by Judy Nunn
‘God moves in mysterious ways, Pascal,’ was all she said.
‘Investigation proved there were no suspicious circumstances,’ Pascal continued. ‘The Frenchman had been riding at dusk, it was presumed that something scared his horse, it shied, and he fell. Death was instantaneous, according to the report. Just like Ronnie, his neck was broken. Extraordinary, don’t you agree?’
‘Ready to start on lunch?’ Leia popped her head around the door, and Pascal jumped to his feet.
‘Can I help?’ Sam asked, rising from her chair.
‘Don’t even think about it,’ Jason interrupted before Pascal could reply. ‘No-one’s allowed near the kitchen when those two are cooking. We’ll do the washing up.’
Pascal smiled. ‘Help yourselves to another beer,’ he said before he disappeared.
‘What an amazing story.’ Sam declined the Tusker Jason offered; she’d barely touched the first one. ‘The coincidence of the Frenchman dying accidentally like that, Pascal’s right, it’s quite extraordinary.’
‘The coincidence of the broken neck is extraordinary, I agree,’ Jason said as they again sat. ‘But the rest of it isn’t.’
Sam was puzzled by his enigmatic remark, but he was quick to explain. Leaning forward, elbows on knees, beer glass clasped in both hands, he spoke quietly, conspiratorially.
‘You notice that Pascal never mentioned the Frenchman by name?’
She nodded, the omission had been patently obvious.
‘That’s because he was a well-known tyrant in these parts for decades, and even now, to accuse him of murder would be unwise. There are powerful people in Efate to whom the name Marat still means something.’
‘Marat!’ Sam lowered her voice to match his, but her reaction was one of astonishment. ‘The Marat plantation we used on location?’
‘The very same. Jean-François Marat was his name.’
‘Pascal told you it was Marat who murdered your father?’
‘No. Not in so many words, but he’s aware that I know. There are some things which are never mentioned between us. He’s told me no more than he’s told you, but it’s understood that I know it was Marat. It’s also understood that I know Marat’s death was no accident. Pascal actually told me the Frenchman was killed, but he never said how, or by whom.’
He sipped at his beer, aware that she was waiting breathlessly for him to continue. ‘He told me years ago that the islanders will never betray the Frenchman’s killer. It seems that many know who it was, but Pascal says they will not betray one of their own.’
Jason had never thought he would hear himself say the words out loud, but then he had never thought he would meet someone who meant as much to him as Sam, and it was important that she should know the truth.
‘It was Pascal who killed Marat, I’m sure of it. I have no idea how he did it, and he’ll never tell me, just as I’ll never ask him. But he knows that I’ve guessed it was him.’
He put the beer glass down on the coffee table. ‘The other day, when we were talking about my father on the drive back from Tamanu Beach, I couldn’t tell you the truth. The story is Pascal’s, it had to come from him.’ Jason glanced in the direction of the kitchen. ‘And right now he’s aware that I’m telling you what I know. He hasn’t said anything to me, but I have his permission.’
‘Why?’ Sam asked. She was puzzled. ‘Why is it so important to you that I should know the truth of what happened?’
He wouldn’t tell her the true reason now, he thought. He’d tell her tomorrow. ‘Tying up the loose ends, I suppose.’ He gave one of his easy smiles. ‘We’ve shared so much of my family’s past, I thought I’d trot out the last of the skeletons. Shall we go to Tamanu tomorrow?’
The abrupt change of conversation caught her off guard.
‘We promised Gerry we would,’ he prompted. ‘Besides, we have to return the tracksuit pants. And then after dinner we can stay the night.’
He was propositioning her, she realised. And so casually. The cottages were designed for lovers; she’d changed into the tracksuit pants in one of them, and was impressed by how unbelievably romantic the room with its canopied double bed was.
The man was a chameleon, Sam thought. One moment he was repelling her obvious invitation, and the next he was openly propositioning her.
Jason smiled, and added reassuringly, as if to put her at her ease, ‘It’s the off season, you’ll be able to have a whole cottage to yourself.’
‘That’d be great.’ She met his gaze evenly. She didn’t want a whole cottage to herself, and he damn well knew it.
Saturday lunch in the Poilama household was rowdy. Pascal’s son and daughter arrived with their families, and his sister Marie brought her tribe as well. Marie and her huge husband, Rami Samala, had two sons, both in their thirties, and four grandchildren between them. The Samalas were village people, the brothers fishermen, and they and their wives spoke little English. Bislama was the main language of the day and food was the predominant occupation. The children picnicked out in the back yard and the adults sat around the huge wooden table in the kitchen. The kitchen was the largest room in the house, and obviously the hub of the Poilamas’ existence.
The variety of dishes was amazing, a mixture of French and island cuisine, and Leia unashamedly admitted to Sam that it had been Pascal who had taught her how to cook.
‘His mother was a professional,’ she said. ‘I had to become a good cook to keep him.’
‘And now she cooks even better than Mama did,’ Pascal proudly proclaimed.
Much of the meal they ate with their hands, rolling soused fish up in the marinated leaves of green vegetables, or dipping pieces of chicken into a selection of sauces.
‘You see what I mean?’ Jason said to Sam, spooning another serve of poulet fish steamed in coconut milk onto his rice. He squeezed fresh lime juice over the top. ‘It’s a ceremony, food like this,’ he said, ‘a labour of love.’ And Sam found herself agreeing.
During the lunch, Pascal watched the two of them. It was obvious that Jason loved the girl very much, and he wondered if the girl realised that she loved him back. That too was obvious to Pascal.
Jason would have told Samantha what he perceived to be the truth, Pascal thought, and he was glad. It was right that Jason should believe he, Pascal Poilama, had killed Marat. Mamma Jane’s secret remained safe amongst the islanders, and they would honour it for the rest of their lives, as would the generations that followed.
They hugged her goodbye when she left, the children with whom she’d been playing in the back yard each vying to be first, then the adults embraced her and shook her hand with affection. She was warmed by their hospitality. It was as if she’d been welcomed into the family, she said to Jason on the drive back to the Crowne Plaza.
‘Well they are family,’ he said. ‘They’re my family. Mine and Mamma Jane’s.’
Jason had been amused by the family’s reception. He’d told no-one but Pascal of his feelings for Sam, and yet it had been quite obvious that the whole family knew he was in love with her. There were evidently some secrets that Pascal Poilama, an incurable romantic, simply could not keep.
‘You will have this one, it is my favourite,’ Gerry said as she ushered them into the coral cottage with its brightly coloured furnishings, the canopied four-poster bed the conspicuous main feature.
There was a moment’s silence. It was obvious that Gerry had assumed they were lovers. Jason said nothing, but Sam was aware he was looking at her. The decision was hers. She addressed herself directly to Gerry.
‘I love it,’ she said. ‘It’s one of the prettiest places I’ve ever seen.’
‘Yes it is pretty, isn’t it? Come and look at this.’
She led Sam through the door at the rear into a narrow walled space open to the sky and the palms that towered outside.
‘The bathroom,’ Gerry beamed, ‘no roof, isn’t it divine?’
The walls of the bathroom, like those of the cottage, were made entire
ly of coral, forming an intricate pattern and smelling slightly of the sea, fresh and salty. Sam ran her fingers over them.
‘Yes,’ she said. ‘It’s divine.’
They had a light lunch. Jason had warned her. ‘Save your appetite for dinner,’ he said. ‘Jan’s told me there’s a crowd booked in, it’ll probably turn into a party.’
After lunch, they walked down the track to the swimming hole. They swam and sunbaked and then swam again, and, on the way back, Sam collected shells and pieces of coral from the beach.
In the late afternoon, when they returned to the cottage, they were pleasantly tired and, as Sam showered the salt off her body in the open-roofed bathroom, she gazed up at the palms and the blue, blue sky. It was the most romantic place in the world, she thought.
She wrapped a sarong around herself and sat on the verandah whilst Jason showered. She looked beyond the pandanus trees to where the low surf rolled across the reef, and she listened to the sounds of the sea and the palm fronds rustling in the breeze. She was in a Somerset Maugham story, she thought, or maybe a movie, based on a Michener novel. It was surreal and romantic, she was living a dream.
‘It’s two hours before we need to get ready for dinner.’ Jason appeared at the door, a towel around his waist.
She rose and went inside, pulling the door shut behind her, to where the canopied bed beckoned and the filtered light shone through the shutters that he’d closed.
An hour later, she returned to the verandah. They’d dozed off after they’d made love, and he was still sleeping. She’d taken a hibiscus blossom from the arrangement that sat on the coffee table and placed it behind her ear – it seemed only right – and, wrapped in her sarong, she sat looking out at the sunset. The sea and the rustling palm fronds had a different sound now, a sound she was part of. She was no longer in a novel, it wasn’t a movie, and it wasn’t a dream. She was living in this very moment, here in this place, a part of it all, and everything was real.
The sky was slowly flooding with colour, the deepest of orange fanning out from the horizon to mingle with pinks and yellows. The door behind her opened and she turned to him, her face glowing in the rosy light.
‘Oh Jason, just look at it.’
He pulled his chair up close beside hers and together, his arm around her, they watched the sunset. Then he turned to her.
‘I love you, Samantha.’
It was an unemotional statement of fact, and she smiled. She liked his directness; it was something they shared. ‘They’re green now,’ she said, staring into his eyes.
‘I think I’ve been in love with you from the moment we first met.’
‘You did a good job of hiding it. I found you quite remote.’
‘Yes, many people do, I believe. I’ve no idea why.’
‘I love you too,’ she said. The words came out with such certainty that Sam surprised herself. What a relief it was to admit it, she realised.
‘I rather suspected you did.’ He didn’t mean to sound arrogant, but he hastily corrected himself in case she thought that he had. ‘Well, I hoped that you did. That’s why I played the cat and mouse games, I wanted to be sure.’ She raised an eyebrow. ‘You were so absorbed in the film and my grandmother, Sam. I needed to find out your feelings for me, rather than my connection with the past. And let’s face it,’ he shrugged, ‘this film-making business is very …’ he appeared to struggle for the right expression ‘… very transient. I needed to be sure that you wanted more than …’ He left it hanging, hoping that she understood. She did.
‘A bit of a fling?’ It was believable that he could have thought that was all she was after, she supposed, given the way she’d made her intentions so clear the other evening with the invitation for a ‘nightcap’.
‘Well, yes.’
It was normally all she did have, Sam thought wryly. Flings. This time she wanted much, much more. But she didn’t tell him that. She smiled instead.
‘So to make sure it was more than just a fling, you brought me to the most romantic place on earth.’
‘Yes.’
‘It doesn’t seem a very wise choice to me, Jason.’ She looked about at the exotic setting. ‘Tamanu is designed for flings.’
He made no answer, but took his arm from around her and shifted his chair to face hers, his back to the sunset. His face was in shadow now, but he looked very serious, she thought.
‘I’ve been practising medicine in a clinic for some time,’ he said, ‘in Bournemouth. But I recently left, I didn’t enjoy the work, it was too hectic. Not enough time for personal contact with the patients.’
‘Oh?’ What a strange choice of topic, she thought, when they’d just made love and were watching a perfect sunset.
‘Yes. I intend to set up in private practice,’ he continued. ‘Preferably a small town where I feel I’m really needed. I think Mamma Jane would have liked that.’
‘I’m sure she would.’
‘I inherited substantial wealth from her, you know. She set up a trust account for me after my father died and it’s accumulated quite substantially, plus there are the properties she left me.’
‘Good for you, Jason, that’s really beaut.’ He sounded so extraordinarily formal that she wanted to laugh.
He didn’t appear to find her response facetious and continued in earnest. ‘There are also some investments that afford a modest income, so I wouldn’t be reliant upon my practice as a profit-making concern …’
My God, Sam thought, he’s proposing, and in full Victorian style.
‘… I’m thirty-four years old, I’ve never been married …’
‘Is this a proposal of marriage?’
He came to a halt. ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘Yes, it is.’
‘Shouldn’t you be on one knee?’
He recognised her facetiousness this time, but it didn’t deter him. He got down on his knee and took her hand in his.
‘Will you do me the honour, Samantha? Will you marry me?’
She burst out laughing. ‘Oh for goodness sake, Jason, get up.’
He dragged his chair back close beside hers and sat with his arm around her once more.
‘You don’t have to think about it right now,’ he said, ‘tomorrow’ll be fine.’ Then he took her face in his hands and started kissing her gently. On the lips, the nose, her cheeks, her ears, whispering a quiet chant, over and over, ‘Say yes, Sam. Say yes, say yes, say yes,’ until her laughter subsided, and they went back inside.
They made love again, as naturally and as gloriously as the first time, and Sam didn’t need to wait until tomorrow, she knew her answer, and so did he.
The crowd of twelve who’d booked in for dinner arrived from Le Meridien Resort in a mini-bus. They were on a corporate convention, they were in a mood to party, and the several guests staying at Tamanu joined in the festivities, Sam and Jason included. The fairy lights were on, the champagne was flowing, and, following a superb meal, the music blared at full volume and the night turned into a singalong over yet more bottles of wine.
It was around then that Sam and Jason decided to leave. The crowd was fun, but they hungered for each other’s company.
‘We’re off for a walk along the beach,’ Jason said, as they bade them good night.
Several of the crowd exchanged knowing looks; it was quite obvious that the young couple were hopelessly in love. Honeymooners probably.
They did walk along the beach, behind them the sounds of the merrymakers and the lights of the restaurant bizarre in the remote surrounds of the rugged coastline.
When they returned to the cottage, they didn’t make love; they talked instead. Gerry had left the chilled bottle of champagne in its ice bucket on the table, as Jason had requested, and they sat on the little verandah, the sounds of the party more raucous than ever.
‘Tell me about you, Sam,’ he said. ‘I know Samantha Lindsay, the woman and the actress, but I know nothing of your past, and you know all of mine. Which isn’t really fair,’ he added. �
�I want to hear everything. What were you like as a little girl?’
She smiled. He was destined for disappointment, she thought; her past was hardly as fascinating as his. ‘I was trouble,’ she said. ‘I wanted to act from the age of ten.’
She told him all about her childhood in Perth. ‘Idyllic, overlooking the river,’ she said, ‘so beautiful. The Swan River was my playground when I was a kid. Swimming and fishing and crabbing and prawning, everything that kids did in those days, and I’m sure still do.’
She told him about the soap she’d starred in, and her mother’s horror that she’d had to go to Sydney. ‘“Families and Friends” it was called, one of those soaps that idolised youth, and I was past my use-by date at eighteen.’
She told him about her first trip to London when she’d fallen in love with the theatre.
‘All I wanted in the world was to star in a play at the Theatre Royal, Haymarket. And I did,’ she said proudly. ‘Nine years later. Nora in Henrik Ibsen’s A Doll’s House, it was the most exciting time of my life. And then I landed this movie,’ she grinned, ‘and now this is the most exciting time of my life.’
He leaned forward in his chair and kissed her. It was a kiss of such tenderness, but it aroused her nonetheless, and she wanted him to make love to her.
Jason, however, remained in the mood to talk. ‘Have you ever been in love before?’ he asked. He wanted to listen to her all night, to know everything about her.
She reflected for a moment, remembering Pete and the pantomime at Fareham. ‘I thought I had,’ she said. ‘Just once. I was quite sure at the time that he was my great love.’
In the light of the moon, and the soft glow coming through the shutters from the lamp in the bedroom, she looked at him. And as she did, she knew that she hadn’t really loved Pete. ‘But it was infatuation,’ she smiled, ‘I know that now.’
The crowd at the restaurant was leaving, noisily climbing into the mini-bus. There were a lot of goodbye yells to Jan and Gerry who were by now exhausted and quite thankful to see them go, the Tamanu guests having long since retired to their cottages.
