Inheritance (25 page)

‘Why does he have to come back?’ she said. ‘How can he think we can go on together? He knows I can’t stand him any more.’ She ran her hands through her hair and shuddered. ‘Can’t stand him anywhere near me.’

A crack of thunder underlined her mood. It was so perfectly timed I had to smile. She turned on me, fierce as a cat. ‘Hamish, this is no laughing matter. I am desperate, in case you haven’t noticed. Desperate. I never thought he would have the nerve to come back.’

Perhaps she felt she had been too outspoken. The rain and her outburst stopped at the same time. As the trees dripped outside and the sun reappeared, she sat again and we talked quite calmly about selling the plantation and the possibility of citing cruelty in a divorce proceeding. Certainly Simone and I had seen evidence of his violence towards her. If there was something she was holding back, it was none of my business. So I thought.

After she left, I had a rather cowardly thought, and looked up the Act to make sure my memory was correct. Indeed it was. Since Jeanie and Stuart were married in
New Zealand, and had lived in Samoa for less than two years, any divorce proceedings would need to be dealt with in New Zealand. Rightly or wrongly, I decided to put all knowledge of divorce out of my head and to go ahead with the sale of my client’s plantation.

Naturally enough, Stuart’s return and rejection was the talk of the town. His appearance in the first month or two was rather gruesome – it was difficult to look at him squarely. The reconstructed ear swollen and red, the skin a different, furrier texture, the whorls quite imprecise. Simone felt the doctors had been foolish to try. ‘Those men they just want to experiment for their own glory, then when it turns out ugly, send him away back to Samoa where no one will criticise!’ She had a point, though it became very clear he had come back of his own volition – earlier perhaps than his plastic surgeon may have wished. The hand had not been saved. Some days he wore a stuffed glove. Mostly he let the raw stump show.

Jeanie had gone ahead and reserved a room for him at the Casino. She didn’t meet him. Simone knew about Jeanie’s arrangements, approving her strong stand against such a bully. I must admit I felt sorry for the fellow. It didn’t seem right. He was an invalid, for heaven’s sake. Surely, he deserved some common courtesy, for a few weeks at least.

Stuart must have come on Polynesian Airlines because there was no boat that week. He arrived next door in a taxi, clearly in a bad mood. Who wouldn’t be, having
suffered the road from Faleolo in a Samoan taxi? He slammed the car door and shouted for Jeanie before even reaching the steps. Simone hurried to the verandah – shamefully eager to watch the explosions.

‘He knows what to expect,’ my wife muttered. ‘Jeanie has written all to him. Why has he not gone to the hotel?’

Jeanie did not appear. Stuart stumped up the steps with his case, banged it down on the verandah floor and wrenched at the door. Not a sound from inside. Even I was drawn into the drama by this time. Stuart hammered on the door, which was clearly locked. He disappeared around the back and we heard further shouts and hammering. The housegirl wasn’t there either it seemed.

‘He knows, he knows,’ moaned Simone. ‘Stupid man, go away.’

There was no sound for a while. Perhaps he was trying windows. Was Jeanie inside, hiding, or had she gone up to the plantation? Neither of us knew. Stuart came into sight again. He looked up and caught us prying. By this time I was wishing I was somewhere quite different. Something about the man was rather terrifying.

Over he came, a beeline through our hedge and across the lawn. I started to move inside but Simone, without a word for once, put out an arm to hold me. We both waited there as he stumped up the steps.

‘Hamish!’ he said, quite genial, holding out a hand which I shook. It was as if the last ten minutes’ ranting and frustration had never existed. But he had seen us! ‘Simone!’ For a moment I believe he thought of kissing her. ‘How good to see you again. Please forgive the
appearance. The surgeon assures me the swelling and scarring will fade.’

There was an awkward moment as he waited, perhaps expecting to be invited in. Indeed I would have, if Simone had not spoken first.

‘Your wife is not in I think,’ she said. A flat, matter-of-fact statement; not welcoming at all.

Her tone seemed to make no impression. ‘Ah,’ he said, ‘I don’t suppose you have a spare key? She’s locked the door.’

‘But Stuart,’ said my fearless wife, ’she has written to you, no? There is a room for you at the Casino, no? She has said you two are separating? So sorry, to hear this, but you will be comfortable enough at the hotel.’

She can take your breath away, Simone. I admit I could scarcely breathe for fear of what would come next. I laid a hand on her arm, which she ignored. Stuart ignored me too. The two of them were involved in some kind of ritual in which I had ceased to exist.

‘No, no, no,’ said that poor, ugly man, still smiling. ‘Nothing like that. Nothing like that at all. She must have forgotten the day. You don’t have a key? I had thought …’

In fact, we did have a key, but Simone was shaking her head. ‘Hamish will drive you down to the hotel if you would like. Jeanie said it was booked in your name.’

He stood there looking at her. No expression at all now, the geniality gone but no hint of anger. This was the first time I felt afraid for Jeanie. Perhaps the accident had damaged the mind. Something mad in that blank look.

But he shook his head. ‘I’ll wait. She’ll be back soon.’ He looked at me expectantly.

‘Would you like a drink?’ I asked. How could I not? Simone could frown all she liked, but I had my scruples too. The man deserved a drink.

He smiled and came inside. Simone brought out a little food in the end, and Stuart had more than one whisky. Twice he went back across to check and returned smiling in a strange, disquieting way. When night fell, Simone took the matter in hand.

‘She is not coming, Stuart. I think you know this. You must accept the hotel.’

Then we saw the anger. Just a flash – widened eyes; tightened jaw. He stood abruptly and I moved to protect Simone. But he was gone, he and the suitcase, down the steps and into the night. Perhaps he slept on Jeanie’s verandah with the mosquitoes, because he was there again in the morning, banging on the door. After a while he gave up and busied himself lining up a row of pawpaw on a fallen stump.

‘Oh not again,’ muttered Simone.

Stuart’s wretched target practice. He liked to stand on the verandah and take pot shots at the pawpaw, slowly demolishing them until the stump was a glistening orange mess of fruit. In season he practised on mangos, which were smaller. Simone hated the waste, hated guns, hated the noise. She banged pots in the kitchen until it was over. Where he found his rifle was a mystery. Did he travel with it?

By mid-morning he came across again. I had not liked to leave Simone alone, so had delayed going to work. Stuart looked dreadful, unshaven, greyish skin, mad pale eyes.

‘She must be up at the plantation,’ he said. ‘Do you mind if I ring?’

He must have rung five or six times but there was never a reply. I was beginning to feel rather desperate. Were we going to be stuck with him? Finally he accepted a ride to the hotel – ‘Just until I find out what has bloody happened. She must be somewhere.’

Simone said that a short half hour after I had driven him down, Jeanie turned up at the house. Goodness knows where she’d been – hiding inside or elsewhere. She didn’t tell even Simone.

That was only the beginning. Stuart stayed at the hotel, thank goodness, but turned up to the house almost every day, sometimes pleading, sometimes shouting. Often drunk. Once he came with a great bouquet of orchids. Jeanie never willingly let him in. Once he caught her off guard – forced his way past her and into the house. She ran out the back door, got into the car and drove away, with him running wildly down the drive after her. Later he returned to smash some furniture and crockery. He slept there for a couple of days, but the moment he went back to the hotel, Jeanie was there again, locking the door against him. By this time I had lost all sympathy for the fellow. He was making Jeanie’s life impossible; had become a degenerate stalker. No wonder she wanted rid of him. It was all highly embarrassing. He seemed to have lost touch with reality.

Stuart settled a little after about a month of this. The prowling visits became less frequent. It surprised me that he didn’t seek entry to the house legally. A petition may have been successful. Perhaps he had consulted
another lawyer and been told to sort it out with the New Zealand justice system. I suspect the man was all bluster and lacked any drive of a constructive nature. He fell in with some of the harder drinkers at the Club; could be seen there most evenings in a jovial mood – to put it kindly. I wondered where the money came from; there was no evidence of a job. Giles – one of his drinking mates – said some of the men felt sorry for him and were ‘helping him out meantime’.

What he meant by ‘meantime’ became clear when Stuart visited me in my office one morning. This day he was reasonably presentable – clean shirt, freshly shaved, hair trimmed. For some reason I found his genial moods more intimidating than his belligerence.

‘Hamish!’ he said. ‘Sorry to come unannounced. Mind if I have a word?’

I gestured him to a chair.

‘Man to man?’ he asked.

I took this to mean off the record and unpaid. ‘I’m acting for your wife,’ I said pointedly. The fellow had been in law; he would know the rules.

‘Well, exactly,’ he ploughed on, settling into the chair and smiling at me in a knowing way. ‘The thing is, I’m short of cash. I imagine as her husband, I’m entitled to some of the income from the plantation?’

I cleared my throat, shuffled some papers while I thought. ‘She still pays your hotel bill?’

‘Well, yes.’ He waved the stump of his wrist as if dismissing this contribution. ‘But a fellow has other expenses. Especially an invalid. Jeanie is upset in some way – goodness knows what’s got into her head. She’s avoiding me.’ He leaned forward as if to include me in a
significant truth. ‘You know, I wonder whether she has inherited her father’s depressive tendencies. She’s been acting most strangely.’

I tried to laugh at that. ‘Jeanie is certainly in her right mind. Very much so. I wouldn’t try that one on, Stuart.’

He leaned back, then. Looked at me in a calculating way. My hands were sweating. What was it about him that frightened me so much? A sort of stillness, I think. A bland intensity of expression that somehow threatened to break into violence. He was holding himself back and the effort showed.

‘You need your own lawyer,’ I said, wanting to get him out of the room. ‘When the plantation sells, he may be able to argue a portion of the value coming to you.’ I wanted to say
small
portion – or
tiny
. But I was suddenly desperate to see the back of him. He wouldn’t stay in control long, I felt.

He looked at me in amazement. ‘There’s no question of selling. Jeanie and I are here for the long haul, Hamish.’ He rose thrusting out his good hand. ‘Have a word about some cash will you? We shouldn’t need to resort to legal process.’ He looked at me pointedly, ‘Let’s have no nastiness.’

The threat was clear and we both knew it.

After Stuart left, I sat there thinking. I couldn’t quite believe he hadn’t heard that the plantation was on the market. It would be discussed at the Club, surely. Freehold plantations didn’t come up for sale often. Jeanie’s desire for divorce would also be common knowledge. Simone and her friends would have dissected it fully by now over their morning teas and during Simone’s
weekly callisthenics classes in our garden. Perhaps their husbands would avoid that topic in Stuart’s presence, but he knew. Jeanie herself had made it clear, both in letters and in legal form. Either Stuart was playing a part, or he was in complete denial. I would have to be careful to protect Jeanie and her interests. Stuart, I felt, could play very dirty if forced out of his mind-set.