Araluen (39 page)

‘Oh.’ Malcolm was surprised. ‘You're one of the crew then, are you?’ What a waste, he thought. She should be in front of the cameras, not behind them.

‘No,Fm a writer,’ Emma smiled. ‘Well, they've employed me as a writer, but I’m a glorified secretary more than anything. No thanks,’ she shook her head as he offered to top up her glass, ‘it's a bit too hot for bubbly, isn't it?’

They were standing by the catering tent overlooking the marina. Although it was late afternoon, there was little breeze, the day was sticky and humid and the bulk ‘champagne’ and beer supplied by the production company was turning warm.

‘How about a freezing gin and tonic in my air-conditioned office?’ Malcolm asked. When Emma hesitated, he added, ‘Your producer's already agreed,’ and nodded at the dumpy dark-haired woman who was marching towards them.

‘Thanks,’ Emma smiled. ‘I'd love to.’

As they walked down to the marina Emma was aware of Monica's disapproval but she didn't care. Monica was a martinet at the best of times and a bully at the worst. Obviously she'd presumed her invitation had been exclusive. Not that her sights would be in any way set on Malcolm - she was a confirmed lesbian - but Monica liked people to know and to keep their place and Emma was not part of the company hierarchy. Emma, however, believed in equality. Besides, a gin and tonic and air-conditioning was too good to resist.

As she looked out at the first glow of sunset over the water and the millions of dollars worth of boats bobbing gently in their pens, Emma thought what a charming host Malcolm was. He was telling a tale about an arrogant American multimillionaire who kept his boat penned at the marina and used it just once a year for a week's game fishing.

‘
He's utterly useless,’ Malcolm laughed. ‘Motherless drunk the whole time. We skipper and crew the boat for him and catch the fish and then prop him up and take photos of him with a Spanish mackerel in each hand so he can go home and boast about his exploits "down under".’

Emma laughed. How refreshing it was to be listening to someone talk about something other than the television and movie business. Movie people could be such an indulgent lot. Many of them took themselves and their business so seriously when really they had no right to. Not Michael, of course. Michael was a constant source of challenge and stimulation. He was also witty and amusing and Emma sorely missed his company. Yes, she thought, Malcolm O'Brien was a welcome relief. Charming, humorous and, she concluded, stealing another quick glance at him before returning to the sunset, devilishly handsome.

Half an hour later, when the sunset was at its gaudy, glorious peak, Malcolm offered to take the two women to dinner. Emma immediately declined. She used the film shoot and its gruelling schedule as her excuse but it was really
Blue Water History
which was claiming her.

Before Monica could accept the invitation, Malcolm rose to his feet nodding in agreement. ‘Yes, of course, you're quite right. "A heavy week's workload ahead", that's what the producer said.’ He flashed a winning smile at Monica. ‘Perhaps we'd better leave it till the weekend.’

‘Yes, I think so.’ Monica had no option but to agree, though she would have liked to dine with Malcolm O'Brien. Not only did she enjoy fine food, it would have been good for her image to be seen with such a powerful, high-profile man.

That night, Malcolm decided to stay in Towns-ville for the duration of the filming and the following morning he booked the penthouse at a nearby resort for three months.

It took him seven weeks to bed Emma. Not only was she playing hard to get, he thought, but she always seemed to be working. Undaunted, he persevered, never pushing too hard, never making too much of a nuisance of himself, until finally, what had started out as a bit of a challenge became a fixation.

He sent her red roses every day until she agreed to dine with him and, when she did, it was quite obvious she enjoyed his company. ‘So what's wrong with dinner again tomorrow or the night after?’ he asked. ‘You're not filming, are you?’ She shook her head and he concluded triumphantly, ‘Exactly! And you have to eat.’ But she continued to shake her head. ‘We'll make it a sandwich, for God's sake, Emma - what's the problem?’

‘I've set myself a deadline on the script I'm writing. If I have a sandwich at all it'll be while I'm belting away at a word processor.’

‘Then I'll sit quietly in the background and serve you coffee.’

But she just laughed and accepted another glass of wine. And, the next day, more red roses arrived. Eventually he wore her down and they dined together several nights a week. Emma still met her Blue Water History deadline. It simply meant that she had to work through till five in the morning on occasions.

Then came the expensive gifts. When he first presented her with a gold bracelet Emma tried to refuse but he took her hand gently in his. ‘Please, Emma, it gives me pleasure.’ Normally Malcolm's deep brown eyes were crinkled with laughter and the white teeth gleamed in a continual smile. Life never appeared to present much of a problem for Malcolm O'Brien. But now, as he looked down at her hand, his eyes were solemn and his voice was ardent. ‘Don't deny me that pleasure. I love you.’ He looked up. ‘You must know that I love you, Emma.’ And, as his lips gently touched hers, Emma felt herself start to melt.

They didn't make love that night. They didn't make love for another fortnight. The expensive gifts continued, but Emma didn't wear them - she wore very little jewellery. And Malcolm had the good taste never to press her on the issue: it seemed to be enough for him merely to have his gifts accepted.

But gradually Emma was weakening and they both knew it. From the outset, she'd felt fond of Malcolm and, deep down, a little guilty about the attention and presents he lavished upon her. It was still no reason to go to bed with someone, she told herself over and over, until finally she asked herself ‘Why not?’ She was nineteen years old and all she'd experienced was a messy tumble in the back of a car - so why not? Her capitulation to the seduction was a very conscious act on Emma's behalf.

But from the moment Malcolm started to undress her, gently caressing every inch of her skin, Emma lost all conscious thought. At last she had stopped denying her sexuality and her body was making up for lost time. Her entire being was on fire at his touch. His hands, his mouth, his tongue seemed to be everywhere, more and more insistent. His lips surrounded one hardened nipple, his fingers caressed the other. His hand gently played along the line of her hip, slowly making its way between her thighs.

‘You're beautiful, Emma,’ he murmured. ‘So beautiful.’ And she moaned as she opened her thighs for him.

Emma's awakening had been a long time coming but it didn't disappoint her. The feeling in the very core of her being when he entered her was what she knew she'd been yearning for and she clasped him to her, wanting more and more of him.

She lost herself in her passion for him and, when she called out his name in climax, she felt wholeheartedly, achingly fulfilled. It was at that moment that Emma decided she was in love.

Malcolm was surprised to discover that Emma was so inexperienced - and even more so when he realised that she'd fallen in love with him. But, as she gave herself to him so completely, he realised with far greater surprise that he'd fallen in love with her. Despite his numerous affairs, Malcolm had never been in love before and it was a mystifying experience.

Malcolm returned to Sydney with Emma after the shoot. A month's holiday, he said, before he had to go back to the Gold Coast. He booked into a hotel, although he would have preferred it if Emma had invited him to stay with her in her newly acquired Neutral Bay flat. But she didn't. Not to worry, Malcolm thought. Before the month was out he intended to persuade her to move north with him. He'd even marry her, he decided, if that was what it would take.

Emma was aware that Malcolm would have liked to stay with her and, indeed, she was tempted to suggest it. But she needed space. Things were moving too fast.

Michael was feeling a little peeved. Three whole days she'd been back and still he hadn't seen her. She'd couriered the
Blue Water History
script to him and he'd loved it.

‘Fantastic,’ he'd said, phoning her immediately he'd finished it. ‘Let's meet right now. We've got a lot to talk about.’ He couldn't wait to see her.

‘I can't,’ she'd said. ‘This is my first day back and I have to hunt for a flat.’

‘Fine. I’ll hunt with you.’

‘No, Michael, really. There's such a lot of things I have to catch up with since I’ve been away and I’ll get more done on my own.’ (Why was she loath to tell him about Malcolm, she wondered?) ‘I’ll see you at the premiere next week.’

And then the bombshell ... ‘Would it be all right if I brought a friend along?’

‘Yes, of course.’ What else could he say? he thought, trying to sound pleasant. ‘What friend?’

‘You'll meet him on Friday. See you on the big night,’ she said and hung up.

Michael didn't like the sound of it at all.

By Friday, however, he had all but forgotten about Emma's ‘friend’. This was going to be the greatest night of his life.

He snorted two lines of cocaine before he left for the theatre - the right amount to keep him zooming for the next six or seven hours, and he had his small glass phial for back-up and a good supply of speed if the party went all night. He intended to make a late entrance with Franklin and Penelope. Arriving in their chauffeur-driven Silver Cloud would look good. The photographers would have a field day, and it would be excellent promotion for the film.

The guests had been invited to the theatre at six-thirty. Champagne was to be served in the foyer for an hour, then there would be speeches in the cinema and the movie was scheduled to be screened at eight. Franklin loathed crowds so he was more than happy with Michael's suggestion that they arrive just in time to lead the troops into the theatre, where Michael would be introduced to make his speech.

‘For God's sake, boy, hurry up.’ Franklin's voice boomed through the main hall of The Colony House as Michael bounded down the stairs from his apartments.

‘Sorry, Grandpa,’ he said when he saw Penelope and Franklin seated waiting for him in the lounge room. They'd been there ten minutes. Michael belted through the hall and out the main doors. ‘Come on, you guys,’ he called back. ‘We can't hang around here all night.’

Franklin helped Penelope to her feet. ‘Incorrigible,’ he muttered good-humouredly as they walked outside. ‘Tonight had better be good.’

Michael was standing on the front verandah staring at the stretch limousine and the chauffeur standing beside it. ‘Where's the Rolls?’ he asked. ‘I thought we were going in the Rolls.’

‘Don't be ridiculous, Michael,’ Penelope said dismissively, ‘you know I detest travelling three in the back.’

‘What do you mean, three in the back? Who - ?’ Then he stopped as he saw Karol Mankowski quietly waiting beside the main doors.

As the chauffeur opened the rear door of the limousine, Karol briskly walked down the verandah steps and opened the front passenger side.

‘Why the hell does he have to come with us?’ Michael muttered to his grandfather. ‘There won't be any bloody assassins at the theatre, for Christ's sake.’

‘Any cheek out of you, boy, and none of us will go,’ Franklin growled as he escorted Penelope towards the car.

Damn, Michael thought. Why hadn't it occurred to him? Of course Karol would be going. Karol went everywhere Franklin went. Joined at the bloody hip, they were. Michael felt intensely irritated. Not just because it meant they weren't going in the Silver Cloud. It was Karol himself. Sure, the man had possibly saved his life as a child.Sure, the man would lay down his own life for any member of the Ross family. But Michael just didn't like him. He always felt uneasy around him.

‘The back or the front, Boss?’ Karol quietly asked as the chauffeur assisted Penelope into the car.

‘You take the front,’ Franklin nodded and Karol got into the passenger seat, fully aware of Michael's displeasure at his presence.

Franklin and Penelope sat beside each other with Michael facing them. During the entire trip he was aware of Karol's back on the other side of the partition behind him and he felt unreasonably angry. The outset of the evening was spoiled.

As soon as they arrived at the theatre, however, his misgivings were dispelled and the night was once again his own. Michael was aware that speed dramatically exaggerated his mood changes. He must control it, he thought, he must stay on his high and not let things affect him so.

The publicists had done a wonderful job. Pin spots arced across the sky simulating comets in the dusky night, a huge red carpet stretched from the pavement into the foyer of the magnificent State Theatre with all its ornate gold trimmings, and massive replicas of Halley's Comet hung from high in the vaulted ceilings.

Dozens of flashlights popped and hand-held news cameras swooped in on the limousine as it pulled up outside the theatre. The chauffeur opened the door, Franklin alighted and helped Penelope. And then Michael stepped out. He felt like a god. This was about as high as one could get, he thought, and he barely noticed Karol as they started up the red carpet, the crowds threatening to break the barricades on either side.

Among the hundreds sipping champagne in the foyer of the theatre, Emma watched the procession. From the moment her grandfather stepped from the car she found herself unable to take her eyes from him. She was aware that Penelope looked as beautiful as ever and that Michael cut a dashing figure in his dinner suit, but all she could see was Franklin Ross.

It was impossible to guess his age although she supposed he would have to be eighty. Except for his head of pure silver hair, which was impressive, he wasn't a handsome man, but he was mesmeric. There was a set to the brow and the jaw and, although she couldn't see his eyes from where she was, she knew he was looking straight ahead as though the flashlights, the cameras and the crowds didn't exist. And his back was ramrod straight. He was everything she'd expected he would be.