by Gloria Bevan
"Selani," Johnny was saying, "this is my sister Robyn. She's come to stay for a while and she likes the idea of living in a bure. Get one fixed up for her, will you? One of the end ones will do."
The Fijian girl nodded shyly, her soft brown eyes under a
crop of curly dark hair, fixed on Robyn. Then, moving with her erect and graceful carriage, she left them. A little later a native youth carried Robyn's suitcase into the thatched hut. The room was immaculately clean with fresh cotton spreads covering twin beds and fluffy dry towels on a rack by the basin. On a low bamboo table was set a flask of iced water and a great white seashell filled with vividly-shaded hibiscus blossoms.
Left alone, Robyn moved to the louvre windows and stood peering out into the cluster of tropical trees and perfumed blossoming shrubs. Banana leaves swished in the breeze, their branches drooping with their burden of incredibly large russet-coloured flowers. In her ears the soft wash of the waves on the sand nearby merged with the whirring of the fans. It was all warm and tropical and delightful — and it belonged — well, near enough to make no difference, to David Kinnear!
Thrusting the disquieting thought aside, she set about hanging the gay cotton tops and short frocks in the wardrobe, stowing make-up and sun-tan lotions in a drawer in the shabby chest. A quick wash, then she changed her linen shift for a loose cotton frock printed in a design of native birds, that she had purchased at the gift shop in the hotel at Nandi. There was no doubt that the vivid peacock-blue shadings did something for her, she told her reflection in the fly-speckled mirror. The splashes of brilliant colour contrasted with her dark-blonde hair and lent colour to her eyes. All she needed now to complete the picture was a Pacific-island tan, and at least that was one acquisition here that was free for the taking and had nothing at all to do with David Kinnear.
When she returned to the house a midday meal was being served in the dining room. Mrs. Daley took her to a table at the end of the room. "Johnny'lI be along at any moment."
As Robyn glanced around her she reflected that the place was certainly badly in need of attention. It had the rundown air of a guesthouse that was on the way down. If only she and Johnny could have pulled it together between them. If
only they weren't totally dependent on the services of David Kinnear !
Her gaze moved over the scattered tables with their sprinkling of guests. A family party were seated not far away — mother, father and three small boys, who by their pale appearance were evidently not yet familiar with the hot Pacific sun. Nearby were seated two middle-aged women, probably escaping New Zealand's mild winter season. A group of older men, bronzed and rugged-looking types, shared a table and fragments of their conversation reached her. Their talk was of big game fishing, of record catches of previous years, of tides and reefs.
"Mind if I join you?" The air hostess who she had met earlier in the day paused beside her.
"Of course not." Even the one brief upward glance had told Robyn that the other girl's eyes were swollen with weeping.
Pam chatted gaily, but all the time her glance went to the open doorway. Yet when at last Johnny did appear the two seemed to have nothing to say to each other. Robyn found herself wondering once again about the involvement between the small dark girl and her brother.
When the meal was over and two Fijian housegirls began to clear away the dishes, Johnny turned to Robyn. "Like to have a run out in the boat and see the coral gardens?"
She raised shining eyes. "Would I ever! It's one of the things I've been looking forward to ever since you told me about it."
"Right. We'll take off down to the beach." As an afterthought he turned to Pam. "How about you, Pam?"
"No, thanks, Johnny. I've been there before." Yet she was looking at him, Robyn thought, as though he were her whole world. What was the trouble between these two?
Presently, however, as she waded out through the shallows towards the flat-bottomed motor boat rocking gently on a calm sea, Robyn forgot everything else in the enjoyment of the moment. Soon they were cutting through the water as they
sped towards the line of white surf curling over the reef. As they dropped speed and glided over the coral reef Robyn gazed down through the glass panels to a wonderland of colour far below the swaying seaweeds. Fascinated, she watched as they glided over green seagrass and moss-filled caverns. At times the boat seemed to scrape the coral, then they would be above shadowy cliffs, shelving away hundreds of feet below. A shoal of tiny striped tiger-fish drifted by in the cloudy blue depths, followed by darting angel-fish that seemed to Robyn like a cluster of coloured butterflies. Johnny cut the engine and they drifted on the waves. The sun shone on the water and each moment disclosed a fresh sight in the underwater gardens. A bright violet fish slid across her vision and the clusters of pink and wine-red spreading ever upwards reminded Robyn of the blossoming plants in New Zealand gardens, but these flowers were coral formations, slowly growing in the sun-warmed waters of the reef.
The lazy sense of relaxation, the ever-changing garden of colour below the water enchanted her, and Johnny grinned at her expressions of delight and wonder. "You'll get used to it all. A couple of weeks and you won't even notice it !"
"Never ! I could never get used to this. It's so beautiful !"
At last he reached towards the controls, the engine sprang to life and they glided towards the shore. When they reached the shallows instead of leaping from the boat, she came to his side. "You promised to teach me how to run her. Remember?"
"Sure. Nothing to it. Look, I'll show you —"
Seated at the controls she quickly mastered the rudiments of starting the engine and steering the craft. When at length Johnny tossed the anchor up on to the sand and they began to wade ashore she congratulated herself on having at least picked up a few points on how to manage the old Katrina. Tomorrow she could take the boat out for a short spin by herself, Johnny had told her. She could hardly wait for the time to come ! They were strolling together over the sand when he paused, looking towards the house. "Damn!"
"What's the matter?" Puzzled by his tense and angry expression, she followed his gaze towards the curving road. A long red car was slowing to a stop at the entrance to the guest house.
"Not to worry," she chided him lightly, "could be it's a new guest for the Islander —"
"It is," he replied woodenly. "He's turned up a day early. It's him — Kinnear." He swung around on a bare heel. "I'm off -'
"But you can't —" she began.
"Can't I? You just watch me! You can pass on the message that I'm otherwise engaged. I am too." He threw her a triumphant grin as a mini-bus appeared around the palm-fringed point of the beach. "Well, this lets me out —"
"But won't he want to see you, about the alterations ... and everything?"
Tight-lipped, he flung over his shoulder, "He doesn't need any advice from me about the Islander. Seeing he's got all these ideas about doing up the old shack, let him get on with it!"
In silence she watched him stride away.
CHAPTER III
SHE too would have been happy to escape a meeting with David Kinnear, Robyn thought, as with dragging footsteps she made her way over the expanse of creamy sand. Already, however, the long red car had turned in at the entrance to the guesthouse and she had an uneasy suspicion that he might already have caught sight of her.
All she could do now was to put off the ordeal for as long as possible, and if only she could gain the shelter of her bure while he was still in the main building ... Skirting the entrance she slipped over the grass between the thickly growing palm trees and soon she was letting herself into the thatched hut. Inside the small dwelling she ran a comb through salt-encrusted hair and added a touch of pink to her lips. At length, when she knew that to delay further would merely serve to give him all manner of mistaken ideas, like thinking that she was deliberately avoiding him (well, wasn't she?), she closed the door behind her. What was it he had told her on taking leave of her at Nandi? "If you're still
interested by then." Well, she knew the answer to that one! She wasn't, not in him, not any longer!
Her reluctant steps brought her along the path leading to the house and she came upon him unexpectedly. Kneeling on the long grass, he was extending a tape along an outside wall. At the sight of her he straightened. "Hello, Robyn!" His smile was as heart-catching as ever, but she was aware of a shade of watchfulness in the dark eyes. "Just thought I'd take these measurements," he said easily. "Make a ground plan for a start and work from there."
Just as though the whole matter had already been discussed between them, she thought indignantly. Was he mocking her? The part-owner who wasn't even a "part"; who was in no position to confer in the updating of the old place. She stole
a quick glance towards him, but he appeared to be perfectly serious.
Taking a small pad from the breast pocket of his cotton shirt, he noted down a figure with his ball-point. "Johnny around?"
"No," she said stiffly. "He's down on the beach with the coral boat, taking some guests from the hotel out to the reef." Glad of an excuse to get away, she offered hopefully, "I can go and catch him before he leaves if you like?" Or try to, she amended silently.
"It doesn't matter. I'll have a word with him when he gets back. You don't mind if I carry on with this?"
"Go right ahead," she muttered, adding ungraciously, "It's all yours anyway!"
He didn't appear to have caught the low words. "What I had in mind," he was saying pleasantly, "was to alter the whole place into small apartment blocks, make each one into a self-contained unit with every convenience I can think up. Air-conditioning, that's a must in this climate, rubber mattresses on the beds, electric stoves, decently appointed bathrooms with showers, refrigerators. After that what the show will need will be a first-class restaurant. There'll be some guests who prefer to eat out all the time and others who may prefer to do for themselves through the day and have a slap-up evening meal. It's got to be really something that dining room with a first-class chef." He smiled down at her. "All this with your approval, of course."
"What difference does it make what I think?" There, she had come right out with it. He could no longer pretend to ignore her feelings in the matter.
Maddeningly he chose to disregard her resentful words. "This is just the beginning." His attitude had the effect of making her young and foolish when actually he was the one who should be feeling embarrassed at the situation. Reluctantly she brought her mind back to the deep vibrant tones. "There'll be a swimming pool, of course. Luckily there's room to put one down in front of the main building without interfering with the natural look of the place." He swung around towards the palm-covered slopes fronting the ocean. "I thought, to tie in with the general environment, bures scattered here and there around the grounds amongst the coconut palms, not in a row like they are now. These'll be small huts with thatched roofs, woven walls, but once you're inside, real down-to-earth comfort and coolness to suit the climate. Fiji is one of the few places in the world where the past still lives on unspoiled. What I'm aiming for is a sort of primitive Fijian art effect all tied up with modern luxury. If there's anything else you can dream up to add to the general picture?"
The small devil of resentment that was driving her made her say waspishly, "Who cares?"
"Not you, apparently."
"Why should I? It's your idea, your plans, it's nothing to do with me!"
"Except that you happen to be a part owner
That really made her blaze. "So you say! But that's not what it's like really ... not now ... since you came and took over."
His mouth tightened. "It seems there's no pleasing you. If your idea is to make me mad you're doing fine.'
She was aware of her heightened colour. "Good! Now you'll know how it feels."
At last she had sparked an answering flash of anger in the dark eyes. He turned away, running the extension tape beneath and noting a figure on the pad. "You are a funny girl. You don't seem to want me to help you and your brother out of the mess you've got yourselves into."
"Leave Johnny out of it." Her voice was muffled.
"I only wish I could. Hmm, that's a wide room ... have to allow for it in the alterations. Sorry," he glanced towards her politely, "you were saying —"
"Oh, you know what I mean," she burst out with feeling. "Buying the schooner was something he did as he thought for the best. It was a good idea really. He'd have made a lot of money out of it — maybe 'even enough to renovate the Islander,
if things had turned out as he planned. How was he to know that there'd be an accident and the ship would get holed on a coral reef on her first trip out?"
"Accidents, as you term it, aren't unknown around these island waters," he said with a cold anger that made her wonder with a prick of alarm if perhaps she had gone too far. "That's why owners of yachts and schooners, especially valuable ones, usually make a point of taking out a decent amount of insurance to cover any eventualities."
"There was insurance," she flashed.
He slanted her a glance, then returned to his task. "That's right," he conceded briefly. "Some."
"Anyway," driven by an impulse she didn't pause to define, she followed him around a corner of the house and stood watching as he noted figures in his wretched little pad, "he's going to do all he can to help to get things going again, with the guesthouse, I mean."
"Good. Did he tell you?"
"Yes, no — well, I just know he is. He's that sort of person."
"Look here, Robyn," he turned to face her and at the expression in the calm brown eyes she dropped her gaze, a trifle ashamed of the way she was treating him. "Tell me, just how well do you know Johnny?"
"He's my brother! We were kids together! He'd never do anything mean or underhand. He just . . . gets carried away sometimes. He believes what other people tell him. You could say he was a bit too optimistic, but only just sometimes," she added hastily. "Oh, I know he's not being very co-operative right now, but you can't blame him for feeling the way he does. Once he gets over the shock of it all and cools down a bit, I'm sure he'll feel differently."
"I see."
What did he see? she thought in panic. That she was protesting too much, too quickly? That all she had told him about Johnny could be merely her own loyal imagination? But it was all true, she knew it was. One only had to look at him.
"You believe me, don't you?" she said uncertainly.
He didn't answer but went on measuring just as though he hadn't heard her. Perhaps, she thought hopefully, he hadn't.
"I'll go and tell him you're here," she offered, and made her escape.
The awful shame-making part of it all was that in spite of everything she still liked him. She couldn't help herself. What she really meant was, she corrected her whirling thoughts, was that she would have liked him quite a lot, had things been different. As it was . . . she put aside the traitorous thoughts and moved down to the beach where Johnny was helping a party of tourists out of the motor boat. She waded through the shallow water until she reached him.
"Kinnear still there?" he asked.
"Yes," she whispered, "he's taking measurements of the outside walls. Says he's making a ground plan of the place and he's going to work from that."
"Well, if he's there for the day I'm not hanging around. He gets under my skin ! Tell him I won't be back for a while." The next moment the engine sprang into life and the boat was spinning over the placid water, a white spindrift spraying from the bow.
Lucky Johnny, to escape so easily! The group who had been taken to the reef in the coral boat were getting into a mini-bus that would transport them back to their hotel around the point. Robyn passed them and went on towards the house. With a sense of relief she saw that David Kinnear was no longer on the path, then rounding a bend, she came face to face with him. "Oh," the words came in a flurry, "Johnny said to tell you he's sorry but he can't get back just now. He'll fix things up with you later."
He nodded, showing no si
gn of surprise, and she wondered if he believed her. She'd always been hopelessly inadequate when it came to successfully putting over lies and evasions.
She went on to the bure and, conscious of an odd restlessness, picked up a sketch pad and began to work furiously. Before long the outlined design of a stylized picture of native
flowers and palms and seashells appeared on the sketch pad, and soon she was taking out brushes and paints. One of the advantages of an absorbing hobby, the thought intruded itself, was that it kept you from dwelling too much on a certain brown-eyed man a few yards distant; stopped you from wanting to return and do battle with him once again. She worked on until a light knock arrested her and wiping paint-smeared hands on her smock, she opened the door to Pam.
"Am I disturbing you?"
"I'm due for a break." Robyn smiled into Pam's wistful face. "Take a seat on the bed."
"Do you do much art work?"
Robyn laughed. "I never get enough time at it. At least that's how it's always been up till now, but here everything's different. Someone else to cook the dinner, Selani and the girls to do the housework, and all I have to worry about is taking out the coral boat when the tide's right. It's the chance of a lifetime ! And with this depth of colour in the atmosphere and all this fascinating Fijian primitive art —"
"I like it." The other girl had come to stand at her side, her absent gaze resting on the colourful mural with its brilliant shadings. "Don't be too sure you can work here at anything for long, though, not unless you can beat the enemy —"
"Enemy?"
"The laziness, the 'tomorrow will do' atmosphere of the islands. I suppose it's the humid heat or something, but it's awfully hard to fight against it. Not so bad for me, I'm only here for a day or two at a time in between flights." She lapsed into silence and seemed to be thinking of something else.