Charlotte Finlayson, elegantly dressed in a grey flannel suit, strode toward Michela. “Dr. DeGrasse, welcome. How was your flight? I hope it wasn’t too bumpy. My last flight from Houston was so turbulent I nearly lost my dinner. But I’m sure you didn’t come all the way here to discuss my fear of flying. Please, let’s go into my office.”
Michela followed, smiling at Charlotte Finlayson’s Yankee pragmatism. I can see how she manages in a man’s world. She admired the understated executive elegance of the office and found herself drawn to the painting hanging behind Ms. Finlayson’s chair.
Charlotte followed Michela’s gaze. “That’s a portrait of my grandparents and their son, Robert. In fact I’m named after my grandmother. Please, have a seat.”
“Thank you. I didn’t realize you were a direct descendant of Eric Finlayson. You must be very excited about the discovery then.”
“Yes, I am. It would be good to put to rest the stories that have abounded over the years of his success or otherwise, not to mention allow Grandmother Charlotte to finally rest in peace.” Charlotte handed an ornate silver photograph to Michela.
Michela smiled at the picture of a small child, no more than twelve months, sitting on the knee of a woman of advancing years.
“That’s my grandmother Charlotte and I. She died when I was young, but I know she went to her grave believing Eric made it to Antarctica. Enough of my talk. Please sit down and explain to me just exactly what it is you’re seeking.”
Michela gave her presentation in the same format she’d used with her director and finished with a request for much-needed funds.
Charlotte sat back and considered the request. “Despite the current profitable state of my company, what you’re asking for is quite a sum of money. What might I gain from this venture?”
Michela ran through a number of slick responses and found herself drawn to a simple comment made by Charlotte. “There’s no direct profit to be gained by you from this. But I believe there’s more to this expedition than my studies and the recovery of artifacts.” She gazed at the imposing painting of Finlayson and his family. “You said your grandmother always wondered whether Eric made it to Antarctica. If his body is there, this would confirm her belief in his success. At last you and your family would have closure.”
Charlotte Finlayson scrutinized Michela. “I like you. I’ve had some business pitches thrown at me over the years and every once in a while it’s nice to see that put aside for simple honesty.
“I’ll agree to the funding on two conditions. I want you to head the expedition. It’s not that I don’t trust the team in Australia. But it’s a large sum of my money and I want it managed by someone who won’t run off and purchase every fancy piece of excavation equipment available.” Michela reluctantly nodded. “The second condition is personal.” Charlotte turned and looked at the portrait holding pride of place in her office. “Bring my ancestor home.”
Michela couldn’t help but be affected by the gravity of Charlotte’s request. “Ma’am, if he’s there, I promise you I will-“
Charlotte Finlayson cleared her throat. “Now, I’ll have my lawyers draw up the papers and Virginia will give you the contact details you’ll need to access these funds. Please keep me updated on the project’s progress.” She stood, motioning for Michela to do the same. “I look forward to speaking with you when you return. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve another business appointment. The car’s still at your disposal for the remainder of the day; just don’t do anything illegal in it.” Her eyes twinkled as she escorted Michela to Ms. Blainey’s desk.
Michela felt if she was walking on air as she left the imposing art deco style building. She barely noticed the driver in front of her.
“Where to, ma’am?”
Michela looked at her watch. “I didn’t realize the meeting would be so quick. Could you take me to the airport? I might try to get a flight home tonight.”
“Ma’am, there’s a phone in the centre console if you’d like to check.”
Michela sank into the plush leather. “Thank you.” A quick call confirmed a late flight. It’s better than nothing. At least it might give me some time to talk through things with Natalie.
IN THE AIRPORT, Michela sat in one of the business cubicles of the Club lounge. She made herself comfortable, released an excited breath, and narrated an e-mail to Sarah.
Hi Sarah
I’ve got great news! I’ve met with the CEO of Finlayson Enterprises and it so happens she’s the grandchild of THE Finlayson. She’s agreed to fund the remaining two-fifths, so now it’s only a matter of coordinating things with the Flinders Museum.
I’ve been in touch with Dr. Shaunessy about the initial $100,000 from my Institute and she was very grateful. But there are some conditions to the Finlayson Enterprises donation, which I’m sure she won’t be terribly happy about. I think I’ll give it some thought before I e-mail her. At last, I can feel it coming together!
Regards,
Michela
She touched the send button and then called home. No answer. Disappointed, she returned the PDA to her jacket pocket. Natalie must still be at work. Michela picked up her briefcase and went into the lounge area. After grabbing a bite to eat, she made herself comfortable for the long wait before her flight.
GIVEN THE LATENESS of her return, Michela wasn’t surprised to find a darkened house. She quietly closed the door behind her, put her briefcase and overnight bag on the couch and went up the stairs. She smiled in relief at the muted glow emanating from the door to their bedroom. She tiptoed down the wooden-floored hallway, opened the door and absorbed the scene before her.
“Frederick. I’m certain when I told you to keep abreast of things over the next few days I wasn’t referring to my partner. And Natalie, what a surprise. It seems you weren’t so lonely during my absences after all.” Before either body on the bed could respond Michela turned and trotted down the stairs. She grabbed her overnight bag on her way out the door and walked into the moonless night.
Chapter Three
My Darling Charlotte,
After being tossed around like a cork in a bathtub, it was wonderful to again stand on solid ground. We are ten days into our journey and yesterday morning we awoke to the comforting view of Macquarie Island. It is a rather barren place. However, after sailing on churning seas, it was a pleasant interlude. Using our rowing boats we were able to step onto the shores of the island, with no one to greet us excepting the penguins. You would love them my dear; with their small wings and predominantly black and white coloring—they look like gentlemen dressed for dinner. There are some amazing varieties among them; one possessing a crested plumage on its head, making it look as if it wore a wonderful wig or, as was the case with one small bird, as if he had flared eyebrows.
They share the beach with sea lions and seals and it is no surprise this Island attracts the oilers that it does, collecting seal oil from these innocents. Of course, I cannot complain too readily, considering a complement of my fuel is just that.
Tomorrow we will put this small interval behind us and set sail for Antarctica. I am sincerely hoping the weather is kinder to us this time, for I don’t know if the crew could take any more of the horrendous seasickness they have suffered through so far.
My thoughts again go out to you and Robert. Take care, my love,
ERF
Houston, Texas—2009
THE SHRILL RINGING of the cell interrupted Michela from her work. “Hello, Michela speaking.”
“Hey, sis, how’s everything going?”
Michela smiled at the sound of Christine’s voice. “They’re going as fine as could be expected. I’ve spoken with my lawyer and he’s currently discussing the settlement with Natalie’s lawyer.”
Christine let out a mock cheer. “I’m glad to see you’ve learnt from your last break up. I can’t believe you walked out and left that other woman everything.”
“There’s a lot more to this relationship, especially
from a material perspective. My lawyer’s preliminary meeting with Natalie’s lawyer indicates she’s still hoping for a reconciliation.”
“You’ve got to be joking. Surely she can’t think that you’re willing to take her back. Or are you?”
Michela collapsed into a chair and dragged her fingers through her hair. “No, definitely not. I know that over the past few months things weren’t good between us, but after this I don’t think I could ever trust her again. I expect the possible Antarctica trip may well have been the excuse she was looking for.”
“So how are the preparations going? Have you heard from Australia yet?”
Michela looked across the room at her digital tablet, aware she was woefully behind in answering the e-mails that sat in her inbox. “To tell you the truth, I haven’t been in touch with them. I’ve been so busy with this thing.”
“I’ll let you get back to it then. Make sure you let me know if you’re about to disappear on another of your trips. Okay?”
“No problem. I’ll drop you an e-mail as soon as I know.” Over the telephone came the sound of an intercom calling Christine’s name.
“Sorry, sis, I’m being paged. You know what it’s like. No rest for us surgeons.”
“I thought the saying was no rest for the wicked. I’ll talk to you later. Take care.”
Michela walked to her digital tablet, sat down, and reviewed the messages in her inbox. There were a number of increasingly insistent notes from Sarah, the last one a short note, asking Michela if she’d dropped off the face of the earth.
For the first time in days Michela laughed. She composed a quick reply.
Hi Sarah,
I’m sorry I’ve been off-line for a while. There have been some personal issues I had to take care of. Re whether I’ve spoken to Dr. Shaunessy since my trip to New York, no I haven’t. But it’s on my short list of things to do today.
I’m happy to hear Dr. Shaunessy’s offered you a position on the expedition. It would be great to finally meet you and discuss a few issues over coffee (or something stronger)—not the least of which is one of the conditions surrounding Ms. Finlayson providing the additional funds.
I’ll make this e-mail short so I can check what the good doctor has to say. I’ll keep you posted.
Regards,
Michela
She touched the send button and shook her head. This project is difficult enough with today’s technology. I’ll never understand how they ever got an expedition off the ground over a hundred years ago. What a nightmare. She opened the e-mail from the Flinders Museum. It was a quick message from Allison, asking Michela whether she’d had any success with Ms. Finlayson. Michela closed her eyes and groaned. I just know she’s not going to like what I’m going to tell her. Can this week get any worse? She checked her world clock and found it was morning in Australia.
Good morning Dr. Shaunessy,
My apologies in not getting back to you sooner but I had some immediate personal business to see to. You’ll be pleased to know that Ms. Finlayson has agreed to funding the remaining $200,000 and I’ll be speaking with a representative from her company regarding the arrangements for the money.
Unfortunately her donation is conditional. She’s asked that should you find the body of her ancestor that he be returned to her. The second condition is that I lead the expedition. I would have preferred to discuss this with you in person, however distances make this a little difficult. Rest assured that I see this position as one of managerial oversight only and do not intend to interfere with the actual dig.
I look forward to your reply,
Michela
Hoping she’d explained herself without sounding too abrupt, Michela sent the message and then settled down to answer the remaining messages in her inbox. She was two-thirds of the way through the task when her phone beeped.
“Dr. DeGrasse, it’s Eric Stephenson. I’ve just had another meeting with Natalie’s lawyer and it seems they’re ready to sign the settlement papers. Would you be available this afternoon?”
Michela looked at the digital tablet’s screen. “I do have a bit of work to do, but I’d really like to get this over and done with. Did they suggest a time?”
“They’d like to meet at two. Does that suit?”
Michela looked at her watch. An hour to travel what was only a small distance, at least practically, if not emotionally. “Yes, that’s fine. I’ll see you then.”
Michela hung up, went upstairs to change, and prepared herself for another painful closure in her life.
Sydney, Australia—2009
ALLISON PICKED UP her stress ball and launched it at her door. “For Christ’s sake!”
Rick Winston ducked and just managed to avoid the forcefully thrown missile. “What’s wrong?” He picked up the sponge ball and placed it on Allison’s desk.
Allison furiously pointed at the digital tablet’s screen. “We’ve got the money.”
“That’s great news.” Rick looked at the firm line of Allison’s mouth and the scowl on her face. “It’s not?”
“We only get it if DeGrasse can head the expedition.” Allison turned the screen. “Here, read for yourself.”
Rick scanned the e-mail. “I think she’s made it clear that she sees the role as only a coordinating one.”
“That’s not the point. She’s a bloody psychologist and has no experience in leading an archaeological dig,” Allison said with a pout.
Rick laughed. “I think you’re forgetting something here. Correct me if I’m wrong, but it’s the $300,000 she’s managed to get that’s allowing the dig to get off the ground.”
Allison shook her head. “That’s not the point. This is my dig.”
Rick laid a soothing hand on Allison’s arm. “Be reasonable. You might see yourself as the leader. But you’d be the leader of nothing if she hadn’t gained the additional funds.”
Frustrated, Allison slapped Rick’s hand. “Damn it, Rick. Can’t you humor me and be on my side for once? I hope this bloody Yank doesn’t turn the whole thing into a social experiment.”
Rick stepped away, rubbing his hand where Allison had hit him. “Oh, for heaven’s sake, Alli, grow up. I doubt she’s going to make it anything like that. In fact, I’d be surprised if half the time you know she’s even there.” He turned to leave.
“Where are you going?”
“Di and I have to go over to Greeton’s and pick up the first of the equipment for New Zealand training. We shouldn’t be more than a couple of hours.”
Allison crossed her arms. “So it’s Di now. What happened to blimbo?”
Rick tilted his head to the ceiling and closed his eyes. “I give up,” he muttered and closed the door behind him.
Allison again picked up the stress ball and threw it at the closing door, gaining satisfaction as it hit the polished wood with a resounding thud.
Houston, Texas—2009
MICHELA POURED HERSELF a glass of red wine and went to her digital tablet. The meeting hadn’t been as bad as she expected it to be.
She worked through the messages in her inbox and cringed when she saw the response from Dr. Shaunessy.
Dr. DeGrasse,
You can imagine my surprise at your last e-mail. I accept Ms. Finlayson’s conditions but I believe we need to be clear where your delineation of responsibility lies. As you’ve already mentioned, your role as leader will be purely managerial. The oversight of the dig is my responsibility.
We will only be a team of eight. As well as your research and oversight, you’ll be expected to help with everyday tasks. Hopefully you won’t mind getting your hands dirty.
There’s also a legislative requirement for any group going to Antarctica to undertake training prior to arrival on the continent. I’ve approached the Christchurch office of the Southern Hemisphere Antarctic Division and they’re willing to provide their training location near Mount Cook in about two week’s time. Regardless of Ms. Finlayson’s donation, if you’re to be part of the team
you’ll have to attend this training. The rest of the team will look at meeting at 2.00 pm, New Zealand time, Friday 8 May at Christchurch Airport. You should meet us there.
Regarding e-funds transfer, I’ve placed at the bottom of this e-mail an electronic encoder that will allow you to access the expedition account. If you’ve any problems operating this, let me know.
Dr. Allison Shaunessy
Michela snorted at Allison’s officious response. It was obvious from her words that Allison had assumed she’d be the team leader. So you’ll accept Ms. Finlayson’s conditions. When should I point out that if you didn’t, you officious twit, then this expedition wouldn’t be going anywhere. She shook her head at the direction regarding the training requirements in New Zealand. So, Drill Sergeant Shaunessy, I’m to report at 1400 hours and no later, to Christchurch Airport in order to undertake my induction training? If your last e-mail is anything to go by then two weeks at Mount Cook is just going to be a ball.
She chuckled as she formed a mental image of a short woman in horn-rimmed glasses and sensible skirt calling the roll at Christchurch. The things I get myself into, she thought, before returning to her work.
New Zealand—2009
MICHELA SMILED AT the furiously waving figure standing off to one side of the helipad at Mount Cook. The blades had barely stopped rotating when the person made their way to the craft’s side. The door opened and Michela was exposed to the crisp mountain air.
“Michela, I’m Sarah Knight. Finally we meet.”
Michela smiled at Sarah’s broad Australian accent. Sarah’s well-tanned features belied a twelve-month stint on the Antarctic continent. She managed to break her stare from Sarah’s sparkling green eyes. “The feeling’s mutual. Sorry about the delay. There was a storm over Los Angeles that temporarily grounded all flights. I was lucky to get out when I did.”
“Luckier than you think. The weather’s closing in here too.”
“Then I’m glad I managed to get here while it’s still fine. The scenery here’s breathtaking. The turquoise color of the lakes here is amazing.”
Colder Than Ice Page 5
