I once heard it said that nobody has natural luck - it’s a talent you work hard to earn and even harder to keep. I’m never entirely sure. I’ve known folk who seem to land on their feet no matter where they fall from, and others who’d have to climb mountains to pick up a dime when they missed the dollar lying under their nose. I guess that some people were handed more than their fair share back in the days when Lady Fortune was distributing her favours. For all that, having luck is no good if you don’t make use of it, just as bad luck is only as bad as you let it be. For those not privy to the Lady’s blessings, hard work and determined effort can make up for a lot. Exchanging that for the blind hope of snatching just a little more fortune from someone else’s hands is the kind of blind leap that I’d never want to take. They say that love is blind. I’d wager desperation or self-delusion are more likely culprits. Even the wisest can be fooled by those intent on deceiving them, and the consequences of such bedazzled decisions can be tragic both for the victim of the deception and for those unwittingly drawn into its snares. Only when some of those involved have the luck of the devil in rolling the dice of life can you be certain of a chance in such a game - and Lady Luck can be fickle, even with those she loves ...
It was a hot midday early in the year when Jake Cutter first met Madelaine Belvoir. She arrived in a batter motor launch manned by several stalwart native types and she drew attention in the way that any woman blessed with her personal attributes might. She was a small figure with a compactly built, almost top-heavy, frame. She stood barely over five feet, and her dark blonde hair tumbled lazily around her sun darkened face. She wore a light cotton dress in a pale blue and yellow that clung to every curve of her, and it was topped by a sweep of straw hat that dangled ribbons down the length of her back. Even that failed to conceal the determined lines of her face; she addressed the native boatmen with an authoritative voice that carried across to where Cutter sat cleaning the intake valve his mechanic had thrust into his hands half an hour before. He looked up, finding the woman staring back in his direction, no doubt intrigued by the unfamiliar lines of his seaplane bobbing in the water behind him. She was not a fresh-faced innocent but a woman in full bloom, her eyes including the leisurely slump of the blond American in her assessment. He smiled disarmingly and she coloured a little and turned away, making her way up the quay and across the square before disappearing into the waiting coolness of the Monkey Bar,.
Cutter was sufficiently intrigued to thrust the oily valve down on the workbench, wipe his hands on a handy rag, and stride after her, leaving his engrossed mechanic with a promise of his return. Corky grunted after him non-committally, but Jack got to his feet and pattered after his master, two eyes glittering in the sunlight.
Inside the shelter of the hotel, the woman had removed the overshadowing hat, revealing a face that, while not classically beautiful, was certainly possessed of character. There was the hint of laughter lines around her eyes, and her mouth curved up in a warm smile as she talked quietly to the man who had wheeled to meet her. Gushie had an equally amenable grin on his face; he was nodding enthusiastically as the pilot entered.
" ... but he’ll be out any minute, I should think," the hotel’s major domo was saying brightly. "You’re a day or two late - he was expecting you for the weekend."
"I was delayed by mechanical problems," she answered, sinking into a nearby chair and fanning herself with her hat. She had a faint but definite accent, a hint of provincial French beneath the careful English words. "You know how these things are."
"Yeah. Iced tea?"
She flipped the edge of the hat at the man with a hint of exasperation. "Away with you," she ordered, an amused note in her voice. "It is iced soda and white wine, and you know it very well. Short on the soda, long on the wine," she called after him as he grinned and wheeled toward the bar. She dropped the hat onto the nearby table and leant back, only to sit upright again as she registered that she had further company. "Oh - bonjour, mons." Her eyes narrowed as she considered his face, and then she smiled. "You are the man by the plane, n’est ce pas?"
He grinned. "I am the man with the plane," he corrected. "Jake Cutter - pilot and owner of the Goose at your service, m’am. Oh," he added, as four paws clattered to a halt at his feet, "and that’s Jack. He’s with me."
She giggled, extending her hand to lightly brush the dog’s nose. "How do you do, Jack," she said. "I am ..."
"Madelaine!" Bon Chance Louie’s voice cut through their conversation, followed almost immediately by the man himself, his arms wide in welcome, a broad smile on his face and clear delight in his eyes. The woman practically leapt from the chair and threw herself at him in French abandon, planting a deliberate kiss on both cheeks as she greeted him with a hug.
"Louie," she laughed, holding him out at arms’ length and giving him a look of consideration. "You are looking well," she added in French.
"The same could be said of you," he returned in the same tongue.
She dismissed this thought with a wave of her hand. "I am burned to a cinder in the sun," she declaimed, turning back to reclaim her chair.
"On you, it looks good," he decided warmly, then smiled at Cutter’s expectant expression. "Jake, mon ami. Have you met Madelaine?"
The pilot laughed. "I was in the middle of doing so," he explained, "but we haven’t had a formal introduction."
"Then allow me," the Frenchman decided, waving his hand towards the woman with a flourish. "May I present Madame Madelaine Belvoir, one of the Marivella’s more attractive assets."
"Louie," she protested, picking up her hat and waving it at him with the same friendly exasperation she had shared with Gushie. "He flatters me, Monsieur. For a hard-working woman with two daughters to raise, I do as well as I can, but I am scarcely one of the sights of the islands."
Bon Chance threw her a look that more than contradicted this self-assessment. Cutter had to agree with him. She was not devastatingly attractive, but she exuded a determination and spirit that more than made up for the less than classic build of her face. It was a square, well-shaped face, no ethereal elegance but an honest statement of down-to-earth experience. Gushie reappeared, his tray bearing two glasses of the promised wine and soda, and a bottle of beer which he handed to the pilot as he passed.
"You look like you needed one," he explained. Cutter was briefly bemused and Bon Chance laughed softly.
"We had not got that far yet," he admonished. "We are only at the introduction stage."
"Oh." Gushie glanced from one man to the other and then winked at the woman in between them. "You mean you haven’t mentioned being her sleeping partner yet?"
Cutter, who had just lifted the bottle to his lips, gagged and choked on the mouthful of beer. "You what?" he gasped, staring at the three of them as if he’d not believed what he’d just heard. Madelaine burst into a peal of laughter.
"Gushie," she chided, flapping her hand at him in further exasperation. "You could have put that a little better, n’est ce pas? Whatever will Monsieur Cutter think? Bon Chance is my business partner, not - well," she coloured a little. "Our relationship has a firm financial foundation."
"Very firm," Bon Chance agreed, a hint of mischief glittering in his eyes. "30% profit last year - I hope we do as well in this one."
"We will," she stated with decision. "Provided I get the approval on my expenditures?"
"Equipment, land clearing, or workforce?" he shot back, lifting the second glass from Gushie’s tray and settling into the chair beside her.
She looked vaguely hurt. "We cleared another twenty acres last month," she said. "That doesn’t cost anything - planting it does. I need another five men, and at least two more steam boilers for what they harvest." She leant forward with conspiratorial glee. "Singapore agreed our deliveries. 15 francs above their final price."
The Frenchman looked impressed. "15? Madelaine, you work magic." He glanced across at the bemused American and adopted an apologetic look. "Jake, mon ami, we are going to bore you to tears - let us get our business out of the way, and then you can make Madelaine’s acquaintance without fear of figures or contracts."
Cutter grinned easily. "Sure," he said, draining the rest of the beer. "I got work to do, in any case. I’ll catch you both later." He dropped the bottle back on Gushie’s tray and strode out back into the sunshine. He was a little surprised to find that the owner of the wheelchair had followed him.
"I'm sorry," Gushie apologised wryly. "I couldn't resist the joke. There aren't that many people I can aim it at. They really are just business partners."
"Just?" the pilot questioned, glanicng back through the swing doors. Madelaine Belvoir had risen to her feet and was following Bon Chance towards the inner stairs. He had picked up hte bag she had carried in, and they conversed in an amused French that did not carry sufficiently to be recognisable.
"Yeah," his companion affirmed. "Just. Madelaine was widowed three years ago. She adored her husband, and went to pieces when he died. Louie pulled her out of the financial hole that nearly swallowed her and they’ve been partners ever since. And as far as I can figure it, that’s all they’ve ever been. She brings the books over every couple of months, he visits her place on Mahoi once a quarter. She runs everything, manages it all, and he keeps an eye on the finance and takes a cut of the profits." He grinned wryly. "Nice arrangement if you can find it, huh?"
Cutter looked down at him, his face creased in thought. "Mahoi’s that island with the fruit plantation, right? Cannery and everything?"
"That’s the place. Paul Belvoir built it up out of nothing, twelve years ago. The bank tried to foreclose, two days after they picked him out of a steam steriliser. Poor guy," Gushie sighed. "Just a stupid accident, really. Left Madelaine alone with two daughters and an entire island’s economy to support. I don’t wonder she nearly went to pieces. Louie was over there, sorting out the paperwork with regard to the death. Messy business, you know? He threw the bank vultures off the island and offered her his backing instead. Knew a good thing when he saw it, I suppose."
Cutter laughed softly. "He’s pretty shrewd when he needs to be. Not averse to helping the odd damsel in distress, either. It’s strictly business where she’s concerned?"
"100 percent. She loved her husband very much; reveres his memory. They’ve been partners for over three years now and all they ever do together is tally figures. I guess he put business first for once, and left it there. She’s okay, is Madelaine. Nice lady. He wouldn’t see her hurt for all the world."
"I can see why. I wouldn’t be averse to 30% profit return on a good investment. Especially when someone else does all the work."
"You and me both," Gushie grinned. "Hey - listen, don’t go spreading this around, okay? He really is her ‘sleeping partner’. Most people think it’s all hers out there. I save the joke for those who might appreciate it most."
"Well, it’s a good joke," the pilot acknowledged, "but I wouldn’t dream of passing it on to anyone. I’ve no business in Louie’s business. Besides - it would ruin his reputation if word got out that all he shares with a woman like that is an account book. He has an image to uphold."
The man in the chair chuckled. "It ain’t easy. But Madelaine’s probably one of the few attractive women who can walk into that office and got give it a second thought ..."
The door closed behind them with a discrete click. Bon Chance moved across to the desk, reaching inside the bag he carried to pull out the leather-bound ledgers that lay within. The room was a shadowed refuge, dappled with slivers of sunlight where they pierced the hanging blinds. It was a little warmer than the open, fan-cooled room they had just left, but still an escape from the insistent heat of the day. The blinds were half closed in order to provide that extra shade; that it also provided its occupiers’ privacy was not a fact that had escaped either its owner, or his current companion.
"So the purchaser from Singapore was impressed with your progress," he was asking in French as he stacked the ledgers on the side table and began to clear the paperwork on the desktop. Behind him, Madelaine Belvoir reached back her hand to turn the key in the lock.
"Mais oui. He even agreed with my harvest dates."
He nodded at this, carefully placing the bundled papers into files and the files on the cabinet. He paused to take off his jacket and placed it carefully over the back of the chair before he sat down on it. "So you have contracted for the pineapples, and the bananas are still covered by last year’s agreement, and the copra and coconut ..."
She had moved across to join him, coming to stand at his side and look down at him with thoughtful eyes. As he continued to consider business she reached out and turned his head toward her. "Louie," she commanded with firm authority, "Shut up."
She followed the words with action, bending forward to silence him with far more efficiency than words ever could. Her lips sought his with a purpose that became urgency as he responded in kind; she kissed, not with the affectionate touch of friendship, or even the hesitant gentleness of lovers, but with a desperate sense of passion. "Please," she whispered as they parted for breath, and he smiled quietly and pulled her down into his lap, into his embrace, with an ease that might have been a practised step in a familiar dance. She curled against him, her hand sliding around his neck to bring their faces close; her mouth tasted the curve of his cheek before once again seeking his lips. His fingers ran through her hair and then down the curve of her back, each encountered buttons brief obstacles that hardly slowed the pattern of his hand. She pressed closer, demanding urgency in the force of her kisses, and then twisted away to slide out of the folds of fabric that fell unnoticed to the polished floor. She had kicked off her shoes; her slip and other underwear followed them under the desk so that she slid back to his lap naked and brazen in the half light of day. He pulled her close, bending his head to nuzzle at her breasts, and she arched back into his arms with silent abandon. Their dance was breathless and urgent, no languorous dalliance but a demanding expenditure of energy. She clung to him insistently, her arousal swift and his responses driven by it. It was her hand that fumbled at his clothing to release the heat it contained and it was she who possessed him, in a vice-like grip of knees and thighs. It was no elegant pleasure they shared but a sweated, eager coupling, a race which neither could win, but both aspired to; afterwards, she rested her limp weight against him and panted softly for breath.
"Mon Dieu, Madelaine," he murmured when he had energy to speak again, "you are exhausting, are you not?"
"I know," she agreed, breathing softly in his ear. "I never heard Paul complain."
He smiled wryly. "Who said I was complaining?"
She giggled, uncurling herself with reluctance in order to regain her feet. He eased himself cautiously in the support of the chair and she giggled a second time, this time at his brief expression of disconcertion. Her hand reached forward to dip into the jacket pocket behind him and then returned to silently hand him his handkerchief. He looked up at the curve of her nakedness and then laughed with quiet amusement.
"I should buy myself a more comfortable chair," he observed, restoring both dignity and decorum with the aid of the handkerchief and a readjustment of his clothing. She paused in the process of her own readornment to look at him in mock surprise.
"Are you telling me you did not have that in mind when you bought the furniture in the first place?"
He threw her a wounded look. "Contrary to common belief," he protested, "I do occasionally have other priorities."
She denied that with a shake of her head as she twisted to reach her buttons. He stood, wincing a little as the action made demands on muscles that were set in all the wrong directions, and went to her aid. "And you a Frenchman," she scolded. "There are no other priorities."
"Well," he extemporised, "perhaps I had just not considered the likelihood of such enthusiasm."
She turned, the last button complete, and slid her arms around him affectionately. "I thought you weren’t complaining."
"I am not," he re-iterated sternly, then sighed, returning the embrace with one of his own. "Madelaine, you do know that if anyone were to discover that you and I do any more than check these ledgers of yours, then I would probably be accused of using my involvement in your business to press an unfair advantage?"
She buried her face in his cravat and breathed in the echo of her perfume mingled with his own. "I seem to recall that the addition to our working practices was entirely my idea," she murmured. "You tried to talk me out of it the first time, remember?"
"I remember. I didn’t want you to think you were obliged in that way. You should never think that. It would be dishonest of me."
She let go with reluctance and walked away from him, staring instead at the bright painting that hung on the opposite wall. On it a pair of bare-breasted native women reached to pick a canvas harvest of oil-swirled fruit. "I’ve heard it said you are a scoundrel and a rogue," she said softly. "That you do not measure your honour in legal honesty all of the time. You may consider public morality a foolish facade, but you have never lied to me, Louie. Never cheated me, or failed me in any way. You have always been a perfect gentleman, both in business and - other matters." She turned back to face him, her eyes intense in the shadowed light. "When Paul died I had nothing left to cling to. I was drowning, and you reached into the flood and pulled me back to higher ground. You demanded nothing, and you offered me a fair price when I was desperate enough to accept far less and pay far more. For the first six months I was wild with suspicion - sure you wanted more from me, sure you had a hidden agenda that would tumble me back into the waiting ocean. But you never did." She sighed and stepped across to occupy the chair on the other side of the desk, fiddling with the ring on her left hand as she did so. He slid back into his own seat, watching her with vaguely troubled eyes.
"I make a handsome profit from your hard work, every year," he reminded her, reaching to open the curved box at his elbow. "It was a good investment."
"I wouldn’t have accepted charity. You believed in Paul’s dream - even when I no longer could." She accepted the proffered cigarette and leant forward so that he could light it for her. "When the suspicion died, it was as if everything else had died with it. My grief, my desires, myself. I was numb for an entire year, and it was only because I had to bring you those damn books that I crawled out of bed each morning and made myself work to fill them. It was those books, your faith in me - that held me together even more than my daughters’ needs. They were part of Paul, and it hurt, to have them and not him."
"They understood that. They still do."
"I know." She took a deep breath through the fragile tobacco, wreathing herself in smoke, and he lit his own cigarette almost absently, intent on her face. "When I began to see the light in the tunnel, it was just enough to stir a different suspicion for a while. I knew your reputation - you collect women the way that other men collect stamps - or art," she added, glancing back at the Gauguin with a haunted smile. He did not interrupt her, but he lent his elbows on the desktop and acknowledged her brief distraction with a wry smile of his own. "You’d never shown any interest in me that way, and I began to wonder why. Was I ugly? Paul had never thought so, but Paul was a man of the soil, a peasant to his soul. Perhaps, I considered, you thought I was beneath you. Then I wondered if you thought me cold and unobtainable. I didn’t want you, not then," she explained with a wry grimace. "I was just afraid that you didn’t want me."
His expression was quietly sympathetic. "I had a great deal of respect for your husband, even though I knew him for so short a time. I had an even greater respect for the regard you held for him. I had no wish to intrude upon that. And sometimes friends are harder to collect than lovers."
She laughed softly. "A true gentleman," she observed. "But you were right. Had you made even the slightest advance toward me then I would never have trusted you again. It seemed like a betrayal to Paul, even to hear another man praise me in that way. I never want to betray his memory," she insisted fiercely. "He was my life. But I had to go on living, even when he could not." She took another breath of smoke and exhaled it slowly. "Someone asked me recently whether I had take a lover again. Do you know what I said?"
He shook his head, unwilling to disturb the flow of her thoughts with words. "I told them the only man I had ever shared a bed with was my husband. I was very fierce about it. It was the truth," she protested at his look. His eyes glittered with recollection.
"His bed may be sacrosanct. Not so his hearth rug," he observed shrewdly.
"I needed you. I needed to feel alive again. And there was no-one else - no-one who would not read it for anything more than it was. I didn’t need a full-time lover. Just a reminder that I was a woman after all."
He fixed his gaze to the glowing point of his cigarette. "I have either just been insulted," he murmured softly, "or paid a very great compliment."
She looked uncomfortable. "I know I’ve used you, Louie, and I’m sorry for that. But I thought you understood. That it didn’t change anything between us."
"I do - and it hasn’t," he assured her. "You are an efficient partner, and more especially my friend. Nothing will ever change that, I trust."
"I hope not." She turned away, staring out at the glimpses of the outside world that flickered through the blinds. "I’m getting married again."
He half-choked on an in-drawn breath of smoke, but unlike Cutter’s earlier reaction, he concealed the moment with ease. "You are? Why didn’t you say so before ...?"
"Because then you wouldn’t have - well," she coloured a little. "You know."
He raised an elegant eyebrow in her direction, a quiet challenge written across his face. Her expression grew sheepish, then totally embarrassed. You wouldn’t have," she insisted defensively, "and I needed you this one more time."
He replaced the challenge with an understanding smile. "You are probably right," he admitted. "I do have principles, whatever people might think."
"I told you you were a gentleman." She reached out to tip the growing length of ash into the waiting ashtray. Her eyes held obvious relief. "His name is Gerald Crawcour. He’s a Belgian surveyor, working with the construction office on Tagataya. He came out with the team that worked on the extension to the cannery at the end of last year."
"I remember."
"He came back to watch the work progress. We talked, walked together, listened to music ..."
"Made love?" He suggested wryly and was surprised at the vehemence of her denial.
"Not then. Not ever - not yet. He considers me a chaste widow, untouched by nay but my husband's memory. He has a great admiration for what I have achieved in the shadow of tragedy."
"Do you love him?"
She considered the answer to that carefully before she spoke. "No. But he wants to take care of me. I need that, Louie. I need someone to be with me, to pay me attention, to take charge from time to time. I’m tired of always being the one who is strong. I want - I want Paul, and I cannot have him, so I will settle for Gerald instead, because he wants me." She paused, her expression almost defying him to tell her she was wrong. Bon Chance sighed, reaching out catch her hand.
"I hope you will be happy, Madelaine," he said softly. "You deserve another chance at it. Do Ellen and Jeanette know?"
She smiled at the mention of her daughters’ names, but her fingers curled tightly around his as if he had triggered some deep-seated fear she could not express. "They are pleased for me. I think that they like him, but they are away at school so much, I rarely see them now. He tells me he likes children. Louie," she asked a little doubtfully, "Gerald was talking of a ceremony on Tagataya but I want to be married at home. You are my Magistrate - will you come to Mahoi and ratify the licence there?"
"I would be happy to - provided," he said, with a hint of wickedness in his grin, "you can keep a straight face when you make your vows."
"I will," she promised. "I will mean every word. I was faithful to Paul, and I will be faithful to Gerald. You really don’t mind?"
"Madelaine," he chided gently, "you are a grown woman and quite capable of knowing your own mind. If you are sure, then I will be glad for you. I only own part of Paul Belvoir’s plantation, not part of his widow. Whatever I have had from her has been a gift of her own choosing."
She half rose to lean across the desk and kiss him gently on the forehead, a chaste kiss, the kind exchanged between friends. "Gerald’s away in the south for another month," she said. "Can you come on the 16th? I will confirm everything - even send the boat ..."
"No need," he assured her. "Now Jake has decided to base his business here, you are no more than an hour away. Now ..." He loosed his grip on her hand to reach for the leather bound ledgers. "I believe we still have some other business to attend to ..."
Cutter shared an interesting afternoon, learning a lot about life on a plantation simply by listening to Madelaine’s tales of recent events on Mahoi. She entertained her audience with gossip, news and a little exaggeration; she was rewarded with an afternoon of company and laughter and she left with three new friends to tell her daughters about. She distributed generous kisses when she left, hugging Gushie, and making Corky blush as she pressed her ample bosom against him in order to buss his lips. The pilot she hugged with friendly enthusiasm and she even remembered to scratch the right spot behind Jack’s ear. She was so busy with her new-found comrades that she almost forgot the more discrete member of the group; she swung round and repeated those affectionate kisses on Bon Chance’s cheeks before hurrying away to her waiting boat. The native handlers had spent the afternoon stocking up on supplies and the launch wallowed low in the water was it pulled away.
"Nice lady," Cutter decided as they watched her go. Jack agreed with two short barks, then pattered back into the bar to finish his beer. He’d been included in the general invitation to the wedding and he’d answered yes before his master could, which had made everybody laugh. That had concluded it as far as Jake and Corky went - if Jack said she was okay, then she had to be okay.
Bon Chance smiled at his friends and returned to his office, leaving Gushie staring after him in vague puzzlement.
"Something wrong?" Cutter asked him.
The man shook his head. "I guess not. Madelaine’s visits usually cheer him up a little more than that, but ... well, perhaps he’s got other things on his mind."
Cutter grinned. "I don’t think he needed cheering up in the first place. He looks happy enough to me."
Gushie shrugged. "Maybe." He laughed softly and turned to wheel away. "And maybe he’s a little upset she decided to get married without telling him about it sooner."
"I thought you said ..."
"I did. There’s nothing between them, and nothing likely to be. Madelaine’s not his type, you know? Not for a long affair, anyway. Too earthy, and too matter-of-fact. Lots of fun for a brief encounter, but he prefers them to possess a little mystery ... or class. Or both."
"Gushie," Cutter couldn’t resist the question, "what makes you such an expert on Louie’s women, anyway?"
The only reply he got was a wry look and a warm chuckle that told him nothing at all.
Time passed in a flurry of unrelated events that only served to bind Jake Cutter closer to the heart of his chosen home. He bid for, and won, the government mail contract, thereby ensuring some kind of regular income alongside the more itinerant flying. That took him to Mahoi once before the wedding, but it was no more than a fleeting visit and Madelaine’s fiancé was not to be seen as he was away on Tagataya concluding business. Madelaine herself greeted him warmly and gave her newest friends a guided tour of her flourishing kingdom; the estate was a sprawl of orchards, planted fields and wild land. It included the efficient pattern of the factory that overlooked the Mahoi lagoon. It was a noisy, heated place filled with busy workers as they stamped cans out of sheet tin and filled them with steam-sealed fruit. Corky was breathtakingly impressed with the equipment, which included a fascinating machine for cutting and coring pineapples, while Cutter was much more taken with the welcoming smiles of Madelaine’s people. She employed nearly half of the island’s native village, and the rest of her workers were made up by an assortment of nationalities, some on migrant contracts, the rest already settled with their families. The remaining natives supported the estate in other ways - as fishermen, or in other capacities. Gushie had not been exaggerating when he said that Madelaine was responsible for the entire island’s economy; even the few independent farmers who shared the soil of Mahoi sold most of their produce to the Belvoir estate, and made use of the harbour Paul Belvoir had enlarged over the years. The local priest, who also appeared to run the school house, spoke warmly of their debt to Madelaine while collecting his mail, and Cutter was left with a sense of a happy community that had been founded on hard work as well as determination. He had shared that thought with Bon Chance when the Goose returned to Boragora, wanting to express his understanding of why his friend might have decided to accept the financial commitment that Mahoi represented, even if he would not receive much recognition for it. The Frenchman had laughed softly, telling him that jumping to conclusions might be a fine sport, but a dangerous way to conduct one’s life, at which Cutter had to assume that he was probably right, but it was also none of his business.
Shortly thereafter the pilot went to the rescue of an unlikely damsel in distress, who turned out to be an agent for the American government and who was destined to help him into a great deal of hot water over the coming months. Sarah’s arrival in the islands almost put Madelaine out of his mind altogether, and she was both surprised and a little hurt to discover that her new-found friends were all going to a wedding she’d not been invited to. As she’d not even been on Boragora when the invitations were issued, her complaint was only half-hearted and not too put out, but she was overjoyed when Bon Chance casually remarked that he’d offered her services for the reception after the ceremony and Madelaine had been delighted at the idea.
"I love weddings," she announced as the small group gathered on the dock for the departure to Mahoi. They had packed their finest, since the Goose was not the best of travel accommodation and they had a good hour to fly before they reached their destination. Corky had scrubbed his face and put on clean overalls for the journey, while Jack was sulking because he was going to have to wear his eye-patch instead of his precious eye. Gushie had expressed doubts about getting his chair into the plane, but they managed it and, after Louie appeared with his bundle of paperwork, they set off into the morning sky in a cheerful and expectant mood.
Mahoi more than matched their anticipations. It was a beautiful island, draped in soft greenery and washed with blue water on white beaches. The bay that contained the cannery quays and the houses where the plantation workers lived formed an easy landing strip for the Goose despite its larger than normal contingent of boats, and they docked to find the whole place awash with garlands of flowers. Young women laded them with leis as they disembarked and the place had a general air of festivity. The plantation overseer led them up to the house, originally a modest construction built on one level but added to over the intervening years. Tables were laid out in the open plaza between the angle of the building and its supporting out-houses, the whole place festooned with decorations and filled with music. Natives were singing as they worked around an enormous firepit, and the scent of roast meat and spiced cooking drifted around them. Other guests were already moving among the tables, many of them having arrived the day before. Bon Chance greeted several as he passed among them, men and women from other estates and plantations within his mandate as Magistrate, others waved in the arriving party’s general direction as they were shown into the guest wing of the house. Cutter found he knew many of the European guests that mingled with the estate workers; his mail run clearly took him to most of the Marivellas’ more prominent citizens. Some of those he didn’t know personally he recognised from time spent on Tagataya; the groom’s associates, he supposed.
By the time he had changed and re-emerged to join the growing throng, he found most of the rest of his party waiting for him. Corky managed to look both amenably happy and decidedly uncomfortable in his new suit; he was carrying Jack, who had been brushed until he practically shone. Gushie was wearing his service dress jacket and his medals, his hair slicked down so that it gleamed in the sunlight; beside him, Sarah was a vision in a swirl of white and scarlet rose printed cotton, her hat tilted at an attractive angle and a single orchid pinned to her shoulder. Cutter lifted an eyebrow at the flower and she laughed, pointing a finger of blame at Gushie, who blushed. That left only one of the group unaccounted for, and the pilot glanced over the heads of the crowd in search of him, finally identifying the familiar figure engaged in conversation with the Mahoi priest, who was dressed in his full regalia for once. Cutter led the rest of them in that direction, smiling a little to himself as he did so. Bon Chance was attired with impeccable attention to detail - his best white suit shone in the sun, each line of it set to a perfect crease or fold. His cravat was a dark gold silk shot with silver, his waistcoat carried discrete lines of embroidery along its curves and the watch chain that dipped at just the right curve across it was a subtle line of gold and emerald, glinting in the light. He looked svelte and exactly right - not overdressed or flashy, like many in the crowd, but discretely and precisely dressed so as to carry an impression of authority without overshadowing the purpose of the day. He looked up with a smile as his comrades approached, acknowledging Sarah’s finery with an appreciative nod of satisfaction and added an approving grin after a brief inspection of the rest of them.
Just then the swirl of crowd parted a little to allow passage to a man none of them immediately recognised. He was tall and broadly built, a square-faced figure, his hair a neat layer of dark gold and his trimmed beard shot with ginger. The immediate impression was that of a powerful man, his movement light despite the sense of his size. He was Cutter’s height, but his shoulders were much broader and the hand that he thrust in Bon Chance’s direction was built to match the rest of him.
"Bonjour, Monsieur," the man said, eyeing the Magistrate with a vague hint of surprise, as though he were not what he expected at all. "I am Gerald Crawcour. Thank you for coming today."
Bon Chance shook the proffered hand, and added a brief inclination of his head as he did so. Beside the new arrival he looked almost fragile, much as a racehorse might when placed next to one bred to the plough; for all that he showed no sign of intimidation as the man loomed over him. He smiled and introduced his companions, whom Crawcour greeted with dutiful attention. Cutter was reasonably impressed with the man. He seemed polite and not overbearing, despite his advantage of size. Sarah murmured some remark about seeing what Madelaine saw in the man while Corky stuttered his congratulations and Gushie expressed his pleasure at finally meeting Madelaine’s fiancé. Father Doncleur, the priest, beamed at them all, muttering something to Bon Chance concerning the arrangements, only to be interrupted as two more figures emerged from the crowd.
They were unmistakable, their mother in miniature, and they rushed from behind the groom to throw delighted arms around the smaller Frenchman with cries of welcome. Cutter grinned at their enthusiasm, glancing up at Crawcour with conspiratorial delight. Briefly, something akin to anger flashed in the man’s steel blue eyes, only to be quickly covered by what could have been affectionate exasperation.
"Ellen, Jeanette," he scolded softly, "is that any way to treat such an important guest? You will crease your pretty dresses, and what will your mam say?"
Bon Chance had dropped down to greet the girls with an attentive kiss on each offered cheek. Jeanette, the younger of the two, carefully turned her other one up as soon as he’d finished with the first one. He laughed and buffed it with his knuckles, reaching to enfold both of them in a careful hug. "And how are the two most beautiful women in my life?" he enquired, eliciting a duplicate of giggles and blushing cheeks. Ellen, the eldest at ten, was the image of her mother. She wore a white cotton dress layered in lace, her blonde curls caught up by silk ribbons and dressed with flowers. Jeanette, a plumper eight-year-old, had darker hair with a hint of red in it. Her dress was equally fancy, and a posy of flowers dangled from her wrist by a pale blue ribbon. She turned a little to pout impish defiance at the man about to become her new father.
"He’s not important," she protested. "He’s just Uncle Louie."
Out of the mouths of babes ... Cutter and Sarah exchanged a look that became a suppressed snort of laughter; Gushie threw back his head with a silent howl, while Corky sniggered almost uncontrollably. Bon Chance himself was quietly amused; he sighed with mock despair. "Ah me," he breathed, "I am put firmly in my place, n’est ce pas?" He lifted himself back to his full height, intending to share the laughter in his eyes with Crawcour; the watching man was oddly disconcerted.
"I’m sorry, Mons," he apologised, reaching to catch at the youngsters’ hands. "They are excited by today. They should not be so disrespectful."
His guest was still amused; he regarded the man beside him with mild unconcern. "These ladies and I are old friends," he assured him softly. "I am not offended. Au contraire," he added, winking at Ellen with conspiratorial affection. "But you are quite right. You must be good, mes petite lapins. It is your mother's day today, n'est ce pas?" The two of them giggled again, nodding agreement with enthusisam. "Bon," he continued with authority, "then run along and tell her we are ready." His hand directed Crawcour towards the edge of the decorated area, where a smaller table was flanked by the two officiating constables. "Mons? If you will ...?"
The broad-shouldered man stared after his soon-to-be stepdaughters, then recollected himself with a small shake and nodded agreeably. Father Doncleur fell into step with him as they walked away, leaving the group from Boragora to find themselves a suitable place in the gathering. Silence settled slowly over the crowd, a waiting hush punctuated by excited whispers or the occasional laugh. Crawcour stood to one side of the table, tugging a little at his collar with nervous reaction. Doncleur had stepped back, the civil ceremony needing completion before he could begin his blessing, and Bon Chance had placed himself behind the spread of paperwork, his stance relaxed as if he did this every day of his life.
Native voices heralded the arrival of the bride, the song a liquid melody that carried clearly in the open air. Madelaine was radiant, dressed in a suit of palest blue, her face hidden behind a discrete veil and her arms filled with a tumble of flowers. Behind her, her daughters walked with studied determination, keeping pace with each other by means of the occasional extra step. She moved with grace, greeting people in the gathering with grateful pleasure as she passed them; when she came to Crawcour’s side, she favoured him with a warm smile before turning to face her Magistrate with calm expectation. Bon Chance found her a wicked grin before schooling his expression into lines of authority. Cutter could have sworn that Madelaine was wrestling with the desire to laugh out loud.
She didn’t, and the ceremony proceeded without a hitch, the official recognition of the marriage being duly ratified and recorded before Father Doncleur stepped forward to offer the blessing of the church. When it was over, Crawcour kissed the bride with enthusiasm; he relinquished her for Bon Chance’s congratulatory kiss with anxious reluctance. Madelaine hugged her business partner with delighted relief, and then went on to do the same with the priest, who looked a little taken aback. Her new husband retrieved her with determination, leading her down through her guests to preside at the feast. Corky, who had begun to fidget through the litany of French, brightened up immediately.
It was a good day. The food was excellent, the company festive, and the event worth a celebration. Through it all, Crawcour kept a tight hold of his new wife, who seemed amused at his possessiveness. The two girls were soon running around with wild enthusiasm, begging titbits off everybody, many of which they then fed to Jack. The party went on long into the night, with fires leaping in bright array in front of the house, and wine and laughter flowing freely. Sarah performed three songs, accompanied by Corky on the estate piano, which was wheeled out for just that purpose, and everyone demanded an encore when she’d finished. Madelaine requested one certain song, at which Bon Chance and Gushie shared an anxious glance, but Sarah seemed unaware of any problem as she launched into it. The bride applauded more than anyone at its end, and Crawcour sent Sarah a bottle of wine across as a thank you. She brought it back to share with the rest of her party, while the new couple slipped unnoticed from the crowd. It seemed the perfect end to a perfect day.
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