The picturesque Mulbring Valley, with its new homes and holiday retreats for Sydneysiders, gave way to the edge of Cessnock where a few of the original mining cottages had yet to be renovated. Following directions, Miche parked in the Advertiser’s parking lot. As she stepped out, she saw the modern, large city centre and plaza. She walked through an alley to Vincent Street, where the older style shops and offices sat next to newer neighbours selling discount electrical goods and music.
She turned into the small, single-storey building plastered with signs for the Advertiser. Jane Parsons met her with an exuberant smile.
‘You’re Jeremy’s friend. How can I help you?’
‘I’m researching a story on the Hunter area. A pretty broad canvas, but essentially linked to the wine industry.’
‘That’s a lot to write about. Come and have a coffee and tell me more. Is this going to be for Blaze?’
Miche followed Jane to her office. It was a typical small-town newspaper with a staff of ten. Some permanent, some part time. ‘How long have you worked here?’
Jane laughed. ‘Fifteen years! I started as a youngster with dreams of going to the big city. I did my time and travelled and here I am, back in my home town, married with two little kids. That’s the nice part of journalism. It’s portable and you don’t lose the skills. I work flexible hours, now the kids are in primary school. And I’m still planning to write a murder mystery. I’ll get around to it one day.’
Miche looked at Jane, who she guessed was in her thirties. She looked and sounded so different from the writers and editors on big-city magazines. Yet Miche envied her, she was so obviously content with her life, enthusiastic and friendly.
Jane began making them instant coffee.
‘Milk and one, thanks,’ said Miche before she was asked. ‘I’ve read a few terrific books about characters in the Aussie bush, but most of them were written ages ago. Is the countryside still producing and harbouring such offbeat guys?’
‘Sure, they’re around in odd places, and they still make stories for us from time to time. But the new breed of bush characters are a bit of a surprise. Many of them are high-tech, well-educated drop-outs from the city, chasing a lifestyle rather than material wealth. And the boom in a few of our rural industries has brought a lot of new management and marketing skills. So, in a way, it’s more interesting for a journo than ever before. And then there’s tourism. Big time now,’ said Jane as she handed over the coffee and a plate of biscuits. ‘Anzac biscuits from the CWA stall at the weekend.’
‘Traditional fare?’ queried Miche.
‘Very. Now, what are you looking for? How far back are you starting your research?’
‘Round the seventies, with the expansion of commercial and hobby vineyards. I want to weave in local colour, the old families, the immigrant influence, the lifestyle, tourism taking over from coalmining to become the huge, trendy business it is today.’
‘That is a big picture! I’ll introduce you to our editor, Bruce Wilson. Bit of a history buff as well as a goldmine of gossip about who has made news and who may in the future.’
‘Do you keep the back issues here?’ asked Miche, looking around the cluttered, cramped offices.
‘Not any more. They’re at the town library, as are the microfilm versions.’
Bruce Wilson, Miche learned, was a mine of information. A local boy, at twenty he’d started writing the cricket reports for the local paper, had been hired as a cadet and from there worked his way to the top. He’d been editor for the past thirty years. He was a stickler for correct grammar – no split infinitives, and no clichés. He wore a tie to work every day, except for public holidays, and on special occasions wore his Journalists’ Club version with pride.
‘Ah, we’ve been discovered at last,’ he said with a grin. ‘A big spread in the international editions?’
‘Would be nice,’ responded Miche. ‘I’m trying to write it from my perspective, a young person from abroad discovering the place, the region. But not just a puff, touristy piece.’
‘A personal slant on a story like that works best I’d say,’ said Bruce and for the next fifteen minutes talked non-stop about people, places and past events that would help her recognise the diversity of angles available for her story.
Miche made notes and thanked him for being so generous with his time and knowledge. ‘A pleasure, but there’s a price.’
‘Oh!’
‘A story for the Advertiser. About you, your assignment. And a picture. At the right time, of course. Don’t want to have you scooped by the opposition. Just stay in touch with Jane. The locals will love the attention.’
‘Fair enough. Thanks for your help. Now, could you point me towards the town’s library?’
‘It’s just up the road. Any help you need Miche, give a yell.’
Miche was soon scrolling through microfilm pages of the Advertiser from the sixties, seventies and eighties. Occasionally she stopped to read a story under a headline that caught her eye. In the steady parade of pages, she caught a taste of life in the district and what made local news. While often covering parochial issues, the stories reflected national and international events. Farm and food prices, French wine subsidies, a suspected horse infection at a prominent stud, brought in from overseas.
After about twenty minutes of pleasurable scrolling and taking notes on stories that may provide background for something up to date, the steady flow of work came to an abrupt halt as one headline shattered the routine research.
Her hand froze on the scroll control and her eyes locked onto the story. She read the first few paragraphs of the front page story quickly, then stared at a blurry photograph, a head and shoulders shot of a woman.
‘My God,’ she said softly. ‘Surely not.’ She was shaking slightly as she stood up and found a librarian. ‘Can I see the original back copy of the Advertiser dated June 17 1982, please?’
‘No worries. We’ll dig it out for you. We hold them here for safekeeping.’
The librarian eventually handed over the dusty leather-bound binder labelled the Advertiser, 1982.
It didn’t take long to find the story she was looking for and, with mounting tension, she read and re-read it and looked at the photograph. ‘Has to be,’ she murmured to herself, astonished that she was staying so calm. She was making notes when the librarian passed by, paused and asked quite casually, ‘Having any luck?’
Miche almost bit her tongue, but it was too late. ‘Sure am. Astonishing,’ and then seized up.
‘Oh, really,’ said the librarian leaning forward to look over Miche’s shoulder and clicked her tongue. ‘Terrible story. I remember when that happened. Shocked us all. I wonder what happened to her?’
Miche closed the large file. ‘I wonder indeed.’ She left the library and walked slowly to her car, deep in thought.
Reg Craven lowered his voice as he spoke into the phone, even though he was alone in his office. ‘We have to talk. Meet you at the bonk hole. When can you get there?’ He listened for a minute fiddling with his bow tie.
‘Christ, is that all you do, lunch? Okay, I’ll see you at four this afternoon.’
It was an old Sydney landmark. The building stood at the edge of the city – a stone edifice with views across Elizabeth Street to Hyde Park. Musty offices of father and son accountants, solicitors and city agents for country organisations were clustered on the quiet lower floors behind frosted glass doors with gold lettering. The building’s owners were on the top floors, which used to belong to a fusty publishing company that printed comic books and niche market magazines featuring photographs of muscled men and girls wearing bikinis. In recent years the company, struggling from dying circulations, had been sold to one of the biggest advertising and media buying outlets in the country. The magazines were closed down and the offices had been redesigned in modern, high-tech style. Part of the basement was now a recreation centre, gym and squash courts.
The building was overshadowed by taller, gleaming structures, offices and hotels filled with glittering shops, salons and restaurants. So the little ‘burger building’, as it was called because of its squat, bun-shaped dome, was easily overlooked and little notice was taken of the figures who slipped in and out of its arched stone doorway.
Even so, Reg Craven still looked over his shoulder as he entered the building at 4 p.m. He need not have been nervous about being seen, as many well-known media people had business at the ad agencies at the top of the building and this was adequate cover. Reg, however, walked past the restored iron-cage lifts, turned left and went through an unmarked door to a flight of steps that went to the basement.
He walked beyond the gym and used a pass-key card to access a tiny, softly lit and sparsely furnished sitting room with two more doors. Both were closed. He lowered his bulk onto the small chaise longue, glancing at his watch. After a few minutes, one door opened and an older man dressed in a dark suit, white shirt and dark tie appeared. His face was expressionless. He spoke in reserved, polite tones that seemed subservient, but to a listener who paid attention, his voice resonated with a thinly veiled disdain.
‘Mr Cox is in the green room, sir. He asked that you join him.’
Reg winced. ‘I’m here for a business meeting, I was hoping we could go somewhere else.’
‘It may be best if you discussed that with him, sir.’
Reg knew it would be pointless sending the valet back upstairs. He stood, thinking that Tony was becoming more flaky and difficult the more time he spent with Jacques. At first, Reg had found it titillating to be included in the powerful young brat pack of Jacques, the media mogul’s son, and Tony, the heir to an Australian fortune thanks to his developer father. But Reg was canny enough to know he would always be an outsider. He may be the office sleaze after a few drinks, but he was still a married man with young kids. He was an old man by the standards of Jacques and Tony, and they included him in deals like the wine club only to do their bidding when it suited them. Reg had played along with the blokes when it was mainly about booze and girls, but now Jacques was sailing into more treacherous deals involving drugs and prostitutes. While Tony was an eager crew member, Reg could see only storms ahead.
Very few people knew of this private club’s existence, and Reg assumed the licensing authorities were being paid off. It gave him a certain satisfaction to know he held a key card to a very, very exclusive, if scary, world.
At the top of the narrow flight of stairs, Reg tapped at the door and heard Tony’s voice. ‘Come in, sport.’
Tony was lying in his underpants on the large bed beside a girl with huge breasts spilling out of a lacy corset with suspenders and black stockings. She wore red, spike stilettos and a long strand of fake pearls. She was glamorous and looked like what she was – this month’s men’s mag pin-up.
‘Hey, man, what’s up? Wanna join us?’ Tony’s voice was slurred, whether from cocaine or vodka he couldn’t tell. Tony reached for the bottle of Russian fire and waved it at Reg. ‘Have a drink, mate. Take the tie off, for God’s sake.’
Reg absently fiddled with the knot of his tie, but left it in place. ‘Tony, we have to talk.’ He looked at the girl.
‘Business stuff, about Connoisseur.’
‘Can’t it wait?’
‘No. Where’s Jacques?’
Tony grinned and inclined his head towards a small curtain on the wall. Reg stepped over to it and drew the short drapes aside, revealing a two-way mirror. It showed the bedroom on the other side in which a naked Jacques was in bed with two women wearing black leather. Reg turned away. What had once excited him now made him feel ill.
‘Listen, mate, there’s a big problem. Nina is asking questions about the wine club. She’s sharp.’ Reg hadn’t been officially told what Jacques and Tony were doing with the wine club except that it was a lucrative cover for an international deal. Reg had made a few guesses, then stopped asking questions, deciding ignorance was safer.
‘It’s Jacques’ magazine, too. He can advertise his own business in it.’
‘There are a few other problems. Ali is not going to carry the can on this one ’cause she didn’t know about it.’
‘Told ya we should’ve cut her in,’ grinned Tony.
‘Nina is back in the saddle. Jacques can’t keep stirring things up in town. Nina will close the magazine before allowing her name to be rubbed in dirt. There are rumblings about shady operations,’ said Reg pointedly. While Reg had helped set up a few deals with advertisers for holidays at a luxury resort, kickbacks of products and a car deal for a contest winner related to clients, he had not been included in the far bigger deal being engineered by Jacques and Tony. While he hadn’t wanted to know the details, he suspected Jacques was using the wine club as a money-laundering exercise to cover the retailing of drugs and prostitution, a far more profitable operation than selling wine. Even the best wines.
‘I don’t want any part in your deals,’ said Reg, opening the door to leave. ‘I’m writing off my interest in the wine club.’
‘You mean you’re handing me your shares in Connoisseur,’ said Tony with a smirk. ‘If you want out, there’s a penalty, mate.’
Reg knew he was going to lose what they’d talked him into investing. It might be a small amount to Tony, but it was the cost of taking the wife and kids on a family skiing holiday on his budget. In a normal commercial deal, he would have sold his interest, the lack of option to do that was another indication there was nothing normal about this little operation. ‘Okay, on the understanding my name is wiped off the record. When the shit hits the fan, I know nothing.’ Reg glanced at the girl who was finishing a champagne and looking bored.
‘You’re a wimp. Take your eyes off your arse, Reggie. Hey, speaking of arses.’ Tony reached for the girl, grabbing her backside and pulling her onto the bed.
Reg turned to leave. ‘Take it easy, Tony. Your days are numbered if you get caught in sleazy deals. Watch the company you keep,’ advised Reg.
‘I am. Believe me I am, and I like it very much.’ He laughed as he rolled the girl over onto her stomach. ‘I’m riding high with the new young guns of Sydney town. The old guard is on the way out, Reggie. Check your super fund, old fellow, you may be dipping into it sooner than you think.’ Tony turned his full attention to the girl.
Reg turned and strode out, ignoring the little squeals coming from the bed . . . He wouldn’t be back in here again.
*
‘You’re very quiet,’ said Jeremy as Miche settled into the room set aside for her at the Palmerstons’ vineyard.
‘I’m tired after the drive from Sydney. And I stopped in Cessnock to talk to your friend at the paper. Jane was very helpful.’
‘How is the research going? Found any interesting angles, ideas?’ he asked watching her unpack her bag.
‘I think I have a long way to go,’ said Miche in a weary voice and she made no attempt to explain the enigmatic statement.
Jeremy gave her a questioning look, clearly puzzled by her attitude, then tried to change the atmosphere. ‘There’s a nice bottle of wine chilling,’ he announced brightly. ‘When you’re ready, come and have a drink.’
‘Sounds inviting. You finished your work? How are plans coming along for the big wine conference?’ said Miche in an effort to respond to Jeremy’s good intentions.
‘Pretty well together. Steve and Helen have hosted this before. A lot of important winemakers are coming from all over the country and a few from overseas. A few members of the foreign media too.’
‘I may find something for my story then.’
‘I’ll be surprised if you don’t. This sort of event doesn’t happen every day around here. I’ll see you by the fire.’
Miche touched up her hair and changed her top and splashed on a little of her favourite Jonquil perfume before joining Jeremy in the family room where a log fire burned. Usually there were lots of people about the large and gracious home, but this evening Jeremy and Miche had the place to themselves.
‘Lots of conference planning meetings on at the moment,’ he explained. Jeremy rose and poured her a glass of wine. ‘Here’s to you, Miche.’
She sank into the deep, soft cushions of the big lounge, ‘Lovely, just what I need.’ She smiled at him and sipped her wine, then leaned her head back and closed her eyes. ‘This is bliss.’
The fire crackled, the crisp wine tasted cool and refreshing. Jeremy’s warm body was close to her. She felt herself begin to unwind and for a moment had to fight not to share the shocking discovery she’d made earlier in the day at the library.
‘Miche,’ said Jeremy softly.
She opened an eye. ‘Hmmm?’
‘Can we talk?’
‘Sure.’ She sat up, wondering at the tone of his voice. He seemed to be having difficulty in framing his words. ‘What is it, Jem?’
He put his glass down on the coffee table, clasped his hands between his knees and looked at the floor.
‘I’ve done something and I’m not sure how you’re going to take it. It seemed a good idea at the time, but now I think I might have overstepped the mark. Been a bit too presumptuous about our friendship.’
Miche touched his arm. ‘I don’t think so. I mean, unless you tell me, I can’t say.’ She had a tingly feeling in the pit of her stomach. Was he going to suggest they go away together? The growing sexual tension between them had not been acknowledged, they had spent time becoming friends first. And she was glad about that. She really liked Jeremy. But she couldn’t deny there was an intense attraction between them that could certainly become something more serious.
He took a deep breath. ‘Miche, it’s about your father. How do you feel about him? At the moment, I mean. Forgetting all that past stuff, what if he walked in that door?’
Miche threw a frantic look at the door for an instant. ‘I can’t “forget all that past stuff” as you put it. How do you think I feel? What are you getting at?’
‘I thought you wanted to find him so you could hear his side of the story, balance the picture a bit.’
Miche was tense and hesitant. ‘I guess so.’ She sipped her wine and Jeremy watched, resisting the temptation to keep talking. She took a deep breath. ‘So tell me, Jeremy, what would you know about my father for God’s sake?’
‘I’ve found him.’
Miche was stunned into speechlessness, her jaw dropped, their eyes met, each momentarily trying to penetrate deep inside the other in an effort to see some instant enlightenment, some immediate rapport. An instant sympathy. But Miche felt like she’d been hit with a hammer. A terrible pain, followed by anger, swept over her. ‘What do you mean? You’ve contacted him? Why didn’t you come to me first?’ she demanded furiously, her fists clenching as she struggled to control the anger.
‘Miche, I had to know if I had the right bloke,’ said Jeremy defensively – and as gently as he could to help her cope with the shock. ‘It seemed such a long shot. Would you have agreed if I’d asked first?’
She stared at him, swirling emotions making her dizzy. ‘What have you found out? Have you talked to him?’ she asked incredulously.
Jeremy nodded. ‘When you told me his name was Gordon Birchmont and that he was born in Adelaide, it just seemed too much of a coincidence. You mentioned his birth date and it all checked out. I’ve had dealings with Gordon, but it wasn’t an easy subject to raise,’ he added.
‘No. It’s very personal. Between him and me,’ snapped Miche. ‘So he’s still in the same area? I was told I’d have to go through the electoral rolls.’
‘He lives in the Barossa Valley in South Australia. He’s a winemaker. That’s how I know of him.’
Miche stared at Jeremy, finally managing to whisper, ‘You’re joking.’
‘No. He spent years in the US. In California in the Napa Valley. He came out to the Barossa after that.’
Miche was silent, a sudden flash hitting her. Her mother had taken her to California when she was about five. She remembered going to Disneyland, with a man sitting beside her in a little boat as they went through a tunnel full of dolls with ‘It’s a small, small world’ blaring from speakers.
And she remembered her mother sitting next to her on a plane and crying.
‘What’s he like?’ She could hardly breathe, barely manage to speak. ‘Does he know about me?’
Jeremy reached for her hand. ‘I told him you were here. He wants to meet you. But only if you want to. He’s emphatic that he doesn’t want to intrude.’
‘Intrude! That takes the cake! When I was a little girl he walked out of my life! Left Mom. Left me.’ Hot, angry tears burned on Miche’s cheeks. ‘Now he wonders about intruding!’
‘I understand the confusion of emotions that this must unleash. But that is something you two have to thrash out. There are two sides to every story, Miche,’ said Jeremy lamely.
The idea of suddenly coming face to face with her unknown father shook her. What did he look like, what was he like? It was as if you’d lived with one leg all your life and suddenly there was the opportunity to have an artificial leg grafted onto your body. She remembered a friend who’d lost half a leg and he had said the phantom nerves still screamed in pain and remembrance of the missing limb. Miche had only a sense of severance, she couldn’t remember what it had been like to be whole. She’d always had a part of her missing. ‘I can’t, I can’t,’ she whispered, dropping her face in her hands.
‘Yes you can, Miche. He isn’t asking for anything other than to meet you. If you don’t do this, it will never be resolved. You’ll wonder all your life.’ Jeremy touched her hair and lifted her face to look at him. ‘Miche, you can’t move forward, and make your own life, until you do this. I think there is a special reason I found him. I’d like to think that you . . . and me . . . that we might sort of stick together . . . down the track.’ He broke off, worried he was putting too much emotional pressure on her.
Jeremy handed her the glass of wine and Miche took a sip and leaned back, wiping her hand across her eyes. ‘I don’t believe this.’ A tremulous smile crept around her lips. ‘You cared enough for me to do this, huh?’
‘I guess it shows how much I feel for you. So, I said I’d let him know what you want to do. A phone call, a letter. Or just meet face to face. Or you can leave it and do nothing.’
‘I think first I’ll talk to Nina. And maybe Larissa,’ said Miche slowly.
‘Do that, Miche.’ He shifted on the sofa. ‘Er, Gordon is on the invite list for the conference. He’s quite respected in the wine business.’
Miche didn’t know whether to laugh or scream. ‘You mean he’s coming here? In the next day or so?’
‘I didn’t plan it this way. His name was on the list and when you told me about your father’s details, it rang a bell. So I asked him when his birthday was and sort of crept the subject of you into the conversation. He was a bit stunned at first. Then very excited. But he doesn’t want to push you.’ When Miche didn’t answer, he continued, ‘Listen, no one else need know anything. You can see him somewhere else, you can stay at my place rather than here. The visitors all stay in the guesthouse and here in the main house. I’ll bunk with a mate.’
Miche wrapped her arms around her head. ‘Oh, my God! What will we talk about, what do I say?’ She lifted her head in sudden distress, ‘Does he know what happened to my mom?’
Jeremy nodded. ‘He knew. I didn’t ask how. He seems to have a lot of pain too, Miche.’
She flung open her arms and settled back in the lounge, signalling an acceptance of the situation and that a degree of emotional control had been reached. ‘So? What now? You’re stage-managing this scenario.’
‘Darling Miche, I’m just trying to be a friend. It need go no further than this moment. He understands that. If you don’t want to see him, he won’t blame you at all.’ Jeremy touched her arm. ‘Surely there has to be a reason this has dropped into our lap? I find it bizarre he’s in the same business as me.’
‘Is he an alcoholic?’ asked Miche.
Jeremy burst out laughing. ‘What a mad thing to ask. People who work in the wine business are quite circumspect in their drinking. Did your mother hint at such a problem?’
Miche felt suddenly traumatised remembering how heavy drinking had been a big problem for Lorraine.
She said nothing, so Jeremy continued. ‘This is how it is . . . your father is well respected and, frankly, quite well to do. He’ll be here on Friday. He was coming anyway. The fact that I have told him you are here . . . that you came out here trying to find him . . . he interprets as a series of fateful circumstances. He says all he wants is a chance to talk to you and to try to explain his feelings. He didn’t go into personal stuff with me, but I sense he feels an obligation to you and also a deep sense of loss. He is thrilled to know how well you are doing.’
Involuntarily there was a flash of pride, an inkling of what she had missed all her life. Recognition by her dad for what she was doing. ‘A bit late to be interested,’ she countered.
‘Come on. Stop judging him on the past. At some point you have to let go and move on with your life.’ Jeremy felt his heart twist as he looked at her pinched, tight face. She was holding in so much pain. He put his arm around her, ‘Miche, I think things are going to change, and be really wonderful. For both of us.’ He stroked her hair and, as she leaned into him, he kissed her softly and slowly and felt the rigidity melt from her shoulders as she returned the kiss that held so much promise.
It was only later, alone in her bed, that the tears flowed. Years of pent-up anger, hurt and loneliness were released. Finally she left the bed, splashed cold water on her face and, as she stood at the window staring into the moonlight and at the distant serried rows of vines, it came to her that there must be a bigger plan for her life being orchestrated by fate, the gods, whatever mysterious power was out there. It could not be a coincidence that on the day she rediscovered her father, she had also discovered another young woman’s painful, pitiful secret.
Now that knowledge was showing her the path to take with her father – forgive, forget, go forward. Hard as it may prove to be.
Nina was finding it difficult to settle back into her routine, something that normally didn’t take more than a day after returning from a big trip. Now she was struggling to stay involved and focus on the minutiae of the day-to-day running of Blaze. While not wanting to overrule Ali who was, after all, still editor until she flew out, Nina wanted to be on top of what was planned and what had happened. She was still judging April Showers. She’d read her work and, while she didn’t like the article on Heather Race and the subsequent legal bunfight, she could see April had talent.
It just needed more intelligent targeting. Her style of attacking writing was not one that Nina personally liked, but she was astute enough to recognise that it stirred up readers and critics and this translated into sales.
Reg was not a problem. He had pulled in his horns once Nina returned, and with the announcement of Ali’s promotion and the promise of a new editor, he felt secure once again. He tried very hard to smarten up his act. Life without Ali could be absolute bliss, he decided. He knew he’d made mistakes, but in the changed corporate environment he’d recover soon enough.
Nina began to make plans for Ali’s public farewell and the more pressing issue of replacing her as editor. But the corporate issues, no matter how urgent and complex, failed to diminish her obsession with the totally enchanting prospect of a whole new way of life, a sample of which she had discovered while being with Lucien – travelling, setting up more children’s homes in Croatia and, hopefully, neighbouring countries still suffering from displacement due to the continuing conflicts and crises. She wanted the freedom to explore the challenges and joys of these new paths into the future, freedom from the constraints and spiritually barren environment of the bottom line, the next edition, the next lot of circulation figures.
She stopped by Belinda’s desk. ‘I have to make a quick trip to New York, just a few days. A meeting with the Baron and, hopefully, the new editor. I want to leave in a few days. Can you arrange the booking?’
Belinda nodded and didn’t ask questions. Nina would confide information when she was ready. ‘Nina, there’s personal mail here for Larissa that Miche dropped off. Do you have her new address?’
‘I’ll take it with me – it will be quicker. She’s still between New York and New Hampshire. Making wedding plans.’
‘I’m so happy for her. Tell her we miss her very much.’
Nina took the letters from Belinda. ‘I’ll tell her. Let me know the flight details.’
‘Will you be here for Ali’s farewell?’ asked Belinda anxiously. It wouldn’t look good for Ali if Nina wasn’t there to make a speech.
‘Of course. We’ll make it as big an exit as the launching of Blaze. It’s very much a promotion, not a sideways move,’ she said firmly.
Belinda nodded. Nina must have seen the sniping in the press. Already there were rumours that the ground was rumbling beneath the Yank Tank.
Ali paced around her sleekly sterile apartment. It looked no different from the week she moved in. She hadn’t acquired anything personal in the way of mementoes of life in a new city, and the continent that sprawled around it. The apartment had the professional, temporary, ordered air of an expensive hotel suite.
She walked around the suite restlessly, deeply perturbed. Despite the magnificent harbour panorama outside the tinted windows and the sense of spaciousness it conveyed, she felt the world was closing in on her.
A conversation with Nina and Belinda earlier in the day had affected her more than either of them suspected.
Nina had told them both about a phone call from Miche pouring out the story of the discovery of her father and that she had agreed to meet him at the end of the week. She had explained how Jeremy had made the connection and contacted Gordon Birchmont, the vigneron from the Barossa. Nina and Belinda had been slightly taken aback at Ali’s vehement reaction, ‘I think that what that young man did is absolutely shocking. He had no right to talk about Miche with her father. What if she hadn’t wanted to know about him? What right has anyone to meddle in her very private business?’
‘Well, Miche did come out here with the intention of looking for him. She made that public knowledge,’ said Nina gently.
‘She was even going to write about it,’ Belinda interjected. ‘Do you suppose she still will? It’s an amazing personal story.’
‘And what if she hates him? I think it’s a gross invasion of privacy.’ Ali had stomped away, leaving them open-mouthed.
Now, in the seclusion of her white space, she prowled, wrestling for hours with long-buried emotions that insisted on surfacing.
After a long and very emotional night, Ali had made her decision. She called the Yellow Brick Road and Belinda and told them both she would be late. At 9 a.m. she made another phone call from her apartment, not trusting even the privacy of her office for the security the call demanded. She made an appointment for later in the morning.
Two hours later she arrived for the secret engagement, struggling to act her new persona. The Chanel dark glasses were firmly in place. Dressed entirely in black, she looked funereal. To the woman behind the desk, the tag of black widow spider sprang to mind.
‘I am Alisson Vidal. Here are the appropriate papers you require,’ announced the spider curtly, handing several folded certificates across the desk.
The assistant commissioner at Corrective Services leaned forward. ‘Thank you very much. I have the file here, Miss Vidal. Sorry to ask you to produce documentation of your identity – the rules, you understand.’ She scanned the documents, folded them carefully and slid Ali’s birth certificate and those of her parents back across the desk. Ali didn’t answer, pushing the papers into her handbag. The assistant commissioner continued, ‘Your inquiry will remain confidential, as you requested. It is entirely up to you whether or not to pursue contact.’
Ali nodded sharply, wanting this meeting to be over as quickly as possible. ‘Is he still at Bathurst?’
‘No, Miss Vidal. Your father has been released.’
Ali jerked in her seat. ‘He’s free? You mean he’s . . . outside? Where?’
‘I really couldn’t say. He was released in 1989. I can give you his last known address, but that was 1992. You could try it.’
Ali lifted her hand to stop the flow of words. ‘I have no intention of doing that.’ She did not elaborate further.
The Corrective Services officer glanced back down at the file and record sheet before her. Among the mass of detail, only two words mattered – ‘Convicted’ and ‘Manslaughter’. Radiating pain and anger, she glanced at the young woman across from her. ‘These problems are not easy to deal with. You may consider seeing a counsellor. If you are thinking of making contact, it helps to have an objective professional involved.’
Once again Ali cut her off, rising to her feet. ‘Thank you for your time and assistance.’ She left the office without a backward glance.
The older woman watched her leave, wondering how many years it would be before the hurt that young woman was holding inside herself blew up.
And whether it would it be too late.
*
It had been a long time since Nina had felt a romantic excitement on being processed by Customs and Immigration at an international airport, but her arrival at Los Angeles this time had put her feelings in such an unaccustomed state. With her heart rate slightly higher and feeling flushed, which generated a readily dismissed embarrassment, she emerged and was swept into the welcoming arms of Lucien. They clung together, making heads turn at the passionate embrace between the handsome man and the elegant woman. Nina was overcome at the strength of her feelings. How she had missed him, and how she was already dreading returning to Sydney and being apart from him. Her old life now seemed totally inadequate, much less fulfilling than being with Lucien.
‘An easy trip, I hope?’ he asked as they parted slightly and looked into each other’s eyes.
‘Fabulous, and you can guess why,’ she grinned.
He gave her a quick kiss in reply and took her arm as they headed to the luggage carousel. ‘Now, Nina, my darling, how soon will you have the editor in place in Sydney and we can swap these passionate airport reunions for a less public acknowledgement of our newfound happiness?’
‘I’m not sure. No matter what, my sweet, I’ll have to stay on in Sydney during the changeover. It’s a tricky time for any publication and I have too much of myself invested in Blaze to leave it to chance. But I know how you feel, believe me.’
‘That settles it then. I’m returning with you. I can’t stand these separations. Could you put up with me hanging around for a couple of months? I can work on finalising the script for my next film. The money is looking good so it could be off the ground and go into pre-production in the next financial year.’
Nina linked her arm through his as he lifted her bag onto the trolley and headed for the car. It felt cosy and domestic after the years of chauffeurs and impersonal limousines.
Two days later she was in New York in the conference room at Triton headquarters meeting with Oscar Triton. To her surprise, the Baron, though outwardly warm and welcoming, had little time for talking. He announced that due to a complicated schedule he only had time for a review of possible candidates for the editor’s job in Sydney.
Nina sensed, despite his warmth and courtesy, he was holding something back. It puzzled her immensely because her past association with him had been so open, so mutually trusting.
However, all such concerns were pushed from her mind as Larissa hurried into Nina’s temporary office to greet her.
‘Nina, what a lovely surprise! I’m so glad we can catch up on all the news. But first things first. Is there a chance you and Lucien and Miche can come to the wedding?’
Nina laughed. ‘Where and when? Tell me all. Over coffee.’
‘Well, we’re planning something small and intimate for very close friends and family only. In Santa Barbara. We’re trying to decide where to splurge for the honeymoon.’
‘What about New Hampshire – have you found a place to live?’
‘It’s been hard. Gerry has a few problems.’
Nina poured the coffee. ‘What sort of problems?’
Larissa’s cheerful demeanour dropped for a moment. ‘The position he was promised has had a hiccup. A contractual mix-up over detail of duties and responsibilities, but it will be solved in a few months. A bit of staff shuffling is needed as well. A good thing in a way, as it gives us time to find a place, settle in, you know. How’s everyone in Sydney? Miche rang me to tell me about finding her dad. Have you met Miche’s young man?’
‘Not yet. She’s staying with Jeremy’s boss at the vineyard, doing research for a week or so. Your little Paddo house is empty. I think Miche may want to move closer to the Hunter,’ smiled Nina. ‘By the way, Belinda gave me a few pieces of mail for you.’
Larrisa quickly thumbed through the envelopes. ‘Nothing that suggests I ought to instantly reach for the letter opener,’ she said smiling. ‘Thanks for doing courier duty.’
‘No worries,’ Nina replied, and they both laughed. It was an expression used constantly in the Sydney office, even when editorial hell was breaking out.
Then Nina switched into a serious mode. ‘Larissa, I asked you to come in and see me for more than a catch-up. I’d like to run something past you.’
Larissa recognised the tone in her voice. It was the Nina executive voice and it came as a surprise. Nina still looked a little weary, jet-lagged, she supposed. But her usual energetic verve was missing. In a flash it seemed to Larissa that Nina was losing her passion for Blaze. It must be the deepening relationship with Lucien. She could understand that. ‘Shoot, Nina.’
‘I’ve moved Ali. It’s considered a promotion, “Publisher at Large” for Asia and the Pacific as well as Australia. She’ll be on the move with a lot less opportunity to create a power base. She didn’t seem at all happy being in Sydney. That disappointed me, as I had hoped that being in the more casual Aussie work environment and different culture would soften her approach to life a little, perhaps enable her to see there was more to life than just being an imaginative and tough editor.’
‘Find a little bit more yin to go with the yang, you mean?’ queried Larissa.
‘Quite,’ said Nina. ‘It didn’t work out, though she certainly made sure the magazine was started professionally and running in front of the field.’
Larissa was impressed with the way in which Nina had quickly diagnosed what was going well and what was going wrong at Blaze. ‘But who is coming in to replace Ali as editor in Australia?’
‘I was thinking you would be perfect.’
Larissa put her cup down with a clatter and laughed. ‘Nina! We’ve just been through all this. I didn’t leave because of Ali. I chose Gerard.’
‘Seems to me, Gerard’s career is treading water for a bit. Why not have a honeymoon on the Barrier Reef and take the reins at Blaze for six months? There is a sweetener to this. Stay for twelve months and you’re in line to come back here and replace Irene. She wants to move to Europe.’
Larissa was stunned and it took a few seconds for her to respond. ‘Why didn’t this arise when I was still there?’
‘Would you have changed your mind about marrying Gerard?’
Larissa rubbed her forehead. ‘Nina, this is so cruel. You know I always wanted to be editor, I figured the opportunity had passed me by. I love Gerard. But I’d adore to go back to Sydney.’
‘I’ll talk to Gerard if you like.’
‘No, I’ll tell him what you’ve offered. Let him decide. I’m not going back on my promise to be with him.’
Nina touched her hand. ‘Come and have lunch with me tomorrow. Let me know then. I’m back to Sydney. Lucien is moving down for a couple of months to write his script, then we’ll return to Croatia. I’m working with several agencies to help set up two more children’s homes. Lucien is setting his film there.’
‘I’m really happy for you, Nina.’
‘Follow your heart, Riss. I’d love you to run Blaze, but I want you to be happy most of all,’ said Nina softly.
They arranged to meet at Giovanni’s, Nina’s favourite Italian restaurant on West Fifty-fifth. Nina was pleased to see Larissa come in accompanied by Gerard. He kissed her on both cheeks with a rueful smile.
‘Are you cross with me, Gerard? Can’t blame me for wanting to keep her, but she’s made it clear to me that you come first,’ said Nina trying to instantly reduce the tension she could sense.
Giovanni escorted them to their table and fussed around Nina making suggestions for their meal. Once they’d settled on Giovanni’s menu and the wine was opened, Nina lifted her glass. ‘Here’s to you both. Much, much happiness. How are the preparations coming along?’
‘Our mothers are still in a tizz over the final details.’ She gave Gerard a fond look.
‘We’re sorry you and Lucien can’t be there, and Miche won’t be able to make it either,’ said Gerard. ‘However, we’ll see everyone on the way to our honeymoon. We’ve decided on the Great Barrier Reef. Heron Island.’
Nina smiled and raised her glass in acknowledgement. ‘I’ll drink to that decision.’
‘Thought you might,’ said Larissa and raised her glass to Nina’s. Her face broke into a huge smile. ‘We’ve decided to take up your offer. Gerry is coming out while I edit Blaze. He’s going to paint!’
Nina was elated. ‘That’s wonderful! Oh, Gerard, I’m so pleased. Larissa will be brilliant, the staff will be thrilled. What changed your mind?’
‘Quite a few things,’ answered Gerard. ‘The fact Riss was prepared to give up her career for me, the frustration of my job appointment being delayed, and well . . . that letter you brought clinched it for me.’
‘Letter?’ asked Nina in a puzzled voice.
Larissa’s eyes were shining. ‘It was from a prestigious art gallery in Woollahra. Miche and Belinda had the owner look at Gerry’s paintings that he left behind in the house and she’s asked him if she can represent him. She wants him to do an exhibition. That’ll keep him busy for six months.’
‘It’ll be a test of whether or not I can sell, that’s for sure,’ said Gerard.
‘Our parents weren’t too thrilled at first, but now they’re planning trips Down Under,’ laughed Larissa. ‘So when do I start, Nina?’
‘As soon as the honeymoon is over . . . I mean the one on Heron Island. I hope the magic never wears off,’ she said, raising her glass for another toast. ‘To our futures, joyous, one and all!’