The Driftwood Dragon

by Ann Charlton

  Locke threw off her grip and stepped back.

  'My God,' he shook his head, 'You ungrateful little bitch. He's done his best to help you fit in—invited you to a party while I was away, introduced you around—even took your side when you criticised the play—' he walked around her, viewing her in the bridal nightgown as if she was something new in his experience. 'I wouldn't have believed it—even the photograph of you and Pennington didn't really convince me that you'd done any more than lied to me about seeing him. But to clutch at straws like this— actually trying to lay blame on Eric, of all people! My brother—and a friend who got me through the worst times of my life, who has worked his butt off to make me successful. You have to be hiding more than lies to try a diversion on that scale, Dru…'

  He came to a stop in front of her, reached out to the ties of her gown. The silk ribbons untied at a touch. She held his wrists but it made no difference. Locke pushed aside the edges of her gown, touched her breasts and stroked a finger down her midriff to her navel. At her quick, indrawn breath he raised his eyes to her face.

  'Less than ten minutes ago I wanted you so much it was a pain in my gut,' he said harshly. With a jerk he closed her gown, re-tied the top ribbons. 'Now I think I'll have a scotch instead.'

  After that he was a virtual stranger to her. But sometimes Dru felt his eyes on her and once she saw uncertainty on his face. Knowing her as he did, he must surely find it difficult to believe that she would cheat. But her own idiocy and Eric's prompting had laid too many doubts. Dru took some small comforts with her through the following days. Locke had wanted her. And the old affection had been there for her during that brief ceasefire between Eric's bombshells. There was a marriage to be made if they were left alone to make it. In the end she did the only thing she could. She went to see Eric.

  A decorative secretary—blonde of course—showed her through to his office. Eric's desk was a mite smaller than an average swimming pool. An exquisite sculpture stood on it and an oriental arrangement of lilies, driftwood and smooth river stones which looked like Vanessa's work. A run of cabinets and a cocktail bar filled two walls. Enlarged movie stills of Locke filled another. Eric's head, with its thinning red hair was outlined in cruel contrast against the pictures.

  'Hello, pet.' he said without any of the usual razzamatazz that accompanied his greetings. But then, she thought—it had been a while since Eric had given her the full treatment. He must have decided to get rid of her when he stopped kissing her hello and goodbye.

  'I know what you're doing, Eric,' she said evenly.

  'You finally caught on. I thought you might when I produced Sandy.'

  She felt a jab of alarm. He wasn't even going to deny it. 'Locke wouldn't like what's happening.'

  He smiled. 'I'd be careful about telling tales to him pet—he wouldn't be crazy about anyone who besmirched his big brother's name—' His smile grew at Dru's quick swallow, 'Ah—I see you've already discovered that. Silly girl.' He shook his head. 'What did you say about me? Naughty Eric tried to embarrass me at his parties? Dropped a few hints on fertile ground? There's not much to go on, is there pet?'

  'So you admit you tried to humiliate me.'

  'Sure. Our crowd can be pretty overpowering. I figured it wouldn't take too much exposure to it to make you run. At first I didn't think you were going to be any trouble. If you'd stayed in the background pet, kept quiet like at the wedding and hadn't started putting ideas into Locke's head then maybe I could have lived with it.'

  Dru had a chilling sensation up her spine. 'But you found out that I could take care of myself among your bitchy, patronising friends, didn't you?'

  Anger flashed across his face snarling his features briefly. 'It was disappointing,' he admitted and picked up a pen, turned it over and over, watching it, 'But you'll go. In the end.'

  His quiet confidence made her shiver. Someone waiting, Philomena had said. But not in the dark anymore.

  'I won't,' she told him. 'Philomena was right—I hold on to what I want.'

  He hooted. 'That old cow! What would she know?'

  'She knows what I know, Eric. I won't leave Locke.'

  'You will. You never belonged with him in the first case. I tried to tell him but sometimes he's stubborn as a mule. I couldn't believe it when I saw you. That he would choose you of all women! He even told me later that you still hankered after an old boyfriend. The fool doesn't even have the conceit to realise that women forget other men for him. Oh you love him all right,' he smiled, 'As I told him. The same way I told you that he and Sandy weren't lovers anymore. Funny how the truth sounds phony if you just say it earnestly enough. Of course,' Eric went on twirling the pen, 'he didn't mention the boyfriend's name. But you said something about a Michael and then—what do you know—I come across a picture of Dru having lunch with Michael. It was a nice touch don't you think— tossing his name in alongside the news of your weekend away? I knew you hadn't told Locke you'd gone from something he said. Your reticence and the lunch date must have made your weekend look so illicit to him, pet.'

  'I suppose someone saw me at the airport?'

  'One of my friends.'

  'Have you got any?'

  'Teh, tch. Don't get abusive, Dru.'

  She made a conscious effort to calm herself. There was something here, something she wasn't reaching. Her gaze went to the stills behind him. One was from a Ramage episode. She recognised the car used in the series. A red sports car… a Porsche. She'd forgotten that Ramage had raced around in one. As Eric did now. The image of his sports car in her rear vision mirror had bothered her that day. An early evening…

  'I think Hal Spencer will make a great Ramage,' she said, testing for reaction. Eric erupted from his swivel chair. His face was a study in fury and frustration.

  'No one else can do it. Locke is Ramage.'

  'Was.'

  'I have you to thank for that,' he spat. 'You and your suburban little mind. "You know I don't personally like the show"'—he mimicked her voice, 'I was so sure he would sign. He let me think he would and talked me into coming back. He tricked me to do a favour for a friend—' He looked desolate and Dru felt sorry for him until he turned on her with a snarl, 'It was your fault. He would never have thought of giving up the series but for you.'

  'Locke makes his own decisions. He was ready for change before he met me.'

  'No.'

  'He'll never make any more Ramage anyway,' she prodded. She had to step back from the desk. Eric's glare across it was almost a physical blow. This was it, she thought sickly. The something she knew was there. It had been staring her in the face. 'No more Ramage and no more Ransome Man, Eric. Not for Locke. And not for you.'

  He clenched his fists. 'I created it—I created him, and I'm not going to let you ruin years of work.'

  'You are the Ransome Man, aren't you, Eric? You created the image and your brother gives it form on the screen, but you live it all the time. That's why you can't stand the thought of Locke turning to more serious work. Apart from the money you need the image. But for Locke it was never real and he's tired of it. Give up, Eric—removing me won't make any difference now. And anyway, I won't go.'

  'You'll go if Locke wants you to,' Eric said and smirked at her reaction. 'I can see now I'll have to work on him instead of you.'

  'He's your brother!' she exclaimed, sick to the heart. 'How can you say that?'

  'It's for the best. Locke knows I've always done everything with his best interests in mind. Ever since we were kids.'

  Ever since you grew up ordinary and he grew up sensational and your girlfriends found your kid brother more interesting. Dru felt terribly sorry for Eric. By accident he had stumbled on a way of dealing with his inadequacies—to advertise a client's product he had designed the fantasy man he would like to be— that thousands of men would like to be—and somehow all that he must have envied in his kid brother had found their way into the creation. No wonder Locke had won the Ransome job. The role had been written for him.
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  'I could tell Locke about this conversation,' she said.

  'He wouldn't believe it,' Eric smiled. 'He really wouldn't pet.'

  'How do you know I haven't got a tape recorder in my bag?' Dru backed away as he shot towards her. But he was fast. He caught her against his filing drawers and snatched her bag from her shoulder. The contents scattered over the carpet and Eric shook out the bag and gave it back to her.

  'Sorry about that pet,' he said and the conversational tone frightened her more than those few seconds of near violence—'But I had to be sure.'

  He went back to his desk while she picked up the contents of her handbag with trembling fingers.

  'Mum is coming to visit soon,' Eric told her as if nothing untoward had occurred. 'She usually spends a few days with Locke and few with me. So I guess we'll be seeing you for a family dinner sometime after Van and I come back from the reef.'

  As she left, his secretary was re-applying lipstick in the outer office. But for one of his dumb blondes, Locke would never have gone to Sea Winds. It had a sad sort of irony.

  Dru felt cold for a long time afterwards. Eric was sick. He needed help. But how could she tell Locke so, having already earned his contempt with what seemed like petty accusations of his brother? Eric would preserve his usual bonhomie in front of Locke and others, he would quietly lay his poison against her and she could do nothing about it. Dru considered broaching the subject with Irene when she came. But then, how to tell a mother that her son had succumbed to the fantasy world he had created to advertise razors? It sounded like the product of a hysterical mind. There seemed nothing she could do but wait and hope that Eric might give himself away. Meanwhile the odd marriage which had come so close to the genuine thing was reeling to a standstill. She avoided her brother-in-law, refusing to remain in the apartment when he called by.

  'Hello pet,' Eric would say, all smiles and her forced answer and quick getaway would intensify the frown that always sat on Locke's brow of late. The combination of his suspicion about Michael and her antipathy to his brother was killing the affection Locke had for her. Once he asked her if she wanted to call it quits. When she said no, he smiled cynically. 'There wouldn't be much alimony in it just yet, would there?' he said, referring to the brevity of the marriage.

  Dru nearly spilled out her misery to Gillian whose flying schedule found her in Sydney one day. But their lunch together was to be short and the story so long that she decided against it. Gillian was still dieting, still dating a 'way-out' man (new) and still as disinterested in Sea Winds as ever. Barry had had an offer for the holiday house, she said, and wasn't it time they got rid of it?

  'Barry doesn't want to sell, the spoilsport—because he heard some rumour that one of the services clubs might drain that swamp and build a casino near us. But you know there has been talk of draining it for years and nothing ever happens. If you say sell, Barry will be outvoted,' she said hopefully.

  'Who made the offer?'

  'Oh who knows—some company I've never heard of—say you'll sell out, Dru…'

  Dru shook her head and Gillian groaned. 'There goes my Hamilton townhouse.'

  Barry was pleased though when he phoned the next day and found that Dru agreed with him.

  'If that project comes up, Dru, old Sea Winds or rather the land she stands on, might be worth a small fortune. Far better to hang on to it for a while longer.'

  Dru was depressed. She didn't want to hold on to the holiday house for speculation—but simply because she was fond of it. Gloomily she realised that the rumours about the project were probably right. Two offers—one for Sea Winds and the one for Sam's place indicated a sudden interest in the stretch of beachfront which couldn't just be coincidence. When and if that swamp was drained, she would be outvoted and Sea Winds would be sold. Gillian would use her share of the sale price for her townhouse, Barry would no doubt plough his into his business and she—she would have a cold sum of money listed in a bank account. And Sea Winds, with its ramshackle shed and its dark stairs that held memories of childhood fears and of meeting Locke, would be gone.

  Eric and Van went north to the reef. Dru wished they were going for several weeks instead of just a few days. Who knows, she thought uncharitably, an early cyclone might blow them out to sea in their game fishing boat—wash them up on a desert island somewhere in the Pacific where they could do no more harm. Van would like that—no busty blondes to compete for Eric's attention. The idea of Eric minus his three-piece suits, manicures, French champagne and celebrities cheered her. Just for a little while anyway.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Dru was alone the night she took a call from the property agent. Just an hour ago, he said—Sam's place had burned down. Probably the work of kids, he said. It was deliberately set and went up like tinder. By the time the fire brigade got there it had collapsed. Lucky it hadn't been a nice, new place—he said. Lucky it was just an old shack with nothing of value in it—he said. Dru hung up. Lucky. She walked to the window and looked out at the black, city-speckled night. Sam's cottage, narrow and patch-painted with its illusion of a lean to one side just like Sam himself. When she went to Sea Winds again, there would be nothing of him left. She was crying when Locke came home. When she gulped out the news he took her in his arms for the first time since the night of Eric's party.

  'I'm sorry, Dru—I know how you feel—'

  'All his worthless things—I wish I'd taken them but somehow they belonged there. I meant to take the dragon and I forgot. How could I have forgotten?'

  He soothed her and through her distress for this last parting from Sam she felt his warmth and took strength from it. In spite of Eric and Eva, Locke still loved her a little.

  They put on a show for Irene when she came to stay. And in the acting, some of their pretend smiles became the genuine thing and the atmosphere lifted. Dru moved out of her room and into Locke's to accommodate his mother.

  It was odd, awkward to share with him. There was intimacy in the sight of her clothes with his in the wall-side wardrobe, her hairbrush and his side by side.

  Her pillow and his. He came in while she was undressing the first night and misreading her startled look said:

  'Don't worry—I won't touch you. You'll sleep in peace tonight—the way you told me you always do.'

  He stayed up long after Dru went to bed and he made no move towards her when he came in. Later when he cried out in his sleep, she turned to him and put her arms around him. This time he didn't say Eva's name, but the pain was there. He held on to her in his sleep as if he needed her. He didn't wake. She wasn't sure if that was a good or a bad thing.

  In the morning he went out early.

  'Fencing lessons,' he told Irene when she asked where he was going.

  'Good lord Lachlan—are you thinking of doing a swashbuckler?'

  He grinned. 'Who knows? This is theatrical fencing—all choreographed. It's good for the reflexes and could come in handy some time.'

  'He had that old nightmare again last night,' Irene commented when he'd left.

  'You. heard?'

  'Well I heard him call out "no, no" and I didn't think he was fighting off your advances dear,' she joked then at Dru's expression added. 'You know about Eva I suppose?'

  'Not much. Was she pretty?'

  'Oh yes. Pretty and vivacious—' she studied Dru and shook her head. 'No my dear, it isn't what you think. If he dreams of Eva it is because of the manner of her death, not because he hasn't stopped mourning her. Oh, he loved her. Very much. He was twenty-four—she was twenty-one. They hadn't a bean between them but they were happy. Lachlan arranged to meet her in town one day after she finished work. His audition had dragged on and he was running late.

  When he got near the street corner where they'd agreed to meet, there was an overturned truck and the police and a crowd of onlookers. He went past it to look for Eva, thinking she might be in one of the shops, bored with waiting for him. When he heard the police talking about trying to release a pedestrian
from the wreckage…'

  'Oh no,' Dru put her hands to her face, 'No—'

  '… he didn't—wouldn't believe it could be Eva. One of the police asked him if his wife was wearing a pink dress and he even swore that Eva didn't have one.'

  She never wears pink, he'd cried that very first time at Sea Winds. A frantic denial of the colour that might identify his young wife. He wouldn't let the saleswoman show her a pink dress, she remembered now. And he'd berated her for keeping him waiting— imagining perhaps another accident on another street corner.

  'The dream hasn't bothered him for a long time but now—' she hesitated, looking at Dru,'—he seems to have reached some crisis point and who knows what makes his mind look backwards. A little guilt I suppose—if he'd been on time he used to say, she might not have died—or a fear of loss again now that he has someone he loves at last.'

  Someone he loves, Dru thought. She would like to believe that.

  '… nice girls don't abound in the life of a man like Lachlan. Certainly not since he became famous anyway. Nice, normal girls don't want to get to know a man in the glare of publicity. I thank God for that two weeks he had at the beach with you… you were able to see him for what he was—and he could find out what he was missing…'

  If that were so, then he might be missing it again soon if Eric had his way. Tonight she would have to smile and be as charmingly insincere as Eric himself in order to keep peace with Locke and Irene. For Eric was back from his big-game fishing and had insisted on having a 'family dinner' at his house.