Page 61 of The Pearl Sister
‘Sorry, I’m just super tired from travelling.’
‘No worries, I’ll let you get your beauty sleep.’ She stood up. ‘Oh, and give me a call tomorrow if you’re up for meeting my grandma.’
‘I will. Thanks, Chrissie.’
With a wave, she walked out of the hotel and I climbed the stairs, too exhausted to process what I’d just discovered, but feeling a shiver of excitement at the fact that the man in the photograph had been an artist, just like me . . .
13
I was awake weirdly early the next morning. Maybe because I’d had a dream – which had been so real and vivid that I struggled to bring myself back to reality.
I’d been a little girl sitting on the knee of an older woman, who for some reason was naked, at least up top. She’d led me by the hand across a red desert to a plant under which was some kind of insect nest. She pointed to it and said it was my job to look after them. I was pretty sure it had something to do with honey, but thereallystrange thing was that, despite my hatred of anything with far more legs than I had, I’d actually held one of the insects like it was a pet hamster or something. I’d stroked it with my small fingers as it had crawled across my palm. I even remembered feeling the tickling sensation of its legs. Whatever it was, I knew it had been my friend, not my enemy.
Galvanised by all that I had learnt yesterday, I picked up the hotel phone and dialled the number of the solicitor’s office in Adelaide. Even if I wasn’t going there, I thought I might as well get some answers. After several rings, a crisp female voice came on the line.
‘Angus and Tine, how can I help you?’
‘Hi, can I speak to Mr Angus Junior, please?’
‘He retired a few months ago, I’m afraid,’ the woman said. ‘But Talitha Myers has taken on his casework. Shall I make an appointment for you?’
‘I’m actually in Broome, and I just wanted to ask a few quick questions. Should I call back when she’s free or—’
‘Hold on, please.’
‘Talitha Myers speaking,’ said a different voice. ‘How can I help you?’
‘Hi, I received an inheritance last year that was sent from Mr Angus to my father’s lawyer in Switzerland. My name is Celaeno D’Aplièse.’
‘Okay. Do you know the exact date when the inheritance was sent to your father’s lawyer?’
‘I got it in June last year when my dad died, but I’m not sure how long before that his lawyer had actually received it.’
‘And what was the name of the lawyer?’
‘Hoffman and Associates in Geneva.’
‘Right, here it is.’ There was a pause. ‘So what can I do for you?’
‘I’m trying to trace my family and I was hoping you had a record of who the inheritance was from?’
‘Let me look at the notes on the computer, though sadly they won’t tell me much, as Mr Angus preferred to write everything down, like all the oldies do . . . Nope, nothing. Hang on, I’ll just check if there’s anything written in the ledgers.’
There was a clatter, and then I heard the sound of pages turning.
‘Here it is. So . . . from what I can gather – it says to refer to notes for January 1964 – “trust set up by deceased Katherine Mercer”.’
Katherine, Kitty . . .I almost dropped the phone in shock. ‘Kitty Mercer?’
‘You know of her?’
‘A bit,’ I mumbled. ‘Do you have any idea who she set the trust up for?’
‘Can’t make it out from these notes, I’m afraid, but I can go down into the vaults to take a look at the 1964 ledger. Should I give you a call once I’ve found out?’
‘That would be brilliant, thanks.’ I gave her my mobile number, then ended the call, my heart in my throat. Was I somehow related to Kitty after all?
I left the hotel to walk down the road back to the internet café, wanting to spend some time looking into Albert Namatjira. I halted in front of a newsagent’s on seeing a familiar face on the front ofThe Australian.
