Bright Air (19 page)

‘What did she tell you?’ The muscles of his mouth bunched around the words as if they were sour.

But I’d had enough of being questioned. ‘Why don’t you just tell us.’

‘I had no reason to suspect pregnancy. She didn’t hint at the possibility to me. The symptoms were compatible with gastroenteritis, which was going around at the time.’

‘Can you estimate how far gone she was?’

‘No, I’ve no idea.’

Anna took over. ‘Why did you tell your wife to hide it?’

‘For Luce’s sake. She’d specifically asked Pru to say nothing.’

‘You were in love with Luce, weren’t you?’

He dipped his head. ‘That’s none of your business.’

‘Did you try to have sex with her?’

He winced, then said, ‘No.’ It didn’t sound convincing, but it was an ambiguous question. Had he had sex, or had he tried?

I said, ‘I’ve been in touch with the detective who drew up the report for the coroner. Maybe we should tell him about this.’

Passlow shook his head hopelessly. ‘Please don’t do that. It has no bearing on anything.’

‘How can you be sure?’

‘Well, you’re the amateur detectives!’ he shot back suddenly, switching to bluster. ‘Work it out. If anything suspicious happened to Lucy then those two on the cliff with her must have been involved, right? And I don’t believe that for an instant. They … they were good friends. They’d never have hurt her.’

He had picked up something about Curtis and Owen, I thought.

‘Look, if you want reassurance, go to the island. Speak to the ranger, Carmel Bisset, or Bob Kelso. They were her friends too. She may have confided in them.’

Anna was reluctant to let it go at that. ‘So you still maintain that the last time you saw Luce was at the party on the Thursday evening?’

He nodded sadly. ‘I barely saw her there. She was avoiding me, I think. I never saw her again.’

‘What about Damien Stokes? Remember him? He complained of having a tummy bug in that last week, too. Did he come to see you?’

‘Stokes?’

I described him. ‘Black hair, beard, my height, science/law student. He arrived halfway through their month on the island.’

‘Oh yes, I remember. Pru took a fancy to him, as I remember.’

‘That’d be right,’ Anna muttered.

The doctor had got to his feet and was searching through a row of large desk diaries in his bookshelves until he found the year. He turned to late September, scanning the pages. ‘Yes, I saw him on the Tuesday, but not because of a stomach upset. He came to see me that evening to dress a scrape on his knee he’d got while climbing with the rest of them that day. Nothing serious.’

‘May I?’ I asked, and reached for the book in his hand. He released it reluctantly. I checked the pages for that last week. Damien’s was the only name from the university group that was mentioned. ‘Thanks.’

When we got back into the car, Anna said, ‘Passlow’s right. We’re going to have to go to the island.’

I felt queasy. ‘I think we should consider this a bit more, Anna. I’m not sure it’ll do any good going there. In fact it could do a lot of harm.’

‘I need you there, Josh.’

‘Why?’

‘I was never one for solo climbing.’

Nor was I. One of Luce’s heroes was an American climber, Lynn Hill, whom she had met once when Lynn visited Australia. Lynn was the first person to free climb, without artificial aids, the Nose route up El Capitan at Yosemite, an almost impossible thousand-metre ascent, in just twenty-three hours, much of it in darkness. Luce had shown me photographs of the epic climb, to me unimaginable. I remembered that as I was poking about in the boxes I’d left with Mary four years before, pulling out my old climbing shoes from one, my helmet and chalk bag from another. They looked worn and tired, someone else’s possessions, not mine. How had Luce ever come to love that other person, that other me I could hardly recognise now?

Even my nylon rope looked worn out. I put the stuff down with a flutter of anxiety. I was different in other ways now, out of shape and out of practice, hands soft from office work. I couldn’t see myself scaling the cliffs below Mount Gower any more. Not without Luce. But this was for Luce, Anna insisted; one last climb for Luce.

My phone rang. I returned abruptly to the present, recognising Damien’s voice.

‘Josh, hi. How’s it going?’

‘Good, thanks. You? Lauren okay?’

‘Fighting fit. You been to see my friend yet?’

The merchant banker. I’d forgotten about it. ‘Um, no, not yet, Damien. Been a bit tied up. Maybe when I get back.’

‘Back?’

‘Yes. Anna and I are going away for a short trip. To Lord Howe.’

‘What?’ I heard his breathing, heavy against the mouthpiece. ‘What exactly do you hope to achieve there?’

‘I don’t know. Talk to some of the locals. Listen, that last week on the island, the week of the accident, you mentioned that you were pretty much out of it in the days after the party, not feeling well.’

‘Yes?’

‘So you didn’t go climbing on the Friday, the day following the party?’

‘I … I can’t remember now. Is that what I said? Why are you interested?’

‘Just trying to place everybody at the scene.’

‘Jesus, Josh, listen to yourself. Who do you think you are, Ed McBain? Where are you going to stay?’

‘We booked on the internet. It’s one of the Kelsos’ cottages.’

‘Well … I really don’t see the point, but if it helps you get over this, good luck.’

‘Thanks.’

He rang off. I hadn’t mentioned our big discovery. The thought of him knowing—of anyone knowing—that Luce had been pregnant when she died just made me feel sick.

I didn’t tell Mary either, but I did have to discuss our trip with her. She thought it was a good idea, but I didn’t let her see the climbing gear I’d packed. That evening I roamed around the hotel, apprehensively checking the locks and light bulbs, as if I might not be coming back.

Luce had told me something about Lord Howe Island. It was the remains of an ancient volcano, the only island in the Pacific that the Polynesians missed as they hopped across the ocean. When HMS
Supply
came upon it in 1788, it was one of the last places left on earth on which no human foot had ever trod, a true Eden burgeoning with unique species. The sailors managed to eat a good few of them to extinction as well as introduce some feral predators, and the arrival of the black rat,
Rattus rattus
, from a grounded ship later didn’t help, but still, a great deal of its natural state had survived and was now being nurtured and restored.

For my benefit, hoping to tickle my interest, Luce spoke of the island’s economic history too; of how the early settlers survived by selling fresh meat and vegetables to passing American whaling ships; of how they were almost wiped out by the collapse of the whaling industry in the 1870s, and were saved by the discovery of the kentia palm, uniquely adapted to a cooler climate and so ideally suited to the Victorian drawing rooms of the northern hemisphere; of how the black rat took a fancy to kentia seeds as well as everything else, and had to be hunted on a bounty system, a rat’s tail being worth one penny in 1920, rising to sixpence by 1928.

She tried hard, but I was determined not to be interested. I was going to London. What could I possibly want with a place
whose whole history could be told in a couple of paragraphs? Now, belatedly, I was on my way.

We met up at Central and took the train together out to the airport. I thought Anna looked younger, with her backpack and holiday gear, and there was a blush of colour in her cheeks. I still had that hollow apprehensive feeling in my stomach you get before a journey or a climb, and we talked with a forced cheerfulness. Neither of us referred to Pru Passlow’s revelation.

An hour out from Sydney, as I watched the shadows of puffy clouds glide across the rippled surface of the ocean far below the little plane, I told her I bet I could guess what she was thinking.

‘Oh yes?’

‘Islands,’ I said. ‘In books.
Robinson Crusoe
,
Treasure Island
,
The Lord of the Flies
…’

‘
And Then There Were None
,’ she replied. ‘
The Executioners
,
The Skull Beneath the Skin
…’

‘Er,
The Magus
,
Lost
…’ That was about the lot as far as I was concerned, but she had plenty more, all mysteries of course.

‘
The Singing Sands
,
Evil Under the Sun
,
Five on a Treasure Island
,
The Lighthouse
…’

‘You win,’ I conceded. ‘Is there a common theme?’

‘Oh yes; the presence of evil in the Great Good Place. It’s the very first story of all, the serpent in the Garden of Eden.’ She cast me a sideways look, and I wondered if that’s how she saw me now, Luce’s serpent.

‘
Rattus rattus
,’ I muttered. ‘Do we have a plan? I imagine all your island detectives had some kind of plan.’

‘To have a close look at the place of the accident, and to check out the Kelsos.’

‘Do we tell them we were friends of Luce’s?’

‘We may have to later, but let’s wait until we’ve had a chance to look around. There’s no reason they should know who we are.’

‘Right, stealth—good thinking.’

I turned back to the window. The view was unchanged and the hollow feeling returned to my stomach; such a vast ocean to absorb one tiny human being. One and a bit tiny human beings.

As we banked in, we got a fine view of the island, a dark crescent in the gleaming ocean, embracing a long narrow lagoon contained by the most southerly coral reef on the planet. The sun glinted off tin roofs among foliage in the low-lying land in the centre of the island, flanked by the two high peaks of Mount Lidgbird and Mount Gower to the south, and by lower hills to the north. The airstrip lay in a narrow sandy waist in the middle, and as we began our approach the pilot warned us to expect a bumpy landing. We descended, losing speed, and the plane was buffeted by surface winds channelling around the mountains. Our wheels touched the runway with a squeal, then lifted again as a gust threw the plane sideways. It corrected, skewing around, then dropped abruptly onto the deck, bounced and skidded to a halt. Everyone clapped.

We clambered out and made our way to a small building to claim our bags. There were drivers standing there holding up signs, and while we waited I idly read their messages, all displaying names of hotels, except one. I blinked with surprise at that one, which said
JOSH
&
ANNA
. The man who was holding the sign across his chest was staring directly at me, and I was immediately sure that he knew exactly who I was. I touched
Anna’s arm and said, ‘We’re expected,’ and nodded at the man. Anna looked, and he stared back at her, unsmiling. He was in his early thirties, perhaps, weathered and tough.

He came towards us as the trolley with our bags arrived, and held out his hand. ‘Bob Kelso.’ He didn’t seem to need confirmation of who we were.

We loaded the bags into the back of his truck, and climbed into the front beside him. I said, ‘You seem to know who we are, Bob.’

‘Recognised your name on our guest list, Josh. Luce spoke about you. She had your picture in her wallet.’ He spoke with a soft, deliberate slowness, eyes slightly narrowed as if more used to focusing on distant waves than people. ‘We were friends.’

I felt a small jag of jealousy. Luce, not Lucy; they’d been friends. He’d seen inside her wallet. And he’d shared her last month on earth.

‘So what brings you over here?’

‘I was away in England when it happened, and I just got back. I bumped into Anna, and we thought it would be good to visit the place where Luce died. Closure, you know.’

He didn’t say anything. Perhaps he disliked that word as much as I did. I thought it best not to start asking him questions at this point, and Anna seemed to feel the same. As we drove off Bob pointed out landmarks. On our left we could see the wide sweep of the beach and lagoon, with a rim of white breakers along the line of the distant reef. To our right the road was lined by thick groves of trees among which we caught glimpses of white timber houses, and after a kilometre or so we turned into a driveway which led through the trees—kentia palms, I noticed, but full-size, much larger than the indoor plants I’d seen before—to a clearing surrounded by verandaed cottages. He pulled to a stop and led us inside one
of them. It was a pleasant, self-contained cabin, two bedrooms with a lounge and kitchen bar, simple timber furniture, polished floorboards and shutters on the windows.

‘Perfect,’ I said.

‘There’s information leaflets on the desk over there,’ Bob pointed. ‘Where you can eat, things you can do, nature trails, beaches, stuff like that. But seeing as you’re friends of Luce, I’d like to show you around.’

‘That would be great, if you can spare the time, Bob. You must have been one of the last people to see Luce. We’d appreciate the chance to talk to you about it, if you don’t mind.’

He gave his slow nod. ‘I have a boat. We could go out tomorrow, see the place where it happened, if you like.’

‘Yes, we’d like that.’

‘Fine. Why don’t you have a look around yourselves, and I’ll come back at six. We can have a beer before dinner. Mum’s invited you to the house to eat with us.’

‘Sounds great.’

As he drove away I turned to Anna. ‘So much for stealth.’

The place had a relaxed holiday feel about it, and I would have been happy to stroll around for an hour or two, buy a bottle of wine and put my feet up, but Anna thought we should act quickly before everyone on the island had been told to watch out for us. I thought they probably already had, but I went along with her plan anyway, which was to catch the ranger unprepared, if she was still there.

We walked down the road to the end of Lagoon Beach, where there was a store and visitors’ centre at the heart of what passed for the town. There we got directions to the ranger’s
office, which we found in an old cottage further along the street. There was a light on inside, and a young woman with sandy hair, dressed in khaki shorts and shirt, was bent over a desk. She lifted her head with a smile. ‘Hello. Can I help you?’