Cap Flamingo

by Violet Winspear

  "You mustn't upset yourself like this, Fern." He wiped away her tears with his handkerchief. "I know Gigi was a cute little devil, but the three of you did what you could for her and you mustn't lose sight of the great little time she had while she lived."

  "I-it wouldn't have happened if I hadn't gone to the picnic. Diana would have dozed in the grass with Jeff, a-and Gigi never used to wander off on her own." Fern, depressed by her fit of weeping, was suddenly bleakly certain that she brought the Kingdoms bad luck.

  "Look," Ross held her shoulders with hands that were suddenly hard, "I won't have you talking in that melancholy fashion. You've made yourself thoroughly unhappy, and I suggest we go out to dinner somewhere a bit special—" She started to protest, to say she didn't want to go out, and he gave her a small shake. "We're going out, my girl, and I'm brooking no arguments. You're to bathe, then you'll put on your prettiest gown and we'll go and dine at the House of the Peach Flower, that Chinese restaurant we both like." He drew her to her feet and with a return of that tenderness for which she hungered he bent and kissed her left ear lobe. "All right now, poppet?" he murmured, and she felt his fingers lightly explore her shoulder blades, bare under her sun-top.

  "Mm—" she shivered and pulled away from his touch, for it was too bitter-sweet that he was only being kind to her because he had found her weeping over the little dead poodle.

  The restaurant possessed an air of cool, elegant charm with its glass screens on which painted birds touched wings in mid-air, pictures embroidered in needlework and discreet, silent-footed Chinese waiters. Creamy blossoms scented the air in dim corners and Fern sat facing her husband at a table by a window. The bay lights twinkled and it was like looking down upon fairyland, while the muted glow of the restaurant's hanging lanterns was reflected in the little pieces of gold in Ross's eyes.

  He was much more approachable tonight, but Fern

  was too on guard against any more pain to be able to fully relax and enjoy their meal of chimney-fried Peking duck, cut into pieces and wrapped in small, paper-thin pancakes and eaten with asparagus and corn. She couldn't bask in the sunshine of Ross's smiles for a few hours and then weather sudden coldness from him for days at a time. She no longer had the strength, and this showed in the paleness of her face tonight. Her heart was aching in her eyes and though Ross put himself out to charm her, that little enchanting glow that had seemed to burn within her had gone very dim and only now and again did she smile with any real pleasure at something he said.

  When their coffee was brought to the table a rolled-up Chinese proverb was placed beside each small fili-greed cup. When Fern read hers a fleeting smile touched her lips. 'A young wife should be in her house but a shadow and an echo,' ran the proverb, and she thought how well it applied to herself. A shadow rather than a reality to her husband. Just a voice to echo him whenever he assured someone they were finding married life very pleasant.

  Ross took the little piece of rice paper out of her hand and though he laughed at what was written on it his laughter was rueful rather than amused, Fern noticed. She lifted her coffee cup and sipped at its contents, and she knew Ross was watching her as she gazed out of the window beside their table. In her pale Grecian-styled gown, with her silver hair swathed back from the pristine modelling of her features, she looked curiously untouchable . . . and untouched.

  Words of some sort trembled on Ross's mouth and then he noticed that she wasn't wearing her sapphire ring. Only the gold band of her wedding ring shone on her finger. He commented on the fact.

  "Oh," she glanced at her hand, "I didn't want to wear it. I left it at the bungalow."

  "You didn't want to wear it!" he repeated after her, his voice sounding stern and extra deep.

  "I agree with you that jewellery should be given as a

  token of love," she said, in a cool voice. "I don't care to wear any more a ring that was bought merely to impress upon people that—that we are lovers."

  He stared at her. "You really believe that, Fern? That I gave you the ring merely to impress other people?"

  "Didn't you?"

  "No, by heaven!"

  Fern shrugged her shoulders. She hardly knew tonight, or even cared, whether she was hurting him because he had hurt her. The only certainty in her mind was that from the moment Laraine had commented upon her ring at the country club the other evening she had known Ross's real reason for buying it. A ring of such costly beauty had to be the gift of a lover . . . she had seen the shock of the thought written plainly in Laraine's dark eyes.

  "Very well, Fern, suit yourself whether or not you wear the ring." The offhanded coldness of Ross's voice was matched by the sudden hardness of his face. They rose to leave the restaurant, and when he had adjusted her brocade evening coat for her, he turned aside to have a few words with Tchang the head waiter on the excellence of the meal they had just eaten. Fern idly picked up the piece of rice paper on which Ross's proverb was written. 'Kindle not a fire you cannot put out," she read. A knife of anguish turned itself in her heart. Ross was very determined not to let a fire kindle between them. He had burned once and wasn't going to chance again the taste of ashes in his mouth.

  The tension between them might have mounted to an unbearable climax, but Monday morning it was unexpectedly relieved by the arrival of a letter from Glare Brunhill. Her brother had suffered a heart attack and she knew Ross wouldn't have forgiven her if she hadn't written to let him know.

  "I didn't think the old chap looked any too well that weekend we spent with them. He must be nudging seventy and he's always had a bit of a weak heart." Fern, across the table in the breakfast nook, saw her husband's hand clench on the letter. "Look, honey, I'd like

  to go and see him. I'll only be gone a day or so and I don't want to drag you on and off trains in this beastly hot weather. Ten to one I wouldn't be able to get plane bookings, and Diana can stay here if you feel nervous about spending the night alone."

  Fern couldn't suppress a hurtful suspicion that Ross didn't want her to go with him to San Francisco, but she managed to hide what she was thinking and packed him an overnight bag while he phoned Union Station to ask the time of the next train. Then he phoned Clare Brunhill to let her know he was on his way to see the Professor.

  Fern came out of his bedroom into the hallway with his overnight bag and she heard him say over the phone : "No, I shan't be bringing Fern. This weather's pretty trying and she had a bit of an upset the other day which has left her feeling a bit low. No, you incurable romantic," he gave a short laugh, "of course she doesn't mind being left on her own. She won't be, as a matter of fact. My young niece near enough makes this place her second home, so she won't mind keeping Fern company. I'll be seeing you then, Clare. Tell the Prof to get out his chess-board . . . 'bye, now!"

  The bungalow seemed terribly quiet after Ross had gone. The smoke of his cheroot still lingered and Fern couldn't get rid of a lump in her throat at the brief way he had kissed her cheek. A mere brush of the lips, a repeated injunction that she phone Diana to come and stay at the bungalow, and then she had stood at the front door watching the yellow and black shape of his cab turn out of the avenue.

  Oh, this wouldn't do! She caught up the telephone receiver and dialled the number of the Kingdom house. But Diana wasn't there. Delilah said she was spending a few days with Mist' Jeff's people in Santa Clara and she wasn't expected home until Wednesday. Fern stared at the light pine walls of the hallway. Of course, she remembered now ! Diana had told her she was going to the Lanes' for the weekend and this meant they had persuaded her to stay over for a few more days.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  "DID you want Miss Diana for somethin' special, honey?" came Delilah's warm southern voice along the line.

  "N-no, it's all right, Delilah. How is Miss Kingdom?" Fern still found herself unable to refer to Edwina as Aunt Winna. Shyness, along with her constant awareness that she wasn't really Ross's choice as a wife, made it seem too horribly confident of her to say 'Aunt Winna' outrig
ht, though she got scolded constantly for not doing so.

  "Miss Winna's grumbling somethin' fierce about her diet, honey," Delilah replied, "and I sure despairs for it. Any day now my missie is gonna tell ole Lila to fix her up a smoking dish of yams, spare ribs and gravy, and I ain't gonna be able to resist her in a beguiling mood. The Kingdoms sure can turn on the beguilement when they're minded to," Delilah broke into a bosomy chuckle, "but I reckon you've done learned all about that from Mist' Ross, ain't you, Miss Fern, honey?"

  The delicious, painful thought of Ross in a beguiling mood turned Fern's knees to water and she quickly assured Delilah that she hadn't wanted Diana for anything special, said goodbye and rang off. _

  She stood indecisive in the hallway, worrying the frill of her apron with her fingers. Her daily woman was laid up with a twisted ankle so she had plenty of housework to keep her occupied, nor was she really troubled by the thought of spending the night alone at the bungalow. What made her feel despondent was not hearing the companionable tap-tap of Ross's typewriter. She glanced at her wristwatch. It was just about time for his usual coffee and cookies, and if he were here he'd be poking his head round the sun-room door and calling out for them.

  Her breath caught on a sigh.

  She was beginning to cling so to the small, everyday-things, for they were all she really had. Ross's preference for savoury cookies rather than sweet ones. The way he liked sleeping in just his pyjama trousers and was inclined to dislike the fine head of bronze curls with which nature had blessed him. "You should think yourself lucky," Fern said to him when he grumbled. "Look at me, my hair is straight as rain."

  "Glittering rain falling through spring sunshine," he had replied upon one occasion, tipping her heart right over as he could with one of his picturesque compliments spoken in that warm, vibrant voice of his. These compliments, too, had their importance, for they had to take the place of more heartfelt sentiments.

  Fern washed up the breakfast crockery and set about tidying the bedrooms. She dusted the framed photographs of her two small nieces and one very blond nephew standing on her bedside table, and as always her glance lingered on young Frankie. Fern was very fond of Bryony's little boy and she would have loved a mischievous, laughing child almost exactly like him ... except that she would want her child to have her husband's wonderful eyes.

  Her own eyes grew suddenly misty.

  A real, warm, heartfelt love seemed determined to elude her, and she was one of those people who knew in her innermost being that loving was living, and giving for the sake of love was sublime living. She only asked to live for Ross, and it hurt... how deeply it hurt that today she had been married exactly two months and she had to face the bleak realization that he definitely hadn't wanted her to go with him to San Francisco. He had been making palpable excuses about the trying weather, for Fern was one of those fortunate people who kept remarkably cool in the heat and Ross often commented upon the fact. "You look cool as iced melon," he often said. He hadn't wanted her!

  It was as though he reminded her that she had no real, lasting place in his life and he didn't wish her to share in whatever tribulations beset him or his friends.

  By lunchtime Fern decided she'd had enough of the silent bungalow, with its impersonal tubular furniture and empty sun-room, so she took a shower, changed into a slim-line, butter-yellow dress, clipped a charm bracelet about her wrist in an attempt at frivolity, and caught a bus into town. It was a hot day and every now and again sulphur-edged clouds obscured the fiery sun. Fern ate a light lunch of shrimp Creole at Muleeny's and she was dawdling over her iced coffee, wondering how best to spend the afternoon, when out of a window of the restaurant she caught sight of a long, glossy touring bus parked across the road. The driver was holding a microphone to his lips and advertising the fact that in fifteen minutes' time he was setting out for Marina Beach where a 'mighty exciting' carnival was being staged that afternoon.

  "With decorated floats, ladies and gen'lemen. Bathing belles galore and some of your favourite movie stars ... including the one and only Apache Wilson, who'll be riding his famous and bee-utiful Palomino mare."

  Fern smiled a little to herself. She had never been to Marina, though she'd been told the drive along the coast road was pretty sensational, with miles of silvery sand, blue ocean and pastel villas perched upon the cliff-tops.

  Fern finished her coffee, settled her bill and decided to go to the carnival. Suddenly she wanted noise and gaiety. She wanted to get lost in a happy thoughtless crowd where she might not hear for a while the nagging voice in her mind that kept telling her she was not wanted by the man she loved.

  Marina's pleasure beach was packed wtih sightseers and holidaymakers; the whole tropical-looking town buzzed and hummed like a bright top wound to its full capacity.

  The sun shimmered, firing the ocean to molten silver, turning to a dazzling white the coats of busy ice-cream and fruit-juice vendors. There was still half an hour to go before the carnival began, but already the pavements of the palm-lined sea-front boulevard were alive with

  people. Family groups predominated, the women clutching beach bags bulging with food and flasks, their husbands fanning themselves with Panama hats, their children wheeling, snatching, crying out with all the freedom of the gulls above the ocean.

  The scene was vivid as a poster. Hawaiian shirts and Bermuda shorts mingled with smooth tanned legs and gaily patterned frocks. The salty tang of Pastrami sandwiches mingled with overheated asphalt, hot tyres, sun-tan lotion and close-packed humanity. And above the crowd, shaded by gay awnings, hotel occupants were taking tea on flower-hung verandas.

  As Fern found herself hustled into the crowd, the pavement struck hot through the soles of her sandals and the clamour of the many voices confused her. "Say, join me!" a young man invited, but she only laughed, pulled free of the detaining hand and let the noisy crowd carry her further along on its surging wave.

  "Fern ... I say, Fern?" This time she recognized the voice. She turned a startled head. There behind her, pushing to her side and wearing a silver-grey shirt outside lightweight slacks, was Ken McVicar. He carried a navy-blue blazer over one arm.

  "Ken... you!"

  "Yes... me!"

  They had parted weeks ago in bitterness, now Fern was only aware of a dart of pleasure at seeing a familiar face, while Ken thought how beautiful she was. Like a primrose in her pale sheath of a dress. So slender, so breakable this crowd must surely crush and trample her at any moment. He broke through to her side, caught hold of her hands, and they stood in wordless uncertainty for several moments, the crowd milling and breaking about them.

  "Fancy seeing you, Ken !" she exclaimed.

  He didn't tell her that he had seen her boarding a touring bus in Cap Flamingo, which he had purposely followed in the car he had recently bought.

  "I was due for a day off." This was true. "I heard about the carnival and decided to come and see it."

  Fern weighed his explanation in her mind, allowing his guiding hand upon her arm. He had spotted a thin patch in the crowd; a moment more and they had filled it in. "I think we'll see everything quite well from here," Ken said. Fern's fair head glistened by his shoulder and he knew she was regarding his profile with her big, enquiring lavender eyes. "Is your husband alone at home with his nose to the grindstone?" Ken smiled down at her, but she saw his faint look of anxiety, the unspoken plea in his eyes that they sail under a neutral flag for this one afternoon. This afternoon when she was feeling so left out of her husband's life.

  "Ross had to go to 'Frisco, to see a friend . .. why, here comes the carnival!"

  A loud cheer rose up, drowning thought and conversation as a contingent of smartly uniformed band girls heralded the arrival of the carnival. Children pranced and capered into the road and the boom-boom-boom of a big drum was exactly like the concentrated pulse beat of the excited crowd. Fern felt Ken close beside her, then the band swung by in full blue and scarlet array, giving a triumphant rendering of Rambling
Rose. A delightful float of massed roses followed the band, with a cluster of pretty girls sitting among the roses in flounced pastel dresses and scattering handfuls of petals over the people crowding the pavements.

  One after the other the magnificent floats rolled by and alongside them danced golliwogs, penguins, spacemen and sprites. There was a take-off of a popular T.V. medical series. A toyshop scene showed all sorts of amusing toys dancing together in a mechanical fashion uproariously comical. Another float was cleverly designed to represent the deck of a luxury liner where the 'passengers' lay at ease in long chairs and idled at the rails of the 'ship'.

  It was all a delightful form of advertising, but brilliantly produced; a spectacle to delight the hearts of children and adults alike.

  The final float carried Marina's beauty queen, attended by her glamorous court, and after a loud cheer

  had died away the well satisfied onlookers began to disperse. Some were talking admiringly of the carnival; others rather hungrily of a bite of food. A group of gay young blades and their girls raced down to the beach for a dip in the sea before the tide came in.

  Fern and Ken made their way across the road. Both of them were longing for a cup of tea in a cool, shady lounge and they entered the Talbot Hotel, which was rather less ornate-looking than some of the other hotels. Fern went to the powder-room to wash her hands and tidy her hair, and upon joining Ken in the lounge she saw he had put on a bow-tie and was wearing the blazer he'd been carrying. When she reached the table beside which he was standing, she also noticed the look that sprang into his eyes. That boyishly admiring look from the old days, dispelling his rather serious air. He ordered tea and cakes and it was perhaps inevitable that he should say : "Being together like this over tea and cakes brings back memories, Fern."

  She stirred her tea and the little silver charms on her wrist tinkled like the fading music of the carnival.

  "Were your sisters surprised to hear about your— your marriage?" Ken selected an iced cupcake, then left it untouched on his plate.