Island Of Pearls

by Margaret Rome

  It was after ten when she went downstairs. Coffee was brewing in the dining salon and rolls had been left in a covered dish, so after assuring a hovering servant that she wanted nothing more, she ate a frugal breakfast then went in search of Carmen. She was in the grounds playing ball with Tio Garcia whose relief at the sight of her was obvious. "GraciasaDios!" he exclaimed, wiping the back of his hand across a perspiring forehead. "Much as I adore the company of this delightful child, her energy can become trying after a time! Take over for me if you will, cara, while I totter along to drape my ancient bones across the nearest seat."

  "Let me help you," Hazel gurgled, pandering to his

  theatrical gestures of infirmity. "Poor Tio, you look ready to drop!" He allowed them both to escort him to a garden seat, his groans of despair sending Carmen into shrieks of laughter, then once settled he abandoned pretence and surveyed them both with a benign twinkle.

  "Oh, Tio, you are fun!" Carmen giggled. "Will you stay with us for the rest of today?"

  "Actually, I came to invite you out. I thought as Hazel's tour of the factory was curtailed we might return to visit the showrooms - a sight too interesting to be missed."

  "Thank you, Tio . . . but not today, if you don't mind," Hazel stammered, striving to think up an excuse with which to soften the bald refusal.

  "Just as you wish," he shrugged, his expression bland. "It was a mere whim thought up to amuse you during Francisco's absence, but I won't press you if you don't wish to go."

  "Francisco's absence?" she queried uncertainly.

  "His trip to Formentor on the far side of the island, surely he must have mentioned it ? Considering it will be very late when he returns I think it most remiss of him if he has not."

  "Perhaps he did mention it... yes, I'm sure he must have, probably it slipped my memory." Tio Garcia's grave smile hid concern; he was not one whit deceived by her white lie but he played up, knowing she wished to avoid the danger of Carmen becoming a martyr to insecurity through sensing constant dissension between the adult members of her family.

  "I love the factory," Carmen appealed wistfully,

  "there's so much to look at. Last time we were there I was allowed to pack some brooches into special boxes and the lady who helped me said they were to be despatched the very next day all the way to New York."

  "Then let's find out if they've gone, shall we?" Hazel suggested, turning bright eyes from Carmen to Tio and being rewarded by instant grins of pleasure.

  When they arrived production was in full swing, so they skirted the main buildings and made towards the showroom which stood apart, its frontage emblazoned with the name famous all over the world for the quality of its products. Inside, the long, one-storied building was set out like a store, with glass-topped counters displaying pearl ornaments of every description. Each counter was devoted to separate items, rings, brooches and necklaces, and pleasant salesgirls able to converse in several languages were ready with answers to the many questions put to them by the tourists. As they wandered around, Carmen kept up a flow of chatter which Tio Garcia coped with amiably so that Hazel might concentrate upon her enjoyment of the many pieces on show behind the barriers of glass. Her sharp ears picked up the conversation of two American ladies nearby. "I swear, Moira," one was assuring the other, "my Harry paid thousands for this string I'm wearing. He'll never believe me when I tell him how impossible it is to tell the difference between my pearls and these imitations!"

  Carmen tugged at Tio Garcia's sleeve. "If our pearls are imitation, where do real ones come from?" she queried.

  "Legend has it that they were first found in the sea

  of Japan," he informed her whimsically. "One night a beautiful princess and her lover were kept apart by the gods of evil on the banks of Ago Bay in Japan. The queen of the night was so unhappy at the sight of the distressed couple that she shed many, many tears. As her teardrops fell from the black heavens they were covered by the glow from the full moon and dropped into the sea to become pearls." The tale caught at Hazel's heart. It was appropriate that the bridal suite of the Casa should be crammed with pearls, frozen teardrops of a legion of unhappy women unfortunate enough to have fallen under the dark spell of the men of Drach.

  "Is it true, Hazel, or is Tio Garcia just teasing?" Carmen demanded, uncertain whether or not to believe.

  Forced into the role of oracle, Hazel flashed Tio Garcia an apologetic look before explaining, "As Tio said, it is legend, and legends are stories repeated to generation after generation until fact becomes distorted by fiction and no one is quite sure how much is truth and how much a figment of someone's imagination."

  "But some of it might be true?" she persisted, not wanting to disbelieve Tio Garcia's froth of romantic nonsense.

  "A very tiny part, perhaps," Hazel compromised.

  "Tut, tut!" Tio Garcia pretended to scold. "Leave the child to her dreams, if she wants to believe in fairy tales then why not let her?"

  "Because it is wrong to allow a child to grow up believing everything and everyone in the world is perfect! There are no gallant knights on white chargers,

  no fairy godmothers to change wishes into reality," she rounded, surprising him with a glimpse of bitter hurt. "Common sense is more rewarding than daydreams, at least if one is taught to be cautious it lessens the chances of being hurt!" When Tio Garcia's shocked dismay registered, she apologized immediately, "I'm sorry, Tio, that was no way to reward your kindness. Please forgive me."

  When Carmen moved out of earshot, he answered quietly, "I feel it is I who should apologize to you, cara, on my nephew's behalf. I had hoped that in time you two would move towards a better understanding, you have so much that he needs and, though you may scoff at the suggestion, he has it in him him to make someone happy if only he can be shown the way. However, if as I suspect, it is he who is responsible for your disillusionment, then I shall find it very hard to forgive him."

  His amazement knew no bounds when she defended, "No, Tio, don't desert him, he must have someone!"

  "You feel that, too?" he seized eagerly upon her words. "I wish you could understand how much life is to blame for his unyielding exterior. Everyone he has ever loved has been taken from him; when he was just a few years old his father died, then his mother whom he adored, and later on his brother, the last remaining member of his family, was killed in the company of the only woman Francisco had ever loved. He must now be afraid to love, for to him, it has brought nothing but hurt, deprivation, and remorse, so who can blame him if he has decided never to allow himself to feel deeply about anyone ever again ?"

  Yesterday, she might have seized upon such vindication to excuse Francisco's actions, but today Tio Garcia's warm pleas made little impression on the icy casing protecting her heart. She shrugged her indifference and avoided an answer by changing the subject. "Tell me more about the pearls, Tio. Who decides upon colour, and why are there so many ? Up until now I had imagined pearls to be predominantly white?"

  With a sigh, he took the hint and did not try to force the issue. His voice lacked lustre when he began to explain, but his enthusiasm grew as he sensed her interest. "We take our lead from nature when deciding upon colour; each area where pearls are found produces a certain colour of pearl. The finest pink and cream-coloured gem pearls grow inside a small oyster found in the Persian Gulf and these command the highest price of all natural pearls. Large silver-white ones called 'silver lips' are produced in the northern waters of Australia; dark and black pearls in the black-shelled oysters along the Pacific coast of Mexico, and pink ones are found in the queen conch of the West Indies. Colour, you see, is influenced by the temperature of the water in which the oyster lives, as well as by the state of the oyster's life and the food it digests."

  Nodding at a smiling salesgirl, he leant across a showcase and picked up a brooch from under the glass. It was shaped out of gold into the likeness of a mermaid, a slim golden body tapering into a tail of rubies with fins set in diamonds and a burst of unevenl
y-shaped pearls rising like bubbles from tail to head. "We also strive for authenticity in the matter of shape," he pointed to the pearl bubbles. "Sometimes pearls become lodged in

  the oysters' muscular tissue and are moulded by the pressures of the tough muscle fibres to produce an irregular shape similar to these which are known as baroque pearls. Everything is manufactured as closely as possible to the real thing, but naturally, as the demand is greater, emphasis is placed more upon the production of perfect articles rather than the copying of nature's freaks."

  Replacing the brooch, he smiled his thanks to the salesgirl and they moved on. He excelled as a guide when he put his mind to it, and with so enthralled a pupil he was doubly encouraged, stopping at each showcase to explain the various shapes and designs into which the pearls were incorporated and betraying at the same time an enthusiasm and love for the pearl's history. "You have great knowledge of your subject, Tio," she admired, as they halted before a tapestry covering the whole of one wall depicting the Hindu god Krishna, bedecked with pearls to protect him from death, going into battle with a snake. "I had no idea the gem was discovered so far back in time."

  "Indeed, yes," he affirmed. "Old Indian legends of the creation of the world show that the pearl was associated with love and gentleness. They say that in the beginning when the great god created air, fire, earth and water, each of the elements gave him a gift. The air gave him a rainbow to form a halo about his head; fire gave him a meteor to light his way; earth gave him a ruby to decorate his forehead and the water gave him a pearl to wear over his heart. That is why in the East they believe that the pearl is a gift from the gods." His attention was attracted by a wave from

  Carmen, who was happily engaged trying on rings in a vain effort to find one to fit her small finger, so he missed the shadow that clouded Hazel's face. To her, pearls could never be associated with love and gentleness, quite the reverse. Symbols of heartbreak perhaps, trappings of wealth seized upon by men with too little imagination to recognise the irony of bestowing tear-gems upon their unhappy wives.' Within the pearl-decorated bridal chamber, secreted behind her pillow, lay the only offering she had ever been given in a spirit of gentle kindness - the little green fan which she valued far in excess of the remote, priceless possessions conferred as a sop to duty.

  A voice reached her through her absorption - an echo from a nightmare which she ignored, hoping it would fade into obscurity. "Your late night has not tired you as much as your absence at breakfast this morning seemed to imply." There was bite in the voice and a thread of irony running through the words. Next to her Tio Garcia stiffened, then, his surprise obviously genuine, he swung round to greet his nephew. "Francisco! Was I mistaken in thinking that today you were to have visited Formentor?"

  "You were not," Francisco corrected, interpreting in Hazel's mute white face signs of dismay. "At the last moment my business meeting had to be postponed. An attempt was made to contact me at the Casa before I left, but I was already on my way when they telephoned. Once I arrived at Formentor and was acquainted with the news I returned immediately."

  "Surely you could have remained long enough to have lunch!" Tio Garcia protested. "One drive along

  those mountain tracks is bad enough without adding to the burden by tackling a return journey without rest or refreshment!" He did not look tired, his eyes were narrowed, not yet adjusted to freedom from spearing sun, and his mouth was sternly unrelaxed, suggesting hidden springs of tension. Hazel's eyes were upon his hands as he chose a cheroot from a slim case and astonishment swept through her when the tense fingers bit into a brown stem with such force that tobacco spilled in a mangled heap at his feet. Hazel looked up and quivered when she met the blast from his brooding eyes, then felt sudden anxiety when she sensed the supreme effort brought to bear to make his voice sound negligent when he answered.

  "I had other urgent business here which I had thought to put off but which, on reflection, I decided was best accomplished with all urgency." Although he did not say what business it was, she felt in some way connected, and when he smiled, a thin widening of the lips to show teeth instant white before it faded, she knew how a prisoner must feel as he stands before a firing squad - terrified, helpless and devoid of all hope.

  The atmosphere was too intense to be comfortable, and Tio Garcia's brow furrowed as he suggested, "It might be as well if I took Hazel and the child back to the Casa - the heat is becoming trying and Hazel is not yet fully acclimatized."

  She did feel stifled, her hands were clammy with sweat and trickles of moisture were running between her shoulder blades. If Francisco had suggested accompanying them she would have run - anywhere, but preferably into the cool sea to seek escape from the

  heat of his dragon's breath, but to her relief he nodded agreement of the plan, thereby postponing for a short interval the confrontation which she knew was certain to erupt between them before the sun had risen on another day.

  Later that evening he sent a servant with a message that he was waiting for her in his study. She was sitting in her room playing idly with the little green fan, running her fingers along its smooth spokes and admiring the figures painted with delicate, colourful precision against a background of tightly stretched silk. She had dined early with Carmen, then when the child had been bedded down for the night she had retreated to her own room to enjoy a welcome shower before retiring at an hour incomprehensible to Spaniards, whose customary afternoon siesta enabled them to stretch their evenings into the early hours of the following day. Nervously she tightened the belt of her flower-patterned dressing gown around her slim waist, then still clutching the fan in tense fingers, she made her way downstairs.

  He was lounging in an armchair, his head resting against blue velvet upholstery, his long slim-trousered legs thrust forward allowing him to study glistening shoe leather with brooding absorption. He rose to his feet when she entered and sauntered across to pour drinks from a tray containing crystal decanters glowing wine deep under the light of brilliant chandeliers. Hazel ignored the wine he placed on a nearby table and sought a chair to support her trembling limbs. For a long while there was silence, then he spoke from the depths of his armchair.

  You know, of course, that I am extremely angry -and why."

  She gulped in air. "Yes, I know why. You're angry because I spent the whole of yesterday with Robin."

  "All day and practically all night!" he jerked out viciously, anger rising at the coolness of her reply. She jumped to her feet; although panic was beating like a wild thing in her breast she had no intention of being made the victim of vindictive rage. She had almost reached the door when he pounced, trapping her shoulders in a grip of steel. "I will not allow it, do you hear? Never again will you bring dishonour upon my name by spending hours alone in the company of another man!"

  "Why not, for heaven's sake!" Her indignation was so great she could barely choke out the words. "What's so wrong about wanting to be with a friend, a dear friend, one with whom I have shared the only happy hours I've known since coming to this island!" Her hand flew to her mouth, shocked at having put into words a thought which until then had lurked dormant in a dark corner of her heart. But it was too late to wish the words unsaid. His skin seemed stretched over features clamped with ungovernable emotion when he flung her from him and thrust clenched fists out of sight, as if he could barely trust himself to control an urge to tighten them around the young neck rising defiantly from a collar of ruffled silk. He took a step backward and lifted his glass from the table to lift it in a savage toast. "Then join me in a toast to your absent friend!"

  His glittering satisfaction caused her a shiver of

  suspicion. "Why absent friend? So far as I am aware Robin is just a few miles from here ?"

  "So far as you are aware," he mocked, suddenly mellow. Satisfaction played around his mouth as he followed up, "By this time I imagine your friend will be well on his way to Los Angeles. His company were informed by me earlier today that if they wished to finis
h their work in the caves they would have to replace Carstair immediately. They did not hesitate. He was instructed to return on the first available flight, and if he is wise he will never set foot on this island again!"

  His wild brand of justice was shocking. She stared at him, glimpsing the monster behind a facade of culture, and in her agitation began folding and unfolding the fan with quick, mechanical jerks. "How could you ?" she whispered. "Robin's job meant so much to him - you had no right to deprive him of it simply to avenge unfounded suspicion."

  He gave an easy shrug. "So far as I am concerned he may work anywhere his company care to send him, with one exception," he tossed back his wine with relish, then spat: "kerel" When he lowered his glass his eyes alighted upon the fan she was holding to her breast as if it were a talisman against evil. "Where did you get that?" he queried, plucking it from her grasp before she had time to realize his intention. Finding no reason to lie, she told him:

  "Robin bought it for me yesterday, just an inexpensive present to remind me of a wonderful day."

  Francisco flicked it open, casting it only one glance before snapping it closed.

  "Jade, gold, and hand-painted silk, inexpensive?" he

  jarred through clenched teeth. "Sacramento! what kind of a fool do you take me for?" Before her disbelieving eyes the fan was thrown on to the carpet and ground under his heel with a sickening crunch that spelt destruction to its fragile loveliness.

  "You beast!" she cried, dropping to her knees with a sob to try to salvage something out of the mangled remains. Nursing the debris in gentle hands, she raised her head to meet his arrogant stare and the last particle of hope within her died. "I'm leaving," she told him with expressionless finality. "Our marriage must be annulled - I was a fool to let you talk me into it."