Araluen (57 page)

‘Oh, bugger it,’ he muttered. ‘The old bastard’ll be down on me like a ton of bricks now.’

‘Go back to sleep,’ Emma instructed. ‘We’ll talk about it in the morning.’

‘Will you stay with me?’

‘Yes,’ she nodded.

Michael felt strangely peaceful. Emma was lying beside him. It was all he’d ever wanted. Well, there was more he would have wanted if things had been different, of course. Much more. But so long as she loved him and she was with him, that was enough. ‘It was the booze, Emma, that’s all,’ he said apologetically. ‘I’m not used to the booze.’ It was true. Michael had stopped drinking hard liquor long ago. His body had built up a resistance to his drug intake, which had increased heavily over the years, but the addition of alcohol made the combination lethal and he’d learned to avoid it. Several glasses of wine over an evening was the extent of his intake.

‘I know, I know,’ she said, fully aware that he was deluding himself. She’d talk to him in the morning. Something must be done about his addiction and the first step was his admitting to it, but now was not the time. ‘Go to sleep.’

She lay there beside him for over an hour.
Michael was aware of her presence as he slowly drifted off, and he couldn’t stop the fantasies from crowding his mind. The fantasies that had been part of him for years. Emma’s breasts, Emma’s mouth, Emma’s body beneath his …

She looked at him as he slept. He had the face of a child. Close up she could see the ravages of drugs, the shadows beneath the eyes, the fine lines carved in the cheeks – close up Michael looked older than his twenty-seven years. But he was still a boyishly handsome man and the impression as he slept was one of childlike innocence. Emma so wanted to protect him. But how did one go about protecting someone from himself, she wondered.

He was sleeping soundly now and Emma herself was feeling tired. Gently, she eased her head from his shoulder. She rose from the bed and quietly slipped out into the spare room. She’d have to work on a plan of attack tomorrow, she decided. She was far too tired tonight.

‘Yes, yes, I agree,’ Michael insisted. ‘You’re quite right. I have a problem and I must do something about it.’

Mid-morning, over the toast and coffee she’d prepared him, Emma was amazed to hear Michael so readily agree to everything she said. His reaction in the past had always been, ‘Stop nagging, Emma. If I like a touch of the good life, what business is it of yours?’ This was a total turnaround. ‘After the
Earth Man
premiere I’ll sign myself into a clinic,’ he said. ‘I promise.’

‘I promise, Grandfather. As soon as
Earth Man
is released.’ Later that same day, Franklin was just as surprised as Emma had been by Michael’s recognition of his problem. Franklin wasn’t sure what he’d expected but he’d certainly been prepared to threaten his grandson with disinheritance unless he agreed to medical treatment. And here the boy was, offering the perfect solution himself. Franklin was mystified. Then it occurred to him. Of course. The girl – it was her doing. He turned to her gratefully but, before he could say anything, Emma shook her head.

‘It wasn’t me.’ She knew what the old man was thinking. ‘It was Michael’s idea.’

They were seated opposite Franklin in his office. The light through the plate glass window behind him made a halo of his silver-white hair and put his face in shadow. Emma was aware that it was a deliberate device designed to put interviewees at a disadvantage. She looked at the vast mahogany desk separating them. It was as though she and Michael were being interviewed for a position, and she wondered at the fact that it hadn’t occurred to Franklin Ross to seat them in the comfortable armchairs only a few feet away or to offer them a cup of coffee.

‘Would you like a cup of coffee?’ Franklin rose as he pressed the intercom button. ‘Or tea, whichever you prefer. We’ll make ourselves comfortable, shall we?’ And he gestured to the armchairs.

Franklin’s oversight had been deliberate. He never offered guests refreshments or comfortable seating until he was sure things were going satisfactorily to his advantage. He maintained his position
of power until the last moment and only when the deal was done did he play the magnanimous host.

This time, sensing the antipathy in Emma, he decided to forgo the normal procedure. When they were settled and the secretary had taken their coffee orders, he once again turned his attention to Michael.

‘When do you anticipate the release of
Earth Man?’

‘End of March. Two months at the outside.’

‘And between now and then?’ Franklin couldn’t resist the enquiry. He knew he was courting an aggressive response but it was a fair question which demanded an honest answer. ‘You really think you can keep yourself on the straight and narrow?’

Michael felt an insane rush of irritation. Again he was being treated like a child. What was he expected to answer to such a question, for Christ’s sake, ‘No, Grandfather, I think I’ll probably bomb out altogether’?

‘Yes, Grandfather, I’m quite sure I can stay on the straight and narrow.’ Try as he might, Michael couldn’t keep an edge of sarcasm out of his voice. What the hell did ‘the straight and narrow’ mean anyway? Did his grandfather seriously think that because of one night’s fall from grace, Michael was now a cot case, unable to function as a human being? No, it was a dig – the old bugger wasn’t that naive.

He saw the warning flash in Franklin’s eyes and he knew he must tread carefully. It was four o’clock in the afternoon and Michael had only had
two uppers during the entire day. It wasn’t enough. He was tired and nervy and irritable, but he knew he had to play the game the way his grandfather wanted it. For the next two months he knew he had to monitor his drug intake more than ever and be on his very best behaviour. After that, he’d have to sign into a clinic and undergo some ridiculous form of rehabilitation programme. Why couldn’t everyone just leave him alone? But he didn’t dare display his annoyance, even to Emma. In her own way, she overreacted to his drug use as strongly as Franklin did. It was none of their bloody business! But …

Michael dredged up one of his easy, lazy grins. ‘Sorry to sound a bit irritable, Grandfather – a touch of a hangover, that’s all.’

Nothing, Michael told himself, absolutely nothing was worth risking his inheritance. And the quicker he could lull the old man into a sense of security, the quicker Franklin Ross would hand over the lot and bugger off back to Australia.

‘I’m not at all surprised,’ Franklin’s reply was acerbic.

‘So which clinic do you suggest?’ Michael asked. ‘The Betty Ford? We’d better sign me in now, it’s very popular and there’s probably a waiting list.’

Franklin frowned. The boy was being smart with him, surely. But Michael’s smile was so amiable, so witling to please, that it was impossible to be sure. Franklin decided not to push too hard. ‘Very well, the Betty Ford Clinic it is.’ And he turned to Emma. ‘Now you, young lady. What about you? It would appear we have a great deal to talk about.’

‘I don’t think so,’ Emma answered firmly. She’d been in a dilemma, wondering which tack she would take when Franklin inevitably turned the conversation to her and her parentage. But the old man simplified any decision by immediately putting her on the attack. He was treating her like a child, she thought. She didn’t like being addressed as ‘young lady’, and certainly not in a tone which intimated she’d done something wrong. ‘I don’t think we have anything at all to talk about,’ she repeated.

Franklin was taken aback. Why was the girl so aggressive towards him? He’d opened the conversation with a perfectly reasonable comment delivered in a perfectly reasonable tone. Indeed, his approach had been fatherly, he thought, considerate. Why was she on the defensive? Franklin didn’t realise it but, these days, Helen had given up pointing out that even his most civil of tones was abrasive to the average person.

It was a pity the girl was choosing to be unpleasant, he thought, but so be it. ‘Very well,’ he said. ‘If you don’t wish to talk, perhaps you’d be kind enough to furnish me with the answers to several questions – ’

‘I don’t really see why – ’

‘Questions to which I am owed an answer, aamn it.’ Franklin’s voice hardened. He was starting to feel genuinely annoyed. The girl was strong and proud – he respected her for that. But he wanted answers. He was in a quandary. How was he supposed to play this?

‘Emma,’ he said reasonably, ‘whether or not you like it, your mother and I made a bargain. An
agreement was reached, money was exchanged and if either you or she are going to renege on the deal then I most certainly have a right to know the reasons why.’

Emma look back at him for a moment and then she nodded. ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Yes, that’s fair enough.’ She cleared some magazines from the coffee table as the secretary entered with a tray but the action was more to break eye contact with Franklin than anything else. ‘Ask away,’ she said when the secretary had gone.

‘Very well. First of all, why? Why tell me now?’

‘She was protecting me, Grandfather,’ Michael interjected. Although he had no memory of the actual event, Emma had filled him in on all the details that morning. ‘You demanded a reason why she was defending me and … ’

‘Yes, yes, I know, I know that,’ Franklin snapped. What, did they think he was a fool? ‘I mean, why now? Why wait all these years to tell me?’

‘You said it yourself, Mr Ross,’ Emma answered evenly. ‘You and my mother made a deal.’

Franklin stared back at her. No, the answer was too simple somehow.

‘Besides,’ Michael added in the pause that followed, ‘Emma gave her word to Penelope.’

Emma glanced sharply at him. She didn’t know why, but she wished he hadn’t told Franklin that part.

Franklin witnessed the exchange between them. He saw Michael’s imperceptible shrug in return. A shrug that said, what’s the harm, let the old bloke know the full truth. ‘Seven years ago,’ he continued
with some relish. ‘It must be all of seven years ago she promised Penelope.’

Penelope. Yes, of course it was Penelope. Franklin’s mind seized upon several reasons as to why Penelope would demand secrecy. Primarily, of course, she wouldn’t have wanted female competition; only one woman ruled the roost at The Colony House, Penelope had always made sure of that. She’d even got rid of poor Veronica, Terry’s mousy little wife, Franklin recalled. But could there also be an element of revenge involved? Penelope had denied him sons and she had revelled in the fact. Had she also revelled in the fact that she was denying him a grandchild? Certainly he had said that he would suffer no bastards in the family but at the time he said it, he had a healthy young son who had already given him one grandchild and was expected to give him many more. Penelope would have been aware of that. If it were so, how she must hate him, Franklin thought. Then he forced himself back to the present.

‘How long have you known that Emma was your half-sister?’ he asked.

‘Five years,’ Michael answered.

‘I see.’ He paused and looked from one to the other before concentrating again on Michael. ‘And why did
you
keep the secret? Did you promise Penelope too?’

Michael shook his head. ‘Penelope and I have never spoken about Emma. But then Penelope hasn’t spoken to me since I left Australia to be with you. She hasn’t spoken to Emma either, for that matter.’

Franklin finally turned his attention to Emma.
‘So you expect me to believe that this entire conspiracy is born of a promise you made to your grandmother seven years ago? And that for the past five years you haven’t even seen or spoken to the woman?’

Emma merely nodded. But to Franklin it was incomprehensible. The girl had to have an ulterior motive. There was a plan afoot, he thought, there had to be. Were the two women in league? Was Penelope quietly biding her time in Australia waiting for him to die while her granddaughter stood by in New York watching Michael sink into the abyss? With Franklin dead and Michael destroyed they could take over his empire with ease. Was that the plan?

‘I don’t believe you,’ he said.

‘That’s your prerogative,’ Emma replied stiffly. ‘But frankly, what you choose to believe or disbelieve is immaterial to me.’

Damn it, Franklin thought, the girl was determined to push him to his limits. The defiant flash in the eyes and the tilt of the chin reminded Franklin of her mother and that afternoon twenty-five years ago.

‘What is it you want from me, girl?’

She rose. ‘I want nothing from you, Mr Ross. Nothing at all.’

‘You’re lying,’ Franklin said. And Emma walked out of the room.

Michael controlled his desire to laugh but he couldn’t resist a mild smirk. ‘I think you’ve offended her, Grandfather, Emma never lies.’

Franklin eased himself out of the armchair with the aid of his walking stick. ‘I expect you to abide
by your promise, boy. You may go now.’

Damn the girl, he thought as he watched Michael leave. Damn her. Given the circumstances she could at least stop calling him Mr Ross.

E
MMA AVOIDED FRANKLIN ROSS
like the plague over the next several weeks but their occasional meeting was inevitable. And, each time, he attempted affability. ‘Under the circumstances you could call me Franklin, surely,’ he suggested. But, although she found herself referring to him as Franklin in conversation to others, she found it impossible to do so to his face.

On their last chance meeting, Franklin dropped the affable act and got straight down to business. ‘I realise the influence you have over the boy, Emma, and I’d like you to give him a warning.’

‘The boy’, Emma thought with irritation. Michael’s twenty-seven years old, he’s hardly a boy. Why does Franklin have to treat us all like half-witted children? Someone should tell him, she thought, but she certainly wasn’t going to be the one.

‘I want you to warn him that if he doesn’t undergo the treatment as he’s promised, I’ll disinherit him,’ Franklin continued. ‘He won’t get a penny - tell him.’

She did. And Michael scoffed. ‘As if I didn’t know that. He’d do it too, the vindictive old bastard.’