The Primrose Bride

CHAPTER ONE

T
he
floor of billowing white
cl
oud was gone now, and Karen could see an expanse of pewter ocean and a long string of green islands which looked uninhabited. She didn
’
t want to ask again.
“
Are we nearly there?
”
The nearer they came to
the
Leaman Islands, the more shy she felt of Andrew
’
s amused glance. He made allowances for her excitement, her wonder and trepidation; but obviously he couldn
’
t for the life of him see why she should dither at the thought of making her home on Nemaka Island. To him, the Leamans or other islands very like them had been home for many years, and perhaps he couldn
’
t remember how he had felt on his first trip to the South Seas.

Not for a moment did Karen permit herself to question his calmness; she was only too thankful for it. And all, it was the bride who had qualms, wasn
’
t it? A groom such as Andrew took everything in his stride and knew that tomorrow was another day not so very different, fundamentally, from today.

She gave him a quick sideways look, without turning her head. Seated comfortably beside her with one long leg stretched into the aisle, he looked totally at ease as he read the newspaper he had bought at Hong Kong airport. His almost black hair was brushed back from a deep forehead, and his strongly marked brows were part of the slightly Romanesque profile. A thin, high-bridged nose, a firmly cut mouth, a well-formed chin, and a jawline that rather hardened his looks and added to the seaso
n
ed air of command.

“
Andrew ... my husband,
”
she thought queerly, for the hundredth time.
“
We
...
belong to each other.
”

And yet, deep down, she knew that though Andrew loved her he would never entirely belong to any woman; he was his own man. And that was the miracle of it, really; her being here with him, approaching the home they were to share, and the future they would shape together. Andrew
E
liot, the lordly young man she had worshipped when she was ten and he twenty-one, the charming, experienced man of thirty-two whom she had
married t
he day before yesterday.

Was it only the day before yesterday? Yes, no more. After the ceremony they had lunched with her two aunts, received tearful kisses of farewell and driven to London Airport in a hired car. And since boarding the first plane they hadn
’
t been alone together, not even for a few minutes. They had winged through day and night, stopped about half
a
dozen times for refuelling, and changed planes at Hong Kong. As she looked back over the past forty-eight hours, it seemed to Karen that the period at Hong Kong had been by far the worst. She had rested in a
small
hotel lounge, been served a very good lunch and been surrounded by reading matter. Andrew had given orders to the hovering waiter that she was not to be disturbed, had kissed her forehead lightly and gone off to see an old friend of his who was stationed in Hong Kong. Far wiser for Karen to rest, he had said, and she hadn
’
t dared to suggest that movement was what she needed.

That was her trouble, she decided. Though she loved Andrew with every fibre of her being and was determined to make their marriage idyllic, she was still so shy of him that she accepted whatever he decreed. But all that would alter, of course, once she was established with him in his house. She had to get over the first day or two, that was all.

He leaned her way and said,
“
We
’
ll touch down in about twenty minutes. Feel all right?
”

“
A bit shaky,
”
she said,
“
but wonderful too. Getting near the end of our journey is exciting. Andrew, I do hope everyone.
..
”

“
Now stop worrying. They
’
ll all adore you, and I
’
ve come ba
ck
early for the specific purpose of avoiding an encounter with the Governor for at least a week He
’
ll be touring the other islands and his wife always goes with him, so you
’
ll be able to feel quite settled before you meet them! The men are a good bunch and you
’
ll like their wives too, though
I’m
not saying there won
’
t be a spot of jealousy,
”
he ended with a smile.
“
You
’
re younger and prettier than any of them.
”

“
But
...
but I don
’
t really want to be. If you
’
re their superior officer I
’
m not likely to be very popular, anyway.
”

“
My
dear girl,
”
he said, patting her hand,
“
You
’
ll get by, whatever your position. I
’
ll be right there with you. I know things have been pretty hectic this last week or two, but you
’
re young and resilient. After a couple of days
’
rest you
’
ll slide into place with no trouble at all. No one knows we
’
re arriving today, so you
’
ll have nothing to contend with except
...
”
an almost imperceptible pause,
“
except a couple of servants and the house layout. And as I
’
ve said before, I shan
’
t be far away!
”

She smiled gratefully, grasped the hand close to hers and felt the reassuring squeeze of his fingers.
“
I wouldn
’
t worry at all if I weren
’
t so terribly anxious to start off on the right track with everyone. You mustn
’
t mind if I ask you once again if there
’
s anything else I should know about your colleagues.
”

“
They
’
re just men in the Administration,
”
he said casually,
“
but there
’
s one thing I
’
d like you to remember. A fortnight ago, when you agreed to marry me, I cabled my closest friend in Nemaka that I was getting married at once. He
’
ll think we
’
ve been hitched at least ten days, and so will everyone else. We
’
ll let them go on thinking it. It
’
ll be easier for you that way.
”

She felt color rise from her neck, looked down at her hands and then through the window at the intensely blue sky of early evening.

‘
Yes, it will,
”
she nodded.
“
Very well, Andrew. Thank you.
”

“
You
’
ll be all right,
”
he repeated encouragingly.
“
Don
’
t be afraid of making blunders. They
’
ll be viewed quite tolerantly—you can be sure of that. Everyone loves a bride.
”

She nodded again, but did not look at him. One thing she had learned very well about this new, mature Andrew was his dislike of gratitude, and she was aware that just then her sea-blue eyes were full of it; so she kept her chin
high and stared out at the sky and the distant shape of an island.

And because the little exchange with him had stilled some of her uncertainties, she thought back to the day she had first seen him this year. It was just under two months ago. She had been wearing her smock a
nd
it was stained with clay and paints because she had spent the morning working with her aunts in their pottery. It was only about ten minutes
’
walk from the workshop to the cottage, but halfway through those ten minutes her life had changed, suddenly and completely. A car pulled up on the old stone bridge, a dark head poked from it and a deep voice said smilingly,
“
By all that
’
s marvellous—the Karen child grown up! I was going to look in on your aunts. Come and get in I
’
ll take you home.
”

She had stared, full of wonder and delight. Andrew Eliot ... ba
ck
in Cornwall! Back for only a short while, he had told her carelessly. He
’
d been on long leave and had about two months still to go; had travelled a good deal and finally decided he ought to look up the old place before taking a trip to Scandinavia. After
th
at he would make his way slowly
ba
ck to the Leaman Islands, where he was now the Senior Executive Officer.

He had intended staying just one night in the district, but the one night had expanded into twenty. Karen
’
s aunts, militant with hope, had insisted that she leave her normal duties to them; Andrew
’
s time was so short that she must be with him whenever he asked her. Andrew, of course, didn
’
t ask; he appropriated, every day. He did it smoothly and masterfully, and Karen loved
him
the more hopelessly for it
.

They drove down to the beaches, picnicked and bathed, went sailing and tramped over the moors. Karen had her first peep into a roadhouse, dressed up for the theatre and learned how to sit a horse. No one could have been a better guide and companion than Andrew Eliot. He was nonchalant, lazily amused by her sudden flowering, her intense recollections of her own childhood and his unwitting influence upon her adolescence. He had been the only son at Welhayes, a tall lean young
man
who had
chosen the Colonial Service rather than rusticate on the
family
estate. And Karen had been a leggy child who occasionally went with her older cousins to spend a day at Welhayes, where she had gazed unselfconsciously at the arrogant creature who, even then, was training at university for his career abroad. Between those days and the present she had seen Andrew only once, when she was sixteen; he had come to Welhayes just after his father
’
s death to see his aunt and uncle into the lovely old house. The impressionable Karen thought, headily, that he looked as gaunt and strong as an eagle. He had given her a nod and a surprisingly gentle half-smile, and gone back to his islands.

That particular encounter had put her off the young men of the district, and a year later she had plunged wholeheartedly into the workshop which her two arty aunts had carried on for many years. Only Aunt Laura had been married, briefly, but both had eagerly taken Karen into their home when, at the age of five, she had been tragically robbed of both parents. They had loaded her with love and discipline, would have lavished other things upon her if they could have afforded it. Designing and making ornaments and tableware alongside the aunts and three employees had been good fun and seasonally exacting; Karen had loved it, while looking into the future, and dreaming.

When Andrew came again into her life it was a knight-in-armor experience for Karen. Within a week she was completely under the spell of his casual charm, his strong features, his background of continual progress in Colonial Administration. And apart from all that, he was Andrew, who had laid his careless fingers on her heart when she was ten and indelibly left an imprint. There could be no other man in the world.

Eventually he had flown to Sweden, and for a fortnight she had lived between despair and ecstatic hope; a mild sort of hope, really—that he would return to Cornwall to say goodbye, that he would promise to write from the South Seas. Beyond that she daren
’
t think at all.

Then came the evening when he arrived at the cottage, was
bantering a
nd sweet to the aunts but rather keen-eyed
when he firmly took Karen
’
s elbow and led her out into the scented garden. He hadn
’
t asked her to marry him.

In effect, he
’
d said,
“
I
’
m taking you back with me to Nemaka. I
’
ll see the vicar tomorrow morning and arrange the wedding. No fuss—none of the white stuff and hordes of tearful friends. We
’
ll just get married and take a plane the same day. All right?
”

Karen never afterwards remembered how she had felt or reacted. For days, life was a delirium in which the aunts were happier than they had ever been and Karen hardly knew or cared what was happening. Aunt
Laura
had suggested a primrose wedding.

“
Pale yellow looks so lovely with your golden hair and greeny-blue eyes, dear, and Andrew says you wore yellow the first time he took you to Welhayes a few weeks ago, it
’
s his favorite color. Besides, you
’
re young and springlike, and if he really objects to white
...”

Both Laura and Grace had masked their regrets very effectively. Karen was their one-and-only and they would have loved billowing white lace and bridesmaids and a spread in the church hall.