Age of Consent Read online

  The answer, she thought, was very likely smiling at her out of the picture, revealing perfect teeth in an expression that seemed to be directed specifically at Helen herself. A sort of gloating look, she decided, and chuckled at her immediate instinct to stick out her tongue in response.

  ‘Definitely catty,’ she muttered, glancing hastily over her shoulder to see if anybody had noticed. Then she got busy and wrote the required catch-lines, as if by doing the job quickly she could dispense with her thoughts as easily as she did the picture.

  And as she drove homeward after work, driving Dane’s car to Dane’s house, she sturdily resolved not to mention the picture unless he brought up the subject himself.

  Which, surprisingly, he didn’t. Not even when he read the paper over breakfast, with Helen sitting squarely across the table from him, knowing he must see the picture, knowing he couldn’t possibly miss it.

  Helen had felt her anticipation building from the moment he’d picked up the newspaper, and she felt almost giddy with surprise as she watched his eyes skim through the news columns, saw his fingers turn page after page until he’d reached, and finally passed, the one with the picture prominently displayed.

  She kept watching him, almost willing him to say something, but when he’d finished reading, his only comment was to ask if she’d like more coffee.

  ‘You finish up tonight, I gather,’ he said after returning to the table. ‘Anything else on offer, or is this the end of it for now?’

  ‘It’s the end unless one of those applications comes good,’ Helen replied. ‘Why? Do you have something specific you want me to do?’

  ‘Not really. I was just sort of thinking that we might go to dinner tomorrow night and celebrate, provided of course I get this damned book done by then.’

  ‘That would be something to celebrate,’ Helen cried. ‘But I didn’t realise you were that close to finishing.’

  ‘Nothing but sheer talent,’ he grinned, ‘although I must admit to being slightly surprised myself. These last few weeks have been excellent from a concentration point of view, and the thing really took off.’

  ‘Is that a subtle hint that I should go find another job quickly so you can get started on your next epic?’ The words were out before she thought of their impact, but Dane didn’t seem to notice the waspish tone.

  ‘More the opposite, if anything,’ he replied. ‘I wasn’t just thinking of the fortnight you’ve been working, but of the whole time you’ve been here.’

  ‘That sounds almost like a compliment,’ she smiled.

  ‘That is a compliment. But don’t rush around getting a swelled head about it. What I really want you to do is make a decision about where you’re taking me for dinner.’

  Helen paused. ‘Where I’m taking you for dinner? Haven’t you got it backwards? A minute ago I got the distinct impression that you were inviting me.’

  ‘Semantics. Always semantics,’ he replied with a Cheshire-cat grin, ‘A minute ago I said that we should go to dinner to celebrate the end of your job and the end of my book. Now what I’m about to discuss is where we’re going. The question of who pays is already settled because you’re the one who’ll get paid tonight; I don’t get paid until my book’s published.’

  ‘And with my luck, you’d decide you want to dine at the casino, which will devour my entire pay cheque,’ Helen muttered half to herself. Not that she begrudged the expenditure, but she had been hoping to save as much of her pay as possible to expedite her departure. Only she couldn’t tell him that.

  ‘What an excellent suggestion.’ She might have known he’d say that; he’d been half-promising for weeks to make the revolving restaurant atop the Wrest Point casino the venue for their next dining adventure.

  ‘Someday I’ll learn to keep my mouth shut,’ Helen snorted, forgetting entirely that the original intent of his comments had been for her to choose. Then she remembered, but didn’t even bother to mention that little fact. It was too late.

  ‘Well you don’t want to start tomorrow night,’ Dane replied with a victorious grin. ‘The tucker at the casino is usually first-rate and even a cynic like me has to admit that the view is worth the price of the dinner anyway.’

  He went on to rhapsodise about such dishes as he remembered, predictably stressing the various game dishes, including venison medallions and hare in port, but Helen did her best to tune out the images which appeared in her own mind with dollar signs attached.

  ‘We’ll go early, I think, and maybe we can manage to win enough at two-up, or roulette to pay for dinner,’ he continued.

  ‘With my luck? Oh, no. I’m not about to risk my hard-earned cash that way.’ Helen was adamant; gambling was something for which she had little interest, bar the occasional lottery ticket, ‘But certainly we can go early if you like,’ she continued. ‘I’ve got no objection at all to standing around being decorative while your throw your money away.’

  ‘And reminding me when I win that I’ll be expected to pay for dinner myself? I’ll just bet you would too,’ was the reply.

  ‘Well I don’t know why not. After all, if my presence brings you the luck, surely I’m entitled to some reward.’ She was smiling now, comfortable in the renewal of their old bantering relationship, able to shrug off the trauma of the other, less pleasant times,

  Dane chuckled, ‘If it wasn’t for the fact that all the black-jack dealers there are women, I’d be inclined to take you up on that,’ he said. ‘With men dealing, I’d rig you out in that fancy old-fashioned gown and totally destroy their concentration.’

  Helen grinned in reply. ‘Goodness, two compliments in the same day and we’ve barely finished breakfast. I think I’ll have to watch out; you’re never this complimentary unless you’re up to something funny.’

  ‘Nothing funny about it. I was merely providing a subtle suggestion in hopes you’d remember it when it comes time to choose what you’ll wear tomorrow night. I quite like that dress; it’s the most flattering thing I think you’ve ever worn.’

  And his tone was serious. Not heavily so, but enough that Helen was momentarily stuck for a reply. Dane wasn’t given to idle compliments, and she found herself revelling in his praise.

  ‘Certainly I’ll wear it if that’s what you’d like,’ she finally said, surprised to find herself also slightly embarrassed by his compliment. ‘I ... I rather fancied the way it came out, myself

  ‘And so you should.’ He threw that comment over his shoulder as he left the room, obviously heading for his office and the final work on his book.

  Helen, preparing for their dinner date the next afternoon, found Dane’s compliments echoing in her mind as she primped, and was glad she hadn’t followed through with a vague notion the week before to have her hair re-styled. Short, it would have been more convenient, but impossible to pile high to create the right effect to match her gown.

  She’d spent a bit of her fortnight’s pay packet on some new make-up, which she applied judiciously, ever-mindful of the adage that the proper way to wear makeup was so that it created a totally natural effect. With this gown, especially, the natural look was vital, she thought, adding in her mind the knowledge that Dane did not like excessive make-up, then pondering the logic of his attraction to Marina Cole, who in Helen’s opinion, wasted a gorgeous complexion by covering it with too much make-up.

  Then she shook her head vigorously, nearly dislodging the half-completed hair-do. No, she would not think about Marina Cole. Not tonight, and hopefully never again. Although perhaps that was expecting too much, Helen decided. But not tonight, at least.

  Tonight, she would think only pleasant thoughts about pleasant things. Like a gourmet dinner, even if she was paying for it ... like the pleasure of Dane’s company with herself looking her best. Perhaps she would even have a bit of a flutter at the gaming tables, see if her luck was — finally — changing. Just a bit of a flutter, and that, she thought, after dinner. Maybe she’d win, although on past performance it didn’t seem likely.
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  Still, tonight she felt lucky, somehow. And it was a feeling enhanced when she finally emerged to an approving look from her escort, a smile, and the comment that she looked ‘just perfect’,

  Dane, resplendent himself in evening wear, seemed especially solicitous as he handed her into the car, then out again in the casino parking lot.

  Looking up at the massive, cylindrical structure, lights ablaze, Helen could almost feel the excitement being generated by the crowds already gathered in the gaming rooms. Her arm linked through Dane’s, she stood for a moment as if gathering her breath, drinking in the aura of expectancy before they walked together through the glittering, circular entryway.

  Inside the lobby with its ultra-modern decor and vivid colours, the air of excitement and expectancy became distinctly tangible. People were everywhere, all of them seemingly moving in a purposeful manner, usually towards the gaming tables in rooms to the right of the entrance,

  ‘Well, do we have a flutter now, or wait until after dinner?’ Dane asked, ‘We’re a bit early for our dinner booking, but if you’d rather not gamble we can just be sight-seers, like most of the others here.’

  Helen hesitated, then decided on a visit to the gaming rooms. She’d set aside ten dollars, determined not to risk a single cent more regardless of temptation. After exchanging the money for chips, as did Dane with an incredibly large amount, Helen allowed herself to be guided on a tour of the gaming rooms, where crowds jammed in around the attractions of Black Jack, Roulette, Punto Blanco and Craps. Further along, the largest crowd of all was urging along the uniquely Australian ‘two-up’ game, in which two coins were flipped into the air from a specially-prepared board held by the ‘spinner’.

  ‘I’ve never tried roulette,’ she admitted, and after some consultation left Dane to slide into a chair that became vacant at one of the blackjack tables while she wandered over to the roulette wheel.

  Twenty minutes later — twenty incredibly fast-moving minutes in which astonishment combined with confusion and excitement to leave her almost reeling — Helen was ninety dollars richer and nearly faint from disbelief.

  And a few moments later she was standing in the crowd behind Dane’s blackjack table, her small evening bag jammed with chips and her heart still racing madly. When he finally left the table and moved up to join her, she was flushed and bright-eyed, still not sure she dared believe it had all really happened.

  ‘It’s like a dream,’ she said, showing him the winnings. ‘It just seemed like every bet I made simply had to win.’

  ‘Except for the last one?’ And his smile was tinged with a vague expression of wry amusement.

  ‘Oh no. Every one. I never lost once.’

  ‘And yet you quit playing? You’ll never make a gambler, dear Helen. It’s one thing to quit while you’re ahead, but to walk out in the middle of a winning streak ...

  ‘I don’t think it’s at all unreasonable.’ She was feeling mildly defensive and his amused attitude didn’t help.

  ‘It isn’t. Just interesting,’ he smiled. ‘Although, it does make me wonder if you’re not growing up to be a shade too cautious, I’d have expected that once you started winning you’d have tried to keep at least a small portion of your winnings going, just to try and keep the winning streak alive.’

  ‘Of course that’s what you’d have done?’ Helen wasn’t angry, just mildly bewildered by his attitude. What possible difference could it make anyway?

  ‘But of course. Winning streaks happen so rarely in one’s life that keeping them going is almost a duty.’

  ‘Yes. Well I’m afraid I was so excited and then so ... well, frightened. Money shouldn’t come that easily. So I got scared and quit before I got in deeper than I wanted to.’ Helen paused, suddenly aware for an instant of the throngs around them. ‘I suppose you’d call that silly?’

  Dane’s gaze was serious; he wasn’t laughing at her and he wasn’t going to provide a frivolous answer, she realised. ‘No, I’d call it sensible,’ he said. ‘Most girls I know would have plunged in willy-nilly and probably ended up losing the lot. But then, you’re not most girls, are you dear Helen?’

  There was no safe reply to that, so she didn’t bother to try, and a moment later it was Dane who continued.

  ‘At any rate, it appears you’ve won enough to pay for dinner without a qualm, so let’s trot along and see what goodies they have upstairs, shall we?’

  And moments later they were rising seventeen floors up in the lift, to emerge in a small lobby where a tank of live, enormous crayfish moved turgidly about while waiting to become someone’s dinner.

  The restaurant itself was an almost breathtaking creation of plush and chrome, and even it was overshadowed by the magnificence of the view it afforded. As they were escorted to their table, Helen found herself allowing Dane to guide her with one hand on her arm; her own eyes were drawn to the windows through which the lights of the city and the surrounding region seemed to come alive.

  Dane explained after they were seated that the dining portion of the restaurant was a vast wheel, revolving once every ninety minutes around the stationary centre which contained the kitchens, the lift and the restrooms.

  ‘All very fancy gadgetry, but it certainly provides the desired effect,’ he chuckled. ‘And what’s more important, the food usually lives up to the expectations created by such a stunning setting.’

  The casino was located in Sandy Bay, south of the city proper, and the view as the restaurant revolved ranged from the blackness of the sea to the southeast along the Derwent estuary around to take in the hills and valleys of the night-lit city, then the river and the fairy span of the Tasman Bridge, with the newer Bowen Bridge further upstream.

  However beautiful, it was all confusing to Helen’s eyes, but Dane patiently explained the various sights as their meal arrived course by course and the view revolved beneath them in a panorama of inky blackness and twinkling lights.

  By the time their table had made one complete revolution, the combination of excellent food, the stunning view and copious helpings of the dinner wine had brought Helen to a state of flushed, expectant excitement. Her evening was going so perfectly, she thought, that it was becoming something of a dream, a vision to be remembered forever.

  And then Marina Cole stepped into the dream, shattering it into a million crystal shards.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  ‘Darling!’ Marina’s smouldering eyes touched both of them, but Helen knew the greeting was for Dane alone. And as the brunette strode forward, arms outstretched towards the man who rose to meet her, Helen wished she could somehow drop through a hole in the floor, anything, just so that she could disappear.

  ‘But what a marvellous surprise,’ Marina crooned as she slid into the empty chair beside Dane, who seated himself only after Marina herself. ‘What ever are you doing here? I thought you were still hibernating with your latest novel or something.’

  ‘I was. But now we’re celebrating the end of it, among other things,’ Dane replied with a smile, and Helen felt herself cringe at the warmth of it.

  Damn the woman, Helen thought. Damn, and double-damn. How could she stroll in here so blithely, so confidently, and so thoroughly destroy an entire evening just like that? It was just so ... so frustrating. And the more so because she could do nothing about it; only sit silently and listen to the silken voice that addressed Dane like some lewd caress.

  ‘You’ve finished it? Oh, how marvellous for you,’ said Marina in gushing tones that seemed to Helen to be almost glutinous. ‘But what’s this other thing you’re celebrating? Oh, it’s just so exciting. I shall have to order us all champagne, I think.’

  For which read, Dane will have to order it. And I’ll have to pay for it, probably, Helen mused. And cursed Marina again, a silent but scathing, barbarous curse.

  Then Dane replied to the string of questions, and Helen once again wished fervently that she could vanish in a puff of smoke. It was just too, too embarrassing.

 
‘Oh, Helen’s finished up her casual stint at the Mercury, so she’s back to being a jillaroo again,’ he said, making the comment — so casual in its wording — sound in Helen’s ears like some form of condemnation.

  It must have sounded so to Marina, too. ‘And you celebrate that?’ she asked, for the first time deigning to notice Helen’s existence and making sure that Helen felt the scorn in her glance while ensuring that Dane didn’t see it.

  ‘Of course. A wake is something of a time-honoured journalistic tradition,’ Helen replied, pleased to see how immediately Marina understood the intent of the remark. Helen and Dane were the journalists, united in tradition if nothing else, and Marina, clearly not included in that element of things, didn’t like it.

  ‘Well of course I’m all for tradition,’ the brunette replied with a smile to Dane and a look at Helen that was anything but friendly. ‘It’s just that it seems ... well ... somewhat counterproductive to celebrate ... failure?’

  ‘That’s because you’re not a journalist,’ Dane remarked, and Helen could have kissed him for it. ‘The end of a job, especially a casual one, isn’t to be considered failure. Just the end of another career step; and by inference, of course, the beginning of yet another.’

  ‘Well I should hardly call losing one’s job and becoming a jillaroo much of a career,’ Marina commented. But of course if you say so ...’

  ‘Oh for goodness’ sake,’ Helen burst in, unable to restrain her growing temper much longer. ‘It isn’t a career at all; it’s nothing more than a purely temporary situation. Very temporary.’

  ‘Ah, but at least it’s something you enjoy,’ Dane interjected. ‘Most people can’t say that even if they have got careers.’