I was very pleased to see her so interested and I know it delighted Luke.

A ship came in to the island. It was much bigger than the ferry, and there was great excitement. Tamarisk and I went down to the shore.

There was noise and bustle everywhere. Little boats went to and from the ship and a few passengers came ashore. They came over to talk to us, and told us they were doing a trip round the islands from Sydney.

They had been to Cato Cato and some others but one island, they said, was very like any other.

They were amazed to hear that we were staying here for a visit.

The children hung around and watched us talking together. The potter sold more cups and platters that after noon than he had in a month carvings, straw mats and baskets were also sold.

There was an air of sadness among the watchers on the shore when the ship departed.

The ship had brought some mail to Casker’s and there was a letter from Crispin and one from Aunt Sophie.

I took them to my room because I guessed that reading them would be something I must do when I was alone.

Crispin first:

My dearest, How I miss you! Will you come home? Leave everything and come now. I know I am going to settle this matter one way or another. I am going to make her agree to a divorce. I can divorce her. She deserted me to go off with a lover. I have all the evidence I need. I have set a lawyer working on it.

I cannot tell you how dreary it is here without you. There doesn’t seem to be any point in anything. What I want is for you to take the next ship home. Even then, think how long it would take. But if only I knew you were on the way.

It is going to be all right, though: I am going to find a way out of this mess. If only she had stayed away . for ever. But never doubt that I shall find a way. And when I have, if you haven’t returned, I shall come out there to get you.

I know you are unhappy as I am. In a way I am glad you are. I couldn’t bear it if you ceased to care for me. I would never have left you, you know, whatever had happened. I beg of you, come home soon.

Your aunt is missing you very much. I know she is very unhappy. I think she agrees with me that you should never have left us.

My love for ever, Crispin.

I knew from Aunt Sophie’s letter that she too was questioning the wisdom of my departure.

We miss you very much [she wrote]. Poor Crispin is most unhappy. He really loves you, Freddie. This separation is breaking his heart, I can see. He is not one to love lightly. When he does his feelings go deep. I fancy he is a little cross with me because I told you I had seen Kate Carvel. He has to blame someone, poor dear. He says he will find some way of getting rid of her. He speaks with such conviction that I believe he will. After all, she left him. I don’t know what the position is exactly, but I pray that all will come right.

He needs you, Freddie. You would think that he was in complete command, able to look after himself. On the surface he is, but I know how he is suffering. It seems to me so cruel that one action taken impetuously in youth can spoil a life. But he won’t let it, and I fancy he is a man who gets his own way.

Dearest child, I hope you and your father are getting along happily together. I have no doubt of it knowing you both so well. He is delightful, isn’t he? Do let me know.

And, Freddie, I believe you should think of coming back. Your father wanted to see you. Is he ill? I should like to have news of him. Don’t keep anything from me. I sense something is wrong in his letters. It was one reason why I urged you to go, although I did think it would be better for you to be away until Crispin had sorted this thing out.

But now you should think about coming home. I know you have only just got there, but if you could write and tell me when, I think that would help Crispin a great deal.

Take care of yourself, my love.

God be with you, and much love to you, AS.

I read the letters several times. I thought of the many miles which separated us and that I must go back soon.

My father said to me: “You have heard from home?”

“Yes.”

“It’s saddened you. You are homesick, aren’t you?”

“I suppose I am.”

He put his hand over mine and held it for a moment.

“Should you tell me?” he said.

So I told him. I told him everything from the beginning: my first meeting with Crispin, when he had made that unfortunate remark; of Barrow Wood, my work in the estate office and the love which had grown up between us. I told of the return of Crispin’s wife and our shattered plans; and I explained that Crispin had wanted to go ahead and had planned not to tell me.

“Yes, and that shocked you,” said my father.

“I think that is the root of the uncertainty. You love him very much, don’t you?”

“Yes, I do.”

“And at the same time you are not entirely sure of him.”

“I am sure that he loves me. But…”

“But… ?” he prompted.

“There is something. I can’t explain it. It’s there. Even before this it was there.”

“Some secret?”

“I suppose that is what it is. It sometimes seems like a barrier. It is because we are so very close, because I know him so well that I am aware of it. But at times I feel I just can’t get beyond it.”

“Why did you not ask him?”

“It seems strange, but there has never been any mention of it. It is something which is on his mind, something he does not want me to know.

And then this happened and he admitted that he would have gone on with our marriage without telling me that he was not in a position to marry me. This other thing seemed more real to me then. “

“You have explained,” he said.

“I think you love him without completely trusting him. Is that it?”

“I feel there is some secret he will not tell me … something important.”

“About his first marriage?”

“No. He believed, as everyone else did, that his wife was dead. That was why it was such a shock when she returned … as much of a shock to him as to any of us.”

“So it is something of longer standing. Some dark and shameful secret.

You think this of him, and yet you love him? “

“Yes. It must be so.”

“Love is more important than anything else on earth, you know.

“Faith, Hope and Charity, and the greatest of these is Charity.” And charity is love. It’s true. If you have love you need very little more. “

“I want to know what this thing is.”

“It was there when you promised to marry him. Yet you were happy and thought of spending your life with him.”

“Yes. When I was with him I could forget these misgivings. They seemed vague, fanciful and silly.”

“Some people are afraid of happiness. They regard it with suspicion.

It is too wonderful to be real, they think, and they look for flaws.

Have you done that, do you think? “

“Perhaps. But I am not sure. There ;s something there, and it haunts him.”

“He will tell you. When you are married to him and he has lost his fear of losing you. He will tell you.”

“Why should he be afraid to tell me now?”

“For the same reason that he was not going to tell you his wife had returned. Because he fears above all things to lose you.”

“It is dishonest.”

My father smiled shrewdly and said: “It is love, and did we not agree that there is nothing in life so wonderful as true love?”

I wrote to both Crispin and Aunt Sophie. I had not told Aunt Sophie that my father was blind. I sensed that he would have done so himself had he wanted her to know. The letters would be ready next time a boat called to take them back to Sydney where they would have to make the long journey to England. It would be a long time before they reached their destination.

I was convincing myself that I must go home. They were both asking me to, and whatever the outcome, I must be there.

Tom Holloway was a frequent visitor. Karia welcomed visitors. Luke and the Havers often came now. Karia was sure they did not get enough to eat at the mission house. They employed only two servants and Karia feared that Muriel was too concerned with the spirit to think much of bodily needs.

Luke was always overjoyed to come. The optimism he had shown on the ship had faded considerably. There were many alterations he wanted to make to the mission house and this presented a difficulty as he did not want to override the Havers, and although they were not the most forceful of people, they had firm ideas.

Tamarisk had already lured the children into the mission house and many of them were regular visitors now. But they came to see Tamarisk and, although she tried them with the story of the Good Samaritan, they still demanded Little Red Riding Hood and the Big Bad Wolf.

Poor Luke! He was so dedicated, so anxious to do the work he felt needed to be done.

One afternoon Tom took us over to see the plantation. There were Tamarisk, Luke and myself. As we walked through the tall trees we saw kernels of the nuts exposed to the sun, and Tom took us into the shed where they were making the coconut matting which formed a large part of the business, and to the office where his assistant sat working.

We saw his living quarters. They were quite spacious and well-furnished. I guessed Karia would have arranged that. He had one servant, who brought us a fruit drink as we sat on a verandah looking out over the plantation.

Tom asked about the mission and Luke explained the indifference of the people and the difficulty of getting through to them.