Blaze (37 page)

Riss closed her eyes. ‘Oh Gerry. I don't know . . . I can't . . . I want to . . .' She burst into tears.

Gerard put down the paintbrush, ran his fingers through his hair, smearing yellow paint in it, and opened his arms. Larissa threw herself against him, crying like a young girl.

Gerard buried his face in her hair. ‘Riss, why? This isn't your home. You say you're not happy working with Ali. Or is there another reason . . . someone else? I haven't probed, but I can't help feeling, wondering about Kevin for example . . .'

‘Oh, Gerry, he's just a friend. One of a fun group. I was lonely, it's nothing.'

‘You could have a nice life here – boats, big houses on the harbour, be a big fish in a small pond. But it's still a small pond. God, Riss, America is where you belong. With me.'

Larissa's voice was muffled. ‘Why can't you stay here and work . . . just for six months . . . ?'

‘And be a kept, bored man? Darling girl, we have to come to terms with our careers. I love my art, but I can't support us on it. My savings wouldn't keep us for more than two years.'

Larissa jerked away. ‘But I earn enough to keep us. Why can't we trade off for a year? You could see where your art takes you, maybe sell a few paintings, make a name for yourself. You won't know if you don't try it. This is a perfect opportunity for both of us to take time out.'

‘A year. It was six months a moment ago,' he said wryly. ‘Larissa, I don't understand why you can't just come home. The party's over. Nina isn't here – she's taken off – Ali is a dragon, you do half the work, she takes all the credit, our lives are on hold. I'm forty, you're thirty-six. What about babies and holidays in the Hamptons, lunch with our folks on Sundays, all the stuff we laughed at and said we'd put off for another day? Now, for me, it's important. I want it. You choose . . . because that's what I'm going back to.' There was a catch in his voice, no anger, just a worried sadness.

‘With or without me, that's what you want?'

‘Yes. And it's what you want, Larissa. Why do you hang onto this damn magazine world? Why does it have such a hold on you? It's not your life. I am. And if you can't see that . . . then . . . I give up.' This time frustration and anger surfaced and he picked up the brush and flung it at his canvas leaving a dribbling splotch of paint. Gerard turned on his heel and walked around the tiny cottage and marched blindly down the suburban street.

Larissa fled inside, fell on the sofa and sobbed. Tumbling thoughts and emotions flooded through her. Anger at Gerard for creating the problem, bitterness that the whole situation was so unfair, confusion over where her priorities were and what she really wanted. Yes, she wanted to be successful, to achieve, to have that substantial salary package and bonus goodies. That was tangible evidence of where and who she was in the world. And then, sweeping through her body, came the urgent desire to have a baby, to share her life with Gerard. But where? How? And at what cost?

It was after 5 p.m. Ali walked into John O'Donnell's office as his two assistants were leaving for the day. They gave her a knowing smile and told her he was waiting to see her.

He greeted her warmly. ‘Ali, my sweet. How did it go?' he gave her an embrace and kissed her cheek.

‘I don't know. She's thinking it over for twenty-four hours.'

‘That's not unreasonable. She didn't say no. Did you offer what I suggested?'

‘Yes, after a hassle with the board. I told her it was pretty well set in cement. No haggling.'

He gestured to her to sit down and went to the drinks bar to make them each a Scotch. ‘April will still feel it necessary to make a stand, ask for something extra. I assume you left a little negotiating leeway.'

‘Yes. I hope she's not going to be unreasonable.'

He handed her the drink and sat beside her, dropping his arm over her shoulders. The intimacy in their relationship had developed considerably each time they saw each other. Both had taken an interest in the other's work and he trusted her enough to share company machinations before they became public. It gave Ali a sense of power to read about deals in the business pages that she had known about long before they came to fruition. He had kissed her gently several times and both were aware they were moving towards going to bed together. He was hesitant. Ali had learned that sex with the late wife had not been much of an event. They'd married as virgins, made infrequent love – always in the dark – and when she'd become ill, it was with relief his wife had announced their sexual life had come to a close. Ali didn't know whether to believe him when he said he'd never slept with anyone other than his wife. No wonder he was cautious.

‘I have to confess the damn girl unnerved me. April is very assured, very self-confident. She knows the power of bitchy gossip and exposing foibles, true or not. She had no qualms in hinting I was offering her the job to stop her writing about
Blaze
. Me in particular.'

‘Well, that's precisely what you're doing. If she knows the score, then that's the deal. Leave yourself an out if she breaks the understanding.'

Ali drained her drink. ‘We'll see what happens. I could do with another one of those.' She handed him the glass and he wrapped his hand around hers.

‘I thought we might have a quiet dinner. I want to run something past you.' He looked at her and Ali read the signs and smiled to herself. The lovemaking time had arrived. He was attractive, gentle-natured, and had been treading carefully with Ali. The arrangements for the establishment of a centre in his wife's name, with funds going to ovarian cancer research and education, were under way. By now they were seeing each other socially on a regular basis and chatting on the phone several evenings a week. He was walking into deeper and deeper waters and Ali knew sex would clinch the relationship. He was rich, influential and committed to her. He had become her mentor, though their managerial styles were at different ends of the spectrum.

‘Why not run it past me now?' She snuggled into his shoulder.

He put the glass on the coffee table and spoke softly. ‘I don't want to offend you, but it seems we've been travelling in a certain direction and . . .' he drew a small breath, ‘I thought it might be nice if we had a weekend away together. Somewhere relaxing like the Hunter Valley, the Blue Mountains, further if you like. I have the plane . . . but of course, it's on your terms.'

Ali gazed at him, her toffee eyes slanted into a catlike smile. ‘Ever the gentleman, eh, O'Donnell? It sounds lovely. But why wait? If you want to take me to bed, let's do it. Then we can go off and enjoy ourselves and not be waiting for The Big Moment in a strange bedroom.'

He laughed. ‘God, you're a bold girl. You're not serious?'

‘Why not? I bet you've never done this.' Ali leapt up, clicked the lock on his office door, pulled off her top, kicked off her shoes and stood in front of him continuing to peel off her clothes. ‘Come on, O'Donnell, race you. Take that tie off.' She bent down and yanked off his Bally slip-on shoes and silk socks, kissing a toe in the process.

His face went from amusement, to disbelief, to shock and then a mental, ‘What the hell,' as it registered with Ali that this elegant and cultured man had never indulged in the business executives' fantasy of sex on his office couch, or floor, or desk.

As he pulled off his shirt and tie and reached for his belt he mumbled, ‘The windows. I'll pull the blinds.'

Ali, naked, pushed him back and helped strip off his pants. ‘Leave it, O'Donnell. No more sex in dark corners. I can see I have to teach you a thing or two.' She pushed him onto his back and he surrendered as she showed him how to experience and enjoy sex as he'd never known it before.

*

The following morning, Tony Cox wandered down the hallway with a sheaf of papers to present to Ali. They were the plans for a series of travel stories supported by a huge advertising spread from a major travel company. It was a deal pulled together by Reg Craven and it had such massive advertising support, Ali wouldn't be able to knock it back.

But as he passed an office that was not permanently occupied, and was only used for occasional interviews or private meetings, he smelled paint and noticed it was newly decorated. He glanced in and was surprised to see, perched by the desk, a large papier-mâché parrot. The colourful bird looked familiar. Then, as he turned, a figure rounded the corridor and came towards him, a large grin breaking out at his dropping jaw.

‘Tallulah! What are you doing here?'

She held out a hand. ‘Sorry I haven't returned your friend Jacques' messages. I figured we'd meet eventually. I'm the latest
Blaze
recruit.'

‘As what!'

‘The name is April Showers. I'm the new columnist.'

‘Well, bugger me. I'm gob-smacked, to use my mum's favourite expression. Boy, you really had me going. What was with the Tallulah cover?'

‘My girlfriend Patti's dad, who you met in the bar, is a fan of the old movie legend Tallulah Bankhead. He likes to call me that. He knows I prefer not to be introduced to strangers as April Showers. No one will tell me anything.'

‘My God, what did I say?' He clapped his hand to his head. ‘You'd better not tell Ali I told you she was the Yank Tank. Did I say anything else?'

‘Nothing I didn't already know. Don't worry about it. It's our little secret. Besides, now I'm one of the team I can't write about you guys any more.'

Tony followed April into her office thinking, ‘Shrewd move, Ali.'

April pointed at Jacques' gift. ‘See – I brought the bird. I thought his crooning might soothe me. You free for lunch? Fill me in on everyone – off the record.'

Tony quickly dumped his lunch plans with Reg. ‘Yeah. I have a meeting with Ali in a minute, I'll probably need a decent lunch afterwards.'

Ali was tight-lipped as Tony outlined plans for a revamped travel section.

‘Reg has sold a lot of pages, he has a few ideas for a competition – all very up-market.'

‘Has he indeed. Well, I have a few ideas myself,' snapped Ali. ‘And I might remind you all that Reg is not running this magazine, I am. In fact, I'm introducing a new system for ideas and you can be the first to try it out.'

Tony glanced at his watch. ‘Will it take long? I have a lunch appointment. Business, of course.'

‘This will take ten minutes, which will leave you fifty for lunch. Ample,' said Ali, striding onto the covered terrace outside her office.

Tony trailed behind her, then stopped in shock as he saw a large wooden box containing a sandpit the size of a child's wading pool on the terrace. Chairs were grouped around it and in its centre was a Lego village. A sort of castle surrounded by small huts and tiny plastic people.

‘What's this? A crèche for a kid's playgroup?' He was having trouble stifling his laughter.

‘No, it's the ideas pit. When anyone on the staff has a brilliant new idea, like a big paid-for travel section, the relevant staff will sit in the jury seats. Now what you have to do is present your idea, not to me, but to the townspeople here. And then we'll all vote. I have the deciding vote as I live there.' She pointed to the castle. ‘So, off you go, explain the concept and rationale of the travel section to the people.'

‘What, now? Here?' Tony's amusement was turning to annoyance. Ali sat in a chair and crossed her legs.

Tony stared at her across the pit. ‘I told you all about it a minute ago.'

‘They didn't hear it. Tell the chief.'

Tony decided to humour her. Slowly, he began running through his spiel. Each time he lifted his eyes to Ali's face, she nodded at him to direct himself to the tiny toy in the centre of the village. He finished lamely, ‘And advertising has sold a six-month ad campaign for full-colour pages which will bring in enough revenue to pay for a colour lift-out on a major destination each month.' He found himself staring at the tiny figure waiting for a response. He shook himself and looked at Ali. ‘What now?'

‘The chief will call a meeting. And everyone will vote. Regard this as a dry run – I'll ask the appropriate staff to attend and vote.'

‘Can I go now?' Tony felt stupid. Like a kid at school. This was madness.

Ali had talked about implementing some new idea that was being trialled by ‘out there' Japanese and US companies. But no one, least of all Tony, paid much attention to her enthusiastic embracing of what she called ‘new-century methods'. As they were discovering, if Ali talked about something, it generally eventuated.

April was standing by her desk gathering up her handbag and sunglasses.

Tony marched in grim-faced, took her by the arm and propelled her towards the elevators. ‘You're not going to believe this.'

 

N
ina lay awake under the settling goose feathers, lightly touching her cheek, dreamily recalling the tingle of Lucien's lips kissing her goodnight at the elevator.

It had been an overwhelming evening. From the shock of the reunion with Lucien, to the reaffirming warmth of familiarity and intimacy, to the creeping questions about where to go from here. She was now reeling from the emotional roller-coaster ride. Her defences were down in this dark, anonymous bedroom in a strange city. Suddenly the flashbacks started again, increasingly vivid, spooling through her mind like a movie on fast forward.

And linking them together were recurring images of Clara. ‘Quite natural,' she'd been told by the psychiatrist friend she'd visited in Sydney. She was grieving for her mother. It was, in part, the reason for this journey and now, how glad she was that she'd followed her instincts. She smiled in the darkness and squeezed her eyes shut. ‘I've found him again, Mama. Our darling Lucien.' Perhaps it had been Clara in heaven pulling strings and nudging fate to bring them together again. Clara had always adored Lucien, as he had delighted in her.