A Woman of Courage (42 page)

‘Exactly.'

They went back into the welcome warmth of the hotel. They were barely through the doors when a member of the hotel staff came and spoke to Hilary.

‘Comrade Li's office has been on phone. We explain you were out and they say will ring again.'

‘Could they have come to a decision so quickly?' Hilary said to Martha as they walked to the lift.

‘It is surprising. No doubt they will tell you when they phone.'

The call came ten minutes later. It was nothing to do with business but to invite them to join Comrade Li and a private party at the Beijing ballet that evening.

‘As Ms Brand had expressed an interest in Chinese culture.'

‘We shall be delighted,' Hilary said. ‘Delighted and honoured.'

‘A car will collect you at eight o'clock,' the caller said.

‘I guess this is one time we should be punctual,' Hilary said to Martha. ‘What should we wear?'

‘The grandest clothes we have.'

Thank goodness Hilary had come prepared with a full-length Versace gown that looked like a million dollars and had cost almost as much.

It was a splendid evening, the ballet a sensational mixture of gracefully swaying figures, colourful gowns and variegated lights, and was followed by a banquet at what they were told was one of the capital's most prestigious restaurants, where they were served by beautiful young women wearing traditional dress.

‘Very pricey,' Martha Tan murmured appreciatively.

Certainly the food was excellent. The only mention of business came at the evening's end as Mr Li assisted Hilary into her car.

‘You were serious when you spoke of retirement?'

‘Absolutely. I am willing to be involved in any discussions if you believe that will be helpful but my daughter and Ms Tan will be overseeing any future operations.'

‘Thank you for your candour.'

‘I thought it best that you should be told at the beginning. And thank you for a truly delightful evening.'

Two days later Martha and Sara returned from a meeting with Mr Li and his advisers to tell Hilary that the Chinese government was terminating its agreement with the present Premier Tractor management. From now on Brand Corporation would be supplying China with earthmoving equipment and the technical back-up to ensure that proper maintenance standards were observed. This time it was Sara who spoke for both of them.

‘We told them that if Premier Wen's vision of developing the rural areas was to be realised it would necessitate a huge investment in infrastructure. Ideally this would mean graders and diggers in every town.'

‘And the maintenance?'

‘We suggested we should supply technicians to work with Chinese mechanics. They would learn the language as they went along and would assist local teams to gain the necessary expertise so that the life of the equipment would be extended as far as humanly possible.'

‘Mutual help and teams working together,' Hilary said. ‘I like it.'

‘So did Mr Li.'

‘What do you plan to do about Premier Tractors?'

‘Without the China operation I doubt they're viable. I think we should be able to take them over without too much of a problem.'

‘Good. But I think you should let Vivienne handle that. She has a lot of experience of takeovers and I don't want her to feel left out. She can teach you a lot over the next two years.'

‘She will be the CEO,' Sara said. ‘It is best that she should handle it.' A pause. ‘Martha raised another matter with Mr Li. Pretty much out of the blue, I would say.'

‘Strike while the iron is hot,' Martha said.

‘Tell me.'

‘I chanced to mention our involvement in genetic research. Very casually, you understand. This a matter of considerable interest in China.'

Hilary gave her a sharp look. ‘You didn't mention Gainsborough's name?'

‘Most certainly not.'

‘But you think Mr Li was interested?'

‘Oh yes.'

‘He said so?'

‘He said nothing. But we shall hear from him very soon.'

‘You sound very sure.'

‘Oh yes. It is the China way.'

‘Dear Martha,' Hilary said. ‘Where would we be without you?'

All in all it had been a hugely successful visit.

‘The start of something truly great,' Hilary said as the Airbus flew south. ‘I am proud of the pair of you.'

It was an odd feeling, all the same. She had chosen her course and would stick to it, though the sidelines had never been her preferred place. But I am not Qianlong, she thought. I have said I will step aside and I shall. In fact as well as theory.

Her thoughts turned to the future, full of golden promise, and also to the time, sixteen years earlier, when the focus of her world had changed and Craig Laurie had come into her life. From now on, she thought, Craig will
be
my life.

Now the decision had been made she couldn't wait.

‘Are we finished here, then?'

‘For the moment.'

‘Then let's get home. I've a thousand things to do.'

‘So have we all,' Sara said, ‘Top of my list: interview for Channel 12 with Emil Broussard.'

BREAKING THE WALLS

1

It was late. Melbourne was a city that never slept yet when Jennifer came out of the hotel and kissed Martin passionately for one last time after what had been an evening of kisses, when she climbed into the taxi he had summoned and headed home, the streets were relatively quiet. Not to be wondered at, at two-fifteen in the morning.

Not that it mattered. Davis was away in Brisbane and as so often before she had grabbed the chance to fly the coop and spend the evening in Martin's arms.

That was the way they did it; Martin drove down from his mountain eyrie in the Dandenongs and they met at the hotel that after their first visit they had christened their assignation house. They seldom left the hotel room for fear of being seen by someone who knew her. Instead they smuggled snacks in and, giggling like naughty children, picnicked naked on the bed, gobbling rolls and ham and cheese and luscious fresh tomatoes and potato salad that she had picked up in the local supermarket.

A dozen times Martin had sketched her like that, naked and smiling on the rumpled bed, hair tousled and cheeks flushed, a plate of food in her lap, the magic of his talent shouting that this was a woman who loved and was loved and who, unmistakably, had just made love with all the passion in her soul.

And it was true, it was true. Every time they were together Jennifer was transported into a place she had never dreamt existed and, knowing that this man had the power to take her there, was all the more eager to be guided, roused, tantalised and ultimately consumed in the furnace of their shared desire. She was redeemed, Venus rising from the foam, as Martin repeatedly told her.

‘What a job Botticelli would have made of you!' he said, his pencil already at work.

Later she looked curiously at this latest sketch. ‘Are my breasts really as good as that?'

‘They are the queen of tits,' he assured her, and kissed them both to prove it.

‘Leave him,' he said each time they were together. ‘You know you can't stand him.'

‘One day,' she said.

‘When?'

‘Soon.'

She was braver than she had been but to walk out demanded a level of courage that for the moment was beyond her.

She had been overweight with a discontented mouth and haunted eyes; now she was transformed into a child freshly minted, for the first time transported to the land of love. Any man with half an eye would have recognised the signs but Davis never looked at her, so remained oblivious.

Now, as the taxi drew to a stop outside the house, she repeated to herself what earlier that evening she had told Martin.

‘Very soon I will leave him.'

She opened the door, walked into the house and stopped mid-stride. There was a silence about an empty house that was unmistakable; she knew at once she was not alone.

Her blood paused in her veins; she listened, holding her breath; she watched the shadows from the corners of her eyes. The living-room door creaked as it swung open.

Davis said: ‘Why are you so late?'

Shock was a drumbeat in her head. She thought: I am going to have a heart attack; I am going to have a stroke, fall to the floor, scream… While the sweat sprang icy cold beneath her clothes.

‘You said you were going to be away so I went out.'

‘Where?'

She dared not look at his eyes. ‘I was at Tessa's.'

‘Until two o'clock in the morning?' He stepped close to her; she sensed the air between them vibrating with his fury. ‘You are lying.'

She would have been less terrified if he had shouted at her but his voice was low, venomous, dangerous.

‘I am doing no such thing.'

The lie was risky, her story easily disproved, but she thought he would not risk the humiliation of ringing Tessa to find out. And at this hour? No, he would not do it. So she defied him.

‘Why are you behaving like this? And why aren't you in Brisbane?'

Maybe the shock had sharpened her loathing; certainly she heard it in her voice and thought Davis must as well. Perhaps now the moment had come. Perhaps they had reached the point when after all the years of lies only the truth would do.

And he hit her. Not on the face, where a mark would be seen, but with his clenched fist deep into her belly.

Her breath fled. She was dying for lack of air, falling on the floor at his feet and fighting to draw breath while he stood over her. Through the pain she felt the shock and first hot fury of hatred but also, behind the fear and loathing, an awakening sense of triumph.

This was the catalyst she had needed; now she would be brave.

But only if she survived. Which was by no means certain as Davis Lander dragged her up by the hair, the pain excruciating, and hit her again and then a third time so that she cried out with the last of her breath and he turned from her and walked away, leaving her broken and helpless upon the floor, still fighting for the breath that his blows had driven from her body.

Through her pain she heard Davis say: ‘You needn't worry. I won't touch you in any other way, ever again. I wouldn't demean myself.'

She had grown used to his psychological cruelty but had never expected this. She had never thought Davis a violent man but now realised that neither she nor her husband had understood the first thing about each other. The pain was terrible; she felt that physically she was no more than a husk of what she had been only minutes earlier, yet the humiliation was even worse.

When finally she crawled to a chair and, drawing up her legs, succeeded in clawing herself upright, she knew that staying in the house was out of the question. But where could she go? It was a quarter to three; Martin would be on the way back to the Dandenongs and out of contact; Mother and Sara were in Sydney; phone Tessa and she would dine out on the story for evermore. The ugly truth was there was no one she could turn to.

Acting on her own initiative was a new experience but she shrugged that off; determination had dispelled her old uncertainty. She knew that never again would she spend a night under Davis's roof.

Aching all over, barely able to stand, she wasn't up to driving. Luckily she had money in her purse and her credit card. Every step was agony but somehow she got to the phone and rang for an all-night taxi.

She waited outside the front door until it arrived, climbed painfully in and told the driver to take her to the hotel she had left barely an hour before. Oblivious to the concerned glances of the night staff, she booked a room.

‘Are you all right, madam?'

‘I am fine. Thank you.' Her voice sounded frail even to herself. ‘No, I have no luggage.'

Not even a toothbrush or change of underwear.

Somehow she reached the room. She locked the door and leant against it while the room swirled about her. Summoning her last reserves of will she poured a bath, let her clothes fall where they would and managed to half-climb, half-fall into the hot water. She lay there, afraid she would pass out, while her body roared with pain.

Soaping herself was out of the question; even to touch her ribs or stomach was agony. She lay and soaked until the water began to cool. For a while she doubted she could get out of the bath but somehow she managed it. Gritting her teeth she patted herself dry; she looked at herself in the bathroom mirror. Already the bruises were purple blotches on her white skin.

I'll be a pretty picture in the morning, she thought. She got to the bed, lay on it and drew the bedclothes over her. Delayed shock seized her and she began to shake, the movement so violent that even that hurt. I hope he's done no serious damage, she thought. But whether he had or not, she would have to wait until morning to find out. At least for the moment she was safe. The shaking eased; even the pain eased a little provided she did not turn or move. She slept. Or at least passed out.

It was light when she woke. For a moment she did not feel too bad but as soon as she moved pain flared like a forest fire. Every part of her ached: even her neck and arms, which Davis had not touched. When she crawled out of bed she could not stand at first. She crawled to the bathroom and, inch by inch, clinging on to the door post, she levered herself upright. Her torso was black and when she looked in the mirror it was an old woman who looked back at her from the glass.

The question now was what she should do about it. She daren't tell Martin. Do that and Martin might kill him. Not that Davis didn't deserve it but she didn't want Martin getting into strife. Instead she did what she had done all her life when trouble threatened: she picked up the phone and rang Mother.

‘I'm in trouble, Mummy…' After years of silence, now the words spilled out.

‘He did
what
?'

‘Three times! He hit me three times –'