Tears of the Moon - Di Morrissey [137]
Tyndall lay in the half-submerged little boat, watching the black shape of his beloved schooner disintegrate with a wail of splintering wood and disappear from sight. He wept and screamed his fury at the sea and the storm.
Amy knew she was secretly looking for him. She set out each day about the town visiting the dressmaker, stopping at The White Lotus, browsing through Streeter and Male, walking along Dampier Terrace, and taking afternoon tea at the Continental.
She had just decided he’d slipped out of port when on her way home she decided to stroll along Streeter’s Jetty. She saw him standing on the deck of a black ketch with red sails, berating a cowering Malay. His shirtsleeves were rolled up his muscular arms and thick black hair protruded at the base of his throat. He saw her but didn’t acknowledge her presence other than to give the man a clip over the ears and send him scuttling away. Amy put her parasol on the other shoulder, turned and walked back along the jetty, slowly. Swinging onto the jetty, he strolled along behind her until they reached the street. He moved up beside her.
‘Good afternoon, Mrs Tyndall,’ he greeted her.
‘Good afternoon, Mr Gunther.’
‘Going anywhere in particular?’
‘Just out strolling. I’ve had a busy day.’
‘While the cat’s away, eh?’
She gave him an arch look. ‘Whatever do you mean?’
He gave a brief laugh. ‘You’re all on your own, why not join me for dinner?’
It was a casual invitation but as they glanced at each other Amy knew they were at a juncture. It was up to her to decide which road to take.
‘That wouldn’t appear seemly, what with my husband away,’ she replied.
‘Depends who knows. Maybe it’s a business meeting. I conduct my private dealings in private. At the Cable Palace.’
‘What or where is that?’
‘A very large, very private home over on Cable Beach. You’d find the owners interesting people, I’m sure.’
‘I didn’t think there was anyone interesting in Broome. It sounds intriguing.’
‘I’ll send one of my men to collect you. Say seven?’
‘Will I be safe do you think?’ She gave a coquettish toss of her head.
‘I think you are a woman who can look after herself. I like that. Bring one of your staff if you feel so inclined.’ He nodded curtly and wheeled away from her in the opposite direction.
Amy watched him go, feeling slightly faint, with nerves or anticipation, she couldn’t decide. He really was an ugly man, barrel-built, squat and muscular, oily skin and hair, his body covered in the same thick dark hair. The black eyes had no warmth, the voice was harsh with traces of his guttural accent, yet he radiated an animal-like magnetism that drew her to him like a spider in a web. Amy chuckled to herself at the picture of Karl Gunther as a hairy black spider in the middle of a web, thinking he was all powerful. ‘Hah, Mr Gunther, have you ever heard of black widow spiders? The females devour the males!’ she said to herself.
Feeling assured of her invincibility, Amy set off for home deciding which particularly alluring dress she’d wear for her secret rendezvous.
The Aboriginal women arrived at the coast before the men. Maya always loved this season when they camped by the huge shell middens where generations had feasted on shellfish. The ceremonies held here were different to those performed in the desert. For Maya this was a special place. When they arrived she always walked down to the water’s edge and stood with her feet in the ocean, feeling the watery link stretching between this shore and some faraway land of her ancestors across the sea. It was an unconscious symbolic touching of her mother