The first man reached her side, puffing, his rounded belly jiggling. “It is Vivien, isn’t it?” he said, sticking out his hand. “I saw you walk past the pier shed. I work there now. I thought it was you.”
“Yes, I’m Vivien Galloway.” She shook the offered hand. “You know me?”
He grinned. “Oh, you were much younger, lass, when I knew you. I saw you grow up. I used to go ‘roo-shooting with your father. Years ago, that was. I heard you were back in town.”
Over the man’s shoulder, Vivien saw the other man carrying the bag cross the road and head toward them. It looked as if he wanted to speak to her too.
“I’m only here temporarily,” Vivien amended. “I have some business here. I’m sorry, I don’t know your name.” It was an awkward confession, for she felt that someone who had watched her grow up should surely be more familiar to her.
“Max Ducatti. Max.”
The second man reached them, dropped his bag and cleared his throat awkwardly. “Excuse me,” he interrupted. “I wonder, could you help me? I’m utterly lost.” He spoke with a rich, pleasant British accent.
“Sure,” Max said effusively. “Where’re you trying to get to, fella?”
“I’m looking for the Batavia Air Charter Company. I had some directions and was told to come down this way but I’ve been walking twenty minutes now and still haven’t sighted it. Have I been misled?”
“You must be the relief pilot,” Vivien said.
He looked surprised and relieved. “Yes. That’s me.”
“I’m going there, myself,” Vivien told him. “If you’ll wait a couple of minutes, I’ll take you there. You’re on the right road. Whoever gave you directions simply forgot to warn you how long the wheat silos are. The company’s at the other end of the harbor.”
“Well, that’s marvelous,” the man said. He looked at Max. “Sorry to interrupt,” he added.
Max snorted and waved the apology away. He turned back to Vivien and smiled. “I won’t keep you then. I just wanted to say hello and welcome back to Geraldton.” He shook his head in wonder. “My but you have grown up! I heard about you winning that surfing competition one year...took it off the men and took some skin off their noses, too. Couldn’t believe it when I heard it but looking at you now, I can believe it.”
Vivien shifted uncomfortably. “Thank you.”
Max waved and turned and headed back toward the pier shed. The newcomer picked up his bag and fell into step beside Vivien as they walked along the length of the silo.
“Are you famous?” he asked.
Vivien suppressed a small laugh. “I used to live here a long time ago. I guess I built up something of a reputation. Geraldton is a pretty small town at heart. It thrives on gossip.”
“It sounds like you supplied them with more than enough to talk about.” He offered his hand, turning sideways a little to do so. “I’m Jack Halloran, by the way.”
She shook the hand. “You’re also late. My name is Vivien Galloway.”
Jack winced. “The personnel agency gave me foul directions and I missed the commercial flight I was supposed to catch. I got here as quickly as I could manage. Do you work for this Batavia crowd, too?”
“I’m here to assess its efficiency for a tender bid.”
“Ouch,” Jack said. “Have I besmirched the company’s reputation now?”
Vivien laughed. “I think it will survive your misdemeanor. The owner of the company is much better at getting into scrapes than you, anyway.”
“I like him already.”
They cleared the end of the silo and the road opened out onto the huge concrete apron that made up the wharf. At the end of the wharf stood the office, with the helipads behind.
“Ah, I see it now,” Jack said. “If I’d followed my nose for another few yards....”
“These things happen,” Vivien responded easily. “Come on, I’ll introduce you to Paul and Morris. I warn you, they’ll probably have you up and flying within the next hour. They’ve been short-handed for three days.”
“Fitting retribution for my error,” Jack said philosophically.
She led Jack into the office, introduced him and settled into her own work. It was the start of another day.
True to her word, Vivien spent most of her time following Paul around, observing the way he ran his company. Business appeared to be booming. Apart from the Gazelle, which Paul used most of the time, the company owned an old, well-maintained Sikorsky helicopter—a big cargo-carrying craft well suited to rescue work. There were also two light planes used for long distance work and a crop-dusting biplane, all quartered at the local airport.
The company was busy all year round, delivering goods and passengers to remote areas. During the crayfishing season, a lot of their time was spent ferrying people and supplies between Geraldton and the Abrolhos Islands, where fishermen camped on the low, arid islands for months while they took the best of the crayfish from the shallows around the islands. Now, in October, it was the time of the Sunshine Festival and the company was up to its collective elbows in public relations and tourist work—joyrides in both helicopters and light planes. This was on top of year-round work such as flying lessons.
Any emergency work the company did was extracurricular. Even before he bought the company, Paul had built a local reputation as a man who would help out and now the company was virtually the default emergency service the townspeople turned to when air transport or an airlift was needed. Because Geraldton had a healthy water sport and tourist industry and fishing was its other major industry, air/sea search and rescue operations occurred frequently.
Paul had three other pilots working for him. All were qualified for light planes and both helicopters and could interchange where necessary but only one other besides Paul had an instruments rating. It was this pilot and Paul himself who were proposed to be the two pilots who would carry the burden of the Coastwatch schedule, if the company was awarded the contract.
Jack was intended to replace the second pilot with an instruments rating, while the pilot was on annual leave. Paul made Jack pay for his late arrival by spending the rest of the week taking tourists up for flights over the town in the Gazelle. “He can put his pretty accent to use charming the passengers, instead,” Paul told Vivien and Morris over coffee in his office, during a quick meeting between captain and business manager.
“Prejudice,” Vivien teased. “I happen to like a nice English accent.”
Morris laughed. “It’s better than your Mafia lilt, boyo,” he told Paul.
Paul laughed too, for unless he deliberately copied his mother’s accent, he sounded like the Australian he was.
There were no emergency calls for help during the week, so Vivien was able to complete the majority of her necessary observations for the assessment without interruption.
She was surprised by the degree and thoroughness of emergency procedures. Paul was a stickler for safety. In her role as assessor, Vivien couldn’t comment but she did manage to communicate some of her surprise just the same.
“I want to enjoy myself, not kill myself,” Paul told her, flexing his back and extricating himself from the guts of the Sikorsky’s engine housing, where he had been tracking down an odd noise that had bothered him when he’d last taken it up.
“Seven years ago, I couldn’t tell the difference.”
“Seven years ago you weren’t perched on my shoulder.”
“You wouldn’t let me,” Vivien replied.
“Damned right,” Paul growled, wiping his hands on a rag. “You’re only here by virtue of your job, now.”
Vivien adjusted her sunglasses and looked at him. “That irritates you, doesn’t it? That I have some authority, I mean.”
Paul had shaken the subject off with a joke and the moment had passed but Vivien knew she had been right.
Paul had very old-fashioned ideas—a product of his mixed heritage. His father had been Cuban and his mother was Italian. Both had lived by a different stan
dard. Paul was broad-minded enough to agree with modern day equality—in principal. But when push came to shove he was totally old-fashioned. So he found it awkward dealing with Vivien as a professional superior and he swallowed it and shrugged it off with a joke.
Morris produced an office feast for lunch on Friday. A smorgasbord of Mexican takeaway from the restaurant on the wharf. Morris had obviously remembered Vivien’s casual question on the first day she had arrived and recalled her fondness for the hot, spicy food from when she had been working in the office seven years ago. Age had not withered his memory.
Everything except essential work ground to a halt while everyone tucked into the feast. Everyone except Paul, who looked over the array of dishes and shook his head in disapproval. “That stuff will kill you. Just think what it’s doing to your colon.” He looked at Jack. “I’m taking the Gazelle over to Little Wallaby Island.” Little Wallaby was the closest island in the Abrolhos group. “Did you fill it up after this morning?”
“All done. Mind the fuel gauge, though. I rather suspect it is reading proud.”
Paul nodded. With a cursory, “I’ll see you all later,” he left.
After everyone had stuffed themselves to the brim, most departed to various tasks. Jack had a courier job flying north to Carnarvon that afternoon and left for the airport and the company’s plane hangar—he would be using one of the light planes. Jenny had errands in town and the other pilots all had assigned duties that needed completing before Paul—their taskmaster—returned.
Which left Vivien and Morris alone in the office. After clearing the remains of the meal away, they sat down in Morris’ office with a fresh jug of coffee between them and looked at each other fondly.
“So, tell me about your life,” Morris said softly. “While we’ve got time.”
Vivien grinned. “You don’t have a week to spare,” she said. “But I can give you the highlights.” She told Morris of the major events in her life since she had left Geraldton, rounding off with her position as safety assessor and how it had brought her back to Geraldton, to face Paul once more.
Morris nodded as she completed her tale. “You’ve done well, missy. I’m sure your parents would have been as proud of you as I am.”
“You think so?” Vivien was touched.
Morris grinned. “Of course they would. Look at you! You’ve grown into a lovely young woman, with a career, money and prospects. What parent wouldn’t be proud?”
“Thank you,” she replied warmly. “Paul appears to be doing as well as me. You’re the financial manager, Morris. Is the business as successful as it appears?”
Morris smiled. “Are you asking in your official capacity?”
“Would I get a different answer if I was?”
“Possibly. Why don’t you ask the questions you really want answered?”
“I don’t understand,” Vivien replied, truly puzzled.
“You want to know how the laddie pulled up after you did your bunk, don’t you?”
“Do I?” Vivien looked at the old man in front of her curiously. “I only have to look at him to know he didn’t pine away after I left. If the business is as successful as appearances tell me, then I have a complete answer.”
Morris lifted his shaggy gray eyebrow at her. Vivien recognized the expression. He wasn’t convinced. He wanted more.
Vivien smiled at his persistence. “I asked Paul himself,” she added. “I know he coped well after I left. I don’t have anything to feel guilty about.”
“He said he was fine?”
“Not in as many words but yes, that’s what he meant.”
Morris gave a dry chuckle. “It hasn’t occurred to you that he wouldn’t admit to anything else but that, has it? I’m surprised at you, Vivien. You used to know Paul better than any of us. You know his pride gets in the way all the time. He’s not going to admit he fell apart after you left—especially not to you.”
Vivien stared at him, her heart starting to beat a little harder. “Are you saying he did fall apart?” she asked, her voice low.
Morris sat back in his chair and sucked in his cheeks, deliberating over his answer. “No, I won’t go that far,” he said finally. “But for a long while he forgot how to enjoy life. He was just living through it—making all the right moves. A robot would have done as well in his place.”
Vivien reached for the pen sitting on the desk in front of her and began to twirl it through her fingers, like a marching girl’s baton. It was a subconscious thing and she was only peripherally aware of what her hands were doing. The majority of her mind was involved in assessing Morris’ revelation. “How long is ‘long’?” she asked.
Morris shrugged. “Twelve months, as near as makes no difference. Then he just seemed to come to. He reverted back to something like his old self—seems like overnight.”
“Why? What did he do? Tell me what happened, all of it.”
Morris sighed. “He damned near killed himself after you left. Heaven knows the boy has always skirted on the edge of danger but after you left he seemed to deliberately court disaster. He was pushing the odds. Every breakneck activity you could think of, he tried it. Hang gliding, ultra-light planes, parasailing, the speedway, skydiving—” Morris shook his head. “Skydiving was big with him for a long while—if he wasn’t working, he was chucking himself out of planes into thousands of feet of nothing but thin air.”
Horrified, Vivien stared at Morris, her hands still, the pen trapped in her fist. “You’re not saying he was trying to kill himself, are you?”
It was a long moment before Morris answered. He shook his head again. “No, I can’t say that. I don’t know what was going on in his mind, you see. But he was reckless. Very reckless. In this business and in those pastimes, reckless can get you deader than a dodo very, very easily.” He took a breath. “Of course, he was volunteering for every rescue and sea search that was going.”
“Was he as reckless when he was on rescues?” Vivien asked.
“I don’t know, Vivvy. I wasn’t there. I’d hazard a guess and say no. Nothing was ever said by anyone who was in at the deep end with him. But then, when there’s an emergency on, risks get taken anyway. That’s how lives are saved and Paul has saved more than his fair share of lives since he joined the company.”
Vivien stared at the desk top, her mind whirling. “You’ve been sidling up to this point ever since we sat down at the desk, Morris. What are you really trying to tell me? I mean, he’s over it now. You said so yourself, that he seemed to snap out of it. So why tell me? You’re not trying to make me feel guilty, are you? Because you’re succeeding, if that is your intention.”
“I’m not trying to make you feel guilty. You did what you had to do. You’re not a flighty girl. I know that whatever your reasons were for leaving, they were good ones. I’ve managed to make a few guesses over the years, from what Paul let slip occasionally.” Morris pushed his coffee cup to one side. “You two seem to be getting along tolerably well since you came back. That’s good but it’s also pretty damned suspicious. I would have thought, considering the history between you two, that there would have been a post mortem at least.”
“We’ve talked about it.”
Morris waved her answer aside, dismissing it. “I’m not talking about a quick five-minute conversation. I really don’t want to make you feel guilty, Vivien but I’m trying to show you that your leaving created more than a few hiccups in people’s lives and you can’t just waltz back into town and not expect some sort of reaction. I’m trying to warn you, I guess. As civilized as you two seem to be acting with each other, there’s too much that’s happened in your past for it to stay that way.”
Vivien felt a very small smile twitch her mouth. “Morris, are you trying to protect Paul? From me?”
Morris looked at her and blinked his eyes. “I guess that’s just what I am trying to do,” he said and smiled weakly himself.
Vivien reached over to pat his thickly veined hand where it rested on the ol
d-fashioned blotter. “I’m not here to make Paul writhe. We’re being polite to each other because he feels the same. It is in the past and over now. I’m here to do a job and that’s all.” She smiled ruefully. “Paul’s not the only one who suffered. I don’t want to resurrect those days any more than he does.”
Morris laughed gruffly. “Hell’s bells, girl, you don’t think you’ve got any say in the matter, do you?”
She stared at him. “Of course I do. We’re different people, now. We’ve both decided to leave the past where it is and move on.”
He shook his head. “The road to Hell is paved with good intentions,” he intoned. “That’s a wonderfully strong philosophy, Vivvy. I wonder if life is going to listen to you?”
Behind them, in the front office, the radio suddenly blared into life. “Base, this is Batavia one.” Batavia one was the call sign for the Gazelle. “Base, Batavia one. Jenny? Morris?” Paul’s voice sounded remote and tinny, issuing from the tiny speaker.
“Back to work,” Morris muttered, standing up. He hurried out into the front office, seating himself in front of the radio equipment.
Vivien remained sitting at the desk, trying to marshal together reasons why Morris could be wrong. She couldn’t think of a single thing.
“Morris here, Batavia one. What’s up, Paul?”
“I seem to have a slight problem here. I think I’ve got some crud in the fuel. I’m ten minutes out of Wallaby and I’ll continue to fly on a direct heading for home. That’s a compass reading of forty-eight degrees, okay?”
Vivien stood up and whirled to look at Morris. He was writing the figure down on a pad.
“Right, got that,” he said. “Do you want me to alert harbor traffic control?”
There was a static filled pause before Paul’s voice replied. “No, I’ve done that myself. There’s no need to panic unless I do go down, in which case you’ve got my bearings. You’ll just have to follow the line until you find me.”
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