Harry and Sara: A Sequel to Harry

By R L Humphries

Harry Harrigan, tough Australian financial investigator, has been brought in from the cold after two hazardous years travelling the world and solving embezzlements and frauds in some of the world's biggest companies, working for the giant American company, Balfour G. His boss, George Balfour, has big plans for him but Harry's immediate task on returning to Brisbane, in Australia, is to find and marry his long-time love, Sara Grayson. She's been trapped in a bad marriage with a difficult and devious husband who frustrates all her attempts to obtain a divorce, even though he left the marriage after a few days and has returned only to frustrate Sara's case for divorce. Harry devises a slightly illegal scheme to overcome Sara's problems and, by the time he is able to return home, Sara is free. They are married in Sara's hometown, Elmsford, a small cattle town in Central Queensland, not far from Harry's hometown, Monaldo where they met and fell in love. Harry resigns from Balfour G in order to take over his family company Pattersons Industries and they settle down to domestic bliss.This is shattered when Sara is seriously injured in a riding accident and is ill for two years. She recovers and returns to management of her growing family. Sara is beautiful, bright and energetic and unwittingly begins to take control of the family and, eventually of Harry, intruding on business decisions despite his huge experience. Harry had seen this happening but was so happy to have his Sara back he declined to check her. Eventually Sara goes too far and Harry decides he can lo longer live with her, although he still loves her. He leaves Sara and resists all attempts by family and friends to reunite them. They had been down this path before when Sara broke off their engagement and Harry now fears they are in the same sad position. He begins to think of divorce, but Sara has a plan to win him back....

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Sep 25, 2013
• ISBN: 9781483504650

Book preview

fiction

PROLOGUE

The boulder was a perfect hiding place for the snake.

It was round, about five feet in diameter and set into the ground near the stables. At its rear, near a fence, a small animal had burrowed under it, making an underground chamber perfect for a snake to take over as a shelter.

It was a big snake, about seven feet long and an Australian Eastern Brown, one of the most venomous and aggressive of them all.

There was a space, about eight feet wide, to the wall of the stables. Inside the stable building were the spilled oats and corn and other horse-feed grains which were manna to rats and mice and other small animals.The snake only needed to glide over that dirt path and use a remembered hole in the wall to lie in wait and kill one of the animals, sometimes within minutes. It would spend some time swallowing. Then it would slither, slower now, back to its hole under the boulder.

The only dangers were the occasional horse and man walking past or the man alone.

The man had given the snake a bad fright a few weeks ago. He walked softly on the dirt and the snake had become careless, sunning itself on top of the boulder in the winter sunshine.

The man had seen it and lashed at it with a shovel.

He’d been too quick and he missed. The snake, frightened to full alertness, had slipped like a shadow into the nearby bush.The man saw the hole and got some fuel, poured it in, lit it and waited for the snake to emerge. Nothing came out and, frustrated, he left. He had lot of work to do and soon forgot about the snake. Later he realized that all he’d needed to do was to fill in the hole with dirt. But, by that time it was too late.

The snake came back after a few days. It was hungry. It fed and then slid back to the hole but the burnt fuel and soil assaulted its sensors and it moved off.

It was time for it to seek a mate anyway and it would be a long time before it returned, by which time the strange smells would have dissipated.

But it would return—the big brown snake—for the boulder near the stables was its home.

****

Chapter One

At last, after four tumultuous years, Sara Helen Grayson and Harry (no second name) Harrigan were married.

It had taken some doing between meeting and falling in love in 1960 in small Monaldo, a dairying and cattle town in southern central Queensland, Australia, and getting married in 1964 in even smaller Elmsford, a cattle town 60 kilometres away. I was Monaldo and Sara was Elmsford.

We’d met and fallen for each other at a Ball in Monaldo. It was an instant thing for me but not for Sara. She’d decided I was the man for her, or rather boy for her, when she’d seen me boxing down her way as a 14-year-old schoolboy. The schoolgirl crush became a beautiful young lady’s love despite my being in and out of Monaldo, at boarding school and working in Brisbane and her not seeing me for quite long periods. I didn’t know she existed, which was strange because she said she hung around me a bit at football games, with her father, and she was an exceptionally beautiful young woman. I usually spotted any beautiful young women in the vicinity.

But she never wavered over the years and engineered our meeting at the Flying Doctors’ Ball. That’s all she had to do. I was smitten when I saw her, spoke to her, danced with her and kissed her.

I’d been back at Monaldo as a single player for a few years by then and was definitely no angel until I met her. Then all that stuff came to a screeching halt. I was winding down anyway. Guilt! Over unhappy ladies!

After a few weeks I proposed and we had a huge engagement party in Elmsford, where the local lads, who’d fancied Sara for years, put me to tests to try to take me out of the game. It didn’t work.

Then my parents put on a big engagement party for us in Monaldo. It was magnificent, but our happiness was shattered by the entrance of a woman carrying a small boy. She said he was mine from an encounter a couple of years before. I’d had a very brief dalliance with her but I knew for sure the boy wasn’t mine. It turned out to be a shakedown because my family had pots of money, although I had none. But Sara believed her, broke off our engagement and fled.

I did a bit of fleeing myself soon after, when I had a fight with my bully of a father and put him in hospital and had to take my mother with me to Brisbane to protect her. I was now an unemployed accountant, but a good one.

I was quickly picked up in Brisbane by a new and big American financial company called Balfour G, trained with them for two years and was posted overseas as a financial investigator. Sara was in Brisbane too, but married to some dope she’d met while in a confused state following our disengagement. The marriage was a disaster. He left their home almost immediately and only returned once a year to disrupt her case for divorce. I knew all this through relatives. Sara wasn’t talking to me.

Just before I was due to depart for New York, my uncle and I traced my accuser in the illegitimate child matter. She confessed that it was all a shakedown and agreed to tell Sara that. That poor confused little girl begged my forgiveness and asked me to have her back.That was no problem—I’d never stopped loving her, but I was off overseas. She’d been trying to get a divorce but her husband was making it difficult or even impossible. So, out of my Balfour training, I devised a scheme, not strictly legal, to be put into place by my uncle when I was gone so I could plead innocence if there was any backfire. Sara should have no knowledge of it.

I had a bit of luck with my first investigation in the States and was away. I quickly became Balfour’s top investigator in embezzlement and fraud, travelling almost non-stop around the world for two years. I heard of Sara through relatives but we weren’t to make contact in order to keep the divorce path clear. It was tough but I was busy. Even so I thought of her constantly.

Then I cracked a very big case of embezzlement in Europe, during which an attempt was made on my life by sabotaging a light lane I flew for pleasure. My boss, George Balfour, figured I’d done enough, appointed me manager of the ailing Queensland branch of Balfour G and sent me home to find and marry Sara. She was free now and very, very willing to marry me. But George had also dropped a very big egg on my plate. He wanted me to go to New York soon to work with him with a view to becoming chief executive of Balfour G. I was waiting for the right time to tell Sara this.

So, here we were, married and not quite believing it, driving along the Queensland coast. I kept checking to ensure she was really there beside me and I noticed she did the same, reaching over and squeezing my hand occasionally.

Depite all the coastal attractions neither of us was a sea person.We were bushies, although I guess I had to qualify fully on that score in Elmsford.

So I raised the question of what to do with our wedding gift from George Balfour and his wife—a first-class round-the-world air ticket for two. Sara had been thinking of that too.

I’d like to go to Brisbane for a quick check on Samantha and to let her know we haven’t forgotten her, and then Captain Harrigan, you should take command and take me to to all those exotic places that a bushie like me has barely heard of and doesn’t really believe exist, and where you used to go casually to work each day. As a hint, does the Queen really exist away from coins and banknotes and pictures on school walls?

As it turned out little Samantha did remember us and we both received a joyous welcome from her at my Aunt Faye’s. She’d started to call me Daddy, which pleased me a lot. We’d formally adopt her as soon as we returned home. Then Sara’s commitment to Sam’s dead parents would be complete.They’d asked her to look after Sam if anything happened to them. It did, Sara fostered her and soon Samantha would officially be ours.

So we turned for England in the front end of a Qantas 707.

I’d bought Sara a small cabin bag and noted with interest that it was absolutely stuffed full. I asked her how many toothbrushes she’d brought along and she pulled out a stack of travel books about the U.K. During the journey she rapidly read them one by one and then asked the flight attendants to dispose of them. I watched all this with interest and then couldn’t resist testing her retention of the contents. She was a regurgitating fountain of knowledge about the United Kingdom and even recited a possible itinerary for us on our self-drive holiday.To say I was impressed is to understate by a factor of ten. Then she told me that, while at business college in Brisbane, she’d gone to night classes to learn to speed read, in case she wanted to do a tertiary course some time. But the retention factor remained unexplained.

Then I remembered a conversation with her younger sister, Patricia, in her series of lectures to me about Sara. She’d felt that, early on, her sister and I had rushed things a bit and knew little about each other, except we were both good kissers.

She’s highly intelligent, Harry, she’d said. She scored very highly in an I.Q. test they gave at school. But her school marks were not all that flash and it was always thought in our family that I was the bright one and should be given the chances. Sar was sent off to do her business course so she could get a job quickly and free up money for my education.

Trish, at the time of telling me this was in her final year at secondary school. The school only went to Grade 10, two years before leaving, when Sara had been there. To go any higher meant moving away to another, bigger town.

I always wondered whether Sar gave those I.Q. test results to Mum and Dad. I don’t think she did and I think the school should have sent them direct, but it was a pretty haphazard bush school in those days. I only knew because one of the teachers talked to me about it a long time afterwards after getting no feedback from Sar. Even so, Mum was a teacher at the primary school and you’d think someone would have mentioned it.

I think she muffled her high intelligence to give me the chances and that’s why I love my sister so much.

Trish was now nearly a doctor, married to another medical student.

I looked over at the dozing Mrs.Harrigan and recalled that conversation with a tender heart. I leaned over and kissed her softly on the lips. Her eyes flew open.

And the reason?

That’s for helping Trish become a doctor and for being kind enough not to tell me that you’re a genius—officially. I would have shied away.

I’d have roped and hobbled you, she said. My sister always did have a big mouth. Anyway there were some reasoning questions that slowed me down.You’d have knocked them over in a second so don’t underestimate yourself, Harrigan. And this is the last conversation we’ll have about those tests and all that stuff, darling. Understood?

Yes, ma’am.

We stayed at the Savoy during our London session. But it was cold, at times freezing cold, and this limited our mobility somewhat. I wondered about my promise to Sara that she’d see the Queen when, one morning, as we were sightseeing in Central London, the Royal limousine passed us and turned into a park. We ran across the road, among many annoyed toots, and there she was, about to unveil some memorial. Sara shot off reels of film and was reloading, when the Queen looked over and smiled at her. Seeing her subject occupied she turned her smile to me and I gave her a big Aussie smile back. Sara missed it all and, to this day, won’t believe that Queen Elizabeth smiled upon her. But she had her pictures.

Thank you, darling, that’s two girlie ambitions realized.

Any more? I asked.

Nope. Just you and the Queen!

The Harrigans had an interesting tour of England and Scotland, to say the least. I always thought these bushies navigated by the sun but Sara kept explaining our constant failure to reach our planned destinations by the fact that the sun was to the north in Elmsford and to the south in Britain. That’s when we could see it. Her bushie magnetic compass must have been thrown out of kilter.

Once I let her drive while I navigated and we did well until she was pulled up for speeding. The way she drove, it was bound to happen. But she batted her big blue eyes, told the cop we were Australians on our honeymoon and got off with a warning and then congratulations. I took over the wheel so once again we happily staggered all over England and Scotland and, totally by accident came across London again. It had really been too cold for touring and we decided—another time!

There we had a wonderful Christmas among the glorious decorations of London and at a table for two at the Savoy—our first Christmas together. We’d decided not to buy anything for each other, agreeing that we had each other and that was enough. But I’d bought her a diamond bracelet and presented it to her on Christmas morn. She was very put out, reminding me of our agreement, until I was very embarrassed that I’d embarrassed her. Then, just as things looked like getting serious, she went to her knick-knacks drawer and produced a Rolex watch for me. We rolled on the floor holding each other laughing.

We boarded an aircraft to the Big Apple. Again the guide books emerged and were consumed. I’d spent a lot of time in New York so my aim was for Sara to see it but then to assess how she’d fare living in it. I hadn’t told her of George Balfour’s big offer. The assessment came first.

Again it was freezing cold but no snow. Any outings, such as riding in Central Park, were really a test. Sara was enthralled at first, but things were much more formal than at Elmsford and we only had two rides. I could see the riding and New York in general beginning to pall a bit. She actually declined to go riding one day. We did have New Year’s Eve in Times Square and joined in all the celebrations. But that seemed to wind up New York in that weather. So I suggested we go and see George and Linda Balfour at their estate up the Hudson River. George sent a car for us and Sara was amazed as we drove into their big estate. She’d never encountered such luxury before. Nor had I, for that matter.

The Balfours were in turn captivated by Sara. George couldn’t take his eyes off her. He was a tough, crew-cut former Marine pilot who’d been one of the first FBI forensic accountants before setting up Balfour G. Linda was a tall, beautiful ex-model. They’d known each other all their lives.

We had a marvellous stay with these exceptional hosts. George took me to play golf at the Westchester Country Club, one of the most famous in the U.S., and Linda, it turned out, was a famous equestrienne and she took Sara riding. But the cold dominated everything.

And then it snowed, heavily. Sara was excited over her first sight of snow.

A highlight was that the Balfours had a sleigh set and offered us a sleigh-ride into their local village.

Sara couldn’t wait so Linda lent her some extra cold weather gear. She’d bought some in London but not nearly heavy enough. I already had some from my previous existence working for Balfour G all over the world, but when Sara emerged from the bedroom in hers I was stunned. Her outfit was topped by a fur-lined hood with the white fur edging showing around her beautiful face and with some of her blonde curls peeping out too. If ever there was a face made for such an outfit, it was Sara’s. Pixie?

I walked over and took her face in my hands and gave her a firm kiss. I would have gone further, but we had a date to keep. She had the same effect on George and Linda and the shop people in the village. It was fascinating to watch. I took some photos and one now adorns the wall of my study.

We rejoined the sleigh for the ride home but then she jumped down and beckoned me down out of the sleigh with a snowball in her cocked right hand and a determined look on her pretty face. I couldn’t resist and went on the attack. I underestimated her and she got me right in the face and then took off to hide behind a tree, emerging only to shoot off some of her ammunition. She was good. Finally, I charged and she panicked and ran, but she had no chance. I caught her, lifted her giggling, wriggling form and carried her over to a snow drift and dropped her in it. I walked away but she began to call so I turned and saw she was having a problem getting out of the deep snow. I walked back and leaned down to help her and she got me again, shrieking with laughter. I picked her out and threw her, still wriggling, over my shoulder and dumped her in the sleigh. She clutched me, shivering.

I’m freezing, she said, huddling damply against me.

Snow will do that to you, I said.

Linda headed for home.We took off our boots and she said, Quickly, hot showers, you two, or the honeymoon will be over. You warm climate people don’t realize what this cold climate can do to you!

We ran up the stairway to our room and got in the hot shower together. We soon warmed each other up, and the honeymoon wasn’t over. No, siree Bob!

That evening we had drinks and the small blue-eyed wonder from Down Under surprised them by asking for a beer, like Harry’s having. They were cocktail or wine people.

At dinner we talked of the two small towns where we’d grown up and Linda asked how we’d met. I looked at Sara. I didn’t know how much to say but Sara didn’t hold back—the Balfours got the full story--- little girl obsessed with a young boy, falling in love, getting engaged, a big misunderstanding that cost us four years together, and then our reunion.

The Balfours stared in amazement and George muttered something about like a Hollywood movie.

It was late and we were tired so the Balfours suggested bed. When we got to our room and were in bed I told Sara of George’s offer for us to move to New York with me to take over as chief executive of the company in time. Tomorrow, our last day, would be decision time.

She eased herself on top of me and gave me a kiss of congratulation but