by Graham Guy
She giggled. “Sit next to me then.”
“And let the rest of bloody London drool all over you? No way! My god! Where did you get it? It’s absolutely sensational.”
“It’s a Versace. When I saw it, I had to have it. So I rang them and they sent me one.”
Bill Murphy couldn’t take his eyes off Georgette or the dress. “You sure you want to be seen out at the Ritz with a doddery, tired old recluse who can hardly put one step in front of another?”
“Never been more sure of anything in my whole life,” she told him, closing the door to her room and handing him her key. “Doesn’t have a pocket,” she smiled.
Now it was Bill Murphy’s turn to walk on air. As they walked through the Ritz to the dining-room, everyone’s eyes shot to Georgette.
“You love all this, don’t you?” he whispered to her.
“I‘m having the time of my life. You?”
“Yeah. It’s fun. It really is.”
Throughout dinner, the waiters jockeyed for position over who would serve the couple. They, like everyone else, were totally captivated by the glamorous young woman in the flowing, soft, silk gown with the leaf design.
Bill Murphy ordered Dom Perignon then told the waiters to “Surprise us!” with a selection of entrées, main courses and desserts. It turned into a night neither would ever forget. The chefs obviously responded to the request and became very creative in their presentation of the food. Small, bite-sized servings of the very best to offer from the menu. Georgette was constantly asking staff, “What’s this one… what’s that one?” and so on. Bill Murphy took it all in his stride. He knew the pleasure he was extracting from the moment would never be duplicated if he lived to be a hundred.
Halfway through the second bottle of Dom, Georgette asked Bill, “So, tomorrow?”
“Meet my publisher, have lunch somewhere, then what about the Tower of London, Mouse Trap tomorrow night?”
“This is just awesome, Bill Murphy. Simply, simply awesome!”
He smiled, leaned over and clinked her glass. “Here’s to a bloody good time, simply on account of why not?”
Leaving the restaurant, she said softly, “At least we don’t have far to drive home.”
Arriving at her door, he put the key in the lock and stepped back a little from her. “You made a tired old recluse very happy tonight…”
“I wish you wouldn’t refer to yourself as that,” she said.
He smiled at her. “Babe, you, without a doubt, were the sensation of London tonight. Looking at you suddenly made me realise just how much youth I no longer have.”
“You are not an old man.”
“I’m more than twice your age.”
“What the hell’s that got to do with it?”
“My god, Georgette, after this week with you I’ll have to take a bloody week off to catch my breath and cool down. I’ll ring you at seven and we’ll go down for breakfast. God, you’ll love that, too. They really go over the top here.” He gently touched her cheek with his hand. “Sleep well.” Then he was gone.
Bill Murphy didn’t tell Felicity Nobleman-Spinks he was coming to London. Much less, he certainly didn’t tell her he was bringing Georgette McKinley with him. Along with Georgette he walked into her office unannounced after convincing the receptionist who he was. Felicity was speaking on the phone when suddenly she stopped mid-sentence.
“I… I’ll call you back,” she stammered, hanging up. She bounced out from behind her desk and threw herself at him. “Oh, my god?” she squealed, “Bill Murphy!” throwing her arms around him. “Well Hello to you!”
Bill Murphy returned the affectionate greeting then introduced her to Georgette.
“Well hell, Bill!” she exclaimed. “No phone call? My god, I could’ve been away and I’d have missed you!”
“We’d have found you…”
“So how are you… oh god, this is so exciting…”
Georgette stood idly by as Felicity and Bill chatted. Then, “Can you have lunch with us?”
“Yes, yes, of course, god yes. Now?”
Bill checked his watch. “Why not!”
“So how long are you here?”
“Just the week,” he told her. “Just the week? Will we have time to sit down over a few things?”
“Not this time. When I go back home I’ll finish the book, then I promise I won’t send it to you, I’ll bring it to you.”
Three hours later and after promising to complete The Corridors of Injustice post-haste, Bill and Georgette said their good-byes to Felicity and made their way to the Tower of London. Georgette thrilled at seeing the Crown Jewels. She got into deep conversation with a Yeoman about the Ravens and the chopping block used by Henry VIII to dispose of Anne Boleyn.
Georgette returned to Bill. “God, this place is history. Can’t you feel it?” she urged.
Their tour of the Tower took longer than expected, mainly because Georgette simply couldn’t drag herself away. Again, Bill Murphy didn’t mind. This was her week. He just wanted her to have fun.
As time was getting on, they decided to duck into a tiny side-street café and grab a quick bite. It seemed no time at all before they were sitting in a packed theatre and the curtain went up on The Mouse Trap. Georgette thrilled at being in the audience.
By the time Bill walked Georgette to her room, both were feeling the effects of jet lag and a hectic schedule. “You’re buggered aren’t you?” he said to her.
Reluctantly, Georgette nodded her head. “Out on my feet actually. Oh god, Bill, what can I say? Now I’ve seen The Mouse Trap. Thank you. A thousand times over, thank you. No wonder people wait years to see it.”
“If I stand here any longer, I’ll fall asleep on your shoulder. You ring me in the morning, OK? When you’re ready. And believe me, there’s no hurry.”
“Oh, yes there is!” she said with what eagerness she had left. “It’s Harrods tomorrow… all day!”
Both enjoyed the late breakfast at the Ritz, but Georgette didn’t eat a lot. Bill could tell she was so excited about going to Harrods she couldn’t even think straight. He also knew it was pointless trying to get a conversation out of her. Instead he drank his coffee and asked, “Somewhere you’d rather be?”
The young woman’s face lit up like a night light. In moments they were on their way to one of the most famous stores in the world.
“So where do you want to start?” he asked, entering the store.
Georgette looked around. “What about right here?”
For a time Bill Murphy thought he was taking a child through Disneyland. He had never heard a grown woman go ‘oooh’ and ‘aaah’ so much in all his life. At the end of five hours in Harrods he felt as though he was a pack horse weighed down with so many green carrybags. At every available opportunity he’d have a seat and tell her to carry on while he rested.
Finally, “I’ll bet you don’t even have a bus fare left on that bloody credit card.”
Georgette giggled. “Probably not, but my god, what a way to go?”
“Do you need all this stuff you’ve bought?”
Again she giggled. “What do you think?”
“Thought so. Have you had enough?”
“For today,” she told him.
“Well, you can come back again tomorrow if you like, but, if you do, you’ll miss out on Paris.”
Georgette didn’t hesitate. “Oh, god, no! We have to go to Paris.”
Dinner that evening was at the wonderful and charming Park Lane Hotel. “Hungry?” he asked.
“Just for London. London, glorious London. But yes, I’m starved.”
As they entered the main dining-room, soft lighting and furnishings of olde worlde charm created an atmosphere conducive to the music which flowed from a concert grand piano. Georgette looked around. There was hardly an empty table.
“Popular little spot isn’t it?”
“Had to book,” he told her as they were showed to their seats.
After or
dering, Georgette looked across at Bill. “You’re giving me the best time I’ve ever had in my life… but I don’t know why. You don’t even know me!”
“Are you having fun?”
“Well, of course…”
“Then seize the moment. Don’t worry about tomorrow. If it’s there now, grab it now. You see, right now, I’m just getting off on spending time with you. You can waste your life chasing tomorrow. I’m with you today. If I’m still with you tomorrow then, bloody hell Georgette, that’s got to be a bonus, too! But I’m not demanding anything from you. I’m not asking anything of you. And one thing I’ll never be—and believe this—I’ll never be an encumbrance to you.”
“Can I ask you a question? Let’s say that somewhere, sometime, and totally out of left-field, someone comes into your life and wants a forever. What are you going to tell her?”
Bill Murphy thought for a moment. “I’d tell her she could probably have it… part time.”
“So forever to you is three days a week?”
“Forever is now. There are too many unknowns. Sickness, accident, poverty, terminal illness, the eternal triangle, destitution. Forever can go wrong. You’ve seen it. I’ve seen it. If it gets to the point where someone comes along and she wants to stay with me and I want to stay with her, hell, that’s got to be wonderful. If we get to the end of the day still liking each other, that’s forever.”
“That’s simplistic.”
“That’s reality.”
“That’s your reality. What about commitment?”
“If you spend the day with each other, that’s commitment.”
“That’s a cop-out. That special someone might want the Wednesday as well as the Tuesday.”
“There’s not a living soul on this earth right now who can in all honesty promise the next day to anyone. Look at what terrorism has done to the world. You might die tonight. You can plan to spend it together, but you can’t promise you will for the reasons I’ve said.”
“So why is your forever only part time?”
“Because of what I do.”
“So at the end of the week I may never see you again?”
“I don’t think you’re a part-time girl,” he surmised.
“You don’t know that.”
“All right, what’s ‘forever’ to you?”
“Love, commitment, trust, you know, all the things that go wrong,” she smiled. “I do understand what you’re saying, though. But you have to remember, I haven’t lived as long as you; I’m still formulating my opinions.”
“And they’ll change every seven years. You don’t realise that till you get older.”
“Would you like to meet someone?”
“It’s not something I think about,” he told her.
“Because of how you feel about things?”
“Pretty well. I mean what right-thinking woman is going to put up with an attitude like mine? Mainstream society has the overwhelming majority view in line with your thinking. I accept that but don’t care. You have to work out your priorities, what you want in life.”
“Before I spent this time with you I thought I was pretty clear about all that. Now I don’t know.”
“Why the confusion?”
“Because of how quickly things can change,” she replied.
“Don’t let me sway you. There’s people out there who have been married for 60 years. Their forevers went OK. You have to make up your own mind about what’s important to you. Things that were important to me 20 years ago don’t mean shit now. But that’s just me. Everybody’s different. There’s no right or wrong on priorities. It’s something that’s deeply personal.”
“But I’ve never thought about them except for work hard, save your money, buy a house, save your money, save your money and so on.”
Bill Murphy looked at Georgette and, for a fleeting moment, he saw a forlorn little child. “Have you ever known a mother’s love?” he asked.
Georgette wasn’t expecting such a question. Her tears began to well. She shook her head. “Or a father’s.”
“Whatever could have happened?”
“I lost my entire family in a house fire when I was a child. Then it was foster home after foster home. No-one had anything. So I became determined to make something of myself… no matter what the cost.”
Bill Murphy knew exactly what she was referring to. “Are you prepared to go on paying that very high personal price to keep your name up there?”
Georgette knew from the tone of Bill’s question that he knew the price she paid. She wondered if he felt ashamed of her. “I’ve just signed a brand new contract for a shit-load. Until two days ago I would have said yes. Now I don’t know.”
“What do you think about, when you’re home, alone in your bed?”
Georgette knew the real answer would be too cold and calculating for Bill Murphy to handle. She went round the edges. “Just to have enough financial security so I don’t have to worry about anything.”
“My dear, there are always worries, no matter how much money you have. This new contract. Will that give it to you?”
“I don’t think it will run its full term. The scoops may no longer be there.”
“Yes, you did cream them with the budget didn’t you?”
Georgette caught the look Bill Murphy gave her. She wondered if he knew. He couldn’t possibly, she told herself.
Georgette didn’t comment on the budget, so Bill Murphy decided on a different tack. “If there was a major political story about to break, would you get it first?”
“Not anymore.” Georgette wanted to bite her tongue. By uttering those two words, she admitted that her political ‘deep throat’ had just dried up.
Bill Murphy could see she knew she’d made a blunder and decided to drop the subject. He’d gotten his confession.
Conversation between them fell away, and as a waiter topped up their glasses Georgette said, “I’v a feeling you don’t like me very much at the moment?”
“Any regrets?” he asked.
Taking a deep breath she looked at him straight in the eye. “No,” she told him firmly. “Not one.”
“So when you go back to work, will anything change?”
Georgette sipped from her glass, slowly. She dipped her index finger into the champagne then ran it softly across the top of his hand. “You’ll never know how my life has changed in only a few days,” she told him.
Bill Murphy wasn’t expecting the answer he got, much less the blatant signal this woman wanted more of him. He didn’t respond. He wanted to, desperately. But he refused to allow himself to get swept away in a holiday romance that would end when the plane landed and cause him to pine over it for the next six months.
Georgette noted his cool response. She decided to back off. “When we were going up to Port Macquarie to try and grab an interview with you, I was reading through your bio and it said you also used to produce talk-shows on radio. How long for?”
Bill Murphy shrugged his shoulders. “Not a lot, but enough to spark a few questions. Bloody hard work! Sixty, eighty hours a week. I used to coin a phrase, ‘Presenters get rich, producers get tired, presenters buy the joint, producers get fired.’”
“Is that how it is?”
“Can be. I did it for a lot of years.”
“Tell me about talk-show hosts and what goes on behind the scenes?”
“You gonna visit me in jail?” he told her, in a manner that told Georgette the issue was closed.
Georgette smiled lightly. “Why do you despise women journos?”
He laughed. “Don’t get me started on that too,” he warned.
“I’m a big girl. I can handle it.”
Again he laughed. “I’m not sure that you can. I have a very jaundiced opinion of women journos which many people would find offensive. There used to be a time when it was five years in the bush before you got looked at in the city. Now, it’s wham, bam, thank you, ma’am… start Monday. Look at you! Straight into mainstream. Ho
w did you get your job?”
Georgette felt her face go crimson.
“Don’t answer that,” he told her. “As I say, it’s a pet topic of mine. Don’t get me started.”
Georgette glanced around the dining room. Seeing only three tables left with patrons seated at them, she checked her watch. “My god, do you know what time it is?”
Bill Murphy shrugged. “Couldn’t care less really. I just asked god to suspend this moment in time so I can sit here with you until forever.”
“I don’t think god’s into part-time,” she told him pertly.
Bill smiled. “So… Paris in the morning?”
* * *
The remaining days flew by and before they knew it they were boarding a Qantas jumbo to return to Sydney.
“I have to tell you one thing, Bill Murphy,” Georgette said as she settled into her First Class seat. “You’re certainly a man of your word. Single rooms. No sleep-walking. No holding hands. No strings eh? Totally no strings.”
“Can’t guarantee you the same deal next time… if we stretch that far,” he replied.
“So when the plane lands, do I see you again?”
“I’ll call you,” he replied.
But his tone was such that it left enough doubt in Georgette’s mind to ask herself, But will you?
Chapter 18
Senior Sergeant Ken McLoughlin and Senior Constable Dave Bourke believed their position, tucked away in bushland about a thousand metres from the isolated landing strip out from Kununurra, was safe from prying eyes. They crouched even lower into the undergrowth as the Cessna did a low-level sweep almost over the top of them.
“OK, let’s see what happens when this mother lands,” McLoughlin said, raising his binoculars.
Dave Bourke had moved to a crouching position near his boss, but still confident he couldn’t be seen if there should be anyone about. “Not exactly peak hour in this part of the wo…”
Bourke never finished what he was saying. The Weasel, about a thousand metres off to his right had him square between the cross hairs of his telescopic sight when he squeezed the trigger of the Barrett .50 calibre. Bourke could never have known what hit him. The bullet struck the policeman in the chest and opened him up like an animal in a slaughter house. He folded like a pack of cards, his heart, lungs and other body parts strewn around him.