On a Starlit Ocean

by Charlotte Nash

  Tristan laughed and shook his head. “I said a lot of things. But I didn’t really have a choice this time.”

  Erin raised her eyebrows.

  “The resort. Come on, Erin, you must have known what was going on here.”

  “Skye never mentioned it.”

  Tristan’s eyebrows popped up. “You didn’t know it’s been closed for four years? Oh, I suppose that must have been after you left … and Skye did mention you hadn’t been in touch.”

  Erin looked away. She folded her arms, feeling misled, angry at all the changes that had happened while she’d been away, angry that he of all people knew more than she did. “Why not just call me yourself?”

  “I’d rather talk about the opportunity. It’s not just a new resort – it’s way more than that. I have a special role for you in mind. There are dozens of people I could have, but you were my first choice. You were always the best.”

  He stepped towards her and took her hand. “Look, I know it’s been a long time,” he said, squeezing her palm. “But the island’s dying, Erin. I plan to save it, and I want you on board.”

  Erin pulled her hand back. “First choice for what exactly?” she said, suspicious and aware Skye was probably eavesdropping through the window.

  “There’s a town meeting on Monday night. That’s only two days to wait. Come and see what I’m planning. I’m not the developer from out of town pushing my ideas on the locals. I am one. And after, we can talk about your role. No obligations. You don’t like what I offer? No problem.”

  “Sorry. Vague promises don’t pay bills,” Erin said, wary after empty promises of rich owners. “I’ve got a boat to keep in the water.”

  “Come on, E. I know you love the island. And I’m deadly serious. If I wasn’t, I wouldn’t be paying for the village to have a new doctor, would I? The practice is already leased to us, and he flies in Monday. Are you really going to leave Skye and your mum and everyone without hearing what I have in mind?”

  Erin’s stomach flipped again. New doctor. Someone to replace her father.

  “Fine. Just until Monday,” she said.

  “Great.” The smile creased his eyes. “Now, will you give Skye my apologies? I need to run back for a meeting. See you Monday.”

  Erin stayed in the yard a full minute, staring after his straight back as he vanished around the corner. It was hard to imagine that her past with him had ever happened, and she hated that he’d extracted a promise to stay. But he was also right … Erin wouldn’t forgive herself if she left behind a chance to help the island.

  When she stepped through the cottage door and into the kitchen, she found Skye sitting at the kitchen table with her arms folded and thunderclouds on her face. The special cups were out, and Erin could smell fresh tea from the fancy box that smelled like rose petals, and only came out for special occasions.

  “Where’s Tristan?” Skye said.

  “He has another meeting now.”

  “I see.” Skye rose dumped the tea into the sink, turning over the mugs with unnecessary force. “And what was all the secret talk?”

  “I don’t know yet. I have to wait until Monday.”

  This at least seemed to ease Skye’s anger. “I suppose you want me to make up the sofa bed.”

  Erin shook her head, feeling sad in the familiar kitchen. She didn’t want to hold this guilt over the secrets she couldn’t share, didn’t want to be back in Tristan’s orbit. Didn’t want to be reminded of her father, or know there was a new doctor coming to take over his surgery. Didn’t want to witness the animosity Skye held for her. She should never have come.

  “It’s okay, I’m staying on the boat.”

  The day had turned into late afternoon by the time Erin had taken her sail to Gus’s, and cleaned through the cabin and deck in a muddled fervour. She was bringing up a garbage bag, her sweating hair escaping from its rough bun, when she saw a figure waiting on the jetty.

  “I heard you were home.”

  Erin dropped the bag, her heart beating like a rabbit’s. Her mother was dressed in a wide sun-faded hat, hiking shorts and an old t-shirt that had ripped away its edging.

  “Mum,” she said, stepping off the boat. She hesitated. “I’m sorry, I’m filthy and I smell.”

  Anna pulled her into a hug anyway. “My, yes, you do!” she said, but didn’t seem to care. She seemed delighted to see her eldest daughter, but Erin could only feel a tide of guilt.

  Then, Erin noticed the sharp bones at her mother’s shoulders. That her hair was full of great waves of silver. She seemed frail, a diminished version of the woman Erin remembered. The tide of guilt ran higher.

  “I’m sorry that I … that it’s been …” she began.

  “You’re here now,” her mother said, putting out a hand for the garbage bag.

  “No, no,” Erin said. “I’ll take it down later.”

  She wasn’t going to hand her trash across to her mother as the first exchange they’d had in four years.

  “Well, you’d better make tea instead then.”

  They sat on the deck, sipping from their cups, not saying much. The resort’s construction fence loomed in the distance, but they didn’t talk about it at first. Anna asked instead about Erin’s life overseas, and Erin talked mechanically about this race or that. The gulf between the two of them seemed wider than the Mediterranean.

  Then her mother said, “You know it closed two months after you left. Sold twice since then. The fence went up two years ago, to stop looting.”

  “Skye mentioned it,” Erin said, but she was stuck on the after you left.

  “Did she mention there’s going to be a new doctor?”

  Erin looked down at her cup, nodding because she didn’t trust herself to speak. She didn’t want her mother to bring this all up.

  Anna sighed. “Maybe it will be a good thing,” she said, but with a resignation that said she’d seen too much to count on it.

  “Maybe,” Erin whispered.

  Anna stood, leaving her cup on the deck. “I’m so glad you’re home, Erin. So glad. Why don’t you clean up and come see us up at the house?”

  “I don’t know that I am home,” Erin said quickly. “I’m staying till Monday with this meeting thing, but I don’t know how long after that. Besides, I’m not sure Skye wants me up there.”

  She braced for remonstration, to see pain and hurt, or to have a Skye-style rebuke thrown back. But her mother just nodded slowly. “Well, I’ll come down and see you then. Every Monday while you’re here.”

  “Okay.”

  As Anna left down the jetty, Erin reflected that if she were Skye, Anna might have suggested a visit every day. But Erin had never been like Skye. Erin had been her father’s girl, and all of them knew it. And that made her secret all the worse.

  Erin snatched up the garbage bag. She felt about as useful as the cast-off things inside it. A sailor unwelcome in her home port, and not much welcome in any others either. But she couldn’t go anywhere until her sail was fixed, so that would give her until Monday to come up with a plan.

  Chapter 2

  On Monday morning, Dr Alexander Bell wasn’t sure the window seat had been the best idea. It gave him rather too good a view of how high they were above the water, how tiny the approaching island seemed. Just a smudge of dark green, rimmed with pale sand, in all that endless water. Treacherous water. You only had to look at the way the reefs coloured the sea in deep blues and greens, the way the waves foamed angrily over shallow rocks at the foot of a cliff at the southern end of the island.

  Don’t look at the rocks.

  He dragged his eyes back into the cabin, sucked a deep breath. Tried to release the fingers that he’d dug into the arm rests. He should have just taken the ferry. But his employer had insisted, and Alex hadn’t wanted to explain.

  “Not a good flyer, darling?”

  He glanced across the tiny aisle. A woman stared back at him with a kindly expression. Alex was surprised he hadn’t noticed her, what with
the fake eyelashes, 70% cocoa tan, bleached blond hair, and the rioting red kaftan. She must be a local.

  “Something like that,” he said.

  “Pretzel?” She offered a half-open packet. “Or maybe,” she dropped her voice, “something stronger?” She produced a tiny silver flask from within the kaftan, and shook it with a conspiratorial eyebrow.

  Alex smiled. But it wouldn’t be a good idea to show up at the surgery with liquor on his breath. He was all about avoiding bad impressions these days. So he shook his head. The woman offered her hand instead.

  “Stella Moon, artist’s muse,” she said, making it sound a serious occupation.

  Alex shook around her long fingernails. “Alex Bell, bad flyer.”

  She laughed. “And what do you do, Alex Bell? You’re not a model, are you? Those arms, that jaw, perfect for a charcoal, I think.”

  Alex blushed. “I’m a doctor,” he said. Even as he said it, he felt how unfamiliar the words had become, as if he was newly engaged again and trying out the word fiancé. He leaned back in his seat, trying to imagine he wasn’t on a small plane hundreds of metres above the ocean. The tiny plane held only fifteen seats, so he could see all the way to the cockpit. And for all the fact they were bound for a tropical island, the passengers looked anything but ready for the beach. Two men in hi-vis gear sat near the front, and behind them a man and a woman, both wearing business suits. In fact, the only one who looked ready for a holiday was Stella.

  When he looked back, Stella was eyeing him expectantly, clearly waiting for an answer.

  “I said, are you having a nice vacation?” she said, when he asked her to repeat the question.

  “I’m actually here to work.”

  Stella’s eyes widened. “But that means you’re the new island doctor? Oh, how exciting. We haven’t had one of those for years. Not since Dr Jacobs. It’ll be so nice to have someone at home instead of having to trek across to the mainland all the time. That’s where I’ve just been.”

  “I’m only here every second week,” he said, gripping the seat again as the plane shuddered.

  “Oh, that will still be grand,” Stella went on, with sure authority. “There’s less than a hundred people living here permanently. Once the resort’s open again, though, I’m sure you’ll be up at all hours, sorting out all the food poisoning from the dinner buffet.” She smiled knowingly.

  Alex had been relieved about his work arrangement at first: he still had his job on the mainland, working emergency department shifts in the base hospital. Coming out here every second week seemed like an antidote for those long hours. An island paradise was a cure-all, wasn’t it?

  Only now, glancing out the window again at that endless blue ocean, he wondered at his motivations. Was he just making himself face that part of his life he’d rather forget?

  “Looks beautiful,” he said, just to say something, and maybe to reassure himself.

  Stella laughed. “Oh yes, but she’s deceiving, is Haven. Just ask anyone. She keeps her mysteries behind all that beauty. At least, that’s what Helmut says. But I’m sure everyone will be grateful to have a doctor again. It was so sad, what happened to Dr Jacobs. If a few people are funny about someone new, don’t let it worry you. They’ll come around. And you must come up and visit us at the studio.”

  Alex pulled his eyes away from the ocean again. “What happened to Dr Jacobs?”

  Stella hesitated. “He died at sea,” she said. “At least, we assume so. One of the many mysteries of the island. But we’re almost there, now. Grip my hand if you need to, darling.”

  But Alex’s fingers had already wrapped around the seat rests again as the tiny plane dived down. He closed his eyes. Died at sea. He had visions of the waves going up and down around the horizon, of seeing nothing but endless dark blue. If he had doubts about this island before, they were screaming at him now.

  As it turned out, the pilot put the wheels down with barely a bounce, and Alex had his legs steady under him again by the time he walked down the steps. Well, almost steady.

  The airfield was a single strip of packed grass nestled in the island’s limited flat country, separating the faded red roofs of the resort from the bush of the interior. The signs of abandonment were obvious, even from the tarmac. The huge fence contained buildings overgrown with creepers, drained swimming pools and collected sand drifts. But beyond all that, he could see the heads of palm trees nodding in the light breeze.

  He sucked a lung full of air. Hot sand. Surf. And the faint tang of diesel. Smells from a former life that used to mean good things.

  A woman in a flowing skirt and a white shirt with sleeves rolled to the elbows waved him over. She removed her oversized sunglasses to reveal eyes creased in a mass of smile lines. “Dr Bell?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, you’re much younger than I expected. They usually send the crusty ones over to the island.”

  Alex looked down at himself. “My crust is in my bag.”

  She cracked a smile that said he’d passed some kind of test. “I’m Sandy. I’ll take you down to the village.”

  They drove down in an old golf cart whose seats were split from the sun, Alex’s bag stuffed into the rear seat. Sandy drove with her foot to the floor, past the fence of the old resort and down the paved road under the palms.

  “That’s the main beach on the left, and we’ll go past the shops in a minute,” she said, as they bumped along beside pristine white sand, thatched roofs appearing in the distance. “Beyond is the backpackers’ safari tent area, and the village houses are in behind. We prefer to be back from the beach a bit – when the storms come in, things get a bit wild.”

  As they came to the shops – just a row of four whitewashed huts, one clearly vacant – Sandy hooked a turn into the shoulder and jerked to a stop.

  “That one’s mine,” she said, nodding towards the bakery. Alex leaned out and caught a waft of meat pies and fresh bread. He felt something in his mind snap back in.

  “I thought you said you were the receptionist?”

  “Oh, I am,” she said, pulling out again, and shooting up the right fork in the path. A little down the way, they came to a low white building with wide eaves, Surgery painted in classic black letters on the front door. “I used to fill in for Anna – that's Dr Jacobs’s wife – when she couldn’t do it, so I’m trained in all the systems. But there’s not much demand for appointments, and I only do the early shift baking. Not much call for bread at the moment either!”

  Alex unfolded his legs from the golf cart and surveyed the surgery. Palm fronds and seed pods had fallen in the yard, and the gardens were overgrowing with succulents. The building looked solid, but neglected, with cobwebs in the corners of the outside windows.

  “Sorry we haven’t cleaned up out here yet,” Sandy was saying, “but the inside’s been gone over completely. I called a practice on the mainland for help with restocking, but you’ll have to check the orders I’ve made.”

  She fished a key from her pocket and pushed the door open with a fall of fine sand. Alex followed, the cold air inside raising a chill as it met his sun-warmed skin. Quiet. He looked around: the front counter was neat, but the information posters were several years out of date. The waiting area showed two gaps where chairs had been removed. To the left was an open door into a consulting office. He’d expected to find it empty, but instead it felt as though another doctor had just stepped out, even down to the crystal jellybean dish.

  Sandy hovered behind him. “We weren’t sure what you’d need in here. If there’s anything you don’t want, let me know and I’ll box it up for Anna.”

  “That was Dr Jacobs’s wife?” he asked, running a finger over a potted fern, expecting to find it plastic. But it was real. “She’s still here?”

  “Yes. She and her daughter Skye live right down the path.”

  Alex raised an eyebrow. “I heard he died.”

  Sandy’s smile fell and she pushed her sunglasses up on her head again. “A f
ew years back. Would you like to see the appointment book?”

  Alex pondered as Sandy bustled off to retrieve the book. A small place like this being without a doctor for years was hardly a surprise, but if the last person to sit in this chair had been well-loved and was still being mourned, he’d have expectations to meet. He remembered the attachment of small towns to their doctors from his junior years, when he’d been posted out west.

  “Sandy,” he said gently, when she came back with a bound red book. “Was Dr Jacobs here a long time?”

  “Fifteen years. Came over when his girls were still small,” said Sandy, tilting her head with a wistful look. “Very happy family. He worked on the mainland, too, but this was home.”

  Seeing tears beginning to gather in her eyes, Alex put a hand of apology on her arm and cut off the line of questions. He felt himself being drawn on an investigative bent with Dr Jacobs, and it wasn’t time for that. He looked down at the appointment schedule. Well, maybe there was time. No bookings today. Two tomorrow. One on Wednesday.

  “Lots of space in case there’s walk-ins from the day-trippers,” Sandy said. “Now, tomorrow, you’ve got Greta – she’s the safari village owner. She’s got blood pressure issues. The other one’s a tourist – nice young man from France. Don’t know what that’s about exactly, but I hear it might be something, you know.” She whistled in a fashion that made it clear the problem was likely to be in the nether regions. “And Wednesday,” she went on. “I’m keeping a spot open for Helmut. He’s the painter who lives up on the cliff. Stella made the appointment, so he probably won’t come, but just in case.”

  Alex looked up. “Wait, the Helmut? The artist?”

  “The same. You’ve heard of him?”

  “I’ve seen his work. He donated a painting for a charity auction at the hospital a few years ago.”

  In fact, Alex could still remember the picture, the image of mist and clouds swirling off a seaside cliff, their shapes suggesting a young woman looking down into the spoiling waves. The image had haunted him, and he’d kept walking down the particular hallway where it had been displayed, trying to dissect what it was about the lines and strokes that had hooked into his mind.