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Would he be interested?
    Now her attitude changed from fierce to tentative. ‘I believe so. Yes, I believe he would. His circumstances are … unfortunate at present. But Hamish …’
    It turned out she hadn’t confirmed the invitation. Not until she settled the delicate matter of his birth. She tapped the document on the table.
    ‘My nephew’s birth certificate. He has not seen it. And need not I hope. We don’t want the whole of Apia chewing over this bit of gossip, Hamish. I understand his knowledge of his birth circumstances is hazy. You might say sanitised. I do not believe he knows the wretchedcircumstances at all.’
    ‘Then how do you …?’
    ‘Oh,’ she said impatiently, as if it were unimportant, ‘I have always known. You don’t need to know all the details. John is illegitimate. Born to my demented sister as the result of rape. I want to know whether his illegitimacy would damage my case if it came in court.’
    She eyed me rather madly; tapped the birth certificate. ‘My sister, while still a young girl, almost drowned. Lost her mind in a boating accident. She used to wander the banks of the river in a filthy state. A poor silly laughing stock. Some despicable Chow raped her out in the bush somewhere and then when she fell pregnant and his crime became obvious, the coward hanged himself. That is John O’Dowd’s true birth heritage, and now I must stoop to accept this tainted half-Chow as nephew. Oh I could spit!’
    She did spit. Then looked at me quickly. I think she realised that she had said too much. Her half smile appeared again. ‘Well we need not repeat that garbage. He was adopted by a decent white couple and brought up properly. John has a reputation as a competent and diligent worker. I checked all the details thoroughly. And his son-in-law seems handy enough. They will have to do. So what do you think?’
    I was so shocked by her fury – the vitriolic way she denounced her own nephew, her rampant racism – that I found it difficult to speak.
    ‘Hamish?’ she said sharply. ‘Don’t take any notice of an old lady. I know my views are no longer fashionable. Just tell me. Could illegitimacy – or Chow blood – be an argument against me?’
    Weakly, I answered her question. Reassured her. Illegitimacy should not affect the case if the Levamanaias contested. I should have roundly denounced her; run her off the property. I learned later to respect John. He became my friend, but I let him down, I believe, that morning.
    The only small victory I might claim in the sorry business of that inheritance was to persuade Gertrude, some weeks later, when she came in to lodge her new will, to omit the daughter and son-in-law’s names from the document. Gertrude obviously favoured the ‘untainted’ blood of the son-in-law. I persuaded her that a simple will, favouring her own nephew, might be more persuasive if it came to court. She agreed and crossed out the names. I and my secretary witnessed the change.
    As it turned out later, this was most fortuitous.

    A month after her new relatives arrived, Gertrude, perhaps satisfied that they might be up to the task of running a plantation, invited us all to a welcoming party. John and the Ropers were in Apia overseeing the loading of their cacao crop. You would have thought Gertrude might hold the party in her town house, but no. The wretched woman chose to summon us all to the plantation. The road inland was appalling. But she was making a point of course: this is my land and will stay that way.
    She rang to ask whether we might drive the guests of honour up. ‘We are all occupied preparing the feast,Hamish. Would you be so kind?’ Gertrude was a past master at laying on charm when it was needed. I agreed with some misgiving. Our new Datsun was a tough little nut, but carrying five people over those ruts would challenge even a truck. My wife was pleased of course: a chance to get to know Jeanie.
    That day, towards the horizon a deep purple line