Dust of the Land

by J. H. Fletcher

  ‘I cannot interest you in a glass of wine?’

  Bella shook her head. ‘I’ll stick with the mineral water.’

  His eyes signalled his pleasure at the company of this beautiful Australian woman yet he was not in the least uncouth about it and Bella found she was enjoying the attention. Nor did it get in the way of business. They finished eating and he ordered coffee, which arrived in a silver pot, with chocolate mints on the side.

  ‘Tell me what this is all about,’ Helmut Muller said. ‘And how I can help you.’

  He listened attentively while Bella explained.

  ‘You wish to develop the mine yourself?’

  ‘That is my intention, yes.’

  ‘And you have head-hunted this mine development manager from BradMin? This will not make you popular with Mr Bathurst, I think.’

  ‘I can live with that.’

  ‘Even so, he could be a dangerous enemy.’ He drank coffee, pondering. ‘Have you spoken to any other bankers?’

  ‘In London, yes.’

  A raised eyebrow questioned her. ‘And?’

  ‘They found it hard to envisage a woman developing an iron-ore mine in northern Australia.’

  ‘With a pick and shovel, ja?’ He laughed lightly. ‘I suspect you would do that, too, if necessary. Do you have figures for me?’ he asked. ‘Any information at all?’

  ‘I have the geologist’s report, including estimates of mineral reserves. Also our projected capital needs, including development costs and plant requirements, based on estimates produced by the mine development manager.’

  ‘It will be very helpful if our experts can examine these documents. On a confidential basis, of course.’

  ‘I have them in my briefcase,’ Bella said. ‘Also I have my financial director with me and he will be able to give you any additional information you require.’

  ‘That will also be very helpful. How long are you planning to stay in Frankfurt?’

  As long as it took was the honest answer but Bella did not want to tell him that. Instead she said: ‘I want to get back as quickly as I can.’

  ‘If you can let us have those reports and make your financial director available to us, I should be able to give you an answer within three days.’

  CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

  It was a long three days. The weather remained fine. She prowled the city. She drank coffee beneath the trees in the Wiesenhüttenplatz; she visited the art gallery and museum; she read English language newspapers on the hotel terrace; she strolled in the summer garden and dawdled over lunch in Le Parc restaurant. Slowly the time passed.

  On the evening of the third day Helmut Muller phoned and invited her to come and see him. She could not tell whether it was good news or not, so her heart was in her throat as the lift carried her to the fifth floor.

  ‘Let me tell you at once,’ Helmut said, ‘that some of my directors were at first inclined to share the view of the English bankers. However, those of us who feel differently were able to persuade them to our point of view. I therefore believe we shall be in a position to assist you.’

  Bella opened her mouth to speak but Helmut raised his hand.

  ‘However…’ he said. ‘There are conditions.’

  ‘Which are?’

  ‘One. We shall be prepared to fund fifty per cent of the projected development costs subject to your obtaining backing for the remainder from banks in Australia. Two. You have told us that Mr McNab has not yet joined you. The loan will be subject to confirmation that he has started work. Three. We shall require monthly reports both from Mr McNab and a suitably qualified independent mining surveyor regarding progress of the development. Are these terms acceptable to you?’

  ‘Yes,’ Bella said.

  ‘When do you plan to return to Australia?’ Helmut asked.

  ‘Tomorrow. Provided we can get a flight.’

  ‘In the meantime my office will prepare the necessary documentation. Would you like us also to make the arrangements for your return journey?’

  ‘That would be most kind.’

  ‘There is one further condition upon which I must insist,’ he said.

  Bella’s heart sank. ‘What condition is that?’

  His smile was like sunshine through clouds. ‘That you have dinner with me tonight.’

  ‘My goodness,’ Bella told him, ‘are you telling me I must cancel all my prior engagements?’

  ‘I am. No compromise will be permitted.’

  ‘Then I have no choice, do I?’

  ‘Absolutely not.’ He looked at her curiously. ‘Do you really have prior engagements?’

  ‘No,’ she said, ‘I do not.’

  They went to Weidemann, on Kelsterbacher Strasse, and ate traditional French cuisine and drank a bottle of burgundy. Afterwards he drove her back to the hotel, parked and suggested that the evening might be best concluded by his coming upstairs with her.

  She looked at him. This was a very attractive man. When he made the suggestion she had felt her body react with something like an electric shock. Also he was a man she could not afford to offend. She told herself there could be no harm in combining business with what she was certain would be a great deal of pleasure. She licked her lips. She said: ‘I don’t think so.’

  His expression showed nothing; it was impossible to know what he had expected, or whether her refusal had caused offence.

  ‘You are a widow,’ he said. ‘Without commitments?’

  ‘The trouble is I do not feel like a widow,’ she said.

  ‘It is perhaps too soon after your husband’s death?’ he suggested.

  She seized gratefully on his words. ‘I am sure that must be the reason. I have had a lovely evening and I can assure you I find you a most attractive man, but you are right. I am not yet ready for another relationship.’

  ‘I understand,’ he said. ‘I respect you for taking such a position. You are a woman of principle. You have no idea how refreshing that is. In this business we encounter endless liars and con-artists. That is why you are getting your loan, because I have informed my codirectors that I regard you as a woman of integrity.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Bella said. ‘I like to believe you are right.’

  ‘And of course there may be another time,’ he said.

  ‘I shall look forward to it,’ she said.

  She leant forward and kissed him on the cheek. She got out of the car and stood as he lifted his hand to her and drove slowly away.

  She closed her eyes and drew an uncertain breath. She went up to her room, closed and locked the door and lay fully clothed upon the bed. She wondered how she would have been feeling at this minute had she answered him differently. She wondered what she was feeling now. Regret? Relief? She could not be sure. At least he did not seem to have taken offence. And, as he had said, there might always be another time.

  Now everything seemed to happen at once.

  They flew back to Australia and two days after their arrival Owen Freeth arranged for a consortium of bankers and their advisers to meet Bella and Martin Dexter at his office.

  Speaking on Bella’s behalf, Owen set out the situation and the fact that Mrs Tucker intended to develop the Carlisle Mine on her own account.

  Bella saw that the bankers were not happy with that idea.

  ‘A woman miner?’ one of them said, and rubbed a dubious chin. ‘That’s a new one.’

  The man was a director of the Western Pacific Bank, and his reservations were obviously shared by others around the table.

  ‘Almost a contradiction in terms,’ another banker said.

  ‘We understood that you and your late husband had a royalty agreement with BradMin,’ said a third. ‘You receive royalties and BradMin provides the expertise. That, if I may say so, seems a more sensible arrangement.’

  ‘Much more sensible,’ agreed number two.

  ‘Under the agreement which lapsed with my husband’s death we would receive a royalty on the ore extracted. Which in practice meant we were
getting nothing because BradMin has not begun production. Also it meant that, should they ever get around to doing so, they would pay the royalty but keep the profits. This does not seem to me to be an equitable arrangement.’

  ‘How much profit are we projecting here?’

  This from one of the advisers, an eager little ferret of a man.

  ‘Between one hundred and one hundred and fifty million dollars a year,’ Bella said.

  The magic of those figures cast a spell of shocked silence about the room.

  ‘So you can see why I am anxious to keep those profits for myself,’ she said.

  ‘These figures are impressive, no doubt, but hypothetical,’ said number two banker, who clearly opposed the whole concept. ‘Credibility in business is all-important.’ He spoke as though explaining the two times tables to a five-year-old. ‘A woman running a mining operation does not possess it. The market will not like it. It will tend to regard it with considerable scepticism. Certainly not one for large-scale investment.’

  ‘It is fortunate that not everyone shares that view,’ Bella said. ‘I have here a letter of intent from the German Investment Trust Bank of Frankfurt. You may recall that Mr Muller, one of their directors, was out here recently looking for investments offering both security and a high level of return. Now it seems he has found one.’

  This put a different complexion on things. The Germans had an excellent name in banking circles and the German Investment Trust Bank was one of the best regarded of all. The letter of intent was passed from one pair of hands to the next, and all of sudden smiles took the place of frowns.

  ‘I am offering you an opportunity to participate in a profitable new industry,’ Bella told them. ‘But I need a quick decision and, if you feel you would rather not become involved in an operation where a woman is CEO, I shall of course make other arrangements.’

  They scrambled hastily for cover. Of course they had never been opposed to a woman CEO. Perish the thought! It was simply a question of market acceptance and credibility.

  ‘You have forty-eight hours, gentlemen, to come up with a yes or a no,’ Bella told them.

  More protests but less assured now.

  Such short notice… A decision might not be possible…

  ‘Forty-eight hours,’ she repeated. She stood up. ‘You will no doubt wish to get back to your offices as quickly as you can. Mr Dexter will be available over the next two days for telephone consultation, should you require further information.’

  Meek as sheep, they filed out. Bella watched them sardonically, waiting until the door was safely closed behind them.

  ‘Gotcha,’ she said.

  The telephone rang and was picked up. A man’s voice spoke gruffly.

  ‘McNab…’

  ‘We’ve got the funding,’ Bella said. ‘When can you start?’

  It was the briefest of conversations. She put the phone down and drew a deep breath. Martin Dexter was watching her from the other side of the room but for a moment she did not speak. She got up, walked slowly to the window and looked out. The sun was shining and in the rose garden the flowers were coming out. At the base of the hill the Swan River was a crooked sword, shining between the trees.

  Another three months, Bella thought, and the family would be together for Christmas. Now Garth was gone the children were her only family and she was looking forward to doing things with them. Which was not to deny the importance of the mine. Every time she thought about that her heart went into overdrive. It was small wonder; she was committed now, prey to conflicting emotions of exhilaration and terror. Exhilaration, because it was exciting to live on the edge, to challenge her destiny; terror, because she was putting everything – not only her assets but her and the children’s future – into the hazard. The banks would require every asset she possessed as security. Even Miranda Downs would be pledged. If she failed…

  The thought made her feel sick but her expression showed nothing as she turned to face Martin Dexter across the room. ‘He has to give three months’ notice. He starts with us in January,’ she said.

  ‘Pete Bathurst is going to love us.’

  ‘Pete Bathurst can take a hike,’ Bella said.

  ‘So you’ve got the money and the man. Seems to me congratulations are in order,’ Martin said.

  ‘A bit early for that. I may end up ruining us all.’

  ‘I don’t believe that and neither do you.’

  ‘Don’t be so sure. If you see me hobbling it’s because I’ve got my toes crossed as well as my fingers.’

  ‘I wondered if I might invite you to have dinner with me,’ Martin said. ‘To celebrate.’

  Bella had always told herself she would never get involved with a member of her staff. What she had said to Helmut Muller was also true; it was too soon after Garth’s death to think of another relationship. But Martin was a friend as well as a senior member of her team and having dinner with him – to celebrate, as he had said – was hardly getting involved.

  ‘I would like that,’ she said.

  They went to Thomas Kettle’s Place, a new restaurant in Perth that Bella did not know. She had dressed up moderately for the occasion and she was pleased to see Martin had done the same in a tailored turquoise shirt, grey pants and highly polished black shoes.

  ‘I hardly recognise you without a suit,’ she said.

  ‘The hidden me,’ he said.

  ‘It suits you,’ she said.

  They both ordered the duck, with a bottle of Margaret River cabernet merlot to go with it.

  ‘One stipulation,’ she said. ‘No shop.’

  After the complexities of mining finance it was pleasant to talk instead of other things: the poetry of Dylan Thomas, a visit Martin had paid to South-East Asia the previous year, Bella’s trip to Africa with the family in 1961.

  It made for a pleasant evening but when Martin suggested doing it again Bella was non-committal. One meal together was not a relationship but repeating it too soon might make it so.

  ‘Let’s see how we go,’ she said.

  CHAPTER FORTY

  Four days later Pete Bathurst came into his office and found an envelope, sealed but unstamped, lying on his desk. It was addressed to him and marked private and confidential. He opened it. His neck went dull red as he read it. He threw open the door and was down the corridor, face like the wrath of God. He threw open the door to Sinclair Smythe’s office without knocking or apology. Sinclair was studying a document. He looked up enquiringly as Pete stormed in, one finger marking the place he had reached.

  ‘McNab has resigned,’ Pete said.

  Sinclair pulled a pad towards him and jotted a note before he answered. ‘Is it so important?’ he wondered. ‘Since you keep pretty close control of things yourself?’

  ‘McNab is on the ground,’ Pete said. ‘I monitor what’s going on but you must have somebody there to keep an eye on the day-today operations. Particularly with communications so bad.’

  ‘Does he say why he’s resigned?’

  ‘He doesn’t need to. He’s a mining engineer. He’s not going to work in a cake shop, is he?’

  ‘I am not sure I take your meaning,’ Sinclair said. There were times when he found Pete Bathurst’s boorishness hard to swallow.

  ‘I mean he’s going to work for another mining company. No prizes for guessing which one.’

  ‘Why should we care what he does after he’s left us?’

  Bathurst’s big hands were clenching and unclenching as he looked at his treasurer. ‘It matters if he’s gone to work for that damn Tucker woman.’

  ‘Is it likely? Leave a company like this for a tuppenny-halfpenny outfit like Tuckers?’

  ‘Not such a tuppenny-halfpenny outfit, once she’s up and running. She’s got twice the ore reserves we have!’

  ‘Maybe she has. But she’ll have a job raising the finance. I was talking to Murchison in London. He tells me the London banks have all turned her down. Assuming that is correct, she will have to agree to our t
erms, won’t she? What other choice does she have?’

  ‘If McNab is going to work for her she’s raised the dough somewhere,’ Bathurst said.

  ‘I’ll make enquiries,’ Sinclair said. ‘See what I can find out.’

  ‘While you’re at it, check that agreement we had with the Tuckers. See if there’s any way we can stop her breaking loose from us, if she’s foolish enough to try.’

  ‘I can tell you now. There is nothing we can do. We worded it so that we could walk away from her, if it suited us to do so.’

  ‘Instead of which she walks away from us,’ Pete said grimly.

  ‘We don’t know that for sure. But if she does there is nothing we can do to stop her.’

  ‘Except break her back. You think I’ll let a two-bit woman run rings around us? I’ll be the laughing-stock of the industry!’

  ‘All this is supposition –’

  ‘If she’s talked McNab into working for her, it’s a declaration of war. And I fight wars to win. Whatever it takes.’

  CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

  ‘You need to tie up markets for this stuff,’ Rory McNab told Bella.

  It was the tail end of 1964 and the Carlisle Mine would soon be open for business. Only limited amounts of ore would be produced to begin with but it would be a start while they waited for the rest of the development to come on stream. They stood under the concrete-roofed observation shelter and watched, mufflers over their ears, as the exploding charges stripped the overburden from the area Rory had chosen for the mine’s first development. Clouds of dust erupted skywards. Within two weeks they would start installing the huge surface miners. The special design needed to suit the horizontal nature of the deposits had caused significant delays and cost over-runs, but Rory had assured Bella they would be in production eight weeks after installation began.

  ‘And the rest of the equipment?’

  Work had been in progress for months on the screening, crushing and de-sanding plants.

  ‘Another month and they’ll be ready, too.’

  ‘You’re right,’ Bella told him. ‘Time I went on my travels.’

  ‘Shouldn’t be hard,’ Rory told her. ‘Japan’s crying out for the stuff.’