percent sure that it's the real thing."
Estelle’s trepidation was obvious. "Jeffrey? I’m not happy bringing strangers into this."
"Don’t worry – Jeffrey’s completely trustworthy. And he just happens to be in Immigration. He feels inclined to believe that it's genuine, that Michael somehow invented a new identity - George William Truscott - and applied for a passport back in 1987. Everything checks out: name, address, even the photograph."
The frown became a scowl. "Do you mean to tell me that for the past two years I've been married to not one, but two bastards, both at the same time?"
Jason glanced to the window which overlooked the street, but didn't attempt to see through the glass, preferring instead the reflection of the two of them standing side by side. They seemed right together. "There's more," he said, and watched her reflected expression change from anger to apprehension. "The visa is also genuine: it was issued last week by the US consulate, before Michael left for Bangkok."
"Is that significant?"
He dragged his eyes away from his dream to concentrate on reality. "I did some digging myself and found out that George Truscott is booked on a Qantas flight to Los Angeles via Sydney on Saturday afternoon."
"This Saturday?" His discrete nod increased concern. "But that's only the day after Michael arrives back from Bangkok! What's he scheming now?"
A row of perfect nails scratched absently at his chin. "I think he's planning to skip out."
Estelle's eyes were suddenly alive with fresh hope. "On me, you mean?" The excitement soon waned and her head shook. "I couldn't be that lucky." Jason didn't respond the way she expected. "What's wrong? Is there something you're not telling me?"
"It's just a feeling," was the grim admission. "Obviously, I can't know what Michael has in mind. It could be any number of things. Look, Estelle," he said, the inflection of warning unmistakable. "I don't think you ought to go back to the house."
"Why ever not?"
"I have to admit I was a little sceptical about your claims that he was using his Import business as a cover for some other shady dealings, but this passport affair started me wondering. I know what I'm about to say will sound a bit cloak-and-daggerish, but Michael hasn't gone to all this trouble for a few cheap imitation artefacts. Please don't ask me to expand on that, because I'm only guessing, but I'd rather you were out of the way until this is over. He's a dangerous man, Estelle. You said so yourself. And you also maintained you didn't like or trust his business partner, Keith.... what was his name?"
"Dunbar. Keith Dunbar," she added. "No I don't. He doesn't know anything about Eastern Art and I'm pretty sure he carries a gun."
"There you are, then - it's too risky." A noisy murmur rolled in from the corridor as the class began returning after the break. Jason checked his watch and seemed irritated that they had run out of time. He caught Estelle's arm and squeezed it gently. "Please wait for me afterwards." He noticed she was chewing her lip and seemed unable to make up her mind. Someone called his name and he waved a hand to acknowledge, but never turned his eyes from Estelle. "Please, Estelle. Promise me you'll wait."
Wasn't it typical - there had to be a crisis before he would say those words, and the meaning behind them wasn't anywhere near as romantic as it had been in her dreams. Still, at least he'd said them, and it was the first real chance to make something better from not much at all. She smiled and nodded. “I promise.”
When the lesson finally concluded, her smile lingered, as did most of the class, armed with a barrage of questions relating to the mid-year field trip which was due to begin at the weekend. Not being a part of it, Estelle had given it no thought until that moment. Perhaps Jason wouldn’t be delayed for too long. A glance in his direction as she was skirting the mob was met by raised eyebrows, a plea for her to honour their agreement. The best reply she could convey was less than convincing and words were out of the question, so she just headed for the door.
Although heart said run after her, the head nagged about responsibility to not just one, but all. And, it seemed, the majority ruled. “Well, are they, Professor?”
The milling heads were scanned until a neatly-permed grey one was located. “Sorry, Mrs Teasdale?”
The old lady’s eyes shifted almost imperceptibly towards Estelle’s receding back before returning to Jason with a knowing twinkle. “I was asking about pets.” The connotation, though not malicious, was there all the same. “Are we allowed to take them? Only, Mitzi-Poo doesn't like it in kennels because she tends to fret. We’re very close, you see.”
The apparent naivety of the old lady was both a tonic and a sham. He knew it, and she knew he knew. The fact that she had deduced what no-one else in the group had seemed to, made their little secret most special. If only there were more discrete, canny old ladies and less criminal husbands, the world would be a better place.
Unconcerned for the world in general, Estelle continued to pace her small part of it and was ready to scream. Much of her exasperation was directed towards a series of particularly drab abstracts hanging along the corridor wall, merely accentuating both the gloom in her thoughts and the austerity of the surroundings. Then a buzz of excitement heralded the departure of the class as it spilled from the lecture room and hurried towards the exits. Hearing her name a couple of times, she flapped a vague hand of farewell while her eyes remained glued to the open door.
When Jason eventually came out he looked frazzled. He was taking his time, stuffing papers into a brief case as he walked, and on entering the hallway he glanced at the backs of the departing students to ensure none of them were watching, then rolled his eyes up into their sockets. "It's turning into a nightmare," he whispered conspiratorially. "I'm beginning to dread these trips."
She extended him a sympathetic smile. "It's your own fault - you radiate too much confidence. You're like a Guru to them."
Jason tutted. "I think you're right. I'm sure they see me as some Antipodean Indiana Jones and they're convinced I'm going to lead them to discover the fossilised bones of a dinosaur that will make them all famous."
"Or maybe they expect to get chased by a tribe of long-lost Aboriginals protecting the secret of the Dreamtime." They proceeded towards the exit and Estelle was beginning to feel less agitated, safer too. "I'm sure it will turn out fine. It will probably be fun."
Jason paused. She stopped and looked at him. He held her gaze. "I wish you'd reconsider, Estelle. Especially in the light of these latest problems. I meant what I said earlier. It could be dangerous for you if you stay here. Why don't you come on the trip? If this affair blows up in Michael's face, you'll be out of the way. If not and we're making mountains out of molehills, there's no harm done. Your husband knows you take this evening class and the field trip is an official part of the course, so I don't see how he can object."
"You don't know Michael."
"No, but I'm starting to, and the more I learn of his character, the less I like you being around him." Jason realised he was over-stepping the bounds of propriety and lapsed into an embarrassed, contemplative silence as he started walking again. Turning at the end of the corridor, he said: "At least let me buy you that coffee. Maybe I can get you to change your mind."
Estelle was smiling to herself. "You obviously chose the right vocation. You never give up, do you? Always patient and persistent - the mark of a good archaeologist."
"And don't forget optimism," he reminded her. "When you know you're probably going to have
