Authors: Lynette McClenaghan
In Jeopardy
Lynette McClenaghan
Published by Lynette McClenaghan
First Published 2014
Copyright Lynette McClenaghan
The moral right of the author has been asserted.
All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright restriction above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise), without the prior written permission of the copyright owner.
This book is the work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are a product of the Author’s imagination, or if real, are used in a fictitious context.
Digital rights Management (DRM) applied to this book.
ISBNS: 978-0-9875408-5-0 (kindle)
978-0-9875408-4-3 (Epub)
I wish to thank Douglas McClenaghan for his invaluable assistance with
In Jeopardy
, his support and patience through the long involved process of writing fiction and self-publishing. I’d also like to thank Phil Scamp from Artful who produced my book cover and Australian Society of Authors for their assistance with the publishing process.
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Drew is a self-obsessed socialite. At her opulent twenty-fifth birthday party she is confronted by an unpleasant surprise. She learns that she has unwittingly become subject to an ancient family curse. Can Drew escape the fate that awaits?
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Forthcoming
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Summer 2014/15
This is a dark tale of supernatural possession and the haunting of a child. Samantha’s life is threatened from an unlikely source that wields an uncanny power over her and her family.
Betrayals
Chapter One
Christine lunges onto the footpath; a taxi pulls away from the curb and onto the street almost striking her down. She leaps into the next car at the front of the rank, blood pounding in her head. Sweat pours over her skin as she gives the driver the address. The taxi makes a tight U-turn before surging forward; she asks the driver to hurry. Ten minutes later the car stops then drives off, leaving her alone outside Damien and Jenna’s house.
Damien opens the front door, ‘I got your message. I know what happened. He obviously couldn’t reach you. Come in and I’ll explain.’
Christine hesitates before stepping into the house. ‘This is all happening again; the lies, the affairs…’
‘Christine, it’s not what you think.’
‘Then how is it this time? Richard is interstate with work for a week stretching into ten days and more. When I called the hotel he’s booked into the receptionist told me he’s checked out. I called his work and they said he’s staying on for a few extra days.’
‘It sounds far-fetched, but he met up with Jack, this guy he knew at university. You must know who I’m talking about. Surely Richard mentioned him to you?’
She nods, indicating that she has a vague recollection of a loud friend from her husband’s youth.
‘Jack talked Richard into joining him on a four wheel drive adventure. He was desperate to escape spending hours shopping with his wife and daughters.’
Christine shoots Damien a hard look, interrupting him before he can continue with an account of events already ringing hollow. ‘You expect me to believe this?’
She sees Jenna from the corner of her eye. She enters the room and greets Christine in an awkward, almost formal manner, before gesturing that Christine sit in the armchair. Damien sinks into the other armchair sitting opposite.
‘Jenna, will you fix Christine a drink?’
‘Christine, would you like tea, coffee or…?’
‘Thanks – I’ll have the usual – a white tea.’
‘One sugar?’
‘Thanks.’
‘And you Damien?’
‘Vodka and orange.’ Damien turns to Christine. ‘As I was saying, Richard was near the end of the project. There were the usual delays and all that rot. He was cooling his heels, wandered into a camping emporium for old time’s sake and ran into Jack.’
‘I wasn’t aware that Richard was passionate about the wilderness. He never mentioned it to me.’ She cannot disguise the scepticism in her voice.
Richard has memberships at the gym and tennis club. These activities appeal more to Richard’s vanity and the idea of maintaining a lean and youthful physique. The tennis club is one of the most exclusive in the state, filled with people like Richard; able, competent players of the right class, but lacking any real talent or drive to improve.
She struggles to imagine Richard going on a blokes’ adventure away from the comforts of home and life’s luxuries.
‘Richard quickly wrapped up the project with days to spare and he and Jack hit the road.’
Christine listens in disbelief to this compelling story and wonders whether Richard will return with snaps of his adventure.
‘They hired a four-wheel-drive and equipment and drove into the heart of the Blue Mountains, past the tourist haunts and off road into the bush. Though within striking distance of civilization there’s no reception. I must say it’s a bit naughty that Richard didn’t tell you what he was up to.’
‘He found time to contact you, didn’t he?’
‘It all happened so quickly. He couldn’t get hold of you, called me and asked me to pass on the message.’
How lame is this? They’re not even trying to stitch together a half believable story.
Damien sees the contempt in her eyes and stumbles on. ‘As I explained – I don’t excuse what Richard did. It was inconsiderate – it’s understandable that you’re worried and that you arrived in a state of panic. I’m sorry – I should have let you know. It was my responsibility, but it slipped my mind. I don’t make excuses for myself.’
‘You just have. Did it ever cross your mind that anyone’s unexplained disappearance would warrant filing a missing person’s report with the police? His office didn’t know where he was, only that they were expecting him to return to work early next week. It is fortunate that you have allayed my worst fears.’
‘You don’t know Jack.’
‘I don’t want to know Jack. He’s an inconsiderate cretin.’
‘Let me explain.’
Christine shoots Damien a look that says:
I’m listening and this better be good.
‘Jack would have seized this opportunity without any thought of contacting you. From the beginning to the end of the trip Jack would have demanded Richard’s full attention.’
Jenna stands at the edge of the living room with a tray of drinks and biscuits, listening to the conversation. Her presence is announced by her comment, ‘Christine you’re being treated shabbily. I’d put more than a word in my husband’s ear.’
‘Darling, there’s no need to interfere. I’m sure Christine can handle Richard without your advice.’
Jenna looks down then at Christine before arranging the biscuits and beverages onto the coffee table. ‘Christine, let me know if the tea’s cold.’ She attempts to maintain polite conversation, enquiring about Christine’s work in the hospital’s Emergency Department.
Christine fills her in, describing the usual frantic shifts and every day tragedies.
She returns to Damien. ‘Did Richard tell you exactly where he is?’
Damien pauses, constructing a plausible story in his mind; one that Christine mightn’t believe but would accept. ‘They planned to drive beyond Katoomba, possibly as far as the Jenolan Caves.’
‘If he calls you before he returns home, ask him to contact his wife.’
Christine can’t imagine Richard living rough, sleeping under the stars and suffering the outdoor discomforts and hazards of the bush. She expects Damien knows every last detail of this sordid situation. She refrains from asking further questions. Desperate to hear no more lies, she excuses herself. ‘I need an early night. I’m scheduled for an early morning shift.’
‘I’ll give him a telling off about not contacting you.’ He smiles reassurance. ‘Would you like a lift home?’
She feigns gratitude. ‘No thanks. I will call a taxi.’
He closes the door on Christine. She sits on the front fence and waits for the taxi. Her head feels heavy. She closes her eyes and glimpses three swords side by side, plunging downward. Her eyes snap open; she shakes her head and laughs.
This is worse than I thought. I’m hallucinating. They say stress can kill you; if it doesn’t make you crazy.
Richard calls home the following day and leaves a message on the answering machine and another on Christine’s mobile that she doesn’t pick up until the following day. He informs her that he leaves Sydney on an early Thursday afternoon flight and offers an apology for neglecting to contact her. He acknowledges it’s unfortunate that Damien failed to pass on his message. The text message reads:
You’ll be relieved to know I have returned triumphant from our inland hiking adventure with no dramas or mishaps to report.
His phone message presents a plausible account; his tone of casual indifference suggests a well-rehearsed depiction of events.
Christine returns home in the early hours of the morning. The house is almost in darkness except for sensor lights that flick on at the front door and garage. No lights shine from inside. She hits the remote to unlock the garage, the door slides up and the headlights of her car shine onto Richard’s Lexus, revealing he has returned home. She removes her shoes before walking through the house, mindful of avoiding waking Richard. She strongly suspects his work commitments and the project conveniently disguise a romantic interest. It’s not the first, and she is convinced won’t be the last.
This time his efforts to cover his tracks have been minimal.
Perhaps he no longer cares what I know or what he thinks I know. I must face facts; a volley of questions, accusation or hysterical desperation won’t achieve anything. Maybe I don’t want to hear what Richard has to say. I’d rather not be mollified by some token gesture designed to buy my submission. I can’t maintain the charade of returning to our bedroom.
She retreats to the guestroom with its own bathroom. She expects he will return to the usual routine in the morning and leave for the office. This would be ideal, enabling her to delay their inevitable encounter.
Although Richard’s activity in the morning wakes Christine she remains in bed. She hears him tap the door of the other guest room, ‘Are you in here Christine?’ followed by the sound of the door opening then closing. ‘So you’re home. You must have returned late, I didn’t hear you.’
‘You weren’t meant to hear me; I didn’t want to wake you up.’
‘I guess you’re tired. We’ll talk tonight.’
Christine nods agreement; he waves and utters goodbye before closing the door and leaving.
Still tired from yesterday’s shift, Christine remains in bed until almost midday, drifting in and out of sleep. Sometimes she wakes up breathless from a recurring dream, most of which she forgets. She cannot recall where it is set, but Richard always ushers her to sit down before announcing, ‘I’ve got something to tell you and you’re not going to like it.’
There’s nothing more except for an uneasy feeling that creeps over her each time she wakes, leaving a thick sheen of sweat that clings to her skin. She drags herself out of bed then through the house, creating a list of chores to attend to and distract her from the thought of confronting Richard later. Only days ago she missed him to the point that her body ached and it pained her mind. Now she dreads the inevitability of having to speak to him.
She tackles the washing first. Richard has already made the bed. There are no clothes on the floor and the empty suitcase has been returned to the overhead closet above the walk-in robe. Dirty washing left in the laundry reveals the usual business attire, nothing indicating a wilderness expedition. Faced with a bare fridge, drained from the previous shift and the housework she is not
inclined to shop and cook. She sits in one of the wingbacks facing the fireplace with a flute of dry white, and waits.