Tears of the Moon (17 page)

The formal card inviting Olivia to afternoon tea at the Residence arrived several days later and she received it with mixed feelings. Olivia was keenly looking forward to the pleasure of a social occasion but hoped she wouldn’t be called upon to repeat her story, as she still grieved for her lost child, and talking about the accident pained her greatly. Well meaning as people were, beneath the solicitous enquiries she sensed a salacious thirst for details that hurt her further.

Dressing carefully and paying attention to her toilette for the first time since her arrival in the north-west, Olivia stepped down from the verandah in a black taffeta day dress, a hat and gloves, her hair coiled. To her surprise she found Ahmed waiting at the front in a small sulky. He helped her into the seat.

‘Tuan sent me. Said you should make a good appearance at the Residence.’

‘How kind of Tuan Hennessy,’ she said with warmth.

‘Tuan Tyndall,’ corrected Ahmed as he swung into
the driver’s seat and picked up the reins. Glancing over his shoulder he warned her with a slight smile, ‘Not so good with horsies as boats, Memsahib!’

‘It’s only a short distance, I had planned on walking.’

‘You soon be a lady pearler wife, no walk,’ he admonished.

Olivia enjoyed the drive to the long low Residence building, its wide formal verandah screened by palm trees and set in a lawn flourishing on bore water. A young white aide and Malay manservant directed her through the airy building to a shady portico at the rear. Here, the guests were gathered, seated on cane furniture. She was led to Mrs Hooten who greeted her warmly.

The Malay houseboy in starched white and wearing a small turban handed her a teacup. She was introduced to the ladies and the conversation soon turned to small talk about life in Broome. Advice was offered on all manner of subjects related to running a house—a Chinese or Japanese cook, a Koepanger boy to supervise children and polish the silver, an Aboriginal to look after the garden, a Chinese for the ironing, and an Aboriginal woman to do the washing.

They also delicately probed to find out more about Olivia and Conrad, their family background and their future plans. When Olivia murmured that circumstances had changed their plans, that pearling was quite a new and unexpected undertaking for her husband, Mrs Hooten was soothing. ‘Many pastoralists have become pearlers. It’s difficult country for
grazing stock and only the men with big backing seem to be really successful. In theory everyone should make money, the growth in the wet is so prolific, and there is just so much land for the taking. But yet there are so many failures.’

Olivia was stung by the suggestion of failure. It must have shown, for Mrs Hooten quickly added sympathetically, ‘Of course you really didn’t have a chance to see how you would have made out. It was so tragic.’ Then she continued enthusiastically, ‘But I’m sure that fate has now turned in your favour. Believe me, Mrs Hennessy, the pearling industry is taking off, so my husband says. A pity it attracts so many riff-raff, don’t you think? I mean, at the lower end, the Asians and the like.’

Before Olivia could think of anything to say in response, the wife of one of the leading pearling masters took the conversation in another direction. ‘I know you’ll be wanting to join some of our social committees, Mrs Hennessy, and it will be a delight to have your talents to help those of us who have been here so long that we’re rather out of touch with what’s happening back home. The social life is looking up thank goodness, now that more wives are coming here. We have balls, races, concerts, and the most wonderful picnic that is becoming a really major annual event.’

‘Well, I was rather thinking of doing some work,’ replied Olivia brightly, and there was an immediate freeze in the conversation.

After a moment Mrs Hooten broke the silence. ‘Work, Mrs Hennessy, what sort of work?’

‘Pearling … or rather something connected with the pearling business. Perhaps in the office.’

‘Really,’ responded the hostess with raised eyebrows, absently fingering the lorgnette hanging around her neck on a chain set with large pearls. ‘How
interesting
.’ Then she turned to address the room with a voice that almost rattled the teacups. ‘Now ladies, I feel that it’s cool enough for a little croquet. To the lawn everyone.’

Olivia realised she had made a social faux pas and decided to be more discreet in future about her involvement in the business, although she was more determined than ever to do what she wanted to do. At the same time she recognised that in such a small community acceptance by the wives of the leading families was probably very important for the business. With this in mind, she joined in the exodus to the croquet lawn, making an effort at light–hearted enthusiasm and anticipation that was obviously welcomed by the elite ladies of Broome.

Later, Ahmed was waiting patiently at the gate and he drove her along Dampier Terrace, past crew camps, shell sorting and packing sheds, the jetty where the luggers tied up, a boat builder’s yard and sail maker, a saddlery and bootmaking shop, a general store and the Dampier Hotel, popular with the Japanese, Ahmed informed her. He stopped outside a two–storey white wooden building which housed several offices and a pearl cleaner’s workshop.

Ahmed pointed proudly to a new sign by the narrow doorway:
STAR OF THE SEA PEARL CO
.

Olivia was puzzled.

‘That’s us, mem. Tuan give us a name.’ With studied formality he helped her down and pointed upstairs.

Lifting the hem of her dress Olivia ascended the rickety stairs to two separate small rooms.

Conrad was sitting at a desk covered with papers and new folders. He sprang up when Olivia entered, stepped around the desk and hugged her. ‘We’re open for business as of today. Not that there’s any business … just a lot of paperwork. What do you think?’ he asked, gesturing toward the spartan furniture and bare walls.

‘A suitably modest start, I feel,’ said Olivia approvingly.

‘Modest? You’d better take a look next door,’ said Conrad with a grin.

They walked into the next office to find Tyndall leaning back in a swivel chair with his feet on a desk empty but for a whisky bottle. The rest of the room was in chaos. There were piles of rope, sails, diving apparatus, bags of sugar, cartons of tea, some nautical charts pinned to the walls along with an Aboriginal pearl shell breastplate on a cord. In a corner was another desk and chair where Ahmed had been carefully packing waterproof canisters with curry powders and other spices that filled the room with exotic smells.

Olivia was stunned.

Tyndall slowly took his feet off the desk and stood up. ‘Savour the scene, Mrs Hennessy. The beginning of a commercial empire. You can breathe the sweet smell of success in it all, can’t you?’ he said with exaggerated earnestness.

‘Frankly, all I smell is curry,’ said Olivia with a grin. ‘Whatever is all this stuff?’

‘A job lot. The fellow who sold us the lugger had a stock of supplies he no longer needed. Buyer’s market. Got the lot dirt cheap this morning,’ explained Tyndall with considerable satisfaction.

‘Did it require another bottle of whisky?’ asked Olivia, instantly wishing she hadn’t made such an impulsive response.

Tyndall was stung and stared at her for a moment, then responded angrily. ‘As a matter of fact, yes it did.’

‘Just trying to come to grips with the ways of business in these parts,’ said Olivia lightly, anxious to defuse a situation she felt was getting a little beyond her. ‘Who came up with the name of the company? It’s nice, but maybe I could have put in a suggestion, too.’

Tyndall was appalled. He was just feeling relieved that she had changed the subject from the purchase of the supplies when she swept in under his guard with another punch. Stay calm, he told himself. He hadn’t met any woman who so confused him. ‘It was my idea. Conrad left it up to me … I didn’t think to ask, just assumed you would not be interested.’

‘Olivia … ’ interjected Conrad quickly, but Olivia went on as if she hadn’t heard him.

‘I am very interested, Captain Tyndall. I am a partner in this business, too. I have discussed it with my husband and told him that I would like to be involved in any small way I can. I have very little else to interest me.’

Tyndall understood this as a reference to the loss of her child, but at the same time sensed there was more to this young woman than he suspected. There was a hidden strength beneath that youthfulness, and it was striving for expression.

With quiet politeness he said, ‘Forgive me. It was thoughtless.’

Olivia responded in kind. ‘It’s a pretty name. I hope it augurs well.’

‘How was the tea? Were the ladies pleasant?’ asked Conrad, anxious to change the subject as he found Olivia’s forthrightness a little embarrassing.

‘Yes. It’s strange observing formal customs here. I am expected to call on them over the coming weeks. That will give me a chance to get to know them better, but they certainly enjoy the chance to gossip.’

‘And you must join the Club, Conrad. It will be useful for business as well as for the social activities,’ suggested Tyndall.

Conrad nodded in agreement. ‘Yes, the RM already suggested I should join the Freemasons. And I was rather thinking I’d like to join the Cricket Club, more for the sport than the social side of things. I miss swinging a bat.’

‘Do you belong?’ Olivia asked Tyndall.

‘Haven’t got around to it yet. I’m still considered a bit of a blow–in round these parts. But when I’m more settled, I’ll get around to it.’

He grinned and Olivia had a feeling he was not really about to join an elite white men’s club. Tyndall led a very private and casual life from what Olivia had observed. He didn’t seem comfortable ashore
and gave the impression it was a temporary arrangement. He was happiest at sea and living on his schooner.

‘I’m sailing back down the coast and going to hook up with some of the Aborigines who showed me the shell beds. I’ll hire some of them to work the shallow water and dry shell for us. Want to come along?’ Tyndall asked Olivia with a lifted eyebrow.

‘I have work to do here getting our home set up. But thank you for asking,’ she answered, ignoring his teasing air. ‘Next time I will come along,’ she said archly, with a tilt of her head. As she noticed Ahmed by the door, she softened and turned back to him.

‘Thank you for providing Ahmed and the sulky. I feel I made the right impression arriving in style at the Residence.’

They exchanged a quick smile and Conrad turned to Tyndall.

‘I say, that was decent of you. We’ll have to arrange for transport.’

‘Better sell a haul of shell first. I rather hope that Star of the Sea will start making money soon,’ remarked Olivia, emphasising the last word.

‘I guess we’ve got our orders, Conrad,’ chuckled Tyndall with some relief as Olivia swept from the room. However, underneath he was wondering just how well he was going to get along with his partner’s wife.

With Conrad happily settled behind a desk, Tyndall and Ahmed put to sea, both pleased to be away from the office. With their crew they sailed the
Bulan
south to the untouched shell banks in shallow water that Tyndall had been shown by his Aboriginal friends. They readily enlisted several men to dry shell—a form of beachcombing at low tide—for payment of tobacco, flour and sugar. Sharp eyes were needed to spot the flat grey shells embedded in the muddy sand. As the tide moved over them, they drifted away.

It was slow work because for so many hours of the day the mud flats were covered by the ebb and flow of the tides, but steadily the stockpile on the beach began to grow and the two Koepangers hired as crew were kept busy opening and cleaning the shell under the watchful eye of Ahmed. They had good reputations, but Ahmed trusted no one when it came to pearls and he knew that it took only the slightest hand work to conceal a pearl if temptation struck.

When the hold of the lugger, and the space in its engine room, were filled with shell, they lashed to the deck the bags of unopened shell from the final few days’ work and headed home.

They sailed into Broome with the tide and as soon as they were alongside the wharf Ahmed was sent to alert Conrad, who hastened down the wharf and clambered on board the cluttered deck to shake Tyndall’s hand.

‘I say, this looks like a really great haul. The hold full, too?’

‘To the very top, Conrad. And good shell at that. Not many pearls, mostly small baroque, but we still have the deck cargo to open. How have things been going with you?’

‘Met most of the dealers in mother–of–pearl and talked about arrangements. Nothing settled yet. I must say some of them are very shady characters. Had a telegram from Perth from the representative of a European pearl merchant wanting first option on any pearls we find. How do you think they found out we’re in business?’

‘The bush telegraph, mate. The pearl business is a cut–throat one and there’s big money at stake. Information is worth money too, and I don’t doubt that someone in this town has made himself something out of passing on information on our venture to contacts down south.’

The tide was still on the make and Conrad and Tyndall wanted to get as much of the cargo unloaded before the
Bulan
settled on the mud below the deck of the jetty. Soon the crew were stripped to the waist and slinging bags of shell off the lugger while Conrad kept tally and supervised the hired dray hauling it along to their foreshore shell camp.