‘What’s going on?’ Hilary said.
‘No idea.’ Craig turned to the boatman but from his startled expression it was obvious he knew no more than they did.
‘Whatever it is I don’t much like it,’ Hilary said.
‘You and me both.’
Not only them; chattering furiously, monkeys were climbing as high in the trees as they could go; crabs scuttled into holes among the exposed roots of the mangroves; the birds had not come back. And now the stony floor of the entrance tunnel had appeared out of the water.
‘No way out even if we wanted,’ Craig said.
‘I have a hunch we picked a bad day to come here,’ Hilary said. ‘But there’s nothing we can do about it now.’
There certainly wasn’t. They inspected the trees and the limestone cliffs – just in case, Craig said – but the smooth trunks of the trees offered no handholds while even a skilled mountaineer would have a problem with the cliff faces. It was obvious there was no way out there.
‘Why should we be thinking like that anyway?’ Hilary said.
‘Because what has gone out will undoubtedly come back. And if it comes back as strongly as I think it may…’
There was no need to spell it out.
‘At least we are together,’ Hilary said. ‘That’s what matters.’
They turned to each other.
It’s a strange place to be if the worst happened, Hilary thought. Trapped in a hole in the earth with monkeys and mangroves and a young man they couldn’t speak to as their only companions.
With the thought she saw a flicker of movement, a blink of gaudy colour amid the leaves. Her eye sought out whatever it was she had seen. For a moment she saw nothing, then the flicker came again as a butterfly with enormous wings, red and gold and blue, flew a few metres through the still air before coming to rest on a leaf far above their heads. She looked up but the brightness of the sky dazzled her and she saw it no more. No matter; she had seen its beauty and that was enough. She was with her true love and that too was enough. She turned impulsively and put her arms around Craig’s neck. She didn’t care that the boatman might be watching. Let him watch; let the world watch. She did not care that they were trapped and helpless.
Trapped they certainly were. They had already moved as far away from the entrance as they could, they had checked and rechecked the smooth trunks of the trees. They were both reasonably fit for their age but that was the catch. If they’d been in their twenties they might have managed it but at sixty-three and sixty-nine shinnying up smooth-trunked trees was impossible.
Yet she found she could accept the situation peacefully. What she had now was a moment of perfection and she was happy, so happy. Never mind what the future held; this was now and she wanted nothing more from life than what she had.
She tightened her arms around Craig’s neck.
He grunted. ‘You are strangling me, woman.’
But his arms were around her also and she knew that she was safe, that whatever happened to them nothing could harm them because they were united and would be so always.
We are going to live forever, her heart said. We shall do wonderful things. We shall be happy, so happy.
She felt a breath of air, a movement where before there had been none. She turned, seeking its source. Found it in the entrance tunnel: a faint breath growing stronger. A wind that started to blow with increasing force. Now with the wind came sound: the hollow boom of what had become rushing air, with another sound behind it, a murmur that within seconds had strengthened to a roar. It grew so loud that it was impossible to speak against it or even shout. Even to breathe had become a problem. And still the wind and sound grew and still there was no water inside the black-mouthed tunnel leading to the catastrophe that she sensed must be gathering strength beyond the rocky walls. The rock had begun to vibrate: faintly at first, then stronger, then violently.
And the water came. A dribble, a spurt, a flood, a torrent that hurled itself into the hong with the force of a hundred fire hoses. Hilary and Craig clung together, thinking of nothing, knowing they were one and would be so for eternity.
‘I love you, Craig.’
She shouted the words, hearing their sound inside her head. Whether he could hear them she did not know nor was it important. The words were engraved on both their hearts and nothing else mattered.
‘I love you, Craig Laurie.’
‘I love you, Hilary Brand.’
Forever and ever.
The highway of her days took form behind her: the child, the adolescent and the adult, their days gilded with hope or darkened by despair but always climbing in humility and joy until, one being at last, they found fulfilment amid the glory of the stars.
And the full flood of the tsunami, compressed to even greater intensity by the tunnel through which it had forced its way, lifted them, their arms embracing each other, and hurled them with shattering force across the hong and into the limestone cliffs. Where they lay still, bodies entwined, faces serene, while the floodwaters rose to cover them.
CATACLYSM
1
The sun shone on the shattered town. Where palm trees had lined the sandy beaches only splintered stumps remained; boats had been hurled far beyond the high-water mark. Stunned survivors drifted like ghosts through the ruins while scores of unidentified bodies retrieved by frantic rescue workers lay in mass graves bulldozed out of the earth. Over all was a drift of smoke where cooking fires had been lighted by homeless locals camping out amid the rubble.
Sara sat in her office in the Brand Corporation building, her mind groping to take hold of reality, as she stared in horror at the images, each more terrible than the last, that came and went on the television screen. In a theatrically sombre voice the commentator was saying that in terms of lives lost the Boxing Day tsunami was one of the worst natural disasters in history. He was talking of tens, maybe hundreds, of thousands dead. Aceh, in northern Sumatra, had been the worst hit, but in Thailand thousands had also been reported dead or missing. There were reports of deaths in Sri Lanka and even as far away as South Africa.
Sara had heard nothing from Hilary. She’d had a phone call from her on Christmas Day but whether she and Craig had been caught up in the tsunami she did not know. There had been enormous problems getting through to the town. She had forced herself to control the panic that threatened to devour her and had told Janet to just keep trying, and eventually they’d made contact. Sara had spoken to the manager of the resort where Hilary had told her they were staying.
The manager confirmed that Ms Brand had been a guest at the resort but all he could tell her was that she and Mr Laurie had gone out first thing and not come back.
‘You have no idea where they were going?’
‘As they left so early I think it may have been to visit one of the hongs, but I cannot be sure as they did not tell us their plans.’
‘How many hongs are there?’
‘Hundreds.’
‘And the boat they went on?’
‘No one knows. Most of the fleet has been destroyed or is still missing. The search for survivors goes on and of course we have not given up hope –’
Sara could hear the exhaustion in the manager’s voice, still trying to come to terms with the scale of the catastrophe.
‘Thank you for your assistance,’ she said. ‘If you hear anything –’
‘We shall inform you at once.’
She put down the phone. The television was still relaying its doomsday pictures. With sudden fury Sara snatched up the remote and switched it off but in her head the images played on unabated.
Like the resort manager, she would not give up hope but she was not stupid; if Hilary had survived she would surely have been in touch by now. No, she thought, the chances were not good. With no one knowing where she had been when the tsunami struck even the likelihood of recovering her body was remote.
All her life Sara had been independent in both mind and spirit. She had admired and respec
ted her mother but never until this moment had she realised how much she loved her. She knew it well enough now; there was an emptiness in her soul she knew would never be filled.
It was a frightening business to be alone, to know that – barring a miracle – there was no one to whom she could turn in case of need. Hilary had moved on with her life but had made it clear before she left that she had not abandoned her; if Sara ever needed her she would always be there. There had been huge comfort in that thought. No longer; now she was almost certainly gone and the knowledge was a cold wind blowing through Sara’s heart, already cold with missing Emil. Devastation… But she must not give way to grief; nowadays she had new responsibilities and must not, would not, ignore them.
‘Think,’ she told herself. ‘Think!’
Vivienne was the CEO and nominally in charge but she had been number two too long, conditioned to take supportive action but not to initiate. What was needed now was strong action to demonstrate that the Brand Corporation had the talent and will to rise above the loss of its founder and she was not sure Vivienne was up to the challenge.
She sat and thought carefully about what she had to do. If Hilary had been here what would she have done?
She got to her feet and walked thoughtfully about her office while she thought things out. Finally she went back to her desk and sat down.
DANCING INSIDE HIS HEAD
It was Boxing Day, nine o’clock at night, and in his multi-million-dollar apartment overlooking Circular Quay Haskins Gould switched off the television set and poured himself another drink. Standing in the middle of the living room he toasted his reflection in the mirror.
‘Here’s to you, Haskins!’
The malt slipped down so sweetly. So the witch was dead. Alleluia! He’d have danced if he’d been a bit fitter, a bit younger, but that didn’t matter; inside his head he was dancing all the same. But wait, he thought. Let’s not be too hasty about this. Now was not the time to get over-excited; now was the time for calculation. The witch was dead – he felt it in his bones – but he’d thought that before and been wrong. As a corporate raider he’d had a heap of experience and with Hilary out of the way and his spies telling him Vivienne Archer hadn’t a clue what she was doing he had started making moves. Like everyone else in the game he kept a string of shelf companies with nominal capital and no real assets. He used them to acquire shares in companies that interested him, building up a holding that nobody knew he had until he was ready to move on his target. He liked to refer to himself as a lion in ambush and the image always gave him a thrill. For months now he had been using some of his shelf companies to build up his interest in Brand. Only in small lots – important to avoid setting off alarm bells – but enough small lots added up to a significant holding. By placing his acquisitions through a dozen companies he had been able to avoid informing the Stock Exchange. Bearing in mind the provisions of the Corporations Act, the authorities might not think much of the arrangement but what they didn’t know couldn’t hurt them, right?
He’d been planning a move on Brand since the beginning of the year, had even got his mate Anthony Belloc to make a pass at Hilary’s idiot daughter. If Hilary had been seriously ill the share price would have been certain to crash, but he’d been unable to find out anything definite and the plan had come to nothing. It wasn’t important. If Hilary really was dead it wouldn’t matter either way but taking risks was one thing, committing commercial suicide something else entirely. He wouldn’t put it past Hilary bloody Brand to come back from the dead so it would be wise to wait a few more days in case the search teams found her alive under the rubble.
It might mean delaying a week or two, maybe a month, but once he was sure she really was dead he would make his move. Taking over the corporation that he had helped her create! The corporation she had stolen from him! He would reclaim it, take it back from her estate, strip out its assets and leave her family if not destitute than at least driven out from the company that their mother had intended as her legacy to them. Leaving her reputation in ruins…
He laughed as he savoured that vision. A pity she wouldn’t be there to see the destruction of her life’s work, but never mind. What poetic justice that would be! He’d never been one for poetry but would be only too happy to make an exception in this case. You’d better believe it!
A voice larded with invitation came from the bedroom. ‘I’m waiting, baby. You planning on joining me any time soon?’
He had taken one of his blue pills an hour ago: what a blessing they were! And now this woman he’d met at the lord mayor’s reception – stacked but discreet, just the way he liked it – was waiting in his bed and by the sound of her panting for it. It wouldn’t be right to leave tits like those lonely for long, would it? He’d heard that Hilary Brand had once said that Haskins Gould gave a whole new meaning to the word gross. Damn right he did! And proud of it!
He swallowed the last of his drink, put down his glass and moved purposefully towards the bedroom door. ‘Coming right now,’ he called.
Anything to oblige a lady! What a way to end the day!
PAYBACK TIME
1
Jennifer had been attending an exhibition with Martin Gulliver at the Australian Centre for Contemporary Art in Sturt Street when she first heard about the Boxing Day tsunami. She was sad – who wouldn’t be? – but paid the news no particular heed. After the exhibition they went out for a meal and a glass or two of wine – the baby was due in three weeks but the doctor had assured her a glass or two of good wine would do no harm – and thought no more about the tsunami until they got home to find Sara’s message on the answering machine.
Jennifer returned the call at once. It was past eleven but Sara was a night owl. In any case the time was irrelevant. Tsunami? Mother missing? The idea made her feel quite faint.
‘Surely you’re not saying Mother may have been killed in this Indonesia business?’
‘It hit Thailand as well. The whole region. I’m saying she’s missing. That’s all.’
‘But she will turn up, won’t she?’
Of course she would. Mother was indestructible.
‘I… hope so,’ Sara said. ‘But it’s not looking good, Jennifer.’
‘Have you spoken to the ambassador? Surely he will know? Mother’s not exactly unknown, after all!’
‘There are thousands of people missing, Jennifer. Tens of thousands. Some may be found alive but very few. Have you seen the pictures? The place looks like it’s been hit by a bomb.’
But Mother…
‘She’ll be alive and well somewhere,’ she said. ‘You’ll see: she’ll be in touch in a day or two.’
She spoke aggressively, as though daring her sister to disagree. Sara did not. But:
‘I hope you’re right,’ she said.
‘What do we do in the meantime?’ Jennifer said.
‘We wait.’
‘Perhaps one of us could fly up there? Normally I’d be willing to go, if you’re too busy, but with the baby –’
‘Of course you can’t go,’ said Sara. ‘There’d be nothing you could do anyway. Except get in the way,’ she added unkindly.
‘Surely one of us ought to be trying to find her. How do we know the people up there are doing things properly? Perhaps they’re not searching at all.’
‘For heaven’s sake, Jennifer, they’ve got professional search teams on the job. Why don’t you take a look at the pictures on television? That might give you a better idea of the scale of what’s happened. Whole towns have been wiped out!’
Jennifer was still thinking up a sharp answer when she realised Sara had put down the phone.
‘I was only trying to help,’ she said. ‘I don’t see why she had to talk to me like that.’ She waddled across to her easy chair and subsided into it. With the baby due so soon, even the simplest things were hard to do and her temper was easily frayed. ‘God! Now I know how an elephant feels.’
‘What did she want, anyway?’ Martin said.
/>
Jennifer told him. ‘If anything’s happened to Mother I don’t think I’ll be able to bear it.’
Martin was all commiseration, telling her she must take care of herself. ‘Don’t let yourself get worked up. I’m sure she’ll be found safe and well.’
‘That’s what I told Sara but she didn’t seem to think so.’ She clutched Martin’s arm, looking at him with a tear-stained face. ‘You’re not just saying it, are you? You really think she’ll be all right?’
‘Of course she’ll be all right.’
‘I must go and lie down,’ she said.
Martin helped her into bed, gave her all the cosseting and kind words he could think of and left her to get some rest. She gave him a brave smile.
‘I won’t sleep a wink,’ she said.
2
Jennifer said that every night and every night, when Martin came to bed, she was snoring. He went back into the living room and turned on the television, the sound muted. He was just in time to catch the late news. He watched the pictures gravely.
He’d always had a soft spot for Jennifer’s mum. Funny, when you thought about it. The artist and the tycoon… Not his type of woman at all, really. Yet he’d sensed she’d been on his side from the first. And recently she’d been buying some of his work, too. Nothing wrong with that. He’d turned down her offer of the curatorship but that had been because he no longer needed the money, thank God. And now she was caught up in this catastrophe.
He went and poured himself a whisky and sipped it thoughtfully. Judging from what he’d seen on the telly he didn’t fancy her chances. If it turned out she was indeed dead he didn’t like to think of the effect it would have on Jennifer, especially at the moment, but there was nothing he could do about that.
All that remained was hope.
3
It was the following morning and a public holiday but Vivienne was in the office. With Hilary missing and likely dead there were many phone calls and decisions to be made; Hilary had been out of the company for months but her name still carried its old magic and there would be some anxious investors and others whose nerves Vivienne would need to soothe, public holiday or not. She had prepared a list of those whom she needed to speak to and had come into the office to do it.
A Woman of Courage Page 38