Pearls Read Online Free Page B

into a grin. 'George!'
    George Niland removed his topee and held out a hand. 'How are you, Cam?'
    He had a florid, boyish face and sleek, close-groomed fair hair. He was a big man, but round rather than muscular. First job Cam had had when he'd sailed from England was crew on one of the Niland crayboats out of Fremantle. George's father owned the biggest fleet in Western Australia and George had managed the operation form an office in Cantonment Street. George helped Cam get his skipper's ticket.
    'What are you doing here?' Cameron said.
    'I might say the same to you! Pater bought a pearling company up here. Grooming me to take over in a couple of years. Lot of money in shell.'
    'I've not seen it yet George.'
    'Perhaps you spend too much of the season picking fights with other skippers.'
    So that's why he was here. Not a social visit then. 'You heard how that Irish bastard thieved me?'
    'Mister Flynn is regarded as an upstanding member of this community.' He fanned himself with his topee.' You'll have to tread gently there, old boy.'
    'He has something that belongs to me and I intend to get it back. Still that's my problem, nae yours.'
    George took out a handkerchief and mopped at his forehead. Cameron was suddenly conscious of his cramped quarters, the spartan bunk in the corner. 'How did you find your way to this part of the world?'
    'Same as you I suppose. Sunk all I have into the China Cloud.'
    'You own her?'
    'Leased her for the season. I'll make enough from my shell to try my luck for another year. Like a drink, George?'
    'Too early in the day for me. I have a banker's meeting at four.'
    'Bankers?'
    'I handle the finance mostly. Just thought I'd call in on the way down.' He pulled a gold fob watch from his pocket. 'And I'm late already. Look, how about coming over to the house tomorrow afternoon. We're holding a matinee, celebrate the end of the season. Anyone who's anyone in Broome will be there. If you decide to stay on here I might be able to introduce you to some of the right people. Okay?'
    Cameron shrugged. 'Aye, sounds fine.'
    'You can't miss the house. It's right next to the courthouse. Just follow everyone else. Starts about five o'clock.' He replaced the solar topee with a flourish and turned to go. Then, as an afterthought, he added: 'By the way, this Flynn business. I meant what I said. You should take it easy. He has a lot of powerful friends in Broome.'
    'Are you one of them, George?'
    George smiled, wrinkling his nose, and disappeared up the scuttle.
     
    ***
     
    Kate Flynn was a beauty; she had none of the raw, red Gaelic skin of her father. She was pale, and flawless, a legacy to Flynn's long-suffering wife. Maria Flynn had been an elfin dark-haired Dublin lass who had borne Flynn two sons and a daughter and stoically endured his ferocity and abuse and drinking for ten long years, then to be mourned as a saint by her tormentor when she died from pneumonia when Kate was seven years old.
    All Kate had inherited from her father was her flaming red hair - and a temperament to match. At just eighteen years old every single man in Broome - and many of the married ones as well - had an eye for Kate Flynn. So far she had treated them all with disdain.
    Flynn himself had encouraged a match with a young man called George Niland. George's father owned a small pearling fleet and retained business links and some influence in the markets of London and Berlin.
    Kate had told her father what she thought of that notion. 'He's not a man, he's a hatstand.'
    'And what's that supposed to mean?' Flynn had growled.
    'I have no wish to be married to any man who looks in the mirror at himself before he looks at me!'
    'You'll do as you're told, my girl!'
    Kate drew herself up to her full height and stared him down. 'I will not marry George Niland!'
    It was enough to drive a man to drink, Flynn thought as he staggered home from the billiards hall. He stopped on the way to pay a visit to Doctor Halloran, who bathed his cuts in