That’s what really counts, he thought, rereading the telex, safety - safety first and safety last. “Mac, would you send Liz a reply for me: ‘Leaving for Al Shargaz now and will phone on arrival.’ Telex Thurston and ask what deal he would offer if I double the number of X63s presently on order. S - ” “Eh?”
“Well, it costs nothing to ask; IH’s bound to hear about our problems here and I’m not going to let those buggers start giving us the finger - better to keep them off-balance. In any event we could use two X63s here to service all the Guerney contracts - if things were different. Finish the telex, see you soon.”
“Okay.”
Gavallan sat back in the easy chair and let his mind drift, collecting his strength. I’m going to have to be very strong. And very clever. This is the one that can bury me and S-G and give Linbar everything he needs - this and Iran together. Yes, and it was stupid to lose your temper like that. What you need is Kathy’s Shrieking Tree…. Ah, Kathy, Kathy.
The Shrieking Tree was an old clan custom, a special tree chosen by the oldest of the clan, somewhere nearby, that you could go out to, alone, when the deevil - as old Granny Dunross, Kathy’s grandmother, called it - “when the deevil was upon you and there you could curse and rant and rave and curse some more until there were no more curses left. Then there would always be peace in the home and never a need to really curse a husband or wife or lover or child. Aye, just a wee tree, for a tree can bear all the curses even the deevil himself invented.”
The first time he had used Kathy’s Shrieking Tree was in Hong Kong. There it was a jacaranda in the garden of the Great House, the residence of the taipan of Struan’s. Kathy’s brother, Ian, was taipan then. Gavallan knew the date exactly: it was Wednesday, August 21, 1963, the night she told him. Poor Kathy, my Kathy, he thought, loving her still - Kathy, born under an ill-set star. Swept off your feet by one of the Few - John Selkirk, flight lieutenant, DFC, RAF - married at once, not yet eighteen, widowed at once, not yet three months older, him torched out of the skies and vanished. Rotten war years and more tragedy, two beloved brothers killed in action - one your twin. Meeting you in Hong Kong in ‘46, at once in love with you, hoping with all my heart that I could make up for some of the unluck. I know Melinda and Scot did - they’ve turned out won404 derfully, so grand. And then, in ‘63, before your thirty-eighth birthday, the multiple sclerosis.
Going home to Scotland as you’d always wanted - me to put Ian’s plans into effect, you to regain your health. But that part not to be. Watching you die. Watching the sweet smile you used to cover the hell inside, so brave and gentle and wise and loving, but going, plateau by plateau. So slowly, yet so fast, so inexorably. By ‘68 in a wheelchair, mind still crystal, voice clear, the rest a shell, out of control and shaking. Then it was ‘70. That Christmas they were at Castle Avisyard. And on the second day of the new year when the others had gone and Melinda and Scot were skiing in Switzerland, she had said, “Andy, my darling, I cannot endure another year, another month, or another day.”
“Yes,” he said simply.
“Sorry, but I’ll need help. I need to go and I… I’m ever so sorry that it’s been so long… but I need to go now, Andy. I have to do it myself but I’ll need help. Yes?” “Yes, my darling.”
They had spent a day and a night talking, talking about good things and good times and what he should do for Melinda and Scot, and that she wanted him to marry again, and she told him how wonderful life had been with him and they laughed, one with another, and his tears did not spill till later. He held her palsied hand with the sleeping pills and held her shaking head against his chest, helped her with the glass of water - a little whisky in it for luck - and never let her go until the shaking had stopped. The doctor had said kindly, “I don’t blame her - if I’d been her I would have done it years ago, poor lady.”
Going then to the Shrieking Tree. But shrieking no words, nothing - only tears. “Andy?” “Yes, Kathy?”
Gavallan looked up and he saw it was Genny, McIver by the door, both of them watching him. “Oh, hello, Genny, sorry, I was a million miles away.” He got up. “It - I think it was the Avisyard that set me thinking.” Genny’s eyes widened. “Oh, an Avisyard telex? Not a bird down?” “No, no, thank God, just Imperial Helicopters up to their old tricks.” “Oh, thank God too,” Genny said, openly relieved. She was dressed in a heavy coat and a nice hat. Her large suitcase was in the outer office where Nogger Lane and Charlie Pettikin waited. “Well, Andy,” she said, “unless you override Mr. McIver, I suppose we should go. I’m as ready as I’ll ever be.”
“Come on, Gen, there’s no n - ” McIver stopped as she imperiously held up her hand.
“Andy,” she said sweetly, “please tell Mr. McIver that battle is joined.” “Gen! Will y - ”
“Joined, by God!” Imperiously she waved Nogger Lane away from her suitcase, picked it up, staggered a little under its weight, and swept out with an even more imperious, “I can carry my own suitcase, thank you very much.” There was a big hole in the air behind her. McIver sighed. Nogger Lane had a hard time keeping the laughter off his face. Gavallan and Charlie Pettikin thought it best to be noncommittal.
“Well, er, no need for you to drive out with us, Charlie,” Gavallan said gruffly.
“I’d still like to, if it’s all right,” Pettikin said, not really wanting to but McIver had asked him privately for support with Genny. “That’s a cute hat, Genny,” he had told her just after a delightful breakfast with Paula. Genny had smiled sweetly. “Don’t you try to butter me up, Charlie Pettikin, or I’ll give you what for too. I’ve had men generally - in fact I’m very pissed off indeed….”
Gavallan put on his parka. He picked up the telex and stuck it into his pocket. “Actually, Charlie,” he said and some of his concern showed now, “if you don’t mind I’d rather you didn’t - I’ve got some unfinished stuff to chat with Mac about.”
“Sure, of course.” Pettikin stuck out his hand and hid the beam. Not going out to the airport would give him a few bonus hours alone with Paula. Paula the Fair, he had thought of her since breakfast even though she was brunette. To McIver he said, “I’ll see you at home.”
“Why not wait here - I want to raise all the bases as soon as it’s dark and we can go back together. I’d like you to hold the fort. Nogger, you can quit.” Nogger Lane beamed and Pettikin cursed silently.