The Social Diary

by Ros Reines

  The spare room door was open just wide enough for me to see that there were lots of different shipping containers lined up with labels describing the contents as antiques, paintings and light fittings. Was Daniel’s place some kind of warehouse for the company? Looking away quickly, I went to sit on the couch and started to thumb through a magazine without even being aware of what I was looking at.

  ‘All done,’ said Daniel at last, firmly closing the door behind him and walking towards me. ‘Come on.’ He extended his hand. ‘Let’s go and take that walk on the beach—it’s the perfect time to be there because all of the tourists have finally gone home.’

  Five minutes later we were plodding across the sand carrying our shoes. For a while we said nothing, just held hands and walked slowly along the shoreline. Despite all the mystery that surrounded him, it felt pretty good just being by his side—not feeling the need to be entertaining or to make small talk. It had been a long time since I had felt that sense of calmness around anyone.

  There were a few stragglers on the grassy knoll overlooking Bondi—people like us who were not content to give up on the day until it was pitch black. We walked past the kiddies’ pool, clambering onto the rocks until Daniel led me into a recess between two boulders.

  ‘You look so beautiful—as if you belong down here at the beach,’ he said, pushing me into the hollow of the rock and pressing his body against my own. I could taste the spicy saltiness on his tongue from the Thai food and feel the warmth of his skin. For a while we stayed like that, exploring each other with our fingers and our lips. I was almost shaky by the time he helped me to clamber down from the rocks and onto the beach again.

  ‘Thank you for a wonderful evening, Savannah.’ He turned to me as the silvery moon lit up the foam on the crest of the waves. ‘I’m going to have to take a raincheck on that ice cream, though, because I have a very busy night ahead of me. You saw all those crates that have arrived? They have to be shipped out by the morning.’

  ‘Really, why?’ I asked before I could stop myself. It was better not to know, I reminded myself. Whatever was going on, I didn’t want to be involved.

  ‘Ah, they’re on consignment and so they have to go back straight away. It’s not usually my responsibility to handle that kind of stuff,’ he explained, sounding a little nervous, ‘but the person who was running that department had to be let go, given the financial situation, so we’re all working in several different areas at present just to ensure that everything keeps ticking over.’

  ‘Of course,’ I agreed. It sounded logical, but a small voice inside my head insisted that this wasn’t the whole story.

  ‘Come on,’ said Daniel, giving me one last hug on Campbell Parade. ‘Let me call you a cab.’

  Fifteen

  ‘We need to work on your dress for the wedding.’ Laurence Lavin cut to the chase in that well-known raspy voice of his the moment I answered the phone on my desk. ‘You never came back for the final fitting.’ He sounded concerned, as if he knew that I was in danger of creating a fashion faux pas and wearing something that ‘reeked of chain store’ to such an important event.

  Of course, I knew instantly which wedding he was talking about since the Lovejoy nuptials was the main topic of conversation in the smart cafes and restaurants of the Eastern Suburbs. It was all about who had been invited and who had been left off the list, plus the rumoured size of the budget. Would it be Sydney’s first million-dollar wedding? Surely not—that would be too vulgar even for the eighties, which were already being referred to as the ‘new age of excess’.

  I had been hitting every contact that I had for the low-down on the details of the society wedding of the year as preparations progressed, and readers of The Sydney News had been gobbling up the morsels as fast as I could print them. My most recent column had revealed that three of the best chefs in the country were each creating a course as part of the wedding breakfast. One was apparently using real gold leaf on the petit fours. Two of the biggest event gurus had joined forces to work on the wedding, an extravaganza on a scale never seen before. I’d heard from one music industry informant that Aretha Franklin had even been booked to serenade the newlyweds, though this had not yet been confirmed by anyone with authority. Every time I approached Gertie with the latest wedding rumour, she would just shriek with laughter.

  ‘Why not?’ she had bellowed. ‘Sounds like a good idea.’

  I had been so busy trying to find out as many details as possible, which also meant adding florists and cake-makers to my Filofax of contacts, it was no wonder that I had completely overlooked my own outfit. Besides, when I wasn’t working I was mostly fixated on Daniel and scouring the financial press for mentions of Leisure Time.

  Now here was the guru of the gown, the king of construction, Laurence Lavin chasing me up for not bothering to have another fitting for the creation he had fashioned just for the occasion. What was wrong with me?

  ‘So when can you come in, Savannah?’ Laurence sounded downright exasperated.

  ‘Tomorrow some time?’ I ventured.

  He sighed heavily. ‘No, I meant when are you coming in today? Tomorrow is not an option. The wedding is less than a week away!’

  ‘Okay, I’ll be there at two,’ I promised.

  ‘Make sure that it’s not a second later,’ warned the designer in a way that left me in no doubt that if I messed with the arrangements, I would be buying my own dress at Kmart if I was lucky.

  Going to see him would mean taking a large chunk out of my afternoon, but it would not be a useless exercise; I was sure to pick up a few stories when Coco de Chine was ‘accidentally’ sticking a few pins into me. She seemed to know everything that was happening in town—who was sleeping with whom and even which lingerie they were wearing at the time.

  Remembering the midnight blue silk taffeta which Laurence found for me I felt a surge of excitement. For once I would be dressed as though I belonged in Sydney’s social swim. Adding to my excitement was Gertie’s revelation that she had reluctantly put Daniel on the guest list. It was diplomatic to include him because he was one of Troy’s circle of sports associates: they had apparently bonded during an Iron Man challenge in Surfers Paradise a few years ago. The bad news was that Daniel’s beautiful ex, Rebecca, would be there; I had no doubt she would be going all out to show him what he was missing because I was sure she was still bruised from the way their relationship had abruptly ended. But thanks to Laurence, I’d be able to give her a run for her money.

  Another downside was that my editor, Tim, had been invited to the wedding too—he got on exceedingly well with Peter Lovejoy—so once again Tim would be keeping a close eye on me all night to ensure that I was doing my job. If he saw me lovingly interacting with Daniel he might easily reach the conclusion that this had been my mysterious lover who had flown me to Ayers Rock. And once he made the connection between Daniel and the Evanses, I was going to be in a lot of strife for not mentioning that I had infiltrated their circle. What’s more, if their business imploded and it was proven that I’d had the inside running on it but had said nothing, my career as a gossip columnist would definitely blow up as well. I had already decided that if Daniel and I were seated together, I was going to have to pretend that I had just met him and then keep circulating through the crowd. This was going to be tricky, but I knew Daniel would understand the delicacy of the situation. On the phone he had even suggested to me that if Leisure Time collapsed within the next few days, he would not be turning up to the wedding because he would have to face the wrath of some prime money men who would be there from the big end of town. (The Evanses had used their social status and glamour on the social scene to persuade various high-profile fat cats to put money into their business.)

  I had no sooner put the phone down after Laurence Lavin’s call when it immediately rang again. I thought maybe he had made a mistake with the appointment, but no such luck.

  ‘Savannah?’

  ‘Yes? Who is this?’ even though I’d re
cognised the accent immediately.

  ‘It’s Lahar Kapoor.’

  ‘Hi, Lahar. Great to hear from you,’ I lied. ‘But I’m afraid I’ll have to call you back; I’ve just been summoned to see my editor and I can’t keep him waiting.’ I knew exactly why he was calling and there was no way I wanted to be drawn into a conversation with him.

  ‘Of course, Savannah. But just let me say that I am now willing to double the money if you can get me an invitation to the Lovejoy wedding. Is that clear? Will you think about it? I’ll pay you in cash once I get that invite in my hand.’

  ‘Sorry, got to run now. I’ll call you back.’ I glanced at Erica, who was staring at me intently. No doubt her ears had pricked up when she had heard me say Lahar’s name and seen the stricken look on my face. Dealing with him today was the last thing that I needed.

  Replacing the receiver, I looked around and gave her a wave. ‘How’s it going, Erica? Do you have much on at the moment?’ I enjoyed pretending that I was oblivious to her antipathy towards me.

  ‘Yes, of course,’ she responded crossly and then, unable to stop herself for once, she hit back. ‘There’s a new season coming in, so there are many showings and appointments that I have to attend.’ She gave me a knowing look. ‘I certainly don’t have time to go flitting off to Ayers Rock for the weekend. And, by the way, how is Lahar?’

  ‘Oh, you really should go to the Red Centre, Erica; it’s such an inspirational place. Have you ever been there?’ It was now obvious that Erica was the one who had gone running to Tim about my weekend away. But who had tipped her off? Once more I drew a blank. I certainly didn’t see her stalking around the airport and she would be hard to miss. The Sydney News’s fashion editor was not someone who blended in.

  ‘No, I’ve never had that pleasure.’ She paused. ‘But then I rarely take freebies. I worry that they might compromise my position.’

  ‘Oh, yes, they absolutely would,’ I said. What a cheek! Erica took freebies all the time. Her extensive designer wardrobe was sent to her courtesy of her contacts, who were hoping for some glowing coverage. But, for the moment, I decided to play my cards close to my chest.

  ‘And how is Lahar?’ she asked again pointedly. Clearly she thought he was the one who had sponsored my trip to the Red Centre—but in exchange for what?

  ‘Oh, he’s being the usual pest,’ I said pleasantly. ‘He’s trying to wrangle his way into the wedding; he even tried to bribe me. I had to make Tim aware of it and I told Gertie Lovejoy all about it when we had lunch the other day. Has he been pestering you too?’

  Erica shuddered. ‘No, of course not. I try to keep away from that horrible little man.’

  ‘That’s very wise, Erica.’

  This was probably another one of the longest conversations that we’d ever had, but it had been worth the verbal sparring: at least now I knew she’d had no clue that I had flown to Ayers Rock to see Daniel. Erica had obviously decided that Lahar Kapoor had organised the trip for me as some sort of freebie.

  Right on cue, the phone rang again, and this time it was Daniel.

  ‘Savannah? How are you?’

  ‘Fantastic,’ I said, feeling a little shot of pleasure hit the back of my knees at the sound of his voice.

  ‘Look, do you think you could come over again tonight after work?’

  I paused for a moment, wondering if we had already progressed to the casual dating practice of just hanging out at each other’s places. It wasn’t the way I like to play it so early in the piece, but I also found the idea of seeing Daniel tonight far too irresistible to refuse.

  ‘Of course. There’s a cocktail party I have to cover, but I could be there around eight. How’s that?’

  There was a silence on the other end of the phone as he seemed to deliberate about the timing. Should I try to skip the cocktail party altogether? No, it wasn’t possible; it was a charity event for Entre Nous, the first since Queen Bea had successfully fought off the mutiny led by Susie Carruthers. Bea had still not forgiven me for exposing her in all of her drunken glory, but she had made it clear that a glowing coverage of her cocktail party would go some way towards making amends.

  ‘All right.’ Daniel seemed to have reached a decision. ‘We’ll order in again because I need to talk to you without anyone overhearing us.’

  ‘Okay,’ I said, surprised by his serious tone. ‘Do you want me to bring anything?’

  ‘No, just yourself. Sorry, sweetie, but I have to hang up now; I have a lot to do. Try to make sure you’re here no later than eight, okay? I’ll explain why later.’

  I hung up with a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach. He had sounded so tense; I hoped everything was okay with the business. I recalled what he’d said about having to leave town if Leisure Time failed. And then where would that leave me? The free-spirited man whom I had already started to think of as my soul mate would be walking out of my life.

  It would be hard to continue with the tough job of hunting down gossip while knowing there would be no reprieve at the end of the day with someone who didn’t care at all about being part of the social scene. I started to feel empty just considering what it would be like with no Daniel in my life.

  Laurence Lavin was in no mood for idle chitchat by the time I’d pulled myself together and caught a cab to Edgecliff Road for our appointment. The minute I walked through the door of his atelier I was dispatched to the change room and hauled into the midnight blue gown by Coco, who was in fine form.

  ‘Pity you don’t have a waist, Savannah,’ she quipped, as Laurence cinched me in so tightly with his magic elastic belt that I could hardly breathe.

  Laurence shushed her and he and I studied my reflection in the mirror.

  ‘Wow, Laurence, you really are a miracle worker,’ I exclaimed, noticing that I had somehow acquired a cleavage, which was quite something to behold when you have breasts as small as mine. Granted, it wasn’t massive but I certainly looked much better endowed than I had when I walked in. He really was a genius at padding and cinching in—no wonder all the drag queens loved him.

  ‘I’ll say! Talk about making a silk purse out of a sow’s ear,’ said Coco drolly, doing her little bit to boost my confidence.

  Laurence ignored her, tilting his head to one side in consideration. ‘Okay, it seems to fit well enough,’ he said at last. ‘But I think we should add a few glittery sequins and maybe the odd diamanté just to liven things up a little.’

  ‘Fabulous,’ I readily agreed. (Well, what girl is going to turn down a little extra sparkle?)

  ‘And now that I’ve done my bit,’ he said, carefully unhooking the dress, ‘your job is to catch the bouquet, Savannah. It’s time you found someone to look after you. Frankly, you don’t seem to be doing such a brilliant job of it yourself.’

  ‘You just want me to have a rich husband so I can afford to buy your gowns,’ I protested, deciding it was better not to reveal that I already had a boyfriend until I knew exactly what was going on with Daniel.

  ‘I’m all for that,’ agreed Laurence. ‘But I also get a sense that you’re being worn down by the social scene. You’ve definitely been in the wars. How about that horrible poison-pen letter!’

  ‘You’re right; I had no idea how tough it could be out there—but look at it this way, everyone seems to know who I am now.’

  ‘Well, they definitely will on Saturday. Now come past on Friday after five and we’ll be all ready for you. But, Savannah, do yourself a favour and invest in a decent pair of evening shoes before then. Something gold and sparkly should work well.’

  ‘Shall do,’ I promised as I walked out the door, wondering when I would ever have the time to go shoe shopping, especially as Coco had not let even a whisper of a decent story slip out. Laurence must have warned her not to gossip.

  A couple of hours later, dressed in my most flattering LBD and ridiculously high heels, I was gingerly walking across the flagstone entrance of the Woollahra Council Chambers, which overlooked Double Bay. Falling
flat on my face in front of this crowd would not be a good career move. The Entre Nous committee had somehow snared one of Sydney’s best locations for their soiree—a prelude to their forthcoming ball.

  The guest of honour was Lally Holmes—the sunny blonde morning television powerhouse with a penchant for colourful Kanga dresses designed by the Australian woman who was reportedly once a royal mistress. Tonight she was in a vivid purple floral number with a stand-out pleated collar, a slashed bodice and softly gathered skirt that fluttered around her calves like butterflies. The matching purple patent leather shoes were also a wonder to behold. Lally’s look was so over the top and glamorous that even if she weren’t a television star, she would still be photographed endlessly. And she loved the adulation as much as she loved her champagne.

  Unfortunately, Lally was not that keen on other women, whom she viewed as competition. But before I could even approach the famously prickly personality for a quote or two, Queen Bea’s newly appointed ‘minder’ (after that disastrous dinner party at her place, she really needed one), the unbearably snobby bossy-boots publicist Pippa Brown, came huffing and puffing up to me from the other end of the garden.

  ‘Savannah, it’s lovely to see you,’ she said, still trying to catch her breath after her epic trot. ‘Did you bring a photographer?’

  I nodded, but a quick glance around the grounds told me that Oliver Orlan was yet to arrive.

  ‘Good, because I’m sure your editor would like to see a shot of Queen Bea and her husband with Dominic Brun, the head of La Vie champagne. Dominic is one of the key sponsors for the forthcoming ball.’

  Personally, I could not think of a more boring photo (the social pages were supposed to be filled with beautiful people under thirty-five), but as we were trying to placate the charity queen at present, I readily agreed. ‘Great idea, Pippa,’ I said. ‘I’ll let Oliver know. Now if you will just excuse me, I’m going to go and have a chat with Lally.’