doubt in Julian's mind as to what THAT was! He gave Michelle a few moments to recover before pressing her further.

"What did you do then?" he asked.

"I must have made a noise or something, maybe I accidentally knocked on the window, or cried out, I don't know, but Douglas looked up and saw me looking in. He was horrified. I was horrified and so I did the first thing that came to my head and I ran off," she said. "Bloody hell," Julian exclaimed "What a thing to experience. Did you know that he was gay before this?" Michelle wiped her nose with another tissue. "Well, sort of. He never came out and said anything definite, but I got the general feeling he was, from things he said and did, but I always thought he was celibate, or something, or just resisting it. I thought he was so committed to Jesus, that he was able to overcome it somehow. I had no idea when I ran away that he would do this," she answered. Julian remained silent for a few moments, trying to rationalize the actions of the pastor. "It seems a bit odd to me that he would kill himself because of what you saw," Julian said, trying to reassure her. "Perhaps he was suffering from depression. Perhaps it had more to do with the person who was with him," he said. Michelle blew her nose again.

Suddenly the cubicle curtain swung open and Annette and Margaret stood at the entrance. "Thank goodness," she said, "here you are. We have been searching up and down." Michelle and Julian went silent as if caught in the act of doing something wrong. Margaret walked in and spoke to Michelle. "How are you dear? Is everything all right?" Annette handed some clean clothes to Julian. "You'd better go and change somewhere, the toilet perhaps?" she suggested. Julian looked at himself and realizing his bloodied, dishevelled state, looked at Michelle and nodded.

As Julian walked out into the corridor and headed for the toilets, he noticed Robert and Warwick Steedman standing in the reception area, half hidden behind a pillar. They were arguing. Out of earshot, and their line of sight, he watched in stunned silence as Warwick grabbed Robert by the shirt and shook him. Robert responded by pushing Warwick away, and shaking his forefinger at him before storming out, knocking over a chair along the way. Warwick stood motionless, staring after Robert, fuming, angry. As Julian moved in the direction of the toilets, he turned his eyes back at Warwick, wondering what would happen next. Warwick looked across the wide expanse of the waiting area and locked eyes on to Julian. The two men had never formally met, only ever coming in direct contact with each other an hour earlier. Neither man was aware that they were involved in the same car accident a few weeks earlier. They stared at each other and, as if by some telepathic transmission, perceived that their lives were now somehow linked by a common association, about which neither man felt comfortable.

29.

The following morning in the upstairs room at the Four Clovers hotel in Coventry Street, Gerard Martin waited nervously for the phone to ring. He looked out the window and shuddered at the sheer volume of traffic clawing its way into the city. He looked at the huge skyscrapers across the river and wondered how people could bear working all day inside them. He wondered how people could live in cities, sit in traffic, suck in foul air everyday, put up with the noise, pass by thousands of people everyday, and not know, or greet any of them. Not for him. He was a man of the land. He had spent his whole life on the land, where the air was clean, where the noise was no more than a tractor, or the sound of a breeze, and almost every person he saw each day, he knew. And now, even in his sixties, he was still a man of the land, working the soil, producing, and providing in much the same way that farmers had done for hundreds of years.

Meeting Julian Knowles the day before, outside the commission flats where he believed Elsie Steedman lived, was for him a boon, an answer to a prayer. He had no idea how he was going to contact Elsie, and, but for the timely arrival of Julian, he might still be wondering. But Julian said he would ring him around midday, and that promise he took on faith. He had woken early, a legacy of working the land all his life, showered in the communal showers down the end of the hall way, and then enjoyed a full breakfast in the hotel dining room. He took an early morning walk, to get the blood flowing and taste the aroma of the city. He didn't like it and cut short the walk, preferring to stay in his room and watch television. He felt a feeling of relief when the clock showed five minutes after twelve. It was time. Julian would ring any minute now.

As he waited, he reflected on his good fortune over the past fifteen years. Following the removal of the boundary fence separating his property from what was once George Kenny's 'western paddock', he immediately began ploughing the field on the blind side of the crest, approximately fifteen acres in all. It was a good season. Two years later, he was brimming with confidence. Convinced that the owner did not care what was going on, he expanded over the crest, and ploughed a further ten acres. Spuds galore! Three years later, he had expanded all the way to the bottom of the hill. The entire 'western paddock' was under plough. It was spud heaven, and still no sign of interest from the owner. The subsequent years saw the bank balance grow to a point where it was healthier than it had ever been. In this same period, to his great delight, his son Frank, had graduated from Law school, and had been admitted to the bar. Gerard lent considerable financial assistance towards Frank's future, and Frank was able to open his own practice in Baldargo. Good times indeed. But then it got even better. Gerard intended no disrespect with his visit to Elsie. He meant no harm. But the opportunity had come, courtesy of young Frank's legal training. A law on the statute books, few people would even be aware of, but it was there, and Frank knew about it. He discussed the matter with his father, and Gerard had grabbed it by the throat. Gerard had come to Melbourne to break the news to the owner of the 'western paddock', that she was the owner no longer. If only Julian would ring him with the details, he could speak to Elsie Steedman, and have the matter done with quickly, and then he could return to Baldargo. Julian would call any minute now, and Gerard's heart was pumping with anticipation.

Fifteen kilometres to the east, at Box Hill Hospital, Maria Stewart was ready to be discharged. She had packed her bags, and received some pain killing medication in case of headaches. She had said her goodbyes and thanked the nursing staff, and now she sat by her bed, excited and relieved that she was finally leaving the hospital and going home. Any minute now, Michelle would arrive, and this unfortunate chapter in her life would be no more than a vivid memory. She would rest a week or two at home, and then return to Elm Tree Cottages and get back to doing what she loved. It was time. Michelle would be here any minute now. As she sat there, reflecting on the events of the past weeks, she realised that it was time to speak to Warwick Steedman. It was time to tell him about Michelle. Andrea had passed away and the truth must now be revealed. She had kept faith with Andrea and said nothing. She had taken Michelle in to live with her, as she promised. Michelle's subsequent decision to move into a place of her own was to be expected. But even then Michelle stayed true to Andrea's wishes. As Maria considered the words she would use to tell Warwick the truth of it all, she reflected on the way things turned out. Andrea's search for Michelle had been successful, even if the circumstances were somewhat bizarre. Why did Andrea not want her mother Elsie to know until now? Surely having a baby out of wedlock was not so terrible. For some maybe, for others maybe not. But Andrea was different in so many ways. The psychological reaction of each individual is unique, and it is impossible to predict how any individual will react to a given set of circumstances. So many aspects of one's life, one's fears, real or imagined, one's perceptions, all will play a part. Within the depth of Andrea's mind she had convinced herself that Elsie would think less of her, were she to learn about Mary Therese, and what she did with her. As wrong as that belief was, Andrea could not convince herself otherwise. Maria would have to explain all this, both to Warwick and to Elsie. It would not be easy, but she would do it the best way she could.

Eight kilometres further to the east, a taxi pulled up outside Michelle's house at Gracedale Street and the driver, Alberto Antonini, knocked on the front door. Inside, Michelle was folding a letter she had written, placing it inside an envelope. On the front of the envelope she wrote, "Maria", and placed it on the hall table adjacent to the front door. Moments later she opened the front door and smiled at the driver. She was dressed in a track suit and joggers, hair tied back with a blue ribbon, and suitcase in hand. "I'm ready," she said to Alberto, who took the suitcase from her, and placed it in the boot of the car. When both driver and passenger were settled inside the car Alberto asked, "Where to ma'am?" Michelle took one last look at her little house and sighed, "The city please. Spencer Street Station! Could you go via the freeway. I'd like to get there as soon as possible." Alberto took off and headed for the freeway. As they motored along, Alberto took a customary glance at Michelle through the rear vision mirror. He thought he recognised her. "Don't I know you from somewhere?" he asked. Michelle looked into the rear vision mirror and saw only his eyes. "No, I don't think so," she answered.

The traffic was light, and the car moved smoothly. As they motored along, Alberto played some gentle, romantic, Italian opera music, on a tape and Michelle began to reflect on the events that had brought her to this point. So much had happened so quickly. Her life had been turned upside-down because she had allowed external influences to guide and direct her. It had been a roller-coaster ride, too fast for her as it turned out. Why had she agreed to do this? It wasn't right. How could she have allowed herself to be drawn into such a deception? Alberto interrupted her thoughts. "Travelling off somewhere?" he asked. "Yes," Michelle answered, "I'm catching the train to Baldargo," she said.

Warwick Steedman did not go to the office that Friday. At eight thirty, he telephoned Jill Toogoods and gave her the news of the events of the previous night. He did not tell her about his brother Robert's extortion attempt. Prior to calling Jill, he agonised over whether to tell his wife Susan, that he had been unfaithful. Over and above the drama of Pastor Doug's death, Warwick was haunted by Robert's threat. For Warwick, his dalliance with Jill Toogoods had been a gradual thing. He never in his wildest dreams considered the possibility that one day it might lead to this. But one thing led to another. It wasn't intentional, it just happened. It wasn't as if he went out of his way to pursue her. She was there in the office, every day, looking lovely, being his right-hand woman. She saw to it that things worked as they should. She was protecting him from the monotonous, banal, petty squabbles that make up office life. She kept him focussed on the main game, getting the job done. He was spending such long hours in the office, working hard to provide for his family's needs and the future. She often stayed back to help him. It was inevitable that sooner or later the two minds would connect to something beyond the day to day routine. Even if they had resisted that first 'moment' one night when they were alone in the office, and he helped her with her coat, most likely it would have happened some other way. When he allowed his hands to rest on her shoulders, and she touched him gently, the intensity stunned them both. Even then, as she turned around to look at him, with a deep, longing gaze, and two sets of eyes were momentarily captured by an unknown force. Even then, there was still time to withdraw, to retreat. But they didn't. He touched her cheek, and ran the back of his hand down her face. She drew herself closer to him, and he felt her soft breasts press against him. They kissed, a soft, tender kiss, both longing for the moment to be suspended in time. Perhaps, had they submitted there and then, to the passionate extreme, ripped each other's clothes off, dropped to the floor, or onto the desk or the armchair, anywhere, and made frantic, erotic love, they might have nipped the whole attraction thing in the bud. They might have realised that the moment was little more than a release of all the tension, and the energy that had been building in the sub-conscious mind, the product of work overload. But they didn't.

They did 'the right thing', and apologised to each other. "Sorry, I shouldn't have done that," he said. "Not your fault," she said. He then walked her to her car, and saw her off, and, realizing that he would see her again the next morning as usual, the moment became something else. It was the beginning of the affair. How could something so tender, poignant, touching, be ignored? How could they pretend it didn't happen? The following morning they tried not to look at each other. It was so awkward. They stumbled with words, with meaning, with intention. Other than for Warwick's appointment schedule, that saw him leave the office for most of the day, it would have been unbearable. Now, with his brother's threatening intrusion, the affair had escalated to a point far beyond anything he had bargained for. The affair was now a major disturbance.

Maria Stewart looked at her watch again. 'Where is Michelle?' she thought. 'This is not like her.' The duty nurse came into her room. "Is there anyone coming to pick you up?" she asked. Maria looked at her watch again. "I was expecting my niece. I don't know what's keeping her. I'll give her a call," Maria answered impatiently. Maria telephoned. There was no answer. She held the phone to her ear, listening to the ring tone, over and over. Then it stopped. 'She's not there. Is she on her way? Surely she would have rung by now to tell me she would be late,' she thought. Embarrassed that some of the nursing staff were watching her, and possibly thinking that she had been forgotten, Maria phoned Julian on his mobile phone for help.

"Julian, it's Maria. Can you help me? Michelle hasn't arrived to pick me up. I don't know what's happened, but do you think you could come to the hospital and get me. I don't want to go home alone," she said. Julian was at home. He had begun the day in a daze. The events of the previous night were still piercing his mind relentlessly. "Arhh, yep, er sure, What's happened with Michelle?" he said without thinking." Maria sounded lost. "She hasn't turned up to get me, and there's no answer on her phone," she said.

"Okay, I'll be there in half an hour. Is that okay?" he said, and then collecting his thoughts, he added, "have you not spoken to Michelle this morning at all?" Maria sounded annoyed. "No, she was supposed to pick me up. I was relying on her. Now I've tried to call her and there's no answer. I don't know what to think," she said. Julian tried to turn things over in his mind. "Well, er, okay. I'll be there as quickly as I can," he said, and then decided to forewarn Maria. "Er, something happened last night at the prayer meeting which might explain that, but I won't go into it over the phone. I'll come and get you now." Maria wanted to know more. "What on earth happened last night?" she asked. But it was too late. Julian had hung up.

Knowing she still had at least thirty minutes to wait, Maria's thoughts turned to Elsie and her family. She wanted to tell them that Michelle was Andrea's daughter and everything else that Andrea had confided in her. But Andrea wanted Warwick to find her. How long was she to wait? What if Warwick didn't find her? How much time was she supposed to give him? Andrea was relying on her if Warwick failed. Enough time had passed, she thought, and it seemed as good a time as any to arrange to see Warwick. She telephoned Warwick's office only to learn that he was at home. She knew that the office would not give out Warwick's private number so she didn't bother to ask. She decided to ring Elsie.

While Julian walked out to his car, he checked in his pockets for his car keys, and discovered the note with Gerard Martin's details, and he remembered that he was supposed to ring him at the hotel by midday. "Oh shit," he said out loud, disturbing a passer-by. He jumped into the car and dialled the hotel on his mobile phone.

At the Four Clovers hotel, Gerard Martin had waited long enough. Disappointed that his best intentions were coming unstuck, he decided to leave the hotel and return to the station to catch the train back to Baldargo. He made his way down to the reception desk and paid his bill.

"Hope you enjoyed your stay Mr. Martin," the clerk said as she handed him his receipt.

"Yes, it was fine thank you. I just wish I had achieved what I set out to do." Then as an after thought, he said to the clerk, "I wonder if you could help me. I was expecting a call at midday. It hasn't come. If anyone calls for me, could you give them my telephone number in Baldargo, and ask them to call me there tonight?" The clerk took up a pen and paper. "Certainly, we can do that for you. What's the number? Opps, wait a minute, we already have that don't we?" she said. Gerard checked with her that the number she had, on his original booking was correct, thanked her for her help, picked up his bags and left.

Moments later as he walked down Coventry Street heading towards Spencer Street station, the phone rang at the reception desk. Seconds later, the clerk came running out of the hotel, looking down Coventry Street, to where Gerard Martin was walking, and called out to him. "Mr Martin, Mr. Martin." Gerard turned around and looked back at the clerk. "Telephone call for you," she said smiling.

Maria waited as the phone rang. She knew that Elsie wasn't quick on her feet and patiently held on. When Elsie answered, she sounded tired. "Are you all right?" Maria asked. "Yes, I'm fine Maria. I've just had Robert on the phone rambling on about someone getting shot last night while he was driving his taxi. He was quite incoherent and I really didn't understand too much of it. Anyway, how are you? Are you out of hospital yet? The supervisor at Elm Tree cottages told me yesterday that she thought you were coming home soon. Is that true?"

It was several minutes later, when Maria finished explaining her improved condition. "So now I'm waiting for Julian to pick me up," she said. "In fact Julian told me yesterday that he picked you up at Elm Tree and took you home," she added.

"Yes, I did catch a taxi home yesterday. The driver was very nice. He told me he was a friend of Richard's, and he gave me his number too, in case I wanted a taxi in the future," Elsie replied.

"That was Julian," she said. "Has he called you this morning?"

"No," Elsie replied. "Why would he call me?" she added. "Yesterday, Julian came to see me after he took you home, and said that he spoke to an elderly man outside your flat. The man wanted to know where you lived. He said he wanted to speak to you."

"Who was this man?" Elsie asked.

"Well, that's the problem. We don't know. I gave Julian your flat number to pass on to him, but told Julian to call you first, to check that it was okay. Julian had his name. I just can't recall it now. He said he would call you this morning." A short silence ensued, before Elsie spoke. "Well, I don't know who would want to see me, but I don't mind if Julian passes my flat number on to him. I presume he's not an axe murderer or anything like that," she joked. Then Maria addressed herself to the real reason for her call.

"Elsie, I need to speak with you and Warwick. It's about Andrea. I'm afraid I haven't been completely honest with you lately. There's something you need to know," she said. There was a long pause as both women absorbed the sober nature of Maria's words. It was Elsie who spoke first. "Is it about Andrea's daughter?" she asked in a low sad voice. Maria was taken back. "You knew?" she asked.

"Warwick broke the news to all of us a few days ago when we had a meeting here about Andrea's will. I wondered if you knew anything. How did you know about her?" she asked Maria.

"Andrea asked me to help her some time ago," she answered. "She meant you no disrespect. She just couldn't bring herself to tell you. It was when she went to Brisbane back in 1974. She adopted the baby out and tried to forget her, and get on with her life. Anyway, after a while she couldn't stand the thought of not knowing what had happened to Mary Therese, and she started looking for her. She got a friend of hers, a lawyer she knew from her university days to help her. Apparently the lawyer friend found her in Adelaide. Her adoptive mother died a couple of years ago, and Andrea's lawyer friend convinced her to come to Melbourne so the two of them could get to know each other. Andrea asked me if Mary Therese could stay with me. I wanted to help them. I knew how much this meant to Andrea." The silence at the other end of the line told Maria that Elsie was in shock.

"Elsie, she's here," Maria said. "She's here in Melbourne. Mary Therese is here. She was staying with me for a while, and then decided to find a place of her own. It sounds a bit bizarre I know, but the lawyer friend thought for the time being, that Mary should use another name, so they decided to call her Michelle." As Maria paused for a moment, there was only silence on the other end of the line. Elsie could not grasp the news. It directly contradicted what she already knew. "That can't be," she said. "Andrea asked Warwick to find her. Warwick said she asked him the day she died. Why would she do that, if she already knew where Mary Therese was?"

"It was what Andrea wanted," Maria replied.

"Surely there must be more to it than that?" Elsie asked.

Maria could hold back no longer. She took a deep breath, and began to tell Elsie the whole story.

Meanwhile, back at Coventry Street, Gerard Martin returned to the hotel to answer the phone.

"I'm sorry I'm late with the call, but I have those details for you," Julian said, completely forgetting that he was supposed to check with Elsie first, and find out if it was all right to pass the details on. Gerard took down the details, and thanked Julian.

"If you have any problems, I'll give you my mobile number," Julian said.

"Thank you for your help," Gerard said. "I have to say I didn't expect city people would be so friendly. It's been an eye-opener." Gerard hung up and asked the hotel clerk if she could make one call. "Certainly," the clerk said, and Gerard dialled Elsie's number. It was engaged. Deciding, that an engaged telephone meant that Elsie was at home, he decided to repeat yesterday's actions and walk the short distance to Elsie's flat.

"Elsie, are you still there?" Maria asked after a lengthy silence.

"Yes," Elsie replied. "I'm still here. I'm just wondering what it was that I did, that prevented Andrea from telling me. We could have been another family all this time. All this time has been lost. Now Andrea is gone, and it will never be the same. We could have been a family," she said. Maria chose her words carefully. "I think it was because you were so good to her that she found it hard to tell you. She had it in her head that somehow she had failed you. I tried to tell her that wasn't true, that you would not think that way, but every time I suggested we tell you, she stiffened up and shook her head. I often wonder if it was the stress she felt over the issue that contributed to her cancer." Elsie was silent. Maria continued talking Elsie through her pain and disappointment, until she noticed Julian limping down the corridor toward her.

"Elsie, I have to go. I'm leaving the hospital now. The thing is that Warwick needs to be told that Mary Therese has been found."

"I'll tell him," Elsie said. "I'll call him now. Will you be staying home for a while, to rest up before going back to work?" Maria nodded as she waved to Julian. "Yes I'll take another week before I go back. Will you call me after you speak to Warwick?"

Elsie said yes, and Maria hung up.

Julian walked into the room, favouring one leg, and greeted Maria. "Hello, what happened to you? Why are you limping?' she asked. "It's a long story. Let's get you out of here first," he said and helped gather her belongings. "Sorry about this," Maria said. "I don't know what's happened to Michelle." As the two of them began to make their way out of the hospital, Julian said, "Something happened at the prayer meeting last night. Wait until we get into the car, but you'd better prepare your self for a bit of a shock."

30.

Elsie Steedman sat down and tried to absorb the tidal wave of information Maria had revealed. Her thoughts reverted to the night of the family meeting when her son Warwick first revealed the shattering news that Andrea had a daughter. That revelation was a nightmare for her. Since then, she had adjusted to the news somewhat, but the pain of being shut out by her daughter persisted. It was now with some relief that she learned the truth of the matter. It did not relieve the pain, but at least she was able to rationalise Andrea's motives, however wrong she thought they were. As she thought the matter through, she agreed that Warwick had to be told. He was executor of Andrea's estate. He had hired people to find her, probably at some personal expense.

She phoned his office only to learn that he was at home. She then rang his home, at the same time that Gerard Martin arrived at the front of the housing commission flats.

As Gerard entered the front foyer of the flats, two miles to the north, Alberto Antonini was driving his taxi up to the drop off point at Spencer Street railway station.

"Here we are," he said to Michelle. "That will be thirty-five dollars please." Michelle thanked him and handed him a fifty dollar note. "I'm sure I've seen you before," Alberto said as he handed back fifteen dollars in change. "I never forget a face," he said. "Can't think of anywhere," Michelle said. Alberto climbed out of the car and opened the boot to retrieve Michelle's case, at the same time as Michelle got out of the car. Suddenly it came to him. "The taxi rank at Doncaster, that's it. You came up to the taxi rank at Doncaster one morning. You were not happy. You wanted a ride. Julian took you, I remember now," he said, delighted that his memory had not let him down. The mention of Julian's name paralysed Michelle.

"Yes that's it. Julian took you. We were joking later that he missed a call to the airport, but he said it didn't matter." Michelle turned her attention to her baggage, avoiding any further eye contact with Alberto.

"Thank you for your help," she said, and added, "I have to catch a train now, goodbye." Without any further word, Michelle made her way to the front entrance of the station.

When Warwick Steedman answered the phone, he was expecting it would be from the office and answered with his executive voice. "Warwick Steedman," he said abruptly. He was somewhat jolted when Elsie responded. "Warwick, it's your mother, don't put on that official sounding voice on my account," she said, not the least bit intimidated. "Sorry mother," he said rather sheepishly. "What are you doing at home?" she asked. "Are you ill?" Warwick was not physically ill, but the events of the previous night had taken their toll, psychologically and emotionally.

"No, mother, I'm perfectly fine," he lied. "Just taking a break, that's all. What's up?"

"I've found Mary Therese for you," she said.

There was only silence from the other end. "Did you hear me?" she said, "I've found Mary Therese. She's here. She's in Melbourne." Warwick could not believe what he was hearing.

"What do you mean? How could you have found her?" he asked. "Well, I didn't find her. Andrea found her all along," Elsie said. "She must have been protecting her or something. I don't know. Didn't you say that Andrea asked you to find her? It doesn't make sense to me, but anyway, she's here, in Melbourne. So you can call off your search. Maria Stewart has been looking after her."

The mention of Maria Stewart embarrassed Warwick. He knew she was Andrea's sister, and met her briefly when the two women were reunited two years ago. But even after subsequent and equally brief meetings, he had never warmed to her. She was the one who looked after Richard and Warwick had always avoided Richard. He was happy to pay for Richard's upkeep, his taxi fares, his clothes, his occasional outings organised by Elm Tree Cottages. But that was as much involvement as he wanted with Richard, and he was therefore wary of those whose task it was to care for him.

"Maria Stewart?" he queried. "How did she get involved?" Elsie was annoyed at the question and also Warwick's tone of voice. "Warwick," she said forcefully, "Maria is Andrea's sister. Of course she was involved with Andrea. Don't question her in that manner. As generous as you have been to Richard, you have not been a brother to him. Maria has been his de facto sister, his carer, his constant companion. In fact, she's been everything that you haven't been."

Elsie surprised herself with her forcefulness, and although pleased that she still had the mental strength to put Warwick in his place, she was saddened to have to do so. As she spoke, she heard a knock on the door. Glancing through the lounge room window, she saw an elderly man outside. "I'll talk to you later. There's somebody at the door. But you can call off the search," she repeated defiantly. "Mary Therese has been found."

Maria Stewart was stunned. As Julian drove her home, he told her of the events the previous night at the prayer meeting. "Douglas Bilby shot himself?" she repeated over and over again. "Why? Why? Poor Michelle, she must be devastated. No wonder she didn't pick me up. She must be in so much shock, she's forgotten. She must be at home. Can you take me there now?' she asked Julian. "Yes, if you want to," he answered, "but there's more," he added.

"What?" she asked.

"Michelle wasn't having an affair with Bilby. It was more like a father, daughter thing. Bilby was gay." Maria gasped for air.

"Gay? Him? This is too much. Who told you that?" she squealed. "Michelle told me at the hospital last night," he answered.

"What hospital?" she asked, her voice pitched at high 'c'.

"Here. We were both here last night getting checked out," he said.

"You and Michelle were here last night?"

"Yes, in the emergency ward. We weren't here that long. Michelle had fainted last night and hit her head when she fell back. She was placed under observation for a while, but it was only light concussion. I had a sprained ankle. I got it from kicking in the door to the back room. That's where Bilby did it."

"Christ Jesus!" Maria exclaimed.

Warwick Steedman replaced the receiver and sat down. He found it hard to reconcile what his mother had just told him. But he forced himself to accept it, for the moment anyway. The news had temporarily distracted him from his concerns about Robert, Jill and his wife Susan. His thoughts then shifted to Brad Murphy. He realised he had to call him.

At the time, Brad Murphy's plane was just touching down at Brisbane airport. His meeting the previous day with Rosie Fitzgibbon in Cairns, and their late night dinner, had imbued him with a wealth of information. He believed all that Rosie had told him, and she had told him plenty. He knew the truth about Julie Macleod. He knew the truth about James and Irene Campbell. He believed he knew the whereabouts of Mary Therese. 'Sydney! Living with her father!' As a consequence of all the information he had learned from Rosie, his opinion and attitude toward Warwick Steedman had now been profoundly affected. 'What on earth was Warwick up to? Why did he use me this way? I will have to have it out with him. I will not stand for this. It is outrageous that he should treat me this way,' he thought to himself as he prepared to leave the plane. As he walked down the centre aisle, preparing to exit the plane, another thought crossed his mind. 'What a fantastic story this will make. I've got to get all this down on paper.'

Warwick Steedman, picked up the phone again, and dialled Brad Murphy's home number. Brad's daughter Sonia answered. "Hello, yes," she said. "This is Warwick Steedman calling from Melbourne. Is Brad Murphy there please?" he asked. "No, I'm afraid not. Dad is on his way back from Cairns. You might be able to contact him on his mobile number," she said. "Christ, what the devil is he doing up there?" Warwick said, anxious to speak with him, and completely forgetting that Brad had told him previously about the live television broadcast. "He was doing a TV show there all last week," Sonia answered. "Oh, okay, sorry. I think he might have mentioned that to me at some stage. Just a second I'll see if I have his mobile number," Warwick replied.

Julian and Maria pulled up outside Michelle's house. "Let me go in alone, if you don't mind," Maria said to Julian. "I want some time alone with my niece." Julian nodded in agreement. Maria walked to the front door and knocked. As Julian waited out the front, a lady from across the road approached him. "Hello," she said. "Are you free? I need a taxi to take me to the shopping centre." Julian immediately recognised the lady from an earlier trip when he had picked her up from a shopping centre and brought her home. "Er no, sorry, I'm engaged at the moment," he said. "Oh, sorry," the lady said. "I thought you were leaving that other lady here." Julian looked back to where Maria was standing at the front door. She had knocked three times and there had been no response. "Er, no, the lady is checking on someone," Julian replied.

The woman looked across and noticed Maria. "Oh she won't find anyone there now. The young woman who lives there left in a taxi this morning," she said. "She had a large suitcase with her. I think she was going away somewhere." Julian stared at the woman, stunned. "She left this morning?" he said.

"Yes, I saw her go," the woman replied. Julian looked back toward Maria, who was still standing at the front door. He jumped out of the car and ran up the footpath. "Maria," he said, "she's not there. She left this morning with a suitcase. The lady from across the street saw her go," he said. "My God, what has she gone and done?"

Maria stood there thinking. "I need to get inside. Just to check on things," she said. "Do you have a key?" Julian asked. "Yes, but it's at home. Can you run me home and then bring me back?" she asked.

"Sure," Julian replied. "Let's go."

Brad Murphy was waiting at the baggage collection area when his mobile phone rang. He moved away from the milling passengers to take the call.

"Brad Murphy," he said.

"Brad, it's Warwick Steedman." The mere mention of his name caused Brad tension. He hadn't yet formulated what he would say to Warwick. He was still feeling betrayed, and he didn't like that feeling. He decided that, for the time being, he would play along with whatever Warwick wanted to discuss. He needed time to think things through.

"Hello Warwick, hope you can hear me all right. I'm at the airport, just got in. It's very noisy here," he said.

"Yes I can hear you fine," Warwick said. "I just wanted to let you know that we have located Mary Therese. You can call off the bloodhounds. She's here in Melbourne. She has been here all long from what I understand." Brad was staggered.

"Er great news, that's great, er, what's the story? How did you find her?" he asked, unable to bring himself to challenge Warwick's news.

"Actually, I don't have all the details yet. It seems Mary Therese was staying with Andrea's sister. I haven't even met her yet, but I'm sure I'll find out what happened in the next day or so," he said. Brad had one ear listening to Warwick, with a finger blocking the other ear from the noise around the baggage collection area. Just then, he noticed his luggage pop up onto the platform, and moved forward to retrieve it.

"Warwick, I'll have to go. Let me get settled at home, and I will call you back tomorrow," he shouted. Brad ended the call and collected his luggage. As he made his way out of the terminal to catch a taxi, he tried to make sense of it all. 'Either somebody is lying to me, or I am losing my mind. But one way or the other, I'm going to get to the bottom of this,' he pro

Elsie Steedman opened her front door. The elderly gentleman immediately removed his hat and introduced himself. "Good afternoon, my name is Gerard Martin. Would you be Mrs. Elsie Steedman, ma'am?" Elsie was taken back with his politeness. She wasn't used to that. "Yes, I'm Elsie," she answered, brushing back her grey hair from her cheek. "I wonder if I could have a word with you concerning a business matter," Gerard asked. Elsie had no idea what the business matter could be, but somewhat enchanted by his politeness, and gentle persuasion, she was happy to be guided by him. "Yes, what is this all about?" she asked.

"It's a matter concerning your daughter, Andrea. I understand she is not well, and so I didn't want to bother her. My son Frank, who is a solicitor in Baldargo gave me your name and address, well, most of it, and suggested I speak with you instead."

The mention of Andrea's name, brought a pained expression to Elsie's face, such that Gerard stopped what he was saying and asked, "Is everything all right?" With a lump in her throat, Elsie forced herself to say it. "My daughter Andrea, passed away two weeks ago," she said quietly. Gerard was shocked. "I'm so terribly sorry. I had no idea. Perhaps this can wait. Maybe I should come back some other time," he said with sensitivity and understanding. "Frank should have told me. It's just that I haven't seen him in two weeks and I'm not sure where he is right now. Oh dear, this is very embarrassing," Gerard continued. "No, no, it's all right," Elsie said, now trying to comfort him. "There's no need to come back. Would you like to come in for a cup of tea perhaps?" It was the cup of tea that brought an instant nod of the head from Gerard. "Well, yes, if it's not too much trouble?" he replied.

When Gerard Martin entered the flat, he was impressed with its simplicity. It reminded him of his own place. Simple, but tastefully decorated, with an absence of modern hi-tech appliances. There were just the basic necessities of life, without all the fancy trimmings. He felt an immediate connection with Elsie. That made his visit all the more difficult, but he felt it had to be done.

Elsie made tea, and the two sat down in the lounge room. "You said your son Frank gave you my address. I don't know any solicitor in Baldargo. How did he know who I was?" she asked.

"Frank was a business associate of your daughter's, as I understand it," he replied. "I think they first met when Frank was studying at university back in the eighties. Your daughter was in property I believe?" Elsie smiled and nodded. "Yes, she was in a lot of things. Buying, renting and selling mostly." Gerard took a sip of tea. "I never met your daughter, but I know that Frank did some conveyancing work for her, at least once. Lovely taste," he said taking a sip of tea. "Would you like a biscuit or a piece of cake?" Elsie asked. "I have some fruit cake in the pantry?" Gerard nodded once more. This was the way things were done in the country. He was feeling relaxed now, a far cry from the nervous wait he had experienced earlier in the day. Checking his watch however, he realised he had limited time. His train would be leaving in an hour, and it was at least a fifteen minute walk back to Spencer Street Station. As Elsie cut some fruit cake, he decided to get down to the reason for his visit.

"A little over fifteen years ago," he started, "your daughter Andrea, bought a property just out of Baldargo. Did you know that?" he asked. Elsie shook her head. "Andrea bought a number of properties, here and there. She may have mentioned one in Baldargo, but I don't recall it," Elsie replied. "Well, it was forty acres of prime potato land and it was right next door to my land, where I have been farming potatoes for nearly thirty years now. We always referred to it as the 'western paddock' in those days." Elsie followed what Gerard was saying with a nod. "At that time, I was interested in buying that property to expand my own interests," he continued, "but the price city people were paying, to have a slice of the country life, was much more than I could afford. So my neighbour George Kenny sold it to Andrea."

"Oh, I'm sorry," Elsie said, detecting a note of regret in Gerard's voice. "No, that's all right. I didn't mean it to sound like that," Gerard said. "That's just some of the early history. Anyway, my neighbour George, told me at the time that he didn't think Andrea had any immediate intentions to develop the land, or farm it, or do anything at all really, so he suggested to me that I could probably plough it and sow a few potatoes anyway," he continued. Elsie nodded her head as she followed the gist of Gerard's story.

"So did you?" she asked.

"Er, yes, I did." Gerard said, sipping his tea. He felt a somewhat relaxed attitude coming from Elsie. She seemed quite unperturbed by it all. This gave him added confidence to continue.

"I began ploughing a small section at first and then, over time, increased the acreage. All the time, I was expecting that Andrea would call in, asking me what I was doing on her land. But she didn't," he said.

"I suspect she was too busy developing other interests," Elsie said, "although it's odd she never mentioned Baldargo." Gerard opened his briefcase and ruffled through his papers, extracting a manila folder. "Anyway, while all this was happening, my son Frank was studying Law at University. He turned out to be pretty good at it. He got his degree, did his articles, passed his bar exam, and then opened up a practice in Baldargo. This was back in the eighties. He's been there ever since. I'm very proud of him, I must say," Gerard said with a broad grin, pushing his chest out slightly. "I'd be happier if he would just find a nice girl and get married as well, but I suppose you can't have it all your own way, can you?" he joked. Elsie smiled. "What you've described in Frank is almost identical to my Andrea," she said. "So, Andrea never married?" Gerard asked. "No," Elsie sighed.

"Well," Gerard said, looking at his watch again, "that brings me to the present. A few months ago, Frank asked me how long I had been ploughing the 'western paddock', and when we worked it out, it had been over fifteen years," he said slowly. "Goodness me, you must have done very well out of it then," Elsie said, anticipating some good news, utterly oblivious to what was coming.

"Er, yes I have actually. It certainly paid for Frank's education and helped him set up his practice," Gerard said, now carefully choosing his words.

"So why are you telling me this?" Elsie asked.

"Well," Gerard said, opening up his manila folder, "Frank then told me that because I had worked that land for over fifteen years, and the owner had shown no interest in it, I could apply to acquire it, under the Law of Adverse Possession." He stopped talking, to assess Elsie's reaction. She seemed not to fully understand what he had said.

"The what law?" she queried.

"It's called the Law of Adverse Possession, where someone uses something like land for at least fifteen years, and if the registered owner has not shown any interest in it, the person using it, in a manner adverse to the owner's intentions, can apply to have it transferred to them," Gerard said. Elsie silently absorbed this vague reference to the law. "So, what are you saying to me?" Elsie asked, now feeling a trite uncomfortable. "Are you saying that Andrea owned some land in Baldargo and now you own it?" Gerard handed her a piece of paper. It was a letter from Frank Martin, Solicitor, advising Andrea Steedman, 'the owner', of the property detailed below, that the said property had been acquired by Mr. Gerard Martin under the Law of Adverse Possession.

"Er, yes," Gerard replied. "Frank said to post it. I didn't want Andrea to receive this in the mail. I wanted to deliver it personally, just to show there were no hard feelings. Frank said that Andrea wasn't well, and that you would be the best one to bring it to," Gerard replied. Elsie took the letter and read it briefly. "You said that Frank wanted to mail this to Andrea," Elsie said. "Er, yes," Gerard said nervously, sensing that Elsie's relaxed demeanour had evaporated.

"I was of the belief, from what you said, that they were friends, or at least business associates. Why didn't Frank let Andrea know that he was doing this? It doesn't sound like he was Andrea's friend to me," she asked in a controlled but rigid tone. "Yes, well, I suppose doing that, would have compromised my acquisition of the land. When Frank first mentioned this to me, I have to say, I was of the feeling that I was entitled to the land. After all, I have worked it for so long," he answered tentatively, trying not to aggravate Elsie.

An icy silence descended upon the room and Gerard realised that the news he had brought was not being received well and generating some painful memories. He decided he had now overstayed his welcome. Looking at his watch he closed his briefcase and said, "Er, well, that's pretty much it. That's what I wanted to talk to you about. I have to catch the train soon, I'd better go. I'm very sorry if I have been the cause of any pain. That wasn't my intention. I truly wasn't aware that Andrea had passed away. I would have waited longer before doing this, had I known."

Elsie was silent. She sat there like a wounded dog.

"Well, I'll be off now. Thank you for your hospitality," Gerard said, trying to express himself with some degree of sensitivity. Elsie was silent. Gerard stood up, and walked to the front door. Turning around to speak once more, he looked down upon the lonely figure of a woman whom he knew he had hurt, and thought better of it. He opened the door, and left slowly, closing the door quietly behind him. Elsie remained where she was, holding the letter from Frank Martin, silently contemplating the loss of her daughter, and desperately trying to find some compensating factor that would help her overcome a resurgence of grief.

32.

Michelle had arrived at the station in plenty of time. She had been anxious to leave her rented house as quickly as possible. She didn't want to speak to anyone, or see anyone. She wanted to go home. She was annoyed that she had mentioned that she was going to Baldargo to the taxi driver. She wished she had not. The shock of Pastor Doug taking his own life was tearing its way through her fragile emotional and psychological state. 'How was it, that it had come to this? It was never meant to come to this. It was supposed to have been a good time, for me, for everyone involved.' But, past experience should have told her that little in this world unfolds as we would wish. Over the previous three months, she had grown fond of Pastor Doug. His gentle, kind, protective manner enveloped her. That wasn't supposed to happen. He was like a father. Although she wasn't religious and had joined the prayer group reluctantly, Pastor Doug had taken her under his wing. That wasn't supposed to happen either. His zeal was excessive, his pious devotion somewhat pathetic, his blind unquestioning faith, utterly misplaced, she thought, but beyond all that, he was a friend she trusted, someone she came to rely on. She didn't have many of them. She wasn't one to make friends easily. She was a fiercely independent woman, who had learned not to trust too many people. 'Why did he do it?' She ran the question over and over again in her head.

As she approached the ticket counter, a voice from within, said, 'No, don't go. This can still work out.' She faltered momentarily. 'Perhaps leaving is an over reaction. If I stay and the outcome is as expected, it would certainly be worth it.'

"Yes?" the attendant asked. She regained her composure, and looked at the attendant intensely. He waited to hear what she wanted. She stared at him, deep in thought, 'will I, won't I?'

"Yes, can I help you please?" the attendant asked once more. Finally, she committed herself. "One single ticket to Baldargo please," she replied. The ticket was issued and she paid her money. "Leaving from platform six, in one hour," the attendant said. With ticket in hand, and a feeling of abject isolation, Michelle looked around for somewhere to buy some lunch.

Forty-five minutes later, she purchased a magazine and some chocolate, and found a seat in a comfortable eight seat compartment on the train. She was now more relaxed. She was now more confident that she was doing the right thing. There would be matters to sort out at the other end, but that was all right. That was better than the alternative. She knew that now. As she was settling herself in her compartment, Gerard Martin arrived at the platform and was walking along the length of the train looking for a spare seat. His mind was occupied with thoughts of Elsie Steedman. He had not meant to hurt her. He had not meant to cause unhappy memories to re-surface. He just wanted to do the right thing, and tell those concerned that his actions were simply business, nothing more. He entered the same compartment as Michelle, and placed his luggage in the overhead storage section. As he sat down, he cast an eye across to where Michelle was sitting. At first he was unsure. Then he took a second, longer look.

"Don't I know you?" he said. "Don't you work for my son, Frank?" Michelle looked up startled. "Er, who?" she answered.

"Don't you work for Frank Martin, the solicitor in Baldargo? He's my son. I'm sure I've seen you in the office on the odd occasion I've been there," Gerard said.

To her utter dismay, Michelle realised that the man standing in front of her was the father of the man who had been responsible for all the misery she was now experiencing. Not knowing how to reply, she stared at him for what seemed an eternity, before all the pent up emotion, the psychological trauma of the past forty-eight hours, and the deception in which she had been forced to participate, finally spilled over, and she burst into tears. Gerard was taken by surprise. At first bewildered, he stood there a few moments, not quite knowing what to do. Then, he sat down beside her, placed his arm around her shoulder and allowed her to rest her head on his chest. She cried uncontrollably for some time before recovering.

"I'm so sorry for this," she said, as she searched her pockets for a handkerchief, "I just can't keep going on like this anymore." Gerard handed her his own handkerchief, and she blew her nose.

"What's up?" he said to her tenderly. "What is it that is upsetting you?" Michelle finished blowing her nose. "I can't do this anymore. It's not right. I can't do it anymore." Gerard looked at her. "Perhaps you'd better tell me what it is you can't do. Maybe I can help you somehow," he said with all the compassion and sensitivity of a father comforting a daughter. "I can't go on pretending anymore," she answered. "Pretending about what?" Gerard asked. Michelle looked up into his eyes, as would a daughter craving comfort from a father. "I can't go on pretending I'm someone I'm not," she answered. "Well," Gerard said, "we all do a bit of that from time to time. Who have you been pretending to be?"

Michelle took a deep breath and began.

"I do work for your son. Six months ago, I came to work for him as an accountant. I was only recently qualified, and he took me on, as an assistant to his senior accountant," she said.

"That was Henry! Henry Simmons," Gerard said with pride. "I got Henry to go and work for Frank," he added, "I thought he needed an expert to look after things."

Michelle nodded, "Yes, and then Henry and his wife decided to take an overseas trip, which pretty much left me in charge, doing the work of a senior," she added. "I thought Frank employed a senior on a temporary basis, until Henry came back?' Gerard asked. "He tried, but he couldn't find anyone suitable for what he wanted to pay. Then he noticed that I was pretty much on top of things so he stopped looking. I started doing everything that Henry was doing including the payroll, the monthly accounts, paying invoices, maintaining the trust account.....the bloody trust account. I wish I had never been given access to that!" Michelle said with a vengeance.

Gerard looked astonished. "What do you mean? What happened?" he asked. Michelle took another deep breath. "I took some money from it, that's what happened. I raided one of the customer's accounts," she said. It was Gerard who now found himself, taking a deep breath.

"Oh dear," he sighed. "How much?" he asked.

"It wasn't a huge amount," Michelle replied, "only a thousand dollars. I was going to put it back the next day. I didn't think anyone would notice it. I was in charge you see," she pleaded. Gerard rolled his eyes in disbelief. "Then what happened?' he said with a more sombre, serious tone.

"I lost it," she said, bursting into tears. Gerard began to feel uncomfortable, and released his protective arm from her shoulder. "How? Did you spend it, or did you misplace it?" he asked.

"I lost it on the poker machines," she answered, still crying. "Oh my God, not another one," Gerard sighed.

At the time, the papers were full of stories of problem gamblers losing money on the poker machines. Almost weekly on television, current affairs programs would highlight the abject misery, families were suffering, when one parent became hypnotised by these hi-tech, sophisticated machines.

"So what did you do then?" he asked.

"I thought that I could get it back. All I needed was one good night on the pokies, and I would get it back. No one knew what I had done. All I needed was some more money, enough to stay with the machine for a while and eventually my turn would come," she answered.

Gerard was now feeling very uncomfortable with what he was hearing. It was a story repeated over and over again by people, who were overtaken by the lure of easy money, and who so often lost sight of the realities of gambling, always thinking that the really bad cases, where large sums of money were lost, always happened to someone else. His concern was also fuelled by the fact that he had a large sum of money deposited in Frank's Trust account.

Michelle's confession was compelling and distracting enough that when Gerard looked out the window of the carriage, he realised that they had left the station and were now travelling though the western suburbs, heading home to Baldargo.

"So what did you do?" he asked nervously. He felt he knew what Michelle's answer would be. He was right.

"I raided the trust account again, the same one," she answered. "Whose account were you stealing from?' he asked. Michelle drew away from him slightly, and wiped her eyes with Gerard's handkerchief.

"Yours," she said tentatively. Gerard was horrified.

"Mine?" he shouted. "How much did you take?" he screamed, as droplets of perspiration began to appear all over his forehead. Michelle burst into tears again.

"Ten thousand," she answered.

Gerard's fury was tempered only by the realization, that what he was hearing, was an admission of guilt. He realised therefore, that some degree of restraint was called for, in the likelihood that the matter may have been resolved somehow. He clung to the belief that his money was still safe, or that Frank had made some arrangement for repayment. He was right on both counts.

"Would I be right in assuming," he asked slowly, "that you lost the ten thousand as well?" Michelle was silent. She looked up at him, her face wet with tears, and simply nodded. Silence filled the compartment. 'Thank goodness we are the only ones here,' Gerard thought. He knew that Frank was a stickler for correct and regular internal audits, and that therefore Michelle had been found out somehow.

"Let me take a stab at this," he began. "Would I be right in saying that Frank discovered the discrepancy between the trust account books, and the actual money held in deposit?" Michelle said nothing but simply nodded again. "Did he then sack you, report you to the police, tell your parents, get the money back, what?" he asked.

"None of those," she answered. "Looking back, I wish he had done that. He decided to let me sweat it out for a day, before putting a proposition to me," she said. "What sort of a proposition?' Gerard asked. "He offered to replace the money out of his own account, and not report the matter, if I was to co-operate with him," Michelle said.

"Co-operate how?" Gerard asked, momentarily fearful that Frank's single and unattached social status might cause him to stray into some sexual flight of fantasy. "Did he seek some kind of favour from you?" he asked tentatively. Michelle was aware of the implication of Gerard's question, and answered, "Yes, but not that way." Gerard was clearly relieved. "What way then?" Gerard asked. "He wanted me to move to Melbourne and pretend that I was someone else."

"Who?" Gerard asked.

"I was supposed to be someone called Mary Therese, only it was a secret, so I kept my name for the time being. There was a woman called Andrea Steedman who was dying of cancer. She was rich. She got pregnant, and had a daughter over twenty years ago, but she had never told her mother about it, ever. The daughter was adopted out in 1974. Frank knew Andrea from when he went to University, and when he graduated, Andrea asked him to help her find her daughter," she said. "I don't know much about what happened then, but recently, in the last few months, Frank said that Andrea had asked him to contact her daughter again, because Andrea wanted to leave her some money. A lot of money!" Michelle emphasized. "Frank said that I looked a lot like Andrea when she was my age, and he thought he could substitute me for this Mary Therese, wherever she was, and collect the inheritance. He said that he would pay me twenty thousand dollars, and forget about the money I stole, and nobody would be the wiser."

Gerard sat and listened in stunned silence. But for the detail, he would have dismissed the story he was hearing as an outrageous fabrication. But for the mention of the name, Andrea Steedman, he would have scoffed at the very thought of his son dreaming up such a plan. As much as he was forced to accept that there had to be some truth in what Michelle was saying, he could not believe that his son could mastermind something so contemptible and despicable. And yet, some of Michelle's story resonated. It was Frank who came up with the idea of claiming the 'western paddock' under the law of Adverse Possession. Andrea owned that land, and Frank knew that, yet he never revealed to Gerard, that he knew her.

"How did he plan to pass you off as the daughter?" Gerard asked.

"He took me down to Melbourne one day and said I was going to meet Andrea. I didn't have to pretend anything, or know anything, because the only other time Andrea ever saw her daughter, was years ago when she was a little girl, and now that she had grown up, she would never be able to tell that I wasn't that girl. All I had to remember was that I once lived in Sydney, that my adoptive mother had died a few years ago and that my father and I moved to Adelaide. That's all I had to say. I had a photo of my supposed adoptive parents, so I knew what they looked like, and could describe them. Frank provided that."

"What happened when you went to Melbourne? Did you meet Andrea?" Gerard asked with an ashen face.

"Yes, I felt terrible. She was lovely, but very sick. She didn't try to gush over me or anything. She was very nervous. She asked me what I did for a living. I told her I was an accountant. That, was the only truthful thing I said during the entire meeting. She thanked me for coming, and asked if I would come and visit her again. I said yes, of course. That was all part of the plan."

Gerard was becoming visibly ill, as Michelle spoke. He loosened his tie, and leaned back against the seat, suffering shortness of breath.

"Are you all right?" Michelle asked. He nodded. "Just shock I think," he answered. "What happened after that?" he asked.

"A month later, Frank said that Andrea had asked if I would consider moving to Melbourne. Her sister Maria had offered to let me stay with her. I had never met Maria, so a meeting was arranged the next time I went to visit Andrea. Frank said he would arrange for me to do part-time work in Melbourne, with a firm he had some dealings with, and he would also give me other accounting work from the Baldargo office. I didn't want to go, but he said that he could just as easily go to the police, and have me arrested that day, if I wished. I had to say yes. I was too frightened to say no."

"So, you went to live in Melbourne, and you stayed with Maria?" Gerard asked, feeling a little better. "Yes, she was very nice too. But I felt so guilty, I couldn't remain there. I felt so isolated. Frank suggested I create an image or something. He suggested that I try and be a respected person in the community. He said I should join a church or something. I had to find a place of my own, it was too much to suppress, deceiving everyone like that, so I found a house to live in. That way, I was able to feel less guilty. I know that sounds silly, but that's how it felt. Frank agreed to pay the rent, but said it would be deducted off the twenty thousand. I didn't care, but I did join the local church, just for the company really. I'm not religious," she said. "And then..." Gerard interrupted. "I think I know what happened then," he said. Andrea died didn't she?"

"Yes, and then it all got confused because on the morning of the day Andrea died, Frank came around to my flat and told me to be ready to meet the rest of the family. I told him I didn't want to go ahead with it, and he got really angry and grabbed me and shook me. I thought he was going to hurt me, so I ran out of the house just as a bus was coming by. I got on the bus and went a few stops before getting off. When I got off the bus, he was there in his car, waiting for me. He warned me not to mess things up. He threatened me with jail. He said they would lock me away for six years. He said he was going to Brisbane that morning, and when he came back, he would arrange for me to meet the family. He said Maria was going to arrange it. I'd have to sign some papers with Andrea's solicitors, and then it would all be over," she said sobbing again. "Then what did you do?" Gerard asked. "Frank drove off and I ran to a taxi rank and got a ride home," she said. "I was so upset, I couldn't do any work. Then, on the same day, Maria was involved in a car accident and she was unconscious for days. They weren't sure if she would live or die, and I didn't know what was going to happen. It was Pastor Douglas Bilby who kept me going."

"Pastor Douglas?" Gerard queried.

"He was the pastor of a church group that I became involved with. I'm not religious, but they were good company, and Douglas needed an organ player, and I have been playing the piano since I was twelve, so we had a mutual need of each other. We became friends. Nothing else! Just friends," Michelle said. "He was very understanding, and helped me," she said, as she began sobbing again. The mention of Pastor Doug elevated the pain of the previous day. "AND THEN HE WENT AND KILLED HIMSELF," she screamed.

Michelle burst into tears. Gerald reeled back in shock. 'What on earth was going on,' he thought. 'Lies, deception, blackmail, extortion, where will this end?'

Gerard's mouth had become dry, his body trembled and his emotional fragility was rising to the surface. Nothing in his past life, had prepared him for something like this. Michelle's revelations implicating his son, his only son, his pride and joy, his one significant contribution to the world, were tearing away inside him, disintegrating his honour and self respect, before his very eyes. He last saw his son over two weeks ago. Frank said he was going interstate for a few days. Gerard had proposed that when he returned, the two of them visit Andrea Steedman, and explain the legal nature of their actions. Frank said he didn't have the time. Frank said don't worry about it. Frank said there was no legal obligation to do or say anything, to the other party. Gerard would have none of that. He felt some personal contact was proper. Frank didn't. Now over two weeks had passed, and he had heard nothing. Frank had not returned. 'Where was he? Had he got cold feet and run off? Had he cleaned out the trust account and fled? How will I tell his mother about all this?'

Gerard left Michelle in the carriage, while he went to get some water. Returning with two plastic cups of water, he sat down alongside her, and the two of them sipped their water, and sat in silence. Their minds were exhausted. Michelle had at least lifted the agonizing burden she had carried for the last three months from her shoulders, and felt some relief. Gerard had assumed a burden beyond his imagination. The two of them sat in silence, listening to the rhythmic rattling of the train as it powered its way toward Baldargo.

33.

Brad Murphy was perplexed. What to do? His meeting the previous evening with Rosie Fitzgibbon was still fresh in his mind. Rosie, he was convinced, was telling the truth. She had revealed the criminal nature of the events of 1974, and the principal person involved, Julie Macleod. By doing that, however, she had exposed her son-in-law James, to the possibility of a criminal prosecution should the matter be reported to the police. Having Julie Macleod prosecuted would by association require James to be prosecuted. Brad felt that Julie should be prosecuted. He kept thinking about the body found at the Aston Park office. It was probably a homeless old man, looking for shelter for the night. 'Did Julie have anything to do with that fire?' he asked himself. It was likely also, Brad thought, that Rosie herself could be proceeded against, as an accessory after the fact. 'Why, therefore,' Brad asked himself, 'would Rosie tell him all that she did, if it wasn't true?' Brad was convinced Rosie wanted only what was best for Mary Therese. The information she had revealed however, directly implicated Warwick Steedman in what seemed a bizarre twist. Why did he travel to Cairns and warn Rosie off? Was he trying to cheat Mary Therese out of her inheritance? Brad wondered if the whole idea of Warwick asking him to help find Mary Therese, was nothing more than a smoke screen. Something he could produce as evidence of his genuine attempts to find her. 'I'll bet he never thought that I would go on television and ask people to come forward. He never expected that I would come into contact with Rosie,' Brad thought.
Brad was on his way home. As the water taxi neared the One Mile Jetty, he thought a day or two walking along Deadman's beach with Fixem and Mixem would help clear his head of the information overload he was experiencing. Perhaps then he could decide on a course of action. It was Friday midday, and beach lovers had begun pouring on to the island for the weekend. As the water taxi eased its way to the dock, he noticed his daughter Sonia, waving. She had come to pick him up and drive him home. He waved to her. She waved back and minutes later the two were in her car, heading for Point Particular.

"The phone has been running hot," she said. "A lady rang from Cairns. Her name was Rosie. You're not having an affair are you?" she joked. Brad grinned. The suggestion triggered a mental image of Rosie in his mind. "No," he laughed. "She's in her sixties. A bit old for me, I'm afraid."

"I don't know," Sonia joked. "I've read stories about men in their forties being attracted to older women," she said with a sarcastic tone of voice. "Well, not this man in his fifties," Brad replied. "Who else rang?" he asked. "The studio! Your boss I think. Mum has the detail," Sonia answered.

"Anyone else?" he asked. "Yes another woman. What are you up to? Her name was Elizabeth Stafford. She sounded very nice. Another sixty plus is she?" Sonia persisted. "No, she's actually in her seventies," Brad replied. "What is this sudden interest in my sex life? Are you trying to make me feel as if the world is passing me by?" he asked jokingly. "We're doing the middle-aged man in Psychology at the moment. I'm using you as my template," she replied.

"Your template, wow! I didn't realise Psychology had gone computer speak," he laughed.

"Anyway," Sonia said, "Elizabeth just rang to say she saw you on television mentioning something about Irene and James someone, and wanted to know if you had any luck."

"Okay, that's easy to handle," he replied.

As they motored along, and the magnificent panorama of the Pacific Ocean came into view, Brad wondered what Rosie Fitzgibbon wanted to discuss. His mind was constantly turning the information, over and over again. When they arrived home, the dogs went wild with excitement, as the car pulled into the driveway. He would have spent the rest of the afternoon with them, but Brad's mind was pre-occupied with the call from Rosie. Disentangling himself, he went straight inside and called her.

"What is it? What did you want?" he asked. "I just wanted to let you know that I've just had a call from Julie Macleod, Rosie said, "the manager of the 'Western Family Agency'. She's in a bit of a panic. They still haven't identified the body found in the fire at the old agency office, and she told me something that she obviously didn't tell you, when you spoke with her last week," Rosie said.

"What was that?" Brad asked.

"She said that a few days before you called on her, she received a visit from someone else," Rosie answered.

"Who?" Brad asked impatiently.

"Warwick Steedman," she answered. Brad was shocked.

"What did he want with her?' he asked.

"He gave her the same warning he gave me. Don't make any contact with anyone about Andrea Steedman or he would have her arrested. He also insisted on her handing over all the files she had, on the Mary Therese Steedman adoption," Rosie said.

"What did Julie do?' Brad asked. "She told him there were no files, that the whole matter had been 'tidied up' years ago. But she said he didn't believe her and he threatened her again." Brad fell silent, trying to work things out.

"Are you still there?" Rosie asked. "Yes," Brad replied quietly, resigned to the truth of the matter. "Do you know what that means?" Rosie asked. She didn't wait for a reply. "That means that Warwick Steedman was making sure that whatever he had planned, he didn't want any last minute interruptions. Now do you believe me?" she said.

34.

Julian Knowles and Maria Stewart sat in Michelle's deserted lounge room, drinking coffee. Having driven to Maria's house to collect the key to Michelle's front door, they had returned, and entered to find the place empty. Empty, that is, except for the envelope Michelle had placed on the hall table. The note inside didn't say much. It read....

Maria, I have to go back to Adelaide for a while. My father is not well. I may be a week or two, but I'll let you know when I'm returning. Michelle.

Maria studied the note, reading it over and over again. "Something is not right here," Maria said. "She could have rung me at the hospital and told me that!" Looking across to Julian, she said, "Have you any ideas about what she might have done?" Julian thought for a moment. "If she went to Adelaide, she would have called for a taxi to get to the airport wouldn't she?" Maria nodded. "She doesn't have a car. She always relied on the bus and Bilby to ferry her around. She could have called a taxi. Is there some way you could find out?" she asked Julian.

"I can try," he answered. He knew that the taxi company would be loathe to give out information of a personal nature over the phone, so he tried a little reverse psychology when he rang.

"Pick up address please?" the operator said. "Hello," Julian replied. "I don't want a taxi, but my wife ordered a car from this address earlier today, and she has just rung me, to say that she left her umbrella on the back seat. Could you check if the driver is still on the road and ask if the umbrella is there?" he said.

"Just one moment please," the operator said. A few minutes passed. Julian stood silently with the phone to his ear, while Maria roamed about the house. Finally, the operator came back. "The driver who picked your wife up, says there's nothing in the cab. He said he made sure she had everything at Spencer street station. He says she didn't have an umbrella." Julian was temporarily at a loss for words. 'Spencer Street station? She must have taken the airport bus.'

"Are you sure?" he asked trying to think of something. "Are you sure you have the right driver?" he added. "Quite sure," the operator replied. "Car 8462, yes that's the one," she said. Julian thanked the operator and hung up. It took a few moments for Julian to realize his stroke of good fortune. "Car 8462! I know that car. That's Alberto's car," he shouted with a laugh. "I'll call him on his mobile phone."

On the train to Baldargo, Michelle and Gerard sat together for the remainder of the journey, each immersed in their own thoughts. Gerard was suffering from information overload and trying to come to terms with what was now a very strong possibility that his son Frank was engaged in criminal activities. 'What did we do to set him on such a path?' he thought as he succumbed to the 'guilty parents' syndrome. 'We sacrificed so much for him. Why does he repay us this way?' Michelle felt as if a huge burden had been lifted from her shoulders. But now there were other considerations. She had no idea what she would do once she arrived home in Baldargo. 'What do I tell my parents? Will they believe me if I say I have left my job? What reason will I give them?'

It was Gerard who was the first to emerge from this silent state of self-examination. "I think I know what we have to do," he said. "What?" Michelle asked, longing for some direction. "Right now, I don't know where Frank is. He went away two weeks ago and I haven't heard from him since. I think we need to go to his office and see if there's anything there that will tell us." Gerard said. "We could go tomorrow," Michelle suggested. Gerard shook his head. "I can't wait that long. I wouldn't be able to sleep a wink tonight thinking about it. No, I think we should go tonight," he said. "The office will still be open by the time we get back. I think we should go there straight away." Michelle nodded in agreement. "Even if we are late and the office is closed, I have a key," she said. "Technically, I'm still an employee. Frank has a personal file where he keeps all his confidential papers. I have a spare key for that too. Perhaps we will find something there," she said.

Back in Gracedale Street Mitcham, Julian called Alberto on his mobile phone. "Alberto, it's Julian here. I need your help. Are you driving at the moment?" he asked. "Yes, wait a moment, while I pull over," Alberto answered. Julian waited. "Yes, what's up?" Alberto asked. "Alberto, did you pick up a young lady in Mitcham today, in Gracedale Street?" he asked. "Yes I did," Alberto said, "you know her," he added. "It was that lady at the rank a couple of weeks back when we were there talking with Jacques. The one you took off with. You remember her?" Julian nodded with excitement. "Yes, yes, that's the one. Alberto, where did you take her?" he asked.

"I thought she was going to the airport when I saw the luggage. But no, it was to Spencer Street station. She said she was going to Baldargo," Alberto replied. Julian was dumbfounded. "Baldargo! What on earth was she going there for?" he said.

While Julian spoke with Alberto, Maria had been roaming about the house, hoping to find some means by which to contact Michelle in Adelaide. As she looked through some papers lying on Michelle's bedside table, a business card dropped onto the floor. She picked it up for a closer look. It read 'Frank Martin Solicitor' with an office address in Baldargo. Moments later, Julian entered the room. "You won't believe this," he said. "Michelle didn't go to Adelaide at all. Alberto said that he took her to catch a train. She told him she was going to Baldargo." Maria took another look at the business card.

"I think I know who she went to see," she said.

With no further reason to stay at Michelle's house, Julian and Maria locked up, and drove back to Maria's house. They sat in Maria's lounge room trying to make sense of Michelle's departure to Baldargo. "I'll have to speak with Elsie and Warwick," she said finally, as she came out of a day dream. "I'll have to tell them what's happening. They need to know about this. I'll have to call them in the morning."

When the train arrived at Baldargo station, Gerard and Michelle headed quickly for the car park, where Gerard had left his car the previous day. It was five o clock in the afternoon when they arrived at Frank's office in Walker Street. The traffic had increased as the city workforce began to make their way home for the weekend. There was a buzz of activity in the street. At the office, the last of the staff had left except Henry Simmons. He looked up astonished as both Gerard and Michelle came in the door. "Good evening Henry," Gerard said, "sorry to bother you. You know Michelle don't you," he said in a business like fashion, keen not to allow small talk to bog him down. Henry smiled at them both. "Hello Gerard, hello Michelle. I wasn't expecting either of you. Anything wrong?" he asked. "Henry, have you heard from Frank at all recently, today? yesterday?"

The urgency in Gerard's voice was clear. Henry shook his head. "No, nothing. This is not like him. It's been a fortnight," he said. "Henry, Michelle and I want to do some work in Frank's office. But could you tell me what the current state of the Trust account is? Can you do a quick audit for me?" Gerard asked. "No need to," Henry said. "I did one today. I always do one on Friday's. It balances. Do you want a break down?" he asked. "Yes, please if you have it handy. Bring it in if you would," he said as both he and Michelle walked toward Frank's office.

"Over to you," Gerard said to Michelle as he gestured toward Frank's filing cabinet. Michelle immediately produced a key from her handbag and opened the filing cabinet. She rifled through the top drawer. Nothing! She then opened the second drawer as Henry walked in.

"I say, this looks pretty serious! Can you tell me what's going on Gerard?" Henry asked.

"I will if we find what we are looking for," Gerard responded. "Perhaps I can help you?' Henry suggested.

Just then, Michelle let out a squeal of delight. "Here's something," she said excitedly. "What is it?" Gerard asked as he took the audit file from Henry. Michelle lifted out a file from the back of the second drawer.

"The Steedman file," she said, reading the heading out loud. It was bulky. She opened the file as she moved slowly toward Frank's desk and sat down. Both Gerard and Henry crowded round to see what it contained.

35.

That same afternoon, eighteen hundred kilometres to the north, Brad Murphy was doing some soul searching of his own. After a brief chat on the phone with Elizabeth Ashford, and struggling to cope with the complexity of what he knew, he invited his wife Jenny, to join him as he went walking along the beach with Fixem and Mixem. As the Pacific Ocean roared out its thunderous anthem, and the waves came crashing in, the two strolled hand in hand, separating only to hurl the tennis balls into the water and watch the two dogs charge in to retrieve them. Piece by piece, Brad carefully reconstructed the events as they had unfolded and explained all that he had learned to Jenny. His detailed description of all that Rosie Fitzgibbon had revealed, and the glaring anomaly that existed between that information, and Warwick Steedman's advice, was all too evident to Jenny. When he had finished, they had walked the full length of the beach and now turned for the return journey.

"What do you think I should do?' he asked Jenny. "You have no option darling. You have to speak to Warwick. You have to be honest with yourself and discuss the whole issue with him. If he's up to no good, you have a responsibility to expose it, but first give him the opportunity to explain," she said. "How do I do this?" he asked. "Do I phone him, do I go down to Melbourne and talk in private?" he asked. "I think it's too sensitive an issue to discuss over the phone. I think you need to speak to him face to face," she answered. "Perhaps we could go down together. I'd like to do a bit of shopping, maybe go to a show," she added. Brad liked the idea. He had three days before his next taping. He could fit in a trip to Melbourne and not upset the programming schedule. "Damn it!" he said impulsively. "Let's go tomorrow morning. It'll be a nice weekend away, and I won't have to carry this burden any longer," he said.

Late into Friday evening, in the dimly lit offices of Frank Martin Solicitor, three people sat stunned as they sat around Frank's large oak desk. Each in turn, read the various documents, papers, correspondence and hand written notes in silence. Over the weeks, months, and years that he had been planning, and playing out his deception, Frank had dutifully filed everything. As each new piece of paper was handed one to the other, around the desk, each of the three read and absorbed the extent to which matters had progressed. There were the hand written notes of conversations with Andrea that went back twelve years. There were letters from Andrea asking Frank to help her find Mary Therese. There was information Frank had put together about the Steedman family. All of them! There were details of Andrea's assets, along with dossiers on Warwick, and his business activities. Frank had diarised conversations with Andrea, revealing information about Elsie. There were some hand written notes on Margaret, and Robert. The documents revealed details of contact with James and Irene Campbell, Rosie Fitzgibbon, Julie Macleod. Frank had been the architect of a master plan. There was a special section in a plain A4 envelope indicting Michelle. She gasped as she read it, and passed it on to Gerard. Her only consolation was that it vindicated all she had told him on the train. She picked up a foolscap sheet headed, 'Things to do.' There, halfway down the list, she was horrified to read, 'Get rid of Bilby. Warn him off.'

"What did he do to Douglas?" she cried out in agony. "What did he say to him?" Henry was in a state of shock, but Gerard assured him everything was under control. The Trust Account was in order. There was no need to report anything amiss. The matter had to be handled very delicately, but at least for the moment, it could all remain confidential. It was Henry who tried to summarize it all.

"So, as I understand it," Henry began, "Frank befriended Andrea years ago at University. She must have confided in him that she had given birth to a baby girl, who she allowed to be adopted. The adoption was a scam. Andrea later asked Frank, who was now a qualified solicitor and barrister, to help her find her daughter. She gave him all the information she had, and he tracked down the adoptive parents, through the agency. Then he arranged a visit when the daughter was only ten, but the daughter wasn't to know who Andrea was. How am I going so far?" he asked. "Yes, keep going," Gerard replied. Henry took a deep breath. "Then Andrea, presumably, was content to let matters stay as they were, for the benefit of the child," he added. Gerard nodded. "That's the way it seems to me," Gerard said.

"So then we come to about eighteen months ago, when Andrea was diagnosed with breast cancer. When she realized that she was dying, she asked Frank to contact the daughter again. Andrea wanted to see her and establish some kind of contact, friendship, bond, whatever. All perfectly understandable under the circumstances," Henry said. Both Gerard and Michelle nodded in agreement as they followed Henry's account. "She also wanted to leave her some money too, and this, it seems, is where Frank decided to intervene. He had Michelle here in the office. He was struck somewhat, with the uncanny resemblance of the two women, and thought that he could substitute Michelle as the long lost daughter. While he was trying to figure out how to bring Michelle into the plan, fate played him an incredibly generous hand when he discovered that she had been a bit naughty with the Trust account. So he forced Michelle to go along with the plan, under threat of her going to jail if she didn't co-operate. Frank's thinking after that is, that when Andrea dies, Michelle collects the money, hands it over to Frank, gets paid her twenty thousand, and nobody knows any different. It's almost brilliant," Henry said, as the whole scenario unfolded in his mind. Gerard and Michelle sat in silence, believing, but not wanting to believe.

Henry got up and walked around the room. "So Gerard, now you have to decide what you want to do about it," Henry continued. "The reality is that your son is a crook. We can stop him in his tracks. Thanks to Michelle's honesty, we can prevent this scam from happening, but do you want him exposed? We can hush this up if you want to. Neither Michelle nor I want to see you suffer any more, so you have nothing to fear from us. Frank doesn't have to be reported to the police, but it's really up to you. What do you want to do?" Gerard had no idea what to do. "I have to find Frank," he said.

Gerard Martin wasn't the only one to feel the sharp edge of an unwelcome surprise that day. Late that same evening, Julian arrived home after cooking dinner for Maria, to find a note. It was sitting on the front hall table, marked, 'Julian'. Underneath, the writing, there was a little squiggle, a dainty, artistic little addendum, designed to add that delicate touch to the overall presentation. The house was in darkness when Julian let himself in. At first he thought that Annette had already retired to bed. He checked. She was not in bed. He called out, "I'm home." There was no answer. Then he noticed the note. 'Perhaps she's with the prayer group people,' he thought. The note however told a different story.

Dear Julian,

I have gone to spend a few days at Margaret's house. We are both still in shock from what happened to Pastor Doug and need each other desperately at this time. There is some dinner for you in the refrigerator. You need to heat it in the microwave. Tomorrow you had better go to the supermarket and buy whatever you want. I have taken Foofo with me. She needs me too. I will be in touch, Annette.

P.S. I've taken the portable television set. You don't need it anyway.

Julian placed the note back on the hall table, and went into the bedroom. It was so quiet and peaceful. He took off his jacket, and hung it up in the walk-in robe. As he did so, he noticed that the entire right hand side, the side Annette used, the side where she kept all her dresses, slacks, tops, blouses, and tracksuits, was empty. He cast his eyes to the floor and he noticed that the space where Annette stored all he shoes, the joggers, the high heels, the slip-ons, the slippers, the scuffs was also empty. Somewhat confused that going to spend a few days with Margaret would require so much clothing, he decided to check her dressing table drawers. Empty! Tired and hungry, he went into the kitchen and opened the refrigerator. There was a plate of beef slices covered in gravy, with peas, potato and carrots wrapped in cling wrap. He took the plate out of the refrigerator, removed the cling wrap, and placed it in the microwave. On the bench he noticed an unopened letter addressed to him. Annette usually opened his mail, something he did not mind. He never had anything to hide from her, so it never bothered him that she usually opened his mail. This letter, however, she had not opened. When he opened the letter he was surprised to see that it was not for him. The letter was from Warwick Steedman and was addressed to Myra Applewood. It contained an apology for the recent misunderstanding concerning an incorrectly served summons, and assured her the summons had been withdrawn. It also offered her thirty days free gas and power. Julian immediately checked the envelope. It was addressed to him. 'How on earth did I receive a letter addressed to me that was written to Myra?' he thought. Looking at the clock, he decided that it was too late in the evening to be calling Myra. 'I'll call her in the morning,' he thought. 'At least I can give her some good news.'

36.

At 11am, the next morning, Brad and Jenny Murphy's Boeing 737 touched down at Tullamarine airport in Melbourne. They felt a warm, balmy breeze, as they made their way out from the baggage collection area to the taxi rank. Cabs were in good supply with an army of weekend and part-time drivers keenly waiting for the big fare. That morning Robert Steedman was on duty, driving Julian's car. He had heard nothing from Warwick concerning his ultimatum about Jill Toogoods, which expired the previous day. His mind was confused. He began to realize that it was one thing to make demands with a specified time limit, but when that time limit expired, what happened then? He drove his cab slowly toward the queue waiting at the terminal entrance. As each cab driver took the next passenger in line, under the watchful eyes of the taxi rank supervisor, Robert edged his car forward until he was the next in line. Then, as the supervisor waved him up, he jumped out of the car and assisted a man and a woman, with their luggage. "Thank you," Brad said, as Robert opened the boot of the car. "Where to?" Robert asked.

"Templestowe," Brad replied. "The Winston Motel."

Robert's heart jumped with joy. 'Forty dollars plus. Terrific!' he thought. Brad assisted Jenny into the back seat and climbed in alongside her. "It looks like it'll be a great day," Brad said.

"Where did you come from?" Robert asked.

"Brisbane," Jenny replied.

The car pulled out from the kerb and followed the convoy of taxis below the elevated roadway leading onto the freeway. 'Welcome to Victoria' the advertising sign read. Brad felt good about coming to Melbourne. He would bring the matter of finding Mary Therese to a head, perhaps even its conclusion. It troubled him deeply that Warwick Steedman might not have been completely honest with him. It was important therefore to clear the air, and clarify the whole situation. "Don't I know you from somewhere?" Robert asked. Brad was surprised at first, but remembered that he once read the news on Brisbane's evening television service, and that some of the stories he reported on, would have been shown nationally. "You might have seen me on television now and then. I used to anchor the news in Brisbane," he answered. "Yeah, that's it. I thought I'd seen you before," Robert said. Brad smiled hoping that was the end of Robert's interest in him. "I need to make a call on my mobile phone," he said. "Is that okay?" Robert nodded. "Fine by me," he answered.

Brad pulled out his mobile phone and dialled Warwick's number. A woman answered. "Susan, it's Brad Murphy calling. How are you?" Amused and attracted to the idea that mobile phone conversations in taxis might reveal some interesting gossip, Robert pricked up his ears. "Yes, Jenny and I are in Melbourne for the weekend," Brad continued. "I wanted to catch up with Warwick if I could. Is he home?"

Robert felt a jolt in the brain. 'Susan? Warwick?' He quickly tuned into the conversation. "Yes we are staying at the Winston motel," Brad continued. "We are in a cab. We should be there in about forty minutes," Robert thought the coincidence quite extraordinary, but was ready to dismiss it, until Brad said, "Okay, what about lunch? Yes, fine, what's your address?" There was a pause as Brad reached for a pen and paper. " 25 Travis Court," okay, give us a half hour or so to freshen up and we'll be over there for lunch. Jenny says hello, see you soon," Brad said, and finished the call. "Okay," he said to Jenny, "we have a lunch date. This could not have worked out better." Jenny pondered a moment. Robert was bowled over. But for the fact that he was in the driver's seat and his two passengers were in the back, he would have struggled to hide his astonishment. 'That's my brother's address. He was just speaking to my sister- in -law for Christ's sake. Who is this guy?'

Jenny broke the brief silence. "How are you planning to handle this?" she asked Brad. "I think I'll leave it until after lunch, unless he asks about it first. He must be keen to know what I have learned, so he might raise the subject early, but whatever happens, when the conversation starts heading in that direction, perhaps you could distract Susan and allow Warwick and I to talk in private," he said. Jenny nodded. "Okay, I'll try, but what are you going to say to him?" she asked. Robert strained to listen in as a noisy petrol tanker drove past. "I thought I'd begin by asking if everything else was going all right I suppose. Actually, I don't really know. I'm not used to confronting people. It's not something I do well, but if he's been dishonest with me, I'll have to challenge him somehow," Brad answered. "Well," Jenny began, "perhaps you could say that you were doing a live broadcast in Cairns and decided to ask if anyone knew the whereabouts of James and Irene Campbell, and start off that way." Brad went silent for a moment as he pondered Jenny's suggested introduction. Robert was now straining to hear the conversation so hard, his neck was hurting.

"Yes," Brad replied. "Then I could say that a lady by the name of Rosie Fitzgibbon telephoned the studio, and watch for his reaction. If he gives himself away and looks surprised or shocked, I'll know I'm on the right wave length." Jenny nodded in agreement. "Then, you could ask him if that name meant anything to him, or if he had ever met her," she added. "What if he says no?" Brad asked. "Then ask him if the name Julie Macleod means anything to him," Jenny said. Brad thought for a moment. "If he says no to that, do I then give him both barrels and tell him he has lied to me? Do I say that I have evidence that suggests he has known where Mary Therese is all along, that he sent me on a wild goose chase? Do I then ask him why he is trying to cheat his family out of their inheritance?" Robert went rigid. 'I don't believe it. The bastard! I always knew there was something fishy about him. The bastard!'

Jenny took Brad's hand in hers. "The most important thing is that you maintain your composure," she said. "Whatever he is up to, it's a matter for him and his family. We can't interfere. But it's important that he knows what you have discovered, and I suppose it wouldn't hurt to tell him that you don't believe his story about finding Mary Therese, because you have evidence that indicates she is in Sydney living with her father. Beyond that, you could say you are washing your hands of the matter," she said.

The lights ahead turned red, and Robert slowed down to a stop. He quickly grabbed a pen and notebook and scribbled down the names, Julie Macleod, Rosie Fitzgibbon. He wrote Cairns with a question mark, and 'Mary Therese in Sydney'. 'How lucky can I be? He thought. 'I knew he was up to something. Mother will want to know about this. She'll rip into him.'

The conversation between the Murphys went quiet, and for the remainder of the journey, Robert's head was spinning with delight. 'Finally,' he thought, 'I've got the bastard. Let's see him get out of this. He's finished. He can run off with his mistress and leave us all in peace,' he thought. As the Winston Motel came into view, Robert slowed down and put on his indicators. "Here we are, hope you have a good weekend," Brad nodded and took out his wallet. "We will only be here a half hour or so. If you want to come back then, we want to go to Travis Court," he said.

"Er, I'm not sure where I'll be then," Robert replied. "Perhaps you could ask the receptionist to call a cab for you," he suggested. "Okay, thank you," Brad said, and looking at the meter which showed forty-five dollars, he said, "Make it an even fifty, and give me a receipt if you would." Robert nodded. "Sure." 'The day just keeps getting better,' he thought as he completed the credit card transaction.

37.

At the same time as Robert dropped Brad and Jenny Murphy at the Winston Motel, Maria Stewart made a telephone call to Elsie Steedman. Maria had had very little sleep the night before, and kept dozing off late into the morning. It was her first night home from hospital, and should have been a time to set worrying matters aside, to relax and recuperate. Julian had cooked dinner for her and departed for his home at nine. She retired to bed early, but tossed and turned all night. Her concern for Michelle ran deep. Try as she may, there was nothing she could think of, that would connect Michelle to a solicitor in Baldargo, and it concerned her that Michelle would even have need of a solicitor. Therefore, it came as somewhat of a shock to her, that when she spoke the name of Frank Martin to Elsie, an avalanche of information came her way.

"Frank Martin?" Elsie screamed.

"Frank Martin from Baldargo?" she repeated. "Andrea's daughter Michelle, has gone to see Frank Martin in Baldargo? Where on earth is all this going to end?" she said exasperated.

Maria was understandably surprised that Elsie even knew of Frank Martin, but within a few minutes, she was promptly brought up to speed with the visit from Frank's father the day before, and the news that Andrea had been cheated out of land she had owned for over fifteen years, and that Frank Martin was the architect of that transaction.

"Who do these people think they are?" Elsie cried out.

"I'll have to talk to Warwick. Hopefully he can make some sense of it. I think I will call him and then call a taxi. I think it best to speak to him personally about this, and the land thing. Perhaps you had better come with me. You are Andrea's sister. You have an interest in all of this. That taxi driver I met the other day, Julian wasn't it? The one who looks after Richard? I wonder if he's available today. Does he work on Saturdays? I have his number somewhere. Don't go away. I'll call you back. We'll pick you up along the way," Elsie decided.

"Wait Elsie. Don't call Julian. I'll do that," Maria said. "You call Warwick and tell him we are coming over. I'll get Julian to pick you up," Maria said. "Perhaps Richard would like to come for a ride," Maria suggested.

"Yes, good idea, it's high time Warwick saw him anyway. Maybe we could pick him up along the way?" Elsie agreed.

Elsie had barely put the phone down before it rang again.

"Mother, it's Robert," the voice said, breathlessly.

"Sorry Robert I can't talk to you now, I'm on my way to see Warwick," she said. Robert's heart rate doubled when she mentioned Warwick.

"He's the reason I'm calling. You won't believe what I've just found out," he blurted.

"I really don't have time Robert. I need to call Warwick and I'm waiting for a taxi to take me over there." Robert's heart rate tripled. "I'm a taxi driver," he shouted. "What are you calling a taxi for?"

"Oh yes, that's right. You are aren't you? I forgot. Are you working today?" she asked, rather hoping that he wasn't. "Yes," Robert yelled. "I'll come and get you. Er, you'll have to pay me of course," he added timidly. Elsie went silent for a moment. 'Do I really want to have Robert ear bashing me all the way to Warwick's house?' No, she didn't, but Robert was family and family came first.

"All right then. Come over and you can take me over to Templestowe," she said finally. "I'll call Warwick and tell him we are coming. Now I'll have to call Maria, and tell her not to send Julian. How long will you be?" she asked.

"Maria who?" Robert asked.

"Andrea's sister," Elsie sighed. "Frankly, Robert, you never showed any interest in her, so I doubt you would remember. How long would you be?"

"About twenty minutes," he replied.

"Good. That gives me time to make a few calls and get ready."

"You won't believe what I just found out about bloody Warwick," Robert continued as if he had absorbed none of the preceding conversation."

"Then you can tell me all about it when you pick me up. Oh, and we can pick Richard up along the way as well. All right?"

"Richard who?" Robert asked.

"Your brother! The one who lives at Elm Tree Cottages! The one who is intellectually disabled! The one you never bother to visit! The one member of our family who might be more normal than the rest of us! Remember him?"

Elsie replaced the receiver and at once the phone rang again.

"Hello," she said impatiently.

"Mother it's Margaret. Guess what? I've done it," she said, too excited to wait for a response.

"Hello Margaret. Done what?" Elsie sighed, running her hand through her hair.

"I've left George. Annette and I have moved in to a new flat. We did it yesterday," Margaret replied with both the thrill of achievement in her voice, and a slight quiver. Although she felt she had done something very important, she was still asking her mother's approval, permission and blessing, albeit retrospectively. She got neither.

"Margaret, I just don't have time for this. Can we discuss it later? I have things to do."

"Mother?" Margaret gasped.

"Margaret, we have a small crisis on our hands at the moment," Elsie started. "On the whole, I realize none of it is as exciting as your news, but Andrea's daughter has been found, although now it seems we have lost her again. It also seems a sizeable portion of Andrea's estate has been stolen. I would like to visit Warwick to discuss these things with him, but I can't get organized, because this damn phone won't stop ringing. I can see that you are in the middle of a life changing experience and Robert seems to be going through something else. I can see the symptoms, but I am struggling to identify the disease. Perhaps you could come over to Warwick's place this afternoon, and we can all sit down and have a rational family discussion, although I doubt it. Don't feel as though you are under any obligation. Although I think it would be prudent of you to be upfront with the rest of the family. Bring Annette with you if you wish. That will kill two birds with one stone. We'll get to meet her, and she'll get to see what a bunch of rat bags she has hooked herself up with. We'll bring Richard along. Compared to the rest of us, he'll look normal. I'll leave it up to you, I have to go now, Goodbye."

Margaret stood there with the phone pressed against her ear. Staring directly ahead, observing Annette in the kitchen, her mind went blank. Elsie's remarks weren't the response she was hoping for, and absorbing too much information at the one time was always a problem for her. The only piece of information she retained from the conversation with Elsie, was the suggestion that she and Annette join a family get-together at Warwick's house that afternoon. "Yes," she said. "That's a good idea. It makes the move official, gives everyone a chance to accept it," she said to herself out loud.

"Accept what?" Annette asked as she entered the lounge room. Margaret put the phone down. "My mother has invited us to a family day at my brother Warwick's place this afternoon. You met Warwick and Robert the other night." Annette looked unconvinced. The circumstances of her meeting with Warwick were still vivid in her mind. The trauma associated with Pastor Doug loomed large. "Oh come on," Margaret pleaded. "It will be good for us. We can talk to them about Pastor Doug, about us, about our plans. Mother says Richard will be there."

"Who's Richard?" Annette asked.

"Richard is another brother. Sorry, I haven't mentioned him before. He's intellectually disabled. He lives at Elm Tree Cottages," Margaret answered. "I haven't seen him for some time. I feel a bit guilty about that, I must admit. Oh come on, let's go."

Annette thought for a moment. "Julian does a lot of work at Elm Tree. He's often spoken about someone there, called Richard. I wonder if it's the same person?" she said. Margaret would not be side-tracked. "Oh come on, let's go," she said, taking Annette's hands in hers. Annette smiled as she looked at her. "Oh all right," she said.

Meanwhile, after speaking with Elsie, Maria Stewart called Julian.

"Julian, are you working today. I need a taxi?" she asked.

"No, I don't work Saturday's. I can call one for you. Where do you want to go?" he asked. "I've just spoken to Elsie and she wants to go and see Warwick Steedman. I thought I would go with her, and she thinks it would be nice if Richard came along." she said.

"That sounds good. "I'll take you in my own car if you like. You don't have to call a taxi. It'll save you some money."

"Really, would you do that?' Maria asked.

"Yes, why not? Annette is not here. She's gone to spend a few days with a friend from the prayer group. I think they need a bit of moral support over the Pastor Doug suicide."

"That's really nice of you. You could come at anytime. I'll be waiting," Maria said. "Okay," Julian said and hung up.

Maria put down the receiver and began to tidy. She was in the process of making the bed, when the phone rang. It was Elsie. "Maria, don't bother with Julian. My son Robert is going to pick me up. We'll pick up Richard and then come by for you," she said. Maria thought the situation through, and decided that her arrangement with Julian was a better one. "No, don't come for me. Julian will take me there. It's easier that way. You go with Robert and Richard, and I will see you there," she said.

Moments later, Julian's phone rang again.

"Julian, it's Myra Applewood here. Sorry to bother you. I tried to call you yesterday, but there was no answer. I have a letter here sent to me but its actually for you." she said.

"That's funny," Julian said, "I have a letter here for you too. It's from Warwick Steedman. It was incorrectly addressed to me," he said.

"What a pack of idiots these people are. They can't even put the right letter in the right envelope," Myra said.

"I think you'd better come and get this letter. It's also from Warwick Steedman, and it's not very nice," Myra said. "Okay, I'm about to go out. I can kill two birds with the one stone. I'll call in along the way and bring the one I have for you," he said.

Julian tidied up the breakfast and lunch dishes, made the bed, got dressed and left the house. He drove to Contented Acres, waving to Jim Coutts as he motored slowly down the roadway, past the community centre, to Myra Applewood's unit. When the two exchanged letters, Myra was pleased with what she read. Julian however was not.

"Ten thousand dollars? Who does this arsehole think he is?" he cried out.

"Now, now! Don't get too excited," Myra said, "I'm not an expert in the field, but I'm pretty sure this demand has no legal standing. Still, I think it is an outrageous impertinence of the man to send it, and the next time I see him, I will tell him so. He was here some days ago, and in an instant I knew I didn't like him," she said.

"I met him just two nights ago, under very stressful conditions, and I was certain I didn't like him. I'm supposed to be taking someone over to see him right now," Julian said angrily. There was a moment's silence, as Julian and Myra considered what he had just said. Then, as if drawn by some telepathic connection, they looked at each other slowly, before Myra made the obvious suggestion. "Are you thinking what I'm thinking?" she asked. "If you're thinking what I'm thinking." Julian answered. Minutes later, Julian had packed Myra's walking frame into the boot of his car, Myra had put on a shawl to protect her from the breeze, and both were in Julian's car, heading up the roadway, leading out of Contented Acres, on their way to pick up Maria Stewart, and from there, to an unscheduled showdown with Warwick Steedman.

With an army of visitors making their way to the home of Warwick and Susan Steedman, the stage was now well and truly set for a memorable afternoon.

38.

Warwick Steedman's house was the best house in the best street in Templestowe. Travis Court contained a picture postcard collection of homes on one acre properties that were the envy of the surrounding neighbourhood, the wider district, and most of Melbourne's eastern suburbs. Gracefully landscaped gardens complimented swimming pools, tennis courts and three and four car garages, but could not conceal the ever more sophisticated security devices, installed to protect the owners and their possessions from the spying eyes of would-be burglars.

It was around twelve-thirty on Saturday afternoon, when Brad and Jenny Murphy arrived in their taxi. Warwick and Susan were enjoying a drink by the swimming pool and heard the buzzer inside. "That'll be Brad and Jenny," Susan said, and they both went inside. The driver pulled up at the front and honked. Moments later the electronic gates clicked open and the taxi motored up to the front entrance. "A little intimidating," Jenny said as she gazed out the car window. "Did you know he lived in such a large house with all the trappings?" she asked Brad. "No," Brad replied, shaking his head. The two storey house spread itself across the block, with the front portico supported by two Roman columns. "I've not seen him in a while. He's obviously done very well for himself. It makes you wonder how?" Jenny looked amazed as she caught a glimpse of the swimming pool on one side behind a wrought iron fence. "I can't remember the last time I saw Susan. It must be five years. They weren't living here then," she said. As the taxi came to a stop underneath the portico, Warwick and Susan were at the front door waiting to greet them.

Susan was beaming with delight. Without waiting for Brad to pay the driver, and her two visitors to make a dignified exit, she raced to open the back door and greet Jenny.

"Hello, how are you? How wonderful of you to call, let me look at you," she said bubbling with excitement. Warwick stood behind Jenny, all smiles but less bubbly. As Brad emerged from the other side of the car, Warwick walked around to him and uncharacteristically opened up his arms, and the two men embraced. "Great to see you again," Warwick said. "Christ, how long has it been? You should have given us some warning. We would have set something up, dinner, a show or something," he added.

"It was very short notice," Brad replied. "Spur of the moment really," he added, now feeling a little uncertain of his motives and unsure how he was going to manage the purpose of his visit.

"Well," Warwick said, "You're looking great. All that sun, and surf on a tropical island! What a life you must have." Brad smiled uneasily. "Well, you don't seem to be doing too badly yourself," he replied. Brad looked across at Susan. "Goodness me, have you grown younger looking or what?" he said as he hugged her and kissed her on both cheeks. Warwick greeted Jenny, and the taxi pulled out from under the portico as the four retired inside.

Meanwhile, Robert had collected Elsie and they were now on their way to Elm Tree Cottages to collect Richard.

"You won't believe what I just learned," Robert was almost beside himself, as he spoke to his mother.

"What have you learned?" Elsie asked, somewhat sceptical of anything beyond the trivial. She had learned from experience not to take Robert too seriously when he came to her with what he thought was exciting news.

"About an hour ago, I picked up a man and a woman from the airport, who had come down to see Warwick," he said excitedly.

"And how do you know that?' Elsie asked.

"Because they were talking about him in the back seat," he said, turning his head in Elsie's direction. "Please keep your eyes on the road Robert. I'd like to arrive at Elm Tree in one piece. Robert straightened up and looked to the front. "How do you know it was Warwick they were talking about?" Elsie asked. "They were saying their names, Warwick, Susan. Then, when we got to the Winston Motel, he asked if I would come back in a half hour and take them to Travis Court. I don't think any other people called Warwick and Susan live in Travis Court, do you?" he asked with a hint of the melodrama. Elsie gave due consideration to the question, still somewhat sceptical and said," No, I don't suppose so. What did they say?" she asked.

Robert took a deep breath, and tried to reconstruct the conversation he heard an hour earlier. Try as he might however, he was never going to make it sound convincing. "Well, I'm not sure exactly, but they said Warwick had been dishonest and that he knew where Mary Therese was and some woman in Cairns knew him from somewhere, and they had spoken to some other woman. Hang on, I wrote down her name on a piece of paper..."

As he took his eyes off the road, the car drifted into the path of an oncoming bus.

"ROBERT, WATCH THE ROAD!" Elsie screamed.

Robert recovered, swerving back onto the correct side, as the bus passed within millimetres, the driver blasting his horn for several seconds. "Robert," Elsie yelled. "Don't say another word. Just drive the car and take me to Elm Tree Cottages. If you say one more word, I'll report you to the taxi company for harassment and you will be sacked."

Meanwhile, Jenny and Brad gazed at the front entrance hall which led to the spiral staircase on the left, with the tennis court at the rear, viewed through a wall of glass directly behind the staircase. The hall floor was marble, the staircase reminiscent of something out of 'Gone with the wind.' "My God," Jenny said, "How many people live here?" Susan laughed off the question. "Just us now, since our daughter Joanne moved out," she said. "We're grandparents now, did you know?" Jenny squealed with delight. "You're kidding? You are too young to be grandparents," she said. "Come on," Susan said, "I'll show you around."

While Brad and Jenny Murphy were receiving the royal tour of the Steedman's mansion in Templestowe, Robert and Elsie arrived in one piece, at Elm Tree Cottages, to collect Richard. After the incident with the bus, Robert had complied with his mother's wishes and remained silent for the rest of the journey. At unit 49, the weekend supervisor had been entertaining some of the residents with a karaoke performance of Roy Orbison's 'Crying'. It was pathetic. Even Richard could see that. "P-p-play-y AAABBBA," he called out, as he thumped his forearm on the couch. "P-l-a-y- Ho-o-o-k-e-y Po-o-k-e-y," he said. If Richard was able, he probably would have added, 'anything except this crap!' The supervisor, by this stage had become so engrossed in his own performance, that he neither heard Richard's cries, nor noticed Elsie and Robert walk in the front door. Elsie had been here several times, and knew exactly what to expect. Robert, however had never been to see his brother at Elm Tree, preferring to see him just once a year at a family Christmas gathering, usually at Elsie's flat. The supervisor's vocal range was being tested with the higher notes of the song, and he not unexpectedly began to falter. Apart from Richard, the audience of disabled residents was indifferent to the performance and elected not to demonstrate any tangible evidence of appreciation. Richard, however persisted. "P-l-a-y-A-B-B-A"

Elsie and Robert stood at the door until, mercifully, the performance came to a conclusion. Elsie immediately sat with Richard, and encouraged him to applaud the supervisor's performance. Robert followed suit in a somewhat subdued, and less animated way. At that point, the main focus of the residents' attention was then transferred to the two visitors. Some were unmoved and showed no interest, others moved toward the two newcomers. Elsie was used to this and handled their advances with kindness, understanding and tolerance. When Richard's travelling companion Daphne, offered Robert a string basket of magazines, Robert felt threatened and backed off, only to be confronted from behind by Richard's other travelling companion, Rowland, needing some help putting on his shoes. "Leave him alone Daphne," the supervisor called out to her. "Rowland, put your shoes on," he said. Robert, still feeling somewhat threatened, moved toward Elsie, as would a young child seeking parental protection when frightened.

"Hello Elsie, how are you?" the supervisor asked. "Richard," he called out, "look who's come to see you today?" Richard was always thrilled to see Elsie and bounced up and down in his seat.

"I'd like to take him out for the afternoon," Elsie said.

"Richard, did you hear that? You are going out today," the supervisor said. "And is this your taxi driver you have with you Elsie?" the supervisor asked, looking at Robert, who was dressed in his taxi uniform. "Yes," Elsie said. "This is my son Robert, who is taking us out today. Robert, say hello to your brother," Elsie said.

Robert looked increasingly uncomfortable, but moved toward his brother Richard. He bent down and said, "Hello old son, how have you been?" He was somewhat surprised when Richard looked up at him and said, "R-o-b-e-r-t." He had not heard him say his name before.

Meanwhile, Julian and Myra had driven to Maria's house to pick her up, and continue on their way to Warwick's house. When she answered the door, Maria looked strangely ashen, shocked and unsteady.

"What's the matter?" Julian asked.

"You won't believe what I just found out," Maria said, as the car pulled out from the driveway.

"What?' Julian asked.

"After I spoke with you and Elsie, I decided to ring the offices of Frank Martin, the solicitor in Baldargo. I thought there might be a chance that he was in his office on Saturday or that the call might be transferred to his home. I hoped he might tell me whether or not Michelle had been to see him," she said.

"Yes, and what did you learn?" Julian asked.

"Michelle answered the phone," Maria cried.

"You're kidding! She answered the phone?" Julian queried.

"Yes. I was so shocked I didn't quite know how to respond."

"So, did she explain anything?" Julian asked, more interested in Michelle's well being, than in any in-depth defence of her unexpected departure.

"She certainly did. I can't tell you right now but I'll explain everything later," Maria said, conscious of Myra's presence in the front seat of the car.

"Oh don't worry about Myra," Julian said. "Anything you say won't go beyond this car. Is Michelle okay?" he asked.

"What's that?' Myra said, hearing her name mentioned.

"Nothing Myra, just a bit of local gossip," Julian answered.

"Yes she's fine. I have to say I'm still getting over the shock of it all," Maria answered.

"What did she say?" Julian persisted.

"Well," Maria began, "you remember all that information I told you about her being my niece and Andrea's daughter?"

"Yes."

"Well, it appears that none of it is true."

"You're kidding?"

"No, I'm still finding it hard to believe. Michelle was terribly upset, but at least she was willing to talk to me about it. She says she's not Andrea's daughter at all. It was all a set up by Frank Martin, the solicitor in Baldargo. Michelle worked for him. He was blackmailing her because she tampered with the trust account. Apparently, Andrea asked Frank Martin to find Mary Therese, and Frank saw an opportunity to cash in on Andrea's money. He thought Michelle looked like Andrea, which I must admit she does, and forced her into pretending that she was her daughter. Can you believe the gall of the man?"

"Michelle was pretending to be Mary Therese?" Julian asked.

"Yes, it seems so. Is that unbelievable or what? How am I going to tell Elsie?" Maria replied.

"What was Frank Martin's association with Andrea?" Julian asked.

"They met at university years ago, and he's been doing some conveyancing work for her. She must have really trusted him and all along he was scheming to defraud her," Maria said. Julian was stunned. He sat there in the driver's seat, negotiating the midday weekend traffic, silently absorbing all that Maria had said. Questions began pouring into his brain, but his principal concern was for Michelle.

At Warwick's house, after a relaxing drink in the lounge room, Susan suggested she begin preparations for lunch. Jenny offered to help her, and Brad Murphy skilfully engineered Warwick away from the two wives. Although the Steedman's hospitality had completely disarmed him, and one or two whiskeys had removed any antagonism toward Warwick, Brad decided to get to the heart of the matter, as they walked outside and began to wander around Warwick's garden.

"Warwick," he said as he admired the beautiful rose garden, "I need to speak to you privately and clear up a few things that are bothering me about my enquiries concerning Mary Therese." Warwick, who was himself under the influence of a couple of whiskeys, nodded thoughtfully. "Yep, sure, but, before you start, let me say that I sincerely appreciate the work you have done, and I want you to invoice my office for your time," he said poking the side of Brad's arm. "While I haven't met Mary Therese yet, and I'm still a bit stunned to learn that she was here in Melbourne all the time, I want to thank you for doing a sterling job."

"Well, there you see, that's just it, isn't it?" Brad took a deep breath, conscious of his slightly inebriated state.

"That's just what?" Warwick asked.

"Well, you see, I have the feeling that Mary Therese is not in Melbourne at all," he said, and added, "and I have this sneaking suspicion that you knew all the time."

"Knew what?" Warwick asked.

"Knew that Mary Therese was in Sydney," Brad said.

"What? No, she's here in Melbourne. Mother told me. Mother wouldn't say that if it wasn't so. Oops, I forgot, she rang earlier and said she was coming over later," he added. "You will get to meet her this afternoon."

Brad paused a moment. "Who? Mary Therese?" he asked.

"No! Mother!" Warwick answered.

"Oh," Brad said, and collected his thoughts. "Are you saying that you really don't know that Mary Therese is in Sydney?" Brad pressed.

"She's not in Sydney, she's here old boy," he answered. "Where did you get the idea she was in Sydney?" Warwick asked.

Brad hesitated for one brief moment, as the thought shot through his mind that Rosie Fitzgibbon might have led him astray. He quickly dismissed the notion and decided to proceed.

"Rosie Fitzgibbon told me," he said.

"Rosie who?" Warwick asked.

"Now come on, don't try and tell me you don't know who Rosie Fitzgibbon is?" Brad said firmly.

"Never heard of her," Warwick said with a slur of the voice. "Who is she?" he asked. Brad began to get a little flustered. "Come on now," he said carefully, "Next you'll be saying you've never heard of Julie Macleod either?" he posed.

"Nup," Warwick replied. "Don't know her either. Who's she?" he asked. Brad was perplexed. He did not anticipate complete denial from Warwick. He paused a few moments and changed tack.

"Did you have a good time in Cairns and Brisbane last week or whenever it was?' he asked Warwick. Warwick suddenly stopped walking, and stared up into the pale blue sky. With deliberate forethought and consideration of Brad's question, he raised his eyebrows, turned to him, looked him straight in the eye, and said, "I wasn't in Cairns or Brisbane last week. I haven't been to Cairns in years. I wouldn't even know what the place looked like."

Brad was stunned.

Julian put on his right hand indicator as he approached an intersection. While he spoke with Maria, Myra had dropped off to sleep. "If what you say is true, Frank Martin is a crook and therefore by association, so is Michelle," he said to Maria. "Is anything going to happen to her?" he added. Maria had not thought through the legalities of what she had been told by Michelle. "Oh dear, I never thought of that. We must not say anything at this stage. I promised her that," she said. "Jesus, we'd better be careful. We don't want to be the ones to put Michelle in jail."

"So what is she going to do? Is she coming back?" Julian asked.

"Not for the moment. She's too embarrassed. I told her I wouldn't say anything to anyone except you. She nearly freaked out when I mentioned you. I told her you knew as much as I did, and that I wouldn't be able to keep this from you."

"Did she say anything else?" Julian asked. "About me, I mean!"

"Um, no not really. It wasn't that sort of a conversation. She's very fragile at the moment. I said I'd call her again tomorrow. My God, what am I going to tell Elsie?" Maria answered.

At Elm Tree Cottages, Robert assisted Richard into the taxi and put on his seat belt. "J-u-l-i-a-n's C-a-r!" Richard cried out. Robert was taken by surprise. "How did you know that?" he asked. "J-u-l-i-a-n's Car," he repeated. "Yes all right, it's Julian's car. How did he know that?" Robert then asked Elsie, who climbed in the back seat with Richard. "Julian takes him to Walter Adult Support each day, doesn't he, Richard?" Elsie said as she adjusted his jacket. "J-u-l-i-a-n's c-a-r," Richard replied.

As Robert drove out of Elm Tree Cottages, Elsie asked, "I didn't realise you knew Julian?" Robert waited at the exit until it was clear. "I've only met him once. He drives this car for Alberto," he replied. "I drive for Alberto too. It's just a coincidence. He was there the other night when the man shot himself, too," Robert added.

"Who shot himself?' Elsie asked.

"I told you about that yesterday," Robert replied. Elsie looked confused. "I'm lost. I don't remember what you told me," she said. "I rang you and told you this bloke shot himself at a prayer meeting," Robert said. "Margaret was there too. Didn't she mention it? Or haven't you spoken to her recently?" Elsie sat quietly for a few moments wondering if she was loosing her memory. "I spoke to Margaret today. She's coming to see Warwick with her friend this afternoon, I hope. But I don't think she said anything about a man being shot. What were you doing at a prayer meeting?" she asked. Robert now regretted mentioning the incident, which included his extortion attempt on Warwick, and wanted to change the subject. "Oh, I just happened to be in the area at the time. Margaret knows more about it. You can ask her," he said as he turned onto the freeway. "I'm not sure Margaret knows who she is at the moment, leaving George for another woman," Elsie reflected out loud. Before Robert could answer, Richard jumped in as usual. "P-l-a-y A-B-B-A," he cried.

"Would you put some music on for him, please Robert," Elsie asked. Robert fumbled around in the glove box. "I've only got the Beatles, Richard. That will have to do," he said. "B-e-a-t-l-e-s?" Richard said vaguely, but when the music came on, he began his customary rocking backwards and forwards.

"Now what was this you just said about Margaret and another woman?" Robert asked.

39.

It was twenty minutes or so later. Lunch at the Steedman's was well underway, when Robert's taxi pulled up at the front, outside the wrought iron gates, setting off the internal electronic alarm buzzer. Inside, the lunchtime discussion had been dominated by Brad's story of his meeting with Rosie Fitzgibbon in Cairns, two days earlier. Susan sat there dumbfounded. Jenny was supportive of all that Brad had said. Warwick was calm, relaxed, but nevertheless insistent that he had never been to Cairns in the recent past, or that he had ever met any Rosie Fitzgibbon, or Julie Macleod. When the buzzer sounded, he looked out through the front window. "That must be mother," he said. "Bugger, I didn't expect her so soon." As the gates opened and the taxi cruised toward the house, Warwick could see someone else in the back seat. "Funny, looks like she's got someone with her," he added. Warwick re-activated the gates and they began to close. He then returned to the table.

"Now let me get this straight," he said. "This Rosie Fitzgibbon says that I came to Cairns last week and threatened her. She says I told her to keep her mouth shut about Mary Therese?" he asked. Brad nodded. "I can't see why she would say that if it weren't true," Brad replied. "She has nothing to gain by coming forward," he added. Susan shook her head. "That can't be right. Warwick had an overnight trip to Sydney last week. I know that because I rang his hotel that night, from here. He couldn't have been in Cairns," she insisted.

Warwick left the table and looked out the glass window adjacent to the front door. "Oh Christ," he moaned. "It's Robert. He's brought mother and someone else."

"Who is it?" Susan called out.

"I don't know, I can't see. Mother is helping someone out of the back seat. It must be a friend or someone," he said. At that moment he realized who that someone was, and let out another more painful groan. "Oh, Jeeesus. Not him, please! What on earth do you think you are doing mother?" he said quietly.

"Who is it?" Susan asked. Warwick was silent for several seconds before he answered.

"It's Richard," he answered, with a resigned expression. "Robert and Richard! Oh, Jeeesus!" he said.

Brad and Jenny were taken by surprise. Brad's efforts to clarify the situation surrounding Mary Therese had deepened the mystery. While he might have questioned Warwick's explanation, it was difficult to reconcile Susan's claim that she had spoken to Warwick on the phone, on the only occasion he had been away recently, and that she had initiated the call. As Warwick and Susan made their way toward the front door, Brad looked at Jenny, and said, "Perhaps we should leave for the time being, and take this up later. They look like they will be entertaining their family. I don't want to pursue this while other members of the family are here." Jenny nodded in agreement. "I was hoping to go shopping with Susan tomorrow," she said. "Perhaps, I can suggest I call for her in the morning and you and Warwick can work through this thing privately," she said.

At that point, the electronic alarm buzzer sounded again, as yet another car appeared at the front gates. "Who the hell is this?" Warwick said, as he opened the front door and strained his eyes toward the front gates.

"Hello mother," he said as he walked out to greet her. "Looks like we have some more company," he added, indicating toward the front gates. Elsie turned around and said, "Oh that's probably Maria Stewart. You remember her I'm sure. I suggested she come. She has something she needs to talk to you about."

"Oh, really?" Warwick answered, not at all enthused by the uninvited appearance of Maria. He turned to Susan who was standing at the front door. "Better let them in then," he said as he walked out. The wrought iron gates opened once more and the second car entered the driveway and made its way to the front portico. As Susan stood at the door, she was joined by Jenny and Brad. "I think we might get out of your hair for the moment Susan," Jenny said. "It looks as if you are going to be busy this afternoon. Susan was dismayed. "Oh, no, please don't leave. They won't stay long. They never do. It's probably just a quick visit," she said.

As Robert got out and quickly joined his mother helping Richard, he noticed Brad and Jenny at the front door with Susan. "That's them," he said softly to Elsie. "That's who?" she asked. "The two people I picked up at the airport, that's them at the front door."

Richard began to survey his surroundings. "B-i-g h-o-u-s-e," he said. "Yes isn't it," Elsie said. "This is where Warwick lives," she added. "W-a-r-w-i-c-k," Richard said. Warwick greeted his mother with a kiss on the cheek. "I didn't expect you so soon," he said. "Well, well, well, who have we here?' he said looking at Richard, trying to be humorous. "Hello Richard, how are you?" he said, and added, "haven't seen you since Christmas." There were a few moments of awkward silence, as Richard looked at Warwick appearing to study him intently. "W-a-r-w-i-c-k!" he answered, and added, "G-o-o-d!" Warwick then set his eyes upon Robert, and the cordial greeting for his mother and Richard evaporated instantly. The two men stared at each other, grimly, both tense and wary. Warwick held his stare, determined not to look away. He would not give his brother the opportunity to relax. He stared until Robert relented, cowered, and dropped his eyes to the ground. Neither man spoke. At least for the moment, Warwick felt he was in control. "Come inside mother," Warwick said as he brushed past Robert and took Richard's other arm. "Come in Richard," he said. Susan came to the car to greet Elsie, leaving the Murphys stranded at the front door.

"Hello Elsie, hello Richard," she said. Avoiding eye contact with Robert with whom she never felt comfortable, she forced a greeting. "Good afternoon, Robert," she said in a very formal voice. "Hello Susan," Robert replied, coldly. The feeling was mutual.

The second car had now arrived at the portico, and the occupants climbed out. Julian began to feel uncomfortable, and wondered if he had chosen a bad moment to raise the matter of the letter Warwick had sent him. Myra too, had woken up, and seeing the palatial nature of the surroundings, felt somewhat overwhelmed. "Oh dear, I'm not sure I feel well enough at the moment," she said. Maria cautioned them both. "Let me do the talking to start with. They won't know why you have come. Let's take it quietly," she said. Julian climbed out and retrieved Myra's walking frame from the boot of the car, and the three made their way toward the front door. "That's my taxi there," Julian said as he noticed the number on the door of the cab in front of him. He then saw Robert, who turned and noticed him. "Hello, are you just dropping off are you?" he asked. Robert looked surprised that Julian was there. "Yeah, sort of," he replied. "This is my brother's house. We've come for a short visit. What are you doing here?" he asked. "We're just here for a short visit too." Julian replied. "Better shut the meter off," he added, noticing the dome light was still on, "unless it's a wait and return job." Robert suddenly realized that Elsie had not paid him. "Shit!" he said as he remembered and stopped the meter.

Warwick, Susan, Elsie and Richard arrived at the front door where the Murphys were standing. "These are some old friends of ours just down from Brisbane for the weekend," Susan said to Elsie who nodded and smiled. "Nice to meet you," she said cordially. "My son Robert says he picked you up from the airport earlier today," she added.

"Oh, really," Jenny said looking a little confused.

"Him!" Elsie said bluntly, pointing to Robert.

Susan and Brad stared at Robert. "Oh, yes, he does look familiar," Jenny said, feeling somewhat embarrassed and desperately trying to remember what she and Brad had been discussing in the taxi on the way to the motel.

"He says you know something about my grand-daughter Michelle, or is it Mary Therese?" Elsie added.

"Well, er, yes we do. That's why we are here," Jenny said nervously. "Well, you had better come in and tell me all about it then. It's time we got to the bottom of this!" Elsie said. With that one commanding and authoritative statement, Elsie had effectively assumed control of the afternoon's discussion, depriving Warwick and anyone else the opportunity. As Elsie made her way inside with Richard, Myra Applewood decided not to wait for any formal introduction. Even though her heart began pumping a little harder, she decided to throw caution to the wind, and made her way to the front door in time to catch Warwick on the back foot.

Mr. Steedman," she said, "might I have a word with you please?"

In the initial confusion of having two cars in his driveway, Warwick had not noticed Myra in the second car, and looked understandably confused. "Er yes, you are the lady from the retirement village aren't you?" he answered, wondering what on earth she was doing here.

"I'd like to discuss a letter you sent to me?" Myra said politely but very nervously. Warwick scratched his head, and at the same time his eyes locked onto Julian, whom he also failed to notice earlier.

"Er excuse me, can I help you?" he asked, directing his attention to Julian.

"Yes, I'm here about a letter you sent me," he said. Warwick was now even more confused. "I didn't send you any letter. I hardly even know you. What are you talking about?' he said.

"Yes you did. You sent this letter to me demanding I pay you ten thousand dollars," he said, handing the letter to Warwick.

"Excuse me," Myra said to Warwick, "I would like to talk to you."

Warwick didn't even hear Myra and reacted only to Julian.

"Rubbish," he replied, now showing signs of being annoyed. He snatched the letter from Julian and read it. As he did, he realised the letter was genuine and recalled dictating it to Jill Toogoods. He then took a long intimidating look at Julian.

"Are you Julian Knowles?' he asked. "Julian Knowles, the taxi driver? The idiot who nearly killed me two weeks ago? You?"

"Don't call him an idiot, Mr. Steedman. It was an accident and you have no right to send him a letter of demand like that," Myra said, as her pulse rate climbed steadily.

"What have you got to do with this?' Warwick asked Myra briskly.

"Don't speak to me in that tone of voice," Myra said forcefully, her years no impediment to a good, solid, verbal exchange. "If that's your attitude, you can stick your offer you made me on behalf of the gas company, and I will happily take the matter to the newspapers and those current affairs people on television," Myra threatened. "They will pay me more than one month's worth of electricity for this story," she added, with spirit.

Voices were now raised and audible to those who had moved inside. Robert was still at the front door, and lent his ear to the animated discussion under the portico.

"Frankly madam, I don't give a rat's hiss, what you do," Warwick replied to Myra. "That man," he said pointing to Julian, "is a maniac. I could be dead now thanks to him. My wife could be dead too," he said angrily. Myra gasped. No one had ever spoken to her like that before.

"Yeah, like that would really bother you, wouldn't it?" Robert fired from behind. Warwick swung round and glared at Robert.

Don't press me, you little twerp," he snapped. "Just a minute Warwick," a voice called out. It was Maria. "I think you are overstating the situation a bit. You were not injured. I was also in that accident and I was in a far more serious condition than you. I'm not blaming Julian. It was an accident."

"I don't care if you..." Warwick began, when his attention was distracted by yet another car at the front gates and the buzzer activating once again. "Christ almighty what is this?" he yelled, now losing control. The sound of the raised voices outside and the buzzer, brought Elsie and Susan outside, followed by Brad and Jenny. Only Richard remained inside. Susan opened the gates. "That will be Margaret," Elsie said. "I suggested she come. She has some news for everyone. Warwick what is going on here? Why are you yelling?"

"I'm not yelling," Warwick yelled.

Robert was delighted seeing his brother cracking under the pressure

"Now before we go any further," Elsie said, as Margaret's car made its way along the driveway, "I guess there's no easy way to say this, so with apologies to the two visitors from Queensland, and anyone else who's not connected, I have some news for you. Margaret has left George and has moved into a flat with a new partner."

"What?" Warwick said. Julian pricked up his ears, and swallowed involuntarily.

"You heard me Warwick. I'm not going to repeat myself. The thing is, we have two choices here. We can make it as awkward for her as we can, or we can accept that she has made a major decision in her life, and give her the proper support," she said.

"Tell them the rest of it," Robert said, without any attempt to hide the huge grin on his face, and clearly enjoying the moment as Margaret's car arrived and stopped behind Julian's car.

"What do you mean, 'the rest of it'?" Warwick spluttered.

"Her new partner is..." Elsie began, as Margaret and Annette climbed out of the car, "a woman!"

As Elsie spoke the entire gathering turned around and stared at the two women behind them. Julian stood shocked, his mouth wide open as he locked eyes with his wife. "Her name is Annette," Elsie continued.

Meanwhile inside the house, Richard, left on his own, was staring out through the rear glass wall spellbound by the lush green landscaping of the rear garden. He gradually turned his eyes and saw the sparkling light reflecting off the water in the swimming pool to the right of the house.

Of the eight people out the front, standing and staring at the two new arrivals, it was Myra who seemed to recover first. She was unimpressed and frankly, couldn't care less about Margaret or what she had done. "Well Mr. Smarty pants, did you hear what I said?" Myra was speaking to Warwick, but his attention was focussed on Margaret and Annette. "Isn't she Julian's wife?" he asked as he recognised the lady he met the night Pastor Doug shot himself. "Didn't I meet her last Thursday at the hall?"

Julian stood there with his mouth wide open. Annette and Margaret did not hear Elsie's mind-blowing revelation and walked towards the group. "Hello everybody," Margaret said. "I'd like you all to meet Annette," As she spoke, she suddenly noticed Julian standing there alongside Maria.

"Oh bloody hell," she said.

Inside the house, Richard was mesmerised by the shimmering, glistening sight of the swimming pool. Eager to investigate, he struggled to his feet and stumbled out through the double sliding glass doors, toward the protective fence, and the open gate.

Maria immediately moved closer to Julian, and took his hand. "Is that really your wife?" she asked quietly. "Did you know about this?" she whispered. Julian found it hard to speak, but stepped forward toward Annette, and rather than discuss her unexpected appearance in front of the others, escorted her away from Margaret. A bumbling, awkward moment overtook the gathering. Brad and Jenny Murphy felt decidedly out of place. Margaret stood there, temporarily speechless, watching Julian and Annette walk away to talk in private.

"Okay, that takes care of that for the moment," Elsie said breaking the silence with a thud. "Warwick, why were you yelling and who is this lady?" she asked looking at Myra.

My name is Myra Applewood," Myra replied firmly, "Who are you?" she fired back.

"I'm the poor unfortunate mother of four of these people," she answered and then noticing that Richard was not there, said, "Where's Richard?"

"He's inside," Robert said, "probably peeing on the carpet," he joked. Susan stared hard at Robert, utterly unimpressed. "You are uncouth," she said to him. "At least I don't cheat on my wife," he hissed. Susan barely heard the comment, but Warwick did, and was about to swing around and confront Robert, when Myra Applewood pressed him once again. "Well, what are you going to do, Mr. Steedman?" she asked. "Do about what?" Warwick said angrily.

"What are you going to do about the letter you sent Julian?" she asked. Robert's constant niggling, had unsettled Warwick who struggled to remember what the letter to Julian was about.

"What letter? Oh that! Forget it," he said. "Just go away will you. Leave my place please," he said raising his voice in the hope that Julian would hear him. Julian and Annette were still in deep discussion, much to the consternation of Margaret, who stood alone, feeling isolated and anxious.

Despite the interruptions, Elsie was determined to pursue the issue of her missing grand-daughter. She turned to Brad and said, "Will you please tell me where my grand-daughter is?"

Once again, feeling the pressure of another dominant female, Brad said, "Well, my enquiries on behalf of Warwick here, suggest that she's in Sydney, living with her father," he said tentatively.

Warwick recovered from his earlier moment of utter frustration and intervened. "Mother you told me, she was here in Melbourne. Who told you that?" he asked.

"I did," Maria chipped in. Warwick stared at Maria. "What the hell do you know about this?"

Maria, took a deep breath. "Don't talk to me that way, Andrea was my sister!" she exclaimed, also feeling the frustration of the moment. "I know only what Andrea told me. She told me that Michelle was her daughter," she said, "and that is why Michelle came to stay with me."

"Oh dear, I'm not feeling very well," Myra said.

"Well, how did she discover that, may I ask?" Warwick fired back, ignoring Myra.

"A solicitor friend found her," she answered.

"Why didn't you tell me? Why didn't Andrea tell me? Why isn't Mary Therese or Michelle or whoever here with us now?" Elsie muttered to herself.

"Because she ran away," Maria said, now feeling the pressure.

"Why did she run away?' Elsie asked.

"Because she's not really Andrea's daughter!" Maria replied.

"She's not Andrea's daughter?" Elsie asked. "Maria, you're not making much sense."

"I think I'd better sit down," Myra said, feeling decidedly unwell.

"I know, I'm sorry," Maria replied, "it's all a bit confusing for me too. I only learned this today. There's this solicitor in Baldargo who was blackmailing her," she said. Elsie was now more confused than anybody. "Blackmailing who? Andrea or Michelle?"

"Michelle," Maria replied, nearing exhaustion.

"A solicitor in Baldargo was blackmailing Michelle," Elsie began summing up. She decided for the moment to give up on Maria.

"Okay, I think I understand that," she said. "Now," this time turning to Brad, "what can you offer this bizarre conversation?" she asked.

"I don't know anything about Michelle," he began with a quiver in his voice, "but I have spoken with the adoptive grand-mother of Mary Therese, and I feel I can say with some degree of certainty that she is in Sydney," he said.

"Who?"

"Mary Therese of course."

"And what makes you think that?' Elsie queried.

"Because her adoptive grand-mother told me things that could not have been invented, and which corroborated information I had gained from other sources," Brad answered. "Perhaps Warwick can add something to that," he added. Elsie then turned her eyes on Warwick. "Well, you started this whole charade, by asking your friend here to do some investigating. On the day Andrea died, you were at the hospital before we arrived. Just what did Andrea tell you?' she asked.

"I think I'll go back to the car," Myra said.

Warwick looked around at everybody present. With the exception of Julian and Annette, everyone was now staring at him, waiting for a response. As he stood there, gathering his thoughts, Julian turned to Margaret and called to her. "Margaret, can we talk with you please?" he asked. Margaret, looking both relieved to be noticed and apprehensive over the coming discussion, joined Annette and Julian, and the three walked away from the group, seeking a private moment to sort out their embarrassing dilemma.

At the rear of the house, Richard had reached the pool and leaned over to see his reflection in the water. Stumbling briefly, he regained his balance and sat down at the edge of the pool, and dangled his legs over the side. His shoes and socks, and the lower part of his trousers, became saturated with water.

As Warwick began to relate the final discussion he had with Andrea, at the hospital, Robert could not resist the opportunity for one more snide remark. "This will be interesting I'm sure," he said sarcastically. Warwick felt an over whelming urge to blast Robert, right where he stood, but resisted, preferring to address the group. "She was high on morphine," he began nervously. "She didn't speak with any great coherence, but she asked me to listen carefully. She asked me if I remembered back twenty two years ago, when she left home to go to Brisbane. I said I did. She then said that the job transfer was a smoke screen. She told me she went to Brisbane because she was going to have a baby. She said she named the baby, Mary Therese and that she adopted her out a few months later. She asked me if I would find her. She gave me some details including the name of the agency that handled the adoption, and the name of another person involved, and an address. She said she had included Mary Therese in her will, and that she had appointed me an executor. She wanted me to make sure Mary Therese received what she was entitled to. I promised I would look for her. I said that I would find her. That's it," Warwick said.

"That's it? That was all you talked about?" Elsie asked incredulously. Warwick nodded, but did not speak.

"That still doesn't explain why she didn't tell me," Elsie said, tears welling up in her eyes.

"It doesn't explain something else either," Maria said.

"What's that," Warwick asked.

"Andrea believed that she had found Mary Therese. She asked a solicitor friend, Frank Martin from Baldargo to find her years ago. He presented Michelle to her. Andrea believed that Michelle was her daughter. Why would she ask you to find her, if she thought she already had found her? It doesn't make sense," Maria pressed.

As Brad listened intently to Maria, the penny dropped. "Did you say she asked this Frank Martin, to find Mary Therese some years ago? He asked. Maria nodded. "Yes, she told me that herself."

"Then I think I may have part of the answer," he said. Suddenly the focus of everyone's attention turned to Brad.

"I was in Cairns two days ago," he began, "where I met a lady named Rosie Fitzgibbon. She told me she was Mary Therese's grandmother, her adoptive grandmother," Brad added quickly. "She told me a number of things, but most interesting of all was that several years ago she was contacted by someone representing Andrea, demanding that Andrea be allowed to see her daughter. This person had apparently discovered that the adoption of Mary Therese was illegal, and threatened to expose the matter if Rosie and the adoptive parents didn't agree."

"Who was this person?" Elsie asked.

"I'll get to that in a moment," Brad replied. "There's more. Rosie was sufficiently frightened by this person to agree to his demands, and the meeting took place when Mary Therese was about ten years old." However, the more interesting part of what Rosie told me was that, just two weeks ago, this same person, contacted her again and gave her another warning not to cause any trouble, threatening to expose Mary Therese's adoptive father and have him charged by the police for being a party to an illegal adoption."

"You sound like you've been very busy Mr. Murphy. Would you mind telling us who this person is?" Elsie asked again.

"Rosie Fitzgibbon told me that the name of the person who came to see her was," he hesitated a moment, taking a side look at Warwick and Susan. "Yes, who?" Elsie pleaded. "She said his name was Warwick Steedman."

There was a gasp, a pant, an intake of breath, and a puff from the gathering. Robert could not resist making the first comment. "I knew it. I knew he was up to something," he said. Warwick stood there, shaking his head. Brad however, quickly regained control. "Now hang on a minute. I'm not finished," he said. "There's more." All eyes, except Robert's, turned back to Brad. "I came down here today to confront Warwick with these allegations, and both he and Susan have insisted that he wasn't in Cairns two weeks ago, that it could not have been him. He says he doesn't even know Rosie. I've been listening to what's being said here this afternoon, and as soon as this lady," he said, gesturing toward Maria, "mentioned that Andrea asked this Frank Martin fellow to help find Mary Therese years ago, it suddenly dawned on me."

"What dawned on you?" Warwick asked.

"Don't you see?" Brad replied. "This Frank Martin must be the one who went to see Rosie Fitzgibbon. He must have pretended he was Warwick to frighten her into agreeing to let Andrea see Mary Therese." A silence descended upon the gathering. It was Maria who spoke first. "...Then he arranged for Michelle to pretend that she was Mary Therese, so he could cash in on her will," she said slowly.

"Either way, it won't be too hard to prove," Brad said. "I can call Rosie on my mobile phone now and ask her to give me a description of the man she thinks is Warwick Steedman."

Unable to come to terms with this apparent vindication of his elder brother, Robert could not stay quiet. "I don't believe it. Warwick is mixed up in this somehow," he said.

"Right! That's it!" Warwick said.

Robert never saw the blow coming. Warwick swung around so quickly, and planted his right fist squarely onto Robert's jaw with such speed and precision, it literally lifted Robert off his feet and sent him crashing into the variegated pittosporum, on the other side of the portico. Not content with that, and clutching what he suspected was his broken hand, Warwick lunged at Robert, who was now sprawled out on the lawn, behind the row of shrubs. He crunched his left fist into Robert's nose, as Robert gasped for air, releasing a mouthful of blood and two teeth in the effort. Elsie screamed. "Warwick! Get off him! Leave him alone!" Brad rushed forward, to try and separate the two men. 'What a weekend,' he thought to himself, 'what a story!' He tugged vigorously at Warwick's shirt collar, trying to drag him off Robert.

Then came an almighty, chilling scream from Susan, standing at the front door.

" Richard!" Elsie swung around to see her pointing to the rear of the house, in the direction of the swimming pool.

40.

He was floating face down when they got to him. Elsie was frantic. "Get him out," she screamed. "Get him out!" Brad was the first of the men to reach the pool. He jumped in fully clothed, and immediately turned Richard over, getting his arms underneath Richard's elbows and edging him to the side of the pool. Susan and Maria grabbed hold of him while Brad climbed out of the pool. Maria was seriously distressed. "How could we have let this happen?" she sobbed. Elsie and Susan tried to contain their emotions, as both Warwick, and Robert still bleeding from the mouth, arrived. "Someone give him mouth to mouth resuscitation," Elsie cried out. Brad and Warwick heaved him out of the pool. His lips and nose were blue, his eyes closed, his body weight twice normal. They laid him down on his side. "Don't let him swallow his tongue," Brad said. "Somebody do something," Elsie screamed. "Shut up mother, we are doing something," Warwick yelled. "Susan, call an ambulance, quickly," he added. As Susan ran inside, Warwick looked at Brad. Brad looked at Warwick. Neither had any training in CPR.

"I don't know how to do this," Warwick said. Brad just shook his head. "I've never tried it before," he said.

"Stand back," the voice cried out. Everybody turned around.

It was Julian. "I can do this," he said. "Give me some room."

Both Margaret and Annette, came running toward the group as Julian quickly knelt down over Richard and called out to him. "Richard, Richard," he yelled. "Can you hear me?" There was no response.

Julian knelt behind Richard and rolled him onto his back. He carefully tilted his head back, one hand on top of the head, the other supporting Richard's chin. He lifted the jaw to open the airway. Julian then turned his head, placing his ear directly over Richard's mouth to listen for any air escaping through the mouth or the nose, while checking to see if Richard's abdomen was showing any signs of moving. It wasn't. He then pinched Richard's nostrils, and began blowing air into his mouth. He executed five normal breaths with a short break between each breath. Following that, he turned his head placing his ear over Richard's mouth, to once again listen for air, and look at the abdomen. There was no response.

"Is he going to be all right?' Elsie asked.

"I don't know," Julian said as he placed two fingers on Richard's Adam's Apple, and slid them into the curve between the Adam's Apple and the large muscle of the neck. He held his fingers there for ten seconds. "There's no pulse," he said.

"Is there anything we can do?" Warwick asked.

"You can see if an ambulance is on its way," he suggested. "I'll have to start compression of the chest," he added. Julian ripped Richard's shirt open. He placed his fingers on the lower part of his ribs, and felt for where the ribs met the breastbone. He then placed his index finger on the lower end of the breastbone, and the heel of his other hand on the lower half of the sternum, against the index finger. Then, locking his other hand around the wrist of the hand over the sternum, Julian began compressing Richard's chest using the heel of his bottom hand. After several compressions, he reverted to blowing air into Richard's mouth.

"How long will he keep doing this?' Elsie asked Brad who was standing alongside her. "As long as it takes to get him breathing again, I guess," Brad answered. "Oh Holy Mother of God, what a day!" Elsie exclaimed. Warwick and Susan came running out of the house. "The Ambulance is on its way. They said they'd be a few minutes. You can speak to them on the portable phone if you wish. How is he?" Warwick asked, offering the phone to Julian, who made no effort to take it. "Tell them I'm doing CPR but he hasn't responded," Julian said, not taking his eyes off Richard. Warwick repeated Julian's words to the operator. Julian continued with chest compressions alternating with blowing air into the mouth, checking to listen for any sign of life.

"They said to keep going, the ambulance is almost here," Warwick said.

Again and again, Julian repeated the compressions with a gentle rhythmic action, helping the heart fill with blood. One minute passed, then two. Robert leaned over and looked down on Richard. "Please move away, "Julian said sharply. "I need space here." Robert backed off and stood alongside Maria. "At least if he pulls through," Robert said, "we won't have to worry about brain damage." Maria stared at Robert utterly disgusted. Robert had no idea how insensitive his remarks were. Maria acted by reflex and thrust her elbow into Robert's ribs. He doubled up in pain, winded, and gasped for air. Seeing her chance, and using both hands, she then gave him a hefty shove sideways, which sent him crashing into the pool.

"You insensitive arsehole," she screamed, as he came up from under the water. "You bitch," he cried out as he splashed around. Above the sound of the splashing and the astonished cries from Jenny and Brad, a faint sound of a siren, could be heard. "Listen," Margaret yelled. Everyone was silent as the unmistakeable, piercing sound of the siren increased. Julian kept up the compressions, fifteen to the minute alternating with two breaths.

"Warwick, the gates?" Susan yelled.

Warwick ran inside to activate the front gates. Robert dragged himself out of the pool, drenched to the skin. "How am I going to drive like this?" he yelled at Maria. Susan intervened. "Come inside to the laundry and dry yourself," she said. "I'll get you something from Warwick's wardrobe." The ambulance pulled into Travis Court, as Warwick ran down the front driveway waving his arms. The Ambulance pulled into the driveway and continued up, around the other cars to the garages. Warwick hastily led the two officers through the house, out the back to the pool.

As they approached, Julian was still kneeling over Richard. He looked up at the officers and said, "I've kept up with the compressions and breathing, but he hasn't responded." The officer looked down at Richard. "It's okay, we'll take over," he said. Julian was reluctant to hand over control, but knew he had to, if Richard was to have any chance. With one defiant, final thrust into Richard's chest he made way for the officer. Suddenly, Richard's head began to move, rolling from one side to another, and his upper chest began to shake. "I think you did it," the officer said. "I think you did it." Suddenly, Richard vomited water out of the mouth. "He's come round," Julian cried out. The officers immediately took control as Richard regained consciousness, coughing and spluttering. Julian stepped back, exhausted but elated. He then threw his arms up into the air before wrapping them around Maria, who was crying openly.

"Thank Christ," Warwick said.

"That was fantastic," Brad said to Julian, patting him on the back. Elsie knelt with the officers as they sat Richard up.

"Is he all right?' she asked.

"He'll live," one officer said. Looking up at Julian, he added, "excellent work." Elsie rose back up on her feet, and came forward to Julian and hugged him. "Thank you," she said. "I don't know what else to say."

Julian was embarrassed with what seemed an endless litany of thanks and commendations. "I had to," he said. "If Richard didn't make it, I would have lost a fortune in taxi fares."

The ambulance officers continued to examine Richard as best they could. "We'll take him to Box Hill, for a more complete check up," the first officer said. I'm pretty sure he's okay, but it would be better to have him looked over thoroughly," he added. "I'll come with you," Elsie said.

"Where's Myra?' Julian asked looking around the garden. "I think   
she went back to the car," Maria replied. "I think she was a bit tired. All that arguing out the front, took a bit out of her I'm afraid."

As the ambulance officers placed Richard on a mobile stretcher, Maria spoke quietly to Julian. "Did you sort things out with your wife?" she asked. Julian nodded. The effort in resuscitating Richard, had exhausted him, and temporarily shifted his focus from the earlier startling revelation about Annette's relationship with Margaret.

"I guess so," he said forlornly. "I'm afraid my marriage is over. She wants to be with Margaret. There's not much I can do about it. Things have been very flat between us for a while. Now I know why. I guess it's for the best. No point in making a fuss. I'd rather see her happy with Margaret than miserable with me," he said. Maria took his hand and squeezed it, as the officers began to wheel Richard out through the house to the front. Elsie walked alongside Richard holding his hand. Everyone else followed behind. As they wheeled the stretcher out onto the front driveway, Julian looked up towards his own car, where he recognised the faint outline of Myra sitting in the front seat of his car.

"I'll just go check on Myra," he said to Maria and broke away from the group. As he walked toward his car, he could see that Myra's eyes were closed, her head tilted slightly to the left. He opened the front door gently, and placed his hand on her shoulder. "Myra," he said, "are you feeling all right?" There was no response. Julian gave her a gentle tap on the cheek. "Myra, would you like me to take you home?" he asked. Myra's eyes opened slowly. She looked up at Julian as if surprised to see him. "Where am I?" she asked. Julian reminded her and she soon recovered. "Did we win the day?" she asked. "Yes," Julian replied nodding his head. "I think we did pretty well. Everything has been taken care of," he answered.

"Can we go home now? I'm feeling rather tired."

"Sure," Julian answered.

41.

While a small crowd had gathered outside the Steedman residence in Travis Court, inside the house, Robert was in the laundry. He had stripped off, and dried himself, before changing into some clothes that Susan had provided from Warwick's wardrobe. Still seething with jealousy, envy and resentment, he saw his opportunity to tell Susan, what he had seen when Warwick and Jill Toogoods were in Lygon Street, several days earlier. His ineptness, and clumsy manner of expression however, rendered his account of the event unconvincing.

"I saw Warwick with a woman from his office last week," he started, before thinking the matter through.

"Oh yes, who was that?" Susan asked, as she passed him some of Warwick's clothes.

"That woman in reception," he said. "They looked very cosy together," he stuttered, unable to find the words that best described what he actually saw. "They were kissing," he added meekly.

Susan looked at him. 'You pathetic individual,' she thought for a moment. "That sounds like Jill," she replied. "I know about her," she said confidently. Robert was stumped. He had expected surprise, astonishment, followed by shock and disbelief. Instead, Susan showed complete ambivalence. She was about to leave but thought better of it.

"Actually, this might surprise you but Warwick has been very cosy with a number of women over the years," she said. Robert was confused. "Why don't you leave him?" he asked.

"I could and I yet might. God knows he deserves it. But let's not talk about that. Let's talk about you," she began. "Even though I have always struggled to like you Robert, there is a certain honesty about you that Warwick doesn't have and probably never will. In some ways you are better than him. I know you are jealous of him, but you don't need to be. At the moment you are your own worst enemy. You could be anything you want. It all boils down to how you treat people and the respect you show toward others. If you start showing other people respect and give something of yourself, people will be drawn to you. If you were willing to show some compassion to those around you who need it, others will respond to your needs. At the moment you are immersed in self pity, you are easily intimidated and you have low self esteem. If you could see the potential goodness that exists within you, you could change all that. Warwick couldn't do that. He's too consumed with his own self interests. What's the point of being rich, and having everything you want when those who really know you don't respect you? Think about it. You could be better than him, but it would have to be based on what you could give rather than what you take," she said as she left him in the laundry. Robert stood there in silence, stunned by what he had heard.

Outside, Brad and Jenny were talking together. Maria was deep in discussion with both Margaret and Annette. They were standing at the back of the ambulance unit with Elsie and Richard on board. The officer advised them they were about to leave.

Warwick made a motion toward the house, when Susan appeared, smiling sweetly.

"What happened in there?" Warwick asked.

"Oh, it's all right," Susan said. "I was just getting a few of your clothes for Robert. Oh by the way," she said, "Do you know a good divorce lawyer?"

Warwick looked at her, speechless.

As she walked towards Jenny, still smiling, feeling elated, she noticed Maria with Margaret and Annette, talking to Elsie in the back of the ambulance unit, and something suddenly clicked in her head. She stopped dead in her tracks, turned, and walked back toward Warwick.

"There's something that still bothers me," she said to Warwick loudly, intending for all to hear. Warwick had been completely taken by surprise with Susan's forthright manner and stood there shocked. "Earlier, you told us that when you spoke with Andrea at the hospital the day she died, she asked you to find Mary Therese!" Susan said.

"Yes," Warwick replied meekly.

"Well, something doesn't add up here," Susan continued. "Maria asked you why Andrea would do that, if she already knew, or thought she knew where Mary Therese was!"

"That's right," Maria said, walking toward Susan.

"So tell us Warwick. Why would Andrea ask you to find her daughter, if she already thought she had found her?"

Warwick looked stunned. Susan had never acted this aggressively before. Maria too, stood there defiantly waiting for an answer. Elsie looked on intently.

"I don't know," Warwick replied defensively, his face red with fear. "I don't know," he repeated to himself, this time with less conviction. An uneasy silence developed as everyone concentrated their attention on Warwick. The combined energy of all the family members, interested parties, and the neighbours gathered at the front gates, became a force greater than he had felt before.

"Yes you do," Maria said, breaking the silence. "You do know, don't you. Tell them Warwick," she ordered. "Tell them now," she said, "unless you want me to tell them for you." Then Elsie called out from the back of the ambulance. "Tell us Warwick," she said gently. "Tell us all now."

When Elsie spoke, Warwick realized he could hide the truth no longer. He realized that through Maria, Andrea had taken out insurance, and her secret would come out eventually, no matter how determined he was to hide it. With a deep sigh, and with his defence guard all but shattered, he resigned himself to the inevitable and he gave up.

"Because Mary Therese is my daughter," he said.

Amid the stunned, aghast and speechless gathering, Elsie was the first to react. She climbed out of the ambulance and slowly walked over to her son. She looked him in the eyes. He turned his head away.

"Is it true?" she said quietly, tenderly, taking his hand in hers. "Is it true?" Warwick slowly began to nod, raising his head, his eyes meeting his mother's and the tears beginning to flow. His, and hers. "Then Mary Therese really is my grand-daughter?" she asked. Warwick nodded. "And is that why Andrea couldn't tell me?" she asked. Finally Warwick found his voice again. "I didn't know mother. I swear I didn't know until she told me the day she died. It happened one night when the two of us were home alone. I would never have hidden this from you, had I known. She couldn't bring herself to tell you or me. She loved you too much, and thought it would hurt you terribly," he sobbed. "She wanted me to look for Mary Therese. It wasn't for the money. She wanted me to want her, to make the effort to find her, for my sake, for me. She was giving me the opportunity to show that I cared. I did care. I did want to find her. I had this idea that we could jointly develop a block of land up near Baldargo, that Andrea has left me in her will," he said.

Elsie placed her arms around her son, who could no longer hold back his emotions. He buried his head in his mother's arms and she consoled him. For all his business acumen, for all his bullishness, for all his unfaithfulness and his greed, he was still her son, and nothing would ever change that.

"Oh dear," Elsie said. "I'm afraid I have some bad news for you about Baldargo," she said.

"What?' he asked.

"Oh nothing we can't handle," she said. "Let it wait."

The ambulance officers made a move to close the rear door of the unit as Robert appeared from the rear of the house. "We have to get a move on," the officer said. Julian realised Elsie would want to stay with her family. "Would you like me to go with Richard?" he asked.

"That won't be necessary," Robert said as he walked toward the ambulance. "I'll go with him," he said and added, "I haven't done much for him over the years. But he's my brother and it's about time I did."

"What about the taxi?" Julian asked.

"Perhaps you could call Alberto and explain the situation and ask him to pick it up," Robert answered. Julian nodded. "Okay, I'll take care of it," he said.

"Maria," Julian called out. "I think I might take a drive up to Baldargo tomorrow. Would you like to come with me?' he asked. Maria smiled.

"Yes, that would be great," she said. "Is there someone up there you particularly wanted to see?" she asked.

Julian smiled, and was about to answer when he caught sight of Annette and thought better of it. "I hope you will be happy," he said to her sincerely. "We can work out all the details later. I will only ask one thing of you," he said. "What's that?" Annette asked.

"You keep Foofo," he said.

Brad and Jenny stood alongside Susan. "I think it's time we left," Jenny said. "It has been quite an afternoon. We all need a bit of time to absorb it all, I think." Susan nodded. "What time is your flight home tomorrow?" she asked. "It's not until late tomorrow afternoon," Brad replied. "Somehow I think we might be back next week," he added. "I think it's time, Mary Therese met her other family. I'm sure Rosie would agree."

Susan smiled. Somehow, her earlier anger had evaporated.

"Fancy a bit of shopping tomorrow?" she asked Jenny.

As the ambulance pulled out of the driveway onto Travis Court, a none-the-wiser gathering of neighbours, were left to speculate on the reason its presence. In the rear, Richard, still groggy, but lucid, recognised Robert.

"R-o-b-e-r-t," he called out.

"G'day old son," Robert said. "Would you like some music?' he asked. "M-u-s-i-c, y-e-s," he replied. Robert called out to the driver. "Do you have any ABBA music?" he asked.

Richard shook his head. "N-o-t A-B-B-A," he said.

"What would you like Richard?" he asked.

"B-b-b-e-a-t-l-e-s," Richard said.

42.

Seven days later, a Boeing 737 touched down at Tullarmarine Airport. Waiting in the arrival lounge, were Elsie Steedman with Richard sitting in a wheel chair beside her. Warwick and his wife Susan, stood alongside Robert and Margaret, and nervously held back their emotions, as the doors opened and the passengers began to appear one by one. The flight had originated in Brisbane and flown to Sydney, before continuing on to Melbourne.

As the passengers passed through into the arrival lounge, Warwick watched them, his heart beating furiously. Elsie's mind went numb as she scrutinized each person passing by, searching for a sign, recognition, something, anything! The blank expressions on the faces of those walking through, only accentuated the tension. Brad and Jenny Murphy were part of the last group to emerge. All smiles, they waved to the Steedman's as they came through the covered walkway.

Behind Brad, Rosie Fitzgibbon appeared. Behind Rosie, a gentleman in his forties came into view, alongside a beautiful young woman resting her arm in his. As the young woman came into view, Elsie gasped. "My God," she said, the moment she laid eyes upon her, "she's the spitting image of Andrea."

Brad and Jenny greeted the Steedman's one by one, and then turned to introduce their travelling companions.

"I'd like you all to meet Rosie Fitzgibbon," Brad said. "Rosie, this is Warwick Steedman and his wife Susan. As Rosie shook hands with Warwick, Brad felt a moment of uncertainty. 'Would she recognize him?' he wondered. He searched their eyes for a sign of recognition from either of them. Nothing!

"I'm told that we have met before," Warwick said. Rosie shook her head. "Well I did meet someone who claimed to be you, but no, I've never met you before," she said smiling.

A very relieved Brad then turned his attention to the gentleman standing behind him. "This is James Campbell," he said, "from Sydney," he added.

"How do you do?" James said, as he extended his hand to Warwick and the others. Then, as the apprehension mounted, the focus of attention rested on the young woman

"And this young lady is Mary Therese Campbell," Brad said.

"Hello everyone," Mary Therese said nervously, still clinging to her father James. Immediately, her smile, and her charismatic looks, disarmed everyone. Elsie was the first to come forward, and take Mary's hand in hers. "Welcome to Melbourne," she said warmly, "and welcome to our family."

*

Two weeks later, at Baldargo, Gerard Martin received a call from the local police Sergeant, who regretfully advised that DNA tests had confirmed, that the body found in the Aston Park offices of the Western Family Agency, in Brisbane, was that of his son, Frank. A victim of his own folly.

As a result of his actions in saving the life of Richard Steedman, no dangerous driving charges were laid against Julian Knowles. A highly favourable character reference from Warwick Steedman proved to be a significant factor.

The question of criminal charges against Julie Macleod and Louise Whiltshire was never raised, but that matter notwithstanding, Brad Murphy was still searching and not a man to let a good story die.

*

About 'SATAN'S LITTLE HELPERS'

John Kelly's first novel released in 2004, is a heartfelt, humorous and poignant story about growing up Catholic in the 1960's.

While watching the demolition of his old school Placidus College, Simon Hickey looks back on ten turbulent, life defining years when the first crop of Australia's baby boomers were awakening to their sexuality. Seduced by the power of the pulpit, the Aquinine Brothers and an ever present fear that Satan would snare him in an unguarded moment, Simon's attention is directed toward a religious vocation. At the vocational training college he encounters a serial paedophile with far reaching consequences. A few years later, he becomes one of the 'unlucky ones' balloted into the army for two years National Service in 1965.

These two vastly different experiences are linked by a tender romance that defies Catholic conventions of the day, and reveals how two people, who chose not to be conformist, cope with the social, political and religious nature of their time.

ISBN 0 646 43679 1
