Pearls of the Past Read online

  “They never looked like this!” She pulled back, a little perplexed, then wondered when she had ever inspected her face this closely. “Never. So why now?”

  Why had she suddenly become so conscious of how others saw her? No, she wasn’t being entirely truthful. It was how one person in particular saw her.

  She lifted her hands, trying to repair the wind-ravaged damage to the elegant French chignon. Her actions of a few minutes ago had certainly suited her wild hairdo. A mean-spirited witch!

  She pulled the remaining pins free, remembering once before Britt had seen her like this with her hair half-confined. It fell to brush her shoulders. Even in its un-groomed state she could see the two weeks in the tropical north had enhanced and deepened the ashen sheen.

  Again, she looked into her reflected eyes, and as she did, they became sea-green eyes, beautiful sea-green. She wondered if she would ever tell Britt that she thought his sea-green eyes were beautiful. It hardly seemed likely.

  Humidity, over-wrought emotions, and the previous night disturbed by rehearsing how she would explain things to Aunt Viv and Uncle Russell—hoping the news wouldn’t cause them both to have coronary occlusions—it all caught up with her. She yawned, looked at the bed, and crawled on it to sleep.

  When she woke she found her suitcase sitting just inside the door. Looking at her wristwatch, she discovered she had exactly forty minutes to obey the orders issued by Mr. Hendricks.

  Of course it was his style, issuing orders. “Why couldn’t he have just asked?” she muttered.

  Well, she was definitely not letting his boorish attitude dictate her behavior any longer. She would remember her good manners at all times. Even if it meant swallowing opinions she would like to give. No more the bad-tempered hoyden.

  She intended to thoroughly enjoy herself tonight, for this would be a very special dinner to celebrate her treasured cousin’s future happiness. Nothing was going to spoil that for Rusie. Then the decision of what to wear confronted her.

  She quickly emptied her suitcase. Her choice was limited to the white linen dress worn to the hotel disco, an ankle-length liberty print of muted pinks or, the mauve formal dress. It was disturbingly out of character. The purchase of which had her repeatedly wondering how on earth Rusie had talked her into buying it at that expensive boutique in Cairns.

  Corrie had admired it in the window. Why wouldn’t she, why wouldn’t anyone? But it wasn’t for her. Even at the time of handing over her credit card, she had no idea where she would ever wear it; certainly not on a far-flung, small island. At the time it was hardly seen as a sensible purchase, but now it appeared that she’d been wrong. The right time, place, and occasion had unexpectedly arrived.

  Looking at it again, now hanging in the spacious wardrobe, unpacked and crease free, the color was the only thing that remotely resembled anything she had previously owned. Fine crepe georgette flaring from a deep hip-line had swirled to lovingly caress the skin behind her knees. The over-enthusiastic sales lady had declared she was lucky to have such slender, shapely legs to do the length of skirt justice. Then the woman added another sales pitch, saying the color highlighted Corrie’s gray eyes and the unusual color of her hair.

  Of course Rusie had agreed whole-heartedly. Rusie threatened that if Corrie didn’t buy it, then she would purchase it as a gift for her. Knowing her cousin would make good her threat, Corrie felt she had no option but to purchase the lovely creation.

  The mauve it was. And hang the consequences of raised eyebrows and exclamations of joy from Rusie that she was actually wearing it...which would thoroughly embarrass her. Another reason in favor of wearing it now, it hardly fitted her lifestyle at home. It would probably never see the light of day again.

  She decided against wearing stockings, and with a rush of daring, the same pink nail polish that tipped her fingers was applied to her toenails peeping from black, strappy sandals. The French chignon abandoned, she pulled a thick swathe of hair to one side of her head, securing it with a black slide, the cloud of ash-brown hair covering one thin, black velvet shoulder strap.

  She turned slowly in front of the mirror to admire the different Corrie Nelson she was seeing. She reassured herself again that she wasn’t overdressed for the celebration dinner she was sure was being arranged. She wanted to show her precious cousin she was willing to join in her and Matt’s happiness. But most of all, reassure Rusie she was genuinely happy for her.

  More indecisive thoughts were halted as she stepped into the hall and turned toward the lounge room where she knew Britt Hendricks would be waiting. He was. A heavy, squat tumbler in his hand lifted halfway to his mouth, and that’s where it stayed as Corrie walked into the room.

  She knew by the fact that he hadn’t finished his drink that he was annoyed to see her. Tension flooded her. One hand began to clench, then she made herself relax. She would hold to her resolution of resorting to her good manners at all times. She would not let him upset her, even though it was obvious he was wishing her any place but here in his living room. She irrationally wished he didn’t, and that made warmth rush to her cheeks.

  His glass slowly lowered. “A drink?” he questioned curtly, his eyes remaining on her.

  “Hmm, please. White wine?” Corrie firmly believed if she kept her words to a minimum she could avoid making a fool of herself, for what she saw in front of her was every woman’s dream.

  A Nordic god. Oh Lord, why did she keep seeing him as that? He was tall, broad, and golden bronzed. His crisp, golden-brown waves were cut close to the shape of his head, and she couldn’t imagine him wearing his hair any other way. But it was his eyes, those beautiful sea-green eyes, that held her and refused to let go even as she answered him.

  He remained perfectly still, as if he hadn’t heard her choice of drink. She hoped to heaven he didn’t expect her to repeat it. She could feel herself beginning to tremble, instinctively knowing that at any second now her mouth would be in the same disgusting state. Incapable of coherent speech, she wanted him to turn away, silently begged him to turn away.

  This was so utterly ridiculous. She didn’t even like the man, yet he was having this strange effect on her and any common sense she normally had. As he took a deep breath, his shoulders lifted under the white shirt, the softly gathered yoke slashed from his throat to mid-chest, discreetly laced midway. It was paired with tailored, black, linen slacks, and Corrie admitted that next to wearing a dinner suit, it was top-class attire, and in this climate, far more suitable. He was definitely dressed for a special occasion, as was she.

  A small sigh of gratitude left her lips as he turned to the corner bar just in time to avoid noticing she was trembling. She assured herself she would be fully prepared for when he handed her the wine.

  But first she had to cross the beautiful jade Chinese rug that lay before her like a magic carpet. Walking on slender-heeled sandals had never bothered her before, but now it did. It was that debilitating trembling, making her knees wobble, that was the cause. Highly embarrassed, and not wishing him to see her uncertain, stilted steps, the balcony with its shadowed lighting drew her on. Surely there would be a degree of safety there from the brilliance of his sea-green eyes.

  She heard his footsteps on the tiled balcony behind her, and she quickly announced, her head still averted, “I’ve missed the sunset tonight.”

  Corrie made herself turn toward him. His golden hand held the glass of white wine she had requested. She stretched her arm, taking it, then turned back to give her attention to the twinkling lights from the island opposite. Glittering pinpoints reflected on the dark band of Kennedy Channel lapping the stretch of sand below the bluff.

  He walked past her and leaned one hip against the white railing. Again, he was looking at her. She turned her head slightly away from his probing gaze, gaining a small reprieve.

  “Yesterday Edward Island looked as though it wore a wreath of flames around its summit. I suppose you hardly ever notice the sunsets. They probably become commonp
lace to you living here. I thought it was breathtaking, quite spectacular.” She took a sip of the wine. “Thank you for the drink. It’s delightfully cool.”

  Why couldn’t she stop running on? She lifted the crystal glass to her mouth again, hoping it might cease the unnecessary flow of words needed to fill the silence that was beginning to grow.

  “I would like to make a request. If I may?” Britt asked.

  His words took her a little by surprise, making her hand jerked slightly. She looked quickly at him. The hint of apprehension evident in his voice had made Corrie dampen down her own misgiving, and with a resolute lift of her chin, she waited for him to continue.

  * * * *

  Britt noticed the slight elevation of her lovely face, and he knew she was steeling herself for whatever was to come. He didn’t blame her. Each time they met he always managed to irritate her in some way, and again he experienced a gut-wrenching hurt.

  “Have I your permission to call you Corrie?” Before she could give her answer, he went on rather more quickly than he had intended, “And I would like you to drop the Mr. Hendricks each time you speak to me or of me. Call me Britt, please.” Still, he wouldn’t let her speak. “Under the circumstances, it would sound friendlier, considering I’m the reason you supposedly changed your mind about going home. Although I am aware that explanation is far from your liking.” He tested the water, “Corrie.”

  Her name had the same quality as before when his voice had drifted down to her, soft with yearning, as she sat under the Wongai tree. Her words, “It does sound sensible,” arrived in little more than a submissive whisper.

  “Thank you.” His reply was equally intimate. Not wanting to let her see his triumph at her agreement, and more to the point, the way in which she had said the words, he turned to the dark, looming island. “Yes, our sunsets are out of this world. I’m pleased you were impressed, and I do notice them quite often.”

  He could no longer keep his hungry eyes from her beautiful face. Intending to let them feast on her ethereal beauty, he immediately cursed himself for his impatience as she turned away from him.

  “Where’s Victor?” she asked.

  “Is it important?” His question was terse.

  “No… No, it’s...just...” Corrie stammered, obviously unnerved by his tone of voice. “It’s just that I thought...”

  A sudden burst of laughter floated along the hall and drifted into the living room. Corrie stepped from the balcony into the opening of the sliding doors. The effervescent Russella erupted into the room closely followed by a grinning Matthew.

  The atmosphere changed dramatically.

  Chapter 8

  “Corrie!” Russella’s shrill word cut the air. “What are you doing here?” she demanded, striding across the room, her face full of petulant anger. “Why aren’t you on the plane? You promised! How could you let me down! How could you? You are so selfish!”

  Corrie stepped back from the venom her cousin was flaying her with. She had expected surprise, but not this fury.

  A warm hand came to rest on her waist. She turned to look up at Britt. “It’s all right,” he assured her softly, then spoke firmly to Rusie. “Corrie isn’t on the plane because I insisted she not leave.”

  “You had no right. She had to go!” Russella wailed.

  “Rusie, don’t,” Corrie pleaded, lifting a placating hand.

  “I hate you, Corrie!” Russella screeched.

  Britt’s hand tightened on Corrie’s waist, and taking comfort from it, she sagged back against his strong, hard body.

  “Behave yourself!” Britt demanded.

  “Don’t you speak to Russella like that!” Matt’s voice joined the confrontation.

  “Then make your lady act like one. And you, young man, act like a man!”

  “Shut up! You—”

  “You’ve said enough!” Britt’s lowered voice threatened. Then he reasoned succinctly, “Just cool down, both of you. You both believed you were old enough and sensible enough to become engaged. You managed that decision alone, so you’re quite capable of making a phone call to Russella’s parents to explain the situation. There’s no need for Corrie to be involved. You also ignored my request not to buy the ring until I returned when we could have sat down and, in a civilized manner, told Corrie of your decision.”

  “I suppose you told him we bought the ring,” Rusie accused Corrie. “You hate me being engaged, don’t you?”

  “No, I don’t. Rusie, I don’t.”

  “Victor told me about you buying the ring, not Corrie.”

  Britt was there again with his reassurance, which she greedily accepted. She had never envisaged this happening, Rusie hating her like this.

  “For goodness sake, Matt, hold the girl. Can’t you see she’s upset?”

  Matt enfolded Russella in his arms, and Corrie felt Britt’s arms slide around her waist to pull her more closely against him. His head lowered to rest his shaved jaw above her temple. She began to shake. He held her tighter and she shook all the more.

  “It’s all right, Corrie. It’s all right, beautiful,” he whispered.

  She knew Russella’s outburst was only partly responsible for the terrible shaking overwhelming her. His closeness was the other cause. Stupid! Stupid! she admonished herself, on the verge of giving way to tears.

  “Wing said... Hello? What’s going on here?” Victor stood at the door.

  “What does it look like?” Britt’s voice wasn’t entirely friendly, Corrie decided, as his arm tightened slightly.

  “Well, I know what I’m seeing, but I’m not sure I have the right answer.”

  Britt gave the most diabolical chuckle Corrie had ever heard. “Should you tell them why you are still here, or should I?” Britt asked her.

  Corrie wrenched herself free from his arms and spun around to face him. Surely he wouldn’t really tell them that ludicrous story about falling head over heels in love with her…would he? “Don’t you dare! It’s too ridiculous for words, I told you that!” She was looking into eyes that were laughing down at her. “Please, Britt, don’t.”

  “How can I refuse when you call me Britt?”

  “So will someone tell me something? Anything?” Victor asked, grinning.

  They all began to talk at once, then all stopped. It was Matt who spoke, his voice purposeful. “Russella and I have a phone call to make. We’ll use the office downstairs. We’re sorry, Corrie.”

  Corrie found herself giving a forgiving smile. As they went to turn away her hand reached out to delay them. “Rusie, ask your parents not to say anything to mine as to where we are.” Why did she find it necessary to continue to keep her whereabouts a secret? Then she quickly covered the unanswerable by saying, “I’ll ring them later.”

  “Matthew, on the way past the kitchen you might want to tell Wing Lee that dinner will be delayed. Because, believe me, I’m not brave enough,” Victor confessed. After Matt and Russella left the room, his attention was once more on Britt and Corrie. “Don’t tell me peace has been declared between you two?”

  Britt, his face devoid of all emotion, let his gaze rest on Corrie standing in front of him. “Has it, Corrie?”

  For a moment it seemed to her that neither she nor Britt breathed. Then she said softly, “Yes. Thank you for being there for me.”

  “Any time. All the time.” One golden finger traced a tender line down her cheek. Britt looked at his friend and asked, “Would you like a drink, Vic? I certainly need a stiff one. And you, Corrie?”

  “I did have one, but...” She looked at the glass she was holding with only a trace of wine left. “I seemed to have spilled most of it.” She smiled shakily.

  * * * *

  Wing Lee served the Chinese banquet with a good deal of muttering and the word Singapore used many times. Britt answered politely, in the same tongue.

  Intrigued, Corrie asked, “Why does he keeps muttering Singapore?”

  Vic chuckled. “He’s threatening to go back there.”


  “He’s all talk. Delights in holding us to ransom with his threats when things don’t go his way. And as for him returning home to Singapore?” Britt chuckled. “He was born and bred in Cooktown in Queensland, but it’s an illusion he likes to maintain.”

  “Really? So he does speak English.”

  “Fair dinkum!” said Britt.

  “I have the distinct feeling Rusie and my arrival has upset him,” she ventured.

  Victor grinned widely, but it was Matt, laughing out loud, who gave the answer.

  “The shock has got to him,” Matt said. When Corrie looked at him and then back to Britt in puzzlement, Matt continued, “Obviously you haven’t been told about the agreement.”

  “And now is not the time, Matt,” Britt said, his voice holding a warning.

  “Russella knows.”

  “This isn’t the time or place,” he insisted.

  “Well, we’ve got to come to some agreement soon about where Russella and I are going to live.”

  “Not just now, thank you.” The subject seemed closed as Britt went on to comment, “He’ll be impressed by you both using chopsticks so competently.”

  Corrie thought it wise to let the matter drop about the agreement; after all, she was only a guest at Britt’s table. She took up Britt’s comment about chopsticks. “Gran Tammy taught us, and Aunt Viv insists.”

  “Yes, Mum is a stickler for traditions, maybe because her parents were both Sri Lankan,” bubbled Russella.

  “With your mother appreciating traditions, she would have appreciated your earlier phone call. I’m pleased,” Britt said. The result of that call hadn’t been discussed, and even now wasn’t delved into, Britt allowing Matt and Russella their privacy. His attention was back on Corrie. “Do go on,” he requested.

  She hesitated slightly, musing how nice he could be when it suited him, then continued, “You see, our grandmother is Japanese—well, she’s Rusie’s Gran and my Step-Gran.” She smiled then gave a soft laugh. “Is there such a thing as a Step-Gran? There must be, for I have one. Da has been married twice. His first wife was a nurse here on Endeavour, Edith Macleod. He doesn’t speak of her. He has sad memories of that time. Apparently she sent my father away to a boarding school in Melbourne when he was only six and Da didn’t see him for many years. Our Da was a sailor, and when Edith, who was a nurse, drowned during a storm on a trip to an island clinic, he thought my father was better left at school. My father’s other grandparents lived in Melbourne so they were close by, but Da insisted on visiting when he was able...” Corrie slowly became aware of everyone’s eyes on her, making her say, “I’m sorry. I’m monopolizing the conversation.”