Blood Guilt. Lindy Cameron
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Fulton's Australian counterpart; and Ian Dalkeith, whose name rang a bell, was a local property developer.
Kit reached for the phone. It was time to ring Lillian and find out how her mother had gotten her into all of this. The number was engaged, as usual. She waited a couple of minutes then hit the redial button. There was no ringing tone but she heard her mother muttering on the other end of the line.
'Mum? You must have been sitting on the phone.'
'What? Who's that?'
'It's me. How many women do you know who call you Mum?'
'Oh Katherine. The phone didn't ring. I was picking it up to call someone. You could have been anybody.'
'I suppose so Mum. Well, seeing you're obviously home can I come over for a coffee?'
'No darling. I'm leaving in half an hour.'
'Where are you going?'
'Adelaide. Connie and I decided we needed a couple of weeks of R & R.'
'What on earth do you and Constance need a rest from?' Kit laughed.
'Very amusing Katherine. We just feel it's time we gave some more of our money away to the casino. Is that all right?'
'We've got our own casino in Melbourne now Mum. Why do you need to go all the way to South Australia?'
'It's a holiday darling. The casino is just a bonus. I promise I won't lose all your inheritance, if that's what you're worried about.'
'It's not the casino that's running down the value of my inheritance, Mum, it's the speeding fines you get every time you drive over there. They'll take your licence away if you lose any more points you know.'
'That's why we're flying this time, we - oh...' There was silence for a few seconds and Kit could picture her mother pushing a few strands of her slowly greying honey-blonde hair behind one ear while being totally distracted by a pot plant growing or a sparrow farting on her windowsill.
'Mum? Hello?'
'Did you want anything in particular Katherine or have you just run out of coffee at your place?'
'Well, actually I wanted to ask you about Celia Robinson.'
'Who?'
'Celia Robinson. She says she went to school with you Mum. Short, round, outrageous hair, lots of money. You know, Celia Robinson.'
'Oh you mean Chel Everton. Haven't seen her for ages. I didn't know you knew her darling.'
'I didn't until today. She's given me some work. She said she got my name from you. So what gives?'
'Oh isn't that nice dear. Well now that I think about it, I did bump into her about six months ago. We were both having a massage at Juno's and had lunch together afterwards. I'd totally forgotten about that. That's not like me.'
Kit choked back a laugh. 'So what did you talk about? I mean how did I come up in conversation?'
'What a silly question Katherine. Do you think I'm completely oblivious to your existence when you're not standing right in front of me to remind me of where you came from?'
'No, of course not Mum. I didn't mean that,' Kit said. Sometimes I wonder though, she thought.
'Besides it was ages ago. I expect we talked about the usual things old school chums talk about when they haven't seen each other for years. Not that we were actually chums at school. But you know how it is - common ground and all that. Chel was the sporty type, and you know I was never interested in all those balls and bats and things. She, however, was into everything. She was sports captain in our final year and the star hockey player. The whole bit. Every girl at school had a crush on her; she was our champion.'
'Are you sure we're talking about the same person?' Kit just couldn't picture the Celia Robinson she had met that morning with a jolly hockey stick in one hand setting young school girl hearts a-flutter as she inspired the school team to victory.
'Honestly Katherine I thought your father and I had taught you better than to judge people by their appearance.' Lillian sounded quite miffed, as if she'd failed dreadfully in teaching one of the great lessons in life.
'I'm not judging her Mum. I just don't think my imagination is up to the task.'
'Well she might have got a little curly around the edges but she was quite a beauty in those days. And a little dynamo on the field. What work has she given you anyway?'
'You know I can't tell you that, Mum. But thanks for the PR job you did on me. It obviously caused quite an impression.'
'I don't remember saying all that much.' Kit recognised the ever-so-humble tone in Lillian's voice. It was a dead giveaway that said she been caught out at something. Like the way she always said 'um' before asking a favour or before admitting that she'd already done something that someone else was bound to consider questionable or premature.
'So tell me about Celia.' Kit dragged the phone off the desk so she could reach the fridge to get another Coke.
'I don't have a lot of time darling, so it will have to be the bare bones. I'm sure you could find out more, if you need to, by going through my old magazines.'
Kit actually shuddered at the thought. Lillian had worked for years as a freelance theatre critic and that, combined with the short stories she used to write for women's magazines, meant her study was effectively insulated against nuclear fallout by 20 years' worth of arty magazines and copies of Cleo and New Idea. She'd had to buy every issue just in case her latest story was in it and no one had bothered to inform her. At least that had always been her excuse.
'Chel came from somewhere in the Western District, if I remember correctly,' Lillian was saying. 'Not from one of the moneyed families out that way. I think her father was the manager of someone else's sheep or cows or whatever. Anyway her parents worked like navvies I gather to give her the best they could. And she turned up trumps, in a big way. She met Carl Orlando at the Boat Races one year.'
'The Boat Races? That's where you met Dad. And didn't Constance and James spy each other across a crowded room on the same day?'
'Well, it was the social event of the year for all of us, girls and boys alike, who'd been imprisoned in separate schools while we were being trained to be proper young ladies and gentlemen. The Races separated the men from the boys and the women from the wall flowers. They flexed their muscles and we scratched each other's eyes out to be the first to dance with them. I imagine it's all still going on. I'm sure it was the same in your last year at school darling, though knowing you I don't suppose you noticed.'
'Obviously not,' Kit said.
'Where was I? Oh yes, Carl Orlando. He was the cousin, I think, of Suzie Goodall. A splendid looking boy, well young man really. He'd been sent out from England by one of the publishing houses to do whatever it was the Poms regularly did to their colonial outposts. They're still doing it, from what I hear from Charlie Hindstead. Anyway it was apparently love at first sight, though Chel still had a year of school to get through. They were married the day after final exams. He was already well-off but I heard he came into an inheritance from his Spanish grandfather or someone. That's when they started Orlando House and, as they say, the rest is history.'
'What about the rest of her story?' Kit asked, standing up to thump the side of the air-conditioner to remind it that its thermostat was lying again about having cooled the room down.
'Well, she had a daughter a few years later. When we had lunch that day I remember Chel being so proud of her, of what she was doing for herself, although she seemed sad that they'd drifted apart a little. I gather the girl's been quite a handful over the years. She's doing journalism or some such thing in London and here and there. I got the feeling Chel was a little