The Tender Winds of Spring

by Joyce Dingwell

  ‘I’m sure he won’t.’

  At that moment the telephone pealed, and yes, it was Gavin.

  ‘Josie?’ he asked.

  ‘Yes, Gavin.’

  ‘Feeling better, I trust, than you looked yesterday. Poor dear, those children certainly are getting you down.’

  ‘I was tired,’ she admitted.

  ‘And showed it. My dear—’

  ‘Yes, Gavin?’

  ‘You must be very certain over your choice. Unless, of course, you’ve had a complete change of mind?’

  ‘No change of mind.’

  ‘Then use care, dear. In which case I’ve decided not to hurry you as I have been doing.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ she queried.

  ‘I thought perhaps a deferment.’

  ‘I see.’ Jo could also see Abel’s grinning face, and she squirmed.

  Something in her voice must have reached Gavin.

  ‘My dear, I’ll run out to see you. I’ll come tomorrow.’

  ‘Yes, I’ll expect you, Gavin.’ Now she could look triumphantly at Abel.

  ‘Then goodbye, dear girl.’

  ‘Goodbye, Gavin.’ Jo put the receiver down.

  ‘He’ll be out,’ she said unnecessarily.

  ‘Good for you,’ praised Abel. ‘Or should it be good for him? Or is it good for whom?’

  ‘Will you please leave now, Mr. Passant? I have a few things to do.’

  ‘I also have some things for you to do. Yes, I know all this is not my business, you’ve told me so often enough, but don’t forget I was in it right from the beginning as well as you—something your Gavin was not. So you can’t expect me to be totally uninvolved.’

  She nodded unwillingly. ‘I suppose I can’t. Please go on, Abel. What is it you want of me?’

  ‘I want you to begin asking questions again, not hedging around them as you have been. Ask. Say: “What was your mother’s name?” ... “Did you father smoke?” Anything at all so long as it connects, even remotely connects.’

  ‘I’ve tried,’ she sighed.

  ‘Then try again, Josephine.’

  All at once Jo could not contain herself.

  ‘For what?’ she burst out at him. ‘For one out of three, none of which I really want, according to you. For one I’m only trying to come to a decision about because of Gee and my conscience.’

  ‘Oh, Josephine,’ he said sadly, and left it at that.

  Later that day Jo tried again with the trio, and, as she had expected, got no results.

  ‘I know it must be painful to talk about your father,’ not one small face showed pain, ‘but it might help. Did he—did he—’ What was it Abel had said? Did he smoke?

  No, that was too ridiculous.

  ‘Did he play games with you?’ she asked.

  ‘No.’

  ‘What did you call him? Father? Dad? I guess Sukey called him Daddy.’

  ‘No,’ said Sukey.

  ‘When he was there we tried not to say anything,’ recalled Dicky, but anything else he might have confided was stopped by a painful kick in his shins. Amanda was very adept at that.

  ‘When he was there! Where else would he be?’ picked up Jo.

  ‘We don’t know,’ said Amanda. She added triumphantly: ‘How could we know, we were at school.’

  ‘But he wrote letters to you.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Your mother did.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘What did you call your mother?’

  Silence.

  Jo took a deep breath.

  ‘When did she die, dears?’

  ‘We don’t know.’

  ‘But she did die, didn’t she, or were your father and mother—’ Jo stopped herself from finishing that. ‘There must have been something,’ she said instead, ‘because there was going to be another wedding. You knew there was going to be a wedding, didn’t you?’

  ‘Yes. Him and her.’

  ‘Amanda.’

  ‘Mark and your sister.’

  ‘Yes, Mark and my sister Geraldine,’ confirmed Jo. ‘Have you always called your father by his first name? Mark?’ Amanda darted a quick look at Dicky and he flicked one back at her.

  ‘Can we go out to play?’ they asked together.

  ‘Play?’ echoed Sukey.

  ‘Yes, of course, darlings. Go and have a good play.’

  They went out to sit in a huddle in the garden, certainly not playing, leaving her exactly nowhere, she had to admit.

  Flattened, she went through the back door and took refuge in the old plantation. Perhaps if she spoke to Gee—

  But Gee did not come, not even her amused laughter came, but the wind making pleats in the leaves of the banana palms, making them with a sibilant whisper like the sound of the sea, soothed Jo, and presently she went in again.

  She was up early the next day making the place as she knew Gavin would certainly expect it, three children around or not. As she tidied things she thought about Gavin and a child in the house. Somehow she could not picture it. With children, even one, you could not have the same order, and Gavin liked order. Of course the child would be going to school, but when it wasn’t at school—It. This was awful. She should say ‘he’ or ‘she’, or Amanda, Dicky, Sukey. Which brought everything back to that basic question again. Which? She knew Gavin would ask it when he came, ask, anyway, if she was any nearer an answer. What could she say then ... no, now? For a car was pulling up at Tender Winds at this very moment. But it was not Gavin’s car, she saw. It was a different make. Also, a girl was getting out of the car, not Gavin. And she was one of the loveliest girls Jo had ever seen. Even including Gee. Jo wondered who she was. She had never seen her before. Another welfare worker checking up to see if what the first one had reported was indeed correct?

  Jo went out to the verandah.

  The girl had reached the bottom of the shallow steps now.

  ‘May I?’ she smiled up.

  Jo said: ‘Please do.’

  The girl joined her on the verandah. ‘I’m looking for a Mr. Passant, a Mr. Abel Passant. Would you know him?’

  ‘Yes, I know him.’ A pause. ‘But he’s not here. He doesn’t live here.’

  ‘Then there’s another plantation house?’

  ‘This is the only house. But a new house is being built for the banana boss. Pending that Mr. Passant is camped on the site.’ Except for an interlude when he slept at Tender Winds, Jo thought. But she did not add that.

  ‘I wanted to see Abel. Where would I find him?’

  ‘Possibly up top, possibly not. It’s a very big plantation and he may be working among the trees.’

  ‘Can I drive up?’

  ‘Hardly.’ Jo smiled at the idea. ‘You’d have to return to the highway and take the next sealed road to do that. It’s the fruit truck road. This small track only runs for another few hundred yards, then the valley rises almost vertically. You have to take the flying fox.’

  ‘Oh, dear. Is there an operator?’

  ‘Only if the bananas are going up, but it’s quite simple to work and you’d be all right. It’s quite breathtaking, really, once you get used to the giddiness. I’d come with you, only I’m expecting someone. I thought you were the person.’

  ‘Thank you for the thought. I’ll manage. By the way, my name is Erica Trent.’

  ‘I’m Josephine Millett. Perhaps I’ll see you on your way back. You’ll have to return to collect your car. Call in and have some tea.’

  ‘I will. Thanks.’

  Jo watched the girl leave, then turned to enter the house again just as Gavin’s car wheeled into the drive. She waited for him to join her, as Erica Trent had, on the verandah, but Gavin took his time. He was looking at Erica walking along the winding track towards the flying fox. When he came at last he said:

  ‘There’s a remarkably pretty girl for you, Josie.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Welfare type?’

  ‘No. She’s visiting Mr. Passant.’

  G
avin looked again, then came into the house with Jo. ‘Dear child,’ he said sympathetically, ‘you seemed so tired in town, and you sounded so tired over the telephone. Are you sure these children are not getting you down?’

  ‘Sure, Gavin. They’re very quiet children. But making a choice isn’t easy.’

  ‘You still won’t forget the whole thing?’

  ‘No, Gavin. And you still won’t accept the three?’

  ‘Let’s be reasonable, dear.’

  ‘Oh, yes, we must be reasonable,’ Jo agreed.

  ‘Have you any more to report to me about them?’ Gavin asked.

  ‘Only that the welfare people are satisfied with this background until the time comes for them to be moved. Also, there were several payments to Mark’s—to their father’s bank through the Mines Department.’

  ‘Now that really is something,’ Gavin said with interest. ‘A mine, eh? If several payments have been made, it must have been productive once, and if it was once it might be again, so these children could possibly come in for something.’

  ‘Yes, all three of them, Gavin.’

  That silenced Gavin for several moments.

  ‘But we don’t know, do we?’ he said at length. ‘It could be some wildcat scheme. Most of the holes in the ground only produce a couple of times, then no more, in spite of what’s written up in the newspapers about a mining boom. I suggest, dear, that you ask the children where this mine is.’

  ‘I have been doing that, more or less, ever since Abel advised me to.’

  ‘Oh, Mr. Passant told you?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I see. So it was Mr. Passant, then, who found out about the possible mine?’

  ‘Yes, Gavin.’

  ‘I see,’ Gavin said again. ‘Dear Josie, I know you’re overwrought, and I don’t wish to worry you at such a time, but where and why does Abel Passant come into all this?’

  ‘He was here right in this house when I heard the news. It was he who told me. Then he was here when the children first arrived. Naturally he feels involved. Does that answer you, Gavin?’

  ‘I expect so, but it does seem odd for him to take quite so much interest. Active interest.’

  ‘No doubt he’s anxious to get rid of us, as it is his property, remember.’

  ‘He could tell you to go.’

  ‘I don’t think he would care to do that,’ said Jo.

  ‘Then how would finding out about a mine get rid of anyone?’ Gavin’s voice was sharp.

  ‘Well, it would establish the children’s financial independence and he wouldn’t feel a heel throwing us all out.’ It was the first time Jo had thought of it like that, but now it made sense.

  ‘Also benefit him—in another way?’

  ‘What other Way?’ Jo looked at Gavin in puzzlement. ‘Of course he couldn’t benefit, Gavin, he’s as unconnected with the children’ ... she pointed to where the trio still sat listlessly in the garden ... ‘as I am.’

  ‘Yes,’ nodded Gavin. But Jo could see he was not convinced.

  ‘As I told you over the telephone, dear,’ he resumed, ‘I want you now to take your time. Especially after this new discovery.’

  ‘New discovery?’

  ‘The piece of information Passant came up with.’

  ‘The mine?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘But what difference could it make?’

  ‘None, of course. Most certainly none. Really, dear, you’re a little touchy today.’

  ‘I’m sorry. I thought for a moment the new discovery, as you put it, had changed your mind from one to three,’ Jo said daringly.

  ‘Well,’ Gavin admitted, ‘it could. After all, I’m not a rich man.’

  Jo looked at him with incredulity, but she wiped it off quickly.

  ‘I understand, Gavin. Oh, here comes Miss Trent now. She must have only gone up and down the mountain and not seen Abel. What a shame! I promised her tea. Will you stop?’

  ‘By all means,’ said Gavin eagerly, going out to the verandah with Jo.

  Erica, neat even following a trip up the mountain which always dishevelled Jo, smiled and put her hand into Gavin’s extended one when Jo made the introductions.

  While Jo put on the kettle for the tea, the pair remained on the verandah, talking in low voices. That would please Gavin, Jo knew, he liked low voices, quietness, neatness, composure. Even though Abel had not been in the camp and she had made the trip for nothing, Erica Trent was still quiet, neat and controlled. She seemed that kind of girl.

  When Jo took out the tea on a tray and Gavin said: ‘I’ve been telling Erica briefly the unhappy position we’re in and she understands,’ Jo almost expected Erica to take control, suggest a solution. But Erica, it seemed, had other things on her mind.

  ‘I missed Abel and it’s imperative I see him,’ she sighed.

  ‘He could be back later, or he could remain down one of the valleys directing a clearing for a new planting,’ Jo proffered.

  ‘Which doesn’t help, and it’s quite important.’

  ‘Then please stay here. We have plenty of room.’

  ‘I’m sure Erica doesn’t want to be involved with your worries, Josie,’ came in Gavin at once, ‘since she has worries’ ... he looked enquiringly at Erica and Erica amended ‘concerns’ in place of ‘worries’ ... ‘of her own. Now I suggest instead that she comes back to town and that I book her into a hotel, then you can contact us when to come out.’ Us, noted Jo.

  Erica seemed pleased about that, so it was arranged that when Abel Passant turned up again at Tender Winds Jo should let Erica or Gavin know.

  ‘I shall enjoy looking around your town,’ Erica said prettily to Gavin. ‘I must confess that although, like Abel, I’m “country”, I’m still at heart city-slanted. I mean’—another smile at Gavin—‘the country is in you, or not, and I’m afraid in my case it’s not.’

  ‘I understand perfectly,’ Gavin hastened to assure her. ‘I feel exactly the same myself. I quite dislike the general disorder of the hinterland and beyond. Leaves, logs, mud.’ He gave a shrug of distaste. ‘Now Josie is a different type altogether. She has eaten of the apple of ruralism.’

  ‘Of the banana,’ broke in Jo with a laugh.

  ‘And likes to feel herself committed.’

  ‘I am committed,’ Jo said. She looked out on her steep little mountains in their shining green except where the plastic covered the great hands of bananas. The big blue blobs looked like giant cornflowers.

  ‘It’s very lovely,’ Erica admitted, ‘but—’

  ‘But you prefer pavements, lights, shops?’ Gavin smiled. ‘Yes.’

  ‘Then what’s stopping us?’ Gavin said it quite skittishly for Gavin, and putting down their teacups they bade Jo goodbye, Gavin with an affectionate kiss, then, Gavin bravely first in his car, Erica suitably behind in hers, they went down the track that wound out to the coastal town.

  Abel Passant pulled up minutes afterwards, and he was not in a good mood.

  ‘I had to shove off the road into the bush’—the track was a strictly one-car track—‘to let two cars pass. Two, mark you. What is this? Broadway? The first looked like your Gavin.’

  ‘And the second,’ broke in Jo, ‘was your Erica.’

  ‘What?’ He looked at Jo in disbelief.

  ‘Erica Trent. Yes, that’s true. She came to see you. Even went up the flying fox after you.’

  ‘Oh, lor’!’

  ‘You say that about a girl as pretty as she is?’

  ‘Yes, Erica’s pretty enough, but—’

  Before he could follow that up, Jo said: ‘I’m to ring her in town when you’re here. I asked her to stop at Tender Winds, but she’s not country-slanted.’

  ‘No,’ Abel said grimly, ‘only Passant-slanted.’

  ‘What?’ Now it was Jo letting out that disbelieving sound. ‘Why don’t you want her? A beautiful girl like that? I mean,’ she amended hastily, ‘I don’t want to be told, of course.’

  ‘You’d better be,
though.’ He drew a breath. ‘Erica Trent has come after me. Doesn’t that suggest anything?’

  ‘Should it?’

  ‘What would you expect to be suggested if you followed a man from the middle of the west to the coast?’

  ‘A preference for the sea,’ said Jo promptly, ‘even’ she added frivolously, ‘ a liking for bananas.’

  ‘Don’t try to be smart,’ he advised. ‘Wouldn’t it also suggest an eye for me?’

  ‘Why should she have an eye, as you put it, for you?’

  All at once, and quite unexpected, the new banana boss stepped forward towards Jo. He stepped so close to her that for the first time Jo noticed the intensity of his blue eyes. ‘Wouldn’t you?’ he asked.

  There was a pause. With an effort... why should it be an effort? ... Jo broke the silence.

  ‘Erica Trent said—’ she began, and then found she could not think of anything else to say.

  For the blue eyes were still near her, unwaveringly near her, looking down into her own eyes, asking as well as his question another—breathless—question.

  Jo turned sharply away.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  ‘Whether you want to hear it or not you’re being told.’ Abel’s voice halted Jo’s withdrawal.

  ‘I’m not listening,’ she refused.

  ‘I am the victim of my father.’ Abel said it clearly, so clearly that Jo had to follow the words in spite of herself. ‘He wants me to marry Erica Trent.’

  ‘Good heavens!’ Jo could not stop that scornful outburst. ‘That sort of thing went out years ago, and, anyway, it’s the girl who’s coerced, not the man.’

  ‘I’m not being coerced, far from it. I’m not marrying Erica.’

  ‘Perhaps she feels the same about you.’

  ‘Having followed me here?’ he scorned.

  ‘To tell you so?’ Jo suggested.

  ‘Very unlikely. No, she came after me to corner me, Josephine.’

  Jo smiled disbelievingly.

  ‘Why would your father want a marriage between you and Erica?’

  ‘Well, I scarcely think it would be to see me settled,’ Abel answered sourly, ‘that kind of paternal attention is always reserved for females. No, it appears that there’s been something between Erica’s father and mine.’