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  ‘But then he had to face a British court for braining the captain,’ Heather said. ‘The captain swore McLachlan stole his ship from under him. That it was our Alisdair’s mutiny that had caused the wreck. He had him taken back to Britain in chains. Wanted him hanged. Piracy on the high seas.’

  ‘Only the charges were dismissed,’ Steve cut in, obviously enjoying the tale. ‘Fraser’s great-grandpa—you know Fraser?—he’s an orderly at the hospital now. Anyway, Fraser’s great-grandpa was the most senior survivor of the crew. He got himself to London, fronted the court and said if it wasn’t for McLachlan they’d all be dead. So he got off and came back. By then all the clan were settling. The land was divvied up fair and square between the passengers, and the captain’s sister took her share. Which was only fair,’ he added. ‘She was married to Francis Kelly, your … great-great-grandpa. Francis owned a share in the cows and they were fair dinkum passengers. They took their bit of land and started farming. Only the resentment was always there. Then Francis’s elder brother died and left him wealthy, so away they went and took the title to the farm with them.’

  ‘The place was neglected for years,’ Heather went on. ‘That was all anyone knew until your grandpa appeared. Henry. By then his family was landed gentry in Australia. He’d been to school in England. He was quite a lad. Mad on adventure. Mad on flying. He’d come to inspect this property that no one had been near for generations. He caused a stir and a half, I can tell you. My gran tells me he was gorgeous. Beeyootiful.’

  ‘Gorgeous?’

  ‘That’s what Gran told us. Anyway, he came here and loved the place. Cleaned up the house. Taught himself to surf. Made half the island girls fall in love with him. He was only visiting, though. Flying was his life.’

  ‘And he wasn’t gorgeous when he came back,’ Steve said, and his voice had turned bleak. ‘His injuries would have been enough for any of the islanders to forget he was an O’Connor, but he kept to himself. Snarled at the world. Turned himself into the island ogre. And now he’s left the place to you. So now the word is that you have O’Connor blood, and we’re expecting you to sell.’

  I was left speechless. A week ago I had practically no family history. Now I had so much it was making my head spin. ‘Because I’m one of the captain’s descendants?’

  ‘It’s mostly because you’re an outsider,’ Heather confessed. ‘Many of the islanders still have a deep distrust of the outside world. Just ask Jack. Many won’t come near him because he’s been away for so long. Anyway, the developers will give you good money. Selling out from under us is what we expect.’

  I blinked. ‘That’s a bit unfair.’

  ‘It is,’ Steve said strongly. ‘Get off her case, Heather. She’s saved your sister’s life. She’s not an O’Connor.’

  And suddenly Heather’s tone lost its lightness.

  ‘She has to prove it.’

  Two messages came in while I was milking. I checked the phone on the way back to the house and winced.

  Jenny hurry back this New Yorker needs you. I’m forgetting what I should eat. No-fat soy chai latte ok if organic? Sorry to be a pain but these kicks are more of a pain. Can’t wait for it to be over but I’m scared. xx Izzie

  Honey, confirm you’ll be back for dinner Monday next. I’ve invited my boss and a couple of big names from the conference. Career wise it’d be politic for you to be here—Richard.

  How to make a woman feel better? I couldn’t think of a reply to either, so I said exactly nothing. My phone was obviously … out of range?

  Showered, fed and more tired than I’d ever been, and that included nights spent as an intern in the delivery rooms, I fell into my little pink bed, but instead of falling asleep I kept thinking of what Steve and Heather had said.

  Mutiny and feuds and the end of livelihoods.

  It was all too complicated.

  Finally I decided to focus on a familiar worry. Medicine. It was what I always focused on when life was too difficult.

  How on earth did Jack cope here alone?

  He might be a descendant of a mutineer but he was now a doctor working in almost impossible conditions.

  Mary had called him a fussbudget for worrying. That was the last way I’d describe Jack McLachlan. He might not be braining sea-captains and swimming for his life, but he was saving lives nonetheless.

  And the consequences of being a lone doctor with no backup were appalling. If I hadn’t been here for Mary and Muriel … It didn’t bear thinking of.

  He’d have to employ another doctor. I’d tell him.

  And I wasn’t an O’Connor.

  I’d tell him that, too. After I’d slept—but how could I sleep?

  I stared at the ceiling for a bit. I wriggled and wondered how sand had got into my bed. How could anyone sleep with sand in their bed?

  I rose and shook out the sheets, then wandered over and stared out at the moonlight.

  There was dew on the window.

  My fingers started doodling.

  A doodle-pirate, at the helm of his vessel.

  A doodle-pirate, with sandy toes and a stethoscope.

  Finally I left my doodle-pirate be and decided on a few more letters before I tried again for sleep. They were mostly … well, to be honest, they were mostly pretty much the same. Henry’s life obviously hadn’t been action packed. I should read them in order but I couldn’t help myself. I was flicking through, searching for the ones where he got personal.

  Dear Jenny,

  Never get attached.

  Ha. That’s good. How often do I need to tell myself that?

  I went out and polished your grandmother’s board tonight. I decided after your mother died that I wouldn’t touch it again. It’s been sitting unused for years now.Weeds have grown around it. It’s lost its sheen. It was heading the same way as driftwood.

  But then tonight I thought … someday you might come. Someday you might end up here as your grandmother did, as your mother did. I destroyed this island’s magic for both of them, but maybe it’ll be different for you. By the time you come I should be six feet under.You won’t see my face, but you will see the board.

  Jenny, you should have seen your grandmother on it. If she’s still around when you come … tell her she looked beautiful. Maybe that’s part of what these letters are about. I’d love for you to say to her all the things I can’t say. All I can do is polish her damned board.

  And what’s happening to you now … My granddaughter in New York … My granddaughter with her grandmother … I hope you can sort it and be happy. You’re tough, the both of you. I know you are. But then, what you are is none of my business. Your grandmother’s life, your mother’s life, and now yours … they should never have been my concern.

  I can imagine your grandmother’s reaction if she read this. Leave Jennifer alone, she’d say. I’ll do that. I have no right to do otherwise.

  But I will polish the surfboard. It’s your grandmother’s, it was your mother’s and now it’s yours.

  8

  core surfer n. not to surf is unimaginable; a core surfer surfs, no matter the conditions.

  I slept at last, only to be woken by the crazy orchestra of birdlife in the garden. The first morning I’d thought it was great. Now I wondered about pulling up the window, reaching for my gumboots and hurling them. I even thought longingly of a bazooka.

  Sadly my gumboots were out of reach and there was no bazooka in sight. Thwarted, I sat up in bed, hugged my knees and looked down at the cove.

  Jack was surfing again.

  At this hour. Was the man nuts?

  I could still see the outline of last night’s doodle-pirate on the window. It framed the man on the board.

  Cartoon frames real life? Lunacy or reality? Who knew?

  This place was out of this world.

  I should go back to sleep, but there was no way I could relax. I watched as Jack paddled with long, loping strokes, out past the breaking waves. Silhouetted against the first rays of dawn, h
e sat, waiting for a wave to lift and carry him towards shore.

  I watched as a breaker came sweeping in. From here I couldn’t see details but his lean, muscled surfer’s body was unmistakable. I felt like I could almost see the salt-stiff hair, the crinkling eyes which, even when smiling, seemed to reflect the weight of the world within.

  He rode his wave almost to shore and his paddling as he headed out to wait for the next wave seemed urgent. It was as if he was desperate to catch the next wave and the next…

  Surely he was working the waves harder and faster than most surfers. Did he have to cram in so many?

  This was relentless surfing.

  If I was out there at this hour, I’d be lying full length on the board soaking up the morning sun. Dangling my toes and my fingers in the water.

  Maybe I could wander down and…

  I caught myself, astounded. What was I thinking? Jack McLachlan might be nuts but I didn’t have to join him in his fruitcake endeavours. Unless I was facing the imperative of an arriving baby, dawn was something I very much avoided, and if I even tried to lie on a surfboard …

  Ha!

  But it did look wonderful. The rolling waves glistened against the sea. I could practically feel the surf between my toes.

  Jack was down there.

  So what? The man was a sandwich short of a picnic. Even the cows hadn’t started their move towards the dairy yet. They were sleepily chewing their cuds in the soft dawn light. The cows were sensible.

  Did Jack ever sleep? Maybe he didn’t but I should.

  I couldn’t.

  It was dawn here which meant midday in New York.

  I rose and showered and dressed. I took my phone out onto the back step.

  Do it.

  ‘Are you out of your mind?’ The blast down the phone nearly burst my eardrums. To say my lovely, calm Richard was apoplectic was probably an understatement. ‘What’s that woman done for you? Nothing! Taking six weeks off when you’ve just accepted this appointment … And to miss the Clayburgh birth! It’s the keystone to our plans!’

  Our plans.

  Of course.

  Maybe he had a right to be angry, I conceded, holding the phone back a bit. I enjoyed being engaged to one of the brightest neurosurgeons in the city, and he was proud of my achievements. The prestige cut both ways.

  And now I was risking everything.

  I listened in silence, hearing Richard’s pent-up fury. Strangely my own panic was taking a back seat. I felt weirdly detached.

  ‘Muriel needs me,’ I told him.

  ‘Do you expect me to placate the Clayburghs?’

  ‘I don’t expect that. I’ll contact Isabella myself.’

  ‘Do it through a lawyer. She’ll destroy you. People like the Clayburghs enjoy ruining people like us. It’s like blood sport. You’ll be finished.’

  Oh, terrific. Between Richard and Jack I was completely done for. My calm disintegrated. ‘Thanks for your support, Richard. Very comforting.’

  He swore.

  Enough. I flipped my phone shut and stared at it for a bit.

  Maybe he’d ring back and say it was okay.

  He didn’t.

  There was still time to back out. If I didn’t make the next call…

  Do it.

  ‘Jenny!’ Isabella sent a delighted squeak down the line. ‘Are you there? Have you been surfing?’

  ‘Not yet.’

  ‘Why not? I am so jealous! As soon as I’m two separate people you should go back and I’ll come with you. I have it all worked out. I’ll need a holiday and you’ll need a PR specialist for the setup. Of course you will. A surf school! Lionel won’t miss me and I can bring a nanny. Plus I need to learn to surf. I haven’t been in a wave for so long. Do you have surfboards?’

  I’m not much into empathising but I could hear Isabella’s loneliness down the line. Her need for friendship.

  I wasn’t a friend. I was a doctor about to hand her over to a colleague.

  ‘Twenty,’ I told her.

  ‘What colour?’

  Colour. Right. ‘Most are cream. Or polished wood. They’re old. Isabella…’

  ‘That’s way too boring. You should get them painted with your company logo. Do you have a logo yet? Do you need the name of a graphic designer?’

  ‘Um, maybe not yet.’ Deep breath. ‘But Isabella, this is a business call. I believe I need to refer you to a colleague of mine—just in case I don’t get back for the birth?’

  And the excitement stopped. There was a long silence. Then, astonishingly, there was a sound that could almost have been a sob.

  ‘Isabella?’

  No answer. I wondered if the connection had cut. But then…

  ‘I don’t believe it.’ Isabella’s voice had sunk to a whisper. ‘We were … I mean, we had an agreement.’

  ‘I’m sorry, Isabella, but my grandmother’s ill. I need to stay.’

  And the weird friendship angle finished, just like that. ‘I don’t care who’s ill,’ she hissed. ‘Lionel will have your hide.’

  Spot on, Richard.

  ‘I can’t help it, Isabella. There are things here … family things.’

  ‘There’s a man, isn’t there? There has to be a man.’

  ‘Isabella, my grandmother’s suffered a clot in her leg and is dangerously ill. I can’t come back. Can I refer you to Lizzy Hawthorn? Lizzy’s delivered the babies of some of the best-known names in the States. She’s great. You’ll love her.’

  What was I doing? Lizzy and I had fought tooth and nail for the prestige cases and here I was, handing over what was maybe the most newsworthy birth in the country.

  I wasn’t the only one who couldn’t believe I was doing it. Isabella was incredulous. ‘You’re risking a lawsuit from Lionel for your crazy grandmother?’

  ‘I must.’

  ‘I don’t believe it.’

  ‘I’m very sorry but I have no choice.’

  ‘I can’t believe I’m hearing this. You couldn’t care less about me. You couldn’t care less about my baby! You’ll be hearing from Lionel.’

  ‘I expect that,’ I said wearily. ‘I can only say how sorry I am. Please, Isabella, let me give you Lizzy’s contact details. If it’s okay with you I’ll phone her and talk her through your case.’

  ‘You’ll hand me over to some … to some …’

  ‘Lizzy’s the best—and I don’t have a choice.’

  Silence.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ I said again.

  ‘Fine,’ Isabella snapped eventually. The hysteria had faded, replaced by cold disbelief. ‘You’ve just killed your career. Stupid, stupid woman. Ring my secretary and tell her where to find this Hawthorn woman. Not that I want to go to anyone you recommend.’

  The line went dead.

  Stupid, stupid woman.

  Isabella had it in one.

  I stood and stared out at the garden, seeing nothing. Muriel. Richard. Isabella. Their combined anger should have me gutted, but still there was that strange sense of detachment.

  Finally I headed inside and came out with a pile more of Henry’s letters. It was dumb but it seemed like Henry was the only one talking to me. Or was he the only one I wanted to hear?

  He seemed to have used the letters almost as a diary. One a week. The letters of a lifetime.

  Dear Jenny,

  You should have seen the green room I rode in today. You know what a green room is? The sea wraps around you.You’re in heaven.You forget everything else …

  More of the same. I skimmed through and finally found one about Jack.

  Dear Jenny,

  Have I ever told you about Jack?

  I met him first when he was about five years old. His mates dared him to steal something from the ogre’s garden. The ogre. Me. Yes, the kids are afraid of me. I don’t blame them. I’d be scared myself.

  Anyway, I heard them outside my back gate. I’d just come up from the dairy.They were giving Jack a hard time.

  ‘He’s got a scarec
row over his veggie patch,’ they were saying. ‘Pinch the scarecrow’s hat and we’ll let you come fishing with us.’

  No one comes near me but the doctors, the district nurse and the local delivery lad. The kid must have been scared witless, but he badly wanted to go fishing with the big kids. I could hear it.

  So I watched, waiting down by the apple tree, seeing what he’d do. And in he came, a puny, scared-silly five-year-old.

  I yelled at him.Yeah, I know. Not the kindest but I’ve had a gutful of kids and the names they call me.

  But this one …

  ‘What the hell do you think you’re doing?’

  The kid stood still, white-faced but game. Not running. Facing me straight. ‘P-please, sir, I need to borrow your scarecrow’s hat. I need it to make the others take me fishing. I’ll … I’ll work for it. I’ll dig weeds if you want.’

  He was the only one brave enough…

  I gave him the hat. Maybe I’m not such an ogre then.As long as there’s no mirror. ‘If they don’t let you go fishing, come back and I’ll teach you how to grow vegetables,’ I told him.

  And, of course, I was right. Hat or not, Jack was too little for the older kids to want him tagging along. After a half-hour’s fishing where the older boys barely tolerated him, he was sent home. He turned up in my veggie patch again.

  I thought about kicking him out, but there are limits to how much you can shout. And the strawberries were ripe.

  ‘Here, boy. Pick some strawberries and I’ll show you how to skim the cream off the top of the milk.That’s lunch.’

  That was the start of visits almost every day, and it seems he never forgot it—the taste of sun-ripened strawberries and freshly skimmed cream.

  He went away after he finished grade school and I missed him more than I’ll ever tell him. For a bit I even thought about leaving the place to him.

  But it’s yours, Jenny.