by Helen Conrad
‘The call of the conch,” Lia explained. ‘The matai is receiving visitors.” Suddenly, her eyes sparkled. “You should go meet him. He would be very proud to be your host.”
Summer frowned, thinking of the call to Jeeter that hadn’t been made yet. “Who is the matai?” she asked.
“Every village has two matai. They are the chiefs. One is the working chief, one the talking chief.”
“I see,” Summer exclaimed. “Sort of like the king and the prime minister in the parliamentary system?”
Lia gazed at her blankly, and Summer decided to abandon her point. But how could she abandon this lovely island without seeing a little of the island life?
“Why not?” she said, smiling. “Take me to your leader.”
They followed the gentle river back to where it widened into a placid interior lagoon fringed with thick green grass and lined with thatched roof houses, called fales in Samoa, which were open to the breezes. The area was thronged with children, dogs and chickens, but Lia led her toward a large, imposing structure that stood away from the others.
“Oh,” Lia cried suddenly, looking down at Summer’s short beach coat which she still wore over the blue bikini.
Without another word, she pulled her into the nearest fale, jabbered in Samoan to a group of giggling girls who willingly pulled out a bright green lava lava for Summer to twist about her instead of the beach attire.
“You can’t go see a matai without a skirt on,” Lia explained as they started off again. “It’s considered indecent.”
Suddenly, a graceful form appeared before them. Summer stopped to greet Valima mechanically, awed as always by the beauty of the woman, the elegance of movement she displayed. Even dressed in a tightly wrapped lava lava, her rounded tummy looked like an enhancement rather than anything else.
“Well, Summer,” Valima said smiling her slow, lazy smile. “Are you enjoying your visit to our island?”
“Very much.” Summer glanced at Lia, wishing the girl would explain that they were hurrying to meet the matai.
“That is good,” Valima went on, but as she surveyed Summer’s body in the lava lava her eyes were full of disdain. “One can certainly see that you were not island born. Stick to Western clothes, why don’t you?”
Summer bit her lip to keep from making a sharp retort. There was nothing to be gained by it. “I’ll keep your advice in mind,” she said instead, though the effort to maintain her calm could be heard in her strained voice.
“Good.” Valima smiled again. “I hope you leave soon,” she said candidly. “Then things can return to normal around here.”
Without another word, she began a slow, graceful walk through the village away from Summer and Lia.
Summer closed her eyes, holding back her anger, and Lia laughed softly. ‘To Valima, normal means having all the attention of all the island men to herself,” she whispered. “Don’t pay her any mind.”
They walked on, and Summer soon forgot the scene in her fascination with what she was seeing. The fale Lia took her to was large and set far above the ground. As they entered, Lia whispered, “Never walk across the middle of the floor. Always circle around the sides.”
Summer left her sandals at the door and followed Lia onto the beautifully woven, feather edged mats that covered the floor. Along the sides sat several large men and women, the men bare chested and the women dressed in small blouses over the universal lava lava. Every face she looked into had a welcoming smile.
“You must shake hands with everyone,” Lia whispered, leading her forward and introducing her as they went along.
The matai was the largest man in the room. He beamed at Summer, holding her hand warmly in his own. “You going to stay on our island?” he asked hopefully. “You have come to live at Lagi, have you not? And we are happy to welcome you.”
Summer glanced at Lia, but decided not to try to explain to the matai. All that was necessary was to smile in return, murmur her thanks, and pass on down the row of eager faces, hands outstretched. When that had been accomplished, they sat on the floor along the side of the large, open room.
“No, no,” Lia hissed as Summer stretched out her legs before her. “You must not sit that way. Fold your legs in front of you or sit on them. They must not stick out or the matai will take offense.”
Summer hastily drew in her legs, wondering how many other rules she would have to break—and learn—before this complicated visit was over.
“They will serve us kava now,” Lia explained softly, “and then food. You will be served first, as you are the honored guest. But don’t start to eat before the grace is said.”
Summer had already observed that the Samoans took their Christian religion very seriously. Every village, no matter how tiny, had its white spired church, and she had been told that Sunday was a big event during which hymn singing took the better part of the day.
She enjoyed the kava, a traditional drink served to her in a small, earthenware cup, and sampled all the breadfruit, taro, and New Zealand lamb that was passed her way. She was even beginning to enjoy the palusami. In fact, she was just bringing a fingerful of it to her mouth when Lia stuck an elbow in her ribs.
“Look who’s here,” she whispered.
Summer’s wide eyes examined the now crowded room, but one tall figure quickly stood out. Jack was shaking hands with the matai.
She looked back down at the food before her, suddenly unable to imagine swallowing a bite of it. She could see him from the corner of her eye, and she knew he was coming her way. Somehow, all her cocky bravado failed her. She couldn’t look up and greet him.
He sat cross-legged beside her, his denim covered knee touching her leg, and she knew his dark eyes were staring at her, waiting for her to turn and acknowledge his presence. But she couldn’t do that. She was frozen where she was, staring down at the lauhala mat in front of her, unable to move.
“Relax.” His voice was cool and biting. “I can’t do anything to you here in front of the whole village.”
Lia was rising on the other side, and when Summer looked up in distress, she caught a rueful smile from the girl.
“I’ll take your shells back,” she whispered, taking up both bags. Then she walked to a side exit and left.
“Don’t tell me you’ve deteriorated to the point where you feel you need a girl like Lia to protect you,” Jack prodded her.
Summer was seething. She wasn’t used to this kind of torment. Well, what was the matter with her? She didn’t have to take it. She could always leave herself.
He seemed to have read her mind. Before she could make more than the slightest move toward standing, his hard hand had shot out to capture her wrist.
“You can’t go yet,” he said gruffly. “It would be insulting. Not until all the elders have come over to meet you.”
Summer didn’t know why she believed him, but she did. Slowly, she made herself relax. If she had to stay, at least she would enjoy it.
The meeting droned on, and when it was finally deemed appropriate for her to leave, darkness had fallen outside. She went through the ritual of shaking all hands on her way out, and finally she was free.
“Just a minute, Summer.”
Well, almost free. Jack would see to it that she didn’t spread her wings too far.
“What do you want from me?” There was a note of anger in her voice and she was glad it was there. Let him know just how she felt about his treatment of her.
“We’re not going to have to go through that again, are we?” He was coming up behind her. When she turned, she could barely make out his features in the darkness of the night.
“We’ve got other things to talk about, Summer.”
She shrugged free of the hand that tried to take her arm. “We have nothing at all to talk about. We’re finished with talking, and with everything else.” She turned back toward the torches that lit the village, walking along quickly in hope that he would be dissuaded from following her.
“I saw
your suitcase on your bed.” He was striding beside her as easily as if they were out for a stroll, she noted in annoyance. So much for that ploy.
“I see,” she said from between gritted teeth. “So you’ve been snooping around in my room?”
“I was looking for you.”
“I thought I told you this afternoon that I didn’t want to see you again.”
“You told me. But I didn’t believe you. And I still don’t.”
What an ego, she thought. But the insult rang hollow. He was right not to believe it. It wasn’t really true.
They were out of the village now and the lights of the torches were no longer helping to light the road. Suddenly, Summer stumbled. Jack’s arms were around her in an instant, steadying her once again.
“Be careful, Summer,” he said softly into her hair. “This trail can be treacherous at night.”
She struggled out of his embrace, furious at herself for the tingling his touch sent across her skin.
“I don’t need you to help me get home,” she blazed at him. “I can make it by myself.”
She stumbled again as she tried to step away from him, then heard his low chuckle and felt a flash of deep frustration.
“You may be able to make it by yourself,” he opined, “but just what shape you’ll be in by the time you get there is open to conjecture.” His hand slid onto her neck, under the heaviness of her hair. When she tried to push it away, he lost patience.
“Don’t be a fool, Summer,” he said shortly. “Let me help you.”
She knew he was right. She was acting foolishly. But it was a fool’s part she was playing, so why not?
Still, she let his hand stay on her neck to guide her, though the warmth of his touch set a flame licking at her pulse. They moved along in silence for a moment. The shrill cry of a large jungle bird disturbed by their passage made her jump, and he reached out to turn her with his free hand.
“What is it, Summer?” he asked softly. “Why are you planning to leave?”
She stood before him, trying to see the expression behind the shadows that hid his face. “I think it would be for the best,” she said crisply. “Don’t you?”
“No.” His hands were placed on either side of her neck, fingers splayed out to cover her shoulders. “No, you’re not going to leave,” he said calmly. “I won’t let you.”
She tilted her chin defiantly. “The decision isn’t up to you,” she bit out. “I’m making this one for myself.”
His hands slid a distance up her neck, rubbing softly. “And so am I,” he breathed. “It’s too bad our attempts at establishing self-interest seem to clash.”
She sighed. “Jack, please understand. I came to Samoa to marry Karl. You quickly made that impossible for me. Why should I want to hang around?”
His hands found their way into her hair. “To marry me instead,” he said softly.
She felt her heart beating a frantic dance against her ribs. His musky male scent was intoxicating her with its seductive warmth. “But you’re not Karl,” she said defensively.
She’d used the statement as a weapon, and it worked. As soon as the words had left her mouth, he recoiled away from her, dropping her from his touch as though she’d stung him.
“You don’t love Karl,” he rasped out sharply. “Why do you keep up this pretense?”
To save myself from you, she answered silently. But she couldn’t tell him that.
Strangely, he seemed to sense the truth. “Why are you afraid of me, Summer?” he asked softly, his voice a whisper in the evening breeze.
There was a full moon rising. She could see its ghostly face behind the black silhouettes of the trees. She wished upon the moon, wished for a silver plane to fly her away from this nightmare.
“I’m not afraid of you.” But her strained voice belied her words. “I came to marry Karl and since I can’t do that, I’m going to go.”
Broken pumice stone crushed beneath his feet as he came near her again. “If you wanted Karl so badly, why did it take you so long to come and claim him?” His voice was cold, logical, and she backed away in reaction. His long hard fingers curled around her upper arm, forcing her to stay and face him.
“Tell me that, Summer.”
She shook her blonde head, avoiding the dark glance that pierced her through the gloom. “You wouldn’t understand,” she murmured.
“No.” He was purring now. “No, I don’t understand. But I want to.” The fingers on her arm tightened. “Help me do that, Summer.”
When she didn’t say anything, he went on. “Karl was in love with you when he first came here. He talked about you all the time. But the impression he created was that you loved Davis Oil too much to waste your time on a mere mortal man.”
She tried to twist out of his grasp but he pulled her against him instead.
“Does that come too close?” he asked softly. “Yes, I gathered that running things was what you got high on. And Davis Oil was your favorite toy.”
His other hand tilted her chin up and she could see his eyes glittering in the moonlight. “What happened, Summer? Your father died two years ago. You must have been active in the company since then. Did you lose control of your toy?”
She closed her eyes, unwilling to let him see the emotions mirrored in her eyes. “You don’t know anything about it,” she said finally. “You don’t understand what it’s like to work so hard for something ...” She always said too much to him. She wasn’t sure why it seemed so easy to tell him the truth, so difficult to lie. It was as though he bewitched her at times.
“You think I don’t know about that?” His chuckle warmed her, drew her in, and she looked back up into his face. “Summer, I think you don’t know me very well. But we’ll take care of that.”
His wide chest seemed so comforting. If only she dared to lay her head against it.
“So you lost control of Davis Oil and decided to try living a beachcomber existence with Karl instead?” His voice was mocking, and she reacted in irritation.
“That isn’t it at all,” she retorted. “My father wanted me to marry so as to have a man to back up my decisions.” The old resentment came up to choke her throat. “He thought I couldn’t run things on my own. And he put it into his will that at age twenty-eight, I had to be married, or take a smaller portion of stock than my cousin Skip.”
“Skip? Does he help run the company?”
“Not at all,” she said resentfully. “He’s breeding cattle as we speak.”
“Who’s in charge, then?”
“I am.” She sighed. “Well, my assistant, Gary Barnes, is taking care of things while I’m gone. He’s been with us for years and is perfectly capable of managing without me. In fact, he and I have always seen eye to eye, so he’s the one I really depend on.”
He nodded. He understood management and its problems. “You’re lucky you have someone you can trust,” he said.
“Yes.” She sighed, realizing how true that was. “Everything would be fine if only it wasn’t for this stupid thing my father put in his will. I’ve got to marry someone by my next birthday.”
His teeth were flashing in the dark. Was he laughing at her? “And twenty-eight is fast approaching?” he guessed.
Why had she told him all this? “Yes,” she admitted.
He was laughing at her. She could feel it as his arms slid around her, holding her tight against his lean body.
“Okay,” he said, humor tugging at the edges of his words. “I get it. You wanted to marry Karl because you knew he could be manipulated to do anything you wanted. In one quick blow you would hold off the world and put one over on your father at the same time. Right?”
No, that wasn’t right. How could he think she was so cold and calculating? But a tiny worm deep inside was agreeing with every word he said. That had been her motivation. And she’d failed.
She wasn’t sure why he found it all so amusing. To her, the seriousness was profound.
But maybe he’d known all t
his before, or guessed some of it. And maybe that was why he thought she would jump at the chance to marry someone she hardly even knew. He’d set the stage so conveniently for it to happen.
“I would never want to put anything over on my father,” she told him stiffly. “He and I were very close.”
“Being close to someone doesn’t preclude a little healthy antagonism,” he said softly. “Look at you and me.”
She glared at him for that, though she was aware that the effect was lost in the darkness. She wanted to change the subject. Why not question Jack for a while?
“Were you and your father close?” she asked him. “I know he died about the same time my father did.”
“Were we close?” The subject seemed to be a new one for him and he had to think about it for a moment. “I suppose we had a fairly normal relationship. We didn’t hate one another. But then, we didn’t share confidences either. There were things I admired about him, and things I detested.”
The words came out slowly, as though there was a measure of pain involved, and Summer knew, suddenly, that he had never talked about this to anyone else.
“Like what?” she probed, slightly amazed at how open he was being with her. “Tell me about him.”
Without saying anything, they both had begun walking again, strolling slowly back toward the plantation house. The moon was riding high in the sky, making the atmosphere seem enchanted. Jack’s arm was draped loosely about her shoulders, more as though he needed to touch her than to provide guidance for her steps.
Jack was silent for a moment, and Summer began to think he had decided to close her out. But then he began to talk and she could hear the conflict of spirit behind his words.
“Clayton Masters was the type of man who enjoyed telling his war stories over a good stiff drink in Aggie Grey’s bar or on his own veranda. He could hold a room full of people spellbound with his exploits, and every time he told them, they got more exciting.” There was a smile in his voice. “When I was a kid, I thought he really was a war hero. He was certainly my hero.”
Then the smile was gone. “But as I grew up, I saw the more complete man. I saw how much he drank. I saw how selfishly he treated my mother, how he let the plantation go to pot. He wasn’t my hero any longer. But he wasn’t my enemy either.”