Tears Of The Moon Part 25

'It's Johnny, he has become very ... difficult. He drinks more than is good for him ... '

'He's always. .h.i.t the bottle when he's down.'

'Well, he has been muttering about business being bad. They haven't found any pearls ... '

'That's not so!' Mabel bit her tongue and let Amy continue.

Amy dropped her head and lowered her voice. 'Sometimes I fear for my safety. I know he resents me ... but he is my husband, what am I to do? I don't wish to leave him. I just want to make him happy. And he spurns me so ... '

'Oh my dear ... ' Mabel looked at the br.i.m.m.i.n.g blue eyes now gazing forlornly at her. Had she mis-judged Amy? 'I really don't know what advice to offer. I know it's hard to accept, but time, you know, is a great healer.'

'I am prepared to wait. I just wondered if he had other problems he wasn't sharing with me ... troubles with the business perhaps. But you say Mr Metta says they are doing well?'

'Oh yes, you have no worries on that score.'

'That's a relief then. I'd wondered, what with still having to pay Mrs Hennessy such a large portion of the profits ... never mind, I'll have to try and cheer him up as best as I can then.'

Mabel's sympathy immediately evaporated. 'Mrs Hennessy is a part-owner and has always reinvested much of her earnings back into the company, as I understand it,' she said tersely. 'Not that I wish to gossip about the private affairs of good friends.' She rose. 'I'm sorry I can't stay for lunch. I have to see to the children.'

Mabel departed, furious at being manipulated by Amy. She hoped she hadn't said too much, for Tobias had told her Star of the Sea had reaped some excellent pearls this season. And she knew Tyndall tried to keep such matters to himself.

Amy went ahead and ordered lunch, aware she had ruffled Mabel, but satisfied at extracting the information she wanted.

It was then that Karl Gunther happened by and paused at her table on the verandah.

'Dining alone, Mrs Tyndall?'

She looked at him, saw the challenging smile lurking at his mouth, and tossed her head. 'I was thinking you might like to join me-Mr Gunther.'

'Seeing as how we seem to already know each other, in a fashion ... I'd be delighted.' He slid into the seat opposite and settled himself like an old torn cat before a bowl of cream.

They were as different as two people could be, yet, between the melting blonde woman with wide china-blue eyes and the dark-eyed rough diamond, there smouldered a recognition that within them both ran a streak of self-interest and self-preservation. Both were ruthless, both were ambitious, both were fearless risk takers, if needs be. For him, a pretty woman was always a challenge to be conquered. For her, the dandy had never appealed. Aggressive, rough lovers had been ultimately more fulfilling than the wealthy, aged fops like Lord Campbell.

Danger appealed to Amy and as the lunch progressed she began to see she might have found a match in Gunther. Beneath the banter, the exaggerated and glossed half-truths of edited life stories, each was wondering how they could use the other. For despite the s.e.xual undercurrent that zapped between them on one level, each began to think the other could be a means to an end.

Tobias Metta, expecting his wife to be dining with Amy as planned, stepped out onto the verandah, but seeing Amy in animated conversation with Karl Gunther, he made a hasty and worried exit.

When Tyndall heard of this sighting, he at first found it hard to believe that the man who had been the nemesis of the women in his life had struck yet again. For a moment he was almost glad the two had made contact, it seemed somehow logical Amy would find something appealing in the blackguard. And maybe he had recognised the same streak in Amy. Each on their own was a potential threat, together they could be a deadly team.

Tyndall stormed to the house and shouted at Amy for belittling, embarra.s.sing and shaming him in public.

'Why, Johnny, surely you're not jealous,' she grinned.

Olivia's words came back to him. 'Listen Amy, while you are here in Broome, what you do reflects on me and the company. Furthermore, that man is not what you may think, he's responsible for some vile acts.'

'Really? Like what?' She raised her eyebrows in feigned amused interest.

Tyndall ignored her question. 'I forbid you to see him again-for your sake, Amy.' He turned away.

'Is there a more suitable gentleman you could recommend I have a discreet dalliance with then?' The smile still twitched at her mouth and for a moment he couldn't tell if she was serious or not.

'Why don't you just leave, Amy? There's no future for us. You're wasting your time. Find yourself a proper husband.'

'I have one. Although he doesn't treat me like a wife. You do have marital rights you know.' She dropped her eyes and Tyndall glared at her. How did she manage to sound so demure and yet look so provocative?

One night, drunk, lonely and longing for Olivia's arms he had felt overwhelmed by sheer s.e.xual urge and had walked to the house. He had stood, looking up at the lattice-screened dovecote built at the top of the house for such hot humid nights. Knowing Amy was asleep up there, he'd been tempted to go to her, but desire had turned to bitter anger and he'd resorted to Sheba Lane. There, as thoughts of Olivia flooded through him, he had wilted, sadness and hopelessness replacing the fierce fires of pa.s.sion and he trudged dispiritedly back to his own empty bed.

Looking now at Amy, it was as if she knew about this and that one day she knew he might succ.u.mb to her. But she merely replied, 'I have nowhere else to go, Johnny. I'll wait.'

Tyndall left, defeated. There was no more to say.

But Amy was far from triumphant. The brazen facade with which she challenged him fell away and she retreated to the bedroom. Falling amongst her pillows, she glanced out at the bay below. The tide was out. Green mangroves and grey skeletons of dead mangrove trees rose from the mudflats. She suddenly felt as if a moat lay between her and the rest of the world. She felt trapped, bored and lonely. Why did she stay? She had been unable to seduce Tyndall and he still controlled the finances. If she could get her hands on the money, which had been her original intention, she could escape. Her dream of teaming up with her handsome husband and leading a life of luxury and excitement in Australia had not come to pa.s.s. She had always seen Tyndall as a ticket to a better life, yet in her eyes he had failed her. In the past, she had grasped many opportunities in a life dictated by l.u.s.t and greed, but they had proved only temporary indulgences.

As she tossed restlessly on the bed, she realised that her options for happiness in Broome were very limited indeed.

Tyndall was fed up. His anger, frustration and the constant worry about what Amy was up to-for she created agitated waves about her as she sailed through her days-were getting him down. As always, his solution was to go to sea.

He left Ahmed ash.o.r.e, taking the Shamrock Shamrock with a minimum of crew out to the pearling grounds to victual his luggers and try the grounds further north once more. It was agreed that Ahmed would rendezvous with him in four weeks' time. with a minimum of crew out to the pearling grounds to victual his luggers and try the grounds further north once more. It was agreed that Ahmed would rendezvous with him in four weeks' time.

The trip proved a blessed relief for Tyndall. The companionship of the crew, the routine of the days at sea, the peace that always came to him as he looked across blue water and cloud-tinged sky. The steady rhythmic movement of the boat, the rattle of the rigging and the sighing flap of a wind-filled sail-all these things calmed his aching mind.

After two weeks Tyndall decided to leave the rest of the fleet and do a little searching up towards the Lapecede Islands.

It was easy sailing for the first two days, then the weather closed in. Rain and high winds lashed the Shamrock Shamrock, but it ploughed gamely on as Tyndall checked the chart and gave instructions to the first mate.

Late that night Tyndall checked course, spoke to the crew, then went below to s.n.a.t.c.h a few hours' sleep. 'Wake me if the wind rises or the swell gets worse, we could run into a c.o.c.keye bob.'

'Aye aye, Cap'n. No worries.' The thin and dark-skinned Koepanger gave a confident grin.

He never did get a chance to wake Tyndall. The Shamrock Shamrock was picked up by a freak wave in the storm, breached and was flung beam on into a reef with a sickening crunch. The impact threw the two men on deck off balance and the next wave washed them overboard. Waves lashed over the schooner which lay on its side, the sharp edges of the reef slicing through the wood. A stockily built Manilaman crawled out of the hatch. At that instant, one of the dinghies broke loose and crashed into him, knocking him unconscious and pushing him into the sea. The dinghy then splintered and was swept away. All men were lost from sight in seconds, leaving Tyndall alone on the shattered schooner. He crawled along the deck, now tilted at forty-five degrees, and groped for the rope still securing the second dinghy. In the darkness, grey waves and stinging rain beat at him as he fumbled with the knots. At last the dinghy gave way. He flung himself into it as the was picked up by a freak wave in the storm, breached and was flung beam on into a reef with a sickening crunch. The impact threw the two men on deck off balance and the next wave washed them overboard. Waves lashed over the schooner which lay on its side, the sharp edges of the reef slicing through the wood. A stockily built Manilaman crawled out of the hatch. At that instant, one of the dinghies broke loose and crashed into him, knocking him unconscious and pushing him into the sea. The dinghy then splintered and was swept away. All men were lost from sight in seconds, leaving Tyndall alone on the shattered schooner. He crawled along the deck, now tilted at forty-five degrees, and groped for the rope still securing the second dinghy. In the darkness, grey waves and stinging rain beat at him as he fumbled with the knots. At last the dinghy gave way. He flung himself into it as the Shamrock Shamrock began to roll. It started to break up as it was sucked down by a wall of water. In its wake, the dinghy was almost immediately swamped. began to roll. It started to break up as it was sucked down by a wall of water. In its wake, the dinghy was almost immediately swamped.

Tyndall lay in the half-submerged little boat, watching the black shape of his beloved schooner disintegrate with a wail of splintering wood and disappear from sight. He wept and screamed his fury at the sea and the storm.

Amy knew she was secretly looking for him. She set out each day about the town visiting the dressmaker, stopping at The White Lotus, browsing through Streeter and Male, walking along Dampier Terrace, and taking afternoon tea at the Continental.

She had just decided he'd slipped out of port when on her way home she decided to stroll along Streeter's Jetty. She saw him standing on the deck of a black ketch with red sails, berating a cowering Malay. His shirtsleeves were rolled up his muscular arms and thick black hair protruded at the base of his throat. He saw her but didn't acknowledge her presence other than to give the man a clip over the ears and send him scuttling away. Amy put her parasol on the other shoulder, turned and walked back along the jetty, slowly. Swinging onto the jetty, he strolled along behind her until they reached the street. He moved up beside her.

'Good afternoon, Mrs Tyndall,' he greeted her.

'Good afternoon, Mr Gunther.'

'Going anywhere in particular?'

'Just out strolling. I've had a busy day.'

'While the cat's away, eh?'

She gave him an arch look. 'Whatever do you mean?'

He gave a brief laugh. 'You're all on your own, why not join me for dinner?'

It was a casual invitation but as they glanced at each other Amy knew they were at a juncture. It was up to her to decide which road to take.

'That wouldn't appear seemly, what with my husband away,' she replied.

'Depends who knows. Maybe it's a business meeting. I conduct my private dealings in private. At the Cable Palace.'

'What or where is that?'

'A very large, very private home over on Cable Beach. You'd find the owners interesting people, I'm sure.'

'I didn't think there was anyone interesting in Broome. It sounds intriguing.'

'I'll send one of my men to collect you. Say seven?'

'Will I be safe do you think?' She gave a coquettish toss of her head.

'I think you are a woman who can look after herself. I like that. Bring one of your staff if you feel so inclined.' He nodded curtly and wheeled away from her in the opposite direction.

Amy watched him go, feeling slightly faint, with nerves or antic.i.p.ation, she couldn't decide. He really was an ugly man, barrel-built, squat and muscular, oily skin and hair, his body covered in the same thick dark hair. The black eyes had no warmth, the voice was harsh with traces of his guttural accent, yet he radiated an animal-like magnetism that drew her to him like a spider in a web. Amy chuckled to herself at the picture of Karl Gunther as a hairy black spider in the middle of a web, thinking he was all powerful. 'Hah, Mr Gunther, have you ever heard of black widow spiders? The females devour the males!' she said to herself.

Feeling a.s.sured of her invincibility, Amy set off for home deciding which particularly alluring dress she'd wear for her secret rendezvous.

The Aboriginal women arrived at the coast before the men. Maya always loved this season when they camped by the huge sh.e.l.l middens where generations had feasted on sh.e.l.lfish. The ceremonies held here were different to those performed in the desert. For Maya this was a special place. When they arrived she always walked down to the water's edge and stood with her feet in the ocean, feeling the watery link stretching between this sh.o.r.e and some faraway land of her ancestors across the sea. It was an unconscious symbolic touching of her mother and made her feel happy.

The memories of her mother had faded from the forefront of her mind these past two years, but impressions and senses and feelings of her were pressed into Maya's essential being ... on her skin, in her heart and in that special part of her soul.

She walked out of the water and sat on the sand, watching the very little children play close by while the women began setting up camp and searching for food. Maya examined her feet, now protected by a thick tough pad. So much walking. The clan had travelled over vast distances, following the seasons and traditional food gathering patterns that hadn't changed for centuries. They camped while food and water were plentiful, moving on to the next site of robust growth, where the cycle was repeated.

Maya had developed a walking sense as she'd grown. Previously she'd playfully pattered along with the women until she felt weary and then sat on the ground until someone scooped her up and carried her. Now she was older, walking was a life experience. The elders showed her things, the women pointed out animal tracks and edible plants. Other times in her head Maya imagined she was a bird or an emu or even a big fish and she swayed and danced along as she walked, imitating the animal's movements. Sometimes strange images and memories came to her and she let them drift through and out of her mind without curiosity or fear.

The women watched her with pride. She had grown into a beautiful girl, her svelte frame strong and healthy, and her skin, fairer than the rest of them, had tanned to a deep gold. Her long dark hair fell straight down her back with streaks of auburn gold glinting through it.

Maya loved and accepted this tribal family life, but sometimes she felt different to the others. She let a handful of sand dribble through her fingers. Opening her hand she closely studied the remaining grains clinging to her fingertips. Each one was different. Not quite the same size or shape. She blew on them gently and they fell back on to the beach to be indistinguishable from all the other grains of sand. Maya tilted her head. This meant something she thought, but couldn't decide what. She jumped up and ran to play with the little ones who were digging a hole with large sh.e.l.ls.

Soon after camp was made on a creek behind the dunes, a group of women and children, including Maya, set out to get 'white fella tucker'. It had become their custom over the years to visit the nearby mission where the friendly Brother gave them sugar and flour. There was a ritual attached to these visits. They had to sit and listen to him talk about 'G.o.d' before getting the rations. In their eyes he was an unusual and likeable man, quite different from most of the pearlers, stockmen and policemen who crossed their paths. Brother Frederick had learned the rudiments of their language, enough to make his stories about 'G.o.d' understood. He helped heal their ailments and gave the elders advice, when they sought it, on dealing with the law of the white man, which they found violent and confusing.

The women and children trailed into the sprawling mission, shouting greetings to resident Aborigines, some of whom were relatives who spoke the white man's language, even sang songs in the language and went to a sacred place, the big white building where the Brother talked to 'G.o.d'.

There was a lot of talk and laughter as the visitors and mission blacks settled in the shade of spreading mango trees to exchange gossip. Soon Brother Frederick appeared in the doorway of the white church. Waving both arms in exuberant welcome, he strode briskly across the sward of gra.s.s shouting more greetings in their language and reaching out for the hands of a swarm of children who ran to him, giggling and jostling.

He sat among them in the shade and methodically acknowledged each woman in the group, needing little help in remembering names and family connections. When he came to Maya, he paused and thought for a few seconds. 'Now who have we here?' he asked. After Maya was introduced to him, he asked for her mother and looked around the group. They explained that 'aunties' now looked after Maya, her mother had been taken across the sea. Brother Frederick interpreted this as meaning the mother was dead. He studied the smiling girl, concluding her father had been a white man, but he did not pursue the matter, knowing in all probability he would not get an adequate answer.

The courtesies of greeting over, he then began telling them a story from the scriptures, parts of which were embellished and explained by relatives. Then he led them in a song about his G.o.d, enthusiastically backed up by resident Christian converts. The bush people understood nothing of this hymn but joined in rhythmic clapping and burst into a chorus of appreciative noises and laughter when it ended. They knew these expressions of joy pleased the white man enormously.

While the rations were handed out and the talk under the trees continued, the children ran off to explore and play.

From the moment she walked into the mission, Maya had been fascinated by the big white building with the little tower and bell. It brought back images of another time, another place, images that were vague but which she knew. were related to her past. She slipped away from the other children and made her way to the open door and peeped inside. It was dimly lit and cool. Cautiously, she stepped inside, and as her eyes adjusted she saw that much of the interior was decorated with mother-of-pearl sh.e.l.l. The sight of it made her gasp with astonishment and excitement.

'So pretty,' she said aloud, in English.

'Yes, very pretty,' echoed a soft voice in the shadows to her left.

Maya jumped with surprise and turned to run.

'Please, don't be frightened. Stay. Have a good look,' urged Brother Frederick with warmth, holding out his hand to her.

Maya paused, then tentatively took the outstretched hand.

Together, they walked slowly around the church, Maya sometimes running her fingers over the sh.e.l.ls, the priest occasionally asking a question, sometimes pointing out a religious feature of the decorations. He suppressed his surprise at her knowledge of English, even though she often had to think hard before finding the right words. But there was no doubt in his mind that G.o.d had delivered this child to him for salvation.Some days later a small party of Aborigines from the mission came down to the bush camp. The women in the group sought out women in Maya's family and there were long discussions, all conducted away from the men. It was 'women's business', and it concerned Maya. The next day the women trooped back to the mission for more talk, then a meeting with the priest.

Weeks pa.s.sed, idyllic days for Maya, who romped in the sand and the sea with the other children, fished and gathered mussels and crabs. At night she would fall asleep around campfires against a background of singing and dancing.

Soon it was time for the clan to move on. One morning Maya had to go with some of her aunties to the mission. She was disappointed that no other children came along but she planned to try and get some of the hard sweet lollies from the man in robes to take back to her friends.

When they had settled under the trees at the mission with relatives and friends, the women explained to Maya that she was not going back to the camp. They told her she was going to stay at the mission for awhile. The white man was going to look after her, give her special food and clothes and teach her important things.

Maya was stunned. Her lip trembled, then she began to cry softly.

As the women gathered up the sacks of flour and sugar, they waved to Maya, who was now standing forlornly outside the church, her hand held by Brother Frederick. Maya half-lifted her free hand in response and fought back more tears as her family disappeared down the track.

The man squeezed her hand and she looked up at him. He smiled and reached into his ca.s.sock and pulled out a brightly wrapped sweet. 'Here, Maya, have a lollie. I know you like them,' he added brightly.

She took the rock-hard gift and slowly unwrapped it. Popping the multicoloured ball in her mouth, she savoured the sweetness for awhile before pushing it to one side, making her cheek bulge.

Brother Frederick smiled again and took her hand. 'Come. Let's go and get you some decent clothes from the store.'

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN.

Tyndall stirred and lifted his head as light rain washed over his red raw skin. His mouth came unstuck, his swollen tongue feeling relief as the water ran over his parched and split lips. He'd lost track of time but had a vague memory of night seas pounding the damaged dinghy As the rainwater trickled down his face, he slowly became aware he was lying on his back, his legs across the smashed seat of the little boat. Chest-deep water sloshed in the splintered hull. He tried to lift himself out of it but had no strength. Sinking back into the watery bed, he closed his eyes once more.

A shudder and a crunch dragged him back to reality. The dinghy was sc.r.a.ping over an ironstone reef and the next wave rammed it into a crevice, splitting the hull apart. He was swept out of the boat, and over the reef and into deep water. The dowsing shocked him into full consciousness and he began to swim. His blurred vision made out the shape of two low islands in the distance. He realised he was in the channel between them. Under normal circ.u.mstances it would have been an easy swim for him, but his clothes weighed him down and his limbs felt like lead weights. The days adrift in the dinghy had drained him and, just as he thought he couldn't lift an arm or kick a leg a moment longer, he was nudged by a great shape that glided beside him. Tyndall lunged out. Flinging his arms across the barnacle-encrusted sh.e.l.l of an old green turtle, he held on. It was swimming just below the surface and Tyndall was just able to keep his head above water as the turtle stroked its way towards the larger of the two islands.

The sh.o.r.eline was reef and rocks, but the rurtle swam through a narrow split between them and Tyndall felt its undersh.e.l.l sc.r.a.pe the bottom as the turtle launched itself up the beach. He rolled off and lay there for a moment before dragging himself up. Dozens of turtles were making their way to a thin stretch of sand, where, come sunset, they would begin busying themselves digging holes in which to lay their many eggs. Unable to hold himself up any longer, Tyndall collapsed on the sh.o.r.e.

In the coolness of evening he awoke and crawled to one of the sand-covered nests. Digging with his hands, he pulled out an egg and bit into it. Reviving a little, he slowly and painfully made his way to some shelter and curled up and slept, planning on looking for more food and water at first light.Amy decided to wear the dress made from the red kimono silk that Gunther had admired. The bodice, edged in black lace, sat at the very edge of her shoulders, the low decolletage decolletage showing the swell of her ample white b.r.e.a.s.t.s. The silk clung to her figure, stopping in a scalloped hem above her ankles. She slipped her dusty-pink stockinged feet into black shoes with rhinestone buckles, and carried black gloves, a fan and sheer black chiffon wrap to cover her exposed skin from insect bites as she travelled to the Cable Palace. showing the swell of her ample white b.r.e.a.s.t.s. The silk clung to her figure, stopping in a scalloped hem above her ankles. She slipped her dusty-pink stockinged feet into black shoes with rhinestone buckles, and carried black gloves, a fan and sheer black chiffon wrap to cover her exposed skin from insect bites as she travelled to the Cable Palace.

By Broome standards the house could have pa.s.sed for a palace. It was large, set up on high pillars with a broad flight of steps leading to the colonnaded verandah with sets of French doors along its length. But if one looked closely, it was a flimsy construction, with peeling paint and a temporary air. Soft lights glittered through expensive curtains-a rarity in a town where homes relied on shutters and lattice for privacy. The house was very secluded, set behind a high brush fence and heavily screened by palms, frangipani, banana trees and rampant climbing bougainvillea. Amy thought it strange that such an apparently imposing place was located in such an isolated area.

Gunther was waiting on the verandah and came to help her from the sulky.

Amy's initial misgivings were quickly dispelled when she realised everyone there had something of a colourful past or were vague about their present activities. A slick, superficial explanation of their reason for being in Broome only added to the mystery. There was a Viennese pearl buyer who said he also bought gold and precious stones for 'private clients', a j.a.panese businessman who was accompanied by a very young, very pretty kimono-clad j.a.panese girl who spoke no English but giggled and remained attentively close by his side. There were several other businessmen and a slightly built Malay man who wore a lot of jewellery. The few European women present were plainly dressed when compared to Amy, who shone at centre stage like a music hall queen. While by no means cla.s.sy or distinctive themselves, the women eyed Amy with some distaste. The men favoured her openly with appreciative stares.