Legally Addicted

chapter Twelve



Brad let Georgia go. He had no intention of being the one to smooth things over. Not this time. Instead, he collapsed back down into the lounger and took the top off another beer.

If there was one thing he couldn’t stand it was the continual trickle of requests for money that the Spencer family wealth attracted. The stories were invariably sad and, if true and not some scam, were likely worthy causes, but there was something about direct appeals for money that he had always found distasteful.

His father was self-made, from nothing. No-one had given him a hand-out, and once he became wealthy he didn’t give out something for nothing either, and Brad saw no reason to change the family policy on that.

Instead, his mother had set up the Spencer Charitable Trust to deal with all of that. Trust staff investigated each request to ensure it was genuine, and then it was assessed against criteria established when the trust was founded. Each appeal for money was then ranked. The amount of interest that had been earned on the trust assets each year determined the total amount that could be distributed. A threshold was drawn across the list of ranked requests at the level where the funds ran out. Those above it were funded and those below it were not. It was all very simple and clear cut. That way, the Spencers were never faced with the agonising choice between funding a lifesaving operation for one person, versus funding a prevention program that might save thousands.

Georgia had crossed the line asking him to intervene to subvert the trust processes. Worse than that, she had run out on him.

One time too many.

And just when he had thought they were starting to get somewhere.

He was monumentally pissed off, and pretty soon he would be monumentally pissed.

That’s what beer was for, and as usual Jeffrey had anticipated his every need by making sure that there was plenty of it.

He drained his stubbie and kept working on the ice bucket until he had dealt with each bottle, falling asleep where he lay in the lounger.

The squawking of crows and cockatoos from Sydney’s adjacent botanic gardens woke him as the sun came up. A feather doona had been laid out over him and a pillow had found its way under his head. From the warmth inside the atrium it seemed that Jeffrey had also ensured the heating stayed on all night. His papers had been returned to his briefcase and beside him, on the low outdoor table, was a carafe of water and selection of headache medication.

As usual, Jeffrey was the only person he could rely on. Georgia hadn’t come back to apologise or work things out, as he thought she might have once she had cooled down. He had given her a choice and she had walked out on him for the last time.

And what the hell had he been thinking, anyway? Georgia was no different to all the other women. In the end, just like them, she wanted something. A very big something — three million bucks of something.

As much as he hated to admit it, Georgia had only wanted him for what she could do for her.

When would he ever learn?

He poured a glass of water and, squinting against the pain, took two aspirin, then pulled out his mobile. First he called his secretary to let her know he would be in later than usual, and then he called Dayton.

‘John, have you signed that dissolution of partnership agreement?’

John hesitated. ‘I have, but I haven’t passed it on to Llewellyn yet. Why, what are you thinking, Bradley?’

‘I’m not going anywhere.’

‘Does this mean…?’

‘That’s right — as of now, there’s nothing going on between me and Georgia, so there’s no reason for me to leave the firm for her peace of mind. I’m staying put. If she doesn’t like it, then she knows what she can do.’

‘Roger and I would be very sorry to lose you from the partnership, Brad. Of course Georgia’s excellent, but she doesn’t have the same pulling power when it comes to the star clients, so I know I speak for both of us when I say that we’re more than happy to forget the dissolution of the partnership.’

‘Thanks, John. I appreciate it.’

‘What do you think Georgia will do?’

‘What she does is up to her, but my guess is that her career is far too important for her to leave. I’ll have no problem keeping it professional.’

‘I see. Well, I must say I’m relieved to hear that.’

Brad switched off his mobile before Dayton could say anything else. The last thing he needed right now was a post-mortem about what had happened between them.

He was about to struggle up out of the lounger when Jeffrey appeared with a tray of breakfast. He gulped down half a cup of coffee then grabbed a piece of the toast to eat en route to the shower. If he hurried, he could still get into the office and make his morning appointments.

‘Anything I can do, sir?’ Jeffrey said, as Brad stopped halfway out of the outdoor chaise, stooped over, his stiff joints refusing to straighten out.

Brad thought for a moment.

‘Get me a list of every eligible female rich-lister under forty. I’ve got to find a date for this bloody gala now, preferably someone with her own money.’

‘Oh dear. I am sorry, sir, I had rather thought this last woman was different.’

‘So did I, Jeffrey. So did I.’

Georgia leaned down and bumped her head against her desk a couple of times.

‘You did it, didn’t you?’ Miriam asked, placing a stack of files in her in-tray.

‘What?’

‘You asked Brad for the money, didn’t you?’

Georgia didn’t answer, bumping her forehead a third time like a talisman, as if self-flagellation would somehow bring the situation to rights.

‘Sort of — damn it — yes.’

‘Georgia! I warned you.’

‘I know, I know. You warned me, and now I have no chance with this addiction centre proposal. If it even gets on the shelter board agenda, Caro Marsden will shoot it down, and without support from Brad the idea will be more extinct than the Tasmanian tiger.’

‘Oh well. At least you still have Brad.’

She shook her head.

‘It’s over.’

‘Oh, Georgia. I am sorry.’

‘Don’t be. At least now I don’t have to go to that stupid shelter fundraiser. I think Brad would have been expecting me to go as his date.’

‘Let me guess, after work you’re planning to go home, change straight into your jammies, eat takeaway food, followed by a tub of ice-cream, all sitting in front of trash TV.’

Miriam’s many talents had suddenly expanded to include the art of clairvoyance. That was pretty much exactly what Georgia had in mind for her evening.

‘Possibly.’

‘Or you could go by your gorgeous self, flirt your arse off and make Brad Spencer jealous as hell.’

‘But I haven’t got anything to wear.’

‘Says the woman who uses her secretary as her personal stylist. Come on, grab your coat and your plastic, and we’ll go find something.’

Eight hours later Georgia was standing in the kitchen at the gala dinner as Caro Marsden thrust a server’s apron at her, the money Miriam had convinced her to spend at Castlereagh’s now completely wasted under a cotton full-length grocer style apron.

‘Thank you so much, Georgia. When one of the servers let me down I didn’t know what to do, but when Brad arrived with Paris Walsh on his arm, I realised you must have come on your own and wouldn’t mind helping out.’

Bee-atch.

Why had she agreed to this? Right now jammies, ice-cream and trash TV had never looked so good.

So, Brad hadn’t wasted any time, and he was fishing back in familiar waters. Well, good. He should stick to his own species. He had no business going downtown if he couldn’t cope with what he found there, or exploded at the simple suggestion he should increase the charity he directed to the less fortunate. She had been beginning to think he was different from all the other rich hypocrites she had ever encountered. Luckily she found out the truth before it was too late.

‘I’ll put you on table eight,’ Caro said.

Georgia fully expected table eight to be Brad’s table, her life was going that well. Being forced to serve Brad and his date would just top everything off, but by some miracle, a loophole in Murphy’s Law had opened up and she was assigned to another table further back. She kept her eyes firmly on the party she had been assigned and avoided looking around.

Instead, she concentrated on what she had to do, making sure everyone at her table got the correct meal and that the glasses were topped up. She was so caught up in her serving duties that she didn’t have time to stop to listen to the speeches between courses, but as she took a plate of profiteroles from the tray she was carrying, ready to set it down in front of a guest for dessert, she heard her name.

‘Georgia, yes — that’s right, you, Georgia.’

The spotlight that had been on Caro, who was playing mistress of ceremonies up on the stage, skittered across the room and alighted on Georgia. For once she couldn’t control her facial expression. Her mouth gawped with mortification, and the audience laughed. Over two hundred sniggers, all in unison, all directed at her. It was like the nightmare of her childhood writ large, playing on the big screen. Georgia wanted to run and hide, throwing herself under one of the tables, but the spotlight somehow had her rooted to where she was standing.

Caro beamed into the audience. A graceful saltwater croc with her eye on its prey, she continued speaking.

‘And now I’d like to call Georgia Murray, one of our fabulous volunteers and a former resident of the shelter, to speak to you all about her firsthand experiences of the marvellous facility you’re all here to support.’

Georgia almost dropped the tray of remaining dishes she was carrying, barely managing to thrust it into another server’s hands before the whole thing crashed to the ground. Despite releasing the burden, she still couldn’t move. Fury coursed up through her, exploding in a hundred shades of vermillion as she discovered the saying ‘to see red’ actually had some basis in fact.

Then the spotlight that had been engulfing her moved across the room, and without thinking she followed it. Before she even realised she had flung off her apron, she was halfway to the stage. And within seconds she was standing at the top of the steps beside the lectern. By the time she found herself leaning into the microphone she hadn’t even considered what she was going to say. Still furious, she opened her mouth and words tumbled out of their own accord.

‘You want me to tell you how it was, using the shelter facilities, Caro? I’ll tell you alright.’

The audience gasped, reacting to the hostility of her tone, and Georgia had the satisfaction of seeing the spotlight hurtle across the stage and fix on Caro who, having relinquished the lectern to Georgia to stand off to the side of the stage, now looked more like a possum caught in headlights. The spotlight illuminated the shock on Caro’s face as Georgia prepared to attack.

She had been holding back, but not anymore. Caro was going to get it with both barrels, and if that was in front of over two hundred dinner guests, then she only had herself to blame. A backlog of words: hypocritical, mean-spirited, self-serving, evil female canine specimen, all jostled for position to be the first to leave her mouth, providing sufficient pause for Brad to step out of the darkness and seize the microphone from her.

Everyone in the audience took a simultaneous breath, creating a multi-layered swooshing sound, and any remaining chatter ceased as everyone redirected their attention towards Brad.

Brad gently tapped the microphone.

‘Very few of us could lay claim to the grit and determination shown by Georgia Murray, and yes it’s true, as a child Georgia was, through no fault of her own, a sometime resident of the Dockton Women’s Shelter, but she is now a highly successful family lawyer and partner at Dayton Llewellyn Murray and Spencer.’

Brad’s emphasis on the ‘Murray’ prompted the crowd to erupt into spontaneous applause, drowning out his own surname in the partnership line-up. Gesturing downwards with his hands Brad quietened the crowd enough to continue, ‘But Georgia is not one to dwell on her past, and what she is really here to do tonight is to announce the launch of an appeal to fund an addiction centre that will address the cause of why so many of the women use the shelter in the first place. In a minute, I’ll hand over to Georgia to give you a summary of the research into these types of centres, what makes them effective, and why we think one is right for Dockton. But before I do, I want to announce sponsorship by the Spencer Charitable Trust to the tune of — well — that’s entirely up to you ladies and gentlemen, because the Trust will match every donation, dollar for dollar, achieved by her tonight. Georgia…’ He handed her the microphone and stepped back.

Relief swept through her. He would be at least partially funding the centre, and deep down another thought tugged, a lone persistent thread jerking at her heart, suggesting — well she couldn’t think about that now.

With the focus on her pet project, and with the benefit of her skills in courtroom oratory, Georgia had no trouble making an impromptu speech about her proposal for the centre.

When she finished, the guests rose in a standing ovation and for a moment her body slumped as if her feet might go out from under her. In a second Brad was there to put his arm around her and to guide her back down the stairs. Gratefully, she leaned on him for strength, but while he ostensibly held her to him, the tension emanating from his body repelled her, shocking her back upright.

‘Don’t think this changes anything between us, Georgia,’ he hissed through a fixed smile, as he let her go to stumble back out into the kitchen.

As soon as she stepped through the swing doors, releasing them behind her to beat back and forth, she collapsed against the nearest wall and closed her eyes.

‘My dear, you were wonderful.’

Her eyelids flew open at the familiar sound of the older man’s voice.

‘Jeffrey?’

‘Here, drink this. It’s just the thing for a shock.’

Jeffrey handed her a crystal tumbler of amber liquid. Without hesitating she gulped a good portion of it back. The drink tasted like brandy and it imparted a warm mellow feeling of wellbeing almost as soon as it hit her stomach.

Brad scanned the crowd looking for Caro. He’d had quite enough of this. He might not be seeing Georgia anymore. He might still be furious with her, in fact, but he sure as hell hadn’t lost his sense of fair play and human dignity. Caro was only lucky he hadn’t decided to ‘announce’ her resignation as chairman of the Women’s Shelter Board along with the impulse donation for the addiction centre.

The woman was poison. The way she constantly dumped on Georgia was outrageous, and she of all people had no right to carry on as if she were vastly superior. He had held his tongue and kept Caro’s dirty family linen, well known but only among a select few, firmly in the hamper, but it was high time it came out for an airing.

He found Caro at the back of the function room and grabbing her by the arm, he pulled her back against the wall, away from the crowd.

‘You owe Georgia an apology. You have no right to carry on like this, Caro. You and I both know the only thing separating yours and Georgia’s upbringing is a decent bank balance.’

Caro gave an indifferent shake of her head.

‘You can talk, Brad, with what your father got up to. I don’t know how your mother held her head up.’

‘Oh no you don’t, Caro, don’t you dare try to make this about me. I’ve never denied it. My father was a dirty, cheating dog. Time you faced up to your past too, Caro. Patronising the women’s shelter isn’t enough. You need to own your mother’s legacy and be honest about what’s driving your philanthropy, instead of hiding it, and projecting on to people like poor Georgia. You’re behaving no better than a playground bully. But you know, you’re actually doing good work, or you would be if you would stop being such a…’ he hesitated, not wanting to say it, but when he couldn’t think of another description as fitting he went ahead and said it anyway, ‘First-class bitch.’

Caro’s face sagged.

‘That’s how people see me, isn’t it?’

‘It’s never too late to change, Caro.’

Having said all he had to, he turned on his heel ready to find his date and take her home. As far as he was concerned the evening was over.

‘Georgia. There you are.’

Georgia shuddered as Caro approached. She wished the woman would just leave her alone.

‘I know that the coffee’s ready to go out to my table, Caro, but I’m taking a moment.’

Georgia hadn’t moved since Jeffrey handed her the brandy, enjoying the warm glow radiating through her, a glow that was neutralising the last of the emotional upset she had sustained: first being hauled up onto that stage, and then experiencing Brad’s coldness. Somehow the alcohol was filtering all of that out, allowing her to accentuate the positive; Brad stumping up with some of the cash for the addiction centre.

It might still be over between them, but at least that was something.

‘No, you stay here, Georgia. Coffee can wait,’ Caro backed up against the wall beside her. ‘Can you give us a moment, Jeffrey?’

‘Of course, Mrs Marsden.’

Georgia took another decent swig of the brandy as Jeffrey left, abandoning her to Caro. Part of her wanted to throw herself at the kindly old man and beg him to stay. She steeled herself, hoping the brandy had sufficient powers to repel the accusations she suspected were coming about manipulating Brad into giving the donation for the centre.

As if.

Ironically, Caro had managed that all on her own. The only reason Brad had pledged to match each donation was his reasonableness and fundamental decency. For a second she had been stupid enough to think that it was because he still had feelings for her, but he had dispelled that theory pretty quickly.

Georgia drained the remainder of the brandy, suspecting that whatever it was that Caro had to say, she was going to need it.

‘I owe you an apology, Georgia.’

‘What?’

Georgia couldn’t believe what she was hearing. She looked at the empty glass, disbelieving. How strong was this stuff? Had Brad’s butler drugged her?

But Caro continued, her face serious, her lips briefly pressing down together in a line of contrition before she spoke again.

‘The truth is, but for my family’s money, I would have had the same start as you. The only difference was my mother’s opiate addiction was enabled by some sympathetic doctors through prescription medications, and funded by my father’s money. Until now, I’ve never been able to face it, and I took it out on you. I’m sorry.’

Wow.

‘I don’t know what to say, Caro.’

‘You don’t have to say anything. Just take this cheque. If Brad’s going to match every donation, he can start with this.’

Caro handed her a slip of paper and Georgia stared at the generous six figure donation on the cheque.

Wow. Just wow. Miracles happened after all.

‘I would have liked it to be more, but this is the most I can pull together at short notice.’

‘No, Caro, this is amazing. Thank you.’

‘I know it’s none of my business, but I hope this announcement means you and Brad have resolved your differences. Brad’s never been impressed by money or connections. It’s one of his most attractive qualities; well, apart from the blindingly obvious of course. You make a good couple — better than that blinged up opal tree he brought with him tonight.’

Blinged up opal tree.

Something hovering around in the recesses of Georgia’s mind dropped into a waiting slot.

‘Caro, what business is Douglas Walsh in, exactly?’

‘What business is he in, or how does he actually make his money?’

‘Both.’

Caro gave her a crooked smile as if she was about to be taken into some secret known to only those in the right circles.

‘Officially he is in the business of quarrying stone for landscaping. The real money comes partly from the opals, but mostly from a uranium mine he has an interest in.’

Suddenly it all made sense. Walsh could control his profits by managing how much he mined. With a divorce on the horizon, he was stockpiling his assets, leaving minerals in the ground and trading only at break-even, and the uranium meant his mining operations could be legitimately kept secret.

‘Thanks, Caro.’

‘Ruby told me you were her lawyer. She is always singing your praises, but I’m guessing she’s as clueless about her husband’s business as her daughter is when it comes to how much jewellery can be tastefully combined for one occasion.’

Georgia smiled.

As Ruby’s lawyer she couldn’t possibly comment.

‘More coffee, sir?’

The morning after the gala fundraiser, Jeffrey was at his side with a large gleaming coffeepot. For some reason the sight of the reflective ornament that Jeffrey had obviously spent some time on with the silver polish, irritated the hell out of him.

‘Yes, thank you, Jeffrey. And in future I think we could just go with a simple glass plunger in the morning — we should save the silver for a special occasion.’

‘Yes, of course, sir, and how was your evening? I trust you found Miss Walsh’s company agreeable,’ his butler said, pouring the hot liquid into his cup.

Brad would much rather not have recalled the gala that Caro had single-handedly managed to derail into a very expensive train wreck for the Spencer Trust to clean up, but Jeffrey’s polite morning chitchat was as much a mandatory part of the butler code of practice as his heat pressed newspapers.

‘She was fine.’

‘More ornamental than cerebrally engaging, then, sir?’

‘I think we both know she’s not likely to be the next Mrs Spencer, but as an escort to a society function, she handled herself appropriately, Jeffrey.’

‘Yes, no doubt she would lack the intellectual sparkle of…Miss Murray, for example. If you don’t mind me asking, sir? What was it that Miss Murray was after in the end? Your money or your contacts?’

‘The money.’

‘For clothes, diamonds, or travel, sir?’ Jeffrey asked.

‘A hefty charitable donation — very hefty.’

‘So only money for this addiction centre that got announced at the gala, nothing for herself then, sir?’

‘She asked for money, Jeffrey, and a lot of it.’

‘Yes, and I do know how you hate that, sir. But could this situation be seen in a different light from the others, given that there was no personal gain involved?’

‘No financial gain that’s true, but she’s emotionally invested, so ultimately the donation was for her benefit.’

‘I see sir, self-serving altruism, selfish unselfishness, if you will. Yes, I understand. I think. Actually, I’m not sure I do, sir.’

‘Damn it, Jeffrey.’

Brad took a long sip of his coffee. The last thing he needed right now was a lecture from his butler.

‘Very good, sir. I’ll be in the kitchen if you need me.’