‘But James, dear, you’ve never grown anything in your life.’
‘I can learn,’ he replied stubbornly. Then, anticipating her next question, ‘And we won’t need to live here in the big house because I’ll build us a new one. How hard can it be? Joseph managed a really good job of his and Erin’s.’
Yes, Tamar thought, but Joseph is considerably more practical than you.
‘But what I’m really going to need is land, enough to set up an orchard, just a small one at first. I was hoping you and Lachie could perhaps see your way to selling me ten acres or so. I’m not sure exactly how much I’ll need yet.’
‘If we were to sell you land, James, how would you pay for it? You’re not exactly financially secure at the moment, are you?’
‘No, but I could get a loan.’
‘Not from the bank you’re about to resign from this afternoon?’
‘Hardly.’
Tamar shook her head. ‘No, James, you’re not borrowing money from an institution, not even one that isn’t associated with Roland Peacocke. What a pig of a man. I think I’ll go into town myself in a few days and transfer Kenmore’s accounts to another bank.’ She thought for a moment. ‘How much do you really want to do this, James?’
He didn’t hesitate, and the passion in his voice told her as much as his words. ‘As much as I wanted to lead men in battle.’
‘Then let me talk to Lachie. I imagine he would agree to lease you the land you need at some sort of peppercorn rental to start with. Ten acres isn’t much, and I’m sure the sheep won’t mind having to go and stand somewhere else. When would you want to start this new venture?’
‘As I’ll no longer be employed by the bank by five this afternoon, as soon as possible.’
‘And you’re sure Lucy is happy about all of this?’
‘It’s her decision too, Mam. And yes, she is happy.’
Tamar was suddenly overwhelmed with the heart-swelling realisation that her son might just have finally come home from the war.
‘All right then, dear, let me talk to Lachie. But it will have to be on a proper business footing, mind.’ Something occurred to her. ‘And I’m sorry, but I still can’t allow Kenmore’s name to be associated with the New Zealand Legion, so you’ll have to have your meetings somewhere else.’
James said, ‘Bugger the Legion.’ Then he laughed out loud, darted over to Tamar and crushed her in a hug that almost knocked the pins out of her hair. ‘You won’t regret this, Mam, you really won’t. It could be the start of a whole new empire for the Murdochs.’
‘Is that what you really want?’
He stepped back from her, and frowned. ‘No, it isn’t actually. I just want to grow things. I want to get up in the morning and do real, physical work and get my hands dirty and watch the trees grow and the blossom come and then the fruit. I want to do something quiet, Mam, something peaceful.’
Tamar felt her eyes prickle with tears as she reached out and took his hand. ‘James?’
‘Yes?’
‘Your father would be very proud of you.’
It was a very determined-looking James who walked into the bank that afternoon. Ignoring the startled looks of the tellers in the foyer, he pushed through the heavy wooden door that led to Roland Peacocke’s office. Without knocking he went straight in, bypassed the pair of disconcertingly low visitors’ chairs and parked his backside on the edge of Peacocke’s desk.
The man himself rocked forward in his plush manager’s chair with a crash and exclaimed in shocked and angry tones, ‘Get off my desk, James.’
‘Not until you get off my back, Roland.’
‘I beg your pardon?’
‘I’d like the mortgage documents to my house, if you don’t mind.’
‘What?’
‘The mortgage documents. I’m about to pay it off. In full.’
Peacocke’s stunned look of disbelief mixed with disappointment was so comical James almost laughed.
‘This is highly irregular,’ he sputtered.
James leaned menacingly forward over the desk, bumping Peacocke’s half-finished cup of tea so that it spilt messily onto some papers.
‘No, it isn’t. I took out a mortgage, now I’m paying it back. Get the papers, please. Now.’
Peacocke swivelled around in his seat and unlocked a cabinet, then extracted a small sheaf of papers inside a folder. The look on his face had changed rapidly from arrogant incredulity to one of ill-concealed fear.
James withdrew his chequebook from his coat pocket and opened it. ‘What was the amount again? With interest to date?’ He knew full well what the amount was, but wasn’t going to let Peacocke know it had been burned forever into his memory.
Peacocke stated the figure and James wrote the cheque, tearing it briskly out of the book and handing it over.
Peacocke said, ‘How do I know you have the funds to cover it? I don’t believe you do.’
‘It’s valid, and I couldn’t give a toss what you believe.’
After checking the amount, Peacocke reluctantly took a large rubber stamp from his desk tray and banged it violently onto every page of the mortgage document, leaving the word ‘Discharged’ in red as he went.
‘Now sign it as well, if you don’t mind,’ James ordered. He was thoroughly enjoying this.
‘What?’
‘Sign your name on every page. I’d hate there to be any confusion at a later date.’
Peacocke scribbled his signature beneath each stamp mark, then passed it to James to do the same.
‘I’d like a receipt as well, thanks.’
Peacocke glowered as he wrote one out and handed it over. ‘You can get off my desk now,’ he said through clenched teeth.
James stood up. ‘Thank you, Roland, I appreciate that,’ he said cheerfully. ‘Oh, and there’s just one more thing,’ he added, delving into his coat again. ‘Here. It’s my letter of resignation, in effect as from now. I’ve suddenly discovered that I’ve got much better things to do than work for someone like you.’
He walked out then, leaving Peacocke sitting behind his desk with his mouth agape and the door open so that everyone walking past was treated to the spectacle of their boss looking like a fish stranded in a bucket.
Whistling, James raided the storeroom for an empty box, collected his things from his office, then marched back out through the foyer, waving jauntily to the tellers as he went.
CHAPTER FIVE
Kenmore, 1936
Lachie died on the first day of the New Year. He had gone out early, as was his habit on the first day of January, to ride up to the topmost crags of the station when no one else was about and survey in solitude the land rolling away beneath him. It was his way of marking the transition between the old year and the new, and collecting himself for whatever the coming twelve months might bring. He left the big house at dawn, but when he hadn’t returned by three that afternoon, Tamar became worried and walked slowly over the hill to Erin and Joseph’s to check that he had not stopped off there on his way home.
He hadn’t, and when she shared her concerns with her son and daughter-in-law, they decided unanimously that someone should go out and look for him. He was an old man of eighty-two now, still very sound of mind but not always entirely hale. Over the past year Erin had been suggesting — at first tactfully, then quite bluntly — that it might be time for him to put his horse-riding, hill-roaming days behind him, but each time he had smiled, patted her on the cheek, thanked her for her concern, and then ignored her completely.
‘I’ll go,’ declared Joseph, who had spent the morning teaching Billy and Robert how to repair eeling nets, and then had to start all over again at lunchtime because Ana insisted it was unfair that her brothers learn such fascinating skills while she had to stay inside making boring scones and darning whiffy, worn-out old work socks. ‘I’ll get Owen as well.’
They set off on horseback twenty minutes later, not knowing what they might find but both feeling distinctly uneasy.
>
‘He could be sitting on a rock having a leisurely smoke and thoroughly enjoying the lovely day for all we know,’ Owen pointed out, his hat pushed low on his forehead so he wouldn’t have to squint into the sun. A long rope was looped about the pommel of his saddle, and he’d tucked a bottle of brandy in his rucksack as well, just in case.
‘Or having a bit of a sleep in a sunny spot somewhere,’ agreed Joseph.
They were silent for several minutes, then Owen said, ‘I wonder if we shouldn’t have brought the truck.’
‘No good if he’s somewhere difficult to get to,’ Joseph replied, thinking of some of the deceptively deep ravines in the top paddocks.
But Lachie wasn’t enjoying a smoke on a rock, or having a sleep, or stuck in a ravine. When Joseph and Owen found him he was lying motionless on his back on the side of a moderately steep hill, his horse some yards away, cropping the short, brown summer grass and favouring a front leg.
It was immediately clear to the two younger men that Lachie was dead. His head was bent at an unnatural angle and his eyes were open and lifeless, but his face looked peaceful and relaxed. Some yards above him the surface of the hillside, pitted in all directions with rabbit holes, had been gouged and there were grass and dirt stains on his clothes.
‘Shit.’ Joseph felt his heart begin to ache and his throat swell with loss. ‘What are we going to tell Erin?’
Owen had taken his hat off. ‘The truth, I suppose. His horse fell and he broke his neck. God, what a tragedy.’
But in the end everyone at Kenmore accepted that the accident had been the best way for Lachie to go. He’d had a morbid fear of becoming infirm, or even worse, mentally decrepit, and having to depend on others to take care of him. Instead, he had died happy, riding the paddocks and hills he’d loved for more than sixty years. And, buried in the small family cemetery in the daffodil paddock next to his wife, he would never be far from the life he had cherished.
The children missed him enormously, their cheerful white-haired old grandfather who’d always been willing to spend time with them and who’d good-naturedly tolerated their pranks, no matter how irritating. Erin, of course, missed him desperately too, and mourned the fact that both her parents had now gone. But Tamar, stuffing down her own grief over the departure of a real friend, her business partner, and her closest link with the life she had shared with Andrew, rallied the family and both the Deane and Murdoch households gradually adjusted to their loss.
The next event of note also had an impact on the station, but in an entirely different way, when Mrs Heath, old herself now and in deteriorating health, reluctantly announced that the time had come for her to retire. So, in March, amidst copious tears and promises to visit soon, she moved into Napier to a small cottage which a very generous farewell bonus from Tamar had helped her to purchase. Her departure was the end of an era; she had been with the Murdochs for sixteen years and knew them all almost as well as they knew each other. Once again Tamar was reminded of how much life at Kenmore had changed over the years, and of the uncomfortable fact she herself was ageing.
After Mrs Heath had gone there was some debate over whether she should be replaced, but now that the Depression had come to an end, the number of women still willing to work as domestic servants had tapered off dramatically. Erin, who had always done the cooking and housework for her family any way, declared at dinner one evening that in her opinion housekeepers were a thing of the past, even very good ones like Mrs Heath, and should stay there.
‘That’s very modern of you,’ James commented dryly, hoping that if Kenmore was not to have another housekeeper, he wasn’t going to be expected to do any sort of ‘inside’ work.
He couldn’t any way, even if he’d had the slightest desire to do so: he was too busy with his trees these days to do much else. After two and a half years of very hard but satisfying work, his orchard was now bearing fruit, and making money. He and Lucy were living in the house Owen and Joseph had built for them — James had indeed turned out to be somewhat less than a dab hand with a plumb line and a saw — and although it was nowhere near as grand as the one they’d had in Napier, neither of them really cared. They were happier than they had been in years.
Drew and Kathleen were at boarding school, and Duncan had gone down to Otago University to study medicine, where he was notably underachieving. According to Thomas, who seemed to view such behaviour as fairly normal if not particularly admirable, he preferred to spend his time in various public bars and generally getting into trouble — news which James, despite his genuine attempts at tolerance, was finding difficult to countenance. He had, however, so far kept his opinions to himself, mainly on the advice of Tamar, who believed that Duncan was simply sowing his wild oats before settling into what would surely be several years of earnest and dedicated study. James and Lucy had both laughed hard at this — out of Tamar’s earshot, of course — but had decided not to broach the subject with Duncan as he was still refusing to have anything to do with his father. The New Zealand Legion business, even though it had happened three years ago, had been the last straw for him, and since then he had remained convinced that James was a dyed-in-the-wool Fascist, on top of everything else. He rarely came home and, when he did, he spent as much time away from his father as he could.
Although this concerned James, and hurt him quite badly, he understood Duncan’s attitude. Or at least he thought he did. James knew that, for most of his son’s life, he had been difficult to live with and a bad father. It would take time for the young man to accept that James was doing his best to rectify past mistakes and avoid new ones. It was hard, knowing that his eldest son wanted nothing to do with him, but James hoped that one day Duncan would accept that his father really was a changed man. He’d talked to Joseph and Owen, and to the veterans they sometimes drank with at the RSA in town — a new habit he’d developed last year and was rather enjoying — and the advice he’d received from everyone was just to wait, preferably with his mouth shut. The first move towards reconciliation would have to come from Duncan.
Lucy also found the ongoing rift in her family upsetting, but was determined not to dwell on it. She was far too busy enjoying her husband again. It seemed to her that after those long, grim years of black depressions, emotional withdrawal and relentless nightmares, of which James himself was only half aware, he had at last come to terms with his war experiences. Each passing month brought back a little bit of the old James — or, rather, the young James she had fallen so hopelessly in love with — and she thanked God for it. He was even looking younger: his eyes sparkled, he had lost the pot belly he’d developed during his time at the bank, and he was tanned and very pleasingly muscled again. If, in exchange for that, her new house was smaller and she’d swapped clothes shopping for housework and pruning prickly little trees, then she was more than prepared to make such a sacrifice. She and James were still relatively young and, as far as she could see, they had the delightful prospect of a whole new life stretching out in front of them.
‘Actually, I’ve come to a decision about a housekeeper,’ Tamar said conversationally as she sliced into her beef. ‘I really think we should do without. Hardly anyone has one these days, and I see no real need for one. Do you?’ she asked, glancing around the long, gleaming dining table. They no longer dressed formally for dinner, unless it was a special occasion, but at her insistence the table was still elegantly laid with silver and fine china for the evening meal.
‘No,’ said Erin immediately, ‘but then I’ve just said as much. And any way, it’s none of my business, we don’t live here,’ she added cheerfully, helping herself to another new potato. She and Joseph had been invited to dinner at the big house so they could all sample some of James’s vegetables, a sideline that kept him occupied when his trees didn’t need attention. ‘These potatoes are absolutely delicious, James.’
‘Thank you, Erin,’ he replied, swelling almost visibly with pride. ‘But you should be complimenting Joseph, really. And Kepa. T
hey showed me the best way to cultivate them. Traditional method, apparently. I’m just doing them in bulk.’
Erin already knew that — Joseph had rows and rows of them behind their own house — but she said nothing because it was such a delight to see James smile these days.
Keely used her fork to prod unenthusiastically at a dish of small, lumpy, orange vegetables. ‘What are these things?’
‘Yams,’ James replied. ‘I’m trying them out. They’re quite nice, rather subtle in flavour. Try one.’
They looked to Keely like brightly coloured huhu grubs, and even the thought of eating one was making her feel sick.
‘No thanks.’ Then, tentatively, she asked, ‘Mam, if we’re not having a new housekeeper, then who’s going to prepare all the meals?’
‘Well, you and I can, can’t we, dear? There are only three of us, after all.’
Keely stared at her mother.
‘Except during the school holidays, of course,’ Tamar added. ‘Bonnie and Leila will be home then.’
Joseph and Owen exchanged swift, surreptitious glances before concentrating very hard on their meals.
‘But I can’t cook.’
‘It’s about time you learned then, isn’t it?’ Tamar replied, a no-nonsense edge creeping into her voice. ‘I’m sure Erin won’t mind giving you a few lessons. And Lucy, you’re very good at pastries and desserts, I’m sure you’d be happy to give Keely some tips, wouldn’t you?’
‘I’d love to,’ Lucy said, kicking James under the table as she spied him working hard to suppress a wide grin. ‘When would you like to start?’
Keely said grudgingly, ‘Oh, well, thanks, whenever it suits you, I suppose. But Mam, what about the laundry and the cleaning and that sort of thing? Who’s going to do all of that?’ she added in increasingly appalled tones.
Blue Smoke Page 7