Blaze (64 page)

Days later, after long discussions with Mara, Nina had a notebook full of detail about her new family. Somehow she would weave it all together for an article that could grow into something much bigger. Lucien was continuing to talk of putting money towards the orphanage to use part of the old house and the grounds to make a film.

Their goodbyes were tearful but happy. The youngest girl was chosen to present Nina with a circlet of flowers the children had made. Nina bent down to kiss her as the child placed the garland on Nina's head. Lucien snapped the moment and knew he had a photograph that said it all.

‘Is there anything you want to take away with you?' asked Lucien softly.

‘I have everything in here.' Nina touched her heart.

‘Working to have this place running properly will be the best tribute I could make to my grandparents for all the good work they did.'

Lucien wondered if Nina's lack of children was driving her to seek a sort of monument that was more meaningful and lasting than any magazine. They had just found each other again after such a huge chunk of their lives had passed. They had so little time left. Please, God, let them spend it together. But he wasn't going to dampen her joy. He kept his voice light as he raised an eyebrow. ‘Where do your old friends fit into this exciting new vision and living?'

‘Life is like a big delicious pie, my darling. We have a wonderful kids' book in Australia called
The Magic Pudding
. It's about a pudding you keep on eating forever. No matter how many slices you take, there's more for the eating. We can all share the magic pudding of life with the right attitude.'

Lucien looked at the happiness – and determination – on Nina's face. ‘Okay. Count me in.'

It was late, Ali was tired as she flipped casually through the final proofs of the magazine that were due at the printers the next morning. April's story on Heather Race had been pushed through and it was a dazzler . . . though Heather wasn't going to think so. The piece had been thoroughly checked for legal problems, but Ali was still worried Heather would sue for defamation. How April had convinced so many people to confide their horrific experiences with the TV woman, was beyond her. Ali was the ultimate mistress of the tight lip, but how to keep others from talking about you was hard to control.

For a brief moment, a series of nightmare images from the past flashed across her consciousness and a tension replace her tired casualness, but she forced herself to resume control. She told herself she was more secure than she had been in years. She had position, she had power – and both meant a lot to her. No one would dare speak out against a powerful media personality, as she was now. Yes, she was safe and secure. She focused more intently on the material on her desk, flipping through the pages to make sure
Blaze
advertisers were receiving the right level of subtle editorial support. She was pleased the beauty section had given their cosmetic advertisers a favourable splash for their new products. She made a note to replace the circulation figures with the readership figures on the cover of the next issue. You could always fudge the numbers upwards by estimating more than one reader for each household, rather than the actual magazines sold.

As she continued flipping pages, something caught her eye. She stopped and went back to a page where an ad ran down a right-hand column. She had placed a story there. She realised, to her fury, it had been replaced by this advertisement.

In the ad, an arrangement of wineglasses and wine bottles spilled from a package tied with red ribbon. What shocked her was the name ‘
Blaze
Connoisseur' stamped on the box. ‘What the hell . . . ?' She read the ad, which offered membership in an exclusive club that gave members preferential options to buy exclusive boutique wines from a winery in the Margaret River district of Western Australia. Normally the ad wouldn't attract her attention, but for the fact it carried the word
Blaze
. There was a mail coupon and a website address. She flipped open her laptop, logged onto the Internet and found the site. It was impressive, listing the financial and social advantages of the club, ‘established in conjunction with
Blaze
magazine', and the details of the attractive winery, showing photos of the vineyard and the resident vigneron. It looked like a quality product, but who the hell had given permission for them to link up with
Blaze
? Nina would never allow such crass commercialisation. Ali didn't care about that, so long as she'd known and been involved. Bloody Reg. She grabbed the phone, went to her directory in her laptop and punched in Reg Craven's home number. It was just before midnight.

Reg's wife sleepily answered the phone.

‘Put Reg on,' snapped Ali without preamble.

‘What is it?' mumbled Reg, knowing it was Ali.

‘What the hell is
Blaze
Connoisseur? Who authorised it?'

‘It's a wine club. They bought an ad. Big deal.'

‘Reg, stop bullshitting. Who gave them permission to use our name? And, what's more, how dare you replace a story with this ad.'

‘You're not the only person authorised to do deals on behalf of
Blaze
, Ali.' There was now a smug tone to Reg's voice. ‘They're bloody good wines. Don't worry about it.'

‘I suppose you have a cellar full,' retorted Ali. ‘And so do the rest of the men upstairs.' She was furious that this had slid past her and it was far too late and costly to pull it. ‘I'll let it go through for this edition, but I want a full accounting of the deal tomorrow.'

‘Jump in the lake, Ali.' Reg hung up the phone.

It was to become the biggest-selling edition of
Blaze
so far . . . but not for reasons Nina would have liked. Thank God she couldn't be reached in Croatia. All hell was breaking over Ali's head.

Everyone was talking about April's story on Heather Race. April was decried as a viper, while privately virtually everyone in the media – including a number of network heavies – was glad someone had given the dreaded Heather a rich serve of what she so often dished out.

The TV network Heather worked for went into damage control and issued a statement that Miss Race was speaking to her lawyer and further action would be taken. Heather was forced to go to ground and did not appear on that evening's edition of
Reality.

April patrolled the hallways of
Blaze
, revelling in her moment of fame.

But behind doors there was endless discussion. ‘How could Bob let that through?' asked Barbara. ‘It's just so unclassy. Nina will loathe it.'

‘Come on, Barbara. It's an absolute ripper of a story. The issue has almost sold out and another run is likely. No matter what people think about the subject matter or how she's written it, everyone is reading it with relish,' said Tony Cox. ‘The ad people have clients queueing up to reach the obviously growing readership.'

‘You guys just like to see two women in a cat fight,' said Kaye, one of the staff writers. ‘I think it's disgusting. I would never write a piece like that . . . even if the girl is a bitch, you can write it more subtly and still make it a good read.'

‘Watching someone shrivel up from slow poisoning isn't as dramatic as seeing them hit over the head with a big shovel,' grinned Tony.

‘Well, some of that dirt on the shovel might well fly back in April's face,' said Kaye.

‘Times have certainly changed,' sighed Barbara, who wondered why she was now embarrassed to admit she worked for
Blaze
. Even in her now minor capacity. She answered her own question – Ali. This tribe of young women were all utterly alien to her. There was no place for her any more in this free-wheeling, back-stabbing, no-holds-barred journalistic bunfight. How right – and principled – Tiki had been in walking out from the start.

Barbara wasn't so brave. She was looking at her mid-fifties and a downhill slope. What would she do with the rest of her life? Her glamorous days as a woman's magazine beauty editor were gone. Women's magazines, as she knew them, were gone. She thought back to how she'd been trained by the editors to dress and speak with style, to write honestly and politely, and to ignore rude or vulgar comments dropped by those you interviewed. Only pleasant pictures appeared in word and print. The editorial ethos was safe, predictable and superficial. Now she was trapped in a fast-changing scene that could destroy her. Barbara felt a tiny tremor – suddenly it was quite clear to her that she had to leave. Leave before Ali booted her out with no ceremony or acknowledgement. There one day, gone the next. The decision suddenly gave her a small sense of self-esteem and power. God knows what she would do with herself. But anything had to be better than being trampled down or ignored. She became aware Eddie was saying something to her with his curled lip.

‘Don't become a dinosaur, Babsy. Change with the times. You have to keep up, darling. Kaye is miffed because April is claiming the star writer banner. I think April's story is sensational, but you watch, Heather will bring the network heavies into the fray. Nothing surer.'

Belinda had been listening and made note of the comment. Maybe she should alert Ali. Eddie knew something. As for poor Barbara . . . well it was a pity – they now treated her so dismissively – but old values, old loyalties counted for little these days.

An impromptu lunch was arranged at a trendy brasserie to celebrate the biggest-selling issue of
Blaze
since its launch. April and Eddie were star turns, each trying to outdo the other with viciously witty verbal ping-pong. No cow was sacred and between the two of them they seemed to know everyone and what went on – and came off.

Turning away from the noisy table, Larissa leaned close to Miche. ‘So, have you decided what you're going to write about? Childhood trauma, searching for father or the delights of the Hunter?'

Miche grinned. ‘I think the Hunter might win this round. It means I'll be in the area for some time so Jem and I can see a lot more of each other.'

‘How do you feel about that?'

Miche smiled. ‘Good. Really good.' She paused and broke into laughter. ‘I mean
very
good! I really like him. But I don't want to rush anything. This is a terrific way to keep seeing him without making it a . . . big deal.'

Looking at Miche's flushed, happy face, Larissa felt suddenly old. How well she remembered those first rushes of excitement, attraction and passion when you wondered, was this the one? How she'd felt when she first met Gerry. Nearly a decade of her life with one man. A man she adored, who made her laugh, loved her, cared for her, wanted to marry her. But on his terms. Miche was talking to someone else and, in the swirl of the group, Larissa sat arguing with herself as if the sound around her had been switched off. She knew there were other men out there who were attracted to her – Kevin, for one. But would they last as long? To be brutally honest, she suspected Kevin was the type to want a younger, updated version of Larissa on his arm in a few years time. He was sweet and attentive, rich, available, successful. But that all came as baggage. He'd call the shots. So, she reasoned, how bad, how stifling, was Gerry's plan? Marry, move to New Hampshire, settle down, have kids. It's what she'd always wanted. She'd always have that. How secure, how important was
Blaze
to the rest of her life? That was the problem. She was swept up in the short term. The day-to-day competitiveness, the treadmill of daily goals and deadlines. The minutiae of a small world. The world of
Blaze
.

There should be more to life than helping edit a magazine, which entertained and informed people for a while until they dropped it into a bin. Larissa lifted her head. The sound returned around her. Colours seemed brighter. She tugged at Miche, who was talking to Dan on her left, interrupting her mid-sentence.

‘Miche, you know something? I've just decided.'

Miche still had half her attention on what Dan was saying. ‘Excuse me Dan, sorry, what were you saying, Riss?'

Larissa looked at Miche and said slowly and distinctly, ‘I'm leaving. I'm going back.'

Miche blinked as the simple sentence, spoken in a steady voice, suddenly sounded like a shout. ‘Leaving? Here? You mean, you're going back to the US? To Gerry?'

Larissa nodded, a huge smile breaking out as the tightness in her chest eased.

‘To get married?' cried Miche. And as Larissa nodded, she flung her arms about her.

But no one else in the group heard or paid any attention, each anxious to capture centre stage with their anecdotes and witticisms.

The next afternoon, Miche went to see Larissa in her office with flowers and a sweet card wishing her joy.

‘How sweet of you, Miche. I needed a boost like this, really needed it.' While Larissa's intent hadn't wavered, she felt a little wobbly at dealing with the logistics.

‘Have you done the deed yet?' asked Miche.

‘Ali has been unavailable most of the day, but I have been granted an audience in fifteen minutes.'

Miche went to make coffee while Larissa rang New York again to try to reach Gerard. When Miche returned with the coffee, Larissa looked glum. ‘Haven't found him yet. God, I hope I'm not too late. I've been trying since yesterday afternoon to reach him. He said he was moving on with his life. It was up to me.'

‘So pack up, take a plane and walk in the door. Do what he did, arrive on the doorstep.' Miche spoke confidently, but in her heart she fretted for her friend and mentor. What if Gerry had moved in with a new girlfriend? You just never knew with guys, the ones like Gerry were lousy at being on their own.

‘You're right, it's one way to sort things out,' agreed Larissa. ‘He hasn't actually taken back his proposal.' She tried to make it a joke. ‘Okay, step one – I'm off to see Ali.'

‘Go girl, go,' called Miche.