by Ros Reines
This seemed to alarm the hard-working publicist, who was no doubt worried that I would somehow upset the guest of honour. Clearly, I could not be left to my own devices at any social event. It was true, though, that Lally and I had a relationship that could best be described as ‘uneasy’; she had been unhappy with several items I had written about her crossing swords with one of the producers on her show. But I was confident that her desire for publicity would outweigh any dislike for me personally.
Pippa managed to glue herself to my side, and when I reached the TV star she said, ‘Excuse me, Lally, but have you met Savannah Stephens from The Sydney News?’
‘Of course,’ said Lally, fake-smiling at me and showing off her perfect white teeth.
‘Do you mind if Savannah asks you a couple of questions?’ asked Pippa nervously. I could see beads of perspiration on her forehead—she really wasn’t cut out for such stressful work. If only she could be put in charge of the coverage that appeared in newspapers—that way all of her clients would be satisfied with her efforts.
‘Not at all,’ responded Lally sweetly, as if she and I were the best of friends. ‘It’s good to see you, Savannah.’
‘Great to see you too, Lally. And I love the dress—only you could pull off one like that.’
Lally arched an eyebrow. ‘Really?’
But before I could explain myself, Pippa butted in again. ‘Lally is our brand-new ambassador for Entre Nous,’ she told me. ‘We are set to announce this tonight, during the speeches. Perhaps you would like to ask her about her role?’
I had definitely had enough. What I really wanted to ask Lally was whether there was any truth to the rumour that she had been poached by another network, where her best friend was the head of light entertainment. But I wasn’t going to say that in front of Pippa, who could very well spread the story before I had a chance to check it out and print it.
‘Thank you for bringing me over, Pippa. It was very kind of you, but I’m sure that you have many other people to look after. Please don’t let us keep you.’ I was rather impressed with my own diplomacy.
But Pippa stayed rooted to the spot. Could she actually be so dim she didn’t understand that irritating me was going to work against her? At least Lally was more than capable of looking after herself, and she let the publicist know that.
‘That’s right, Pippa,’ she said graciously. ‘Savannah and I know each other well. You don’t have to spend your time looking after me, when you have so much going on tonight.’
‘Sorry,’ said Pippa obsequiously, her face reddening, ‘I didn’t mean to make a nuisance of myself. I’m doing this job pro bono and I was just trying to take care of you.’
‘And I do thank you for that, you are such a trooper,’ responded Lally, turning her back now to effectively cut off Pippa from any further communication. Lally Holmes had just rocketed up in my estimation, so I skewed my question in a flattering way.
‘Lally, is it true that you’re thinking about jumping ship? I’ve heard that a rival network is so desperate to secure you that they’ve made you a very attractive offer.’
Lally’s eyes twinkled at me. She looked pleased that a story like this might appear in the paper; even if she had no intention of leaving, it would give her more leverage with her current network. In fact, she had probably planted the rumours herself.
‘I wouldn’t say it was a massive amount of money,’ she said, smiling at me again. ‘Probably just about double what I am earning now.’
Bingo! I had my story and a great quote. Thankfully, Oliver Orlan had just wandered in, resplendent in a cream satin smoking jacket and jeans, cameras hung around his neck like fashion accessories. He must have been in an excellent mood, too, because he agreed to my request for a shot of Lally without complaint.
As the evening wore on, I noticed Queen Bea glowering at me, letting me know that she was still seething about my unflattering coverage of her dinner party. Unfortunately, she had also been drinking steadily ever since she had arrived at the event, despite the efforts of her minder, Pippa, to keep her otherwise occupied. Now I watched with some fascination as she walked unsteadily over to an outsized silver bowl containing Beluga caviar on a bed of ice. The waiters had been carefully doling out the precious eggs on blinis with sour cream and taking them around to the guests on a silver tray. But Queen Bea had become impatient with this hoo-ha and, leaning over the bowl, she started to lasciviously ladle the caviar into her mouth. I couldn’t believe what I was seeing and neither could poor, flustered Pippa, who raced over and tried to gently walk her away from the caviar, but she would not be moved while there were any silky grey beads left in the bowl. At one stage it looked as though she might topple into it. Had Oliver got any shots of what had just taken place? It was hard to tell because his face gave nothing away. We would never publish anything so cruel in the paper, but this photographic evidence might come in handy the next time Queen Bea and her acolytes insisted that she was always as sober as a judge.
It was time for me to leave, especially if I was to arrive at Daniel’s place on time. I took a circuitous route back to the entrance, smiling and nodding when several guests tried to flag me down. But, alas, I wasn’t fast enough, because just as I reached New South Head Road and was on the verge of raising my hand for a taxi, Pippa, who had finally steered Queen Bea away from her ‘supper’ came rushing towards me.
‘Savannah? You’re not leaving, are you? The speeches are about to start.’
‘Oh, hi again, Pippa. Yes, unfortunately I am leaving,’ I said firmly. ‘I have to attend another event this evening—but don’t worry: Oliver is here to capture it all.’
The old bossy boots was not taking no for an answer. ‘But you must wait for the speeches,’ she insisted. ‘I think that is what your editor would want you to do.’
While I would have loved to have set her straight on what Tim thought was acceptable social coverage, any discussion would no doubt have taken up more time, which was something I did not have a lot of at the moment. ‘Thank you for the invitation, Pippa, I’ve had a perfectly lovely time. See you at the next event.’ I raised my hand and a taxi screeched to a halt beside me. I quickly climbed into the back seat.
‘Driver, just a second,’ she cried through the open passenger-side window.
But I leaned over to address him. ‘I’m going to Campbell Parade, North Bondi, please.’
‘No worries, love,’ he said, pulling away, leaving Pippa gasping at the kerb like a beautiful puffer fish.
‘What was wrong with your friend back there?’ he asked as we turned the corner into O’Sullivan Road. ‘She looked as though she was about to explode!’
‘Oh, nothing to worry about,’ I responded. ‘I think she just had one too many servings of punch.’
Sixteen
It was just before 8 pm when I rang the buzzer at Daniel’s place. There was no answer at first, so I glanced up and was surprised to see my blond Adonis on the deck, peering down to see who was at the entrance to the building. Who was he expecting?
Moments later I was in the lift, and when I arrived on his floor, he was waiting out in the hallway to greet me.
‘Hi, sweetie,’ he said, looking more than ever like a rich surfer in a half-unbuttoned patchwork denim shirt, jeans and a pair of baby blue Hermès docksiders. His long blond hair was brushed away from his face, showing off his piercing green-blue eyes. He was so handsome I couldn’t take my eyes off him.
‘I’ve missed you,’ he said, giving me a great big squeeze and a lingering kiss. I almost sank to my knees in pleasure but managed to walk to his apartment, with his arm firmly around my waist.
I was not ready for the scene of devastation which greeted me on the other side of the door. Several packed bags were lined up along the wall, and through the open door I could see carefully labelled crates stacked in the spare room.
‘What’s going on, Daniel? Are you on the move?’ I said, suddenly feeling as though I had been punched in the gut
s. It seemed pretty obvious that he was leaving town, and from the look of the amount of luggage that he was taking with him, he obviously didn’t plan to return any time soon. In fact, from the size of the crates, he was moving house as well.
‘Yes, I’m going away for a while.’ He sounded apologetic. ‘There’s a lot to explain and we really don’t have much time. But let’s sit down and have a glass of wine and some pizza. I hope you don’t mind that I ordered ahead; it was delivered just before you turned up.’
‘No, that’s fine,’ I said numbly. Actually, the last thing I felt like doing now was eating, but I was happy to go through the motions—anything to prolong his departure. But who left town at this time of night?
Ever the gentleman, Daniel pulled out a chair for me to sit down. There was a huge pizza laid out on the table and a container of salad. He handed me a glass of wine.
Despite myself I took a slice of pizza; I’d had nothing to eat at the Entre Nous cocktail party, and nothing to drink apart from water. It was too easy to lose track of time after a couple of glasses of champagne and I hadn’t wanted to be late for Daniel.
I was tearing into my second slice when I noticed that Daniel wasn’t eating. He was watching me with an expression on his face that was both grave and tender.
I put down the pizza, which I had neatly rolled into a torpedo to prevent any unsexy cheese spillage on my chin. ‘What is it?’ I said, now feeling ill again.
‘As I mentioned before, I’ve got a lot to explain, Savannah, and very little time,’ Daniel said quietly.
My stomach did a little backflip as I braced myself for what would come next.
‘In a couple of hours I’m leaving for Morocco,’ he told me, pushing his plate away. ‘I’m taking a rather roundabout route as I might already be on an immigration watch list. Leisure Time has gone belly up, just as we feared, leaving huge debts—more than we can possibly pay.’
I stared at him, too stunned to speak.
‘The investors wouldn’t give us any more money and the banks wanted theirs back.’ He shrugged resignedly. ‘There was nothing we could do to save it. Alex and Jacqueline are already in Tangier, which is where I’m going to meet them. The plan is to regroup, start a new company there and make enough to pay off our creditors here and return.’
‘Just like that?’ I said, a little sourly. I pushed my plate away. Now I’d lost my appetite too.
‘We’ve had someone on the ground there working it out for a while,’ he said mysteriously. ‘Only it was supposed to have been a subsidiary company and not our main business. What makes it so attractive is that we won’t be paying any tax—and neither will you be, if you join us.’
What? Where did that come from?
‘Excuse me?’ I mean what was he suggesting? That I take off with him now, become a fugitive? I could just imagine myself on the front page of the paper: ‘Gossip Columnist Rushes To Lover’s Side As He Fights Off Extradition From Morocco’. Outstanding—my media mates would positively salivate over this one and who could blame them.
‘Let me finish,’ said Daniel. ‘I want you to come to Morocco with me. As soon as I get to Europe, I’ll send you a ticket to fly there via Paris. I might even be able to meet you in Paris for a few days myself, and then we can fly into Tangier together.’
I was just staring at him in disbelief. I had a vivid imagination, but somehow I couldn’t picture that scenario working out and it must have showed on my face. It sounded like a Hollywood fantasy.
‘Look, there’s nothing for you here,’ he said persuasively. ‘You don’t want to spend the rest of your life working as a gossip columnist for some tabloid rag in Sydney, do you?’
‘Probably not.’ But did I? Even as I said it, I realised that, actually, I enjoyed my job and was in no hurry to leave it.
‘You could have a brilliant career as a freelancer based in Morocco, working for different publications all over the world. You’d be close to all your old friends in London again and, most importantly—’ he leaned over to touch my cheek, gazing into my eyes ‘—we could be together.’
Now he was talking.
I smiled at him, more in acknowledgement of the chemistry between us than acceptance of the current situation. No matter how charismatic he was nor how strong the bond was between us, I simply couldn’t imagine myself living in Morocco and being wary of every knock on the door.
For once Daniel was not reading my body language accurately as I moved back on the seat.
‘In the meantime, I need you to do something for me,’ Daniel continued. ‘After I leave, a courier will turn up to take some of these crates. Just let him in, wait until they’re loaded into his van, and then lock up.’
‘What kind of courier?’ I asked suspiciously.
But Daniel smiled at my apprehension. ‘Don’t worry, it’s nothing sinister,’ he said, handing a piece of paper to me as if it was nothing more than a shopping list.
‘This is the address in Tangier. First thing tomorrow morning, put the keys in a padded envelope and post them to me.’
I looked at him, dumbfounded. This was moving so fast. We’d barely got to know each other, but he expected me to move to the other side of the world to be with him. I knew hardly anything about him. What side of the bed did he like to sleep on, for example? Where did his family live? I swallowed. Had he only been feigning interest in me all this time, just so he would have someone to help in his getaway? Wasn’t I now being implicated in all sorts of trouble? I’d thought that he was as smitten with me as I was with him, but perhaps it had just been an elaborate con job the entire time. But why choose me?
I began to wish that I had stayed at the charity cocktail party after all, where the biggest decision to make was whether to have the champagne straight up or with fresh orange juice.
‘I can see that you have reservations,’ said Daniel, staring deeply into my eyes now, ‘but there’s nothing illegal in the crates, I promise. We can open one if you like, but really they just contain the precious antiques and artefacts that Alex and Jacqueline have collected over the years. They didn’t want them to be impounded and sold off for a fraction of their worth by the creditors as a revenue-raising exercise.’
That made sense, I guessed. ‘Okay,’ I said reluctantly. ‘But I hope the courier comes on time.’
‘Don’t worry,’ said Daniel, pulling on his jacket. ‘They’re always punctual.’
‘Now will you come to visit me in Morocco, even if it’s just for a trial? You don’t even have to quit your job, just take a holiday break, but I want to prove to you how great we can be together.’
How could I refuse?
‘Of course,’ I assured him. ‘I think we owe it to each other to see if we can make it work.’ Sometimes in life you just have to go for it and not worry about the consequences.
I would like to say that in the time I had left with my boyfriend he made mad passionate love to me and was last seen hurtling down the hallway doing up his fly. But the reality is that there was no time for more than a heartfelt kiss before a ring on the doorbell signalled that his ride had arrived and, just like that, he was on his way. Staring from the front window down onto the street, I watched as Daniel and his luggage were bundled into a late model Mercedes sedan that immediately sped off.
And perhaps my dreams of Happy Ever After were blown away in the car’s exhaust. Or was my new life just about to begin?
Seventeen
Chloe Lovejoy and Troy Saunders’ nuptials were billed as Australia’s most lavish wedding even before event supremo Ronald Duke had ordered the massive custom-built, silk-lined marquee to be erected at Darling Point in the grounds of the Lovejoys’ mansion. It had nearly taken a week to go up and had already been the subject of much speculation in the area regarding its cost.
The fab four hundred guests who had accepted (and had flown in from every state in Australia and all around the world) were at first dazzled by the entrance, festooned with so many fairy lights it made David
Jones’ famed Christmas caves look provincial. The couple was being married in front of a massive arch overflowing with exotic white orchids, tuberoses and rare parchment-coloured roses airlifted from Colombia.
When Chloe made her entrance, there were gasps all round because she was wearing couture Dior and a long veil which, Erica would later write, was inspired by Grace Kelly’s wedding gown. Troy was movie-star handsome in white tails, along with his six groomsmen, who all looked as though they had stepped off the set of a Grace Kelly movie, while Chloe’s bridesmaids were in blush pink. Even the knockabout Gertie Lovejoy looked elegant in coffee lace, also by Christian Dior.
But as the couple stood at the altar, there was suddenly a commotion, a rustling of expensive fabric and the discreet rattle of expensive jewels and all heads turned to see Scarlet Graham stalk in wearing a long red gown, slashed to the waist to show off the massive ruby and diamond necklace adorning her photogenic cleavage. Swanning down the aisle next to her and preening as though he was one of the prime exhibits at the Royal Easter Show was none other than Lahar Kapoor, in a matching red suit by Versace. Creating even more of a faux pas than their late arrival following the bride and groom, the couple headed for one of the seats at the front reserved for close family. The excited whispers between guests informing each other of their entrance became audible gasps. Several of the Sydney guests, who were familiar with the Grahams’ dramatic marriage breakdown from the story I had written—and which had been splashed all over the pages of The Sydney News—looked as though they might faint with excitement. All eyes swivelled to stare at Shannon Graham and his companion, who was looking quietly elegant in an ice-blue silk ensemble. Those in the know recognised her as Suzy, his personal secretary whom he had started an affair with behind Scarlet’s back. The consensus of opinion was that Shannon had to be perverse to go from a supermodel to someone so unremarkable.