THURSDAY'S ORCHID (13 page)

I left Pete to mooch around the wharf, out of earshot, telling him I was calling a girl back home and wanted some privacy.

Nick had been anticipating the worst. If I hadn’t known him better, I would have thought he sounded disappointed when I told him that everything had gone without a hitch. He was the worst worrier I had come across since Jim Munro, those thousands of years ago on the island.

Maybe that was why he was successful. He would worry every aspect of a deal until it was as perfect and as foolproof as it could possibly be; and then he would worry it some more.

“Is there any news from our Singapore friend?” I asked. Not that I expected anything startling.

“Not really,” he replied in a low conspi
ratorial voice. “I spoke to him the day you left, and again yesterday, letting him know you were expected in Cairns today. I’ll give him another call tomorrow, after you’ve sailed.” He paused. “Tek said that everything at their end is ready for you. Oh yes,” he added, almost as an afterthought. “The financial arrangements are all in place.”

Thank Christ for that!
Maybe now he would stop worrying.

“One further thing, Jeff,” he went on. “I didn’t quite understand
what it was about, but I guess you will. I was told to tell you that the orchid you left behind is well, and eagerly awaiting your return.” He paused again. “What was that all about?”

I laughed and told him not to worry. We chatted on, discussing other matters for a couple of minutes. He wished me luck and said that Angeline sent her love.

“And mine to her,” I replied. “Tell her that was a great meal the other night. I really enjoyed it. Oh, and regards to that lovely daughter of yours, that Sophie.”

I was interested to see
whether she might have dropped a hint to Nick about our midnight meeting.

“I’ll tell her,” he said, la
ughing. “But I don’t think it’ll register. She’s just got a new boyfriend and her head is in the clouds. You should see Angeline. She’s having a fit!”

I breathed a sigh of relief.

It was at least six or seven years since I had last been in Cairns, and the place had changed. The motels along Sheridan Street seemed to have doubled in number and height, and the city proper had spread out even further, but the big wide streets were still coping well, and would do so for years to come.

The wharf area had certainly kept pace with the growth in tourism, with a number of new buildings and several more island cruise-boats; and a new naval depot.

I like Cairns, with its greenery and the heavy damp air. It’s not like some of the areas further south: Townsville and Rockhampton, where the landscape is brown for most of the year. Here, in the centre of the city itself and in the gardens of houses and hotels along the beachfront, there are palms and frangipani, hibiscus and ginger plants; all in great abundance. It seemed fresh somehow; the dust washed away by tropical rain; the city backed by mountains clothed in lush rainforest, bound on its front by the blue Pacific Ocean. With a population of seventy or eighty thousand people or thereabouts, it’s not a large city by some standards, but large enough to have every amenity imaginable.

We wandered the streets during the last hour of the day, eyeing the girls and enjoying the freedom from the confines of the ship. It wa
s good to see fresh faces again and to smell the scent of grass, and exhaust fumes.

It was only six days since we had left Adelaide, but it seemed much longer. And if six days was an age, then the next leg of the voyage would take an eternity. Mee Ling was weeks away.

We didn’t think they would miss us on board for dinner. Most of the officers would probably be ashore in any case. So we hurried back to the ship and changed into fresh clothes, and caught a taxi into the city. After cruising around for a while we finally decided on dinner at some place recommended by the taxi driver.

Our hopes of finding a couple of unattached girls met with no success. The taxi driver had extolled not only the food, but also its reputation
as being the eating place for the young singles. Either we had picked the wrong night, or he was on a commission. I tended to believe it was the latter.

The night still being only a few hours old, I convinced Pete that we should take in a nightclub. We downed the final cup of coffee, paid the bill
, and made for the door.

It was still too early for the few night-spots, so
we used up an hour walking the streets, browsing in shop windows and rebutting the offer of a
quickie
; two for the price of one – the special price quoted by a lady of the night.

The Playpen International
– one of the few nightclubs in Cairns. I had been there twice during earlier visits to the north, and come away more than satisfied on both occasions.

But I was low in spirit and annoyed at not finding anyone at the restaurant
; and had forgotten how much water had passed under the bridge since my last visit to the
Playpen
. The place hadn’t changed all that much, but I had. Or was it the crowd? The girls now seemed years younger; some of them kids fresh out of school. I probably looked like a grandfather to many of them; or at least an uncle. Pete thought it was great, young impressionable dollies everywhere, and he the big hot-shot exporter.

My problem was Mee Ling. If Nick hadn’t mentioned her it might have been different. I missed her. It was as simple as that.

“Hey!” Pete called above the blaring music. “What the hell’s the matter with you? Get amongst it, man! There’s some real cute stuff here.” He took another swallow from his glass. “Get a load of the knockers on that one over there!”

And a load was probably what you would get as well, I thought to myself.

“Okay, Pete,” I replied, trying to get into the swing of things. “Just let me rest my weary old bones for a few minutes. We old folk aren’t as sprightly as you young guys.” He threw a four-letter word my way and was off into the crowd.

I sat at the table for a while longer, realizing that I was mooning over a girl like a lovesick t
eenager. If I was going to act like a teenager, then I might as well start mixing with teenagers.

From then on the night turned i
nto a real ball. Pete had been right; there was some good-looking talent, and they weren’t all straight out of school either. We chatted up a few secretaries, a couple of nurses – and even a female dentist.

Nurses can be good fun; and
that’s what I was looking for: good, clean fun, not just a pleasant, conversational hour or two. No sooner had I latched on to a buxom piece, blonde hair and good legs, than Pete got on to her friend – a receptionist at some doctor’s surgery. They were both over twenty-one, but not by much.

Pete fed them
some story about me being a ship-owner on my way to Singapore in one of my vessels, hoping to sell it to some wealthy Chinese mandarin. He told them he was my lawyer and would be handling the negotiations and legal details. I don’t know whether they believed him or not; but it was enough to get them back to the ship.

The owner’s cabin impressed them both. We hadn’t bumped into any of the crew on our ret
urn, and the night watchman had taken one look at us, turned his back, and walked away. I’ll say this for Pete; he didn’t waste any time. He had the doctor’s receptionist out of my cabin and up to his own before we had been on board five minutes.

I was right about nurses being good fun.
Her knockers were real and she was a genuine blonde – unless she used the same brand of hair tint in all the right places. It was rollicking, jolly, bum-slapping sex; what’s known as a roll in the hay: all good fun and no recriminations afterwards. I can’t stand a girl who won’t look you in the face and talk when the puffing has stopped. Some will give you a coy smile; but the ones I really appreciate are those that tell you it was good fun and let’s do it again. As long as they don’t keep on asking. My stamina falls off after the second or third round.

I saw my nurse
off in a taxi at about four in the morning. I didn’t know how Pete was getting on and it was none of my business in any case. He could bounce her all the way to Singapore as far as I was concerned. God, but it had been good! I felt marvelous!

The light was streaming through the porthole as I awoke to a gentle scratching on the door. I murmured to whomever it was to turn the handle and come on in. Pete lurched through the doorway, a wide grin splitting his face.

“Didn’t know whether you might still have company,” he said. “How did you get on?”

He took one look at the mess the bunk was in and didn’t both
er to ask anything further.

“Wha
t time did you get rid of yours?” I asked.

“Oh, my little darling went about three. I took her back to her flat in a cab. It was almost four by the time I got back to the ship. Shit, but I’m tired.” He sat on the end of the bunk, making himself at home, and yawned. “Well, my old mate. What are we going to do today; our last day in good old Oz?”

I scratched myself and rolled out of bed. “Let’s take a hire-car and go up to Port Douglas for the day. We could have a few beers and take in the scenery: Mossman, the Daintree, the beaches. There’s some pretty spots further north from here. I feel the need to see a bit more greenery before we get back to sea. What do you reckon?”

He got up – staggered would be more to the point – moved to the porthole, blinked a few times and finally said: “I’ll tell you after my second cup of coffee. See you at breakfast.”

We set out shortly after ten. It took that long for Pete to get himself organized. At first he suggested that we might look the girls up, and take them out for lunch or a drink, or maybe invite them back to the ship again.

“Those bitches!” I cursed. He spun round, surprised at my sudden outburst. “Well, shit!” I snapped again. “I don’t know about yours, but that so-called nurse of mine certainly was.” He still looked puzzled as I asked: “Did you lose anything?”

I had returned after taking a shower and noticed that some of my shirts had been moved to the back of the drawer. Then I realised that my two suitcases had been opened and everything turned upside down, but done neatly. It didn’t look as though anything had been taken. There were a few dollars in loose change lying around, but none of it had been touched.

I wasn’t certain what she had been after: jewellery possibly, but I didn’t have any of that, except my watch. Maybe she was just curious; but she must have been busy when I had slipped out to the toilet in the early hours of the morning. I explained it all to Pete. He hadn’t had any problems with his girl.

“Well,” I said. “Let’s forget it and take it easy for the rest of the day. Mark it down to experience. We’ve both had a good screw. It should last us for a couple of days. Coming?”

Port Douglas: a hundred kilometres north of Cairns. It used to be a gold-rush town around the turn of the century. Now it’s just tourists and up-market resorts. At one time there were twenty-six pubs, but now only two: the
Central
and the
Court House
.

We drove through Mossman up to the ferry at the Daintree River crossing.
Pete wouldn’t believe the sign warning of crocodiles until I suggested that he take a swim, and even then he wasn’t certain. So we called in at the Crocodile Park on the way back to Cairns. He believed it then. And, as the mighty jaws slammed shut on a chicken carcass, he came out with his most uncharitable remark of the day.

“That reminds me,” he said. “I must phone my mother when we get back to Cairns.”

The captain had told us to be back on board no later than five in the afternoon, at which time he expected to be ready to sail; intimating that if we weren’t back by then, the ship wouldn’t be there when we did arrive.

We dropped off the rental car and strolled back through the streets, both knowing it would be weeks before our feet would walk on sol
id ground again; arriving back on board at a little after four. I wouldn’t have minded missing the ship, but I knew that if I did I could kiss goodbye to Mee Ling – and to a few other treasured things as well if anything should happen to the grass.

The loading was finished
and the crew were putting the hatch covers back over the forward hold, now full of sacks of rich-smelling raw sugar.

Half an hour la
ter the lines were cast off and the gangway hauled aboard. Ropes were thrown down to the harbour tug and once again we moved away from land, bound for the open sea.

Pete and I stood down at the stern, watching as Cairns slowly disappeared, sinking below the horizon. An hour later the sun went down behind the darkening mountains and set as only a tropical sun can set: with a blaze of crimson and gold bursting out from fading clouds. And then there was nothing to be seen but a glow from the lights of the city, hiding below the skyline, until at last that too disappeared.

The next sighting of land would be Singapore.

“There it goes,” I said quietly. “Take one last glimpse at civilization.” The look on his face turned to sadness as he realised for the first time that he was leaving his home behind and travelling to a foreign land. “Don’t worry, my boy,” I laughed, trying to lighten the mood. “You’ll soon get used to the fleshpots of the East. You had your penicillin shots before you left home, I presume?”