The Orchid Hunter Page 3

  “Mr. Penn, what I’ve come to say can wait. Right now, I want to know more about the girl.”

  “My daughter is none of your concern. Forget about her.”

  “I am afraid that is impossible.”

  Joya felt her skin tingle. Why was it impossible for this man to ignore her? Why did he stare so intently? “Why do you ask about me?” She had to know.

  “Because, Miss Penn,” Mandeville said, “you are the image of my sister, Janelle, right down to the dimples in your cheeks.”

  Joya shivered. A chill fluttered through her again, one that even the moist, close heat of the jungle could not dispel.

  “You have a sister in London who looks exactly like me?” She wanted desperately to believe him.

  The hunter shifted uncomfortably on the rock. “Actually, she’s not in London at the moment. I left her across the channel, on Zanzibar.”

  “Joya, there is still much work to be done tonight,” her father interrupted, reminding her gruffly. “See that it gets finished, girl.”

  Her entire world had suddenly shifted and her papa was denying her a chance to talk to Trevor Mandeville and learn more.

  “But, Papa, you heard him. If there is a girl who looks exactly like me, then don’t you think that we should—”

  “I’m certain that if he had the two of you side by side, Mr. Mandeville would find that he is mistaken.”

  “I’d stake my life on them being identical,” Mandeville assured them.

  “Don’t tempt me to take that bet,” her father mumbled. “Leave us alone, girl. See that the men finish.”

  “But, Papa…”

  “Go!”

  She stared into Trevor Mandeville’s dark eyes and tried to plumb the depths of his soul for answers. She found nothing but more questions. Joya walked slowly across the encampment, feeling his intent gaze. She had to find a way to ask him more about the girl from London, a girl exactly like her who was as close as the island of Zanzibar.

  The bearers already had three barrels filled and the crate half finished. Umbaba stepped closer. The yellow, orange, and deep blue glass beads woven into the wide collar that draped his shoulders shimmered in the firelight.

  “Who is he?” Umbaba indicated Mandeville with a nod.

  “A man from London, England. The place on the other side of the sea where Papa sends his orchids.” She spoke softly in Matarengi.

  “What does he want?”

  “I don’t know. Something about business.”

  “Why does he upset you?”

  She looked up, felt his concern. “He says his sister looks exactly like me.”

  “Then he is a fool. The sun has baked his mind.”

  How could she explain something to Umbaba that she could not fathom herself? That she had seen strange things in dreams that she had never told him about?

  Joya shook her head. “How much of a fool can he be? He found my father when no other English man ever could, didn’t he?”

  “And made your father as angry as the volcano.”

  “My father is more than angry. What I wonder is why? Why should this stranger upset him so? My father is many, many times more than angry.” She watched the two men as they spoke to one another. Her father gestured toward the dark mountain trail. Mandeville shook his head no.

  Studying Trevor Mandeville at a distance, she had the same odd sensation she had experienced when she first laid eyes on him, almost as if she had seen him somewhere before…and yet...

  She closed her eyes.

  “Are you all right?” Umbaba lightly touched her shoulder, then quickly withdrew his hand.

  Joya opened her eyes and shivered again. Across the campsite, her father and Mandeville had not moved. They were still talking in low, unintelligible tones.

  She thought she knew where it was she had seen this white stranger, but only Otakgi, the Matarengi shaman, would believe her. Trevor Mandeville had appeared in one of her dreams.

  * * *

  Trevor, still reeling with shock, looked at Penn. “I beg of you, tell me about your daughter.”

  “She is no concern of yours.”

  “I am afraid you are wrong. Unless I’ve lost my mind, she’s my sister’s twin.” Trevor could see the man’s control was about to snap. Penn closed his fists, shifted his stance and refused to say more.

  “Why aren’t you arguing that it’s impossible?” Trevor wanted to know.

  Penn looked away. “Joya is my daughter.”

  “Who is her mother?”

  “My wife, Clara, was her mother, but Clara’s dead now, God rest her soul. Joya is no kin to you.”

  “But technically, neither is my sister. She was adopted as an infant.”

  “I don’t give a damn who your sister is or where she’s from!”

  “Why not? If I were in your position, I would at least be curious.” Unless, Trevor thought, I had something to hide.

  He watched Dustin Penn fight to calm down. The man took another swig of whiskey. His eyes were hard and cold when he finally offered, “Have some food. It’s too dark to go back up the trail. You’ll have to stay the night. Tomorrow at dawn, you’ll hike out of here with the rest of us. Once we reach the village, I’ll have you hauled off the island by force, if I have to.”

  “You haven’t even heard my proposition yet.”

  “Nor do I want to. I want you off my island. My men will take you to the mainland by sailing canoe.”

  “Your island? Your men?”

  “The Matarengi high chief, Faruki, and I have had a fine business agreement of our own going on for years. That’s why I’m not interested in anything you have to offer, Mandeville.”

  Trevor tried to sort things out in his mind as he watched Dustin Penn walk away. He needed to carefully assimilate what had just happened in the same way that he always identified and catalogued his orchid finds by genus and species.

  He had not only tracked down Dustin Penn, but more to his amazement, he had come face to face with a young woman who was nearly identical to his sister Janelle in every physical way: the same height, weight, coloring and features. But a twin? How? Being a logical man who was never given to flights of fancy, he knew there had to be some rational explanation.

  One of Penn’s bearers brought him food: baked bananas, meat, rice, all piled on the thick end of a banana leaf. He ate with his hands, ignoring the dirt under his nails and the mud caked in the lines and creases of his knuckles as he shoveled food into his mouth.

  With his arms resting on his knees, he hung over the makeshift plate and unabashedly watched Joya Penn as she supervised six Matarengi natives packing orchids. Each man was well over six feet and although they towered over her, she moved among them with familiarity and ease, speaking in Matarengi.

  Joya Penn, not Janelle, he reminded himself.

  The girl moved with natural seductive ease in a way that Janelle, raised under strict English social mores, would not dare. His sister liked to believe she was a Bohemian, but he doubted Janelle would even walk around alone inside her room in the limited amount of clothing that Joya Penn was perfectly comfortable wearing.

  Janelle was headstrong and independent. She considered herself a free thinker. He had never seen her display an ounce of flirtatiousness and most certainly none of the exotic sensuousness that Joya Penn exhibited. The island girl possessed an alluring, natural grace.

  As he watched her lift a heavy machete, he noted there was not a spare ounce of flesh on her. The blade flashed in the firelight as she swung it across a low hanging branch. Though there was nothing soft about her body, she was still curvaceous and surprisingly feminine. Uncomfortably alluring. The fact that he even found her attractive when she looked so like Janelle made him very, very uncomfortable with his physical response to her.

  He licked his fingertips and took another bite.

  Usually not one to give in to emotion that would cloud his thoughts or temper his plans, Trevor forced himself to look away from the girl and pon
der the mystery rationally.

  Janelle had just turned twenty. He needed to learn Joya’s birth date and age. She had seemed more than willing to talk to him earlier.

  As he thought back to her reaction when he had first told her that his sister looked exactly like her, he recalled she had appeared shocked, but not incredulous. Why not? He wondered.

  Tossing the empty banana leaf far into the underbrush, Trevor wiped his hands on his pants and stood up. Because of his fall, every part of him ached. He reached for his shoulder and rotated the joint. Then he rolled his head on his neck, trying to ease his strained muscles.

  He looked around. No one was staring at him, but he knew by the surreptitious looks he was getting from the natives that Penn had ordered him watched. The orchid hunter was nowhere to be seen, so Trevor surmised Penn had retired to his tent for the night.

  Would he be risking his neck if he tried to approach Joya later?

  His pack seemed three times heavier than it was as he carried it to the far edge of the clearing, opened it, and took out his hammock. He was as comfortable in it as in his bed at Mandeville House. After hanging the hammock, he rummaged around in the pack for a small washcloth.

  “Do you need help?”

  He spun around at the sound of Joya’s voice. Unlike his sister’s, it had a low, seductive timbre, and a slight trace of inflection that came from the Matarengi language.

  “I was going to wash these cuts,” he told her.

  She took the washcloth from him, walked over to a basket-covered gourd and brought the water vessel back in her arms. He found it arousing to watch her walk in trousers. They fit her snugly, defined her hips and strong legs and derriere, and left little to the imagination.

  He quickly turned around, made certain his hammock was secure, and tried to convince himself he was no pervert. After all, she was not Janelle.

  But who the hell was she?

  He jumped with surprise when she placed a hand on his forearm. He turned and watched her dip the cloth in tepid water, then set the flat-bottomed gourd on the ground. Without hesitation, she reached for his shirt, eased the front open, and gently touched the cloth to his wounds.

  He caught his breath at both the stinging sensation of the cool, wet muslin against his skin and her forwardness. No proper young woman in England would ever think of gazing upon a man’s naked chest, let alone touch him so intimately. He reminded himself that she was no sheltered English miss, but a hybrid, a combination of both worlds.

  She was standing so close to him that he could feel the warmth of her breath against her collarbone. She was watching him intently, almost if judging him and weighing his character.

  “You can trust me,” he said, going on instinct.

  “You are not lying? About this other girl?”

  He shook his head no, glancing across the camp. The natives were watching them.

  “No, I’m not lying. Why should I?”

  “Somehow, I have always known that something, perhaps someone, was missing from my life.” She spoke quickly, as if she expected her father to come charging after her at any moment. “My mama and papa never understood my strange dreams, my feeling of...loss. This is the only home I’ve ever known, and yet sometimes I feel as if part of me is wandering in the world somewhere. Do you think I am mad?”

  “I’m beginning to think myself mad.”

  She was quiet for a moment, lost in thought as she wiped his wounds, dipped the rag in water, and wrung it out. Her eyes were shadowed with questions and a wistful sadness.

  “Many times I asked my parents to take me to England. I could never understand why they refused. I think that there is something they were hiding from me, something Papa continues to hide. Where does your sister live when she is in England?”

  “In London.”

  “What is London like?”

  “Imagine this entire island covered with people standing shoulder to shoulder. London is probably larger than Matarenga.”

  She frowned. “I have seen pictures in books.”

  He felt as if there was much more she was not saying. Fearful of frightening her away, he did not press her.

  “What is you sister like?” she asked.

  “She looks like you, but she is very different.”

  “English.”

  “Yes,” he said. “English. Very smart. Very stubborn.”

  “Like Papa.” She sighed.

  “She has always been very serious. Very much her own woman.”

  “Please. Take your shirt off.”

  “What?”

  “I cannot reach the scratches on your shoulders.”

  After a moment’s pause, Trevor stripped off his shirt and sat on the ground. She worked quickly, efficiently, without any sign of embarrassment. He glanced over at the Matarengi men. A bare back was nothing new to her. There was probably not a single part of the male anatomy that she had not seen.

  “All done.” She handed him the rag.

  Trevor stood up and smiled. She was looking into his face with something akin to awe. Then one of the Matarengi swiftly moved up behind her and spoke to her in his native tongue.

  “What did he say?” Trevor asked.

  “One of the men has gone to get my father. I must go.”

  “But—“

  “My father is madder than a monkey with his hand stuck in a coconut. He will not listen to reason tonight.” She pushed her wild blond hair back off her face with both hands and tried to dismiss the strongly built, striking native with a smile, but he would not leave her side.

  “Your father has ordered me off the island, but before I go I must speak to him about you, and present the business offer I came all this way to make.”

  He hoped that when the shock of discovery had worn off and Dustin Penn’s anger had cooled, there would be an opportunity for discussion.

  “I’ll try to talk to him.” Joya seemed hesitant to leave, but finally she turned to walk away.

  Unfortunately, she had lingered a moment too long. Dustin Penn came steaming toward them, his long hair untied, flaring out around his head as if he had been running his hands through it. His face was florid with drink. Or anger. Probably both, Trevor decided.

  “I told you to stay away from her!” Penn shouted. Dustin Penn moved with surprising speed and agility.

  Trevor braced for attack, when suddenly Joya stepped between them.

  “Papa, stop it. Mr. Mandeville is hurt. I only wanted to help him. That is what Mama would have had me do. Surely there is nothing wrong in that? Umbaba has not left my side.”

  At the sound of his name, the young Matarengi man stepped up beside Joya. Penn glowered at each of them in turn and then pinned Trevor with a cold, hard stare.

  “Stay away from her, Mandeville,” Penn warned. He said something to the Matarengi, Umbaba, before he turned to Trevor again.

  “If you talk to her again tonight, this man will kill you.”

  * * *

  Exhausted, Trevor had climbed into his hammock and fell asleep, half-expecting to awaken and find himself on the breakfast menu, but the night passed without incident.

  At dawn, light filtered through the treetops. Mist sifted through wide shafts of golden sunlight, evaporating before it reached the valley floor. There was no sign of Penn or his daughter in the camp.

  Trevor rolled up his hammock, again thankfully ate what the Matarengi offered, and then crossed the clearing to get a better view of the slope covered with white orchids. The view of the overwhelming array of cattleyas with huge stems of blossoms was spectacular. By the light of day he could see that the flowers flourished in a rainbow of hues and were not only white, as he had assumed last night.

  Trevor paused to touch the frilly edge of a waxy dark green flower, amazed to see that some of the plants had grown to three feet in height.

  He drew back when the sound of Joya and Dustin Penn’s voices filtered through the trees. The girl and her father remained out of his line of vision as they de
scended a nearby hillside path and paused somewhere on the trail. Although he could not see them, he could hear them quite clearly.

  “If Mama were alive she would agree with me,” Joya said.

  “For the first time in three years I’m thankful she is not here.”

  “Papa! How can you say that?”

  “Because it is true. This would upset her no end.”

  “You’re being unreasonable. You should at least listen to the man. Hear him out.”

  “He’s mad, raving on and on about some girl who looks like you. Why should I believe anything he says after hearing such mad talk?”

  “Why would he lie?”

  “You believe him because you want to believe that nonsense. All of those bloody notions of yours…”

  As they drew near, Trevor hurried back toward the center of the camp. The bearers had everything ready; the heavy crate and the barrels were already tied to stout poles that they would carry on their shoulders. The tents had been struck, the camp equipment and staples packed.

  Trevor buttoned the front of his shirt and gingerly shouldered his pack and rifle, careful not to scrape the straps over his wounds. Until he could persuade Penn to hear him out, he would bide his time, keep his mouth shut, and try not to further infuriate the man. He would rely on Joya Penn to argue his case and hope she succeeded.

  He did not want to leave Matarenga without some answers about Joya or a contract agreement. He regretted more than anything that his revelation about Janelle had upset the other girl, but he was certain that there was a definite link between Joya and his sister.

  He would not give up. Not when the truth was waiting to be told.

  Chapter Four

  Joya took her place in the line of bearers not far behind Trevor Mandeville. From there she could study him as the party snaked its way along the trail that wound its way up from the valley floor. She was tired, suffering from lack of sleep and the riot of emotions still warring inside.