TODAY, TOMORROW AND FOREVER
Sally Heywood
She didn't just inherit an island
Shanna inherited problems as well as the land. Informed by the lawyer that someone wanted to buy it, Shanna wanted to see it before deciding.
Getting to the Mediterranean island wasn't easy, but she made it with the help of a chance-met traveler, Paul Elliott. She was delighted that he also lived on the island, and their instant mutual attraction for each other soon became increasingly evident.
Then she learned that Paul was the anonymous would-be buyer-and that he was a married man !
CHAPTER ONE
'SHANNA! Are you still in the bathroom?'
A muffled reply came from within, and seconds later a dark, curly head popped round the edge of the door. 'Sorry, Dee. Won't be long now.'
'Honestly, does it matter what you look like? He'll be eighty if he's a day, and past caring!' Dee laughed as she went back into the kitchen and disposed of Shanna's now cold cup of coffee. She was making a fresh pot when her cousin at last showed her face.
'Will I do?' She gave a little twirl to show off her suit. The skirt was the new length and showed off her shapely legs to perfection.
'Black stockings?'
'Ritzy enough?'
'He'll have apoplexy!'
Shanna's pert face shone with anticipation as she put her head on one side to judge her cousin's reaction.
'Very ritzy, love,' judged Dee at last, 'and I like the little hat, too. I've never seen you in a hat before.' She eyed the tiny scrap of silk and feathers with the antique silver clip holding it in place. 'You've got a hat face,' she added in surprise.
'Thanks! Whatever that's supposed to mean! Honestly, Dee,' Shanna went on in a different tone, 'I'm scared silly. The Ritz itself, for heaven's sake! Should I take the gloves or not?'
'Yes. We've already gone into that. Carry them. Now get a move on or you'll be late. Here, do you still want this coffee?'
While Shanna hurriedly gulped it down, Dee fussed around her younger cousin, making sure she had the essentials, and when the sound of the taxi came from down below, she shepherded her to the door with strict instructions on how to behave. 'No giggling and no running up or down stairs. Be cool, ladylike—and Shanna --' her face softened, 'don't be too disappointed if all she's left you is a tin brooch.'
'Silly, I'd be overwhelmed if she left me that much! It's the thought, isn't it? I mean, I hardly knew her. Just, think,' she paused at the top of the stairs, 'I was three the last time we met. And she was old even then.'
'Everyone over five seems old when you're that age.'
'No, really, she must have been in her seventies!'
The taxi honked its horn down below, and Shanna turned with a happy shake of her head. 'Be here when I get back!'
'Curiosity will keep me riveted to my chair,' called Dee after the retreating figure. She watched, fearing the worst, as Shanna clacked downstairs on the spiky high heels of her black patent court shoes, then gave a sigh of relief as she successfully reached the ground floor.
Shanna, with a darting glance at the sky, hurried to the waiting taxi, then, taking a deep breath, said the words she'd been longing to say ever since she got the invitation.
'To the Ritz, driver, please!'
Then she settled back in the deep leather seat with a little smile. It was lovely to play-act sometimes, and as the taxi sped along she arranged her black-stockinged legs as elegantly as she could and imagined she was being driven to some secret assignation.
Dee was probably right, she thought philosophically, as the cab reached May fair. Great-Aunt Vi had probably left her some little trinket as a memento. After all, she had only been her mother's first husband's aunt, not a blood relative at all, though she remembered she had been especially fond of Mother.
A well-known travel writer in her heyday, Aunty Vi had led a scandalous sort of existence, only settling back in Europe in her seventies, and living on a remote island in the Mediterranean until her recent death.
'It's little more than a rock, my dear,' she had once written to Shanna in one of her infrequent though long and newsy letters. And now Shanna regretted never having really got to know her. Somehow, what with school, and the fact that Vi's niece by marriage, Shanna's own mother, had died some years ago, it had been outside her orbit to think of planning the long and difficult journey to Tago Mago. Never having travelled abroad much except for the odd package holiday with a group of friends, she wouldn't have known how to start, and it seemed too far just to go and see someone she hardly knew. She had always looked forward to Vi's letters though.
Now the cab was stuck in a traffic jam on Piccadilly, and Shanna drummed her fingers with impatience. Should she get out and walk, or would it be undignified to arrive at a place like the Ritz on foot? She decided to sit it out. It would be fun to arrive in style.
In her first job with the fashion department of a large West End store after a bumpy spell of unemployment straight after school, Shanna had been in a quandary when she first heard that Aunty Vi was ill.
'I wonder if she's able to cope?' she had asked Dee with a worried frown. 'I expect she has plenty of friends out there. I know she's had innumerable husbands.'
'Is there one now?' Dee had asked, fascinated by the snippets of information Shanna had fed her over the years about this scandalous aunt from the other side of their rambling family.
'One or two, no doubt,' Shanna had laughed. 'I think there will be. I really can't remember!'
In any event, it had been too late to do anything. News of her death had followed swiftly. She had been eighty-eight.
With a lurch the cab nosed into the inside lane and came to a halt outside the main entrance of the hotel. The invitation to take afternoon tea in order to discuss certain matters, as it was put, had followed swiftly on the letter informing her of her aunt's death. The letter came from one of the executors, and why he had suggested meeting her before the reading of the will she couldn't imagine.
Details concerning the invitation had been left in the hands of Lionel Metcalf's secretary in his London office, and Shanna got the impression that Mr Metcalf was 'something in the city'.
'A Big Bang whizz-kid?' suggested Dee hopefully, knowing Shanna's own prospects were nil. 'You could do with that!'
'Nonsense, I'm not interested in getting married, and certainly not for money!' They had speculated long and hard over mugs of cocoa about the likelihood of his being young, rich and handsome, finally coming down on the side of common sense when they agreed that any colleague of aged Aunt Vi must himself be pretty ancient too.
'Still, tea at the Ritz! That doesn't happen every day!' exclaimed Shanna in excited anticipation.
Now she felt nervous as she walked in through the revolving doors and gazed round the sumptuous foyer, trying to pretend she knew where she was going.
An old gentleman in a three-piece black suit and carrying a highly polished leather briefcase made his way towards her.
'My dear, you must be Shanna Douglas?' He referred to a photograph Shanna remembered sending to Aunt Vi the previous Christmas. She thought it made her look prettier than she really was. But Mr Metcalf held out his hand, skin cracking like old parchment as he smiled a greeting.
'My,' he exclaimed, as he led her towards the dining-room, 'you're far younger than I'd envisaged, despite the photograph! And all the more reason for having a chat before meeting the solicitors. Decisions, decisions!' he added mysteriously as he led her to a table for two overlooking the park.
There, over Earl Grey and finger sandwiches served on the thinnest of bone china, he began to outline the reasons for wanting to see her.
'It's no secre
t, my dear. Your great-aunt has left you one of her villas --' he consulted a document beside him on the table '—the Villa Mimosa, together with that part and parcel of land known as Tago Mago. That's the island,' he looked at her over the top of his spectacles, 'on which it stands. The whole to be shared equally with one Richard Mather,' he glanced at his documents again, 'only son of a friend now deceased—the friend, that is,' he added in case there should be any misunderstanding. 'The bulk of the estate, of course, goes to close family.'
'Estate?' Shanna rubbed a hand across her forehead.
'Your great-aunt was a very rich woman,' he reproved.
'And she's left me an island? In her will?' Shanna wondered if she sounded as stupid as she felt.
Mr Metcalf smiled benignly, as if used to the confusion his pronouncements wrought, and went on, 'The island is, as you no doubt know, rather remote and of little commercial interest, being unsuitable for development; however, I have some excellent news for you in that regard.' He pressed his finger-tips together and looked pleased with himself. 'I'm pleased to be able to tell you that an offer has already been made for the freehold --'
'Offer?'
'Someone would like to purchase it, my dear,' he explained gently.
'Sorry I'm being so dim.' Shanna rubbed a finger against her right temple and struggled to come to terms with the simple fact that she was now the owner of a Mediterranean island. Part-owner, she corrected, thoughts blurring as she tried to imagine what this would mean. What on earth was she going to do with an island? Live on it? But what about her job? What about her flat with Dee in London?
'And you say somebody wants to buy it?' she repeated. Her blue eyes widened. 'But why should they? I thought you said it was of little commercial interest?'
'So it is, my dear,' Mr Metcalf s eyes narrowed briefly, and he gave a hurried glance at his fob watch. 'It happens to be an excellent offer, giving you a substantial lump sum which you could then invest—or use to purchase a more suitable property for yourself, perhaps even here in London.'
Shanna gave a hollow laugh. 'It must be a good offer,' she remarked, before asking carefully, 'I'm to understand you're advising me to accept?' When he nodded, she went on, 'Before I've even seen the place?'
He nodded again, this time more doubtfully.
She raised her pert face and gave him a searching little smile. 'And what would Aunty Vi think to that, I wonder?'
'It's all so obviously wrong!' she exclaimed later to Dee. 'Why are they hashing me to sell? Surely this tycoon, whoever he is, can wait a few weeks until I've had chance to look it over? Who knows, I may fall for the place and decide to keep it!'
'Yes, I can imagine you as a castaway, dear Shanna. You'd curl up and die from sheer loneliness in sixty minutes flat!'
'I shan't always want to bubble around the social scene, you know. People do change!'
'Not that much!'
'Well, anyway, I want to see this Tango Mago,' she replied stubbornly. 'Even the name has a mysterious ring! I must go there, Dee, don't you understand?' Her face sobered. 'I must confess I feel a little bit guilty that Aunty Vi decided to be so generous when I never made any effort to visit her --'
'I thought she jetted in and out of London all the time?' Dee reminded her.
'Yes, and she was always too busy, I grant you. Very well. I don't feel guilty exactly. But I still think I ought to go over there and sort of pay my respects to the place and to her memory.' She shrugged. 'It would seem wrong to let the solicitors deal with it all.' She threw back her head. 'It's mine, Dee! All mine! My very own island!'
'Yours and this Richard Mather's,' Dee reminded.
They had already discussed Shanna's co-owner at length, but, having little to go on, were as much in the dark as ever. So far, all they knew was what the solicitors had told her, and as they had been unable to locate him it wasn't much. A traveller like Aunty Vi, he had last been heard of in the Malay peninsula.
'So I can't sell up, anyway, not until he comes back?' she had asked.
'We hope to get a power of attorney as soon as we've contacted him. He needn't come back at all,' was the reply.
'But you expect him to want to sell?' she had persisted.
The solicitor nodded in agreement.
She gave Dee a doubtful look now, and two fine lines creased her forehead. 'Doesn't it seem odd to you, Dee? In the first place, what made Aunty Vi bequeath such a place to us? And why us? What did she expect us to do with, it? And then again,' she wrinkled her brow, 'why should anybody want to make an offer for a place that sounds so unattractive?'
'It can't be all that bad. Your aunt lived there for years. And if she was as wealthy as they make out, she could have had her pick of locations.'
'True. But these people, whoever they are, seem willing to offer over the odds for it according to Metcalf. I won't get a better offer,' she mimicked.
Still sure she wanted to go and see for herself, Shanna arranged to take a week off work and got down to the serious business of booking flights. It was then she hit the problems.
'Remote isn't in it, the place is positively inaccessible! Do you know, I'm going to have to fly to Malaga, take a ferry to the main island, then get a bus or car to a town in the north and then --' she paused dramatically, 'then I have to take a taxi to a dot on the coast opposite the island itself? At that point I'm supposed to engage the services of a local fisherman to take me over, either that or, if I'm lucky, get the once-a-week mail-boat.' She raised her eyebrows. 'How does that sound?'
'As you say, inaccessible.' Dee shook her head. 'Honestly, Shanna, you ought to think twice.'
'I've thought twice and the answer's still yes.' She jutted her chin. 'It only makes me all the more determined.'
Four hectic days later, Shanna found herself in a small town on the less inhabited side of the island, where she had fully expected to be able to hire a taxi to take her to the right bit of coast for the final leg of her journey. However, she had reckoned without the holiday season. In the middle of summer Santa Eulalia was a thriving resort, with taxis aplenty, but in the middle of November it was quite a different situation, and now the whole place had the air of a ghost town.
Dropped at the bus stop in the market square, she gazed helplessly from side to side, wondering where to start next. A short circumnavigation of the square brought her back to her starting point without having found any solution. All the shop fronts were boarded up, and she looked round desperately, wondering what to do next.
Spying a cafe down one of the side roads leading off the square, Shanna hoisted her bag back on to her shoulder, glad she was travelling light, and headed towards it. Although its tables were empty under a draggled awning of autumnal wisteria, she decided it offered the only prospect of help. Optimistically she made her way across the road.
There was only one other customer, a tourist like herself, she guessed, noting the blond hair and casual all-in-white get-up. He was reading a paper and didn't look up as she wove her way between the empty chairs to the back of the cafe in search of the owner.
She found a large, sullen-looking woman behind a counter polishing glasses, but when she asked if there was a taxi available all she got was a shrug of the shoulders.
Slightly miffed, she repeated the question in her best phrase-book Spanish, but the woman merely shrugged again and replied, 'Taxi kaput,' shaking her head vigorously from side to side in confirmation.
'But I have to get to a place called Cala Longa!' exploded Shanna in English.
The woman gave her a look of incomprehension that sent Shanna outside again. Maybe it had been crazy to ignore everybody's advice and turn up here without making any proper arrangements. But surely there was a solution to the problem? She stood undecidedly among the empty chairs and tables.
'Problems?' asked a voice from beside her. She gave a start. The stranger had folded his newspaper and was giving her a level glance as she stood looking helplessly round.
'Thank heavens! Somebod
y, who speaks English!' she exclaimed. 'I don't know whether it's my phrase-book Spanish or what, but I don't seem to be able to make myself understood. There must be a taxi in the town, surely?' The words came pouring out. She explained, 'I haven't talked to a soul since I set off. I was beginning to think I'd forget how to talk! Are you on holiday?' she asked, pausing.
The stranger didn't reply, merely giving a sudden smile, bright blue eyes lazing over her in an unexpectedly thorough assessment that made her painfully aware how dishevelled she must look after hours in a rickety bus.
'I've been travelling for ever!' she exclaimed.
He gave her a wide smile in sympathy. 'It must suit you. Come and join me and tell me what's gone wrong.'
'It's that woman inside,' she confided, lowering her voice as soon as she was sitting down opposite him, 'she was so unfriendly. I was only trying to ask for a taxi.'
'Maybe she didn't understand?'
'Maybe. I wish I could speak the language,' she said feelingly. 'Anyway,' she went on, 'I refuse to believe there isn't a taxi. There must be! I've simply got to get to Cala Longa.'
'Staying in one of the villas, I suppose? I must say you've chosen a strange time of year. Everything's shut.'
'So I've noticed. But no, I'm not staying in one, though I hope I'll be able to find one for tonight.' She looked worried and bit her lip. 'This is far more difficult than I imagined it was going to be.'
'Can I help?'
'Only if you can conjure a taxi out of thin air,' she smiled.
'I expect I can do that. It's a simple enough trick once you know where he happens to be having his siesta.'
'And you do?' She felt a wave of relief gush through her. 'You heavenly man!' Her eyes sparkled with mischief, and she had to stop herself from throwing her arms right round his neck.
Then she gave him a proper look. It was his appearance that stopped her from doing anything so outrageous—not that he was ugly, just the opposite, in fact—he was too good-looking! Breathtaking. She felt her lips part. She would have to report back properly to Dee. She would never believe her.
Today, Tomorrow and Forever Page 1