by Ros Reines
‘Of course, Lahar. Once I track down Oliver, I’ll send him straight over,’ I said as I moved hastily away. Oliver was far too much of a snob to willingly take Lahar’s photo, but I would let them work that out between them.
This had been a really challenging event so far and all I really wanted to do was to fortify myself with a drink because I had gone into meltdown at the thought of seeing Daniel again, but I had to press on. I had not been hired by the paper to simply go to parties and make small talk, as Tim was so fond of reminding me; I had to actually pick up some worthwhile stories. I entered the house and to my delight discovered the dessert room, which was a wonderland of sinfulness. There were displays of petit fours as beautifully decorated as jewels, mountains of chocolate cakes, cheesecakes, Pavlovas and grown-up chocolate crackles laced with rum. A beautiful girl in a pale pink tutu was whipping up wands of fairy floss and the scent of all that sugar was so overpowering, I was sure I’d put on a kilo just by breathing it in. Not many of the guests had discovered this room yet, judging by the pristine display; they were probably too busy drinking. Maybe it wouldn’t hurt if I just ate a couple of petit fours, I thought; suddenly I was starving. But just as I went to pick up a dainty dessert plate, a man grabbed me roughly by the arm.
Wes Heart was drunk, belligerent and happy to have found a target for his aggression. ‘You’re a nasty bitch, Saveloy,’ he sneered. ‘You think that you can bring me down just because I’m a tall poppy. I know what you’re up to: you’ve been poking around the place, trying to get some no-hoper to admit that I punched him.’
The air around us had gone still. I hardly dared move. The fairy-floss nymph was staring at us open-mouthed, her tulle faintly trembling.
‘Well, your little story designed to get me into trouble has failed. That bloke isn’t saying anything. He isn’t even in town anymore. It so happens that some good buddy of his just gave him an all-expenses-paid trip to Bali. Now I wonder who that could have been, eh?’
I hoped the question was rhetorical because my mouth was too dry to speak. I was also aware that one wrong word from me might tip him over the edge. He was seething with barely restrained violence.
‘Don’t you bullshit me,’ he said, as if I had in fact spoken. ‘I don’t want to hear your pathetic lies and piss-weak excuses.’
I was pretty sure I hadn’t said anything but I wondered for a moment if I might have unconsciously blurted out something. As Wes Heart’s grip on my arm tightened, my breathing grew shallow. It was the fright or flight syndrome taking over. Surely he wouldn’t actually hurt me—not right here in the middle of a party. But who knew what he was capable of?
‘Savannah! I thought that I might find an absolute sweetie like you here among the desserts,’ said a familiar voice.
Was I hearing things? A wave of relief washed over me. ‘Daniel!’ I cried, suddenly finding the energy to wrench my arm from Wes Heart’s grasp and reach out to embrace my lover in a bear hug. There was an instant recognition of the fresh coconut and lemony fragrance of his skin which I’m pretty sure didn’t come from a bottle of cologne.
The sudden intrusion had stopped Wes Heart in his tracks and all he had left in the tank now was a few lame snorts. He lumbered towards the door, no doubt to pick a fight with someone else. But he did take one parting shot. ‘Look out for her, mate, she’s a filthy gossip columnist and all she wants to do is to take you down.’
‘What?’ Daniel asked, bemused, as I began to laugh; the release of adrenalin was making me feel slightly hysterical. ‘What was that about, Savannah?’ he persisted. ‘Was he bothering you? Should I go after him? He should be made to apologise for speaking to you like that.’
Actually the last thing that I wanted was to face Wes Heart again. ‘No, it was nothing,’ I assured him. I looked up into his green-blue eyes and felt my insides melt. ‘Let’s just say that you walked back into my life at exactly the right moment. In fact your timing was excellent.’
Eleven
There’s a radiant energy that envelops lovers, making them beautiful and immediately more attractive to others. A woman in the throes of new passion will often be asked, sometimes by strangers, whether she’s in love. Some men will sense the pheromones in the air and will flirt outrageously with her, while other women will eye her enviously; they definitely want what she’s having. The other blessing in all this blissfulness is that a woman in love is oblivious to exhaustion. I had probably only had a couple of hours’ sleep during my reunion with Daniel, but I didn’t feel even the least bit fatigued. I was on a high the next day.
Before we parted in the morning, Daniel mentioned that he had a few projects he was working on that would probably keep him out of town, but he floated the idea of spending the weekend together.
‘If I send you a plane ticket from Ayers Rock, would you come and join me for a couple of days?’ he asked.
‘Sure,’ I breathed. Somehow I would make it work, if he really was serious about it.
‘But you have to understand that everything would be strictly off the record,’ he cautioned, looking so deeply into my eyes that I swear he could see every slightly twisted gossip columnist’s bone in my body. When he gave me his total attention, I would agree to anything. ‘You’d have to promise not to write about anything you see there or anyone you meet. And, er, if anyone asks you about your job, you should probably be a bit vague, okay?’
‘Of course.’ I deserved a couple of days of relaxation without thinking of work, I told myself. And besides, if I had my way we’d probably be spending most of our time in bed because, right now, I just wanted to be in close proximity to his body. This must be what was meant by ‘magnetic attraction’.
I ignored the small voice in my head warning me to hold back, to play it cool, not to rush into this new relationship. I could handle any conflict of interest, I told myself confidently. Daniel had whisked me away from the party as soon as we could extricate ourselves, and we had gone straight back to my place. Dinner was out of the question since neither of us had an appetite for food. After a sizzling session in bed, we lay together and talked. Daniel had been open and honest—well, as far as he could be—about his work.
He acted in a consulting role on Alex and Jacqueline Evans’ many developments, he explained.
‘I didn’t want to say anything before because I have a confidentiality clause in my contract,’ he told me. ‘And even now I can’t elaborate much on what we’re up to. You’ll just have to trust that I am not being intentionally evasive.’
‘But why are the Evanses so mysterious?’ I asked, thinking of Tim’s certainty that there was something not quite above board about their business dealings. ‘Is there some kind of issue with adhering to government regulations?’ I’d also detected some chatter about them on the social scene and their apparent need to apply some kind of subterfuge, but it was little more than gossip. Perhaps the gossipers were just jealous of their success. ‘Is it something to do with offshore investment?’ I probed like the financial writer I definitely was not.
Daniel shook his head and grinned in response as though just hearing me voice my suspicions made his day. I wasn’t quite sure of what his consulting work entailed but, at least as a front man, he was second to none.
‘It’s because Alex is worried about other property developers getting the jump on them, Savannah. Since their projects require government approval and, in some cases, investment. It’s in their best interests to keep a low profile.’
He pointed out that there were huge amounts of money at stake. Daniel was in charge of setting up the recreational facilities in all of their resorts and some of the luxury developments, which were more like gated communities. It meant bringing in the top professionals in every field—from the beach club to the competition-ready golf courses. For someone who loved the outdoors as much as Daniel, this was a dream job.
I wondered briefly what the Evanses were doing in Ayers Rock, but I didn’t want to ask too many questions, especially i
f my interest would make him think twice about inviting me to join him.
‘Don’t worry,’ I assured him. ‘I’ll be discreet.’ I think I almost remembered how to do that.
Unfortunately my relationship with Daniel and his closeness to Tim’s most intriguing couple of the year had placed me in a dilemma. Now as I headed to work, the euphoria of seeing my lover had dimmed a little, and I was able to look at the situation more clearly. While I was not willing to compromise Daniel by trying to get information I could use about his employers, I also needed to do my job—and Tim had explicitly ordered me to find out everything I could about the Evanses. I had promised I would infiltrate their inner circle, and now I had . . . but I wouldn’t be able to use any information I uncovered. Life was a bitch sometimes.
I decided not to say anything about my new lover for the moment. I would plead ignorance if anyone had noticed us together (‘Oh, that guy? I’m not too sure what he does—I think he’s a pro surfer). It sounded plausible enough.
I was so preoccupied as I made my way through The Sydney News’ office to my desk that I was initially unaware of the sudden quiet when I passed my colleagues’ desks. Maybe I had become used to being the most controversial person at the paper because of my round.
‘Good morning, Erica,’ I sang out as I passed her office, pretending as ever that I was completely unaware of her bizarre loathing for me. Perhaps I reminded her of someone whom she had a set against in the past? It couldn’t be that she simply regarded me as an interloper? Erica had gone to the next level with her outfit today. She was dressed in a body-hugging yellow and black Mondrian-style knitted number, which must have been created by a famous designer otherwise many would have regarded it as a disaster. Erica had set it off with shiny black PVC knee-high boots. She looked like a wasp, I thought, which was pretty apt if you asked me.
‘Did you enjoy the party last night?’ I enquired, hanging my vintage Mulberry bag (bought from Portobello market) over the back of my chair. I often thought of that bag as my security blanket because, as musty and slightly bruised as it was, it spoke of more extravagant times. I also liked to watch people look at it surreptitiously and then regard me with new respect.
Erica had still not responded to my greeting at all. She simply stared at me for a moment and then barged past me, brandishing some official-looking paperwork. On another day, such a major snub might have bothered me, but this morning—still feeling rather love-drunk—I just shrugged my shoulders and smiled almost fondly. Someone is not in a good mood, I thought. She’s probably got the hangover from hell.
I had planned to spend the morning investigating what Wes Heart had told me last night about dispatching the victim of his attack on an all-expenses-paid trip to Bali. I wanted to track down the poor guy to see whether or not this was correct, or if Heart was simply trying to throw me off the scent.
I was so engrossed in my task that I hardly bothered to look up when Erica came marching back. She was smirking at me as though she had just been granted an all-expenses-paid trip to Milan.
‘Oh, hi again, Erica,’ I said heartily, when she finally caught my eye. This time, wonder of wonders, she didn’t ignore me totally; instead, she gave me a funny sort of grunt. It was certainly not the most attractive noise that had ever escaped from her lips, but it was a start, I guessed. Then I noticed that Janet had been very smartly bringing up the rear. She was wearing one of her signature, puffy-sleeved apricot blouses, which she had teamed with an A-line black skirt, beige court shoes and a pair of outsized gold baubles on her ears, which set off the outfit quite nicely. She was at her officious best, her lips pursed, her eyes intent—a woman on a mission.
‘Savannah! Mr Shaw would like to see you in his office immediately,’ she said, throwing Erica a conspiratorial look so intense that it made the baubles on her ears quiver alarmingly.
Clearly something momentous was about to take place—but what? I hadn’t done anything wrong as far as I knew. Well, except possibly compromise my journalistic integrity by sleeping with a source close to the Evanses. But Tim couldn’t be privy to that yet, could he? Anyway, I never insinuated that I was a nun when I took the job, and it really wasn’t any of the boss’s business whom I slept with. The whole thing just came down to how I handled the pillow talk.
‘Follow me now, please,’ said Janet grimly. She was standing at my desk like a flamboyantly dressed detective at a major crime scene. It seemed that I was under news-room arrest, so I got up and followed her across the news floor. I could feel Erica’s eyes boring into my back. Oh dear, this potential walk of shame was beginning to become a habit. I still didn’t understand why Janet could not just pick up the phone and summon me to the boss’s office.
‘There you are, Savannah,’ Tim said. As ever, his greeting was warm. ‘Did you enjoy the party last night? Let’s sit down over here.’ He gestured to the two mismatched red couches in his office, which were placed on either side of a wooden coffee table circa 1967. I noticed he was dressed more casually today in a light blue safari shirt, chinos and a sports jacket, but there was a suit hanging up in front of a cupboard next to the banners from various of the paper’s recent front pages, including one of my own stories: BILLIONAIRE’S MISTRESS TELLS ALL. The billionaire’s mistress in question had never spoken to me again because I had promised her that I would take a restrained, sensitive approach to her profile. It wasn’t my fault that the headline writers had then gone mad.
I arranged myself on one sofa, trying to fold my legs in such a way that the skirt of the suit I’d bought on sale at a high street store did not ride up. It was not an outfit to wear when you were in trouble with the boss because there were too many elements to it that could go wrong. It had a tendency to crease badly and look like an old rag when I stood up but, from a distance, running around the office it had been fine. From now on I was always going to wear something expensive and no-nonsense when I was in the firing line because at least then it was possible to exit looking like a winner and not some desperate sad sack in badly fitting clothes.
But perhaps I had nothing to worry about. Despite being marched into his office by my arresting officer, Janet, if I had to describe Tim’s mood at present, the word that I might use was ‘chipper’. In fact, he was quite animated. It was puzzling.
‘This is much more relaxed, isn’t it?’ Tim said, unfolding his big frame on the couch opposite and rubbing his hands together to suggest that we could now get down to work.
‘What a party that was last night,’ he marvelled. ‘Didn’t you think so?’
‘Spectacular.’
He seemed not to have noticed that his assistant was still hovering around the door expectantly until he suddenly looked up and saw her there. ‘That will be all, Janet,’ he said crisply, then added, ‘And, by the way, I didn’t indicate that Savannah had to come and see me straight away. I said that she should drop by at her convenience. Please pay more attention to my instructions next time, okay?’
Oops.
Janet just stood there in all of her apricot voile glory with her mouth opening and closing like a goldfish’s. ‘Yes, sir. Sorry, sir,’ she said at last, then skedaddled without even a glance in my direction.
Tim eased his mighty frame around on his seat again, one leg of his chinos creeping up his shin to reveal the scuffed brown cowboy boots that were his little act of rebellion against the corporate world. Resting on his lap was a folder containing several sheets of printed paper.
‘I’m sorry that I didn’t get to spend more time with you at the party last night,’ Tim began regretfully. ‘We lost each other for a while and then I was set upon by just about every man and his dog who had a bone to pick with the newspaper.’
‘You think you had problems—I ran straight into Wes Heart in the room set aside for desserts and he seemed committed into turning me into a mound of quivering jelly.’
Tim put his head back and roared with laughter. I didn’t think it was that funny. ‘Really? What was Wes’s
problem?’ he asked when he had recovered himself.
I gazed at him incredulously. Had he truly forgotten that I had been investigating a story on an assault which, if proven, could see Wes Heart in prison? (It was no wonder he wasn’t exactly delighted to run into me.)
‘Uh, you remember that story about him slugging the gatecrasher?’ I reminded him. ‘The one that Dennis Quinn called you about?’
‘Oh, yes, of course. But you didn’t write anything in the end, did you?’
‘Not yet—but after last night, I’m going to have another shot at getting his victim on the record.’
‘Good idea. Give it your best, Savannah. Try to get him to sign a statutory declaration. Of course, it would help our case if he had made a formal complaint to the police.’
Oh, is that all I have to do? Easy.
‘Wes boasted that the bloke is currently on an all-expenses-paid trip to Bali,’ I told him, ‘but there’s a chance he’s bluffing, trying to put me off the scent.’ Recalling the unpleasant expression on Heart’s face and his grip on my arm that was so tight I expected that he would have left finger marks, I added darkly, ‘I just hope it’s nothing more sinister, and that the kid isn’t at the beach in Bali wearing concrete boots.’
Tim shook his head in disgust. ‘What a mongrel Wes is—but he definitely wouldn’t go that far. What he has to remember is that no one can escape the law forever if they keep using their fists when they’re drunk.’
Silence fell and I watched him warily, wondering when he was going to get to the point. I was sure he hadn’t summoned me here just to exchange party gossip.
‘Did anything else happen, Savannah?’ the editor asked. ‘Sounds like you had a thrilling night out.’
If only he knew just how thrilling. Was he about to give me a hard time about the fortune teller? I wondered. Or had he heard about me leaving the party with Daniel? Perhaps he had learned that Alex and Jacqueline Evans had turned up and was now wondering why I didn’t have the story for him.
