Only Eagles Fly

by Graham Guy

  “Jesus, you’re full-on aren’t you? I thought we were having a pleasant couple of hours…”

  “Do you know the difference between a husband and a lover?” she asked pointedly.

  Bill was taken aback by the question. “Why would you ask that?”

  “A famous line from Helen Rowland. Quote: A husband is what is left of the lover after the nerve has been extracted: Unquote. To me, you’re acting like a husband. Am I that boring?”

  It seemed to be the icebreaker both were seeking. Bill Murphy seemed happy that Georgette had vented her feelings. It was as though someone had come along and released her pressure valve. Whether it was because she was expecting him to hit on her (which he had no intentions of doing) or the built-up anger over his phone call to her boss, he couldn’t tell. But the atmosphere certainly began to ease as more conversation flowed. Bill Murphy smiled.

  “And Jessamyn West wrote, quote: It’s better to learn to say goodbye early, rather than late. Unquote.”

  “So are you looking at good-bye already?”

  “Hell, I’m still trying to get past hello.”

  “OK,” Georgette went on, “who said this? Quote: As long as you know that most men are like children, you know everything. Unquote.”

  He gave a slight chuckle. “That’s the number five girl. Coco Chanel.”

  “I have another. From Joan Rivers. This is one of my favourites. She came out on stage and said, quote: Last night I asked my husband his favourite sexual position and he replied, ‘Next door’. Unquote.”

  “Yeah, that’s good. Another one I remember is from Zsa Zsa Gabor, quote: A man in love is incomplete until he has married. Then he’s finished. Unquote.”

  Georgette laughed lightly. Both enjoyed the lightening of the moment.

  “You like all that stuff… the quotes of the famous and so forth?”

  Georgette nodded. She now found herself more relaxed as the tension between the two began to dissipate. “And the original meanings of words.”

  “Such as?”

  She sipped from her crystal flute, trying to recall examples. “Oh, well, take the name ‘Todd’ for example. If someone’s called Todd, he probably should be cunning because in medieval times a ‘Tod’ was a fox. It’s based on the word ‘Todde’ and that means a bushy mass, which of course is the fox’s tail.”

  “I didn’t know that,” Bill commented, surprise in his tone. “Or there’s ‘Ragamuffin’. Used to describe a disreputable or untidy boy. Don’t hear it much anymore and that’s a pity. Has a nice ring to it. That goes back to the fourteenth century and comes from ‘Ragamoffyn’, the name of a demon in the Piers Plowman poem by William of England.”

  “Not just a pretty face, are you? Got a favourite?”

  Georgette thought for a moment. “Clodhoppers is interesting.”

  “Oh?”

  “Comes from old England. The Lord of the Manor rode on horse-back as the peasants followed along behind on foot, hopping over stones and clods of dirt.”

  “Just goes to show doesn’t it? There’s always another side to a person. I said earlier I wondered if there were other aspects to you. Listening to all that, obviously there is. You’re very bright, aren’t you?”

  Georgette dismissed the compliment lightly. “I don’t think knowing the origins of a few words sends my IQ into the stratosphere. Anyway, enough of that. What now for Bill Murphy?” she asked.

  “More of the same I suppose. I guess I’m living the dream I’ve been striving all my life to create.”

  “Which is?”

  “No big deal. A house. Pet dog. Bit of a beach and total privacy.”

  “The privacy thing… that’s important to you?”

  “Very much so, yes. The wind in the trees, the waves on the beach, only a handful of people have my phone number. I get up late. I work late. And I’m not answerable to one single living soul.”

  “Sounds like bliss?”

  “I’m where I’ve wanted to be for 25 years.”

  “Are you married?”

  “Was once. Long time ago. Wouldn’t even know where she is now.”

  “Any family?”

  Bill pondered the question and chose the simple answer. “Not really. You?”

  “Just me. All alone out here in the big bad world,” she smiled. “So where to from here?”

  “Back home in the morning and back to the grind.”

  “Another book?”

  “Another book.”

  “What’s literary fame really like?”

  “Jesus, I don’t know, Georgette. I don’t seek it out. I just like the cheques that come from it.”

  “So who are you really?”

  Bill Murphy looked at his glamorous companion, wondering at the question. “So who am I really?” He paused for a lengthy period. He drank from the crystal flute. Georgette sat in silence. “I guess all I’ve ever been was the dream I was chasing.”

  “And now you’ve caught it?”

  “Yes, I suppose I have, haven’t I?”

  “So are you still on the run?”

  “I can’t answer that. How do you know when to stop?”

  “When you’re content, I suppose. Are you content?”

  Bill took another sip of Dom and nodded. “That I am,” he replied.

  The waiter came by and topped up the flutes with the last of the Dom Perignon. He looked at Bill.

  “It’s up to the lady?”

  Georgette smiled. “I’ll tell George we ordered the second one and had a drink for him on his behalf,” she giggled.

  “I thought I was paying?”

  “It’s OK. I’m sure ELEVEN can handle dinner for two, even with a couple of bottles of Dom.”

  Bill Murphy wouldn’t hear of it. “No, I’ll pay. I’ll tell ‘em to sell a few more books.”

  “You want to make a deal?”

  Bill raised his eyebrows. “You better tell this man ‘yes’ or ‘no’.”

  She looked at the waiter and nodded.

  “Jesus Christ, we’ll be on our bloody ear. What’s the deal?”

  “That stuff ’s about $200 a bottle. The bill for tonight will be around 600 bucks. Give me a 30-second grab?”

  Georgette didn’t continue when she saw Bill shaking his head. “You don’t give up do you?”

  “Did you?”

  He smiled. “Got a point, I guess. But no, I didn’t give up.”

  “Who was the hardest interview you ever got?”

  “Rudolf Nureyev.”

  “How many times did you ask?”

  “It wasn’t like that actually. When I fronted him, he didn’t speak English very well. He pretended to be in a big hurry. So I thought, bugger it, I’m not leaving empty handed, I’ll get his autograph. So I did. Still got it, too.”

  “So you can’t blame a girl for trying can you?”

  The second bottle of champagne arrived and the waiter filled the flutes.

  “OK. Now I’ve got a question for you,” he said. “I didn’t spend 30 years in your business to not know how things work. How is it you keep coming up with the big ones?”

  Georgette knew her answer would have to be good or else he’d see right through it. “You know about contacts?”

  “You’ve only been around five minutes. Thirty-year veterans don’t get the drop on the sort of stuff you turn out.”

  Suddenly she felt terribly inadequate, almost an imposter. She knew she could hardly sit there and tell Bill Murphy the real cost of her scoops. She decided to tell him a half-truth and make light of it.

  “Oh gee, Bill,” she began comically, “you guessed already! I sell my body. One scoop, one screw,” she laughed. “God, I don’t know! Contacts I guess. I really, really work hard on my contacts. I try and make a good one each week. But I’m careful where I cast the line. You know as well as I do that the main game is federal politics. That’s followed by local government development, the bread-and-butter lines which affect peoples’ hip pocket. And of course whe
n big business makes a move, many peoples’ lives are also affected. So I just work on all that stuff.” She hoped more than anything that her answer would satisfy him. It did.

  “Don’t know how the hell you do it, but I take my hat off to you. Some of that stuff makes it look as though you’ve got a direct bloody line to the Prime Minister.”

  Georgette felt a slight tinge in her stomach. “You must have had your scoops?” she asked, trying to turn his attentions away from her.

  “Oh, sure. But nothing like you turn out.”

  Georgette felt uneasy with the questions, so she retreated. “OK… so what do we do about the bill?”

  “Thirty seconds?”

  “Thirty seconds.”

  “Your news comes up here, doesn’t it?”

  “On relay right up the coast and inland as well.”

  “I’ll give you your 30 seconds, but I don’t want it to go out on the relays. I enjoy being anonymous. Put me on the telly up here and I’m buggered. If you can guarantee that it will only be shown in Sydney, I’ll do it for you. OK? Nothing on relay.”

  “Do you mean it?”

  “I mean it,” he told her reassuringly.

  Georgette’s face lit up with excitement. “Thank you. I’ll call George first thing and arrange it. The relays will need to alter their schedules. They won’t like it, but that’s their problem.”

  “Don’t let me down.”

  “I won’t let you down… promise”

  “If you do, I’ll just be someone you once met.”

  Georgette knew exactly what he meant. “What changed your mind?”

  He laughed. “The second bottle of Dom. Hell, I don’t know. Come the morning I might even change my mind.”

  “Please don’t do that.”

  “OK. I won’t do that.”

  “Will there be anything else Mr Murphy, Miss McKinley?” the waiter asked.

  The two looked at each other. “No, we’re fine thank you. Just the bill.”

  “Indeed, sir.”

  Moments later the waiter returned with a small folder containing the account. Bill picked it up and Georgette took it from him. “A deal’s a deal,” she told him.

  “When that hits George’s desk, he’ll sack you,” Bill put in.

  “Oh no, he won’t,” came Georgette’s over-confident reply.

  For some reason the comment smacked Bill Murphy in the face.

  She’s certainly got the goods on somebody there, he thought.

  “Well, it’s been quite a day hasn’t it? Like to make a move?”

  Georgette smiled. “If you like.”

  “Can I drive you back to your motel?” Bill asked Georgette.

  “Thank you.”

  The two continued in conversation as Bill Murphy made the very short journey to Georgette’s motel. For the last two hours she had been bracing herself for when Bill would ask her back to his room. Even now in his vehicle, he still hadn’t asked. She then even surprised herself when he pulled into her motel.

  “Would you like to come in?” she asked, amazed at her own words.

  Although staggered at the invitation, Bill Murphy gave nothing away. His facial expression didn’t change. “It’s pretty late,” he told her.

  “If you’d rather not …”

  He looked at her. “Georgette, I might be twice your age, but the blood in my veins still runs bright red. You are not someone I could say ‘no’ to very easily…”

  “What about if you just walk me to the door?” she asked him.

  He turned in his seat, took hold of her hand and looked into her eyes. “After we get through in the morning, what do you have to do then?”

  “Go back to Sydney.”

  “Straight away?”

  “Not necessarily. Why?”

  “I thought we could have lunch and tour around the place. Flynns Beach, Peppermint Park, Sea Acres Rainforest Centre, the Koala hospital. Lots of places to see… whip up to Nambucca Heads if there’s time. That’s about an hour up the road.”

  “That sounds lovely. Don’t know about Nambucca, though. We’ll need to be gone by about four.”

  Bill Murphy thought for a moment. “What about if I drove you back to Sydney?”

  Georgette looked at him in amazement. “You’re kidding. But you despise female journos…”

  “There’s another interesting side to this one.”

  “I don’t think that’s a good idea,” she told him. Georgette knew she couldn’t afford to interrupt her routine. If she allowed Bill Murphy to drive her back to Sydney, he could well end up staying at her place and that was a luxury she couldn’t afford. Especially as Prime Minister John Talbot expected her to be at his beck and call. Then there were the corporates. Port Macquarie was a different ballgame. Port Macquarie wasn’t Sydney.

  “I couldn’t allow you to do that,” she told him. “It’s too far and I wouldn’t feel comfortable about it.” Georgette knew her statement wasn’t the truth, but she felt she had little choice.

  Outwardly, Bill Murphy wasn’t affected by her decision one way or the other. Inwardly, he took her response as a rejection. He also had the feeling that she wanted him to take her back to Sydney, but that something was holding her back. He decided not to force the issue.

  “Come on, I’ll walk you to your door.” Again he held her hand. “Dinner was wonderful. Thank you,” he told her, pressing her fingers to his lips.

  “And thank you.”

  “I’ll see you in the morning,” he told her as he watched her walk inside and close the door.

  * * *

  Bill Murphy kept his part of the bargain and met her at eleven a.m.

  She also honoured hers and kept his face off the relays. In the four hours he spent with her during that afternoon, it was as though he’d stepped outside of himself. He wasn’t a good walker at the best of times, yet he spent most of the afternoon doing exactly that, not realising he’d even taken a step.

  After recording her interview with him Georgette returned to her room, removed all her makeup and dressed down into jeans, T-shirt and Nike walking shoes. Bill did a double-take. He enjoyed the scrubbed look in a woman, never having much time for all the hair and makeup rigmarole. He tried not to show it but he was overjoyed at the transformation of the television journalist.

  “There you go,” she said, throwing her arms open, “the real me.”

  The hours that followed were enjoyed by both with no surfaced animosities or prejudices, an afternoon totally free of angst. Conversation was trivial covering places each had been to, places they’d like to go. Bill Murphy was trying to come to terms with why he’d found himself in such a situation. His words kept coming back at him.

  I despise women journos.

  But something was happening. He knew it. She knew it. But, like the first part of their evening at the restaurant the night before, neither was prepared to give an inch.

  Checking her watch, Georgette said, “It’s past three-thirty. I should be getting back.”

  “Went pretty quickly didn’t it?” he said, a sadness in his tone.

  They shook hands at the RTN ELEVEN Newscar and Bill watched as the vehicle disappeared from view. Driving back to his house he still felt as though he was walking outside of himself. It was a strange sensation, and one he’d never experienced before.

  Interesting, was the only word he’d allow himself to describe his meeting with Georgette McKinley.

  * * *

  Later, when driving back to Sydney with her crew, the radio was on in the background. Georgette’s ears pricked when, in the middle of the program, she heard a very familiar news theme. She leaned over to turn up the volume.

  We’ll return to our normal program in just a moment. Right now, here’s Cecily Pridham in the newsroom with a newsflash.

  As she listened, her jaw dropped open, as did those of her cameraman and sound technician. What was coming over the radio at that moment would throw her entire world into absolute turmoil.
/>   “Bloody hell! Now what?” her cameraman blurted.

  “Bugger me dead! How big’s that?” the sound technician exulted.

  Georgette sat glaring at the road ahead, too stunned to speak.

  Chapter 13

  Enrico Mogliotti’s mobile phone rang. “Yep.”

  “Gina… Josh Emery’s now had five weeks. We’re due to leave in three. What’s happening. Is tonight’s meeting still on?”

  Enrico had to bite his lip whenever Gina called. He couldn’t stand the woman. And as the intensity of the heist continued to build, she began to pressure him more and more for updates on their current situation. He found himself subconsciously counting down the days to when he’d no longer have to deal with her.

  “Hi, Gina,” he chirped with false enthusiasm, knowing he wasn’t fooling anyone, least of all the Sicilian redhead. “I’m on my way out to Bankstown airport now to get Josh. Yes, the meeting’s still on.”

  “Eight o’clock, right? Your room.”

  In the five weeks since Enrico had enlisted the services of Josh Emery at Karumba, the Mogliotti brothers and Gina had to cool their heels and wait for him to implement their plan of action. Josh and Enrico spoke on the phone every day. Josh said he was making good headway in purchasing a plane but he would need about $200,000 to secure the deal.

  “I’ll get it to you,” Enrico had told him.

  Gina kept up her contact with Sebastian McAlister, although at times she felt he wished he hadn’t conceded to her demands. It took all her sexual prowess to have him continue with the façade to the Italian minister. The entire operation hinged completely upon what information he could pass on to her. She too, was counting down the days when she could sever her ties with the minister. Sebastian was living on the dream that, because of the money she stood to gain, he would have Gina just where he wanted her.

  Enrico was particularly nervous as he drove into Bankstown airport to the area where Josh said he’d be waiting for him. When Josh saw the Italian approaching, he waved his arm and pointed.

  “There she is me boy… what do you think?”

  Enrico looked across the tarmac and shook his head. “I don’t believe you actually got it.”

  “Mate,” he grinned, “told you I would.”