‘And you are thinking only of my company’s best interests, of course?’
‘I’m thinking of my best interests. But it’s possible there might be some benefit in it for you, too.’
‘You are starting to interest me,’ Jim said. ‘Shall we say tomorrow morning?’
‘If you can get here by twelve o’clock,’ Marina said, ‘I’ll give you lunch.’
‘I look forward to it,’ Jim Bennett said.
CHAPTER 60
Jim Bennett arrived at Noamunga at half-past eleven. Marina heard the car and went out to meet him. She watched as he got out. The initial impression was good: a burly and capable-looking man, with steady eyes and what proved to be hard hands.
‘Wonderful place you’ve got here.’
‘You can see why I don’t plan to sell.’
‘Why would you? In your place I wouldn’t, either.’
‘Did you drive the whole way?’
‘Helicopter to Boulders, then hired a car.’
‘I must be very old-fashioned,’ Marina said. ‘Old-fashioned as well as old. I can’t get my head around helicopters, yet my daughter uses them all the time. I’ve another question for you. You’re not Jewish, are you?’
He laughed. ‘Jim Bennett … Does that sound like a Jewish name?’
‘Thank goodness!’
‘Why?’
‘Because I wasn’t thinking. I ordered a pork roast for lunch and then worried you might not be able to eat it.’
‘I love roast pork.’
They ate; they talked.
‘Hector Ballantyne is my son-in-law,’ Marina said. ‘It’s common knowledge you’ve got a rig drilling off the coast but I hear you expect to strike oil very soon.’
‘We hope to. The geologists are positive but they always are. It’s only when we have a dry well that they admit doubt. There are no guarantees in the oil industry.’
‘But if the geologists are right …’
‘It’s also a technical business. Until we open the reservoir we’ve no way to know whether the reserves are enough to make the well economically viable. But—forgive me!—since you say you’re not prepared to sell Noamunga, why should this interest you?’
‘I enjoy let’s-pretend games. Let’s pretend you strike oil. Let’s also pretend that you can use Noamunga land. What would happen?’
‘The development wouldn’t happen overnight. Deep-sea wells require specialised vessels with robotic equipment to make the installation environmentally secure and economically viable. That takes time. Then the well would have to be capped while the pipeline is laid across the seabed and up the valley to the plateau. There the infrastructure—the tank farm and so on, constructing the road from the site to Boulders along the site of the existing track—would have to be built before the pipeline could be connected and the oil begin to flow. There would—inevitably—be lawyers. There would—inevitably—be engineers. There would—inevitably—be a fair amount of coming and going so there would be helicopters and lorries, temporary cabins for the building crews.’
‘Disruption,’ Marina said.
‘I’ll not deny it but most of it would be temporary.’
‘And the wildlife?’
‘You mean the submarine life? The dolphins and fish and suchlike?’
‘And kelp, Mr Bennett. The seabirds. What about them?’
‘Some disturbance, initially. But our experience is that wildlife adapts surprisingly quickly. In the various fields Trident is operating around the world we have found the wildlife exists quite happily side by side with the wells.’
‘And the demonstrators?’
‘Like the wildlife, ma’am.’
‘Meaning?’
‘We learn to live with them. There are inevitably areas of conflict where material progress collides with the natural order. But oil provides a major source of energy and without energy the human race, quite simply, will not survive.’
‘I rather fancy the natural order,’ Marina said.
‘I can understand that, ma’am. But we are both old enough to know that compromise is always necessary, that there is no such thing as a perfect solution.
‘But why should any of this be of interest to you, anyway, since you say you’re unwilling to sell Noamunga?’
‘Because, as I said on the phone, I have a proposal that I think may interest you.’
Jim Bennett put his napkin on the table and leant back in his chair. ‘Ms Trevelyan, I am all ears.’
CHAPTER 61
One week after Jim Bennett’s meeting with Marina, the drilling bit of Trident rig 437, working in the turbulent waters of the Sorell Basin, twenty-two kilometres off the Tasmanian west coast, struck oil at a depth of four thousand metres. A radio message from the drilling platform brought the news to Trident’s Australian head office minutes later, and twenty minutes after that, following two phone calls, one of them to New Jersey that deliberately bypassed Tommy Mendoza, Jim Bennett gave the word to Hector Ballantyne, his number two.
Charlotte was in the bath when her husband’s call came through. Within seconds she was splashing water everywhere in her excitement.
‘Is it a big find?’
Because in this game, as in most others, disappointment was part of the landscape.
‘Extensive. Very extensive. Or so the boffins are saying.’
‘That’s wonderful!’
‘Hopefully, yes.’
Hector didn’t sound too sure about it but Charlotte had never been in the business of doubt, or of questioning the future.
‘Surely this has to mean you’ll be a shoo-in to take the top job when Jim Bennett goes? What does Tommy Mendoza say about it?’
‘I haven’t spoken to him.’
‘Why on earth not?’
‘I only heard myself ten minutes ago. I’m not sure he even knows. Jim and Tommy have never got along and I suspect Jim went straight to Abel Weissman.’
Who was the biggest of all the big bosses in Trident’s New Jersey headquarters.
Charlotte was no stranger to company politics. From the first, she’d used them whenever she’d had the chance to push Hector’s career; she still wasn’t sure whether her mild flirtation with Tommy Mendoza had not been motivated as much by company politics as sex. What she did know was that Tommy was head of Trident’s Asian and Australasian operations and Hector’s biggest ally in New Jersey. The possibility that Jim Bennett might have taken the news of the strike directly to Weissman instead of following protocol and going through Mendoza had a smell about it she didn’t much like.
‘You’re the right man in the right place at the right time,’ she said. ‘Surely that must make you the obvious choice—’
‘Nothing is obvious, in this game. I’d have preferred it not to have happened at all until after Jim Bennett had gone, with millions spent and nothing to show for it. As it is, it’s still his watch and he’ll get the credit.’
There were times when she could have shaken him. Her husband’s negativity exasperated her. It reminded her uncomfortably of the days when he’d been a no-account academic. She’d had to push him then; if needs be, she’d push him again now.
‘The development won’t be finished until long after Jim’s gone. That’s when the profits will start rolling in. If you’re in the top job you’ll get the credit for it. Profit is what New Jersey wants and you’ll be the one who makes it happen. Handle this right and you’ll be a big name.’
Already Charlotte was thinking beyond Trident Australia. There was a huge world out there; she wanted a slice of it and the timing of the strike would open the door. Provided Hector got the credit for it.
Hector said: ‘I’d feel a lot more confident if you’d managed to talk your mother into selling us Noamunga. Without that, getting the oil ashore will be a problem. We may even have to do what I warned her we’d do, if it became necessary: get the state government to issue a requisition order.’
Which would make Marina an enemy for life.
‘I’ll have another word with her,’ Charlotte said. ‘Before it was only a theory, but now it’s happened I’m sure she’ll see things differently. The smell of money brings everybody round in the end.’
‘I hope you’re right.’
‘I am right. I’ll get on to her straight away. And you’d better make sure Tommy Mendoza’s in the picture. He’ll make sure you get the credit. Like I said: the right man in the right place at the right time. I guarantee he’ll make sure New Jersey sees it that way.’
* * *
‘Timing’s bad,’ Tommy Mendoza said. ‘If it had happened in the new year things would have been much easier.’
‘I’m the right man in the right place at the right time,’ Hector said. ‘Someone has to oversee the development. Why not me?’
‘Why not Jim Bennett?’
That came as a shock to the system.
‘By the end of the year he’ll be gone.’
‘Unless they change their mind and he agrees to stay on after all. He’s in the right place, too. And he was the one talked them into drilling in the Sorell Basin in the first place. What you got to do,’ Tommy said, ‘is persuade Jim to hand over the development to you. Spin him some yarn about the importance of continuity. You’re an academic’—was it Hector’s imagination, or was there the slightest hint of a sneer in the word?—‘so you should be able to come up with some fancy phrase to cover it. A pity you were never able to persuade your mother-in-law to sell us her property. Remember what I said about standing out from the crowd? If you’d managed that, things would be sweet. As it is, if you want your name up there in bright lights, you’d better come up with something.’
‘Charlotte is going to have another word with her mother.’
‘Then tell her to be extra persuasive. It’s in all our interests to pull this off.’
Tommy, as always, was talking sense. When their conversation had finished he went looking for Jim Bennett.
Kylie Jones, Jim’s personal assistant, whom legend said guarded her boss like Cerberus guarded Hades in the Greek myth, looked up enquiringly as he entered her private office.
‘I want a quick word with Jim if he’s free.’
‘Mr Bennett is not available. He’s tied up in meetings all day.’
It infuriated Hector. He was a fellow director and deputy CEO yet there were times when Bennett treated him like an office boy.
‘I am so sorry,’ Kylie said. ‘It’s the new well, you see.’
‘It’s about the well I want to speak to him.’
‘I’m sorry.’
A deep breath. ‘Tomorrow morning, then?’
‘Unfortunately he won’t be available tomorrow, either. He plans to be out all day.’
‘When do you expect him back?’
‘Not until the day after.’
‘Where’s he going?’
‘I couldn’t say.’
Hector wasn’t in the mood for Kylie Jones. ‘Couldn’t? Or won’t?’
Kylie looked at him, lips pursed. She said nothing.
Hector turned on his heel and walked out. He left the office door open behind him.
* * *
The deal was done, the signed agreement in his briefcase.
Jim Bennett came into his office on 26 November. He felt lighter than air. He sat in his executive chair behind his executive desk and drank his coffee, feeling that at long last all was well in his world.
Ballantyne came to see him, as he’d expected. Ballantyne had his own brand of oil and used it to lubricate the conversation. As he’d expected.
‘Congratulations are due,’ Ballantyne said. ‘Your vision made it happen.’
Jim Bennett’s hands were flat on his desk and his face said nothing.
‘Developing the field’s going to take a lot of organising. A hell of a lot. I thought maybe I could give you a hand with that. Ease some of the burden.’
Even his smile had oil in it.
‘Good of you. I’ll think about it,’ Jim said.
‘Charlotte’s going to have another go at persuading her mother to sell us Noamunga,’ Ballantyne said.
‘No need,’ Jim said. ‘That’s already under control.’
The shock on Ballantyne’s face was a joy to see.
CHAPTER 62
It was an odd mixture of feelings. Esmé’s growing sense of vulnerability combined a willingness to accept destiny’s power with an ache bringing both pain and joy. She had doubt but also a sense of purpose that was new.
She’d had a number of what she supposed you could call boyfriends. She’d slept with none of them and had never had any inclination to do so. Now she was beginning to wonder whether that might be about to change.
Esmé had heard enough about him to know that Greg had weaknesses. She didn’t care about that. All humans had weaknesses. He was also strong, because without strength he could never have escaped from the hellhole of Bangkok’s remand prison and subsequently the country. What he had been lacking was an underlying sense of direction. He needed a challenge to bring out the best in him and Esmé was beginning to wonder whether she might be the person to provide it.
We all need challenge, Esmé thought. And what about her? What was her underlying sense of direction?
Her job in the literary agency was okay but she didn’t see it as a long-term career and that, she knew, was what she needed: an objective bringing purpose to her life.
Greg had found a job of sorts working in a hardware store. That scared her because it was not the sort of job that would hold him for long and there was no knowing what he might decide to do next. He wasn’t stupid but he was romantic and sometimes she found it hard to tell the difference.
She had to think about all these things and talk to Greg about them, yet she was scared to do so. Do that and there would be no hiding the fact that she was including him in her forward thinking. What if he wasn’t interested? What if he turned her down flat?
Which led her to another complication. Just about all the men she’d known had taken it for granted that any initiative must come from them. They seemed to think anything else would diminish them. Was Greg like that? She didn’t know.
Her first step must be to talk to him and find out where he thought his life was going. She was determined about one thing. She would do everything she could to stop him going back to Nirvana.
She was seeing him that evening. She would find the courage to talk to him then. In the meantime the pain remained. She thought it was like the pain you had as a child. Growing pain, they called it. What was growing in her now she did not know. But she was beginning to think she could guess.
Marina phoned her in the middle of the morning.
‘Gregory says they don’t like him to get phone calls during the day.’
‘That’s right. They pay him peanuts but like to keep him at it.’
‘Illegitimi non carborundum,’ Marina said.
‘Meaning?’
‘Don’t let the bastards grind you down.’
‘You’re right,’ Esmé said. ‘But they do it all the same.’
‘Sure they do. Tell me, has Gregory said anything to you about the trouble he had in Thailand?’
‘I know the story.’
‘I’ve been thinking. He said he went to Singapore to collect some electrical components for those two gangsters he was hooked up with. You don’t happen to know the name of the company where he collected the goods?’
‘Some German outfit. A big company, I think. But I’m not sure he ever mentioned the name.’
‘When you get the chance, ask him what it was. I’ve an idea.’
‘Which is?’
‘It occurred to me that a big company wouldn’t be likely to get involved in some tuppenny-ha’penny drug racket. If they can confirm they supplied Gregory with genuine electrical components …’
‘It would mean the switch to cocaine took place later,’ Esmé said. ‘In Bangkok, maybe.’
‘Exactly.’
; ‘I’m seeing him tonight. I’ll ask him then.’
* * *
There had been times when Gregory Trevelyan had despised himself to the point of being tempted to blow his brains out. His father had done it and suicide ran in families. Or that was what people said.
He told himself again and again that he would never seriously consider doing such a thing. It was a lie. During the after-shock of his recovery from the horror of his imprisonment and escape the temptation had burnt like acid in his soul.
To have been such a fool … The loss of Nirvana was an enduring wound. All the vision, belief, excitement, all the creative energy, had blown away like smoke. He had let himself be manipulated by two scoundrels whom he had entrusted with the realisation of his dream. He had called them his friends and they had tried to bury him in the Bangkok hellhole named by those in the know as the Big Tiger. The jail that eats you up. That knowledge had been hard to take.
Since meeting Esmé he had become less hard on himself. In some miraculous way she had restored his self-respect. She had given him back his courage.
He was meeting her that evening. He was looking forward to it very much but there was apprehension too.
He had a growing feeling that the two of them were on a path to somewhere but he did not know where. Above all things he wanted to restore his dream. He wanted to go back to Nirvana. It was a worthy objective but he found it hard to see how it might be possible.
Maybe tonight he would find out.
* * *
In the end a lot of things happened that night but Esmé said nothing about them when she rang Marina the next morning with the name of the company that had supplied the electrical components.
‘He said he gave them a receipt for the goods. It doesn’t prove he didn’t switch them for cocaine later.’
Marina saw that Esmé was scared of raising her hopes. She wanted Gregory to be in the clear but was afraid of the disappointment if he wasn’t.
‘I don’t think he had the opportunity. He told me he shared a cab to the airport with one of their staff. If the company can confirm that—’
‘Shall you phone them or shall I?’ Esmé said.
Stars Over the Southern Ocean Page 35
