Blaze (54 page)

Larissa thought this was a positive step. ‘Don't release anything about Nina until I see it first.'

‘Do they want a ransom, or what? I mean, is she being detained, held up in a bureaucratic queue at the airport, or is she being detained – as in held by the authorities for questioning?' asked Bob, who'd covered a few hot spots in the world in his time.

‘We don't know. Belinda, please call Baron Triton for me and let's see what he knows. In the meantime, everyone go back to work and don't talk about this outside the office. We don't want to say the wrong thing. Foreign Affairs will be in touch as soon as they know more.'

As the others straggled back to their desks, Larissa waited for Belinda to reach the Baron. ‘Nina must be terrified. God, I hope she's all right,' said Belinda as she waited for the call to connect at the other end.

Larissa dispensed with small talk. ‘Baron, we've heard news from our Foreign Affairs people here. Any news your end?' asked Larissa quickly.

‘It appears the documents she retrieved from her grandparents' old home reveal details of Nazi collaborators during the war and implicate the family of a current minister in the government. A lot could be made of this politically in the country and cause embarrassment abroad. There is a negotiator with her working out a deal.'

‘What kind of deal? Are they asking for money?'

‘That is not their main concern, but it will probably help.'

‘But she hasn't done anything wrong,' said Larissa.

‘The security investigators insist on keeping the journal from the documents Nina had in her possession,' said the Baron. ‘We are working to find a way to salvage this unfortunate incident before either side makes propaganda from it.'

‘How is Nina taking all this?'

‘I'm told she is in good health. That's all. I'll keep you informed, and you me.'

‘Of course.' Larissa handed the phone back to Belinda in mild shock. ‘Well, if the diplomatic people and the Baron are handling it, our role seems to be managing the media. We don't want Nina portrayed in a bad light. Or
Blaze
. As far as I can ascertain, I don't think Nina has broken any laws.'

‘She wouldn't. Her safety is the most important thing. You hear such stories about these countries. And someone of her calibre . . . It's like holding Bill Gates or Rupert Murdoch to ransom.'

Tracey Ford was still hovering. ‘We can get positive mileage out of this, no matter what the outcome,' she said, ignoring the bristling stance of Belinda and Larissa.

‘Let's hold off until we're properly advised,' said Larissa, thinking to herself, dear heavens above, where was Nina and what was happening to her?

Nina had almost filled her small notebook. She was writing down everything – events, feelings, sensations and memories. The timeless neon light seemed to illuminate episodes in her life she hadn't thought about for years. These were all connected to Clara, her grandparents and Croatia. Through the prism of a child's eyes she now saw how her mother and grandparents had lived. How privileged her upbringing had been, how wide the divide between them and others. No wonder there had been resentment and conflict. Yet she still felt that her grandfather, a doctor, had been motivated by humanitarian rather than political reasons. How she wished she could sit down and talk to them. How much had been lost by the geographical gap between them. Distance splintered families, especially when one side was assimilating into a different culture. Had she gone back to Croatia as a teenager to visit her grandparents, how hard might it have been? She was an all-Australian beach girl, with only a token appreciation from Clara of her heritage. She would have had little in common with them. But now her interest was intense. Is this why, as people aged, they sought to trace family histories? To reconnect with their past, to find a continuation, a cyclical sense of the ongoing family line, as mortality loomed?

These thoughts kept her mind occupied as she waited to hear what Lucien had achieved.

After leaving Nina, Lucien had held a brief conversation with Molnar and Puskar and returned to the hotel. He looked for Greta on his floor, but the maid was nowhere to be seen. He rang housekeeping and asked for fresh towels on the off-chance she might be on duty. Then he'd rung the American Consul to fill him in on the meeting.

‘You have done well. I believe they will return Mrs Jansous to the hotel soon. Our ambassador has had discussions with Washington and Canberra. A few final details to be ironed out, I gather. Unfortunately the press are asking questions.'

‘We can try to control that,' said Lucien, thinking Nina could make a few phone calls and stop any stories from being printed if they moved quickly. ‘You mean an agreement over the PR side of things?' said Lucien. ‘Nina has already agreed to give up the journal and never reveal its contents.'

‘She will have to attend a debriefing with embassy officials before she leaves the country. The US Information Office will help with any public statements needed. I believe Mr Molnar and Mr Puskar are to be thanked for agreeing to speed this up. They could have been far more recalcitrant. Naturally the embassy is unable to assist in this matter.'

‘I understand. Perhaps I can handle that aspect on behalf of Mrs Jansous.'

‘Don't be overgenerous. While they realise she is a wealthy woman with influential contacts, Molnar and Puskar are members of a government investigative unit, officially they shouldn't take bribes. This is off the record, of course.'

Lucien made murmuring noises, thinking how pathetic the diplomat was to pussyfoot along the fence. If he, Lucien, hadn't stepped in, they would still be quibbling. As if sensing his antipathy, the consul added, ‘When this is concluded satisfactorily, we will make sure it is known you were not part of the embassy but acting on your own as a friend of Mrs Jansous. That way the embassy is not implicated.'

‘Very well.' There was a tap at the door. Lucien opened it to find Greta there with the towels.

‘I need to go back into suite twenty-six,' he said in German.

Greta nodded and started looking for the master key on her belt. ‘Do you know anything about your wife?'

‘Yes, she has been held for questioning. Over a silly matter. She will be coming back, but I need to take something from her room.'

Greta hovered in the doorway looking down the hall as Lucien hurried to the vase on the shelf in the living room. He caught his breath as he felt the wad of jewellery stuffed in the leather pouch in the vase. Nina's bag was still open on the bed. No one appeared to have been in the suite. He thanked Greta, giving her another tip.

Lucien left the hotel after asking the concierge where he could find a bookshop that dealt in second-hand books. He was directed to one only a few blocks away. Lucien spotted the small jewellery shop opposite the bookstore and knew it must be the right one.

The old jeweller looked up as the bell over the door tinkled. He put down his eyepiece.

‘Good afternoon. I hope you can help me.' Lucien smiled.

‘If I can sir,' replied the jeweller in English.

‘A friend of mine, a beautiful elegant lady, was in here last week, I believe. She had a family ring you identified.' Lucien paused, noting the old man's face seemed to close up. He didn't answer.

‘Her family is Bubacic and she is in a spot of trouble. She thought you could help us.'

‘How could I do that?' The jeweller remained noncommittal.

‘By selling these for us. She is being held by security investigators because she had family documents that they don't wish be made public.'

‘Ah, The List. I warned her about these people.'

‘We have negotiated a deal, but we need money. You understand.'

The jeweller glanced down as Lucien unrolled the pouch with the necklaces, bracelets, brooches and rings. ‘This will bring a substantial amount of money.' He glanced through the pieces, lifting a gold chain with a medallion on it and squinting at the engraving. ‘Ah, the same family crest. This all belonged to Mrs Bubacic, I take it?'

‘My friend's grandmother. It is not stolen.'

The jeweller nodded. ‘I will need a little time. The pieces have to be cleaned, recorded and a buyer found.'

‘Could you give me a small portion now?' asked Lucien. ‘I am happy to use my money, but it will take time to transfer it from my bank in France. I need the lady released as soon as possible.'

The jeweller twisted his eyepiece in place, picked up several items and examined them. He then reached for a small book and wrote down a brief description of the pieces, then went to his safe and put the jewellery in it, taking out a wad of banknotes. He peeled off an amount, which he handed to Lucien. ‘I trust this will suffice for the time being. Be careful and bargain well. These people are greedy!'

It was all over. Nina signed a form relinquishing her grandfather's papers and journal. Lucien handed an envelope to Puskar, who glanced inside and put it in his pocket. Molnar escorted them from the building. A pool photographer, organised by the embassies to share the shot with his colleagues, took a picture of Nina and Lucien as they got into the same dark car. A silent driver took them back to Nina's hotel.

Nina strode to the reception desk where a young woman greeted her with a smile. ‘May I help you?'

‘The key to room twenty-six please . . . Jansous.'

The girl paused, hit the computer keyboard, then turned and took down the key, handing it to Nina. ‘There you are, Mrs Jansous.'

Nina felt like laughing, but was too tired. ‘Is the manager here, Mr Z . . . Zarvic?' she suddenly remembered.

‘I'm sorry, Madame. He has gone on holiday. Can someone else help you?'

Lucien nudged her, ‘Leave it, Nina.' He followed her across the lobby. ‘Anyone that had anything to do with informing on you will be conveniently on leave, I'd say.'

Nina pushed the elevator button. Yes. I suppose that goes for the old concierge at the apartment. I'll never know who reported me. And now, it's too late.'

He took her arm as the elevator doors slid open. ‘It's over, darling.'

Once inside the suite and seeing her suitcase still on the bed, Nina slumped in a chair and dropped her face in her hands. For the first time she began to crack and tears rolled down her face. Lucien knelt before her, trying to comfort her. She hadn't given in to her emotions through this whole ordeal. Now everything overwhelmed her.

‘Darling, do you want to leave? In an hour we have the press conference we promised the reporters, for staying away from the security headquarters. Then we can leave the country. Do you want to go back to Sydney? New York? Home to Paris with me?'

Nina lifted her head and gave him a tearful smile. ‘My darling, thank you. No. Now, more than ever, I want to continue what I started. Except I have a different slant to my story – looking for the positive.'

‘So, they're going to look after us. We'll just fool around and play tourists.'

‘I know I said I'd try to portray the good things about this country, but I don't want to do just a bit of paid-for puffery,' sighed Nina.

Lucien leaned over and kissed her. ‘You'll find something special, I know it. Now we'd better call the Baron, who's been in contact with me, to let everyone know you're safe. This little nightmare is over, my Nina, let's order a wonderful dinner and tomorrow . . . is another day.'

The door buzzed and Lucien went to answer it. Greta was at the door. ‘Is everything all right? Your wife?'

Lucien drew her inside. ‘Everything is just fine. Nina, this is Greta, she helped me enormously.'

‘
Guten Abend
.' She turned to Lucien, ‘Can I help your wife?'

‘Tell us somewhere wonderful to have dinner. Is the hotel food good?'

Greta shook her head. ‘The hotel is . . . adequate. But my brother has a small restaurant not far away. It is excellent. He will look after you. I shall call him.'

Nina, not understanding German, asked Lucien. ‘What are you two concocting?'

‘Dinner, my darling. With Greta's brother. Write down the name please, Greta, and while we're away, would you move my bags from twenty-one.'

Greta smiled. ‘Enjoy your dinner. I'm so glad you are together again.'

The Haven Clinic was in the Blue Mountains outside Sydney. Perched on a cliff edge with commanding views of the Megalong Valley, its misty landscape and classic English gardens were reminiscent of parts of Europe. But Sally paid no attention to the view or the gardens. Her world was encased by the walls and enclosed terrace of her suite. A clinic, passing as a hotel for the self-flagellated, it was as much a jail to her as if she were chained to a hospital bed. Staff were constantly close by, monitoring her mood swings, bowel movements, eating habits and how she passed each day. There was tai chi, yoga, water therapy, meditation, health checks and counselling sessions.

All Sally wanted was to curl up in her bed and be left alone, in silence. This was not allowed.

Sally was finding the whole health clinic scene claustrophobic. After sneaking out with Jacques and Tony for a blast, she was now being watched. She'd only agreed to come here because her agency had gone into a tailspin about how she was looking and her parents were nagging her to come back to the country. She thought it would be a kind of resort or retreat, not a sort of prison. She managed to grab a phone and leave a message at her Sydney hotel, leaving the name and phone number of the clinic in case friends wondered where she was. She'd been about to ring Miche when a nurse came into view and ordered her away from the phone.

Sally was bored, so when the receptionist rang her room to tell her that a clinical psychologist and assessment team had arrived, Sally didn't know whether to be interested or tell them to go away. ‘I don't want any tests and stuff.'