Preludes, page 28
Jasmine was gone for a couple of minutes. She returned with a slight frown on her face, disappointed almost. Something was going on.
“Is everything alright? You seem… distracted.”
Her friend smiled. It wasn’t quite the open laugh Anne was used to, but it didn’t seem entirely feigned. “Everything is fine. Quite good, really. Let’s talk later.” She moved to her fiddle and removed the bow to coat the long white hairs with a kiss of rosin.
Anne screwed up her brow for a moment. “Oh. Alright. Should we look at the Bach again, or do you want to move right to the Mozart?”
They settled on the Bach they had played the week before. Both had gone over some notes and a few difficult passages, and this week’s endeavour produced something more like a performance than last week’s play-through. There were still a couple of sticky moments that needed more attention, but the result was more than acceptable, and both women finished the piece much more at ease than when they had started.
Next, they made a first attempt at reading through the Mozart they had chosen, the violin sonata in E minor. It was a short piece, with only two movements, and not particularly challenging technically, but the frequent unison sections, where violin and both hands of the piano played the same notes, required them to pay close attention to each other’s subtle gestures and musical suggestions. Then the music moved into the development section of the first movement, with first the piano and then the violin interrupting the other’s musical line, a statement and argument, and then the reverse, before settling back into a comfortable closing. Then came the second movement, song-like, first gentle and then more fiery, and when at last they played the final chord, it was with the joy of music salving some unknown wound.
Now, when Anne offered coffee, Jasmine nodded. The sparkle in her eye was back, and her smile relaxed and open once more.
“I bought a selection of danishes,” Anne pushed the box across the table. “I couldn’t remember if you preferred poppy seed or fruit, or maybe cinnamon, so I got a bunch of little ones. We can sample and do a taste test.”
Jasmine contemplated the offerings, and then placed a blueberry pastry onto her plate before reaching back with a cheeky grin and taking a poppy seed one as well. “I suppose you will be able to buy all the pastries you want soon.” She glanced up after that cryptic remark.
Anne tilted her head and frowned. “Sorry?”
“You don’t have to play coy with me. I’ve… I’ve heard things.”
Another frown. “What things?”
“About you. You can tell me. It’s alright.”
Anne shook her head. “I’m sorry, Jaz. I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Connor heard it from someone he used to work with. A fellow named Adam Wallis. Surely you know him.”
Wallis? Where had she heard that name before? It was familiar, tantalising, but not there. He was certainly not anybody she had ever met. Had she heard someone mention him? With her dreadful memory for names, it must have been recent, perhaps just this last week or so. That was when William returned…
“Wallis? Yes! That’s where I’ve heard of him. William’s business partner. He mentioned him in connection to some deal in the Caribbean. St Somewhere? Or was it Something Town? Oh, I’m terrible with names.”
“Cockburn Town. In the Turks and Caicos.” Now Jasmine looked directly at her. Asking… something.
“That’s right.” Something was going on that she didn’t quite understand. “What do you know?”
Jasmine sagged a bit. “You and William. Wallis told Connor that you are going to be marrying William Barnett.”
Anne’s coffee cup clattered on the table. “What? Me marrying William? Why does everybody think I’m marrying William Barnett?”
Jasmine bit her bottom lip. “You’re not?” She seemed surprised, confused, and relieved. What in the world was going on?
“No! You are the second person in so many days who thinks so, too. What has he been telling people?”
“You have been seen together all over town, and for months now. I’ve seen the photos on social media. Everyone has. You can’t hide it.”
“I’m not denying that. But it’s a big jump from going to a gallery opening to getting married! We’re just friends.”
Jasmine pushed her cup around in a small circle on the table. “Is it? All those shows and plays and dinners out? And I heard about the gala. That kiss didn’t make it into the newspapers, but someone pulled out a phone. That didn’t look just friendly to me.” Her eyebrows rose in accusation.
Anne cringed. That kiss, that unwanted kiss, was coming back to haunt her in so many ways. It had, she now knew, been the beginning of the end, the first real warning bell that tolled the demise of whatever it was between her and William.
“Annie? I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to say something hurtful. But you must understand what people saw.”
“It wasn’t like that, Jaz. Or, it was, but I didn’t mean it. That is… Oh, I’m just not making any sense at all.” She closed her eyes and sighed.
“And then I heard about the cocktail party last weekend.”
Anne’s eyes popped open. “Oh God. From who?”
Her friend took a sip from the almost-empty cup. “That’s where Adam Wallis comes in. It’s a long story. Wallis and William Barnett are business partners—”
“Okay, that much I know.”
“And Wallis and Connor have worked together in the past, and not always amicably.” Her look was pointed. “Connor has been back in contact with Wallis, trying to get some details worked out about… well, I’ll tell you in a bit. But back to this. Wallis told Connor that William told him that you two are all but married. Something about a big announcement at the cocktail party, but that you got sick so had to leave early before he could say anything publicly. But he was pretty certain…” She shrugged.
Anne glanced at the clock. Eleven o’clock in the morning. Too early for wine. But not too early for more coffee. She staggered up to move to the kitchen to grab the carafe from the coffee maker and bring it to the table.
With her cup full once more, and another pastry on her plate, she chewed over this story for a moment. How to make sense of it all?
“I think,” she began, “there’s been a huge mistake somewhere. I don’t know who has been telling what to whom, but I’m not marrying William. I’m not even sure I wish to be his friend anymore. I’ve… I’ve discovered some things that I don’t like.”
“But you did love him?”
“What? No! I liked him. He was all dashing and romantic, and I tried to find something more than just friendship, but no, I never loved him. I couldn’t. If people thought that, it was all just a mistake. A big mistake.”
A wave of relief passed over Jasmine’s face, so clear it was almost palpable. “Oh, thank heavens!” She looked at the box of pastries and took two more. “This calls for a celebration, I think, and an explanation.”
If Anne had been confused before, now she was beyond fuddled. “I’m listening. But I don’t understand at all.”
Over more coffee and the rest of the pastries, Jasmine told her story.
Five years before, Connor had been working as an investment advisor and had heard, through associates, of this phenomenal opportunity in Turks and Caicos. It was to be a five-star development that could be a permanent home, a vacation home, or an income property for vacationers. It was guaranteed to be a money maker one way or another, and after due diligence, Connor had invested everything he and Jasmine had into the project, forgoing thoughts of purchasing their dream home in Toronto for this opportunity.
And then the development company pulled the brakes. There was no construction, no planning, no work at all. The consortium always had an excuse - missing permits, lack of suitably skilled workers, environmental assessments - but the result was the same, namely nothing. After four years of this, the development consortium announced that the project would not proceed after all and sold all the land and plans to another company. And that company had announced it was, indeed, proceeding with the development but at double the price. Everyone who had put money into the project could continue with their plans, but they needed to find the extra cash, and quickly.
Now the Smiths, and all those like them, had both lost the use of their fortunes that had gone into the first project, and were unable to afford to buy into the resurrected project. Inflation had made their initial investments relatively smaller; there was little they could now use that money for. In the five years since they had invested, housing prices at home had almost doubled.
Worse, a little bit more digging turned up some nasty business. The new consortium that had bought the project and land from the original group was composed of almost the identical set of people. In other words, they bought the project from themselves, doubled their take, and left a lot of people hung out to dry. When this came to light, the case ended up as the subject of court cases and governmental probes, and any money that might have gone back to the original lot of investors was now tied up in a bureaucratic mess that would take years to resolve. So not only was the initial investment worth so much less, the investors didn’t even have access to the money they had poured in.
And this had left Jasmine and Connor living in a tiny apartment in a not so nice part of town, trying to survive on what she could earn as a violin teacher.
“I knew a bit about this from the newspapers,” Anne shook her head, “but the details are awful. I’m really sorry. But… but how does this relate to William and me?”
“One of the people involved up high in both consortiums was William. William Barnett is the man who basically robbed us of half a million dollars.”
Anne felt she had been hit. Her jaw went slack, and she stared at her friend, dumbfounded.
William? William would do this to people? Oh God. She knew he was a determined businessman, but to do this on the backs of trusting investors was appalling. How could he live with himself, knowing his wealth had pushed others into poverty? Every bite of pastry threatened to make itself known to her again. She swallowed hard.
“Are you okay, Anne? You knew nothing about this?”
“No.” The walls swayed around her. “Not a thing. I knew he had business there, but… I never suspected. He always seemed responsible, even if not the most open person ever. But…”
But Penny. But he had been using Anne to hide his affair with the orchestra CEO’s wife. That was morally repugnant, and she felt ill again.
“I’m really sorry, Anne. I knew all of this, of course, but when I thought you liked him, I kept quiet. I never wanted to hurt you, and if you loved him, I could live with this secret. You’re more important than he is.”
Another gulp. “What else is there, Jaz? I can see in your face you’re not telling me everything.”
“Wallis bragged quite a bit to Connor. It seems our friend William has been using you in all sorts of ways. All those dinners out you’ve had with him? Did you ever run into his friends?”
The art gallery, the Shakespeare play, the restaurants…
“Yes. Often. All the time, really. It was almost uncanny, the coincidences.”
“Not coincidences. William planned it all. At least, that’s what Connor got from Wallis, who I presume got it from William himself. He planned it, all of it. It’s not hard, if you know the right person’s secretary or personal assistant. ‘Can I call So-and-So tonight?’ ‘Sorry, sir, he’s out. I just made reservations for him at Chez Somewhere Fancy.’ You know how it goes.”
“But why? What possible reason could he have?”
Jasmine cast a sympathetic glance over the top of her mug. “You’re a star, Anne. You’re his endorsement. If William is in company with the brilliant, talented, charming, and totally reputable Anne Elliot, then he, too, must be totally reputable. He’d meet with these people, use you as his entrée, get them talking, and then sell them stuff. Connor thinks that’s also why he’s on the orchestra’s board. It’s like street cred for the very well-to-do. Act like a good guy in public, and people will think you’re a good guy in private.”
Something wet trickled down Anne’s cheek. Was she crying? Oh, don’t be crying! He’s not worth it.
“He’s a rat, Anne. When you told me you didn’t love him, I was so relieved. He’s got a black heart. He has no conscience. He thinks only of himself, and would do anything he could as long as it didn’t put a blot on his supposed good character. I can’t think how many people he has ruined, and I am just beyond relieved that you’re not one of them. Oh, hon, you’re leaking. Don’t cry. You should celebrate being smart enough to see through his pretty shell.”
In a moment, Jasmine had Anne wrapped up in her arms and Anne let the tears fall, long and hard.
Soon enough, the flood stopped, and Anne grabbed for a paper serviette to mop up the evidence. “You said you had good news too,” she sniffled. “I could use some good news.”
“Come. Let’s sit again. It’s pretty simple, really. Basically, we’re getting our money back. It won’t make up for the loss due to inflation and any interest we might have accrued on it, but it’s half a million we never thought we’d see again. We’re pretty pleased.”
The lead ball in her stomach lighted a hair. “Pleased? I’m sure you’re more than pleased! That’s wonderful news. But how? How did this all happen so quickly?”
Jasmine blushed. “It was your friend Ben James, really, who did it. I told you I ran into Fred the other week?”
Anne nodded.
“Well, he put us in touch with Ben, who was doing an investigative piece on property market scams. It seems this particular project was high on someone’s radar, and he took a deep dive into it. He was even down in the islands looking through the records and files there.”
“Ohhh… So that’s where he disappeared to after Christmas. Fred just said that he was working, but I didn’t know where. That’s… interesting. What happened? What did he find?”
A wide smile spread over Jasmine’s pretty face. “He’s the one who dug up the information about the new consortium being the old one in sheep’s clothing. He wrote up a long piece for some prominent global publication, and approached a few of the folks involved at the top, offering to tone down some of the more accusatory language if they would start to return the money they effectively stole. I know we were owed the money in theory, but when things get tied up in legal cases, it was a guess as to whether we would have seen a penny of it. Now they are paying up.”
This time, the hug was one of joy.
“So it was Ben who did this? Who helped you get your money back?”
Jasmine beamed. “Ben, but really Fred. From what Ben said when we met with him, it was Fred who told him about the scam, and Fred who sent him to us. Without Fred spearheading the whole idea, we would still be looking for old crackers behind the sofa cushions.”
The celebration that followed was short. Jasmine had to leave to teach her violin students, and Anne had her own class at the University to lead. But both women parted ways with much lighter hearts.
Anne was free of William. Despite the pain her friend’s tale had brought, the knowledge was its own relief. Jasmine and Connor could start to rebuild their lives, and Fred had proven himself to be one of the best men of her acquaintance. To do this for somebody he hardly knew was evidence of his truly good nature. She must call him and thank him from the bottom of her heart. She would have to do exactly this as soon as she got home from teaching. She carried on to her classes with a smile on her face and a sense of calm she had not felt in far too long.
It was only later, as she returned home that afternoon, that a heart-stopping thought occurred to Anne.
If Sophia and Jasmine thought she was in love with William Barnett and probably about to marry him, what did Fred think he knew?
Chapter Thirty
Cantabile
Three days. It was three days before Ben and Louisa’s wedding. So many emotions, relentless and insistent, washed over Anne that she could hardly stand. Thursday and Friday had slipped by in an endless daze, and now the weekend gaped before her. She called Marie to beg off watching the boys on Saturday evening, and stared at her blank tablet and piles of manuscript paper, unable even to lift the pen or stylus to write.
Music was usually her refuge where she could pour out her heart, a tacit therapeutic outlet that would never divulge her most private thoughts. But now nothing would come. Not a note. Her muse had forsaken her.
She was delighted for Ben and Louisa, mortified at Jasmine’s tale and her own unwitting role in William’s deception, relieved at the reversal in Jasmine and Connor’s fortunes, and heartbroken over the loss of a friendship even if she had no wishes for anything deeper.
What should she do about William? Despite everything, she could not break up with him by text… not that they were a couple, at least as far as she was concerned. But the thought of contacting him to suggest a meeting was even more impossible. He would assume she wanted to pursue the relationship, and who knows what else he might tell people. Time and again, she wrote this email and that, trying to find the right words, but each time she deleted every letter and ended up staring at the same blank page she had started with.
She tried to phone, but it went straight to voicemail, although she knew from Jeremy that he was in town. Perhaps he was too busy with Penny to answer her call. In the end, she sent a few words thanking him for his friendship, but saying she couldn’t go out with him again. It was unsatisfactory, but it was all she could manage, and the weight of his deceit and expectations sat heavily on her shoulders.
But the worst of all was the dread that suffocated her when she thought of Fred.
Fred. His name had been at the forefront of every thought that had passed her fevered brain since Jasmine’s visit. When she closed her eyes, it was his face she saw. When she tried to listen to music, it was his baton that led the band, his voice that filled her ears, his thoughts that invaded her mind.
“Is everything alright? You seem… distracted.”
Her friend smiled. It wasn’t quite the open laugh Anne was used to, but it didn’t seem entirely feigned. “Everything is fine. Quite good, really. Let’s talk later.” She moved to her fiddle and removed the bow to coat the long white hairs with a kiss of rosin.
Anne screwed up her brow for a moment. “Oh. Alright. Should we look at the Bach again, or do you want to move right to the Mozart?”
They settled on the Bach they had played the week before. Both had gone over some notes and a few difficult passages, and this week’s endeavour produced something more like a performance than last week’s play-through. There were still a couple of sticky moments that needed more attention, but the result was more than acceptable, and both women finished the piece much more at ease than when they had started.
Next, they made a first attempt at reading through the Mozart they had chosen, the violin sonata in E minor. It was a short piece, with only two movements, and not particularly challenging technically, but the frequent unison sections, where violin and both hands of the piano played the same notes, required them to pay close attention to each other’s subtle gestures and musical suggestions. Then the music moved into the development section of the first movement, with first the piano and then the violin interrupting the other’s musical line, a statement and argument, and then the reverse, before settling back into a comfortable closing. Then came the second movement, song-like, first gentle and then more fiery, and when at last they played the final chord, it was with the joy of music salving some unknown wound.
Now, when Anne offered coffee, Jasmine nodded. The sparkle in her eye was back, and her smile relaxed and open once more.
“I bought a selection of danishes,” Anne pushed the box across the table. “I couldn’t remember if you preferred poppy seed or fruit, or maybe cinnamon, so I got a bunch of little ones. We can sample and do a taste test.”
Jasmine contemplated the offerings, and then placed a blueberry pastry onto her plate before reaching back with a cheeky grin and taking a poppy seed one as well. “I suppose you will be able to buy all the pastries you want soon.” She glanced up after that cryptic remark.
Anne tilted her head and frowned. “Sorry?”
“You don’t have to play coy with me. I’ve… I’ve heard things.”
Another frown. “What things?”
“About you. You can tell me. It’s alright.”
Anne shook her head. “I’m sorry, Jaz. I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Connor heard it from someone he used to work with. A fellow named Adam Wallis. Surely you know him.”
Wallis? Where had she heard that name before? It was familiar, tantalising, but not there. He was certainly not anybody she had ever met. Had she heard someone mention him? With her dreadful memory for names, it must have been recent, perhaps just this last week or so. That was when William returned…
“Wallis? Yes! That’s where I’ve heard of him. William’s business partner. He mentioned him in connection to some deal in the Caribbean. St Somewhere? Or was it Something Town? Oh, I’m terrible with names.”
“Cockburn Town. In the Turks and Caicos.” Now Jasmine looked directly at her. Asking… something.
“That’s right.” Something was going on that she didn’t quite understand. “What do you know?”
Jasmine sagged a bit. “You and William. Wallis told Connor that you are going to be marrying William Barnett.”
Anne’s coffee cup clattered on the table. “What? Me marrying William? Why does everybody think I’m marrying William Barnett?”
Jasmine bit her bottom lip. “You’re not?” She seemed surprised, confused, and relieved. What in the world was going on?
“No! You are the second person in so many days who thinks so, too. What has he been telling people?”
“You have been seen together all over town, and for months now. I’ve seen the photos on social media. Everyone has. You can’t hide it.”
“I’m not denying that. But it’s a big jump from going to a gallery opening to getting married! We’re just friends.”
Jasmine pushed her cup around in a small circle on the table. “Is it? All those shows and plays and dinners out? And I heard about the gala. That kiss didn’t make it into the newspapers, but someone pulled out a phone. That didn’t look just friendly to me.” Her eyebrows rose in accusation.
Anne cringed. That kiss, that unwanted kiss, was coming back to haunt her in so many ways. It had, she now knew, been the beginning of the end, the first real warning bell that tolled the demise of whatever it was between her and William.
“Annie? I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to say something hurtful. But you must understand what people saw.”
“It wasn’t like that, Jaz. Or, it was, but I didn’t mean it. That is… Oh, I’m just not making any sense at all.” She closed her eyes and sighed.
“And then I heard about the cocktail party last weekend.”
Anne’s eyes popped open. “Oh God. From who?”
Her friend took a sip from the almost-empty cup. “That’s where Adam Wallis comes in. It’s a long story. Wallis and William Barnett are business partners—”
“Okay, that much I know.”
“And Wallis and Connor have worked together in the past, and not always amicably.” Her look was pointed. “Connor has been back in contact with Wallis, trying to get some details worked out about… well, I’ll tell you in a bit. But back to this. Wallis told Connor that William told him that you two are all but married. Something about a big announcement at the cocktail party, but that you got sick so had to leave early before he could say anything publicly. But he was pretty certain…” She shrugged.
Anne glanced at the clock. Eleven o’clock in the morning. Too early for wine. But not too early for more coffee. She staggered up to move to the kitchen to grab the carafe from the coffee maker and bring it to the table.
With her cup full once more, and another pastry on her plate, she chewed over this story for a moment. How to make sense of it all?
“I think,” she began, “there’s been a huge mistake somewhere. I don’t know who has been telling what to whom, but I’m not marrying William. I’m not even sure I wish to be his friend anymore. I’ve… I’ve discovered some things that I don’t like.”
“But you did love him?”
“What? No! I liked him. He was all dashing and romantic, and I tried to find something more than just friendship, but no, I never loved him. I couldn’t. If people thought that, it was all just a mistake. A big mistake.”
A wave of relief passed over Jasmine’s face, so clear it was almost palpable. “Oh, thank heavens!” She looked at the box of pastries and took two more. “This calls for a celebration, I think, and an explanation.”
If Anne had been confused before, now she was beyond fuddled. “I’m listening. But I don’t understand at all.”
Over more coffee and the rest of the pastries, Jasmine told her story.
Five years before, Connor had been working as an investment advisor and had heard, through associates, of this phenomenal opportunity in Turks and Caicos. It was to be a five-star development that could be a permanent home, a vacation home, or an income property for vacationers. It was guaranteed to be a money maker one way or another, and after due diligence, Connor had invested everything he and Jasmine had into the project, forgoing thoughts of purchasing their dream home in Toronto for this opportunity.
And then the development company pulled the brakes. There was no construction, no planning, no work at all. The consortium always had an excuse - missing permits, lack of suitably skilled workers, environmental assessments - but the result was the same, namely nothing. After four years of this, the development consortium announced that the project would not proceed after all and sold all the land and plans to another company. And that company had announced it was, indeed, proceeding with the development but at double the price. Everyone who had put money into the project could continue with their plans, but they needed to find the extra cash, and quickly.
Now the Smiths, and all those like them, had both lost the use of their fortunes that had gone into the first project, and were unable to afford to buy into the resurrected project. Inflation had made their initial investments relatively smaller; there was little they could now use that money for. In the five years since they had invested, housing prices at home had almost doubled.
Worse, a little bit more digging turned up some nasty business. The new consortium that had bought the project and land from the original group was composed of almost the identical set of people. In other words, they bought the project from themselves, doubled their take, and left a lot of people hung out to dry. When this came to light, the case ended up as the subject of court cases and governmental probes, and any money that might have gone back to the original lot of investors was now tied up in a bureaucratic mess that would take years to resolve. So not only was the initial investment worth so much less, the investors didn’t even have access to the money they had poured in.
And this had left Jasmine and Connor living in a tiny apartment in a not so nice part of town, trying to survive on what she could earn as a violin teacher.
“I knew a bit about this from the newspapers,” Anne shook her head, “but the details are awful. I’m really sorry. But… but how does this relate to William and me?”
“One of the people involved up high in both consortiums was William. William Barnett is the man who basically robbed us of half a million dollars.”
Anne felt she had been hit. Her jaw went slack, and she stared at her friend, dumbfounded.
William? William would do this to people? Oh God. She knew he was a determined businessman, but to do this on the backs of trusting investors was appalling. How could he live with himself, knowing his wealth had pushed others into poverty? Every bite of pastry threatened to make itself known to her again. She swallowed hard.
“Are you okay, Anne? You knew nothing about this?”
“No.” The walls swayed around her. “Not a thing. I knew he had business there, but… I never suspected. He always seemed responsible, even if not the most open person ever. But…”
But Penny. But he had been using Anne to hide his affair with the orchestra CEO’s wife. That was morally repugnant, and she felt ill again.
“I’m really sorry, Anne. I knew all of this, of course, but when I thought you liked him, I kept quiet. I never wanted to hurt you, and if you loved him, I could live with this secret. You’re more important than he is.”
Another gulp. “What else is there, Jaz? I can see in your face you’re not telling me everything.”
“Wallis bragged quite a bit to Connor. It seems our friend William has been using you in all sorts of ways. All those dinners out you’ve had with him? Did you ever run into his friends?”
The art gallery, the Shakespeare play, the restaurants…
“Yes. Often. All the time, really. It was almost uncanny, the coincidences.”
“Not coincidences. William planned it all. At least, that’s what Connor got from Wallis, who I presume got it from William himself. He planned it, all of it. It’s not hard, if you know the right person’s secretary or personal assistant. ‘Can I call So-and-So tonight?’ ‘Sorry, sir, he’s out. I just made reservations for him at Chez Somewhere Fancy.’ You know how it goes.”
“But why? What possible reason could he have?”
Jasmine cast a sympathetic glance over the top of her mug. “You’re a star, Anne. You’re his endorsement. If William is in company with the brilliant, talented, charming, and totally reputable Anne Elliot, then he, too, must be totally reputable. He’d meet with these people, use you as his entrée, get them talking, and then sell them stuff. Connor thinks that’s also why he’s on the orchestra’s board. It’s like street cred for the very well-to-do. Act like a good guy in public, and people will think you’re a good guy in private.”
Something wet trickled down Anne’s cheek. Was she crying? Oh, don’t be crying! He’s not worth it.
“He’s a rat, Anne. When you told me you didn’t love him, I was so relieved. He’s got a black heart. He has no conscience. He thinks only of himself, and would do anything he could as long as it didn’t put a blot on his supposed good character. I can’t think how many people he has ruined, and I am just beyond relieved that you’re not one of them. Oh, hon, you’re leaking. Don’t cry. You should celebrate being smart enough to see through his pretty shell.”
In a moment, Jasmine had Anne wrapped up in her arms and Anne let the tears fall, long and hard.
Soon enough, the flood stopped, and Anne grabbed for a paper serviette to mop up the evidence. “You said you had good news too,” she sniffled. “I could use some good news.”
“Come. Let’s sit again. It’s pretty simple, really. Basically, we’re getting our money back. It won’t make up for the loss due to inflation and any interest we might have accrued on it, but it’s half a million we never thought we’d see again. We’re pretty pleased.”
The lead ball in her stomach lighted a hair. “Pleased? I’m sure you’re more than pleased! That’s wonderful news. But how? How did this all happen so quickly?”
Jasmine blushed. “It was your friend Ben James, really, who did it. I told you I ran into Fred the other week?”
Anne nodded.
“Well, he put us in touch with Ben, who was doing an investigative piece on property market scams. It seems this particular project was high on someone’s radar, and he took a deep dive into it. He was even down in the islands looking through the records and files there.”
“Ohhh… So that’s where he disappeared to after Christmas. Fred just said that he was working, but I didn’t know where. That’s… interesting. What happened? What did he find?”
A wide smile spread over Jasmine’s pretty face. “He’s the one who dug up the information about the new consortium being the old one in sheep’s clothing. He wrote up a long piece for some prominent global publication, and approached a few of the folks involved at the top, offering to tone down some of the more accusatory language if they would start to return the money they effectively stole. I know we were owed the money in theory, but when things get tied up in legal cases, it was a guess as to whether we would have seen a penny of it. Now they are paying up.”
This time, the hug was one of joy.
“So it was Ben who did this? Who helped you get your money back?”
Jasmine beamed. “Ben, but really Fred. From what Ben said when we met with him, it was Fred who told him about the scam, and Fred who sent him to us. Without Fred spearheading the whole idea, we would still be looking for old crackers behind the sofa cushions.”
The celebration that followed was short. Jasmine had to leave to teach her violin students, and Anne had her own class at the University to lead. But both women parted ways with much lighter hearts.
Anne was free of William. Despite the pain her friend’s tale had brought, the knowledge was its own relief. Jasmine and Connor could start to rebuild their lives, and Fred had proven himself to be one of the best men of her acquaintance. To do this for somebody he hardly knew was evidence of his truly good nature. She must call him and thank him from the bottom of her heart. She would have to do exactly this as soon as she got home from teaching. She carried on to her classes with a smile on her face and a sense of calm she had not felt in far too long.
It was only later, as she returned home that afternoon, that a heart-stopping thought occurred to Anne.
If Sophia and Jasmine thought she was in love with William Barnett and probably about to marry him, what did Fred think he knew?
Chapter Thirty
Cantabile
Three days. It was three days before Ben and Louisa’s wedding. So many emotions, relentless and insistent, washed over Anne that she could hardly stand. Thursday and Friday had slipped by in an endless daze, and now the weekend gaped before her. She called Marie to beg off watching the boys on Saturday evening, and stared at her blank tablet and piles of manuscript paper, unable even to lift the pen or stylus to write.
Music was usually her refuge where she could pour out her heart, a tacit therapeutic outlet that would never divulge her most private thoughts. But now nothing would come. Not a note. Her muse had forsaken her.
She was delighted for Ben and Louisa, mortified at Jasmine’s tale and her own unwitting role in William’s deception, relieved at the reversal in Jasmine and Connor’s fortunes, and heartbroken over the loss of a friendship even if she had no wishes for anything deeper.
What should she do about William? Despite everything, she could not break up with him by text… not that they were a couple, at least as far as she was concerned. But the thought of contacting him to suggest a meeting was even more impossible. He would assume she wanted to pursue the relationship, and who knows what else he might tell people. Time and again, she wrote this email and that, trying to find the right words, but each time she deleted every letter and ended up staring at the same blank page she had started with.
She tried to phone, but it went straight to voicemail, although she knew from Jeremy that he was in town. Perhaps he was too busy with Penny to answer her call. In the end, she sent a few words thanking him for his friendship, but saying she couldn’t go out with him again. It was unsatisfactory, but it was all she could manage, and the weight of his deceit and expectations sat heavily on her shoulders.
But the worst of all was the dread that suffocated her when she thought of Fred.
Fred. His name had been at the forefront of every thought that had passed her fevered brain since Jasmine’s visit. When she closed her eyes, it was his face she saw. When she tried to listen to music, it was his baton that led the band, his voice that filled her ears, his thoughts that invaded her mind.
