Hilary Brand had slept for six hours and now, wearing a silk robe and with her hair tied back, was working at the little desk that was one of the built-in features of the cabin. Around her were the barely-audible noises of the corporate jet: the whisper of the air-conditioning, the hum of the twin engines propelling the Airbus south-east at eight hundred kilometres an hour, thirty thousand feet above the earth.

It was Thursday 15 January 2004, five o'clock in the morning Singapore time, and Hilary was on her way home to Sydney after two productive weeks in Asia. She had held positive meetings in Jakarta and Kuala Lumpur. Her address the previous Monday to mark the fourth anniversary of the founding of Singapore's Management University had been praised by Prime Minister Goh himself.

Singapore spelt business and, on this occasion, her address to the university, but she had other reasons for heading to Southeast Asia every year.

Co-director Martha Tan had been born in Singapore thirty-two years before. Her grandfather was shot on Punggol Beach in 1942, one of seventy thousand Chinese civilians murdered by the Japanese 25th Army in the weeks after it occupied the island. Each year Hilary accompanied Martha to the memorial at the Hong Lim Centre in Chinatown, joining the young woman in paying her respects to the man they had never known.

This pilgrimage was public knowledge, but there was another ritual she had been careful to keep to herself. Only she and Martha knew of the minor heart attack she had suffered four years before: if a heart attack could ever be called minor. By chance she had been in Singapore at the time and had been rushed to the nearby Mount Elizabeth Hospital. She had bounced back as she always did, discharging herself after two days against the advice of the doctors because she felt fine and was too busy to lounge about in a private ward doing nothing. Nevertheless she had been grateful for the hospital's timely assistance and had made a huge donation to buy additional equipment for its coronary care unit.

Ever since that episode she'd arranged an annual check-up at the same hospital. As Martha never failed to point out, she could have done it more simply in Sydney, but Hilary was having none of that.

âThey were in at the beginning,' she said, repeating the joke she made every year. âSeems only fair they should be in at the death.'

Death was not on her agenda but privacy was. âI am not Haskins Gould,' she said. Once her greatest mate, Haskins had for years been her greatest enemy. âHe loves the limelight. I don't.'

Maybe so but she was one of the most famous women in Australia; have a check-up in a Sydney hospital and the media would be on it in a flash. Next thing the world would be told she was dying; what that would do to the corporation's share price she refused to contemplate.

She had thought of the check-up as routine, no more significant than the work-out with which she started every morning â even on the Airbus she always managed a few bends and stretches in preparation for the excitement and challenges of the day ahead. Unfortunately Tuesday's examination had proved less routine than she would have wished.

The cardiologist had frowned over the test results. âToo much strain on the heart, Ms Brand. No need for surgery at present but it may become necessary if you don't learn to take things easier.'

Sagacious advice, no doubt, but her first reaction had been there was little she could do about it. âI have responsibilities,' she said.

âIndeed you do,' he said. âAnd the first one should be to your health.'

Not many people could put Hilary Brand in her place like Dr Chang. âI shall do what I can,' she promised.

âBe sure you mean it,' he said. âWe are not playing games here. If you don't cut down I will not be responsible for the consequences.'

He'd been right, of course. The occasional breathlessness; the dizzy spell she'd had in Jakartaâ¦ The episode had lasted no more than a second or two and she had brushed it aside, but Dr Chang had made it clear it would be asking for trouble to go on doing so. She sat, pen motionless in her hand, as she considered the implications of the cardiologist's warning. So many things still to doâ¦ But:
I will not be responsible for the consequences.
Had the time come? The time she'd been promising herself for so many years? Was she ready? Was it even possible? The pressures on her seemed to grow more intense every day.

She had two more reasons for returning to Southeast Asia every year, one official, one not. Officially she flew to Penang to spend time with the children in the home she helped finance. It was something she never failed to do and it gave her huge pleasure, but there was another reason for going and it was the most compelling of all. Even Martha knew nothing for certain about it. She might have guessed but Martha was as discreet as a clam.

âI'm off, then,' Hilary had said before leaving for the airport. It was something else she said every year. âGive you the chance to do some shopping. Catch up with your family. Go to Sentosa. I'll see you in five days' time.'

Everyone deserved a break, right? But this break was special. Dear Lord, so special.

Penang, she thought now, as she thought so often. Eight hundred kilometres north of Singapore, off Malaysia's west coast. Penang, the tropical island of the storybooks and Rumah Kelapa, the house amid the coconuts, with its flowerbeds brilliant with cannas and its views across the tropical seaâ¦ Penang, where my heart is.

Had the time arrived for her to do something about it before it was too late? Or had her promises â not only to herself â been only words?

She needed to make up her mind but not now. With Asia thousands of kilometres behind her, Hilary thrust Penang and Dr Chang's warning firmly to the back of her mind and turned her attention, as always, to what lay ahead. The habit of a lifetime. Of a death time?

Sydney was two hours distant; by the time they landed the local time would be ten o'clock in the morning. There would be the usual on-board customs and immigration clearance; the waiting chopper would lift her over the city's snarled streets to the helipad atop her corporate headquarters and to the hundred and one challenges of her normal fifteen-hour day. And to a proper consideration of the choices with which she was now faced.

At least this evening would be different. At eight-thirty her daughters Jennifer and Sara would be joining her for dinner at the Seven Stars Restaurant with its marvellous views across the harbour to the Opera House. Officially it would be a purely social occasion; in practice the meal would be a prelude to the real business, which would be conducted the next day in separate meetings with both of them.

She had phoned them from Singapore. For Jennifer it would mean flying up from Melbourne, so of course she had whined about the inconvenience, as Hilary had known she would. She loved her daughters equally but their temperaments were very different and there were times, she couldn't deny it, when Jennifer was a trial.

âI'd been planning lunch with Tessa at Ricketts Point. I've booked a tableâ¦'

Over the years Hilary had learnt how to handle Jennifer's whines. âIt's just that Sara and I will be having dinner together and I thought it would be nice if you could join us. But if it's inconvenient I shall quite understand.'

âWhat's it all about, anyway?' Jennifer had always been hot on conspiracy theories, even before the phrase had been invented.

âNo special reason. I just thought it would be nice for the three of us to have a meal together. But if you can't make it â'

Jennifer would drink boiling oil before she missed out on a family reunion where important matters might be discussed. Hilary was sixty-three, after all, and would have to start planning the family's future some time. There was no chance Jennifer would willingly miss out on a conversation like that although she still managed to get a moan out of it.

âI suppose I can put Tessa off. Although I can't imagine what Davis will say.'

Hilary suspected her detestable son-in-law wouldn't give a hoot where his wife was or what she was doing but that was hardly something she could say to Davis's wife. âI'll book you into the Amora,' she said.

By contrast Sara, three years younger than Jennifer in years, ten years older in maturity, had simply warned she might be a few minutes late. âBy the time I get home and catch a showerâ¦'

âTake your time. We'll have a drink while we're waiting. Any other news?'

âIf you're agreeable I thought I might have a word with Duncan Redgrave if I can get hold of him.'

Duncan Redgrave was one of their top site engineers.

âWhat about?'

âThis new Parramatta mall. The subbies have been telling me he's always dreaming up some excuse to delay paying them.'

âIt's his way of keeping the overdraft down. It means a saving on the interest.'

âBut they've got to have the cash to pay their workers. And we need to keep them sweet, Hilary.'

âHave a word with him by all means. But the truth is he'll try the same trick again the moment he thinks he can get away with it.'

BOOK: A Woman of Courage

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