The Song and the Sea

by Isobel Chace

  The men were bringing up the air cylinders ready for the afternoon’s fishing expedition. Looking at their hot faces, Charlotte felt smugly glad that she was a girl and not expected to lug the heavy equipment about. She gave her father a superior smile.

  “Why don’t you come and talk to me?” she suggested to him. “You don’t have to do that today. It’s your birthday, isn’t it?”

  Somehow something had gone wrong with the day, she thought. Seamus was not really enjoying himself at all, though he was making a gallant effort at pretending to for her sake. She didn’t believe that it was only the heat that had upset him. It had been just as hot on other days and he had been as cheerful as anyone else.

  “What’s wrong, Dad?” she asked as he sat down heavily beside her.

  He smiled a little wanly.

  “I’m beginning to realize that this will probably be my last trip,” he said. “I’m nearly fifty, do you realize that? Too old for this sort of thing. I shan’t mind staying ashore exactly, it’s not that, in many ways my life will be better, but sometimes I think it’s too late to start building anything new.”

  “At fifty?”

  “At forty-six,” he said irritably.

  “Who put this idea in your head, Dad?” she asked.

  “No one,” he denied. “These ideas just come when you’re my age,’ he told her bitterly.

  But she didn’t believe him. Quite why, she didn’t know, but she was sure that Monique had said something to him. Her unhappiness was apt to spill over, and usually it was Seamus that she chose to snap at.

  “Don’t you want to swallow the anchor?” She smiled hopefully, hoping that he would respond.

  “Good heavens, I’m not a sailor!” he protested.

  He lay back on the deck and stared up at the sapphire-blue sky. “What was in the letter from the solicitors?” he asked suddenly.

  Charlotte gasped, almost dropping the cutlery she was busily drying.

  “How did you know?” she stammered. “Did Nick—?”

  He shook his head.

  “Monique did. She sorted the mail for you and put in on your bunk.”

  And looked at it pretty closely to see who it was from, Charlotte thought sourly. But why go and tell Seamus?

  “I wasn’t going to mention it until after your birthday,” she explained. “I wasn't keeping anything from you.”

  “I suppose probate has been granted and you want to go back to England,” he hazarded.

  “Something like that. Except that I have to go back to England. Mother only left me the money on the condition that I used it for my training.”

  “Why can’t it wait? It won’t fly away.”

  “But don’t you see, Dad, that we can’t go on like this for ever. My being here is making Monique pretty unhappy. It would be different if I was really necessary to the expedition, but I’m not. Nick made the job for me, and we both know it.”

  Seamus sat up, his eyes angry.

  “You don’t have to worry about Monique,” he told her. “We made an arrangement and we’ll stick to it.”

  “But don’t you see, Dad; that we can’t go on either?” Charlotte exclaimed.

  “If Monique has been sitting on your back you’ve only to tell me. I’ll soon put a stop to that!”

  His angry tones made her laugh. If only it were so simple! Just a word to Monique—or Nick! The fairy-story ending, with everybody happy, just because someone had waved a magic wand!

  “It isn’t Monique,” she said. ‘Dad, let me go back to England and don’t ask any questions. Nick agreed that I should go.”

  He looked at her oddly.

  “Are you sure?” he asked doubtfully.

  She swallowed her tears.

  “Of course I’m sure! He told me that he doesn’t think I’ll ever be a professional singer, but that I would have to find it out for myself. Do I go, Dad?”

  “I guess so,” he said heavily. “I reckon Nick knows best.”

  So now there was nothing to stop her. Nick would get her a passage perhaps in another Army plane as she would still be a member of some sort of the expedition. She might never see the Sea Fever again. She hadn’t realized before how the yacht had entwined itself around her heart. She would hate leaving it for a bed-sitter somewhere in London, or Rome, or wherever it would be that she would have to go. As for Nick, she didn’t dare think about him. It was better not to.

  “Don’t you go telling Monique,” her father warned her. “I’ll do that.”

  Charlotte nodded absently.

  “Were you hurt when Mother went to New Zealand?” she asked. “Really hurt, I mean?”

  He smiled.

  “I hated losing you,” he said. “But I’ve got you back again. I guess I can bear the thought of your going back to England. We’ve got something in common, you and I!”

  Her eyebrows went up.

  “And what’s that?” she asked.

  “Blood!” he retorted. “Good, rich, red blood!” He got leisurely to his feet. ‘Well,” he said, ‘we’d better get ready for the chase. Especially If your dives are to be so drastically numbered!”

  She would hate that too, she thought dismally. She hadn’t seen a manta ray yet, and she would have liked to have done, after the night before. She wanted to know if they were really as large as they had looked, leaping out of the water. And she would worry about Nick, diving without her, with all those sharks. She remembered that Monique had said that that was why she went on these expeditions, because she would worry, alone at home. What stupid creatures women were! With a sigh she went down to her cabin to change into her damp swimming-suit.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Charlotte examined the harpoons as they lay on the deck. Wicked-looking guns, cleverly concealing the long length of line that joined the spear to the socket that fired it. There were only three of them, one for each of the men, which would leave her free to enjoy herself. Now that she was definitely going back to England diving was suddenly unbearably dear to her. She was still afraid of sharks, and she had a healthy respect for quite a number of other creatures who inhabited the deep, but she loved the cool feel of the water, the slight rustling sound that was her own breathing, the beautiful little fish that were as friendly as young puppies.

  The prospect of London was a gloomy one. If Nick were right and she would never make a professional opera singer, what would she do? She very much doubted if she would be allowed to use her mother’s money for any other form of training. But she couldn’t stay here!

  Nick was pushing out the davits, his muscles rippling down his back. He was so brown and hard that he might have been carved out of wood. It was pleasant just to watch him move. The first boat was lowered with a rush and hit the sea with a smacking sound and then the second one from the other side.

  “Are you coming down empty-handed?” he called across to her.

  “I’m taking a spear,” she replied. “Not to fish with, though, I’m leaving that to you.”

  “How about one of the cameras?” he suggested.

  She was on her feet in a second.

  “Oh, may I? I should love to, but you'll have to get it all ready for me.”

  “It’s in the saloon,” he told her.

  It was heavy in its waterproof casing and she could only just carry it. Her skin was prickling all over with heat when she regained the deck, and the thought of the water was better than ever. She put the camera down, carefully and began to get into her diving things. Her father was already in his and Nick had his in one of the tenders. Jock was still down below somewhere.

  With the camera in one hand and her air cylinders in the other she hurried down the gangway and sat down hurriedly in Nick’s boat. He was the one that she wanted to film. He swam just like a fish himself, with none of the awkward movements that Seamus used to propel himself along. Of course she could film Jock, perhaps she would, if he came past her.

  Nick helped her into her gear, easing the heavy cylinders on to her
back and checking to see that she would have everything she would need.

  “Okay, over you go,” he smiled at her.

  She spat in her mask and washed it out in the sea. One deep breath through her nose and it was watertight against her face. She let herself slowly over the edge of the boat, gasping a little as the cool water met her flesh. She put the nozzle in her mouth and checked her rate of breathing. How did the men know where they were going to find any merou? she wondered. She supposed they must have discussed some plan between themselves and, anyway, it wouldn’t matter very much if they came up empty-handed.

  Nick handed her out the camera and she rested it on the top of the water, marvelling how the weight was dissipated so that it moved easily in her hands as though it was made of nothing heavier than the proverbial feather. Slowly she sank under the water, glorying in the luxury of its coolness all around her. It was bliss after the heat of the sun.

  The lens of the camera was good and she could see more than she had expected to be able to. She trained the camera on a fish, but it scuttled away, frightened by the monstrous spectacle she presented. She tried judging the distances between everything all around her, remembering how she and Nick had laboriously measured them. It was astonishing how the water destroyed one’s judgement of distances. She hoped the men wouldn’t go out of the area she knew, because she would never be able to guess how far away from her they were.

  Jock was the first to come down after her. She could see his legs up above her, kicking madly, and then gradually the whole of him came into view, sinking rapidly down towards her. He held his harpoon as far away from him as possible as though he didn’t really care for the thing. Charlotte giggled. It was only too likely that he didn’t, but he would never say so. Jock would do anything rather than be considered a sissy.

  Nick descended with the grace she had come to expect of him, his harpoon tucked neatly and safely under one arm. He came straight towards her, waving one hand. She waved back and walked along the bottom towards him with giant steps, enjoying the freedom of movement that the water gave her.

  The men went over to a low cliff of coral, where the shark had frightened her so badly before, and began a systematic search of the caves, hoping to flush out a merou.

  Charlotte watched them for a while and then went off by herself. She found that merely by adjusting her breathing she could float up or down at will. This was fun! She took a deep breath and floated gently up to the top of the cliff. The water here was as clear as any she had ever seen. She peered down below her. There was still only Jock and Nick down there. Where was her father? she wondered. He should have come down by now.

  At that same moment a great fish came shooting out of one of the caves with Nick in hot pursuit. She went after him, filming as she went. He fired his harpoon and took a firm grip on the line as the fish started forward, shocked by the sudden attack. It was a big fish, with wicked-looking spines along its back. Charlotte swam as fast as she could to keep up, but it was impossible. The merou, merou it was, she was almost sure, was pulling Nick behind it in its anxiety to get away.

  They were soon out of the area they had marked out and were in a strange world where neither of them knew their bearings or what they could expect round the next corner. Charlotte felt cold with apprehension. Where were Jock and her father?

  The merou, on the other hand, seemed to know exactly where it was going. It made towards some more coral formations and shot into a crevice that was only just large enough to take it. Nick followed, coming slowly closer and closer and tugging as hard as he could on the line to get the great fish to come out. But the merou only raised its spines and braced itself against the coral. It was hopeless to tug any more, for the fish was undoubtedly stronger and had the advantage of being firmly wedged within its home.Nick retreated a little and made signs to Charlotte to go and get help. She nodded her head slowly so that he should see, and set off back to the boats, hoping that that was where Jock had gone.

  The Sea Fever towered over her as she made her way to the surface. The two tenders were empty. With a great effort she managed to get the camera over the gunwhale and into one of the boats, hauling herself in afterwards, air cylinders and all. Quickly she slipped out of the harness and took off the lead-weighted belt, dropping it in the bottom of the boat. There was still no sign of Jock.

  The only other thing to do was to go back to the Sea Fever and find out what had happened to her father, so she rowed the little boat back to its parent and hurried up the gangway. Fahad and Youssef were asleep in the sun and the rest of the crew were swimming on the other side of the yacht. Even Monique seemed to have disappeared.

  With light steps Charlotte ran down the companionway to the saloon, her feet leaving wet imprints that were dried by the hot sun almost as soon as they disappeared, so that only little traces of salt remained to tell where she had been.

  “Dad!” she called out. “Monique!”

  It was dark as she entered and it was a second or two before her eyes grew accustomed to the change from the hot sunlight. When she did, she stopped, astonished, for standing on the other side of the table, completely engrossed in one another, were her father and Monique!

  The aghast silence ended at last.

  “You can’t pretend you’re surprised, honey,” her father said, still abashed by his daughter’s sudden entrance. “I was telling her that you were going back to England.”

  Monique’s eyes glowed with a rare happiness. “So now there is nothing to stop us getting married,” she added. “It was always ridiculous, as I told Seamus, but he insisted. It is difficult, you understand, not to be married to someone you love so much! But now—!” She smiled brilliantly at Seamus and he hugged her close to him.

  “But—” Charlotte began. She sat on the steps of the companionway, still staring at them. “Suppose someone begins at the beginning,” she suggested helplessly.

  “But, cherie, you know! Right from the beginning you knew! That was why I told Seamus that it was all so ridiculous. And so it was! Don’t you agree with me?”

  “I must look more intelligent than I am,” Charlotte said, with a little quiver of humour. “I still haven’t a clue what it is I’m supposed to have known!”

  Monique came and sat beside her, hugging her exuberantly, although she was still dripping wet. She was suddenly quite beautiful, Charlotte thought, as though her new happiness had wiped away those odd things that she had never quite liked. Her make-up and even her shoes looked less bizarre, or was it that they no longer mattered?

  “But I remember well telling you that I loved him,” she said earnestly. “And also telling you that that was why I came on the expedition, because I could not bear to stay behind.” Charlotte’s eyes opened wide.

  “I thought you were talking about Nick,” she said.

  “Nick? Oh no, it is impossible that I should be in love with Nick? I like him very much, but to marry him—Oh no!”

  Seamus merely looked bewildered.

  “I thought you were cross with Nick because he was trying to charm you,” he said in puzzled tones. “Then why try to marry him off to Monique?”

  The French girl looked from one to the other of them in delighted astonishment.

  “Is that true?” she demanded of Charlotte. “But that was why you said he was a flirt?” She giggled. “Poor Nick! He courts you every way he knows how, and you think he is in love with me!”

  “Courts me?” Charlotte mocked her. “He only sees me as Dad’s daughter, a nineteen-year-old to be kind to.”

  Monique giggled again.

  “Don’t scoff, mon amie. And why do you think Seamus was in such a bad temper all day? Because he thought he was too old for me! All this because I said I would not wait much longer! Men are stupid!”

  “It sounds to me as though stupidity runs in the family,” Seamus said dryly. “Even Jock knew that I was in love with Monique!”

  So he had! Charlotte remembered wryly. That would explain his peculi
ar answer when she had said that Seamus ought to marry again.

  “But I still don’t see why you didn’t get married in Paris, before we left. Nick wouldn’t have minded, would he?” She still couldn’t quite believe that Nick had no interest in Monique. The belief had been with her so long, ever since she had known them, in fact.

  “Certainly not Nick,” Seamus agreed gravely. “It was I who made the decision, allanah, I wanted to get to know my daughter again, really know her, and I don’t think I could have done that if I had just acquired a brand-new wife. I wanted you to feel that I was all yours, not that you had to share me on what would technically have been my honeymoon.”

  It was the first time he had ever used an Irish endearment for her. She considered it and found she liked it.

  “And so it was,” Monique took up the story. “I was not pleased, as you may imagine, but when you came I liked you so well, only it was difficult not to have Seamus.”

  Charlotte shook her head.

  “You shouldn’t have done it, Dad,” she said. “But I’m awfully glad you did, all the same,” she added with a smile.

  “And you wish us happiness?” Monique asked, anxiously. “You do not mind my marrying your father?”

  “Oh, how can you ask?” Charlotte demanded. “It’s wonderful!”

  Monique hugged her again.

  “Especially as now you know that I’m not interested in Nick,” she suggested slyly.

  Charlotte blushed.

  “I’m not telling,” she said firmly, and they all laughed. Then she remembered why she had come: back to the yacht and she leapt to her feet. How could she have allowed so much time to go past before she even mentioned what Nick was doing? He would be running short of oxygen and he might even have decided to tackle the merou on his own.

  “Nick!” she gasped. “He sent me for help!”