by Hilary Wilde
`Her husband must have taught her the fundamentals of painting and she taught herself the rest by trial and error. She loved the island and refused to leave it. She had a resident doctor for when she was ill and had the the hospital built. If she was lonely, which was rare, she invited people here. She would listen to them, learn from them what was going on in the outside world. She was complete in herself — together with the island. They called her eccentric.' Simon stared at Kate. 'Don't you think that maybe we're the eccentrics
because we haven't yet found the right way to live ?'
Before she could answer, Simon had led her to another painting. This one was of a grove of coconut palms, battered and beaten by wind and rain, one tree tossed into the air, its roots vainly clutching for the security of earth it had lost, its palm fronds limp with fear. Other trees were bent helplessly before a wind which Kate could almost hear screeching violently while everywhere rain fell mercilessly like a grey blanket.
The island is not always peaceful,' Simon said slowly. 'It can be cruel and violent, but Great-Aunt Adele still loved it.'
He showed Kate wide tall bookshelves in a small annexe.
`Help yourself when you want to read,' he said, his voice friendly but impersonal again as if he had dismissed the thought of his great-aunt. 'I'll give you the key to the studio.'
He took her to a wide mahogany desk by the window. It was a small window, and gazing out of it, Kate could see one solitary palm tree silhouetted against the blue water.
`This is where she wrote her diaries, Kate,' Simon went on. 'I think they'd make a fascinating book.' He smiled, his face lighting up. 'Fortunately most of the people she wrote about are dead, otherwise we'd be sued for libel! She had a cruel tongue and no use for hypocrites, but a warm heart for those in trouble.'
Rather like you, Kate thought quickly. What a strange man he was. His moods changed from one moment to the next. Now he was human, warm and
friendly and she found it hard, glancing at him swiftly, to imagine him saying the cruel words he had said the night before about her. But then he was like his great-aunt and hated hypocrisy. Did he think her love for her family, her concern for them was all part of an act ?
`Read them if you have time, Kate,' Simon was saying, opening a drawer and showing her the old volumes. 'I found them fascinating. About the primitive life on the islands, her attempts to anglicize the islanders and reform them.' He smiled. 'Poor Great-Aunt Adele — yet she had the courage and common sense to accept the fact that they could never change and still be happy, so she compromised and mixed her English way of life with theirs.'
`She must have been a wonderful woman,' Kate said quietly.
Simon's face was thoughtful as he looked at her. `Yes. I only wish I'd known her personally. When you read those ...' he pointed to the books, 'you'll feel as I do. They're vividly written — she seems to come alive.'
He glanced at his watch. 'Taro will be bringing the car for you in fifteen minutes and Caterina is expecting you at the hospital.' Again his voice had changed. He was formal, polite, even a little stiff. He locked the door of the studio and looked at Kate.
`I keep this room locked up as the young have no reverence for their elders,' Simon said crisply. 'I don't want young Ian in there messing around. Probably think it a fine joke to mess up the paintings ...'
`Surely he wouldn't ...' Kate was momentarily
shocked.
`Wouldn't he ?' Simon laughed shortly. 'You'd be surprised at what young Ian could do.'
Kate hesitated. What a hard note that was in Simon's voice, she thought. As if he disliked his nephew intensely. Yet Ian was very young, and .
Simon was holding out the key. 'Take care of it,' he said curtly. 'I don't want it lost.'
Her fingers closed tightly over the key. 'Of course I'll take care of it. Thanks thank you very much.'
`I thought you might be interested and it'll give you something to do during this next week,' Simon said curtly. 'You do understand that the doctor prescribed another week's rest? I don't want any argument about it.'
Kate stared at him. He had changed again, she thought in amazement. Now he was the man she disliked so much.
`I won't argue,' she said quietly, and saw him give her a puzzled look. 'And thank you for trusting me with the key. I'll take great care of it and I shall enjoy reading your diaries.'
`I thought you would,' said Simon. 'You're the serious type. I'm sure you never read light books or thrillers ... Well, I must be off. Mustn't waste any more time.' He touched Kate's arm lightly. 'Give my love to Caterina.' He hesitated. 'I hope the diaries will interest you, Kate. You see—' he paused and gave a brief flashing smile that lit up his whole face, 'I've got to find some way of keeping you happy here. You haven't forgotten our wager ?'
`Wager?' Kate echoed, bewildered.
Simon laughed. 'Yes, our wager that you'll be happy here. I'm looking forward to collecting my forfeit!'
Kate remembered, then. He had promised to give one thousand pounds to her favourite charity if she could honestly say she was unhappy on the island after six months, and if she was happy, he was going to demand a forfeit in payment.
`What forfeit ?' she asked warily.
Simon laughed again and for a moment looked young and human. 'I haven't thought one up yet, but trust me, I will !'
He was still laughing as he left her and she went up the stairs to her room, tightly clutching the key he had given her. She put the key at the back of the drawer of her beautiful walnut dressing-table and found herself half wishing that he had not given her the key. Supposing she lost it ?
Shivering at the mere idea, she hastily brushed her hair and made up her face, looking wistfully at her reflection and wishing she had Caterina's sophisticated look, her elegance, that wonderful ash-blonde hair, that husky intriguing voice. How dull and naive Simon must find her in comparison, Kate thought. If only she could think of witty things to say! Or look as beautiful as Caterina.
CHAPTER SIX
TARO, the Polynesian chauffeur, arrived punctually with the car. He was full of smiles and friendly chatter as they drove along a road lined with tall trees whose great scarlet flowers met overhead like wreaths. He was obviously very proud of the island as he pointed out the harbour where two schooners were moored on the incredibly blue water and several small boats were bobbing up and down, tugging at their buoys. It was the blazing colours everywhere that caught Kate's eye — the amazingly vivid reds and orange that Great-Aunt Adele had captured so well on canvas. The car climbed the mountainside, passing trees laden with white and cream flowers whose strong scent filled the air. At last they reached the hospital — a single-storied, long white building whose glass windows sparkled in the sunshine like diamonds.
Kate was shown immediately into Caterina's room and, in a moment, Caterina joined her. But it was a new, strange, and oddly impersonal Caterina, very different from the friendly glamorous woman Kate had met the night before.
Caterina's hair was hidden in a white turban, she wore a tailored, short-sleeved white coat, white stockings and shoes. She had a stethoscope sticking out of her pocket and her voice, still husky, was brisk and authoritative.
`I'm afraid you've picked a bad day, Kate,' she said.
`Normally this is my quiet time, but we've had several casualties in today and I'm up to my eyes...'
Kate said quickly, 'I could come another day.'
Caterina smiled and indicated a chair before relaxing in a long cane lounge chair, tucking her feet under her skirt.
`Of course not. Do me good to sit down for five minutes,' said Caterina, with another quick but still impersonal smile. 'What do you think of the island ?'
`Very beautiful indeed,' Kate told her warmly.
Caterina gave a little shrug. 'You'll either adore it or hate it here. Nancy seems to have adjusted herself well.'
`She certainly has,' Kate agreed quickly. 'But she's got plenty to do. I . . .' She leaned forward, her face earne
st, 'I've always been used to a busy life. I just don't know what I'll do for the next week — must I really just relax ?'
Caterina's eyes were thoughtful, her voice grave. `Yes, Kate, you must. Simon told me you were one of those industrious people who can never let up...' She paused, her eyes still watching Kate's mobile face.
Kate caught her breath. She knew also that Simon had said other things about her — that she was a `happy martyr' and had made her family 'toe the line'.
`I had no choice,' Kate said quickly.
Caterina nodded. 'I know, but now you have. That's the difference, Kate. You'll find you have a lot to learn on this island. One of the most important things is to adjust yourself to this very different way of life. I found it difficult. Only old Mrs. Scott, Simon's great-aunt, and her need of me, stopped me from rush-
ing back to the rat-race of civilization. How thankful I am now that I stayed here.'
`Why did you come ?' Kate asked as a young Polynesian maid brought in a tray of tea.
Caterina shrugged again. It was a pretty, graceful gesture, the way she did it. 'Why ? Why does a woman run away and hide herself ? Because, like old Mrs. Scott, I had lost the man I loved. He had died. Without reason, I felt. He was a great man and could have done much good in the world. I was bitter, as Mrs. Scott was once, but she taught me how to make a new life here and now I am happy .. .' Her voice softened suddenly. 'I trust that you, too, will find happiness here.'
`But I'm not running away from the rat-race,' Kate began.
Caterina smiled 'That I realize — but Jerome is, and I think he is wise. He has vision, too great to be destroyed by vandals. He is like Simon, a man of dreams.'
`Simon — a man of dreams ?' Kate echoed in surprise.
Caterina sipped the tea in the delicate china cup slowly.
`But of course. I forget, you do not know him yet, Kate. When you do, you will realize that the man you see is not the real Simon. Do you like him ?'
The question was unexpected and startled Kate. She felt her cheeks suddenly hot. She had been honest with Georgia, but some seventh sense warned her not to be the same with Caterina.
`I hardly know him,' Kate said quickly. 'He's very
generous..:
Caterina smiled briefly. 'In Ian's language, you can say that again. All the same, he can be hard. We fight, often. You see, old Mrs. Scott trusted me and asked no questions. Simon trusts no one — least of all a woman.' She gave a little shrug. do not know the whole story, of course, but I believe that once Simon was badly hurt by a woman and that explains much.' Her voice was warm and, to Kate, it sounded possessive.
Caterina went on, 'He takes his responsibilities so seriously. He could be a very wealthy man if he sold his right to the island, but he would not contemplate it. He desires to make the Islanders independent — to help them.'
`You think the idea of a tourist hotel is good for the islanders, do you ?' Kate asked, putting down her cup. `Georgia
`Georgia ...' echoed Caterina, her voice amused and scornful. 'What does she know? Simon does not talk to her.' She stood up. 'I have work to do, Kate. Believe me when I say that Simon is doing a wonderful thing for the islanders, and they know it and respect him for it.'
She walked with Kate to the entrance, briefly introducing her to the friendly, white-haired Matron and two of the Sisters they met.
`We will meet again soon,' Caterina said with a brief smile, and turned away, hurrying back to the hospital.
Kate got into the car and Taro drove away swiftly as if glad to get away from the hospital. As he showed her waterfalls that fell thousands of feet in a straight line to churn creamily in pools where yellow lilies
floated — as he slowed up to show her caves where huge ferns were sprayed with the water dripping from the low roofs and the strong scent of tropical flowers filled the air, Kate's thoughts were of Caterina.
She had been friendly and yet so very impersonal. Kate reminded herself that Caterina was a busy woman and a dedicated one. No doubt Simon would accept that, without adding sarcastically that she was a 'happy martyr'. How those words still hurt, Kate thought. Perhaps Simon had been joking, yet his voice had not sounded as if he was. Had he had an unhappy love affair? It was difficult to imagine him in love, to believe that any woman would — or could — hurt him.
Yet Caterina knew him well, that was obvious. The way she had dismissed Georgia. What was it Caterina had said ? Kate asked herself. Oh, yes! 'Simon does not talk to her.' Meaning, presumably, that he did talk to Caterina!
A whole week of doing nothing lay ahead of her, Kate thought miserably. She would be bored to tears. And then she remembered the diaries. Simon had trusted her with the key — even if he had warned her not to lose it, at least he had trusted her with it. She would read the diaries and perhaps the time would not drag so much.
Kate turned suddenly to Taro. 'You're glad Mr. Ellison is building the hotels ?'
Taro's handsome face looked startled. 'Of course. We are a happy people, but the hurricane was a bad thing. We have to eat, so...'
He slowed up the car at the edge of a precipitous drop where the mountainside fell away to the blue
water below. The palm trees rustled their fronds gently in the sudden stillness. Far out in the ocean were the sails of some boats. Kate drew a long slow breath. It was a very beautiful place. Caterina had said that she would either love or hate it. Which would it be? Kate wondered.
Kate was surprised how quickly she adapted herself to her new leisurely life. Now that she could enjoy breakfast in bed without a sense of guilt she relaxed, enjoying the delicious meal and the knowledge that there was no need to rush to the bathroom, hurriedly cook the breakfast, get Mike off to school and Nancy to work, and then queue up for the bus on a cold wet street corner. Now she could bath slowly, dress and stand on the balcony in the welcome breeze — for the days were very hot — and then wander downstairs.
Sometimes Taro would come with the car and drive her round the island; or to the hospital where Caterina, in some of her few leisure moments, would welcome her and yet still be the different Caterina, the professional woman. Sometimes Kate would sit in the annexe to the studio and read old Mrs. Scott's diaries. As Simon had said, they made fascinating reading and showed vividly how primitive life on the island had been in those early days. Once Simon took Kate to the school where Mike was.
It was a surprise invitation, for Kate was sitting on the wide terrace, writing a letter to one of her friends in England, when she heard a firm familiar step on the polished tiles. She looked up to find Simon standing there, his khaki shorts and shirt damp from the heat.
`I'm just going to shower, Kate,' he said briefly. 'In
ten minutes I'm going to the school. Like to come along ?'
Kate was on her feet. 'Oh, I would.'
`Good. Don't keep me waiting,' Simon said abruptly, and turned away.
Kate hurried to her bedroom and quickly changed into a clean frock. The heat was so sticky that she changed her clothes several times a day. Miraculously Tehutu collected the frocks and returned them a few hours later, washed and immaculately ironed.
Kate chose a leaf-green frock of batiste material, that Miss Stem had recommended for wear in the tropics. She brushed her hair vigorously, wishing she was near the beauty salon to which George had sent her. She made up carefully and then hurried down to the hall. She got there at the same time as Simon, now immaculate in white shorts and shirt, his short blond hair still wet from the shower.
He lifted his dark tufty eyebrows and smiled. `Punctual! An unusual virtue in a woman.' `Jerome considers it a failing,' Kate said, trying to
speak lightly, 'because he's usually late.'
`Jerome has strange views,' said Simon, leading the way to the waiting car. 'But doubtless he'll change.'
Taro leapt to attention, very smart in his white uniform.
Simon helped Kate into the car with his odd mixture of impersonality and old-world courtesy. She tried
to think of something to say to him. Although they met at meal times, it was odd, when she came to think of it, how little she and Simon had ever had to say to one another. Nancy, now, could chatter away to him and
even tease him — Mike could talk happily, asking his perpetual questions — Jerome was always discussing plans and drawings, but Kate ! Sitting silently beside Simon, Kate asked herself why she should still feel so ill at ease with him. Was it because they shared so few interests? When Caterina came to dinner, she led the conversation, gathering in the others skilfully, opening up new subjects, but then Caterina and Simon were old friends. Yet not so old, Kate realized. After all, Caterina had only known Simon since his great-aunt died.
`There's the school,' Simon said curtly.
Kate looked in the direction indicated and saw a large, thatched building built high on stilts. The sides were all open and she could see about thirty children sitting at small desks.
Simon helped Kate up the steep ladder and introduced her to the teacher, a tall bald-headed man with vivid blue eyes.
`This is Mr. Anatole,' Simon said, his lean face relaxed in a friendly smile. 'Harald, this is . .
`Mike's sister,' smiled Mr. Anatole with his hand outstretched. 'I have heard so much about you.' His clasp was warm.
Simon smiled quizzically. 'Mike never stops talking about her,' he said dryly.
Harald Anatole looked disapproving. 'It is natural —why not? She has been father, mother, sister and guardian to the boy.' He turned to Kate. 'Mike is a fine boy, but his brain was allowed to be lazy. He was not happy in school ?'
Very conscious of Simon by her side, Kate tried
to explain. 'He . . . he was rather delicate and got bullied.'
Harald Anatole smiled sadly. 'That so often happens, but he must learn to overcome fear and defend himself. Here we have no bullying, but we teach self-defence. Have no fears, Mike will be all right.'
Simon spoke abruptly. 'Yes, stop fussing about the boy, Kate. Your fears are communicated to-him and only make matters worse.'