Araluen (25 page)

Under normal circumstances, Franklin would have put the subordinate in his or her place. But the moment Helen smiled, he realised that this was what he liked about her. Not only her honesty, but her nerve. Helen Bohan had guts.

‘How long have you been with Minotaur?’ he asked.

During the rest of Franklin's stay in New York, he saw quite a bit of Helen Bohan. Board meetings followed by lunches, always at his suggestion and always under the pretext of necessary business discussions, although they both knew there was no earthly reason for the company president to take a junior director to lunch. Then, finally, just before he returned to Australia, Helen accepted his invitation to dinner. She knew she shouldn't. She knew he was married. She also knew she was in love with him.

They didn't sleep together that night but, on Franklin's return to New York the following year, Helen was the first person he phoned. And when, after dinner, they went back to her apartment, it seemed like the most natural thing in the world.

I'd like to stay, Helen,’ he'd said.

‘Yes, I'd like you to,’ she'd answered.

Their affair continued for the next several years, Franklin always staying in his rooms at the Broughton Arms – one of the luxury hotels owned by the Ross Corporation – and spending several nights a week at Helen's apartment. Helen accepted the fact that theirs was a relationship which existed for only three months of the year.

Then one day Franklin suggested that he find her a larger apartment. ‘I spend so much time in New York, my dear, we might as well be comfortable together,’ he said.

Helen wondered at the reason for the change in their arrangements. Franklin had openly stated from the outset of their affair that he would never leave his wife. But he offered no reason. He didn't tell her that his guilt had been assuaged when Penelope had insisted upon separate bedrooms.

Helen accepted the offer and life progressed smoothly for Franklin. He didn't realise that, against her better judgement, Helen was desperately in love with him and that, although she wouldn't admit it even to herself, she lived in the delusion that one day he might leave his wife.

Penelope suspected that Franklin might have a mistress in New York but she never confronted him. It wasn't wise to rock the boat, she told herself, and she felt in no way threatened. Penelope was fully confident of her place in the scheme of things, secure in the knowledge that she was the co-ruler of the Ross Empire.

The maid came to clear away the breakfast things and Penelope continued to read the paper, still smarting at Franklin's comment about nagging. But he appeared oblivious, staring out over the harbour, his mind on other things.

He hadn't asked Millie about her daughter, he realised. But Millie had seemed so much her own person that he hadn't wished to intrude. Besides, if she'd wanted to talk about the daughter she would have, wouldn't she? No, it was safer to leave things as they were. And, with a tinge of sadness, Franklin realised that he would never see Millie again.

He looked over at Penelope and noticed that her eyes were not scanning the page. She was sulking.

‘How would you like to go to Mandinulla?’ he asked. ‘I can afford a month off.’

‘It'll be boiling at this time of the year.’

‘So? That's never bothered you before. What do you say? Just the two of us.’

Penelope recognised the suggestion as a peacemaking offer, and smiled. ‘Very well.’ It would be nice to see Never-Never. It would be nice to ride out to the creek, to catch yabbies and to pretend she was a girl again.

But they didn't go to Mandinulla. Several days later, Terry came to Franklin with the news his father had been dreading.

‘How far gone is she?’ Franklin asked, so annoyed he scarcely dared speak.

Terry could hear the anger in his father's voice and he started to feel a little nervous. It was obvious his charm wouldn't get him far this time. As a child, his father's anger had always terrified him. Franklin never shouted, never swore, never even raised his voice, but the tone was so threatening and the eyes so menacing that they instilled a genuine fear in the boy.

‘She's not sure. She thinks about two months,’ he said.

‘And what does she do?’

‘She works at the cannery.’ Before his father could say anything, Terry continued hastily. ‘But she's not a factory worker, she's a receptionist in the delivery office.’ That sounded a lot better, he thought.

‘I don't give a damn what she is. This time you'll marry her.’

For once Terry was at an utter loss for words. Vonnie was a nice little thing, and madly in love with him, but she was mousy – not his type at all. And they'd only done it a few times. Surely his father couldn't mean it? Not marriage. An allowance for the baby, if Vonnie wished to have it, or he could buy her out like he had the last girl ... But not marriage, surely?

‘You can't be serious,’ he said. ‘Dad, you can't be.’ Franklin still didn't answer. ‘But she's a receptionist,’ Terry insisted. How could his father force him to marry one of his factory employees? ‘At the cannery,’ he stammered.

I don't care if she licks the labels,’ Franklin said, his voice like ice. He could feel his right hand clench into a fist and he knew he would dearly love to hit his son. ‘You will marry her. That is, if she's fool enough to have you. And then you will set up a decent home for her and the child, and you will give her more children and you will give her an honourable life.’

‘Oh, come on, Dad.’ Terry's mouth was dry but he tried to smile. Nine times out of ten the smile did the trick. ‘You don't mean it ...’

‘You'll do as you're told, boy,’ Franklin snarled. ‘You'll do as you're told or you'll be disinherited. Now get out.’

When Penelope met Veronica, she expressed her concern to Franklin. The girl was definitely mousy and, Penelope suspected, not very bright. Certainly not the stylish, well-bred young lady one would have hoped Terry might marry.

‘The boy should have thought of that,’ Franklin growled and Penelope realised she would have to make the best of the situation.

As usual, it didn't take her long. Vonnie's lack of vivacity was to her advantage, she decided. A dowdy daughter-in-law would be no competition at all.

Penelope quickly befriended little Vonnie. And Vonnie, who was overwhelmed by the Ross household, was only too grateful for the support. Mrs Ross – ‘Penelope, you must call me Penelope’ – was the nicest person she had ever met.

Terence George Franklin Ross and Veronica Mary Slater were married on April 12, 1966 at St Mark's Church in Darling Point and there followed a grand reception at The Colony House. Twenty-two-year-old Vonnie felt like a princess. It was more than a dream come true - she would never have had the temerity (or the imagination) to dream that such a thing could be possible.

Six months later, Michael Terence Franklin Ross was born.

The birth of his grandson appeased Franklin. He'd been dismissive of his daughter-in-law. Not deliberately – she was simply invisible to him. Now that she had presented him with a grandson, he instinctively offered her more attention. And she was a good mother. Terry, too, was a good father who enjoyed his baby far more than Franklin had his own children when they were infants.

As he watched Terry dandle little Michael on his knee, Franklin was prepared to forgive his son all his previous misdemeanours. Everything had worked out for the best, Franklin thought, and there would be more grandchildren. He was content.

It was Vonnie who realised that things hadn't really changed that much. At least not as far as Terry was concerned. She knew he still had affairs. Well, not so much affairs as conquests. She was aware that Terry couldn't resist a pretty woman. He couldn't resist the drink either but, when he came home, barely able to walk, and cried drunkenly on her breast, she had to forgive him. He was gentle and kind and he never abused her. Not the way her drunken father had abused her mother. He was a good provider and a good father and Vonnie supposed that his infidelity was her lot to bear. This was the price she was expected to pay for the elevated position she now held as wife to the heir of the Ross empire and mother to his son.

Barely a year after the birth of his grandson, Franklin was shocked out of his complacency. He'd just returned from New York and the successful conclusion of a television network deal between CBS, Ross Entertainments and Minotaur Movies. Things had gone extremely well.

‘Mr Ross?’ the girl said the moment he walked in the door. But she knew she didn't need to ask. She knew it was him. Terry had told her all about him.’

‘Yes?’ he said warily. The girl was in her twenties, fair-haired and physically quite attractive but there was a tough tilt to the chin and a glint in her eye which said she meant business. Penelope had told him she'd been waiting for two hours. Something to do with Terry, the girl had said, but she would speak to no one but Franklin. Penelope, frustrated, had been able to do nothing but wait with her.

The girl didn't beat about the bush. ‘I’m carrying your son's child,’ she said and she waited for the stunned reaction. She got it. Then she continued. ‘I thought you might like to do something about it.’

‘And what exactly do you expect me to do about it?’

‘Give me money.’ She stared back at him, unashamed. ‘Quite a lot of money.’

Penelope wondered whether she should feign a fainting attack but she didn't think the girl would be impressed. It would be more effective to slap the brazen little slut hard across the face, she thought, and her palm itched. But of course she controlled herself.

‘What does my son have to say about this?’ Franklin asked.

‘Oh, Terry's denying it's his, of course.’

Penelope felt a surge of relief. ‘Well, he's probably right,’ she said. ‘You certainly can't prove it is.’

‘Oh, it's his all right,’ the
undaunted. ‘He knows it's his. But he's scared. Not of me, not of the kid.’ She turned again to Franklin. ‘It's you he's scared of.’ The girl dropped a touch of her bravado. ‘If it wasn't for you, Mr Ross, your son would admit this kid was his and he'd set me up, look after me. Terry's not mean -he's just scared.’ The girl was being reasonable now, and Franklin recognised it. ‘But it's not fair to shut me out just because he's scared. I'll leave him alone. I don't want to wreck his life.’ She raised her chin and the bravado was back. ‘But it's going to cost money to have this kid and somebody has to fork out, so I thought it might just as well be you.’

‘Good heavens, girl.’ Penelope couldn't resist interrupting. ‘If Terry isn't going to acknowledge the child as his own, why on earth should we?’

The girl barely glanced at her. ‘Because you know I'm right, don't you, Mr Ross?’ The challenge was once again in her eyes but Franklin recognised something else. A sadness. ‘You know your son's as weak as piss.’

What a pity the girl hadn't come on the scene a little earlier, Franklin thought. She was good daughter-in-law material. If Terry had been forced to marry this one instead of Vonnie the mouse, she might have toughened him up a little. Franklin despaired of Terry. The girl was right. He was as weak as piss.

‘How much did you have in mind?’ he asked.

‘Franklin!’ Penelope was shocked, but the look he flashed her brooked no argument so she kept quiet.

‘I personally think you'd be far wiser
the child,’ he continued. ‘I could arrange — ’

That's really up to me to decide, isn't it?’

Franklin's eyes warned the girl that she was coming close to overstepping the mark. ‘Whatever your decision,’ he said coldly, ‘there will be only one payment and that is for your silence. We do not recognise bastards in this family.’

She nodded and Franklin took out his cheque-book. ‘I shall not expect to see you again,’ he said as he wrote out the cheque. ‘Ever.’ She watched as he ripped it from the book. Yes, you're a tough old bugger, she thought. Everything that Terry said you were. He handed it to her. ‘Agreed?’

She looked at the cheque. Fifty thousand dollars. She'd been hoping she might get ten. ‘Agreed,’ she said.

‘I'm sending you to Mandinulla,’ Franklin told Terry that night. ‘You and Veronica and the baby. You'll work on the property for one year and when you return I expect to see a bit of common sense and maturity.’

Terry stood in front of his father's huge wooden desk in the study feeling like a ten-year-old. Franklin always did that to him. He always made him feel like a child.

As a child, though, Terry could remember, he'd always been able to get around the old man with his charm and his daredevil ways. Now he received nothing but scorn and contempt from his father, particulary since James’ death. Whenever Franklin spoke of his youngest son it was with respect. ‘A young man of honour and integrity’, Terry had heard him say. Is that what one had to do to win the old man's respect, he wondered, go out and get killed in some bloody stupid war? Jesus Christ, the old bastard had had little enough respect for James before he'd died. He'd paid the boy no attention at all.

Poor James, Terry often thought, all he ever wanted was his father's respect and he had to die to get it. But then he'd had his mother's love, hadn't he? Terry had always been envious of the love Penelope showered on James. He wondered whether that was why he vied so strongly for his father's affection. Probably. There was a strange sense of competition between Franklin and Penelope. God only knew what they were competing for – power, a hold over each other? – but it was bound to transfer itself to their children.

Not that it had ever interfered with the relationship between James and Terry. Despite their age difference, they'd been good friends and allies and Terry missed his brother desperately.

Maybe if he was here now, Terry thought, staring at the wooden desk top, he could help take a bit of the pressure off. The old man sure was mad about something. What could it be? he wondered. And why the hell is he sending me to Mandinulla? Jesus Christ, what am I going to do there? he thought, it's a million miles from anywhere.

‘And while you're working on the property,’ Franklin continued, ‘you might work on giving me another grandchild. A legitimate one this time.’