‘This fella of yours has the nose and the instinct,’ John Bigelow told her with respect in his tone. ‘He is just like Henry at the same age.’
Bannock Oil’s affairs had been lagging of late but now they took an upward turn, not entirely because of the increasing price of oil. Hector flew to Abu Zara and after five days of discussion with the Emir he obtained the offshore drilling rights for the entire coastline of the Emirate abutting the Zara No. 8. They brought in the first productive gas well eleven months later. It was a storming success.
Hazel and Hector flew out to Abu Zara together to inaugurate the new well. Paddy O’Quinn and Bert Simpson and a dozen other senior Bannock Oil employees were at the Sidi el Razig airstrip to greet them. Both Hazel and Hector embraced Paddy and shook hands with the others. Then Hector looked around.
‘Where’s Tariq?’ he demanded. Paddy gave him a strange sideways glance.
‘He will be back in a couple of days.’ There was something in his tone that set off alarm bells in Hector’s head.
‘What?’ Hector demanded.
‘Later!’ Paddy side-stepped the question. They did not have chance to speak again until they reached the oil terminal building. As they climbed out of the vehicle Hector gave Hazel his hand to help her down, and at the same time he glared at Paddy.
‘Okay, Paddy, now tell me what’s happened to Tariq.’ There were just the three of them standing together, screened from the others by the bulk of the Hummvee truck, but still Paddy dropped his voice.
‘Tariq has gone up to Ash-Alman to bury his wife Daliyah and their child and to mourn for them.’ Both Hector and Hazel stared at him open-mouthed. Hazel broke the shocked silence.
‘Daliyah? Dead?’ Hazel burst out. ‘No! I cannot believe it.’
‘Their house burned down. Daliyah and the baby were caught in the blaze. It was late at night and they didn’t have a chance to escape.’
‘Baby?’ Hazel shook her head. ‘Daliyah was married to Tariq? They had a baby?’
Paddy nodded. ‘A son. He was born six months ago.’
‘I never knew,’ Hector said softly.
‘Tariq told me he wrote to you.’
‘Then I never received the letter. I never knew.’ Paddy had never seen him so distraught. Beside him Hazel began to weep quietly.
‘Oh, God!’ she mumbled. ‘Daliyah and her baby, dead. Oh, God. It’s too cruel.’ Hector put his arm around her and led her into the terminal.
The next morning when they walked into the terminal control centre Hazel was still pale and her eyes were red-rimmed. Hector was drawn and taciturn. Bert Simpson and Paddy stood up from their seats in front of the computer screens at the long system control table.
‘Tariq is here,’ Paddy said. ‘He heard that you’d arrived, and he came back from Ash-Alman early this morning.’
‘Call him in,’ Hector said. Paddy reached for the intercom and relayed the order. Within a few moments there was a soft knock on the door.
‘Come in!’ Hector called, his voice harsh with emotion. Tariq stood in the open doorway. His expression was cold and remote. Hector went to him swiftly and embraced him.
‘It is hard, old friend,’ he said and his voice was still rough.
‘Yes, it is hard,’ Tariq agreed. They stepped back from each other, both of them embarrassed and at a loss for words. Hazel went to Tariq and touched his right shoulder.
‘My heart goes out to you. Daliyah was a lovely woman. I owed her my life.’
‘Yes,’ Tariq said softly, ‘she was a good wife.’
‘And your son?’
‘He was a good boy.’
‘How did such a terrible thing happen?’ Hazel demanded.
‘You were her friends,’ Tariq replied obliquely. ‘Can we walk together and remember her?’
This is ‘Need to Know Only’, Hector told himself. Tariq is playing this thing very close to his chest. He took Hazel’s arm and said gently, ‘We will be honoured to walk with you, Tariq.’ They went out into the bright Gulf sunshine. The sky was cloudless and the waters mirrored its brilliance. It seemed too beautiful for all this sorrow. Hazel walked along the beach between the two men in silence. At last she could contain herself no longer.
‘Paddy told us there was a fire in your house?’ She framed the statement as a question.
‘Yes, Mrs Bannock. There was a fire.’ He was silent again and they saw his eyes glisten in the sunlight with tears and with anger. ‘I tried to hide them. I took a house in a village where we are not known. I used another name. I had her brother stay with her to protect her when I could not. Her brother died in the flames with them.’
‘It wasn’t an accident, then?’ Hazel asked.
‘It was no accident,’ Tariq confirmed. He looked at Hector. ‘You know who did this thing.’
Hector nodded. ‘I know,’ he said flatly. Hazel stared into his eyes, and then she knew also.
‘It was Uthmann Waddah!’ Hazel whispered. ‘It was the Beast again. Wasn’t it?’ Hector nodded. ‘But how did you know?’ she demanded.
‘Mrs Bannock, Hector knew with his heart, not with his head. As did I.’ Tariq explained, ‘He and I know Uthmann as we know a beloved brother, or a mortal enemy.’
‘Do you know where Uthmann is now?’ Hector asked.
‘Yes. He is with Sheikh Adam Tippoo Tip at the fortress by the Oasis of the Miracle.’
‘You know this for certain?’ Hector demanded, and Tariq nodded.
‘After the funeral of my wife and my son and her brother, after the three days of mourning, I left them and went again by bus to Gandanga Bay in beggar’s rags to look for their murderer. I could not reach the fortress. It was too heavily guarded. But I waited at Gandanga Bay for twelve days. I saw many things. I saw the great new fleet of attack boats that Sheikh Adam has built since the death of his grandfather, and which his uncle Kamal commands. I saw the ships they have captured lying at anchor in the bay. I heard men talk of Uthmann Waddah. I heard them say that he walks at Adam’s right hand, and wields great power under his master.’
‘Did you see them, Tariq?’ Hector asked gently.
‘I saw them both. On the twelfth day they came to Gandanga Bay in great state with many men. Adam is now a mighty man of power, and Uthmann is his general. I could not reach him. There were too many of their men and they were careful. I might have to wait years, but my time will come,’ Tariq ended simply.
They were all silent for a while, and then Hazel asked, ‘What will you do now, Tariq?’
‘This is a thing of the knife,’ Tariq answered. ‘Blood calls for blood. It is a debt of honour. My wife and my son lie unquiet in their grave. I must give them rest.’
‘Must you do this thing, Tariq? We have lost Daliyah, must we now risk you?’
‘Tell her, please, Hector.’
‘Tariq has no choice in the matter,’ Hector told her. ‘He has to do what duty and honour demand.’ He turned back to Tariq. ‘Go then, old friend. If there is anything I can do, you know you can get a message to me through Paddy O’Quinn.’
‘It may take time . . . years even,’ Tariq warned him.
‘I know.’ Hector nodded. ‘You will be on the Cross Bow payroll for as long as it takes. Come back to us when it is done.’
‘Thank you, Hector. Thank you, Mrs Bannock.’ Tariq embraced Hector, and bowed deeply to Hazel. Then he turned and walked away along the pipeline in the direction of the airfield. He did not look back.
Hector and Hazel spoke of him often over the months that followed, but as they heard nothing from him his memory faded gradually into the background of their frenetic lifestyles. They did not forget him, but daily his memory was less poignant and pressing. Hazel voiced it nicely on the evening a full year after their last meeting with Tariq Hakam at Sidi el Razig. Cayla had spent the Easter weekend with them on the ranch and on the Monday had returned to Vet School. The two of them were drinking a flute of champagne before bedtime. Hazel raised her glass to him.
‘Thank the Good Lord that Cayla is safe here in America, and that those horrors are so far away in distance and in time.’
At Hector’s urging the Bannock management started to take seriously the exploitation of alternative energy. Hector acquired five patents from a young engineering savant that nobody else had ever heard of. The patents had such potential for cheaper and more efficient production of wind energy that both Shell and Exxon were soon bidding for a share in the venture. At the end of the second financial year since Hector had come on board, Bannock was able to declare an increase of seven and a half per cent on their dividend. The share price, which had been drifting in the doldrums for several years, shot up to $255.
Then to cap it all for both Hazel and Hector, Cayla’s results came in at the end of her penultimate year of Vet School. She finished third out of a class of thirty-six. Thelma Henderson, her psychiatrist, pronounced that Cayla was completely healed. She had put on a little weight and the fresh healthy young blood gave her skin a glow again. Hazel’s happiness was complete.
Another year sped away under them. Thanksgiving came around, and Cayla came down from Denver to celebrate with them at the Houston home. She brought a guest. He was in his final year at Colorado University College of Medicine. His name was Simon Cooper. Cayla sat beside him at the festive board, and looked up at him with shining eyes. Hazel reacted predictably.
‘His father is an ironmonger,’ she confided to Hector with horror.
‘You are an awful snob, my darling.’ He laughed at her. ‘Actually he owns and operates a chain of over one hundred and thirty enormous hardware stores. In comparison I am a pauper.’
‘Don’t you dare compare any other man in the world to yourself.’
‘This is Cayla’s choice. If you oppose it, all you will do is harden her resolve. You’ve learned that already, haven’t you?’
As Cayla helped Hector prepare the barbecue that evening she asked Simon to fetch another bag of charcoal and as soon as he was gone Hector asked her,
‘What happened about your proposed foray into the Sapphic delights of lesbianism? Are you making any progress?’
‘Oh that!’ she replied airily. ‘I got no encouragement from you, so I stopped work on the project.’ She forked another chop off the coals and onto the serving platter and asked without looking at him, ‘I saw you and Simon chatting. So what do you think of him?’
‘To me Simon Cooper looks like a keeper. I think you should think twice before you throw him back in the lake.’
‘I love you, Heck. You have such impeccable judgement of character. But what does my mother think of him?’
‘You should ask her, not me.’ Cayla nodded, and at that moment Simon reappeared with the bag of charcoal. Cayla picked up the platter of chops and carried it into the kitchen. Hector pulled the tabs on another pair of Budweisers and handed one to Simon. They chatted amiably while they waited for the ladies to reappear. Hector learned that he was twenty-six years old, and that he was not only likeable and good looking, but he was intelligent with interests in so many things other than medicine: from jazz music and history to football, fly-fishing and politics. Hazel and Cayla emerged at last from the kitchen bearing salvers of food. Cayla was a few paces behind her mother, and Hector shot her an enquiring glance. She beamed and winked back at him.
Simon left the next morning to be with his own family for the remainder of the holiday. Hazel gave the household staff the day off. It was just the three of them again. All that day Cayla was in a teasing and ebullient mood. They watched football on television and Cayla went into the kitchen and returned with a huge bowl of hot buttered popcorn, which they wolfed while the women rooted loudly for the Texas Longhorns. Hector pretended to understand nothing of the rules of the game.
‘Good Lord!’ he protested. ‘That big gorilla in the red helmet is cheating. He’s throwing the ball forward, and the referee’s letting him get away with it!’ The two women rounded on him merrily, and he grinned. He had stirred them up nicely.
‘All I can say is, it’s neither cricket nor even rugby.’ He backed down, and they realized that he had been having them on. Cayla punched his arm with a full swing.
‘That was not funny!’ she insisted. In the end the Longhorns won and she forgave him his sacrilege. Peace was restored.
‘So what would we like to do now?’ Hazel asked.
‘What I would like to do now, Mother, is talk to you and Heck very seriously,’ Cayla answered. ‘I guess this is a good time for it.’
‘You have our attention,’ said Hazel cautiously. Cayla turned to Hector.
‘You, sir, are turning my mother into a scarlet woman. People are talking. Don’t you think it’s time you did the decent thing by her?’ Hector blinked. Cayla was living dangerously; he didn’t know how to avert the volcanic eruption that was surely coming. He glanced sideways at Hazel and to his astonishment found that she was blushing pinkly. The sight was so splendid that it stopped his breath for a moment, then Hazel smiled.
‘Thank you, Cayla. You have expressed my sentiments exactly,’ she said. They both turned to regard Hector with interest.
‘Well? Let’s hear it from the boy now,’ Cayla suggested.
‘You mean here and now, in public like this?’
‘I’ll have you know that this is not in public. It’s very definitely en famille.’
‘You mean on my knees? The full ritual?’
‘See how clever he is, Cayla darling. He understands exactly what he has to do, with only a small shove and a push.’ Hazel smiled again, but she was no longer blushing. Hector stood up and switched off the TV, then he fiddled with the gold signet ring on his right hand. ‘It doesn’t come off easily,’ he explained. ‘It was my father’s signet ring. It’s all he left me. The ranch went to my little brother.’ He smiled ruefully. ‘“Teddy needs help,” my old man told me, “you don’t. You’ll make it on your own.”’ He rubbed the ring between thumb and forefinger as he looked at Hazel. ‘You are the only one I have loved in all my life more than I loved the Old Man. It’s fitting that you take his ring over from me.’ He went to where she sat on the sofa and knelt before her.
‘Hazel Bannock,’ he said, ‘I love you as much as – more than – man has ever loved woman. You light up my soul.’ Her expression softened and her eyes shone. ‘Will you marry me, and stay at my side through all the long joyous years ahead of us?’
‘Definitely and without the faintest shadow of a doubt or hesitation, I will!’ she replied. He slipped the heavy gold ring onto the third finger of her left hand. It was man-sized and much too large. It slipped around loosely on her finger.
‘This is just a stopgap. I’ll buy you a real engagement ring later,’ he promised.
‘You will do no such thing!’ She hugged the ring protectively to her bosom. ‘This is the most beautiful ring I have ever seen. I love it! I love it!’
‘Now you may kiss your betrothed,’ Cayla invited. He reached out and took Hazel in his arms, and Cayla laughed as she watched them and she said, ‘It wasn’t easy but at last I’ve herded the two of you into the home corral and slammed the gate shut.’
‘We have to go down to Cape Town to tell my mother,’ Hazel said. ‘Will you come with us, Cayla? Since you are our self-appointed matchmaker.’
‘Oh, Mother dear, I dare not miss a day of school. I just have to beat Soapy Williams in the finals at the end of next year. You would never believe how he has been gloating over me.’
‘How have the mighty fallen. You took every excuse to bunk off Art School when you were in Paris; even Edith Piaf’s birthday was such an occasion. As I recall.’ Cayla looked as vague as if Hazel was speaking Mongolian rather than English, and she changed the subject.
‘Give my very best love to Granny Grace,’ she said.
Granny Grace was waiting at Thunder City at Cape Town airport when the Gulfstream taxied in. Hazel rushed down the steps to embrace her. Hector gave them a minute or two before he followed
her down to the tarmac.
‘Hector, I want you to meet my mater, Grace Nelson. Mater, this is—’
‘I know exactly who this is, Hazel,’ Grace interrupted, turning eyes on him that were an identical blue to Hazel’s and Cayla’s. ‘Welcome to Cape Town, Mr Hector Cross.’
‘How did you know? Who told you?’ Hazel demanded, then her expression cleared. ‘Cayla!’ she exclaimed. ‘I will ring her tattle-tale neck when I get my hands on her.’
‘You do my granddaughter an injustice. You must remember, I am not yet completely senile. I am still capable of reading the slush columns in the celebrity magazines. As you well know, I subscribe to most of them. You and Mr Cross have cut a wide swathe around the globe, young lady. However, I do admit that what information I was not able to garner from that source was emailed to me by Cayla. My granddaughter has a high opinion of you, Mr Cross. I hope it is justified.’
Grace Nelson was a tall slim woman in her late sixties with a daunting air. What must have been great youthful beauty had matured to a statuesque if formidable presence. Her skin was still smooth and almost unlined. Her hair was burnished silver and carefully coiffured. However, the right hand she held out to Hector, although shapely and manicured, was speckled with the liver spots of age. Hector took the hand and kissed the back of it. Grace smiled for the first time since he had come down the steps.
‘It seems my granddaughter was in some degree correct; you have breeding, Mr Cross.’
‘That’s Mater’s greatest compliment,’ Hazel murmured barely audibly.
‘You are very kind, Mrs Nelson. I would be honoured if you called me Hector.’ Grace thought about that for a moment, then she smiled again.
‘Well, seeing that you are to be my son-in-law, I suppose that is acceptable, Hector.’
Grace’s chauffeur drove them out through the mountains and vineyards in the Maybach. They passed through the picturesque little village of Franschhoek and went on up the valley of the Hottentots Holland until they passed through the imposing whitewashed gates of the Dunkeld Estate, named after Grace’s place of birth. Beyond the gates were hundreds of acres of immaculately pruned and groomed vines on low trellises. These were coming into full bearing with bunches of dark purple grapes dangling from the stems.
Those in Peril Page 28
