A Woman of Courage (44 page)

‘You are feeling better?'

‘Mrs Walsh, I am feeling on top of the world.'

How true that was. How very, very true.

TERMINUS

1

There was a board meeting scheduled for that afternoon. The other directors did not know it yet, but this would be the last meeting with Hilary in the chair. She looked around the table. Andrew Lyle heading up the construction division; Desmond Bragg media and public relations; Martha Tan co-ordinator of China operations; Vivienne Archer CEO in waiting; Robert Clarke finance; Sara Brand, Vivienne's deputy.

A good team; maybe even an outstanding team. She was leaving the company and its shareholders in strong hands.

Each director reported in turn. Construction was booming both here and in Asia; the Hong Kong operation looked like being its most profitable ever; Channel 12 was leading the media pack and Desmond's team had done a fabulous job in raising Vivienne's public image.

‘I think there is something else we should be looking at,' Sara said.

Hilary looked at her. ‘Which is?'

‘I think we should be considering the future.'

‘In what way?'

‘Most newspapers have launched online versions of themselves and Netflix has been sending out DVDs on demand for years.'

‘And so?' Protective of his turf, Desmond looked displeased.

‘It means we have to accept that eventually the internet will challenge not only our news services but the rest of our content.'

Desmond opened his mouth but Hilary's raised hand stopped him. ‘What are you suggesting?'

‘I think we should bring in an internet expert to make sure we stay ahead of the curve.'

‘Desmond?'

‘I think it's worth exploring,' he said.

‘Vivienne? It'll be on your watch.'

‘I agree with Desmond.'

‘Then I'll leave the three of you to work something out,' Hilary said. ‘What's next? Martha?'

Martha explained it was too soon to have significant feedback on the new China operations but the heavy equipment wharf at Tianjin, the Yellow Sea port south-east of Beijing, was already well under way and work had begun on the maintenance and repair workshops so things over there were looking good.

‘I expect us to contribute something to the group's bottom line by next year at the latest,' she said.

Which would be miraculous if true.

The group's finances were strong, with no danger of the cash-flow crisis that had destroyed Premier; Sara was learning the tricks of the trade from Vivienne and would soon be taking a more prominent role; and Andrea Chan would stay in Sydney for a year to get used to the company's ways and after that would probably become Martha's deputy, based in Hong Kong. But that would not be Hilary's decision.

‘All in all a very satisfactory performance,' she said. ‘I congratulate every one of you. I have one further item I wish to bring to the board's attention.' She took a handwritten letter from the folder in front of her. She looked at each face in turn.

‘Today is my last day of active service with the company. I now table my formal letter of resignation from the board.'

There was a murmur from the team seated around the table. Everyone there had been aware that the moment of her departure was coming, yet she knew in their hearts they had not believed it. Hilary
was
the company. They had all assisted in the process of creating it but she had been the motivator, the person above all others who had provided the will and inspiration that had moulded Brand Corporation into the organisation it had become.

Her departure would make a monumental difference to the group and the future of every person here. Or would it? Once the initial shock had worn off she thought things would go on very much as they had before. Fresh blood would bring fresh ideas and fresh growth. The process was already happening; Sara, Martha and the absent Andrea Chan were the new generation. Under their leadership she was confident the company's future was assured.

She smiled at them all now. ‘Over the years many of you have smiled behind my back over my enthusiasm for poetry but I make no apology for quoting a famous line now.
The older order changeth, giving place to new
. Tennyson knew what he was talking about. It is the way of the world and, for Brand Corporation, the way into the future. That is what matters. Never mind the rights and wrongs of the past, the triumphs and disasters. The past has gone down the river and we can do nothing about it. It is the future that matters, only that. Therefore I do not intend that any of us should waste our time eulogising over past achievements. Where will the company be in twelve months' time? Where will Australia and the world be in a year, ten years, twenty years? That is what matters, to make Brand as profitable as we can, because without money you can do nothing. But let it be a source of good in the world, not of oppression. That is where our minds should be focused always. There will be no fancy dinners, no speakers spouting nonsense. As of today I am out of here and that is all there is to be said about it. I thank you with all my heart. I love you all. Goodbye.'

Hilary Brand smiled at them for the last time. She closed her folder and stood up. Walking tall, she strode in silence from the room.

2

Once again it was not as simple as that. The dramatic gesture was all very well but there were still a thousand things to be done, letters and documents to sign, an announcement for the press (very short) and a somewhat longer one for the staff; she had to approve the paragraph in the annual report that would cover her departure. There were endless loose ends to be tidied up.

‘One thing I regret,' Hilary told Vivienne.

It was the day after the board meeting and they were sitting in what was now Vivienne's office.

‘Or will be,' Hilary said, ‘as soon as I shift my bum out of here.'

‘What regret is that?'

‘The fact that our investment in medical research hasn't paid off as I thought it would. It has taken years longer than I anticipated. But I hope you will continue to support it. Everyone believes the breakthrough will come and this is partly what I meant yesterday when I was rabbiting on about the company being a source of good in the world. I have every faith that research will pay off eventually and it would be nice to think we had been there all the way through. It would be enormously profitable too, of course. But that will be your decision.'

She signed all the papers. When she had finished she was a director of nothing; it was an odd feeling. ‘Like taking your clothes off in public.'

‘Done that, have you?'

‘Not yet. But there's always a first time.'

Although there had been that one time on the beach in Penang, a night of the full moon and of a total eclipse…

But she would not go there, except in her memory and her heart.

‘Come and have lunch with me,' she said.

A NEW LIFE

1

The last night: a watchful time of shadows that came and went, teasing the darkness, of voices calling on the wind. Of memories: explosions it was impossible she could remember yet did; a woman's voice screaming
Nasty little brat!
; the ocean vast and unknowable –
Here be dragons
…

Other images: steps along the highway she had followed all her life.

Instinct drew her from her bed. She stood at the window and looked out at the spreading waters of the harbour, a nail-paring of moon, a scattering of stars.

I am saying goodbye to the past, Hilary thought, but more importantly opening the door to the future. That was where she should be looking, at the house called Rumah Kelapa and the man who would be her home and refuge. Seven hours to Singapore, two more to Penang.

Vivienne had offered her the use of the company jet but she had turned it down. ‘I shall be back with real people now,' she had said. ‘I'd better get used to it.' Even flying first class there would be the promiscuity of the departure lounge, of having her ticket and her person checked by officials, of bumping shoulders with strangers. It would be a challenge – she had got out of the habit of being ordinary – but this was the life she had chosen, walking at Craig's side on secluded beaches, eating in noisy food courts, crossing roads between a tornado of roaring scooters. She would listen entranced to the sound of bells from domed temples; she would observe passing parades for marriages and the dead. She would be happy in the arms of the man she had loved for sixteen years, at home at his side and in his bed.

A consummation devoutly to be wished, as Hamlet had said.

She went back to bed and to memories of two recent conversations.

2

‘Mother…' Jennifer's voice. ‘We wanted you to be the first to know.'

Hilary's breath caught in her throat. ‘Tell me…'

‘We're having a baby.'

‘Well, you didn't waste much time. That's wonderful, darling. When is it due?'

‘Next January.'

‘I'll be in Penang.'

‘Do you have to go?'

‘Yes, my dear, I do. But I'll fly down for the birth if you'd like me to be there.'

‘Of
course
I want you here.'

Hilary hung up. What marvellous news, she thought. The company's future and now the family, both secure. How lovely. We live in a truly wonderful world.

But the next message was not so good.

Sara's voice was so sad that she barely recognised it. ‘Hilary…'

‘What on earth is the matter, my darling?'

‘Emil is dead.'

‘What?'

‘Millie got the message this morning.'

They had been expecting to hear from his agent to finalise terms for the interview. Now this.

‘How?'

‘Suicide, apparently. He'd told me he was dying. It seems –' for a moment her voice broke ‘– it seems he decided to speed up the process.'

‘Did he leave you a message?'

‘Yes.'

She didn't say what it was and Hilary knew she mustn't ask.

‘How are you feeling?'

‘I'll get over it, I suppose. In time.'

‘You loved him,' Hilary said.

‘I thought I was over him.' There were tears now. ‘I was wrong. It's not easy.'

‘It is never easy.'

Hilary hung up. Love, she thought. The ultimate gift, the ultimate blessing, but it was a gift with a dagger in its fist. Thank God for Craig, she thought. Thank God we found each other in time. Otherwise – who knows? – I might still be pining for Lance Bettinger.

COMING HOME

1

She had come a day earlier than they had planned and there had been no one at the airport to meet her. She had done this deliberately; she wanted to get into the skin of her new life before being reunited with Craig because once with him she knew she would be able to think of nothing else.

After the clamour of the airport she had taken a taxi, which was now bumping down the muddy track towards the house. Hilary had been this way a hundred times yet now looked at it through fresh eyes, no longer as a visitor but as someone whose future was intimately linked to every branch and leaf, each cicada singing in the shadows.

She had travelled light and chose to carry her bag down the slope through the trees. She saw the golden horseshoe of the bay in front of her and turned her head and saw the house and kicked off her shoes and walked towards it across the sand. The house was silent and she thought Craig must be out – that was the risk of arriving unannounced. The sliding door was open, though. She climbed the steps to the wooden deck and went indoors.

She stood inside the doorway. Silence; the house did not know her. She put her case down. Beneath her feet a floorboard creaked. Somewhere a clock ticked. The feeling of an empty house was unmistakable. Yet the sliding door had been open, Craig's vehicle in its usual place beneath the trees. He could not be far away.

She went back on to the deck. The breeze slatted the leaves of the palm trees; the fishing koleks were working in the bay. The sea watched.

‘I shall wait here until he comes,' she said.

A figure was walking towards her on the sloping sand of the beach. It could be someone from the kampong but she did not think so. She waited, conscious of her rapidly beating heart. Tall; upright despite his age. The confident stride of a man still in his thirties. Instead of – what? – sixty-nine. Both of them getting old, she thought, but with a lot of living still to do. She was determined about that.

The figure was closer now. There could no longer be any doubt about who it was. Not that I ever doubted, she thought. Not for a second.

Without conscious decision Hilary was flying, feet barely touching the wooden steps as she ran down them to the sun-hot beach. She ran across the sand, the years that had united and divided them about to bring them together again at last.

Never to be parted
, her heart said. Never, never, never.

2

Casting herself adrift from her old life proved not so simple; the past was a thorn embedded deep in her flesh.

Her health, first of all. She'd told him what the Singapore doctor had said and they had organised to have a defibrillator in the house, in case of emergencies.

‘I'm sure we won't need it,' Hilary said.

‘You know what they say: hope for the best and prepare for the worst.'

‘Yes, sir.' And kissed him.

When they drove into the city the first thing she did was to check the papers for financial news but most of the local press was painfully parochial.

‘Don't they care what is going on in the world?'

‘Of course not,' Craig said.

‘Don't you?'

‘Not much. That is the point of getting away from it all.'

‘To get away?'

‘Exactly.'

It made sense but she couldn't do it. Anxiety was a villain in ambush; it waylaid her on the beach, on the road into town, in bed at night.