"I'm not sure I could give you more than a hundred pounds for them, Maria. No one can afford luxuries like pearls nowadays. I'm sorry."
I hid my smile. Davis had tried to offer me fifty and the best offer from anyone else had been eighty. I nodded gravely. "Then I must take it and hope I find some more."
I surrendered my pearls and became the surreptitious owner of ten new ten-pound notes. I knew exactly what I'd do with the money, too. This would pay for my passage to Christmas Island and home again, if that's what I needed. It would also pay for me to live comfortably wherever I found myself over the next year.
That's what I gave myself: the space of one year to find William. If I failed, then I would come home.
I walked along the quay instead of Canning Road today. Sustenance workers were repairing the road and I wanted to avoid them as much as possible. I recognised and sympathised with the haunted look in their eyes and the sheer desperation that motivated them, but I knew desperation could drive a man to do many things he normally wouldn't. I'd heard stories of theft, assault and other such crimes and I had no intention of falling victim to them. Especially not with an unusually large amount of money in my purse.
I greeted the harbourmaster and asked after the Islander. She was due to arrive from Christmas Island later in the week and when she left I intended to be aboard. That meant speaking to the captain as early as I could to make sure I could secure passage with the vessel.
"You're looking at her," he said, pointing at a small, unfamiliar steamer berthed at a spot where I was used to seeing much larger vessels. A man in a captain's peaked cap stood on deck, gesticulating to a couple of lumpers.
I thanked the harbourmaster and hurried toward the ship.
"Pardon me, captain," I called to the man's retreating back.
The two lumpers nodded to me and sauntered off for a smoke beside some large crates on the quay.
The captain stopped and turned, passing a hand over his eyes as if to wipe tiredness away. "What is it, miss? I have a ship to load and it looks like I might have to do it myself. The chief engineer will burst a valve over this, mark my words."
I summoned a friendly smile. "I just wanted to know how long your vessel is in port. I've always wanted to go to Christmas Island."
He burst out laughing. "Miss, you must be talking about some other island. It's a rock full of birds and crabs in the middle of the Indian Ocean. The only good thing about it is that the birds make lots of fertiliser we can mine and sell to Japan. Otherwise, we'd leave the island to the crabs."
"You mean the mine's still running?" I asked eagerly.
He laughed even harder. "Miss, if it wasn't, why would we be here to pick up the new locomotive?" He waved at the crates the lumpers were using for their smoko. "Now I find out there's some sort of labour dispute. I should have brought workers from the island instead. We'll be lucky to head back next week like we're scheduled to."
"How much would it cost for passage to Christmas Island?" I ventured.
"I don't know if we're taking passengers this trip, miss. Ask me next week, when we're loaded up and ready to leave. We might have a spare berth then. Is it for yourself?"
I nodded.
"Then a whole cabin. I don't know." He looked mournfully at me. "Truly I don't. It's a Christmas Island Phosphate Company ship and it's up to their highest ranking employee what it carries. That isn't me, miss. That's the chief engineer and he's the tightest, most miserable bastard I ever laid eyes on."
I wondered how William worked with such a man, what with William's ever-present smile and easy laughter. Maybe the engineer was new and unhappy to be sent to such a desolate spot.
Heavy boots sounded on the deck. "Captain, how long are you granting shore leave for?" a male voice shouted.
"You better go, miss. Find me next week, when we're loaded up." The captain turned and hurried away.
Twenty-One
"You're looking lovely this morning. All dressed up, too. You know Sunday isn't until tomorrow, don't you?"
I laughed as Merry fell silent and poured herself some more tea. Her body shuddered as she started coughing again. My chest ached in sympathy for her pain.
"Are you sure you'll be all right without me?" I asked.
She nodded, unable to answer between the barks of her lung-wrenching coughing fit.
"Merry, I don't have to go to the races today. I can stay here to take care of you. I'll even postpone my trip if I have to. You've been so good, taking care of me for all this time. The least I can do is nurse you when you're so sick."
Merry shook her head violently. "No. You need to do this. Find your future. The path you want to travel. Follow where your heart leads, ssss –" Her words disappeared into more coughing.
I grasped her hands. "All right, but you return to bed and rest. The doctor said you won't get well without it."
I couldn't explain how I'd come to care for her more than I did my mother, but Merry's kindness through the years she'd let me live with her meant more to me than eighteen years of my mother's cold community.
The truck engine rumbled outside and I heard male laughter. I rushed to the door, checking my hat in the hall mirror as I slipped into my horrible, heeled shoes. There was such finality in the click as the front door closed behind me.
Tony waved from the driver's window while the men in the cab with him wolf-whistled. The truck's tray was full of fishermen instead of their catch today, all dressed up to go to the races. "Come on up, Maria."
Squabbling started over where I was to sit in the back, while I wished I wasn't wearing a skirt. What I wouldn't give to be wearing practical pants like the men today. Climbing over the sides in this was a recipe for disaster.
Tony appeared at my side. "She's riding in the cab with me. Vince and Steven can sit in the back with you lot."
Gratefully, I took his hand and allowed him to assist me into the seat.
"You look beautiful and you smell heavenly," he said as soon as the doors were shut.
I laughed. "The smell is Aunt Merry's perfume. She insisted I wear some tonight. Made of myrrh, sandalwood and flowers, she said."
"I've never smelled myrrh, though we get plenty of sandalwood come through the port. Myrrh is something I only hear about at Christmas." He grinned and urged the truck to start moving down the road.
We headed up Canning Road, along the river to the racetrack. The tide was out, so the river mud smelled musty as the morning sun struck it. Behind us, the men were complaining about the smell and blaming each other for breaking wind.
"Have I told you how happy I am you decided to come with us?" Tony said, glancing at me before returning his attention to the road.
We bumped and jolted all the way to Ascot Racecourse. Outside the entrance, there must have been twenty or thirty motorcycles lined up along a line painted in the dirt. The blokes in the back jumped out and I slid down to the ground without waiting for assistance. Steven appeared, wheeling Tony's Indian motorcycle and wearing a huge grin. "With your good luck charm along, you'll have no trouble this time, cuz."
Tony deliberately avoided my searching gaze, so I was forced to ask, "Good luck charm? Are you racing today? I thought we were just here to watch!"
"We're all here to watch," Vince drawled. "But Tony's entered the Half-Day Trial. He's got a lady he wants to impress."
It was on the tip of my tongue to ask who'd caught Tony's fancy, but a quick glance at his blush told me I already knew.
The rest of the morning was interminable, as the race organisers explained the rules, the nature of the thirty-three mile track and how they'd be watching to see how many time the men put their feet down to help their bikes through the various hazards around the track. Tony and his fellow motorbike enthusiasts didn't look anywhere near as bored as I was – quite the contrary. Every word seemed to increase their excitement about the race.
Noon came and went with sandwiches served in the refreshment tent beside what one of the race organisers
informed me was the finish line. He turned out to be Mr Davy, one of the office-holding members of the Motor Cycling Association, and he was soon explaining the difficulties of the course to me and, not long after, to Tony.
I decided to take one more sandwich before Tony turned to me, said, "Wish me luck," and headed off. Past him, I could see the other competitors checking and mounting their motorcycles. Finally, the race was about to start. I crammed the last sandwich into my mouth and looked around for somewhere to sit and watch the race.
"Here, Mrs Basile. Come to the judges' box so you can see better," Mr Davy said.
I almost choked on my food, but my mouth was too full to speak, so I let him lead me up to the temporary judges' box to the sound of sniggers from Tony's friends.
"Gentlemen, start your engines!" someone called. Twenty-six booted feet kicked the starters for the motorcycles and engines rattled to life. Several seconds and a great deal of swearing later, all the bikes were vibrating, ready for action.
"GO!" he bellowed, barely loud enough to be heard over all the engines. Dirt flew and the convoy of motorcycles took off.
A nailbiting wait ensued as the buzz faded even from my acute hearing and all I could hear was the chatter of those who'd remained here to watch the end of the race. Everyone else had headed for vantage points around the hazards. With my best dress and heeled shoes on, I was hardly dressed for traipsing through the bush, so I sat forlornly in the judges' box, waiting for the riders to come through for the second lap.
I heard them before I saw them, but the first two burst out of the scrub and whined around the curve to cross the starting line for the second time. To my surprise, the third man to appear was Tony on his Indian. I cheered and he lifted a hand to wave, though his eyes never left the track. Hot on his heels was a man wearing a huge pair of goggles, hunched over his Triumph.
One of the motherly women who'd brought out the sandwiches lifted a tray up to the judging box. Mr Davy offered it to me and I thanked him as I took the nearest mug of steaming, milky tea. For several minutes, motorcycles sped past us, headed around the track for their next lap before the sound of their engines faded into the distance once more.
When the next wave came through, for a moment I thought it was Tony on the leading motorcycle, but the Sun the man was riding wasn't Tony's. He zipped past, closely followed by another man I didn't know. Tony crested the rise beside Goggles, edging slightly ahead of him to take the inside of the curve to their final lap.
In a momentary lull between a river of motorcycles, Mr Davy remarked, "Your husband's holding his own with some of the best riders in the state, Mrs Basile."
It took me a moment to realise he was referring to Tony – and speaking to me. I blushed. How to correct him without saying the wrong thing? "Oh...I'm not...I mean, he's not..."
My flustered attempt at explaining was drowned out by loud cheering from a crowd of men who'd appeared by the finish line.
Mr Davy jumped up. "And the winner of the Half-Day Trial is...Wilkinson, on his brand-new BSA, followed by Armstrong on his Sun in second place!" he roared.
I heard buzzing in the distance and a third motorcycle appeared. "Third place goes to...Hunter!" Two more crested the rise, gunning their engines furiously to outdistance one another, but neither seemed to be able to lose his opponent. "Fourth is tied – Mortlock and Charman!"
My heart plummeted. Where was Tony?
Twenty-Two
I counted the riders as they crossed the finish line. Nineteen, twenty, twenty-one...
"Mr Davy? Basile and the man with the goggles took a tumble on that last stretch in the swamps. Both motorcycles ended up in the river," a mud-covered man said. He tried to wipe some of the muck off his face, but he only succeeded in smearing the mess.
"Thanks, Charman. Were the men all right?" Mr Davy glanced at me. "Mrs Basile here is worried about her husband."
I gritted my teeth to stop myself from exploding at him. My name and married state weren't as important as finding out whether Tony was hurt.
"I saw Basile start walking back, but I don't know about the other man. Should I head back and see if I can help, sir?" Charman asked.
"I'll go, too," another man offered.
Four riders set off down the former race track, in the opposite direction they'd raced.
I waited. And waited. And waited some more.
A muddy figure trudged to the top of the rise, walking his equally brown motorcycle. "Davy, the next time you let a rank novice join a half-day trial, warn me." Tony spat on the ground. "I'll stay away. Damn near lost my Indian in the river because of that idiot. I think he did lose his, whatever it was. Better off at the bottom of the river than on the road."
Steven and Vince relieved Tony of his bike and wheeled it over to the truck while Tony advanced on Mr Davy and I. "Maria, you should get one of the boys to help you into the truck. I'll be right there. I just need to speak to Davy for a minute." There was an entreaty in his eyes that begged me to do as he asked, if only this once.
I nodded and headed for the truck. I stumbled as the heel of one of my stupid shoes caught on a tree root. Swearing, I yanked them off and carried them to the truck barefoot.
A strange sound caught my ears, like the creaking of wet leather from the most enormous pair of boots ever made, and I stopped to find the source. The man with the goggles marched down the track toward Tony, his leather pants shining in the last rays of the evening sun. His leather jacket hung open and I could see that his shirt beneath it was soaked, too. It looked like he'd gone for a swim in the river with his bike, fully clothed and all.
"Bloody idiot," Tony muttered and spat at the man's feet. He turned to walk away.
Goggles grabbed his arm and somehow forced him to turn around to face him again.
"Let go, mate. I'm here with my cousins and...it won't end well for you." Tony jerked his thumb over his shoulder at the truck.
Goggles glanced my way and froze. Slowly, he let go of Tony, not taking his eyes off the men behind me. Then he yanked off his goggles, swiped his shirt across his face, and stared.
My shoes slipped from my nerveless fingers and thudded to the dirt. "William," I whispered, but no sound came out.
Twenty-Three
Jostling male bodies surrounded me as it seemed like every one of Tony's support crew itched to join the fight against William.
William would annihilate the lot of them. I'd only seen one man best him in a fight and no one else here had the training to match Kaito. They had no idea who or what they were dealing with.
William evidently thought the same thing. Through the forest of bodies, I saw him walk away.
No! I needed to speak to him. I couldn't let him slip through my fingers like this. I needed to know...
The crowd of men parted to permit Tony through. "Let's go, Maria. I'm sorry you had to see that. I should take you home." His footsteps dragged him to the driver's side door.
I wet my lips. "I should thank Mr Davy for his hospitality." I marched to the relieved-looking race organiser and dropped my voice so the words wouldn't carry to the truck. "Thank you for taking such good care of me during the race. Please, can you tell me where that man lives? Just in case a letter of apology is required."
Mr Davy gave me a conspiratorial wink. "Smoothing things over for your husband, eh? Mrs Basile, I'd tell you if I could, but I believe that the chap couldn't give me an address. Said he was staying at the Esplanade Hotel in Fremantle for a few days while his ship is in port before he leaves the country. He only joined the race because he said he wanted to try out a new motorcycle to see if it would perform well in the jungle. I hope there aren't many rivers in his jungle!" He laughed uproariously.
I managed a small smile in response and bade him farewell. I padded back to the truck, enjoying the feel of the damp dirt between my toes. Shoes and civilisation were overrated.
Ignoring the offers of assistance, I climbed into the passenger side by myself, slamming the door beh
ind me. As soon as I was settled, Tony rammed the truck into gear and took off in a spray of gravel.
We drove in silence for perhaps fifteen minutes before Tony broke it. "I'm so sorry, Maria. I thought you'd enjoy watching the race and afterwards, I'd planned...I wanted..." He swallowed and gripped the steering wheel tightly. "Never mind. I should've taken you to dance at the Hydrodome instead. I will. I...will you come with me to the tearooms tomorrow evening? We can have dinner and I heard there's a new jazz band playing. Please say yes. I want you to remember me when you're steaming home to England and when you're visiting your mother. I want you to want to come back to me here."
It took me a moment to remember the story I'd told to mask the real reason for my desire to depart. It was Merry's idea, for she was the only one who knew the truth. Who would believe that steady, dependable Maria Speranza would go haring off on a wild quest for a man who didn't know she existed?
He did now. He'd seen me and it had shocked him as much as his appearance had me.
"Maria?"
I shook the thoughts of William from my head and gave Tony my attention. "I won't forget you, Tony, no matter where I am. Yes, I'd love to go dancing. I haven't done that in a very long time."
The last time I'd danced, it had been with William. And later that night, we'd danced even more intimately, in the privacy of our cabin. My loins ached at the memory.
Tony beamed the whole way home.
Twenty-Four
Tony kicked the truck tyre and swore. "Of all the times to get a flat tyre..."
"Of course," I responded. "It couldn't happen on a day when you don't have any deliveries, or even an hour earlier, when your cousins were still here. Do you want me to go pick up those motorcycle parts for you while you change the tyre?"
Ocean's Trial Page 8
