‘Are you here to see us?’
‘Absolutely. Thought I’d give my new Napier a gallop. Four horse power. Marvellous machine.’
He beamed at them both. From somewhere he had produced a bowler hat and now looked like the complete city solicitor. ‘Now, shall we talk?’
‘What about?’ asked Stefan, bemused.
‘Quite. That’s what I’ve come to tell you,’ said Mr Harpur.
Sigrid watched them talking on the verandah. A funny man, she thought, that Mr Harpur. She hoped he would not stay too long, because it was her afternoon and evening off, and Oscar Schmidt, who was the assistant to the chemist in Bethany, was coming to take her for a drive. Oscar was a nice young man, but rather serious, Sigrid thought. He was almost certainly going to propose to her, but she felt too young for marriage, and had already decided she would say no. She would tell Oscar to ask her again in a few years’ time, and if he found someone else meanwhile, then it would be no great loss. There must certainly be more exciting boys than Oscar Schmidt. Her thoughts swung back to what was taking place there on the verandah.
The solicitor was presenting Stefan and Elizabeth with a document. ‘One deed of gift, in the joint names of Stefan and Elizabeth Muller,’ said Mr Harpur.
‘What deed of gift?’
They were both mystified.
Mr Harpur sipfed his tea and peered through his glasses at the document in front of him. ‘The ten-acre field being lot 21, Folio 11…’
‘Mr Harpur, whatever are you talking about?’ Elizabeth. interjected.
‘The field next door to your vineyard. Wasn’t it for sale?’
‘It was sold,’ Stefan tried to explain to him.
‘Indeed it was,’ Mr Harpur said. ‘You bought it.’ He chuckled as he registered their puzzled faces.
‘Or should I say, Senator William Patterson acquired it on your behalf. And it is now deeded to you both. I am also instructed to place to your credit the sum of five hundred pounds …’
They were both astonished. It was a fortune to them.
‘Such sum to be expended upon the purchase and installation of a new watering system.’
‘Good God,’ Stefan said.
William opened the wine, and poured them each a glass.
‘Henry’s got the measles,’ he said, handing Hannah her glass.
‘Poor Henry. Badly?’
‘You’d think the world was coming to an end. Edith’s hired day and night nurses, and gets bulletins on the hour. Try the wine.’
Hannah smiled and tasted the contents of her glass. He could tell she was impressed.
‘Rather good,’ she said.
‘It’s wonderful. First class.’ He showed her the label on the bottle. It was in copperplate script and read: Elizabeth Vineyard, 1902.
‘They sent me a case.’
‘That was nice of them.’
‘I’ve written to say how good I think it is.’
She was thoughtful for a moment. He studied her. ‘What are you thinking about?’
Hannah smiled. ‘Who said I was thinking of anything in particular?’
‘I can tell. Something’s on your mind.’
‘Everyone seems to be getting on so well,’ she merely said.
‘Now what do you mean by a remark like that?’
‘Absolutely nothing, William. I’m glad you were generous and helped them. They clearly appreciate it.’
‘Generous? It wasn’t all that much,’ he said. ‘The field was an ideal way to increase their acreage. Good piece of land, right on the creek. Let’s face it, he deserves it. He’s made a go of things. Only needed the chance. And he loves her — which is what really matters.’
He sipped his wine, refilled their glasses, and was disconcerted to find her eyes intent on him, her gaze faintly amused.
‘What are you up to, William?’
‘Must you always assume I do nothing without an ulterior motive?’
‘You rarely do, my darling,’ Hannah replied.
‘So what is it?’
‘I want to help my daughter. What’s wrong with that?’
She shook her head and said, ‘I can’t think of anything wrong with it. Much nicer than when you were forever hoping she’d tire of Stefan and come running back home.’
‘I learned a lot in those six months she stayed with us. She won’t tire of Stefan. I made everything as comfortable as I could for her, hoping she’d want to remain in Sydney. I said I’d find him a good job, they could live in their own part of the house, or I’d buy them a home. I tried every way possible to tempt her. You know what she told me one night?’
Hannah shook her head.
‘She said it could be wonderful. But impossible. Because I would dominate Stefan — make him unhappy. When I tried to protest, she said she wasn’t accusing me. It was the way I was, and I wouldn’t be able to help myself. I’d make him feel inadequate. She said he needs that vineyard — and she needs him. That’s how it is.’
He was silent for a moment.
‘There is another reason,’ he added finally.
‘What reason?’
‘I don’t want them to change their minds about Henry. It’s getting rather difficult.’
‘How?’
‘He’s not so keen on visiting the Barossa for Christmas, but I feel he must — even if I take him in person. It was, after all, the agreement we made. But I can already foresee a time when he’ll grow away from them. He’ll make friends at school. Going home twice a year, halfway across the country, is going to become a duty and a chore.’
‘You mean they might insist he comes home permanently?’
‘If they feel they’re losing him — yes.’
‘And if you’re all good friends, that may be less likely?’
‘Well — yes.’ He shrugged. ‘So you’re right, of course. I am a conniving bastard. But if we lost him, well, I don’t know if Edith could face it. Her whole life revolves around him.’
‘And you?’
‘I’d miss him like hell. I want him to have the best. The things I never had as a kid — things Elizabeth could’ve had, if she hadn’t fallen in love and run away. I’d like him to be a lawyer. But whatever he wants, he can have.’
‘Do me one special favour, Willie.’
‘Of course. What is it?’
‘Remember he’s a nice, unspoiled small child.’
‘Of course he is.’
‘Then don’t ruin him.’
‘Would I?’ He felt close to anger, offended.
‘I’m not saying you would,’ Hannah was undeterred. ‘But when you say he can have whatever he wants, you worry me. Don’t let him have anything he wants, William — make him earn it. For God’s sake, don’t make him a rich man’s grandson.’
‘What the hell are you talking about?’
‘Spoiled, superficial, a pampered and indulged brat. I don’t have to spell it out. You know what I mean.’
‘He won’t be that, I promise you,’ William said tersely. ‘Good,’ Hannah replied, equally abrupt.
It was one of their rare quarrels, but Hannah had no regrets that she had provoked it. She loved William; the one thing she feared was that his affection for his grandson might damage not only the child, but family relationships that had suffered such stress, and were slowly being repaired. There was harmony at last in the mansion opposite the park. There was the closer relationship with Elizabeth, and a slowly growing accord with his son-in-law. William was happier than he had been in many years, and she did not want that to change.
PART THREE
TWENTY
The stout man broke wind so loudly that the two boys behind him heard it, and began to laugh. They took off their boaters and fanned the air, as if to disperse the smell.
‘What a fart,’ Harry said, and they laughed all the way to the school, where they regaled their classmates with vivid descriptions of the event. Their hilarity was interrupted by the entry of the geography master. Mr Jensen-Clarke
was a man who ruled his class with a sarcastic wit, and most of the boys had learned to keep their eyes glued to their work rather than encounter the gaze of the master, always on the prowl for a victim. Today, Harry, having just gone into details about the pong from the year’s loudest fart, was not swift enough to wipe the smile from his face. Mr Jensen-Clarke put down his books, surveyed the class and felt an undercurrent of simmering mirth. He had been a teacher in boys’ schools for many years, and viewed laughter as the enemy of learning. It had to be stamped out, and the easiest way to do that was to deal with the cause of it.
‘Patterson, stand up,’ he said.
Harry stood up. At the age of eleven, he was already tall and bore a striking resemblance to his grandfather. Mr Jensen-Clarke was not the least impressed that this was the grandson of a Senator. He had taught the offspring of minor royalty, and the sons of social leaders in England. The descendants of the bunyip aristocracy were of little account, unless they did their homework and secured high marks in their exams, which in due course enhanced his status as a teacher.
He had his favourites, and this boy was not one of them. In his classroom the meek and the studious inherited the best reports, and Patterson was not meek. Nor particularly studious, although his exam results were invariably good. He was the kind of student Jensen-Clarke found aggravating; clearly bright, disinclined to work hard, and far too often the clown at the centre of class commotions.
He left him standing, while he placed textbooks in neat order on the desk, then took up his heavy ruler. He held it in his right hand, like a swagger stick, and tapped his left. He then favoured the boy with a long appraisal, while the class watched and waited expectantly, relieved it was not them facing J-C’s wrath.
‘Well, Patterson?’
‘Yes, thank you, sir,’ Harry said, politely but living dangerously. ‘Extremely well, sir.’
There was a titter. The geography master turned, too late to see the culprit. The class were all poker-faced, but he knew insubordination when he heard it and beckoned the respondent forward.
‘I didn’t ask how you were. I’m not in the least concerned with your well-being. I don’t like impertinence, Patterson.’
‘I’m sorry if I misunderstood you, Mr Jensen-Clarke.’
The master stared at him. He had always found the expectation of punishment an effective way of making his students malleable.
He enjoyed it when they dropped their eyes, and shuffled their feet, showing their fear. This was another aspect of Patterson which annoyed him. The boy looked directly at him. What’s more, he was already almost as tall as the stocky schoolmaster.
‘When I came into this room, I heard laughter. You were in the process of saying something.’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Perhaps you’ll oblige me by repeating it, Patterson.’ Harry nodded.
‘Certainly, sir.’
The class, and in particular his closest friend, David Brahm, were riveted. He couldn’t — he surely wouldn’t tell J-C about the fart. It was inconceivable. Not even Harry would go that far. ‘Speak up, boy. We haven’t got all day.’
‘We were talking, sir — about wind.’
David Brahm thought he would wet himself. Those around him bit hard on their lips, trying to remain straight-faced. The entire class were on the verge of disaster, threatened by a gale of laughter which would mean caning, lines, or being kept in. Possibly all three.
‘Wind?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘What sort of wind?’ He was suspicious; he thought he saw a boy in the back row struggling to suppress a snigger.
‘All sorts. What I was saying, sir — since this is geography and it’s a geographical fact this city is full of wind — there’s the cool north-east wind from the sea, the unpleasant west wind from the inland, hot in summer and cold in winter — then there’s the south wind which brings storms and is called the southerly buster. There are also occasional other winds, which can be a bit foul …’ he knew he was going too far, but could not stop himself ‘… winds from unexpected quarters, sir …’ He could no longer tighten his jaw to prevent smiling, and his shoulders started to shake in spasm.
The class erupted. The roar of laughter could be heard across the quadrangle. Jensen-Clarke felt a moment of panic. He had not had a class out of control for years, ever since his apprentice term as a teacher. He shouted at them to stop, but could not be heard. Then he banged his heavy ruler on the desk, smashing it in half, which sent them into further hysteria. Those who had felt the weight of it on their hands in the past began to cheer.
Jensen-Clarke lost control. He grabbed a cane, seized the boy and directed him to bend over. Harry could not hear the order amid the noise, and was dilatory, so the master began to thrash him around the body and legs, the swish and whack of the cane on his flesh gradually bringing a shocked silence to the class.
Harry was on the floor, hands raised to protect his face and eyes, when the door opened and the headmaster entered.
‘Sit down, Patterson.’
‘Thank you, sir, but I think I’d better stand.’
‘Still painful?’
‘Slightly. The liniment Matron put on helped a bit.’
‘Good,’ the headmaster said. He was at a loss how to deal with this. The boy’s grandfather would certainly demand Jensen-Clarke be charged, creating a storm that could well reach the newspapers. ‘I’m sorry,’ the headmaster told him, and meant it. ‘If you go back to the dispensary, Matron will look after you while I telephone your grandfather.’
‘Please don’t,’ Harry said.
‘Don’t what?’
‘Telephone him.’
‘The matter must be dealt with. I have to tell him.’
‘Why?’
‘Better I inform him than you do, Patterson — quite apart from showing him the marks and welts on your body.’
‘But I won’t do that, sir.’
The headmaster tried to conceal his sudden feeling of hope. ‘Why not?’
‘I just won’t.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘Yes, sir. It was partly my fault.’
‘Really?’
‘I was — a bit cheeky. Everyone was laughing. J-C — I mean, Mr Jensen-Clarke, got a bit upset.’
‘Mr Jensen-Clarke,’ the headmaster now felt able to admit, ‘lost his temper.’
‘Yes, sir, he did.’
‘He won’t be teaching here in future.’
Harry nodded. He knew no comment was required.
When he had gone the headmaster felt confused, relieved but perplexed. The boy seemed anxious to conceal the matter. It was most unusual. But the school was reprieved. What might have been a scandal was now a mere incident. A teacher had lost control and been dismissed. In a few days it would be forgotten.
Provided the boy kept silent.
‘But why not tell?’ David Brahm insisted on knowing. ‘It’s over, Brahm. It’s forgotten.’
The two boys were walking home from school towards their respective homes near the park.
‘I’ll bet nobody in our class ever forgets it. He belted you at least twenty times with the cane. He should be had up in court.’
‘I’d like to see him in gaol,’ Harry said.
‘Well, there you are. You can do it, easier than anyone. Just tell your grandfather.’
‘No.’
‘He’d create a hell of a stink.”
‘I know he would. And that’s why I won’t tell him.’
‘You’re peculiar,’ David Brahm said. ‘You’re my best friend — but sometimes you’re really peculiar.’ They continued walking in temporary silence. ‘Does it hurt?’ David asked finally.
‘Yeah.’
‘He was using all his strength.’
‘You don’t have to tell me.’
‘Suppose they see the cane marks? At home, I mean.’
‘I’ll make sure they don’t.’
‘But why? Why protect that bastard?’
<
br /> ‘I’m not protecting him. He’s got the sack.’
‘He’ll go and teach somewhere else. Get a new heavy ruler to make life rotten for some other kids. So you are protecting him.’
‘Look, shut up, will you. Just shut up.’
‘Don’t lose your block.’
‘I’m not. It’s my way of asking you to talk about something else.’
‘What’ll we talk about? The weather?’
They entered the park, their normal route to take a short cut, again in silence.
‘All right, let’s forget it,’ David Brahm said eventually.
‘No. I’ll tell you.’
They stopped beside a silver birch. It was late autumn, and the deciduous trees had shed most of their leaves, making the park resemble a European landscape.
‘There’s nothing I’d like more than to see him in trouble. He’s a bully and a lousy teacher. If I went home and showed Grandad these marks, he’d explode like a firecracker, and there’d be a terrific row. Grandfather likes rows. It might even get in the newspapers.’
‘So why not do it?’
‘Because of my grandmother.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘She wouldn’t like it. She’d be upset.’
‘How do you know?’
‘I know Gran. It’d worry her. And I don’t want her hurt or upset.’ David Brahm thought it was really strange.
He had two grandmothers, both of whom came to visit and who fussed over him too much for his liking. Sometimes he couldn’t understand his friend Patterson’s affection for this crippled woman in a wheelchair.
‘I’m home,’ he called, and fending off the enthusiastic assault of Polly the dalmatian, went upstairs to the small living room that his grandmother preferred in autumn because it was warmed by the afternoon sun. She put aside the new H.G. Wells novel she was reading, and held out her arms to him. He kissed her and tried not to flinch as she hugged him where the cane had bitten deep. Edith felt it.
‘What’s wrong, darling?’
‘An ant bit me,’ he lied swiftly. ‘It’s nothing.’
‘Get some balsam and I’ll treat it.’
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