Tears of the Moon - Di Morrissey [188]
A large memorial service was held for Doctor Gilbert Shaw in Perth. Pale light from an overcast morning filtered down from high, leadlight windows and in the front row Olivia looked by her feet at a patch of light that ran like spilt milk across the stone floor. She became lost in the pattern of light, her mind drifting back to the light of other times. Walking in a cold London night with Conrad and seeing the comforting glow of lights in shops and pubs. Her first glimpse of Australia through a shimmer of dawn light from a ship’s rail, morning light in Broome, fresh-washed blue sky, deep clear aqua sea and a golden light that touched mangroves, mudflats, leaftips and glaring tin roofs with a magical glow. She was hypnotised by the diffused pattern of light on the floor for most of the service, hardly conscious of what was going on around her, and was surprised when Doctor MacDonald took her by the elbow and stood up. The service was over. The tributes had been paid and Gilbert Shaw laid to rest.
In the following weeks Mollie and Stan silently watched Olivia wistfully drift through her garden. Then, one day, when she was kneeling by a flowerbed, lost in plucking out weeds, a shadow fell across her and a strong hand helped her up.
The world was no longer held at bay. It now intruded in her garden. Tyndall stood before her. She expressed no surprise, made no move, but stood there, gazing into the face that was imprinted on her soul.
He, too, looked into her eyes. ‘Come home, Olivia. It’s time.’
They returned quietly to Broome on a sunset tide on a balmy evening refreshed by an afternoon thunderstorm that left the sky cloudless velvet against which the rising moon shone in the mirror of the sea. The lavender and rose sunset melted as the lights of Broome sparkled to life and Tyndall and Olivia went ashore without fanfare. They hadn’t alerted anyone about their arrival, not wanting any fuss. Maya had stayed in Fremantle after the funeral to take Georgie around the city sights and visit the Barstows in Albany.
At Tyndall’s house, all was quiet. They could smell the curry Rosminah was cooking for Yusef in their quarters, but the house was empty. Tyndall grinned and dropped the bag he was carrying and gathered Olivia in his arms, sweeping her off the ground. ‘This might be a little premature, but it means a lot to me.’ He carried her up the steps, across the verandah, nudged the door with his shoulder and strode down to the bedroom. He kissed her and dropped her on the bed. ‘I’ll get Yusef to fetch the rest of the bags.’
She laughed at him as she struggled to sit up. ‘You’ve got style, John Tyndall, I must say.’
Late in the evening they sat in contemplative and companionable silence on the darkened verandah looking at the moon shining across the bay. He kissed her fingertips. ‘Now we can plan our wedding.’
‘I want nothing more, my darling. I think we’ve waited long enough. I doubt there’s anyone in town who won’t be glad to see us together at last,’ said Olivia with a small smile.
That night, wrapped in each other’s arms as they drifted to sleep, Olivia gazed at Tyndall’s face beside hers and knew, with great peace and certainty, that they would spend the rest of their days together.
In the following days there was a busy round of catching up with old friends. The Mettas held a luncheon at the Conti, and for Olivia it was a return to the good old days of high spirits, talk of pearling trips, snide sales and prospects for the shell market. It was acknowledged and accepted among the white community that the partnership between Tyndall and Olivia had become a personal commitment.
Ahmed couldn’t stop beaming and had grasped Tyndall’s hand, pumping it enthusiastically, when Tyndall told him he and Olivia would marry.
And when Olivia arrived at the foreshore camp there was an enthusiastic reception from the shell openers, tenders, divers and other workmen. It was seen as a good omen,