by Ros Reines
At least the negative profile didn’t seem to have made much of an impact. The phone kept ringing with producers wishing to have me on everything from television panel shows to talkback radio to discuss the poison-pen letter. I could kind of see Erica’s point; you’d think that they’d all be bored with the subject by now. I was becoming quite tired of myself. But in a town as indiscreet as Sydney, the notion of a gossip columnist becoming the victim of a spicy hate campaign was just too delicious to resist.
In fact it had become such a media storm that complete strangers had started coming up to me at the local shops, wanting an update. I was everywhere. The Sydney News had responded quickly, rushing an ad into print which was now plastered on the sides of buses. Alongside a big picture of my face were the words Savannah Stephens—The columnist who won’t be stopped. Overnight I had become one of the most well-known commentators in Sydney, and far from drying up, invitations to parties and events had been pouring in. I was even invited out to speak at a couple of corporate functions. And the question most often asked of me was whether I knew who was behind the campaign. I did, of course, but nothing could induce me to reveal it; I was biding my time, waiting for my moment . . .
Something else surprising had happened as details of the note began to circulate widely. Within hours of the letter hitting desks and mailboxes all over town, the phone began ringing off the hook with the people who had supposedly signed it.
‘I had no idea that I was even on the list until some journalist rang me to ask about it,’ Lady Philippa Conroy had said indignantly. ‘I don’t believe that we have even met. And I must say, I have absolutely no issue with anything that you have written.’
‘Thank you, Lady Conroy,’ I replied sweetly. ‘I look forward to making your acquaintance sometime in the future.’
Did I love having so many establishment names call me up for a change instead of me having to try and pester them? Of course, I was lapping it up but I was under no illusion that I could rely on my new buddies in the future. This town was so fickle that a restaurant could open its doors and be hot one minute and all but deserted the next. In fact, Sydney’s socialites wore their shallowness and fickleness as a badge of honour.
Gertie Lovejoy had not appeared on the list of signatories, but she rang up anyway to offer her support. ‘Oh my god, Savannah, what have you done? There’s someone out there who really doesn’t like you,’ she chuckled. ‘Tell you what, let’s have lunch and get to the bottom of it and I can tell you how we’re progressing with the wedding plans. How about Bon Appetit in Double Bay at one o’clock?’
It took me all of a hot minute to make up my mind about that. ‘Great, I’ll be there,’ I said.
Bon Appetit garden restaurant in Double Bay, with its old-fashioned menu and its ivy-covered terrace, was the setting for as much social naughtiness as the Taj. Young stockmarket traders double-parked outside in their flashy cars and kept an eye on them from the bar overlooking the street. But the real action was always taking place in the garden courtyard at the back where certain socialites would get so giddy from table hopping that they’d often kick off their shoes and run around barefoot.
Gertie Lovejoy and her friends always took the big round table at the end in the centre of the courtyard and, in no time at all, Bon Appetit would be filled with the sound of their raucous laughter.
But today’s lunch was much more intimate. When I arrived Gertie was already waiting for me at one of the booths on the side with the champagne poured and an array of bread sticks, olives and cheesy bites in front of her.
‘Something to munch on while we decide what we’re eating,’ she explained, handing me a glass and clinking it with her own. ‘Let’s drink to the author of your poison-pen letter,’ she cried. ‘He or she has made you famous.’
‘To whoever wrote it,’ I joined in merrily, while admiring her outfit. Gertie was in a midi-length Missoni dress with a huge diamond G on a thick gold chain around her neck. She was also wearing a pair of Manolo Blahnik heels so high that she would surely be at risk of falling down whenever she decided to stand up—although knowing of her aptitude for lunching long and hard, that wouldn’t be any time soon.
‘So tell me, Savannah,’ Gertie said, after we had polished off the first glass of the bubbles and almost demolished the array of nibbles. Her voice had turned suddenly serious. ‘How well do you know Daniel Acton?’
Twelve
After the week I’d had, if the Joker had offered me an all-expenses-paid week in some subterranean resort in Gotham City, I would have snapped it up just for the opportunity of getting out of town. Fortunately, Daniel had got in first: we were going to have two blissful days at Ayers Rock and I couldn’t wait.
Of course, Gertie Lovejoy’s warning that all might not be exactly as it seemed when it came to my lover had unnerved me a little bit. It was what I had been thinking anyway, a niggling thought that I tried to push away: This is too good to be true. Daniel was everything that I wanted in a man—witty, urbane and not locked into a boring nine-to-five job that I couldn’t accommodate. He was also so charismatic that I couldn’t believe he would pick someone like me. So when the return airline ticket had turned up just as he said it would, I felt positively elated.
‘I’ll meet your flight at Ayers Rock airport,’ he said. ‘And we’re booked into the Desert Oasis, a brand-new resort—in fact some of it is still under construction, but I’m sure you’re going to love it.’
I didn’t care where we stayed; all I wanted was to be close to him and to breathe in his intoxicating scent. ‘It sounds fantastic, Daniel. I wish I was there now and didn’t have to deal with the possibility of any more dramas on The Sydney News.’
‘Hang in there at work,’ he counselled me over the phone. ‘Remember that just by showing up each day and doing your best, you’re probably aggravating your detractors more than if you confronted them head on.’
‘That’s great advice—thanks.’ And, actually, he was probably right; the more I concentrated on my work at the office, the more powerful I felt. There was no upside in acting the part of a victim.
It was only when I was finally on the plane on my way to Ayers Rock with my suitcase full of mangled holiday clothes (there had only been time to pack at the last minute) that I started to question the sanity of what I was doing. I was flying to the centre of Australia to meet a man I hardly knew, and was now beholden to him because he had paid for my flights and accommodation. At least I had enough cash with me to fly home if I had to, although admittedly it was next month’s rent money.
‘You must be nuts going away with him like that,’ said my girlfriend Rachael, the eccentric owner of Frenchy’s Cafe in Paddington. From her vantage point, working the floor at her trendy eatery, Rachael was able to observe Sydney’s fashionable set at their very worst—jockeying for the best tables, drinking copious quantities of wine and then becoming a bit silly and sadly trooping in the next day feeling sorry for themselves with monumental hangovers. It wasn’t pretty. As a result she was naturally suspicious, especially where a certain type of man was concerned; specifically, the ones who hung around Sydney’s Eastern Suburbs. With her blonde, pixie haircut and her trademark hot pink overalls, Rachael gave them short shrift.
‘How do you know he’s not an axe murderer?’ she’d demanded. ‘Or a serial killer?’
‘Because if he wanted to murder me, he wouldn’t have to fly me out of town to do it. He could have just killed me at home,’ I argued, aware of how bizarre it was to have an argument about my own possible demise.
‘Okay, but call me if you get into trouble,’ she insisted. ‘In fact, call me even if you don’t get into a tight spot, just so that I know that you’re safe.’
‘Who are you, my mother?’ I grumbled. ‘She’s not the least bit concerned that I’m having a weekend away. She thinks I need it.’
‘Yeah, right. If you wanted to get out of town so badly for a few days, we could have just had a weekend in the Blue Mountain
s.’
She had no idea that this wasn’t nearly as alluring as Daniel who was fast becoming one of the most attractive men in town, as far as I was concerned. I was almost breathless in anticipation of spending time with him.
There had been no point in arguing with her any further—I was going and that was that—but now, in the air, I was having second thoughts. As the plane levelled out and there was nothing but clouds beneath us, I tried to take my mind off the butterflies in my tummy by reading a book, but it was impossible to concentrate. The airline magazine yielded even less to hold my interest, and it was too early in the day to have a drink—although I was certainly tempted.
A group of men, unshaven, in tattered jeans and battered caps—most likely construction workers returning to a major project—were already ripping into cans of XXXX beer. They looked like they had been up all night and smelled like they had as well, exuding a heady mixture of beer, sweat and last night’s garlic-laden kebabs.
I sat back in my seat, closed my eyes and tried to think positive thoughts, but instead I found myself replaying what Gertie Lovejoy had told me over lunch in Double Bay. One of her daughter Chloe’s friends, Rebecca, had dated Daniel. The relationship had been serious apparently—there had been an understanding that an engagement would be forthcoming but one day he had simply disappeared. No call, no note, no explanation, nothing. When he finally emerged six months later, he did not attempt to contact her and apparently had little desire to see her again. She was crushed.
‘I tell you, Savannah, it was the most mysterious thing,’ Gertie said.
‘There must have been some sort of argument,’ I suggested.
‘But there wasn’t. Rebecca thought they were fine, but then suddenly he was gone. To this day she has no idea what went wrong.’
I didn’t want to say anything but plenty of relationships end that way with one party clueless about what may have triggered the other to leave. Sometimes they are just never the wiser.
‘How did you know that I was seeing him?’ I asked. I thought we had been discreet.
‘Oh, people talk, Savannah. You of all people should know that,’ Gertie replied. ‘But you’re a nice girl and I don’t want you to get hurt. Date Daniel if you must—he’s good-looking, I’ll give you that—but you should definitely keep your options open. Maybe you’ll meet someone at the wedding? There will certainly be lots of gorgeous young men there,’ she said, winking at me.
Despite the feeling of emptiness that was settling over me, I tried to laugh off her warning. ‘Don’t worry about me,’ I said with a smile. ‘I don’t have time for a man; it’s hard enough just trying to keep up with the demands of my job. Daniel and I are just friends. There’s nothing else going on.’ Maybe it wasn’t far from the truth. This relationship that I had concocted in my head was probably nothing more than a fling but, in my mind, we were soul mates and would be together forever—at least that’s what I thought when I was feeling positive.
Gertie had just raised an eyebrow. ‘I hope that’s true,’ she said. ‘For your sake.’
With those unsettling words echoing in my head, I drifted off to sleep, only to wake up as the plane was descending in the Red Centre.
The pilot came over the loudspeaker. ‘In five minutes we will be starting our descent into Connellan Airport at Ayers Rock, where the temperature is a very pleasant twenty-three degrees but climbing up to the forties later this afternoon. Those of you on the left-hand side of the plane will soon be able to see Ayers Rock itself.’
I glanced out of the window and sure enough, there it was: a mysterious red mountain rising out of the earth.
Something told me that this weekend was going to be unforgettable and, despite my misgivings, I started to feel excited again. Rummaging around in my make-up bag, I hastily applied some lipstick and then spritzed myself with perfume before surveying myself in the tiny compact mirror. I wasn’t exactly looking sharp, but at least there wasn’t anything radically wrong with my face like a sudden breakout of stress pimples. If I fluffed my hair a little bit more, and didn’t look too hard in the mirror, I could almost seem glamorous. Well, that was the look that I was going for anyway. I was a comic book heroine.
We landed with a thud and taxied to the terminal. I had planned to act all cool and laid-back, waiting until the plane had emptied out a little before making my way to the exit in a leisurely fashion. Instead I pushed my way down the aisle like a wild thing because I really could not wait to see Daniel’s face again.
I hadn’t really anticipated that he would be waiting on the tarmac at the bottom of the stairs as the passengers made their way into the terminal building, but I did expect him to be front and centre at the arrivals gate—which was where he’d said that he would meet me. Still, the captain had said that we were arriving ten minutes before our scheduled time, I reminded myself. Perhaps Daniel was just running late, and he would be waiting for me out at the baggage carousel, but there was no sign of him. I waited for my luggage, trying to stay calm and unconcerned as I scanned the deeply tanned, casually dressed crowd. Still no Daniel.
It was only after I had grabbed my battered suitcase from the carousel and was wheeling it forlornly towards the door that I noticed a man in a driver’s uniform with a handwritten sign bearing my name. What the . . . ?
‘I’m Savannah Stephens,’ I told him.
The chauffeur looked me up and down carefully for a second or two. Clearly I was not what he had been expecting. ‘Ah, yes, Miss Stephens. Mr Acton sends his apologies; he has been caught up in a meeting, so I will be taking you to the Desert Oasis this morning. Mr Acton said that you should check in and he will call you once the meeting has finished.’
‘Oh, okay, fine,’ I said, trying to disguise my disappointment.
My slight sense of panic—was Daniel going to disappear on me like he had on Rebecca?—was allayed somewhat when we arrived at the brand new, gleaming resort with its tented ceilings made from what looked like sail cloth and carefully cultivated gardens, which were visible through the glass doors at the rear of the area. The staff at reception were expecting me, and I was shown straight to our room.
I followed Jed—a young porter who was wearing a cheesy uniform of short-sleeved shirt with an Indigenous print and khaki cargo pants—out into the gardens and past the large swimming pool and spa. Several villas were dotted around the pool area, which was crowded with guests, including a large group of Asian tourists with daggy sun hats with veils and corks to keep the flies away. Oh great, I was really going to fit in here.
None of the luxe trappings of Alex and Jacqueline Evans were evident—I’d heard their style ran more to large expanses of marble and Mediterranean furnishings. I wondered where the fascinating couple were and where the meeting was taking place.
Finally, we arrived at the most remote of the villas, situated at the edge of the hotel’s boundary with the desert. It was a little eerie, especially when I looked down at the red earth to see a strange-looking reptile. I let out a small scream.
‘Is everything okay?’ Jed asked with a smirk. He looked to be no older than twenty, with sandy hair and flashy white teeth. The young porter was clearly used to people freaking out about the native animals. ‘Oh, don’t worry about them,’ he said, kicking the red earth in the direction of the weird-looking lizard which was now scurrying away. ‘They can’t harm you and they’re really good at killing the flies and the other bugs around here. You’ll see a lot of them as you make your way through the different areas of the resort.
‘Really?’ I didn’t like wildlife at the best of times.
At least the room was a pleasant surprise, more like a suite with a proper sitting area. Resting on the coffee table there was an ice bucket with champagne and a cheese platter studded with dried fruits. And, most importantly, there was a note addressed to me. My heart flipped when I saw the familiar handwriting.
‘Is this the first time you’ve stayed with us?’ Jed enquired.
‘Yes,
it is.’
‘So I’ll just demonstrate the many features of the suite,’ he began.
‘No, that’s fine. I’m a little tired now, but if I need help with anything, I’ll call. Thank you.’ All I really wanted to do was to rip open Daniel’s note. I walked Jed to the door and handed him a five-dollar tip. It was the smallest note that I had in my wallet.
‘Thank you, ma’am,’ the porter said, clearly pleased at my largesse. ‘Would you like me to open the champagne for you before I go?’
‘No, that’s fine. Thank you.’ One of the benefits of my new job was that I had become a crack hand at popping corks since so many bottles of bubbles came my way.
The moment the door closed behind him, I opened Daniel’s note:
Dear Savannah,
Welcome to Ayers Rock. So, so sorry I couldn’t be there to meet you but I was called into a conference early this morning. Help yourself to the food and drink and feel free to explore the resort. I’ll be back in time for dinner.
Love,
Daniel
In time for dinner? So much for our blissful Saturday together.
What to do? I sat down heavily on the sofa. I hadn’t contemplated having time to myself this weekend. It would probably too hot to go out to the rock, so maybe I should just sit by the pool and relax? I stared at the cheese platter. Maybe I was hungry? I popped open the bottle of champagne and started to methodically work my way through the different cheeses in front of me. It was comfort food and in my vulnerable state I felt soothed by each mouthful while the bubbles took the edge off my anxiety.
Welcome to Ayers Rock, Savannah, I told myself, raising my glass. Looks like being a more intimate weekend than the one you’d planned. At least I was starting to see the funny side of it.
