by Judy Nunn
The maid showed her into the lounge room where Penelope was waiting.
‘My dear, how lovely to see you.’ Penelope rose and brushed her cheek against Emma’s.
‘Hallo, Mrs Ross,’ she said, for the sake of the maid.
‘Tea in ten minutes, thank you, Tina,’ and the maid left. ‘I think we can stick with Penelope in front of the staff, my dear,’ she smiled. ‘After all, we’re associates in our work for the Blind Sociey now, aren’t we? Come along and I’ll show you the house.’
All of Emma’s misgivings disappeared as Penel-ope gave her a personal tour of The Colony House.
‘This is one of our major guest suites,’ she said as she opened one of the upstairs doors. ‘Rumour hath it that Mr Ross was challenged to a duel in this very room.’ Penelope was rather enjoying herself. She liked playing queen of the manor and it was difficult not to warm to the wide-eyed girl who was obviously overwhelmed by the wealth and style of The Colony House.
‘It’s beautiful,’ Emma breathed, looking about the elegant sitting room with its french windows leading off to the balcony. Through the open carved doors she could see the adjoining bedroom with its massive four-poster bed. ‘Absolutely beautiful.’
‘Yes, isn’t it?’ Penelope agreed. She led the way out onto the balcony. ‘Look,’ she pointed, ‘you can just see the statue of the dueller from here.’
Emma looked out over the lawns to the harbour edge and saw the lifesize bronze in the distance, its arm outstretched, pistol pointing towards the Harbour Bridge.
‘He’s not frightfully pretty, I’m afraid,’ Penelope laughed, ‘but he’s quite impressive and he does have a history. He was presented to my husband by the man with whom he had the duel. Samuel Crockett – still alive, although very old now. He’s a movie producer,’ she explained, ‘a movie producer in Hollywood. I actually made several films for him.’
‘How fascinating,’ Emma said. It was.
‘Yes. The duel caused a furore, I believe. Of course I was virtually a child at the time. I hadn’t met my husband then.’ She laughed girlishly, con-spiratorially. ‘Needless to say, Mr Ross won.’
Emma was overwhelmed by everything about her, The Colony House, the servants, the opulence. She didn’t belong to this world. But she delighted in the communication with Penelope herself. This wasn’t her grandmother at all. This was a woman sharing confidences and, to Emma, the relationship was precious.
Penelope was fully aware that she was playing the situation on exactly the right level and gaining the girl’s personal trust. ‘Come downstairs, dear, and we’ll have some tea,’ she said. ‘The cook has made a batch of shortbread which is positively sinful.’
It was most pleasurable to have some feminine company, Penelope decided an hour later as she ordered more tea and showed Emma her collection of press clippings and photographs. Feminine company which posed no threat to her position. Pretty, young, feminine company which made her feel like a girl again.
‘I do envy you, my dear,’ she found herself admitting quite truthfully. ‘You have a career ahead of you. A lifetime ambition to fight for. The struggle up each rung of the ladder will be such an exciting achievement for you.’
Emma recognised the regret in Penelope’s voice and was surprised. ‘But you had such a remarkable career yourself, Penelope – all those West End productions and Hollywood movies. Surely you achieved everything you wanted?’
‘Oh yes, yes, I achieved my ambitions,’ she agreed. ‘But you see, I left at the height of my career.’ (Penelope had convinced herself of this over the years). ‘And I do so miss it at times.’
‘Why did you give it up?’ Emma asked.
‘My husband,’ Penelope answered. ‘My husband needed me. You see Mr Ross is a great deal older than I and, when we met, he was already a highly successful businessman who needed a supportive wife at his side. There was no room for a young actress with a career of her own, so … ’ She shrugged nobly. ‘I suppose we all have our sacrifices to make.’
Emma felt privileged that Penelope had chosen to share such intimacies with her and she was moved by the woman’s history of self-denial. Franklin certainly appeared every bit the ogre Julia had painted him.
‘And then, of course, the children came along … ’ That had been the end of it all, Penelope remembered, Franklin’s lust for sons. She had moved herself almost to tears with the account of her lost career. And she’d told her story without bitterness or rancour. Hers had been a noble life.
Penelope had never had a female companion with whom to share her sacrifices and now here was Emma, obviously sympathetic. For a moment she had completely forgotten to whom she was talking. The look on Emma’s face suddenly reminded her. ‘Yes,’ she said briskly, pulling herself together. ‘Your father was the first-born. I promised to show you some photographs, didn’t I.’
‘Forgive my indulgence, my dear,’ she said stiffly as she crossed to the corner cabinet, inwardly cursing herself. How could she have allowed herself to get so carried away?
‘Oh, please don’t apologise, Penelope,’ Emma begged. ‘It was fascinating, every word.’
Penelope paused and looked at Emma. The girl meant it. She had no ulterior motive. She’d been genuinely enthralled and sympathetic. Penelope couldn’t help but like her.
They sat together on the couch and leafed through the old photo album. It had been a long time since Penelope had looked at the early family photographs and again she found herself moved. Terry and James at Mandinulla. Family holidays. She’d forgotten that once they’d been a family. It seemed a lifetime ago. If she’d known what was going to happen perhaps she wouldn’t have allowed her bitterness to deprive her of those moments. Perhaps she might have enjoyed her young sons more. Perhaps … Maudlin rubbish, she told herself, and turned her attention to Emma as the girl studied the photos of her father.
‘He was a lovely looking boy,’ she said as she watched Emma, mesmerised, slowly turning the pages. ‘I don’t have many pictures of him as an adult. We didn’t seem to take so many photographs then. I suppose one doesn’t when they grow up. There’s one here, though … ’ She turned a couple of pages quickly and Emma wished she wouldn’t. She wanted to study each one slowly. ‘Ah, yes, here we are, this is one of my favourites.’
It was a young man in formal evening dress, probably only a few years older than herself, Emma thought, and incredibly handsome.
‘The Hunt Club Ball,’ Penelope said, ‘Terry always looked good in black tie.’
Emma said nothing. Her eyes were glued to the photograph. ‘A smile and eyes that could charm the devil’, that’s what Julia had said. This was him, her father, this was the man Julia had fallen in love with.
Penelope watched the girl studying the photograph, and she suddenly heard herself say, ‘Would you like to have it?’
Emma turned to her, her eyes glowing. ‘Really? But you said it’s one of your favourites.’
‘Of course, my dear,’ Penelope answered briskly. It was time to draw an end to this conversation; things were becoming far too intimate. ‘I have others.’ Good grief, how long had it been since she’d looked at the damn album? And it would be a long time before she looked at it again. She withdrew the photograph and gave it to Emma.
Emma recognised the signs immediately. Their meeting was over and she mustn’t overstay her welcome. As it was, she hoped that Penelope hadn’t regretted the confidences she’d shared. Emma deeply admired her grandmother but she felt a surge of sympathy. Penelope was a lonely woman.
‘It’s been a lovely afternoon,’ she said formally, preparing to take her leave. ‘Thank you.’
But, before she could rise, a young man bounded through the hall and into the lounge room. ‘Hi, Penelope, I’m home,’ he called.
‘What are you doing back at this hour? It’s Tuesday.’
‘Reg and I had an argument so I walked out,’ the young man replied. ‘Aren’t you going to introduce me?’
‘Of course, darling.
This is Emma. Emma Clare, Michael Ross.’
‘Hi,’ Emma heard herself say.
‘Where did you spring from?’ he asked, but she found herself merely staring up at him. The eyes. The smile. She was looking at the photograph of her father. Fortunately Penelope answered for her.
‘Emma’s doing some work with me for the Blind Society,’ she said.
For the next half an hour it was impossible for Emma to leave. Michael took over and his conversation was fascinating. Emma was riveted by the machinations of the television world and enthralled by the fact that she was listening to her half-brother.
When she was finally able to make her departure, Michael insisted upon driving her home. Emma was aware of the warning in Penelope’s voice. ‘Go on, dear, you might as well, he’s not going to take no for an answer.’
Emma tried to signal a look of assurance in return. She had no intention of breaking her promise.
But she found herself unable to refuse the offer of a drink and further conversation with Michael when they arrived at her flat. Just half an hour, she told herself, half an hour of contact with her brother.
It was with reluctance that she managed to drag herself away nearly two hours later. What a fascinating mind, she thought. And she could hardly believe it when he said he wanted her to work with him. She’d dearly love to, but …
‘Perhaps,’ she heard herself say. ‘We’ll talk about it later, Michael.’ It would be impossible, of course.
The following day, Emma telephoned Penelope to thank her for the afternoon.
‘I think we should meet, my dear,’ Penelope said. ‘How about in the little coffee lounge down the road from the Blind Society?’
Emma arrived early and sat at a corner table overlooking the street for ten minutes before Penelope’s car pulled up outside. She watched as Penelope gave her driver his instructions and the car drove off.
‘Hello, my dear. Isn’t it a glorious day?’ Penelope signalled the waitress. ‘Soon it’ll be far too hot. Sydney summers – I do so loathe them.’
When the waitress had gone, Penelope got straight to the point. ‘What did you think of Michael?’ she asked.
‘He’s terrific,’ Emma said enthusiastically, ‘and very interesting. We talked for ages.’
‘Yes, I know.’ There was a wariness in Penelope’s tone and Emma immediately sought to reassure her. ‘I didn’t tell him anything, Penelope, honestly. And I won’t, for as long as you tell me not to. I don’t want to spoil things and I couldn’t bear it if Mr Ross … ’
‘Yes, yes, my dear, I believe you.’ Penelope sipped her iced tea and there was a moment’s silence. Then she said, ‘He wants you to work with him.’
‘Yes, I know. He said he – ’
‘He’s going to offer you a job as a trainee script editor at the studios.’
‘Oh.’ Emma felt uncomfortable. ‘He said he wanted to but I wasn’t sure how serious he was.’ Penelope said nothing, but her troubled look worried Emma. ‘I’ll turn the job down, I promise.’ Still Penelope said nothing. ‘Really I will. I swear.’
‘I don’t think it’s going to be as easy as that, my dear.’
Penelope was in a genuine dilemma, Michael had come home raving about his ‘meeting of the minds’ with Emma Clare. ‘Where did you meet her, Penelope?’ he’d asked. ‘For someone so young she has a stunningly creative brain. She’d be a perfect storyliner; I’m going to offer her a traineeship.’
Penelope had tried every ploy to dissuade him without appearing suspicious. ‘But she’s only seventeen.’
‘So was I when I started.’
‘Yes, my darling, but you were a sophisticated seventeen. Emma is really very young;’
‘That’s exactly what we need, some more young blood in the department. Reg is a real dinosaur.’
‘But how do you know if the girl has talent?’
‘We’ll give her a try and find out, won’t we? For Christ’s sake, Penelope, what have you got against her? I thought you liked her.’
‘I do, darling,’ she said. ‘Very much. That’s why I’m being protective.’
‘Protective of what?’ There was a mischievous glint in Michael’s eye. ‘Her virginity? I’m hardly going to seduce her, am I? As you say, she’s only a kid.’
Michael had never confided in his grandmother about his affairs of the heart. Indeed, the only person with whom he’d ever shared such confidences had been Daniel Pendennis, but Dan had gone. As arranged, his duties had ceased upon Michael’s eighteenth birthday and Dan had returned to his beloved Mousehole to set up a martial arts school with the tidy cache he’d squirrelled away during his four years’ employment with Ross Industries. Since then, there had been no one Michael wished to confide in and he’d grown to prefer it that way.
Penelope was forced to give in. Michael was obviously going to offer Emma the job with or without her approval. ‘Don’t be ridiculous, Michael. If you wish to employ the girl, then employ her.’
‘No,’ she said to Emma, shaking her head thoughtfully, ‘it’s not going to be that easy.’
‘You mean I should accept the job?’ Emma desperately hoped it was what her grandmother was saying. She longed to work at the studios. But surely Penelope couldn’t be serious. ‘You mean work alongside Michael without telling him who I am?’
‘That’s precisely what I mean.’ The girl was staring back at her incredulously. ‘For the moment anyway,’ Penelope continued. ‘You see, if Michael found out the truth, he would most definitely tell his grandfather – they’re very close.’ Penelope breathed a martyred sigh. ‘And then, I’m afraid, we would both be forbidden any contact with you.’
Penelope had spent a sleepless night working out the details. Emma could get her training through the Ross Studios – there was little doubt that the girl was talented and Penelope herself would ensure that she moved quickly through the ranks - then, once she was qualified, one of Penelope’s many contacts in another area of the industry would come up with an offer too good to refuse. An offer in another city. The girl was ambitious; she’d take it; and it would only be a matter of time before she was phased out of their lives altogether.
‘We must bide our time, Emma,’ she said, ‘before we can let the truth be known. Mr Ross is a very forceful man and we must somehow mellow him before he can be told. But there will come a day, I’m certain of it.’ Over my dead body, she said to herself.
For such a strong woman, Emma thought, Penelope was very much dictated to by her husband. But then, everything that was being said of Franklin Ross rang true of the tyrannical personality Julia had painted.
Emma nodded her agreement.
‘In the meantime,’ Penelope continued, ‘I think it would be better if you didn’t visit The Colony House, and if all contact with Michael was kept strictly to studio business.’
‘We’ll continue to see each other through our work at the Blind Society,’ she added, when she noticed the disappointment in Emma’s eyes. ‘And … ’ she gave a comradely smile ‘ … through our clandestine meetings in coffee houses.’
Emma smiled back, relieved that Penelope didn’t want to relinquish their contact.
Two weeks later, Emma took up her official train-eeship at Ross Productions.
Her first month was spent observing storylining sessions and script conferences of programmes currently in production, as well as the actual workings of the studio itself from marketing to publicity, from filming to editing and post-production.
She was kept extremely busy and she didn’t see much of Michael except for the moments when he managed to corner her as she grabbed a quick takeaway sandwich and coffee at the canteen.
Michael himself was finding the situation very frustrating. He couldn’t wait to get to know Emma but she seemed to avoid any personal contact with him.
‘It was Penelope’s idea to give you the full view of things,’ he said one day while Emma waited for her sandwich. ‘Are you getting fed up yet?’
‘No
way,’ she answered enthusiastically. ‘It’s fascinating. I’m learning so much and it’ll be a terrific advantage once I start working for the script department.’
‘Yes, that’s what Penelope thought. I must say she’s certainly taken you under her wing.’ Michael was a little peeved. Penelope had gone from one extreme to another. Having accepted the fact that he was going to offer the girl a job, she’d zealously taken over Emma’s career to the point where he was denied any contact at all. ‘Why don’t you come to The Colony House after work and we’ll put a few hours in on the movie?’ he suggested.
It was the third time he’d asked her in the past fortnight and he received the same answer. ‘Sorry, Michael, I can’t tonight – I’m going out.’
‘Okay, I’ll give you a lift home, you can offer me a coffee and we’ll chat about it before you have to leave.’ Michael wasn’t going to give up so easily this time around.
‘Sorry, I can’t. I’m going out straight from work.’
‘Fine, I’ll drive you. We can talk on the way. Where are you heading?’
Oh hell, she thought, where was she heading? ‘Redfern,’ she said off the top of her head. She’d go and see Julia.
‘Fine. I’ll pick you up at front reception. Five- thirty all right?’
‘Yes, five-thirty’s fine.’ There wasn’t much else she could do. Damn, she thought yet again, if she could only afford a car it would solve everything, but she was still a good month away from having enough money for a deposit. How could she keep steering clear of Michael’s offers for another whole four weeks?
‘Titles: what do you think? Halley’s Comet, Harbinger of Doom, or just plain Halley’s?’ Michael was firing questions at her, talking very fast and driving very slowly. It was only a quarter of an hour from the studios to Redfern and he wanted to make every second count.
‘Halley’s,’ Emma answered instinctively. ‘I’ve got a thing for one-word titles.’ She knew he was working overtime on rekindling her interest in the movie theme and he was succeeding. It was impossible to be unaffected by Michael – by his intelligence and his enthusiasm and, above all, his imagination.