Tears of the Moon (43 page)

She didn’t know whether to believe the small remarks dropped by Tyndall in with the business correspondence. Things like, ‘My situation remains difficult and unresolved, but I will not give up.’

Amy had initially cut a swathe through the town. The Hootens had given a small afternoon tea for her where Amy had elaborated on the tale of how she and her husband had ‘lost’ each other and what a joy it was that the find of the ‘Star of the Sea’ pearls had reunited them. Most took her gushing affection with a pinch of salt but said nothing. Rumours had been doing the rounds about the volatile relationship between Tyndall and Amy.

However, she managed to flirt and charm her way through the Residence tea.

‘What a little dazzler, eh?’ commented the RM. ‘I wouldn’t be losing her if she were mine.’

‘Strange story, turning up on the eve of the wedding. Felt sorry for poor Olivia,’ said Major White.

‘I imagine it was a planned marriage of convenience, business convenience that is. No doubt Mrs Hennessy will find herself a new husband in Perth soon enough.’

The women had also felt for Olivia. The embarrassment of it all.

‘No way I’d stay here and be the discard on the shelf,’ was the general reaction.

‘Tyndall is certainly a good catch. Handsome devil. But I bet that wife of his gives him the rounds of the kitchen.’

‘Is it true they live in separate houses?’

‘I’m sure there are visiting hours,’ snickered another wife. ‘I hope he’s keeping an eye on her. I wouldn’t trust that woman round my husband.’

‘You mean you wouldn’t trust your husband,’ came the quick retort.

None of them knew of the great love that had burned so fiercely between Tyndall and Olivia, nor realised the pain they had both suffered these past two years.

It had taken Olivia many months to adjust to life in Fremantle and to the loss of Tyndall—for she regarded his betrayal as the death of their relationship. Hamish had settled in quickly, enjoying King’s College and had made good friends.

Now that her days weren’t filled with activities related to the pearling enterprise, which she missed dreadfully, Olivia had looked for something to occupy her time and energy.

Through friends of Monsieur Barat’s she had been invited to work on a hospital charity. There she had met a Doctor Gilbert Shaw who was setting up a special girls’ home under the auspices of a community-based foundation. A rich widow had donated a small house in the port city of Fremantle. Olivia had volunteered to work on the fundraising committee
but soon became more interested and more involved. Doctor Shaw noted this and one day asked her to work with him in setting up an institution for homeless girls and young women ‘in trouble … You know, pregnant and unmarried.’

Doctor Shaw was older than Olivia by fifteen years. He was an attractive man, slimly built with silver temples, a soft voice, caring manner and kindly grey eyes. His was a popular practice as women found him one of the few doctors with whom they could comfortably discuss personal problems. His invalid wife had died three years before. There had been no children. Since her death he had become a leading figure in campaigns for helping the destitute and needy.

After a tour of the seedier areas around the docks of Fremantle, Olivia saw the need for a girls’ shelter. Young girls of mixed blood—Aboriginal and Asian—were cast into the streets after running away from harsh employers and unscrupulous men who abused, mistreated and took advantage of them. Scavenging and prostituting themselves were preferable to the near slavery they endured.

She accepted a position to work directly with Doctor Shaw in setting up the girls’ home in Cantonment Street. It had a small staff including a young nurse and Olivia tried to make the refuge feel more like a friendly interim home than a charitable institution. She had visited other public institutions—an orphanage, a home for wayward girls—and found them cold and intimidating.

Olivia and Gilbert Shaw walked through the freshly painted house, which Olivia had decorated
simply but in soft colours, unlike the other drab institutions.

They settled themselves in the cheerful dining area and Olivia made them tea, knowing just how he liked it. Gilbert gave her a smile across the table and thought how comfortable Olivia was to be with. ‘This place certainly has a more friendly atmosphere. You’ve done a splendid job, Olivia.’

‘I had a lot of help. But those other places do seem deliberately inhospitable. A scared or sick girl isn’t going to go there by choice unless she is utterly desperate.’

‘This home is not a charity that will give these girls a soft ride,’ said Doctor Shaw gently. ‘We can’t feed, house, clothe and care for them indefinitely. It’s not an open house.’

‘I understand the financial constraints,’ said Olivia, ‘and I agree this home shouldn’t be looked on as a free boarding house, but the girls need to be redirected, advised and helped back into the world.

‘Then that is your role, Olivia—to help the staff achieve that. If you are prepared to take on the challenge.’

‘I should welcome it.’

Gilbert reached across the table and pressed her hand. ‘I’m glad. You’ve brightened up my life, too. You’re a delightful lady, Olivia. I’m sure we’ll achieve a lot together.’

There was no innuendo or hint that the remark was overly personal. Olivia admired his gracious manners and charming warmth and had noted how he treated all women with courtesy and respect.

Gilbert Shaw might not have shown any deeper
clue to his feelings and made sure he didn’t treat Olivia any differently, but he was conscious that she stirred feelings in him that he had thought long buried. He found himself looking forward to their meetings and kept finding excuses to spend time at the refuge.

Olivia felt needed and useful, and the stimulation of the work took her mind away from Tyndall and Broome. The remuneration was small but she was financially stable. She lived in a house in Phillimore Street in Fremantle’s better residential section which she’d bought with some of her share of the sale of the ‘Star of the Sea’ pearls, which also paid for Hamish’s school fees. She tried not to think about what her life might be like if they’d never found the fabulous pearl constellation. She drew her percentage from the Star of the Sea Pearl Company and, despite her offering to reduce her share as she was less involved, Tyndall had refused to change their fifty-fifty arrangement.

For Tyndall, these days were empty of feeling, units of time in an emotional darkness that seemed to stretch to infinity. He dreamed that one day he would emerge into bright light and find Amy gone and Olivia smilingly in her place. He had no idea how to achieve this, the fight having gone out of him, so he trudged through the hours clinging to some forlorn hope that fate would intervene.

The opening ceremony for the girls’ home was simple, although Olivia had been acting rather
mysteriously about the whole event. She had arranged for several local dignitaries to attend a small tea where the simple plaque by the front door was to be unveiled by the Mayor.

Nervously she took Gilbert Shaw aside and made a private little speech. ‘Doctor Shaw … Gilbert … seeing as you left most of the decisions up to me, I took the liberty of making one without consulting you.’ He raised a bemused eyebrow as she went on, ‘We had to call our girls’ home something and in the time I’ve worked here and talked to all kinds of people in Fremantle I have been so impressed by the respect and esteem you command. You’re a fine man, Gilbert, so we decided to name this place Shaw House … is that all right?’ She smiled with an expression of concern that he mightn’t actually approve.

‘All right? Olivia, I’m overwhelmed. And very touched. I didn’t get into this to create some sort of monument to myself, but the fact you say others approve of my work is most gratifying. It’s truly a lovely gesture.’ He leaned forward and kissed her on the cheek. ‘No one has ever done something so thoughtful for me before. Thank you,’ he added softly.

This time, as he looked into her eyes, she saw a glow and depth of feeling she had never seen before and knew suddenly it was meant for her alone.

Amy was feeling frustrated and a little bored. Tyndall hadn’t melted one fraction and was as determined as ever to end their marriage. It piqued Amy that her
feminine wiles had no effect on him. She had tried to charm, flirt and seduce him to no effect. Worse than the rejection was the ridicule he threw at her. He had also managed to reduce her spending by refusing to honour charge payments she had made in town and so she could no longer tick things up to Captain Tyndall. Streeter and Male’s Emporium politely refused such requests, asking for the Captain to come in person to confirm the charges. Amy’s charm had worn thin and Tyndall had worked hard to convince storekeepers not to indulge or cater to Amy’s spending.

She had gone through three sets of servants. Rosminah, now married to Olivia’s houseboy, Yusef, stayed at Tyndall’s house. Minnie and Alf lived at Olivia’s house as caretakers and Minnie took on part-time work for the wife of a wealthy Chinese merchant. Minnie had made one trip south to Fremantle—her first trip on a steamer and to a city—to take her daughter, Mollie, to work for Olivia.

Amy’s demands, temper tantrums and unreasonable requests soon became known throughout the domestic servants’ network. The social invitations dried up, though the white community and the pearling masters’ wives remained civil. Despite Amy’s volatile nature, she was, after all, one of them.

Amy’s boredom evaporated one day when she was taking a meal alone at The White Lotus, a clean and small establishment run by a jolly Chinese couple, Junie and Henry Wang. The pearling masters and their wives often ate there, as did the top divers. It
was a reputable, friendly and noisy establishment and only at night did the sound of gambling marathons filter in from the back and upstairs gaming rooms, where serious money, gold sovereigns, even pearls were won and lost.

Even though it was unusual for a white lady to dine alone, Amy was unperturbed. While waiting for her order Amy was reading the catalogue off the last steamer which showed the latest London fashions—now already a year out of date. She decided she would have a new dress made, even though there were so few occasions in Broome for dressing up. A new dress, she decided, would cheer her up.

She cut into small pillows of dough and nibbled the filling of pork and thick sweet sauce. After an unsuccessful battle with chopsticks, she had switched back to a spoon and fork.

The waiter placed another small woven steam-damp basket in front of her which held two crisp triangles filled with spiced, shredded vegetables. She finished her meal with small squares of sweet bean curd. Draining the last of the pot of China tea, Amy felt amply satisfied and glanced around the room. It was not yet lunchtime, so the tearoom was empty save for a Japanese couple, an elderly Chinese man drinking soup from a bowl and a white man engrossed in a newspaper.

Her gaze rested on the white man, who suddenly put down his paper and regarded her with a frank, amused and appraising look. He folded his newspaper and inclined his head in her direction. It was a courtly gesture but seemed incongruous coming
from such an unusual man. He was of swarthy complexion and his dark tangled hair had an oily shine to it, as did his moustache. Two dark bushy eyebrows which almost met in the middle and dark, intense eyes gave him the look of a wild pirate. He was dressed in a coat cut in the European style and a silk scarf was knotted and tucked into a white shirt. He lifted a hand and Amy saw the flash of a large gold and diamond ring.

She gave a brief smile and immediately became engrossed in the catalogue again.

He passed close by her table as he left, trailing a pungent smell of cigars.

Amy thought no more about the man until an hour later when she was in a small shop with rolls of fabric spread like colourful silken rivers before her. She lifted several lengths and held them up to her body.

The Japanese lady behind the counter made complimentary noises like a chattering bird. ‘Velly plitty, velly good kimono silk, this one. Make plitty dress.’

‘Indeed it would,’ boomed a voice behind her.

Amy spun around.

‘Good day to you again, madam,’ added the man from the tearoom, raising his hat with an exaggerated gesture.

He was shorter than she had thought, but of muscular build and she had no doubt he could hold his own in a fight. She noticed the thin white line of a scar running along one cheek. Nonetheless, his amused arrogance and looks attracted rather than repelled her.

The lady bobbed and nodded and jabbered in Japanese and waved towards the back of the store.

The man turned away, saying over his shoulder, ‘I should take the red if I were you,’ and he disappeared behind a beaded curtain.

‘Who was that man?’ asked Amy in a low voice.

‘Velly rich man, I think. Does lot of business … you know … ’ She rubbed her fingers together and put a finger to her lips.

‘And his name?’

The girl hesitated, thinking hard. ‘Him my boss friend, him Mister Karl. Mister Karl Gunther.’

Amy purchased the red silk and left the shop.

Over the next two weeks, Karl Gunther crossed Amy’s path on several occasions. She began to wonder if it was just mere coincidence. They finally connected at the Continental Hotel, where Amy was due to have lunch with Mabel Metta. Amy had issued the invitation saying she wanted some advice from ‘a family friend’. She realised the Mettas were friends of Olivia’s as much as Tyndall’s but Amy needed information and she hoped by saying she was concerned about Tyndall that Mabel would agree to meet her.