she’s going to go over and over that again.”
“Julia, are you very much in love with Harry?” Nita clapped her hand to her mouth. “Oh, my God, now I’m catching it from Granny. With Paul, I mean.”
“Of course,” said Julia serenely.
Nita stood up abruptly. “I don’t see how you will be able to stand it,” she said and went out of the room.
Kate instantly moved over to sit by Julia. Her eyes, now, were conspiratorial.
“Don’t take any notice of Nita. The poor child is just very lonely and unhappy, and I’m afraid Paul reminds her too much of Harry. She mustn’t stay here. It’s too distressing for her. Don’t let her upset you, my dear.”
Kate patted Julia’s hand. A gust of her perfume filled Julia’s nostrils, and suddenly Julia had a stifling feeling of revulsion. She was aware, all at once, that she didn’t like Kate. She should have been just a kind-hearted shallow person, but she was hiding some other characteristic beneath her friendly exterior, and that was not pleasant. Perhaps, secretly, she did not want Paul to marry Julia. Perhaps she was the author of the anonymous letters!
It was time someone talked in plain language.
“Is it because of Nita that you don’t want me to start altering the house?”
Kate’s heavy eyelids—they were like the thick texture of a lily petal—dropped again.
“I try to be tactful, dear. It really is painful for Nita. And she isn’t going to stay. Paul is arranging something for her while he is in Timaru. Couldn’t you just wait a day or two?”
“Do you think it’s Nita who has been writing those letters?”
“Oh no, no! I’m sure it isn’t. After all, why should she? She doesn’t care about Paul. It was poor Harry whom she loved so much. Oh, no, not Nita.”
“Then who?”
Kate flung up her hands agitatedly. “How do I know? Paul said he would stop it, didn’t he? Try not to worry about it, dear.”
“I know Paul said he would stop them,” Julia said calmly. “But I want to know who has been writing them. And I intend to find out.”
“Harry’s the one who likes jokes,” came the thin high voice from among the shawls in the big chair. “Oh, he’s a bad boy, that one.”
It wasn’t too difficult to think of an excuse to go across the field to the cottage where Dove Robinson and her husband lived.
It was a small wooden cottage standing bleakly on a hillside among an outcrop of boulders. If there had ever been an attempt at a garden there was no sign of it now, and only the prickly spider-grey matagouri climbed over the recumbent boulders. There was no sun, and the wind from the cloud-shrouded mountains was strong. Julia felt herself blown along the path to the front door which was slightly ajar.
There was the sound of voices somewhere down at the end of the passage, a man’s raised angrily, and a woman’s, also pitched to a heightened emotion.
“Haven’t I told you not to go running over to the big house so often? But you never listen to me! Oh no, I’m your husband but that don’t matter a. damn!”
“I tell you I have to go over there to do Mr. Blaine’s ankle.”
“If you ask me, he sprained his ankle on purpose. Likes to make you a Mary Magdalene, doesn’t he? Well, it’s a part that suits you both, him so high and mighty, you ready to fall like a ripe plum. It’s that red hair of yours, you can’t trust it.”
“You knew I had red hair when you married me.”
“Yes. More fool me. Tell me, what are you going to do when your precious Paul gets married? His wife ain’t going to want you running up there all the time to stroke his head if he gets a headache.”
Dove made some inaudible answer. Her husband said finally,
“It’d do him a power of good if he got busy and did a bit around the farm. Expects me and Davey to do the whole bloomin’ lot, lambing and all. Well, he’s the loser if half his lambs die in a storm, and that’s as likely to happen as not.”
Acutely uncomfortable, Julia
“Julia, are you very much in love with Harry?” Nita clapped her hand to her mouth. “Oh, my God, now I’m catching it from Granny. With Paul, I mean.”
“Of course,” said Julia serenely.
Nita stood up abruptly. “I don’t see how you will be able to stand it,” she said and went out of the room.
Kate instantly moved over to sit by Julia. Her eyes, now, were conspiratorial.
“Don’t take any notice of Nita. The poor child is just very lonely and unhappy, and I’m afraid Paul reminds her too much of Harry. She mustn’t stay here. It’s too distressing for her. Don’t let her upset you, my dear.”
Kate patted Julia’s hand. A gust of her perfume filled Julia’s nostrils, and suddenly Julia had a stifling feeling of revulsion. She was aware, all at once, that she didn’t like Kate. She should have been just a kind-hearted shallow person, but she was hiding some other characteristic beneath her friendly exterior, and that was not pleasant. Perhaps, secretly, she did not want Paul to marry Julia. Perhaps she was the author of the anonymous letters!
It was time someone talked in plain language.
“Is it because of Nita that you don’t want me to start altering the house?”
Kate’s heavy eyelids—they were like the thick texture of a lily petal—dropped again.
“I try to be tactful, dear. It really is painful for Nita. And she isn’t going to stay. Paul is arranging something for her while he is in Timaru. Couldn’t you just wait a day or two?”
“Do you think it’s Nita who has been writing those letters?”
“Oh no, no! I’m sure it isn’t. After all, why should she? She doesn’t care about Paul. It was poor Harry whom she loved so much. Oh, no, not Nita.”
“Then who?”
Kate flung up her hands agitatedly. “How do I know? Paul said he would stop it, didn’t he? Try not to worry about it, dear.”
“I know Paul said he would stop them,” Julia said calmly. “But I want to know who has been writing them. And I intend to find out.”
“Harry’s the one who likes jokes,” came the thin high voice from among the shawls in the big chair. “Oh, he’s a bad boy, that one.”
It wasn’t too difficult to think of an excuse to go across the field to the cottage where Dove Robinson and her husband lived.
It was a small wooden cottage standing bleakly on a hillside among an outcrop of boulders. If there had ever been an attempt at a garden there was no sign of it now, and only the prickly spider-grey matagouri climbed over the recumbent boulders. There was no sun, and the wind from the cloud-shrouded mountains was strong. Julia felt herself blown along the path to the front door which was slightly ajar.
There was the sound of voices somewhere down at the end of the passage, a man’s raised angrily, and a woman’s, also pitched to a heightened emotion.
“Haven’t I told you not to go running over to the big house so often? But you never listen to me! Oh no, I’m your husband but that don’t matter a. damn!”
“I tell you I have to go over there to do Mr. Blaine’s ankle.”
“If you ask me, he sprained his ankle on purpose. Likes to make you a Mary Magdalene, doesn’t he? Well, it’s a part that suits you both, him so high and mighty, you ready to fall like a ripe plum. It’s that red hair of yours, you can’t trust it.”
“You knew I had red hair when you married me.”
“Yes. More fool me. Tell me, what are you going to do when your precious Paul gets married? His wife ain’t going to want you running up there all the time to stroke his head if he gets a headache.”
Dove made some inaudible answer. Her husband said finally,
“It’d do him a power of good if he got busy and did a bit around the farm. Expects me and Davey to do the whole bloomin’ lot, lambing and all. Well, he’s the loser if half his lambs die in a storm, and that’s as likely to happen as not.”
Acutely uncomfortable, Julia
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