She gave a deep, sad sigh as she stood there in the darkness, her thoughts jumbled and confused. They had spent little time apart – except for the war years and then they’d both been too busy to think of anything but the task in hand. Of course she’d been worried about the number of missions he was flying. Of course she was devastated when he’d turned up on her ward looking so ill they were frightened he wouldn’t make it through the night. She would have felt the same about any friend.
Olivia lit a rare cigarette and blew smoke through the screens where it drifted on the sluggish air. It was impossible to make any sensible judgements when it was so hot, she thought crossly. If only this damn storm would break and give them all a breathing space – she might be able to sort this mess out and find a way of easing his hurt.
*
‘She’s coming your way, mate, and she’s a beaut, so batten down the hatches. Over.’
Sam flicked a switch on the two–way radio. ‘How fast? Over.’
‘Like a bloody train,’ came the reply from the weather station at Cape York. ‘Stacked like Rita Hayworth, and twice as dangerous.’
Sam grinned at the images this conjured up. ‘When can we expect her? Over.’
‘We’re talking cyclone, here, mate. Sometime tomorrow, I reckon. She’s finished with Thursday Island and is heading towards us here at the Cape.’ The crackling intensified. ‘Gotta go, mate. Good luck.’
Sam broke the connection and sat back. He and Maggie had done all they could about protecting the hotel. The windows had been boarded over, the bar cleared of all the glass, the furniture stacked away and the shutters nailed tight. The Aboriginals had more sense, they’d gone walkabout a couple of days back and probably wouldn’t be seen again until everything was over. His horse would have to take its chances along with everything else, and had been turned out into the paddock.
He sighed as he leaned back in the chair and surveyed his room. It looked bare now he’d packed up his things and stored them beneath the hotel. Life in this tropical paradise had its compensations, but this wouldn’t be the first storm he’d lived through and he doubted it would be the last. Yet he was glad he had someone with medical knowledge on the place – they might need Olivia if things got out of hand.
He pushed away from the two–way radio and ran his fingers through his hair. He was on edge, infused with the same electricity that seemed to be charging the air. He knew he wouldn’t sleep tonight and felt the need for company – Maggie’s company. With a grin of pleasure he realised he missed her when she wasn’t around, and enjoyed their sparring when she was. Maggie had managed to break through the veneer of aloneness he’d erected, and he found he didn’t mind at all.
Peering through the side window, he saw her light was still blazing across the yard. Before he could change his mind, he grabbed a couple of beers on his way through the bar, and was soon knocking at her door.
‘I can’t sleep either,’ said Maggie as she let him in. ‘The tension in the air is almost unbearable. I wish the damn thing would break.’
Sam followed her into the room and opened the bottles of beer. ‘Got a message on the two–way from Cape York. She should be with us by this time tomorrow.’
Maggie accepted the bottle of beer and took a healthy slug. ‘Why are storms always female?’
‘Because they’re dangerous,’ he retorted with a glint of humour in his eyes.
She turned away from him, her face masked by the sweep of her hair. ‘We will be all right, won’t we?’ Her voice betrayed the inner fear despite the squared shoulders and rigid spine, and he could see the droplets of perspiration on her back and shoulders.
‘You never know with a cyclone,’ he said. He bit his lip. He hadn’t meant to tell her just how serious this particular storm might be. ‘It could blow itself out, or twist off somewheres and miss us completely,’ he added hastily.
‘Cyclone?’ she hissed, her face drained of colour, her eyes dark with fear as she whipped around to face him.
He tried to make light of it. ‘It’s just another name for a storm,’ he said.
‘Yeah,’ she grimaced. ‘Like tornado, hurricane, typhoon – they’re all nasty, especially if they come off the sea.’ She drank the beer straight from the bottle. ‘Bloody hell, Sam,’ she gasped as she wiped her mouth on the back of her hand. ‘Why didn’t you warn us it could be that bad?’
He realised this was no time for silly jokes, or for making light of something that could prove deadly. ‘Sorry, Maggs,’ he said. ‘I just didn’t want you going crook on me.’
Her eyes were rounded. ‘I’d’a done more than go crook on you,’ she spluttered. ‘I’d’a got the hell out while I could.’
‘Exactly,’ he said as he dug his hands in his pockets.
She eyed him thoughtfully for a long while before taking another drink. ‘We still could,’ she said. ‘Make a run for it, I mean, before it hits.’
He shook his head. ‘Everything I own’s tied up in this place. I can’t just leave it, Maggs.’
She looked around the cabin and slowly nodded. ‘Yeah,’ she said. ‘I know what you mean.’ She thought for a moment. ‘What about Giles and Olivia? Have you warned them?’
‘I told Giles this morning we could be in for a serious blast, but apart from Olivia’s safety, he didn’t seem too concerned. Said he’d survived the Luftwaffa, so he could survive a bit of wind.’ He scuffed his boot on the floor. ‘Don’t reckon he understood exactly. The Poms don’t have cyclones.’
‘What about Olivia?’
‘She said she would stay. Insisted on it, thank god. We might need her medical skills if this thing does hit.’
Maggie seemed to have lost her thirst. She put the bottle down and folded her arms tightly around her waist. Her face was pale, her eyes darkly shadowed. ‘I’ve never been in a cyclone,’ she said, her voice unable to disguise the fear. ‘What will it be like?’
Sam decided she should be told the truth – he owed her that much. ‘It will be noisy,’ he said evenly. ‘It will shake the houses and lash the trees and sound like a thousand banshees tearing down on us.’
Her fingers covered her mouth as she blinked like a wide–eyed possum.
Sam thought she had never looked so beautiful, so vulnerable. He opened his arms and she stepped into his embrace. He held her close, his chin resting on her head. ‘No worries, Maggs. We’ll be snug in the hotel and stay there until it blows over. You’ll be right, mate.’
She lifted her chin and looked up into his face. ‘Is that a promise?’ she whispered.
Sam felt as if he was drowning in her eyes. He could feel her warmth, her slenderness against his chest. Could feel the electricity in the air that had nothing to do with the approaching storm. Her lips parted and after only an instant of hesitation, he kissed her.
His breath seemed caught in his chest as her lips moved beneath his, and all the pent–up emotion he’d been so long in denying, spilled over. He never wanted this kiss to end. He needed to hold her, to possess and protect her. With his heart hammering against his ribs he ran his hands over her slender frame, pressing her closer – so close she was crushed against him – so close their breath was intermingled.
Her fingers were working feverishly at the buttons on his shirt as he slipped her dress down over her shoulders. Her skin was like silk, warm and fragrant, and slightly slick with heat, the pulse in her neck so tempting to kiss – to devour – to make his own.
He wrestled with his shirt as Maggie stepped out of her dress. A tide of electric need shot between them as they both hesitated – eyes held, breath held in a moment of pure, aching pleasure – a moment of desire yet to be fulfilled, but the more pleasurable because they knew where it would lead.
And then she was in his arms again. Naked flesh on flesh as she moulded herself to him – her hunger every bit as great as his. He buried his hands in
her hair and she arched her neck, exposing her vulnerability. She ran her fingers down his back, her nails sending a shiver of pleasure right through him.
Sam picked her up and carried her to the bed and as they discovered each other during that long, hot night, all thoughts of cyclones were dismissed.
17
Olivia stood on the beach, her face lifted to the darkening sky as she revelled in the cooling breeze. The rain had yet to come, but she could smell it in the air – could see it in the ominous, swirling cloud that was beginning to obscure the island out to sea.
A lone curlew cried mournfully as it swooped over the empty water and headed for inland shelter. The palm trees were swaying, their fronds dipping low to the sand, as the sea glowered, sliding pewter waves one over the other until they broke in a slap against the rocks. She could feel the pent up fury – the lull that always came before a storm – and it excited her. For this was pure energy. A force of nature that would not be denied.
‘There you are. I’ve been looking for you.’
Olivia turned and smiled as Maggie came to stand beside her. ‘I just wanted a last look before it’s too late,’ she said.
‘Could all be gone this time tomorrow,’ replied Maggie with a surprising lack of regret.
Olivia eyed her and noticed the glow in Maggie’s face, the light in her eyes. ‘What have you been up to Maggie? You look positively radiant.’
Maggie actually blushed as she dipped her chin. ‘Is it that obvious?’
Olivia laughed and gave her a hug as she realised what it was that had made Maggie so beautiful on this ominous day. ‘You and Sam have finally sorted yourselves out,’ she declared. ‘Good on you.’
Maggie hugged her back. ‘I’m so happy, Olivia. I couldn’t care less if a thousand storms hit us today.’ She did a little dance in the sand, her hair and skirt flying, arms stretched out as if to encompass the quickening wind. She came to a breathless stop and pointed up the beach. ‘Look,’ she gasped. ‘The pelicans are finally leaving.’
Olivia watched the lumbering birds waddle along the sand until their wings caught the wind and they soared above the churning water. With almost effortless grace the flock turned and headed inland. How elegant they were in flight. How at one with the sea and the sky, their great white wings gleaming in the half–light.
Olivia and Maggie watched the pelicans until they were out of sight. The other birds had gone some days before, and Olivia realised there was a strange silence deep beneath the gathering moan of the wind and the crash of the surf.
‘We’d better get back,’ shouted Maggie above the noise. ‘Sam’s already thrown a blue this morning, and Giles looks as if he’s half dead with a hangover.’
Olivia nodded, her gaze fixed on the horizon. The island had finally disappeared and the thick blanket of menace was approaching fast. Palm tree fronds set up a clatter like gravel rattled in a tin can, waves swelled and smashed against the hard, dry sand and the wind had begun to increase in strength.
With hair flying, they linked arms and struggled to keep their footing as they tramped back up the dunes to the road. The wind was at their backs, pushing in ever increasing gusts. It whipped the soft, light sand of the dunes into whirling eddies that stung their bare arms and legs and threatened to blind and disorientate them. Yet the kindred spirit they had found was so strong, they knew that together, they would come through.
*
The Trinity Hotel was the oldest and sturdiest building in town. It had already withstood several bad storms and two floods, so it was the natural choice for the locals when it came to shelter.
Sam had brought down the two–way radio so they could keep in contact with the outside world, and had set up mattresses and blankets in the square hall between the ladies’ lounge and the kitchen. It was the centre of the building, with no windows, and could be closed off by the sliding doors he’d installed after the last storm.
He looked around the enclosed space. The few who had stayed in town numbered less than thirty. Most of them were middle–aged, but there were two young couples with small children and several pensioners. It was their calm acceptance that impressed him, for they knew what they were in for, and what was expected of them, and had prepared for a long wait until they could return to their homes. Baskets of food were set on the floor alongside blankets, pillows and the contents of their medical chests. Fresh water was stored in a variety of metal containers and there was milk for the babies.
‘Thanks for your help,’ he said as Hopalong and Smokey came to shake his hand and say goodbye. ‘But you’d be better off staying here.’
‘Nah, mate. She’ll be right.’ Smokey tipped his hat back and tugged at his ear. ‘Gotta get back to the sawmill and make sure the machinery’s tied down tight.’
Sam watched the two of them limp out of the side door and hoped they’d make it in time. It was a fair way inland to the saw–mill, and that old ute was unreliable at the best of times. Yet he could understand their need to protect their homes and their livelihoods.
He moved restlessly between the mattresses, hoping he’d remembered everything. The calor gas tanks had been detached and padded up before being stored away at the back of the hotel. A line of buckets and a stack of toilet rolls had been placed in the narrow corridor between the hall and the side door, and were enclosed by some ancient bamboo screens he’d found in the store–room.
The generator would be kept going, for they would need light, and he’d unearthed four primus stoves from his camping equipment for heating water in case the generator broke down or was damaged. All breakables had been packed away, the windows and doors boarded up all but the side door, which he would do once Maggie and Olivia showed up.
He glanced at his watch and wondered where the hell Maggie was. She’d been gone far too long and by the sound of it the wind was picking up.
*
Giles was suffering. The whisky had been a mistake and now he was paying for his over–indulgence with a monstrous headache. All sense of balance seemed to have deserted him and dark spots swam before his eyes as he attempted to make himself useful.
Running his tongue over dry lips he grimaced. Even his teeth hurt this morning. He knew he looked as bad as he felt, for the bathroom mirror had told him so earlier. His breath was sour, and his throat was scratchy despite all the coffee he’d thrown down it, but he had only himself to blame, he realised. He’d behaved like a petulant schoolboy last night, and he deserved everything he got.
He looked around the gathering. There was still no sign of Olivia and he was beginning to fret. Surely she hadn’t gone down to the beach this morning? It would be sheer madness. He cocked his head and listened. Above the soft murmur of the Trinity residents, he could hear the whine and moan of the wind as it swirled along the main street and whistled up the side alley, and he could already feel it buffeting the hotel.
Where the hell was she? He needed to talk to her, to re–assure her after last night. His bags were packed and waiting upstairs and, once the storm had passed, he would be on his way. He didn’t belong here, he knew that now. His home was in England, his roots, his future – a future without Olivia by his side. It was the hardest decision he would ever have to make – but make it, he must – otherwise neither of them would have a life.
‘Can you see old man Gallagher?’ Sam scratched his head as he stood beside Giles and looked around the room.
Giles emerged from his gloomy thoughts. ‘Who? What does he look like?’
‘Old,’ said Sam. ‘And sour. Bad–tempered, skinny old bludger with a mean streak and body odour that knocks you sideways. I’m surprised he isn’t here.’
Giles looked around at the people settling themselves on the mattresses. There were several old men, but they seemed to be with their elderly wives or younger offspring. ‘Can’t say I recognise anyone who fits such a description.’
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‘Me neither,’ said Sam with an exasperated sigh. He ran his fingers through his hair, making it stand on end. ‘Silly old bugger. I told him to get here early – even promised him a free breakfast.’
‘Why did you do that?’ Giles was puzzled. No–one else had been offered a free breakfast.
‘Because he’s a tight fisted old bludger, who needs to be bribed to get him to do anything – even if it is for his own bloody good. It was the only way I could think of getting him here.’
‘Perhaps he prefers to stay in his own home and ride it out,’ suggested Giles.
‘Hmph,’ snorted Sam. ‘That old pile of timber threatens to fall down when anyone breathes on it. I’ll have to go and fetch him.’
Giles stayed him by grabbing his arm. ‘I’ll go,’ he said firmly. ‘Tell me where he lives.’
‘Can’t ask you to do that, mate,’ said Sam. ‘Old man Gallagher’s my responsibility.’
‘So’s this place,’ said Giles. ‘And all the people who trust you to keep them safe. Especially Maggie and Olivia. At least let me do something, old chap. I feel so bloody useless, just standing about getting in the way.’
Sam’s blue eyes were thoughtful. ‘You sure, mate? It’s a bastard out there already, and it ain’t gunna get any better.’
‘Yes,’ said Giles with rising impatience. ‘I might only have one arm, but I’m not totally useless.’
Sam grinned. ‘Reckon there’s time. But you’ll have your work cut out to get him here in a hurry. I can already hear the rain.’
Giles listened as Sam gave him instructions, then headed for the side door. He would fetch Gallagher, then start looking for Olivia and Maggie. His spirits rose. At last he felt he was actually doing something worthwhile. It was quite like old times.
The door was snatched from his hand and slammed back against the wall as the wind almost knocked him off his feet. The force of it battered him, making him stagger, and with his head down he battled against it.
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