The Wind and the Spray (8 page)

It was rambling and overgrown rather than trim, it was flanked by trees both indigenous and planted, it had a sweep of uninhibited grass with field flowers flourishing at their will.

There was a rough bench. He had edged her down that last time in the lobby, but this time he gave her a little push. He stood above her, taking out the makings and beginning to roll a cigarette.

“You’re a smart girl,” he said.

Angry at him, at his approach, she flashed back, “Of course. Mr. Kittey only accepts smart applicants.”

“But not applicants too smart for their boots. That’s you, Miss Teal. You sucked up to me—”

“I did nothing of the sort.”

“Until I gave in and agreed to take Peter on the understanding that it was only to be a quick trip. You undertook to make him realize that.” The cigarette was lit, the man inhaled.

“Words, just words,” he said.

“They were not just words. I impressed upon Peter—”

“You impressed so impressively that within half an hour, half an hour, mark you, of our arrival at Anna, Peter had chartered a plane and hopped north.”

“That was not my fault.”

“Neither is it your fault that for one week the station has been idle, that we’re seven days behind schedule, that our quota will have to be doubled to catch up, that a season, like time and tide, waits for no man—all that’s not your fault either?”

“No, it isn’t,” she retorted, as angrily as he had. She searched her brain for something really cutting to say. Now she felt she understood the pent-up fury that had inspired little Meredith to shout, “You’ve got a dirty face.”

“I’ve no doubt,” she said icily at length, “that your devoted employees will work doubly hard, even to night work to catch up.”

“You little fool,” he said. “Doesn’t your common sense tell you a chaser can only chase by day? How otherwise, unless we illumine the ocean, can the look-out man in the crow’s nest hope to see? The station works on eight-hour shifts, but only if the supply is there. Now, through you, the supply is not.”

He was being unfair beyond all proportion.

“You could have left Peter there,” she snapped, “and returned alone.”

“Is that what you planned?”

“I planned nothing. Didn’t Mr. Blake tell you that?”

“Mr. Blake is unreliable.”

“A
man
unreliable?”

“A man under the influence of a woman, yes.”

He was losing some of his temper now. Meredith must have inherited hers from her Uncle Nor. Laurel hoped he would be like the fizzy drink Jill had explained, that after the bubble he would calm down.

“Did you get your parts?” she ventured.

“Do you
think
I
would have returned without them?”

“Were they waiting?”

“Yes. We could have got back late that night.”

“Then why did you wait for Peter?”

Again the temper bubbled up. “Because I was not going to be passed over, Miss Teal.”

“You would put your schedule back a week because of your pride.”

“It wasn’t pride, it was the lesser of two issues. Keeping up a schedule is a present issue, keeping a Larsen family where a Larsen family belongs is a future one, it’s posterity, can’t you see that?”

“Nathalie is a Blake,” said Laurel softly but firmly.

“She is a Larsen. She was bo
rn
a Larsen.”

“She is a Blake, just as I would be Teal no longer if—” Laurel stopped, a little embarrassed, feeling treacherous pink climbing into her cheeks. Though she turned her head away and could not see him she knew he was staring hard at her, slitting, in that odd way of his, those bright sailor blue eyes.

When he spoke again she was relieved that the “fizzy drink” was aerated no more.

“What did you do while I was away?”

“Found myself jobs, a niche to fill.”

“Like?”

“Helping Mrs. Reed; refereeing for the children; talking to the women here and suggesting a few things.”

“Like?” His eyes were sharper now, interested.

“Like bringing back their children from the mainland and agitating for a local school, trying to establish a social centre, getting keen on community activities ... coming to take a pride in the place.”

“You said all that?”

“In a kind of way.”

He looked down at his cigarette and then back at her again.

“Why, Miss Teal?” he asked directly. “We don’t pay bonuses for extra service here.”

She flushed. “I think I said it because I meant it.”

“You don’t have to mean anything, you still get paid.”

She turned suddenly flashing eyes on him. “Money is everything to you, isn’t it? It’s the real reason you won’t agree to your sister’s going, so that you won’t have to pass across her share of the estate.”

He was not as affected as she thought he would be. He calmly gave his attention to another cigarette.

“Money is a lot to you, too,” he pointed out. “Otherwise you would not have gone to Kittey as you did.”

“There could be another reason.” She was thinking of David.

“That reason was scotched right in the beginning, remember?”

She remembered. How could she not remember? How could she forget that caustic “one available male—with other ideas?”

For all his sarcasm, however, she had the feeling that he was unwillingly pleased with her, with her contact with the island women. Anything to better the House of Larsen would please him, she thought.

He took her arm and pulled her to her feet. “It must be time to eat,” he said, and they started down to the house.

As they descended she asked him about some of the trees, and he told her.

“These are Norfolk pines
...
Norfolk Island is in that direction
...
” he pointed. “There’s a modern whaling station at Norfolk. Quite a large company.”

“Not a dynasty,” she said.

He gave her a quick look.

“Here is your namesake.” He touched a generous, wide-branching, glossy-leafed tree. “A laurel.”

“It’s not like our laurels.”

“It’s a camphor laurel. An Australian species.”

His fingertips went under her arm again. “There’s something else I want to show you.” He led her down a side path. Thy came to an old rainwater tank.

“It’s filled with sea water,” he explained, “and a quantity of menthol.”

“Menthol?”

“To seed my oysters.”

“Why do you want seeded oysters?”

“For pearls.”

“Pearls?”

“It’s a hobby. I dip the oysters until they relax and open enough to enable me to work in mother-of-pearl nuclei.
After that I suspend them in cages over the end of the jetty. Given the right conditions I have a pearl in a year.”

“Have you done this long?”

He nodded, and began unwrapping a bundle which he had taken from his pocket. “I took these over to an expert in Anna,” he told Laurel, “and he said they’re saleable.” She looked down with pleasure on the handful he held out for her inspection ... a handful of pale pink teardrops, she thought. She touched one gently and felt a glowing warmth.

“They’re lovely.”

“Not bad, taking into consideration that we’re too far south to hope to raise anything really spectacular.”

“Yet you
do
hope?” she hazarded.

He ran his fingers through his salt-bleached hair, a curiously boyish gesture she had not seen him use before. A little boyishly he said, “One feels there can always be the exception.” She could see that it was more than just a hobby with him.

“Then,” she suggested, “your financial worries would be over.”

“What do you know of my financial worries?”

“I know that both your house and water storage need renewing.”

He shrugged his great shoulders. “I see you’ve been getting around. Luke drive you up to Dum?”

“There—and to the northern end as well.”

He was tying up the pearls again. He did not appear at all annoyed that she had seen
h
is new boat.

“So you think I should effect some repairs?” he drawled.

“It can never be expansion if you don’t maintain.” There, she had said it. She waited for the raised eyebrows, the cool, quizzing eyes as he answered, “Oh, yes, Miss Teal, and what business is this, pray, of yours?”

But he did not say it.

He said instead, “I can’t do both. I can’t spend money on things that are already there.”

“The pearl,” she suggested. “The pearl that will be the exception to the rule.”

First I have to grow it. Then when—if—I did—”

“Yes?”

But he did not answer her. The silence between them grew
...
and grew. Her head was not turned away this time, and all at once she found herself looking directly into the sailor blue eyes. They were not slitted now, they were staring—no, probing almost, probing into hers.

She looked back, looked back curiously, oddly aware of something somewhere between them, something waiting, waiting to be discovered ... to be opened like the opening up for a pearl.

The meal bell rang. He put the bundle into his pocket, still not speaking. Had he known that odd sensation, too?

She could not tell when he did speak at last, neither by his voice nor by the topic.

“I promised to show you the station,” he said. “I’ll do more than that, I’ll take you on a chase.”

“On a chase?”

“Tomorrow.”

“On—on the
Clytie
?”

“Yes.”

“Will—will it be ready?”

“It was only a matter of replacing the parts. It’s out working now. We’re making up for lost time.”

“Wouldn’t it be wiser to wait until there’s more time?”

“What’s wrong? Scared?”

“Yes.” She said it quite honestly. She
was
scared.

He laughed. “You’ll be all right, child. Remember how you were looked after on the
Leeward
.”
As though she could ever forget. “Besides—”

“Yes?”

“The
Clytie
is much bigger, so she rides better.” His eyes flickered authoritatively at her. “We’ll take off at five a.m.”

Without any more argument on the matter he turned her round and impelled her down to the house.

CHAPTER SEVEN

DURING the meal Laurel babbled about her trip tomorrow. She spoke lightly, hoping her voice did not falter as she felt sure her courage already had.

Peter told her eagerly
...
almost anxiously
...
that it was going to be good weather, perfect chasing weather.

She gave him a covert look. There was something secret about him. What had she thought before of him?
...
Something up his sleeve. That was it. Peter was rather transparent, really. He could not entirely hide things. There was something there now.

His innocent smile denied this, nonetheless Laurel felt oddly dubious. Surely Nor, sharp, discerning, incisive Nor, must see it too. But Nor Larsen had other things on his mind. He even nodded absentmindedly when Meredith told him lengthily about her doll-baby’s malady.

“Lumps, it is, Nor.”

“Mumps.” That was Jill, of course.

“
Lumps,
but no old Island doctor is going to look at my child, she’s going to Sydney Town to see a special. That’s what a very good doctor is called, Nor, a special.
”

“Is it now?” yawned Nor.

Peter drew Meredith’s attention to something else. He did it too hastily, Laurel thought.

During the afternoon she experienced the same unease.

Peter did not leave the children for a moment. When Laurel suggested taking them for a walk, he came too.

He said, a little awkwardly, “Laurel, you’re a good sport, I don’t want you to think—”

“Yes Peter?”

“Well, Nathalie and I appreciate you tremendously. It’s just that in a thing like this—”

“A thing like what?”

“Daddy,” said Jill, “did you pack my shells?”

“And doll-baby’s feeding bottle?” Meredith asked.

“Last one back to the house is a duffer,” Peter said a little desperately, and he started racing off. The children raced too. Only Laurel walked home.

Something up his sleeve, something kept ticking. As she went down the hall she saw a bag on Peter’s bed and some sleeves of folded clothes hanging out of it. Children’s clothes. Jill’s and Meredith’s little things.

What am I to do? Laurel thought. She considered it the rest of the afternoon.

At dinner Nor teased her over her preoccupation and said she was working herself up even before the chase began.

“Either that or you have a guilty conscience,” he accused.

For the briefest of moments Laurel caught Peter’s eye. There was no secrecy now, there was open, desperate appeal. She could not turn away from that appeal. After all, she thought, I actually know nothing, and even if I did know, it still is not my business. It’s not my right to go to Nor Larsen and say, “I have reason to suspect that Peter is planning something, and I want to report it to you.”

Her eyes flickered back at Peter, and almost visibly he relaxed.

She was awakened at four the next morning.

“Hurry up,” Nor ordered, “the bacon and eggs are on.”

She climbed into the clothes she had put out ready. Proofed pants in as small a size as Nor could borrow, windcheater, rubber boots. She came into the lighted kitchen, carrying her sou’wester in her hand.

“I don’t want bacon and eggs.”

“You’re having them.”

“I never eat breakfast, and I certainly wouldn’t before a trip like this.”

“
You certainly would. Probably that’s why you were sick last time. Nothing under your belt. Sit down and get this into you and be quiet.”

There was no getting out of it, no sneaking it away while his back was turned. She had to eat every mouthful, for he ate every mouthful of his with her. When she had finished and drunk a cup of strong coffee she thought reluctantly that perhaps he was right, you did feel stronger and more prepared with something substantial inside you.

They got into the jeep. Within five minutes they were at the station. It was still dark, but thin shafts of light were stripping the charcoal sky. Laurel looked at them unenthusiastically.

“Cheer up,” said Nor. “A dismal dawn often grows into
a bright day.”

The whalemen were already on the
Clyde.
Laurel had met most of them, knew their wives, and she smiled a little tremulously now when they hailed her heartily and promised her a good trip.

At once they lifted anchor and were under way. The
Clyde
left the bay, cleared the lee of the island, got into the deep sea.

Nor stood beside Laurel and shouted into her ear. This was necessary because the wind was really something. Had she ever said she loved wind and spray?

“We’ll toss just here, little green duck,” he called, “because at the rocky
corner
s of Humpback the opposing systems of waves, winds and currents all meet. Now you’ll see what a good chaser can do in the way of a war-dance.”

Laurel scarcely listened to his explanation. All she kept on hearing was her own repetition of that little green duck.” Why had he said it? And
w
hy did it give her such absurd pleasure? Give her, too, the confidence now to meet the
Clyde’s
tossing not only with serenity but even open enjoyment. For she was laughing at the weather
...
even revelling in it.

“See what a good breakfast does,” Nor approved.

After they had cleared the lee they were in vaster and slightly more subdued waters. But it was not to be a cruise by any means. The boat turned its direction again then again without any regard to the moods of either the wind or the sea.

“A chaser can’t stay on a course like a respectable merchant ship or trawler, it has to head off in any promising direction,” she heard Nor shout. He added, “Stomach where it should be?”

“Right here.” She patted the oilskin.

“That seems the right place to me.”

Dawn was breaking properly now. It was not going to be a bright day, but it was considerably less dismal.

“You seem to have your legs now,” nodded Nor, “so come up to the gun platform.”