A Woman of Courage

by J. H. Fletcher

  ‘You have the authority to speak for the Brand Corporation?’

  ‘In this I do.’

  He looked at her for several seconds. ‘Why do you wish for this advice? Why should you care?’

  ‘Because anyone with eyes to see knows that China is a coming force in the world. We inherited the Lennox contract from Channel 12’s previous owners. The way things worked out it has cost us a lot of money. We do not complain – that is always a risk in business – but of course we regretted it.’ Her eyes met his eyes, dark, unreadable. ‘I do not regret it now.’

  ‘Why is that?’

  ‘Because it has given me the opportunity to begin to learn what I can about China. It is only a beginning, of course – it would take a dozen lifetimes to know even a fraction of what there is to know – but to begin is important. Was it not Lao Tzu who said the journey of a thousand li starts from where one stands? In that sense I am a pilgrim. And who better to instruct me than a man from China?’

  If Wong was surprised by her words he did not show it. His response was sharp. ‘You hope to learn in order to profit from us?’

  Now it was Sara’s turn to smile. ‘Knowledge is its own reward, Mr Wong. But I like to believe we would all profit from such a relationship.’

  Wong looked at her impassively then nodded several times and stood up. ‘Thank you, Ms Brand. A most interesting discussion. I trust you enjoyed the poor food.’

  ‘The food was excellent, Mr Wong.’ She risked another smile, as among friends. ‘Or should I call you Mr Boon?’

  His laugh was like a bark. ‘You will excuse me now. Pressure of business, you understand.’

  ‘Of course.’

  For the first time he turned and spoke to Martha in Chinese, then jerked his head at his two aides who followed him out of the salon.

  Sara and Martha looked at each other.

  ‘Did I upset him in some way?’ Sara said. ‘He said nothing about the future.’

  ‘It went extremely well. You handled it just right. Wong Chee-Weng was pleased.’

  ‘He spoke only to me.’

  ‘Of course. I expected nothing else. You’re Hilary Brand’s daughter. One day you’ll be running the company.’

  ‘Maybe.’

  ‘That is what he expects. What we all expect. Therefore he needed to learn your thinking, just as you needed to learn his.’

  ‘About what?’

  ‘About China. About everything.’

  ‘Then why did he say nothing about the future?’

  ‘That will come.’ She shrugged. ‘Or not. It will not be his decision. He will report to Beijing and Beijing will decide. But I believe the signs are positive.’

  ‘He said something to you at the end, as he was leaving. What was it?’

  ‘He thanked me for bringing you to meet him. And to say we need concern ourselves no more about the Lennox brothers.’

  ‘Why? Have they left Hong Kong?’

  Martha smiled. ‘Better not to ask. But if Mr Wong says we need not concern ourselves with the Lennoxes we may be sure he is right. Now we should return to the hotel. I shall tell that waiter to summon a taxi.’

  On the way back to the hotel Martha said: ‘How did you know the Lao Tzu quotation?’

  ‘In television you learn to prepare yourself for the person you are interviewing. I thought it might be useful. But he did not seem to notice.’

  ‘He noticed. He was very impressed.’

  ‘How do you know?’

  ‘I know. I think everything went very well.’

  ‘But what do we do now? About Mr Wong, I mean?’

  ‘We wait.’

  3

  They didn’t have to wait long. Two days later Sara had a phone call from one of Wong’s aides to say that he would like to meet with her and her mother as early as was convenient to discuss matters of mutual interest.

  ‘He wants to speak to Hilary?’

  ‘Of course,’ Martha said. ‘She is the CEO of Brand. Why should he not wish to speak to her? What I find interesting is that he wishes to include you in the talks also. You must have impressed him very much.’

  ‘And Hilary will certainly want you there as well,’ Sara said.

  ‘The Three Musketeers,’ Martha said.

  When Martha Tan was in her daughter-of-China mode it was easy to forget how familiar she was with western culture but Singapore had been a British colony for over a century after all.

  ‘You’re not wrong,’ Sara said.

  She phoned Hilary.

  ‘Have you sorted out that problem yet?’ Straight-to-the-point Hilary.

  ‘Yes. We have it on good authority we shall have no more problems there.’

  ‘And the money?’

  ‘We have recovered some. Not all.’

  ‘Only to be expected, I suppose. Worth suing them?’

  ‘That might prove difficult.’

  A pause. The line cracked faintly.

  ‘I see. Anything else?’

  ‘Yes. Something important. I’m flying down tonight. I’ll tell you when I see you.’

  ‘Getting on with Martha OK?’

  ‘Very well.’

  ‘Good. I’ll speak to you when you get here. Martha’s familiar with the procedure when you arrive. Leave it to her. I’ll arrange for the chopper to be on stand-by.’

  ‘Any thoughts about Andrea Chan?’ Sara said.

  ‘I’ll tell you when I see you.’

  And rang off. Straight-to-the-point Hilary indeed. Well, at least you knew where you were with her.

  ‘We’re going back tonight?’ Martha said. ‘I’ll tell the desk.’

  I wonder what happened to the Lennoxes, Sara thought. They had certainly made enemies. Not only had they stolen from Brand; they had made problems for Mr Wong and China. And she suspected Mr Wong was not a forgiving man.

  I guess we’ll never know what happened, she thought, and resolved she would do everything possible to put them out of her mind. As Martha Tan had said, sometimes it was better not to know.

  4

  They flew down overnight, slept on the plane and showered and refreshed were in the office first thing. Or at least Sara, still used to television hours, thought of it as first thing but, as Martha had warned her, she found Hilary had been at her desk a full hour before the Airbus put down at Kingsford Smith.

  And this could be my future? Sara thought. If I play my cards right and there are no hiccups and all the other mixed metaphors I can think of, I too could be arriving at the office at seven o’clock every morning? I must be out of my cotton-picking mind. To use another well-polished phrase.

  Sara and Martha saw Hilary together, with both Vivienne Archer and Desmond Bragg sitting in. Coming down on the plane the two women had discussed how they should go about reporting what had happened. Martha had been nominally in charge when they went to Hong Kong and Sara therefore wanted Martha to report on what had been her mission, but Martha wouldn’t have a bar of it.

  ‘Wong Chee-Weng spoke to you, not me. Like it or not, he obviously thinks of you as Hilary’s successor and so you are. He wishes to see you with Hilary because he sees you as the future and Chinese people think long term.’

  ‘Even when they come from Singapore?’

  Martha smiled. ‘Even then. Continuity and future very important in Chinese thought. They think westerners are mistaken in focusing too much on short term and not enough on long.’

  ‘You think he sees me as the long-term future of the company?’

  ‘Of course. And he is right.’

  So it was the spokesman for the long term who told the meeting what had happened.

  ‘The Lennox boys,’ Desmond Bragg said. ‘You say this Wong guy said we don’t have to worry about them any more? Why should he say that?’

  ‘In my opinion they are probably dead. No proof but that is what I believe.’

  ‘You’re saying he may have had them killed? Jesus! Hard ball, eh?’

  ‘You’d better believe it,�
�� Sara said.

  ‘Which raises a question,’ Vivienne Archer said. ‘Do we want to get into bed with men we think may be murderers?’

  Sara thought Hilary would reply but she did not. She watched Sara and waited for her to answer. Go for it, she thought.

  ‘I think we should, yes. First of all, my suspicions are no more than that. We have no evidence. Also we have no plans to do what the Lennoxes did. We shall keep faith with them and I am quite sure they will then keep faith with us.’

  ‘You hope,’ Vivienne said.

  ‘And believe,’ Sara said.

  Hilary intervened for the first time. ‘Martha, your view?’

  ‘I think Sara is right.’

  Vivienne was still troubled. ‘But what do they want? Or what offer are they planning to make us?’

  ‘We don’t know. And unless we continue talking to them we never shall.’

  Vivienne appealed to Hilary. ‘You want us to deal with a bunch of latter day Mao Zedong thugs?’

  ‘I want us to talk to them,’ Hilary said. ‘Find out what they want. I want to see what opportunities they can offer us. And that is what we shall do.’ She turned to Martha. ‘How do we get hold of this man Wong?’

  ‘I have a contact number.’

  ‘Give it to Janet. What is the time difference between here and Hong Kong?’

  ‘This time of year, two hours behind us.’

  Hilary looked at the gilt clock on her desk. ‘Tell Janet to get him on the line at twelve o’clock.’ She looked at Martha. ‘Ten o’clock their time. He should be in his office by then, yes?’

  ‘Probably been there several hours by then.’

  ‘It’ll give him time to clear his desk.’

  Although Wong’s desk, like hers, was unlikely to be cleared any time soon.

  ‘A suggestion,’ Martha said.

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘When he proposes a time to meet, choose another time and maybe a week later than he says. It’s important not to appear too eager.’

  ‘I shall remember,’ Hilary said.

  ‘And it will give me time to do that interview with Emil Broussard,’ Sara said. ‘If you haven’t forgotten.’

  Hilary looked at her level-eyed. ‘I don’t forget much,’ she said. ‘I even remember when I was born.’

  Sara had heard that story often enough. She thought it was nonsense but was not foolish enough to say so. ‘More than I can say,’ she said. ‘But I suppose you remember that too.’

  ‘Your birth? Of course I remember it. I remember it very well.’

  1970–78

  ADDITION TO THE FAMILY

  1

  The child gave Hilary a hard time even before it was born.

  ‘I reckon I’ve got a footballer in there,’ she told Kirstie MacLeod.

  She was really forging ahead now: money in the bank, a big house and now a housekeeper, Kirstie MacLeod, who was also her friend.

  It certainly felt like a footballer. Hilary, sick of the way the brat booted her about, took it for granted that the troublemaker was a male child but refused to confirm it.

  ‘All in good time,’ she said. ‘Anyway, I don’t think there can be much doubt.’

  Yet in the event she got it wrong. Clearly having made up its mind that it wished to get out into the world the child did so, slipping out into a warm sunny evening two days before Hilary’s own birthday.

  ‘A girl?’ Hilary said. ‘I would never have believed it.’ She called it Sara. ‘After Abraham’s wife.’

  ‘What’s Abraham got to do with it?’ Kirstie said.

  ‘Not a lot, let’s hope.’ But had an idea that some of those Old Testament ladies had been as tough as the desert out of which they had emerged. ‘Troublemakers the lot of them,’ she said. ‘And judging by her performance so far this one will be just like them.’

  And kissed the downy head, suspecting it would not be long before she would want to strangle it. This time she got it right.

  2

  Sara was a fighter. She fought with everyone and everything: her mother, her sister and – when she was old enough to go to school – the kids and teachers too.

  ‘She is not cruel or nasty,’ Hilary said. ‘Just determined.’

  She suspected she too had been like that. The way her life had begun she would have got nowhere without determination.

  Sara had an enquiring mind: a child of great potential, her form teacher said, but as demanding as gifted children often were.

  ‘She needs challenge,’ Miss Barker said. ‘Her mind needs to be stretched.’

  Challenge was right: Sara provided plenty of that herself without help from anyone else. She ran away twice; fortunately she never got far but somewhere in the recesses of Hilary’s mind memory chimed. Hadn’t she tried to do the same thing herself? She remembered being carried indoors by a pair of outraged hands, a woman’s shrill voice scolding.

  Sara was very different from Jennifer, that was for sure. But – a secret Hilary would carry to her grave – it was not so surprising, was it? Not when you remembered they had different fathers, whatever Sara’s birth certificate might say. As soon as the divorce from Sean had been finalised she had in any case changed both children’s names to Brand, and it was Hilary, Jennifer and Sara Brand who in the June of 1978 travelled to seek adventure in the far north of Australia.

  Jennifer accepted the idea without comment but Sara was full of questions.

  ‘Arnhem Land? What’s there?’

  ‘That’s what we’re going to find out.’

  ‘Why does it have that name?’

  ‘It’s named for a Dutch ship that explored that part of the coast in the seventeenth century.’

  ‘What was it doing there?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘I shall find out,’ Sara said.

  Hilary sighed, looking out of the aircraft window. They had barely left Perth and already it had the makings of a long trip.

  They were away a fortnight. Hilary acquired new images to add to those she already had. Standing on top of the escarpment called Ubirr Rock, watching the sun rise over the silent green expanse of the Nadab floodplain. The three of them sleeping in a tented camp and waking to the shriek and trumpeting of birds as they greeted the dawn. The two girls looking over the side of the ferry at Cahill’s Crossing, staring into the mud-swirled waters of the East Alligator River. Their first spine-tingling sight of crocodiles on the sun-dried mud of the riverbank. So peaceful; so – surely? – harmless; so lethal.

  Jennifer looked at them apprehensively. ‘Will they really kill you?’

  ‘And gobble you up,’ Hilary said. ‘You’d better believe it. Don’t you go anywhere near them,’ she told Sara who looked as though she might be planning to do just that. ‘You hear me?’

  It was country so remote they felt they must have travelled into a different universe. Everything they saw was new yet as old as the land itself. The black faces, the unearthly sound of what Hilary told them was a didgeridoo, the sense of other-worldliness; even the empty beaches, vast extents of yellow sand that might never have known the imprint of human feet, put there by an unseen hand for them to walk on, on the lip of an ocean that might extend forever.

  A guide took them into a succession of rock shelters. They looked at the pictures stencilled on the walls. Many thousands of years old according to the guide, they were manifestations of what he told them were some of the creation figures out of which the land had been formed. There were other pictures too: of fish and possum and wallaby, and they too seemed to take form out of the rock.

  They walked out of the shelter into the morning light and the world was bright and shining as though fresh-minted for their especial joy. On such a day it was a privilege to be alive and each night, eyes wide in the darkness, Hilary relived that day’s enchantment: the sounds and silences; the calling of birds and humped backs of dolphins; the images setting fire to the stone within the rock shelters; the all-pervading sense of magic filling heart a
nd mind with wonder.

  The day before they left, their guide, perhaps conscious of the deference that Hilary’s experiences had roused in her, took her to see a woman of the Yolngu people who, he said, used pigments she made from bush plants to create paintings depicting the past and present of her people, the rainbow serpent of the Dreaming and Ulamina, the starfish man and his stolen canoe.

  The power and authenticity of the paintings struck Hilary at once. She bought two and arranged for them to be crated and sent to her in Perth. When they arrived she took them out and looked at them. She invited Kirstie MacLeod to look at them too, to share in the excitement.

  Kirstie looked at them with something like resentment. A nice woman, but not one given to intellectual challenge. ‘What kind of pictures are they, anyway?’

  ‘I got them up north.’

  ‘Oh well then.’ As though nothing good ever came from what Kirstie no doubt considered heathen regions. ‘What you going to do with them?’

  ‘I shall look at them and remember my time up there. It was like visiting another world.’

  ‘I dare say,’ Kirstie said. ‘Me, I’ll be happy to stick with the world I got, thanks very much.’

  1984–86

  A SEARCH FOR ROOTS

  1

  Back in the wheeler-dealer world she had made her own Hilary prospered beyond her wildest imaginings yet amid the tumult and excitement of her success the echoes of all she had seen and felt in Arnhem Land remained. Again and again she stood in front of the two paintings of the Yolngu woman and shared the heritage that she sensed in the fire and wonder of their mysterious images.

  ‘Dunno what you see in them,’ said Kirstie MacLeod.

  ‘I see the roots of the past.’ The words came from nowhere but set Hilary thinking. ‘They’ll be the start of my collection.’

  Because it occurred to her that a collection of Australiana, Aboriginal as well as western, might help provide a substitute for the roots she presently lacked.

  ‘Most people have parents, grandparents, family they can look back to. People who give them a sense of who they are. I don’t have that. All I know is I am an Australian. By collecting these things I shall be creating my own past.’