Araluen (38 page)

Emma had seen many pictures of the comet in all its glory but the actual phenomenon, viewed through the special lens, was something altogether different. It really was the harbinger of doom. And the prospect of its heralding the planet's pole shift and cataclysmic aftereffects on the Earth's inhabitants was chillingly believable.

‘The rushes are fantastic, Michael. The whole thing is utterly fantastic’

It was the night before Emma was due to return to her miniseries on the Great Barrier Reef and they were dining out at a beachside seafood restaurant overlooking the harbour at Watson's Bay.

‘And you did it,’ she said. ‘You finally did it.’

‘We did it, Emma. You and me.’

Emma laughed. It was true; their months of work together on the script had paid off. And, as he'd promised, Michael had never again propositioned her. They'd become the best of friends and Emma loved him. She longed for the day when she could tell him she was his sister. It was the ultimate bond they could share.

‘Yes,’ she smiled, ‘we did it. With the help of your grandfather's money.’

‘He wants to meet you, by the way.’

‘Oh.’ Her smile faded. She wondered how Penelope would feel about that. Emma was fully aware that it had been Penelope's influence at work in gaining her the miniseries job in Queensland. And she'd been equally aware that Penelope's motives had been twofold. Penelope herself had been quite open about it.

‘It's an excellent opportunity for you, my dear,’ she'd said. ‘And I think it's best if we keep a little distance between you and Mr Ross until the time is right to tell him, don't you?’

Emma wondered when on earth the time would be right to tell Mr Ross, but she didn't say anything. She knew that Penelope had her best interests at heart. Her grandmother was a wise woman.

‘You'll meet him at the premiere,’ Michael said. ‘He's promised to be there.’

‘Great, I'll look forward to it.’ She raised her glass and changed the conversation. ‘Here's to the most exciting world premiere of the biggest breakthrough movie made in cinematic history,’ she announced dramatically and they clinked champagne flutes.

‘Four months from now,’ he said when he'd drained his glass. ‘I'm going to miss you.’

‘Rubbish,’ Emma scoffed. ‘You're going to be far too busy. Only four months for post-production? You'll be going like a bat out of hell.’

‘True,’ Michael agreed. ‘It's going to be a nightmare, but we have to release the movie while Halley's is still hot. What a publicist's dream, eh?’

He was going to miss her. He missed her every day they were apart.

Michael had snorted two lines of coke before he'd called at Emma's to collect her and now, as the evening progressed, his senses were becoming more and more responsive to her, just as they always did when he was coked up.

He was aware of the warm, heady scent of Oscar de la Renta. She always wore Oscar de la Renta. He was aware of the swell of her breasts beneath the jade-green mohair sweater. And when the neckline slipped every now and then, he couldn't help staring at the exposed brown shoulder, until Emma unconsciously hefted the sweater back into position. To Michael everything about Emma was erotic. But the greatest aphrodisiac of all was the love which emanated from her. Over the past eighteen months it had become even stronger and he had no doubt whatsoever that she was in love with him and that it was merely a matter of time before their love would be fully realised. Just as long as he didn't push her, he warned himself. Although she was nearly twenty, she wasn't aware of the depths of her passion and yet again he told himself that he mustn't frighten her.

‘Let's go for a walk,’ he suggested, and he called for the bill. ‘I want to discuss the next concept with you. It's a ball-tearer.’ He'd hinted at another project on the phone and Emma couldn't wait to toss around ideas. She had never worked with anyone as stimulating as Michael.

‘We'll have another bottle to take with us, thanks,’ he said to the waiter, who took no notice as Michael slipped the champagne flutes into his pockets. Mr Ross was always good for a fifty dollar tip, after all.

Ten minutes later they were walking along the beach with their shoes off, the chill harbour water lapping at their bare feet. A late spring bite was in the air but it didn't bother them. They were sipping a fresh glass of Moet et Chandon Vintage and, as usual, the conversation was running riot.

‘The America's Cup, Emma. Probably the greatest historical sporting trophy in the world. Originated by Lord Lipton over a hundred years ago. It hasn't been out of the States since then and the first non-American challenger to win it was Bondy.’

‘And it comes to Australia next year and the challenge is in Perth,’ Emma said excitedly. ‘Great. So that's the theme, is it?’

‘Yes. We'll film the actual race. Imagine it! Twelve-metre yachts in full sail battling the Indian Ocean off the coast of Western Australia. The intrigue, the dirty play - everything that goes with the lust to win. But the major premise is the political effect it has on the country.’

Michael was firing. ‘Look at what happened when the Australians took it off the Yanks at Newport three years ago. No matter what the populace might have thought of Bondy as a shonky businessman, everyone knew that it had become a personal challenge of his to win the Cup. He'd been trying for over fifteen years and he'd spent a fortune. And then when he did it, when he created blue water history, the country claimed it as its own victory. Ticker-tape parades, screams of "We won the Cup", people chanting "We come from the land down under": the entire nation took a holiday and the prime minister himself said that any employer who didn't give his workers the day off was a bum. It was a farce. The whole country went apeshit over not only a mere sporting trophy, but a conquest to which they hadn't contributed at all.’

Emma was way ahead of him. ‘And when the next Cup challenge is held in Perth small business will be encouraged by the government to provide for the tourist trade. Which means everybody will put themselves in hock to make the big buck. Chaos. If the Australians keep the Cup, small businesses are left with a hugely competitive cutthroat market, and if the Australians lose the Cup, the majority of those businesses will go bankrupt. What an indictment. It's a great controversial issue.’

‘Spot on,’ Michael said approvingly. ‘That's the meat of the movie. That's what the critics will call "good comment", etc. But that's not the movie we're actually going to make. We're going to make something much simpler.’

Emma shook her head. ‘You've lost me.’

‘It's a heist movie. They're out to steal the Cup itself.’

They'd walked to the end of the beach and back and they were at Watson's Bay Jetty once again. ‘Now listen to me,’ he said as he sat her down on the jetty beside him. ‘This is the good part. It's a movie within a movie, you see. We open with a film unit making a movie based on the challenge for the America's Cup. Their intent is to portray all the personal dirty intrigue, the political and economic competition, but, in the meantime, the core of the film unit itself is a group of internationally accomplished masterminds - the whole thing is a well-orchestrated plan to steal the Cup. A multimillionaire's behind it all - he simply wants to own the bloody thing, to put it in the back room and look at it. The film production is an entire cover-up. But the audience doesn't know that until three-quarters of the way through the movie. And of course, it's all intercut with the reality of the race itself and the real Cup.’

Michael poured the last drops of champagne into his glass. ‘Mr Big is an oil billionaire, say, an Arab sheik or a Texan, so funds are - ’

‘I'd go with the Texan,’ Emma suggested. ‘Better for the American market - then we can import a legend: Lancaster, Douglas, Peck ... ’

‘Or stay with the Arab and bring in Sharif. Now stop interrupting and let me get on with the storyline.’

‘Sorry, sorry. Go on, go on.’

‘Mr Big's funds are unlimited so the international crooks have millions available to bribe cops, yacht club officials, security guys, you name it. They bribe them in order to gain access to the Cup. Access to use the Cup in their film, of course - no one has any idea there's a genuine plot afoot.’

‘Including the audience.’

‘Right. Until the actual theft the audience is watching the making of a semidocumentary-style drama based around the America's Cup challenge with footage of the actual race and fictional characters caught up in the competition and politics of it all.’

‘What about subplot action for the actors in the "movie"?’ Emma asked. ‘We could have an off-screen love affair between the leading lady and the skipper of one of the challengers or the near-death of a stuntie in a rigged yacht collision. That'd keep the audience occupied and make the disclosure of the film crew's plot more of a shock.’

‘Exactly! That's the sort of stuff I want you to start work on as soon as possible. Actors’ characters, relationships, storylines - the lives of the innocents caught up in the centre of the intrigue. Because the bogus film crew really only consists of half a dozen people. The rest of the cast and crew all believe they're making a heist movie.’

It was a wonderful idea, Emma thought. Like all Michael's ideas, it was original, again mirroring his fascination for the marriage of fact and fiction.

‘How are they going to do it?’ she asked. ‘The actual theft?’

‘I knew you'd come up with something as practical as that,’ he smiled. ‘Trust Emma Clare to bring me back to earth from my flights of fancy. It's one aspect I haven't figured out yet, but I'm sending Stanley off to Perth next week to work on it. It's more up his alley anyway. He's going to case the Royal Perth Yacht Club for me, their layout and burglar alarm systems. That's probably where they'll house the Cup during the Challenge.’

They sat on the jetty for a further hour until Emma was chilled to the bone, although she barely noticed in her excitement. They talked plots, characters and finally titles. Endless titles.

‘I've got it!’ she said suddenly. ‘Michael, I've got it. You said it yourself, and when you said it I thought it had a magic ring. Why didn't we think of it earlier? It's perfect.’

‘What, for Christ's sake, what?’

‘Blue Water History.’

A pause. He stared at her, then grinned. ‘Perfect. Says it all without giving away the heist angle.
Blue Water History
it is.’

Emma worked hard on
Blue Water History.
For the next three months, stationed in Queensland, she devoted far more of her time to the Cup movie than she did to the Great Barrier Reef series, writing well into the night each time she returned from the production studios. With all the frustrating parameters set by commercial producers making formula material for the masses, the series had become tedious to her. And, because she was the youngest writer Richmonds had ever employed (purely upon the personal request of Penelope Ross) she wasn't assigned original scripts. Her job was to work on endless rewrites and to edit other writers’ scripts which had come in under time or over time or simply not up to scratch. Then there were the boring production meetings and the budget discussions at which all she was required to do was sit and take notes. She was grateful to Richmonds for the experience, but Emma needed a greater challenge. And now she had one. To go home each night and lose herself in Michael's crazy movie was a great release for her.

‘Go mad with it, Emma,’ he'd told her. ‘And bugger the budget. My grandfather has promised me that if
Halley's
is half the success I’ve told him it's going to be, then Ross Productions will make
Blue Water,
no holds barred.’

Michael was thrilled that Franklin was prepared to place such faith in him but, secretly, he knew that whether or not his grandfather came to the party,
Blue Water History
would still be made. The following year, when he turned twenty-one, the massive personal trust account Franklin had set up on the birth of his grandson would be turned over to Michael. He would be worth millions.

Emma's first draft of
Blue Water History
(minus the actual heist scenes) was completed within two months. The second draft was completed a month later and then there was only a month to go before her return to Sydney and the
Halley's
premiere. A month to edit and polish the
Blue Water
script. A month of excitement at the thought of seeing the final cut of
Halley's.
A month of tense anticipation at the prospect of finally meeting the fabled Franklin Ross. And a month of something else. Something totally unexpected. A month to fall in love.

Malcolm O'Brien came from the Gold Coast and was twenty-seven years old. He'd made his first fortune in Queensland coastal real estate when he was twenty-two and had never looked back. His contacts and dealings were shady but no one could put a finger on anything actually illegal, although his competitors had tried.

Emma knew little of his background but she wouldn't have cared even if she had. She was too busy being swept off her feet by the suave, sophisticated young businessman who looked like a Greek god and treated her like a princess.

Malcolm had pursued her from the moment she'd arrived in Townsville. He owned the nearby marina which the film unit had hired as one of the locations for the series and they'd met on the first day of filming. He rarely visited his marina and had only flown up to watch the film crew work as a matter of interest.

‘You're an actress, are you?’ he asked. Well, obviously she'd have to be, he thought. She was without a doubt the most beautiful woman there and there were a number of lookers around. He'd checked them out.

‘An actress? Good God, no,’ she answered. ‘I'd run a mile if they pointed a camera at me - not much talent in that direction, I'm afraid.’

The day's shoot was over and the company had laid on drinks and refreshments as an introductory goodwill gesture. Although the production staff and the key crew personnel had been setting up for a week, many cast and crew members had arrived just the previous day.

‘Wrap drinks will only be provided on Fridays in future,’ the producer was swift to point out. ‘But, in the meantime, get to know each other, gang - there's a heavy week's workload ahead.’