The Reef (40 page)

‘But now we have work to do.' She didn't want to pry further.

‘Yeah. Another reason I'm going back to the mainland – to do a bit more unravelling of the network of companies that is Reef Resorts International. They all operate independently except for two or three executives on the board in London.'

‘How do you do that? Do you have someone to help you? I wouldn't know where to start,' said Jennifer.

‘I have a very valuable little black book of contacts. Finding the right person in the right place is the key. Often people don't know they have information. An amiable chat can often shed light into a dark corner.'

Over coffee they mapped out the format of the book and left the final section with a big question mark over the heading –
Future Directions.

‘I know you have a lot to read for your own work, but if you can skim through some of this you might find it interesting, useful. Something might strike you that I've missed,' said Tony.

Jennifer curled up in bed and read until she couldn't keep her eyes open. She fell asleep, feeling more peaceful than she had in many weeks, perhaps it was because she had made a painful decision and was feeling in some control of her life at last. Even if she was on her own, she
remembered Isobel's advice to use this time to learn about herself. And she wasn't totally on her own. This circle of friends on the island gave her great strength. The evening with Tony had been relaxed, interesting and warm. He mightn't have known it, but he'd helped her cross a bridge in her life.

The Sunless Sea

T
O
J
ENNIFER,
B
RANCH
I
SLAND,
which she'd once thought of as an insignificant dot, now seemed the centre of the universe. She was awake early, feeling refreshed and energised. She headed for the beach, loving these dawn walks.

She decided to reverse her normal walk, going in front of the resort and past the research station beach base. There were scattered clouds obscuring the sunrise, a possibility of a tropical shower. Nevertheless, the air was warm and the sea calm. Where the resort had constructed the sea wall and boardwalk, the low tide exposed the rocky channel that led to the deeper water. Jennifer glanced
up at the far wing of the luxurious suites, shuttered and quiet amongst the trees. She was about to head out onto the deserted stretch of beach swept clean by the night high tide when a movement caught her eye.

Jammed amongst the rocks, low down in the channel barely covered with rivulets of the lost tide, a huge turtle struggled, flippers straining to pull the heavy bulk of ancient shell across the eternity of coral flats on its long march to the sea. She glanced back and saw the old female had come in to shore to lay her eggs in a position where in earlier times no obstruction of cemented rocks had stood between her and her birth place. How far had she come, so late in the season? The clear marks of her ascent to the dune were treadmarked in the virgin sand. Unless she got back into the sea she would die, stranded here to boil in her shell in the sun.

Jennifer didn't pause as she changed direction and stumbled across the sharp, coral-encrusted rocks, glad for her light rubber shoes. The turtle was resting, heaving, teary old eyes sad and glazed. Doggedly she resumed the jerking pull, scrabbling four centimetres up the rocks, only to slip back, pulled by gravity and the weight of the massive barnacled dome on her back.

‘You poor old mother.' Touched by the persistence of a mother following a prehistoric instinct, Jennifer crouched, shoving and pushing to help. Panting and straining, she seemed to make little difference. She stood up, looking around. There
was no one in sight, no tool that would assist her. Who could she call on to help? The rule of the resort came to her – nature rules. If this was to be this turtle's fate, so be it.

‘No, I can't leave you here.' Some mothering, female bond surged in Jennifer. She lay beneath the peak of the turtle's egg tube, shoved her shoulder under the point of the shell and, taking a deep breath, lifted and pushed. There was a crunch and grinding noise, and, with back flippers paddling in the air, the turtle was lifted up over the rocks onto a smoother, flatter surface. Here the rocks were smaller obstacles and leverage was possible. Slipping, sliding, Jennifer pushed and pulled, the turtle levering its weight so together they made gradual, bumpy, grinding progress over the coral flat.

Jennifer stood and gazed at the distant break of water, so far away. But to her left she saw the deep watermark of a channel.

‘You stupid female! You're just going in a straight line, the way you've always done. Look over there, go sideways and we can get into the channel and swim.'

Stubbornly, the turtle resisted. Every cell in its body was programmed to the map it had followed for generations. But Jennifer was persistent, the old turtle tired. It slipped and tilted over a rock, facing more to the side than to the sea. They inched along, the turtle distressed. It struggled, but some will, some maternal force in Jennifer, gave her strength and tenacity and she finally tilted the old turtle into the shallow channel. Feeling water
under its flippers, the turtle struggled forward with renewed energy. Jennifer was worried it would try to return to its former trajectory, so she hung on, now both of them dragging and scratching through the narrow channel with the water up to Jennifer's knees.

Then there was a gap, and a surge of water, and the channel dropped away to sudden depths. Jennifer held on to the great shell as the turtle started to swim, its head out of the sea, its gaze set on some distant horizon.

It happened so quickly. The turtle was stroking determinedly ahead, carried by the washing current. Jennifer, clinging to its back, was swept into the deep narrow channel, heading to the white surge at the edge of the reef. In seconds they were through the choppy foam and suddenly in clear, gentle water. The turtle dived, swimming strongly, easily, and Jennifer gasped, shut her mouth and loosened her grip as it slid below the surface. The cumbersome beast was now weightless, moving gracefully through the blue water.

The connection between them slipped away. The turtle tilted, swimming deeper, a flash of creamy undershell and a slight turn of the head. Did she see in that glassy, beady eye a look of knowingness, of gratitude? Jennifer was floating, still holding her breath, now aware of the seagrass waving and swaying, the wavelets above washing over the ledge of coral. She kicked, stroking upwards, and gasped for air.

In a minute she had paddled to that ledge,
grasping at the soft coral, and pulled herself back into the channel where against the run of water she hauled herself shorewards with kicking legs and stroking arms until she could stand. Wobbling and tripping, her feet scraped the sand while she waded and then scrambled across the rocky shallows to the beach.

She fell onto the sand, her arms and legs scratched and bleeding, but overwhelmed by a sense of triumph. Something told her this was going to make her a better scientist – she had been there with her subject and had shared an innate if brief connection.

It had been a week of building expectation as Dive Day approached. Isobel had arranged for a documentary film crew to be there and several visiting scientists had arrived at the research station.

‘I thought it was just Isobel and Gideon. Why are so many people interested?' Jennifer whispered to Mac at an informal dinner.

‘Conditions are extraordinarily good. She said if the dive with Gideon went well they'd maybe be more adventurous and bring over the Sea-Life from Hawaii. We're talking revolutionary winged micro submersibles. Isobel feels time is running out for the reef.'

‘Yes, she's driven, all right. Are they trying for some record, or just seeing what they can find?'

‘Every deep dive is important. Publicity raises awareness of how precious the reef is. Most deep
sea life seems to be in the fourteen to twenty thousand feet band. But of course there're other things to be investigated in the deepest waters of the ocean. After all, the coral species found here are similar to those found right through the Indo Pacific region, but the stuff in the deep water is unique.'

Rudi joined them. ‘Like weird creatures and the origins of man?'

‘What's your theory on our evolution? Do you think we came from the sea?' Jennifer asked Rudi.

‘What do you think, Mac?' Rudi turned to their professor.

‘This is a social occasion, I'm not going to theorise. Except to say . . .'

Jennifer and Rudi chuckled. ‘Go on, Mac'

‘Well, some say life originated in extreme environments, high heat, for example. And the hydrothermal vents deep in the sea contain organisms existing in conditions similar to the first life forms on the planet. Philosophical debates as to man's origins aside, the fact that our food chain is based on energy from the sun, which doesn't reach the deep sea, means life forms down there rely on a different energy source – that which shoots out of those vents.'

‘And not just energy – the biomedical industry is spending a fortune looking for useful enzymes for genetically based medicines and industrial chemicals and processes,' said Rudi.

Mac nodded. ‘I know your field is marine medicine research, Rudi, but energy reserves are
vital too. How much oil is in the seabed? And what about the deposits of gravel, sand, manganese, tin, gold, diamonds? We want to know what minerals are in deep ocean ridges and deep-sea volcanoes.'

‘I'm understanding more and more why Isobel's work is so important,' said Jennifer. ‘It's not all airy-fairy save the ocean stuff. There's serious investment and business at stake. But mining the ocean is a risk.'

‘I still think marine-based medications are going to help cure human diseases,' said Rudi. ‘Coral reefs hold chemicals that will help fight cancer, AIDS, diabetes. We're just starting to find out the molecular potential of the sea.'

‘Then do you think we should be mining the seabed?' asked Jennifer.

Rudi shook his head and shrugged, but before he could answer Tony suddenly appeared beside Jennifer.

‘Hey, there's dancing in the street. Someone has a speaker outside their room and everyone is dancing. Want to join me?'

‘Sure. Though I haven't danced in a while,' said Jennifer, thinking back to her uni days and crowded pubs with unknown bands.

‘Me either. I got used to Eastern music, which isn't so danceable.'

They left Mac's crowded house, threading past dancers, just as the music changed to a ballad. Tony shrugged and they drew together at the edge of the sandy path lit by the lights from inside
the cottages and several security spotlights on buildings.

Tony turned to her and Jennifer slipped comfortably into the circle of his arms. They didn't speak for a few moments as they concentrated on the music. The intimacy of their physical contact caught them off-guard. People were laughing, talking, dancing, picking at snacks on the table outside the canteen.

Tony broke the silence between them. ‘Never thought I'd be leading a normal life again. Doing things like this. Though I suspect life on this island is rather unreal.'

‘In a good or bad way? Or because of what everyone is doing? Either lusting and lazing in the sun or doing rather offbeat if important work,' said Jennifer. ‘I guess it's not like the mundane mainland world.'

‘I've changed since being here. Which was part of the reason I came. One, to do a story, and, two, to see if I could regain . . . myself. Some equilibrium. Memories of an ugly war are less sharp in sunshine on a beautiful tropical island.'

‘I've noticed a difference in you,' said Jennifer carefully. ‘I had you down as a loner, a reclusive, moody type. You've definitely come out of your shell.'

‘Oh dear. Sorry if I was rude or anything. I hate moody types myself. My worry is I'll revert, be like one of your turtles and go into my shell when I leave here next week. Lovely as it is, this island is an excuse, a means to escape from reality.'

‘Oh, don't say that!' exclaimed Jennifer. ‘I've made some pretty dramatic decisions since being here. I hope I don't regret them when I go back to the mainland.'

‘Like getting in the water, that was a big step.'

‘And leaving my husband. That's been a major step.' She gave a small smile. ‘Though, in talking it over with Isobel, it was a step following a lot of smaller steps going in the same direction to the same destination.'

‘Oh. I don't know what to say.' Tony was flustered at her news.

‘I wasn't going to tell you. It just slipped out. But I suppose everyone will know soon enough.'

‘Are you sure you haven't been hit by island fever? That's a pretty drastic step to take . . . in your condition. And what about your studies? Does Mac know?'

‘He knew before I did, I suspect,' said Jennifer with sudden insight. ‘He's so supportive. Now you've got me worried. About life off the island. I keep assuming things will stay as they are.'

Tony tightened his fingers around hers. ‘Nothing stays the same. We just have to hope they get better. And, I'm finding, they do.'

They moved slowly together to the undulating mood music. Tony drew her closer to him as he executed a turn, then missed a step and stopped, looking embarrassed and amused. ‘I just got kicked.'

‘Oh, did I? It's the sand underfoot.'

‘No. I mean . . .' he pointed at her belly. ‘Someone else is dancing.'

Jennifer blushed and laughed. ‘Did you feel that? I'm getting used to all the bumps and rumbles and turns. The baby seems more active at night.'

‘Don't worry about it. That was different.' He held her close again, mumbling in her hair. ‘Are you okay about being on your own with a baby on the way? How does your husband cope with that idea?'

Jennifer wanted to blurt out the thoughts that came to her mind.
Blair never wanted a child. Well, not for some years. He'll be a provider but not a parent. Later on, when the child can communicate, then perhaps he'll take more interest. But no, this child is my responsibility and I'll wear the consequences.
Instead she said, ‘We're still talking about the future. Blair will do the right thing. But he's ambitious and a baby and a wife veering off to do her own thing wasn't how he planned his life.'

‘Oh. Why not? I would think that'd be quite an asset – an independent-minded wife.'

‘Have you ever been married? Or thought about it?' asked Jennifer. She felt his arm and back go rigid and realised she'd touched a nerve.