Coffin was silent for a long time. When at last he turned back from the fire his voice had returned to normal. “You’d actually do it, wouldn’t you? Damage the whole country just to get back at me.”
Kinnegad stood stiffly. “I’d bring down the world if necessary. The Maoris have a word for it, Father. Utu. Revenge. You should understand that.”
Coffin was shaking his head sadly. “All these wasted years. All this hatred festering inside you. What a pity.”
“Not if you have something to live for, Father. Something meaningful.”
“Your mother wouldn’t approve. She wasn’t one for that sort of thing.”
“You think not? She hated you until the day she died. Oh, she didn’t speak of it, but I know that itself was a sign of how deeply she hated.”
“It doesn’t matter. None of this matters. You’ve overestimated yourself. Coffin Ltd. is too sound financially, too stable to be hurt by anything you can possibly do.”
“You think so? We’ll see.”
“Coffin Ltd. can shake but it cannot fall. I’ve built it too solidly.”
“Perhaps. Why such an effort, anyway? So that your other bastard will have something to inherit?”
Coffin’s voice fell dangerously. “Leave Andrew out of this. He knows nothing of my early life, nothing of you or your mother. He’s a fine young man. I won’t have something like you injuring him.”
“Injuring?” Kinnegad threw back his head and laughed. “How could I injure him? You haven’t even bothered to many his mother. For that you might thank me for not interfering.”
A glint of madness had appeared in the younger man’s eyes and Coffin took a wary step toward the reading table.
“Thank you? What are you raving about now? Why should I want to thank you?”
“Because I made it possible for you to be with Merita. I wanted her all to myself, you know. On that we agree. Someday I’ll have to show you our house.”
“You’re babbling.”
“Am I? Come now, Father, we both know what a lively, energetic, exciting woman Merita is. Always has been. Surely you don’t think you’re the only man on North Island to have slept with her?”
Coffin stared at him, finally whispered, “You rotten bastard. What a monster I sired.”
“Monster? It wasn’t I who drove Mary Kinnegad to her death. It wasn’t I who lived with one woman and claimed to love her alone.” Some of the edge slipped from his voice then. “I didn’t mean for her to die of the news.”
For an instant Coffin stopped breathing, remembering a day long ago. A mysterious package containing photographs. And a letter. When he spoke again his voice was so soft it was barely audible above the crackle of the fireplace.
“Holly—that was you? You sent those pictures.”
“Did it shock you, Father? I hoped it would. You never were one for sharing the truth. My intention was only that Holly Coffin should learn what her husband was really like. I did not intend for her to die.”
“She’d been in poor health for some time,” Coffin murmured. “The news broke her. I never did find out who’d sent the photographs or the letter. You, even then.”
“Even then, yes, but if not me she would have learned it from someone else, eventually.” Kinnegad refused to be put on the defensive. “Did you think you could conceal your infidelity forever? At least she learned the truth from a member of the family, as it were.”
“Monster,” was all Coffin could mutter.
“Whatever I am, I am my father’s son.”
“You caused the death of a good, innocent woman who never harmed you.”
“I said that wasn’t my intention!”
“Intentions matter not. Only results matter. You murdered Holly with those pictures as surely as if you’d used a knife.”
Kinnegad’s reply was thick with disdain. “Look at you, Coffin, standing there babbling your innocence. Even now you refuse to admit to your lies.”
“You can go straight to Hell.”
Kinnegad’s laugh came out as a bark this time. “When the time comes I’ll take my chances. Are you so confident of your own passport to Heaven, Father? Such a blameless life you’ve led!”
Suddenly too weak to stand, Coffin sat back in the chair. “I only tried to be fair,” he was mumbling. “I only tried to be fair.”
“Fair?” Flynn’s voice rose to a shout. “You were never fair to anyone in your life, Father. Except to yourself.”
7
Merita set the last of the papers aside. She didn’t need them to help her picture the wedding. There would only be one, she’d decided. It would be unique, combining the best rituals of both the Anglican Church and Maori tradition. A good time. A healing time during which both Maori and pakeha could join in celebration and feasting. The Maoris had always celebrated the end of a war. Now that the fighting was all but over, the wedding of her son and Opotiki’s daughter could stand as a symbol for a country reborn.
So much to do! Entertainment to be arranged, food to be catered: she hardly knew what to do next. Surely Father Spencer would be willing to perform the ceremony. Living among the Maori for many years had changed him from a somewhat stiff-backed missionary to a more cheerful and pragmatic gentleman. She could envision him standing alongside a Maori tohunga where another churchman would not.
They would have the actual ceremony at the Terraces and the reception afterwards at McRae’s. That way neither of the local hotels would feel slighted. It would require the cooperation of both to successfully bring off so extensive a production anyway.
The discovery that she was related to Valerie only made her more protective toward her. It was true the girl was a good deal younger than Andrew, but that needn’t stand in the way of a healthy relationship, as she knew well herself.
There was a pounding on her door. “Miss Merita?”
“Not now, Edward. I am busy.”
“Please, ma’m.” The door opened inward. “You must forgive me. Mr. Coffin has a visitor and—well, it sounds to me as if they might be fighting.”
“Fighting?” She shut the drawer full of plans and spun on her chair. “What do you mean, Edward? Mr. Coffin does not fight with his guests.”
“Perhaps not fighting, then—but they are yelling and shouting something fierce and I am concerned. I thought you should know.”
Merita chuckled. “Yelling and shouting? It’s probably just business, then. I have listened to Mr. Coffin yell many times where business is concerned. It is part of what I believe he calls his technique. Pakeha business is often conducted by shouting.”
The butler was insistent. “This does not sound like business to me, ma’m. It all sounds very personal.”
“That is strange.” With a sigh she rose from her seat. “I guess I should see what is going on. Besides, it is too late for someone to come calling on business. Perhaps that is what Mr. Coffin is yelling about.”
Edward held the door for her but remained behind. As Merita descended the front stairway the noise from the parlor grew in volume. The butler was right. It didn’t sound like business, though with Robert there were times when it was difficult to tell. She heard two voices clearly but they overlapped so much she couldn’t identify either.
“Now then,” she said briskly as she opened the parlor doors in front of her, “what is all this about?”
At the sound of her voice all discussion ceased. The occupants of the room turned to stare at her.
“Merita.” Flynn Kinnegad essayed a crooked smile. “Didn’t know you were still awake.”
“It is not so very late.” She replied without hesitation—and without thinking.
It was confirmation enough. Coffin’s gaze flicked from Merita to his son, back again. “Then that’s true also.”
“What is true?” Merita’s heart was pounding against her ribs.
“How does it feel, Father?” Kinnegad’s voice dripped venom. “Cuckolded by your own son?”
Coffin had passed beyond ang
er. This time he merely shook his head sadly. “How you must hate me.”
Merita mechanically shut the doors behind her, then turned to stare in disbelief at the younger man. “Flynn, you didn’t.”
“He didn’t have to.” Coffin regarded her out of sad eyes. “It is true, isn’t it? You’ve slept with him?”
Merita had never been one to hesitate. Now she straightened as much as she was able. “Yes. It is not an uncommon thing among the Maori.”
“But you’re not just Maori. You’re mistress of the Coffin lands.”
“That is so. Yet I remain Merita, daughter of Te Ohine, granddaughter of.…”
“Never mind the genealogy.” Coffin cut her off sharply. “I’ll deal with you later.” He looked back at Kinnegad. “How long has this been going on?”
Flynn shrugged as if it were something of no consequence, wandered behind an expensive couch and made a show of examining the upholstery. “Quite a while, Father. Longer than you’d think possible. Ironic, isn’t it? You made your visits here to deceive your wife and while you were back in Auckland with her, I was here deceiving you with your mistress. One would think we were a line founded on deceit.”
“I wish I’d known.” Coffin stared into the fireplace.
“Known what? About Merita and me?”
“No. I wish I’d known what happened to you after Kororareka. All this might well have been avoided. All this pain and hurt.”
Kinnegad was nodding. “You’re right there. A lot could have been avoided. You’re such an expert at avoiding things, aren’t you, Father? Tell me: what would you have done if Mother had lived? Kept two mistresses? Your Maori woman here and Irish Mary in Napier, or maybe at New Plymouth? Wouldn’t that have complicated your travels?”
Merita sounded confused now. “Robert, what is this? Who is he talking about?”
Coffin forced himself to reply. “Merita, I haven’t had two sons, Christopher and Andrew. I’ve had three.”
She gazed at him blankly, finally turned to Kinnegad.
“My mother,” Flynn explained with icy calmness, “was an Irish whore. The soul of kindness, but a woman of no common sense. Your ‘benefactor’ here slept with her, used her for a few years, then cast her aside. This happened rather a long time ago.”
“I did not cast her aside!” Coffin bellowed.
“Yes, yes, so you say.” Kinnegad sounded bored. “It was all her fault and you bear no responsibility. You’re as innocent as the driven snow.”
“I didn’t say that.” Coffin subsided slightly. “I don’t think anyone in this is wholly innocent. But I did not plan the demise of our relationship, as you think. I never intended for us to part, much less in the manner we did.”
“How can you expect anyone, myself least of all, to believe anything you say? You’ve been as devious in your personal relationships as in your business.” Kinhegad glanced to his right. “He’s a clever chap, isn’t he, sweet Merita? You should know that if anyone should. I expect you’re finding all this quite fascinating, as you know both generations intimately. Now if only I’d been able to get you pregnant.…”
Robert Coffin roared like a wounded lion as he charged. Though slowed by age he was stilt an immensely powerful man. He struck the startled Kinnegad straight on. The two of them went backward over the couch, Coffin’s callused hands tight around his son’s throat.
“Stop it!” Merita screamed. “Stop it, the both of you!”
There was a loud crash as both men tumbled over a cherry-wood table, shattering crystal and pieces of fine imported porcelain before they landed heavily on the floor. Kinnegad emerged on top, an expression of twisted bliss on his handsome face, the reflection of the culmination of decades of planning and brooding.
The older Coffin gave as good as he got, bloodying the younger man’s nose. They battled with single-minded intensity and in frightening silence, the only sounds that of heavy breathing and of bodies bumping into furniture, of clenched fists striking flesh.
Tears were pouring down Merita’s cheeks. “No more, please, no more!” The two men ignored her pleas, lost in their own private furies.
She ran to the library table and wrenched open the drawer. Grabbing up one of the pistols she clutched it tight in both hands and pointed it at them.
“That’s enough! Stop it! Stop or I swear I’ll shoot the both of you!”
When they still didn’t respond she aimed the barrel at the ceiling and pulled the trigger. She didn’t close her eyes as she did so. Robert had taught her how to handle firearms. Besides, she was Maori. A weapon was the last thing she’d be afraid of.
What her pleading and crying had failed to do the single gunshot accomplished. The pistol’s echoing report caused both men to pause. Kinnegad sat atop his father, blood streaming from his nose, one fist raised to strike. He gazed blankly at the wild-eyed woman with the revolver.
“Get off him,” she said, her voice dangerously low.
“Dear Merita.” He smiled, sniffed blood, wiped it away with the sleeve of his formerly immaculate jacket. “You wouldn’t shoot old Flynn, now would you?”
“I’ll kill the both of you if you give me half an excuse. Now get off him.”
“All right. Sure.” Kinnegad raised both hands, favored the man under him with a last look of pure hatred, and climbed slowly to his feet, backing away. Coffin sat up shaking his head, his silver-gray hair thoroughly disheveled. Sweaty strands were stuck to his forehead. He pushed them aside, grinned up at her.
“Thanks, Merita. I wouldn’t have thought of that.”
“Don’t thank me. Don’t you thank me!” She was still crying. “Why didn’t you ever tell me about this woman? I would have understood. But you hid it from me, Robert. Why? Are there others? The women I could forgive you for, but not the secrets and the lying.”
His smile vanished. “No. There are no others.” He climbed to his feet and took a step toward her.
“Stop!” She steadied the revolver.
Coffin obeyed, his expression pained. “Merita. What’s got into you?” He looked angrily to his right as Kinnegad began laughing uncontrollably.
“This is wonderful! Better even than I had planned, better than I could have imagined.”
“And you!” Merita swung the muzzle of the gun to point at Kinnegad. “All the years I made you welcome. All to salve your anger and your hurt. You never hinted, never told me it wasn’t me you really wanted. All that time you were just using me. Both of you, using me.” The tears continued to flow, but not enough to impair her aim.
“You both used me, and I let you, I let you. And the worst of it is I still love you both.” She added a pitiful addendum in Maori.
Kinnegad sat down on a chair and used a hankerchief to dab at his nose. “Of course we used you. Didn’t we, Father?” He smiled humorlessly at the older man. “That’s the way it is with us Coffins. We’re always fair and honorable and just—except when it suits us to behave otherwise. Then we make up our own private set of rules and values.”
“No.” Coffin glared down at him. “That’s not how it is. I could never have done what you’ve done to Merita, much less what you’ve done to yourself.”
“How profound!” Kinnegad turned in the chair. “I suppose the time has come, sweet Merita. Now you’re going to have to make a choice between lovers. Come now, which is it to be? Which of us will you choose? Or will you shoot both of us?”
“I—I don’t know what I am going to do.”
“Merita.…” Coffin took a step toward her. Immediately the gun shifted toward him. He saw her finger tremble against the trigger.
“Don’t, Robert. Don’t try to push me. Not now. Not now.”
“Very well.” She was right on the edge, he saw. Beyond the anger in her eyes and the anguish in her voice were the beginnings of hysteria. Carefully he retreated and spoke in what he hoped was a soothing tone. “But what are you going to do?”
“Yes, what are you going to do?” Kinnegad was enjoying hims
elf thoroughly. “Stay with me. Cast aside this sham of a life he gives you. I’ll marry you in an instant, give you my name. A proud name, Kinnegad. We’re the same age, Merita. How can you think of staying with this lying old man who’s deceived you all your life?”
“Listen to me, you little bastard, when this is over I’m.…”
“You’re going to what, Father?” Kinnegad challenged him. “Don’t think to insult me so easily. I know what I am, thanks to you.” He looked back at Merita. “Choose. Which of us will it be?”
“I can’t choose. I love you both. I always have.”
“Then I must say,” Kinnegad sighed, “you have rotten taste in men. Perhaps you’ll choose neither of us.” He looked back at his father. “What will you do then, Coffin? Live in this great empty house by yourself? No, I imagine you’d be quick to find yourself another. You have a talent for it, I suppose. She’s going to choose me, you know.”
“We—we have a family,” Coffin muttered.
“Ah yes, your charming half-breed Andrew. I’ve met him, though he had no idea who I was. Seems like a fine chap, not a bit like a Coffin. Not like you and me. I understand he’s to be married in a few days. What a pity the wedding isn’t going to take place.”
Coffin had thought he was beyond shock. He was wrong.
“Open your mouth about this and you’re a dead man, Flynn. Dead, you understand? No one will know who did it and they’ll never find your body.”
Kinnegad shrugged. “Seems I’m about to be shot anyway.” He’d risen from the chair and worked his way around to the other side of the couch. Now he kept one eye on his father while he spoke to Merita.
“You couldn’t know, of course. It’s planned that way. Even as we speak, the thugs your wonderful, sweet Robert has hired are preparing to kidnap your son’s fiancee and spirit her away to Batavia. Only for a while, of course. Until they’ve forgotten each other.”
Maori Page 49