She towelled off and slipped into the beach jacket that Boyd held for her. The sky was metallic with heat and even after a cool swim Chris was glad of the shade of the sun umbrella. Boyd drew on his cigarette, obviously busy with his own thoughts. It was some time before Chris mentioned, "Dan was asking for you last night. I told him you were out."
Boyd nodded. "I called in when I got back. He was drowsy, but I think he knew I was there."
"Has he anyone in England?" Chris asked, taking a sip of her drink.
"No, he's on his own. I believe his wife died some years back," he slanted her a smile, "but he's adopted you."
Chris sighed. "He doesn't talk much lately, just sleeps. I wish there was something we could do. I'm longing to see him sitting up, his old self again."
"So am I, but these things take time. Have you something planned for this afternoon?"
"The nurse Usually takes a couple of hours off. I'll read in Dan's room."
"Good. I'll get back as soon as I can."
Chris kept her eyes on her glass as he departed into the villa.
The nurse came back on duty just before dusk. Chris had found difficulty in making out the print of her book in the gathering darkness. She had half thought about putting the light on, but as Dan showed no signs of stirring from his sleep she had spent the time watching the shadows paint the lawns with strands of indigo and violet.
She rose stiffly now and went out, wondering vaguely if it was time for a meal or if she had already had one. Time... She pondered on the word ... an endless vacuum of space, an unreal world that seemed to be without pattern or meaning. She thought of the days when Boyd had always been somewhere in the background, when, the house had been full of guests, and meals and entertainments had revolved around his orders and commands. Time then ... life at the Villa Tamerlane had been very different.
She had thought she would stroll to the parapet wall and gaze down on to the tiny harbour, but a footfall on the gravel near Dan's room made her turn. The nurse stood, a white silhouette against the red glow of the villa. She raised a hand to signal and in a carefully modulated voice called,
"Would you inform the doctor?"
"But he was here only this morning." Puzzled, Chris hurried across the lawn. With unaltered expression the nurse nodded.
"The doctor, please."
Chris went in search of Howes and in less than fifteen minutes the doctor's car was sliding into the drive. He walked carefully along to Dan's room, one ear bent to catch the nurse's low tones. Chris couldn't wait inside. She walked over the grass, listening for the sound of the door. It opened at last and the doctor emerged. He seemed to ponder a while and then, seeing Chris in the shadows, walked slowly over the lawn. She knew his words before he uttered them. Perhaps she had felt something sitting in the room watching the day fade.
"He's gone, I'm afraid."
With the doctor's words she closed her eyes against the rush of tears. The ache in her throat prevented any speech. After a few moments she turned to stare down over the sea, Dan's sea. How proud he'd been in his uniform!
The doctor shifted. "The nurse and I will make all the necessary arrangements. I'll have a talk with Boyd." He dropped a hand briefly on her shoulder and left. How long Chris stood there she neither knew nor cared. Through brimming eyes she was picturing a slight figure with a wide grin that she would never see again on the Barbary Cloud... that comical gait he had adopted to take the roll of the ship, and a way he had of sniffing the air when they were coming in to land. She thought of the day when Boyd had brought him up from the harbour. The air had been sweet with thyme and myrtle from the hills and the roadside gardens a network of sprawling roses and tall lavender. Dan would never see another summer's day...
She became aware of a light breeze flicking across the gardens, lifting the hem of her dress and fastening strands of hair across her cheek. She turned to see the villa lights reaching out across the drive. The trees and bushes were just whispering shadows. She hadn't heard a car draw in, but a tall shape was approaching over the lawn. In the half-light Boyd looked pale and drawn. He stopped at her side.
"I came as soon as I heard.''
"It wasn't soon enough, was it?"
Chris didn't care any more. The tears overflowed. She stared down over the wall and let them have their way.
Boyd touched her shoulder.
"Stop it, Chris. Dan was an old man."
"An old man," Chris flung round, "with no one, and you couldn't be here when... when he..." She drew in a sob and turned away.
"You're overwrought Come along inside. This night air will..."
"Leave me alone!" Chris shook his hand from her shoulder · and turned back to the sea. "Don't touch me! I won't go anywhere with you!"
There was a long pause.
"All right, then we'll stay out here." He took off his jacket and draped it round her shoulders, then dropped down to gaze over the wall. He didn't speak for several minutes and as Chris's tears diminished and her composure returned she asked huskily,
"What will happen to Dan?"
Boyd stretched. "There's a little English cemetery not far from here. It's on a green hill and looks down over the sea." He took her arm. "It's a good place, Chris."
She nodded, and they walked slowly towards the villa.
Over the next three days Boyd's manner towards Chris was cool almost to the point of curtness, but he didn't forget his promise to take her to Cyrecano. When they were returning from the service for Dan he informed her that preparations were being made to sail the following day. Scarcely had the morning dawned than the Barbary Cloud was nosing her way out to the open sea. Eleni sat on her suitcase on the deck doing some kind of needlework. Watching her from the rail, Chris wondered if the older woman objected to being whipped up at Boyd's commands to shuttle back and forth between the islands. Apparently not, for the olive features were abstract and unconcerned as she stitched away at the cover on her knee.
The morning was typical of the ones Chris had come to know since her arrival in the Aegean. The sea reflected the pure parrot blue of the sky and added a few deeper azure tones of its own. The breeze was lively and flicked up the occasional white-capped wave, but here at the sheltered stern of the boat the sun burned with its usual tropical heat. Chris gazed over the rails and waited for Cyrecano to appear. Eventually the black plant-pot shape loomed up and as they drew nearer she experienced a cold shudder. Looking up at that sheer rock face she could still vividly recall Clive's dive off into the sea.
Boyd appeared and the small boat was lowered. The bags were dropped in, then Eleni and Chris were assisted into their seats. Within minutes they were speeding towards the jetty; a jetty, it seemed, that had finally given up the struggle, for it leaned giddily, just a mass of jumbled slats that somehow held on valiantly to Clive's boat. Boyd studied the scene and turned his craft in to about three yards from the beach. After securing it with a light anchor he jumped over the side without bothering to remove his canvas shoes.
He took the bags and then Eleni, coming back last for Chris. He swung her into his arms, nodding grimly towards the other woman who was making her way up to the house.
"You and Huston had better make your minds up if this is for keeps. I don't intend to go permanently into the chaperon business."
He held her roughly against him, and Chris was reminded suddenly of that night in Beirut when he had held her in a different fashion. She saw the crisp dark hair in glistening spikes on his neck, the hard curve of his jaw, and knew an almost overwhelming desire to put her cheek close to his, to cling to him and never, never let go...
Instead she answered unevenly,
"It's... not like that between Clive and me."
"Oh no? You were ready to move heaven and earth to get back here to admire the blossom, I suppose."
The biting tones made Chris wince almost physically. She lowered her eyes.
"I didn't expect you to understand," she muttered.
"I d
on't suppose I'm the first to flunk on the workings of the female mind."
He dumped her on the beach and took up the bags, leaving her to follow him along the path. It looked as if Eleni had already gone to take control of her territory and there was no sign of Clive around the house. Chris had an idea where he might be. She walked over to the workshop, Boyd just a step behind. When she opened the door there was the busy chip-chip sound of sculpturing in process. Clive turned at the creaking of the door and dropped his tools.
"Chris! You're back! I was beginning to wonder. I thought you'd forgotten me."
With that familiar jerking smile he walked towards her and drew her eagerly into his arms. A strange relief in finding him the same old Clive with no obvious added worries made Chris cling rather longer than she had intended. He brushed a cheek close to hers.
"Gosh, it's good to see you!"
"It's . . . good to see you, Clive," she replied shakily, wishing she could be just as oblivious to that wide-shouldered presence in the doorway.
Boyd walked around the workshop, kicking tools and blocks of wood out of his way. He scowled over various objects along the bench and then raised his eyes to the subject Clive had been working on.
"Well, well!" The sour mouth turned down in grudging admiration. He thrust his hands, in his pockets and rocked back on his heels to survey it fully.
Chris followed his gaze and broke free from Clive to get a closer look. The figurehead of Paula was still on its stand, and beside it. .. She swallowed. It gave one a peculiarly eerie feeling to gaze up at a likeness of oneself. The bust was of full head and shoulders and Chris was quite breathless at its clarity of detail. It was almost like looking into a mirror.
Boyd was still swinging back on his heels.
"It seems you were in no danger of forgetting Miss Dawnay," he sneered.
Clive shrugged. "It passed the time."
Boyd nodded.
"You're a genius, Huston, when it comes to this kind of thing. How much ?''
"It's not for sale."
"Why not? You've got the real thing."
A little impatiently Clive asked, "Look, Wyatt, what are you doing here anyway?"
Boyd went back to attacking the blocks of wood at his feet.
"It seems your boyish charms were enough to send Miss Dawnay hankering after another visit. As I was on hand I thought I might as well bring her over."
"Thanks. Is there anything else?"
Boyd flicked a glance upwards.
"Yes, there is one other thing. I've decided not to go ahead with the airstrip. I'm pulling out of Cyrecano."
Chris kept her eyes fixed on the floor. Well, at least he was finished with the games!
Clive replied unemotionally,
"Can I take that as definite?"
"Quite definite. When I leave Cyrecano today I'm not coming back."
"Thanks, Wyatt."
"Don't thank me. Miss Dawnay is the one who put the idea forward." He flicked a glance over Chris. "Well, that seems to be it. I wouldn't want to overstay my welcome. You have your boat, Huston, should you feel the need for civilization?"
Clive nodded, and Boyd turned to go.
"Mr. Wyatt..." Chris began.
"Yes, Miss Dawnay?" Woodsmoke eyes had darkened to a deep charcoal.
"I just wanted to say ... thank you for bringing me."
"Think nothing of it. So long, you two."
With a brief salute he was gone - in a hurry, no doubt, to get back to Paula.
Chris felt as though some part of herself had gone through the door with him, but she managed to keep the bright smile fixed on her face.
"What a marvellous job, Clive!" She turned jerkily to stare up at her likeness, wondering why her eyes should be so mistily wet. "I didn't know you were doing a bust of me. How on earth did you remember? It must have been difficult with no photographs or anything ..." She felt an urgent need to go on babbling about any old thing until the grip on her heart slackened.
Fortunately Clive mistook her emotion for one of joy. He came up behind her and draped an arm around her waist.
"I got to know you pretty well while you were here . . . the turn of your head, your smile, coupled with the picture I've had of you clear in my mind since you went that day.
It wasn't difficult." He rested a cheek on her hair. "It's good to have you back, Chris." There was a silence and then he asked, "About not developing Cyrecano . . . what did Wyatt mean when he said you put the idea forward?"
Chris had been wondering about that herself. Boyd knew that her father needed the contract, but he also knew that Chris had never liked the idea of ousting Clive.
"Well," she said casually, "I did mention to Mr. Wyatt that I thought you ought to be left in peace."
Clive looked down at her gratefully.
"You're quite a girl, Chris. It's no easy job to get the big boss to change his mind . . . and you did it for me." His arms tightened. "There must have been a reason."
"Well, anybody can see! It wouldn't be fair to just . . ." Chris coloured slightly.
"You needn't worry." He hugged her with an understanding smile. "I feel the same way about people. I think the idea of just the two of us here on Cyrecano is marvellous, though I can't vouch for my cooking!"
"Eleni's here," Chris blurted, clutching the opportunity to slide out of his embrace.
"Eleni? Ah yes, of course." He gave a lopsided grin "Must have the faithful chaperon. Well, I must say I like the way she handles things around here, and it does leave you and me free to roam as we please."
Chris was silent, though she smiled her assent, and wandered over to finger through a pile of art magazines. She needed a moment to gather her thoughts.
She had come back to Cyrecano with the intention of putting to rights her deception over the airstrip, and because of her promise to Clive... but here he was reading something else into her return. Just what was he expecting of her?
She put the next question into words.
"Clive, what about Paula ?'' she asked.
"Paula?" Some of the glow seemed to fade from his smile, but then he shrugged. "Well, what about her? She and I were washed up ages ago. She's probably found herself a nice sociable steady by now."
So he didn't know yet about Paula and Boyd.
There was no chance to say any more, for the trend of the conversation seemed suddenly to irk Clive. He flung himself towards the door with,
"To hell with it, Chris. What shall we do first?"
At the sound of Eleni's voluble Greek and the clatter of spoon against tray, Chris raised an enquiring eyebrow.
"Eat?" she suggested.
With the exit of Boyd and his plans to develop Cyrecano Clive became considerably more relaxed. His whole time now was given up to enjoying life, and Chris spent the next few days more or less following his whims. He showed a determination to be gay and carefree and a desire to demonstrate his affection for her with open abandon.
This latter was a source of discomfort to Chris, though she was far too kind to say so. Far better to respond a little to his embraces now. It might ease his hurt slightly, for Chris had made up her mind. She wanted to be done with the deceit. The time was fast approaching when she must tell Clive everything, starting with how she had landed on the island with the sole idea of talking him out of his house.
After that she would return to England and try to pick up the threads of her life. She had written to her father saying she would be home within the next week, so there wasn't a lot of time. The best thing to do would be to jump in with both feet and get the whole thing off her chest. With this thought in mind she pondered over the best means of approach the following morning at breakfast.
Eleni had taken to laying a table on the small stone terrace at the side of the house. Chris gazed out over the rolling plain as she stirred her coffee, trying to imagine it as an airstrip with Hideaway planes taxiing along the runway, but all she saw was a tall wide-shouldered figure striding across the turf,
a jutting mahogany-tanned jaw, dark arrogant head . . . Briskly she wiped the figure from the slate of her mind. This wasn't getting the explaining done. But though she turned her head a blurred outline remained. She could hear those crisp vibrant tones as he addressed her, feel his firm touch on her arm. Boyd... if only...
"Wake up, Chris! I've been talking to you for the last five minutes!"
Chris jumped, jerking her coffee cup, and Clive twinkled at her across the table. "Perhaps I'd better start all over again. I'm expecting a replacement for a shaft in the boat engine this morning."
Chris blinked.
"Sorry, Clive, I was daydreaming. The boat, you say? I thought it was mended ?''
"It is almost. We should have it fixed by this afternoon. You can come down and watch if you like."
"No, thanks. I think I'll give Eleni some assistance with the rooms ... the dust collects quickly and I had an idea to put up some curtains. There's ample material in the chest in my room and I think I could work the sewing machine..."
Clive grinned.
"The woman's touch, huh? Go ahead, the place is yours. Though it beats me why we need curtains on an island."
"Didn't your mother prefer to have them?"
"Sure, but they fell to bits ages ago."
"Then it's time you had some new ones."
"If you say so, ma'am!"
He cocked a leg over his chair and strolled to where Chris was stacking the dishes on a tray. "Has anyone ever told you, you have the perfect breakfast-table manner?" He turned her slowly to face him.
Chris tried a smile.
"I was half asleep a moment ago, remember?"
"Now you're as sparkling as an English daffodil." His gaze slid over her yellow dress and honey-gold arms. He drew her towards him and brushed his lips through her hair. His voice was unsteady. "I'm getting used to having you around, Chris. We're going to have to make more permanent arrangements..."
"Clive, I think I. .. heard a boat hooter from the beach." She drew away, not sure whether she had actually heard the sound or whether it had been a warning klaxon in her own mind, but there it was again.
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