Territory (39 page)

‘I can't accept such a gift, Grandma Em,' Tom had said, as he unfolded the kid cloth and stared at the locket which she'd placed in his hand.

‘You must, Tom,' she insisted. ‘It will give me great pleasure.' Then she'd taken him into her small sitting room and showed him the portrait. Tom had seen it often before. When he was a small child it had even sat over the lounge room mantelpiece until his father had replaced it with a McCubbin landscape which had cost him a fortune. But Tom had never noticed before that, in the painting of the pretty young woman holding her new baby son, his
grandmother was wearing the locket.

‘You see, Tom,' Emily had said, ‘I can always look at the portrait. And when I do, I will pray that the locket has helped you to find a new life. Just as it helped me find mine.'

 

‘She said that she prayed the locket would help me find a new life.' Tom repeated his grandmother's words to the Chinese. He didn't know why but, despite Foong Lee's inscrutable expression, Tom felt that the Chinese was sympathetic.

Foong Lee did believe the young man. He would have Emily Sullivan's signature authenticated certainly, just to be safe, but for all of the rumours which abounded about Matthew Sullivan's youngest son, Foong Lee had come to the conclusion that Tom was an honest man.

‘I will need several days to evaluate the true worth of the locket,' he said, ‘its antiquity will be difficult to assess, but it will only add to its value.' He rose. ‘Come into the shop and I'll give you a receipt of possession.'

‘That won't be necessary,' Tom said, also rising from his chair. ‘I'll come back next Wednesday, shall I?' He offered his hand to the Chinese.

Foong Lee knew that he should have insisted upon the receipt of possession, it was a matter of protocol, after all. But he didn't. It pleased him to think they were both men of honour. A
gwailo
and a Chinaman having faith in each other, it should happen more often, he thought. There should be more trust between Europeans and Chinese. ‘Wednesday will be fine, Mr Sullivan,' he said as they shook hands.

It was the first time his name had been mentioned, and Tom smiled as he left the shop. There was something very reassuring about Foong Lee. Following the dreadful rows with his father, it now seemed that he had two allies. He had the blessing of his grandmother, and apparently that
of Foong Lee too. Tom felt very confident as he stepped out into the glare of Cavenagh Street.

Foong Lee stood in the courtyard looking at the locket. He would buy it most certainly, and he would pay a good price. But he doubted whether he would ever sell it. He turned it over and over in his fingers, there was something very special about this beautiful thing.

Aggie Marshall strolled down the Esplanade. She liked to ‘stroll'. The days when she had ‘clomped' were long gone, certainly, but if she tried to get up any speed her gait was still rather odd, so she ‘strolled', and her limp was barely noticeable. Besides, she was getting on now, she told herself, it was not dignified for a woman of fifty-six to charge at things like a bull at a gate. But no matter how many times she reminded herself of her age, and no matter how gently she strolled, metaphorically Aggie continued to charge, as her fellow town councillors were fully aware.

Aggie had retired from full-time teaching and although she now devoted her considerable energy to the improvement of Darwin, battling bureaucracy in the process, she continued to give private tuition to select students. Free of charge if the parents were not well off, which was usually the case. The students she agreed to tutor were either those with learning difficulties in need of help, or those with above-average academic skills who, in Aggie's opinion, should be encouraged to go on to university.

Darwin was looking very beautiful, Aggie thought. The poincianas, frangipanis and bougainvilleas were in bloom,
and the wealth of their colour seemed to reflect the town's affluence and new-found civic pride. Darwin was no longer the shanty town of no-hopers it had been when she'd first arrived, nor was it the shelled-out war zone, all but razed to the ground by the Japanese bombs. The Darwin of the sixties was both practical and romantic in Aggie's opinion, a marriage of modern business and beautifully restored colonial architecture. And its wealth, employment and harmony owed much to its multicultural origins. Although the colourful pre-war shacks and shops of Chinatown no longer existed, the Darwin Chinese remained a highly successful business community, and only recently the first Chinese mayor, Harry Chan, had been elected to office. The Chinese were closely rivalled by the Greeks whose milk bars were regular meeting places and whose cafés smelled of freshly ground coffee beans. The Paspali brothers Mick and Nick, who had changed their names to Paspalis and Paspaley respectively, were amongst Darwin's wealthy elite. The Paspaleys' pearling business burgeoned, the Manolis's real estate holdings expanded rapidly, successful Greek family businesses were becoming a power to be reckoned with. Darwin was a truly multicultural society, Aggie always boasted, a place to be proud of.

She passed Admiralty House, appreciating, as she always did, its grace and style. Further evidence of Darwin's elegance, she thought. Designed in the thirties by the innovative B.C.G. Burnett, Admiralty House had inspired the design of many homes which had come to typify Darwin architecture. Elevated on stilts, surrounded by wide, shuttered verandahs, with open-plan, wooden-floored interiors, ‘Burnett-style' houses were not only practical given the climate of the tropics, but picturesque. They were proud houses, Aggie thought.

She walked down Herbert Street, then turned and headed up Mitchell bound for Galloway Motors. It was
mid-afternoon and, as she arrived, Aggie could see Terence's minions scuttling about. On the opposite side of the street was Galloway and Sons Emporium, another hive of activity, and Aggie thought of Henrietta, as she always did when she stood in Mitchell Street surrounded by the Galloway empire.

It had been over five years since Henrietta's disappearance and rarely a day went by when Aggie didn't think of her. The success of the Galloway businesses was a constant reminder of Henrietta's tragic and untimely death. It didn't seem right to Aggie that, after all the hardship and isolation Henrietta had suffered, she should be deprived of a life of ease which she'd so deserved. How proud she would have been of Terence's success, Aggie thought, and of her sons' achievements.

She entered Galloway Motors and, as she wove her way through the shining vehicles on the showroom floor to the stairs at the rear, she wondered again why Terence wanted to see her and what it was that he didn't wish to discuss on the phone. ‘I'd much rather see you in person, Aggie,' he'd said. ‘That is, if you have the time.' He'd sounded a little upset, she thought.

‘Aggie,' Terence met her at the top of the stairs, a glass of whisky in his hand, ‘thank you so much for coming.' He ushered her into his impressive office. ‘Scotch?' The offer was perfunctory, he knew she'd refuse, but Terence was glad to see Aggie. There was no-one else with whom he felt he could share his strangely unsettling news. He got straight to the point.

‘I had a phone call from my solicitors in Adelaide,' he said as they both sat. ‘It appears that Henrietta has now been officially declared dead.'

He was trying to sound business-like, Aggie realised, but as he swigged back his Scotch she could sense his pain.

Henrietta's body had never been found. Extensive searches had been mounted, lengthy interviews conducted
by police, despite the fact that there were no suspicious circumstances. Every measure possible had been taken to discover the whereabouts of her body, to no avail. The findings of the coronial inquest had been ‘presumed dead by unknown causes'. And now, five years after the inquest, the statutory time having elapsed, she had been officially declared dead, or so the solicitors had informed Terence.

‘Her estate has reverted to me,' he told Aggie. ‘Just a modest bank account and a small property in Ireland,' he said. He took another swig from his glass, and Aggie felt sorry for him. It was quite obvious that the official declaration of his wife's death had reopened the wound of Terence's grief.

 

During the months following Henrietta's disappearance, a strange relationship had evolved between Terence and Aggie. When the boys had come home to attend the small family memorial service held in honour of their mother, Aggie had not intruded upon their grief, sending flowers and condolences instead. But several days after Malcolm and Kit had returned to boarding school, Aggie had heard that Terence had moved into the Hotel Darwin, and she'd called upon him to offer her sympathies in person.

‘I thought, seeing you're staying in town, I'd pay you a visit,' she'd said a little awkwardly as they sat in the hotel lounge.

‘Yes, until the new house is ready,' he'd replied, leaning forward in his armchair and staring down at his tightly clasped hands. ‘Just whilst they finish the new house, that's all,' he repeated, his fingers restlessly kneading his knuckles.

He was obviously agitated, and Aggie was shocked by his appearance. His face was pale and unshaven, and he'd lost weight. She felt deeply sorry for him.

‘If there's anything I can do, Terence,' she said gently,
‘anything at all.' He shook his head and continued wringing his hands, his fingers and knuckles turning white. It was pitiful to watch such a strong man fighting to control his emotions. ‘Please let me help you,' Aggie said and she placed her hand upon his forearm.

The gesture seemed to push Terence over the edge. He buried his head in his hands. ‘I'm staying here because I can't go back,' he said, his voice strained and muffled. ‘I can't go back to Bullalalla. I miss her. I see her everywhere. She haunts me.' His voice finally broke as he lost control and sobbed. ‘I can't go back there, I can never go back there.'

At first Aggie was horrified at the sight of him sobbing. She was neither concerned nor embarrassed by the curious glances from the several other guests in the lounge, but the spectacle of Terence Galloway crying was shocking. Terence of all people! Then she realised that it was probably good for him, it was probably very healthy.

She rose and, sitting on the broad arm of his lounge chair, she soothed him as she would a distraught child. ‘There, there, Terence,' she said, putting her arm around his shoulders, ‘it's all right, everything's going to be all right.'

Gradually, his sobs subsided, and he fumbled for his handkerchief. ‘I'm sorry,' he said as he blew his nose and self-consciously mopped away his tears. His outburst had shocked him even more than it had Aggie.

Terence had not been lying. He did miss Henrietta. He missed her desperately. And she certainly haunted him. During the fortnight of investigations and searches following her disappearance, he'd been too busy to ponder upon what had taken place, he'd had to keep his wits about him every minute of every day. Then there'd been the inquest, and the boys' return when he'd had to console them in their grief. That had been the ultimate test for Terence, to comfort both equally, to disguise his contempt for Paul Trewinnard's son. The strain had at times been unbearable, there had been moments when he'd wanted to scream
at the boy ‘get out of this house, you're not my son', but he'd had to embrace him instead, clumsily, awkwardly, as Kit grieved for the loss of his mother.

The nights offered no relief, sleep seemed impossible. When Terence closed his eyes he saw Henrietta. She was not accusing him, there was no damnation in her eyes, she was simply there, lovely and tempting as ever, haunting him with her beauty. But he refused to regret her death. He had only to visualise the locket, to see the images of the two of them encased inside, to remind himself of her infidelity. And then he knew that she'd deserved to die. When a fitful sleep finally overcame him, the image of the locket would become that of Trewinnard making love to Henrietta, and Terence would awake newly anguished and enraged. And then, throughout the day, there was Trewinnard's son, the brazen proof of his wife's dishonour. Terence felt no guilt over Henrietta's death, but he was a creature in torment.

He had expected some relief when the boys returned to school, when he would no longer be in the presence of the son who was not his. But after Malcolm and Kit left, and he found himself alone in the house, Henrietta seemed to be everywhere. There was not even the distraction of Jackie's and Nellie's company.

Following the official enquiries, Jackie had simply gone walkabout, and this time he'd taken Nellie with him. They hadn't even said goodbye. Some thanks for a lifetime of employment, Terence had thought. Oh well, good riddance.

Terence knew Jackie and Nellie had had misgivings about the death of their mistress, he'd known from the very outset, even before he'd left to meet up with the first search party. Of course they'd said nothing of their unease to the police, blacks never interfered in white men's business, but it was probably for the best that they'd gone, he decided.

But when he'd found himself alone in the silence of Bullalalla, he'd missed Jackie and Nellie. The very air of the deserted house seemed to whisper Henrietta's name, or to echo her laughter. Shaken and unnerved, Terence had driven into town and booked into the Hotel Darwin.

When, two days later, Aggie had contacted him, he had found the prospect of confronting Henrietta's closest friend strangely alarming. Was he losing his nerve? Was he losing his very sanity? He'd not flinched throughout the police investigation, why should he find Aggie Marshall of all people a threat? Perhaps because she had known the younger Trewinnard. Perhaps because Aggie Marshall was the one person capable of putting two and two together. Henrietta herself had told him that Aggie didn't know about Trewinnard, and Terence had believed her. But what if Aggie had guessed?

The endless weeks of tension had taken their toll on Terence and, when he'd seen the concern in Aggie's eyes and realised he was safe, it had been the easiest thing in the world to give in to his sense of loss. Suddenly he'd found himself sobbing. He missed Henrietta, he said, she haunted him, he could never go back to Bullalalla. It was all true.

Terence was shocked by his breakdown, and a little embarrassed as he mopped himself up and Aggie patted him on the back, saying ‘there, there'. But when he'd pulled himself together and apologised for making such a scene, he decided the embarrassment was well worth it. In Aggie's eyes were the deepest sympathy and compassion.

‘I'll always be here to help you, Terence, if you ever need to call on me. Henrietta was my dearest friend, you know that.'

Terence himself wasn't sure whether his outburst had been one of grief or relief, but he felt utterly exhausted, and grateful at the same time.

‘Thank you, Aggie,' he said, ignoring the glances of others in the lounge. Who would have thought Aggie Marshall
might become his greatest ally? It was really most convenient.

Since then, Aggie had made it a regular habit to call upon Terence at the hotel and he always seemed grateful to see her. Mostly they talked about Henrietta, and Aggie never stayed long, she was just checking to make sure he was all right.

The boys came home for the Christmas holidays and Aggie stopped visiting, convinced that she would be intruding if she did. It would be a sad Christmas for them, she thought.

Several months later, when Terence moved into the new house on the point at Larrakeyah, he rang Aggie.

‘You're the first person invited over for the guided tour,' he said. She was very flattered.

‘It's beautiful, Terence.' They clinked glasses, he'd opened a bottle of Dom Perignon especially. ‘To toast the house,' he said. ‘It's truly beautiful,' Aggie said and meant it. It was one of the most beautiful houses she'd ever seen. But then Burnett-style houses were her favourite.

Surrounded by vibrant purple-flowering bougainvillea, it stood two storeys high on its stilts, with broad wooden steps leading up to the first verandah, the shutters of which could be lifted completely to expose the wide balconies. Fine mesh screens could be dropped to keep out the insects and still retain the view. The furnishings were large but not cumbersome, in keeping with the spacious rooms, and the view across the waters of Darwin Harbour was breathtaking.

‘The boys'll be home for the May holidays soon,' Terence said, ‘I can't wait for them to see it.'

If only Henrietta was alive to see it, Aggie thought, but she didn't say anything.

‘Henrietta would have loved it, wouldn't she?' Terence knew exactly what Aggie was thinking.