Saving the Starlight Ch. 02

"Yes but that's all I wish to say for now. Thank you very much for your support, Fletcher. Please keep in touch."

"Right, we're off," smiled "and no fisticuffs you two. Thanks for your initiative Fenton; you have a good head for what makes news."

They left and Mr Smoothie asked, "Fancy a drink?"

"No I don't wish to be seen with you anymore. Fraternising with you would be bad for the cause."

"How can we have sex if we remain remote?"

Liberty didn't panic.

"All I asked were you sexually robust?"

"That was an unusual question to be asked by a virtual stranger."

"True but you hit on me within a minute of meeting, and since then the feeling of, um, well, some sort of feeling seems to hover over us."

Fenton almost leered.

"You've gone sweet on me, haven't you?"

"Not at all but it's really like an activity of convenience. We've both practically strangers returning to our home time - different eras of course - and it's just been quite some time."

"Since what?"

"You know."

"I certainly do. You'll be aware you have beautiful legs and a cute little rounded belly."

"Rounded belly? I can't believe you like that foul thing. I've failed in attempts to flatten it out."

"I'd like to lick it."

"Oh God you're depraved Fenton. When would you like to do it?"

"Now if that's convenient."

They stared at each other, scarcely believing it was almost all on.

"Allow me to phone the office."

Although it wasn't life or death facing the two calls seeking Liberty attention she knew that professionally she ought to put the needs of her clients ahead of her own sexual pleasure.

"I'm needed and I'm sorry, Fenton. Duty calls."

"Right I understand I think," he sighed, waving down a taxi.

They rode back in near silence, his hand in her hand, very low down into her lap. That nearness kept both minds occupied, erotically.

"We'll find a way," she whispered, squeezing his hand but not offering a kiss.

Fenton dropped her off outside her workplace and paid off the cab at the City Administration Building where he spoke to engineer Bruce Jessop. They greeted warmly, a sign of a quick-firing friendship.

"I'm looking for a community-minded structural design engineer."

Bruce heard Fenton out and then made a phone call. He handed Fenton the address and said, "She's waiting for you."

Was 'she' the engineer, an assistant or had Fenton misheard Bruce. It really didn't matter; he'd know soon enough.

Alex Robinson was pushing sixty, very plump with a hard face and thick lips.

"Bruce said you have a proposition to make?"

"Yes Miss Robinson..."

"Alex if you please."

Fenton told her about the proposal.

Alex looked carefully at Fenton's photographs of the cinema property, the condition of load-bearing walls, curved roof beams and roofing, then studied his sketch plan.

"I'm interested," she said. "Incidentally I know your mother. We are in the horticultural society and have been in bus trips together, including right through Victoria and South Australia as well as our own South Island. She and I are buddies, even though she'd a bit older. I feel I know you from her descriptions."

"That's great, but look, there's more you must know about this project."

Fenton told her about the action group seeking preservation of the clapped-out cinema.

"Their legal representative wants me to do my best to find a solution and I promised her I would. I believe she'll get the group to abandon its opposition if your investigations prove it would be impractical to save the shell of the old cinema and rebuild it to near original specifications as a retro theatre suitable for showing movies and the staging of small live theatre productions."

"Is she pretty? Your eyes rather changed when you talked about her."

"Um, yes."

"Who is she?"

"Liberty Wentworth."

"Oh gawd, into her elbows with you already is she? I'm her aunt: Paul Wentworth is my brother."

"Well, I'll try to find someone else if this could embarrass you."

"Of course not, I'll take the commission on the terms you outlined. Get an agreement drawn up. I'll place my son Gavin in charge of the project, as it's the sort of commission if pulled off well can earn a prestige community design award in engineering. I'll keep an eye on what is being done, of course."

"Thank you Alex. You're a honey."

"Get out your corrupt flirt." she beamed. "Men tend not to talk to me like that."

Walking home - walking some days for exercise - Fenton phoned Paul to advise him he'd been talking to his daughter.

"Thanks for informing me Fenton, and that's fine. Try to avoid compromising her, that's all I ask. I'm astonished you think you've got this issue on to the front page; you don't really have clout in this city yet."

Fenton asked Paul for Liberty's personal phone number.

"I'm not to give it out - her instructions."

"We are, um, how can I say this?"

"Good God, you two kindling something between you?"

"It's tough going, Paul, but something is flickering. If I can't phone her I'll have to see her and she asked me to keep my distance in public for purely professional reasons. I don't want the flicker to die Paul."

"Well she's not a client of mine and so I'm not obliged to hold that confidence entirely and if I give you her number I suppose she'd accept I came under pressure."

"Thanks Paul."

Paul invited Fenton to dinner on Saturday at 8:00.

"I'll invite Liberty but for reasons of integrity I'll have to say you'll be there."

"That's fine, Paul. My pick is she'll be at your house early on Saturday. Oh, I've met your sister professionally - I'm attempting to stitch up something that will get us all off the hook. I'll fill you in on Saturday."

Fenton phoned Liberty.

"How the hell did you get this number... oh yes, don't answer. Why can't a daughter trust her father?"

"They do and you do. I needed to report back, you didn't want to be seen too close to me in public; what else was I to do?"

"Use you initiative I guess?"

"Right and it's lovely hearing your voice which has a hint of musicality to it when you speak to me smiling."

"It's soppy for men to say things like that. Say it again please."

"It's lovely hearing your voice."

"Oh gawd. Why are you phoning?"

Fenton told her about Aunt Alex.

"I'd thought of her but decided we couldn't afford her to do a feasibility study for use to empower our cause. Our last chance was you, but truthfully I thought your heart wouldn't be in it - just a gloss-over, a damning report, and all over Rover."

"I wouldn't do that to you. Liberty I'm a disciple of integrity."

There was a long pause and just as Fenton was wondering if they'd been cut off, "What would you like to do to me?"

A lovely ten minutes of heavy breathing and her giggling and his gruff snorts followed.

"Phone me after you've read the newspaper in the morning," he said, reluctantly ending the call.

At that moment Fenton decided to end any frivolity with Nancy and her daughter from next-door. He'd explain he'd met the woman he had high hopes of marrying and they'd understand, being females.

Surprisingly, they did, so thereafter they arrived together and they simply downed a couple of bottles of wine and chatted like ordinary neighbours. Fenton felt quite heroic making a sacrifice like that. In another way he was relieved: it put the prospect of a three-way beyond reach. The thought of having to perform under such exposure had partly terrified him.

The city's daily newspaper thumped against Fenton's front door at 6:20 next morning. He'd been waiting for it and ran and pounced like a panther and ripper off the waterproof wrapper not knowing what to expect.

Actually he'd expected a smallish photograph, towards the left or right bottom corner of the front page. Instead the two of them were photographed like a reluctant bride and bridegroom, with the large white surfaced boarded up cinema in the background looking a little like an altar.

At first he was appalled - it was much too much. After careful study he had to concede it was a tremendous photograph; the photographer Bert had made something out of nothing.

His phone went.

"Good morning you stupid man for giving us all this fabulous publicity; we'll get hundreds of members and thousands of dollars will roll into our campaign funds now."

"Thanks for your kind thoughts Sally. How's real estate?"

"Focus Fenton. You have power my darling. I have something warm, soft and throbbing for you. When do you want it?"

"Could we talk about it again say next year?"

"Oh Fenton," Sally wailed.

Fenton said he must go as there were incoming calls.

"Hi Fenton it's Claude Wrightson. Welcome back home and what a surprise arrival. You were voted as the student most likely to succeed in our high school graduation class. This is something man. Come drink with the boys - all ex-school - on Friday from 4:00."

Clause gave him the address and Fenton felt rather pleased.

"Hi Fenton."

"Hi mum, you're awake early."

"Are you working for the Trust or working for the Opposition?"

"Good question mum. I'm seeking a compromise to enable everyone to win."

"That scarcely sounds achievable."

"I've commissioned a leading structural engineer Alex Robinson to..."

"Alex? Then you are in good hands. Bye dear, my cup of tea is getting cold."

There was a brief pause so Fenton scanned the articles and cringed. Nothing wrong about the save the cinema campaign but what embarrassed him were two stories about him - one a profile of him, another highlighting a huge moment in his life.

The phone went.

"Hello hero."

"Liberty?"

"Indeed it is my hero."

"Cut it out Liberty, that story was supposed to stay dead and buried."

"Modesty is not becoming of you..."

She stopped. Fenton was 90% certain she was about to add 'darling'.

This thing looming over them was hovering like a threatening avalanche. He looked at the aged ceiling paint and tried to image her face as he talked. "Is the story about the campaign movement satisfactory?"

"Very."

"And what I said about you and your organisation?"

"Superb."

"Then I must go lovely Liberty. Calls are coming in."

"Until Saturday night then."

The phone clicked before he could answer.

His heart soared - she would be at dinner on Saturday night. He promised himself to sit opposite and he'd press knees. Awesome!

The house phone went relentlessly and finally Fenton disconnected the phone. He read his bio; it was pretty accurate though changing him from being a high performer at football at high school into a high school football super star. Still people reading it would know he hadn't written it - at least he hoped they thought that way.

He'd rather the hero thing hadn't resurfaced.

At the age of sixteen he'd seen the wall of water, about three metres high, rolling down a long stretch of Wainui River. A cloud-burst up in the hills must washed away a log-jam upriver to release damned-up ponding

He called to people on the porch of a nearby house asking them to call police to issue warnings for people living in low areas downstream. He took off across country on his farm bike on a much shorter route than the twisting river course, thinking he would reach O'Neill's Bridge before the 'fresh' hit; the bridge needed to be cleared of road traffic.

Alas, he was seconds too late, seeing the wall of water hit the bridge, some going under, some going over, and taking part of the bridge structure with it.

A small school bus carrying seven schoolchildren was almost across when the bridge decking collapsed, dragging the vehicle into the water.

Fenton saw figures at the front door of the almost submerged bus, clawing at the jammed door. He jumped into the rapidly receding water, dived under and opened the rear emergency door and hauled the smaller children out through into the already subsiding water and the three older children helped them safely on to the sloping and now muddied grass bank.

The elderly bus driver fought him, unwilling to be pulled down into the water and out to freedom.

The bus suddenly lurched backwards and sank, overturning.

Fenton stayed and struggled with the driver, finally pulling him out but by the time they reached the shore the driver appeared dead, later pronounced drowned by misadventure.

A year later Fenton received a national award for bravery under extreme duress.

Fenton shrugged. One's past has a habit of catching up. Thankfully his only concern was embarrassment at being dubbed a hero. What he'd done had to be done and anyone would have done it.

During the next few days later he received letters from four young adults who he'd saved all those years ago from almost certain drowning. Three of those letters moistened his eyes; the nakedly expressed thanks was rather overpowering.

More to Come