Tamar (40 page)

She ignored his last comment by responding to the first. ‘Kepa, I am the widow of a chronic alcoholic and hopelessly indebted gambler, I have given birth to an illegitimate, half-caste child, and I am the madam of a whorehouse. Do you think I’m worried about what people might think of me?’

Now he ignored her. ‘I mean it, Tamar. I want you.’

Tamar didn’t know what to say, feeling silly with her arm outstretched and Kepa holding her wrist. She moved to pull it back but he gripped more firmly, as if he did not mean to let go until she gave him a response.

What she wanted to say was, yes, I still burn for you, Kepa, but she could not permit herself to utter the words. This was wrong. She could not be with him. She would not be treated like one of her employees, a woman for some man to pick up and put down as he chose. But it was true, she
did
burn for him. And with that thought, her eyes brimmed with tears; for her predicament, for her own aching heart, for the shambolic state of her life. She stood, her voice unsteady as her tears threatened to spill. ‘I think you should go.’

His answer was to take her in his arms. He lowered his mouth and began to kiss her, gently at first, then with more urgency. She kissed him back, as she knew she would, angry at herself, and at him, but unwilling to stop. She could feel his erection poking
eagerly against her stomach. ‘Yes?’ he whispered.

Taking her silence as confirmation, he gathered her long skirt and petticoats above her waist, then lifted her easily onto the desk. Stepping back he released himself from his trousers, parted Tamar’s thighs, then undid the ties securing her underdrawers and pulled them off her.

She gasped as he entered her. It did not take long, for him or for her, and she bit his neck hard to prevent herself crying out. When they stopped moving, a pile of papers balanced on the edge of the desk cascaded onto the floor.

Tamar started laughing, and then the tears came. She rested her head against his chest, weeping quietly, taking comfort from his strength and the soothing stroke of his hands on her back.

Riria’s letter arrived on the last day of 1882, confirming her arrival in the first week of the new year. Tamar sent Sven to meet the train every day, but Riria, as independent as ever, knocked on the front door at the start of the second week of January, complete with travel bag and another little black hat to replace the one she left at Huia eighteen months ago.

Tamar went running down the hall to meet her, and the two women clung together in delight. Stepping back, Tamar said, ‘You look wonderful! You haven’t changed at all!’

And she hadn’t. Riria’s thick, lustrous brown hair still cascaded down her back and her beautiful, tattooed face was as strong and intelligent as ever. Smiling widely, she replied, ‘You have, Tamar. You seem much happier. And what has happened to your face?’

Tamar touched the scar on her brow. ‘My friend John, the doctor, fixed it last year.’

Riria raised her arched eyebrows. ‘Then he must be a
takuta
of considerable skill. The mark has almost gone!’

Tamar was not at all interested in talking about her scar. ‘Come in and tell me about everything you’ve been doing.’

At that moment Sven appeared, bowed towards Riria, said, ‘Madam,’ and reached for her luggage. She batted his hand out of the way and picked up her bag. ‘I will do that,’ she said crossly. Sven stepped back in surprise. Tamar smiled and shook her head at Sven, who shrugged and retreated down the hall.

Tamar took Riria upstairs and showed her into Polly’s old bedroom. Riria dropped her bag on the floor, bounced on the bed once or twice and said, ‘This is a very beautiful room. It is for me to sleep in?’

‘It belonged to one of the girls who worked here, but she had an accident a month or so ago and isn’t here any more.’ She didn’t elaborate. ‘It’s yours if you don’t mind what the room was once used for.’

‘Whoring?’ asked Riria.

‘Whatever you want to call it.’

‘I do not mind,’ answered Riria, looking about the pretty boudoir. ‘As long as I am not expected to do the same.’

Tamar was mortified: did Riria think she had invited her here to work for her? She opened her mouth to protest, then saw Riria’s smile. Tamar put her hand to her heart. ‘I thought you were serious!’

‘I think not!’ replied Riria, laughing. ‘Not after …’ The smile slipped from her face.

With a sickening flash of comprehension, Tamar knew what her friend had been about to say. Her hands flew to her face. ‘Oh, no! Please tell me no!’

Riria said nothing, her eyes filling with tears.

‘Oh God, it was Peter! I’m so sorry, Riria. Why didn’t you tell me?’ She hurried over to her friend and embraced her. They rocked gently together, each remembering the terrifying months. Riria was first to pull back. ‘It is in the past now,’ she said quietly.

‘You didn’t …,’ began Tamar, pointing at Riria’s stomach.

‘No. I could not have tolerated that.’

Tamar exhaled in relief. She felt sick, and dreadfully guilty. ‘He’s dead,’ she said, as if this piece of information might somehow help, forgetting Riria already knew.

‘Yes. A
pirihimana
came to Kainui to talk to me. About you, and what happened after I last saw you.’

Tamar remembered her conversation with Te Kanene. ‘Riria,’ she asked softly. ‘Was it you?’ She had to know.

The two women looked at each other steadily, both knowing the answer to this question would change their relationship forever. The silence seemed to expand to fill the room. Riria went over to the window, gazing through the heavy lace curtains at nothing. ‘Yes,’ she said eventually, and turned to face Tamar. ‘He was going to die anyway,
e tuakana
. But if he had not, I would still have done it.’

Tamar expected to feel revulsion. She expected to feel horror and disgust at this wild and enigmatic young woman’s confession. Instead she felt an intense sense of justice, which frightened her, and a vague sadness. She held out her hand. ‘Let’s go and have some tea, shall we?’

Riria smiled.

‘I can’t get over how beautiful she is. You know, for a darkie,’ said Bronwyn.

Letitia nodded in agreement. ‘In spite of that tattoo.’

‘It’s a crying shame she
isn’t
working here,’ Vivienne added. ‘She’d make a fortune. She’s exactly the sort of woman lots of Englishmen would fancy a romp with. Beautiful, buxom and brown. And there’s definitely something
untamed
about her, don’t you think? Pass the sherry, Bron.’

‘I don’t know,’ said Bronwyn as she handed over the cut-crystal decanter. ‘She frightens me a bit. She’s still a Maori, even if Tamar insists on treating her as if she isn’t.’

‘I think you’re jealous,’ said Jessica matter-of-factly. ‘Because Tamar likes her and because she’s got better tits than you.’

‘She has not! How do you know?’

‘Because I saw her in the bath. They’re beautiful — big and round with huge dark nipples. And she’s younger than you.’

‘Jessica, do you have to be such a bitch?’ asked Vivienne.

‘Yes,’ the petite blonde girl replied.

‘I didn’t say I didn’t like her, I said she frightens me a little, that’s all,’ said Bronwyn, pointedly ignoring Jessica. ‘Especially since she got that old Maori man in to exorcise Polly’s room. Spirits being attracted to misery and fear, my arse.’

‘Well, don’t let Tamar hear you saying anything against her. They’ve been through a lot together and I don’t think she’d appreciate it,’ observed Vivienne. ‘Where are they, anyway? I thought we were supposed to be having dinner at seven? And where’s John?’

As it was Sunday night and the girls were not working, Tamar had invited John for dinner so he could meet Riria. The girls were having a pre-dinner drink while they waited for him to arrive.

Eliza hurried past the parlour to answer the side door, and Vivienne said, ‘Speak of the devil,’ as they heard her welcoming John. He breezed into the parlour, flung his hat and gloves in the general direction of the sideboard and flopped down on the sofa.

‘Sorry I’m late,’ he said, helping himself to a large brandy. ‘A patient. Usual story.’ He looked around. ‘Where’s Tamar? I need to ask her something. And when are we eating? I’m starving.’

The girls were constantly amazed at the amount John ate and were forever teasing him. They had an easy relationship and treated him like a brother. John had come to know them very well over
the past three years as he looked after their health and shared with them both the happy and less appealing aspects of their lives, and they valued his friendship and support. They joked with him about which one he was going to marry, although they all knew such a thing would never happen. He had never taken advantage of them, and they appreciated and respected him for that. They had all experienced physicians who preferred to be paid for their services in kind. To them, John was trustworthy, safe and reliable, qualities they did not readily associate with men, and they loved him for it.

In answer to his questions, Tamar swept into the room wearing a pale lavender tea gown in dupion silk with a moderately revealing neckline, above which her breasts rose becomingly. The bustle was coming back into fashion again, and her gown was contoured accordingly. Her auburn hair, swept up and falling in soft waves on either side of her face, was caught at the back with a purple silk flower. ‘Oh, hello, John. You’re here.’

‘You’re looking lovely as usual, my dear,’ he said as he rose and kissed her cheek. ‘And I have a favour to ask.’

‘Yes, of course,’ replied Tamar. ‘But first I want you to meet Riria.’ She stepped aside as the Maori girl appeared in the doorway. ‘Riria, please meet Dr John Adams. John, this is my friend, Miss Riria Te Hau.’

Tamar and Riria had been shopping and Tamar had insisted on buying Riria several outfits. Tonight she was dressed in a simple cream satin gown, its lustre complementing her coffee-coloured skin and the cut emphasising her full bust, firm waist and generous hips. Her hair was loose, as usual, and she wore a white camellia tucked behind one ear. In the light of the incandescent lamps her big, dark eyes glittered and the voluptuous line of her full lips was accentuated.

John stared at her for several seconds, his mouth open, before he remembered his manners and stepped forward.

‘Miss Te
Hau
,’ he gushed, bowing low over her hand. ‘I’m
delighted
to meet you.’

Tamar watched as Riria looked John up and down. He had closed his mouth now, but still looked like a stunned puppy. As the silence lengthened, Tamar thought, oh no, she’s going to say something mean.

She didn’t. What she said was, ‘I am delighted to meet you,
Takuta
Adams. You must be a very skilled man to have repaired Tamar’s face so artfully.’

Tamar let her breath out and smiled.

John went pink. ‘Thank you, Miss Te Hau. How kind of you to say so.’

‘You must tell me more about what you do.’

‘I’d love to!’ replied John enthusiastically, clearly thrilled with the opportunity to expound at length on his beloved work to such a captivating audience. ‘Perhaps over dinner?’

As the girls pulled faces, Tamar interjected quickly, ‘No, John, not while we’re eating. Afterwards, perhaps. Shall we go into the dining salon? I believe Eliza is ready to serve.’

As everyone stood, John exclaimed suddenly, ‘Bloody hell!’ He looked around in embarrassment. ‘I beg your pardon, ladies, but I’ve just remembered. I brought a guest, Tamar. He’s waiting outside. I wanted to check with you before I invited him in. May I?’

‘Of course, John. Go and get him. He must be wondering what on earth’s happened to you.’

‘Won’t be a minute,’ John replied, and hared off down the hall while the others seated themselves in the dining salon.

I do believe Riria has addled his mind, reflected Tamar, as she waited in the foyer for him to return.

The door opened and John came back in, followed by a tall man in his early thirties. He removed his hat and stood looking about him. His hair was a very light brown and a heavy lock flopped
untidily over his forehead above intelligent, lively, medium-blue eyes. His nose was neither big nor small, and his mouth looked kind and revealed good, even teeth when he smiled, transforming his face from pleasant to moderately handsome. He was broad across the shoulders and chest with a trim waist and long, well-muscled legs, and he was dressed for dinner. Cabbage, who had been loitering under the stairs, dashed jealously out and began to raise his leg against the man’s boot.

‘Bugger off, you horrible little animal,’ said John, aiming a gentle kick at Cabbage’s skinny rump. ‘Tamar, I’d like to introduce my friend, Andrew Murdoch. Andrew’s from Scotland — he runs a few sheep in the Hawke’s Bay.’

C
HAPTER
T
WENTY-ONE

A
ndrew visited Tamar every time he travelled to Auckland on business, and even when he did not have business, although it took Tamar almost a year to realise this. He brought her hothouse flowers, imported chocolates and small gifts. Nothing too expensive or personal, just tokens of his appreciation of their time together, he said. After the first twelve months Tamar had to admit she was coming to value his company.

Andrew was in Auckland when Polly died in her sleep in August of 1883. He was extremely supportive when Tamar broke down at the cemetery. Overcome by a flood of grief and private guilt at her relief Polly was finally at peace, Tamar had to be taken home, Cabbage cuddled tightly against her chest and her head on Andrew’s shoulder. Privately John was delighted to see something more than friendship developing between his two friends.

John himself had a fair bit to be pleased about, having fallen hopelessly and irretrievably in love with Riria. For ten months he used every flimsy excuse to visit her, and was delighted to find she had a natural gift for healing and was genuinely interested in his work. By July she was accompanying him to his weekly clinic for Maori patients who lived on the outskirts of Auckland, none of whom paid for his services with money. He rarely, however, found
himself short of
kumara
, potatoes, pork or chickens. Riria extended her stay several times and in November, John asked her to marry him. To everyone’s surprise, she accepted.