The Wind and the Spray (12 page)

She turned and looked questioningly at Nor.

He was studying the meal hours now, but he must have felt her enquiry, for he said gruffly over his shoulder: “You complained you had only flannel in your trousseau.”

“Is—is it mine?”

“Whose else?” he snapped. “Of course it’s yours, you silly duck.”

A little wildly she said, “I’m not a teal anymore, remember?”

“Yes, you’re Mrs. Nils Larsen, remember?”

She sank down on the bed, the lovely nightgown cradled in her arms.

From the other side of the room the man watched her. Suddenly he knew he wanted to tell this slender red-haired girl a lot of things. He wanted to assure her that in one moment he was going to leave her by herself, engage another room, find a lounge somewhere, that she need not worry herself about when they returned home either, that he would keep his word as he had said.

But in this instant he knew that if she had whispered: “Stay, Nor,” he would have forgotten everything he had bargained
...
and taken her into suddenly hungry arms.

He waited. She did not say it. She fingered the nightie, marvelling at its delicate stuff.

He still waited. He had not intended to wait ... he had planned everything very meticulously, a light kiss on her forehead, a teasing “Sleep tight,” a quiet exit
...
Why, then was he standing waiting like this?

Then he saw that her head was nodding. Poor little green duck, he thought, she had had a long and emotional day and she was little more than a scrap of a thing.

He crossed over and eased her back on the bed; softly he pulled the cover over her, snapped off the light, went out.

When Laurel woke she was still in the clothes in which she had travelled to the mainland, the nightgown still in her arms, and it was tomorrow, and Nor was standing beside her saying, “Good morning, Mrs. Larsen, breakfast is waiting
...
and after that we can push off.”

CHAPTER TEN

BREAKFAST came in on a trolley. Apparently Nor had rung room service.

There was orange juice and steaming coffee and two omelettes. Nor buttered the toast and poured the coffee himself, and passed Laurel hers.

“I must look very crumpled,” she apologized, embarrassed.

“You were very tired,” he excused kindly.

“I shall change before we go. Nor, where
are
we going? What did you mean when you said we could push
off?”

“I meant just that. We can’t return to the island this soon, the Islanders would expect a proper honeymoon”— always the Islanders, Laurel thought
—
“but I don
’
t fancy staying on in Anna. So I’ve hired a car, quite a nice car if you care to look out of the window, and we
’ll
do a run down the coast. Do you know the south coast?”

“I know only Sydney and Humpback Island.”

“Then there’s a treat for you in store.”

Laurel ate, then showered and changed into soft grey jersey. She packed her skirt and blouse and carefully put the new nightgown between the folds of a clean white towel before it, too, was packed. She came out of the hotel to find Nor waiting beside a red estate wagon.

“Nor, it’s lovely.”

“A nice job ... we might even buy it one day. It would be handy for us to have a car on the coast.” As he spoke he put Laurel’s bag in the back seat.

Laurel got in the front, feeling extraordinarily warm and happy. It was nice to be thinking, even thoug
h
you knew it was untrue, in the plural and in the future. It gave you a sense of family somehow. Suddenly realizing the trend of her thoughts, Laurel flushed.

They set off. The coastal road rimmed the ocean, seldom was it out of sight of sand dunes, beyond the crashing of waves or the slapping of tides, but now and then it thrust down into woody valleys, ran along flats deep in golden grass.

Ulladulla, Eurobodalla, Wolumla
...
Bermagui where Nor told her the big fish were and where Zane Grey had put his pen and his Indians aside and turned instead to singing reel and fighting marlin.

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 bo
rn
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
li
e 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
s
he 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?”