by JH Fletcher
The stream rippled around the hull, the air off the water was cool, and Alex and Martin used that as an excuse to huddle close together with their arms around each other.
‘These last few days have been a magic time,’ Martin said. ‘I always thought I’d known you in a past life, but this last week …’ His voice petered out; once again words failed him.
He was angry with himself for being so tangle-tongued. Suddenly he had a thought. He was a pianist, with trained hands. Perhaps his fingers could talk more clearly than his tongue.
He lifted his hand. With the tips of his fingers, very gently and slowly, he traced the shape of her ear. The edge; the lobe; the spiral of tissue, like a warm shell; the cavity where it disappeared into her head. She moved uneasily but did not draw away. He did it again. And for a third time. Exploring so delicately. So slowly. So surely.
His fingertips kindled fire as they caressed the cool skin behind the ear, the curl of hair where it rested on her neck. He sensed her heat, not feeling it but knowing it was there.
She drew a ragged breath as he traced the line of her neck, her jaw. He was watching her but she neither moved nor looked at him. Her being was captured by the slow entrancement of his fingers as they explored her neck, her throat, the arch of her eyebrows and the sockets beneath, the taut skin, silk-smooth, over the prominent cheekbones. His touch was so gentle, the fingertips barely grazing her skin.
The cool night enclosed them. The hull was steady beneath their feet. Above them, the black funnel, slightly raked, pointed at the stars. During the past week Martin had come to feel at home with this girl, with this boat and river. The voyage had given him the opportunity to know himself in her world, of which he hoped he was now part.
‘Tomorrow isn’t an end,’ he said. ‘Not for either of us. All this …’ he gestured at the river, the darkness, the dim outline of the paddle steamer, ‘… is only the beginning.’
Part of her wanted to believe it. Her faith in the future was sealed within her like a pearl in an oyster, but doubt was a knife levering the shell open. ‘You’ve got your music, your family, your fine house. What do I have?’ She waved her hand at the boat, the river, her life so different from his own. ‘I’m not ashamed of my house, but it’s not Eagle on the Hill, is it?’
‘Being rich doesn’t matter.’
‘Music matters.’
‘Music fills every part of me. But so do you, Alex.’
She was afraid to believe him. ‘Don’t say that!’
‘It’s true!’ His hands captured hers, his eyes captured hers, yet her whole being resisted this vision of a future that she suspected was beyond her reach.
Again his fingers moved to caress her but the spell was broken and she pushed them away.
‘We have to end this! Don’t you see? We have to!’
‘Then why did you ask me to come upriver with you?’
‘Because I thought … I hoped … I don’t know why! But we’ve got no choice, have we? You’ll be going to study in Sydney, then overseas. Once you leave Australia we’ll never see each other again. How can we? Your future isn’t on the river, it’s out there, in the world!’
‘But you’ll be part of that world, because you’re part of me. I’ll never be complete without you.’ This time he succeeded in capturing her fingers. ‘Come with me. It’s your world too.’
‘Don’t be ridiculous! How can I come? We’re both too young.’ She was angry with him for suggesting it, with herself for longing so much for the impossible. She had to kill hope now or the pain would destroy her. ‘You talk about the world as though it’s a … a kind of gift, waiting for us to pick it up,’ she said. ‘But it’s huge, Martin, and unknown … It frightens me. Don’t you understand that?’
He looked at her. ‘You really want tomorrow to be the end of everything?’
‘What I want doesn’t matter. It has to happen.’
‘Not if you don’t want it to.’
Her protests did not touch him. He leant forward and kissed her. Then, for the first time, his man’s hand cupped her woman’s breast.
For a moment neither of them moved. Then it was as though all the strength had fled from Alex’s body. She swayed and might have fallen had he not supported her. ‘I don’t want to fall,’ she said, her words barely audible. ‘Please, Martin, don’t let me fall.’
It was not a physical fall she meant.
‘Never,’ he whispered.
‘You promise?’
‘I promise. I love you with all my heart.’
The next morning they dropped Martin off at the wharf, where Majestic was waiting for them. Alex watched as he went ashore. He waved nonchalantly, both of them very casual before the world’s eyes. He walked away down the wharf and went aboard the other steamer. Her eyes ate him up but he did not look back. No matter; she would never forget the previous night, his fingers on her throat, the way she had fought him before her so-willing surrender, the flash of heat as his hand had cradled her breast, his voice telling her he loved her.
Memories to warm and sustain her during the days ahead.
Brenda sailed on to Niland, where they had cargo waiting. An hour after they’d berthed, Charlie went to the post office to collect the mail. When he came back he was fit to be tied.
CHAPTER 74
Sunlight shone golden on Eagle on the Hill, but inside the drawing room, now decorated for Christmas, storm clouds lay thick.
Martin had been home less than an hour, but Captain Priest had reported how Martin had travelled upriver aboard the Armstrongs’ steamer, and Rufus, very sharply dressed in a suit of blue cloth tailored to reveal a waistcoat of orange silk, was hopping mad.
He glared at his son, conscious of Mary watching him with an inscrutable expression from an armchair by the window.
‘The Armstrongs! Of all people!’
From his wife he had expected support, from his son submission, but he was getting neither, and his temper was the worse for it, his voice steadily rising.
‘How can you have thought of doing such a thing? You know very well what our relationship is with that — that horse thief.’
The windows had been opened to admit the breeze that was blowing up the slope from the river. Through the flyscreens came the whistle of a passing paddle steamer. If Rufus noticed he gave no sign; he was not a man sensitive to irony.
‘He’s nothing of the sort.’ Martin stared back at his father. ‘He’s a good bloke.’
Bloke. He chose the word deliberately to show solidarity with a man who made his living with his hands, as Martin hoped to do himself.
‘Your grandfather would tell you different. Isn’t that so, my dear?’ He was determined to drag Mary into it somehow; it was important that the two of them should present a united front against this unlooked-for rebellion.
‘He would certainly say so,’ Mary said. ‘Whether it’s true is another matter. You’ve questioned it yourself enough times.’
Rufus glared at her. How dare she? Siding with Martin against him when Martin was so blatantly in the wrong …
‘I questioned Father’s interpretation, perhaps. Never the deed. That’s beyond dispute. Or what happened subsequently. A government building burnt down. To say nothing of his actions since. Smuggling, prize fighting … He even invaded this house and threatened your grandfather.’ Rufus was spitting as his rage gathered. ‘An old man, and this — this friend you admire so much forced his way in and threatened to burn the house down. Burn Eagle on the Hill! To say nothing of that disgraceful business when Pandora was sunk up the Darling. Some people even say he killed his own brother. The man’s nothing but a ruffian!’ Rufus was pacing and growling like a poodle in his silk waistcoat. ‘And this is the man you chose to travel home with. If there’d been no other transportation I could have understood, but we sent Majestic for you especially. All that way for nothing! How does it make us look? Like fools. I daresay the whole river is laughing about it.’
‘That’s what worrie
s you, isn’t it?’ Martin said. ‘What other people think. Well, let me tell you what I think. I came upriver with the Armstrongs. They’re good, decent people and I like them. They made me welcome —’
‘I’ve no doubt they did,’ said Rufus. ‘After all, you have the Grenville name.’
Martin ignored him. ‘And I think this vendetta between the families is ridiculous.’
Rufus’s face was pinched and white about the nose. ‘This vendetta, as you call it, has never been of our seeking. The Armstrongs have their place in society, we have ours —’
‘And never the twain shall meet,’ Martin said. ‘Is that it?’
‘If a man behaves like a hooligan and a — a criminal, he can’t expect decent people to welcome him into their drawing rooms!’
Martin brandished defiance like a dagger. ‘If they can’t come here I’ll visit them on Brenda!’
Rufus, who had been larva-hot since the conversation started, erupted. ‘The whole business is an absolute disgrace and I’ll have no more of it! You hear? No more of it!’
‘That’s fine by me!’ Martin was no less hot. ‘Why should I want to talk to you about it, anyway?’
And turned and walked firmly from the room.
‘Oh, dear …’ Mary raised her eyebrows expressively.
Rufus, determined to wound someone, turned his fire on what he hoped might be a more promising target.
‘No doubt you agree with him?’
‘Not at all. I think you are absolutely right. You are the head of the house and Martin should respect you accordingly.’
Rufus eyed her suspiciously. More and more he wondered what Mary really thought — about him and life in general — but he found it impossible to fight someone who professed to agree with every word he uttered.
He said: ‘It’s the girl, of course.’
‘It’s not so surprising. They’ve been friends since childhood.’
‘I should have anticipated this,’ said Rufus. ‘I blame myself.’
‘I think,’ Mary said delicately, ‘if we allow them a little latitude ...’
Rufus stared at her. ‘You’re not telling me you favour such a match?’
‘Not at all. I see the disadvantages as well as you do. But can’t you see, my dear, that too strenuous an opposition will only drive them together? Whereas, if we take a softer line, I am sure the relationship will fade away naturally. Martin will be going to Sydney in the middle of next year, after all, and then they will see nothing of each other.’
Rufus had recommenced his pacing, but now he stopped as an idea struck him. ‘I wonder if there’s any chance of getting him admitted earlier? In January, let’s say?’
‘Do you really think that’s necessary?’
There; he’d known it. She was on Martin’s side after all, sympathising with him in his ridiculous infatuation.
‘I think it’s absolutely necessary, if we can arrange it.’
‘But is it wise? There’s no doubt Martin feels a lot for this girl. If he imagines we are going against him in this —’
‘It’s in his own interests.’ Rufus had made up his mind. ‘Music is his life. His tutors at Regency said he was the best pupil they’d ever had. And can you imagine what my mother would say? Martin throwing away his career for a girl off a riverboat!’
‘I’m sure your mother would have a lot to say,’ said Mary. ‘She always does. But I doubt you can dismiss Alex Armstrong as easily as that.’
Rufus was no longer listening. ‘I’ll write to Dr Horrocks at the Academy. Let’s see what he has to say.’
Rufus turned to leave the room, an orange-breasted mannikin, pausing only to throw his wife the crumbs of a few kindly words. ‘Don’t worry, my dear, I’ll soon sort this nonsense out.’
He hurried off to his office. To have his son in love with the Armstrong girl … He had never heard anything more ridiculous in his life. The sooner he dealt with it the better.
Meanwhile, alone and lonely in his room, Martin leant close to the mirror, his eyes staring at his reflection as his whispered words blurred the glass.
‘I love Alex Armstrong.’
CHAPTER 75
Charlie had had a letter from the bank. In language so diplomatic that he could barely understand it, the letter informed Charlie that the bank was seeking to rationalise its loans, and that selected call balances, where security was deemed inadequate or unsatisfactory, were being liquidated. Therefore the bank would be grateful if Mr Armstrong would take immediate steps to make full repayment of the sum outstanding. Any inconvenience was regretted and Horace Pegler hastened to assure Mr Armstrong that he remained, dear sir, his most obedient servant.
Clenching fists as big as cabbages, Charlie went to see him.
‘What’s this about inadequate security? You got everythin’ I own!’
‘Quite.’ Horace touched the bridge of his nose with delicate fingers. ‘But land along the Murray is a very uncertain investment. And your paddle steamer is not exactly new, is it?’
‘There’s nuthun wrong with her!’
‘No-one is suggesting there is. But in the case of a forced sale …’
‘What d’you mean, a forced sale?’
‘If the bank is forced to realise its security …’
‘But I haven’t had the money a year yet! How can you expect me to repay it so soon?’
Because the loan, sadly, was at call. And the policy of the board required repayment. By one means or another.
‘Who’s on this board? Maybe I can have a word with ’em.’
Unfortunately that was out of the question. The directors were businessmen, financiers, men with many calls on their time. They were concerned only with policy. It was not their practice to meet individual customers of the bank.
Horace Pegler was nervous of Charlie’s clenched fists and mounting rage, but remained unmoveable.
Charlie had a thought. He yanked the bank’s letter from his pocket and glared at it. The directors’ names were listed at the bottom. His finger ran down them. Wren, Sutton … George and Rufus Grenville.
‘I knew it!’
He turned on the manager and had to fight not to take him by the throat. ‘How much do I owe you?’
Horace Pegler had the account in front of him. He pencilled in an entry and added up the total.
‘Nine hundred and eighty-three pounds and fourteen shillings.’
‘When d’you want it by?’
‘Immediately. That is what at call means —’
‘I need a week.’
The manager hesitated. A week was an enormous favour. But he also had an eye on Charlie’s bunched fists.
‘A week will be acceptable.’
He gave a heartfelt sigh as Charlie flung himself out of the office and slammed the door behind him. Beneath his funereal coat, the manager’s back was quite damp. The things one had to do …
Sarah and Alex had been putting up Christmas decorations in the saloon. Years ago, when the kids were still young, Charlie had fashioned a tree of sorts from scraps of wood and painted it a glossy green. Now it stood in pride of place in the centre of the saloon table and they had looped strands of tinsel around the bulkheads.
They stood with their arms around each other’s waists and looked approvingly at what they’d done.
‘Smart,’ said Alex.
‘Christmassy,’ said Sarah.
Alex went off to her cabin. Five minutes later Charlie came back like a cyclone.
Sarah stared. ‘What on earth’s happened?’
‘The bank’s called in our loan, that’s what’s happened.’
Sarah had always hated money and banks. Now her heart stood still. ‘How much do we owe ’em?’
‘Almost a thousand quid.’
It was an unimaginable sum. ‘What does it mean?’
‘It means we’ve got a week to raise the money or they’ll sell us up.’
‘Not Brenda too?’
‘Of course Brenda too.’ His eyes
were green flame as he stared out of the window at the river.
Sarah put her hand on his arm. ‘But this is our home.’
‘You think they care about that?’
‘But what’ll we do? Where’ll we go?’
‘We’re goin’ nowhere.’ He took a deep breath and tried to smile at her. ‘I’ll think of somethin’, don’ you worry.’
‘But it’s so much! How are we gunna find it? From our friends?’
‘A thousand quid?’ He gave her a derisive smile. ‘We know anyone with a thousand to spare?’
‘Maybe Wilf Laird could help.’
‘I doubt Wilf’s got that kind of money. I don’ intend askin’, in any case. It wouldn’t be right.’
‘Why not? He’s got that store. He should have a heap of money put aside —’
Charlie said: ‘No!’
Silence.
In a small voice Sarah said, ‘I don’ unnerstand men at all. If you’re friends, surely you want to help one another?’
‘We’ll find the money ourselves.’
‘How?’
A burst of fury. ‘I dunno how!’
She thought, He blames me for Dad’s land.
‘We’ll sell the block,’ she said.
‘We’ll do no such thing. You’ve had your heart set on that place as long as I’ve known you.’
‘Keepin’ our home’s more important. Let me sell it, Charlie! It was a foolish idea. We’ll manage fine without it. But how’ll we live, if we lose Brenda?’
His jaw was like a rock. ‘We won’t lose either of ’em.’
‘But —’
‘Forget it! We’d never be able to sell it in a week, in any case.’
Sarah’s expression was thoughtful. ‘What would the bank do with the land, anyway?’
‘Think about it! Who’s on the Board?’
‘How should I know?’
‘George and Rufus Grenville, that’s who! And what do they want? Your dad’s land, to put up their bloody factory! That bank manager said our security was no good but that’s got nuthun to do with it. It’s the land! That’s what this is about!’
‘Then why don’ we offer it to ’em?’