Still, she did wonder if maybe Georgie had all that a bit wrong. The more Issy thought about it, the less sense it made. Why would her parents abandon a loyal, long-term employee who’d had an accident at work? They had insurance for workers’ compensation claims and her parents prided themselves on taking care of their people! They were generous with their time and money, unlike some wealthy families, who never gave a second thought to the people who worked for them. Just look at Rosa! Heather had pulled strings to get her three boys into Dalton Grammar and paid the fees—she’d mentioned it once, years ago. And Cathy! Issy had stumbled across her salary in a remuneration report once and nearly choked on a grape.
The more pressing issue, though, was what to do about Hugh’s cheating. Her conversation with Georgie had done nothing to alleviate her concerns. Just the opposite, in fact. Georgie had definitely seemed uncomfortable when she asked about Hugh. But she still had no actual proof and she was dreading the inevitable confrontation. Hugh would just deny it all and make her feel crazy.
After going around in circles in her head all morning, she’d decided maybe Heather could help her make sense of things.
‘Is this a good time? I need to talk to you about something.’
‘Of course.’ Heather rose from the table. ‘We’ll have tea please, Rosa, in the formal lounge.’ Heather was disappearing through the archway on the other side of the kitchen before she’d finished speaking.
‘Thank you, Rowie,’ Issy mouthed, following her mother.
‘What’s this all about, then?’ Heather asked, sitting down on the plump cream sofa. They weren’t the kind of family who dropped over uninvited.
Issy sat down opposite, wondering where to start.
‘I think Hugh’s cheating on me,’ she said as tears welled in her eyes, much to her horror. Heather hated tears.
The hint of a frown played on her mother’s taut forehead. ‘What makes you think that?’
Issy ran through the story, outlining all the reasons she felt Hugh was up to something: the night he spent at the pub and the pocket-dial voicemail with a giggly girl’s voice; the suspicious phone calls and the lies about who he’d been speaking to; and the call from ‘George’, who turned out to be a young woman with a husky voice. It felt good to talk to her mother like this. She would know what to do.
When she finished, Heather moved to sit beside Issy on the sofa and took her hand. Her fingers were cold. Issy blinked back tears.
‘Isobel,’ her mother said. ‘You’ve always been an idealist. It’s a lovely quality, but it’s your Achilles heel.’
Issy frowned. Where was Heather going with this?
‘Marriage is not all candlelight dinners and walks on the beach. It’s a union between two people to build a life together. There are choices involved. Every day.’
Issy felt herself stiffen. ‘What are you saying? That I should marry someone who’s cheating on me?’
‘There’s that idealism again.’ Heather sighed and pursed her lips. ‘There are many ways to make a successful marriage. For some, fidelity is very important. Others take a more … pragmatic approach and do what works for them. This doesn’t have to be a deal breaker.’
Issy couldn’t believe what she was hearing. ‘Is that what you and Dad have done? Taken a pragmatic approach?’ She thought of her schoolfriend Claudia’s story about the woman Malcolm kept in the harbourside apartment.
Heather let out a little laugh. ‘Darling, we wouldn’t have stayed married for forty-nine years if we were idealists.’
Issy glared at her mother, a lump in her throat. ‘Is that why you’re so worried about the DNA tests?’
Heather held her gaze, eyes shining. Just as she was about to answer, Rosa came in with the tea tray.
‘Sorry for the hold up,’ she said, apparently oblivious to the crackling tension in the air between mother and daughter.
Chapter 39
It took a series of strongly worded emails and two phone calls—in which Meg mentioned her media credentials and implied she might write an exposé about unsatisfactory security at Rosedale—before she was granted permission to review the footage.
The security company had a small office two suburbs away from Rosedale. In the fifteen minutes since she arrived there, she’d discovered that the two cameras inside the facility—in the entrance foyer and the main corridor—were not in working order.
‘So let me get this straight,’ Meg had said, pointedly. ‘The cameras are there to create theillusionof security, rather than to provideactualsecurity?’
The manager had shifted from one foot to the other. ‘They’re being fixed this week.’
‘I’m sure they are,’ Meg replied.
He’d excused himself in a hurry.
Now, Meg sat beside a sweaty security officer who had been tasked with taking her through the grainy footage from the camera above the main entrance. The officer, who was clearly irritated by the disruption to his standard duties, sped through the blurry footage, communicating mainly in grunts.
