Isabelle stood staring out at the sea. It was fascinating how the colors and texture of the water and the sky changed from hour to hour, from minute to minute. Everyone on Tahiti spent time looking out at the ocean but Isabelle rarely took more than a few moments for something so pleasant but unproductive. That morning she'd been standing on the beach for a full ten minutes; her hands were on her hips, her long hair whipped about her head.

Her thoughts were jumbled. What was happening on the Rattler? Had her plan to let David and Mauriri talk things out worked? And if it had what would that mean for her future? She still needed the Rattler and David's contacts to make a good living. She still wanted to be close to David and she knew the only way for that to continue was for her to remain his partner.

"Hello, lady," piped a voice beside her.

Isabelle looked down and saw Tevaki Lepau's wide brown eyes peering up at her from beneath a fringe of black hair.

"You look sad," announced the child seriously.

Catching sight of Lianni coming her way laden with string bags of produce, Isabelle shook her head. "No, I'm not sad. What would I have to be sad about?"

"Because you're not on the Rattler," he answered. Tevaki took a special interest in Isabelle. She was the source of the large packing crate that was his favorite toy.

Isabelle tried to laugh but found she couldn't. Instead she sat down in the sand beside Tevaki and asked him about the fishing trip that his father had taken him on just before Mauriri sailed.

"Good morning," said Lianni as she approached the two sitting at the edge of the surf. "Do you think they will make it back today?"

Isabelle came to her feet, brushing the sand off her skirt. "It's hard say. David always blames the wind if the Rattler doesn't make the time he expects her to."

"Something to that I suppose," said Lianni. She noticed dark shadows under the other woman's lovely green-gray eyes. She watched as those eyes strayed again to the sea.

Isabelle was an enigma for Lianni. It wasn't that she was English or French, Lianni was never quite sure which nationality Isabelle claimed. For Lianni did not find Claire or Mrs. Bradford difficult to understand in spite of their differences in origins. It wasn't that Isabelle flaunted the norms of society. Lavinia did so, the norms of European society as well of Polynesian. She had done so the whole of her life and Lianni had always taken a delight in her best friend's courage and determination.

"It was good of you to let the two of them go together alone this trip," said Lianni, still puzzling over why she had such difficulty understanding the woman before her. It was something unique to Isabelle. For when Lianni added up what she had been told about David's partner she didn't come out with the woman she knew. According to the men, Isabelle was calculating and cold-blooded. She would use anything or anyone to her advantage. She was aggressive and not afraid to take risks, physical or financial. She was, David had admitted and Mauriri had agreed reluctantly, loyal in her own fashion and a good person to have watching your back in a fight. It seemed to Lianni that the men would have thought Isabelle a grand fellow if she had been a man. But that she was a woman disconcerted them. Traits desirable in a man were not desirable in a woman. Lianni could understand that but it seemed to her that they had missed quite a lot about the woman.

Isabelle was startled by Lianni's comment. She said carefully, "I had a mare foal. I wanted to be here for it. I thought even with one arm David would be alright with Mauriri along."

"I see," said Lianni with a small smile. Why does she not want to be seen as the kind, fiercely protective woman she is? "Still I'm glad they will get some time to talk. I think they have a lot to talk about, don't you?"

"After nearly a year of not talking I guess they do," answered Isabelle. She shifted her weight nervously from foot to foot. Then suddenly she blurted out, "I'm not between them, you know. I've always wanted to see them make up their differences even before David went missing."

Lianni frowned slightly. "I know that. You have been a good friend to David and to Mauriri."

Isabelle looked down at the sand, she dug a small hole with the toe of her riding boot. "Sometimes it seems like they don't think I'm a friend at all," she mumbled softly.

"Oh, Isabelle, you know how men are, they never think they know what they do. We have to tell them."

"Mama?" said Tevaki. He was squatting in the sand at his mother's feet watching a small crab scuttle backward towards the sea. . "Tell the lady to come to lunch. She'll be happy when she has some pudding."

Lianni had a plan when she invited Claire and Mrs. Russell to lunch. She was sure that with just a little bit of luck she could show Mrs. Russell that a Polynesian household could be pleasant and civilized. She felt it was up to her to counteract Mrs. Titchmarsh's accusation that all the natives were just one step from savagery. To that end she scrubbed her children and gave them a long talk about importance of good manners. She tied her sarong around her hips and wore a blouse that covered her shoulders. She spread a rarely used linen cloth over the table on her porch and set the table with real china that Mauriri had brought her from Hong Kong.

Isabelle Reed was not part of her plan.

"Yes, Isabelle, come to lunch," said Lianni eagerly. She would never give this woman reason to doubt her friendship.

"But aren't you having Claire and Mrs. Russell to lunch?"

"Yes, and now I'm having you too. Could you carry this?" asked Lianni, holding out a bag to her. Isabelle took it cautiously. She seemed a little suspicious of the invitation.

"Good," exclaimed Tevaki, jumping to his feet. "You can see the house I built with our box."

***

The conversation was somewhat stilted on the porch of the Lepau house that afternoon. Mrs. Russell, well turned out in a white, high necked shirt waist and draped, dark blue cotton skirt, set forward on her chair with her back very straight. Her face shadowed by the wide brim of her hat, she was politely asking Lianni questions about the mission school.

Claire similarly dressed and with a back equally straight sat beside Isabelle on a bench. Isabelle, in a soft collar blouse and a fawn colored linen skirt, remained more interested in the ocean than the conversation. Lianni, having served her guests fresh guava juice, stood near the table trying to answer Mrs. Russell's questions.

Tahnee quietly approached Claire. She clutched a tablet of drawing paper in her hand and a box of pastels. Claire turned to her with a gentle, encouraging smile.

"Miss Claire," lisped Tahnee through the gap where her new front teeth would soon appear, "I want to draw a mermaid like in the story Papa read me. But I can't. Please will you draw her for me?"

"A mermaid? Well," answered Claire, who had no great confidence in her own drawing skills. "I could try. But," she paused and glanced at her godmother. Then she spoke to Tahnee in a conspirator's whisper. "You know, Mrs. Russell taught me to draw. She can draw anything, fairies and goblins and mermaids. We should ask her to draw the mermaid for you."

Tahnee's dark eyes shifted to the foreign woman in the wide hat. Mama said that while the lady was here she and Tevaki were to behave just like they were in Uncle Colin's church. She dearly wanted a picture of a mermaid but except for Miss Claire she never spoke to the white ladies in the church unless they spoke to her.

Claire, sensing Tahnee's indecision, said cheerfully, "A mermaid. Was there a prince in the story Papa read to you?"

"Yes," answered the child eagerly. "A handsome prince. He looked just like Uncle David."

Isabelle chuckled lowly.

Mrs. Russell turned to smile at Tahnee. It softened the lines of her narrow face and brightened her brown eyes. "That's sounds like Hans Christian Andersen's story. Do you remember, Claire, we read it when you were little?"

"Yes, of course, but I thought a prince had to look like the Prince of Wales, and I couldn't imagine how anyone would find him handsome. Tahnee is far more fortunate in her imagination. What book did Papa read the story from?" Claire asked the little girl who still stood close beside her.

"The book Atara gave me," whispered Tahnee.

"Atara is Mauriri's nephew," explained Lianni. "He's spent a year in France going to school. Mauriri was educated in France and England. He wants them to know how great a treasure of stories there are in all languages. I've been surprised sometimes by how much a story from Europe can remind me a story of my own people."

"Yes? I love old stories. I've noticed myself how stories I thought completely English have counterparts in other countries in Europe. Perhaps I might hear a favorite legend of Tahiti sometime," said Mrs. Russell as she noticed the tablet of paper in Tahnee's hand. "I take it you want a picture of a mermaid. Should the mermaid look like you?"

"Could she?" exclaimed the child.

"I think we might manage it if Claire doesn't mind if I try my hand at it."

"Oh, please, Mrs. Russell, my skills haven't improved much over the years, I'm afraid," said Claire, giving Tahnee a little push towards the older woman.

"Ah, I see you have everything you need." She stood and put out her hand to Tahnee who gave her the tablet and pastels. "I don't know that I can draw your Uncle David, I know he is very handsome but I've only met him briefly. Might I make the prince look like your little brother?"

"No," cried Tevaki from where he was playing in the sand. "I want to be a shark. The shark that eats the mermaid."

"The mermaid is not eaten by the shark," insisted Tahnee indignantly.

"A shark? Well, that might take a bit of doing, thus far I've managed not to meet any sharks at all," said Mrs. Russell, stepping off the porch. "Now shall we go down near the water for inspiration. Perhaps I might take the stool there in the corner."

"I'll bring it," said Tahnee eagerly.

Mrs. Russell turned back to Lianni, "Would it be alright if I sketched them? They are such beautiful children I would like to try my hand at their likenesses."

"Oh, please," exclaimed Lianni, her pretty face glowing with pride. "That would be wonderful."

"But I don't mean to put off your lovely luncheon," said Mrs. Russell with a glance at the well-laid table.

"It will wait for us."

Led by the children Mrs. Russell made her way to the edge of the receding tide. She planted the three-legged stool firmly into the sand and sat down upon it. After arranging her skirts about her, she directed Tahnee to lay in the foam of the wave and picked up the tablet.

"She really likes children, doesn't she?" Lianni asked as she removed a large beetle from the center of one of her china plates.

"Yes," answered Claire with a fond look in the direction of her godmother. "Something I've had reason to be very thankful for."

"Why?" asked Isabelle, who had drawn her knees up to chest and wrapped her arms about them.

"Oh, well, my mother loved me but she was always in poor health so I don't think she enjoyed my company very much when I was little. I asked incessant questions. I am much younger than Mrs. Russell's sons are. She loved having a little girl around and so would often come and collect me for a week or so. You like Mrs. Russell, don't you, Lianni?" asked Claire, still watching the small figures against the vast turquoise expanse of the bay.

"Yes, of course."

"You can't go by her. She likes everyone, even me," said Isabelle absently. She was resting her chin on her knees. Her sun streaked curly hair flew wildly about her face.

Oh, Isabelle, don't cause trouble," said Lianni, giving her a playful swat. " The Rattler will be back soon, no reason for you to be nervous about him. I told you Mauriri will take good care of him."

Isabelle sent her an aggrieved glare. Lianni turned back to Claire. "How do you like that little house you're sharing with Mrs. Russell?"

"It is quite comfortable. And quiet. I'd rather forgotten what it was like to live in a quiet place. But," she sighed sadly, "it hardly seems worthy of all the trouble it has caused. I suppose I should be happy to have a place so pleasant to live."

Lianni, by nature a peace maker, brushed her fingers gently against Claire's arm and said, "I'm sure you can make it up with Lavinia by just going and speaking with her. It was simply an argument, you know she never intended for you to feel unwelcome living over the bar. She was upset. She overheard something when she went by Colin's house to drop something off."

Claire looked up, her brown eyes widening with understanding, "So that's what it was. I thought there had to have been something besides my moving out for a little while that would upset her so much. She over heard Mrs. Titchmarsh and Mrs. Russell talking about making clothes for the little girls in the school didn't she? I heard about that meeting from the other side. It is Colin who has all of my sympathies."

"Colin was distressed over the discussion. He simply doesn't understand why clothing should be such a concern but not books or slates. I think that his frustration upset Lavinia as much as what she over heard. It isn't saying much for my Christian charity but Mrs. Titchmarsh," Lianni made a face that looked like she had bitten into an unripe mango.

"Ought to be eaten by Tevaki's shark," mumbled Isabelle.

"Isabelle!" exclaimed her friends, more than a little shocked at her bluntness.

Her light eyes shifted between the two. "I didn't say I would dump her in the ocean myself. I just don't think it's fair, every one is always doubting my motives but I don't welsh on deals or do my damndest to make people feel unwelcome in their own church hall, the way that hypocrite and her fat husband do."

Claire shook her head at Isabelle. What could she say? Isabelle was right. Isabelle was on the edge of the local business community and Mr. Titchmarsh was at its center. It wasn't fair and it wasn't likely to change.

"So you see, Claire, Lavinia had reason to be touchy that afternoon. If you go and talk to her now, I'm sure she is anxious to make up."

"She didn't have a reason to be touchy with Claire. She isn't the one making Colin's life hell," said Isabelle crossly.

"Of course not, but," Lianni paused. She didn't know how to make them understand what it was like to be a second class citizen in her own country. Lianni was as much a part of the church community as it was possible for a Polynesian to be. She directed the choirs; she sat on committees concerning the school. She spoke French and English clearly. She and Mauriri had been welcomed socially into the Bradford home. But still even for her there was always the knowledge of the differences in culture and in race.

Claire stood and went to the table to pour herself another class of juice. "I'm afraid you're wrong, Lianni. It is a great deal more than just that one confusing and unpleasant conversation. Lavinia wants me to choose between European and Polynesian. She has drawn some sort of line in the sand and I'm on the wrong side of it simply because of who I am."

Lianni watched Claire face. It was sad and serious, her brown eyes were shadowed with tiredness. It was clear that the argument had hurt Claire deeply. She had given the matter great thought but her expression told Lianni that she didn't see a way to approach Lavinia.

"You make it sound like a war," said Isabelle, holding her own glass out for a refill.

"In a sense it is. A war of culture and affections. Mrs. Russell is asking much the same of me. You know that I believe it is what's in a person heart not what's on their body that matters for the worship of God. All of this distress over bare shoulders is simply a blind to hide other more difficult differences in our traditions and our attitudes about each other.

"Yes, it is a battle poor Colin has been fighting both sides of since he got here. A battle Lavinia is afraid the Polynesians will lose. And if we lose this battle then we will lose such a defining part of ourselves," said Lianni with a droop of her shoulders. Her pretty face was troubled. She had thought it would be so easy just to tell Claire why Lavinia had been so upset and then Claire would go to Lavinia and make it up. But as Claire talked she saw that Claire had very divided loyalties. Lianni loved Lavinia dearly but she knew Lavinia wasn't in any frame of mind to understand Claire's responsibilities to her godmother.

"Lavinia hardly lives a traditional Polynesian life," observed Isabelle. "She has a business, a very European business, she has rooms full of European goods of which she is very fond. I don't see her down on her knees pounding Paper Mulberry bark into cloth."

"You're right," said Lianni thoughtfully. "I think maybe for Lavinia, who was brought up between two cultures, the old ways mean more. She holds on to them very tightly."

Isabelle made a face but didn't say anything. In her opinion it was circumstances that made a person.

"But haven't I proven that like Colin I have learned to listen and look and to put off making judgements. Haven't I?" asked Claire earnestly as she resumed her seat. There were tears glittering in her brown eyes.

"Yes, yes, you have but--"

"Since Mrs. Russell's arrival I've reverted to a proper English Miss. I know," said Claire with a groan. She pulled the pin from her hat and took the hat from her head. Holding the hat on her lap she smoothed its ribbons between her fingers and spoke slowly. "She doesn't understand this place. What's she's heard before she came, from people like Mrs. Titchmarsh now that's she's here, she has no way of understanding it. She has no context to put it in. And I know just how she feels. Assaulted by sights and smells and ideas she didn't even know existed. Mrs. Russell isn't a green girl, as I was, she thinks she knows the answers to all the questions about how one is to live their life. How can I be angry with her for worrying about my soul? She is my godmother. She was my mother's best friend. I owe some consideration, some respect, some love."

"Of course you do," said Lianni, reaching out to still Claire's nervous fingers. "But between such good friends as you and Lavinia there is respect and love as well."

"I hope so," whispered Claire as she shifted her glance towards the sea. She blinked away her tears. "I saw her this morning in the market. She made a point of speaking to Mrs. Russell and myself."

"There you see," said Lianni with relief.

"But Lianni, it was too much of a point. It was formal and cold, the same way she acknowledges women from the church she doesn't like."

"She is proving to you she isn't like the men."

"What do you mean?" asked Claire, turning her puzzled eyes in Isabelle's direction.

"Don't you remember how upset she was with David and Mauriri for fighting the way that they did? And then when they barely spoke to each other she called them childish. Well, Lavinia would never be childish. She is rising above your disagreement."

"Which isn't quite the same as embracing me is it? Or even agreeing to disagree. I think I might feel better if we had knocked over a few stands of mangoes fighting in the market place," said Claire, letting her irritation slip into her voice. "I thought Lavinia of all people would understand how important Mrs. Russell is in my life. She speaks of her own godmother with reverence."

"Ah, yes, Vivi," said Lianni. Maybe if they understood more about Vivi they would understand Lavinia better thought Lianni. She stood and started towards the house. It was time to put a salad together. "She was a wonderful person; generous and fun. A good word for everyone. You know, don't you, who she was?"

"The original owner of the bar," answered Claire, turning to look at Mrs. Russell and the children. Tevaki was posing for her now. He had a long pole he was holding in the menacing manner of dancers Claire had seen during the retelling of old legends. "I've seen photographs of her. She was very beautiful."

"Yes, she was that," said Lianni, coming from the house with her arms full of vegetables. Using a narrow shelf as a workspace she began to tear the red leafed lettuce. "She was also your friend Gilles's aunt."

"What?" asked Claire and Isabelle together.

Lianni nodded her dark glossy head. "Gilles's grandfather a man named Andre Seraut came here many, many years ago. They say he lived like one of the old chiefs with half a dozen women as his wives. His senior wife was a cousin, I think, of our Lavinia's grandmother. They had several children but their daughter Lavinia, who was always called Vivi, was the only one who lived past infancy. The story goes that there was a revolution or something in France and Seraut's French wife and two nearly grown children, Gilles's mother and Henri's father, quite unexpectedly appeared in Tahiti. The wife was evidently something of a, --mumph, I don't know what the English word would be. Um, a tidal wave. She took over the house, which she had rebuilt to suit her taste. Naturally she kicked out the native wives and lived pretty much like a queen out there on the plantation and in Papeete. Old Seraut set Vivi and her mother up in Matavai. He divided his time between them. They say he'd always made money but Mm Seraut was the one who organized the plantation. Some years later he built the bar and gave it to Vivi. She couldn't have been out of her teens but she was already a well known beauty."

"So how did Tom Bradford become part of the story?" asked Isabelle. She'd taken out her knife and was cutting bright red and yellow peppers in to stripes.

"Well, the French daughter grew up as well and needed a husband. Tom Bradford was, you'd have to ask Mauriri, but I think he was ship's carpenter on a British merchant ship. Anyway he and the daughter met and married. Mauriri remembers her but she died when Gilles was little so I have no memory of her since I wasn't living here yet. I'm sure Lavinia remembers her very well. The son, Henri's father, ran a bit wild. Didn't like work, didn't like Tom Bradford and so when he came of age he sold his share of things to Bradford and went off back to France. I know Mm Seraut was dead by then. It's been Tom Bradford that made the real money off the plantation, not any of the Serauts.

I suppose it meant something that the old man took care of Vivi's future but it was hardly the same way the French daughter was taken care of. Lavinia says that when Gilles's mother and Vivi would pass each other in the street they wouldn't even nod in spite of being half-sisters. Gilles was a great favorite with Vivi because her father would bring him by as a little chap. When he grew up a bit he would sneak off to the bar and she would give him forbidden spirits."

"So that is how Lavinia knows Gilles so well," mused Claire.

"Oh, Yes. It was a great joke when he was in his early teens he would follow her around like a faithful dog much to his father and step-mother's embarrassment."

"Papa!" Tevaki's excited cry caught all the women's attention. They turned to see him abandon Mrs. Russell and his sister to run north along the beach.

On the porch the women shielded their eyes and caught sight of three figures walking towards them. Mauriri and David were easy to recognize by their height and their familiar strides. The third man was shorter, slighter. Tevaki reached them. He was pickup and pitched into the air by his father. Tahnee was close behind. David took the little boy and carried him upside down. Tavaki screamed with laughter. Mauriri accepted his daughter's hug and took her hand to walk towards the house.

"Who's that with them?" asked Lianni, straining her eyes.

"Jack!" exclaimed Claire. All of the weariness disappeared from her face as she slid off her sandals and ran across the beach. She passed Mrs. Russell, who was walking towards the house. Mrs. Russell stopped and turned to watch Claire who kept running towards Jack.

He waited for her by the edge of the water; he caught her up in his arms and swung her about for a moment. If they kissed it was only briefly, Isabelle wasn't sure. It seemed to her any girl; any British girl might greet her beau with such enthusiasm after several weeks apart. But she could tell by the worried frown on Mrs. Russell's face she wouldn't agree.

Isabelle watched David closely as he approached the house. His walk was loose limbed, his left arm swung in a natural rhythm. She breathed an unconscious sigh of relief. David and Mauriri with the children hanging off of them said good afternoon to Mrs. Russell. They came up on to the porch.

"Trust you two to make it in time for lunch," said Lianni as she was engulfed in Mauriri's embrace.

The children were talking to David. Tahnee, suddenly remembering her manners went to take Mrs. Russell by the hand. She preformed a flawless if unnecessary introduction between her uncle and her new friend. David bowed slightly over Mrs. Russell's hand as he shook it. He offered her the chair he knew of long experience to be the most stable and comfortable on the porch.

Isabelle felt suddenly out of place. She wasn't sure why, she didn't expect either man to greet her with more than a simple hello. But with Mauriri still cuddling his wife discreetly, David being gentlemanly towards Mrs. Russell and, Jack and Claire walking slowly towards the porch with their arms about each other; Isabelle felt the need to retreat. "I'll get more dishes," she mumbled as she went into the house.

"Did you find them?" asked David as he came into the house. He paused and ducked his head to look more closely at her. "Are you alright?"

"Me? Sure." She saw in his eyes that look he got when something caught him by surprise. His green eyes had narrowed. He was just so irresistible when he looked at her with that friendly concern. Isabelle was startled by her desire to stand on her toes and kiss him. No, she thought, not by the desire, but by how hard it was to resist. "How was the trip?"

"Fine, picked up the copra, delivered the copra," he said as he leaned against the door jam and watched her gather up the dishes. Something was off about her, she seemed to be avoiding his eye. God, he hoped she hadn't been up to anything too nefarious while he was gone. "Did your mare foal?"

"Yes, a fine colt," answered Isabelle. Her arms full of dishes, she turned sideways to pass by him through the door. As she did David dropped his arm around her shoulder briefly. He pressed his cheek against her sun streaked curly hair and said softly, "I missed you on the boat."

She twisted her head to look up at him, "You did?"

The surprised and almost hopeful note in her voice startled David, as did the questioning look in her light eyes. He realized that he had spoken the truth, a truth that sent a little chill along his spine. "Yeah, no storms, no pirates. It is dull without you," he said, flashing her his dimpled grin.

Her laugh was forced and the questioning look remained in her eyes as she turned from him to go on to the porch and finish setting the table.

With the addition of three hungry men, lunch became an all-together livelier affair than Lianni had planned. But she thought perhaps all the more successful. Mauriri had visited the cathedral town where Mrs. Russell lived for years. They had quite a long conversation about it. David was in fine spirits; as good as she could remember him being in a very long time. It made her quite hopeful that he and Mauriri had managed to talk to each other honestly. Isabelle remained rather quiet but on the whole Lianni felt fortune was smiling upon her as she set a large bowl of steamed shrimp in the middle of the table.

Jack had fallen in with David and Mauriri by accident. Even after Claire had greeted him in front of the house, he'd had no intention of inviting himself to lunch. But both Lianni and Mauriri had taken it for granted he would stay. And Isabelle had brought three not two extra place settings from the house. It seemed to him that it would be ruder to leave than to stay.

Claire's godmother acknowledged him politely if not warmly. Claire sat down next to him and under the cover of the table sought his hand to give it a gentle squeeze. He stayed quiet and minded his manners.

"So, Jack, how was it being captain?" asked Isabelle suddenly.

"Wasn't so bad. No one mutinied. Made pretty good time. The boat is all in one piece so I guess I could say it went pretty well," he spoke in his normal, rather slow, deliberate voice but his eyes almost twinkled.

They others laughed. Mrs. Russell watched Claire's face. She was smiling broadly, her shining eyes fixed on McGonnigal. Mrs. Russell stifled a sigh. For the last few days Claire had been very quiet. Mrs. Russell thought that she was overtired between her work on the newspaper and moving her belonging into their lovely little house. But it was clear she had been pining for that man. Nothing good could come from such a strong attachment, thought Mrs. Russell as she turned to answer Mauriri's question.

***

Jack McGonnigal smiled as he pulled the last piece of binding taut and admired his new door. Made of thick bamboo it would hang straight on shiny brass hinges. He was looking forward to hanging it and having Claire test it. He was looking forward to hearing her laugh and complain that she had such fond memories of the old door.

He glanced up from his work and saw Mrs. Russell walking along the beach path with such determination in every step that little clouds of sand rose in her wake. He was not surprised to see her; he had been expecting her for weeks now. With a deep exhale he stood and watched her advance upon him. She wore a wide hat, a high-necked shirtwaist and a heavy skirt hemmed sensibly at the tops of her thick-soled shoes. She carried her stout parasol. Not really much of a weapon to threaten a grown man with, he thought and yet he knew he feared this well mannered woman more than any man he'd ever gone up against.

"Good day to you, Mrs. Russell," he said formally as she approached. He drew himself up to his full height and looked down on her, his strong hands hanging at his side.

"Good afternoon, Mr. McGonnigal. I would like a word with you about a most important subject."

"About Claire you mean." Even to his own ear, his Irish brogue sounded unusually clear.

"Yes," she answered with an empathic gesture, "about Claire."

He nodded. He wondered if he should offer to bring the new chair from the shack so that she could sit down. But he doubted that any show of good manners on his part would change what she had to say.

"I have come to appeal to your better nature, Mr. McGonnigal. I've come to ask you to stop seeing my goddaughter." When Jack didn't reply Mrs. Russell continued with a sense of urgency. "I know that you think I'm an interfering old biddy, Mr. McGonnigal, perhaps I am. But I took a vow before God, before Claire's parents, that I would always do my very best to advise her, to protect her, to keep her right with God."

Jack's blue eyes watched her intently. He didn't doubt her sincerity. It was clear by the precise pronunciation of every word that the conversation was very difficult for her and she was only undertaking it because of her sense of responsibility for Claire. "And you think that I'm a danger to her."

"Yes," she answered stiffly.

"What does Claire say?"

"She says that if I took the time to get to know you I would like you, admire you as she does."

A smile tugged at Jack's lips. It was not, Mrs. Russell realized, the self-satisfied smirk of a man who is sure of a woman's affections but rather a gentle smile. The smile of a man that was not surprised by and yet at the same time grateful for the praise he received.

Mrs. Russell squared her shoulders. She would not be swayed by sentiment. "Claire is very young. In many ways far younger than her years, she had a very sheltered upbringing. She is a romantic who believes that love can conquer everything. You, sir, with your tragic story and fine looks make an excellent hero. She wants to believe that her love can save you, no story could be more romantic."

For a second Jack tried to think of himself as a hero any sort but even the thought was so ridiculous he couldn't take it seriously. "I take it you're not a romantic, ma'am."

"No, I'm a realist," she said, shifting her feet uncomfortably in the sand. It was difficult to read his expressions with the sun in her eyes. "Your romance is the stuff of high adventure. It is what lured her out here. I am not so old, sir, as to be insensible to the fact that you are an attractive man. But I know that Claire could never live with herself if she betrayed her principles."

Jack moved to the fallen palm trunk several feet away. He sat down. She would no longer have to look at up him into the sun.

"Claire is a civilized woman," said Mrs. Russell as she let her eyes stray to the small rough hut, "she was not raised to live in a hovel. She would soon tire of such a life but being loyal she would keep the bargain she made. You, sir, would break her heart. Perhaps you think that I'm a snob. I'm not, I have no pretensions. My father was a storekeeper; both of Claire's grandfathers were village schoolmasters. It is not your profession or even you being Irish that forces me to take such a drastic action as to interfere directly in Claire's life."

"Then what is it?" he asked curious how she would phrase it.

"It is, sir, your lack of character."

"Ah. Character," said Jack softly.

"Yes, your lack of character, of decency, in short, your unnatural nature."

Jack was silent; his blue eyes remained steady on her face. She felt slightly flustered. Should such a man be marked in some way? Shouldn't his face or at least his eyes show his depravity? "Do you deny that you are rightly called Cannibal Jack?"

Slowly he shook his head. The dangling silver earring caught the sun as he moved.

"Then I submit, sir, that your attentions to Claire are insulting and intolerable. Claire is a good Christian girl, a girl any man might be proud to pay his addresses to. Surely you would agree that she deserves a good decent man."

"And I'm not a decent man."

"A decent man would not have succumbed to temptation on that island. A decent man would not have reverted to such baseness," she said firmly. She knew she was on solid ground there. She had prayed over this speech, she had prepared it carefully.

"That's an easy thing to say with a full belly," said Jack harshly. He made no attempt to defend himself. Why bother, he thought, this woman doesn't care what it was like to be a boy surrounded by corpses of men you liked. Mad with fever and hunger and fear. She doesn't care about any of that. She can't imagine any of that.

Mrs. Russell's face went pale and she struggled to speak, "Are you suggesting that I- that any decent-"

"I certainly hope, ma'am, you never have a chance to find out what you might be capable of."

For a moment she was stunned to silence, his voice was full of such pity and sincerity. She closed her eyes and said a silent prayer for resolve.

"I put it to you plainly, sir. Even if your intentions towards Claire are honorable, even if you intend marriage, you will ruin her life. You will doom her. Even if the two of you were to be prosperous," said Mrs. Russell in a tone that showed how unlikely she thought this to be; "she would never be able to leave these islands. She is too loyal to leave you behind but I tell you with absolute certainly you would not be received in the homes of her family. You may think that you can leave your past behind but such a thing will always follow you."

"If you're so sure of yourself, ma'am, why aren't you talking to Claire? As you said, she is a good Christian girl who I have never had anything but honorable intentions towards," Jack said, barely containing his anger. "You make your case to her and see what she says, why don't you. Claire is a grown woman, more than capable of making her own decisions."

"I know exactly what she would say. She would say that she loves you and that you love her. She is too inexperienced to realize what your future would be together. " She paused for a moment and taking a lacy handkerchief from her skirt pocket she wiped the perspiration from her brow. When she looked at him again she found he was still watching her with thinly veiled fury. It was his control of his anger that impressed her. She tried to soften her tone. "Do you love her?"

"I don't see what business that is of yours," said Jack fiercely.

"I suppose you couldn't. But if you love her then you must want her happiness. Don't you see that? I just want her to be happy. I want her to have an opportunity to live well and honorably. To be able to go home with her head held high. Surely, Mr. McGonnigal, if you love her, you will give her that chance. You will let her go."

Jack made her no answer. He simply sat on the trunk of the palm in front of his poor excuse for a house and stared past her at the sea. He was fighting a battle, a battle Mrs. Russell could not imagine. Images crowded his mind; voices called out, luring him back to the dark place.

Mrs. Russell waited for more than a minute. A terribly long time, she thought, in such an angry silence. She tired to take his measure as she looked at him. She tried to see the unnatural beast that Enid Titchmarsh spoke about. She looked for signs of the gentle almost bookish man Claire described. She couldn't find either. What she saw was a young man fighting his desire to defend himself. As she turned away she said, "I think perhaps, Claire is right after all, you are a good man; a man who would not condemn her to this way of life for his own selfish pleasure. I leave it to your conscience, sir."

Jack didn't move until she was out of sight beyond the dune. Then he tore the new door apart.

***

Isabelle smoothed the creases from the bright scarlet silk dress that covered her bed. It was her favorite, made by the dressmaker in Papeete from the bolt of silk Claire and Lavinia had given her for her birthday. Nothing she'd worn in her entire life gave her the sense of satisfaction and confidence that that silk dress did. She folded it carefully and fitted it into the pouch of a saddlebag. She looked around her room with her hands on her hips and her lips pursed. She needed a petticoat, brush, combs for her hair, a box of rice powder, her silver earrings and – oh, yes, shoes and stockings and garters.

Distracted by her thoughts she went about gathering what she would need to dress for dinner at the best restaurant in the capital. Her thoughts were not on her dinner with Henri Seraut but had remained for several days on David and Mauriri.

When she saw them walking towards the house from the beach the day before and Mauriri passed Tevaki to David so nonchalantly, Isabelle knew that they had made it up completely. Once again David and Mauriri were thinking like partners and she was just as sure that her time as David's partner would come to an end.

She tried to tell herself as she stuffed the frilled petticoat into the other saddlebag that she had gotten what she wanted from her partnership with David. She was a quick study. She had learned trading practices and the unwritten rules of the traders that would allow her to make her own way. She'd learned enough about sailing to hire a good captain when she could afford a boat of her own.

They wouldn't be able to get rid of her just because they wanted to. They would have to pay. She and David had a legal agreement that said what she was owed for her interest in the boat. She had learned to protect herself after the wild, dubious adventures with unscrupulous men in her youth. Not that David and Mauriri were unscrupulous, far from it. They would suffer her presence on the boat for as long as it took to pay her off. She didn't doubt that.

Searching through a small Chinese lacquered box for her earrings she came across the silk bag that held her jade necklace. She poured it out into her hand, the silver chain cool against her palm. Her fingers traced the shape of the sleek seal. When David was missing, she'd worn it every day, every minute. She would touch it when her faith in his being alive failed her. It would remind her that he did exist, the man who knew her so much better than he thought he did.

Holding the necklace she sank down onto the bed. Why couldn't there be something more between them than friendship she asked herself for the thousandth time. Or if there could only be friendship then why couldn't she quell the desire she felt? She wasn't a romantic like Claire. She didn't believe that there was only one man for her. She didn't expect David to marry her. David wasn't the marrying kind and neither was she. They should have gotten it out of the way at the very beginning. They should have had sex and then the mystery would be over and she could stop thinking that it would be different with him. When they might have found a few minutes for it she didn't know since she was bound up in irons much of the time. If she kept letting herself be sentimental over David she would end up giving him the damn boat back instead of making the profit she so richly deserved.

She stood up and slipped the necklace back into the bag. She put it away in the lacquered box. Giving herself a hard shake she picked up the saddlebags and went out of her bedroom, through her office to the top of the stairs. She ran head long into David.

Only his reflexes prevented them from tumbling down the steep stairs. They ended up a tangle of legs and arms on the floor, hanging precariously over the top step. David shifted his weight to put them more solidly on the floor of her office. For a long moment they laid still, David's arms around her protectively, Isabelle's fingers clutching the front of his red shirt.

"I'm sorry. I thought I heard you in the stable yard and I looked back at just the wrong moment. Are you hurt?" he asked, twisting to get a look at her face.

She shook her head but didn't look at him or speak.

Assuming she'd had the breath knocked out of her, David resituated himself so that he was leaning against the wall and continued to hold her. It was really very nice to have the length of her lithesome body spread out over him. He felt a tremor go through her. "Hey, are you sure you're not hurt?" he asked as he gently pushed her hair back from her face.

Isabelle scrambled backward suddenly and stood quickly. She shook her head and turned away from him. "I'm fine. You were looking for me. What do you want?"

"I have something to talk to you about but it looks like you're on your way out," he said, coming slowly to his feet. He nodded towards the saddlebags that had spilled their contents halfway down the stairs. "Where are you headed?"

"Papeete. I've a dinner engagement. I'll be back tomorrow," she answered as she scooped her toiletries into the bags.

"Dinner? Business or pleasure?" asked David, following her slowly down the stairs.

"Pleasure. I assume you wanted to talk to me about business." Isabelle hung the saddlebags over a hook. She crossed the stable yard and pulled back the latch on Dante's stall. The big chestnut pushed his nose into her shoulder as she hooked a lead rope to him and led him out.

Isabelle glanced at David. The change that she had noticed at lunch was still there. His smile reached the whole way to his eyes, making them bright and curious. His whole long, strong body seemed in better balance as if he was once more comfortable within his own skin.

David leaned against a pillar with his hands shoved deep into his pocket. He liked to watch her work with a horse. She was firm but gentle, no movement wasted as she brushed down the glossy hide and picked the big hooves free of stones and bits of straw.

"Yes, we do have some business to talk over," said David. He paused for a moment, not quite certain how to bring up Mauriri and paying her back.

"What sort of plan did you and Mauriri come up with for buying me out?" she asked as she spread a saddle blanket over Dante's back.

David was taken aback for a second. How was it she could read him so well? Or was she just that clever, that observant that she might be able to read anyone she knew. "A pretty good one. Mo has just about two-thirds of what we owe you now. It will take some time to save the rest of it but you can have that much now if you want it."

Isabelle stopped halfway to where her saddle hung. She didn't look at David. She had been expecting some sort of scheme from David about how Mauriri should have an equal say simply because David wanted him to. She hadn't been prepared for him to be able to buy his partnership. How did he save that sort of money? She asked herself and then thought, no time to think about that now.

She pulled the saddle off the hook and turned towards him with a broad smile. "That's perfect. That will give me some capital to look into other opportunities with. We can work it all out on the next trip. You'll both be ready to go day after tomorrow?"

"Yeah, sure." David was surprised that she was being so agreeable. There wasn't any reason she shouldn't be. In fact he'd told Mauriri she would be happy if she were well paid for stepping in to help him when he couldn't make the payments. Still he felt surprised and, well, surely not disappointed that she was being agreeable.

Isabelle finished saddling Dante. She took the halter off and pulled the bridle over his head. Her saddlebags fitted snuggly behind the saddle she prepared to mount. David walked over to her.

"Whom are you having dinner with?" he asked suddenly. He had the odd feeling she was anxious to be away. He wanted to slow her down.

"Henri Seraut," she said as climbed into the saddle. She started to turn Dante but David reached for the rein and stopped her. Isabelle looked at him and saw concern in his greenish eyes. "What?"

David shook his head slightly, "Nothing, I just, well, be careful on the road."

"I always am," she said, touching her boot. There was a small loop inside the top into which fit a little but deadly pistol. She used to ride with her pistol in the saddle bag but experience had taught her it was too hard to get to. "Don't forget to take a look at those ropes. Mauriri thought the halyard on the jib needed changing for sure."

"I won't." He watched her turn the horse and ride through the arch to the street. For a moment he stood still with a puzzled frown darkening his handsome face. Then his wide grin appeared. It was going to work out. He was going to get his old life back with Mo on the Rattler.

***

Isabelle guided Dante through the crowded village streets with extreme care. She kept a pleasant smile on her lips and responded readily to the greetings that were called out to her. She even managed to stop and speak several minutes with a storekeeper who was interested in using the Rattler to deliver goods to another island. No one who saw her could have guessed how jumbled her thoughts were.

At the edge of town she touched Dante behind the girth with her heels. The big horse stretched his long legs into a fast canter down the sandy road that wound its way along the rough coastline. Isabelle sat deep in her saddle. She told herself the tears in her eyes were from the wind.

When Dante finally slowed to an easy walk Isabelle took a deep breath and composed herself. There was nothing to cry about. She'd been expecting David to find a way to bring Mauriri back into the partnership from the very beginning. And she had been expecting him to try to buy her out from the very beginning.

Isabelle thought about the moment, such a long time ago, that David had confronted her about making the payment on the Rattler. He was so angry. It was strange; he had never reproached her for shooting Jenny even though he swore that Jenny would never have killed him. In fact he had taken complete responsibility for Jenny's death. It had been quite a gamble. Morlais might well have thought he needed to investigate further into the matter. Something about David's straightforward admission about taking the bank boat and that Jenny was dead made Morlais decide to let the matter end. He had never questioned Isabelle about her part in it. David had somehow managed to shield her from Morlais's attention.

Isabelle remembered telling David that she was sorry about Jenny that she had shot her only because she was afraid for his life. It was almost true, she was sorry for the pain he was in but not that Jenny was gone. Maybe even then in his grief for the woman he had hoped Jenny was, he had felt some relief that she was gone. Maybe that was why he wasn't angry with Isabelle for her part in it.

But, she thought with a slight smile, he was furious about her making that payment. Well, she had expected that. He couldn't wallow in self-pity if he was angry. Where did he think she had gotten the money? There wasn't a stallion in the South Seas worth the price of those payments and certainly no man with that sort of cash for a horse even if he had been that stupid. She'd sold everything she could as fast as she could. Ten horses, her best brood mares, and the pearls she had been slowly buying over the course of a year in hopes of someday having a perfect strand. It had been worth every penny.

She remembered David claiming he would pay her back every penny. That time her laugh had been real. David was horrible with money. No matter how good his intentions were he simply couldn't hold on to it. She thought about their time as partners, he was always broke, as if he had made half as much as he had.

"Why did you do it, Isabelle?" he'd asked, standing over her, glaring down at her.

She laughed and walked away. Men, how blind they were sometimes. Did he really think she needed any other reason than to be sure he didn't lose the Rattler? Losing the Rattler would have broken his heart for real. It was so simple to say, "I want to learn more about trading, I thought it would be easier with partners."

Well, she had been truthful. She had wanted to trade, that was where the money was. And it was very wise of her to go into business with established traders like David and Mauriri, the dangers of the South Seas were best faced by those who knew them. It had never occurred to her that Mauriri wouldn't be a member of the partnership.

When she realized that Mauriri had actually walked away from the partnership was when it all seemed like more than a gamble; it seemed like a fool's bet. The debacle of his relationship with Jenny had left David confused and embarrassed but not heart broken. It was the lost of Mauriri's trust that had torn the heart out of him.

Dante stopped. Isabelle looked around her and realized they had come to the little stream where she always let him have a drink. "Good thing you're paying attention," she said as she patted his neck. She got down from his back and led him to the stream. While he drank, Isabelle thought about her time as David's partner.

They had done all right. It wasn't all ways easy, what with the language problems with the chiefs and pirates lobbing cannon balls at them. But they had made money, enough to keep up the payments. And for the most part they had gotten along. David never seemed embarrassed to introduce her as his partner. He had even taken a lot of her suggestions about bookkeeping. She'd been a good partner. Didn't he know that?

It wasn't like she had ever thought she could replace Mauriri. Although David knew he could trust her to take care of herself in a fight she knew it couldn't be the same as knowing Mauriri had his back. The funny thing about that was she knew because when he was with her she felt like she could take on the world. Of course it was more than that. She'd learned that people weren't interchangeable. Having Claire's friendship had taught her that. She respected Lavinia and was very fond of Lianni but it was on Claire's shoulder she had cried after David was safe. It could only have been Claire that she would let see her so emotional.

She was happy to have Mauriri on the Rattler, even willing to give him equal say. Hadn't she proven that while they were looking for David? Of course she'd paid him. How were his children to eat if she hadn't paid him? Men, she thought, always full of their big ideas and forgetting the little things like how to pay for the food on the table.

All most against her will she thought again of seeing David walking towards the Lepau's house the day before. His energy was back, that was what she had noticed then and seen again in the stable yard. It was little things, his shoulders were straighter, his voice was more certain, his smile came quicker. She had seen all of that while they were having lunch. In fact she had noticed things about Mauriri as well, he was more relaxed, more talkative and charming towards Mrs. Russell. They were both suddenly more themselves, who they had been when she met them.

"Why do they have to get rid of me!" she said so vehemently that Dante raised his head and looked at her with one dark solemn eye. "Sorry, boy," she said softly, rubbing his wide nose with her hand.

Isabelle led Dante back to the road. She set her foot in the stirrup, gave a little hop and pulled herself into the saddle. They set off at an easy trot.

Why did they have to get rid of her? She'd told Lianni that she wasn't between them but how could she ignore the fact that they had finally made it up properly once she wasn't on the boat. Still, how could it be so easy for him to let her go after they had done so well? Did it have anything to do with feeling he couldn't trust her?

Or was it that easy for him? she thought suddenly. She forced herself to remember every detail of their conversation in the stable yard. She was the one who had said he had a plan for buying her out. David had simply said that they had two thirds of what they owed her. It amounted to the same thing, she told herself but then she thought of how he'd looked. He'd been puzzled by her quick acceptance. She had been the one to cut the conversation off. Well, of course she had. Even she had trouble dealing with both the throbbing desire that few seconds after they had collided had created and the fact that she could lose her place on the Rattler.

"Damn!" she said aloud. The big horse's ears twitched at the sound of her voice.

She was not going to think about any of this anymore. She was going to make a decent profit off her partnership in the Rattler whatever the future held. As for David—

Isabelle gently pulled Dante to the side of the narrow road and brought him to a stop. She looked out over the blue green water of the bay but it was David she was seeing. Even before the kidnapping David had been so different from the man she had first met. That big strong man with the ready laugh and reckless courage, who had come through for her when no one else could have. The whole time they had been partners some part of that man had been missing. It was as if he needed to know he had Mauriri's trust in order to trust himself completely.

She saw him now as he looked leaning against the pillar in the stable yard. Physically he was too thin but still it was his strength that she saw. And in his beautiful eyes there was humor and intelligence, all the things that had drawn her to him in the first place. Perhaps now there was even more. She had been the best partner she could possibly be but all along he had needed Mauriri's forgiveness and trust, now that he had it he was himself again.

Isabelle laughed, she knew it was a slightly bitter laugh. "Anyone would think I thought David and I were going to be partners forever. Even Claire would think I was being overly romantic. You know, Dante, what I need to think about is dinner with a man who just happens to have excellent business possibilities."

***

Through her thick lashes Isabelle regarded the man across the table. She rarely saw Henri Seraut out of the company of his cousin. Gilles Bradford had such story book good looks and such an open, pleasing manner than Seraut appeared sallow, somber and pinched beside him. Now, seeing him on his own, Isabelle noted his dark, intelligent eyes and his thin lipped but mobile mouth.

"I'm surprised, M. Seraut, that your family didn't warn you against my company," said Isabelle in French. Her French was far more fluent than his English.

"My family?" he queried, raising one fine dark eyebrow. "Ah, you mean the Bradfords, of course."

He shrugged his dark clad shoulders. Isabelle tried to remember the last time that a man had bothered dressing in an evening suit to take her to dinner.

"Gilles is the only Bradford I consider family and I can assure you there is nothing Gilles appreciates more than a beautiful woman. He is, by the way, quite taken with your friend Miss Devon. As for the Bradfords, I appreciate the hospitality they have shown me. We do not, however, share the same view of the world."

"Really," responded Isabelle, cocking her head to the side, her glossy dark curls brushing her bare shoulder. "And what is your view of the world?"

"That beauty," said Seraut, leaning back in his chair and gazing at her. He raised his wineglass in a small salute. "Is to be admired. Pleasures, such as good food and good wine, are to be enjoyed and middle class morality is for the middle class."

Isabelle laughed lowly. It had been a very long time since a man had flirted with her in so subtle and pleasant a manner. She felt quite warmed by his open admiration. "How do you like the Malahini?" she asked as she dipped her spoon into her vichyssoise.

He shrugged. "She seems sea worthy and she is big enough for our purposes. At least for the time being. Why do you smile?"

"Oh, you don't sound like a sailor."

"Because I'm not in love with a boat?" His thin mouth lifted at the corners. "I'm not sailor, I'm a business man. Were I moving goods by trains you would not expect me to be in love with a freight car, would you?"

"No." Isabelle giggled.

"Any man, mademoiselle," he said seriously, "who would prefer a boat to a woman like you would be a total fool. I am not romantic about business. Here one needs a ship to trade. Luckily, Gilles loves the sea and knows something about boats. Cannibal Jack, in spite of his colorful appellation, seems to know what he's doing and between them they are able to communicate with the natives."

"I've only met your cousin a few times. Claire says he is very good company."

"Yes," Seruat said with a tight smile. "Everyone likes Gilles and Gilles likes everyone. It is useful to have such a partner even if he tends to lose interest in the details."

"Details?" asked Isabelle, moving away from the table so that the waiter could remove her soup bowl and replace it with a plate of roasted duck.

Seraut refilled her wineglass as he said, "Shipping dates, tonnage, prices. Luckily such things fascinate me. So I make my careful lists to keep track of our success and Gilles charms everyone into feeling fortunate to do business with such a fine fellow."

"He sounds like David."

"Yes? Is Captain Grief the much indulged child of wealthy parents?"

Isabelle changed the subject to the local port regulations. She didn't know much about David's past. She knew he had quarreled years ago with his father. Thanks to a visit some months ago by a beast of a man David had once called friend, she knew that the Grief family was in possession of a rather large piece of property in Australia. But more than that she didn't know.

It was nice to talk to someone as interested in the details of business as she was. She was impressed with his knowledge of the commodities of the islands and how to make money off trading. Clearly he had planned the venture carefully before he left France. He had contacts in China and New Zealand. His approach was very serious, nothing like the freewheeling attitude of the most of the traders she knew.

"If the sea holds no romance for you then why come to Tahiti?" Isabelle asked as she took a bite of lemon tart.

"Ah," he answered with a board smile that softened the lines of his narrow face and made him quite handsome. "Tahiti has been the stuff of my dreams since I was a tiny child. Always my father would tell me of this beautiful place and how my grandfather lived like a king. That it was an island in the middle of the sea was not what interested me."

"Lavinia says you look like your grandfather."

Seraut swirled the brandy in his globe like glass. "She probably doesn't mean it as a compliment, I understand he was something of a pirate. I never knew him. But he was a great hero to me. My father was a lazy man who loved to tell stories of his own father while he drank the good wine his inheritance bought him. Unfortunately he was very fond of his wine and so my inheritance was the stories of my grandfather and Tahiti."

"There are still fortunes to be made here," said Isabelle as she ate the last bite of her dessert. "At least I hope there are. I would like a fortune."

He watched her for a moment. Frank admiration shown in his dark eyes. "It surprises me that a woman as beautiful, as clever as you, stays in a back water like Matavia. Surely there are more exciting places you might try your luck. Or were you too brought up on the stories of Tahiti?"

"No," she shook her head. She considered his question for a moment. She was sure that he knew her history. He would consider her an adventuress, a sexual adventuress in all likelihood. "I have friends here. For now they are a good enough reason to stay."

"And the dashing Captain Grief--"

"Is a good friend and a business partner," said Isabelle quickly. She felt her cheeks color. She hoped he would think it was simply the rich dinner and the warm air.

While he walked her back to her hotel he told her that he too was spending the night in Papeete. Gilles was to bring the Malahini from Matavai to meet him in the morning. It was a pleasant night; they walked a very indirect route. It was entertaining to talk to a man as interested in business as she was. It was flattering to be flirted with. As they neared her hotel, Isabelle appraised him again with a sidelong glance. He was an attractive man, ambitious, intelligent. Although no older than herself she suspected he was the veteran of many affairs.

They stood outside the door to her room. Isabelle asked herself, Why not? No one cares what I do or whom I do it with? Why shouldn't I enjoy myself for a change?

Seraut leaned forward with the clear intention of kissing her. Without thinking, Isabelle raised her hand, blocking his access to her mouth.

For the briefest of moments, she thought she saw anger flash in his nearly black eyes. But it was replaced instantly by amusement. He took her proffered hand and brought it to his lips. "Sleep well, beautiful Isabelle. I hope this is only the first of our many pleasant encounters."

***

Holding hands, they walked silently along the edge of the surf. The sand still gave off the sun's heat against the soles of their bare feet. Phosphorus green sparkled in the white foam of the waves and the three-quarter moon's silver light reflected off the black face of the sea.

Claire paused and looked out over the ocean. She drew Jack's hand across her waist and pressed her back against his chest.

He settled his cheek against her hair and closed his eyes, his arms around her. Claire smiled as she let her head rest against his shoulder and she looked up into the deep velvet of the night. The constellations were no longer unfamiliar to her. She knew their shapes and their stories. This was now her home sky, the Southern Cross her reckoning point.

"Claire?" he whispered softly into her ear.

"Mm?"

"Are you happy? I mean right now, right here?"

"Blissful," she answered slowly. "Right now, right here, I believe I may be as happy as I have ever been in my life."

Jack tightened his arms around her. "Make me a promise?"

"Of course."

"Promise that you will never forget how happy we are this minute. That you won't forget the sound of waves or the silver of moonlight or how much I--" his voice broke and he sighed deeply.

Claire twisted her head to look up at him. His eyes were closed and his bottom lip was caught between his teeth. "Jack, what is it? We are talking about being happy but you seem--"

"I just want to be sure that you know that , that--" Again he paused.

Claire turned within the circle of his arms to face him. She slid her hand gently along the side of his face. Playfully she touched the hanging earring and set it swinging. "Of course I know. How else could I be so happy? An amazing man loves me and I love him. Nothing else matters."

"Just promise that you will remember," he whispered as he pulled her closer to him.

"I promise that I will remember this moment as I will remember all of our happy moments to come. I will keep them in my memory, each distinct as a bright star in heaven," she said solemnly, smiling up at him. Then she pulled his head down to press her lips to his.

***

The tavern was full; there were several French cruisers in the harbor. Patrons spilled out on to the porch, sitting on the stairs with mugs of beer. It was loud and crowded in the taproom when David pushed his way through to the long bar across the back of the room.

"You're on the wrong side of that bar, aren't you?" he asked, grabbing a recently empty stool.

Colin looked up through the smudged lenses of his spectacles. He was arranging clean glasses under the bar. "Lavinia is short handed this evening. I'm trying to help out."

"Where's Claire?" asked David, looking around the packed taproom.

"In that cozy little house with Mrs. Russell," said Lavinia cryptically as she drew a beer from the tap.

Behind her back David sent Colin a questioning glance. Colin shook his head. David decided he would ask later what that curious statement had meant.

"Beer or whiskey?" asked Lavinia as she handed the full beer mugs to a barmaid.

"Whiskey."

Lavinia paused and looked more closely at David. She noticed a certain tightness around his mouth. She took a bottle of good Scotch from beneath the bar and poured him a generous two fingers. "How's your shoulder?"

"Mm? It's all right. The best it's been really," he said; he turned back to her to flash his winning smile. At least Lavinia was always interested in his well being. "You know, Colin, you look quite at home behind that bar. I think you may have missed your true calling."

Colin shook his head slightly and gave David a reproachful look. "I saw Isabelle riding towards Papeete this afternoon," he said as he filled a mug at the tap. He smiled when he managed to stop the flow just in time to prevent half the beer from dripping to the floor. His shoes were still damp from his first attempt of the evening. He was pleased to have realized there was an art to properly filling a beer mug.

"She had a dinner engagement," said Lavinia with a glance at David.

"Yes, Henri Seraut," he said, taking a healthy gulp of the amber liquid.

His mobile mouth had tightened again. Lavinia suppressed a smile. "They have a lot in common, don't you think?"

"Isabelle and Seruat?" said David sharply. "Why would you say that?"

Lavinia shrugged her dark, slender, bare shoulders. "Both brought up in France, both new to trading and the South Seas."

"Isabelle practically an old hand at trading now," said David with a note of defensiveness.

"Then no doubt she has a lot to teach Seraut," said Lavinia as she put four glasses and a bottle of rum on a tray. With a swish of silk, she carried it to table in the middle of the room. When she returned she found David staring down at his drink.

"What do you think of him?" he asked suddenly. There was a sharp frown line between his greenish eyes.

"Who?" asked Lavinia innocently. She was holding a tray of clean mugs. Colin was filling them one by one.

"Seraut."

Lavinia considered the question for a moment. "Oh, I don't know, he's always here with Gilles. I don't really pay that much attention to him."

"You must have some impression of him." David valued Lavinia's perceptions of people. She would say it was just a feeling that she got. But David knew her feelings were based on observation. He supposed there was no better place to observe people than from behind a bar.

"Well, he's different than Gilles and I suppose because I'm so very fond of Gilles that surprises me."

"You don't like him," said David bluntly.

"I didn't say that. He's always polite but there is a certain condescension," she said the word carefully, glancing at Colin to see if she had used the proper word. "in his manner. It is not unusual in Europeans. But it always makes me wary. He's a watcher."

"A watcher?" repeated David, narrowing his eyes as if the word disturbed him.

"Yes," she answered with a nod. That was the right word for Seraut. "Someone who says little and might appear to be disinterested but is actually paying very close attention to everything going on around him."

"You said he reminded you of his grandfather," volunteered Colin, setting the last of the full mugs on the tray.

"That not what reminds me of him," said Lavinia as she set the heavy tray on the bar and slid it towards the waiting barmaid. "The old man never paid attention to anything except what he wanted. But Seraut does look like his grandfather. He is imperial in the same way. Gilles says that his cousin has a good education. He is very excited about their business venture. He says Seraut has a passion for making money. And there is no denying that he is an attractive man. I'm sure Isabelle is having a lovely time."

David scowled down at the glass between his hands.

"Grief," called one of the card players. "Come show us the color of your money."

David finished his drink. He sent Lavinia a troubled glance and then turned away to join the poker game at a near by table.

Once his back was turned Lavinia let a broad smile breakout across her lovely face. Colin, watching her, said, "You enjoyed that."

"What?" she asked her dark eyes lively with amusement.

"Letting David think Isabelle would find Seraut attractive."

"I'm sure that she does find him attractive. And I hope she is enjoying being taken out to dinner," said Lavinia letting her eyes drifted to David who was dealing cards. She looked back at Colin and said seriously, " David treats Isabelle like a deckhand. She deserves better than that. It doesn't hurt David to be reminded not to take his friends for granted."

***

Claire made her way slowly through the town towards her office. The morning air was fresh and cool thanks to a sudden, hard down pour just before dawn. Everything looked newly scrubbed and bright which fit her mood.

One good thing, she thought as she crossed the muddy street, about sharing a house with Mrs. Russell I'll never go hungry. She had woken to the smell of Bambury cakes, a favorite of her childhood. "Good morning," she called when she saw Isabelle among the carts and stands of the market place.

Isabelle stopped by the cart of her favorite farmer and waited for her. "Good morning, yourself."

"Are you headed to sea?" asked Claire, gesturing toward the bulging basket hooked over her friend's arm.

"Yes, we'll be gone about a week. Anything I can get you on Boro Boro?"

"A good story. Murder, mayhem," answered Claire brightly.

Isabelle laughed. "Not on those islands, the most peaceful people in the world. Of course with the Rattler's crew in their midst one never knows what will happen."

"How was your dinner with Henri?"

"Very nice. He'll be a rich man someday. I don't think even the temptations of Tahiti will distract him from his objectives." Isabelle gave Claire a closer look and said, "You certainly are happy. Did you make it up with Lavinia?"

Claire's face fell immediately. "No. I don't know how to go about it. I feel like I'm supposed to apologize for being English. I don't see what good that will do since I can hardly change being English."

Pointing to various vegetables for the farmer to put into a crate for her, Isabelle asked, "Have you spoken with Colin? You know she'll listen to him."

Claire inspected a mango thoughtfully and said, "I will eventually but right now I don't want to add to Colin's burdens."

Isabelle's grayish-green eyes narrowed. "What does that mean?"

Claire groaned. "Well, I don't really think this is Mrs. Russell's doing, at least not on her own."

Isabelle raised one finely arched eyebrow and said reaching for the mango, "Here, I'll get that for you. Mrs. Russell and I were never destined to be best friends so you don't need to worry about my finding faults with you about something she's done."

Claire took the basket so that Isabelle could fish her purse from inside the bosom her blouse. "Mrs. Russell knows Colin's bishop. Have you ever met him?"

"A bishop?" queried Isabelle as she counted money into the farmer's out stretched hand. "No, I can't say I know a lot of bishops."

"He is a very well meaning man but he's a bishop and his primary objective is that the affairs of the church run smoothly. Colin's church is a bit unusual for a mission church in that it has a fairly large ex-patriot population. So he is ministering to both new Christians and those who were brought up in the tradition."

"And they are the ones complaining?" Carrying the heavy crate of fresh produce, Isabelle turned towards the beach. Claire fell into step beside her.

"Yes. I keep trying to explain to Mrs. Russell that Colin has done an amazing job of balancing the needs of the two communities. But I'm afraid that she believes I'm as beguiled by Tahiti as Mrs. Titchmarsh claims Colin to be. What is really difficult for me is that under normal circumstances she would be able to see Mrs. Titchmarsh for what she is."

"You mean a mean spirited, small minded, frustrated, busy body?"

"Well, yes," answered Claire, trying hard to keep from laughing. "Not to put too fine a point on it. My Aunt Harriet has been very generous to me over the years but truth to tell she is much like Mrs. Titchmarsh, a bit more refined I'm thankful to say, but still a big fish in a little pond. Mrs. Russell has always been very polite about Aunt Harriet and always insisted I follow my own mind. But here --"

"Mrs. Titchmarsh has the comfort of being familiar," interjected Isabelle thoughtfully.

Claire nodded. "Although Mrs. Bradford is considerably more open minded she too thinks Colin is too tolerant of the old island ways."

"I'll bet none of them approve of his friendships with the likes of me and Lavinia. Don't frown so, Claire. In her heart Lavinia knows you don't judge her harshly, just as I know. So poor Colin is getting drowned in advice for the good of his soul. Sometimes I'm deeply thankful I'm too far gone for anyone to try to redeem me."

Claire let that provocative statement pass. There might be a few souls in the world past redemption but she was quite certain her dear friend's was not one of them. "At the moment I think it best that Colin has Lavinia's full support which you know he relies on, rather than have them arguing over me."

"And yet," said Isabelle, pausing to looked closely at Claire pretty young face. "In spite of all this turmoil, you are grinning like the cat that swallowed the canary. If it isn't that you made it up with Lavinia then it must be Jack. He said he loves you, didn't he?"

A delighted giggle bubble up through Claire and burst forth like a spring of fresh water. "Not in so many words but he didn't object when I said he loves me or when I said I love him."

Isabelle smiled broadly. "How could he object to the truth?"

"Am I an idiot to believe it could work out?" asked Claire soberly. "After how brutal I was to him at the beginning? And there is no pretending that Mrs. Russell or my family at home would be pleased for me if Jack and I were to marry."

"Is that what's important to you?" asked Isabelle with equal seriousness.

Claire took a deep breath. This was the point where she and Isabelle had nothing in common. As near as Claire could work out Isabelle had not only lived her life without trying to please anyone else but herself since her mother's death when she was a child there had been no one for her to please. Claire had been brought up within a family and a society that constantly evaluated her and let her know how she was measuring up. She was, she realized, somewhat dependent on those measures.

"I wish that they could be happy for me, glad that I've found a life I love and a man who," she paused and her wide generous mouth curved into a gentle smile. "A man who needs me, believes in me, loves me. But if they can't then the loss is theirs. Maybe there is no happy ever after but I know Jack and I can build a life here, as good a life as I can imagine anywhere. I know we can."

Isabelle looked at Claire against the backdrop of the turquoise bay. She thought of the nervous, slightly self-righteous girl she first met. She wondered briefly if she had changed as much as Claire had; for the woman standing before her was prepared to face what ever came her way with good humor and with hope. "Yes, you can. That's half the battle, you know, believing you will win out in the end. I'm very happy for you. You know that, don't you?"

"Yes," answered Claire, reaching out to hug Isabelle around the shoulders. "And I want to be as happy for you."

"You should be," said Isabelle quickly with her impish grin flashing. "My dreams are going to come true too. I'm going to be a rich woman someday. I'm off to a grand start."

"What do you mean?"

"Mauriri is paying me off," answered Isabelle, her gaze drifted out over the bay to settle on the Rattler rocking at her mooring. She could see David and Mauriri getting her ready to sail. "He has the money now to become a full partner again with David and me. Soon he'll pay me off completely. And I will be able to move on."

"Move on?" asked Claire her face collapsing into a worried frown. She reached out to grab Isabelle by the arm. "You don't mean away?"

"I don't know what I mean exactly," answered Isabelle, shrugging. "I just know having a nice chunk of money let's me be open to opportunities."

"But, Isabelle--"

Isabelle saw open affection in Claire's big brown eyes. Here was one person in Matavai who really would miss her if she left. "Don't you worry. I'll never go so far as to leave you behind, you're my good luck charm. You just concentrate on being happy with Jack right now. The rest of us will work out our lives. You'll see. Ah, there's Tah-Mey with the long boat. I better go on, my partners are waiting."

"Safe journey," said Claire as Tah-Mey took the heavy basket from her arm. She watched Isabelle arrange the provisions in the boat and take her place in the stern. Someday, she thought, someday you will be ready to talk to David. I hope it is someday soon for both your sakes.

***

The weather was heavy. Not dangerously so for a ship the Rattler's size with a seasoned crew, but rough and wet. They sailed using only the mainsail, they moved swiftly over the water but had to tack often to correct their course. When it wasn't raining the wind whipped ocean sprayed over the decks, dripping down into the cabins. There was no place truly dry on the ship. Isabelle was exhausted. She was soaked to the skin and chilled.

She reminded herself it was not so bad as a winter crossing of the English Channel could be when the temperature was 50 degrees colder and the precipitation was snow and sleet. It didn't help much, she was still miserable.

Tah-Mey and Sparrow took the weather in stride. Mauriri grumbled about wet, cold rations. David was so disgustingly cheerful about the official re-establishment of his partnership with Mauriri nothing including the weather could dampen his spirits.

Finally, late on the third day the sky began to clear and the wind lowered to a steady breeze. Isabelle breathed a sigh of relief as they hoisted the jib. She hoped they would make steady progress towards their destination without zig zaging across half the ocean.

Standing by the leeward rail she took the ends of her heavy hair between her hands and attempted to wring it out. She heard an odd swoosh and then was forced against the side of the boat. Heavy canvas whack against her face. It pressed her outward, so she was in danger of over balancing and falling into the water. Franticly she clawed at the weight but it bent her double over the edge. Her forehead banged hard against the rail. The breath was knocked from her lungs.

Fighting panic Isabelle tried to think. It was the jib. The rope must have broken letting the sail flap outwards before it fell, trapping her against the side. She heard the men shouting. She tried to claw her way from under the thick canvas.

This bloody ship hates me, she thought, fighting angry tears.

Damp air hit her face as the sail was tugged off. David caught her around the waist and dragged her away from the side.

"Are you hurt?" he asked, setting her carefully on her feet.

She hit him hard in the chest with both hands. "You lazy bastard, you promised you'd replace that damn rope!" she screamed up into his worried face. She was still shaking with fear she desperately needed to cover with anger.

"I did," insisted David hotly, raising his arms to defend himself. "With a brand new sheet."

"So the brand new rope just broke!"

David sputtered with indignation. He'd replaced the halyard. He'd bought new lines. He'd taken hours to check all of the rigging. He'd replaced sheets for three of the sails including the jib. He'd done all of that immediately after he'd seen her at the stables the day she had dinner with Seraut. He remembered every moment.

"Well, it must have been, have been --" He noticed the lump raising above her left eye. The sail could have taken her over the side. It could have broken her neck. She could have been killed.

"Have been what, David?" she shouted back. She stood with her feet planted solidly on the deck, her small hands in tight fists at her side.

"David, look here!"

They turned together to stare at Mauriri. He stood on the cabin roof holding the end of the rope out to them. It was heavy rope comprised of three cords twisted together. David looked closely and realized that one cord had been cut through, the second partly severed thus leaving little more than a single cord intact.

David put one hand against the cabin roof to steady himself. He looked up at Mauriri and saw his own anger mirrored in his dark eyes. "Has to be him," he said unsteadily.

"Yeah, but who does his dirty work?" asked Mauriri urgently. He sat down on the edge of the roof and studied the halyard. He ran his bunt fingers around the end, feeling the difference in the cut strands and the frayed ones. "And when? It had to have been cut after you put it up which leaves an awfully narrow window of opportunity."

"A day, day and a half," said David, rubbing his hand over his rough chin.

"What are you talking about?" Isabelle demanded. Her heart was still beating franticly. She all but stomped her foot in fury.

The two men turned to her with annoyed frowns. "Hang on a minute, would you," snapped David, "we're trying to figure this out."

"Figure what out?" They were cutting her out. They were partners again and she would just have to wait for them to tell her what was going on. Like hell she would. "What the hell is there to figure out? The rope broke."

"No, it didn't, it was cut," said Mauriri, holding it out for her to see the end. Isabelle took a step closer and stared at it.

"Call me paranoid if you like, Mo," said David seriously, "but it has to be him or at least some agent of his in Matavai."

"Who?" screamed Isabelle. David was ignoring her completely.

"The Devil," they answered together.

"What? How?" she exclaimed. She looked at the sheet and then back and forth between them. "Or do you think it was me? He waved some gold in my face and I sabotaged my own ship in my greed. Yes, of course that's what I did, I came up here last night in a thunderstorm and cut the bloody rope so that damn sail could suffocate me!"

David straightened and turned to her with blazing green eyes. He caught her by the hand and dragged her towards the bow. "That tears it!"

"Let go of me, you ape!" she cried, trying to twist out of his grasp. She swung a fist at him but David was ready for her and caught her wrist. He forced her to sit on the forward hatch.

"Now you are going to sit there until we get this worked out between us," he shouted hoarsely.

"What' s there to work out?" she demanded. Her changeable eyes were dark with emotion. "You think I'm just one gold coin away from becoming a murdering pirate. It doesn't matter to you how hard I've worked to make an honest living, for you I'll never be anything but a petty thief!"

"Damn it, woman, shut up and listen to me," raged David, towering over her, both hands raised as fists.

"Why?" she spit back. Her own hands still tightly clenched. "So you can tell me I'm the most dishonest woman you've ever met."

"I swear, Isabelle, you would try the patience of a saint," growled David, he pushed both strong hands through his long, sun burnish hair. "All I'm trying to do is show you a bit of friendly concern. The bastard threatened you! I'm worried for you and you act like I've accused you of high treason."

Startled by his vehemence Isabelle stopped talking. She stared up at him with gray eyes brimming with unshed angry tears.

He saw something else in those eyes, not quite fear, at least not of him but some vulnerability he so rarely saw in her that it took him by surprise. The minute under the sail had terrified her he realized suddenly. His anger towards her evaporated.

He hated the man he called the Devil for many reasons but none more so than he could put this look in Isabelle's beautiful eyes.

David sank to his haunches and looked her square in the face.

Isabelle watched him. She wasn't afraid of him. David would never physically hurt her, it wasn't in him. But there were things that he could say that would break her heart.

"Isabelle," he said almost gently. "Jenny didn't walk up to me and say 'I'm a human viper, David. I'm going to do my damndest to destroy everything you value.' She learned my weaknesses and she used them against me. You know that."

Isabelle nodded slowly. His green eyes held hers; they wouldn't let her go.

"That man, who ever he is, uses people like Jenny, broken, half mad people."

"So I'm just perfect for his purposes."

The memory sounded in David's mind, Isabelle Reed was born for me. He shook his head hard. "I think he really believes that you would be useful to him. And maybe there was a time when you would have been." He raised his hand to ward off her angry retort. "I'm not worried about the Devil buying you. I know you can't be bought. I'm afraid for you because I don't know how he will come after you. Don't you see he could be a businessman offering a good deal on saddles or a planter willing to give you a shipping contract. He could be anyone and I wouldn't know it. I wouldn't know to warn you to watch out for a double cross. He's out there, he hasn't forgotten us. Maybe he is in Europe right now but the halyard proves he hasn't forgotten us. Everyone I care about, my friends, all of you who worked so hard to save me from him; I can't protect you."

"You don't have to protect me," she said fiercely. "I can take care of myself. I've proven that enough times."

He shook his head and reached for her hand. He found it cold and damp. He took both of her hands in his to warm them.

Isabelle shivered and swallowed hard.

"Don't make my mistakes, Isabelle." David heard the pleading note in his voice. Why wouldn't she accept my concern for her? "You're so much smarter than that."

"What's that suppose to mean?" she asked suspiciously. What does he want from me? I can't be different than I am.

"That I learned the hard way a man, a woman, needs their friends to help them understand when the pieces of a puzzle don't fit. That night they tried to take the horses--"

"Are you saying that was him?" she asked. He'd caught her interest finally concerning the Devil.

"Yes," he nodded solemnly, "I think that is one piece of the puzzle, and the cut rope is another. But I don't know what the picture is. The only thing I know is he showed way too much interest in you."

"Look, David, I'm not stupid enough to be seduced by some handsome face no matter how good a deal he's offering," she said sourly. For an instant she thought of Henri Seraut and her indecision at her hotel door but she pushed the thought from her mind.

He wanted to believe that but was anyone too smart to resist when someone offered what looked like their hearts' desire? But then how was he or the Devil to know what was Isabelle's heart's desire?

"Okay," he said with a nod. His dark greenish eyes sought hers. "But you know that this man is ruthless, there are a lot of ways he could hurt you. I just want you to be careful. I just want you to accept that there is a risk. Now, do we have this straight? I wasn't saying that I thought you would work for him no matter what he offered."

"Yeah, it's straight," she said, breaking eye contact. Friendly concern, so much friendly concern in his eyes.

"How bad is that bump?" he asked. He started to raise his hand to sweep the hair back from her forehead to get a closer look. He paused, aware of how much he wanted to pull her against him and warm her chilled body.

The grayish green eyes slid back to him. With the hint of a smile she said, "Kiss it and make it better."

David put his hand gently at the back to her head and pulled her towards him. His lips barely brushed the bruise. "Trust me, I'll see us through this," he whispered so softly she thought that perhaps she had imagined the words.


He was waiting for her. He'd been waiting since he came off the boat and walked home instead of towards the newspaper office. He wasn't surprised when he heard her at the door of the hut. The old door that still hung crookedly on it's rusted hinges.

"Jack?"

"Here."

Claire pushed the door open and stepped into the odd patterned light of the hut. She paused for a moment and let her eyes adjust. She saw him sitting in the new chair, the one with a full seat and arms of neatly worked rattan. His legs were propped in front of him on a packing crate. He held a dark bottle in his hands.

Claire started towards him but when he didn't move from the chair, she stopped and stood awkwardly in the middle of the room. "Hello. Are you alright?" she asked trying to get a better look at him in the strange light. She was a little worried. She'd seen the Malahini at her mooring in the bay. She'd waited at the newspaper office for Jack to come. She always had plenty to do in the office, she knew he would prefer to find her there than at the house she shared with Mrs. Russell. But as the hours passed she got concerned. He'd had plenty of time to clean up; he liked to clean up before they saw each other after a week on the boat. Looking at him now she realized he hadn't bathed or shaved.

"Sure," he answered back, taking a pull from the bottle. "Bit tired."

Claire frowned; she hadn't seen him drink straight from a bottle in months. The sight disconcerted her. "I saw Gilles, he said it was a good trip. He and Henri are very pleased, he said he never expected to make it back today. A fine piece of sailing, he said." She was rambling; she felt an odd flutter of nerves in her stomach.

"Good winds."

Claire ran her tongue over her dry lips and said brightly, "I thought maybe you would like to come to dinner. Mrs. Russell baked today. Scones and black bread and pound cake." When he didn't answer she took a step closer and said. "Jack, is something wrong?"

"Nope."

"You seem a bit distant"

"Long trip." He put the bottle to his mouth again. "Not really feeling up to Mrs. Russell's company."

"That's alright. I'll just go and get a loaf of bread and some cheese from M. Pye. Colin gave me some beautiful tomatoes this morning. We'll have a quiet supper here." She took another step closer.

Jack still sat deep in the chair; he made no move towards her. "Don't bother. I'm not hungry. I'll eat something later at Lavinia's while I'm playing cards."

"Oh." Claire felt her mouth form a perfect circle as she uttered the syllable. "You've a card game?"

"There's always a card game."

"Jack, what is it?" she demanded as she took a firm step towards him. Something was wrong. She knew that, he never spoke to her in this terse way. Something must have happen on the trip that Gilles was unaware of.

"A man can play cards if he wants to, can't he?" he asked crossly. His eyes remained focused on the floor just in front of her feet.

"Yes, of course, but I haven't seen you in three weeks." Hearing the petulant tone of her voice she paused and went on more pleasantly, "I've been hoping--"

"Yeah, well," he interrupted her abruptly, " now is as good a time as any to talk. I've been thinking about what you said about not making any promises about anything coming out of our getting to know each other."

"Yes?" she prompted in a small voice.

"Well, nothing has, has it? I mean we've had a good time but--" He shrugged his broad shoulders and took another drink from the bottle.

For a moment Claire stool perfectly still. Then the hut seemed to tilt sideways, leaving her fighting for her balance. Her hands flew out to her sides as if to catch her but her feet stayed put solidly on the floor. "Are you saying, that you don't want to see me anymore?"

"Oh, I wouldn't put it quite that way. You're a pretty little thing; it's always a pleasure to see you." His blue eyes raked slowly over her, from her sleek honey brown hair to her slender bare ankles beneath the poplin skirt. "But as to the future, well, there never was much hope of that was there?"

"But I thought, that is just last-- you said --you said to remember." She couldn't make the sentence take shape, make sense. Her hands fluttered in front of her in a helpless gesture. She clutched them tightly together. It wasn't so much his words that were frightening her but the cold tone of his voice. He sounded bored, as if he were just finishing up the last details of something he had lost interest in.

"Man might say a lot of things to a pretty girl. That's what men are like." He stood, kicking the crate out of his way so that it scraped across the new floor. He walked away from her, swinging the bottle by its neck. "Just won't work, you and me. You're a good girl, Claire, but--"

"You don't love me."

They both heard the echo of a conversation from long ago. When she told him he was a good man and he supplied the words you don't love me. Jack knew then that he had stumbled on just the right words to send her away. All he had to do was stay quiet now. Her own imagination would provide the rest. He was good at staying quiet. He stood with his back to her and raised the bottle to his lips again.

Claire stood trembling in the middle of the room. Trembling with rage and hurt pride. "You wanted your own back. You wanted to make me love you. Make me sorry for hurting your pride in the beginning. Well, good for you, Jack, good for you." Without another word she turned on her heel and ran from the hut.

The full rum bottle fell to the floor with a crash.

***

Isabelle leaned back in the stern of the longboat and watched Mauriri and David row. She couldn't hide the grin that spread over her pretty face literally ear to ear. David was so much better even rowing didn't appear to cause him any discomfort. The trip had been a success but in spite of that neither man had offered her more money. Best of all she and David had finally been comfortable together again. Oh, sure, it had started as a shouting matching about the broken halyard but that was when they were the most comfortable. For the immediate future her world was all in order.

Over David's shoulder she watched the shore come closer. Now all she wanted was a bath, clean clothes and dinner at Lavinia's with a bottle of good wine.

David caught her eye and winked. "A nice tenderloin of pork would suit me," he said as if he had read her mind.

The boat bumped against the beach and Mauriri jumped out to pull it up onto the sand. Isabelle scrambled out with her seabag over her shoulder. It was then that she noticed Claire walking towards the center of town along the path that ran at the top of the beach.

"Claire!" she called gaily.

When Claire kept walking Mauriri shouted her name but she didn't turn around. "That's odd," he said frowning. He had a voice that could be heard over a blowing gale.

"She heard you," said Isabelle darkly. The bag fell to the sand at her feet.

"She couldn't have," said David, still dragging the boat higher on the sand. "Claire is too well mannered to ignore him if she'd heard."

"Something is wrong. Really wrong," said Isabelle angrily as she started to run after Claire. The two men exchanged puzzled glances. David picked up her bag.

Isabelle caught up with Claire just as she set her foot upon the porch of the house she shared with Mrs. Russell. Out of breath she took Claire by the elbow and made her stop. Mrs. Russell came to the door of the house. "Hello, dear. Miss Reed," she said with a formal nod towards Isabelle.

Isabelle, still breathing heavily, nodded back. She maintained a firm hold on Claire.

"Is everything alright, my dear?" Mrs. Russell asked Claire as she looked between them with a deepening line between her eyes.

"Yes, of course," said Claire in a forced voice.

Mrs. Russell smiled but it didn't reach her eyes. "I've just put the kettle on, I'll bring you some tea in a few minutes," she said as she went back into the house.

Isabelle spun Claire around so that she could look her in the face. "Don't you think you are getting away with that with me. You tell me right now what's wrong? What's happened?"

"Not much," answered Claire, her brown eyes closed briefly. "Nothing very important."

"Claire?"

Claire took a deep breath, it seemed to get stuck in her throat, she couldn't breath out for a moment. Isabelle dragged her roughly to a settee against the house and forced her to sit down. "It is Jack?"

"Jack," repeated Claire shrilly. "Yes, Jameson Jackson McGonnigal. Well, it is really very simple. He doesn't love me. He's never loved me. It has all been a game. I should have known. I should have realized that the man who wrote all those lies for all those months was perfectly capable of lying about his feelings. Of putting a show on, a prize-winning performance of a man falling in love."

"What are you talking about? Did you have a fight? Is that all this is about?" asked Isabelle on her knees in front of Claire peering up at her. A look of understanding crossed her face. She stood up saying lightly, "Don't take on so. Whatever it was about, it's not fatal. He was probably tired. They just got back, didn't they? You have to get use to fighting a little bit. He'll be here in an hour begging your forgiveness. Don't give in too quick."

"It wasn't a fight," said Claire as she folded her hands in her lap. "It was simply a parting of the ways. He said it wouldn't work. He used the very words I'd used nearly two years ago. I suppose he has been planning it from the moment I said I wanted to try to get to know each other. It is very simple, Isabelle, he wanted his own back and now he has it."

Isabelle looked deeply in to her brown eyes and saw a stark hopelessness. "No, Claire, Jack--"

"Doesn't even like me," said Claire coldly. "I've made a fool of myself and I'm going to have to live with it."

The expression in her eyes changed to something Isabelle couldn't read. She felt shut out. Claire had never shut her out, she had always been eager to share her feelings, good or bad. Isabelle refused to accept this rebuff.

"Here we are," said Mrs. Russell brightly as she came from the house carrying a large tray full of tea things. "Do you like sconces, Miss Reed? I did a baking this morning."

Claire leaped up and pulled a small table in front of the settee. She dragged another chair up for Mrs. Russell to sit down in. Isabelle sat down slowly beside Claire and politely accepted the china cup and saucer Mrs. Russell held out to her. She watched and listened with a strange sense of detachment, as if they were all performing in some bizarre play. She answered questions with one word; her attention completely focused on Claire, who sat so stiffly beside her she might have been made of wood. Claire speaking in a voice that sounded like breaking glass asked Isabelle about her voyage. She explained to Mrs. Russell where the islands Isabelle spoke of were in relation to Tahiti. She offered pieces of gossip she'd heard in the market. All in the same brittle tone.

"By the by, dear," said Mrs. Russell as she offered Isabelle more tea. "I had a note from Rachel a little while ago. She hopes that we will attend a musicale in Papeete with her tomorrow evening. I will accept but I wasn't sure what your plans were."

"I'd be delighted to go, Mrs. Russell. As a matter of fact, Gilles mentioned something about it when he stopped by the office this afternoon. He was very pleased that the Malahini had gotten back today so that he could attend the musicale tomorrow."

Isabelle glanced at Mrs. Russell and found her looking right back at her. There was a question in the older woman's eyes. She knew there was something dreadfully wrong and she was looking to Isabelle to explain it. It startled Isabelle to be experiencing the same deep concern that Mrs. Russell felt for Claire.

Isabelle stayed with Claire for an hour. Once Mrs. Russell had gone back into the house with the tea things she made another attempt to make Claire tell her what had happened with Jack. But Claire only shook her head and said it didn't warrant speaking about. She had set herself up for this embarrassment; she would simply have to live with it.

Isabelle started to take her leave and then turned back to grasp Claire roughly by the shoulders. "You didn't do anything wrong. Do you hear me?"

Claire looked at her with eyes brimming with tears and said, "Yes, I think I did. I fell in love for the second time with the same fraud."

Isabelle gathered Claire to her and dragged her again to the settee. She sat down and held Claire's stiff body against her. Stroking the younger woman's long soft hair, she said, "Cry. It will help to cry."

"But you never cry."

"Yes, I do. You know I do."

"How could I be so stupid again? How could I let him fool me? I'd have done anything to be with him. Defied any convention, any good advice. I'd have, have--" Claire clenched her fist and banged it hard against her thigh. Isabelle tightened her arms around her.

"You weren't stupid. Claire, it was an evil, horrible thing for him to do. And I'm sorry I didn't see it."

"Why should you have seen it?"

"Because I know what men are capable of and should have watched out for you better than that."

Claire raised her eyes and looked at Isabelle. She shook her head. "I wouldn't have listen to you. Not after the night I danced with him. It was a mean trick but it was to pay me back for my arrogance at the beginning. He isn't really evil, he never said he loved me, not in so many words. If he were evil he would have taken advantage of me."

Isabelle felt a frustrated fury that Claire could still defend Jack. "He is probably smart enough to know that I'd kill him if he had."

Claire smiled slightly but it faded immediately. "Why couldn't be it be true? I was so happy, the future seem so bright and full of possibilities."

"Your future is bright and full of possibilities," said Isabelle intensely. "You don't need Jack."

"Oh, Isabelle, you don't understand," said Claire, shaking her head slowly. "I love you but I'm not like you. I'm not beautiful and brave. I don't want to make a fortune or best every trader in the South Seas at their own game. I just want to be loved. I thought he loved me. Why can't he love me?"

Then suddenly she collapsed against Isabelle's shoulder and wept bitter tears. Neither of them noticed a pale faced Mrs. Russell standing at the door watching them. They could not know she was asking herself why she felt almost physically ill about the success of her plan.

***

"Oh, bloody hell," exclaimed David when he caught sight of Isabelle marching south along the waterfront. He didn't need to see her face to know what she had in mind. The straight set of her shoulders said it all.

"What's wrong?" asked Mauriri.

"Isabelle. She is about to commit murder and I'm afraid I know who the victim is. I'll met you at Lavinia's later," said David as he started off at a run after Isabelle. She had too much of a start, he couldn't catch her before she reached the roughly beaten down patch in front of Jack's hut. As he came over the edge of the dune he saw her backhand Jack hard across the mouth. Jack stood still, with his hands clenched at his side. Isabelle gathered her strength for another assault.

"Jack, at least duck, you bloody fool, she'll take your head off," shouted David as he caught Isabelle around the waist and dragged her away from Jack. Not before she had slapped him again hard across the face.

"No better than he deserves. How dare you hurt Claire like that? Wasn't it enough that you made her love you? Did you have to take her dignity too? Did you have to let her know what a mean, conniving bastard you are?" screamed Isabelle, struggling against David's restraining arm.

Jack stood silent under her onslaught. For a long moment the two of them stood locked in a silent battle. Then Isabelle's gaze fell away. She'd expected him to defend himself at least with words but he said nothing.

"She's better off without you," she spat out. She shook David off and turned sharply on her heel to march back down the path.

Jack watched her go, then let his breath out and sank cross-legged to the ground. David perched himself on a fallen trunk of a palm and waited. After a few minutes Jack looked up and said, "Well, have your go."

David shook his head. "Between yourself and Isabelle, I'd say you'd had about all a man can take. Why don't you tell me what happen?"

"Don't you know? I told Claire there was nothing between us. It was all a game to get my own back."

"I gathered that. Of course, I know not a word of it is true."

"Know that, do you?" asked Jack in a voice dripping with sarcasm. "Think you're that smart?"

"No," answered David with a slight chuckle. "But I'm the fellow who risked being permanently lamed trying to teach you to dance. You aren't going to convince me that you went to all that trouble to get the girl just so you could break her heart. I'm thinking that someone got to you, someone who had Claire's best interests in mind. Exactly what did Mrs. Russell say?"

Jack's blue eyes glared at David resentfully. "Nothing but the truth. That Claire deserves a man who can take care of her, provide for her, a man she could be proud of. A man with nothing in his past to hide or be ashamed of."

"And she thinks there is such a man?" asked David, drawing his leg up onto the log and hooking his hands around his knee.

"I'd say she has one all picked out."

"Gilles Bradford," said David thoughtfully. "Well, he is a nice chap. A little soft but a decent fellow from all I know of him."

"I reckon it doesn't hurt for him to be a bit soft, all that money and land his father has," said Jack sourly.

"And do you think that's what Claire wants? Land and money? A soft life? Doesn't sound like the girl I know."

"Maybe not, but she should have the chance at it. Success, comfort, respect, all the things that she wouldn't get with me." Jack stood in one fluid motion and walked away from David to the top of the small dune. For a moment he was silent, watching the waves crash on the beach. When he spoke David had to strain to hear him.

"Do you know what it's like to live in your head, David? You work, you eat, you drink but your real life is in your head?"

"No," answered David in a puzzled voice. He gave the question a little thought and went on. " I suppose that was what I did when I was being held captive. There wasn't anyone to talk to so I dredged up memories or thought about what I would say to my friends if I ever saw them again. But other than that I don't think I could be accused of living in my head. Why?"

"After," Jack stammer slightly, he was uncertain he wanted to tell David his thoughts. "After the wreck all those years ago, I got in the habit of keeping my thoughts to myself. I started then, after the last of my mates died. I was young; I couldn't just lay down and die so I made up a life. What I did was something so repugnant, so unnatural I had to escape it some how. I had to create a place I could go where I was a decent man. Once I'd come here, with all the stories going around about me I found it easier just to stay quiet, let people think what they wanted. I could all ways get work when I needed money. That was all that mattered. I put that advert in the magazine because I was lonely. I wanted someone to share the life I had created for myself. Not my real life, you understand, but the one in my head. It's easy to blur the line between reality and make believe when you're drinking. Claire, the girl in the letters, became a part of my life. But she didn't know that it was all make believe. So she comes here and finds out that I'm a sham. God," he stopped talking and shook his head hard. "You must think I'm loony, going on like this. It doesn't matter."

"I wouldn't say that," said David kindly. He stood and crossed the rough yard to stand near Jack on the top of the dune. " So the pretty girl came here and suddenly you took a look at your life. You know, I remember noticing that you had climb out of the bottle soon after Claire arrived here. Most men disappointed like that would drunk more but you seemed soberer. I've wondered why."

" I didn't want her to be that wrong about me, about who she thought I was." Jack turned and looked at David. He lifted his powerful shoulders in a self-depreciating shrug. "I couldn't be the man she had expected to find but I could be her friend. I could be someone that at least she wouldn't be ashamed to speak to on the street. And that's what I should have stayed, her friend. Someone she could count on to help her with paper, to teach her to sail. Now I've lost even that."

"Only because you sent her away," declared David. "Look, Jack, I'm not much of an expert when it comes to women but I'd say Claire loves you. Watching you two that day on the Rattler made me feel quite sentimental. Claire isn't the sort of girl who would look at a man that way with out real feelings for him."

"I know," said Jack softly, a sad smile tugged at his mouth. "That's why I've done this. It's about love you see. I got steady work, put a new roof on the shack, and cleaned myself up. I could change everything but the past. I'm Cannibal Jack, I always will be and if she chose me, she'd be sorry for it in the end. What I did to survive isn't something those people that she comes from could ever forgive. Cutting her off from her own past, her people, that's no way to love a woman."

"Is that what Mrs. Russell told you?"

"I knew it all along, she only reminded me of it," answered Jack with resignation. "I knew I had retreated back into make believe when I started walking out with Claire. But I couldn't resist the notion that there was some hope she could love me. If that beautiful, clever girl could love me then I wasn't damned after all; any thing was possible if she loved me. I knew that first evening I saw Mrs. Russell, I'd made a fool's bet. I could only lose in the end. I'm just thankful I've never done her any real harm."

David glanced out at the sea. The wind was strengthening, the wave were showing white caps. He wished he could think of something to say that would counter Jack's argument. For reasons he'd never explored he rather enjoyed the idea of the proper English Miss and Cannibal Jack happy together. "Breaking her heart doesn't seem like a good way to love a woman either."

"Her heart not broken," said Jack, his mouth turning up in a quirky, satisfied smile. "It would take more than the likes of me to break a heart like Claire's. She's strong. She'll be all right, you'll see."

"But, Jack, you tricked her," said David sharply. "I mean you didn't explain yourself, you didn't tell her Mrs. Russell's part, you tricked her. Do you really think that's fair to Claire?"

"I don't know. Maybe not, maybe it is treating her like she is a child. I'd like to hate Mrs. Russell. God as my witness I would. But she and I want the same thing; we want Claire to be happy. Claire's young. In many ways she is untouched by life. I fooled myself into believing there was chance for us. That with hard work and a bit of luck we'd have as much of a chance at a good life as anyone else. She still believes that love will see us through. That love would be enough. But it isn't true. You know that as well as I do, David," said Jack with a challenge in his blue eyes. "I don't think she would listen to sense, she'd just tell me in that solemn way of hers that all we had to do was want it and our life would be good. Chances are she'd convince me and I'd be the ruin of her."

David's greenish eyes regarded him thoughtfully for several moments. "You're a good man, Jack, but you're a bloody fool. What if Gilles Bradford is in her future? How are you going to handle that? After all you work for him."

Jack shrugged indifferently. "I'm going to keep working, sailing, doing my job. I like Bradford, he's fair, and he treats the crew all right. If it were the other one, Seraut, I'd feel differently. Bradford would be good to her; I could live with that."

"Might be harder than you think."

"You think I'll go back to drowning in rum, don't you? Drinking, feeling sorry for myself. I'm a bloody poet when I'm drunk. A tragic figure," he said with a trace of humor. "But I couldn't do that to Lodge, he's shown a lot of faith in me. It'd be a poor thing to pay him back by losing his boat. And there's Claire. She's mad now, that will carry her away from me. But sooner or later, she'll figure out why I did this. When she does I don't want her to try to undo it because she feels sorry for me. It's best we both just go on with our lives."

David looked at Jack for a long time. How was it that he had known Jack for years and never known he was capable not only of this sort of deception but of the thought it took? He rubbed his hand over his mouth and said, "Let me tell Isabelle what is really going on."

"No, David," said Jack quickly, shaking his head. "She'd tell Claire."

"Not if I make her promise not to before I tell her. Look, Jack, you don't want Isabelle thinking you hurt Claire out of malice. She will make you pay I can promise you that. Where Claire is concerned Isabelle a tigress with one cub."

"I took note of that," said Jack, rubbing his bruised cheek. "She's been a good friend to Claire. I can't see her keeping anything from her."

"Maybe not," said David with a suppressed groan. "She has a peculiar talent for friendship I would never have suspected when I met her."

"Aye, she has been a good friend to you."

David raised a dark eyebrow and said sharply, "Don't you go messing about in my love life, not when you've made such a hash of your own. I'll do what I can to keep her off your back."

"I'll be at sea a lot. Seraut is an ambitious bloke. He's got all sorts of plans for taking all your trade."

" Jack," said David, reaching out to tap him lightly on the shoulder. "If you should feel like diving into the rum again, give me a shout and I'll crack that bottle over your head."

A genuine smile touched Jack's mouth. He had been prepared to lose his friendships when he decided to push Claire away. He figured that they were really her friends and he would find himself an outsider again. "I will at that."

***

David was relieved when he saw Mauriri waiting for him at their usual table in the tavern. He swung his leg over the back of the chair and sat down heavily. He glanced at Lavinia who was standing behind the bar. She lifted a whiskey bottle and sent him a questioning glance. He nodded.

Mauriri was quiet. He took a sip of his own drink and raised an eyebrow at David who shook his head wearily.

"Is it true? Did Jack really tell Claire he didn't want to see her anymore?" asked Lavinia as she set a glass of whiskey in front of David. Her thick black hair fell loosely over her shoulders.

"How do you know about that, it just happened?" asked David in exasperation. He wanted to talk to Mauriri privately before he had to say anything to anyone else, even Lavinia.

"Isabelle was in here a little bit ago," said Mauriri, tapping his fingers against the rough top of the table. "She drank a shot straight down, declared that all men were bastards and Cannibal Jack should roast in hell. Didn't take much imagination for Lavinia and I to figure out what had happened."

"Where is Isabelle now?" asked David, rubbing his forehead. He was tired. He'd been showing off when he rowed them into shore. He just wanted to beg the use of her tub from Lavinia and take a hot bath.

"She stormed out after that," answered Lavinia, her dark eyes were wide with concern. "I went after her to ask about Claire. She said something about her being better off with Gilles Bradford and then stomped away."

"You do know where Claire lives if you're worried about her," said David, cocking his head to watch her beautiful face.

For a moment Lavinia seemed undecided then she said, "I'm sure Mrs. Russell is taking care of her. It just surprises me that Jack was the one to call it off. I thought he was really smitten." She walked back to the bar to help a new customer.

"So did I," said Mauriri with a puzzled frown. He didn't understand all these complicated affairs of the heart his friends got themselves entangled in. He fell in love with Lianni the first moment he saw her. Three years away from her in Europe did nothing to change his feelings. Eight years of marriage his heart still raced every time he put his arm around her.

David leaned back in his chair and stared at nothing with pursed lips. His long fingers played with the shot glass. He glanced at Lavinia who was standing behind the bar wiping out glasses with a white cloth.

He'd been proud of himself when their affair came to an end. He knew that he couldn't give her what she wanted and so he left. He thought it had been rather noble of him to let her go so that she might find the kind of happiness she was looking for with someone else. He loved her, he still loved her, but he was willing to give her up. Willing to give her up rather than make the commitment she needed from him. It had been the right thing to do but compared to what Jack had just done it seemed almost selfish.

"Mo? Would you keep a secret with me? Even from Lianni?"

Mauriri considered this for a moment. "Would I have to lie to keep it from her?"

"No, just play dumb."

Mauriri gave a snort of laughter. "This about Jack and Claire?"

David nodded and sighed deeply in frustration. "He thinks he's done it for her own good. Maybe time will prove he has but I'm afraid he's going to suffer for it. Just help me keep Isabelle from cutting his heart out. And maybe keep an eye on him. I'm not sure he knows what sort of heartache he's got in store for himself."

Mauriri didn't need to be told that what David was worried about was Jack losing himself in drink again. He didn't want to see that happen either. With narrowed eyes he took a hard look at his partner and asked, "When did you start feeling responsible for the lovelorn?"

"Damned if I know," said David with a weary sigh. He tossed back the whiskey and stood. "Speaking of feeling responsible I better go see what sort of fury Isabelle has worked herself into."

"Are you going to tell her the truth?"

"No," he answered with a hard shake of his head. "I promised Jack I wouldn't. My mother use to quote Bobbie Burns about lying."

"Oh, what a tangled web we weave," quoted Mauriri with a sad smile.

"Aye. That one. Strikes me I'd be better off if I could just remember the lessons my mother taught me," said David as he rolled his left shoulder and made his way towards the door.

David looked for Isabelle at the stables. She wasn't there, neither was Dante, her favorite mount. Her saddle was there and that gave him a pretty clear clue where she had gone. It was nearly dark; she'd be heading back soon. He walked north along the shore, out of town.

David watched Isabelle canter the big horse towards him over the hard sand at the edge of the high tide. She rode bareback, rocking in a single motion with the horse. Her thick hair blew behind her. She slowed Dante to a walk and then stopped beside David.

David fondled the horse's big nose and looked up at Isabelle. He thought he saw the tracks of tears on her cheeks. It will take me a lifetime to understand this woman, he thought.

"I hope you gave him the thrashing he deserves," she said bluntly.

David didn't answer. Instead he ventured a question. "Why does this upset you so? Maybe all Jack's done is give Claire a chance to take a better offer."

"A better offer?" snapped Isabelle bitterly. She was still so angry her stomach churned as if she were seasick. "That's all you think women want, isn't it, David? A better offer, more money. Well, Claire's not like that. She just wants to be happy. She wants to be loved. She wants the bloody fairy tale."

"But--"

"Yes, I know, fairy tales don't come true. They're all a pack of lies. I know that. I've always known that. But Claire," Isabelle's voice broke and she bit her lip. David was still looking up at her with his dark eyes full of questions and that damn friendly concern he was always showing for her. She seriously considered putting her boot in the middle of his chest. "Claire had the courage to come here, she took all the chances. She told the truth about her feelings; she let herself love him. She should have gotten her happy ending. She deserves her happy ending."

Her voice throbbed with a wild mix of fury and bitterness.

"Hey," he said softly as he reached up to pull her off the horse gently. To his surprise she didn't resist him. He set her carefully on her feet, leaving his hand at her waist to steady her. "Isabelle, look at me."

David wanted to tell her she was right, that Claire did deserve to be loved. That Jack, whether he was misguided or not had done what he'd done because he loved Claire and wanted desperately for her to be happy. But his conscience chaffed against his promise to Jack. It wasn't his secret to tell.

Reluctantly she looked up at him through the curtain of hair that blew around her face. Her light eyes were defiant and her mouth was set in an angry line. But David saw other emotions in her beautiful face. He saw disappointed and a sadness that touched his heart.

David pushed her hair out of her eyes and cupped her cheek with his strong callused hand. He spoke softly but firmly, "We've all got a lot of living to do before we start worrying about the endings."


The End

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