Tears of the Moon (32 page)

There was silence but he knew she was listening.

He banged on the door. ‘Time, Olivia.’

‘Please leave me alone, John.’

‘No, I won’t. It’s time you came out and got on with your life. For Hamish’s sake. And Conrad’s. I miss him too, Olivia.’

There was a muffled noise.

‘Damn it, woman. I’m not talking through this door. I’m coming in.’

‘No! Please go away.’ Her voice was hoarse and tired.

Tyndall wrenched the door open and stood in the doorway, blinking in the near darkness. ‘God, woman, what is this?’ He went to the windows where the shutters showed slits of dusk light.

‘Please, leave me be,’ pleaded Olivia in a weak but tense voice that was teetering on the edge of hysteria.

‘Throw something if you want.’ The shutters banged open and a rush of last yellow light, perfumed by the tropical shrubs, surged into the musty room. With it came the giggles of Hamish and Maya. He turned to face Olivia.

She sat hunched in a chair, her hair falling lank and dull down her back. Her face was drawn and pale and she hugged a cotton wrapper across herself.

Tyndall pretended not to notice her appearance and spoke to her with firmness. ‘Olivia, I expect you to be down at the camp and office tomorrow morning. There’s a mountain of paperwork and you will have to take over Conrad’s administrative duties. It’s all beyond me. Damn cyclone of paper seems to have
hit the place. We need to plan the coming season. I was thinking of sailing north.’

The outburst achieved its intended effect, particularly the radical suggestion of sailing north. His luggers always went south.

‘Why north?’ Olivia demanded.

Tyndall sighed inwardly with relief. While she would continue to mourn, he knew he’d sparked a reaction and soon enough she’d be out of this cocoon of grief. However, his demeanour didn’t alter. ‘I’ve heard rumours of new grounds. I might go check it out.’ He turned to leave and said casually over his shoulder, ‘Perhaps you and Hamish might like to come along. Anyway, I’ll see you tomorrow.’

He left the room, quietly closing the door, then leaned against it and expelled a long breath. Olivia had looked wretched and his heart ached for her.

Olivia stared at the closed door, a sudden flood of anger welling in her.
Typical Tyndall
, she thought with some anger.
Didn’t ask if she wanted to go to work, just tells her
. She paced the room a little, went to the window and looked out at the technicolour sunset, then decided to have a bath.

Soaking in the water her annoyance dissolved in a rush of affection for Tyndall’s rough kindness. She knew he was right, there was Hamish and the business to think about. Conrad was gone, the life they’d had together was gone. It was no use wallowing in self-pity and sadness. She had to go forward, alone.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

O
livia began to come to terms with her loss. While she came out of her room and faced the world again, her grief turned inwards and became a private pain. Life went on and she went through the motions. But day by day it became a little easier.

Olivia found the morning walk to the foreshore camp a calming experience. The day was yet to heat up and there was something reassuring about seeing the luggers at anchor for refit and repair during lay up. The extraordinary colour of the sea never failed to amaze her, and the activity of the foreshore camps was enchanting.

Chinese and Manilamen emptied their fish traps and hurried to the town with baskets of fresh fish hanging from a long bamboo pole across their shoulders. Crews were fussing about the luggers, storing everything that could be moved in tin sheds around the camps. Filipino carpenters were busy
with makeshift slips nursing some of the luggers, while Malay sailmakers bent over the sheets of canvas, cutting and stitching.

The men working at Star of the Sea’s camp were delighted to see her. They all came forward, some with a little embarrassment because of the cultural and social gap, to take her hand and offer words of sympathy and support. Olivia was greatly touched by the reception and responded with a smile and little more than a single word of thanks. It was too moving, almost too emotional to handle and she felt a little weak at the knees, but forced herself to carry on with an inspection of the shed and a boat on the slips, and to wave to Tyndall on the deck of a lugger moored in the bay.

Her equilibrium was shaken back in town when she climbed the stairs and stood outside Conrad’s office. She took a deep breath and stepped inside. Documents were spread in a disorderly fashion over his desk, and the top drawer of the oak filing cabinet was open, files scattered on files, testimony to Tyndall’s attempt to keep the paperwork moving.

Her attention to the files was total and another hour passed before she knew it. She was disturbed by soft footsteps in the passageway and looked up as Ahmed stopped in the doorway.

‘
Selamat pagi, mem
.’

‘Good morning, Ahmed. Do come in.’

Ahmed walked to the desk and ignored her gesture to sit. His eyes burned with pain and sorrow as they looked at each other in silence.

‘Mem … ’ said Ahmed, then paused unable to go on.

She nodded her head slightly in support then realised that he was really unable to put into words what he wanted to say.

Then he simply touched his kris, looked into her eyes, and whispered, ‘Sorry, mem. Too late.’

Olivia smothered a small gasp with her hand, but recovered quickly. ‘Thank you, Ahmed. Say no more.’ He gave a small bow and left the room. Olivia covered her eyes with both hands and wept quietly.

Later in the morning, Tyndall turned up, pulled out a chair and propped his feet up on the now tidy desk. ‘John, please.’

‘I’m glad to see you here,’ he said simply.

‘Thank you. The men were very kind down at the camp.’

‘They think a great deal of you. They respected Conrad, but they have a special feeling for you. You knew that, of course.’

‘I really hadn’t thought about it. I was greatly touched by their support this morning.’ She stood and took a file to the cabinet, hoping the activity would somehow bolster her emotional strength. The morning had been more draining than she had anticipated.

As she busied herself at the filing cabinet, Tyndall broke the silence. ‘I’ve taken an option on a new lugger.’

Olivia spun around. ‘A new lugger! But we haven’t had a chance to talk about the future yet. That’s rather a rash thing to do, isn’t it?’

‘Rash, but wise. It’s a good deal and life and
business must go on, Olivia. We’ve got to keep things on an even keel. Sit down and I’ll fill you in on the details.’

Olivia sat and immediately began taking notes as she realised that his idea of keeping the business on an even keel meant sailing at full speed with the wind astern.

‘I’ve made Yoshi the skipper and hired one of his relatives as number one diver on the Annabella. Yoshi will dive as well as be skipper.’

‘That’s a good idea. He’s proved to be a good worker and loyal.’

‘So far. Some of the other captains think I’m crazy. Can’t trust the Japs, they say. They’ll steal the good pearls and sell them as snides. Say they think it’s a prerogative that goes with the job.’

‘Do you and Ahmed trust Yoshi?’

‘Totally.’

‘Then you have my support.’ Olivia paused to put down the pencil and sit back. ‘Now, about my future. I intend to stay in Broome and, if you agree, to become a more active partner. I’ll take over Conrad’s work. And I want to push on with Conrad’s plans for diversifying the business on the providore side. There’s money to be made in resupplying the luggers at sea.’

Tyndall smiled. ‘I rather hoped you would. It will be tough on your own, but I’ll give you all the support I can. You know that, Olivia,’ he added warmly.

‘Thanks, John, and thanks for being so firm with me. It wasn’t easy to listen to, but it was what I needed to get going.’

Several days later Tyndall sent for Olivia and Hamish and asked them to meet him at Streeter’s Jetty. To her surprise she found the crews of their luggers along with Ahmed, Yoshi and Taki gathered about the jetty. They welcomed her warmly and Hamish made straight for Ahmed, who picked him up and squeezed him in delight.

‘Well, what’s this all about, John?’ asked Olivia.

‘The new lugger. We thought Hamish might like to christen it. We’ve rigged up a bottle of champagne. He just has to let the rope go.’

‘What a lovely idea,’ said Olivia as she made her way through the group to the edge of the wharf. It was then that she clearly saw the stern of the freshly painted lugger.

In black lettering on the white hull was the lugger’s name—Conrad.

Tears filled her eyes as she looked at Tyndall.

‘We hope you approve,’ he said softly. ‘Maybe after Hamish has done the honours you’d like to bring him for a run across the bay.’

She had difficulty speaking. ‘We’d like that very much.’

Hamish squealed in delight as the lugger heeled over, the water slapping the lee gunwale, sometimes gushing down the deck while Ahmed held him at the wheel of the forty-foot lugger. Olivia looked over every inch of her, from the air compressor for the divers, to the hold where the shell was stowed, to the two water tanks which each held two hundred gallons. Forward of the hold was the small fo’c’sle
where the Koepanger crew slept. The crew was evenly divided between Japanese and Koepanger, a system that had proved safe and sensible. In the past many one-race crews had ganged up against the master to mutiny or steal pearls. Often masters had been ‘lost overboard in a storm’ when carrying crews of one nationality. The Conrad was ketch-rigged and towards the stern there was a cabin where two bunks were on a level with the deck. The vessel smelled of new canvas, fresh paint and pitch.

Olivia nodded her approval. ‘She sails well, looks good. I think Conrad would be pleased.’ It was the first time she had uttered his name without choking up. She gave Tyndall a grateful smile.

He smiled back and patted Hamish’s fair head.

From the shore, Niah watched the new lugger skim across the bay. She was annoyed at being left behind—since Conrad’s death, Tyndall had divided his life as if he had two families. She understood Mem Hennessy was part of his world of luggers and pearl shell, but now Tyndall was taking an interest in the boy, giving him more attention than Maya. His obsessive devotion to his baby girl had been diverted, as had his interest in Niah. He was preoccupied with work, the new boat, with Mem Hennessy and the crews. Only at night when he was sober and attentive to her, did Niah feel her power and place in his life restored.

Niah walked back towards Tyndall’s bungalow. She looked down the length of the sandy street to where the ribbon of road led to the pindan and the coastal country of her people.

Changing direction, she went to the Hennessys’ and found Minnie in the laundry sorting clothes for ironing. Niah sat on the steps, Maya sitting next to her.

Minnie glanced at Niah, stopped what she was doing and eased herself onto the step below her. She smiled at Maya and spoke a phrase in their language, then lifted Niah’s hand and held it. She patted it gently, the gesture heavy with meaning to the forlorn young woman.

Three years passed, and the relationship between Olivia and Tyndall tightened—their bond through the business giving them mutual ground and interests to share.

Tyndall’s respect for Olivia’s business acumen, her judgement, and negotiating skills grew to the point where he admitted to her one day she was ‘just as good as a man’. Olivia accepted the comment as a compliment but it irritated her. While she was one of only several white women who were involved in the business and professional world of Broome, she saw no reason why women shouldn’t take their place alongside men if they had the inclination and ability.

Tyndall sometimes accompanied Olivia during the pearl sale negotiations with Monsieur Barat, but sat back and let her handle the delicate interplay and exchanges before agreeing on a price. Then Tyndall would step in and take over the social exchange. The friendship that had developed with the French pearl merchant was one that both Olivia and Tyndall valued.

Olivia had come to understand Tyndall’s nature much better as she observed him through his working day—dealing with, on one hand, a bureaucratic, petty customs officer, barely controlling his impatience with the man’s arrogance and obsession with unnecessary details, then displaying gentle humour and appreciation of craftsmanship in his dealings with a Malay sailmaker.