Tears of the Moon - Di Morrissey [180]
A large brightly coloured fish with rainbow eyes touched Olivia’s helmet, peering in curiously at her, making her smile. Then Tyndall took her hand, put his fingers to his helmet indicating she should be still. A shadow changed the colour of the water and Tyndall pointed slowly upwards. Passing above them were two devil rays, each almost a ton in weight and close to twenty feet across. They lazed and swayed their bat-like black wings as if balletically choreographed. The flash of white belly, a glimpse of horny mandibles, the trailing whip and razor-sharp tail and they were gone. Tyndall knew the horrors and tales of devil ray attacks where divers were swept up in their powerful wings, lines severed by the tail, the gnashing of a giant mouth. They could breach close to a lugger, landing like a thunderclap when hunting fish and in a pack were a powerful enemy. But to Olivia they were a fascinating sight, just one of many that made her lose track of time. They watched an octopus stalk and devour a shellfish, squirting a cloud of ink as it scuttled away after a kick from Tyndall’s boot. They trudged through clouds of weeds whose blades all faced the direction of the tide, and other small plantations of weird sea plants.
When Tyndall indicated they should rise, she was reluctant, but they gently rose in tandem on opposite sides of the boat. Olivia broke the surface and was helped up the ladder. As her helmet was unscrewed and she took her first gasp of fresh air, Olivia felt a strange depression. Which was the real world? Down there, she and Tyndall were safe, together and unobserved. Now reality hit her and she sat quietly on the deck sipping tea as Tyndall changed and regaled the crew with devil fish stories.
When, two days later, they returned to Broome, the time beneath the sea, Olivia’s time with Tyndall, seemed a dream. She was prepared to pretend nothing had happened; that the rekindling of their passion was a lapse under bewitching circumstances. However, in the privacy of Olivia’s house they shared sunset drinks and fell into each other’s arms. She was helpless in the face of this overwhelming love and passion. Her devoted but pedestrian relationship with Gilbert was pushed to the recesses of her mind. Tyndall dominated, swallowed her up, and swept her away.
They talked of the cultured pearl farm experiment, of Maya working in the company, Georgie starting school, travelling to Europe to investigate further sales potential for mother-of-pearl.
‘You know they started using it for compass faces in the war. It doesn’t have to be just for buttons,’ said Tyndall.
‘Do you really think plastic will take over completely?’
‘We’re going through a bad patch. Things will get better, you’ll see. Broome isn’t bust yet.’ Tyndall leaned over and tweaked her nose and gave her a quick kiss.
How different Tyndall and Gilbert were, Olivia thought. Gilbert was always very balanced, objective, quietly consultative and, in his own way, loving. While she was devoted to their work, Olivia realised how much she’d missed the thrill of pearling. The dangers, the unpredictability, the characters, the challenges, the wild and almost intoxicating lifestyle of the north-west coast. No wonder it attracted the people it did. People like Tyndall.
Weighing up the attitudes and lifestyle of Tyndall and Gilbert was like looking at chalk and cheese. And yet both had good qualities