by Ros Reines
To his credit, Shannon, who was doubtless seething with rage over the tasteless spectacle orchestrated by his estranged wife, understood that everyone was waiting for a response from him and he managed a strained smile and a wave to Scarlet. She smiled sweetly back at him and audaciously blew him a kiss, proving that all those acting lessons hadn’t been in vain. She even managed to beam at the hateful Suzy. It was fair to say that Scarlet had not enjoyed herself so much since she had thrown all of his belongings out the window.
I decided to seize that moment while everyone was stunned to pull out the small camera stashed in my bag and take a few photos as surreptitiously as I could. I glanced across at Oliver, to see if he’d had the same thought, but he was far too caught up in what was happening to even think of taking aim. (Knowing him, he was probably trying to figure out where he could get a suit just like Lahar’s.) But this was a moment I knew would be talked about for years to come and I couldn’t wait to write it up in the paper. I caught sight of Tim, resplendent in a dinner suit and seated just a few rows in front; instead of taking in the bizarre scene, he was watching me. He nodded approvingly at my camera and tilted his head to signal that I should really go for it.
‘Now! Now! Quiet, please.’ The matronly marriage celebrant with a corsage pinned to the neckline of her chocolate-brown taffeta gown was clearly shocked by the interruption to her service, but equally determined to get things back on track. ‘Shush!’ she hissed at the illustrious crowd. ‘The union between a man and a woman is something to be respected and revered. I must have your full attention.’
Painfully dragging their eyes away from Scarlet and Lahar, the vision in red, the crowd turned back to the altar, where Chloe and Troy were seemingly oblivious to what was going on around them. They were savouring their day with all of its complexities and surprises. And, finally, just at the moment that they exchanged vows, there was a flapping of wings as a dozen white doves were released into the evening sky.
After that, everyone moved into the marquee, which resembled the palace of Versailles, the ceiling hung with dozens of antique chandeliers which had been flown in from France, the sides decorated with gilt mirrors and, in the forecourt, a Moët et Chandon champagne fountain. I could certainly use something to steady my nerves, but I had work to do.
I was trying to get to Scarlet and Lahar, but they were surrounded by people clamouring to know what was going on between them. After all, it seemed like such a preposterous coupling. All I needed was a few good quotes and I knew that Scarlet was sure to come up with something outrageous if only I could catch her eye. She had absolutely loved my coverage of the divorce. Lahar, I noticed, was playing his role to the hilt, handing out his business cards and delicately adjusting Scarlet’s necklace as the proud jeweller.
As I moved through the glittering crowd, I was grateful to Laurence Lavin for dressing me in the billowing, midnight blue gown, which really did sparkle with dozens of turquoise sequins on the bodice. I looked as though I fitted in so I was given entree to most areas; several people even stopped me to ask me who my gown had been designed by and nodded approvingly when I told them. Of course, the person I’d most been hoping to impress was nowhere to be seen. I hadn’t heard a word from Daniel in the days since his departure and I was extremely worried about him. Had he even made it out of Australia? But then, just this morning, a Double Bay travel agent had contacted me to say that he had a return ticket to Tangier via Paris waiting for collection, along with an accommodation voucher for two nights at the InterContinental, Paris. The flight left the following Wednesday. The news had left me slightly winded because it was tangible proof that something was happening, but I had no time to think about that now. I told myself to just get through the wedding of the year.
‘Did you snap some shots of Scarlet and Lahar arriving?’ I asked a sulky-looking Oliver. He probably thought that he deserved more attention than he was getting. After all, he was also in white tie, of sorts. He was wearing an antique satin jacket over a silk T-shirt, a diamanté bow tie, cream satin jeans and white sandshoes.
‘Of course,’ he said scornfully, though I suspected he hadn’t.
‘How about Shannon and his secretary?’ I tried.
Oliver shrugged his shoulders. ‘Shannon is a friend of mine,’ he said, sounding exasperated. ‘He’ll be fine about posing for me later in the evening. But I need you to be kind to him as he is a really good person and Suzy is lovely.’
Oh, great—now Oliver was deciding what shots we needed. Perfect. I watched as the lens man sauntered away from me to be feted by the usual gaggle of desperate socialites. At least I had my own camera, and maybe Gertie would help me out by supplying some of the official wedding shots. I couldn’t wait to hear what she had to say about the newest couple on the scene, Scarlet and Lahar, and how they had tried to upstage the ceremony.
Suddenly, a familiar figure came crashing through the shrubbery, his bulk threatening to destroy a garland of fairy lights. He looked handsome, in a lumbering Aussie way. It was clear that Tim was hyper-stimulated about the scene unfolding—or perhaps unravelling, I thought as he tried to disentangle himself from the strings of lights—around him. Leaving his wife, Jane, to socialise with friends, he had hightailed it over to see how the paper’s coverage was coming along.
‘You scrub up well, Savannah,’ he said awkwardly. ‘So can you believe your mate Scarlet and that over-the-top Indian bloke? Isn’t he the one who wanted to pay you to get him in? Looks like he found himself an entree card and he didn’t have to pay her a cent.’ Tim craned his massive head above the crowd, trying to spot the outlandish couple. He was having a ball. ‘Have you got many stories so far?’ he said, turning back to me.
For god’s sake, I’d barely been here an hour and most of that had been taken up by the ceremony. Apart from Lahar and Scarlet totally upstaging Shannon and his secretary, not to mention the bride and the groom, what did he expect?
‘Not yet,’ I said, favouring him with one of my most confident smiles. ‘But I can’t wait to see this lot in the early hours of the morning. That’s when it’s bound to get very messy; there’ll be lots of stories.’
‘Goodo,’ Tim said, patting me on the back as if I was a prize racehorse. He began to walk off then stopped in his tracks as something occurred to him. ‘Oh, I don’t suppose you’ve heard anything about Alex and Jacqueline Evans? Peter Lovejoy told me they were invited. Apparently they sent a whopping big bowl from Christofle—which wasn’t on the wedding gift register, by the way—but they sent a message this morning to say they couldn’t make it. I’ve heard whispers that their company has collapsed with debts in the millions, and they’ve buggered off overseas instead of sticking around to face the music.’
It wasn’t a particularly warm evening, but I could feel the perspiration prickling my skin. What an astonishing mess I had landed myself in. I did the only thing I could think of: I pretended I hadn’t heard what he’d just told me.
‘Okay, I’ll look out for them,’ I said nonsensically, then excused myself to go in search of the loo, hoping that he wouldn’t think of following me and waiting outside.
Actually, I did need to collect myself, so hiding out in the powder room for a few minutes wasn’t such a bad idea. A kindly waiter directed me to a guest bungalow, which contained one bathroom for the women and another for the men. Thankfully, I was the only one there; the rest of the female guests were having too much fun exploring the many delights of the marquee to worry about their make-up just yet. I checked myself out in the mirror—hmm, not bad considering my level of angst—and then flopped onto a sofa to make some notes, though thanks to Scarlet and Lahar’s outrageous entrance, the story would pretty much write itself. I would have to ring the coverage through to the copy takers in an hour’s time. Thankfully Gertie had generously given me the use of one of the house telephones otherwise I would not have been able to make myself heard among the din. I was so engrossed in what I was writing that I hardly noticed when one of Chloe’s beautiful
bridesmaids walked into the room. She paused in front of me and I glanced up, watching her reflection in the mirror as she pushed her long wavy blonde hair away from her face so that she could survey her perfect make-up.
‘Hello, I’m Rebecca,’ she said, meeting my gaze in the mirror. ‘And you must be Savannah. I recognise your face from the paper.’
Something about the name Rebecca rang a bell . . . Oh. Of course. She was that Rebecca.
‘Look, I hope you don’t mind me bringing it up, but I heard that you’re seeing Daniel,’ she said quietly. ‘Gertie mentioned it to me because she was concerned about you.’
‘Oh, yes,’ I said coolly, not really in the mood to discuss my boyfriend with his ex.
‘I dated him as well, you see. And he’s a lovely man—at least, I thought he was. We were going to become engaged but then he changed his mind at the last minute. I still don’t know why.’ She gave a pained smile. ‘Anyway, I just thought I’d tell you; I don’t want you to get as hurt as I did.’
I swallowed hard. There was a strange taste in my mouth—could it be fear? After all, Daniel had already proven himself to be unreliable and excellent at disappearing. Now he was asking me to turn my back on my new life here and follow him to Morocco? If he could walk away from someone as beautiful as Rebecca, what hope did I have? But I wasn’t ready to let on to anyone just yet exactly what was going on—not until I had figured it all out for myself. I smiled warmly at the stunning blonde. ‘Thank you for that, but there’s nothing serious between us just yet.’
‘Sorry,’ said Rebecca. ‘I know I shouldn’t have said anything, but I’m actually a big fan of yours. I love reading your column.’
‘Oh, that’s very sweet of you to say.’ I was keen to cut the conversation short; I didn’t want to say anything more about not being involved with Daniel, especially if I did decide to take him up on that ticket with the pre-booked flight. Guess he hadn’t wanted me to think about it for too long. A little voice inside my head kept asking me what I thought I had to lose. Surely this was just another of life’s adventures, which would enrich me as a writer. There would always be plenty of jobs for me when I returned because I’d already made a name for myself in newspapers—that’s if it all turned to shit in Morocco—I could always say that I had just been researching an expose. Meanwhile, even from the other side of the world, I could still feel the intensity of Daniel’s and my connection. But enough of that now, it was time to go and hunt for some more stories before I phoned in my copy.
Rising from the couch, I puffed out my billowing skirt and put my notepad back into my evening bag because it was just too gauche to be seen clutching it as I moved through the crowd.
‘I’d love to stay and chat,’ I said, smiling warmly at Rebecca again, ‘but I’d better get back to the wedding. It’s certainly the most extraordinary event I’ve ever covered.’
‘Oh, you haven’t seen anything yet,’ laughed Rebecca, who also seemed to be relieved that the tricky conversation was done. ‘Just you wait!’
Eighteen
While most of Troy and Chloe’s overseas and interstate guests were continuing to celebrate the couple’s union at glamorous restaurants and clubs in the city (Gertie had planned a calendar of events), I’d also had a couple of big nights. The ability to sleep well and rise in the morning with most of my problems solved is how I had tackled most of the issues I had ever faced in my life. But not this time—my dreams were as vivid as a Moroccan sunset, and I woke from most of them in a lather of sweat. However, I seemed to have made up my mind to take the plunge and go. I wondered how I was going to break the news to Tim. No doubt I would have to resign as a leave of absence was probably out of the question when I had no idea at all of when I might return. And how did I reveal my plans without discussing my relationship with Daniel and his connection to Leisure Time? Tim would no doubt hit the roof and tell me that I was being absolutely stupid. How could they ever trust me to be a professional gossip columnist again? I certainly didn’t want to have the doors closed to me at The Sydney News forever.
In the early hours of Monday morning I finally decided to tell my editor I was leaving because I had itchy feet and wanted to go travelling again. It was partially true. Well, how often did a free return ticket to Morocco land in your lap with a couple of nights in a top hotel in Paris thrown in as well? Maybe they could hold my job for me for a month, until I got it all out of my system? It was worth a try because after four weeks in Morocco I would know whether Daniel and I could make it work.
Just the thought of seeing him again sent my pulse racing, even though I kept reminding myself it was probably just a strong physical attraction, and that I shouldn’t get great sex mixed up with love. But that was easier said than done because with him I may very well have found my other half—he was a gypsy like me, but he also seemed to be genuinely interested in helping me progress as a journalist.
Even if it all went pear-shaped, and he stood me up in Paris, as he nearly had in Ayers Rock, and cancelled the trip to Morocco, which is what I also feared, I figured I could always head to London. I was missing all my friends there and I was certain that I could get more work. They wouldn’t have forgotten about me already—it hadn’t been that long.
As I made my bleary-eyed way through the news room to my desk I was surprised to see that Erica’s office looked very bare. All the photographs of her with famous designers were gone from her noticeboard and desk, along with all the little fashion mementos that she had kept on a shelf—her first media pass for the London collections and her framed letter from Karl Lagerfeld following their first meeting. Maybe she had moved to a different office?
A few of my colleagues were looking at me with interest. Many had started to accept me as one of their own and not merely a ‘cappuccino journalist’—all froth and very little substance. Wonder how they would view me after today?
‘Great story on the Lovejoy wedding,’ Nora, who worked on courts, called out as I passed her desk. ‘Did that crazy supermodel and the shifty jeweller nearly upstage the whole thing? It made me laugh out loud when I was reading it.’
‘Thanks for that. Yes, they did,’ I said, smiling back at her. ‘You would have loved it if you’d been there.’ Feeling queasy now because of what I was about to do, I continued on to my desk, put down my bag and had a quick look over the mail that was piling up. There was the usual stack of invitations, although I probably wouldn’t have to reply to them; I was pretty sure Tim would have me walked from the office straight away for being such a traitor not to mention ungrateful for the fantastic run he had given me on the paper.
I dialled his extension, and Janet answered immediately. ‘Good morning, Savannah,’ she said curtly.
‘Hi Janet.’ I tried to sound casual. ‘I’d like to come and see the editor for a few minutes. Is he available?’
‘Just one moment and I’ll check if he’s in.’
Couldn’t she just look through the glass partition and see that he was indeed at his desk? But, no, we had to play the game. There was a moment’s silence, then the officious secretary was back on the line, sounding almost disappointed to convey the news that Tim would see me now.
Standing, I tucked my typewritten resignation letter into my notebook and made my way to his office.
Tim rose from his desk as Janet reluctantly led me in. I was sure she’d be disappointed when she heard that I was leaving because there would be fewer opportunities to flounce through the office with me invariably following with my tail between my legs.
‘Thank you, Janet,’ he said, dismissing her, before turning to me with a smile on his face. ‘Savannah, I think you would probably be more comfortable sitting on the couch over here.’
It was clear that this wasn’t going to be easy, but then Daniel’s face flashed in front of my eyes and I steeled myself to make a crisp exit speech. The worst thing I could do in front of Tim was to flounder around, I decided, because then my mercurial editor would have me on toast.
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br /> ‘That’s better,’ said Tim amiably, when we were both seated. ‘Now before you get started, I want to congratulate you on the cracking story you did on the wedding. You nailed it—and the quotes you got from Scarlet about her new relationship with Lahar were pure genius.’ He thumped his knee with his fist. ‘Outstanding.’
‘Thank you—’ I began, but he held up his hand to stop me.
‘Now I’m afraid I have some regrettable news . . .’ His expression turned serious. Had he found out that I had been aiding and abetting one of the directors of Leisure Time to get their valuable assets out of the country? ‘I’m sorry to tell you this, Savannah, but we’ve tracked down the person who organised the poison-pen letter about you.’ He looked as stern as a man can look when he’s wearing chinos and a white safari shirt. ‘It was Erica Hopewell. She was summoned in to see me, admitted to everything, so I had to sack her. It was regrettable but we can’t have that sort of behaviour going on. She was escorted from the premises early this morning before anyone came in. I thought you should be the first to know and I was about to tell you when you asked to see me.’
He stared hard at me, clearly expecting me to be surprised, when all I wanted to do was burst out laughing at the relief of not being carpeted over Leisure Time. I did feel a bit sorry for my nemesis, actually. Her job had meant everything to her. It gave her some stature and power in the fashion industry. Despite her meanness and her aloof manner, it sucked that it had come to an end just because of me. After all, the poison-pen campaign had worked so much in my favour that some people now thought it had all been a publicity campaign just to get me a name in this town.
‘I know this must be a bit of a shock,’ Tim continued, ‘especially because you two seemed to have bonded just so well.’
‘What?’ I exclaimed before I could stop myself, but then tried to look suitably abject about the betrayal. ‘Erica? Um, I mean, how did you find out? Are you absolutely sure it was her?’
