by Peter McAra
‘We expect to have a donor heart ready in the next twenty four hours,’ the nurse told Erin. ‘Then we’ll operate. It’s quite a long procedure. You could call us the day after tomorrow. Around this time.’
‘I’m flying out to Los Angeles tomorrow morning.’ Erin reeled, fought to control her sobs. Her trip had happened at absolutely the worst possible time. ‘I’m not sure if I can —’
‘If you give us a number, an email address, we’ll contact you as soon as the op is finished.’
‘Thank you.’ Erin gave the nurse the number of their LA hotel and her email address. If everything went to plan, she’d be able to get in touch around the time her mother would be conscious and resting after her operation. She hung up, told herself that the news was as good as it could be for the moment.
Meeting Stacey Hill at the airport began a string of nail-biting moments for Erin. She was tired from the long bus ride, worried about her mother, fighting heartsickness for the wonderful man she’d lost. Stacey showed up at the appointed meeting place, a mere half-hour late.
‘Taxis! Never on time when you need them!’ Stacey apologised. ‘Let’s hope it’s smooth sailing from here on.’
The next hours played out like a bad movie — sleeplessness, boredom, as the plane lumbered on through the dark. Then the landing at LA’s perpetually smoggy airport, the taxi to the hotel, and twelve blissful hours of oblivion in a comfortable bed. As Erin lay half awake in the gloom of early morning in the foggy city, some friendly ghost told her that a life-changing event would happen any moment soon.
Chapter 12
Around two o’clock the day after Erin’s departure, Jenny transferred a call to Hamish. ‘A Mr Brightwell,’ she said. ‘Fruity Pommy accent.’
‘Good afternoon, Mr Bourke.’ The accent was indeed British — upper crust British. ‘Charles Brightwell speaking. From Green Earth. Don’t know if you’ve heard of us?’
‘I have.’ Hamish had often read of the British Greenie outfit, knew that it had hit the UK headlines many times in the last few years.
‘Sorry to break into your day like this, Mr Bourke. I’m at a conference in Melbourne. There’s a contingent of us here from the UK. And, first…’ The pause puzzled Hamish. ‘Congratulations! We’ve just watched a video of your Pembroke Shire campaign. You really hit the opposition for six. I —’
‘Excuse my butting in, Mr Brightwell,’ Hamish interrupted. ‘But I can give you an update. I had a call this morning from Pembroke Shire’s mayor. Asaka has just withdrawn its development application. It seems the TV coverage was the straw that broke that rather lame camel’s back. So the Pembroke Ranges are safe.’
‘Excellent news, Mr Bourke. I was going to compliment you on your speech in the park — with the children dressed in their little furry animal costumes — absolutely poetic.’ Another pause. ‘Now tell me, Mr Bourke. Have you done anything like this before? Even in the very short television clips we saw, your well-considered game plan came through loud and clear. That’s what impressed us most.’
‘Well, yes. I have done one or two other little numbers.’ Hamish enjoyed recalling the student days that had shaped his values. ‘Starting with a junket where I chained myself to a log in the path of a line of bulldozers. It got national TV coverage for days. I was nineteen at the time, studying law. Since then, we’ve taken on a few other bad guys. From mining companies to hotel chains. And so far, we haven’t lost a battle.’
‘Oh. So you’re a lawyer then?’
‘Yes.’
‘Icing on the cake, Mr Bourke. Can you spare a day to meet with us in Melbourne? Before we head back to the UK. We’d like to talk to you face to face. Quite possibly the outcome will be to your advantage.’
‘Well yes, but —’
‘We’ll pick up your travel costs, Mr Bourke. Of course.’
‘Thank you, but —’
‘We’re in Australia only until the weekend. Would tomorrow suit?’
‘Yes. I can make that.’
‘Good. The Ambassador Hotel. Say eleven.’
‘Fine.’
‘Well then, goodbye Mr Bourke. Till eleven tomorrow.’
After a celebratory lunch at the Ambassador next day, Hamish flew back to Sydney and collected his car. Throughout the flight, three-second grabs of his interview that morning had replayed in his mind like an Ipod download.
‘We all feel you’re the best man for the job, Mr Bourke. And I don’t mind telling you, we’ve been combing the world for months.’
‘Television audiences are going to love you, Mr Bourke. That down-to-earth Aussie style of yours — and the fact you look like a hands-on man of the forest. You’ll melt hearts. Especially female hearts.’
‘A retainer for starters, Mr Bourke. Something in the six figures range — UK pounds, of course. Plus fees for your media appearances. How does that sound?’
‘Are you free to travel at short notice? Places like Nigeria, Sweden, the US?’
‘Of course we’d expect you to maintain your legal practice. Wouldn’t want to upset your clients, would we?’
‘For a job title, how does Green Earth’s International Ambassador sound?’
As Hamish drove back to Luna Bay from the airport, he took time to revisit the disastrous night with Erin at Highlands Hall. Now, a few days after the event, his emotions had cooled a little. Maybe, just maybe, he’d jumped to conclusions a mite too quickly during that nightmarish drive home from Highlands Hall. Erin had said she didn’t know Todd Archer would be there, that she’d broken up with him long before.
But then, a few days before the night at Highlands Hall, Archer had driven to her cottage from Sydney to spend what was very likely a weekend in bed with her. It didn’t bear thinking about. On the other hand, Erin had always been honest with Hamish. By now, he knew a lot about her. From their first meeting, he’d sensed that she’d inherited her grandmother’s ways, her values. Then Erin’s job of creating cute pictures and the stories to go with them — there must be a childlike, creative soul inside her. He’d watched her good-natured sandwich-making on the protest day, her down-to-earth hospitality at the Landcare gig, her love for Dwayne.
None of this gelled with his spur-of-the moment anger which had cast her as a spy, a turncoat who’d go undercover to work with the woodchip people. If she ever came back to Luna Bay, he’d apologise. If. It was a pretty big if. If only he’d told her how he felt for her. The first time she stepped into his office, he’d been smitten. And his love had grown from that moment. Now, with Honey gone…but it was too late. All he could do now was mourn her loss — probably for years — for a lifetime, most likely.
He’d wounded her with his wild accusations — been downright rude. He was a lawyer, for goodness sakes. He should have looked for hard evidence that she’d sold out to the other side. Maybe it had all flowed from his hot rush of jealousy. When you saw the woman you loved in a steamy kiss with another guy, you were bound to react. And when he found that the kisser was none other than Todd Archer, the woodchippers’ man-on-the-spot — well, if Hamish been a cowboy just in from the prairie, he’d have downed a double whisky at the local saloon, then pulled out his six-gun and drilled the guy full of holes.
Now, a few days later, he could see his reaction as a local version of that Wild West movie. For the rest of his life, he’d regret the hurt he’d inflicted on Erin, on himself, over his stupid shoot-from-the-hip reaction. If he ever saw her again, he’d…forget it, he told himself. Any tick of the clock now, her land would sell. It was a beautiful property, and at her asking price, it was a steal. The first cashed-up developer to see it would pounce on it. And once it was sold, Erin Spenser would likely never come to Luna Bay again. Her pain over its loss would go too deep.
As he drove, Hamish puzzled over how he could come to terms with his new life. In Green Earth, he’d scored a dream client — a client who’d pay him handsomely, and also give him the wherewithal to do what he loved best: tell the people of the world how to
save their beautiful planet.
His thoughts turned to Dwayne. At this moment, he’d be happily settled with his paternal grandparents, probably playing with them on the carpet in their roomy lounge. It would upset all three of them if he were to wrench his little son out of their arms after only one night, so…
There was no more apt way for Hamish to celebrate his breakthrough new job than to spend a weekend at Sea Eagle’s Nest. Edna Spenser had created the little cocoon in the cavelike cleft all those years before, shown it to Hamish as a special secret the two of them could share. When she became too frail to climb down the rope ladder, she’d invited him to use it whenever he liked.
Erin would be away in Los Angeles for a week or more. It wouldn’t bother her if he camped at the Nest for a couple of days. He’d take time out to plan his future, against the background music of nature itself — the sound of the breakers smashing against the cliffs.
He wouldn’t take his cell phone. That would be sacrilege. He needed to cut himself off from the world of work while he had the chance. When the Spenser property was sold, perhaps as soon as a week or two, the priceless little space would be whisked out of his reach forever.
If only Erin had been waiting for him in Luna Bay that night. They’d flow into a loving reunion he’d remember for the rest of his life. He told himself again, about hundred times, that he’d been a total idiot — accused the woman he loved of literally sleeping with the enemy. Now the damage was done. After that horrible drive home from Highlands Hall, she’d never want to see him again. Without her, life at Luna Bay would drag by, year on year, like an everlasting winter. He would spend a couple of days at Sea Eagle’s Nest. Think of a way through the sterile life he saw stretching ahead of him.
Around midnight he looked down at the sea, sitting in a sleeping bag zipped up to his waist, a whisky nightcap in his hand. Without warning, The Great Idea hit him. At first, it so dazzled him, he couldn’t accept it as real. Then, slowly, hardly daring to trust his sensible, feet-on-the-ground analysis, he saw that it could work. Within the hour, he’d committed himself, body and soul. First thing Monday morning, he’d convert that cosmic flash of genius into reality. But — million dollar question — how would Erin Spenser take it?
Next afternoon, as he tidied the cave before leaving, he stumbled across an envelope in the little cupboard. Against his sense of propriety, he opened it, pulled out the paper inside and read.
I love Hamish Bourke. I didn’t want to, but I do…
On her second morning in Los Angeles, Erin woke fresh, ready for anything. The message light on her bedside phone glowed red. She called reception.
‘A message from Royal Sydney Hospital, Australia,’ the voice answered. ‘Mrs Spenser has come through her operation very well and is now resting in Recovery. And please, no phone calls for twenty-four hours.’
Erin lay back on her pillow. Joy, relief washed over her, warm and soothing. Her mother would live! She could hardly wait to phone next day, after the twenty-four hours had passed. She found herself wanting to sing, to dance, to kiss anyone who stood still for long enough. Maybe the twenty-four hour break was a blessing in disguise. For one day, she could give herself to the business at hand. That afternoon, she and Stacey met for friendly, get-to-know-you drinks with the Fantastory people at their nearby office.
‘We’ve had our animators put together a few minutes of story,’ Linda Strindberg, their host, told them. ‘See what you think.’ Erin watched, in growing ecstasy, as the three minute cartoon segment rolled. She giggled as the two Katies hopped through a forest inhabited by Goldilocks and the three bears.
‘I just love it,’ she told them, choking back tears of happiness.
After a day’s discussions on contract legalities that were way over her head, Erin found herself redundant. Stacey told her to disappear — take in a movie or a walk — while she handled the minutiae of royalties, advances, copyrights and other trivia.
Erin spoke to her mother daily, marvelling at the perky sound of her voice, thrilled to hear that she’d been moved to a general ward where she’d complete her post-op stay. In a few more days, Erin could visit the hospital.
An email message arrived from Jenny, Hamish’s receptionist.
Mr Borlotti will visit the office on Monday morning to sign the contract.
Erin marvelled at the magical timing. Her mother was safe, and now the money to pay her medical bills would soon be in the bank. Over dinner each night, Stacey updated her on the day’s business. Fantastory loved the concept, she told Erin. It was now only a matter of dollars. Their discussion would end on Friday. At dinner on Thursday night, Erin dared to ask Stacey the question she’d kept on ice for as long as she could.
‘How much money might I get?’ she asked as they sipped pre-dinner drinks.
‘Can’t tell you right now, honey,’ Stacey said, hamming her newly acquired accent. In the week they’d been in town, she’d almost become part of the Fantastory team. ‘But tomorrow night — let’s party. The two of us. Before we catch the Saturday afternoon plane back to li’l ol’ Sydney. But let me tell you, it’s gonna be big. Real big.’
Against all her good resolutions, Erin found herself wrestling with a raging dose of nerves. She took a long shower. A lot was riding on the news Stacey would break that evening. Around four-thirty, Erin opened her door to the beaming Stacey.
‘So, honey.’ Stacey opened her arms wide. Her grin stretched almost as wide as her arms. ‘How about a one million dollar payment the first year, then more in annual instalments, followed by, well, who knows, but…bathtubs full of lovely green US dollars!’
‘A million dollars? Now?’
‘Yes, honey child. That’s what ah just done told ya, didn’t ah?’ she drawled. The two of them crashed into a bear hug, thudding palms on each other’s backs, squealing their happiness.
‘Wow! I’m speechless,’ Erin shrieked.
‘Wow! Me too.’ It wasn’t like Stacey to lose her business cool.
‘But — but —’ A brand new thought smashed into Erin’s mind like a meteorite. She must stop the sale of her Luna Bay property. Now. Her eyes flicked to the phone. ‘What time is it in Australia, Stacey?’
‘Oh, around midday I guess, honey.’
‘Can I phone my lawyer?’
‘Sure, honey, but don’t forget it’s Saturday in li’l ol’ Orstralia.’
No problem. She had Hamish’s cell phone number. At midday on Saturday, he’d be relaxing. Maybe spending time with Dwayne. Maybe shopping, or mowing his lawn. But around. She dialled the number. It was a pity that Stacey stood nearby, showing a sisterly interest in her client’s upcoming conversation. Whatever, Erin must get at least the bare facts of the message across to Hamish regardless. Don’t let Borlotti sign next Monday morning. I’ve just come into a million dollars. More than enough for my mother’s medical bills. The phone rang, and rang, and rang. So like Hamish to have switched off his message-taking option. After a long minute, she hung up. She’d try again later when the bubbly Stacey had left. It would be so much better to talk to Hamish in private.
‘Just one li’l ol’ detail, honey child.’ Stacey beamed down at her as she sat on the bed by the phone. ‘Yo’all have to sign this itty bitty paper here. Sayin’ yo’all accept the deal. Here, read it.’ Erin scanned the paper with its maze of legalese and numbers, the empty space above the dotted line at the bottom of the page. ‘I trust you, Stacey. Where’s a pen?’
Seconds later, Stacey headed for the door, signed paper in hand. ‘They’re waiting for this back at the office,’ she said, suddenly an Australian again. I told them I’d drop it back as soon as you signed it. So if you’ll kindly excuse me for a few minutes.’ She grabbed the door handle. ‘Oh, and while I’m gone, get into your party frock. They told me about this great place for a night out. We absolutely have to celebrate. The Platinum Palace, it’s called.’
As the door clicked shut, Erin grabbed the phone and dialled Hamish’s number again.
No answer. She dressed, then dialled again. No answer. Stacey still hadn’t returned. A good opportunity to dial again. No answer. She left a message on Hamish’s office phone, knowing it wouldn’t be heard until Monday morning at the earliest — maybe too late to stop a sale. Then, as a back-up plan that she knew wouldn’t work until Monday morning when he arrived at the office, she emailed him.
Stacey came back all too soon. A taxi ride later, she swept the two of them into an uber-glitzy, noisy cabaret restaurant with floor show and band. Around one in the morning even Stacey had had enough. After a few hours’ sleep, Erin phoned Hamish again. No reply. Throughout the day she phoned — about forty more fruitless, heartbreaking times — until they boarded their aircraft and took off.
As soon as the plane landed in Sydney, a little after five on a clear chilly morning, Erin phoned again. Never mind that it was before breakfast back in sleepy Luna Bay. No answer. She was desperate. Forget about catching the bus back to the Bay. After a quick hug with Stacey, she sprinted to the taxi rank. It was empty.
She must get home — she caught herself using that forbidden word again — as fast as she could. Her whole future hinged on arriving at Hamish’s office before nine. She pictured a man stepping into the office as soon as it opened, then signing the contract. The second that signature hit the paper, the property would be lost forever. Hundreds of people, maybe thousands over future years, would feel the pain. All of them would blame her.
‘Taxi!’ She spotted a passing cab, hailed it.
‘Where to, Miss?’
‘Luna Bay.’
‘Where’s that?’
‘Oh, just three hours from here. Little place on the South Coast.’
‘Sure. Hop in, Miss.’
‘Just a moment. How much?’
‘Oh, for a good-looking woman like you, say eight hundred.’
‘Dollars?’
‘What else?’
‘Okay. And a hundred dollar tip if you make it before nine.’