Blood Guilt. Lindy Cameron
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tail on Dalkeith had absolutely nothing to do with her case on Geoffrey Robinson. But she had to be sure.
'I wouldn't worry about it Celia. It's just that on a couple of occasions while keeping an eye on your husband I've noticed an old Holden station wagon hanging around as well.'
'What, following Geoffrey?' Celia sounded quite appalled.
'Not necessarily. Each time it turned up, Geoffrey was meeting with Ian Dalkeith. It's more likely the person in the car is following Dalkeith. He may even be a minder. But I had to ask.'
'Yes, of course. I shall ask Douglas if this has anything to do with him, but I doubt it. Ah, Byron, perhaps you'd like to pour Miss O'Malley another champagne. Or would you prefer coffee?'
The Ghost Who Walks, Kit thought, as once again Celia's ghoulish personal secretary had appeared behind Kit without a sound. She had no idea how long he'd been there. Kit glanced up at Byron, almost nervously, acutely aware of how exposed her neck was in the white T-shirt she was wearing with her linen trousers. She requested a coffee before returning her gaze to Celia to find her client's attention was momentarily distracted by the commotion going on in The Forum.
Kit couldn't help smiling. Celia was certainly one out of the box. She had insisted that they enjoy their luncheon on the patio before getting down to the real reason for Kit's visit. Discussing sex, sin, power and the merits of appropriate social behaviour over a quiet glass of champagne and plate of fresh asparagus while a deaf gardener lowered a Greek nymph onto her new pedestal in the fish pond was diverting to say the least.
Celia had first taken Kit on a guided tour of The Forum, which was far more extensive than Kit had originally thought. They had strolled barefoot along a maze of grassy paths by tiny groves of tangled vines revealing garden seats or trickling waterfalls, and through an arch of climbing roses to a group of finely sculpted women in flowing marble robes looking for all the world like they were passing the day in serious conversation.
Celia talked earnestly and warmly about her garden, describing the statues and their provenance, and naming the flowers and trees as she explained why she had chosen a particular plant for this rockery or that setting. Although Kit admired Celia's imagination and obvious hard work she still felt the concept itself was a little too bizarre. All the statues and sculptures were originals, not a plaster cast reproduction or painted garden gnome in sight, and many were intricate and quite exquisite, but Kit couldn't help feeling that Celia's meticulous attention to detail placed her somewhere between pathologically obsessive and totally whacko.
The slight rattle of an empty cup on a saucer as he was just about to place it in front of Kit was the only thing that announced Byron's reappearance with the coffee. Kit nearly jumped out of her skin. This time it was Celia's turn to cover a smile.
'Byron, be a dear and help those two out with the thingy before they do any more damage than is necessary,' she said, waving her free hand in the direction of Burke the gardener and his incredibly clumsy assistant who was flailing about in the fish pond. She finished the champagne in her glass and reached for the bottle to refill it. 'Quiet isn't he?' she said.
'That's an understatement,' Kit replied with a grin. 'Where did you find him? I mean how did you come to employ him?'
'I found him a long time ago,' Celia said quietly, stealing an almost affectionate glance in the direction of the pond where Byron, a look of undisguised distaste on his face, was doing his best to render assistance without getting wet. Celia quite obviously collected herself from thoughts that were far from the business at hand and returned her gaze to Kit.
'He came to me about three years ago, with impeccable credentials. I was in need of a personal assistant for secretarial duties, as a chauffeur, butler, you name it. He was perfect and has proven to be invaluable. I trust him more than just about anyone I know, except perhaps Douglas.'
'An extraordinary job description in this day and age,' Kit said, immediately regretting it.
Celia flashed a wicked smile. 'Yes. Lucky aren't I,' she laughed. 'And I would say that my money is put to better use than my husband's. Wouldn't you agree?'
'You have a point Celia. Speaking of which there's just a couple more photographs I'd like you to see.'
Kit reached for the envelope labelled 'Wednesday/Thursday' and removed the contents.
'Do you know this man?' Kit asked presenting one of the photos she had taken after Geoffrey's Regent Hotel rendezvous.
'No. I've never seen him before. Quite handsome for such a big man, isn't he?' Celia said studying the picture of the silver-haired, broad-chested American.
'He's a Yank, if that makes any difference.'
Celia shook her head. 'Geoffrey is acquainted with many Americans, through the company. This one I'm sure I don't know.'
'How about this guy?' Kit held out the photo of the other mystery man from Wednesday's meeting.
'Of course. That's Gerald Grainger. He's an old colleague and friend of Geoffrey's. He's an entrepreneur of sorts, though in what I have no idea. I find him quite repulsive, which possibly explains why Geoffrey didn't mention seeing him this week. He lives in Point Piper or Potts Point or one of those other posh pointy places in Sydney. Dreadful man.' Celia threw the photo down in disgust.
'What's wrong with him?' Kit asked, picking up the photo to take another look now that she had a name to go with the face. Grainger was a tall, angular man with large hands and bony wrists that stuck out awkwardly from the cuffs of his white business shirt. His face was plain and instantly forgettable although his nose had obviously been broken more than once, which might serve as a reminder if someone had to identify him in a police line-up.
'He is one of those men, not unlike my husband as all this proves,' Celia sneered pushing the photos away from her, 'who cannot keep his mind above his belt. He and my husband used to spend a great deal of time together when Geoffrey and I were first married, before Gerald returned to Sydney to live. He is a crass and uncouth man. It was bad enough that he saw nothing wrong in propositioning most of my friends but when he tried it on my daughter I decided enough was enough. I told him what he could do with his disgusting intentions and made it quite clear to Geoffrey that his friend was never to cross our threshold again.'
Celia was quite shaken by the memory and Kit had absolutely no idea what to say. What an arsehole was her immediate thought, but she doubted whether that particular choice of words was an appropriate response to a disclosure that had nothing to do with her case and was none of her business. Celia filled the awkward silence by changing the subject completely.
'So, we carry on according to the schedule, Katherine. Unless you have any suggestions about how we should proceed.'
'No, Celia. I think the way we are going is the most effective. Judging by the calendar of appointments for next week though I think we'll just get more of the same. Even his sprained is not, um, slowing him down.'
'Well, of course not. He only uses his feet for walking on after all,' Celia snorted. 'He'd have to sprain the other thing to even consider taking time off from anything.'
'Do you think it's worth carrying on?' Kit laughed.
'Oh yes my dear,' Celia said adamantly. 'I'd like to know exactly what Geoffrey is up to while Douglas is still investigating his side of things. Another week at least, but that will probably be enough.' She rummaged amongst the pile of photographs for the black leather filofax she had placed on the table earlier. She opened it and after handing Kit an envelope began leafing through the pages.
'Next week, next week,' she muttered. 'Ah. Friday is quite full and I have an appointment with Douglas at 9. Perhaps you could come at 10, in the evening.'
'Er, yes, of course,' Kit said a little taken aback.
'I realise it's a late hour, but Geoffrey will be dining out that evening. And as I said the rest of the day is a busy one. I do hope that I'm not completely ruining your social life, Katherine.'
'No Celia, it's fine. My social life is rather dormant at the moment. Believe me there's nothing