The Luminaries

Nilssen, looking shocked. ‘And nothing about Carver, either. All I said was that Mrs. Wells had been Lauderback’s mistress . That was all. But now Governor Shepard’s gone and said as much—in the paper.’
    ‘Well, that’s quite all right,’ said Balfour, clapping Nilssen on the shoulder. ‘That’s quite all right! Governor Shepard might have found that out from anywhere. If Lauderback asks, I’ll tell him that I’ve never spoken two words to Shepard in all my life, and that will be the truth.’
    ‘I’m dreadfully sorry,’ said Nilssen.
    ‘Not a bit,’ said Balfour, patting him. ‘Not a bit of it.’
    ‘Well, you’re very kind to say so,’ said Nilssen.
    ‘Happy to help,’ said Balfour.
    ‘I still don’t know who sold me out to Lauderback in the first place,’ Nilssen said, after a moment. ‘I’ll have to keep asking, I suppose .’
    He sighed, and turned again to scan the faces of the crowd.
    ‘I say, Mr. Nilssen,’ Balfour said, ‘I’ve thought of something. Apropos of … of … well, of nothing at all really. Here. Next time I have some commission work—next time something comes across my desk, you know—I might not go to Mr. Cochran after all. You know he’s had my business for a long time—but, well, I wonder if it might be time for a change. I’ll wager we’ll all come out of this business looking for a man to lean on. Looking for a man to trust. As I say—you’ll have it—my business—in the future.’
    He did not look at Nilssen; he began to fish in his jacket pocket for a cigar.
    ‘That’s very kind of you,’ said Nilssen. He watched Balfour for a moment longer, and then, nodding slowly, turned away. Balfour found a cigar, unwrapped it, bit off its end, and placed it betweenhis teeth; then he struck his match, angled it so the flame caught, and held the flame to the square end of the cigar. He puffed at it three times, blowing out his cheeks; then he shook out the match, plucked the cigar from his mouth, and turned it around, to make sure that the tobacco was burning.

    ‘Mr. Clinch.’
    ‘Yes,’ said Clinch. ‘What is it?’
    ‘I have a question,’ Tauwhare said.
    ‘Well then—ask.’
    ‘Why did you buy the cottage of Crosbie Wells?’
    The hotelier groaned. ‘Not that,’ he said. ‘Let’s not talk about that. Not tonight.’
    ‘Why?’
    ‘Just leave it,’ Clinch snapped. ‘I’m out of humour. I’m not discussing Crosbie bloody Wells.’
    He was watching the widow as she moved from guest to guest. Her crinoline was so wide that she parted the crowd wherever she walked, leaving an aisle of space behind her.
    ‘She has a cruel face,’ Tauwhare observed.
    ‘Yes,’ Clinch said, ‘I think so, too.’
    ‘Not a friend of Maori.’
    ‘No, I expect not. Nor of the Chinese—as we can very well see. Nor of any man in this room, I don’t doubt.’ Clinch drained his glass. ‘I’m out of humour, Mr. Tauwhare,’ he said again. ‘When I am out of humour, do you know what I like to do? I like to drink.’
    ‘That’s good,’ Tauwhare said.
    Clinch reached for the decanter. ‘You’ll have another?’
    ‘Yes.’
    He refilled both their glasses. ‘Anyway,’ he said, as he returned the decanter to the sideboard, ‘the appeal will go through, and the sale will be revoked, and I’ll get my deposit back, and that will be that. The cottage won’t belong to me any longer: it will belong to Mrs. Wells.’
    ‘Why did you buy?’ Tauwhare persisted.
    Clinch exhaled heavily. ‘It wasn’t even my idea,’ he said. ‘It was Charlie Frost’s idea. Buy up some land, he said: that way nobody will ask any questions.’
    Tauwhare said nothing, waiting for Clinch to go on; presently he did.
    ‘Here’s the argument,’ he said. ‘You don’t need a miner’s right if the land’s your very own, do you? And if you find a piece of gold on your own land, it’s yours, isn’t it? That was the idea—his idea, I mean: it wasn’t mine. I couldn’t take the gowns to the bank—not without a miner’s right. They’d ask where it came from, and then I’d be stuck. But if I had a piece of land for my very own, then nobody asks anything at all. I never knew about Johnny Quee, you see. I thought the gold had been in the dresses all along—still pure. So I saved up for a deposit. Charlie, he said to wait for either a deceased estate or a subdivision: either the one or the other, he said, for the sake of staying clean. So when the Wells tract came up for