Wild, Wild Heart/Chapter 9

During the two hours’ drive into Wairiri, Ann chattered quite gayly with Holmes, beside whom she sat on the front seat, and with Biddy and Jo packed in amongst the luggage in the back. The little girls accepted this sudden removal quite delightedly. The excitement of going into town enthralled them. The thought of being in Wairiri gilded the pill of parting with Mummy and Dad, and Miss Merrill. But they were not really going to be separated from her, Ann told them. Mummy had had to go away, and so they would be much better at Mrs. Marley’s, and Ann herself was going to have a dear little shop and sell hats. They could visit her there sometimes, and they’d have picnics together, and lots of fun. Apparently the party from Tirau were all in the best of spirits! The journey down the coast might have been a veritable joy-ride. At any rate the children believed it to be something of the sort. They drove first to the school, where Holmes interviewed Mrs. Marley, and there the little girls were left. Now came the dreadful moment for Ann, of drawing up at the Imperial Hotel, descending with her luggage, and seeing Holmes drive away in the car. He was staying at the club. He could always run up a bill there, he remarked, with a ​smile which was both cynical and pathetic. But as Ann followed the porter up to her little bedroom on the first floor, she knew the utter loneliness and desolation of the shipwrecked mariner. The hotel was a desert island where she was stranded, with nothing to look forward to, nothing to hope for.

She reached her room, locked the door, lay down on her bed, and had a good, solid cry. After that, feeling a trifle better, she got up, bathed her eyes, unpacked, and rang for tea. Then when she had finished, as it was still early, she decided that she would waste no time, but would go out, find an estate agent, and see if she could discover a suitable room for her hat shop. And she would purchase material, and spend her evening in creating one or two Parisian models. No matter if it were weeks before she found her room—she would employ every available moment of her time when not searching for her location in manufacturing her stock-in-trade. Love, or money, seemed to be the two rival interests of most people’s lives; and money, with the majority, apparently took first place. It never would with Ann, but she couldn’t find love—not the love she wanted—and so the rest of her life should be devoted to amassing a fortune. She would make a success of her new venture, and become a rich woman.

That being settled, she jotted down a note of her resources, and a plan of campaign. After deducting the fees for the children—for the remainder of the holidays and the first term—she would have about three hundred and thirty-five pounds in ready cash. Not a very vast sum with which to start a large and flourishing business. But Ann wasn’t going to think of the difficulties. Suppose she lost all her little capi​tal in the first six months, she could still take a position as nursery governess, or lady-help. No woman willing to do household work would ever be stranded in this country. “Lady-help” was merely a euphemism for general servant; and domestic servants were almost impossible to obtain for situations in the back blocks. The few that were available remained in Wairiri itself, where life was gayer.

So, at about four-thirty, Ann left the hotel, and made her way to the nearest estate agent. Here she discovered, not without a slight feeling of dismay, that she was unlikely to secure two rooms in a good position at any rental less than four pounds a week. She took the address of one or two places, and looked at them. But they were not suitable, Then she visited the biggest draper in the main street. Again she received something of a shock. Ribbons, silks, brocades, flowers and feathers, were nearly three times the price she had been accustomed to pay in London. She went on to a smaller shop and here, where a summer sale was in progress, secured at a less prohibitive cost a few oddments and remnants which might be useful to her. She also purchased some buckram shapes which she thought she could remodel, and had them sent to the hotel. By this time it was neatly six, and all the business premises were closing. Ann returned to her little room on the first floor of the Imperial, and again got out note-book and pencil. Two hundred a year for rent, and fifty pounds at least for shop fittings and furnishing. That left her less than one hundred for her stock and her living expenses for the year. It didn’t seem an altogether promising outlook; but Ann refused to be discouraged, and she set to work at once on one of ​the hats, and continued sewing busily until the gong sounded for dinner, and she made her way down to the dining-room.

She was just finishing her fish when she looked up to see Ralston and his wife, and Nell Brunton, enter the room. Mrs. Ralston caught sight of her, nodded, and then crossed to her table.

“What are you doing here all by yourself?” she asked. “Taking a holiday?”

“Not exactly,” said Ann. “Mrs. Holmes hasn’t been very well, and has gone away for a trip. The children are at Mrs. Marley’s.”

Edith Ralston looked surprised.

“Rather sudden, wasn’t it? Vera never said anything about going away during the tournament.”

“She always makes up her mind quickly,” replied Ann.

“And what are you going to do? Shall you be returning to Tirau later?”

Ann shook her head.

“As a matter of fact, I’m thinking of starting a hat shop.”

“Here? In Wairiri?”

“Yes. Do you think there’s an opening for one?”

“Rather! You’ll make your fortune, I expect.”

Ann laughed.

“That’s what I’m aiming at. But I find expenses—rent and things—much higher than I thought they would be.”

“Will your shop be open before Race Week?”

“I don’t know when that is.”

“The Wairiri Jockey Club has a two days’ meeting at the end of this month, and the Turf Club another ​day early in February. Oh, for goodness’ sake have some pretty hats for us, for the races.”

“I’ll do my best,” said Ann.

“Don’t forget to send me a card before your opening day. We go home tomorrow—Bill and I—Nell’s staying on for a week with the Harveys; but we’ll be down again at the end of the month. All the coast people come in to Wairiri for the races.”

“Well, tell them not to buy their hats before they’ve seen mine,” said Ann.

“Of course I will—but you must let me have first choice, you know. I want something to go with a sort of pinky beige dress. I wouldn’t mind a black—not too big; but at the same time one can’t wear anything very small here in the summer. It’s too hot.”

Mrs. Ralston began an animated discussion of hats, until she saw her husband signaling to her from across the room, and departed.

Well, that sounded hopeful, thought Ann; and finishing her dinner as quickly as possible, she went back to her room, and to the study of Vogue, and one or two other fashion papers which she had bought that afternoon.

Within two days Ann had secured her shop. The rental she was obliged to pay was two hundred and fifty pounds a year. But there was a small room at the back in which she could live, and the position was good—a busy little thoroughfare running at right angles to the main street. Two doors from the building in which her rooms were situated, was one of the largest garages in the town. Most of the country people—her prospective customers—used the garage for ​their cars, and consequently would pass her place of business. And though the rent was bigger than she had anticipated, Ann was not forced to sign a lease, but took it for six months, with the option of a further tenancy. One of the greatest advantages in her eyes was the fact that the rooms were in a newly-built block, so that cream-colored paint work and distempered walls were fresh and clean. There was a basin with running water in the back room, and a gas ring. Electric light was fitted throughout.

She was alone inspecting her new domain, the morning things were settled, when there was a knock at the shop door. She had already taken the precaution of tacking sheets of brown paper over the lower part of the window facing the street, so that whatever work she had to do might be done in private. Opening the door she found Holmes in the narrow hall outside.

“I tracked you to the agent’s, and on here,” he said, as he entered.

She closed the door behind him, and they stood together in the bare little room.

“I’m off back to Tirau this afternoon,” he said.

“What do they say at the bank?”

She had seen him for a few minutes the night before. To neither of them did it appear strange that she should ask the question so frankly. The last three days had brought them strangely near to one another, and Ann knew that it was a relief to him to be able to confide in her.

“They’re behaving rather decently. I’m to carry on there as manager—for the present, at any rate. As a matter of fact, I’d rather have got right away—​taken a job in another part of the district—but I know it’s more sensible to accept their offer.”

There was something Ann wanted to know, but she would not mention it. Money affairs she could discuss with him, but not his wife. She wondered if Vera would return—or if she would follow Waring to Australia. Ann was convinced in her own mind that it was not at Waring’s instigation that Vera had left her husband. She had been driven frantic by her lover’s wish to bring his intimacy with her to an end. It would be like her to make a desperate bid for his return.

“Vera has gone to Wellington,” he said suddenly. “McMurray came into the club last night. He saw her on the Hawkeston railway platform yesterday morning. She talked of going on to Australia. Of course, McMurray thought I knew...I pretended I did.”

He spoke in short, abrupt sentences. Ann searched his face for any sign of suspicion. Waring had gone by way of Auckland; and Vera to Wellington; but from both ports steamers sailed to Sydney. No, she decided, he still did not connect Vera’s flight with Waring’s departure. There was misery in his eyes, but neither jealousy nor anger. She could think of no comment to make on his news, and after a moment he went on:

“I’m not going to try and thank you for all you’ve done. Biddy and Jo are better at Mrs. Marley’s until after...the bankruptcy. I’ll see that you get the money back as soon as possible.”

“For goodness’ sake don’t worry about that. Come and look at my premises.”

​She took him into the back room and showed him how she meant to arrange everything.

“If you’re short of cash at the start, you’ve got to let me know. I’ll raise it somehow.”

“But I’m not short—and I won’t be. I’m going to make money.”

“What a good plucked ’un you are.”

Ann knew a sudden stab at the heart when he said that. It was the phrase Rodney had used!

“Not much pluck needed to devote yourself to money-making.”

“You’ll do it too. I don’t think Fate could ever be unkind to any one like you.”

“I’ll try to believe you’re right,” said Ann smiling at him gayly.

But in her heart she knew that he was wrong. There were other things in life besides money.

She opened the shop door for him, and stood for a moment in the entrance hall bidding him good-by. Under the iron-roofed verandas extending across the pavement, they were shaded from the hot sunshine which lay in a flood of golden light on the roadway beyond. They could see the bridge to their right, and the blue of the river. Cars and carts went by in the street; then a lumbering wool-dray; a Maori riding slowly with three sheep-dogs at his horse’s heels; on the pavement a few leisurely pedestrians strolled along. No one was ever in a hurry in this little town!

Two girls passing stared at Holmes and Ann rather curiously. Then one nodded, and Ann recognized Nell Brunton.

“Good-by,” said Holmes. “I’ll send you a line to say how things are going—but I’m not likely to have much news.”

​“I’ll keep an eye on the children, and write and tell you how they are.”

He held her hand closely for a moment, and then he was gone.

During the whole of that afternoon Ann sought vainly for a charwoman. Apparently they were non-existent in Wairiri. One, who asked twelve shillings a day, said she might come in a week’s time. But as Ann wanted her floors scrubbed immediately, so that she could get them stained, she bought bucket, soap, and scrubbing brush, and leaving the hotel after dinner, went down to her rooms and scrubbed them out herself. She was not a very speedy scrubber, but she was so thorough that when she got back to the hotel she was thankful to flop into a hot bath, and was so tired that she was almost asleep before she finally tumbled into bed.

But to be doing all this rough work when her time should be spent on making hats was, Ann knew, being a penny wise and a pound foolish. She was fortunate enough to get a handy man—newly arrived from London and so not too superior to do odd jobs—the next day. He cleaned the windows, stained the floors and began the painting of a few old wooden tables and chairs which Ann had purchased cheaply in a neighboring auction-room. He had a wife too, who was willing to do some sewing. Ann blessed the day of this young couple’s arrival in New Zealand; and congratulated herself upon the fact that they were not yet “acclimatized” enough to begin their work late and leave off early. They were intelligent, hard-working, and willing to turn their hands to any​thing. The sort of emigrants who, in a few years’ time, would be living in a house of their own, and in possession of a neat little Ford.

Mrs. Hill made up the pretty curtains which Ann got for the shop and for her bedroom; stitched covers for chairs and cushioned lounge; and did many other necessary sewing jobs. Ann, in the intervals of purchasing cheap second-hand furniture and directing operations, was working furiously at her hat-making. She visited the two warehouses in the town, but found the millinery there commonplace and dowdy. She was, however, able to purchase a certain amount of stock which she could alter and re-trim. She had determined that she would never have anything but exclusive millinery. In a small town like this, boasting of less than thirteen thousand inhabitants—where nearly all her customers would know one another—she must never repeat a successful model.

Mrs. Hill was undoubtedly a “find.” She was neat, and clever with her needle, and under Ann’s directions was able to do a considerable amount to help with the hats, as well as the plain sewing.

Less than ten days after finding the rooms, Ann was ready, and prepared to begin business. She had been for some time installed in the back room, and now had forty hats ready for her first display.

The shop with its black floor and tables; its bright orange rugs; jade green wooden chairs; and cretonne- covered lounge; old-fashioned gilt mirrors; tall jars of flowers; and its array of charming hats undoubtedly looked exceedingly attractive. Anticipating a rush on the first day, Ann engaged Mrs. Hill to be in attendance; and they were both in a state of great excitement when they opened the street door at ​nine o’clock that morning. By eleven o’clock their excitement had cooled a little. Quite a number of passers-by had stopped to look in at the window, where six of the prettiest hats, and a big bowl of roses, were arranged against a background of carelessly draped jade green satin, and short black velvet curtains. But no one came in. And when Ann heard two women exclaim: “Aren’t those roses perfectly lovely!” she began to wonder for the first time if she had been unduly optimistic. By twelve, however, she had sold her first hat—one of her most expensive models—to a fat old Maori woman in a bright red and blue checked cotton dress. In spite of her disappointment Ann couldn’t help laughing. She could imagine nothing more incongruous than the dainty, lace-trimmed straw, perched upon that untidy black head, from which a man’s felt hat had been removed. Ann had firmly declined to allow her first customer to “try on” anything. The old Maori nodded good-naturedly: pointed to the pink hat, said: “I have him. How much?” produced three pound notes and three shillings, paid for the hat, put it on her head, and walked out carrying the battered felt-which she had refused to allow Ann to wrap up—in her hand.

“Perhaps that means luck,” said Mrs. Hill. “Like a black cat.”

“But she wasn’t black, ” objected Ann. “Only brown.”

“She was as near as no-matter black,” said Mrs. Hill.

Neither she nor Ann was wasting time. They were both stitching imdustriously at straw and ribbon. Later in the afternoon Mrs. Hill declared that ​she had been right. They sold three more hats. But this was so absurdly below Ann’s anticipation of “a rush” that when she closed the shop and retired to her own room to boil her kettle for “tea,” she felt more than a little disheartened. However, after she had disposed of her solitary meal, she resolved to go for a walk. Fresh air and exercise would help her to regain her courage. After all, if she only sold nine hats a week she would be paying her overhead expenses and living, meagerly no doubt, but still living. The trouble was that at the moment Ann didn’t really much care whether she lived or not.

She walked down the deserted street and crossed the river, making her way out of the town towards the encircling hills, clear in outline now against the sunset sky. Comfortable looking wooden houses with creeper-hung verandas, standing in bright-flowered gardens, lay on either side of the road. On some of the lawns white-frocked girls and young men in flannels were playing tennis. Ann heard their voices and their laughter as she passed by. She was unutterably lonely, and not a little sorry for herself; but she knew that self-pity is the refuge of-the weak, and she determined not to indulge in it. After all, what had she to endure compared to the suffering which poor Dick Holmes had been called upon to undergo? If he had courage enough to face the shipwreck of all his hopes, surely she, who had no more to lament than the awakening from a foolish remantic dream, could try at least to live up to the epithet both he and Rodney had applied to her. She would be a “good plucked ’un.” She would! So after an hour’s quick walking, she returned to her deserted shop, turned on the ​light in her room, and busied herself with addressing dozens of circulars, before she settled down again to the everlasting twisting of ribbon and the adjustment of lace and flowers.