Solomons Seal (23 page)

I was conscious of him watching for my reaction behind his sunglasses. ‘What sort of a job?' I asked.

‘We'll talk about it later. But I promise you this, it will be a ship of your own. You think about it, eh?' He stared at me for a moment, then switched his gaze for'ard. ‘Better get back now. Looks like that's the last crate coming across. Just keep your mouth shut when you get ashore. Understand?'

He left me then, hurrying back up the ladder to the wheelhouse.

The two vessels were slewed almost at right angles, the ramps barely touching as I crossed to the LCT. The last crate was shifted across. I waited in the bow door opening for Jona Holland. He only just made it, jumping a gap that was opening up between the ramps. ‘Well?' I asked him. ‘Did he tell you the destination of those guns?'

He didn't answer me, only shook his head as he turned aft, moving quickly as though to avoid further questions. The RPL was backing off, the flat steel square of the bow door rising. Somebody shouted to stand clear, and then our own ramp was lifting, the bows closing. By the time I reached the bridge the deck was throbbing under my feet again and we were heading east to turn the end of Shortland Island. The rain had passed seaward, visibility good, and away to port the massive forest-clad bulk of Bougainville showed bright green in the slanting sunlight.

With the guns gone it was as though the ship had been relieved of an incubus, the mood almost carefree as we gathered for drinks in the wardroom before the evening meal. Luke was on watch, McAvoy in his cabin; otherwise we were all there, including Perenna, and nobody referred to what had happened before the RPL had taken the cases from us, talking about other things as though it were best forgotten. ‘We'll be off Kieta at first light, get rid of those trucks, then go round to the copper port.' Jona Holland turned to me. ‘If you'll stand in till midnight, that'll be it as far as you're concerned, and you can have a good night's sleep before going ashore. Luke and I will manage the night watches. I'm very grateful to you for all your help.' His tone was friendly, his manner almost lighthearted.

Darkness had fallen in a steady downpour of rain, but when I relieved Luke, the island was a black silhouette against the stars and the group flash of the
Shortland Harbour light just visible to port. Out on the bridge wing I could smell the land, a damp smell of sodden vegetation mingled with some indefinable aromatic scent. Most of that watch I was thinking about Hans Holland and his offer of a ship. He was buying my silence, of course, but much of my life had been connected with boats, and I didn't have to like the man, just so long as the driving ambition I had sensed in him gave me the opportunity I was looking for.

Jona relieved me at midnight. There was something on his mind, and he was ill at ease, keeping me there, talking about nothing in particular. And then, when I said I was tired and going to bed, he suddenly came out with it: That job Hans offered you, are you going to take it?'

‘I might,' I said.

I don't know whether that was the answer he expected, but he didn't say anything, just stood there frowning as though working out some complicated pattern in his mind.

‘Why? Does it matter to you?'

‘No.' He shook his head. ‘No, not at all.' He managed a small smile. ‘Good to have somebody I know skippering one of the ships.' And he turned quickly away to the chart table.

Back in my cabin I stripped, had a quick shower, then fell into my bunk, naked except for a sheet, with the luxury of a whole night's sleep ahead of me. I dropped off immediately, the steady murmur of the engines like the refrain of a song beating out a vision
of Pacific islands. At that moment I was strangely content, a new world opening up before me and a feeling that here was something that I could make my own.

I don't know what woke me – the door maybe – but my eyes were suddenly open, searching the cabin. A shadow moved in the pale light filtering through the porthole, and I sat up. ‘I'm sorry if I startled you.' It was Perenna's voice, a husky whisper barely audible. ‘I couldn't sleep.'

‘Why? What's wrong?'

‘Nothing. I just couldn't sleep. That's all.'

I could see her now, standing like a ghost just inside the door, a thin dressing gown held tightly round her.

‘It's the heat,' she said in a small voice. ‘Do you mind?' And then, as though conscious of a need to explain her presence, she added, ‘I don't know why, but I'm scared.'

‘Scared?' She was so different from her brother that it hadn't occurred to me that she could ever be scared of anything. ‘What of?' I was still only half awake.

‘I don't know. Everything. The future, what's going to happen …' Her voice trailed away.

‘Do you want to talk about it?'

She came towards my bunk then, moving so slowly, so silently she might have been walking in her sleep. ‘I had an awful telephone conversation with the doctor at the nursing home. Tim was worse, and there was nothing he could do. “Just a matter of time,” he said. That's why I left Aldeburgh in such a hurry. I felt
if only I could get to Buka, I might be able to do something … Stop whatever it was from reaching Tim – destroy whoever it was that was killing him, switch it off.' She hesitated, then went on, her voice faltering, ‘Now – now that I'm on the last leg of this long journey … I don't know what I'm going to do—' Her voice fell to a whisper. ‘I'm so afraid of Buka. And Sapuru. He was there with Hans.'

‘I'll switch on the light,' I said. ‘We can talk—'

‘No. No, I don't want to talk.' And I knew then she had come to me for comfort, like a little girl afraid of the dark. ‘Can I come in with you – just for a little while?' She was standing close to me now, and I could smell her: no scent, just her own natural female smell. She slid in beside me, drawing the sheet over her shoulders, her body close against mine. The bunk was so narrow the only place I could put my arms was round her. ‘Just hold me,' she whispered. ‘Don't do anything. I just want to be held.'

I could feel her body snuggled close against me, naked under the dressing gown. She was trembling slightly. ‘I keep thinking of Mother. That's why I couldn't sleep – wondering whether it would be the same this time. Blood and violence, the worship of ancestors … When I was growing up in the Chimbu area there were still cases of cannibalism. And the fight leaders. There was always fighting somewhere.' Her breath was hot on my shoulder, her body close against me. She must have felt the beat of my blood, for she withdrew slightly. ‘I'm sorry, it's not fair.' Then, with
a sudden giggle: ‘I only brought pyjamas, and it's too hot to wear them.'

I tried to kiss her then, but she turned her head away, lying quite passive. ‘You don't want to talk, you don't want to make love, what the hell do you want?'

‘Nothing,' she murmured. ‘Just don't do anything. I'm tired.'

‘You said you were scared. What is it? What are you afraid of?' I was being gentle with her then, the sexual urge in me dying. ‘Is it really what happened when you were last here? Or is it those guns, the fact that your brother is involved?'

‘No, it's not Jona.'

‘Hans Holland, then?'

She lay there, withdrawn, not answering. But I had felt her stiffen at the name.
Pagan bad.
The words came back to me. It was such an odd description. And Red Holland's son brought up after his death in a Buka village. Did that mean a pagan background? ‘Did you know I'd killed a man?' she said quite unexpectedly. I only just caught the words, her face close against my chest.

‘You don't want to think about that,' I whispered gently. ‘History doesn't repeat itself, and anyway it wasn't deliberate.'

‘I was fighting mad,' she breathed. ‘I was covered in blood, and I didn't care.'

‘It was a long time ago. Stop thinking about it.'

I felt her shake her head. ‘I can't. There's Tim … and Jona – he's such an innocent.' And then, to distract herself, she began talking about the elder brother, how
the sea had been his life ever since he had left school, how their grandfather had encouraged him. ‘He thought he could mould Jona into a likeness of himself so that, when he was gone, there would be somebody left to build up the Holland Line again. He didn't see that Jona wasn't made that way, that it wasn't trade and ships that interested him, but the sea itself.' Her breath touched me in a little sigh. ‘Since I've been on this ship, I think I've become more worried for Jona than for myself. He just doesn't understand the sort of man Hans is.'

‘And what sort of a man is he?'

‘How would I know?' She spoke sharply, suddenly on the defensive. ‘I've no experience, not of men like that – ambitious, driving … ' She was silent a long time, but I sensed that she was still thinking the question over. Suddenly, with what seemed total irrelevance, she said, ‘Grandpa had a Christian upbringing. He was a morally upright man.' And she went on quickly, ‘I suppose I'm talking about good and evil. Grandpa was a good man. He may have done things during the war, terrible things – destroying, killing. But that was war. It doesn't alter my impression of him.'

‘And Hans Holland isn't a Christian.'

She didn't answer, lying very still.

‘What happened when he visited you in Aldeburgh?' I felt her stiffen again. ‘Did you leave him alone with your brother?'

‘Yes. Tim wanted it.'

‘And where were you?'

‘Somewhere – I don't remember.'

‘In the house?'

‘Of course.'

‘So you could have heard what was said between them – if you'd wanted to.'

‘Yes.' The word seemed forced out of her. And then in a fierce whisper she said, ‘I won't answer any more questions. I don't want to think about it.'

‘You're twins, aren't you?'

‘Yes.'

‘And his illness – the reason he's dying … it's sorcery. That's what you told me. Don't you remember?'

‘No.' She pulled back the sheet and started to get out of the bunk, but my arms were still round her, and I held her.

‘Is that what you're scared of, that you've come out here with one object in mind – to kill the man who put a death wish on your brother?'

I heard her draw in her breath. ‘Do you think I'd kill him?'

‘It's what you said you'd do, that day I came to do the sale inventory.'

There was a long silence, and then in a whisper she said, ‘Yes, I remember now.' She drew in her breath, speaking with sudden urgency. ‘But that was just after Tim had gone. It was part of the nightmare. Please believe that, Roy. I was living a nightmare. It's different now.'

But I knew it wasn't. It hadn't been a nightmare. It had been real, so far as she was concerned. It was
paganism she was scared of. I started to tell her that I understood, that I knew about the arrowhead and the horrible little doll and that there were ways of dealing with sorcery and evil things like that. I knew nothing about it really, thinking of exorcism, crucifixes, the Christian faith … ‘Please.' Her hand touched my face. ‘Let's not talk about it any more. I don't want to think about it now. I don't want to think about anything.' She lay staring at me in the darkness, and the touch of her fingers on my cheek stirred me. I tightened my arm about her, and gradually the tension in her body relaxed. She murmured something, and when I tried to kiss her again, she didn't turn her head away, only whispered, ‘Let's get some sleep now.'

Silence enclosed us, only the beat of the engines, and the cabin dark in shadow as she lay there beside me, relaxed now and seemingly unaware of what she was doing to me. Yet I knew she could feel the hardness of me against her. Gently I took her face in my hands and kissed her eyes, her mouth. She didn't turn away, only whispered, ‘No.' But her breathing was quicker now, her lips responding, and suddenly she pushed me away. ‘Oh, hell – why not?' She sat up, slipped out of her dressing gown, and then she was back beside me, and my hands were holding those extraordinary thrusting breasts as she reached down to touch and caress me.

I had never experienced a woman like her, so total in the expression of a passionate nature, so absolutely uninhibited. And yet through it all was a tenderness, the sense of our being one. And when it was over
and we lay there, drained and exhausted, I caught the whisper of a sigh as she murmured, ‘Thank you. Now I can sleep.'

When I woke in the morning, she was gone, the sun streaming in through the porthole, steep slopes of tropical green sliding past. I washed and shaved, slipped on a pair of shorts and went through into the wheelhouse. The ship was just emerging from the narrow passage between Bakawari Island and Bougainville. Ahead was a great bay with a curving shoreline and old wooden houses half hidden in the shade of palm trees. ‘Kieta,' Jona said when I joined him on the upper bridge.

A big yacht lay at anchor off the jetty, some local craft closer inshore, and almost abeam of us was a dusty-looking wharf with a small cargo vessel moored alongside. But it wasn't the port and the great sweep of its natural harbour that held my astonished gaze. It was the slopes beyond. They were emerald green in the sun, a towering vista of endless rainforests reaching up to pinnacles of grey rock etched sharp against the hard blue of the sky.

There was still a trace of dawn freshness in the air, the sea, the land, everything sparkling in the sun, and Jona standing there with a pipe in his mouth, wearing nothing but a pair of shorts and his peaked cap. That's how I shall always remember Bougainville, the picture in my mind as vivid now as when I first saw it in the lingering freshness of that blazing morning. There was an overpowering sense of magnificence in those endless towering vistas of jungle green. ‘The copper mine is
over there, beyond those hills.' Jona pointed the stem of his pipe towards the forest-clad slopes above Kieta. ‘You'll get a glimpse of the road they blasted up to it when we move on along the coast to Anewa Bay.'