Spell of the Island (8 page)

‘I guess it would be a very wonderful place to live—but not possible for me, so I shall have to be content with having another holiday sometime.’

‘I was thrilled when I first came. The Winnicks were super people, so kind to me. Mrs. Winnick
used to take me with her quite often when she went shopping. They both treated me more like one of the family, and I always ate in the evenings with them.’

‘So it was very different when you went to the chateau of her brother.’

‘Yes, very different indeed. I suppose I was unhappy right from the start. I felt strange in Paul’s home. . . .’ She tailed off, and watching her expression, Emma knew just where her thoughts were.

‘You fell for Paul’s good looks and that made things much worse.’

Louise nodded in agreement.

‘And I now realise, Emma, that I—well—began to push myself—’ She broke off, colour tinting her cheeks. ‘He hated being—how can I put it?’ Again she paused but then said deprecatingly but with perfect frankness, ‘Chased is the only word to describe how it was; I fully realise it now. And a man as arrogant and superior as Paul was bound to give me the brush-off, wasn’t he?’

Emma was at a loss to find a response, for she had not expected Louise to open up like this and admit to having annoyed Paul—for that was undoubtedly what her conduct amounted to.

‘You seem to be getting over it,’ submitted Emma tentatively.

‘I’m trying hard,’ agreed her sister, managing to produce a smile. ‘Unrequited love is fruitless, and the sooner I can forget him the more comfortable life will be.’ Her lip trembled, but she soon pulled herself together.

Emma said gently, ‘Come home with me, Louise. Mother will be so glad to have you back.’

Louise nodded thoughtfully, while Emma held her breath.

‘It would be the wisest course, wouldn’t it?’

‘Under the circumstances, yes, Louise, it would.’

‘It’ll mean breaking the contract.’

‘So . . . what does it matter? If the Winnicks were coming back shortly, it would be different, but you say they’re not due back for almost two years?’

‘That’s right. I know they’ll expect me to stay on until they return.’ A sigh escaped her, and for a while the two sipped their coffee in silence. ‘They were so good to me,’ she murmured at length, almost to herself, ‘It’s not very nice of me to leave.’

‘In this particular case you have to think of yourself first,’ Emma pointed out practically, ‘I’m sure that if Mrs. Winnick were in possession of the facts, she would agree.’

‘Yes, I’m sure she would. But as she doesn’t know the facts, she’s going to think it was a dirty trick on my part to leave Jeremy.’

‘Nevertheless, you are leaving?’ Emma held her breath again, then let it out slowly and thankfully on hearing Louise say, ‘I am leaving, yes, Emma. I realise just how stupid I’ve been.’ She looked at her sister. ‘Had it been you, you’d have been stronger, wouldn’t you? You’d never have fallen victim to Paul’s good looks and other perfections.’

Naturally Emma had nothing to say to this! For she had come closer by far to falling victim! She had almost given herself to the man.

‘Shall we move on?’ Louise opened her handbag and took out sunglasses. ‘I shall miss this lovely sun,’ she sighed as she put them on.

‘But you’ll be happier in yourself. Oh, Louise, I’m so glad you’re coming home with me! Mother will be thrilled, too. She’s missed you, Louise.’

‘It troubled me,’ she admitted. ‘Yes, I shall be doing the right thing all round by coming home with you.’ She paused while Emma paid the waitress, a lovely Creole girl with the name: Vivoosee, pinned to her royal blue apron. ‘I don’t know how I am going to give Paul my notice,’ she added with a visible shudder when the girl had gone. ‘However, I’ll manage it somehow.’

Emma was silent, thinking about Paul and knowing he would be furious at this turn of events; he’d blame her she felt sure—and, of course, he would have cause to do so since it was by her persuasion that Louise was leaving the island. What of the little boy? Emma felt sorry for him but supposed that, adaptable as he seemed to be, he would soon get used to the new nanny his uncle would procure for him.

They went to the harbour, one of the finest in the Indian Ocean, first named Turtle Bay—Rade des Molluques—by the Dutch, but Port Louis was later created by the famous soldier and sailor, Mahe de Labourdonnais who became Governor of the island, changing it from a mere trading post to what it was today. Numerous ships and boats of all shapes and sizes lay at anchor in the magnificent bay. From there Louise took Emma to the market—a fantastic conglomeration of noisy people and multicoloured fruits and vegetables. One could hardly walk between the stacks of produce or crowds of shoppers and stall owners.

‘It’s incredible!’ exclaimed Emma. ‘Fascinating.’ She was thoroughly enjoying the outing, partly, she supposed, because Louise was like her old self, a good companion and friend. Partly, though, because of the uniqueness of her surroundings. It was hard to imagine that once upon a time almost the entire island had been covered with thick forests of ebony trees, mainly Dutch red ebony—tambalacoque, tatamaka and others. Most had been cut down for sugar and tea plantations such as were owned by Paul Fanchette.

‘Shall we drive on now to Curepipe?’ suggested Louise after they had seen more of the city and had taken lunch at a restaurant called La Flore Mauricienne where they ate squid in Creole sauce served with saffron rice. For dessert they had fresh fruit and little coconut biscuits.

‘Yes, whatever you say,’ answered Emma, ‘I’m really enjoying myself.’

‘At last,’ briefly but with meaning.

‘It’s such a relief—’

‘I’m not myself yet,’ broke in Louise warningly. ‘You have no idea the difficulty I have in not bursting into tears.’

Emma swallowed, having been aware, of course, that Louise was by no means recovered yet. That was impossible, but at least some progress was being made.

Curepipe was the chief residential town of the island, with interesting shops where Emma bought her mother a Chinese ivory carving and some hand-embroidered handkerchiefs. From Curepipe they drove to the Machabee Forests where a guide
showed them trees a thousand years old; later they stopped at the Plaine Champagne, parking the car and taking the five minutes’ walk to get a spectacular view of the Rivière Noire gorges where all was silent, motionless—except for the roar of the waterfalls. No other sound or movement.

‘It’s eerie,’ said Louise, but Emma did not find it so. Finally they stopped for afternoon tea at a cafe on a glorious, palm-studded beach where the lagoon looked like blue glass, without a ripple as it touched the shore.

‘It’s been a lovely day out.’ Contentedly Emma leant back in her seat, while Louise drove back to the chateau, passing a sugar factory and miles of estates with many white villas for the employees. An Indian temple came as a surprise, but it was the flowers that often caught and held Emma’s attention—the flaring hibiscus, crimson, rich pink, orange. The delicate allamandas, the lovely flame trees and numerous others, all lending flamboyant colour and shape and scent.

It was half-past seven when they arrived back. Dinner was served to them by Kamal, a tall, Creole manservant with a broad smile and dark, happy eyes.

‘We are to have company,’ he said by way of casual conversation as he laid down the large tray on which was far more than the girls needed—chicken and lamb, both served with rice, and pastries to follow.

‘Company?’ echoed Louise. ‘You mean, someone is coming to stay here?’

He nodded his head.

‘Monsieur’s mother and brother, and, I believe, a distant cousin. They are coming for a week.’ He bowed and went out.

‘You never mentioned any relatives.’ Emma now wondered why she should have assumed Paul to have only the one relative, his sister who was in Sri Lanka.

‘Oh, didn’t I? Mrs. Winnick mentioned them. He has another sister besides Mrs. Winnick, that is, and a brother. His mother lives in the Seychelles and comes over about once every six months, but she didn’t come while I was with the Winnicks.’

‘A week. . . .’ Emma looked at her sister, watching her serve the meats onto the plates. ‘I’m sure I shall feel in the way.’

‘This house is large enough.’

‘Yes. In any case, you and I shan’t be invited to meet these people.’

But Emma was mistaken. Paul made a point of introducing Emma to his mother, a woman of elegance and charm, with immaculate blue-grey hair and a clear, dark skin. She seemed interested to know why Emma was here, and so it seemed that Paul hadn’t bothered to explain anything.

‘So you’re Louise’s sister? It’ll be nice for her to have you here. How long are you staying?’

‘About another week, I think.’

‘And how long have you already had?’ They were in the salon; it was three days since the outing, and two, since Louise had taken Emma up to spend the entire day on the most glorious beach on the island, far north, and a little south of Cap Malheureux. Louise was now back on duty, and at this moment on her way to bring Jeremy from school.

‘A week,’ answered Emma, and Madame Fanchette frowned.

‘So you’ll have had only two weeks! It’s not long enough, my dear.’ She spoke with an accent; earlier Emma had heard her talking in French to her son. She looked at Paul now, standing with his back to the window, watching the two women talking, a curious expression on his face. ‘Can’t you persuade her to stay longer, Paul? I’m sure you agree that two weeks is not long enough.’

‘I’ve already exerted my persuasive powers,’ was his urbane rejoinder, ‘but to no avail. Emma is determined to go home at the end of the fortnight.’ The dark eyes held a metallic glint, and Emma lowered her lashes. Undoubtedly he still wanted her to stay, despite his mood of near indifference during the last few days.

‘You won’t stay?’ Madame Fanchette lifted an eyebrow in surprise, is there some pressing reason why you cannot stay longer? It’s such a way to come, just for two weeks.’

‘I can’t stay longer; it’s not possible.’ She could in fact stay on for another week but now, more than ever, she wanted to get away, just in case Louise should begin having second thoughts about going home.

The other two relatives were in their rooms, unpacking, and although Emma would have liked to get away, at the same time she was curious about the brother, wondering if he were in any way like Paul. And the cousin—what was he like?

The brother arrived in the salon and was introduced. A charming, young man about five years younger than Paul, he had a handsome face and a
swift, spontaneous smile, but he in no way resembled his brother as regards arrogance and poise. Of course, the difference in ages would have a great deal to do with that, decided Emma who took an instant liking to the man, vitally aware as she chatted with him that Paul’s eyes were on her, boring into her profile.

The third visitor came just as afternoon tea was being served, and Emma gave a start of surprise on seeing that the cousin was a girl. Why she should have surmised it was a man she could not have said. The girl was English, tall and blonde with a slender, supple figure and the self-assurance of a beauty queen. She had come from England to spend a year with Madame Fanchette, being distantly related to her through Madame Fanchette’s grandmother, who was English. Obviously she and Paul had met before . . . in fact, Emma, watching them together, had a strong suspicion that they had at one time been very good friends. There was a certain familiarity in the way they talked, with heads bent towards each other, and in the way she picked up the silver teapot immediately Paul’s cup was empty.

And she helped him to sugar . . . one teaspoonful. . . .

‘You and Louise will join us for dinner,’ said Paul smoothly when at last Emma rose to go.

‘Oh—er—’

‘At half-past eight, but in here at eight for drinks.’ His dark eyes fixed hers, challengingly. She coloured and swung away swiftly.

‘Very well,’ she returned and with a rather muffled ‘excuse me,’ she reached the door and went out.

*    *   *

‘We’re to have dinner with them?’ frowned Louise who had not yet been introduced to any of the visitors. ‘Emma, how am I to tell Paul I’m leaving?’

If I were you I’d do it now, at once. He’s in his study; I saw him go in about ten minutes ago.’

Louise shook her head.

‘It would make things awkward for this evening.’

A sigh escaped her sister.

‘I wish he hadn’t invited us.’

‘So do I, in a way, but on the other hand I shall be interested to see what his mother is like.’

‘Charming, and so is his brother. I can’t make up my mind about the girl. She seems—well—possessive in her manner with Paul.’

‘Possessive?’ shortly and with keen interest. ‘Are they—friends?’

‘I gained that impression.’

‘Good friends?’

Emma nodded reflectively.

‘She seemed familiar—knew how much sugar he took—not that that means anything. However, I did get the idea that they’d been rather more than friends. . . .’ She stopped, aware an access of dejection creeping into her mind, ‘I’ve said he’s a womaniser, so it could be that this Eileen is an old flame of his
—one
of them.’

‘I see. . . .’ Louise became thoughtful. ‘Perhaps I shall see Paul at once. It will get the wretched business off my mind.’

‘You don’t seem too troubled about this girl.’

‘You expected me to be jealous? Do you know, Emma, my whole attitude regarding Paul has changed. I still think he’s something very special,
but he’s not the one for me. He’s dictatorial, superior—not warm and tender the way I would want my husband to be. It seems that once I’d determined to clear my mind and look at things logically, I began to see the faults in him. I feel sure now that it was only a crush and not real love at all. With the passing of each day I’m forgetting I ever cared about him. In fact, I know for sure now that I wouldn’t have him if he wanted me.’

Emma had been listening wide-eyed. She herself had at first believed it to be a crush, but later Louise had convinced her that she was in love with Paul. Well, it was a relief to know that Louise wouldn’t be breaking her heart when she left and taking months to recover.