Inheritance by Jenny Pattrick Read Free Book Online

ran between the cars. Obviously saved from becoming part of the feast because of her young progeny. Off to one side smoke and steam rose from the umu. Other pigs and chickens would not have been so fortunate.
    Gertrude herself was above us, waving her cane this way and that, supervising preparations from the shade of the verandah.
    ‘Hamish!’ she called. ‘Bring them up here! The feastwill be down under the house later.’
    I let the guests of honour mount the steps first, curious to see how she would greet them. Had they become friends? John went first, smiling up at her, his steps brisk, hand already held out towards her. She leaned on her cane, waiting, smiling too, her smart green linen dress immaculate, a wide-brimmed white straw hat set perfectly straight, snowy hair pulled back tightly into a bun. Gertrude would not even understand the meaning of the word dishevelled.
    ‘John,’ she said loudly, (there would be people inside listening), ‘my dear nephew, come in come in.’ She gave him her hand and he shook it warmly. If Gertrude felt distaste at the Chinese ancestry she showed no sign. She turned to Jeanie and Stuart. For a moment she looked Jeanie up and down and then, still smiling, reached out and in one smooth movement plucked the flower from behind Jeanie’s ear and deposited it in a floral arrangement. Again her words were formal, spoken for the curious guests. ‘Welcome my dear relatives. Come in and meet everyone.’
    Simone’s loud snort over the flower went unheard, thank goodness. Our entrance was ignored. I held tightly onto my wife’s arm and steered her into the room.
    Inside, the air was close and heavily scented with frangipani blossoms. I longed to remove my jacket but Gertrude would not approve. Her windows were protected with glass louvered windows and insect screens. What breeze there was, here inland, could not circulate. Not that Gertrude would notice. Her blood, in Simone’s opinion, ran naturally icy. But that day her old cheeks were flushed. Holding John O’Dowd firmly bythe arm, she clacked her cane on the floor tiles to gain our attention.
    ‘Welcome, willkommen, talofa lava!’ she cried.
    ‘Good heavens,’ muttered Giles Metford from the High Commission, ‘She’s positively hectic. Hope she doesn’t have a heart attack.’
    Giles, overweight, and given to drinking too much, had been at the High Commission for longer than was usual for a career man. They said his career had stalled when he showed too much interest, at some function, in a high-born young woman. Not done in Samoa. Giles compensated for his less than stellar career by trying to become the prime purveyor of gossip. His privileged position at the Commission made that a dangerous habit. We all suspected he would be ‘moved on’, but year after year he stayed, becoming seedier and more rotund. A sad, if entertaining fool.
    Another rap on the floor from Gertrude. ‘Let me introduce my dear nephew, John O’Dowd from New Zealand, his daughter, Jeanie Roper, and his son-in-law, Stuart Roper. I have formally recognised them as my heirs.’
    There was such triumph in her voice. I glanced across at the celebrated Elena Levamanaia, who caught my eye and grinned back. The brother looked less amused.
    It seemed Gertrude could not wait to share her family news. Her housegirl and houseboy had scarcely begun to distribute glasses of Pimm’s and plates of sandwiches, but Gertrude held thirsty guests to attention with the odd rap of her cane as she spoke. ‘John is the sole son of my sister. Only recently I learned that she married a Chinese merchant and bore him a son. Alas, both weretragically drowned soon after the baby’s birth. John was cared for by nuns and then adopted. Now that I have become aware of his existence, I intend to make up for my neglect.’
    Giles muttered into my ear. ‘A somewhat rosy version of events.’ A statement I would certainly follow up later. I had thought the truth about John’s birth