In the Land of the Long White Cloud

She’s seen him once or twice since the Morrisons come shopping in Haldon. The wife really blossomed after her husband had his…accident. They’re still searching for Daphne, but unless she walks straight through Christchurch and into the police station, she won’t be found. If you ask me, she had good reasons for doing what she did. I just don’t know what sort of a future she’ll have now.”
    George shrugged. “Probably the same future that would have awaited her in London. Poor child. But the orphanage committee got what was coming to it; Reverend Thorne saw to that. And this Baldwin…”
    Helen smiled almost triumphantly. “He had Harper paraded right in front of him. So much for his dream of being bishop of Canterbury. I take a very un-Christian joy in that. But go on! Your father…”
    “…holds his position in Greenwood Enterprises, same as always. The company is growing and thriving. The queen supports our foreign trade, and we’re making a fortune in the colonies, though often at the expense of the natives. I’ve witnessed it…your Maori should consider themselves lucky that the white colonists, as well as they themselves, are peacefully inclined. But my father and I can’t change the way things are—and we profit from the exploitation of these countries. In England, industrialization is booming, thoughwith consequences that I like as little as the oppression I’ve seen overseas. The conditions in some factories are appalling. When I think about it, I’ve liked nowhere else as much as New Zealand. But I digress.”
    As George attempted to return to the subject, he realized that he hadn’t just made this last remark to flatter Helen. He really did like this country: the upstanding but peaceful people, the broad landscape with the majestic mountains, the large farms with their well-fed sheep and cattle grazing on ample pastures—and Christchurch, which was in the process of turning itself into a typical English bishop’s seat and university town on the other end of the world.
    “What is William doing?” Helen inquired.
    George sighed with a telling look at the ceiling. “William did not end up going to college, but you hadn’t really counted on that happening, had you?”
    Helen shook her head.
    “He had a series of tutors who were regularly let go—at first by my mother because she thought they were too strict with William and then by my father because they didn’t teach him anything. He’s been working in the company for the last year, if you can call it work. Basically he’s just killing time, and he never lacks for company, male or female. After the pubs, he discovered women. Alas, predominantly those from the street. He doesn’t distinguish between them. On the contrary, ladies scare him, while easy women amaze him. It sickens my father, and my mother still hasn’t realized it. But how it’s going to turn out when…”
    He did not continue, but Helen knew exactly what he was thinking: when his father died someday, both brothers would inherit the company. George would then either have to buy out his brother—which would destroy a business like the Greenwoods’—or continue to endure him. Helen did not think it likely that George would be able to maintain the latter situation for long.
    As they lapsed into silence, thoughtfully drinking their tea, the front door flew open, and Fleur and Ruben stormed in.
    “We won!” Fleurette beamed, swinging an improvised croquet mallet. “Ruben and I are the winners!”
    “You cheated,” Gwyneira chided, appearing behind the children. She looked flushed and a little dirty, but seemed to have enjoyed herself immensely. “I very clearly saw you secretly push Ruben’s ball through the last hoop.”
    Helen frowned. “Is that true, Ruben? And you didn’t say anything?”
    “With the funny mallets, it doesn’t work pre…pre…what’s that word again, Ruben?” Fleur asked, defending her friend.
    “Precisely,” Ruben finished her thought. “But the direction was right.”
    George smiled. “When I get back to England, I’ll send you proper mallets,” he promised. “But then there can’t be any more cheating.”
    “Really?” Fleur asked.
    Other thoughts were going through Ruben’s mind. With his clever brown eyes, he looked at Helen and her visitor, who were obviously close.
    “You’re from England. Are you my real father?”
    Gwyneira gasped for air and Helen reddened.
    “Ruben! Don’t say such nonsense. You know