CHAPTER I

LAST night when Robyn had stepped from the plane into the warm perfumed air of Nandi International Airport it was long past midnight. She had been met by a smiling Fijian taxi-driver in his kilt-like peaked slue and immediately whirled away through the darkness and up a flare-lighted path leading to the luxuriously appointed Travelodge Hotel. In her suite she had slipped into bed without even bothering to draw the curtains. Now in the freshness of early morning she was aware of a delicious sense of warmth. Lying back against the pillows, arms crossed behind her head and long dark-blonde hair streaming around her shoulders, she stared bemusedly out at her unfamiliar surroundings.

Softly waving coconut palms with their clusters of fruit brushed the wide picture windows and beyond swept the lush green of sugar-cane plantations. Along a path cut between the patchwork of greens strolled big-framed, dark-skinned women with an erect carriage and graceful walk. Their long vividly-patterned cotton frocks swirled around bare brown ankles and umbrellas shielded curly black heads from the already hot Fijian sun. Behind them straggled neatly-dressed children, school satchels slung over small shoulders. Over the harbour of Lautoka jagged mountain peaks were wreathed in drifting cloud. It was all incredibly fresh and colourful, a delight.

I'm really here in Fiji — at last! The thought made her leap from bed and soon she was taking a warm shower, slipping into a cool short shift and pushing her feet into the thonged sandals that had been put away since last summer back home in New Zealand. Home ... maybe this was to be her home from now on, these scattered islands in the South Pacific. A light touch of lipstick, eye make-up, and she was ready to face the day. She moved along the wide carpeted corridor, passing happy young Fijian housegirls with their unhurried manner and welcoming smile Outside she was met by a dazzle of sunlight. It sequined the waters of the great blue pool, glistened on the flaring petals of the enormously large hibiscus blossoms that edged the pool and splashed vividly green lawns on either side of the pathway with patches of crimson, bronze, pink, yellow.

"Wouldn't you just know," a friendly feminine voice with an American accent spoke at her side, "that you were in Fiji, just by the scent of the frangipani?"

"Wouldn't you!" Robyn smiled towards the faultlessly groomed middle-aged woman who passed her on the covered walkway. She glanced towards the bushes dotting the lawns where satiny frangipani flowers in pink and cream perfumed the warm clear air.

Still agreeably conscious of an unaccustomed sense of wellbeing in the warm sunshine, Robyn strolled along the winding path between the cool covering of thatched coconut palm, pausing for a few moments to glance in at the small gift shop with its display of shell jewellery and coloured coral, brightly printed loose frocks, gay woven baskets and sunhats. Then she moved into the restaurant already crowded with tourists pausing for a short stay at this crossroads of the Pacific. Robyn supposed that many of the guests already seated there were like herself breakfasting early in order to be in time to catch the daily bus leaving for the Coral Coast. Or perhaps they planned to go on one of the various sea excursions to the outlying islands leaving daily from the wharf at Lautoka.

In the softly shaded room with its tapa-cloth hung walls and glowing carved lamps made from native timbers, a young Indian waiter led her towards a corner table. "I'm sorry," he murmured apologetically, "but there are no vacant tables this morning. If madam wouldn't mind sharing —"

"Of course not. This will be fine, thank you." She glanced towards the man already seated there, a dark burly young man whose brief upward glance appraised with interest the tall girl with clear grey eyes and wide lips upturned at the

corners. Robyn noticed that in common with most of the other men in the room he wore an open-necked shirt printed in a design of primitive art, and his smile, she couldn't help thinking, was really something.

She seated herself opposite to him and brown eyes in a tanned face twinkled towards her. "Bula!"

She stared across at him bewilderedly, then remembered that bula was the word with which the smiling young Fijian maids had greeted her a few moments previously.

"I can see," he was saying pleasantly, "that you're a new arrival in the islands —"

She laughed, unfolding her napkin. Somehow it was easy to laugh with this relaxed and pleasant stranger in these enchanting tropical surroundings. "That's right. By the midnight plane from New Zealand. I take it that 'hula' is the local word for 'good morning'?"

He nodded. "Or good night, or good day, how are you, hello. You'll hear it all around the place. It seems that Bula is one of the ancient Fijian deities. There he is, up there on the wall, looking down on you! By rights you're supposed to bow to him and acknowledge his presence !"

Dark blonde hair swept her shoulders as her curious gaze went towards the carved mask on the wall above. Garlanded with beads and shells, the narrow pointed face stared down at her from inscrutable sightless eyes. "He looks . . . formidable. But it's a good carving."

He nodded. "You'll come across lots of these masks around Fiji. The natives carve them out of the timber of the rain-tree." His eyes on the menu outspread in well-shaped hands, he added pleasantly, "Staying long in the islands ?"

She hesitated. "That depends." All at once the soft warm atmosphere, the novelty and excitement of her surroundings took over and the words spilled eagerly from her lips. "Back in New Zealand where I come from, I've been looking forward to this holiday for years —"

His quizzical glance swept the sensitive young face.

"Years?"

"Yes, honestly !" Illogically she found herself thinking that he had an infectious smile. Maybe it was the warmth in his eyes that made his smile so heart warming. "You see, I happen to have a share in some property here."

"Lucky you!"

"But do you know, I've never ever seen it!" Her face was alight with the eagerness and enthusiasm of youth. "So many things kept happening to stop me from making the trip! First of all I was too young —"

"Too young?" Now he appeared to be genuinely taken aback.

"Uh-huh, I told you." Clear grey eyes swept up to meet his attentive gaze. "It's been years. I guess the main reason why I never came before was because somehow or other I always managed to spend the fare money I'd saved up."

"But you finally made it?"

"And am I glad I did ! "

At that moment a young Fijian waitress, a pink hibiscus blossom tucked in short-cropped curly black hair, paused at their table. Robyn noticed that her companion selected the same light fare she had chosen for her own breakfast — pineapple juice, sliced papaya, toast, black coffee.

As he gave the order she stole a glance towards him and approved of what she saw. Not over tall or wildly good-looking and yet . .. She couldn't think what it was about him that attracted her so, gave her this absurd feeling that she had known him for ages. She only knew she felt happy and relaxed with him and yet at the same time, in some odd way she couldn't explain, strangely excited.

"And you," she asked lightly, "what brings you out to this part of the world? Apart from chasing the sun, I mean?" For she surmised from his cultured accents that he came from England.

"Oh, I'm no tourist, though I have to admit that I did start off that way. That was the idea originally. Blame it on a particularly persuasive poster in a travel agency that chanced to catch my eye one morning when I was on my way

to the London office. "Come to Fiji," it said. "Visit the isles of endless summer." He smiled companionably. "Actually I had ideas before that of getting away from it all. I'd been working fairly steadily for a few years without a break, and besides," for a moment the smiling face sobered, "there was something else, a personal reason, why I wanted a change of scene."

Away from what? Robyn wondered. A love affair that had gone wrong? A woman he had loved? She brought her mind back to the deep, vibrant tones.

"So I thought I'd give myself a break between jobs. Architecture is what I happen to be interested in and I'd never been out to this part of the world. A short holiday in the sun, that's all I had in mind when I left London. That was two years ago. What kept me here first was that I got a chance of drawing up the plans for one of the big new tourist hotels that are springing up along the Coral Coast. It was a big job — meant bulldozing an area for putting in a swimming pool, making a causeway to the lagoon, landscaping the grounds with a terraced garden and tropical plants. It took a lot longer than I'd reckoned on for the builders to get to the finishing line. But at that time I had no idea of the way of life out here in the South Pacific. I wasn't taking into account factors like the humid heat, island labour and that carefree feeling that affects everyone out here, whether you realise it or not. You have to put up a real fight against it if you want to get anything done !"

"I suppose so." She reflected that for all his easy manner she couldn't imagine this man allowing anything to get the better of him, not even the enervating climate or the lazy island atmosphere. She brought her mind back to what he was saying.

"There've been no end of hold-ups all along the line. Staffing problems, endless delays waiting for building materials to arrive by ship from overseas, transport difficulties on the islands — but now we've just about got to the end of it. I had a hand in the interior design side of it too, something I took

up as a hobby in the first place and it sort of grew. That's why I've just been over to Sydney for a few days. I wanted to get a line on what was available over there in the way of the latest in drapes, furnishings, lighting, for a first-class hotel out here. There was some terrific stuff in the warehouses. I've put the orders in, so now I'm hoping they won't be too long in getting the stuff shipped over here. After that I've got something else lined up — a different set-up altogether this time, the modernising of an old place into a modern tourist apartment block and restaurant. It will be the first place of this type I've worked on in a tropical climate, but it won't be the only one to be updated along the Coral Coast. Out here in Fiji things are going right ahead in the tourist line! It's one of the few unspoilt places left in the world, somewhere where life goes on much as it did centuries ago — and suddenly tourism is becoming big business ! There's a constant stream of air travellers arriving here from the States, Canada, England — all over the world !" He took a sip of pineapple juice. "There was a time not so long ago when as far as tourist accommodation went on these islands, you could get away with any old lodging house, ancient fans for cooling, indifferent cuisine. Now, wham! Overnight the whole picture's changing. Inconvenient, old-time hotels and apartment houses have to be updated, or go out of business. Not that I'm complaining about staying on in Fiji. The climate suits me fine and the problems sort themselves out in the end. One thing that makes it all worthwhile is that the end result is pretty satisfying. You see something you've dreamed up eventually take shape, come to life ... something lasting. You know what I mean?"

"I can imagine." Robyn was facing the disturbing conclusion his words had forced on her. When she considered the luxuriously modern hotel in which she was seated at this moment, equal to anything of its type overseas ... With such a standard of accommodation from which to make a choice, who would prefer to spend precious holiday time in an outdated old guesthouse with scarcely any modern amenities,

even if it offered a cheaper tariff? She jerked her mind back to the enthusiastic tones.

"The way I see it, today's air travellers expect top accommodation, air-conditioning, modern decor, swimming pools, professional chefs in the kitchen ... and they're willing to pay for it. So far as I'm concerned, I'm going to see that they get what they want —" He broke off, his swift perceptive glance taking in the long dark lashes shielding Robyn's downcast eyes, the sensitive face from which all the eager excitement had fled. "Sorry, I guess I'm boring you. Once I get up on my hobbyhorse I get carried away. You should have stopped me."

"No, no," she smiled the wide friendly smile that lighted the gravity of her face. "I can see," she said, choosing the words carefully, "what marvellous opportunities there must be here for you, for anyone in the building or tourist trades. All the new modern hotels and apartments. It must be very ... interesting."

"That's not the word for it! It's darn stimulating. Out here where life goes on just as it did centuries ago, you can get a chance to come to terms with natural surroundings. And with everything connected with tourism going ahead like wildfire I can really get my teeth into the decorating side of things. There's tremendous scope here for anyone with a shred of imagination. Take the native culture, it's got endless possibilities — carving, weaving, ceramics, tapa-cloth, primitive designs and cave drawings. Fantastic materials to work with! To me it's a whole new world to play with. The name's David, by the way, David Kinnear."

She smiled across at him. Something about this man, maybe it was his enthusiastic approach to his work, drew her, gave her a funny glad feeling that he too was staying on here. She hadn't minded travelling alone. After all, it was only a few hours' flying time from the misty north New Zealand winter to the hot sunshine of Fiji. Nevertheless it was comforting to know someone else besides her brother. Come to that, it was quite possible that he wasn't here at all, but away on his schooner somewhere amongst the three hundred odd islands of the Fiji group.

Back in her spacious suite she stuffed her pyjamas inside her overnight travel bag, added a hairbrush, big curlers and make-up kit. Then she paused, struck by a sudden tempting thought. Johnny wasn't expecting her, chances were he wouldn't even be at the Islander to welcome her to the guesthouse on the Coral Coast, so why not take full advantage of this sparkling day and go on one of the sea excursions running to one of the outlying islands? "A trip out to one of the islands is the highlight of a visit to Fiji," Johnny had told her, and seeing that today she had a perfect opportunity ... Crossing the room, she leafed through a pile of excursion brochures lying on the bedside table. Apparently there was a variety of outings from which to choose, but she was fascinated by a picture of a fully rigged sailing schooner, the Seaspray, due to leave in an hour's time for a day of swimming and beachcombing, sunbathing and shell-collecting, at Castaway Island. All at once her mind was made up and moving towards her suitcase she snapped the catches and bent to take out a floral beach towel, a gay pink swimsuit. As the label caught her eye a smile twitched the corners of her lips. Robyn Carlisle, passenger American Airlines to Fiji. Tomorrow she would reach her destination on the Coral Coast. End of a journey. End of a dream. Lovely thought that before long she and her brother would be together again, after all these years!

She could barely remember a time when she had been part of a family, a real family of her own, for she and Johnny had been young children when their parents had parted for the last time. Robyn retained a vague impression of a mother who was gay and restless, of a father who, even in a child's eyes, appeared so much older than his wife. Maybe their mother hadn't wanted either her or Johnny to come along and complicate her life. How could she ever have cared for them? For immediately their father had left his wife and family, the two children found themselves boarded out with kindly

neighbours, then later, with not-so-kindly strangers, while all the time their mother pursued her own interests in the fashion world. As a buyer employed by a leading city store with branches throughout the country, her work took her far away and eventually overseas. For a year or two the two children received at long intervals coloured postcards from various parts of Australia, then later from the United States. After that there was only the silence, and a fading memory of a mother they had scarcely known.

' As to their father, beyond a vague knowledge that he had gone to live "somewhere in the. Islands" she and Johnny heard nothing from him through the years. Remembering his endless preoccupation with paints and sketchbooks Robyn sometimes wondered, when she thought of him at all, if perhaps he had gone to further his hobby of painting in the clear air and intensity of colour that had for so long drawn artists to the scattered islands of the Pacific. But whatever the reason for his island existence, he never took the trouble to acquaint either her or Johnny with his whereabouts. The single reminder they had of him was the regular six-monthly remittance that reached them from Suva. Forwarded through a lawyer's office in Fiji, the cheques were immediately swallowed up in payment of boarding school fees.

To Robyn school years were a dreary succession of holidays spent with relatives where she felt she wasn't really welcome. It would have been more bearable if only she and Johnny could have been together during the term breaks, but he was four years her senior and they had been separated from the time of the break-up of their parents' marriage.

Then out of the blue had come a letter from Fiji. Robyn had read the dry legal phrasing through twice before fully taking in the meaning of it all. For it informed her of the death of her father, Andrew Carlisle, and went on to state that under the terms of the will she and her brother John were now joint owners of a guesthouse situated on the Coral Coast of Fiji in the Pacific group. There was in addition a small legacy for them both.

Johnny received the news the same week. He wrote her from a small coastal town in the north where he was employed as one of the crew of a fishing vessel. "I'm going out there right away to see what the place is like. If it's okay I may stay and manage it. Why don't you get a school friend to come with you and take a trip out to Fiji in the holidays? Don't forget the place is half yours !"

That was four years ago and in all that time she hadn't made the journey out to the islands to see her brother. She had been content to leave the management of the property in his hands, at least until she reached the age of twenty-one. Occasionally, and always at Christmas time, she received word from him. Once he enclosed in his letter a colour snap depicting a hot blue sea, white sand, tossing coconut palms. But he wasn't a good correspondent. His scribbled notes gave little information about the guesthouse he now managed and she gathered that his interest was all with the sea. The letters were filled with accounts of deep-sea fishing, of giant tortoises, of trading schooners voyaging around the scattered islands, meetings with yachtsmen whose oceangoing craft had brought them half way across the world to the warm reef-enclosed waters of the South Pacific.

As for herself, she had inherited her father's sketching ability and it had never occurred to her to earn her living in any other way than in some form of art work. Fortunately a scholarship awarded her on leaving college had given her a course at art school and the dwindling profits from a half-share in a far-away guesthouse on a South Pacific coast had met expenses for living costs plus the few extras she allowed herself on a spartan budget. Shortly after gaining her Diploma of Fine Arts she began work in the studio of the city's most progressive store. She enjoyed fashion drawing and might have been content to stay indefinitely, had not Johnny come strolling into the store to see her on one bleak winter day. Johnny! So strong and bronzed, his thatch of light hair bleached straw-colour by the hot Fijian sunlight, the rakish grin she remembered so well.

Had it not been for the undeniable likeness between them no one in the studio would have believed her when she had told them she was going out to lunch with her brother! Oh, it was wonderful to see him again ! That was one of the disadvantages of a lonely, unwanted childhood. It did things to you, made you cling to the few relatives you possessed, be over-anxious to trust anyone you liked, like the boy-friends with whom she had imagined herself to be wildly in love. Until with a painful shock had come the realisation that actually she was enamoured of an idealistic picture built up in her own mind. Not like Johnny. She'd never be disappointed in him. He would never let her down.

Together they went out into the street, lashed with slanting winter rains and crowded with lunch-hour shoppers hurrying by beneath umbrellas. Robyn led the way to a coffee lounge not far from the studio and they chose a table by a window.

"You know something? You've changed quite a bit since I saw you last!" His teasing glance rested on the pale composed face, the serious grey eyes. "If it hadn't been for the same old freckles —"

She wrinkled her nose at him. "Look who's talking!" She was thinking that during the years of absence he had altered almost beyond belief. He hadn't returned to New Zealand since going out to Fiji to claim his inheritance. The Johnny she remembered had been a tall gangling youth with a deprecating manner, but now ... He was heavier, broader. She noticed the muscles that rippled along the strong, darkly-tanned arms. The uncertain young man to whom she had bade goodbye at the wharf all those years ago was now a man, a Johnny head-in-air. And what of herself? Did he see in her a self-sufficient young woman, at least to outward appearances, in place of the shy introspective art student?

As if tuned in on her line of thought he shot her a grin. "Four years can make a heck of a lot of difference! You never got around to coming out to see the old place?" Leaning for: ward, he extended a crumpled cigarette packet. "Why don't

you make the trip out there, Rob? It's not what you'd call five-star accommodation exactly, but it's somewhere to put up." He held a flame to her cigarette, then his own. "Or is there some guy here that you just can't bear to tear yourself away from?"

"No, nothing like that."

He laughed. "You sound pretty definite about it."

"Oh, I am! There almost was, once or twice last year, but they fizzled out in the end."

"Not too much damage done?"

Laughingly she met his gaze. "None at all! My own fault really, I guess. I keep on expecting too much of people, then when they let me down, as they usually do in the end, I get horribly disappointed."

He nodded. "You always were a funny little kid. A tiger for loyalty, with a positive talent for wasting your affection on the wrong people!" He sent her a wry grin. "Don't overdo the pedestal thing with me, will you, Rob? It won't work ! "

"Oh, I know you!" Her tone was affectionate, utterly confident. "It's so good to see you." The soft eager tones rushed on. "When did you get here? How long can you stay?"

"It's just a quick trip this time, I'm afraid. I've got to zip back in a hurry. Just came over to pick up some rigging for a schooner I'm interested in. I wanted to have a word with you, put you in the picture about how things are going over in Fiji, financially, that is. What I'm trying to say," a serious note threaded the light tones, "well, I guess you must have been wondering about the funds lately from the old place —or the lack of them?"

"Oh, that ..." For the regular half-yearly cheques from the lawyer in Fiji had dwindled steadily over the past two years. But she had known it wouldn't be Johnny's fault that profits were now so small, almost non-existent. He would be doing his best. "Well," she said lightly, "it doesn't matter so much now that I've got a job, but I was awfully grateful for those remittances all the time I was at art school. I just couldn't have managed without them."

Leaning back in his chair, he studied her through a screen of cigarette smoke. "I might have known."

"What do you mean?"

"Oh, just that you'd take after the old man. One of us was bound to want to go around splashing paint on to canvas, like him! Boy, was he keen! You should see the place out at the coast! Daubs of local scenery hanging on every wall in the house and canvases by the dozen stacked outside in the shed. Not that I blame the old man altogether. Colour isn't just colour out there, it's extravagant, flamboyant, unbelievable ! You've simply got to come out to the old Islander and see for yourself !"

"The Islander? I'd forgotten the name of the guesthouse —"

"If you could call it a guesthouse." He gave a short bitter laugh. "The old wreck's just about paying its way nowadays and that's all!"

"Oh dear," she put the worrying thought into words. "How do you manage about the staff ... I mean, their wages?"

A shrug of broad shoulders. "Labour's cheap out in my part of the world, and they're a good crowd. I'm lucky enough to have a first-class helper, a woman who fills in for me while I'm away. Eve, Mrs. Daley, she'll be on the job now. She's been at the place for years, even when Dad was alive."

"But how about all the other expenses?"

"Oh, I get along. There are swags of fish just waiting to be netted in the bay. Food's cheap at the markets in Suva and tropical fruit trees grow wild around the place." He waved his cigarette carelessly. "Coconuts, paw-paw, bananas, all that stuff."

"All the same, it must be an awful struggle to keep the place going?"

"Not too bad. Most weeks I can pick up the odd dollar on the side. Often there's a trading schooner on the look-out for a crew or the odd photographer or tourist wanting someone to act as guide on a boat trip around the islands. That's about it, except for the coral boat. That brings in a bit, when I'm around to take her out."

"Coral boat?"

He nodded. "Didn't I tell you? She went with the place at the time when I took over years ago. Not a bad old tub, the Katrina —"

"Katrina! That was Mother's name."

"I know." The laughter died out of his face. "From what I've heard along the Coral Coast, Dad never bothered with women after they parted. You don't ever think of parents as people somehow, do you? You never know ... never will know now . . . Oh well

"Why do you call her the coral boat?"

"Wake up, Rob ! That's what she is. She was specially built for the purpose of coral viewing. She's got glass observation panels along the bottom so that passengers can get a good view of what's going on down there below the coral reef."

She gazed at him entranced. "Do you take her out much?"

He threw her a rueful grin. "Too much for my liking ! Dad used to make a bit extra that way to keep him going when the guesthouse was operating. When I came along I carried on with it. Then when they built the new top-luxury hotel around the point the South Pacific guests wanted to come along too. They arrive in a mini-bus and I take them out over the reef, tell them all about the fish and coral and marine life. It's a drag, but it brings in a little extra cash. Tell you what —why don't you come out and stay awhile, six months, a year! You could take over the running of the coral boat."

"But I wouldn't know a thing about it! You were the one who was brought up in Auckland where every back yard has a boat of some sort pulled up behind the house. I only wish I could sail a boat —"

"You can make up for it now! Come out to the old Islander and I'll show you how in three easy lessons. You'd pick it up in no time at all. Ever taken the controls of a motor boat?"

She shook her head. "I told you, you were the one who lived within sound of the sea."

"Nothing to it. I'll show you. It only brings in a few dollars a week," he murmured negligently, "but at least it's regular. They tell me that years ago when Dad first took it over the old Islander was quite a place, never without a crowd staying and every room booked in advance, but that was before Fiji started to put itself on the tourist map in a big way! Now the big resort hotels have got everything laid on. Poor old Dad, at the time he made out the will he probably thought he was leaving us something worthwhile. Maybe it was a paying outfit then, but now, let's face it, it's nothing but a rundown old place on the coast road. Oh, a great location, I grant you, bang on the water's edge with a terrific potential, but what it needs is to be updated. It's crying out for a pool, modern furnishings, a decent system of air conditioning, proper plumbing. All that would cost a packet! But I've got an idea, one that's going to solve all our financial problems. You see, Rob," he leaned forward, his grey eyes alight with enthusiasm, his voice tinged with excitement, "this brainwave of mine is a real money-spinner and if I can swing it, believe me, our money troubles will be over for good !"

She regarded him with questioning eyes as he swept on. "I've managed to raise enough cash to buy myself a share in a schooner. She's a beaut, one of the finest craft in her class I've ever come across and just the ticket for what we want her for. I've got a crew all jacked up. I'm the skipper and two of my mates who helped put up the money to buy her are in it too. We'll sign on a couple of Fijian boys as well."

"But how —"

"Oh, there'll be plenty of ways to make her pay for herself once we get her fitted up. One thing I've got in mind is making regular trips out to the islands lying just off the coast. The overseas promotions are putting up real tourist attractions on these little islands. They've built restaurants, provided boats for the use of guests. You can live quite cheaply and comfortably in a bure —"

"What's a bure?"

"It's a native but thatched with coconut palm. You can

put up in one, fish, collect shells, explore the reefs, swim in the lagoon; stay for a day, a week, a month and really get the feeling of the islands. Thing is, the time's just right now for someone to provide more regular boat services, and guess who's going to do it! All I have to do now is to settle up the legal details for the purchase of the schooner with a guy in Wellington, and we'll be in business! There are lots of other ways we can make ourselves useful with the boat out there too," he ran on enthusiastically. "We'll be in the market for trading around the islands, picking up supplies of copra, coconut, bananas ... what have you. There's always a lot doing in that line. When everything's tied up legally we're going to take her for a few weeks' cruise around the islands, just to see how she makes out." He grinned. "Well, that's the excuse for giving ourselves a holiday!"

"Good luck, then ! I hope it's a big success !"

"Don't worry, it will be!"

She'd always envied her brother his confidence in his own powers to carry out any scheme to which he set his mind.

"We can't miss ! But that's no reason why you shouldn't make the trip out and stay at the coast any old time." As she glanced down at her wristwatch and began to gather up handbag and umbrella, he went on persuasively, "It won't make any difference to you! I'll be back to the house in between trips, wherever I happen to be, and you'll be okay with Mrs. Daley. She'll look after you. Might be an idea to wait until August, though, when the weather's right and the trade winds cool things down a bit."

When they were back at the door of the studio he pushed into her hand a sealed envelope. "Your share in advance of the profits to come ! Why don't you use it for a trip over to the Islander? It's about time !"

"But I can't take this —"

"You will, you know ! It's yours and I'm not arguing about it!" A tanned hand raised to his forehead in a smiling gesture of farewell and he had gone, striding away into the rain swept street before she could make any further protest.

During the following week Robyn found that her meeting with Johnny had left her with a curious feeling of restlessness. It wasn't long before she made up her mind to resign from her job at the studio and take that trip to Fiji. What matter if her brother happened to be away on his trading schooner? She would wait in the guesthouse — their guesthouse — until he returned. But August ... three whole months away. That was far too long to wait. She would go right now, leave winter behind her and fly into the sun.

With a start she came back to the present. Heavens, what was she thinking of, staying here dreaming when the bus was due to leave the hotel in a few minutes ! Swiftly she spilled the contents of her overnight bag on to the mahogany bureau beside the single red hibiscus blossom lying there. A touch of waterproof mascara to her lashes, a smear of suntan lotion to arms and legs, then she thrust towel and swimsuit into the bag, snatched up mauve-tinted sunglasses and hurried towards the foyer. Soon she was purchasing a ticket that included in the cost transport to nearby Lautoka, a cruise on the Seas pray to Castaway Island and a Polynesian dinner there. "You're only just in time," the smiling young Fijian girl receptionist told her.

"You can give me one of those too !" Surely she recognised the pleasant accents. Startled, Robyn glanced over her shoulder to meet David Kinnear's smiling glance. It was such a heart-warming look that suddenly she was glad she had decided on this particular day cruise. To have a companion on the trip would make the outing even more enjoyable.

When he had purchased his ticket they strolled towards the entrance with its banks of climbing tropical greenery. Glancing towards the stack of luggage piled against the wall, she said, "I can see your name on the label of one of the bags."

He nodded. "I'm pushing off today. Then it's over to Suva for a couple of days before I begin work on the new job down the coast. And you're —"

"Oh, I'm staying the night here, then I'll be taking the bus to the Coral Coast in the morning."

"A good place to stay if you want to relax, sunbathe —where are you putting up?"

"Me? Oh, at the Islander." She was gazing around her at the patchwork of green. "All that sugar cane. I wonder which is the month when it's cut —"

"The Islander!" At the incredulous tone of his voice she glanced towards him in surprise.

"Why, what's wrong with that?"

But he had recovered himself and was saying evenly. "Nothing, nothing at all ! It's comfortable enough, so they tell me — that is if you want to cut expenses and can put up with the old style of accommodation. It's certainly got a terrific situation, right on the beach. Anyway, you can always move on somewhere else if it doesn't suit you."

"I wouldn't want to go anywhere else!" At that moment a tourist bus moved up the concreted slope towards them and Robyn made her way out into the sunshine. David Kinnear followed her as she mounted the high steps of the air-conditioned vehicle, then seated himself at her side.

The windows afforded a wide view and she gazed eagerly ahead to the grassy green slopes with their perfumed tropical bushes. Presently they sped up a rise, then drew in at the entrance of an older type of guesthouse where a group stood waiting on an open verandah festooned in a blazing curtain of purple bougainvillaea. Soon they were moving along the road leading to the harbour, passing oxen grazing along the lush grass of the roadside. As they travelled in the shade of a long avenue of towering banyan trees with their trailing aerial roots, he said, "That's the one I was telling you about."

Laughing, she said, "Bula?"

"That's right. The timber the natives use for carving their masks and ornaments and models of tiny outrigger canoes. Only they've got their own name for the tree— 'Mother-in-law's tongue', they call it."

"I can guess why !" She had already noticed the long hang

ing yellow seedpods hanging from the thickly-growing tangle of branches.

The next moment she was gazing ahead towards a native village. In a clearing among the trees was a cluster of thatched huts. Goats nibbled at the long grass. Further along the route, dark-eyed children, trudging along the dusty road, waved and smiled a greeting to the passengers in the tourist bus. Then they were running parallel with a narrow railway line. "Next month they'll cut the sugar cane," David told her, "and run it into the mill at Lautoka, the sugar town. They say it's the only free train ride in the world and the trip is quite an experience. You should have come along to Lautoka a bit later in the season."

"Who can tell? I may still be around here then."

"I might take you for a ride on it !"

"Talking about free rides ..." Robyn's gaze was caught by a vividly coloured blue butterfly, its purple-veined wings outspread against the glass of the windscreen.

Presently they were passing through the clean spacious streets of the sugar town with its lush greenery, Indian temples and modern stores. Beyond, the line of blue peaks appeared so close Robyn felt she had merely to reach forward to touch them.

They turned towards the sea where motor vessels and yachts, schooners and catamarans rocked gently on calm waters. Leaning on the deck rail of the Seaspray as the schooner drew away from the wharf, Robyn eyed the mingled races gathered there — Indian family parties, the women with their glistening black hair and colourful flowing saris, groups of Fijians in their vividly printed sulus, a sprinkling of overseas tourists. Mist was rolling in over the mountain peaks and out here on the water the breeze had freshened, lightening the humidity of the atmosphere. She brought her gaze back to the deck and the smiling Fijian crew in their white "Seaspray" T-shirts splashed in a pattern of dark blue hibiscus blossoms.

"It's a bit like finding yourself in the middle of a Cinema-scope scene," she told the man at her side. For in the distance

small islands floated in a blue haze on the horizon. Near at hand a palm-fringed atoll, ringed with white sand, rose like a mirage from dark blue-green water.

Further along the deck a group of air crew, pilots and hostesses, were laughing and chatting together. Robyn however was content to stand quietly at the rail, watching the great wind-filled sails billowing overhead and the shower of spindrift flung up from the bows. An organza day! And having someone with whom to share it made everything just about perfect. She stole a glance towards her companion's averted profile. He'd be a shade over thirty, she would imagine, this burly dark man with an air of relaxation and a perceptive smile. Something about him gave her an impression of a man who had been everywhere, done everything, yet there was about him an air of disarming friendliness and she got an impression that he was enjoying the excursion today as much as she was. The thought prompted her to say idly : "I expect you've often made this trip?"

He turned to face her. "I've been out to a lot of the outlying islands by motor vessel, but never like this."

"You mean, not out to Castaway under sail?"

His gaze rested on the sensitive young face, the long strands of fair hair blowing around Robyn's eyes in the strong breeze. "I mean," there was an enigmatical expression in the dark eyes, "not like this."

"The same, only different," she twinkled up at him. "Like falling in love?"

"Something like that. You seem to know a lot about it," he observed in his deceptively quiet tones, "for nineteen —" "And a half," she amended with dignity.

"And a half," he conceded with gravity, but she had caught a glimmer of amusement in his eyes.

"I'm not a child, you know," she said stiffly.

"I didn't say you were."

"No, but ... what I mean is . ." She was floundering wildly, regretting having allowed herself to stray into this dangerous territory with a man who was so much older and

more experienced than herself.

"Look, there's Castaway," he was saying, "you can just see it . . . over there!"

She followed his gaze towards a smudge of green in the distance. She had the absurd feeling that she would be quite content to sail on like this for ever beneath the bluest of blue skies with the wind singing in the rigging overhead and just for company, of course, David Kinnear at her side.

She soon realised, however, that the hazy island was further away than she had at first imagined and another hour had gone by before they approached it. Now she could discern a flat island thickly covered with clustered coconut palms, white sandy beaches, fringed by reefs. Boats were pulled up on the shore and natives on water-skis pulled by circling launches, skimmed by in a plume of spray.

Presently they were leaving the schooner, dropping down in to a small power boat while a Fijian crew guided them into the lagoon. Here the water was a pale turquoise in the shallows, a darker blue beyond the reefs. Robyn slipped off her scuffs and with David, waded ashore.

"Don't let the outside look of the bures fool you," he told her as they strolled up the wide expanse of sand and came in sight of thatched huts hidden amongst the coconut palms. "They might look primitive at first sight, but you'd be surprised to find how comfortable they are once you're inside. Fans, showers, refrigerators, everything you could wish for easy living. That big one over there," she followed his gaze towards a large open-sided but with coconut fibre thatched roofing, "is the restaurant." She took in the dotted tables and cane chairs, the long bar at one end of the open-air building. "Let's have a swim to cool off, shall we?"

She left him to make her way up a sandy track winding upwards amongst tall palms towards a rough signpost nailed to a tree trunk : "Women's Changing Shed". Once inside the thatched shed she discovered the truth of David's words, for whirring fans overhead kept the air cool and fresh and water flowed from porcelain basins and individual showers. In a partitioned section of the shelter she changed into her swimsuit, conscious of her pale skin from which last summer's tan had long since faded. But not for long, she promised herself, and went out to join the man waiting at the water's edge. Together they ran over thick sand, then plunged into limpid water. Never before had Robyn lingered for so long in the sea, but then never previously had she swum in water so warm and enticing. They circled rocks that shelved deeply out to the coral reef in a sea so clear they could see clearly down to the shells lying on the sand below. At last they waded out through the wavelets that were tossing a fringe of white lace on wet sand and leaving the cluster of bures behind them, strolled around a point. All at once there was nothing but sea and sand, no sound but the whisper of wind in the tall palms on the shore mingling with the soft murmuring of the waves. They threw themselves down on the sand and let the hot sun beat down on their backs. "It's like sugar," Robyn said, watching the thick grains of sand trickling through her fingers.

A little later she was roused from a dreamy sense of relaxation by a muffled sound. She jerked her head upwards and pushed the long hair from her eyes. "Whatever's that?"

"Just a Fijian keeping up an ancient custom. He's beating a tattoo on a lali drum, a hollow log, giving us the message that it's time to roll up for an island dinner. Are you ready for it?"

"I'm famished! It must be all this sea air !" They rose and made their leisurely way along the beach, following a broken line of shells and coral. When they came in sight of the bay Robyn saw that long tables were set in the shade of spreading trees and smoke was rising from fires where barbecued steaks were being prepared by natives, bare to the waist, in their skirt-like cotton sulus.

At intervals along the leaf-covered tables, flower-garlanded native girls were serving food piled in great white conch shells to a long line of guests. There were steaming curries, sizzling steaks, rice, an assortment of green salads, sweetcorn, wafer-thin bread. Piled mounds of tropical fruits — golden paw-paw, pineapple, bananas — were set between massive bowls of glowing hibiscus blossoms and pink and white coral from the reef. There were cans of Australian beer and chilled lemonade.

Robyn thought the meal was delightful. "And we don't even have to clear up afterwards," she told David as they moved towards bamboo seats set in the shade of the trees and facing the sea.

"Oh, the staff don't have to work too hard. There's no shortage of labour here and they'll soon whip through the plates. Besides, they've got a special arrangement, not a human one, that takes care of all the food scraps left lying about. Watch and you'll see what I mean —"

"I don't believe it ! "

"No, honestly, look over there! No, this away, up the track!" A hand pressed gently to her cheek, he turned her face towards the tables under the trees where Fijian girls were gathering up plates and cutlery. For a moment she had difficulty in concentrating on the scene before her, for David Kinnear's touch had affected her in the oddest way, making her feel so terribly ... aware of him. A man she scarcely knew, a stranger. She couldn't understand herself, and to cover her confusion she stared determinedly in the direction he had indicated. The next moment she burst into laughter. It was so unexpected, for as at a given signal, down the winding sandy pathway swaggered a line of plump white turkeys. On reaching the clearing where the tables were set, they proceeded to gobble up each scrap of food left lying on the sand. Then, with the same orderly precision that had marked their arrival, they turned and moved back up the slope to disappear from view a few moments later amongst the trees.

"Well," she gazed towards him laughingly, "next time I'll believe you!"

"I'll hold you to that, one of these days!" For a moment an odd unreadable expression flitted across his face. It was almost, she told herself perplexedly, as though he suspected something concerning her, something of which she was in ignorance. But how could that be? Really, he was the most puzzling, intriguing of men, yet she liked him, she liked him a lot! It's just the spell of the islands working, she jeered at herself.

If only the sun-drenched day wasn't flying by so swiftly. A stroll around the island, which wasn't very large, then it was time to join the crowd who were converging at the restaurant and straggling down the beach. In a heap on the sand were piled travel bags and suitcases belonging to the holidaymakers who had enjoyed an extended period of rest and relaxation in this most relaxing of islands.

Presently they were climbing aboard a small motor boat and to the sound of farewells shouted from the Fijian crew, they drew away from Castaway and moved in the direction of the white-sailed schooner beyond the reef. On board the Seaspray the waving figures on the island receded as the craft swept over an inky-blue sea and the trade winds blew cool and soft on their sun-flushed faces.

Around them guitars plucked by a singing Fijian crew throbbed in the age-old melodies of the South Pacific. Before long everyone on board joined in the haunting rhythm, as the wind-filled sails bore them back towards the jungle-clad mountain peaks ahead, now wreathed in moist grey clouds.

As they neared their destination strumming guitars fell into the haunting strains of the traditional Fijian song of farewell. Even as far away as New Zealand, Robyn had been familiar with the strains of "Isa Lei" and now both she and David joined in the words of the poignant melody.

They were still singing as the Seas pray glided in towards the dark waters of the wharves. Idly Robyn's gaze swept over the crowd gathered there, then all at once she stiffened.

"Johnny !" Her excited cry cut across the thrumming guitars and chorus of voices. He caught her eye, then to her surprise he swung around on his heel and was lost to sight amongst the throng. The hand she had lifted in greeting dropped to her side. It had been him, his jaunty grin and suntanned features, a yachting cap perched at a rakish angle over

 

one eye. She couldn't have made a mistake. Nor had there been the slightest doubt regarding his initial glance of recognition. He had looked delighted to catch sight of her, surprised but delighted, then his glance had moved towards her companion and immediately he had vanished. She stared after him bewilderedly. "Oh ... he's gone!" She scarcely realised she was speaking her thoughts aloud. "Now why would he do a thing like that?" All at once she realised that David was regarding her attentively.

"Do what?" For all his smile was so beguiling she was aware of a shade of watchfulness in his expression.

"Run away. Johnny saw me, I know he did! Just for a moment his whole face lighted up. You know? Then he rushed away in the crowd just as though he didn't want to see me."

"Your brother is Johnny Carlisle?" His voice was low and contained, yet there was an intent look in his dark eyes that puzzled her. She turned and faced him. "Why, yes, do you know him?"

"No, not really."

There it was again, the sudden tightening of his expression that faintly disturbed her, made her feel uneasy, almost ... apprehensive. "Let's just say," his cool unresponsive tone was in such marked contrast to his lazy accents that she stared back at him in surprise, "that I've run across him once or twice, in business."

The crowd of disembarking passengers surged around them as they made their way in the wake of the straggling line moving in the direction of the gangplank. Robyn's searching glance darted over the cosmopolitan throng, hoping to catch a glimpse of a tall figure, a bronzed face beneath a yachting cap, but of course he wasn't there. He had gone, goodness knows why! Perhaps, she comforted herself, she had merely imagined his brief look of recognition. At least she knew that Johnny was here on the island of Vita Levu and not away at sea in his oceangoing craft.

She moved with David towards a waiting bus standing

amongst the cluster of vehicles on the wharf, but in the crowd they were separated. It was not until they stood together in the foyer of the hotel and he moved towards the stack of travel bags that she realised she wouldn't be seeing him again. Not that she minded — now, for he was wearing his curious closed look again, just as though there had been no memorable day spent together on a South Pacific island. She was conscious of a throng of tourists milling around them and the fleet of taxis waiting at the entrance.

"Don't look like that," he chided, "you're in the Happy Isles, the Land of Endless Summer. Remember?"

She summoned a smile and made an effort to push aside the sudden desolate feeling of being alone in a strange land that had swept over her. "Well, thanks for the company on the cruise. It was great."

"Made all the difference to me too."

She broke the uncomfortable silence with a forced laugh. "I might run across you one of these days, somewhere between here and there on the Coral Coast."

"That's right." He too appeared constrained and strangely ill at ease. David Kinnear, whom she would have imagined to be the last man on earth to feel such an emotion, much less betray it. "See you again, maybe. That is," once again the unfathomable expression crossed his face, "if you're still interested by then."

A Fijian taxi-driver was approaching and David picked up his travel bag and turned away. He didn't even look back, Robyn thought forlornly. He'd just . . . gone . . . with that cryptic reference to her not wishing to see him again when next they met — whatever that might mean. She sighed and moved slowly across the crowded reception room. Maybe it was as well that their friendship had ended almost before it had begun. Better not to get involved with a man who, for some reason, appeared determined to keep her at arm's length, who said things that didn't make sense, and who, let's face it, attracted her even against her will.