Scrublands(100)

In the bookstore, sitting in one of the armchairs near the Japanese screen, sipping a cup of tea, is a rather proper-looking woman. She looks almost elderly, possibly in her seventies, but her dress is professional, her hair is dyed and her posture is erect. Half-moon glasses give her some of the appearance of a librarian, except the frames look too expensive.

‘Martin, this is Winifred Barbicombe. She’s a lawyer.’

‘Pleased to meet you, Mr Scarsden,’ the woman says, shaking hands but remaining seated. ‘Please take a seat. We’d like you to witness some documents, if you’d be so kind.’

Martin looks to Mandy for guidance and receives a glowing smile in return. He takes a seat, as does Mandy, the boy on her lap.

‘I’m a partner in a Melbourne law firm, Wright, Douglas and Fenning. For as long as I can remember, which is quite some time, and for as long as anyone can remember, which is even longer, Wright, Douglas and Fenning have provided legal advice to the Snouch family of Springfields. We first acted for them in the nineteenth century.’

‘I see,’ says Martin, though he doesn’t.

The lawyer continues. ‘In a few short weeks, Mandalay will turn thirty years old, at which time she will inherit Springfields and a considerable portfolio of investments, including shares, bonds and property—including many properties in Riversend, such as this one. A considerable fortune, in fact.’

Mandy shrugs, expressing her own surprise at this turn of events, her eyes alight at her change in fortune.

‘Would you be willing to witness some documents for her?’ asks Winifred Barbicombe.

‘Yes. Of course,’ says Martin. ‘So who has bequeathed all this? Eric Snouch?’

‘That’s correct.’ The lawyer places the first of a series of papers on the coffee table between them, and Martin signs and dates it with Winifred’s elegant fountain pen.

‘What about Harley Snouch? He’s Eric’s son, isn’t he?’

The lawyer’s expression is impenetrable. ‘He will receive an allowance. Generous enough; considerably more than unemployment benefits.’

She places more papers on the table, but Martin leans back, pen in hand, his curiosity alive. ‘Did Katherine Blonde know Mandy would inherit? Mandy says she urged her to have her house in order by the time she reached thirty. She must have known something.’ Martin glances at Mandy; her smile has been replaced by the stillness of concentration.

‘Well, not from us,’ says Winifred. ‘Eric Snouch was adamant about that: he wanted it kept secret. But perhaps he said something to Katherine before he died. I simply don’t know.’

‘He remade his will shortly before he died?’

‘That’s right.’

‘But why keep it secret?’

‘I don’t know. Perhaps he was worried Mandalay was still too young and too wild to be informed she was coming into money. Perhaps he didn’t want Harley to know.’

‘But Harley must have asked—I mean, when his father died. Didn’t he ask you, your firm, what was happening with the estate?’

‘Constantly.’

‘And what did you tell him?’

‘Nothing.’

Mandy has lost her serenity. She’s holding Liam close. ‘Ms Barbicombe—Winifred—is it true? Is Harley Snouch my father? Did he rape my mother?’

For a moment, the professional facade falls from Winifred Barbicombe’s face, exposing some of the human underneath, sympathy written in her eyes. But only in her eyes; her voice retains its professionalism. ‘I’m sorry, my dear. We acted on behalf of Eric Snouch and his family on a number of matters that are protected by lawyer–client confidentiality. I can’t comment on such matters.’

‘So I’ll never know?’ Mandy whispers.

The lawyer seems unsure how to respond; instead it’s Martin who intercedes, seizing this unexpected opening. ‘Mandy, I haven’t mentioned this before, but I spoke to Harley Snouch. He denies paternity. And rape. He wants you both to undertake a DNA test to establish the truth once and for all.’

Mandy looks at him, looks to Winifred Barbicombe, seeking advice. Martin feels annoyed with himself. Is he trying to help Mandy, or is he trying to appease Snouch and assuage his threat of defamation? He really needs to think more before he speaks, weigh his words, like Jack Goffing.

Winifred Barbicombe responds. ‘I’m not sure what I can advise. But rest assured, no matter what such a test of DNA might reveal, it will not alter the effect of Eric Snouch’s will or provide Harley Snouch with grounds to challenge it. Springfields, and all that goes with it, is yours. If you wish to go ahead with the test, that is entirely up to you.’

Mandy nods her understanding.

‘Now, there are more papers to sign. Mandalay first, then Martin.’ There is silence as the paperwork is completed, the earlier lightness of mood weighed down by the spectre of Harley Snouch. Martin knows he needs to warn Mandy about Snouch, his duplicitous nature, but that can wait until the lawyer has left. The last paper signed authorises Winifred Barbicombe and Wright, Douglas and Fenning to act on behalf of Mandalay Susan Blonde, soon to be mistress of Springfields and sole owner of the Snouch family fortune.

Winifred Barbicombe gathers the papers, snaps the cap back on her fountain pen and places them into a slim leather briefcase. She stands, shaking hands formally with Martin and more warmly with Mandy. ‘It is a pleasure to meet you and an honour to represent you, my dear. If we can help in any way, call me. And if Harley Snouch should menace you, tell me straight away. I’ll have a restraining order slapped on him before he knows what hit him.’