I told her briefly how their value had escalated, about my visit to Josh Keegan, but I don’t think she took it in. ‘Where did your brother get them?’ I asked. But she didn’t know. She was back at the porthole then, staring out at the water, and it was only when I produced the letter the stamp dealer in Sydney had given me that she showed any real interest. ‘Lewis?’ She had turned, frowning in concentration. ‘Didn’t you say Carlos Holland had those ship’s stamps specially printed? That means the father of that abo was on board the Holland Trader with him.’ She looked down at the letter. ‘Cooktown. And you were in Queensland. I wish you’d gone up there.’
‘I hadn’t time.’
‘No, of course not. But to have killed a man called Holland. Black Holland. It’s such a coincidence. Do you think he still has his father’s letter?’
‘I doubt it.’
‘But you said the dealer only received the envelope.’
‘The aborigine’s mother was dead. I don’t imagine he kept the letter.’
‘But if he had … It’s so strange. I’ll ask Mac whether my grandfather ever said anything about that mine. The Dog Weary gold mine. You can just imagine a man at the end of a long trek into the Australian outback calling it Dog Weary. Or perhaps there were two of them.’ She was silent then, thinking it over. ‘I’ve often wondered where Carlos got the money to buy a steamship. A gold mine would explain it.’ She laughed, handing me back the letter and turning to the porthole again. ‘I can still see the coast.’ And then she asked about her brother. ‘How is he?’ And when I didn’t answer, she said, ‘You’ve been standing in on the night watches. You must have formed some impression.’
‘He’s tired,’ I said. ‘We’re both tired.’
‘Yes, I know.’ Her voice was sharper. ‘But that doesn’t explain why he radioed advising me to stay with my aunt in Perth. He didn’t want me on board, and he didn’t want me in Buka — why?’
I hesitated. But it wasn’t for me to tell her he was scared of something. ‘You’re part owner of this ship, aren’t you?’
She nodded.
‘Maybe that’s the trouble.’
‘The ship’s still losing money, is it?’
‘I think so.’ And then I asked her about the partner her brother had gone in with. ‘D’you know anything about him?’
‘Yes.’ Her face had suddenly altered, the jaw clenched, the lips a tight line and her eyes coldly staring. ‘What’s Hans got to do with it?’
‘He seems to handle the business end, and I thought perhaps-’ I left it at that, shocked at the violence of her reaction, standing there staring straight at me, gripping hold of the back of the chair so tight that her knuckles showed white.
‘He should never have gone in with Hans Holland,’ she said in that husky voice, her mouth clenched tight. ‘I knew it wasn’t right. Tim was against it, and that day when-’ She shook her head, her eyes very wide. ‘But Jona came over to England specially. He talked Father into it. Said the sins of the fathers shouldn’t be visited on the children, that Hans and he were another generation, and if they wanted to join forces and build a new Holland Line together, the past of the two families shouldn’t be thrown in their faces. I haven’t seen Jona since.’
‘And what were the sins?’ I asked.
She let go of the chairback and turned to stare out at the sea again. ‘I’m not sure. It was something that happened during the war, but Grandpa wouldn’t talk about that — ever. Nor would Mac. All Grandpa ever told me was that Hans’s father handed the Holland schooners over to the Japanese.’
‘A collaborator?’
She nodded. ‘He went over to the Japs. That’s why he was killed. I think maybe my grandfather had a hand in that. And Hans — the same red hair, but he’s Buka really.’ She paused there, frowning, and when I asked her if it was Hans who had visited them in Aldeburgh some months back, she nodded vaguely, muttering to herself, ‘Buka through and through.’ And then she seemed to jerk herself out of her reverie, lifting her head and looking straight at me again as she abruptly changed the subject. ‘So Jona’s in financial difficulties, is he?’
‘He needed this cargo. That’s all he told me.’ I got off the bunk and reached for my clothes. It was up to her to find out about that. ‘Talk to Shelvankar,’ I said. ‘He’s radio officer and cargo agent all in one, and I would imagine the best source of information on board. And if you know any of the crew … Do you understand the Buka language?’
She shook her head. ‘Not Buka. But Pidgin is the same all through the islands. I’m sure that will come back to me quite easily.’
‘Then have a look round the ship, talk to some of the crew while I get dressed.’
‘And what about Jona? You haven’t told me what impression you’ve formed of him.’
‘No, and I’m not going to.’ I had my back to her, rootling around for my shaving kit. ‘I’m a visitor on board this ship, and if he has problems, it’s none of my business.’ I was still tired, and her persistence irritated me. The old belief that a woman on board meant trouble may have had something to do with it.
Silence for a moment; then she said, ‘Very well, I’ll leave you to dress now.’ I heard the door close. She was gone, and I breathed a sigh of relief. I went to the heads then and had a shower. By the time I was shaved and dressed it was past 10.30. I lay on my bunk and tried to read, but my mind wouldn’t concentrate, wondering how well she knew her brother, how much he had told her in letters. It was five years since she had last seen him. A long gap, and some time in the next two hours she would confront him with the fact of her presence here on board this ship. And those two trucks. Like me, she must be wondering what the hell was in them, why the secrecy?
She had flown from Sydney to Brisbane and then hitched lifts up to within a few miles of the beach. That much I got out of her when I went into the wardroom for a quick bite of food before going on watch. But that was all. Holtz was there, and Shelvankar, both of them treating her very formally, and beneath the formality I sensed a mood of caution as though she were something to be handled with extreme care. Shelvankar, in particular. He was unusually silent, his eyes every now and then glancing at her furtively. And she herself was not at all communicative, sitting there quite still as though bracing herself for the moment when her brother would come in.
The steward brought me my coffee and then went along the alleyway to give Holland a shake. It was just past noon and time for me to relieve Luke. I excused myself and took my coffee along to the bridge. The course was due north, visibility good and the sea calm, a long shallow swell coming in from the south. We were already clear of the continental shelf, no reading now on the echo-sounder and no sign of any land. I took a sun sight and was pleased when my calculations coincided almost exactly with our DR position. There was little for me to do then, and the watch passed slowly.
Any moment I expected Holland to come in and ask me why the hell I had gone behind his back and sent that message to his sister. Maybe she dissuaded him, but nobody came on the bridge during the whole of the afternoon watch, and when he relieved me at 16.00, he never mentioned it. He didn’t even refer to her presence on board. He was tight-lipped and very tense, the lines on his forehead deep creases, and he had been drinking. I could smell the whisky on his breath. ‘Have some tea, then get your head down,’ he said tersely. ‘You’re on again at twenty hundred hours.’
‘What about McAvoy?’ I asked.
‘No.’ And when I suggested he had looked sober enough to stand a watch, he almost shouted at me. ‘I tell you, no.’
The door to McAvoy’s cabin was open as I went down the alleyway to the wardroom. He was standing there, a glass in his hand, staring at his bunk, which had an open suitcase on it and a pile of clothes. An empty drawer lay upside down at his feet. He turned slowly, sensing my presence in the doorway. ‘You’re out of luck.’ He smiled at me slyly. ‘She’s having my cabin tonight.’ He waved the glass at me. ‘Thought you’d cleaned me out, didn’t you?’ The smile broadened to a grin, but behind the grin he looked old and tired. ‘Care to join me in a drink? It’s here somewhere.’ He looked vaguely round for the bottle. ‘Well, say something, can’t you?’ His voice was suddenly petulant. ‘Bloody amateur doing my job.’