Araluen (30 page)

Dan’s body was indeed impressive. If anything, he was a little shorter than Michael, who stood just under six feet, but his well-muscled body was
that of an athlete, finely honed and conditioned. Next to it, Michael’s bony form, yet to fill out, with too-long arms and too-big feet, looked a touch ludicrous.

Then Michael, who was sunbaking up the bow of the boat, suddenly turned to her and smiled that captivating smile. ‘Hey, Natalie,’ he called, ‘some pretty high profile TV personalities have bought up here recently - you want to swim ashore and say hello?’ The eyes twinkled mischievously.

‘No thank you, Michael,’ she called back. ‘We work for different outfits.’ He’s irresistible, she thought, utterly irresistible.

The evening was also pleasant and Natalie started wondering whether she may have been overreacting. They had a good meal, played cards, listened to music and finally Dan announced it was bedtime.

‘Early night,’ he said. ‘The alarm’s set for five.’ And Natalie retired to her comfortable bedroom with its view of the bay and slept like a log.

At dawn, when Dan woke her, all her plans for an urgent return to Sydney had vanished. A few innocent days’ fishing, pleasant company, no strings attached – it was exactly the break she needed. And she packed the Esky with their picnic lunch, excited and feeling like a twelve-year-old.

It was a successful day. They fished off the reefs outside Point Barrenjoey and caught a number of decent-sized snapper, then put trawling lines out from the stern of the boat and chased the flocks of birds which signalled a feeding frenzy.

‘It’s probably tuna,’ Dan explained. ‘The birds are after the small school fish the tuna are
chasing.’ He was right, and they hauled in a half dozen albacore which had been feeding on a shoal of tiny squid.

They dropped anchor at pretty little Lobster Bay and picnicked on chicken and champagne and Natalie loved every minute of it.

It was mid-afternoon when they returned to Hardy’s Bay and the marina. Dan suggested they go on ahead of him while he cleaned the fish.

‘Saves the mess at home if I do it aboard,’ he said. ‘Besides, Michael’s lousy at cleaning fish. You take the gear and I’ll walk back.’

When they arrived at the shack, they were still chattering about which had been the most exciting catch.

‘Bags first shower,’ she said as they walked in the back door. ‘I stink of fish.’

‘Sure. Want a cold beer when you’re finished?’

‘I’d die for one,’ she laughed.

She sat on the verandah in a sarong and sipped her beer while Michael had his shower. And then he joined her and they sat together watching the boats as they returned from the day’s fishing.

Although it was late in the afternoon, there was no cooling breeze. The air was still and the sun was fierce.

‘That was one of the loveliest days of my life, Michael,’ she said and meant it.

‘Yes,’ he nodded. Although he’d had a cold shower, the beads of sweat were starting to form on Michael’s chest and forehead. ‘I think we’re in for a heatwave.’

Neither of them knew who initiated it, but at that moment it seemed the most natural thing to
kiss. Gently at first. Then the kiss became deeper, their mouths opening hungrily, their bodies responding urgently to each other.

Michael struggled with the knot of her sarong. Natalie’s reservations disappeared completely. There was no point in fighting it, no point at all. She wanted the boy as much as he wanted her.

‘Let’s go inside,’ she whispered.

They didn’t make it to the bedroom. They undressed each other feverishly and made love on the hearth rug in the lounge room. She tried to slow him down in the initial stages, sensing this was probably his first time, feeling that, as the older woman, she should be teaching him the pleasures of foreplay. But within seconds she’d surrendered to her own excitement and, as she felt the vigour of his thrusts, she could do little but respond in kind.

Michael was aware of nothing but the feel of her surrounding him, the clashing of their loins and the knowledge that his months of fantasies were being realised and that any minute he was about to explode. And then he did, and it was over and he was lying on top of her gasping for breath.

‘Hey,’ Natalie said after a few moments, ‘give us a bit of air down here.’

‘Oh.’ He came to his senses and rolled off her. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said breathlessly. ‘I’m sorry.’ He propped himself on one elbow and looked at her. For the first time he became aware that he’d left her far behind. ‘I really am sorry, I got carried away and I … I know I should have … ’

‘Ssshh,’ she said and she stroked the unruly lock
of hair from his brow. ‘You were fine.’ Oh, shit, Natalie, she told herself, you can’t fall in love with a sixteen-year-old, for God’s sake. But he looked so earnest, so naive, and she couldn’t resist a surge of tenderness. ‘Your first time, right?’ He nodded. ‘Believe me, you were fine.’

‘Really?’

‘Really.’

Michael felt suddenly and gloriously happy. He grinned at her. ‘Wow,’ he said.

And the grin was Natalie’s undoing. What the hell, she thought, she was going to have an affair with a schoolboy. She couldn’t resist him.

‘You could do with a little tuition,’ she smiled.

Michael was a quick learner. They made love twice that night and again in the morning and each time he found it easier to maintain his control. As a result, his own pleasure was not only prolonged, it was intensified by Natalie’s. When her sensual moans became demanding grunts and the languid writhing of her hips became urgent pelvic thrusts, he didn’t allow himself to surrender. He waited until her back was arched and her hands were clawing his buttocks trying to pull him deeper and deeper inside her. Then, his own passion at screaming pitch, he thrust back at her with equal fervour and they fed each other’s passion until, together, they lost themselves.

‘Hell, no more lessons,’ Natalie panted finally as he once again took her breast in his mouth and she once again felt him harden. She pushed him away. ‘Give a girl a break,’ she said.

Their affair continued for a full two years. Secretly. They would meet at Natalie’s flat several nights a week. Sometimes they would spend the whole weekend locked up there together.

It was Natalie who introduced Michael to drugs. Innocently. ‘Just for an added sexual buzz,’ she said. It started with amyl nitrate. ‘Gives a whole new meaning to oral sex,’ she promised.

And she was right. Then they graduated to cocaine. ‘You can go all night,’ she promised. And again she was right.

But it was more than the added sustaining power which excited Michael. By now he was so practised at restraining himself he could go half the night anyway. It was the trip itself which excited him.

As he surrendered his body to carnal pleasure, Michael’s mind journeyed into areas he’d never known existed. But then, he wondered vaguely, perhaps he had. As a child he’d dreamed of power. The power to create a fantasy land. A magic place where the time and the people were of his own invention. And now, as his body writhed with Natalie’s, he created that place, that time, those people.

The place was soaring somewhere in the sky. The time was any time. All time. Time was suddenly insignificant. And the people were controlled by him. All of them. Fond as he was of her, Natalie had ceased to be Natalie. She embodied all people and Michael was the controlling power. He was omnipotent.

Natalie persuaded him that there was no harm in what they were doing. After all, they only used
the drugs as a sexual stimulant. Michael agreed, but to him the sating of desire was the least important aspect of their coupling. After each time, he couldn’t wait for the next journey into his magic kingdom.

The only person who knew of their affair was Dan, and he began to wonder what he’d started. ‘Don’t you think you should be going out with girls your own age,’ he suggested tentatively, but Michael just grinned and shook his head and there was nothing Dan could do.

After excellent passes in his final examinations, Michael dropped the bombshell on Franklin.

‘I don’t want to work in administration, Grandpa,’ he said when Franklin started making plans for his training as a corporate director. ‘I want to create.’

‘Create what?’ To Franklin nothing could be more creative than opening new markets, embarking on new fields of endeavour, or conquering new opponents.

‘Movies’, Michael answered. ‘Movies with a difference. I have this idea, Grandpa. I want to make movies based around an actuality. They become real, you see? Not an actual happening from the past, but from the moment and from the future … ‘He was warming to his theme. Michael had told no one of his idea yet.

But Franklin interrupted. He’d heard many a director and producer expound their latest theme
and he wasn’t interested. It was enough that the lad wanted to make films, he wouldn’t stand in his way. Besides, it could be good training for him. In ten years’ time Michael would no doubt be sick of the superficiality of the entertainment industry and would be interested in a position of greater power. Franklin recognised ambition when he saw it.

‘Very well,’ he said. ‘But you’ll start from the bottom and learn your trade. You can’t come to New York with me until you’re ready. I’m sure Penelope could find you a position here at the studios.’

‘Yes, she’s already said she will. In the story-lining department, working on the new series. She promised me ages ago.’

‘Oh, she did, did she?’ Franklin felt mildy irritated. So they’d been discussing the lad’s future without consulting him. But he decided not to confront Penelope. She had too much ammunition to fire back at him – he’d been in New York for a full six months of the year, after all.

In January 1984, when the studios went back into production, a seventeen-year-old trainee storyliner joined the ranks of the ‘Destiny’ writing department.

‘Destiny’ was the new, highly successful big-budget series which had recently taken the country by storm: ‘a powerful saga of money, power and corruption’ was how the publicity department was pitching it. The series had been presold to Network 5 and was designed and programmed as direct competition against the glossy American
series the other networks had imported.

Michael loved the work and his talent quickly became evident. It was the type of ‘no-holds-barred’ drama which suited his fertile imagination. And the budget allowed for aerial shots and cars over cliffs and high-powered boat chases.

Within a year, Michael was associate executive storyliner and not just because he was the boss’s grandson.

The affair with Natalie continued. As far as Michael was concerned, it was really a matter of convenience more than anything else. He didn’t meet other women – there was simply no time to socialise. His hours at the studios were long and during weekends he spent his time at home working on his movie script. Stimulating as it was, ‘Destiny’ was merely a stepping stone to him. As soon as he felt he was ready, he intended to make his movie based around an actual event. He’d chosen his event but had told no one about it. The film would be shot in 1986 – he had a year to go.

To Natalie, the affair was more than a matter of convenience. Michael was no longer the gawky schoolboy to whom she’d taught the art of love. He was a charismatic young man. There was the same electric mischief in the eyes and the smile, but his body had filled out and there was an assurance about him that drew people to him like a magnet.

But Natalie was wise. She knew that their affair was living on borrowed time and she prepared herself for the inevitable moment when Michael would meet a girl and fall head over heels in love.

‘Hi, Penelope, I’m home.’ Michael bounded across the main hall of The Colony House, through the arch and into the main lounge, where he could see Penelope sipping a cup of her specially imported herbal tea. He dumped his briefcase on a chair and then noticed the girl seated on the sofa beside her. ‘Oh, hello,’ he said.

Penelope looked a little disconcerted. ‘What are you doing back at this hour? It’s Tuesday.’

‘Reg and I had an argument so I walked out. Aren’t you going to introduce me?’

‘Of course, darling. This is Emma. Emma Clare, Michael Ross.’

What superb legs, Michael thought.

‘Hi,’ the girl said and, as she smiled a greeting at him, Michael found himself momentarily frozen to the spot. She was beautiful. She was tanned, even though it was not yet summer. A natural olive skin with blonde, sandy-coloured hair which she wore straight and to her shoulders. Her smile was warm and generous and her hazel eyes inviting. Everything about the girl was healthy and unaffected. Michael had rarely been exposed to such natural beauty – the glamorous actresses in ‘Destiny’ were highly manufactured – and it was like a breath of fresh air.

He finally found his voice. ‘Hello,’ he said. ‘Where did you spring from?’

‘Emma’s doing some work for me for the Blind Society,’ Penelope answered for her.

The Royal Blind Society was one of Penelope’s pet charities. Besides the various functions she hosted, she regularly recorded book and poetry readings for their talking book library. It helped
satisfy the thwarted actor in her and she very much enjoyed it.

‘Oh, are you an actress?’ Michael asked as he seated himself beside Penelope.

‘No, I’m a writer,’ the girl replied. ‘Well, I’m trying to be. I’ve just finished school and I do a bit of reporting for the
North Shore Times
and Penelope kindly landed me a job writing synopses and book descriptions for the Blind Society.’ She flashed a grateful smile in Penelope’s direction.

‘So what was the row with Reg about?’ Penelope enquired.

‘Oh, don’t ask,’ Michael said, jumping to press the servants’ buzzer. ‘We’re finalising the end-of-season cliffhanger and Reg is too scared to kill off Ryan Clifford. He’s happy to give him a hang-gliding accident – you know, “Is he dead or is he not?” type of thing, he’s happy with that. But when we come back to the new season he wants to resurrect him.’

‘So what’s the problem?’ Penelope poured herself another herbal tea from the pot.

‘Ryan’s contract only goes till March, so why shouldn’t we kill him off? Horrific death, massive funeral, a nervous breakdown for his mistress … it’ll boost the ratings fantastically – far more than having him pack a suitcase and walk off into the sunset.’