Blaze (67 page)

‘I've offered her the house. She's fine. She's met a nice young man she's keen on, so she's travelling up to see him for a bit. He works for a vineyard, she met him in France.'

‘That's wonderful news. Well, what do you know? See how the dominoes fall? Now we all have a love in our lives. It changes how you see the world, doesn't it?'

‘Sure does,' said Larissa, and a feeling of calmness settled on her. Nina always seemed to have that effect. ‘See you soon.'

Miche watched Larissa as a small group from
Blaze
, including Tiki, took Larissa to a farewell lunch. Larissa looked happy on the one hand, if nervously excited, yet genuinely sad to be leaving beautiful Sydney and her friends. Belinda's husband Laurie was there along with Kevin and Dan. Kevin had been gracious and warmly hugged Larissa as he arrived with a huge bouquet of roses and a small opal pendant.

‘Can't leave without a keepsake – the national gem of Australia,' he said putting the jewellery box in her hands.

‘Kevin, this is so sweet of you.' Larissa was captivated by the blue and green stone which shone with fiery-red lights.

‘Are you sure, Riss? 'Cause if you change your mind, I'm here, you know. And I'll always be your friend.' He kissed her cheek. ‘Drinks all round. I've ordered champagne. Here's to you Larissa – much happiness and come back and see us soon.'

It was a long and jovial lunch. Larissa was leaving in two days. One more editorial meeting and she would be on her way back to New York. Miche would stay on in the Paddington house.

‘You going to be all right on your own in that place?' asked Dan. ‘I know people looking to share.'

‘I'm fine. It belongs to
Blaze –
I'm just sitting out Larissa's lease. But honestly I think I'll be spending a lot of time up in the Hunter. You must come up and see where Jeremy works. It's a great place.'

‘Any excuse will do to go to wine-tasting country. I'll bring some pals up for a weekend. How's work going? Onto any more hot stories?'

Miche grimaced and put down her wine. ‘I'd better go easy. I have a meeting with Ali. Putting up a series of articles to her.' She excused herself and Larissa gave her a thumbs-up.

‘Don't be intimidated, Miche. They're good stories you're doing. I'll see you at home.'

Miche again felt like she had been called to the principal's office as she sat opposite Ali. She waited as Ali finished making notes and fiddling with papers on her desk before she looked up and gave Miche a cursory smile.

‘So, you wanted to see me?'

‘Yes, Ali. As you know I've been researching a story on children of violence, how innocent victims of childhood trauma cope with their lives . . .'

‘Yes, yes. How's that going?' Ali frowned.

‘Slowly, to be frank. Not that I'm giving up on it. I have some great material so far. But it will be a while before it's ready. And as I'm living on what I sell,' Miche gave a rueful smile which Ali ignored, ‘I thought I'd put it to one side and follow up a story I've just come across.'

Ali brightened immediately. ‘Like what?'

Miche had rehearsed her spiel and rattled on about the Hunter Valley, the comparison between it and France and the Napa Valley, the tourism opportunities, its history, the statistics Jeremy and John Sandgate had given her.

‘What do you know about wine?' asked Ali.

‘Not much. And that's the idea. Rather than write for the elite connoisseur, I tell the story from my perspective. My peers have become major wine consumers.'

Ali spun her chair and stared out the window. Miche found her expression hard to read. In fact she was surprised at Ali's furrowed brow.

Finally Ali spoke. ‘Dump the trauma piece. Don't go too heavily into the Hunter region, instead look into the wine side of it. Make it something people in their twenties and thirties can relate to. How you do that is your problem. I don't want a snooty wine piece, you don't know enough anyway, nor do I want a grand tour of the vineyards. Make it personal, quirky. Lots of fab pictures, sexy stuff, funny stuff.'

Miche blinked at her. ‘That's a tall order. Though it's what I was kind of thinking . . .'

‘I'll talk with Reg. We have a
Blaze
wine club deal, maybe it can tie in with that.' She glanced down at her desk as if Miche was dismissed, then asked, ‘Oh, by the way, weren't you doing a personal bit with the trauma piece? Something about your father?' Ali lifted an eyebrow as if she were asking Miche about the sore throat she had last week.

Miche shifted in her seat. ‘I mentioned that to Bob. He wanted a personal angle to the trauma story. He thought a section about looking for my father was a good . . . hook.'

‘Forget it. Dump the whole thing. Too dark. Go with the wine and food gig. Who wants to know about other people's problems? Just don't make it sound like a foodie or travel mag piece.' She paused. ‘A piece of personal advice – forget about looking for your father. Move on with your life.'

Miche left Ali's office feeling confused – half pleased, but also a little daunted. Maybe the trauma piece on children of violence, would work for another publication. She'd write it up after this next project. In a way she was relieved as it gave her a reason to put the issue about her father on the backburner again. She was surprised at her eagerness to do the Hunter Valley story. Of course, one reason was that it would give her the chance to spend time with Jeremy and to find out about his world. But there was another reason Miche was drawn to the idea. The tenacity and richness of the sturdy vines that clung to the hillsides were like the people who worked the vineyards. The old vines bursting into delicate greenness from the soil and the sun, producing the luscious full-bodied grapes that ended up in bottles that travelled the country and the world. The mystique and mythology, the blends, the guesswork and sheer art that combine to create the wines. It fascinated her. If she could marry it all together, this harvest of dreams, she'd have something that was more than just a standard article. She'd have to do a lot of research. It seemed to her it was like the goldfields – this area drew men and women who hoped to find and create something wonderful, something they could draw from the land, water with their sweat and market with élan. The Australian wine industry was like a glorious hot-air balloon soaring aloft in a clear, sunny dawn, silently stealing across the sky so that everyone would soon notice it and want a ride.

Fanciful? Maybe. Miche was surprised Ali had pushed her other idea to one side. Bob had been so keen. Well, if this was the one Ali wanted her to do, that was fine by her. Ali's cautionary remark rang in her mind, ‘Just make sure it's not fuddy-duddy or elitist. Make it the kind of article I'd stop and read.' Now that was a challenge.

Miche couldn't wait to ring Jem. First off, she planned to dig through the old newspapers in the State Library. Her mother had always told her to go backwards into a story. ‘You never know what you'll dig up that could apply to the current story.'

Eddie was surprised to find that Heather's apartment in Wollstonecraft was so suburban. It was a large apartment with leafy views over the northern suburb, but it was in an extremely ordinary block of red-brick units. Eddie lived in Bondi in a small, trendy apartment with glimpses of the famed surfing beach. It was smartly furnished and he lived far beyond his means – another reason for wanting to increase his profile. The higher the public profile, the more opportunities he could muster to make money. He already had a bunch of ideas for a radio show, and a website and he had enough worldwide contacts to do segments about the Australian show biz and celebrity scene. His creative mind had devised a stunning promotional campaign that would skyrocket him to prominence once he started his TV appearances.

He hoped this meeting with Heather would bring him what he wanted.

Heather opened a bottle of wine.

‘So, we're celebrating?' he asked.

‘Looks like it. I've cut a deal, now it's up to you to produce the goods.' She handed him a glass and poured the wine.

‘So I go on trust? What happens if I tell you what I know and then Morris Brown or whoever at the network says they don't know a thing about hiring me?'

‘And how do I know that what you're going to tell me is of any value as far as discrediting the Showers bitch?' countered Heather.

‘Okay, let's bite the bullet.' Eddie took a sip of his wine. ‘April Showers is a man. Well, half a man shall we say.'

‘What!' Heather burst out laughing, then looked sceptical. ‘Bullshit. How do you know? If I may ask.'

‘Well may you ask, indeed.' Eddie paused, a master of timing as he delivered his line. ‘We were lovers when he was a boy. An adult male, that is.'

‘So April has had the whole sex change thing?' said Heather thoughtfully. ‘That's not exactly taboo these days.'

‘It is when your current lover is a politician into cross-dressing. And she hasn't done the full op, she's still kept her boy bits if you get my drift.'

Heather was elated. ‘That's too rich. But she looks so . . . girlie. A bit stocky, but a petite blonde with boobs . . . is she on hormones?'

‘She's on everything, darling. She had an op, but left the little dangly bit. I had already parted company with her by then. I prefer my boys to be all boys, thanks very much.'

‘Who knows? For sure? I'm going on your say-so here.'

Eddie emptied his glass. ‘Enough of us know. There are others willing to spill the beans. She's not the sort to want it made public. She's gone to a lot of trouble to hide her real identity. You threaten her with an exposé . . . I know the doctor who did it. She couldn't afford to go overseas, so had it done here.'

‘What about her family . . . who else knew her as a bloke? I mean, how long ago was this done?'

‘Five years ago. I have lots of photos of us when she was Adrian Rein.'

Heather clinked wineglasses. ‘Thank you very much, Eddie. You just got yourself a starring spot on Channel Five.'

Ali paced along the terrace outside her office, passing the sandpit, which had been cleaned up and was looking as new.

Eddie matched her stride for stride. ‘Listen, Ali, you would do the same in my place.'

Ali did a sharp about-face and paced in the other direction, her move mirrored by Eddie. ‘No I wouldn't. I have no desire to be on TV.'

‘You're so good at what you do. But you need people like me. I can feed you stuff.'

‘Rubbish. I pay people like April Showers to do that. What could you give me that I'd want? Once you're over there, being a little TV squirt, how do you know you're going to become a so-called star? If you fail, don't come to me looking for work. I gave you a big break to come here, and you've used me.'

‘Ali, come on, sweetheart, it's called networking. Believe me, I'm really grateful for you springing me from the ad world. I'll pay you back in more ways than you can imagine. You and I need each other. We understand what we want and how to get it, eh?' He looked at her scowling face and lifted an eyebrow, then, seeing no reaction, cheekily nudged her in the ribs. ‘I have gossip . . . hot off the press.'

Ali's lips twitched. Only audacious, outrageous Eddie could get away with calling her sweetheart and cajoling her into listening to his snippy bitchy prattle. But they both knew that she couldn't risk not hearing him out. ‘So, make my day, babe.'

‘Oh I will, dear heart. Believe me, I will.' Eddie glanced around in an exaggerated and absurd gesture to be sure they weren't overhead. They were totally alone on Ali's private terrace.

‘I'm listening.' Ali turned and retraced her steps. ‘So what's your parting present then? Is it about April? I think she has the makings of a good muckraking, in-depth profile writer. Gossip was just scratching the surface. She's found her milieu with these interviews.'

Eddie digested this. ‘You want her to do more pieces like the Heather Race article? Isn't that the same as saying to your lawyers, I'll make you millionaires, we're going to be sued every month?'

‘Not everyone is as vile as that vicious Race broad. Why you want to move into that TV world is beyond me. No, April will ruffle a lot of feathers, push a lot of noses in the dirt, but she has style and everyone will read her. If you loved the column, you'll die for the four-page spread,' chuckled Ali. ‘As a feature writer, Kaye doesn't have the killer instinct. She can do the soft stuff. April will be one of the big pulling cards for
Blaze
in the future. Believe me, I was prepared to wear a bloody legal suit from Heather Race against April if it happened, but I knew the TV station wouldn't launch it for her.'

‘Well, that's a measure of faith. You hired April, you stick by her. I'm impressed. However, I wouldn't fret – the boys upstairs were right when they said
Reality
had dropped the suit. Do you know why Heather agreed, Ali? Because Heather and April have come to a deal.'

Ali looked at Eddie. ‘I won't ask what. Somehow I think it best I don't know.' She was thoughtful for a minute. ‘I'm pleased it's not going to cost us money. What's really strange is where the allegiances suddenly come to light. You know who has come to April's defence since the Heather Race case flared up?' mused Ali. And when Eddie shrugged, she answered, ‘Reg. Bloody Reg Craven. I think he's siding with her to piss me off.'

‘Now that's interesting,' sniggered Eddie. ‘I wonder if he ever made a pass at April.'

Ali turned back to her office. ‘Oh, that clown has made a pass at everyone. I'm lucky we haven't had a dozen sexual harassment suits. The boys' club upstairs keep smoothing the girls over by paying them to drop the charges and shut up.'

Eddie gave a knowing smirk. ‘Hmmm, that could explain why Reg doesn't want the world to know he made a pass at April.'