then heaved in a deep breath and said, “It was all but done. One final signature from one of his board members, but that particular member had veto power. She pulled the plug this morning.”
“Why?”
“She felt Australia was risky for them. It wasn’t in keeping with their company mandate.”
“Are you going to be in trouble?”
“No. Heavens, no. It’s . . . It was just, you know, a personal project.”
“Because it’s where you used to spend family holidays? Because it was the land your brother couldn’t develop—a project he couldn’t make happen?”
He nodded.
“So this kills it? Like totally?”
He gave an irritated shrug. “It’s the second backer to pull out after everything was almost in the bag. Could give others cold feet. Sometimes these things are all about perception and timing.”
“Is it a risky proposition, then?”
“Hell no, Ellie. This could be one of the top resorts and residential marina developments south of Sydney. It’s an ideal location. It’s got everything. It’ll cost to get it off the ground, yes, and the global economy plus the current real estate climate in Australia has made investors twitchy. But it could pay off huge.” He waved his hand in the air and motioned for another drink. The waiter appeared in seconds and set it down in front of him, ice clinking against glass. Martin sipped again. The rate he was drinking, this was clearly gutting him. I had not seen Martin like this. It set me on edge. I needed to make him feel better.
“Hey. It’ll be fine,” I said. “You’ll find another—”
“Oh, Ellie, shut up, will you.”
I blinked. Hurt washed through me.
“How much?”
“What?”
“How much were they in for?”
He narrowed his eyes. “Why?”
“Just tell me.”
“Twenty-six million to start.”
“Describe the project to me.”
His brow lowered. A small muscle pulsed along his jaw. I felt anger radiating off him. Caution whispered, but I insisted. “Tell me.”
He moistened his lips. “In a nutshell, three phases. One is proposed residential—very high-end marina properties. All the lots would be an acre or more. Waterfront along channels that would be cut into mangrove flats. Access would be via the Agnes River into Agnes Basin. That’s where the big expense is—digging the channels into the flats. Another phase would be a luxury eco-lodge on the beach behind the dunes between the ocean and Agnes Basin. The third phase would be rental cottages. Plus a large section of estuary land would be donated for an environmental park. The environment and ecotours would be a big part of it.”
I watched his face closely as he spoke. For a moment I saw the glimmer of excitement return to his eyes.
“Do you have environmental approval? Development permits?”
He gave me a slightly condescending look, as if I were asking a child’s questions. “The enviro consultants’ report is in the works—they’ve told me it’s going to be positive. Obviously with some mitigation measures taken for environmental protection. The local mayor and shire councillors are on board. Apart from one greenie councillor who is objecting very loudly, but he objects to any development. The local trades in the community are hungry for business, and those contractors and their families tend to support new developments like this because it’ll bring more rates to the shire, more jobs for the foreseeable future. Those surfies and fishermen who live along that coast in that rural area do so because the wave breaks are spectacular and uncrowded, and the fishing is good. The weather is great. The beaches deserted for the most part. They love the lifestyle, but work is hard to come by. They see the Agnes Marina development as a godsend, to be honest. Apart from a small but loud faction of greenies—you always get someone trying to save the last toad or fish eagle. But this project would bring additional ecotourism to the area, and the greens will still get a chunk of protected parkland from the deal. We were all but ready to start presales.”
“Until this afternoon?”
“Yeah.” He eyed me. And a feeling began to grow inside me. A desire to share this part of him, this part of the world, his dream project, the memories of his past, the things that made the fires come alive inside this man. The magic show ended. Applause sounded. We finished our drinks and went up to our room. But that night we did not make love. He was too drunk and fell asleep snoring. I lay there listening to him, looking up at the ceiling. Through a small gap in the