Hideaway Heart

by Roumelia Lane

  "I don't agree." Something in the atmosphere made Chris speak stiltedly. "I came with Clive and I certainly intended to leave with him. I'd better go to..."

  Much to her consternation he took hold of bare shoulders and drew her to face him.

  "You don't have to, you know."

  Chris's heart pounded. What was he saying? That she needn't follow things through with Clive? But how could she leave it at that? Clive was upset, and acutely discontented with his life on the island. That much she knew. Something had happened tonight to bring that deep-set unhappiness bubbling to a head. She didn't feel justified in leaving him until she had found out what it was.

  She drew in her lower lip as hard fingers dug a little into her flesh. Boyd took a step closer and a pulsing breathlessness seemed to circle the air around them. She couldn't escape. The only thing to do was to withdraw a little more behind a screen of aloof words.

  "I know Clive is upset, I think I ought to go to him. Please would you take me back to Cyrecano?''

  The hands dropped so abruptly that she almost fell back.

  "Very well. I'll get someone to take you off."

  She stood by the rail and watched Boyd's bulk disappear into the darkness. So he wouldn't take her back himself?

  Perhaps it was just as well.

  For at that moment the palpitating Chris knew but one desire - to get as far away from Boyd Wyatt and his precious yacht as circumstances would allow.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  The house was in darkness. At first Chris thought that Clive had gone to bed . . . until she heard the tinkling notes of a piano. Well, with the record-player going he couldn't be feeling too bad. Eleni struggled into the living room, sleepily knotting the belt of her dressing gown. She turned thankfully back to bed when Chris explained, mainly by the shake of her head, that she wouldn't be requiring anything tonight.

  She looked around the room. Strange, the record-player was here. Then where was the music coming from? She went out again into the night and followed the sound along the veranda. It came from a door at the side of the house. Tentatively Chris stood and listened. The tune, haunting in its simplicity, was being beautifully played. She opened the door. Clive sat in his shirt-sleeves behind an enormous grand piano. His dinner jacket had been draped over a chair.

  He invited her in with a nod and immediately stood up. He looked much more relaxed than she had expected to find him, though there was a certain tautness about his mouth.

  "Oh, please!" Chris begged. "Don't stop playing."

  He hunched a grin and sat down again.

  "Just doodling," he explained.

  And such incredible doodling, Chris thought, soaking up the power of each sweet note. She gazed around the room that she had never seen before. It was much the same as the others, being dotted with the usual dark solid-looking furniture. There was one thing, though, on a cabinet at the far end of the room...

  Chris wandered closer. A heavy gilt frame held the smiling face of a girl round about Clive's age. Who was she? Chris might have asked the question aloud, for Clive strolled up behind her.

  "That's Paula, my ex-fiancee." He drank from a glass in his hand. "We split up some time ago."

  Chris continued to stare.

  "But the figurehead! The likeness! It's fantastic!"

  Clive shrugged again.

  "One has to have a model."

  And what more natural that Clive should take Paula? Chris thought. She was indeed a very beautiful woman.

  There was an awkward silence then in which Clive drained his glass and held it in blanched fingers, and Chris wondered if she ought to broach the subject of his abrupt departure from the Barbary Cloud. She decided against it, and wandered instead to the piano. As she ran her fingers down half a dozen notes Clive turned.

  "Do you play ?" he asked.

  "In a laboured kind of way," Chris smiled, "and only then with music, I'm afraid." She sat down and looked around. "That lovely piece you were playing just now, Clive. I didn't recognize it. Could I try it?"

  Clive moved towards the open door.

  "There isn't any music, I'm afraid. It's my own." He turned to give her a depressed smile. "I make it up. Ridiculous, isn't it?"

  "You mean it's your own tune?" Chris looked up, ignoring the self-deprecating tones. "Clive! You're full of surprises. Why haven't you written it down? You could..."

  There was no time to say any more, for Clive, standing half-way up the room, suddenly swayed and toppled, and would have gone down flat if it hadn't been for the chair close behind his knees. As he slumped into it a strand of white-blond hair fell over his face. He looked at Chris with a hurt grin.

  "Ridiculous, isn't it? My old man's the greatest and his milk-and-water son can't even hold his liquor."

  Judging by the amount he had consumed over the evening Chris thought he was doing extremely well, but she didn't reply. Her mind has going back over Rod Banks' words.

  Clive lurched up. "Don't ever, pick a hero for a father, Chris. People never let you forget it."

  Chris was beginning to understand. She stood up too.

  "Rod never meant anything like that, Clive, I'm sure of it," she said.

  "You think not?" His eyes narrowed. "That's the kind of thing I get all the time. Why do you think I stay here? I'm sick of trying to compete with a legend."

  "But isn't it natural for people to want to talk to you about your father? Especially if they remember him. I'm sure it's just that they feel a certain thrill at talking to his son."

  "You know, I joined the army once," Clive mused as though he hadn't heard. "Well, I didn't want to be too much of a disappointment to the soldiering Hustons back in England. You know what happened? I made a lousy parachute jump and ended up with a broken skull. After that my duties were confined strictly to a desk, so I bought myself out, but don't worry, I'll do better next time."

  Thinking of the gymnastic equipment in the shed that she knew he used every day, the rigid discipline he gave himself on the cliffs, the figureheads . . . even his artistic leanings had to have a link with adventure, it seemed... Chris felt she understood a little. She hesitated before saying,

  "Is it necessary to model yourself on your father, Clive? I mean, every life is different."

  The sensitive mouth worked painfully.

  "Don't tell me you think I've got a long way to go?"

  "No, I was thinking . . . well, you seem to have quite a bit to offer as plain Clive Huston. Your work on the figureheads, for instance, and that music I heard just now..."

  "Hell!" Clive swung viciously away. "You're beginning to sound just like Paula. I would, if you don't mind, like to run my own life!"

  The silence was unending. At last Chris made her way to the door.

  "I'm sorry, Clive. You're right, of course. It has nothing at all to do with me. I'll ask Mr. Wyatt to take me back to Cathai. My holiday has to end some time anyway."

  Clive was beside her. He whipped a hand through his hair apologetically.

  "Chris, forget it, will you? I don't know what I'm saying.

  It's the drink ... I hate the stuff anyway." He grinned sheepishly. "Don't go."

  "But, Clive, I should..."

  "Not yet, please . . ." He drew her towards him. "I don't want you to go, Chris."

  Before she could prevent it his mouth had dropped down fiercely upon her own, and Chris wondered why such a passionate embrace should leave her so strangely unmoved.

  After a spell of several hours in his workshop Clive emerged and the days slipped back into the lazy rambling-sunbathing-swimming world that Chris had known previously.

  Only two things marred their brightness.

  A kind of brooding resignation that seemed to have settled over Clive . . . and the woodsmoke glare that she encountered occasionally along the paths.

  She could only take it that Boyd was annoyed at her failure to "keep things moving".

  One afternoon when she and Clive walked arm in arm to the beach, in de
ference to a particularly frosty stare, Chris made a half-hearted attempt to interest him in another site for his house.

  "Clive," she ventured, "why are the men weighing up chances for an airstrip when . . . your house is in the way?"

  "Search me," he shrugged.

  "Can they make you move?"

  "Nope."

  "But if they did, aren't there lots of other attractive places to have . . . your house? I mean, well, overlooking the cove would be..."

  He flicked an irritated glance her way.

  "Don't you start! I'm not moving and that's that. If I so much as gave an eighth of an inch on this matter I would be overrun within a week, then what good would a house at the cove be?"

  "But I thought these Hideaway Hotels had a kind of built-in seclusion I don't think the clients would want to overrun you."

  "Perhaps not, but it would be the beginning of the end as far as I'm concerned." He looked at her. "Don't tell me you don't prefer it this way, wild and uninhabited?"

  "Oh, I do!" Chris could answer with sincerity. "Of course I do!" Hastily she changed the subject. "Gosh, look at the sea today! I can't wait to get in. Let's hurry.''

  Clive seemed to have lost the kind of semi-good mood he had started out with. He turned.

  "I'm sick of swimming at the cove. Let's try somewhere else."

  "All right." Dutifully Chris followed him. She didn't know yet of another place safe for bathing, but perhaps it wouldn't be too far.

  After several minutes she noticed the path was beginning to rise sharply. She wondered vaguely about Clive's choice, but he was too far ahead to question. She wore the ice-blue swim-suit. A sudden breeze flicked at the towel she had draped round her shoulders.

  Clive was still climbing, and Chris looked up worriedly. If he was thinking of taking a short cut round that ghastly drop she would have to tell him she couldn't do it. If only he would slow down a bit! She tried to shout, but his name was just a jolt of sound against the rise of the cliff. He had disappeared over the top the next time Chris looked up.

  She debated whether to turn round and go back, but Clive might worry. There was nothing for it but to go to the top. But definitely not a step further.

  A warm salt-laden wind smote her as the path ended, whipping the towel from her shoulders. She didn't retrieve it immediately, for her attention was fully occupied at the cliff edge.

  Clive was untying the belt of his beach robe. She looked over his shoulder following the line of the island below. There was no beach there even if they could have got down to it. Stifling a crazy desire to laugh, Chris asked,

  "But where do we swim?"

  "Down there." He pulled the beach robe off and flung it over a bush.

  "Down there?" Chris stepped back hurriedly. She stared at Clive. "Wh... what are you saying?"

  He smiled mirthlessly.

  "I've done it before. It's great." He stood poised, flexing his brown body in the sunshine. His hair shone almost as white as the sharkskin briefs.

  "Clive," Chris had difficulty in forcing the words along a dried-up throat, "I wish you wouldn't indulge in these kind of jokes. Nobody could dive from this height. Let's go down to the cove. It's not really amusing, you know."

  "Oh, but it is! Amusing and exhilarating. Just watch." He stepped forward, his toes curled over the edge. He raised his arms, poised for the dive.

  "Clive, please... that's enough! Come away from the edge! I can't stand to see you..."

  Suddenly the slim brown body tensed, and then shot like an arrow away from the edge. Clive disappeared from view.

  Chris stared ashen-faced at the spot where he had been standing, and sank down weakly on to the grass. Sooner or later she was going to have to look over the edge, but please God not yet...

  There was a soft footfall on the turf, but Chris was too busy making silent prayers to notice it. She heard a sharp exclamation and looked up to see Boyd striding towards her. Before she realized what was happening he was kneeling beside her. One arm supported her shoulders.

  "What's happened? Are you injured in some way?"

  "No, I'm all right."

  "You don't look it." The blue-grey eyes were searching. "What are you doing up here anyway?"

  His question sent Chris's eyes straining towards the cliff edge. She stood up and swayed a step nearer, and Boyd's arms shot round her like steel bands.

  "What in heaven's name are you trying to do! Break your neck?"

  "Please . . ." Chris dragged nearer, "I must look over. I must!"

  Seeing her agitation, Boyd took her a step nearer. His grip tightened. Chris stared down and gave a gasp of relief. She had seen a blond head bobbing on the water. Brown arms struck out strongly in the direction of the cove.

  Boyd followed her gaze and then drew her back.

  "Huston ?" he demanded.

  Chris nodded, her voice little more than a whisper.

  "He . .. dived from here. I was sure he ... I didn't think he..."

  Suddenly she was overcome. Tears welled up in the sherry-brown eyes, and her body began to shake uncontrollably. She wasn't immediately aware that strong arms still held her close, or that she chose one wide shoulder to bury her head.

  When the storm had subsided Chris realized with a shock just where she was. She raised a tear-stained face to say, "I'm sorry" and drew quickly away, adding, "I don't know what made me behave so ridiculously."

  "Clear-cut case of shock." Boyd's voice was metallic in its sharpness. His arms hung slackly at his side. "What you need is a good stiff drink. And what I need is just two minutes with Huston!"

  He picked up the towel and flung it around Chris's shoulders. As they went down she asked querulously,

  "What... were you doing up here?"

  "I got word that the Barbary was shifting her anchor. I wanted to see how bad it was."

  Boyd didn't look as if he intended to say any more.

  Chris lay back in her chair on the veranda feeling slightly more composed. A drink was at her side, but she was too nervous to touch it. Boyd paced the boards like a caged animal. The atmosphere wasn't exactly restful. He looked up suddenly as a figure came into view.

  "Hi!" Smiling at Chris but ignoring Boyd as was his usual practice, Clive came up the steps. His blond hair was grey with water. "Where did you get to? I looked for you in the cove."

  They both heard Boyd's intake of breath. He jerked round.

  "And just how did you expect her to get there? By the same route you chose?"

  Clive looked a little uncomfortable.

  "I knew she'd take the path down," he muttered.

  "Then you knew wrong." The woodsmoke eyes were like marbles of ice. "I found Miss Dawnay up there in a state of collapse and singularly unappreciative of your superman activities."

  Clive took a step forward, his face reddening.

  "Why do you constantly try to get under my skin?" he said angrily.

  "I can assure you I have better things to do with my time."

  "Then I suggest you get off and do them!"

  "I will. Just as soon as I've made it quite clear that in future Miss Dawnay stays away from the cliff."

  Clive looked up.

  "Oh, and who's giving the orders, then? It's not your island yet, you know."

  Boyd flicked a glance towards Chris and then quickly away again. He snapped harshly,

  "In the name of common sense, man, surely you know it takes an iron nerve to stick those heights?"

  Pale-faced, Chris looked down at her drink. She felt that Boyd was making too much of the incident, but dared not intervene. She knew Clive was looking at her, sensed the familiar jerk of a hand through the hair. He spoke in deflated tones.

  "I suppose you're right. I'm sorry, Chris, I didn't realize you were so scared."

  Chris sent him a wan smile. "Don't worry about it, Clive."

  There were a few moments in which the two men stood facing each other, ill at ease, then Boyd drawled casually,

  "You're wel
come aboard the Barbary tonight, if the idea appeals."

  "No, thanks."

  "How about you, Miss Dawnay?"

  "I said, no, thanks," Clive glared.

  "I know you did. It occurred to me that Miss Dawnay might wish to make up her own mind."

  Chris hesitated, looking at Clive.

  "If Clive's not going, I don't think..."

  "Very well." There was a long pause and then Boyd flicked a glance over Clive. "No doubt you'll be going in to change. If it's all the same to you I'll take a breather from the sun." He hitched his trousers and settled into a chair.

  Clive nodded curtly and went indoors, and Chris received a forceful gaze that told her to stay exactly where she was.

  Nervously she took a sip at the drink. It was bitter and unpleasant.

  "Get the lot down. It's not as bad as it tastes."

  Chris obeyed because she couldn't think of any alternative action under that penetrating gaze.

  "How are you feeling?" Boyd went on.

  "Perfect." She grimaced, clapping the glass down.

  He stood up and took his time over lighting a cigarette.

  "You're getting pretty knotted up over Huston," he remarked.

  Chris pondered over the statement. Poor Clive! He was a bit knotted up himself. If only she could help him in some way.

  "Why, yes," she murmured abstractly, "I suppose I am."

  She looked up to see a crisp dark head, and a broad back. He blew cigarette smoke long and slow into the air.

  "I've been doing some thinking." He didn't turn. "I've decided to forget the possibility of your influencing Huston enough to leave his property."

  Chris swallowed. "What do you mean?"

  "I mean I want you and your belongings on the Barbary first thing tomorrow morning."

  "I see. Leave Cyrecano, just like that?" she breathed.

  Boyd ground the cigarette under his heel.

  "There are a few points the men have to clear up in the morning. After that we head back to Cathai."

  Chris got to her feet and fingered a head of blossom.

  "But I don't understand. I thought you wanted Clive and me to..."