Kal (28 page)

‘How was the party, my darling?' She held her arms up to the little girl who slid from Evan's shoulders into her mother's embrace.

‘Giovanni!'

Before Briony could answer her mother's query, Paul had run to Giovanni and hugged him and it was Evan who felt the pang of jealousy.

‘Giovanni is here on business, Paul, leave the poor man alone.' Kate slung Briony onto one hip and held out her hand to her son. ‘Come along and help me in the kitchen. I'll bring some tea in shortly,' she called over her shoulder.

‘Sit down, Giovanni, please.' Evan pulled a chair up to the table by the front window and sat. Giovanni did the same. ‘Business, is it? What business could you be wanting to do with me? I hear the Clover's been doing very well.'

Fifteen minutes later, when Kate returned with a pot of tea and freshly baked scones, Evan had heard the full story. Giovanni had told it with as little emotion as he
could but his bitterness and hostility were evident.

‘I don't suppose I need to enquire where that came from then?' Evan pointed to the cut on the Italian's cheek and, when Giovanni shrugged a reply, he asked, ‘How's Harry?'

‘Worse.'

‘Good. He deserves it. Thank you, my dear.'

Giovanni avoided looking at Kate as she poured the tea, concentrating on the teapot instead.

‘I can't say I'm surprised,' the Welshman continued when Kate had returned to the kitchen. ‘Harry's always been a slippery one.' Giovanni declined the plate of scones which Evan held out to him. ‘Never an out-and-out scoundrel, mind. Never openly robs a man, but as good as, in my book. I'll wager he's convinced himself he's done nothing wrong too.' Noticing the growing anger in Giovanni's eyes, Evan took a bite of his scone and changed the subject. ‘Still, no amount of talking is going to get the Clover back for you. I take it you're here to ask for work, is that it?'

Giovanni nodded, appreciating the Welshman's bluntness. ‘I am a good worker, you know that I am. And so is my brother. Between us we can do the work of four men. When Rico is recovered you will see—'

‘I cannot employ your brother, Giovanni.'

‘He has a temper, I know, but I can—'

‘Yes, there is his temper to take into consideration,' Evan admitted, ‘but that is not why.'

‘I can control him, I swear to you I can.'

‘I believe you, my friend. In fact, I believe you are the only man who can control your brother. But as far as the Midas is concerned, he is unemployable.' Giovanni waited for an explanation, although he knew the answer. Evan shrugged. ‘He cannot speak English.'

When Giovanni shook his head and gave a sigh of exasperation Evan continued, a trifle impatiently. ‘Now
you listen to me, Giovanni. I know you and all of your friends think that the language regulation is there merely as an excuse not to employ Italians. Or Europeans in general for that matter. But there
is
a reason, believe me. Sure, maybe there are some who exercise the rules for the wrong reasons, but I'm not one of them. If a miner can work well then it's immaterial to me what part of the world he comes from.'

Kate returned with a jug of hot water to top up the teapot and Giovanni forced himself to concentrate on Evan, even though he didn't really believe what the Welshman was saying.

Evan sensed his scepticism. ‘You've never worked the big mines, Giovanni. In the big mines a man's ability to communicate is as important as his ability to wield a pick. I tell you, man,' he said, ‘down there is a world bigger than you could possibly imagine.'

Kate watched as her husband leaned across the table, intent upon making contact with the Italian. There was an uncharacteristic edge of excitement to his voice and an enthusiasm in his eyes she had never seen before. ‘I know that you love working under the ground. Just as I do. And you'll love this world, Giovanni. But it is a far more dangerous world than the Clover. I never truly knew it myself until I started at the Midas. I thought mining was mining. But this is different. You're so far down you could be in the centre of the earth, I tell you. One moment you're working a stope that will barely contain a man, and the next you're in a cavern that could hold the Town Hall itself. Men work in teams. Not just for reasons of efficiency, but for their own safety. And it's for reasons of safety that they must be able to communicate, don't you see? In the big mines, more than ever, a man needs to rely upon his brothers.'

Kate continued to watch her husband, fascinated. She had never heard him speak with such passion. She
was touched and at the same time disappointed that he had never discussed these feelings in such a way with her.

Giovanni could sense Kate's response to Evan's rare show of animation and for the first time he felt a surge of jealousy. If the mere mention of a man's passion for the world below the earth's surface could stir her, what could he, Giovanni, do to her? He could lie with her in the red desert dirt in the dead of the night and share with her the diamond-studded sky. Nowhere in the world did the stars shine with such brilliance as in the velvet-black roof of the desert—had the Welshman shared that with her? Had he shared with her a love of the great brown land itself? The soft, powdery texture of the dust when you held it in the palm of your hand, the smell of the saltbush when you crushed it between your fingers, the constant trickle of sweat on the body that tasted like salt if you licked it.

A brief image. Caterina's naked body. The trickle of sweat between her breasts. His tongue licking it away. Giovanni rose and his chair scraped angrily on the bare floor. He knew he was being unfair. Evan was a good man, a man of honour and, no doubt, a good husband. But he was not a passionate man. Caterina was a passionate woman, and she needed a passionate man.

‘I understand, and I agree. Rico is not the right man for the Midas.' Giovanni could have argued Rico's case further; he could have told the Welshman that his brother could understand the basics of English, but what was the point? Evan was right, Rico did not belong as part of a team. He could not be trusted.

‘I must go,' he said. ‘I have taken up enough of your time.' He needed to get out, to get away from the two of them. It was his own passion that was devouring him, he knew that. Surely he should be grateful that Evan was not a passionate man, surely it would be
unbearable to contemplate Caterina in the throes of ecstasy …

He must leave. He must. ‘Thank you for the tea, Kate,' he said.

‘It was a pleasure.' Kate was busying herself stacking the cups and saucers. Something was wrong. She could sense it.

Suddenly she was overwhelmed with remorse. What had she done? She had told herself there was no shame in declaring her love. She had told herself she was not being unfaithful, merely honest, when she admitted to Giovanni that she would always love him. But there
was
shame and she
had
been unfaithful. She could still feel their eyes devouring each other. She might just as well have given him her body; perhaps it would have been more honest if she had.

‘I'll see you at the mine tomorrow then, Giovanni,' Evan was saying. ‘At half past seven—the morning shift starts at eight.'

‘I shall be there.' The men shook hands. ‘Thank you, Evan.'

Giovanni nodded to Kate and left.

She had done a shocking thing, she told herself as she brushed up the scone crumbs from the table. She had shamed herself, she had brought torment to Giovanni and, above all, she had wronged her husband.

Evan was a little puzzled by the Italian's hasty departure. He'd have thought Giovanni would have welcomed the chance to sit and talk about mining and particularly about the Midas.

‘Would you like another cup of tea?' Kate asked.

‘No thank you, my dear.'

He watched her carry the tray out to the kitchen. Of course, he realised; it was Kate. Giovanni was in love with her. Kate had insisted the man was a romantic, merely in love with an idea, but she was wrong. He was
in love with her. And who could blame him? Evan thought.

Then it occurred to him that Kate, with her woman's intuition, probably knew and was dismissing the man's feelings in deference to him. It was sensitive and thoughtful of her. Evan decided that he would not broach the subject—he would not wish to embarrass her. As for Giovanni… Well, Giovanni was not only a man of honour, he was a man with far too much pride to make a nuisance of himself. Evan felt sorry for him.

 

T
WO WEEKS AFTER
his fight with Giovanni, Harry still refused to go out. He would not even walk in the street, let alone visit his friends at Hannan's Club.

‘Let them see me like this?' he scorned, trying not to move his jaw, which was healing but still painful. ‘Never! I'll not have them laughing at me.'

‘Oh, for goodness' sake, Harry, look at yourself. You look perfectly all right.' Maudie gestured at the mirror above the mantelpiece as she cut Jack another piece of cake. The boy had just come home from school and the three of them were having tea in the upstairs parlour before Maudie started on the busy evening shift.

Harry walked over and inspected his face in the mirror. Most of the swelling had gone and the black eye had faded completely, but it was the three missing front teeth that really bothered him. He smiled and quickly stopped, horrified yet again by the gaping hole.

‘I tell you, I'll not have them laughing at me,' he said as he sat and took a large gulp of the Scotch he'd poured himself.

Maudie felt irritated. She didn't like his drinking mid-afternoon and, damn his missing teeth and his vanity—he could at least help her out in the bar on a busy Friday night.

‘But why would they laugh at you, Pa?' Jack asked,
outraged, his mouth full of cake. ‘Giovanni tried to kill you, he didn't fight fair …' Every time Jack thought about Giovanni and the steel pipe he felt overwhelmed with anger.

‘Don't speak with your mouth full, Jack,' Maudie reprimanded.

‘But hell, that's not fighting fair …'

‘I said don't speak with your mouth full. And don't swear.'

‘Like I've told you, Jack,' Harry glanced quickly at Maudie, somehow feeling that she was reprimanding him rather than the boy. ‘He only grabbed the pipe at the last minute. It was a fair fight for the most part.'

Maudie's look was sceptical, as usual. She believed the ‘steel pipe' about as much as she believed the ‘genuine misunderstanding' of the Clover contract.

‘You saw the contract yourself, Maudie,' Harry had insisted. ‘It was perfectly clear. And I read it out to them word for word, I swear I did!' Harry had sworn to the fact so often that he genuinely believed it.

‘I'm going downstairs to help Alice set up.' Maudie rose from the table. ‘No more cake,' she said to Jack. ‘Will you have the tea things cleared away please, Harry.'

Harry watched her go, depressed. Things were definitely not right between him and Maudie. One moment she'd been prepared to kill for him; the next moment she'd dismissed him. ‘Don't say a word, Harry,' she'd said as she bathed his face. ‘I am not interested in anything you have to say.' He'd tried to explain again and again but, every time he did, Maudie's mouth set, her eyes glazed over and she seemed to look right through him. God, she was hard, that woman. Intractable. She'd reverted to the tough Maudie of old, the Maudie he'd courted.

Marriage had mellowed her, Harry decided. Until
now. It was all because of those Italians, he thought blackly. He should never have got mixed up with them. The ingratitude! Hell, if it weren't for him those damn Gianni brothers would still be working the Fremantle wharves.

‘Can I have another piece, Pa?'

The boy's voice shocked him out of his reverie. Jack's hand was hovering over the forbidden cake. ‘Yes, son, of course you can.' He winked roguishly at his son. At least he was still a hero to Jack.

Jack grinned and stuffed his mouth as full as he could, the shared disobedience creating a bond between them. The fruitcake was rich and the boy really didn't want to eat any more, but he hated seeing his father miserable. Jack would have eaten five fruitcakes if it would make Harry happy.

The door opened. ‘Harry …'

Jack stopped chewing, breathed through his nose and tried to look normal. He hoped Maudie wouldn't ask him anything.

‘Gaston Picot is here to see you,' she said.

‘Tell him I'm not in.' Harry rose, alarmed. ‘Tell him I've gone out.'

‘Too late. He knows you're here, he's on his way up.' Maudie glanced at Jack's bulging cheeks and wanted to smile. ‘You can't stay locked up forever, Harry.'

A tap at the door. ‘May I come in?'

‘Please do, Mr Picot.' Maudie stood aside as the Frenchman entered the room.

‘Harry.
Mon ami
.'

‘Gaston.' Harry smiled tightly, careful not to let his teeth show, and the two men shook hands.

‘Have you met Harry's son?' Maudie said. ‘Jack, this is Mr Picot.' She couldn't help it, she wanted to burst out laughing. Jack's eyes were as wide as saucers.

‘
Enchanté
.' Gaston Picot extended his hand and Jack
shook it as heartily and with as much strength as he could, hoping it would distract the Frenchman. It did. ‘
Mon Dieu
,' he nodded approvingly to Harry. ‘He is a strong young man.'

Maudie decided to save the boy. ‘Would you like some tea?' she asked before Picot could return his attention to Jack.

‘
Non, merci
.'

‘Very well. I'll send Alice up to fetch the tea things. Come along, Jack.'

On the landing she turned to him. ‘Now go and spit that out. It'd serve you right if you choked on it.'

She watched him fondly as he galloped down the stairs, grateful to escape. She loved that boy as her own. Always had. Face it, Maudie, she told herself, Jack is the reason you married Harry in the first place. You got what you wanted, there was no sense in being disappointed.