It was dusk as they entered Eden on Twofold Bay.
“It looks very beautiful,” said Laurel, peering through the semi-light.
“It’s the base of the tuna fleet,” Nor told her. He paused, then said inevitably: “There’s also a whaling station here.”
“Always,” laughed Laurel, “whales.”
“Do you mind, Mrs. Larsen?”
“No, Mr. Larsen.”
“Not being polite?”
“I’m interested, too,” she said.
They spent a week in the dreamy little town. Not dreamy in the way of industry, for besides tuna and whales there was timber and dairying here, but dreamy in its setting, in its two folds edged by the blue Pacific Ocean, blue as two sailor blue eyes Laurel knew.
They would walk down at evening to the fleets of fishing ships moored in the harbour, the waters not blue inside here, but translucent green, with shadows of apricot and grey.
They went down one early morning to watch the tuna fleet being blessed by the church before it set outward, for this, Nor said, was a traditional thing. They waved with the fishermen’s wives and walked home with the cleric.
One day they went to ruined Boydtown where once an adventurous Englishman had started his own whaling fleet, begun his own packet service, issued his own currency, built his own inn, church, boiling works, wool store, even his own lighthouse.
“Moral: Don’t be too ambitious for the island,” grinned Nor, “or instead of Humpback the coast will be calling us Larsentown.”
Laurel looked around her. There was something infinitely sad, she thought, in a place gone to pieces as this one had, one of the most prosperous whaling stations south of the equator, now reduced to a few old wells and a fine old mulberry tree.
With his usual perspicacity Nor read her regrets and promised, “Don’t worry, it won’t happen to us. We have no intention of building a lighthouse, have we?”
Again that plural, again that future tense, again that warm happy feeling bringing the blood coursing to Laurel’s cheeks.
“You look well,” Nor observed. “I believe the coast suits you more than the Island. A pity in a way that we have to return tomorrow.”
“Are we going tomorrow?”
“The week is up. A week is the usual time, I believe.” Again there was that banter in his voice. The warmth left Laurel.
“Of course,” she agreed formally, “And the women will expect us back.”
They left Eden early the next morning. Not stopping to sightsee this time, they were back in Anna in the afternoon. They went straight to the Leeward and within an hour were bound for Humpback Island.
The Islanders gathered down on the jetty to greet them. Laurel picked out the different faces she had come to know well and like very much ... old Luke, Mrs. Jessopp, Myra Jensen, Isabel and Janet and Gwen whom she knew would rally loyally when it came to organizing later on.
There was somebody else there too, somebody she did not know, or rather know intimately ... but the two children with the woman she did know.
“Jill and Meredith,” she murmured.
“And their mother,” said Nor Larsen sharply.
As the boat ran in he threw the rope to Luke and jumped ashore.
“Well, Nathalie,” he greeted brusquely, “and what brings you here?”
Afterwards up at the house Nathalie Blake said reproachfully, “Really, Nor, marriage hasn’t improved your manners. What a way to greet your sister, and in front of the Islanders as well.”
“They know how I feel about you.”
“Certainly, darling, you never made any bones about it.” Nathalie turned to Laurel. “I’d give him up, Laurel, except that I gave him up years ago. You’re my only concern now.”
“You need not be concerned. I took over all that,” said Nor coldly.
A queer little thrill ran through Laurel at his words ... though, of course, she thought, all this is only brother and sister volley. I’m merely the shuttlecock and they are patting me back and forth.
“I was elated when I got the news,” Nathalie told Laurel. “The Merchant had just finished ... I grabbed the kids and came straight down.”
“You mean you deserted Blake again.” It was Nor’s cold voice once more.
“I mean nothing of the sort.” Nathalie poked her tongue out at her brother. “Peter is finding us a house. As soon as it’s assured, the three of us will leave you two lovebirds in a flash.”
“That means you’re staying,” said Nor inhospitably.
“There are enough rooms here for an army,” declared Nathalie. “Don’t be so ungracious, Nor.”
“You come, you go, you come again. What do you think this place is, Nathalie, a boarding establishment? One thing, for you it has never been home.”
“Perish the thought.” Nathalie laughed.
Her face sobered. She was really very beautiful, Laurel decided, violet eyes, not blue like Nor’s, and of course, marigold, not red, hair.
She turned to Laurel. “I’ll talk to you. My brother and I don’t speak the same language.
“I’ve left the theatre for all time. I never intended stopping on, I only made it my means of escape from here. I never liked Humpback. I don’t know whether I was a changeling Larsen or whether all families have a rebel like me, but I just never liked it, I even despised it, and that’s that. It never appealed to Peter, either.” Nathalie shrugged. “And neither did the whales.”
She walked fluidly across the room, then whirled round again.
“All right, then, are we such unspeakables because frankly, honestly and inevitably we loathe everything to do with the place? It would be a poor world if everyone had the same outlook. Tell my hidebound and insular brother that.”
Laurel said fairly, “I appreciate your viewpoint, Nathalie.” She said that simply because she did. People could not help their instincts, their likes, their dislikes, she thought, any more than they could help their looks. They were born like that.
Nor gave a snort.
Nathalie hunched her shoulders at Laurel. “You see?” she shrugged.
“I haven’t just come back for free board while Peter gets established,” she continued. “In spite of what Nor says. I’ve come back to tell him that I’m not the queer mother and wife he believes me, that from now on the Blakes are going to be a closely united and very happy family; I’ve come back to meet my new sister; to congratulate you both; I’ve come back for a few mementos of an island that, although I never liked it, did grow to mean something in childish associations ... and I’ve come back to say goodbye”—Nathalie’s voice softened—“to Mummy Reed.”
Nor said nothing. He rummaged in his pocket for his makings. However, he must have softened a little himself, for the first cigarette he handed to Nathalie, then he rolled another for Laurel, one for himself, lit all three.
“All right, then, if Laurel can put up with you, I suppose I can,” he said ungraciously.
“Thanks, brother,” Nathalie grinned.
She had established herself and the two little girls already. Toys were strewn around ... dresses hung from various doorknobs.
“It’s to be hoped,” Nor observed sourly, “that Peter snares a large house.”
“Don’t waste your sarcasm on me, pet, it just rolls off. Anyway, why the present concern? There’s plenty of room here, even with the Blakes, for two in love,” and Nathalie laughed.
There was plenty of room for two not in love as well, Laurel knew with relief. She was relieved, too, that Nathalie was so completely self-absorbed that for all the notice she ever took Nor could have been living on top of the high level storage reservoir on Tweedledum.
Nor got straight into his working stride again. Every day the Clytie put out, every day there was activity down on the flensing deck. On calm days, when the wind was in the right direction, one could even hear the look-out man from his crow’s nest shouting: “HVAL-BLAST ... HVAL-BLAST!”
“Whales!” Nathalie would pout.
>
Taking Nor as her example, Laurel, too, got to work.
She called a meeting of the women, and together they considered all the pros and cons of their island home.
At the second meeting they made definite plans. A community hall ... agitation to the coast for a teacher and a school ... a resident nurse.
Meanwhile, to gather funds, Laurel organized social afternoons. They were patronized enthusiastically. She had hoped for seventy per cent response, she got a hundred. Not quite a hundred. Nathalie did not appear. “It would bore me to tears, Laurel, but after all I’m not a resident, so it doesn’t matter, does it, pet?”
You could not help but like Nathalie. One afternoon, strolling down to the beach. Laurel said so to Nor.
“You like cream sponge too, if you don’t get too much of it,” he observed carelessly, “but you can do without it for all that Quite frankly I could do without Nath, and very soon.”
“She’s not upsetting us,” said Laurel fairly.
He gave her a sidelong glance that sent the blood racing to her cheeks.
“No,” he observed.
After a while he commended Laurel on her progress with the women.
“I’ve only just started,” said Laurel, inordinately pleased at his praise.
“You’ve gone a distance already. I listen to the men talk. You’ve wakened something. Where there was lethargy before, now something has sprung up. Leaving that subject, Laurel, but still speaking of men—have you ever encountered a man named Jasper?”
“No. Why?”
“Well, I don’t want you to. He’s bad medicine. I’d say he’s the one worm in the peach here.”
“You mean the rest of the men are satisfactory?”
Nor said warmly, “We’re a team.”
“Then why retain this Jasper?”
“Good lord, I haven’t retained him, I booted him out the first week. He came from the mainland and started in the boiler room. The others complained, and I soon saw why. I paid him off and told him to catch the first launch back.”
“Didn’t he?”
“No. He took to the hills somewhere. I’d go after him only I’m too busy just now and can’t spare the time.”
Nor stuck out his bottom lip. “Also”—he shrugged— “I can’t actually put him off, although I told him to go. I’m not a dynasty, although you may think so, I’m not the House of Larsen, Mrs. Larsen.” His blue eyes flicked at her.
“You mean,” asked Laurel, “he’s quite free to come here?”
“No, I don’t mean that, either. I don’t believe he is free. I believe he may be wanted by the mainland and so hopped across to Hump to lie low a while.”
“What I meant,” observed Laurel, “is that anyone can come here, it’s not your island.”
“It is my island, but I’m not, as I have just been at pains to tell you, its king. Which makes you, madam”—his voice now was derisive—“no queen.”
They walked a while, Laurel in annoyance. She hated him when he took on that derisive mood.
“It can’t be comfortable up there in the hills,” she said at length.
“I hope it’s very uncomfortable. Anyway, he’s not there all the time. Several of the Islanders have reported seeing him. They have also”—Nor’s voice tightened—“reported several food thefts.”
“You can’t let the man starve,” said Laurel just as tightly.
“Don’t try to tell me what I can do or can’t do,” came back Nor in that hot manner she had perceived in him before. “I do what I think, understand that?”
Before she could answer he added: “So report to me instantly if you happen to meet the fellow.”
No “Please report” ... no “Kindly report” ... no “Will you report.”
“I may,” Laurel drawled, challenged. She waited a moment, then said wickedly, “And I may not.”
Instantly she felt his hard hand on her wrist. It bit into the flesh and made her nearly cry out.
“You’ll do as I say.”
“Oh, no, I won’t.”
“Let me finish, Laurel. Oh, I know that that obedience clause in our vows meant as much as the rest of the things that we vowed, but in this instance, this Jasper instance, I insist on your co-operation.”
“You called it obedience before.”
“Call it what you like,” Nor shouted, “you utterly preposterous, impossible, aggravating woman, but just keep Jasper, and the need of reporting to me about him, in mind. See?”
Before she could think of another impertinence back, he went on in an entirely different strain.
“We haven’t discussed David yet. I want his address, his doctor’s address.”
“They are the same. David is in a san.”
“Does he know you’re married?”
“Yes, I cabled him.” Laurel looked a little wistful. “I believed he would cable back before this.”
“Never mind,” said Nor, “a fat letter can say much more.”
“I’m afraid David can never write a fat letter, he hasn’t that much energy. Nor—” Her voice trailed off.
“Yes?” His own voice was much gentler now.
“Do you think he will ever get out here?”
“Why not? Travelling is different these days. One need not raise a finger of one’s own accord. And once he is here, Laurel, you can sit back and watch him thrive.” The big man patted her shoulder in comfort and instantly she felt comforted. Nor, in this mood, was like that
“I’ll be out every day for the next month,” Nor said presently. “I’ve been wondering if you’d care to take over a chore for me.”
“What is it?”
“The pearls.”
“They’re no chore to you, you love them.”
“Would they be a chore to you?”
“Oh, no, I’d like to do it, Nor.”
He nodded. “It is fascinating. We’ll pool our pearl crops, be partners, what’s mine is yours, vice versa, all that. We can be mates in this, anyhow, mate.”
She nodded dumbly, finding no words to reply.
“Come across now,” he said, “and I’ll show you how I edge in the mother-of-pearl nuclei to start the pearl irritation. You can do the same and raise a pearl for yourself.” At the old rainwater tank she watched him anaesthetizing the oyster with menthol and then working with dental-like forceps in the parted shell. “You should be able to do better than that,” he observed. “Women’s hands are smaller, more deft.”
He had put the shell into a wire cage to hang at the end of the jetty then to wait for a year or so, and now he took up one of her hands and regarded it.
He looked at the plain gold ring speculatively. “One day you must become engaged, Laurel,” he said.
“Engagement after marriage?”
“And since when have you been married?”
Angry at him, at his baiting words, she pulled her hand away ... but all at once he was pulling her back to him, she was in the circle of his arms, and his lips were coming down on hers. There was no gentleness there, there was no peace, only the man’s eternal, abominable self-assurance, his love of mastery—but never love.
“Let me go,” she flung. “This was not in our agreement.”
“No,” he agreed, and he let her go at once.
They went back to the house.
“Don’t forget my words on Jasper,” he said coolly at the door.
“I won’t forget,” she returned.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
LAUREL did not forget.
When she met the man Jasper on a walk round the cliffs some weeks later, deliberately, provocatively, resentfully she kept the encounter to herself.
She was picking gorse at the bluff edge, and when she straightened he was upon her. Frighteningly upon her. She was only an inch from him and from the brink.
He put out his hand and took her arm. He pulled her back to safety in a manner that indicated clearly that he could just as well push as pull, that she was in his power.
&
nbsp; When, in spite of herself, she gave a little scared gasp, he smiled thinly, a smile that only reached the lips and not his eyes.
They were small mean eyes, and they were slightly bloodshot. They calculated her. They looked her up and down. They took their time in doing it. For the rest, the man was fairly young, not tall but thickset, unshaven, unkempt, and there was an impression of looseness and something unsavoury about him. Laurel wanted desperately to run.
But to run would be to shout her nervousness.
As coolly as she could she said, “Thank you, I hadn’t realized I was so near the edge.”
“You can call upon me for more than that, girlie,” he answered slyly.
Again he looked her up and down.
“Who are you?” he asked.
She thought she would ignore him, then she decided it might be wiser to comply.
“Mrs. Larsen.”
“Oh, so you’re Nor’s woman.”
“I said I was Mrs. Larsen.”
“No comment,” he smiled.
To ask him to explain would have been to ask for an insolence, and yet not to ask made it horribly apparent that she understood.
And Laurel did understand. Several times of late she had had the feeling that someone besides Nor, Nathalie and the little girls had knowledge of the cottage.
As with all the island places there were no shut doors, no locks or keys. Nor was out from dawn to dusk, Nathalie had found some engineers’ wives who could make up a foursome at bridge, and Laurel herself and the children were seldom indoors.
She had never seen anybody, she had never missed anything, she had simply sensed that someone not entitled and not belonging had been there. It had been a distasteful feeling—as distasteful as this moment now, facing this entirely distasteful man.
“I must go,” she blurted.
“Certainly, Mrs. Larsen,” he bowed, and he stepped back and let her pass.
Deliberately she walked down the cliff, not ran. I’ll report to Nor as soon as he comes in, she thought.
The Wind and the Spray Page 10