to Kenmore. He’s made damned sure I haven’t, by hardly ever coming home.’
Owen sighed. ‘Look, there’s no point in going on about what’s past. I don’t know about you two but I could do with a decent bath. Why don’t we find somewhere to tidy ourselves up?’
They booked rooms at a hotel in nearby Willis Street, and Tamar went straight to her room, ignoring the uniformed bellboy’s inquisitive glances at her dishevelled appearance as he carried her bag up the stairs.
She ordered a pot of tea, then ran the bath and gingerly eased herself into it, taking care not to put too much weight on her bad leg, luxuriating in the swirl of hot, scented water around her aching limbs. What would Kepa say if he knew she had gone racing off to Wellington on an errand of mercy without a moment’s notice? He knew she could look after herself, and she had James and Owen with her after all, but still, he would not be pleased. He had fussed over her incessantly ever since her heart attack five years ago, but knew her well enough to retreat whenever he sensed she was about to lose her temper. No doubt he would, however, have something to say when she got back to Kenmore.
She stayed in the bath until the water had grown cool, then dressed in a simple grey suit fastened snugly at the waist with a black belt. Her hair needed a good comb so she let it down, brushed it thoroughly then twisted and refastened it in her customary chignon. As usual she wore little make-up, firmly believing that too much on an older woman served only to accentuate the negative rather than the positive. She applied only a hint of rouge to her cheeks and a light sweep of russet-coloured lipstick that complemented her hair. She added a small black hat, a pair of black heels and matching gloves, picked up her dark tweed coat and decided she was ready.
In the hall she rapped on James’s door and waited impatiently until he opened it. She noted with approval that he’d had a shave and changed into some decent clothes, as opposed to the work shirt and trousers he’d worn all yesterday and last night.
‘Ready?’ she asked.
He stepped out, tugged down the sleeves of his jacket, took adeep breath and nodded. ‘But ready for what, I’m not sure.’
On the docks a cold, aggressive wind had risen and Tamar had to keep a firm grip on the brim of her hat. The sound and smell of the sea, the screeching of seagulls and the bustle and shouting of stevedores reminded her with a sharp pang of a dock she had once waited on almost sixty years ago, thousands of miles away in a different world.
Owen trotted up the gangway of the Northern Sun to wheedle out of someone which passengers had already boarded. Squinting up at him, looking small and wind-buffeted on the ship’s deck, she saw him talking with a crewman, then handing something over. She smiled to herself; compensation for the man’s trouble, no doubt. The crewman disappeared, then returned several minutes later. She and James hurried over to the base of the gangway as Owen came back down.
‘They’re leaving in an hour. The ship carries mostly cargo so there won’t be many passengers. That bloke I just talked to reckons that, according to the purser, no one called Duncan Murdoch has boarded yet.’
James exhaled in relief. ‘Good, we haven’t missed him then.’
‘Missed who?’ came a voice.
The three of them whipped around; behind them stood Duncan, his feet planted wide and a look of grim determination on his handsome young face. He wore a sailor’s black knitted cap over his bright bronze hair, a black jersey and old work pants, and a pair of sturdy boots. Slung over his shoulder was a well-scuffed duffel bag and a heavy coat. He looked a complete ruffian.
Although Tamar almost had another heart attack at his sudden appearance, she still noted that he had grown even taller, surpassing his father’s height by several inches, and had filled out considerably. He’d lost the chubbiness that had
Owen sighed. ‘Look, there’s no point in going on about what’s past. I don’t know about you two but I could do with a decent bath. Why don’t we find somewhere to tidy ourselves up?’
They booked rooms at a hotel in nearby Willis Street, and Tamar went straight to her room, ignoring the uniformed bellboy’s inquisitive glances at her dishevelled appearance as he carried her bag up the stairs.
She ordered a pot of tea, then ran the bath and gingerly eased herself into it, taking care not to put too much weight on her bad leg, luxuriating in the swirl of hot, scented water around her aching limbs. What would Kepa say if he knew she had gone racing off to Wellington on an errand of mercy without a moment’s notice? He knew she could look after herself, and she had James and Owen with her after all, but still, he would not be pleased. He had fussed over her incessantly ever since her heart attack five years ago, but knew her well enough to retreat whenever he sensed she was about to lose her temper. No doubt he would, however, have something to say when she got back to Kenmore.
She stayed in the bath until the water had grown cool, then dressed in a simple grey suit fastened snugly at the waist with a black belt. Her hair needed a good comb so she let it down, brushed it thoroughly then twisted and refastened it in her customary chignon. As usual she wore little make-up, firmly believing that too much on an older woman served only to accentuate the negative rather than the positive. She applied only a hint of rouge to her cheeks and a light sweep of russet-coloured lipstick that complemented her hair. She added a small black hat, a pair of black heels and matching gloves, picked up her dark tweed coat and decided she was ready.
In the hall she rapped on James’s door and waited impatiently until he opened it. She noted with approval that he’d had a shave and changed into some decent clothes, as opposed to the work shirt and trousers he’d worn all yesterday and last night.
‘Ready?’ she asked.
He stepped out, tugged down the sleeves of his jacket, took adeep breath and nodded. ‘But ready for what, I’m not sure.’
On the docks a cold, aggressive wind had risen and Tamar had to keep a firm grip on the brim of her hat. The sound and smell of the sea, the screeching of seagulls and the bustle and shouting of stevedores reminded her with a sharp pang of a dock she had once waited on almost sixty years ago, thousands of miles away in a different world.
Owen trotted up the gangway of the Northern Sun to wheedle out of someone which passengers had already boarded. Squinting up at him, looking small and wind-buffeted on the ship’s deck, she saw him talking with a crewman, then handing something over. She smiled to herself; compensation for the man’s trouble, no doubt. The crewman disappeared, then returned several minutes later. She and James hurried over to the base of the gangway as Owen came back down.
‘They’re leaving in an hour. The ship carries mostly cargo so there won’t be many passengers. That bloke I just talked to reckons that, according to the purser, no one called Duncan Murdoch has boarded yet.’
James exhaled in relief. ‘Good, we haven’t missed him then.’
‘Missed who?’ came a voice.
The three of them whipped around; behind them stood Duncan, his feet planted wide and a look of grim determination on his handsome young face. He wore a sailor’s black knitted cap over his bright bronze hair, a black jersey and old work pants, and a pair of sturdy boots. Slung over his shoulder was a well-scuffed duffel bag and a heavy coat. He looked a complete ruffian.
Although Tamar almost had another heart attack at his sudden appearance, she still noted that he had grown even taller, surpassing his father’s height by several inches, and had filled out considerably. He’d lost the chubbiness that had
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