Dust of the Land

by J. H. Fletcher

  ‘She’s late,’ Bellamy said, looking at his watch.

  ‘Of course she’s late.’ Pete’s grin opened a chasm in his granite face. ‘She’s a woman, ain’t she?’

  Not only a woman, but a woman who had presumed to trespass on a man’s world. And one who over the years had caused him more trouble than a cartload of monkeys. He would enjoy cutting Bella Tucker off at the knees, to teach her a lesson.

  It was Bellamy who had informed him of Tuckers’s precarious cash situation; he had told Smythe, that arch-manipulator, who had passed the information to the banks. Acting on his instructions, Smythe had also fed the story to his tame journalist, with a list of the overseas newspapers that might be interested.

  Talk about a self-fulfilling prophecy, Pete thought. Spook the banks by hinting at problems over the rail link; the banks stampede, exactly as you planned; you then use the negative publicity that you created to destroy the agreement.

  As neat a trick as he had pulled in all his years.

  Now here they were, at the death. Some disliked bloodsports, but to Pete Bathurst they were the breath of life. With Tuckers down, BradMin would not only pick up the mineral rights but have a monopoly on the China trade that Pete’s nose told him was likely to be the biggest thing in mining for years to come.

  What would that do for his reputation back in the States? Pete the Giant would become Pete the Giant-killer, with the near certainty of being invited back to Houston to take over the top spot as chief executive of the entire group.

  It was a thought to warm the heart that many insisted he did not possess.

  Melanie, the comely twenty-five-year-old who had accompanied him to Bella’s party, poked her nose around the door. ‘Mr Freeth is in reception.’

  Owen Freeth; another suit. Pete frowned. ‘Alone?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Maybe Bella had decided to do some shopping on the way.

  ‘Send him up.’ He gave Melanie a smile with messages in it. It was likely to be a warm night. After all, they would have something to celebrate.

  He stepped forwards, hand outstretched, as Owen Freeth came through the door.

  ‘Good to see you,’ Pete said genially. ‘Bella forgotten her handbag, has she?’

  Owen Freeth gave him a cold smile; there was no love lost and both men knew it. ‘Mrs Tucker will not be coming. She has asked me to come in her place, out of courtesy. While I’m here I might look at the latest draft of the agreement –’

  Whatever else Pete had expected it was not this and, as always, the unexpected made him mad. ‘You and Smythe prepared the god-damned thing, for Christ’s sake.’

  Exactly the wrong way to handle Owen Freeth.

  ‘Yesterday you told Mrs Tucker you were unhappy about certain aspects of it. Naturally I have to satisfy myself that there have been no last-minute amendments.’

  ‘Would I do that?’ Pete grinned.

  But there was one, and it didn’t take Owen long to find it. ‘Explain this clause to me.’

  Pete gestured to the legal counsel hovering behind him. ‘Sinclair will put you in the picture.’

  And Sinclair did.

  ‘We shall need time to consider the implications,’ Owen said stiffly. ‘When we are ready, we’ll get back to you.’

  ‘I doubt you need bother,’ Pete said.

  ‘The present agreement still has ten days to run –’

  ‘Sure has. But we’re talking a new agreement, right? And with all these reports in the papers… Hell, I’m not sure what Houston will have to say about them.’

  ‘The rate of royalty has been agreed,’ Bella said.

  ‘It’s not the rate per truck, it’s the volume of traffic. When the original agreement was signed, no one anticipated there would be so much of it. There was no mention of it in the original agreement. Now BradMin is claiming there’s too much, with Tuckers’s loads on top of their own. Bathurst said they are concerned what it might be doing to the track –’

  ‘Another of his excuses,’ Bella said.

  ‘He says they commissioned a new survey,’ Owen said. ‘The surveyors have come up with clay patches right in the middle of the run. He says we’re more than welcome to read the report, if we want. He claims his hands are tied. His board has decided to limit us to a hundred trucks a day.’

  ‘His board does nothing without his say-so,’ Bella said scornfully. ‘This is his idea, no one else’s.’

  ‘Perhaps. But that’s what they’re proposing. A hundred trucks will still enable you to shift up to four million tons a year,’ Owen said.

  ‘Four million. When we are committed to delivering twenty-five.’

  * * *

  ‘Wes-tern Pac-ific…’ The operator chanted the bank’s name.

  ‘Mr Halliburton, please.’

  ‘And who is call-ing?’

  ‘Bella Tucker.’

  ‘One mo-ment.’

  ‘Bella…’ Clive Halliburton’s voice sounded grey and cautious, as well it might.

  ‘I am flying to China,’ Bella said. ‘I expect to be away a week, maybe a little longer. When I come back I should have good news for you.’

  ‘The bank has allowed you seven days only.’ The banker’s voice was a rustle of dead leaves.

  ‘I need more. I am visiting Beijing at the request of the Chinese government and I cannot control their timetable. But a fortnight should be enough.’

  ‘At the request of the Chinese government,’ he repeated. ‘Have they indicated the purpose of your visit?’

  ‘To ensure supplies of ore are maintained. Why else?’

  ‘And you expect to be back in two weeks?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I can guarantee nothing –’

  ‘An extra week, Clive.’

  A long pause, Bella with her fingers and toes crossed. Finally:

  ‘Two weeks, then. And the news had better be good.’

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  The following morning Bella, Richard and Su-Ying flew to Canberra, where the embassy plane was waiting for them. An hour later they were in the air, heading north.

  This plane was very different from the one she had used on her previous visit to China seven years ago. That had been basic in the extreme; this was well equipped, the seats luxurious. The cabin attendant, a young and beautiful Chinese woman, was most attentive. Drinks were offered, and accepted.

  ‘You want whisky?’ the attendant asked.

  ‘Orange juice,’ Bella said.

  Su-Ying followed her example; Richard had a beer. Bella knew he was dying to talk about the trip but she had cautioned them against discussing business during the flight.

  ‘It’s an embassy plane. It is certain to be bugged.’

  Three hours into the flight the attendant brought them a meal. It was as far away as you could get from standard airline food and she told them it had been prepared especially for the embassy by the Lotus Flower restaurant in Beijing.

  Afterwards Bella thought she would rest; there was no point preparing for a meeting when she did not know the agenda and for years she had been able to summon sleep at will. She closed her eyes.

  She woke as the plane began its descent. She looked out of the cabin window; the early morning sun illuminated the city’s buildings in golden light. Ten million people down there, she thought. Or so Su-Ying said. Ten million in a country of over a billion.

  Say it again, slowly. One billion people. Think what it means.

  It might have intimidated her once, but over the years she had grown resistant to intimidation. She smiled grimly as she watched the city grow larger beneath the plane’s wings: now she was more in the business of intimidating others. Which was not to say the coming meetings would not be challenging but Bella had taught herself long ago to take each day as it came. Without that skill, she would never have survived the ups and downs that life had handed her.

  ‘Heaven knows,’ she said, ‘there’ve been enough of them.’

  Su-Ying shot her a question
ing glance. ‘I’m sorry?’

  Bella had not realised she had spoken aloud. ‘Nothing, dear. Just daydreaming.’

  She knew the world, her family included, thought she had no nerves at all. If only, she thought. It would be a useful quality to possess now, but the truth was she was as apprehensive as the rest of them: just better at hiding the fact.

  ‘How does it feel to be back?’ she asked her daughter-in-law.

  Su-Ying gave what Bella privately called her Chinese smile: a formal movement of the lips that revealed nothing. ‘I am nervous,’ she said. ‘I do not have your strength.’

  Bella patted her hand, saying nothing. China, she thought. The Middle Kingdom. The land of a million secrets. Of tyranny and hope, progress and repression. Name it, you got it. But, like it or hate it, the future. For Bella Tempest Tucker in particular.

  Ripon Grange to Beijing. A long road, with many hurdles along the way. Somehow she had managed to surmount them all. Only one now remained, but it was the biggest of all. Fail here and her life would be in ruins. Everything she owned would be lost, swallowed up by the humungous debts, but she would not think of that. Failure was not on the agenda.

  She smiled at her son, sitting beyond his wife on the other side of the aisle, as the runway reached up to embrace them.

  Victory. She mouthed the word silently at him. It had been her slogan all her life. Nothing less would do. She thought again: I shall permit nothing – nothing! – to deprive me of it.

  Brave words, but unenforceable. Unless China agreed.

  The plane drew up on the apron. On her first visit there had been a guard of honour, immaculate and ramrod-stiff, but then the authorities had been hoping for something from her. There would be nothing like that now.

  The landing steps were wheeled into place and secured. The cabin door opened. Followed by her son and daughter-in-law, Bella Tucker stepped into the freshness of an autumnal Beijing morning. Into her future.

  A car was waiting. Middle of the range but at least a car. The driver held the door as Bella got in, followed by Richard and Su-Ying.

  Bella watched the street as they sped into the city. There had been a lot of changes since she was last here. Few cars still but tens of thousands of bicycles. China was on the move at last.

  High-rise buildings towered above the single-storey shopfronts of the past. Some were complete; many were not. Workmen swarmed like ants. Even inside the speeding car, the energy of what she was seeing was as stimulating as wine.

  China had been far behind the rest of the world; now it was rushing to catch up. With over a billion people and such evident resolve, it would not take them long. Yet resolve would not be enough. They would need materials, too: cement, wood and in particular steel. Billions of tons of steel, smelted from iron ore shipped from the Tucker mine. And down the track maybe coal, too. From the Tucker mine.

  Bella longed to see the ore flowing on and on into the future: freight trains conveying their precious loads from the mine to the coast; bulk carriers transporting it from Port Anthony to China. Behind her calm exterior she seethed with excitement.

  Now BradMin was denying her access to its railway. Owen Freeth said that legally BradMin was within its rights. That being so, what could China do about it? Nothing, on the face of it, but the fact that she was here at all gave her hope. Negotiations would be tough but Bella was confident she would be equal to the task. She sighed contentedly, leaning back in the leather seat.

  Richard looked at her anxiously. ‘Tired?’

  She was sixty-five, not ninety-five, yet sometimes he seemed to think she was verging on senility.

  ‘I am fine.’

  The car dropped them at their hotel. It was adequate and no doubt clean but a long way short of the best; in this land of symbolism, the authorities were sending her a message. She was the one seeking favours and would be treated accordingly.

  Two hours later, showered and breakfasted, the same car deposited Bella at the ministry, one block from the Great Hall of the People. For this first meeting, she had decided to come alone. Eager for the fray, she followed the waiting officials inside.

  The office was large, the furniture of the best quality, the floor covered with a luxurious green carpet. On the walls landscapes painted in the style of the old T’ang masters flanked photographs of Deng Xiao-ping, China’s Paramount Leader, and State President Hu Yaobang. Golden drapes of a silky material were drawn back from the windows through which Bella could see the emptiness of Tiananmen Square, where a huge portrait of the late Mao Ze-dong looked with spurious benevolence on a world that his successors were hurrying to change as quickly as they could.

  Good news for us, Bella hoped.

  The room combined elegance with a sense of purpose and authority. Bella took note; she would never know how high within the Chinese hierarchy was the person with whom she would be dealing but the room and its furnishings indicated someone of importance.

  The official introduced himself as Comrade Fang. He was a burly, handsome man in early middle age and spoke through an interpreter: a young woman in a military-type uniform. Formally dressed in a western-style grey suit and tie, he began the courteous exchanges that might sweeten but not disguise the seriousness of the negotiations that would take place later.

  ‘I hope you had a good journey. Australia is far away.’

  ‘There is a saying,’ Bella said. ‘No journey is long if it enables us to meet a friend.’

  ‘That is a true saying,’ Mr Fang said.

  ‘I would like to express our gratitude to the Chinese government for placing its aircraft at our disposal,’ Bella said.

  ‘Friends should help friends. Is that not so? You saw the new buildings being erected as you drove in from the airport?’

  ‘Indeed I did. There have been many changes since I was here before. It is most impressive.’

  Comrade Fang sat back with a pleased expression and rang a silver bell. The door opened and a uniformed man brought coffee on a silver tray.

  ‘You like?’ Mr Fang said, speaking English for the first time.

  ‘I like very much,’ Bella said.

  Coffee was poured.

  ‘I regret the cups are not of the best quality,’ he said.

  The cups were of fine porcelain.

  ‘The cups are exquisite,’ Bella said.

  He smiled and drank his coffee noisily. Bella sipped more moderately.

  ‘So much to do,’ he said happily. ‘For which we shall need the assistance of our friends.’

  Bella returned her empty cup to its saucer. The waiter refilled it.

  ‘I apologise for the poor quality of the coffee,’ Fang said.

  ‘The coffee is excellent,’ said Bella.

  Su-Ying had warned her: ‘You must not expect any decisions to be made at the first meeting. Its purpose will be to set the basis for later talks.’

  ‘Which will be when?’ Bella had asked her.

  ‘Today or tomorrow,’ Su-Ying had said. ‘Perhaps not for several days. It depends.’

  ‘On what?’

  ‘On how urgently they wish to reach a solution. Or how urgently they think you need one.’

  ‘I see. So patience –’

  ‘Is essential.’

  Bella refocused her attention on Comrade Fang.

  ‘China huge country, with huge problems,’ he was saying. ‘We need our friends. We also need to know they stand by us at all times. No deviation. No sudden changes of heart.’

  ‘That is all-important,’ Bella agreed. ‘How else can there be trust?’

  ‘I am happy to hear you say so.’

  There was a knock on the door. The woman who came in was in her twenties, wearing an excellent quality blouse and knee-length skirt that hugged her slender frame. She addressed Fang in Chinese.

  ‘Hau!’ Comrade Fang made a show of looking at his watch before turning to Bella. He spoke in English. ‘Our discussion is so interesting I quite forget I have other meeting. Mrs Tucker will
have to excuse me. However, I believe good start has been made. Yes?’

  ‘A very good start. And tomorrow, as they say, is another day.’

  A blank look; he was clearly unfamiliar with the saying. Nor, it was obvious, was he committed to tomorrow. Or to any day. He said: ‘I shall instruct driver to take you to your hotel. If Mrs Tucker wishes to go shopping or visit the open-air food market on Wangfujing Street the car and driver are at her disposal.’

  ‘And our next meeting?’

  ‘One of my staff will contact you at the hotel.’

  The car was waiting as Bella was escorted out of the building. The wide streets were mostly empty but that would change. The energy was unmistakable, the determination to move the economy forwards evident in everything Comrade Fang had said. The money and resources would be found. We are talking billions of tons of iron ore, Bella thought. Tucker Mining and BradMin were in the pound seats, but Pete Bathurst was not in the sharing business; he wanted it all.

  The Chinese government undoubtedly had thoughts on that subject but what they were there was no knowing. Su-Ying had said patience was essential. Very well; she would wait.

  Lying in bed that night, Bella once again went over her meeting with Comrade Fang. The atmosphere had been more amicable than she had dared hope. It was far too early to guess how the negotiations would work out but, whether they ended in success or catastrophe, one thing was certain. They marked the culmination of a journey that forty-eight years ago had begun with heartbreak, a series of events so painful that even now it hurt her to remember them, but which had resulted, for the first time in her life, in her taking charge of her own destiny.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Charlotte had made up her mind to marry Arabella off to her brother’s friend Major Lacey, who had a small estate conveniently far away in the West Country. To that end she had invited him to spend a weekend at Ripon Grange, only to have Arabella turn him down flat.

  Major Lacey departed, in high dudgeon at the loss not only of a nubile young woman whose figure had stirred his imagination but of the five thousand pounds the countess had promised him as a wedding gift.