Hammond Innes - Solomons Seal

‘Is that far enough?’ she asked.

‘Aye. He’ll not go twenty miles back on his tracks. It’d cost him too much in fuel.’ He hesitated. ‘Do you want anything in your coffee, to perk you up?’

She shook her head, smiling at him. ‘Thank you, Mac.’ And she added, ‘It takes me back, seeing you. It really does — reminds me of the good things. Thank you for the breakfast. And I’m so glad to find you’re still with him.’

He didn’t say anything, nodding dumbly and staring at her with those watery blue eyes. Then he seemed to pull himself together, starting for the door, but pausing with it half open. ‘Last time you were at Madehas wasn’t so good. Let’s hope it’s better this time.’ The way he said it he seemed to be sounding some sort of warning.

‘That man,’ she said when the door had closed behind him, ‘he used to be skipper on one of my grandfather’s schooners. I’ve known him all my life.’ She handed me a plate of bacon and eggs, and then, as she was pouring the coffee, she said, ‘When we were children, we’d go down to Port Moresby and he’d be there waiting for us. Every year we’d sail to Madehas, the whole family, all except my father, of course. He was running Kuamegu. I used to look forward to those voyages. We’d be anything up to a week at sea, sometimes more, putting in at all sorts of places. And when I was bigger, I was allowed to join my brothers on trading runs through the Solomons, to Choiseul, Santa Isabel and New Georgia, once as far as Guadalcanal and San Cristóbal. And always with Pat McAvoy. My grandfather wouldn’t allow me to sail with anybody but Mac. He was the best skipper he had. I didn’t mind the stink of the copra. I was most of the time on deck anyway. I even slept on deck. It was marvellous lying there, watching the sails against the stars on a hot tropical night.’

I couldn’t make up my mind whether she was talking to cover her embarrassment that we’d spent the night together in the same bunk, or because she was nervous at the prospect of meeting her brother. ‘What about school?’ I asked. ‘Presumably you went to school in Australia.’

She shook her head, the cap of orange hair brilliant in the sunlight slanting in through the cabin porthole. ‘Jona was educated at a boarding school in Sydney. Tim followed three years later. But I never had any proper schooling. Mother was my teacher. That’s probably why we were so close. And there was a Mission not far away. That helped. Then, of course, I read a lot. My grandfather had a very good library.’ She paused, sitting in the chair there, her head bent over her coffee, lost in thought. ‘It was a marvellous life, so free. And the Chimbu village was quite near so that I grew up with their children, looking after the pigs and cassowaries, attending their sing-sings, learning how to shoot with bow and arrow, how to throw knives, spears, axes, and at the Mission how to nurse the sick, how to keep accounts and barter for trade.’ She gave a little laugh. ‘You know, I sometimes think I had a far better education than my brothers. What’s the use of learning to read if you aren’t given the right books, or doing algebra when you’ve no experience of trading? And ball games, football, for instance, that’s no substitute for the real thing — two fight leaders in armed combat with their supporters behind them, all roaring encouragement.’ She looked at me, smiling. ‘Remember, when you came to Aldeburgh, I said I was born to colour and excitement. I don’t think you believed me, but I really did have a very full, very exciting childhood.’ And she added, ‘It didn’t exactly prepare me for all the time I had to spend in that dull little seaside town.’

‘And now?’ I asked.

‘Now …?’ She hesitated, her mouth hardening, the crease-lines deepening. ‘How long will it be, before we get there? Four days?’

I nodded. ‘About four.’

‘Ships,’ she murmured, draining her coffee and getting to her feet. ‘I love them. And this is mine, partly mine. But they’re so slow. In that aircraft, I felt I was moving then, getting there fast. But now — four days! Do you think he’ll let me send a cable? By radio. All this time … I don’t even know whether Tim’s still alive.’ And then she added, her hands clenched, ‘Yes, I do. I’d know if Tim were dead. I’d know it instantly.’

She had turned and was looking out of the porthole. ‘Strange! Tim, that house — now, with the sea out there sparkling in the sun, and the warmth, the sense of movement, it seems like another world, another life … so far away, almost unreal. But it is real, isn’t it?’ Her hands were clasped together, the fingers locked tight. ‘All those years — Father dying, then Tim …’ Her voice faded, and she stood silent for a moment, her eyes staring out at the sea with great fixity, as though by concentration she could leap the distance of half a world and talk with her brother. Suddenly she turned to me, a quick gesture of the hands, and smiling now. ‘I’m sorry. I haven’t thanked you. First you got me the money; then you told me how to find the ship. I can’t tell you what it meant to me. Those weeks on the Lemnos , struggling towards Buka … It’s there, you see, on Buka Island, whatever it is that’s killing Tim. And I hadn’t the money, no hope of getting there before-’ She gave an awkward little shrug. ‘I tried to thank you last night, but you were asleep.’ Her lips spread in a smile, a conscious effort. ‘You went out, just like that.’ She clicked her fingers almost gaily. ‘More coffee?’ She reached for the pot. ‘Four days! I’m going to try and relax now. Nothing I can do will get us there any sooner.’ She was refilling my cup. ‘I had no idea those stamps could be worth so much.’

I told her briefly how their value had escalated, about my visit to Josh Keegan, but I don’t think she took it in. ‘Where did your brother get them?’ I asked. But she didn’t know. She was back at the porthole then, staring out at the water, and it was only when I produced the letter the stamp dealer in Sydney had given me that she showed any real interest. ‘Lewis?’ She had turned, frowning in concentration. ‘Didn’t you say Carlos Holland had those ship’s stamps specially printed? That means the father of that abo was on board the Holland Trader with him.’ She looked down at the letter. ‘Cooktown. And you were in Queensland. I wish you’d gone up there.’

‘I hadn’t time.’

‘No, of course not. But to have killed a man called Holland. Black Holland. It’s such a coincidence. Do you think he still has his father’s letter?’

‘I doubt it.’

‘But you said the dealer only received the envelope.’

‘The aborigine’s mother was dead. I don’t imagine he kept the letter.’

‘But if he had … It’s so strange. I’ll ask Mac whether my grandfather ever said anything about that mine. The Dog Weary gold mine. You can just imagine a man at the end of a long trek into the Australian outback calling it Dog Weary. Or perhaps there were two of them.’ She was silent then, thinking it over. ‘I’ve often wondered where Carlos got the money to buy a steamship. A gold mine would explain it.’ She laughed, handing me back the letter and turning to the porthole again. ‘I can still see the coast.’ And then she asked about her brother. ‘How is he?’ And when I didn’t answer, she said, ‘You’ve been standing in on the night watches. You must have formed some impression.’

‘He’s tired,’ I said. ‘We’re both tired.’

‘Yes, I know.’ Her voice was sharper. ‘But that doesn’t explain why he radioed advising me to stay with my aunt in Perth. He didn’t want me on board, and he didn’t want me in Buka — why?’