‘I’d like Dad to get on board, too, but it doesn’t look like it’s going to happen.’
‘I’d have thought he’d want to.’
‘He says he needs no more complications in his life. He’s getting old, that’s the truth of it, and he wants to concentrate on his stud farm.’
‘His experience would be invaluable to us, wouldn’t it? Why don’t you ask him to be chairman of the board? That would be a way of making him a member of the team without his needing to get involved in day-to-day management decisions.’
‘Good idea. I’ll sound him out, see what he thinks. But I warn you: he’ll expect to get his own way. He’s been running things all his life and I don’t see him changing now.’
‘I’m that way myself,’ she said.
‘Tell me about it,’ Hal said. ‘And this girl Norma…’
‘Starting Monday,’ Shannon said.
‘Oh boy.’ Hal smiled. ‘I can see interesting times ahead.’
‘I hope so,’ Shannon said.
Norma Hardwick was everything Shannon had hoped: efficient, not too pushy and – importantly – quick to get on good terms with Jean Goujon, whose wife had given up dreams of her own restaurant now she’d started a family: twin boys, no less, who according to Jean kept her on the go day and night.
With Jean producing his monthly ration of miracles in the kitchen and Norma in control of general admin, the Regency was in good shape, so Shannon had no qualms about heading south with Hal and Aaron as soon as her tame state MP confirmed that planning permission restrictions were to be lifted.
‘Should we perhaps take Lydia?’ Hal said. ‘We could get Nancy to come, too, to look after her.’
In theory that would be a good idea – Shannon was haunted by the notion that she was not giving the child as much attention as she should – but she hesitated. The fact was that Lydia, who would be five in June, was growing up to be a problem child. Nothing too serious, but wilful and spoilt rotten by her grandfather. Temper tantrums were the last thing they needed at a time when their investment in the south coast land was at last about to pay off.
‘I’ll have a word with Nancy,’ she said. ‘See what she thinks.’
What a cop out! A mother asking the nanny what she should do about her own child? If anyone else had said such a thing Shannon would have been disgusted but the fact was that Lydia liked to get her own way and could be fractious when she didn’t get it. While Hal, always amiable to his daughter, seemed to think that discipline was something best left to her mother.
‘I’ve neglected her,’ Shannon said.
Nancy did not dispute it but was tactful in her answer. ‘Sir Stoddart spoils her a bit.’
Theoretically Nancy should have prevented him but that was a foolish thought. Someone like Nancy Gooding, willing young woman though she was, would never have the firepower to stop Stoddart Maitland from doing exactly as he wished.
‘You want my advice?’ Nancy said.
‘That’s why I’m asking you.’
‘Then I don’t see the point. You’ll be too busy to give her much attention, won’t you? And it’ll unsettle her for no purpose. Leave her here, rather. Me and Sir Stoddart, we’ll look after her.’
Shannon felt ashamed, but that was exactly the advice she’d wanted. For the next few weeks she’d have enough on her plate without having to deal with a difficult child. She smiled, the burden of responsibility lifted from her. ‘I’m sure you will,’ she said.
Shannon, Hal and Aaron drove down to the south coast. No sooner had they arrived than they were up to their elbows in meetings with architects, town planners, city engineers, soil analysts and even lawyers and accountants.
Hal and Shannon had agreed that when development was permitted they would need a base from which to operate, knowing it would put them one step ahead of the opposition. The year before they had therefore put in an offer for Wavecrest, the boarding house where they’d stayed six years before. Mrs Collins, initially reluctant, had caved in when they jacked up their initial offer. Now they spent every evening eating takeaway from the still functioning café, drinking quantities of beer and discussing and at times disagreeing over the varied visions they each held for the future development of the property.
Originally the whole scheme had been Hal’s idea and he owned forty-nine per cent of the shares. His opinion was therefore important.
Shannon owned forty-nine per cent and was brimming with ideas, so her opinion was important, too.
Stoddart Maitland and Aaron Davies owned one per cent each. Stoddart was not involved in the day-to-day operations but Aaron was, and Aaron had a lifetime of experience in property development and hotel management. He had worked with Hal’s father for thirty years and had grown used to imposing his will on anyone whose name wasn’t Stoddart Maitland.
With two alpha males and one alpha female there were bound to be clashes and there were, frequent and sometimes abrasive.
Shannon discovered two things about her colleagues.
Hal had the instincts of a true entrepreneur, brilliant at coming up with ideas and prospects but less interested in implementing them. He was a man who wanted to be always moving on.
Aaron was dogmatic about his opinions but these, like Aaron, were of an older generation. He was also, like his contemporaries, uneasy about a woman in business. What was needed now was a fresh eye to identify the aspirations of a post-war world. Shannon was convinced that her vision must prevail.
‘More people will be coming here for their holidays,’ she said. ‘They’ll come for the sea and the beaches. They won’t want to have to walk miles to reach them.’
‘And so?’ Aaron said.
‘You’re talking of building more bungalows. I don’t think that’ll work if we get large numbers of people coming. It’s an inefficient use of the land and won’t get the visitors close enough to the beach.’
‘If we want to accommodate large numbers of holidaymakers, what choice do we have?’
This was the moment, make or break. On principle Aaron would be unlikely to agree with any suggestions she might make, and Hal couldn’t always be counted on to grasp someone else’s big picture, however innovative he was in his own. Yet she was convinced she was right. This was the moment.
‘We don’t build out,’ she said. ‘We build up.’
The two men looked at her, then at each other.
‘You are seriously crazy,’ Aaron said.
No, she was not. They owned a hundred acres of beachfront land. Even if they jammed in eight bungalows to the acre, that meant only eight hundred bungalows. Maybe two thousand holidaymakers at any one time. In reality many fewer, after you’d put in the roads that would be needed, the shops, maybe a cinema… Accommodation for the staff. It meant a maximum of twelve hundred holidaymakers, fifteen hundred if you were lucky.
The population of Brisbane, she’d checked, was about half a million. All that potential gone to waste. All that empty air above the bungalow roofs, with mother in the bungalow kitchen, doing the chores just like home, no holiday for her…
Shannon’s vision was completely different. Apartment blocks, maybe five or even six storeys high, if the engineers said the ground was able to support the weight, say two to the acre. Views of the beach from every apartment. Light from the sea flooding every room. And at ground level? Shops catering for the visitors’ needs: cafés, provision stores, newsagents, bottle shops, beach wear, swimming gear…
How many visitors would want to come then? How many could they accommodate?
You didn’t need to be Einstein to work it out. Thousands. The answer was thousands. And given the climate on the Queensland south coast, they could expect visitors fifty-two weeks a year.
Do it her way and they were looking at a gold mine. No, she thought, change that. Not a gold mine: a diamond mine! Provided the engineers said the land could support buildings five or maybe six storeys high.
She spelt out her vision while the two men watched her
: the man who loved her; the man who did not but where business was concerned had a nose like a bloodhound.
She watched them and could tell her enthusiasm did not touch them. They had seen her bring the Regency into profit but that had been through conventional business skills and they’d been happy with that. What she was now proposing was something outrageous, even revolutionary, and they were not buying her vision.
‘Skyscrapers on the south coast beach?’ Aaron said. ‘Madness!’
Why?
Because it had never been done before.
Because they did not know how the potential holidaymakers would react to being perched up in the air, looking down at the sea and beach. They were used to spending their holidays, like their lives, at ground level. High in the sky might be all very well for eagles, but human beings? People would be scared to live high in the sky. They’d be afraid the building might collapse beneath their feet. It had never been done before.
Shannon put on a resigned expression. ‘If that’s how you feel…’
‘It is,’ Aaron said, seemingly speaking for both of them.
‘Too risky,’ Hal said.
Lucky he – and others – had not measured risk on so delicate a scale in the New Guinea campaign.
They were kind about it; they didn’t blame her for coming up with such a crazy idea, but it wasn’t going to happen. They were firm about that.
‘I’ll leave you to get on with things,’ she said. ‘I promised Norma I’d see how things are going at the Regency.’ She smiled brightly. ‘I should have gone before this. But don’t worry,’ she assured them, ‘I’ll be back in a couple of days.’
And how.
She tried to avoid lying except when necessary, so when she got back to Airlie Beach she spent an hour with Norma, finding as she’d expected that everything was under control, with fresh flowers in reception, bookings up and staff seemingly content.
‘And how are things down the coast?’ Norma asked as she walked her to the hotel entrance.
‘Couldn’t be better,’ Shannon said, and, if she had her fingers crossed, no one knew it but herself.
She got in the car, waved gaily, and set off down the drive.
Make or break, she told herself. Make or break.
1952–54
Shannon
Shannon had not mentioned when she was coming back so there was no one to meet her when she hopped off the train. She grabbed a taxi and was soon whizzing down the coast road towards the one-time boarding house that would no doubt have been astonished to find itself the centre of what was nothing less than a revolution: not only in the plans she and Hal and Aaron had already discussed but in the variation to those plans she was now determined would go ahead.
She was gay and laughing when she paid off the cab and ran up the steps into the building.
‘Welcome back,’ Aaron said as she came into the office. Aaron had finely honed instincts and looked at her suspiciously; he sensed that something had happened and doubted whether he would like it when he heard what it was.
‘Where’s Hal?’
‘Got a meeting with Charles Dampier, the architect.’
‘What about?’
‘Bungalow design.’
‘Getting a bit ahead of yourselves, aren’t you?’
‘Meaning?’
‘Meaning we never agreed that was the way we wanted to go.’
‘Two to one said it was,’ Aaron said. ‘Two to one. Majority decision. I reckon that’s agreement.’
‘Not by my calculation.’
Aaron stared. ‘How d’you work that out?’
‘When d’you expect Hal back?’
‘Not till this evening. He intends to walk the site with Charles Dampier.’
‘We’ll have to get him back. It’s not fair to Dampier, otherwise.’
She had never thought it would be so hard to take a stand against her husband, a man she loved with every particle of her being yet who she knew she now had to confront. She had to win, praying it would not damage their relationship, because she was convinced her way was right and because now, after her trip north, she had the means to do it.
I’m doing it for us, she implored the absent Hal. Please believe me. Please.
‘Get him back,’ she said.
Aaron gave her the eye. ‘Why should I do that?’
‘Because I asked you. Asked you very politely. If you want me to do it differently, I will.’
Still he looked.
‘I think of you as a friend,’ Shannon said. ‘A valued friend. Not for a moment do I underestimate the value you’ve given to the business or to me personally. So please, Aaron, do it as a favour. OK?’
‘I’ll send Denis to fetch him,’ Aaron said.
They’d taken Denis on to do the odd jobs that were always cropping up. It took him half an hour to get Hal back, and cross as sticks Hal looked when he came in.
‘What’s going on?’
Patience, Shannon told herself.
‘We need to decide once and for all what type of development we’re going to have.’
‘We’ve settled that,’ Hal said.
‘Not quite. I own fifty per cent of the land; you own the other half. Right?’
‘Surely you’re not suggesting we should divide –’
‘Certainly not. The development has got to be of the whole property. It would be crazy to do it any other way.’
‘Then?’
‘You own forty-nine per cent of the shares. I own forty-nine per cent. Aaron has one per cent. Your father has one per cent. We all four are directors of the company. And your dad is chairman. With a casting vote if needed.’
They were both staring at her now. Aaron affronted; Hal disbelieving, feeling the knifepoint between his ribs.
‘I can’t believe you’ve done this.’
His eyes confronted hers but she would not yield. There was ice in her mind, even as the blood flowed red in her heart. It was the right choice, she told herself. The only choice.
Time to finish it, to staunch the blood. Time to move on.
She took out the letter from Hal’s father. No need for words. They both knew what she’d done. She had gone to Stoddart Maitland behind their backs and persuaded him of the rightness of her vision. She read the letter aloud. It said her vision of the future was to prevail. Two votes in favour of her plan, two against. Two in favour and the chairman with the casting vote. Three to two. They would do it her way. They would build the first high-rise along this coast. And they would call it Wavecrest.
Shannon had won but victory would be meaningless if it damaged the trust she and Hal had shared over the years. Trust and love: the two indistinguishable. Love was the boat in which they sailed. Without love there could be no boat, only a wreck dragging them down. Once again she had to fight and win and this victory would be more important than the first. They were one being; division would be death.
‘I never thought you would stab me in the back like that.’
‘He’s a shareholder and chairman of the board; he has a right to know. He’s clued up, too: you’ve said it a thousand times. Why shouldn’t we ask his opinion?’ She’d been practising her guileless smile all day. Now she gave him the full benefit of it. Why not? Wasn’t that how the world was: a world of guile and winning? ‘Anyway,’ she said. ‘I did it for you.’
‘How d’you work that out?’
‘It was your idea. Your wonderful idea. You’ve laid the foundations for the family’s fortune for generations to come. You, me, Lydia and her kids… I can’t tell you how proud of you I am.’
Her generous smile was warm enough to melt brass.
‘Lydia is five years old,’ Hal said.
But she had got to him; she could feel it. ‘That’s the point,’ she said. ‘We are building for the future.’
She was indeed. She had restored the foundations that truly mattered. As was demonstrated, most satisfactorily, later that evening.
Back arching, thighs c
lenched… Oh God.
Tomorrow she would see the architect. Tomorrow they would begin, reaching for fulfilment of another kind. Building up, building high, into the bright air.
Jess
When she knew for certain, she told Brandon they would be having a baby in August 1953.
As she had hoped, he made a big performance of it, leaping around and insisting they go out to celebrate.
‘All right.’
They went to a place he knew in Orchard Road. It was called the Rosé d’Or. She had never been there but he said he knew it from the days before he’d met her. There was a live band and a dance floor the size of a postage stamp. After they’d eaten they jiggled about for a few minutes on the floor but it was too crowded to be fun and they went back to their table.
‘Our own baby,’ he said. ‘Hard to believe.’
‘It’s ours, all right,’ she said. ‘You can be sure of that.’
‘I am delighted. Really.’
She saw he was having difficulty getting used to the idea.
‘I’ll have to let Mr Chew know,’ she said. ‘I hope he doesn’t want me to leave.’
‘Why should he? He knows how good you are.’
‘It will be very inconvenient for him.’
‘Where will you have it?’
‘I thought perhaps the Kandang Kerbau hospital.’
‘I’ve never heard of it.’
‘It’s in Bukit Timah road. It specialises in maternity cases. I heard over half the babies in Singapore are delivered there.’
‘They ought to know what they’re doing, then. You hadn’t thought of going back to Australia to have it?’
‘Not unless you want me to.’
‘I’d sooner you had it here.’
‘So would I. I must let Shannon know, though.’
‘Must you?’
‘Of course. She’s my sister. I want her to know.’
‘She might tell you to come back.’
‘Why should she do that?’
‘I don’t know. I was thinking it would be nice to keep it to ourselves for a bit. Our secret.’
White Sands of Summer Page 28
