The Pacific Giants (2 page)

“Oh, look, here we are—page 192. Listen, Lee.” Vanessa cleared her throat theatrically.

“‘Duquette Island is one of the remote Gulf Islands off Vancouver in Canada, with a permanent population of just 327 people. A traveler will be struck by the curly arbutus trees adorning the moss-covered rocky slopes that run down to the ocean's edge. The island is fanned by a steady breeze and has an intoxicating scent—the rarest of finds these days: the heavenly perfume of pure, fresh air.'”

Vanessa stopped reading. “Wow,” she said sarcastically, turning some more pages.

“Go on,” Lee said. “It sounds nice.” Vanessa raised her eyebrows and grinned.

“No, that's it, Lee! That's all they say about
Duquette. Imagine—fresh air is the highlight.”

A small frown settled on Lee's forehead.

“Well, don't say I didn't warn you, Vanessa,” she said. “This was never meant to be a holiday. I'm here to work and you're here to … to …” Lee stuttered to a halt.

“Tag along?” Vanessa offered mildly.

“You knew it was a remote island and that you'd have long hours on your own in a guesthouse. You said you didn't mind. Remember?” A hint of panic colored Lee's voice.

“Oh, I'm only messing, Lee. You know me: resourceful, self-contained,” Vanessa replied mischievously. “I'll just enjoy the intoxicating perfume and the curly trees, and you can work away on your whale stuff. You'll hardly notice I'm there. I promise.”

Lee turned away to smile. Vanessa was a thirteen-year-old who was hard not to notice. Her beautiful face and slim figure caused heads to turn, although Vanessa seemed oblivious to it. It was her uncanny ability to get herself into “difficult situations” that was the real problem with Vanessa.

An ocean without its unnamed monsters would be like a completely dreamless sleep.

—The Log from the Sea of Cortez,
John Steinbeck

The rest of the journey passed slowly. Lee read her book while Vanessa shifted restlessly on her chair and eventually went outside on deck again.

“Just going to check if that man is still upright,” she whispered in Lee's ear as she went out.

Vanessa returned about five minutes later and
shook her head.

“Gone. And the weather's getting worse. Definitely a bit of a storm brewing.”

Lee looked at her watch again. Although it had only been two hours, this bit on the boat had felt like the longest leg of the journey from Dublin. Vanessa's prowling definitely hadn't helped.

“Ten more minutes, I'd guess,” Lee said.

“Lee,” Vanessa said suddenly, “I know you work for Greenpeace. But why are you here? All you've told me is that it's something to do with whales.”

“Okay, well, you know that Greenpeace's main aims are to help conserve the planet and to protect endangered species.”

“Like whales,” Vanessa added.

“Yes. There's now a worldwide ban on commercial whaling, and that's helping to bring up the numbers of whales. But this is an important area for whales, and there's a research center here on Brighton Island that I'm going to visit.”

Lee smiled at Vanessa and opened her book as if she were about to start reading.

Vanessa was puzzled. Lee hadn't really answered her question.

“Yes, but why are you here? Is there a problem?” Vanessa persisted.

Lee held Vanessa's gaze and wondered how much she should tell her. She wasn't used to discussing her work with young people, but there was no way Vanessa was going to be fobbed off.

She sighed. “Well, Dr. Mitchell's research involves tagging some of the killer whales and humpbacks in this area so they can track them by GPS and observe their migration patterns and behavior.”

“And … ?”

“Apparently, quite a few of their tagged humpbacks have gone missing recently.”

“Gone missing?”

“Well, the scientists have lost the GPS signal for them, so they don't know where the whales are. They think that's suspicious.”

“Can't a tag just fall off by accident?” Vanessa leaned forward, interested.

“Of course. Occasionally it happens because it's not attached properly in the first place or it's rejected by the whale's body. But not in such large numbers.”

“Why don't they go to the police?” Vanessa asked innocently.

Lee laughed. “A few tons of blubber going missing in the ocean is the least of their problems in Vancouver, I'm afraid.”

“So that's why they asked Greenpeace in? Cooool!” Vanessa's eyes shone with excitement. “Maybe Duquette Island's going to be a really sinister place after all.” She made a mock ghostly sort of sound: “Wooo!”

“Not sure Duquette sees much action,” Lee said with a chuckle. “Unlikely to be much mystery with a population of 327 and thousands of curly-something trees.”

Vanessa sighed. “True.”

“Maybe I'll be able to bring you to the research laboratory on Brighton Island on one of the days,” Lee said kindly.

Vanessa's face lit up. She threw a punch in the air and jumped to her feet.

“I'm just going back out to see how close we are now.”

A wave of affection washed over Lee. It had been a rocky start when she had first started going out with Vanessa's father two years ago, but they were great friends now.

A sea serpent has been part of the local Indian folklore and legends on the Gulf islands off Vancouver for many hundreds of years. The white settlers who came to those parts in the early 1900s called it the “Sea Hag” because of the fear it inspired.

Their welcome to the island by Mrs. Bouche was a windswept and flustered one. It was clear by now that a major storm was brewing. The boats in the harbor bobbed about and clanked like warning bells.

Vanessa looked around to see if the guy in the
raincoat was getting off, but there was no sign of him. Perhaps he had been one of the crew all along. If so, she guessed he wouldn't have many journeys left in him. He had looked too frail to work at all.

Mrs. Bouche was a big woman who wore an enormous overcoat and clumpy hiking boots, and it was with some difficulty that they made their way up the hill from the harbor to her car. Despite the fact that Lee and Vanessa had their backpacks, Mrs. Bouche was struggling for breath by the top.

“In the car, in the car,” she panted at them, indicating the smallest, most battered car Vanessa had ever seen in her life.

When she opened the boot, it was full of gardening equipment and tools, and there was no room for their luggage. Inside, much of the backseat was taken up with plastic bags.

“Sorry about that; stuff for the parish fair in a couple of weeks. You'll have to put your bags on your knees,” Mrs. Bouche shouted over the noise of the wind. “I asked Wayne to empty the car earlier, but he must have forgotten.”

It didn't take long for it to become evident that changing gears with Lee's bag in the front was too
awkward for Mrs. Bouche. So, after a lot of reorganization, both backpacks were jammed into the backseat with Vanessa sandwiched between them, the plastic bags under her feet.

“It's no distance, honey,” Mrs. Bouche said cheerfully over her shoulder to Vanessa.

As the car pulled away, the heavens opened and the rain fell—although they were more like water bombs than raindrops. The windscreen wipers had only one speed, and unless Mrs. Bouche had an all-seeing eye, Vanessa thought, she couldn't possibly see the road ahead. However, jolly Mrs. Bouche was unfazed and managed to keep up a stream of happy chatter as she drove—high and low tides, walks in Fulham Woods, the Reverend Took's parish fair, and Wayne's addiction to Jo-Jo's.

Between the noise of the rain and the bags surrounding her, Vanessa could hear only snatches of the conversation up front and could see nothing at all of the scenery. Relaxing back into her seat, she let her thoughts drift. She was more resourceful than most teenagers, but could she really survive a week here on her own for most of each day? Maybe convincing Lee to bring her along had not been her best idea.

It was only ten minutes by her watch, but it seemed ages to Vanessa, before they pulled into the driveway of the guesthouse. The huge trees in the front garden swayed violently, and she could hear them creaking and moaning.
Are these the famous arbutus trees?
she wondered. But it was not the time to start that conversation.

Mrs. Bouche pulled the car up so close to the front door that if she'd gone any farther they would have been in the hall.

“Welcome to Rocky Bay,” she announced grandly. “Just make a dash for it and put your stuff into the first room on the right.”

Vanessa smiled to herself. This Mrs. Bouche was quite a character—and she seemed nice too.

Lee and Vanessa struggled with the car doors catching in the wind as they got out. They hurled themselves through the front door and then found the first room on the right, as they had been told. It turned out to be a pleasant little sitting room with the biggest TV screen that they had ever seen. An
X-Factor
performer was singing his heart out, rolling his eyes and clutching his heart to indicate the pain of heartbreak, but there was no one watching.

“I'm sure Wayne's around somewhere,” Mrs. Bouche said, coming into the room behind them. “I left him right there on the couch. He wanted to show you to your rooms and help with your bags,” she said fussily, patting her damp hair back into place.

Wayne did not appear, so Vanessa and Lee trailed after Mrs. Bouche's wheezing form as she climbed the stairs to their bedrooms. Luckily they were right next door to each other. Mrs. Bouche suggested that they come down for something to eat, but neither Lee nor Vanessa had any appetite for food or for the conversation they would have to make. They both felt exhausted after the long journey. A shower and a bed were all either of them could think of.

In 1933, a lawyer and his wife from Victoria who saw a sea creature while on their yacht described it as a “horrible serpent with the head of a camel.”

When Vanessa woke the next morning and looked out of her window, she felt as if a weight had been lifted from her shoulders. It was so beautiful. The sea was a dark blue and the sky was clear. Her bedroom was really very pretty too.

Vanessa knocked gently on the wall of Lee's
bedroom, but there was no reply. Maybe Lee was still asleep. Perfect: that meant that there was no rush for her to get up.

She opened her window and felt the cool air pour in. Duquette Island fresh air—the guidebook was right: There was nothing quite like it! When she leaned out, she could see a long stony beach stretching out below. She wondered where the steps down to it were.

A sound on the stairs and muffled conversation made Vanessa start slightly. She had forgotten that there might be other people staying in the guesthouse. It was hard to imagine any casual tourists turning up on Duquette Island, though—it was well and truly off the beaten track. She heard a door clunk farther down the landing and some footsteps on the stairs. Then all went quiet.

By the time Vanessa had showered and dressed, she was ravenously hungry. She knocked a couple of times on Lee's door on her way downstairs, but there was no answer.

The guesthouse was bigger than Vanessa had imagined on arrival, and she took a few wrong turns before she finally found the kitchen at the back of
the house. There was nobody there, and she could see that the kitchen table was set for only one person.

Vanessa stood for a moment, unsure what to do. She had turned to go back up and find Lee when Mrs. Bouche's cheerful voice boomed out from the pantry.

“Welcome, welcome. Cayde mil foilte.” Mrs. Bouche mangled the Irish greeting but grinned with pride at the achievement. “Lee taught me how to say welcome in your language, but it took a bit of practice to get it good.”

Vanessa laughed. Mrs. Bouche was infectious in her enthusiasm. “Don't I know it! I've been doing it since I was five and I'm not much better.”

Mrs. Bouche looked a bit deflated, so Vanessa hurried on: “I mean, your
céad míle fáilte
was really good. It's just a very hard language to learn.”

“Anyway, sit down, sit down. Normally people from Europe wake early when they visit here. Jetlag makes them wake really early,” she babbled on, “but you're late and not early. Hungry, honey? I'm sure you're hungry. Everyone is always hungry here—it's the fresh air, you know.”

Vanessa smiled up at her. That famous fresh air again.

“Now, you just tell me what you'd like for breakfast.” Vanessa's mind drew a blank for a moment.

“Uh, toast?” she said finally.

“That it?” Mrs. Bouche didn't try to hide her disappointment.

“Actually, I'll just have whatever Lee is having. She'll be down shortly.”

“Ah, bless you, honey. Dr. McDonald went about her business hours ago. She was up at the crack of dawn and said she'd be home around three o'clock today so you'd have some of the afternoon together.”

Mrs. Bouche prattled on about Lee's breakfast and what she had eaten, oblivious to the stricken look on Vanessa's face.

Vanessa knew that Lee was here to work, but she hadn't expected her to disappear without saying a word on their first day. In her own head she had even hoped that she could go with her to the research laboratory on Brighton Island today.

“So it's pancakes you want,” Mrs. Bouche finished up, getting out a large frying pan and slapping it down on the range. “Plenty of plump pancakes prepared perfectly,” she said playfully. “Coming right on up,” she added with an exaggerated drawl.

Oh, dear
, Vanessa thought. Hopefully this whole experience wasn't going to be too painful. How on earth was she going to spend her days in Rocky Bay Guesthouse alone with Mrs. Bouche?