The Road Back (27 page)

When Chris came into the kitchen and saw the paper on the table, he asked, ‘Well, Mum, how was it?'

‘I don't think you're going to like it.'

‘What now?'

‘It's okay as far as it goes, but having read the original, it's a real shame. This version has been cut right back.'

‘Oh, damn.' Chris sat down and read the piece from beginning to end with a sinking heart. His story had been pared back to the bare bones. It was more than frustrating; it was very disappointing after all the hard work that he had put into it.

‘How many words are left untouched, do you think? You won't get paid much,' said Susan.

‘It's more annoying that the detail and background to it has been slashed. Only a page and a quarter with three photos! And what is even more irritating is that they have heavily featured everything that I wrote about Alan Carmichael at the expense of the others. David hardly gets any mention at all. What a wasted opportunity.'

‘I suppose that's because Alan's in the news right now.'

‘But Mum, what he said was so lightweight, and the magazine has made him sound as though he is delivering the Ten Commandments. It's not the emphasis I wanted at all.'

‘You never know, darling. At least you've made contact with the paper and they might commission more from you,' said Susan.

A week later Chris was still smarting over the fact that his story had been so heavily cut. He was staring moodily out the kitchen window, cradling a coffee, when Susan entered carrying the remains of a meal.

‘Aren't you playing golf with Shaun and your other mates this weekend?' Susan asked. ‘That will cheer you up.'

‘No. I don't think so,' Chris said, sighing. ‘I'm not sure that I want to be locked into golf on a regular basis. They don't mind. I'm always welcome if I want a game. But you know what they say about golf, it's a good walk spoiled.'

‘Why don't you pop down to Sydney and catch up with Mac or your other friends?' suggested Susan, clearing away a few dishes.

‘Hmm. I'd like that. But I suppose I really shouldn't spend the money.'

‘Don't be silly, spend that extra money from the article on yourself. Do something to liven yourself up. Megan and I feel we have to tiptoe around your long face these days.'

Chris gave a small laugh. ‘Sorry. I am being boring, but I do feel a bit down in the dumps. Having my article hacked to pieces is bad enough, but the fact that I haven't had one nibble about another story, let alone a job, feels like the last straw.'

‘Well, moping isn't going to help,' said Susan briskly. ‘Go to Sydney. Megan and I have more than enough to fill our Saturdays, so you won't be missed at all.'

Chris laughed. ‘All right! All right. I will. I'll see if Mac is free.'

The next Saturday morning Chris got off the airport train at Hyde Park and walked in the sunshine through to Phillip Street, where he met his two friends, Wendy from archives and his old editor John from Trinity Press. Over coffee and croissants he caught up with their plans, and heard about what other colleagues were doing. They dissected the current political scene, exchanged anecdotes and had a few laughs. Then he caught a bus to nearby Paddington and found the small but excellent Italian restaurant Mac had suggested.

Spotting Mac at a table near a window, he was surprised to see an attractive young woman seated beside his old mentor.

‘Chris! Great that you're here. Hope you don't mind, I asked my daughter Georgia to join us. I'd promised Georgie a birthday lunch and this is the first chance we've had to celebrate.'

‘How do you do. Happy Birthday,' said Chris, sliding in beside Mac in the curved booth and offering Georgia his hand. He felt a trifle disappointed by Georgia's presence, as he'd wanted to have a serious talk with Mac about his article and run a few other ideas past him. However, as she greeted him warmly and shook his hand, he looked at her with more interest. She was in her mid-thirties, he guessed, and was quite striking with her dark hair and unusual green eyes. When he tried to recall what Mac had told him
about his daughter over the years, he realised Mac had made few passing references, as they'd always just talked shop. Georgia hadn't featured in any of their many conversations. Clearly, Chris thought, as he glanced at Georgia again, this had been a terrible oversight.

‘My birthday was over a week ago. Dad has just found a space in his diary,' said Georgia, good-naturedly.

‘That's not true,' protested Mac. ‘You're the one with the packed diary.'

It wasn't until they had finished ordering that Mac enquired about Chris's article.

‘So Chris, you mentioned that they butchered your story. The way it goes, I'm afraid.'

‘I realise that, but it's so frustrating. I feel that there is so much more to tell about these amazing people. I have a feeling I've hardly scratched the surface.'

‘I enjoyed your story. Actually, I always enjoy your writing. I used to read your column from the States all the time,' said Georgia. ‘What really surprised me about this story was the fact that a group of young Australians worked in Indonesia at such a dangerous time. I went to the Ubud Writers Festival in Bali this year. Stunning location. No wonder they get all the top-name international authors to go. Everyone wants a luxurious jaunt there. Very different from how it was in 1968, I imagine.'

‘That festival does sound nice,' said Chris. ‘I'll have to try and go one year. Actually, my mother would love it.'

‘I was working, so I didn't get to see as many of the events as I would have liked. But the hotels and resorts were stunning and the social get-togethers were fun,' Georgia said with a grin.

‘Working there? In what capacity?' asked Chris.

‘I'm a literary agent. I had a couple of authors speaking.'

‘That sounds interesting. How long have you been an agent?' asked Chris.

‘I started when I was living in London a few years ago and then when I came home I found another job with an agency in Melbourne. Then I was headhunted by a literary agency here in Sydney. They didn't have to twist my arm too hard to convince me to come home,' added Georgia. ‘I missed my old man.'

‘As if, Georgie,' snorted Mac. ‘You're too wedded to your job to have much time for your old man.'

‘He's good company,' said Chris with a smile. ‘And he gives good advice.'

‘I agree,' said Georgia with a fond glance at Mac. ‘Now tell me, Chris, I get the idea, from what I read, that there seems to be a lot more to your story. I think it's intriguing that a random group of men flung together on a particular project in Indonesia would all go on to such success. Dad says your mother was there too.'

‘Yes, and another woman, a midwife. I can't find her in time for the article and Mum didn't want to be in it.'

‘But those men are significant names,' said Georgia. ‘So why do you think there's more to tell? What did they cut out that was so important?'

As the waiter poured their wine and they picked at the overflowing platter of cheeses, olives, dips, slices of ham and salami and pickled antipasto, Chris began to tell Georgia what had been cut out of his article and what else he felt should be written about the men.

‘It was so annoying that the magazine chose to ignore someone as interesting as David Moore in order to concentrate on Alan Carmichael, when David is just
as accomplished in his own way. I think . . .'

Chris suddenly paused mid-sentence, sipped his wine and then took a chunk of bread and dipped it into some excellent olive oil. ‘Sorry I'm going on so much. Let me get my dismembered story out of my system and I won't mention it again.' He reached for more bread.

‘Your article certainly has a fascinating cast. While it might be irritating that Alan Carmichael ended up being the star of your show, getting any sort of response from him is a coup. He's notoriously private. So, well done, you. A couple of well-known writers have approached him with a view to writing an authorised biography. No joy there, however,' said Georgia. ‘So what's next?'

‘I'll try to hunt around for another story, but I won't put so much blood, sweat and tears into it,' said Chris.

‘You won't be able to help yourself,' said Mac.

The waiter came over and topped up their wine and Georgia returned to the subject of Chris's article, asking him questions about what else he knew about the background of the Neighbourhood Aid project.

‘So what are you thinking, Georgie? Is there any more to this story?' asked Mac.

‘More than what?' asked Chris. ‘I haven't been approached for any sort of follow-up piece.'

‘I'm not thinking of another article,' explained Georgia. ‘I'm thinking there might be something here for me, for a book. You've thrown out some tantalising morsels. Maybe there's something more to this.' Georgia paused and cocked her head to one side. ‘I think you need to keep digging.'

‘Georgie has good instincts about this kind of thing,' said Mac, smiling at Chris. ‘If she thinks there's more to it, usually there is!'

‘A book? Wow, I never considered that. How do you judge if a book is going to work?' Chris felt the adrenalin begin to kick in, and a feeling of excitement gnawed at him.

‘Pitch your ideas to me in writing,' smiled Georgia. ‘Throw in everything you know, what you want to know, and where you figure the book might end up. The main thing, though, is finding a hook. Something to make a publisher sit up and take notice.'

Chris took a sip of wine. ‘I would love to scratch below the surface a bit more and find out what makes these men tick. But who would want to read it?'

‘Australians like to read about other Australians, especially if they are successful,' said Georgia. ‘We're a curious lot. Bookshelves are full of biographies of footballers and cricketers, not to mention politicians. These four will make a nice variation on the theme. Still, don't get too excited yet. I'll have to pitch it to some publishers and they can be a hard bunch to impress.'

‘What if they bite?' asked Chris, trying to sound calm.

‘You'd get an advance. Nothing too extravagant, especially given the shaky state of publishing at present, though it's coming good. But an advance could help cover your research costs. Give you a bit of breathing space. Once the book is published, you pay back the advance out of the royalty payments. But Chris, an author gets a very small percentage of the book sales, so don't go buying a house in Tuscany just yet.'

‘She's right. Only a handful of authors in Australia do well enough to make a living from their books alone,' said Mac. ‘Most have to take other jobs to keep a roof over their heads.'

‘Even so, writing can be satisfying, I'm told,' said Georgia.

‘If you don't starve first,' said Mac. ‘Speaking of starving, look at this food. Magnifico!'

The conversation became more general as they enjoyed the food. But while he made small talk, Chris's mind was whirring with the idea of writing a book.

They had ordered a fruit platter, but before it came the waiter placed a slice of cake complete with a flaring sparkler in front of Georgia. Mac and Chris sang ‘Happy Birthday' lustily, while the birthday girl blushed with embarrassment.

‘What are you doing this afternoon, Georgie?' Mac asked her as she polished off her cake.

‘Well, not eating, that's for sure. I'm off home. Thanks for lunch, Dad. I'll leave you two to talk newspapers.' She shook Chris's hand. ‘I meant what I said about a book. Keep digging and let me know if you think you've got something. If you have any questions, give me a call.' She handed him her business card, kissed her father on the cheek and left.

‘Another coffee?' said Mac.

‘Why not? What do you think about the idea of a book?' asked Chris.

‘It sounds good to me. No harm in putting together what you can and letting Georgie see if anyone bites. As she said, these are prominent men. They'll have some sort of pulling power.'

‘You must be glad to have her home.'

‘I am. I confess I miss her mother, so it's good to have Georgie around. She's got a dinky little house in Balmain that she paid a ridiculous sum for. Not that I see all that much of her. She likes to deal face to face with the people she's representing, so she tends to zip about the country all the time. Very independent young woman. Career-focused. But Chris, if she takes you on, she'll do a good job. She's a hard taskmaster, but she knows her stuff.'

‘I have to say, Mac, I'm rather taken with the idea of doing a book. Something I can get my teeth into. My foray into freelance journalism got short shrift, so this idea appeals to me.'

‘Well, go to it, lad, and if you need me, feel free to ask. But trust Georgie. She'll rip into you if the book's not measuring up, but she also has the knack of making you see your story from quite a different angle. Anyway, if you like this book idea, give it your best shot.'

*

‘Do you realise you haven't stopped talking about the book since you got home last night and now for . . .' Susan glanced at her watch, ‘half the morning?!'

‘Sorry,' said Chris, grinning as he sipped his coffee. ‘I'm just so enthused about the idea. I doubt I'll turn into a fulltime author, but if I have a book published it could open a lot of doors. I'm so glad I had lunch with Mac. I had a great day seeing old friends. I needed the break. Now I think I feel keen enough to be beaten by the boys at golf next Saturday.'

‘Great. I'll be out for the day too. That's the day David Moore will be here to help with our Landcare creek project.'

‘Really? Well, I could talk to him a bit more too, if he has time. Is he staying over?'

‘I offered him the guest cottage. Our Landcare group is very excited that someone with an international reputation is coming to give us some advice on restoring that poor old creek.'