But as the day went on, she knew she could not tell Nor, knew that it was not entirely resentment over Nor’s orders and the way he had delivered them that would stop her, but something else.
She did not really know the man was Jasper, he had never said so, he had only said the hateful things he had, and, too, they really had not been said, only inferred.
How could you relate something that actually had not been spoken? ... more than that, she thought miserably, how could you broach a subject that already between the two of you, between Nor and yourself, was a deep chasm, a chasm that first must have its spanning bridge?
How to build that bridge ... how to meet Nor face to face on the bridge of understanding and discuss this thing and the way Jasper’s mean eyes had sneered.
Nathalie arrived home; the girls ran in; Nor got back; they all had dinner together. Nor went out again.
I’ve left the telling too long to be told, Laurel thought.
Still David did not write. One evening Laurel tackled Nor about her brother.
“What do you want to know?” he demanded almost harshly.
The harshness nettled her. “Whether you’ve actually done anything about David yet,” she flung.
“I gave you my word, didn’t I?”
“Yes, but—”
“When I’m ready, I’ll tell you, not before.” He was really angry with her. He stamped out and did not address her in any way when he returned.
The next night, however, Nor was in high spirits. “The Windward is finished,” he announced. “Tomorrow we’ll launch her. We’ll make an island holiday of it. You women can get to work on the refreshment side.”
To Laurel’s surprise and pleasure Nathalie actually showed enthusiasm.
“It’s a lovely thing to see a boat launched, and Nor really does it well. I suppose it’s his Navy training. He was in the Navy during the war, did you know?”
“No, I didn’t know, but he once mentioned setbacks the whaling station had had, and one of them was war, so I supposed he must have been away during that time. I supposed, too,” admitted Laurel, “that it would have to be the sea.” She thought of the sailor blue eyes.
“Yes,” nodded Nathalie, “and I’ve just thought of something. After the launching we might be able to get up a whist drive. It would be fun. Now I wonder what I can wear.”
While Nathalie wondered, Laurel prepared with the rest of the Island women. They too were looking forward to tomorrow. In the excitement and anticipation Jasper was completely forgotten. Even had she remembered, Laurel probably would have put the thoughts of him aside. There is something too clean, too inspiring, too stimulating in a boat that has been built by hands to permit the intrusion of anything less worthy. There was no room now for Jasper. It was as though she never had encountered him at all.
Nor had a beautiful morning for his launching.
It was calm, but there was a little affable wind that tossed the leaves of the trees to make chequered patterns on the grass. By the time all the islanders had assembled at the north end, the sky was so blue that it had begun spreading itself elsewhere. Even the wet sands became blue skies. The little girls called, “We’re walking on the sky,” and scampered over the beach.
Nathalie said, “Do fetch them back, Laurel, I have high heels.”
“Laurel is stopping here,” decreed Nor. “My wife is naming the Windward.”
“Launching her?”
“Of course.”
Nathalie smiled. “It’s the right thing, certainly, but it’s a privilege I never thought to see you deprive yourself of, brother.”
“You don’t know me,” he drawled.
His sister looked at him quizzically. “I’ve never thought I wanted to, Nor. Now I’m beginning to think you may grow human even yet.”
“Thank you,” he shrugged.
The little girls came back. In the way children do, they instantly sensed solemnity, and became silent and watchful.
Nor climbed on to a dais that had been rigged by the Windward’s side.
“We’ll conduct this as the Navy does,” he announced. “The Windward is not big, but its spirit is big, so I think we can be permitted that.”
The islanders all nodded their heads.
Nor recited in a clear, strong voice:
“O Thou that sittest above the water floods, and stillest the raging of the sea, accept, we beseech Thee, the supplication of Thy servants for all who in this ship, now and hereafter, shall commit their lives unto the perils of the deep.”
Laurel watched him through her folded hands ... saw his strong face through her parted fingers. I am married to him ... he is my husband, she thought.
“Watch them in their going forth and in their coming in,” said Nor, “and so through the waves of this troublesome world, bring them of Thy mercy to the sure haven of Thine everlasting kingdom.”
The sure haven, the sure haven ... Laurel repeated it again and again to herself.
Nor was taking her hand in his, placing it around the bottle of champagne.
She had been told what to say, and she said it.
“I name you Windward, and may God bless you and all who sail in you.”
She let go the bottle and it broke and smashed, and Windward slid down the greased slip into the sea. It was a perfect launching.
The Clytie and the Leeward and a dozen small skiffs had come round. Those without sirens had supplied themselves with clappers and bells. With the cheering and the clapping and the little girls’ delighted shouting it was a christening of which any boat could be proud.
Now the women were bustling over great drums of coffee, pouring it, passing it, pressing plates of sandwiches and cakes. The men were busy on kegs of beer.
In the middle of the rejoicing another launch came into the bay.
It was not until the passenger alighted from it that Laurel recognized Peter Blake.
Nathalie raced to him, the children not far behind her.
“Greet me, don’t eat me,” laughed Peter, well pleased. “This is a fine thing, I put in at the jetty and no one was there. Don’t you work any more, Nor, since I’ve gone away?”
Nor shook hands with his brother-in-law. “I shouldn’t really,” he observed of the handshake.
“No bad feeling?”
Nor shrugged. “Not if you take my sister off my hands.”
“That’s what I’ve come for. She had no right to intrude in the first place. Two newly-weds.” Peter smiled and turned on Laurel. “You’re a dark one,” he said.
Nathalie had her arm in his. “I’m ready to go; I’ve been ready a day after I got here, but we had to have a house.”
“We have a house.”
“Oh, Peter, a nice one?”
“Everything you ordered—mod cons, handy to shops and shows.”
“Oh, lord,” Nor said.
However, he did not let his difference in taste spoil the festivities. He seemed more cheerful than he had been for a long time, though whether it was because the launching had been such a success or because Nathalie was going, Laurel did not know.
Probably, she thought, it was a little bit of both.
Once back in the house she had to admit to herself that she was pleased that Nathalie’s visit was nearly over too. It was good to see the rooms becoming less and less cluttered as Nathalie’s possessions, that had spilled over everywhere, were reclaimed and packed.
“When do we go, darling?” Nathalie begged Peter.
“I’ve chartered a launch first thing in the morning.”
“Then I’ll say goodbye tonight,” said Nor. “First thing in the morning won’t be as early as I am. I’ll leave Laurel to wave you off. Come back on holidays, you four. If it’s five, then all the better. And if the fifth’s a boy, all the better still. I might make Island material out of a nephew if never out of a niece.”
“My son,” said Nathalie stoutly, “is going to be anything but a whaleman. Supply your own islanders, Nor.” She laughed ac
ross at Laurel.
Nor rolled two cigarettes and gave one to Laurel.
“What about me?” pouted Nathalie.
“Ask Peter. This smoke is strictly between husband and wife.” Nor lit his own, then bent towards Laurel. His face was now only a few inches away, he fit her cigarette with his, eyes never leaving hers.
Presently he straightened up.
“Goodbye, kids.” He kissed them. “Goodbye, Peter.” He took Peter’s hand. “Goodbye, sis.” He kissed Nath.
“Now that you’re going I don’t mind you so much,” he grinned at Nathalie.
“Now I’m going, I could almost stop,” she grinned back. It was an amicable parting, and that was good, Laurel thought.
She felt cheerful herself waving them off the next day. She did not permit herself to think of the house when Nor returned tonight, the house with just the two of them, not a crowd any more.
But when thoughts did creep in, she was curiously undismayed. It will be all right. She had known that when she had married Nor: a little voice had said it. The voice said it again now.
It will be right ... it will be right. Almost gaily she decided to go across to the old rain tank and try her hand on the oysters. But first she went to the house for the instruments and mother-of-pearl.
A man was sitting on the doorstep. As she came nearer she saw that it was the man she had met on the cliff that day. Jasper, she thought.
He did not get up as she approached, and he did not move aside, so that if she was to enter the house she would have to push past him.
“Why are you here?” she said.
He rose. He took his time over it, stretching, flexing, relaxing, widening his shoulders, all the while his mean eyes never leaving hers.
“Don’t be so unneighbourly, Mrs. Larsen. Australians are warm-hearted people; the little English bride must learn to be warm-hearted as well.”
“I asked you why you were here.”
“Where’s your cordiality, Mrs. Larsen. I only came to ask for a tin of meat.”
“And have you taken it?” she enquired coldly—and instantly regretted her words.
The grin he perpetually wore was now a smirk, the eyes were not narrowed any more, they were flickering insolently into hers.
“I wouldn’t dream of taking anything, Mrs. Larsen ... except, of course, a few impressions, but the impressions are free and gratis, aren’t they?” He smirked once more.
She went into the house and got the mother-of-pearl nuclei and the instruments. As before, there seemed nothing, touched, even the food cupboard was still shut, but she knew he had been here.
She glanced over her shoulder. If he came behind her, she would scream. He did not come.
For a moment she stood wondering what to do. She did not fancy stopping in the house knowing that he was just outside. The sensible thing was to go on with what she had intended ... let him see that he did not affect her.
She took up the pearl material, crossed the room and went out of the door. As she walked, she wondered if her decision was a right one. He would now have entry again into the house.
But he did not enter. Nor did he not walk away. He walked with her.
He watched as she dipped the oysters till they opened, then operated with the little needle and the nuclei.
“That’s a fool thing to do,” he commented idly. “Lightning only ever strikes once, didn’t you know?”
“I don’t understand you,” she said, still working in the nuclei.
“His nibs would,” he grinned.
She probed with the forceps.
“Mr. Larsen has the same hobby,” she announced coldly.
“Yep—but not the same pearl.” Again the thin smirk.
“I don’t understand you.” Once more she said the words. She should not have discussed Nor with this man, she knew that, but puzzlement got the better of her. What was he trying to say? Her eyes, despite herself, enquired this of him.
Jasper looked back with mock incredulity. “Don’t tell me you don’t know, Mrs. Larsen. That would be impossible. Doesn’t marriage make you one?” He smirked again. “Isn’t it a case of what’s yours is his, vice versa—Or does the sharing only refer to you?”
“You’re wrong to say things like that,” she blurted.
“What am I saying?”
“I think you’re saying that—Nor has found a pearl ... a good pearl.”
“Quite correct. You’re a smart baby. Down under the jetty. Just five days ago. But time enough, you’ll agree, for him to tell you the glad news.”
“You’re wrong.”
“My spy-glass doesn’t tell me that. Oh yes, Mrs. Larsen, I have a spy-glass. It’s an accurate one too. It can tell a pearl that’s right out of the run of the mill to one of the ordinary bread and butter chaps. This pearl was no small fry.”
“You’re wrong. We’re too far south for anything remarkable. Nor said so. It would be an occasion.”
“This,” smirked Jasper, “was the occasion.” He added: “And you weren’t told.”
“You’re wrong.” How many times had she said that?
“Then ask him.”
“I wouldn’t do that.”
The man laughed sneeringly. “Then look,” he said, and turning on his heel he went up the track.
She would not do that either, she thought, walking back to the house. She had no need to. Whatever else the position between her and Nor, there was complete trust. She had no need to look.
But when she went indoors she found her eyes roving to the shell table and the little tin. It was not really a tin but an old silver beer mug with a hinged lid, but it was discoloured and battered and Nor had taken it for his pearls. It stood quite unconcealed on the shelf. On Humpback, nothing was ever hidden away. If there was an out-of-the-ordinary pearl, a good pearl, and there wasn’t, there couldn’t be without his telling her, it would be there.
Before she was aware of what she was doing, Laurel had crossed to the medley of shells, to the tin. She opened the hinged lid. There were some letters stuffed inside, air letters. She pushed them away and took out a bundle wrapped in a paper tissue. She opened it. Nothing very valuable here in the way of pearls, only the usual variety of cultured gems, ordinary colour, ordinary size, so that man was wrong. She sighed with relief. Then she saw another little tissue-covered package. She took it out. She opened it. She stared down.
It was beautiful. It was milk and flame, purity and fire, it was the first glow of dawn, it was a pale pink rose.
“If you don’t believe it,” advised a cool voice at her elbow, “I can assure you it’s true and won’t shiver away at a touch.”
Laurel wheeled round to Nor.
“I—I—” she began, confused.
He put up a hand.
“I know, you’re just tidying up.” He glanced at the rest of the tin’s contents. “Have you gone through the other things as well?”
“I tell you I didn’t come to peer, I mean—”
Again he stopped her. “A pity,” he shrugged. “You might have found them of interest, they might have satisfied some of your recent doubts. These letters for instance—”
“I tell you I didn’t come to probe.” She looked at him furiously, adding, “And why are you talking like this when it’s I who should be asking things of you?”
“Like?”
“Like this pearl, Nor. We can pool our crops, you told me, be partners, what’s mine is yours, vice versa.” Her voice raised a note. “Be mates,” she derided.
“Since when,” he demanded back, “have we practised that?”
“You said—you told me—”
“Words,” he interrupted her almost violently, “just as when you talk, I merely said words, words, words.”
She was near tears now. He was a hard man. She could not understand him. She never would.
“I never kept things from you,” she almost wept.
“You’ve kept everything from me,” he answered.
He was looking savagely down on her, his blue eyes boring into hers, and she had the sudden feeling that he was going to circle her in his arms as he had once before. All at once the waiting for it became a nagging torment ... and then in the same breath it was not a nagging torment any more but an aching, almost incredible joy.
But instead of it all, instead of what she awaited, he laughed bitterly and gave the tin a contemptuous shove.
“You’ve given me nothing, not even your partnership,” he told her.
“What about you? You forgot to mention a little detail of a valuable pearl.”
“It’s not valuable, it’s merely presentable, nothing more. I had a fool notion to have it prepared and set for you. I believed it might suit you—as a ring.”
“A ring?”
“Why not? As I mentioned once before, engaged couples do indulge in rings, I’m told, but then”—with another laugh—“we’re not engaged, are we, Laurel? We’re only man and wife.”
Laurel persisted stubbornly, ignoring the other: “I would have shared with you.”
“You really mean, my dear, that you would get as much as you could without giving anything back.”
A silence fell between them.
In that silence, Laurel was all at once aware that there was a smoke haze in the sky, that it hung low, that it was coming lower, that it was obliterating the light.
“What is it?” she asked, alarmed.
“That’s why I’m home early. A fire broke out today in the hills. Someone must have been careless ... left a flame somewhere ...”
Jasper? Laurel thought.
“It’s under control now, but five of the plantations have been wiped out.”
“Loss of life?”
“None, thank God. And nothing we can’t repair in time. The only trouble now is accommodation. We have the largest house on the island—”
“Six rooms and a kitchen,” she murmured.
He ignored her. “So naturally we must take in the biggest family.”
“Naturally,” she said.
“The Fuccillis are coming. You know the Fuccillis?”
She nodded. She knew and liked Humpback’s only Italian representatives, a father who worked on the whaling station, a mother who worked their plantation of fruit, vegetables and eggs, their five children—the only children, now that Jill and Meredith were gone, on the Island, and Laurel’s nucleus for Humpback’s school-to-be.
The Wind and the Spray Page 11