Araluen (18 page)

‘Cock-teasing sluts aren’t allowed to call me Jim.’ His voice was terrifyingly soft and his face was no more than an inch from hers. ‘Only my mother calls me Jim.’ She whimpered as she felt her panties tear. ‘Thought you could get away with it, didn’t you? Giving me the eye and flashing your goods and never paying out. He was undoing the buckle of his belt. ‘Cunts like you deserve everything they get.’

‘Leave it right there, buddy.’

Sam was standing on the path only several yards away. In his hand was the gleaming Colt .38 revolver.

Lonetti’s hand instinctively slid towards the breast of his jacket and the shoulder holster he always wore.

‘I wouldn’t even think about it if I were you.’ Sam extended his arm and the barrel of the gun pointed unwavering at the bridge of Lonetti’s nose. ‘In fact, I suggest that you hightail it out of here just as quick as you can,’ he said. ‘And I also suggest that you tell Thelma we don’t want your sort anywhere around Minotaur again. Not at the studios, or mixing with the employees – is that understood?’

Lonetti didn’t answer but he stared at Penelope as he did up his belt buckle. ‘You’ll keep,’ he muttered and then he left, Sam watching him every inch of the way. It was only when the man was well out of sight that Sam turned to Penelope. ‘I
guess I don’t need to say I told you so.’

The relief was too much for Penelope. She burst into tears and was gathered into Sam’s huge embrace. ‘Come along now, little lady. You’ve learnt your lesson. There’s no real harm done.’ And he escorted her to the waiting car with its headlights still on and an anxious Lucy-Mae waiting in the passenger seat. ‘Just as well we decided to leave when we did, eh?’

Penelope calmed down during the drive home and begged Sam and Lucy-Mae not to tell Franklin of the night’s events. ‘He’d only worry,’ she said. ‘And I promise I won’t associate with Thelma’s friends any more.’ She wasn’t sure why she didn’t want Franklin to know. There were so many things she needed to sort out in her own head, she didn’t want the confusion of having to explain things to him.

She had most certainly learned a vital lesson, though. Not only was flirting dangerous, it was unnecessary. After all, she was going to marry Franklin – she didn’t need any more favours from men.

But the sounds of the woman’s ecstasy still rang in her mind – and though she hated to admit it, Lucky Jim Lonetti had been right in a way. She wanted it. She wanted to know what it was like to experience what the woman in the garden had felt. She remembered the kiss on the beachside at Worthing and the way she’d felt whenever Franklin had kissed her since. She wanted more. She wanted the touch of his hands on her, she wanted … Suddenly, Penelope longed for Franklin.

When the
Pacific Star
docked in Sydney, Solly was there to meet Franklin. Hanging off his arm was a dark-haired, buxom woman in her late twenties.

‘You think you are the only one to fall in love, Boss?’ he grinned. ‘This is Zofia – isn’t she beautiful? Maybe we make a double wedding, eh?’

‘Hello, Zofia. You’re a brave woman to take on Solly.’ Franklin kissed her hand lightly and she laughed and clutched Solly all the more tightly.

‘She don’t speak such good English yet but she is learning.’

Solly didn’t stop talking all the way to The Colony House. It appeared Zofia came from a little town near his own childhood home in Poland. He was deeply in love with her. She worked hard with him side by side in his shop, which had never seen such a profit. She had stopped him gambling and he intended to marry her just as soon as possible.

The week after Franklin’s return, two cables arrived from America. There was nothing sinister about the first:
Healthy baby girl, Louisa Mae
STOP
Seven pounds two ounces
STOP
Born Saturday one am.
– but the second, delivered two days later, was chilling:
Thelma Todd murdered
STOP
Movie cancelled
STOP
Penelope distraught
STOP
Suggest immediate return
STOP

Franklin instantly set about hiring an aviator and aircraft. After several inquiries he found Frederick Howell, a young pilot who had been involved with Kingsford-Smith and Ulm in the
forming of their short-lived Australian National Airways Company. Howell was obsessed with Ulm’s plan to set up a regular airmail service across the Pacific, despire the fact that Ulm himself had died investigating the possibilities only one year previously.

Young Frederick Howell had made several trips across the Pacific since the death of Ulm and he seized Franklin’s offer with great alacrity. Five thousand pounds! To make a flight he would have been prepared to make for nothing! To be paid to investigate his own business opportunities! Frederick suggested they take off in three days’ time.

The morning before their departure, The Colony House receptionist rang through to Franklin’s suite to announce a visitor.

‘Have her shown up immediately,’ Franklin said. ‘And have some coffee and refreshments prepared.’

Several minutes later there was a tap on the door. ‘Miss Juillard, Mr Franklin,’ the house butler announced.

‘Gaby,’ he said, as he embraced her warmly. ‘Come in.’

She smiled her attractive smile and allowed him to take her parasol. ‘Thank you, Franklin. It is so hot, is it not?’ She seated herself in the chair Franklin indicated and took a small ivory fan from her purse. ‘All these years and never have I become accustomed to Sydney summers.’

She was still an attractive woman, still slim and
elegant, but was starting to look her age, Franklin thought. And she looked tired. Very tired.

‘How have you been, Gaby?’

‘I have been well.’ She decided to come straight to the point. ‘Not so your Aunt Catherine, I’m afraid. She has cancer, Franklin. She is dying.’

‘I’m sorry to hear that,’ he said.

‘Yes.’ Gaby gave a weary sigh. She’d cried enough; there was no more energy left to be spent on tears. ‘I know that she would dearly love to see you.’ Than she hastily added. ‘If you don’t wish to come you will not disappoint her. I have said nothing.’

Franklin stared down at the bed, trying to equate the emaciated form in it with the aggressive, arrogant, dominating presence he remembered as his aunt. The skin hung from the once large frame in folds; so much skin with nothing to fill it – even the bones themselves seemed to have shrunk.

‘I’m sorry,’ Gaby whispered, ‘it’s not one of her good days.’ She felt deeply disappointed. Sometimes Catherine was so lucid and, when she was, she was wonderful. ‘I regret nothing, Gaby,’ she would say. ‘I know you feel angry, I know you blame the drugs. But don’t. I’ve led my life the way I chose – I’ve been selfish and indulgent and I’ve possibly cheated us of some of our years together, but don’t make me regret that, my darling.’ Then she would attempt to wipe away Gaby’s tears. And they would laugh about the fact that, even on her deathbed, Catherine was laying down the law. ‘Rather like father,’ Catherine said.

And now, with Franklin by her side, Catherine was in her drug-induced twilight world. Gaby wondered, vaguely, whether it might be deliberate.

Nevertheless, Gaby chatted on. Mainly about Franklin’s impending wedding and Franklin, awkwardly, nodded agreement and performed the way he thought Gaby wanted him to perform, all the while wishing he could get out.

Then, just as they were about to leave, Catherine’s eyes found their focus. ‘Be kind to your wife, Franklin.’ The voice was weak and rasping but the strength of purpose was undeniable.

It came as a surprise to him and he simply stared back.

‘It’s not her fault that you don’t like women.’

Franklin continued to stare and Gaby felt the prickle of tears she’d long thought had dried up.

‘It’s my one regret,’ Catherine said. ‘That day.’

There was a moment when nobody said anything. Franklin supposed it was his turn to speak, but he felt angry. What was he expected to say? He didn’t want to think of that hideous day. How dare the woman remind him? Even on her deathbed she had to taunt him. How dare she?

It was Gaby who broke the silence. ‘You have nothing to regret, Catherine. Nothing at all.’ She turned to go. ‘Come along, Franklin, Catherine needs her rest.’

They said little at the door. Gaby wished him bon voyage and promised to attend the wedding when he returned. She felt glad. She knew that Catherine, in acknowledging her regret, had relieved herself of a long-standing guilt. It was
a pity that Franklin hadn’t been able to openly absolve his aunt but that was, after all, his tragedy, wasn’t it? Gaby felt happy for Catherine.

The nine-day flight to America with Frederick Howell was terrifying – terrifying, exhilarating and exhausting. Infected by the madness of aviation, Franklin loved every minute of it. They flew via Brisbane, New Caledonia, Fiji, Western Samoa and the Hawaiian Islands and landed in California at lunchtime on New Year’s Eve.

Word had got out and members of the press were there to meet them but the indomitable Howell refused to stay any length of time. He had meetings in Sacramento with his business associates, he said, and the Governor of California, and a representative of the US Mail Service.

Franklin stood with the others on the airstrip and watched the Avro Ten climb its way back into the sky, turn, and head north.

The following day, the American newspapers carried the full story of the amazing flight made by the two Australians. They also carried the latest reports on the murder of Thelma Todd, even though it had been over a fortnight since her body had been found slumped in her car.

There was much talk about a row she’d had with her lover after leaving the Trocadero late on the night of her murder but, although the press insinuated and although friends assumed, there
was not one shred of evidence. Police statements insisted that ‘an early conviction was expected’, but days went by, and then weeks. Thelma Todd’s murder was destined to remain one of the great Hollywood mysteries.

Penelope was deeply upset and, to Franklin’s relief, more than happy to quit the country for a while. She’d been heavily questioned by the police and had found the whole business extremely sordid. The thought of pretty, blonde, fun-loving Thelma coming to such a grisly end had horrified her. More horrifying had been the memory of Lucky Jim Lonetti and that night in the garden. Could he have been the one? Penelope wondered. Could she herself have been under a similar threat? It didn’t bear contemplation.

Penelope wanted to be somewhere safe and good. She wanted to marry someone strong and reliable. Her relief at seeing Franklin again was overwhelming and a great pleasure to Franklin.

Of course there was the bitter blow to her career to be considered but Penelope had the answer to that. ‘We can come back to Hollywood in six months or a year, can’t we, darling? After all this horridness has died down?’ She showed him the press folio Minotaur had given her. It included the comprehensive publicity campaign for
True Blonde
and the stills they’d used of Penelope for
Harlequin Horror.
She felt a first step had most definitely been taken in her quest for movie stardom.

‘We’ll get your career up and going, my dear, I assure you of that,’ Franklin said. And to a certain extent he meant it. He would take back to
Australia with him Sam’s introductions to the Sydney film world and he would buy Penelope into the home industry. Until the children came and the family took over, it would be far more comfortable conducting Penelope’s career from Australia – away from the sordidness of Hollywood.

The sea voyage home did Penelope good and, when they were met at the Sydney terminal by the chauffeur-driven Bentley Franklin had arranged via Solly, any misgivings she’d had about the return visit started to fade. When she laid eyes on The Colony House, they disappeared altogether.

‘Oh, Franklin!’ She gasped in genuine admiration as the car turned off the road and into the main circular drive. ‘It’s the most beautiful house I’ve ever seen.’

Franklin agreed with her. He’d been out of the country for most of the year and, although he was still determined to conquer the world, he knew that he’d be happiest conquering it from Australia. This was his home, where his roots were. And now he could start his dynasty. His sons could travel further afield and carry the banner of the Ross family on a global crusade.

It wasn’t an autumn wedding. It was mid-winter before Penelope decided that everything was organised to her satisfaction. ‘You mustn’t rush me, Franklin – these things have to be done properly.’

Franklin was more than happy to let her have her way. So long as they married before the end of the year, he didn’t care how they did it. He was only too delighted at the way Penelope fitted in. He had met her parents and they were exactly as he’d envisaged. Middle class, stolid, respectable. Good stock.

They were married in the oldest church in Australia – the Garrison church at The Rocks. The choice had been mutual – Franklin thought it was fitting and Penelope thought it was fashionable.

Penelope’s family was well respresented but apart from Franklin, there wasn’t a Ross in sight. He didn’t even inform the South Australian sector. He would let them know after the event, he thought – they’d been out of contact with each other for so long that it surely wouldn’t matter. The fact was that Franklin couldn’t care less about his family. They were not necessary to him. He was, after all, about to start his own.

Gustave Lumet was there, of course. And The Colony House regulars, including the heavy gambling set – Paddy Conway, Robert Mitchell and Peter Lynell, who’d made a special trip from London.

Sam Crockett and Lucy-Mae were unable to attend, Lucy-Mae considering it a little premature to be travelling their new baby, so Sam had a massive present delivered in lieu. It was an impressively sculpted life-size bronze statue of a man, holding a duelling pistol, his right arm extended. The accompanying message read: ‘As I can’t be there in person, I am sending this substitute. Place him on the grass to mark the spot and point him
towards the Bridge. May the pair of you always win in the game of life, with deepest affection from Samuel David Crocket’, and there was a less melodramatic but equally sincere message from Lucy-Mae.