Beautiful Lies (12 page)

If the pearl were his alone, he could have the life he wanted. With Tom as his partner, that life would be denied him.

He wondered if Tom would consent to selling the pearl and buying land together. There would be room for two men, two families. But even as the possibility entered his mind, he discarded it. Tom liked the pearling life, and he
was set on marrying the Chinese woman. Even if he could be persuaded to leave Broome, he would certainly bring her with him. And Archer was sure Viola would not accept Willow.

If the pearl were his alone, he thought again, he could have the life he wanted. With Tom as his partner, that life would be denied him.

Juan moaned and tossed noisily on the bunk beside his, but Archer hardly heard. His own thoughts kept him awake.

 

The next morning, just before dawn, Bernard hung his head over the side and emptied the contents of his stomach.

“Humbug belonga belly,” he muttered as he stretched out close to the outrigger platform where he crouched when he was tending the diver. He closed his eyes and rested his hands on his chest like a man about to be buried.

Tom, who had heard the tender move to the side, brought a blanket and covered him.

“How do
you
feel?” Archer came out of the cabin wearing nothing but trousers. He stretched, like a man who'd just had a welcome night's sleep.

“Better than I knew I could.” Tom grinned to let Archer know he was talking about the pearl. He had thought of little else since finding it last night.

Archer looked away. “I'm still all right. Bernard's so big, maybe it just took a while for the bad fish to strike him down.”

“This may not be the fish at all. It could be something else, and we may not be able to hold it off, whatever it is.”

“Well, with the rest of the crew down sick, we'll have trouble sailing back to town. I don't think they'll be much help. We should wait a day or two and see if they start to recover. If they don't, and you and I are still feeling all right, we can make a run for it then.”

Reece and Ahmed came over to check on Bernard and reported that both of them were feeling a little better.

“Too bad we don't have a tender,” Tom said. “With Reece and Ahmed sharing turns with you at the air pump, I could dive.”

Archer stroked his unshaven chin. “I could be the tender today. Bernard's here if I get into any trouble, but I've helped him before, and I've watched him every time. I know what to do.”

The tender's job was probably the most important one on a pearling lugger. Although the diver determined the success or failure of a season, the tender determined the diver's survival.

“I don't know what to say.” Tom gazed at the outrigger, as if he might find his answers there. “I'm a novice, and you're a novice. Shouldn't one of us know exactly what he's doing?”

“Tom, when you go down below, you're alone. If you make a mistake, there's no one there to advise you. Up here, I have the whole crew. Bernard's sick, but he's not too sick to tell me what to do if I think you're in trouble.”

Archer's argument made sense, and Tom guessed his answer mattered to his friend. Last night had seemed like old times. The tensions that had permeated this voyage had disappeared. The pearl had changed everything. Archer seemed different already, more resolute, more determined to make this trip an even greater success. He was offering to give Tom what he desired, a chance to dive today to see if there was more shell waiting. They were solidly partners again, two men seeking their destinies together.

“Let's do it,” Tom said. “I don't want Ahmed and Reece to get completely worn-out, so I'll only do a few dives. But let's give it a try. Maybe we can fill the hold after all before we set sail for Broome.”

“Good,” Archer said, turning to stare at the outrigger. “That's what we'll do, then. You can make your first dive after breakfast. I'll see what hints Bernard has to offer before you go down. We'll take every precaution.”

Tom clapped him on the back. “It'll be like old times. You'll have my life in your hands again. That seems to be our fate.”

“It does, doesn't it?”

They stood side by side in silence and watched the sun rise.

A few minutes later, Juan joined Tom on the deck as he finished breakfast. Juan was pale and shaky, but he claimed the night had done him some good. “But no dive today,” he added, as if it might have been in question.

Tom poured him tea from a pot Wong Fai had made and wished that their supply of coffee wasn't gone. “I'm going to dive again, and Archer's going to act as tender,” he told Juan.

Juan looked troubled, but he didn't respond.

“Do you have any advice?” Tom said. “Anything I should look for that might help us? The sooner we fill this hold, the sooner we can start back to Broome.”

Juan folded his hands around the cup. “We go back now. Better that way.”

“It's a long trip, and everyone's still sick. We think it would be easier if we wait.”

“Tender needs steady hand. Needs to follow signals. Be patient and pay attention. Needs to feel things that happen.”

“I know, Juan.”

“Bernard knows this. He knows when things happen underwater. He feels them.”

“I know he does. But Bernard is sick, and Archer's willing to give it a try. He won't let anything happen to me.”

“Bernard and me, we're not friends. Tender and diver
should not think of anything but what goes on in the water. Should not think about rest of life.”

Tom slapped Juan's arm affectionately. “I'll tell him not to think about a damned thing except bringing me back up, I promise. You and Bernard can keep an eye on him.”

Juan frowned, but he didn't repeat his warning.

Archer returned from taking tea to Bernard. “Bernard won't move. I think we're going to have to step over him all day.”

Tom stood. “I'll go get the flannels. Finish your breakfast. Then we can get started.”

“The sooner the better.”

Tom donned what portion of the diver's dress he could by himself. Despite the undiminished thrill of finding the pearl, he wasn't really looking forward to today's dive. He was anxious to get back to Broome to tell Willow about their good fortune. He had something concrete to offer her now. He knew that he didn't have to be wealthy, that she would stay with him no matter what, but he was pleased to be able to offer her more. And he yearned to see her face when he told her the news.

Now he wished that he had not requested they stay at sea and fill their hold. If he had anticipated Bernard's illness, he would have voted to sail back home, but now that he had made a case for not returning immediately, he was loath to admit he had changed his mind. Archer had volunteered to be tender, and Tom didn't want to seem ungrateful or worried that Archer wouldn't do a good job. Archer was a man of swift reflexes, a restless man who enjoyed challenges. He would master this one quickly, and when he had shown that he could, he would gladly hand the job back to Bernard.

In the meantime, Tom had little choice but to dive or risk a return of the tensions between them.

“Are you ready for the rest of it?”

Tom hadn't heard Archer come up behind him. Now he managed a smile. “How about you?”

“I'm set. Bernard gave me some reminders. But I know exactly what I'm doing.”

Tom let Archer help him into the diver's dress. Juan assisted where he could, but he never smiled. He grew more sober as Tom disappeared into the canvas folds. Tom wondered how much Juan regretted not being the one to find the pearl. The chances that he would have stopped the boat at the same place or found his way to that spot and that shell were small, but it must have occurred to him that his illness had destroyed the possibility. Now he would not get the biggest commission of his career.

“You'll be well soon,” Tom told him. “And there's plenty of shell waiting for you to discover it. Don't look so gloomy.”

“I think I will not dive again.” Juan shook his head. Then he turned and walked away.

Tom nearly called for him to come back and explain. “What do you suppose that's about?” he asked Archer.

“Who knows? All colored people are superstitious. Anything sets them off.”

The sun was warm, but Tom felt a sudden chill. For a moment he considered calling off the dive. Archer might be upset, but Tom could make it up to him. Then he glanced at his friend's face and saw that Archer expected him to change his mind. His posture was rigid, as if he was waiting for Tom to disappoint him, and Tom knew he owed Archer too much to question his competence.

He turned and started toward the hatch, waddling gracelessly. Seated, he thrust out his feet for the weighted boots, then the corselet. When Archer helped him up again, he
made his way to the side and stepped over and on to the ladder. Archer signaled Ahmed, who brought the weights to slide over his shoulders.

Archer made all the necessary checks, taking his time and making adjustments, as if he had been readying divers for years. “You're good at this,” Tom told him. “Bernard had better get well soon, or you might just take over his job.”

“I wouldn't have volunteered if I didn't know what to do.”

“Good luck,” Tom said.

“You, too.” Archer lifted the helmet. For a moment, despite its weight, he held it over Tom's head, as if he wanted to change his mind, then, with his gaze locked with Tom's, he lowered the helmet and began to fasten it in place.

“Archer…”

“What?”

“Remember what I said yesterday about Willow?”

“What's wrong? Did you change your mind about her already?”

“No. It's just easier to go down there if I'm really sure she'll be taken care of if something happens to me.”

“I'll take care of Willow. Don't worry about anything. Just find us some shell.”

“That's what I'll do.” Tom waited until Archer was in place on the outrigger, holding the lifeline and air hose. Then, with Ahmed and Reece steadily pumping air into his helmet, he pushed off and began his descent.

Just as he had yesterday, he thought about Willow as he floated to the bottom. He wondered about the children they would have together. Perhaps she was even pregnant now. Suddenly he was sorry that he hadn't married her right away. He had been sure there was plenty of time to find ways to make their relationship more acceptable. Oddly,
now he felt certain that he had been wrong to wait, and he wondered if it could be arranged quickly when he got back to town.

Yesterday he had wished he could bring her here, to this exotic world of undersea creatures and alien vistas. He had wanted to share it with her and broaden her horizons. Today he wanted nothing more than to be in their tiny bungalow, in the familiar surroundings he had learned to love, with the clock ticking on the mantel and rice steaming fragrantly in the kitchen. He wanted Willow in his arms, her heart beating strong and steady against his chest.

He felt a stab of sadness that he hadn't always appreciated the smallest things about his life. The way the San Francisco fog crept along the ground in whirling wisps. A scarlet splash of bougainvillea against a rusting iron fence. The fragrance of jasmine tea.

His eyes felt heavy, and he realized he was feeling exactly the way he did just before he drifted off to sleep. He wasn't sure why he felt so tired. He adjusted his air valve. He could hear the steady clanking of the air pump through the hose, but today it seemed as soothing as a mother's lullaby. His eyelids closed, then, startled, he forced them open. He drew a deep breath, or tried to, but despite the reassuring rhythm of the pump, despite his frantic attempts to regulate his air, he couldn't draw enough into his lungs.

He told himself not to panic. He adjusted the valve on his helmet again, but now the air seemed in even shorter supply. His head began to ache and his fingers to tingle.

He tugged frantically on the lifeline. Something was wrong, and he didn't know what. The helmet needed adjustments. The line was compressed somewhere along its length. Whatever the problem, he couldn't fix it alone. He had to surface—and soon, before the air flow stopped altogether.

He readied himself to rise, tugging at the lifeline again to signal Archer to bring him up. But there was no answering tug.

Something must be wrong above him, too. Something was wrong with the equipment, and Archer must be trying frantically to repair it. In a moment Archer would respond. Tom's helmet would fill with air, and he would be safe. Archer would bring him up, and they would discover the problem together.

He tugged once more, but now his fingers were so numb he could hardly bend them to signal. His head felt as if it were being flattened by stones. He landed on the ocean floor and staggered backwards until he fell.

He cried out Archer's name, but there was no one to hear him. Above him, the air pump continued its life-giving rhythm, and in the cabin, a pearl waited to be sold to the highest bidder.

He died quickly, but not quickly enough. He knew, as he struggled unsuccessfully for a final breath, that his best friend had sacrificed him for the Pearl of Great Price. He himself had paid the greatest price of all.

A
rcher buried Tom above the high-water mark, on the beach nearest the place he had died. He marked the spot with a primitive wooden cross while the crew looked on. They had refused to help him dig Tom's grave, and he had been forced to keep a pistol ready. They stood near the water and watched, and when the deed was done, they came and laid small tokens at the site. But only after Archer had climbed back into the dinghy.

He knew every man on board was certain he had murdered his friend. But Juan was the only one who said so.

“You think you have done a good thing for yourself,” Juan had said, when the grisly task of removing Tom's distorted body from the diver's dress and wrapping him in a blanket and length of canvas was finished. “But now we see to it that no man works for you. And the other masters will know what you did. We see to that, too.”

“I tell you, Juan, Tom didn't signal. I had no idea he was in trouble, not until I felt his body dragging!”

“You think I don't know? You think I don't see what you do to the valve in the helmet?”

“That's ridiculous. It was damaged when we had to cut him out. You've got to believe me. Tom was my closest friend.”

Juan closed his hand over the gold cross he always wore. “You will never have another.”

Archer hadn't slept for the two days it took to return to Broome. He was careful never to turn his back on the others and to keep his gun in reach.

In Broome, the men left the lugger without a backward glance, even after Archer swore he wouldn't pay them if they didn't help with the unloading. He gave up when it was clear they weren't going to respond to his threats. He secured the lugger and locked the hold. Then, with the pearler's box under his arm, he made his way to the bank that held the key.

He had occupied himself during the voyage back to Broome by making plans. He had considered selling the pearl immediately, but the pearl was so dramatic, so magnificent, he hated to part with it without taking advantage of all its potential. He wanted Sebastian Somerset to see the stone, to know exactly what kind of man would be asking for his daughter's hand. He wanted Viola to see it, too, so she could view the proof that he'd made good on his promise. He had returned a rich man.

After retrieving the key, he went to the Roebuck to rent a room. The clerk assigned him one, but he didn't seem inclined to chat. Archer told him about the tragedy on the
Odyssey,
and the man peered unsympathetically over wire-rimmed spectacles until the story was finished.

“I liked Tom,” he said without expression. “He was a gentleman.”

“You don't seem surprised by his death.”

“I knew.”

Even considering Juan's threats, Archer was surprised the word had gotten out so quickly. “The crew blames me.” He gazed off into the distance, like a man tormented by things out of his control. “But I did everything I could to save him. We were mates. I would take his place in the grave, if I could.”

“It's too bad such a thing's not possible.” The clerk turned his back before Archer could respond.

In his room, Archer unpacked, then he opened the pearler's box and gazed at his bounty. On land, in natural daylight, the Pearl of Great Price was no less beautiful than it had been at sea under a flickering lantern. He held it carefully in his palm as he considered what to do with it. He could hide it somewhere in the room, but any man who wanted it badly enough to search would be diligent and thorough. No hiding place, no matter how clever, would be secure.

He could take it to his bank to be locked in their safe, but how could he be certain that the mere sight of it wouldn't turn an otherwise honest bank officer into a scoundrel? The pearl represented the answer to man's most unattainable dreams. Who wouldn't steal it, if given the opportunity?

At last he decided to keep the pearl with him. If he were to lose it, he would prefer to die, anyway. He untied the kerchief he wore knotted around his neck and rewrapped it so the pearl fit snugly against the hollow of his throat.

With that taken care of, he penned a note to Sebastian and a separate one to Viola, to be delivered to Ashwar, the houseboy who had helped him before. He told Sebastian the sad circumstances of Tom's death, how something had gone wrong and a panicked Tom hadn't signaled his dis
tress. How Archer had tried to no avail to rescue his friend. He ended by saying that he had something to show Sebastian, something he needed advice on.

In his note to Viola, he condensed the story of Tom's death and asked her to meet him in secret. Then he went to find a messenger.

Archer had one more thing to do before he put Tom Robeson out of his life forever. He had promised Tom he would take care of Willow. To keep himself awake and on guard during the voyage back to town, he had considered what to do about her.

He knew that when the story of Tom's death was told, people in Broome would be suspicious. He even half expected to be questioned by the local police sergeant. If he did nothing to help Willow, his reputation would suffer more. If he made a show of helping her, even when it wasn't required, it might cast doubt on the rumors that he had caused Tom's death.

Now, before getting sleep or even a decent meal, he changed his clothes and made the trip by foot to Tom's bungalow. He was not looking forward to facing Willow or seeing one final time the house where Tom had lived. He knew Tom had left touches of himself there. A garden he had planted for Willow. Wicker chairs on the veranda. Shells and driftwood he and Willow had collected and arranged in curiously artistic displays.

His decision to let Tom die had been a sudden one, hatched during a sleepless night amidst dreams of the future. He had saved Tom's life in Cuba, giving him more than two extra years to live, and it had almost seemed fair that Archer take his life, too. Those extra years had been a loan, and he and Tom had grown apart. Tom no longer looked up to him as he once had. Soon their paths would
have separated, anyway. Archer was deeply sorry he had been compelled to kill his friend, but he had learned a long time ago that no matter what other people claimed to feel, in the end, every man looked out for himself. And Archer had to look out for Archer.

Now he was anxious to finish this business with Willow and begin his new life. There had been moments since cutting Tom from the diving dress when Archer had almost been sorry that Tom had found the pearl. But he had never been a man who looked back. Tom was dead now, and it was up to Archer to use the pearl to his best advantage.

At the sound of wailing, he slowed just before the bungalow. He knew who was making the sound, and why. He steeled himself and turned into the walkway.

A woman barred the front door, and he recognized her as the West Indian woman who had accompanied Willow to the jetty to say goodbye to Tom. She was dark-skinned and wide-hipped, and her eyes condemned him before he spoke.

“I'm here to see Willow,” he said.

“What for? You come to kill
her,
too?”

“Let me through, stupid woman. I haven't killed anyone. I'm here to give her something.”

She had thick black brows that she drew together in an ominous line. “Juan Fernandez say you kill Tom.”

“Juan just wants to blame somebody.”

Her expression made it clear she didn't believe him. But it didn't matter, because she turned at the sound of steps behind her, and her face softened. “I tell him go away,” she said to the woman behind her.

“Please.”

The woman twisted her face into a frown, but she stepped aside so that Willow could move into the doorway.

“Why you have come?” Willow said.

Her face was swollen and her eyes red-rimmed. Her hair streamed wildly around her shoulders. But even in this disheveled state, Archer still had to acknowledge her beauty. He could understand why Tom had acted like such a fool over this woman, although he still couldn't forgive him for it.

“I promised Tom I would give you this if something happened to him. Neither of us ever thought I'd have to do it. But I'm honoring my promise.” Archer pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and unwrapped it. The first pearl that Tom had found, the small one he had said he would give Willow, lay inside. “He wanted you to have this.”

She looked as if she wasn't going to take it. He continued to hold out his hand.

She took it at last and turned it over in her hand for a moment before she looked up at him again. “Juan Fernandez says there is another.”

Archer didn't answer.

Willow lifted her chin. “Pearl of Great Price. Half of that pearl belongs to Tom.”

Archer folded the handkerchief and put it back in his pocket. “Even if that were so, Tom is dead. I'm giving you this pearl because he wanted you to have it. Not because I owe it to you.”

“Owe? You owe me nothing. But you owe child of Tom what belongs to Tom.”

“Tom
has
no children.”

Willow touched her belly. “You are wrong.”

Archer felt something stirring inside him, something he couldn't name. He had never considered that Tom might have fathered an heir. For a moment he felt vulnerable, even afraid. He had rid himself of his partner in order to have full title to everything they owned together. Had it been for nothing?

Then the absurdity struck him, and as relief filled him, so did anger. “You little bitch. He rescued you from a whorehouse. Do you suppose anyone would believe that child is his?”

“It is child of Tom.”

“So you say.” Archer knew that she spoke the truth. On the night Tom had told him about Willow's rescue, he had also told him she was a virgin. But Archer was sure Tom would never have told anyone else.

He started down the steps. At the bottom, he turned and faced her again. “I've given you Tom's pearl. Sell it, keep it. I don't give a damn. Maybe when I sell the shell in our hold I'll send you a little money. But not if I hear you've been spreading false rumors about me. And not because I owe you anything.”

She drew herself up straight, and her red-rimmed eyes focused like shafts of light traveling through him. “I tell the truth. You cannot buy the truth from me. And you cannot buy peace in your mind. I have child of Tom, but you have nothing. No peace. No sleep. No friend. Only a pearl, and this pearl will haunt you for rest of your days. I will haunt you, too!”

She had not cursed him, but Archer felt cursed. Exhaustion dragged at him, along with something that he didn't recognize. He wanted to throw her words back at her, but he found that his tongue was tied. He turned and started back to the hotel.

 

For two days Archer waited for Viola or Sebastian to contact him. On the second day he wrote identical notes to the ones he had already sent and had them delivered by a different messenger. Another day passed, and although casual inquiries turned up the fact that the Somersets were in town, he heard nothing from either of them.

He rarely left his room except for meals, and what little sleep he managed was fitful. He slept sitting up, with his pistol cocked and ready, and the kerchief knotted at his throat. He longed for the moment when he could sleep soundly again, when the pearl was sold and his money deposited safely. He longed to share his good fortune with Viola and receive her promise of marriage.

Most of the time he kept himself awake with visions of his future, the land he would buy and the cattle he would breed. But sometimes, despite his best efforts, his eyes closed and pictures of Tom filled his head, Tom with eyes bulging and skin a hideous blue.

Tom, who had been his friend.

On the fourth morning he knew he couldn't go on this way. He had wanted to see the envy on Sebastian's face when the pearl was revealed, and the pleasure on Viola's, but Archer couldn't wait any longer. He dressed carefully to visit the most successful pearl buyer in Broome. Fabian Wells was an Englishman who was said to handle all the Somerset pearls. Archer arrived at his house precisely at nine and was ushered into his hallway by an Aboriginal housekeeper.

Fabian Wells dressed like the wealthy man he was. He wore a beautifully tailored suit and a silk waistcoat with a gold watch gleaming at his waist. A pearl stickpin adorned his lapel, but in no other way did he advertise his profession. He looked like a banker, middle-aged and portly, and he spoke in a nasal voice.

“You've brought me something?” Fabian said, after he shook Archer's hand.

Archer had imagined this moment, but now he was too exhausted to do much more than nod.

“I have an appointment,” Fabian said. “But I'll be back
by one. You're welcome to wait or return any time this afternoon.”

“There's nothing you'll see at your appointment that will be as fine as what I've brought you.”

Fabian inclined his head. “Nevertheless, I can't afford to upset my regular clientele. I hope you'll return.”

Archer struggled to hold on to his temper. “Maybe I will, and maybe I won't.”

Archer used the rest of the morning to hire help to unload the shell in the
Odyssey
's hold. He found two men at the Japanese Social Club who were willing to do the job, and he took them down to the jetty to see the lugger. At the jetty, no one spoke to him, not even the Asians who had joked with him in halting pidgin before Tom's death. There were white men lounging and talking along the water's edge, men with whom he had drunk and gambled, but now they looked straight through him.

The same had been true at the Roebuck. Since his return, no one had spoken to him unless it was absolutely necessary. And when he entered a room, all conversation stopped.

By one he was ready to return to Wells's house to sell the pearl. When he arrived this time, he was kept waiting on the veranda. Just as he was about to give up and find another buyer, the housekeeper ushered him inside. “Mr. Wells tell me take you to office.”