The Set Up

By Jeffrey Sheppard

Murder, drama and intrigue follow Merv every step of the way, he finds himself in Cairo, attempting to rescue Iffaa Obeid, who’s a virtual prisoner of her husband, George. Back in Australia Merv comes up against a police force desperate to imprison him. Finally, he battles a murderous thug and drug runner in Thailand. And then there's still a few twists in the tail.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Jeffrey Sheppard
• Release date: Sep 6, 2023
• ISBN: 9798215558652

Jeffrey Sheppard

In my early career I worked at Queensland Newspapers, the publisher of the Courier Mail, Brisbane's daily newspaper. Then I travelled a bit and ended up in Vienna, Austria, where I was lucky enough to get a job in the publication section of the United Nations Industrial Development Organisation, or UNIDO for short.Later on when I returned home I was employed by another daily newspaper, the Queensland Times in Ipswich, a major regional town outside of Brisbane. I followed that with a stint at Queensland Country Life, a weekly newspaper, that services the farmers and pastoralist of the huge state of Queensland.However I wanted to be my own boss, so I bought a small printing business here in Brisbane and ran that, along with my wife, Helen, for around 12 years. Sold it and retired to do what I do now, play some golf, travel, exercise and write.Writing came late to me, it's a passion and a hobby all rolled into one. Yet it can be time consuming, even though I'm retired sometimes my passion does feel like work. But . . . like lots of amateurs on Smashwords when someone, like yourself, downloads one of my books it gives me a thrill. So thanks for taking the time to read my musings.

Book preview

CHAPTER ONE

MERV was savouring his first pot of beer as he gazed into the eyes of Ivy Meadows. She was toying with her Chardonnay as they sat in the lounge bar of the Hamilton Hotel. Ivy was rabbiting on about his new book. Well, not new really, it was his first book ever. He wasn’t paying too much attention, he had a lot on his mind. Upcoming jobs, the various women in his life and now this book. His publisher assured him if they could get it out onto the bookshelves by Christmas, it would sell like hot cakes. Ivy was the editor and they’d spent the afternoon going over chapter two of his creation. Overall, she was delighted with what Merv had supplied her and he had to admit the words flowed from his fingertips onto the computer screen without too much effort. In Ivy’s words they just needed a professional touch and at $85 per hour she was providing that important missing link. Spending the afternoon with Ivy wasn’t an impost at all, she was pretty, with short dark hair, medium height, maybe carrying an extra kilo or two, but had an engaging personality, a laser-like mind and was very funny. If he had to guess he’d say she was on the wrong side of forty by a few years, but he was knocking on the door for fifty, so couldn’t criticise. He’d seen Ivy the last three afternoons and today she was getting anxious, he needed to supply her with more chapters if the end of year deadline was going to be met. This was the first time they’d had a drink socially and that was only because she was going out with some girlfriends to a play at QPAC. Her apartment was within spitting distance of the hotel and after their afternoon sessions together it had been his habit of wandering down to the Hammo for a few beers, then off home to his unit in Bowen Hill. This afternoon she asked if he was happy with some company for an hour or so? Simply a drink of convenience, two colleagues having a social get together.

Since the terrorist attack at Lang Park, Merv had gained some nationwide notoriety for his role in helping to eliminate the terrorists and potentially saving Brisbane or indeed Australia for that matter from another impending attack. Hence his book. And as much as he thought Ivy was worth pursuing, on current form he wasn’t gelling very successfully with the fairer sex. Take Janice. His on/off girlfriend for the last few years, she was definitely in the off mode now. It was by mutual consent, and she was back with her Audi car salesman. Married, certainly, three kids definitely, but for Janice’s sake at least this philander finally found the balls to leave his wife of 12 years. So, Janice and Mr Car Salesman rekindled their romance. Merv was happy for her. Then there was Rhonda. He saved her life in Malaysia and had a big hand in rescuing her son from his terrorist father. Sadly, Rhonda was caught between owing Merv a huge debt of gratitude and her desire for a stable relationship. They dated for a few months, yet he wasn’t ready to be a dad to her son Calem. After all, he killed his father and going forward their relationship was never going to end well. How could it. Killing Calem’s father was never going to sit well with the boy. Again, their breakup was mutual, yet it saddened him immensely.

Apart from his boring women problems, there was a job he was offered recently. Not really in his wheelhouse, it was babysitting this rich bloke’s younger wife while he and his son took off for a camping and hunting holiday on his cattle property near Oakey. The client’s name was Oscar Thompson and he dripped money. Money made from lithium mining in the Northern Territory. He gave Thompson an outrageous price for babysitting his wife for two weeks. And the man never blinked an eye. Merv however was intrigued, asked why his wife needed to have inhouse security? The answer came back that she thought she was being followed, and there was a road rage incident too. According to her, the driver forced her off the road and threatened to rape her, then bash her head in. Naturally that incident was reported to the police, but Ingrid, shaken and frightened for her life, failed to get the number plate of her assaulter’s vehicle. On top of all that their home had received the odd late night nuisance phone call on the land line and that had distressed her. She was convinced the road rager was stalking her. When he heard this, Merv thought that was highly unlikely, but nevertheless it couldn’t be discounted. He told Thompson he’d take the job. As his mum used to say, a fool and their money . . .

His train of thought was interrupted by Ivy, Merv, you haven’t been listening to me since we sat down, have you? Honestly, take your writing seriously. And trust me, there’s an eager audience out there waiting to read your every word. Basically it could make you a fortune. But you need to get proactive, I can’t say any more than that.

Chastened, he offered her a weak smile, Ivy, I was listening, well, mostly, and yeah, I know you want more chapters A S A P. Look, I’m taking on an easy job over the next couple of weeks, so I should be able to bash out a lot more chapters of the book then. That’s a promise. He turned his weak smile into a more generous one and noted she wasn’t completely taken in by it.

Merely a subtle nod, Thanks, happy writing and don’t let me down, please. She looked at her wristwatch, Give me a call when you have something for me, I’m off now. Stood up and with a wave of her right hand Ivy was out the door of the hotel in a flash.

Merv stared at the vacant chair for a moment, noticed his beer was only half drunk and fixed that minor problem with a few robust gulps. He sauntered over to the bar, which was quiet for a mid-week late afternoon/early evening and got the barman’s attention by waving his hand at him, who until then was happy to ignore him. There were much more important things to do than serve a customer. It appeared the barman was engrossed in a private phone conversation on his mobile and the call was his top priority over serving lowly patrons. After he noticed Merv’s waving hand, the barman sighed, reluctantly walked over and asked for his order. Same again was the reply. He poured the worst beer in the world and equally presented it in a terrible manner. The poor little pot glass was subjected to a bashing on the stainless-steel beer drip tray. Some beer splashed over the sides and a few drops even sprayed his face, but by this time Merv was bemused with the barman’s antics and reacted angrily, Hey, listen here, not sure what your problem is, but I don’t expect to be treated like this, have some respect please.

The barman wasn’t a professional, he was young, around 20 and no doubt it was a casual job for him. His sour face spoke volumes that he didn’t want to serve customers. Yet he acted suitably chastened and mumbled an insipid excuse, Ah, Jesus man, sorry, but I slipped when I put your beer on the drainer. Okay?

Merv made a sinister laugh, he had the moral high ground in this little confrontation, That’s bullshit, and as you know you never slipped, you deliberately spilt my beer. But . . . I’m only here for a few drinks, I’m not going to complain to anyone and my advice to you is get a job as a mortician. That way you’re sure the customers don’t talk back. The barman gave him a filthy look, showed him his back as he retreated away from the bar.

Beer in hand, the barman forgotten, he sat back in the comfortable chair and proceeded to demolish his drink. Tossed up whether to have a counter meal at the hotel or go home and have some leftover Hungarian goulash he made yesterday. After the barman incident, he was wavering towards home, but that decision was left pending when an attractive lady put her handbag on the seat at the next table to his. She ignored Merv’s smile and sidled over to the bar and didn’t have any trouble getting the barman’s attention. He was all over her like a cheap suit, as he poured her a sparkling wine, laughing and joking as he did it. Merv shrugged, ah, the power of a pretty female. The lady wasn’t drop dead gorgeous, but she was attractive enough, had a fair complexion, slim, with light chestnut hair and dressed in an expensive looking charcoal coloured, conservative, tailored ladies’ business suit. Age wise she looked around the mid-thirties mark. When she walked back to her table, Merv noticed she wasn’t wearing any jewellery on her fingers, only a sparkling gold bracelet on her right arm. It looked expensive.

The bar was still quiet, there were a few blokes having after work drinks at various tables and two couples were having their pre-dinner drinks, yet that was only his assumption of the situation. A few men from the groups of workers had a glance at her before she sat down but didn’t carry on ogling or staring at her. They continued with their respective cerebral conversations. Merv opted for the leftovers with a proviso, one more drink for the road.

Chanced another drink, walked up to the bar and after a seamless encounter with the barman returned to his table with his unspilt beer, when the lady turned and spoke to him. Her voice was husky and strong, suggested she was used to giving orders, or a smoker, maybe both. Excuse me, sorry to bother you, but are you a local?

He smiled, Well, if you mean do I come to this place often, well, no I don’t, but I live close by.

She returned his smile, her white teeth caught the subdued bar lighting, sparkled and gave off a mini rainbow-hued effect, or perhaps he imagined that? Good, I’m only after a restaurant, so . . . can you recommend one around here?

Well, here at the Hammo, sorry the Hamilton Hotel, they do cook some great steaks. But . . . if you’re after ethnic food Racecourse Road is chock a block full of Italian, Thai and Vietnamese restaurants. Even vegan ones, if that’s your poison. And trust me, they’re all excellent.

She held her smile, Ah, that’s sweet of you, I’m in town for around a week on business, my first time in Brisbane actually. I’ve been to the Gold Coast stacks of times, but never here. She stood up and walked the couple of paces to his table, Mind if I join you until I finish my bubbles? You see, I’m not used to drinking by myself, but work was just chaotic today and I was dying for a drink?

He wasn’t in the mood for small talk and the last thing he needed was complications, but as she was a visitor he decided there was no harm in her request, it wasn’t like she wanted him to walk down the aisle with her. Of course, please take a seat. Stood, I’m Merv.

Pauline.

Held out his right hand, they shook. Her smile was never ending, yet again that mysterious flash of colour, he thought it had to be the lighting. Pauline, great to meet you, Merv.

They chatted until they finished their drinks simultaneously. Merv offered to buy her another, Pauline insisted on shouting, he graciously accepted. Somewhere along the line the Hungarian goulash was put on the back burner, without any intention of a pun. Merv ordered the next round and Pauline decided they should eat here and try one of the famous Hammo’s steaks. No harm in that, a pretty lady visiting Brissie, lonely, who wanted a dinner companion, nothing more than that. Their conversation flowed, with some very minor flirting from Pauline, but nothing outrageous. To any outsider they simply were a couple enjoying each other’s company. After dinner Merv offered to drive Pauline to wherever she was staying.

I’m staying at the Link Portside Hotel, only a short distance from here. I’m happy to walk, but sorry to be a nuisance, ah . . . would you mind walking me to the hotel please Merv? You see, I don’t know the area and I’m a bit nervous walking there by myself at this time of night.

Again, what harm could there be in escorting Pauline to her hotel? She was friendly, oozed sex appeal, but he wasn’t tempted. At worst, he’d get a bit of exercise or maybe another dinner date later this week? He laughed, That’s no problem, happy to play the chivalrous male tonight. Shall we?

It was a warm evening, and the 300 metre stroll through the well-lit, tree lined upmarket Hamilton streets was pleasant. Pauline stopped at the hotel’s entrance, took Merv’s hand and smiled yet again. It’s still pretty early, why don’t you come up for nightcap? Stopped smiling, stared at Merv who was surprised, but not disappointed by her suggestion. Don’t worry, I’m not a serial killer, if that’s what you think?

He smiled and let go of her hand, after all, what could come of a nightcap, still hoped for a dinner date later in the week, thought it best to play along. Pauline, that’s good to know and truth be known I’m not really in the mood to fight off serial killers tonight. Sure, happy to have another drink. We can carry on chatting about, well . . . maybe talk about world peace, the price of widgets, or perhaps nothing in particular.

••••••••

As he stretched out naked on the comfortable queen-size bed, with racking views up and down the Brisbane River, he pondered if his newfound notoriety was the catalyst in this unusual situation he found himself in tonight? At no stage during the evening did he mention to Pauline what happened in Warwick with the terrorists a few months ago. Yet his photo had been published in all the major newspapers in the country. Maybe she recognised him and thought bedding a PI was exciting, something to add to her CV, perhaps even a conversation piece with her friends. She hadn’t mentioned anything about his fame and that suited him perfectly. The last thing he wanted in his line of work was instant recognisability. Not that he was complaining, the bed was comfy, her room was more of a suite, and from what he’d seen of her body so far, it would put a horn on a jellyfish. Yet perplexing, Pauline was the initiator in this little sexual encounter and in the world of females, this was very rare. Unless of course, payment was involved. Certainly not the case here. Merv admonished himself for being negative, just lie back and enjoy the journey, rejoice in the knowledge the lady wasn’t a serial killer!

She came out of the ensuite, buff naked and completely shaven. Another surprise, in his experiences most women after they reach 30 usually settle for a trimmed bush. Laughed at that one, since when was he the female pubic hair expert? He sighed with pleasure when she joined him in the bed. From then on it was passionate tongue kissing, oral sex, followed by kissing and more kissing. He always thought he was a considerate lover and if he was going to be a notch on her bed post, he’d make sure she remembered him. Pulled out all the tricks he knew and ad libbed the rest. It was a above and beyond effort on his part.

His efforts paid off, she orgasmed three times, bucked her body and whispered in his ear. Babe it’s your turn now, I want you inside me . . . now. Do it now.

Merv groaned, it was music to his ears, didn’t answer, decided it was a rhetorical statement, best answered by doing the deed, rattle her bones, just as she advocated. The sex was beyond great, no doubt Pauline was a consummate lover, her groin muscles were well developed and obviously used on numerous occasions too. Not an issue in this evening tryst, she was an out of towner, a one-night stand. One of the very few he’d had in his life. But one he’d remember for a long time.

She could tell he was coming to a climax, whispered to him, Babe cum on my stomach, I’ve stopped taking the pill and I don’t want any unnecessary complications. And I want us both to enjoy the moment. Cum for me hon. He obeyed and after his climax she visited the ensuite to clean up.

He laid back on the pillows and was in seventh heaven, muttered, Good grief Pauline you’re sensational, laughed as he watched her tight arse retreat to the ensuite, don’t take offence, but you could make a fortune doing this caper.

No reply, he heard the ensuite door close and the lock engaged. A cricket chirped away, it was her phone as she simultaneously turned on the shower. He picked up the Apple beside the bed, it was silent. The cricket chirping morphed into a message ping and the sound was coming from her handbag. The shower was going full bore, and for no particular reason Merv opened her handbag, looked inside and saw a zipped pocket on the side. Unzipped it and reached in, pulled out a small throw away burner phone along with her license. The phone had a one-word message displayed on its small screen, ‘Success?????’ Pauline mentioned she was from Sydney and worked for a cruise line company that was setting up an office here in Brisbane. Yet her license was a Northern Territory one, absentmindedly he studied it for a moment. He’d been to Darwin before and had driven through the suburb of Nightcliff, but he couldn’t remember anything about the place. Then chided himself, absolutely no reason to be suspicious of Pauline, she’d been more than accommodating thus far. Slid the phone back and had a last look at her license before sliding it back into her handbag. Put the cheap phone down to being a work related one. Stopped second guessing her life when the lady reappeared, suddenly he was side-tracked by the gorgeous view.

In her husky voice, exclaimed, Ah, that’s better, an unexpected roll in the hay and a shower. What more could a girl ask for? They laughed together at her droll comment.

No doubt about it you were great Pauline. As he drank up the scene before him.

She sidled over, wrapped her arms around him, pulled him close and gave him another passionate kiss. She broke away, And perhaps you’re right about my pussy, did you know I grew it myself? They giggled, she stared into his blue eyes, with a degree of expectation. So, what about round two, big boy. Think you’re up to it?

Merv pinched himself, surely he was dreaming this.

CHAPTER TWO

THE next few days were all about work. He’d sent Pauline a text message, so far no reply, unsurprising really, after all the girl was busy trying to make a living. Yet like clockwork his editor, Ivy, was on the ball, encouraging him to keep writing during the next few weeks. Yeah, sure he thought and made a mental note to write at least a chapter or three for the lady. He was too busy to concern himself about it now, packing his bag for the babysitting gig with Ingrid Thompson, that was his immediate priority. Merv arrived five minutes before the 10 am scheduled time and pulled up outside the high-fenced, large property off Weekes Road in Bellbowrie. Hmmm, regretted not doubling his fee as he looked at the three metre high rendered walls and the impressive equally huge double wrought iron gates. The gates and fencing alone probably cost Thompson the best part of three hundred grand. He exited his recently repaired VW GTI, the one that Haddad Nazari tried to blow up. Failed at that attempt, then proceeded to shoot half a dozen holes into his little Deutsch Auto. Luckily the Auto took one, or six actually, for the team that day. The panel beaters did a good job, after some extensive road testing Merv thought it was running as good as ever. Yet would’ve preferred a new one, given the option. But new vehicles were still hard to find in this post Covid era. Unless you wanted to put your arse into some Chinese shit heap. And that wasn’t for him.

Pressed the intercom, heard the soft, almost insipid voice of Oscar Thompson answer. Followed by the huge gates separating in the middle, each one going in the opposite direction to its mate. Back in his vehicle, Merv drove slowly into the Thompsons’ residence. Stopped briefly and stared at the granite, tree lined driveway. The overall impression was from something out of Gone With The Wind. He calculated the driveway from gate to mansion was about 80 metres long. Mansion to each side fence was about the same distance. Impressive. The property had a fresh look about it, but Merv knew it was five years old, because Oscar had told him. It was a two storey joint, no rendered brick veneer here, anyone could tell it was a first class concrete construction. He played a little guessing game with himself, how many bedrooms and how many car spaces? Did it have a swimming pool? Surely there was a pool and despite being winter he’d bet the pool was heated. Packed his togs just in case. To the left and right of the driveway the manicured lawn was tastefully landscaped, a good number of Australian shrubs and a smattering of tall gum trees only added to the beautiful surroundings. The vista spoke of money, an obscene amount of the stuff. The front yard, if anyone wanted to describe it as that, resembled a botanical garden, green, lush, with a large variety of shrubs and plants and all appeared in pristine condition.

Merv slowed down to a crawl and parked his car at the front entrance, walked over to the intercom and pressed a button once more. Within a minute Oscar opened the ornate door and greeted him, asked Merv to follow him to the lounge where Ingrid was waiting for them. She stood and they shook hands. Merv took in her physical attributes, but they were best described as Oscar’s trophy wife. Slim, blonde, her hair falling to her shoulders, she was medium height, attractive and a solid 15 years her husband’s junior. When she spoke that’s when the blonde bimbo cliché disappeared. She was articulate and her voice projected a strong personality. The dynamic opposite to her husband, who at first blush was this quiet, softly spoken, mild mannered accountant type. Merv wasn’t there to judge either of them and was thankful her physical appearance didn’t engender any desires in him. Blondes weren’t normally his cup of tea, especially ones whose husbands paid over the top to protect them. Her demeanour indicated a certain reluctance on her part at his presence in the mansion. Well, with two weeks to get to know each other he’d tread softly, softly in these early stages.

After the introductions were concluded, Merv asked for a tour of the residence, Oscar acquiesced to Ingrid and she did the honours. Merv found out he was wrong on many of his assumptions on the Thompson home. For a start there weren’t six bedrooms, but eight and all ensuited. No outdoor heated pool, why bother when you have room for an indoor heated one. It wasn’t your common and garden backyard suburban pool, but a 25 metre one, complete with four starting blocks at the two metre deep end of it. Literally the type of pool that many Queensland schools possessed. Merv was stunned, but it didn’t finish there. The pool room came complete with a retractable roof, so if you were a purist and pined for the sun on your fair skin, your wish could be accommodated by the press of a button. He tried his best not to be gushy at this unexpected scene, simply knelt down, plunged his right hand into the water, felt its temperature, guessed it was a comfortable 24 degrees. Ingrid smiled for the first time, Yes, it’s heated. Do you like to swim, Mervyn?

Looked up and grinned, Ah, I was school champion back in my high school days, but apart from keeping cool it doesn’t float my boat anymore. Sorry, no pun here.

Her smile matured into a giggle, I normally try and do ten laps at least four times a week. But I get what you say, swimming’s a singular type of sport, that’s for sure. Oscar doesn’t like to swim, so I get somewhat bored here by myself. Perhaps I can entice you to relive your high school days sometime during your stay and join me for some laps.

Merv was trying to size the lady up. He was obviously an irritant to her, so extending a swimming invitation to him might be her version of an olive branch. He stood up and stared at her, Ingrid, I did pack my togs and I’ll take you up on your kind offer. But for me it’ll only be a few gentle laps. My racing days are long gone.

She shrugged her shoulders, As you wish, shall we continue with the tour?

Next it was on to a huge media room, followed by two offices, his and hers, of course. Apart from their generous footprint there was nothing out of the ordinary to see there. Ingrid opened the door to the billiard room, she called it Oscar’s man cave. It had a small bar, two black leather lounges, a massive TV and the coup de gras, an impressive display of handguns and rifles, all under lock and key in a large glass-fronted cabinet. He mentioned to Ingrid it was obvious her husband was a gun enthusiast. She rolled her eyes, assured him it was a passion of his. She added, he loved to show off his alpha male side and impress his mates and business contacts with the collection. Told him they were all in working order too. She carried on with the tour, showed him a gym/Pilates work out room that would put a few suburban gyms to shame with the equipment it had. On to the kitchen that had the footprint the size of his unit back in Bowen Hills, Merv was staggered as she continued to lead him to the underground garage that could double as a metro station if the train line was ever extended out to Bellbowrie. After he took all that in, it was time for Ingrid to show him the security room where the images from two CCTV cameras at the front and the one at the rear were displayed. Ingrid gave him an overview on the workings of the cameras and plethora of light sensors that helped protect their home. Merv suggested Ingrid leave him there for a while, so he could get used to how everything came together. Half an hour should be enough he said. He played around with the controls but realised that the default automatic mode was more than adequate on the CCTV coverage. The cameras oscillated around to show the whole picture of the large property. At the front at any given moment anyone could view the property in situ and see if any trespassers or intruders were present.

Yet he kept coming back to the rear CCTV camera, certainly it oscillated from left to right, but its sweep time from one side to the other was too long. Whoever installed the security for some reason compromised on cameras at the rear of the home. At least one more camera was needed for complete coverage. He’d try and improve the slow sweep of the rear CCTV in the next few days but was also concerned with other aspects of security at the mansion. He wandered around checking the numerous locks and windows, as he mulled over the CCTV irritation. He reconnected with Ingrid and asked for a tour of the rear of the home and the boat shed that was perched above the Brisbane River. Walking over to the boat shed, Ingrid seemed more relaxed with his presence, however there was a certain aloofness about her. Not the nervous nelly he’d pictured in his mind before their meeting. The opposite was true, she possessed a quick wit, certainly someone he didn’t want to get on the wrong side of.

With the natural barrier of the Brisbane River at the rear, there wasn’t the three metre high wall, but rather a two metre high steel fence with a locked gate that led to the boat shed. Not that easy for any intruder to climb over. Ingrid assured him there were sensor lights strategically placed along the fence. And besides, any intruder would have to negotiate the Brisbane River first before they tried to climb the fence. And that would require a dedicated person with strong intent. Surely not a road rager? Ingrid led Merv to the boat shed, where he wasn’t surprised at what he saw. A 15 metre Riviera complete with fly bridge and massive twin outboard motors, was gently bobbing up and down in sync with the brown tidal movement of the river. They climbed on board and he wandered around the outside deck, checked all the windows and hatches, all locked. Finally, he gave the door a good going over and it passed the test. All was secure on the aptly named Intrepid Ingrid. They both laughed when he repeated the name and he smiled at the boat’s name sake. He was told it wasn’t her idea, it was a 30th birthday present, Oscar wanted to impress her.

So far she’d been courteous, but she displayed an underlining discontent, her disposition wasn’t his concern, he had a job to do and asked a simple question, Do you use Intrepid much?

Can’t see how this fits in with your security concerns. The sentence was delivered with a tingle of bitterness, like she wasn’t keen on discussing the subject.

Jesus, apart from his earlier assumptions, he added highly strung to her personality. Best to tread lightly around this lady. With his best smile he said, And you’d be 100 percent correct, it’s got nothing to do with security, it was simply a throw-away question.

She stopped and stared at him, with a glimmer of a smile, Hmmm, sadly not as much as I’d like. Tim, my stepson and I go out for a spin every so often. I know he’s not overly keen, but he does it as a favour to me. Usually about once a month, we just go up and down the river, have a little picnic onboard. Oscar doesn’t have the time to come anymore and that suits me too. Unless of course he’s entertaining important customers, then amazingly he makes time, but usually I’m not invited. Not that I’m queueing up for that sort of boozy, male activity.

Merv picked up on her negativity with her husband and decided to ignore most of the content. Yes, time can be an issue for all of us, but she’s a beauty alright. Your friends and business acquaintances must love going out in it.

She shrugged her shoulders, Absolutely, you’re spot on, it’s useful for business, some of Oscar’s more important clients are really impressed being invited on the boat, especially if he takes them over to Tangalooma or Peel Island. Sometimes for some deep-sea fishing, or a bit of snorkelling. They love it, so in that way surprisingly it pays for itself, not that money is ever an issue for us.

Merv hadn’t considered the business side of having a boat. However he could see where Ingrid was coming from, couldn’t add anymore to the conversation and eventually asked, Can we have a walk around your impressive garden at the front please, if you have time that is? He’d known her only an hour or so and already he was skirting around her prickly personality.

She nodded, they strolled around the immaculate lawn and garden. He asked, So who’s got the green thumb in the family?

She rolled her eyes, Certainly not me, but Oscar likes to put in when he has a spare moment. He says it’s therapeutic. She sighed, But sadly for my husband that’s getting less and less for him. He’s away so often on business, throw in camping and hunting too, you know stuff you males love to do, then for Oscar time becomes an issue.

Do you go with him on many business trips?

She stared at Merv, like she was trying to get an understanding of his persona. No, and it’s better that way, are you married or have a partner Merv?

No, nothing like that, I’m very single.

Right, then you wouldn’t appreciate that married couples really want their own space . . . often. She hesitated, So no, I’ve have no desire to be with Oscar on his little junkets when he’s away.

Merv wasn’t employed as a marriage counsellor, wanted to be on safer ground and steered the conversation in another direction. I’ve never had a green thumb, I’ve always reckoned it was removed at birth. Stopped and looked around, I can imagine looking after a garden this size requires loads of time and effort. So how . . .?

She took up the exchange, Well, of course we have a gardener, he comes usually twice a week at this time of the year. In summer it’s more often. Three or four times a week. You see, we both want the grounds to look perfect, for a variety of reasons.

Merv had several questions, prioritised them in his mind and then fired off the first one. Tell me about your gardener, you know, really how do the mechanics of it all play out please Ingrid?

Her serious persona held, His name’s Ian, Ian Lachlan. He was responsible for the original landscaping. He runs a local landscaping and gardening business up at Kenmore. Took a breath and continued, If you’re thinking somehow, he has access to the house, well, he doesn’t, so you can forget that. Just like you he must buzz us and we let him in, each and every time. However, he does have access to the garage, where there’s a shower and toilet, plus tools and gear a gardener needs on a day to day basis. And as I showed you earlier in the tour, the garage door to the house is always locked. And Ian doesn’t possess the code. And I assume he’s not interested in getting it either.

Merv was happy with what he heard, didn’t see Ian the gardener a threat, except to recalcitrant weeds. Thanks for the info, I want to see how things tick in the Thompson household, I’m not trying to pry. Just getting an overall picture.

Ingrid answer was borderline belligerent, Well, you could’ve fooled me, some of your earlier questions were very unnecessary. Placed her hands on her hips, continued, And, if you’re interested in increasing your horticultural knowledge, he’s here Tuesday. I’ll introduce you to him and maybe he can do something about your lack of gardening ability. I’m sure you’ll have stacks of time to observe him in action.

Merv understood this wasn’t going to be an easy two week period with Ingrid, her personality waxed and waned from