The Forgotten Sea

by Beverley Harper

  Justin hadn’t been entirely honest with Holly. True, he genuinely regretted his actions on Rodrigues – that whole thing had been foolish. He was sorry he’d frightened her. As a matter of fact, Justin had become quite attracted to the bolshie Australian. But telling her he’d given up on William Maguire’s nest egg had been a complete fabrication. He was as keen now as he had been all along. Although he did not like Raoul Dulac and didn’t trust him, he had no intention of breaking any ties until all attempts to find the treasure had been exhausted. Raoul had the contacts, local knowledge and influence that Justin did not. He had no doubt that a double-cross was Raoul’s intention but reasoned that forewarned was forearmed. If Raoul tried, he’d learn that Justin was not without his own little tricks.

  His partner’s reaction to the news that Holly and Maguire were a team again was typical and worried him. The Frenchman had replied, ‘Sit tight. Make sure I can reach you. I’ll find out where they’ve gone and get back to you. We must take Maguire’s mind off the treasure one way or another.’

  Justin didn’t know what he meant but had the feeling that changing the man’s thoughts would involve Holly, and he had no doubt that Raoul Dulac would be prepared to use any means at his disposal to bring about such a shift of emphasis. He could not shake off the premonition that Holly was in danger.

  Raoul’s parting words, ‘Be prepared to keep them in sight until we can separate them,’ had Justin thinking that, if necessary, the Frenchman would not hesitate to do something to separate them on a permanent basis. He didn’t like it.

  Justin fretted in his room. He’d grown up with the feud between William and Kavanagh Maguire – it was as much a part of his childhood as memories of games played, stories read, chickenpox and measles. The animosity between two branches of the family was one he never questioned. It was there, it was real and, on principle, he did not associate with any of William Maguire’s descendants. The one exception was Anne-Marie. The treasure, if it existed, belonged to his mother. Of that, he had no doubt.

  Connor Maguire had no claim to any of it. The fact that his ancestor was William’s brother didn’t come into it as far as Justin was concerned. There was no moral issue here – Justin was convinced he had right on his side.

  On a more personal level, he intended to use his share of any monies generated by the treasure to further a passionate belief that the dodo could be brought back from extinction. The scientific glory of such a feat was something he craved. Justin, like many scientists, wanted recognition and resented the backroom image of biologists. This was to be his magnum opus, the reason he was alive, a contribution to science that guaranteed his name would live forever in the world’s database of technical brilliance.

  Then there was Holly. Justin had always been shy around women. To him, they represented a challenge he had no wish to face. They always seemed to expect more than he was willing to give, take more than he believed he had given, question more than they had the right to and draw up battle lines when he could see no need for a fight. Holly was different. He felt no sense of competition with her.

  Waiting for Raoul’s call, Justin was trying to juggle two loyalties. Like the cold winds from Asia meeting warm air rising from the Indian Ocean, Justin’s emotions were on a collision course.

  Holly and Connor were, for the moment, blissfully unaware of circumstances conspiring against them. They were alone together and loving it. Time-out time. A day snatched for themselves. At four in the afternoon Holly reminded him that Madame Liang Song would be expecting his call.

  ‘Bugger her,’ he said. ‘She can wait.’

  ‘Bad Connor.’

  ‘So sue me.’

  As she was discovering, the Peter Pan in him – the delightful characteristic that lit her entire soul – had a habit of revealing itself at the most unexpected times. Connor Maguire could be focused and serious if the necessity arose. He could be strong, stubborn, competent and calculating. The man could get angry, tough or sarcastic when it was needed. But when the boy surfaced and joined forces with the lover in him, he was an irresistible, sexy, hands-on, gentle, affectionate and wholly desirable creature who bore her away to some secret place where nothing and no-one else could enter, where the world backed off to hazy and the only thing that mattered, the only thing real, was being as one with each other. Yin and Yang. Call it what you will. Holly didn’t care what it was called. It was happening. And that was all that mattered.

  Everything else could wait.

  FIFTEEN

  Holly woke at first light and lay on her side, looking out at the serene beauty of the sea. Connor was curled into her back, one arm resting on her hip. She could feel his breath against her neck. If she moved he’d wake up, and she didn’t want him to, not yet. She needed to savour this perfect moment. The lagoon looked like silvery grey satin. Soon a breeze would ruffle the surface, forming a canvas on which the rising sun could paint new colours of amber, then turquoise. But for now, the water appeared to be sleeping, breathing as gently as the man who held her.

  Reality was the gull perched on a pirogue busily preening its feathers in preparation for another day. It was a restless Indian Ocean stretching to infinity beyond the coral reef. It was today and tomorrow and all the days after that. Cocooned between the tranquil scene outside and the man she had so recently given her heart to, Holly wanted this moment to be indelibly etched into her soul, there to draw on when reality was less than perfect, when life wounded and disappointed.

  Something startled the bird and it flew off, screeching. Connor stirred, kissed her bare shoulder and snuggled closer. For one brief moment, Holly had captured perfection. Nothing, and no-one, could ever take it from her. She rolled over and burrowed her body into Connor’s, the flawless few seconds a precious gift, handed out free of charge by fate for her to nurture and use or keep forever secret. As Connor’s arms tightened around her and she responded to her need of him, Holly felt that an angel must have taken time out to truly bless her.

  Later, he brought her coffee in bed. They sat together, him behind with arms and legs around her, and they watched in silence as the lagoon selected its colour for the new day.

  ‘You know,’ Connor finally said, his lips against her hair, ‘I could stay like this forever.’

  ‘Mmmm! Me too.’

  ‘When this is over, when we’re back home, let’s make sure we give ourselves time for this. A lot of time.’

  Holly put down her half-finished coffee and turned into him. ‘Yes,’ she whispered against his lips. Then remembered her manners. ‘Please.’

  Reality kicked in at eight thirty and dragged both of them back to its unsympathetic demands.

  ‘One day. That’s all we can give William’s treasure.’

  ‘Then we’d better get a wriggle on.’

  Connor groaned. ‘Yuh!’ He took both of her hands in his. ‘Come and have a shower with me.’

  ‘Is that a good idea?’

  ‘Probably not.’ He pulled her up and folded his arms around her. ‘Be strong. We can do this.’

  Holly wound hers around his neck. ‘We can? Are you sure?’

  ‘Behave, Jones.’

  She kissed a nipple, feeling him shiver. ‘I will,’ she promised.

  ‘When?’ His voice was low and urgent. ‘Jesus, woman!’

  Holly took a deep breath and moved back from him. ‘Now?’

  His dark eyes glowed with renewed desire. ‘Now’s good.’ He moved reluctantly towards the bathroom. ‘About that shower – I don’t trust you.’

  ‘That’s nothing.’ Holly followed him. ‘I don’t trust myself.’

  Reality. They kicked it out again. But it proved doggedly persistent.

  At nine fifteen, Connor put through a call to Liang Song. Judging by his expression and the one-sided conversation, she had to be giving an opinion on the virtues of time keeping. He arranged to meet with her the next morning and hung up, pulling a wry face. ‘I’d like to be a fly on the wall when her number comes up. S
he’ll go ballistic.’

  ‘Serves her right.’

  He grinned at Holly’s lack of charity. ‘Come on, Jonesy. Time to go.’

  ‘Jonesy comes a close second to ducky.’

  ‘Jones then.’

  ‘Jones is good.’

  ‘So it’s the “y” you don’t like. Does that mean I can call you duck?’

  He did a pretty good impression of a different kind of duck himself when she threw a cushion at him.

  They left the apartment still absorbed in each other and finding fun in every moment. Not even the telephone call to Liang Song had dampened their spirits. They didn’t notice Justin Parker in a car parked further down the road.

  The call had come in late the previous afternoon. ‘They’re in Flic-en-Flac,’ Raoul said. ‘You’ll find them easily enough, they’re renting a studio apartment overlooking the sea.’

  ‘I’ve arranged a car. I’ll get straight down there.’

  ‘They’re not going anywhere today. Be there first thing tomorrow.’

  Justin didn’t ask how he had found them. Raoul only had to make a telephone call or two and the Australians’ every movement would be monitored. He experienced a rush of irritation that Holly was so cosily ensconced with Maguire. He’d have given her credit for better taste.

  Parked in easy sight of their apartment by first light, Justin cared nothing for the new day’s beauty. He tormented himself with visions of what might be happening on the other side of that closed door. Holly and Maguire eventually emerged, hand-in-hand, and climbed into Maguire’s car. The bloody man was laughing at something she’d said. Justin followed them, waiting while they went into a bakery, then a grocer and finally a fruit shop. After that, they headed back towards the main road.

  ‘That looks nasty,’ Holly commented as they drove past the smashed wreck of Sham’s unmarked police car. It was on its side, bent in a V-shape, windows shattered, roof and doors staved in, wheels buckled. A few enterprising scavengers had stripped it of anything they thought they might be able to sell, or put to good use.

  The detective, who had hovered all night at death’s door, was at last making a come-back. His vital signs were stronger and he had slipped from coma to sleep some time around dawn. That he survived at all was a miracle. For as long as he lived, Sham would never be able to recall anything about the accident, other than what caused it. Travelling too fast, close on eighty-five kilometres an hour, he’d swerved to avoid the Porsche and crashed into a storm drain. His car hit the far side of the ditch nose first, then became airborne, turning end over end until it met the immovable solidity of a telegraph pole, an impact that literally broke the vehicle’s back. It was over in an instant. The crumpled wreck then slid back into the culvert. By then, Sham had lost interest.

  Flying glass made superficial inroads to his appearance but the real damage was caused when his seatbelt sprang open on impact. His skull had been fractured, right arm and wrist broken, chest caved in by the steering wheel, ribs broken and a lung punctured. He had a jagged hole in his liver, both hips were broken and an ankle fractured so badly he would always walk with a limp. And just for good measure, the rear-view mirror eliminated the benefit of sight from his left eye.

  Sham re-entered the land of the living with very little enthusiasm. Big-time, life-threatening events have a way of penetrating the consciousness ahead of anything else. He knew, even before registering pain, or the fact that his body seemed to be encased in swaddling, that he wasn’t going to like it.

  Both eyes had been bandaged. He heard his wife, quietly sobbing, somewhere in the room. An undamaged sense of smell told him he was in hospital.

  ‘Wha . . . ?’ Sham croaked.

  His wife burst into tears. Closer to the bed, a matter-of-fact female voice told him that he’d had a car accident. Sham wondered where.

  He drifted in and out of sleep with no idea what time it was, or even which day. Although heavily drugged to alleviate the pain, when his commanding officer paid a visit that afternoon the detective knew there was something he had to tell him. The only trouble was, he couldn’t remember what. Without saying a word, Sham succumbed once again to the security of pain-killing medication and the opportunity was lost.

  Connor agreed that the escarpment over which the waterfall began its downward plunge was identical to William’s map. Although the whole area was overgrown and the terrain difficult, there was no mistaking the scalloped shape or terraced descent.

  ‘My taxidriver told me that the hydro-electric scheme has virtually destroyed this river,’ Holly said. ‘When William drew his map it would have been much wider and fuller.’

  ‘If his directions are accurate, the treasure should be somewhere over there.’ Connor pointed down to the far side. From the top, the water dropped straight for perhaps ten metres then flowed over a steeply sloping rock shelf before plunging on between two cliffs and falling further into a large pool. After that was a series of smaller waterfalls, taking it to the bottom. Connor was pointing to where the lush forest grew right up to the edge of the stream. Before human intervention, the entire width of the escarpment would have formed part of the waterfall, rather like a miniature version of the horseshoe-shaped Niagara Falls. Now, with only a trickle, vegetation had taken root where it could and the walls of the precipice were virtually hidden. ‘Might be a bit tricky getting down there. How’s your head for heights?’

  ‘Fair.’ She was lying. Holly hated heights.

  ‘Somewhere above that second pool would be my guess. We’ll have to get around to the other side first.’ Connor picked up a coil of rope he’d brought from the car and draped it over his shoulder. It was the only equipment he had with him.

  The going was rough. There was no track and the ground dipped and rose with little warning. The vegetation was so dense that at times it was not possible to see the waterfall. Connor proved reasonably sure-footed. All Holly could think was, what went down had to come back up. She was not looking forward to the climb. This stage of a relationship was not the time to discover that the object of your desires was out of condition!

  Justin Parker, when he reached the place where Holly and Connor had compared their map with the scenery, made the same connection as Holly had done when she first looked at the Tamarin Falls. He had committed the map to memory, and he also came to the conclusion that the place to start looking was on the other side. No longer concerned with keeping up his pursuit, the only thing on Justin’s mind was the treasure. He had to reach it before them. Instead of following Holly and Connor, Justin set off in the opposite direction.

  Connor had two distinct advantages over Justin. The last five years of his schooling had been spent as a boarder at The Armidale School, a private Anglican establishment in the Northern Tablelands of New South Wales which, in addition to mundane classroom activities, gave emphasis to the hands-on teaching of bush survival skills. Conquering the outback came naturally to Connor, be it mountain or desert. Justin’s rural experiences were confined to the occasional foray into university parklands around Oxford. Connor was also a natural sportsman who enjoyed excellent physical coordination. Justin was not. In the difficult terrain, he rather resembled a stork on ice.

  The base of the falls could undoubtedly be reached by following the ridge until it fell away towards the coast and allowed an easy descent. That meant doubling back. Quicker by far would be to scale down the side somewhere close to the falls. This was what Connor intended, using the vegetation for footrests and handholds. Justin didn’t think of this. All he knew was that Maguire had crossed the river at the head of the falls. If he hurried, Justin believed he could reach the bottom on this side, cross over and make it back way ahead of Holly and Maguire.

  The rim of the escarpment was deceptive. Connor, who had taken his bearings from a constantly visible high point, could keep well back from the edge without losing orientation. Justin, on the other hand, had to stay close to avoid becoming lost. Stumbling over rocks, slipping on the uneven gr
ound, sweat stinging his eyes, Justin suddenly lost his footing, landed awkwardly and started sliding towards the edge. He lunged out and grabbed a sapling to stop his fall. But the small tree had not yet established itself in the rocky earth. The taproot went down no more than three centimetres, the plant fed by a fine web of lateral roots, some of which spread above ground. With Justin’s weight, the sapling pulled free. Fingers still scrabbling for an anchor, Justin gave a cry of horror when the land beneath him dropped away. There was nothing to hang onto, nothing to stop him. Arms flailing wildly, Justin disappeared over the edge.

  He hit the sloping rock shelf ten metres below flat on his stomach, the impact snapping his head forward, nose and teeth taking the full force of the jarring collision. Before he had time to register shock or pain, momentum carried him forward and he plunged, cartwheeling into space, landing on rocks surrounding the first pool before bouncing over the rim to plummet, head-first, into the second. The water slowly changed colour. His head had been split open. Justin was dead before he stopped falling.

  ‘What was that?’ Holly asked.

  ‘A bird perhaps.’ Connor sounded doubtful. The call had been high and wild, cut off abruptly.

  They waited but did not hear it again. They had crossed the river and were making slow progress around the far edge of the horseshoe. ‘Just a bit further,’ Connor said. ‘Then we’ll try to climb down.’

  Holly could hardly wait!

  It was impossible to see the bottom. Trees and shrubs obscured the view. Finally, Connor selected a spot. ‘Here is as good a place as any.’

  Holly looked over the edge. I can do this, she told herself. A sheer drop of no more than five metres, a ledge that might or might not hold their weight, a couple of boulders below that, then a sloping rock shelf which looked as slippery as it did hostile. After that, what little she could see because of the foliage, appeared to be a reasonably user-friendly, if a little shaly, incline. Holly translated that to mean a crumbling, bush-infested descent into hell. Piece of cake! Oh shit, oh shit! ‘How long is that rope?’ she asked.