by Judy Nunn
This time, sensing the antipathy in Emma, he decided to forgo the normal procedure. When they were settled and the secretary had taken their coffee orders, he once again turned his attention to Michael.
‘When do you anticipate the release of Earth Man?’
‘End of March. Two months at the outside.’
‘And between now and then?’ Franklin couldn’t resist the enquiry. He knew he was courting an aggressive response but it was a fair question which demanded an honest answer. ‘You really think you can keep yourself on the straight and narrow?’
Michael felt an insane rush of irritation. Again he was being treated like a child. What was he expected to answer to such a question, for Christ’s sake, ‘No, Grandfather, I think I’ll probably bomb out altogether’?
‘Yes, Grandfather, I’m quite sure I can stay on the straight and narrow.’ Try as he might, Michael couldn’t keep an edge of sarcasm out of his voice. What the hell did ‘the straight and narrow’ mean anyway? Did his grandfather seriously think that because of one night’s fall from grace, Michael was now a cot case, unable to function as a human being? No, it was a dig – the old bugger wasn’t that naive.
He saw the warning flash in Franklin’s eyes and he knew he must tread carefully. It was four o’clock in the afternoon and Michael had only had two uppers during the entire day. It wasn’t enough. He was tired and nervy and irritable, but he knew he had to play the game the way his grandfather wanted it. For the next two months he knew he had to monitor his drug intake more than ever and be on his very best behaviour. After that, he’d have to sign into a clinic and undergo some ridiculous form of rehabilitation programme. Why couldn’t everyone just leave him alone? But he didn’t dare display his annoyance, even to Emma. In her own way, she overreacted to his drug use as strongly as Franklin did. It was none of their bloody business! But …
Michael dredged up one of his easy, lazy grins. ‘Sorry to sound a bit irritable, Grandfather – a touch of a hangover, that’s all.’
Nothing, Michael told himself, absolutely nothing was worth risking his inheritance. And the quicker he could lull the old man into a sense of security, the quicker Franklin Ross would hand over the lot and bugger off back to Australia.
‘I’m not at all surprised,’ Franklin’s reply was acerbic.
‘So which clinic do you suggest?’ Michael asked. ‘The Betty Ford? We’d better sign me in now, it’s very popular and there’s probably a waiting list.’
Franklin frowned. The boy was being smart with him, surely. But Michael’s smile was so amiable, so witling to please, that it was impossible to be sure. Franklin decided not to push too hard. ‘Very well, the Betty Ford Clinic it is.’ And he turned to Emma. ‘Now you, young lady. What about you? It would appear we have a great deal to talk about.’
‘I don’t think so,’ Emma answered firmly. She’d been in a dilemma, wondering which tack she would take when Franklin inevitably turned the conversation to her and her parentage. But the old man simplified any decision by immediately putting her on the attack. He was treating her like a child, she thought. She didn’t like being addressed as ‘young lady’, and certainly not in a tone which intimated she’d done something wrong. ‘I don’t think we have anything at all to talk about,’ she repeated.
Franklin was taken aback. Why was the girl so aggressive towards him? He’d opened the conversation with a perfectly reasonable comment delivered in a perfectly reasonable tone. Indeed, his approach had been fatherly, he thought, considerate. Why was she on the defensive? Franklin didn’t realise it but, these days, Helen had given up pointing out that even his most civil of tones was abrasive to the average person.
It was a pity the girl was choosing to be unpleasant, he thought, but so be it. ‘Very well,’ he said. ‘If you don’t wish to talk, perhaps you’d be kind enough to furnish me with the answers to several questions – ’
‘I don’t really see why – ’
‘Questions to which I am owed an answer, aamn it.’ Franklin’s voice hardened. He was starting to feel genuinely annoyed. The girl was strong and proud – he respected her for that. But he wanted answers. He was in a quandary. How was he supposed to play this?
‘Emma,’ he said reasonably, ‘whether or not you like it, your mother and I made a bargain. An agreement was reached, money was exchanged and if either you or she are going to renege on the deal then I most certainly have a right to know the reasons why.’
Emma look back at him for a moment and then she nodded. ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Yes, that’s fair enough.’ She cleared some magazines from the coffee table as the secretary entered with a tray but the action was more to break eye contact with Franklin than anything else. ‘Ask away,’ she said when the secretary had gone.
‘Very well. First of all, why? Why tell me now?’
‘She was protecting me, Grandfather,’ Michael interjected. Although he had no memory of the actual event, Emma had filled him in on all the details that morning. ‘You demanded a reason why she was defending me and … ’
‘Yes, yes, I know, I know that,’ Franklin snapped. What, did they think he was a fool? ‘I mean, why now? Why wait all these years to tell me?’
‘You said it yourself, Mr Ross,’ Emma answered evenly. ‘You and my mother made a deal.’
Franklin stared back at her. No, the answer was too simple somehow.
‘Besides,’ Michael added in the pause that followed, ‘Emma gave her word to Penelope.’
Emma glanced sharply at him. She didn’t know why, but she wished he hadn’t told Franklin that part.
Franklin witnessed the exchange between them. He saw Michael’s imperceptible shrug in return. A shrug that said, what’s the harm, let the old bloke know the full truth. ‘Seven years ago,’ he continued with some relish. ‘It must be all of seven years ago she promised Penelope.’
Penelope. Yes, of course it was Penelope. Franklin’s mind seized upon several reasons as to why Penelope would demand secrecy. Primarily, of course, she wouldn’t have wanted female competition; only one woman ruled the roost at The Colony House, Penelope had always made sure of that. She’d even got rid of poor Veronica, Terry’s mousy little wife, Franklin recalled. But could there also be an element of revenge involved? Penelope had denied him sons and she had revelled in the fact. Had she also revelled in the fact that she was denying him a grandchild? Certainly he had said that he would suffer no bastards in the family but at the time he said it, he had a healthy young son who had already given him one grandchild and was expected to give him many more. Penelope would have been aware of that. If it were so, how she must hate him, Franklin thought. Then he forced himself back to the present.
‘How long have you known that Emma was your half-sister?’ he asked.
‘Five years,’ Michael answered.
‘I see.’ He paused and looked from one to the other before concentrating again on Michael. ‘And why did you keep the secret? Did you promise Penelope too?’
Michael shook his head. ‘Penelope and I have never spoken about Emma. But then Penelope hasn’t spoken to me since I left Australia to be with you. She hasn’t spoken to Emma either, for that matter.’
Franklin finally turned his attention to Emma. ‘So you expect me to believe that this entire conspiracy is born of a promise you made to your grandmother seven years ago? And that for the past five years you haven’t even seen or spoken to the woman?’
Emma merely nodded. But to Franklin it was incomprehensible. The girl had to have an ulterior motive. There was a plan afoot, he thought, there had to be. Were the two women in league? Was Penelope quietly biding her time in Australia waiting for him to die while her granddaughter stood by in New York watching Michael sink into the abyss? With Franklin dead and Michael destroyed they could take over his empire with ease. Was that the plan?
‘I don’t believe you,’ he said.
‘That’s your prerogative,’ Emma replied stiffly. ‘But frankly, what you choose to believe or dis
believe is immaterial to me.’
Damn it, Franklin thought, the girl was determined to push him to his limits. The defiant flash in the eyes and the tilt of the chin reminded Franklin of her mother and that afternoon twenty-five years ago.
‘What is it you want from me, girl?’
She rose. ‘I want nothing from you, Mr Ross. Nothing at all.’
‘You’re lying,’ Franklin said. And Emma walked out of the room.
Michael controlled his desire to laugh but he couldn’t resist a mild smirk. ‘I think you’ve offended her, Grandfather, Emma never lies.’
Franklin eased himself out of the armchair with the aid of his walking stick. ‘I expect you to abide by your promise, boy. You may go now.’
Damn the girl, he thought as he watched Michael leave. Damn her. Given the circumstances she could at least stop calling him Mr Ross.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
EMMA AVOIDED FRANKLIN ROSS like the plague over the next several weeks but their occasional meeting was inevitable. And, each time, he attempted affability. ‘Under the circumstances you could call me Franklin, surely,’ he suggested. But, although she found herself referring to him as Franklin in conversation to others, she found it impossible to do so to his face.
On their last chance meeting, Franklin dropped the affable act and got straight down to business. ‘I realise the influence you have over the boy, Emma, and I’d like you to give him a warning.’
‘The boy’, Emma thought with irritation. Michael’s twenty-seven years old, he’s hardly a boy. Why does Franklin have to treat us all like half-witted children? Someone should tell him, she thought, but she certainly wasn’t going to be the one.
‘I want you to warn him that if he doesn’t undergo the treatment as he’s promised, I’ll disinherit him,’ Franklin continued. ‘He won’t get a penny - tell him.’
She did. And Michael scoffed. ‘As if I didn’t know that. He’d do it too, the vindictive old bastard.’
The premiere of Earth Man loomed near and the whole of New York was buzzing about the movie.
‘The trade papers have been good to us, that’s for sure,’ Stanley remarked one day as he and Emma sorted through still shots of the stunts for a forthcoming article in Time magazine.
‘It was Michael’s interview with Oprah that got them all on side, though’ Emma replied. ‘He was brilliant. And the clips they aired from the Fiji shoot were stunning.’
‘Yeah, and of course we all know why the Oprah show caused such a stir, don’t we?’ Stanley said. ‘The whole goddamn interview was about Marcel’s murder.’
Emma nodded, ignoring his tone. Stanley always spoke sharply these days. She couldn’t help but notice that his attitude towards her seemed to have changed. He was surly and irritable. ‘Stanley, what’s the matter?’ she asked time and again. ‘Have I done something to offend you?’
‘No,’ he’d abruptly reply and then turn the conversation towards work. Lately she’d given up trying to communicate with him on a personal level.
‘The Oprah show was pretty vulgar,’ she admitted. ‘For once I agree with Franklin. It’s too soon and it’s tasteless. But at least Michael’s refusing to use any film footage of the assassination scene for publicity. All the networks have been asking for it.’
‘You can bet your bottom dollar it’s not due to any finer feelings on his part,’ Stanley snapped. ‘He wants to make damn sure people realise they have to pay to see it.’
‘Yes,’ Emma had to agree, ‘he’s a bit of a monster when he’s making a movie. Everything and everyone’s fair game.’
‘It didn’t used to be people though - it used to be events. He’s changed and it sure as hell isn’t for the better.’
The subject of Michael also seemed to annoy Stanley these days and Emma usually tried to avoid talking about him.
‘The guy’s turned into a bastard,’ Stanley continued. He was more than surly today, Emma thought. He was tense, on edge.
‘Michael’s not well,’ she countered defensively,
‘you know that. He’s promised he’ll undergo treatment and after that he’ll be fine. He’ll be the same – ’
‘Bullshit! He’s doing it to appease the old man. He’ll never change - he doesn’t want to. He uses people and he always will.’
Emma felt her own anger start to burn. Stanley was talking like Franklin Ross. Franklin thought of drug addiction as a weakness, not as the evil disease it was. ‘Michael’s addiction is an illness,’ she said evenly, ‘it’s not a crime.’
‘Oh stop being so fucking self-righteous, Emma.’ Stanley slammed a pile of photographs down on the table and turned on her. She’d never seen him so angry. ‘He wants to be the way he is -can’t you see that? Franklin’s right, the man’s diseased and it’s all in his own brain. Why do you keep defending him?’
‘Because he’s my brother, that’s why!’ Her own voice rose in anger to match his. ‘He’s my brother and I love him!’
‘And how do you love him? Like he loves you?’ Stanley’s face was close to hers now and she could see the rage in his eyes. ‘Like a lover? Have you seen the way he looks at you? Is that the way you feel about him? Do you want him the way he wants you? Do you want to - ’
She hit him. With all the force she could muster, she struck him across the face and her hand stung from the impact.
Neither of them said anything for a while. There was a red mark on Stanley’s cheek; he didn’t touch it, he didn’t even seem to acknowledge the blow, but his anger had dissipated.
Emma’s anger, too, had gone. She was appalled by his words. But she was more appalled by her own action. She had never struck anyone before, she had never thought it was in her to want to.
‘I’m sorry,’ she said.
He sat on the desk, photographs spilling onto the floor. ‘You should have told me,’ he said. ‘You should have told me years ago.’
‘Told you what?’
‘That you were Michael’s sister.’
‘Why?’
‘Oh for Chrissakes, Emma, why do you think! The way Michael looks at you is the way I’ve looked at you for five years, maybe seven, who can tell, maybe the first day I met you - I don’t know and who cares. But the man’s in love with you and if that offends you, then tough.’
Emma remembered the night Michael tried to make love to her, the night she told him the truth. And she knew, if she was being honest with herself, that she had seen him looking at her occasionally. Special looks. Looks that she’d chosen to construe as brotherly love. But they weren’t, and, deep down, she knew it.
‘Yes,’ she said, and her voice was a whisper. ‘Yes, you’re right.’
Stanley couldn’t bear the fact that she’d absorbed only one half of what he’d said. He could see that Emma was appalled by the knowledge of her brother’s incestuous desire but did Stanley’s own admission of love mean nothing? Did the fact that he’d stood by for five years, never declaring himself, accepting a relationship that had never existed, did that mean nothing?
‘So is this incest a two-way street?’ he asked. He was goading her. He wanted her to strike him again. He wanted her to stop thinking of Michael. He wanted to force her into acknowledging his admission. It worked.
‘Stop it, Stanley! Stop it!’ He said nothing but sat glaring at her. ‘Why are you tormenting me?’ she asked. ‘Why do you want to hurt me?’
‘Because you’ve wasted five years of my life, that’s why. Because when I tell you I love you, you don’t even acknowledge me, that’s why.’
‘I’m sorry,’ she murmured. ‘I never knew.’
‘Oh, come on, it must have crossed your mind once or twice, surely? Maybe when we were horsing around in a pool half-naked together,’ he added sarcastically, ‘or - ’
‘No,’ she said, ‘never.’
‘Well, it should have,’ he said impatiently. ‘Jesus, you’re a woman - where the hell’s your female intuition?’
‘I’m sorry,’ she said again. ‘If
I’d known I would have…’ Her voice tailed off wretchedly.
‘You would have what, Emma?’ He was demanding an answer. ‘You would have what?’
‘Oh Stanley, how do I know? I’ve always cared for you. You know that. How can I tell what I … ?’
‘How much have you cared, Emma?’ He rose and took her by the shoulders, his grip painful. ‘How much?’
‘Stanley, please … ’
‘This much?’ And he kissed her. His mouth was rough and demanding and she was so completely taken by surprise that she didn’t fight back. She accepted the kiss, brutal as it was. And when he’d finished, he took her face in his hands and said quietly, ‘I didn’t mean to hurt you, and I won’t again, I promise. But if there’s any chance of making up for lost time, I’d like to give it a try. Think about it, Emma, that’s all I ask. Think about it.’
A week later, Stanley asked her out to dinner and Emma accepted. It was a pleasant evening, the conversation warm and comfortable, the companionship that of close friends. Neither of them mentioned the confrontation of the previous week. At least not until coffees at Emma’s apartment.
She’d wondered about asking him in and whether he’d misconstrue the invitation but it seemed unbelievably rude not to offer coffee after he’d driven her home. Besides, she was enjoying his company, wasn’t she? And she had to admit, when he refused a second coffee and took her in his arms instead, she enjoyed the kiss and the feel of him. Strange as it was.
But, somehow, it was too strange. She drew away from him. ‘Stanley…’
He stopped her. ‘It’s okay, I don’t expect a miracle after five years.’ But, as he rose from the sofa, his grin was confident, happy. ‘We know where we stand now though, don’t we? And, believe me, I’ll keep trying.’
She started to say something but he interrupted again. ‘Don’t worry, you can always tell me to butt out. See you.’