Wealth of the Islands (25 page)

“
I oiled the works,
”
she gasped, trying to get her breath back,
“
but it still wouldn
’
t open. You
’
ll have to help carry it! I can
’
t manage it alone!
”
She gave a despairing kick and was shocked into silence to see the door fall open and pieces of gold rushing everywhere in the mud all about her.

Gregory laughed helplessly.
“
You should see your face
!”
he shouted at her.

She smiled and picked up a handful o
f
gold, throwing it into the wind and watching it fall several feet from her, wet and glittering.
“
The crock at the end of the rainbow,
”
she exulted.

Gregory stood, ankle deep in mud, watching her.
“
I hope you
’
ll always think so,
”
he said.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

It was hard to tell whether the rain was coming from below or above as it
ricocheted
off the muddy ground and was blown across their path by the ever-increasing wind.
Gregory took off his shirt, that was torn anyway and soaking wet, and gathered the gold pieces together, tying the sleeves round the top to hold them in. He slung it over his naked shoulder and held out a hand to Helen, helping her to her feet. “I’ll take you to the hotel,” he said.

There was something in his voice that told her that he would not be staying at the hotel himself.

“
Where are you going?
”
she asked him sharpl
y.

“
The Islanders will need help,
”
he explained simply.

Helen turned and faced him, her feet slightly apart.
“
I
’
m going with you!
”
She announced with a distinct
quiver in her voice.

He grinned at her.
“
Are you any good at keeping
c
hildren quiet
?”
he asked her.

She would have said anything not to have been left behind. She was prepared to put up with any
t
hing at all rather than be left waiting and worrying about him at the hotel.

“
I won
’
t go to the hotel on my own,
”
s
he said mutinously.

“
I must be mad!
”
was all Gregory said.
“
We
’
d better drop off the gold there anyway.
Afterwards, we
’
ll need to gather all the villagers together at some central point.
”

Helen shivered.
“
Those houses can
’
t be much protection against this kind of storm. Why don
’
t they build something more solid
?”

“
They bend. Anything more solid might break. Look, will you wait here while I go to the hotel
?”

But she was too scared to wait anywhere on her own. She clung to his hand, following in his footsteps, until she saw the lights of the hotel only a few feet in front of her. She was mildly surprised that the electricity should still have been working, but there it was, a great wall of light in the grey, gloomy surroundings.

T
he wind had shattered the glass in the French windows round the back. Gregory released one of the catches and the door flew open, dragging them into the room beyond and slamming against the wall. A dozen people flew to the gaping entrance and forced the door shut again.

“
My, you poor things!
”
a sympathetic woman said to them.
“
I
’
ll tell them in the office that you
’
re back.
”

Helen felt self-conscious as she stood, dripping on to the clean floor, uncomfortably aware of the muddy spectacle she must present. She was relieved when Anita came running over to her, slipping warm, dry arms about her, and whispering:
“
Darling, I thought the wind would sink you! It was awful! Can you hear it against the building? It shakes so! Peter says it
’
s silly to be afraid, but I can
’
t help it!
”

“
You
’
re all right here,
”
Helen soothed her.
“
Miss Corrigan will soon tell you if there
’
s any danger.
”

Anita laughed hysterically.
“
That old woman! She
’
s busy reading a thriller and doesn
’
t want to be disturbed!
”

Gregory
’
s laughter burst out across
the
room.
“
I
’
ll soon disturb her!
”
he threatened.
“
She
’
s needed in the village! Who does she think is going to bandage all the broken limbs and sing to the children?
”

Helen found herself laughing too.
“
I thought I was,
”
she smiled.

He grinned at her.
“
The more the merrier. Ethel
can speak to them in their own language
. I’ll
go and winkle her out! Get Peter to put this in the hotel safe, will you?
”

There was a gasp from the American guests that could be heard above the wind when they saw the gold-pieces glinting through the frayed cloth of Gregory
’
s shirt. They all wanted to look at them, to see what they were like.

“
Did you really get them back from the sea?
”
they
asked Helen breathlessly.

She was embarrassed.
“
Gregory did,
”
she said.

Their intrigued glances followed Gregory into the foyer. With his bare feet and naked torso, he looked like one of the Islanders himself. His dark hair glistened black from the rain, and water ran in rivulets down his chest and on to the deep, luxurious carpets with which he formed such a contrast.

“
He looks the part
!”
Anita giggled.

“
What do you mean
?”
Helen shot at her.

“
I don
’
t know,
”
the other girl shrugged.
“
You
know! He looks like a pirate without any
s
hirt—or anything!
”

“
Nonsense!
”
Helen said sharply.

“
But he does!
”
Anita giggled again.
“
I hadn
’
t noticed before, but he does
!”

But Helen refused to look at him again. When she did, her heart shook within her, and she felt more uncomfortable than ever. If he looked like that, what
on earth must she be looking like? She put up a hand
to her dripping hair and tried to wring out some of the excess water.

“
You
’
d better go and change,
”
Anita said frankly.
“
I
’
ll mix you a drink while you
’
re gone.
”

“
But they might go without me
!”
Helen objected.

“
So what?
”
her sister-in-law retorted.

“
I have to go,
”
Helen said.
“
It
’
s important—
”

A
nita sighed.
“
Well, if you must, you must,
”
she said.
“
But you look absolutely ghastly now, if you want to know! I shouldn
’
t have thought a change of clothes would have hurt!
”

“
Will you keep the drinks till I get back?
”
Helen pleaded with her.

Anita smiled an odd, lop-sided smile.
“
I will,
”
she promised.
“
And I
’
ll give your gold to Peter to look after, if you can bear to part with it. It
’
ll be quite safe with him!
”

Helen thanked her and hurried into the lift. Now that she had been goaded into it, she had to admit that she would
b
e pleased to change into dry clothes and wash the worst of
the
mud off her hands and feet. Even so, she was unprepared for the sight of herself in the looking glass. Muddy splotches covered her face and her hair hung down like string all round her neck. Her clothes were badly to
rn
, and she had lost a button from the front of her shirt that gave her a decidedly rakish air.

“
Good heavens!
”
she said to herself, and then again,
“
Good heavens!
”

She stripped off her clothes as fast as she could and dried herself on one of the hotel towels, hoping that Peter wouldn
’
t
b
e too shocked at the sad spectacle it presented when she had finished with it. She felt decidedly better when she was both clean and dry. She could even laugh at herself, for when she had first seen herself in the glass, she had wondered what Gregory must have thought of her. What should
h
e have thought? She was nothing to him, just as he was nothing to her!

She pulled on a clean pair of jeans and a polo
-
necked sweater and brushed her hair until it stood up in a halo all round her head. Then with a comb, she restored it ruthlessly to order, and looked at herself with satisfaction. Without any make-up on,
s
he
looked younger than
she
really was, but otherwise she was as neat and as unremarkable as the most self-effacing widow could wish to be. Perhaps it was
that that made her choose her brightest lipstick and,
with a defiant gesture, apply it freely to her pale lips.

The electricity went off just as she was leaving her room. The whole building shook and was plunged into darkness. Helen could hear a female scream reverberating through the hotel and hoped that it wasn
’
t Anita. Then there was complete silence and, a few seconds later, Peter
’
s voice, demanding that someone should light the candles to give the guests some kind of light

Helen crept along the corridor, playing blind man
’
s b
l
uff with the wall as she searched for the head of the stairs. It was a long way down, but at least she
k
new where she was going. When she reached the bottom, she could see the flickering candles in the foyer, and looked about hastily for Gregory.

At first she thought he wasn
’
t there, but he came over to her immediately and pressed a drink into her hand.

“
It
’
ll keep your spirits up,
”
he told her cheerfully.

She took a sip, gasped, and took another. She had no idea what was in it, but it tasted good.
“
Did you find Miss Corrigan?
”
she asked.

“
I did!
”
he said.

“
Spoiling a perfectly good afternoon,
”
the old lady complained.
“
I always have a rest after my lunch. You should know that by now!
”

“
We don
’
t always have a typhoon to contend
wi
th,
”
he reminded her patiently.

Miss Corrigan listened to the wind.
“
It
’
s got some way to go yet,
”
she snorted.
“
Experience has taught me not to anticipate trouble, young man! But as you quite obviously won
’
t give me any peace, I
’
m ready when you are!
”

Gregory grinned.
“
Helen is coming too,
”
he told her.
“
She wants to help—
”

“
If I can,
”
Helen put in humbly.

“
Glad to have you,
”
Miss Corrigan said emphatically.
“
The Islanders like you! Just as they like this young man of yours!
”

Helen could feel herself blushing. The colour rolled up her cheeks and she felt weak at the knees.
“
It
’
s this drink,
”
she exclaimed.
“
It
’
s going to my head!
”

Miss Corrigan looked at her in astonishment.
“
Nonsense, my dear!
”
she said briskly.
“
You won
’
t be any use to any of us if you
’
re drunk!
”

“
How very true!
”
Gregory agreed in an amused voice. He took the drink from her and handed it to Anita.
“
There
’
s no knowing what she might do!
”
he added conspiratorially.

Anita was put out.
“
But Helen
never
—
”
she began.

“
You mean she hasn
’
t yet!
”
Gregory corrected her gravely.

“
And just what are you implying?
”
Helen stormed at him. She worked herself into a fine rage, for she found it very much easier to be angry than the other curious feeling, tinged with failure and embarrassment, that seemed to have dogged her all day.

“
That there are a lot of things you
’
ve never done before, what else?
”
Gregory teased her.

“
Like what?
”
she demanded.

He chuckled.
“
One of these days I
’
ll tell you exactly,
”
he said.
“
But right now, I think we ought to be going.
”

The look on Anita
’
s face pleaded with her not to go.
“
Stay here with us,
”
she begged.
“
The hotel must be safer than the village. Oh, Helen, I couldn
’
t bear it if anything happened to you!
”

“
Nothing will,
”
Helen assured her comfortably.
“
Don
’
t worry, darling. Peter will look after you!
”

Anita
’
s face cleared as if by magic.
“
Yes, he will, won
’
t he?
”
she said on a note of relief.
“
But I
’
m sure he
’
d look after you too!
”
She looked scornfully at Gregory.
“
He
probably won
’
t have time!
”

Helen grinned.
“
I thought you said he was never beastly?
”
she laughed.

But Anita was not amused.
“
I
’
ve changed my mind,
”
she said primly.
“
He expects too much!
”

Helen swallowed. She had the uncomfortable sensation that she was getting out of her depth again. Her eyes met Gregory
’
s and she saw that his were full of laughter.

“
Do I expect too much?
”
he asked her.

She shook her head, not knowing what any of them were talking about.
“
I don
’
t know,
”
she said foolishly, and wondered why he laughed.

Peter had busied himself lighting half a dozen storm lamps for them to take with them. It wasn
’
t quite dark, but the storm had brought the evening early and the light was a comfort to them all.

“
Mrs. Hastings,
”
he said dryly, as he handed one of the lamps to Helen.
“
Don
’
t get lost!
”
he added.

And that summed it all up, she thought. She would be Mrs. Hastings till she died.

The trees were black and gaunt against the rain-washed, grey sky. Stripped of their leaves by the wind, what was left of them rattled and fought for survival against the driving rain.
The wind moaned over the island like an evil presence. There was no place to hide from it, as it tore at one
’
s clothing and one
’
s hair. It was hard work to make any way against it, and no matter which way one turned, there it was still blowing into one
’
s face.

Helen struggled down the track after Gregory, glad of his solid presence in front of her. Behind her came Miss Corrigan, grumbling and weary, but game to the last.

“
The village looks deserted to me,
”
Helen shrieked through the wind, as they approached the grass-built huts where most of the people lived.

“
They
’
re in the long hut,
”
Miss Corrigan panted back.
“
They
’
ll all be together at a time like this!
”

Gregory glanced impatiently behind him. He gave a tug to Helen
’
s sleeve to signal to her to, hurry up, but there was no hurrying Miss Corrigan. The old lady was struggling along as best she could, but with the rain in her face and the wind pulling at her bulky figure, it was as much as she could do to make any progress at all.

“
Come on
!”
Gregory yelled at them.

Helen linked her arm round the old lady
’
s and hauled her along the path. It was like walking
t
hrough a river, so much rain had fallen and had been unable to get away. The water rushed over their ankles, dragging at their feet and pulling them off balance. Even Gregory was having difficulty. He favoured his bad leg as much as he could, wincing away from every step, but he wanted to get them there before the typhoon came to a head, and that meant racing against time all the way.

The long hut was crowded with shivering people. There was complete silence in the long, wide room, apart from the wind beating against the fragile structure and the plaited grass of the sides slapping against the poles to which they were fixed. No one spoke. The children huddled together in fright, and the adults were almost as bad. Most of them had sunk into the silence of despair. They sat and waited for the typhoon to pass over them, shutting their ears with their hands, and moaning to themselves in competition with the wind.

Helen held her lamp high so that they could see where they were stepping and pushed Miss Corrigan through the entrance in front of her. The old lady looked round the room, completely calm and in possession of herself.
“
My, my, it looks like a funeral!
”
she said.
“
This will never do!
”

One or two of the children came running, across to her and she spoke to them softly in their own tongue, laughing at their frightened faces. Helen, too, pushed her way further into the room and found herself in the centre of a clutch of children who held on to her with tight little hands, seeking comfort from anyone who could give it to them.

Helen did her best to reassure them. She hung the lights all down the centre of the room, talking to them as she did so. Even that small gesture seemed to make them feel better, she noticed. They gathered round Miss Corrigan in increasing numbers, while the old lady, wet to the skin and looking like a large, fat, half-drowned rat, began to tell them stories of the exploits of their ancestors. She told them of the first Polynesian sailors, who had sailed across the Pacific on boats that were little better than rafts, with only a star to guide them. She told them of how they had spread through the islands. Of how they had reached Hawaii, and Fiji, and Tonga; of how the Maoris had travelled to New Zealand, the land of the lo
n
g white cloud; and how their own forefathers had come to the Islands of Melonga and had settled there.

Helen found herself listening to the stories too. Some of them she found hard to understand, but others were familiar to her and she could fill in the details for herself when she couldn
’
t understand the strange words that Miss Corrigan used to describe their customs and the dug-out canoes they still sailed fro
m
one island to the other in
the
Melonga group.

In the middle of one of these tales, Helen was horrified to
o
bserve
that one of the women was weeping. She knelt down beside her, surprised as she always was when she was near to any member of the Polynesian race by the sheer size of the magnificent bronzed body that rose from the floor in a mountain of solid, ample flesh. She put her arms about the woman
’
s massive shape and hugged her, but the woman wept on.