by Janine Grey
A couple of times during his four years with MineCorp, Fin had stayed at the Park Hyatt in Sydney when he’d been in town for a conference. At this very moment, he wished he was back there in his suite, with the soft bed, deep tub and the infinite supply of hot water.
When he’d woken at dawn, he’d rolled over and nearly screamed like a girl. It was true what they said, that the day after is worse than the day of. He felt like he’d been smashed by a ten-tonne truck: his entire left side was one big fucking throbbing bruise. Despite keeping as still as he could for the past two hours, he couldn’t postpone getting up any longer. Besides, he needed to pee.
Urging himself on with the promise that he would feel much better after a shower and a coffee, he crawled gingerly from the tent. Once he started to move around, his muscles would warm up and the pain would ease. He hoped.
After achieving so little yesterday, thanks to his accident and the distracting Miss Mayberry – she was just too proper to be a Ms – he needed to make some real progress today. He would phone the guys in Lightning Ridge to hurry up the ladder and, in the meantime, he would take a closer look at the rubble he’d brought up from below, see what that told him. Despite what locals thought, he refused to discount the possibility that decent black opal could be found at Ruin Flat. With small finds over the years, and a similar geology to Lightning Ridge, he knew it had to be possible. More than that, his gut was telling him something was here.
The prospect of dragging fire from the dark depths of the earth had fascinated Fin since childhood, fuelled by his family history and a glimpse of one of the world’s most famous opals during a trip to London after university. Back in the late forties, a huge white opal was found in Andamooka, South Australia – the Queen’s Opal as it became known on being gifted to Queen Elizabeth II. It was magnificent, no doubt, the rainbow in the stone. But Fin figured black opal was better, with the colours standing out like fireworks against the night sky. Finding a black of that size was every opal miner’s dream. The fire in the stone.
Logan, lousy father though he’d been, must have spotted the classic surface signs of opal: the orange blossom trees indicating fault lines, little oases of green in the red earth, outcroppings of weathered cretaceous sedimentary rocks. And below there were plenty of signs of grey potch. All it needed was the right conditions for something magical to have happened – and plenty of time.
Fin saw to nature and walked stiffly to the outdoor shower. Mining took patience. Sometimes, it was like wooing a nineteenth-century maiden. You had to abide by the rituals and show some respect before the earth gave up her secrets.
Fin turned on the water and stepped beneath the spray. It wasn’t exactly a power shower but at least it was warm, thanks to the solar panel he’d installed. He tipped his head back, letting the water plaster his hair to his head and roll down his body. Man, it felt good.
He lathered his hair, and ran soapy hands across his chest and under his arms. He washed the cuts on his hand with care, and sent the soap gliding down over his belly to his genitals. Miss Mayberry came to mind for some reason. She wasn’t his type at all: a man would be afraid to mess up that perfect hair or leave a smudge on her flawless skin. Or lose himself in those deep blue eyes. She was all right as a fantasy woman but —
A soft footstep registered over the hiss of the shower. He opened his eyes with a start and was blinded by stinging soap. ‘Damn!’ he muttered, squinting. ‘Who’s there? Blue?’ He groped around. Where the hell was his towel?
‘To your right,’ said the subject of his erotic daydream in a voice that sounded not a little flustered.
He grabbed it, swiped it over his face to mop up the soap and tried to wrap it around his waist. Dry as a board, it resisted, abrading his bruised skin and making him curse as he wrestled the thing into place.
‘I didn’t —’
‘Were you spying on me?’ He held the towel in place and turned to face Eliza Mayberry.
‘No, I – I –’ She stuttered to a stop, her eyes wide with shock – or interest.
‘What the hell are you doing here, then?’
‘I was . . . Oh God, just fix that towel, would you?’ Her cheeks were flushed and she spun around so that he was looking at her shapely back, and long brunette braid. Today she was wearing shorts that left a whole lot of smooth skin exposed.
Fin secured the unravelling towel, tucking the end against his belly. He laughed to himself. ‘Miss Mayberry, don’t tell me you’re embarrassed?’
‘No, I am not,’ she retorted. ‘And I’m a Ms. Are you decent?’ Without waiting for him to answer, she turned around to face him. ‘I’ve had the pleasure of seeing a great many naked men.’
His eyebrows rose.
‘Well, that is, some – a few – enough,’ she stuttered.
Fin smirked. ‘I hope you didn’t perve on them all.’
‘I happened to be going about my business when you decided to . . . do whatever it was you were doing.’
‘It’s called showering.’ A little bit more than that, but, hey, that was just what guys did.
‘Naked,’ she pointed out.
‘It’s the most efficient way of getting clean.’ He grinned.
‘In the open air? Anyone could have wandered past. A group of hikers! Picnickers! It just happened to be me.’
Fin laughed. ‘I think you’re getting Ruin Flat confused with the Blue Mountains or Centennial Park. Hikers and picnickers are conspicuous in their absence here.’ He paused for a long moment to scan the surrounding vastness. ‘Nope, there’s no one out here but you and me. I’m here to mine, Miss Mayberry. And you?’
Watching, fascinated, as she closed her eyes and took a deep breath, he had the suspicion that Miss Mayberry wasn’t that accustomed to losing the upper hand. But he had to hand it to her. She got it back pretty fast. When she spoke, it was with yesterday’s poise.
‘Among other things, I’m running an errand. Your supplies from Lightning Ridge arrived yesterday so I offered to bring them out.’
‘Even though you should be heading back to Sydney right about now?’
‘I changed my ticket. I wanted another chance to talk to you.’
‘I’ve got your card. When I’ve made a decision, I’ll call you.’
‘Perhaps I didn’t put Mr Weaver’s case as strongly as I might have.’
‘Oh, I don’t know. You sounded pretty impassioned to me at one point.’
‘I somehow don’t think emotion is likely to sway you.’
‘I’m not much swayed by anything.’ He might as well give it to her straight. ‘Certainly not by some glossy city chick with a nice line in pretty words.’
As he spoke the words, she flinched, almost as though he’d struck her. In a verbal sense, he supposed that he had. He felt like a jerk.
‘Jesus, look.’ He ran a hand through his damp hair. ‘You brought the stuff I’d ordered so I won’t deny I’m grateful to you. Thank you. But I just don’t have the time or interest in making nice with distant relatives.’ It was as close as he was going to get to apologising.
Miss Mayberry didn’t need to say anything; the crestfallen look on her face said it all.
‘Bloody hell,’ he muttered. ‘Give me a minute to get dressed and I’ll get the stuff unloaded so you can be on your way.
Fin turned and walked into his tent. He didn’t need this hassle. He really didn’t.
*
Jerry Bragg put his hand over Mairi’s and squeezed lightly. She gave him a vague smile, as though he were a neighbour whose name she couldn’t quite remember.
‘It’s me, old thing,’ he said. ‘You remember, don’t you, love?’
She looked at him a moment longer, sighed and stared away into the distance. From the shady verandah outside her room, where they sat enjoying the cool morning, it was a pretty view west over the treetops, but how much she registered he wasn’t certain.
‘No word from Fin. I wonder if she ever tracked him down, that young lady from Sydney? I told you
about her, didn’t I?’
There was no response, but Jerry was used to that. On a good day, Mairi managed his name but those times were getting rare. Still, she was content to sit next to him, which was better than nothing.
‘I looked into her business, KinSearchers. Apparently it’s all to do with inheritance. I always thought Logan came from money, way back. Kids don’t pay much attention to that sort of thing, but I remember his mum, Constance. She was a real lady, you know what I mean? Backbone of steel but the softest voice. Sounded like poetry when she spoke.’
Mairi turned slightly towards him. Her gaze followed the flight of a small bird that had landed on the verandah and was snapping up the crumbs and bacon bits left there by the staff. It was easy to pretend she was listening to him.
‘Logan never talked about it but I always thought how his mum had probably married beneath her. Of course, his parents were both gone by the time Logan met you but I could tell his dad wasn’t in the same class. Handsome, though, if you like that sort of thing.’
Women always went for looks. Ignored what lay beneath, the real substance of a man.
‘The Sydney woman said her client wanted to reconnect but I reckon someone’s died. Constance might have mentioned a little brother, come to think of it. Well, that’s it, love. He’s died and Fin’s going to get the lot.’
The handsome ones always did. Always.
Mairi whimpered a little. Her eyes filled with tears and Jerry realised he was gripping her hand too tight. He loosened it, saw the faint mark he’d left.
‘Sorry, old thing. There, there. You’re all right, no harm done.’
But she tugged her hand away, and stayed out of reach.
Jerry tried again. ‘Now, don’t be silly. You like me coming to see you, don’t you? Nobody else now, is there? Nobody except your boy, and he hasn’t been in a while. I wonder whether she passed on my message, that Mayberry woman? I told her that he needed to come and see you.’ He watched her till her gaze briefly met his. ‘Perhaps she forgot.’
When he tried to put a comforting arm across her shoulders, she shrank from him and his irritation grew.
‘Maybe she forgot or maybe Fin couldn’t be bothered. What do you think, Mairi?’
She stared into the distance and his embrace tightened.
‘Well, never mind, old thing. I’m here, aren’t I? You can trust old Jerry, love. I’ll never let you down.’
*
Eliza helped carry the smaller packages to the camp, glad to have something to do while she re-established her equilibrium. She wasn’t usually easily rattled, and she had no reason to be off-balance. After all, Fin McLeod was the one in a compromising position. But he didn’t appear to be the slightest bit embarrassed – and he had the hide to blame her for spying on him!
True, she had had an eyeful. If her gaze had lingered just a fraction longer than was necessary, it was only in the way one might study Michelangelo’s statue of David, for example, in admiration of a work of art. It wasn’t as if she had imagined being similarly naked and joining him in his outback shower. Nothing like that! Having thoughts like that about a perfect – or imperfect – stranger, now that would be the definition of insanity.
Her parents were enthusiastic entertainers and hosts, so Eliza had acquired social skills early. By the age of seventeen, she’d learnt to deal efficiently and sensitively with just about everyone – once she extracted a coked-up playboy from a conversation with the police commissioner and another time coaxed an opera star out of a full-blown panic attack. She should be able to manage one rough-around-the-edges opal miner.
Forewarned was forearmed. Now Eliza knew what to expect, she would take no more nonsense from Fingal McLeod. Either he would be sensible and see the merits in her proposal or he would not. Either way, she would respond in a professional manner and move on.
Walking back to her car, she watched him remove the ladder from the roof rack. His shirt lifted up to reveal a long, livid bruise above his left hip. She offered to take one end as he carried the ladder towards the mine opening but, jaw set, he shook his head. It seemed he was determined not to show any sign of weakness in front of her.
When he attempted to slide the ladder into place, though, the effort caused his face to turn pale. She’d had enough.
‘This is ridiculous!’ She put her hands on her hips. ‘I’m here, so why not let me help?’
‘I can do it,’ he said through gritted teeth.
She wasn’t getting anywhere talking to him, so she just ignored him and steadied the ladder. He said something under his breath when she smiled sweetly at him. Within an hour, Fin had secured the new ladder and was making them coffee. At least he hadn’t suggested that that would be a suitable job for her, as she’d half expected. If he had, he might be adding another bruise to his collection.
Eliza stared down the shaft, now more interested than intimidated by what lay in the dark below.
‘Are you going to do some mining now?’
Fin grunted something that sounded like a yes.
‘I’m coming too. I’d like to look around.’
‘It’s not an art gallery.’
‘Probably more interesting than some.’ She wasn’t going to be deterred by his crankiness.
‘You don’t have a hard hat.’
‘Just as well you have two, then.’ She pointed them out.
The word he muttered wasn’t polite.
‘You might as well accept that I’m going to have a look,’ she told him when he handed her a tin cup of steaming coffee. ‘I’m used to getting my own way.’
His look turned darker.
‘Mick at Helton was convinced there’s no opal up here, so why do you think differently?’ she asked, trying to steer the conversation off thin ice.
He blew on his coffee. ‘Mick likes the sound of his own voice.’
‘He said there used to be a lot of miners up here.’
‘Some. Not for a long time.’ He handed one hat to her and put on the other.
‘So why you?’ She was intrigued.
‘Did Mick tell you I’m mad as a cut snake?’
‘Something like that. But you don’t strike me as mad.’
‘No?’
‘Grouchy. But not crazy.’
‘Thanks.’
‘You don’t exactly have a sunny personality.’ It was the understatement of the century. Talking to him was like getting blood out of a stone. ‘So, are we going down?’
‘And then you’ll go?’
‘I thought I might stay for lunch. I’ve got pies.’ She smiled.
‘Miss Mayberry. I just want to be left alone to work my mine.’
‘Eliza.’
‘It’s nothing personal.’ He paused. ‘Pies from Maggie’s?’
‘Yes, from Maggie’s. Chris said you liked them.’ She took a breath. ‘Mr McLeod, this is personal for Mr Weaver. He’s very frail. He told me he’s been given only a few months to live. Whatever he did or didn’t do decades ago, would it really make that much difference in the scheme of things if you met with him? I’m talking three days: one to fly to Sydney, another for you and Ernest to speak, and the third day for the return journey. Four days, tops, depending on the connections. All expenses paid, of course.’
He gave a reluctant smile. ‘No one could accuse you of not trying, Miss Mayberry. But I’m on a tight schedule, getting tighter with each minute I spend up here and not down there.’
Eliza suppressed a sigh, tempted to remind him that he could only go down into the mine today because she’d dropped off the ladder. ‘Come on, then. Let’s see this mine of yours.’
‘Follow me, and take it slow.’
It was a long way down. Eliza had thought she had a head for heights but, clinging to the lightweight metal ladder, she soon changed her mind. When she reached the last rung, she was more than relieved, and happy to let Fin help her onto solid ground. Their helmet lamps cut through the gloom in what appeared to be a small cave that soon n
arrowed.
A frisson of excitement stirred the fine hairs on her neck. It was a secret world where anything might be possible, including the prospect of fabulous gems concealed inside stone walls.
‘Down here,’ Fin said.
Eliza glanced up. The square of daylight above looked tiny. She hurried after him, not wanting to be left behind.
From the shaft, the mine branched out into three tunnels at different levels. They took the last.
‘Why this tunnel?’ she whispered.
‘It’s called a drive or a level, and we’re not in a library. You can talk normally.’
In the lamplight she saw support posts and timber trusses holding up the roof, and her bravado began to wilt. Maybe she’d been too hasty to insist on a tour.
‘Is it safe?’
‘It is now. There was rockfall a while back, though.’
Eliza peered around but apart from some rubble there wasn’t much to see. She moved her head and there it was: a glimmer, a flash.
She gasped. ‘Fin, there!’
‘What?’ He turned to her.
‘I saw something . . . opal.’ She felt an unreasoning excitement. Opal had never made much impact on her – although her mother’s favourite ring had featured a pretty pale pink one – but the prospect of finding something beautiful, even valuable, was thrilling. She could almost understand how opal miners lost themselves to the obsession.
‘Let’s see.’ Fin peered closely at the wall, shining his lamp squarely on the spot. ‘It’s seam opal.’
‘Oh, is that bad?’
He grinned, a flash of white teeth in the gloom. ‘Might be worth a few dollars, but not really what I’m looking for.’
‘Which is what, exactly?’
‘A big black opal.’
‘But I thought opals were colourful. That’s the point, isn’t it?’
‘Black opals are the most sought after,’ he told her. ‘When you see one you’ll know why. The colours are beyond brilliant, almost unearthly.’
‘How do you know if you’ve got one?’
‘The best black opals are in nodules rather than linear seams. But these seams are a good sign.’
‘So why has everyone abandoned Ruin Flat?’
