Blaze (35 page)

Nina telephoned him, but was told he was in Turkey making a film. With his lady love starring. She put down the phone with a heavy heart and waited for him to return the call.

If he ever did, she never knew. She was sent to work in London for several months on a sister publication, to learn the nuts and bolts of magazine production. And it was at a dinner party in London given by Australian friends that she again met the charming and sophisticated Paul Jansous. Their hostess quietly told her he'd been recently widowed, his wife, at only thirty-five, had died swiftly from a brain tumour.

Paul and Nina were drawn together, and he took a delight in showing her London. He'd been working for a year in Harley Street and planned to open a gynaecology clinic in Sydney.

Arriving back in the harbour city at about the same time, they settled into a comfortable, warm and loving relationship. Nina decided one last time to try to talk to Lucien, and was told he had recently married and was on his honeymoon, so she agreed to marry Paul Jansous.

It had been an uncomplicated and happy marriage, if pedestrian. Both had consuming careers. Paul – to Clara's joy and relief – was immensely wealthy, his Hungarian parents bequeathing him the fortune they had made in property development after their arrival in Australia. Paul's medical clinics were acclaimed for their attention to women's health.

The only sadness that clouded their marriage was that Nina discovered she could not have children. And this led Paul to finance a research group seeking ways to combat infertility in women.

Then, in his late forties, Paul had collapsed while playing tennis. He'd died of an unsuspected heart ailment. Nina received the large inheritance.

As her life gradually came back to normal, and she immersed her grief in work, Nina wondered again if she should contact Lucien. If only for the comfort, she yearned to feel his arms around her. She'd read a while ago of his divorce. But her staff researcher came back to her with the news that he was in Hollywood, had already remarried and was fighting with a big studio over the film he was making. She decided not to intrude into his life.

Nina and Lucien had finished an exquisite meal, but neither had appreciated the cuisine as much as each other's company. There had been so much to tell each other. Nina was not married, nor was she in love with Baron Triton, she told Lucien, no matter what he'd read in the press.

He was divorced – ‘
Alors
,
encore
!' He threw up his hands. ‘Too many wives, too many children, too much expense. No wonder I have to keep working.'

‘You'd wilt on the vine if you weren't making films,' smiled Nina.

‘Sadly, that is true.' He touched her hand. ‘And it has cost me dearly.'

‘We were both selfish,' said Nina. ‘I have had a wonderful career, an interesting, enriched life. But I have no children. And never had again the love we knew.'

He twirled his glass of wine. ‘Do you think . . . if we had stayed together then . . . would it have worked? Would we still be together now, like this, with forty years under our belts?'

‘Probably not. We were both ambitious. When you're young and achieving you never stop and think that everything won't work out the way you want,' said Nina softly.

‘Does it ever?' sighed Lucien. ‘I have friends, they seem to have everything, and yet suddenly their lives fall apart or you discover they are quietly miserable, but they stoically deny the unfathomable sense of loss in their life.'

‘Nothing is ever as it seems, eh? But you can't have regrets,' she sighed.

‘I have regrets. Heaps of them. But long ago I put them behind me. Go forward. You once told me you control your own destiny.'

‘I always have,' she said sitting straighter, but avoiding his direct gaze.

‘Was it worth it, Nina?'

‘No comment.' Her voice trembled as she tried to smile.

‘I'm in my sixties and I feel like a lovesick schoolboy. I feel like I did the first time I really saw you. With a dragonfly quivering on your shoulder. Oh Nina, what have we done . . . ?' his voice broke and his eyes filled with tears.

‘Stop, Lucien. We can't look backwards. We did what we did . . . and that's the end of it.' Nina spoke as if to an errant child.

‘And now? This so-called accidental meeting . . . it has happened for a reason. Nina, to me you haven't changed. You are so beautiful, I just see you as you were then . . . you have changed so little . . .'

Nina gave a small laugh. ‘Lucien, don't be ridiculous. I'm ages older . . .' but as she said the words she felt flushed and joyous that he thought so. She too felt young again. But with all her adult wisdom and experience, there was a voice warning her to take care. The angel – or was it the devil – on her other shoulder spoke the hope that was ricocheting around her heart. What have you to lose, Nina? He was the great love of your past. Remember that.

Lucien had paid the bill. ‘Let me escort you to the elevator. And if I may, I shall ring you in the morning. We are on different trajectories, but while we are here, in this place, at this time, I believe the gods are smiling on us being together.'

Nina suddenly felt extraordinarily tired. ‘
À bientôt
, Lucien.'

As the old doors of the elevator clunked apart, he leaned over and kissed her on the cheek. ‘Sleep well, my Nina.' It was a brief kiss, a gentle brushing of lips permitted from an old love to another, perfectly acceptable, a gentlemanly gesture, one that mere acquaintances might exchange. But for both of them, it brought back an overwhelming memory of sensation – of how strong their bond had been. How instantly it was recognised, by each of them, that the bond had never been totally severed.

 

I
t was a perfect Sydney summer Sunday, made to celebrate Larissa's birthday on the harbour in Kevin's boat.

Everyone was meeting at Rose Bay marina at ten o'clock. As Larissa walked to her car in front of the small cottage, she barely noticed the taxi across the street. She slipped into her car, put her basket on the back seat, her handbag and cotton jacket beside it, and was snapping the seat belt into its buckle, when there was a knock on the rear of the car.

‘What the devil . . . !'

Someone was standing by the car. Larissa fumbled with the seat belt and was half out of the car when the man reached the door and held it open.

Larissa found herself looking up into Gerard's grinning face.

Her jaw dropped, then she gave a cry of surprise and delight as he pulled her out of the seat into his arms, kissing her. ‘Happy birthday, sweets. Surprise, surprise.'

‘Oh my God, Gerry! Why, how . . . why didn't you tell me you were coming! You mad, crazy man!'

‘Telling you would have spoiled the surprise. It was a kinda last-minute thing. The plane just landed an hour ago. I miss you, babe.' He kissed her hard then drew back taking in her shorts, yellow canvas deck shoes, yellow gingham shirt, a daisy pinned in her hair.

‘You look wonderful. What are you doing? You're off somewhere, and it's not church.'

Larissa looked down, suddenly uncomfortable. ‘Friends from work, they're giving me a little birthday party. On a boat.'

He stood back and gave her a shrewd look. ‘Would I be in the way? I'm a bit jet-lagged. I'll take a nap.'

‘Don't be silly. Of course you're invited. Grab your bag and put it inside.'

She headed for the front door, trying to think of someone she could call about the new arrival. As Gerard followed her inside, she wondered why she felt so guilty about Kevin, since there was nothing between them other than a nice friendship. But in her heart she knew Kevin was hinting they could be more than friends.

‘Where's the bathroom?'

‘Left off the hall. I'll just phone and let them know I have a surprise guest. A wonderful present,' she added, searching for the portable so she could move out of earshot.

She caught Belinda just as she was about to leave home and explained quickly that Gerard had arrived out of the blue and she was bringing him along and to let the others know as they'd be the last to arrive.

‘You sound nervous, what's the problem? Kevin?' asked Belinda.

‘I feel uncomfortable. He's gone to so much trouble. And I think he has hopes . . . about me. You know,' began Larissa.

‘Stop worrying. There's nothing you can do – just enjoy your birthday. Hey, you have two really nice guys wanting to make it a special day. Relax and enjoy it. Someone will take one of them off your hands,' she laughed helpfully.

Kevin was charming, welcoming Gerard on board and, as they cruised around Sydney Harbour, he pointed out the various bays, famous homes and restaurants. Gerard seemed quite stunned at finding himself in brilliant sunshine in such a fabulous setting.

‘Raid the Richard, Gerard looks like he needs a bubble or two,' cried Tiki. And Laurie quickly obliged, pulling champagne from the ice in the Esky.

Being the skipper, Kevin made the toast. ‘To Larissa, may this be a birthday to remember. And welcome, Gerard. We're glad you're here to help us celebrate!'

Gerard lifted his glass. ‘I thought I was doing a white knight and coming to rescue a woman flung into miserable solitary confinement, with regular lashes from the dragon editor. Instead I find . . . she's living a fairytale! Thank you all very much for taking Riss under your collective wing and for making me so welcome.'

Larissa watched Gerard turning on the charm despite his jet lag. He could be reticent and silent at parties, sometimes passionately argumentative, or like this, utterly poised and smooth.

As everybody went into the main cabin where a luscious buffet was spread, Belinda pulled Larissa aside. ‘We've done the birthday cake bit. So you have to blow out the candles. And Larissa, you have a really nice guy there in Gerard. But he seems adamant about you moving back to New York, says he couldn't move out here. A word of advice from a friend – don't make any rash decisions. You could have a terrific life here. You have your career too. I've seen a lot of girls come through the ranks then throw it away.'

‘I know what you're saying, Belinda. Thanks for being a friend.'

But Belinda's words unsettled her. And she realised it was because Belinda had voiced the thoughts Larissa had been trying to ignore. In the general chatter and laughter of the confined space, Larissa looked as if she were paying attention to what was going on around her. Instead she felt like an island in a choppy sea and, in the quiet centre of the swirling conversation and laughter, she reflected on her relationship with Gerard. When they'd been busy with their separate careers and overlapping lives in New York it was easy to keep on going on as they were. Now, with each of them on opposite sides of the globe, it had come down to two choices – staying here to further her career and possibly lose Gerard, or going back to him in New York. While she could continue to work at
Blaze USA
, a big opportunity may have been missed. But working its way to the surface was a slow fury that she was the one who had to make the choice.

That night Gerard clung to Larissa, both of them too tired to talk, both lost in the lapsed familiarity of their entwined bodies, awash with too many feelings to talk more than mumbled words of love and longing. Tomorrow could wait, Larissa decided.

Ali arranged to meet April Showers on neutral ground. She chose a quiet, little-known Lebanese restaurant at the edge of the city and arrived early, curious as to what the controversial gossip columnist April Showers looked like. April didn't put her photo atop her column and made an effort to remain as low key as possible. She'd been in Aspen when
Blaze
was launched so hadn't met the hottest new editor in town. Ali imagined a tall, feisty, dark-haired girl, no doubt unattractive – her column was so often snide about pretty women – with a chip on her shoulder. Who'd want to make a career as a bitchy gossip writer? If you had talent you'd be doing something else or regarding it as an interim step, not flaunting yourself as if you ruled the media from an imperious pedestal. The power of the old-style gossip columnist had waned in New York and Ali was hoping to talk April Showers into writing a different type of column, more like ‘The Talk of the Town' had been in the
New Yorker
magazine. She also didn't want a writer like April Showers to promote herself the way she'd been doing. Ali was the person at
Blaze
to be talked about. She was running
Blaze
as a committee of one.

She arrived early, settled herself and watched the door. When an attractive, short blonde wearing huge dark glasses walked in, Ali was taken aback.

April came straight to Ali's table, offering her hand. ‘I'm April Showers, it's great to meet you at last.' Her voice was husky and April settled herself at the table with poise and ease. She didn't appear intimidated by Ali.

Ali instantly recognised a strong personality. This woman would not be a walkover. She mentally began re-figuring her offer.

Ali waved the menus aside, asking the waiter to bring them a selection of dishes and both ordered mineral water. ‘Well,' said April in a relaxed but direct tone, ‘shall we dispense with the small talk and get to the reason we're here?'

‘I'd like you to write for
Blaze
, but not the same type of stories you've been doing.'

‘You don't like my current column?' April sounded faintly mocking. ‘A lot of people read it.'

‘I'm aware of that. Needless to add, I haven't been too amused at your references to me.' Ali spoke lightly, to mask her real feelings about April's digs at her.

‘Many people aren't amused, but just as many become terribly distressed if they don't rate a mention.'

‘You have excellent sources.'

‘Of course, but I never reveal them. There'd be no more column if I did.' April paused, then jumped in. ‘If you're asking me to write for
Blaze
, I assume part of the deal is no mentions of
Blaze
employees, eh?'