The Problem with Perfect Page 2

  “I need to be here. I’m meant to be taking your job in six months. Now is not the time for rest. We have a lot of work to do.”

  “I know how much you loved Julian and that you’re hurting far more than you’re letting on. But I’m worried about you. You need to take some time off. It’ll all still be here when you get back.”

  She blinked back tears again, using her index finger to stop a potential waterfall and avoid smudging her mascara. “I’m going to work on the Adelaide deal. We’re at a critical stage now.”

  “Marigold, I’m sorry. I’ve brought in someone to help manage that. I know it’s your deal, but that was before we found out about Julian.”

  “What?” She knew how indignant she sounded. And she was. She’d worked hard on that merger. All the early planning and negotiations. Why should someone else handle it now? They’d probably screw it up. These matters were her expertise. It was the perfect combination of her legal and business degrees.

  The merger with an Adelaide-based transport business was going to be her crowning glory to lead up to taking over as CEO as her father stood down. A sign for people to watch out. She was going to be one of the most powerful business leaders in the country.

  “We are down to the final stages; the consultant can take it from here. It’ll give you one thing less to worry about.” Her father’s tone was sympathetic, yet firm.

  “But I like having things to worry about.” She’d always had things to worry about. School, University, and, of course, work.

  And that was aside from her regular stresses over her siblings. As much as she loved them, both of them needed looking after. Frederick was flakey at the best of times, and Rose was young and rather naïve. They gave her plenty to worry about. And that was fine. Having things to worry about gave her purpose.

  Her father shook his head. “You need to worry about yourself.”

  “But, but, what will I do?” She was bewildered. She’d never had more than two weeks off, and that was for her wedding and honeymoon. Even then, she’d checked emails most days and wrote a new plan to lower fuel costs as she’d sat by the infinity pool at the resort in Maui. It had been some of her best work ever, despite a waiter tripping and spilling a pina colada over her spreadsheet.

  “Why don’t you stay with us? I know your mother would love to have you around.”

  “Errr…” She hesitated. Was she going to be trapped at Mulberry Estate in the country? With her mother fussing over her? No. And particularly not if her father was spending time at the Melbourne-based office – she wouldn’t even have him as a buffer. “I’m quite comfortable at my house. Thanks, though.”

  “You could stay with Frederick and Amelia in Bowral. I’m sure they’d love to have you.”

  Her sister-in-law went into labour early with her two children from her first marriage, so it was likely to happen again. Marigold didn’t want to turn up on their doorstep so close to her due date. They were busy enough without a house-guest.

  “Maybe once the baby’s born,” she suggested.

  Even then, she would only make it a quick visit. Amelia’s kids, Charlie and Sienna, were cute, but she never knew what to say to children. How on earth did people carry on a natural conversation with them? It seemed impossible.

  And there was the baby. She’d never even held a baby. “Maybe I’ll do some stuff at home,” she suggested.

  Her father furrowed his brow. “Like what?”

  “A few projects I’ve been thinking about.” She didn’t have any specific projects in mind, but if she was going to be sidelined, at least it was better to be in the comfort of her own home.

  She could work from home, under the radar of course. She could check her emails and undertake further research on that competitor they’d loosely discussed buying out. She could have coffee with some contacts off the grid. She could attend a couple of networking events or seminars. She intended to take a couple of professional development days.

  “Are you sure that won’t make things difficult?” Peter furrowed his brow. “A change of scenery…”

  “It was Julian’s home too,” she interrupted. “We had good memories there. If I can’t be here, then, yes, I want to be there.”

  “You’re an employee here. Remember, you can access any of the services available. The counselling, the—”

  “I don’t need counselling.” Marigold had no interest in talking to a shrink. Her husband had died. Her life had changed. Every day was hard. She cried in the shower each morning. She wasn’t sleeping. She didn’t feel like eating.

  But that was grief.

  What on earth could a shrink possibly have to impart that she hadn’t already been feeling? It was hard, but she would get through it. She always got through tough moments. The key was keeping busy – a concept clearly lost on her father.

  “It’s there if you need it. I’ll finish a meeting and I’ll come back shortly and I’ll drop you home. After that, you’re on well-deserved gardening leave, darling.”

  Kendall appeared at the door as Peter disappeared down the hallway.

  “I have a call for you from a Sharon from Langley & Jones Real Estate Agency,” Kendall said.

  “What? I don’t know who that is. What does she want?” Marigold didn’t have time for cold calls from real estate agents. She’d effectively been made semi-redundant and she needed to cram as many documents and things she needed onto the Cloud and hard-drives so she could still get some work done while she was on her imposed ‘gardening leave’.

  “It’s about an apartment.” Kendall looked confused. “Do you want me to take a message?”

  “No. I’ll take it.” Marigold picked up the receiver and pressed a button to retrieve the call. She’d handle this now. There was never any point putting off things for later that could be dealt with immediately. “Marigold Doyle.”

  “Hello Marigold. I’m Sharon from Langley & Jones Real Estate. I’ve been trying to contact Julian King. We tried ringing his mobile but kept on getting voicemail, so we tried his work number but they said I needed to speak to you.”

  She had switched Julian’s mobile off the day before the funeral. She would switch it back on eventually, but for the moment it was on the table next to their bed, where Julian had always left it while he slept. “Look, what is this about? I’m too busy to discuss property at the moment.”

  “I must speak to Mr King. Is he there?”

  “You can speak to me.” Marigold clenched her teeth, feeling the heat of frustration start to twist around her neck and throat. This was the last thing she needed. She hated pushy salespeople, but did she really need to explain that her husband had died to get them to leave her alone? Wasn’t a simple ‘No’ enough?

  “I really need to speak to Mr King.” Sharon had the insistent tone of someone working on commission. “If he’s not there is there another number he can be reached on?”

  “Mr King is deceased,” Marigold said. Surely this would end the matter once and for all – though saying the word ‘deceased’ caused a lump in her throat.

  “Oh my goodness, that’s awful. I’m so sorry.”

  “Thank you. Now, I’m busy, I really must go.” She started to pull the receiver from her ear to put it into the cradle.

  “But…” Sharon trailed off, a slightly panicked edge to her voice. “But, the rent?”

  “What rent?” Marigold pursed her lips and held the receiver back to her ear.

  “The rent on his apartment. It’s overdue.”

  Was Sharon talking about one of their investment properties?

  “Ok. Well, that happens sometimes. I’m sure it’s a mistake. Have you been in touch with the tenant to find out why?”

  But they weren’t looked after by Langley & Jones. Julian wouldn’t have moved property managers without consulting her, surely not. Or maybe it had been one of those conversations Marigold hadn’t paid too much attention to. Julian was very details-orientated and sometimes she could tune out to his analysis of some
thing that didn’t interest her. The property manager for their investment portfolio would have very easily fallen into that category.

  “But…” Sharon trailed off. “Julian King is the tenant. He needs to pay the rent. Or, someone needs to pay the rent.”

  “What apartment is this? We don’t rent an apartment. I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  “Mr King’s apartment. The one he rented three months ago.”

  Marigold blinked. “Julian rented an apartment?”

  Chapter Four

  Finn

  Finn looked at his watch. Peter had been gone for twenty minutes. Where was he? It was odd sitting here in his office, but Peter had asked him to wait, and he was not a man to be disobeyed.

  He heard footsteps behind him and turned as Peter walked back into his office, gave a grunt and sat down at his desk. “I’m sorry about that, Finn. I knew my daughter was stubborn, but to be back here already…”

  “Already?” Finn was surprised. That seemed soon to return to work, but then again, she did seem to love it. Perhaps she wanted to keep busy.

  “I’m sending her home on gardening leave.”

  “Is she… alright?” Finn was cautious of prying too much in the affairs of the Doyle family, but when it came to Marigold it didn’t feel like prying. He felt he knew her so well. Too well. But not in an intimate way of a friend or a family member or a colleague. It was like knowing of her, like a friend-of-friend you’d heard stories about, or a celebrity in a magazine.

  A worried look crossed Peter’s face. It was a look Finn rarely saw. He’d worked as a security consultant for the Doyle family for years, and found Peter nothing but professional. The only time he’d ever appeared upset was the year before when Marigold had been stalked by a disgruntled ex-employee, who had made a threat against her. To avoid panicking her, Peter had asked Finn to keep an eye on things secretly.

  Finn examined Peter’s crumpled face. It was clear that Marigold was the apple of her father’s eye. Tough like him, smart, professional and elegant, she was his princess who fought like a warrior.

  “She’s a tough cookie, but she’s having a hard time coming to terms with Julian’s death. It’s understandable. She’s lost her husband, but she almost seems,” Peter hesitated as if looking for the right word, “in denial.”

  Was she? She’d seemed upset at the funeral. Finn had spoken to her briefly afterwards and she had tears in her eyes. It seemed like normal grief to him, but Peter knew her better than he did. Maybe she was in denial.

  “It’s common in these circumstances.” Finn knew this all too well. Five days after the siege, when he was still on the force, on his first day back at work he’d made a cup of tea for Simon and left it on his desk. He’d expected him to walk in at any moment, wanting his usual cuppa and giving Finn a hard time about his football team being beaten.

  It was scary what the mind could do. It could block out things that you’d never have thought could be forgotten.

  That must have been what had happened to him after the siege. It was the only way to explain his lapses in memory from that day.

  “Look, Finn, I know this is unusual.” Peter leaned forward. “I want you to keep an eye on her. I’ve asked her to stay with Odette at Mulberry, but she wants to be at her home. I’ll have Odette and Rose try to keep her busy and close, but I’m worried about her.”

  Finn cleared his throat. He didn’t want to do this again. Sitting out at the front of Uptown Girl’s lavish house, nestled in the green streets of its expensive, inner-city suburb, day after day. The domestic work was exhausting, and at times uncomfortable. He didn’t love poking around in people’s private affairs. And the Doyles? He knew more about them than he should, really.

  He’d felt like more of a stalker sitting outside Marigold’s house the year before, more so than the unhinged man threatening her.

  “I’m trying to focus more on the corporate security side of my business,” he said.

  “I agree. It’s a smart move for your business, and you know how happy I am with your services. I wouldn’t ask you if I wasn’t concerned about her, and I don’t place matters of my family in anyone’s hands. I trust you, Finn.”

  It was strange. When he’d first consulted to D-Line, he’d figured the Doyles were a bunch of rich, stuck-up, money-hungry snobs. Old money, establishment, private schools and clubs. But there was something so real about Peter that he’d found himself liking him. And Peter had taken a genuine interest in Finn, offering him business advice as he cultivated his security consultancy.

  He wouldn’t do this for anyone else, but if Peter wanted him to keep an eye on Marigold, he’d do it. As a professional and personal courtesy. “Of course.”

  “Good man.” Peter stood up and shook Finn’s hand. “I’m going to drive her home to make sure she gets some rest. We’ll speak later.”

  Finn left the meeting room and walked through the D-Line offices. It hadn’t been a good day, really: this request, coupled with the news of the re-opening of the inquest into the siege.

  Unlike the request to follow Marigold, he couldn’t say he hadn’t been expecting the inquest. The entire events of the day of the siege several years before, from the moment they got the call to the moment it was all over, had been problematic, and one of the reasons he’d left the Federal Police more than three years earlier. Re-living it was not something he wanted to do. But it would appear he’d have to.

  He walked outside and slipped his sunglasses on. He spotted Marigold, walking hurriedly towards her car. She was wearing a dark, perfectly-tailored suit, not unlike what she’d been wearing the first time he’d ever seen her – not long after he left the police force.

  He’d walked into a meeting room at D-Line, expecting to see Peter, but had found a slim woman in a figure-hugging black suit and spiked heels. She was leaning over a table, and he’d admired the view momentarily. The woman had a great arse, but after a moment, he decided he needed to make himself known – otherwise it would be creepy standing there for too long.

  He’d cleared his throat. As the woman turned, Finn realised he was face-to-face with Marigold Doyle. The Marigold Doyle. Second-in-command of one of the biggest private companies in Australia. She’d end up running D-Line one day after her father retired, or she’d become the Prime Minister. They seemed like the only two jobs worthy of her.

  She’d simply raised a dark eyebrow and asked who he was. Her expression was blank, her tone cool.

  Embarrassed to have been caught perving at one of the people who signed off the invoices that paid his mortgage, he’d shoved a hand towards her and told her his name. She shook it firmly back and without as much as an offer of a cup of tea, quickly progressed into briefing him on her concerns in relation to security cameras in their fleet of trucks.

  She’d been sharp and articulate, and (if Finn was honest) completely and utterly intimidating. She was power all wrapped up in an extremely pretty package. It was a dangerous combination.

  Uptown Girl, she was. Like the Billy Joel song, but Uptown Girl with a law degree and a seat on a ministerial business advisory council, and in charge of operations of a company that made more money in a quarter (hell, probably in a month) than he would in his lifetime.

  He watched her now outside D-Line’s offices, unlocking her car and carefully placing her handbag in the boot. Her mouth was pursed the way she sometimes did, that made her plump pink lips look thin.

  She didn’t appear to see him at all, looking straight ahead with that serious expression on her face. He knew that look. The focused one. The one that made her so successful, but also made her block out the world. He’d watched her for weeks on end the year before, and she’d never as much as twigged he was there. For all she noticed, he might as well have been a mailbox or a lamppost.

  She got into her car, a sleek little black BMW that seemed an appropriate choice for her.

  He swore Peter said he was going to drive her home, but she’d seemingly decided
to make other plans. Finn grinned. Uptown Girl seemed to do what she liked – and what she liked was her work, judging by the hours she clocked up at the office. He couldn’t imagine she’d happily take to being sent on what Peter described as ‘gardening leave’.

  Why was Peter so adamant about this? If she wanted to be at work, maybe that was good for her. Keeping busy could be helpful in grief.

  But it was Peter’s call, not his. He had his instructions.

  He climbed into his car and watched as he saw Marigold remove her dark hair from a tight bun and shake it over her shoulders. She didn’t do that often. He rarely saw her with her hair out like that, but when she did, he thought it was pretty damned hot. She should wear it like that all the time.

  She pulled out, and he followed suit as they turned onto the busy road D-Line’s Melbourne offices were situated on. One eye on the traffic and one eye on Marigold’s BMW, he kept a discreet distance behind her. As he drove, he cricked his neck once to the left, then once to the right. The earliest twinges of a headache were forming in his temple and neck. As he waited for the light to turn green, he reached into his console and removed two tablets and swallowed them down. The last thing he needed now was a migraine, but after today’s events, it was little wonder.

  Chapter Five

  Marigold

  Marigold stepped out of the elevator into a well-lit hallway. It was painted off-white with a sage-coloured carpet. Modern, but in an inexpensive, quick-buck-property-developer sort of way. It looked presentable now, but would age terribly as the paint scuffed and the carpet wore as tenants trudged home with shopping and kids played in the hall.

  She walked through the corridor until she found the apartment she was looking for. Apartment 207. She unlocked it with the key she’d collected from Sharon on the way, and walked in, closing the door firmly behind her.