by Di Morrissey
Nina quickly filled him in.
‘Do you want to keep this journal, do anything with it?’
‘Only to find out about my grandfather . . . they’ve taken it, anyway.’
‘They might want more to release you quickly, rather than drag out the paperwork, which they can do. A bribe. If I can’t raise enough, would the Baron help us?’
‘I’m sure he would. But hopefully that won’t be necessary. I have . . . saleable pieces in my room . . . I told them I’d write something positive. Trade off in a PR sense.’
‘Good thinking. Où sont-ils, ces objets?’
She answered quickly in rapid French in a low voice. ‘In my hotel room. In the ornamental vase. Pieces of fine old jewellery. And there’s a jeweller who I met that could help us, I’m sure. His shop is opposite an antiquarian bookshop. Just a few blocks from my hotel.’
‘You’re willing to part with the pieces and the journal? Then no more hassle, no bad news, just tell the good news?’
‘I suppose there is some,’ she said ruefully.
‘We’ll find it. Let me strike a deal. Sit tight.’
‘Tell Ali and the Baron what’s going on.’
‘I certainly will. Don’t worry, darling. Everything will be fine.’
‘I don’t want any publicity. We’ll decide what is released publicly. I might have more of a story than I thought.’ She was feeling better and managed a stab at humour.
‘Leave it with me. I love you.’
‘Bless you, darling Lucien.’
He asked her a few more questions and made notes in case they were being observed, squeezed her hand, both resisting the yearning to cling to each other, and banged on the door, which was immediately opened. He struggled not to turn and look back at his beloved Nina as he left her.
Nina sat on her bed, relief rushing through her. She was about to wake up from this unreal dream. Poor Opa, did he ever imagine what problems his journal might cause? He must have, to be so meticulous in the notations and to bury it so secretly. What good had he hoped the revelations might bring? Now the war seemed so futile, it was all so long ago. But for many people, the pain and anguish and fear persisted, overshadowing the present, restraining the future. Learn from the past by all means, but some things, no matter how painful, had to be cast aside. While she was curious about the full contents of her grandfather’s journal and wanted to keep this precious document that he’d felt obliged to record, at risk to his own safety, she had little choice but to leave it behind. She hoped it wouldn’t be destroyed. She would never know. Now all that mattered was leaving this awful place. Seeing sunlight, being with Lucien, enjoying life. She realised her priorities had shifted. Loving, living life fully, appreciating the freedom of every day, that’s what mattered.
Miche and Larissa were lingering over their dinner at the long pine table in the country kitchen of the small terrace house.
‘I’m so concerned about Sally. She’s taken up with Jacques’ crowd and I know she’s doing heavy drugs.’
‘It’s difficult to know how to help her,’ agreed Larissa. ‘You seem to have avoided that crowd. I heard a whisper that Jacques and Tony were courting you.’
Miche shrugged. ‘Sort of. They’re not my type. I can hear sirens going off all over the place. I liked seeing Jacques on his own a couple of times, but he’s not comfortable unless he’s surrounded by sycophants like Tony. I was hoping I’d catch up with Jeremy, a nice guy I met in France, but I think he’s a bit afraid of Sally’s crowd. He’s never showed up to parties she’s asked him to,’ said Miche.
‘So why don’t you ring him yourself?’ said Larissa. ‘You have a connection outside of Sally, it seems.’
Miche thought back to her moonlight walk in the vineyard with Jeremy, their long talks, and their discovery and subsequent rescue of Sally in the old wine vat. ‘Yeah, we have a lot in common, including Sally. Maybe I will. I doubt he even knows where I am. If Sally mentioned me, he’s never called.’
‘Men never make the first move. Call him,’ advised Larissa. ‘And speaking of men . . . how’s the father hunt going?’ she asked lightly, not sure if she was straying into forbidden territory.
Miche toyed with her fork. ‘I’ve put it on the back burner. I took my father’s birth certificate and my parents’ marriage certificate into the Registry of Births, Deaths and Marriages in Haymarket. They wouldn’t tell me anything because of the Privacy Act. They told me to go to the Salvation Army, the same thing Bob told me.’
Larissa leaned back in her chair. ‘So what are you going to do?’
‘I don’t know. What if they find an address or phone number for him? That’s a hard conversation to start. What do I say? Hi, Dad? This is your daughter that you walked out on twenty years ago?’
‘What do you have to lose by talking to him?’
‘He might hang up,’ confessed Miche.
‘He rejected you once and you’re afraid he’ll do it again,’ said Larissa softly.
‘I guess so.’ Miche bit her lip. ‘I’m thinking what to do. I’ll let you know what happens.’
Larissa took the hint and backed off. ‘Right. Now, to business. How’s the research for the trauma story going? Children of violence?’
Miche stretched. ‘Okay, it’s a huge story. Bob thought it was a good idea to weave in my search for my dad, but I’m not so sure.’ She moved on. ‘I’ll have to buy a laptop. Know any IT people?’
‘As a matter of fact I do,’ said Larissa, suddenly remembering young Dan who worked in Kevin’s agency. ‘We’ll ask Kevin to bring him over for dinner.’
Kevin insisted they come to his place for a meal and Dan and Miche hit it off immediately. Kevin and Larissa gave each other conspiratorial smiles. Kevin had been relaxed about Larissa and hadn’t called her since Gerard left, although they had seen each other at several functions and had enjoyed a warm exchange of news.
While Miche and Dan talked, Larissa and Kevin moved to his sitting room and settled cosily on the sofa.
‘You all right?’ he asked.
She nodded. Then shook her head. ‘Sort of.’
‘Meaning?’
She shrugged. ‘I don’t know. And that’s the problem. I’m a bit confused about my life.’
‘You need time out. A little holiday,’ suggested Kevin.
‘It seems like I just arrived!’
‘It’s a big change. And working for Ali can’t be easy,’ he said gently.
Larissa started to choke up at his caring tone. He moved close to her and put an affectionate arm around her. ‘Listen, I have a holiday cottage down the south coast at Batemans Bay. Go and stay there for a couple of days. You can leave on Friday and come back Monday. It’s only a three-hour drive. It will feel like you’ve been away for a month. It’s nestled on the beach, very private, just a simple place, but fully fitted out. Buy a bit of fresh stuff at the local store and move in.’
‘Could I?’
‘Why do you think I suggested it? I’ll give you directions tonight.’
Miche edged into the room. ‘Er, Larissa, Dan has tremendous ideas and samples of some fabulous new technology I think you should know about.’
‘You check it out, it’s bound to be beyond me.’
Dan followed Miche into the sitting room. Kevin gave him a grin. ‘Is this the new generation version of come and see my etchings? I have this great new computer program?’
‘Better than that,’ Dan retorted. ‘Frankly, the only girls who interest me are those interested in IT. Miche has suddenly identified another use for my hand/eyeglass unit.’
‘Your what?’ asked Kevin.
Miche laughed. ‘Seriously, we’re onto something. You’ll thank me when you can show this number to Ali.’ She moved closer and squeezed Larissa’s hand. ‘Is it okay if I make my own way home? Leave the side door unlocked.’
‘See you at breakfast, kiddo,’ whispered Larissa and gave a wicked smile. ‘Or at lunch.’
Left alone, Laris
sa helped Kevin clear up the kitchen. ‘I’d better leave too. Miche will be okay with Dan, I assume.’
‘He seems a nice guy. Been through a string of girlfriends and he’s apparently some sort of IT whiz-kid. Another glass of wine?’
Larissa didn’t want to leave and was tempted, but she was concerned he might take it as an overture or invitation.
He saw her hesitate. ‘Just a pal suggesting you still need to unwind. If you want to dump some of your confusion . . . troubles . . . I’m a willing ear.’
‘You are sweet. Seeing as I came in a cab, I will have that last glass.’
It turned into a last bottle of fine Bordeaux and Larissa suddenly found she was pouring out her heart and shedding a few tears. She talked to Kevin of Lorraine’s death, of her friendship with Nina, the constant pressure from Ali, and she articulated what had been deeply bothering her but which she hadn’t liked to admit to herself before – that she was doing so much of the work while Ali was taking the credit and leading a high-profile life.
‘Not that I want to be photographed and made a fuss of, but a bit of recognition for what I do would be nice,’ she sniffed, looking for a tissue.
Kevin dropped his arm around her shoulders and drew her to him. ‘Of course you should have recognition. Everyone deserves that when they do a terrific job, and it’s especially galling when someone else takes the credit. And by devious means at that.’
Larissa nodded emphatically. ‘It’s worse than devious. She’s sneaky, with the morals and ethics of a rattlesnake.’
Kevin laughed.
Larissa smiled. ‘Thanks for letting me get that off my chest. Poor Ali, it’s not just me that feels like this about her. I’m her deputy and I do try to back her up. I’m just tired of being the ham in the sandwich.’
‘You’re tired. I don’t just mean physically, you’re ready to wake up, start something fresh. Burnt out. How many years have you been doing this?’
‘Too many. But I can’t imagine not working in this world, even with the pressure. The alternative of going to live a conservative East Coast existence and being a wife and mother doesn’t appeal at all. I’d miss that adrenaline hit. Yet . . . deep down it’s what I thought I was always working towards. I’ve seen too many spinsters and divorcees in the magazine world.’
‘I think you’re afraid. Afraid to move away from what’s familiar. I suspect you kind of like the angst.’
‘I’m not a drama queen. I’ve worked with enough of them. I’m always the one trying to calm them down.’
Larissa fell silent, thinking about what Kevin had said. Gerard had often accused her of being hooked on hassles, that if everything was going smoothly then she would feel something was wrong, and that she always hung about until she found a problem. She’d never thought of Kevin and Gerard as being similar – Kevin was polished, rich, highly gregarious and somewhat self-centred. He’d created the life he wanted and filled it with the people and possessions that suited his lifestyle.
Gerard was retiring, sensitive and could be whimsically funny, a side of him only those who knew him well ever saw. He was forgiven for his reserve and disinterest in what involved others around him. He was regarded as complex. A man who dealt in money matters by day and threw paint at a canvas at night was not easy to define. Larissa knew he wasn’t an easy man, but they had a comfortable understanding and had long ago come to terms with each other’s personalities and idiosyncrasies. ‘Comfortable,’ she mused aloud, startling herself, then she was aware her head was leaning on Kevin’s shoulder and he was stroking her hair. It felt comfortable, caring, affectionate, sexy.
She turned her head to look at this new friend and instinctively their faces swam towards each other, seeing through half-closed eyelids as their lips met.
It was Larissa who responded first to the rush of desire. Blindly she reached for him, wanting the fulfilment of sex to alleviate the pain, make her feel whole, desirable and in control again.
If Kevin was taken aback, he didn’t show it. If he hesitated, it was momentary – he too clutched at Larissa and they fell back onto the large deep sofa, grasping for each other’s bodies.
The sex was over before they spoke, looked at each other, or acknowledged what had so swiftly happened. Larissa turned her face and began to sob. Kevin wrapped his arms about her.
‘Don’t be upset, Larissa. We needed this. It doesn’t have to mean anything.’ He caught himself. ‘I mean, I don’t want you to think this is any kind of uncaring act . . . or a big deal. No emotional hang-ups. Just two friends sharing a special moment.’ He cursed himself for his clumsy words. For once his self-confident poise deserted him. The brief sexual release had been enjoyable and unexpected and he hoped she didn’t feel he had taken advantage of her vulnerable state and the wine they’d consumed. He was ruffled because Larissa was starting to grow on him. For a man who kept to pretty, uncomplicated women who knew better than to try to trap him, Larissa had stumbled into dangerous terrain – the paddocks of his true feelings.
Now he felt disconcerted, confused and unsure of himself. As they both fumbled for clothes and a common ground to deal with what had happened, the phone rang. Kevin debated, then picked it up. It was Dan.
‘Hey, hope I didn’t disturb you . . .’ he paused diplomatically.
Kevin gave an exaggerated yawn. ‘No, I’m veging out on the sofa. What’s up? Miche with you?’
‘No. She took a cab home. I’d had too much wine to drive. Nice evening by the way. But listen, I’m really turned on by Miche . . .’
‘Wow, you just met her . . .’
‘Oh, I don’t mean that. Sure, she’s cute and nice, but man, is she bright. Tonight we came up with a plan, an idea for Blaze. I think we should talk, you could become involved in this.’
‘Danny boy, I’m a bit groggy for this if you’re talking technical stuff. Can it wait?’
‘Yeah, yeah, sure. Sorry to disturb you. But hell, we figured out tonight a whole new way of delivering, accessing and selling a magazine like Blaze.’
‘Hmmm. Okay. Let’s join up tomorrow for lunch. It’s Saturday, so we can have a leisurely one. Miche, you, me and Larissa, okay?’
Larissa was glad of the diversion. But nervous at seeing Kevin again so soon. ‘Lunch tomorrow . . . I’m not sure. Look, if I can’t make it, I’ll ask Miche to brief me on what the story is.’
Kevin smiled at her, seeing through her excuse, but understanding her feelings.
As the taxi pulled up outside his house, he kissed her tenderly, saying softly, ‘Don’t leave it too long before we see each other. It’s all right, really.’
She mumbled goodnight. He really did understand. He was nice. She leaned back in the cab and thought of Gerard and was overcome with pangs of guilt and tears rolled down her cheeks. By the time she arrived home, the remorse had turned to unfathomable anger at Gerard.
She hoped Miche hadn’t waited up. Indeed, she fervently hoped Miche hadn’t realised she was the one who wasn’t tucked up in bed. Larissa tiptoed to her bedroom feeling like a teenager breaking curfew. And she cursed Gerry once again.
Ali was stepping into her limousine outside the Yellow Brick Road when an attractive young woman stopped her. ‘Ali? Ali Gruber?’
‘Excuse me, I don’t believe we’ve met.’ Ali was annoyed at being accosted, though the girl looked vaguely familiar.
She extended her hand. ‘Heather Race. I work for Reality. I’ve left you several messages . . .’
Ali recalled Belinda relaying the messages that someone from Reality had called. She’d assumed they were following up on one of their stories – undoubtedly the one Miche had done on the model, Sally Shaw. It was an explosive piece that had caused a lot of media comment. TV shows like Reality hung on the coat-tails of the print media and picked their stories up from newspapers and magazines, giving them a sensational twist.
‘Is this about Michelle Bannister’s story on Sally Shaw? Look, now our story has come out, feel free . . .’ It sudden
ly occurred to Ali this was odd, being stopped on the street like in a TV-doorstop story.
‘Actually, it’s about you. We’d love to talk to you. We’re not This Is Your Life by any means, but we feel you have a story, your success with Blaze . . .’
Ali brushed past the girl, so close she could smell her musk perfume. ‘Absolutely not. If you want to talk about Blaze, contact Tracey Ford. She handles PR.’
‘We’ve done that. It’s about your own story, about you, and your family . . .’
Ali suddenly saw the TV camera looming over the girl’s shoulder. She reached to slam the car door shut, but found the girl’s body wedging it open.
‘Tom, get me out of here! Go to the airport.’
‘The door’s still open, Ms Gruber!’
‘Drive forward!’ screeched Ali and, in shocked response, Tom’s foot hit the accelerator. Lightly, but enough to throw Heather Race off balance. She stumbled backwards and Ali wrenched the door shut as the car slid away, pushing Heather down on the pavement.
The cameraman, still rolling, stepped into the road to film the car speeding away before swinging back to Heather Race sitting on the ground.
She began speaking to camera without rising from the pavement. ‘So what is the secret that Ali Gruber fears so much that she almost ran me down? Stay tuned.’
The cameraman put down the camera and helped Heather to her feet. ‘You okay? She sure was in a rush. So what is this secret of hers?’
‘Who knows if she even has one. What else was I going to say?’ Heather brushed herself down. ‘Bitch! She would have run me over if she’d been behind the wheel. Here, take this radio mike off me.’ She began pulling the cable linked to the small microphone taped to her bra.
Ali settled into the first-class club lounge at Sydney Airport and ordered a vodka tonic. The wretched TV journalist, stopping her outside the beauty salon, had rattled her. Why would she be interested in doing a story on her now? Blaze was well established, there was nothing new to talk about. The fact the reporter had mentioned her family was what had upset her the most. Ali reached for the phone and called her personal publicist, Tracey Ford.
