The Hostile Shore

by Douglas Reeman

  `Perhaps Michel will show me over the boat, eh?’ Her mouth shone invitingly against the tan of her skin.

  Tarrou bobbed. `Delightful! A great honour!’

  `I hope you didn’t misunderstand my remarks.’ Blair cursed inwardly. It was hopeless to say what he wanted with that great grinning fool standing there, `I meant well.’

  `Save it, Major. I’ll do the story for my magazine, because I’ve been told to. There’s nothing in my contract to say I have to be patronized by you!’

  She swung her body round, and Blair’s throat constricted with something like pain. That was the sort of girl he had wanted. Perhaps Marcia had been like that, and had changed. He cursed again. He was the one who had changed, and now with his plan beginning to take shape he had started acting like a tongue-tied young idiot. He turned away from the others as he heard Tarrou say grandly, `We shall start by examining the forward part of the vessel.’

  Tarrou led the way forward, beyond the spiralling foremast and up on to the raised forecastle deck, where the long pointing bowsprit dipped and soared towards the inviting water.

  He polished his sun-glasses, and after setting them on his ears he surveyed the ship and pointed to the two crouched divers. `They will dive for the wreck when we find it,’ he said. It was not what he had intended to say, but now that he was alone with this beautiful girl he could not muster his thoughts in their right order. He had carefully rehearsed all this when he had been examining the engine, but with her beside him he was confused.

  Gillian stared down the full length of the schooner to where Blair still leaned against the taffrail. Everything was so simple to him. He was typical of his breed, in the superior, irritatingly aloof manner in which he had condensed her whole life for her. What had he said about being glad to get away? She frowned, and was immediately aware that Tarrou had stopped speaking. She smiled quickly. `I beg your pardon. What did you say?’

  Relief flooded his face. `I am just saying that this is what we call a fore-and-aft schooner. These two masts with the two big sails on booms make her easy to handle. The boys can manage all the sails at once without very much trouble.’ He licked his lips and looked around for inspiration. `She is one hundred and thirty tons, and one hundred and ten feet in length.’ He paused as she rested her hand lightly on his sleeve.

  `Tell me, Michel, what d’you think about all this? D’you think we will find this wreck?’

  Tarrou stared dazedly at her hand. `Captain Vic will find it,’ he stammered.

  She moved away and sat on the bulwark. The breeze explored her throat and flapped down the front of her blouse. She knew he was staring at her, and a feeling of uneasy pleasure crept over her. She had met so many of them now, and she still wanted to believe that some of them at least were different from what people like Blair imagined. She studied Tarrou’s simple face and felt vaguely sorry for him. It irritated her to feel anything but companionship, but it was so often the same when dealing with men of Tarrou’s upbringing and nature. The more she tried, the more confused they seemed to become. She glanced at the two divers. It would be better to be like them, she thought. Life might be plain, dangerous or even empty, but they at least seemed normal, and indifferent to the tides of prejudice. Her thoughts moved to Blair again. He was so like Andy. He, too, had been sure of himself in a super-confident manner born of a family whose success was measured against the millions of dollars it had accumulated.

  She tried to remember how he had.looked, but she could only picture his eyes, bright and restless, rather like Major Blair’s. They had met during a hot summer in Washington, when she had first started her career of journalism. It had been at a rather listless party which broke up early, and she had found herself with Andy. He had great charm. He had also been engaged to be married, but she had not found that out until afterwards. Until after the night she let him make love to her. She shuddered when she remembered his soft, almost

  gentle voice. `You’re mine, Gil. For always.’ It was like a line from a cheap novel. But she had believed him. She had confronted him, after a despairing, but still hopeful search, in his Long Island cottage. She had expected remorse or perhaps even a plea of forgiveness, but instead he had smiled calmly and asked her how much she had wanted. `I hope you’re not going to make trouble, Gil,’ he had said lazily. `I’d hate to have your name bandied around a little.’

  She had slapped his face, but unlike the cheap novel he slapped her back and had her driven back to town by a leering chauffeur.

  Meissberg had guessed half the story, and dragged the rest out of her. His advice had been to forget it, and when she spoke of her rights he had arranged her first foreign assignment. He had seen her off at the airport. `So what d’you expect, girl? For the man to shoot himself already? You forget him. Make with the career. It pays better!’

  Meissberg. Probably in Andy’s pocket as well. But what could she do now? She had often really believed that becoming the good journalist she had set out to be was compensation enough. She had become instead more and more isolated from the reality she searched for.

  The Queensland Pearl plunged over a low roller, and the rigging sighed in protest. High overhead two frigate birds idled on their scimitar-shaped wings, apparently motionless against the glaring sky.

  She clasped her arms across her body and trembled in spite of the heat.

  Tarrou took her silence for interest, and squatted down on the bulwark beside her. `Tell me about America,’ he faltered, `will you, Gillian?’

  She started at the sound of her name, and stared at him blankly. `What do you want to hear?’ She hardly recognized her own voice.

  Fraser watching from the poop cursed loudly, and felt for his pipe.

  Sitting on the taffrail, Blair, too, watched them, his face dark and thoughtful. It was like a pattern, he thought. The

  ship seemed to have drawn them all together for some set purpose, but he could not put a name to it.

  Only Myers seemed indifferent, as he whistled softly and honed his diver’s knife.

  3

  THE dawn of the second morning showed the small schooner like a white-painted toy on a blue mirror, and although the sky was free of cloud and maintained its harsh brightness, there was an urgency in the air, which expressed itself in the thrumming breeze against the tan sails, and the occasional ripple of catspaws across the sea’s smooth surface.

  Fraser stood loosely behind the wheel, his cap tilted rakishly over his eyes as he squinted ahead at the shimmering green hump of the island, a shape which had risen from the sea with the sun, and had grown without effort even as he watched, so that the uncertain outline of the distant volcano could be seen distorted behind a fine haze.

  The boys jabbered amongst themselves, with all their usual excitement at making a landfall, and under Buka’s directions began to shorten sail. The engine had come to life, and panted patiently beneath his feet, while Tarrou waited to give him all the power he might need.

  He glanced momentarily at the girl as she stood against the weather rail, one hand shading her eyes, the other holding her hair, which ruffled gently at each hot caress from the breeze. Blair stood apart and yet near her, his eyes showing nothing, but his body tense and expectant.

  Fraser licked his lips and wondered. It would have been better to have carried passengers who were untroubled by strange missions or unspoken thoughts, he decided. The previous evening had passed without further event, and he had managed to break up some of the tension by telling them about the islands, and as they sat on deck in the cool of the evening, drinking cans of Ballarat beer, he had pointed with something like pride at the dim shapes of the various groups, while the schooner had threaded her way between them, and past the distant reefs and lonely, uncharted rocks, which for no reason jutted from the dark water,. their fanged shapes shrouded in spray and glistening with a million rivulets, as they fought a ceaseless battle with the sea.

  The schooner slowly edged her way round the snout of Hog Island, and at o
ne point they were within a mile of the towering, sheer-sided cliffs, which looked as if they had been sliced short by a giant hand, the discarded pieces dropping to form a girdle of broken rocks at their feet. A thin, spiderlike pier jutted out from the small sheltered bay which rolled back beyond the cliffs, and behind the small white beach he could see the familiar untidy cluster of shacks which represented Jim Hogan’s trade store. A few palm-thatched huts were scattered along the edge of the encroaching jungle, and from the latter he saw running brown shapes, like beetles, making for the rickety pier.

  Gillian turned briefly towards him. `That pier doesn’t look any too safe, Vic? What’s the idea of having a thing like that?’

  He laughed, a deep, friendly sound. `Old Jim just patches it up a bit from time to time. I bring the Pearl here every two or three months, and apart from his own cutter,’ he indicated a neat white boat moored at the far end of the pier, `he doesn’t reckon on getting many visitors.’

  She shook her head slowly. `He must get plenty lonely. What makes a man shut himself away like that?’

  Fraser considered the question. What makes us all do it? Jim Hogan was an Aussie like himself. A man in late middle age, he was a heavy drinker, who allowed life to pass him by, because, he supposed, life for him meant booze, independence and women. His trading with the local natives brought him the first two, and Fraser knew that he was never short of a lubra or two either. He had some deal with one of the local headmen, and with the result, he could always be sure of a smooth, dusky girl for his other requirements.

  He looked slowly at. Gillian and smiled secretly. `Reckon he just likes the climate,’ he said.

  The engine drowned her next words, and he gave his concentration to conning his boat round the end of the pier, to where scores of waving hands reached out to seize the lines as they were thrown ashore.

  A thick-set, heavy fowled man, in a grubby shirt and stained duck trousers, walked heavily through the chattering natives, his brick-red face split into a grin, and his eyes screwed up to examine his visitors. With surprising lightness he vaulted over the rail and shook Fraser by the hand. With his faded eyes on the girl he guffawed noisily. `Well, damn my eyes, Vic! You sure are a one for surprises! You ain’t due here. for another month yet! Or have I been dreamin’?’

  He listened in silence as Fraser explained his mission, his eyes puckered in surprise.

  `How long you stoppin’, then?’ he asked when Fraser had finished.

  Blair nodded towards the headland. `Just for tonight. I thought you might be able to help me.’

  Hogan shook his grizzled head. ‘Nah. Vic’s got as good idea as me about this place. What he don’t know don’t matter much.’

  `What about this Spencer fellow? Is he any use, d’you think?’

  Hogan nudged Fraser. `Talks like a proper Pommie, don’t he?’ He grinned disarmingly as he saw the other man stiffen. `Don’t mind me, cobber. I got no manners, d’you see? Nah, Spencer’s worse since the time he used to run round the islands spoutin’ the flamin’ gospel at every Abo in sight. He just squats in his ruddy mission with that lot up there on the point and curses fit to bust!’ He laughed as if it was some huge joke. `Mind you, he’s got plenty of guts to squat on the Mota’s doorstep.’ He jerked a calloused thumb towards the green wall of the jungle. `They killed a couple of Abos from this village last week. Two youngsters wandered off doin’ a bit of huntin’, and were found next day done in.’ He jerked off his floppy felt hat and ran his fingers through his short ginger hair.

  Fraser was listening intently. `Sure it was the Mots?’

  Hogan grunted with scorn. `Yeh. Their heads was gone, and various other parts of ‘em as well, if you get my meanin’!’

  Gillian spoke for the first time. `Is that all that happens? Can’t anything be done to stamp out this sort of thing?’ She walked to the rail and stared at the grinning, uncomprehending faces which peered up at her. `Why in hell’s name do your governments accept these responsibilities if they can’t or won’t keep order and help to protect the natives?’

  Hogan grinned at her with admiration. `Hear, hear, miss! Should ‘ave taken a page outa the Yanks’ book! Do what they did with the Red Injuns, you know,’ lie winked at Fraser, ‘kill all the bastards off!’

  Fraser tapped his thick shoulder. `Jim, you’re a no-good lump, if ever I knew one. Now get your boys to collect your booze from the hold an’ shut your gate!’ Turning to the girl, he added: `Don’t be too hard on him. He’s been out here so long he’s washed his brains away!’

  Hogan sighed. `S’right, miss. Forget it. Can’t help these poor devils much. Nobody can, ‘cept themselves, an’ they hate the flamin’ sight of each other!’

  Fraser walked with him to the open hatch over the dark hold. `What d’you make to the weather, Jim?’ `Worried?’

  `I don’t like bein’ near that goddamned reef at this time of the year, Jim.’ He shook his head. `I’m responsible for these people aboard, an’ old Grainger’ll hold me to it if anythin’ goes wrong.’

  `D’you care? They look a bit loopy to me!’

  `I’ve got my licence to consider. Anyway, the girl’s pretty dinkum, eh?’

  Hogan studied Gillian’s body as she leaned over the rail with Myers. `Too right.’ He nodded emphatically. `You can leave ‘er ‘ere when you go!’

  Gillian leaned forward to point out something to Myers, and against the glare of the sun and water they saw the clear outline of her breast. Hogan whistled and nodded again. `Like a rat up a pump!’

  Fraser half smiled. He was used to Hogan’s sort. `You’ll frighten them with all this talk of headhunting an’ that. You worried, too?’

  Hogan for once did not smile. `Am a bit. Gettin’ too long in the tooth for this caper. ‘Nother year an’ I’m quittin’, gettin’ out.’

  Fraser puffed at his pipe, allowing the smoke to mask his brown eyes. He had not seen Hogan like that before, and it troubled him. He scoffed: `You’re like all the others! You’ll never see Cairns again!’

  Hogan fumbled for a cigarette. “S’fact, Vic. I’m goin’ while I can. See my cutter by the pier? She’s provisioned and fuelled up. I can quit when I like. I can get to Port Vila at a pinch.’

  `Get away! The boongs wouldn’t touch you, Jim! They need a store here, if nothin’ else!’

  Hogan pointed to the open space beyond the trade store. `See that? I’ve had the trees cleared away right up to the edge of the jungle. If I get trouble I want a good field of fire!’ He laughed nervously. `Even me flamin’ lubras ‘ave skipped off ‘ome!’

  Blair’s shadow fell across them, and he forced a smile. `Well, Major, I ‘ope you’ll come up to the store this evenin’ for a noggin before you’re on yer way?’

  Blair met Fraser’s glance, and saw the almost imperceptible nod of the head. `Be glad to,’ he said calmly. `I’d like to stretch my legs.’

  Hogan glanced at the crippled foot and whistled. `Blimey, Major, it looks as if some joker ‘as done that already!’

  Gillian turned at the words, and saw the pain cross Blair’s face. She waited for his retort, but he merely replied in a controlled tone, `I’d like to come, anyway.’

  Hogan grinned. `Good on yer, Major.’

  Fraser shrugged helplessly as Blair limped away. `You’re invited too, Miss Bligh.’

  Gillian watched Blair’s hunched shoulders disappear down

  the companion-way, a frown on her face. It was the first time

  she had seen Blair’s composure broken, and the result was different from what she had expected. Or was it different from the way she had hoped it would be? Pity, mingled with resentment, only helped to confuse her thoughts. She shook herself out of it. `Sure, I’ll come along for laughs,’ she answered dryly.

  Hogan led his boys ashore, and Fraser stamped down to his cabin. `Sorry to disturb you, Major. I didn’t want to talk in front of the others.’

  Blair sat wearily at the small table, the charts unheeded beneath his elbows. `Well? I guesse
d that Hogan had told you something.’

  Fraser leaned against the doorpost. He was surprised at the dullness in Blair’s voice.

  `Seems he’s a bit worried about the Mota playin’ up. He’s practically made his place into a fort.’

  `It won’t affect us where we’re going, will it?’ The blue eyes were staring at nothing.

  `Can’t say, Major. If we keep clear of the shore, an’ hold a good look-out, we should be all right.’ His brown face wrinkled into a frown. `Don’t worry about Jim. He’s dinkum. Just a bit squiffed.’

  Blair yawned and stretched his arms over his head. `I’ve seen plenty of men acting like him before.’

  Fraser smiled, but did not understand. `How d’you mean, Major?’

  `Before they were killed.’ The words dropped like stones into a millpond. Blair studied Fraser’s stricken face. `But let’s enjoy our night out first, eh?’

  The sun dipped lower over the island and made its evening gold halo around one tall, purple-tinted hill. In the fastfading light the breakers along the deserted beach loomed crisp and pure against the night-blue of the sea, and at the end of the makeshift pier the schooner and the small white cutter creaked against the rotting piles and shone eerily on their dark backcloth.

  The trade store seemed to consist of two large rooms, with a few tiny adjoining compartments, and was surrounded by crudely constructed huts for the stores, which were impervious to ants, crabs, or light-fingered natives. In the main building, stacked from the bare floor to the corrugated iron roof, were the choicer selections of Hogan’s trade. Great sagging piles of cheap cloth, their flowered prints and garish colours already faded by the sun’s rays, and a disordered heap of axes, hoes, galvanized pails and long strings of beads mixed freely with the spider webs which hung from every rafter.

  Hogan’s room was not much tidier, but had at least some appearance of comfort. Blair eased himself into a fat armchair, the shape of which suggested that it had been dragged halfway round the world to this forgotten island, to end its days beneath Hogan’s bulk, or be destroyed by insects. He glanced idly around the long room and noted the twin strips of barbed wire along the front of the open veranda, and the two heavy shotguns which stood by the blistered sideboard. There were heaps of old newspapers and magazines, but no books, and on the planked wall hung a calendar, two years out of date, adorned by a nude girl advertising a Sydney soft-drinks firm. Hogan had not stopped talking since they had trooped in, and busied himself pouring giant measures of gin and whisky into an assortment of glasses.