by Di Morrissey
Christina put her fork down and neatly dabbed at her mouth with the paper napkin. ‘Well, as you’ve drawn attention to me, I’ll tell you. Since I’ve been working around the aged you can’t help but notice as people get older their manners go downhill. I want to make sure I don’t start losing my social graces.’
They all laughed. ‘Mum, you’re young! wouldn’t worry. If you start drooling I’ll let you know.’
‘Goodness, Jennifer, you don’t have to say things like that. Even if I am about to become a grandmother,’ said Christina stiffly.
Mac downed his coffee. ‘Well, if we’re going north, we should hit the road fairly soon. Are you joining us, Christina?’
‘We can take you home to change,’ said Jennifer.
‘Very well. A little trip would be nice. I don’t get away much, you know,’ she sighed.
Lloyd and Mac, catching Jennifer’s eye, kept quiet.
In the car Christina was a different person. Mac and Jennifer sat in the back and Lloyd drove with Christina, who was keeping up a bubbling narrative of amusing stories about people at the hospital. Lloyd laughed and Mac made a few dry asides that either went over Christina’s head or she chose to ignore.
Lloyd’s father, Heath, was under a boat hauled up on a boat cradle in the slipway. An older, weathered version of Lloyd, in his paint-spattered shorts, old shirt, canvas shoes and cotton hat, he nonetheless managed to look at ease, comfortable in his surroundings. Jennifer suspected he was not a man at home in office garb or surroundings. He whipped off his hat, and offered a shy smile and a firm handshake.
‘How’s that pal of yours?’
‘He’ll be fine, Dad. We can’t stay long. How’s our boat?’
‘She’s in the water. The seams have settled, no more water coming in. Just a bit of the frilly stuff to do. Upholstery, galley gear. She’ll be ready next week. I’ll bring her over and take that cat back, eh?’
‘Great. Tony and I will take her for a test run.’
‘Tony sails?’ asked Jennifer.
‘Didn’t you know? He’s done a lot of sailing in his time. I reckon that’s one of the reasons he’s settled on the coast,’ said Mac.
‘Do you like boats, Mrs Campbell?’
‘No, Heath, I don’t. I married a farmer and lived in the bush for many years. Though I was originally a city girl. My husband disappeared in a boating accident.’
Jennifer looked at her mother in surprise. It was the first time she’d ever heard her mother refer to her father. The phrase was almost glib the way it tripped off her tongue.
‘Sorry to hear that. Well, come and have a look then. For an old girl she’s scrubbed up well.’
‘You’ve put in a lot of work, Dad,’ said Lloyd as he followed his father through the clutter around the boatshed. Heath Dane held out his hand and escorted Christina over the slips and past several upturned dinghies, empty paint and diesel drums, rusting bits of boat rudders and other boat accoutrements that he was obviously reluctant to throw away in case they came in handy one day. Christina seemed unfazed, almost flirtatious.
‘There she is, on that blue buoy next to the cruiser.’ They looked at the freshly painted old wooden sloop, the sails furled, the deck polished, the hatch and trim painted a deep blue.
‘Wow, she’s lovely,’ said Mac.
‘She’s come up real good, Dad. You’d never know she’s twenty years old.’
‘She’s had a bit of a facelift and cosmetic touches, but, like a beautiful woman, age enhances her character.’ He nodded at Christina who gave him a big smile.
Mac, Lloyd and his dad rowed out to the yacht for a closer look as Christina and Jennifer sat on the jetty in the sun.
‘They seem nice enough people,’ said Christina conversationally. ‘Not Blair’s type though, I would have thought. Seems to me you and Blair have rather different interests over there.’
How can you tell? I’m not saying anything. ‘It’s a small place, we overlap. He’s pleased I have an interest as he’s so busy.’
‘And the baby?’
‘Great. I feel really good.’
‘I meant Blair. I hope he’s going to be a modern father.’
‘Sure he will. We have to share the workload where we can, of course. I mean, his job is more important . . .’ Her voice trailed off. Jennifer felt irritated that her mother had brought up the subject.
‘Because he’s the breadwinner?’
‘One of us has to earn an income. I won’t be earning much of a salary until I finish my honours.’
‘I suppose I’ll be doing the babysitting.’
‘Thanks, Mum, but let’s wait till I have a job, eh?’
‘I can’t imagine what sort of a job, you just seem to study odd things. But, Jennifer, if you ever need money . . . I have a little tucked away.’
What Jennifer thought of as her mother’s disingenuousness disappeared and she sounded genuine and concerned for the first time that day. How had she picked up on the rift between her and Blair? ‘That’s lovely of you to offer, but I can cope, really I can. I’ve learned a lot over there. About myself and managing my life. I have some very special friends.’
‘That’s nice for you. Be careful though. People hanging about on an island don’t sound very stable people. And this friend in the hospital . . . they’re not into drugs, are they?’
‘Mum! You’re reading too many thrillers,’ laughed Jennifer.
‘Oh, I hear things. You’d be surprised. A man was stabbed on a boat just last week. Headland Bay might look like a casual holiday town, but I’ve heard about more crime than I ever did in Sydney.’
‘You didn’t take any notice of such things in Sydney. And you weren’t working in a hospital or talking to gossipy small-town people. Now come on, let’s have a bit of a look around.’
When the three men returned they walked back to the car.
‘You want to have lunch with us, Dad? Just fish and chips at the co-op?’
‘Thanks, son, better get this job finished. I’ll be in touch before I bring your boat over.’
‘We’ll bung on a bit of a party. Sort of a christening. What do you say?’ said Mac.
‘Ah, no fuss. But I wouldn’t mind catching up with old Gideon.’
‘You’re on. We’ll have it at the Shark Bar.’
‘Sounds good. How’s the resort getting along? Making money or are those blokes spending it all?’ asked Heath.
‘What blokes?’ asked Jennifer, suddenly alert. ‘Do you mean the slick boys?’
‘Those resort bigwigs cruising around in that gin palace. Saw them the other day at the providores taking on supplies for a bit of a trip,’ said Heath.
Jennifer rolled her eyes. ‘Some job. They never seem to be in an office.’
‘They can justify it by saying they’re checking out the scenery, I suppose,’ said Lloyd.
‘They took a lot of stuff on board. Don’t know why they don’t call in to Sooty or any other place up the coast. They have a funny crew, none of the locals who normally crew charters,’ commented Heath.
‘Maybe they’re talking business and don’t want outsiders listening,’ Mac joked.
‘I heard there’s a floating brothel up here,’ said Christina.
They turned to Jennifer’s mother in surprise as she hadn’t seemed to be paying much attention to their conversation.
‘What! Who have you been talking to, Mum?’
‘I don’t live in a shell, Jennifer. I do see people from time to time,’ she said airily.
Earlier you were saying you never gotto socialise. ‘Really? What kind of people? Where was this?’
‘At the tennis club.’ She gave a cheeky grin, pleased with the bombshell she’d dropped. ‘There’s a retired detective who plays on Thursdays. He has a story or two.’
‘Well, I hope Reef Resorts’ boat isn’t being used for anything untoward,’ said Jennifer.
‘You should ask Blair about it,’ said her mother. ‘Thank you so much, Lloyd.
It’s been a lovely outing.’
In the late afternoon Tony walked along the beach towards the jetty, turning in to the resort. The helicopter was sitting on its pad and when he passed the pool he saw Rosie and Bob the pilot sitting at a terrace table. Rosie waved him over.
‘Like a drink, Tony?’
‘A light beer wouldn’t go astray.’ He sat down, putting his camera on the table. ‘You had a bit of a late dash last night,’ he said to Bob.
‘Handy I was here. Hope Rudi’s okay.’
‘We’ll know tonight when Mac gets back,’ said Tony.
Rosie had an envelope on the table, which she pushed across to Tony. ‘On a flight this morning, Bob spotted Kicking Back. Thought we’d be interested. Take a look.’
Tony flipped through the photos. ‘Nice work if you can get it.’ Stretched out on the deck of Kicking Back were three women sunning themselves topless. Fanzio, Holding and two other men were seated on the flying bridge.
‘They were heading out to sea. Quite a way out. Maybe they’re going to Hawaii,’ said Bob. ‘Thought I’d take a few shots of the bosses for Rosie.’
‘What have you been up to, Tony?’ asked Rosie, more out of politeness than interest.
‘Wandering around. I ended up having a very interesting conversation with your maintenance fellow.’
‘Patch? You talked with him?’
‘That’s tricky. He’s got a terrible stutter,’ said Bob. ‘Poor bastard. One eye, a stutter and a reputation as a pervert.’
‘Has he ever molested anyone?’ asked Tony.
‘The staff girls complain he’s a bit of a peeping Tom. I don’t think he’s ever touched anyone. There’s gossip but no one has ever complained officially. I think he’s harmless. We keep him on as he’s been here since the place was built.’
‘He does feel some sort of proprietary interest in what goes on,’ said Tony. ‘He hinted he was keeping an eye on things.’
They all laughed.
‘What else do you know about him, Rosie?’
‘Patch? Came with the territory. He knows his job. I rarely have direct dealings with him, apart from occasional exchanges when there’s a problem. Gideon told me he had some family trauma and he was kind of guaranteed a job here. He is a good mechanic, fix-it man.’
‘He’s well read too. Have you seen the books in his shed?’ said Tony.
‘Yeah, I noticed them when I got some oil from him one day,’ said Bob. ‘If he wasn’t so shy and speaking wasn’t so difficult for him, I’d try and chat.’
‘What were you talking to him for, Tony?’ asked Rosie curiously.
‘I noticed the luggage trolleys were stored up there. I wondered if he knew one had gone missing last night. He went a bit quiet. I reckon he knows who borrowed it.’
‘Someone was trying to carry off Rudi’s stuff when Tony and Jenny interrupted,’ Rosie explained to Bob.
‘You think it was Patch?’
‘Don’t think so, Bob. But I reckon with a bit of patience Patch might have some interesting things to say.’
17
Parting of the Waves
A WEEK LATER ON a blustery white-capped, tossed sea day, Rudi returned to the island, his reappearance kept low-key. Mac knew he was concerned about the break-in, especially as they’d discovered that a small phial that held some of the potent extract was missing.
‘It’s so new, I can’t imagine how anyone knew what I’d stumbled across. Other scientists have made similar discoveries, it’s just these particular marine plants hadn’t been tested before. And who knows what the effects are? If my reaction to the fumes is any indication, it’s powerful stuff.’
‘It has to be someone on the island who heard what you were finding and figured they could use it somehow.’
‘You mean one of our researchers? I don’t think so,’ said Rudi vehemently. ‘Besides, until I was bowled over I hardly knew what I had myself.’
Mac was thoughtful. ‘It’s not a nice thought, but it wouldn’t be the first time a researcher or student has sold or passed on information. But I think I know this group pretty well and it’s not one of them.’
‘One of them could have mentioned it to someone outside our group though,’ said Rudi.
‘I think a round-table discussion might be helpful,’ said Mac.
Tony spread the latest batch of photos on the table in his room. He separated one group out and studied them before putting them to one side. They were a series of informal shots he’d taken of Isobel and Jennifer over the last few weeks. He smiled as he looked at the two women – candid scenes at meals, at Gideon’s, walking on the beach, the two of them bent over notes outside Mac’s, arms around each other’s waists at the lagoon. It was an intimate portrait of a flowering friendship, of two women a generation apart who now had a bond of respect and warmth, one learning from the other who gave knowledge, advice and a sharing of experience. As a male and an outsider, Tony found the relationship touching, intriguing and, if he was honest, one he envied.
The photos for his second feature article on the research station and its work, he put in another pile. Mentally he reviewed his story plans: The Endangered Reef. Loss of a World Icon. A look at the formation, the life it sustains and its imminent destruction by humans.
Lady of the Deep. Dr Isobel Belitas, world renowned oceanographer mapping the last mysteries of the planet – the unexplored world at the bottom of the sea.
Saviours of the Sea. The scientists, researchers and students unravelling answers from the ocean that could save humanity.
Island of Sun and Shadows. Apparently insignificant, a small island that’s part of the Great Barrier Reef, home to protected species, international tourists, scientists, is also where several characters have washed ashore: beachcombers, booties, business entrepreneurs and budding biologists.
On paper it sounded bland. But when he thought of his cast of characters . . . Gideon, Rosie, Jennifer, the slick boys, Rudi and Patch, and what he’d observed of the two different communities of resort and research station, he saw a bigger picture. From the scientific work, the nature and wildlife, the tourists wanting sun, sea, sex and sunsets, the young research graduates and the resort staffies, to the mysterious activities of Fanzio and Holding with the speculation of what they might be up to with or without company knowledge, and the break-in at Rudi’s lab . . . well, that sounded like an in-depth story.
He put his notes in a pile and decided to go for a wander around the resort. To anyone watching, it appeared to be a casual meander through the bird-filled trees, past the landscaped resort units and further away to where the main laundry, machinery, generator, water tanks, vehicles and equipment were housed. Camouflaged, muffled, as far from guests as possible, this was the engine room that ran the resort.
Outside the machinery shed where repairs and maintenance were done, Tony spotted the shambling figure of Patch carrying a length of metal pipe. He stopped, greeted him, and with his hands clasped behind his back Tony strolled beside Patch as he clamped the pipe into the vice.
As they chatted, the older man straightened, adjusted his eye patch, took off his towelling hat, ran his fingers through his grey hair and then reached for a cigarette from his shirt pocket. Tony listened patiently, nodding occasionally, his arms folded in front of his chest as the man talked slowly through his stutter. Nobody witnessed the conversation, and stubbing out his cigarette the old man returned to the thread-cutting fixture on the vice. Tony watched for a moment or two, spoke again, and walked slowly away with a studied casualness as if the encounter was all part of his morning walk.
Jennifer sat with Mac at the table in his cottage, feeling overwhelmed and frustrated. Piles of folders and papers were beside her and they both were studying the image on his laptop screen of a turtle hatchling.
‘So, if I’m looking at the analysis of turtle reproductive success on Branch Island I should be out there taking the temperature of the nests, right?’ said Jennifer.
‘Yes,
the temperature inside the sand mound where the eggs were laid will determine the turtles’ gender.’
‘Thirty degrees and above, they’ll be female; twenty-eight degrees and below, they’ll be male,’ said Jennifer.
‘And in between mixed.’
‘So if part of the nest is shaded by a tree, does that mean those eggs will be male?’
‘Quite possibly. That can be part of your research. As well as the number of eggs each female lays through the different breeding seasons.’
‘And out of those three or four egg-layings, how many hatchlings survive,’ added Jennifer. ‘And the mother isn’t there to see them. Probably just as well. Crocodiles also have their sex determined by the incubation temperature, don’t they?’
‘Yes. And I have a theory that so were dinosaurs, which explains why they died out. Apart from the meteorite that crashed into the earth, causing a global catastrophe. As the earth cooled during the Cretaceous period sixty-five million years ago, it must have affected the eggs, so eventually only males hatched and with no females they died out.’
‘See, you can’t do without us,’ laughed Jennifer. ‘Have you published this theory?’
‘I was thinking about it until some guy in America floated it. You’ve got to publish or perish in academia, Jenny. Luckily, you’re a fine writer. It can often make the difference between first-class and second-class honours. And we want you to get first-class, then you can go straight for the big doctoral scholarship.’
‘But there’s so much to get through!’ she wailed. ‘Look at all this stuff. I could spend every minute of my time just reading.’
‘Train yourself to speed read and pick out what’s applicable. Find the right references. You’ll most likely have at least a hundred and fifty to two hundred cited references for your thesis. And be prepared for the stress and hassle towards the deadline. It always happens.’
