Hideaway Heart

by Roumelia Lane

  There was a ripple of water close at her side. She heard an urgent call - Boyd's voice, strangely lacking its usual vibrant timbre. "Chris! Are you all right?"

  "Boyd!" Chris turned rapidly. "What happened? Where's Clive?"

  Boyd made no comment, merely swam quickly to her side. She saw a dark stain on his shirt and another trickling down his temple.

  "Boyd, you're hurt... you're bleeding!"

  He gave the familiar dry shrug. "One of us had to take a brush with the rocks. Just be thankful you didn't decide to take a header nearer the point."

  At his glance she knew just what he meant. Black shapes tumbled out into the sea, leaving no clear space for a would-be swimmer. Her gulp turned into a sob at the thought of what they had both narrowly escaped and she felt the little strength she had slipping away. Boyd gripped her.

  "It's time we were finding out what's become of Wooller."

  She clung to him. "I can't bear to see you . . . bleeding like this..." she almost sobbed.

  One arm about her, the other threshing water, he nodded towards the lights of the yacht.

  "There's a boat out there somewhere. We'll have to swim for it."

  "But Boyd..."

  "Swim, child!" Noting the ashen features, clenched teeth, Chris struck out numbly on her own. The splashing sound must have attracted attention, for a voice called out over the water. Almost before the sound reached them the launch from the Barbary Cloud was bobbing on the black swell above them. Boyd swam rapidly to its side and held on as Chris made her way to his outstretched arm. Wordlessly another arm reached over and within seconds she felt the hard surface of the boat beneath her. Boyd swung over and they were speeding towards the yacht.

  Chris didn't know how she made the ascent up the white rope ladder. Her dress flapped heavy and wet about her legs. She felt blinded by the rivulets of sea water still coursing down her face. Every now and again she felt an encouraging hand from behind and up at the top there was someone to hoist her aboard. Boyd reached the deck, swayed for a few seconds and, after a brief "Take care of her," reeled away to his own quarters.

  Chris took a step after him with a little cry. She turned in a daze. "I'm all right. It's he who needs attention."

  "The chief will be all right, miss," Wooller said, taking her arm. "You'll be wanting to get out of these wet clothes. Number eleven was your cabin, wasn't it?"

  CHAPTER NINE

  After a shower and the bliss of a huge fleecy bath robe Chris wondered what she was going to do about clothes for the journey back to Cyrecano. The problem was solved for her by a brisk knock on the door. Wooller poked his head round the side. Deadpan, he kept his eyes fixed straight ahead,

  "Glad to see you looking better, miss. The chief hopes you'll be comfortable for the night."

  Which was Boyd's polite way of ordering her to stay where she was. For once she was prepared to overlook his autocracy. Her mind had long since become woolly and muddled through fatigue. Her head wanted nothing now but a pillow beneath it. She nodded her assent to the face at the door and put out the light.

  Only one thought . . . one question percolated the cotton wool of her weariness as she drifted off to sleep. Why had Boyd risked his life to thrust her from a sheer drop over the cliff? She knew that but for his quick thinking his injuries would have been her own.

  She awoke having no idea of the time. Her watch had stopped at a quarter to six. She sat up and gazed through the porthole.

  The sun was barely up, so it couldn't be much later than that. She rose and washed. The problem of attire was still her primary concern, for the glazed cotton dress was still damp and she had come aboard without shoes. Luckily the guest lockers revealed a small pair of canvas deck shoes and with a pair of kingfisher blue shorts and a white cotton top she managed a reasonably, if scantily, well-dressed effect.

  There was no one about on deck, and hardly before she realized it Chris had set off in search of Dan to find out what was going on. At the thought of a little white cross on a green hill she came up abruptly against a rail, closed her eyes and bit hard on her lower lip. Funny how she could never imagine the Barbary Cloud without Dan. If she looked along its vast decks even now she would be sure to see a sprightly figure beckoning her to point out some item of interest in the new day. She opened her eyes almost hopefully, but the only figure she saw was Wooller's moving in her direction.

  "I have a meal ready for you, miss. Shall I have it sent along to your cabin?"

  Chris nodded, though food was the furthest thing from her mind just now. She longed to know how Boyd was, what had happened to Clive, how Paula had fared up at the house all night. But the ramrod Wooller obviously wasn't going to supply the answers. He reminded her of a company sergeant-major with his rigid frame and "eyes front" stare. Any moment now she expected him to raise his knees to his chin, about turn and march away.

  "Where is Mr. Wyatt?" she asked quickly before he wheeled.

  "Shaving at the moment, miss. We're taking the boat back as soon as you've had breakfast."

  She gave a little inward sigh of relief. Boyd was still mobile, then, thank heaven. She supposed there was nothing for it but to eat and wait for him to show up. When he did . . . strolling towards her along the deck . . . her eyes raked the tanned features and muscular frame. There was nothing to denote his act of last night save for a neat plaster blending in with the line of his hair and a padded look beneath one shoulder of the sharkskin shirt. Eyes in taciturn features dropped the length of her.

  "Feeling okay ?'' he enquired.

  Chris nodded. Her attempt to make a similar enquiry met with strong opposition from her throat. She could only gaze upwards and take in the sight of his wholesome appearance like a reviving draught. He took her arm with a brief nod.

  "Shall we go?" They descended into the launch.

  Someone had been having a go at the jetty, for there was now a neat path of securely fastened planks leading down to the beach - the Barbary Cloud crew, no doubt on Boyd's commands. Hardly had Chris stepped out of the launch than she saw a movement from the other boat. Unable to help herself, she hurried forward.

  "Clive! You're all right! I thought... I was sure you'd..."

  "I'd gone over the top?" A grey-faced Clive wrenched a smile. He was clad in blue cotton jeans and striped shirt she had seen hanging up in the boat locker. He bent down to fasten his shoes as though he would talk to the jetty. "I found I couldn't do it. I took one look over the side, reeled away and passed out in the bushes." He stretched with the same fixed smile. "Great performance. You should have seen it!"

  "I did ... I mean ... well, I thought I did ..." she stammered.

  "It didn't escape my attention," Boyd put in lazily.

  Clive looked from him to Chris with a puzzled frown.

  "I spent the night on board the boat. I never heard you go out to the yacht this morning."

  "Miss Dawnay spent the night on board the Barbary Cloud." Boyd's voice was expressionless.

  "But I thought you were in bed when I left." Clive looked at her closely and then towards the cliff. "You didn't by any chance..."

  "That's right," Boyd drawled, taking her arm. "She seemed bent on proving to you it couldn't be done. Now I suggest we get up to the house and see how Paula made out."

  "Paula here? On Cyrecano?" Clive, about to say something to Chris, turned as though digesting this last sentence. He kicked his heels hesitantly and as it was single file along the jetty Boyd jutted an impatient chin.

  "Perhaps you would care to lead the way, Huston."

  Paula was pacing the veranda. She turned as they approached and ran down the steps.

  "Clive! You're all right! I've been nearly out of my mind." Without looking at the others she clung to his arm and stared anxiously up into his face. After a quick look at Chris, Boyd suggested,

  "What we could all do with is a drink. This heat keeps a thirst going."

  Clive nodded and walked through to the back of the house. Boyd stroll
ed into the living room with its high ceiling and long windows. He draped himself in an armchair and spread a hand cheerfully. "Makes a change from sitting out in the sun," he observed.

  Paula sat down, her eyes on the door waiting for Clive's return. Chris perched on the edge of a straight-backed chair, wishing she had the courage to excuse herself to go and change. Shorts and sun-top hardly seemed the garb for the occasion, although what the occasion was she wasn't quite sure; but she had the distinct feeling that Boyd had engineered this get-together for some special reason.

  Looking around, Chris found she wasn't the only one whose dress was unfitting, for Paula was still wearing the bronze taffeta of last night. Come to think of it, Chris thought, Boyd had been in evening wear when she had first met him on the path last night. He and Paula must have come straight from Marcus's. The room was strangely silent. Everyone seemed occupied with their own thoughts, and Chris had a ridiculous urge to giggle as she gazed at her one set of newly sewn curtains. The idea of trying to finish all the windows of the house in one morning now seemed quite comic, and yet at the time she was so sure she could do it.

  Clive returned with long iced drinks and dutifully handed them round. He dropped down in an armchair facing the french windows and continued to stare out over the garden. Paula was the first to speak.

  "What happened to you three, anyway? I thought you'd decided to maroon me alone on the island."

  Chris guessed that some effort was needed to put just the right amount of lightness in her tone.

  "I didn't know you were here, Paula." Clive stared into his glass. "I spent the night on the boat."

  "Chris and I dropped in for a spot of wet weather," Boyd put in sardonically. "We found it necessary to dry out overnight on the Barbary. Sorry, Paula, I guessed you'd make out all right with Eleni."

  Paula flicked a humorous green glance in his direction.

  "She didn't thank me for waking her, but then who would at that time of night?"

  "But she looked after you all right?"

  "Of course. She couldn't do enough, but I hardly slept, wondering what had happened to everybody."

  "Why bother to come here at all?" The atmosphere, barely lukewarm, plunged to zero as Clive asked the question. He hitched his trousers and crossed one thin leg over the other as though indifferent to any reply. There was a lengthy silence and then Boyd took a slow breath. He seemed to be sorting out the right words inside before uttering them. Chris had an idea the parleying was over and the real conversation was about to begin. She leaned forward slightly on her chair.

  "Do you really want to know?" Boyd asked. Perhaps something in his tone stirred Clive, for he turned to look at the other man.

  "I suppose I'm entitled to that," he said.

  "That's right. You know, of course, why Paula was in the Lebanon."

  Clive shrugged. "The usual. What she always does, buying antique jewellery. Although why she wants to go traipsing the world on her own..." He sent a scowl in Paula's direction.

  "My views exactly, but to stick to the point, she was there to buy antique jewellery, yes. Unfortunately, this time she bought something more - a packet of trouble, in fact."

  "Clive, you remember the necklace we saw in London the last time you were there? The replica of the one reputed to be at least twelve centuries old... belonged to some ancient king or other?"

  Paula looked as if she had been waiting a lifetime to spill her heart to Clive. He gave her a quizzically drawn smile.

  "Going back some, aren't we? But I think I'm vaguely with you."

  "Well, I found one awfully like it. I'd heard a rumour that made it sound worth while making a trip to Assundi, a small state to the north."

  The smile died on Clive's face. "I know it. I won't bother to ask what you were using for brains ... a white woman in that part of the country at a time like this."

  "I'd been there about three days, in this village," Paula continued, not bothering to rise to his jibe, "making the usual transactions, when I came upon the necklace just draped over a rock."

  "Each community has its own brand of worship," Boyd interjected. "Apparently the necklace had deeply religious connections, which Paula was to learn later."

  Clive whistled low beneath his breath, looking from one to the other as though he were afraid of what he was going to hear next. "My God, you didn't touch it after that, did you ?''

  "Well, I knew it would fetch a fabulous price, and no one seemed particularly interested in it."

  "But they're like that!" Clive expostulated. "I've seen them prop up an old worn-out watering vessel on a rock and leave it for years, but just let anyone try to move it!"

  "Paula had developed a shrewd sense of bargaining," Boyd put in mildly. "The tribesman she buttonholed was a pushover."

  "It was only when we were leaving that the trouble blew up," Paula added. "The significance of the bare rock seemed to hit them."

  "You gave it back, of course... the necklace?" Clive looked as though he might be holding his breath.

  "Unfortunately, no," Boyd replied. "Paula hung on to it. She and her guides made a hasty exit.''

  Clive stood up and paced. "Now I'm beginning to get the picture," he muttered. "Trouble, you say? That's putting it very mildly, isn't it?" He swung round on Paula. "You realize you left yourself wide open to any manner of... accidents?"

  "I didn't at first," Paula said slowly, "but after a while I began to get the message. Vanya, my chief guide... his brother has a farm over at Trokata . . . suggested I stay there for a while and give the tribesmen time to forget."

  "There's nothing like being optimistic," commented Boyd.

  Paula got up to go to Clive. "Well, what could I do? I realized I had been foolish. I wanted to give the necklace back, but I didn't know who to get in touch with. It was all horrible, but so . . . intangible. I was just about at the end of my tether when Boyd came to the farm."

  Chris remembered that day very well - the strain in Paula's voice, the agitation of the farmer. Clive looked at Paula hard.

  "You went through all that? Why wasn't I told?"

  "I wanted to, but..."

  "I considered the fewer people involved the better." Boyd flicked a glance towards Chris's chair before taking out cigarettes.

  Chris, unable to contain her curiosity, asked breathlessly,

  "Where is the necklace now?"

  "After some time spent getting in touch with the friend of a friend of a friend... you know how these people are," laconically Boyd lit up a cigarette, "we gave it back.''

  "Then that should be the end of the matter," Clive turned.

  "As far as they're concerned it is, but for Paula the storm isn't over yet."

  "What do you mean?"

  Boyd stared at his cigarette for some time and then lifted his gaze. "Don't ask me how, but the papers have got on to a distorted version of the story."

  "Wouldn't you know it!" sneered Clive.

  "I've discouraged the calls at the villa, but I don't know how long we can keep them at bay,'' Boyd went on.

  "Needless to say my firm are hopping mad," Paula put in. "They want me back to make a few explanations."

  Clive rested his foot on a ledge of the window.

  "Give them time to cool down. A couple of weeks and it will have blown over."

  "It's not as easy as that." Paula sighed heavily. "Our Athens representative is on his way."

  "Well, what difference does that make?"

  "All the difference," said Boyd drily. "Paula is being politely summoned back to England to give account of herself and the Athens rep is on his way to see that the message has been received loud and clear. She'll have no option but to return to London with him.''

  Paula turned her lips down expressively. "You can imagine in a firm that has a spotless reputation for fair dealing I don't rate very high on their popularity poll at the moment.''

  "But that's ridiculous!" Clive scoffed. "You did nothing dishonest. Stupid, maybe, but not dishone
st. Don't they see? You'll rate even less if our papers get a hold of you."

  "Their main concern is their good name," Paula pointed out.

  "I see. So they make mincemeat out of you and the newsmen lick up the pieces, is that it?" He was close to Paula now, gazing hard as though seeing the violet shadows beneath her eyes for the first time, the nervous clenching and unclenching of her hands. "And they've actually detailed someone to haul you back, to put it not so politely."

  There was a silence. He pondered as though recapping on the conversation and then asked slowly, "Did you come out to Cyrecano to avoid a meeting with this man?"

  "No, Clive. I'm going back with him, but..." She stopped and looked away, and Boyd finished,

  "We thought you might like to go too."

  "Why me?" Clive looked wary.

  "Well, you're something of a legend over there. The clean-cut son of a British hero and all that. With you alongside these people are not likely to think too badly of Paula."

  Clive didn't reply. He stood for a full minute and then swung on his feet and left by the french window. Boyd drew lazily on his cigarette and continued to stare down on the garden. Paula closed her eyes.

  "If you don't mind, I think I'll go and change."

  Chris fled through the other door towards her room, where she sat for several minutes on the bed. The more she thought of the conversation that had just taken place the more the gloomy-shaded parts of the picture came to light. So that was why Boyd had stayed on that day at the farm! Why he had spent so much time there afterwards and eventually brought Paula to the villa.

  Poor Paula - Chris moved across the room to choose a dress - she had really been through it. No wonder she had appeared to be in a permanent state of trepidation! Chris bit her lip, ashamed of the way she had spoken to the other girl on the path last night. Apologies were in order at the earliest possible moment. Dreamily she fingered over the dresses. Though she felt a natural concern for Paula and the trouble she found herself in Chris couldn't deny that since having heard the conversation the world for her had become a brighter place, bursting with sunshine. A shaft of its golden light had already pierced that dark lonely space in her heart.