by Maggie Brown
Suddenly, a camera flash went off. Then another.
Sophie fell forward onto the bar as Jerry pressed firmly against her back for a view. Her breath whooshed out. Though she jabbed him sharply with her elbow, he didn’t flinch or move. All Sophie could do was watch with mouth agape, as a small crowd, including Brie, magically appeared with their phones. Eleanor didn’t seem to bat an eyelid. With aplomb, she turned graciously for the cameras, posed for a minute and then departed into the night.
“Geroff me, you big lug,” Sophie snapped.
“Aw Soph. Don’t be like that.”
“You’re squashing me.”
“Okay…okay!”
After she wriggled free, she tried to pull up her blouse, though somewhat unsuccessfully. She was all thumbs.
Brie appeared at her elbow and straightened the top. “It’s time I took you home. You’ve had quite enough.”
Sophie looked at her blearily. “I’m not drunk, just less classy and more fun. Isn’t that what you want me to be?”
“Come on, sunshine. You’ll thank me in the morning.”
“You want me to take you, babe?” asked Jerry.
“Huh! No way.” She fluttered her hands vaguely in the air. “This is Jerry, Brie?”
“Well, hi there,” said Brie. “I thought I recognized you. You’re Jerry Burrows from The Footy Show, aren’t you?”
“Yep. That’s me.”
“Sorry about this, but I’d better get Sophie to bed. I’d love to stay, but she’s got a plane to catch tomorrow.”
“Maybe I’ll see you around, babe,” he said hopefully.
“Not likely,” muttered Sophie. “I’ll be away for two months.”
“Here’s my phone number.” He pushed a beer-sodden card into her palm. “What about yours?”
She stuffed it into her purse. “I’ll ring you.”
Brie tapped her heels impatiently on the floor. “Give it to him, Sophie.”
“I said I’ll ring him.”
“Make sure you do. I’d like to see you again,” said Jerry and leaned over to plant a rum-tinged kiss on her lips.
She gave him a halfhearted smile of farewell, resisting the urge to wipe her mouth as they walked towards the exit. By the time the cab pulled up outside her door, she could barely stagger up the driveway to the front door. Fully dressed, she flopped into the bed, barely aware that Brie had covered her with the Doona before she passed out.
* * *
A persistent buzzing forced Sophie to raise her throbbing head from the pillow. Far out, how much did I drink last night? With a groan, she pressed off the alarm button and buried her head back under the covers. She drifted off again, only to be jerked awake by the shrill rings of her phone. She peered sullenly at the caller ID. Brie…what the hell does she want?
“Are you still in bed, Sophie?”
“Yes.”
“Get up this minute.”
“No. I’m too sick.”
“You’ll be sicker if you miss that plane.”
“Plane? What plane?”
“The one that leaves at noon that you have to be on.”
Sophie’s eyes flew open. She struggled upright to look at the clock. Oh, shit! A quarter past nine—only an hour to shower, dress, and tidy the house. The trip to the airport would take another hour, which left the bare minimum of time to check in. She’d be lucky to make it. She would have to run and she didn’t know if she would be capable of speed in her condition.
Brie’s voice echoed in her ear. “Are you still on the end of the phone, Sophie?”
“Yes, yes. I’m getting up.”
“Well, I’m outside. Let me in.”
“I’m coming now.” She swung her legs over the side of the bed, ignoring the sudden lurch of her stomach. Not the time to be sick. With as much speed as her aching head allowed, she trotted down the hallway to the front door.
Brie swept in, took one look at her and pointed to the bathroom. “Get in the shower. You look like something the cat dragged in and you smell like a brewery. I’ll make the bed and tidy up.”
Sophie nearly wept with gratitude. Quickly she stripped off the wrinkled outfit, wrapped it in plastic and jammed it in the suitcase. She’d wash it when she got there. Once in the shower, she let the spray sluice down her neck and over her shoulders. As she lathered on the soap, the remnants of the night gradually washed away. By the time she was dressed, the house was in order and the kettle on.
Brie pointed to a kitchen chair, a gleam of sympathy in her eye. “I’ll make a cup of coffee and a piece of toast. Eat it or you’ll be sick.”
Sophie groaned. “You’re a saviour. Strong black with one sugar, please.” She rifled in the cupboard for the aspirin and swallowed two. “What did I do last night?”
“You tied a good one on, honey. I’ve never seen you drink like that. Three is usually your limit.”
“I know. I was properly pinged off with everything. I can’t even remember getting into bed.”
Brie chuckled. “I can understand that. I helped you…with difficulty I might add. You weren’t exactly cooperative. You were drunk as a skunk and a dead weight. How do you feel now?”
“Okay. I don’t think I killed off too many grey cells…just have a bitch of a headache, but the painkillers should kick in soon and I’ll be in a better zone.”
“Good. You’ll need to be when I tell you the news.”
Sophie eyed her with unease. “What news?”
“Finish your breakfast. I’ll tell you in the car, so keep your phone handy.”
Ten minutes later, with her suitcase and backpack in the boot and the house left secure, they joined the line of traffic heading north. Sophie relaxed back into the seat, relieved to be feeling human again. Her headache had subsided to an annoying throb and her stomach had lost the urge to evacuate its contents. She looked at Brie enquiringly. “Now what do I have to look up?”
“You’re not going to like it. Log on to Facebook.”
When the screen flashed on, it took a moment to register the picture dominating the page. It was very popular from the numerous hits. The shot was snapped at the bar the night before, though Eleanor Godwin didn’t really feature in it. Only her side was in view. The people in the background had obviously sent the shot viral. With the new haircut, it took a second for Sophie to recognize herself. Then she shuddered in horror. There she was, her mouth open, jammed into the bar, her breasts lying on top with one nipple exposed. Holy smoke! I’m doing a Janet Jackson. Worse still, Jerry was pressed against her back, leering at it.
The caption read, “Burrows burrows into a tasty morsel. *Ha! Ha!* Who is his latest squeeze?”
One thousand, five hundred and forty-two hits and rising.
She scrolled down. Crap! Some perv had edited the photo to show just her boob. It had even more hits. She switched off the phone with an agonising moan. “The bastards!”
Brie reached over to pat her arm. “Don’t worry. It’s lucky you got the new hairstyle and you’re gaping like that fish Dory. And looking as stupid. Nobody has a clue it’s you. My phone has been running hot…everyone wants to know the name of the mysterious woman, even Owen.”
“Cripes, you didn’t tell him, did you?”
“No and you owe me for that. It would have made a terrific story. But all was not lost… I did snag a good photo of Eleanor for the next edition. And with that divine dress and the goss on that gorgeous guy on her arm, it’ll make an absolutely fab article.” She glanced across at Sophie and winked. “Just as well you’re getting out of Dodge.”
“I’ll say! By the time I get back, it should have long blown over. Things on Facebook have a fleeting lifespan. And I don’t think Jerry will remember too much about last night.”
Brie laughed. “I suggest you throw away his number.”
“I already have.” Sophie gave a convulsive swallow, her voice tinged with desperation. “But there is one problem. And it could be a freaking big one. With this many hits, E
leanor may see the photo. Can you just imagine what she’ll think of me if she does?”
“Nah,” said Brie with conviction. “It’s hardly likely a woman of her stature would have any of the same friends on Facebook.”
“I damn well hope not.”
Chapter Four
Sighing, Eleanor settled into her seat and put on her sunglasses before she turned her head towards the window for some privacy. With minimal fuss, the Qantas staff had discreetly escorted her onto the plane before the boarding call for the rest of the passengers. She was grateful for the courtesy extended by the airline—she definitely was not up to playing the diva for fans today. Last night had exhausted her.
The doctor had warned her not to do anything stressful, that her medication might take up to four weeks to stabilize the thyroid, but she wanted to—no needed to take the opportunity to defuse that interview. Although Blade had been the perfect foil for any speculation about her sexual orientation, it had left her with a bad taste. She was fed up with having to use a beard to put the press off. It wasn’t an acceptable way to live.
If it weren’t for her profession, she would be out and proud long ago. But at Carol’s insistence, she remained closeted, though it was getting more difficult as time went on. She wanted a permanent relationship, someone to share her life, a family. Sneaking around was demoralizing, making something that should be wonderful, cheap. Another Oscar and it wouldn’t matter—she would be too marketable not to be offered plum roles. Carol would no doubt object vehemently, but she’d have to wear it. She was her agent, not her mother. And that was the ironic part of the whole scenario, for her mother was the one urging her to come out.
Eleanor pensively tapped her armrest. What was she going to do about Carol? She was not only important to her career as her agent, but was also a good friend and confidante. Lately, however, in many subtle ways, the attractive brash businesswoman was making it clear that she wanted more than friendship. As much as she liked her, Eleanor wasn’t interested. For her part, there was no chemistry, no heart-pounding attraction. And she was not prepared to live closeted much longer. On the other hand, forty-year-old Carol remained content playing a double life.
Passengers were still filing onto the plane when her phone vibrated in her pocket. She dug it out and glanced at the caller ID…talk about the devil. “Hi, Carol. What’s up?”
“I’m calling to see how you’re going, Ellie.”
“I’m fine. I’m on the plane ready to fly out.”
“Bon voyage then. I’ve some good news. I’ve reworked my schedules so I can make it over to spend some time with you. I’ll send you the date when I book the flight.”
Eleanor pursed her lips. So much for getting away by herself. She nearly shouted into the phone, “Don’t come,” but instead said in a level firm tone. “There’s no need. Really. It’s too far to come for just a short time.”
“Nonsense. It’ll be no bother and I’d like a break with just the two of us. We should talk about the future.”
“Look, we’ll discuss it later. I have to turn off the phone. Bye.” Eleanor jammed it back in her pocket. Blow! The last thing she wanted was to have her on an island where there was no escape. The pressure would be full-on then.
Relaxing back in the chair as the plane taxied onto the runway, she shut her eyes and let the hum of the engines soothe away the stress. The next thing she knew, the flight attendant was asking if she would like something to eat. Groggy after her nap, she straightened, took off her dark glasses and shook her head. Plane fare never appealed. “Just a cup of coffee, please. White, no sugar.”
She was on the last sip, when a chuckle exploded from the passenger in the next seat. Eleanor turned at the sound and they shared a polite smile before the young woman’s eyes widened as recognition dawned. “Oh gosh…you’re Eleanor Godwin. Wow! I’m such a fan. I’ve just been looking at you on Facebook.” She blushed and stuttered, “Sorry. That sounded rude. I wasn’t laughing at your photo. The funny one is of the couple across the bar from you.” She held out the phone. “Would you like a look?”
Interested now, Eleanor took the phone. She remembered it very well. How could she forget them—the man had been lecherous and offensive, the woman had laughed raucously like a hyena. Both had been very drunk. She studied the snapshot. Her eyes roved from woman’s open mouth to her chest, and focused on the brown spot above the sagging top. Was that a nipple? Quickly she enlarged the photograph with her fingertips. It definitely was. Good God, the woman had no shame. She passed it back with distaste. “Who on earth are they?”
“He’s Jerry Burrows, a regular on The Footy Show. No one seems to know who the boob chick is, but Twitter is running hot trying to find out her name.”
“So she hasn’t been seen with him before?”
“Apparently not. She’s a newbie. He changes girlfriends as often as his socks.”
“Humph. Then they deserve each other. I imagine no self-respecting man would want her after that exhibition.”
Eleanor sank back into her seat. When she opened her eyes again, the plane was descending through a few wispy clouds to Mackay airport. As soon as she stepped inside the terminal, she was greeted by a portly grey-haired man who introduced himself as the Airport Personnel Officer. Dressed in a suit, a little too formal for the hot climate, he looked uncomfortable. She wished people wouldn’t make such a fuss when they met her. After the introduction, he didn’t stop to chat, but whisked her away immediately to a waiting car, leaving a staff member to collect her luggage. It gave her no time to peruse the other passengers. She would have liked to meet her new employee at once, but the man seemed to be paranoid about her safety, so she didn’t insist.
The ride to the hangars at the end of the airport took only a few minutes, and she was happy to see a sleek blue helicopter ready on the tarmac.
The pilot, a tall fit man with an engaging grin, tipped his hat. “Captain Liam Edwards at you service, Ms. Godwin.”
“Hi, Captain. Is everything ready?”
“Your luggage will be here in a minute. We’ve cold goods that need to go as soon as possible to the island. As some of them are sizable, would it be possible for Ms. Ryan to come over on a later flight?”
“That won’t be any problem.”
“Good. Then I’ll arrange someone to meet her. Thank you for that. Now climb aboard. It’s an ideal day for an island hop.”
The inside smelt of leather and a whiff of something pleasant, a lingering perfume from a previous passenger or a particularly nice air-freshener, Eleanor surmised. She strapped on her seat belt, surprised how comfortable the cabin was, and how large the windows were for easy viewing.
Liam was right—it was a glorious day, the view spectacular as they soared north. She gazed out enthralled, marvelling at the artistry of nature. The ocean was a vast mosaic of reefs, islands, and coral cays, coloured by every shade of blue and green imaginable.
After half an hour, at a particular pretty spot where the reef was clearly reflected in the water and a small white atoll rose out of the sea, the pilot pointed toward two islands on the horizon. “She’s one of those,” he called out.
He circled them to give Eleanor a full view before he brought the helicopter into the flight path for the descent. She craned her head to gaze at her home for the next two months. The larger isle was uninhabited. The smaller was covered with vegetation except for a cleared strip along the front of a cove. Rugged cliffs circled the rest of the island, which meant that this bay was the only access point by boat. The one jetty jutted out into the water.
The place was as good as a fortress—the paparazzi wouldn’t have a hope of sneaking in.
Eleanor felt a shimmer of excitement. Even though initially reluctant, she was very happy now that Nigel had persuaded her to use his holiday villa to recuperate. This looked like paradise. When the film finished, he had been concerned she had overdone it. And in a way, it was partly his fault. As the director, he had insisted she lose
those extra few kilos for the last scenes, and it had wrecked her health. One good thing had come out of it though. By the end of filming she had definitely looked the part of an addict.
After they passed over the snow-white sand of the beach, a concrete slab came into view on the point. With a steady roar of the engines and clanking whirl of the rotor blades, the helicopter slowly settled down on the pad. Once the engine was turned off, Eleanor unclipped her seat belt, nodded her thanks to the pilot and stepped onto the island. Not far away, two people waited next to tray-back buggies. The woman came forward to take her arm as Eleanor bent low to avoid the blades.
“Ms. Godwin…welcome to Eurydice.”
Eleanor clasped the hand of the tanned middle-aged woman dressed in white tailored shorts and a colourful pastel top. Though in casual clothes, she radiated poise and style. “Mrs. Shaw I presume. This place looks wonderful. I’m so looking forward to my stay.”
“And we’re extremely pleased you’re spending so much time on our island. Now, we’re not into formalities here. I’m Deirdre and this is my husband Len. Would you like a quick tour before I take you to your accommodation?”
“Perhaps another day, Deirdre. And do call me Eleanor.” She pushed a strand of hair away from her face with a tired sweep. “To be quite honest, I’m exhausted. I’ve been sick for the last three months, and with jet lag and promoting my new film, I really do need to go to bed.”
“I’ll take you to your house immediately. Len will follow with your suitcases, and I will arrange for the chef to cook you something for an early dinner. I’ll have it sent over as soon as it’s prepared.”
“That would be wonderful.”
“What would you prefer?”
“Fish and salad would be nice.”
Deirdre smiled. “The fish is freshly caught so you will love it.” She started the buggy along a road and pointed to a group of buildings in the distance. “It’s not a big island,” she said, “and only this part is occupied. The rest is in its natural state. We’re laid back here, a holiday destination with no pressures. We have an entertainment centre with a restaurant if you prefer not to cook. We also have a gym, and a hairdresser who offers massages. The owners of the private villas have an arrangement with us to use our facilities.”