The Corrigan legacy (4 page)

Afterwards he saw a lawyer of his own, who took notes about his 'case' and said he'd better not do anything to rock the boat until the test results came back and they were more certain of exactly where they stood.

But the man did admit that the legal situation wasn't as black and white as Kerry had said, not by any means. Cal tried to take some comfort from that, but it was all so chancy, with so many ifs and buts that he couldn't see his way clearly.

After that the test results were all he could think about. His work suffered. It was hard to design clever web pages when his heart felt torn apart, when he had no weekend visit from Lily to look forward to, when the ground felt to hayeCshifted beneath his feet and further earthquakes still threatened.

It was two months before Judith's knee was well enough for her to move to Lancashire. During that time she stayed at a hotel, reading a lot, trying to get used to the new laptop computer she'd bought, seeing as much of Mitch as she could. While she relished the idea of what her stay was costing Des, she was increasingly frustrated by her physical limitations and wished desperately that she was in her own home.

She didn't press charges of assault against Des but made sure her lawyer had evidence that it had happened - just in case.

In case of what? She wasn't sure. Des had never thumped her before. It seemed so unlike him, though during the past year or so his temper had been more chancy than usual. Well, he wouldn't get the opportunity to thump her again, she would make sure of that.

Various friends visited her at the hotel, curious as to why she wasn't recuperating at home. 'Des and I have split up,' she told them, always adding, 'but I don't intend to discuss the reasons for that with anyone.'

She hated the thought of her private pain being paraded for everyone to pick at, so usually turned the conversation towards the village she was moving to in Lancashire and her intention of spending more time on her painting. 'Once I'm settled in, you must come and visit,' she told one or two particular friends - but only those whose husbands were not dependent on doing business with Des. She didn't want to expose anyone else to his business spite.

March. Snow one day, immaculately white. A week later, golden sunshine and the first daffodils dance lightly across the land, challenging winter s greyness.

Eventually the time came for Judith to arrange her move. She informed Des's lawyer of the coming move, saying she hadn't fixed on an exact date yet.

Des turned up at the hotel the very next day. She. was so stunned to see him when she opened the door that he'd walked in before she could protest.

She remained where she was, didn't even try to close the door. 'Go away.' 

'I want to talk.'

'Well, I don't'

When he came towards her, she flinched, couldn't help it, even though she hated herself for doing it.

He took a step backwards, spreading out his hands. 'For Christ's sake, woman, it was an accident. I didn't mean-to knock you down the stairs. I've never hit you before, have I? I lost my temper. Can't we even talk now?'

'What is there to talk about? I've left you. Period.'

He put one arm round her, slammed the door with his other hand and drew her over towards the couch. 'That's what I want to talk about.'

She was horrified at her own reaction to his touch, for her body was responding to him as it always had. For a moment, she desperately wanted him to touch her, hold her - even persuade her to stay. She hated herself for that, so she pulled away and repeated, 'What's to discuss?'

He pushed her gently down on the couch and sat next to her. 'I'd like to discuss whether it's really necessary for us to split up, Judith. We were a family and we can be again. It's you who's driving this and not only is it not good for Mitch, it's not what I want either. Ah, come back home, darlin'.'

Anger began to bubble up in her. The Irish accent only crept into his voice when he was conning someone, because he'd left Ireland when he was seven to live in Lancashire. But oh, a man had no right to be so attractive at the age of fifty-eight. 'If you'd said this to me last week, I might have listened, Des. I was thinking about returning. So . . .' She let the word hang in the air for a minute, then said bluntly, 'I had another report done on you by my detective friend.' She paused as she saw understanding begin to dawn in his face, then tossed at him, 'You're still seeing her. I won't be part of a menage a trois, not now, not ever! It's over between us, Des. Get used to it.'

Anger darkened his face and all the easy charm vanished.

She got up and moved towards the door. 'I'd like you to leave now, please.'

'Not so fast, you stupid bitch!'

He had such anger burning in his eyes that terror slammed through her and she dived for the bathroom, just managing to slam the door on him and lock it. As he pounded on it and roared at her to come out, she leaned against the wall, shaking from head to toe, shocked at how physically afraid of him she was now. The door shook against her body and she backed away from it. It wouldn't hold him for long. What was she going to do?

Then she caught sight of the wall phone. She'd wondered why they bothered to put them in hotel bathrooms, now she blessed whoever had thought up the idea. With a hand that shook, she picked it up.

'I have an unwanted guest in my room and he's turned violent. I'm locked in the bathroom.' The noise Des was making, banging on the door and shouting, must be audible, surely? 'C-could you please send someone quickly to get him out?'

'I'm not leaving till you come out and discuss things properly!' Des roared from outside the door, doing some more thumping. A wooden panel split beneath his fist.

She didn't answer, couldn't, just sat on the toilet seat and covered her face with her hands. She couldn't believe they'd come to this, that she was terrified of Des. But she was. He'd changed in so many ways lately. Judith hadn't even noticed what was happening at first, putting his irritability down to his being so busy. It had begun to sink in eventually, however, that this was what he had become - not only unfaithful, but domineering and sharp-tempered.

It seemed a long time till someone knocked on the door of the suite. She heard Des shout, 'Sod off!' then the outer door open. This was followed by what sounded like a scuffle and the words, 'But I'm her husband, dammit! I'm paying for this room, so I have every right to be here.'

When someone knocked on the bathroom door and said, 'Ms Horrocks?' Judith's maiden name, which she was using now, she couldn't hold back a sob of relief. She opened it to see Des standing there, still radiating anger, with two burly men standing between him and her.

'Do you wish this gentleman to leave, madam?' one of them asked.

'Yes. Yes, I do, please. And so I told him.'

Des breathed in deeply 'Look, this is just a lovers.' quarrel. I'm sorry if we disturbed the peace. It won't happen again.'

She said quickly to the concierge, 'I don't want him to stay. He may be my husband, but we're separated and he won't leave me alone. I'm going to have to take out a restraining order against him.'

The two men moved towards Des, who threw up his hands and asked the ceiling, 'Does anyone understand women? She opened the door to me and invited me in, you know. I can't figure what's got into her lately.' His Irish accent was back.

'It's easy enough to understand that a woman whose knee you injured recently in a fit of anger doesn't want to risk something similar happening.'

There was an audible intake of breath from the uniformed concierge, and the other man glanced quickly from one guest to the other.

The smile vanished from Des's face. 'You'll be sorry for that, you stupid bitch.' He turned on his heel and left. One man followed him.

Judith collapsed on the nearest couch, tears running down her cheeks.

'Can I get you something, madam?' the concierge asked.

'No, thank you, but I'm grateful for your help. I'll be very careful who I open the door to from now on, I promise you.'

That evening Judith's mother rang. 'All right if Mitch and I come to see you tonight?'

'Yes. I'd love that.'

'Is something wrong?'

Judith sniffed back a tear. 'Des came here today. He - was pretty nasty.'

There was a long silence.

'Mum? Are you still there?' She was weeping, couldn't hide it, was still so upset by what had happened.

'It's his age, probably. I was reading an article about it only last week, how their hormones change and it makes some men grumpy. They can fix it if the man will seek help.'

'I can't see Des admitting he needs help. You know how he hates doctors and hospitals.'

'No, I can't either. Well, shall I see you about half past seven?'

'Yes.'

That evening one of the concierges escorted her visitors upstairs himself.

Mitch waited for the door to close then asked, 'What happened with Dad this time?'

'Do you want to sit down before we discuss it?'

Shrugging, he sprawled on the bed. 'Well?'

'How do you know anything happened?'

'Because he came to Gran's in a fury and it seemed to be because of you. He said I shouldn't come to see you unless I wanted to be treated like a criminal, but wouldn't explain what he meant by that. What happened today, Mum?'

'Oh, he came here ranting and raving and wouldn't leave. He wants me to go back to him, but I won't because he's still seeing the other woman. He started shouting and I got a bit nervous, so I locked myself in the bathroom and called for help.'

They both looked automatically at the bathroom door, one panel of which had a long split down it.

Hilary gasped and covered her mouth with one hand for a moment or two, then whispered, 'Dear God! What's got into the man?'

Mitch came and put his arm round his mother, something he didn't often do.

Judith leaned against him for a moment. 'I don't want you involved in our quarrels, love.'

'I'm part of it all, whether you want it or not.' Mitch hesitated, then added, 'Gran says I should keep out of it, only Dad keeps saying things to me about you.'

She could feel herself stiffening. Des playing dirty already! 'Well, I'm not going to start blackening his name to you. I shall keep to the facts, and only those you need to know.'

After another thoughtful pause, Mitch said, 'I ignore most of what he says about you, but I will ask you if there's something I really want to know your side of. You'd better get on the Net as soon as you settle in, then we can email one another. How's it going?' He nodded towards the laptop.

'I'm getting pretty good at it. I'm starting to enjoy surfing the Net, actually. Thank goodness this hotel's connected in all rooms.'

'Good. It's such an easy way to stay in touch. There's always time for a quick email, even if it's only a one-liner. I'm a bit busy with my studies just now but he doesn't seem to understand that.'

'No. He's not very understanding about other people's needs.'

'Will you be all right in Lancashire?'

'What do you mean?'

'Well, living on your own. I think you should get someone to share your house, Mum. It'd be much safer. Preferably a strong young guy.'

'My aunt's house is in the country, in a village not an urban ghetto.'

'Still . . . better to be safe than sorry.'

When they'd gone she couldn't get Mitch's remarks out of her mind. Surely Des's dislike of anyone besting him wouldn't make him reach out so far to get back at her?

The private investigator looked at Maeve, his face expressionless. 'You want me to send someone all the way to Australia, Miss Corrigan?'

'Yes. Someone very skilled and circumspect. I have a niece and nephew there whom I've never met. I want to know what they're like, but I don't want them to know I'm having them investigated.'

When he pursed his lips, she said nothing more, waiting for him to consider what she'd asked him to do. She'd employed Mark Felton several times, then had helped him set up his own business. He was intelligent and tactful, able to do more than just find out facts.

'That'll cost a lot of money, Miss Corrigan.'

She brushed that aside with a wave of her hand. 'You'll do it?'

'Yes. It may take me a few days to find someone suitable, though.'

'You couldn't go yourself?'

He stared at her, giving nothing away, then a slow smile warmed his face. 'I'm due a holiday. Why not?'

'There are a few other things I want looking into here in England as well. For that I require someone very capable to take your place.'

'All my employees are capable. I'll put James at your disposal.' Mark had been thinking of offering his deputy a partnership, taking life a little more easily now his business was thriving. He was getting the urge to find a life partner, settle down, but he didn't seem to meet many single women and he wasn't into clubs and pubs.

Australia, end of a long, hot summer. Sydney is full of dust, fumes and heat. Sweaty, sleepless nights send tired people into streets and offices. The sky is cloudless. No prospect of rain.

It was cooler that day, after a five-day hot spell, and people were smiling as they walked along the street. Kate stared at them and wished she could feel the same joie de vivre, but she was on her way to the doctor's and all she could focus on was the results of the latest tests. Surely they'd show something this time, something that could be treated, because she still felt terrible?

The waiting room was full and she slumped down in the nearest chair without even the energy to pick up a magazine from the pile on the table, let alone read it.

As soon as she was ushered into the consulting room she asked, 'Well, what do the tests show?'

Dr Smithers consulted her computer. 'That you've had a virus. But it's nothing specific, like Ross River or glandular fever. There's not much we can do about viruses anyway, I'm afraid.'

Kate swallowed hard. She was determined not to weep in front of the doctor today as she had last time.

'How are you feeling?'

'Pretty lousy. This fluey feeling just won't go away. And my head feels as if it's stuffed with cotton wool.'

Dr Smithers looked at her sympathetically. 'It's been going on for what - nearly two months now? We should start calling it post-viral syndrome, I'm afraid.'

Kate glared at her. 'I don't care what you call it, I just want to get better. There must be something you can do!'

'I'm afraid not. The main advice I can give you is to take time off work - have a really long holiday and continue resting.'

'And will that get me better?'

Another hesitation, then, 'I don't know. Sometimes it helps, sometimes it doesn't.'

'I want to see a specialist.'

'What sort of specialist?'

'How the hell do I know what sort? You're the doctor. You tell me what sort deals with post-viral bloody syndrome. I'm running out of money. I can't afford to stay off work any longer.'

There was a silence, then Dr Smithers looked at her patient, who had been bad-tempered and uncooperative all through this illness, who had twice tried to go back to work - against her advice - only to collapse and have to be taken home again before the morning ended. She had to make this young woman realize how serious this could become. 'There's a possibility now that you may be suffering from chronic fatigue syndrome and—'

Shock held Kate rigid for a moment, then she clutched her handbag with both hands. 'But that's a crippling disease! No, I can't have that! I won't! I'm finding myself another doctor. You don't know what you're talking about.'

She slammed out of the consulting room, storming through the reception area without trying to pay for the consultation. But she had to sit in her car for a few moments before she could drive off because she felt so exhausted she could hardly lift her hands to grip the steering wheel. But she did not have chronic fatigue syndrome!

When she got home she went and lay down on her bed because she simply couldn't stay upright a minute longer. But her last thought as she drifted off to sleep was that it wasn't chronic fatigue, couldn't be. She had a friend who'd been ill for two years with that. No, she couldn't, wouldn't have it! It must be something else.

Joe woke her later with a cup of tea and she stared at him in shock. 'What are you doing home at this time of day?'