Beautiful Lies (10 page)

“Oh, all right. I am glad to see you. I'm bored. I'm miserable, and the rain is driving me insane. I hate this country. I hate this weather. And I am positively dying to find out why you're here.”

“And me, Viola? Do you hate me, as well? Or do you have no feelings whatsoever?”

“I find you…exciting.”

It was already more than he had hoped for. But being a gambling man, he pushed on. “How exciting?”

Her eyes widened, and she smiled. “Excitement has no measurement.”

“No? Don't you think so?” He reached for her, hauling her firmly against him and pressing her lovely white shirtwaist against the dripping canvas of his duster. “Shall we see about that?” She squirmed against him, but before she could issue more than a word of protest, he sealed her lips with his, taking his time and using his considerable strength to show her who was in charge.

He let her go at last, sputtering and pounding against his chest. “You bastard!”

“My birth was completely legitimate.”

“How dare you?”

“Did you like it at all? Even the tiniest bit?”

She raised her hand to slap him, but he grabbed her
wrist. “I'm not Freddy Colson. He might let you slap him, but I never will. I'll answer my own question, Viola. You liked it. More than a bit. And you'll like everything that comes with it once we're married.”

“I would sooner marry Freddy!”

“Is that so?” He stepped away and reached inside his duster, taking time to unfasten it slowly and pull out the canvas package. “Then I've wasted my time, haven't I? I can tear up these papers. You can do what your father demands, and I'll find a woman who wants the things a woman wants.”

He unwrapped the canvas and held up the papers, then twisted them in his hands as if he were going to tear them to shreds.

“No!” She laid her hand on his arm.

“No?”

“What is that?”

“Freddy's demise. I'll tear this up as a wedding present to the two of you. For Mr. and Mrs. Freddy Colson. I would save it as a gift for your children, but I doubt there will be any. As it turns out, Freddy prefers men. I don't know that he'll ever be able to do his duty to the future.”

“Is that what's in there? Is that what you've found?”

“No. I've found Freddy considered an offer from a company based in London to open up an office here in Broome in their name, taking every trick he learned from your father and using it for his own profit. I have letters he wrote, an application to a bank in Perth, documents that spell out the whys and wherefores. He would have used everything he learned at your father's knee to undercut him. Information about Freddy's perversions would be less important, wouldn't it? I'm afraid your father values Freddy's loyalty more than happiness in your marriage bed.”

“You say he planned to open a competitive business?”

“Of course he told me himself that he decided against it. He holds your father in highest esteem.”

“Then how can this destroy him?”

“I have proof Freddy made the contacts. There's no proof he decided against moving ahead. Only his word. The loan is still pending.”

“Freddy…”

“Freddy is no longer a threat to you. Or to me. If I give you these papers.”

“If?”

“Tell me, Viola. Did my kiss mean anything to you at all?”

She was silent, her eyes on the papers in his hands.

“You aren't giving me your hand in marriage. I'm not asking you to accompany me to my hotel room. Simply tell me if the kiss meant anything. Either way, I'll give you the papers.”

She stomped her foot and rainwater splattered them both. Then she met his eyes. “You think too well of yourself!”

“A man can't think too well of himself, particularly if there's no one else who does.”

“It would be a sin to encourage such a fatal flaw.”

“Quite probably.” He waited.

“Yes, it meant something,” she said at last. “But don't ever take a kiss without my permission again. Do you understand?”

“I understand that you and I will battle this way for the rest of our lives. Is that something to look forward to?”

“You definitely do think too well of yourself!”

“Do you want the papers, Viola?” He held them out.

She grabbed them away from him.

He waited.

“I'll let you know what happens when Father sees these,” she said.

“Of course, you won't tell him where they came from.”

“I'm not a fool.”

“Are you a woman who's willing to wait for a man who's proved he has her best interests at heart?”

“I
could
wait—now that Freddy is out of the picture.”

“But
will
you?”

She smiled. “I make no promises except that I will marry a rich man. If that man is you?” She turned and walked to the door, turning back with her hand on the latch. “I suppose I would not be heartbroken.” She stared at him for a moment, then she laughed. He grinned as she flipped her hair over her shoulder and closed the door behind her.

T
he crew of the
Odyssey
was loyal to Tom, and when forced to choose between him and John Garth, they stayed with the new owners. Only Toshiharu was missing when the pearling boats, scrubbed and freshly painted, were launched for another season. In February Toshiharu had died in his sleep, and now he lay beside other divers in the Japanese cemetery, a delayed victim of the dangers of deep water.

For Tom and Archer, the season began well enough, with friends of the crew taking the town's only rail car out to the jetty to watch the
Odyssey
sail away. Tom had only reluctantly agreed to let Willow come to say goodbye. A neighbor, the West Indian wife of a local shopkeeper, had agreed to accompany her. But Tom didn't want to watch Willow growing smaller on shore as the
Odyssey
departed. Although she had never said as much, he knew she didn't want him to go. He had given her a comfortable home, and both the neighbors and household help would watch over her during his absence. But Willow seemed disturbed. No
matter how encouraging he was about their future, in the final week before his departure, her eyes remained sad.

Archer attracted a well-wisher, too. Just as he was about to board, he looked back to see a well-appointed buggy pulled by a sleek thoroughbred. Holding the reins were the slender white hands of Viola Somerset. Her appearance at the jetty was enough for him. Freddy Colson was out of the picture now, dismissed by Viola's father and cut from all society functions. Viola's silent farewell was a good omen, and when the lugger finally set sail with gulls and gannets wheeling in the sapphire sky, Archer was filled with hope.

Hope reigned for the first weeks. They found shell almost immediately, and although Archer would never have believed it, he found the smell of rotting oysters could be a pleasure when the oysters were his. He discovered a pearl in the second week at sea, a baroque pearl of irregular shape, but it, too, seemed a good omen. In the third week a storm blew the lugger off course, but when Juan tried a dive just to see what was below, he found the richest patch of shell they had encountered.

Archer and Tom sat up on deck that night, contemplating their future. “It's not such a bad life in Australia, is it?” Tom had been down on a dive himself that afternoon, after Juan had come up early with a headache, and he had been in a particularly good mood ever since. “No one's shooting at us. No one's telling us what to do. We won't be rich men, at least not for a while, but if we keep this up, we'll bring home enough shell to make ourselves comfortable.”

“Comfortable?” Archer gave a snort. “Is that what this is about?”

“Not for you, perhaps. But for me.”

For months Archer had wondered why he had ever
paired up with Tom. The bulk of Tom's attention was elsewhere much of the time now. He had made good friends with every man on the crew, and he was nearly revered by Bernard and Juan. Even worse, his infatuation with the Chinese girl hadn't wavered. Archer had expected Tom to realize how foolish such a liaison was, and to abandon her. Instead, Tom and the girl were keeping house like newlyweds, and Tom had even had the bad judgment to be seen with her at the jetty.

Archer shook his head in disgust. “Once upon a time you wanted more out of life than a miserable shack in a foreign country and a little Oriental pussy to warm your bed.”

Tom was silent for a long time. Finally he turned to Archer, and his eyes were blazing. “By tomorrow I won't remember you said that. So don't say anything else that might make it harder to forget.”

Archer's temper flared, too. “You could have everything a man wants, but you've given it up without a thought. I don't understand you.”

“No? Well, if I hadn't given up my life in California, I wouldn't be here on this boat with you.”

“If you hadn't given up the rich man's life, you wouldn't have joined Roosevelt in the first place, and I wouldn't have had to risk a firing squad. I'd be back in Texas right now!”

“Maybe you should have looked the other way when Linc decided to kill me.”

This time Archer fell silent. He was a man who nursed few regrets. He did not regret saving Tom's life, but he did regret the way things had changed since they arrived in Broome. “Maybe you should just remember who your real friends are,” he said at last. “Maybe you should remember who proved he'd stand beside you when things get rough.”

“That's never been in doubt, Archer.”

But Archer wondered.

The argument changed their luck, or at least that was how it seemed. The patch of shell they'd discovered by accident died out quickly, and the next few areas they scouted yielded little, too. They spent one day trying to scare away a lovesick whale determined to mate with the lugger and another repairing the mainsail when a sailfish, in a stunning leap, ripped a hole a yard wide before flopping in panic to the deck.

During lay-up, the
Odyssey
had been sunk in a creek off the coast of Broome to rid it of cockroaches. Archer had witnessed thousands of the creatures abandoning cracks and crevices throughout the ship to scurry up the mast in one last vain attempt at survival. The crew's first weeks at sea had been blessedly pest-free, but now a new swarm was hatching from eggs harbored over lay-up or brought on board in their supplies. Sleep became a struggle, and a spate of severe storms warred with the cockroaches to rule the nights.

After a particularly treacherous storm, the crew gathered on deck to discuss the coming weeks.

“I don't think we want to stay here,” Tom said.

They had encountered half a dozen luggers in the past days, and none of them reported having luck. Even Archer, who had little faith in his fellow man, was inclined to believe they had been telling the truth. “I talked to a skipper at the Continental during lay-up who claimed the best place for shell is Cygnet Bay in King Sound.”

“Good shell, bad luck,” Juan said.

“What's the problem with it?” Tom asked.

“Bottom drops off like this.” Juan floated his hand through the air, then suddenly his hand fell below his waist. “And like this.” This time his hand extended down as far as it would reach.

“You can't tell when it's going to drop?”

“Holes hide in sea grass. A man don't know until he's falling. Line snaps…” Juan shrugged. “Man gone.”

“Then it sounds like this place is out of the question,” Tom said.

Archer waved his hand impatiently. “The skipper claimed that, with the right precautions, it was worth the risk.”

“To whom, Archer? Juan's the one who'll be risking his life.”

As he had too many times in the past months, Tom seemed to be taking someone else's side of an argument. Annoyed, Archer was suddenly willing to fight for something that had been a casual suggestion. “Do you think I want to risk Juan's life? Even if I were heartless, I could still see how much time and money we'd lose going back to town and trying to hire another diver midseason. But I still think this is worth discussing.”

Support came from an unlikely quarter. “Discussion is good,” Juan said. “Cygnet Bay, she's called the Graveyard. Graveyard bad luck for some divers, but not for all. Careful man, good tender…” He shrugged. “They make lotta money, little time. Men like that retire, go back home and live rest of lives with no worries.”

Tom's brow furrowed in concern. “I'd rather go home with my diver than with a hold full of shell.”

“Pearls down there. Lotta pearls come from Graveyard. I go there as young diver. I make more money that season than ever again.”

“Why didn't you mention this place before?” Archer asked.

“Friend die there. Another Manilaman, from home village.”

Tom grimaced. “I don't know why we're discussing this.”

If Tom truly sympathized with his need to be rich, Archer knew he wouldn't be so quick to dismiss the possibility. “I say we leave the decision up to Juan,” Archer said. “He's the one taking the biggest risk. If Juan's willing, let's go for it. We can always go elsewhere if it proves too dangerous.”

Tom could hardly argue, not without insulting Juan. He shrugged and waited.

“I work ten seasons, more than most,” Juan said, as if he were thinking out loud. “Now not many left. Pearls make a difference to me.”

“Then you're for setting sail for the Graveyard?” Archer said.

Juan nodded.

They were only about three days away from the Graveyard if the winds were good, and they set about preparing for the voyage. Archer waited until he was alone with Tom before he spoke of the meeting. “There are some things more important than caution, Tom. Even the crew realizes it.”

“You're a gambler right down to the bone, aren't you?”

“I didn't hear you complaining when I won the
Odyssey
from Garth. If I weren't a gambler, that shell in the hold wouldn't belong to us.”

“I just hope you know what you're doing.”

Archer was sure he did, but it was a symptom of the tension between them that Tom seemed unconvinced.

 

Tom relaxed after two weeks in the Graveyard without incident. He had questioned Archer's proposal to look for shell here, even questioned his motives, but as each day passed, he worried less. The crew worked well together, putting aside their small differences to focus on the task at hand. Although the first week had yielded only an average haul, the second had been well above average.

And they had found pearls. Tom found his first good pearl on a morning when the crew was helping Juan don his diver's dress. At first he thought the peculiar lump at his fingertip was gristle; then, as he dug deeper, he realized the truth. He lifted the pearl between thumb and forefinger and rolled it around and around, savoring the slippery feel.

He knew better than to alert the crew. There was an unwritten law on pearling vessels. The shell opener kept his find to himself, stowing it in a special box kept in the captain's cabin and designed to be impervious to theft. Later, in private, he shared the good news with the diver, who would receive a percentage. But everyone on board was safer if no one else knew. Envy and greed had to be avoided at sea.

He pocketed the pearl and waited until later to show it to Archer, who had spent some portion of lay-up learning what he could from pearl buyers. “What do you think?” he asked, as Archer held the pearl to the light.

“The best we've found so far.” Archer gave it back. “Worth a hundred quid maybe, if it cleans up well. It has a tiny flaw, but that might peel right off.”

Tom laughed, foolishly delighted with himself. “I'd like to keep it and give it to Willow. My first pearl.”

“Why? Then if she takes off with some man who makes her a better offer, you'll lose the pearl
and
the girl.”

Tom swallowed what was now familiar anger. “I'll take this as part of my share of the profits at the season's end.”

“I should know by now you won't listen to reason.”

Archer found a small pearl the next day, too, but better yet, Juan continued to find good patches of shell, working eight long drifts a day and sending up a full mesh bag more frequently than ever before.

At the beginning of the third week, Juan stepped into his diver's dress one morning, then, before he could lower himself to the ladder, he bent over the lugger's side and began to vomit.

“What's that all about?” Archer asked, when Juan seemed finished.

“Something sick inside.” Juan folded his arms over his stomach. “No dive today.”

“Rot!” Archer pounded the heel of his hand against the tiller. “What, do you think it's something you ate?”

“Could be curry last night.”

Archer turned to Tom. “Did you eat the curry?”

Tom, whose tolerance for spicy food was low, shook his head. “No, did you?”

“Not me. What about the others?”

Bernard looked fit, but both Ahmed and Reece were now hanging their heads over the side. And while Tom and Archer exchanged knowing glances, Wong Fai came up from the hold looking pale and shaky.

“That curry last night,” Tom asked him. “Juan said it was hotter than usual. Did you spice it up because the fish smelled bad?”

“Fish smell strong. All fish strong.”

“Wong, it's better not to take chances. Fish smells strong from now on, get rid of it.”

“No new fish two day. No bully beef. No meat.”

They had gotten supplies from a camp on the Eighty Mile beach before setting out for the Graveyard, but Tom knew their stores were getting low again. Soon they would have to sail into Broome to unload shell from the hold and get more supplies. He was glad for the opportunity, since it meant he would see Willow, but it wasn't economical to make the trip until the hold was full.

“We'll go without, then,” he said. “Just don't serve anything spoiled again. Understand?”

“All fish strong.” Wong Fai punctuated this brave statement with a trip to the side to join the others.

“All men not so strong,” Archer said. “Jesus. A day off. Just what we need.”

“Could be longer,” Tom warned. “Juan can't go down until he's completely over this.”

“Don't you think I know that?” Archer ran his fingers through hair that was in need of cutting. “And just when we were really on shell. By the time the crew's better, we'll have to go for supplies. And we won't want to brave the riptides and other hazards of the sound to come back.”

The trip through King Sound, with its islands and sucking tides,
had
been harrowing. Tom sought a solution. “Look, while we're here, why don't I dive?”

Archer examined him as if he'd lost his mind. “This isn't play, Tom. You want a holiday, find a better moment for it.”

“I'm not talking about a holiday. Juan can't dive, but I can. I'll go down and see what I bring up. We're stuck here for a while. We might as well give it a try.”