The Forgotten Sea

by Beverley Harper

  The question surprised Holly. It was the first time the woman had shown even the slightest interest in anything other than herself. ‘Yes, we have a large Chinese population. Have you been to Australia?’

  Liang Song shook her head.

  Holly pulled a card from her bag. ‘If you ever get there, this is where I can be contacted.’ She pushed the card across the table.

  Almond eyes examined it. The card was picked up and slowly, very deliberately, ripped in two. Madame Liang rose. ‘Now why would I want to do that?’ With a curt nod she left Holly sitting at the table.

  A laugh bubbled up and Holly had to put a hand over her mouth to silence it. She might have bulldozed the woman into an interview but Madame Liang had certainly enjoyed the last word. Holly couldn’t help but admire her exit line. When she called for the bill, Holly discovered that Liang Song wasn’t above turning the screws as far as she could. Their meal had been paid for.

  Since she was in Port Louis, Holly decided to explore some of the old city. The central market, only minutes’ walk from Caudan Waterfront, was a jumble of stalls, seething with people and selling everything from food to curios. Not looking for anything in particular, she ended up buying a beautiful handmade tablecloth for her mother.

  Wandering the labyrinth of narrow cobbled streets seemed like stepping back in time. Although Port Louis was laid out in a grid pattern, shops made full use of the footpath to display their wares, leaving little or no room for the thousands of pedestrians who were forced to duck between traffic on the road. It was easy to lose a sense of direction. But, with the help of a map, Holly was able to orientate herself. She was on Jummah Mosque Street heading up and away from the bustling, overcrowded centre of town. About to turn back, where the buildings finished Holly noticed an old flight of steps leading up the grassy hillside to a dark stone fortress set high and alone above the city. Thinking it would provide a good view of Port Louis, Holly set off. Over one hundred steps later, and short of breath, she reached the top. The effort caused considerable protest from her left side and it took some time for the sharp pain to subside.

  A plaque above the fort entrance revealed that the peeling structure was called Fort Adelaide and had been built by the British garrison in the reign of William IV. Inside the walls, several of the old chambers had been refurbished and turned into craft shops, otherwise the place had a dejected air of abandonment. A friendly assistant in one of the shops informed Holly that the fort was generally referred to as the Citadel and that it was linked by tunnels – closed to the public – to other forts down by the harbour, which were called Victoria, William and George. She added the gruesome information that about thirty years ago two children had been murdered in cold blood up here.

  The steps to the battlements were closed, so Holly went back outside. Looking out over Port Louis, the reason for the city’s overcrowding was obvious. It lay in a basin. Hemmed in by mountains on three sides and opening onto the harbour, there simply wasn’t room for urban sprawl. Steel and concrete jutted skywards, dwarfing older buildings of wood and wrought iron. Suburbia looked distinctly working class with box-shaped houses set cheek-by-jowl. Of shady trees and colourful gardens there was little sign. By comparison, outstanding in size and park-like in appearance was Champ de Mars, the oldest horseracing track in the southern hemisphere and evidence of Mauritians’ passion for gambling. The Caudan Waterfront looked tiny and the harbour, the island’s only safe haven for boats during a cyclone, didn’t seem big enough to turn around a Manly ferry.

  A road winding down the side of the hill appeared to be the more usual way to reach the Citadel and probably explained why the steps were in such bad repair. Several children hung shyly back but their eyes were alert for any sign that begging might prove fruitful. A jogger, who had run up the steps with ease, continued his exercise along the road. Bloody show-off, Holly thought, admiring the man’s trim and taut body.

  By contrast, two other people, stooping hands on knees by the top step, were recovering from their exertions. Holly felt sympathetic, her gaze travelling past to the ocean beyond before recognition snapped her eyes back to them. They were Chinese. It took only a moment to remember where she’d seen them before. Mahébourg. Yesterday. Lunching with Liang Song. One of them noticed her watching. He looked away and said something to his companion, whose eyes flicked briefly towards Holly.

  A prickle of fear ran through her. What had Connor said about them? They were Madame Liang’s uncles. Holly pretended to look at the view but her mind was racing. The children were still there. A couple – honeymooners by the way they were glued together – stared down at the harbour. A taxi arrived carrying a middle-aged man and woman, who spent two minutes taking photographs then got back into the vehicle, which sped off down the hill again.

  The Chinese men loitered by the steps. Holly reached a decision. It was broad daylight and there were too many people around for her to be in any danger. She would simply go back down the steps. Steeling herself, she made her way past the pair.

  Don’t panic. Holly forced herself to walk slowly. There was a group of school children with their teacher struggling up the steps. You’re safe, her mind said. Don’t panic.

  Even so, in the humid heat her linen trouser suit and silk shirt were made even more clinging by the sudden stickiness of fear. She felt itchy under the bandages around her midriff. She dared not risk a look back. When she reached the road, it was two blocks before the streets became crowded and bustling. A line of four taxis stood outside a seedy-looking hotel and Holly almost dived into the first. ‘Merville Beach Hotel, Grand Baie.’ She looked back as the taxi pulled away from the kerb. The two Chinese men were running for the next in line.

  Traffic was not merely congested, it was impossible. The driver, an Indian, clucked and fussed behind the wheel, finally apologising for the delays.

  ‘It’s not your fault.’ Holly welcomed the confusion, confident that in such riotous bedlam the two men following her would never be able to keep up. So, when she checked behind once they were onto the main road heading north, she was both surprised and horrified to see their taxi close behind.

  Her driver glanced in the rear-vision mirror, frowning. ‘You are being followed, Mademoiselle.’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘The driver is my friend. He is not experienced. His passengers must know your destination.’

  Of course! Madame Liang knew where she was staying.

  ‘Would Mademoiselle like me to stop at the police station?’

  They can’t get to me at the hotel, Holly thought, and then she remembered what had happened to Justin and herself the previous evening. ‘I don’t think that will be necessary.’

  Her driver shrugged.

  Why would Madame Liang have her followed? To see where she went, who she spoke to? But why? What was the Chinese woman so concerned about? Holly didn’t think Liang Song meant to physically harm her, which meant that she was being followed, none too expertly and perhaps even deliberately ostentatiously, to see where she went and to make sure she knew about it. Okay, if that’s all there is to it they should leave me alone once I get to the hotel.

  With some misgivings over the reliability of her conclusions, Holly paid off the taxi driver and walked inside, deliberately loitering behind a group of tourists trying to check out. The Chinese men did not follow.

  There was a note from Justin at reception. I’ve been moved to Room 24. Give me a call when you get in.

  Before she did, there was a little matter needing urgent attention. The bandages had to go. Hoping their removal would not cause further damage, she unwound the restrictive binding. Without support, it hurt slightly to breathe and sudden movement was not a good idea. But oh, the relief! Testing gingerly, Holly twisted this way and that until she had a pretty good idea what she could and could not do. What it boiled down to was keep perfectly still and all would be fine.

  She showered off the stickiness of Port Louis before dialling Justin’s number.
He answered on the first ring. ‘Holly! Where did you disappear to? Is everything okay?’

  ‘Everything’s fine.’

  ‘Like to sit on the beach and watch the sunset?

  ‘Sounds about the right speed. Anything strenuous might severely strain the pact I just made with my ribs.’

  ‘Still sore?’ He sounded concerned. ‘A gentle dip in the sea is what you need. See you downstairs.’

  As she changed into a swimsuit, Holly wondered about Justin. Why had his room been broken into? It hadn’t been a simple burglary. Nothing, according to him, seemed to be missing but he hadn’t exactly had a good look. It was almost as if he knew what it was the intruder had been searching for. And if so, what was it and had it been found? Now she came to think about it, Justin had been a little too calm considering all his possessions had been destroyed. Was Justin Parker what he said he was? Holly supposed a rival research group might have instigated the break-in but that possibility seemed a little far-fetched. And was the burglary somehow linked to the attack on the beach?

  She left the room, still uncertain. Justin was a nice enough person on the surface but who was he exactly? Something about him kept her wary.

  He was waiting for her in the foyer, sporting a face that drew curious stares – one eye was completely closed and he had a greenish-black shiner. The split lip had returned to its normal size but there was no disguising the scab that had formed. They walked down to the beach. ‘I was back here by midday,’ Justin said. ‘Thought we could still go to Pamplemousses but I couldn’t find you anywhere.’

  ‘I’ve been to Port Louis. Managed to set up an interview with a Chinese businesswoman called Madame Liang Song.’

  ‘I’ve met her. Quite a powerful lady by all accounts.’

  Holly glanced at him. His voice had held no secrets, his face was impassive. She wondered again why they had been speaking so intently the other day. ‘She’s only twenty-eight. Pretty young to be a company director.’

  ‘Really?’ Justin sounded vague. ‘I thought she was older than that.’

  ‘She gave me some good material about the Chinese community. Stuff I can really use.’

  ‘Here do?’ Justin stopped, took off his shirt and dumped it, along with a towel, onto the sand.

  Holly unwrapped the sarong she’d worn over her bikini, dropping her gear on top of his.

  ‘What happened to the bandages?’

  ‘I took them off. They were driving me nuts.’

  His eyebrows raised. ‘Was that wise?’

  ‘In Australia they don’t even bother.’

  ‘Well . . .’ He looked doubtful. ‘Take it easy if you plan to swim. You’re quite badly bruised.’

  ‘It’s water. What can it do?’

  The bay was calm and crystal clear. It was also surprisingly cold, though that could have been because she was unable to swim. The temperature certainly wasn’t bothering Justin.

  After five minutes, Holly gave up and left the water. Picking up her towel, she inadvertently collected Justin’s shirt as well. Putting it back, something slid out of the pocket. A photograph by the look of it. Returning it, she noticed that it was a map of some kind. Probably to do with his research.

  Justin joined her a few minutes later. ‘You’d never guess that this is supposed to be winter. The sea in Britain doesn’t get this warm in summer. Just look at that sunset.’

  It was spectacular. Low storm clouds gathered dark against the horizon. Closer to land, ridged layers of altocumulus floated – mixed meteorological signals, since one warned of rain while the other promised sunshine. All were washed with brilliant orange light which drained the sky of blue, turning it instead a silvery grey. This same colour was reflected in the rippled waters of the lagoon, cut only by ribbons of black lines as boats made their way back to their night-time buoys inside Grand Baie.

  Holly leaned back on her elbows, quickly wished she hadn’t and sat up, hugging her knees. The scenery was fantastic but her mind was on more practical matters. ‘How did it go with the police?’

  ‘Bloody tedious.’

  ‘Did you tell them about being attacked on the beach?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Why not? They must have been curious about your face.’

  ‘If they were, they made no comment. You weren’t there. The business with the room was bad enough. It took hours. In the end all I did was make a statement and list what had been damaged.’

  ‘Nothing missing?’

  ‘Not from the room, no.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I think something was stolen from my pocket when we were knocked down.’

  ‘You think. Don’t you know?’

  ‘It was just a sheet of paper. I may have dropped it without noticing.’

  ‘What makes you think it might have been stolen?’

  ‘Competitors. Someone else working on the same research.’ He shrugged. ‘I’m only guessing.’

  ‘What was the paper?’

  ‘A map. Possible dodo nesting sites. It’s not a problem, I’ve got a copy of it.’

  The photograph she’d seen in his pocket? It could have been a laminated colour copy. Maybe not. The map looked quite old. Of that she was certain. All she said, however, was, ‘It’s getting dark. If you don’t mind, Justin, I’ve had enough of this beach at night.’

  ‘We’ve got another half-hour. Besides, there are plenty of people about.’

  They were right in front of the hotel and in full view of at least fifty people. It didn’t make Holly feel any more secure. As they went back through the terraced bar area, she reflected that the attack last night must have rattled her more than she knew.

  Holly had declined the offered sundowner. She wanted to play back her interview with Madame Liang and perhaps make a start on the tourist piece. That was the plan. She thought she’d just lie down for a moment first. When the phone woke her it was fully dark outside. Reaching out to stop the incessant shrill a sharp pain suggested sitting up first. She swung her legs off the bed and picked up the receiver. ‘Holly Jones.’

  ‘It’s Connor. Got some great news. You doing anything tonight?’

  ‘Well, I . . .’

  ‘Good. Pick you up in half-an-hour.’

  So much for work! After a quick shower, Holly pulled a pair of brown chinos from the wardrobe, went to put them on, shook her head and delved back into the cupboard. Not much choice but the taupe slacks would look better, especially with a white blouse. She surveyed herself critically. Since coming to Mauritius she’d picked up a little colour on her face. Nothing wrong with adding a shade more. Blusher and lipstick, nothing special. A dab of perfume behind the ears. The hair dryer worked well and her short cut needed no special attention. She looked at her reflection and nodded, satisfied. The suntan had masked the tension lines around her mouth. On closer inspection, she saw that they were actually fading. Must be smiling more, she thought. Come to that, and despite last night’s little drama, she was feeling happier. Quinn had been right. Perhaps it was the complete change of tempo in this holiday haven, or maybe it was the tropical surroundings, or even something as simple as the perfect weather. Whatever it was, last night aside, this assignment was good for her.

  A plain, no-nonsense cafe and bar at Cap Malheureux, north-east of Grand Baie, was Connor’s destination. Creole curries appeared to be their speciality. Remembering her large and rich lunch, Holly ordered an entree only.

  Connor didn’t seem in any hurry to tell her his news. Instead, she found herself listening to enthusiastic talk of future plans. It was remarkable to hear him speak of opportunities just waiting to be tapped. He had a clear-eyed view of what would work and what wouldn’t, employing others with the necessary skills or experience to implement his visions. He was also a great believer in the value of the veteran, rather than automatically choosing young, highly qualified but inexperienced candidates for a job. The strategy clearly worked. That, plus leaving day-to-day decision-making to those appointe
d to make them, rather than interfering and imposing his own instructions. Connor obviously believed in the worthiness of people, and showing appreciation for a job well done.

  ‘It costs nothing,’ he was saying. ‘It works for you and it works for those around you. In the end, everyone wins.’

  ‘A policy more people should adopt. Those fortunate enough to have the opportunity are so often on their own personal ego trip.’

  He smiled slightly. ‘Such a waste of energy.’

  ‘I agree, but let’s not forget that at least one person I could mention never had to fight for what he’s got.’

  Again, a little smile. There was that damned dimple. ‘Okay, I may have been born with a silver spoon in my mouth. Is that some kind of crime?’

  She smiled back. ‘I guess not. Now, are you going to tell me what this great news is?’

  Excitement lit his eyes. ‘Remember I’d found a Maguire in the phone book? Turned out to be a Thomas Maguire. As soon as I told him my name he insisted I come and see him. Nice chap. When I explained what I was looking for . . .’

  ‘The treasure?’

  ‘What do you think? Patience, dear girl. Information about William. Family tree stuff.’

  Holly pulled a wry face.

  ‘Give me a break! I couldn’t just tell them I’m here to find their ancestor’s treasure.’

  ‘Sorry.’

  ‘As I was saying, when I explained what I was looking for Thomas said that I should talk to his sister. He called her up and she came over. She’s a nun. Works at a convent school in Mahébourg. Her name is Kathleen. Like her brother, very enthusiastic at meeting another Maguire. She proved extremely helpful. Filled in a lot of blanks. Even offered to show me the site of William’s house. We went there this afternoon. It overlooks old Grand Port. I’d never have found it on my own. Not much to see but there’s a kind of atmosphere about the place.’

  ‘And did you eventually . . . ?’

  ‘Holly, what do you take me for? Give me some credit. Of course I told her about the journal.’

  ‘What did she say?’