White Sands of Summer

by J. H. Fletcher

  She needed to speak to Jess, too. They’d got along splendidly since Grace left but she suspected Jess would take her decision badly.

  She found her in her room. Jess had stuck pictures of film stars around the walls: James Stewart, Humphrey Bogart, Cary Grant. Even Bette Davis and Joan Crawford got a look-in. Going into Jess’s room was like taking a walk through Hollywood.

  ‘I want to talk to you about something,’ Shannon said.

  ‘You going to join up?’ Jess said.

  Shannon stared. ‘How did you guess?’

  ‘It was obvious. You want to be brave, like Hal.’

  ‘You don’t mind?’

  ‘Of course not.’

  But did, Shannon saw. Her heart went out to her. She took her in her arms. Only then did she realise Jess was crying.

  ‘Oh, baby, I wish I wasn’t going, either. But it’s the war. We’ve all got to do what we can.’

  Jess sniffed. ‘I hate it.’

  ‘So do I. So do we all. But you’ll be right. I’ve asked Mrs Hargreaves to look in from time to time, give you a hand with meals and that. And hopefully I’ll be home again soon.’

  Shannon went out of the cottage and across the yard to the shed. She’d never felt more lonely in her life.

  Jess

  Alone in her room, Jess put down the comic and stared into space. All she’d ever wanted was to be friends with her sister. There were lots of girls Jess got on well with at school, and even some of the boys didn’t seem too bad, but she’d never had anyone to share secrets with, someone really close.

  There wasn’t a day when she didn’t wonder what she’d done to make Mama go away. It must have been something really terrible because she’d never come back. Her going had left a big hole in Jess’s life and now Shannon was going, too. She’d be more alone than ever, and she hated it.

  Not that she would let on. She would never let anyone find out what she was really like because she knew, if you did or – even worse – allowed yourself to love someone, that someone would hurt you. No, she would keep her thoughts and feelings to herself.

  SEPTEMBER 1983

  Shannon

  Shannon and Lucas Horne walked the island flat.

  He looked with distaste at the wreckage of the old resort. ‘Clearing the site would be a non-negotiable requirement before the department could approve your application.’

  Like all officials, Lucas Horne spoke like a textbook. He had also learnt to throw his weight about. What was the point of power if you didn’t use it? But Shannon, like all business people, had learnt to live with the imperiousness of the public service.

  ‘I’ve already obtained quotes to get rid of the wreckage,’ she said.

  ‘I shall need to see them,’ he said.

  There was no reason why he should see them. Provided the site was cleared, why should he care how much it cost? But over the years Shannon had learnt that acquiescing in small matters could smooth the path when it came to big ones. ‘We’ll go through them this evening,’ she said. ‘After tea.’

  In the meantime they covered as much of the island as they could: you couldn’t inspect a seven square mile island in five minutes, or five hours either, especially with the time it took for Lucas to write the screeds of notes he seemed to think necessary as they examined the features Shannon hoped might swing his recommendation in the plan’s favour. Headlands; rocky outcrops; the central ridge where she’d been told ospreys nested.

  ‘A protected bird?’ Lucas said hopefully.

  Scribble, scribble.

  ‘There’ll be eagles, too. And I’ve read there’s a colony of fruit bats: flying foxes, as some people call them.’

  They walked on. Within the hour they had come to the beach where so many years before Shannon had swum ashore in her undies. It was the first time she’d seen the place since that day and she’d wondered whether the cyclone would have left any of the pristine sand where they’d picnicked, but as far as she could see the beach was unchanged.

  She pointed out the cave entrance high in the cliff face and told him about the Aboriginal paintings that decorated its walls.

  ‘I need to see them,’ Lucas Horne said. ‘How do we get up there?’

  ‘There used to be a path. Let’s see if we can find it.’

  It was badly overgrown but they found it eventually, forcing their way through waist-high grass and tangled bushes.

  ‘Watch out for snakes,’ she said.

  The bite of a coastal taipan could kill you in minutes.

  ‘The artists who made the paintings,’ he said. ‘What were they doing so high up? You’d think they would have wanted to stay at sea level.’

  ‘Back then they probably were at sea level. The Hennessys had an expert come up from Brisbane. He thought the paintings were done before the last ice age. The sea levels were different then.’

  ‘I wish I’d brought a camera,’ Lucas said.

  From the first Shannon had guessed the wall paintings might prove a game winner and had come prepared. She produced a small Nikon from her shorts. ‘Be my guest.’

  As they climbed, more steeply now, the undergrowth thinned; more sunlight filtered through the canopy of the trees. Outside the cave entrance they paused to draw breath, sharing the contents of Shannon’s water bottle. She had also brought a torch. ‘Let’s take a look.’

  They squeezed through the narrow entrance into the darkness of the cave.

  The sun was well down by the time they got back to Ariadne. Shannon stood under the tepid shower and thought of the paintings they’d seen. She had found the geometric shapes intensely moving, the mute voices of a past speaking to the present across a void of incalculable years, and knew how important it was they be preserved. The bones and sinews of our land, she thought.

  The previous day, knowing they’d be staying overnight, she’d told Munro’s the ship chandlers to deliver a cold seafood platter on ice to the Shute Harbour wharf.

  ‘Top dollar, OK?’

  Munro’s knew how to charge but Lucas was a man with clout and for him only the best would do. Crayfish, scallops, oysters, prawns, barramundi, green and potato salads. A meal fit for a king, not that there were too many kings around Charles Green island.

  ‘When is Dermot Black’s man expected?’ Lucas Horne asked. His sharp teeth dissected a prawn. ‘What’s his name again?’

  ‘Peter Hatch. He plans to be here first thing in the morning, weather permitting,’ Shannon said.

  ‘I’d assumed I’d be dealing with Mr Black, not one of his staff. The department prefers to deal with principals, not subordinates.’

  ‘Mr Black’s obsession with privacy is well known. And Mr Hatch is the head of their leisure division. A senior executive.’

  ‘Perhaps. Highly irregular, all the same. And without purpose, I may say. Black will have to deal with me eventually.’

  ‘Of course he will.’

  ‘If we decide to proceed in the matter, I might add.’ He punished an oyster. ‘How is Hatch getting here?’

  ‘He’ll fly in, weather permitting. My sister tells me he’s a qualified helicopter pilot and there’s no shortage of helicopters in the Dermot Black operation.’

  ‘How did you get to know Black?’ Lucas said, chewing on a scallop.

  ‘I’ve never met him. Dermot Black is my sister’s friend.’

  They finished their meal. Shannon had never been much of a boozer but joined Lucas in an after-dinner Remy Martin, just to be sociable, as they went through the quotes for removing the rubble from the old resort. That out of the way, she headed off to her stateroom.

  It had been a long day in the open air and her head was swimming when she climbed into bed, yet she did not fall asleep immediately.

  Tomorrow was going to be another big day. The five million she’d agreed to pay the Hennessys was only the initial payment; a lot more would be needed. The problem was that without any prospect of a financial return she couldn’t use the group’s resources, and five milli
on of her own money was about her limit. Without additional capital her plan would never get off the ground.

  In theory she could negotiate a bank loan but banks demanded security and her own assets were already pledged. In any case bank loans didn’t come free and the cost might make the whole idea unviable.

  Black’s involvement might save the day but his interest, unlike hers, would be strictly financial. He’d only put up the bucks if he could be sure of a healthy return. Shannon had no problem with that in principle but it was likely to be a difficult relationship because Black was not only reclusive; he had a name for being one of the hardest-nosed bastards alive, wedded to the acquisition of money and the power that money could buy. Yet Jess talked about him as though he was an old softie. Maybe with Jess he was. Or maybe Jess was kidding herself.

  She and Jess were as thick as thieves nowadays. As children there’d been too many years between them for real friendship to be possible but when they’d grown up they’d got on well. They still did: although she still wanted to know what Jess was doing in Queensland when she was supposed to be in Hong Kong. No doubt that was something else she would find out in the morning.

  Shannon had just finished breakfast when Lucas joined her, wearing a formal suit and tie – enough to boil you in the tropics, Shannon thought – and five minutes later she heard the distant sound of a helicopter engine.

  She went on deck in time to see it fly overhead, Jess waving from the co-pilot’s seat. Shannon stood under the awning Joe Broad had rigged to keep the sun off the deck. Ariadne was a substantial vessel but not big enough to have her own landing pad. The one on the island was in good nick, though, so they’d agreed the helicopter would put down there.

  ‘We’ll meet him aboard Ariadne,’ Shannon had told Peter Hatch’s assistant. ‘No point hanging about in the hot sun.’

  That was true but Shannon was also sending a message. Dermot Black and his millions might carry a lot of clout but, if her plan worked out the way she wanted, it would be Shannon’s island and she and not Dermot Black who would be making the decisions. Shannon was a great believer in getting the ground rules established from the beginning. Let him come to her: another basic rule, one she’d learnt from Hal’s father when she first met him.

  Silence returned; the chopper had landed, the engine switched off. Five minutes later Shannon watched Jess and Peter Hatch coming down the worn stone steps to the harbour wall. As she did so she tried once again to recall the little she knew about Peter’s boss.

  She’d seen the photographs in the papers, read what she could about him. There was no shortage of information about Black’s business exploits – Mr Smash-and-Grab, the media called him – but of his private life she knew only that he was the same age as she, had been adopted and owned a princely art collection. There was a wife – his third – who the gossips said was based permanently in New York where she was a patron of the arts and lived a social life they claimed put Jezebel in the shade. There were no kids, or none he was willing to acknowledge.

  All in all, Shannon thought, more interesting for what it didn’t tell than what it did.

  Peter Hatch and Jess came aboard and Peter – strong jaw and hard mouth – was all business.

  A tough one, Shannon thought. She gave him her professional smile. ‘Welcome aboard Ariadne.’

  He nodded briefly. ‘Glad to be here.’ He turned his attention to Lucas Horne, standing at Shannon’s side. His smile, too, was pleasant but with teeth in there somewhere. ‘And you, I take it, are Mr Horne? A pleasure to meet you, sir.’ He gave Shannon the benefit of his jaw. ‘Anywhere Mr Horne and I can talk privately?’

  ‘Anywhere you like, Mr Hatch,’ Shannon said. ‘My sister and I have things to discuss. We’ll take a stroll, so please treat Ariadne as your own until we get back. How long will you need?’

  ‘You’ve had our proposal in front of you for three weeks,’ Peter said to Lucas Horne. ‘I understand you’ve inspected the site?’

  ‘That is correct.’

  ‘Then I would say an hour should do it. You agree, Mr Horne?’

  ‘An hour should be more than sufficient,’ Lucas said.

  ‘Very well,’ Shannon said. ‘Mr Hatch, a word. If you please.’

  She turned and walked out on to the deck where she waited, smiling politely, for Hatch to join her. Which, after a few seconds’ delay, he did.

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘I take it you plan to brief me after you’ve spoken to Horne,’ Shannon said.

  ‘Of course.’ The look of a man who could not lie.

  ‘We’re in this together or not at all,’ she said.

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘As long as we understand each other.’

  ‘Of course.’

  A face empty of expression: Shannon knew she couldn’t trust this man but it didn’t matter because he wasn’t the decision-maker. He answered to Dermot Black, so – as Jess had warned – Dermot Black was the key and not Peter Hatch.

  ‘Very well. You want an hour. When I get back you can tell me what you’ve arranged with our friend. If you want coffee, help yourself. The makings are in the galley.’

  Service with a smile was definitely not part of the deal.

  The two sisters went ashore and climbed to the site of the wrecked resort. There Shannon put her arms around Jess and kissed her, hugging her close. ‘It’s lovely to see you. But what on earth is going on? Why are you here?’

  ‘I may be going to work for him,’ Jess said.

  Shannon was horrified. ‘Work for Dermot Black? Without even talking to me about it? What about the restaurant?’

  ‘We’re talking about it now. He wants to retain me as a consultant.’

  ‘Consulting about what?’

  ‘For this new project, if it goes ahead. Don’t worry: I still intend to make the Lotus Flower the best restaurant in Asia. But he asked me to come over with Peter and have a look at the site, let him know my thinking when I get back.’

  ‘But consulting for Dermot Black… Why didn’t you phone me?’

  ‘I knew you wouldn’t mind. It’s only for a couple of days, anyway.’

  Shannon couldn’t help herself; she laughed. ‘You are quite impossible,’ she said.

  ‘I know. We make a great team, don’t we?’

  ‘Are things over there OK? Really?’

  ‘It’s great. The Lotus Flower is going great guns and I love the place. I really do.’

  ‘You look happy.’

  ‘Better than that. I feel fulfilled, doing what I was always meant to do.’

  ‘How’s the love life?’

  Jess grinned. ‘Busy.’ She did not elaborate; that was one subject she had never been willing to discuss. ‘What about yours?’

  ‘As always. Old faithful, that’s me.’

  ‘Hal still in Brisbane?’

  ‘For the moment. But he’s standing down at the next election.’

  ‘You could have a fling. He’d never know.’

  ‘But I would.’ Shannon turned on her heel, looking at the ruins of the old resort. ‘Tell me more about this business of being a consultant for Dermot Black.’

  ‘If the development goes ahead. He thinks it could be a big drawcard for Asian tourists. I seem to be flavour of the month with him, for some reason, so he wants my opinion. I can promise you he’ll be paying heavy money for the privilege, too.’ She seized Shannon’s hands and Shannon could feel her trembling with excitement. ‘He likes me, Shannon. I know it. Think what it might mean, if we could get into some kind of partnership with Dermot Black!’

  Which was more of a jump than Shannon was prepared to contemplate for the moment.

  ‘What exactly is he planning?’

  ‘He wants to set up a high-class tented resort on the site of the old one. An exclusive destination, really up-market. Really pricey, too, or so Peter told me.’

  ‘A tented resort? People staying in tents?’ Shannon found it hard to get her head around that. ‘He expects peopl
e to pay to live in tents?’

  ‘Top dollar is what they’ll pay. You should see the tents,’ Jess said. ‘Places a sheik would be proud to call home. Absolutely top of the range. He’s doing the same thing in America and it’s going really well over there. He knows it’ll be something new in Queensland but the marketing boys say there’s huge potential here for a wealthy clientele looking for something new.’

  It seemed a bizarre notion to Shannon – wealthy people choosing to holiday in tents – but she remembered how people had said the same about the first high-rise they’d put up on the Gold Coast, and look how that had turned out.

  ‘And if another cyclone comes through, there won’t be anything like the same amount of damage. With tents you can get them down and stowed away before the storm strikes.’

  ‘If people are paying top dollar prices they’ll expect top dollar food,’ Shannon said.

  ‘Which is where I come in,’ Jess said.

  ‘Obesity as a growth industry,’ Shannon said.

  Jess laughed. ‘In more ways than one.’

  ‘Who’s minding the shop while you’re here?’

  ‘Chef Chan. Turbo-charged temperament, but he knows his stuff. And after a week with him the kitchen staff will welcome me back with open arms.’

  Shannon was still looking at the wreckage of what had been the premier resort in the islands. Beyond the ruins, the blue sea stretched away. Innocent; beguiling; treacherous. ‘You’ve come all this way just to look at the site?’

  ‘Didn’t you do the same before we started building Golden Phoenix?’

  It was true; she had.

  ‘So you’re still enjoying Hong Kong.’

  ‘It’s a brilliant place. And I meant what I said. I’m going to make Lotus Flower the talk of Asia.’

  ‘That’s what I like to hear.’ Shannon took her sister’s hand. ‘Did we ever think, starting our lives as we did, that we’d end up where we are now?’

  ‘End up nothing,’ Jess said. ‘We’re works in progress, you and I.’

  Which was true, yet Shannon was surprised, all the same. Surprised for both of them, but especially for Jess. Her mother walking out the way she had. Walking into her at Shute Harbour that time when she’d been – what? – seventeen. After that episode Jess had looked like the victim of a bombing raid. She’d never spelt out exactly what had happened but from that day to this Shannon had never heard her mention Grace’s name. The affairs she’d had, too: she’d made no secret of them, seeming not to care what other people thought, yet never once had she discussed them either. Now this latest business.