by Di Morrissey
Ali lifted her hand to stop the flow of words. ‘I have no intention of doing that.’ She did not elaborate further.
The Corrective Services officer glanced back down at the file and record sheet before her. Among the mass of detail, only two words mattered – ‘Convicted’ and ‘Manslaughter’. Radiating pain and anger, she glanced at the young woman across from her. ‘These problems are not easy to deal with. You may consider seeing a counsellor. If you are thinking of making contact, it helps to have an objective professional involved.’
Once again Ali cut her off, rising to her feet. ‘Thank you for your time and assistance.’ She left the office without a backward glance.
The older woman watched her leave, wondering how many years it would be before the hurt that young woman was holding inside herself blew up.
And whether it would it be too late.
*
It had been a long time since Nina had felt a romantic excitement on being processed by Customs and Immigration at an international airport, but her arrival at Los Angeles this time had put her feelings in such an unaccustomed state. With her heart rate slightly higher and feeling flushed, which generated a readily dismissed embarrassment, she emerged and was swept into the welcoming arms of Lucien. They clung together, making heads turn at the passionate embrace between the handsome man and the elegant woman. Nina was overcome at the strength of her feelings. How she had missed him, and how she was already dreading returning to Sydney and being apart from him. Her old life now seemed totally inadequate, much less fulfilling than being with Lucien.
‘An easy trip, I hope?’ he asked as they parted slightly and looked into each other’s eyes.
‘Fabulous, and you can guess why,’ she grinned.
He gave her a quick kiss in reply and took her arm as they headed to the luggage carousel. ‘Now, Nina, my darling, how soon will you have the editor in place in Sydney and we can swap these passionate airport reunions for a less public acknowledgement of our newfound happiness?’
‘I’m not sure. No matter what, my sweet, I’ll have to stay on in Sydney during the changeover. It’s a tricky time for any publication and I have too much of myself invested in Blaze to leave it to chance. But I know how you feel, believe me.’
‘That settles it then. I’m returning with you. I can’t stand these separations. Could you put up with me hanging around for a couple of months? I can work on finalising the script for my next film. The money is looking good so it could be off the ground and go into pre-production in the next financial year.’
Nina linked her arm through his as he lifted her bag onto the trolley and headed for the car. It felt cosy and domestic after the years of chauffeurs and impersonal limousines.
Two days later she was in New York in the conference room at Triton headquarters meeting with Oscar Triton. To her surprise, the Baron, though outwardly warm and welcoming, had little time for talking. He announced that due to a complicated schedule he only had time for a review of possible candidates for the editor’s job in Sydney.
Nina sensed, despite his warmth and courtesy, he was holding something back. It puzzled her immensely because her past association with him had been so open, so mutually trusting.
However, all such concerns were pushed from her mind as Larissa hurried into Nina’s temporary office to greet her.
‘Nina, what a lovely surprise! I’m so glad we can catch up on all the news. But first things first. Is there a chance you and Lucien and Miche can come to the wedding?’
Nina laughed. ‘Where and when? Tell me all. Over coffee.’
‘Well, we’re planning something small and intimate for very close friends and family only. In Santa Barbara. We’re trying to decide where to splurge for the honeymoon.’
‘What about New Hampshire – have you found a place to live?’
‘It’s been hard. Gerry has a few problems.’
Nina poured the coffee. ‘What sort of problems?’
Larissa’s cheerful demeanour dropped for a moment. ‘The position he was promised has had a hiccup. A contractual mix-up over detail of duties and responsibilities, but it will be solved in a few months. A bit of staff shuffling is needed as well. A good thing in a way, as it gives us time to find a place, settle in, you know. How’s everyone in Sydney? Miche rang me to tell me about finding her dad. Have you met Miche’s young man?’
‘Not yet. She’s staying with Jeremy’s boss at the vineyard, doing research for a week or so. Your little Paddo house is empty. I think Miche may want to move closer to the Hunter,’ smiled Nina. ‘By the way, Belinda gave me a few pieces of mail for you.’
Larrisa quickly thumbed through the envelopes. ‘Nothing that suggests I ought to instantly reach for the letter opener,’ she said smiling. ‘Thanks for doing courier duty.’
‘No worries,’ Nina replied, and they both laughed. It was an expression used constantly in the Sydney office, even when editorial hell was breaking out.
Then Nina switched into a serious mode. ‘Larissa, I asked you to come in and see me for more than a catch-up. I’d like to run something past you.’
Larissa recognised the tone in her voice. It was the Nina executive voice and it came as a surprise. Nina still looked a little weary, jet-lagged, she supposed. But her usual energetic verve was missing. In a flash it seemed to Larissa that Nina was losing her passion for Blaze. It must be the deepening relationship with Lucien. She could understand that. ‘Shoot, Nina.’
‘I’ve moved Ali. It’s considered a promotion, “Publisher at Large” for Asia and the Pacific as well as Australia. She’ll be on the move with a lot less opportunity to create a power base. She didn’t seem at all happy being in Sydney. That disappointed me, as I had hoped that being in the more casual Aussie work environment and different culture would soften her approach to life a little, perhaps enable her to see there was more to life than just being an imaginative and tough editor.’
‘Find a little bit more yin to go with the yang, you mean?’ queried Larissa.
‘Quite,’ said Nina. ‘It didn’t work out, though she certainly made sure the magazine was started professionally and running in front of the field.’
Larissa was impressed with the way in which Nina had quickly diagnosed what was going well and what was going wrong at Blaze. ‘But who is coming in to replace Ali as editor in Australia?’
‘I was thinking you would be perfect.’
Larissa put her cup down with a clatter and laughed. ‘Nina! We’ve just been through all this. I didn’t leave because of Ali. I chose Gerard.’
‘Seems to me, Gerard’s career is treading water for a bit. Why not have a honeymoon on the Barrier Reef and take the reins at Blaze for six months? There is a sweetener to this. Stay for twelve months and you’re in line to come back here and replace Irene. She wants to move to Europe.’
Larissa was stunned and it took a few seconds for her to respond. ‘Why didn’t this arise when I was still there?’
‘Would you have changed your mind about marrying Gerard?’
Larissa rubbed her forehead. ‘Nina, this is so cruel. You know I always wanted to be editor, I figured the opportunity had passed me by. I love Gerard. But I’d adore to go back to Sydney.’
‘I’ll talk to Gerard if you like.’
‘No, I’ll tell him what you’ve offered. Let him decide. I’m not going back on my promise to be with him.’
Nina touched her hand. ‘Come and have lunch with me tomorrow. Let me know then. I’m back to Sydney. Lucien is moving down for a couple of months to write his script, then we’ll return to Croatia. I’m working with several agencies to help set up two more children’s homes. Lucien is setting his film there.’
‘I’m really happy for you, Nina.’
‘Follow your heart, Riss. I’d love you to run Blaze, but I want you to be happy most of all,’ said Nina softly.
They arranged to meet at Giovanni’s, Nina’s favourite Italian restaurant on West Fifty-fifth. Nina was please
d to see Larissa come in accompanied by Gerard. He kissed her on both cheeks with a rueful smile.
‘Are you cross with me, Gerard? Can’t blame me for wanting to keep her, but she’s made it clear to me that you come first,’ said Nina trying to instantly reduce the tension she could sense.
Giovanni escorted them to their table and fussed around Nina making suggestions for their meal. Once they’d settled on Giovanni’s menu and the wine was opened, Nina lifted her glass. ‘Here’s to you both. Much, much happiness. How are the preparations coming along?’
‘Our mothers are still in a tizz over the final details.’ She gave Gerard a fond look.
‘We’re sorry you and Lucien can’t be there, and Miche won’t be able to make it either,’ said Gerard. ‘However, we’ll see everyone on the way to our honeymoon. We’ve decided on the Great Barrier Reef. Heron Island.’
Nina smiled and raised her glass in acknowledgement. ‘I’ll drink to that decision.’
‘Thought you might,’ said Larissa and raised her glass to Nina’s. Her face broke into a huge smile. ‘We’ve decided to take up your offer. Gerry is coming out while I edit Blaze. He’s going to paint!’
Nina was elated. ‘That’s wonderful! Oh, Gerard, I’m so pleased. Larissa will be brilliant, the staff will be thrilled. What changed your mind?’
‘Quite a few things,’ answered Gerard. ‘The fact Riss was prepared to give up her career for me, the frustration of my job appointment being delayed, and well . . . that letter you brought clinched it for me.’
‘Letter?’ asked Nina in a puzzled voice.
Larissa’s eyes were shining. ‘It was from a prestigious art gallery in Woollahra. Miche and Belinda had the owner look at Gerry’s paintings that he left behind in the house and she’s asked him if she can represent him. She wants him to do an exhibition. That’ll keep him busy for six months.’
‘It’ll be a test of whether or not I can sell, that’s for sure,’ said Gerard.
‘Our parents weren’t too thrilled at first, but now they’re planning trips Down Under,’ laughed Larissa. ‘So when do I start, Nina?’
‘As soon as the honeymoon is over . . . I mean the one on Heron Island. I hope the magic never wears off,’ she said, raising her glass for another toast. ‘To our futures, joyous, one and all!’
TAKE TWENTY-FIVE . . .
After talking to Nina, Miche tried to settle her mind and her heart to the forthcoming meeting with her father. She fluctuated between being scared, nervous, sad and angry. She ran through the scenario in her mind a dozen times, each time with a different script, a different ending. She finally decided she was driving herself crazy and the best thing to do was to distract herself. She decided to refocus on her Hunter Valley story.
The Palmerstons had given her a large room and the run of the house, for which she was grateful. Jeremy lived across the vineyard in a modern cottage with two other winemakers. As everyone was busy, Miche had the house and its gracious walled courtyard to herself most of the day. She set up her laptop on a big hardwood table and spread out her notes. But her concentration span was short. Thoughts of her father kept breaking through.
And now she couldn’t help relating the turn in her life with the uncanny parallel, that she alone knew, with Ali.
Once more she looked at the photocopies of the newspaper cuttings from the Advertiser.
The article that had caught her attention was headlined, ‘MINEFIELDS MURDER. JEALOUS RAGE SHATTERS THREE LIVES’.
The feature photograph was of a wild-eyed young girl being led away by a policewoman. The caption read, ‘Alisson Vidal, 10, is taken into protective care while a search for relatives continues.’ The story went on to elaborate on the events of the fateful night when Alex Vidal had driven home inebriated after being sacked from the Barn Darset Mine. In what was believed to be a domestic dispute, he’d argued with his wife, had struck her and driven away leaving her and his sleeping daughter. It is not known how badly injured the mother was, except when a fire broke out – from the open fireplace – the daughter had tried to drag the mother to safety, but was overcome by smoke. The daughter fled the burning building by jumping from a window and had run to a neighbour’s house for help. By the time the fire trucks arrived, the home had been destroyed. The mother was pronounced dead at the scene.
There was the poignant follow-up story dated a few weeks later of the young girl who’d lost her mother – the late Katherine Anne Gruber. Her father, Alex Vidal, was now on remand in jail awaiting trial. The ten-year-old girl was pictured standing at Sydney Airport with a large tag pinned to her chest, staring defiantly at the camera like a frightened doe. The caption explained she was on her way to a new life with a distant cousin of her mother’s in America.
It was Ali. Who now looked uncannily like the picture of her mother taken at the time of her death. They were approximately the same age. In the story, neighbours described the father as European. The family had no relatives in Australia.
Miche was overwhelmed by sadness for Ali. No wonder she had kept her past life a secret. Her father had been charged with manslaughter when it was found Ali’s mother had died, before the fire engulfed the house, as a result of being struck by her husband. No wonder Ali hadn’t been keen to come back to Australia. It was a terrible wound to re-open, thought Miche. But along with the sympathy she felt for Ali, came the disturbing knowledge that in her hands was a story that many journos and, no doubt, every city editor, would grab with relish. She could imagine how this would be played in the hands of a few of the less scrupulous journalists like Heather Race. She didn’t imagine Nina or anyone else in the Blaze corporate scene knew about Ali’s background. Miche shook her head in another spasm of shock at the horror revealed by the articles and the implications if the story was ever uncovered. It would ruin Ali’s life. Everything she’d achieved as a successful editor, everything that meant so much to Ali would be washed away in the sensationalist discovery of her innocent part in this tragedy. As Miche folded the cuttings slowly, she reflected on how the lives of Ali and her own mother had come together from such remote and different pasts. Ali had been Lorraine’s nemesis, and now Miche realised that she had the power to undo Ali by releasing what she knew.
The next question confronting Miche was what, if anything, she should do with this stunning knowledge? Ali had shut down her past and constructed a new history, burying the terrible secret that her father had killed her mother.
At least Miche’s father was successful, respected and liked, from what Jeremy had said. How lucky she was. Whatever had happened between her mother and father, whatever pain she had suffered as the child of divorced parents, was nothing compared with the anguish Ali must feel.
Dozens of questions ran through her mind. Was Ali’s father still in jail? Had Ali kept in touch with her father, how had she dealt with it, had she forgiven him? Ali had taken her mother’s maiden name, and stayed in America. It didn’t sound like the American aunt had worked out. Miche knew from what Nina and her mother had told her that Ali had turned up in New York at sixteen, another runaway, who worked at odd jobs, including cleaning Nina’s house, before landing the job at Blaze as a gofer.
But the more she pondered over Ali, thinking back on small incidents, comments and her obsession with privacy, the more she realised what a shell Ali had built around herself.
Miche now understood Ali’s reaction to her suggestion of doing the story on children who were the innocent victims of violent crime.
How close that must have hit Ali – no wonder she had tried to steer Miche away from the story. And yet the substitute story she agreed Miche could do was also risky. The Hunter Valley . . . the area where Ali had lived, the scene of her tragic secret. Miche thought back to how Ali had briefed her on the story to concentrate on the vineyards and to look for an upbeat angle that would appeal to the twenty and thirtysomethings who were investing in wines. It was a long way from one sad story in the fabric of a whole district. Ali had gamble
d that in researching such a story it would be most unlikely her secret past would be discovered. It was a calculated move to steer Miche away from writing about a subject that was so painful and so close to Ali’s own story.
Miche was staggered when she looked at the overlapping connections between herself and Ali. Miche’s mother, Lorraine, tormented by the ambitious, younger Ali. Nina throwing Miche and Ali together in a place where they both had to confront the memory of lost fathers. Then Miche ploughing into an emotional minefield of children who were victims of childhood abuse. Miche saw their similarities as well as their differences. How each had handled the situation so differently. They’d both lost their mothers and needed a father during their crucial growing years. Both were known by their mothers’ maiden names. Ali was not the sort of person who liked people feeling sorry for her. Strangely, Miche felt suddenly protective of Ali. Then came a blinding realisation that this knowledge about Ali was a test. A powerful one.
The issue of ethics, the use and abuse of power and knowledge. Blackmail and persuasion, power and position. Talent, ability, creativity, integrity. On the big media merry-go-round these days, so many people believed everything could and should be manipulated for personal advantage. Loyalty counted for nothing. It was a matter of debate whether newspapers or magazines took the crown for bastardry. Since coming to Australia, Miche had heard all the arguments, all the opinions, again and again at dinner after dinner with journalists, over many a latte or bottle of red.
She thought back to the life her mother had lived in New York. The constant pressure and obsession with work. How her mother would never take time out to sit and watch a video, just veg out, or even go for a walk in the park. There was always something to do for the magazine. Her argument was that if she didn’t put her work first there’d be no treats, no luxuries, no staying in their smart apartment. Lorraine had brushed aside Miche’s childish pleas that all she wanted was her mother’s full and constant attention for an hour or so.
