And it was the smell that did it.
It smelled like …
Oh, man … it smelled like Ana.
The emotional reaction slammed into him with far more force than he had anticipated. A mix of guilt. And loss. And a longing that was still powerful enough—even after so many years—to make him wonder if his knees were in danger of buckling.
He shouldn’t have come back here.
‘Let me take that for you, Dr Wilson.’ The smiling young island lad held out a hand to take his small suitcase. ‘Hop on board and I’ll take you to your bure. You’ve got just enough time to freshen up before the cocktail party.’
Cocktail party? For a moment, Luke hesitated—his brain fuzzy from a mixture of displacement and the opposing time zone. Oh, yes … this was the ‘meet and greet’ session before this exclusive conference started tomorrow. A chance to reconnect with his esteemed colleagues from all over the globe who shared his passion—the ambition to make a real difference in the world. Harry would be there, too, of course. More formally known as Sheikh Rahman al-Taraq, Harry was a patient turned friend who was bringing that ambition close enough to touch …
Luke’s suitcase was strapped onto the back of the cart and the young man was giving him a curious look, clearly aware of his hesitation.
‘You ready, Dr Wilson?’
Luke gave a single, curt nod, defying jet lag as he focussed on what lay ahead for the next couple of days. The nod dispelled any ghosts as well. Anahera didn’t live here now. She’d moved to Brisbane almost as soon as he’d left Wildfire Island nearly five years ago. The weird sensation—a curious mix of opposite ends of the spectrum between dread and hope—was nothing more than a waste of mental energy.
‘I’m ready.’ He climbed onto the cart, smiling at his chauffeur.
‘I just don’t get it.’ Sam Taylor, one of the permanent doctors at Wildfire Island’s small hospital, shook his head as he stirred his coffee. ‘All the comings and goings and the research centre being fenced off for so long. Now we have private jets coming in and it seems that we have a boutique international conference venue on Wildfire Island. Why here?’
Anahera Kopu shrugged. ‘It’s a gorgeous place. Different. Exotic enough to attract people who might need an inspiring break as a background to sharing knowledge and doing the kind of networking that’s important in the scientific world.’
‘I get that. But I still don’t understand why someone would choose a place as exotic as the M’Langi Islands. How did they even know about us? And can you imagine how much it has cost? Who’s behind it and why has it been such a secret?’
Anahera shook her head. ‘I have no idea. But it’s not the only secret on this island, is it?’
Oh, help … what an idiotic thing for her—of all people—to say. She had been keeping something huge a secret from all the people who meant the most to her—her mother and her colleagues and friends who were her wider family.
Sam grinned. ‘Do tell, Ana … you must know a few more than me. You grew up here and I’m just a newbie.’
Anahera kept her tone light enough to make the conversation impersonal. She’d had plenty of practice at steering conversations in a safe direction.
‘No, you’re not. You’ve been here for years now.’ She turned on the hot tap and reached for some dishwashing liquid. ‘You arrived just after I went off to Brisbane to do my postgrad training, didn’t you?’
‘Mmm … when the research station was just that. A research station. Now we find out it’s been added to and turned into some exclusive resort that’s going to be used for medical think tanks and—not only that—there’s a rumour that apparently there’s been some amazing breakthrough that’s going to be announced. Something that could change our lives. Don’t you think someone might have told us about that? What do you think it is?’
‘No idea. Unless they’ve come up with a new vaccine, maybe?’
‘Doubt it. That takes years and years and more money than anyone would want to throw at an isolated group of Pacific islands. I reckon it’s got something to do with that M’Langi tea they make and how it seems to protect some islanders from encephalitis. Did you know that research started on that decades ago?’
Oh, yes … Anahera had known about that. Not that she was about to share any details. She didn’t want to think about it, let alone tell someone else. Unbidden, a memory surfaced of sitting in a swinging chair as a tropical twilight morphed into night. Of arms—heavy but so welcome—resting on her body as she lay back against the chest of the man who was telling about his curiosity regarding the tea. She shook the memory off with a head shake that was visible but fortunately appropriate to a dismissive comment.
‘I think they’d decided that the only benefit of the tea was some sort of natural insect repellent so that mosquito bites were less likely and therefore people were less likely to contract encephalitis from them. It’s hardly going to change our lives.’
Sam sat down at the table. ‘I guess not. What we really need is for the aerial spraying to happen to control the mosquito problem. I wonder if anyone’s managed to get in touch with Ian Lockhart yet. He’s the person who should be organising it.’
Anahera shrugged. ‘Not that I know of. He seems to have fallen off the face of the earth. I wouldn’t be surprised to hear he’s in Vegas, gambling away any recent profits from the mine.’
‘If it doesn’t happen soon, we could be in for a few nasty cases this year. We don’t want another Hami, do we?’
‘Heavens, no.’ Anahera could feel her face scrunching into lines of distress. She would be in tears in no time if they started talking about the little boy they had lost to encephalitis a couple of years ago. It had been the most heart-wrenching case of her nursing career so far. Almost unbearable, because the little boy had been the same age as her own daughter.
‘Maybe we’ll find out at this cocktail party. You all set, Ana? Got a pretty dress?’
‘I’m not going.’
‘But you’re invited. We all are.’
‘Doesn’t mean I have to go. I want to spend some time with Hana. I haven’t seen her all day.’ Anahera dried the mug and put it back in the cupboard.
‘Bring her, too.’
She laughed. ‘Take a three-year-old to a cocktail party? I don’t think so … Besides, I said I might stay on till ten p.m. if Hettie decides she wants to go before taking over the night shift.’
Anahera could feel a faint flush of warmth in her cheeks as the quirk of Sam’s eyebrow made her realise that she had just pulled the rug out from beneath her excuse of wanting to spend more time with her daughter.
‘I just don’t feel like being social, okay? I had enough of that kind of thing in Brisbane. Not my scene.’
‘There’ll be interesting people to talk to who’ll only be here for a couple of days. Experts on things like dengue fever and encephalitis. I’m looking forward to hearing what the latest research is all about and any improvements to treatment, never mind what the secret announcement is.’
‘And I’ll look forward to you telling me all about it tomorrow.’ Anahera’s tone was firm. Clipped, even. She didn’t want to hear people talking about research into tropical diseases. It was too much of a reminder of conversations long past. Like the ones about the M’Langi tea. And the dreams of someone who had planned to change the world for the better. She’d bought into those dreams a hundred per cent, hadn’t she? Because she’d been going to be by his side while he made them happen. Even now, that sense of loss