The Isle of Song Page 3

  At the gangway, they bade Miss Stern farewell.

  She kissed Kate warmly. 'Don't worry about a thing, dear. Everything's under control. You'll be met in Paris and Mr. Ellison will be waiting in Los Angeles for you. Now, you have got those travel pills ?'

  Kate nodded. 'Mike and I have taken some.'

  `Good. Then happy flying!'

  Despite her weariness, Kate felt excited as they boarded the plane amidst a buzz of laughter and voices and the trim, pretty little air hostess settled them in their seats. Then came the warming-up of the engines, the slow trundling into position, the curt announcement about safety belts as Kate helped Mike with his and did up her own.

  Mike's hand held Kate's tightly as the expected moment came and the plane gathered speed down the runway, and then suddenly, almost before they realized it, they had left the wet grey April weather behind them and were up above the woolly-looking clouds in brilliant sunshine and staring at the incredibly blue sky.

  `The most exciting moment of my life,' Mike said solemnly.

  Kate smiled at him, resisting the desire to give him

  a big hug. Well, whatever happened, at least Mike would never forget this moment. Even if the whole project — as Mike called it — flopped, they would have seen something of the world.

  She leaned back in her seat and relaxed, closing her eyes, thinking of the past two weeks with the rushing around and the excitement that had flooded the small house in Ealing.

  Almost at once, Mike was nudging her excitedly to point out the white cliffs of Dover so far below. The plane was still climbing fast. When would they see England again ? Kate wondered, with a quick moment of fear. Should they have stayed where they were? Would Mike be all right in a sultry tropical country?

  Suddenly they were over France and approaching Paris. The whole journey had taken an hour!

  Paris! One of Simon Ellison's staff met them —tall, handsome and with a French gallantry that obviously delighted Nancy. As they sat in the restaurant having coffee, Kate realized that streaks and spots were dancing in front of her eyes. She knew a moment of panic. She had not had a migraine for years. She couldn't be having one now! The flow of laughter and shrill voices in many languages seemed to be hitting against her mind like ruthless bullets. She closed her eyes, fighting the faint nausea. When no one was looking she swallowed three more of the tablets Miss Stern had advised her to buy.

  The rest of the trip was a nightmare with only moments of consciousness for Kate. No sooner had the plane taken off than Kate had to rush to the washroom, meeting the dismayed but sympathetic eyes of

  the air hostess as she passed her — and then everything went black and a man was bending over her, his hazy face sympathetic.

  `I'm a doctor. Migraine, eh?' he asked.

  Vaguely Kate felt herself helped back to her feet, given a glass of water and some pills to swallow. As though from far away, she heard Nancy saying crossly :

  `Now why has she to be sick at this time ?'

  And loyal Mike's angry reply. `Oh, shut up, Nancy, you don't think she likes being ill, do you ?'

  And then Jerome's anxious sympathetic voice. 'You should have told us, darling, we could have stayed in Paris.'

  Kate closed her eyes tightly. And been a nuisance to them and caused trouble to Simon Ellison? That was the last thing she would do.

  It was a terrible five hours as she prayed silently for the plane to land so that she might crawl into a dark hole, away from bright lights, noise of laughter and voices, the vibration that seemed to intensify her nausea. At last the plane touched ground. Jerome helped her, for she was absurdly shaky.

  `Los Angeles!' Nancy was saying, her voice awed.

  Kate put her hand to her eyes quickly as the sunshine blinded her. A stout man was by their side, introducing himself as Erasmus Shay, saying Mr. Ellison was detained but would join them soon. Mr. Shay found a chair for Kate while he sped them through Customs and the necessary formalities. Kate was in a daze most of the time, trying to smile and speak, her head aching, the strange shapes before her eyes ob-

  scuring her vision. But she saw that the car waiting for them was cream and luxurious and the hotel when they reached it was the tallest building she had ever seen. Mike's excited comments and Nancy's eager voice as she bombarded Mr. Shay with questions only added to Kate's misery, and it was a relief to be in the hotel bedroom, shedding her clothes, crawling into bed after she had drawn the curtains.

  Jerome came and hovered anxiously. 'A doctor .. `No, please, Jerome,' Kate begged. ' Just let me sleep it off.'

  She dozed, and awoke to the sound of Simon Ellison's deep voice. Reluctantly Kate opened her eyes, and it seemed like the proverbial last straw. She wanted to turn her face to the wall and cry. Why must he see her looking like this — shiny nose, reddened eyes, ghastly colour in her cheeks?

  Simon had a doctor with him, a man nearly as tall as himself but thin as a pole, bald and with deep-set dark eyes. He asked her questions which she tried to answer.

  No, she hadn't had a migraine for years, she told him. Yes, she added, she had taken a double dose of pills.

  `Pills ? What on earth for ?' Simon asked abruptly.

  Kate stared at him, but his face seemed to be receding and coming forward in a strange watery state. She blinked 'Miss Stern told us...'

  `Miss Stern ?' Simon exploded crossly. 'I should have warned you. She lives on pills.'

  `You've been feeling quite all right otherwise ?' the doctor probed gently.

  `Yes . . .' Kate began, and hesitated. 'No, to be honest, I haven't. I've been feeling desperately tired, but I thought it was the rush and . .

  `She's been emotionally tired,' Simon Ellison interrupted again. 'She's had to uproot herself and her family from the snug little nook she had made for them, and she's scared stiff that she's done the wrong thing.' His words were hard but his voice was amused.

  It was Jerome's decision,' Kate began.

  `Oh yes ?' Simon asked. 'Don't tell me that he would have made it this way if you'd been against it.'

  The doctor straightened. 'Miss Bayliss oughtn't to fly to Papeete tomorrow, Simon. I think she needs a few days' rest in bed.'

  Kate tried to sit up, but found herself too weak. 'I don't want to be a nuisance. I'll be all right tomorrow . .

  The doctor hesitated. He smiled at her. 'Well, we'll see. I guess I can come round first thing tomorrow and see how you are. Now I'll give you something to make you sleep.'

  `That's all I need,' Kate said desperately. She looked at Simon and for a moment her vision was clear. She saw the tall, lean, good-looking man surveying her with a thoughtful, rather ironic smile. 'I'm sorry, I Mr. . . . I mean Simon,' she said.

  He smiled. `So am I, but it's just one of those things.' The doctor had been to his bag. Now he came to give her an injection.

  `See you in the morning,' he said, and at last she was alone.

  She turned her face miserably to the wall. Why had

  she to be sick at a time like this? It would merely add to Simon Ellison's dislike of her, for anything that was an obstacle to him became a nuisance.

  In the morning, she awoke to see the sun streaming into the room. Nancy came to see how she was. Perched on the bottom of the bed, she told Kate she'd missed the most wonderful evening.

  `Simon took us to the Clarendon and we saw all the film stars. He dances divinely, Kate — Simon, I mean. We're flying to Papeete today. Will you be all right ?'

  `I must be,' Kate said firmly. She got up, showered and dressed and was waiting when the doctor came.

  `Well, you certainly look better,' he said cheerfully. He told her his name was Harry Moncrieff, and he agreed reluctantly that she could travel to Papeete, but that when she got there, she must take things quietly. He gave her some pills to take, but said he did not think she would find the flight tiring.

  How wrong he proved to be! Even as Kate went with the others to the plane, she thought with dread of the five or six hours'
flight that lay ahead of them. But she had to go. She simply had to go. Otherwise Simon would be annoyed, and ...

  The plane took off and the towering white skyscrapers became toy models in the distance, but by then Kate knew that she should have stayed behind

  Jerome and Simon were kindness itself, but it seemed an endless flight, and Kate longed to die as the plane dropped in air-pockets and droned on, people's voices bombarding her. But at last the plane landed, and Kate felt Simon lift her effortlessly in his

  arms and carry her down the gangway. Even in her misery, she felt the soft warm air caressing her cheeks, and smelled the delicious fragrance around her. She kept her eyes closed so that she need not thank Simon for what he was doing, and she wished with all her heart that she did not need his help.

  She opened her eyes in the silence that followed after she had felt herself laid on a bed.

  But Simon was still there, wearing a thin tropical suit, his face grim, his mouth a thin line.

  `Why can't you act like an adult, Kate ?' he said crossly. 'And admit how ill you feel. It would have been much wiser to have left you in Los Angeles.'

  `I'm sorry . . .' she began.

  He was not listening. 'Kate, I want no arguments. I haven't time to waste. We're going to the island today, but you're staying here for a week and then I'll fetch you.'

  `A week !' Kate cried in dismay. 'But I'll be all right in the morning, and . .

  `That's what you said yesterday.' He towered over her and frowned. 'You're a stubborn creature. Stop fighting. You can't win.'

  `But Mike . .

  Simon jerked a chair forward and straddled it. His voice was grim. 'Stop fooling yourself, Kate. No one is indispensable. Neither are you. Mike won't suffer because you're not around to fuss over him. It may even do him good to stand on his own two feet for a change. The family can manage without you. Maybe make 'em appreciate you the more. You need a long complete rest, and you're getting it, like it or not.'

  He stood up with his usual quick impatient movements.

  `A very good friend of mine, Georgia Appleby, will look after you. I'll send her in later, but first say goodbye to the family.'

  Kate dared not trust herself to speak, she was so afraid of bursting into tears. Jerome and Mike solemnly filed into the room, looking at her worriedly.

  `You'll be all right, Kate,' Jerome said, more as if to reassure himself than to comfort her.

  Mike clung to her hand tightly, and Kate was aware that Simon was watching him with a frown. 'You will be all right ?' Mike asked worriedly.

  `Quite all right, darling,' Kate said quickly. She knew Mike's problem. He could still remember his mother's death, and when anyone in the family was ill, Mike always had this fear that the worst might happen again. 'I just need a rest.'

  Nancy bounced in gaily. 'What you're missing, Kate,' she said cheerfully. 'Papeete is beautiful — palm trees everywhere and the most gorgeous-scented flowers, and the girls have long silky black hair and . .

  `Time to go,' Simon said curtly, shepherding them like an impatient farmer out of the room. He came back to look down at Kate. 'Now, Kate, relax. Just forget the family and lead your own life for a few days. Everyone will be taken care of.'

  Despite the sternness in his voice there was a kindness that startled Kate. Maybe he was human after all, she thought, as she stared up at him.

  `I'm sorry I'm such a nuisance, Simon,' she said awkwardly.

  He did not smile. 'You are, but it's not your fault. You can help me most by getting well. And I mean really well this time.'

  He closed the door, and she was alone. Horribly, desolatingly, frighteningly alone. A whole week before she saw them again. A whole week. Seven long lonely days.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Simon's friend Georgia Appleby proved to be a friendly American woman.

  She came to stand by Kate's bed, her eyes bright with curiosity.

  `My, you poor girl!' she said with her American twang. 'You do look miserable. Simon wants me to take good care of you, and I guess I'll have to.'

  `I'm . . .' Kate began and, to her dismay, found she was nearly in tears.

  If Georgia noticed, she gave no sign. She turned away and said cheerfully, 'First thing is something nice to eat, and then the doctor's coming along to give you something to make you sleep. We'll have you up and about in no time at all.'

  But it was three days before Kate woke up properly from the deep sleep of exhaustion and found herself curious as to this new world in which she was.

  Georgia, who was in her late forties but had the body of a girl twenty years younger, beamed.

  `You'll just adore Papeete,' she said brightly, patting her beautifully-arranged amber-coloured hair. `We call it the Paris of the Pacific. I came here fifteen years ago for a holiday and never left it.'

  `You're so happy here ?' Kate asked wonderingly. Georgia laughed, a deep throaty noise. 'You'll be, too.'

  Georgia drove Kate round the island. It had a

  fascination all its own. Never had Kate heard so much

  music, so much laughter, seen so many beautiful faces.

  Georgia showed her the coral reef strip that extended into the Auae Lagoon on which the jet planes landed, and told her of the tremendous difference it had made to Papeete.

  `People have always loved coming here, but today we are getting more and more tourists,' she explained.

  Looking at the yachts slowly rocking in the harbour, and the masts of the schooners that brought the copra from the other islands, filling the air with the sickly scent, Kate asked a question.

  `Is that a good thing ?'

  Georgia's long thin face looked ironic. 'It is and it isn't. In many ways, it's spoiling things, for the Polynesian is changing fast as a result. On the other hand, they must eat, and copra and phosphorus and all the other means they have of making money have become very difficult. Undoubtedly tourism is needed by Papeete, but...' She turned impulsively to Kate. `What are Simon's plans for the island ?'

  Kate hesitated, looking at the red spires of the churches and the brightly coloured houses along the quay and at the great mountains behind, towering high above them, the tops hidden in clouds.

  `He said he was going to make it a centre for tourists. My stepfather is an architect and is going to design the hotel, I imagine. I don't know much about it...'

  `Simon isn't one to talk,' Georgia agreed.

  They drove along the quay, which was crowded with girls in bright red and yellow print dresses, with wreaths of flowers round their necks, or a flower thrust behind

  an ear, the great crimson or cream blossoms showing up against their dark silky hair.

  `This is the Quai de Commerce,' Georgia said as she drove slowly, partly from choice, and partly to avoid knocking down one of the hundreds of happy-go-lucky cyclists and scooter-riders that swarmed everywhere. 'Here in Papeete we talk French, but on your island, it will be English. Great-Aunt Adele disapproved strongly of everything French,' Georgia chuckled. 'Said it was immoral!'

  `You knew her ?' Kate asked eagerly.

  Had she ever seen such green grass or such blue water? This was a fantastic land of sweet scents and tropical flowers, and everywhere she looked were palm trees, thousands of them, their feathery fronds moving gently in the breeze that made the hot day bearable.

  Georgia laughed again. 'No one actually knew her —but she was quite a character. Very eccentric; she acted and expected to be treated as a queen. Which she was —to her islanders. I'm worried about Simon's plans, Kate, for on his island the people are different. I guess it can't last for ever, but it seems a shame to spoil them.'

  `You think it will ?' Kate asked, gazing up at the huge creamy flowers on a tree they had passed. The sweet sound of someone playing a guitar drifted on the air and the scent of deep trumpet-shaped flowers teased her nostrils.

  `I'm afraid so. That's our so-called progress !'

  Georgia relaxed, driving along the winding road below the mountai
ns, pointing out to Kate some of the big thatched, open-sided houses.

  `Most of those are owned by wealthy Americans who come here for holidays and stay a lifetime — like me,' Georgia said with a laugh. 'The spell Tahiti casts is subtle and lasting.'

  But what is it about it . . . ?'

  Georgia shrugged. She waved her hand airily. `Everything, I guess.'

  She slowed up as a group of islanders came along the road, singing softly, hauntingly. The girls were tall and graceful, wearing vividly coloured pareus, so like sarongs, their dark shining hair falling to their waists, wreaths of white, scented flowers hanging round their necks. Some were playing guitars, all were singing. Several men were with them, tall, lean and moving with the same grace. They smiled and waved at the car as Georgia drove by.

  `That's what I mean,' Georgia said. 'They're so happy. It's such a wonderful casual way of living. Nothing is important but happiness. There are three moods in Tahiti, Kate. The Polynesian lives in the present, he couldn't care less about the past or the future. They think we're crazy the way we worry if we miss a boat or oversleep. They don't think it matters. I'm beginning to think they're right.' She gave her deep throaty chuckle.

  She slowed up again as they came to a lagoon. They could see the great waves rolling in and breaking against the distant reef, but here in this gentle lagoon, surrounded by palm trees slowly moving in the slight breeze, a long row of men were standing on the black lava sands, slowly hauling up their nets full of fish, shouting to one another. There were groups of women

  '

  seated on the sands, clapping their hands in rhythm as they cried with joy at the fish that were being poured out of the nets in a throbbing mass.

  `I wonder how Simon's going to cope with the Tahitian philosophy,' Georgia went on as she drove past the happy crowd. 'They're a people who live, as I said, for today. They're very ashamed for things they forget to do, not the things they do. I guess it depends on the way you see things, but they think making a noise when someone is asleep, or forgetting to wear a clean dress when visiting you, are terrible crimes.'