Cap Flamingo

by Violet Winspear

  Kingdom guy is sure good for anyone else." He made a second lunge for Fern and, white-faced as her uniform almost, she darted desperately beneath his arm. One of his hands caught at the front of her uniform and the material ripped sharply, the sound blending with her cry of distress as she ran out of the door into the passage, where a startled Delilah caught hold of her.

  "What's all this, Miss Fern, honey?" The old negress's eyes bulged with a quick concern. She gathered Fern against her ample bosom and glared sharply, accusingly upon the handyman, standing in the doorway of the kitchen with a hand clenching the wood of the framework.

  His smile was a thwarted, twisted grimace. "Seems like you gotta be big, rich and handsome 'fore she'll tumble." With these ugly words he thrust past Delilah with Fern still clasped in her arms.

  "You get yourself outa this house, Jed Evans, and don't you show your rattlesnake face in it ever again," Delilah bawled. "Decent girls ain't safe around the likes of you!"

  "Decent?" the man jeered. "When I saw old lady Kingdom's nephew leaving her room this morning, all mussed and drowsy and straight outa bed! Folks round Cap Flamingo are gonna be mighty interested to hear about such goings on, specially with the airs and graces you all put on up at this swanky house. They're gonna just love hearing about Edwina Kingdom's nephew sleepin' snug as a bug with her sweet-talking nurse !"

  He thrust a wad of tobacco into his mouth and laughed out loud at both the outraged look on Delilah's face and the way Fern shuddered. "I'll send in my bill," he drawled, and walked away.

  "It ain't true what he says, honey, that I knows." Delilah led Fern into the kitchen, where she set the coffee-pot on the stove to brew up. Fern sank down into a chair. She explained about Ross coming to her room with a bad headache; about the pain-relieving draught she had given him, whose effects had overcome him before he could get back to his room.

  "Lordy, lordy," Delilah stood shaking her turbaned head and pouring out two cups of coffee, "that rattlesnake of a Jed Evans is gonna make trouble for us all, that we can count on, Miss Fern, honey. But right now you drink your coffee. It'll steady your nerves."

  "Mr. Kingdom was in such pain, Delilah, that I didn't think of anything else but helping him. Then he fell asleep on my bed and I meant to stay awake so I could wake him before anyone was up and about and likely to see him leaving my room." Fern flushed anew at what the handyman had implied. "P-people can be beastly, Delilah," she whispered.

  "They sure enough can, honey, but old Lila knows that you think clean and act clean. So does Mist' Ross! Now is that coffee sweet enough for you?"

  "Yes, thank you." Fern drank her coffee without really tasting it, nor did its warmth melt away the lump of ice which had formed in her stomach, sending waves of coldness through her limbs. Ross had gone out riding with Jenifer and Laraine, but when he returned he would have to be told about that horrible man and his threat to spread ugly gossip round Cap Flamingo. Ross was proud, and jealous of his family's good name . . . then there was Jenifer, whose career put her very much in the public eye. Gossip, scandal, could bring discredit upon everyone in the house!

  Fern braced herself and went upstairs to tell Edwina what had occurred. "I—I must go away, Miss Kingdom," she said shakily.

  Edwina's frowning glance dwelt on her young nurse's distressed face, then on her torn uniform. "Did Evans do that?"

  "Yes."

  "The trouble is, child, though the poets might write reams about beauty rousing men to chivalry, it far more often sinks them to the level of ravening animals." Edwina broke into a dry smile. "The Orientals are wise to cover the faces of their women."

  "Miss Kingdom, please let us talk practically," Fern begged. "That beastly man has threatened to spread a

  lot of wretched gossip round Gap Flamingo, a-and I don't know what to do." Fern, her usual composure utterly shaken, was close to tears as she stood beside the fourposter, holding the torn section of her uniform against her young, white body. "I don't want people thinking untrue things about Mr. Kingdom."

  "I agree that it's all a darn mess, and all because you're too tender-hearted by far. Oh yes. You should have sent the boy packing back to his own room and taken the draught to him."

  "I—I didn't think—" A tear splashed to Fern's cheek and made a wet star. "I'll pack my things. I'll go away."

  "I think the best thing you can do right now is to go and change your uniform," Edwina gruffly suggested. "We'll leave Ross to decide what's to be done about silencing that wretched handyman."

  In her own room Fern lay on the bed and let a tide of sheer misery flow over her. She had awakened in such good spirits, feeling a glow of pleasure at finding herself in bed, warmly covered up by Ross. Then at breakfast his eyes had met hers across the table with a smile in them that was both grateful and conspiratorial. His eyes were a deep warm brown when he was in a gentle mood, but their flecks of gold would surely turn to points of flame when he was angry . . . and he would be angry when he learned that he had been seen leaving her room.

  Much to Fern's relief Jenifer phoned to say that she and Ross were lunching out with Laraine. Diana had a date with Jeff Lane and she was too full of him to notice that a strained atmosphere lay over the house, though she did comment on Fern's rather pink eyelids.

  "I'm tired after the party last night." Fern hurriedly switched the conversation to Diana's appearance, for she looked particularly attractive and grown up this afternoon in a smart little coffee lace dress worn with dark red accessories. They talked about clothes and quite a bit about Jeff, and half an hour later Fern stood on the front steps waving goodbye as Jeff's sports car turned out of the driveway. Yesterday's storm had not

  damaged the weather and puffs of summery cloud lay in the blue sky like languorous houris. Birds twittered in their treetop hideaways and Fern wished that she, too, had a hideaway to which she could fly.

  Delilah came out on the steps, looking rather browbeaten. "Miss Winna's near drubbed the hide off me with her tongue for having that white-trash Jed Evans in to fix that loose shutter; now she says you gotta go out and ketch yourself some sunshine, Miss Fern, honey."

  "No, I—"

  "Now you gotta do like Miss Winna says," Delilah insisted, propelling Fern towards the stairway. "You change your uniform for somethin' casual and go take a walk along the seashore. You's pale as a lily, honey."

  Fern was in no mood for further argument and ten minutes later she was walking along the headland, making for the path that led down to the seashore. A soft wind played with her hair and she thrust her hands into the pockets of her slim-legged slacks, her small feet twinkling down the path in sandals. Now she was out of the house her depression lifted a little and it occurred to her that Edwina had suggested she take this walk so she would be out of the way when Ross arrived home. His aunt evidently meant to tackle him alone, and Fern's relief mingled with her professional concern in case her patient should upset herself.

  Oh dear! She had thought to escape heartaches and entanglements by staying in America, and now she was deeply involved in a family crisis.

  The Pacific ocean was gloriously blue today, which was one blessing, with tiny white-capped waves dancing a ballet at the edge of the soft, silvery sands. Fern removed her sandals and paddled along in the water, wishing she had thought to bring a swimsuit with her.

  "Hi there!" a voice suddenly cried out. Fern glanced round and saw a long-legged young man, wearing a striped crew shirt and a yachting cap, scrambling recklessly down the cliffs. "This is great!" Curtis Wayne was grinning all over his tanned face as he came running across the sands to her. "I've just rowed inshore from

  the Moth and I was on my way to the Kingdom place when I spotted you down here. I was going to ask the Empress Edwina to let you go sailing with me."

  "Oh, don't call Miss Kingdom that, she's really very kind," Fern reproved.

  "Well, I guess it's kind of easy, being kind to you." He stood close to her, the muscles of his arms looking hard under the cri
sp blond hairs. "Will you come for a sail?"

  "If you like." She let him take hold of her hand and thought fleetingly that a sail on Curtis's yacht couldn't harm her reputation more than it had been harmed already.

  The next two hours passed away very pleasantly, and Fern was sitting with Curtis on the deck of the Silver Moth, drinking iced tea with delicious strips of pineapple in it, the sea creaming away from the Moth's graceful bows, when Curtis said to her : "It's been great, Fern, having you all to myself this afternoon." He took hold of her slender left hand and played with her third finger. "I'd like to put a lovely square-cut diamond on this finger . . . will you let me?" he murmured.

  "Your proposal is charming, Curtis, but—"

  "—you don't love me, huh?"

  She shook a contrite head, her silver hair clinging in sea-sprayed tendrils to her cheeks.

  "I'd be content with just your tolerance and fondness. Fern."

  "I'd feel a cheat, Curtis, giving such lukewarm emotions to the man I married. Why, marriage is a partnership, and if both partners don't give a full measure of love, respect, humour and tolerance their marriage is condemned to failure before it gets a foot off the ground."

  "You're sweet, and I guess you're right." Curtis smiled wistfully upon her, so slender and girlish this afternoon in her slacks and sleeveless, blue-dotted blouse. "Anyway, will you let me give you a memento of this afternoon together? Something I picked up during a trip to Mexico?"

  "I couldn't accept anything valuable," she replied, flushing slightly.

  "It's just a pretty kind of hair-clip which the girls use down that way to keep their long hair in place. I'll run down to my cabin for it."

  While he was gone Fern stood at the side of the yacht watching seagulls and egrets flashing over the water, wishing she loved Curtis enough to let him take her far, far away across the ocean, to the enchantment of new, strange places where she might forget everything.

  "Here we are," she felt his warm hands gather her hair to the back of her head, then he secured the silver strands in a rather lovely tortoiseshell clip set with a pattern of tiny diamond-like stones.

  Fern touched the clip with exploratory fingers. "You're sure it isn't valuable, Curtis?" she insisted.

  "Of course it isn't, honey." He smiled at her insistence, contrasting it with the mercenary persistence of other girls he had known that he be sure and give them real mink and real diamonds.

  "Thank you for the clip, Curtis." Fern hesitated a moment, then tip-toed and gently kissed his cheek. A flush warmed his skin, but he didn't touch her. "A hundred years ago," he murmured, "I'd have hoisted anchor and a pirate flag and carried you away to a sunny pagan island in the Mediterranean."

  Their eyes clung for a moment and Fern knew how treacherously easy it would be to fall into Curtis's eager, tanned arms, how hard it was going to be to return to the Kingdom house where trouble surely awaited her.

  "Fern—" Her name broke imploringly from Curtis's lips.

  "Take me home," she said. She didn't love him, and it was love he implored of her. Love he wanted, as everyone did.

  It was late afternoon when Fern let herself into her patient's house. She was crossing the hall to the stairway when the door of the den opened behind her. She glanced round, and when she saw Ross the colour

  which the sea breeze had whipped into her cheeks died out of them. She grew quite pale, a hand clenching the wrought-iron rail of the stairs. Ross was still wearing his riding clothes and his booted feet rang loud on the floor of the hall as he crossed over to her. He stood looking down at her, taking note of her pale face. "Don't look like that!" There was a half bantering, half concerned note in his voice. "I'm not going to pounce on you, Fern."

  "Y-your aunt—she's told you about Jed Evans?" Fern met his eyes and the anger she had expected was quite absent from them. He looked troubled, but not angry. Fern swayed a little where she stood, not fighting him when he caught hold of her and led her into the den. He made her sit in a chair, then he went over to a side table holding decanters and glasses and poured a couple of brandies. "Drink up," he put the glass into her hand, "you look awfully shaky."

  Fern sipped at the brandy and her colour began to come back, along with her courage. Ross was standing with his back to the fireplace, wearing a slash-throated shirt with his riding-breeches, and she noticed how sharply etched his scar looked this afternoon. The livid-ity of the scar told her that he was emotionally disturbed by what his aunt had imparted to him, but he broke into a reassuring smile when he saw the worried questioning of Fern's large eyes.

  "We're rather in the soup, aren't we?" he drawled.

  "Th-that horrible man!" Fern shuddered. "He said the most beastly things!"

  "He tore your uniform, so my aunt informed me." Ross lifted his glass and drained the tawny brandy, then he turned to put the empty glass on the mantelpiece behind him. His wide shoulders confronted Fern for at least half a minute; when he faced round again a small nerve was flickering beside his mouth. "The devil of it is, we haven't a witness to confirm our innocence. If we had, a threat to bring a scandal action would soon close that ugly mouth of Jed Evans', but as things stand he can say what he likes about us and people will listen.

  They'll put their own interpretation upon my presence in your bedroom, and we must face the fact that there's going to be a lot of unkind gossip about the two of us, and we both have careers that depend to a certain extent on the respect and goodwill of people."

  "You really think people will believe that horrible little man?" Fern gasped.

  Ross thrust his hands down hard into the pockets of his breeches. "I'm very much afraid, Fern, there are occasions when the plain truth sounds more like an embroidered lie. Now if you were a dowdy matron, I don't suppose Evans would have given my rumpled, unshaven emergence from your room a second thought. But," a wry little smile quirked Ross's mouth, "you are a rather devastating little blonde. Were I an impersonal observer, I'd be hard put to believe the real truth myself."

  Fern couldn't smile with him. Her lashes sank down over her eyes and there was a young, hurt look about her. Ross at once walked to her chair and seated himself on the arm of it. "I'm sorry, Fern, but it looks very much as though I've compromised you," he said, more soberly.

  "But we've done nothing wrong !"

  "We know we haven't, but I'll wager our combined names are being bandied around the town already, and I guess you no more fancy being thought a girl of easy virtue than I want to be thought a seducer of pretty little nurses."

  A tremor swept through Fern, and Ross, in an attempt to alleviate her distress, wrapped a sudden warm arm about her. She needed its comfort, for she was blaming herself bitterly for all this. She should have sent Ross back to his own room last night and taken the headache draught to him. She knew the strength of the draught, that combined with his exhaustion from pain it would make him sleep almost immediately.

  "There is a way to stop the wagging tongues, Fern," he said quietly. "We could get married . . . for mutual protection."

  Her glance lifted wildly to his face. Yes, she hated

  the thought of degrading gossip; she shrank from it with all her young, clean heart. . . but marriage ? Marriage was a sacred undertaking, it wasn't meant to be used as a cover-up for scandal. Even a scandal that would appear all the worse because Ross was a well-known journalist, the brother of a film actress and the nephew of the once very famous Edwina Kingdom.

  Then she felt the touch of Ross's fingers on the tor-toiseshell clip which secured her hair. "I, too, know that marriage should be regarded with reverence," he murmured, reading her mind. "I'm not completely insensitive, you know."

  His rebuke hurt her, for she knew he hadn't proposed this marriage without due consideration of all it should involve, but which it wouldn't involve in their case. "I— I'm sorry, Ross, but it's such a drastic step for both of us to have to take . . . we're veritable strangers."

  "I don't feel that we're strangers after your kin
dness to me last night, my dear." His voice had softened, for he was remembering how she had soothed away his pain and lulled him into tranquil sleep, spending the night herself in a chair. "I don't want to see your compassion degraded by people, and the only way I can protect it is by marrying you."

  These words touched her heart and she trembled a little within the embrace of his arm. But there was Laraine. She was the girl with whom he shared unforgettable memories. She was the girl who had said only last night that he still loved her. She was someone they couldn't ignore.

  "Ross—what about Laraine?"

  Fern felt the immediate tensing of his arm about her. His face grew cold and chiselled as a marble face, with the flaw above his left eye looking just as though the hand of the sculptor had slipped and his chisel had gouged the marble. "Laraine and I have gone our separate ways for a number of years now," he replied coldly. "I didn't return to Gap Flamingo with the intention of putting the clock back. I've told Larry this myself."

  Fern bit her lip at the relentlessness of the remark, hurt by it because he had such considerable charm; a tender warmth in his smile at times that touched a woman like sunshine. Oh, she could pity Laraine, who knew he still wanted her but was unable to surmount the barrier of pride which he had erected between them. A barrier which his marriage to another girl would make doubly insurmountable. Fern stared across the room, to where dust motes danced in a stream of late afternoon sunshine and a brightly coloured moth flirted its wings among the scarlet flames of a potted azalea.

  "I don't want that haughty, handsome devil using you as a sort of shield for his darn pride," his aunt had said, the day after he had come home.

  "I understand your hesitation, Fern," Ross said, "and I respect you for having mental reservations, but unless we take the admittedly drastic step I've suggested, we're going to be pilloried, and mud clings. It will dirty our reputations and rub off on all those close to us. Your sisters. Mine—"

  "Don't!" she gasped.

  "I'm sorry, my dear, but there it is. Jed Evans means to sink his spiteful fangs deep into our pride and respectability, but we can extract his poison."