PELANGI HAVEN
Karen van der Zee
It was only a matter of time
Linden fled from Waite's violent black moods to be alone at her
Pelangi haven--Rainbow Island off the coast of Malaysia. Instead,
she found a friend.
There was strength and determination in Justin Parker's face, yet he
also revealed his weaknesses, admitted them freely without making
excuses. Linden liked that. But what she saw in his eyes disturbed
her.
Linden was not ready to cope with another man wanting her, another
man who said he loved her--not after what had happened with Waite.
It was too soon!
CHAPTER ONE
PAIN stung her face and the air froze in her lungs. She gasped, lost
her balance and fell heavily against the corner of the glass-topped
coffee table. A sharp pain shot through her thigh and for a moment
stars danced in front of her eyes.
The front door was slammed shut. Dazed, Linden lay on the floor
listening to the receding steps, still too shocked to comprehend what
had happened. Tears of pain gathered in her eyes.
Waite had hit her, struck her in the face. She couldn't believe it had
come to that. Despite his violent tempers he'd never laid a finger on
her. The right side of her face ached dully. She touched her swollen
lip and tasted blood. Her teeth were fine, thank God. The swine, she
thought wildly, the rotten swine! This was it! The absolute end!
She'd had enough of him and his tantrums and his black moods. How
dare he strike her!
There was blood on her skirt and she pulled it up to examine her
thigh. The sharp glass corner of the table had broken the skin on her
leg. Another bruise there, a whopper, probably.
It had been years since she'd last cried. Now, suddenly, there was no
holding back the tears and she wept with her hands covering her face.
The most serious damage was not physical. The swellings would go
down and the bruises would heal, but for the rest of her life she
would remember this night, see the ugly look on the face she had
loved for more than two years.
Her tears finally spent, she drew in a deep, shuddering breath. Hair
hung untidily in front of her face and she grimaced. I'm the one who
should have the fly-away temper, she thought as she wiped the mass
of red hair out of her face. She gathered herself up from the floor and
stumbled into the bathroom, trying to ignore the pain in her thigh. It
was a shock to see her face and her anger boiled again. How dare he!
How dare he hit her!
She stared at her reflection in the mirror, seeing the grey eyes of a
stranger. Never before had she seen herself like this, with that terrible
look in her eyes and the swollen mouth. Never before had she felt
like she felt now—degraded, violated.
She couldn't go to work looking like a battered wife. Well, she was,
wasn't she? Not a wife, but battered, anyway. She couldn't stand in
front of a class of twenty-two curious students who'd all be
wondering what had happened to her. Someone hit me, she could tell
them. To be precise, it was Professor Waite Clayton, your adored,
admired, lusted after, head of the Art Department.
Nobody would believe her.
Professor Clayton would never do such a thing. He was handsome,
brilliant, sexy, charming, drooled over by every female student of the
college and admired by every male. A terrible loneliness washed over
her. I need to talk to somebody, she thought. She sank into a chair
and winced at the pain in her leg. Oh, damn, damn, damn! She picked
up the 'phone and dialled.
A sleepy voice answered and she was immediately sorry for her
impulsive 'phone call.
'Liz? It's me, Linden. Were you asleep? I'm sorry, I . .
'What's wrong?' The sleepiness had gone from Liz's voice.
'Liz . . . I . . . I . ..' Tears choked her voice.
'Linden! What's wrong? Are you all right?' Concern made Liz's voice
sharp. 'Where are you? At home?'
'Yes. Oh, Liz, I .. .'
'I'm coming over. I'll be right there.'
A minute later the bell rang sharply. Liz lived in the same apartment
building, two units down the hall, and she hadn't even bothered to put
on her clothes. Barefoot and wearing a hooded terry cloth bathrobe,
she stood in front of the door, looking rather wild with her uncombed
curly black hair. Dark eyes wide with shock, she stared at Linden.
'Dear God, what happened to you?' She moved inside and closed the
door, her eyes never leaving Linden's face.
'Waite hit me.' It came out dull and dry.
'In slow motion Liz sank into a chair. 'You've got to be kidding,' she
whispered.
Linden looked away and said nothing.
'Why?'
Linden shrugged. 'He lost his temper.'
'He seems to be in the habit of doing that,' Liz said sarcastically.
'He never hit me before.'
Liz looked at Linden for a long, silent moment. 'Linden,' she said
softly, 'what is the matter with him?'
She shook her head helplessly. 'I don't know. But I can't take
anymore. I've tried, but I can't take his black moods and his bad
tempers. There's something about him I can't understand and I ... I .. .'
She swallowed and tears crowded her eyes once again. 'I can't go on
this way.'
'You love him.'
'Yes. I did, anyway. But nobody hits me. Nobody. Not even Waite,
especially not Waite.' There was strength and conviction in her voice,
but inside she felt a growing despair. She'd have to leave. She
couldn't go on working with him, seeing him every day.
'What happened to your leg?' Liz was looking at the blood on her
skirt, coming out of her chair and kneeling next to Linden.
'I fell against the coffee table when he hit me. It's not bad. I'll just
have a zinger of a bruise by tomorrow.'
'Let me see.'
Linden moved up her skirt and bared her thigh and Liz whistled.
'You'd better put something on it. Why don't you get out of your
clothes and have a shower? It'll make you feel better. I'll fix us
something to drink, and I'll take that skirt and soak it in cold water or
you'll never get that stain out.'
Later they drank the hot buttered rum that Liz had made and listened
to the howling of the October wind that rattled the windows.
'I sold one of my paintings,' Linden said tonelessly. 'The red and
white one.'
Liz's eyes lit up with interest. 'Did the same man buy it? The short
little bald guy?'
'Yes.' He'd bought two others. He was the wealthy father of one of
her students and seemed to like her work. 'Waite said the price he
paid me was ridiculous. It was too high for that painting, which he
considered of inferior technical quality.'
Liz stared at her. ' Waite said that? My God, he has the tact and
sensitivity of a bulldozer! What
did you say to that?'
Linden grimaced. 'I said there was no accounting for tastes, and that
at least somebody thought enough of my work to pay me well for it,
which was more than he could claim.'
She shouldn't have said it, she knew the moment she saw his face, but
she'd been so hurt and angry by his biting criticism, she'd let her
emotions take over her common sense.
'Good for you!'
'Not so good for me,' Linden said dryly. 'That's when he hit me.'
Liz winced. 'He's jealous, of course.'
Linden made a frustrated gesture. 'But it doesn't make sense! He has
more talent, more experience than I do. He's so much better all the
way around.' She sighed. 'He hasn't painted anything for months. He's
been in a horrible mood for ages. The stuff he painted a while ago
was awful, not at all up to his standard. Apart from that it was
morbid, depressing, which isn't his usual style. It scared me.'
'Why?'
Linden shrugged. 'It seems one more indication that something is
wrong.'
They were silent. It had started to rain. Absently Linden listened to
the drops pitter-pattering against the window.
'Are you going to work tomorrow?' asked Liz at last.
'No.' Linden felt her hands tighten into fists. 'I'm not going back at
all.'
'You're going to quit?' Alarm sprang into Liz's eyes. 'Please, Linden,
think about it first! You know how hard it is to find another job!' The
previous year Liz had been out of work for months, the most ego-
shattering months of her life, she'd said.
It wasn't as hasty a decision as it seemed. Linden knew the moment
the words were out that the thought had been brooding for a long
time. How many nights had she not lain in bed thinking, I've got to
get out, I've got to get away.
'I know, Liz, but I just can't go back. I don't ever want to see Waite
again.' Her voice caught in her throat. 'Two years is a long time. I
can't go on teaching in the same building, seeing him every day.'
'What are you going to do?'
'I don't know. I'll have to think of something, won't I?'
An idea came to her later as she was getting ready for bed.
Liz had insisted on staying over, sleeping on the couch. She'd locked
and chained the door, checked out the windows as if she were afraid
Waite might come back and attack Linden.
Linden dropped her earrings into a small basket on her dressing table
and her eyes caught the key. Her father had given her the key several
years earlier and it had been in the basket ever since.
It was the key to a small wooden house on stilts on a tiny tropical
island in the Indian Ocean. Pelangi Island—Rainbow Island, just off
the west coast of Malaysia.
As she looked at the key, vivid memories flashed through her mind.
She saw again the blue-green of the ocean, the vast blue expanse of
sky, the lush greenery of the island. Tropical flowers, clove and
nutmeg trees, small waterfalls, chattering monkeys, a small Chinese
temple. And the islanders—an exotic mixture of Malay, Chinese and
Indian people.
For six years her father had been a Professor of Urban Planning and
Development at the University in Kuala Lumpur. Their vacations
they'd spent on Pelangi Island, living in the small fisherman's house
her father had had built by the islanders.
Her parents were both dead now. Her sister lived in New Orleans,
tied down by small children and a lawyer-husband, and had no desire
for travel. Linden had always wanted to go back to the island, but
there'd never seemed to be time or money. She wondered what had
happened to the house, whether it was still closed up and empty, or if
someone had appropriated it thinking the foreign owner would never
show up again.
She stared at the key in her hand.
'I'll go back to Pelangi,' she whispered.
Linden managed to leave without seeing Waite again, although he
tried to contact her time and again. He had a key to her apartment so
she moved out and stayed with Liz. She did not answer the door or
the telephone while Liz was at work. Liz told anyone who asked that
Linden had gone to her sister in New Orleans and had not left an
address or a 'phone number. She packed her suitcase at a time she
knew Waite had to be at the college.
The days passed in abject misery. She couldn't eat and couldn't sleep.
She knew she was doing the right thing, but the pain was so great she
wondered if there wasn't another way. Give him another chance, a
little voice kept saying. But she'd given him too many chances
already. It's time I started thinking about myself.
And so, the arrangements made, Linden flew to Malaysia.
Kuala Lumpur was as beautiful as Linden remembered, but many
new buildings had sprung up in the last eight years—tall, modern
structures that towered above the tropical trees and palms that grew
everywhere, contrasting with the traditional mosques and Moorish
buildings from the past. The mixture of multi-racial people, cultures
and religions in Malaysia had always fascinated her. It lent the place
an exotic atmosphere of colour and contrast, and Linden could feel
the excitement rise in her as she looked around as she came in from
the airport in a comfortable air- conditioned taxi.
The small Chinese hotel was still there, white and clean with the
same spreading frangipani tree in front. Linden entered the foyer with
its cool marble floor and its tall palms in their huge brass pots and
presented herself at the desk. Fifteen minutes later a bell-boy
escorted her to her room, carrying her luggage. The room was small
and simply furnished. The window had a view of a courtyard where
hibiscus bloomed profusely and a small fish pond gleamed darkly.
There were tables and chairs in the shade, a black and white cat
asleep on one.
Linden showered, and dropped on the bed, too tired to eat. It had
taken two days to get here and all she wanted now was sleep and a
rest from all the miserable thoughts that had occupied her mind the
last few weeks.
She slept all afternoon and all through the night, waking up at five in
the morning. It was still dark. A newspaper had been slid underneath
her door and she picked it up and crawled into bed with it. It was the
English-language Malaysia Times. The front page held an article on
the new budget along with the same major international news that
was probably on the front pages of all big newspapers in the world.
The women's page was on the back and sported a recipe for Chinese
dumplings, an ad for instant noodles and an article about the place of
women in various societies around the world. She leafed through the
paper, reading a bit here and there. Sports, arts, culture, politics,
economics, comics, including Blondie and Bugs Bunny. An interview
with Meryl Streep. Advertisements for cars, office computers,
watches and refrigerators. The Jaya Supermarkets had specials on
Chivers Olde English Orange Marmalade, Johnnie Walker Scotch
and Skippy peanut b
utter. Welcome to the exotic Far East, she
thought, amused, and tossed the paper aside.
She showered, brushed her teeth and fastened her hair on top of her
head. Her lip had healed. Her thigh was still showing an impressive
array of colour. Linden tried not to look at it too often. Quickly she
pulled a blue cotton-knit dress over her head and gathered it around
her waist with a wide belt.
In the small dining room she examined the breakfast menu. There
was the famous choke, a bowl of rice porridge (the menu read),
complimented with fresh farm egg, pork, fish, chicken, ginger, spring
onions and crispy mee hoon, or rice noodles. Undoubtedly a healthy
way to start the day, but Linden didn't think her stomach was Chinese
enough to appreciate it. She ordered coffee and toast, which was a
terrible way to start the day, but the American breakfast of eggs and
ham or bacon did not appeal to her either.
Not much later she was in a teksi on her way to the railway station, a
large, impressive structure of Moorish design, to catch a train to
Butterworth. From there she'd take the ferry across to the island of
Penang where she'd stay the night. Tomorrow morning she'd find a
boat to take her across to Pelangi Island.
The train was comfortable and she enjoyed looking at the scenery of
rice paddies and vast rubber plantations that sped by the window.
Everything looked green and healthy. But six hours was a long time
and inevitably thoughts of Waite intruded into her mind.
'He's desperate,' Liz had said. 'And he looks terrible. As if he hasn't
eaten or slept for a week. God, I could almost feel sorry for him.'
Linden didn't look too good herself. She'd lost five pounds in two
weeks and spent the nights weeping with her face in the pillow. How
was she ever going to get over it? And all the good times flashed
before her eyes—the times of laughter and loving, the hiking trips in
the mountains, weekends in Philadelphia visiting art galleries and
museums. He loved her. She loved him. Oh, God she thought, I
cannot live without him.
But it hadn't always been good. Black moods, depressions, outburst
of violent temper, had changed the charming, laughing man into a
different person. And it had become worse all the time. She'd tried
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