Page 95 of Kiwi Gold
Drake said, “You can’t fight a rumor. Bloody poison.”
“Can’t you ask other people,” Laila asked, “whether they’ve heard it, and who they heard it from? No, wait. That would just spread the rumor more, wouldn’t it?”
“Yes,” I said. “Which means the only way to combat it is to keep going, and win the next one.” I rubbed my hand over my face. “We’re not solving this tonight, anyway, not after twenty-four hours on the plane.” Admitting weakness, but what the hell. “We’ll sleep on it,” I went on. “Maybe things will come clearer in the morning.” Losing the contract didn’t feel any better than it had before, but I’d lost the hopelessness, somehow. There would be an answer. Drake had been in this game too long for a rumor like that to stick, and as for me? Next time, I’d go into the presentation with audited financial statements. I’d put my solvency on blast.
Drake wasn’t answering, I realized. He looked gray, now that the adrenaline had receded, He was a bull of a man, but right now, with his two black eyes, his broken nose, and his remaining energy all but leaking out of him, he wasn’t. Whoever this was had known exactly where to hit him, in his stature and his competence. He didn’t have a wife anymore. He did have a firm, and a reputation.
Bastards,I thought.Bastards.And said, “I’ll give you a lift home.”
“No,” he said, and dragged himself to his feet. “I’ll be all right. It’s not far, and I’ll need the car in the morning.”
“Maori Hill,” Laila said. She wasn’t looking at her dad. She was looking at me. Her eyes said,Help me,and that was a message I was never going to be able to resist.
“Even better,” I said. “I can walk home.”
“Too far,” Drake said. “A good half hour’s walk, and that’s ridiculous. I’m good to drive.”
“Nah,” I said. “All downhill. It’ll clear my head. Let’s go.”
* * *
Drake’s car was a Volvo.No surprises there. He was silent for so long, once we climbed in and I set off up the hill, I thought we were going to go the whole way like that. Or, possibly, that he’d fallen asleep. He’d looked that knackered.
When we were through Prospect Park, though, and ascending up into the green leafiness that was Maori Hill, he said, “I could’ve been wrong about you.” Practically a loving cuddle, considering the source.
I said, “Likewise.” Cautiously.
“Your mum,” he said. “Philippa. How’s she taking this? The sperm donor bit?”
I had to think about that one. “She’s my mum,” I finally said. “Which means—hard to tell.” I’d rung her after that breakfast with the girls, but when I’d asked how she was going with the sperm-donor reveal, all she’d said was, “No worries. Somebody had to be the donor, and Torsten’s a good man. There are worse things than having your kids inherit that kind of strength.”
“She’s a proud woman,” Drake said, which wasn’t what I’d have expected. I hadn’t realized he’d known her that well. “She won’t thank me for judging her parenting, and I won’t be doing it. I’m in no position, eh. Just one daughter, and I may have made a few mistakes raising her. I reckon Philippa did well, raising those girls mostly on her own. Raising you, too. Five kids won’t have been easy.”
“No,” I said. “It wasn’t. She’s a bit like Laila that way: does what she has to do and doesn’t complain.”
“Stalwart,” he said, and explained, at my look of surprise, “Word I read in a book once.”
“Not sure what that means,” I said. “Other than that it’s positive.”
“Loyal,” he answered. “Reliable. Hardworking. Steadfast. Old-fashioned virtues, maybe. A woman nowadays might think those things aren’t sexy enough, but they’re pretty bloody important, at the end of the day. A stalwart partner’s a good thing to have in your corner.”
Not like Peter,I thought, and he probably thought the same. “Fortunately,” I said, “Mum’s never cared much what other people think. Funny thing, with a career in social media. She was always pretty clear, though, that that was the public side, and her private side wasn’t open for comment.” Which was why I wouldn’t be telling him about the dark roots and the crying in the shower. They weren’t mine to share.
“Mm,” he said. “It’s just here, on the left. Hang on. There’s a gate.”
There was indeed. The house was set far back from the road, accessible via a long drive. I waited for him to open the gate, then drove up yet another rise to the house and slotted the car into a garage. Security lights came on, but that was all, and I couldn’t make out much, except that you’d have a hell of a view from here. I got out and handed him the key, and he said, a bit gruffly, “Come in and call for an Uber, if you like.”
“Thanks,” I said, “but no. I meant it about clearing my head.”
“It’s a setback,” he said, “not a defeat.” To my surprise, he put out a hand. “I’ve said what I had to say about you with my daughter. I meant it, but Laila’s right. You’re those girls’ brother, and they’re my blood, so it’s time to back off. Got to be able to curve along with the road, eh, and our road’s got a fair few curves in it. If you hurt her, though, what I said before goes, sisters or no. She had a hard time with that show pony Ashford, though she’ll never tell me so. She deserves better. She’s worth rubies, and you’d best know it.”
“I do know it,” I said, clasping his hand and feeling the still-solid strength of him. If Laila was a woman from an older age, he was a man from one, striding straight out of some Norse myth. A hard man, but, I was realizing, a fair one. “I’ll be doing my best to keep her from harm. You have my word. See you Sunday. And if you think of an answer to our problem, or if you hear anything from the Saudis … ring me.”
“Same,” he said, and then he turned and trudged into the house. Tired, but not defeated.
Bloody but unbowed.That was another phrase from some old story, like “stalwart.” Like “steadfast.”
Like a sixty-two-year-old man with two black eyes and a broken nose, rolling with the punches and getting on with the job. Whoever had done this to us had better keep looking over his shoulder, because Torsten Drake was a bad enemy, not to mention one hell of an exploration geologist.
