Island Love

Set in New Zealand with NZ spellings and idioms.

*

CHAPTER 1

Roman Gulliver called himself a businessman. Some women with a penchant for straying knew him as an adulterer. His former wife who'd vowed never to say his name again described her 'ex' as a mean bastard who'd made her account for every dollar she spent. Cynthia his mother acted as if the sun shone out of his butt, but then he was an only child.

It was mid-afternoon Friday. Roman changed out of his suit for a white short-sleeved shirt, grey linen shorts that stopped just on the knee and designer sandals built for hard walking that cost as much as the black Italian shoes he'd just shed. He switched off his mobile phone and placed that and his briefcase into a filing cabinet and locked it. Slinging his backpack over his left shoulder, he went into the outer office and kissed Paula-Jean, the married receptionist who occasionally strayed his way. She said, enviously, "Have fun in the sun gigolo."

"Gigolo?"

"Pick a rich one and get lucky. Mark plans to have me helping to scrape the keel of our cruiser this weekend."

"Lucky Mark. Well you chose to marry a conservative accountant. Guys like me would be at sea on weekends like this attending to women like you. We'd scrape the keel in the rain and cold of winter."

"Sure, sure. Off you go. You'll get to the ferry just in time."

As soon as Roman stepped on to the passenger-only Quickcat ferry he felt free, the worries of the week with his investment clients crying on his shoulder, victims of the world economic recession, behind him. The worst hit ones were those who hadn't heeded his urgent warnings to take a light loss and reposition strategically.

Not looking back at the receding Auckland City's skyline to avoid compromising that light-headed feeling of freedom, Roman waited for the rounding of North Head to see the shape of Waiheke Island through the greyish-blue distant haze of summer heat. It lay eleven miles away.

The ferry was crowded. He found an aisle seat alongside an elderly couple. The woman, against the window, looked around her male companion at him and said, "American?"

"No local."

"Oh we're from the Waikato and are crossing to stay with my sister. Do you know her?"

The guy said, "Give him her name you forgetful fool."

Ah that would be the husband.

"Mrs Marks."

"Eve Marks of Surfdale Road?"

"Yes, oh my goodness isn't New Zealand such a small place with almost everyone knowing someone no matter what part of they country they're in."

Old grumpy said, "Providing names are exchanged."

Roman had to smile at that. "Eve's husband Stanley and my father built a plywood fishing boat together around thirty years back. Stanley wrecked in on Great Barrier five years ago, the year after my father died."

"Oh we heard about that. He clung to a rock on an inhospitable part of the coastline for thirteen hours before being rescued by a passing trawler. It was in all the papers and on TV."

"I'm his godson."

"But Stanley and Eve have no children."

"True but they have me – Stanley was supposed to look after me if anything happened to dad, but that only applied until I became an adult. Tell them I'll drop in for a meal within a couple of days."

The woman looked concerned. "Within a couple of days? Eve will need to know to have extra food in and to cook extra."

"Nah. You just drop in for a feed. Islanders expect it to happen that way. Life for islanders runs on Waiheke time very casually."

"Oh goodness, how primitive."

"Yeah, great eh?"

As they were getting off the ferry Roman said, "How are you folk getting to Eve's place?"

"She said to get a taxi."

"Well come with me."

The farming couple from the Waikato whom Roman now knew as Owen and Thelma Greenfield watched Roman go up to a gorgeous blonde wearing two strips of material that with imagination could be called a top and shorts. The dark-hair guy and the blonde kissed and she handed Roman something and walked away, waving a hand down low without looking back as if knowing he'd be watching her. He was.

"Jesus, that was some young woman," Owen said.

"Yeah, I used to date her when we were young. She's working part-time for a car hire company and has just handed me the keys."

"Oh, we must contribute towards the hire."

"Like hell you will."

"Young man, I do not like being addressed in that manner."

"My apologies Thelma, I'm talking to you like a girlfriend."

"Oh," said Thelma, patting her hair.

With difficulty the elderly couple got into the low-slung red sports car with the hood down. Thelma was worried about her hair being messed by the wind but as she was sitting in the front Roman assured her she would not be caught in the slipstream.

"What's that?"

"Just ignore her son," Owen said. "Women know nothing. Outside the house they act as if they're in a foreign country."

"Don't listen to him Roman. He can't even remember your name. Men are such smart-arses... er when they get older."

Roman drove up the unsealed drive to the 1940s cottage that Roman knew for a fact only got an inside toilet in 1997 because he'd installed it. Their car was out in the open, because they had no garage, resting on a jack with the rear wheel on the ground. He grabbed a log of firewood drying out against the house and put it under the rear axel in case the jack failed.

Eve came darting out, Stanley hobbling after her. "Oh darling, how wonderful to see you," Eve cried, bypassing her sister to hug and kiss Roman. She then turned and kissed her sister and brother-in-law and welcomed them formerly.

Roman kicked the wheel. "What's up?"

"Wheel bearing's gone," Stanley said. The mechanic comes Tuesday to fit the new bearing coming across Monday morning."

Roman scratched under his chin. "Owen take my hire car till yours is fixed. I'll call Gloria and tell you to add your name as an authorized driver."

"But this is a $70,000 vehicle."

"Yeah but so what – when did you last have a car insurance claim?"

"Mid 1970s."

"There you go. Let me show you how it works."

Everyone, including Roman marvelled the way the metal roof rose out of the trunk and clicked into place in seconds.

Roman smiled, "You boys cruise along the road on the edge of Onetangi beach and you ought to be able to pull a couple of babes."

"In your dreams," Thelma giggled almost hysterically, her sister joining her in a carefree hug.

"See, the island charm has captured you already Thelma. The resident bitch in you will be gone by Monday."

Grinning at Thelma bristling, Eve said, "Keep your cool darling; he's such a big tease but he's lovely."

* * *

Roman walked up the sealed driveway but veered short of the rambling stucco house with its magnificent views on both sides of the gulf and over the island. He took a left and walked down to what had been the gardener's cottage prior to the fairly recent development of mobile gardeners and lawn mowing contractors.

He was climbing down off the top of the gas cylinders enclosure, reaching under the eaves where he kept the key when a cutting voice with an American accent said, "And exactly what are you doing?"

Roman turned and smiled, brushing his hair back and turning his eyes on the woman in red.

"G'day young lady. Blonde, six feet, great tits... I've been told about you. You're the daughter of Clyde Hamilton's new American wife Rosella."

"Excuse me... you have no right speaking to me like that."

"Oh yeah. I could point out that you're trespassing on my land?"

"You mean your father's land. I heard a card sharp called Roman Gulliver won it off my stepfather in a high-stake poker game."

"Sorry babe but if there's a card sharp around here it's your stepfather. I'm Roman Gulliver; my late father's name was Antonio."

"B-but you're around my age."

"True but you're better looking than I am and I really am a pal of your stepfather's."

That made her look a little less certain. "May I come in an look around?"

"Yes, I welcome that. I'm still working on modernizing the place. Are you any good at wielding a paint brush?"

"Well I ought to be," she said brusquely. 'I have a master's in fine arts and produce work professionally as a portrait painter."

"Oh ma'am, if I have insulted you by suggesting you are less than qualified with a paint brush I apologise."

"It's miss and you have no reason to apologize for a simple misunderstanding. I'm Dora Dixon."

"Okay Dora, what's up with the rig?"

"What do you mean?"

"You look dressed for a soiree. They are rare on this island, beer, wine and barbies being the norm."

"The Duncans of Wairangi Vineyards are entertaining to invited guests this early evening. I was on my way out when I saw you."

"Oh that will be a soiree with a string quartet flown in from the mainland plus a master chef. Well have a dickety lick and be off."

"Excuse me?''

"Have a quick look around and go."

"Oh, that is local idiom I take it?"

"I wouldn't bet on it."

They did the quick tour and Dora said, "I'm amazed, this workmanship is to the highest professional standards."

"Well as some former virgins and their older sisters on this island will attest, I'm very good with my hands."

"I wonder why I'm not surprised to hear that comment," Dora said stiffly.

"Aw come on Dora, I was pulling your left tit."

Roman was sure he detected the faintest of smiles.

He'd showered and had just changed into black pants and a white shirt when he heard frantic knocking on the door. It was Dora, in a panic. Her car wouldn't start.

"I-I think I left the headlights on all night. My car at home had auto power shutdown after six minutes of being left unattended."

"Ah, you are in a former colony out here deep in the south Pacific Dora. Our motor vehicles tend to rely on driver intelligence."

"What?"

"It doesn't matter. Give me your mobile. Mine is left behind in my office in Auckland so I can relax."

"Oh I didn't mean to unload my stress on to you."

"It's fine darling."

Roman made the call and Dora was unable to her the other side of the conversation.

"Mrs Chelsea Duncan please. It's Roman calling Shona."

While he was waiting Dora said, "You know Mrs Duncan's number?"

"Appears so. I work with them a lot."

"Oh hi Chelsea, I'm at the cottage with your young American guest Dora Dixon; She has just dropped in to tell me her woes with car problems; flat battery."

"Oh that's the container of reserve energy that powers the vehicle to run on its own system via the alternator. But let's not confuse you. Could you send the chopper down for her?"

"Oh great."

"Well if you'd like to see me, yes of course. I'm only in pants and shirt – my tux and all my jackets are in Auckland."

"Well if you do mind that's all it matters. How's that new granddaughter Jessie?"

"Oh sweet. Have a great night; see you soon."

Dora was looking at Roman in awe. "You mean she is sending a helicopter for me and has invited you as well?"

"Yes. Just between you and me Chelsea and Frank owe much of their new wealth to me as their prime financial consultant. They were very wealthy after selling their Hawkes Bay sheep and cattle station but are now mega wealthy. I was the reason for the break up of their son's first marriage. It wasn't really my fault – she took to me like a mouse after cheese. Frank and Chelsea hated her and gave me a return air ticket to the UK for inadvertently leading to their daughter-in-law being divorced. The new one has tiny tits so no way am I interested. I think son Paul chose that mode of woman to ensure I didn't get my hands on his bed plaything."

Dora said stiffly, "You have an irrelevancy about you that I find borders on being disgustingly refreshing."

Roman said he trusted that was a compliment and said they better go up to the front lawn of the Big House because the chopper would arrive shortly as soon. It was carrying the last of the VIPs off the ferry to the booze up.

"Booze up?"

"Sorry, it's one of those wretched colloquialisms again. It means the guzzling of alcohol."

* * *

At the pale apology for a soiree, Roman watched Dora closely, aware she was glancing at him frequently, apparently surprised how he fitted in so well although being the only guest not formerly dressed. Chelsea had been all over him and after a more restrained greeting Frank had taken him off to meet some of the VIPs.

When the quartet went to early dinner Chelsea announced to the thirty or so guests, "Our talented local personality Roman Gulliver will now play incidental music."

Surprised at that announcement Dora had expected Chelsea, with obviously no expense spared elsewhere, to have hired a professional musician. Well to make allowances, Chelsea was a New Zealander.

Dora watched with interest wondering would Mr All-Too-Much would sit at the keyboard or the drum set in place for the dance band to play later. She saw him pick up a guitar and expected to hear a poor imitation of someone like Eric Clapton. He played around tuning it to his satisfaction and then switched on the amplifier and shocked her, playing a rousing 'Rock Around the Clock'. People seemed to like it and she felt the mood of the party pick up.

Roman then entered into a bracket of semi-classical pieces of increasing complexity and then played two heavy classical pieces that drew genuine applause. He then spoke into the mike. "Chelsea tells me her American guest her this evening, Miss Dora Dixon, Clyde's Hamilton's new wife's daughter, sings, although not professionally. What she does professionally is paint faces for big bucks. Most of you here will know Clyde is still on his honeymoon with that honey of a woman Rosella. So if there is sufficient support Dora will sing for you."

Clapping and cheers encouraged Chelsea to come forward smiling but she was seething. The jerk should have asked her first.

She hissed, "I was a soloist in a church choir. My repertoire is church music which is a little inappropriate for this occasion."

"Oh really – do you know 'I'll Walk Beside You'."

"Yes. How on earth..."

He chuckled. "My mother used to sing it to her mother – I remember that from when I was very young. But after grandma died mom used to sing it to dad. We need one more and then the quartet will be back. I know another one of similar vintage but it's nostalgically romantic rather than religious 'Marble Hall'."

"Yes I do," she said amazed. "When I'm in a melancholic mood that's probably my favourite song."

"Shall we do it?"

"Yes!"

"Well we are ready to go," Roman announced. "You must understand Dora and I only met for the first time three hours ago so there have been no rehearsals but I guess keen musical people like us can smooth out bad patches. Thank you. Everyone, Miss Dora Dixon."

Guests continued talking and laughing but as Dora worked into 'I'll Wake Beside You' everyone standing or sitting at tables on the huge paved outdoor area became silent. So many people love that song and when it finished guests applauded enthusiastically. But Dora and Roman stunned them with 'Marble Hall', the quality of Dora's pure notes piercing the area now gripped in twilight but the lighting not yet switched on.

As the applause died and Roman stood up and placed the guitar on its stand Dora hugged and kissed him softly and said, "You were marvellous and worked so well with me and made me appear very good."

"Ah Dora, we were good but not that good. It's amazing how alcohol can blur people's discriminatory perception."

She laughed, hugged him and again and looked at him a little perplexed.

Four locals in a five-seat car gave Dora a ride home and Roman was delivered home almost half an hour later on the back of a pick-up. He and Dora had not said good night and so he hoped Dora would come down to give him a goodnight kiss. Ten minutes later he looked out and saw the big house now in total darkness. He waited mildly thinking she might be on her way down but he went to bed empty-handed and surprised because he'd been so sure they'd be doing it that night.

At dawn Roman arose and did his stretching exercises, finishing with a brief bout of shadow boxing and then showered. He went up to the house and found it locked. He was making coffee in the kitchen when Dora walked in brushing her hair, dressed in a top and shorts. He looked and the long legs and his thoughts began somersaulting.

But Roman guessed restraint was required. Switching on his number two smile he said, "Good morning Dora."

"I think you're in the wrong house. How the hell did you get in here? I locked all doors."

"I'm used to wandering in and out of here. I used to act as caretaker when I worked on the island when Clyde was away overseas on business. By the time Rosella arrived to live here before their marriage I had opened my Auckland office. Clyde told me to drop my gypsy-like appearances at the house unannounced but called me later in the day and said your mom thought the custom was cute and wanted it reinstated.

"How dare you have an affair with my mother! Before I left the party last night some drunken women were telling me about your Don Juan reputation and in the car coming home Pam Jones and Sarah McIntyre bubbled on how they thought they'd be snaring you as their son-in-law. They said openly you had been ploughing their daughters and that gave them their optimism."

"Yes, Shea Jones and the McIntyre sisters Ruby and Regina but I've not placed a finger on your mother."

Dora was unable to restrain her curiosity. "What Ruby and Regina together?"

"Only sometimes."

Roman watched her turn into one of those people he labelled, "Prudish Americans." Well if she sang solo in a church choir it was quite possible her label was devout Bible-banger.

"How disgusting and to think of you ploughing through these women on the island, whether married or not, as if you were harvesting corn."

Roman smiled thinking what a wonderfully apt description but the look on Dora's face dispatched that smile. He mumbled, not looking at her, "I take it I'm not welcome here while you are in residence alone Miss Dixon?"

"Why aren't you calling me Dora? Are you THAT unreliable? Although I can't bear the thought of you seducing my mother you may stay. What do you want for breakfast?"

"Dora?"

"Yes, come on I haven't got all day."

"Although this might seem odd to you, Clyde and I are friends, great friends, and a guy doesn't do the dirty on his best mates."

"Ohmigod, you tick along on some sort of medieval code don't you – sodomize the peasant women but show allegiance to the squire and his lady?"

"What are you talking about?"

"Don't you dare play dumb with me Roman Gulliver. Sarah McIntyre told me last night it was a tragedy you have a great mind but choose to be a playboy and make your money using other people's money."

"That's Sarah being sore because I didn't marry Regina who went bananas about me despite never once receiving matrimonial sweet talk or even a single oblique reference to marriage from me."

"Then what about using other people's money to make money?"

"I work as a financial investment consultant. If my clients lose money all I'll left with is the legitimate establishment fee; if they make money I get the agreed percentage margin for managing their accounts."

"Sarah didn't describe it that way."

"Well she was only giving her take on things, if you like her perception accept it over my explanation. Talk to Regina who's happily married now with a little daughter and ask her did I ever suggest marriage to her. She is likely to laugh and say no, that was only her distraught mother after seeing Betty Field all over me in a restaurant. But does it really matter?"

"I suppose not. I find your explanations credible. What do you have for breakfast?"