‘Just one. No intellectual giant but affectionate. Took a while to get my lies straight. It’s over now. She had a child in Noumea and went back to the father for the kid’s sake. So — how’s life with you?’
‘Ratshit.’ She fiddled with her bread knife. ‘I’ve had a double mastectomy.’
‘Cancer?’
‘I’ve been bald for a while.’
He took her hands. ‘Is it…?’
‘Too bloody right. DEATH IS A FACT OF LIFE. But we’ve still got tonight — if you can stand me.’
He stared at her and tears began.
She said, ‘Don’t. You’ll wet the tablecloth.’
‘Jesus. Why are you still here?’
‘WORLD MAINTENANCE IS MORALITY. I want this outfit back on the rails. And I couldn’t let Ron down. She’s been in-bloody-credible — just plain heroic. You’ve no idea what we’ve been through.’
Their evening was all the more poignant because they didn’t know if they’d ever meet again. She left the bedside light on, took the padded bra off with her back to him, shy about the scars, then turned. ‘I look like a whore’s drawers.’
‘Those who matter don’t mind and those who mind don’t matter.’
He made love to her, surprised at the fierceness of her response. They cried a little, kissed a lot. Later, the peace on her face made him glad.
Sometime during the night they woke and he pressed her hand in the dark. ‘You two can’t carry this alone. You’re both exhausted. Please let me help.’
‘You’re helping, love. Honestly.’
‘By romancing two sisters in the sticks of New Zealand? Let me stay here and take the bastards out.’
‘It’s not that simple. But we’ve a counter-attack set up and getting you out of mothballs is a part of it.’
‘You mean this job’s a diversion?’
‘Don’t ask. And don’t fret. You’ll get your chance to spill blood.’
‘For God’s sake, Pat, fill me in.’
‘Nup. Ronnie’s right. Too dangerous.’
It often came to this. It was difficult sleeping with head office.
After a while she said, ‘Do you think there’s life after death?’
‘Was there before?’
‘I’ve had a fan-bloody-tastic life. Wouldn’t have missed it for quids. You’ve studied all this stuff. What do you reckon?’
He gave the comforting reply. ‘If there’s not, you won’t have a worry. If there is, it’s a bonus. Either way you’re in good shape.’
It pleased her. ‘Hadn’t thought of it like that.’
Soon he heard soft snores.
He stared for a long time into the dark.
22
DREAM OF FAIR WOMEN
Rhonda stubbed out the butt on the bed-head and tossed the report on the floor. She rubbed her eyes, switched off the light and forlornly prayed for sleep.
But her mind still churned with the questions that had kept her so often awake. If they wanted to get rid of her, why hadn’t they attacked? If they knew enough to destroy EXIT projects, why hadn’t the place been exposed? She was physically strong but couldn’t take much more.
To soothe herself into drowsiness she thought about past loves. It was 1959. She’d been twenty-two — and Etta a flaxen-haired sixteen.
First love, so strangely sweet. The body that she loved, so fair and lithe. The rapture of a female heart and body responding to her own.
Nothing, nothing, could equal those brief months. She’d felt like an Olympian struck from the sun. But the lifespan in ancient Greece was thirty years. And in this age of medical dexterity and emotional aridity she was two decades beyond that — ugly, fat.
And the beautiful Etta was dust.
Better dust than the thing she’d found hanging from the beam in the laundry, the blood pooled in the ankles, glory gone. An unmoving thing that turned slowly on the rope. A broken thing.
Her love, stronger than time, scourging her with regret. She turned in the bed and groaned.
Mockery feasting on despair.
Sleep. She had to sleep.
Love — the most dangerous thing in the world.
23
TEMPTATION AND BENT TIME
The house was a twenty-minute drive from the small township along a narrow road that wound between steep cliffs. Cain drove slowly in torrential rain, wipers on high. He crossed three wooden bridges — typical of this remote area — single lane with a caution sign each end. The rivers beneath the bridges thundered over jagged rocks and cascades sprayed from the high side of the road.
It was an ominous landscape, every turn revealing a new cloud-blurred peak gashed by thin waterfalls. He reached a cleared valley of tussocks and tree roots hacked from mossy beech forest.
The building commanded the valley, sat well back on the high side of the road. It looked more like a country hotel than the domain of a wrathful ghost. Behind it rose a precipitous backdrop of trees and sub-alpine scrub.
The curving drive was flanked by neat lawn and well-placed trees. He stopped the car beneath the entrance portico and the sound of rain on metal ceased. He’d expected a home this far south to have walls made mouldy by spring rains. But the ranch-style, two-storey building with its bay windows and elegant air was well maintained, its paintwork spick.
He got a bag out of the boot, crossed the terrace to the door and rang. A vacuum cleaner switched off. Through frosted-glass panels, someone coming.
‘Cain?’
The Great Stromlo matched the briefing photographs. Shabby clothes, clerical collar, thin frame, pouched face.
‘Mark West’s the agreed name.’
‘Yes of course, Mr West. Please come in.’
The tiled entranceway had stairs leading up.
He said, ‘Impressive place.’
Stromlo’s doleful look. ‘There should be a sign: Lasciate ogni speranza…’
Abandon hope?
A woman came down the stairs. The original was considerably better than the unfinished substitute. She wore tight black stretch-jeans and a woollen top open at the neck. She had a ripe curve to her hips and upper body, heavy breasts, soft lines to her shoulders and arms. The way it all moved was intriguing.
‘So the parcel’s arrived.’ Her voice sounded like Baileys Irish Cream gurgling through a warm bassoon.
‘This is Mark West, our new security man.’ Stromlo introduced the woman. ‘Eve Rinaldi.’
She stepped over the vacuum cleaner that Stromlo had apparently been using at the foot of the stairs, came forward to shake his hand. ‘You’re very handsome.’ Then to Stromlo, ‘I’ll take him up.’
As he followed her she said, ‘This used to be a conference centre. They couldn’t make it pay. Too far away from anywhere. We got it cheap.’
He lugged his bag up the second turn of stairs, watching her rounded but neat rear straining her jeans pleasantly as she climbed. They walked to a bedroom with en suite and view out over the valley. As he put down the bag, he spotted a movement sensor at the corner of the ceiling.
She said, ‘Father Roberto vacuumed in here this morning. He doesn’t have to do it but sees drudgery as penance. He’s a strange character — but a wonderful music teacher for Nina.’
She led him back down to the expansive lounge room that had been chalk-marks in the EXIT mock-up. It had a sprawl of comfortable furniture, a baby grand and a hooded central fire where logs smouldered in a pile of white ash.
‘Central heating,’ she said.
He gazed at the sweeping sodden view. The windows, true to the briefing, had security strips. ‘A beautiful place.’
‘It’s converted well. Jane and I have made lairs of some of the upstairs suites. She has her workroom. I have my sewing room and materials storeroom. My doll studio’s downstairs in what used to be a conference room. Then there’s the pool, gym, sauna. We don’t lack much. We have four garages in a separate building at the back with staff accommodation above them.’