Pearls of the Past Read online

  Pearls of the Past

  by

  Judith Johnson

  Pearls of the Past

  Copyright © 2018, Judith Johnson

  ISBN: 9781944270988

  Publisher: Beachwalk Press, Inc.

  Electronic Publication: June 2018

  Editor: Pamela Tyner

  Cover: Fantasia Frog Designs

  eBooks are not transferable. No part of this book may be used or reproduced without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations in articles and reviews.

  This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental. The characters are productions of the author’s imagination and used fictitiously.

  Back Cover Copy

  Secrets of the past weave mystical déjà vu that could determine Corrie and Britt’s future.

  Corrie Nelson is on a mission. For her beloved grandfather’s ninety-fifth birthday she wants to create a memory album about the time he spent on Endeavour Island as a young man. She reaches out to Arafura Enterprises—a local company that seems to be involved in everything that occurs on the island—hopeful that they can provide her with assistance. When Corrie arrives at Endeavour Island she experiences an overwhelming sense of déjà vu. She’s never been to this island, yet the feeling grows that she belongs there.

  Britt Hendricks is the owner of Arafura Enterprises. When he’s introduced to Corrie somehow he knows her, although they’ve never met. He can’t understand why she doesn’t experience the same deep feeling of recognition, and he becomes frustrated, initially refusing to provide the assistance she has requested. Finally accepting that he’s smitten, he makes amends and offers to help her in her quest. And maybe in the process he can win the beautiful woman over and explore this undeniable attraction.

  But when they discover family secrets that date back to their great-great-grandparents, it might destroy everything, including their fragile, new relationship.

  Content Warning: contains mild language and sex scenes

  Dedication

  For Bob, who is always there for me.

  Acknowledgements

  My thanks to Pamela Tyner at Beachwalk Press for having faith in my story along with her help and professionalism. The friendship and support of my “Rainbow Writers”—Carla, Dorothy, Jennifer, Libby, Mary, and Tina—I will never be able to repay.

  Chapter 1

  Britt Hendricks’s narrowed eyes were fastened on the yellow vessel running ahead of the strong south-east trade wind.

  He gave the letter he held in his hand another momentary glance. “When did this arrive?” he asked.

  “The day after you left for Brisbane, two weeks ago,” Victor Pereira replied, stepping out onto the balcony to join Britt.

  “It’s dated a week before that. This is the only correspondence we’ve had? Just who are C and R Nelson?”

  “Haven’t a clue,” Victor said offhandedly, his dark islander eyes fixed on the Cougar Cat ferry Lady Flight. “Matt’s fifteen minutes late.” His nod brought Britt’s attention back to the yellow vessel.

  “Late or not, I don’t appreciate the bottom being torn out of a million-dollar vessel in a heavy sea, like the last time he set a record to win a bet.”

  “After the dressing down you gave him, that’s not likely to happen again.”

  “And he had the hide to ask wouldn’t I have accepted the challenge.”

  “He’s grown up in your image, Britt.”

  “And I in yours. Now, about this request...” Britt handed the letter back to Victor, his best friend, personal secretary, and company accountant. “It’s certainly short and sweet, with no clues why they requested to look at our company records for the past ninety years. I’m certain the tax man has no reason to delve that far back.” He aimed a wry grin in Victor’s direction. “My accountant is honest and true.”

  “Your compliment is noted.” Victor returned the grin, white teeth visible below the generous black moustache peppered with gray. “I did reply stating any reasonable request would be granted, but personal files were exactly that—personal.”

  “So we can’t be accused of ignoring the request, and with no further contact I lay a hundred to one we’ll never set eyes on C or R Nelson of Sydney.”

  * * * *

  The throbbing engines of the Arafura Enterprises’ ferry Lady Flight cut off. A slight bump and they were alongside the long T-shaped wharf. They had arrived at their destination, Endeavour Island—the small but important commercial heartbeat off the northern tip of North Queensland.

  At the sound of Russella’s huge sigh, Corrie nudged her young cousin. “For goodness sake, Rusie!” she hissed, finding her cousin’s reaction to Matthew Tamai, the captain, embarrassing.

  Russella looked at Corrie, her black eyes sparkling. “He’s absolutely beautiful,” she purred.

  “And he knows you’ve been watching him the entire trip from the mainland. Now move before we miss the courtesy bus to our motel.” Corrie stood up.

  “I’m in no hurry.” It was obvious Russella intended to contrive a meeting with the captain. He was handsome from head to toe, a young Adonis of islander blood, but there was something else as well. His finely chiseled features told of possible Latin inheritance.

  With resignation, Corrie sat down.

  “Excuse me please.” The captain politely made his way up the aisle through the standing passengers. Without giving any indication that he’d even noticed Russella’s existence, he exited the ferry to help the crewman slide the gangplank into place.

  “I’m not beaten yet!” Russella said.

  Corrie believed her whole-heartedly. “I think I may warn him his days are numbered.”

  “He needs no help,” quipped Russella. “He’s arrogant!”

  Corrie wasn’t sure she agreed with her cousin. But she also knew his indifference only encouraged Rusie. “Here we go again,” she murmured

  Russella walked across the gangway, and Corrie’s eyes widened with amazement when her cousin purposely let her peaked, white cap drop between the wharf and the ferry into the swirling, turquoise water of the harbor.

  Russella’s hand slowly lifted to let her fingers lightly touch the dazzling smile directed at the captain. “Whoops?”

  Embarrassment claimed Corrie. It had all been so contrived, and she knew Russella intended for the captain to be in no doubt of that fact.

  For a long moment his dark eyes settled on Russella. Then, with a turn of his head, he casually looked down at the half-submerged, ill-fated cap. His gaze returned to Russella. “What a waste,” he said, his voice nonchalant.

  Corrie found it hard to contain her smile of admiration for the young man. This show of indifference was something Russella rarely experienced, if ever. But was it really indifference on the captain’s part, or with the words what a waste had he meant Russella’s maneuver wasn’t needed?

  Her cousin remained perfectly still, her almond eyes flashing, then just as quickly she became demure. “Thank you for the pleasant trip.” She hurried up the steps leading from the wharf, her waist-length, black hair swinging back and forth, her hips swaying a good deal more than necessary in her tight, white denim shorts.

  As Corrie stepped from the gangplank, the captain reluctantly pulled his gaze from Russella.

  “It’s a shame your friend lost her cap. Quite unnecessary.” One black eyebrow lifted slightly. He was a charmer, a lovable rogue.

  “My cousin, actually,” Corrie corrected him, always ready for the look of surprise when this information was offered.

  His eyes never wavered, and Corrie admired his restraint, for the difference between her and her cousin was startling. Russella was dazzling
, petite, curvaceous, and exotic; compliments of her Japanese paternal grandmother and her Sri Lankan mother.

  Corrie knew her own slim, medium height, and clear gray eyes in an oval face was nothing as exciting. Although her unusual ash-brown hair was occasionally commented on. At Russella’s insistence of them being on holidays, it was now unconfined from her usual French chignon suited to being a legal private secretary. Even their mode of dress was worlds apart, flamboyant versus classic good taste.

  “Your cousin is quite...”

  “Dazzling? Yes, she is, and I can see her beckoning. The courtesy bus is probably waiting on me. Thank you for a pleasant and safe trip. Goodbye.”

  His voice delayed her. “You’re staying at the motel for how long?”

  “Perhaps a week. Pleasure and business. Goodbye again.” Corrie knew with Russella frantically signaling, her cousin would be more than interested in the conversation she’d had with the young man.

  She took a single step and everything stilled. A gust of swirling wind enveloped her, plastering her blouse to her body and tearing at the material of her slacks. A distinctive smell of salt-laden ozone and coconut oil captured her. A finger of acute recognition feathered every nerve ending in her entire body.

  Lost in the moment of times past, all sound disappeared except for an eerie whistling filling the air. Sails of a pearling lugger screeching in the wind.

  She knew this boat? She’d been here before? On this jetty?

  Corrie stood rooted to the spot.

  No! She had never been to this island.

  She wanted to shake her head, but she couldn’t, held by some mystical force.

  Abruptly, she was free.

  Taking a quick, staggering step to regain her balance, her hand clutched her stomach, her heart thumping somewhere in her throat. An unaccountable urge made her spin around in a complete circle to see if everything and everyone remained the same.

  No one seemed to have noticed the strange whistling, or the wind. And there was no pearling lugger to be seen. No one was looking at her; even the young captain was back on the ferry.

  Nothing had changed. Wharves lined with corrugated iron buildings, tall cranes for loading stores, fishing trawlers at anchor, this was no tourist island. It was the commercial heartbeat of the Torres Strait.

  Corrie placed her hand against her forehead. She wasn’t running a temperature. In fact, it felt uncommonly icy. That wasn’t possible in over thirty degrees.

  “Weird,” was the only word she could find.

  Hurrying, she apologized to the driver for the delay.

  “No worries, missy. Mattie likes to talk to pretty holiday ladies.”

  With a hasty smile, she slipped into the seat beside her cousin.

  She closed her eyes, trying to dismiss the incredible, eerie sensation of recognition that had gripped her on the wharf. Anxiety made her lift her hand to her forehead again to confirm she wasn’t running a temperature. She could find no explanation for what had occurred, her nerves becoming all on edge.

  And it wasn’t helped with the bus driver’s warning that Mattie wasn’t to be taken seriously. Only it wasn’t her who’d gained Mattie’s interest. Still, it could have been misconstrued with the length of time she’d taken to disembark. Although he was definitely a dreamboat, he wasn’t her cup of tea. Nice lad, but not her fantasy of happy-ever-after.

  “Corrie, stop daydreaming! This is the third time I’ve spoken to you,” Russella said, her voice mildly petulant.

  Corrie hastily dismissed her apprehension and opened her eyes. “Sorry. Are we at the motel?”

  “Nearly, I think. Soon anyway, but... Oh, never mind.”

  The way Russella turned in her seat could almost be described as a flounce, and Corrie tried hard to hide her smile. She knew exactly what was eating her cousin...her conversation with Mattie.

  And she was grateful Rusie had gained her attention, bringing her to look at and absorb the scenery en route to their accommodation. Between the shore of Endeavour Island and the nearby large island with its lofty peaks, lay an expanse of glittering water. Shading from dark navy to opalescent turquoise then pale aquamarine closer to the shore, the wind sent cheeky, white-capped waves to scurry and savage the surface. Coconut palms throwing pools of deep shade broke the glare of tropical sunlight on the tarred road. It was all so…so magical.

  The bus swung to the right, coming to a shuddering, coughing halt. Behind another line of palms tormented by the strong wind, a pale blue facade was visible.

  By the time the air-conditioned foyer of the motel was reached, all had experienced their personal battle against the devil wind. Some grabbing for hats, one elderly lady highly embarrassed when her skirt lifted above her waist. Corrie’s free hand was grasping her hair in an effort to keep it from lashing her face. She wished she hadn’t listened to Rusie’s advice of leaving it free.

  “Oh, isn’t it cool!” Russella exclaimed excitedly.

  “Cool, young lady, but greatly annoying,” quipped the elderly lady, battling with her dress.

  Corrie smiled. “Perhaps it could be seen as a welcome to the tropics.” But it had been so still on the wharf before that weird experience of the wind wrapping around her, tearing at her.

  Trying to dismiss that strange experience, she walked to the reception desk. It was then she noticed they were minus their luggage.

  She looked around, astonished. “Luggage! Where’s our luggage?”

  Her heart sank. After all the changes and modes of transport they had used to get here, it was now, at their final destination, that it went missing?

  “Didn’t you hear the driver tell us it’s coming in a small truck?” Russella snapped. “Of course not, you were too busy chatting up the captain,” she accused. She spun to face the desk, announced their names, and received the key plus instructions where to find their unit, then marched off.

  Corrie followed with a smile. Rusie was not amused.

  * * * *

  Belongings thrown on one bed, Russella rushed to the glass sliding doors. “There’s the pool! That’s my first stop.” A couple of thumps on the door interrupted her excitement. “I hope that’s our bags.”

  Corrie quickly opened the door to be greeted by a smiling islander, a suitcase in either hand and their backpack slung over one shoulder. “Wonderful!” she found herself exclaiming, catching Rusie’s excitement.

  And why not? Everything was excitingly wonderful. Everything! She silently thanked her darling Grandad Nelson for opening the door to this exciting experience for her and Russella. If it hadn’t been for her precious Da having lived here on this magical island when he was a young man and speaking of it with such warm yearning, she would never have contemplated traveling this far north into the remote tropics of Queensland.

  In fact, she had been quite astounded when the adventuresome thought even entered her head. Her, of all people! Quiet, retiring, family-oriented Corrie thinking such thoughts?

  At first she had put it aside as sheer nonsense, but it refused to remain there. Eventually, it took over her every thought. An album of Da’s life here, with photos, messages, and best wishes from people who remembered him, would be a really unique birthday surprise. Surely there would be some still alive she could talk to? Although, it could be wishful thinking with her Da approaching his ninety-fifth birthday.

  Still, here she was with her favorite cousin—her only cousin—as part of the scheme.

  When Russella discovered her secretly pouring over maps and travel brochures of Cape York Peninsula, Corrie was in two minds if she should divulge what she was contemplating. Her cousin was always so over-the-top about everything. Many times she had rescued Rusie and her friends from some absurd situation that with a little common sense, could have been easily avoided.

  Of course, Russella, with all that joie de vivre, was all for the wild scheme.

  Even now with them actually at their destination, there were moments Corrie still doubted she should have shar
ed her idea and plans. Especially as she still had to convince herself it wasn’t a wild, hare-brained scheme. She was almost sure if it hadn’t been for Rusie’s enthusiasm, the plan would still be tucked away in a drawer with the maps and travel brochures.

  An icy shiver ran across her shoulders, making her hand clutch her stomach. The disturbing sensation of recognition that she had experienced on the wharf was there again. Intruding and teasing. She fastened her gaze on the swaying palm overhanging their balcony. Was it twisting and turning more than necessary in the wind? Gyrating in an exaggerated frenzy, fronds hitting against the glass door?

  Unbidden, her feet slowly drew her to the door to open it slightly. Immediately, a rush of air swirled around her, flinging her hair around her face, tearing at her clothes, twisting the curtains in a frantic dance, then it was gone.

  Her breath caught in her throat. Her hand groped for the cane chair of the dining setting. She had to sit down. Stop this, stop this! she chastised herself. Of course the wind would rush in when she opened the door.

  She lifted her hand, brushing her hair from her face, then touched her forehead, wanting to reassure herself again that she wasn’t running a temperature. She wasn’t. It was extraordinarily cool, icy, as before. Oh no. Was she sickening with some peculiar virus?

  “What are you moaning about?” Rusie asked.

  Corrie drew her thoughts back from the weird sensation and misgivings, realizing her lack of not understanding had made her moan. She dissembled quickly, seeking an acceptable answer. “Oh, probably because I still have to unpack.”

  “You’ve been daydreaming again,” Rusie accused, then giggled. “I can’t believe it! The tropics have gotten to you. I’ve never seen you like this. Where’s my sensible, everything cut-and-dried, no-nonsense, Corrie?”

  Already wearing her bikini, Rusie plopped down on the bed beside her.

  “God, you’re not going all peculiar on me, are you? Don’t you know I count on you keeping me on an even keel? Can you imagine my parents’ state of mind if you deny me your many lectures about thinking before I act?”