The Eden Effect Read online

  ‘Come on, I’ll drive. My car is just outside. I only live five minutes away. Don’t worry you’ll be safe. I can drive you home later. I’ll even let you see my legs.’

  By that time Natalie was standing and Arthur looked quizzically at her artificial legs, which were under dark blue jeans.

  ‘Not these legs, Arthur, my real legs. Lets go.’

  And with that Arthur followed Natalie. Her car was just outside, in the handicapped spot, where else. They got in, Arthur first opening the door for Natalie and they were off.

  Natalie lived less than five minutes’ drive away but only because she drove like a maniac. Arthur was thankful that he had fastened his seatbelt. He noticed that Natalie had not. Natalie activated the remote and slid the car into a single garage. From there, there was a direct entry into the house. Natalie pointed to a small lounge room.

  ‘Have a seat, Arthur. I’ll just be two seconds. Have to powder my nose.’’

  Arthur made his way to a black leather armchair, sat down and waited. He looked around the room, which was small but adequate. The walls were covered in paintings, all abstracts. Quite good really, all looked like they have been painted by the same artist. Arthur rose to look at the signatures. He loved art and in his former life he had a formidable art collection. As he stood peering at one of the paintings, Natalie returned.

  ‘Do you like it, Arthur?’ she asked. Before he could reply, she added, ‘they’re mine. I have a studio out back. I’ll show you later.’

  Arthur was definitely impressed. She had talent.

  ‘Natalie, they’re great. Have you ever exhibited?’

  Natalie laughed. ‘Flattery will get you everywhere. They’re not great. They’re OK. But thanks Arthur. Nice of you to say so. Would you like a Scotch? I’m having one.’

  Arthur did feel like a Scotch. ‘That would be great, Natalie. Neat. No ice.’

  Natalie left and Arthur could see a dining room across the hall where she presumably kept her liquor. She was back two minutes later, a glass in each hand with a generous measure of Scotch in each.

  ‘Macallan Directors Edition, Arthur. Do you know it?’

  Arthur knew it. The knowledge gave him a fleeting feeling of days gone by.

  ‘Yes, I know it, Natalie. What’s the occasion?’

  The Directors Edition was not your everyday Scotch. In the days when he could afford it, he used to baulk at the hefty price tag, about $300 a bottle, he recalled. There seemed to be more to Natalie than met the eye.

  ‘No occasion, Arthur. My view is, if you’re going drink, drink the good stuff. Maybe it is an occasion. Your first day at work. I hope we can become friends. That’s if you stay. And I need a good drink if I’m going to tell you my story.’

  ‘Natalie, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to pry. I just happened to ask Martin in conversation. I was, I mean, I am curious. Anyone would be, wouldn’t they?’ He stammered his replied.

  ‘It’s O.K, Arthur. Don’t apologize. I do realize that most people do not have double amputees in this social circle. I think I like you Arthur. You’re a bit sad, but likeable. Sip your whisky, sit back and I’ll tell you my story.’

  And what a story it was. Natalie Mason was a daughter of Charles and Vivienne Mason. Natalie’s grandfather, Richard Mason owned the largest alcohol distribution company on Australia’s east coast. He died at fifty five in a plane crash, his plane. He was flying with his wife, Annette, at his side. Charles, who was the only child, inherited the business, which he expanded and diversified. Natalie was Charles’ and Vivienne’s only child. They had tried for a second child without success. Natalie was indulged, private schools, nannies, shopping trips to Europe when only in her teens. She had it all.

  But by nineteen she was already well on her way to an expensive heroin habit. She had enough money to buy the good stuff and enough sense to avoid all the health risks associated with that lifestyle.

  Her parents somehow never knew, or if they knew, they pretended not to. She was brilliant at concealing her addiction and outwardly was a happy, well-adjusted young woman. Beautiful, there were no shortage of suitors, all of whom she found completely unsuitable. By twenty one, it all fell apart. The drugs had so messed with her brain that hiding her addiction was no longer possible. There were at least three failed attempts at rehab in the best centres money could buy. Charles and Vivienne were by now aware of the awful truth, and to their credit did everything their money could do to rescue their daughter.

  Then one Saturday night, in a drug-induced haze, Natalie drove her Porsche 911, quietly out of the garage of her home, somehow managed to make it from Toorak to Footscray. She parked the Porsche near a section of a railway track that for some unknown reason was not fenced off. She got out of her car, weaved her way towards the tracks and lay across them, waiting for the next city bound V-Line train.

  She was in the grip of a drug-induced paranoid-psychosis. At least that is how it was later explained to her. She had no clear recollection of the events of that night at all. Her intent however was quite clear. This was no gesture. This was the real thing. She wanted to die or at least that was what her drug addled brain was telling her.

  And it was the drugs that saved her life. Instead of lying across the tracks in the correct fashion for suicide, in her disoriented state, she put her legs across one of the tracks and her body on the grass away from the tracks. So when the 11:15pm train passed over her it cleanly sliced off her legs, mid-thigh. It was an express, travelling fast, so fast that the cut was clean, almost surgical. The heat of the wheels cauterized the wounds, and while her legs were severed and lying between the tracks, her stumps did not bleed and this saved her life. And the other thing that saved her life was her mobile phone. It was on. After frantically searching the house in vain, Charles called the police to report her missing, only he had no idea where the police should look. The astute triple 0 operator was another factor in Natalie’s survival. He was the one who asked about the mobile phone and explained how its location could be traced. Charles immediately called his golfing partner, the Telstra CFO, whose mobile number he had. Grant Rowlands had still been awake. In five minutes he activated Telstra’s system and their computer was able to locate the phone and thereby Natalie. When the ambulance arrived, Natalie was in shock. Her pulse was thready, her blood pressure un-recordable. She was unconscious. The quick action of the paramedics was yet another factor in her survival and half an hour later, her cardiovascular system stabilized, she was on a ventilator in Intensive Care Unit at The Western General Hospital. Following a month in hospital she was transferred to a private rehabilitation unit. And this time the rehab took. It was another year and four months before Natalie made it home. She walked in from the limo on her artificial legs. The legs were computer modelled and manufactured in Sweden, the country of the Volvo and a world leader in prosthetic technology. The addiction behind her, Natalie began to rebuild her life. Despite the drugs and despite her parlous state after the injury, her brain was intact. Her youth and her brain’s plasticity prevented any permanent loss of cerebral function, which in itself was a small miracle.

  Grateful as she was to her parents for their love and care, Natalie knew she had to move out and begin her life as an independent young adult. With Charles’ and Vivienne’s blessing and with the help of their enormous wealth, Natalie moved into a small, beautiful unit, in the beachside suburb of St Kilda where she began to re-build her life. And that is when she met Martin. In the water, at St Kilda beach. Natalie was sitting on a body-board in the water wearing a bikini, her stumps bare for all to see. After all she has been through, Natalie no longer had any shred of self-consciousness nor fear of anything. The day was a glorious Melbourne summer’s day. Not too hot, twenty eight or thirty degrees. Clear blue skies and calm waters. Natalie was with Rita, a local girl who she had befriended. They were chatting about nothing when suddenly her board was up-ended, tipping Natalie backwards into the water. She could swim despite the absence of legs. Durin
g her time in rehab she had spent countless hours in the gym building up her arms and core strength. Those powerful arms could propel her through the water at great speed, no need for legs.

  As she surfaced from her tumble, she found herself facing a tan, unbelievably handsome man with long blond hair and sparkling green eyes staring at her, a broad smile on his face.

  Without thinking she said, ‘You’ve got beautiful eyes, but they don’t go with the rest of you.’

  She immediately regretted the remark. She was annoyed with herself. What a stupid and childish thing to say. But the man did not seem to mind.

  ‘Hi, I’m Martin,’ was his reply.

  She had no choice but to say, ‘Hi, I’m Natalie.’

  After that they both came to the beach every day, accidentally bumping into each other either on the sand or in the water. After a week the meetings were no longer accidental and after two weeks Martin asked her out for dinner. For the next week they saw each other daily. Then Martin announced he was going home. His holiday at the beach was over and he was returning to his home in Eden.

  Natalie and Martin kept in touch. He wrote her letters, she replied by email only to realize that Martin did not do emails. There were phone calls but Martin did not own a mobile phone and the landline calls often reached an answering machine.

  After three months, Natalie realized that if she wanted to develop her relationship with Martin they would actually have to be in the same town. As Martin could not move, his work was in Eden and as Natalie had no fixed commitment, she sold the St Kilda unit and within another three months had settled into a house in Eden.

  ‘That’s it, Arthur, my story.’ Natalie said. ‘What do you say, Arthur?’

  ‘I think I need another Scotch after that,’ was his reply.

  ‘Help yourself. Just across the hall in the dining room, you’ll see the bar. I won’t have one, I’m driving.’

  Arthur walked over to the bar, which consisted of a two-tier trolley, laden with single malt whiskeys, at least twenty that Arthur could count. He refilled his glass, being careful not to pour too much. He chose Bowman Legend, a good but less expensive whiskey, came back into the lounge and sat down.

  After two sips of the whiskey he said, ‘That is quite a story, Natalie. You didn’t say when you moved to Eden.’

  ‘That was three and half years ago,’ Natalie replied. ‘Best thing I ever did. You haven’t had a chance to get to know Martin. I’ve already told you, he is one of the good guys. And believe me, his story is worse than mine. But that’s for another day and not for me to tell.’

  Author looked at his watch. Where had the afternoon gone? It was just before 5pm and he felt that he should go. Natalie saw the time too and said, ‘Come on Arthur, come, I’ll drive you home.’

  The trip to the dairy was a least within the speed limit. Arthur had realized that Natalie had forgotten to show him her legs, but said nothing. Once they arrived he said his goodbye, opened the door and went inside.

  The place was silent. He called out hello several times and receiving no answer, realised that Martin was out and he as own his own. He wasn’t sure what he should do. For a moment he thought he could watch the news on TV but of course there wasn’t one. Not a radio either. He could have an early dinner but had not bought any food and Martin had not said that he would be providing it. So he would have to eat out. He didn’t mind that, except that he had little cash and even with Natalie paying for lunch he did not have enough for dinner. He would have to take out money from the ATM, which he assumed the bank had. He recalled seeing the Bendigo Bank branch on High Street when he went out for lunch.

  He headed off to the bank where he withdrew $200. He hoped that would last until Martin paid him. Don’s did breakfast and lunch but not dinner. He did not know where else to go so headed for the Red Lion. It had a bistro next to the bar where he had had drinks. He arrived at 5:45pm to find out that dinner started at 6:00pm. He sat at the bar and ordered a light beer. There were a few patrons around but no one that Arthur knew. His new friends from the other night were not there. Over the last few years, Arthur had become used to his own company. No choice really. But he was quite happy to drink on his own and eat on his own. It would be good to have something to read, and looking around he saw a discarded edition of the Eden Star from that morning. He took the paper, moved from the bar to a table and sipped his beer while leafing through the newspaper. He realised he was hungry, looked at his watch and saw it was just after 6pm. He would take the beer and newspaper into the bistro, finish the drink there and order dinner. He was about to stand up when suddenly two men sat themselves in chairs either side of him.

  ‘Well, who have we here?’ One of the men asked. ‘Arthur Fromm, is it? Martin’s new boy at the dairy. I’m Gill, and that handsome lad is Roger,’ the man continued. ‘We’re the Law, just thought we’d check you out and say welcome.’

  Arthur was taken aback and did not immediately reply. By the law he assumed they meant the local police. They were not in uniform and Arthur’s first impression of them was that they looked like a gay couple. Both had what appeared to be bottle blond hair, neatly cut, the one called Gill had a dark moustache and Roger a goatee beard, also dark. Before Arthur could say anything, Gill began ‘Let me introduce ourselves more formerly, sir. I’m Gill McKinnon, Senior Constable McKinnon, and over there is senior constable Roger Moreland. We are the Eden Policy Force. All of it. And since you will know that soon enough anyway, we are partners in life as well as at work.’

  So his first impression was correct, thought Arthur. That’s something new, an openly gay couple in the police force.

  ‘Pleased to meet you,’ Arthur said. ‘I’m a little surprised you know who I am. We haven’t met, have we?’ he added.

  ‘It is our business to know everything that goes on in Eden.’

  This time it was Roger who spoke.

  ‘As Gill said, we are the law and it is our job to make sure that in Eden, the law is obeyed.’

  ‘Not always an easy task,’ was Gill’s contribution.

  Arthur began to feel a little uneasy. Was this some sort of police intimidation? Did the two know his background perhaps? It had been in the news for quite a long time. There must have been a look of concern on Arthur’s face.

  ‘Settle down, Arthur. This is just our way of saying hello and welcome,’ said Gill. ‘We just wanted to touch base. I think it’s most unlikely that we’ll have any professional dealings, you and us. You are more mature than some of Martin’s previous helpers. We have had trouble one or two of those, let me tell you. But you, Arthur, you look O.K to us. So, hello again and welcome to Eden.’

  Arthur felt a sense of relief. The last thing he needed was trouble with the police.

  ‘Thanks for that Senior Constable. I don’t think you’ll have any trouble from me.’

  Roger replied, ‘that’s Roger and Gill. Drop the Senior Constable. You look like a man who is hungry. Come on, let us buy you dinner.’

  Roger and Gill stood up, Arthur followed. He did not think it was polite to argue or refuse. The three of them headed into the bistro where they were quickly seated at a table, and within minutes were perusing the menu. For the second time in the one day Arthur was surprised by the menu. Perhaps there was more to this town than met the eye.

  ‘You’re not vegetarian, are you Arthur?’ Gill asked. ‘Because if not, I recommend the steak. Marcel, the Chef does a great steak. Known for it all around the district.’

  Arthur looked at the steaks on the menu. There were five choices, obviously steak was their specialty. And their prices were nothing like city prices. He ordered the eye fillet, medium rare. It came with Asian greens and hand cut potato chips. Roger and Gill also ordered steak. Roger a T-bone and Gill a porterhouse, both medium rare. Gill ordered a bottle of Heathcote Shiraz. Arthur wondered whether they were trying to impress him for some reason or was this the norm when someone new came to town.

  Gill poured them each a generou
s measure of Shiraz, lifted his glass and said, ‘to you, Arthur. Hope your stay with us is a happy one.’

  ‘And a long one,’ added Roger.

  ‘Thank you, guys,’ Arthur replied. ‘It’s only been one day, but so far so good.’

  By then the steaks had arrived. Arthur was again surprised that the cutlery was Laguille, the well-known French steak knives. He began to eat his steak, sipping on the Shiraz which Gill topped up. The three of them ate in silence. Arthur realized that the first bottle of Shiraz was empty and quickly was replaced by another bottle which Gill again poured out. They finished eating. Gill had been right. The steak was great. Better than Arthur had had for a long time and at least it’s as good as the top steak house in Melbourne. A third bottle of Shiraz then materialized and Arthur had the vague thought that if Eden’s entire police force was there, by now affected by alcohol, who was looking after the town. It was not really his concern he thought. He assumed Gill and Roger knew what they were doing.

  The wine had certainly affected him and he was only vaguely aware of what the two policemen were saying. The conversation seemed to be directed at him. He heard mention of ‘Law and Order’, hardly unexpected from policemen. There were references to unemployed youth, burnouts and drag racing. Breaking and entering and burglary also got a mention. Eden suddenly sounded like the Old Wild West.

  ‘There is almost no violent crime here Arthur,’ said Roger. ‘There hasn’t been a murder in over twenty years and hardly any assaults. Oh, the occasional drunk husband whacking his wife, nothing else,’ he added.

  Arthur assumed that he was supposed to feel reassured.

  ‘This is a good town, Arthur’ said Gill this time.

  ‘Friendly, largely law abiding, we see to that. Could do with tourism but that’s a lost cause. Thank God for Eden Valley and the Donati clan. Without them we’d be stuffed. You’ll no doubt run into them around town. I don’t know if Martin delivers to them.’