‘You’re going to do more than that, though?’ Sam asked. ‘I mean, isn’t it corruption or something?’
‘There’s nothing I can do. I say a word to hisuncleand Rohan will insist that it was something completely innocuousthat needed collecting and make it look like I’m shopping a grudge against him.’
Dad scowled but Sam leaned forward in her seat. ‘Wouldn’t your boss think it suss that you’d been asked to collect something from a client’s place?’
Jemma startled as a whistle sounded. The engines throbbed louder and the boat pulled away from the wharf. ‘Not really. Gerard courts the high flyers, and he expects us to pander to them.’ When the promise of enough money was flashed in front of Gerard, he’d bend over backward—or, rather, expect Jemma to be a gymnast—to keep the client on board. She hid a grimace. Lately, the manipulation made her feel underappreciated and almost … dirty. ‘Fortunately, Tien generally loves doing the errand runs.’
‘Then why didn’t Rohan get Tien to pick up the package?’ Sam asked.
‘I told you: because it wasn’t about the errand. Given that he wasn’t too careful about Tien “overhearing” the details, I think Rohan wanted me to refuse to do the collection, so we’d have a pissed-off client complaining to the managing director about me.’
Despite her dispassionate recount, Jemma was furious with herself. She’d initially taken Rohan’s actions at face value and assumed she was a disposable piece in his plan to relieve their client of incriminating evidence. It wasn’t until she’d lain awake mulling it over that she’d recognised the other barrister’s ultimate game. Rohan was smart enough to play a long game and now she needed to suspect his every move.
Dad pushed away the plate in front of him. ‘Right. What are we going to do about this? About him?’
‘You sound like you’re ready to call in the heavies, Dad.’ She generally only used his title to placate him. The lastthing she needed was anyone to look out for her. ‘It’s nothing, just internal politics because the partnership is on the table. I didn’t make the pickup, the police didn’t arrest me; I can’t be implicated in any wrongdoing. At least now I’m fully aware what Rohan is capable of.’ She was oversimplifying, but this wasn’t something that Dad, even with the best intentions in the world, could fix. ‘Anyway, Sam promised me a tour ofPelicanet.’ She patted her stomach. ‘And if we don’t move right now, I might never be able to get off the chair.’
She’d always been good at compartmentalising, a necessary skill in a career that delved into the seedier side of the human psyche. Now she focused on admiring the vessel—easily done, as it was truly beautiful throughout, encapsulating the glory and magnificence of the era of riverboat travel, highlighted by a series of sepia prints hung in the passageway that led to the rear deck. Aware that Hamish was in the wheelhouse above, she deliberately stayed on the water-level deck. She didn’t have the mental capacity to engage in wordplay right now.
They cruised upriver for about an hour and a quarter. Other than explaining that the return leg would be shorter because they’d travel with the current, visible in the cappuccino-foam swirl of water around the occasional island graveyards of branches and debris, Dad remained silent. Sam fussed, several times starting conversations destined to contain a caution, but Jemma swiftly terminated them with a change of subject.
By early afternoon, they’d pulled back against the wharf, the boat chuntering in to nudge the timber pylons. Dad threw a thick rope over the mooring post as Hamish heldPelicanetsteady by throttling and easing the engines.
She’d hoped to make an escape without seeing him again, but as the engines cut, returning the river to comparativesilence, Hamish bounded down the narrow stairs that led to the wheelhouse. Seizing the gangplank, he hefted it overPelicanet’s side, creating a bridge between vessel and dock. Then he offered his hand to Jemma.
She took his hand reflexively, then flinched. She rarely touched anyone other than with a firm handshake or to embrace her family. Skin on skin in this way felt oddly intimate.
‘Nice to have you aboard, ma’am,’ Hamish said in an atrocious imitation of a Southern drawl. ‘Hope to have the pleasure of your company again soon.’
She narrowed her eyes.
‘It’s a small town,’ he added with a grin.
‘Next you’re going to tell me that you’re related to Sam and you’re also headed out to her grandparents’ place?’
Hamish looked over her head, to where Sam and Dad waited to disembark. ‘We probably are related somewhere along the way, right, Sam? But no more socialising today. I’ve got to put in some hours of actual work. You know, that patting-cute-animals stuff. Plus, the rain’s coming in this week—got to have everything ready for seeding.’
‘I didn’t think rain was predicted?’ Why was she prolonging the conversation, particularly with such a mundane topic?
Hamish leaned closer, as though sharing a secret. ‘It’s more a positive manifestation kind of deal. But let’s keep that between us.’
How had she not noticed the Delft blue shade of his eyes before?
Jemma jerked her hand back.
In the twenty minutes it took to drive to Sam’s grandparents’ farm, Dad filled her in on the basics: Paul and Evie had raised Sam and her brother, Jack. Jack still worked the family farm, along with his own more sustainably focusedproperty. Their grandparents were looking for the most tax-advantageous way to leave the farm to the two grandchildren.
‘Easy enough,’ Jemma responded, mentally running through what she knew of the benefits of family trusts and living wills.
Dad glanced at her in the rear-view mirror. ‘Maybe not so easy, when you’re discussing the mortality of someone you love,’ he cautioned. His free hand reached for Sam’s, bringing it to rest on his thigh.
Great, he wanted compassion. He should have realised that Jemma tried to avoid anything emotional, anything that could leave lasting scars. ‘I can give basic advice. But, like I said, you’ll need an estate lawyer to draw up paperwork,’ she said, trying to reinforce that her input would remain purely businesslike.
She shouldn’t have worried. It seemed the last thing Paul and Evie Schenscher wanted to discuss was their demise, imminent or otherwise. Their ancient farmhouse, although large, seemed crammed with life and movement.
Her voice raised over the noise of multiple conversations, the rather alarming grinding of an old fridge, and the unnecessary background of a local radio station, Sam introduced her grandparents. Her brother, Jack, and his partner, Lucie, both of whom Jemma had met at the Turkish restaurant, sat at an old kitchen table that had seen better days. Paul was on the floor with Keeley. There had to be at least seventy years between the pair, yet both seemed equally enthralled by the half-dozen squirming toffee-brown puppies on a wool-stuffed hessian bag. The bitch lay to one side, head on her paws, looking relieved to be free of her litter for a while. Evie had Lucie and Jack’s infant son on her lap.
Sam gave her grandmother and Lucie a single-armed hug each. ‘I don’t know how long you guys have been here, Lucie,but I’m positive it’s my turn to hold Gus.’ She reached for the baby but Evie tightened her grip.
