The Bay (48 page)

‘Just put the windows down and I'll survive. What's the point you want to make?'

‘Well, it's about the little Eureka enterprise we set up way back then. I was wondering if old Gordon left the files around. Eureka only lasted a year or so.'

‘Oddly enough, I came across them only the other day,' she said calmly but noting his surprise, then added, ‘quite by accident. Anyway, I glanced through them and everything is okay. Professional habit, I suppose.'

Sam took a deep drag on the cigarette then twisted in his seat to face her and lowered his voice. ‘Get rid of that file. In the wrong hands it might damage us all and stuff up the Mighty Beach deal.'

‘Sam, who decided to set up Eureka? You? Or my father?'

‘Like I said, we were a team.'

‘You scratch my back, I'll scratch yours,' said Letitia. ‘Why are you so worried? I don't want to see this deal fall over.'

‘Good girl. Like father, like daughter.' He stubbed out the cigarette and put on his gold-rimmed sunglasses. ‘Thanks, Letitia. I'm off to my golf game. Enjoy lunch.'

She didn't. The conversation had forced disturbing images into her mind, images from the Eureka file, particularly several enigmatic notes written in her father's hand and attached to some vital documents.

Sam declared it had been the worst round of golf he'd ever played, and his usual golfing companions heartily agreed with the assessment.

‘Your mind must be on other things, Sam,' said one of them back at the clubhouse bar.

‘Yeah. That's the understatement of the year.'

To ease the pain he had a few more drinks than usual with the Friday-special lunch. On Fridays his wife would be at bowls by the time he got home, so he could sleep off the over-indulgence before she returned.

It therefore came as a surprise when he arrived home to find a car parked outside. He didn't recognise the white Commodore, but hoped Freda hadn't come in early and brought some bowlers along. He garaged the car and walked out to the sunroom but stopped in his tracks as he opened the French doors. A complete stranger sat in his chair. A big man, and he was twiddling a Disney toy, a Minnie Mouse.

‘Hello, Sam. I let myself in.'

‘Who the hell are you and what are you doing in my house?'

‘The General sent me, Sam. I'm Tony.'

Sam did a double take. ‘The General? Oh, the General. Oh, right. You gave me a fright for a moment.' He held out his hand in greeting, but the big man ignored it.

‘Have a good round of golf?'

‘Lousy. Care for a drink?'

‘Already poured myself one from your bar, thanks,' he said, casually indicating a large Scotch and ice on the desk.

The visitor showed no indication of getting out of the big lounge chair so Sam pulled up an office chair from the other side of his desk. ‘What can I do for you, and the General, then?'

‘Ah, now that is a really good question, Sam. Let's start by you telling me all about a little outfit called Eureka. Every little detail, please. The General has had some high-priced people doing research on this in Sydney, and he is very anxious to check out the details with your version.'

‘Oh, everything was above board, I can assure you,' Sam said trying to stay calm, but he felt betrayed by a nervous twitching of one eye.

‘I certainly hope that's right, because the General doesn't take kindly to his name being publicly associated with enterprises that attract the law and suggest that he is not a man of good character. The buzz around town is that documents have come to light that may well do just that.'

Sam's jaw dropped and he sat in stunned silence. Tony reached into his sports coat and pulled out an automatic pistol and put it on the desk beside his glass. ‘Talk, Sam.'

Early the next morning Andrew's bedside telephone rang and woke him. He looked at the clock. It was 2 am. ‘Bloody hell, who is ringing at this absurd hour,' he mumbled.

‘Hello.'

‘Andrew, sorry to bother you, but it is a matter that cannot wait.'

Andrew recognised the voice instantly. ‘Hello, General. Sorry, I was sound asleep when the phone rang.'

‘Pity, but inconvenience plagues all our lives from time to time. Now listen carefully. A friend of Tony's will call on you tomorrow morning. Please give him the money you received. You know what I'm talking about. The full amount, please. He will explain what needs to be explained. And, Andrew, be very discreet in answering any questions from anyone. Goodbye.' The line went dead before he could respond.

‘Jesus,' muttered Andrew to himself. ‘What the fuck has gone wrong?'

E
VERYONE WAS THRILLED FOR
A
MBER AS NEWS OF THE
university offer became public. It had the potential for delivering so much to individuals and the community in terms of lifestyle and economics. At a congratulatory gathering of friends at the Caffe Latte Nola had proclaimed, ‘Absolutely wonderful, Amber. Your perseverance looks like paying big dividends. That's what makes this place so interesting. It's bubbling with ideas, but not many as good as this one.'

Tina had then raised the idea of Eddie getting on board the herbal bandwagon and rejuvenating his farm. So a week later they picked up Amber, Ross Hammond from the University Valley Health Project and Nola, who insisted on being included to hear more about the concept.

‘Lovely up here. Why was the farm let go?' she asked as they approached the property in Tina's four-wheel drive.

‘Access to the creek is on the land next door. There was some council problem; it was not for sale,' Eddie said. ‘But I did find out it'd be worth putting a bore down.'

‘Even better if you added that land and the creek to this,' said Nola. ‘Great for a few organic plots of comfrey, lavender, calendula, wouldn't you say, Amber?'

‘I don't know anything about growing that stuff,' said Eddie.

‘That's where we come in,' said Ross, as they parked the car and piled out. ‘If we certify you as a supplier then we provide advice and people to oversee the development right through to harvesting.'

‘There you go,' said Nola. ‘Learn as you grow.'

‘And you can still buzz off and make your films,' said Tina. ‘I think it sounds great. It's silly to not use all these acres.'

‘I just like looking at it, knowing the girls can ride about, hear a cow moo.'

‘You can do all of that too. Nothing wrong with looking at a paddock of lavender. I'd love to do that,' mused Nola, leaning on a fence and taking in a vista of grassed flats and low rolling hills fringed by forest regrowth. ‘Yes, it would be nice to come out here and smell a field of lavender at harvest time.'

The remark surprised Amber. It was a soft side of Nola that was at odds with her high-society background and the extravagant, rather materialistic lifestyle that had given her a measure of fame among bemused locals.

Ross Hammond began his briefing, pointing out the prime pieces of land for the various herbs, estimating production costs and potential income, and declaring the farm a definite goer, so long as the water supply could be guaranteed.

‘That needs money I don't have,' said Eddie. ‘The bloke next door will probably sell me access to the creek, but I'm up to my neck with the bank already.'

Nola joined in. ‘Get a partner with money, Eddie. Simple.'

‘And where do I go to find them? To Centrelink?' The absurdity of his despairing remark set them all laughing.

‘Well, darlings,' said Nola as they began walking back to the farmhouse for morning tea, ‘I rather like the idea of getting dividends from a field of lavender, as well as good vibes.'

It took a moment for her seemingly casual remark to sink in, and it was Amber who first responded. ‘Nola, are you saying you'd invest? Actually put money into this?'

Everyone stopped walking and looked at Nola, who simply smiled.

‘You can't just decide like that! I mean, it'd be fantastic but . . . surely you have to get more advice, or something?'

‘I've done a bit of homework since this all made news in the
Bugle
. Don't worry,' said Nola with some seriousness. ‘I'm not losing my marbles. It's a great idea, I want to see it happen, I can afford it and, as I said,' she smiled and resumed as the Nola they all knew, ‘I like lavender.'

‘Really, Nola, it's a dream, a miracle.' Eddie felt quite overcome.

‘Ah, miracles do happen, Eddie. Particularly up here. But I suppose it's too much to expect champers to celebrate my move into farming,' she laughed.

‘A pot of tea or instant coffee and some Anzac biscuits, that's it,' replied Eddie.

‘How very rural,' said Nola, and they hugged each other.

‘It'll be a lot of hard work too,' said Nola cheerfully. ‘And the house needs work as well. We'd have to add an office, set up an oil extraction plant – don't you think the pressing should be done as soon as the plants are picked?' she asked Ross who nodded in agreement and before he could elaborate, Nola went on. ‘Mitchell can come up with some ideas and do some of the work perhaps.'

‘Holly will miss having Mitchell around, won't she?' said Amber.

‘I think he'll find a reason to keep visiting,' Tina said with a grin.

‘Yeah, their dogs love each other,' said Eddie. ‘Gives them an excuse to walk on the beach every day.' He leaned across Amber to ask Tina, ‘What say we get a new dog?'

‘Alice would love that,' she replied.

‘I was thinking if I got a dog, it'd give me a reason to walk it to the lighthouse every day.'

‘National Park, dogs aren't allowed,' said Tina.

‘I might get special privileges. Otherwise, you'll have to spend more time here,' he said.

The chorus of birds in the garden provided an appropriate background for Holly as she worked on the final draft of her publicity brochure for Richmond House. She calculated that everything would be in place for her to open the doors to customers within a fortnight. The advertising campaign had been mapped out, and with Stolle's help she had drawn up an impressive publicity campaign in local, regional and interstate media.

The crunching of car tyres on the newly gravelled drive way disrupted the birds and Holly's train of thought. She strolled around the verandah to see who had dropped in and was taken aback to see Letitia Sweetman collecting a file from the back seat of her convertible. She tensed as Letitia strode purposefully up the path.

‘Good afternoon, Mrs Jamieson. I apologise for not telephoning but I won't take much of your time.'

Holly forced herself to stay calm and polite. ‘No trouble, Letitia. Please call me Holly. Really, there isn't much call for formality in this town, is there? Let's sit here on the verandah.'

‘Thank you. You may think I've come to talk about Andrew. I haven't. There is something more important that needs addressing. Well, that might be disputed, but too bad.' She opened the file and pulled out a document. ‘It's about Mighty Beach and my father's involvement with it in the 1960s.'

Practically lost for words, Holly simply said, ‘Go on.'

‘My father's professional files on that period still exist and are quite safe, despite suggestions made to me in the last few days that they should be destroyed.'

Holly gasped. This confessional session seemed to have no end of shocks.

‘I did not know of the Nilsen file and its content until a few days ago. Professional privacy obligations restrict what I can release, but this is a copy of one document that you could say fell off the back of a truck.' She handed it to Holly, who saw instantly that it was a photo copy of Hannah Nilsen's will. ‘You'll find it interesting, given what transpired at the recent meeting of your little sunset group. Yes, I think I'm aware of most of what was said there concerning Sam Mann and my father. Most of the people here couldn't keep a secret even if their lives depended on it. Gossip travels fast.'

‘So I'm discovering,' said Holly, anxious for Letitia to keep talking.

‘The will left the land to the community to be held in trust as a permanent nature reserve. At the time of her death, my father was handling her affairs. He was very close to Sam Mann in those days. I don't think I need to say anything more. I guess you already know that Beacon Land Holdings, fronted by Maxwell Hamilton in Sydney, is actually owned by Sam. He had good reason to be hiding his connection. Had good reasons ever since the mid sixties. He was waiting for the right time to cash in.'

Holly scanned the two pages of the will, seeing the words but not taking in the details as her mind was spinning in emotional confusion. ‘Thank you,' was all she managed to mumble.

Letitia stood up to leave. ‘I am very distressed at what this sad affair says about my father, but I know that I have done nothing wrong in my role as a solicitor. However, I am leaving The Bay soon and moving to Melbourne or Brisbane, maybe Sydney. That's where the action is, that's where I stand a better chance of getting what I want out of life. And I'll leave all this sorry mess behind me.' She turned and walked swiftly to her car and drove off without another word.

Freda Mann came home from bowls and checked the sunroom. She expected to find her husband, but he wasn't there. She put a chair back in its right spot, collected a glass from the desk and took it to the kitchen, where she began preparing the evening meal. It was dark before she began ringing around her husband's haunts trying to find him. He usually left a note or telephoned if he was not going to be home for dinner. She was still telephoning when the front doorbell rang.

‘Good evening, Mrs Mann,' said the police officer standing on the verandah with another officer behind him. ‘Sorry to bother you, but is Sam around?'

‘No. I've been on the phone for an hour trying to track him down. Why?'

The two officers exchanged glances. ‘A short while ago we found his car abandoned on a lonely beach track south of The Bay. Keys were still in it.'

‘Well, I know he came home from golf, and I know he had a drink in the sunroom. Oddly enough, the spare office chair was in the wrong place, as if someone had moved it to talk with him. He always sat in the leather swivel chair. Can't imagine what he would have been doing down a remote beach track.'

‘Okay, Mrs Mann, thanks for that. Get Sam to give the station a ring when he gets in. We locked the car. Here are the keys.'

When they reached their car they checked in with the duty officer at the station and briefed him on the situation at the Mann household.

But the police station didn't get a call from Sam. He never came home.

Letitia's secretary put Andrew through immediately.

‘Hi baby. Listen, what the hell is going on with Sam? I've had a very unpleasant phone call from the General.'

‘Well I'd say that was your problem.'

‘You don't sound very concerned. We're in this together. You made the introduction after all.'

‘I'm out, Andrew. Of everything. It's not going to happen and I'm afraid I don't like being associated with dud deals. I'm off.'

‘What are you talking about?' His voice had risen.

‘I'm sorry. I've decided to move on. From this project, from you. When it's appropriate, I'm out of The Bay.' She sounded tired and resigned. She was over the disappointment.

‘What the hell? Why? For God's sake tell me what is going on.'

‘Keep your hair on. This whole project was flawed from the start. I have documents showing Sam owns Beacon, has for years. And was probably involved in illegal acts.'

‘Jesus! Like what?'

‘Like forgery for starters.'

‘What's he forged? What are you talking about?'

‘Like forging a dead woman's signature. You win some, you lose some. Goodbye, Andrew.'

She hung up and buzzed her secretary and asked her not to put through any further calls from Andrew Jamieson.

‘Perfect morning for a march,' Mitchell said as Holly climbed into his car.

‘I was in a quandary about what to wear to a demo,' she laughed. ‘Seeing as the nation's media is on our doorstep!'

‘I seem to remember you looked very cute at the dog rally. And you're right, the media is certainly onto this, you've all done a fantastic job.'

‘I can't believe how this has fired people up. I suppose it shows The Bay is at crunch time. If ever a beachfront development like this one were approved, The Bay as we know it would be lost forever. I know it looks like we're going to win this one without the rezoning ever being put to a vote at council. Lawyers are going to sort it out in the end.'

‘The march today is still needed,' said Mitchell, ‘even if it is almost a victory demo rather than a protest demo. It will boost community spirit. Got your speech ready?'

Holly pulled some notes out of her shoulder bag. ‘I've rehearsed it, but I'm still nervous.'

‘I'm not surprised. This is more emotional than walking through town with a bunch of dogs and their owners.'

Holly grinned. ‘Ah yes, my baptism as a demonstrator.'

Her nervousness increased as they drove along the road to the dunes above Mighty Beach. Cars and vans and motorbikes were parked everywhere. People were heading towards the small park that had been unnamed for so long. She baulked a little at the sight of the placards, banners and the swarm of reporters, camera crews and photographers. Then she saw so many familiar smiling faces, the Sundowners, Buck Hagen, old Sid, Billy with his daughter on his shoulders. A wave came from Frankie the Snakeman, then smiles from a group of Aboriginal people from the district. It brought home to her again that she was part of a community that cared, a community that was determined not to surrender its values to the contemporary pressures of self-centred individualism.