Araluen

by Judy Nunn

  Michael loved the work and his talent quickly became evident. It was the type of ‘no-holds-barred’ drama which suited his fertile imagination. And the budget allowed for aerial shots and cars over cliffs and high-powered boat chases.

  Within a year, Michael was associate executive storyliner and not just because he was the boss’s grandson.

  The affair with Natalie continued. As far as Michael was concerned, it was really a matter of convenience more than anything else. He didn’t meet other women – there was simply no time to socialise. His hours at the studios were long and during weekends he spent his time at home working on his movie script. Stimulating as it was, ‘Destiny’ was merely a stepping stone to him. As soon as he felt he was ready, he intended to make his movie based around an actual event. He’d chosen his event but had told no one about it. The film would be shot in 1986 – he had a year to go.

  To Natalie, the affair was more than a matter of convenience. Michael was no longer the gawky schoolboy to whom she’d taught the art of love. He was a charismatic young man. There was the same electric mischief in the eyes and the smile, but his body had filled out and there was an assurance about him that drew people to him like a magnet.

  But Natalie was wise. She knew that their affair was living on borrowed time and she prepared herself for the inevitable moment when Michael would meet a girl and fall head over heels in love.

  ‘Hi, Penelope, I’m home.’ Michael bounded across the main hall of The Colony House, through the arch and into the main lounge, where he could see Penelope sipping a cup of her specially imported herbal tea. He dumped his briefcase on a chair and then noticed the girl seated on the sofa beside her. ‘Oh, hello,’ he said.

  Penelope looked a little disconcerted. ‘What are you doing back at this hour? It’s Tuesday.’

  ‘Reg and I had an argument so I walked out. Aren’t you going to introduce me?’

  ‘Of course, darling. This is Emma. Emma Clare, Michael Ross.’

  What superb legs, Michael thought.

  ‘Hi,’ the girl said and, as she smiled a greeting at him, Michael found himself momentarily frozen to the spot. She was beautiful. She was tanned, even though it was not yet summer. A natural olive skin with blonde, sandy-coloured hair which she wore straight and to her shoulders. Her smile was warm and generous and her hazel eyes inviting. Everything about the girl was healthy and unaffected. Michael had rarely been exposed to such natural beauty – the glamorous actresses in ‘Destiny’ were highly manufactured – and it was like a breath of fresh air.

  He finally found his voice. ‘Hello,’ he said. ‘Where did you spring from?’

  ‘Emma’s doing some work for me for the Blind Society,’ Penelope answered for her.

  The Royal Blind Society was one of Penelope’s pet charities. Besides the various functions she hosted, she regularly recorded book and poetry readings for their talking book library. It helped satisfy the thwarted actor in her and she very much enjoyed it.

  ‘Oh, are you an actress?’ Michael asked as he seated himself beside Penelope.

  ‘No, I’m a writer,’ the girl replied. ‘Well, I’m trying to be. I’ve just finished school and I do a bit of reporting for the North Shore Times and Penelope kindly landed me a job writing synopses and book descriptions for the Blind Society.’ She flashed a grateful smile in Penelope’s direction.

  ‘So what was the row with Reg about?’ Penelope enquired.

  ‘Oh, don’t ask,’ Michael said, jumping to press the servants’ buzzer. ‘We’re finalising the end-of-season cliffhanger and Reg is too scared to kill off Ryan Clifford. He’s happy to give him a hang-gliding accident – you know, “Is he dead or is he not?” type of thing, he’s happy with that. But when we come back to the new season he wants to resurrect him.’

  ‘So what’s the problem?’ Penelope poured herself another herbal tea from the pot.

  ‘Ryan’s contract only goes till March, so why shouldn’t we kill him off? Horrific death, massive funeral, a nervous breakdown for his mistress … it’ll boost the ratings fantastically – far more than having him pack a suitcase and walk off into the sunset.’

  Penelope offered the pot to Emma but she shook her head.

  ‘Don’t tell me you’re drinking that filthy stuff of Penelope’s,’ Michael said. ‘Don’t worry, I’ll get you a decent coffee in a minute.’ Then he continued. ‘Of course Reg is convinced that he’ll recon-tract Ryan later in the year but I know for sure that he won’t. The man’s got two movies lined up in the States and once he gets over there we’ll never see him again.’

  The maid arrived. ‘Coffee?’ Michael queried and Emma nodded. ‘Two thanks, Tina – that new stuff, the Kenyan blend. Anyway,’ he continued when the maid had left, ‘it’s good riddance, if you ask me, the bloke’s an arrogant shit.’

  Penelope frowned her disapproval but Michael pretended not to notice. ‘And we can always get another resident hunk; they’re a dime a dozen.’ He turned to the girl, who’d been listening spellbound. ‘What do you think, Emma?’

  ‘I think it all sounds fascinating,’ she said. ‘Ruthless but fascinating.’

  ‘It is,’ Michael nodded enthusiastically. ‘Hey, you should come and sit through a few storylining sessions. We could arrange that, couldn’t we, Penelope?’

  Penelope looked a little dubious. ‘Well, I’m not sure whether … ’

  But Michael carried on regardless. ‘I’ll look after it, don’t you worry. They might even take you on as a trainee – I’ll check if there’s a vacancy on one of the other shows.’

  The coffee arrived and they talked for a further twenty minutes before Emma rose to go. Penelope had looked pointedly at her watch and the girl didn’t want to overstay her welcome.

  ‘Where are you off to?’ Michael asked, loath to see her leave.

  ‘North Sydney.’

  ‘I’ll drive you there if you like.’

  ‘Oh no, really, I couldn’t possibly … ’

  ‘Yes, you could – I’ve got nothing else to do.’ His car keys were in his hand and he was already crossing to the hall. ‘Come on.’

  Emma flashed an apologetic glance in Penelope’s direction but Penelope nodded. ‘Go on, dear, you might as well. He’s not going to take no for an answer.’

  Michael was proud of his Targa Porsche 911 sports car and, even though it was late afternoon and there was a spring chill in the air, he put the top down.

  ‘You don’t mind, do you?’ he called above the wind as they drove down Edgecliff Road. ‘Not too blowy for you?’

  ‘No, I love it,’ Emma called back, her hair blowing around wildly. Michael grinned at her, delighted by the disregard for her appearance.

  He revved the engine up and darted around a car ahead. ‘She’s a beauty, isn’t she? Grandpa’s eighteenth birthday present.’

  Emma had heard a lot about Franklin Ross. ‘You get on well, do you, you and your grandfather?’

  ‘Yeah, he’s the greatest.’

  Emma had never driven in a Porsche before and she couldn’t help but be aware of the looks from other drivers as they sped across the Harbour Bridge. She also couldn’t help but be aware of Michael’s complete oblivion to their envy. He appeared totally unaffected by his wealth and it impressed her. He was confident, certainly, but he wasn’t cocky and she decided she liked him.

  When they pulled up outside the apartment where Emma shared a flat with two other students Michael was once more loath to say goodbye.

  ‘Got time for a drink?’ he asked. ‘There’s a pub up the road with a great beer garden.’

  ‘Yes,’ Emma smiled, ‘I know the one.’ Then, after a moment’s hesitation, she added, ‘I’d love to.’

  Over the next hour and a half they had two beers each and talked endlessly. Well, Michael did. But Emma’s way of listening was encouraging. She seemed genuinely interested in everything he had to say and Michael found himself telling her all about his movie ideas. Even his initial script which he’d sworn t
o himself he’d keep secret till the very last minute.

  ‘People nick ideas, you know,’ he explained. ‘And this is one hot idea.’ He looked around, then leaned forward in his chair and spoke conspiratorially. Emma wanted to laugh; he looked as though he expected spies to come out of the woodwork. But she felt a great warmth towards him. He was so genuinely charming, she decided, it was difficult not to.

  ‘Halley’s Comet,’ he said. ‘That’s what my first movie is going to be about. Halley’s Comet. Terrific, isn’t it?’

  She wasn’t quite sure what to say but, as it turned out, she didn’t need to say anything. Michael raved on excitedly. For the first time, he was voicing his idea out loud.

  ‘Halley’s Comet. Seen in the skies only once every seventy-six years. Known as the harbinger of disaster. The last viewing was 1910, the death of King Edward. And its next appearance is due in 1986, less than two years from now. What disaster will it portend this time?’ Michael couldn’t resist the dramatic pause. Then he grinned. ‘Great storylining stuff, eh? And it’ll be best viewed from the southern hemisphere. We’ll film the actual comet from the perfect vantage point – I’ve checked that out with the observatory – and build our story around the actual event. Fantastic, isn’t it, the mixture of fact and fantasy? And the whole world will be talking about Halley’s Comet, so the movie’ll sell itself.’

  His enthusiasm was contagious and Emma was enthralled. ‘So what will be your disaster?’ she asked.

  ‘The pole shift,’ Michael announced triumphantly. It was his coup. ‘Nostradamus’ prediction. The disaster the comet is portending is the Earth’s pole shift.’

  There was no stopping Michael now. ‘A group of scientists and astronomers know the earth is about to shift on its axis but they don’t announce it because there’d be a worldwide panic. The scientists are working frantically for a solution or at least a means to preserve areas of human life that might be least affected. In the meantime, there’s a spy in their midst and he gives the news to the bad guys. Well, to one prime bad guy. A mega-rich, powerful businessman.’

  ‘Someone like your grandfather,’ Emma suggested with a smile.

  ‘That’s right,’ Michael replied, deadly serious. ‘And the businessman has a fleet of airbuses secretly designed and assembled. His idea is to take himself and his family and a few hundred other people wealthy enough to pay an exorbitant amount of money to the ionisphere where they wait out the cataclysm and the aftereffects. Then they come back to earth and rule the new race.’

  Michael sat back in his chair and awaited the effect. He wasn’t disappointed.

  ‘Wow,’ Emma breathed. ‘It’s fantastic’

  They talked for another hour after that. There were sub-plots and intricacies that Michael was still working out within his premise. ‘I need another faction,’ he said, ‘a faction that finds out about the airships and threatens their destruction.’ Excited by the idea, Emma proved tremendously helpful, even inspirational.

  ‘Religious zealots,’ she said. ‘A following of religious zealots who worship the comet as the visitation of a wrathful God. They see the airships as the work of Satan and need to destroy them.’

  ‘Perfect. Bloody perfect.’ Michael stared at her in admiration. ‘Give the arts course the flick,’ he said. ‘I can find a traineeship for you at the studios and you can work with me on the movie after hours, what do you reckon?’

  Emma laughed. ‘I reckon I have to go home, that’s what I reckon,’ and she stood up.

  ‘I’m serious, Emma.’ There was an intensity in his eyes. ‘I’m deadly serious. I want to get to know you better and I want us to work together.’

  ‘Perhaps,’ she said, avoiding the issue. ‘We’ll talk about it later, Michael.’

  It was early evening and he drove straight to Natalie’s apartment.

  ‘Hi.’ Natalie was pleased to see him. ‘I only just got home; I wasn’t expecting you.’ She embraced him warmly but Michael gently eased himself away.

  ‘I’m sorry, Natalie,’ he said. ‘It’s over.’

  She stared at him for a moment. There was a sick feeling in her stomach and the quick sting of tears behind her eyes. But she didn’t give in to it. ‘You’ve met someone.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘You’re having an affair?’

  ‘Not yet. But I intend to.’

  ‘I see.’ She was grateful he’d told her in advance. She didn’t think she could bear the thought of his having slept with someone else. But now she wanted him to go. She didn’t want him to see her cry. ‘Goodbye, Michael,’ she smiled. ‘It’s been fun.’

  ‘Yes, it has.’ He kissed her very gently on the lips. ‘You’re terrific, Natalie. Good luck.’

  He was gone. And Natalie let herself cry.

  As Michael drove back to The Colony House, all he could think of was Emma. Her face, her body, her smile, her eyes. There was an electricity between them. She must have felt it. An electricity in mind, body and soul. They were meant for each other.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Emma

  EMMA CLARE’S CHILDHOOD was a lonely one. She didn’t know what she’d done wrong but it was evident to her from a very early age that her baby sister was the favourite of the family. Her mother and father both lavished love and attention upon little Vivien, one year Emma’s junior, and it was a constant mystery to Emma why they didn’t do the same for her.

  She developed a strong defence mechanism, telling herself that it didn’t matter, she was going to be a hugely successful novelist and she’d be so rich and famous that she wouldn’t need their love. At nine years of age she started to write stories, inventing her own family and her own friends and her own world on paper.

  But there were times when it did matter. Her imaginary world was a wonderful escape but you couldn’t cuddle up to it and she would watch with envy as her mother sat Vivien on her knee and ran her fingers through the child’s hair.

  Emma had long since stopped trying to demand equal attention. ‘Mummy, can I sit on your lap too?’ … ‘Daddy, pick me up, pick me up too!’ She knew what the answer would be. ‘Don’t be silly, you’ re too big for that.’ ‘So is Vivien,’ she’ d say. And the answer would always be … ‘Emma, you’ re a big, strong girl; Vivien isn’t – she needs to be looked after, you know that.’

  It was true her sister had been born asthmatic and the fact that she was a petite child and delicate in appearance always brought out the protective in grown-ups. But the asthma was controllable and, apart from the odd attack, Vivien had never had a day’s illness in her life. Well, not to the best of Emma’s knowledge. She hadn’t had measles and mumps like Emma had. And she hadn’t had a middle ear infection like the one Emma contracted the summer they went to Byron Bay for a holiday. Deep down, Emma didn’t think that Vivien’s physical condition in any way warranted the different degrees of affection they were allotted.

  Vivien didn’t seem to notice any inequality. She knew she received more cuddles than Emma, certainly, but that was only because Emma didn’t ask for them – Emma didn’t need them, Emma was so strong and clever. Emma wrote stories, wonderful stories which she read out loud.

  Vivien adored Emma and the two girls had an excellent relationship, Emma successfully building her wall and concealing her jealousy from her good-natured little sister.

  She built her wall so successfully that, by the time she was twelve, she’d even managed to persuade herself that maybe she was imagining the situation, that maybe her parents didn’t pay her the attention they did to Vivien simply because she was the stronger of the two, just as they’d told her. That way it was easier to bear.

  Then came Vivien’s eleventh birthday party. It was a special day for Emma, even though it wasn’t her birthday. It was special because Auntie Bea was there.

  Emma hadn’t seen Auntie Bea since she was nine years old. As a little girl, her mother’s older sister Beatrice had always been Emma’s favourite person. When Auntie Bea was visiting there had alway
s been plenty of cuddles; in fact Auntie Bea cuddled her more than she did Vivien, which made Emma feel very special.

  Then Beatrice went to live in Europe. Emma missed her sorely. That was when she’d started writing her stories and building her walls.

  ‘Emma!’ The arms were outstretched and Emma charged into them. Beatrice swept her off the ground in an almighty hug. ‘My God, but how big you’ve grown, you’re nearly as tall as I am.’ She put the girl down but Emma remained clinging to her. ‘I think I’ve wrecked my back,’ Beatrice groaned. And Emma laughed with joy. Auntie Bea hadn’t changed at all.

  It was a wonderful party. There was a magician and lots of games and a huge birthday cake. But Emma didn’t mingle with the other children – she chose to remain at Auntie Bea’s side.

  ‘Why don’t you go and play with the others, darling?’ Beatrice asked.

  ‘I’d rather be with you,’ Emma answered. And then, in case her aunt thought she was being a little too clinging, she added airily, ‘they’re a bit young for me, Auntie Bea. I’m nearly twelve and a half.’

  When the magician started his act, Beatrice insisted that Emma join the other children in the lounge room. ‘Go along, darling,’ she said, ‘you mustn’t miss him, he’s supposed to be wonderful.’ So Emma reluctantly joined the others.

  Her mother introduced the magician and, just as he was about to start his act, Emma saw Beatrice signal her sister from the doorway and she watched as the two women walked out towards the back patio. Emma had noticed Auntie Bea’s glance towards her and she knew in an instant that they were going to talk about her.

  It wasn’t normally in Emma’s nature to spy or eavesdrop and she felt guilty as she quietly rose and sidled towards the door. But something told her she had to find out what they were saying.

  She crept down the hall. It was a warm day and the back door was open to allow a breeze through the house. She could see them through the flywire screen door, seated close to each other on the patio only several yards away and, although they were talking quietly, she could clearly hear them.