Stars Over the Southern Ocean Read online

  ‘What we have to do,’ she said, ‘is to get what we want while fooling him into thinking he’s the winner.’

  ‘Quite a trick,’ Cindy said.

  ‘You should read Sun Tzu. He wrote a book called The Art of War; he said all war is based on deception.’

  ‘War?’

  ‘In the broadest sense. What he’s saying is we have to fool Lal into thinking he’s smarter than we are.’

  Cindy’s expression said she had no idea what Tamsyn was on about, but that was often the way.

  ‘Let’s have a look at the correspondence from the beginning,’ Tamsyn said.

  The morning passed.

  It was eleven-thirty and she was thinking of getting ready to meet Mohinder at the Star of India when Louisa, Harry Sharp’s secretary, put her head around the door and said the boss wanted to see her.

  Tamsyn hadn’t set eyes on him all day. ‘How is he?’

  ‘You’ll see for yourself.’ Louisa’s discretion was legendary.

  When Tamsyn went into his office, she found Harry seated with slumped shoulders at his desk. His eyes were as alert as ever but he was clearly off colour, as he so often was these days, his face sweaty, his features drawn.

  ‘You’re having lunch with our friend Lal today, I believe.’

  ‘At the Star of India.’

  ‘That classy joint in Salamanca Place?’

  ‘That’s the one.’

  ‘His choice or ours?’

  ‘His.’

  A mirthless smile. ‘I might have known. Make sure he pays. What does he want, anyway?’

  ‘He wants us to come in with him on some scheme he’s hatching about taking tourists into the Himalaya.’

  ‘Not to go mountaineering?’

  ‘More likely to be trekking, I think. But that’s what I’m hoping to find out.’

  ‘What does he want from us?’

  ‘The usual, I expect. Customers. And a cash contribution.’

  ‘That you can bet on. Keep your eye on him. He’s as crafty as a truckload of monkeys.’

  ‘I’m well aware of it.’

  ‘Let me know how you get on. And Tamsyn …’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘A lot might hang on this, from your point of view.’

  Hints were part of Harry’s armoury, with no one having any idea whether they had significance or not.

  Tamsyn was just about to head out of the office when the phone rang.

  She looked at her watch as she picked up. ‘I’m on my way out, Cindy.’

  ‘It’s your sister.’

  ‘Tell her to phone me back this afternoon.’

  ‘She says it’s something to do with your mother.’

  Tamsyn’s heart lurched. ‘I’d better take it, in that case,’ she said.

  ‘Putting you through …’

  ‘Tamsyn?’ Charlotte it was, and sounding deeply put out, too.

  ‘Have you been speaking to Mum?’ Tamsyn said. ‘Is she all right?’

  ‘I have no idea.’

  Exasperation. ‘Then why are you phoning me?’

  ‘I spoke to the hospital and they say she’s discharged herself and gone home.’

  Concern gave way to relief. ‘That’s right. She phoned last night to tell me.’

  ‘She never phoned me.’

  Probably because she knew you’d make a fuss.

  ‘I know she intended to.’ White lies never hurt. ‘I expect you were out.’

  ‘But why?’

  ‘The hospital was too stuffy. She said she couldn’t breathe. And I don’t think she took to the doctor.’

  ‘You don’t seem concerned at all. Don’t you care that she’s ill?’

  Tamsyn drew a breath. Charlotte was a willing slave where her husband was concerned but totally indifferent to the feelings of everyone else.

  ‘I’ll forget you said that.’

  ‘She’s a sick woman, Tamsyn. She’s no business charging off to that wretched place, so far away and all alone, where no one can get hold of her …’

  ‘We all lived there when we were kids,’ Tamsyn said. ‘We don’t seem to have done too badly out of it.’

  ‘Anyone with an ounce of consideration would move up here where we can look after her. There are plenty of nice flats in Launceston. Handy for the hospitals, too. But of course she won’t consider it. She doesn’t care how worried we all are, but I suppose that’s to be expected. She’s never cared about anyone but herself.’

  Tamsyn told herself to stay calm. Charlotte, selfish as ever, was put out because Mum had phoned Tamsyn and not her.

  ‘It’s nonsense to say that,’ she said. ‘While we were growing up, Mum devoted her life to the three of us. Anyway, I don’t have time to argue. I’ve a lunch appointment. I’ll call you later.’

  She put down the phone and went through into the outer office.

  ‘You’re cutting it fine,’ Cindy said.

  ‘Don’t tell me,’ Tamsyn said savagely, heading for the door.

  ‘I’ve got a cab waiting for you.’

  Bless the girl.

  ‘Gold star for you,’ Tamsyn said as she went out. It was a private joke; Cindy had been a schoolteacher before she’d been lured into commerce.

  ‘A gold star? For me?’ Cindy said, rolling her eyes at Tamsyn’s departing back. ‘Wow!’

  Tamsyn was good at compartmentalising; Charlotte’s petty-mind-edness was easily dismissed. There was no denying Mum was a worry but now she put that to one side. As she sat in the taxi all her attention was focused on the coming discussion with Mohinder Lal.

  She knew both Harry Sharp and Will Roper would be watching her every move, Will no doubt hoping she would make a mess of things.

  She paid off the taxi and went into the restaurant. She was on time, despite Charlotte’s last-minute call, but Mohinder Lal had beaten her to it. She joined him at the window table overlooking Salamanca Place.

  Mohinder had always had impeccable manners and stood as she went to join him.

  ‘I have taken the liberty of ordering for us both,’ he said. ‘I hope that is in order?’

  He was small and light-skinned, with soft hands and a brain as sharp as a dozen razors. Ordering the food without consulting her was his attempt to control the meeting before it had even begun. It was a trick that might have worked with some people but Tamsyn was not so easily distracted. She was happy to let him do it; it had been almost a quarter of a century since she’d had much to do with Indian food and restaurants, and she had no doubt Mohinder Lal, who had boasted to her in the past about his culinary expertise, would do a better job of ordering their lunch than she would.

  ‘Quite in order,’ she said. ‘What are we having?’

  ‘I thought Murg Mukhani would fit the bill very nicely.’

  Trick two: he was hoping she’d have to ask what Murg Mukhani was, but Tamsyn had eaten it before and knew. ‘Butter chicken? How lovely!’

  ‘With black lentils,’ he said.

  ‘And naan bread? Delicious!’

  Honours even, she thought. He’d been trying a spot of one-upmanship and she had stopped him. She poured herself a glass of water, her mind cold and clear.

  The food came and was indeed delicious. So it should be, the price they charged. Tamsyn selected a tender morsel of chicken and put it in her mouth. ‘Truly delicious,’ she said.

  ‘The ginger and coriander flavours are nicely balanced,’ Mohinder said.

  ‘Your letter said you wanted to discuss the possibility of our two companies conducting tours into the Himalaya,’ she said. ‘The Himalaya covers a wide area. At one time we might have been interested in a joint venture involving Kashmir. I spent time there in the late sixties and it was one of the most beautiful places I’ve ever seen. But it’s not feasible to take tours there now, especially after that arson attack in Lal Chowk in April.’

  ‘Unhappily that is so,’ Mohinder said. ‘Politics, you understand. Always politics. So foolish. I am thinking rather of Ladakh or Bh
utan.’

  ‘I know about Bhutan,’ Tamsyn said, ‘but not about Ladakh. It shares a common border with Kashmir, doesn’t it?’

  ‘That is so, but the situation is different. The Kashmir population is majority Muslim. In Ladakh there are many Buddhists. Muslims, too, certainly, but there is less militancy. It is part of India, of course, but many of the population are of Tibetan ancestry.’

  ‘What facilities are there?’

  ‘It is trekking mainly. You might consider snow leopard treks in January to March or summer treks in the Hemis National Park.’

  ‘How difficult are they?’

  ‘They range from easy to challenging. Some of the passes are above five thousand metres.’

  ‘Hotels?’

  ‘In the country, nothing. We are looking at the possibility of staying in Ladhaki village homesteads in the Sham region, for instance. Ladakh is not for the old or infirm, you understand, but it gives visitors an insight into a way of life they would never otherwise experience.’

  ‘And the cost?’

  ‘We shall discuss that later.’

  ‘That would be our major concern,’ Tamsyn said. ‘It is an interesting proposal but experimental. We wouldn’t be willing to commit too much capital until we can gauge the market response.’

  ‘I understand. But in all business ventures there is an element of risk, isn’t it?’

  ‘But the risk must be reasonable. I like the sound of what you’re saying,’ Tamsyn said. ‘Come up with specific proposals and we’ll certainly consider them, but we won’t be putting any money into it at this stage.’

  ‘You know the research needed to set up this type of operation can be most expensive. Surely asking for a contribution is not an unreasonable request?’

  ‘All you have at the moment is an idea. No details, no plans. Get something specific in writing and we’ll talk again. But at this stage we won’t put money into what is basically only a thought bubble.’

  Mohinder was not happy about that but still insisted on paying for the meal.

  ‘It is the man’s responsibility, is it not?’

  Pleasantly replete, Tamsyn went back to the office and told Harry Sharp how the meeting had gone.

  ‘So we got nothing out of it? But at least you say he paid for lunch.’

  ‘He was most insistent about it. We never expected to get anything at this stage. I said when he’s got specific proposals, something in writing and properly costed, we’ll be happy to look at them.’

  ‘No commitment?’

  ‘Absolutely not.’

  ‘Finance?’

  ‘No commitment there, either. I told him an operation of this type would be something of an experiment, so we wouldn’t be willing to put anything into it until we were able to judge how the market felt.’

  ‘I’ll bet that didn’t please him.’ Harry winced as he leant back in his chair. ‘Sit down,’ he said. ‘I want to talk to you about something else.’

  Fifteen minutes later she went back to her office. Was she on her head or her heels? A bit of both, perhaps. An opportunity but also a challenge. She would have to think about it, think hard, but not now. Now was the time to concentrate on the administrative chores that more and more seemed to devour so much of her day.

  CHAPTER 4

  On the morning after Greg’s party the weather was bad. Heavy cloud, with driving rain and a sea that was no longer blue-green but a dirty grey, matched his mood.

  He prowled his room, looking from time to time at the rain battering against the window, but conscious, always, of the phone standing like a threat on the table in the middle of the room. He’d never thought of himself in terms of being either brave or cowardly—introspection wasn’t his scene—but now he was scared stiff, with an ache in his stomach that made him feel like throwing up.

  His mind rooted around his options, but the truth was he had no options. He had to find a quarter of a million dollars and he had no idea how he was going to get it. Banks were out—he’d tried them before, and they’d almost laughed in his face—which meant the family would have to bail him out. Again. If they could; and if they would. A quarter of a million bucks.

  It was a hell of a lot of money but he didn’t dare think what might happen if they turned him down. Mongkut and Somchai were serious men. People had warned him about them but until the night before he’d always found them easygoing. They hadn’t been easygoing then. They hadn’t said much; they hadn’t shouted or threatened; they hadn’t banged their fists on the table. They’d been polite, reasonable. They had terrified him half to death.

  He had to contact the family back in Tasmania: Mum, Charlotte and Tamsyn. He’d have to plead for their help, spell out what was likely to happen to him if they turned him down.

  He’d tell them they had no choice if they didn’t want him ending up at the bottom of the Andaman Sea.

  He’d tell them they were certain to get their money back, with interest, that it would be the best investment they could hope to make.

  He picked up the phone, hesitated, put it down again. He had to go about it the right way and he wasn’t sure what that might be. Who should he speak to first?

  Definitely not Charlotte. The age difference had something to do with it, but she had always irritated him with the games she played about being the sweet little wifey when everyone knew she was really as hard as nails. Charlotte had money, or at least her husband had. Quarter of a million bucks would be nothing to a man like him but Greg knew his chances of getting it out of either of them was well south of zero.

  Charlotte’s husband was a director of Trident Oil. Greg didn’t know much about the directors of oil companies but suspected that a project like Nirvana was unlikely to appeal to them. And Hector had never hidden his lack of respect for him.

  What about Tamsyn?

  Tamsyn was driven, a CEO in waiting. He respected her, was cautious of her sharp edges, but doubted she had the money to help or would be willing to do so if she had.

  Finally, there was Mum. Of course, bless her heart, he loved her dearly—everybody loved their mums, right?—but she’d never had a penny to bless herself with. Had never seemed to care about it, either. Normally, she was the last person in the world he would ask to make an investment in Nirvana, or give him a loan. Yet only a week or two before Charlotte had told him Mum would soon be rolling in it.

  Naturally he’d wanted to know why, but Charlotte had gone all coy on him and said he’d find out in due course.

  Mum had always been on his side. Always would be, which was more than you could say for his sisters. So maybe he should ask her first?

  He dithered, but in the end did what he supposed he’d always known he would do. Despite Charlotte’s assurances, he couldn’t quite believe in Mum’s sudden wealth, and he knew that speaking to Charlotte would be a waste of time, so he gave Tamsyn a call. She scared him half to death, so it wasn’t until five o’clock that evening that he summoned the courage to do what he knew he must do. Five o’clock in Krabi meant eight o’clock in Tasmania, so he half hoped she’d be out, but she wasn’t.

  CHAPTER 5

  Tamsyn had a dinner date that evening with a man she’d met recently at a party. He was an attractive, charismatic man and it promised to be a pleasurable evening, although how it would end she hadn’t a clue. Nor, to be frank, did it matter that much. Nothing wrong with having a good time, but when your emotions were uninvolved one man, let’s face it, was much like another.

  She left the office at seven-thirty and was home fifteen minutes later. She poured herself a whisky and began to run a bath, adding some essential oils that she hoped would delight her date’s senses. She was about to strip off and carry her glass into the bathroom when the phone rang.

  ‘Trevelyan …’

  It was a bad line and she could barely make out the caller’s identity, never mind what he was saying. ‘Greg? Is that you?’

  Snap, crackle, pop.

  ‘Hullo?’

&nbs
p; She decided it was definitely her brother but the line was so bad she couldn’t make out what he was telling her. He sounded upset, even desperate, but that might have been the line. She thought he was saying something about money. For a moment the line cleared.

  ‘Even fifty would do. Otherwise God only knows what …’

  He was gone again. It was hopeless.

  ‘I haven’t the slightest idea what you’re on about.’ She spoke with exaggerated clarity into the telephone. ‘I’m getting ready to go out. Why don’t you try again tomorrow?’

  She waited, but his words were too garbled to make sense. She made out one word. Spill. Had he had an accident?

  She gave up. ‘It’s no use, Greg, I can’t hear you. Ring me tomorrow. Okay?’

  She hung up, stripped off her clothes and climbed into the bath.

  The trouble with Greg was that he always overplayed his hand, making a mountain out of what invariably turned out to be the smallest termite mound in the paddock. Whatever his problem was, she was confident it could wait until morning. With any luck, by then it might have disappeared altogether.

  Lying back in the hot scented water, she sipped her drink, eyes closed, while she felt the grateful heat unkinking the tensions of her body.

  It was one of the most beautiful places I’ve ever seen, she’d told Mohinder Lal. Remembering her words, she saw again the lotus flowers floating, bright-faced, upon the green waters of Dal Lake, with the distant snow peaks shimmering in the haze, both promise and challenge; she smelt the sweet fragrance of the roses brought every morning by the flower-boat man to the houseboat where they were staying, heard the distant sound of cow bells from the herds grazing along the shore. On horseback they had ventured along tracks beside rushing icy streams fed by melting glaciers and ventured into the snow country above Gulmarg. They had visited the flower-spangled meadows of Sonamarg, where the towering cliffs on the far side of the valley marked the borders of the forbidden land of Tibet.

  It had been a time of love and laughter, of unimaginable beauty and, in the end, of devastating catastrophe.

  1969

  CHAPTER 6