“I suppose you could. But she has insisted she speak to you directly, with representation of course. That is why I have scheduled our meeting in the boardroom.”
Jen sighed.
“Is that an okay?” Leonard asked gently.
“Do I have a choice? She is, as you pointed out, a client of yours. As a matter of interest, where do I stand? Am I still your client?”
“You most definitely are if you decide after this meeting that you would still like me to represent you.”
“Well, let’s see; if there’s a ‘conflict’, as you put it, then you’ll have to refer me to someone else.”
As she spoke, Jen could see Patty walking towards the boardroom through the glass panelling along one wall. She didn’t look like the Patty Jen knew. She walked with a stoop. Her hair had been pulled back from her unmade face and her eyes were puffy and red, evidence that she had been crying. Jen felt a spurt of sympathy. She knew this was crazy, but Patty looked so alone and sad. So vulnerable. How was this even possible?
Thirty
Pete hadn’t expected such a big gathering on Frankie’s farm that Thursday; all her book club friends were rallying around her. His mother was conspicuous in her absence. He briefly joined the men, huddled in Lee’s den with Rita, Lee’s faithful bookkeeper, making funeral arrangements and discussing the future of Holms Wine Estate, trading as HWE Wines, and how they could assist Frankie in organising the running of the business until Clive was ready to take over.
Typical of Lee that everything is already in place, Pete thought. Hennie, the farm’s respected and loyal winemaker who had been in Lee’s employ for the last fifteen years, and who was very much in charge of production on the farm, would continue to do what he had won awards doing: produce internationally acclaimed wines. As far as the vineyards were concerned, Lee had promoted Sarel to farm manager five years ago, as he had proved to be another loyal and committed worker. He had since done a sterling job taking care of the labourers and the vineyards, making sure that everything◦– planting, spraying and harvesting the grapes◦– happened right on time, and to Lee’s high standards. As far as the marketing and business side was concerned, Lee had been grooming his son, Clive, for that role, but most of the admin was handled by Rita, a seemingly sweet little old lady, clad in a hand-knitted pastel-coloured jumper, who was not as benign as she seemed. Lee had inherited her with the farm, so she knew how to handle most things independently of her boss. She also saw to the wine reps and the sales and tasting staff, and boy, did they fear her wrath if anything went wrong.
The men agreed that, for the time being, Frankie would be okay. Lee had seen to it that the farm practically ran itself. All Frankie needed was time and a little guidance so that she could steer the boat until Clive had finished his studies.
Pete hadn’t had a chance to sympathise with Clive, who suggested that he give up university to take over the business full-time. He could study through correspondence. Most of the men insisted that he complete his studies, that Lee would have wanted it that way.
The discussion over Clive’s future choices irritated Pete as he was, after all, old enough to make his own decision. He took this opportunity to make his exit.
His friend acknowledged him by a slight nod of his head as he made his way to the door. Clive was a mixture of both his parents: tall like his dad, yet with an athletic build that Frankie always attributed to her good genes. He was lucky enough to have been blessed with his father’s blue eyes and Frankie’s sex appeal, which, although she wasn’t on Pete’s list of favourite people, he had to concede she possessed. The two boys would socialise occasionally, and he had seen first hand how popular he was amongst the girls.
Unlike Pete, Clive had always been very close to both his parents. His father had taught him to show respect to everyone and he had developed a kindness and compassion that was way beyond his years. And, although he was aware of his mother’s egocentric ways, he loved her just the same. He had often said that Frankie wouldn’t be Frankie if she was the kind and nurturing woman people expected a mother to be.
Clive had told him about Frankie’s upbringing and how she had had to fend for herself, how she had learnt from an early age that the world was a tough place and how this is what had shaped her and what had attracted his father to her in the first place.
Pete had liked Frankie up until now. He had always thought that behind the tough façade was a very vulnerable woman. The elite would often gossip about how Lee had refined her so that she fitted in with them. Knowing Clive, Pete knew he would want to be around to help her through this rough time. God knows he would want to do the same for his mom.
There was no way that the gravity of Clive’s father’s death had quite hit him yet. But already he was showing resilience. Typical of Clive and, Pete had to admit, his adulterous mother.
Pete closed the study door gently behind him and looked around. Frankie was as he had found her on his arrival◦– seated in Lee’s armchair. The morning sun shone on her which gave her an ethereal look. She seemed to derive comfort from her deceased husband’s chair, and he’d yet to see her leave its worn leather embrace.
He could hear his mother’s friends in the kitchen discussing the funeral tea in low voices and knew that the men would be ensconced in the study with Clive for some time. His sister was on the veranda with her group of friends, and there seemed to be no one else around. Now was his chance. He headed towards the liquor cabinet on the other end of the sun lounge (as they liked to call it) near the big sash windows. “I know it’s still morning, but I could do with a drink. Can I get you one, Frankie?”
She lifted her head blearily and nodded.
When he handed her the glass, she looked at him searchingly. “Where is your mom really?”
“Truthfully, I don’t know.”
Frankie’s look told him that she didn’t believe him. He downed his scotch. “Really, I don’t. But I did speak to her last night and she asked me to give you this.” He reached into his jacket pocket for the perfume bottle. He studied it as he spoke.
“Mom said to say you left it in her bathroom on Sunday night, and that’s why she’s sorry she can’t be here. She’s sure Lee would’ve understood.”
Frankie simply stared at it. Pete tried giving it to her, but she wouldn’t take it.
“Your mom is mistaken. That’s not mine.”
“Frankie,” Pete stayed calm. “Mom thinks I haven’t the faintest idea what’s going on. Except I do. I know you sleeping with my father, and now I guess Ma knows too. Sunday night she was at the spa, so you must’ve been at our house with Dad.”
Frankie’s features contorted into a snarl. “Don’t you dare speak such nonsense! And at such a time. You should be ashamed of yourself!”
“Shit, Frankie, don’t you think you should be ashamed? We like to hide our secrets in this little town. So, I’m prepared to pretend that I don’t know that you fucking my dad, but only out of respect for Lee and for Clive’s sake and definitely for Ma. I guess, until she’s prepared to admit that Dad is a complete fuck up, I’m prepared to go along with this bullshit, so the least you can do is pretend to believe that Ma is at a spa. If you make one more snide remark about her not being here, I swear I will tell everyone exactly what’s going on.”
They both turned as Faith entered the room. She placed her hands on Frankie’s shoulders. “Is Madam okay?”