by Isobel Chace
SUGAR IN THE MORNING
Isobel Chace
Camilla decided to go out to the West Indies to meet her only relatives. But it was not long before she discovered that they had all kinds of plans for helping her to spend her own money!
For
Nannie (Miss Eleanor Wannell) because the first time she went abroad she went to the West Indies.
CHAPTER ONE
The travel agency where I worked was in absolute turmoil. One is always liable to make mistakes, of course, not so much in the package tours, but in the free-lance travel arrangements, especially when the international airways are so organised that the leeway for getting to one airfield from another is practically non-existent.
“We are so very sorry, sir,” Mr. Callaghan was saying to the irate customer who was the centre of this particular storm. “I really can’t think how it happened.”
“Perhaps it’s because you employ half-witted, inefficient staff,” the customer suggested nastily.
Mr. Callaghan bridled uneasily. “Can you remember who it was who served you, sir?” he asked ingratiatingly.
“Vividly,” the customer said drily.
My mouth went dry at the sound. It was peculiarly familiar. I glanced up from the sheet of figures I was pretending to add together and had my worst fears realised. Every once in a while a customer will stick in one’s mind long after he has departed and gone halfway round the world. Mr. Daniel Hendrycks was just such a man, only he had not departed at all, he was still here as large as life standing in front of the counter.
“Perhaps you could describe him?” Mr. Callaghan prompted gently.
I struggled to my feet, knowing that I would not be very difficult to describe. I was the only girl who was employed at the desk, but even so I was rather obvious, for I am large enough to be described as statuesque by the kind—“good heavens, you’re tall!” by the not so kind. I have, too, my share of good looks, inherited from my mother. Nothing startling, you understand, but a skin which is as smooth as silk and pretty hair that looks after itself and curls up madly in the rain, even if it isn’t of any particular colour.
“Perhaps I can help Mr. Hendrycks,” I said carefully. His eyes kindled angrily when he saw me. He was a very dark man, with eyes which were almost black and a strong chin.
“I think it’s too late to be hopeful of that,” he glowered at me. “I have now managed to lose my plane back home and I want to know what you’re going to do about it.”
Mr. Callaghan hovered unhappily behind my skirts. “Very influential customer,” he muttered. “A tragedy that this should happen in your last week, Camilla.”
“Most unfortunate!” I agreed through gritted teeth. I have never been able to see why mistakes should be either more or less important in one’s last week than in one’s first.
“It’s more than unfortunate, it’s unforgivable!” Mr. Hendrycks put in, having obviously heard every word.
“It is scarcely our fault,” I reminded him bravely. “I did tell you that it would be a close thing. There was barely half an hour for you to get from the Munich arrivals to the Trinidad departures. The Munich plane was held up and you missed the connection. I’m very sorry, sir, that it’s so inconvenient, but we don’t fly the planes!”
It was obviously a novelty for him to hear such plain speaking. First of all he looked very angry indeed and then he smiled reluctantly. “What are you going to do about it?” he asked in a much more reasonable tone.
I bit my lip. My own ticket for Trinidad was in my handbag, but it was for four days’ time and I didn’t see Mr. Hendrycks hanging about London until then.
“I will do all I can to get you a seat on the next plane.” I looked him steadily in the eyes. “Will you wait while I telephone round?”
He nodded briefly. I went back to my seat and rang all the usual companies, more in hope than in any real expectancy that they would have a vacancy. It was every bit as bad as I had feared, but there was a single seat on my own flight and I booked that for him with an unaccountable feeling of gloom. I didn’t want any connection from the life I was leaving behind to be on that magic flight to Trinidad and the brand new life I had planned for myself.
When I came back to the counter Mr. Callaghan was very busy filling him in with all the local gossip. “That’s our Miss Ironside,” he was saying unctuously. “She’s leaving us at the end of the week. Came into a fortune on the Premium Bonds, you know.”
It was a fortune to me, but looked at objectively I suppose one would call it a tidy sum and leave it at that. It still seemed incredible that of all the people living in the United Kingdom, Ernie should have selected my bond from all the rest for the weekly win of twenty-five thousand pounds. Why me? At first I hadn’t been able to believe it and then. I thought I had made a mistake because I hadn’t claimed or anything like that, but finally the confirmation of the win had come, and then the cheque itself, which I could hardly bear to pay into my meagre bank account because I had never in my whole life seen such a sum of money written on any cheque before.
“I can get you a seat in four days’ time, sir—”
“Four days! What on earth am I expected to do meanwhile?”
For the life of me I couldn’t resist one of his own superior, slightly sarcastic smiles. “A hotel?” I suggested.
He didn’t altogether appreciate being laughed at. “I suppose so,” he said acidly. “May I congratulate you, young lady, on your good fortune. What are you going to do now you’re rich?”
I hesitated. If he had been anyone else I would have snubbed him because it really wasn’t any of his business, but there was something unsettling about the look in his dark eyes and I found myself saying awkwardly, “Actually I’m going to Trinidad myself. My uncle lives there and I thought I would visit him and meet my cousins.”
“I imagine you will be welcome if you take your fortune with you,” he commented.
“What on earth do you mean?” I demanded.
“I thought you said your name is Ironside,” he replied drily.
“It is.”
“Then I rather think I know your uncle,” he told me. He drew out his wallet with a thoughtful expression and extracted an ivory white, hand-printed card from it. “My card,” he said, dropping it from a height on to the counter before me. “Don’t take advantage of it unless you really need to, will you? But I can hardly allow you to launch yourself into the unknown without a single bolt-hole should the need arise—”
“I imagine my uncle will afford me all the protection I need,” I said stiffly. I refused to pick up the card although I was curious to look at it. People of my acquaintance no longer had such things and I was curious to see what this obnoxious man did for a living that he had to fly round Europe at such speed and expense.
“I would hardly like to rely on your uncle,” he drawled. “Or anyone in that raffish family. Keep your money in the bank, my dear, or it will all end up in their pockets—and whatever you do, don’t let their peculiar brand of charm ensnare you into marriage.”
Thoroughly angry now, I glared at him across the counter. “I’m hardly likely to marry my own uncle!” I snapped.
He looked amused. “I was thinking rather of his sons,” he smiled. He picked up the ticket I had made out for him and put it carefully away in his overflowing wallet. “Goodbye, Miss Ironside, and good luck.”
It was dull when he had gone. Mr. Callaghan threw me long, curious glances from his desk at the other end of the counter from mine. He was an extraordinarily wet man, in his middle years, who had never summoned up enough courage to marry or to do anything else that might upset the even tenor of his days.
“Did you know you booked him on the same flight as your own?”
he asked at last.
“There wasn’t any other flight available,” I retorted in businesslike tones.
“Funny that he should know your family. I thought you took his eye, Camilla! Looks a catch, wouldn’t you say?”
“Hardly,” I said fastidiously. “I don’t think he’s on visiting terms with my uncle. He’s probably a gambler, or an international playboy—”
“We’d know his name if he belonged to the Jet Set,” Mr. Callaghan objected eagerly.
“I wouldn’t!” I said smugly.
“You know, Camilla, money does something to people. Do you know that you’ve changed already? I remember when you were glad to get a job here—”
“So do I!” I exclaimed. “I’ve liked working here on the whole. I shall miss it.”
“Miss the Travel Bureau? Don’t be silly!”
“No, truly,” I assured him. “I’ve liked being here!”
“But then you’re easily pleased,” he remarked jealously. “You’d be happy anywhere, Camilla, and that’s the truth of the matter!”
“Perhaps,” I agreed. I thought of Trinidad and the sandy beaches and the gorgeous fruit that would be there for the picking. “Do you know anything about sugar?” I asked.
Why?” Mr. Callaghan countered cautiously.
I threw back my head and laughed. It sounded so grand and I revelled in being able to say it. “Because,” I said reverently, “it so happens that my family is in sugar.”
“Well, I don’t, he said grumpily. “No more do you!”
“Not a sausage,” I agreed cheerfully. “But I shall! Before I’m through I mean to know everything about it. Just imagine it—”
“Just imagine that you have a further two days in this office, Miss Ironside, and get on with your work!”
I sighed, but I saw the justice of his complaint. If I didn’t finish my side of the bookings before I went it would only be there waiting for him to do the following week. I settled down with a will and began to work out the complicated schedules that my particular customers required. It was work that I enjoyed and I did it well. It seemed no time at all before the afternoon came to an end and we were packing up our papers and putting on our coats ready to depart.
“See you in the morning, Camilla,” Mr. Callaghan said as he locked the door behind us, just as he always did every night.
I felt my eyes fill with sudden tears. “You’ll only be able to say that once more,” I said flatly.
“There’ll be someone else to say it to,” he reminded me cheerfully, and stamped off into the darkness just as he always did. I stood and watched him go for a long moment, feeling unbearably sad, and then I went home myself, to dream of Trinidad and the bright sunny days that were to come.
It was drizzling in London. Snow had been forecast, but as Januaries go it had not been a particularly cold one. I was dressed in a new coat that had a rich fur collar. It was quite stunning, a bright cherry red and lined with a brilliant silk shot with silver. I felt very smart indeed. Actually I must have stood out like a sore finger, what with the colour and my height and everything, but I was quite unconcerned as I waited for our flight to be announced. I had even forgotten all about Mr. Daniel Hendrycks.
He looked cold when we all gathered for the bus that was to take us from Cromwell Road out to London Airport. Too late, I wished I had worn something demure and anonymous because I didn’t want to have to listen to him all the way to Port of Spain, as I feared I might have to if he had ideas of looking after me during the long flight, or worse still felt that he had to warn me all over again about my impossible family in Trinidad.
He himself was in the hotel business, as well as exporting and importing various produce in and out of Trinidad and Tobago. He had had it all neatly inscribed on his card. I only hoped that one of the things that he didn’t export was sugar. I felt the Ironsides would manage a great deal better through some other exporter.
“Well, Miss Ironside?” His voice was an unwelcome addition to the tannoy instructions as to which gate we should go to board the bus.
“Well, Mr. Hendrycks?” I answered casually.
“I was thinking how well you brighten this winter’s day,” he smiled. “You look positively festive!”
“I feel it!” I responded cheerfully.
“Meaning that you still have no regrets that you’re going to look up your family in Trinidad?” he said bleakly. “What about your family here in England? Aren’t you sorry to be leaving them?”
I tripped lightly down the steps, turning to look at him as I did so. “Not that it’s any of your business,” I reminded him fiercely, “but it so happens that I haven’t any family in England. My parents died some years ago and I have no brothers and sisters. Satisfied?”
“I’m truly sorry,” he said, flattened.
“Good!” I replied pertly, and boarded the bus. I sat as far away from him as I could, but to my annoyance I was still remarkably aware of him.
The drizzle had turned to sleet as we were escorted out of the airport building to the waiting Boeing 707 that was to take us to Trinidad. Visibility was reduced to a few yards around the aeroplane and the stewardess who greeted us at the top of the gangway was obviously concerned as to whether we would be able to get off at all.
I had only flown once before and then it had been to Dublin which takes no more than an hour, so I was excited at the thought of going abroad properly for the very first time. Rather cleverly, I thought, I managed to get myself a seat beside one of the windows and was able to peer out at the winter scene outside. Eddies of rain and sleet came and went and the sky remained a uniform dark grey hovering over the airport and threatening to turn the sleet to snow at any moment.
So intent was I at staring out at the activities that were all centred on getting the great giant I was seated in into the air that I didn’t notice who it was who sat next to me. When I did notice, it was too late to do anything about it.
“You don’t mind, do you?” said Mr. Hendrycks. “I want to apologise for being so heavy-handed about your parents. I’m truly sorry.”
“It doesn’t matter,” I answered. “It all happened a very long time ago.” I gave him a straight look that he didn’t seem to resent in the slightest. “You do rather jump to conclusions, though, don’t you?” I added.
“Do I?” He sounded surprised.
“Are you always so right in your opinions that you have the right to criticise everyone else, on the very merest acquaintance?”
“Oh, surely not!” he protested. “Have I really given you that impression?”
“Well,” I said, determined to be strictly just, “you’ve criticised my relations, implied that I’m a goose and not very loyal besides, taking myself away to the sun just because I won some money, and all, as far as I can make out, without knowing any of the facts—”
“I do know about your uncle,” he said meekly.
That rather put me off my stroke, because I knew nothing at all about my relations in Trinidad. All I knew was that my father’s brother had gone there when still in his teens with his head stuffed full of romantic ideas of pirates and pieces of eight. I hadn’t even thought about him until I had won this twenty-five thousand pounds and then I had thought that I would rather like to see something of the world, and Trinidad had seemed the obvious place to go. I had written to my uncle the same evening that the announcement of the winning number had been made over television and had got a reply back from him in a matter of days.
His letter had been written on a scrappy piece of paper, but his writing had been reminiscent of my father’s, so it hadn’t mattered to me at all that the information in it was sketchy in the extreme beyond the fact that he was highly tickled that he had a niece of means who was coming to visit him.
“A fortune in our family is just what we need, my dear,” he had written. “I have always thought so and have done my best since my youth to acquire one. How happy I am for you. Come as soon as you are able and we shall all be wa
iting to give you a true Ironside welcome when you get here.”
It had sounded warm and comforting to me and I wasn’t going to have Mr. Hendrycks spoil it for me. I didn’t care what he knew about my uncle!
“You make my relations sound like a bunch of layabouts!” I complained. “And they’re not! As a matter of fact my family is in sugar.”
He puckered up his mouth in thoughtful disapproval. “Is that what they told you?” he asked at last.
“It’s what my father told me,” I said flatly.
“It must have been a good while ago!”
I bit my lip. It had been quite a long time ago, I supposed, but it didn’t make any difference, did it? “Isn’t it true any longer?” I asked him, a hollow pit forming in my stomach.
“In a manner of speaking it’s true,” he muttered.
“There you go again!” I exploded with wrath. “Either it’s true or it’s not true! Which is it?”
“Well, if you want to put it in quite such black and white terms,” he admitted handsomely, “they’re in sugar. But—”
“I won’t listen to another word!” I cut him off. “I won’t have you spoiling it all for me!” I turned my back on him and stared out of the window at the banks of cloud beneath us. So intent had I been on our conversation that I had barely noticed the protracted take-off. It was difficult to believe that somewhere down there, beneath those layers of cloud, was the whole of England. Later there would be the Atlantic. I wondered if we should see any of it or if the clouds would accompany us the whole way. It was so odd to think of the threatening snow down below when here the sun shone brightly in a blue sky, away above the wintry weather below.
Mr. Hendrycks slept after a while. It was only when I saw him asleep and defenceless that I realised how tired he was looking. His face was thin and drawn and the little lines in the corners of his eyes had been deeply etched in in a way that should not have been in a man so young. And yet his hair was completely black. There was not a single silver strand anywhere to be seen.