Desert Flame

by Janine Grey

  Abruptly, Eliza turned away from the harbour, determined not to give oxygen to her bad mood. She was making slow but steady progress with resurrecting KinSearchers. Over the past few days, she’d sent out letters of introduction to her own contacts, and had been in touch with her father’s old clients and associates in the hope that they might send some work her way or recommend her services. She’d also taken out subscriptions to various websites to help her track down long-lost family members, and had enrolled in an online course to get the Certificate in Genealogical Research qualification that would help her to practise professionally. With some legal knowledge – thanks to her arts/law degree – Eliza was flying through the modules and looking into further studies in family history.

  Some people who had known her father, and had been burnt by his failure, were less than encouraging or hadn’t responded at all. But Charlotte had come up trumps. A solicitor friend of her husband, Giles, was handling the deceased estate of a woman who’d left behind no immediate family and no will. Eliza was currently delving into the archives to trace her family and find her nearest living relatives. It consisted entirely of computer searches enlivened with the occasional phone call and, though the process of building the woman’s family tree was involved, she sometimes found herself staring from the window of her apartment, longing to be elsewhere.

  It was ridiculous. She had money in the bank, a comfortable flat and was slowly restoring the reputation of the family business. Against all the odds, she had a life – and a future. She lived in one of the most beautiful places in the world. Yet it was red earth and a broad blue sky that called to her. And a pair of storm-grey eyes.

  Pulling the jacket high around her ears to snap herself out of her reverie, Eliza strode back up the hill towards home. At least this afternoon she had a distraction: she and Lincoln Bassett were dealing with the paperwork to complete the transfer of KinSearchers. She pushed through the front door of her apartment block, grabbed her mail and trudged upstairs to the first floor. As she approached the front door, she spotted a beautiful bouquet on the doorstep. Her heartbeat lifted a notch as she picked it up. The bold burgundy lilies smelt divine. Unlocking her door, she slipped out the card.

   Miss Mayberry – thank you for finding my great-nephew. I knew I was right to put my trust in you.

  Mr Bassett kindly gave me your address so that I could send the remainder of your fee.

  Yours,

  Ernest Weaver

  Her shoulders slumped a little. She arranged the flowers in a vase and placed them on the table. They were a lovely gesture from the old gentleman, but . . .

  Impatient with herself and her mood, Eliza turned her attention to the mail. The second half of her fee was there, as Ernest had promised, and with a generous bonus to boot. Some of the money she’d invest in additional qualifications and the rest she’d need to sustain her as she re-established the company name. This was what was important: building a sustainable business to secure her own independence and future. Her mother had made her own way in life; so would she.

  Eliza knew that her mother would have had the courtesy to acknowledge the flowers and the cheque, so she reluctantly picked up the phone. This call would bring her connection with the Weaver–McLeod family to an end. Then, perhaps, Fingal McLeod would cease to preoccupy her thoughts. She could only hope so.

  When Mrs Pruett answered the phone, Eliza asked after Ernest.

  ‘He’s been in much better spirits since his great-nephew’s visit,’ the housekeeper said. ‘I’ll just take the phone through so you can speak to him yourself.’

  ‘The flowers are lovely,’ she said when he came on the line. ‘But there was no need. I’m delighted it seems to have gone so well.’

  ‘The boy told me how persistent you’d been.’ He sounded ten years younger. ‘I can’t thank you enough, my dear.’

  ‘Did he explain about his mother’s situation?’ Eliza asked diplomatically.

  ‘Yes, yes. Terrible thing to happen. I told the boy he can rely on me should anything happen. It’s a dangerous game, mining. But he seems to know what he’s doing.’

  ‘I hope you’re able to stay in touch.’

  ‘The boy has promised to come and see me again when he gets the chance,’ Ernest told her. ‘And I hope you stay in contact too, my dear. After all, we’re partners now. Of sorts.’

  ‘Of course,’ she murmured, confused. ‘I . . . You mean that you and Fin are partners in the mine? I told him how you funded it in the early stages.’

  ‘All three of us!’ He chuckled.

  Eliza barely registered the laugh. What on earth did he mean?

  ‘I don’t understand.’

  ‘I thought I’d told you about Hugh?’ Ernest went on.

  ‘You said that my father encouraged you.’

  ‘He was so enthusiastic, he not only encouraged me to get involved, he insisted on coming in on the deal.’

  Eliza was stunned. ‘Hugh had a stake in the McLeod mine?’

  ‘Yes!’ He spoke as if she was an idiot. ‘Mairi sent us the papers and we signed it and sent a cheque. Fifteen thousand dollars each. Didn’t I mention it before? We were silent partners, though. Logan was the majority partner and he ran the show.’ He snorted. ‘But there’s no doubt about it, your father had a quarter stake in any profits, the same as me.

  ‘I’ve signed my stake over to the boy. No need to be dabbling in that sort of thing at my age. He’s promised me a return if he finds anything. He seems confident, but who knows?’

  Ernest Weaver speculated about Fin’s chances of discovering a sizeable opal for another minute or two before Eliza thought to ask a vital question.

  ‘Does Fin know about the Mayberry interest in his mine?’

  Mr Weaver seemed stumped. ‘Well, I – No, I don’t think so. I suppose I thought you’d mentioned it. And there was so much to discuss, you understand.’

  Eliza was barely able to muster a coherent response as Ernest Weaver said goodbye.

  All she could think was that she had 25 per cent interest in the mine – and Fingal McLeod had no idea.

  *

  On the edge of Ruin Flat there was a small hillock, just crumbling rock and dry dust. It was a pretty spot from where the land spread out in all directions, as far as the eye could see. Not far away, Fin could see his navy tent and dark green Land Rover. Beyond he could just make out a flock of wading birds pecking for grubs on the Puddle’s muddy banks.

  It was a fine resting place for a curious blue-tongued lizard.

  This morning, the air still held the cool traces of night. He placed Blue, wrapped in a sheet, into a dip in the hill and covered her with stones. In a narrow gap between the stones, he wedged a piece of weathered timber from the mine. Into it he’d carved Blue.

  She’d like it here, where she could keep an eye on everything.

  Fin hadn’t had much to do with death – aside from a morbid interest in Kurt Cobain’s shotgun suicide when Fin had been in his early and briefly moody teens – and he had no idea of what was said at funerals. So he simply stood in respectful silence for a moment before making his way back to the lonely mining camp.

  *

  Being a part-owner of Fingal McLeod’s mine didn’t change anything, Eliza told herself for days after her conversation with Ernest Weaver. Not really. A part-share in a mine that produced nothing was the same as no share.

  As she hurried to a meeting with Lincoln Bassett, she mentally rolled her eyes at her father. It was typical of her dad to be caught up in the drama of something exciting and new – and ultimately fruitless. Lincoln Bassett had intimated there were a dozen of these small-scale investments, and an equal number of larger ones. When one thing didn’t work out, he just tried something else. He’d been a gambler masquerading as an investor, never thinking about protecting his wealth because he’d never had to.

  Eliza had been so surprised by the news of her father’s financial connection to the McLeods, she hadn’t asked Mr Weaver for
details. Now, she wanted to know more.

  Working back, she calculated the investment would have been made about the time her mother had started working for KinSearchers. Her mother had soon attracted her father’s attention for her ability and looks. Hugh had probably been so bamboozled by his new secretary, he’d forgotten all about a tiny mining claim seven hundred kilometres away. As soon as the initial excitement of the acquisition had worn off, he would have been out looking for another. It was more surprising that Ernest Weaver had forgotten about it; he struck her as someone who would have kept closer tabs on her father’s business interests. Presumably, once he heard about Logan’s disappearance he wrote it off as a bad investment and that had been that.

  Lincoln Bassett had the KinSearchers paperwork ready for Eliza to sign, but spent so long explaining every legal nuance that she thought Christmas would arrive before she put pen to paper.

  ‘It’s important you understand exactly what you’re getting into,’ he said. ‘Running a business is not a thing to be taken lightly.’

  ‘What about the “just do it” approach?’ Eliza thought of Fin’s gung-ho attitude. ‘If you plunge into the deep end, you quickly know if you’re going to sink or swim.’

  His white eyebrows drew together. ‘Your mother brought you up to have more sense.’

  Except she didn’t.

  It was as though her parents had an unspoken agreement: the business was hers, the child was his, and her mother had wanted it that way. Or at least that was the way it seemed.

  ‘I wasn’t much like her. She was so capable.’ She might as well admit it. ‘I was a disappointment to her, I’m afraid.’

  ‘What?’ He looked astonished. ‘No, that’s not right, not at all. I think perhaps she regretted that she didn’t share the kind of closeness you had with Hugh.’ He gave her his kindly smile. ‘Hugh told me once that she envied him his relationship with you. You know how he was, Eliza – charming, full of stories. Your mother was a lovely woman, but more interior, harder to know. She thought the world of you, though, have no doubt.’

  Eliza stared at him, and had to swallow the lump in her throat in order to speak. ‘I didn’t know that.’

  Lincoln cleared his throat, looking a little embarrassed. ‘Your mother knew that you have a better chance of not drowning if you pick the right conditions for swimming, that’s all I’m saying.’

  Touched, Eliza managed a shaky smile. ‘I – I’m glad you told me.’

  ‘She’d be very proud of you right now.’ He nodded for emphasis.

  It seemed the right moment to ask for his help, before they both started blubbering. ‘The thing is, I have another case, and I was wondering if you might be able to use me from time to time? I imagine you must come across difficult probate situations where an investigator could help. I’ve started studying for professional qualifications so I know what I’m doing.’

  ‘Of course, my dear,’ he said. ‘I’ll let you know when the business is transferred to your name. As regards other matters, we are still liquidating your father’s investments. It will take some time to finalise things but that is not unexpected.

  ‘However, we have come across a rather unusual investment. As you know, he liked speculating with different ventures, and this one is a bit outside my area of expertise.’

  Eliza knew what was coming. ‘An opal mine.’

  Lincoln’s disorderly white eyebrows nearly reached his hairline. ‘Good Lord. Don’t tell me you knew about it?’

  ‘Only since the other day. My father and Ernest Weaver had a loose partnership, apparently, with the man working the mine at the time, Logan McLeod.’

  He looked down at the paper he held. ‘Yes, indeed. It appears McLeod’s stake was 50 per cent, and your father and Mr Weaver had 25 per cent each. Which makes it rather complicated. Now . . .’ He glanced up. ‘Did this McLeod have anything to do with your enquiries?’

  ‘Yes. Mr Weaver wanted to locate Logan’s son, Fingal McLeod, his great-nephew. Mr Weaver said he has handed over his stake to Fin – Mr McLeod.’

  ‘And you found him. Well, that is helpful. What about this Logan?’

  ‘Mr Weaver made enquiries but he never turned up. Perhaps he changed his name or absconded overseas. Fin McLeod is working the mine these days.’

  ‘I see. Well, I assume you have no interest in co-owning an opal mine?’

  Eliza touched the tiny purple-and-gold opal sliver in her pocket. ‘I don’t wish —’ She paused. ‘I don’t wish to change the current arrangements at this stage.’

  Lincoln Bassett looked even more astonished. ‘But, my dear, it’s out in the middle of nowhere. If the mine was sold, it would certainly help your situation.’

  Eliza laughed. ‘I don’t think it would be worth anything. Everyone’s getting out of opal mining. I was up there less than two weeks ago. Fingal McLeod is the last miner left in the area. You can see the abandoned mines everywhere.’

  Lincoln looked deflated. ‘What about McLeod? He might be interested in buying you out.’

  ‘I don’t think that’s likely.’

  ‘If everyone’s getting out, perhaps Mr McLeod might consider a sale to another interest.’

  ‘Fin won’t sell,’ Eliza told him, remembering the passion that had blazed in his eyes when he’d spoken of his obsession with finding the fire in the stone. ‘He believes there’s undiscovered black opal and he’s determined to find it.’

  Lincoln Bassett sighed deeply. ‘Well then, you’d best hope he does.’

  Eliza blinked as the words sank in. How would she know if Fin did make a significant find? He wasn’t exactly the kind to shout about it, and Ernest Weaver was so vague at times, she couldn’t be sure he’d think to tell her.

  The thought that she might never know what happened was disturbing. The elemental landscape, the lonely mine camp, the idea of secrets hidden in the rock had all stirred her senses. And then there was Fingal McLeod himself, a man she barely knew yet couldn’t forget.

  Eyes wide, she stared at the lawyer. ‘I think I have to go back.’

  *

  Fin discovered that hard physical labour in the mine was an effective way of working through his anger at the senseless slaughter of Blue.

  In the two weeks since his return, he hadn’t seen anyone hanging around. When he next went to Helton, he’d ask around. It was probably yahoos passing through. Most likely they’d been out hunting and had come across Ruin Flat by chance. Thinking it was Fin returning, the poor little bugger would have trotted out to say hello.

  Ah, hell!

  From dawn to dusk, Fin worked with pickaxe and jackhammer to chip away at likely spots in the upper levels.

  The lowest level, the longest according to the plans, was still causing problems.

  With the fallen rocks cleared away, he decided to survey the full length of the tunnel. He wanted to see precisely how far it went and if the geology changed along its length.

  He steadily moved back and forth along the level, running the torch down one wall and then the other. The width of the drive narrowed dramatically and he had the sense that the tunnel was pitching in. Then the roof of the level dropped sharply, too. He could go no further without crouching down, and there was plenty of loose rock around – clear evidence of instability.

  It didn’t make sense. According to the map, dated as it was, the lowest level extended a further thirty metres or so. But he suspected the map was wrong. It was possible that someone once planned to extend the drive but hadn’t followed through; or – more likely in his mind – they deliberately made the mine appear more extensive than it was to extract a higher sales price.

  Whatever the reason, the level was currently impossible to explore beyond a certain point. The work involved in expanding the level, as well as the cost and the risk, would be significant. He had to think strategically. It made sense to work the other levels first. If they didn’t pan out, he’d come back to it. It went against his gut instinct, but strategically it made sen
se.

  Although there were still weeks until the summer heat forced him to down tools, Fin had the sense of time running out. He pushed himself harder each day and, while he had a sizeable collection of small, attractive opals, the one he wanted still eluded him.

  Yet he knew it was there. He knew it – or else he was becoming delusional. He wondered if this was how Logan had felt as he fought the truth until there was no more fight in him and then he’d fled like a dog in the night.

  As the days passed, Fin’s world narrowed. He worked. He ate. He slept, but not easily. Hard labour might keep some things at bay but not sexual frustration. Exhausted as he was at the end of each day, rest was hard to find, his dreams tormented by mermaid-blue eyes that lured him along deep, dark tunnels and then abandoned him to his fate.

  Did she think about him? Did she ever wonder what it would have been like between them? Did she regret their missed opportunity?

  Of course she didn’t, he told himself savagely, after one particularly frustrating night filled with sensual dreams. Eliza Mayberry had her pretty, perfect life all mapped out. She had it all – success, looks, breeding, wealth, and no doubt she had a high-flying husband somewhere in her future.

  During Fin’s brief stay in Sydney, Ernest Weaver had spent a full hour of one evening waxing lyrical about an extravagant ball held years before at the Mayberry family mansion. What Fin had only suspected, he then knew for sure: Eliza Mayberry was out of his league. Way out.

  But a man could still want, couldn’t he? And, really, background was irrelevant if other things were in sync. Not just sexual attraction but honesty, even if it was difficult or painful, and sticking to your word. That was something Danielle had taught him.

  Would Eliza Mayberry stick through the lows as well as the highs? Would she be any different to Danielle? Someone with all her options?

  Probably not.

  And why in the hell did it even matter if all he had in mind was a hot affair?

  Because he wanted more than that and that made him a fucking idiot.

  His head pounding with the vibrations from the jackhammer, Fin shut it off with a vicious curse and sagged against the wall. His skin was drenched with sweat and his muscles burnt with fatigue.