The Islands by Di Morrissey

royalty,’ said Bradley. ‘Mrs Lang is obviously keen on the old traditions as well as the architecture.’
    â€˜Well, let’s go to the evening torch ceremony tonight then,’ said Catherine.
    Eleanor Lang, dressed in a brightly coloured muu-muu and a fresh lei, greeted her guests at sunset. They were offered complimentary fruit juice or the evening’s special cocktail and directed from the terrace along the pathway beside the row of interconnecting man-made lagoons to chairs set up at the edge of the grove of coconut trees that had been stripped of their coconuts.
    Catherine and Bradley chatted to some of the other guests, many of whom were returnees who swore that there was no place anywhere in the Islands like the Palm Grove and it was all because of Eleanor.
    â€˜What happened to her husband?’ wondered Catherine aloud.
    â€˜He died very suddenly just after they bought this place about twenty years ago. It was a run-down old hotel and Eleanor has transformed it. It’s her life,’ confided one woman.
    Catherine wished she had their little camera with her at that moment. The last rays of the sun streamed through the hundreds of coconut palms, gilding the waters of the lagoons silvery gold.
    Everyone suddenly fell silent as a wooden canoe slid into view on the furthest lagoon. Standing in its centre was a tall, well-built Hawaiian with a red and orange cloak over his naked shoulders. He wore a short red lava lava around his waist and on his head was an elaborate feather headdress. He carried a large conch shell.
    The canoe was paddled by an older man wearing just a lava lava and a shell lei around his neck. Catherine recognised him as the man she’d seen earlier tending the gardens. He guided the canoe into the centre of the lagoon and stopped, steadying it carefully as the other man, standing stiffly, lifted the conch shell and blew a long deep musical note. The sound of the conch shell rang through the darkening grove and was followed by one more haunting call.
    There was a murmur from the guests as flickering lights emerged through the palms. And then Eleanor’s voice echoed from a microphone on the terrace.
    â€˜As the sun slips from day to welcome the stars of night, we rejoice in the passing of the day and the release of the spirits of the moon. These are the spirits of days past who protect and watch over the land, its creatures and all who shelter here. Enjoy this special part of Kaua‘i as all who have shared the bounty and beauty of the place that was once the kingdom of kings, queens, princes and princesses and which we now know as the Palm Grove.’
    Drum beats rang through the grounds and from out of the grove came two young men, lean, brown, bare-chested and smiling. They each carried a flaming torch and darted between the palms, and along the canal and lagoon as far as the hotel terrace, sprinting to light the flame torches speared at intervals into the ground. Within minutes the grove had become a twinkling fairyland. To the rapid beat of the drums, the runners, the drummers and the canoe with its heroic conch shell caller, all disappeared. Later they were to reappear in the guise of waiters, bellhops and gardeners.
    â€˜Well, that was pretty spectacular,’ admitted Bradley as everyone rose and headed for pre-dinner cocktails, or to other parts of the hotel.
    â€˜Let’s go for a walk around the lagoon. It’s so pretty,’ said Catherine. She didn’t want to break the spell of the brief ceremony and the strong emotions it had aroused in her. Nor was she ready to make small talk with strangers.
    They wandered into the heart of the palm grove and in the fading light saw there were plaques at the base of many of the coconut palms. Some of the trees were tall, old ones, others were young, more recently planted. In the fading light Catherine and Bradley read the names and the dates on the plaques. Some names they recognised, others they