Defiantly, Hannah twisted a red ringlet over her shoulder. Let Joshua stare. She studied her reflection in the looking glass. Grass-green eyes, thick eyebrows, and a nose which her father had always described as ‘decent-sized’. Polite to a fault, he had shuddered at linking words such as ‘prominent’ with nasal features, especially as he’d been blessed with a magnificent specimen himself. She also recognised her mother’s high cheek bones, small but well-shaped lips and of course, the colour of her hair.

Hannah pouted her lower lip and puffed air to cool her forehead. It was only a short while since she had washed but already she felt in need of another dousing. However, it was time to make an appearance. Jenkins and the others would soon be back. They had briefly stumbled in with Hannah’s trunks and the provisions, but one look at Uncle Henry’s immaculate suit and they had turned tail, promising to return in a tidier state within the hour.

A loud thump came from the front of the house, followed by shouting in Fijian. Hannah froze. She heard Uncle Henry trying to cut in on a man’s heated tirade. Was it Enoke? No, he wasn’t permitted to speak unless …

Heart pounding, she ran from her room and into the main living area, but the unexpected visitor was not Enoke. A stout native wearing a voluminous wraparound and white turban had Uncle Henry against the wall, large fingers squeezed against his throat. He was yelling right into his face. ‘… jãina!’

Deborah was screaming at the top of her lungs, Aunt Constance nowhere in sight, and Uncle Henry’s face was turning as red as Hannah’s hair.

Dashing back into her room, Hannah searched for a weapon. Her parasol! Unpacked as a reminder of home, it hung from the washstand. She snatched it up and ran back out with the parasol held at arm’s length like a sword.

‘Stop!’ Hannah forced the point of the parasol between the two men’s faces then aimed it directly at the stout man’s nose. ‘Stop it immediately or …’ she gulped while her mind searched for a suitable threat, ‘… or I’ll rearrange your nostrils!’

Immediately the man eased off. His eyes gleamed as he stared down the barrel of the parasol, and a wide grin spread across his broad face. He made sounds of admiration and astonishment, ran a plump finger along the green material of the parasol, then bent to peer at its underside. One of his fingernails was perhaps an inch long.

He made to pull the makeshift weapon from her hand, but Hannah resisted and for a moment, the two indulged in a ridiculous tug-of-war.

‘Let the Chief have the parasol, Hannah.’ Uncle Henry had recovered his voice. He ran his fingers through his hair and tugged at his jacket.

Momentarily, she was tempted to let the Chief ‘have’ it in a way in which her uncle would not approve. She looked around the room for support but found none. Huddled in a doorway were her aunt and Deborah, still wailing intermittently. The dark face of a girl whom Hannah assumed was Merelita peered over Aunt Constance’s shoulder. From behind the small group came Joshua’s voice. ‘I can’t see!’

‘Hannah, I asked you to hand the parasol to Ratu Rabete.’ Uncle Henry was accustomed to being obeyed.

She edged the parasol forward and Ratu Rabete took it gently as though it were a sacred chalice.

‘Vinaka,’ he said. After a thorough investigation, he tucked the object of his affection under his arm and clapped his hands.

Uncle Henry spoke to the Chief in Fijian, then looked over at his wife. ‘Mrs Stanton, there will be another guest this evening.’

Another guest? The Chief had practically choked the life from her uncle and now he was inviting him to share a meal! Surely this was taking Christianity a little too far.

Aunt Constance came forward to usher the Chief to a seat. But not before Ratu Rabete had crushed Uncle Henry in a bear-hug as though they were dearest friends together after a long separation. Then he peered curiously at Hannah’s hair, making the same clicking noise Hannah had heard earlier that afternoon. Even when he was seated, he kept a firm grip on the parasol.

‘But … Uncle Henry …’

‘There is no need to whisper, Hannah. The Chief does not speak English.’

‘That man just tried to kill you. How can you invite him to share a meal?’

Uncle Henry looked down at her with exaggerated patience. ‘Because he is the Chief.’

Confused, Hannah frowned.

‘Not a single thing happens in the village without the Chief’s permission,’ continued Uncle Henry. ‘If he withdraws his support, we must leave this island. And there is much work to be done.’

Nothing Hannah had seen in the last ten minutes showed support. What would this man do if he didn’t support them? She glanced at the club by the front door.

‘Ratu Rabete would not hurt me. If he’d been serious, he would have clubbed me instantly. He’s rather boyish at heart and likes to test my nerve.’ Uncle Henry positioned his hands as though he were about to embark on a magnificent prayer. ‘I understand it’s your first day, my dear, and you have no knowledge of how things go here … but, it’s better not to meddle in things you don’t understand. Perhaps next time you will think a little before you act. I am sorry that you were startled but acts of aggression are not permitted in our home, and do not befit one who serves the Lord. We must not take matters into our own hands. God will look after us.’

She stared at him as though he too spoke a foreign language. He was chastising her for saving his life!

Uncle Henry closed the front door. The Chief had left it ajar in his eagerness to manipulate her uncle’s voicebox. ‘You see, Hannah, if we behave in the same manner, we become like the people we are trying to convert. If a man wants to clean the mud from his cow, he must first entice the cow out of the mud. He cannot accomplish his purpose by joining the cow in the mud.’

Hannah blinked and tried to work out what he meant.

‘It was generous of you to make the parasol a gift for Ratu Rabete …’

‘But …’

‘You couldn’t possibly withdraw a gift.’ He shook his head. ‘It wouldn’t do at all.’

Hannah glanced again at the huge, spiked club, and said nothing, but she resented such arbitrary distribution of her belongings.

‘If a man strikes your cheek, you must learn to turn the other.’ Uncle Henry sat at the head of the table, with Ratu Rabete at his right. ‘Mrs Stanton, perhaps a cooling drink before our other guests arrive?’ he suggested.

Standing in the centre of the room, Hannah felt a smothering loneliness. She had felt like this not so long ago, when, her heart wrapped in bands of iron, she had stood by a graveside as everyone waited for her to toss the first handful of earth onto two coffins.

Today, however, there was some relief. Joshua came and stood by her side. She wanted to take his hand but restrained herself. Boys of eleven were usually above such displays.

‘What … what does jãina mean?’

Joshua flicked a glance towards the table as his father called them to be seated. ‘Banana,’ he whispered.

‘The Chief was going to kill Uncle Henry over a banana?’

A gleam which Hannah did not quite like showed in the boy’s eyes. ‘No. He said a white man tastes like a ripe banana.’