The Islands (7 page)

Later in the evening as they drove back to Catherine's hotel, Bradley apologised. ‘I hope it wasn't too painful. They're all well meaning, it was a bit unusual for me to turn up with a date. I haven't done that before.'

‘They did seem to check me out, but as soon as I told them I was going back to Australia, they lost interest.'

Bradley chuckled. ‘You were terrific. All the guys thought you were great.'

‘So how often do you have to go to an evening like that?'

‘Ah, not often. I owe you one for coming along and making it less painful for me.'

‘So why go, if you find these things painful?' asked Catherine.

Bradley looked genuinely surprised. ‘Ah, well. It's the done thing. When one's commanding officer invites, one doesn't have a choice.' He changed the subject. ‘It's not too late, anywhere you'd like to go?'

‘I've had my fill of fancy food. She must've worked for hours on all those fiddly pupus and things,' sighed Catherine.

‘Oh, no. I'm sure she had them made by the cook at the officers' mess. How about a drink? Somewhere we haven't been?'

Catherine rested her hand on his thigh. ‘No, but thanks. We have cocktail makings at the hotel, wine and some beer. We'd better drink it or you'll have to take it home with you when I leave.'

He laid his hand over hers. ‘Good thinking.'

They had a drink, went to bed, made love and Bradley turned on his side and slept soundly.

Catherine lay beside him, wondering how she was going to adjust to being without him. This sojourn had been like playing houses, playing at being married. She'd never had a relationship like this, brief as it was. Her relationships with various boyfriends had been sporadic and fragmented. She'd never spent as much intimate time with anyone else before. But she knew it was coming to an end. Their lives were so different and no matter what promises they made of meeting again, keeping in touch, distance would make the relationship dissipate. They would go on and lead very different lives. Live for the moment, she told herself. But the moments were running out. She turned on her side and silent tears ran down her cheeks.

In the morning, she felt calmer and she lay quietly, not wanting to wake Bradley as the sun rose and light filled the small room.

He woke, stretched and reached for her, drawing her close to him. Sleepily he held her, stroking her hair. ‘Want to go for a swim? A walk on the beach?' he murmured.

Catherine snuggled into him. ‘Not this morning. Do you want coffee?'

‘Not yet.'

They lay quietly, their bodies wrapped together, each caught in their own thoughts.

Suddenly Bradley rolled on his back. ‘I have to go to work. Hell.'

‘What's up? A bad day looming?' It occurred to Catherine she was very hazy about what he did every day.

‘No.' He hugged her tightly. ‘I want to stay with you and make love and eat and drink and make love and never get out of bed all day.'

She laughed softly. ‘Sounds like a good kind of day to me.'

He smiled, looking into her eyes and slowly lowered his face to hers and kissed her gently.

It was a kiss that went on and on, ranging from touching lightly, to deep passionate lingering, reluctant to part.

They drew apart, staring deeply into each others' eyes.

Bradley traced the outline of her face, as if memorising it. ‘I love you,' he said softly.

‘Me too,' said Catherine, closing her eyes and lifting her mouth to his. The words came easily, with no emphasis or deep thought or implication. She wanted to taste his lips again, lose herself in his kiss.

But Bradley didn't return her kiss. He looked thoughtful, concerned almost, and she was suddenly worried that she shouldn't have said what she did, that it might place some sense of obligation on him. The words ‘Me too' had slipped out. She was not analysing whether it was Bradley, Hawaii, or how serious she felt about Bradley. She'd spoken spontaneously from the heart.

But the words had resonated with him. ‘Do you? Love me?'

She nodded. Not trusting herself to speak, not wanting to be clingy, get teary, have their parting uncomfortable by making heartfelt promises they wouldn't keep. Keep it clean, keep it tidy, don't make it hard for him. For me, she chided herself. She closed her eyes.

‘Then will you marry me?'

Her eyes snapped open in shock. ‘What! What did you say?'

He looked sheepish. ‘I think I just proposed. Well, will you?'

‘Marry you?' Catherine was swamped with a wall of emotion as the floodgates fell and all the feelings she'd been storing up, afraid to show him, overcame her. She grabbed him in a giant hug, squeezing him to her as hard as she could, afraid he'd disappear. ‘Yes. Oh, yes. Oh, Bradley . . .'

They kissed through smiling lips, hugging, laughing, kissing. She flung a leg over him pinning him on the bed, running her hands over his body, feeling him respond. But Bradley gently lifted her arm.

‘Don't do that or I'll never leave. I have to get to work. I'm running a training program for some new guys. But tonight . . . tonight we celebrate!'

‘Wonderful.' Catherine watched him get out of bed. ‘I guess we have plans to make . . .'

‘We'll talk about the future over dinner, shall we? First thing is a ring. What's your favourite stone?'

‘Ah, I don't know. I've never thought about it.'

‘A diamond of course, but maybe we can find something special. Do a little browsing today.' He jumped in the shower. He was off and running into another day.

 

Extract from The Biography of

THE WATERMAN 1918

Red Hawk, Nebraska, was swathed in snow. The wind that swept in from the prairie sent icy flurries along the near-deserted main street. Snow, splashed with mud, piled in mounds against the corners of buildings.

The young man, head bent, hugging his coat around him, kicked his boots along the soggy sidewalk. He stepped off the street into the foyer of a small movie theatre to stare at the film posters. He dug deep into his trouser pocket, counted out several coins and slid them under the grille to the girl in the ticket booth. She was reading a fan magazine and chewing gum. As she pushed the ticket to the boy she glanced up and gave him a big smile as if to acknowledge that he was even better looking than the movie stars she was reading about.

Still shivering, he slid into a seat in the dark where several other figures were slumped, thawing in the warmth of the small theatre. The young man knew nothing about the movie that was playing, but the old wooden theatre was cosy, a good place to pass the time until he met his father at the general store.

The movie newsreels flickered across the screen, pictures of American soldiers marching into France. He closed his eyes, dozing in the warmth. When he re-opened them, the screen was showing the most amazing sight he'd ever seen.

Even in the scratchy black and white images he could imagine the colours of the scene: the blue ocean, the green headland, the emerald palm trees and the golden sand.

But the miracle that mesmerised him was the sight of the tall dark men riding on the curling waves, standing on long wooden planks. They made it look so easy, the way they nonchalantly glided across the top of the ocean. Pretty girls with long hair, coconut halves on their breasts and long leaf skirts swayed their hips, lifting their arms to the sky as they danced on the sand.

He could feel the sun and tried to imagine what it would be like to walk on water like that. The film titles on the screen explained that this was surfboard riding in the islands of Hawaii. It was an art once practised only by the kings and chiefs, but now it was the sport of champions and in Waikiki it seemed anyone could learn it.

He never remembered the main feature showing in the movie house that day. But from the moment he walked out of the dark theatre into the bleak afternoon, the young man promised himself one day that he would ride the waves at Waikiki.

There wasn't much to entertain young people in Red Hawk, Nebraska, but this young man liked to keep himself fit. In the summer he swam in the mountain lakes far out of town. When it became too cold for that, he enjoyed running. People thought he was strange to run for miles across the plains or along the lonely roads. There was nowhere to run to, they reasoned, just the prairie that met the Indian reservation on the outskirts of Muskosha in the foothills of the Rockies. And then he'd turn around and run right back again, through the moonlight to reach home. His endurance was such that he could travel for days with little food.

The young man had worked on his father's farm, done odd jobs for tradespeople in the town of Red Hawk. He talked to people passing through, from travelling entertainers, to circus performers, to itinerant families looking to make a home on the great plains.

He wanted to travel as well, so he started moving around the country, taking odd jobs for food. And everywhere he went he seemed to find a benefactor willing to help him when he had nowhere to turn and hunger and cold claimed him.

He became adept at riding the freight trains across the plains and mountains. He quickly learned to avoid the railyard ‘bulls' hired to beat anyone sneaking into a boxcar. He learned to fight hunger and discomfort by mentally removing himself to another place. In his mind he saw again the Islands of Hawaii.

A hobo, sharing a freight car, told him to go west. California was where dreams came true. A paradise, home of Califia, the Queen of the Island of California. As they rattled over the tracks, the hobo spun the tale of the island ruled by beautiful black Amazonian women, dressed in gold armour, who raided the seas, stole the men they favoured, ravished them and put them and any male children to death by feeding them to giant man-eating griffins.

The young man decided California would be his next stop. And eventually he made his way to the City of the Angels.

It was close to paradise. The air was clear, he could see the distant Santa Ana mountains, the sun was warm, the streets had palm trees. And there was the beach and the ocean almost as beautiful and magical as he imagined the Islands of Hawaii to be.

Come the summer he took a job as a lifeguard at the beach. He soon became known as the strongest swimmer at the beach and he saved several people from drowning, stroking strongly to reach them and pull them back to shore.

It was one such grateful survivor who handed the shy young man a wad of money. And that gesture of thanks allowed him to live through another winter in LA when there was no work. He was able to concentrate on swimming and running, keeping his body fit, his mind clear and dreams intact.

3

M
OLLIE DROVE THROUGH THE
morning peak hour Sydney traffic, which was slower than normal due to a slight drizzle.

Beside her Catherine looked at the rows of neat suburban red-roofed houses and remarked, ‘Everything looks so tidy, so straight-laced after the rampant greenery and casualness of Hawaii.'

‘Hawaii sounds lovely. You'll notice a difference when you get to Peel. It's been dry. Your mum said
Heatherbrae
needs rain.'

Catherine nodded. Hawaii had stolen her heart. She'd thought about it on the flight home and while she knew her love of Hawaii was bound up in her love for Bradley, there was still a pull about the Islands that held her. A promise of so much to discover. She couldn't wait to get back there.

She hadn't yet told Mollie about her engagement. When Mollie had offered to meet her, Catherine had planned to rush straight to her from Arrivals and wave her hand in her face and cry, ‘I'm engaged!' But her bag had been lost and by the time it'd been located and she'd exited the customs hall, Mollie was there, jumping up and down and grabbed the bag from her, saying, ‘Quick, quick, I'll get booked. I'm parked illegally.'

So they'd rushed to the car, Mollie chattering nonstop about her new job, a fellow she'd met and mutual friends, then she'd needed to concentrate on driving out of the jammed airport and the moment had been lost. Catherine began to plan a little scenario about how she'd break her news to Mollie. She also wanted her advice as to how she could tell her parents. She knew her mum would have very mixed emotions, primarily because she would be marrying a foreigner and wouldn't be living close by.

Settled in Mollie's flat, Catherine had a shower while Mollie boiled the kettle for a cup of tea.

‘So what would you like to do for the rest of the day?' asked Mollie. ‘They say it's best to stay awake till bedtime to get on local time.'

‘I'd love a snooze, you could wake me up in an hour and then we could go out. I'm so sleepy.' Catherine stifled a yawn.

‘What's that?' Mollie grabbed Catherine's hand away from her mouth and bent over the ring on her left hand.