Elianne by Judy Nunn Page A

those who could not hold their liquor. André Desmarais had been easy game. The only possible obstacle to James’s plans had been Elianne herself. Would she have him?
    She would, as it turned out. And now James Durham had arrived in Efate triumphant and ready to claim his bride. But he would do so properly; all must be in order. He had determined to court his fiancée and put her at her ease. She would no doubt be nervous at the prospect of marriage to a man she barely knew, and the thought of life in a foreign land must surely be daunting.
    ‘Would you care to walk with me, Elianne?’ he asked as Mela cleared the teacups from the sitting-room table.
    ‘Yes, James, but not just in the garden. May we go further afield this morning?’ He’d been at the plantation for two days now and both mornings they’d promenaded about the front garden.
    The garden, which had once been Beatrice’s pride and joy but had become overgrown and jungle-like since her death, was now returned to its former glory in preparation for the wedding. The small central fountain bubbled again, the vines of the arbour were neatly trimmed, and hibiscus, frangipani and jasmine blossoms provided both colour and fragrance. Elianne loved the garden’s resurrection, but she found the exercise of promenading around its paths in a pretty bonnet with matching parasol most unsatisfactory. Furthermore, the conversation she and James had shared as they’d walked had been as mundane as that conducted over the dining table at meal times. She appreciated his show of propriety, but she was becoming bored.
    ‘Of course we may go further afield,’ he agreed, ‘if that is what you wish. Where would you suggest?’
    ‘I’ll show you. Please wait here while I change into my walking boots.’ In her bedroom, she conceded an attractive feathered bonnet that matched the powder-blue of her day dress, but she did not take a parasol. This was to be a proper walk.
    They strode out together, along the track and into the plantation, Elianne dictating the pace. He had thought there would be need to severely restrict his stride, but there was not. He towered over her, certainly, but she was well above average height, long-legged and healthy like a thoroughbred mare; he loved the way she moved.
    He cast a covert glance at her as on and on they marched. She seemed tireless, the swish of her petticoats emphasising the athleticism of her legs beneath the pretty pastel skirt. They’d been travelling apace for a good twenty minutes now and she was not in the least out of breath. The fact pleased James immensely. Not only was she beautiful, she was strong and fit. She would bear him fine children.
    Elianne took him to the special place she and Pavi shared overlooking the valley and the sea. She did not consider her choice disloyal. There were many beautiful vantage points she could have taken him to, but she’d deliberately chosen this one because it imbued her with a sense of power. She wanted to know the man she was to marry.
    ‘I come here often with my best friend,’ she said as they settled themselves on the rocks.
    ‘Oh yes? And who is that?’ He didn’t even look at the view. The view held no interest for him.
    ‘His name is Pavi. Pavi Salet.’
    She studied his face, a strong face, albeit a little on the stern side, she thought. Granite-jawed and steely-eyed, he looked older than he was, more like a man in his mid-thirties, but she found him rather handsome nonetheless. She particularly liked the fact that, apart from his healthy moustache, he was clean shaven. Her father’s friends were all bearded, and although she was aware that beards were quite the fashion of the day, she had come to associate them with rough men.
    ‘Pavi Salet,’ he said. ‘Michel’s son?’ James was well acquainted with André’s overseer. Michel had dined with them at the main house only the previous night, as he had done many times during James’s past visits.
    ‘Yes, that’s right.