The Foot of Time: A Novel of Australia and the South Seas: (1933)

4
THE FOOT OF TIME
carried her willy-nilly to their bed. His bed and her
bed. How she loved him!
Then they talked tea. Bruce talked, Clare
listened, till Abdul made entry, announcing that
his Sahib's hot bath was ready, and she lay there
absorbed in the whole atmosphere of it. The Darjeeling
tea was delicious. China seed nurtured in
the Himalayan mountain soil. Clare thought she
would try the Orange Pekoe Fannings grade, even
though it necessitated the schooling of her native
staff to well cover the canister against draughts.
Fannings was so easily blown about. Clare reflected
what a lot of hot water Abdul would need to carry
to cover her enormous husband. How heavy he
was, and how secure to her! Secure against any
wind blowing him about like the Tea Fannings!
Blowing him away from her side! A slight shiver
shook her, an instantaneous depression—it came
and left her again, left her with lightning speed.
Intuitive. Ridiculous; yet it had come. The re-
newal of splashing sounds dispelled the passing
cloud. Happy again, she had fallen asleep, till fresh
from his bath and exercises, her husband's kiss
awoke her.
"Wake up, sweetheart; your bath will be getting
cold," he had said. Then with no necessity for it,
unless perhaps, by way of excuse to kiss her again:
"Welcome to Goombah!" This, failing to wake
Clare to his satisfaction, he had picked her up bodily
again, lifted her from the bed, and so carried her
before she was completely aware of it, kissing her
as he strode along. In the bathroom Bruce set his
THE FOOT OF TIME 5
wife on her feet, bestowed a look that she long after
remembered, and so left her.
Bathing, she had watched a lizard disporting itself
up and down the wall. The little creature ran
right across the ceiling on top of her. How its
equilibrium was preserved passed comprehension.
Outside, Abdul could be heard laying the breakfast.
The sizzling of bacon, the smell, the suggestion of
it came to her through the high-cut bathroom door.
Bruce delivering his orders, kindly yet firmly. How
those boys worshipped their great Sahib! Bruce
never gave an order twice. There was no need to.
Clare loved it all, fitted into it, became part of it.
eAxpyeeraiernched ad. gone by—the happiest she had ever
Sir Bruce Arbuthnot, Baronet, was managing
owner not only of Goombah, but also of all the
other gardens comprised in the Arbuthnot Tea
Estate Company Limited. Each garden carried its
own manager. Some gardens required the further
addition of one or more assistants. No, there was
certainly no financial need for the sharing of but
one bearer between them, and now Clare's thoughts
came back to the immediate present as the "boy"
put the tea-tray down by her side. He had to slide
the tray along the table to avoid the book which she
had been trying to read.
The coolie girl who had so especially caught
Clare's attention was now working round to the
side of the tea bush, thus presenting her alluring
beauty in profile. Lithe fingers nipped off the
green leaf according to the orders ruling for the