A Woman of Courage (32 page)

Late in the afternoon he phoned Hilary in Perth.

‘Done and dusted,' he said.

‘What was it all about?'

‘Nothing to worry your pretty little head about,' Haskins said.

He knew how much she hated that.

‘And if I insist?'

‘Sometimes it's best not to know.'

Partners they might be but he was glad he'd talked her out of coming on site. Next thing you knew she'd have wanted to talk to the people involved and he certainly wouldn't have wanted that. Even at the best of times, having a woman under his feet tended to inhibit him. He went back into the mayhem of the work area beyond his office door. He started yelling. ‘C'mon, you bastards. Think you're all on holiday, do you? Get moving!'

ROLLER COASTER

1

Once again Lance had taken her by surprise. Now they were sitting on the settee in Hilary's living room. They were not touching but not that far apart either. He leant forward and recharged their glasses. Hilary picked up the bottle and looked appreciatively at the label.

‘Margaret River cabernet,' she said. ‘Are you a connoisseur?'

‘I like a nice drop.' He took a sip and put down his glass. Hilary took a sip and put down her glass.

He looked at her; they looked at each other.

‘I like a lot of things,' he said.

Heart beating; she felt like a marsh. ‘Give me an example,' she said.

Lance leant slowly forward. Their lips barely touched. He sat back. ‘There you go,' he said.

‘Is that the best you can do?'

‘It's a start.'

A little later his left arm was round her shoulders, his lips were on hers, his right hand had somehow found its way inside her dressing gown, eased up her bra and now was cupping her left breast.

Things were getting out of hand, she hoped. She broke off the kiss. ‘This is where I am supposed to say stop it,' she said.

His hand remained where it was. It did not move but the touch of his palm against the tender skin was sending quivers all the way to her toes.

‘And if I don't?'

‘Then I would have to resort to other strategies.'

‘Such as?'

‘I could slap your face.'

‘That wouldn't be nice.'

‘Or I could smile and do nothing.'

‘Lie back and think of Queen Victoria?'

‘Something like that.'

‘That sounds like a lot more fun.'

‘It does, doesn't it?'

The hand was moving again. Gently smoothing. Stroking. The quivers were growing more intense, force five on the Richter scale and climbing. Any moment now the walls might come tumbling down. If they hadn't already.

‘Are you still feeding the baby?' he said.

‘Not for months now.'

‘Are they still sore?'

‘Maybe a bit tender.'

‘I promise I'll be very gentle.'

Later, lying naked on the bed, she watched him put his shoes on.

‘I had been planning to have a bath when you arrived,' she said.

‘Have one now,' he said.

‘Could do.'

She knew she would not. For tonight she would keep the scent and substance of him intact. Awake or sleeping she would lie surrounded by the memory of what had happened. She would relive the taste of him on her lips and in her body. She would kiss the air where he had been.

Next day she was distracted, waiting for a call that did not come. She thought: You fool, you couldn't wait to get your knickers off, could you? He's a man, for God's sake. He's had his fun and moved on. What else did you expect? You bastard, she thought. How dare you fill me and now leave me empty? How dare you? She'd give him a talking to, the next time she saw him. If she ever did.

She went home to the flat that evening. She played with Jennifer, she bathed and fed her, played with her some more, and all the time there was a dull ache in her heart that nothing would shift.

You fool. You nincompoop. You moron. On and on.

The ring of the bell brought her heart to her throat. She was careful not to run to the door. She opened it.

‘I've brought Chinese takeaways,' Lance said. ‘I hope that's all right.'

Her heart was doing cartwheels. ‘I've no wine,' she said.

He put the cardboard boxes in the kitchen. ‘Give me five,' he said. And was gone. In no time he was back with a bottle of Sauvignon Blanc and another of brandy.

‘Remy Martin,' she said. ‘Wow!'

‘Think rich,' he said.

‘Think bankrupt,' she said.

‘What I've been hearing, I don't see that as a problem for you any time soon,' he said.

‘What have you been hearing?'

‘That in commercial terms Hilary Brand is on the road to big things. And getting there fast too.'

‘That would be nice,' she said.

At the end of the evening she turned to him: ‘You want to stay over?'

‘Would that be wise?'

‘No, it wouldn't.' Her eyes grew intense. ‘You want to stay over?'

‘What's in it for me?'

‘Nothing you haven't had already.'

‘Offering seconds?'

‘You never know your luck.'

‘What a splendid idea. But I've no toothbrush.'

‘That I can provide.'

‘And a razor?'

‘That too.'

‘You believe in being organised.'

‘I believe in hanging on to what I've got,' she said.

‘I'll bear that in mind,' he said.

‘Make sure you do. But in the meantime…'

2

She was obsessed, no other word for it. She wanted him with a passion she would not have believed possible. More than desire, it was a physical illness that left her body aching. She needed to feel his body on hers, his body in hers. She could have wept with the intensity of her feelings.

They were seeing each other most evenings; then Lance phoned. His voice was taut. ‘I won't be able to see you for a few days.'

‘Oh?'

‘I have to go away. I'll be back at the weekend.'

‘I shall miss you,' she said, too proud to ask the questions that were shouting in her mind.
Why? Where are you going? And why can't you tell me?

She wondered if he might say he loved her. He did not. Neither did she speak but waited, hoping.

‘See you,' he said.

At the weekend, he had said. I shall be back at the weekend. It seemed an eternity. Even Dave noticed her preoccupation. ‘Not like you at all,' he said.

She told herself to be patient. With patience all would be resolved.

On Thursday she turned up at the office as usual. Tomorrow night, she was thinking. He will be home tomorrow night.

Sandy looked up as Hilary walked in, Sandy with an anxious expression on her face.

‘Good morning,' Hilary said, falsely bright. Then saw the woman sitting on the other side of Sandy's desk. Sitting waiting on the other side of Sandy's desk. And knew. No word spoken but she knew.

‘This is Mrs Bettinger,' Sandy said.

Sandy knew; of course she did. She knew and Dave knew and all the world knew, didn't it, because Hilary had made no attempt to conceal her feelings. There had been no reason to hide them, had there?

Now this.

‘Perhaps you'd like to come in,' she said to Mrs Bettinger.

Quite pretty, she thought. Not as brash as I'd imagined. Not bad at all. While the doom bells rang in her head. She managed somehow to smile as she spoke but was thankful to reach her chair and collapse into it, all strength gone from her legs.

She took a deep breath, willing her shaking limbs to be still. Because this woman was the enemy, was she not? An enemy to be destroyed, if possible, but in any case to be handled with care. With very great care.

‘You wanted to see me?'

‘You know my husband,' Mrs Bettinger said.

‘Indeed I do.'

‘Aren't you ashamed?'

She was wearing a little too much make-up, Hilary thought, her lips scarlet and challenging. As was her way of sitting in the chair, leaning forwards with an aggressive expression on her face. It was confrontation, then, and knowing it steadied Hilary's nerves. If this woman thought to browbeat her she was in for a disappointment.

‘I was under the impression you had moved to Queensland,' she said.

‘Lance is still my husband.'

‘I understood you were planning to make another life for yourself. In the cane fields.'

‘No business of yours,' Mrs Bettinger said. ‘Anyway that's all over now. I'm back.'

‘On a visit? Or to stay?'

‘I'm here to take back what's rightfully mine,' the woman said. ‘I'm here to tell you to keep off. Lance isn't for you.'

I suppose Lance has a say in that.

The words trembled on Hilary's lips but she did not speak. What this woman thought or said did not matter. What Hilary thought and said did not matter. Only Lance could decide. At least she had learnt one thing at the Northcote home. She knew when to keep her mouth shut, her thoughts hidden. Lance would decide.

‘Thank you for coming round,' Hilary said. ‘For being so frank with me.'

‘I mean it,' Lance's wife said. ‘Keep off.'

Darkness threatened her. She denied its presence; even at night she refused to accept it yet there it was, hovering at the edges of her mind, waiting to engulf her. The weekend came and went. Lance will phone, she told herself, but he did not. She heard nothing. Pride prevented her trying to contact him but by Tuesday she could bear it no longer. She held the receiver in her hand for a full minute while her thoughts warred with one another. She drew a deep breath. She dialled.

‘Lance Bettinger…'

‘I am sorry to trouble you,' she said, fighting to keep her voice even. ‘We need to talk.'

‘Lunchtime,' he said, his voice cool. ‘At the Baron. Twelve-thirty.' It was a stranger speaking.

The Baron of Beef was a local pub. They had eaten there before. She had an appointment but that could be changed.

‘I'll be there.'

Lance was there first and had taken a table in a corner partly hidden behind an ornate screen the publican claimed he had brought back from Java but that some customers said had come from a Subiaco junk shop. The ambiguity suited the occasion, the denial of what Hilary had believed was love. Perhaps Lance had chosen the table for that reason or – more probably – to ensure they were hidden from the rest of the dining room.

She sat down. She found the conventional words –
How are you going? A bit warm today, isn't it?
– but to look at him across the cloth-covered table, even for the instant she permitted herself, brought a pain so savage that for a moment she doubted she would be able to talk or eat or indeed do anything but endure.

No, she thought, I shall not let him do this to me.

Therefore she forced herself to look at him as the warm tide of an unanticipated emotion flooded through her. She had expected politeness, the hard cold politeness of a stone. She had expected distance, as though Lance were watching her through the wrong end of a telescope. She had not expected tears.

His face was wet, his clenched hands knotted on the table in front of him. Without conscious decision Hilary reached out to cover those hands with her own, aware how indescribably precious they were to her, and realised that after all this was to be a meeting not of dismissal but of shared pain.

‘It is the children,' he said.

Now all Hilary could think of was how to ease his suffering. ‘I understand,' she said. ‘Please…'

‘I have a duty to them,' he said.

She tightened her hands on his. ‘Don't.'

The four hands clung together in mute acknowledgement of that reality. Hilary sensed the wife smiling in the shadows. The wife who had talked of her rights, her ownership.

‘I don't think there is any point in this,' she said. A wry smile, as brittle as sticks. ‘I doubt I could eat anything, anyway. We both understand and accept the situation. I shall think of you always with… affection' – she would not mention love, for fear her voice would break – ‘I blame you for nothing. You brought me such happiness. Such joy –' her voice creaked after all ‘– but as we must part, let us part with dignity. Yes?' She stood. She reached out and touched his hands. For the last time. She found the strength to share her love in the brittle smile she gave him. For the last time. She turned and walked away, her senses numb.

So the world ends.

Yet it was not so. Six weeks later the doctor confirmed what she had already suspected. It seemed that in one respect the world was not ending at all but just beginning.

2004

A MEETING WITH A POWERFUL MAN

1

‘Everything arranged,' Martha said. She seemed very pleased with herself.

‘Tell me what we're talking about,' Sara said.

‘We are talking about China. About huge business opportunities for us in China!' Martha was not quite dancing but it was close. Then her happy face sobered. ‘If we play our cards right. If things go well for us tonight.'

Sara laughed. ‘Always the riddles! Why don't you tell me what you're on about? What's so special about tonight?'

‘Tonight we meet Mr Wong Chee-Weng.'

‘Who is?'

‘A top man. Very important here and in Beijing. He has a lot of influence in China! But the meeting has to be very hush hush. He'll come with his advisers. If things go well this could be a big deal for Brand Corporation!'

‘How did you manage to arrange it?'

‘Family connection; my second aunt's husband has a cousin in the administration.'

‘Does Mr Wong know about the Lennox business?'

‘Of course. Otherwise he would not agree to talk.'

‘Where are we meeting him?'

‘At the Kee Club tonight. Very exclusive, very private. Usually bookings have to be made months ahead but for a man like Wong Chee-Weng all things are possible. We should be there at nine-thirty.'