From Waif To His Wife

CHAPTER FIVE

MAISIE noticed the sleek, fast-looking jet on the tarmac as she disembarked a little stiffly from her flight at Lupepau’u Airport on the main island of the Vava’u group.

But the light had faded and anyway, all it bore was a logo she didn’t recognise. Nor was she expecting to encounter Rafe Sanderson until the following day. She was unaware that he’d amended his booking at The Tongan Beach Resort to include that night, Monday.

Therefore, she nearly died of fright when a hand descended onto her shoulder and a familiar voice said her name incredulously and swore audibly.

She turned and there he was, as tall and as impressive as he’d ever been, from his thick short hair, a yellow T- shirt and khaki trousers down to his boots. As lean and strong and beautiful as ever, but-she went pale at the blaze of fury in Rafe Sanderson’s grey eyes as he scanned her from head to toe.

He registered her jeans and boots, her denim jacket over a pink blouse, her hair tied back into a pony-tail but escaping it. He scanned the backpack on a frame she’d collected from the luggage area and her shoulder bag.

‘What the hell are you doing here?’ he growled.

‘I…I,’ she stammered and swallowed. ‘I have just as much right to be here as you do.’

‘I told you I would deal with this,’ he ground out.

She stiffened. ‘It’s how you intend to deal with it that bothers me-Oh!’ She realised there was a gap in the queue in front of her and she moved forward.

‘What do you mean?’ he shot at her as she turned back to him.

‘I mean I formed the distinct impression that you may know the man who fathered my baby and may even be going to protect him somehow!’

He didn’t precisely deny it. His eyes narrowed as he said tersely, ‘What gave you that idea?’

‘I wasn’t born yesterday!’ She tossed her head proudly as her eyes glinted angrily. ‘Furthermore, I can’t be shoved aside while you-close ranks.’

‘If you’ve quite finished?’ he queried smoothly.

‘Actually, I could think of a lot more to say, but this isn’t the time or place.’ She tilted her chin at him.

He half smiled. ‘In the meantime, it’s your turn.’ He gestured.

She blinked then clicked her tongue exasperatedly to see she’d reached the Customs officer who was waiting for her.

She heaved her backpack onto the counter and handed in her entry card, upon which she’d clearly documented the fact that she had nothing to declare.

The customs officer politely enquired if he might check?

Maisie agreed and had to suffer a full check of her baggage that displayed her personal items, including a green bra and knickers with frangipanis on them, to public view.

She refused to look at Rafe Sanderson, standing right beside her, but a tinge of pink entered her cheeks.

If that wasn’t bad enough, once she was waved through and was repacking her bag, Rafe sailed through his own encounter with Customs without getting his bags inspected-he was even greeted like a long-lost friend.

This caused her to mutter irritably beneath her breath, and caused him to laugh softly.

‘If you could see your face, Maisie. Here, allow me.’

Her backpack had wheels and she was perfectly capable of handling it, but she only just restrained herself from indulging in a small, undignified battle for control of it as he took it over.

‘I’m staying at the Backpacker’s Hostel,’ she said definitely, however, ‘and I’ll make my own way there.’

‘Have you booked?’

‘No, but-’

‘You may stay where you like,’ he countered, ‘but I have a car and a driver organised, and, since we’ll be passing the place, you might as well come with me.’

At that moment, a beaming Tongan bearing a placard with the name Sanderson printed on it approached and introduced himself as Rafe’s driver.

‘Welcome back, Rafe!’ he enthused and his eyes fell on Maisie and went unerringly to her left hand, where her mother’s signet ring had slipped round so only the gold band was showing.

Rafe followed his glance. He hadn’t noticed the ring before, and he raised his eyebrows.

But the driver did more. He came to an entirely wrong conclusion. ‘Could this be Mrs Sanderson?’ he enquired joyfully. ‘Welcome, ma’am-oh, this is a real pleasure. I’m James.’ He held out his hand.

‘First names are important to Tongans,’ Rafe murmured audibly only to Maisie.

‘I-I,’ Maisie stammered, taking the hand, ‘I’m Maisie, James; lovely to meet you, but-’

‘Well, let’s get this show on the road,’ James overrode her. ‘My car awaits you. This way!’ And he turned away, taking Maisie’s bag from Rafe.

‘Do something!’ Maisie urged Rafe.

‘James,’ Rafe said and paused. ‘Incidentally, James, what’s the accommodation situation on Vava’u like at the moment?’

James turned back. ‘Thanks to this new direct connection from Fiji and a wonderful whale season, I do believe we’re booked out. I know the Backpacker’s Hostel is full to overflowing, all the accommodation in Neiafu is pretty much the same, and most of the islands! Just as well you have a reservation, Rafe and Maisie!’

The trip into Neiafu was tense-for Maisie.

She’d climbed into the backseat of James’ car, expecting Rafe to follow her, but he closed her door courteously and got into the front, where he and James started to chat.

As they drove through the darkened, mostly unpopulated landscape, her mind seethed. How was she going to get herself out of this? Just come out and tell James he’d made a mistake?

But although she opened her mouth to do it a couple of times, something held her back. What if there was no accommodation available?

She swallowed. She might be a seasoned traveller, but the prospect of finding a beach or a bench in a completely strange country she hadn’t seen in the daylight was not a pleasant one.

Then they rolled into Neiafu. As they drove through at a sedate forty kilometers per hour, she could see the No Vacancy signs sprinkled through the little town. In fact, the first one she saw was on the Adventure Backpacker’s Hostel board.

She sat back and bit her lip. Then she tuned into Rafe’s conversation with James. James was explaining that Tongan Beach Resort had come under new management recently but it was still a fine establishment, and Rafe would recognise many of the staff.

‘And this news,’ he added and turned briefly to Maisie, ‘will bring them much joy!’

Maisie sat back under the sensation of feeling totally sandbagged.

‘At least it’s got single beds.’

Maisie stood in the middle of the room they’d been allotted, in a low, bungalow-style block of four rooms with verandas, and dropped her shoulder bag onto one of the beds.

She’d somehow survived the “joy” with which she and Rafe had been greeted-no one seemed to give it the least thought that the room had been booked in one name only. No forms had had to be signed, no one had asked to see their passports.

She’d digested the news that now The Tongan Beach Resort was full!

She’d survived the embarrassment caused by the staff when, to their genuine consternation, they’d realised the last room available had single beds. They offered to change them to a double bed, but Rafe had declined.

She looked around. It was pleasant and comfortable. The walls were painted a delicate apricot and there was a dado running around the room made of tapa, a bark fabric with traditional Tongan painting and symbols on it.

The floor was tiled, there was a cane setting of two chairs and a glass-topped table, and on each bed with its colourful cover there was a fluffy white towel decorated with a hibiscus bloom.

‘I suppose so,’ she said wearily.

He came to stand in front of her. ‘There was nothing else to do, Maisie.’