by Gloria Bevan
"Do you smoke?"
"Thanks." She took a cigarette from the packet Robyn was extending towards her. "I do, just sometimes, when I'm worried to death —"
"Worried?" Robyn held a lighter to the other girl's cigarette.
"Well, yes. Actually," she flicked an imaginary speck of
dust from her short shift, "it's just ... Johnny. You don't happen to know where he is?"
Robyn considered. "He was down at the beach taking some tourists from the hotel out to see the coral gardens, then afterwards he took off in the boat —"
"Did he say where he was going ?" The brown eyes were wide and anxious.
"No, but I think he'll be away for the rest of the day."
"He doesn't want to see me, that's why he's taken off," Pam murmured in a low tense tone. "Oh, I feel such a fool, coming here, hoping we'll make things up. I hate myself for coming ! Love ! It makes you do these crazy things. You can't seem to help yourself."
Robyn was trying to understand the reason for the other girl's passionate outburst. At last she asked gently, "What was the trouble between you and Johnny? What happened?"
"That wretched schooner," Pam breathed on a deep sigh. "If only he hadn't got in with the wrong crowd and put money into it. I happen to know one or two of that group, and the money for the purchase of the boat was mostly Johnny's. When it came to the crunch the other two could barely rake up enough to make much difference. It was agreed that Johnny was to be skipper and he was all wrapped up in his plans. By the time he had the craft ready for sailing he'd spent so much on it that he didn't even have enough left to get a decent amount of insurance on it . . . worse luck. Now," she ran on in a distressed tone, "Johnny's lost the lot. He told me that he's had to borrow from the architect here to get the place done up in the hope that it will start paying for itself and repay the loan. But all that will take ages and ages." With nervous fingers she plucked at a corner of the cotton bedspread. "I've known Johnny for six months now, ever since I got transferred to the New Zealand—Australia—Fiji run. We were going to be married one of these days, but now . . . We were engaged, you see, then he broke everything off. 'Finish', he said."
"Is it because of the money he owes to David Kinnear?"
"Is it ever! He's got these quaint old-fashioned notions that unless a man has a rich wife he shouldn't get married until he can afford to support her. You know? Build a huge house, fill it with expensive furniture, all that nonsense. .I think the idea of being so deeply in debt simply terrifies him and nothing I can say makes the slightest difference. He just can't see that we could get over the hurdle. I could help with the payments for the loan. It wouldn't be forever. They tell me David Kinnear's a nice guy, he wouldn't be too hard. We could wipe off the debt, together. But no, Johnny's so stubborn. It's his pride that's at the bottom of it all. Actually," the red lips curved in a rueful smile, "we almost came to blows over it. We had a big row the last time I was here and it finished up with me hurling the ring back at him and vowing I'd never come to the Islander again." Her voice broke. "But then I thought, maybe by now he'll have had time to think things over and everything will be all right. But now," all at once her eyes were glittering with unshed tears, "I've got to report back at the airport at seven."
"He'll be back by then," Robyn assured her, but they both knew it was only a faint hope.
"I don't know why I'm worrying you with all this. Stupid, isn't it, caring so much, I mean. It's over, that's what he's trying to tell me, and if I had any pride, even a grain of it, I'd stop coming here on the chance." Pam raised troubled eyes. "I just can't believe he's stopped caring." She stubbed out her cigarette in a fan shell lying on the low table, "if only he doesn't go back to her!" she finished.
"Who do you mean?"
"Oh, just a girl he used to be friendly with before he met me. Noeline's always around, hoping he'll come back to her. Anyone can see it. She's got oodles of cash, her father's one of the wealthiest business men in Fiji, right at the top in travel promotion. I'm so afraid Johnny will —" She broke off with a tremulous smile. "You must think I'm awful, running on like this. I'm not usually such a misery —"
"But if he was planning to marry you," Robyn said cheer
fully, "he couldn't have thought all that much of her. I don't see what you're worrying about."
"It's just," Pam's voice was choked with emotion, "that she cared for him ... she still does. She hates me for what she regards as stealing him from her. She's spoiled and arrogant and — Oh, I don't know why I'm saying these horrible things! It's just his being so beastly to me, ignoring me, acting as though I wasn't here. He must know I've come just to see him." Her mouth quivered. "What's nearly driving me crazy is the thought that he's away in Suva — with her. Why can't I forget Johnny?" she cried passionately. "He's nothing outstanding, got lots of faults. He's far too easy-going and gets talked into things, like paying out the biggest share of the money for the boat. He's far too optimistic too — always planning some grand money-making scheme that somehow never eventuates. But that wouldn't be so bad if he didn't have these stupid ideas, I suppose you could call it chivalry. I call it being stubborn. He's just about the stubbornest man I've ever known ... wouldn't you agree? It's that stupid pride of his, it ruins everything," she ran on without waiting for an answer. "When he's on top, there's no one like Johnny, but he just can't bear to take second place. Know what I mean?"
"Don't ask me," sighed Robyn.
"Oh, I forgot. You two are almost strangers, aren't you! Well, let me tell you that once he gets an idea into his head you may as well say goodbye to ever changing it. Heaven knows why I love him," she murmured moodily, "I just ... do." With a deep sigh she rose to her feet. "But if he thinks I'm going to wait around here for him for ever —"
There was nothing Robyn could find to say.
"I'm off down the beach for a swim," Pam said listlessly from the doorway. "It's something to do. Coming?" "Okay. Meet you down there in a few minutes."
Swiftly Robyn changed from her shift into a gay pink swimsuit and soon she and Pam were crossing the sand, running together towards the waters of the warm blue Pacific. All at once she caught sight of David. He was moving around
a corner of the house and with swift strokes she began to swim away. She didn't want him to think she was hoping he would come down to join them. She floated lazily on the shimmering sea, lulled into a sense of dreamy relaxation by the sound of the surf breaking over the reef and the warmth of sun and sea. How happy she had been that day ... and he'd seemed to like her too ... a little. Perhaps if everything had been different, if it hadn't been for Johnny ... Dreams, idle thinking. Everything was different, and she had promised Johnny she would be on her guard against David Kinnear. Not, she thought wryly as she swam to join the dark cap visible in the water ahead of her, that there seemed much need to watch herself in that direction. The David of today was apparently interested in nothing but his work at the old guesthouse. Their memorable day together at Castaway Island might never have been.
At last she and Pam splashed their way from the shallows, to drop down on the sand, faces upturned to the sun. When they returned to the house Robyn could see no sign of David. Pam said she would take a nap and Robyn decided to return to her painting. She enjoyed working with acrylic paints and the mural was shaping well. Indeed, it gave promise of being the best thing she had done, perhaps because she herself was so enchanted with the wealth of tropical flowers and greenery.
When she entered the bure her swimsuit had dried, and without troubling to change, she picked up brushes and paints and went on with her task. So absorbed was she in her work that when at last she finished the picture, a glance at the small travelling clock on the bureau told her that three hours had flown by. She wondered if David had gone from the house yet, but peering from the window, she caught a gleam of a red car amidst a screen of palm trees. Robyn didn't know whether she was relieved or dismayed to find he was still here.
When she had sh
owered she dressed in the minimum of garments needed in the hot climate — brief underclothing, an orange-coloured shift, the woven straw scuffs she had purchased at the hotel shop in Nandi — she combed out the long hair, still slightly damp after her swim. Then, picking up the mural together with a handful of drawing pins, she went along the passage to the big living room. She couldn't wait to see how the picture would look when it was up on the wall.
No one was about at the moment and when she had pinned the mural above the mantel she stood back critically. There were faults, of course. Somehow no art work ever succeeded in matching up to the preconceived picture you had in mind when you began, but there was no doubt it livened up the room. The colours, subdued yet brilliant, appeared to glow in the fading light.
She was in the hallway, hoping to come across Mrs. Daley and tell her what she had done, when a masculine figure arose from where he had been bending over the skirting boards.
"Oh, hello," Robyn said lamely, "still at it?"
"Nearly finished. Now I can go right ahead and get on with drawing up the plans. Might want a bit of help from you, once I get started. Just a line on how you'd like things done, especially when it comes to the decorating. Ideas of colour and decor, you know?"
"Oh yes, I —" She checked herself, recollecting in the nick of time who he was and who she was. She curbed her natural enthusiasm and said stiffly, "It's up to you to do what you wish with the place."
"Just the same, I'd be grateful for some ideas. Planning of the flower gardens, what to plant around the pool, a colour scheme for the restaurant, all that."
"Go right ahead and do what you like," she said in a tight voice. "You will anyway, won't you? Wasn't that in the agreement?"
Still he refused to be drawn. He merely grinned that lazy grin, said gently, "Agreements can be bent around to suit sometimes, you'd be surprised how easy it is ! Not to worry, maybe you'll change your mind later when you get more idea of how the place will look when it's finished."
"Maybe I won't!" If he heard the low words he made no
sign but continued to glance around the room in an assessing businesslike manner. "It'll work out quite well changing the place into apartments; not too costly an alteration. I thought we'd have the restaurant a little distance away from the main building, connect it with a thatched roof over a passageway in between, to carry out the island decor."
Robyn was silent. Apparently however her obvious lack of enthusiasm for his projects didn't affect him in the least. He was regarding her with the amused tolerance that was somehow so much more maddening than straight-out anger. "I think we can do a good job —"
"We?"
"That's right. I'm counting on you to give me a hand with the details."
"But I told you, it has nothing to do with me."
He ignored that. His gaze was fixed on a painting hanging above her head, a picture done in oils and depicting a vividly-coloured sunset scene. "That sort of thing is out — definitely! Pictures of that type do nothing for a place. Over-coloured, unreal, they're not even good paintings ! They seem to be dotted all over the house. The artist, whoever he was, must have stayed here for quite a while."
"He did," Robyn replied frigidly. "He was my father and he owned the Islander."
Now that at last she had cracked his cool composure she was too upset to notice. "And they're not all that bad. Johnny says there really are sunsets like that here in Fiji."
"Johnny said ?" There it was again, the ever so slight but unmistakable note of contempt in his tone.
"Yes, Johnny," she flashed. "Oh, I know he's not an artist, but he knows."
To her surprise his voice was gentle. "Of course if you really want the pictures kept we'll find places for them, even if they're not to everyone's taste."
"It doesn't matter," she muttered.
It seemed, however, that there was no putting him out of his easy stride. He was gathering up pen and notebook, slipping the extension tape into the pocket of his shirt. "Well, I guess that about wraps it up for today, except for one thing —" "What was that?"
Unconsciously she tensed herself for a cutting reply.
"Oh, just that I thought it was about time you saw a bit of Fijian native customs. They put on an Island dinner once a month at the big hotel just around the point from here. I thought you might like to come along and sample some native foods, see a few Fijian dancers. It's quite a night, especially if you've never seen anything like it before. Have you?"
"No, but
"Great! They start about seven and to get into the spirit of it all you're supposed to dress up in a sulu or a sarong, but don't worry if you haven't a sulu —"
"I have. It's not that. It's just —"
"Well then ... what are we waiting for?" The brown eyes were warm and friendly. All at once she was finding it very difficult to refuse the invitation, but of course she must. What would Johnny say if he came back tonight to find her in league with the enemy?
"Sorry, but I just can't make it."
He studied her for a moment and she dropped her gaze, horrified to feel the pink colour creeping up her cheeks. But it took more than a mere dinner invitation refusal to put Mr. David Kinnear out, it seemed. His smile was as relaxed as ever. "Too bad you can't make it . . . but there'll be another time."
Privately she thought this was being over-optimistic in the circumstances, but she didn't say so. She was flooded with an absurd feeling of disappointment. What fun it would have been, dancing under a star-pricked sky, having her first glimpse of primitive customs, trying out native food, with David. She couldn't understand herself, feeling like this.
"Another one next month," he was saying, and moved along the passage. When they reached the open doorway leading into the big dining room, he paused abruptly, gave a low whistle of appreciation. "Now why haven't I seen that before? That's really something!"
"What is?" She realised now that he was staring up at the glowing mural pinned above the mantel.
"Now that's what I call a painting!" He moved into the room and regarded the picture closely. "Just the sort of thing I had in mind for the focal point in the new restaurant, something that would grab the attention as soon as you entered the room. What a stroke of luck, coming across someone who can do work of that calibre. Not that there aren't swags of artists around the place, the Pacific islands are full of them, but this particular one happens to have a certain gift. He's managed to pin down the atmosphere of the islands in colour ... difficult to explain ... but I like it. I like it very much ! I'll find the artist and commission him to do some work for me." He stepped closer, examining the picture. "Can't see any signature."
"Don't bother looking." It was hard to keep the note of triumph subdued in her voice. "I did it. Finished it this afternoon, so if you don't mind, don't touch it. The paints aren't quite dry."
"You!" An expression of incredulous delight spread over his face. "Of all the luck! But, Robyn, that's fantastic ! You've got yourself a job, did you know, designing the murals for the new Pacific Islander Motel?" She couldn't help a surge of pleasure. He looked as delighted as though he'd found the most talented artist in the islands, instead of just someone who happened to have hit on a media he was looking for.
He was eyeing her attentively. "You wouldn't have any objection to a commission for paintings, would you?"
She forgot all about being crushing and dignified and instead cried : "Oh no, I'd love to do them !"
"Right! That's settled, then. How about a long mural, twice the length of this one, suitable for hanging in a foyer? If you could work in something featuring primitive native art, with a predominating motif of the sea ... coral, tropical fish, shells, maybe a tortoise, it's an emblem of the islands. You'll know what to do."
Her eyes were alight with pleasure. "I'll give it a go."
"That's my girl! I've got to get along. Tell your brother I'll be back some time during the week with the plans. Then you can both have a look over them and see what you think of
the layout. 'Bye "
She watched him go with a wild impulse to call him back, tell him she had changed her mind about his invitation to the island feast. She couldn't understand herself. It wasn't as though she liked him that way. The surge of regret that had swept over must have been because of missing a novel experience, especially as the "makiti" would have given her valuable material for the murals he had commissioned her to paint.
Restlessly she made her way to the kitchen, where smiling Fijian men were tossing green salads and transferring them into big wooden bowls in preparation of the evening meal.
Mrs. Daley strolled across the spacious, immaculate room towards her. "I saw you go down to the beach. That's the first thing my daughter does when she comes here to see me —"
"Oh, you have a family? Johnny didn't say —"
Mrs. Daley laughed merrily. "My goodness, yes. Two boys and two girls. The girls are married now, one of them lives over in Sydney and the two younger boys are still at University ... they live together in the house at Suva. Did you enjoy your swim?"
"Oh yes, it was super. Pam came down with me."
"Not Johnny?" No
"Poor Pam." A shadow passed over Mrs. Daley's suntanned features. "I don't know what's gone wrong between those two, but it's such a pity. They suit each other so well. They were getting married in a couple of months. Funny, isn't it, how things can change all of a sudden. Pam's taking it hard. I only hope he doesn't go back to her."
Robyn didn't wish to appear inquisitive. but her feelings were getting the better of her. "you mean Noeline ?"
The older woman nodded "He was well out of that," she
said succinctly. "Pam's a darling. He's a fool if he throws away a chance of marrying a girl like that. She's crazy about him too, anyone can see it." She turned aside at the approach of a Fijian housegirl.
It must be dreadful, Robyn mused, to love someone so much that nothing else mattered, not even pride. A lovely girl like Pam, smart, poised, attractive, who could surely choose from any number of attractive young men, yet here she was hopelessly, desperately in love with Johnny. Robyn found herself hoping that she never fell in love to that extent, and for no reason at all a face flashed across her mental vision. David Kinnear, with his affable, tantalising smile.