The Driftwood Dragon

by Ann Charlton

  The beach was September lonely and Sam's house a narrow, threadbare reminder of Sam himself. On Sunday she took some flowers to his grave and sat there for a while to remember all the other wordless times she'd spent with Sam. Unlocking his place before she left, she looked around. The sextant and chronometer had gone to his brother as was proper. All his worthless treasures were still where he had left them. The driftwood dragon was there, waiting in vain for Sam to make it static. She picked it up. It turned from a fire-snorting monster into a pretty shape as she tilted it. Underneath were the tiny letters cut into a fold. SILLA. She put it back with Sam's other things. There was dust and sand settled on all the surfaces and she spent some time cleaning it away. A futile gesture she knew which brought a few tears. She locked up and walked quickly away. She was on the plane before she remembered she had not brought the dragon with her.

  Dru went to meet Locke's plane a day later. She wore a new caramel coloured outfit that warmly toned with her once-mousy hair. Another visit to Drakos' salon had unlocked the secrets of make-up for her and now she could apply just the right touches to emphasise her grey eyes and soften her wide mouth. Gamin—the beautician had labelled her. She found that funny. And she wondered what Locke would make of the change.

  She was surprised to see Eric first. Apparently he must have flown over to the States too on one of his lightning trips. He was resplendant in dove-grey and burgundy tailoring but it was Locke behind him who was attracting all the attention. In canvas pants and an open-necked shirt, sweater slung over one shoulder and in need of a shave, he was unfairly eye-catching. When he saw Dru, he blinked a few times then smiled his heart-stopping white smile that drew a few sighs from nearby women. Dropping his bags he pulled her into his arms and ran a hand over the soft, curling pile of her hair.

  'You've been shorn.'

  'Do you like it?'

  'I like it.' The warmth flooded through her, depressing her again. Pleasing him was all too satisfying. 'Glad to see me?'

  'I don't know,' she eyed his stubbled chin. 'You might at least have shaved on the plane.'

  He laughed. 'Now I know I'm back home.'

  She liked the sound of that. If she didn't know about Sandy, she would be dreaming foolishly that he meant it. Eric whistled at her new appearance.

  'You look great pet—who did you go to?'

  'Mort's friend, Drakos. He told me about him at your party.'

  When Locke stepped aside to sign an autograph Eric said in a low voice, 'I'm glad you took Mort's advice. Locke was hoping you would.'

  Her smiled dimmed. That explained Mort Flanagan's interest in her. Had Locke asked him a favour—When you meet my wife, give her a few clues about improving herself—see if you can make her presentable?

  Eric came back to the apartment with them. He stayed an hour while Locke filled her in on the problem-beset shooting of the past week.

  'I've got a possible buyer for your beachfront property. Did Locke tell you?' Eric said to Dru and she stared. Had Locke handed over Sam's place to Eric's care without even consulting her? Locke stirred wearily, put his hands to the back of his head and stretched. 'We didn't really discuss it, Eric.'

  'Just as well,' Dru's tone was militant. 'I'm half owner don't forget and I don't want to sell.'

  'The house is an old shack from what I can gather—' Eric said, 'I spoke to the agent and he said it was a pile of junk—a real temptation to vandals. You could do a good deal on the land though even with the drainage problems near it.'

  'I don't want to do a good deal,' Dru said shortly. 'That pile of junk belonged to a—a friend and while it stands the land will remain as he wanted it.'

  Eric leaned over and patted her hand, smiling at her as if she was a good child who'd suddenly thrown a tantrum over a lollipop.

  'Okay, okay—I'm just trying to look after things for you both. But face it, that old place is just going to fall to pieces one day if it doesn't go up in smoke first.' It was about then that Dru admitted to herself that she didn't like Eric. She had tried—really tried. But somehow Eric was always associated with bad news. 'You and your family should consider selling Sea Winds,' he went on, 'You could buy a decent condo in Surfers with the money.'

  She glanced over at him, confused by a host of fleeting recollections none of which she could grasp.

  But she had to make allowances. She could dislike anyone who conjured up images of Sam's cottage falling to pieces.

  He went on to remind them that Locke was to dine with a producer that night and to fly to Melbourne the following evening.

  'What did you do while I was away?' Locke asked when Eric had gone. He picked up the magazine she had left on a coffee table. Sandy Craig's beautiful, pastel face was on the cover. Locke froze momentarily when he registered the photograph—he glanced briefly at Dru then casually flicked the pages and tossed the magazine down again. Ever the actor. Somehow she had hoped he might tell her about Sandy when he saw it and confirm Eric's claim that she was past history.

  'Called your mother now and then,' she said coolly. 'She's coming to visit for a few days soon. And I took some cooking lessons, went swimming—the pool is rather cool yet.' She didn't mention her weekend at Sea Winds. If it came up she would defend her right to do as she pleased but right now she was too dispirited for argument. Locke slept for the rest of the day and when he came back after his dinner engagement that night she was in bed. She didn't move when he opened the door of her room. A few moments later he went away again.

  But he had the dream and she went to him and held him and murmured words of love and comfort until he slept in peace. As she went back to her own bed, she wondered if Sandy had ever been with him when he called Eva's name in the night. She smiled bitterly at the idea of Sandy knowing that she was only second best.

  The next night he flew to Melbourne accompanied by Eric to talk terms for another Ramage series. Contrary to his intentions Locke had not discussed it with her again but she sensed that he had gone cold on the television show. So she was surprised when Eric came back alone two days later and dropped by to tell her that Locke was doing another season.

  'All he has to do now is sign the contract,' he told her.

  'Oh, by the way he'll probably stay over another couple of nights.'

  It hurt but it was really no surprise. Harve Randall had reported Locke's visit to Melbourne in his column that day. 'Is it just coincidence that the Ramage star and an old friend of his happen to be in Melbourne at this particular time?' he'd written. Dru had wondered which 'old friend' it was. Now she thought it was probably a model with beautiful, pastel colouring.

  'Have you given any more thought to selling your beachfront land, Dru? That buyer is still interested.'

  'It isn't beachfront land to me, Eric,' she said snappishly, still thinking of Locke's extra nights with his 'old friend'.

  'Sentimental value, eh?' he nodded. 'But let's be realistic pet. Take the house away and what have you got? Real estate.'

  'You sound just like—someone I used to know. He said practically the same thing.'

  'Sounds like a man I could understand.' Eric grinned shamelessly. 'I'll bet he's going places.'

  'Oh yes—I think you could say that Michael won't be held back by sentimentality.'

  'Michael…? There's a story there somewhere. Old boyfriend, pet?' he teased.

  When he had gone, Dru paced around the apartment. No doubt Locke and his old friend would be very discreet. They might not even leave his hotel room in case a photographer happened along. Then he would come home to his wife who was keeping the gossips at bay with her new, respectable presence in his life. Dru fumed a little, paused before a mirror and stopped, mildly surprised as she always was at her new appearance. She put a hand to her hair and smiled slowly. Defiantly. Then she fetched Michael's crumpled letter from her bag.

  Dru wouldn't have been human if she hadn't enjoyed Michael's reaction. He stared at her as she approached him in his hotel lobby. Perhaps it occurred to hi
m that she might have been equal to the task of ambitious man's wife after all. Several people turned to look at her. She held her head high and enjoyed it. She was getting used to the fact that it wasn't just that she was Mrs Locke Matthews, but that she had acquired a certain lookability of her own.

  'Dru—you look wonderful,' he said rather weakly as they went into the hotel restaurant, and she wondered how he would describe her to his mother. Or if he would at all.

  'It's just gloss Michael. I'm still the same underneath.'

  It was a fairly boring lunch. When they had exhausted the topics of departmental departures and promotions, mother's new decor and his fiancée's arts degree there wasn't a lot left to say for Dru wouldn't discuss her life with Locke.

  'You know, Dru,' Michael said at last, 'I'm beginning to think I might have made a mistake about you. I miss your humour, you know that?' He covered her hand with his own.

  'I came up quite nicely with a bit of help, didn't I?' she said drily and he reddened. 'You didn't make a mistake, Michael. You were absolutely right. We would never have suited. We'd just let ourselves drift into the habit of being together.'

  She patted his hand. And that was how the cameraman photographed them. The man took off before either of them could stop him. Dru shrugged.

  It wouldn't worry her if Locke should see it. He couldn't have one rule for himself and another for her. Michael was more upset.

  'There was always the risk of publicity—you must have known that when you asked me to meet you,' she said unable to feel a whole lot of sympathy. 'Your fiancée will understand. And your mother.'

  She didn't think Michael would look her up again, somehow.

  Eric burst into the apartment two days later almost knocking Mrs Curtis off her feet.

  'Locke's back from Melbourne. He's down in the spa,' Dru told him.

  'Is he out of his mind?' Eric snapped.

  'I don't think so, Eric. He often takes a spa bath.'

  But he was not amused. 'Have you been giving Him more of your advice, pet?' he snarled. Dru didn't know what he meant and said so. She was shaken. Eric looked as if he hated her.

  'He's knocked back Ramage, that's what he's done…' his face was contorted. 'How could he do this to me…' He took a deep breath and rushed out again, presumably to find Locke.

  'Are you all right, Mrs Curtis?' The woman had stepped hastily back to avoid another collision with Eric. Otherwise she seemed unperturbed and unsurprised. Her cigarette rested securely in the corner of her mouth.

  'He's a bit upset,' she remarked in understatement. 'Must be worried about the money.'

  'Money?'

  'His percentage of the T.V. show fee.'

  'I don't think so. He's worth a fortune,' Dru said repressively. It didn't seem the thing to discuss her brother-in-law with Mrs Curtis.

  'A fortune is never enough for them that gamble. He's sold off a few things lately. My hubby works for an auctioneer…'

  Horses, Philomena had said. And Locke himself said that his brother loved casinos and racetracks. Eric lived a high life. A house in Santa Monica, one here— his art collection and his blonde collection—cars. Jewellery no doubt for the clones and poor Vanessa. Top restaurants and nightclubs. Yes, Locke's decision could be a financial disappointment to Eric but somehow it didn't seem an adequate explanation for the hate she'd seen in his eyes.

  He must have had his fury under control by the time he saw his brother in the spa. Their discussion certainly did not appear to disturb Locke for he came upstairs later and merely said that Eric had invited them to his place the following night for a party.

  'Do we have to go?' Dru asked, unable to forget the look on Eric's face.

  Locke stiffened. His mood had deteriorated following his return from Hollywood. And his extra nights spent in Melbourne had improved it only briefly. When his bear-hug greeting had not elicited any response from her he had been persuasive, teasing.

  'There's no need for all this, Locke,' she had pointed out: 'There are no news people around to impress with your new domestic image.'

  His mood had been sombre since then. 'This isn't a business engagement. But if you don't like my brother enough to accept for pleasure, regard it as part of the duties you like to quote.'

  'I—don't dislike Eric—' she began, her conscience pricking her. She did dislike him but it was such an illogical thing that she tried not to give it credence.

  'Make an effort, Dru. He has noticed your coolness to both himself and me.'

  Vanessa exclaimed at Dru's changed appearance. Her eyes darted over Drakos' expert haircut, noted the strapless apricot dress that exposed the too-wide shoulders in shapely elegance.

  'I am dressed properly for the occasion this time I hope, Eric?' Dru joked. 'I brought a change of clothes and a swimsuit just in case.'

  Eric gave his gusty laugh and patted her arm. But it wasn't the correct dress he'd forgotten to divulge this time. It was the guest list. Dru sensed something right away. Locke stiffened beside her. Eric muttered something apologetic.

  'She came with Charlie,' Dru heard him say, 'Honest old son, if I'd known—'

  A tall, pastel blonde made her way over to them with catwalk grace. Her figure was sexily slender. She looked at no-one but Locke. It was Sandy Craig.

  CHAPTER NINE

  'Darling,' she pouted and took both his hands. 'You really are married. I suppose I'll have to congratulate you.' She did. On the mouth.

  Eric caught Dru's eye during the congratulations and raised his hands in a helpless gesture. 'Sorry pet,' he mouthed the words to her with such a look of remorse. It was familiar, that unconvincing look of apology. Unconvincing. Her mouth dried a little. How odd it was that this was the second time she'd been embarrassed at Eric's house. The other guests all knew about Sandy and Locke. She could see sympathy in their eyes for her as she stood beside her husband and the over affectionate model. With all her new look, Dru was aware that the comparison disadvantaged her. Eric watched her. Eric—and bad news. It had happened too often. This meeting was no accident. The conviction came suddenly and close on it a jumble of other things to support it. She looked away but Eric's gaze still touched her. It made her neck tingle. Like the night she'd stood in the dark on the stairs and known something or someone was waiting for her.

  Locke disentangled Sandy and wiped away the pastel marks of her congratulations. He put his arm around Dru in a husbandly gesture.

  'My wife Dru—this is—Sandra.'

  It was really quite funny, Dru decided. Locke was trying to bluff it out. With a bit of luck his wife might not associate this beautiful Sandra with some nuisance male character called Sandy. And if she hadn't overheard Melanie he might have got away with it.

  'Oh "Sandy" please—no-one calls me Sandra darling, you know that.'

  Dru derived a certain malicious satisfaction at her husband's sudden rich colour.

  'Sandy,' she smiled delightedly. 'I used to have a puppy called Sandy.'

  Locke steered her quickly away.

  'It isn't what you think,' he said in a low voice.

  'I can see that,' she replied. 'She's a girl for a start.' Several people came up to them. Dru was introduced to a quiz show host, a musical arranger and an orange haired singer. Melanie Cross popped up with a thin, balding man in tow. More 'darlings' and kisses for Locke.

  'Hello, Dru,' Melanie said, all eyes and assessment for Dru's new un-homely image, 'You'll remember me from the play.'

  Dru certainly did. 'I—think—so,' she said, unflatteringly slow to place her, 'But I do enjoy your soup commercials.' Locke whirled her away again. What an embarrassment his outspoken wife was! Tough!

  Philomena made an entrance, all silk wisps and pearls with a liberal dusting of diamonds. Her auburn hair was, if anything, redder and more bouffant. She had a long cigarette holder which she brandished to successfully cut a path through the guests to Dru and Locke.

  'Oh life is cruel!' she cried, putting a beringed hand to Locke's cheek.
'Every time I see this face I want to be young again…' He bent down obligingly to her diminutive height and she kissed him. Philomena reached for Dru's hand as she had before. Her nails were silver this time. 'Darling—hello—I haven't finished your chart but I must warn you to be on your guard. Your stars show a period of great unrest. Watch for someone who is not what he seems.'

  Dru smiled wryly at that. 'In this business, isn't that everybody?'

  Philomena cackled. 'She learns, she learns—' her fingers squeezed tighter and she leaned forward. 'But it's there in your stars. Someone waiting. All in the dark yet…'

  Dru felt a chill up her spine at the repetition of her own thought less than an hour ago. 'But, you hold on—the pincer—yes?' The beringed hand bit into Dru's. 'And do be careful about fire, won't you, darling…' she waved her cigarette holder at someone and whisked away. Dru grimaced and brushed a bit of hot ash from her arm. Well, she had been warned about fire, she thought with a smile. But—someone waiting… it sounded like the title of a psycho movie. Dru repressed a shiver and addressed a passing tray of wine. She drank it and snatched at little bits of conversation:

  'Locke—is it true you might be the next James Bond?'

  'My dear Dr—no.'

  '—well, you know Jack. He's a terror for punishment—two of them—'

  '—one more try at importing a yank for the lead but Equity will be savage—'

  '—in France?'

  'No kidding. Couldn't find a decent white wine. Had to drink beer—a matter of survival, mate.'

  '—with a name like Mad Max. So I turned it down … Mel did a great job though. He's not just a pretty face—'

  'Lorrae darling—you look fantastic—'