Читать книгу Bangalore - Roger Crook - Страница 4

The family gathers.

At two o’clock that afternoon Angus and Pat sat on the veranda waiting for the sound of Roddy’s plane. The day was hot and the humidity stifling. The thunderclouds, which had hung around for days, were building up again, fast. This time they looked as if they meant business.

Angus looked at the clouds. “Hope Roddy packed some sick bags; Michelle doesn’t have much of a stomach for a bit of turbulence. I think they’ll be having a bumpy trip. I had a look on the Internet. It says the weather could be interesting after about Mullewa. The last thing we need is a downpour here. The landing strip will be all right; it’ll take a lot of water. But for Michelle, it’ll be a white knuckle job if there’s much of a side wind and rain when they land.”

“How long has Roddy been flying?” Pat asked.

“More than twenty years as far as I know. He’s a good pilot as far as I can gather. I’ve never been up with him. He puts in a lot of flying hours both on business and for pleasure. It’s a lovely plane he flies, a Cessna Stationaire, which he bought new last year. It’s state-of-the-art in every way, especially the avionics. He even had big wheels fitted; they are especially designed for landing on dirt strips. He flies up to exploration companies and mine sites, so it was sensible, necessary really.”

“He sounds more like a business executive than a lawyer, and very rich.”

“Lawyers have a better nose for money than many a businessman. They get involved in negotiations with traditional owners for mining leases. They draft documents from the beginning, when the parties reach an MOU. Then they draft final agreements. They appear at hearings. Check prospectus. All for a fat fee. For Roddy that means somewhere around seven hundred to a thousand dollars an hour and more. After that he sits on company boards and gets a fat director’s fee. On top of all that, Roddy’s firm, Goldsmith and Blaud, specialises in taxation, so he represents the big end of town to make sure they don’t pay tax or pay the very minimum. I didn’t know until recently that the Tax Office will negotiate with big end of town if it looks as if they are in for an expensive fight. Roddy may not make the tens of millions some CEOs make, but he won't be far off. He has his fingers in many a pie, both here and overseas. Africa is the flavour of the month, I gather.”

“I think I can hear a plane now, off to the south,” Pat said.

Angus listened. “That must be them. Those new turbo prop engines have a sound all of their own, don’t they? He’ll fly over the homestead; the airstrip is about a mile to the east. Let’s go and get the car.”

As they walked out of the back door the first big drops of rain started to fall and a gust of wind lifted the fine red dust. Angus’ car was a twenty-year-old Mercedes diesel station wagon. It was the only Mercedes that Pat had ever seen with a roo bar. Bolted to the bar were two big spotlights, the kind favoured by the truckies. As they climbed in Angus said, “Don’t let the exterior mislead you, Pat. She may be twenty years old but mechanically she’s perfect. A couple of bumps here and there but she’s good for another couple of hundred thousand.”

Inside the Mercedes the leather upholstery was covered with fitted sheepskin covers. As he started the diesel motor he opened his window slightly as the air-conditioning started to take over from the heat inside. By the time they were bouncing down the road to the airstrip the rain got heavier and there were flashes of lightning in the north.

Angus looked at the sky, looked at Pat and smiled. “That’s Roddy – just in time. That storm is coming this way and I reckon it’s about half an hour away. It’ll give us time to put his plane in the hangar out of harm’s way, save us having to tie it down. I bet he’s been watching that storm and had it flat chat.”

The windsock at the landing strip was horizontal, indicating a strong northerly wind. They stopped by a hangar. There was another hangar about one hundred metres away. “You didn’t say you had a plane, Angus.”

“You didn’t ask. I thought Ewen would have told you. This is where he learned to fly, same plane too, an ancient Cessna 180, affectionately known as Bessie, don’t know why, I think the kids named her. My father bought it when he moved to Perth, second hand then. Like my car she looks a bit forlorn, especially against Roddy’s gleaming monster, but she’s as good as we can keep her, needs a paint job really; apart from that she’s as good as the day she was built.” They pushed open the sliding doors of the hangar to reveal as Angus had said, a Cessna 180 with faded red paint, and a little dusty.

Now they could not only hear Roddy but they could see him in the south, as, into the wind, he lined up the runway on his final approach. A loud clap of thunder made them both jump as the Cessna Stationaire made a perfect landing almost level with the hangar. Pat and Angus watched as he taxied and then turned towards them. Behind the plane the storm had arrived faster than Angus had predicted. There was a savage fork of lightning that seemed to be just at the northern end of the runway followed by a clap of thunder that rattled the sliding doors of the hangar. Then the heavens opened.

Roddy taxied right up to the hangar doors and turned the engine off. The rain was falling in sheets. They watched as Roddy opened his door and climbed out and they helped him push the plane a few yards into the hangar and got soaked in the process.

Pat hadn’t met Michelle and didn’t know what to expect. Her romance with Ewen had been short, just three months, and during that time Michelle and Roddy had been away on a business trip and holiday for the same duration. They had been to South Africa to see his family, then on to look at an investment one of the companies, of which he was a director, had made somewhere in Africa. Then on to London for two weeks and then a month for Michelle in Vale, Colorado, skiing, while Roddy did, as he said, ‘A few things in the States and Canada’.

The rear door of the plane opened and Roddy helped Michelle out. Pat knew she was the same age as Angus, so just over fifty. She was dressed for the bush. Well-fitting jeans, plaited leather belt, blue-striped long-sleeved shirt with the Longhorn logo over the left breast pocket; polished but not new Cuban-heeled R M Williams boots completed the outfit.

She was of medium height, with a trim but full figure that showed no sign of running away to excess. She looked fit and tanned. Blonde hair that was just above shoulder length and looked as if it received plenty of professional attention; for the flight she had it pinned back behind her ears. She wore no jewellery except for a broad white-gold wedding ring, gold stud earrings, each with a small diamond and a simple fine gold chain around her neck. Very pale lipstick was all the makeup she wore.

When Michelle saw Pat she smiled and Pat saw a stunningly beautiful woman. Michelle said, “You must be, Patricia. Ewen told me over the phone that he had met a beautiful girl.” She gave Pat a warmish half-hug, just enough, and a kiss on the cheek. “How long have you been here, Patricia?”

“Yesterday afternoon. I drove up. Left on Friday, stayed the night at Carnarvon and then came on out here.”

“What a pity we didn’t know what we were doing. You could have come with us and Roddy could have shown you his new toy; you probably could have flown it, couldn’t she, Roddy?” Her voice was what Patricia’s father always called an ‘Australian money’ accent. Not quite Australian and not quite English upper class, somewhere in between, unique to Australia. In Western Australia mostly found in the river suburbs of Perth, in the up-market boutiques and coffee shops, and at the big end of town among lawyers, stockbrokers and those with old money, or wealth, real or pretend. An accent that blows away forever the popular myth of Australia being a classless society.

Pat’s father had always taken pride in his Scottish accent, and like many Scots in Australia, it had never left him. A Labour man when in the UK, he became a fierce Labor man in Australia. She remembered him making fun of Malcolm Fraser, commenting, “How could Australia have ever trusted a man that speaks like that, that toffee-nosed prat?” Michelle’s was that kind of ‘Malcolm Fraser’ accent.

Roddy Goldsmith had been taking luggage out of the locker of the plane and he turned to Pat when Michelle asked her question. “Hello, Patricia, pleased to meet you. Yes you could have taken over coming up here, suppose this sort of thing, gesturing to his plane, is pretty much all in a day’s work for you?”

Pat held out her hand and his handshake was firm and in spite of the heat of the day, cool to touch. “Not really, Roddy. Haven’t flown anything like this for a while now, but the avionics and instruments Angus tells me are state-of-the-art, so I’m sure I would soon get the hang of things. It’s a lovely plane.”

Pat saw that Roddy was about the same height as Michelle, slim waisted with no sign of a paunch. She guessed his age to be about fifty. Powerful shoulders, close-cropped grey hair running to bald on the top, clean-shaven and wearing rimless spectacles. Like Michelle he looked fit and tanned. She recognised his accent as being from southern Africa. It was quite distinct but again had a refinement to it. She was later to learn that he had been born in what was now Zimbabwe, had been educated in England and qualified as a lawyer in England and then practised in London and Cape Town before migrating to Australia in the early eighties.

Roddy too, was dressed for the bush, bone-coloured jeans, light-blue long-sleeved shirt and polished, brown, elastic-sided boots. As Pat helped Roddy with the last of the luggage and Michelle watched them, Angus came round from the other side of the plane with his arm round the shoulder of his daughter, Rachael.

She was without doubt her father’s daughter. Same black hair, same dark to sallow complexion, and dark eyes behind black-rimmed glasses. Rachael was smaller than Angus but with the same, seemingly ungainly, yet graceful walk. Pat could see the Indian in her from many generations ago. There was nothing that Pat could see which would identify her to an outsider as Michelle’s daughter.

Unlike Michelle and Roddy she wore khaki long shorts and a faded blue Billabong tee-shirt and sandals. When she saw Pat she held out her arms to her and enveloped her in a genuine hug. “I’ve been waiting so long to meet you. Ewen never stops talking about you every time he phones me. Now, what do we call you? I know Ewen calls you Pat, so is it Pat or Patricia?”

“Pat.”

“Good. Now, Roddy, where’s my backpack?”

“Round the other side, Rachael; haven’t had time to get it out yet.”

As she got her old and well-travelled backpack from the other side of the plane there was another flash of lightning followed by another door-rattling clap of thunder and the heavens opened again.

Angus got his station wagon as close to the doors of the hangar as he could and they all clambered in after putting the luggage in the back. Pat couldn’t help but notice the contrast between Michelle and Roddy’s expensive matching leather cabin and suit bags and Rachael’s old backpack covered in airline and hotel stickers. She also couldn’t help noticing that Michelle got in the front of the station wagon and left Roddy and Rachael to stow the luggage and Angus to slide the doors of the hangar closed.

The storm passed as quickly as it had arrived and before they got back to Bangalore there was only light rain falling. Angus pulled up at the front of the big house and Michelle quickly got out of the Mercedes and ran up the steps on to the veranda and again waited for the others to unload the luggage. Angus hadn’t said a word to Michelle since they’d arrived. She’d given him a quick peck on the cheek when Rachael had been giving Pat a hug; that had been all the greeting they’d exchanged.

Angus, carrying Michelle’s bag and suit bag, and Roddy, carrying his own, followed Michelle up onto the veranda. “Where have you put us, Angus; in the main guest room?” Michelle asked.

“No, Pat is in there. I’ve put you three in the South Wing.”

“Wouldn’t the girls be better together down there? Then they can talk and things.” Michelle’s voice had taken a harder more strident note, almost demanding a change in the arrangements.

Before Angus could reply and before Pat could offer to move, Rachael said, “For God’s sake Mother, stop making a fuss and trying to change everything. We arrive almost without notice and you want Dad to move poor Pat. We’ll be very comfortable down there. It will be like old times.” She hadn’t raised her voice but in one sentence she’d settled the matter without giving Michelle a chance to reply, let alone argue. Rachael picked up her backpack and led the party into the house and down to the South Wing. As she strode down the hall she called out, “Alice, Alice, where are you?”

“In here, darling. In the kitchen.”

Rachael dropped her backpack in the hall and ran into the kitchen. Alice was standing by the big wooden table putting salad into a bowl and as Rachael ran into the room, Alice dried her hands on a tea towel and held out her arms. The two of them stood there hugging and kissing each other on the cheek. Rachael was crying and Alice brushed her hair from her eyes and gave her another kiss and held her at arm’s length, “My, you do look well, Rachael. Sydney must agree with you, darling.”

“It does, Alice, but there’s no place like home. It’s just a pity that I’m here because of Ewen.”

“I know. Has Pat told you we’ve had a call from the army?”

“We haven’t had time yet, but Mum caught up with her calls while we were coming up here so we’ve got the news. I’m so worried.”

Alice stroked Rachael’s hair. “I know, sweetheart, he’ll be all right I’m sure. Now go and wash your face. Lunch will be about half an hour. Tell Michelle will you?”

Michelle wasn’t there to see the emotional re-union. As soon as Rachael had run into the kitchen she had turned down the short passage leading to the South Wing telling Roddy and Angus to follow her. Finding herself the only witness to the re-union, Pat turned and went back out onto the front veranda and found Angus, hands in pockets looking at the gathering storm clouds.

He turned to see if Pat was on her own and smiled. “She doesn’t change – Michelle, I mean.”

“Rachael said that Michelle had spoken with the army, so they know about Ewen. I didn’t get a chance to tell them when they landed.” Pat was half-apologetic but realised that since they had arrived less than half an hour ago, the time had been packed with family emotions which she didn’t really understand.

Angus put his arm around her shoulder and gave her a squeeze. “Don’t worry about it, Pat; it’s always the same. If Michelle were honest, Alice spent more time with Rachael as a child than she did. Alice and Rachael are very close as you’ve no doubt seen.” Before he could continue, Michelle and Roddy came out of the house and joined them.

Michelle looked at them standing there, Angus with his arm around Pat. “My God, Angus, you could be Ewen standing there. I know you are alike but I’ve never seen it so strikingly before. I’m dying for a drink.”

“What would you like – wine, gin and tonic, beer?”

“Cold white wine would be lovely.”

Angus looked down at Pat, still with his arm around her, “Pat?”

“Could I have a beer, Angus?”

“Course you can. I’ll join you. Roddy?”

“Same again, Angus, please.”

Angus went off into the house to get the drinks and for a moment they stood in silence. Then Roddy spoke to Pat and she looked at him and immediately felt uncomfortable; his eyes seemed to be boring into her even though he was smiling. “Now Pat, you’re in the RAAF and a pilot, so what is it, Pilot Officer Fawcett?” The question was blunt and Pat felt unnecessarily probing considering that they had only spoken a few words of greeting over the previous half-hour.

Trying to look as relaxed as he could she smiled and said, “No, it’s Flight Lieutenant, actually, and yes, I’m a career officer in the RAAF, nearly ten years now since my commission. After this tour with the army I hope to go Canberra and take up my profession again.”

Roddy stood there smiling at her and before he could speak Michelle butted in, “Patricia, I had no idea you had a profession – I thought all the RAAF did was fly and maintain aircraft.”

“That’s only what the public see, Michelle. The RAAF is a high tech business these days. We operate a wide range of aircraft from VIP passenger aircraft, to the planes which are used by the PM and cabinet, as well as our defence capabilities. We have to keep up with the rest of the world and we have to be part of, and act as an interface with, what the military and in some cases the civil aircraft industry are developing.”

Almost demeaning, but not quite, Michelle asked, “So what is your – profession?”

“I’m an aeronautics engineer.”

Before either Michelle or Roddy could ask another question Rachael joined them and Michelle turned to her. “Rachael, did you know that Patricia is an engineer?”

“I did, and a very good one I’ve heard. Ewen told me. He also told me, Pat, that you have been resisting going to Canberra and a promotion for some time. What would the promotion make you, Squadron Leader Fawcett?”

Pat gave a little laugh, “That’s only part true Rachael, I’ve been working on my last semester for my Master’s Degree, externally. I’m here looking at the particular operational needs of the Special Forces in both fixed and rotary wing and at the same time trying to get my final ratings for a number of aircraft. Heavy lift rotary is the area I want to specialise in, the RAAF understands, so far, anyway.

“The army does rotary wing; that’s helicopter flying. That’s why I’m based with the RAAF in Perth and working with the army. Special Forces have special needs. On what, I can’t tell you. I happen to believe that if I’m going to sit behind a desk and be of any use, then I should have as much experience of aircraft in all areas where they operate – that includes seeing how combat zones function. That’s what got me to Afghanistan. The RAAF does the transport. I pulled a few strings with the army and got a ride a couple of times in the Chinooks.”

Angus came through the door with a tray of drinks and handed them around. As her mother watched her, Rachael grabbed a stubby of beer and took a quick drink.

“Rachael, didn’t Angus bring you a glass?”

“I said I didn’t want one.”

Michelle’s voice went up half an octave. “Why?” It sounded more like “Whey?”

“Saves the washing up.”

“But he has a dish washer.”

“I don’t. Force of habit I suppose.”

In the same tone as she had asked Pat about her profession, Michelle said, “Well, I hope you don’t do the same thing with wine.”

With resignation Rachael looked at her. “I don’t Mother, not yet, but if I do I promise I will wrap it in a brown paper bag and drink where nobody can see me.” Under her breath as she turned to Pat she muttered, “And certainly not in Perth.”

Angus watched the exchange between mother and daughter, and changed the subject. “Alice said about fifteen minutes. She brought a heap of fish back from Carnarvon, so, for anyone who doesn’t want fish, the alternative is cold chicken.” Nobody answered, so he left to tell Alice.

Roddy was looking out on the garden and Rachael and Pat had moved three or so paces away from Michelle talking, laughing and drinking their beer. She moved to join them smiling but determined not to give up on the question of drinking beer. “Aren’t you two worried that you’ll get a tummy drinking beer, no sign of it now – but as you get older?”

“Not me, Mother,” answered Rachael. “I still swim four or five times a week; try and do my fifty laps if I can. How about you, Pat?”

“We’re lucky. We have a good gym on base, including a swimming pool. I’m not a big swimmer but I play squash when I can and I’m hooked on jogging. I also go surfing as often as I can.”

“There you go, Mother,” said Rachael. “You should tell that personal fitness coach of yours that you want to drink beer. He’ll give you some tummy exercises to keep it all in control.”

“I’ve never drunk beer, you know that; well, not since I was about nineteen anyway.” When there was no reply from either girl she walked over to Roddy and stood talking to him.