by Di Morrissey
‘So did he ask you any questions specifically about Alan?’
‘Not really. I got the impression that he might know who Alan was already. Maybe he’d looked him up after I mentioned him in my letter. I suppose these wealthy businessmen all know of each other.’
Chris shook his head. ‘Mum, Alan is a big fish in a small pond. Thomas Fairfax Anderson is an enormous fish in a very big pond. I mean, he has to be in the top dozen or so of the richest men in America. Carmichael’s International Industries is not in his league. So how did the conversation end?’
‘He’d like you to ring him so he can chat to you.’
‘Me?’
Susan explained, ‘When he asked how I’d found out this information, I told him that you had been researching a book which included the period we’d all spent in Indonesia, and how your research had led you to Norma and her story. He asked when your book was coming out and I said you were having a few problems which could delay its release, problems we both thought were caused by Alan Carmichael. I didn’t elaborate.’
‘Thomas Fairfax Anderson wants me to ring him. That’s amazing. Did he leave a number?’
‘Yes. His direct line.’
‘Good grief, Mum. You seem to be connected with the most incredible people. Maybe my conversation with Thomas Anderson could put a whole new slant on things.’
‘I’m not sure how, but give him a ring.’ Susan gave her son an encouraging smile.
Taking a cup of coffee, Chris looked at his watch and hurried to his study.
As he waited for Thomas Fairfax Anderson’s personal assistant to see if Mr Anderson was available to speak with him, Chris sipped his coffee. He knew he shouldn’t hold his breath. Anderson’s call to Susan might just have been a knee-jerk reaction, in which case Anderson might not really expect him to call back from Australia. But less than a minute later a slightly breathless voice came on the line.
‘Tom Anderson here. Sorry for the delay, I’ve just arrived back from my gym. Trying to stay fit at my age is getting harder to do. Now, it’s Chris, isn’t it? Susan’s son?’
For one of the few times in his professional life, Chris felt overwhelmed. ‘Ah, yes, sir. Chris Baxter. I really appreciate you taking my call.’
‘No, I’m very grateful that you called back so promptly.’ Anderson paused. ‘Terrible business what happened to my brother in Indonesia. I loved him. Reconciling his death was always difficult for my parents. Although they were proud that Jimmy had joined the Peace Corps, they never understood why he stayed on in Indonesia after the other members of the corps had returned home when all that political turmoil broke out. Jimmy assured them that he was far removed from the troubles, but clearly that was not so. I don’t think my parents ever got over his death.’
‘I can understand that,’ said Chris quietly.
‘I’ve learned from your mother that Jimmy’s death was not a random incident but the result of a planned robbery that went wrong. I’m actually glad my parents aren’t alive to know this terrible truth.’ He paused for a moment. ‘And what’s even more galling is that the man who was involved in Jimmy’s death is someone who has gone on to make a successful career for himself as a property developer, someone who has acquired wealth and status after denying my brother the same opportunity. I find this a hard pill to swallow.’
‘I can well imagine. Are you aware that I’ve had problems with Carmichael?’
‘Your mother alluded to that, but suggested that I talk to you about it.’
‘To be frank, Mr Anderson . . .’ Chris began.
‘Please, call me Tom.’
‘Tom,’ said Chris. He briefly explained how he had been writing a book about the men who had been with his mother in Java in 1968.
‘Three of those men have been very cooperative, but Alan Carmichael has not. When he learned I was writing the book, he shut the door on me.’
‘It is his right to maintain his privacy, of course,’ Anderson said. ‘I’ve had many people wanting to write my biography, but I have discouraged them because when I want my story told, I’ll do it myself. Not that I have any time to write a book.’
‘Yes, I understand that. But Carmichael had his lawyer send me a letter warning me about writing the book. Perhaps foolishly, I sent him a letter back saying that I would go ahead with the book with or without his cooperation, although I would refrain from saying anything defamatory about him.’
‘Did he accept your compromise?’ asked Anderson.
‘I didn’t hear anything more from his lawyer, but my family and I have subsequently been intimidated,’ said Chris, and then explained about the loosened wheel nuts and the mysterious blue car.
‘Can you prove that Carmichael was behind them?’
‘No, I can’t, but a friend of mine, an ex-journalist, has discovered that two other investigative journalists who were separately looking into Carmichael’s business affairs over the years were killed in road accidents.’
‘Now that is a coincidence. You’re quite sure of those facts?’
‘Absolutely, and I didn’t want my family or my friends exposed to any more intimidation, so I had my lawyer send another letter saying that I was no longer interested in including Alan Carmichael in my book.’
‘I see. Has anything suspicious happened since then?’
‘No, but the letter has only just been sent. As a further precaution, I’m sending my daughter over to the other side of the country to stay with her mother.’
‘Pleased to hear that. So tell me, Chris, how do you feel about what’s been happening to you?’ asked the financier.
‘Very angry, as you can imagine. My agent is hopeful my book will still be published, but I feel it has been substantially weakened. Because of his position, Carmichael knows that he can do what he likes, including mounting a long and expensive litigation which I can’t afford to fight. Now I’m beginning to think that he is literally getting away with murder.’
‘How have your other books been received, Chris?’
‘This is my first one. I was previously a journalist, however times are tough in the media and I’m a single father with a teenage daughter, so I was hoping to switch to writing books so I can give Megan a stable home life.’
‘I see. It’s a shame that you won’t be challenging Carmichael, but that is a difficult thing to do without concrete proof, and as you have explained, that is very hard to get. Thank your mother again for letting me know what happened to my brother, and I hope things work out for you, Chris.’
‘Thanks again for taking my call,’ Chris replied and rang off, pleased that Thomas Anderson had taken the trouble to speak with him, but disappointed that the conversation had not led to anything.
‘What did he say?’ asked Susan as Chris walked back into the kitchen.
‘Nothing much really, but he was pleasant and polite in that friendly American way.’
‘Well, I’m glad I wrote to him.’ She looked at her son. ‘Now what?’
‘Y’know what, Mum? I’m going to take a bit of a break. Megan’s off to Perth and Georgia is coming up, so I’m going to spend a couple of days with her. I’ve even organised some time off, so I’m going to take each day as it comes.’
Susan smiled. ‘That’s a very good idea, especially as I shall be away myself. David and I plan to go over to Core Creek farm again. He says he’s interested in looking for some land to buy.’
‘What, to farm?’
‘Yes. He thinks he would like to develop a project of his own. Tells me that he’s getting sick of travelling.’
‘Well, good for him. Seems a lot for him to take on, though.’
‘Rubbish. Your sixties and seventies can be very productive and exciting times. We’re looking at an interesting project that will keep us on our toes.’
‘We? Are you investing in this?’ asked Chris, a litt
le concerned.
‘Not at all. But I’m excited by David’s ideas. He’s interested in bush foods and he wants not only to grow them successfully, but to find an innovative way to market them. He’s met a couple of young indigenous agriculturalists who have been growing bush foods for years, and they want to work with us.’
‘And you want to be part of this? You’re amazing, Mum. Always up for something new.’ Chris grinned admiringly at his mother.
‘It won’t be all work,’ said Susan. ‘We’re planning to do some travelling around Europe too.’
Chris gave her a hug. ‘Yes, I remember your hint about Italy. I think it’s wonderful.’
‘What’s wonderful?’ asked Megan as she came into the kitchen.
‘Bunny and David are thinking of starting their own farm.’
‘What! And leave Neverend?’ Megan looked stricken. ‘Are you going to sell this house?’
‘Of course not, sweetie,’ soothed Susan. ‘David is just looking for some land for an agricultural development.’
‘Well, don’t you do anything while I’m away, will you,’ insisted Megan. Then she added, ‘If you have a farm, can I ride there? Maybe keep Squire there?’
‘Megs, Squire belongs to Mollie,’ Chris reminded her gently.
Seeing Megan’s worried expression, Susan said, ‘Oh, who knows what plans David has. He once mentioned alpacas. But I promise that we won’t do a thing without first talking to you. You just have fun with your mum.’
‘Okay. What about you, Dad, what are you doing?’
‘I’m hanging around, sweetie. I’ll be looking after Biddi and Bunny’s garden while Bunny and David swan around the countryside looking at acreage. When Georgia comes up, I’ll show her the sights. We didn’t get the chance to do much last time she was here.’
‘I’ll miss all the fun.’
‘Don’t be silly. David and Georgia will be here again,’ said Susan briskly. ‘You’re the one going on the exciting trip. Be sure to send us photos!’
Megan simply rolled her eyes. ‘Of course I will. Ruby and Jazzy and Toby want updates every day.’
*
Chris felt his spirits lift and a smile break out as he saw Georgia exit the plane. He hugged her warmly as he took her bag.
‘Was Megan okay? Thanks so much for meeting her and getting her onto the Perth flight.’
‘No problem, and she was absolutely fine. She had a nice fat book and said it would keep her occupied for hours. And she had her music, of course.’
‘I hope she has fun. I know she misses Jill, even though they’re in regular contact. Okay, let’s hit the road. I thought you might like to explore Neverend a bit more before we go back to Jean’s place. I know my town is only forty-five minutes away from this airport, but believe me, it’s a world away.’
‘Fine. The metropolis and environs of Neverend it is.’
‘By the way, we have the place to ourselves. Mum and David are off seeking land.’
Georgia shook her head after Chris explained Susan and David’s new idea. ‘What a pair. Mac won’t venture further than his favourite restaurant, pub and the old press club hangout with his mates.’
Chris chuckled. ‘You must bring him up sometime. Expand his horizons. He and Mum would enjoy each other’s company and I think he’d get on with David, too.’
‘You’re comfortable about your mother’s relationship with David now?’ asked Georgia.
‘I am. Of course, that has a lot to do from you, and Megan, for that matter,’ Chris replied.
‘I’m glad we helped you see things from a broader perspective.’
‘True, but it’s also because I don’t feel so . . . isolated any more. I feel positive, hopeful, joyful, thanks to you,’ admitted Chris. ‘Even if I don’t have much of a job happening at the moment,’ he added ruefully.
‘So what did Thomas Anderson have to say?’ asked Georgia.
She listened as Chris told her about their conversation, and laughed when he finished up with, ‘He also hinted that he didn’t need a biographer.’
‘Pity about that. That would have been some coup.’
Chris concentrated on the road for a moment before sighing. ‘Yes. I know. Maybe I’m over the idea of doing biography. Everyone has something they want to keep secret. I’m beginning to think it’s a rare person who is willing to expose every facet of themselves, their life, warts and all. People want to present to the world the image of themselves they like best, and not the person that others actually see.’
‘But Mark, Evan and David aren’t like that.’
‘No, you’re right, they’re not, probably because they have nothing to hide. Honestly, Alan Carmichael has made me look at things in a very pessimistic light. I thought journalism was tough, but this book business has me stumped.’
Georgia sighed. ‘Chris, I’m afraid that it’s just got a whole lot harder. I spoke to your publisher this morning. I explained that for reasons that I could not divulge you would no longer be including Alan Carmichael in your book. At all.’
‘And what did the publisher say?’ asked Chris, a lump of lead settling in his stomach.
‘Basically, that without the big name of Carmichael there could be no book. I argued that the other three Australians were worthy subjects to write about. Unfortunately, he was adamant. You agreed in your contract that the book would feature Carmichael, but now you can’t deliver what you agreed to. Chris, I am so sorry that your book has come to this. I really, really tried to talk them into honouring your contract, but they just wouldn’t agree to it.’
Chris pulled the car over to the side of the road and sat silently for a few moments. If he was truthful with himself, he was not surprised. Carmichael was a very big presence in Australia and to be unable to write about him after promising to do so . . . well, he could see the publisher’s point of view. But it was a hard blow.
‘So that’s that, then. Just as well I didn’t get that advance. I might have spent it. I guess a new computer will have to wait. Carmichael has certainly stuffed up our lives, first my mother’s and now mine. I just wish there was some way I could expose all the evil he’s done, but I can’t. I don’t want to put my family’s lives at risk ever again. I feel so angry. I don’t think that I’ll ever get back on track and I’ll be driving a courier van for the rest of my life, all because of that man,’ said Chris angrily.
‘Look, I know this is really hard to take, but I’m sure we’ll be able to come up with another idea. What is it that you really want to do, Chris?’ Georgia asked calmly.
‘I just love to write. Writing is all I’ve ever wanted to do, even when I was very young.’ He swallowed. The rage and unfairness he felt seemed to roll over him in waves. ‘So should I start my own town newspaper?’ he snapped angrily. ‘Reveal the underbelly of beautiful Neverend? The secret of Mrs Hampton’s scone recipe? Who’s borrowing whose bull in the dead of night? The incestuousness of a small community where everyone knows everything about everyone? Maybe do an exposé on our troubled youth, hampered by lack of jobs and exposed to a drug culture?’ He drew a breath and then started to speak more calmly. ‘But you know, Georgia, I find joy in this small town. Neverend has evolved into a beautiful yet hip and artistic place with great local food and eateries, music and even fabulous coffee. And I’ve seen buskers a lot worse than the ones who perform in our main street. This town’s community spirit embodies the philosophy of accepting new arrivals and alternative lifestyles. It’s a place where a bearded bloke wearing combat boots and a yellow taffeta cocktail dress can sell his homemade muesli and no one thinks it an odd thing for a veteran of the Iraq War to do. What the town doesn’t accept is new money trying to change the old ways, or slick tourism pushing out the locals. Rather, it embraces who we are and what we have with vigour and passion. Is that enough to fill the daily newspaper?’
‘Whoa! You
don’t seriously want to start up a newspaper, do you?’ said Georgia incredulously.
‘No, of course not. I’m sorry, Georgia. I was just letting off steam,’ said Chris. But even as he made the excuse, he realised he was telling Georgia not about himself, but about his affection for his town, Neverend. For years it had been the home that he had dismissively taken for granted. Now he knew that it was a special place, and he was lucky to be part of its makeup. He was grateful for that, especially in light of Georgia’s dismal news.
‘I know how frustrated you must be.’ Georgia touched his arm.
‘I think that frustration hardly covers what I’m feeling at present.’
She was silent a moment and then asked, ‘You’ve never told me about your assignments when you were working as a foreign correspondent. What were some of the tough ones? I know you loved the States, and if you were working as a foreign correspondent today would you have liked working in Asia?’
Chris started up the car again, very glad for this change of subject.
‘I loved everywhere I was posted,’ he said, enthusiasm creeping into his voice. ‘I loved the challenge of a new place with different attitudes and customs. An unknown country, people who think differently from us. And you know, I always seemed to luck out with stories. Things just fell in my path. Your father used to say that maybe I was simply open to new things, prepared to follow a hunch and trust my instincts. Once, in the middle of Mexico’s badlands, I happened to meet, through a series of accidents, the head of a drugs cartel who also happened to be the richest man in Mexico. He invited me to drink tequila with him. Once I was in a supermarket in the deep south of America and I saw a man buy enough food and personal items for a whole school. So I followed him home to find he had thirty kids and five wives. Ah, Georgia, I have a zillion stories that I can bore you with,’ said Chris with a wry smile.
‘I don’t think they sound very boring at all. So you don’t miss that life?’ she asked.
‘Sometimes,’ he admitted frankly. ‘But now only in short bursts. If I’m honest with myself, in between the excitement there was a heck of a lot of tedium.’