“Can’t I see you alone, Annie?”
“No. You know I always say no, and I always will! Now if you don’t stop this nonsense, I’ll go up and sit with Ed and Carey. You’re spoiling what’s been a wonderful week.”
“What’s been so wonderful about it?” He took off his wind-breaker, and wasn’t wearing a shirt. He was still as lean as ever, she couldn’t help noticing.
“I hadn’t expected Australia to be so glamorous,” Annie said. “It’s like California, but more vigorous and friendly. The people we’ve met here have such a zest for living.”
“Where have you been?” His knee was touching hers, so again she moved slightly.
“We spent Monday morning at the surfing beaches north of Sydney.” Annie remembered the Pacific thundering against cliffs carved by the sea. “Then we went on to the Hawkesbury River.” She remembered that beautiful area of tranquil inlets and rugged bushland, quiet except for the birds. “We visited an old town that’s just as it was a hundred years ago. You could see what the life of the river must have been like as the new country got going.” She could feel Harry’s bare arm against hers, and again she edged sideways; at this rate, she’d soon be overboard.
Annie saw Duke beaming at her from the wheel. It was so unfair that she should feel guilty, when she’d done nothing.
“Stop touching me, Harry, and behave yourself,” she whispered. Couldn’t he see that she was exasperated, and anxious that he shouldn’t make trouble for her? Annie’s whisper was almost inaudible but determined. “If you don’t get away from me, Harry, I’m going to jump off this boat, and you can explain that to Duke.”
Harry grinned. “Sharks in the harbor.” He couldn’t understand why it excited him to play this little game, to see Annie react to his slightest movement. Just to check that she really did, he stretched his lean, brown arm along the gunwale behind her back.
Annie jumped.
Harry smiled.
Duke called out, “What are you two whispering about?” He grinned at them, a captain-at-the-tiller, the-outdoors-man-in-control sort of grin.
Harry called back, “Annie’s just telling me what she’s been up to all week.”
Harry was so close that she could smell his body.
Then Annie looked at him with consternation. Something had just happened inside her head. The boat, the harbor, the sky, everything had become part of a new, disastrous reality—disastrous because Annie didn’t want it, and she couldn’t control it. This new sensation was stupid, it was impossible, but it was real, and it was swamping her senses. There had been some sort of invisible explosion inside her body, and it was physically apparent. She was hot and trembling. Surprised and shocked, Annie recognized her rising heat as passion.
More than anything else in the world, Annie wanted to touch those fine gold hairs on Harry’s brown forearm.
This was terrible! Annie’s mind whirred around, trying to escape from this frightening new situation. She whispered, “Harry, this has got to stop!”
From the bow, Carey casually turned her head back toward Annie. “Didn’t you like the Blue Mountains, Annie? That was my favorite trip of the week.”
On Friday, the Nexus wives had been helicoptered to the huge national park west of Sydney; the spectacular hazy blue mountain ranges covered with rain forests had made Carey feel an awe which she had only previously felt when she climbed down the Grand Canyon. It was a hushed, solemn feeling, as if you were in a soaring cathedral, as if you were in the presence of God.
Harry again edged toward Annie. This time she didn’t move away as she felt the hard warmth of Harry’s thigh. She longed to hurl herself into his arms, as she felt a warm, strange sensation, which she hadn’t felt for years. It was like remembering something wonderful that had happened long ago, or like inhaling a long-forgotten perfume.
To Annie’s horror she suddenly found herself imagining, in great detail, what it would be like to go to bed with Harry. Wildly, she jerked her head around to look at Duke, then jerked it back again, as though he could read her thoughts. She thought, Thank God for the privacy of your head.
Carey said, “But I couldn’t stand the Jenolan caves—they were really eerie.” The black, echoing caves had been illuminated, but they were so vast that you couldn’t see the black backs or the tops of the intricate, lacelike limestone formations. Notorious bushrangers used to hide in them; Carey couldn’t understand how anyone could stay long in those caves, she’d felt instant claustrophobia. She’d started to sweat and tremble violently as she thought of the oppressive weight of the thousands of tons of earth and rock above her. Carey had never been able to stand caves.
Annie took no notice. She could feel the length of Harry’s lean body hard against her, gently persistent.
With joy and wonderment and thrilling horror, Annie realized she was in love with Harry.
No! This was not love, this was lust. She mustn’t prettify it. It was sordid, this sudden obsessive desire—this feeling of being driven beyond control, heedless of logic and safety.
Within seconds, in her head, Annie had been seduced by Harry, confessed to Duke, destroyed her husband’s manly pride in himself and his confidence in her. Now things would never be the same again between them. She had wrecked her happy family and her marriage, and was on the verge of suicide, another mortal sin.
Harry said, “Would you like a drink?”
“No!”
Harry was surprised by Annie’s vehemence.
She couldn’t risk being with Harry for another week, Annie thought. Duke would be bound to notice. She couldn’t understand why she always felt, after these occasions, that somehow she’d been leading Harry on, enjoying her power over him.
Annie turned to look into Harry’s gray eyes. He looked amused. She said, “Harry, would you do something for me?”
“Sure. Anything. What?”
“Do you have to come to Paui?”
“Of course.”
For the past six months he’d looked forward to being with Annie for six whole days. He said, “The Paui trip is my responsibility, it’s on my territory. Please don’t ask me not to come.”
“Harry, if you really do feel … the way you say you do about me … please don’t come! You’ll be able to think of some excuse. Please.”
Harry, a professional bargainer, quickly calculated how many hours he might see Annie next week. He remembered the frustrations of never seeing her alone, never being able to touch her, unless he cornered her, as he had today.
“If I don’t come to Paui,” he said finally, “will you come skiing with me—alone—for a whole day, next time I get to Pittsburgh?” If so, it would be the best chance he’d ever get to try to persuade her. That corn-fed tub of lard she’d married didn’t ski.
Annie hesitated, then said, “Okay, it’s a deal.” Anything.
Carey turned her head toward them again. “It sure is hot. Got anything to drink, Harry?”
“Fosters or Coke?”
Everybody chose soft drinks, and Harry went below to fetch them from the cabin.
Still in his Hemingway-at-the-helm mood, Duke was tacking toward South Head when he caught sight of Lady Jane, the famous nude beach.
Duke-the-macho-sailor altered course and cut across the harbor to get a better look at the girls. A group of glistening golden bodies were playing volleyball like a Playboy photograph come to life.
Suddenly there was a tearing, scraping noise, as if the bottom of the boat was being torn off, and everyone was thrown across the deck.
Harry flung down the drinks and scrambled onto the outboard end of the boom. As he swung from it, he yelled, “Duke, let go the mainsheet! Everyone else move over here and sit over the side, putting your weight outboard.”
Harry’s weight threw the boom outboard, toward the reef. The added weight of the entire party helped to tip the boat over at an even greater angle, which lifted the keel away from the reef.
The boat shuddered.
Slo
wly, very slowly, the current carried them off the reef.
Harry said, “Maybe I’d better take over.”
* * *
Arthur, his bathrobe still limp from the sauna, turned the key in the door of his suite. It had been a successful week and he was looking forward to … He stopped abruptly.
A man—quite small, black and very thin—was lying comfortably on one of the beige leather couches, his crossed feet resting on the central marble table. His shoes were pale ostrichskin; the shoelaces were made of gold thread and studded at every inch with a two-karat blue-white diamond.
Arthur barked, “What the hell are you doing here? Who let you in?” He grabbed the telephone to call Security, but the man on the sofa didn’t seem perturbed. He slithered to his feet and extended a thin, black hand.
“I flew from Port Moresby only to see you, Mr. Graham,” the stranger said. “General Raki, of the Paui Nationalist Army.” He spoke English with the American twang of the Philippines, rather than with the guttural accent of Paui.
“Ah.” Arthur ignored the hand, but replaced the receiver. “Good afternoon, General. Perhaps you would be good enough to telephone the Nexus office on Monday morning. I believe you deal with Harry Scott.”
“That is exactly what I wish to discuss, Mr. Graham.” The whites of his eyes were faintly yellow. “I want to speak to you alone, on a personal level, because I have received no payments via Mr. Scott since July of last year. This is contrary to our agreement.”
“Nexus only deals with the government in power, General Raki.”
“That was not mentioned in our agreement, Mr. Graham. The Nexus agreement was that my payments should be made regularly, so long as there was no holdup in production at the mine.”
“General, I’m sorry, I can’t discuss these matters.” There had been a holdup at the mine, but if Arthur pointed that out, then he would start another argument. “I’ll show you the way to the elevator, General.”
“You are aware, then, that this money is being withheld from me.”
The little bastard was implying that Harry might have kept Raki’s payments for himself. Grimly, Arthur opened the door to the hallway.
“I had expected a more friendly welcome, Mr. Graham.”
“I can’t think how you got in here.”
“As you should know, Mr. Graham, money unlocks all doors. I came because I wanted to find out whether you, personally, knew that my payments had been stopped.”
Arthur gave a brief nod. He wanted the General out of his suite as fast as possible. He wouldn’t want this encounter to be reported as a secret meeting, jeopardizing the Nexus deal with the new government of Paui.
The General stood up and flexed his fingers. “In that case, I have no news for you. I hear that next week you start talks with the President of Paui. I’m sure you’ll get a wonderful welcome. No doubt they will pull out all the stops. Fireworks and so forth.” His eyes—cold and brutal—contradicted the friendly words. He bowed politely. His body seemed boneless as he sauntered down the hallway. Arthur slammed the door.
4
SUNDAY, NOVEMBER 11, 1984
How pleasant it would be not to have to go to work tomorrow on a Monday morning, thought Carey. Yesterday, when they had landed on Paui, she’d been immediately enticed by the drowsy languor, the indifference to time. She was lying on a wicker chaise longue in her private flower-scented patio and enjoying the early morning sun. The only sound was the soft splash of the waves on the sandy beach.
The guest villas at the Paradise Bay Hotel were thatched, so that the exteriors resembled a tribal chief’s hut. The huts were carefully spaced at the back of the beach; privacy was provided by hedges of pink, vanilla-scented oleander, and each hut had its own patio.
Virtually a self-contained house, each hut had two bathrooms, a makeup area, a dressing room and a kitchen leading off the huge main room, but the color scheme was different in each apartment. Carey’s walls were cream and the pitched wooden ceiling had dark beams; the dark, tiled floor was covered by a huge pale blue rug, which matched the covers on the two double beds. There was lots of rattan furniture, and the walls were hung with native ceremonial cloths, woven in geometric abstracts of chestnut and black.
On each bedside table stood a balloon glass and a small bottle of brandy, and in the kitchen was a fully stocked bar, a tray of tea things, a tray for coffee, a bowl of fruit and a jar of cookies. Everything was checked twice daily and replenished if necessary. There were fresh orchids in the bathroom and in pots on the terrace. Every evening the beds were turned down and the huge, pale blue pillows scattered with purple frangipani. The chambermaids moved with calm dignity and grace, they walked like queens; their bodies were stocky, but their facial features finely molded. Each woman tucked a flower behind one ear, which had to be removed before returning home at night to their village, for only the village chief was allowed to wear flowers in his hair.
Upon their arrival Carey had looked around at the palm-fringed bay and the blue sky beyond, then cried, “This really is Paradise!”
She had entered her blue-tiled bathroom and turned on the cold-water faucet. It came off in her hand. She screwed it back and turned it again, but could get no water. Carey tried the hot-water faucet. After a few moments a resentful trickle of cold water fell into the tub.
Okay, she’d settle for a shower.
Carey turned the temperature-control dial to cold and was rewarded with a jet of scalding water. She screamed and jumped out of the stall.
Ed appeared in the doorway, looking startled, until he saw that Carey was unharmed.
“Yours too?” He grinned. “Don’t try to use the bidet.”
That useful French contribution to civilization had been installed parallel to the bathroom wall, so that only a one-legged woman could sit on it. Ed had said, “I suppose you can’t expect them to rocket from the Stone Age to the bidet overnight.”
Now, Ed lazed on the patio in the early morning sun while Carey read aloud to him from a tourist leaflet.
“‘North of Australia, in the Arafura Sea, the island of Paui nestles into the coastline of Irian Jaya. At its southernmost tip, Paui is only seventy-two miles distant from Pulau yos Sudarsa. Covering approximately fourteen thousand square miles, the island is two hundred fourteen miles long and seventy-four miles wide. The population is estimated to number fifty-one thousand two hundred people.’”
“Accurate but not riveting,” Ed murmured.
“‘Largely tropical, the temperature is rarely above eighty-five degrees during the day and seventy-three at night. The wet season is from early December to early March.’ We’ll just miss it,” Carey said. “‘Much of Paui is mountainous; a great deal of the island is covered by sandalwood forest. The volcanic Central Mountains dominate the west coast, the Victoria Highlands lie to the east, while the mountains of Stanley Heights almost cover the southern tip of Paui, which consists mainly of high cliffs and virgin forest, and is sparsely populated by fisher folk. There is some pearl diving. Queenstown, the capital city, is situated on the northeast coast at the mouth of the St. Mary River. Queenstown is the main port and the seat of government.’”
Ed yawned. “Honey, I know all this stuff. I’ve lost count of the number of times I’ve visited this island.”
Traveling was a part of Ed’s job, and a part of his ambition. He aimed to be the best-known man in the Nexus worldwide empire. Right after he’d qualified, Ed had started working with a survey team in northern Ontario; he still remembered his bursting pride when he’d been made head of that team. Euphorically, he’d repeatedly bought drinks all around, until one of the older geologists had grunted over his fourth whiskey, “Team manager’s no big deal. Quit acting as if you were head of the goddamn survey section.”
Ed had looked at the man, and in that moment, Ed’s ambition was sparked. Years later, when Ed was made head of Survey, he’d invited that guy around to his impressive office for a fifth whiskey.
But Ed’s
ambition wasn’t satisfied then, nor was it when he became responsible not only for Survey but also for Mapping, Research and Sample Analysis, or when he had finally been made Vice President Exploration and Expansion. Ed had always avoided thinking seriously about the urge that drove him on. At first, it had seemed the natural exercise of his competitive streak, then it had developed into a quiet hunger to get things done, then a positive greed, and now Ed’s driving force was a carefully hidden lust for power.
Carey had stopped reading to watch a finch dive onto the breakfast tray debris and carry off a crumb. She settled back on her chaise longue and again lifted the guidebook. “‘The island is known for its many unique species of butterflies and beautiful birds; there are more than thirty species of birds of paradise.’” She broke off. “Hey, Ed, stay awake, I’m getting to your bit … ‘Twenty-seven miles north of Queenstown, copper is mined at Mount Ida together with some manganese.’” She stretched for her glass of orange juice. “Hey, Ed, is this true? It says that there are no roads suitable for automobiles! ‘Air transport is widely used but is expensive, because of the unpredictable weather, the rugged mountains and the rough landing strips.’ Why does that make it expensive, Ed?”
“Because it’s damned dangerous to be a pilot around here. One of the Nexus planes crashed only last week, but it’s not so much a problem for the little Bell helicopter.”
Carey continued to read. “‘The inhabitants of the island number at least seventeen different tribes, each with its own distinct language as opposed to dialect. Melanesian Pidgin is the lingua franca.’”