by J C Ryan
He spoke fluent French. He’d get along just fine. So, on the spur of the moment, but always careful about his identity, he put his Peruvian trip’s identification away and became Rowan Donnelly, effectively disappearing among the legion of South Pacific islands.
***
REX HAD CONSIDERED exploring Australia before going on to Vanuatu, but two things prevented him from doing so. First, the country was vast, the sixth largest country on earth after Canada, China, the USA, and Brazil. “We might be the smallest continent, but we are definitely the world’s biggest island,” the Aussies are often heard saying.
To properly explore it would involve months, probably a year to eighteen months to do it any justice. Not what he had in mind right now. Apart from the duration of such a trip, he knew by now that the longer he stayed in one place the more opportunity there was to get caught up in some drama. And then there was the fact that Australia was known as the land of ‘mosts’: most deadly insects, most poisonous snakes, arthropods, reptiles, and ocean dwellers. Hot enough to boil your blood in a desert where no water exists… no thanks. This was supposed to be a vacation, not a survival challenge.
“But don’t despair Digger, one day I’ll take you back home for a visit.”
Seriously, though, he would have loved to explore Australia for a year or more. But Australia’s population of twenty-four million was a fraction of India’s. What were the odds he’d bump into a CRC operative who knew him? It was a silly question until he thought about the close call in India, when he’d literally nearly bumped into Josh Farley and the mysterious woman with him.
Therefore, he didn’t go through customs in Sydney, in fact he didn’t even leave the boarding area while waiting for the puddle-jumper to Port Vila, the capital of Vanuatu. He couldn’t help but smile when one of his fellow travelers at Sydney airport told him, “Vanuatu is the place where rich Aussies go to visit their money.” He learned then that Vanuatu was another one of the world’s many tax havens.
He’d reserved a hut with access to a pristine beach on Fatumara Bay, just on the outskirts of town. While there’d be other people there, he didn’t expect to encounter many of them—only the inhabitants of the other huts belonging to the resort.
I can deal with that.
Besides, he wasn’t a sun-worshipper, though his dark-pigmented skin could take it. He was more likely to be playing with Digger in the early morning, just as the sun came up, or putting him through his training paces in the rainforest areas a few miles away. The only real chance of meeting too many people would be at the restaurants at night. But if he didn’t like them, he could always use one of his many languages as a barrier.
He also thought that the island would be a good place to hone his own physical condition. Only sixteen miles from his hut to the opposite side of the island, and at its widest only about twenty-seven miles, the island would afford excellent opportunities for hikes. One of the activities he’d been looking forward to was playing hide-and-seek with Digger. Not him hiding from the dog, which would have been futile even if he blindfolded Digger and not much of a game, but training the dog to hide from him. That would be more of a challenge.
He’d started playing that game with Digger a few months ago and was stumped to see how quickly his four-legged friend caught on to how the game was played and to stay in hiding no matter how much Rex tried to bribe him to show himself.
Of course, the Kong would give both Digger and him hours of entertainment, as would the Frisbee. He’d enjoy Frisbee catch-and-fetch on the beach, hiding the Kong and letting Digger find it, even burying it and learning how deep he could bury it and Digger still finding it.
Then there was swimming. That was another eyeopener for Rex, Digger’s love of water. At times when it was hot and there was a swimming pool or any open stretch of water, he had his hands full to keep Digger out of it. His favorite was a swim in the ocean. It was a treat to watch Digger bark and growl at the waves and the foam, and it was sometimes only with a lot of effort that he could persuade the dog to come out of the water again.
There were some potentially deadly hazards in the ocean, but he’d learn if the bay was all right for swimming. If not, maybe there’d be lakes or streams in the rainforest.
Rex figured he could entertain himself for at least a couple of weeks, maybe even three or four. Then he’d explore the other islands in the chain, and maybe interview some elderly indigenous people in interior villages before making the trip to Europe, specifically Italy, he’d been promising himself for some time now.
Therefore, to the question of how long he’d be staying at the resort, he’d answered, “Until further notice.” They hadn’t seemed to mind the imprecision.
Chapter 5
Fatumara Bay, Port Vila, Vanuatu
“JACQUI, ARE YOU up? Come on, let’s walk to the market. I want to buy more jewelry.”
Margot opened her eyes. “No, Ida, I’m still in bed. I’m tired. Go on without me.”
Margot Lemaire hadn’t understood why she was still so tired. She was always full of energy and on the go. Yes, she’d been exhausted after the whirlwind campaign, and the trip to get here had been long. She’d had to sneak out of Paris, visit with her brother long enough to be sure she’d successfully eluded the press, then travel by train to Italy, where she’d boarded a plane to Sydney. When she’d finally arrived in Port Vila, she’d slept nearly around the clock.
But that had been nearly a week ago, and she still hadn’t adapted. Each day, she slept until nearly ten a.m. It simply wasn’t like her—she’d always been an early riser.
Her new friend, Ida Engberg, to whom she’d given the false name, Jacqui Madrolle, under which she’d checked in, was a bundle of energy. Margot wasn’t sure the woman even understood the meaning of holiday. She was always on the go, lots of fun, but Margot’s energy wasn’t up to par.
And now she knew why.
It was because of that, that she wanted to stay in bed forever, not face the discovery she’d made last night, but her new-found friend was going to make her face the day.
Maybe it’s best if I’m busy, it will keep my mind off it until I can get confirmation. Are there any doctors on this island?
They’d met on the day Margot arrived. Ida was as tall as Margot, but almost the opposite in every other physical aspect. Her hair was the palest blonde, and her eyes a shade of blue which reminded Margot of the color of the interior of an iceberg. They’d met on the beach, and she told Margot she was from Sweden.
Ida was an open book, prattling on in adequate French about a breakup with a stupid boyfriend.
“We’ve been living together for two years, and he still doesn’t want to let me meet his parents. I’ve had enough. He’s not serious about me. I think he’s just using me for my cooking skills.” Ida trailed off in a peal of laughter, but Margot was sure she could see the pain in her eyes.
It lulled her into sharing her own pain. “I understand. I’m here to think about my future, too. I also have a lover, though we can’t move in together. He’s married.”
Ida’s eyes grew big and round. “Married! Oh, my goodness, how did you get into that situation?”
Margot smiled, unwilling to get into the details. “Stupid, isn’t it? Let’s talk about something else. It’s too depressing. We are in paradise, let’s make the best of it.”
“What shall we do?” Ida asked.
That had been the beginning of a holiday friendship. Margot didn’t suppose it would last beyond the vacation, but it was pleasant to have girl talk for the duration. She’d had little opportunity for that in her capacity as a campaign manager and knew it wouldn’t be any different when she went back to her duties in France.
Her thoughts returned to Ida’s urging that she get up and go to the market. By now, Ida had marched into her bedroom and pulled away the mosquito net. “Come on, lie abed. The day is getting hotter. I want to go while it’s still cool. Up with you, now.”
Margot was laughing and
trying to cover herself with her sheet, while Ida pulled at it with surprising strength. Finally, Ida let go and said, “I’m going to start your shower. Get. Up.”
“Slave driver. Okay, okay, I’m getting up.”
***
IDA LAUGHED AGAIN and stepped into the adjacent bathroom, quickly scanning the room as she turned on the water.
Ida was also not who she pretended to be, and her story of a breakup with a stupid boyfriend was just that—a story. She didn’t have a boyfriend, not for a very long time. Truth be told, anyone who had been in a relationship with her for any length of time was inclined to put running shoes on and go for a long run and never come back.
Ida’s heart started racing when she spotted the little blue and white box in the wastebasket. She stepped to it quickly and gingerly pulled out the little cylindrical item that told the rest of the story that Jacqui had not divulged. She could not believe her fortune. An evil grin broke across her lips.
Margot Lemaire aka Jacqui Madrolle is pregnant.
Ida knew much more about Margot than she could’ve imagined. Margot would’ve been horrified to know not only did Ida know her real name, she also knew Margot was the brilliant campaign manager who’d steered Giles Aguillard into office. Ida’s employers’ body language experts made an in-depth study of the interactions between Margot and Giles Aguillard during the campaign and were convinced there was more than just a working relationship between the two of them. By tapping her phone, they learned about Margot’s Vanuatu holiday plans and tasked Ida to get tangible evidence of the relationship, which they intended to use to blackmail the new President of France.
When Ida was sent to get more information, her employer knew it was a long shot but was prepared to spend the money on it. He hoped to get an incriminating recording at best. What Ida was staring at was so much more than a taped slip of the tongue, this was the ultimate proof.
Pregnant! How juicy! Aguillard the family man, an adulterer. How will he spin this one? This is better than I could have hoped for, and it explains why she sleeps all the time.
She slipped the testing kit into her pocket but left the wrapping in the bin. Women who were happy about their pregnancies usually keep it as a memento. Lemaire had thrown hers away.
If I can now just get her to bare her soul to me and tell me herself that Aguillard is the father so that I can record it… Well, I can only try…
“Come on, Lazy! Your bath awaits,” she called, giggling. The giggle was genuine, but the reason was wicked.
Margot showered while Ida waited outside the hut on a covered veranda that was bigger than the dwelling and served as a gathering space for guests, since the hut itself consisted of the bedroom, attached bath, and a tiny kitchen. The tropical climate of Vanuatu lent itself to such a casual arrangement, averaging between eighty and eighty-eight Fahrenheit for a high temperature, and never lower than sixty for a low. Ocean breezes kept it cool in the hottest part of the day, and the thatched roof kept off the frequent rain. One could not have asked for a more perfect year-round climate.
When Margot finally appeared, dressed in a strapless sundress and wearing a big, floppy, straw hat she’d bought at the market on her first day, Ida gazed at her closely.
No sign of distress. I wonder if he told her he’d leave his wife for her. They always do. Or maybe she intends to stay here until the child is born?
Ida chattered about this and that as they strolled to the market, looking for her opportunity to learn more about Margot’s pregnancy and her plans. The opportunity came as they wandered among the stalls. A young island woman was nearby, with her newborn baby carried in a sling tied in front of her. Ida started a conversation with the woman.
“Your baby is so sweet,” she cooed.
“Merci beaucoup, mademoiselle,” the woman said, with a shy duck of her head and a fond gaze at her baby. “She is two weeks old today.”
Ida glanced at Margot. “I just love babies,” she remarked. “Would you… May I…?”
“Of course,” the young mother said. She cradled the baby in one arm and untied the sling with the opposite hand. When she had the sling loose, she scooped the baby into Ida’s waiting arms.
Ida, who in fact loathed babies, nevertheless gave a credible performance, smiling at the infant and making silly baby talk. She handed Margot her cellphone and asked her to take a photo.
She turned to Margot. “Don’t you want to hold her? She’s so sweet! Give me your phone, I’ll take a photo of you two.”
Margot had turned pale and appeared to be in discomfort. “I… No, I don’t think so. Sorry, I don’t feel well. I don’t know what it is, but I don’t want to infect the baby with it.”
Ida pretended to be reluctant to hand the baby back, but finally did, and she slipped her hand into her market bag and brought out a handful of Vatu, the local currency. As the woman retied the sling, Ida stuffed the cash in with the baby, earning a smile from the young mother.
“For her wedding someday. Thanks for letting me hold your baby, she is so cute,” Ida said.
As they turned away, Ida asked with apparent innocence, “Don’t you like babies?”
Margot answered, “Yes, I do, but as I said, I may be coming down with something. I probably need to go and see a doctor. I hope there’s one here that will see me.”
Ida had to use a lot of restraint to contain her sudden urge to laugh and tell Margot that pregnancy was not contagious.
Before they returned to their huts for a midday siesta, the two women asked a passer-by and were referred to a women’s health clinic located conveniently on the way back to the resort. Margot urged Ida to go ahead while she ducked in to make an appointment.
Ida protested she’d wait, but Margot insisted, and finally Ida had to go to avoid inciting suspicion. After all, they’d been friends for only four days. Too much concern would be overkill. She waved cheerily and said she hoped the doctor would see her and that she would feel better soon.
***
AT THE CLINIC, Margot was disappointed to learn that unless it was an emergency, she’d have to make an appointment and come back. The doctor was fully booked for almost a week. She was anxious to get to the bottom of this, though the test and her lack of energy should have been enough confirmation. She was pregnant, but it wouldn’t be official until a doctor had said so—until then, she’d prefer to live in denial.
Only five minutes behind Ida, she trudged back to the resort, head down, lost in thought.
What will I do if it’s true? Giles will be destroyed, his marriage will be destroyed, the party will be destroyed. We’ve campaigned on family values. Hypocrites! Both of us. And infinitely stupid.
She began to weep silently as she walked with a duel raging in her mind.
It’s a disaster!
If it became public, it would certainly cost her the career she’d dreamed of, and it would certainly bring down Giles’ presidency. Giles was the right man for the job. She believed that. He would carry out his predecessor’s promises, the ones she’d believed so fervently were necessary for the good of France.
The other party… No, I couldn’t do anything to harm Giles.
Abortion?
I’m a Catholic, a Christian, I will not kill my child… no matter what, that’s not the answer. But what is?
Stop fretting and wait until the doctor tells you you’re pregnant or not. Maybe it’s nothing. The strain of the campaign, the travel. Those DIY tests are notoriously inaccurate. Maybe I’m coming down with the flu.
A sudden urge had her turning into the tall brush beside the path, where she vomited.
Yes, that could be flu. It could also be… No, don’t go there.
She felt a little better after that, though her mouth tasted awful. Margot quickened her step. The only relief for the sour taste in her mouth was a good tooth-brushing and some cool water.
I’d better not try to tan this afternoon. But Ida will demand to know why not. I’d better rest, and maybe it’
s best not to eat lunch. Maybe I’ll feel better later.
The only saving grace is I am the only one who knows about it and who knows who the father is.
Chapter 6
Fatumara Bay, Port Vila, Vanuatu
NEARLY A WEEK after Margot had arrived at Port Vila, she and Ida were getting along very well. Just last night, Ida was crying in Margot’s arms. The boyfriend she’d run away from and planned to break up with when she got home had dumped her, by text message, no less, the brute! It was one thing to be the dumper, and quite a different thing to be the dump-ee.
Ida was devastated.
Margot had cried empathetic tears and comforted her new friend the best way she could, with soft words of encouragement and wine. Pleading she still wasn’t feeling well, Margot herself had abstained from the wine. She blamed it on unfamiliar food and a delicate stomach.
“Ida, maybe he had a feeling you were going to break up with him, and he just did it first to feel better about himself. You know you’re too good for him. Why be hurt over this? Look at the positive side. It saves you from a painful meeting with him.”
“But no one has ever broken up with me before. This feels awful, Jacqui. How can I look my friends in the face when I go home?”
“Just tell them you broke up with him. How are they to know it isn’t the truth?”
Ida made a sour face. “Because he’ll tell them, the bastard. He’ll turn all my friends against me. I can’t ever go home.”
Margot had laughed, earning a look of near-hatred from the distraught Ida. She backpedaled quickly. “I’m sure you’ll be able to go home. But why would you want to? This is paradise, truly. I may stay here myself.”
Ida’s tears had dried in an instant. “Truly? You’d give up your home and live here?”
