Tears of the Moon (46 page)

Gunther was waiting on the verandah and came to help her from the sulky.

Amy’s initial misgivings were quickly dispelled when she realised everyone there had something of a colourful past or were vague about their present activities. A slick, superficial explanation of their reason for being in Broome only added to the mystery.
There was a Viennese pearl buyer who said he also bought gold and precious stones for ‘private clients’, a Japanese businessman who was accompanied by a very young, very pretty kimono-clad Japanese girl who spoke no English but giggled and remained attentively close by his side. There were several other businessmen and a slightly built Malay man who wore a lot of jewellery. The few European women present were plainly dressed when compared to Amy, who shone at centre stage like a music hall queen. While by no means classy or distinctive themselves, the women eyed Amy with some distaste. The men favoured her openly with appreciative stares.

‘Who owns this place?’ Amy asked Gunther in a low voice after they had been served several drinks.

‘He calls himself a trader. Antoine Dollinger, known as Captain Dolly. He buys and sells … anything. A very useful man to know.’ Gunther winked.

‘You know him well?’

‘Well enough. I’ve had various business dealings with him. I’m hoping to close a transaction that will make me a large sum of money.’ The smile hadn’t left Gunther’s face.

‘And I don’t suppose you’re going to give me any clues about this … big deal?’

‘Curiosity killed the cat. Why are you so interested? Ladies are just supposed to look pretty and not ask questions about men’s business.’

‘Some of us can be pretty
and
clever,’ she teased.

He studied her for a moment. ‘Yes, but you’re rare birds.’

‘I might be thinking about business opportunities,
too. I’m looking forward to chatting to Captain Dolly.’

‘You talk to me if you have any clever ideas. I’ll look after your interests.’

‘Will you indeed? Business or personal?’

‘That is up to you, my dear. I’m full of surprises. You could do worse than throw your lot in with me. It’s a hard, cold world out there, only the strong—and the clever—survive.’

‘I know that, believe me. But I’ve managed quite well. Up till now. As I said, I’m seeking opportunities. I don’t plan to hang about Broome forever.’

‘And Captain Tyndall? What do you plan to do with him?’

‘He looks after himself.’

‘Perhaps that’s the problem, eh? You need an interest of your own.’

‘I was thinking of a money-making interest.’ She lifted his hand from her waist. Amy still hadn’t decided if Gunther was as clever as he tried to appear. She’d seen his type before, always about to make the big killing, always talking but still waiting for the fortune due to come their way. Yet for some reason, her antenna was registering positive, telling her this man was about to strike his mother lode. She still wondered why he fascinated her so. Despite his ugliness, he exuded a power that was sexually attractive.

Gunther expounded his business philosophy a little further. ‘You want to make money, you have to take risks. Bend the rules. Live dangerously. Might not suit your way of doing things.’

‘I wouldn’t say that.’ They exchanged a frank look
that spoke volumes more than the conversational jousting.

‘Maybe what you’re looking for might come along sooner than you think. When it does, you have to up anchor and sail where the wind takes you.’

‘That’s how I’ve lived my life,’ said Amy softly.

Gunther instantly recognised he’d met one of his own. One of those who took in order to win and didn’t mind the consequences.

The evening passed too quickly for Amy. She felt heady from the wines and port and from the snatches of conversation between Gunther and the other men she’d come to realise were all connected in a loose network devoted to illegal but profitable dealings. She decided that she wanted to be part of it in some way, for she saw the paths of this company led to exotic places, wealth lavishly spent on indulgent pastimes and lifestyle, with a dash of danger and excitement thrown in.

On the way home, Gunther and Amy discussed the party in detail, Amy questioning him about what he knew of some of the other guests and of their host, the rough diamond, Captain Dolly. It appeared to be a social exchange after an intriguing evening, but beneath the surface there was an undercurrent of indefinable electricity that zapped between Amy and Gunther. It excited Amy, she loved the sport of the male and female chase.

They pulled up and Gunther walked her to the verandah steps.

‘This has been a very special evening. Thank you, Karl.’

‘I hope there are going to be more opportunities to enjoy your company. I have plans that might interest you. Seeing as I now understand better what you might be interested in, where you are going, so to speak. You are an independent woman. I like that. We should discuss things further.’

‘No more merely social occasions?’

‘That, too, of course. It’s up to you and how you handle your … personal situation.’

‘Well, if you’re leaving matters up to me … ’ Amy leaned forward and kissed Gunther on the mouth.

He kissed her back, roughly drawing her body to his and running his hands around her buttocks. Briefly he pulled back from her. ‘There’s a rule—never mix work and pleasure,’ he murmured.

‘What a shame,’ whispered Amy. ‘Which side of the fence does that leave me? On the business or the pleasure side?’

‘I should add, that was a rule I broke long ago.’ He kissed her grinning mouth once more and she thrust her breasts against him, leaving an invitation hanging in the air.

They drew apart, Gunther giving her a friendly squeeze.

‘I’ll see you again, I’ll send a message,’ he offered.

‘I look forward to it.’ And she did. Suddenly life was a lot more interesting. Amy’s hips gave a saucy twitch as she climbed the verandah steps and disappeared indoors.

As Gunther departed, a figure stepped out of the shadows then turned into the house.

Ahmed sailed to the rendezvous point in the
Bulan
and, within a day, learned Tyndall had sailed north and no one had sighted the
Shamrock
since, though none of the fleet had ventured off the pearling grounds. While it was feasible he could have found a good patch of shell, for him to miss their rendezvous was unusual. Ahmed waited one more day, then left a message with the nearest lugger that he was sailing north to look for Tyndall. After conferring with the first mate they set out on the course always taken by their skipper.

Ahmed was worried, it wasn’t like Tyndall. Even if he wasn’t himself, being depressed over the situation with Amy and Olivia, he was always on top of things at sea. A gnawing sensation in Ahmed’s gut told him Tyndall was in trouble.

If Tyndall had sailed up as far as the Buccaneer Archipelago they could miss each other between the many islands that rose straight from the sea. But Ahmed held his course and patiently waited for some sign.

When it came, his heart sank. The crew dragged on board a splintered piece of wood with a sodden lifebuoy tangled around it. S
HAMROCK
was written in red letters on the lifebuoy.

Slowly they backtracked, searching the sea in a pattern. The crew kept careful watch, for they knew they were sailing through badly charted waters.

They came across some more wreckage but found no signs of life. They continued in the same search pattern until forced to anchor for the night.

Tyndall was sick of turtle eggs and had managed to catch a bird and eat what he could raw. He had also found some rain-water in the hollows of rocks. But he was not prepared to wait and hope for an unlikely rescue. Estimating the coast to be about twenty miles away, he decided it was too far to swim in his condition, but with the currents and wind in his favour, not too far to paddle. He still had his knife strapped to his belt so he cut some supple young branches and bound them together with vine for a makeshift raft. Clinging to this, he stroked his way back across the channel to the reef exposed by the low tide.

The abandoned dinghy was a shell, a mere buttercup, but it was better than his raft. Using a broken plank, he managed to lever the dinghy free. With the next surge of water over the reef he pushed off. Crouching in the fractured dinghy and using the plank as a paddle, he struck out for the distant line of land.

Ahmed’s searching was proving fruitless. In the bright light of the fourth day, he sat staring at the map looking at the pinpoints of atolls and islands wondering if Tyndall was alive on any of them.

It was a Koepanger in a bosun’s chair hoisted to the masthead who caught the first glimpse of something in the water and called for a change of course. More wreckage, they thought, until, drawing closer, they saw the body of a man collapsed in the tattered dinghy. He had secured himself to the broken seat by his shirt and the exposed skin of his back was blistered raw. They had no idea if he was dead or alive.

Ahmed stood to one side, praying desperately as they dragged Tyndall on board.

They rolled him over and found he was still breathing. Water was dribbled into his mouth and the dried sea salt rinsed from his face. He coughed and spluttered, his eyes rolled back in his head, then slowly refocused. Through sunburnt lips he tried to speak but only an incoherent babble of sounds escaped from his swollen mouth. They treated him as best they could and Ahmed set a course for Broome.

Amy met Karl Gunther on two more occasions. To some who saw them together, they seemed an unlikely couple—the coarse adventurer with an unsavoury reputation, and the stylish, if overdone, beauty who was used to men of some substance fawning over her. But it was apparent to Gunther and Amy that they had much in common.

They saw themselves as gamblers prepared to take risks, provided the stakes were high enough. They used people. That was just part of the philosophy of grasping opportunities as they presented themselves, feeling no remorse or guilt if the other party suffered. Each acknowledged that they put themselves before all else and saw this as a virtue.

Gunther had never met a woman like this before. Women were chattels, useful for tending all his needs, available anywhere, any time he wanted them. But he soon realised Amy was as used to calling the shots as he. She had a strong will and he suspected that despite her pretty trappings, she would just as readily tough it out under rough conditions if it
meant getting what she wanted. She was impatient and was looking for quick and easy money. He couldn’t see her sitting it out in Broome much longer. But plotting to peel Tyndall’s wealth off him was obviously proving harder than she anticipated. Amy would use her body just as readily as her head to get what she wanted. She had played rough in her time he had no doubts, but she’d met her match in Tyndall.

‘That Hennessy woman has some hold over him,’ she told Gunther over a late afternoon tea at The White Lotus.

‘What are you going to do about it?’

‘I thought I held the trump card, being his legal wife, but it’s not doing me much good when all his assets are tied up in the business.’

‘What about the pearl harvest? I heard he’s had more than a fair season.’

Amy gave him a rueful smile. ‘That’s more the sort of asset I was hoping to get my hands on.’

‘Ah, you see yourself strutting around this small town—or elsewhere—wearing strands of fabulous pearls.’