He looked down gravely and courteously and said carefully,
“
Good evening, Nurse.
”
And Jessa said as gravely and courteously and carefully back,
“
Good evening, sir.
”
CHAPTER VII
THEY took off in
Matthew Flinders
3 at nine o
’
clock the next morning.
Margaret delighted Barry by her pre-knowledge of the trip that lay before her.
“
Crescent Island is one thousand and fifty miles away northeast, and on the Tropic of Capricorn.
”
“
What products?
”
he grinned.
She smiled back at him.
“
I know that, too. The three C
’
s
—
copra, conchi, coral.
”
“
Probably tourist coral soon, founted and painted and inscribed Crescent Island, seeing we
’
re to be a holiday resort.
”
Barry sighed audibly.
“
You
’
re unhappy over that, aren
’
t you?
”
Jessa had brought her to the cockpit to be introduced, then gone aft.
“
Progress,
”
Ba retorted,
“
but then
you
would be all for progress.
”
“
Why do you say that?
”
“
You
’
re a nurse. That means a predilection for everything scientific, modern and go-ahead.
”
“
Perhaps, but it also entails love, and love is as old as the hills.
”
Margaret hesitated, then,
“
And I believe I possess that.
”
... And I believe you do, too, Ba was thinking. He took his eyes off the instrument panel a brief moment to look at her eyes. They were soft and gentle and brown. He liked this sweet quiet girl.
“
What time do we get to Crescent?
”
she asked. He shrugged.
“
Hours earlier than my dad did it, days sooner than my grandfather, but later, I fear, than the Tourist Bureau will make the trip.
”
His tone was sarcastic.
“
Their craft, also, being a sea-plane, will land right in front of the pub, which will be a tremendous attraction to the guests. This poor old bus has to take you to the little air-strip on the other side of Lopi.
”
Margaret put in eagerly,
“
Jessa
’
s beloved volcano.
”
Ba nodded.
“
You take the Station waggon then into the town.
”
“
How much of a town?
”
“
One store, one mission, one copra-drying yard, one bamboo factory for wicker furniture and the Jessamine Hotel. Oh, and a jetty. There must always be a jetty.
”
“
I think it sounds lovely.
”
Barry said offhandedly but proudly,
“
It is.
”
Margaret looked down beneath them on the diamond clarity of a Pacific morning. Sydney had looked like a goblin landscape in comparison with this vast seascape of endless blue.
She glanced over her shoulder, reluctant to leave here, feeling perhaps she should support Jessa who had taken upon herself the duty of tea.
“
You don
’
t have to go,
”
said Barry a little gruffly. That is
”
—awkwardly—
”
if you
’
d like to stop.
”
“
Oh, I would. It
’
s beautiful, it
’
s magic.
”
Ba waved an arm to a stool.
“
Sit down,
”
he said.
* *
*
Tommy Swinson was returning from boarding school for his holidays. His nose was in a comic. He was a lugubrious boy and showed no more emotion at returning home than going to school. The only difference, thought Jessa watching him over the flame of the spirit stove in the minute galley, was that he swotted history coming and read
Funny Cuts
going. Assuming, being a boy, he preferred
Funny Cuts
to history, she gave him the benefit now of being pleased to be coming back.
The missionary
’
s wife with her latest baby was the only other passenger. She had been thrilled to know she would have two nurses with her.
“
It
’
s like a royal escort,
”
she beamed.
“
King Baby should have a royal escort,
”
Jessa had declared.
She now slipped two biscuits beside Mrs. Flett
’
s tea and took it along to her. The baby slept in the Moses basket in the gangway. Jessa edged carefully round it when she took two cups out for Margaret and Ba. She opened pop for Tommy, poured her own cup of tea and went to sit beside the mother.
“
Did you want a boy, Mrs. Flett?
”
“
I just wanted a picani
n
ny,
”
smiled back the mother. She, too, looked down on the blue water, the occasional coral atoll with its fringe of white sand and reef with foam breaking over it. She said,
“
It
’
s good to be coming home.
”
Jessa had the same feeling some hours later, as, ten minutes
’
flying time from Crescent Island, the Lockheed began to lose height in a series of planned small falls.
She knew Ba
’
s landing procedure now by heart. She knew that within thirty minutes she would be home.
She saw the earth clothed in trees, rocks and umbrella palms coming up to meet them.
She rose automatically to do the things she always did for Ba, folding rugs, putting away magazines, taking down hand luggage. Tommy Swinson
’
s nose still did not move out of the comic.
“
Tom, we
’
re there,
”
she called indignantly.
“
Where?
”
Jessa
’
s eyes met Mrs. Flett
’
s despairingly. The missionary
’
s wife glanced proudly at her son as though to say,
“
This
one will grow up a different sort of picaninny.
”
The Lockheed rose a little, banked delicately, the wings tilted, the wheels touched down.
Benjamin was sitting proudly in the Jessamine station wagon. Mrs. Flett
’
s husband had travelled out with him. The Swinsons had come in their own big car.
The car pulled out, and Jessa could have sworn that Tommy pulled out yet another comic. The party in the wagon waited for
’
Ba to finish putting the Lockheed to bed.
Margaret was looking around her with keen interest.
“
As you imagined, Meg?
”
“
Not quite. One gets a set idea about South Sea Islands
“
“
I know—palm trees, frangipani, orchids, all that. You will see it, too, but this is fairly close to Lopi.
”
Jessa waved an arm to a bare rise. Even as Margaret watched, a tiny puff of steam floated idly upwards.
“
Don
’
t be alarmed, it
’
s just a smoke signal welcoming you to Crescent,
”
smiled Jessa.
“
The Tourist Bureau have even been thinking of using that as a catch phrase,
”
put in the Reverend Mr. Flett.
“
Smoke puffs from Lopi saying
‘
HAPPY YOU
’
RE HERE.
’”
“
If I know Lopi she
’
ll be «»happy,
”
said Jessa feelingly.
“
She
’
s been select for centuries (I don
’
t believe she counts us), and I
’
m sure she
’
ll hate a crowd.
”
Ba joined them, got in beside Margaret, and Benjamin
started the engine.
Once past the rather bare country surrounding the crater the scenery was wild and beautiful, the soil lush and fertile. Margaret saw her frangipanis, her palm trees and orchids.
They rimmed a mangrove bay, then came into the town. As Barry had said, there was only one store, one mission, one copra-drying yard, one wicker furniture shop, one hotel. But there was an air of new expansion about the place, and particularly about the hotel.
Jessa cried aloud in dismay at the alterations being carried out.
“
It won
’
t be the old Jessamine any more.
”
“
I told your dad that,
”
said Ba.
“
I said it should be called the Star.
”
The long white inn that faced the jetty still stood that way, but alteration pegs had been driven into the ground, and one of the five wings was already complete.
The finished building was still to be white, assured Jessa
’
s mother, hugging her daughter, greeting Margaret, peeping at the new baby, but that was the only resemblance. It would not be an island trading inn any more, it would be a luxury holiday hotel.
“
How do you feel about that, Mrs. Barlow?
”
asked Margaret, waiting for Benjamin to get her bag.
“
Excited, rather, in spite of my nostalgia; it
’
s impossible not to be. The list of V.I.P.s wanting accommodation is quite a thrill. A lot of people I
’
ve only heard about or read about are coming. Fame has settled upon us, like it or not, I fear. Incidentally, Jessa, we
’
re to be the seat of quite a few conventions. Seems that these conventions feel they can get a more unbiased viewpoint a thousand miles from what they must convene, particularly on an island, or so they write, completely disassociated with any of their home problems. Political bodies, welfare associations—and this should interest you two, even an infant society.
Margaret looked at Jessa and raised quizzical brows.
“
Will Belinda be represented?
”
she asked.
Jessa shrugged, but she was thinking quickly. A gold moon, silver stars, the scent of jessamine—what better place for a rendezvous for lovers—? And particularly dedicated ones like Margaret and Professor Gink.
Glancing up to Lopi she thought confidently that the goddess, too, would give her blessing, and that was very important. She hadn
’
t told Margaret that old legend yet.
Her mother was still chattering.
“
Oh, yes, I
’
m excited, but I still know I
’
m going to be horribly nostalgic. You can
’
t wake up for twenty-five years to a little mission on a hill from one window and a seaward reef with a cap of foam from another and not miss them both.
”
“
Won
’
t you still see them?
”
asked Margaret sympathetically.
“
If I do,
”
said Mrs. Barlow sadly,
“
I
’
ll have to move one of those guest wings about to be erected.
”
She pointed to the pegs.
Tea had been served on the wide verandah.
“
The roof is to come off, an arch of jessamine built across, and it
’
s to be called the terrace or the patio, not the verandah,
”
said Mr. Barlow to his daughter.