The Forgotten Sea

by Beverley Harper

  Well, she probably would be free since Mr Bloody Maguire had vanished, presumably through a crack in the floor of the gent’s toilet and into thin air. ‘Sounds interesting. I’d like that.’

  After dinner, Justin proposed a walk along the beach. It was a beautiful night, balmy and calm. They took off their shoes and wandered in silence, listening to the gentle lapping of water on the sand and, by contrast, the almost intrusive rhythm of the sega blasted out by bands playing at resorts along the shore. She liked the way Justin didn’t try to fill the silence with meaningless words, seeming content to enjoy the evening and her company.

  Beyond the drawn up and deserted deckchairs, the beach descended into near darkness. All but three of the private bungalows appeared unoccupied. Holly found herself wondering how it must have been in William Maguire’s day. Months away from home, no roads, no electricity, no running water, nothing familiar. A haven it might have been but survival depended on self-reliance and a total dependency on the strength of one’s own body. The sense of isolation must have been strong. If he could only see it now, what would he make of it? Hotels, bright lights, happy tourists, all modern conveniences and home just a few hours away across the ocean.

  Preoccupied with thoughts of the past, of loneliness and danger in unfamiliar lands, Holly shivered suddenly. For some inexplicable reason she felt vulnerable, that some kind of threat lurked in the shadows. She tried to shrug it off but the fear would not go away. ‘I think we should head back, Justin. It’s too dark to see where we’re going.’

  ‘Just to those rocks.’

  There was a shape up ahead but that was all she could make out. They walked slowly on. It turned out to be a sea wall. Above was privately owned land.

  ‘Okay,’ Justin agreed. ‘Let’s go back.’

  Turning, they made their way towards the friendly, twinkling lights. Seeing them so close was reassuring. Not usually given to flights of fancy, the premonition that some kind of menace waited in the darkness had been strong. She had just started to relax when a soft pounding of running feet alerted her that someone was approaching from behind, very fast. As Holly turned to look over her shoulder a blur of movement collided with them, knocking her flying. She heard Justin shout and the sounds of a scuffle. Holly tried to get up but a bare foot lashed out with vicious intent, sending pain shooting through her side. She slumped back onto the wet sand, breathing with difficulty. More voices, not only Justin’s this time. Shadows running as the night subsided into silence. Holly heard Justin groan and she tried to sit up, but the pain in her ribs was too intense.

  ‘Bastards!’ Justin gritted. ‘Jesus Christ. Holly! Are you all right?’

  ‘Ribs,’ she managed to croak. ‘Might be broken.’

  Sand scrunched and the dark shape of Justin stumbling, like a drunk, to where she lay. He knelt beside her. ‘Can you get up?’

  It was the last thing Holly wanted to do. ‘I’ll try.’

  ‘Which side hurts?’

  ‘Left.’

  Though her teeth were clenched, she could not avoid crying out with pain when he went to help her. ‘Sorry. Here. Is that any better?’ He placed an arm around her shoulders.

  It was, but only marginally. ‘Let’s go.’ She had to get away from this place. Every shadow seemed to dance threateningly towards them. Her side ached abominably, though whether from internal damage or from the intensity of the kick, she wasn’t certain. Together, they stumbled back along the beach. Reaching the lights, Holly saw that Justin had blood on his face. ‘You’re hurt.’

  He touched his face gingerly. ‘Superficial, I think. My room’s on the ground floor. I always keep the key with me.’

  They cut through the floodlit garden, screened from sight by shrubs and flowerbeds. The door to Justin’s room stood ajar. ‘Oh Jesus!’ he groaned, as light flooded the interior. The place had been trashed. Bedclothes strewn everywhere, the mattress pulled onto the floor and slashed, drawers and cupboards open, a suitcase cut to ribbons, a torn toilet bag on the bathroom floor. Even his clothing had not escaped the knife. Linings ripped and hanging in tatters, the heels prised off his shoes.

  ‘Justin!’ Holly managed, as she took in the carnage. ‘This is more than petty theft. Someone was seriously searching for something.’

  ‘I’ll worry about it later. Let’s call the hotel doctor first.’

  ‘What about the police?’

  ‘I guess so.’ He sounded doubtful. ‘Though what they can do about it I don’t know. We didn’t really see them.’

  ‘Them? I thought there was only one.’

  ‘No. I saw two outlines.’ Justin picked up the telephone which had been knocked to the floor and dialled reception. In a concise, even voice he gave his name and room number, asked for a doctor, reported the break-in and requested that someone come to inspect the damage.

  The doctor arrived first. With no comment on the chaos or words of sympathy, he felt Holly’s ribs, said two might be cracked but, as far as he could tell without an X-ray, not broken. Justin, with old-fashioned courtesy, turned his back when the doctor helped Holly out of her T-shirt and taped her ribcage. ‘Leave that on for as long as you can stand it,’ he said, assisting her back into the garment. ‘I will give you a referral for an X-ray.’

  Holly twisted her torso gingerly. ‘It feels much better already.’ She wasn’t sure she wanted the hassle of medical attention. From past experiences outside Australia, it was usually more trouble than it was worth.

  The doctor, an Indo-Mauritian, nodded briskly. ‘The damage should mend quickly. How did this happen?’ He directed the question at Justin, who still stood with his back to them. ‘You can turn around, young man.’ The doctor examined his face carefully. One eye was closing, a nasty bruise had appeared just under it and his lip was split. ‘Headache?’

  ‘A bit.’

  The man held up two fingers. ‘How many?’

  ‘Two.’

  ‘Good. No concussion. Couple of days and you’ll be right as rain. Where were you attacked?’ He was pouring something from a bottle onto a wad of cottonwool.

  ‘On the beach,’ Justin mumbled as antiseptic lotion stung his lip. ‘We went for a walk.’

  The doctor tutted and shook his head. ‘Disgraceful. I apologise on behalf of my countrymen. It happens now and then, but not often.’ He glanced at Holly briefly. ‘And the room?’

  She shrugged, then wished she hadn’t as a pain stabbed through her. ‘It was like this when we got back. Someone broke in.’

  ‘Tut. Once this island was a safe place. Now there is crime. Regrettable but the way of the world I fear. Not even Mauritius is spared. Hold still, young man.’

  Justin winced as the doctor turned his attention to the bruise. ‘Ouch!’

  There was a commotion at the door and the night manager marched in. A horrified ‘Mon dieu!’ burst from him. He clapped hands to his cheeks as he surveyed the damaged room. ‘This is terrible. I am so sorry, Monsieur. We will find you another room immediately. How did they get in? Did you leave the door open?’

  The doctor, obviously an amateur sleuth, beckoned and pointed. ‘I don’t think so, Monsieur. Look, the lock is broken.’

  The night manager was scandalised. ‘This has never happened before. What is coming to this world?’ He placed a hand over his heart and spun theatrically on the balls of his feet to face Justin, whose eye was disappearing rapidly into puffy folds of bluish-green flesh. ‘Guests attacked in their own rooms, Monsieur. Those responsible should be hung.’

  Holly began to feel tired and slightly hysterical, a combined reaction no doubt to the ordeal on the beach and the night manager’s histrionics. She rubbed a hand across her eyes and said slowly, ‘We were not in the room when this happened. We were attacked on the beach.’

  The night manager looked vastly relieved. Clearly, the beach did not constitute his domain. ‘Do you wish to report this break-in, Monsieur?’

  Justin shook his head. ‘As far as I can tell, nothing has been st
olen, simply torn apart. Perhaps it was vandals?’

  ‘Perhaps.’ The man seemed doubtful and comforted at the same time. Holly guessed that Justin’s refusal to report the matter to the police, and the night manager’s relief, probably had something to do with the ridiculous amount of red tape connected to any criminal activity in a territory once administered by Britain. In Holly’s opinion, having come up against it several times in the past, the British legacy of official procedures should have been the first thing dropped by any country the instant it gained independence. It would be a lengthy enough experience reporting the attack.

  ‘I will leave a full report in the manager’s office,’ the night manager was saying. ‘If you would care to see him in the morning, Monsieur, he can advise you the best places to go to replace your possessions.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Justin said.

  ‘If you don’t mind,’ Holly cut in, ‘I’d like to go to my room.’ She was desperate for a stiff whisky. That, and to take the weight off her legs, which had begun to tremble with shock.

  The doctor left with her. ‘Mademoiselle, I will come with you.’

  ‘There’s no need,’ Holly declined. ‘I’ll just pick up my key and –’

  ‘I do insist, young lady.’

  His tone invited no further protest. In any case, she was glad he was there. Although the lights were on, opening the door of her room was not something she wanted to do alone. The doctor checked cupboards, under the bed, the balcony and the bathroom. ‘All clear,’ he announced rather proudly.

  Holly declined the offer of a sleeping pill and locked the door carefully behind him. She poured herself a large J & B whisky, courtesy of Downtown Duty Free at Melbourne Airport, threw in three ice cubes and a splash of bottled water from the refrigerator. Sitting on the bed, she nearly jumped out of her skin when the telephone rang.

  ‘Yes.’ Her tone was irritable.

  ‘It’s me. Did I wake you?’

  She took a long pull at the glass and banged it down on the side table. ‘The concern is touching. Thanks for today, Maguire. I particularly enjoyed the scenic bus trip back.’ When he said nothing, she added, ‘Where the hell did you go?’

  ‘Would kidnapped by little green men do it for you?’

  His attempt at humour didn’t work. It was Holly’s turn to remain silent.

  She heard him sigh. ‘I saw someone I had to speak to.’

  ‘Crap, Maguire. You knew Liang Song would be there. You set the whole thing up.’

  ‘Yes,’ he admitted.

  ‘That doesn’t explain your disappearing act. Just how did you get out of there?’

  ‘I walked.’

  ‘Hello, Maguire. Remember me? I was sitting there.’

  ‘There’s a little passageway runs along the dining room. It’s visible from the tables, but not very.’

  ‘So you just tiptoed down it and hurtled after the Chinese ice queen. Lurking outside men’s toilets doesn’t seem like Madame Liang’s style.’

  ‘Madame Liang!’ He sounded genuinely surprised. ‘It wasn’t her. I’m sorry, but I can’t say any more.’ Silence was loud on the line. Connor broke it. ‘I apologise.’

  ‘That doesn’t do it for me either, Maguire. What are you up to? This chasing after buried treasure story is bullshit. You’re messing me around and I don’t like it. Perhaps it’s time I did some independent digging.’

  ‘No!’ He nearly yelped the word. ‘Don’t do that, Holly.’

  ‘Listen, Maguire. I want a story. That’s why I’m here. Cooperate or I’ll get it my way.’

  ‘Jesus!’

  ‘And He certainly won’t help you.’

  ‘Look . . . okay . . . what’s your room number?’

  Holly gave it to him.

  ‘I’ll be there in ten.’ The connection was broken.

  He made it in seven.

  ‘Come in.’ Holly looked at him. He appeared distracted and edgy.

  ‘Come for a walk.’

  She folded her arms carefully. ‘No thanks.’

  ‘Just for a drink.’

  ‘We can have one here. I’ve got some scotch.’

  ‘I’d rather go to the bar.’ He leaned towards her and whispered softly, ‘Your room could well be bugged.’

  ‘Oh, please!’ She was in no mood to argue.

  ‘Are you coming or not?’ He didn’t look as though he was in any kind of mood to argue either.

  Holly threw him an exasperated look, picked up her room key and they went to the bar.

  At that hour the place was quiet, but Connor chose a seat well away from anybody else, ordered two scotches, and stared expressionlessly into space until they arrived. Once the barman moved away, he leaned towards Holly and spoke softly. ‘I can’t tell you much.’

  ‘Can’t or won’t?’ She realised suddenly that he was angry.

  ‘Dammit! What was Quinn thinking to send you here?’ His eyes glittered. ‘You’re getting in the way.’

  ‘Thanks.’ She glared at him. ‘Just as I thought. My father does know what you’re up to?’

  ‘Yes and no.’

  ‘What kind of an answer is that?’

  Connor sat back. A pulse ticked in his cheek. Either that or he was clenching his teeth so hard that a muscle was in spasm. Seeming to reach a decision, he leaned forward again. ‘I am looking for William’s treasure. It’s the kind of thing that appeals to me. But I’m doing something else as well. Quinn thinks he knows what it is. He doesn’t. Even so, the story I leaked to get him off my back should have been enough to keep you out of it.’

  ‘Maguire,’ Holly said flatly. ‘My father accepts what you seem unable or unwilling to go along with. I’m a big girl now, so will you stop stuffing about. As I said on the phone, there’s a story out there. If I can’t get it from you –’

  ‘Remember what I told you at lunch?’ he cut in. ‘About the Triads?’

  So! He had been warning me.

  ‘Keep away from it, Holly. They play rough.’

  ‘You’re telling me nothing, Maguire. Tossing out a few crumbs, that’s all. It’s not good enough.’

  ‘Drugs.’ Conner said the word with reluctance and anger. ‘That’s all you’re getting.’

  ‘Is that Quinn’s version or your own?’

  ‘It’s the truth.’ He tried to stare her down but she held his gaze. ‘Quinn doesn’t know.’

  Their eyes were still locked. Holly nodded slowly. ‘Okay,’ she breathed softly, knowing honesty when she heard it. ‘But I’m still doing the treasure story.’

  Relief showed on his face. ‘Do you mean that? No sticking your nose into anything else?’

  She smiled slightly. ‘A journo who goes after a drug story needs certain insurances in place before asking questions. People who know where they are and why, a cameraman or two covering every move, contact with the Australian Embassy or, if there isn’t one, the British. I’d be mad to go it alone. I’m no fool or heroine, if you’ll pardon a particularly bad pun. You have my word.’

  ‘Thank God!’

  ‘So if you don’t mind, Maguire, I’d appreciate it if you could be a bit more up-front in future. That way I won’t blunder across your wires. I’m doing an interview with Madame Liang soon. Now I know what subject to avoid.’

  ‘You’re what?’

  ‘You heard.’

  ‘Don’t do it, Holly.’

  ‘A look at Sino-Mauritians as part of a tourist piece! Where’s the harm? Anyway, she’s agreed.’

  ‘When? When did you speak to her?’

  ‘This evening. She was here earlier. Came to my room looking for you.’ Holly smiled wickedly. ‘Oh yes. Said to tell you to stay away from her.’

  Connor closed his eyes. ‘She was checking up on you.’

  ‘She sure was. Had a good snoop through my notebook.’

  ‘That won’t hurt.’ He looked at her soberly. ‘Promise me, Holly. Stick to the tourist angle when you do the interview.’

  ‘I’ve already given my wo
rd.’ She remembered Raoul Dulac’s call. ‘Lunch on Sunday at the Dulacs’. It’s confirmed. Midday. I’ve got directions.’

  ‘Fine.’ He nodded absently. ‘I’m going back to Mahébourg tomorrow. Want to come?’

  She thought it over. She needed one more session with Justin Parker to tie up loose ends – background stuff on him mainly, questions she could ask without raising any suspicions. With Justin and his dodo search out of the way she would be free to concentrate on Connor Maguire. ‘No thanks. Once bitten twice shy.’

  He looked surprised but all he said was, ‘Another day then.’ He noticed her empty glass. ‘Want the other half?’

  ‘I don’t think so.’ Her sides were aching badly.

  Connor drained his glass, stood, and put out a hand to help her up. An expression of pain crossed Holly’s face as she rose. ‘What is it?’

  ‘Nothing.’ She was tired, in pain, and desperate to lie down. ‘Just a twinge.’

  He looked at her closely. ‘You don’t seem very well. What’s wrong? You’re quite pale.’

  She went to tell him, then changed her mind. His concern had her perilously close to tears. Holly was too proud to cry in front of someone she hardly knew. ‘Been a long day, that’s all.’ Thankfully, her voice was steady.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he apologised again, thinking she was referring to the bus trips. ‘I’ll make it up to you.’

  They walked to the door of her room. ‘Good night.’ He bent his head and kissed her cheek. ‘Sleep tight.’ A quick grin, and he turned and walked away.

  FIVE

  Holly spent an uncomfortable night. If she tried to turn over, the pain woke her. Shadowy figures with evil intent ran amok in her mind. Finally, she found the most comfortable position – flat on her back – and fell into a deep and dreamless sleep. The telephone rang what seemed to be only minutes later but the sun was well up.

  ‘It’s Justin. Did I wake you?’

  ‘Yuh!’ she mumbled, wondering why her ribs felt tight then remembering the bandaging. The bedside clock showed seven twenty. Far too early for Holly.

  ‘Sorry, the police have just called. The manager reported the break-in. Something to do with the hotel’s insurance claim. I’d hoped to avoid this but it can’t be helped. The police are sending a car. I have no idea how long it will take. We might have to do Pamplemousses another day.’