The Wings of Love

by Sally Wentworth

  'Damnation!' The surprised expletive carried to Tressy's ears quite clearly, but she couldn't understand what the others said when they turned to Crispin Fox to ask why he had made it.

  Tressy felt suddenly sick, realizing now that the man wasn't interested in her cousin. She had half suspected it from the first, but for Nora's sake had hoped that it hadn't been completely one-sided. But there was nothing at all lover-like in Fox's reaction, there wasn't even pleasure at seeing an acquaintance, only annoyance.

  As the three of them came nearer, Tressy drew back into deeper shadow, not wanting them to see her, and afraid of moving out into the light in case they did. She would have liked to go now, unwilling to see or hear more, but she had to stay where she was.

  'Why, Crispin!' It was Aunt Grace who spoke first, using her best B.B.c. English accent. 'What a lovely surprise! We had no idea you were here yet. And is this your boat?'

  He came across the gangplank to greet them, and to his credit and Tressy's surprise, betrayed none of his earlier annoyance. 'Mrs Sinclair. As you say, what a pleasant surprise. Mr Sinclair-Leonora.' He shook hands with each of them in turn. 'When did you arrive?'

  'I told you, you must call me Jack,' her uncle said affably. 'We haven't been here long. Just getting our bearings. That's a beautiful boat.'

  'Perhaps you'd like to come aboard and look round?' Crispin Fox had no alternative but to ask them, but he did it politely enough. Nora had difficulty in negotiating the gangplank in her high heels and tight skirt and had to be helped. Then Tressy saw him introduce the newcomers to his friends and get them a drink. They spoke in English and the music was no longer on, but Tressy deliberately tried not to listen. But she could hear Nora's nervous giggle and the sound made her angry, both at Crispin Fox and at Nora herself for being such a fool. Was she so besotted that she couldn't see that the man was way out of her league? He was hardly in the same world, for heaven's sake! Okay, so Uncle Jack had worked himself up into being a millionaire, but he was still a working-class North-Countryman at heart, whereas every aspect of Crispin Fox, from his arrogant head down· to his immaculately polished shoes, screamed a public school, Oxbridge, and that complete self-assurance that only inherited money can give. And his friends, too, were sitting back and looking prepared to be amused, as if the three Sinclairs were an unusual cabaret act put on for their benefit.

  Angrily Tressy turned away and, taking the risk of being seen, ran out into the lamplight and up the hill, out of sight of the boat. The roads were heavy with traffic and there were lots of people about, even though it was quite late, many of them sitting at the outdoor cafes drinking, or eating huge bowls of ice-cream. After walking aimlessly for some time, Tressy felt thirsty and sat down at one of the tables and ordered a coffee. She was still angry but trying hard not to be-after all, it was nothing to do with her if her relations wanted to make fools of themselves. From the look of this Crispin Fox, he was quite capable of turning round and telling them to get lost when he couldn't stand their pushiness any longer, and from the way he had reacted when he first saw them, that would be sooner rather than later. Perhaps he would do it politely- Tressy hoped he would-but Aunt Grace could be thick sometimes, and there looked to be a cruel streak in Crispin Fox that wouldn't hesitate to put someone down if he wanted to.

  The more she thought of him, the more Tressy disliked him. He must have realized that Nora had fallen for him and he could surely have done something to put her off instead of handing out casual invitations to meet here in France. He was obviously experienced enough to know how to handle women, even someone as gauche as Nora, and could have let her down lightly if he had wanted to. To Tressy's mind he was just another male chauvinist, and one of the highest order. Tressy didn't have a lot of time for men at the best of times, feeling that you had to use them before they used you, and this Crispin Fox really got up her nose. She was glad that Uncle Jack had made her promise to keep out of his sight, because the less she saw of him the better.

  She had finished her coffee some time ago, and the waiter came up and asked if she wanted anything else. But it was late and time to go. Tressy paid him and walked back the way she had come, not wanting to get lost in the maze of streets. Approaching the harbour, she was careful to keep on the other side of the road until she reached a flight of steps which were safely past Chimera. She went down them and walked along the quayside, careful not to look back. A fat man cradling an open bottle of whisky in his arms was coming towards her; he was very drunk, reeling from side to side and singing to himself in between bursts of maudlin speech. Tressy looked at him with distaste and moved to the edge of the quay nearest the wall to pass him, but he saw her and stopped, then staggered over to her.

  'Ah, tu es belle, cherie!

  She tried to get past him, but the man caught her arm and gave a revolting hiccup right in her face. 'Get away from me, you lout!' He was impossible to shake off, holding her in a grip of drunken strength.

  'Embrasse-moi, ma belle,' he commanded drunkenly, and pushed her back against the wall, trying to kiss her.

  'Let go of me!' Tressy kicked him on the shin and he made an indignant sound of pain, but didn't let go, instead pushing his fat body against hers so that she was squashed between him and the wall. 'Go away, damn you!' She hit him round the face this time.

  He gave an angry grunt and raised an arm to cuff her, but just as he did so someone grabbed the arm and pulled him sharply away. But as he was yanked round, the drunk's other arm, holding the whisky bottle, swung round, emptying the contents all down Tressy's front.

  'Hey, look out!' She gave a yelp and tried to move out of the way, but the whole lot went over her. 'Oh, no!' She looked up from her soaked and stinking dress and saw her rescuer giving the drunk a good shove back the way he had come. Then he turned round and she groaned again; it was Crispin Fox.

  Coming over to her, he asked, 'Are you all right?' But Tressy interrupted furiously, 'Just look what you've done! I've got whisky all over me!'

  'What I've done?' His eyebrows flew up in surprise.

  'SO are you coming to wash your dress, or not?' She was holding the material of the front of the dress away from her, hoping it wouldn't go through to her underclothes, and she looked down at it unhappily, knowing that she couldn't afford to replace it and might as well throw it away unless she did something quickly. 'If I go with you, I'll miss my bus,' she objected, not knowing what to do for the best.

  'So get a taxi,' he pointed out, impatiently. Tressy's indignation flared. 'I can't afford a taxi.

  Not everyone in the world's loaded, you know. Oh hell, why couldn't you have minded your own business?'

  The exasperation in Crispin Fox's dark eyes turned to anger. 'Very well,' he said coldly. 'As you obviously blame me for the accident to your dress, then I'll pay for your taxi home--or for a replacement dress if you prefer not to accept my offer of help,' he added harshly.

  His tone made her look at him quickly and see the dislike in his eyes. No, she certainly had nothing to fear from him. But she was being unfair and she knew it. She bit her lip, thinking of her promise to Uncle Jack. 'Is there anyone else on your boat?' she demanded abruptly.

  He took her question the only way he could take it and his mouth thinned. 'I'm afraid not. I was just coming back from escorting my friends to their cars when I saw you. But as I said, your virtue is quite safe from me,' he told her sarcastically, his eyes running over her in distaste.

  His answer made up her mind, and his eyebrows again went up in surprise when she said, 'All right, I'll come with you,' and began to walk quickly down the quay again.

  Catching her up, Crispin Fox said, 'It's just a little wet.

  'Yes. If you hadn't pulled him round like that the whisky wouldn't have gone over me,' Tressy told him crossly.

  'Am I to take it you were with him? I beg your pardon,' he said sarcastically. 'I got the impression that you needed some help.'

  'No, of course I wasn't with him. And I'm quite capable o
f taking care of myself, so don't expect me to start thanking you. Oh God, just look at my dress it'll be ruined!' It was one of her good dresses that she'd managed to get cheaply after a modeling session for a mail order company, a sleeveless shirtwaister in cream linen.

  Crispin Fox looked at her critically. 'Not if you wash it straightaway, surely?'

  'And just how am I supposed to wash it?' Tressy demanded. 'By the time I get to the bus and go home it will have dried, and then I'll never get the stain out.' He frowned and then shrugged. 'In that case, you'd better come with me.' And taking hold of her arm, he turned her and began to walk back down the quay. 'Hey! Just where do you think you're taking me?'

  Tressy hung back as he led her along.

  'Back to my boat. You can wash your dress there and dry it.'

  'To your boat?' Tressy had a mental picture of walking up to the Chimera with her relatives still sitting on the deck, not to mention his other friends, and she stopped and pulled her arm away. 'Oh, no!'

  Crispin Fox, of course, took her refusal the wrong way. 'You don't have to be afraid,' he informed her sardonically. 'You're quite safe. In the little I've seen of you I already know that you're definitely not my type.'

  Tressy's head came up and she glared at him. 'The feeling's mutual!'

  Further on,' and saved Tressy from giving away that she already knew which was his boat.

  He led the way on board, and she saw that it was as luxuriously equipped and furnished as she had expected. 'You can change in here,' he told her, opening the door to what must be a guest cabin from the unmade-up bunks. Tressy hesitated in the doorway and he gave a thin smile. 'You'll find a bathrobe hanging in the wardrobe. And if you want a shower, the bathroom's next door. Give me a call when you're ready and I'll put your things in the washing machine.'

  Tressy nodded and went into the cabin, firmly closing the door and locking it. And if he heard, she didn't much care; she felt safer with the door locked. She took her dress off quickly, worried that it might already be permanently stained, and found, as she had feared, that the whisky had gone right through to her bra and pants. She took those off, too, recoiling from the strong smell, and looked in the wardrobe he had indicated. She found the bathrobe straightaway, a very thick expensive one in a rich wine colour with an Yves St Laurent monogram on the pocket. Putting it on, she found that it was only a little too large for her, so it was a woman's robe and not a man's. So what did that tell her about Crispin Fox?

  Coming out of the cabin, she remembered just in time that she wasn't meant to know his name and called out, 'Hey, are you there?'

  He was in the galley, stacking glasses, and came out to take her things, his eyes running dispassionately over her.

  'I'll take that shower now,' she said.

  He nodded. 'Okay. You'll find clean towels in there.'

  Tressy took her time, enjoying the novelty of her surroundings, the compactness of the shower room, which, although very small, was fitted with every luxury it could hold. She delighted in the foaming shower gel and gorgeous soft sponge, the mirrors that didn't mist up, and the huge soft bath sheet that covered her from neck to toes and went round her twice. Crispin Fox certainly knew how to spoil himself, she thought as she smoothed expensive body lotion into her skin. If Nora married him she wouldn't want for a thing-not that she did already. But Nora and Crispin Fox? She shook her head at herself in the mirror. She just couldn't see it. No way could they ever make a match of it, they just weren't compatible. Tressy combed her hair, tied the robe tightly round her and went to find him.

  He was sitting out in the cockpit, smoking a cigarette and reading a newspaper which he put aside when he saw her. It was a perfect night, with a moon that dappled the sea and lit flames in her red hair. Tressy glanced up at the sky and then round at all the boats, hardly moving in the sheltered waters of the harbour, many of them with lights in the windows. The sound of gentle music from a boat further along covered the noise of traffic and it seemed very peaceful, a far cry from what she was used to in London. She gave a small sigh, then turned reluctantly, to face Crispin Fox. .

  His eyes were on her, the cigarette temporarily forgotten, but when she turned round, he said, 'Would you like a drink?'

  For a moment she thought of refusing, but then tossed her head rather defiantly. Why not? 'Thanks, have you any Campari?'

  'I think so.' He stood up. 'Sure you wouldn't rather have whisky?'

  Glancing at him quickly, Tressy saw the mocking look in his eyes and gave a small smile 10 return. 'Campari will be fine.'

  She sat down on one of the cushioned seats, carefully tucking the bathrobe round her legs so that it wouldn't come open, then saw an amused smile on Crispin Fox's lips as he watched her. Damn him, he knew darn well that she hadn't any underclothes on! She glared at him indignantly, but it only seemed to increase his amusement. Then he went inside to get her drink.

  When he came back, he also carried one for himself.

  Tressy guessed that he must have had quite a few drinks during the course of the evening, first with his friends, and then with Nora and her parents, and now with her, but it didn't show at all, he appeared to be completely sober.

  'Cigarette?' He offered her a packet, but Tressy shook her head and he sat down again, across the other side of the boat. For a while he watched her as she sipped her drink, perhaps waiting for her to speak, but when she didn't broke the silence by saying 'Perhaps we should introduce ourselves. My name is Crispin Fox.'

  Her name was the last thing Tressy wanted to tell him. 'Did you put my dress in the washing machine?' she demanded abruptly.

  His face hardened at her rudeness. 'Of course.'

  'But did you make sure you put it on the right cycle?

  If the water's too hot it could shrink,' she reminded him anxiously.

  'I followed the instructions on the label,' he answered coolly. 'Presumably that was correct?'

  'I suppose so,' she said ungraciously. 'How long will it take?'

  'Not long. And fifteen minutes in the tumble dryer should be sufficient to dry it.'

  'You have a dryer as well on this boat?' Tressy asked in astonishment.

  'Oh, we have all mod. cons.,' he replied laconically. 'Just like a house.'

  She looked at him rather resentfully; her house didn't have either a washing machine or a dryer, either she or her mother having to walk the mile to the nearest launderette carrying the heavy bags of washing every week.

  'Are you in a hurry to get home?' he asked her. 'Do you have to be in by a certain time?'

  'What? Oh, no.' She shook her head.

  'Presumably you're here on holiday. With your parents-or someone?' he asked after a pause.

  'No. I'm a .. .' She hesitated, wondering what and how much to tell him without giving away her relationship to the Sinclairs. 'I'm not on holiday. I'm working over here for the summer.'

  'In Monaco?'

  'No, a few miles outside. At Cap .. .' She picked up her glass from a small table and her eye fell on a visiting card with her uncle's name and the address of the villa on it. As she read it she took a drink and nearly choked.

  'Is it too strong for you?' Crispin Fox asked, a mocking tone in his voice.

  She coughed and shook her head. 'It just went down the wrong way, that's all.'

  'Of course,' he agreed, but there was skepticism in his voice. 'You were saying: that you're working at ... ?'

  'In Menton,' Tressy lied hastily, naming a town just past Cap Martin, near the Italian border.

  'As an au pair? While you're on holiday from college or something?'

  It was natural for him to assume that, she supposed, when she had said that she was only here for the summer, but she didn't like him and she decided to let him know that she was slumming-if he didn't think so already. 'Oh, nothing so posh. I'm just a maid in a hotel. I clean the guests' rooms, sort out the dirty linen and scrub the kitchen floor,' she added for good measure.

  'Really?' She had expected him to
look down his handsome nose and was rather disappointed when he didn't. 'And you're English. Why come all the way to France to work?'

  'I like the sun,' she answered sharply, wanting to drop the subject.

  But, 'I'm surprised you were able to get a work permit,' Crispin remarked blandly.

  Tressy looked at him suspiciously, but his face was completely impassive and it was impossible to tell whether he was being sarcastic or not. Finishing her drink, she set it down on the table, covering Uncle Jack's card, then asked, 'The name of your boat-what does it mean?'

  'Chimera?' He pronounced it Kymera. 'It comes from Greek mythology and means a fantastic idea, a castle in the air, if you like. It does have another less happy meaning, but that's the one I named the boat after.'