The Island Bride

by Jane Corrie

  'I don't know about her,' replied Cara before she could stop herself, 'but I know he is! '

  Ermyntrude stared at her. `Do you know him?' she asked hopefully.

  It was too late to regret her words now, and all Cara could do was to think up some plausible cover for this lapse on her part. 'Well, I don't really,' she hedged, 'but I'm only going by the case he's carrying. I mean, a briefcase wouldn't be the sort of luggage she would travel with, would it? And she hasn't as much as a vanity case with her, has she?'

  RS

  she added vaguely in an effort to add weight to her theory.

  'How clever of you to notice that,' replied Ermyntrude admiringly, making Cara cast a quick glance at her and wonder if she were being facetious, but she ought to have known that Ermyntrude was sincere. It was only her guilty conscience that prompted the suspicion! 'Now I'd never notice things like that,' continued Ermyntrude confidingly, then sighed reminiscently, 'but then you're like your father, he was clever, too.'

  To Cara's relief, the flight she was waiting for was flashed on the board, and she gave Ermyntrude a farewell hug before she followed the rest of the passengers out of the main airport lounge and through to the departure lounge.

  Before she disappeared from view, Cara turned to give Ermyntrude one last wave, and collided with the man behind her who had the same intention in mind. Her cheeks flushed pink when she turned to apologise and found herself staring at the man Pierre, not that he was looking at her, for his whole attention was focused on the woman who stood a little in front of Ermyntrude, arid who blew him a kiss from her delicately tinted lips.

  As Cara was about to turn down the corridor, she heard the woman call out in a pleasant husky voice, 'Don't rescue any more damsels in distress, will you, darling?'

  The words made Cara freeze on the spot, and she cast a hasty glance back at the man who was staring back at the woman with an expression on his face that spoke of annoyance, and Cara received the definite impression that he would have liked to

  query this remark, but had no other option but to proceed on his way as there were several people behind him.

  As her eyes followed his tall figure as he boarded the plane ahead of her, Cara underwent a variety of emotions. So much for Cathy's assertion that the affair was forgotten! The only thing she had been right about was that the man had not recognised her, in spite of the fact that she had cannoned into him. Cara even doubted if he had looked at her, he was too intent on the lovely brunette who was waving him farewell.

  Her thoughts careered on as she absentmindedly took the seat the stewardess indicated she should occupy, and it would not have surprised her to find herself sitting right next to the cause of her present discomfort. The way things were going, Cara had a nasty suspicion that had their destination been Australia or some other vast continent, she would still have found herself running into the man!

  Ordinarily, she was not superstitious, but she couldn't help pondering on the extraordinary turn of events that had catapulted her back into this man's life again.

  A day or so ago she had completely forgotten his existence, as she had the episode that had thrown them together, and had she met him later on the island, she would not have known him as the man Tu-Tu had 'married' her to, for the simple reason that she had attached no importance to the event, and if reminded, would have shrugged the incident off as farcical, as indeed she was sure the man concerned would have done too. If he had been allowed to, of course, she reminded herself, remembering

  his curt dismissal of the subject.

  In her mind's eye Cara saw his face again, and that characteristic way he had of raising his brows, not so much in query as in hauteur. A proud man, she thought.

  Her frown deepened as she considered his position; all in all, she rather felt sorry for him, for it was obvious that some well-meaning friend had dropped the delectable Paula a subtle hint as to what had happened, and she was now as. Cathy had so aptly put it, 'on the trail like a foxhound'.

  ',Are you all right, dear?' queried the woman sitting next to Cara, staring at her anxiously, adding kindly, 'I've a magazine here if you'd like to read it, in case you're worried about the flight, that is.'

  Cara's frown quickly dispersed as she gave the woman a smile of reassurance. `No, thanks,' she said quickly. 'As I've been lucky enough to get a seat by the window, I want to look out. It's just,' she explained to the woman, 'that I'm wondering whether I cancelled all the things I ought to have cancelled —you know how it is in the last-minute rush,' she confided with a grin.

  `Don't I just!' answered the woman with a grimace. `No matter how much notice one has, one always forgets something!'

  The rest of the flight passed pleasantly enough for Cara, and although she kept a wary eye open for the man named Pierre, she did not see him again, not even after they landed at the small airport, but by that time she was too excited at the thought that she would soon be home to worry about other matters. However, one thing she did promise herself, and that was that should she ever

  have the opportunity of meeting the man who had taken her back to the village, or as his Paula had intimated, 'rescued her', then she would make a point of introducing herself, and treat the whole thing as a joke, thus removing any doubt or worry on his part of any liability incurred.

  A tired but very happy Cara stepped down the gangway after the plane had landed, and her eyes lit up as she saw the large form of her uncle hovering near the arrival bay, and rather startled him by her exuberant welcome as she flung her arms around his portly figure and gave him a hug.

  'Oh, Uncle Theo! It's so nice to be home again,' she exclaimed with eyes sparkling with the hint of tears. 'I've been so worried that something would crop up to stop me , coming,' she gave a chuckle. 'Or that I would fail my finals I ' Her hand squeezed his arm. 'But I didn't—and here I am! ' she said happily.

  Her uncle's blue eyes that so reminded her of her father twinkled back at her as he remarked dryly, `I'm fully aware that you have arrived, although,' he added on a serious note, `if you hadn't got yourself a job lined up, I might have advised you to stay where you were.'

  Cara's surprised eyes met his swiftly, and she said worriedly, 'Have you been ill again?' thinking as she said this that he looked in the best of health. Her father had spoken the truth when he had said that the climate would suit his brother's health, and he must have passed on this suggestion to him, since Theo had decided to accept his advice, and had taken up residence there a few years later.

  At the time, the news had not come as a welcome

  surprise to Cara, who was still of the opinion that had he arrived a little earlier, she might well still be living on Totorua. This rather biased point of view was soon replaced by a more practical one. She could not have spent her life idling on the golden beaches, living as a nomad, as she had so fondly imagined herself doing all those years ago. There were of course facilities for her to take the same examinations, and follow the career she had set her sights on, but in her" heart of hearts she knew she would not have conformed to the necessary training long enough to achieve her ambition—there would have been too many distractions. As it was, she had been so miserable that she had thrown herself into her studies. Failure was not to be contemplated—not when so much depended upon it, namely, her return to the island.

  Her worried glance remained fixed on her uncle as she waited for his reply to her query, and her frown relaxed a little as she saw him give her a lopsided grin.

  'Oh, I'm well enough, no cause for concern in that direction, I'm thankful to say,' he said as he relieved her of her overnight case, and gently steered her towards the baggage collection area. 'We'll talk about it later,' he said.

  The following morning, Cara relaxed in the cane chair on the patio that adjoined the dining room of the villa, and savoured the sweet-scented air that drifted towards her from the numerous flowers now at their height of beauty, for it was the island's summer.

  Her wondering gaze rested on t
he bright panorama before her, and even though she had witnessed other summer displays in the past, the sheer beauty of the blossoms never failed to reach a chord in her heart. The winter there bore no comparison to the winters she had known in England. It was more of a rest for certain shrubs, while others carried on the display. She took a deep breath and recalled the numerous occasions she had tried to describe a scene such as the one she was now viewing to-Cathy, but had not been able to convey a fraction of the wondrous sight. It was not possible, she mused, or justifiable to even try. One had to witness such sights to believe in them. Each season had its own display, its own special beauty. The ancient waterfalls in the tropical forests ensured enough moisture for the exotic plants to thrive, and it was no wonder that the early explorers of the islands were of the opinion that they had found paradise.

  A slight breeze rustled the leaves of a breadfruit tree, and Cara's gaze rested there for a moment or two. The olive green of the large leaves shone in the rays of the sun as if polished by a diligent worker. The lighter green of the fruit, with its rough almost prickly-looking covering, hung below the leaves as if inviting one to pick them. Her gaze travelled on to a flowering tree that was really a shrub but had grown to such large proportions through the favourable climate that it was now a tree. Its bright pink blossoms almost eclipsed its foliage, parts of which could be seen peeping out under the large glossy flower blooms.

  A little way beyond the flame tree, or to use its correct botanical name, the Royal poinciana, was another flowering shrub, again of tree proportion,

  that seemed to be competing for attention with its scarlet pointed blossoms, not quite so large as the poinciana, but of such brilliant hue that the eye was drawn towards it. This was a red ixora, sometimes called Jungle Flame by the islanders.

  Cara let out a sigh of pure contentment; as beautiful as they were, they were only part of nature's constant exhibition to delight the eye and formed a backcloth for other just as wonderful colourful plants. She tore her gaze away from the tree blossoms and looked at a group of yellow flowers nestling in a corner of the garden. These were named Birds of Paradise, and so called because their delicate petals grew upwards and branched out, and did indeed resemble a bird in flight. A short distance away, in direct 'contrast to the brilliant yellow, was a cluster of scarlet blossoms, that hung down in long clusters resembling bright tassels, and this was the chenille plant—or Pussy Tail, to use its more familiar name.

  There were the dwarf poincianas of an orange hue, various shades of orchid, ranging from a delicate pink to a satiny mauve. To add a note of sobriety in the otherwise riotous background was a clump of white agaparithis that mingled with other wondrous plants too numerous to name.

  Her breath was expelled slowly at the thought that she was home at last, and this time she would stay. Not even the unwelcome news her uncle had had to impart to her the previous evening could dispel her quiet happiness in her homecoming.

  A tiny sigh escaped her as her wide brown eyes with the tawny gold specks in them centred on the white strip of the airport runway that she could see

  even from where she sat on the patio, and moved on to the impressive white buildings in the distance that formed the airport.

  She had never envisaged such a happening coming to pass, but then she had been unaware that the villa had not been bought by her father, but only leased to him by a grateful patient. She stared at the cool area around her, at the greeny-blue marble flecked tiles at her feet, and on to the ornamental verandah from which hung festoons of a deep purple bougainvillaea that emanated a heady scent that permeated the patio. She had taken so much for granted, and could hardly blame her uncle for spoiling what otherwise would have been a happy homecoming.

  It was not his fault that she had been ignorant of the fact that they did not own the villa. If it had not been for the man who had wished to show his gratitude to her father for saving his life, they would have had to live in one of the numerous hostels provided for such contingencies—she swallowed painfully—and where she herself would now have to live.

  Even if her father's patron had still been living, it was doubtful whether Cara would have been granted permission to stay at the villa. As it was, his son, who had inherited the vast business empire from his father, the airport being just one of the numerous enterprises now under construction, had plans to convert the villa into an hotel to accommodate the airport passengers who required overnight stays.

  All this Cara had learnt from her uncle the previous evening; he appeared to take a philosophical

  view towards the new owner's decision to turn the villa into an hotel. 'We were lucky to have had it for as long as we had,' he had told the partially stunned Cara, who wondered how he could have been so matter-of-fact about it. Afterwards, it had occurred to her that he had acquired the islanders' happy-go-lucky disposition that eventually affected all inhabitants, and only wished she could adopt a carefree attitude towards the news. Given a little more time perhaps she would, but the villa was more than a home to her, it was a place of nostalgia and precious memories of her father.

  When her uncle also told her of his arrangements to settle down in one of the island's select clubs that catered for bachelors, she was able to understand his attitude over the loss of the villa. The courtesy extended to her father from his patron had also encompassed his brother, and a position in an exporting firm had been offered him and gratefully accepted, thus making it possible for him to reside on the island, but as he had pointed out to Cara, jobs were not all that easy to obtain, priority being given firstly to the local people, and then to the citizens of the mother country, France.

  Considering all this, Cara had to grudgingly concede that she had been fortunate indeed in obtaining a post there, but it hardly helped to lessen her disappointment over losing the villa.

  When the cheerful Polynesian woman who was employed by her uncle to cook and clean for him came to clear the breakfast table, Cara took the opportunity of enquiring after the villagers, and learnt that the villa was not the only casualty to fall to the airport requirements. Where the village had

  once stood, now stood the outbuildings of the airport, the villagers being moved to another village several miles away.

  Raua, as she shyly told Cara her name, came from a small settlement a mile or so away from the villa, and was unable to answer Cara's queries, and after she had left to resume her duties in the kitchen, Cara gave a sigh of regret. Six years was not really a long time, but so much had happened between the time she had left and her return that it might as well have been twenty years. There was a saying, she thought sadly, that went something like, 'Never for ever', and in this case it was certainly true.

  Monsieur Morelon, the son of her father's patron, had not allowed sentiment to stand in his way, but then, she thought sadly, from what she had heard about him from her uncle, he had spent most of his time away from Totorua, receiving not only an education but a solid background in the commercial line managing his father's varied interests abroad, so it was hardly likely that he had developed any feelings for the island apart from a commercial outlook. The airport was very probably needed, for tourism was a stable source of income to Totorua, and although it had an airport already in existence, extensions were needed to cope with the tourist boom, but like everyone else who agreed with the principle, Cara wished another site had been chosen other than the one on her doorstep.

  A swift glance at her watch shook her out of her musings, for she had an appointment at the hospital in just under an hour and was still in her dressing gown, and if she didn't hurry she would not be

  ready for the taxi her uncle had ordered for her to take her into town.

  After a quick shower she made a swift inventory of her wardrobe, and decided to wear her primrose-coloured two-piece. It was very plain, yet smart, and she was anxious to make a good impression at her first appearance before her future employers.

  Precisely an hour later she was glad she had taken pains
to present a business-like appearance to the Matron of the hospital who was interviewing her.

  She welcomed Cara in what might be termed as a distinctly cool manner, giving the impression that even though her application had been accepted by the board of directors, it was by no means certain that she had obtained the post. This attitude slightly puzzled Cara, for she had the letter of acceptance tucked away in her handbag which she was now gripping hard in an effort to keep her temper.

  'I note,' said the Matron in what was almost a tone of disapproval, 'that your father worked for the hospital. That,' she told Cara, 'was before my time.'

  Here again Cara received the impression that it was on these grounds alone that she had obtained the post, in spite of her excellent qualifications. It also told her that the Matron was of the opinion that the board of directors had gone over her head in making the appointment. This was borne out by her slightly aggrieved remark of, 'I really did not see the necessity of a full-time appointment in this capacity. We have had a part-time assistant with nurses who are capable of handling such work, though not as yet qualified,' she added regretfully.

  While Cara watched her as she sorted through her qualifications she tried to pinpoint the source of

  her grievance—for she had a grievance, this much was plain. From her accent, Cara was certain she was French, and while she knew priority for work was given to either the local inhabitants or French citizens, she did not feel it was the sole cause of her off-putting manner.

  Cara's gaze wandered over the woman who sat in front of her and rested briefly on her smooth features that could have been called lovely if it were not for the petulant pout of the full lips, or the haughty manner, then went over her starched cap perched high on top of her blonde hair. Yes, she was lovely, and the uniform enhanced her femininity, thought Cara. Had she been crossed in love, and would this have produced her sour outlook on life? Well, if she had, Cara was only too relieved that it was nothing to do with her father, for even though he might have been a little on the old side for the woman in front of her, whose age she judged to be around the late twenties, she did know there was some women who preferred older men, and her father had certainly had not only good looks, but a charming manner as well.