Island of Dreams

by Parv, Valerie

  Shuddering, she pressed her palms against her eyes. ‘Simon, Simon,’ she chanted as if it could banish Harry’s image. Repeating the times’ tables would have had as much effect.

  A sound at her door brought her head up. She was alone but the bamboo curtain across the opening swayed as if someone had disturbed it. There was no one there.

  ‘Did you sleep well?’ Harry asked when she joined him at breakfast next morning.

  Resentment enfolded her like a stiff cloak. Unlike him, she couldn’t pretend that all was well. ‘Not really,’ she admitted. ‘The sounds of the sea and the jungle are too strange.’

  ‘You stop noticing them after a while.’

  ‘I also thought someone came to my bedroom door during the night.’

  He cut a slice off a glistening pawpaw. ‘My imagination played tricks on me when I first arrived.’

  He didn’t deny looking in on her, she noticed, but it must have been him. Probably his misguided sense of duty again. She decided not to challenge him about it in case he thought it mattered to her.

  He set a plate of muesli in front of her and she splashed milk on to it, then toyed with it until he said, ‘Eat something, for goodness’ sake.’

  Her look seared him. ‘Yes, Uncle Harry.’

  ‘And cut that out as well.’ He slammed a knife on to the table with such force that she jumped. ‘I don’t want you getting the wrong idea about me, but you needn’t go to the other extreme, either.’

  ‘Make up your mind,’ she murmured under her breath.

  Whether he heard or not, his expression softened and his hand slid under her chin, forcing her to look at him. ‘I suppose it’s too much to expect for us to be friends?’

  Gritting her teeth against the tears blurring her vision, she nodded then found her voice with an effort. ‘Is it what Papa wanted?’

  ‘No, damn it, it’s what I want.’

  What Harry wanted he usually got. Well, not this time. She stood up. ‘I won’t be needing the radiophone after all. I’ve decided to go back to TI today.’

  He massaged the beard shadowing his chin. ‘I guess you’ve answered my question.’

  ‘Then you’ll take me back?’

  ‘Not possible, I’m afraid. There’s the weather to contend with.’

  Her glance flew to the impossibly blue sky feathered with high white clouds. ‘The weather’s perfect.’

  His face muscles twitched but he nodded gravely. ‘Agreed. But if you walk out along the sand-spit you’ll see a great curling sea running, a swell,’ he elaborated. ‘With any sort of sea running it’s dangerous trying to cross Drummer Bar. If it happens when I’ve gone to the mainland I’m cut off from the island until the swell dies down.’

  She sat down abruptly. ‘Then I’m stuck here. For how long?’

  ‘Until it’s safe to cross.’ He gave a wintry smile. ‘You look as if you don’t believe me.’

  ‘It is extremely convenient, especially since I’m not enough of a sailor to argue with you.’

  With a long-suffering sigh he grasped her hand and urged her to her feet. ‘Come with me.’

  Since her hand was trapped in his vice-like grip, she had little option. He led her to an alcove off the main room. On a desk was a metal unit equipped with switches and dials and what appeared to be a telephone handset. Releasing her, Harry worked the switches until a crackling voice flooded the room. It was a local news broadcast and ended with a warning to shipping. Harry flicked it off. ‘Satisfied?’

  ‘Yes, thank you. What do we do now?’

  ‘We wait it out, if possible without biting each other’s head off in the process.’

  She resisted the urge to apologise. ‘I can manage it if you can,’ she said pointedly.

  He held out his hand. ‘It’s a deal.’

  As briefly as possible she touched her fingers to his, trying to ignore the electrical sensation which pulsed along her arm. The sensation compounded her dismay. She had counted on returning to TI today while she could still salvage some pride. She hadn’t bargained on being trapped here.

  ‘Could you show me how to use the radiophone?’ she asked. ‘I really should call Simon.’

  His dark eyes glittered then were hooded. Without comment he showed her which switches allowed her to speak and listen. Then he moved towards the terrace. ‘Call me if you need anything.’

  Some demon made her say, ‘There’s no need to leave. It isn’t a private call.’

  All the same he left her alone, although she wondered if he could overhear the conversation anyway. Then she chided herself. She was assuming that he cared what she said to Simon Fox. It would only matter if he were interested in her himself, and they both knew he wasn’t. Simon’s voice came on the line, forcing her attention back to the radiophone. ‘Where did you say you were?’

  ‘Drummer Island,’ she repeated through the static. ‘Tyler Thornton joined the cruise at TI so I decided to wait and take the next one back to Cairns.’

  ‘Good idea,’ Simon echoed. ‘I don’t know this Drummer place. It must be new.’

  ‘It’s not open to the public yet,’ she explained. ‘I’m checking it out as a possible destination.’

  ‘Good idea.’ Simon sounded pleased. ‘Who owns it?’

  She glanced towards the terrace but Harry was out of sight. ‘No one you know,’ she said on a heavy sigh. ‘But the owner is amenable to selective visits. I’ll tell you all about it when I get back.’

  ‘Take as long as you like. It’s time you had a holiday,’ Simon volunteered, then his voice dropped. ‘I’ll miss you, though.’

  A shadow moved on the terrace. ‘I know, I’ll miss you, too.’ She could almost feel Simon’s startled reaction down the line. His feelings for her were an open secret but it was the first time she’d given him the slightest encouragement. She wished there were an answering flicker inside her but she felt empty instead. She couldn’t go on. ‘I’ll see you soon,’ she promised.

  ‘If Thornton shows up at the agency I’ll tell him you’re away. He must head south sooner or later.’

  ‘You’re an angel, Simon.’ This time sincerity came easily. ‘His paper must be sick of funding his jaunt around the reef with no results.’

  ‘Take care of yourself, darling. Don’t work too hard on this new destination. Take some time off as well.’

  ‘I will.’ There was a long pause during which she sensed he was waiting for some kind of endearment from her. The words stalled in her throat. ‘Goodbye, Simon.’

  When she signed off her throat was tight with tears. She wished she hadn’t encouraged Simon. No matter how kind and nice he was, he wasn’t for her. It would serve her right if he didn’t want to employ her any more after she told him so. And all because she had wanted to give Harry something to overhear.

  He was cleaning some diving equipment when she rejoined him. He didn’t seem troubled by what he’d heard. ‘How did it go?’

  ‘Fine. I didn’t expect any problems.’

  He looked up from polishing the face-plate of a diving mask. ‘Did he offer to join you here?’

  Her eyebrows arched. ‘No. Why should he?’

  ‘It’s what I would have done if you were my woman.’

  Did he suspect that her conversation with Simon was mainly for his benefit? ‘Simon trusts me,’ she said.

  There was irony in the gaze he directed at her. ‘Of course, but what about me?’

  ‘You made your position crystal-clear last night,’ she snapped, annoyed with herself for the betraying emotion which charged her voice.

  Cynicism coloured his expression. ‘Fox doesn’t know that, does he?’

  As he walked away she shot a lethal look at his back, taunted by the bronzed, muscular expanse. His point was clear. If Simon loved her he wouldn’t trust her to strangers on a lonely island. The thought had occurred to her, too, but there was no need for Harry to rub it in. Just because he didn’t love her didn’t mean no man ever would.

  The day stretc
hed ahead endlessly. She decided to do what she came here for—assess the island’s potential as a tourist destination. She emerged from her room, notebook in hand and straw hat dangling around her neck, when Harry appeared. ‘I hope it’s all right for me to take a look around.’

  ‘I’ll join you.’

  The last thing she wanted was his company when her mind was in such turmoil. ‘There’s no need. I can find my own way,’ she demurred.

  Hostility flashed in his eyes. ‘It is my island. I’d like to show you around.’

  There might be parts of it he wanted kept private. She decided to accept his company but keep things as coolly professional as possible between them. ‘I’d appreciate a guided tour, if I’m not taking up too much of your time.’

  He gave vent to a long-suffering sigh. ‘I invited you here, remember? When you’re imposing I’ll let you know.’

  She didn’t doubt it, since he had already warned her against trespassing on his love-life. She had never met anyone with as many ‘keep out’ signs around them as Harry. They might be invisible but they were there all the same.

  Well, she could put up a few of her own. ‘I’m ready; lead the way,’ she said in a tone devoid of warmth.

  His garden was terraced on a ridge behind the house. Tracks branched off in several directions, the widest one leading down to the beach. He indicated a path leading to a high look-out rock. ‘I’ll show you the spring first.’

  He led the way up a gently graded pathway made of crushed shells, and out over a granite headland which offered a spectacular view. ‘There should be a seat here so that you could sit and soak this up,’ she said, her voice cracking.

  ‘There will be soon. I’m carting sandstone blocks up to make a bench right there.’

  Several blocks were already in place, she noticed now. She imagined sitting here in quiet meditation, watching the Arafura Sea in all its moods. She shook herself free of the spell. Once she reported back to Simon she would probably never return. ‘You mentioned a spring,’ she said briskly.

  The main water supply was located in a small, steep gully about thirty metres above sea level. Here Harry had built a small tank as a catchment for rainwater. Plastic piping led from the tank down the hill towards the house. Her eyebrows lifted. ‘Is this your handiwork?’

  He nodded. ‘This spring is the only reliable source of fresh water on this side of the island. There are others but they tend to vanish during the dry season. This gives me enough water to last through the summer.’

  She remembered her mission. ‘Is there enough for visitors as well?’

  ‘Sure, provided everyone is careful. You couldn’t shower six times a day, but there’s enough for most normal needs.’

  ‘Is it good to drink?’

  ‘Try it and see.’ He produced a wooden goblet and dipped it into the tank. Droplets glistened on the cup as he handed it to her. Thirsty from the climb, she drank eagerly. ‘It’s wonderful. You could bottle and sell it,’ she enthused.

  He took the cup from her. ‘Sometimes pure rainwater beats the finest champagne.’ Dipping the cup again, he drank from it. Her mouth dried as she watched. Sharing the cup was like being kissed by him. She could feel the warmth of his mouth on her lips, and her tongue darted out to moisten them.

  He swallowed the last of the water and she swallowed too, her throat closing at the sight of his fingers tight around the cup, while moisture gleamed on his upper lip like a crystal moustache.

  He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, breaking the spell. ‘Drummer Island is almost selfsufficient. Would you like to see the rest?’

  Unable to summon her voice, she nodded, and he regarded her curiously. Then he plunged on past the spring to a patch of swampy ground. ‘I grow taro here, a root vegetable not unlike potato. My hens supply eggs, and there’s a stand of bananas, breadfruit, pawpaws, oranges and limes, as well as fresh vegetables in season.’

  The plantation was an extension of the jungle, and she had glimpsed it on the way to the spring. ‘It’s perfect,’ she murmured. ‘I’m surprised you can think of sharing it with outsiders.’

  ‘I’m not rich. It will help if the island can pay its way,’ he explained. ‘It also seems selfish for one person to have all this when it can give pleasure to many. I thought of taking six guests at a time. What do you think?’

  ‘Six is just right. They can practically have a beach to themselves. Think of it—no newspapers, radio or television, just the beauty of nature on your doorstep.’ Her thoughts raced furiously. ‘I can think of quite a few people who’ll appreciate coming here. Overseas visitors are always asking us for novel destinations. It’s the reason why Simon started up Unbeaten Tracks.’

  Harry’s sharp gaze pierced her. ‘This is nothing to do with Simon Fox. I want you to arrange everything; only you.’

  Her palms spread in an agitated gesture. ‘This puts me in an awkward spot. Simon’s my boss. I’m here as his representative.’

  ‘No, you aren’t. You’re here as my guest. Didn’t he tell you to take some time off?’

  Why was he making things difficult for her? ‘Yes, he did, but——’

  ‘You’re taking it,’ he interrupted as if the question were settled. ‘If I choose to give you exclusive rights to the island it’s my business. You don’t want to work for someone else all your life, do you?’

  She rested her back against a sun-warmed sandstone cliff. ‘No, I’d like to have my own agency one day.’

  ‘Then you have to start somewhere.’ His eyes were hooded but she could feel his scrutiny from under the lowered lids. ‘Unless, of course, you’re afraid to strike out on your own.’

  A sense of déjà vu swept over her. At nineteen she’d contemplated a career as a teacher until he’d accused her of being afraid to try her wings outside the education system. Spurred on by his challenge, she had become a travel agent. Was history about to repeat itself? ‘I’m not afraid,’ she said with quiet determination. ‘I’m waiting for the right time.’

  With his bladed hand he made a chopping motion. ‘The time is never right. First you do, then you find out whether you can or not. Have you ever regretted not becoming a teacher?’

  ‘No,’ she conceded. ‘I love travel, seeing new places and helping people to enjoy themselves. And I do teach, at the local technical college.’

  ‘Which proves my point—no pain, no gain.’ He shifted impatiently. ‘Did you get to Russia to meet your relatives?’

  ‘It’s still on my list. Now that glasnost has simplified things I might be able to go back and meet some of my relatives.’ Her tone grew wistful. ‘Mama always wanted me to. Did you know that she used to work in the Kremlin in Moscow?’

  ‘She was a civil service secretary in the Export Trade Secretariat before she met your father,’ Harry confirmed.

  Mist filmed her eyes. ‘Of course, you went into all that for your book. I’d love to see the Kremlin. All those wonderful centuries-old cathedrals with their golden cupolas and palace windows shining like mirrors. Imagine climbing Ivan’s Belfry and finding all of Moscow at your feet. Sorry, I’m getting carried away.’

  His smile indulged her. ‘I’ve been to Moscow myself. It’s enough to carry anyone away.’

  ‘Mama wanted me to see it. Maybe she and Papa courted there.’

  He looked thoughtful. ‘They did most of their courting on a cruise to Khimki, one of the few places where you can get sleeping accommodation without an ID. It’s very popular with romantic young couples.’

  Colour seeped into her cheeks. It was hard to think of her parents as romantic youngsters. Maybe all children felt the same. They were simply Mama and Papa.

  He gave her a sharp-eyed glance. ‘Do you still regret not knowing your relatives?’

  She had confessed as much when she’d helped him to research her father’s life-story. ‘I know I’m wishing for the moon, but I still wonder about them. Especially on the important holidays when other families gather together. But at least I
had my parents. They had no one. I know Mama missed her sister, Lyudmila, the most. They grew up in Zagorsk and their papa took them to Gorky Park to ride the Ferris wheel and eat blinis. Whenever Mama made blinis with carrot jam she got hugely nostalgic.’

  ‘While you just got huge on her cooking,’ Harry said with a laugh.

  His friendly tone defused any resentment on her part. Besides, he was right. She had gorged herself on her mother’s rich Russian cooking until she’d understood the reasons behind it. ‘Not any more,’ she said firmly. ‘It’s nouvelle cuisine for me these days.’

  His eyes swept over her curves, outlined by her T-shirt and fashionable shorts. ‘The results are worth it.’

  His obvious appreciation sent waves of heat surging through her, but she drove them back. Coolly professional, she reminded herself. A discussion of her figure hardly qualified.

  ‘What else should I see here?’ she asked, managing to keep the huskiness out of her voice by sheer will-power.

  The slightest hesitation preceded his answer. ‘Would you like to see the real Drummer Island?’

  Her gaze went from the taro swamp behind them to the limitless vistas of ocean and sand at their feet. ‘There’s more?’

  ‘You haven’t seen the best part yet. It’s under the sea.’

  Fear shafted through her. ‘You mean go diving on the reef?’

  ‘Snorkelling. It’s quite safe and an experience you’ll never forget, I promise you.’

  If she lived through it, she thought, recalling the ominous dorsal fin she’d seen slicing through the water. ‘What about the surf you were worried about?’

  ‘Swell,’ he corrected her. ‘It doesn’t affect the lagoon, and there are no sharks inside the bar,’ he added, as if sensing the reason for her reluctance.

  ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘Positive. Will you trust me to teach you?’

  He asked a lot from someone who suffered from terminal insecurity. Not only had she never dived before, but it took a lot to get her to the top floor of a high-rise building. Another consequence of her insecure childhood, she assumed.