Hell, wouldn't you know it!" She released a heavy, frustrated sigh and stood up. "I'll go get the first aid again." Then she was leaving the room, muttering: "It doesn't happen this way in the movies."
Del heard and rolled his eyes. "Tell me about it," he whispered softly to himself.
~o~o~o~o~
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.
CHAPTER THREE
1
"This is ridiculous!" A frustrated Jack Pierce walked around in a small circle. He didn't need the exercise and as an aid to solving his latest problem, the action was as much a waste of time as coming to Les Meyer in the first place. He raked an agitated hand through his thinning grey hair. "I gave you my resignation. Why can't you just accept it?"
Meyer was apparently enjoying himself while trying not to show it too much. "I have, Jack. The Company has. It's not a question of refusal."
"Then, what is it? Why can't I go? I've agreed to work out my shift...."
"Which would be quite acceptable under normal circumstances," interrupted Meyer. "But Merv Bryant's come down with a virus and as we haven't managed to find a replacement for you yet, you'll have to hang on till we do, or until Merv's well enough to come back to work."
"A virus!" Pierce couldn't believe that something invisible to the naked eye could be jeopardising his sanity. "When did a damned cold ever stop a man from doing his job?"
"Since medical science categorised it as a communicable disease! I can't drag a bloke out of his sick bed and risk three quarters of my crew going down with the flu just because you don't fancy pulling some extra time. Be reasonable, Jack. It'll be a week or a fortnight at most. You can wait that long, surely? What difference is a couple of weeks going to make?"
A lot of difference, thought Jack. He could be stark staring mad by then. There had to be another way! "What about Bill Rose? He's an experienced diver. He could handle it."
"But he's not a supervisor, Jack," drawled Meyer condescendingly. "You know Company policy."
"Stuff the Company, and its policies! I won't stand still for this, Les! One way or another, I'm getting off this rig!" He spun on his heel and stormed towards the door.
"Where are you going now?" Meyer couldn't decide whether to maintain his air of quiet indifference, or to leap from the chair and stop Pierce. It depended really what the man had in mind. He shifted his weight further forward in readiness. "There's nothing you can do."
Pierce clutched at the door frame. His knuckles turned white as he inflicted his anger on it. "I'm going to Doug Bromley, then we'll see who can do what!"
Meyer relaxed and eased back in the chair once more. "Forget it, Jack. Bromley's going out on today's chopper. He's leaving - he transferred." He allowed the smile that he had been suppressing to break and spread across his smug face. "We did manage to get a replacement for him."
As the colour drained from his cheeks, Pierce looked suddenly very old and tired, beaten in fact. Bromley had been his last hope. If he was flying out today, he wouldn't give two hoots about the rig, or Jack, especially not when he had transferred off Olympian and wouldn't be coming back. And it would be no good badgering the new man who probably knew nothing of the recent catastrophic events. Pierce had another awful thought - what if he was an apathetic bastard like Meyer? No way could he cope with two of them. He sighed deeply. "Who?" Meyer's eyebrows arched. The mongrel wanted to play the question-and-answer game - direct answers to specific questions. Pierce was definitely not in the mood. "Who is the new toolpusher?"
"Presswood. Derek Presswood, Del to his friends." Les noticed the jolt. It was only minor, but Pierce was shaken nevertheless and he failed to recover from the setback. Meyer decided it might be worth another prod. "Do you know him?"
Pierce worked his lips. They were as dry as his mouth had become. "I've heard of him." Had he ever! Eddie had talked about Presswood as if he were an older brother. They had been friends, and friends stuck together. It couldn't be coincidence. Presswood was coming out to investigate his friend's death. And that meant only one thing - he was coming after Jack!
Pierce left Meyer's
