‘Thank you, Steve.’ Olivia smiled. ‘I had fun!’
‘You’re welcome!’
‘Mahalo nui loa, Steve!’ called Alani. ‘Will I see you at my cousin’s luau Saturday night?’
‘Sure will, Alani.’
Steve’s impressive shoulders glistened in the sunshine as he said goodbye and trotted off to deliver his next tutorial to another eagerly waiting group of beginners. Surf dude wasn’t Olivia’s usual type, but she could easily make an exception, especially as she took a moment to appreciate his muscular physique from the rear. Had she just stumbled upon another lesson to add to Hollie’s list – perhaps accompanied by a photograph, merely to illustrate her point, of course?
Mmm, how to phrase it?
Olivia Hamilton’s Lessons in Love: No 8. “Sexual attraction and the frisson of physical desire in a partnership must surely contribute to enduring love.”
‘Wow, what an exhilarating experience.’ Olivia laughed as she rubbed her body dry in the tiny wooden hut round the back of Hawaiian Fire’s cabin and dragged her clothes back on.
‘Can’t come to Hawaii and not surf the waves!’ declared Alani, twisting her luscious hair into a top-not. ‘And you’ve never partied until you’ve partied Polynesian-style, either. Why don’t you join me and my family on Saturday night to celebrate my cousin’s engagement at our ranch?’
Olivia dumped her soggy costume in her bag and jumped into Alani’s Jeep. Already her under-used muscles were seizing up from the unexpected exertion.
‘That’s very generous of you, Alani, but I’m still shattered from the trip. And I’m interviewing Jacques Ferrer on Saturday afternoon, then I’ll need to write up my notes.’
Even to her ears it sounded like a lame excuse delivered by one of the ‘old and decrepit’ women Alani had referred to the previous day, who had exited life’s superhighway of adventures and settled down to marriage and mortgages. Nevertheless, what Olivia had said was true: a morning’s surfing had drained her limited physical resources because she’d paid no attention to her fitness levels for years and her muscles were screaming their objection to the onslaught.
But then, to someone like Alani, she was old, she reminded herself. She would be celebrating her fortieth birthday on the twelfth of December. She wondered how old Steve and Brett were? Twenty-five? Twenty-six?
Olivia chanced a glimpse at Alani, her suntanned arms outstretched on the steering wheel, her wavy hair drying naturally around her shoulders, Ray-Bans guarding her eyes against the glare of the sun. This sprite of a girl had collected her from the airport, given up her time off to take her surfing, and was now extending the hand of friendship further by adding her name to the guest list of her family’s celebration.
She thought back to her visit to Malta, to Niko and the way he had included her in his own family’s party. She hadn’t been to a similar family gathering at home since Nathan’s fortieth birthday and a swirl of regret caused her to reconsider Alani’s generous invitation.
‘Sorry, Alani. What I meant to say was, I’d be honoured to attend your cousin’s engagement party. Thank you for inviting me and thank you for giving up your time to make me feel welcome. It’s working.’
‘No problem!’
They arrived at the hotel in one piece, and Olivia thanked Alani again, then spent the next hour meandering through the ten acres of garden that encircled the Pink Palace. She adored the lush tropical diversity of the bougainvillea, gardenias and hibiscus fighting for supremacy next to banana and koa trees whose trunks, a tiny brass plaque informed her, were used to make canoes. There were even pineapple plants that for some reason she thought grew on trees like coconuts but in fact grew close to the ground, as well as examples of the coffee plant that produced the world-famous Kona coffee: the main crop – the only coffee grown in the United States – being cultivated commercially in the Mauna Loa’s rich volcanic soil on the Island of Hawaii.
Olivia spent the rest of the day swimming in the pool and relaxing on the sun-loungers trying not to gaze at the honeymooning couples smooching beneath the palm trees. After a taste-bud-tingling meal of parmesan mahi-mahi with baked artichoke and red peppers, and a rich passion fruit soufflé scattered with caramelised macadamia nuts, she returned to her room, tired but replete and happier than she had been for a while – which she put down to the fact that she was no longer skipping meals and had spent the whole day outside in the fresh air and taking part in physical exercise.
With the uplift in her spirits came a surge of confidence. She reached for her phone and scrolled through her contacts until she found the one she was looking for, pressing the call button before she lost her nerve. A few moments passed before she heard the familiar buzzing sound, her heart pounding out a concerto of trepidation as she waited for Nathan to answer. However, her call went to voicemail and when she was asked to leave a message she panicked and hung up, refusing to listen to the demon on her shoulder calling her a coward.
But what she had to say to Nathan couldn’t be summed up in a voicemail.
As shards of indigo twilight darted through her balcony windows, Olivia grabbed her laptop and slipped between the delicious coolness of the sheets, intent on diverting her thoughts to composing an email to Rachel, but all she managed to type was ‘arrived safely’ before she tumbled into a dreamless sleep, awaking the following morning to yet another glorious cascade of dawn’s pale sunlight streaming through the gap in the tropical-themed curtains.
She swung her legs to the floor and groaned; every muscle in her body felt like it was encased in concrete. She hobbled into the bathroom but couldn’t straighten up to tug on the shower, so she grabbed the bath taps and managed to release a gush of hot water, tipping in a whole bottle of the aromatic bath-cream.
As she soaked away her aches and pains, she had an unexpected revelation. Just as it had in Valletta, her constant battle with the insomnia monsters had been overcome. Yes, she was physically drained, but that alleged antidote to anxiety had been tried before in her five-year ‘war’ on sleep and had never produced results – just deeper exhaustion.
The simple realisation that she had enjoyed another unbroken night’s sleep, mingled with the floral scent of the chin-high bubbles, delivered a shot of adrenalin to her veins. With a smile on her face and a spring in her step, she jumped out of the bath, towelled herself dry and slipped into a peach chiffon summer dress for that day’s meeting with Jacques Ferrer, the lawyer who shared Rachel’s interest in the ramifications of divorce from this side of the world.
She wondered what he was like.
Chapter 13
Hi Rachel,
What a fascinating man Jacques Ferrer is. As soon as the taxi pulled up outside his beachfront home, I realised what a privilege it was for me to be interviewing him. Did you know Jacques was a divorce attorney in Honolulu for over forty years? Forty years! He was practising law before I was even born! I didn’t tell him that, of course, not sure whether it was so as not to appear impolite or because I didn’t want him to know how old I was. He must be approaching seventy, but he still swims in the ocean every day and plays beach volleyball with his partner! And he’s sooo handsome – thick silver hair and steel-grey eyes that swirl with unspoken wisdom; he had me at ‘Fancy a Mai Tai, Olivia?’
Ooops, sorry, Rach. Back to the task in hand!
I mentioned to Jacques my theory that in such a paradise where the sun always shines and natural beauty is abundant, romance is bound to flourish. Long-term relationships obviously have a better chance of surviving under a Hawaiian sky than, say, under the leaden rainclouds of London or Manchester. But Jacques referred me to the other states competing for the accolade of the US’s lowest divorce rate and my arguments in support of the sun-sea-and-sand combination did not stack up. New York and Massachusetts are no tropical Edens yet they’ve edged Hawaii from the top slot.
According to Jacques’ research, a common trait in enduring marriages is that both spouses have a college education. Over
80 per cent of Hawaiian residents finish high school and a significant percentage go on to college where they achieve a higher level of education. Look at Alani whose family supported her for five years whilst she studied abroad. (By the way, she won’t stop nagging you for a visit, so you and Denise might want to start saving up! I can just imagine you both dancing the hula in grass skirts and leis.)
Anyway, Jacques argues that most students wait to marry until their studies are completed. This has the knock-on effect of college graduates marrying later. Statistics apparently record teenage marriages are two to three times more likely to end in divorce. Jacques points out the earliest, most favourable age to marry is around twenty-five, after the parties have finished college and had the chance to gain experience in their chosen profession and accumulate maturity, wisdom and finances. The effect of age difference between the spouses is negligible; all college graduates are more likely to marry, their marriages last longer, and they are less likely to divorce.
Also, choosing a partner of similar educational ability results in a higher earning capacity for the partnership and, therefore, enhanced economic stability. Again, Jacques’ research has shown that couples with an income of over fifty thousand dollars are at lower risk of divorce than those earning under twenty-five thousand. A steady job and a steady income means a stable life and partnership. The family enjoys better, healthier lives, smarter kids, less financial anxiety, which in turn produces more understanding, tolerance and increased enlightenment. This translates into sound marriage values where partners stick together naturally or persevere more effectively.
And, would you believe, Jacques also found that married couples inherit a higher than average percentage of their family’s wealth than their single or cohabitee counterparts? Apparently, relatives believe a marriage contract contributes to a greater sense of trust, stability and permanence, hence an increased willingness to pass on family wealth.
Olivia paused in her typing. Jacques had also shared with her the fact that the growing gender gap in the education system meant exceptionally intelligent women were experiencing increased difficulty in meeting similarly educated men. Her thoughts meandered back to her own college days. She had known Rachel for over twenty years and in that time her friend had never introduced her to a partner. Had she been guilty of moaning about her own relationship when Rachel had struggled for years to find a suitable mate to share her life with?
Guilt tore into the crevices of her heart. Again, she chastised herself for being a neglectful friend, unworthy of the support and affection Rachel lavished on her to prevent her from succumbing to the tentacles of self-pity.
She decided to press ‘Save’ and finish the report to her oldest, wisest friend the next day, then opened an email from Niko, received only yesterday, inviting her return to Malta in August for their village’s festa. Simply reading his words conjured up a desire to be standing in that sun-soaked vineyard again, staring up at the stars with Niko’s arm wrapped around her shoulders. And yet it wasn’t his handsome features that floated across her vision and caused her emotions to churn, despite the undeniable chemistry that had drawn her to him and the splash of carefree fun he had brought into her life. The person in that romance-infused image was blond, with soft grey, intelligent eyes and a way of looking at her that made her feel like she was the only woman in the world.
Oh, God, what had she done?
Before she could descend into another helix of remorse her phone chimed with a text from Hollie demanding her next fix of the lessons in love soap opera. She sighed, but the missive had caused her lips to twitch upwards. She had no intention of applying the montage of marital harmony she was amassing for Hollie and Matteo to her own life – she didn’t have the courage to deal with what it would reveal – but it was obvious that Hollie had clambered on board the love boat big-style and seemed to be taking what Olivia had discovered so far seriously.
Olivia remembered that Matteo had left for Italy at the same time she had flown to LA, so she knew Hollie would be cast adrift from the moorings of his unswerving friendship despite her euphoria at having just been informed of her selection for the Ladies’ County Golf Team. Keen to step into the role of supportive friend at last, she quickly reread her email to Rachel and decided to ping back the next two bulletins for Hollie’s delectation.
Olivia Hamilton’s Lessons in Love: No 9. “Marrying after your mid-twenties reduces the risk of divorce.”
Olivia Hamilton’s Lessons in Love: No 10. “Once married, couples with a university education are more likely to remain married because they achieve a higher income and their enhanced economic stability translates to a more stable partnership.”
Olivia pressed ‘Send’ and snapped her laptop shut.
To her surprise, she was assaulted by a sudden surge of self-reproach. Writing those last two observations brought home to her with a vengeance the fact that she and Nathan had indeed had a better chance than many to make a success of their marriage. They had both been thirty-two when they married, well outside the risk-laden teenage years, and they’d both been fortunate enough to have a university education.
But what was the point of regret?
The past was a place that refused re-entry and she realised for the first time that no good could come of wallowing in the mire of misery that was of her own making.
So, she made a decision.
She was going to spend the evening at Alani’s luau in the company of friends who had no knowledge of the way her selfish obsession with her career had destroyed her marriage.
Chapter 14
The engagement celebrations were in full throttle when her limo-taxi swooped up to the front porch of the Newalu family ranch. A white picket fence laced the sprawling property, and a procession of tiki torches lit the driveway to the house beyond from which the booming base of a live rock band throbbed.
Olivia took a moment to chastise herself for her clichéd expectation of hearing the elegant and graceful swirl of Polynesian hula music! A waft of white ginger floated in the humid night air as she strolled towards the hub of the party, past a gathering of palm trees, and a huge mango tree, its branches weighed down with ripe fruit and various other flora and fauna she didn’t recognise.
Stick a broom in the fertile soil here and it would produce flowers, she thought.
‘Good evening, Madam,’ said a teenage cocktail waiter handing her a glass filled with a neon-coloured liquid.
‘Good evening. Erm, what exactly is this?’
‘Maui blanc, pineapple wine.’
She took a tentative sip, enjoying the sudden burst of fruity zest and optimism it delivered.
‘Mmm, it’s delicious, thank you.’
The waiter directed her towards the Olympic-sized swimming pool around which glamorous couples giggled and dozens of braziers spurted amber flames, which cast a rich golden glow over the assembled partiers. Exotic colognes and perfumes swirled through the air, mingled with the enticing aroma of roast pork that made her stomach growl and again she smiled at the fact that her usual missing-in-action appetite had returned with a vengeance in Hawaii. For a woman who never ate breakfast, she had surprised herself by indulging in the cornucopia of tropical splendour at the hotel’s morning buffet – kiwi, papaya, guava, passion fruit and, of course, pineapple – as well as partaking in a lunchtime feast of sushi prepared by Jacques Ferrer’s housekeeper, and yet here she was drooling over what she might find on the barbecue!
‘Hey, Olivia! Glad you could make it. Love the shoes! Come on, the guys are getting the batons fired up.’
Olivia followed in Alani’s fragrant wake to where a raised dais had been erected as a temporary dance floor in front of a bamboo-and-thatch pagoda, its eaves dressed in a garland of fairy lights. The rock group had given way to a troupe of Hawaiian musicians; the women, in full-length dresses, wore colourful leis and circlets of orchids in their hair, and were performing the hula kahiko to the slack-key strains of the ukulele.
‘Those instruments the men have lashed to their thighs are called pahu – it’s a coconut tree drum covered in shark skin. And those bulbous drums over there – ipu heke – are made from hollowed-out gourds,’ explained Alani, her eyes wide in excitement.
Olivia was transfixed by the performance. The familiar Hawaiian rhythm began slowly to the accompaniment of the pahu as well as the striking of bamboo poles, an overture that drew the entire party crowd to the edge of the stage in anticipation of the floorshow. Five minutes later, four muscular fire-dancers leapt, barefoot and bare-chested, onto the dais, twirling double-ended batons of flames like pyrotechnic cheerleaders, the scent of burning paraffin wafting through the humid night air. All the men wore loincloths, dog-tooth ornaments around their knees, and talisman leis of shells, teeth and feathers around their necks. A powerful bolt of lust shot through Olivia’s lower abdomen when she realised one of the Hawaiian fire-dancers was Steve – wow, he really was a man of multiple talents!
‘Are you drooling, Olivia?’ Alani nudged her and giggled.
The tempo of the music continued to climb, and the beat of Olivia’s heart matched it. Despite being aware that Steve was an experienced firefighter, she found herself holding her breath, her heartbeat pounding through her ears, grimacing every time the fiery wand was flung into the air and she saw one of the dancers poised to catch it with his toes.
A Year of Chasing Love Page 13