Read Inheritance for Free Online Page B

stained sea and sky. An unusual, ominous sign. For the past several days that odd colouring had come and gone. A hurricane, perhaps, heading in a different direction. Bad weather had been predicted – not a hurricane – but then forecasting was a hit and miss affair. Weather stations were too sparse, and information patchy at best. I had seen a dark stain like that only once before. The result had been devastation.
    ‘What do you think?’ I asked Simone. ‘Should we close the screens?’
    She laughed at my caution. ‘It’s miles away. Who knows what direction it will take? They never hit us anyway. Look, our friends are waiting.’
    Simone and I exchanged smiles at the sight of them standing together in the drive. The men were in white tropical suits and white straw hats; very proper and correct, but Jeanie had dressed Samoan style in a flowered puletasi. Where on earth had she found it so quickly? The full-length lavalava and tightly fitting tunic top suited her small body beautifully. Simone was draped as always in a loose mumu, this one peacock blue and sea green, if I remember correctly, a spray of spider orchids tangled in the white web of her hair. She clapped her hands as if applauding a performance.
    ‘Perfect! Perfect my dear!’ The words were for Jeanie.‘But the finishing touch …’ She picked a red hibiscus flower from the hedge and tucked it behind Jeanie’s ear. ‘There! You are now ready for your first fiafia.’
    A mischievous act. Gertrude had clung strictly to her European status. She never wore Samoan dress, always insisted on sitting on a chair, even in a traditional fale; ate at a table with a knife and fork. I have never, ever, seen Gertrude with a flower behind her ear. In the three years since independence many of the ‘afakasi women with ‘European’ status were relaxing into Samoan custom – fa‘asamoa. Not Gertrude Schroder. That old dragon would disapprove of Jeanie’s dress and Simone’s subversive hibiscus flower.

    The Schroder plantation was east of Apia and inland. We turned off the round-the-island road onto a rutted dirt track lined with tall kapok trees. Red volcanic dust rose in clouds behind us, and because we travelled so slowly, and the morning breeze always blows inland, we were soon enveloped in our own cloud. I missed the turn off and had to reverse for several yards, a task I abhor. John O’Dowd offered to step out and guide me, but I feared for his crisp whites and did my best. The Schroder road is more a boulder-strewn river bed than a track. I clamped my teeth to hold back the curses as we ground and lurched our way first between an avenue of old, giant-leaved teak trees, and then through neat rows of cacao shrubs planted by Schroder’s father and now managed by Gertrude and her gang of workers. The plantation was well managed. If only she would pay thesame attention to her road. At a particularly loud bang of rock on exhaust pipe, John leaned forward and spoke in my ear.
    ‘I’m afraid our extra weight is damaging your car.’
    ‘Never mind,’ I said grimly. To be honest it was not easy to force out a civil word.
    ‘You are very kind. No doubt Mrs Schroder — my aunt – will soon arrange a car for us.’
    An optimistic statement. I had no reply. All my attention was focused on getting the car up the bloody road in one piece.
    ‘Here we are my darlings!’ cried Simone. ‘Now we can all enjoy ourselves.’ She knew how out of sorts I felt.
    We parked on the grass beside several other cars belonging to Europeans from the Beach. I recognised the magistrate’s black Chevrolet, and a New Zealand High Commission vehicle. Also Elena Levamanaia’s new, bright red Mini Moke and her brother’s sports car. That was interesting. But of course Gertrude would invite the opposition when she unveiled her new-found relatives. Had their mother, Tiresa, also come I wondered? Unlikely, given the tensions.
    A large black sow followed by a group of squealing piglets