Tears of the Moon - Di Morrissey [50]
‘Why would they do that?’
‘Oh, they get some idea they’ve been slighted and blame any white person for an injury some other white fellow might have caused. There have been some dreadful attacks on white women and children left alone on farms. You’re well out of that land deal, I would say.’ He then began to tell Conrad of his own arrival in Broome. ‘Badly organised. Damned low tide it was. There I am in all the finery, plumes, medals, the lot, for the official welcome and I have to plough through blooming smelly mud for a good half mile. Sorry sight I was to greet the town!’
Now into his stride with a fresh audience the RM prattled on about the town and conditions. ‘Always trouble with mixed nationalities. The Koepangers, Malays, Japs, and of course the blacks, all present problems fighting among themselves as much as with other racial groups. And when the pearlers aren’t smuggling, drunk, or supposedly killing off their crews, they complain about lack of facilities.’ Hurriedly he added, ‘Naturally a gentleman pearler like yourself will be welcome. They’re not all rogues, a few master pearlers are decent fellows. Some of them have done very well too, though they keep it quiet of course.’ He roared with laughter and Conrad smiled tentatively, wondering which category John Tyndall belonged to.
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,