An Imported Wife

The only solution was to stay calm. And polite.

‘All right, I’m sorry I asked,’ she said evenly, ‘And I do appreciate your help today. I’d never have known where to go without a knowledgeable guide…’

‘Finish your lunch, and spare me the flowery gratitude, Gabriella,’ he grinned. ‘It makes me feel distinctly uneasy. We’ll continue our coastal tour. Some of the finest beaches are along the next stretch.’

‘Which coast does your island lie off?’ She asked the question casually, as they walked slowly back through a shady belt of casuarinas towards the jeep.

‘The north,’ he supplied briefly.

‘Isn’t that where our hotel is?’

He gave a short laugh as they drove away. ‘Yes, it is. Which is why I stay at the Sable Royale, because I can moor my boat in the lagoon, and easily get across to the island. And you don’t give up, do you? Have no worries about your career, Gabriella. You’ll go far.’

‘Then we can take a look at it? Don’t you need to see how your house is progressing?’

‘We’ll see. It depends on the time. And the weather.’

‘But look at the sky,’ she argued, gesturing towards the high, white-dotted arc of sapphire above. ‘Not even a teensy little cyclone in sight!’

‘Take a look behind you,’ he suggested flatly. She twisted, saw the faint inky blue darkness heralding storm clouds in the distance.

‘It’s moving the other way,’ she judged confidently.

‘And you are a pushy young lady.’

It was mid-afternoon when they got back to the hotel and parked the jeep. Rick took a long, hard look at the sky and back at Gabriella’s persuasive expression.

‘We can go across?’ she hazarded, barely restraining her excitement. He gazed at her shining dark green eyes for a moment, then shrugged.

‘OK, I surrender,’ he grated with wry amusement. ‘Just don’t blame me if we end up camping overnight with a cyclone raging all around us.’

Something in the dark gleam in his eyes gave her the unsettling impression that he might quite enjoy the challenge. She suppressed panic, and remembered her job. Ursula Taylor had sounded very keen on a small, sparsely populated island as a setting for the project. What a coup, to present her superiors with a ready-made private island for the fashion shoot, in spite of the setback over the weather…

Her radiant smile triggered a speculative narrowing of the cool amber gaze.

‘Thank you. I’m sure it won’t come to that,’ she said confidently, resolutely refusing to be unnerved by his mocking expression. ‘And I’m sure First Flair will make it worth your while…’

‘I sincerely hope so.’ He made no attempt to expand on his cryptic comment, but such was her euphoria that she hardly noticed.

Rick’s boat turned out to be a graceful white power-launch, moored at a small nearby marina. She scarcely had time to take stock of the gleaming brass rails, the mahogany fittings, the luxurious interior, before they were speeding across the clear blue waters towards the distant reef.

It was a longer trip than she’d anticipated. But at last the pearl-white gleam of a fringe of sand was visible, backed by thickets of green, then the deep emerald of the ocean began to lighten to layers of powder blue, eau-de-Nil, translucent aquamarine. The islet appeared to have its own partial coral reef, protecting it from the muted power of the ocean.

The ocean had become noticeably rougher during the trip. A darkness to the north had begun to produce some ominous-looking grey clouds, and a stronger breeze. Then they were through the narrow opening in the reef, which Gabriella decided looked as difficult to negotiate as threading a needle blindfold, and they were slowing alongside a new-looking wooden jetty. Even in the relatively protected lagoon, the water was swelling and heaving. The trees on the island were swaying dizzily, the wind susurrating through the pine needles with a ghostly hiss.

‘Et voilà.’ Rick cut the engines, jumped out to secure the launch, and stood gazing down at her as she hesitated in the boat. There was an unfathomable expression in his eyes as he scanned the gathering clouds around them, and then studied her face. ‘It looks as if we’ve just beaten the cyclone, Gabriella. So welcome to L’Ile des Couleuvres.’

‘Ile des Coul…what?’ She accepted his hand as he reached to help her out of the launch, laughing slightly to hide her flurry of reaction to his touch, as well as her secretly mounting apprehension about the weather. ‘What does that mean?’

‘The couleuvre is a small Indian snake.’ He grinned as her expression switched from curiosity to alarm, tightening his grip on her hand as she made to draw back to the boat.

‘Well, thanks a lot!’ she managed to gasp, looking warily around her feet. ‘You might have warned me I was coming to a snakes’ nest!’

‘It’s hardly that,’ he assured her calmly, leading the way from the jetty to the beach. ‘Don’t worry, the couleuvre is mainly nocturnal, and is not poisonous. I’ve only ever seen a couple of them, in all the times I’ve been here. I suspect the name was the brainwave of a long-dead Josephs to keep the island free from intruders.’

‘Really?’ She heard the acid note in her voice, and knew she was being deliberately awkward. She didn’t really mind a few harmless little Indian snakes. ‘So the island belonged to your pirate ancestors? How long have your family owned this place?’

‘Since the eighteenth century.’

She was following him up the softly sloping white beach, towards the belt of filaos, the casuarinas which seemed to grow in profusion everywhere in this region. Dotted among them were tall coconut palms, and unknown varieties of flowering trees of such startling brightness that they looked artificial. Scarlet, yellow, deep cerise pink. Her hunch had been right; this was an absolute gem of a setting for the shoot…

‘I suspect my unscrupulous ancestors used it as a useful hideaway for their buccaneering and wrecking exploits.’ Rick grinned at her over his shoulder. ‘There are quite a few interesting wrecks just beyond the coral reef, just as there are around most of Mauritius itself. I do a bit of diving down there, but so far no caskets of gold have emerged to prove the crimes of three hundred years ago…’

‘You mean your ancestors used to deliberately wreck ships here?’ she demanded, horrified.

The amber gaze held a teasing gleam. ‘Quite likely. They were a thoroughly amoral bunch, from what I can gather. But life was hard, remember. It was every man for himself…’

‘And an “imported wife” for every man?’ she echoed distastefully.

‘I’ve a feeling there was a bit of a shortage of women, despite the imports,’ he mused laconically, glancing up as the sun was blotted out by a ragged black cloud. ‘So they’d have two or three partners each.’

‘Yes, I think I’m getting the picture! So what did your pirate ancestors do for accommodation while they were holed up here?’

‘For a long time there’s been a little campement here…’

‘What’s that?’

‘A traditional Mauritian holiday cottage,’ he grinned. ‘A stone-built, thatch-roofed dwelling. That’s what I’m planning on having extended and enlarged to make a full-sized house.’

‘I’m surprised you’d want to build a house here and associate yourself with such a lawless history,’ she said coolly, ‘and as for the snakes…

He stopped in mid-stride, facing her in the shadow of the filaos. Some of the teasing had darkened to exasperation as he caught hold of her shoulders.

‘Just a minute,’ he said softly, searching her face beneath the brim of her white cotton hat with grim displeasure. ‘An hour ago you were practically begging me, come cyclone or hurricane, to bring you out here, Gabriella. The least you can do is spare me your shrewish comments! It is impossible to believe you’re only twenty-one, when you insist on behaving like a maiden aunt of sixty!’

‘I do not…!’ In the recess of her mind, she had the sinking feeling that he was right, and that made her feel even angrier. ‘I’m entitled to express an opinion, without being manhandled by you!’

He smiled thinly, sliding his hands down her arms and then releasing her abruptly.

‘You certainly are,’ he agreed evenly, his eyes glittering with mockery. ‘But if you want my cooperation on this precious fashion shoot of yours, mademoiselle, I strongly recommend you curb that sharp tongue and follow a diplomatic course from now on…’

The wind had risen to a low, eerie moan, and the susurration in the trees had subtly increased to a wilder swishing sound. She was opening her mouth to retort when a sudden roar of wind came rushing across the beach, whirling up a miniature sand-storm like an invisible express train.

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