Clive turned, listening.
"That'll be them. Sure you won't come?"
"No, I don't think so. I'd rather get on with the curtains."
Clive nodded and went off, whistling one of his own tunes, and Chris watched him go with a shaky sigh. If she didn't speak now, today, things were really going to get out of hand.
The dusting and general tidying-up proved no problem, but the curtains were a different matter. Careful consideration had to be taken on what design was best suited to the rooms, and as all the windows were longer than average the sewing time was almost doubled.
When Clive returned Chris found she had only completed one set of windows, the living room, but the effect was pleasing and she was well satisfied with her morning's work. Though the material must have lain in the chest for some years the design was remarkably contemporary. The red and gold autumn tints offered just the right splash of colour to the dark heavy furniture.
Not that Clive noticed. He returned from working on the boat with a withdrawn expression and went straight off to his room to change. Probably the trouble with the engine had turned out to be more complicated than he had expected.
They lunched on the terrace, and Chris knew she couldn't hide behind the excuse of having work to do this time. The afternoon stretched before them and Clive would expect her to spend it with him... what he wouldn't expect was her confession, or the realization that he had been duped.
Perhaps if she hadn't been so wrapped up with her own worries she might have noticed a tightness about dive's smile, a peculiar light in the sky-blue eyes. As it was she was still acutely conscious of the morning's ardent embrace, and reviewing the scene in her mind she was convinced that what she had to say should be held back no longer. As it happened, Clive gave her the perfect opening.
Instead of suggesting the usual swim at the cove he idled about the house picking up magazines and flicking through them abstractedly or stretching out in a chair and tracing the toe of his shoe along the carpet. He seemed unable to settle to any one thing, and Chris noticed to her surprise that he was drinking neat spirits instead of his usual fruit juice, something she had never seen him do during the day before.
Later when they were dancing to the harsh strains of a rather dated record he didn't seem to notice when the music ended.
"Clive," she pulled away, "the record... it's finished."
"So what?" He pulled her close. "We don't need music. You're my music, Chris. I hear harps and violins - the lot - when I'm with you, a full-piece orchestra, in fact."
"Maybe you do," she smiled, "but I can't hear, and our steps won't match."
Gently she drew away to take the jarring stylus from the centre of the record.
Clive slumped into a chair. He threw another drink back.
"You know, Chris. I sometimes get the feeling you're not quite as hundred per cent for this as you'd like to make out," he said slowly.
"For what?" She gazed down at the record titles without seeing them.
"For you and me. You know what I mean. That first day when you came back ... well, you just melted in my arms, but ever since..." He shrugged. "A chap can sense it when there's a drag on." With one leg draped over the arm of the chair he eyed her speculatively. "Just why did you come back to Cyrecano, Chris?"
"I'm going to give you the truth, Clive," she said quietly.
"Please do."
"There's something I should have told you long ago, only the moment never seemed right," she went on.
"Fire away."
"Well, to start at the end and not the beginning, I came back to the island because I told you I would, and . . . well, you seemed to be in such a muddle about things I suppose I flattered myself I might be able to help."
"And the beginning? I suppose that was when you first came to the island?"
"Yes. That's another reason why I came back. I wanted to explain. I really landed with the intention of getting you to leave Cyrecano, or at least moving house." She swallowed. "I was working for... Boyd Wyatt."
Clive went to fill up his glass, and watching him Chris ventured, "Is it wise to drink like that, Clive? I mean..."
He waved an arm and with a harsh laugh downed the contents of the glass.
"Go ahead! It's all happening! You were saying ?"
"Well, if I could have talked you into leaving your house, Boyd, Mr. Wyatt was going to give my father the airstrip surveying contract."
"I see. So it was operation airstrip all the way. And all that business about you half drowning on the rocks, and the other boat, the holiday acquaintances, it was all part of the scheme..."
"All except me getting into difficulties. I really did go for a swim and bite Off a bit more than I could chew. Boyd just made the story fit when he came after me."
"And that's it? Well, thanks for telling me."
"Clive," she took a step forward, "what can I say?"
"Don't say anything. I'd never be the one to cotton on to... shall we say . . . such adventurous enterprise. Anyone else would have spotted it a mile off, but not me.''
"Only because you're the nicest person and not always looking for the worst in people."
"Oh, sure!" He frowned down into his empty glass and Chris had the feeling that her disclosures had affected him very little. He seemed to have other things on his mind, but what? He had seemed cheerful enough this morning before he had left to work on the boat.
"How did things go with the engine repairs?" She put out a tentative feeler.
"Just fine. We were all through in a couple of hours. I spent the rest of the time genning up on the local gossip."
"On Cathai, you mean?" Chris felt an uneasiness creep over her. "You talked to the boatmen?"
He must have mistaken her meaning, for he gave her a half smile.
"You forget my mother was Greek. I speak the language as well as anyone."
"Of course. I was forgetting," she parried. "I should know the way you and Eleni go on."
Clive went to stare out over the garden.
"You say you were working for Boyd Wyatt?" he said at last.
"Yes."
There was a slight pause, then,
"I hear his activities lately have been confined to a farm on the other side of the island."
So that was it! Chris didn't reply. She went to pull a stray end of cotton from the newly sewn curtains.
"Oh, come on now!" Clive turned impatiently. "Why the silence ? There's no need to pull the punches.''
Chris swallowed. "So you know... about Boyd and Paula?"
"Know!" His laugh was metallic. "My boatmen cronies could talk of nothing else but the newest arrival at the Villa Tamerlane ... the beautiful green-eyed lady who can be seen most days on the arm of our tycoon friend."
If it hurt Clive to utter the words it hurt Chris even more to hear them. She felt drained of energy and life.
So Paula was installed at the villa! No wonder Boyd had finally consented to bring Chris out to Cyrecano. Her exit must have fitted in nicely with his plans. But then it was either that or home for her. One way or the other he would have been rid of her.
Home! She thought of the word now with glistening eyes. It conjured up a picture of peace and tranquillity, something she had never known since that first meeting with Boyd, but now the last one had taken place. She had everything she needed to get back to England and "Medway", the one bright spot in a suddenly very bleak world.
"Clive," she turned to him, "I ought to be making arrangements to get back to England. Can you take me to Cathai?"
He looked down at her tolerantly.
"Loyal little Chris! Not a word out of place. Well, you needn't worry. I've no desire to pursue the subject myself." He took her hand. "I've been pretty lousy company this afternoon, haven't I ? How can I make amends ?''
"You?" Chris gave an incredulous laugh. "I'm the one who ought to be making amends after what I've just told you."
Clive smiled.
"I wouldn't have had
things any different. If it hadn't been for the airstrip contract you wouldn't have come to Cyrecano. I wouldn't have liked that, Chris. I'd have missed quite a lot out of life."
His quiet sincerity made Chris turn away with an ache in her throat.
"I don't know why you think so little of yourself, Clive. You're quite a remarkable person, you know.''
"Think so?" There was a silence in which she sensed him jerking a hand through his hair, then he snapped his fingers. "That's an idea. How about you and me living it up tonight? I've tried the boat out. She goes like a bomb."
Chris looked dubious.
"I don't really think I should prolong my stay . . ." she began.
"Understood." He took her by the shoulders. "Tomorrow, bright and early, I'll deliver you and Eleni into Cathai harbour. Okay? Tonight will be a farewell outing. We'll dine at the island's plushiest hotel and sail back under the stars. How's that?"
Chris wasn't at all sure it was a wise decision to have a night out on Cathai, but Clive was so enthusiastic she hadn't the heart to refuse, and considering the way he had taken things she owed him that much at least.
"All right," she smiled. "If you promise me one thing - not to have any more to drink."
"Done!" He went to put the bottles back in the cabinet, and Chris, realizing that she had only packed the clothes that belonged to her, asked,
"How do we dress? I'm afraid I didn't bring anything terribly formal."
"That's okay. Nobody bothers much at this time of the year.
I'll wear a dark lounge suit, that should square us."
The black glazed cotton seemed the obvious choice, Chris thought later in her room. Bare shoulders would give an evening effect and she could take a warm stole for the boat. Lifting the dress from its hanger she was reminded of that day at the harbour... the infectious gaiety of Demetrius and his friends. They had been a jolly crowd. Where were they now? Probably filming somewhere in Greece.
Carefully she bathed and changed, but in spite of the strict control she kept on her thoughts they would overflow to the rest of that day when Boyd had arrived on the island. The stony look he had given her from the taxi, their dinner together at the villa, and coffee in a tiny circular room with padded seats, where Boyd had sat only a few feet away...
Now it would be Paula he sat close to.
Slackly Chris picked up the hairbrush. She had to look her best tonight for Clive's sake, but somehow her heart wasn't in it.
CHAPTER EIGHT
After the Barbary Cloud, sailing in Clive's boat was rather like sampling a rowing dinghy after an ocean liner. It was small and rocky, with a powerful motor built strictly for getting to one's destination in the shortest possible time. Used mainly for inter-island communication, it had the usual bunks and amenities, but nothing to encourage long sojourns on board.
Chris settled back on the hard leather seat and listened to the hum of the engine. Through the glass doors at the end of the cabin she could see Clive at the wheel, a long oilskin on to protect his suit. She thought of Eleni stocked up with a pile of mending and her favourite sweetmeat at hand. She had seemed not in the least perturbed at being left alone on the island.
It was not yet dark, but the sky had taken on that violet tinge that said night wasn't very far away. As the boat speeded over the waves an occasional star pricked through and on the horizon a great full moon pushed its way smilingly heavenwards. Clive seemed to know just where to tie up in Cathai harbour, and in a few minutes the formalities of landing were over and they were seated in a taxi bound for the town.
Though Cathai was the smallest of islands it was not behind in producing the best amenities for its visitors. The town of its name boasted some of the finest night clubs and the hotels were on a par with many of those in Athens. Like any community it had its exclusive quarter and Marcus's enjoyed top placing, being a small hotel and night club combined and strategically situated as to be a little aloof from the rest.
The entrance was tastefully lit, and as Clive guided Chris through the doors the strains of Scheherezade were being gently meted out over a speaker in the foyer. Table reservations were proving a stumbling block, but after several minutes Clive came back with a relieved smile.
"It's all fixed. We've got a passably good spot, not too near the door."
Not too near the door, but only three tables away, Chris thought, taking her place. Still, they couldn't grumble, not having made a reservation. Clive hadn't spoken much over the journey, but he was relaxed and smiling now. Chris hoped she wasn't going to let him down. With this gnawing emptiness that seemed to have made a permanent home in her heart it was difficult to feel anything. She stifled an inward sigh, put on an outward smile and made a determined effort to be cheerful.
The wine helped, though she was careful not to sip too quickly in case Clive got caught up in another drinking bout. From what she had seen alcohol had little effect on him, but he had consumed a considerable amount during the afternoon and handling the boat back to Cyrecano would need a clear head. The waiter was a lithe Italian, impeccably dressed to fit in with the sumptuous surroundings and with a regulated smile to match the mood of his patrons. He bowed elegantly and Clive ordered, choosing recklessly the most bizarre Greek and Turkish dishes. Some Chris liked, others she could only nibble at.
As the meal progressed conversation became easier. They talked on art, music, a war that neither of them knew much about; all pet themes of Clive's but not without interest to Chris. On the subject of her subsequent return home she queried,
"Why don't you come back to England?"
Clive raised a whimsical eyebrow.
"I'm tempted now I know that you're going to be there."
She smiled. "Seriously, Clive, with all your talents I don't think you'd find it too difficult."
He thought for a moment. "Perhaps not, but I don't think I could stand the limelight. It's always the same when I go back. You know the usual newspaper blah 'Mike Huston's son in town' or 'What has the world done to Clive Huston?' If I were to decide to pay a visit right now you can bet the hounds would be lying in wait for me." He grinned. "It's not conceit. If it were I would lap it up. As it is I like the quiet life. I suppose that's why I'll never be a true Huston - they thrive on that kind of thing."
"But it doesn't last," Chris remarked. "Mightn't it be that you attract more attention to yourself, living aloof as you do? After all, the war has been over a long time. Even the bravest exploits must be clouding over a little in people's minds by now. What if you stayed in England long enough to become yesterday's news... old hat, as it were?"
"The glory would wear off, you mean," Clive grinned. He put his chin in his hand and trained a blue gaze on her. "And what would I do?"
"Well, what's wrong with what you're doing now?"
"Art?" He drew in a sigh. "Bit of a let-down to the old tradition, don't you think?"
"Yet you studied art in England."
"Oh, sure, the family made out they were all for it, but I had an idea they were just being polite.''
"You could have been wrong.''
"Maybe. Let's just say I've never really considered it a very worthy occupation for the red-blooded fighting Hustons."
"But people don't want to fight any more, do they? The whole slant now seems to be on the pleasures of life, beautiful things around us and..."
"You know, if you go on talking like that long enough I'll be..."
What Clive had been going to say Chris never found out, for without warning the smile slid from his face. The blue eyes had taken on a peculiar glitter as he raised them just a little beyond her right shoulder. Someone must have come through the door. Someone who...
Unable to help herself, Chris inclined her head slightly and came up against the slim figure of Paula about three or four yards away. Even at that distance there was no mistaking the incredibly green eyes, nor did Chris miss the sharp sidelong glance directed at her table companion.
Clive politely pushed to
his feet, but if Paula had been going to speak she was gently ushered on her way by a forceful figure at the rear. Heart contracting, Chris slowly, reluctantly raised her gaze, up to immense shoulders, tanned craggy chin and white even teeth set in a wintry smile.
"'Evening, Huston, Miss Dawnay." Suavely a crisp dark head was inclined and Boyd passed on.
If the evening had had any sparkle it was as flat now as yesterday's wine. Clive scowled down into his glass and Chris fidgeted with the clasp of her evening bag. Her heart was still knocking in uneven spurts and she hadn't been able to raise her eyes for some time, though she knew Boyd and Paula were sitting in a direct line about three or four tables away. In her mind she could still see the impeccable dark suit, white shirt and silk tie, the neat unobtrusive cut of bronze silk and sheer-stockinged legs - a striking couple admirably suited to the surroundings and intent on keeping themselves to themselves.
Deep down inside Chris supposed she had expected something like this. Going by outside standards the town of Cathai was small, and the quiet perfection of Marcus's was the obvious choice by Boyd. He would want nothing but the best for Paula. Perhaps Clive had known this when he suggested the outing. Like the tongue unable to prevent itself exploring an aching tooth, he had to come and see for himself and stir up the pain. Chris wished now she had discouraged the trip, but they were here, and the night had to be got through somehow.
As the minutes dragged by her heart settled down and Clive seemed to shake off his ill-humour. He ordered flamboyantly and drank recklessly, and made just the right show of letting his laughter drift over one shoulder. Chris smiled, she hoped, in all the right places and made an effort to appear cool and unconcerned. It was easier now to gaze around and occasionally she let her eyes pass over the table in a line with theirs. Once she saw the gleaming hair and slight droop of Paula's shoulders. Another time Boyd would be flicking the gold lighter under cigarettes or talking intently, but whenever she allowed her eyes to rest there long enough they inevitably came up against the glint of narrowed woodsmoke.
She turned her attention to Clive. For sheer contrast there was nothing to beat it. Boyd, massive, dark and brooding, and Clive with his open sensitive features and slender build. The white-blond hair and eyebrows, the smooth peach-pink tan of his skin, all quite breathtaking in the pearly glow of the chandeliers, and even though the sky-blue eyes had a moody wounded haze about them it didn't detract from the film-star good looks. Chris supposed in their way they too made a presentable couple, even though her glazed cotton was really a sundress and she had merely added an evening touch of pearl necklace and ear-clips.
Hideaway Heart Page 14