Free Like Clockwork by Margie Orford Page A

Princess?’
    ‘Bluebeard,’ said Beatrice, bouncing with anticipation. ‘Bluebeard. He’s so bad!’
    Clare prickled with horror at the lurid picture of Bluebeard’s wives hanging in their secret chamber. The youngest wife stood stricken, key in hand, watching the indelible bloodstain spread.
    ‘It’s her favourite.’ Imogen spoke from the door. She must have been watching for a while. Only a few years before, it had been Imogen demanding a bedtime story from Clare. ‘It’s gross, but she loves that story. Especially the bit when the brothers come to kill Bluebeard at the end.’
    Curled against her aunt’s body, Beatrice stuck her tongue out at her big sister. She stabbed a plump finger at the old book. ‘Read, Clare, read.’ Clare read.
    ‘
Blue Beard: the Moral
    Ladies, you should never pry,
    You’ll repent it by and by!
    Tis the silliest of sins;
    Trouble in a trice begins. There are,
    surely – more’s the woe
    Lots of things you need not know.
    Come, forswear it now and here –
    Joy so brief that costs so dear!’
    ‘No morals,’ interrupted Beatrice. ‘Just the story.’ Clare could feel the small body softening towards sleep. She held Bea closer, shielding herself from thoughts of the dead girl on the promenade. Clare did not want to bring her here into her sister’s house. The story ended and Bluebeard’s resourcefulwife was rescued by her brothers. Clare kissed Beatrice and tucked her in, leaving the little girl to dream of sword-fighting and vengeance.
    Julie had a glass of chilled wine ready for Clare when she came through to join the rest of the family by the fire. Clare sipped it, drifting on the conversational flow of a family catching up with itself at the end of a busy day. The evening might not have been as comfortable if Riedwaan had been there. Julie carried in a gleaming copper pot and they ate at the fire – big bowls of soup and chunks of bread.
    ‘What happened to your hand?’ Julie touched the plaster.
    ‘A dog. Can you believe it?’ Clare replied.
    ‘Nothing to do with your investigation into human trafficking?’ Julie looked suspicious.
    ‘No, no,’ said Clare. ‘There’s a new security guard on that empty building site near me, and his dog was off the leash. He appeared from nowhere, they both did.’ Clare rubbed her hand – it must be healing because it was starting to itch. ‘I’ll be fine, Julie. Didn’t need stitches and I had a tetanus shot.’
    Julie looked sceptical but Clare couldn’t see any point in telling her how odd the incident had been. ‘Sorry, Dr Hart,’ the guard had leered, leashing his dog. ‘Perhaps this is not such a safe place for you here.’ That he knew her name had given her more of a chill than the dog’s unprovoked attack.
    ‘The Osiris Group bought that land,’ said Marcus.
    ‘Did they? When? I thought it belonged to the city council,’ said Julie.
    ‘It did, but Osiris has acquired a whole lot of land. Their plans are flying through council. I heard that the mayor was trying to get the planning division sorted out, but this is something else.’
    ‘I had a letter the other day asking if I wanted to sell,’ said Clare. ‘They have been quite persistent. Who are they?’
    ‘They’re quite new,’ said Marcus. ‘Well, in Cape Town anyway. I got one of those free property magazines, and it was fawning over Osiris and Otis Tohar, who owns the company. He’s like a rash all over the social pages, by the way. His father was a doctor who made his money somewhere in the Middle East. But his son seems dead set on making his own money. Apparently his mother was from Cape Town, hence his feeling of belonging here. He has been behind some of the new developments in Bantry Bay and Clifton.’
    Clare hated how the gentle curves of the Atlantic seaboard were being eaten away by serried ranks of steel and glass high-rises that stared at the setting sun. ‘I am not selling. And if I have to, I’ll take him to court. There are