The Last Paradise

  About The Last Paradise

  ‘There’s no denying the beauty and opulence of Morrissey’s rendering of place . . . She is a master of the genre.’ Weekend Australian

  Grace has the perfect life: a job she loves, a beautiful daughter and a rich, successful husband. But one night, when their world falls apart in a shocking disaster, Grace suddenly sees what she couldn’t admit – her marriage and her husband are a fraud.

  With the life she knew in tatters, she takes an assignment promoting the launch of a unique luxury hotel, hidden in a stunning, untouched oasis in the heart of tourist-crazed Bali.

  Here, in this last paradise, Grace gathers the strength to take charge of her world. And, inspired by a woman’s story from long ago, she discovers a path to a future she’d never dared to imagine . . .

  Contents

  About The Last Paradise

  Title page

  Contents

  Dedication

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgements

  About Di Morrissey

  Also by Di Morrissey

  Digital imprint page

  To K’tut Tantri.

  And to her friends, (the late) Sandra Paul, Michael Paul and Professor Tim Lindsey.

  And to my dear friends of long standing, George Muskens, Gary Elton and Adi Putra, for their friendship and help.

  Prologue

  Grace stood at the window staring into the late summer garden of neat lawns and beds of heavy headed roses about to rain petals. The roses would need pruning soon.

  She almost smiled. Since when did she care, or even know anything about pruning roses?

  Since she’d married a successful businessman, moved into an elegant house with a sprawling garden, and become mummy to adorable Daisy, that’s when.

  Their home in Dural was the last house in the street, next to an empty field that had become an informal local park. The area had once been the end of the line, on the rural fringes of Sydney. It was where homes were estates, and locals kept horses; the remnants of pastoral wealth still on display.

  What was it her mother had said when she’d first seen this house? ‘You’ve done well, Gracie. I’m happy for you.’

  But sometimes Grace missed the buzz of the city. Her favourite café on the corner, a quick meal with friends and colleagues, recognising familiar faces and eccentric locals from the urban neighbourhood. Entertaining in her small Paddington apartment.

  Now she lived in a quiet street of nice neighbours, where groomed dogs with expensive accessories were walked on fancy leashes. Voices were never raised and children were rarely heard, unless they were splashing in a pool. On the weekend you might catch the thwack of tennis ball meeting racquet, and occasional laughter and the clink of glasses from a patio in the late afternoon.

  Grace poured herself a glass of mineral water and debated whether she should call her mother to see how Daisy was, but resisted the urge. After all, Daisy was only away overnight. If Grace called too often her mother thought she was checking up on her.

  She heard the car in the driveway, then the sound of the door opening and closing as Lawrence came in and went straight to his office.

  ‘Hey, Lawrence, you’re not working, are you?’ She poked her head around the door. ‘Don’t forget we’re going to dinner tonight at the Robinsons’.’

  He didn’t look up straight away, and it struck her that his hair was thinning on top. She knew he had the hairdresser put a colour rinse through it regularly to hide his greying temples, although she wondered why he bothered now he was only a few years away from fifty. He was also looking a bit pudgy these days, though, being tall, he carried it well. He just never did any kind of exercise other than walking to his car and the occasional game of tennis, she thought.

  ‘Hi,’ he said, glancing up and smiling at her. ‘Is Daisy with your mother?’

  ‘Yes. I thought it was better than getting a babysitter.’ Daisy adored her grandmother, who lived alone in her home on a clifftop overlooking the beach. Grace knew her mother and Daisy would go down to the surf first thing in the morning for a swim. ‘You promised to take me out for a fancy breakfast tomorrow, remember?’ Grace leaned against the door frame and crossed her arms.

  ‘Of course. I’m looking forward to it.’ He pushed his laptop aside but continued sifting through the papers on his desk, putting them in the briefcase she’d given him.

  ‘We should leave soon. Unless you want a sundowner before we go? They’re only a few blocks away.’

  ‘Thanks, but I’ll wait till we get there. Did you get the champagne for them?’

  ‘It’s in the fridge. I couldn’t find the one you wanted, but the one I bought is very good apparently.’

  ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘The guy in the bottle shop went on and on about it. It’s from 2012. Pierre someone and Sons. Do you really think the Robinsons will know a superior from a mediocre?’

  ‘Yes, actually, I do. Give me ten minutes or so to finish off here and get ready, and then we can go.’

  He seemed a little distracted so she straightened up, quietly closed the door and went out onto the patio to watch the sunset. Typical Lawrence, wanting to spend money on an expensive bottle of champagne the Robinsons might not even care about. Grace was sure they would be just as happy to share cheap bubbles with friends. Socialising was all about friendship as far as Grace was concerned, while for Lawrence, it was about making an impression. Or as her best friend Melanie had once said, ‘Lawrence always has to big-note himself. He just can’t help it.’

  Melanie made no bones about the fact she didn’t like Lawrence. And the feeling was mutual. Grace knew that most of her friends avoided Lawrence, but Mel was the only one who’d told her bluntly that she should never have married him. And, more and more lately, Grace was wondering the same thing.

  They’d been married seven years, after a whirlwind courtship. She’d met him at a cocktail party for movers and shakers in the business world after she’d done an advertising campaign for a big, newly merged financial institution. He was English, with an Australian-born mother who’d lived in England most of her life. Lawrence had come to Australia to go to university and stayed. When Grace met him, he’d recently come out of a long relationship, and he’d told her he wanted to settle down and start a family.

  Grace had been on the cusp of travelling, looking for a job overseas, but Lawrence had swept her off her feet, taking her on luxurious holidays and surprising her with expensive gifts. He’d proposed after six months, with a very large Bvlgari diamond ring. He had been working on a major contract at the time and, if it came through, he’d suggested that they could live in Italy for a year or so. ‘Then you can choose to work or not. Or just take assignments if you want to, not because you have to,’ he’d said.

  She was thirty at the time and suddenly she’d been able to see her life pattern: being a mum and working when she wanted. Come her forties she’d have kids in school and could concentrate on a career in visual advertising, finish her film and video production course, maybe start her own company. Well, it had all seemed very appealing. There was a lot to be said for a doting, older, well-to-do husband, she’d thought.

  Her mother, Tina, had agreed, if not too enthusiastically. She confessed she would have been happier if Grace had chosen someone like the boys she’d gone out with when she was growing up on the Northern Beaches.

  ‘They might look like surf bums,’ Tina had said to her once, ‘but some of those lads have done very well for themselves. Marty Davidson, who won all those Bells Beach championships, has his own law firm now. He still surfs here every weekend.’

  ‘Mum, you’re such an old surfer chick.’ Grace had laughed. ‘You’ve never got over your wild hippy times in Bali.’ Tina had spent some time in Bali in the seventies, well before it was the tourist mecca it had since become. She spoke about it often as one of the best times of her life.

  Tina had given her a quick smile. ‘Yep, Kuta back then was something else!’

  So Grace had married Lawrence and looked forward to the sparkling future she pictured for them. However, the big contract Lawrence had anticipated didn’t pan out, and Italy was off the cards. Perhaps it had always been a pipe dream, Grace thought. Anyway, by then, Lawrence had been very keen for them to have a baby.

  Out on the patio, Grace checked her watch. Just as she was thinking about pouring herself a glass of wine, Lawrence called out to her. ‘You ready?’

  ‘I’ll grab my bag.’ She shut the French doors and turned the key. ‘Is everything locked up?’

  ‘Yes. I’ve checked. You look nice.’

  She smiled. Lawrence had a habit of suddenly looking at her as if he hadn’t noticed her for a while, despite them sharing a house. A home. A life. ‘Thanks, darling.’ She’d been told often enough that she was pretty, with her naturally sun-streaked blonde hair, tanned skin and svelte figure. And when she was with Daisy, a tiny replica with bouncy blonde curls and a sunny nature, people often remarked that they should be the ones in the TV and magazine ads that Grac
e created.

  Impulsively she gave Lawrence a hug, although he didn’t hug her back. She’d got used to him not being as affectionate as she was, but sometimes, especially lately, she felt he was pushing her away. She pressed herself against his solid body. How long had it been since they’d made love?

  If she were honest, her relationship with her husband was wearing her down. Lawrence could be difficult – no, actually nasty. Spiteful. But then, was that the trade-off for having a darling daughter, a comfortable lifestyle, a nice home in a good area? Could she be happy with a husband who lavished gifts on her instead of affection and fun? The thought suddenly made her feel cheap and avaricious.

  In the past, she’d always fallen for the sweet guys who had nothing. She liked to think that she was generous and thoughtful towards other people. But as she stepped back from the embrace and saw the emotionless look on her husband’s face she wondered, had she traded genuine unconditional love for security? Was it too late to do something about it?

  Lawrence turned away. ‘I’ll get the champagne.’

  As he slipped the bottle into the leather wine cooler, she noticed he’d changed his shirt, and was wearing the peachy-pink Lanvin she’d bought him. He patted his coat pocket. ‘Right, I’ve got the keys.’

  ‘It’s only a couple of blocks. Let’s walk, it’s such a nice evening. Do us good,’ she suggested.

  ‘Me, you mean.’ She had been gently nagging him to exercise. ‘I’d prefer to drive. My sprained ankle from tennis still hasn’t healed.’

  ‘Oh, too bad. You are such a killer on the court,’ she teased. ‘You really do play to win,’ she added, echoing something he’d once said to her.

  ‘I do, darling, and why not?’ he said lightly. ‘Okay, let’s go.’

  Grace pulled the front door closed, leaving the light on outside. The air was fragrant with roses as she got into the passenger seat of Lawrence’s Mercedes. Her feet bumped against his briefcase, which sat in the footwell.

  ‘Why are we taking your car?’ They usually used Grace’s when they went out locally.

  ‘I left it out the front so I thought it was easiest. Is that okay?’ he asked, raising an eyebrow.

  ‘Yes, sure, that’s fine. You’re the designated driver.’ Grace smiled at him.

  Turning out of their street, Lawrence drove past a bush block where a stand of gum trees almost obscured the view of the big homes that had been built in the 1970s and eighties.

  ‘What’s that on the road? Lawrence, stop! It’s a koala!’

  As he pulled over, the young koala waddled towards the trees.

  ‘Oh, he’s adorable. Let me take a photo for Daisy.’

  ‘They’re around all the time,’ Lawrence said, a hint of annoyance in his voice.

  But Grace jumped from the car and lifted her phone to snap a photo, saying quietly, ‘Where’re your mumma and papa, little fellow?’

  ‘Hurry up, Grace. We’re running late.’

  ‘It’s okay. How cute is this little guy? I hope people drive carefully round here at night.’

  ‘No one goes out at night here. This is the ’burbs. Country style,’ Lawrence said as Grace scrambled back in and the car glided forward.

  ‘You’ve always been a city boy,’ said Grace. ‘Do you miss it?’

  ‘And you’re a water baby. Do you miss the beach?’ he countered.

  ‘Well, Mum’s there so I still have a connection to it. But it’s such a trek into the city from the Northern Beaches.’

  ‘You can say that again. Okay, so who else is coming tonight?’

  ‘Just the Robinsons and some of their neighbours. You said you wanted to get to know George Ashton.’

  ‘The bank guy? Yes. Just don’t leave me stranded with Holly Ambrose and that husband of hers. I don’t give a shit about soccer and swimming and all the sports stuff they talk about.’

  ‘Okay.’ She didn’t bother to argue with him. Lawrence was intolerant of subjects he had no interest in and people who he perceived to bring no value to his world. But she liked Holly, and her husband Roger did so much for the sports teams at Daisy’s school.

  Lawrence pulled up and parked in front of a white, ranch-style house with a basketball hoop on the garage, a trampoline to one side, and two small bicycles lying on the front lawn.

  ‘There’s Holly now,’ Grace said, waving to her as she got out of the car.

  *

  The evening felt long. Grace had hoped they might get home early but for once Lawrence seemed in no hurry to leave. He rarely drank, but was nursing a glass of red, probing George Ashton for his views about bank rates and where certain investments were headed. George must have turned out to be a useful contact for him, Grace thought.

  Finally, the other guests started to stand up. Grace carried some glasses into the kitchen and found Holly there, stacking the dishwasher. Holly glanced up and smiled. ‘Been lovely to see you guys. You must come over. Bring Daisy to use the pool any time. Roger can teach her to dive properly.’

  ‘Thanks, Holly, we’d love that. Daisy can swim pretty well now, but a few tips would be great.’ It was a shame, Grace thought, that Lawrence would never want to take Daisy round to the Ambroses’ place, but she made a mental note to do so herself. She and Lawrence didn’t have a pool and it had been such a hot summer.

  Heading out of the kitchen, Grace called to Lawrence that they should be leaving. She picked up her bag and walked with Holly to the front door, where the Robinsons were saying goodbye to their other guests.

  Suddenly, they heard the thunderous boom of an explosion. The night sky lit up with a bright orange glow. They all stared in horror as a crackling red fireball erupted into the air a few streets away. Then they all spoke at once.

  ‘What the hell was that?’

  ‘Where is it?’

  ‘It’s not that gas storage place, is it?’

  ‘No, wrong direction . . .’

  Grace’s shriek was ear-splitting. ‘It’s near our place! Lawrence!’

  Lawrence swore as he hurried to the door where they all stood, stunned, looking into the distance.

  ‘Where is it?’ cried Grace. ‘Oh, God no. I think the fire’s in our street!’ She screamed again and broke into a run.

  ‘It can’t be! Grace, get in the car, come back here!’ shouted Lawrence.

  Grace was propelled by fear, horror and disbelief. Her mind seemed frozen as she sprinted towards their home.

  Lawrence jumped in the car and caught up to her.

  ‘Jump in, Grace, for God’s sake,’ he called.

  She was driven by some wild terror. For a moment or two her husband drove beside her, begging her to stop and get in. But she was running as if her life depended on it.

  Lawrence gunned the car and sped ahead.

  By the time she reached her street, the full horror had begun to dawn on her. Their house was alight, a wall of leaping orange flames and smoke. She could hear glass breaking and timber crashing.

  ‘Oh, my God, no, no, no . . .’ she panted as she saw Lawrence’s silhouette and the dark shapes of other figures as they came up and clustered around him.

  The flames were higher and hotter now, and she picked up the strong, searing smell of smoke.

  She had fallen into some unreal, terrible nightmare. Everything moved in slow motion. She felt hands on her arms, holding her back, and heard voices bouncing around her, as if she were in an echo chamber. Her own wailing voice sounded far away, drowned out by the noises that would continue to haunt her in the nights to come. The cracking and groaning as their home, their beautiful house, disintegrated.

  It was impossible to take in that everything she owned and treasured from her past and present was being swallowed in this licking orange inferno of heavy smoke and searing heat.

  Sirens wailed. People held her. She couldn’t see Lawrence.

  ‘Where’s my husband?’ she screamed.

  A man in orange overalls and a helmet put his hands on her shoulders. ‘Is anyone else inside?’

  ‘Where’s Lawrence? Stop him . . .’

  ‘He’s here, it’s all right, Grace,’ came the shaking voice of a neighbour, who was holding her back.