14.

 

The Singapore days passed without crisis. Having made her decision, Sue went out of her way to be solicitous. It was not difficult. She massaged Ben’s ego as well as his back and persuaded him to spend money on clothes. She wanted him to look his best at the conference; she wanted him to feel confident. Something told her that the more self-confident he was, the less likely he would be to need a younger woman to bolster his ego. All part of her campaign to repossess her husband.

‘What are you doing?’ he asked as she slipped into the shower with him one afternoon. ‘I’ll be out in a moment. There’s only room for one.’ She had to show him her purpose; it did not require much room. Her husband was naive, she decided; a prude, even – she had been a long time reaching this conclusion. But the traits did have an endearing quality. Sue was determined to surprise Ben, to keep him slightly off balance. She wondered what would happen if she did something more outrageous – she was not sure what; she wondered what it would take to disgust Ben rather than turn him on.

Each air-conditioned morning they woke in a tangle of sheets and limbs. As planned, they drank gin slings in the Writer’s Bar at Raffles and ate the most adventurous dishes they could find at food-stalls in China Town. They walked for miles in the hot, moist air, taking refuge in air-conditioned shopping complexes and restaurants when they started to wilt, or returning to their hotel for a siesta; it was a luxury to make love in the afternoon. On Emerald Hill, away from the crowds, they admired the colonial houses of the pre-war British administration, while, with hundreds of others from many nations, they gazed at the Merlion, recently repositioned to guard the harbour entrance. They noted how westernised Singapore had become since their last visit, and mourned together the loss of so many old buildings, acknowledging all the while that they could not expect people to live in continuing squalor so they could exclaim, ‘Oh, how picturesque. How traditional.’

But, most importantly, they were gradually rediscovering each other. They talked and laughed as they had not done in years. Sue felt noticed and appreciated, felt herself unfolding, becoming more expansive. She was bolder in expressing her opinion, even when it differed from Ben’s. And, much to her delight, Ben listened; he seemed to find her interesting.

It was as if time had rolled back. Sue wondered how they had reached such a nadir, without even noticing the downward slope. Almost to the point of no return.

It was a much more optimistic, relaxed and sensuous Sue who stood in the immigration queue at Heathrow Airport. A long, winding snake of a queue, multicoloured, multiethnic, its head directed by an exasperated and officious little Cockney woman, nearly as wide as she was high.

‘You’d think our sole purpose in being here was to cause her angst,’ Sue whispered in Ben’s ear, the scent of his aftershave arousing in spite of her weariness, or, maybe, because of it. She would have liked nothing better than to slip between crisp, cool sheets with Ben, right there, in Immigration.

Akaroa,

9th February, 1843.

Ma chère Maman,

The memory of this day will always arouse the strongest of emotions for us. Today, the English Magistrate, Mr. Robinson, raised the British flag next to his house, signifying that it stands on British land! Can you imagine the betrayal we feel? There are still only five or six British families here. Mon Dieu! We French are the people who have slaved on empty bellies! It is we who have wrested arable land from inhospitable scrub to establish a homeland for ourselves, as we thought, in the name of France. And, worse, it seems that Captain Lavaud and the Company may have been aware of this all along and kept it from us. Such perfidy!

Ah, Maman. What will Papa say about his daughter and grandson being British subjects? Claude is so angry he can scarce contain himself. It was all I could do to prevent him taking an axe to the flagpole.

I am most despondent. We still have our land – although the Nanto-Bordelaise Company holds title to it – unless the British decide it should be confiscated. Here I am, expecting the arrival of our second child at any time, and we are in a most insecure situation. Yet, in other ways, we have never been better off. Peace continues with the local Maoris, at least for now. It seems their recent show of strength was mere posturing, thanks be to God. And relations with the British here in Akaroa have been congenial and cooperative until this point.

Break the news to Papa gently. Assure him it is a situation not of our making and that we are not in danger. Let Papa see that I have not betrayed him.

Love to you all,

Your Bibi

It took forty-five minutes before Sue and Ben stood in the arrival hall with their trolley of luggage. Sue scanned the sea of faces. She noticed her heart pounding in her throat. She should not feel nervous; this was her young sister she was searching for. Her only remaining family.

Then she saw them. Her breath caught at a glimpse of Jayne’s fair curls and smile bobbing behind a row of tall, brightly-dressed West Indians, her hand raised and waving. ‘There’s Jayne,’ she gasped, darting ahead of Ben. ‘And Nigel, too.’ She stopped at the barricade, as Jayne pushed her way to the front. They embraced, the waist-high steel and glass a barrier pressing between them.

In that moment, as at their father’s funeral, Sue felt a deep desire for a sister, her sister. Suddenly she realised that never before had she thought of herself as needing Jayne. It had always been the other way around: Jayne had needed her.

‘Come on, you two. Let’s get out of here,’ Nigel called from behind.

Reluctantly, Sue relinquished Jayne, who continued to cling, her face stained with tears. Perhaps Jayne was as much in need of a sister as Sue.

‘Women,’ said Nigel, with an expression Sue was unable to read. ‘Anyway, how are you, Ben? Good to see you.’ He shook Ben’s hand firmly.

‘And you.’ Ben’s response was more restrained.

Jayne took Sue’s arm and steered her towards the parking building, the men trailing with the luggage. ‘It’s a good time to be here. We’re in the middle of a heatwave,’ Jayne said, blowing her nose. ‘It’s so humid.’ How English, Sue thought; when emotion threatens, revert to discussing the weather. Still, her sister had spent half her life here; she could not expect it to have had no effect.

Sue actually thought the air mild and dry after Singapore, but did not say so. Instead she said, ‘It’s a novelty to be here in the middle of good weather, rather than having just missed it.’

‘Now, now,’ said Jayne. Naa-oo, naa-oo. Sue was always amused by Jayne’s accent. The rounded and elongated Pommy vowels, combined with a slight nasal drawl, were even more conspicuous face to face than on the telephone. More English than the English, their father used to say. Sue gazed at Jayne’s profile: sharp features softened by a fall of ash-blonde curls, short upper lip and prominent even teeth. Add to that her lean but shapely figure and you could think her a model. And brainless. But you’d be mistaken. Jayne did wear her clothes with ease, though; today, low-slung cargo-pants. There was envy in Sue’s eye, she knew, as she followed her sister between the cars. She wondered at two sisters being so different.

The density of the traffic and the cheek-by-jowl housing struck Sue anew. It both intrigued and closed in on her, delighted and appalled her. She leant forward against the webbing of the seatbelt to peer up at the façades as they passed, one High Street much like another: shops with no verandas; hanging baskets of red and blue petunias and white alyssum decorating quaint brick pubs. Window boxes of geraniums studded rows of dull terrace housing and the occasional rose thrust its head over the clipped hedge of a tiny front garden. The colourfulness of summer banished the winter grey Sue remembered so well.

A final right turn brought them off Thurlow Park Road into a street of neat, late-nineteenth-century semi-detached houses that had escaped the bombing raids of World War II. Each had a small, well-tended front garden with a bay window protruding into it. Sue admired the detailed plasterwork, picked out in white against brick above the bay window and entrance arch. A bearded white head gazed paternally down as she followed Jayne into the tiled entrance porch. Jayne swung the door wide and stood aside. The lead lights cast a golden glow down the hallway.

‘Come on through. Let me show you our home.’ Jayne hugged Sue tightly. ‘I can’t believe you’re really here.’ She pulled away. ‘I’d better stop, or I’ll start crying again.’ She sniffed and laughed and blew her nose, all at once. Sue had not expected such a show of emotion. It did not fit with her recollection of her sister. Granted it was a recollection primarily founded on Jayne’s adolescence, an adolescence that seemed to have extended well into adulthood. Sue herself was feeling surprisingly numb; so much had happened in the last months. Her energy was sapped; she was so tired.

‘I nearly wasn’t here,’ she said. ‘Well, I might not have been.’ Jayne clung to her again and shed tears into her hair.

‘I was so scared when you told me. Even though it was all over,’ Jayne whispered. Sue winced; she felt bad that she had thought Jayne self-centred at the time: wrapped up in herself, rather than feeling what the cancer scare might be like for Sue. ‘I mustn’t let Nigel see me like this,’ Jayne added. ‘It upsets him.’

Tough, thought Sue. But she had not seen Jayne so constrained by another’s feelings before. Had Nigel tamed the shrew, or was she merely growing up?

The time passed in a blur of preparing food, eating, drinking, walking it off, talking about neutral subjects – usually as a foursome. The nights and early mornings were balmy. In spite of the Singapore stopover, Sue found herself falling asleep over dinner on the terrace at dusk, yet wide awake at 3am.

The first morning, unable to sleep again after an hour of trying, she slipped out of bed, crept down the stairs, stepping carefully to one edge of the treads, and let herself out into the garden. In the nascent dawn she sat on a wooden bench under the pear tree, halfway down the long, narrow section. Looking up, towering deciduous trees created a vista that extended beyond the confines of the fences. A bird feeder hung from the lowest branch of the pear tree, perhaps to entice the birds to eat seed-mix instead of the fruit. As the dawn expanded, Sue watched a grey squirrel run along the fence and, with a wary eye, jump across to hang upside down and steal grain from the feeder. He was so perfect, straight from a Beatrix Potter book. Sue really was in England. She could have reached out and touched the squirrel. His tiny, dark paws scooped grains from the cylinder and daintily stuffed them into his mouth, whiskers quivering and a spray of seed falling on the path. Sue sat like Lot’s wife until the small creature had eaten his fill. The still, grey air was heavy and redolent with unfamiliar birdsong.

Sue felt a long way from home. She wondered if this might be how Brigitte had felt sitting and listening to strange birdcalls in Akaroa – bellbird, tui, karoro, morepork – on the opposite side of the world from her home, from Sue now. Did Brigitte miss her family? she wondered. Did she have family to miss? Or had she had nothing to lose?

Sue was missing her family, even though half of it was here with her. She wondered what Jason and Charlie were doing and then thought perhaps she might rather not know. She and Ben had rung twice, but both times they were out. Rachel said they were fine and not to worry, to just enjoy themselves. Sue wondered if she could trust Rachel, but really she had no option.

Monday would see Ben heading to South Kensington and the conference, while Sue and Jayne headed to Gatwick Airport. Jayne had succeeded in booking cheap seats to Paris and not-so-cheap seats back to London from La Rochelle.

The sun climbed rapidly over the slate roofs of the row of semis. Sue heard a toilet flush and water gurgle through hundred-year-old pipes. Shortly, the drapes at an upstairs window were drawn back and Jayne paused in the frame, stretching, her slim waist and hip-bones displayed between pyjama top and bottom. She still looked like a child. Catching sight of Sue in her nightgown below, she pushed up the sash window, waved, and called in a stage whisper, ‘You’re up early. Didn’t you sleep?’

Sue shook her head and gestured that it did not matter.

‘I’m going for a run. Before it gets too hot,’ Jayne added, glancing up at the cloudless, blue sky. ‘Want to come, Suzie?’ Sue gave her sister a benign, Madonna-like smile and gently shook her head once more. ‘Won’t be long. Make yourself a cuppa, if you want. There’s Earl Grey in the cupboard.’

In that moment, Sue felt more like Jayne’s mother than her sister.

Breakfast was on the terrace. ‘We may as well take advantage of the weather,’ said Nigel, as he set the table, complete with white linen napkins and silver rings.

Sue felt ready to go back to bed, in spite of a shower and efforts to mask the dark rings under her eyes. By contrast, Jayne was bouncing and beautiful, obviously enjoying being hostess in her own home, her new house, the first they had owned. Sue felt old and dowdy. Well, she was older, but not that much – only five years. She would feel better when she was over the jetlag and her hair settled down, she reassured herself. Going to France would be a welcome respite. Jayne and Sue had spent so little time in each other’s company as adults. Perhaps they would get to know one another better – now they were orphans, cut loose in the big, wide world. It was a funny feeling. Even though she was used to the pall of death, had grown into adulthood with it, the loss of two parents was exponentially greater than the loss of one. Sue had not expected it to be like this, not at her age – middle age. It was perplexing: at the same time as feeling old, she also felt more child-like; conscious of being the child of parents no longer available. Suddenly, her position as the older sibling seemed too great a responsibility. All she really wanted to do was sleep.

The aroma of steeping coffee brought her back to present surroundings.

‘… made you decide to buy?’ she heard Ben say.

‘We had to get a foot in sometime, or it would be impossible, the way prices are going,’ Nigel explained. ‘Think of it as compulsory saving.’

‘That’s the accountant speaking.’ Sue noticed a sharpness in Jayne’s voice.

‘You agreed.’

‘I know. And I love it. Don’t know why we didn’t do it years ago instead of paying those astronomical rents.’

‘We didn’t do it because – ’

‘I know. I know.’ Jayne silenced Nigel with a gesture and a brittle laugh. They’d obviously been through it a million times. ‘Buying meant moving further out, into suburbia. But it’s grown on me.’

‘Next thing you’ll be having kids,’ said Sue. Nigel and Jayne both busied themselves in silence with the complex task of buttering toast, and Sue realised she had said the wrong thing. Obviously there was no connection between the antics they had heard last night and the task of procreation. ‘I hate to think what would happen if we had to move,’ she said in an attempt to make amends. ‘I doubt that Ben could be dug out of his study, anyway.’ She playfully punched Ben’s bare forearm, which was conveying toast, spread with shreds of translucent marmalade, to his mouth. ‘Oops. Sorry.’ She knew she had overstepped the mark. It was as if she were watching herself from some remove, able to see what was about to happen, but powerless to intervene. She seemed to be oscillating between being half asleep and over-the-top. She reached across with her serviette to wipe marmalade off his cheek.

‘Don’t. I can do it.’ Ben frowned. ‘What is it – being upside down in the Northern Hemisphere?’ Sue silently thanked him for trying to turn her blundering into a joke.

Sue felt the urge to talk with Jayne about their father, but the opportunity somehow never arose. Jayne seemed to make sure of that. In a way, it did not surprise Sue. Her sister’s relationship with their father had stalled when she left home. It had been so fraught at that time that Sue could only guess at the complexity of feelings that might remain on his death. She supposed Jayne would raise the matter when she was ready; if she was ready. In the meantime, her own need to talk was Sue’s problem; she could not impose it on Jayne.

Instead, that night she lay in bed talking with Ben, both unable to sleep. Her husband had become a good listener.

‘I saw Dad last night,’ said Sue. She paused, waiting to be told she was crazy. When Ben grunted his interest, she continued, ‘I was on some sort of commercial wharf with big barrels standing around, when he appeared from nowhere. He looked old but active, not dying. He came towards me smiling, a big grin that said “Surprise!” and “It really is me.” My stomach turned upside down. I knew he had died, but he seemed real. I wanted to believe it was him but at the same time, I felt angry to think he had been hiding from me all this time. I reached out and balled his jersey in my hand, feeling the texture of the knit between my fingers and the firmness of his flesh beneath, and was convinced.’

‘And?’

‘And that was all. But it left me with a very warm feeling when I woke. Right here,’ she said planting a fist firmly between her breasts.

‘That’s good,’ said Ben.

‘You must be fed up with my going on and on.’

Ben’s answer was to draw her close and quiet her with his lips. It felt he was devouring her, his lips and tongue soft, his teeth like chiselled stone. His fingers were woven with her hair and his thumbs softly traced the line of her cheekbones. With gentle pressure, he rolled her onto her back. ‘Oh, my sweet woman,’ he murmured as her body opened to him. ‘You’re all I ever want.’ A glow of contentment spread through Sue. She felt at peace; she felt victorious. She abandoned herself to his rhythmical thrust – quietly, constrained by knowing her young sister was on the other side of the wall.

The following day, Monday, dawned without Sue. She was relieved when she opened her eyes to see the sun already filtering through the curtains, spearing slowly-falling dust motes with its needles. Ben stirred beside her as the seven o’clock news blared forth from Jayne and Nigel’s room.

‘Oh, God. Turn it down.’ It was Jayne’s voice. They had stayed up late, talking and supping, in spite of reminding one another at regular intervals that they all had an early start next morning.

Four zombies rotated through the bathroom exchanging grunts in passing. Looking, if not feeling, more human, they were soon seated for breakfast. Not the make-your-own, stand-at-the-bench weekday breakfast, as featured in the Spencer household; the table had been laid the night before in anticipation of the morning rush.

Nigel and Ben were the first to depart, both taking the train to Victoria Station, where their paths would diverge. Nigel and Jayne worked at Canary Wharf in one of the new glass corporate buildings overlooking the waterway. Ben would take the District or Circle Line two stops west to South Kensington. Sue watched Jayne, on tiptoes, kiss Nigel goodbye as he waited for Ben, one hand on the door, laptop-briefcase in the other. ‘Enjoy yourselves,’ he said, including Sue in the sweep of his imperative.

Sue stepped across the hall and kissed his cheek. ‘We intend to.’ She turned to Ben who was struggling down the stairs with his trundler, laptop and canvas shoulder bag. ‘You okay there?’ she asked him. ‘You’ve got the hotel phone numbers in Paris and La Rochelle? I left them on your night table.’

‘All here,’ Ben said, patting the canvas bag. ‘Don’t fuss.’

‘Hope your paper goes well. It will. I know it will.’

He bent forward to kiss her, pursing his lips. ‘Sorry. No hands.’

Sue hugged Ben to her for a long moment, reluctant now to be parted from him. She would miss him, but, more than that, she wondered how they would weather the separation. The relationship felt solid now. They were enjoying each other again. Only time would tell the strength of the bond; and time together seemed safer at this stage than time apart. ‘Ring me,’ she said. Then, not wanting to seem clingy, she added, ‘When you have time.’

‘Come on.’ Nigel was restive. ‘It’s a seven-minute walk to the station.’

Jayne closed the door behind them. ‘Yippee! We’re on holiday,’ she shouted. ‘Now, let’s get our bags into the car. We’re in good time, but you never know about traffic. Roadworks, an accident … ’

Akaroa,

18th September, 1843.

Ma chère Maman,

How wonderful to receive mail, not only from you, but also from Sophie. Such a lovely surprise! Your letters have barely left my hand since they were placed there, and even then, they rest not far away in my apron pocket. Sophie tells me of her young man, Maman. I hope he does not cause a further tear in Papa’s heart by taking her far from home when they marry. Let us pray that they both retain their positions at the château, so that they remain nearby.

Sophie also tells me, Maman, which you do not, that Papa is poorly. This troubles me – both that he is ill and that you do not tell me. If your intention is to save me from fretting, it is most unsuccessful. I was quite overwhelmed that he added his name to your good wishes, though saddened by his frail hand. It is hard to picture the changes that must be taking place in him. I still see Papa as he was when I left – strong, well-meaning, though not a man easily swayed by argument.

I am learning that being a wife is fraught with difficulties. I am sure you have known this for many years, Maman. I am married to a man with attributes surprisingly similar to my father. One must have the patience of a saint and learn how to direct with subtlety. Also, to know remorse signifies little.

The children are my pride and joy. Marie is such a sweet, placid baby (like her name-sake, my dear Maman!), robust and healthy, so much easier than Jules at the same age. Jules is becoming quite the little man now. He has a lot of words at his disposal and sometimes says the funniest things. He wants to go off with his Papa and chop trees and he carries around a little wooden axe Claude made for him. There was quite a performance last night when I refused to allow him to take it into his bed. I was sorry in the end that I had insisted, because Claude took the axe and broke it across his knee. He said Jules has to learn. I suppose he is right. But the child’s sobs were as an axe to my heart. Hopefully, Claude will relent in a few days and make him another. Sometimes I think to myself he takes too much pleasure in disciplining our son.

My pupils, too, give me much satisfaction. We passed the winter well, using the Priests’ House as a schoolhouse. Claude would set and light a fire for us before he went off each morning in the milling gang and by the time I arrived with our children and the pupils started straggling in, the house would be quite cosy. Now that it is spring, we sometimes have lessons outside on the veranda or under the cabbage trees, if the ground is dry. The air is so sweet and the light so clear. When we are outside, particularly if the children are reading aloud or singing, Maori children come and squat nearby, filled with curiosity. I sometimes beckon them over, but they are very shy and keep their distance or even run away.

We live frugally and save our coins, as you have taught, Maman. Whether or not we return to France at the end of five years, we want to have saved a nest egg to help us on our way.

Our fruit trees are in blossom at present, and are now just tall enough to sit beneath. On Sunday, we had a picnic spread on rugs beneath the trees in our garden with the de Malmanche and Libeau families. We made quite a celebration of it.

Maman, I would tell you more but I want this letter to catch the ship before it sails again. So I shall end here. Please tell me honestly the family news, the bad with the good. I need to know I can trust what you say when your words finally arrive here.

Please thank Papa for his good wishes and give him my love. Obviously, my letter telling that I am to be a British subject has not yet arrived. I fear for his equanimity when it does. In the meantime, I will take pleasure in being at one with him again. (Please forgive the smears – I can hardly see as I write.)

Thank Sophie, too, for her letter. I will write to her soon. Love to the children and to yourself. Jules says: “Au ’voir, G’an’mère.”

Your Bibi

The trip to Gatwick was uneventful and the flight to Paris over almost before it had begun.

‘Tell me about your new job,’ Sue said to Jayne as clouds obscured the view and they settled down for the flight.

‘It’s hardly new. I’ve been there nearly four months.’

‘That isn’t new?’

‘Not in my world.’ Impatience showed in Jayne’s voice and Sue wondered what sort of a colonial hick her sister must think her.

‘Well, do you think I might be capable of understanding what you do nevertheless?’ Sue had not intended to be sarcastic, and shame surged even as the words left her mouth. Jayne scowled, seeming to debate whether to take offence. ‘I’m sorry. I’m interested. Really.’ Sue hoped Jayne would not sulk; they had a long time to spend in each other’s company.

Jayne started to explain grudgingly, but rapidly warmed to the subject. She had been shoulder-tapped by another firm of investment bankers with a view to leading a new team once she had completed her orientation. The bank was to take on a Moscow-based contract to help them set up an IT system. It would be the job of her team to oversee the installation and then trouble shoot as necessary.

‘It’s really quite exciting. More money.’

‘And many trips to Moscow, I suppose,’ added Sue, unable to disguise the envy in her voice.

‘After a while, it’s just a nuisance. A long commute,’ said Jayne.

‘A nuisance I could cope with for a while,’ said Sue. ‘What about Nigel?’ she said after a pause while they accepted a snack from the cabin attendant.

‘What about Nigel?’ asked Jayne.

‘What does he think about your tripping about on your own?’

‘Sue, where have you been the last twenty years?’

‘Bringing up children, actually.’ If she sounded snippy, she meant to be. They lapsed into silence. They both retreated into the pages of the in-flight magazine. ‘What are you and Nigel planning as your next get-away?’ she asked after a time.

‘Hiking in the Swiss Alps. The week after you leave. Just a long weekend. It’s as much time as I can afford to take after this. Moscow is very happy. We’ve just completed phase one, and I got a nice fat bonus.’ A smug smile played around Jayne’s lips. Still, she deserved to be pleased with herself.

‘You’re doing really well in your work. Dad would have been proud,’ Sue said, but she could see the uncertainty her words generated in Jayne’s eyes. ‘He would,’ she said more firmly.

Jayne shrugged. ‘If you say so.’ She dropped her eyes and flicked through the pages of the magazine too fast to be reading them. Sue wondered if they would ever be able to talk about anything that truly mattered.

Akaroa,

5th October, 1844.

Ma chère, chère Maman,

My heart floods with tears, mingling with the salt of the sea as it washes to your shore. Cher Papa! Gone! I struggle to accept it. Please tell me his decline was not hastened by news of our becoming British. I feel so far away from you, not just on the other side of the world, but in quite another world. Were it not so, it would be inconceivable that life could have continued as usual here for the last six months with Papa lying cold in the ground. It is so precious to me that I have his greetings in his own hand from your last letter – the pages have become so worn. I was dreading to hear his reaction to the news of our changed status, but this is much, much worse.

How will you manage, chère Maman? I wish I could be there to help. Perhaps Sophie and her young man can live with you now that they have married. Oh, such sadness. He was a good man. Fixed in his views, but a good man. He provided well for his family in difficult times and had aspirations for us all. I am sorry to have disappointed him. But he would have been proud of his grandchildren. The days are lengthening, leaving me longer to reflect on the past and what we have lost. My garden blooms with colours less intense than other years.

We all send our love to you and the children. Claude specifically asked that I send his condolences. Ma chère, chère Maman. I think of you always.

Your Bibi

Sue had not anticipated the surge of emotion that swept over her landing at Charles de Gaulle airport. She had been to France before, more than once, but this time it felt different. Like a homecoming – perhaps that was too strong, but there was a novel sense of connectedness, of belonging, this time. Sue opened her mouth to say something of this to Jayne, but snapped it shut again. Jayne was already gathering her belongings. Always in a rush, Jayne. Matter of fact, her show of emotion when Sue arrived an anomaly quickly sealed over.

For Jayne, France was a place to visit for a well-earned holiday. A place of culture, art and chic. Sue noted the blonde curls pulled back into a sophisticated knot, the T-shirt and jeans dressed up with a white denim, cropped jacket and heeled, bejewelled sandals; middle management declaring she was on holiday. She wore flamboyant glass earrings and carried a Gucci bag. By contrast, Sue was in jeans and sneakers with a light polar fleece jacket and a day-pack.

Sue felt they were worlds apart.

Akaroa,

23rd April, 1845.

Ma chère Maman,

It is with a heavy heart I bring you our decision. As you will realise, it has been confronting us ever more urgently as the five years of our contract with the Company have neared their end. We have worked diligently developing our land and it is fertile and productive, providing us with a comfortable living. A new and bigger house is being built for us, separate from our cultivated land, and my school is thriving. The climate and fresh air benefit our youngsters. Both now grow strong and healthy – like young rabbits, bigger and plumper every day. And I am again with child.

You will have guessed, chère Maman, that we feel we cannot forsake all this in favour of returning to France. Please do not be cross with me. You know how I miss you still. It is a decision which has not been arrived at easily, but with many tears and much prayer. I think of you being without Papa, and wish I could be there with you. But I have other responsibilities as well and must trust that Sophie will take good care of you.

The Company is to withdraw before long. In preparation for leaving, M. Belligny has signed over ownership of our land to us. Listen, Maman: “In that Claude Dujardin has completed his requirements in the agreement, I, St. Croix de Belligny, transfer to him unconditionally all legal rights of ownership to the five acres which were allocated to him, for his exclusive use and enjoyment.” Dated 6th April,, 1845. Imagine that, Maman! We are now landowners!

I will be sorry to see M. Belligny go. He has become a good friend. In the early days, there were times when there was ill feeling, when his hands were tied by the restrictions placed upon him – and, therefore, us – by the Company. But he always did his best and with a good will. And now he has done his best to ensure our security before leaving.

All but one of the families has made the decision to remain. Jacques and Jeanne Cébert are leaving to settle in Samoa.

Give my love to all and a hug to Sophie’s little one. I love you, Maman.

Your Bibi