THE GREATEST BETRAYAL: A romantic thriller with a shocking twist, page 10
‘What happened?’
‘When Monica’s dad died, he left the controlling shares in his business to me and Monica.’ He took a sip of his drink. ‘Over the years Bruno and I bought small parcels of shares in the business for ourselves. Not a hell of a lot, we only had our salaries to draw on for small investments. Then, when Monica and I split, our controlling shares were split in half.’
‘And together with yours and Bruno’s personal shares, you ended up with a controlling interest?’
‘Yeah. I took on the MD role with the board’s support, and brought Bruno in, to work alongside me. We started to expand into other companies. Monica, as you may have gathered, had never shown much interest in the firm, she’d never even bothered to work there. She’s become obsessed with the idea I only ever married her with this intent all along, to take control of the family fortune then divorce her.’
Raf paused. He took a breath. ‘You might not have thought so, but if there’s one person who can rattle me, then it’s Monica. She became impossible to live with, always hitting the bottle, wanting me to spend more time away from the office, jealous of my relationship with her father, always out partying…’
Liz looked into his eyes. There was a vulnerability there she hadn’t seen before. He wasn’t a man who liked to reveal his innermost emotions.
‘Affairs…?’
‘She accuses me of that, but Monica was the one out running around with every Tom, Dick and Playboy. Like mother, like daughter.’
‘Her mother?’
‘I never met her. She took off overseas with some rich toy boy when Monica was quite young. Hasn’t been seen or heard of very much since.’
‘So, Monica’s been through a lot.’
‘Well, yeah.’
‘You have to at least keep that in mind. Her mum taking off, and her dad gone now as well. How did he die?’
‘Car accident. Tragic. He loved cars, had a fleet of ’em. He loved nothing more than taking them for a spin on country roads, told me his real passion was motor racing. He wished he’d been another Lauda or Brock.’
Liz reached out, took his hand, and held it reassuringly. ‘You really liked him, didn’t you?’
‘Yeah. He did a lot for me.’
‘Don’t let Monica get you down like this. It’s been tough for her, as well. Give it time. I’ve actually got a… feeling, she might have been following me and that’s how she knows we’re seeing each other.’
He stiffened, a sudden alarm in his eyes. ‘What?’
‘A few times recently I had a suspicion the same car was behind me–’
‘What sort of car?’
‘A Corolla.’
‘She has a Corolla.’ Raf jumped to his feet. ‘Crazy bitch. I need to stop this–’
Liz pulled him back down. ‘Let it go. Now she’s been around here and said her piece to me, I’d say she’s got it out of her system and that will be that.’
‘Don’t be so sure–’
‘If I see that car again, and if I get the chance to say anything to her, I’ll tell her what I just told you. Message received, now let it go. And eventually she will move on with her life. Like I have.’
Liz saw the tension release from his shoulders, and he relaxed.
‘You’re incredible and you’re the complete opposite to her,’ he said. ‘Talk about going from one extreme to another.’
Liz kissed him. Seeing this vulnerable side to Raf Vetrani was most definitely a turn-on.
She didn’t believe Monica was anything but a bitter woman with a story and a list created specifically to create chaos. If she’d felt a pang of doubt, then it was erased by those sensitive eyes of Raf’s which revealed themselves at certain intimate moments. Like this one.
Raf returned her kiss with a deep-seated hunger, his hands moving to the small of her back. She sighed, shivering from his touch, and his fingers pushed up under her blouse to the straps of her bra.
‘And speaking of getting extreme…’ she whispered in his ear.
THIRTY-THREE
Liz was soaring. Her weekday evenings and weekends were spent entirely with Raf and the pace was never dull. They dined, took in movies, and plays, and spent long, leisurely hours on the boat. For the first time ever, she spent less time at work, promoting Sally to take on account management, and hiring a new office PA.
Raf was always full of ideas, and on one of their dine-outs in a North Sydney steakhouse, he suggested an impromptu holiday in Fiji.
‘That would be incredible, but I can’t up and leave work right now.’
‘When did you last take a vacation?’
She turned the question over in her mind. ‘It’s been a while…’
‘You have no idea, do you?’
She laughed. ‘Actually, no.’
‘Take it from a committed entrepreneur,’ Raf said, ‘getting the right balance between work and play is the key to success.’
‘I know–’
‘Prove it. A short break, just a week. The world won’t end. And your protégée Sally Markham can look after the show while you’re getting some much-deserved R and R.’
‘It’s tempting.’
‘Two weeks in paradise. And I’m footing the bill.’
‘In that case, why don’t we make it three.’
Raf beamed. ‘Done.’
* * *
They arrived at Nadi Airport and travelled by motor coach to a luxurious, sprawling resort called The Islander. It was a world unto itself, complete with tennis courts, a golf course, pebbled beach, and shallows for snorkelling. It had its own restaurants, cafes, and shops.
They stayed in a bure on the beach. Each day they woke early, took a swim in the pool, followed by a leisurely breakfast. They’d spend the rest of the day exploring some exotic section of their surroundings, dine in the restaurant in the evening, and dance to the resort’s own band. They sat up until late sipping cocktails on the porch of their bure, listening to the sound of the surf and looking out on the silvery reflection of the stars on the dark ocean.
‘I’m starting to think,’ Raf said, on their third evening there, ‘that this might be the first time in my life I’ve ever really, truly relaxed.’
‘It can happen to anyone,’ Liz said, ‘even workaholic entrepreneurs.’
‘Look who’s talking, the woman who’s never been on a vacation before.’
‘I’ve been on a holiday before.’
‘Name it.’
‘Privileged information.’
‘Ha. Non-existent information.’
‘Tell me about your previous hols.’
‘I went on a couple of trips with a crazy bitch, but they’re best forgotten.’
‘Cruel. She has a name; Monica.’
‘I wouldn’t even call this a holiday,’ he said, changing the subject.
‘What would you call it? Paradise?’
‘Not even that.’ He put his cocktail to one side, leaned towards her, his hand brushing hers, their lips almost touching. ‘Heaven on earth,’ he said.
It was the middle of the third week, three nights before they were due to return, and Liz no longer felt like the same person. She’d become a wild, free spirit of the islands, and Raf had transformed in front of her eyes into a laid-back, sun-worshipping beachcomber with an endless fascination for exploring what was beyond the next cove.
They were meandering along a vast stretch of sandy shoreline, Liz in black bikini and wide, floppy hat to shield her from the sun, Raf sporting several days’ stubble, in T-shirt and board shorts, almost unrecognisable from the go-getting, business-obsessed Vetrani brother.
They stopped for a rest, sitting cross-legged on the beach, and Raf said, ‘Let’s stay here.’
‘For how long?’
‘For good.’
Liz threw her head back and laughed like a madwoman. ‘Who are you?’
‘I don’t think I know anymore. Let’s become blow-in locals and find out.’
‘Once upon a time I would have thought that was a crazy idea. Now I’m not so sure.’
‘So, you’re in?’
Liz flicked her gaze over the incredibly handsome, rugged man beside her.
‘I think we both know we have to go back,’ she said eventually. ‘But we still have three more days.’
Raf pulled out a small, neat box from his back pocket. ‘We’re not the same people,’ he said, ‘so let’s not go back as the same people.’
Liz’s eyes widened. It was a jewellery box.
‘What are you talking about?’
‘Let’s go back,’ he said, ‘as a humble, lucky man and his incredibly beautiful wife.’
Liz’s mouth opened but no words came. She was momentarily startled as Raf then slid the lid from the box to reveal both an engagement and a wedding ring. Her eyes locked with his, looking for signs of the joke, but she saw only an earnest expression and a longing.
‘Liz, will you marry me?’ he asked. ‘Here in paradise?’
She held his gaze and it was as though she was out in the water, being pulled in by a powerful tide towards those eyes.
She had never imagined she might one day elope. She had come a long, long way away from Rational Liz.
She broke into a smile and she could feel the deep sense of belonging between them.
‘Yes,’ she said.
THIRTY-FOUR
She was in a daze for the rest of the day.
Raf went to the resort’s front office to make arrangements for a local marriage celebrant, confident he would be able to pull something together at short notice for the following days. After all, they were on the spot and could have the ceremony at any time of the day or night that suited.
Later, he would tell Liz the resort staff loved the idea, and would all be on hand to witness and join in with an on-the-spot party.
Liz had returned to the bure to decide on what she would wear when she was overcome with a sudden bout of nausea. She raced into the bathroom and threw up.
Minutes later, as she sat quietly, her phone rang.
It was Sally. ‘So how is the great, once-in-a-lifetime vacation?’
‘It’s… wonderful.’
‘You okay, boss, you sound a little… off.’
‘Queasy. I just threw up.’
‘Everything all right?’
‘Probably nerves. Raf and I…’ Her voice trailed off. Should she reveal she was about to elope?
‘Raf and you what?’ Sally said.
Before Liz had decided how to respond, Sally said, ‘Is it the first time you’ve felt nauseous this week?’
‘Yes.’
‘You had your period?’
‘You really don’t have a filter, do you?’ Liz said with a laugh.
‘So I’ve been told. Well, have you?’ Sally said, pressing for an answer.
‘Actually, I’m a little late.’
‘Have the test, Liz.’
‘I’m on the pill.’
‘Always best to be sure.’
Now Sally had put the idea in her head, Liz felt it best to eliminate any suspicion she might be pregnant. Now. While Raf was out.
She purchased the kit from the resort’s pharmacy. In the bathroom, she peed on the strip then waited. Her pulse quickened as the seconds ticked by. Her eyes never left the strip.
Then she gasped as she saw it turn to blue.
* * *
She was sitting, still as a rock, when Raf walked back in the front door.
I have to tell him.
‘Raf–’
‘There’s good news and bad news,’ he said anxiously.
‘Okay?’
‘The celebrant has one spot only when she’s available to fit us in.’
‘Is that the good or the bad?’
‘The good.’
‘And the bad is?’
‘That time is now.’
‘Now, as in now?’
‘As in half an hour from now.’
‘Raf, I can’t–’
‘You know that gorgeous white strapless dress you brought along for nights out?’
‘Yes.’
‘It will be perfect.’
‘I have to tell you something.’
Even as she spoke the words, Raf was heading back out. ‘Hold the thought,’ he called back. ‘I’ve got the urgent matter of a suit to sort out.’
‘Raf!’
‘Won’t be long.’ The door closed behind him.
An hour earlier, Liz had been certain about everything that was unfolding at whirlpool speed. Now she wasn’t sure how Raf would respond to this shock news or that they’d be able to proceed with this… wedding? Elopement? Whatever it was.
Her heart was thumping.
There was a knock at the door. Liz opened it to one of the resort’s talai butlers, a gracious young Fijian woman.
‘I’m Alice,’ she said, introducing herself. ‘So happy for you, Ms Carter. I’m here to see if I can help you get ready. Can I assist, please?’
‘Come in.’ Liz stood aside.
‘Your husband says you have a fine white dress, a lovely dress for the wedding?’ She opened the bag she had with her. ‘We have beautiful white flowers for your hair, to go with your dress.’
* * *
With Alice’s assistance, Liz dressed and before she knew it, Raf had walked back in, with the celebrant, a big-bodied, dark-skinned, smiling woman with a striking headband and flowing garments.
‘Now don’t you worry about a thing,’ the celebrant said, embracing Liz. ‘It may be a little sudden, but we’ll make sure this is an evening to remember, eh?’
‘There’s a small group assembling on the beach,’ Raf said. He came forward and took Liz’s hands in his. ‘You okay? No… reservations? Cold feet?’
‘There’s been time for cold feet?’ Liz sucked in a deep breath.
The celebrant gave a hearty laugh. ‘Honey, you keep a sense of humour like that in your life, you’re going to be absolutely fine.’
One of the young, male talai butlers poked his head in the door. ‘Looks like a storm coming in soon,’ he said.
‘Then we’d best get this show on the road, eh?’ said the celebrant.
A strong breeze was already brushing the shoreline as Raf, arm in arm with Liz, walked across the sand, flanked on either side by a small group of staff and guests. Liz’s hair whipped about her face, as they approached the spot where the celebrant had set up. Liz’s voice was a croak, her nerves on edge.
‘Raf, something I’ve been trying to tell you.’
‘Sorry.’ He cleared his throat, his own nerves making a rare appearance. ‘I’ve been running around like a headless chook. What is it?’
‘We’re going to have a baby,’ she whispered.
THIRTY-FIVE
It was mid-morning and the humidity was rising. A warm breeze carried the smells of the croplands. Mac was seated on an old timber bench at the back of the barn, when Dimas came around the side. Mac had been there three weeks when the farmer told him his “friends” had finally made contact with Carl Vickerson. Dimas had explained the journalist had been surprised but had agreed to come out to the farm.
Now, a week after that, Dimas stood before Mac, a grin on his face. ‘Your friend is here.’
‘He’s not my friend,’ Mac said. He was drawn and hollow-cheeked, the exhaustion of his plight in this country etched into every line on his face.
He followed Dimas back to the farmhouse and into the large kitchen and dining space.
Vickerson rose from his chair at the table and extended his hand. ‘Long time, Mac.’
Mac ignored the outstretched hand and simply glared at the reporter. ‘You managed to have Sari spirited away all those years ago. Can you help me get out of this country?’
Vickerson lowered himself back into the chair. ‘Mac, why don’t you sit?’
‘Yes, sit, sit,’ said Dimas, ‘I’ll bring you water.’
Reluctantly, Mac pulled up another chair.
‘I only arranged for Sari to get to Kuala Lumpur,’ Vickerson said, ‘with forged documents so she could carry on, with you, to Sydney. I don’t know why she changed her mind and disappeared.’
‘I tried to get in contact with you after you wrote that damned article about me,’ Mac said through clenched teeth. ‘Couldn’t track you down.’
‘I’m here now.’
‘You get your kicks betraying people’s privacy and spreading lies?’
‘It was just an article drawn from someone in the news,’ Vickerson said matter-of-factly. ‘I file the stories, sometimes I lose friends because of it – goes with the territory.’
‘We’re not friends, Vickerson.’
‘I’m told you’re in trouble and need help getting back to Sydney?’
‘Yes.’
‘Then what’s stopping you getting on a plane?’
Mac stared at him in exasperation. He motioned towards Dimas, who was loitering at the back door. ‘It wasn’t explained to you?’
‘I got the main thrust of it. Something about being held by secret police, you escaped and are being hunted?’
‘The authorities here have some cockeyed idea I’m involved with rebels.’
‘Mac, I checked that story out on my way here.’
‘And?’
‘There is no special police unit operating out of a safe house in Jakarta. No records of you being detained and questioned or held.’
Mac stared at him, ashen-faced, and waited for him to continue.
‘I’ve been to the Australian embassy,’ Vickerson continued. ‘There is no Robert Anders or Mark Adler. No information on a case by the Indonesian authorities against you. In fact, they’ve never even heard of you.’
Mac wanted to explode. He clenched his fist and held the anger in. ‘They’re covering it up.’
‘Mac, I’ve got good contacts at different levels, both with the embassy and within the government. Trust me, you’re not on any fugitive list. They don’t even know who you are.’
‘That’s impossible. For God’s sake, Vickerson, I was held in that house for over four months. At least two uniformed guards stationed there 24/7. Bars on my bedroom window.’ Mac rose, too agitated to remain seated, waving his hands to make his points. ‘The embassy officials visited every couple of weeks and showed me the documentation, discussed the legal process and the investigation they had underway into Sari and her so-called rebel associates.’
