Free The Well by Elizabeth Jolley Page A

thing if Miss Harper decided to sell. ‘Price is good,’ he said. ‘At this stage you can insist on price – on your price. Borden wants to buy in here now. Might change his mind later. He’s a good man,’ Mr Bird paused and, without looking at Hester’s stony face as if he needed to be unaware of her expression in order to be able to go on talking, he told her that he would help her, as always, with investments. ‘You must look at it like this,’ he said, his voice was steady not even persuasive. He was telling her plain facts he said. ‘Borden has intentions to sub-divide. No, let me finish,’ Mr Bird said quietly as Hester stiffened and was about to say, ‘Never,’ in a tone which he knew well. ‘He can pay your price because he’s going to get a lot more back. I happen to know. You know, yourself, the trend. It won’t last but there it is, strike while the iron’s hot, Miss Hester. Prices will drop, like lead they’ll drop. Why? Drought.’ The question and statement bounced between them. ‘There’s families,’ he said, ‘have walked off their farms in the past and there’s families will be walking off them again. I’m not saying that you’re in that position, Miss Hester, but you’ve the chance now to sail off and remember, your stubble’s thin.’
    Hester frowned till her dark eyebrows met. This trouble talk annoyed her. The idea of farmlets as they were called bored her.
    â€˜Once you’ve sold,’ Mr Bird seemed to know her thought, ‘what happens to the place is not your concern, you’ll have no more say in the dealings, you’ll quit but you’ll have your own affairs to see to. Your money. Your slopes,’ Mr Bird seemed ruthless. ‘Your slopes,’ he repeated, ‘don’t seem to conserve moisture as they once did. We’re not doing as well as we should,’ he added. He waited but as Hester made no reply he said, ‘I’m an old man now, Miss Hester, I’ve nothing else to say. I’ll not be able to help you forever. We, none of us, get any younger. There is just this too,’ he paused, almost as if he was too shy to speak, ‘there’s a change in you, Miss Hester, if I can say this. For a long time now the farm’s not been number one in your order of things. To put it plain, it’s not a business any more.’ He paused and then went on, ‘And Borden, Mr Borden has asked me to make an offer on his behalf. It’s a good offer. He’s willing for you, if you so wish it, to keep this dog leg and this house, yard and shed buildings and he’ll never trouble you at this end except to plough the firebreaks both sides of the fencing. It’s a fair offer and open for you to ask more – it’s all down here.’ He gave Hester a sheet of paper.
    Hester, receiving the letter with the written offer and the named price, sat silent, her eyes trying to read the formal words. She felt a pounding in her head as if all the blood vessels she had were filling and about to burst.
    â€˜Well think quick if you will please, Miss Hester,’ Mr Bird said. He lowered his voice, ‘And if I might advise you to hold your tongue about it before everyone, including little Miss Whatsaname in there.’ He jerked his head towards the whirring sound of the sewing machine. Hester could not think of anything acid enough to say so she said nothing, managing, without any difficulty, to look like an advertisement for vinegar. Mr Bird stood up.
    â€˜Thank you, Miss Hester, for my tea. It would be better,’ he said, ‘to accept before Borden puts his fistful some place else.’ With a final reminder that her stubble could be thicker and that they could both be younger he left.
    During the night Hester, sitting in the moonlit window while Katherine brushed her hair gently, forgave Mr Bird his insult about her stubble.