Prologue

Walkley Awards presentation

‘And the final nominee is Nicola Harvey, Life and Times, for her
investigation into the crash of SAR Airlines’ flight 519.’

Tonight we spare a thought for the families of the victims of flight 519,
which the coroner has found crashed as a result of mechanical failure and
not pilot error, contrary to the initial Australian Transport Safety Bureau
investigation.
‘Mayday Mayday Mayday…two engine failures…we’ll be ditching…
Request someone come out and help us please.’
Pilot Matt Berkowitz, Ruth and Paul Harvey, Elizabeth Gibbs,Violet
Patterson, Mark Neilson, David Richards, and Stewart Cope perished
when the Piper Navajo Chieftain aircraft in which they were flying suffered
twin engine failure, and plunged into Spencer Gulf.
During an investigation spanning three years and two continents, Life
and Times journalist Nicola Harvey made a number of crucial discoveries.

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 Nowhere Else xi

Not only did she uncover a raft of questionable business practices by operator
SAR Airlines, but she found that the Australian Transport Safety Bureau
had itself played a significant part in the disaster, and then tried to cover it
up. This discovery changed the course of the investigation and helped clear
the young pilot’s name.

‘…And the winner for television current affairs feature, documen-

tary or special longer than twenty minutes is…’

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 Chapter One

‘Me, me, me,’ Nicola yelled into the pillows, beating them with her
fists, the announcer’s words bouncing back and forth between her
ears.
Leaning back into the plush pillows, hands clasped behind her
head, she couldn’t wipe the grin from her face. Not that she was
trying to. Stuff being humble, she thought. I deserve this.
Steam drifted from under the ensuite door, rolling towards the
end of the bed like a fog, accompanied by the damp musky smells
of masculine body wash and shaving foam. She could hear the
heavy beat of water on the glass screen, the occasional stomp of wet
feet and squelch of a soap-filled sponge rubbing briskly on skin.
‘And the winner is…Nicola Harvey,’ Nicola whispered. A
Walkley and a Gold Walkley – could life be more perfect?
She could hear Scott padding about on the smooth, damp
Carrara marble, the opening and shutting of vanity cupboard doors,
the buzz of his electric toothbrush. Scott always followed the same

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 2 Fiona McCallum

routine. Soon would come the brief roar of his hairdryer – there it
was. And finally the slap, slap of hands as he applied aftershave.
Nicola imagined the astringent stinging and wondered why
you’d bother every day. But it did smell damn good, she thought,
as it accompanied Scott past the wardrobe and around to his side
of the bed.
She rolled over for a better look as he bent to retrieve his Tag
Heuer watch from the bedside table, admiring the muscles of his
smooth, toned back and strong shoulders. Damn he was in good
shape; almost forty and not an ounce of fat in sight.
Nicola fixed her gaze on the section of olive skin that disap-
peared under the roll of white towel around his waist, licking her
lips hungrily. God she wanted to tear his towel off.What better way
to celebrate than to make love with the man you loved?
She sighed. How long had it been? Nicola had tried to coax him
when they’d got home from the ceremony, but he’d said he was too
tired. And she really had been too drunk.
Though as he inspected himself in the mirrored door of his
wardrobe, she saw that he hadn’t been too tired to hang up all his
clothes.
Of course he hadn’t, she thought, feeling a little annoyed.
In the early days, Nicola had questioned whether two people
with such diametrically opposed views on tidiness could happily
cohabit. When they’d moved in together Scott had stated that
as long as everything was out of sight he could put up with her
untidy ways. Compromise; that was what love was all about,
right?
She was impressed the first time she saw his carefully ordered
wardrobe.
The mirrored doors hid carefully lined up rows of shirts in
blocks of stripes, then checks, and then all the solid colours in
ascending order of brightness like a rainbow. A bank of dark grey

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 Nowhere Else 3

suits separated business and casual wear. Highly polished brown

and black pairs of shoes were lined up in neat rows beneath, and
belts and ties were rolled up in sets of timber boxes above drawers
of carefully folded socks and jocks.
She’d pushed aside her concerns about what it potentially
revealed about him as a person, telling herself she was just jealous,
and that it was actually quite adorable. Well-ordered, controlled
people were reliable and good with money, weren’t they? They’d
certainly done well with their property and share portfolios.
By contrast, her own wardrobe held jumbled piles of clothes,
and shoes stuffed into shelves wherever they would go or on the
floor when they wouldn’t.
Nicola regularly marvelled at how ordered her work life was
by comparison; it certainly went against the tidy mind, tidy life
concept. Anyway, results were what mattered, and she’d won a Gold
Walkley!
Scott finished re-adjusting the already impeccable Windsor knot
of his navy and gold striped tie. He patted his side-parted, glossy
black hair into place, and turned back towards her.
‘Aren’t you getting up?’
‘I think I’ve earnt a sleep in. Why don’t you come back to bed,’
she said, raising her eyebrows and pushing the thick down-filled
quilt back slightly to reveal a hint of breast. She patted the plush
thousand thread count sheets and beckoned to him with an expen-
sively manicured nail.
‘I have to get to work.’
‘Aw come on, it’s not even seven-thirty. Surely they won’t mind
you being a little late…’
‘I mind, Nicola.’
‘But it’s not every day I win…’
‘I’m pleased for you. I really am.’
‘This might never happen again.’

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 4 Fiona McCallum

‘All the more reason to keep it business-as-usual.’

With his charcoal pinstripe suit jacket now hung in the crook
of his elbow, Scott walked over to the bed and bent down to peck
her on the lips.
‘Pleeeeaaaase,’ Nicola groaned, clasping her hands behind his
neck while she kissed him, trying to part his stubborn lips. ‘I’ll
make it worth your while.’
‘I’ll hold you to that,’ he laughed, pulling away after a brief
struggle and instinctively wiping his mouth with the back of one
hand and smoothing his shirt and tie with the other.
‘Whenever that will be,’ Nicola muttered under her breath.
‘If you get bored you could always sort my shirts – Carmel
is still ignoring my instructions.’ He paused in the doorway and
shook his head.
‘Right,’ she said, rolling her eyes.
She hadn’t really expected him to pause, rip his clothes off and
ravish her – she knew him too well – but there was that human
desire to want what one couldn’t have.
Nicola sighed deeply. She’d just have to hope his golf went well
on Sunday. A bad round would see him disappear upstairs to sulk
and work on his swing. A good one and she might have a chance.
She had learnt early in their relationship that replacing pouting
with encouragement was the better course of action.
Nicola lay in bed listening to the coffee machine downstairs –
the grinding of the beans, and then the gurgling and spurting as it
finished Scott’s double-strength latte; his answer to breakfast. She
knew she should join him for the few moments before he left, but
still felt a little miffed at his rejection.
She glanced around the large, white painted room with its
charcoal grey short pile carpet, sleigh-style bed and pair of choc-
olate coloured leather tub chairs. They were entirely decorative;
not for sitting in, and Scott certainly hadn’t intended hers to be a

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 Nowhere Else 5

clothes horse. But she hadn’t been able to resist draping her clothes
over them, much to his annoyance.
There lay horrendously priced black lacy Victoria’s Secret
underwear, stockings, dainty black Manolo Blahnik high heels with
diamante straps, and a slinky black Alex Perry evening dress, all of
which she’d stepped out of less than four hours before.
At the far end of the room was the expansive ensuite decked out
in charcoal and white marble. It was the warehouse conversion’s
main bathroom, and had a shower, a huge central freestanding bath,
and a large vanity with double basins. Maybe I’ll take a bath.
The thought was interrupted by the downstairs front door
clicking shut, and the hum of the automatic garage door opening.
Damn. Not even a goodbye kiss?
That was another thing that had stopped in the past few months;
they were usually so caught up in their morning routines.
Feeling a twinge of sadness, she rolled over, pulled Scott’s pillow
to her, breathed in his comforting musky scent, and tried to ignore
the ache of frustration.
But she really shouldn’t complain; you couldn’t have everything
all of the time, could you? Life itself was a compromise. Didn’t
people say the romance slowed down over time?
No, she really was truly blessed: she had a wonderfully successful
stockbroker fiancé, a gorgeous sparkling solitaire diamond engage-
ment ring, a fantastic warehouse conversion, Mercedes convertible
in the garage, and a comfortable, stable relationship.
And now, after years spent slaving over dodgy plumber stories,
miracle diets and anti-ageing potions; her very own pair of Walkleys!
No one could dispute her journalistic credentials now. Never again
would she be considered just a pretty face. No siree!

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