‘And you gave it to him?’ Bernard could not prevent his voice rising in dismay.
‘Of course,’ came her mild reply. ‘What use do I have for a tiara?’
‘But, but … the insurance. And the security — how on earth does the project team propose to protect’ — he uttered the last in a whisper — ‘a diamond chandelier?’
‘No one but you, Heikki and I know it’s made of real diamonds,’ said Meredith. ‘And Heikki won’t tell. Finns are renowned for their love of silence.’
‘That seems …’ Bernard struggled to think of a word that would not sound insulting. ‘Unwise.’
‘In that case,’ she said, amused, ‘I’d better not let on that one of the drawings is a real Picasso. My parents were travelling in France, and in Vallauris, where he lived at the time, they spotted him in a café. My mother was pregnant with me, and he did a tiny doodle on a napkin, “pour le bébé”. My mother put it in a silver locket. All I did was remove the cover. It’s above the piano in the house’s living room.’
‘You delight in tormenting me.’
Bernard kept his tone jocular. She must never know how true those words were.
Meredith glanced around.
‘Is Patricia with you?’ she said. ‘I can’t see her.’
‘She had an errand to run.’ He’d forgotten what it was. ‘Probably for the best, as I’m not sure what tasks she’d be keen to perform — it appears one can’t avoid getting one’s hands very dirty.’
‘Oh, don’t underestimate Patricia,’ said Meredith. ‘Your wife has a strong seam of resource and determination.’
Bernard received the compliment on his wife’s behalf, despite being unconvinced of its veracity. Apart from that occasion when she’d asked him out, Patricia had never once been strong-willed or demanding. She’d expressed her opinions, of course, but any disagreements they had were quickly settled, due to his rational approach and her natural kindness. Patricia was a gentle soul, happy to be useful in the background. How odd that Meredith thought her determined.
‘And are you here as an official observer, Bernard?’ Meredith broke his train of thought. ‘On behalf of the association?’
‘I have publically expressed a personal interest.’ He felt a need to make his presence seem more worthy in her eyes. ‘Though I hope I have been clear that it will not bias my recommendation to the committee.’
‘Very scrupulous of you,’ said Meredith. ‘And I’m being quite sincere. The association is fortunate to have someone of your calibre as chair.’
‘Thank you.’
He, too, was being sincere, but Meredith’s compliments were a mixed blessing. He felt like a knight receiving the beautiful queen’s favour, while knowing she must remain by the side of her king.
‘And, ah, how is Jonty?’
Bernard wasn’t sure if he should raise the subject, but part of him craved to know how his rival fared.
Meredith hesitated, and Bernard’s heart sank. He’d offended her.
‘Jonty is … well, I suppose the best way to put it is that he needs his sense of self re-established. He needs to regain his personal power, rediscover the man he was.’
He must have looked perplexed, because she said, ‘I’m not making any sense, am I?’
‘You are,’ he assured her. ‘But I was wondering how one could go about effecting that aim?’
‘Charles, Doctor Love, has finally persuaded him to take medication. He managed to convince him that antidepressants were not a crutch or a sign of weakness but a way to restore what was missing in the body, much as you’d do if you were vitamin-deficient, or needed hormone-replacement therapy.’
Bernard had a sudden vision of Patricia sobbing. Menopause, even though she had been well over fifty when it arrived, had destroyed her last faint hope of conceiving. He had felt inadequate then, and he felt inadequate now. He was no medical or psychological expert. How could he be of even the slightest help to Meredith?
But then Meredith said, ‘However, what he needs most is a connection again to the outside world. He needs to feel that he is of value, that his knowledge and experience matter. I’d hoped being involved in this project might be a start, but it’s not enough to truly motivate him. He needs more challenge, more intellectual stimulation.’
Bernard saw the opportunity — or, at least, what he might make of it.
‘Would you like me to visit Jonty?’ he said. ‘Bring him up to date with association business, and any other civic business I am privy to? It might make him feel part of things again. And I always welcomed his contribution; it would be good to hear his views.’
This last statement was not scrupulously accurate, but Bernard hoped Meredith would let it pass.
‘Why, Bernard.’ Meredith looked both taken aback and genuinely touched. She took his hand, squeezed it. ‘That is such a kind offer,’ she said. ‘How generous of you.’
He blushed, a look he knew did not become him. Fair-skinned and thinly haired, any blush infused Bernard’s whole face and scalp so that he glowed bright as a freshly dipped toffee apple.
Of course, that was the moment Gene Collins chose to walk past.
‘Greetings, Mrs B,’ he said. ‘In the pink I see, Bernardo.’
The man’s smirk was intolerable.
‘Gene, Kerry tells me that we have you to thank for this high turnout,’ said Meredith. ‘He said you put in a good word for him at the rugby club.’
‘He’s got the gift of the gab,’ said Gene. ‘But he’s also a foreigner, English at that, who no one in the club knows from a bar of soap. So they sat around, stone-faced, and let him expel so much carbon dioxide that we were all in danger of asphyxiation. I had to step in.’
‘That was kind of you,’ said Meredith. ‘Especially considering I gather you were unconvinced about the merit of the idea.’
Now it was Gene’s turn to blush. Bernard’s glee knew no bounds.
‘Well, no, it wasn’t the idea as such,’ said Gene. ‘I was concerned about your young bloke over-promising. Last thing this town needs is get-rich-quick schemes run by fly-by-night flakes who bail when the going gets tough.’
Bernard was surprised to find he wholeheartedly agreed with him. Had, in fact, to stifle a ‘Hear, hear!’
‘And do you believe Kerry to be a fly-by-nighter?’ said Meredith.
Bernard saw Gene’s gaze travel to where the young Englishman could be seen, like a milkmaid in overalls, carrying a plastic bucket of soapy water in each hand to where Sidney Gillespie and her two young sons scrubbed away at a wall with stiff brushes. The two adults appeared to swap a joke, and then Kerry left to advise the young lads Bernard had seen earlier engaging in a bit of rough-housing on where to shift a piece of lethal-looking machinery.
‘Jury’s out,’ said Gene. ‘Hard part’s not yet begun.’
Again, Bernard was surprised to find his feelings in exact alignment with a man who, until this point, he had considered a professional mischief-maker.
‘Yes, I’m not sure he is aware of quite what he’s up against,’ Bernard said.
‘You mean you?’ said Gene.
Gene was smirking once more, but this time Bernard felt in control. Felt able even to inject a little levity.
‘Much worse,’ he said. ‘Elaine.’
‘Jesus,’ said Gene, and he sounded sincere.
‘What could she do, Bernard?’ said Meredith. ‘Surely with this much support’ — she indicated the busy room — ‘she would find her objections fell on deaf ears?’
‘I’ve no idea,’ said Bernard, honestly. ‘I imagine we will find out fairly soon.’
‘Well, let’s not stew about it,’ said Gene. ‘Let’s crack on. Mrs B, Doc Love’s out back in the old foreman’s office drawing up plans for the space. Might pay to make sure your house isn’t in the firing line of the 18th Panzer Division. Bernard, are you here to help or gawk?’
‘Is there anything I could do?’
Bernard felt the tug of ambivalence. He
did not want to look a fool by failing at some task another man might find simple. But the opportunity to be included, that had its appeal.
‘How about supervising the rubbish disposal? Separate out all the stuff we shouldn’t dump in the landfill? You don’t have to get your hands dirty — there’s a bunch of volunteers with trailers, and the club boys can do the heavy lifting.’
Gene was, most probably, enjoying offering him a job he felt Bernard would dislike. But supervision and attention to detail were his strengths, and besides, it might be amusing to see Gene’s reaction when he said yes.
‘I’d be more than happy to take that on,’ said Bernard.
He’d been correct. For the rest of the afternoon, Gene’s astonished expression gave Bernard almost as much pleasure as the memory of Meredith’s hand on his.
Chapter 24
Sam
The problem with family get-togethers, thought Sam, was that he had no relatives his own age. The closest was his sister, Lea, but she was only fourteen. And she was a girl. They were all girls. His sisters, Lea and Toni. His cousins, Billie, Frankie and Jenna. And his mum had also invited Casey Marshall and her sister. Corinna and her husband had brought their two little daughters. It was girl power to the max.
Fortunately, he wasn’t expected to babysit. Lea and Billie had the girls playing hide and seek with the littlies in and out of the apple trees, and they were all giggling like crazy. Sam watched them from his seat on the back porch, thought about joining in. Decided he was too big, might scare the babies. Besides, he was a bit knackered after yesterday’s working bee, so it was good to sit in the sun, and the garden, with its big lawn, rough orchard at the rear, was pretty to look at, coming now at the start of summer into full leaf and flower. Sam kept getting a sweet whiff of rose, from the pink one sprawling up the trellis beside the porch. His parents weren’t super into gardening, so they let plants go a bit wild. Sam liked that, always had. The back garden had been his adventure playground all his life, just like it was now for the girls playing amongst the trees.
Up it came, that feeling of fear, or sadness, or whatever; Sam always pushed it back down before it took hold long enough for him to inspect it closely. He knew what brought it on, though — the knowledge that his time here, in this family, in this place, was almost up. He was in the final year of his teens, and in a few short months he’d head to a new town and a bigger job. A lot of goodbyes to say, some of them he’d say only to himself.
He turned to watch the only blokes out in the back yard — his dad, Uncle Gene, and Corinna’s husband, Tai. Casey’s martial arts dude boyfriend was in Japan at some tournament. The men were in a knot together around the barbecue, holding beer bottles and checking the hotplate, waiting for the meat. He could go over to them, but Sam still felt unready to join in their conversation. Tai Te Wera (Corinna had kept her maiden name) was only twenty-eight, but he had confidence and life experience under his belt. Plus, he was a lawyer, too, like Corinna, university-educated, spent time with a big firm in Auckland before coming back to Hampton where he grew up. Uncle Gene and his dad were smart men, they could hold their own in conversation with Tai. Sam wasn’t sure he’d be able to, and he didn’t want to try and then look like a dick. Uncle Gene would show no mercy.
Sam wished Brownie were there. He’d been invited, but his dad had had a rough night with his breathing, so Brownie had driven him over the hill to hospital. He’d phoned Sam’s mum early this morning to give his apologies. Sam had texted him an hour ago, but no answer. Probably weren’t allowed mobiles in hospital wards.
‘Sammo.’
Casey in the back doorway, holding a huge platter piled with marinated chops and chicken pieces, steaks and the fancy sausages his dad had bought at the farmers’ market, plus the cheese-filled supermarket ones the little kids liked. They used to be his favourite, too, though Brownie always said the cheese tasted like spew.
Sam got up off the porch, and Casey held the laden dish out to him. She made it look like it was no effort but he could see the sinews in her forearms, so as he took it from her, he made sure he was ready for its weight. Wouldn’t do to drop it, or be shown up by a woman half his size.
‘Got it?’ She was teasing him.
‘Yup.’ Just.
‘Right, well, deliver that safely, and we might keep you on.’
‘Sure.’
He didn’t mind fetching and carrying. Did it a lot on the building site, being the junior and all.
‘Whoa,’ said Uncle Gene as Sam put the platter on the side shelf of the big steel barbecue his dad had got at staff price from the hardware store. ‘Who else are we feeding? You got a busload of mates turning up?’
‘Nah.’ Sam shook his head.
‘How’s Ed?’ said his dad.
‘Haven’t heard.’
His dad nodded. ‘I’ll pop round later. Take some leftovers.’ Sam wished he’d thought of that first. For half a second he resented his dad for being a more mature and thoughtful human being.
‘Beer, Sam?’
His dad flicked the cap off a bottle with the metal fish slice, handed it to him, beaded with cold. Resentment gone.
‘Kids today,’ said Uncle Gene. ‘We had to wait until we were twenty-one.’
‘Bet you didn’t,’ said Tai, with a grin. ‘My guess — you were aged fourteen, you swiped two cans from your dad’s stash of Lion Brown, and drank them in a bush fort that you biked to. And then you sweated like crazy that your mum would smell it on your breath when you came home.’
‘Incorrect,’ said Uncle Gene. ‘I was thirteen-and-a-half and it was Lion Red.’
‘And Mum did smell it on your breath.’
Sam’s mum, Talia, had brought clean platters for them to put the cooked meat on.
‘And as I recall, she also kicked your arse.’
‘Samoan-style, too,’ said Uncle Gene. ‘Equal parts physical pain and emotional blackmail.’
Sam’s grandmother had died when he was five. He had only fuzzy memories, of loud, gleeful greetings, of being crushed into her soft bosom, and hauled onto her lap, where he fell asleep as she cooed over him. Of being fed sweet coconut cake until his mum intervened. His mum always said it was a shame his grandma had never known Sam’s sisters and cousins. Grandpa Collins had died before any of them were born, hit by a car when he was walking home from the pub one night. Sam got the impression he’d been a bit hard to live with, a drinker, free with his fists.
He watched his own dad, checking the chicken was cooked, turning the sausages. He’d never once raised a hand to Sam or his sisters, even when he was clearly furious. Never raised a hand to anyone, despite being big and strong. Sam knew he should be grateful to have Wyatt as his dad, especially when he compared him to Tubs’s and Deano’s fathers. But sometimes he wondered if a tougher childhood would have made him less soft, less of a dreamer …
‘Earth to Sam!’
His mum clicked her fingers in front of his face, made him blink.
‘Sorry, yeah, what?’ said Sam.
‘Where do you go?’ She sounded impatient but she was smiling. ‘I said: can you get the plates and glasses? Lea’s on placemats and cutlery, Toni on napkins. I expect seamless, polite co-ordination, OK?’
‘Sure,’ said Sam. ‘Now?’
‘No, mate,’ said his Uncle Gene. ‘Jesus’s next appearance. When you hear trumpets and angelic voices, that’s your cue.’
They all laughed at him, even his mum. Sam felt like stomping off, but that would only make them laugh more. So he smiled to show he’d taken it on the chin. Found everything he needed in the kitchen. Ignored his sisters’s attempts to wind him up, and let his mother know the table was ready. Helped bring out the tomato sauce, bread and more bowls of salad than he felt strictly necessary, though he was glad to see his favourite potato salad, the one with crispy bacon bits and boiled egg in it. That was Brownie’s favourite, too. Probably why his mum made it.
Sam checked his phone again. Nothing. Texted
‘U OK?’ Hoped that didn’t sound too pathetic. Put the phone back in his pocket; his parents forbade the use of all electronic devices at meal times.
He had a moment of worry as his mother organised where everyone should sit. He didn’t want to be stuck down the end with all the kids, including Corinna’s two, who refused to be separated from the big girls, but he didn’t want to be in the midst of the men, either. His mum sat him between Tai and Casey, opposite Corinna, Auntie Liz and his mum. Uncle Gene took the chair next to Sam’s mum, and his dad sat beside Tai. Sam was relieved to be mainly among the women. He found their conversation easier because it was rarely directed at him. Tai, Uncle Gene and his dad could carry on with their barbecue discussion, which meant Sam could relax and focus on his food.
Or not.
‘Sammo,’ said Uncle Gene. ‘What’s your view on the proposed name change? You in the Onemanawa camp?’
Sam knew he looked like a stunned mullet whenever someone asked him a hard question. Brownie called him ‘Bushbaby’ because his eyes got so round, they covered half his face. Not only that, his mind would go totally blank and even if he’d had an answer, he’d struggle to get it out. Like now.
‘Um, I dunno,’ he began. ‘I guess — if that’s what the name was before … ?’
‘So you’d support the change?’ pressed Uncle Gene.
All the adults were waiting for his reply.
‘Um — yeah?’
‘There you go, Corinna,’ said Uncle Gene. ‘Another staunch convert. Who says the youth of today aren’t politically informed and motivated?’
‘Give the boy a break,’ said Sam’s Auntie Liz. ‘It’s not as if you’ve committed one way or the other. I can see the fence-post marks on the seat of your pants.’
‘Harsh,’ said Uncle Gene. ‘I prefer to think that I take the time to make considered decisions, rather than leaping to emotional snap judgements.’
‘What do your friends think, Sam? Have you discussed it?’
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