Tamar (19 page)

Tamar was pleased he sounded so cheerful about the prospect, as he had been growing morose again. She immediately wrote to tell Myrna they would be in Auckland within two weeks. Peter wrote to a business associate, asking that meetings be arranged to discuss the shipment of the timber, and they sent Riria off the next day to send the letters from Huia.

Tamar was highly excited at the prospect of seeing Auckland and her friends again; she had been away for three months but it
felt much longer. However, she wanted Riria to accompany them but was worried Peter would not allow it. Surprisingly, when she plucked up the courage to ask, he agreed, although reluctantly. He had mellowed slightly towards the girl since she had been living with them, although he still tried to discourage their friendship.

‘I suppose she can come,’ he grumbled. ‘But we must make it clear she’s our servant and your maid, nothing more. And for God’s sake, find her something decent to wear. That brown rag of hers is falling apart. Can’t you give her something of yours? What about that dreadful grey thing you used to wear when you were working?’

‘No, it would be too small. I haven’t really got anything suitable,’ Tamar replied, looking up at Peter with large, manipulative eyes. He contemplated her for several seconds, then sighed.

‘Send her into town for some fabric then and make her something. But nothing too fancy! We don’t want her getting airs.’

Tamar jumped up and kissed him. ‘No, just something simple but smart,’ she replied happily and ran out to tell Riria.

Riria was intrigued with the idea of going to Auckland but, to Tamar’s surprise, failed to appreciate the prospect of a new outfit. ‘What do I want with a new dress? What is wrong with this one?’ Riria asked, holding out the skirt of her brown frock, patched in four places and almost worn through in several more. ‘It is clean and in one piece.’

‘Yes, it’s clean. But don’t you want a nice, smart new one?’

‘What for?’

Tamar opened her mouth and then closed it again, it dawning on her that Riria did not value clothes as she herself did. Then, with a very unpleasant jolt, she realised that until she met Peter, she had not particularly valued them either. Now she had gowns she hadn’t even worn. Had she changed that much in such a short time?

‘Will you feel ashamed to be seen with me wearing such a patched and worn dress?’ asked Riria, astute as always.

Tamar had the grace to blush. She considered lying and saying Peter had ordered it, but decided she owed Riria more than that. ‘Yes,’ she answered. ‘If you want a new one, I’ll give you the money for the fabric and make it up for you. You decide.’

Riria looked at Tamar for a full minute then said, ‘If it is such an important thing to you, then I will have a new dress.’ She shook her head slowly. ‘You
Pakeha
women are
porangi
.’

In the end, Riria selected a pale blue fabric which Tamar made into a skirt and a long-sleeved bodice jacket that buttoned up the back with a high neck and a small lace collar. She refused, however, to wear a corset, saying she had no interest in having her innards pushed up through her mouth.

Again they endured the tedious journey from Huia by coach, worse this time because the roads were even muddier, staying overnight at New Lynn then boarding the train to Auckland. Riria was fascinated by the urban scenery as they drew closer to the city, asking repeatedly about every large building until Peter told her to be quiet. On arrival they walked to the Waitemata Hotel, across from the railway station, a porter hurrying behind with their bags.

Tamar and Peter were shown to their room while Riria was taken to the staff quarters at the back of the hotel. She made a striking and rather formidable figure striding down the hallway, her head held high in her little black hat. Her hair, which she refused to tie up, bounced gently behind her, and her new dress accentuated her shapely figure. Several of the staff stopped to stare, the men in veiled appreciation and the woman in disapproval of her
moko
and what appeared to be her refusal to be intimidated. Riria stared back, sweeping past them imperiously.

Upstairs, Tamar took her time unpacking. She had brought a day dress, her afternoon dress and her mauve evening gown. She had looked everywhere for her amethyst pendant and earrings but had been unable to find them, wondering where on earth she’d put
them and hoping they hadn’t been lost; Peter would be hurt and very annoyed. She sat down at a small desk and wrote a note to Myrna, advising her they had arrived, took it down to the reception desk and asked that it be delivered to Myrna’s address. Peter had gone to his club but would be back later, and Tamar hoped Myrna would join them for dinner.

She ran herself a hot bath in the luxuriously large tub in the bathroom adjoining their room and lounged decadently in it for over an hour, adding steaming hot water at her leisure. At home they had to be content with crouching in a tin tub in front of the kitchen range if they wanted more than a perfunctory wash. This bath was so deep she could stretch out and only her head and toes broke the water. She made the most of it before she got out, pulled the plug and wrapped herself in several large fluffy towels. As she was putting on her robe, a knock came at the door. It was Riria with a return note from Myrna saying she’d be delighted to meet them at the Waitemata for dinner that evening, but she would arrive a little earlier to take tea with Tamar and catch up on what had been happening. As it was now almost four, Tamar decided to make herself respectable.

Riria laid out her afternoon dress, a salmon-coloured silk, while Tamar sat at the dresser and did her hair. She normally wore it parted in the middle and pulled back in a chignon fixed with hair pins, but tomorrow night when they went to dinner with Peter’s business associates, she would ask Riria to help her put it up.

Struggling into her corset, she grunted and groaned as Riria tugged on the laces. She didn’t bother to wear one at home; it was uncomfortable and as she had a naturally small waist, she had no real need. But she was in Auckland now and this is what ladies wore in Auckland, so she forced herself into it, wishing she owned one of the new styles that fastened more conveniently in the front. Riria, who thought such garments were absurd, gave the laces an extra
hard yank, forcing a small fart out of an unprepared Tamar. Both women dissolved into hysterical giggles and collapsed onto the bed.

Eventually they got themselves under control and when Tamar finished dressing they went downstairs to wait for Myrna in the private lounge, although Riria received a very disapproving look from the waiter who scuttled to attend them. Tamar chose to ignore him but Riria scowled ferociously back and said something guttural in Maori, causing him to retreat rapidly as soon as he had taken their order.

‘What did you say?’ asked Tamar, bemused.

‘The first four ingredients from your scone recipe. I expect he thought I was cursing him,’ replied Riria, smirking.

Tamar giggled. Riria
could
be intimidating at times, especially when she was annoyed; handsome and strong, she radiated a sense of power not seen in many women. Her coffee-coloured skin, untamed hair and facial tattoo contributed to the effect, but her regal bearing and quiet but assertive manner seemed to unsettle people most. Tamar was also aware of an air of sexuality, something subtly wild and natural, and she was sure this had an effect on the men Riria encountered. No doubt women were also aware of this at some level, and perhaps resented her for it.

Myrna arrived half an hour later, looking glamorous and beautifully groomed as usual. She and Tamar hugged, and Tamar introduced Riria.

‘Good afternoon, Miss McTaggart,’ Riria responded.

‘Myrna, dear, ma name is Myrna. Och, and what a lovely wee thing ye are, too!’ exclaimed Myrna in her rich Scots accent. Wee was not a word Tamar would have chosen to describe Riria, but Myrna called everything that appealed to her ‘wee’.

‘Yes,’ Tamar replied. ‘Riria is my friend and helper around the house. Peter employed her for me.’

‘Oh, yes, and how is the charming Mr Montgomery?’ asked
Myrna a little sarcastically, looking about her as if expecting to see him hovering somewhere in the recesses of the lounge, perhaps near the small bar tucked discreetly into one corner.

‘He’s fine, thank you. He’s at his club,’ said Tamar, and burst into tears.

‘Oh dear,’ said Myrna, not sounding surprised at all and moving to sit closer to Tamar. ‘It’s no’ taken him long, has it? He’s ground ye down already.’

‘He’s … oh, I don’t know where to start. I feel so disloyal talking about him.’ Tamar sniffed loudly, then blew her nose and sat up straight. ‘He drinks too much,’ she blurted. ‘And he has terrible moods, Myrna. I don’t know what on earth to do about it.’

‘He hasnae harmed ye, lassie, has he?’ asked Myrna. She felt vindicated in terms of her earlier intuitions, but the petty victory was overshadowed by her concern that Tamar had enmeshed herself in an unpleasant and possibly dangerous situation. ‘Does he strike ye?’ she asked Tamar, then turned towards Riria who was studiously examining her hands. ‘Does he?’ she repeated sharply.

Tamar said quickly, ‘No, no, he’s never touched me in anger.’ She considered telling Myrna about Anna’s letter, but thought better of it.

Myrna shook her head angrily, still looking at Riria. ‘And do you know anything about this, lassie?’ she asked. Riria looked steadily back, her mouth firmly closed, saying nothing. It was obvious to Myrna she knew something. ‘Come on, girl, out wi’ it.’

Riria’s eyes flitted towards Tamar, across to Myrna, then back to Tamar again.

‘Riria?’ said Tamar nervously, a sick feeling nibbling at the pit of her stomach. ‘Riria, what do you know?’

‘He keeps a supply of
wihiki
in the forest. I have seen where he hides it,’ she admitted reluctantly. Privately she thought Peter Montgomery was a
poaka
, a pig, and didn’t deserve Tamar, but she
had no wish to disillusion her friend.

Tamar gasped. ‘He told me he’d stopped drinking! He
promised
me! How could I be so blind?’

‘Because ye wanted to be, lassie,’ Myrna replied, sighing. ‘And men who like the drink will promise ye
anything
as long as ye get off their backs about it. And women,’ she added, remembering her own past behaviour. ‘But forget about what’s done, what are ye going to do about it?’

‘Nothing. I can’t.’

‘And why not? Ye can leave him. Ye’ve no bairns on the way?’

‘No, but I can’t. He’s my husband. I love him, Myrna! Don’t you see that?’

Myrna rolled her eyes. She did see it, and had seen it many times before; good women who wasted their lives on men who cared more for the bottle than their own families, completely unwilling or unable to overcome their addictions. She sighed again. Why couldn’t Peter Montgomery just fall off his horse and break his miserable neck? That would suit everybody.

‘And what’s your opinion?’ she asked Riria.

‘It is Tamar’s decision. As long as I am employed there, I will be her friend. She must do what her
manawa
, her heart, tells her to do.’

‘Aye, lassie, I expect she will and all,’ agreed Myrna resignedly.

‘I don’t want to talk about Peter,’ Tamar said suddenly, a forced note of gaiety in her voice. ‘It was my decision to marry him and things are not always bad. Let’s talk about something else, shall we?’

Myrna, happy for once to move away from the topic of Peter Montgomery’s myriad character defects, launched into a gossipy and amusing monologue about what was happening in Auckland, who was doing what to whom and what people were saying about it, and how her own business was doing. She stopped when Tamar inclined her head discreetly towards Riria and raised her eyebrows. ‘Ye’ve not said?’

Tamar shook her head.

‘Oh, well,
I
might as well, then. After all, it’s no’ a secret.’ Myrna turned to Riria and began. ‘Ye see, lassie, I run a …’

‘House of sex,’ Riria finished for her.

There was a second’s silence.

‘How did you know that?’ asked Tamar, surprised.

‘The boy who brought the message back. He said to me it was from the Scottish lady at the whorehouse on Dilworth Terrace.’

‘Oh,’ said Tamar. Then, ‘Are you shocked?’

‘No. Why should I be? It is better that men buy what they need from a woman who is willing to sell it, than take it from a woman who is not willing.’

‘Quite right,’ said Myrna. ‘A lassie who understands business as well as human nature. I like that. Do ye no’ have such a thing as rape amongst your people then?’

‘Yes, we do,’ replied Riria, frowning slightly. ‘We have
utu
as well.’

‘
Utu
?’

‘Revenge,’ said Riria.

C
HAPTER
T
EN

P
eter failed to appear and Myrna and Tamar sat down to dinner without him.

‘Ma girls couldnae make it. They’re working, but they’ll come into town tomorrow and we’ll have morning tea together. We dinnae open for business until two in the afternoon. The girls need their rest. They’re dying to see ye.’

Tamar nodded, her mouth full. She was looking forward to seeing the girls, especially Polly. She swallowed and asked, ‘How
is
Polly?’

‘Well,’ said Myrna slowly. ‘She’s certainly popular wi’ the customers, and verra good at her job, but I’m no’ sure about what’s going on in that head o’ hers.’

‘How do you mean?’

‘She seems happy enough, but she takes it all a wee bit seriously. I cannae put ma finger on it. It’s almost as if she has this
need
to take as much money as she can off the men. Good for business, but no’ that healthy for her. I wonder if something awful didnae happen when she was on the streets and she hasnae told us. She seems to have gone a wee bit hard. Oh, I ken working girls have to be hard in many ways, but I mean hard
inside
. Brittle. Like something might break. But, on the other hand, she laughs and
jokes wi’ the girls same as she used to. And as I said, she’s popular wi’ the customers.’