Outback Sunset

  To my daughter, Karen, with love …

  For her strength and resilience

  Contents

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  About the Author

  Copyright

  About the Publisher

  CHAPTER ONE

  Standing in the wings of the Theatre Royal, Kerri Spanos watched the audience rise to their feet on the fourth curtain call. They clapped, whistled and stamped their feet in an explosive approval of the performance.

  A self-satisfied smile lit her Greek-English features as she glanced towards the cast of Noel Coward’s Private Lives. They stood centre stage, footlights and overhead lights illuminating them. Kerri’s smile widened to one of triumph because there had been an element of risk to bringing her star ‘down under’. But here, Vanessa Forsythe, English dramatic actress of extraordinary talent, was a success. Mmmm, and what was even better, the nervous breakdown her star client and friend of many years had been on the verge of having thirteen weeks ago, no longer loomed as a threat.

  Kerri waited for the curtains to close permanently and the stage lights to dim before she moved backstage towards Vanessa’s dressing-room. She sensed, as she walked, a mixture of melancholy and relief from the leads all the way down to the backstage doorman, that the production had ended … Final performances were like that.

  All in all though, she thought as she trundled past stage props and behind-the-scenes workers, the experience for Vanessa had been worthwhile. In England, Vanessa Forsythe was almost a household name due to an impressive list of stage performances and her first foray into films of quality, a Spanish drama that had won critical acclaim at the Cannes Film Festival two years ago. She and Vanessa could return home now knowing Vanessa had left a mark on Sydney audiences and expanded her reputation internationally.

  Home. Back to the bustle of London, the high cost of living and the notoriously inclement weather — so different from sunny, casual, outgoing Sydney. Thank God she was going, though she wasn’t looking forward to the flight. She’d missed London, her family, her office. A wry smile lifted the corners of her thin lips as she admitted that. Sydney was a nice place, the people were friendly enough, but she, one of the best management agents in the entertainment business, lived for the cut and thrust of making deals, placating clients, discovering new talent and so on … Still, holding Vanessa’s hand, figuratively if not literally, and helping her through her ‘crisis’, had been a necessity. Over the last twelve weeks she had flown to and from London twice to make sure Vanny’s emotions stayed on an even keel.

  She rapped on Vanessa’s dressing-room door, turned the knob and entered the room.

  ‘Vanny, luv,’ Kerri’s made-over from cockney to pseudo English public school accent echoed around the box-like, windowless room. ‘They absolutely loved you. You made the role of Amanda in Private Lives yours, a real triumph.’

  A pair of sharp, penetrating black eyes ran over her client who was several centimetres taller than herself. Willowy was the apt term to describe Vanessa’s figure rather than model slim. With her olive skin and large brown eyes — courtesy of a Spanish grandfather — combined with striking features and honey blond hair — the actress was an agent’s dream. Doubly so because Vanessa Forsythe had real talent without the contrary temperament that often accompanied talented artists.

  ‘Yes, it went well,’ Vanessa’s reply was circumspect. Already she was creaming her face prior to removing the stage make-up.

  ‘Well?’ Kerri laughed at the understated reply. ‘You had them drooling. Even the critics couldn’t fault your performance.’

  Vanessa’s gaze locked with her agent’s. ‘Yes, well, we know how lucky that was. When I arrived here I was a mess …’

  ‘You were,’ Kerri conceded but added quickly, ‘You’re also a professional. You got on with it ’cause that was your job. Now you can think and talk about David without dissolving into tears like you did back in September, constantly!’

  Vanessa’s eyebrows flew upwards in acknowledgement of Kerri’s statement. ‘Thanks for reminding me.’ She reached for the box of tissues, pulled several out and began to wipe her make-up off.

  ‘So, luv, what are you going to wear to the after-show party?’ Kerri asked. She trotted over to the portable wardrobe from which several outfits wrapped in plastic bags hung. Her fingers flicked one after another along the railing. ‘The blue full length? No. The cream suit then?’

  ‘I was planning to give the party a miss.’

  ‘No way.’ Kerri’s tone was uncompromising as she turned to stare at Vanessa. ‘Several top notch journos will be there as well as the cast, crew and the backers. Remember, you’re on show till you board the plane and we wing our way back to London tomorrow evening.’

  For close to thirty seconds silence greeted her agent’s order. Vanessa sighed before she said, ‘Okay, I’ll go to the party, but,’ she breathed in deeply, ‘I’m not going home tomorrow.’ Though her eyes were fixed on her reflection in the mirror she glanced briefly at Kerri to gauge her reaction to what she’d said.

  ‘What?’ In an instant Kerri’s hands rose to her abundant hips. Short and loving everything she cooked and ate, the forty-five-year-old woman was no longer slim but blessed with generous proportions. ‘What did you say, Vanny? of course you are. We’re both going home tomorrow.’

  Vanessa shook her head. ‘I rang the airline this morning and changed my booking.’

  ‘Explain?’ With difficulty Kerri masked her dismay. What was going on inside Vanny’s head? Some kind of delayed reaction to her fiancé, David Benedict’s death? She’d thought her protégée and friend had worked her way through the worst of her grief, that she was ready to return home but … Her confusion expanded, had she?

  ‘Don’t be cross, Kerri, I need some time out for myself.’ Vanessa began to uncoil the French roll and brush her long hair till it fell around to frame her heart-shaped face. ‘I’ve enjoyed my time in Sydney, but while I’m here I want to use the opportunity to see more of Australia. I have three weeks off before rehearsals start on The Glass Menagerie. I want to spend my leisure time here.’

  ‘You can’t be serious. By yourself?’ Kerri fixed her with a dark, speculative stare. ‘I see. You want time out. Fine.’ Her tone was clipped and irritated. ‘Come home and spend a few weeks at Bourton on the Water, you love that little cottage of yours in the Cotswolds.’

  ‘Not any more.’ Vanessa’s full lips thinned. ‘David and I, we spent a lot of time there. I don’t want to go,’ a slight quaver in her voice was discernible, ‘where I’ll be reminded of him, of us. I’m even thinking of selling the Belgrave Square flat and buying elsewhere.’

  Kerri let the statement about selling the London flat go by without comment. ‘Go somewhere else. Cannes, the Costa del Sol.’

  ‘No, I’m going to Kakadu.’

  ‘Kakadu.’ Kerri gave her a funny look. ‘Where and what the bloody hell is Kakadu?’

  Vanessa’s tentative grin displayed perfe
ct teeth. With a tinge of amusement she informed her agent. ‘It’s up north, south-east of Darwin. Kerri, Australia is a big beautiful country, so everyone tells me. There are Aboriginal cave paintings up there, crocodiles and all kinds of bird life and other sights to see. It’s very unique and different to the UK or the Continent. I want to see just a little of it before my next engagement.’ She added a touch imperiously, ‘What’s wrong with that?’

  ‘Nothing, I suppose,’ Kerri conceded, almost choking as she said the words. ‘Why didn’t you tell me before this?’

  ‘Because I knew how you’d react, that you’d try to talk me out of it.’

  Kerri clicked her tongue at the thought of being so predictable, even though she knew she was. ‘So, what you’re telling me is that you intend to be a run-of-the-mill tourist?’

  ‘Yes,’ Vanessa smiled at her agent winningly, ‘it’s a role I’m going to enjoy playing.’

  Kerri’s grunt was a comment in itself. In silence she took note of the lighthearted answer and as she looked more closely at Vanessa, noted the determined set of her jaw, the duelling sparkle in her eyes, a gleam she hadn’t seen there for months. ‘And …’ her head of dark hair shook from side to side, ‘I can’t talk you out of it, can I?’

  Kerri was well aware that her question held a tinge of fatalism. They knew each other too well. Vanessa’s grandmother, Rhoda Forsythe, a part-time actress who had supplemented her irregular stage performances by working as a supermarket food demonstrator, had introduced her to Vanny as a skinny seventeen year old, straight out of school and desperately wanting to act. Since that day, they’d had a personal and professional relationship for more than eleven years. And over that time she had learnt when she could talk Vanessa around and when she couldn’t. This, she believed glumly, was one of the couldn’ts.

  ‘Not this time, Kerri, but don’t think I’m not grateful for all you’ve done,’ Vanessa added quickly. ‘You saved my life and my sanity by bringing me to Sydney and helping me get over David. I’m truly appreciative, but seeing part of the outback is something I really want to do.’

  Kerri’s ample shoulders shrugged good-naturedly in defeat, ‘I’m not happy about it, but … okay.’

  Vanessa Forsythe yawned, stretched then unzipped the ankle length, shoestring strap cinnamon-coloured satin gown. As she stepped out of it she glanced at the bedside clock: 3.14 a.m. She yawned again, inelegantly, as her gaze skimmed over the serviced apartment with its minimalist kitchen and sitting area that had been home for two months. She sighed slowly and rubbed her eyes as she took in its state of bedlam. How had she managed to accumulate enough odds and ends, clothes, souvenirs and other trinkets to fill an extra suitcase? Packing was going to take forever!

  Then she smiled as she reminisced over several shopping forays she and Kerri had indulged in. Her agent was of the firm belief that shopping till one dropped cured ninety-nine per cent of a woman’s ills and, maybe she was right! They had done that — shopped to the point of exhaustion — on a day trip to Melbourne. Then, when Kerri had come out again, on a two-day break on the Gold Coast. She slipped on a baggy, over-long T-shirt, her usual night attire. What would she have done without Kerri? Fallen apart. Become quagmired in a trough of emotional depression.

  She set the bedside clock alarm for 8.30 a.m. Too much to do tomorrow to indulge in a sleepin. Stretching under the sheet she tried to drop off … One eye opened to check the clock: 3.28 a.m. Damn. Sleep should have come easily, she was very tired, but with the final curtain call, the party afterwards, and being excited about her Top End holiday, she was too wired up to sleep. She had weaned herself off the sleeping tablets prescribed before she’d left London and didn’t want to start using them again for fear of becoming dependent on them now that the worst of her emotional trauma was behind her.

  She thought that sentence three times before it merged with her subconscious. Thirteen weeks ago she had thought the pain and the sense of loss would never end. Unconsciously she sucked her lower lip between her teeth as, unbidden, memories of David flooded her brain. Memories of the trauma that had changed her life and expectations, that had haunted her waking and sleeping hours for weeks …

  The night of 12 July 1988 was — for summer — one of the wettest on record. Vanessa remembered hearing that on the radio before she booked the taxi to take her to the party destination in Soho. She took a black, full length leather coat from the wardrobe and slipped it on as she contemplated why she was leaving her Belgrave Square flat on such a beastly night. She was doing it for Melody Sharp, a childhood friend. They had grown up in the same block of council flats in Brixton, played together, got into the occasional scrape together, attended the same high school too — and while they didn’t see much of each other these days, each having different careers — the bond of friendship remained. Melody, now a successful nightclub proprietor in Soho Square, was throwing a lavish party to celebrate her thirtieth birthday in grand style. Only Melody and perhaps two other people, Kerri and David, could make her leave home and hearth on such a miserable night.

  Sandy, her Jack Russell terrier, watched her get ready to leave, and gave a plaintive yelp. He didn’t like being left alone on stormy nights. She picked him up, cuddled his small body to her and whispered comfortingly, ‘Won’t be for long, Sandy. I promise.’ He licked her hand as she put him on the bed, then she picked up her evening bag and headed for the door.

  As the taxi battled the weather and the traffic, Vanessa’s thoughts turned to David. Her fiancé had been away for three weeks and she had missed him like crazy. Dear, dynamic David. At thirty-nine, he had clawed a niche for himself in the competitive world of international finance. With almost movie star looks, an engaging personality and an excellent education (Eton, Oxford and a Harvard business degree), David had been seen in certain circles as the well-to-do, perennial London bachelor. Until he and Vanessa had met and fallen in love. Many people, including members of the media, had been surprised when their engagement had been announced — they’d thought him marriage proof, but not anymore.

  Vanessa smiled and twisted the engagement ring on her finger as the taxi crawled through the sodden streets. David was happy, she was exceedingly happy and they were going to be a superb married couple: everyone said so. Their marriage was going to be as vibrant and contented as that of her parents, Rosa and Edward Forsythe. Unfortunately, there was a lingering sadness about that … Orphaned at twelve, she’d been brought up by her grandmother, Rhoda, but now, not even Gran, who’d passed on last year, would be present to share the joy of her wedding day.

  The taxi lurched to a stop outside The Spot. It was an incongruous name for Melody’s nightclub and she’d teased her friend about it, claiming that the name was better suited to a dry-cleaning shop than a quality nightclub. Vanessa paid the driver and waited until the doorman and club’s bouncer, Geoffrey, came forward with a large umbrella and escorted her into the lobby.

  The nightclub, with its redecorated 1930s art deco interior, was jumping, and the eight-piece band was doing its best to make the guests deaf. A smoke haze hung over the room, half a metre or so below the ceiling, and a crush of people were eating, dancing and drinking the free booze.

  As well, she couldn’t help but notice several guests indulging in a variety of other illegal and questionable pleasures. Everyone turned a blind eye to the drug taking, but if one couldn’t, one left.

  Vanessa could have enjoyed the night by being inconspicuous and playing spot the celebrity, there were plenty in the crowd, but Melody soon spied her, screeched her name and drew her into the party’s crush.

  By midnight Vanessa had had enough. This was not the type of party she enjoyed. It was too noisy and brassy, too crowded, too everything. Without saying goodbye, she slipped outside. Breathing in the air, damp but smoke free, she waited for Geoffrey to flag down a taxi to take her home.

  She wanted to be home when David came in. She was expecting him to arrive any minute from Dorset where he’d been vi
siting his friends. Two overseas business trips then a combined business/pleasure trip to Dorset meant that she hadn’t seen him for three weeks. Vanessa wanted to show him how much he’d been missed, in the most acceptable manner she could think of. Her chuckle, too soft for Geoffrey to notice, held a note of sexiness as she contemplated how to achieve that. Perhaps a trail of rose petals from the front door to the bed, a bottle of champagne, Dom Perignon of course, in the ice bucket and two glasses on the bedside table. She’d be wearing the black lace, fur-trimmed teddy that David had bought for her twenty-eighth birthday last month. That was guaranteed to impress.

  She heard her dog, Sandy, whimpering with fright because of the weather as she opened the bedroom door, and, shivering, he bounded up into her arms from his hiding place under the bed. Sitting on the bed, she hugged him so tight that he yelped. She loosened her grip and began to stroke the back of his head, then his back until he settled.

  Lulled into a mild reverie of anticipating David’s arrival, the phone on the side table rang, startling her. As she picked up the receiver she noted the time: 12.40 a.m. God, who would be calling her at this time of the morning?

  ‘David?’ she said expectantly.

  ‘It’s Lloyd. I’ve been trying to reach you for hours.’

  David’s older brother had a fondness for whisky and when he had too many he, occasionally, wanted to talk to his brother about old times, but … Tonight Lloyd didn’t sound as if he had been drinking.

  ‘What’s up, Lloyd?’

  There was a brief silence. ‘Ummm, Vanessa. It’s … about David. Th-there’s been an … accident.’