by Ros Reines
I was hardly an expert on divorce—I only wrote about them—but I had vaguely heard something about the injured party exercising their right to retain the property. My biggest concern for poor Scarlet, given her pattern of eccentric behaviour, was that her husband would try to have her committed. And because of the havoc she’d wreaked this morning, he might be able to do it on the grounds that she was at risk of hurting herself. She really needed to have her own lawyer present, and fast. I was definitely overstepping my role as a gossip columnist by trying to influence the outcome of a story, but there was something touching and quite vulnerable about Scarlet. She was the sort of woman I would have loved to have as a friend in a different set of circumstances, because she always spoke her mind and she was a lot of fun. Scarlet was like a shining light in the Eastern Suburbs, where everyone was so fake—from their Rimmel eyelashes to hiding their true feelings of revulsion from their rich spouses.
‘You’re right,’ she sniffed, dropping down off her stool and searching for her handbag and Filofax. ‘I do know one who specialises in divorces. Lady Victoria gave me his name because she said that a woman should always be prepared, especially when it comes to wealthy husbands.’
While Scarlet searched for the number, I tried to corral the broken glass and china into one pile, but there was so much of it I barely made a dent.
‘Don’t worry about that,’ Scarlet called, sounding cheerful now as she dialled the lawyer’s number. ‘The cleaner will be in this afternoon and she can deal with it.’
Now I could hear her on the phone talking with someone and telling them they had to come right over. At least she sounded coherent. I quickly looked around for my handbag. Was that tape recorder still on? I hadn’t wanted to fiddle with it when she was unburdening herself with the story.
‘He’s coming right over,’ she said with some satisfaction, no doubt relieved that she was making some positive moves to resolve the issue.
‘That’s great, Scarlet. Look, should I have someone remove the clothes from the driveway? It doesn’t look good in the present situation.’ I was also wondering whether I should try to get her to have the smashed car moved, but would that mean that I was tampering with evidence? Was it a crime to smash your cheating husband’s car?
‘No, leave them where they are,’ she commanded. ‘I want to confront that bastard with them if he dares to show his face.’
I was pretty sure that he would be on his way by now, and even more certain that it was time for me to exit as quickly as I could.
‘Okay, Scarlet,’ I said gently, giving her a hug. ‘I think it’s best that I leave you alone so that you can prepare for your lawyer, and you definitely need to talk to him in private. I’ll give you a call later to see if you’re all right.’
‘Thank you, Savannah,’ she said sincerely. ‘I don’t know what I would have done without you. Are you sure you don’t want to stay and have another drink?’
‘No, sorry, I really have to get back to the office.’ But first, I was planning to hang around the driveway and try to get a quote from Shannon when he arrived. Being found on the driveway was far less inflammatory than actually confronting him in his own home. Feeling like a rat now, I scampered out the door to take up my position outside. There was a small voice in my head telling me that the last thing Scarlet Graham needed was to make the front page of the newspaper. But luckily it was only a whisper, easily ignored.
SOCIALITE SELF-DESTRUCTS OVER MARRIAGE BREAK-UP
Neighbours in exclusive Elizabeth Bay, a suburb which boasts some of the most expensive bricks and mortar in Sydney, were in a state of shock yesterday thanks to former supermodel Scarlet Graham.
The one-time queen of the catwalk allegedly drove her advertising mogul husband Shannon Graham’s luxury Mercedes-Benz into the garage door of the multimillion-dollar harbourside mansion.
Stunned Billyard Avenue residents reported that the woman who made her name as the Richards stockings girl began throwing her husband’s clothes from the top floor window to the ground below from early on yesterday morning. Meanwhile the sound of breaking glass from inside the house rent the air.
‘I’d be surprised if there was any crystal left in that house, judging by all the commotion,’ said one well-dressed woman who refused to be named. ‘It’s going to be one hell of a clean-up job.’
‘My marriage is over,’ Mrs Graham tearfully revealed to The Sydney News in an exclusive interview. In what will no doubt come as a shock to their many friends and associates, Mrs Graham has alleged infidelity.
‘My husband has been seeing another woman,’ she cried.
However Shannon Graham, whose advertising agency is ranked the second largest in Australia, played down the incident.
‘It was all a misunderstanding,’ he commented. ‘Scarlet was simply helping to rehearse a fun, new commercial we are doing for one of our luxury automobile clients. She has a wicked sense of humour.’
However the former supermodel insisted that she had consulted her lawyer and an official statement would be issued soon.
Society observers estimate that the cost of the damages would be in excess of $200,000, including the replacement of Mr Graham’s handmade Jermyn Street suits, priceless crystal and china, along with certain family heirloom pieces. The car will also require extensive repairs.
The Grahams, who met when Scarlet was doing a shoot at the Sandy Lane resort in Barbados, have been married for a little under two years.
Shannon Graham was previously married to the Olympic athlete and philanthropist Marjorie Graham.
It was the story that all of Sydney was talking about—although it had to be significantly watered down after Shannon Graham had threatened to sue and warned that he would also remove all of his client’s lucrative advertising contracts from the newspaper group. The lawyers had wanted to pull it completely despite the photographic evidence (Justin’s clumsy efforts had thankfully paid off). However, the editor had stood by me and had insisted that the story was published. He had even given me another front-page photo by-line, which he ran with a shot of Scarlet and I sitting at the kitchen bench with the champagne bottle in her hand.
Unfortunately, Scarlet was also declining to comment further—on the advice of her lawyer—as her silence was key to the generous divorce settlement that Shannon Graham was willing to pay her. The other condition was that she would leave town for good.
Thanks to my scoop, I was once again the talk of the town . . . yet as the week wore on all I could think about was the deafening silence from Daniel. I had been expecting a call—to see that I’d made it home safely, to apologise once more for the ruined weekend—but I heard nothing. Well, I reflected, if a woman as gorgeous as Scarlet Graham could be rejected, what chance did I have?
Fourteen
I was so wrung out by the week’s end that I felt as though I had just spent twenty-four hours on the hop covering Sydney’s night life. There had been all the drama with Scarlet, the continued interest in the poison-pen letter, and I was also consumed by the story on Wes Heart, while trying to unravel the Evanses’ many business interests. Still, the sight of the message light flashing on my answering machine when I opened the door to my apartment was like an instant shot of adrenalin. I hesitated for a couple of minutes before hitting the playback button; what if none of the messages were from Daniel? I’d rather live with the possibility that he had called than be confronted by the proof that he had not.
Finally, I pushed the button and the machine whirled into action. ‘Hi Savannah, it’s Daniel. I’m back in town and I’d love to see you. If you’re free, why don’t you come over to my place and we’ll order in something? I’m not really up to going out at the moment. Anyway, give me a call.’
I looked at my watch; it was 7.15 pm. Was I already too late? He might have made other plans by now. I dialled his number with trembling fingers, as nervous as a schoolgirl and hating myself for being so pathetic—so much for playing it cool.
Daniel an
swered on the first ring. ‘Savannah! It’s so good to hear your voice. You’ve called at exactly the right time, I was just about to order dinner. How long before you can get here?’ He gave me the address of his flat in Bondi.
My fatigue was forgotten, replaced by euphoria, as I hastily changed into sexier underwear, pulled on a pair of faded fashionably ripped jeans from the King’s Road, a favourite T-shirt, a sweater and some sandals, then headed out to find a cab.
Daniel’s apartment spanned the entire top floor of a ramshackle building at the northern end of Campbell Parade overlooking the beach. It was a massive space, made bigger by the white-painted walls and minimal furniture—just a circular leather couch, a big wooden coffee table with surfing magazines piled on top of it and a matching wooden dining table with eight solid chairs. A couple of ancient looking, solid candlestick holders sat in the middle with the still healthy stubs of some ochre coloured candles. I instantly wondered who he had been entertaining before brushing the thought from my mind—they could be months old. This was definitely a beach pad, I thought, noting a stack of surfboards of various shapes and sizes lined up on the deck with its million-dollar views of Bondi below.
‘Oh, Savannah, it’s so good to see you,’ said Daniel, wrapping his tanned arms around me the moment he opened the door. ‘I was afraid that you wouldn’t want to know me after the Ayers Rock debacle—and I wouldn’t have blamed you. You must have wondered what was going on just coming all that way and then hanging around by yourself. It’s a wonder you kept a lid on it for as long as you did. But I’ve really missed you,’ he said, spanning his hands around my waist.
‘That’s okay, Daniel. Though, you know, on the way here I was wondering whether I would be dining solo again,’ I teased, deciding to make light of the situation. The scent of him was starting to send me into overdrive and I thought I might actually buckle at the knees. ‘I’ve missed you too.’
It seemed to happen in an instant: one moment we were hugging, the next we were ripping each other’s clothes off in a frenzy of animalistic lust. We were feral, almost falling over the back of the couch and then we were rolling around on the rug before Daniel half-led, half-carried me into the bedroom.
We didn’t come up for air again for what seemed like an hour but was probably much less, and then we lay entwined, somewhere between wakefulness and sleep, as the deep tremors of passion finally subsided. I was suddenly filled with the intense longing for what had been missing from my life—a regular boyfriend who would be there for me. It was the raw honesty of stripping away all the social graces to just be myself in front of another person. The companionship of just lying contentedly next to Daniel without needing to analyse what had just happened. Since I had returned to Sydney from London, I’d been so occupied with playing a role and getting ahead that I had forgotten about my own needs. The main concern now was that, thanks to his turbulent corporate life, it was all going to be taken from me as he dealt with whatever was happening with his career.
‘So what’s going on with Leisure Time?’ I asked, hoping to hear that the weekend’s crisis had been resolved at that everything was now fine. I had been researching the Evanses’ portfolio of companies since my return and discovered that it was Leisure Time which seemed to be most in need of life support, according to the finance analysts.
‘It doesn’t look good,’ Daniel said quietly, and then sat up in bed. ‘Look, Savannah, you haven’t said anything to anyone, have you?’ He was surprised by my sudden knowledge.
I thought guiltily about the discussions that I’d had with Rachael but I was pretty sure that she wouldn’t have let anything slip. She was not the kind of woman to indulge in idle gossip, especially knowing how serious the situation was.
‘No, of course not,’ I lied. I also thought it best not to mention that my jaunt to Ayers Rock had been noted and reported to the editor; after all, I hadn’t raised the name of Daniel or the Evanses in connection to my trip.
Daniel looked momentarily relieved, but then his face darkened again. ‘You know, Savannah, that if you do say something, you will have helped to hasten the corporate collapse of Leisure Time—a company with so much potential but just a few cash-flow problems. If the remaining investors get wind that there is some financial pressure, they’ll immediately pull up stakes. That would be curtains for Leisure Time and probably the end of you and me, because it would be some time before I was able to work in this town again—people tend to have long memories here when it comes to insolvency, especially involving such a high-profile company as Leisure Time.’
‘Got it,’ I said uneasily, wondering when I would be able to get Rachael on the phone to impress on her again the importance of staying quiet on the subject. However, I also thought that Daniel was probably being overly dramatic; companies went broke all the time and that didn’t usually mean that the directors had to leave town—unless they’d done something wrong, of course. Maybe the Evanses had been trading while insolvent and he was in a lot deeper than he was letting on? It was particularly puzzling, because from the outset at least, Leisure Time appeared to be an established company with plenty of assets, which was only going through momentary strain. But, then, I was hardly a financial commentator. I decided that it was best not to question Daniel any further on what was going on. As long as I was a bit fuzzy on the ins and outs of the situation, I would never be able to betray him.
‘Sorry,’ he said, patting my thigh, ‘I didn’t mean to bark at you. I’ve just been almost consumed by trying to find a solution to the situation.’ Now he flashed me one of his most winning smiles. ‘But that’s enough of business talk. I think we have definitely earned ourselves a drink, don’t you?’
I nodded, happy to let the subject drop.
Daniel slid out of bed, returning with a bottle of cold wine and a couple of oversized wine glasses.
‘Here’s to us,’ he said, pouring what looked like half the bottle into each of the glasses. ‘Let’s toast to . . . um . . . fresh starts,’ he said cryptically.
‘Fresh starts,’ I responded, clinking crystal.
‘Now, how about something to eat? There’s a great Thai restaurant near here which delivers. Is that okay with you?’
‘Sure, anything—I’m starving.’
Thirty minutes later we were sitting down at the dining table overlooking the sea and the lights of Bondi with a feast of Thai food in front of us. It doesn’t get much better than this, I thought. Great sex followed by delicious food, and I’m feeling relaxed enough to sit here in nothing more than a T-shirt and knickers. I would gladly turn my back on every red carpet and designer gown just to hang out in this beach pad.
I looked across at Daniel; bare-chested with just a faded sarong around his lean hips, he looked like any other surfer in Bondi. If the business crumbled, couldn’t he just take some time off and chill by the beach? Maybe we could start a business together—he could sell surfboards and I could design a range of swimwear. Life could be so simple but so rewarding; all we really needed was each other.
We were almost finished eating when the phone rang and I was a bit surprised when Daniel jumped up to answer it. ‘Yes?’ he said curtly, snatching up the receiver.
I could just make out a man’s voice on the other end of the line, though I couldn’t quite hear what he was saying. Daniel had not only turned his back to me but he was walking as far away as the cord would allow.
‘Look, can it wait?’ he said. ‘How about tomorrow morning?’
Whoever was on the other end of the line clearly did not take kindly to that suggestion, as Daniel sighed and ran a hand through his hair. ‘Okay, then. But could you give me an hour or two?’
The other person was talking fast, and even without hearing the words I could sense the urgency of his tone.
‘Okay,’ Daniel responded wearily. ‘Okay, I’ll be here.’
Returning to the table, he took a few moments to collect himself while I pretended not to have noticed the interruption and busied
myself stacking some of the empty containers.
‘Let me do that,’ he said, reaching out to stop me. ‘Look, why don’t you go and have a shower and then let’s go for a walk on the beach, maybe grab a couple of ice creams for dessert.’
‘Okay, sure,’ I said cheerily. ‘Sounds like a plan.’
Daniel’s bathroom was impressively modern, which was a surprise given the age of the building. It was all gleaming white tiles and bare surfaces, a very different look than my own cluttered bathroom, with piles of make-up around the sink and a cupboard bursting with useless products.
I was just about to turn on the hot water when I heard the buzzer go and then the sound of Daniel opening the front door. Then I heard another male voice, seemingly giving him some kind of directions. I could make out lots of thumps, which sounded like heavy objects being moved along the hallway. Standing there with no clothes on, I suddenly felt vulnerable. Who was out there, and what was going on? Clearly Daniel had been expecting someone, and that was why he’d urged me to have a shower. Was he involved in something illegal? What if the police came knocking? Would I be implicated?
Telling myself I was being ridiculous, I stepped into the shower. At least standing under the spray I couldn’t hear anything that was going on outside, and could pretend that nothing was amiss.
When I finally emerged from the bathroom, dressed in the clothes that I had arrived in, I found Daniel busy moving a container into what seemed to be a spare room. I noticed the label on the outside, which read, Property of Leisure Time (Silverware). Judging by the size of the container, there must have been some extremely large pieces inside.
‘Oh, hi.’ Daniel beamed at me. ‘You look like a new woman. I just have a little bit of work to deal with and then we’ll go for a walk. Why don’t you just sit on the couch there and make yourself at home.’
