by Judy Nunn
Hilary beamed again. It was a fait accompli.
‘Mary may have other plans for her afternoon off,’ Jane said weakly.
‘Then we’ll leave it all in Mary’s hands, shall we? She shall decide. Now come along mesdames, enough chattering in the street, I’m parked over at Reid’s.’ And he took their arms, protectively guiding them across the road and through the stream of servicemen, workmen, traffic and machinery that constituted the current mayhem of Vila.
Twenty minutes later, they were on their way. Hilary was seated in the front of the Peugeot with Jean-François, and Jane, at her own suggestion, in the back with Mary and Ronnie.
‘An excellent idea,’ Jean-François had said. Whatever put her at her ease, he thought. ‘Madame Bale can enjoy the view. You’ve not driven to Undine Bay before, Madame?’
‘No, indeed not,’ Hilary answered. ‘In the whole four years we’ve been here, I’ve never driven further than Malapoa Point, I’m always too busy in the store.’
‘It will be a far more comfortable ride this time, Jane,’ Jean-François said, smiling at her in the rear vision mirror, ‘the Americans have built my road for me.’ He was pleased when she smiled back at him.
Upon their arrival, they discovered the Poilamas’ hut deserted. ‘Sera will have taken the children to the big house,’ Jean-François said. ‘She quite often does so when I’m gone for the day.’
He was right. It was washday, and Sera and Selena were at the old wooden table that stood under the shade of the back porch, both of them scrubbing away at the clothes in the big tub whilst the children played on the ground beside them.
The women were taken aback when the Masta appeared unexpectedly, but he seemed in an affable mood, so they decided not to worry. And then Pascal noticed Jane.
‘Missus Tack!’ he yelled, and for several minutes chaos reigned before Jean-François called things back into order and started issuing instructions in French.
He told Sera to send one of the work boys to the smokehouse where Savi was working and tell him to go home. She and Savi were to have their English lesson with the Missus, he said.
Sera looked uncertain. She would have liked nothing more, but it was washday and Selena couldn’t be trusted on her own; Selena would just dunk the clothes in the water and then hang them on the line. But it appeared Selena’s duties lay elsewhere.
‘And Selena, you will prepare lunch for our guests,’ Jean-François instructed. ‘The freshly smoked leg ham – thin slices, remember – a salad with Sera’s dressing, and the fresh bread I bought from the bakery this morning.’
Selena nodded, happy to escape the hated washtub, but Sera was confused. Had the Masta forgotten?
‘It is washday,’ she reminded him.
‘Leave the clothes to soak, you can do them tomorrow,’ he said.
Sera was astounded. Tomorrow? But today was washday. Washday never changed.
Mary accompanied Jane and Sera to the hut to look after Ronnie and Marie whilst the lesson was in progress, and Hilary was left quite content in Jean-François’s company, sitting on the front verandah sipping the iced tea that Selena had made for them.
‘What an idyllic view,’ she said, looking out admiringly at Undine Bay.
‘Yes, it is pretty,’ he agreed, but his mind was on Jane and why she’d been avoiding him. He’d wondered whether perhaps she’d discovered one of his questionable business dealings; her work with the military would certainly have brought her into contact with the local authorities. If so, he would explain it away easily enough. But he needed to find out the reason in order to combat it, and Hilary Bale might well be able to shed some light on the mystery.
‘I worry about Jane,’ he said with concern. ‘She has been working so very hard of late.’
‘Indeed she has,’ Hilary agreed.
‘Military and government authorities can be so demanding, I do hope she isn’t placing the islanders’ health above that of her own.’ He was about to enquire which particular government official might be responsible for overworking Jane and placing her at risk, but Hilary interrupted.
‘Oh dear me, no,’ she said heartily, ‘Jane thrives on the pressure, she’s never been healthier. It’s we who suffer.’ She smiled.
‘In what way?’ Jean-François returned her smile, but he was irritated. The stupid woman was going to talk about herself, he thought.
‘We, her dearest friends,’ Hilary explained good-naturedly. ‘She has quite neglected us, I’m afraid. I’ve barely seen her myself, and neither has Godfrey. He was complaining most bitterly just the other day.’
Of course, Jean-François thought. It wasn’t some unsavoury piece of information Jane had uncovered that had led to her altered opinion of him, it was the interfering old Englishman. Godfrey Tomlinson had turned her against him. She’d been with Tomlinson the night they’d first met, he remembered. He hadn’t realised they were such particularly close friends.
‘Ah, Godfrey Tomlinson,’ he said with affection, ‘a true eccentric.’
‘Yes, I suppose he is,’ Hilary replied. She hadn’t previously thought of Godfrey as eccentric; courteous and old-fashioned perhaps, but upon reflection, she decided Jean-François was right. ‘He’s certainly a man of mystery,’ she said, ‘one knows so little of his past, only that he’s been here forever and seems to have money, but no-one knows how he came by it.’
The same way everyone else who’d used their brains came by it, Jean-François thought. By wheeling and dealing and turning the inadequacies of the Condominium to his advantage. Godfrey Tomlinson had been a crook in his day just like the rest of them, which was why Jean-François had presumed they were one of a kind when he’d voiced his views on blackbirding.
There’d been at least a dozen of them, quite drunk at Reid’s, the year before Simone had left. They’d been mostly French and most had black mistresses and he’d been espousing the joys of Selena who had newly arrived on his property. He hadn’t noticed that the Englishman, who spoke fluent French and mingled quite comfortably in their company, had gone noticeably quiet.
‘She knows all the tricks,’ he’d boasted, ‘but then most of them do, they’re highly sexual creatures. If we could just keep the women to ourselves and put the men to work, it would be an ideal society. Bring back blackbirding,’ he’d laughed, ‘and we’d have it all on a platter.’ And the others had laughed along with him. All except Godfrey, who had turned on him like a rabid dog. He’d called him every name under the sun and, if the others hadn’t held him back, the stupid old fool would have physically attacked him. It had been laughable, Jean-François could have flattened the puny Englishman with one blow. He’d dismissed Godfrey Tomlinson from that night on. The old man was a native-lover, soft and weak, and Jean-François had no time for such men.
‘He’s an admirable gentleman, Godfrey,’ he said, ‘but as you quite rightly commented, Madame Bale, he has been here for so very long …’ there was the shadow of concern in his voice ‘… that I feel the tropics may have affected him.’
‘In what way?’ Hilary was fascinated. She was not a malicious woman, to the contrary, she was gregarious, and generous in her friendship. But she loved talking about other people, just as she loved becoming involved in their lives. There was very little else to do in Vila.
‘He has lost touch with reality,’ Jean-François said sympathetically, ‘as can so sadly happen when one lives a lone life, as Godfrey has, in a place like the New Hebrides. He has become obsessive in his opinions, and, how do the English put it? A little “dotty” perhaps.’ He smiled. ‘English expressions can be so apt, can they not?’
‘Yes,’ Hilary said, ‘perhaps he is a bit.’ She’d never found Godfrey dotty at all, but she didn’t wish to disagree. Jean-François meant no harm and Godfrey was, after all, an unusual man. It was quite plausible that some might find him dotty.
‘Maybe it’s just age, he must be well over seventy,’ Jean-François said, ‘and age of course affects us all. Except you,
Madame Bale, you never seem to grow a day older. May I call you Hilary?’
‘Of course you may.’ The Frenchman was flirting with her and she loved it. She was also flattered that he considered her a friend on a first-name basis. She couldn’t wait to tell Harry.
‘And I am Jean-François,’ he said. ‘More iced tea?’
‘This come from education,’ Savi said; his cousin Pako had joined the New Hebrides Defence Force and Savi was fiercely proud. They’d finished their lesson, but he always insisted upon speaking English to Missus Tack. It was another lesson in itself, he thought, just to practise. ‘Pako look so good in his uniform. Much men join Defence. Many men,’ he corrected himself.
Savi was right. Two hundred natives had joined the New Hebrides Defence Force, mostly from the island of Malekula, and amongst those who held rank were a number of policemen.
‘One day Pascal have education,’ he said. ‘English is good start. One day Pascal be policeman maybe.’
Jane agreed that Pascal should go to school when he was old enough. Like many very young children, he was quick to assimilate a new language, she had noticed, but there was more to it than that. He was a clever boy, she told Savi and Sera, he would be a good student.
When the Peugeot arrived to collect her, Jane said her farewells to the Poilama family in the hut, and then Savi accompanied her outside to where Jean-François was waiting.
Marat’s curt nod to his worker indicated that Savi was to return to his duties immediately, but as he drove to the big house, the Frenchman was effusive to Jane. He had very much enjoyed Mrs Bale’s company, he said, and as it was not every day of the week he found himself in the company of two such attractive ladies, he insisted that they open a bottle of his best wine and make it a party.
Jane couldn’t help feeling a little uncomfortable. Productive and enjoyable as the English lesson had been, she had nonetheless been coerced into visiting Chanson de Mer and Godfrey’s warning still echoed in her mind.
Throughout the luncheon, she was thankful of Hilary’s presence and the fact that Jean-François directed much of his attention towards the New Zealand woman. But as Hilary herself was definitely in a party mood, and as the conversation was animated and the food delicious, Jane forced herself to relax, she didn’t wish to spoil Hilary’s enjoyment.
‘The ham is home-grown and home-smoked,’ Jean-François boasted in response to Hilary’s compliment, ‘my own secret recipe.’ But when he added, with a special smile to Jane, ‘we rear fine pigs on the plantation,’ her smile in response was politely guarded.
During the drive back to Vila, Jean-François was pleased when Hilary suggested he drop her off at Jane’s cottage.
‘We always have a cup of tea together after our lunch out,’ Hilary told him, ‘I need to make the most of my one day off a week.’
Excellent, Jean-François thought. The garrulous New Zealand woman was bound to chat on to her friend about the conversation they’d had, which could only serve his cause. And as she had been such an easy conquest, he knew she would paint him in glowing colours. All of which was necessary, he thought, he had sensed a continuing uncertainty in Jane Thackeray.
‘Will you join us?’ Jane asked him at the front door, rather hoping that he would decline.
‘Good heavens, no,’ he said. ‘You must have a great deal to talk about. I have disrupted your day quite enough as it is.’
‘To the contrary, Jean-François,’ Hilary insisted as he kissed her hand, ‘you have made our day most pleasurable.’
‘The pleasure was mine, I assure you. Don’t forget,’ he said to Jane, ‘I am at your disposal whenever you wish to visit the Poilamas, you have only to contact me.’
He would have kissed her hand too, but Ronnie was fast asleep in her arms, so he patted the child’s head instead. ‘Marie has exhausted him once again,’ he smiled. ‘Au revoir, mesdames.’
And he left Hilary to convince Jane that any fears Godfrey Tomlinson may have instilled in her were the ramblings of a dotty old man. But if Hilary didn’t succeed, he decided, then he would simply start from scratch. When Martin Thackeray returned, he would invite him and his wife to Chanson de Mer and he would dispel all doubts by winning the approval of the good doctor himself. Jean-François had no intention of giving up on the chase.
‘He has to be the most attractive man in Vila,’ Hilary said as she watched him drive off.
‘More attractive than Harry?’ Jane smiled.
‘Well, he’s certainly more handsome.’ Hilary followed her into the kitchen. ‘And he’s so French and flirtatious.’
Jane laughed as she filled the kettle, she knew Hilary was teasing. Unlike many in the colony, the Bales had an excellent marriage and Hilary would be the last person to place it under any threat.
‘Flirtation’s an art lost on the New Zealanders and the Australians,’ Hilary lamented, ‘and, for that matter, the English too. You must admit, Jane, he makes one feel terribly attractive.’
‘Yes, he does,’ Jane replied. Hilary, in her uncomplicated and straightforward way, had put her finger right on the problem that troubled Jane.
Godfrey’s lecture had not instilled fear in her, as he had intended it should. But it had instilled guilt. She’d been aware of his disappointment in her as he’d left and she’d pondered the situation deeply that night. Had she behaved in an ‘unseemly’ fashion, as Godfrey had put it? She’d decided that she had. She’d succumbed to the Frenchman’s flattery and charm. She’d enjoyed his conversation and his company and, in doing so, she had been disloyal to Martin in the extreme.
The Frenchman’s harmless flirtation might be fun to Hilary, Jane thought as she filled the teapot, and perhaps that was the healthy way to view it, but she was riddled with guilt at having been so susceptible.
They sat on the verandah and Jane poured the tea.
‘I do hope he asks us again,’ Hilary said. ‘Just the two of us. You must contact him, Jane. He asked you to, remember? “Any time”, he said.’
Jane had no intention of contacting Jean-François. She had already decided that she could visit the Poilamas on her own. The Americans had built the road right through to Quoin Hill. Martin had taught her how to drive, and with the Reverend Smeed’s permission, she could borrow the car belonging to the church. It would be a hair-raising experience, but she’d manage it.
Hilary obviously wasn’t going to leave the subject alone, however, so Jane decided to put an end to the discussion of the Frenchman.
‘Godfrey can’t stand him, you know, he thinks Jean-François’s not to be trusted.’
‘Well, Godfrey would, wouldn’t he,’ Hilary said dismissively. ‘Godfrey’s judgement shouldn’t be taken seriously, he’s been far too long in the tropics.’ She registered Jane’s surprise at her remark. ‘He’s a dear of course,’ Hilary said, ‘but he’s terribly old-fashioned, you know that yourself. Jean-François thinks he’s dotty.’
‘Does he indeed?’ How interesting, Jane thought. She wondered if Jean-François had guessed at Godfrey’s interference. Not that it really mattered. ‘Godfrey Tomlinson is one of the wisest men I know,’ she said. Then she changed the conversation to the surefire distraction of the US forces.
The next morning at dawn, Corporal ‘Biff’ Jackson of the navy medical corps called to collect Jane; it was planned that she should arrive at Havannah Harbour before the workday started. Biff Jackson had been assigned as her regular driver for the past month or so and he and Jane had developed a comfortable relationship. She liked him despite the fact that, unlike most of the other Americans she’d met, he was a dour young man who took life very seriously.
‘Hello, Biff.’
‘Hi, Jane.’
They exchanged greetings as she climbed into the staff car and, during the drive, they talked about the progress of the US Navy Base Hospital. Currently under construction on the Bellevue plantation about three miles inland from Vila, it was intended to be the principal medical facility in the region, but it w
as a slow process in the making.
‘I don’t see it being completed before August – 186 quonset huts,’ Biff shook his head, ‘that’s one hell of an ask.’
‘How many beds do they think it’ll staff?’
‘They’re aiming at around 600, I think. Well, that’s for a start.’ He looked out across the endless Pacific. ‘If things hot up out there, who knows, we might have wounded pouring in from everywhere.’
They were silent for a while. It was a sobering thought, particularly for Jane, as she recalled the Royal Victoria Hospital following the evacuation of Dunkirk. The endless stream of wounded and dying, the packed wards, and yet more arriving each day. The mutilations, the amputations, the screams of haunted, shell-shocked men. Was it all about to start again? She had been lulled into a sense of security here on this idyllic island.
There were whistles of admiration when Jane arrived at the Havannah Harbour naval base, and she tried not to show too much leg beneath her calf-length cotton dress as she climbed out of the staff car. She was accustomed to the Americans’ show of approval, however, recognising it as good-humoured and harmless. The troops were lounging around the mess hut eating breakfast, and she waved back as they saluted her with their pannikins.
Biff introduced her to the commanding officer and, as he did so, several other officers gathered nearby. Unnecessarily, Biff thought. If it hadn’t been a good-looking woman he had in tow, they wouldn’t have given a second glance.
‘Lieutenant Colonel Kempsey, Jane Thackeray,’ he said. ‘Mrs Jane Thackeray,’ he emphasised for the others’ benefit, and Jane smiled. Biff was always protective.
She suggested to the Lieutenant Colonel that she mingle casually with the islander recruits, who were squatting around their own mess area eating breakfast, rather than address them formally.
‘Whatever you feel is best, Mrs Thackeray,’ Kempsey agreed. ‘But perhaps I should introduce you first.’