Tears of the Moon - Di Morrissey [98]
The outburst achieved its intended effect, particularly the radical suggestion of sailing north. His luggers always went south.
‘Why north?’ Olivia demanded.
Tyndall sighed inwardly with relief. While she would continue to mourn, he knew he’d sparked a reaction and soon enough she’d be out of this cocoon of grief. However, his demeanour didn’t alter. ‘I’ve heard rumours of new grounds. I might go check it out.’ He turned to leave and said casually over his shoulder, ‘Perhaps you and Hamish might like to come along. Anyway, I’ll see you tomorrow.’
He left the room, quietly closing the door, then leaned against it and expelled a long breath. Olivia had looked wretched and his heart ached for her.
Olivia stared at the closed door, a sudden flood of anger welling in her. Typical Tyndall, she thought with some anger. Didn’t ask if she wanted to go to work, just tells her. She paced the room a little, went to the window and looked out at the technicolour sunset, then decided to have a bath.
Soaking in the water her annoyance dissolved in a rush of affection for Tyndall’s rough kindness. She knew he was right, there was Hamish and the business to think about. Conrad was gone, the life they’d had together was gone. It was no use wallowing in self-pity and sadness. She had to go forward, alone.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Olivia began to come to terms with her loss. While she came out of her room and faced the world again, her grief turned inwards and became a private pain. Life went on and she went through the motions. But day by day it became a little easier.
Olivia found the morning walk to the foreshore camp a calming experience. The day was yet to heat up and there was something reassuring about seeing the luggers at anchor for refit and repair during lay up. The extraordinary colour of the sea never failed to amaze her, and the activity of the foreshore camps was enchanting.
Chinese and Manilamen emptied their fish traps and hurried to the town with baskets of fresh fish hanging from a long bamboo pole across their shoulders. Crews were fussing about the luggers, storing everything that could be moved in tin sheds around the camps. Filipino carpenters were busy with makeshift slips nursing some of the luggers, while Malay sailmakers bent over the sheets of canvas, cutting and stitching.
The men working at Star of the Sea’s camp were delighted to see her. They all came forward, some with a little embarrassment because of the cultural and social gap, to take her hand and offer words of sympathy and support. Olivia was greatly touched by the reception and responded with a smile and little more than a single word of thanks. It was too moving, almost too emotional to handle and she felt a little weak at the knees, but forced herself to carry on with an inspection of the shed and a boat on the slips, and to wave to Tyndall on the deck of a lugger moored in the bay.
Her equilibrium was shaken back in town when she climbed the stairs and stood outside Conrad’s office. She took a deep breath and stepped inside. Documents were spread in a disorderly fashion over his desk, and the top drawer of the oak filing cabinet was open, files scattered on files, testimony to Tyndall’s attempt to keep the paperwork moving.
Her attention to the files was total and another hour passed before she knew it. She was disturbed by soft footsteps in the passageway and looked up as Ahmed stopped in the doorway.
‘Selamat pagi, mem.’
‘Good morning, Ahmed. Do come in.’
Ahmed walked to the desk and ignored her gesture to sit. His eyes burned with pain and sorrow as they looked at each other in silence.
‘Mem … ’ said Ahmed, then paused unable to go on.
She nodded her head slightly in support then realised that he was really unable to put into words what he wanted to say.
Then he simply touched his kris, looked into her eyes, and whispered,