the heart he remembered how he’d fallen early and irrevocably in love with the image of a beautiful women in a picture hat. There were years when his parents had been passionate about their garden, working happily together. They’d even managed a beautiful sheltered rose garden, large, luxuriant shrubs and blooms, despite the humidity and attendant problems of the tropics. To this day he took a lot of pleasure out of sending roses to his dates.
It wasn’t until Jude had dropped the mysterious Cate Costello off at her car that he realized she still hadn’t revealed what exactly she was doing at Lester Rogan’s funeral.
Ten minutes later he arrived at the Rogan mansion, the overt display of the late Lester Rogan’s wealth. The house was huge. In his view no architectural gem but impressive for sheer size alone and the tropical splendour of the five acre manicured grounds. The entrance was electronically guarded, the long driveway lined by majestic Royal Cuban palms. A caretaker-gardener’s bungalow was off to the left through the screening trees. There was a pool and a guest-house at the back, but surpassing all the obvious signs of wealth, was the glorious blue sea.
There were plenty of cars littering the driveway and the grass. Jude found a spot, his mind still engaged with his meeting with Cate Costello. What could possibly have motivated her to attend Rogan’s funeral if she didn’t know the family? Or could he take that to mean she just didn’t know Myra, Ralph and Melinda, but she had known Lester? In what context? Lester could have bought out Tony Mandel’s beachside property that was the most obvious connection. These days with tourism in tropical North Queensland hectically blossoming the land would be very valuable for redevelopment at some future date. If the late Lester had been her landlord, why didn’t she say so? What was the big mystery? What was she doing sheltering amid the trees? He hadn’t the slightest doubt he’d find out.
An hour later hurried along by a less than subtle Ralph, all the mourners had departed, some of them definitely over the drink driving limit.
“Now’s as good a time as any to read the will,” Ralph rasped. “You’ve got it with you?” He threw Jude an impatient glance.
“Of course. I left my briefcase in the hall.”
“I’ll get it Jude,” Melinda offered. She was nearest the wide archway, one of a pair that led from off the entrance hall to the major reception rooms.
“Sure you’re up to this, Mrs Rogan?” Jude asked, taking another concerned look at Myra’s extreme pallor. “I can very easily come back tomorrow, or the next day.”
Ralph’s dark eyes shot red sparks of aggression. Here was a young man who was permanently angry. “For cryin’ out loud, Jude, how many times do I have to tell you? We’re ready to hear it? Right now.”
The school bully was still holding up. “I was talking to your mother, Ralph. Not you.” Unperturbed Jude looked towards Myra who was giving every appearance of being the next to follow her husband to the grave.
“Mum tell him.” Ralph scratched his forehead violently.
“No, Ralphie—no.” Myra pleaded, her voice tremulous.
Ralph stared at his mother for a bit, giving a can-you-believe-this roll of his eyes. “Listen,” he said very quietly as though addressing someone mentally challenged. “This won’t take long then you can take to your bed. For the rest of your life if you like.”
“I think she needs her bed right now,” Jude said, trying to keep the disgust out of his voice. “This has been a bad shock.”
“Get it over with, Jude,” Melinda advised, returning with his briefcase. In her own way she appeared as eager to hear the will as her brother. “I’ll look after Mum. She’s stronger than she looks. Dad hammered away at her for years.”
“Yes, get it over, Jude,” Myra’s opposition suddenly collapsed, as if she thought both her children were about to ostracize her.
“Okay.” Against his better judgment Jude deferred to their wishes. “Mel, you might like to settle your mother in a more comfortable chair.” Myra was perched like a budgie on the edge of a small antique chair that looked like it was only good for decoration.
Melinda put her arm around her mother, leading her to an armchair. Myra took her time, her movements those of a woman twenty years her senior. Jude suspected Dr Atwell had given her medication to get her through the service. She was pretty much out of it. Meanwhile, Ralph was shaping up to be as nasty as his late father.
“Sit the hell down, Mum,” Ralph confirmed Jude’s assessment by crying out in utter exasperation.
“You’re awful, Ralph,” his sister croaked, as if she couldn’t get past the big lump of misery in her throat. “A real pig.”
“Like Dad.” Ralph looked back at her out of his deep-set dark eyes. “Okay, Mr Hotshot, read the will.”
Jude stepped right up to him, two inches taller, a stone or more lighter, but obviously fitter by far. “Jude will do, thanks, Ralph, and a little more respect all around. I’m your late father’s lawyer, not your lackey.” Jude didn’t give a damn about how much money the Rogans had. Never had. It showed in the sapphire glitter of his eyes.
“So take it easy.” Swaying slightly from side to side, Ralph backed off. “Surely you can understand I’m anxious to hear how Dad left things between the three of us.”
“Of course.” Jude took a seat in the armchair nearest the big Oriental style coffee table so he could put the document down to read it. He withdrew the will from his briefcase, the collective eyes of the family trained on him. They wouldn’t be seeing shades of his father. Jude bore little physical resemblance to him, apart from his height. He even had his mother’s dimple in his left cheek just so he could never forget her.
“Hang on a moment I’ll get myself a drink. Anyone else want one?” Ralph lumbered off looking over his shoulder.
“Haven’t you had enough, Ralph?” Myra roused herself sufficiently to ask.
Ralph snorted. “Been countin’, Ma?” He poured himself a generous shot of whiskey from a spirits laden trolley, tonging a couple of ice cubes into it. “You, Jude?”
“Thank you. No.” As instructed, Jude wanted to get on with it, his expression as professional as any lawyer’s could get.
Ralph positioned himself on the opposite side of the coffee table, swirling the amber contents of his crystal tumbler, hunkering down his broad shoulders.
Jude showed them Lester Rogan’s will with the seal intact. He viewed their faces intently, then he broke open the long, thick envelope, beginning to read with suitable gravitas…
“This is the last will and testament of me, Lester Michael Rogan…”
Instantly he was interrupted by Myra’s stricken cry, one of many to be ripped from her throat. Was this for real? Jude agonised, wanting to shake his head in amazement. She had no reason to love her husband. Mel grabbed her mother’s hand and held it. It didn’t appear to be a gesture of comfort, more to shut her mother up.
“Would you mind keeping a lid on it, Ma. Is that too much to ask?” Ralph slewed another disgusted look at his mother. “Continue, Jude.”
Jude continued, managing from experience to keep his voice perfectly level
