The Well (10 page)

Hester in the presence of so many clean couples, for they all did look so well washed and ironed, wondered at their cleanliness in relation to their own cowshed activities. These would not even show in the pastel chenille bedrooms. It was a subject for endless speculation of a private sort and perhaps was a way of preventing the awful feeling which crept ever nearer of being now entirely without consequence. No one would ever make conversation with her again in order to catch a hint of wisdom about what to buy and what to avoid at the next sale.

Every now and then Hester was aware, during their conversation, of Mrs Borden's eyes darting here and there as she recognized someone she knew. It seemed that many of the women, Rosalie Borden included, were wearing hats. These hats of brilliant green or red and black felt were like the hats fairytale huntsmen wore. The hats had something in common, a high rounded crown and a wide curling brim which dipped down over the nose leaving one predatory eye always on the look out. The splendid teeth exposed in smiles beneath these huntsmen's hats enhanced the keen hungry look which seemed to predominate.

Hester thought she had a headache coming on. Her lame leg ached and she was not without uncharitable thoughts towards Joanna's visit. There were qualities in Katherine which could break out unpleasantly, she felt, well unpleasantly as far as she herself was concerned if Katherine was to be in the wrong company. The nearby pounding of the music made her feel dizzy. In her truthful way she told herself that she was dreading Joanna's visit and that she felt old and that she was no longer a respected landowner. The sharp little smile she often gave when she was thinking twisted her lips as she, with even more honesty, told herself that her lack of interest, which amounted to neglect, towards the property as she became more caught up with her life with Katherine was enough to cause her to lose respect among the farmers she knew. Her loss, brought on by her own actions, was serious, she admitted this. In her hand the thick tumbler of insipid white wine seemed intensely cold. It made her hand ache. The quantity of wine was, as if from a profound and natural ignorance, too great. She had been given as much wine as Rosalie had beer.

‘Cheer ho!' Rosalie Borden daintily with pursed bright lips syphoned some foam from the top of her drink. ‘Ah!' she said, ‘it's the first biting swallow that does it. That wonderful first gulp!'

‘I suppose it is,' Hester said in a flat voice. She had never depended on anyone, or so she thought. She hoped, deeply, that Rosalie Borden, even though she did not care for her at all, would not desert her.

‘Have another drink,' she suggested to Rosalie in a voice straining to be cordial but which was pathetic and hopeful. Seeing the glass drained in a most professional and even masculine way, she tried to open her handbag.

‘Heavens no!' Rosalie said, ‘thank you very much.' She put her hand over the clasp of Hester's bag. ‘Ah! oops! I think I'm going to burp,' she laughed. ‘Mr Borden would kill me if he saw me drink like that but I really was dry and junior,' here she patted her maternal fullness, ‘craves beer, you'd never believe! If I have another drop I'll be on my ear.' She laughed again and leaning towards Hester she was suddenly serious. ‘I expect,' she said, ‘that you feel quite bereaved.'

‘Why, yes,' Hester was surprised into admission and at once regretted her indiscretion. It had always been her way to be aloof and withdrawn so that she, in a position of authority with a good head for crops and wool, was beyond gossip and criticism. She had with two words, she knew, made herself available for unlimited speculation.

‘You know, there's something I have been wanting to say to you for some time,' Mrs Borden, still serious, dropped her voice. ‘I hope you will understand …'

‘Yes?' Hester moved uneasily on the uncomfortable sofa. She leaned forward, inclining her head with a stiff movement. In the tremendous noise it was hard to hear. ‘Well yes,' Mrs Borden echoed Miss Harper's way of speaking, ‘we don't, that is Mr Borden and I don't think, that is, we think that it is not right to keep Katherine, a young woman like Katherine shut away. I mean, she must think of men, a man? Sometimes?' The hat brim dipped forward deeply and then came up again and Hester had Rosalie Borden's bright inquisitive eyes directly opposite her own. ‘You must realize,' her voice changed to a teasing note, ‘that not every woman wishes to remain single.' The two women glanced quickly, Hester's glance following Mrs Borden's at the room full of couples and intending couples. As Hester made no reply Mrs Borden rushed on. ‘I don't want to seem interfering,' she said, ‘but it does seem that Katherine is intelligent. She could be a teacher, primary of course, or had you thought of nursing as a career?' She paused and then continued, ‘Or if not a career, she must surely be thinking of wedding bells? This might sound old fashioned,' Mrs Borden laughed, ‘but then she is what I call an old-fashioned girl. She is very pretty in a pale sort of way, she should be …' Mrs Borden, seeing the cold tight expression on Hester's face, changed the subject. ‘Perhaps,' she said, ‘we should go and watch the dancing. Shall we?'

‘Oh yes, of course,' Hester, wishing to be independent of Rosalie Borden's plump kindly arm, struggled to her feet. ‘I must watch the dancing,' she said with a grudging little smile as if offering a kindness when she knew privately that it gave her infinite secret pleasure to watch Kathy abandon herself to her own energy. Whenever she watched Kathy dancing, Hester, though outwardly showing no signs, moved in a wonderful freedom within herself. Her tiniest, most obscure muscles all took part. Unseen, her heart beat faster. She breathed more rapidly. In the privacy beneath her strict clothing she knew she was capable of an inner excitement which belonged only to her. It was a solitary experience but she did not mind this, being simply grateful for it. The music, the beat and the rhythm of the dancing filled her with a glow of satisfaction and a realization of deep happiness. She felt as if she had been singing and dancing, moving in time with the music and with other people. She felt as if her hair was loose and as if her clothes were bright and light and as if they moved too, easily with her own rhythm. She felt free of bitterness, jealousy and longing. She was free from anxiety; who minded now, at this moment, about drought or about floods. She forgot she was lame and had always to depend upon a stick.

‘I don't suppose you care for all this modern stuff.' Mrs Borden's voice, close to Hester, broke in upon the sweetest consolation.

‘I don't dislike it,' Hester said.

Their voices were lost in the beat of the music.

‘You should bring Katherine to the dances in town,' Mrs Borden bellowed with the drums. ‘Would make a late night for you,' she shouted, ‘but you could always sleep in, especially now, you being a lady of leisure.' Liking the phrase she repeated it, ‘A lady of leisure.'

Hester, not attempting a reply, nodded again. A lady of leisure living on a dog leg, she reflected, the owner of a special deed drawn up by lawyers for Mr Borden and herself. Mr Borden was not a bad young man, quite fair minded, Hester admitted to herself, she was pleased with the agreement. You couldn't eat land, she knew this, neither could you spend it. At the end of his life, even while he was dying, her father worried endlessly about the property. At least, Hester thought, she would not end her days, thank you very much, muttering curses because the rain clouds were thin. If there was a sour side to the pleasure of the agreement it must be accepted. She had not considered earlier how she would feel when the land spreading out towards the horizon was no longer hers. She had not bargained either with the thought that the wife of the new owner would start at once telling her what she ought to do. She tried to concentrate on the dancing.

Katherine with her head thrust forward and down was moving jerkily, like a wooden doll, towards them, her eyes were empty of expression and her mouth was slightly open. She shook her shoulders and let her arms hang by her sides. She let the shoulder-shake slide to her hips. She moved to the right and to the left advancing steadily towards Hester and Mrs Borden. When the music stopped abruptly the dancers, as if frozen, stood still. Katherine had one leg forward and one back and both arms were raised and her head was lifted so that her hair was thrown back. Hester saw, with fondness, the beads of moisture on her upper lip. The music started again and the dancers, as if they had never stopped, went on dancing.

Hester sat with a little smile in the corners of her mouth. Katherine was walking or rather prancing with a springing step the length of the dance floor and back. She turned her head and moved her shoulders as her favourite John Travolta moved his head and shoulders. Back and forth she stepped lightly and, when the music changed, she began again to dance. Hester knew that this was what Kathy always longed for.

‘Kathy's enjoying herself,' Mrs Borden said. ‘It's a pretty dress, Miss Harper, that Kathy's got. I guess you made it together. But it's too nave. Pardon me for saying so but the dress is too nave. I guess it's the Peter Pan collar …'

‘I'm sorry?' Hester had not heard. ‘What did you say?'

‘I said,' Mrs Borden said, ‘and pardon me for having the courage of my new position,' she laughed with considerable noise, ‘pardon me for saying this,' she said, ‘that dress, Kathy's not her age in it. It's too nave, but.'

‘Oh, I see, naïve,' Hester understood. She was deeply hurt by the remark, painfully as if Kathy might have heard it too and been wounded. ‘It depends on what you want,' she said, feeling that she must answer but not able to say what she really would have liked to say.

People, it seemed to Hester as she followed Mrs Borden through the crowd to the supper room, did not pause to greet her as they once would have done. And no one moved aside to make way for her to pass. She tried to hurry, trying to squeeze between people in order not to lose sight of her hostess. Though she did not care at all for Mrs Borden she was anxious not to be alone. She kept her eyes on the florid pregnant figure ahead. She was now, she understood, fully on the same footing as the common townspeople.

‘How does it feel?' Mr Bird asked her as he came towards her carrying an oval plate of chips and fried fish unsuitably decorated with lettuce. Some leaves fell off as Mr Bird came nearer. He steadied the pile of thick bread and butter with a rough thick finger. ‘How does it feel,' he repeated the words when he was close enough, ‘to have all that solid cash behind you eh? Better than dry paddocks eh?'

‘Oh, so so,' Hester replied unwilling to reveal that his speaking of the money like this comforted her. Mr Bird, as he had done before, though she would never thank him for it, was bringing her comfort. Suddenly she remembered that during both her years at boarding school Mr Bird had sent her birthday cards. He had simply added his initial and his surname to the message inside the cards. Hester, not having many letters and certainly none from men, made much of the cards and the sender of them to the girls at school …

‘Here,' he said, ‘take it, I've brought it for you. There's a place over there, make for that table there and we'll sit down a while.' Hester, with gratitude, did as she was told. She was hungry of course. They had had their small lunch very early and nothing since.

‘Remember,' Mr Bird said, watching her eat, ‘don't disclose your assets to anyone and don't take anyone into your confidence. Not about your money anyhow. And,' he added in a low voice, ‘give up that red woollen bonnet!'

Hester smiled and sucked her greasy fingers. ‘Perhaps,' she said, her old arrogance coming back. She would keep her money any way she wanted to. ‘I'll think about it,' she said.

‘As well as the investments you've got,' Mr Bird said, ‘I've got something else for you. I'll bring the papers for you to sign. I really mean what I say about not having cash to that amount around the place – won't do you any good just to let it lie.'

‘Thanks,' Hester said as coldly as she could through the white flesh of the fish. As she ate she felt more comfortable. She felt comfortable thinking of her money. There was considerable reassurance in having some, a large amount, in a place where she could peer at it as into a nest from time to time as often as she liked. Mr Bird fetched her a cup of tea. As she drank it a mellowness which accompanies tea when it is brought as an offering spread through her. Perhaps one day, not just now, she would remind Mr Bird of the birthday cards and thank him for them.

Hester needing to visit the Ladies' Room made her way slowly through the crowd and, as she passed the open doors to the bar, she was greeted warmly by the men who had worked for her. She responded strangely grateful for an unexpected show of friendship. Emboldened by her apparent good humour one of the men made a remark which caused Hester to give one of her loud snorts of braying laughter. She steadied herself against the door post and several of the men joined in her laugh.

Immediately Mrs Borden was at Hester's side. ‘Sssh!' she was hissing and rearing, clutching at Hester's arm. ‘Mr Borden,' the hiss was vehement, ‘Mr Borden is just addressing his guests. Keep your voice down. Do! If you can!' Anger flashed from the eyes under the huntsman's hat. In the look of anger Hester saw all too clearly a look of distaste amounting to hatred. Other people, she noticed, were still talking. She was not the only one, there was considerable noise everywhere except in the bar where the men were now looking on in silence. With a final glare Mrs Borden released Hester's arm and went back to her husband's speech forcing a smile which lifted her scarlet lips well off her teeth. Still smiling she took up a possessive position at his side. As Hester turned to move away as quickly as possible a camera flash startled her and she realized that in all probability her uneasy hurt face might well appear in the pictures of the celebrations in the local newspapers the next day.