Free The Paua Tower by Coral Atkinson Page B

Friday morning, just getting light, and her parents were still asleep.
    Stella saw the label. Good. She pulled the bottle towards her. There was about a cupful in the bottom, so using a tablespoon wouldn’t hurt.
    Stella took the vinegar into the scullery. She fetched the kettle off the range, the water nice and warm, not hot, and poured it into the tin basin. Gathering her long hair in her hand she bowed her head over the basin. Taking cupfuls of water she began to wet her hair, then she took the homemade soap and rubbed it in. She would put the vinegar in the rinsing water so her hair would shine as never before. It would shine for Vic Cowan. Vic, who was coming to see her at work, walk her home, have tea with her family. Vic.

    ‘Thanks, Mrs Morgan.’ Vic pushed away his empty plate. ‘It’s the best tea I’ve had for I don’t know how long. Years, probably.’
    They were sitting at the kitchen table. Stella had used the cloth she’d made at school and embroidered with mauve lazy-daisy marguerites. There had been just enough butter to make six little rolls with the wooden butter-pat makers, and they’d used the last remaining tumblers from the set Doug and Peg got for a wedding present.
    ‘Looks as if Lord Muck himself is expected,’ Doug had said.
    ‘No harm in doing things properly,’ said Peg, taking a knife off the table and rubbing it with the skirt of her apron.
    ‘Stella made the cake,’ said Peg.
    ‘Beaut cake.’ Vic looked in Stella’s direction and smiled.
    ‘So you got a bit of work from Maguire?’ said Doug. ‘Sounds like a lucky break.’
    ‘Too right,’ said Vic. ‘Says he needs a sparky, can fix me up with something in the stand-down time at the camp. Maguire’s on the pig’s back, from what I hear. He’s not only working at the theatre over at Hiakia but got himself a Public Works contract for a project out at the Paua Tower. Building a playground or something and repairing the tower.’
    ‘Seen the tower?’ asked Peg, smoothing a piece of thread where the petal of an embroidered flower had come adrift.
    ‘Not yet but I’m quite keen to see it, hear it’s something of an attraction, and now it seems Maguire’s in on it as well,’ said Vic.
    ‘If there’s money to be made, Mr Maguire’ll be there,’ said Peg.
    ‘Snouts in the trough,’ said Doug. The two men laughed.

    Stella and Vic stood on the veranda. It was almost twilight. The sky had a hectic vividness; the grass and marigolds in the garden were vehement with colour.
    ‘How long will it take to walk back to camp?’ asked Stella, keen to keep Vic with her.
    ‘Two hours or so,’ said Vic, ‘but I met a friend, Tiny Mulcock, and he asked me to kip at his place. I thought maybe if I stayed there tonight you’d walk out with me tomorrow. I don’t have work at the camp till Monday.’
    ‘We could go to the tower,’ said Stella eagerly. ‘Not in the morning, ’cause I work, but the afternoon would be fine.’
    ‘Corker,’ Vic said, smiling. ‘I’ll be round at two o’clock. And thanks for the tea.’
    At the corner of Jubilee Street he turned. Stella was still standing in the lighted doorway, darkness contracting around the house. Vic wished he could go back.
    ‘Hooray!’ he shouted.
    Stella waved in return.
    Stella with her bright hair and hands like small birds — those little fantail fellows he liked in the bush. In less than a day he’d see her again. Vic fondled the thought as he walked, finding it warm and welcome.

Chapter 6
    R oland and Lal Crawford were having a row. Not that you would have guessed. It wasn’t done for a clergyman and his wife to fight openly, as they both well knew, and neither of them was a battler anyway. So instead of angry words, slammed doors and thrown crockery they had substituted an elaborate code of sighs, grimaces, and an assortment of interjections of the ‘So?’ ‘So you say!’ and ‘Really’ variety. If conflict took place at mealtime, as it sometimes