Cap Flamingo

by Violet Winspear

  he and your little nurse were awfully well acquainted."

  So that was it! Edwina thought. The young devil who had hurt Fern was now in America.

  Fern decided on the Saturday morning to cheer herself up by buying a new dress for Ross Kingdom's welcome-home party at the country club that evening. Edwina thought the idea an excellent one and Fern caught a bus into town about eleven o'clock. She would have liked Diana's company, but the girl had left early for Long Beach to keep a modelling date. It was a rather overcast morning, some of the downtown smog having drifted uptown to obscure the surrounding hills in chiffon scarves of mist. Fingers of reddish sunshine made the sails of yachts in the harbour gleam as though on fire, and the bustling activity of the bay, combined with the fascinating business of window-shopping, soon brightened Fern's eyes. She finally entered a shop to ask the price of a hyacinth-blue silk dress displayed in one of the windows. The price was reasonable, the classic princess style exactly right for Fern, but the dress needed a minor alteration. She was assured, however, that it would be delivered to her address some time in the afternoon, and after going to the footwear department to buy herself a pair of blue satin dancing slippers, Fern decided to have lunch at Muleeny's, a colourful restaurant down by the harbour.

  She found herself a corner seat and was absorbed in the menu when a voice said : "May I join you, Fern, or do you want to be alone?"

  Fern glanced up. A wing of her bright hair, worn loose this morning, swung against her cheek. "Of course you can join me." She returned Ross Kingdom's smile and thought how rakishly attractive he was looking in a suit the colour of rich dark plums.

  He sat down facing her and took the menu from her hands. "I'm bossy," he said, "I like choosing the fare." He scanned the menu, suggested ice-cold melon to start off with, barbecued steaks and corn piquant to be followed by sliced peaches in Chantilly cream.

  "Mm, delicious!" Fern sat with her chin resting on

  her interlaced hands, feeling a dart of sweet confusion when Ross's eyes gazed straight into hers for a moment, then he was beckoning a waiter to the table. He had looked at her, Fern realized, as if he thought she was rather delicious. She wondered if she ought to feel dismayed, then decided to feel pleased.

  The colourful, piratical atmosphere of Muleeny's, with the waiters dressed in stocking-caps and jerseys, was designed to produce lightheartedness in its patrons, and when Fern and Ross walked out to his car he was holding her arm and they were having a laughing argument because he had paid for her lunch. "Will you be quiet, you blonde !" Their car shot out of the parking lot and joined the general stream of traffic. "I'm well aware that you're an independent Britisher, but I'm notorious for my obstinacy. My aunt calls me bull-headed," Ross laughed.

  Her glance dwelt on his chin, which was very obstinate. His whole face in fact revealed that touch of relentless pride which wouldn't let him unbend to Laraine though he might still love her. And because of Ken she could understand. She knew herself that when your cherished illusions about someone were shattered you found it hard accepting the stranger who stood in the ruins of your broken dream. You wanted to cling to your dream. Cling until loneliness swept you into the churning waters of love again, where you reached blindly for the arms of the old disenchanted love, or turned to those of a new, trembling, undecided one.

  They left the bustle of the town behind them and Ross suddenly turned the car on to a twisting, jolting ribbon of a track. Trees began to appear on either side of the track and the engine of the car began to hum, for they were climbing. Fern breathed the tang of rich earth and wild growth and everything was very quiet, very peaceful. "I used to play here when I was a youngster," Ross told her. "These woods were my jungle and here I went on safari and hunted elephants, tigers and wild boar." Amusement crinkled his eyes. "Those imaginary wild boar were the biggest, maddest pigs outside of a Disney

  cartoon. Say, let's stop here!" He halted the car and sprang out, pulling Fern with him. "Come on, let us go exploring. I'm eager to see if I still know my way around."

  "We mustn't get home late," she warned, thinking of her patient and also a little of her sudden complete aloneness with Ross.

  He laughed and pushed through the tangled bushes, holding them aside for Fern. In a while they had penetrated deep into the woods and Fern became aware of hidden ghostly rustlings which her common sense told her were made by birds in the bushes and rabbits in the tall grass, but which her imagination said belonged to the ghosts of the past... gliding red men with war-paint on their bodies ... bronzed settlers in rough homespun clothing....

  "I hope you know your way back to the car." She moved a little closer to Ross.

  He regarded her with quizzical eyes. "What's the matter, don't you fancy being a babe in the woods with me? Wouldn't you like to wake up in my arms in the morning covered in leaves and grasses?"

  She met his dancing eyes and her dimple was suddenly showing in her cheek. "Covered in confusion would probably be more like it," she said.

  He put back his bronze head and laughed with bold enjoyment, the sound of his laughter ringing loud and startling several birds to the safety of the higher branches of the gigantic redwood trees. Then the dimness of the woods began to lift, the trees thinned and screens of giant fern opened to let them into a sudden fairy-tale clearing. The tall trees grew in almost a perfect circle around the clearing and it was carpeted with lush emerald grass and tiny wild flowers. Ross smiled at Fern's exclamation of delight.

  "We mustn't trespass," she whispered. "I'm sure this lovely spot is fairy property."

  "Then you're certainly entitled to trespass," he replied gallantly. He gazed around him, a nostalgic smile in his eyes. "When I was a boy I used to bring along cakes

  and apples and have a picnic here all by myself. What a pity we haven't any goodies with us right now. Anyway we can have a cigarette."

  They smoked companionably, and Fern didn't question the strange enchantment of this stolen hour with Ross in the playground of his boyhood. A lovely peace prevailed here and it was smoothing away their mutual cares for a while.

  Ross sat upon a boulder which nature and the hand of time had carved into almost the semblance of a forest king's throne. "Yeah, I made this spot my own secret place," he said, "but most other times I was running wild with a motley crowd of buddies. Once we played Florida swamp injuns." He chuckled at the memory. "I swiped my Uncle Arthur's razor and we kids shaved our heads in the traditional manner. Aunt Edwina nearly turned injun herself when she saw me— she nearly scalped me."

  "I bet you always had to be chief," Fern laughed, delighted by the picture he evoked in her mind of a gang of baldheaded urchins.

  "Naturally. I thrashed the guys who said I couldn't be." His glance stole over Fern, standing before him in a little casual suit with her fair hair to her shoulders. She wasn't in retreat from him today, he thought, and he tossed away his cigarette and stepped towards her. He gazed straight down into her eyes, which were enormous, very soft, like a lavender mist he could get lost in. A gentle breeze stirred through the glade, lifting the ends of her silvery hair. Then Ross took the cigarette from Fern's fingers, dropped it to the grass and ground his heel down upon it. Her heart jerked. She knew he wanted to kiss her, and suddenly, too clearly, she was remembering that his aunt had said he would not be scrupulous about the weapons he chose to protect himself from Laraine.

  "Shall we go home?" Fern stepped past him, wanting now to leave this magical spot where enchantments were meant to be woven ... and broken.

  They made their way back to where he had left his

  car. "Does my aunt talk to you about me?" he asked. His fingers lightly encircled her left wrist and when Fern stumbled over a tussock of grass his fingers tightened, steadying her. "That little stumble tells me she does." His drawl was cynical. "She's told you I'm a big bad wolf, eh? That a nice little thing in a nice white uniform is just my sort of juicy bone and that, if you'll let me, I'll take a nibble or two out of you, then
put you in a corner—or under the mat—and forget all about you?"

  Fern laughed, spontaneously. "Your aunt said no such thing—Ross." Which was true, at least. Edwina had certainly not implied that her nephew was a flirt. On the contrary, she had seemed certain he was still in love with Laraine.

  "Thanks at least for calling me Ross." They reached his car and he handed her into it. "Don't blame me too much for almost losing my head back there in the woods, Fern," he said. "You're very lovely, you know, and compassionate. A man sometimes feels the need for a woman's compassion."

  For some reason her glance dwelt on his scarred temple and she didn't like the little jolt of alarm that shook her heart.

  Cap Flamingo's country club was an elegant white building perched upon the cliffs above the blue Pacific and its own private cove, whose silver sands were reached by means of a flight of steps cut into the cliff face. Tennis courts and a golfing green were laid out at the back of the club and a long, attractively balustraded terrace embraced the building, where rustic seats were set in secluded niches and flowering shrubs scented the air.

  Jenifer had chosen to have the party at the club to save her aunt the commotion of preparing for it at the house and then its actual noise. The club had everything on hand, a good orchestra, an excellent catering staff and a smart ballroom.

  She and Ross drove over early, wishing to be at the

  club to greet their guests, and now they stood together in the doorway of the ballroom shaking hands with people, a striking couple whose likeness to each other was very evident this evening. Jenifer wore a gown of ice-green organza and a wonderful necklace of pear-shaped emeralds strung upon silver. Ross's white dinner-jacket over impeccable dark trousers made him seem extra tall to Fern when she arrived with Diana, whose flounced almond-blossom pink made a pretty foil for the classic simplicity of Fern's hyacinth-blue dress.

  Ross wrote on both their dance cards and when Fern examined hers she found he had given himself four dances including the final waltz. She bit her lip, troubled that he had chosen to have the final waltz with her instead of with Laraine, who was looking utterly bewitching this evening in a glimmering sheath the colour and texture of a pearl. There were pearls surrounded by rubies in her ears and her raven hair was dressed in a Cleopatra style.

  In a very short while the ballroom was alive with gay chatter and the great silver punch-bowl on the buffet table reflected the sparkle of jewels, the flounce of colourful gowns and the coral of smiling lips. The orchestra was perfect to dance to and Fern was circling the floor in the arms of a film executive, a friend of Jenifer's, when she saw Curtis Wayne saunter into the room. "Oh, lord!" she thought, and knew from the way he stood in the doorway, eagerly scanning faces with his light eyes, that he was looking for her. Inevitably his glance fell upon her and he broke into a smile. He was at her side directly the quickstep finished.

  "D'you mind, old man—my girl," he said brazenly to the film executive, and she was being led to the open terrace doors before she could protest. There on the terrace Curtis stood looking down at her. "You little devil," he laughed. "I was a good half hour searching for that darn ignition key. What did you want to do that for? Is this the Victorian age and a guy must know a gal a couple of months before he even gets permission to kiss her left eyebrow, let alone her mouth?"

  He spoke with a boyish mixture of charm and contrite-ness, and Fern had to laugh at him. "You shouldn't go hastily jumping to the conclusion that all girls want to be kissed after a couple of hours' acquaintance," she said sternly.

  She turned to go back into the ballroom and he quickly stepped in front of her. "Be friends with me and I'll honestly behave myself from now on, Fern," he said. "Y'see, I have all this money, and a guy gets to believe that all the girls he meets are only after good times and presents. He figures they think more of his bank balance than they think of him, and in the end it kind of makes him cynical and he grabs at good times for himself. But honest injun, I never meant to frighten you, honey. After I cooled down the other evening I looked for you and I was real worried, till I guessed you'd hitched a ride home." He smiled down into her eyes. "Did you receive my flowers and my note of apology?"

  She nodded, suddenly feeling a little sorry for him. A man without money knew at least that girls wanted him for himself, and she didn't protest when Curtis took her dance card from her wrist and wrote his name beside the only dance she had left. It was a cha-cha, which wasn't an intimate dance, and he pulled a rueful face. "I meant to get here early and bag more than one dance with you," he said, "but I was held up by a downtown traffic jam." Then he noticed Ross's name beside the final waltz and his blond eyebrows rushed together in a frown. "H'm, I see the prodigal brother has taken advantage of his position to grab the last waltz with the prettiest girl here!" he rather angrily exclaimed.

  He watched her as she hooked her dance card back on her wrist.

  "D'you like him, Fern?" he asked.

  "I like all the Kingdoms," she replied. "They're a charming family."

  "You've heard, I suppose, that Ross was once engaged to Laraine?"

  "Of course."

  "Folks hereabouts are wondering whether he'll marry

  her. What do you say? You're living up at the Kingdom house so you must have some idea which way the wind is blowing."

  "Really, Curtis, I'm only Miss Kingdom's nurse. The family don't confide their private business to me."

  "Aw, you know what I mean, honey. Laraine visits there and you must have formed some idea of their feelings for one another. I'd say Laraine still wants him, but he may not like the idea of marrying the daughter of a crook. He is the grandson of a Charleston blue-blood, and darn near as proud as Lucifer."

  The drifting music from the ballroom mingled with the rather troubled murmuring of the ocean, for all day the weather had been uncertain and now there was a damp sweetness in the air which spoke of coming rain. The moon shone mistily, gilding Fern in its silver light, and the man at her side watched the startled widening of her eyes at his remark concerning Laraine Davies.

  "Her father would have gone to prison, if he'd lived," Curtis continued. "It was his sudden death that revealed he had been embezzling company funds and playing the stock market with them."

  "Well, Laraine can't help it if her father acted weakly and foolishly, nor do I think anything like that would be likely to influence Mr. Kingdom," Fern argued staunchly... though it was true Ross was proud.

  Her hand closed on the stone coping beside which she stood, and nearby the heavy heads of potted hydrangeas dipped in a breeze stirring along the terrace. Proud as Lucifer, Curtis had said, and the arrogant lift to Ross Kingdom's bronze head did denote a man who would not be very likely to swerve from the decisions he made ... even if they involved pain for himself.

  Curtis held open his cigarette-case. Fern shook her head and when her companion held his lighter to his own cigarette she saw for a brief moment a searching expression in the blue eyes resting upon her. "Beneath that charm of theirs, honey," Curtis puffed out a stream of smoke, "the Kingdoms are almighty jealous of their family honour. Why, six years ago Ross had a devil of a

  temper. He wouldn't be bossed around by anyone, and I guess that's how come he broke things off with Laraine. Some men are like that. Now me," the blue eyes kindled and Fern felt Curtis move a little nearer to her, "I wouldn't say no to a little bossing ... from the right girl."

  "I—I'd better be getting back to the ballroom." Fern withdrew from the terrace coping. "I have a partner for this next dance."

  "Don't forget you have a cha-cha with me later on," Curtis reminded her.

  "I shan't. See you later, Curtis."

  The tall, blond young man watched Fern pass through the long, open glass doors into the brightly lit ballroom, and there was a wistful curve to his mouth.

  It was said with justification in Cap Flamingo that you could always bet on the champagne and the fun lasting out at any party the Kingdoms gave, and Jenifer had every
right to look pleased with the success of this one.

  When the orchestra struck up the final waltz, Ross glanced round the room, remembering that he had this waltz with Fern. He saw her in conversation at the buffet table and approached her. In her blue silk gown, with her platinum hair dressed in a pageboy style, she looked rather like a Florentine princess depicted in a painting he had once seen abroad. All she needed, he thought with a slight smile, was a jewelled cap and pearls clasped about her slender throat. Without saying a word he walked her away from the buffet table. She felt lissom and cool in his arms as they danced.

  "Have you had fun this evening?" he asked.

  "Yes, it's all been very nice," she replied.

  "Such a polite little answer," he laughed. "I saw you doing a cha-cha with Curtis Wayne a while ago, so I take it you're friends with him again!"

  "I think I feel rather sorry for him. He has far too much money and his interests seem to be confined to yacht-racing and girl-chasing."

  "Sounds a pleasant enough existence," Ross quipped.

  "You don't mean that, Ross !" Fern glanced up at him and she noticed again, as she had earlier on during a dance with him, that he looked rather drawn and tired. "Are you feeling quite well?" she asked, concerned for him.

  "Fve a bit of a headache," he admitted, "but I have some tablets at home which will soon take it away."

  "You should always carry them with you! Look, shall I run and get you a couple of aspirins off the powder-room attendant?"

  "No, don't let's spoil a very pleasant waltz. It's the last one, and we'll be going home in a short while."

  Laraine and her partner danced past them, and Fern, with quick dismay, saw how resentfully the model's sloe-dark eyes dwelt on herself then on Ross. And he chose at that moment to brush a tendril of coloured streamer from Fern's hair, his fingers lingering on its soft texture. Fern flushed. She didn't want Laraine, or anyone else come to that, to think she encouraged Ross to touch her in this way... but knowingly or unknowingly he was managing to convey such an impression. There were low-voiced comments when it was noticed he was dancing the final waltz with his aunt's little English nurse, who was certainly a pleasure to look at in her cool blue silk. Some sly smiles were exchanged. Laraine Davies had better start sharpening her weapons; men were mighty susceptible to pretty little blondes!