Jess saw that Brandon was jealous of Shannon and the influence she might have over her.
‘Don’t worry, darling. I won’t let her push me around.’
She told Mr Chew the next day and he was understanding about it.
‘Thank you for giving me ample warning. How much time off will you need?’
‘I’ll speak to the doctor and let you know.’
She phoned Shannon that evening and she was understanding, too. Brandon had wanted to keep the news to themselves but Jess felt better for having let her sister know.
Shannon
Her instinct was to go up to Singapore to be with her sister but it was impossible and would serve no purpose anyway: the child’s birth was months away.
There was so much to do here. On top of the thousand problems of the development, in particular the problems associated with the design and construction of the first high-rise building on the south coast, Shannon was worried about Lydia. She was five and a half and would be starting school in February. Shannon wondered how she’d cope. Encouraged by her grandfather, Lydia already thought herself special, an attitude unlikely to endear her to the wider world and, in particular, to her fellow pupils at the Proserpine Primary School.
Shannon’s choice of school had caused disagreement in the family. Hal and his father wanted the child to be enrolled at the Amos private school situated on the north road out of town, but Shannon wouldn’t agree. She and her sister had gone through the public-school system and come to no harm and she saw no reason why Lydia shouldn’t do the same. At all costs she was determined to prevent the notion of privilege becoming entrenched in the child. There could only be problems at the end of that road.
They discussed it, then argued, but Shannon’s mind was made up and, at the end of all the discussions and arguments, to Proserpine Primary School Lydia went. She seemed to settle in quickly and without trouble but her teacher told Shannon she was a bit haughty with the others in her class and had few friends.
‘To be honest, she doesn’t seem to want any,’ the teacher said. ‘Of course everyone knows Sir Stoddart Maitland’s her grandfather.’
‘Her other grandfather was a labourer at the sugar mill,’ Shannon said.
‘She never mentions him,’ Miss Browning said.
Problems… Yet, besieged by the challenge of Wavecrest and the development in general, Shannon told herself everything would work out for the best. Of course it would; Lydia would be fine.
First there were soil tests, to make sure the site would be capable of sustaining the weight of a nine-storey building.
With a green light from the engineers on that one, Shannon commissioned Turnbull and Sachs, a leading advertising agency, to conduct a survey of potential holidaymakers to gauge their reaction to the idea of what the agency called ‘being high in the sky’ with extensive views of the beach and sea, their needs catered for by shops on the ground floor and with ample parking space for all. Holidays for all – Mum included was the slogan and the verdict was a resounding YES.
The first load of cement was poured; the first timbering cut to size; the first stones laid. On that first day of construction, as never before, Shannon was on her own. Psychologically, if not physically.
Aaron was not there, which didn’t surprise her: he’d been against the project from the first. In truth she was glad he hadn’t come; she needed people of faith beside her now, not sceptics. Hal was there, which was so important to her, and she was over the moon that he had given her his public support when she knew that he, too, had his doubts.
In truth she suspected that this first high-rise marked the beginning of what was likely to be a long and lonely road. Hal loved her: she knew that, as she loved him with every atom of her being. He had fought heroically for years in the forests of New Guinea yet in the world of high-rise construction he was lost. His mind was full of ideas, of financial wizardry, yet the conflicting elements of concrete, steel and gravity were beyond him.
No matter; in some ways Shannon knew her man better than herself and thought none the less of him because of it. His was the inspiration for the whole operation. Without him none of this would be happening. He was an ideas man, first and last.
Aaron was a different matter. He’d been against the project from the first. Shannon knew he’d even spoken to the union man about what he called the high risk of collapse.
‘The soil engineers have given it their OK,’ she said.
‘Suits in offices?’ Aaron said. ‘What would those blokes know?’
It wouldn’t be their skulls that got crushed if the building fell down. He didn’t want anyone to die but he did want the project to fail: that was the core of it.
Shannon’s will had become tempered steel over the years; if it came to a battle she was ready for it; if it came to casualties, Aaron Davies was first in line.
She told Hal about the problem.
He told her she was imagining things. ‘He’s a good bloke.’
‘His nose is out of joint because he didn’t get his way.’
‘You want me to have a word with the old man about it?’
That was the last thing Shannon wanted. What would Hal’s father think if she ran to him at the first sign of trouble? ‘I’ll sort it out. I wanted you to know, that’s all.’
She went to Aaron. Worried face, anxious voice. ‘I need your help.’
‘Foundations giving trouble? I was always dubious –’
‘Nothing to do with the construction. That’s going really well. But this hotel we’re planning for the second phase? With your experience prewar – the London Savoy, wasn’t it? – you’re the ideal person to take over the design and planning work. I’m such an ignoramus; it would be such a weight off my mind if you could handle it for me.’
Aaron gave her a steady look. He was nobody’s fool and knew she was sidelining him: the second phase was two years away. He had thought it would be easy to scare her into doing what he wanted but had discovered she wasn’t the type to be scared. And, importantly, she had one advantage he couldn’t match. She was family. What she was asking was reasonable enough, on the surface, and if he complained to the boss he couldn’t be sure he’d get Sir Stoddart’s backing.
He gritted his teeth. ‘It’ll be my pleasure.’
The building went up and up. Two storeys, five, eight…
Balancing on the girders at that height, the ground looked a mile away, but Shannon had been tipped off by an old-timer who’d told her that in construction the secret of overcoming fear of heights was to follow the construction up.
‘What d’you mean?’
‘Each phase of the building, you stand on the cross beam. When it’s only a foot off the ground, that’s nothing. When it’s three feet, six feet, it’s still nothing. But you stand there anyway, getting used to the feel of the air under your boots. Ten feet up, twenty feet, that’s harder, but if you’ve been following the building, level by level, it won’t take you long to get used to it. So up you go, giving yourself time at every level to get acclimatised. That way, when you finally reach the top, it won’t mean no more to you than when you was a foot off the ground.’
It worked; when they had what the builders called the topping-out ceremony, the party traditionally held on top of a building to celebrate the locking of the final beam into place, she clambered up the ladders, rung by rung, until she finally reached the top of the first high-rise to be built along that stretch of the coast. She stood amid the builder’s men, wearing a hard hat two sizes too big for her, and drank champagne from a beer mug.
‘You’re the first,’ she told the men. ‘Others will follow but they can’t take this away from you. You are the first.’ She tipped the dregs of the wine down her throat. ‘Something to tell your grandkids.’
She went back that night feeling she’d run up Mount Everest and come back alive. August 1953, she thought. That’ll be a date for the story books.
As it turned out, there was another reason to
remember the date.
The phone rang just as Shannon was thinking of going to bed.
‘Hullo?’
It was Brandon, calling from Singapore. ‘She’s had it. Mother and son both doing well.’
‘Oh, thank God. What a relief!’ She felt guilty because neither Jess nor the baby had crossed her mind all day, but there was no reason to tell Brandon that. ‘How much does it weigh?’
‘No idea.’
‘But you say they’re both doing all right?’
‘According to what the doctor said.’
‘Have you thought of a name?’
‘We thought Andrew.’
‘Nice. When will she be up to taking phone calls?’
‘The doctor said a couple of days.’
‘Give her my love and congratulations and say I’ll give her a call the day after tomorrow. How does it feel to be a father?’
A short bark of a laugh. ‘How does it feel to be an aunt?’
That first construction was the start of it. There was still the fitting out to do but with the framework in place the rest would follow. From now on it would be a relatively straightforward job: fitting the roof and walls, putting in the plumbing and electrics, carrying out the ten thousand other tasks that would be needed before the building was finished. For the first time in a long while Shannon allowed herself to breathe more easily.
‘Now,’ she said. ‘A promotion campaign. I want every unit filled for the holiday season.’
Aaron smiled indulgently. Hal smiled indulgently. Shannon didn’t waste time smiling, or in arguing. She went to the top boys in the marketing and promotion field and offered them double their going rate if they could do it.
‘Dollars and cents have a way of influencing people’s performance,’ she told Hal.
‘But double…’
‘It’s also a matter of pride,’ she told him. ‘A challenge. I said to them: you claim to be so good? Prove it. And I have every hope they will.’
Within days, the papers, radio and television were being plastered with articles, comments, opinions, and straightforward advertisements. Shannon went on the radio whenever they were willing to give her air time. Signboards went up in Brisbane, Sydney and Melbourne.
BOOKINGS OPEN 1 JULY, the signs said. DON’T MISS OUT. WAIT AND YOU’LL BE TOO LATE.
‘At this rate we’ll be bankrupt before we start,’ Hal said.
‘Trust me,’ Shannon said.
The booking office opened on 1 July as promised. Eight phones sat, eight operators poised.
0800. Nothing.
0805. Still nothing.
Were they looking at disaster? Shannon’s face showed nothing but her guts were churning.
0808. A phone rang. The operator grabbed it, everyone staring.
‘Good morning. Wavecrest booking office. May I help you?’ Such dulcet tones!
Shannon with breath held.
‘Yes, sir. Party of four from 15 December until 9 January? Oh yes, sir. You just made it.’
Yells of delight around the room, Shannon joining in. But only for a moment. Within seconds, it was mayhem. As though bursting out of gaol, all the phones began ringing at once. Eight operators gabbling; it was frenzy.
‘Yes, madam. From the fourth? Certainly, madam.’
‘Good morning. Wavecrest booking office…’
‘I would never have believed it,’ Hal said that evening. ‘A third sold out on the first day of booking!’
‘Over a third,’ Shannon said.
‘Weren’t you nervous at the beginning? Honestly?’
‘Not for a moment.’
The occasional lie never hurt anyone.
From that day onwards it seemed that every road led up.
Bookings were spectacular. Development of the next block was well under way. The hotel, with Aaron Davies in charge, was taking shape. He told Shannon he expected it to be open for business by the following Christmas, twelve months ahead of schedule.
Say what you like about Aaron, he made an outstanding number two in the organisation. Subject to that limitation, which Shannon thought they now both understood, she was happy to give him his head.
‘Let’s talk,’ she said. ‘I’ve had an idea. Takeaways are good. Cafés are good. But some people – maybe a lot – will favour something more up-market. Don’t you agree?’
Aaron agreed. ‘You’re thinking of a quality restaurant? In the hotel?’
‘Where else?’
‘There’s money to be made in that,’ he said. ‘If it’s done right. Do we know anyone who would be right for the job?’
‘I’ve an idea about that.’
‘Hey,’ Aaron said. ‘I’m supposed to be the ideas man.’
‘That was always supposed to be Hal’s role,’ Shannon said. ‘But I don’t believe in monopolies.’
The days went by, the months. Buildings grew like mushrooms along the coast. Old-timers didn’t know what had hit them, with prices rocketing to undreamt-of heights. Partly for that reason, they were calling the district the Gold Coast now.
Before long there were over a dozen developers in on the act, but Maitlands had a head start and, as the American soldier had told Hal in the New Guinea highlands, they were the ones who were making the big bucks. Already the coastal strip was filling up and buildings were spilling inland.
‘And my God how the money rolls in,’ Hal said. ‘Like in that song.’
There’d been a vulgar army ditty he’d taught her; Shannon remembered it well.
I’d rather hang around
Piccadilly underground
Living off the earnings
Of a high-class lady…
‘I haven’t been selling kisses to soldiers,’ she said, ‘but in other ways I like to think we make a modest contribution.’
1955
Lydia
Today would be the first time she’d played hockey with the big girls. Playing for the school against Amos College. The under-10s team, no less. Lydia knew some of those Amos girls, and a snooty lot they were. Their team was supposed to be the best. Some of their players were huge but she was big for her age, and wasn’t scared of them.
Miss Martin had told her it was a trial, to see whether she was ready for the upper grade. She loved Miss Martin for having picked her and was determined not to let her down.
Amos thought they were the best, did they? They’d see about that.
‘Will your parents be coming to see you play?’ Miss Martin said.
As if they would. She hardly ever saw them, so the idea they might turn up to watch her play hockey was a joke.
‘They never come to anything. But my grandfather will be there,’ she said. ‘He’s ever so busy, but he always comes.’
She thought Miss Martin was certain to know that. Everybody knew Grandfather because he was such an important man. Knew him and were scared of him. Lydia wasn’t scared; she loved him because he gave her lovely presents and always came to watch her play.
‘That’s nice,’ Miss Martin said. ‘Make sure you put on a good show for him.’
It was a lot tougher than she’d expected. Those Amos girls were really big. Rough, too. She’d been whacked on the shin twice and it really hurt. It made her mad.
Scores had been level at half-time; shortly afterwards Proserpine was a goal up, then two. They were winning! Now, who was the best team? But fifteen minutes later the scores were even again.
Lydia could see from the big clock over the pavilion that there were only five minutes to go. Still a chance of winning. A shot came close, but close wasn’t good enough. Come on! But now the play was back at the Proserpine end. Two minutes to go and – horrors! – Amos had a short corner. Lydia was right by their top scorer when the ball came across. They went for it together but the big girl won. Lydia tried to grab hold of her but she slipped away. Slammed in a shot. The ball cracked against the back of the goal as the Amos girl overbalanced and fell at Lydia’s feet.
She grinned up at her. �
�Reckon that’s fixed you, you little shit.’
And Lydia kicked her, as hard as she could, plonk in the stomach.
Shannon
It was December 1955, the school’s annual open day, and Lydia had been there three years. Shannon and Hal walked around the grounds with other parents; they explored the classrooms and assembly hall, looking at the children’s drawings displayed on the classroom walls. There was a hobby table, guarded by a middle-aged teacher, at which they paused, smiling and groping helplessly for the right things to say. They observed a demonstration of dancing and another of gymnastics; with increasing desperation they spent ten minutes watching an exhibition netball match between the school’s top teams.
‘I must be a rotten parent,’ Shannon confided to her husband when they had a moment alone. ‘I’ve never felt more out of place in my life.’
Of course there were those, parents like themselves, who would remember Shannon Harcourt, now something of a celebrity, from the days when she’d been little Miss Nobody behind the Clover Leaf bar.
‘You’re talking nonsense,’ Hal said.
Finally they got to speak to Miss Sinclair, Lydia’s class teacher.
Lydia, it seemed, had a mixed report card.
At physical sports in particular she was one of the stars, at eight already in the under-10s netball and hockey teams, but was less so at gymnastics, where the horse was her particular enemy. Academically Miss Sinclair told them she was above average.
‘I doubt she’ll ever be an intellectual giant,’ she said, ‘but she has great determination. When she wants something she goes all out to get it. I imagine she’ll do very well in life. Takes after her grandfather, I suppose.’
Miss Sinclair was doing her best to be fair but there were reservations in her voice: unsurprising when Shannon remembered her father-in-law’s reputation for trampling over anyone brave or foolish enough to try and stand up to him.
‘It depends which grandfather you mean,’ Shannon said. ‘My dad was a labourer in the sugar mill.’
‘Lydia doesn’t mention him,’ Mrs Sinclair said. ‘But Sir Stoddart does attend many of the school functions.’
White Sands of Summer Page 29
