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industrious she was, cleaning her own beans while others wastefully ate cake or biscuits. The coating on the beans is tasty if you can be bothered. I left her to her sucking and spitting.
    Next she produced a couple of documents. Slapped them on the table.
    ‘I have discovered a nephew.’
    I felt pleased for the old lady. She lived such an isolated life. Busy, surrounded by house staff and employees, certainly, but lacking friends.
    She continued, eyeing me sharply, ‘I wish to leave the plantation to him and his family.’
    I couldn’t suppress a bark of laughter. This was so typical of Gertrude!
    She spat another bean then tapped my hand painfully with the coffee mug. ‘Hamish, this is no laughing matter. I have spent much time and effort …’ Her voice wavered for a moment. She looked away; I wondered if she might be close to tears. ‘… much time and effort to secure a decent future for the plantation.’
    Words that others might use over their children’s security. Her child was the plantation.
    It turned out that she had flown to New Zealand twice in the past year, searching for a willing heir. There were other relatives, I gathered, ones she considered more suitable, but none who was prepared to come. Evidently Gertrude had always known about this John O’Dowd,but the wretched woman had never before considered getting in touch with him. Not in over fifty years!
    ‘Well?’ Gertrude never wasted time on pleasantries. She probably guessed what I would say and was ready to engage in the argument.
    ‘Was it not your husband’s wish that after your death the plantation should go to Tiresa’s family?’ We both knew this to be the case.
    Gertrude nodded. ‘It was. Yes. But that was years ago. Things have changed. And I own the plantation now.’
    ‘He left no written instruction?’
    She looked me in the eye. ‘No.’ The statement was too brisk. I didn’t quite believe her.
    ‘Tiresa and her family would contest, I imagine. The expectation has been there. Many of your husband’s relatives work on the plantation.’
    Gertrude bared her yellow old teeth. ‘Surely I have the law on my side? Let them contest.’
    She would likely win, I imagined, though Tiresa’s ‘aiga was powerful and perhaps able to exert pressure.
    It was useless to talk morality with Gertrude, but I had to attempt it. ‘Why on earth would you leave the estate to strangers who know nothing about Samoa or – surely – running a plantation, when your own Samoan relatives are right here and waiting?’
    ‘Waiting for my death? Yes. Yes they are. That Tiresa!’ Gertrude suddenly sat bolt upright, bristling like an angry old cat. ‘She would put the plantation back into traditional village hands. All she cares about now is fa‘asamoa. She has forgotten her palagi side. What about the good German blood in her veins? She’s angling for a high title for her son. Hamish, you know what willhappen! There will be a big sa‘ofa‘i and generous Tiresa will return the plantation to village ownership. Speeches, fine mats presented, kava drunk, land returned and next day … Suddenly her son will become an important matai!’ Gertrude glared at me as if I were to blame. ‘And the plantation will fall into neglect.’
    I was astonished to see her old blue eyes fill with tears. The future of her plantation was so important!
    ‘I can not bear to lose it!’ she shouted. ‘I will not! You know what fa‘asamoa is like, Hamish. If the plantation goes to the Levamanaias it will fail within a year. They will pick the crop only when they need a little extra cash. They will let the trees become overgrown. They will forget to fill the orders from overseas. You know it as well as I do!’ She spat out another bean and dabbed angrily at her eyes. ‘Oh it is such a mess!’
    I sighed. She might be right. But surely … did the old lady imagine she would be watching with rage from beyond the grave?
    I changed tack. ‘But the nephew? Would he come?