The Well by Elizabeth Jolley Page B

not pause to greet her as they once would have done. And no one moved aside to make way for her to pass. She tried to hurry, trying to squeeze between people in order not to lose sight of her hostess. Though she did not care at all for Mrs Borden she was anxious not to be alone. She kept her eyes on the florid pregnant figure ahead. She was now, she understood, fully on the same footing as the common townspeople.
    â€˜How does it feel?’ Mr Bird asked her as he came towards her carrying an oval plate of chips and fried fish unsuitably decorated with lettuce. Some leaves fell off as Mr Bird came nearer. He steadied the pile of thick bread and butter with a rough thick finger. ‘How does it feel,’ he repeated the words when he was close enough, ‘to have all that solid cash behind you eh? Better than dry paddocks eh?’
    â€˜Oh, so so,’ Hester replied unwilling to reveal that his speaking of the money like this comforted her. Mr Bird, as he had done before, though she would never thank him for it, was bringing her comfort. Suddenly she remembered that during both her years at boarding school Mr Bird had sent her birthday cards. He had simply added his initial and his surname to the message inside the cards. Hester, not having many letters and certainly none from men, made much of the cards and the sender of them to the girls at school …
    â€˜Here,’ he said, ‘take it, I’ve brought it for you. There’s a place over there, make for that table there and we’ll sit down a while.’ Hester, with gratitude, did as she was told. She was hungry of course. They had had their small lunch very early and nothing since.
    â€˜Remember,’ Mr Bird said, watching her eat, ‘don’t disclose your assets to anyone and don’t take anyone into your confidence. Not about your money anyhow. And,’ he added in a low voice, ‘give up that red woollen bonnet!’
    Hester smiled and sucked her greasy fingers. ‘Perhaps,’ she said, her old arrogance coming back. She would keep her money any way she wanted to. ‘I’ll think about it,’ she said.
    â€˜As well as the investments you’ve got,’ Mr Bird said, ‘I’ve got something else for you. I’ll bring the papers for you to sign. I really mean what I say about not having cash to that amount around the place – won’t do you any good just to let it lie.’
    â€˜Thanks,’ Hester said as coldly as she could through the white flesh of the fish. As she ate she felt more comfortable. She felt comfortable thinking of her money. There was considerable reassurance in having some, a large amount, in a place where she could peer at it as into a nest from time to time as often as she liked. Mr Bird fetched her a cup of tea. As she drank it a mellowness which accompanies tea when it is brought as an offering spread through her. Perhaps one day, not just now, she would remind Mr Bird of the birthday cards and thank him for them.
    Hester needing to visit the Ladies’ Room made her way slowly through the crowd and, as she passed the open doors to the bar, she was greeted warmly by the men who had worked for her. She responded strangely grateful for an unexpected show of friendship. Emboldened by her apparent good humour one of the men made a remark which caused Hester to give one of her loud snorts of braying laughter. She steadied herself against the door post and several of the men joined in her laugh.
    Immediately Mrs Borden was at Hester’s side. ‘Sssh!’ she was hissing and rearing, clutching at Hester’s arm. ‘Mr Borden,’ the hiss was vehement, ‘Mr Borden is just addressing his guests. Keep your voice down. Do! If you can!’ Anger flashed from the eyes under the huntsman’s hat. In the look of anger Hester saw all too clearly a look of distaste amounting to hatred. Other people, she noticed, were still talking. She was not the