Making Headlines (25 page)

‘Ha! And what is my type? I know, I know. But look, maybe it's time to go out with someone completely the opposite. I'm sick of dating people who work in hospitality. And he is sweet. Very kind and very clever — both qualities I rate highly.'

Rachel clapped her hands in delight. ‘But how did you meet?'

‘When he dropped your contract around last week. You were at Mitch's. He came in for a drink and . . . one thing led to another, then . . .' She popped another grape in her mouth, closing her eyes to munch in ecstasy.

‘Oh . . . My . . . God. You slept with him? Why didn't you tell me?'

‘No, I didn't sleep with him, silly, he's too much of a gentleman for that. We kissed, that's all. But it
was
yummy.' She put the grapes back in the fridge. ‘And now I'm going to finish getting ready because he's picking me up at six thirty.'

‘Well I'm going out with Mitch to celebrate my job, so maybe we could all meet up later for a drink?'

‘Maybe we will, honey. Maybe we will.' Whistling again, Kate sashayed into her bedroom.

***

The doorbell rang at exactly seven o'clock. Rachel was a little surprised. Mitch was generally ten minutes late, and after her behaviour the night before she'd expected him to be less enthusiastic. At least she was ready.

She wore a new dress she'd bought when shopping with Lou — a tight-fitting mini with a low-cut back, covered in geometric shapes of apricot, grey and black. Evie had given her a lesson in blow-drying, using Velcro rollers, so her hair hung in soft waves around her face.

Mitch let out a low whistle when she opened the door. ‘Not a bad renovation,' he said, eyeing her from head to toe. He was dressed in a pale green open-neck shirt and grey pants with a silvery sheen. She hadn't seen them before and wondered if he'd
bought them especially.

She put her arms around his neck, drawing in the smell of him. Then she planted a huge kiss on the tip of his nose. ‘You were looking too hot. But now you have a clown's nose of lipstick to keep the competition away.'

He laughed, shoved her away gently and wiped his nose. ‘Not so clever. If you hadn't told me, I wouldn't have guessed. Come on, taxi's waiting.'

‘Are you going to tell me where we're going?' she said, hopping in the cab.

‘A very special restaurant at Crown for a very special celebration. I thought we'd try Silks.'

‘Oh, I've never been before. That's wonderful.' She held his hand, leaning into him in the back seat, feeling his taut surfer's body beneath his shirt.

When they arrived, her heels clicked along the marble tiles as they made their way through the grand restaurant entrance. It was a vast space with an oak-panelled ceiling and amber lighting creating a glow over the tables. Windows led her gaze to a stunning view over Southbank, city lights casting a coppery sparkle over the usually dull Yarra River.

They followed the
maître de
to the back of the restaurant. Rachel was puzzled when they stopped beside a large oak door.

‘Is he showing us the bathrooms?' she whispered to Mitch.

The
maître
de overheard. ‘No, madam, I am showing you to your table,' he said stiffly. Then he knocked loudly on the door three times before swinging it open and standing aside.

‘Congratulations!' A huge roar made her step back. Mitch drew her inside. It was a private dining room filled with her best friends. Evie was there with Russell, Julia with Derek, and Gerard with a young man she thought she recognised from the infamous spa party. Lou and Neil, too. And she laughed when she saw Kate standing next to Adam.

She looked up at Mitch. ‘You did this?' She took his hand.

‘Nah, just some clown who loves you.' He smiled and leaned forward to kiss her on the nose.

The bride stepped gingerly down the mossy stairs to a rose-covered bower, arched in front of the Ripponlea mansion. Built in the late nineteenth century, Rachel had thought the grand red-bricked building was Victorian, but Julia had corrected her. It was ‘Lombardic Romanseque'— whatever that meant. All she knew was that it was damn big and that a wealthy family had left it to the National Trust, who now hired it out to other wealthy families for weddings.

Standing alongside Julia's two sisters, Rachel held her breath as Julia made her entrance to the sounds of the traditional wedding march from a string quartet. She'd tried to convince her that the bridesmaids should help her down the steps, but Julia insisted she could do it on her own. That it would ‘look better'. She was right.

From the girl Rachel met two years ago, who didn't care for fashion and preferred doughnuts over watching her waistline, Julia had blossomed into a shapely, elegant bride. She moved slowly towards them, in time to the music, serene, eyes shining. Her chestnut hair was arranged in a high chignon; a long veil lilting gently in the breeze.

It was late afternoon. A hazy sun struggled to peep through growing clouds, unable to ward off the cool autumn air. A tall, skinny celebrant pulled his coat tightly to himself and tapped on a microphone as Julia neared. Derek stood still, his face frozen with wonderment, until Julia came closer and winked. He relaxed, smiling affectionately.

Catching Tim staring at her from behind Derek, Rachel looked away. She smoothed down the pale grey silk of her gown, pleased Julia had agreed to simple full-length sheaths that could be worn again.

The celebrant began, spreading his arms. ‘Welcome everyone to this glorious day celebrating the marriage of Julia and Derek. A perfect setting, too.'

On cue, the wind picked up, and the smattering of clouds multiplied.

‘I knew as soon as I met this lovely couple,' the celebrant continued, ‘that they were destined for a life of happiness. It is rare to come across two people who are so in love and so compatible, that you feel as delighted as I am today to be officiating at their wedding. Theirs really is a match made in heaven. Indeed, it reminds me of a passage from the book
Bridge Across Forever
by Richard Bach, who well describes what makes
for a perfect soul mate.'

He reached for a book within his voluminous cloak and began reading. When Julia rolled her eyes, Rachel knew this wasn't planned. The celebrant was a runaway train of froth and trouble. The clouds above were darkening and the temperature dropping rapidly. She hoped he'd get a move on before a storm interrupted the vows.

After the celebrant had given a lengthy account of how Derek and Julia met, he began referencing another quote, this time from Hemingway. Derek leaned forward and stopped his hand from turning a page. ‘I think Tim had better get on with the reading now,' he said, pointing to the sky

There was a collective sigh of relief as Tim took to the microphone. Shortly after came a hymn and a poem read by one of Julia's old school friends. And finally, the vows. Julia handed Rachel her bouquet. The wind was now so strong Julia had to hold her veil in place to stop it flying away. Rachel turned to find Mitch in the crowd, up the back. She caught his eye as Julia said, ‘I do' and he nodded, giving a cheeky grin. She dipped her head slightly in return.

Then Julia and Derek kissed and the crowd cheered and clapped, as the first droplets of rain began to fall. Just in time, they were now officially husband and wife.

The string quartet struck up a rousing version of Vivaldi's
Spring
as the wedding party ran up to the reception. They positioned themselves in the entry hall to greet the guests. Rachel kissed Julia on the cheek. ‘I'm so, so happy for you.'

Julia clasped her hands. ‘Thank
you
. For everything.' And they looked at each other, eyes welling with emotion.

Derek broke the moment, moving in to squeeze Rachel tightly. ‘I owe you. Big time. Thank you.'

‘Just keep those story tips coming, hon.' She pinched his cheek.

Guests milled through to the reception room. It was decked out in white roses and greenery with candelabra glowing on every table. The antique chandeliers and ornate ceiling gave the ballroom a grandeur that took Rachel back in time. She knew Julia's parents were paying for the wedding but, until now, had had no idea that Julia came from a family with money.

The music stopped and an emcee tried to quiet the buzz of conversation. Time to officially welcome the bride and groom. Louis Armstrong crooned ‘What A Wonderful World' as Julia and Derek made their entrance.

Rachel found a glass of champagne and chatted with several guests as she looked
for Mitch. Passing the bridal table, she scanned the name cards to check the seating. Horrified, she saw hers next to Tim's. She'd been promised that wouldn't happen. Cheekily, she thought to switch the names tags but knew she wouldn't. For Julia's sake.

Doing a lap of the room she continued looking for Mitch, without luck. Julia waved her over. ‘Rachel, I wanted you to meet my great-aunt, Peggy.'

‘Hello, Peggy, lovely to meet you.' Rachel shook her papery hand. ‘I bet you're proud of your niece today. Doesn't she look stunning?'

‘Oh, yes, dear. An absolute picture. Reminds me of myself when I was married here more than fifty years ago. My aunt and uncle owned it back then.'

‘Really? That's incredible,' said Rachel. ‘Does it look the same as it did?'

‘Oh, pretty much,' said Peggy. ‘The National Trust has done a good job. Although me dear husband, George, who has since passed on, always found it a bit stuffy. I loved it. Oh, the times we had playing in the garden as children . . .'

Peggy continued on with her historical account of Ripponlea, while Rachel scanned the room in search of Mitch.

The emcee called for everyone to take their seats. It was too late. Now she didn't even know where he was seated. The groomsmen were already by the bridal table, so she farewelled Peggy and took her seat. Tim was in his place, talking down the table to Derek. Grabbing the bridal menu, Rachel scanned the page to appear busy. A decent feast lay ahead of them. After dieting for days to fit into her dress, she was starving.

Someone reached out to clasp her hand. Peggy again. ‘Dear, I just wanted to say how much I enjoy watching you read the news. So much better than those other girls. I'm a bit deaf, so I need a newsreader to enunciate her words clearly, which you do. It's a real pleasure.' Peggy patted her hand as Rachel thanked her, then tottered off to her table.

Tim snorted. ‘Ha. There you go. Got the job you were desperate for and now you're getting all the fame and adulation you've always wanted. Congratulations, Rachel. You finally made it.' He tilted his wine glass to her and drank the contents in one gulp.

‘Gee thanks, Tim. Such heartfelt wishes. Means as much to me as . . .' She paused, struggling for a witty insult. ‘As this glass of wine.' She mimicked his gesture then tossed it back in one gulp too.

Tim reached for the bottle and filled his glass. ‘Anything you can do, I can do better.' He skolled again.

Rachel grabbed the bottle and was about to copy when she checked herself. She was Julia's bridesmaid and needed to behave. Not to mention her promotion. What was she thinking? She placed her empty glass back on the table. ‘I doubt that,' she said. ‘Want to compare pay packets?'

Tim rolled his eyes. ‘Career isn't everything. Your personal life is an embarrassment — mostly fodder for gossip columnists. And now you're with a sleazy surfer dude you
work
with—'

‘And now, ladies and gentlemen . . .'

She glared at Tim then focused on the emcee, grateful for the diversion.

During a break in the speeches Mitch found her and, knowing Tim was watching, she jumped up and threw her arms around his neck, planting noisy kisses over his face.

‘Whoa there, girl! It hasn't been that long.' He unwound her arms to lean forward and shake Tim's hand. ‘Hi mate. Keep an eye on her drinking, will you?'

Tim stood up to make a move. ‘Not my problem anymore, buddy.' He gave Mitch a blokey slap on the arm and walked off.

Rachel kicked Mitch gently from under her full-length gown. ‘Excuse me? He's the one getting plastered.'

‘In that case, you'll be able to dance. Shall we?' He gestured to the dance floor before taking her arm and leading the way.

A large jazz band had taken over the stage, a burst of music enticing the crowd to fill the floor. Rachel and Mitch swayed together, never needing to check their feet. Then a slow number pressed their bodies together, cheeks grazing lightly.

‘Their honeymoon sounds good,' said Mitch. ‘I'd like to see what the surfing's like in Thailand.' His breath tickled her ear.

‘It does,' said Rachel. ‘But I wouldn't want you surfing all day if we were on a honeymoon.'

‘Hmm. And I guess you have to get married to have a honeymoon. And before getting married, generally speaking, you live together. Do you think we should live together, Rachel Bentley?'

She pulled back, still managing to keep her feet moving, to see if he was serious. His lips curled up slightly in a playful smile but those ocean-blue eyes held hers with no question of doubt.

‘I do, Mitch Allen, I do,' she said.

He kissed her gently on the lips. ‘If we weren't on a dance floor, I'd do that
properly.'

She held him close. For the rest of the song, her feet barely touched the floor.

Rachel leaned over her desk, head in hands, and groaned. She'd just received an email from the publicity department about yet another visit to a local school to talk about working in the media. To the outside world, her working hours appeared slack. Many people didn't understand that it was also part of a newsreader's job to present afternoon updates from midday, a task she shared with Jack. As well, any spare minute was quickly absorbed by duties that weren't in the original job description.

There were publicity shoots, charity events, company functions, community events and speaking engagements. School bookings were the worst. She'd stand in front of a class of hyperactive primary kids who would giggle and yawn throughout her talk. They were too young to understand or care about news.

Her time was also eaten up with a regime to maintain the appearance of a perfectly presentable newsreader — hair colouring and cutting every five weeks, manicures once a week, regular waxing appointments, and gym sessions to keep her figure in shape. It sounded indulgent, but in reality it was repetitive and boring. It also left little space in her diary for Mitch, her girlfriends or her family.

Right now, time was critical in the race to find a new home. They'd started looking the minute Mitch suggested they live together, but there were complications with his housemates. The boys decided it was better to go their separate ways than find a replacement for Mitch, so they wanted to wait till their lease was up before moving out. That was in just one month. Moving out of her place wasn't such a problem. It had taken Rachel a while to pluck up the nerve to tell Kate, but she'd taken the news cheerfully, saying she was expecting it. As it happened, Kate's relationship with Adam was growing stronger every day and she hoped the small matter of a spare bedroom might encourage the possibility of them moving in together too.

There was a knock on her office door and Mandy ambled in with the mail. Rachel waited for her to leave then scanned the letters, heart pounding. Letters from the stalker had stopped three months ago. Until yesterday. His latest missive was just as dark and threatening, said he'd been toying with her for too long but now their time had come. He was going to tie her up then fuck her good and hard, then slash her face with a knife. But he wanted to give her a special present first. He promised it was on its way. Rachel
wondered why he'd stopped writing and then started again. Perhaps he'd been temporarily locked up in a mental institution?

Her shoulders relaxed when she saw there was nothing from him today. She and Mitch were taking yesterday's letter to the police after work, although she wasn't confident it would achieve anything. It never did. There were still no leads from the others she'd shown them.

She picked up an envelope with small, neat handwriting and opened it.

Dear Rachel,

It is with great sadness we write to tell you that our beloved daughter, Josie, passed away last week after a long battle with cancer. She was brave and cheerful till the end, and we are relieved she is no longer suffering.

The stories you did about Josie for the news last year did so much to lift her spirits and encourage her to keep fighting. By establishing a program that was taken on by the education department, many thousands of children and families will benefit. Josie says she couldn't have achieved this success without your support. She wanted us to write to you after she'd gone, to let you know. Her ‘Understanding Cancer' program will continue in schools throughout Victoria. It's wonderful for us to know our beautiful Josie will be forever remembered.

Thank you again for everything.

Yours sincerely,

Heather and Arthur Ross.

Rachel put the letter down, staring in disbelief. She had known Josie's prognosis wasn't great, but had thought that somehow, with her determination and positive outlook, she'd survive. Or at least live for much longer. Now Josie was gone. She would have been twenty-four years old.

It put her own troubles in perspective. In fact, she was more determined than ever to rid her life of negatives and make the most of every minute. She desperately hoped the police would be able to track down the stalker.

She rubbed her temples, looking out her door to Helmut's office. He was standing in his doorway, legs apart, arms folded, glaring at her. Perhaps he was the
stalker after all? She bit the insides of her cheeks and looked away. Reaching for the phone, she pretended to make a call. When she looked up again, he'd gone.

***

Kate and Rachel lay on couches in their living room, passing a bowl of warm buttered popcorn back and forth, watching
True Blood.
The winter chill seeped through the French doors and Rachel pulled a cashmere rug over herself. She felt slightly guilty eating popcorn when she was meant to be dieting, but she had skipped dinner. Not that she'd tell Kate that. She'd fibbed, saying she'd already eaten at the canteen.

During the ad break, Kate stretched and sighed. ‘Ah, now this is how I should be spending more of my evenings, instead of slaving away over a hot stove feeding the masses.'

‘I wish you
would
stay home more often. With those letters starting up again, I don't like being on my own.' Rachel grabbed a glass of water to wash away the salty taste. While she and Mitch spent nights at each other's houses, work schedules and flatmates made the logistics tricky so there were still plenty of evenings apart.

‘Probably a good thing you're moving in with Mitch. I can't believe there's nothing the police can do about it. Do you think they'll come up with anything? They kept that letter, didn't they?'

‘Yeah, said they'd check for fingerprints but didn't think it was likely they'd find any after I'd handled it. If I get another one, they want me to take it to them unopened. More chance of getting something.'

‘You'll have to take gloves to work.'

The show came back on. Rachel was glad for some escapist entertainment. Vampires at war, disintegrating bodies from silver bullets and a blood-feeding frenzy made her stalker letters seem tame. When it ended, Kate got up to switch off the TV.

A crash came from outside. ‘What the fuck was that?' Kate straightened and shot a look to the courtyard, then leapt over to the French doors and stared out. ‘Fuck! Rach, I think I saw someone's face over the fence!'

She raced over. ‘Where? Are you sure? It wasn't just a possum?' Her hands were clammy, her heart racing.

‘I don't know. It's dark. It looked like a head but it bobbed down.'

‘I'm calling the police. I don't care if they think I'm an idiot. I've had enough.'

They lived close to the Prahran police station, so two fresh-faced officers were at their door in minutes. They combed the sides of the house and the courtyard, but found
nothing. They even shone torches into the garden beds for footprints. Again, nothing.

‘It could have been a neighbour's cat,' said one of the officers, scratching his ear. ‘But call us anytime you want us to check something out. You never know around here. Plenty of house theft going on.' He handed Kate his card.

‘Yeah, and we've got to take special care of our celebrities, don't we, Greg?'

The second officer winked at Rachel and she cringed, realising she was standing there in her oldest tracksuit with no makeup.

As soon as the men left, the girls plopped themselves back on the couch.

‘Maybe I imagined it all after you started talking about that stalker of yours,' said Kate.

‘Don't worry. I freaked out too. I was the one who called the cops. Feel like a bit of a dick now.' Rachel sighed. ‘And I've got Helmut on my case. You know what he did yesterday? Got Mandy to call me over to his office then looked up and said, “Oh, sorry. I thought I needed you, but I don't. I just realised
I don't need you at all
.”'

‘Bastard.'

‘Jerk.'

‘Fucker.'

They burst out laughing then decided they needed a wine to calm their nerves.

***

That night Rachel had a bizarre dream. An elderly prophet in flowing robes with a long white beard stood before her at a gateway to what seemed to be heaven. She was crying and pleading. ‘But you don't understand,' she begged, ‘you shouldn't take Josie. She's too young! It's not right! It's not fair!'

‘Not fair?' said the prophet raising his bushy eyebrows. ‘If you don't think that's fair, then how do you feel about the fact that you're going to die in five weeks? July the eighteenth, I believe.'

‘But eighteen is my lucky number.'

‘Luck has nothing to do with it, my dear.' He closed his eyes, humming and rocking to and fro.

Rachel sat up with a start. The dream was so vivid. She looked at her alarm clock. 4:15. To clear her head, she went to her desk and scribbled a note.
Remember the date: July the eighteenth.
It was two days after her birthday. Of course, it was silly to think it would come true. It wasn't something she could share with anyone. They'd think she was mad. It was only a dream, after all.

***

Rachel was finishing her lunch between updates when she saw Helmut standing outside his office, staring at her, his arms crossed. She put down the last mouthful of her sandwich, feeling queasy. He began walking her way. She wondered what she had done to deserve his wrath today.

‘Rachel, we need to talk.' His voice was hard. It was odd that he came to her office now instead of summoning her to his, like he wanted to invade her space at any time he chose. ‘It's about your hair,' he went on. ‘It's looking sloppy on air and I hear you're not allowing enough time in makeup for them to get it right. Appearances on camera are everything. Just one hair out of place is magnified on TV, especially these days with the huge screens. You have to be more careful.'

‘I don't think I've ever rushed the makeup staff.' She couldn't believe what she was hearing. She'd never given them any trouble, and they'd never complain about her. He was lying.

‘There've also been viewer complaints. One woman in particular phones every night. We might have to look at cutting your hair shorter to keep it under control.' He turned and left without a goodbye.

Cut her hair? That was ridiculous. Inwardly fuming, Rachel reached for the phone to call reception. ‘Rosemary, I need a favour.'

‘Of course, darlin'. What can I do for you?'

‘I hear there's a woman who rings each night about my hair. Can you get her name and number for me, please?'

Rosemary laughed. ‘Sure. Don't those viewers take the cake? You might be reading about the tragic floods in Queensland and all they bloody care about is your hair.'

‘I know. Time to take matters into my own hands.'

Immediately after the news, Rosemary called with a number for a woman called Gaby Gray. Rachel picked up the phone and dialled. ‘Gaby, hi. This is Rachel Bentley.'

‘Oh my gosh, really! I just saw on the news? Oh my Gosh!' The woman's squeal forced Rachel to hold the receiver away from her ear.

‘Yes, it is. Look, I understand you have some concerns about my hair, so I thought I'd ask you what you'd like me to do about it.'

‘Oh, really? Wow. Well you see, me and my friends, we're all hairdressers. And we just think you should blow-wave it more in the style of a bob. It would suit your face
better, you know? It just looks messy when it's all feathered round your face.'

‘Why thanks, Gaby. That's a great tip. I'll try that tomorrow night and you let me know what you think. I hope you'll be happy.'

***

The following afternoon, Rachel sat in makeup, workshopping her hair with Lola.

‘But when it comes down to it, I like my hair the way it is. I really don't want to cut it.' Rachel stared morosely at her reflection in the mirror, wet strands hanging limply around her face.

‘That's fine, honey. I've got the perfect solution. I don't think you should cut it either. We'll just blow-wave it curled under more at the ends and I bet they'll all be happy.' Lola smiled knowingly and set to work.

Helmut was leaning against the COS desk when she walked back into the producers' area after the news.

‘Much better,' he said. ‘Good to see you took my advice. You just needed a good haircut, that's all.'

‘Thanks, Helmut. Glad you like it.' Rachel walked off smiling. Sometimes the smallest victories felt like the greatest.

There were no more phone complaints from Gaby.

***

Mitch scooped Josh up from the floor for a hug. Rachel loved him behaving like a big kid when the pair of them got together. They were at Lou's for an early Sunday dinner. Mitch had to leave early to catch up with a mate who was down from Sydney, but he was happy to come along and see her family first.

Margaret had come alone. She said Brian had a dose of the winter flu and didn't want to spread it around. However, she was in fine health and full of excitement about their next trip overseas. They were leaving in two weeks.

‘It's going to be amazing,' she gushed. ‘A wine tour of Italy, can you believe it? I don't know a thing about wine, but you're never too old to learn. And it means seeing some wonderful rural areas, staying at the best hotels and walking through those beautiful vineyards.'

‘Well, you're having some basic tucker tonight, Mum.' Lou walked to the kitchen. ‘Come on, you lot, sit up. You're getting good old-fashioned spag bol. What with work being so busy, I just couldn't get my head around anything complicated.'

Rachel groaned inwardly. She'd had enough of Lou's spag bol to last a lifetime.

‘That's great,' said Mitch. ‘Just what I like. We had enough fancy stuff last night.'

‘Oh, what was last night?' Margaret took a seat at the dining table.