Each time he got the same answer, whether it was in English from the expats or pidgin from the locals: ‘Sorry, mate. Never seen her.’
For weeks he battled the heat and his bung leg. He travelled by trading boats to the islands, including Manus, Samarai, New Britain and New Ireland. Gutted that his search was proving fruitless, he finally arrived on the island of Bougainville and repeated the steps he’d taken on all the other islands: he first sussed out the district commissioner’s office, which was in Arawa and proved to be a thatched building, close to the beach and shrouded by a scarlet dazzle of bougainvillea. The commissioner was away in Moresby, but his ADC, a bloke from Townsville who sported an immaculately ironed khaki shirt in contrast to Ronan’s rumpled checked one, was there. He raised his lanky frame from behind a steel desk. Behind him a push-out window framed a group of native women standing waist-deep in the ocean, fishing with nets.
He looked at the photograph Ronan handed him. Turned it over in his hand. Glanced at Ronan and then at the photo again. ‘I know that face, mate,’ he said, lighting a Rothmans and scraping his chair on the wooden floor as he sat down again. ‘How could one forget it?’
Ronan took a deep inward breath and tears threatened his weary eyes. ‘Where did you see her?’ he asked, trying to control his excitement.
‘On the island of Kiriwina in the Trobriands. I was staying at the small guest lodge there. An English couple own it. One evening we were having sundowners on the verandah overlooking the lagoon. The girl in your photograph was there. She teaches the kids in the village school. I must admit I was rather taken with her.’ He grinned. ‘She wasn’t interested. I figured she must have a boyfriend already.’ He fiddled with his neatly trimmed moustache and blew smoke rings into the muggy air. ‘I presume you’re not him or you’d know where to find her?’
Ronan shook his head, hoping that he was wrong about Clara having a boyfriend. ‘No, I’m not,’ he said.
‘Why do you want to track her down then? For, quite frankly, mate, if she’s camped way out there in the Trobriands, maybe she doesn’t want to be sussed out.’
‘Her mother died not long ago. I need to let her know.’
‘Well if that’s the case, that’s where I reckon you’ll find her. Give her my regards when you see her. And the couple who own the guest lodge. Can’t for the life of me remember their name, but they were good hosts.’
‘Thank you,’ Ronan said, shaking his hand. ‘You’ve been a great help.’
* * *
Three days later Ronan found a trading boat that would take him from Arawa to Kiriwina and stumbled into a small village of thatched houses with pitched roofs near the town of Losuia. A circle of native men sat cross-legged chewing betel nut, while another man hacked into a coconut with a bush knife nearby. Beyond them, bare-breasted women squatted on the ground shaping carvings out of wood and polishing shells, their children playing close by. Chickens pecked in the dirt next to a ring of rocks containing the remains of a smouldering fire. A few scrawny dogs lolled in the shade of a frangipani tree that held a couple of rainbow coloured parrots in its branches. It was the same scene Ronan had encountered in nearly every island village he had visited. Now his attention was drawn to where a few teenage boys were playing cricket with makeshift bats. Beyond the cricketers a group of younger children were gathered in a circle under swaying palms.
And there she was, sitting on the ground helping the children make necklaces out of shells. It took all his self-control not to rush over. If he did, he would not only frighten the school children, he would also alarm Clara. He couldn’t get over how beautiful she was. Her hair was still long and she was as brown as a berry from the hot New Guinea sun. She was wearing a red skirt and a white t-shirt. Now one of the children saw him and tugged on Clara’s sleeve. She turned to look at him and her eyes opened wide.
‘Oh my God, Ronan! Is that you?’ she called, standing up and shading her eyes against the sun. She came over and stood before him, the whole time looking him up and down. It was as though he was a vision that had appeared from the sky.
He nodded and touched his beard. ‘Yes, it’s me. A bit worse for wear. But it’s me all right.’
She glanced at his walking stick. ‘You’re injured. How did that happen?’
‘Vietnam. A mine.’
‘My God! You went to fight that horrid war?’
‘I did. It seemed a way out at the time.’ He touched his leg. ‘Until this happened.’
‘Oh, Ronan … I’m so sorry. You wouldn’t have been injured like that if I hadn’t gone to stay at Eureka Park. It was all my fault.’
‘No it wasn’t.’
Now there was a long and awkward pause as neither of them could decide what to do next. ‘You shouldn’t have found me,’ she said.
Ronan smiled. ‘Yes, I should.’
‘Why? What good can come out of it?’
He looked to where the little children had stopped making their necklaces and were staring at the two of them.
‘Can I talk to you? Please?’
After a moment Clara nodded. ‘Let me give the children something to go on with.’ She pointed to a log near the lagoon. ‘I’ll come over in a minute.’
Ronan wanted to take her in his arms. Here and now. With great difficulty he held back. ‘I’ll be there waiting.’
As he walked slowly with his stick towards the log, he wondered how she had ended up here in this tiny village. He saw the schoolhouse set in among the trees. It was made out of woven palm and had a small verandah to the front, which looked down over the lagoon. Further along the bank was what looked like a small guest lodge. It was built of timber and had a thatched palm roof and a large, vine-covered verandah wrapping around all sides. Surrounding it was a beautiful garden of native bushes and plants and there was even a cassowary, which seemed tame, strolling around. Behind him were ornate yam houses perched on wooden stilts. Two happy-looking pigs were digging in the mud and through the pandanus trees he could hear the women working among the yams. He sat on the log and put down his rucksack. Picking up a small stone, he threw it into the water as he had done so many times at Rathgarven and Eureka Park. He smiled when he remembered Clara asking if there were crocodiles in the river at Eureka Park when she first arrived. There would certainly be saltwater crocodiles in this lagoon, he thought. He opened his rucksack and pulled out the letter Jessica had written to Ma. He had thought so often of how he would handle this moment. Should he tell Clara what was in the letter? Or should she read it herself? In the end he decided he’d give her the letter and she could read it quietly on her own.
There were footsteps behind him and he turned around. ‘So you’re not afraid of crocodiles any more?’ he said, smiling up at Clara.
She grinned. ‘It’s certainly not the place to be faint-hearted. Sadly, we can’t swim in the lagoon here. Further along we’ve made a sort of pool out of fence posts and wire netting, which we hope will keep them out.’
He looked across the lagoon to where another village stood on the opposite shore. The happy sounds of children wafted on the humid air. In front of them fish jumped in the water and a fat eel slithered along beneath the surface.
‘Despite the crocodiles,’ he said, ‘it’s certainly a beautiful spot you’ve chosen.’
‘I know. I never want to leave. The guesthouse belongs to a friend of mine. She and her husband have run it for a couple of years. They took over from her parents as her mother’s ill and had to go back to England. When I told her I wanted somewhere to find myself she suggested I come here. It took me a while to decide. Now I can’t imagine why I took so long. Freezing cold London. Or,’ she laughed, ‘here in paradise.’
‘I don’t know either.’
‘But why are you here?’ she asked again.
‘Because I had to find you.’
‘Why?’
‘To show you this.’
He handed her the letter.
‘It’s Mummy’s writing but it’s not
for me,’ she said, studying the front of the envelope. ‘It’s for Aunt Kathleen.’
‘All the same you should read it. While you do, I’ll go back and see how those kids are getting along with their necklaces. When you’re ready, come over and rescue me.’
She fiddled with the letter. ‘When did she write this?’
‘Just before she …’
‘She’s dead, isn’t she?’
He nodded. ‘Yes. She died of lung cancer.’
‘Oh!’ He could see that despite everything her mother had done to her, Clara was visibly upset. ‘All those cigarettes. I knew they’d get to her in the end.’
He got up and touched her on the shoulder. ‘Take as long as you like to read her letter.’ He smiled. ‘Now that I’ve found you I’m not going anywhere. Not without you.’
Clara gave him a puzzled look. ‘But …’
‘Read the letter. Please.’
* * *
Ronan sat with the children and watched Clara open the envelope and read. Saw her stand up and run a hand through her hair. Sit down again. Pick up the letter and re-read it. It was as though she was trying to take it all in. Trying to believe what she was reading. He gave her some privacy and turned his attention to the children, who were delighted to show this unexpected playmate their necklaces.
Half an hour later she sought him out. His fingers were shaking so much he was having difficulty threading the fishing line through the shells of a little girl’s necklace. Smiling at the children, she beckoned for him to follow her back to the lagoon, where they sank down on the bank.
‘Night after night I dreamt you’d turn up one day and tell me that it had all been a huge mistake,’ Clara said, turning the letter over in her hands. ‘That we weren’t brother and sister after all. Often, when I woke in the morning and discovered it had been a dream, I’d find it really hard to get through the day.’ She looked back towards the children. ‘It was those children who helped me go on. Without them I’d have given up long ago. Now to find out what I’d dreamt of so often is true.’ She sighed. ‘Oh, Ronan … Did she hate me so much to do what she did?’
‘I don’t think she hated you at all, Clara. When she found out she was dying I think she was so mixed up she didn’t realise the consequences. She must have thought you’d get over me and marry Charles Fitzpatrick after all and she’d be looked after.’
‘If only she’d told me she was dying.’
‘Would it have made any difference to how we felt? We still would have got married. No, she had to come up with a reason that would definitely stop us.’
‘You’re probably right.’ She sighed. ‘I tried to think of Dermot O’Sullivan as my father. I know I should’ve felt something, but I didn’t. The only role he played in my life was to destroy it.’ She looked away and back again. ‘I always thought Guy Preston was my father. Now … Well … Now to find out it was some colonel in charge of Garrison Headquarters. God, Ronan. I’m so confused. Why for heaven’s sake didn’t Mummy tell the truth? If she’d done that right at the beginning it would’ve saved so much heartbreak.’
‘I suppose she didn’t want to upset the apple cart. All hell would’ve let loose if it’d been discovered her boss had got her pregnant.’
‘She should’ve dobbed him in.’
‘It was a different time then. Not only wartime, but also a different kind of society. She may have been shunned. When Guy Preston asked her to marry him, she must’ve thought it was a way out.’
Clara sighed and took Ronan’s hand. ‘Despite all the horrid things Mummy did, the only thing that matters now is that the love we shared was never wrong. That’s what turned my mind. And,’ she said, squeezing his hand, ‘it must have turned yours as well. I didn’t contact you because I could never think of you as a brother. Every time I looked at you I’d think of us making love. No matter how hard I tried, your face was there every night when I went to sleep. Every morning when I woke up. Every hour of every day.’
Ronan held her gaze. ‘As yours has been with me.’
‘I’m sad that Mummy died. But I’m so, so angry with her.’ She fiddled with the letter. ‘I’m just grateful she told the truth in the end.’
‘So am I,’ he said.
‘But what was the heinous thing she did to your father?’
‘I don’t know. Both he and Ma said it was when they were young and best forgotten.’ He smiled. ‘I didn’t take it any further. I dare-say they’re entitled to some secrets.’
For some time they sat in silence before Clara stood up and tore the letter into little pieces. ‘I want to get rid of this.’ Ronan watched her throw the pieces into the air where they fell like large snowflakes into the lagoon. ‘Having thrown that away, I can pretend Mummy never tried to ruin our lives. If I read her letter again, it’ll make me so cross. And all I want is to be happy.’
She did a twirl and let out a shriek of loud, joyous laughter, which made all the children drop their necklaces and look at her in astonishment. Even the birds and the butterflies seemed to stop in mid-flight. She dragged Ronan to his feet and for some time they stood there as he caressed her face, her hair and touched her lips to his. Then she put her hand out and beckoned for the children to come over and join them in a dance. As they danced, she held onto Ronan’s hand to stop him putting pressure on his leg.
‘Yupela hamamas, yupela hamamas,’ one of the little girls cried out, clapping her hands.
‘Yes, Vavina,’ Clara said, kissing Ronan fully on the lips and dancing for joy. ‘We are happy. Very, very happy.’
Ronan pulled her close to him and held her tight. He could feel her heart beating against his chest. As long as he lived he would never let her out of his sight again. Although, like Clara, he was angry with Jessica for what she had done, he was grateful that at least she had tried to make things right before she died.
He couldn’t imagine how he would have coped if he’d never found Clara. Or if she had married someone else. He wanted to ask her to marry him right now. The only cloud on the horizon was his injuries. Could he saddle her with a cripple?
‘What if I’m stuck with this stick forever?’
Clara laughed. ‘I think it’s rather distinguished. Besides, who knows … maybe you’ll be able to throw it away one day.’ She became serious. ‘Ronan, I’m so sorry that those injuries happened to you,’ she said, stroking his cheek. ‘But we can’t let a mere walking stick stop our happiness.’
Ronan sighed with relief, and his face broke into a wide smile. ‘In that case, will you marry me, Clara?’
‘Oh, Ronan … I love you so very, very much.’ She stood back and grinned. ‘So, yes, I daresay I’ll marry you. How could I not?’
‘That’s so true. This time we’ll make sure it happens.’
With Clara by his side, and the little village children looking on in wonderment, Ronan felt more joy than he had ever thought was possible.
CHAPTER
54
When Kathleen went into Gullumbindy to see Martha Hogan, she picked up the mail from the post office and saw there was a letter with a New Guinea postmark. She knew Ronan had gone there to try and find Clara. She opened it in the car, hoping it would have good news.
Dear Dad and Ma,
I can’t ring as we have no phone lines here. But I’ve found her. In the Trobriand Islands on the island of Kiriwina. She’s great. Beautiful as ever. What’s more she’s agreed to marry me. In six weeks. Up here. Will you come? It’s a fabulous spot. You’ll love it. There’s a terrific guesthouse run by a friend of Clara’s and her husband. That’s why she’s here. She teaches at the mission school. She doesn’t want to live anywhere else. Nor do I. We’ve agreed to lease the guesthouse from Clara’s friend as her mother’s very ill in England and she wants to go back home to nurse her. I can run it during the day while Clara’s teaching. We’ll run it together at night. Please say you’ll come. Will write more later but wanted to get this on the plane leaving this afternoon for Lae. Love to eve
ryone from us both, Ronan.
Kathleen looked at the letter again and again, turning it over in her hands, which were trembling with excitement. She had dreamt of this moment for so long, now it had happened it was hard to believe it was true.
Looking up to the sky through the windscreen she said, ‘Thank you, God. Thank you.’
She drove home quickly and made her way up through the paddocks to where she hoped she would find James with Arthur. Arthur was now married and was back and living in the manager’s cottage with his lovely wife. Kathleen found him with James doing some work on the horse shelters. When she told them both the news, James lit his pipe and stood there smiling.
‘I’m so very happy for them.’
‘Gees, Mrs O’Sullivan,’ Arthur said. ‘Good on Ronan for finding her.’
‘What about the wedding?’ Kathleen said to James. ‘The boys will be in the middle of exams in six weeks.’
‘And Arthur and I’ll be getting ready for the William Inglis thoroughbred sales. You should go on your own. You can take lots of photos, so we’ll feel as though we were there.’
‘Ronan will be disappointed if we’re not all there.’
‘He’ll be far more disappointed if you don’t go,’ James said. ‘And it will do you good to get away from here for a while.’
In the end Kathleen agreed. And after a few more letters back and forth in regards to her travel arrangements, she was on a TAA flight to Port Moresby, and then flying on to Lae, where she hopped on a small Cessna. As they came in low over the Trobriand Islands, she could see the yam gardens set out in the villages. From the air they reminded her of the ratalu gardens in the villages around Calcutta. Ronan and Clara were both at the airport to meet her. Kathleen thought they were the happiest people she had ever seen.
‘Aunt Kathleen, how wonderful to see you,’ Clara said, giving her a warm hug and taking her small bag, while Ronan took the large one. ‘It’s so kind of you to come.’
The Homestead on the River Page 47