by Di Morrissey
Then, in his late forties, Paul had collapsed while playing tennis. He’d died of an unsuspected heart ailment. Nina received the large inheritance.
As her life gradually came back to normal, and she immersed her grief in work, Nina wondered again if she should contact Lucien. If only for the comfort, she yearned to feel his arms around her. She’d read a while ago of his divorce. But her staff researcher came back to her with the news that he was in Hollywood, had already remarried and was fighting with a big studio over the film he was making. She decided not to intrude into his life.
Nina and Lucien had finished an exquisite meal, but neither had appreciated the cuisine as much as each other’s company. There had been so much to tell each other. Nina was not married, nor was she in love with Baron Triton, she told Lucien, no matter what he’d read in the press.
He was divorced – ‘Alors, encore!’ He threw up his hands. ‘Too many wives, too many children, too much expense. No wonder I have to keep working.’
‘You’d wilt on the vine if you weren’t making films,’ smiled Nina.
‘Sadly, that is true.’ He touched her hand. ‘And it has cost me dearly.’
‘We were both selfish,’ said Nina. ‘I have had a wonderful career, an interesting, enriched life. But I have no children. And never had again the love we knew.’
He twirled his glass of wine. ‘Do you think . . . if we had stayed together then . . . would it have worked? Would we still be together now, like this, with forty years under our belts?’
‘Probably not. We were both ambitious. When you’re young and achieving you never stop and think that everything won’t work out the way you want,’ said Nina softly.
‘Does it ever?’ sighed Lucien. ‘I have friends, they seem to have everything, and yet suddenly their lives fall apart or you discover they are quietly miserable, but they stoically deny the unfathomable sense of loss in their life.’
‘Nothing is ever as it seems, eh? But you can’t have regrets,’ she sighed.
‘I have regrets. Heaps of them. But long ago I put them behind me. Go forward. You once told me you control your own destiny.’
‘I always have,’ she said sitting straighter, but avoiding his direct gaze.
‘Was it worth it, Nina?’
‘No comment.’ Her voice trembled as she tried to smile.
‘I’m in my sixties and I feel like a lovesick schoolboy. I feel like I did the first time I really saw you. With a dragonfly quivering on your shoulder. Oh Nina, what have we done . . . ?’ his voice broke and his eyes filled with tears.
‘Stop, Lucien. We can’t look backwards. We did what we did . . . and that’s the end of it.’ Nina spoke as if to an errant child.
‘And now? This so-called accidental meeting . . . it has happened for a reason. Nina, to me you haven’t changed. You are so beautiful, I just see you as you were then . . . you have changed so little . . .’
Nina gave a small laugh. ‘Lucien, don’t be ridiculous. I’m ages older . . .’ but as she said the words she felt flushed and joyous that he thought so. She too felt young again. But with all her adult wisdom and experience, there was a voice warning her to take care. The angel – or was it the devil – on her other shoulder spoke the hope that was ricocheting around her heart. What have you to lose, Nina? He was the great love of your past. Remember that.
Lucien had paid the bill. ‘Let me escort you to the elevator. And if I may, I shall ring you in the morning. We are on different trajectories, but while we are here, in this place, at this time, I believe the gods are smiling on us being together.’
Nina suddenly felt extraordinarily tired. ‘À bientôt, Lucien.’
As the old doors of the elevator clunked apart, he leaned over and kissed her on the cheek. ‘Sleep well, my Nina.’ It was a brief kiss, a gentle brushing of lips permitted from an old love to another, perfectly acceptable, a gentlemanly gesture, one that mere acquaintances might exchange. But for both of them, it brought back an overwhelming memory of sensation – of how strong their bond had been. How instantly it was recognised, by each of them, that the bond had never been totally severed.
TAKE TWELVE . . .
It was a perfect Sydney summer Sunday, made to celebrate Larissa’s birthday on the harbour in Kevin’s boat.
Everyone was meeting at Rose Bay marina at ten o’clock. As Larissa walked to her car in front of the small cottage, she barely noticed the taxi across the street. She slipped into her car, put her basket on the back seat, her handbag and cotton jacket beside it, and was snapping the seat belt into its buckle, when there was a knock on the rear of the car.
‘What the devil . . . !’
Someone was standing by the car. Larissa fumbled with the seat belt and was half out of the car when the man reached the door and held it open.
Larissa found herself looking up into Gerard’s grinning face.
Her jaw dropped, then she gave a cry of surprise and delight as he pulled her out of the seat into his arms, kissing her. ‘Happy birthday, sweets. Surprise, surprise.’
‘Oh my God, Gerry! Why, how . . . why didn’t you tell me you were coming! You mad, crazy man!’
‘Telling you would have spoiled the surprise. It was a kinda last-minute thing. The plane just landed an hour ago. I miss you, babe.’ He kissed her hard then drew back taking in her shorts, yellow canvas deck shoes, yellow gingham shirt, a daisy pinned in her hair.
‘You look wonderful. What are you doing? You’re off somewhere, and it’s not church.’
Larissa looked down, suddenly uncomfortable. ‘Friends from work, they’re giving me a little birthday party. On a boat.’
He stood back and gave her a shrewd look. ‘Would I be in the way? I’m a bit jet-lagged. I’ll take a nap.’
‘Don’t be silly. Of course you’re invited. Grab your bag and put it inside.’
She headed for the front door, trying to think of someone she could call about the new arrival. As Gerard followed her inside, she wondered why she felt so guilty about Kevin, since there was nothing between them other than a nice friendship. But in her heart she knew Kevin was hinting they could be more than friends.
‘Where’s the bathroom?’
‘Left off the hall. I’ll just phone and let them know I have a surprise guest. A wonderful present,’ she added, searching for the portable so she could move out of earshot.
She caught Belinda just as she was about to leave home and explained quickly that Gerard had arrived out of the blue and she was bringing him along and to let the others know as they’d be the last to arrive.
‘You sound nervous, what’s the problem? Kevin?’ asked Belinda.
‘I feel uncomfortable. He’s gone to so much trouble. And I think he has hopes . . . about me. You know,’ began Larissa.
‘Stop worrying. There’s nothing you can do – just enjoy your birthday. Hey, you have two really nice guys wanting to make it a special day. Relax and enjoy it. Someone will take one of them off your hands,’ she laughed helpfully.
Kevin was charming, welcoming Gerard on board and, as they cruised around Sydney Harbour, he pointed out the various bays, famous homes and restaurants. Gerard seemed quite stunned at finding himself in brilliant sunshine in such a fabulous setting.
‘Raid the Richard, Gerard looks like he needs a bubble or two,’ cried Tiki. And Laurie quickly obliged, pulling champagne from the ice in the Esky.
Being the skipper, Kevin made the toast. ‘To Larissa, may this be a birthday to remember. And welcome, Gerard. We’re glad you’re here to help us celebrate!’
Gerard lifted his glass. ‘I thought I was doing a white knight and coming to rescue a woman flung into miserable solitary confinement, with regular lashes from the dragon editor. Instead I find . . . she’s living a fairytale! Thank you all very much for taking Riss under your collective wing and for making me so welcome.’
Larissa watched Gerard turning on the charm despite his jet lag. He could be reticent and silent at parties, somet
imes passionately argumentative, or like this, utterly poised and smooth.
As everybody went into the main cabin where a luscious buffet was spread, Belinda pulled Larissa aside. ‘We’ve done the birthday cake bit. So you have to blow out the candles. And Larissa, you have a really nice guy there in Gerard. But he seems adamant about you moving back to New York, says he couldn’t move out here. A word of advice from a friend – don’t make any rash decisions. You could have a terrific life here. You have your career too. I’ve seen a lot of girls come through the ranks then throw it away.’
‘I know what you’re saying, Belinda. Thanks for being a friend.’
But Belinda’s words unsettled her. And she realised it was because Belinda had voiced the thoughts Larissa had been trying to ignore. In the general chatter and laughter of the confined space, Larissa looked as if she were paying attention to what was going on around her. Instead she felt like an island in a choppy sea and, in the quiet centre of the swirling conversation and laughter, she reflected on her relationship with Gerard. When they’d been busy with their separate careers and overlapping lives in New York it was easy to keep on going on as they were. Now, with each of them on opposite sides of the globe, it had come down to two choices – staying here to further her career and possibly lose Gerard, or going back to him in New York. While she could continue to work at Blaze USA, a big opportunity may have been missed. But working its way to the surface was a slow fury that she was the one who had to make the choice.
That night Gerard clung to Larissa, both of them too tired to talk, both lost in the lapsed familiarity of their entwined bodies, awash with too many feelings to talk more than mumbled words of love and longing. Tomorrow could wait, Larissa decided.
Ali arranged to meet April Showers on neutral ground. She chose a quiet, little-known Lebanese restaurant at the edge of the city and arrived early, curious as to what the controversial gossip columnist April Showers looked like. April didn’t put her photo atop her column and made an effort to remain as low key as possible. She’d been in Aspen when Blaze was launched so hadn’t met the hottest new editor in town. Ali imagined a tall, feisty, dark-haired girl, no doubt unattractive – her column was so often snide about pretty women – with a chip on her shoulder. Who’d want to make a career as a bitchy gossip writer? If you had talent you’d be doing something else or regarding it as an interim step, not flaunting yourself as if you ruled the media from an imperious pedestal. The power of the old-style gossip columnist had waned in New York and Ali was hoping to talk April Showers into writing a different type of column, more like ‘The Talk of the Town’ had been in the New Yorker magazine. She also didn’t want a writer like April Showers to promote herself the way she’d been doing. Ali was the person at Blaze to be talked about. She was running Blaze as a committee of one.
She arrived early, settled herself and watched the door. When an attractive, short blonde wearing huge dark glasses walked in, Ali was taken aback.
April came straight to Ali’s table, offering her hand. ‘I’m April Showers, it’s great to meet you at last.’ Her voice was husky and April settled herself at the table with poise and ease. She didn’t appear intimidated by Ali.
Ali instantly recognised a strong personality. This woman would not be a walkover. She mentally began re-figuring her offer.
Ali waved the menus aside, asking the waiter to bring them a selection of dishes and both ordered mineral water. ‘Well,’ said April in a relaxed but direct tone, ‘shall we dispense with the small talk and get to the reason we’re here?’
‘I’d like you to write for Blaze, but not the same type of stories you’ve been doing.’
‘You don’t like my current column?’ April sounded faintly mocking. ‘A lot of people read it.’
‘I’m aware of that. Needless to add, I haven’t been too amused at your references to me.’ Ali spoke lightly, to mask her real feelings about April’s digs at her.
‘Many people aren’t amused, but just as many become terribly distressed if they don’t rate a mention.’
‘You have excellent sources.’
‘Of course, but I never reveal them. There’d be no more column if I did.’ April paused, then jumped in. ‘If you’re asking me to write for Blaze, I assume part of the deal is no mentions of Blaze employees, eh?’
Ali was slightly annoyed the girl had seen her ploy and was one step ahead of her. ‘I wasn’t thinking of a gossip-type column. Sure, cover people, events, places, but from a personal perspective. I was thinking of something more along the lines of “The Talk of the Town” . . .’
April wrinkled her nose. ‘Bit olde-worlde. Bitch, bite, and blitheness is more my style. It’s human nature to gossip. People love to read a bit of inside dirt – especially about the rich and famous. It makes plain, everyday folk feel a bit superior.’
‘Plain, everyday folk aren’t Blaze readers,’ said Ali stiffly.
‘Who says? Nina Jansous? You have to toe the party line, do you? I could bring a breath of down-home realism to what seems to be an elite magazine.’
The girl’s cockiness was annoying Ali. Or was it the fact she felt she was on the back foot? They must be the same age, yet this hard-faced blonde was making Ali feel like she was pushing forty. Over the hill and out of touch. Ali struggled to take control of the situation. ‘Our advertisers want readers with money in their pocket. People with taste and style who buy classy products. We’re not into the meat pie-and-chips market. Unless you work for that kind of money,’ she added with an attempt at humour.
‘Can Blaze afford me?’ asked April quick as a flash.
Ali was tempted to tell the bitch to forget the whole thing and get stuffed, but she knew that would be inviting trouble. This whole scenario would be embellished and turn up in her column. She was saved from answering as their food was spread before them.
‘Hey, this looks delicious. What’s this again?’ April asked the Lebanese owner who served the food himself. He leaned close to the buxom blonde who openly flirted with him.
‘Kibbi balls in yoghurt. And next time you come, you call me and I make something really special for you. I will need a day to prepare it. You call me, eh?’ He took a card from his top pocket and dropped it by her plate. ‘Bring your friend. Bring lots of your friends. We look after you real good.’
‘Righto. Tell me, you ever see any famous people in here?’ asked April.
Ali glanced around at the unprepossessing establishment she’d chosen because she’d been told the food was good and authentic, the ambience different, and yet it was stuck in an industrial suburb on the way to the airport.
‘You betcha sweet life. I can’t say too much but . . .’ he leaned forward and mentioned several well-known business leaders and the chairman of a TV network. ‘They have secret business lunches here, they come for my food. Lot of big deals been done in that back room. Lot of romances too,’ he winked.
‘Really? Gee, you must let me in on a couple of your secrets sometime, eh?’ April pouted at him and gave a lewd smile.
Ali couldn’t help suppressing a grin as the old man appeared to salivate and went back to the kitchen beaming. April was a smooth operator – that was for sure.
‘Well, the food looks good, don’t know about the quality of his goss. Could be okay,’ said April as she started to serve herself.
‘Do you ever have any qualms about how and what you do?’ asked Ali mildly.
‘No. Should I? Just doing my job.’
‘You sleep well then?’
‘Yes. I don’t believe I’ve ever caused people to suffer. A twinge, a prick to the ego, but I’m no Heather Race.’
The mention of the TV current affairs journalist with a reputation for her foot-in-the-door, inaccurate, confrontational stories, made Ali shudder. ‘I’m glad she doesn’t work for me. One day someone is going to sue her and win.’
‘Yeah. Or kill themselves for being unjustly accused. It’s happened before.’
‘Televisi
on will do anything to rate,’ said Ali.
April gave her a hard look. ‘And you wouldn’t in order to sell magazines? Where’s your line in the sand?’
‘You’ll know when you’ve crossed it,’ said Ali tartly. ‘I’m more concerned with legal issues. People sue newspapers and win, it’s harder to win against a TV conglomerate.’
‘I’m very aware of that.’
On this note of mutual agreement Ali nibbled a small savoury meatball then put down her fork. ‘So April – I assume that’s a pseudonym – what do you want?’
‘I’m tempted. I rather like the idea of personal, in-depth pieces in the future, but for now, the gossip stuff is what I do best. It’s taken me a lot of work to build up the network I have and it seems silly to throw that away, especially when it draws a lot of readers. Where am I if I lose that? I try something new and it doesn’t work? It reduces my marketability.’
‘And money? How big a factor is that?’ asked Ali affably.
‘Oh, huge,’ said April cheerfully. ‘I have expensive tastes. I’m not into meat pies and chips either.’
‘Would this be more to your taste?’ Ali pulled a letter of appointment from her Prada bag. ‘Points and figures and the bottom line summarised on the cover sheet.’
April grinned. ‘Then I’ll start from the bottom up.’ Her face gave nothing away as she looked at the package Ali was offering to lure her to Blaze.
Ali toyed with her food as April sipped water and read. After Larissa’s initial suggestion, Ali had become ambivalent to the idea of hiring April. Nina’s philosophy had always been not to poach rival talent but develop and nurture her own. And if they in turn were poached or moved on, Nina regarded this as a compliment and advised her editors to continue the process of discovery. ‘It means we’re setting the benchmarks.’ Ali knew Nina would regard hiring April as breaking a Triton understanding but Ali decided that, as long as April was out there sniping at her, the more damage she was doing. Not just to Ali, who was personally wounded, but to the magazine. And while Ali was editor, she wanted Blaze to be above the daggers of a jumped-up blonde with boobs taking pot-shots at her. The bigger the success of Blaze, the more kudos went to Ali.
