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“Where’s the rest of that money?”
He shrugged. “We spent it. We haven’t exactly had a moderate lifestyle, Bea. You know that. You’re the one who decorated the house, booked the holidays and applied for the golf club memberships.”
She frowned. It didn’t make sense. Yes, they’d lived more extravagantly than they should’ve, but why was there so little left to show for all those years of marriage together? “If we were so low on funds, why didn’t you tell me to slow down? You always acted as though we had plenty left over.”
“I suppose I wanted you to be happy.”
The sad thing was, she almost believed him. He’d lied to her for so long that she was used to accepting his words. But the furtive way he refused her gaze gave her the first glimpse into how she’d managed to overlook his lies by not paying attention. She recognised the look — had seen it before many times. And if she’d been more discerning, she would’ve known he wasn’t telling her the truth much sooner.
She’d been irritated when Aidan insinuated her husband might hold back money and not give her the full picture, but perhaps he’d been right after all. Preston was hiding something from her. He was lying to her again—she was certain of it. This time, she’d get to the bottom of it.
Sixteen
After her meeting with Preston,Bea went back to her hotel room and spent the afternoon on her laptop investigating their financial position. The more she looked into things, the less it made sense. They’d lived extravagantly in some areas of their lives, but they’d generally eaten at home, so they didn’t have a lot of other expenses besides private school fees and the occasional family trip.
In recent years, Preston had earned a large salary plus annual bonuses, and they’d paid off their home a long time ago. She knew Preston had invested heavily in a real estate portfolio, but according to his paperwork, they owned only three units on the central coast.
That couldn’t be right because she recalled various conversations over the years about single-family dwellings and high-rise apartment complexes on the Gold Coast, among other things. She racked her brain, trying to recall the details of those conversations. Why would Preston lie about something like that? He had to know she’d figure it out and question him over it. Maybe that was what he wanted. Or perhaps they’d lost money recently, and he hadn’t wanted to tell her about it. She only wished he’d be honest and upfront with her.
She called the bank and asked them about any other accounts that might be missing from the spreadsheet given to her by Preston, but they said they couldn’t help her with any information on accounts where she wasn’t a signatory. Did he have accounts in his own name that he’d kept her from seeing? That was the question, and the way things stood, she wasn’t going to get any answers.
She called down for room service for dinner. Then stood to stretch the cramps from her back and legs by the large square window at one end of the small hotel room. She was surprised to see that it was already dark outside. No remnants of the sunset remained; she’d been so busy working on her computer that she’d missed the whole show.
The hotel room was on the twenty-fifth floor and looked across Darling Harbour and the outline of the cityscape, dark against the sky. Stars and moon were hidden behind dark clouds that hung low over the city, and the water appeared black as an oil spill below.
After doing an online search for the name she recalled Preston had mentioned to her a few times, she called their accountant and left a message. Perhaps she could say she needed to access copies of her past tax returns for her records now they were getting divorced. It wasn’t likely the accountant would let anything slip about Preston’s private accounts, but it was worth a try.
Room service arrived with a chicken parmesan, thick-cut chips and steamed vegetables, along with a small chocolate pudding with custard. She also had a large glass of red wine on the side and sipped it with eyes shut as she leaned back on the small sofa, the television set playing the news quietly in front of her.
Comfort food — she hadn’t eaten anything so rich in a while and was soon searching through her toiletry bag for an antacid. Food on the island mostly consisted of whatever fish, oysters or prawns Dad caught at the beach that day, along with vegetables from his garden or the local market. No wonder she’d lost weight since moving there. Her father had always been sun-kissed, muscular and athletic. She and Dani were on their way to becoming just like him.
When the phone rang, it startled her. She muted the television and answered.
“Hi, Harry.”
“Hey, Mum. I thought maybe we could meet up for breakfast in the morning before class. I want to hear all about how your meeting with Dad went. Well, not really. I’d prefer to believe you’re both still deeply in love and our family is whole and will be forever, but I’m trying to be a supportive son.”
She hated what this divorce was doing to their children. They were adults now, so it wouldn’t impact them the way it would’ve a decade earlier, but it still hurt. She could see they were both struggling with the way their family was being torn apart.
“Yes, breakfast sounds amazing. I’ll have a swim at the pool here and then meet you at eight a.m. Where would you like to go?”
“There’s a restaurant on campus that’s pretty great. They have chickpea pancakes that taste almost like the real thing.”
She crossed her eyes. “Um, delicious. It would be an utter shame to have the real thing, of course, because…” She shook her head. What was it about the younger generation that they didn’t like anything real? It was always imposter versions of the real thing.
“Wheat, Mum. It’s bad for you. Don’t you know that?”
“Right. It only feeds the majority of the world’s population cheaply and with all kinds of nutrients, but now it’s bad. Gotcha. I will keep that in mind.”
He laughed. “Oh, Mum, you’re not keeping up with the latest trends.”
“And for that, I’ll be eternally grateful.” She sounded grumpy. Looking into her finances, realising she had no clue what’d happened in her own financial life for the past two decades and that the man she loved was probably keeping something from her, had stolen the joy she felt earlier about her new life.
“Are you okay, Mum?” He was confused — Harry wasn’t accustomed to hearing her like this. She’d put so much effort into always being the happy, bubbly, carefree mother that he didn’t know this side of her. So many things she would change if she could do it all again — she would be herself in all situations so that her family got to know who she really was, warts and all.
This cardboard cutout version of herself that she’d served to them on the perfectly styled platter all these years had done nothing but cause a disconnect. Perhaps that was why Preston had fallen in love with someone else. No, she couldn’t blame herself for that or she’d go mad. He should’ve talked to her if he was feeling disconnected. That wasn’t her fault.
If she was completely honest with herself, she knew she had to shoulder some of the blame for their lack of intimacy in recent years. Regardless of her part in it, though, he was responsible for how he’d responded. She still couldn’t get past the fact that she’d remained loyal to him even when he’d turned to someone else for comfort.
