by Jane Arbor
Hope shook her head. ‘I don’t think it’s quite my style.’
‘As a headdress or a green light of invitation—which?’
She ignored the provocation in the question. ‘As a headdress, naturally. An English girl would look absurd wearing one.’ In an effort to restore whimsy to a subject which he seemed determined to make personal, she added, ‘Anyway, why should the girls have to do the inviting? And why isn’t there a points system for the ones who are quite happy to wait until a man shows he’s attracted to them?’
‘In answer to your first question—Because they enjoy the open competition, and because it lends them power. And to your second—Because, in the words of the classics, “There ain’t no sich animal”.’
‘And that’s your experience—that there are no women who aren’t concentrating heavily on getting a man or preening themselves for having got one?’ she suggested lightly.
A nod. ‘That’s my experience,’ he confirmed.
‘Without any exceptions?’
‘No more than go to prove the rule. And they’d be freaks of nature.’
‘Which makes you something of a cynic, don’t you think?’
‘ “Cynic” I deny. A realist—yes.’ At some increased bustle on the quay he stood up and drained his glass. ‘It looks as if there’s about to be some action,’ he said. ‘Let’s go down.’
On their way, at the foot of some steps, their passage was blocked by a West Indian youth, camera in hand.
With a wide grin he flattered Craig, ‘Mister, how come you get pretty gal widout she wear one-point to tell she willing?’
Craig threw Hope an amused glance. ‘This is where we came in,’ he murmured, and told the youth, ‘Man, it takes personal magnetism, what else?’
The boy shook his head in non-comprehension. ‘You make mock wid long words, mister. But I take picture and you pay—yes?’ He brandished the camera, a Polaroid. ‘See—picture instan’. No wait. No come-out, no pay. Yes?’
‘Oh, very well.’
But after taking their range through the viewfinder, the youth lowered the camera. ‘Love-pose better,’ he observed. ‘Charge no more. Make better picture, that’ all.’
Craig sighed resignedly, moved a step nearer to Hope and put his arm round her, ignoring her quiver of surprise. ‘That do, man?’ he asked.
A grudging nod appeared to acknowledge that it would have to, and the picture was taken. ‘Two minutes. Three. Picture come. You see!’
But it didn’t, and they didn’t. Peeled free, the film was as blank as a foggy night, and the enraged owner shook the camera in horrified disgust. ‘Man sell it cheap, he say perfec’. Make good money wid. Good money—huh!’ he fulminated. ‘I been done!’
Craig released Hope and took money from his trouser-pocket. ‘Never mind, man. These things happen,’ he said. ‘How much?’
The glowerings turned to an astonished but radiant smile. ‘You still pay, mister? No picture, but you pay?’
‘If it had come out, it would have been worth it,’ said Craig cryptically. ‘And the camera? Bought it from a man in the street, I daresay? How much?’
‘Fifteen dollars.’
‘Then here—and don’t sell it for twenty to the next mug who comes along,’ Craig warned, adding paper money to the coins in his hand and handing them over. He turned back to Hope and as they walked on, ‘A pity, that,’ he said. ‘But I daresay you’re relieved. A “love-pose” for you and me not quite in order in the circumstances, you were thinking, hm?’
In fact, she was intrigued and warmed by a quixotry which was all of a piece with his generosity to his workers’ wives. She was wondering what would have been the fate of the snapshot if it had come out. Would he have discarded it as a piece of nonsense? Would he have kept it? Or handed it over to her? And she was wishing she could say all this to him with ease. But because she couldn’t, she ignored his question, to which he probably hadn’t expected an answer anyway.
An hour later the graceful white ship had docked and its small complement of passengers was coming off. The TV team consisted of half a dozen men whom Ian Perse introduced to Craig by their names and various functions. Then he saw Hope standing in the background and went to greet her eagerly, taking both her hands in his and kissing her. Light and friendly as the kiss was, she flinched from it slightly, hoping Craig hadn’t noticed, lest he chose to read into it an intimacy with Ian which she had been at so much trouble to deny.
Craig had ordered a couple of hire-cars for the visitors, in which they drove off to their hotel after accepting his invitation to Victoire’s party and making an appointment to survey the estate the next morning, preparatory to their first shootings of film. While Craig had gone on board to extend Victoire’s hospitality to the Captain, Ian had drawn Hope aside.
‘I’ll leave these cars to the boys and hire one of my own. May I call for you to take you to this affair tonight? How do I find you?’ he asked.
Glad that she hadn’t to be obliged to Craig to take her, she had directed Ian to the bungalow, and he had left with the others before Craig returned to his own car where she was waiting for him.
‘Threads taken up where you and Perse had dropped them?’ he asked casually on the way back to the office.
‘As far as there were any to pick up, yes,’ she said.
‘By his welcome he appeared to think there were some. Did he suggest escorting you to Victoire’s party tonight?’
‘Yes, he’s calling for me.’
‘Losing no time, evidently,’ was Craig’s comment.
At that she turned on him, goaded. ‘I can’t think why you insist on reading so much into my friendship with Ian Perse,’ she said. ‘From what I’ve told you about my knowing him, and from the little you’ve seen of us together, why do you assume that we’re more than friends?’
‘Because I don’t believe in freaks of nature. Since, on the available evidence, you’re neither engaged, nor married, nor a merry widow, you must be what’s known locally as a “one-point gal”.’
‘Signalling my willingness to Ian Perse?’
‘Why not? And short of having surprised your eyes lighting with invitation to any other man, one can be excused for jumping to conclusions. Are you going to confess to him that you’ve been kissed against your will since the two of you last met?’
The utter inconsequence of the question took Hope aback. ‘Of course not,’ she denied. ‘And I wasn’t—’
‘—Weren’t unwilling? Oh, come! The Ice Maiden par excellence, you!’
She blushed furiously. ‘I meant I wasn’t kissed like—like that. It was just the—the customary thing. You said so!’
‘So Perse isn’t to be told? Ah well, you’ll have to see that he spots the green in the sunset while he’s here, and you can level scores in that way, can’t you?’ Craig taunted unanswerably, and Hope attempted no reply.
In view of the party he suggested later that she should leave the office early, and, back at the bungalow, she was having a drink with Barbara after dressing when a car drew up outside.
‘That must be Ian, though he’s before his time,’ said Hope. But it wasn’t Ian to whom Barbara opened. It was Tina, white-faced and panting, who broke past her. ‘You’ve got to help, you’ve got to do something!’ she clamoured. ‘Hope! Barbara, please! I can’t—I don’t know what—’ She broke oil, a fist at her mouth, her eyes wide.
Barbara took her firmly by the arm. Hope went over to her.
‘What’s happened?’ ‘What’s the matter?’
Their voices had clashed. Tina gulped. She was shaking all over now. ‘It—it’s Crispin,’ she stammered. ‘In the car—He’s ill—’
‘Ill? How? Car-sick? Or what?’ Barbara demanded while Hope ordered, ‘Tina! Pull yourself together! And if Crispin is ill, why did you leave him? Why didn’t you bring him in?’
‘Because—because she said I wasn’t to—ever.’
‘Because who said?’
‘She means Victoir
e, of course.’
Hope’s questions and Barbara’s explanation had clashed again. Then Barbara was out of the door, and Tina was whimpering, ‘That’s right. Madame said I was never to bring him here again. And I wouldn’t have, only—only I daren’t take him home,’ she finished as Barbara returned with the little boy, whose own hand was at his throat.
‘He can’t speak,’ Barbara announced tersely.
‘I—I know,’ Tina admitted. ‘He can hardly open his mouth, but I could just see that inside it’s all—sort of ulcerated and—and dry.’
‘But how come? Where have you been? What has he been doing? How could he start an ulcerated mouth—suddenly, just like that?’
Both girls’ questions tumbled over each other, and Tina answered in staccato. ‘I’ve been out with Luke. It’s my afternoon off. We left my car and went for a drive in his. And Crispin stayed to play on the beach—’
‘What beach?’
‘Cloud’s Nest. It’s perfectly safe. No tide to come in and nobody about. He didn’t mind being left. We went on—to Witch Creek and had a swim, and then—well, round about. Maybe we were away a bit long, but—And then, on the way back, a little short of Cloud’s Nest, there was a car parked, with some friends of Madame’s. And as they might tell her I had been out with Luke without Crispin, I made him stop and let me get out to leave the road and cut across the sands on foot to where I had left Crispin. And—and this was how I found him. His hands too—they’re blistered. Look—’
Barbara had already looked, when he had flinched at her gentle touch. And as Tina faltered, ‘Could he have been poisoned or—or anything?’ it was as if the same thought struck the other two at the same moment.
Remembering Luke Donat’s warning, Hope murmured aloud, ‘Cloud’s Nest? There’s a tree there that’s poisonous, the fruit and the leaves—’ and Barbara confirmed, ‘Yes, the manchineel,’ and knelt to level herself with Crispin. ‘Darling, just nod for Yes or shake your head for No,’ she urged. ‘Did you eat or taste anything while Tina was away? Or even just play under one of the big trees there are up the beach at Cloud’s Nest Bay?’
A nod answered her.
‘Perhaps you bit into the fruit—like small pippins— which were on the tree, or some that had fallen?’
Another nod, and a grimace twisted his mouth. Barbara stood up and turned on Tina. ‘He has been poisoned—in a way. Had no one warned you about the manchineel —how it dries up saliva and blocks the throat? Hadn’t Madame de Faye warned you against it?’
Tina shook her head wretchedly. ‘I’ve never heard of it. How did you know about it?’ she demanded of Hope.
‘Luke Donat told me.’
Tina frowned suspiciously. ‘Luke? You've been with him to Cloud’s Nest?’
‘Not with him. He arrived there once when I was just leaving.’
‘Oh—’ Tina’s attention was diverted by the sight of Barbara wrapping Crispin in a blanket. ‘What are you doing?’ she asked.
‘Guarding against shock.’
‘You mean I’ve got to take him home like that? But I can’t! I daren’t!’
‘He’s not going home. But you are,’ Barbara ordered. ‘He’s going to hospital—’
‘To hospital? What for? What will they do to him there?’
‘I don’t know. I’ve heard of manchineel poisoning, but I’ve never seen a case of it. It could mean a tracheotomy—I don’t know. Meanwhile, you’re going back to the House, to tell Victoire all about it, and where she can find Crispin within the next half hour.’
‘I can’t! I can’t! She’ll never forgive me!’ Tina whimpered, close to hysteria.
‘Never is a long time. But for the moment you can hardly expect a pat on the head,’ Barbara told her brutally as Hope went to answer the door to Ian, keeping his date with her.
She explained the crisis to him. ‘I can’t come with you,’ she told him.
‘But you’re dressed! Ready—’
‘I know. But I can’t leave Barbara to take Crispin to hospital alone. You must go, though if there’ll be any party when Madame de Faye hears what Tina has to tell her, one can’t tell.’ As a thought struck her, she appealed to Tina, ’Will you go and face Madame if Ian goes with you? Because you do realise that Barbara is right—you must go?’
Reluctant and protesting, Tina consented to being pushed out and into Ian’s hired car. When they had gone Barbara went to get her own car, and with Crispin in the back seat, supported by Hope, they drove into town.
At the hospital soft, concerned West Indian voices greeted them and compassionate hands and skills took over. The two girls waited for news, and waited, expecting Victoire’s arrival at any minute.
But time passed and she did not come. She had surely telephoned? Barbara asked. No, there had been no call from Madame de Faye. And she had neither rung nor appeared when they were joined in their waiting by Craig. Craig alone.
Whatever the rift between them, his greeting to Barbara was his outstretched hand. She took it and clung to it as he asked of Crispin, ‘How is he? Have you heard?’
‘They think they needn’t operate; that they can treat him conservatively with drugs,’ she told him. ‘That’s all, up to now. But where is Victoire? Tina did make her understand?’
‘She isn’t coming. She didn’t think it was necessary.’
‘Didn’t ... think ... it ... was ... necessary!’ Barbara’s slow, incredulous echo almost spelled out each word and Hope protested,
‘But why not? Why couldn’t she come? If she had to put off Ian and the TV team, they would surely have understood?’
‘It wasn’t a case of excusing herself to them, but to at least fifty other people.’ Craig’s tone was flat, unemotional; he was making a report on Victoire, showing nothing of approval or censure. ‘She had invited everyone in the island who counts, from the Prefect and the Mayor downward, and she couldn’t feel justified in disappointing them by calling off the party—’
‘Even though Crispin might have died? Might still?’
‘Considering all things, Victoire decided she needn’t come.’
‘So she sent you instead? As—as her lackey?’ There was a world of scorn in Barbara’s voice and Hope held her breath, waiting for his answer.
He said tautly, ‘Victoire “sends” me nowhere; no woman does.’ He had relinquished Barbara’s hand and he now turned to Hope.
‘When did you last have a report? And where is Crispin?’
She told him and he went to see what he could learn from the staff. When he came back he said there was no point in their staying longer. Crispin had been treated and sedated, was now sleeping and could probably go home in a couple of days. To Hope’s surprise Craig took it for granted that he would be taking her on to the party, and when she demurred he insisted that she put in an appearance as one of his staff and as Victoire’s guest. Barbara agreed that he was right. ‘Victoire has nothing to blame you for, and you did rather make use of your young man, making him a bodyguard for Tina,’ she said, and that she was fully prepared to go home alone.
They parted outside the hospital, though Craig escorted Barbara’s car as far as the bungalow, before driving on to the Great House.
On the way Hope asked him what would happen to Tina after this latest breach of duty, adding that it was hardly to be expected that Victoire would be willing to keep her on as Crispin’s governess.
‘If she doesn’t, will she engage another for him, or will he go back to school?’ she asked.
‘That remains to be seen,’ said Craig. ‘Keeping him on the island after his Christmas holidays was by way of an experiment, and when he’s recovered from this lot, I’ll look at the situation again.’
Hope wondered if she had misheard his use of ‘I’, and he appeared to sense from her silence that she was puzzled.
‘Roland de Faye made me Crispin’s full guardian,’ he explained. ‘You’d expected that Victoire, as his stepmother, would have that capacity?’
�
�Well, naturally.’
‘And naturally I consult her about him. But where his future is concerned, as the Americans say, the buck stops with me.’
‘So that it’s for you to say whether Tina stays or goes?’
‘Not altogether. I’ll fall in with Victoire’s wishes on that. But I think you’d agree that in both her roles out here, Tina hasn’t been an unqualified success?’
Metaphorically Hope backed away. ‘It’s hardly fair to ask me that,’ she said.
‘Which means you agree. How far is she involved now with Donat, do you know?’
‘Only that she’s been seeing him quite often.’
‘She’s a silly child. He’s known for being the island’s Don Juan. Which reminds me—when did you realise that yourself for your own good?’
Hope retorted sharply, ‘I never was under any illusions about him.’
‘No? I seem to remember your being pretty aggrieved when I took you to task for wasting your—and my—time with him.’
‘My being late that day wasn’t my fault, as I tried to tell you. He’d tricked me into it, by bribing a boy to take my scooter for a joyride, guessing he could make trouble for me with you.’
‘Why should he want to do that?’
‘Because I’d given him the brush-off at the Planters’ Club, and when I sent him back to Tina, he told me I was a schoolmarm, or words to that effect. So when you refused to let me explain, I felt I had reason to be aggrieved, and I’m afraid I showed it—’ She blushed at the memory.
‘You did,’ Craig agreed. ‘In fact, you were insufferably rude, and I don’t excuse the strong-arm tactics I felt you’d earned, though perhaps I’ve learned better since.’
‘Better?’
‘Learned you better—that fishwife snarlings aren’t your usual line; that you’re not a Tina; you’re not cut from the kind of flimsy that a Luke Donat can work on, and no wonder you baffled him and enraged him with your self-possession and your general sang-froid. On occasion, I’ve been at the receiving end of it myself.’