The Islands (50 page)

Catherine started making notes for possible articles for the
News
. Before Miranda had left, Catherine took a photo of the artist with her bold and bright Hawaiian canvases and she started to write a story on ‘The Island New Yorker'. Then Catherine thought that perhaps she could expand the idea into a series on women who had bloomed on Kauai. She knew that Summer and Ginger would agree to be in it. Eleanor, of course, could be another candidate and, while she was well known as a hotelier, Catherine hoped to find a different, more unusual, angle to write about her. She phoned Eleanor to discuss her idea.

‘Catherine, I'm so glad you called. I was wondering how you're getting on. Abel John said you're staying in Hanapepe – is it all right? You know you can move over here . . .'

‘I'm fine for the moment, thanks, Eleanor. I'd love to see you. Do you have the time to come over?'

‘I'll make time. I have some mail here for you that Kiann'e sent on. How about tomorrow? Late morning?'

Catherine watched Eleanor park the little Palm Grove truck out the front of
The Joss House
and stand and gaze along the street at the buildings. The door tinkled as she came inside and hugged Catherine.

‘Not much has changed in Hanapepe since I was first here years ago. This gallery is a cute place. Wasn't it an opium den once? Oh, look at this art!' Eleanor walked around the little gallery and studio. ‘I've heard about Miranda's work. Very dramatic.' She looked thoughtful. ‘This would make wonderful fabric. I'll have to talk to Miranda when she comes back. Be stunning in the new wing . . . if it's ever done.'

‘What's happening?'

‘It's a stalemate over the stones and the heiau the workmen have found. They've downed tools. We've had experts over to have a look and it seems it's a site of significance. The men say that if we build there'll be some dreadful retribution.'

‘And you believe in such Hawaiian spiritual things, don't you?' said Catherine.

‘I do, I guess. But our investor partner certainly doesn't. He wants to bring in new workmen from the mainland if we have to and get the job done.'

‘Abel John and the locals wouldn't like that. What are you going to do?' asked Catherine. Eleanor looked so tired and concerned.

‘The business has to pick up, so I have to get the new wing finished. Hopefully Abel John can find some sort of compromise. Now, before I forget, your mail.' She handed Catherine several letters.

There was a welcome payment from the
News
, a circular and one from her mother.

Catherine skimmed through it quickly, fighting back tears. ‘It's my mum. They're upset, of course, about Bradley and me. But so loving. I don't want to go back home. Not yet.'

‘No, you're at something of a crossroads.' Eleanor patted Catherine's hand. ‘You'll know what to do when the time comes. I'd better go back. Come over for lunch or a drink anytime. Have a look at the hole in the ground.' She rolled her eyes.

Later, at sunset, as Catherine sat on the beach towelling herself dry and watching the last of the surfers come in, PJ joined her.

‘You look pensive.'

‘Bit down in the dumps. Had a letter from my mother, pleading with me to come home, asking me what am I going to do with my life and so on.'

‘Bit heavy. What're you doing tomorrow?'

‘Putting in a couple of hours in the gallery. What're you doing?'

‘I was going to suggest we go to Pakala, it has a good left point break, or else try Poipu. They're close to Hanapepe. Looks like it's going to rain here and it's generally dry on your south-west side.'

‘Great. Come to
The Joss House
. See Miranda's art. We could have dinner at Molo's down the road later. It's a great little café – nice food, pretty cheap.'

‘Sounds good to me.'

PJ arrived early the next afternoon and they set off for the beach. There were a few surfers out and Catherine found the left point at Pakala quite challenging. PJ complimented her on how well she did. They sat on the beach and she was relieved that they talked about lots of things other than Bradley. Her marriage, her past and the future were never mentioned.

Back at Miranda's, while PJ showered and changed, Catherine set out coffee on the balcony.

She handed him a mug. ‘Why don't you have a look at Miranda's art downstairs while I have my shower?'

PJ was very taken by Miranda's paintings and he spent a long time examining each one.

When Catherine joined him downstairs he said, ‘I know where that is. That's a nice touch. Mmm, I like that one. They're happy pictures,' he summed up. ‘Little fragments of the Islands.' He surprised Catherine by adding, ‘I've always wanted to paint.'

‘Really? What kind of painting?' She was surprised.

‘Watercolours.' He grinned. ‘I don't know about technique, but when you're out there on the water, in the waves, under water, you get a different perspective of the world . . . watery, runny, liquid . . . like everything is melting . . .' He stopped. ‘Well, you understand what I mean, don't you?'

‘I think I do,' said Catherine slowly. ‘It's the fluidity. Nothing is what it seems, everything changes from instant to instant. Soft one moment, surging the next.'

They were both silent, thinking.

Then PJ touched her hand. ‘I'm glad you've got into the ocean. Trying the surfing. It helps you understand who I am,' he said awkwardly.

She nodded. ‘Surfing is not something you can explain. You have to do it. Even badly.' She gave a small laugh.

‘You're doing just fine. I'm really proud of you, country girl.' He smiled and leant over and lightly kissed her cheek.

Catherine closed her eyes, catching her breath for a moment. ‘Let's eat. Molo's making something special for us.'

They walked along the wooden boardwalk to Molo's café and found four other people sitting around a communal table.

The food was delicious, the company eclectic and Catherine saw another side to PJ who talked to everyone about travel, food and life in the Islands. Then Molo talked about his ancestors and how they had lived in the hidden valleys of Na Pali.

He turned to PJ. ‘Why don't you take Catherine to the Na Pali coast. I think it's the most beautiful part of all of Hawaii.'

‘Need a boat for that,' said PJ.

‘You can borrow mine. Or I can show you the way in over the mountain. Very secret. Very rugged. Some say the valley is haunted by a lost civilisation.'

‘Ooh, rugged and haunted, I don't think so,' said Catherine. ‘But a boat trip along the coast would be nice.'

‘Be my guest,' said Molo to PJ.

It was late as they walked in the dark the few doors back to
The Joss House
.

PJ took Catherine's hand. ‘Would you like go see Na Pali?'

‘Yes, please. But I don't really want to hike over some abyss into a spooky valley.'

‘It's quite a story. An archeological team went in some years back.' PJ began to tell her the story and Catherine held his hand tightly as the tale unfolded. They went through the gallery and upstairs to sit on the balcony and, as PJ talked, she lit a candle and poured them both a glass of wine.

The candle sputtered, a chime tinkled as a breeze stirred the balmy night. PJ leant over and blew out the remains of the candle. Catherine picked up their glasses and took them inside. PJ brought in the bottle and as Catherine rinsed her glass he lifted her hair and kissed the nape of her neck.

Slowly she turned to face him, melting against him, fitting easily into his body. PJ kissed her face and throat and hair. Slow, lazy kisses. They felt comfortable, connected. Catherine wound her arms about him, drawing her face to his. His kiss was suddenly hard, insistent.

‘I want you, Catherine,' he said in a husky voice.

‘Me too,' she breathed.

And it was so easy, so simple. Compared to the wild passion of their beach encounter, which now seemed an eternity ago, this coming together was unhurried, caring, tenderly caressing.

The night passed. Dawn was ignored as they held and loved each other with no thought of time or commitments, until, laughing, they dragged themselves to the kitchen for coffee.

Wrapped in a sheet, Catherine sipped the milky brew as PJ toasted bread.

He handed Catherine a piece of toast. ‘You up for a surf?'

‘Of course.' She licked the dripping butter and smiled at PJ. Catherine looked out at the blue and gold day. She had nothing better to do in the world.

The nights were dreamless. But she slept with the knowledge of PJ twined around her, their bodies linked. She was first to awaken and she hardly dared breathe so as not to disturb the moment. She loved his golden skin, his tangled blond curls that tasted of the sea. She counted every freckle, watched the thick layer of his eyelashes and longed for him to wake so she could touch his perfect mouth.

How different this was to the bed she shared with Bradley where an ocean of crisp white sheet had separated their bodies. Bradley had been a light sleeper and if she moved too much or touched him, his sleep was disturbed. Save for an occasional questing foot reaching across the divide, a hesitant invitation to make love, they could have been sleeping in separate rooms.

Catherine glanced at the lengths of hand-painted silk that hung at the windows. The morning light glimmered through them sending dancing colours across the bed. PJ started to wake up, tightening his arms around her, searching for her lips, seeking warmth and sustenance.

The days since their dinner at Molo's blurred together. PJ spent most nights with Catherine and the multicoloured
Joss House
had become a haven for them. After their early morning surf and breakfast they were both out and about. PJ had set up a workshop at
Nirvana
and started shaping boards to suit the local conditions for a new group of surfers who'd arrived. Catherine shut the studio for a siesta break, as the other places along the street did, and went out with her camera to explore Kauai.

The more she explored the island the more she thought of it as the most beautiful place she'd ever seen. Sometimes she imagined she was seeing a landscape no human had seen: great valleys and gorges like the Grand Canyon, impenetrable mountains and hidden valleys where waterfalls, lost tribes, unknown plants and animals might be living, trapped in their own world.

One day, PJ borrowed Molo's boat and they sailed along the Na Pali coast, with its breathtaking, untouched and frighteningly beautiful, sculptured, lush mountains rising from the sea. They landed on one of a few tiny crescent beaches below the cliffs and swam naked, made love on the sand and sailed away unseen. Catherine felt that the time they spent there was swiftly obliterated. They were just specks of sand in the millennia that had formed the island.

One day Catherine called in to see Eleanor at the Palm Grove but she was away, so she found Abel John and asked if she could go over to the site of the new wing. Together they walked past the great grove of coconut palm trees, with their name plaques at their base, past the rows of water lily ponds and man-made canals to where a swamp was screened by panels of hessian. As they stepped inside the screen, Catherine was confronted by muddy ponds that had been dredged from the slippery murky grey sand and mud.

‘It's a coastal swamp they thought would be easy to dredge and fill,' said Abel John. ‘But the backhoe started to hit a lot of rocks and once bones was seen in the sludge, everything came to a stop.'

‘It's a graveyard?'

‘More. Look over here. We started draining it to see what was here and found that.' He pointed to a neat rock wall formation. ‘The way it lines up, the way the stones are laid, there's no doubt it's a sacred heiau.'

‘An ancient temple?' Catherine reached in her bag for her camera, but Abel John stopped her.

‘It's more than that. It's a whole settlement we think. We've had people from the University of Hawaii here and photos and samples went to the mainland. Plenty of archeologists have been here. Kahunas have blessed the site and the thinking is that it could be over a thousand years old.'

‘What happened to it?'

He pointed to the ocean. ‘A war between invaders or a tsunami possibly.'

‘A tidal wave! How exciting, how are they going to know the whole story?' asked Catherine. Suddenly, in her mind's eye, this muddy area took shape as she imagined a village of round wooden houses, canoes and outriggers pulled up on the beach, the stone structures of a temple and perhaps sacrificial altars, fires burning, children playing. ‘It'd make a wonderful tourist attraction! A re-creation of an ancient village!'

‘Nice thought,' said Abel John drily. ‘It'd take ages to excavate, save and re-create. The old kahunas believe this could be a sacred place sung about in ancient chants. Stones hold magical powers. No way will they let this be re-buried under a tennis court and hotel rooms.'

‘Oh dear, what's Eleanor going to do? This is on hotel land isn't it?'

‘That no mean anything if it's certified as a place of cultural heritage. The legal people will be in next, I bet. That partner of hers, the guy with the money, won't want to let it go without a fight.'

‘But even if it's not re-created, or whatever, it's an interesting place to visit. Surely people would want to come here and learn more about it,' began Catherine.

‘And stay in one other hotel? The Palm Grove needs business. Anyway, there's more to it.' He hesitated. ‘There're all kind of superstitious rumours flying around. The long and the short of is that, if Eleanor damages, digs, does anything, there'll be some almighty stink.'

‘Poor Eleanor. I wish I could write about this for the paper.'

‘Best not. C'mon. How're things at
The Joss House
?'