Matilda's Last Waltz by Tamara McKinley Page A

couldn’t breach, and this had tempered her feelings toward him.
    She was about to speak, to offer some cliché, when Jenny handed over the last of the legal documents. ‘What’s this?’
    â€˜Pete’s surprise birthday present,’ she said quietly. ‘And I don’t know what to do about it.’
    Diane read the deeds, and when she’d finished the two women sat for a long moment in silence. It was all too fantastic and Diane could understand Jenny’s bewilderment. Finally she cleared her throat and lit another cigarette. ‘I don’t know why you’re panicking. You’ve got money in the back, a house without a mortgage, and a sheep station in the back of beyond. What’s the problem, Jen? I thought that was what you’d always wanted?’
    Jenny snatched back the documents and lunged out of the deep cushion. ‘I do wish you’d get proper chairs,’ she muttered, pulling her short dress back over her thighs. ‘It’s unladylike scrabbling about on the bloody floor.’
    Diane grinned. At least she was showing spirit, and it was good to see it again after so long. ‘You’re avoiding the issue, Jen. I want to know…’
    â€˜I heard,’ she interrupted. ‘I’ve just had a shock and still can’t take it all in. I’m rich. We were rich. So why do I drive a beaten up old Holden? Why did Pete work nights and weekends? Why did we never go on holiday or buy new furniture?’
    She turned on her heel, her face white with strain. ‘I was married to a stranger, Diane. He took out loans on our house, gambled on the markets, bought and sold properties I knew nothing about. What other secrets did he have?’
    Diane watched as Jenny scrabbled in her bag and pulled out a sheaf of papers and waved them under her nose. This was good. This meant Jenny was finally emerging from the dark, secret place she’d been hiding in for the past six months.
    â€˜Look at this catalogue of past investments, Diane,’ she hissed. ‘A row of terraced houses in Surry Hills … a two-storey unit in Koogee, and another in Bondi … The list is endless. Bought, done up and sold on for vast profits which he used to buy shares.’ She was trembling with fury. ‘And while he was busy making a fortune, I was struggling to pay the sodding electricity bill!’
    Diane rescued the crumpled papers and smoothed them out. ‘So Pete was a closet capitalist. He only did what he thought best, even if it was behind your back – and the sheep station was something you both wanted.’
    Jenny’s anger seemed to ebb as swiftly as it had risen. She sank back into the floor cushions and chewed on a fingernail.
    â€˜Have a cigarette,’ Diane said firmly, offering her the slim, flat box of Craven ‘A’. ‘You used to have lovely nails before you gave up.’
    Jenny shook her head. ‘If I start again, I’ll never stop. Anyway, nails are cheaper than ciggies.’ She gave a watery smile and sipped her wine. ‘I lost it there for a minute, didn’t I? But everything seems to have got out of control, and I sometimes wonder if I’m not going mad with it all.’
    Diane smiled. The silver bracelets jangled. ‘Artists are never sane, least of all you and me, girl. But I’ll tell you when you finally flip, and we’ll tumble into the depths of insanity together.’
    Jenny laughed then, and although it held a note of hysteria, it was good to hear. ‘So what are you going to do about his sheep station?’
    There was a frown and she bit her lip. ‘I don’t know. There’s a manager running the place at the moment, but John Wainwright suggests I sell it.’ She looked down at her fingers, her rich brown hair falling in a veil over her face so Diane couldn’t see her expression. ‘It wouldn’t be the same without Pete, and I know very little