'Olivia, do sit with me for a moment.' They moved to the shade of a tree and sat with their backs against the tree trunk. 'I know it is hard at present, but I feel sure the sheep will do well. We need the wet to boost the feed and I will look into other means of making our way. Maybe cattle at some stage.' He talked on with a desperate buoyancy, describing how he saw the eventual layout of their land. She knew he was seeing sheep and cattle grazing and yarded in organised paddocks dotted with sheds and horses, and herself tending flowers she loved so much before a large and gracious homestead.

But for Olivia, tired and depressed, all she saw was the hardship of the reality before them-heat, flies and loneliness. And smoke, and a strange smell ...

Olivia jumped to her feet. 'Conrad, that smoke ... there's too much for the chimney ... quickly!'

Scrambling to his feet Conrad raced with Olivia through the trees and over the little crest to where they saw their cottage partially smothered in flames and smoke.

'Oh my G.o.d-James!' screamed Olivia, tripping over her long dress as she ran. Conrad, fear clutching at him, sped ahead of her. The kitchen leanto was already burned out, the roof was alight and as they ran they saw to their horror the fiery roof cave in over the rear section which they used as sleeping quarters. Like some voracious monster, fanned by the hot breath of wind, the flames swallowed their little home. With gasping wrenching cries of agony, Conrad tried to push forward, but the heat, smoke and flying sparks seared his skin and hair and choked his breath. Olivia, not hearing the screams that were torn from her chest, grabbed at him and they fell to the ground, clutching one another as if mortally wounded while their son and their future, died before their eyes.

In the silent bush, partially burned by the fire that had leapt from the house to nearby trees, no bird sang, no small creatures moved. Olivia had lost track of time, and squatted, motionless at the graveside, seeing only the nightmare scenes unroll, rewind, and roll forward once more, and she could do nothing to change the scenario of events that had burned into her soul. She crumbled a handful of the red dirt from the tiny grave, staining the palms of her pale hands, still blistered from her puny grab at the wild thing that had taken her child. She nursed her grief, crouching by the mound of earth marked by a plain wooden cross, her hand still clutching the coa.r.s.e, dry red dirt.

She heard the slow steps but did not look up. The griefstricken eyes of Conrad caused her pain and guilt and she had spurned any broken advances he made to comfort her.

There was a slight cough and a gentle male voice, 'Mrs Hennessy ... words fail me ... '

She slowly raised her head and gazed into the concerned eyes of Captain John Tyndall. He squatted on his heels beside her, taking off his hat. She made no response and barely acknowledged his presence.

'I brought your supplies and hoped to find you progressing well ... I didn't expect to discover this ... this tragedy. I would like to say something to comfort you, but ... ' The wounded expression in her eyes, her crumpled body by her baby's grave, touched him deeply. He remembered her vitality and strength, alone on the beach after she had given birth. He reached out and took her hand and patted it in a gesture of comfort.

She finally spoke in a whisper. 'He wasn't christened. We wanted to call him James. He won't go to Heaven ... he'll be left here ... all alone ... ' Tears rolled down her cheeks.

Tyndall felt helpless then tightened his grip on her hand. 'The Aboriginal women who helped you when you gave birth ... tell me, did they do a little ceremony?'

She nodded and told him briefly as best she could of the ritual she'd seen. A small light seemed to glow in her eyes and she studied him intently. 'What did it mean?' she asked.

'It means your son is safe. He has returned to his spiritual home. That was a birth ceremony, they believe that the spirit returns to its place of birth, its Dreaming place. A place where he will find peace and joy and return to his own spirit world. Your son was christened without a doubt, Mrs Hennessy ... Aboriginal style.'

She stared at him, her face softening with relief for an instant. She started to look back at the grave but Tyndall took her arm and helped her to her feet. 'Let's go back to the camp,' he said softly. 'I'll help you both back to town and you can stay at my house as long as you like. I will stay on my boat.' He antic.i.p.ated her protest. 'No, I a.s.sure you it won't be an inconvenience. I'm busy making some changes on board for a new enterprise.'

He held her arm supportively in his and they walked in silence back to the tent Conrad had set up near the ruins of the cottage. Conrad was tending to the horses from Tyndall's dray but his shoulders drooped and he moved with little energy. He suddenly looked an old man. Olivia walked to the tent while Tyndall approached Conrad at the wagon. Reaching into a bag under the seat, he pulled out a bottle.

'The sun isn't over the yardarm, Mr Hennessy,' he said brandishing the bottle, 'but I declare it is nevertheless time for you and me to have a little something that braces the spirit.'

He picked up two enamel mugs from beside the fire, tossed out the dregs of tea and poured a couple of stiff slugs of rum. The two men walked back to the dray and sat in its shade against a wheel, their legs stretched out in the dirt.

'To the future, Mr Hennessy,' said Tyndall softly, raising his mug in salute.

Conrad looked at him with glazed eyes, fighting back tears. Slowly he raised his mug. 'The future,' he choked a little over his words. 'The past has so far been a b.l.o.o.d.y disaster ... ever since we arrived in this G.o.dforsaken country.' He forced the mug to his lips and swallowed hard.

Tyndall drank too, then cradled the mug in his hands. 'Yes, it can be a cruel land, and for you it has been crueller than anyone would expect. But life must go on. What do you plan to do now?'

'Quit this place,' snapped Conrad with bitterness. 'I doubt we really have the skill or the will now to make a go of it. Perhaps there is some opportunity in town. I still have some capital left.'

Tyndall said nothing for awhile, but sipped thoughtfully at his rum.

'Well now, that's an interesting prospect,' he said at last. 'You told me about your background when we sailed to Cossack and it seems to me I have a little project that might be just what suits you.'

Conrad stared at him. 'And what might that be?'

'Pearling my friend, pearling.'

Inside the tent Olivia carefully emptied the handful of red dirt she had brought from the grave into a small jar and tightened the lid. Biting her lip, she put it safely in the trunk that held her remaining clothes, shut the lid and went outside.

CHAPTER SEVEN.

The three men picked their way through the oily red slick of the tidal mudflat trying to avoid the sharp points of new shoots, ducking between the spread of mangroves until they reached a cleared area where the lugger lay on its side, shrouded in damp hessian sacks like a veiled bride.

Conrad watched Ahmed walk around the boat, lifting a sack, tapping on the hull, peering into its belly.

Tyndall studied the rigging then walked around checking the deck and fittings. Looking thoughtful he turned to Ahmed crawling out of the fo'c'sle hatch. 'So what do you think eh, Ahmed? We take her to sea or not?'

'Must sail it, tuan.'

'I suppose it's the only way to tell if a boat is sea-worthy,' offered Conrad, taking off his hat and wiping his brow. He found the heat and humidity of the mangroves oppressive.

'That's the final test. Ahmed can tell if she'll ride well and be what he calls a "setia" boat-a loyal one. He has a sixth sense about boats,' explained Tyndall. 'Like some men with horses. This is an old boat but a good one. She's made from kajibut timber, built inland, put on wheels and carted to the coast. She's given good service.'

On the full tide the Bulan Bulan was refloated and Conrad marvelled at the synchronicity between Tyndall and Ahmed. He sat on the deck doing as he was directed and wondering if he would ever feel at home at sea. As they headed through the channel to the open sea with billowing sails he drew a deep breath, relieved to feel the wind and seaspray after the muggy, sluggish atmosphere of the mudflats, and began to understand a little better what Tyndall had told him about the lure of life at sea. He had never imagined that he would be involved in something as ... he searched for the right word to describe his ambivalent feelings ... as buccaneering, yes, as buccaneering as pearling. It was a long way from the Bon Marche Emporium owned by Olivia's father in Southwark. He was still cautious about this undertaking, but Tyndall had been persuasive, explaining how lucrative the pearling industry was-though not without risks, for it was dangerous work with no guarantees. However, with his knowledge of new sh.e.l.l grounds, his contacts, sheer bravado and salesmanship, the odds seemed to be in their favour. was refloated and Conrad marvelled at the synchronicity between Tyndall and Ahmed. He sat on the deck doing as he was directed and wondering if he would ever feel at home at sea. As they headed through the channel to the open sea with billowing sails he drew a deep breath, relieved to feel the wind and seaspray after the muggy, sluggish atmosphere of the mudflats, and began to understand a little better what Tyndall had told him about the lure of life at sea. He had never imagined that he would be involved in something as ... he searched for the right word to describe his ambivalent feelings ... as buccaneering, yes, as buccaneering as pearling. It was a long way from the Bon Marche Emporium owned by Olivia's father in Southwark. He was still cautious about this undertaking, but Tyndall had been persuasive, explaining how lucrative the pearling industry was-though not without risks, for it was dangerous work with no guarantees. However, with his knowledge of new sh.e.l.l grounds, his contacts, sheer bravado and salesmanship, the odds seemed to be in their favour.

While Ahmed and Tyndall put the Bulan Bulan through its paces, Conrad reflected on the last few weeks since they had arrived in Cossack. through its paces, Conrad reflected on the last few weeks since they had arrived in Cossack.

Tyndall had brought the shocked and grieving Hennessys into Cossack, settled them into his small house and then broached the idea of going into partnership in a pearling lugger. When Conrad had protested he knew nothing about this business, Tyndall had countered by asking what he knew of farming and running stock.

It was Olivia who had surprised them both by speaking up. 'Conrad, I think you should consider the idea. You have organisational skills, a business head for numbers. I'm sure Captain Tyndall didn't see you at the helm of a lugger. I think we should move in a new direction.'

She didn't add that in her heart she had never felt that Conrad was cut out for life on the land, particularly land as harsh as the property from which they had just fled. Had James lived, she would have stayed beside her husband and battled on, trying to make good in the wilderness. But since meeting Captain Tyndall again she began to think Conrad should partic.i.p.ate in something that held the promise of quicker profit as well as a total change in their lives. She still hadn't totally a.s.sessed what kind of man Tyndall was, for his rather swashbuckling ways disturbed her, even his charm caused her disquiet, but her inclination was to trust him. His relationship with the Aborigines put him in a different category to most of the Europeans she'd met. They generally despised the blacks, dismissing them as worthless and of no account.

They were all sitting in a Malacca cane lounge on the verandah of Tyndall's house in the cool of an early evening, the men drinking a fine label of whisky from Tyndall's bar, Olivia enjoying a lemonade.

'The best time of day in these parts,' Tyndall a.s.sured them. 'Ideal for a relaxed look at the world and to marvel at the opportunities it offers us. Cheers,' he said, raising his gla.s.s to the Hennessys. 'Now about the deal-here's how I see it. I have the plan and a few a.s.sets, but not much ready cash. You have some capital and need a project that offers better prospects than chasing scrubbers and starving sheep all over the outback. And I need a good business head running things on sh.o.r.e. Have I missed anything?'

Conrad nodded. 'No, that about sums it up.'

'Right. We go fiftyfifty in the profits. We'll need most of your capital for the lugger. We aren't deep sea pearling to start with, so we can use the schooner, and the cyclone season won't be a problem for a while. By the way, we'll have to move to Broome. That's the heart of the pearling industry these days.'

Conrad fussed with his gla.s.s.

John Tyndall was addressing him, for it was the man who made these decisions. But he was uncomfortable about making such a radical change and also the fact that most of their capital had come from Olivia's inheritance after she sold her late father's business. It had been her idea to come to Australia. She had read about fortunes made by luck and hard work, and she thirsted for something new and challenging in her life. A childhood dream of adventure, to not be like the other women she knew, had seemed just a dream. But with the early demise of her widowed father and with few ties left to England, an opportunity had presented itself and she had finally convinced Conrad they must seize it.

He took a sip of his drink. 'It sounds a bit risky, but then that may be because I know absolutely nothing about pearling. It would mean sinking all that we have left into the enterprise.' He sounded unsure of himself and unwilling to take the decisive step of commitment.

Tyndall rose. 'I'll take a turn around the garden. You must want to talk in private, please do so.' He strolled down the wooden steps into a far corner of the spa.r.s.e garden to a frangipani tree and began picking some blooms.

Before Conrad could speak Olivia whispered firmly, 'Do it, Conrad.' The decisiveness, the determination in her voice stunned Conrad. He was not used to such a reaction from his young wife. 'But we know so little about him, even though he has been extremely good to us. He has been trading the coast for some time but is new to pearling. Though he does seem to be reasonably respected hereabouts.'

'Frankly, I don't think we have a choice but my instinct tells me we should join forces with him. As for being respected, anyone who is sober and owns a decent pair of shoes is regarded as respectable in this town. But I must admit, there is something about him that gives me confidence. Don't ask me what it is.'

Conrad's uncertainty dissolved in the face of his wife's att.i.tude to the venture, an att.i.tude he felt revealed a recklessness that he had never seen. Trying to sound confident and comforting, he put an arm around her. 'Then the answer is yes. We'll throw our lot in with him. I just hope I can contribute as much as he expects in the onsh.o.r.e operation.'

'Of course you will, dear,' said Olivia, taking his hand. 'But just one thing I want you to mention to him ... I want to be part of this venture as well.'

'What do you mean?' Conrad was genuinely puzzled. 'You are an investor, it's your money too, my dear.'

'I mean work ... I want to work in the business. Help in the office or something.' Her voice then crumbled a little, and a vulnerable young woman now replaced the reckless decisionmaker of moments ago. 'I need something desperately, Conrad. An interest would help me.' She paused and went on. 'Help me ... cope.'

'Yes, my dear. I'll mention it.' He squeezed her hand then rose and went into the garden and talked with Tyndall, both of them lighting their pipes as they leaned on the picket fence beside the dusty road. Soon they shook hands and returned to the verandah.

'It's a deal then,' announced Tyndall buoyantly, leaping up the steps. 'Welcome aboard. And for you, Mrs Hennessy, some flowers to mark the occasion.' With a dramatic flourish he offered a small branch smothered in frangipani blooms. 'Mind the sap,' he added and Olivia laughed.

'Thank you, kind sir,' she responded with exaggerated politeness.

After Tyndall had left she sat alone on the verandah with the flowers in her lap while Conrad got dressed for dinner. When he came looking for her she was quietly weeping.

'My dearest, you are having regrets?'

'Not about business. About James. Oh, Conrad,' she sobbed. 'Our beautiful son. The horror of it. Will we ever recover?'

'Olivia dear, I understand how you feel. This will be a new start for us.'

He took her in his arms and held her tightly for a long time.

At sea Conrad was uncomfortable and awkward and hoped his duties wouldn't involve too many sea-going activities. Tyndall had a.s.sured him he would be running matters ash.o.r.e, but that wouldn't be until they had a crew and their first haul.

'But while we are at sea,' Tyndall had said, 'you can make some business enquiries about the place, Conrad. We need to know who is trustworthy when it comes to prices and shipments, who is the best pearl cleaner and who are the best buyers.'

It all sounded foreign to Conrad but he nodded and said he'd do his best. He still found it hard to adjust to Tyndall's seemingly haphazard and cavalier att.i.tude to life and business.

The lugger raced across the sea as a stiff breeze filled the sails and Tyndall and Ahmed nodded to each other. 'I think we've got ourselves a decent boat, Conrad,' called Tyndall. 'Now we have to negotiate a deal.'

'What happened to the fellow who owned this?' asked Conrad, wondering why the owner was no longer in the pearling business.

'Shark took his leg. He's staying ash.o.r.e nowadays. Has no use for the Bulan Bulan so we'll make him an offer he can't refuse,' grinned Tyndall. so we'll make him an offer he can't refuse,' grinned Tyndall.

'What does the name mean, Ahmed?' Conrad asked the silent Malay who was tending to some ropes. He found Tyndall's shadow a bit unnerving. The little Malay seemed to be quite languid most of the time, but his dark inscrutable eyes never rested. He missed nothing. He seemed to antic.i.p.ate every move of his master, and the two of them appeared to communicate so much of the time with subtle gestures and looks. His devotion to Tyndall was clear, but Tyndall's regard for the skills of the Malay was also obvious. They made an effective team but Conrad couldn't help thinking of the little brown man as a servant and bodyguard. The silver kris he usually carried in an ornamental wooden sheath in the waistband of his sarong enhanced the bodyguard image.

Looks like a b.l.o.o.d.y pirate, thought Conrad. Wouldn't like to cross him.

'Bulan means moon, tuan,' answered Ahmed. 'Bad luck to change a boat's name,' he added firmly, just in case Conrad had any such thoughts. means moon, tuan,' answered Ahmed. 'Bad luck to change a boat's name,' he added firmly, just in case Conrad had any such thoughts.

The inference irked Conrad and again he felt the unease that came from contact with Asians and Aborigines. Conrad knew he was of superior race and standing, yet he felt vaguely threatened and insecure. Strange, he thought, that Olivia seemed quite at ease with the coloured people. He rationalised that her experience with the natives at the birth of their child must have something to do with it.

Tyndall spent some time with the onelegged owner of the lugger to settle on a price. Tyndall and Conrad then signed the papers and handed over the money. They strode enthusiastically up the street to register the change of ownership, and Tyndall slapped Conrad on the back. 'We got a bonus as well, he has an old office down by the wharf in Broome, says we can use it. He never goes there. Spends his time in the brothels and the pubs.'

Conrad rushed back to break the news to Olivia. 'We got it at a bargain price,' he gushed. 'By G.o.d, that Tyndall is a card. Drank the best part of a whole bottle of whisky with the old fellow before getting down to details of the deal. Talked about everything from pearls to the Pope.'

Olivia laughed. 'I think you had a fair share of the whisky as well. So, now we are pearlers. Hard to believe it's real, don't you think?'

Conrad gave her an effusive hug. 'It's real, by jove. At last I'm beginning to feel good about this country.'

On arrival in Broome, Olivia and Conrad rented a bungalow in Walcott Street from the Bateman family, who ran a general agency business and usually rented the house to French pearl buyers who came to town for three months of every year. Tyndall rented a smaller cottage close by the seafront on Hamersley Street, owned by a Chinese merchant.

He wasted no time in making the rounds of the hotels, back street drinking dens and boarding houses used by the polyglot collection of men from Asia and the Pacific who worked the pearling fleets. Because the season was almost over, some crews had already been laid off so he had no trouble finding several hands with good credentials. Before signing up the men, Ahmed was able to check the credentials of all of them with their fellow countrymen working on the fleet.

Broome was an extraordinary place and Olivia was enchanted by its boisterous, bustling atmosphere and air of derringdo. Even conservative Conrad admitted that it had a certain colonial charm and projected a sense of excitement.

It was home port for several hundred pearling luggers collecting motherofpearl sh.e.l.l used mainly for the b.u.t.tons in clothing manufacture all over the world. Any pearls found represented a bonus-a little for the crew, a lot for the pearling master. In season and during the lay up months, the town was alive with stories, more often rumours, of pearls found, prices fetched, deals done. Shrewd dealers in pearls came from Paris, London, New York, Singapore, Hong Kong and Shanghai to buy Broome pearls for the world's greatest jewellery houses. While the handling and marketing of sh.e.l.l was a very open business with few secrets, everything about pearls seemed to be surrounded with secrecy and intrigue. Stolen pearls, or snides, were filched by divers and crews and sold to known snide buyers or anyone prepared to resell them at a profit.

The ramshackle town was built overwhelmingly of corrugated iron, and paint was not considered important. The bareness was broken by efforts at gardening in some of the better homes, but by and large the town stood exposed and unadorned, baked by the sun or lashed by monsoonal storms, depending on the season. The commercial area was dominated by Chinese merchants who also acted as financial agents and moneylenders. The residential areas were divided into white and Asian quarters. While the power and authority rested in the minority European community, Broome was wildly individual, a white man's culture veneered over a mix of Asian subcultures.

The most notable building was Cable House, an elegant iron and wooden structure with a splendid billiards room. This grandeur befitted the marvel of contemporary technology housed within-the telegraph cable connecting this remote outpost of the British Empire to London.

Within days of their arrival Conrad had called on the Resident Magistrate C. R. Hooten who, swiftly ascertaining that he was a gentleman with a wife of good background, made a note to add the Hennessys to his invitation list. Social stratas existed within the white community and new arrivals were carefully vetted.

'I'm sure my wife will have your good lady over to meet the other wives as soon as possible. There are few ladies of standing in the community, though there are more than enough of questionable lineage.' The broad wink he then gave shocked Conrad, who was a trifle unsure of just what the RM was alluding to, though he had heard about the proliferation of brothels from Tyndall.

Briefly Conrad told him of their sad life since arriving in the state.

'Rotten luck, a bad business all round,' commented the RM. 'By the way I'd suggest to your good wife that she not mention her, er, contact with the Aborigines. We don't mix with them, of course. Mind you, some are good workers, but only if they've been missiontrained. Most are lazy and take off at inconvenient times. Walkabout, you know. I never quite trust them. Always wonder if I'm going to get a spear hurled at me in the dark of night.'

'Why would they do that?'

'Oh, they get some idea they've been slighted and blame any white person for an injury some other white fellow might have caused. There have been some dreadful attacks on white women and children left alone on farms. You're well out of that land deal, I would say.' He then began to tell Conrad of his own arrival in Broome. 'Badly organised. d.a.m.ned low tide it was. There I am in all the finery, plumes, medals, the lot, for the official welcome and I have to plough through blooming smelly mud for a good half mile. Sorry sight I was to greet the town!'

Now into his stride with a fresh audience the RM prattled on about the town and conditions. 'Always trouble with mixed nationalities. The Koepangers, Malays, j.a.ps, and of course the blacks, all present problems fighting among themselves as much as with other racial groups. And when the pearlers aren't smuggling, drunk, or supposedly killing off their crews, they complain about lack of facilities.' Hurriedly he added, 'Naturally a gentleman pearler like yourself will be welcome. They're not all rogues, a few master pearlers are decent fellows. Some of them have done very well too, though they keep it quiet of course.' He roared with laughter and Conrad smiled tentatively, wondering which category John Tyndall belonged to.

The formal card inviting Olivia to afternoon tea at the Residence arrived several days later and she received it with mixed feelings. Olivia was keenly looking forward to the pleasure of a social occasion but hoped she wouldn't be called upon to repeat her story, as she still grieved for her lost child, and talking about the accident pained her greatly. Well meaning as people were, beneath the solicitous enquiries she sensed a salacious thirst for details that hurt her further.

Dressing carefully and paying attention to her toilette for the first time since her arrival in the north-west, Olivia stepped down from the verandah in a black taffeta day dress, a hat and gloves, her hair coiled. To her surprise she found Ahmed waiting at the front in a small sulky. He helped her into the seat.

'Tuan sent me. Said you should make a good appearance at the Residence.'

'How kind of Tuan Hennessy,' she said with warmth.

'Tuan Tyndall,' corrected Ahmed as he swung into the driver's seat and picked up the reins. Glancing over his shoulder he warned her with a slight smile, 'Not so good with horsies as boats, Memsahib!'

'It's only a short distance, I had planned on walking.'

'You soon be a lady pearler wife, no walk,' he admonished.

Olivia enjoyed the drive to the long low Residence building, its wide formal verandah screened by palm trees and set in a lawn flourishing on bore water. A young white aide and Malay manservant directed her through the airy building to a shady portico at the rear. Here, the guests were gathered, seated on cane furniture. She was led to Mrs Hooten who greeted her warmly.

The Malay houseboy in starched white and wearing a small turban handed her a teacup. She was introduced to the ladies and the conversation soon turned to small talk about life in Broome. Advice was offered on all manner of subjects related to running a house-a Chinese or j.a.panese cook, a Koepanger boy to supervise children and polish the silver, an Aboriginal to look after the garden, a Chinese for the ironing, and an Aboriginal woman to do the washing.