Stormspell

by Anne Mather

  'She thinks he's very attractive.' Ruth paused. 'Do you think he's attractive. Daddy?'

  Professor Jason's expression hardened. 'Oh. he's a good-looking man, I'll grant her that,' he admitted offhandedly. 'And I've no doubt he knows it.' He frowned. 'What did Celeste say to you? I expect she finds your attitude hard to understand.'

  'My—attitude?' Ruth was puzzled.

  'Of course.' Her father relaxed. 'If I've succeeded in anything in my life. I hope it's been in teaching you that an intelligent woman is worth a dozen empty-headed morons. It's natural that Celeste should try to influence you, particularly as you're growing older. But I hope you have more sense than to listen to her.'

  'Yes.' Ruth managed to answer him, but inside she was torn by the knowledge of her own duplicity.

  in any case.' said Professor Jason, pressing his hands down on the arms of his chair and getting to his feet once more, 'this is a pointless discussion. You're much too young to be interested in a man like Mr Howard. Celeste should have more sense than to discuss him with you. I must have a few words with her when I have the time. But now I'd better go and attend to his wishes.'

  Ruth smoothed her moist palms down over her hips. 'Will—will you use the radio?'

  'No.' Her father shook his head. 'I'll send Celeste for Joseph. He can go over in the launch. There are one or two things I need in Kingstown, and I prefer to send my instructions in writing.'

  Ruth took a step forward. 'Would you like me to go with him?' For some reason it seemed imperative that she should get off the island for a while, but her father shook his head.

  'I need you here,' he replied. 'I shall need your assistance when I examine Mr Howard's arm again after lunch. Joseph is quite competent. I can leave the matter comfortably to him.' Ruth nodded. 'Yes. Daddy.'

  'And now I suggest you go and get on with your studying, as usual. Did you read that chapter of Ovid as I asked you?'

  'Some of it.' answered Ruth reluctantly, feeling in no mood for Latin translation, but her father seemed unaware of her lack of enthusiasm.

  'Good.' he said. 'So you won't require my assistance for the rest of the morning. We'll discuss it at lunch. After I've attended to Mr Howard's affairs.'

  After her father had left her, Ruth obediently made her way to the tiny room adjoining the dining room which Professor Jason had adopted as his study. Small, and cluttered with books, it was not the most agreeable place to spend a sunny morning, but normally Ruth forgot her surroundings in the delight of learning. Her father had taught her since she was a small girl, and although she had never taken any formal examinations, her education was in advance of most girls of her own age. Languages came easily to her. and she was as proficient in French and Spanish as she was in English.

  Her present studies in Greek and Latin had proved less enjoyable, but usually she succeeded in absorbing her. This morning, however, the words of the Metamorphoses just danced meaninglessly before her eyes, and her eyes constantly turned towards the window, as her thoughts ran in an entirely different direction. Who was Dominic Howard? Where did he come from? Why had he taken the yacht out in the teeth of the storm? And what reason did he have for keeping his whereabouts a secret?

  By lunchtime. her head was aching and only one line more of the chapter had been translated. She hoped her father would not suspect the reasons for her lack of concentration, and she was uneasy when she entered the dining room to find him talking with Celeste.

  'Ah. there you are. Ruth.' her father said, somewhat absently, moving away from the black woman and taking a seat at the table. 'We'll have our meal now. Celeste, and then you can prepare a tray for our - guest.'

  'Yes. sir.'

  Celeste cast a knowing look at Ruth's white face, and left the room through the swing doors that led into the kitchen. It was obvious what she was thinking, and Ruth seated herself hurriedly, hoping to avoid a personal discussion.

  'Joseph's gone,' her father informed her, shaking out his napkin. 'And I've set some of the boys to cleaning up the beach. Naturally, the devastation the storm caused can't be rectified in a matter of hours, but we can make a concerted effort to restore order.'

  'Yes.' Ruth nodded, spreading her own napkin over her bare knees.

  'Fortunately, no one appears to have been injured in the storm.' Professor Jason went on steadily. 'Apart from our unexpected guest, of course.' His keen grey eyes came to rest on Ruth's pale cheeks. 'Though I must say. now I come to notice it. you look a little drawn yourself. Didn't you sleep?'

  Ruth fidgeted with the cutlery. 'Yes. I slept.' she assured him. avoiding his eyes. 'I've got a bit of a headache, that's all.' She glanced up. 'I'm afraid I haven't made a very good effort with the Ovid.'

  Her father frowned. 'You're not worrying about this man. are you? I've told you. he's going to be perfectly all right.'

  'Of course not.' Ruth hunched her shoulders, pushing her hands into the pockets of her shorts, and then drawing her brows together as her fingers encountered something hard and round. It was the coin she had found earlier, and she pulled it out eagerly.

  'I found this on the beach this morning.' she said, pushing it across the table towards her father, successfully diverting his interest, is it Spanish? The lettering is almost obscured, but you might be able to identify the engraving."

  'How interesting!' To her relief. Professor Jason drew his reading glasses out of his breast pocket and placed them on his nose. 'An old coin. I haven't seen one quite like this before.'

  'Do you think it's valuable?'

  Ruth was anxious to sustain his curiosity in her find, and her father tipped the coin towards the light, turning it this way and that to ascertain its origin. It successfully distracted his attention from herself, and by the time Celeste appeared with their food, he was talking quite happily about the Spanish conquest of South America.

  However. Celeste had other ideas.

  'You want I should take a tray in to Mr Howard?' she suggested, setting down a bowl of fish chowder. 'Seems like he might be hungry, too.'

  Professor Jason frowned, the problem of their visitor once more in the forefront of his thoughts. 'Yes.' he decided after a moment. 'Yes. that might be a good idea. Celeste.' He paused, and then went on evenly: 'Just don't make a nuisance of yourself, will you? I don't want you hanging about his room. Deliver the food and leave him to eat it. I'll retrieve the tray when I go to examine his dressing.'

  Celeste's dark eyes flashed angrily at the implied insult, and she glared at Ruth as if blaming the girl for her father's warning. Ruth's helpless movement of her shoulders, disclaiming any responsibility for the admonition, went unacknowledged, and the door closed with unnecessary emphasis behind Celeste's billowing skirts.

  'Dear me!' Professor Jason broke a crust from the long roll Celeste had baked that morning. 'I think I've offended her.' He sighed. 'Oh. well, it's for her own good. I don't want Howard imagining my servants are—well, importunate.'

  Ruth ladled stew on to plates. 'Celeste is— friendly, that's all.' She defended the black woman reluctantly, but her father was not appeased.

  'She's too friendly.' he declared, taking the plate Ruth offered him. 'And I don't want her influence rubbing off on you.'

  'Oh. Daddy . . .'

  Ruth concentrated on the chowder, but its appetising flavour was like sawdust in her mouth. Her appetite was practically non-existent, and she started when her father suddenly covered one of her hands with his.

  'Listen to me. Ruth.' he urged gently. 'I know you still think and feel like a child, but you're growing up. In a little while you'll be a young woman.' He waited until she looked up at him, and then went on: 'And while Mr Howard's here. I think you ought to pay a little more attention to your appearance.'

  'My appearance?' Ruth's eyes widened.

  'Yes.' Then, seeing the confusion in her face. Professor Jason hastened on: 'Oh, don't misunderstand me, my dear. I don't want you to behave any differently from the way you have always done. It's just that—
well, those shorts you're wearing, for example. They're a little skimpy, don't you think?'

  'They're too small.' Ruth conceded, her embarrassment at this discussion increasing as she contemplated what Dominic Howard's reactions might have been, and her father seized on the admission.

  'That's what I mean.' he exclaimed, squeezing her fingers. 'I think a nice frock—or perhaps a skirt and blouse—would look infinitely more suitable, don't you?' He smiled. 'I suggest you get changed immediately after lunch.'

  'But, Daddy—'

  'Now don't be tiresome. Ruth,' Professor Jason interrupted her wearily. 'Just do as I ask. and don't argue. As soon as you're ready, let me know.'

  'You're not eating any more?'

  Ruth looked up at him anxiously as he pushed back his chair and got to his feet, and Professor Jason shook his head.

  'I'll sit on the verandah for a while.' he said, finding it an obvious effort to open the door, and Ruth watched him leave with a helpless sense of guilt.

  Her own appetite had disappeared completely, and when Celeste returned to clear the table, she looked with disapproval at the scarcely-touched plates.

  'Is something wrong?' she demanded, clattering them on to a tray. 'You don't like my clam chowder any more?'

  The chowder was delicious.' Ruth assured her unhappily. 'We just weren't—hungry, that's all.'

  Well. I hope Mr Howard isn't so fussy.' retorted Celeste, impaling her with a malevolent stare.

  'Seems to me like he's old enough to think for himself.'

  'Oh, Celeste…'

  Ruth had no wish to get embroiled in an argument with the black woman, and with an awkward pat on the woman's shoulder, she made good her escape.

  It was only as she started along the hall to get changed that she remembered Dominic Howard was occupying her room. Her father had obviously overlooked that fact. too. and she turned reluctantly back towards the verandah, realising he would have to sanction her remaining as she was.

  But when she emerged into the dappled shade of the verandah, she found her father was asleep. His efforts that morning had evidently exhausted him. and she was half relieved that nature had taken its natural course. Rest was what he needed, and unwilling to disturb him. she turned back into the house.

  In the hall, she hesitated. She could hear Celeste clattering about in the kitchen, expunging her frustration in her own way. and she knew if she joined her she would be drawn into the conflict. She could return to her studies, of course, but the prospect of translating Latin cases did not appeal to her, and besides, the little room was stuffy in the afternoons.

  She could sit in the living room, of course, or go and help the boys from the village who were clearing the beach. She could even offer her services to Tomas. who tended the vegetable garden for them and was presently at work restoring the ravages of the storm, but none of these alternatives appealed to her. Like it or not. she was irresistibly drawn to the door of her bedroom, and she placed her ear against the panels, listening for any sound from within.

  Perhaps he was asleep, she thought, drawing back, thwarted by the silence. Perhaps she could slip inside. collect some clothes, and get out without his being aware of it. Her father need never know. She could always tell him the clothes were newly washed, and she had merely collected them from Celeste.

  Her own duplicity alarmed her. What was happening to her? What was she thinking of? She had never deceived her father before, never wanted to. So why was she considering it now?

  But an inner voice chided at her hesitation. Where was the harm? it argued. What possible deception was there in entering her own bedroom? She was not a child, she was a young woman. Celeste said so. And Celeste knew more about such things.

  Taking a deep breath, she gripped the handle of the door and turned. It opened easily, and she took a tentative step forward, peering rather myopically into the shadowy room. Someone had half closed the shutters again, and what light there was was slatted in bars of gold across the bed.

  Dominic was lying on the bed. where she had last seen him. but now his left arm was swathed in bandages from wrist to elbow, and instead of the wet jeans he was wearing a pair of her father's silk pyjama trousers. His eyes were closed, she saw. and her own feelings were mixed as she glided across the room to the dressing table. In spite of the cajoling voice inside her. she told herself she was glad he was asleep, and she opened the dressing table drawer with stealthy fingers.

  She didn't need long to decide what to wear. She had few clothes, spending most of her days in shorts or swimsuits. and the floral skirt and cotton blouse she chose were well washed and faded. Until now. she had not considered clothes of much importance, and she wished her father had not made her so self- conscious.

  'How much longer are you going to be?'

  Ruth started guiltily at the sound of Dominic Howard's voice. Gathering the skirt and blouse to her. she closed the drawer with her knee and turned to face the man on the bed. His eyes were wide open now. and she gazed at him uncertainly, not knowing exactly how to reply.

  'What are you doing?' he enquired, propping himself up on one elbow. 'Why the secrecy?'

  'Secrecy—'

  'Yes. secrecy. I saw the way you came in here, and I intended to let you get away with it. But you took so long. I got impatient. What's that you've got there?'

  Ruth's face flamed. 'They're mine.' she declared reluctantly. 'My clothes. Daddy said—well. I was going to get changed, but you were in here, and I didn't want to disturb you.'

  Dominic relaxed against the pillows, indolent, like a panther, exuding that disturbing influence she had sensed before. He troubled her. this man with the lean, brown body and strangely feline eyes. He aroused feelings she neither recognised nor understood, and although she guessed that this was what Celeste had tried to explain to her. she was half afraid of the turmoil of her emotions.

  'So.' he said now. 'I'm sorry. I didn't mean to be rude. Not when I owe you—and your father—so much.'

  'It was nothing." Ruth gave a deprecatory shrug of her shoulders. 'I—we would do the same for anyone.' She paused. 'How do you feel? Is your arm any easier?'

  'It's much improved.' he assured her firmly. 'Your father gave me something to ease the pain. He's quite professional, your old man. isn't he? But I guess you know that.'

  Ruth bent her head. 'He—I—yes.' She pressed her lips together, lifting the corners of her mouth in an apology for a smile. 'Well. I'm pleased to hear that you feel better. You could have drowned out there.'

  'I know it.' His eyes narrowed. 'I do appreciate it. you know.'

  Ruth shifted her weight from one foot to the other, knowing she should leave yet reluctant to do so. 'I—Daddy's sent Joseph to St Vincent. He should have despatched your message by now.'

  'Good.'

  Dominic Howard drew his eyes from her to stare broodingly towards the window, and she wondered what thoughts were going through his mind. Who were his friends in Bridgetown? Male, or female? Was he married? Her thoughts shied away from such a conclusion, yet it was a definite possibility. But if he had a wife, would he have insisted on concealing his whereabouts?

  As if becoming aware of her troubled concentration. Dominic turned his head to look at her again, and she coloured in embarrassment. 'How old are you. Ruth?' he asked softly, and she gathered her clothes defensively to her as she answered him.

  'Seventeen.' he murmured, his mouth twisting a trifle wryly. 'Oh, to be seventeen again!'

  'I'm almost eighteen, actually.' she added hurriedly. and when his brows arched interrogatively, she went on: 'In seven months, to be exact.'

  'Eighteen.' His smile was mocking. 'Do you know I'm just about old enough to be your father?'

  'You're not like my father.' she protested hotly. 'He—he's much older.'

  'Oh. I agree. Much older. Too old to have a daughter as young as you. I'd have thought.'

  Ruth held up her head. 'He and Mummy were married almost twenty years before they had me.'

>   'I can believe it.' Dominic frowned suddenly. 'Where is—Mummy?'

  'She's dead.' Ruth was philosophical. 'I never knew her. She died when I was born.'

  'What a tragedy!' Dominic Howard was sympathetic. 'Your father must have felt he was to blame.'

  Ruth's eyes widened. 'Daddy? Oh. no. Daddy wasn't to blame. It was the system. He said it had lost credibility.'

  'The system?' Dominic was puzzled.

  'Yes.' Ruth sighed. 'With all the advances in modern surgery, it was still not possible to prevent a woman dying in childbirth.'

  Dominic shook his head. 'Your mother may have been too old. Had you thought of that?'

  Ruth considered. 'She was forty-four. That's not really old. is it?'

  'It is for having a baby.' he replied dryly. 'Particularly if it's the first.'

  Ruth shrugged. 'Oh, well, perhaps you're right. I don't suppose Daddy thought of that. I expect he was too upset.' She moved her shoulders inconsequently. 'Anyway, that was why he decided to leave England. He said he had lost faith in a society that put more money into guns and armaments than into medical research.'

  Dominic levered himself into an upright position, and sat cross-legged, staring at her. 'Tell me, how long have you lived on the island?'

  Ruth bit her lip. 'A long time. At least twelve years.'

  He said a word she didn't recognise, but she thought it wasn't very polite. 'You mean you've lived here since you were four or five years old?' he demanded.

  Ruth nodded.

  'Good lord!' He seemed astounded. 'But your education—'

  'Didn't Daddy tell you? He used to be a university professor. He taught me himself.'

  Dominic gazed at her as if he couldn't comprehend what she was saying. Then he made a blank gesture. 'I don't believe it.'

  'Why not?' Ruth was perplexed. 'It's quite simple really. Daddy has this private income, you see. Something to do with some money my grandmother left Mummy. It's enough, living here, growing our own vegetables, spending little—'

  'But you've got no friends.' he overrode her roughly. 'No companions of your own age! You told me. You said there was only you and your father and some old priest on the island!'