The Bay

by Di Morrissey

  ‘She was known as a bit of a recluse, alone in that house for so many years. She finally went into the Anglican nursing home,’ said Sid.

  ‘And she never knew that Erik survived,’ sighed Tor.

  ‘What was the story there?’ Sid asked. ‘What did the family in Norway tell her? Why didn’t they send the boy back?’

  ‘Ah, families, complex and emotional. I cannot make excuses for what happened, but my grandmother has put the story together from letters and diaries,’ Tor said. ‘Lars fell out with his parents over the girl he wished to marry. So he sailed away and became a whaling captain. He married Hannah in Australia, had the two sons and over the years they exchanged just a few letters with the family in Norway.’

  ‘But he did take the sons back to visit. Trying to patch things up, no doubt,’ said Mac as they walked slowly between the gravestones. ‘Tragic loss. A storm you said.’

  ‘Erik survived, and was sent to his grandparents in Norway. Lars’s mother could not give him up, she had lost her only son when he ran away to sea. So they sent word to Australia that both sons had perished.’

  Sid shook his head. ‘And what about the lad, surely he asked about his mother back in Australia?’

  ‘Hannah stayed behind because she was expecting a child. They told Erik she’d died in childbirth. A sorry story, yes?’

  ‘Bloody dreadful. Still, you’re here. And I reckon Hannah knows you’re here,’ said the old man.

  Mac linked her arm through Tor’s. ‘I believe she knows you have come back. It will put her soul at peace. She has been lost and lonely for a long time. Trapped in that house.’

  ‘I saw her,’ said Tor quietly. ‘Holly knew she was there.’

  ‘She is released now. The circle is complete. But then you knew that when you encountered the whale, didn’t you?’

  Tor nodded. ‘I felt a release. I never understood why all my life I have felt such pain and guilt over whaling when Norway is, you know . . . still whaling. And knowing my ancestors were whalers.’

  ‘Now you can acknowledge and celebrate the fact the whales are here, that we are learning more about them. And you can contribute to that,’ said Mac. ‘While you’re here, doing your post-graduate work.’

  ‘I have such a strange feeling I will stay here. I think I knew that when I left,’ he paused. ‘I think my mother knew it too, which is why she gave me my grandmother’s material that she’d compiled about Hannah and Lars.’

  ‘Life here will be a bit of a change from back over there,’ commented Sid, who hadn’t quite grasped their talk about spirits.

  ‘Don’t worry about change, Tor,’ Mac said. ‘It’s something that can happen so very beautifully around here, and often in ways you hadn’t expected. You just wait and see.’

  Eddie peered through the viewfinder at Tor on the track up to the lighthouse, lifted his arm and signalled to him to begin walking towards the camera. He had decided Tor made a perfect peg for his doco, which had been lacking a clear focus in terms of a central figure. With whatever came out of the protest rally, the council, and what the girls would be piecing together at their Sun downers meeting this afternoon, he knew he had the ingredients for a hot and colourful story.

  By the time Tor had finished looking around the lighthouse, Tina had spread out Hannah’s diary, some pages marked with notated tags, photographs and logbooks from the Lady Richmond. Then she left him to enter the distant world of his Australian-based ancestors. She knew it was going to be an emotional journey back in time.

  Two hours later she and Eddie spotted Tor standing at the parapet of the lighthouse looking over The Bay. In his mind’s eye he was seeing how it might have been when Hannah and Lars had first sailed in, and when Lars sailed out on that fateful voyage in 1908. He wiped away another tear, took a deep breath and waved to them.

  When he came down he hugged Tina and shook Eddie’s hand. ‘I can’t thank you enough for what you’ve done to make this day such a memorable one. I’m sure Hannah and Lars thank you as well.’

  ‘It’s not over yet. We’ve been invited to the Sundowners meeting. Let’s go,’ said Tina picking up Hannah’s diary. ‘Apparently Kimberley has some big news.’

  ‘Is it too early for champers?’ asked Nola, pulling the bottle from the ice bucket anyway. ‘Eddie, as we have gentlemen here today, you can do the honours. Stolle, pass the glasses.’

  ‘Shouldn’t we wait for Holly?’ said Lynn.

  ‘She’ll be here soon,’ said Mac. ‘What’s your news, Kimberley?’

  Kimberley stood up. ‘Well, first of all let’s make a toast to welcome Tor.’

  Nola recognised her oversight and resumed command. ‘Indeed, a very special guest. Welcome to The Bay, Tor.’

  Mac gave him a special smile. ‘Welcome home.’

  It was taken up by everyone. ‘Welcome home, Tor.’

  Tor rose to his feet in acknowledgment. ‘Thank you all so very much for making me welcome. Today has been one of the most memorable in my life. Thank you again.’

  As he sat down Holly bustled in and gave him a kiss and hug. ‘I’ve brought your family letters and papers,’ she whispered and handed him the envelope.

  Kimberley reached for her folder and suddenly everyone was attentive. ‘I’ve gone through all the records and paperwork that’s available at this point. In summary, the Richmond Whaling Company was owned by an American group and managed here for a number of years by Lars Nilsen. Now, according to documents Buck got from the Registrar General’s Office and the Lands Department in Sydney, at some stage early this century the ownership of the company passed to Lars and Hannah Nilsen; they acquired all the shares. With the ownership of the company went the ownership of Mighty Beach.’

  There was a chorus of gasps and everyone started talking at once. Nola clinked a teaspoon on her champagne glass. ‘Order, please. Order. Go on, Kimberley.’

  ‘To avoid any confusion, I should point out that Richmond House was on a separate title and has changed hands several times since Hannah died. No problems there,’ Kimberley said. ‘Hannah eventually sold the total shareholding of Richmond Whaling Company to Eureka Developments, a Bay-based company set up by Sam Mann. And with the deal went the land.’

  This time there was a stunned silence. She went on: ‘Eureka took title of the land, and a year later sold it to Beacon Land Holdings. The Richmond Whaling Company went out of existence as a company with no assets.’

  Holly rose immediately. ‘A question please. From what you’ve seen of the documents from Sydney and at council, is there any question about the legality of all of this?’

  ‘It looks completely kosher. All the legal work was done by the late Gordon Sweetman, an old mate of Sam’s, apparently, and father of local solicitor Letitia Sweetman. Letitia is associated with both Sam and Beacon in the current Mighty Beach project.’

  ‘Are there any others?’ Holly asked.

  Tor had been leafing through the papers Holly had given him and comparing them with documents Kimberley had put on the table. ‘According to the paperwork you have here,’ he said, ‘the ownership of the land passed from Hannah to Eureka in early 1966. Right?’

  Kimberley checked her notes. ‘Yes. Correct.’

  ‘Well, that is very odd, because this morning I went to Hannah’s grave and the headstone records her death as June 1965.’

  Nola spoke what was in everyone’s mind. ‘Oh dear. Hanky-panky.’

  Eddie decided it was time to say something. ‘For some months now Tina and I have been going through the diaries and logbooks stored at the lighthouse, most of them related to the Nilsen family. Some time ago we found an entry in Hannah’s diary that recorded Lars being given shares in the company as a bonus for a good year’s production of whale oil. We didn’t think anything more about it until now, but that entry certainly confirms the family had a strong financial interest in the company, and the land. It makes sense that later Lars would take up more shares, if he got the opportunity. What do you think, Tina?�
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  ‘Well, I’ve read every entry Hannah wrote in those diaries,’ she said. ‘Hannah and Lars clearly developed a great love of this place and had faith in the future of the whaling industry. They could never imagine the very different situation today. Yes, buying out the American owners would certainly make sense. What I can’t understand is how the title deeds got into the hands of Sam Mann, after Hannah died. If that is what happened.’

  The key documents were passed around, and Mac and Tor found themselves sharing views on what they were reading. He was surprised when Mac gave an involuntary shudder. ‘Something wrong, Mac?’

  ‘Yes, there is. The writing, Hannah’s signature on the copy of the land title when it was transferred to Eureka, it’s giving me bad vibes.’ He glanced at her a little puzzled, then looked again at the signature. Without saying anything he went back through his family papers.

  ‘These are letters from Hannah to our family after she first arrived here. They somehow got handed down through the family and were eventually given to me. Have a look,’ Tor said.

  Mac took them, glanced through the content, and then studied the signature at the end of each letter. ‘Totally consistent signatures,’ she said. Then she very carefully compared them with the signature on the deeds. ‘Different,’ she announced. ‘Not by the same hand. A forgery, I’d say.’

  A press of people clustered around the table, each studying the various signatures, each noting real or imagined differences. It was Holly who took the initiative and got the attention of everyone. ‘Friends, a little bit of quiet please,’ she called. ‘We can all see what this is suggesting and it doesn’t look good for certain people. On the face of it we have a forged signature on a transaction made with a dead person. We need to get a legal opinion before taking another step. We should not go public with this information until getting that opinion. Agreed?’

  There was a murmur of assent, then Nola took over. ‘I believe this is going to be a sunset to remember,’ she said waving a glass at the light show on the horizon. ‘Please help yourself to another champers and let’s pray our luck continues.’

  ‘Luck?’ said Mac quietly to Holly. ‘More than that, I’m sure.’

  Holly nodded in agreement and their glasses touched in salute. ‘To Hannah,’ they both said.

  Street stalls were set up outside shops, market stalls were trading under umbrellas and canvas awnings were strung along the grassy verge of Beach Road. Busy Friday morning shoppers and tourists fossicked through the heaps of home-made gifts, clothes, food and knick-knacks. A chocolate wheel and raffles by local services clubs raising money for charities added to the atmosphere.

  Lynn and Stolle had set up their stall and were pleased with how the morning sales were going. As it was a ‘townie’ market they hadn’t set out bulky antiques and furniture but limited their offerings to two long tables of old china, linen, books, silver, and a few ornaments and cushion covers. They were next to a stall selling honey and beeswax products and Lynn was talking to the stallholder about the medicinal virtues of jellybush honey.

  Stolle leaned back in his chair thinking he might tackle a surf later in the day. Maybe Tor would like to go with him.

  A heavy-set man who obviously worked out, judging by his bulging muscles and well-proportioned physique, strolled up to browse. He interested Stolle who fancied himself as a bit of a people watcher. This man didn’t look like a tourist, he wasn’t casually dressed nor was he a local. Definitely a city slicker – the mobile phone on his belt, the fancy watch, gold chain. Someone a bit different, Stolle concluded.

  ‘Howdy. You’re new in town, on holidays?’

  The man shrugged and studied the selection of ornaments. ‘Just passing through. Wouldn’t mind hanging about, nice place. Bit quiet.’

  ‘Not if you know where the action is. We make our own fun. Do you want to know what’s happening in town? Bands? Pubs? The tourist info people are down the road.’ Stolle indicated the direction.

  ‘Ah no, thanks. You got any Disney characters?’

  ‘You mean like, Mickey Mouses, Goofy? Look over there where the toys are.’

  A smile broke out on the man’s face as he picked up a plastic Minnie Mouse in a spotted frock and big red shoes. ‘I’ll take this.’

  Stolle was surprised. ‘Gift for your daughter?’

  ‘Nah. Me. I collect ’em.’

  ‘Oh, righto. There you go, five bucks.’

  The man looked pleased with his purchase and the price. You can’t always pick ’em, Stolle decided, turning his attention to two backpackers.

  Tor had wandered among the market stalls, then went down to see Billy. He wanted his long blond hair trimmed. ‘I am starting to feel like a local,’ he said.

  ‘That’s good. Doesn’t take long to make friends in this town. Hop into this chair, got a slack time so you’re in luck. So when are you off to uni?’ asked Billy.

  ‘I have another month before I start. Tina at the lighthouse introduced me to the Southern Cross Centre for Whale Research. It interests me very much so I might do some volunteer work with them, help monitor the whales and record their songs – most fascinating.’

  ‘Yeah. We all love the big ’uns, wonderful creatures. But I tell you what, if that International Whaling Commission doesn’t do the right thing, we can kiss the whales goodbye. It’s nothing but a bloody fishing club.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ Tor asked.

  ‘They’re scrapping the South Pacific Whale Sanctuary which goes from here right across the Pacific. Soon it will be back to the bad old days of wholesale whale slaughter.’

  ‘That would be terrible,’ exclaimed Tor.

  ‘It’s greed. When the whales are gone they’ll eat the dolphins. And if we can’t save the whales and dolphins how can we fight for environmental issues that aren’t so obvious?’

  ‘Well, I will raise my voice as best I can,’ Tor said in a very decisive tone.

  ‘You sound like you’ve just declared war,’ joked Billy. ‘That short enough on the top?’

  Tor grinned and nodded approval. He had indeed made a decision – that he would use his skills and knowledge in marine studies to concentrate on cetacean research and the preservation of whales in the Southern Hemisphere. A brief stop in the hairdressing shop in The Bay had shown him his path for the rest of his life.

  Letitia left her office to walk along Beach Street for a quiet lunch at her favourite cafe; it was a routine she followed most days. She was cutting through a carpark when someone called.

  ‘Letitia. A word.’

  She stopped, surprised to see Sam getting out of his red Mercedes.

  ‘I thought you would be headed this way. The office tipped me off when I phoned. Hop in for a minute. Fairly important.’ He opened the passenger door for her.

  ‘Sure, Sam.’

  ‘I’ll make this brief. We’ve never talked much about the past, like when you were a kid, but as you know your father and I were old mates. We both came to town about the same time, bright, young and ambitious. We weren’t even thirty. I was a builder, keen to get on council, your dad a smart new solicitor. We were a good team.’ Sam nervously lit up a cigarette. ‘You don’t mind, do you?’

  ‘Just put the windows down and I’ll survive. What’s the point you want to make?’

  ‘Well, it’s about the little Eureka enterprise we set up way back then. I was wondering if old Gordon left the files around. Eureka only lasted a year or so.’

  ‘Oddly enough, I came across them only the other day,’ she said calmly but noting his surprise, then added, ‘quite by accident. Anyway, I glanced through them and everything is okay. Professional habit, I suppose.’

  Sam took a deep drag on the cigarette then twisted in his seat to face her and lowered his voice. ‘Get rid of that file. In the wrong hands it might damage us all and stuff up the Mighty Beach deal.’

  ‘Sam, who decided to set up Eureka? You? Or my father?’

  ‘Like I said, we were a team.’<
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  ‘You scratch my back, I’ll scratch yours,’ said Letitia. ‘Why are you so worried? I don’t want to see this deal fall over.’

  ‘Good girl. Like father, like daughter.’ He stubbed out the cigarette and put on his gold-rimmed sunglasses. ‘Thanks, Letitia. I’m off to my golf game. Enjoy lunch.’

  She didn’t. The conversation had forced disturbing images into her mind, images from the Eureka file, particularly several enigmatic notes written in her father’s hand and attached to some vital documents.

  Sam declared it had been the worst round of golf he’d ever played, and his usual golfing companions heartily agreed with the assessment.

  ‘Your mind must be on other things, Sam,’ said one of them back at the clubhouse bar.

  ‘Yeah. That’s the understatement of the year.’

  To ease the pain he had a few more drinks than usual with the Friday-special lunch. On Fridays his wife would be at bowls by the time he got home, so he could sleep off the over-indulgence before she returned.

  It therefore came as a surprise when he arrived home to find a car parked outside. He didn’t recognise the white Commodore, but hoped Freda hadn’t come in early and brought some bowlers along. He garaged the car and walked out to the sunroom but stopped in his tracks as he opened the French doors. A complete stranger sat in his chair. A big man, and he was twiddling a Disney toy, a Minnie Mouse.

  ‘Hello, Sam. I let myself in.’

  ‘Who the hell are you and what are you doing in my house?’

  ‘The General sent me, Sam. I’m Tony.’

  Sam did a double take. ‘The General? Oh, the General. Oh, right. You gave me a fright for a moment.’ He held out his hand in greeting, but the big man ignored it.

  ‘Have a good round of golf?’

  ‘Lousy. Care for a drink?’

  ‘Already poured myself one from your bar, thanks,’ he said, casually indicating a large Scotch and ice on the desk.

  The visitor showed no indication of getting out of the big lounge chair so Sam pulled up an office chair from the other side of his desk. ‘What can I do for you, and the General, then?’