gave me the prospect of recovering some money and earning some more. It was worth the effort, and I'd worked for less than honest people before.
I slept on it and decided that the first thing to do was get a stronger grip on Standish. I phoned the office but got nothing new from May Ling. I imagined her sitting there, able to cope with whatever came up, immaculate, carrying out her instructions to the letter.
In my experience, most separated wives keep pretty close tabs on their husbands for various reasons, some considerate, some not. I had a Vaucluse address for Felicity Standish.
I drove there in the usual sluggish traffic. The water to my left had a dull, gun-metal gleam under a heavy grey sky. Cars turned off New South Head Road towards Royal Sydney golf course, but I doubted that the players would get a full round in. What the Americans call a storm cell seemed to be building away to the east. I'm told they have leaf blowers on the tees and greens at Royal Sydney and people to immediately repair the fairway divots, but a flash of lightning and everyone heads for shelter just as at the roughest council course.
The Standish house was in a street that overlooked Nielsen Park out towards Shark Bay. Living there you were gazing out from one millionaire's enclave across the water to another at Mosman.
The squattocracy that established the tone of Vaucluse included some honest men but not all, just as the present nabobs have some decent people among them. The address I had was a sandstone pile. There were pillars, a high wrought iron security gate and an electronic driveway gate in a high wall. Through the grille I could see a sweeping driveway and a fountain. It failed elegance, qualified as pretentious.
I buzzed at the gate.
'Yes.'
'I'd like to see Mrs Standish.'
'What about?'
'My name's Hardy. I was hired yesterday by Mr Standish to do a job. You could check on that by calling his office. I need to talk to him and I don't know where he is.'
'This is Felicity Standish. Are you saying Miles is missing?'
'I don't know. Maybe.'
'What does Rose Petal say?'
'Rose Petal?'
'May Ling.'
'She won't tell me anything. I'm not sure she knows where he is.'
'She knows. Have you got any ID?'
I held my cancelled PEA licence and driver's licence up to where I guessed the camera was.
'Thanks. Hang on, I'll make that call.'
I waited for no more than a minute before hearing a click and seeing the gate move a centimetre. I pushed and I was in. There was a two-car garage beside the house with a white Saab slotted in. A couple of colourful and expensive-looking children's tricycles occupied the other space. There were plastic toys around the fountain. So Standish was a family man. I'd never have guessed. Where was the profit?
I went up the wide steps to the front door, which opened at my approach. The woman who stood there was tall and slim, her figure displayed to best advantage in tight black jeans and a loose blue denim shirt. She wore ankle boots with medium heels and her dark hair and makeup had a perfect but unstudied look. She wasn't beautiful; she was almost plain, but she presented as if she were beautiful and it worked.
Her hand shot out and I took it. It was warm. The house would be warm inside so the shirt was adequate. She shook my hand and kept hold of it just long enough to make me feel as if I was being drawn inside.
'Come in, Mr Hardy. I've heard of you, of course. I believe we have things to talk about.'
She conducted me down a wide hallway past several doors on either side to a sitting room with a view out to a large garden and a swimming pool. The pool had a cover over it. Tall trees around the perimeter made the area totally private. There was a children's swing near the end of the yard and what looked like a cubby house in a tree. She waved to a chair.
'I've made coffee. Would you like some?'
'I would, thank you. Black, no sugar.'
She smiled and her face didn't look plain anymore. 'Of course. Just a minute.'
I stood and wandered around the room. The furniture was simple but expensive. A photograph of two children, a boy and girl, stood on top of a bookcase. A couple of paintings on the walls could have been originals and could have been good, but they were abstracts so how can you tell? Flowers in a vase were dropping their petals.
Felicity Standish came back in with two solid mugs. She handed me one. She invited me to sit and dropped down into one of the leather armchairs. I sat and tried the coffee. Hot and strong.
'You said you'd heard of me. From your husband?'
'Oh, no. Haven't seen him for weeks. No, I read the papers. I'm a crime junkie. Did you look at the books?'
I hadn't, but now I swivelled around to look. Crime novels and true crime-hardbacks and trade paperbacks.
'I read about you, and your partner being killed, and you losing your licence. You were in the news there for a while.'
I nodded. 'Unfortunately. I won't beat about the bush, Mrs Standish. I was hired to look for Richard Malouf.'
Her hands tightened around the coffee mug. 'He's dead.'
'He may not be.'
'I'd know if he were alive; he was my lover. Oh, but I can see you already knew that. Miles told you. Hated to do it, but he did, right?'
I nodded.
'Did he tell you that he was screwing his secretary? No? But you're not surprised. Well, you wouldn't be-she's very beautiful and with a heart like a block of ice.'
I drank the coffee while she told me that after she became aware of Standish's infidelity she was easy meat for Malouf, who caught her in a down cycle and lifted her out of it. For a while.
'I don't know why I'm telling you all this,' she said. 'I don't know you.'
'I've got a trustworthy face.'
Her laugh was an embarrassed snort. 'I wouldn't say that, but I would say it isn't judgemental.'
'Thank you.'
'But you're being led up the garden path, Mr Hardy. You see, I think Miles Standish had Richard Malouf murdered.'
6
'That surprised you, didn't it?' Felicity Standish said.
I said, 'Yes. Are you serious?'
'I'm deadly serious. Although Miles was a serial adulterer, he couldn't handle it when I made one misstep. He can't bear to lose anything. That's why he's creating so much difficulty about our divorce.'
I looked around the room and out to the garden. 'Well, it's a lot to give up.'
She laughed. 'No, no, this is all mine. I inherited it. I put that badly. What I mean is that he can't bear not to win. He was good at a whole range of sports and his legal studies and at business. He married a rich woman and has a son and a daughter. A winner all the way until this happened. He was ruthless at everything, swept opposition aside. He beat up a man I was seeing before we got together. He had some cause, but it cost him money to avoid an assault charge. I think he was capable of killing Richard or having it done. He was certainly a police suspect, probably still is.'
The implication of what she was saying was clear. Maybe Standish had hired me to divert attention away from him, to muddy the waters. Felicity Standish drank the last of her coffee and sat, looking composed. I thought about
