The Light Between Oceans(58)

‘This model,’ the Mayor announced proudly, ‘was paid for by our local benefactor, Mr Septimus Potts. I’m delighted that Mr Potts and his charming daughters Hannah and Gwen are attending our little gathering tonight, and I’d ask you to show your thanks in the usual way.’ He gestured to an older man sitting beside two women, the first of whom, Tom realised with a sick lurch, was the girl from the boat. He glanced at Isabel, who smiled stiffly as she applauded with the rest of the audience.

The Mayor continued, ‘And of course, ladies and gentlemen, we also have with us tonight the current lightkeeper on Janus, Mr Thomas Sherbourne. I’m sure Tom would be delighted to say a few words about life on Janus Rock today.’ He turned to Tom, and gestured him to the podium.

Tom froze. No one had mentioned a speech. He was still reeling from the realisation that he had met Hannah Roennfeldt. The audience clapped. The Mayor beckoned him again, more forcefully this time. ‘Up you get, sport.’

For just a second, he wondered whether everything, from the day the boat had washed up, might be just one terrible, merciful nightmare. But there in the audience he could see Isabel, the Pottses and Bluey, oppressively real and inescapable. He got to his feet, heart thudding, and walked to the lectern as if to the gallows.

‘Struth,’ he began, sending a ripple of laughter through the audience. ‘I wasn’t expecting this.’ He wiped his palms on the sides of his trousers, and gripped the lectern for support. ‘Life on Janus today …’ He stopped, lost in a thought, and repeated, ‘Life on Janus today …’ How could he explain the isolation? How could he make anyone know the world there, as far removed from their experience as another galaxy? The Janus bubble had shattered like glass: here he was, in a crowd, in an ordinary, real room, full of people, of other lives. In the presence of Hannah Roennfeldt. There was a long silence. A few cleared their throats, others shifted in their seats.

‘Janus Light was designed by some pretty smart characters,’ he said. ‘And built by some pretty brave ones. I just try and do them justice. Keep the light burning.’ He sought refuge in the technical, in the practical, which he could talk about without having to think. ‘People imagine the light must be huge, but it’s not – the actual luminescence comes from a flame of vaporised oil that burns in an incandescent mantle. It gets magnified and directed through a giant set of glass prisms twelve feet high, called a first order Fresnel lens, which bends the light into a beam so intense you can see it more than thirty miles away. Amazing to think a little thing can become so strong that you can see it miles off … My job – my job’s to keep it clean. Keep it turning.

‘It’s like being in a different world, out there, and a different time: nothing changes except the seasons. There are dozens of lighthouses all around the coast of Australia: plenty more fellows like me, trying to make the ships safe, keeping the light for whoever might need it, even though we’ll mostly never see them or know who they are.

‘Can’t think what else to say, really. Except you can never tell what the tide’s going to bring in from one day to the next – everything that two whole oceans fling at us.’ He could see the Mayor checking his pocket watch. ‘Well, I reckon that’s kept you away from the spread for long enough: this is thirsty weather. Thanks,’ he concluded, turning abruptly to sit down, to moderate applause from the bemused audience.

‘You all right, mate?’ Ralph asked in a whisper. ‘You look a bit green about the gills.’

‘Not too keen on surprises,’ was all Tom said.

Mrs Captain Hasluck loved a party. Her penchant was rarely indulged in Partageuse, so tonight she was beside herself with delight. She relished her duty, as Harbourmaster’s wife, to encourage the guests to mix, especially seeing as there were visitors from Perth. She glided here and there, introducing people, reminding them of names and suggesting things they had in common. She kept an eye on Reverend Norkells’ sherry intake; engaged the Superintendent’s wife in small talk about the difficulty of laundering the gold braid on uniforms. She even managed to persuade old Neville Whittnish to tell the story of the day he saved the crew of a schooner whose cargo of rum had caught fire out near Janus in 1899. ‘Of course, that was before Federation,’ he said. ‘And long before the Commonwealth got its hands on the Lights in 1915. A lot more red tape since then.’ The State Governor’s wife nodded dutifully and wondered if he knew he had dandruff.

Mrs Captain looked about for her next task, and saw her opportunity. ‘Isabel, dear,’ she said, laying a hand on her elbow. ‘What an interesting speech Tom gave!’ She cooed to Lucy, who was perched on Isabel’s hip, ‘You’re up very late this evening, young lady. I hope you’re being a good girl for Mummy.’

Isabel smiled. ‘Good as gold.’

In a crochet-hook manoeuvre, Mrs Hasluck reached out to gather in the arm of a woman who was just passing. ‘Gwen,’ she said. ‘You know Isabel Sherbourne, don’t you?’

Gwen Potts hesitated a moment. She and her sister were several years older than Isabel, and having been to boarding school in Perth, neither of them knew her well. Mrs Captain registered the hesitation. ‘Graysmark. You’d know her as Isabel Graysmark,’ she said.

‘I – well, I know who you are, of course,’ she said with a polite smile. ‘Your father’s the headmaster.’