The Isle of Song

  The Isle of Song by Hilary Wilde

  Most of us would jump at the chance to live on one of the beautiful islands of the South Pacific—but when her stepfather was offered a job there, Kate was not at all happy about the prospect. Was she right to worry—or was it that, as Simon Ellison was always telling her, she was too fond of trying to manage all her family's lives?

  Printed in the U.S.A.

  HARLEQUIN BOOKS

  Winnipeg · Canada · New York · New York

  THE ISLE OF SONG

  First published in 1968 by Mills & Boon Limited, 50 Graf ton Way, Fitzroy Square, London, England.

  Harlequin Canadian edition published October, 1968

  Harlequin U.S. edition published January, 1969

  All the characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the Author, and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names. They are not even distantly inspired by any individual known or unknown to the Author, and all the incidents are pure invention.

  The Harlequin trade mark, consisting of the word HARLEQUIN and the portrayal of a Harlequin, is registered in the United States Patent Office and in the Canada Trade Marks Office.

  Copyright. © 1968, by Hilary Wilde. All rights reserved.

  CHAPTER ONE

  KATE swayed as she stood. There was a smell of wet mackintoshes and she had to cling to the strap above her as the train hurtled its way towards Ealing. She could see over the shoulder of a short man in front of her, and the photograph on the page of the newspaper he was holding seemed to rush up to meet her.

  Simon Ellison.

  She knew the face well, for he was always in the news. A wealthy stockbroker with a promising future, everyone said. She wondered what he was really like. Only that day at the solicitor's office where Kate worked as book-keeper, she had heard them discussing him. The general impression she had gathered was that he was a hard and ruthless man.

  Looking at his photograph, she wondered. He was in his early thirties and had a lean humorous face that ended surprisingly in a square stubborn chin. Although his hair was short and blond, he had thick dark eyebrows and his eyes, while amused, yet held a wary look.

  Swaying with the train, she had some difficulty in reading the smaller print under his name, but it said that recently Simon Ellison had inherited an island in the South Pacific from an eccentric great-aunt and had, while visiting it, nearly been killed in a violent cyclone. Now, the article went on to say, speculation was rife as to what he planned to do with the island. Would he sell it? It had tremendous potentialities as a play-

  ground for wealthy tourists as it was not far from Tahiti and the lovely town of Papeete, known generally as the Paris of the Pacific.

  At last the train reached Ealing and Kate rushed to queue for the bus, holding her emerald green umbrella up against the pelting rain, but her shoulder-length honey-brown hair, that swung as she ran, was soon wet. A short bus ride, a quick run down the quiet suburban road and she was home. Even as she fumbled for the key, the front door swung open as if they were waiting for her. Tired as she was, for several of the staff were sick and Kate had tangled with a lot of work all day, she knew dismay.

  What was wrong? Why were they waiting for her so impatiently ? And then she smelt the fragrant odour of fried onions and chops and knew her first premonition was right. Something was definitely wrong — otherwise why would Nancy have bothered to cook the dinner ?

  Kate was nearly twenty years old and for the past four years had kept house for her brother, sister and stepfather. She had grown used to the mad rush that was her everyday life; flying round after cooking breakfast while she made beds and straightened rooms, then rushing home at night to cook the dinner. Mike was only nine years old and Nancy just seventeen, so they were not much help. This was the first time in months that they had bothered to cook the meal for her. Why tonight?

  She gazed down at Mike's pale little face and saw how clean it was and that his fair hair was smoothed down with water. His eyes were shining brightly as he

  gazed at her, and then when Nancy came running as well, Kate's heart sank even more. Nancy's honey-gold hair was brushed up into a knot on top of her head, she was wearing one of her prettiest blue shifts, and her face was as radiant as Mike's.

  Something had happened, Kate knew. There was something the family wanted her to agree to. They knew that she couldn't and so were ganging up on her, planning to soften her. Then as Nancy kissed her warmly, Kate felt ashamed, but unfortunately she had grown cynical of recent years, and when her stepfather, Jerome, joined them in the hall, she knew her first premonition was right. Something was up!

  Jerome was a wisp of a man with receding greyish hair and — as Kate's mother had often said in the years gone by — the appetite of a horse, the shape of a greyhound, the eyes of a dreamer and the mouth of a poet. Jerome was a darling but a very bad provider. He admitted it himself. He had restless feet and was always searching for perfection and being disappointed, only to bounce up again to start looking once more.

  `My poor Kate,' Jerome said, his voice affectionate. `You look like a drowned rat.'

  `We lit the fire,' Nancy said eagerly. 'And the dinner's ready.'

  Kate tried to smile, but her tiredness swept over her. Trouble lay ahead, and she wondered how she would have strength enough to meet it. Jerome's excited face gave her a hint of what was coming and her tired unhappy mind swerved away violently from the thought. If it was that, she could not bear it . . .

  They ate in a state of suppressed excitement. Mike

  kept opening his mouth eagerly, glancing at Nancy, and closing it shut quickly, but his eyes went on shining. Nancy and Jerome kept exchanging significant glances, and Kate felt that she was all alone, with the three of them against her.

  She stifled a sigh. She was so tired of always being the one to make decisions, to keep them in line with their narrow budget, to see that the bills were paid up to date, that Mike's shoes were repaired and that he and Nancy went regularly to the dentist. Everything was such a fight, and she was tired of being father and mother, for Jerome was a dreamer and seemed completely unaware of the material things of life.

  There was a sudden silence that filled Kate with uneasiness. She tried to think of something to say to postpone what was coming, but then Mike spoke. It was as if the words bubbled out beyond his control.

  `Daddy's got a job on a South Sea island!' he said excitedly.

  Kate stared at him. So it was what she had feared!

  `Oh no!' she exclaimed, her voice laced with the dismay she could not hide. Jerome could not do this to her! How could she manage to meet the weekly instalments on the house? Feed and clothe them all and cope with Nancy's bursts of extravagance?

  The saddest part of Jerome's marriage to Kate's mother had been the long years he was overseas, always looking for the ideal job and never finding it; coming home for exciting leaves and going off again. Vividly Kate could recall how she had clung to him after her mother's death, weeping in his arms, begging him not to leave them. She had been sixteen and terri-

  fled of how she'd manage. Was she any more capable of looking after them alone, now ?

  And we're all going with him, Kate,' Nancy said, her voice shrill, her three-cornered face aglow with excitement, her eyes bright.

  Kate turned to look at her stepfather and saw the anxiety in his eyes, saw, too, the nervous way he was jiggling with a fork on the table. A terrible thought hit her. Jerome was scared of her.

  It seemed so absurd that she wanted to laugh and cry at the same time, and then she knew that it was not absurd. He was afraid she would rub out yet another of his dreams. Yet it was ridiculous to think they could all pack up and go off to the South Pacific
. How could they ?

  Jerome stood up. 'Nancy — Mike, clear away and wash up. Kate's tired. Come into my den with me, Kate. I should have broken it more gently. I'll tell you everything.'

  She felt dazed as he led the way, holding her arm gently. Jerome's den was — unlike his bedroom — a model of tidiness. A trestle table dominated the room so that there was barely space to walk round it, and on it were spread out new clean sheets of paper on which he had already started drawing.

  Jerome gently pushed her into the one chair, a dilapidated rocking chair that had been in their family for several generations.

  `Just relax, Kate. I won't take the job if you disapprove,' Jerome said gently. 'Close your eyes for a moment. You're tired.'

  Kate obeyed. The tears smarted behind her closed

  lids. Again the onus was on her. If she disapproved . Why must she always be the one to give the veto to the things they wanted to do?

  In a moment, Jerome was back, pushing a glass in her hand. She looked at him.

  He smiled, his thin face lighting up. 'I know you don't drink normally, Kate darling, but you need this. It's very weak.'

  The whisky warmed and stung her throat, but it did seem to untie the knot she was in. As she looked at him, where he sat perched on an upturned wastepaper basket, she managed to smile.

  `Tell me, Jerome. I'll try to understand.'

  He leaned forward, clasping his hands tightly, obviously keeping his voice under control.

  `It happened suddenly, Kate. Today when I was working, the general manager sent for me and introduced me to this man. He inherited an island in the South Seas.'

  Not Simon Ellison ?' Kate asked in dismay.

  `You know him ?' Jerome asked quickly.

  Kate shook her head. 'Only of him, Jerome. They were talking about him in the office. Saying he drove a hard bargain — that he was ruthless and mercenary...'

  Jerome looked shocked. 'They're quite wrong. I admit he wants his pound of flesh, but he's prepared to pay for it. I liked him.'

  Kate half-smiled. Jerome liked everyone; that was one of his endearing and most exasperating characteristics.

  `Sorry I interrupted you, Jerome. You were saying...?'

  `Where was I ? Oh yes, Simon Ellison told me he had inherited this island and flew out to see it. It's a wonderful place, classic South Sea islands stuff. Unspoilt, incredibly beautiful. His great-aunt, whom he did not know – for it seems she was the black sheep of the family – had lived there in solitary but extravagant style. He was only there a few days when this terrific cyclone hit the place. Many of the buildings have been completely destroyed. He says it was tragic. Anyhow now he intends to turn it into a tourist resort—'

  `And make a fortune.'

  Jerome looked startled. 'Of course he might at that, but I don't think that's his aim.'

  `You wouldn't,' Kate said with a quick smile. `You're an idealist, Jerome. You think the best of everyone.'

  Jerome looked at her worriedly. 'And you're beginning to think the worst. My poor Kate, what are we doing to you ?'

  Kate found to her dismay that his tender voice had brought tears to her eyes. 'Nothing,' she said hoarsely. `It's the way I'm made.'

  Jerome jumped to his feet. 'The car will be here in a moment. Do you want to do your face ?'

  The car ?' Kate was startled.

  Jerome nodded. 'Simon Ellison wants to meet you and is sending his car for us.'

  `But why ?' Kate was on her feet, her face dismayed.

  `I explained to him I had a family and couldn't just

  walk out,' Jerome told her. 'I said I'd promised to stay

  with you all – and quite right, too. My place is with

  you. That was when he suggested you all came with

  me and . . . and I said I didn't think you'd . . .' Jerome hesitated. 'You're such a practical, down-to-earth person, Kate, I just couldn't see that you would accept the idea. I know it sounds crazy, but .

  `Mr. Ellison thinks he can convert me ?' Kate said coldly.

  Jerome caught her arm. 'Kate,' he said earnestly, `we won't go if you don't want to, but at least hear what Mr. Ellison has to say. Won't you ?'

  Kate took a long deep breath. The onus was on her. Always on her. If she agreed that they could go and it was all a terrible flop, it would be her fault. If she fought them over this and kept them here in England, they would never forget or forgive her for depriving them of the chance to see the world.

  `Of course,' Kate said. `I'll just run and do my face. I must look a sight.'

  Jerome smiled at her. 'You always look lovely to me,' he said simply.

  Kate fled upstairs to the bedroom she shared with Nancy. She stood in the middle of the room, her hands pushed against her mouth. How badly Nancy wanted to go — just look at the spotlessly tidy room. Nancy had even turned down Kate's bed for the night and put her pyjamas ready.

  Kate went to the mirror and stared at herself. Was she such an ogre? Had they to crawl — to beseech her to agree to something they all wanted?

  `Kate, the car's here,' Jerome shouted.

  `Ccoming !' she called back.

  She leaned close to the mirror and applied powder and some lipstick. She had such an ordinary face -

  golden-brown eyes — a rather large mouth — a thin nose. No beauty there. What would Simon Ellison think of her? Or would he even see her? Wouldn't she merely be an obstacle to something he wanted that had to be removed ?

  Quickly she ran a brush down her shoulder-length bob of honey-brown hair. It was straight as a die, but by wearing it this way, she could set it herself and save a lot of money.

  An enormous car was waiting for them — a shining black Rolls-Royce. Nancy's eyes were wide with awe as she watched Kate hurry through the rain under the enormous umbrella the uniformed chauffeur held over them. Mike was standing close to Nancy, and as he waved goodbye to Kate, Kate saw that he had his fingers crossed.

  Somehow that hurt more than anything else. They all wanted this incredibly daft adventure, and if she denied them it ... yet if she agreed and they lost everything they had slowly and painfully built up .

  `What about the house, Jerome ?' she said.

  He turned to her eagerly as the car moved forward.

  `We could let it. I can put it in the hands of the agents and they'd pay the instalments and anything over would be saved for repairs.'

  `And Mike's schooling . .

  `There's a school on the island.'

  `My job, Jerome? I'm due for a rise next year, and Nancy's doing so well with the advertising firm and

  Jerome's hand closed over hers reassuringly. 'Stop worrying, Kate. Simon Ellison says he'll have work

  enough for you both on the island and will pay you good wages which, as we shall live board free, you can save. Besides ...' He hesitated a moment. 'You and Nancy lead such narrow lives here, Kate. Never getting the chance to see the world or meeting .

  Kate found herself laughing. 'Wealthy husbands? I can hear Nancy talking!' She felt a warm rush of affection for her stepfather. It was not his fault he was a dreamer, for he was the kindest man in the world.

  How well she could remember when her own father had died. She had been very young and Nancy little more than a baby. There had been difficult lonely years while her mother battled to rear them alone, and then she had met Jerome and home had become a warm place again, even though he was away from it so much, for there were always his letters to await and his long leaves, and then Mike had been born, and they had seemed like a real family.

  Jerome held her hand tightly. 'Just wait until you've talked to Mr. Ellison, Kate.'

  Kate smiled wryly as she turned her head away. Obviously Simon Ellison had made it plain to Jerome that he could handle her! He had that sort of face —arrogant, a little patronizing. Why did it mean so much to him to have Jerome work for him? It was true Jerome was a good architect, but many people thought his ideas too fantastic to become realities.

  The car drew up
outside a big grey building in a quiet square. The silent solicitous chauffeur escorted them across the wet pavement, trying to shelter them from the rain, but Kate's feet and legs were soon wet as the rain splashed up from the pavement. The front

  door opened and a butler, portly and impressive, led them across a lofty hall with a tiled floor. He opened a door, announced them and stood to one side.

  Kate's first glimpse was one of incredible luxury. The deep pile of the dark blue carpet, the gold furniture with gold silk brocade cushions, the oil paintings on the walls, great splurges of violent colour — and then she saw the man.

  She recognized him instantly. And yet he looked quite different from the photographs she had seen. Younger and much better looking.

  He seemed to unfold from a chair and stood before them — one of the tallest men she had ever seen, thin with a hard wiry strength that was impressive as she came forward with long effortless strides.

  `Ah — Jerome. Good,' he said.

  He had a deep voice, warm, friendly. His eyebrows were black tufts just as in his photograph, and they emphasized the curious look in his eyes as he turned to Kate.

  `Is this your eldest stepdaughter ?' he said, his voice sceptical.

  Jerome smiled. 'Yes, this is Kate. She's nearly twenty. Kate, this is Mr. Ellison.'

  Kate smiled stiffly, holding her body tensely as she looked up at the man who was looking her over with a rather supercilious smile.

  He held her hand for a moment. His hand was cold.

  `Thank you for coming along,' he said. His voice

  was as cold as his hand had been. He turned to Jerome.

  `I wonder if you'd mind going into the library.' He

  pointed to a door leading out of the room. 'I've got

  some photographs there I'd like your opinion of. If you're coming with me, we haven't got too much time to spare.'