Elianne (8 page)

Elianne detested everything about her father, whom she considered the vilest of ingrates. The reason André Desmarais’s copra plantation had thrived in previous years had been due to the financial acumen of his astute English wife and the expertise of his hard-working French overseer, both of whose efforts had been not only unappreciated, but barely even recognised. And now, since Beatrice’s death, the ever-loyal Michel Salet was faced with an ongoing battle to prevent his employer, whom he also considered his friend, gambling away the last of the company’s profits. Elianne knew her father to be a liar, a hypocrite and a thief, and much as she would miss her friends on the plantation and in the small township of Port Vila, James Durham and Australia offered a welcome escape.

‘It is you who will suffer the humiliation of having married your daughter off to a blackbirder, Papa,’ she continued, ‘and you know the contempt with which such men are held in society these days, not only in Vila, but –’

‘James Durham is hardly a blackbirder,’ André interrupted testily, offended by the term, as she’d intended he should be. ‘James Durham is a wealthy plantation owner who has recently built his own sugar mill! Good God, child, a man in his position does not kidnap and enslave island workers! He employs indentured labour through government-appointed agents as the law dictates.’

‘But he
was
a blackbirder, wasn’t he, Papa?’ Determined to have the last word, Elianne continued to needle her father, experiencing a perverse form of pleasure in his annoyance. ‘I believe that’s how he came by his fortune, is it not? Some years ago as a young man –?’

‘He would need to have been a very young man indeed, Elianne.’ Once again André interrupted his daughter, but this time in a patronising fashion. ‘Considering he is not yet thirty years of age. His wealth, as you very well know, comes directly from his moneyed English family, who financed his interests in the colonies.’

‘Yes, so he has told me,’ she replied sceptically, ‘but I have heard other stories. Pavi Salet says that not so very many years ago the islanders feared James Durham. Many accept employment from him now, I know, but he was not always respectable, Papa, as I’m sure you’re aware. I’ve heard that as a very young man he was ruthless and brutal and that the islanders lived in fear of him. They called him “Big Jim”.’

‘Well of course they called him Big Jim, you stupid child,’ André exploded. Her needling was successfully pushing him towards the limits of his patience. ‘He’s a big man and they’re simple-minded blacks, what else would you expect them to call him?!’

‘Pavi was twelve years old when his uncle and others of his family were taken from Ambrym,’ Elianne continued, unfazed by her father’s outburst. ‘Pavi himself was here at the plantation when it happened, but he told me that upon a trip home with his mother, his aunties had sworn it was Big Jim who led the raid on the village.’

‘That’s enough, Elianne!’ The angry light in her father’s eyes warned her she’d gone too far. ‘You’re speaking of the man you’re about to marry. I will not have you quote to me the lies you’ve heard from an ignorant savage.’

But André had in turn angered his daughter.

‘That ignorant savage, as you call him, Papa, happens to be the son of your good friend, Michel Salet, who –’

‘Who married a savage,’ André snarled, ‘which makes him a black-lover, and his son a savage just like his mother.’

For the first time in their exchange, Elianne found herself at a loss for words. Her father and his friends often spoke in a derogatory manner of the islanders, which she found offensive, for there were many loyal, hard-working natives employed at the plantation. Over the years, though, she had become inured to the bigotry that surrounded her. Now, upon hearing Pavi referred to in such a way, she was shocked.

‘Pavi is my best friend,’ she said after a pause, her expression bewildered, her tone disbelieving. ‘We grew up together. We shared the same tutor.’

‘Your mother’s idea.’ André nodded, thankful that he’d made an impact and finally gained her attention. ‘Beatrice and Michel were always as thick as thieves. I gave in to her whim and allowed the two of you to be tutored together, but I should never have let it happen. You can’t let cross-breeds mix with whites like that; it simply doesn’t work.’

She was looking at him oddly: it was clear she didn’t understand. ‘You’re seventeen years old,
ma petite
,’ he explained, ‘you cannot mingle with the blacks the way you did as a child. They’re an inferior race, you must understand that,’ he smiled as if to soften the blow, ‘even one who is the son of a Frenchman.’

‘A Frenchman who is your friend,’ she said, still with an air of bewilderment.

‘That is so,’ he agreed, ‘but friendship does not alter the fact that his son is black.’

André had never once considered Michel Salet his friend. He’d employed the man because of his expertise in the production of copra, and he’d allowed the semblance of a friendship to develop, but how could one claim as a friend a man who’d married a black? Michel had debased himself. Sleeping with native women was perfectly acceptable, even keeping a black mistress was not frowned upon, but one did not marry them and raise their children as white.

‘I have nothing against Pavi,’ he assured her. ‘My God, the boy has such a way with horses I don’t know what I’d do without him. He knows his place, what’s more. Despite his education, he’s made no attempt to rise above his station and of even greater importance he’s chosen to marry one of his own kind.’ André’s smile was magnanimous. ‘I hope he and Mela find great happiness in their union.’ André Desmarais very much approved of young Pavi’s engagement to his housemaid. It would prevent further cross-breeding.

Interpreting his daughter’s silence as submission, and relieved their argument was over, he kissed her gently on the forehead. ‘Just think, Elianne, you will be eighteen in the New Year. In little more than one month,
ma petite
, you will be eighteen, and then you will be married. Just think of that. How your life will change.’

‘Yes, Papa, it will.’ Now more than ever, Elianne longed for that change.

Upon leaving her father, she went directly to her room, where she donned a practical straw bonnet, tying the ribbon securely beneath her chin. She relied solely upon bonnets for protection from the sun, preferring to walk without the impediment of a parasol. Then exchanging her light satin slippers for her walking boots, she set off to find Pavi.

She checked the stables first. Pavi’s natural way with animals had seen him recently promoted to stable manager and as such he was indispensable to her father. He wasn’t there, however, so she set off through the plantation, knowing where he was most likely to be.

As she strode along one of the many avenues that led through the endless rows of coconut trees, the heavy cotton fabric of her ankle-length skirt swished busily against the undergrowth. For practical purposes she eschewed the bustle, which remained the fashion of the day, but the neatly nipped-in waist of her skirt and the fullness of her petticoats only served to accentuate the elegance of her figure.

She kept up a comfortable pace; she enjoyed walking. High above her, the leaves of the palms billowed like green explosions against the clearest of blue skies, but she knew that the weather might well become unpredictable. The day was blisteringly hot and still now, but this was December and a tropical storm could sweep in with little warning.

The processing area, towards the western perimeter of the plantation, was a twenty-minute walk from the house, and as she stepped out from the trees and into the clearing she saw Pavi at the drying racks. He was working alongside his father as she’d expected he would be. A number of native workers were squatting on the ground preparing the coconuts, some clearing away the husk, others cleaving the nuts in half on chopping blocks and draining them of their liquid. Michel and Pavi were spreading the halved coconuts out on the racks, meat side up, to dry in the sun, while beneath the structure nearby several other workers were tending the kilns. For the drying process, which was essential in the production of copra, Michel Salet chose to employ a mixture of both methods, invariably achieving the perfect balance.

Father and son greeted her upon approach, and a number of the workers gave her a wave.

‘
Bonjour mam’selle
,’ some said, or, ‘‘allo missy,’ in the local Pidgin English. Elianne was popular with the workers.

‘Are we safe with the weather, Michel?’ she asked, gesturing at the coconuts laid out on the racks.

‘Yes, quite safe,’ he assured her, ‘until tomorrow afternoon I would say. We will transfer them to the kilns then, just to be sure.’ Among his many other talents, Michel Salet was a walking barometer.

‘May I borrow your son for half an hour?’

‘Of course you may, Elianne.’ Michel smiled and turned to his son. ‘Take your time, Pavi, we have plenty of workers.’

‘Thank you, Papa.’

Pavi, who had been working bare-chested, donned his shirt as a measure of respect for Elianne and they set off through the trees. Like many of mixed race, he was a good-looking young man, olive-skinned and fine-featured.

They walked for ten minutes through the rows of coconut palms to the edge of the plantation, where they emerged from the trees into a rocky clearing. Here the land sloped down to the valley, and in the distance beyond the lush tropical vegetation was the blue of the sea. It was a favourite place of theirs.

They sat on the rocks and looked out at the view. They hadn’t spoken as they’d walked: there’d been no need. They were comfortable with silence. Sometimes they would gaze at the view without saying a word, other times they would ignore its beauty altogether and talk non-stop. The two were very much at ease in each other’s company.

Today though was a day for talking, and it was Elianne who broke the silence. She couldn’t wait to tell him her news. ‘You’re not the only one about to be married, Pavi,’ she said.

Pavi stared at her in surprise. He’d not known that Elianne was being courted. He had courted Mela for a whole eight months before they’d announced their betrothal. They’d been just seventeen. Now eighteen and lovers, they both yearned to be wed so that their trysts need no longer be conducted in secret.

‘You’re to be married,’ he said, ‘really?’

‘Yes, really,’ she said.

She launched into her story, his eyes growing wider and wider with surprise as she recounted the exchange that had occurred between her and her father.

‘You declared James Durham a blackbirder,’ Pavi winced comically, ‘that was perhaps not a wise thing to do.’

‘I know,’ she admitted. ‘I hope I haven’t caused trouble for you, telling Papa about your aunties and Big Jim.’

Pavi shrugged. ‘He’ll just think it’s the gossip of silly black women.’ Although Elianne had omitted any mention of her father’s comments about ‘ignorant savages’ Pavi was fully aware of André Desmarais’s contempt for the islanders.

‘On the contrary, I had the distinct impression that it came as no great surprise. Papa was angered and denied any truth to the rumour of course, but he knows there’s something questionable in James Durham’s past, I can tell. He protested a little too vehemently.’

‘How do you feel about this marriage, Elianne?’ Pavi eyed her keenly. Her happiness was all that mattered.

She searched for a truthful answer. ‘I will be sad to leave Efate, and sad to leave you, Pavi, but I will not be sad to leave Papa.’

‘And James Durham? The man himself, how do you feel about him?’

Again she answered truthfully. ‘I have to admit that, despite the rumours, I have always found him to be charming.’

She is attracted to him, Pavi thought. I can see it in her eyes. She could love this man. ‘Then do not listen to the rumours,’ he said, ‘they may well be hearsay. And even if they are not, James Durham would have been very young in those days and obeying orders from others. Men change with time.’

She smiled gratefully, feeling somehow absolved of a crime she had not yet committed. ‘I shall miss you so, Pavi.’

‘And I you. But we have left our childhood behind, Elianne. It is time to move on.’

James Durham arrived in Port Vila three weeks later. André picked him up at the docks in a horse and trap and transported him to the plantation. His visits as a rule were of only two or three days’ duration, but this time he planned to stay for a full fortnight while preparations were made for the wedding. It was his intention that these two weeks should serve as an opportunity to become better acquainted with his future wife, and she with him. He had informed the Frenchman that he would not stay in one of the guest rooms at the main house as he usually did, for propriety demanded he should not sleep under the same roof as his fiancée. Instead he would reside at the modest guesthouse a quarter mile away. Upon his further instruction the guesthouse, which was normally reserved for those visitors considered of secondary importance, was to be freshly refurbished as that was where he and his wife would spend their wedding night. James himself would pay for the costs incurred.

All of these arrangements had been set in place during his trip to Efate a good month previously, when the two men had come to their arrangement. The debt that André Desmarais had accrued over the past two years, a debt which could have crippled him had James chosen to demand immediate payment in full, was to be cancelled upon the marriage agreement.

‘Do you think she will accept me?’ James had asked.

A giant of a man, with a build that matched the six feet four inches of his height and a nature that appeared fearless, James Durham had seemed curiously unsure of himself.

‘Hah! Why should you doubt it?’ The Frenchman had scorned the very notion. ‘What woman of sound mind could possibly refuse the life of privilege you offer?’

‘But perhaps she would not welcome me as a husband. Perhaps she thinks me too old – I am more than a decade her senior.’

‘An excellent age difference in a marriage,’ André had assured him, ‘and you’re wrong, my young friend. She likes you very much.’ Then he’d added suggestively, ‘I’ve seen the twinkle in her eye when she’s in your company, believe me I have.’ André had seen no such thing, but then he hadn’t been looking. James Durham’s offer, welcome and timely as it was, had been completely unexpected. ‘In fact I get the distinct impression that she may be in love with you.’