Blaze (58 page)

She dialled the hotel and asked for Miss P. Moon. There was a silence as the receptionist clicked on the computer keys. Miche held her breath.

‘Ah, yes, Miss Moon . . . I'll try her room. Oh, I'm sorry she has put a stop on calls.'

‘Is she there, in the hotel?'

‘I'm sorry, I'm not allowed to give you that information.'

‘Look, this is important. I think she could be really upset . . . can you send someone up to her room? Just to check on her, please, she had a bit of a shock this evening . . .'

There was an awkward pause and then, ‘I'll do what I can, Miss. Do you want to leave a message?'

‘Yes. Tell her Miche rang and . . . loves her. And I'll give you my mobile number. Could you please ask her to ring me and let me know she's all right.'

Miche hung up the phone feeling hollow and fearful. She called Belinda back to get the number of Jacques Triton.

He sounded surprised, yet pleased to hear from her. Miche cut off his small talk. ‘I was wondering if you've heard from Sally Shaw, there was a piece on her tonight on . . .'

‘I saw it. Very cutting and spiteful. Unfortunately that's how she is, eh?' His rolling French ‘Rs' sounded bored.

‘No, that's not how she is,' said Miche firmly, stopping herself from adding, ‘With decent people who don't offer her drugs.'

‘Come on, Michelle. Don't be stuffy. She's a good-time girl. She knows what she's doing. We saw her a week ago. She was pretty wild and wired.'

‘With your help, I suppose. She's only just seventeen and is very vulnerable. I feel a bit responsible for that nightmare on TV tonight. She's gone to ground and I'm worried about her. Do you know where she might have gone?'

The friendly tone evaporated. ‘I 'ave no idea, and why should I care? I have no association with this girl any more. Ask Tony Cox what he knows. Goodnight.' Jacques hung up the phone, leaving Miche seething. Bastards, while the girls are around to party and rave and sleep with, they count for something. Out the door and they mean nothing. She hunted down Tony Cox, who at least sounded slightly concerned.

‘Well, hell yes, Jacques and I did spring her from that clinic one night for a bit of a buzzy outing with a couple of other models.'

‘Have you heard from her since?'

There was a pause and Miche pressed her point. ‘Tony, this is important. I really think she's going over the edge.'

‘Christ. Maybe I've done the wrong thing here . . .'

‘What, please tell me, Tony. I'll keep you out of this.'

‘You'd better. Promise me. This conversation hasn't taken place,' said Tony with an edge to his voice. ‘Okay, okay. Now what do you know? Time is important.'

‘She rang me a little while ago. An hour maybe. Babbling about a TV story. She wanted some stuff. I wasn't going to go near her. But I gave her a dealer's number.'

‘Oh, God. Who, where?'

‘I can't tell you that.'

Miche's voice was rising. ‘Would she go to him or he to her?'

‘I would think he'd go to her. She didn't sound like she was up to going anywhere. She was pissed as well as stoned.'

‘Oh, my God. Okay, thanks Tony.' Miche dropped the phone in its cradle, grabbed her wallet, rushed to her car and drove as fast as she dared to Elizabeth Bay.

She left her car at the front and raced into the lobby to the reception desk. ‘Please, can you help me? I think a friend of mine is in the hotel and could be in trouble.'

It was just after ten-thirty. The hotel restaurant and bar were full, people were chatting in the lobby, everyone looked so prosperous, fashionably dressed and comfortably carefree. Miche felt like shouting at them as they insisted she wait downstairs while the hotel security and the duty manager went to check on Miss P. Moon.

Karen Charles was the resident manager on duty at the Vanguard Hotel that night. It was a classy hotel that dealt discreetly with its share of guest dramas. This was Karen's first potential crisis. She was only twenty-seven and since doing a hospitality course at college, had worked hard to climb the management ladder.

‘So who's the guest?' asked the security man as they stepped out of the elevator on the eleventh floor.

‘A model. Young girl who made it big overseas.'

‘What, she eat a piece of meat and fall over in shock?'

Karen didn't answer as she followed the striding security man to Suite 1101. He rang the buzzer then rapped on the door. There was no answer, so he used his pass key and opened the door calling out, ‘Miss Moon? You in here? It's security.'

Karen followed him into the suite, flinching at the mess in the living room. Clothes and magazines were scattered about, glasses and empty champagne bottles were everywhere and a couple of unfinished bottles had tipped over and spilled red wine on tabletops and the carpet. Chocolate and peanut wrappers from the mini-bar were tossed on the floor. ‘Heavens, did one person make all this mess?' wondered Karen aloud.

The security man headed for the bedroom, which was even more of a shambles – the sheets hanging off the bed, a pillow on the floor, empty bottles and several barely touched room-service trays of hamburgers, chips and cake.

‘She's not here,' remarked Karen, relieved she didn't have to confront the occupant about the mess.

But the security manager pushed open the bathroom door and gave a short exclamation, ‘Oh, shit.' He turned back to Karen. ‘Call Triple 0. We need help up here.'

Karen glimpsed the figure of a young girl, or was it a child, lying on the floor. She didn't need to see the pills, the needle or the coke spoon to know something was badly wrong. She grabbed the phone by the bed and punched reception. ‘Quick, call an ambulance. Tell them the back door. Suite 1101. Hurry, oh God, tell them to hurry.'

The security man stepped back into the bedroom. ‘Tell 'em not to hurry. She's checked out.'

‘What? You mean she's . . . dead?'

‘Very.'

Karen's hands flew to her face. She'd only been appointed a duty manager three months ago and this was a first for her. ‘What will I do?'

‘I'll call the cops. We have to keep this quiet. Phone the girl on reception and tell her to keep her mouth shut. No publicity. Who is this bird again?'

‘Her real name is Sally Shaw, a model. She was using a pseudonym. Didn't want any publicity.'

‘Yeah, well, neither do we. The police will move her to the morgue and go through her stuff. They'll want to talk to that girl downstairs. We'll move all this, and them, out as fast as possible.'

Karen nodded, glad the older security man knew what to do. She glanced back towards the bathroom. ‘Drugs, I suppose. Did she have too much?'

‘Of everything I'd say,' sighed the security man as they went back into the living room. ‘Too much, too soon and too young to handle it.'

He sat down and flicked on the TV as he waited for the police to arrive from the Kings Cross station up the road.

Ali switched off the light in her office and looked in on Larissa and the art staff working on the layout. ‘I'm off. I have an appointment.'

Larissa decided not to ask her if she'd seen the
Reality
piece on Sally earlier in the evening. Ali was unlikely to be sympathetic. And she'd probably complain about them watching TV in the office, though everyone had been glued to the set during their dinner break.

Ali was distracted. She could put this off no longer. She had agreed to see John O'Donnell at his home later this evening.

As Tom dropped her outside the Vaucluse mansion she told him to be on call. ‘Pick me up at 11 p.m. unless I call for you earlier.'

‘Yes, Ms Gruber.' Tom made no comment. But he was surprised – she normally spent the night. It was already after 9.30 p.m. Tom had been pleased about Ali's growing friendship with the influential CEO. It put him up there with the other limo drivers when they hung around the airport together boasting of the prestige of their passengers.

Dinner for two was set up on the terrace by the pool. Candles burned and a single red rose lay on her napkin tied with a silver ribbon.

John O'Donnell kissed her, and after opening and pouring the champagne, the butler quietly left them alone.

They chatted about
Blaze
, but Ali kept turning the conversation back to him. ‘So what else? With you? What's happening in your neck of the woods? You've been quiet lately. Brewing up a mega deal?'

‘Actually I was going to talk to you about that.' Ali leaned forward expectantly – she loved to know what he was planning. Sometimes there was an opportunity for her or for
Blaze
, though she never told him that she had bought shares on several occasions, based on what he'd told her. He'd be accused of insider trading and everything would be blown out of the water. But he continued slowly, looking into glass. ‘I'm taking a bit of a sideways step. I'm removing myself as executive chairman and CEO and the board has agreed I take the position of non-executive chairman.'

‘Which means . . . ?' Ali didn't like the sound of this.

He looked up and gave her a loving smile. ‘It means I'll have a lot more time to myself. I won't be so hands-on every day. I'll have a life. After Carol died, I went on every board that asked and carried a far too heavy workload. It was a means of distracting myself. But now . . .' he was still smiling at her.

Ali thought he looked soppy and ridiculous. ‘For God's sake why? You're still young enough to run the company for another ten years! What are you going to do? Start another business?' she asked hopefully.

He laughed and shook his head. ‘Ali dearest. Surely I don't have to spell it out. I want to spend more time with you!'

‘No, John. We've been through this. I never thought you were serious about it, or I would have put my foot down. You can't opt out, especially because of me. Look, I'm really devoted to my career. I can't travel with you, do things you want to do like cruise the Greek islands for three weeks . . . lovely as it sounds.'

He stood and took the rose from the small table and handed it to her. ‘Would this make a difference?'

Ali looked at the rose and back to him in growing frustration. ‘What's with the roses all of a sudden? Am I supposed to clench it between my teeth and dance the flamenco for you?'

He chuckled, not hearing the anger in her tone. ‘Hey, now that's an idea. No, here, look at the ribbon.' He pointed at the fine silver ribbon and she saw the end was tied in a delicate bow, threaded through a beautiful sapphire ring. He pulled the ribbon and slipped off the ring, lifting her left hand and wiggling it onto her third finger. ‘I want to marry you, Ali. You're fun, you make me happy, let's enjoy time together. I can give you a luxurious life.'

Ali stared wildly at the ring. She hated blue. Where was the pink Argyle diamond set in platinum? God, what was she thinking? She didn't want to marry this man.

Thinking she was too overcome with surprise and joy to speak, he rushed on, saying all the words she didn't want to hear. ‘You can quit your job, you won't need the money, we have this house, we'll buy a holiday home, travel, buy a dog, buy a boat, whatever you want.'

Ali found her voice. ‘That's not what I want, John.' She pulled the ring from her finger and thrust it back at him. ‘I like my job. I still have mountains to climb. I want to be bigger and more powerful than Nina Jansous. I want to choose my own life. This has been fun and wonderful knowing you, but I can't go through with this. I'm sorry if you didn't see it coming, but . . .'

He blinked and sat back in shock, the diamonds around the sapphire shining in the candlelight on the table between them. ‘What do you mean, Ali . . . once you slipped through my defences, you knew I was falling in love with you. I thought you loved me back . . .' He paused as her words sunk in. ‘See what coming?'

‘I thought you realised . . . that our relationship was changing . . . me being away . . . seeing less of each other. My time in New York . . .'

‘I thought you were busy, the pressure . . .' he began slowly, all the delight fading from his face.

Ali continued to sit and stare at him, struggling to find the words. ‘It's been special, really lovely. I always want you as a friend . . .'

John O'Donnell sat back, his face hardening, feeling very, very foolish. ‘I don't think so. Is there someone else? Some young man? You told me you didn't want babies . . .'

‘And I don't.' She tried to lighten the atmosphere. ‘I'd never fit all my clothes in here.' It was a joke, but she meant it. Ali's extensive designer wardrobe would never fit into the late Mrs O'Donnell's modest dressing room. But John O'Donnell was unamused. ‘Look, John, I'm a career girl. And no, there isn't anyone else.' Ali began to worry that she'd lose this valuable contact. ‘Please, try to understand. I'm not ready to settle down. I'm about to turn thirty, I have a lot to do. Please, stay friends with me. I need you. I value our friendship. I really do, John.'

His face was set. ‘Only while I'm in the chair, right? While I'm O'Donnell with influence, you want to see me. When I'm O'Donnell, retired CEO, you don't want to know me. You just loved my seat, the position I held, Ali. No matter who was in the seat, it would have been the same.'

‘That's not true!'

‘I hoped by asking you to marry me, you would realise I wasn't playing with you. I never wanted you to feel cheap. It seems I'm the one that now feels cheap. And used.' He turned away. ‘I think you'd better go. If Tom isn't available, I'll have Roger drive you home.' He hurried from the room.

‘John, please, let's not leave it like this . . .' Ali felt panicky. Had she totally burned this bridge?

She pulled herself together. She could always win John O'Donnell around again. Maybe she had only imagined that Baron Triton had any interest in her. She was alone in the room. She fumbled for her mobile phone to summon the driver.