Blaze

by Di Morrissey

  ‘Listen, stop worrying about all that stuff. Just enjoy each day. Too much wallowing makes you stuck in mud, or some such saying to quote my mum.’

  Miche laughed, but couldn’t help thinking that was how men dealt with heavy-duty issues – by avoiding them. They changed tack. They waded out into clear, fast-flowing water that took them away from the muddy foreshores.

  ‘When are you coming to see us? Steve and Helen have a spare cabin you can stay in. They’re keen you write about our neck of the woods.’

  ‘That’s so sweet. As an unbiased Blaze journalist, I’m not supposed to accept free hospitality.’

  ‘You’re coming to see me. That’s different. Pay for your own motel in Cessnock or wherever,’ countered Jeremy. ‘Say, I’ve just had a thought. I have a mate who lives in Cessnock. His wife, Jane, works for the local newspaper, the Advertiser. She might be a help to you. How soon before you’re coming? I’m starting to forget what you look like,’ he teased.

  ‘Maybe next weekend. Tell Helen I’ll call her. And, Jem, thanks for being a pal.’

  ‘Any time. You can count on me, Miche. I mean, if you do decide to try to find your dad, I’m here. A shoulder to cry on, bit of hand-holding, anything like that.’

  It choked her up to hear him say this. And suddenly the idea that she would have emotional support should she find and have to confront her father gave her added strength. ‘Oh Jem, that’s so terrific of you. I think one of the reasons I’ve been stalling is because I’m doing it alone. Sure, it’s very personal and private. But if it didn’t work out or if he didn’t want to see me . . . It would be hard to handle on my own. Without Nina and Larissa here, I guess I was shelving the whole idea.’

  ‘And now?’

  ‘I want to do it. I don’t know if he’s even here. I suppose finding him isn’t going to change my life that much,’ said Miche, trying to lighten the conversation.

  ‘It could settle the questions you have. You resolve one part of your life and then you can deal with the next stage.’

  There was an unspoken understanding that whatever the next stage of Miche’s life might hold, Jeremy would play a part.

  ‘Thanks for being a friend, Jem,’ said Miche.

  ‘I’ll see you soon, Miche.’

  After he’d hung up the phone, Jeremy paced around the room, then came to a decision. He raised his eyes to the ceiling and murmured, ‘Lordy, I hope I’m doing the right thing.’

  Ali was preoccupied as she dealt with Larissa’s news. While not unhappy with the turn of events, she knew it would upset Nina that Larissa had left so suddenly. Ali didn’t want to know about the details of Larissa’s personal life, but she hoped Nina understood Larissa was opting out of the race and choosing the soft and easy option of settling down rather than trying to compete with Ali. She’d better make sure Nina knew Larissa had to run and grab her fellow or lose him and that working with Ali had not had anything to do with Larissa’s decision. She’d ask Belinda to draft a personal note to that effect and assure Nina that while Larissa was a loss to the company her private life and happiness must come first, blah, blah, blah. Ali could now pull in a replacement of her choice to present as a fait accompli to the board. Someone who would toe the line, someone who’d do Ali’s bidding, but also be able to carry on the nitty-gritty workload that she realised Larissa had unobtrusively achieved each month for the magazine. Ali decided she’d also discuss it with Oscar in their now daily phone calls.

  Another problem niggled at her, which she would not raise with the Baron. It was one she didn’t know quite how to handle. Jacques had become a serious problem, socially and professionally. And his connections with the magazine could do serious damage to Blaze.

  While he had now virtually removed himself from anything to do with running Blaze, rumours about his private life were becoming more insistent. It seemed to Ali it would only be a matter of time before something blew up publicly.

  It was at times like this that she really missed her once close relationship with John O’Donnell. Now she wished she could discuss with him her worry about Jacques and his boys’ club – the sycophantic followers who hung around him – led by Tony Cox.

  The Blaze Connoisseur Wine Club was, she suspected, the tip of a very murky iceberg that involved Reg, Jacques and Tony. She hadn’t spoken to, or heard from, John O’Donnell since the night she’d walked out on his proposal with the sapphire ring. Now she needed him, she regretted losing the contact. He’d been a useful ally on the local scene.

  She had probably hurt him deeply. It had been a big step for him to let her into his life. He once admitted that if he hadn’t been so vulnerable after the death of his wife, she’d have never found her way under his defences.

  As Ali lifted the phone, she knew he’d undoubtedly be missing the sex. But he would not have replaced her. Above all, he was a gentleman. He’d take her call.

  John O’Donnell’s voice was cool, cautious. But he had accepted the call. Ali was up-front and disarmingly frank.

  ‘I wouldn’t blame you for not talking to me. I really miss talking to you. I miss a lot of things, but most of all I miss our friendship. I have a problem and I don’t know how to deal with it. Now, I could offer to root you silly on your desk or office floor, or I can ask you outright. And I’ll understand perfectly if you tell me to rack off,’ she said affably, using the familiar Australianism.

  His voice was soft and courteous and she knew he was smiling. He couldn’t help himself. ‘That’s not in my vocabulary. I’m sorry to hear you have a problem. How can I help?’

  ‘God, what a good man,’ she thought. Quickly she filled him in on Jacques’ nefarious activities and then told him about the wine club. ‘On the surface it doesn’t seem any big deal. Except, I knew nothing about it. Reg Craven is in on it and he sneaked the ads in.’

  ‘Nothing too unusual in a magazine pushing spin-off merchandise. Is the wine any good? Which vineyard is supplying it?’

  ‘That’s what’s off. It’s mostly coming in from overseas, with a few bottles of Margaret River wine thrown in to give it an Australian touch. It seems to be run by an international group. Furthermore, there’s no proper paperwork going through our accounts department. I think it’s a front for something heavier.’

  ‘Don’t be alarmist until you know more, Ali. I take it you haven’t raised it with Nina or the Baron?’

  ‘No. It’s my responsibility and if Jacques and his pals are pushing through something dodgy, the buck still stops with me.’

  John O’Donnell spoke in a steady, calm voice. ‘Ali, you can pursue this personally, but it will take time and energy. You can ask someone, perhaps outside the magazine, to check it out. You can pass it on to the Baron, though I understand the sensitivity of doing that when it’s his son who’s involved. Or you can remove any future reference to the wine club. Perhaps run a small box stating the wine club has been disbanded.’

  ‘That would make Blaze look bad. As if we hadn’t received enough interest or the product was second-rate.’

  ‘Then simply erase it. If it is a scam of some sort, you’ll know by how Jacques et al. react. Tell them to take it up with Nina or the Baron and see what they do.’

  ‘You’re a wise owl, O’Donnell. Thank you.’ Before she could say anything else he cut in. ‘Ali, I think it best we don’t have any further conversations in the future. It saves opening up old . . . feelings. But I wish you well, my dear. You are doing a fine job. But don’t become complacent, there will be someone at your heels soon enough. Don’t burn any bridges,’ he counselled, knowing how impetuous – and imperious – she could be.

  She winced slightly at his remark that others could be biting at her heels, but dismissed the comment. He was the one taking backward steps towards retirement, she was still ascending.

  Nina flew into Sydney unannounced. She’d met Larissa in New York, but learned little from her about what had been happening at Blaze Australia, preferring to discuss her future plans with Ger
ard. Larissa’s careful avoidance of talking at length about Ali concerned Nina. It clearly had been an unhappy partnership between the two top editorial staffers in Sydney.

  Lucien had joined her in New York, but only for a short stay, then he’d moved on to Los Angeles to talk film financing. After a board meeting and lunch with the Baron, Nina caught her plane to Sydney, slightly puzzled with the Baron’s clearly expressed pleasure with the performance of the Australian publication. It contrasted so starkly with the impression she had received from the little Larrisa had given away.

  At Sydney Airport, Nina picked up an issue of Blaze Australia, which had been published the day before and had not yet reached the Baron’s office. She looked through it in the limousine, mentally giving ticks, and noting queries about some stories and several ads. What was this Blaze Connoisseur Wine Club, for instance?

  She walked into her apartment, which had been cleaned and filled with flowers, food and fresh linen by her housekeeper who was expecting her. It was early in the morning, so she stood under the shower trying to wash away the fatigue of the long flight. She then made herself strong coffee, dished up yoghurt and her favourite pieces of Australian tropical fruit and flicked through the morning newspapers left on her doorstep. There were so many local stories that she had to catch up with. They were big stories for Australian readers, but they travelled poorly overseas. Nina had been aware, while in France, of how little space was given to Australian news, except for major sporting events and disasters. And, she reflected, her time in Croatia had been a time of being completely out of touch with what was happening in the rest of the world. Including her world of Blaze.

  At 9 a.m., Nina’s driver collected her and dropped her at the office. She walked down the hallway, startling several juniors who gave delighted smiles and chorused, ‘Good morning, Mrs Jansous.’

  The news of her return was flashing around the floor by the time Nina had settled into her red cedar chair. She picked up the phone and called Belinda.

  ‘Nina! How super to talk to you. We’ve been wondering what was happening. Are you still in New York?’

  ‘No, I’m right down the hall in my office. Can you pop along and see me? Is Ali there?’

  ‘Oh, my goodness! Yes, she’s here early every morning,’ reported Belinda, pleased to be able to say something positive about Ali.

  ‘I’ll make my presence known to Ali shortly. I have a few small jobs I’d like you to arrange first, if you wouldn’t mind.’

  Belinda grabbed her notebook and hurried the two doors down to the editor-in-chief’s office, a smile of relief breaking out as she ignored the buzz of Ali’s intercom.

  They exchanged warm greetings and Belinda sat down and flipped opened her notebook. ‘What can I do?’

  ‘Belinda, first off I want you to schedule a private meeting with Ali as soon as possible, then with Jacques Triton – he’s still here, I gather?’

  ‘Er, yes. He doesn’t come into the office every day, he’s kind of involved with . . . other aspects of the company,’ improvised Belinda.

  Nina didn’t react and continued, ‘Then stagger meetings with Reg Craven from advertising, the financial controller and the head of human resources. Then call a general staff meeting for 3 p.m. Set up an afternoon tea, keep it informal, but make it clear I want everyone present.’

  ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t know you were coming back today or I would have arranged flowers for your office,’ said Belinda. ‘Do you want one of the secretaries to assist you? I can do anything you want, of course. I mean . . .’ she paused and gave an embarrassed small laugh. ‘Am I to remain with Ali? I mean, are you back full-time or what?’

  ‘What would you suggest, eh Belinda?’ Nina smiled.

  ‘Oh goodness, I hope you’re here to stay . . . for a while, anyway,’ answered Belinda with enthusiasm. ‘Things have been a bit . . . hectic. Well, maybe more than that. Emotional, I guess. How long are you back for, if I can ask?’

  ‘As long as I need to be, Belinda,’ said Nina quietly. ‘How is Miche? How is she settling into Sydney? What stories has she done since the Sally Shaw piece?’

  ‘Um, I’m not sure. You know she’s not working here full-time. She’s a contributor. Which is just as well, as it means she can spend time with her boyfriend. He sounds lovely.’

  ‘Yes, Larissa filled me in. Did Miche turn down the job? What does Bob Monroe think of her? If you prefer, I’ll talk to him.’

  ‘Oh, he says she’s great. Bob wanted to hire her, but Ali wanted her to work as a freelancer. Last I heard, Miche was researching a piece about looking for her father, linked to the Sally Shaw tragedy . . .’

  ‘Tragedy?’ responded Nina with surprise, and Belinda hastily sketched in the details of the Reality story on Sally with its tragic outcome. Nina made notes. Her only comment was a quiet, ‘Hmmm. Very tragic indeed.’ After a moment’s reflection, she asked Belinda if she knew where she could reach Miche at that moment.

  ‘Miche is still staying at Larissa’s place, but she goes to the Hunter a lot. We so miss Larissa. Her leaving took us by surprise, though it was . . . understandable.’ Belinda looked down and twiddled with her pen. ‘I mean, wanting to be with Gerard and everything.’

  ‘Yes. Now, could you tell Ali I’m here and ask her when it would be convenient for me to see her please, Belinda.’

  Dear loyal Belinda, thought Nina. Trying to be circumspect.

  Nina was concerned that Miche was persisting with the search for her father. She’d seemed so happy-go-lucky in Paris, Nina had hoped she would find a fun and fulfilling life in Sydney and let the father issue go.

  Belinda walked back to her office, glad to have Nina back with her old-world courtesy and an executive manner that was totally the opposite of Ali’s abrasive style. Nina’s politeness and calm was now a soothing balm. Nonetheless, Belinda had the feeling an eruption was not far below the surface.

  Ali was caught off-guard and didn’t like it. She rose and mustered a tight smile as Nina walked into the editor’s office. ‘If I’d have known I would have . . .’ she held out her hands.

  ‘Baked a cake? You don’t seem like a cake-maker, Ali,’ quipped Nina lightly. ‘I’m sorry about not announcing my arrival. I have been juggling a pretty amazing itinerary. Zagreb, Paris, London, New York.’

  ‘If it’s Thursday, it must be Sydney, eh? So how are things in your world, Nina?’

  ‘Blaze is my world, Ali. And I would like to hear from you how things are.’ Nina sat down and waited.

  Ali was unprepared for this. ‘Well, the circulation is up. I’m looking for a deputy, though I have two promising people in the wings,’ she quickly added, in case Nina decided to foist one of her people into the position.

  ‘Good. I look forward to hearing about them. I hope you don’t mind, I have asked Belinda to arrange a staff meeting at three this afternoon.’

  Ali was miffed Nina had sidled in ahead of her. ‘Any special reason?’

  ‘I think it’s important to keep the staff informed about how things are going along. They will know I’m in the building, I’d like to catch up with everyone.’

  ‘Oh, it’s social, not an addressing of the troops,’ said Ali.

  ‘Depends,’ said Nina easily.

  ‘On what?’ Ali was defensive.

  ‘On what transpires between now and then. I smell smoke. I have an excellent nose.’ When Ali didn’t respond, Nina continued, ‘You know the old saying, where there’s smoke, there’s fire. I think I smell a few barely snuffed-out grass fires. Is there anything in particular you’d like to fill me in on?’

  ‘Okay, Nina. There have been a few problems, but I’ve handled them. Reg Craven has been especially obstructive. I hired a very creative advertising promotions manager, Eddie Kurtz, who brought in a lot of business, which upset Reg. Eddie was good. So good, he’s been grabbed by a TV network. April Showers joined us as a columnist and last month we published her first feature. It was sensational.’

  ‘On wha
t?’

  ‘A profile on the biggest bitch in television, Heather Race. She’s from one of those so-called current affairs, foot-in-the-door and mouth, shows.’

  ‘And why? What was the reason for the profile?’

  ‘April can fill you in on that. Race kicked up a bit of a stink, but I gather matters are in hand.’

  Nina made a mental note, but didn’t pursue this news for the moment. ‘What’s the Blaze Connoisseur Wine Club?’

  Ali hid her annoyance. Nina was onto things quickly, but she did sound genuinely puzzled. ‘Reg has yet to come back to me on that. The bastard dropped a story I’d placed to put that in after the book had been made up. It slipped by me till I checked the final proofs.’ Ali pre-empted the expected retort from Nina that nothing should ‘slip past’ an editor. ‘As you well know, editors are fallible, but not much finds its way past me. It’s one of my major headaches – Reg simply doesn’t communicate. He refuses to come to editorial meetings, he thinks he’s running his own ship. I guess he’s a bit resentful that I’ve brought in quite a few big accounts,’ she said pointedly.

  Nina merely nodded. ‘It’s not helpful when the two key elements of a magazine – editorial and advertising – aren’t on speaking terms. One can’t exist without the other. It should be a close collaboration.’

  ‘Collaboration isn’t in Reg’s vocabulary. But I’m sure he’ll give you his version of events. Do let me know what you find out about the wine club. I have knocked it on the head for the moment. I haven’t any knowledge of anyone asking permission to use the Blaze name for commercial purposes. I suspect there’s something shady going on, it’s not going through our books. I’m afraid Jacques is involved.’

  ‘I’m certain all will be revealed soon enough.’ Nina stood up then paused as she saw over Ali’s shoulder the terrace with the sandpit. ‘And what is that? A children’s area?’ She looked bemused and lifted a questioning eyebrow.