Detained

by Ainslie Paton

  Into the stunned silence someone shouted, “Did you kill him, Will?”

  Will closed his eyes and shook his head. “Should I tell them, Darcy?”

  The pack swivelled to her. She swallowed hard. “It’s traditional for us journalists to ask the questions.”

  There was more laughter, and Will’s response was inaudible above the racket.

  A voice shouted, “Are you a murderer, Will?” Another said, “Did you get away with murder, Will?”

  Will frowned. He folded his arms defensively and dropped his head. Ted said, “Back off, this is over.”

  A voice shouted, “Is Will a killer, Darcy?”

  “Oh shit,” said Russ, swinging the camera back around to Darcy. Now she was the story.

  “Will Parker is innocent. Feng Kee died in a fire,” she said, never taking her eyes off Will. He had his head down still, and the tension in his neck and shoulders was clear to her. She ached to push through the pack and go to him, but there were memories, expectations, fears and worlds, reputations and responsibilities between them.

  Another voice shouted, “Will, was there a riot? The Chinese Government denied it.”

  Will shifted from foot to foot. He looked up briefly and then dropped his eyes again. He looked panicked. Oh God, he didn’t remember.

  “He’s going to lose it, push him, Darce,” said Russ.

  Before she could think of a way to save him, Will said, “Was there a riot, Darcy?”

  The camera swung back around. Maybe she could talk him down. “Yes, Will. There was a riot and you were hurt badly.”

  Will’s name rang out from five or six other journalists. Everyone wanted a piece of him while he was slowly obliging by coming apart.

  Col Furrow’s voice echoed above the others. “Will Parker, how well do you know Darcy Campbell?”

  Will’s head shot up, he locked eyes with her as though she was the only person on the planet who mattered to him. “Well enough to know I’d go to hell and back to protect her.”

  There was a collective gasp, and a scrambling for position. Half the pack focused on Will, and the other jostled Darcy.

  “Well enough to know I love her.”

  38. Sanitised

  “He with whom neither slander that gradually soaks into the mind, nor statements that startle like a wound in the flesh, are successful may be called intelligent indeed.” — Confucius

  Chaos had a new address. The space between the Sheraton’s front doorstep where Will stood, and the driveway where Darcy was being mobbed, as the media pack split to chase this new angle.

  The air rent with cries of, “Will, over here.” “Will, this way.” And, “Darcy, Darcy do you love Will?” “Are you in love with Will?” Above it all Ted Barstow’s baritone, “Enough! Get away. Leave him alone.”

  Darcy put her hands up in front of her face to ward off the barrage of cameras and microphones. At her side Russ said, “Shit, Darce.” Someone shoved him and he stumbled. “We’re out of here.”

  He pushed a bunch of hands holding digital recorders away from her face and grabbed her arm, moving her backwards out of the melee. Darcy looked for Loud, lost somewhere in the shifting bodies. She looked for Will, caught the glass doors closing as he and Barstow disappeared inside, security stepping in to bar anyone following.

  Her heart was thumping and she was shaking all over. Only Russ holding her arm stopped her sliding to her knees. Their car pulled up, Loud in the driver’s seat. Russ shoved her in the back seat and jumped in the front.

  “Run over the bastards,” he laughed, as a cameraman stood in front of the car and Loud swerved to go around him.

  “Not funny,” said Loud. “He never said that. The Premier, Robert Askin, he said—”

  “Yeah like Prime Minister Hawke never said, ‘Any boss who sacks anyone for not turning up today is a bum’,” said Russ. He turned in his seat as Loud moved into the stream of traffic and pinned her with an evil glint. “Did you get it on with Parker?”

  “I’m not the story.”

  “You’re our story. You better get it straight. Merrit’s going to spew he let us come alone. He’ll have you do a piece to camera, ‘my affair with Australia’s billionaire jailbird’.”

  “No. I’m not doing that.”

  “Yeah you are,” said Loud. He was fiddling with the car radio, looking for a news broadcast. Everyone else will have it. We have you.”

  They were right. Will not only recognised her, he’d outed her to every news organisation in the country. There was no way out of this. She’d be forced to talk about him. She scrabbled on the floor for her handbag, tucked under the seat in front. She needed her phone. She needed to call Peter to get a number for Will. She needed to talk to Will, to see him, to know if he was all right. If he meant what he said.

  “Shit Darce, you and Parker. He looked surprised to see you,” said Russ, still facing backwards.

  “Shut up, Russ,” she said, dragging her bag onto the seat and palming her mobile.

  “Who are you calling?”

  “Shut up, Russ.”

  An announcer on the radio said, “Billionaire jailbird, Will Parker, surprised journalists in a doorstop today by declaring his love for Channel Five’s News Tonight host, Darcy Campbell.”

  She groaned and speed-dialled Peter.

  “Turn it off,” said Russ to Loud, but not to spare her ears, so he could eavesdrop on her call.

  She ignored him and counted the rings. Pick up, Peter, pick up. The call connected, Peter’s, brisk, “Peter Parker.”

  “Peter, where is Will?”

  “Darcy, hey. At a rough guess, at his beloved Confucian temple. But I have a nasty feeling you’re going to tell me something different. Should I be afraid?”

  “Very. He’s in Sydney with Ted Barstow.”

  “What?”

  “I just saw him. I spoke to him. He remembers me.”

  “Wait,” said Peter. Darcy heard him yell, “Wendy, where’s Bo?” A second later he said, “Son of a bitch. Get Aileen in here,” then was back on the call. “Bo’s missing too.”

  “I have to find him, Peter.”

  “You and me both, sister. His phone is off. He only uses it to call out. We have to find Bo to find Will. Fuck! What was he doing?”

  “I think he was meeting with Barstow.”

  “Darcy, he’s not well enough for anything like that.”

  “I know. Peter, I’m so scared for him. He walked into a media scrum. They hit him with questions about the murder charge and the riot. He panicked. I don’t know if he’s all right.”

  “He remembered you?”

  Darcy closed her eyes. The panicked, pained expression on Will’s face was painted under her lids. “I think he remembered everything, all at once.”

  Peter was silent. But from eight thousand kilometres away, Darcy knew what his anxiety would feel like. Like a drill grinding in his belly.

  “Peter?”

  “We need to find him. I need to call Dr Yang. I need to get hold of Bo. I’ll call you back.” He rang off.

  “Well?” said Russ.

  “Stay out of my face.”

  He laughed. “Princess, you’ve got about five minutes to get your story straight.”

  She looked up. They were streets away from the studio. She’d heard Loud call their producer Merrit, and she knew he’d be waiting.

  “Don’t look so ‘end of the world’, this is fantastic for you. You can say anything you want; unless you think Parker will deny it. And it didn’t look like he was up for much more than a stiff drink if you ask me. You’re the love-lost heroine. He’s the misunderstood billionaire.” Russ gestured with a thumb. “Up go the ratings, and up goes the salary on your next contract. So quit acting like a spoiled kid. Parker just handed you the keys to the kingdom.”

  Will had just handed her heartache, indecision and dread. And before she’d had a chance to get over losing him, he was publicly declaring his love. What would he want her to do? Mark Ma
son’s words about reporting the news, not making it rang in her head. She’d screwed up again, but she couldn’t hide from this if she wanted to keep her job.

  Her phone rang. She looked down, not Peter. An unknown number. She sent the call to voicemail. She heard Loud say, “Lay off, Russ, she’s shook up,” and she looked up to meet his darting eyes in the rear-view.

  Her phone went off again. Another unknown number. She’d have to turn it off, because now she was the story, it was going to keep ringing. It went again. Brian. No way. Terminate call. She was going to miss Peter if he called back. She was going to walk into a studio and talk about her relationship with Will without knowing what that relationship was, so several million people could be titillated in their post-workday, after-dinner haze.

  She was going to broadcast her most private pain and hope into lounge rooms and kitchens all over the country for the sake of entertainment and advertising.

  She was going to curl up and die.

  Loud swung the car into the parking lot of the studio. Merrit and Alan were waiting. Her phone rang and rang. Darcy pushed open the door, leaned out of the still moving car and lost her breakfast.

  All the men moved at once. Loud braked. Russ swung his door open, and jumped out. Merrit appeared at her side, and put his arm around her shoulder, and Alan said, “Better out than in.”

  An hour later, scrubbed, brushed and polished, wearing a different outfit—a dress, pretty and soft, not like the business suits they usually had her in—Darcy faced Liarne in a hastily put together studio interview setting that was meant to look like a family room, a place where women traded secrets.

  She knew the station was already promo-ing the story using the line, “Channel Five’s Darcy Campbell talks about her love for Australian’s richest man, Will Parker”.

  She’d tried to get hold of Peter again, but his phone was perpetually busy. She was on her own.

  While the techs were fussing with lighting, moving a bunch of flowers on a coffee table, left and right, then back to where it started, Darcy collected her thoughts. She could give them a story with all the elements of soap opera: sex, betrayal, love, fear, pain, devastation and hope. She could paint herself the heroine, and Will the hero of an unparalleled mating of truth and dare, wealth and power, corruption and justice. She could play coy, and avoid saying anything specific, making certain the trigger fingers of remote-hoggers nationwide got itchy, and swapped channels, or she could use the opportunity fix the damage she’d inflicted on Will’s reputation.

  There was a lot she could say about meeting and falling in love with Will Parker, but she was not going to say anything to hurt him or compromise herself.

  Her body was in the room, but her head was seeing Will, his confusion and agitation. She missed what Liarne said. She took a sip of water then turned her head so makeup could check her lipstick and teeth. “Sorry, say that again, Liarne.”

  “We’re opening with the edit from this morning, where he says—what did he say, ah yeah, ‘Well enough to know I’d go through hell and back...’”

  “I know what he said.”

  “Right.”

  “I’ll ask you how you met, what he’s like, so handsome, Darce. What was he like in bed?”

  “Liarne.”

  “Sorry, I know. Later, tell me later. I’ll ask you about the photo that started it all, how you felt when he was kidnapped, how you discovered his innocence, a bit of blah, blah about the riot. Then I’ll ask if you love him, if he knows you love him, and what’s next for the two of you lovebirds. Right?”

  Liarne could ask whatever she wanted. This was live television.

  A sound tech did a final adjustment to Darcy’s mic, and the floor manager started the countdown, going with fingers held aloft for five, four, three, two, one.

  “Good evening and welcome to this special edition of News Tonight. I’m Liarne Bennet. Tonight we’re turning the tables to interview our own Darcy Campbell about her relationship with the enigmatic Australian businessman, Will Parker.”

  Intro over, the program identification tape rolling, Liarne tapped Darcy on the knee. “You should tear up, the viewers like it when we seem more human.”

  The red light on camera two flashed. Liarne said, “Earlier today a group of Sydney journalists covering the story about the tragic consequences of mixing prescription drugs and alcohol for Bulldog’s Player, Todd Dubscheck, were surprised by the appearance of reclusive billionaire businessman, Will Parker.

  “You might remember the media shy Parker was photographed for the first time recently berating a man in a Shanghai hotel.” Liarne paused as the vision switched from her face to a grainy shot of Will standing over Robert. “Parker was later kidnapped, held for ransom, accused of murder, jailed, and allegedly beaten in a prison riot. He was subsequently cleared of the murder charge, but then disappeared from the public eye again. Now he’s back, and declaring his love for Darcy.”

  Liarne took a breath and Nadia nicked onto the set and gave the back of her jacket a tug, as an edited version of the morning’s events played. On the floor manager’s signal, Liarne said, “Darcy how does it feel to have Australia’s richest man declare his love for you in front of the whole country?”

  Darcy hesitated. She’d expected the ‘how did you meet’ question Liarne had said she’d lead with. But she hadn’t interviewed spokespeople media trained to within an inch of their pay packets in the art of not answering the question for years—to be caught out.

  She smiled benignly at Liarne. “I thought I’d answer that by telling you how we met.”

  Out of shot, Liarne gave an eye-roll, acknowledging the dodge.

  “I was sent to Shanghai to interview Will Parker, but when I arrived I discovered there was an irregularity with my visa. Another Australian helped me out with the issue, even made sure I got to my hotel safely. We never exchanged names, but I discovered later my saviour was Will Parker.”

  “So romantic,” Liarne cut in.

  “Unfortunately Will was called away and I wasn’t able to interview him.”

  “But you did take those very incriminating photos of him.” Darcy knew the photos would be on TV screens again.

  “Those photos were taken out of context. The man on his knees is Robert Yee, a news photographer. Will is yelling at the two security men who are holding him down. He’s telling them to let Robert up. Unfortunately I didn’t understand that at the time.”

  Liarne said, “But these photos led to Will Parker being called un-Australian and to demands for him to publicly apologise for bullying.”

  Darcy nodded as she spoke, knowing the camera was fixed on her. “Yes they did. It was a gross injustice.” One she might never recover from causing.

  “The photos also led to Will’s kidnapping.”

  “They did. And to the allegation of murder, and his jailing.”

  “So in a way, it’s your fault these dreadful things happened to Will Parker.”

  Darcy dropped head. She knew she shouldn’t, but it was impossible not to flinch in some way. From couches and kitchen stools more than a million people were looking at her guilt and judging her.

  She lifted her chin. She had to tough this out. She had to use this opportunity to do right by Will for all the wrong she’d initiated. “That’s right, Liarne. I didn’t do my job as a journalist thoroughly enough, so a very good man’s reputation was damaged. I will be sorry for that for the rest of my life.” Over Liarne’s head she saw Alan grinning. Admission of guilt on top of scandal and romance was a sure ratings point.

  “But you certainly made up for it. You investigated the murder allegation, and found evidence of Will Parker’s innocence.”

  “That’s right. With help, I was able to discover the man Will was accused of murdering died in a restaurant fire in his village, and not as Will was accused, in a fist fight in Shanghai.”

  “It’s an incredible story, Darcy. Especially since your contact with Will was so very limited.”

 
; Darcy took a breath to cover the convenience of the lie as it was fed to her. “That’s right, Liarne.”

  “It’s pretty close to love at first sight, wouldn’t you say?”

  There was no way to answer that question, but Darcy knew Liarne didn’t expect one. She was using the question as a statement. And through the magic of television and the use of almost truths—it was a newborn fact. Darcy and Will love at first sight. It wouldn’t matter if she denied it, it would sound like she was trying to wriggle out of it; it was simply too luscious to discredit.

  Liarne continued. “I believe you went to see Will in prison.”

  “I went to Quingpu prison with Will’s brother, Peter, to present the evidence of his innocence.”

  “Can you confirm there was a riot?”

  “There was most definitely a prisoner-led riot. I was fortunate to escape injury. But Will was badly beaten by guards because he shared his foreign prisoner privileges, movies and food, with Chinese prisoners.”

  “The Chinese authorities deny this happened.”

  “I believe Will has the scars to prove it did.”

  “Did you see Will again before today?”

  No one needed to know how badly Will had been hurt, and how many days she’d sat by his bedside. Or that until a couple of hours ago he didn’t remember her. The shortest answer was the least complicated lie. “No.”

  Liarne acted surprised and shocked. “So explain to us how, after a few brief meetings and instigating this chain of events that led from the photographs to Will’s imprisonment, he declared today he’d go through hell and back to protect you?”

  “I believe Will is a compassionate man. And he was obviously surprised to be put on the spot today. I think that was just his way of saying thank you for the investigation that led to him being freed.”

  “Are you saying there’s no passionate romance?” Liarne’s voice drifted upward to emphasis her scepticism. She narrowed her eyes in disbelief, so the audience would know she was cynical. Darcy knew under the acting she was annoyed.

  “Liarne, I’m saying Will Parker is an incredible person. He’s smart, funny, strong and compassionate. I think his reputation as a businessman and an outstanding Australian should be restored.” Darcy angled her body more fully to face the camera, “and I’m saying girls, he’s still very much available.”