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Chapter Twenty-Three






When Cody poked her head out of the cave at dawn, she could sense only an incredible stillness. The air smelled green and woody. In the distance the sea pulsed softly. A breeze wandered across the makatea, but nothing moved. She blinked and stepped over a pile of torn branches into the thin light.

The jungle had been laid to waste, trees uprooted, palms and undergrowth flattened. It looked as though some giant had kicked a drunken path across the land. Lonely clumps of papaya and banana palms stood dazed in the midst of the carnage like soldiers in a spent battlefield. Birds perched silent and observant on torn branches.

Cody turned back into the cave. “You can go outside, ” she told the other woman. “But only in pairs and no more than a hundred yards from the cave. I’m going to Villa Luna to check the damage. If I’m not back by tomorrow morning, start making your own way. I’ll leave a trail in the difficult patches. Just remember, once you get over the ridge, head straight for the sea.”

“I don’t think we should move until you get back here, ” Dawn broke in. “Catherine can hardly walk, and I can’t cross that coral by myself.”

“You’re not by yourself, Dawn, ” Brenda reminded her crisply. “You have us.”

“Oh, terrific! ” a petulant Dawn responded. “A cripple and a granny.”

“Dawn! ” Cody pulled her up short. “Here.” She thrust a water canteen at the pouting blonde. “You’re in charge of this. Keep it filled. You’ll find plenty of rainwater trapped everywhere.”

“Well if that’s the case then I don’t see why I need to fill the damn thing up all the time.”

Cody suppressed a strong urge to slap some sense into her. She didn’t want to have to explain her worst fears, that she might find the houses razed and radio contact lost, that there was every chance they could be stranded without water or supplies for days, weeks even, until help arrived. It would all depend on what had happened on Rarotonga, and Cody could hardly bear to think about that.

Keeping her temper in check, she passed her compass to Catherine. “Take this as well. Villa Luna is approximately an hour and a half northeast of here. If you have to go it alone, walk slowly and take turns carrying the supplies.”

Cody had just finished cleaning and dressing Catherine’s leg wound, and she knew it needed urgent medical attention. The first aid kit contained only a tiny tube of antiseptic cream and Cody had used most of it already. Besides, they needed something stronger. Wounds could infect overnight in this heat, and Catherine’s looked angry already. It must be painful, Cody thought, wishing she could offer more relief than a few Motrin.

“I’ll be all right, ” Catherine said, as though she’d read her mind.

Throwing her a grateful look, Cody left them standing forlornly in front of the cave, Dawn sulking, Brenda philosophical, and Catherine looking decidedly stressed.

Checking her bearings with the sun, she took Kahlo’s reins and led the mare carefully out across the makatea toward the ridge that separated them from the sea. She was almost too scared to climb it. God only knew what she might find on the other side.

 

Annabel and Rose kissed chastely, as though last night had never happened. The walkway outside Rose’s room was a sea of bags, bedding, and dazed hotel patrons. Windows had smashed in several rooms, and hotel staff were attempting to remove some of the debris.

“I’m going to take a walk, ” Annabel said. “I’ve got to find Bevan.”

“And I think I’d better line up for the phone.” Rose smiled her slow easy smile, eyes sparkling Kodachrome blue. She took Annabel’s hand. “You’re quite a woman.”

Annabel flushed. “So are you. You oughtn’t waste yourself on one-nighters, Rose.”

“Was last night a waste? ” Rose inquired softly.

Annabel could not suppress a smile. “Last night was great. I’ll never forget it.”

They kissed again and crossed the courtyard in companionable silence. Last night, Annabel thought. In life, turning points came in many forms. Some, like last night, were unexpected and disturbing. She had chosen to have sex with Rose partly out of hurt and anger, and partly to prove to herself that she could move on without a pang. If she could see her time with Cody as nothing more than a pleasant interlude in a life punctuated with them, she could not be hurt when it ended.

But as she lay awake in Rose’s bed, she knew this safeguard was as illusory as the four flimsy walls that stood between them and nature’s fury. She could delude herself that she was in control, but in truth she was completely vulnerable. All she had proven was that making love with Cody had meaning for her she had never found with anyone else, and perhaps never would. Going back to her old ways was not an option. She had tried with this handsome stranger and it didn’t work.

It made no difference that the sex was good. Rose was one of those old-fashioned butch lovers who focused entirely on her partner’s pleasure. She was accomplished, chivalrous and self-assured. A year ago, Annabel would have envisaged a dalliance with her lasting several months. Now, she knew she would never see her again, no matter what happened with Cody.

The realization was a shock. Something inside her had changed and there was no going back. It was Cody she wanted and no one else. Annabel had always dismissed the idea of fighting for a woman as ludicrous. Yet she knew all of a sudden that she intended to do exactly that. If Cody needed time to get over her relationship, fine—she would wait. But she was not going to stand aside and allow Margaret to walk back into her life as if nothing had happened.

“Well, this is goodbye.” Rose halted a few feet from the lobby doors. Taking Annabel’s hand for a moment, she said. “If you ever need a friend, look me up. As you know I’m happy to address other needs as well.”

Her dry self-mockery precluded any awkwardness and Annabel dropped a light kiss on her cheek, saying, “I’m glad we met. Good luck with the next book.”

“I’m feeling inspired, ” Rose said. “Goodbye Annabel. It was a real pleasure.”

With the briefest flash of wickedness in her eyes, she held open the door and Annabel walked into the noisy fray feeling as if she had just turned the page on part of her life and nothing would ever be the same again.

Fighting for elbow room in the mob at reception, she wondered how on earth the harassed staff could be expected to cope with hordes of tourists asking impossible questions. When is the next flight to Sydney? Was my pearl earring found in the restaurant last night? If I post this letter today when will it be delivered? She was debating the usefulness of leaving a message for Bevan when, from somewhere behind, a woman called her name, and Margaret squeezed her way to her side.

“Is Cody all right? ” she asked urgently. “Have you heard from her? ”

“No, ” Annabel said in a frosty tone. This woman had spent five years with Cody, she reminded herself, and they were in the midst of a natural disaster. It was entirely reasonable for her to be concerned for her safety. Forcing herself to be marginally pleasant, she added, “I’m sure she’ll be fine. As soon as I can I’ll be flying out to the island.”

Margaret nodded, then looked a little flustered. “I’m sorry about yesterday. Ever since I got here all I seem to have done is open my mouth to change feet.”

Annabel shrugged it off. “Forget it.” She wished Margaret would just go away.

“You might like to know that I’m going home the minute I can get a plane out of here, ” Margaret informed her. “I just wanted to wish you luck.”

“Luck? ”

“With Cody. It’s all over between us, in case you hadn’t worked that out.” Her eyes shone briefly with pain. “That’s what I was trying to tell you yesterday. I came here to get her back and she turned me down.”

“Because of me? ” Annabel asked. She wondered if Margaret could see how quickly she was breathing.

“No. It’s not your fault, if that’s what you’re worried about. I blew it with her. It’s that simple.”

Annabel scrutinized Margaret’s face. Why was Cody’s ex bothering to tell her this?

As though to answer her, Margaret said, “Last night I wondered if I was going to be killed, or maybe Cody was, and I guess it made me think about a few things, helped me get my priorities straight.”

Annabel nodded. “I can understand that.” How could she have been so wrong?

Her heart pounded a wayward staccato against the walls of her chest. What had she done?

“Are you okay? ” Margaret was looking at her oddly.

“I’m fine, thank you. Last night was… quite a night.” Annabel felt color drench her cheeks.

“Anyway, I’ve said enough.” Margaret fidgeted self-consciously. “Give Cody my love. I hope the two of you are happy.” She stepped back and was quickly lost in the anxious crowd choking the lobby.

Dazed, Annabel allowed herself to drift back through the crowds around the counter. Her face felt hot and her legs weak. A flood of mixed emotions made it impossible to concentrate on anything but her overwhelming need to get back to the island, to find Cody safe and well.

To hell with trying to read the casualty list or leave a message for Bevan Mitchell, she decided. She would go down to the hanger right now and fly the Dominie back there herself.

Pushing through a sea of Hawaiian shirts and screaming children, she had made it to the doors when someone tapped her shoulder from behind. Turning, Annabel gasped, “You! ”

The object of her wrath grinned sheepishly. “Good to see you, too.”

Relief flooded her and she clutched his arm. “Thank God you’re okay. I was worried sick.”

“I’m overwhelmed, ” Bevan commented.

Recovering herself, Annabel gave a snort. “You’re lucky you’re not fired.” She glared pointedly. “Oh my God. You’ve got a black eye! ”

“You should see the other guy.”

Appalled, Annabel shook her head. “Tell me you didn’t get into a bar fight with those morons? ”

“Not exactly. I told them they had two choices. Stay inside, or stay inside tied up.” With his particular brand of British arrogance, he added, “Being Australian and drunk, the silly bastards couldn’t figure out which was the smarter move.”

Annabel rolled her eyes expressively. “Men! ” she said with disgust. “We’re getting wiped out by a hurricane and the boys are playing Rambo. Come on.” She started toward the door. “Let’s get out to the airport.”

Bevan lit a cigarette and looked at his watch. “Smithy should be there by now. I doubt we’ll be flying, though.”

“Why not? ” Annabel glanced up at the sky. “Is it too windy? ”

Bevan looked at her as if she were kidding him. “Look around, ” he said, as they emerged from the torn hotel gardens onto the street.

Wordlessly, Annabel stared around her. In the chilling aftermath of the storm, a little boy walked along the road, tears pouring down his face. Next to him was a woman carrying a dead dog in her arms. Medics ran stretchers and shouted instructions. Bulldozers pushed piles of debris aside to clear the road for traffic. Stunned, she took Bevan’s hand as they negotiated their way past overturned cars, uprooted palm trees and smashed walls.

“We’ll be lucky if we have a plane, ” he said when they finally came to the jeep. “Let alone a runway.”

 

“Someone up there was lookin’ out for us, guvnor, ” Smithy noted as the three of them inspected the Dominie a little later. The hangar, apart from the loss of half its roof, was in remarkably good shape, and the plane herself was untouched.

Annabel ran wondering fingers across the smooth silver fabric of a wing. The area surrounding the terminal was a shambles. Her heart sank when she took in the full extent of the devastation. It seemed impossible to imagine their fragile little plane could have survived the onslaught.

“The poor islanders, ” she said, thinking about the child and his dead pet, the hundreds of homes razed to the ground. “The tourists can go home and brag about their big adventure at the next office lunch, but what about the locals? ”

“They’ll get aid, ” Bevan said. “It won’t be enough of course. Hundreds of families have lost everything, even their clothes.”

“There’s three dead in Avarua, ” Smithy commented.

“Names? ” Bevan peered out from under the plane.

“Not yet, ” Smithy told him.

“Your place? ” Bevan queried. Smithy had a little villa southwest of Avarua.

“Just lost some shingles. Day’s work, that’s all, guv.”

“What about the other islands—any reports? ” Annabel asked him.

“They reckon six dead on Atiu.”

Bevan’s head jerked up and Smithy spread his hands. “No names yet. Bleedin’ tidal wave flattened the place. Heard nothing from Moon either.”

“Can we fly this afternoon? ”

Smithy shook his head. “Runway’s a bomb-site. Air traffic’s grounded.”

“But what about rescue flights? ” Annabel insisted.

“New Zealand’s sending in a few Army choppers, and Silk and Boyd are heading out for the Northern Group this afternoon.”

“But we can’t wait for them! ” Annabel paced back and forth, then halted, adding with stubborn determination. “They have to give us special flight clearance. We’ve got tourists to rescue.”

“Helpless females, ” Smithy noted.

They all knew what was being said. The islanders could wait. Foreign tourists were the Cook Island’s livelihood.

“You’re absolutely right, ” Bevan said very seriously. “I think we should convey that laudable sentiment to our Police Chief without further ado. God forbid we have rich foreign ladies roughing it alone on those inhospitable shores.”

“Shocking, ” Smithy agreed. “Could end up with casualties.”

“Big insurance companies investigating for negligence, ” Bevan added. “It could get damned ugly for the authorities.”

“Sleazy, ” Annabel commented. “Very sleazy. When can we see him? ”

 

Annabel pulled on her bomber jacket and settled into her seat next to Bevan.

“No heroics if we dump her, ” the pilot said very seriously. “This runway’s a disaster and God only knows what the strip will be like at the other end. Are you quite sure you want to come? ”

Annabel threw him a sharp look. At least Bevan knew that Don was okay. A journalist, Don had radioed to say he was on his way to Rarotonga via army helicopter. But so far, no one had been able to make contact with Moon Island.

Smithy pulled away the chocks, and they taxied toward an area of runway that had been cleared of large branches and torn metal.

“In a crash this thing will go up in sixty seconds, ” Bevan said tersely. “She’s all skin. So if we take a spill, bail out and run as fast as you can. No heroics. Don’t think about me. Got it? ”

“Got it, ” Annabel said coolly. “Same goes for you.”

“Sure.” Bevan built the revs, and Annabel closed her eyes and held her breath.

She could see how it was that he had managed a successful supply operation in a war zone. Skirting the pot-holes and remaining debris with scorn, he bounced the little place into the air on their first attempt. It was only when they’d safely climbed to two thousand feet that he casually broke the bad news.

“We’ve damaged the landing gear. Can you take a look? ”

Annabel matched his cool. “Will do.” She clambered around in the rear of the cabin, peering out the windows. “One of the wheels is twisted. It looks fairly serious. What are we going to do? ”

He shrugged. “Land and fix it.”

“Land? ” Annabel shivered. “But how can we? ”

“Well, we can’t stay up here all day, ” he pointed out dryly.

Annabel took their bearings and calculated an estimated time of arrival. “ETA thirteen hundred hours.”

The pilot responded with a grin. “That gives you a whole hour to get your affairs in order.”

“Bastard.” Annabel slipped her aviator sunglasses on and relaxed back in her seat like she flew across the Pacific ocean in a crippled war-era biplane every day.

When they came in sight of Moon Island she almost cried with relief. It was still there, exactly where the map said. Bevan made a low pass over Passion Bay, and they both peered down at the carnage of broken palm trees and debris piled on the beach.

“Christ, ” he said. “Lucky we’re carrying enough fuel to get back to Raro.”

They climbed and swooped in for a wider pass. From five hundred feet overhead Annabel glimpsed a movement on the makatea not far from Villa Luna, and they circled back for a second look.

“Definite signs of life, ” she said with relief. “I think I saw two or three of them. They’ll get to Villa Luna by the time we land.”

“If we land, ” Bevan muttered.

They banked steeply over the strip, both gazing down.

“It’s not too bad. Looks almost like someone’s cleared it.” There was relief and puzzlement in Bevan’s voice. “Or else Mr. Big really is looking after us.”

Annabel was also baffled. The strip looked like a freshly swept patch of floor in the midst of an expanse of litter. “Weird, ” she remarked. “I guess the women must have done it. Good thinking.”

Bevan shrugged. “It’s sure as hell going to make the difference between flying and frying with this damned wheel shot. Let’s take her in.”

They climbed rapidly and turned into the wind to prepare for landing. Annabel tightened her belt and braced herself as they dropped out of the sky. Bevan seemed to be making the descent at a peculiar tilt, the nose too far up.

Annabel started to panic. “Bevan! ” she cried. “Straighten up! ”

He elbowed her roughly away, shouting, “Get down in the plane and get ready to jump.”

Annabel obeyed blindly, screaming as they crashed down hard on the tail. The little plane bounced once, then veered into a spin, tried to straighten and bounced again frantically from side to side, wingtips just brushing the earth.

As the spinning slowed and Bevan killed the engines, Annabel smelled petrol, released the hatch, and clambered toward the cockpit.

“Go! ” Bevan shouted, but she had already released his belt and grabbed his arm, dragging him roughly after her.

They jumped in quick succession, rolled, and sprinted for the cover of the torn jungle, diving, then belly-crawling as fast as they could.

After a couple of minutes lying with their heads covered, Bevan hissed. “Are you fucking crazy? I told you to get out.”

“As if! ” Annabel lifted her head indignantly. “Anyway, I want you to teach me how to land on one wheel like that.”

“The lady’s gone troppo, old son, ” Bevan tapped his head to illustrate the point.

“You could try thanking me.”

“You could try doing what your captain tells you.” Getting to his knees, he studied the Dominie for a moment, then stood and took a few ginger steps toward her.

Annabel followed suit, halting beside him about twenty feet away. There were definite petrol fumes, but so far no flames.

“Must be time for a cigarette, eh Mitchell? ” she joked, and received a filthy look.

After another few minutes they approached the battered biplane. She had run off the strip and was leaning drunkenly against a palm stump, a large fabric tear on one wing fluttering in the Moon Island breeze like a surrender flag.

“You poor old thing, ” Annabel said and flicked a propeller with new respect for the game little craft.

“I think she’ll live, ” Bevan declared as he knelt down beside the undercarriage. “Whether I can fix this is another matter, ” he continued.

But Annabel was no longer listening. Her eyes were drawn to a figure staggering from the jungle at the far end of the strip, something huge in her arms. “Cody! ” She was running before she even became conscious of the fact.

The figure lowered her load to the ground and stretched out her arms.

“Annabel.” Cody caught her, stumbled back a step and overbalanced, and the two women fell laughing and crying to the ground.

They lay there crushed together and gazing into each other’s eyes as though they could never see enough.

“I love you, ” Annabel said.

“I love you, too, ” Cody told her.

After a long moment just holding each other, they managed to stumble to their feet. Holding hands, they started across the strip.

“Wait. My barrel.” Cody hurried back and hoisted a cumbersome wooden keg into her arms. The top was fractured and several of the struts were loose.

“What on earth—” Annabel began.

“I found it when I was cleaning up the strip. And since the water pump isn’t working out here, I got kind of worried in case you…”

“Crashed? ”

Cody glanced towards the Dominie. “That landing. I nearly threw up.”

Annabel smiled. “Creative, wasn’t it? ”

 


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