‘And you, Mr Dundas,’ Aria replied in a clear, low-pitched voice, and favoured him with a wide and radiant smile.

  Friday’s heart jolted so violently she felt faintly sick. Aria’s teeth were perfect, straight and even, and the canines sharp and dazzlingly white against the velvet darkness of her lips.

  Aria turned to Harrie. ‘Good morning, Miss Clarke.’

  ‘Good morning, Miss Aria.’ Harrie went red again, and blurted, ‘This is my friend, Friday.’

  Friday’s hand gripped the edge of the bench as Aria’s gaze shifted to her.

  ‘That’s an unusual name,’ Aria said, her arched brows raised. ‘As in the day of the week?’

  ‘No, it’s after St Frideswide, patron saint of Oxford. In England,’ Friday added, in case Aria didn’t know where Oxford was. ‘She was famous for being a virgin and a nun.’

  Leo made a snorting noise that turned into a cough, and got out his handkerchief.

  Friday shot him a barbed look. ‘Not that we have much in common, me and St Frideswide.’

  Aria laughed. ‘Do you not?’

  She had the dirtiest-sounding laugh. Startled, Friday stared at her as ripples of excitement chased up and down her spine. Aria stared back. And Friday knew.

  Mahuika stepped in front of her daughter. ‘Mr Dundas, we have been travelling for many hours. We came from Parramatta this morning.’

  ‘My apologies,’ Leo said. ‘I thought you’d be arriving later.’

  ‘He aha te tikanga o to kupu?’ Mahuika demanded. ‘Haere ki te whakatika kai ma tatou!’

  ‘Do not be so rude,’ Tu snapped at his wife.

  Mahuika scowled at him.

  Hoata moved forwards. ‘The refreshments. When I visited previously I requested that refreshments be made available.’

  Leo scratched the back of his neck. ‘Aye, well, as you can see I’ve been working. I do apologise. I haven’t had time this morning to make arrangements. Also, I don’t like to have food in the room when I’m tattooing. I thought we could wait until afterwards, and have a nice cup of tea and something to eat then.’ He hadn’t planned any such thing at all, but it seemed prudent to suggest he had.

  ‘Is there nothing?’ demanded Mahuika. ‘This is not what I call hospitality befitting of a rangatira’s status.’

  ‘Do not complain, wife,’ Tu growled. ‘The man is simply adhering to the appropriate protocol, and rightly so.’

  Leo turned to Harrie. ‘Take some money from the caddy and —’

  ‘No, your assistant should stay,’ Tu interrupted. ‘At any rate, today I planned only to talk. I will demonstrate tomorrow perhaps, and so shall you. For today I will send someone out for refreshments … to my favourite bakery.’ He clicked his fingers, said something in Maori, and two men left the room.

  Friday, still trying to get a good look at Aria around her mother, was surprised — and quite shocked — to see the Maori girl staring boldly back at her. Her eyes held an invitation that was very close to a challenge, which Friday found both highly erotic and … intimidating. Usually she had the upper hand in these situations, but evidently not this time. Aria’s dark brows lifted in a question before she followed the men outside. Her heart pounding with anticipation, Friday sidled around the bench, grabbed her reticule and bodice, and, stuffing her arms into the sleeves, crept out after her.

  The alleyway outside Leo’s shop was empty and Friday’s heart plunged into her boots. She ran down the side of the Sailors’ Grave Hotel and around the corner onto George Street, and straight into Aria.

  On the verge of either shrieking or giggling and wondering why she was being so bloody silly, she blurted, ‘Shit! Sorry!’

  ‘It is all right,’ Aria said. She gestured disparagingly at the two men walking ahead. ‘Come on, I am not allowed to be out of their sight.’

  ‘Well, that’s stupid. Why not?’

  ‘Yes, it is stupid. I love your moko.’ Aria touched Friday’s arm, and just the fleeting weight of her fingers through the fabric of her bodice sleeve made Friday’s skin prickle.

  ‘My tattoos? They’re nice, aren’t they? Leo did them.’

  ‘Mr Dundas?’

  Friday nodded. ‘I’ve got one on my leg as well, a bat, and the one I’m getting on my back’ll be huge. Harrie’s helping with that.’

  ‘It is to be a bird? I saw the wings.’

  ‘A phoenix.’

  ‘I have never heard of a phoenix,’ Aria said.

  Up ahead the men had stopped. One beckoned impatiently for Aria to catch up.

  ‘Oh, go away,’ she muttered.

  ‘It’s not real, the phoenix,’ Friday said. ‘It’s mythical.’ She frowned. ‘At least I don’t think it’s real. I love your tattoo. Did they use chisels? Did it hurt?’

  ‘Yes, the tohunga used chisels, and yes, it did hurt.’

  ‘Bugger that.’

  Aria laughed her dirty laugh again.

  ‘Can I touch it?’ Friday asked. Aria’s tattoo was beautiful and Friday wanted to trace the intricate lines of the pattern, but more than that, she yearned to touch Aria’s smooth brown skin.

  Aria threw a quick glance at the men, who had walked on, and nodded.

  Hoping her hand didn’t stink of pipe tobacco, Friday very gently ran her fingers across Aria’s chin, feeling the raised scars left by the chisel. Her own skin thrilled where it touched Aria’s, and she wondered if Aria felt the same. She moved her fingers to Aria’s full bottom lip — the flesh there felt like a new rose petal.

  ‘No.’ Aria took hold of her wrist. ‘They will see. We must catch up.’

  And so they did, Friday swallowing her disappointment as she hurried beside Aria. It was idiotic of her to hope for anything more, though, in broad daylight in the middle of George Street.

  ‘Where are we going?’ she asked. ‘To the market?’

  ‘To the bakery in Charlotte Place. The baker there makes very good meat pies and cakes. My father loves them and will think up any excuse to eat them. We always buy food from there when we come to Sydney.’

  Friday’s heart gave a little leap. ‘How often is that?’

  ‘I have visited twice now, but my mother and father come much more often, on business.’

  ‘What sort of business?’

  Aria stepped deftly around a pile of horseshit. ‘This and that. Markets for our flax and potatoes, usually. This time we are also here to find the graves of several of our children who died some years ago, while studying at Reverend Marsden’s Rangihou seminary for Nga Puhi boys at Parramatta. Altogether, thirteen were lost. It was a great tragedy. My mother and father also have some other private business.’

  Friday thought it a bit odd that thirteen kids should die while supposedly in the care of Reverend Marsden. The notion of the proud and ferocious Tumanawapohatu being partial to bakery pies, though, was quite funny.

  They caught up with Aria’s minders on the corner of George Street and Charlotte Place. Aria introduced them as Kahu and Paikea. Both men afforded Friday terse nods of acknowledgment. As they all traipsed along Charlotte Place, she realised she knew the bakery they were heading for, and it did sell excellent pies.

  Paikea fell in beside her. ‘Are you a married woman, Miss Friday?’

  ‘It’s Miss Woolfe, actually. And no, I’m not.’

  ‘Aria is betrothed,’ he said pointedly. ‘To a renowned chief with much wealth and influence, and considerable prowess on the battlefield and in other areas of note.’

  Again, Friday felt disappointment, only this tasted far more bitter. Surely she hadn’t misread the signs? She glanced at Aria, who rolled her eyes and gave a very slight shake of her head, making sure only Friday could see. Her spirits took flight again.

  Paikea hitched his cloak over his well-muscled shoulder and went on conversationally, ‘I note that your moko are very colourful. I have seen the like on white women before, here and in Aotearoa. Of course, those women were whores.’ He looked at her, clearly waiting for a response.

  Though her fists had clenched, Friday managed to stop herself from driving one into his smirking, brown face. What an arsehole! She had to make a living somehow. What did it have to do with him, anyway? No doubt it was because she fancied Aria, and not him or his mate. Men hated that.

  ‘Paikea!’ Aria fired a short, sharp sentence at him in Maori.

  He responded, also in Maori. Aria spoke again, then flapped her hand angrily at both men, indicating that they should walk on ahead. To Friday’s surprise, they did.

  ‘I am very sorry,’ Aria said. ‘That was very rude.’

  Friday hesitated. Should she tell her? Would it ruin everything? Was there anything to ruin? ‘Actually, I am a whore.’

  ‘Yes, I thought you might be,’ Aria said. ‘You are very beautiful. I expect men pay a lot of money to lie with you.’

  Friday suddenly felt so buoyant her feet almost left the ground. She marched up to Paikea, jabbed him in the back and said loudly, ‘Did you hear what I just said, Mr Smartarse? I am a whore! So stick that in your pipe and smoke it!’

  Paikea didn’t break stride, simply exchanged a supercilious glance with Kahu.

  The bakery was packed with folk waiting at the counter, but the crowd parted to allow fearsome-looking Paikea and Kahu to be served first. They ordered a ridiculous number of meat pies, pasties, buns and fruit tarts, which had to be packed in layers into a small wooden crate for transportation. In a jubilant yet reckless and slightly dangerous mood now, and not to be outdone by the two men, Friday ordered two and a half-dozen almond cakes — all the bakery had on display.

  Irritated by the snail-like pace of the overweight girl behind the counter as she transferred each almond cake to the crate, Friday snapped, ‘For Christ’s sake, hurry up, we haven’t got all day.’

  In response, the girl deliberately moved even more glacially. Finally, to the accompaniment of Friday’s heaved sighs, she finished mucking about, took Friday’s money, draped a square of muslin over the crate, pushed it across the counter, and said at the top of her voice, ‘Enjoy your dinner.’

  The crowd of waiting customers burst into laughter.

  ‘Don’t assume everyone has the same eating habits as you, lardarse,’ Friday shot back.

  The crowd went, ‘Ooooh!’ and Aria cackled her laugh.

  Friday grinned at her, hefted the crate off the counter and marched out of the bakery.

  Outside, Paikea said, ‘I will carry the box.’

  ‘Why?’ Friday’s reticule dangled from her arm and the muscles above the neckline of her bodice bulged. ‘I can manage. You and Yahoo can trot along behind.’

  ‘Kahu,’ Kahu said curtly. ‘My name is Kahu.’ He turned to Paikea and said something in Maori so indignant-sounding that Friday smirked all the way back to Leo’s.

  Everyone was sitting on the floor except Tu and Mahuika, who had commandeered the tattoo chair and stool respectively, and Leo and Harrie, who had brought chairs through from the other room. Spread across the bench was a selection of bone chisels of differing sizes and slightly different shapes, two beautifully carved wooden pots, and a small ceramic container. Tu was speaking while Leo listened intently, and Harrie gazed down at her hands. Friday thought she looked very tired.

  ‘Here,’ Friday said to Paikea, ‘take the food through to the other room and put it on the table.’

  ‘You take it. I am not a slave.’

  ‘Well, neither am I.’

  ‘You were happy to carry it back here,’ Paikea said.

  ‘Friday,’ Aria warned quietly.

  Across the room Friday could see Mahuika watching them, frowning.

  Annoyance flickered across Aria’s face. ‘Here, I will see to it,’ she said, and beckoned to a woman sitting on the floor, who took the crate from Friday.

  Paikea made his way around the room until he stood behind Mahuika. He bent and whispered in her ear at length, and Mahuika caught Friday’s eye again. This time she scowled — heavily. Feeling the frosty disapproval of the woman’s gaze, Friday returned the stare for a moment before looking away. Obviously Aria’s mother was an interfering cow, but it probably wouldn’t be a good idea to annoy her unnecessarily. She moved towards Leo’s parlour-cum-kitchen to see what Aria was doing, but Aria was coming back out.

  ‘Have you laid it all out already?’

  Aria looked startled. ‘The food? Waiora will do that.’

  ‘Oh.’ Friday was surprised. Aria had said it as though she wouldn’t even contemplate doing something as domestic and mundane as setting out plates of food.

  ‘Shall we listen to what my father has to say? Whatever else he might be, he is a very skilled tohunga and he is always worth listening to when he speaks of ta moko.’

  Now Friday was dying to know what other things Aria considered her father to be. In her experience, no one who said that ever meant well of the person they said it about. It was nice to know it wasn’t just English families who bickered, fought and didn’t trust each other. She nodded and followed Aria to the front of the room and sat down beside her on the floor.

  But as soon as she did, Mahuika interrupted her husband’s monologue. ‘Mr Dundas, excuse me, why is that … female still here?’ She gestured at Friday with a dismissive flip of her hand. ‘Is she not just a customer of yours?’

  ‘Yes, she is,’ Harrie spoke up, blushing yet again, ‘and she hasn’t finished her session. It was booked weeks ago. She should be allowed to stay. She can stay, can’t she, Leo?’

  Leo contemplated Harrie’s worried face. ‘Aye, I’d prefer not to turn a valued customer away. I’d rather she stayed.’

  Mahuika’s mouth puckered in disapproval, but she remained silent.

  As Tu talked on, Aria inched almost imperceptibly closer to Friday. At one point she set her hand on the ground, and Friday’s heart thrilled as Aria’s little finger extended to touch the side of her hand. From the corner of her eye she caught the glorious woman’s gaze; Aria winked and Friday ducked her head, hiding behind her hair, grinning with delight.

  Tu ended his lecture twenty minutes later by opening the trio of pots. One contained ink made from burnt moth larvae used specifically for moko on the body, another held a very black and therefore highly prized ink for the face, prepared from the soot of the fallen kauri tree, and the third contained bird oil infused with a herbal mulch to treat infected scabs and skin lesions. Friday found it fascinating. She stood up and asked, ‘How much do you charge for one of your tattoos?’

  ‘Money?’ Tu said in a tone just disdainful enough to be noticeable. ‘I do not charge money. For the privilege of receiving my services I am regularly gifted with dog skin and feather cloaks, huia feathers, fine food, weapons, jade, whalebone, beautiful walking sticks, horses. Guns.’ This last brought forth mumbles of approval from the audience. ‘Do you have guns, white girl?’

  ‘Not on me, no,’ Friday replied sarcastically. White girl? She hadn’t made a song and dance about him being a brown man.

  Mahuika interrupted yet again. ‘My husband would not tattoo you, anyway. Ta moko is not for whores, and especially not Pakeha whores.’

  Friday thought, well, fuck you, you rude bitch. She wasn’t putting up with this, not even to be near Aria. And bugger the rest of her tattoo session for today — she had to leave before she belted someone.

  She said, ‘Sorry, Harrie, I’ll see you next time,’ stepped around everyone sitting on the floor and left.

  She was almost out onto George Street when she heard, ‘Friday, wait!’

  She turned to see Aria running down the alleyway, her skirts hitched to her knees revealing shapely calves above button boots, and her long hair flying behind her like a black silk banner.

  ‘I am sorry,’ she said. ‘I apologise for my mother. And my father. May I please see you again?’

  Friday’s anger dissolved instantly and a lovely warm feeling spread out from her belly. ‘Hell, yes. Better not tell your ma, though. What a cow, if you don’t mind me saying so.’ A cow? She was razor-tongued bloody old tarleather.

  ‘Of course I will not tell her. Or Paikea. He is my guard.’

  ‘Your guard? What do you need a guard for?’

  Aria looked irritated. ‘I will tell you another time. Shall I come to you? Where do you live?’

  ‘At the Siren’s Arms Hotel, on Harrington Street. It’s only round the corner from here. When can you come?’

  ‘I will send a message,’ Aria said. ‘I must go back.’ And she kissed Friday on the corner of her mouth and trotted back along the alleyway, just as Mahuika appeared in Leo’s doorway, looking thunderous.

  Friday waved gaily at her and walked off along George Street, swinging her arms jauntily and grinning her head off.

  Mahuika gripped her daughter’s arm. ‘What were you saying to that red-headed whore?’

  Aria glared at her. ‘Goodbye. I was saying goodbye, Mother. You did not have to be so rude to her.’

  ‘Clearly I did. You are forbidden to stray, especially not with some common Pakeha prostitute.’

  ‘Yes. I am sorry.’ Aria hung her head. ‘You are right. I was only saying goodbye.’

  Mahuika loosened the pressure on Aria’s arm. ‘Good. I am glad you are able to see sense. The girlish freedoms you once enjoyed are behind you. You have responsibilities. You will behave, do you understand?’

  ‘Yes, Mother.’

  That evening, as Harrie sat on the sofa folding washing Abigail had brought in, Nora appeared and said, ‘Dr Downey is downstairs asking to see you.’

  Harrie sat very still, a pillowslip suspended between her hands. ‘Tell him to go away. Tell him I don’t want to talk to him.’

  ‘Is that what you really want?’ Nora asked.

  She wasn’t sure what had driven Harrie to squander her virginity on a virtual stranger, but knowing how she felt about James Downey, Nora was fairly confident that something he’d done had been behind it. And as James Downey was a man, she assumed he’d been with a woman. An infidelity was just the sort of thing to push Harrie over the edge in her current delicate mental state. But men were like that. For Harrie to have any sort of future with James, she would have to put it behind her.