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The Song and the Sea

Page 8

by Isobel Chace


  “I’m sorry to be a nuisance,” he whispered.

  She guessed that he was only just in control. He was so hot that she wondered that he was not more feverish than he actually was.

  “It’s no nuisance,” she said. “I’m just going to take your temperature and then we’ll think what’s best to be done.”

  He nodded his head and winced with pain.

  His temperature was over a hundred. Charlotte gazed down at the little silver thread in appalled silence and wondered what to do.

  “We’ll have to get Mr. D’Abernon,” she said. Michael struggled up into a sitting position.

  “You can’t!” he exclaimed. “He’ll send me home!”

  He grasped Charlotte’s hand so tightly that it ached.

  “I’m sorry,” she said helplessly. “You get him, Liam. I’ll stay here.”

  Everyone was awake by the time Nick came. With broad grins they watched him lean over the youth, grins that fell away as they realized that Michael was really ill.

  “Sunstroke?” they asked in chorus.

  Nick shrugged his shoulders.

  “I don’t know,” he admitted. “We’ll have to get him ashore. We’ll run him into Tripoli and the Army will cope.”

  The men looked meaningly at Charlotte and she hastily retired so that they could dress. What a dreadful thing to happen. She hoped earnestly that the youth would be all right.

  There was no chance now of going back to sleep, so she went back up on deck. In a few minutes she could hear the engine starting up beneath her and the sound of the anchor chains as the men lifted them. Already someone was at the helm.

  Nick came and stood beside her.

  “How is he?” she asked.

  “Liam is with him.” He threw a careless arm around her shoulders. “How come you and he are so matey?” he asked. “What happened in Paris?” She gave him a wide, wicked grin.

  “Nothing,” she said.

  “Shall I tell you what I think? I think he went on a spree and you covered up for him. Right or wrong?”

  “Right,” she admitted. “But he didn’t want you to know.”

  “I’ll bet he didn’t!” Nick agreed.

  He held her tighter, looking down at her, the moonlight lighting up her face.

  “Know something?” he said. “I’ve been wanting to kiss you all evening, and now I’m going to. D’you mind?”

  “Yes,” she said.

  He laughed.

  “I believe you do at that. Okay, sweetheart, not this time. Go to bed and don’t worry about young Mike. He’ll be okay.” He gave her a chaste salute on her cheek and followed it with a gentle push towards the companionway.

  “Don’t flirt, Nick!” she admonished him.

  He gave a little yelp of laughter.

  “Oh, Charlotte!” he gasped. “Don’t you know that I haven’t even got started yet?”

  She retreated to the companionway while she still could with dignity. Didn’t she know? Of course she did! But he could keep his kisses for Monique!

  CHAPTER NINE

  Michael was better. True he had to return to England for a few weeks’ convalescence, but after that he would rejoin the Sea Fever and they would be back to normal. Charlotte had been touched by the boy’s relief, especially when he had read Nick’s letter assuring him that no one would be taken on in his place. This was some sacrifice, she knew, for they needed every one of six men to sail the yacht, which had originally been designed for a larger crew whom Nick had drastically reduced to make way for tanks and equipment.

  Nick hadn’t been able to afford the loss in time to wait in Libya, and so the Sea Fever had sailed slowly on towards Suez, leaving Charlotte to look after Michael. At first she had been quite glad of the assignment. She had felt that she had been living too close to Seamus and Nick and she had been glad to get away from them, but Monique’s naked joy at having the men to herself had hurt. It was a terrible business being in love with a man you couldn’t trust, and Monique couldn’t trust Nick. Nick was a flirt—probably the most charming flirt Charlotte had ever met. Why, he even made her heart beat faster, and she had known right from the start that his charm was nothing more than a trap for any unsuspecting female to walk into. Even so, Charlotte had thought that Monique had liked her a little for herself and would not have been quite so pleased at her being left behind at Tripoli.

  But now Michael was better and she was being flown to Aden, and she couldn’t quite repress the waves of excitement that seized her and did curious things to her insides. She had missed the feel of the decks under her feet and the spreading red sails against the sky. She had missed her father too. It was funny how fond of him she had become in such a short time. It had been like discovering a part of herself, a slower, steadier version that had somehow, a long time back, been badly hurt. Her mother had never shown any scars from the battle, but then her mother had always been too reserved to accept sympathy or compassion from anyone, even her daughter. Charlotte let her thoughts run on, for deep down was the one fact that she didn’t want to have to acknowledge: the fact that she had missed Nick more than she would have believed possible; missed his smile, his talk of the sea and that trick he had of looking right into her eyes that was so very un-English.

  Nobody could have been kinder than the Army had been in Libya. The officers had dated her, the sergeants had flattered her and the other ranks had enthusiastically arranged for her to give a concert. They had teased her too, telling her that their mess-room badly needed a woman’s touch and leaving her to it with a broom in one hand and a duster in the other. But on the other hand, there had always been someone there to drive her to the hospital to see Michael, waiting uncomplainingly long hours in the scorching sunshine for her to come out.

  She had tried, therefore, when they had put her on her plane, to look sad that she was going, to try and keep that treacherous grin off' her face that told how happy she was at the prospect of rejoining the expedition.

  “Not far now, Miss Hastings,” the pilot shouted across to her. They were in an Army transport plane, with the linings torn out to make room for cargo, so that the noise was almost unbearable.

  Charlotte smiled back at him. She would be glad to be down on the ground again, for it had been a tiring journey—long and without much comfort.

  “Mr. D’Abernon meeting you?” the pilot asked.

  Charlotte’s eyes sparkled with sudden pleasure and she nodded her head vigorously.

  “I think so,” she said.

  It would be fine to see Nick again. He would be a pleasure to anyone’s eyes, he looked so well with his easy stance and his browned, clean-looking skin. There was something too in the way that his hair grew that was extraordinarily attractive.

  “Well, there we are. That’s Aden beneath you now.”

  Charlotte looked down at the hostile hills and the town of flat-topped roofs. She knew so little about it, she thought. Why did they tell one such useless things at school? She remembered learning about Saudi Arabia well, but all she knew was the one word “oil”. She knew nothing of the people, or how they lived, and certainly nothing at all about the fish Nick could expect to find in the deep blue sea beneath her.

  The aeroplane swooped downwards in progressive steps, circling above the aerodrome. Another minute and they would be coming in to land. Anxiously, she scanned the few people standing around on the airstrip. Most of them were in the tropical khaki uniform of the Army, but there were one or two in white tropical suits and just one in blue French jeans and a bright blue shirt. That would be Nick!

  The wheels skidded on the ground, lifted again and then touched more surely, speeding towards the little group. It was Nick all right, and Seamus was with him. There was no sign of Monique, but then Charlotte hadn’t really expected to see her there. Perhaps now they had reached Aden and would start work in earnest, she would be able to reassure the French girl. She didn’t like living with anyone who was suspicious of her.

  She hardly w
aited for the doors to open before she swung herself down on to the ground and ran over to her father. His arms engulfed her in a terrific hug that made her cry out.

  “Dad, you’re crushing my ribs!” she protested. Her father grinned.

  “Am I so?” he asked. “I should have thought they were stronger than that!”

  She made a face at him.

  “Well, perhaps they are,” she admitted, “but I might want them for later.”

  “For another man to crush?” he teased her.

  To her dismay she could feel herself blushing, and she had yet to greet Nick. She didn’t dare look at him immediately; instead she reached up and planted a firm kiss on her father’s cheek.

  “That’s because I missed you,” she said lightly. There was no excuse now for not greeting Nick, and so she smiled at him, holding out her hand. His eyes were just as she had remembered them, with a faint, sparkle of amusement in their depths.

  “I’m disappointed,” he said. “I thought you might have missed me too.”

  She looked at him consideringly, glad to have the excuse, a slight smile touching her lips.

  “Oh, I missed you,” she assured him, laughing. “In Libya they consulted all my wishes and they didn’t make me do anything I didn’t want to—such a change from you!”

  His eyes were dark and understanding, laughing with her.

  “Poor Charlotte,” he commiserated. “How dull it must have been!”

  She should have known better than to take on Nick in verbal battle, she thought, as she climbed into the Army jeep that had been lent to Nick for the occasion. He wasn’t in the least chivalrous when it came to a battle of wits.

  “How’s everything?” she asked, leaning forward over the front seats so that she could talk to them better. “Was all the extra stuff waiting for you?”

  “It was,” Nick answered her easily. “And hundreds of letters for you to cope with. I plonked them all in your cabin.”

  Charlotte chuckled. Not even the thought of a mountain of correspondence could take the edge off her homecoming, for that was what it was to her. It was people who made a home and she had come to look on her father, and Monique even—and Nick—as important to her.

  “Do you know, I’m actually looking forward to eating baked beans again,” she said with satisfaction.

  Nick’s lips twitched.

  “In this heat?” he asked.

  She laughed. She thought how well he drove the jeep, his tanned hands resting lightly on the wheel. She liked the way he had had his hair cut too. An army cut, without doubt, with very short back and sides, that showed the strength of his neck and the shape of his head. Her father had had his hair cut too, she noticed, though not so drastically, but then he hadn’t nearly such a good head to show off. She wondered if Nick knew what a very pleasing back he had. But of course it was silly to wonder. Some girl was bound to have told him before now! Monique perhaps?

  It was certainly hot. The atmosphere lay around her like a heavy wet blanket, making her skin prickle uncomfortably, and the town, from what she could see of it, was utilitarian rather than beautiful. It was the people who caught her eye—Arabs, Jews, Somalis, Yemeni, wild tribesmen from the hills, most of them carrying guns, strode by with proud faces. The dark, mysterious eyes of the veiled women contrasted vividly with the bright open faces of the few European women, desperately trying to keep cool.

  Nick drove straight down to the wharves, pointing out the sheds where the incense, brought in age-old holds and exchanged for drums of petrol, was graded and stored.

  “Seamus and Monique are representing us at the N.A.A.F.I. dance tonight,” Nick told her. “I thought you’d be too tired. Am I right?”

  “You certainly are!” she agreed. How odd, she thought, that Seamus should take Monique, and not Nick. “Don’t you like dancing?” she asked.

  It was Seamus who answered her.

  “He’s working tonight,” he said easily. “Besides, it’s time I had a night off, don’t you think?” Charlotte couldn’t honestly voice an opinion, but she was beginning to realize that her time in Libya hadn’t really made any difference to her confusion over Nick. Secretly, deep down, she was glad that he wasn’t taking Monique to the dance. She didn’t like to think of the French girl in his arms, or of his kissing her good night! In fact she didn’t want him to flirt with anyone but herself! She looked crossly at the back of Nick’s head, no longer seeing his new haircut. How dared he make her feel like that? She wouldn’t fall in love with him for anything in the world! Certainly not for anything he could offer!

  The jeep came to an abrupt stop and the men leaped down to the ground. It was Nick who swung her down on to the ground as easily, she thought in a panic, as though he did it every day. She thanked him breathlessly and made sure that it was her father’s hand that steadied her as she got into the tender. Nick started the engine with one hand and within seconds they were speeding out towards the Sea Fever, but his eyes were on her, she knew, and she wouldn’t meet them for fear of what they had to say. He would laugh at her, of course, if she didn’t accept the challenge that he couldn’t help extending to every female that came within his horizon, but she couldn’t help that. She was not, repeat not, going to lose her heart to Nicholas D’Abernon!”

  She ran lightly up the gangway and swung herself over the rails on to the Sea Fever’s deck. It was wonderful to be back. It was something that she didn’t have to worry about her feelings for the yacht as well, for nothing could hide her pleasure in the slight movement of the water below and the smell of canvas, paint and polish. She took a deep breath of sheer happiness and missed the look of satisfaction that passed between the two men.

  The correspondence had been dumped in her cabin without even the seals on the canvas sack having been broken. Charlotte wondered that they should have shown so little curiosity in their mail, for surely there must be some private letters among them. She was busy trying to break the wax seals when Monique knocked on her door.

  “May I come in?” the French girl asked.

  Charlotte looked over her shoulder and smiled.

  “Of course,” she said.

  Monique stood and watched her struggle for a few seconds and then took the sack from her.

  “Like this,” she said calmly, and gave the seals a hefty whack with the heel of one of her shoes. “Easy, you see.”

  Together they began to sort out the mail, placing the letters and parcels into piles on the bunk, one for each person.

  “And how was Libya?” Monique asked.

  “They were wonderful to me, but I missed the Sea Fever,” Charlotte confessed.

  “You missed your father, perhaps?”

  Charlotte nodded quickly. Not for anything would she have had the other girl know that it had been Nick’s absence that she had not been able to get used to.

  “I suppose it’s always nice to have someone of one’s very own,” she said brightly. “I wish I had known him long ago, when I was a little girl. It seems funny, but I never missed not having him until I got to know him, if you know what I mean.”

  Monique looked sad.

  “Yes, I know what you mean,” she said. “He is so very fond of you that I think there is not room yet for anyone else in his life.”

  Charlotte flicked the last letter on to Nick’s pile and smiled.

  “In Dad’s life? I should think not!”

  “You don’t think he is ever lonely?” Monique pressed her. “That he would be glad to have—a wife, for instance?”

  Charlotte considered the point.

  “I think he’s got used to being a bachelor,” she said at last. “It’s all of seventeen years since he last saw my mother, and it can’t make so very much difference to him, her being dead.”

  Monique sighed.

  “That is what I think too,” she said at last. “He is—how do you say it?—a very different kettle of fish from Nick!”

  Charlotte managed to laugh.

  “Oh, Nick
is a flirt!”

  Monique bubbled with sudden laughter.

  ‘No! You cannot mean it? He has time only for his work.” Her laughter died as suddenly as it had come. “You do not mind,” she asked, “that Seamus is taking me to the dance tonight? Your first night back with us?”

  “Of course not!"

  How odd that Monique should ask her that she minded. She looked curiously at the French girl, but it was impossible to tell what she was thinking. And that outrageous statement that Nick thought only of his work! It all went to show how extremely blind love could be!

  “I hope he gives you a very good time,” she went on generously. “What are you going to wear?”

  Immediately Monique began to sparkle.

  “Come and see,” she begged. “It was the prettiest dress in all Paris! And nylon, so there was no chance of it getting crushed and unwearable. Come and help me get ready?”

  Charlotte recognized that this was an olive branch indeed. Not that Monique had ever been unfriendly exactly, but she had been suspicious of her and had definitely preferred it when she could keep Nicholas and herself apart. It seemed grimly ironic that she should have decided to be friends just when Charlotte had discovered that she couldn’t ignore Nick’s charm after all.

  Monique came into her own in evening dress. The dress was truly divine; a cloud of white nylon lace with a neat little bodice that fitted her closely. She looped her hair and tied it with a single ribbon at her neck, and her make-up, usually too strong in the bright sunlight, would be just right beneath the electric lights of the N.A.A.F.I. building.

  It was difficult to know what people had done before nylon had been invented. The hours of ironing that would have to have gone into such a dress would have been quite impossible on board such a small boat. But nylon was a gift. It would fold away into the smallest space and come out as good as new. Charlotte thought the local army wives were going to have to work very hard to compete with Monique, but then perhaps they wouldn’t try. Perhaps they would dismiss her as French and therefore naturally chic. But even so she couldn’t help thinking that her father was a very lucky man to have such a lovely partner. She said as much to Monique, and to her surprise the French girl blushed and muttered something quite unintelligible under her breath.

 

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