money and cashed up and went with his third wife, I think, to Margaret River.
“Happy as pigs they are down there now. He keeps me in wine and fossicks around the other wineries for anything else that he thinks I might like. He sends me far too much, but he’s seen the big cellar under this house and he insists that it must be stocked. The way I’m going, my heirs will be able to drink themselves silly and not spend a dollar.”
The mention of his heirs took the smile off her face as she thought about Ewen somewhere in the moonscape of Afghanistan. Angus saw her expression change and said softly, “He’ll be all right, Pat. We must be positive.” Scared to admit a shiver had gone down his spine as well.
She gazed into the red wine in her glass and, without looking at him, said quietly, “I know. I’ve been there. To Afghanistan…it’s such a hostile landscape to fly in…never mind the Taliban; they just make it infinitely worse. But the troops have very sophisticated communications…even personal satellite phones.”
Angus put a little more wine in his glass. “So if Ewen and his mates are out there then they, his commanders, will know?”
“Yes, they will – getting them out is the difficult part. Nobody knows where the Taliban are, not for sure anyway. They, the Taliban, have some quite sophisticated weapons and communications as well. Some left behind by the Russians, most from over the border in Pakistan, probably bought with US aid money. The other trouble is, it’s an SAS operation, so they could be anywhere, even in Pakistan.”
“If they are in Pakistan, what does that mean?”
“I’m not sure, but I gather it would save a lot of trouble if they could get back into Afghanistan. There seems to be a fine balance between the war against terrorism and invading Pakistan’s airspace and all the diplomacy that would involve. I’m only just another pilot, Angus. I can only tell you what we have been told when flying out there.”
‘What was Ewen flying?’
“Who knows? They were probably flying at night using night-vision. Low-level stuff. Not without danger at the best of times.”
A moth attracted by the light fluttered around the hot light globe. It clung to it for a moment and then, damaged, fell to the table, still fluttering, not dead but disoriented. They both watched it struggle back into flight and back into the heat of the globe only to fall again.
Chapter 2.
The waiting begins.
When Pat woke the next morning it was to a soft knock on her bedroom door. Realising she was naked Pat scrambled to find the towelling bathrobe Alice had provided. All she could remember from the night before was that they had finished their meal, Angus had fetched her canvas holdall from her car, steered her towards her bedroom, given her a quick kiss on the cheek, said goodnight and opened the bedroom door for her. She didn’t remember undressing; getting into the big soft bed was the last thing she remembered.
There was another knock and as she pulled the robe around her Alice’s head appeared round the door. “Tea Pat, I took a guess and made it white with no sugar?”
“Thanks Alice. Have I slept in, what time is it?”
“Just after seven. No, you haven’t slept in. In case you’ve forgotten, today is Sunday so Angus is only just up. I think he was all tuckered out last night like you. He’s out on the veranda drinking tea; go and join him.”
“I need a shower first.”
“Go and join him. He’s just sitting there in shorts and tee-shirt. Drink your tea out there, then, have a shower while I get breakfast. Do you want something cooked? There’s plenty of fruit and cereals. I brought some fresh bread out from Carnarvon. Baking day is Tuesday after washday on Monday. Old habits you know, they never die.”
“Just fruit and cereals for me, Alice. I’m not vegetarian, that fillet last night was scrummy, but I don’t eat a lot of meat. I find it easier living on my own; buy it raw eat it raw, saves on the washing up.”
“Scrambled eggs? Guaranteed organic chooks.”
“What will Angus have?”
“Probably everything that you have plus scrambled eggs and bacon and piles of toast. I keep telling him that one day he’ll start putting weight on, but he doesn’t, like his father; thin as an old roo dog and eats enough for three.”
Alice motioned to the French windows leading out on to the veranda. “Go out that way. He’s just outside reading the papers I brought out from town. He doesn’t bother with papers much, only when I get them.”
Pat tied her robe, slipped the catch on the doors and stepped out on to the veranda. She could tell it was going to be a hot again, maybe more humid than the previous day. The evening thunderclouds were still there; now they were more active but silent in their mounting rage.
The west side of Bangalore was in the shade and the first thing Pat noticed was the scent from the hundreds of roses in the flower beds that, mixed with the scent from the biggest Frangipani she had ever seen, gave the morning a gentle and exotic freshness.
From a big high-backed cane armchair she heard, “Morning, Pat, lovely morning?”
Angus was lounging in the big chair. Faded blue tee-shirt and shorts, tousled uncombed hair, two days of black stubble flecked with grey. Arms and legs deeply tanned except for his feet, which, shaded from the sun by boots, were a creamy light tan. He looked rested and relaxed.
“Morning, Angus, this quiet, the smell of the roses, the gentle light is all a bit surreal; yesterday was so tumultuous.” She smiled as she sat in a chair opposite him, “Did I fall asleep at the table last night?”
“Nearly. I realised at one stage that I was talking to myself so I went and got your bag out of your car, showed you to your room pushed you inside, you mumbled goodnight and that was that. I then rang my father and to give him the news. He took it well and sent his best to you.”
Pat looked out on the lawns and the roses and then further out beyond the lawn to the carefully planted river red gums and white barked river gums, which provided a natural barrier between the garden and the wide expanse of the red dusty outback.
As she was looking, Angus started talking. “Somewhere in the office there are the original drawings of my great grandfather’s design, his vision of what he wanted the garden to look like. We’ve pretty much remained faithful to that vision, even the fountain was his idea but the best he could do was feed it from a cocky tank, you know, one up on a high stand. It worked all right but now I’ve put a little solar pump on it so it runs during the day and turns off at night. I can override it if we have guests and they want atmosphere here in this uninhabited land.” She looked at him and could see that he was smiling with eyebrows raised, almost mocking those who wanted to impose on his sanctuary.
“All these gardens, Angus, they must use a lot of water?” As she spoke sprinklers popped up on one section of the lawn and immediately attracted a few galahs and some little birds she didn’t recognise.
“Water is something that we have plenty of. How he did it, heaven knows. Imagine coming out here over a hundred years ago with nothing except a few horses, pack camels and camel carts and deciding, in mid-summer mind you, that this was the place. Some say there was a water diviner among the Afghans. Some say there
