Pelangi Haven

by Karen Van Der Zee

  'I thought you might try and make me stay.'

  He smiled crookedly. 'I'm tempted, believe me. But I think it would

  be a mistake. I think we need some time apart.' He jumped out of bed

  and wrapped a blue plaid sarong around his hips and left the

  bedroom.

  Linden stared at the ceiling. He was right, of course. She should go

  home and nurse her fragile emotions back to health. Pelangi was

  supposed to have helped her recover from Waite. Now she was

  leaving to get herself straight about her feelings for another man. Fate

  certainly had no talent for timing.

  Later, at the pier, she smiled a watery smile and he kissed her hard.

  'See you in three months,' he said as he released her.

  'Minus five days.' She turned and jumped into the boat. 'Please don't

  stand there and wave to me all the way across or I'll jump overboard

  and swim back.'

  He grinned. 'Okay, okay, I'm going.' And with a wave of his arm he

  stalked back down the long rickety pier. She watched his retreating

  back, her throat thick with tears and suddenly paralysed by the fear

  that she was making a terrible mistake.

  The trip home was endless. From Penang Airport she flew straight to

  Singapore without going back to mainland Malaysia. There were

  several hours to wait before her connecting flight and she wandered

  forlornly around the super modern Changi Airport looking

  unsinterestedly at all the duty-free finery. At other times she might

  have been tempted by the perfumes, the designer jewellery or the

  Selangor pewter, but there were more important matters on her mind

  now, apart from the fact that she had no money to spend on luxuries.

  She travelled without stopovers for sleep, and the hours and days

  blurred together as she dozed and slept and ate in one plane after

  another. In Los Angeles she called Liz to let her know her time of

  arrival in Philadelphia.

  For two days, after she arrived, all she did was sleep and eat and then

  sleep some more. Then, in a sudden burst of new energy she packed

  up her belongings, arranged for storage, and packed her car for the

  trip south to New Orleans. She was eager to get out of town as fast as

  possible, before Waite could hear of her presence. The last thing she

  needed was to see him again.

  The evening before Linden's departure Liz invited some of their

  friends for a small party and it was difficult then to realise what she

  was giving up. But there was no turning back now and she pushed

  the thought away.

  Travelling by car in the dead of winter was not ideal, but at least she

  was going south and not north. In a way it was a peaceful trip across

  the country, all by herself, with only the car radio going. She ate at

  roadside restaurants and slept in motels, speaking to no one, meeting

  no one.

  Stefanie was delighted to see her. Almost nine months pregnant she

  welcomed some help and companionship. She and her husband and

  their rapidly expanding family lived in a large sprawling old house

  with plenty of room to accommodate Linden for a while.

  'You look so thin,' Stefanie remarked. 'Or is it because I'm so huge?'

  'I'm thin and you're huge. Good Lord, are you manufacturing another

  set of twins?'

  Stefanie laughed. 'The scan says no.'

  Linden embraced her sister as best as she could, and laughing they

  went inside where four small children descended on Linden for hugs

  and kisses.

  The weeks that followed were anything but quiet. Stefanie gave birth

  to another baby boy. Linden ran the household as well as she could,

  cooking meals, tying bibs, wiping noses, bathing small, squealing,

  slippery bodies. Stefanie looked exhausted. Her husband Nick looked

  exhausted. Linden was exhausted. After her quiet life on Pelangi, this

  was bedlam. But four weeks later life for the family seemed to have

  returned to its normal state of happy disorder rather than the chaos

  that had prevailed right after the birth. Linden had to admire

  Stefanie's stamina, her patience with her children, her obvious

  happiness with the new baby.

  Linden managed to get out and explore New Orleans. She was

  offered help with this by one of Nick's colleagues, a young, divorced

  lawyer, who came for drinks one evening. He invited her out to

  dinner, which she refused politely, but firmly.

  'What's the matter with you?' asked Stefanie after he had left.

  'Nothing's the matter with me.'

  'Why didn't you go out with him and have a good time?'

  'I don't feel like it.'

  'What's wrong with him?'

  'I can't think of a thing, Stefanie. Young, good- looking, ambitious,

  good career, New England accent . . . Yale or Harvard?'

  'Harvard. And he's even nice, Linden. I mean, he's charming. He has

  a sense of humour. Why couldn't you just go out with him? You don't

  have to sleep with the man. Although ... I imagine that wouldn't be

  half-bad either.'

  Linden sighed. 'I'm sure he's a real catch, Stefanie, but I'm simply not

  in the hunting mood.'

  Stefanie shook her curly head in disapproval. 'How long has it been

  since you broke up with Waite? Four months, five? Don't you think

  it's time to get yourself back in circulation?'

  'Why?'

  'Well . . . eh . . . it's normal! I mean, you're twenty- six years old.

  Don't you want a man in your life?'

  'Are you worried I'm going to end up a sad, sour, shrivelled-up old

  spinster?'

  Stefanie sighed. 'I just want you to be happy.'

  'Well, I want to be happy too. And I hear the baby crying. You'd

  better feed the poor little critter.'

  She managed to paint a little, but the children would not leave her

  alone, fascinated as they were by the paints and the brushes and the

  pictures. Her work was not up to par. Mostly she thought about

  Justin. He had finished his book and was back in New York. He'd

  sent her a cheque for the sale of the house and a short note. Even

  seeing the few words scrawled on the note had made her heart beat

  frantically. She saw his face everywhere, projected on the clouds, on

  store windows, on her bubble-bath soap-suds, on the page of a book

  she was reading. She carried his image with her all day—a mental

  photograph, a good luck charm. She wondered if he really loved her.

  When I'm with you I feel . . . different, I feel good, as if life makes

  sense again. His words echoed back into her mind. She wondered if

  she loved him.

  What if she called his agent and he said sorry, Justin did riot want to

  speak to her. What if she went to New York and realised it was all a

  mistake? They'd been alone on the island and drawn to each other

  naturally, but here, everything was different. Well, that's what these

  three months were for—to get everything back into perspective, to

  weed out the illusions and fantasies and see what was left. Maybe she

  should have gone out with the handsome Harvard man.

  In three months all manner of things could have happened. She tried

  not to think of the various possibilities, but in unguarded moments />
  her imagination ran wild. Justin had decided he'd made a mistake.

  He'd met another woman.

  He'd met up again with Kate and she was getting a divorce.

  He'd been in an accident and suffered from amnesia and did not

  recognise her.

  He'd been in an accident and he was dead. She began to have

  frightening dreams, waking up shaking and soaked with perspiration.

  She cursed herself for her neurotic fears.

  She dreamed about making love to Justin again. It was an untenable

  situation. She wanted to be with him. She longed to see him and hear

  his voice and make love with him. Four more weeks to go. Three.

  Two.

  She thought about Waite. There was regret and sadness where once

  had been pain. She wondered what had happened to him. She worried

  about it. It was a shock to see his handwriting on a letter addressed to

  her. Liz must have given him the address. She took the letter up to

  her room and slid it open with a fingernail, her heart in her throat.

  Damn, she thought, he can still do it to me.

  The letter was short, only one page long, written by hand.

  Dear Linden,

  There are some things I need to say to you, so please bear with

  me and read this letter.

  I want you to know what I will always love you, but I know

  that my love for you has not been a fair and giving love.

  Nothing has shaken me so much in my life as losing you. You

  loved me. I didn't think you would ever stop. I did not realise

  until later how difficult it must have been for you to stay with

  me as long as you did. I had no right to expect from you any

  more than you had already given me. Please forgive me the

  terrible things I said and did to you.

  I'm seeing a counsellor. You urged me many times to find

  help, but I did not. I see now that, in some convoluted way,

  you saved me by leaving me. Had you not, I may never have

  admitted to having problems. When I came back from Pelangi,

  knowing I had lost you for good, that you could no longer

  stand by me, I had to face up to my problems.

  I left Pelangi without saying goodbye. I didn't know how to do

  that. But maybe I am ready for that now too. So with this letter

  I am telling you goodbye. I wish you all the happiness you

  deserve. I will never forget you. My love, always, Waite.

  Linden read and re-read the letter, going over the lines with tear-

  blurred eyes. The words were like a balm to the remnants of pain and

  regret still in the back of her mind. The dark weight of bitterness

  ebbed from her chest. Gently she put the paper down, feeling peace

  invade her. She wiped her eyes, 'Thank you, Waite,' she whispered.

  'Thank you, thank you.'

  Her finger was trembling as she pushed in the 'phone buttons.

  'I would like to speak to Mr Cronin, please,' she said to the answering

  secretary. 'My name is Linden Mitchell.'

  'Mr Cronin is in conference with a client. May I take a message?' A

  young voice, cool and impersonal.

  Linden swallowed her disappointment. 'I want to contact Mr Parker.

  Justin Parker.'

  There was a slight pause. 'You can leave a message for him if you

  like. Or write to him at this address.'

  'I'd like to have his 'phone number, please.'

  'I'm sorry, but I can't give out this information. It's against policies.'

  'I see. I understand.' She tried not to have the irritation show in her

  voice. Of course it was only normal they didn't give out their clients'

  private addresses and 'phone numbers to anybody who asked for

  them. What was she to do now? 'I'd still like to speak to Mr Cronin

  then. Please give him my name and 'phone number and I'll wait for

  his call. Mr Parker should have mentioned my name to him.'

  For the rest of the day she waited in vain for a call from New York.

  She was restless and irritable, and the children left her alone, sensing

  her state of mind.

  'What's bothering you?' asked Stefanie, wiping apple sauce off the

  kitchen floor.

  'I'm trying to contact somebody in New York and some battle-eager

  secretary is protecting him and I can't get a hold of him.'

  'Well, you know about good secretaries. They have to protect their

  bosses from unwanted callers.'

  'I'm not an unwanted caller, and if she's a good secretary she ought to

  know.'

  'Secretaries are not all-seeing and all-knowing.'

  'Then they shouldn't be secretaries.'

  Stefanie rolled her eyes in exasperation as she rinsed out the cloth

  with which she'd been wiping the floor. 'Who are you trying to

  contact in New York?'

  Linden hadn't told her sister anything about Justin, and Stefanie,

  Linden had to admit, had been good at not trying to pry too much for

  information.

  'A man.' She took a tomato and cut it in pieces for the salad.

  'That much I could guess.' Stefanie poured noodles in a pan of boiling

  water. On the back of the stove simmered a pan of minced-beef

  stroganoff. Nick would be home any minute now and the three

  grownups would have their dinner. He was home late every day and

  the children had already been fed and bathed and were happily

  playing for the moment.

  'Actually, you know him,' believe it or not.'

  'I do? Who is it?'

  'Justin Parker.'

  Stefanie frowned and shrugged. 'Daddy had a friend named Parker.

  Leon or something. When he lived in Kuala Lumpur.'

  'It's his son. He and his father came to Pelangi for Christmas dinner

  one year. I was sixteen.'

  'Good heavens, that's ten years ago!' Stefanie bit the tip of her thumb

  in concentration, a habit she'd had since she'd been a child. 'I

  remember, vaguely.'

  'It was that awful dinner with the tough chicken and the bad wine.'

  Stefanie groaned. 'Yes, I remember now! Oh, Lord, that was so

  embarrassing!' She grinned. 'And how did you come across him

  again?'

  'On Pelangi.' And then she told Stefanie the rest, leaving out the

  juicier details. But Stefanie, having a romantic mind, had no trouble

  imagining what Linden didn't tell. It was obvious in her eyes, but

  Linden said no more.

  The next morning, Linden called again. The same girl answered the

  'phone.

  Linden took a mental breath. 'I haven't heard from either Mr Cronin

  or Mr Parker,' she stated bluntly.

  'I'm sorry,' the girl said smoothly, 'but Mr Cronin had to leave

  immediately after his appointment yesterday and I'm afraid he didn't

  get a chance to return your call.'

  Linden gritted her teeth. 'I'll right, we'll have to do something else

  then. I'm sorry to bother you with this, but it is important. It concerns

  the sale of Mr Parker's house in Malaysia and I need to speak to him

  urgently.' She was making it up, but she hoped this little bit of

  information about a house in some exotic part of the world would

  lend her plea some substance and credibility. 'I would appreciate it if

  you could contact him this very minute and give him my 'phone

  number and I'll be waiting to hear from him.'

  There was a slight hesitat
ion. 'I see. Well, I can try. I can't guarantee

  I'll get hold of him.'

  'Keep trying until you get him, please.'

  'I'll try.' It sounded reluctant.

  'Thank you.' Linden replaced the receiver and looked at her watch.

  Four minutes later the 'phone rang. She picked it up at the first ring,

  her heart suddenly racing in anticipation.

  'Hello?'

  'Miss Mitchell? The Cronin Agency. I called Justin Parker, but his

  answering service tells me he's gone to Connecticut and cannot be

  reached. He's expected back after the weekend.'

  Linden felt her heart sink into her shoes. 'Did you leave a message?'

  'Yes, I did.'

  There was nothing to do but thank the girl and hang up. She felt

  utterly deflated. She stared at the pale blue telephone that matched

  the pale blue wall paper, bedspread and curtains of Stefanie's

  bedroom, and wondered what to do. Well, she wasn't going to sit

  around and wait any longer. It was time for some action. Now that

  she had made up her mind she was going, she might as well get

  started. She'd pack up the car and drive. It would take her a couple of

  days at least.

  All through the long days on the road, doubts assailed her. What was

  Justin doing in Connecticut? Why couldn't he be reached? What if he

  had changed his mind and didn't want her anymore? And here she

  was with all her worldly goods in the car (except what was in

  storage), offering herself.

  What if the meeting was a fiasco? After all, life on Pelangi was not

  life in New York. He would be different here. Undoubtedly she

  would be different here. Pelangi was months and many miles away—

  a dream, an illusion.

  She'd never driven in New York and she got hopelessly lost, taking

  the wrong exits, going around the through ways in what seemed

  endless circles. When she finally made it into Manhattan, her hands

  were clammy and her clothes damp with perspiration. My God, what

  a jungle it was out here. She thought of Pelangi with its absence of

  cars, the peaceful paths, the empty beaches.

  She found a parking space in an underground garage. By the end of

  the day she'd have to pay a fee that would feed her for an entire week

  on Pelangi.

  The Cronin Agency had its offices in a building several blocks away

  and she walked in the April sunshine, glad for the exercise after

  sitting for so long. It was Monday. Maybe Justin was back in town