The Clamour of Silence

By Valerie Pybus

A Love Story With A Difference...
Into Ryan’s frenetic cut-throat world appears profoundly deaf Julia. Can she earn her place in this challenging arena and prove the right to be by his side?

• Language: English
• Publisher: DoctorZed Publishing
• Release date: Jan 8, 2016
• ISBN: 9780987321749

Valerie Pybus

Valerie Pybus, Dip. ACJ Australian College of Journalism, Professional Children’s Writer’s is a Past President of both The Society of Women Writers NSW Inc. and Fellowship of Australian Writers Manly & Peninsular Regional. She is the author of Pause a Moment, A Score and More and The Clamour of Silence. Valerie continues to give hundreds of presentations enthusiastically sharing her sense of humour, her love of life and inspiring her audiences.

Book preview

The Clamour of Silence

by

Valerie Pybus

Copyright © Valerie Pybus

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without prior permission of the publisher.

Publisher: Valerie Pybus

Sydney

Australia

First Published: July 2012

The Clamour of Silence

ISBN: 978-0-646-57971-9

Also by Valerie Pybus:

Pause a Moment

A Score and More.

Dedication.

This book is dedicated to five special people.

Ann, Stuart, Martin, Jillian and Stan.

Their love and support never doubted

this story would be written.

This was love at first sight, love everlasting:

a feeling unknown, unhoped for, unexpected –

in so far as it could be a matter of conscious awareness;

it took entire possession of him, and he understood,

with joyous amazement, that this was for life.

Thomas Mann

Prologue

Outside the mine the sun shone brilliantly. The white collar workers, a group of four men, stood chatting and exchanging handshakes. With the easy familiarity of a poke in the gut, came the retort, Getting a bit soft mate, need to do a shift or two!

Stepping into the cage the men became businesslike, adjusting their hard hats which never seemed to fit properly, clipboards at the ready. The air was always stale the moment one entered the box-like contraption and neck ties were loosened as they moved steadily downwards.

Charles was the first one out of the cage and walked briskly in front of the others. As a Chief inspector of the Company he was aware of several aspects he wanted to check. He planned to start with the first-aid area where the men took their short breaks. He was a few steps away from the others when he felt a rolling motion under his feet. He’d felt it before when standing on the pontoon as he boarded his boat. This was different, an uncoiling of a subterranean monster awakening. The ground beneath him rising and pitching him off balance, he clutched at the wall for support but the wall was bending, the concrete was buckling, cracking.

The thin beam from his helmet torch swung madly as he tried to stand upright, the walls were disintegrating, huge chunks of concrete and earth falling all around him. He heard the other men screaming, and then their voices were lost in the noise made by the earth itself. It groaned as if in agony, its bowels tearing apart as a woman giving birth. A blast so powerful, an express train of sound and fury lifted him up, as a matchstick swept down a storm water drain. He heard splintering of metal and timbers, remembered rocks and debris hitting his head, wondered for a moment where his protective hat was?

Was that him screaming? Was this what it was like to be hurtling around in space? The earth was savage as if toying with the mortals who had dared to cut deep into its belly. He was being bowled over and over, helpless with the noise bouncing in his head, agonizing pain in his ears. His head hit something so hard that he felt his teeth snap together and then mercifully nothing.

Much later he opened his eyes, everything was black, impenetrable. He tried to move but he was pinned to the ground. Every part of his body hurt, he could barely turn his head enough to spit out tooth fragments which threatened to go down his throat. But it was the stillness that was the most frightening. Choking fetid air, he tried to call out; he could feel his mouth and tongue working but he couldn’t hear his voice. He wriggled desperately trying to free himself to no avail. He could feel tears run out of his eyes and reasoned sternly. I might need that fluid in my body, calm down man.

They will come looking, they know we are down here; he started to cough, he badly needed some water.

Funny he could not hear himself coughing either; must have concussion?

He felt as if he was lying in a tomb, the stillness and the awful blackness bearing down on his face and chest. He thought of his six-year-old son Ryan, what a story he would have to tell him when he got back home. He had to be strong for Ryan; he was the sole emotional support for the boy. That bitch, his hard-faced wife, was too self absorbed to look after the child.

He tried to remain still, picturing Ryan’s face and the way his eyes widened with wonder when Charles read to him. He couldn’t move his arms to feel how much space was around him, how much air was available. His stomach contracted, he had always hated confined spaces. Would he be found?

The hard ground was cold and it felt as if scores of pieces of rock were embedded into his body, he couldn’t move to alleviate their pressure. Keep calm! Keep calm, he repeatedly told himself.

It was Company policy to keep looking for survivors after an explosion. They will come, you must hang on.

He didn’t know if it was hours or days before he saw a pinprick of light, a blessed wavering beam in the blackness. He called but his voice just seemed to rasp in his throat. He wanted to sob with relief but he was not master of his body anymore he couldn’t take a deep breath. Was it hours or days before he felt the debris being carefully removed from his body? He tried to sit up but was pushed down firmly to lie still. He kept asking about the others but nobody answered him. A pair of kind hands gently cleaned his face with something wet. A soft rubber nozzle moistened his lips and mouth; although he was trying to talk an oxygen mask was placed over his nose and mouth.

His rescuer illuminated his own face, and Charles saw his mouth moving, but he couldn’t hear anything. A warm hand patted the back of his fingers and he felt a prick in his arm as his world began spiralling, carrying him down into a deep black void.

Again he saw his rescuer’s lips moving but still could not hear his voice. Charles was never again to hear a human voice, or any other sound.

Chapter 1

The iron band inside Ryan’s head tightened like a medieval torture device. He had to escape from his desk, from the office, from the building. It was Monday, but he didn’t feel rested. He had taken work home at the weekend, working non-stop bent over his computer, eating snacks accompanied by too much coffee and wine. When he’d shaved that morning the face that stared back at him was drawn.

He felt confined in his office adjoining a maze of cubicles separated by glass partitions that gave no protection whatever from the maniacal hubbub of frenetic stock brokers. The machine gun staccato of their loud voices all trying to be heard at once was overwhelming.

Ryan left the building, stepping into the hell of a city area being renovated constantly. The footpaths restricted, pedestrians were compelled to traverse a narrow walkway. Workmen stood idly in their bright yellow jackets and their impossibly small safety helmets insecurely perched on their heads, constantly waiting for concrete to dry. Big green concrete conveyers made their ponderous way through the narrow streets forcing the chaos to escalate further. Disgruntled people threaded their way recklessly between cars and buses reduced to a one lane crawl.

Street smells assaulted his nostrils, delicate mists of perfume from passersby; stale sweat from bodies not masked with cologne and the ever pervading stench of diesel and exhaust fumes.

His walk was accompanied by the raucous tattoo of jackhammers and vehicle horns, their blasts painful to the ears. Thankfully he pushed open the door of The Banyan Tree restaurant. He stepped from the strident street sounds into the subdued atmosphere of the well-ordered interior. Scarcely any outside noise penetrated and he felt the quiet ambience enfold him as a warm dry towel enfolds a frozen shivering swimmer.

The busy lunchtime rush was almost over and he observed several empty tables for him to make his choice. This restaurant was sheer bliss, an oasis of sanity and well-run efficiency. He selected a small discreet table set for two in the least crowded area. He sat on one chair with a sigh of relief and placed his briefcase on the other. It was a ploy he had used many times to prevent anyone sitting at his table when he wanted to be alone.

He loved his job, keeping up to the mark and ahead of it when he could. He revelled in the constant challenge of trying to anticipate the futures market. The triumph he felt when his predictions were proved correct more times than not. He was constantly watching unpredictable world market figures fluctuate; no two days or two weeks ever brought the same results.

As he leaned back, he felt his body start to unwind and relax as the taut muscles one by one began to ease. Making a conscious effort he unclenched his hands from the menu. Madeleine, the waitress, appeared. She knew Ryan and instinctively recognised when he was in a talking mood and if he wasn’t, kept her comments to a minimum. He ordered a drink and when it arrived he held the sides of the ice-cold glass. He felt it equalise his temperature, dissipating the feeling of being a string in a harp ready to snap if touched.

Thanks, Madeline I needed that today, he nodded his head at the glass. She gave him her brightest smile. My absolute pleasure, she trilled.

He indicated he was not in a hurry as he placed his order, a well-done steak with tossed green salad. He sat back and idly surveyed the other diners.

A sprinkling of business men; it was easy to spot those who were trying to clinch a deal. The procurer leaned forward eagerly, sometimes with arms on the table, as if by sheer will power he would pin the other person in one spot until he was able to obtain their compliance.

The client, urbane, smiling, sat well back in his chair, hands playing with his drink. He could have been sitting by the side of a pool watching the lovelies strut past. The air of subtle indifference took years to master.

Ryan’s gaze wandered further to a group of four women. Obviously high powered achievers he guessed to be able to lunch at The Banyan Tree. Two of the older women were immaculately coiffed to a tossed casual look. One of the other women, slightly younger, spent most of the time running her fingers through her hair endlessly. It was distracting, not at all restful and Ryan remembered several women he had wined and dined who had the same annoying habit. The fourth woman, not much more than a girl really, sat directly opposite him.

It was her stillness and her look of intense concentration that first made him aware of her. Her face turned away from him as she kept her gaze fixed intently upon the older woman who was speaking.

As Ryan watched she turned her head in his direction. For a moment he forgot to breathe. He literally felt a jolt in his stomach. The face he gazed upon was a vision of perfection. Her features beautifully proportioned. Smooth fine eyebrows which he thought from the distance could have been brown. Huge expressive eyes, he wished that he could see their colour. Well-defined cheekbones reminding him of lovely drapes framing a laughing mouth; Ryan could not believe that he was describing her lips to himself as smiley lips.

He was aware of his own mouth softening as he felt absurdly like laughing. From where he sat her mouth seemed to be forever beginning a smile.

He wished he had chosen a table nearer to the women, wished he had spotted them earlier. If he moved now he would look ridiculous. The restaurant was discreetly but adequately lit for dining. It was not helpful if one wanted to know the colour of the young woman’s hair. It looked dark and thick. Lustrous was the word that leapt into his mind. He smiled; he was beginning to think like a television commercial for shampoo. Her hair was caught up on one side with a kind of comb. Quite an old fashioned style, simple in a way compared to the other women seated at the table.

It suited her, as did her lace blouse. Her hair shone with good health and Ryan wondered how it smelt. He was sure it would be something like cinnamon or apples, he was equally sure it would not be highly perfumed.

There was something about her that drew his gaze again and again. The words inner beauty came to mind. But it was more than that; it was her complete absence of contrivance.

Madeleine came with his lunch; he was not aware of it until the aroma from the steak drifted up toward his face and reminded him that he was hungry.

He had brought some notes to check whilst he was waiting for lunch to be served and he propped them up against the small vase in the centre of the table. That way he could observe the girl over the top of the notes without being blatantly obvious.

She didn’t appear to talk a great deal, more of a listener he concluded. She gazed intently at her companions as they continued to speak and wave their hands to give meaning to their conversations.

Unexpectedly she looked between the women and met his gaze fully. Ryan knew he should have looked away, dropped his gaze as in a diner’s discretion.

A piercing shaft of connection shot between them. It was as if they were the only two people in the room. Ryan sat mesmerized unable to look away, unable to move, scarcely able to breathe. His hand poised in the air with a cube of steak speared onto his fork. It felt as if minutes passed, he was saved as the food fell with a splash into the remnants of his drink. It distracted him and was glad she had not seen the incident happen behind the propped up notes.

He spent the rest of his lunchtime wondering how he could approach the other table. Ryan hadn’t had this problem before; he could usually come up with an appropriate pick –up line. He just didn’t want to be inappropriate; contacting the young woman had become paramount. He mulled over. "Would you like a drink?"

That was so bad it made him smile.

What about, "Hello ladies, you look as if you are celebrating, enjoy a champagne on me!" Even worse.

He thought about asking Madeleine if she knew the group, but there had been enough subtle hints from the attractive waitress for him to be aware of her personal interest in him; therefore that was out of the question. Besides he liked the restaurant and didn’t want any complications.

The girl captivated him with the way she was eating spaghetti, daintily, winding the long slippery strands around her fork before placing them in her mouth. Ryan who fancied himself as somewhat of a chef, had visions of her sitting in his dining room eating spaghetti he had made.

He looked up again to find her gaze on him. He smiled at her and then her mouth curved into a smile and she looked down. Had he imagined a faint blushing? He was too far away to see properly.

Ryan looked at his watch, he had to go, couldn’t stay any longer. He made a devious exit walking as near to her table as possible. As he made to pass them he saw a white jacket had slipped from the back of the girl’s chair and was trailing on the carpet.

He picked it up and leaning slightly toward her back intending to speak to her he caught the scent from her hair; a distinctive almond smell, faint, yet somehow beguiling. Excuse me, he began. No response so he continued.

I think this must be yours. Still nothing, was she ignoring him? He began to feel foolish and uncomfortable, standing there holding the scrap of white fabric.

One of the other women touched the girl on her arm and pointed up at Ryan.

She turned and looked up at him and then at her jacket. Thank you, her voice warm and clear. I did not know you were there.

The girl put out her hand to take her jacket at the same time placed her other hand near her head. Then she put two fingers against her ear and said, I am deaf.

Ryan was stunned she looked so normal. Immediately the deepest feeling of shame swept over him. How dare he even think such a thing?

Why would she not be normal? She was deaf, no big deal. He still held on to the jacket a tangible connection he didn’t want to break.

One of the older women spoke. Would you like to join us for coffee?

Ryan nodded; he knew the girl would understand the gesture. The urge to return to the office vanished. The woman spoke again. I’m Margot we’ll get a chair for you. Come and sit next to me.

Ryan would have preferred to sit next to the girl, the nearness of her sent his pulse racing and he could feel sweat breaking out on his palms, but this way, he reasoned, he would be able to see her face properly. He had already worked out that she was lip-reading, and it might make it easier for her.

He had also observed that she was not wearing an engagement ring or a wedding band.

Margot, who appeared to be the spokesperson for the group beckoned the waitress looking after their table and within seconds Ryan was seated between the two older women.

Margot spoke again. Now tell us about yourself? You were so gallant to pick up Julia’s jacket.

She patted him on the hand and leaned toward him. As she introduced the women at the table, all Ryan could think was that Julia’s name suited her, feminine, but unfussy.

Looking directly at Julia’s face he spoke, Ryan Cameron and I work in an office a block from here. Suzanne, the woman nearer to Julia’s age, was celebrating a recent engagement, and self-consciously did everything she could with her left hand. Julia caught his eye as they watched the display and exchanged a secret smile at the wearer’s behaviour.

What do you do Julia? As Ryan spoke to her he was very conscious of her eyes concentrating on his lips.

I work with computers.

Her voice and the words she chose were efficient, but not clipped, as if she chose to say only what was really important.

He was enchanted, and wished that they were at the table by themselves. There was so much he wanted