Читать книгу The Devil's Whelp - Vin Hammond Jackson - Страница 17

She did tell him about it, in a letter, and about herself and how she felt. He was reading it in the plane as it taxied out of Tullamarine. Liz had written him two pages, nothing mushy or theatrical, no adolescent obscenities, just a few simple words about emotions and feelings that he could identify with. The rest was locked into his memory - her warmth, her touch, two nights of something very special. No regrets.

The turbines began to scream. He glanced at the runway speeding past the window and caught himself wishing he wasn't such a slave to his job. If he was half a man, he'd jump from the plane and return to her, maybe give away the oil business entirely and become a storeman or a council worker, something normal. Then the nose was up and the aircraft was climbing, burning fuel that he had helped provide. It was almost like suicide.

He stared for a while at nothing in particular. What was to see that he hadn't before? Except, his destination would be different this time. He would be closer to home, to Australia, to his broken marriage and a young son he would be lucky to see twice in two months. But he would also be closer to Liz and that would make the coming four weeks at least bearable.

A signal chimed and information blurb began to issue from the speakers around the cabin. Del unclipped his seat-belt; then stooped to drag his overnight bag from under the seat. It wasn't his usual one. He still had no idea where it or the suitcase had got to. He wasn't over-concerned about the loss - they contained mainly work clothes - it had simply meant returning to the house for replacements. He'd done the right thing and phoned beforehand. When he'd arrived, there was a set of luggage already packed and waiting outside on the porch. He'd tried knocking. He could hear Danny saying: "Mum, someone's at the door," but she hadn't answered. A quick glance at the shiny new cylinder confirmed that, predictably, the lock had been changed, so he'd tossed the old key on the mat and left.

Unzipping the bag on his lap, he pulled some clothes aside to make room for Liz's letter and found the one from Agnes MacFarlane. He groaned. In the confusion he had forgotten all about it. She must have packed it because he distinctly remembered leaving it on the kitchen table - point of information: Sally's table. He'd fully intended asking John about it, but with the business of Sally and the transfer, it had slipped his mind. Well, it was too late now. Perhaps by the time he finished this coming shift it would have all blown over and Eddie would be at peace. That was what was important - being at peace.

He thought about that sentiment and decided to read Liz's letter one last time. As he read, he wondered if he might not be experiencing a kind of peace himself, albeit the turbulent variety, if that wasn't a contradiction in terms. He lingered over her last line, wishing it wasn't the end, hoping it was a sign of a new beginning: "Come back soon." she'd written, and then the best, most unbelievable bit: "I love you - Liz."

He smiled as he finally packed it away and thought to himself - four weeks wasn't such a long time. How bad could it be? Admittedly, he would have to defer his courtship of Liz, but there were some advantages to being incommunicado. Sally couldn't get on his case, for one, and even Agnes MacFarlane couldn't screw up his life once he was out at sea. For twenty-eight days he could turn his back on whomsoever he pleased and there wasn't a damned thing they could do about it.

He relaxed in his seat to wait for the refreshments to come round and smiled - this transfer to Olympian might not be such a bad move after all.