Blaze (40 page)

Nina worked out her plan. Hers was the only flat that had immediate access to the garden and she quickly befriended the old concierge with gifts of cigarettes and a few American dollars for his help in small ways. She asked him if it would be all right to plant a tree in memory of her grandparents. With summer on the way, she wanted to make the garden pretty. The concierge thought it a waste of money and energy and put it down to rich Western behaviour.

Nina made a show of appearing to settle into the tiny apartment, keeping her distance from the neighbours and trying to avoid prying questions from the local shops and café.

Late on her second afternoon at the apartment, she marked a spot to plant her tree. It was seven paces to the left of the old tree as she faced the house. The concierge wandered into the garden with a cigarette and watched her for a while and then strolled back inside.

Nina turned over the hard soil until the light was fading and then made a show of stopping work, sticking the shovel into the soil and returned indoors in case she was being watched. She was shaking. Not from the exertion, but because the shovel had hit something hard. Something metallic.

After dinner Nina packed her bag and sat in the dark waiting.

The hours passed slowly. Then, at 1 a.m., she tied her hair under a scarf, pulled on black pants and a dark shirt and crept out to the old tree. She began prodding and digging. Finding the boundaries of the hard object, which seemed to be the size of a large suitcase, she crouched and dug around it with a heavy trowel, throwing aside the loose dirt until she felt metal. Her heart pounded as she realised it was a metal handle. She scraped around it, snapping through narrow root tentacles from the old tree and, finally, she was able to lift out the rusting box.

She quickly half filled the hole so it looked roughly like it had been that afternoon when she had finished digging. She hurried back into the flat and locked the door. She was shivering with cold, excitement and apprehension. Then, after her racing heart had settled down, she brought knives and a tin opener from the kitchen and managed to break the lock. The lid creaked open.

The first object she pulled out was a rolled oilskin cloth that contained documents. Beneath that were several soft leather pouches containing jewellery. She turned the pieces over in her hands, utterly charmed at their art deco and classic styles. She struggled to recall her grandmother or mother wearing them, but the only jewellery she had loved when she was a little girl had been her grandmother's dragonfly brooch. The pin that now nestled in Nina's safe in her apartment in Sydney.

Hastily she put the jewellery in her bag, then changed her clothes. She made a coffee and took a longer look at the papers, which were in surprisingly good condition. There was a journal and a file packed with papers, letters, photographs, birth and death certificates. But a number of the formal documents puzzled her, as did the crest imprinted at the top of each. She put them to one side and opened the journal that had obviously been kept by her grandfather. She struggled with the language, slowly translating as she went. But soon enough, it became disturbingly clear what it was. Nina sipped her coffee and wondered whether to burn the journal.

No wonder Clara had been so concerned. The journal contained lists of names, code names, locations, completed, aborted and failed missions, names of people listed as missing, others as killed. And contained in a sealed section at the back of the journal were the names of Nazi collaborators, local people who had betrayed their own for what advantage it gave them. It was appalling evidence of the war crimes of World War II. And just as surprising to Nina was the realisation that her beloved Opa, a gentle, scholarly and caring doctor had been a central figure in a dedicated network of Croat citizens who'd worked to resist the Nazis.

Several names appeared frequently among the collaborators' list, each time marked as Nazi sympathisers believed responsible for the torture or disappearance of people whose names were listed below them. Nina recognised one collaborator's surname and middle initial – it was the name of a popular, internationally known senior minister in the current government. Was it possible this minister's grandfather could be outed as a hated
domobran
– a Croatian who supported the Nazis? This journal could embarrass and incriminate a lot of people. Even if they were dead, it would bring pain and shame to families. This could be a powerful piece of information for the Nazi hunters, who were still tracking down anyone who'd helped enforce Hitler's holocaust against the Jewish people, even though those few remaining men were now in their eighties.

Looking through the diary, Nina found compelling, emotional stories of individuals. She could see how this would be valuable material for Lucien. In this journal was the core of a film about bravery and inspiration. Her grandfather had kept this record. She could not burn it.

But Nina also knew these papers would place her in danger if she were caught with them in her possession. Where could she hide them in her luggage? Nina wanted to leave the flat as soon as possible. She had brought with her half-a-dozen copies of
Blaze
in a promotional kit. Quickly she ripped out every second page of the magazines and replaced them with the personal papers. Then she returned them to their presentation folders.

She wrapped the journal in her underwear and stuffed it in a bag with her shoes. She put on a few pieces of the jewellery, leaving the others in a pouch pushed into a shoe. It all seemed a bit melodramatic, but Clara's stories and the turmoil and tragedy of past years could not be ignored. Here the hatreds ran deep, suspicion was still an ingrained instinct. Silence could mean survival.

She turned out the kitchen light and walked through to the bedroom to nap on the lumpy bed that had come with the flat. She glanced out at the garden, shadowed in the pale night light. A movement caught her eye. And, as her night sight adjusted, she saw a man hurry across the grass and crouch at the freshly made hole. Nina strained to see who it might be. Why was he there? She must have been watched. Maybe she had been watched and followed since she'd arrived in Zagreb. Or maybe it was just the concierge, who was simply curious about her insistence on digging the hole herself. But then why would he be out there at three o'clock in the morning? Nina decided to leave the flat at once.

 

A
li put down the last page of Miche's story on Sally. The photo of Sally wearing a diaphanous dress that showed her thin body looking so pubescent, hair threaded with flowers and trailing below her hips, barefoot and leading Poirot, the big white stallion, through a misty field, was highly evocative. She looked all of twelve years of age. It was timely because an argument was currently raging over the use of child models as young as twelve made up to look eighteen and older.

It was a terrific piece with stunning photographs. It needed tightening a little, but Ali knew she had a hot article that deserved a big splashy spread. Ali had little time for a girl well connected to Nina and a reminder of her late, one-time rival, Lorraine. But if she could turn in a feature like this, she'd have to be nurtured.

‘It's bloody good. When does she arrive?' asked Bob Monroe.

‘I haven't offered her a job. This was a spec piece. Do you suppose she did it on her own?'

The features editor bit his tongue. ‘Nina has a professional eye, and she wouldn't push someone on board who couldn't do the job. This girl will go places. If this came in from a potential contributor, I'd give them another story.'

‘Hmmm. Let's see if she can do it again. I'll use her on a freelance basis.'

Bob thought it odd that Ali wasn't hiring Nina's goddaughter full time. He wondered what Nina would make of this, then reminded himself that Ali was running the show now. He made one more try. ‘If she comes up trumps again, you'd better sign her before someone else does.'

‘I'll think about it,' conceded Ali. ‘Remember, she was writing on her peer scene to a degree. I don't intend
Blaze
to be for teenoids. If the Baron wanted a magazine for fifteen-year-olds he'd launch one, not hijack
Blaze
.'

‘It's just one article, Ali, not an entire magazine. The photos are pretty erotic and the issues raised about who controls the strings in the modelling business are quite frightening. Scarcely lightweight reading for teenyboppers.'

‘Unless they want to be models. The mother of every wannabe model should read this.' She started rifling through Donald's photographs. Bob was dismissed and he left Ali's office shaking his head – she always had to have the last word.

Larissa and Gerard walked hand in hand through Centennial Park, the green oasis in the centre of Sydney. They'd been jogging and had slowed to a walk as the light began to fade from the day.

Gerry lifted his arm and dropped it around her shoulders. ‘When are we going to have our talk, Riss?'

‘Oh. You sound like I'm avoiding the issue.'

‘Aren't you? Every time I start to talk about going back to New York, what I want to do when you finish up here, you change the subject or don't hear me.'

‘I suppose I don't want you to go.'

‘Or do you mean you don't want to go?' There was a chiding tone to Gerard's voice.

‘I'm on a contract for a year remember.'

‘You can walk out any time. And go back to New York. Nina would never let you leave the company.'

‘I so hate the idea of leaving Ali to run roughshod over everyone. Her ego is totally out of control. The sandpit deal started as a joke, but the staff members hate it and are nervous wrecks when they have to confront it.'

Gerry shook his head. ‘I can't believe she seriously wants her executives to address their ideas and explanations to a bunch of toy people in a sandpit. Sounds like a touch of Mussolini with his toy trains. What about her affair with the big shot CEO? Maybe he'll take her off to a life of luxury and travel.'

‘Ali would go for the luxury but not the travel. She won't leave her chair for more than a few days at a time. Even her annual vacations are token holidays.'

‘Why are we talking about Ali? See, again, you've changed the subject.'

Larissa twisted out from under Gerard's arm and plopped on the grass. He crouched before her as she idly plucked pieces of clover and studied them. ‘You have to decide about us, Larissa!'

‘Of course I like Australia – and my job. And I just don't want to go back to the way we were. I don't understand why.' She sounded teary and confused. ‘I don't know what I want.' How could she be in her mid-thirties and feel like an angst-ridden teenager? She used to think she had her goals and priorities worked out. Now her aspirations and Gerry's weren't meshing, the timing was all off. She felt like an old-fashioned watch about to burst a spring.

‘It's time for us to make a new life,' said Gerry reassuringly and continued speaking without waiting for her reaction. ‘Let's get married. There's something I haven't told you yet because I didn't want to spoil our time together . . . But it has to come out. I've been offered a job in New Hampshire running a start-up investment company. For me, it's a great chance. It means I will be half out of the rat race. I'd have time to paint . . .'

‘And what would I do?'

Gerry nuzzled her ear. ‘Have babies . . . ?'

‘Oh Gerry. I just don't know. I feel so . . . torn. Like I'm at a crossroads and I don't know which way to go.'

He looked forlorn. ‘There's nothing more I can say. It's up to you. But I'm not going to keep my life on hold. I'm moving to New Hampshire in four months. Let me know what you want to do. If you want to keep the apartment, it's yours.'

Larissa could only stare at him. She was in shock at the suddenness of his announcement, that she'd known nothing about his plans. A niggling anger nipped inside her. She held her hands as if warding off a physical attack.

‘Whoa! Let me take this all on board. In one mouthful you propose . . . then tell me we . . . you . . . are moving, you're taking up a new job, I'm to leave my job and career, have babies, settle in a place I've never been to . . . I mean. I may want to
think
about this!'

His enthusiasm wavered as he sat back on his heels. ‘Oh. I thought you'd love my plan. It's what we always talked about wanting and doing.' He looked hurt, bewildered.

Larissa saw he was perplexed and really didn't understand why she just hadn't fallen in his arms, saying ‘
yes
,
yes
'. She took a deep breath. ‘Gerry. I do love you. I don't understand why I feel so confused. But I just can't imagine not working for
Blaze
, not travelling, not having the challenges, the stimulation, the friends. It's been my life.'

‘Maybe it's time you started a new life, Riss. Or you can stay in your comfort zone. Talk to someone for God's sake. Can't you find Nina and talk to her about it?' As Larissa shook her head, he gave her a quick hug – he could see she was in no state of mind to make decisions. She had to become accustomed to the idea. ‘Come on, let's go and eat. I'm not saying any more. The ball is in your court.'

‘Don't make it hard for me, Gerry.'

‘It's not hard, Riss. And I won't bring it up again. I don't want an emotional farewell at the airport tomorrow. In fact, I'd rather you didn't come out. I'll grab a cab and drop you off at the office. It'll be easier that way. Quick and painless.'

Quick it might have been, but painless it wasn't. Gerard sat back in his airline window seat and buckled his seat belt in an agony of hurt, anger and frustration. As the plane soared over Sydney, he glanced down at the beautiful harbour and foreshores he'd seen from Kevin's boat and his heart ached with love for Larissa. He felt fearful about their future, but what else could he do? He'd meant what he'd said – he wasn't going to put his life on hold. He was ready to move into the next phase of his life. With or without Larissa.