Flame in Fiji

by Gloria Bevan

  "That's right. The timber the natives use for carving their masks and ornaments and models of tiny outrigger canoes. Only they've got their own name for the tree— 'Mother-in-law's tongue', they call it."

  "I can guess why !" She had already noticed the long hang

  ing yellow seedpods hanging from the thickly-growing tangle of branches.

  The next moment she was gazing ahead towards a native village. In a clearing among the trees was a cluster of thatched huts. Goats nibbled at the long grass. Further along the route, dark-eyed children, trudging along the dusty road, waved and smiled a greeting to the passengers in the tourist bus. Then they were running parallel with a narrow railway line. "Next month they'll cut the sugar cane," David told her, "and run it into the mill at Lautoka, the sugar town. They say it's the only free train ride in the world and the trip is quite an experience. You should have come along to Lautoka a bit later in the season."

  "Who can tell? I may still be around here then."

  "I might take you for a ride on it !"

  "Talking about free rides ..." Robyn's gaze was caught by a vividly coloured blue butterfly, its purple-veined wings outspread against the glass of the windscreen.

  Presently they were passing through the clean spacious streets of the sugar town with its lush greenery, Indian temples and modern stores. Beyond, the line of blue peaks appeared so close Robyn felt she had merely to reach forward to touch them.

  They turned towards the sea where motor vessels and yachts, schooners and catamarans rocked gently on calm waters. Leaning on the deck rail of the Seaspray as the schooner drew away from the wharf, Robyn eyed the mingled races gathered there — Indian family parties, the women with their glistening black hair and colourful flowing saris, groups of Fijians in their vividly printed sulus, a sprinkling of overseas tourists. Mist was rolling in over the mountain peaks and out here on the water the breeze had freshened, lightening the humidity of the atmosphere. She brought her gaze back to the deck and the smiling Fijian crew in their white "Seaspray" T-shirts splashed in a pattern of dark blue hibiscus blossoms.

  "It's a bit like finding yourself in the middle of a Cinema-scope scene," she told the man at her side. For in the distance

  small islands floated in a blue haze on the horizon. Near at hand a palm-fringed atoll, ringed with white sand, rose like a mirage from dark blue-green water.

  Further along the deck a group of air crew, pilots and hostesses, were laughing and chatting together. Robyn however was content to stand quietly at the rail, watching the great wind-filled sails billowing overhead and the shower of spindrift flung up from the bows. An organza day! And having someone with whom to share it made everything just about perfect. She stole a glance towards her companion's averted profile. He'd be a shade over thirty, she would imagine, this burly dark man with an air of relaxation and a perceptive smile. Something about him gave her an impression of a man who had been everywhere, done everything, yet there was about him an air of disarming friendliness and she got an impression that he was enjoying the excursion today as much as she was. The thought prompted her to say idly : "I expect you've often made this trip?"

  He turned to face her. "I've been out to a lot of the outlying islands by motor vessel, but never like this."

  "You mean, not out to Castaway under sail?"

  His gaze rested on the sensitive young face, the long strands of fair hair blowing around Robyn's eyes in the strong breeze. "I mean," there was an enigmatical expression in the dark eyes, "not like this."

  "The same, only different," she twinkled up at him. "Like falling in love?"

  "Something like that. You seem to know a lot about it," he observed in his deceptively quiet tones, "for nineteen —" "And a half," she amended with dignity.

  "And a half," he conceded with gravity, but she had caught a glimmer of amusement in his eyes.

  "I'm not a child, you know," she said stiffly.

  "I didn't say you were."

  "No, but ... what I mean is . ." She was floundering wildly, regretting having allowed herself to stray into this dangerous territory with a man who was so much older and

  more experienced than herself.

  "Look, there's Castaway," he was saying, "you can just see it . . . over there!"

  She followed his gaze towards a smudge of green in the distance. She had the absurd feeling that she would be quite content to sail on like this for ever beneath the bluest of blue skies with the wind singing in the rigging overhead and just for company, of course, David Kinnear at her side.

  She soon realised, however, that the hazy island was further away than she had at first imagined and another hour had gone by before they approached it. Now she could discern a flat island thickly covered with clustered coconut palms, white sandy beaches, fringed by reefs. Boats were pulled up on the shore and natives on water-skis pulled by circling launches, skimmed by in a plume of spray.

  Presently they were leaving the schooner, dropping down in to a small power boat while a Fijian crew guided them into the lagoon. Here the water was a pale turquoise in the shallows, a darker blue beyond the reefs. Robyn slipped off her scuffs and with David, waded ashore.

  "Don't let the outside look of the bures fool you," he told her as they strolled up the wide expanse of sand and came in sight of thatched huts hidden amongst the coconut palms. "They might look primitive at first sight, but you'd be surprised to find how comfortable they are once you're inside. Fans, showers, refrigerators, everything you could wish for easy living. That big one over there," she followed his gaze towards a large open-sided but with coconut fibre thatched roofing, "is the restaurant." She took in the dotted tables and cane chairs, the long bar at one end of the open-air building. "Let's have a swim to cool off, shall we?"

  She left him to make her way up a sandy track winding upwards amongst tall palms towards a rough signpost nailed to a tree trunk : "Women's Changing Shed". Once inside the thatched shed she discovered the truth of David's words, for whirring fans overhead kept the air cool and fresh and water flowed from porcelain basins and individual showers. In a partitioned section of the shelter she changed into her swimsuit, conscious of her pale skin from which last summer's tan had long since faded. But not for long, she promised herself, and went out to join the man waiting at the water's edge. Together they ran over thick sand, then plunged into limpid water. Never before had Robyn lingered for so long in the sea, but then never previously had she swum in water so warm and enticing. They circled rocks that shelved deeply out to the coral reef in a sea so clear they could see clearly down to the shells lying on the sand below. At last they waded out through the wavelets that were tossing a fringe of white lace on wet sand and leaving the cluster of bures behind them, strolled around a point. All at once there was nothing but sea and sand, no sound but the whisper of wind in the tall palms on the shore mingling with the soft murmuring of the waves. They threw themselves down on the sand and let the hot sun beat down on their backs. "It's like sugar," Robyn said, watching the thick grains of sand trickling through her fingers.

  A little later she was roused from a dreamy sense of relaxation by a muffled sound. She jerked her head upwards and pushed the long hair from her eyes. "Whatever's that?"

  "Just a Fijian keeping up an ancient custom. He's beating a tattoo on a lali drum, a hollow log, giving us the message that it's time to roll up for an island dinner. Are you ready for it?"

  "I'm famished! It must be all this sea air !" They rose and made their leisurely way along the beach, following a broken line of shells and coral. When they came in sight of the bay Robyn saw that long tables were set in the shade of spreading trees and smoke was rising from fires where barbecued steaks were being prepared by natives, bare to the waist, in their skirt-like cotton sulus.

  At intervals along the leaf-covered tables, flower-garlanded native girls were serving food piled in great white conch shells to a long line of guests. There were steaming curries, sizzling steaks, rice, an assortment of green
salads, sweetcorn, wafer-thin bread. Piled mounds of tropical fruits — golden paw-paw, pineapple, bananas — were set between massive bowls of glowing hibiscus blossoms and pink and white coral from the reef. There were cans of Australian beer and chilled lemonade.

  Robyn thought the meal was delightful. "And we don't even have to clear up afterwards," she told David as they moved towards bamboo seats set in the shade of the trees and facing the sea.

  "Oh, the staff don't have to work too hard. There's no shortage of labour here and they'll soon whip through the plates. Besides, they've got a special arrangement, not a human one, that takes care of all the food scraps left lying about. Watch and you'll see what I mean —"

  "I don't believe it ! "

  "No, honestly, look over there! No, this away, up the track!" A hand pressed gently to her cheek, he turned her face towards the tables under the trees where Fijian girls were gathering up plates and cutlery. For a moment she had difficulty in concentrating on the scene before her, for David Kinnear's touch had affected her in the oddest way, making her feel so terribly ... aware of him. A man she scarcely knew, a stranger. She couldn't understand herself, and to cover her confusion she stared determinedly in the direction he had indicated. The next moment she burst into laughter. It was so unexpected, for as at a given signal, down the winding sandy pathway swaggered a line of plump white turkeys. On reaching the clearing where the tables were set, they proceeded to gobble up each scrap of food left lying on the sand. Then, with the same orderly precision that had marked their arrival, they turned and moved back up the slope to disappear from view a few moments later amongst the trees.

  "Well," she gazed towards him laughingly, "next time I'll believe you!"

  "I'll hold you to that, one of these days!" For a moment an odd unreadable expression flitted across his face. It was almost, she told herself perplexedly, as though he suspected something concerning her, something of which she was in ignorance. But how could that be? Really, he was the most puzzling, intriguing of men, yet she liked him, she liked him a lot! It's just the spell of the islands working, she jeered at herself.

  If only the sun-drenched day wasn't flying by so swiftly. A stroll around the island, which wasn't very large, then it was time to join the crowd who were converging at the restaurant and straggling down the beach. In a heap on the sand were piled travel bags and suitcases belonging to the holidaymakers who had enjoyed an extended period of rest and relaxation in this most relaxing of islands.

  Presently they were climbing aboard a small motor boat and to the sound of farewells shouted from the Fijian crew, they drew away from Castaway and moved in the direction of the white-sailed schooner beyond the reef. On board the Seaspray the waving figures on the island receded as the craft swept over an inky-blue sea and the trade winds blew cool and soft on their sun-flushed faces.

  Around them guitars plucked by a singing Fijian crew throbbed in the age-old melodies of the South Pacific. Before long everyone on board joined in the haunting rhythm, as the wind-filled sails bore them back towards the jungle-clad mountain peaks ahead, now wreathed in moist grey clouds.

  As they neared their destination strumming guitars fell into the haunting strains of the traditional Fijian song of farewell. Even as far away as New Zealand, Robyn had been familiar with the strains of "Isa Lei" and now both she and David joined in the words of the poignant melody.

  They were still singing as the Seas pray glided in towards the dark waters of the wharves. Idly Robyn's gaze swept over the crowd gathered there, then all at once she stiffened.

  "Johnny !" Her excited cry cut across the thrumming guitars and chorus of voices. He caught her eye, then to her surprise he swung around on his heel and was lost to sight amongst the throng. The hand she had lifted in greeting dropped to her side. It had been him, his jaunty grin and suntanned features, a yachting cap perched at a rakish angle over

  one eye. She couldn't have made a mistake. Nor had there been the slightest doubt regarding his initial glance of recognition. He had looked delighted to catch sight of her, surprised but delighted, then his glance had moved towards her companion and immediately he had vanished. She stared after him bewilderedly. "Oh ... he's gone!" She scarcely realised she was speaking her thoughts aloud. "Now why would he do a thing like that?" All at once she realised that David was regarding her attentively.

  "Do what?" For all his smile was so beguiling she was aware of a shade of watchfulness in his expression.

  "Run away. Johnny saw me, I know he did! Just for a moment his whole face lighted up. You know? Then he rushed away in the crowd just as though he didn't want to see me."

  "Your brother is Johnny Carlisle?" His voice was low and contained, yet there was an intent look in his dark eyes that puzzled her. She turned and faced him. "Why, yes, do you know him?"

  "No, not really."

  There it was again, the sudden tightening of his expression that faintly disturbed her, made her feel uneasy, almost ... apprehensive. "Let's just say," his cool unresponsive tone was in such marked contrast to his lazy accents that she stared back at him in surprise, "that I've run across him once or twice, in business."

  The crowd of disembarking passengers surged around them as they made their way in the wake of the straggling line moving in the direction of the gangplank. Robyn's searching glance darted over the cosmopolitan throng, hoping to catch a glimpse of a tall figure, a bronzed face beneath a yachting cap, but of course he wasn't there. He had gone, goodness knows why! Perhaps, she comforted herself, she had merely imagined his brief look of recognition. At least she knew that Johnny was here on the island of Vita Levu and not away at sea in his oceangoing craft.

  She moved with David towards a waiting bus standing

  amongst the cluster of vehicles on the wharf, but in the crowd they were separated. It was not until they stood together in the foyer of the hotel and he moved towards the stack of travel bags that she realised she wouldn't be seeing him again. Not that she minded — now, for he was wearing his curious closed look again, just as though there had been no memorable day spent together on a South Pacific island. She was conscious of a throng of tourists milling around them and the fleet of taxis waiting at the entrance.

  "Don't look like that," he chided, "you're in the Happy Isles, the Land of Endless Summer. Remember?"

  She summoned a smile and made an effort to push aside the sudden desolate feeling of being alone in a strange land that had swept over her. "Well, thanks for the company on the cruise. It was great."

  "Made all the difference to me too."

  She broke the uncomfortable silence with a forced laugh. "I might run across you one of these days, somewhere between here and there on the Coral Coast."

  "That's right." He too appeared constrained and strangely ill at ease. David Kinnear, whom she would have imagined to be the last man on earth to feel such an emotion, much less betray it. "See you again, maybe. That is," once again the unfathomable expression crossed his face, "if you're still interested by then."

  A Fijian taxi-driver was approaching and David picked up his travel bag and turned away. He didn't even look back, Robyn thought forlornly. He'd just . . . gone . . . with that cryptic reference to her not wishing to see him again when next they met — whatever that might mean. She sighed and moved slowly across the crowded reception room. Maybe it was as well that their friendship had ended almost before it had begun. Better not to get involved with a man who, for some reason, appeared determined to keep her at arm's length, who said things that didn't make sense, and who, let's face it, attracted her even against her will.

  CHAPTER II

  THERE were few passengers on the bus bound for the dusty Queens Road that skirted the Coral Coast. Robyn gazed out of the window, her idle glance resting on a nearby field where a Fijian youth guided a plough drawn by sturdy oxen. The scarlet tassels of the spreading flame tree blazed against a blue sky and frangipani, perfuming the air with its fragrance, grew wild at the edges of the road and
bordered the sweeping driveways that led up to the various tourist hotels and guesthouses at which the vessel paused in order to pick up passengers.

  Presently they entered the small township of Nandi. Taxis hooted wildly around them and the narrow streets were lined with small dark shops. Indian storekeepers stood waiting in entrances while overseas tourists made their selection from the display windows crowded with radios, tape-recorders and stereos at this last opportunity to purchase duty-free goods at bargain prices before leaving the country from the adjacent airport.

  Then they were out in the open once more, passing two small Fijian boys who were bumping along the rough ride astride a horse. Now the yellow dust was rising in clouds around the windows. Already Robyn could feel the gritty taste in her mouth, but still she gazed out entranced as they took undulating hills, dipping down to the vivid green of rice fields, then swooping up to meet clouds lying low over the hills ahead. In a clearing by the roadside she glimpsed a tiny schoolroom. Was this where the lads on horseback were bound? The next moment her attention was captured by a roadside stall heaped high with melons, bananas, pineapples. At intervals, through a fringe of palms she caught glimpses of blue of the coast, then lost them as the vehicle ground on towards hills clothed in luxuriant jungle, narrowly missing Indian men riding bicycles and horses meandering across the

  path. In spite of the discomfort, the dust, the heat, she was enjoying the ride. Not as much as she would have done had David Kinnear been with her on the journey up the coast, but still ... Would she ever see him again? If so — her wide mouth quirked at the corners — it would certainly be only by chance, for he had shown no special desire to further their acquaintance, in spite of the pleasure he had seemed to take in her company. Unconsciously she sighed, then brought her mind back to the present as the lurching vehicle followed the curving line of the coast. Waves were creaming in over reefs and tall palms growing along the water's edge bent to meet the mirrored reflections in limpid lagoons.