Flame in Fiji

by Gloria Bevan

  Flame in Fiji by Gloria Bevan

  Robyn hadn't seen nearly enough over the years of her brother Johnny, so she was doubly excited when he invited her to go and help him run his guesthouse — in Fiji! But she arrived in the Pacific to discover that it wasn't only Johnny who was running the guesthouse. There was that disturbing David Kinnear as well . . .

  PRINTED IN CANADA

  OTHER Harlequin Romances by GLORIA BEVAN

  1309—THE HILLS OF MAKETU 1400—THE DISTANT TRAP 1459—BEYOND THE RANGES 1510—MAKE WAY FOR TOMORROW 1576—IT BEGAN IN TE RANGI 1608—VINEYARD IN A VALLEY 1682—THE FROST AND THE FIRE

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  Original hard cover edition published in 1973 by Mills & Boon Limited.

  © Gloria Bevan 1973

  ISBN 373-01730-8

  Harlequin edition published November 1973

  All the characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the Author, and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names. They are not even distantly inspired by any individual known or unknown to the Author, and all the incidents are pure invention.

  The Harlequin trade mark, consisting of the word HARLEQUIN and the portrayal of a Harlequin, is registered in the United States Patent Office and in the Canada Trade Marks Office.

  CHAPTER I

  LAST night when Robyn had stepped from the plane into the warm perfumed air of Nandi International Airport it was long past midnight. She had been met by a smiling Fijian taxi-driver in his kilt-like peaked slue and immediately whirled away through the darkness and up a flare-lighted path leading to the luxuriously appointed Travelodge Hotel. In her suite she had slipped into bed without even bothering to draw the curtains. Now in the freshness of early morning she was aware of a delicious sense of warmth. Lying back against the pillows, arms crossed behind her head and long dark-blonde hair streaming around her shoulders, she stared bemusedly out at her unfamiliar surroundings.

  Softly waving coconut palms with their clusters of fruit brushed the wide picture windows and beyond swept the lush green of sugar-cane plantations. Along a path cut between the patchwork of greens strolled big-framed, dark-skinned women with an erect carriage and graceful walk. Their long vividly-patterned cotton frocks swirled around bare brown ankles and umbrellas shielded curly black heads from the already hot Fijian sun. Behind them straggled neatly-dressed children, school satchels slung over small shoulders. Over the harbour of Lautoka jagged mountain peaks were wreathed in drifting cloud. It was all incredibly fresh and colourful, a delight.

  I'm really here in Fiji — at last! The thought made her leap from bed and soon she was taking a warm shower, slipping into a cool short shift and pushing her feet into the thonged sandals that had been put away since last summer back home in New Zealand. Home ... maybe this was to be her home from now on, these scattered islands in the South Pacific. A light touch of lipstick, eye make-up, and she was ready to face the day. She moved along the wide carpeted corridor, passing happy young Fijian housegirls with their unhurried manner and welcoming smile Outside she was met by a dazzle of sunlight. It sequined the waters of the great blue pool, glistened on the flaring petals of the enormously large hibiscus blossoms that edged the pool and splashed vividly green lawns on either side of the pathway with patches of crimson, bronze, pink, yellow.

  "Wouldn't you just know," a friendly feminine voice with an American accent spoke at her side, "that you were in Fiji, just by the scent of the frangipani?"

  "Wouldn't you!" Robyn smiled towards the faultlessly groomed middle-aged woman who passed her on the covered walkway. She glanced towards the bushes dotting the lawns where satiny frangipani flowers in pink and cream perfumed the warm clear air.

  Still agreeably conscious of an unaccustomed sense of wellbeing in the warm sunshine, Robyn strolled along the winding path between the cool covering of thatched coconut palm, pausing for a few moments to glance in at the small gift shop with its display of shell jewellery and coloured coral, brightly printed loose frocks, gay woven baskets and sunhats. Then she moved into the restaurant already crowded with tourists pausing for a short stay at this crossroads of the Pacific. Robyn supposed that many of the guests already seated there were like herself breakfasting early in order to be in time to catch the daily bus leaving for the Coral Coast. Or perhaps they planned to go on one of the various sea excursions to the outlying islands leaving daily from the wharf at Lautoka.

  In the softly shaded room with its tapa-cloth hung walls and glowing carved lamps made from native timbers, a young Indian waiter led her towards a corner table. "I'm sorry," he murmured apologetically, "but there are no vacant tables this morning. If madam wouldn't mind sharing —"

  "Of course not. This will be fine, thank you." She glanced towards the man already seated there, a dark burly young man whose brief upward glance appraised with interest the tall girl with clear grey eyes and wide lips upturned at the

  corners. Robyn noticed that in common with most of the other men in the room he wore an open-necked shirt printed in a design of primitive art, and his smile, she couldn't help thinking, was really something.

  She seated herself opposite to him and brown eyes in a tanned face twinkled towards her. "Bula!"

  She stared across at him bewilderedly, then remembered that bula was the word with which the smiling young Fijian maids had greeted her a few moments previously.

  "I can see," he was saying pleasantly, "that you're a new arrival in the islands —"

  She laughed, unfolding her napkin. Somehow it was easy to laugh with this relaxed and pleasant stranger in these enchanting tropical surroundings. "That's right. By the midnight plane from New Zealand. I take it that 'hula' is the local word for 'good morning'?"

  He nodded. "Or good night, or good day, how are you, hello. You'll hear it all around the place. It seems that Bula is one of the ancient Fijian deities. There he is, up there on the wall, looking down on you! By rights you're supposed to bow to him and acknowledge his presence !"

  Dark blonde hair swept her shoulders as her curious gaze went towards the carved mask on the wall above. Garlanded with beads and shells, the narrow pointed face stared down at her from inscrutable sightless eyes. "He looks . . . formidable. But it's a good carving."

  He nodded. "You'll come across lots of these masks around Fiji. The natives carve them out of the timber of the rain-tree." His eyes on the menu outspread in well-shaped hands, he added pleasantly, "Staying long in the islands ?"

  She hesitated. "That depends." All at once the soft warm atmosphere, the novelty and excitement of her surroundings took over and the words spilled eagerly from her lips. "Back in New Zealand where I come from, I've been looking forward to this holiday for years —"

  His quizzical glance swept the sensitive young face.

  "Years?"

  "Yes, honestly !" Illogically she found herself thinking that he had an infectious smile. Maybe it was the warmth in his eyes that made his smile so heart warming. "You see, I happen to have a share in some property here."

  "Lucky you!"

  "But do you know, I've never ever seen it!" Her face was alight with the eagerness and enthusiasm of youth. "So many things kept happening to stop me from making the trip! First of all I was too young —"

  "Too young?" Now he appeared to be genuinely taken aback.

  "Uh-huh, I told you." Clear grey eyes swept up to meet his attentive gaze. "It's been
years. I guess the main reason why I never came before was because somehow or other I always managed to spend the fare money I'd saved up."

  "But you finally made it?"

  "And am I glad I did ! "

  At that moment a young Fijian waitress, a pink hibiscus blossom tucked in short-cropped curly black hair, paused at their table. Robyn noticed that her companion selected the same light fare she had chosen for her own breakfast — pineapple juice, sliced papaya, toast, black coffee.

  As he gave the order she stole a glance towards him and approved of what she saw. Not over tall or wildly good-looking and yet . .. She couldn't think what it was about him that attracted her so, gave her this absurd feeling that she had known him for ages. She only knew she felt happy and relaxed with him and yet at the same time, in some odd way she couldn't explain, strangely excited.

  "And you," she asked lightly, "what brings you out to this part of the world? Apart from chasing the sun, I mean?" For she surmised from his cultured accents that he came from England.

  "Oh, I'm no tourist, though I have to admit that I did start off that way. That was the idea originally. Blame it on a particularly persuasive poster in a travel agency that chanced to catch my eye one morning when I was on my way

  to the London office. "Come to Fiji," it said. "Visit the isles of endless summer." He smiled companionably. "Actually I had ideas before that of getting away from it all. I'd been working fairly steadily for a few years without a break, and besides," for a moment the smiling face sobered, "there was something else, a personal reason, why I wanted a change of scene."

  Away from what? Robyn wondered. A love affair that had gone wrong? A woman he had loved? She brought her mind back to the deep, vibrant tones.

  "So I thought I'd give myself a break between jobs. Architecture is what I happen to be interested in and I'd never been out to this part of the world. A short holiday in the sun, that's all I had in mind when I left London. That was two years ago. What kept me here first was that I got a chance of drawing up the plans for one of the big new tourist hotels that are springing up along the Coral Coast. It was a big job — meant bulldozing an area for putting in a swimming pool, making a causeway to the lagoon, landscaping the grounds with a terraced garden and tropical plants. It took a lot longer than I'd reckoned on for the builders to get to the finishing line. But at that time I had no idea of the way of life out here in the South Pacific. I wasn't taking into account factors like the humid heat, island labour and that carefree feeling that affects everyone out here, whether you realise it or not. You have to put up a real fight against it if you want to get anything done !"

  "I suppose so." She reflected that for all his easy manner she couldn't imagine this man allowing anything to get the better of him, not even the enervating climate or the lazy island atmosphere. She brought her mind back to what he was saying.

  "There've been no end of hold-ups all along the line. Staffing problems, endless delays waiting for building materials to arrive by ship from overseas, transport difficulties on the islands — but now we've just about got to the end of it. I had a hand in the interior design side of it too, something I took

  up as a hobby in the first place and it sort of grew. That's why I've just been over to Sydney for a few days. I wanted to get a line on what was available over there in the way of the latest in drapes, furnishings, lighting, for a first-class hotel out here. There was some terrific stuff in the warehouses. I've put the orders in, so now I'm hoping they won't be too long in getting the stuff shipped over here. After that I've got something else lined up — a different set-up altogether this time, the modernising of an old place into a modern tourist apartment block and restaurant. It will be the first place of this type I've worked on in a tropical climate, but it won't be the only one to be updated along the Coral Coast. Out here in Fiji things are going right ahead in the tourist line! It's one of the few unspoilt places left in the world, somewhere where life goes on much as it did centuries ago — and suddenly tourism is becoming big business ! There's a constant stream of air travellers arriving here from the States, Canada, England — all over the world !" He took a sip of pineapple juice. "There was a time not so long ago when as far as tourist accommodation went on these islands, you could get away with any old lodging house, ancient fans for cooling, indifferent cuisine. Now, wham! Overnight the whole picture's changing. Inconvenient, old-time hotels and apartment houses have to be updated, or go out of business. Not that I'm complaining about staying on in Fiji. The climate suits me fine and the problems sort themselves out in the end. One thing that makes it all worthwhile is that the end result is pretty satisfying. You see something you've dreamed up eventually take shape, come to life ... something lasting. You know what I mean?"

  "I can imagine." Robyn was facing the disturbing conclusion his words had forced on her. When she considered the luxuriously modern hotel in which she was seated at this moment, equal to anything of its type overseas ... With such a standard of accommodation from which to make a choice, who would prefer to spend precious holiday time in an outdated old guesthouse with scarcely any modern amenities,

  even if it offered a cheaper tariff? She jerked her mind back to the enthusiastic tones.

  "The way I see it, today's air travellers expect top accommodation, air-conditioning, modern decor, swimming pools, professional chefs in the kitchen ... and they're willing to pay for it. So far as I'm concerned, I'm going to see that they get what they want —" He broke off, his swift perceptive glance taking in the long dark lashes shielding Robyn's downcast eyes, the sensitive face from which all the eager excitement had fled. "Sorry, I guess I'm boring you. Once I get up on my hobbyhorse I get carried away. You should have stopped me."

  "No, no," she smiled the wide friendly smile that lighted the gravity of her face. "I can see," she said, choosing the words carefully, "what marvellous opportunities there must be here for you, for anyone in the building or tourist trades. All the new modern hotels and apartments. It must be very ... interesting."

  "That's not the word for it! It's darn stimulating. Out here where life goes on just as it did centuries ago, you can get a chance to come to terms with natural surroundings. And with everything connected with tourism going ahead like wildfire I can really get my teeth into the decorating side of things. There's tremendous scope here for anyone with a shred of imagination. Take the native culture, it's got endless possibilities — carving, weaving, ceramics, tapa-cloth, primitive designs and cave drawings. Fantastic materials to work with! To me it's a whole new world to play with. The name's David, by the way, David Kinnear."

  She smiled across at him. Something about this man, maybe it was his enthusiastic approach to his work, drew her, gave her a funny glad feeling that he too was staying on here. She hadn't minded travelling alone. After all, it was only a few hours' flying time from the misty north New Zealand winter to the hot sunshine of Fiji. Nevertheless it was comforting to know someone else besides her brother. Come to that, it was quite possible that he wasn't here at all, but away on his schooner somewhere amongst the three hundred odd islands of the Fiji group.

  Back in her spacious suite she stuffed her pyjamas inside her overnight travel bag, added a hairbrush, big curlers and make-up kit. Then she paused, struck by a sudden tempting thought. Johnny wasn't expecting her, chances were he wouldn't even be at the Islander to welcome her to the guesthouse on the Coral Coast, so why not take full advantage of this sparkling day and go on one of the sea excursions running to one of the outlying islands? "A trip out to one of the islands is the highlight of a visit to Fiji," Johnny had told her, and seeing that today she had a perfect opportunity ... Crossing the room, she leafed through a pile of excursion brochures lying on the bedside table. Apparently there was a variety of outings from which to choose, but she was fascinated by a picture of a fully rigged sailing schooner, the Seaspray, due to leave in an hour's time for a day of swimming and beachcombing, sunbathing and shell-collecting, at Castaway Island. A
ll at once her mind was made up and moving towards her suitcase she snapped the catches and bent to take out a floral beach towel, a gay pink swimsuit. As the label caught her eye a smile twitched the corners of her lips. Robyn Carlisle, passenger American Airlines to Fiji. Tomorrow she would reach her destination on the Coral Coast. End of a journey. End of a dream. Lovely thought that before long she and her brother would be together again, after all these years!

  She could barely remember a time when she had been part of a family, a real family of her own, for she and Johnny had been young children when their parents had parted for the last time. Robyn retained a vague impression of a mother who was gay and restless, of a father who, even in a child's eyes, appeared so much older than his wife. Maybe their mother hadn't wanted either her or Johnny to come along and complicate her life. How could she ever have cared for them? For immediately their father had left his wife and family, the two children found themselves boarded out with kindly

  neighbours, then later, with not-so-kindly strangers, while all the time their mother pursued her own interests in the fashion world. As a buyer employed by a leading city store with branches throughout the country, her work took her far away and eventually overseas. For a year or two the two children received at long intervals coloured postcards from various parts of Australia, then later from the United States. After that there was only the silence, and a fading memory of a mother they had scarcely known.

  ' As to their father, beyond a vague knowledge that he had gone to live "somewhere in the. Islands" she and Johnny heard nothing from him through the years. Remembering his endless preoccupation with paints and sketchbooks Robyn sometimes wondered, when she thought of him at all, if perhaps he had gone to further his hobby of painting in the clear air and intensity of colour that had for so long drawn artists to the scattered islands of the Pacific. But whatever the reason for his island existence, he never took the trouble to acquaint either her or Johnny with his whereabouts. The single reminder they had of him was the regular six-monthly remittance that reached them from Suva. Forwarded through a lawyer's office in Fiji, the cheques were immediately swallowed up in payment of boarding school fees.