41
Leigh’s Easter
“Where were you, all weekend?” asked Thomas, perching a hip on Leigh’s desk.
“Sling yer ’ook,” replied Leigh, his mouth twitching.
“You’re smirking,” discovered Thomas. He produced an apricot muesli bar from his pocket and, slowly unwrapping it, bit a piece off the end of it, looking thoughtful.
“What in God’s name is that?”
“It calls itself,” he said, slowly reading the label, “apricot yoghurt mues—”
“Quite.”
“Claims to be a substitute for breakfast. Though May Swadling tells me this is spurious.”
“Go a-way. Some of us have got work to do. What are you doing on campus anyway?”
“‘A-an kempus,’” quoted Thomas slowly in a very fake American accent.
“GO— No, wait. How’s Jack?”
Thomas hadn’t been going anywhere, in any case. He chewed slowly, looking thoughtful. “Sticks to your teeth like buggery,” he reported. “Jack is said to be sitting up in bed demanding an unsuitable diet and giving them chapter and verse on his exact medical coverage as transferred from the good ole U.S. of Medical In-surance. And Beth did come in to work today, looking like something the cat dragged in, so I sent her home again. Where were you all weekend?”
Leigh groaned. “Come back in about—” He looked at his watch. “God. Forty minutes, and I’ll give you chapter and verse. But for the moment, please, go away. Go and infest the cafeteria. They may have something more palatable than muesli bars.”
“Not with more sugar content, possibly,” he murmured, reading the label. “I’ll go to the echoing empty spaces of the Spencer Tracy Building and annoy Dorothy, shall I?”
“Thomas, even if that pal of Carrano’s does look like Spencer Tracy, it’s pointless calling the library building that, none of this generation of students will— Forget it. No-one ever calls buildings named after benefactors by their names anyway, except possibly the unfortunates in the registry, pardon the expression, who draw up misleading plans to baffle would-be undergraduates enrolling for their first year. Forty minutes,” he ended firmly.
“Computers. Efficiency,” said Thomas, drifting out, chewing.
Leigh ignored that. He was in the middle of the complicated memo he was drafting with his own fair hand and an old-fashioned biro, when it suddenly came to him. He gulped, and his hand shook. Of course, that film! And when you came to think of it, Dorothy did look a bit like— Just as well he wasn’t using a fountain pen, or there would have been blots all over his old-fashioned paper.
“Never timetable yourself for classes on a Monday,” said Thomas severely when, forty minutes later, Leigh vetoed driving down to The Blue Heron for lunch.
“It’s Tuesday, you cretin. And the kids are on holiday, the Powers That Be have exercised some sense and tacked mid-semester break onto Easter this year. Not their normal habit, I’m told. Which doesn’t mean I don’t have to work. Nor that Alan hasn’t scheduled a meeting for three this afternoon. Don’t panic, those of us who live a-an kempus are not plotting behind your back, it’s entirely about Japanese liaison and accommodation, dormitory accommodation,” he said clearly, “for our ESL students. The Quays? The lunchy room?”
“The pub? Ploughman’s?” countered Thomas
“Soi-disant. Um, well, okay.”
In what Thomas referred to as the “untamed squalor” of the Carter’s Bay pub—the décor dated from around 1960, if Leigh’s admittedly inexpert eye was any judge—Thomas ordered “a jug” before Leigh could stop him. At least it made them one with the great majority. –Tim Bergen, Sol Winkelmann, and Euan Knox. As they sat down with their jug and their plates of hot grilled bangers and baked potatoes, today’s alternative to the soi-disant Ploughman’s, the three were joined by Bryce Carew and an older man whom Thomas identified immediately as Carew, Senior.
“How does the place stay open?” wondered Leigh faintly.
“Giant Saturday swills. Usually pretty busy in the evenings, too. Well, on those nights there’s nothing on the telly, or the wives have slung them out because they can’t stand one more evening of endless football and racing on the telly.”
Certainly the pub featured those on its telly: Leigh nodded.
Unfortunately this chit-chat hadn’t distracted Thomas and he demanded, as he sank approximately half of the contents of the jug: “Where were you all weekend?”
Leigh looked prim. “I was giving myself the pleasure of telling Belinda to sling her hook, I wouldn’t have her back if—”
“What?” he gasped. “You don’t mean she came crawling?”
“No. More like graciously descended, condescending to do me the tremendous favour of offering her gracious person.”
Thomas refilled his tankard and downed the result silently. “God!” he said with a shudder.
“Thems were my sentiments when I got her letter, I must admit.”
“Leigh, why for Christ’s sake didn’t you tell me?” he demanded, going very red.
“I thought you’d suffered enough!” replied Leigh with a smothered laugh. “No, well, I knew you were all set for a nice Wagner-y weekend with Barry—how’d it go, by the way?”
“Very well. Never mind that. When— No, hang on, did she just— I mean— Just tell it,” he groaned, pouring the rest of the beer into his tankard and downing it in one gulp.
Leigh ate sausage, smiling. “It wasn’t so bad. Sure you want the gory details?”
“YES!” he shouted.
Smiling slightly, Leigh told him.
The letter had arrived on the Wednesday. Announcing that Belinda would be arriving on the Thursday evening and ordering Leigh to meet her plane. Leigh at first was very angry. Then he wondered if there was something wrong at home: blasted Mummy or Daddy Throsby come down with something fatal, or even one of the kids—though he was pretty sure Belinda would have told him about the latter, she might have been having a hate against him for the last year but in a case like that her sense of the fitness of things would have prevailed. Nevertheless he rang his son, waiting for an appropriate time, GMT, which meant it was pretty late, New Zealand time, and got the answer he might have expected. Plus an enquiry as to why in God’s name Dad didn’t come home and find himself a decent job instead of wasting his time puddling around at the back of nowhere. And there was nothing wrong with Gran and Gramps, as a matter of fact they were in the Bahamas. Lindy was all right as far as he knew. And it hadn’t been his idea for her to marry that moron, if Dad remembered. And he didn’t advise Dad to ring her at this hour of the morning: either she and the moron would be fighting over the cornflakes or she’d still be asleep, Dad knew what she was. Leigh bade his only son good-bye and hung up, sighing. He did ring his daughter but, once she’d told him off for ringing so early, she merely reported that Mummy was prepared to make allowances, and—threateningly—he’d better be sensible, Daddy! And by the way, did he know that Gran and Gramps had gone to the Bahamas again, and it didn’t cost that much, she didn’t see why they couldn’t swing it and the stupid car that he had wanted, and couldn’t Daddy help them out? Leigh said baldly he couldn’t—it was the only reply that would work, Lindy had never been known to listen to sweet reason in her life. He bade his only daughter good-bye and hung up, sighing.
He and Moana had planned to have a civilised Easter weekend listening to his Mozart CDs and taking in a film which had got a reasonable review and which Moana was quite keen to see. Leigh hadn’t heard of any of the people in it even though it was English, but had agreed he’d like to see it. He hesitated, but eventually, gritting his teeth, rang her.
Moana answered the phone sounding sleepy.
“It’s Leigh,” said Leigh idiotically. “I’m sorry, did I wake you up? What is the ti— Hell. I’m sorry,” he repeated lamely.
“That’s okay,” said Moana, yawning. “Were you marking?”
“No, I got them all back to the perpetrators this morning, thank God. Um—it’s about the weekend,” he said apologetically.
Moana Curtis at this sat up very straight in bed. Whatever Leigh’s plans might have been for this weekend, she had very definite intentions, because she was pretty sure, now, that he really wanted her, and she was very sure that she really wanted him. They might not have a terrific lot in common but they had enough. And the differences only made it more interesting, really. And over the past few months they’d discovered that they got on really well together. She had an idea that the only thing holding him back, apart from having had most of the spirit crushed out of him by that bitch of a wife, was the age difference. Which was nothing, really! For Heaven’s sake, she was in her thirties, that wasn’t a kid! And she didn’t want a fling and she could see perfectly well that Leigh wasn’t the sort that did—not with women quite a bit younger than him, anyway. And her biological clock was ticking away and— Well, she’d made up her mind to it. One of them had to set the ball rolling—put all their cards on the table—and if it wasn’t going to be him, it would be her. Commitment, a nice life together, and babies before she got so old they’d all be Mongols! –Down’s Syndrome children, as the nice people said. Moana was pretty sure Leigh wouldn’t care if she said Mongols but nevertheless had practised saying “Down’s Syndrome children” in her head as preparation for laying her cards on Leigh’s table.
“Yes?” she said carefully.
“Uh—something’s come up. No, dammit,” admitted Leigh bitterly: “bloody Belinda’s planing to descend on me with less than a day’s notice.”
“Your wife?” said Moana carefully.
“Yes. I’m terribly sorry, Moana, but I think we’ll have to cancel our plans for Easter.”
There was a short pause.
“Leigh,” said Moana carefully, “exactly what are we talking about, here? Do you intend to reconcile with the woman?”
“No. But I suppose… Well, she’s booked us rooms in some damned place and… I suppose I owe her the courtesy of—of at least listening.”
Moana’s handsome nostrils flared. “Why?” she said baldly.
“Um… Well, she is the mother of my children. And she appears to be coming all the way out here to— Er, well, the damned letter isn’t very clear. But I think she does intend to suggest we get back together,” he said miserably.
“I thought you came all the way out here to get away from her?”
“Yes.”
Moana was silent.
“Look, it isn’t that I intend getting back together with her, at all!”
She took a deep breath. “I see. It’s just that she’s more important in your life than me, is that it?”
“No. Please don’t be like that,” said Leigh miserably.
Moana took another deep breath and instead of shouting at him, said very quietly: “I’m coming over there. We need to talk. I’ll be five minutes; I’ll come to the back door.” And hung up before he could tell her not to.
“Hullo,” said Leigh glumly, opening the pub’s back door to her ten minutes later.
“Hullo!” panted Moana.
“Come along in.”
She came in silently and watched as Leigh reset Adrian’s alarms. The big kitchen was neat and empty. They went through it quietly and went upstairs without saying anything.
Once Leigh had ushered her in and closed his front door, Moana went straight through into the sitting-room and sat down on the sofa.
“It’s chilly. Shall I put the fire on?” said Leigh.
Moana knew he meant the electric heater. She nodded. “Yes. Ta.”
“Want a cup of tea?” said Leigh wanly, trying to smile, once the heater was glowing.
“No, thanks. I’ve come to put my cards on the table,” said Moana firmly. “I meant to this weekend, anyway.”
“Oh,” he said uncertainly. He sat down slowly in an armchair.
“I sort of thought, over these past few months, that you really liked me,” said Moana calmly, ignoring that fact that her heart was thumping erratically and her hands were starting to sweat.
Leigh flushed. “Er—yes. Of course.”
“I knew you were only befriending me at first,” said Moana carefully—it was not a phrase she would normally have used—“because you had some nutty idea that I might be suitable for Thomas. I hope you never imagined that I let you because I wanted to made suitable for him.”
This was not a question; nevertheless Leigh who had gone very red, stuttered: “N— Uh— Who told you that?”
“Never mind. Several people, actually. But I realised it for myself. In the first few weeks you mentioned his name every five minutes. Then you stopped doing it.”
Leigh licked his lips. “Did I?”
“Leigh, a woman of my age doesn’t let a man monopolise her for months on end unless she’s really serious about him,” said Moana firmly.
“Your age? Rubbish, you’re only a kid!” said Leigh with a would-be light laugh that cracked.
“I’m not a kid. Half of my contemporaries have got kids of their own who are in their teens.”
“Surely not!”
“Work it out,” said Moana flatly. She waited a moment, as he appeared to be working it out. “I thought that maybe we could get on well enough to make a go of it together. I mean,” she said, taking a deep breath, “settle down, get married, and have kids. Before my biological clock actually rusts up,” she ended with a twist of the lips.
Leigh swallowed. “Is this a proposal, Mr Rochester?”
“Some dames would go raving mad and heave that bloody Pommy footstool at you for that remark,” replied Moana levelly, “only fortunately for you, I’ve got more sense. Yes, it is a proposal. But if you intend dumping me in favour of spending this weekend with your ruddy wife, it’s off. I mean everything. We’ll call it quits, and I’ll look round for someone else. If you want me,” she finished firmly, “we’ll see her together.”
Leigh’s jaw had sagged. “I see. You mean you’ll—you’ll support me?”
Moana could quite clearly see that supporting Leigh for this weekend would mean supporting him for the rest of his life. But she didn’t in the least mind letting herself in for that. Besides, if she could support him in lots of ways, she was very sure that Leigh could support her in other ways; perhaps less definable, yes: but just as important. “Yes, of course. What I was hoping was that there were two of us in this. Together: y’know?”
“Y— Look, Moana, have you really thought what you’re letting yourself in for? I’m no spring chicken any more. I keep pretty healthy, but I wouldn’t call myself a—a terribly good bet. And—uh—well, um, there’s sex,” he said hoarsely.
“I hope so,” replied Moana with a twinkle in her dark eyes.
Leigh’s lips twitched in spite of himself. “Yes. Um—no: the point is, how many good years do I have left to give you?”
“I don’t know. Nor does anyone else. But I’d rather have maybe just a few years with you than thirty or forty with a moron like Wayne. –Don’t dare to tell me there’s lots of good fish in the sea!” she said fiercely. “There aren’t: I’ve looked. And I like you more than any man I’ve ever met.”
“That’s flattering,” said Leigh shakily.
“Just say if you can’t stand the thought of being married to a yob like me, and we’ll drop it!” she said fiercely.
Leigh blinked. “No! Moana, what an idea; how can you say—” He got up, rather unsteadily. “Never say that sort of thing about yourself again.” He sat down beside her on the sofa, and took her hand. “I’m too old for you, and I don’t know if I—if I’ve got enough go in me to—to satisfy you: I don’t mean just sexually, I mean emotionally; but if you’ve really thought about it, then it’s yes.”
“Good. And I have really thought about it.” Moana was about to tell him to kiss her, but Leigh was doing it anyway.
“I will heave that footstool at you if you ever dare to call me Mr Rochester again,” she said into his shoulder, somewhat breathlessly.
“Mm. Good. –Not Pommy: Wallis found it at the back of Kevin’s bus barn and helped me reupholster it. Victorian Colonial. I—I was hoping to keep you out of this mess with Belinda.”
“That’s Victorian Colonial, if you like!” said Moana with her robust laugh.
“Mm,” agreed Leigh vaguely, kissing her hungrily.
“If we go to bed—” began Moana on a firm note.
“When.”
“Um, yes!” she said with a gasp, becoming flustered. “When. Then—um—I mean, have you got any condoms?”
“No.”
“There are some in my purse,” she said firmly.
Leigh’s lips twitched. “I see.”
“Don’t you dare to laugh!”
“Were you a Gui—” he stopped.
“Yes! I was a patrol leader, are you satisfied?” she shouted.
At this Leigh grabbed her, kissed her very firmly, rolled half on top of her and said into her ear: “Not yet, but I hope to be. Come on, you managing thing, you. –And if you do love me," he said with a choke of laughter, “please, please, tell Belinda you proposed!”
“Shut up,” she growled.
“I don’t care if you do it before or after she asks you whether you did,” said Leigh, standing up and holding out his hand to her, “and yes, she will: but please don’t do it when I’m out of the room!”
“If she’s that bad, you probably deserve a medal for staying with her so long,” she said, getting up.
“That or my head read, mm. Why are you hanging back?” he said, feeling the resistance as he put his arm round her waist.
“I’m just gonna turn the heater off.”
Leigh watched, smiling, as his practical beloved carefully turned his sitting-room’s electric fire off.
“Come on,” she said simply.
Smiling, Leigh replaced his arm around her waist and came on.
“Thank God!” said Thomas fervently, waving frantically at the barman.
“This is Carter’s Bay: he is welded to that bar,” noted Leigh.
“Huh? Oh. Want more sausage?”
“No, this plateful has got me pretty well stonkered: what in God’s name did you do this weekend?” replied Leigh, staring. Yoghurt bars for elevenses, not satisfied by a huge plate of bangers and spud… Not that Thomas wasn’t odd at the best of times.
“Later. It’s not as riveting as yours.” Thomas took the jug over to the bar.
Leigh watched without hope. Sure enough, he came back with it filled to the brim. Higher, actually, what with the froth. “Thomas, I’ve got a meeting with Alan,” he reminded him.
“Possibly Alan’s mind won’t be entirely on your breath this afternoon. But would you rather have a whisky: celebration?”
“No. Well, I was intending to ask you round after work.”
“Good. I accept. I’ll accept for Dorothy, too,” he said insouciantly.
“Eh?”
“Not yet. But provided I’m a good boy, she may possibly be prepared to look upon me as a fellow human being.”
“I won’t hold my breath!” said Leigh with a laugh. “Well, want to hear how we met Belinda at the airport and went off to a lovely weekend à trois up at the Bay of Islands?”
“Was that where she’d booked? It’s not the season, though.”
“No, and this explains why I was able to change the bookings to a nice big double room for me and Moana. –Belinda had booked two singles. Well, now, the airport. Moana and I both went. Wallis came with us,” said Leigh with a twinkle.
Thomas gulped.
What he might have said or done that Thursday at work Leigh was never to know. He was in a daze all day: the more so as he and Moana had got very little sleep the previous night. Not that that hadn’t been entirely satisfactory in itself! His mind was filled with the scent and taste and feel of her; he couldn’t concentrate on work and he could barely focus his mind on the fact that they were due to collect Belinda that evening—though that was just as well. After he’d let Mitsuko go early he just sat at his desk gazing dreamily out at the view of grey-green inlet, vast muddy expanses due to metamorphose into a lawn next spring, and the embryonic stump of what was supposed to become the Faculty of Environmental Resources building by Christmas. At one point Thomas’s gesticulating figure appeared amidst this travesty of a building site—apparently promising the contractors something both life-threatening and painful—but Leigh just smiled dreamily.
“Gidday. Are you going anywhere near town?” said Wallis on a glum note as Leigh and Moana were getting into his car in The Quays’ carpark.
“Yes, through the city and out to the airport. Do you need a lift, Wallis?” asked Leigh kindly.
“Yeah. Are ya really going to the airport?” she gasped.
“Mm. Meeting a flight from London that’s due in about an hour and half.”
“That means the passengers’ll be off it in about three hours, but he won’t be told!” said Moana with a laugh.
Wallis was unmoved at the sight of Moana in Leigh’s company; possibly because she’d seen them both coming out of his front door at eight-thirty this morning; or very possibly just because she was Wallis. “Yeah. Hey, is this the British Airways flight?”
“Belinda wouldn’t travel any other way,” said Leigh with a moue.
“Ugh, is she coming out? –Mum would, she went Singapore Airlines to Europe, it was cheaper, only this was the only flight that gets in at a convenient time. She reckons the bogs’ll be awash before they hit Rome and’ll stay like that the rest of the way. Only she didn’t want to land up at the airport at four a.m. with a four-hour wait until the ruddy taxis condescended to turn up.”
“Is she coming home to stay?” asked Moana kindly.
“Nah. She’s taken a permanent position with some Pommy outfit that’s got an international law office in The Hague. They pay megabucks. She’s coming home to make sure Dad doesn’t let the house go for a song, and get her equity out of it.”
“Wallis, are they splitting up?” asked Leigh in concern.
“Dunno. Don’t think so. Well, they haven’t said anything. Maybe Mum’s gonna break the awful news?” She shrugged. “No skin off my nose.”
Leigh and Moana exchanged concerned glances but made no remark. Moana simply got into the car and unlocked a back passenger door for Wallis.
During the course of the drive Wallis revealed that her father wasn’t coming up from Wellington to meet her mother and she didn’t know if her mother intended going on down there to see him; that the house was already on the market; and that she didn’t have a clue where her mother intended staying. There were still some beds at the house, she added. After a moment Moana asked feebly what she meant and Wallis revealed that Dad had taken his and Mum’s king-size bed. Moana swallowed.
“Does your mother know?” croaked Leigh.
Predictably Wallis merely replied: “Dunno.” Adding after a moment: “Hey, have you types had tea?”
“No, we didn’t want to risk being late meeting the plane. After all, Belinda doesn’t know a soul out here except Leigh,” said Moana calmly.
“And Thomas and Posy,” added Leigh neutrally.
Wallis collapsed in horrible sniggers. Emerging from them to ask: “Why is she coming out? Is it just a holiday? –Aunty Sue does that. Doesn’t matter if you’re her worst enemy, if you’re living in a place where she feels like going for a holiday, she dumps herself on ya.”
“Er—Belinda is that type, yes,” admitted Leigh weakly. “Well, we’re not absolutely sure, Wallis. But we think she may be coming out to reclaim me. But she can’t have me, because Moana’s got me!” he finished with a laugh.
Wallis inserted a thick stick of bright purple gum into her mouth. “Ye’. Goo’ on ya,” she said indistinctly through it.
“Thanks!” replied Moana with a laugh.
“We’re glad you approve,” said Leigh sedately. “What is that flavour?” he added in spite of himself.
Chewing juicily, Wallis revealed that it was grape.
“Grape,” echoed Leigh numbly.
“Wearsh off aft’ a bih,” she revealed.
“If it doesn’t you can always open your window, Leigh!” said Moana with a laugh.
“Wan’ shome?” asked Wallis juicily.
“Yeah!” said Moana, chuckling. “Don’t mind if I do! –Ta,” she said as Wallis reached over her shoulder to hand her a piece.
“I really don’t think so, thanks, Wallis,” admitted Leigh. “Er, what is it, some sort of—er—toffee?”
“Nah! Bub’ gum!”
“Yesh,” agreed Moana, chewing juicily. “Shtrong,” she explained through it.
Leigh took one hand off the wheel to wave away the fumes of very artificial grape flavouring. “Mm.”
“Very down-market,” said Moana, eyeing him sideways.
Smiling, Leigh patted her knee. “Keep chewing, darling!”
Moana and Wallis continued to chew. Leigh concentrated on driving in the heavy traffic—of course, the crowds must be holiday-makers heading out of the city for the break—and reflected silently that if the sight of Wallis, the short dark hair very spiky, the bovver boots very—er—bovverish, the jeans very worn and the almost genuine flight jacket very, very, very worn, not to say six sizes too big for her, didn’t do it—well, in combination with the little skinny leopard-pattern top which emphasised her pointy little tits—then the sight of his Moana would get right up Belinda’s nose. Right up. Even before it dawned what Leigh’s precise relationship with her was! Moana was also in jeans but unlike Wallis’s hers fitted. And were very new and neat. Not that “neat” was the first word that sprang to mind at the sight of the lusciously curved Moana in them. Her top was a tight white tee-shirt which she had already explained to Leigh she was wearing because it’d be stinking hot in the international terminal building. Leigh had replied severely that she would be permitted to wear it only if she removed the bra. Both for his pleasure and in order to infuriate Belinda, he had explained as she’d asked him suspiciously why. Grinning, Moana had removed the bra. An interval had ensued which possibly explained why they hadn’t had time for dinner. The severity of the dark jeans and tee-shirt was apparently meant to be mitigated by the narrow gold belt in the jeans and the big plain hoops of gold in the ears. And possibly by the dark maroon lipstick, and the puffy dark maroon anorak she was wearing because it was a cool evening. Leigh had not revealed his thought on that one, which was that the shade did not precisely flatter Moana’s deep bronze skin, but made her look terrifically exotic and very Polynesian: you would not have been surprised to see that dark-lipped, heavily modelled face peering out at you from the depths of the primeval forest, with the addition of the traditional indigo tattoo, or moko, on its chin. She looked wonderful, but not like anything in the narrow catalogue of approved Belinda Throsby-Gore phenomena. Heh, heh, heh.
“Tha’ ’er?” asked Wallis indistinctly, through more bubble-gum, about two hours later.
Leigh looked at the large, fur-coated, metallically back-combed Iron Lady in question, and winced. “No. –Close,” he admitted.
Moana took his arm and leaned into his side. “Never mind. This time next week it’ll all be over.”
“Mm. –That your mum?” he said to Wallis as a tall, handsome, dark-haired woman in the trendiest of Nineties’ steel-rimmed specs, lugging a briefcase and what looked from here like a laptop in a matching case, appeared from the strange passageway or conduit which was emitting, Leigh thought the only word was emitting—no: extruding—yes, extruding passengers from the overseas flight with excruciating slowness.
“Nah. Kind of a clone, though,” she allowed.”
They sighed.
Passengers continued to appear—at intervals. The seething throng of Rabbit’s friends and relations waiting outside the barriers partitioning off the space immediately outside the strange conduit continued to seethe, unreduced and unabated.
“Maybe she missed it,” said Wallis at last. “She woulda had to get down to Paris from The Hague. Maybe the roads were busy.”
“Was she driving?” asked Leigh limply.
“Yeah.”
“Wouldn’t it have been easier to fly to London and catch it there?”
“Dunno. Never been to Europe. Probably cheaper to catch it at Paris, knowing her. –That her?”
“No.”
They went on waiting…
“I’m starving,” revealed Wallis sadly at last.
Leigh was too nervous even to think of food. He sighed.
“Is that her?” said Moana.
Another iron-jawed, steel-haired matron. “No. That is Belinda in essence, I grant you. Outwardly she’s blonde and thin. Possibly ten years younger than that woman. Think ‘prune juice’,” said Leigh with a sigh.
Choking, his companions agreed to think “prune juice.”
“That must be her: prune juice!” determined Moana, ten minutes later.
“No,” said Leigh.
Simultaneously Wallis groaned: “No, that’s Mum.”
And the tall, fair, skinny woman in the steel-grey uncreased trouser-suit with the matched steel-grey, all-nylon, impeccable luggage, down to the laptop case, yes, shouted irritably: “Wallis! Wallis! Over here!”
“I can see ya,” muttered Wallis under her breath.
Leigh gave her a little push. “Go on.”
“I can’t go in there; she can see me, she can come to me,” said Wallis grimly.
They waited while Mrs McLeod—or was she Dr? Yes, very probably—negotiated her trolley-load of matched luggage and duty-frees through the arrangement of barriers and baffles.
“Well, grab something!” she said irritably to her sole offspring.
“You seem to be managing okay. –This is Leigh Gore and Moana Curtis. This is Mum,” said Wallis glumly. “Leigh gave me a lift.”
“Kate McLeod,” acknowledged her mother. “You shouldn’t have bothered: she’s not helpless.”
“They were coming anyway,” said Wallis, glaring.
“I see. Well, thanks very much. –Where’s your father?”
Leigh and Moana cringed.
“Dunno. You wanna grab a taxi?”
“All the way over the Harbour Bridge? Rave on,” replied Kate McLeod grimly. “We’ll get the bus. –Nice to meet you,” she said grimly to Leigh and Moana. “Come on, Wallis: get moving!”
“Look, can I give you a lift?” said Leigh hurriedly.
“Mum’s got loads of luggage,” warned Wallis.
“Well, thanks very much—if you’re sure?” said Kate McLeod.
“Yes, fine. My ex,” said Leigh on a firm note, “shouldn’t have much luggage, she’s just out for a short holiday. –Prune juice, see?” he said as Belinda marched through the conduit looking coldly furious.
Wallis and Moana both gulped. Belinda Throsby-Gore was, actually, blonder than Leigh remembered her: she must have lightened it a bit. Tall and very thin, with a leathery suntan that indicated she’d let Mummy and Daddy Throsby shout her to a holiday—whether the previous trip to the Bahamas with them or not—very recently. Or that she had been chucking away what had been Leigh’s money on the expensive sun-bed which Leigh at one point in their matrimonial rows had vetoed. And if she did much more of it she’d look like the actual prune itself, he recognised sourly. Her trouser-suit was as uncreased as Kate McLeod’s but a nasty steel-blue shade. The hair was up in a neat French roll and Leigh, remembering other flights with Belinda and her bloody hair, realised that very probably the reason she was one of the last off the plane was that she had monopolised the bog—awash or not—for the last half-hour before the landing. Her luggage was also all nylon, but navy—apart from the handbag, a quilted thing with a gold link strap which was probably not the one that she and Leigh had had an almighty row over, two years back, when it had set his credit rating back to Third-World level, but a new clone of the same. Possibly suede but Leigh, thank God, didn’t need to know any more.
“Leigh!” she shouted. “For God’s sake, come and give me a hand!”
“Snap,” said Leigh under his breath, staying where he was.
“Ya not allowed to go in there,” said Wallis to the ambient air.
“Quite.”
“She looks cross about something,” ventured Moana cautiously.
Suddenly Leigh smiled at her. “She always does!” He kissed the tip of her strong, straight nose gently. “I suppose we’d better get it over with.”
“Mm.” They made their way to the gap in the barrier, Leigh with his arm tightly round Moana’s slender waist. He was aware that behind her trolley-load of luggage and duty-frees, Belinda had turned a furious and all too familiar mottled scarlet shade. Well, up hers.
“Really, Leigh! Is this meant to be funny?” she greeted him acidly.
“No, Moana and I are quite serious, and if you hadn’t landed yourself on us without warning we’d have let you know that we’ve just decided to get engaged. Oh: I beg your pardon, darling,” he said to Moana. “This is Belinda Throsby-Gore. Belinda, this is Moana Curtis: Dr Curtis. She’s Senior Ornithological Fellow at Sir George Grey.”
“Hullo, Mrs Throsby-Gore,” said Moana awkwardly. “I’m really sorry if this has come as a shock to you. Can I help you with your bags?”
“Why in God’s name have you brought so much stuff?” asked Leigh.
“Don’t be ridiculous. –I’m afraid Leigh has never been able to control his so-called sense of humour,” she said to Moana with a sort of acid graciousness.
“I haven’t noticed,” returned Moana briefly, taking a bag off the trolley. “Leigh, if you grab that one then I think your ex can manage.”
“Ex!” said Belinda with a trill of laughter. “Oh, my dear girl, he has been telling you naughty stories, hasn’t he?”
“The divorce will be through later this year,” said Leigh grimly. “Not that we care, particularly: we’re planning to settle down with or without your gracious permission. Just let’s get one thing straight, Belinda: there is nothing to talk over. Now, if you want a pleasant holiday in one of New Zealand’s favourite tourist spots, let’s go. Otherwise, you can turn right round and get back on the bloody plane.”
“Don’t let that masterful manner he puts on deceive you, dear: when it comes to the crunch he’s as masterful as a wet face flannel,” said Belinda cordially to Moana. “What was your name again, dear?”
“Moana Curtis,” said Moana stolidly.
“Goodness! It’s very pretty, but can little me pronounce it?” she returned archly. “Well, I never thought Leigh would take up with a Black girl, I have to admit; he’s always been such an old stick-in-the-mud! –Very striking, isn’t she?” she said to Leigh approvingly.
“Belinda, please do not speak about Moana to her face as if she wasn’t there.”
“That’s all right. I once had a boss who used to do that. He never could figure out why he couldn’t keep his staff. We’d better get going, Wallis and her mother are waiting,” said Moana stolidly.
“Well?” said Leigh nastily to Belinda. “Staying or going?”
Belinda shrugged elaborately and laughed. “I don’t know what you were imagining, Leigh, but there is absolutely no need to be so defensive! –He does that, dear,” she said to Moana. “I’m only out here for a holiday, Leigh.”
“Yes, well, come on. If you booked this so-called holiday through that ass Hutchins in the High Street you won’t be aware that your motel is over a hundred miles north of us. I’ve booked you into a hotel for tonight. We’ll drive you north tomorrow, but you can ride in the back.”
“Leigh, I don’t mind going in the back,” said Moana hurriedly.
“I mind.” Leigh hefted one of Belinda’s bags but took Moana’s hand with his free one. “Come on.”
“I see,” said Thomas thoughtfully. “The horrors of Wallis’s Ma sort of mitigated the horrors of having Belinda in the car.”
“Mm? Oh, going home from the airport! Yes. Fortunately she was so jet-lagged that she let us dump her at the Royal Kingfisher without a murmur, so at least we were rid of her for the night. Then next day she was still archly gracious to Moana, but I suppose that was better than overtly rude. I put the hard word on Moana overnight not to let the bitch in the front seat next day, so at least she couldn’t chat exclusively to me about mutual acquaintances for a hundred miles. No, well, a bit less, I suppose, from Carter’s Bay, but it felt like it,” he said with a sigh. “Anyway, she tried to represent the entire unsuitability of marriage to a Black girl from the native culture—yes, she did actually say that—and when that didn’t work she tried to persuade me that I could have nothing in common with a scientist. So I lost my temper and more or less told her what we do have in common.”
Thomas rubbed his hands, chuckling.
“Yes, well, at least Moana was spared the worst of it. –Oh, she complained unceasingly about the food and the accommodation, though actually the motel was quite pleasant. But we had expected that.”
“Mm. Were these two rooms adjoining?” asked Thomas thoughtfully.
“What? Oh, at the Bay of Islands! Er, yes. Fairly sound-proof, however,” he said, looking him firmly in the eye.
Thomas grinned. “It was the thought that sprang to mind, yes.”
“Quite.”
“Did it put you off your stroke?” he asked with friendly interest.
“Shut up. –Well, no. It put Moana off a bit, though—well, just at first!” he admitted, laughing.
Thomas winked. “You managed to make her forget about it, eh?”
“Shut up.—Don’t buy any more beer, for God’s sake, I’m waterlogged as it is!—Well, we agreed that the Bay of Islands without Belinda might be quite nice and in about twenty-five years’ time we might be able to face it again. For our silver wedding anniversary!” he said with a laugh.
“Absolutely. Has she gone?”
“No: Hutchins from the High Street’s booked her onto one of those frightful tours to the thermal region. A five-day job. Er—by the time we’d dumped her at the Royal K. last night and staggered home we were past even thinking about Penny’s bloody rehearsal, I’m afraid.”
“Entirely understandable. Well, it was bloody, all right, but you weren’t the only ones that didn’t turn up. She may let you off lightly. Dare I ask, talking of managing bitches, if Belinda is scheduled to return to the metropolis before vanishing Northwards?”
“Mm? Oh: before she catches her plane home? Yes, unfortunately. Hutchins managed to give her an extra two days without apparently noticing he’d done so—either that or she assumed that she’d be infesting my place. But I’ve booked her in at the Royal K: they don’t seem to be all that busy. But don’t worry that Moana and I may have to suffer her undiluted company, because you and Posy are going to have dinner with us on the Saturday. And Inoue, of course. Would Dorothy like to join us?”
“Don’t think so, not even for the horror value. But she’ll come,” he said, grinning. “Where? Revill’s?”
“No, the main dining-room at the Royal K. Revill’s is for when Belinda’s gone—I’ve booked for Sunday,” said Leigh with a wink.
Thomas collapsed in splutters.
“Sort of a semi-official engagement dinner,” said Leigh with a smile.
“Yes! Please give—ring—while Belinda’s there—front of me an’ Posy!” he gasped.
“I’d damn well like to. She’s got up Moana’s nose, poor darling, even though it’s not a nose what gets got up all that much.”
Thomas blew his heartily, grinning. “Noticed that. Placid thing, really, isn’t she, in spite of those flashing dark looks?”
“Yes,” he said calmly. “She is. We suit each other very well.”
Thomas looked at him affectionately. “Yes. Well, be warned: Posy and I haven’t broken out for a very long time. We may spring something outrageous on you.”
“Good,” said Leigh mildly. “Better get back, I suppose.”
They got up. Thomas slung his arm round Leigh’s shoulders. “I’m very glad," he said simply.
Leigh smiled a little shakily. “I’m very glad, myself.”
Next chapter:
https://conquestofcartersbay.blogspot.com/2023/05/going-steadily-downhill.html
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