Blaze

by Di Morrissey

  Reg turned and strode out, ignoring the little squeals coming from the bed . . . He wouldn’t be back in here again.

  *

  ‘You’re very quiet,’ said Jeremy as Miche settled into the room set aside for her at the Palmerstons’ vineyard.

  ‘I’m tired after the drive from Sydney. And I stopped in Cessnock to talk to your friend at the paper. Jane was very helpful.’

  ‘How is the research going? Found any interesting angles, ideas?’ he asked watching her unpack her bag.

  ‘I think I have a long way to go,’ said Miche in a weary voice and she made no attempt to explain the enigmatic statement.

  Jeremy gave her a questioning look, clearly puzzled by her attitude, then tried to change the atmosphere. ‘There’s a nice bottle of wine chilling,’ he announced brightly. ‘When you’re ready, come and have a drink.’

  ‘Sounds inviting. You finished your work? How are plans coming along for the big wine conference?’ said Miche in an effort to respond to Jeremy’s good intentions.

  ‘Pretty well together. Steve and Helen have hosted this before. A lot of important winemakers are coming from all over the country and a few from overseas. A few members of the foreign media too.’

  ‘I may find something for my story then.’

  ‘I’ll be surprised if you don’t. This sort of event doesn’t happen every day around here. I’ll see you by the fire.’

  Miche touched up her hair and changed her top and splashed on a little of her favourite Jonquil perfume before joining Jeremy in the family room where a log fire burned. Usually there were lots of people about the large and gracious home, but this evening Jeremy and Miche had the place to themselves.

  ‘Lots of conference planning meetings on at the moment,’ he explained. Jeremy rose and poured her a glass of wine. ‘Here’s to you, Miche.’

  She sank into the deep, soft cushions of the big lounge, ‘Lovely, just what I need.’ She smiled at him and sipped her wine, then leaned her head back and closed her eyes. ‘This is bliss.’

  The fire crackled, the crisp wine tasted cool and refreshing. Jeremy’s warm body was close to her. She felt herself begin to unwind and for a moment had to fight not to share the shocking discovery she’d made earlier in the day at the library.

  ‘Miche,’ said Jeremy softly.

  She opened an eye. ‘Hmmm?’

  ‘Can we talk?’

  ‘Sure.’ She sat up, wondering at the tone of his voice. He seemed to be having difficulty in framing his words. ‘What is it, Jem?’

  He put his glass down on the coffee table, clasped his hands between his knees and looked at the floor.

  ‘I’ve done something and I’m not sure how you’re going to take it. It seemed a good idea at the time, but now I think I might have overstepped the mark. Been a bit too presumptuous about our friendship.’

  Miche touched his arm. ‘I don’t think so. I mean, unless you tell me, I can’t say.’ She had a tingly feeling in the pit of her stomach. Was he going to suggest they go away together? The growing sexual tension between them had not been acknowledged, they had spent time becoming friends first. And she was glad about that. She really liked Jeremy. But she couldn’t deny there was an intense attraction between them that could certainly become something more serious.

  He took a deep breath. ‘Miche, it’s about your father. How do you feel about him? At the moment, I mean. Forgetting all that past stuff, what if he walked in that door?’

  Miche threw a frantic look at the door for an instant. ‘I can’t “forget all that past stuff” as you put it. How do you think I feel? What are you getting at?’

  ‘I thought you wanted to find him so you could hear his side of the story, balance the picture a bit.’

  Miche was tense and hesitant. ‘I guess so.’ She sipped her wine and Jeremy watched, resisting the temptation to keep talking. She took a deep breath. ‘So tell me, Jeremy, what would you know about my father for God’s sake?’

  ‘I’ve found him.’

  Miche was stunned into speechlessness, her jaw dropped, their eyes met, each momentarily trying to penetrate deep inside the other in an effort to see some instant enlightenment, some immediate rapport. An instant sympathy. But Miche felt like she’d been hit with a hammer. A terrible pain, followed by anger, swept over her. ‘What do you mean? You’ve contacted him? Why didn’t you come to me first?’ she demanded furiously, her fists clenching as she struggled to control the anger.

  ‘Miche, I had to know if I had the right bloke,’ said Jeremy defensively – and as gently as he could to help her cope with the shock. ‘It seemed such a long shot. Would you have agreed if I’d asked first?’

  She stared at him, swirling emotions making her dizzy. ‘What have you found out? Have you talked to him?’ she asked incredulously.

  Jeremy nodded. ‘When you told me his name was Gordon Birchmont and that he was born in Adelaide, it just seemed too much of a coincidence. You mentioned his birth date and it all checked out. I’ve had dealings with Gordon, but it wasn’t an easy subject to raise,’ he added.

  ‘No. It’s very personal. Between him and me,’ snapped Miche. ‘So he’s still in the same area? I was told I’d have to go through the electoral rolls.’

  ‘He lives in the Barossa Valley in South Australia. He’s a winemaker. That’s how I know of him.’

  Miche stared at Jeremy, finally managing to whisper, ‘You’re joking.’

  ‘No. He spent years in the US. In California in the Napa Valley. He came out to the Barossa after that.’

  Miche was silent, a sudden flash hitting her. Her mother had taken her to California when she was about five. She remembered going to Disneyland, with a man sitting beside her in a little boat as they went through a tunnel full of dolls with ‘It’s a small, small world’ blaring from speakers.

  And she remembered her mother sitting next to her on a plane and crying.

  ‘What’s he like?’ She could hardly breathe, barely manage to speak. ‘Does he know about me?’

  Jeremy reached for her hand. ‘I told him you were here. He wants to meet you. But only if you want to. He’s emphatic that he doesn’t want to intrude.’

  ‘Intrude! That takes the cake! When I was a little girl he walked out of my life! Left Mom. Left me.’ Hot, angry tears burned on Miche’s cheeks. ‘Now he wonders about intruding!’

  ‘I understand the confusion of emotions that this must unleash. But that is something you two have to thrash out. There are two sides to every story, Miche,’ said Jeremy lamely.

  The idea of suddenly coming face to face with her unknown father shook her. What did he look like, what was he like? It was as if you’d lived with one leg all your life and suddenly there was the opportunity to have an artificial leg grafted onto your body. She remembered a friend who’d lost half a leg and he had said the phantom nerves still screamed in pain and remembrance of the missing limb. Miche had only a sense of severance, she couldn’t remember what it had been like to be whole. She’d always had a part of her missing. ‘I can’t, I can’t,’ she whispered, dropping her face in her hands.

  ‘Yes you can, Miche. He isn’t asking for anything other than to meet you. If you don’t do this, it will never be resolved. You’ll wonder all your life.’ Jeremy touched her hair and lifted her face to look at him. ‘Miche, you can’t move forward, and make your own life, until you do this. I think there is a special reason I found him. I’d like to think that you . . . and me . . . that we might sort of stick together . . . down the track.’ He broke off, worried he was putting too much emotional pressure on her.

  Jeremy handed her the glass of wine and Miche took a sip and leaned back, wiping her hand across her eyes. ‘I don’t believe this.’ A tremulous smile crept around her lips. ‘You cared enough for me to do this, huh?’

  ‘I guess it shows how much I feel for you. So, I said I’d let him know what you want to do. A phone call, a letter. Or just meet face to face. Or you can leave it and do nothing
.’

  ‘I think first I’ll talk to Nina. And maybe Larissa,’ said Miche slowly.

  ‘Do that, Miche.’ He shifted on the sofa. ‘Er, Gordon is on the invite list for the conference. He’s quite respected in the wine business.’

  Miche didn’t know whether to laugh or scream. ‘You mean he’s coming here? In the next day or so?’

  ‘I didn’t plan it this way. His name was on the list and when you told me about your father’s details, it rang a bell. So I asked him when his birthday was and sort of crept the subject of you into the conversation. He was a bit stunned at first. Then very excited. But he doesn’t want to push you.’ When Miche didn’t answer, he continued, ‘Listen, no one else need know anything. You can see him somewhere else, you can stay at my place rather than here. The visitors all stay in the guesthouse and here in the main house. I’ll bunk with a mate.’

  Miche wrapped her arms around her head. ‘Oh, my God! What will we talk about, what do I say?’ She lifted her head in sudden distress, ‘Does he know what happened to my mom?’

  Jeremy nodded. ‘He knew. I didn’t ask how. He seems to have a lot of pain too, Miche.’

  She flung open her arms and settled back in the lounge, signalling an acceptance of the situation and that a degree of emotional control had been reached. ‘So? What now? You’re stage-managing this scenario.’

  ‘Darling Miche, I’m just trying to be a friend. It need go no further than this moment. He understands that. If you don’t want to see him, he won’t blame you at all.’ Jeremy touched her arm. ‘Surely there has to be a reason this has dropped into our lap? I find it bizarre he’s in the same business as me.’

  ‘Is he an alcoholic?’ asked Miche.

  Jeremy burst out laughing. ‘What a mad thing to ask. People who work in the wine business are quite circumspect in their drinking. Did your mother hint at such a problem?’

  Miche felt suddenly traumatised remembering how heavy drinking had been a big problem for Lorraine.

  She said nothing, so Jeremy continued. ‘This is how it is . . . your father is well respected and, frankly, quite well to do. He’ll be here on Friday. He was coming anyway. The fact that I have told him you are here . . . that you came out here trying to find him . . . he interprets as a series of fateful circumstances. He says all he wants is a chance to talk to you and to try to explain his feelings. He didn’t go into personal stuff with me, but I sense he feels an obligation to you and also a deep sense of loss. He is thrilled to know how well you are doing.’

  Involuntarily there was a flash of pride, an inkling of what she had missed all her life. Recognition by her dad for what she was doing. ‘A bit late to be interested,’ she countered.

  ‘Come on. Stop judging him on the past. At some point you have to let go and move on with your life.’ Jeremy felt his heart twist as he looked at her pinched, tight face. She was holding in so much pain. He put his arm around her, ‘Miche, I think things are going to change, and be really wonderful. For both of us.’ He stroked her hair and, as she leaned into him, he kissed her softly and slowly and felt the rigidity melt from her shoulders as she returned the kiss that held so much promise.

  It was only later, alone in her bed, that the tears flowed. Years of pent-up anger, hurt and loneliness were released. Finally she left the bed, splashed cold water on her face and, as she stood at the window staring into the moonlight and at the distant serried rows of vines, it came to her that there must be a bigger plan for her life being orchestrated by fate, the gods, whatever mysterious power was out there. It could not be a coincidence that on the day she rediscovered her father, she had also discovered another young woman’s painful, pitiful secret.

  Now that knowledge was showing her the path to take with her father – forgive, forget, go forward. Hard as it may prove to be.

  Nina was finding it difficult to settle back into her routine, something that normally didn’t take more than a day after returning from a big trip. Now she was struggling to stay involved and focus on the minutiae of the day-to-day running of Blaze. While not wanting to overrule Ali who was, after all, still editor until she flew out, Nina wanted to be on top of what was planned and what had happened. She was still judging April Showers. She’d read her work and, while she didn’t like the article on Heather Race and the subsequent legal bunfight, she could see April had talent.

  It just needed more intelligent targeting. Her style of attacking writing was not one that Nina personally liked, but she was astute enough to recognise that it stirred up readers and critics and this translated into sales.

  Reg was not a problem. He had pulled in his horns once Nina returned, and with the announcement of Ali’s promotion and the promise of a new editor, he felt secure once again. He tried very hard to smarten up his act. Life without Ali could be absolute bliss, he decided. He knew he’d made mistakes, but in the changed corporate environment he’d recover soon enough.

  Nina began to make plans for Ali’s public farewell and the more pressing issue of replacing her as editor. But the corporate issues, no matter how urgent and complex, failed to diminish her obsession with the totally enchanting prospect of a whole new way of life, a sample of which she had discovered while being with Lucien – travelling, setting up more children’s homes in Croatia and, hopefully, neighbouring countries still suffering from displacement due to the continuing conflicts and crises. She wanted the freedom to explore the challenges and joys of these new paths into the future, freedom from the constraints and spiritually barren environment of the bottom line, the next edition, the next lot of circulation figures.

  She stopped by Belinda’s desk. ‘I have to make a quick trip to New York, just a few days. A meeting with the Baron and, hopefully, the new editor. I want to leave in a few days. Can you arrange the booking?’

  Belinda nodded and didn’t ask questions. Nina would confide information when she was ready. ‘Nina, there’s personal mail here for Larissa that Miche dropped off. Do you have her new address?’

  ‘I’ll take it with me – it will be quicker. She’s still between New York and New Hampshire. Making wedding plans.’

  ‘I’m so happy for her. Tell her we miss her very much.’

  Nina took the letters from Belinda. ‘I’ll tell her. Let me know the flight details.’

  ‘Will you be here for Ali’s farewell?’ asked Belinda anxiously. It wouldn’t look good for Ali if Nina wasn’t there to make a speech.

  ‘Of course. We’ll make it as big an exit as the launching of Blaze. It’s very much a promotion, not a sideways move,’ she said firmly.

  Belinda nodded. Nina must have seen the sniping in the press. Already there were rumours that the ground was rumbling beneath the Yank Tank.

  Ali paced around her sleekly sterile apartment. It looked no different from the week she moved in. She hadn’t acquired anything personal in the way of mementoes of life in a new city, and the continent that sprawled around it. The apartment had the professional, temporary, ordered air of an expensive hotel suite.

  She walked around the suite restlessly, deeply perturbed. Despite the magnificent harbour panorama outside the tinted windows and the sense of spaciousness it conveyed, she felt the world was closing in on her.

  A conversation with Nina and Belinda earlier in the day had affected her more than either of them suspected.

  Nina had told them both about a phone call from Miche pouring out the story of the discovery of her father and that she had agreed to meet him at the end of the week. She had explained how Jeremy had made the connection and contacted Gordon Birchmont, the vigneron from the Barossa. Nina and Belinda had been slightly taken aback at Ali’s vehement reaction, ‘I think that what that young man did is absolutely shocking. He had no right to talk about Miche with her father. What if she hadn’t wanted to know about him? What right has anyone to meddle in her very private business?’

  ‘Well, Miche did come out here with the intention of looking for him. She made that public knowledge,’
said Nina gently.

  ‘She was even going to write about it,’ Belinda interjected. ‘Do you suppose she still will? It’s an amazing personal story.’

  ‘And what if she hates him? I think it’s a gross invasion of privacy.’ Ali had stomped away, leaving them open-mouthed.

  Now, in the seclusion of her white space, she prowled, wrestling for hours with long-buried emotions that insisted on surfacing.

  After a long and very emotional night, Ali had made her decision. She called the Yellow Brick Road and Belinda and told them both she would be late. At 9 a.m. she made another phone call from her apartment, not trusting even the privacy of her office for the security the call demanded. She made an appointment for later in the morning.

  Two hours later she arrived for the secret engagement, struggling to act her new persona. The Chanel dark glasses were firmly in place. Dressed entirely in black, she looked funereal. To the woman behind the desk, the tag of black widow spider sprang to mind.

  ‘I am Alisson Vidal. Here are the appropriate papers you require,’ announced the spider curtly, handing several folded certificates across the desk.

  The assistant commissioner at Corrective Services leaned forward. ‘Thank you very much. I have the file here, Miss Vidal. Sorry to ask you to produce documentation of your identity – the rules, you understand.’ She scanned the documents, folded them carefully and slid Ali’s birth certificate and those of her parents back across the desk. Ali didn’t answer, pushing the papers into her handbag. The assistant commissioner continued, ‘Your inquiry will remain confidential, as you requested. It is entirely up to you whether or not to pursue contact.’

  Ali nodded sharply, wanting this meeting to be over as quickly as possible. ‘Is he still at Bathurst?’

  ‘No, Miss Vidal. Your father has been released.’

  Ali jerked in her seat. ‘He’s free? You mean he’s . . . outside? Where?’

  ‘I really couldn’t say. He was released in 1989. I can give you his last known address, but that was 1992. You could try it.’