They chatted as they ate. Tamsyn had told Marina that Gregory had been badly traumatised by his experiences—who wouldn’t be, after all?—and that everything about him was wire-tight, but this, thank the good Lord, was the Gregory she remembered from the old days. He made no more mention of Thailand and at first no one else did, either, but he talked a blue streak about other things, about everything and nothing, a cascade of words mixed with laughter tumbling out of him as though a weight had been lifted from him, releasing speech that until that moment had been dammed up inside him.
Esmé chipped in from time to time but didn’t have a great deal to say. She and Gregory hardly knew each other, yet Marina, watching them both and remembering Tamsyn’s warning, thought it must have been this quiet girl who had been at least partly responsible, almost overnight, for bringing her son out of the shadows. To the depths of her being she was grateful for that.
Early days, of course, but she sensed a feeling between Esmé Drake and her son and dared hope something might come of it, if he could somehow sort out the mess in Thailand.
‘What are you going to do about Nirvana?’
‘We were talking about it on the way down this morning,’ Gregory said. ‘We aren’t sure what to do about it.’
We … Interesting.
‘Can you sell the island?’
‘I don’t own it. I have development rights—a sort of lease—but they don’t mean a spit in the circumstances.’
They finished their meal and went back to Noamunga. Back home to Noamunga. It was a happy visit. They ate homemade scones and cream for afternoon tea, Marina persuaded them to stay overnight, and she stood at the window watching as Gregory and Esmé picked their way over the rocks at the edge of the water. The tide was out so the force of the breakers was falling mainly on the Manacles Reef, two hundred metres offshore, and with the sun shining it made conditions ideal for a rocky scramble.
She thought Esmé would be good for Gregory. She was sensible as well as capable, and God knew he needed someone sensible in his life.
So Marina hoped, but at the same time was philosophical about it. If it was their destiny, the relationship would flourish; if not, it wouldn’t, and there was nothing she could do about it either way.
* * *
Down by the sea Esmé, who’d had little to say for herself over lunch, was talking.
‘I can see why your mum doesn’t want to leave this place.’
‘She’s not well. It would be easier to take care of her if she were somewhere more accessible.’
‘I have a hunch she doesn’t want to have people taking care of her.’
‘But how will she manage?’
‘She’s independent. She’ll be the one to decide when and if she wants help.’
‘You don’t mean she might kill herself?’
‘Of course not. There’s too much life in her to do that.’
They had ham sandwiches for supper and a proper cooked breakfast in the morning. They were on their way by ten o’clock, and all the way up through Boulders and on to the Strahan road, Greg was thinking of what had happened the previous night.
They’d slept in the room that had once been shared by Charlotte and Tamsyn. The beds were on opposite sides of the room and Greg, overwhelmed by gratitude for the series of events that had so miraculously transformed his life, found a remarkable sense of fulfilment from the situation. Spending the night in the same room with this woman he barely knew yet to whom he was drawn so strongly was an experience, both chaste and intimate, that he thought had brought them closer than if they had made love. It had also brought him a measure of peace he had never previously known.
* * *
Neither of them had much to say on the drive back to Hobart, but Esmé’s mind was busy, surging with unfamiliar thoughts and feelings.
She felt comfortable with this man; he had opened himself to her over the Thailand business and that filled her with warmth, that this man had entrusted her with his folly and fears, and that was a precious thing. To be trusted and to trust seemed to her the first step in what she was beginning, cautiously, to hope might be a good relationship. Further than that she was not yet prepared to go; she did not know whether he had the same feelings about her, but life with her grandparents had taught her patience. She would wait, letting her instinct guide her, and see what might come of what at least was a developing friendship. Because friendship and empathy were important, too.
She didn’t raise the subject of Greg’s future but he did, just as they were entering Hobart.
‘I must get a job,’ he said. ‘I’ve no idea what but I can’t impose on Tamsyn indefinitely. It would be nice to have some money, too.’
‘Are you broke?’
‘Stacks in Thailand, if you count Nirvana, but I guess I may have to kiss goodbye to all that.’
She dropped him at Tamsyn’s place and drove home. It was good that he should be thinking about the future but, like him, she found it hard to imagine what that might be.
CHAPTER 57
‘I am sick and tired of this,’ Hector Ballantyne said. He stood, hands on hips, and glared through the vast picture window at the river as though challenging it to a duel. ‘I’m not prepared to put up with your mother’s nonsense any longer. The word is we’re likely to strike oil any day. I’m going to fly over and have a word with her.’
‘I’ll come with you,’ said Charlotte.
‘No. You had your chance and blew it.’ Hector in his CEO-inwaiting mode. ‘This time I’ll tackle her myself.’
It was unusual for Hector to come back at her like that and she knew that something had happened to stir him up.
‘Have you heard anything from New Jersey?’
‘I had Mendoza in my ear for half an hour.’
‘Saying what?’
‘Telling me we’d better get our act together or we’ll likely miss out. I blame myself, of course. I should never have let you get involved. I should have known you’d go easy on her. She’s your mother, after all.’
How typical of Hector to try and pin the blame on her.
‘You told Mendoza you’d sort things out—I heard you, so there’s no point denying it—and you haven’t. Now we’re out of time. We need action and we need it now. I’ve slaved all the hours God gives to get to the top of the tree in this damn company and I don’t intend to let one silly old woman get in my way now.’
She’d never known him talk to her so disrespectfully. ‘How do you plan to prevent her?’
‘I’ll prevent her,’ Hector said through set teeth. ‘There are ways, believe me. She wants to play hardball? Very well. Maybe it’s time she found out two can play that game.’
Charlotte thought: for all the years of our marriage I have known that Hector has misread me. I’ve even encouraged him to do so. Now I’m beginning to wonder whether I may also have misread him.
Her initial astonishment changed by degrees, first to uneasiness, then to resentment. She was astonished not so much by his words as the way he had spoken them; she was uneasy at the sudden emergence of a man she had never known before and resentful that he should show such determination in putting her down. She was also sceptical; if Hector really believed Marina would react favourably to being bullied, he clearly didn’t have a clue what she was really like.
‘I really think it would be better if I came with you.’
‘I’m sorry, no. Tommy Mendoza warned we’re running out of time. Someone has to tell her what’s involved here, for her sake as well as ours, and I intend to give it to her straight. Co-operate or suffer the consequences.’
* * *
Hector believed in catching people by surprise, so he didn’t tell Marina he was coming. He just turned up, arriving in a scream and clatter of the helicopter’s engine and rotor blades.
Startled by her unexpected visitor, Marina came out of the house in time to see him climbing down from the aircraft’s passenger seat.
Oh God! What now? As if she did
n’t know.
Aloud, it was a different story. ‘Hector? How delightful to see you. Such a long time.’
It wasn’t delightful at all. There’d always been a simmer of dislike between them; at best their relationship had been one of armed neutrality. Marina knew it and Hector knew she knew it, but Marina had the naughty habit of playing games with people she didn’t like. She was doing it now: pretending affection where there was none.
‘And what brings you to my humble queendom?’
Hector’s face was as sour as sick; he couldn’t abide anyone making fun of him, which was why Marina was doing it now.
‘Come in and have a glass of wine,’ she said. ‘If drinking wine doesn’t offend your principles. And what about your poor pilot? Perhaps he would like a drink, too? A cup of tea, if he’s not allowed to drink alcohol?’
She danced away ahead of him, as lively and elusive as a firefly. Oh yes, Marina knew better than anyone how to taunt those given to serious self-importance, among whom her son-in-law was high on the list.
She brought two glasses. She looked at him adoringly: if you hadn’t sensed the mockery behind the smile. ‘You’ll stay for lunch, of course?’
‘Thank you. But I must be getting back. I came to spell out a few things. Some home truths,’ he said.
Hector’s face was stern with purpose but Marina was as brighteyed as any squirrel.
‘Home truths? My oh my! You’d better get on with it, then.’ She pointed to a chair. ‘But for heaven’s sake sit down first, man. You make the room untidy, standing there like a stripper at the Vatican.’
‘We’ve been drilling off the coast here and expect to strike oil very soon.’
‘I know.’
A sharp look. ‘How do you know?’
‘Small community, Hector. Everyone knows everything, and people talk.’
‘Then you know why I’m here.’
‘No, I don’t know why you’re here. I told Charlotte only the other day that Noamunga is my home. I have no plans to leave. Do you want me to write it down for you? You can read, can’t you? I have no plans to leave Noamunga.’
Hector picked up his briefcase and opened it, taking out a paper with typing on it. ‘This is an agreement of sale. I want you to sign it.’
‘Give it to me.’ No smiles now.
He gave it to her. She did not read it. She did not even look at it. Instead her eyes were steady on his as she tore the paper across once, twice, and again. She opened her hands and let the fragments of paper drift to the floor.
‘Is that plain enough for you?’
Hector’s face was cold, unmoved by what Marina had done. ‘I have other copies. Let me spell out your options. In terms of the agreement, you will receive a lump sum of five hundred thousand dollars for your property here on the coast. Five hundred thousand dollars. Enough to set you up comfortably for the rest of your life. In addition, Charlotte and I will buy you a place in Launceston at no cost to yourself. It will enable Charlotte to visit you every day, if the need arises. It would be close to shops, hospitals, restaurants. The museum.’
Marina sat staring into space. It was hard to know whether she was listening or not.
‘Those are the benefits, if you sign. If you continue in your stubborn refusal to listen to reason, you will give me no choice. As soon as I become Trident’s CEO I shall apply for a compulsory purchase order—’
It was Marina’s turn to stand. ‘I think you should leave now. Before I say something I may regret.’
But Hector remained seated. ‘Your land is the only convenient place where a pipeline can be brought ashore. This find will bring huge revenue to the state and I do not think for a moment that the government will permit one old woman to stand in its way.’ He was shouting now, his face red.
Marina was no longer listening. From the point of view of Hector Ballantyne’s blood pressure, she did the worst thing possible. She sat down again. She poured herself another glass of wine and sipped it quietly, while Hector continued to rant.
‘You’ll be lucky if the state government offers you a quarter what we are willing to pay! You’ll have to leave without enough money to buy a dog kennel, never mind living decently. Think about it, Marina!’
Sip, sip.
If there’d been a newspaper handy, she might have picked it up to glance at the headlines. Their minds were no longer so much on different tracks as on different planets.
Hector dug another copy of the agreement out of his briefcase and flourished it under her nose.
‘Sign it!’
Marina put down her glass. She looked at him, eyes as quiet as the sea in a flat calm. ‘No, Hector, I will not sign it.’ She stood up, once again smiling pleasantly. ‘I think we’ve said all we have to say, don’t you?’
She walked with him to the helicopter. The air between them was as brittle as cracked glass.
Hector paused as he was about to climb aboard. ‘I meant what I said, you know.’
‘We all have to do what we must,’ Marina said. ‘Give my love to Charlotte.’
She stood and watched until the chopper had cleared the ridge, then went back into the house. She picked up the phone and dialled the number she had noted down earlier that morning.
CHAPTER 58
By the time he got home Hector was so angry he could have picked up the whole house, Charlotte included, and flung it in the river. As always, he took out his frustration on whoever was handy: in this case, his wife.
‘What’s the matter with that bloody woman?’ he shouted. ‘I offered her the best of deals—half a million dollars for that miserable place plus somewhere to live—and she wouldn’t even listen. I blame you, of course. If you’d handled her right in the first place …’
I told you so. That thought Charlotte kept to herself. ‘It’s been her home since she was a teenager. But surely, if the government grants an acquisition order—’
He rounded on her. ‘Don’t you see? It’ll be too late. Mendoza more or less said it: no deal, no CEO. They’ll bring in some clown from New Jersey who knows nothing about local conditions, expect me to knock him into shape … I won’t stand for it. I won’t!’
Just talk: if push came to shove, he’d have no choice and well he knew it. All the same, it didn’t bear thinking of. He slugged his Scotch, poured himself another.
‘Let me phone her,’ Charlotte said.
‘It’ll do no good.’
‘At least let me try.’
‘Do what the hell you like.’ He was a snarl on legs. Again the Scotch. ‘Do you think that damn housekeeper of yours could give us dinner on time for once? Or is that too much to ask?’
* * *
‘Mother …’
‘No, dear.’
‘It’ll be the ruin of Hector’s career.’
‘I doubt that very much.’
‘You don’t know Trident. They’ve more or less told him so.’
‘Then perhaps he should think of working for someone else.’
‘But, Mother, he’s set his heart on this promotion. Please, Mother …’
Charlotte as supplicant was as excruciating as when she thought she had the upper hand.
‘Then perhaps he should have gone about things differently.’
CHAPTER 59
Jim Bennett, granite face, granite will, had been boss of Trident Australia for five years and had expected to end his career there, but the company had decided otherwise and wanted to transfer him to the Gulf. He hadn’t wanted to leave Australia and had told them so; the next thing he was out on his ear five years before his time.
He blamed Tommy Mendoza for that. Mendoza was the evil demon of company politics. Everyone knew that Hector Ballantyne was Tommy Mendoza’s protégé and had been pencilled in as Jim’s successor, so by extension he blamed Hector, too.
It had taken him a long time to persuade Jersey to put a rig into the Sorell Basin, but he’d managed it eventually, over Mendoza’s opposition.
Now the signs
were looking good. If a strong well came in, his persistence would have paid off. He was still the CEO, by God, and if it happened on his watch he’d make goddamn certain the credit went where it belonged.
He’d come up the hard way in the oil industry, starting off on an offshore platform in the Timor Sea. He’d got where he had by ability, hard graft and bull-headed determination, and had no intention of letting Tommy Mendoza, Hector Ballantyne or any other bastard muscle in on his achievement.
He was in his office when his assistant, Kylie Jones, buzzed him.
‘There’s a woman on the line wants a word with you.’
‘What’s her name?’
‘Marina Trevelyan.’
The name meant nothing to him. ‘What does she want?’
‘She says she owns Noamunga, over on the west coast.’
‘Does she, by God? Then put her through, quick as you can. Noamunga, eh? Well, well.’
Within seconds she was on the line.
‘How can I help?’ Jim said.
‘I’m sure you’re a very busy man,’ Marina said. ‘But I am wondering whether you could possibly find the time to come and see me.’
‘Why would you like me to do that?’
‘I have a suggestion that I think may interest you.’
‘Perhaps we can discuss it now, on the phone?’
‘I would prefer to do it face to face.’
‘Are you prepared to consider selling?’
‘No, I’m not. I don’t know how many times I have to say it, but I have no intention of selling Noamunga to you or anybody else.’
Jim Bennett’s brain was in overdrive. Saying she wouldn’t sell could be the truth or a ploy to push up the price. One thing was sure; there had to be a reason for her call.
Now he must find the right words and with no time to ponder them, either.
‘I quite understand,’ he said. ‘In your place I wouldn’t, either. But if that’s the case—’
‘Humour me,’ Marina said. ‘I think you’ll find it worth your while.’
Stars Over the Southern Ocean Page 34
