Free The Songmaster by Di Morrissey Page B

Rowena an intense look and spoke in a low voice. ‘Do come and visit me if you are ever in Munich.’
    ‘Gustav, don’t tell me my daughter has an invitation to see your collection that you keep so secret?’ Joseph Singer had heard the remark.
    ‘Secret collection? What’s this? Soundsintriguing.’ The third man, mellowed by champagne, was loud but Gustav Lubdek ignored him, turning to Rowena. ‘A pleasure, dear lady. Good evening.’
    He farewelled the two men and had slipped from the room before any more was said.

    Rowena had forgotten about the incident until later, when her father had asked about her conversation with the old count, commenting that he was a bit eccentric, supposedly owning one of the world’s great collections that no one he knew had ever seen. ‘It’s for his eyes only, they say. Vaults in a dungeon only he goes in and looks at.’
    ‘An investment? Or gossip. If no one’s seen it, who knows what he has? Maybe nothing.’
    ‘Such a cynical child I have. One hears things, Rowena. He collects, of this I have no doubt.’

    Susan Massey, satchel in hand, dropped the knocker on the door of the semi-detached Redfern house.
    He was dressed in jeans and a white shirt with the sleeves rolled up, and she saw immediately that Nigel Barwon was a man who would appeal to women. Slim build, dark curly hair and deep olive skin. But as they shook hands she saw his dark eyes were troubled.
    ‘Thanks for coming. I have coffee ready. Or would you prefer tea?’
    ‘Coffee would be great.’ She saw the cups set out with Danish rolls on a table near where a didgeridoo stood posed against the wall.
    As he pressed the plunger in the coffee, she settled herself at the table and put her small tape recorder beside her notepad.
    ‘Do you play that didgeridoo?’
    He gave a disarming grin. ‘Afraid not. The crew at the TV station where I used to work gave it to me as a farewell present when I told them I was thinking of going to the Kimberley to find my family. I guess they figured all we blackfellas can play one.’
    ‘Okay then. Let’s get down to business. As I’ll be representing you, trust and honesty are tantamount between us.’
    He lifted a hand. ‘I understand.’
    ‘Then tell me what happened that night. Do you mind if I tape our conversation? It’s for my reference only.’
    Nigel Barwon put his cup down and ran a hand through his hair. A sudden comparison with Andrew Frazer flew into her head. She pushed the thought away as he began to speak.
    ‘I met Shirley Bisson a few years ago. She was warm and vulnerable and I liked her a lot. Shirley invited me to lunch and, well, the friendship grew from there.’
    ‘You became lovers?’
    ‘Yes. Sure she’s older, she was almost fiftythen, but she’s also mature and sensuous and caring. So after a few months she asked me to move in with her. It was great. She spoiled me, she bought me presents and stuff. I never asked for them but it pleased her. She has a bit of money from her divorces. Deep down I think she felt she had to do those things to keep me around. But actually I wouldn’t have cared if she had no money. For the first time in my life I felt loved and looked after and I guess there was a bit of the mothering thing going on.’
    ‘Isn’t Beth something of a mother influence in your life?’
    ‘Beth is more of a mentor. She challenges me, tries to make me be better than I am. She’s a good friend.’
    ‘So back to Shirley. What did you do for her?’
    ‘The sex was great. She was relaxed and there weren’t any hang-ups and I know I satisfied her. She’s a sexy lady. And she liked to be seen about the place with an okay-looking younger guy on her arm.’
    ‘So she took you out in public, introduced you to her friends? What was their reaction?’
    ‘Some asked if I had any mates,’ he laughed. ‘But I was accepted, probably because I’d been on television, I knew how to handle myself socially and my colour seemed to give them a