‘And why have you changed your mind now?’ asked Jo.
‘Because I’ve had second thoughts. If the place was producing enough to educate three children, producing enough to win a good-looker as I’ve been told your sister was, and looking at you I can believe that, then I could be on to something.’
‘But it wouldn’t be yours, would it?’
‘You mean morally?’ he smirked.
‘And legally.’
‘We’ll put aside the morals and concentrate on any legality. Although we’d been partners in New Guinea, as I said we had dissolved that.’
‘For a consideration.’ Jo could not help herself.
‘Exactly. But legally—well, it made no difference, did it?’
‘How do you mean?’
‘Name of Grant?’ he smiled thinly. ‘Mark Grant? Oh, yes, there were two Mark Grants. A coincidence, and I’ve never used the name. Instead I got Max. But two Mark Grants all the same—him, me. I won’t add take your pick of us, because he’s dead.’
‘You’re horrible!’ she whispered.
‘But I’m still Mark Grant and still the father of those children. A blood test would soon establish that.’
‘But that’s not what you want, is it? You want a map.’
‘After which we’ll go into the matter of some shut-up money. But the map first. I think the girl has it.’
‘There are two girls,’ Jo reminded him.
‘The older one, of course. Yes, it would be her. She always kept everything, the sly little piece.’
‘But how did she get it?’
‘Mark must have given it to her, he was nuts about those kids.’
‘He mightn’t have given it to her.’
‘He would. I knew him very well, and he was a stickler for things being done properly. Every time he went underground in New Guinea he left his identity with someone reliable, along with the way he wanted his money, if any, spread out.’ Another laugh. ‘He wouldn’t have had any money to leave when he crashed, it would have gone on paying me off for the brats, on the kids’ schooling, on impressing his bride-to-be, but, knowing Mark, he would have seen that that map was put in a proper place, and what better place, if his fiancée was going to be with him on the plane, than with the eldest child. Also, he’d know Amanda. Amanda would never lose it, never let it go. But by heaven she will this time, or—’
A voice Jo could hardly recognise as her own asked: ‘Or what, Mr. Grant?’
‘Or she’ll get what she’s always got, what they all always got from me.’
‘You’ve been cruel to them,’ she gasped, suddenly realising.
‘Put it that I’ve used a father’s prerogative.’
‘Cruelty.’
‘Please yourself, but kids have to be controlled.’
‘They’re frightened of you.’
‘They’re terrified,’ he corrected coolly. ‘Just as you were a few moments ago.’
‘You’ve ill-treated them,’ she repeated.
‘I’ve made them mind,’ he said.
‘Did Amanda see you that day?’
‘Yes. I’ve been roughing it in that storehouse for a week, sizing up the place.’
‘Did you speak to her?’
He grinned. ‘I had no need to, she was off like a flash.’ He added: ‘Like you.’
‘What do you intend now?’
‘I’ve told you. One map. One hand-out.’
‘How do I know you won’t be coming back?’ she asked.
‘You just don’t, do you? So you give.’
‘I’ll report you to the welfare authorities.’
‘They won’t touch a father. A paternal connection is sacrosanct, didn’t you know? A father is holy.’
‘I could tell them—’
‘And no one would listen. The map,’ he demanded again.
‘I don’t know where any map is. Amanda is secretive.’
‘Give me five minutes with her and I’ll cure her of that.’ ‘No. No!’ Jo protested.
‘Then find it. Not now, you fool, the kids will be in at any moment.’
‘Isn’t that what you want?’
‘I’d sooner it was done quietly, and I think you would, too, for the brats’ sake. Just get Amanda aside and shake it out of her. Tell her if shaking doesn’t do it, I’ll find another way. She’ll remember about that.’
‘I’ll tell the police,’ Jo threatened.
‘And get nowhere. I’m Grant and the kids are mine. Oh, I know I’ve been a naughty parent’ ... now a sickening mock-contrite change of voice ... ‘but any wandering I’ve done has been only with the kids in view. The law leans heavily to the family. Always has, always will.’
‘When Abel comes—’ she began.
‘He’ll be the same. No one wants to buy into a domestic row. I’m going now—I heard the creak of the fox descending. I’ve been up and down so much I should know the sound. I’ll see you when you’re ready for me at the old storehouse. Don’t try anything funny, because it won’t be funny, for you or for them.’ He nodded his head to the track, from which Jo could now clearly hear steps coming.
‘If he means anything to you,’ Grant added, ‘don’t involve Passant. I don’t feel he’d come to the party, but if he did ...’ He gave another of the crooked smiles.
‘All right, Josephine ... oh, yes, I know all about you, your name, your love life ... go out now and meet them. Do your act. But don’t forget I’m watching. Also waiting. And that I don’t like waiting too long.’.
He put his hand round her throat and tightened it for a hideous second; then he released her and when she steadied herself enough to look round, he was gone.
She went out to the verandah, and there, trudging along the track, were the three children.
‘You’re very naughty.’ She wondered dully if they heard the crack in her voice.
‘We’re sorry,’ they said.
‘There was nothing in the valley.’ No, but there was here. They did not comment, so she asked: ‘Did you see Abel?’
‘He’s gone to Sydney.’ So that man had known. ‘Stanley brought us down.’
‘How long will Abel be away?’
‘A week.’
A week ... Abel away a week ...
‘Now come along in,’ Jo said.
She served out the dinner, but found she could not touch hers. She hoped they would not notice ... but Sukey did.
‘Can’t you eat ’cos you have a sore froat?’ she asked.
‘It isn’t sore, darling.’
‘Your neck is red.’
‘I—I was trying on a scarf and I tied it too tight.’
Across the table Amanda looked at Jo, looked at her with growing horror. But she did not say a word. Somehow they got through the meal, then Jo locked up the house. When she did a double check Amanda did it with her, still not speaking. Then they went to bed.
At midnight the phone went again, and Jo went out and picked up the receiver.
‘Yes?’
No answer.
Jo put the phone down. She knew she was being warned.
The next day was a day that Jo would remember with distaste for the rest of her life.
Nothing happened, but the atmosphere was so strained, so tense, that you could almost feel a heavy weight pushing you down. Jo knew by that unguarded look of despair in Amanda’s face last night that Amanda was aware that Jo had met their father. But Amanda still said nothing. She was not sure about Dicky, or whether Amanda had spoken to him. Amanda would be very conscious of her position as eldest, but there was a definite unease, too, about the boy. Sukey, the echo, as ever absorbed their moods as blotting paper absorbs ink. She was quiet and troubled, as no small child should be, but every time Jo tried to comfort her she shrank like a snail into a shell. Poor little snail. Poor children!
It was a measure of relief when Gavin rang. But not for long. Gavin, never a good listener, as Jo was realising now, hardly heard her.
‘Josie my dear, I should h
ave been in touch before—that ghastly near-fatal crash, I mean. Really Passant had no right to take you over the range. But when I heard all was well, I thought it would be wiser not to bother you for a while. Also, Josie, we’ve been shockingly busy in here.’
‘Gavin, can you come out?’ she asked anxiously. ‘I want to talk to you.’
‘I told you to take your time with your decision, Josie.’ A slightly annoyed note now. ‘Please don’t hurry things on my account.’
‘Gavin, I have to see you,’ Jo insisted.
‘Really, dear, it’s very inconvenient. You know how it is at this time of year.’
‘Gavin, come out. Come out and help me.’ That was a mistake. Gavin had always disliked what he described distastefully as histrionics.
‘Really, Josie, where is my calm, collected girl?’
‘Gavin, can you lend me some money?’ That was a bigger mistake still.
Gavin said quickly: ‘I’ll ring you when you’re more composed, dear. Really, those children are getting you down. I hate to think of later on with even one of them.’
‘Not one, Gavin, none. None. You see, their fath—’
‘Yes, dear, I’m sure. But now, Josie, let’s leave it at that As a matter of fact there are quite a few things to be discussed.’
‘Then come out, Gavin. I need you. Come out for me.’
‘It’s impossible.’ Gavin’s voice was chilly. Another mistake. Gavin disliked women who made the advances.
Jo went and stood on the verandah. She wondered whether, if she went up to the campsite, one of the men might tell her where to contact Abel in Sydney. But then she couldn’t leave the children here alone, yet on the other hand she couldn’t take them with her. If they all left together, he would make a move. He was out there watching. In some cranny he was sitting and smoking and watching. Waiting for what he said he must have.
Perhaps she could ring the welfare lady. Mrs. Featherstone had been very kind. But her organisation dealt in families, and that man was the father of this family. Oh, what to do? What to do? Please help us, Abel. Help us, Gee.
It had been mid-afternoon when Gavin had rung. Now the sun was heading to the west Jo had no doubt that the children’s father would come tonight, would come, indeed, as soon as it was dark. She had had the impression that he had wanted it all over before Abel returned. Having ascertained that Abel was gone for a week he might leave them to simmer, as it were, for a night or so, but Jo felt he would want to be miles away before the banana boss got back.
She wondered again about trying to get in touch with some of the plantation men. The children had mentioned Stanley, and she knew Stanley herself as a kindly, reliable man. But the story, she knew, sounded too fantastic to tell. Also plantation workers had always tolerated a vagrant or so around the place; after all; there was more than enough to go round. The country rule of charity to all was very high here. She could phone the police at the coast, but what in heaven’s name could she say? That the children’s father had turned up, that she was afraid of him?
No, like anything she would have told Stanley, it was all too unbelievable.
The car. Her little car. They could make a dash down to it, then she could drive away.
‘Why didn’t you tell me you were changing your wheels around?’ came in Dicky at that precise moment with reproach. ‘You know I could help you with that.’
“Wheels?’ she queried.
‘You’ve taken two off. It’s a good idea. It gives better wear.’
‘Wheels!’ Jo said faintly again. After a moment of deep and controlled breathing, which she had once read helps to steady the nerves, she asked: ‘Where is Amanda?’
‘I’m here.’ Amanda came in.
‘I want to see you,’ said Jo.
‘Why?’
‘Don’t question me, come. Come at once. No, not on the verandah, into your room.’
‘Mine and Sukey’s.’
Sukey nodded. ‘And Sukey’s.’
“Well, Sukey can stay out here, I want only you.’
Jo led the way and Amanda, after a brief pause, followed. Jo shut the door and turned at once to the girl.
‘Where’s the map, Amanda?’
As she had expected, Amanda looked at her blankly. ‘What map?’
‘The map Mark Grant gave you before he—before he and my sister flew up here.’
‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’
‘Amanda darling, don’t waste time. Out there’ ... she gestured towards the window, the blind fortunately down at this time of evening so that no one could see in, watch what they did ... ‘is someone waiting for that map. As soon as it’s properly dark he’ll come and get it. I think if you have it ready he might—he just might—go away again. But if you haven’t...’
‘It’s not his map,’ said Amanda mulishly.
‘Then you do have it?’
‘I didn’t say so.’
‘Amanda, I saw him. He was here. He told me things. He put his hand round my throat.’
Jo had not intended to say that, the last thing she wanted was to frighten her children, but at once the barriers were down.
‘Oh, Jo,’ wept Amanda, and if Jo had had any doubts about Amanda’s feelings towards her before, she had no doubts now. ‘Oh, Jo, I saw the marks and I knew. Oh, Jo!’
‘Don’t cry, darling,’ soothed Jo. ‘Try to help me fight this awfulness.’
‘You can’t. You can’t ever. You can’t fight him. Once he—once he—’ Amanda shivered. ‘And Dicky, poor Dicky. Then even little Sukey—yes, Sukey. That was when Mark—’
‘Yes, yes, but not now. The map, Amanda. If we give him the map he’ll go.’
‘Mark said it was to be ours. He said it was not to be his.’
‘But Mark didn’t know you would be in a position like this,’ Jo pointed out.
‘I can’t do what Mark asked me not to.’
‘All right for you then, but what about Dicky? And you told me just now even Sukey—’
‘Yes,’ said Amanda dully, ‘even Sukey, but I thought if we had some money we could all stay together. I mean with a map of a mine it needn’t be one out of three, need it, Jo?’ So the child knew about that.
‘It could be all of us,’ continued Amanda. ‘That man—that Gavin of yours, he would like the map, wouldn’t he, and we could say to him all of us or no map. We would have it to bargain with.’
‘But Amanda, it is all of you, not one out of three, and no map needed either.’
‘For you and Gavin?’
‘For me—and Abel.’
If Amanda looked surprised, it was nothing to Jo’s surprise. Why, I didn’t know, she thought, but it’s true, it’s true. It’s Abel and I. But Abel doesn’t know.
‘You and Abel!’ Amanda echoed in rapture. ‘Abel and you! Oh, wait till I tell the others!’
‘No, darling, not yet,’ said Jo urgently. ‘The map, Amanda. You do understand that?’
Yes, Amanda understood now, and there followed an amazing procession of events, at least it would have been amazing if Jo had not been young enough to remember having done much the same thing herself.
For Amanda pulled up a chain from under her dress with a little key attached to it. With the key she opened her drawer and took out another key. With this key she opened a writing folio and withdrew another key. It went on six times more while Jo watched fascinated. I never got past four keys, she recalled, though Gee once used five.
Then the big moment approached. Jo could see it was the big moment by Amanda’s mounting excitement. The final resting place was a small camphor-wood box with a lock.
‘Mark gave it to me,’ Amanda said.
She opened up importantly. No bridge was ever opened, no ship was ever launched, with more seriousness.
Then she turned over the contents. Turned them over and over again. Finally she tipped everything on to the bed, rummaged through them, tossed them around.
When she looked up to Jo her face had
lost its pink excitement and gone ashy.
‘Jo,’ she gasped, ‘it’s gone! It’s gone, Jo, the map isn’t here!’
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Jo did not waste time saying: ‘Are you sure? Let me check.’ She did not ask Amanda if she could have put the map somewhere else, then forgotten. She went out quickly to where Dicky and Sukey were waiting, Dicky with a rather odd expression had Jo noticed, Sukey sulky because she had been shut out of her own room. She said:
‘Listen, both of you. We’re leaving. Leaving by the back door. Do you hear me, Amanda?’ For Amanda had come out, too.
‘Yes,’ said Amanda. She looked promptingly at Dicky, and he nodded.
Sukey both nodded and said ‘Yes.’
‘We go quietly,’ said Jo. ‘I go first and you follow close behind. I know a secret track—I knew it when I was a little girl like Sukey. It takes us to the flying fox and when we get there Dicky must take over.’
Again Dicky nodded.
‘We leave the lights on. If we put them off he would guess we’d left. We tiptoe like the wind.’ Jo smiled a little shakily. ‘The tender winds of spring.’
‘That’s this house,’ they pointed out.
‘Now it’s us, dears.’
They stopped to pick up nothing, only for Jo to put a record on the player, and under the cover of its music they left. Jo knew she was taking a risk, the fellow could be watching from the back and not the front, but the front was more likely, since the wild banana palms grey thickly close to the back, and there would be a poor view. Jo also suspected that the man had not even come to the back of Tender Winds, people didn’t, but all the same she hurried the children over the exposed few yards, and not until they were concealed in a banana thicket did she catch her breath.
She allowed them a second to catch theirs, then she led them on, on through a tangled way she and Gee had discovered years ago. It had been wild then, but now, undisturbed, untrampled for ages, it was a veritable jungle. There were squelchy bits, slippery moss surfaces, sharp rock outcrops, stinging grasses, and once a large bough, falling unexpectedly from a soaring mahogany, only missed them by inches.
There were twigs and thorns and scratchy berries, and Sukey began quietly sobbing at a cut arm and a stubbed toe. But only quietly, and Jo was full of pride for her fortitude, full of pride for all of them. They were wonderful youngsters. The same as in the range after the crash, when it came to things that mattered they had courage.
The Tender Winds of Spring Page 16