Read Online They Met in Zanzibar by Kathryn Blair - Free Book Online
Authors: Kathryn Blair
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made a preliminary visit.”
“How come you didn’t mention it when we met at Zanzibar?”
Steve shrugged. “It was difficult to know what was best. I compromised, and told your daughter.”
“You did?” The older man’s bushy brows went together as he looked at Peg. “Why haven’t you said anything about it?”
“There was no need,” she said clearly. “No one here seemed to be bothering much about it and I didn’t want to upset you over something that might fizzle out.”
Steve caught her blue glance, and held it. She could see him mentally shaking his head at her for prevaricating; she’d known darned well the proposition wouldn’t fizzle out.
“The whole thing is very much alive,” he said. “These two company men made a tour of several of the plantations and weighed up their worth. They’re now going to make a definite offer to each planter of a certain figure per hundred acres. The whole palm-acreage of the island is to be coordinated and split up into six sections, each one to have a young superintendent in charge. That way, they’ll be able to run the complete crop much more economically.”
Jim had forgotten the cheroot between his fingers, his brandy and coffee. He pushed a hand over his reddish-grey hair, stared hard-eyed at Steve. “So the almighty company want to run us out of business, do they? They’re not satisfied with getting all the copra they want from individual planters: they’re making so much blamed profit that they have to put it into property or pay a whacking great tax on it. So they’ve decided to buy three parts of the island?”
Steve said calmly, “Let’s be realistic, Jim. This sort of thing is happening everywhere and it was bound to come here, to Motu, sooner or later. Throughout the years we’ve had a good steady price from the company and they’ve increased it whenever they could. We’ve never had to fight for a market, or worry about shipping. Our stuff was accepted at the harbour and paid for within a month of delivery there. We couldn’t have had a better deal.”
“But now it’s the finish,” said Jim Maldon bluntly. “The hayride’s over and we sell out to them or find our own copra buyer - is that it?”
“They haven’t said that. The very last thing they want is to cause hardship among the planters. I know how you feel...”
“You don’t, because you’re not even the age I was when I first came here! To you, it’s ten or twenty thousand in your pocket and a fresh start somewhere, but I’m not starting again. I’m not only too old for it - I just don’t want to l ive anywhere else, or do anything different.”
“You don’t have to move away from Motu. Buy a dozen acres on the north coast and plant them. Build a decent house...”
“For my retirement?” Jim broke in with a jeer. “Can you see me retiring? Jim Maldon of Coconut Island? No, thanks. I’ll stick to what I have, and if the company turns spiteful I’ll sell my copra elsewhere. You’ve told me, Steve. Don’t spoil a good dinner by harping on it.”
Steve smoked, and looked speculatively at the ashtray he was using. Peg sat silently in her chair, finishing her coffee and watching a pale yellow lizard that was clinging, static, to the gently-moving reed blind. Jim, breathing a little heavily, took a long pull at his cheroot and swallowed his brandy in one go.
Without much expression Steve stated, “In spite of what you’ve just said I do know how you feel. But you must realise how times have changed, right here as well as elsewhere. The younger planters are all for selling. The Professor and old Gracey were against it, but I think they’ll come round when they know how much is being offered.”
“They won’t,” said Jim. “The Professor doesn’t care about money and old Gracey couldn’t see himself as anything but a Big Tuan leading a highly civilised life in a wild country. They couldn’t live as they do anywhere else.”
“There’s nothing to stop
“How come you didn’t mention it when we met at Zanzibar?”
Steve shrugged. “It was difficult to know what was best. I compromised, and told your daughter.”
“You did?” The older man’s bushy brows went together as he looked at Peg. “Why haven’t you said anything about it?”
“There was no need,” she said clearly. “No one here seemed to be bothering much about it and I didn’t want to upset you over something that might fizzle out.”
Steve caught her blue glance, and held it. She could see him mentally shaking his head at her for prevaricating; she’d known darned well the proposition wouldn’t fizzle out.
“The whole thing is very much alive,” he said. “These two company men made a tour of several of the plantations and weighed up their worth. They’re now going to make a definite offer to each planter of a certain figure per hundred acres. The whole palm-acreage of the island is to be coordinated and split up into six sections, each one to have a young superintendent in charge. That way, they’ll be able to run the complete crop much more economically.”
Jim had forgotten the cheroot between his fingers, his brandy and coffee. He pushed a hand over his reddish-grey hair, stared hard-eyed at Steve. “So the almighty company want to run us out of business, do they? They’re not satisfied with getting all the copra they want from individual planters: they’re making so much blamed profit that they have to put it into property or pay a whacking great tax on it. So they’ve decided to buy three parts of the island?”
Steve said calmly, “Let’s be realistic, Jim. This sort of thing is happening everywhere and it was bound to come here, to Motu, sooner or later. Throughout the years we’ve had a good steady price from the company and they’ve increased it whenever they could. We’ve never had to fight for a market, or worry about shipping. Our stuff was accepted at the harbour and paid for within a month of delivery there. We couldn’t have had a better deal.”
“But now it’s the finish,” said Jim Maldon bluntly. “The hayride’s over and we sell out to them or find our own copra buyer - is that it?”
“They haven’t said that. The very last thing they want is to cause hardship among the planters. I know how you feel...”
“You don’t, because you’re not even the age I was when I first came here! To you, it’s ten or twenty thousand in your pocket and a fresh start somewhere, but I’m not starting again. I’m not only too old for it - I just don’t want to l ive anywhere else, or do anything different.”
“You don’t have to move away from Motu. Buy a dozen acres on the north coast and plant them. Build a decent house...”
“For my retirement?” Jim broke in with a jeer. “Can you see me retiring? Jim Maldon of Coconut Island? No, thanks. I’ll stick to what I have, and if the company turns spiteful I’ll sell my copra elsewhere. You’ve told me, Steve. Don’t spoil a good dinner by harping on it.”
Steve smoked, and looked speculatively at the ashtray he was using. Peg sat silently in her chair, finishing her coffee and watching a pale yellow lizard that was clinging, static, to the gently-moving reed blind. Jim, breathing a little heavily, took a long pull at his cheroot and swallowed his brandy in one go.
Without much expression Steve stated, “In spite of what you’ve just said I do know how you feel. But you must realise how times have changed, right here as well as elsewhere. The younger planters are all for selling. The Professor and old Gracey were against it, but I think they’ll come round when they know how much is being offered.”
“They won’t,” said Jim. “The Professor doesn’t care about money and old Gracey couldn’t see himself as anything but a Big Tuan leading a highly civilised life in a wild country. They couldn’t live as they do anywhere else.”
“There’s nothing to stop
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