The patter came so easily now, it was nice to realise she meant it. Nicer still when the bride exclaimed, 'It's great, so much more special than a photograph. Thanks ever so much. We'll really treasure it.'
'Treasure yourselves—stay happy,' Elisa heard herself saying, and thought, Grief, I sound like a maiden aunt!
It was supposed to be a sign of age when policemen looked younger. Nobody had told her brides could have the same effect. Was that why she'd fallen so hard and so unexpectedly for Austyn? Because of good old Anno Domini.. .some biological clock ticking away deep within her hitting an alarm button to warn she was more than ready.
What an awful thought. It had a soulless touch, and she reacted violently against it. There shouldn't be anything soulless about falling in love. Besides, that didn't explain why Austyn had fallen for her.
She was glad when her clients had finished their exclaiming and the bridegroom began peeling notes from a roll of drachmas. He glanced at her advertisement pinned above the service counter with one of her sketches and, beside it, 'Elisa will draw you for six hundred drachmas'.
'That's twelve hundred drachmas for the two of us, then?' he asked.
'That's right.' Elisa thanked him as she took the money, buttoned it into her shirt pocket, and wished them a happy holiday. As they walked away hand-in-hand she began to pack away her materials, a glance at her watch telling her there was still an hour until noon. She was usually very busy during the lunch-time trade. In the meantime, she'd check on Sue.
She was putting her Conte sticks back into their individual slots in the foam at the bottom of the box when she was conscious of being watched. She looked round and saw the little girl had stolen up silently and was staring at her with painful intensity, her eyes as blue as her father's, but without the ice.
Elisa smiled. 'Hello, have you been there long? I'm sorry I didn't notice you.'
'I've been watching you draw.' Her voice was soft, cultured, hesitant. It was a few seconds before she added, 'You're very clever.'
'It's a knack. I teach art back in England. Do you go to school?'
'I did, but I'm on holiday. A long one.'
'Lucky you.' Elisa smiled, but she wondered about that. It was mid-May, and the long summer holidays weren't due to start for another two months. 'What's your name?'
'Penelope Sinclair. Daddy calls me Penny.'
Sinclair. So that was the man's name. Elisa repeated it to herself, as though trying it for sound. She couldn't think why, nor did she understand why she was glad she'd learned the man's name. He was just another stranger, and a disapproving one at that. His daughter was different again, though. Withdrawn where he was arrogant; uncertain where he was so sure. And, unlike her father, she seemed painfully anxious to be friendly. Elisa looked round at the table where they had been sitting. It was empty of everything but cups and Penny 's scarcely touched milkshake. 'All by yourself?' she asked cheerfully.
'Yes. Daddy said I could stay so long as I didn't go away.'
Elisa kept to herself the thought that the sad little mite seemed to be in the way. She seemed so lonely. 'Don't you get bored all by yourself?'
'I'd be bored in the hotel,' Penny explained, quaintly serious. She pointed along the beach to where pedal-boats were drawn up on the sand. The honeymoon couple had just hired one and their laughter floated back as they launched it and jumped in. 'Here I can watch the boats. They look such fun.'
'They are. You must ask Daddy to take you out in one.'
'Oh, no. I mustn't be a nuisance.' The words weren't spoken resentfully, but as though they were a fact of life.
The louse, Elisa thought. Not only to me and the world in general, but to his little girl. The flash of anger must have shown in her eyes, because Penny asked nervously, 'Am 1 being a nuisance to you?'
Elisa swallowed her rage and smiled. 'Certainly not.' She wavered, thinking she really should visit Sue before she became busy again, but had no defence against those wistful eyes. 'Would you like to sit down and keep me company? I've got nothing to do just now.'
'Thank you,' Penny said primly, and quietly sat on the chair opposite hers.
She's not natural, Elisa thought. She's like a little old lady. Where was the sparkle, the noise, the restlessness of childhood? She couldn't be a day over six, and she was behaving with more circumspection than a sixty-year-old.
Elisa heard a clatter of crockery and looked round to see Rich clearing away the cups from the empty table. 'Rich,' she called, 'will you bring that milkshake over here?'
'Sure.' He brought it over, smiling. 'Got a new customer?'
'No,' Elisa corrected. 'This is Penny. She's more important than a customer. She's a friend.'
She was rewarded when Penny smiled. It was a very shy smile, but it was a beginning. The smile widened when Rich said, 'Hello, Penny. Can I be a friend, too?'
He held out his hand and Elisa's heart warmed to him as Penny put her hand into his and they solemnly shook. Either he'd noticed the child was lonely or he just couldn't help being nice. She smiled herself as he said, 'Richard Kenwood at your service, but now we're friends you can call me Rich.'
'Not Uncle Rich?' Penny asked dubiously.
'Gosh, no, that's much too stuffy. Well, ladies, I'll have to leave you to your gossip. I have work to do.'
Another big smile and he was gone. 'He's nice,' Penny said, then just sat there looking at Elisa as though that were occupation enough.
When really, Elisa thought, she should be on the beach making friends, sandcastles, noise! Yet there was something expectant, hopeful, about her. 'Would you like me to draw you?' she guessed.
'Yes, please.'
The answer was so prompt Elisa had to smile. Any other child would have come right out with it, not waited for an offer that might never have been made. She settled back in her chair with her artboard on her lap and said, 'Sit how you feel most comfortable. Right, here we go.'
She sketched quickly, knowing how fidgety children could be. Penny, though, was the exception. She was too still, too stiff, so Elisa began her usual relaxing questions. 'Are you staying at the hotel?'
'No. Daddy's house is in the mountains.'
'Ah. So he's brought you to the beach for the day?'
'No,' Penny corrected again. 'He was taking me and Miss Tilson to town. We stopped here for tea because Miss Tilson wasn't feeling well. The tea didn't work, so Daddy's taken her into the hotel to lie down. When she's better, he's taking us home so she can rest properly.'
It sounded to Elisa as though somebody else had been eating underdone beefburgers. She guessed, 'Is Miss Tilson your nanny?'
'Yes.'
'I expect you call her Tilly, don't you?'
'Oh, no. She wouldn't like that. It wouldn't be polite.'
It would be a darned sight more friendly, Elisa thought, but she held her peace. Afraid her questions were drifting away from relaxing chatter and into outright prying, she changed the subject. 'Did you know Penelope is a Greek name?'
'Yes. Mummy and Daddy met here a long time ago. That's why they chose it.'
And why they came back to Corfu, Elisa supposed. A special island with special connections. Perhaps each return was a renewal of their love. Perhaps, and she felt a twinge of compassion, they loved each other to the exclusion of all else, including their child. Penny didn't look as though much love and laughter had strayed her way.
Come to think of it, neither did her father. Something was wrong somewhere. She'd put two and two together and hadn't come up with half an answer. She had finished the sketch, though. It seemed to have drawn itself while her mind had wandered where it had no business to be.
She saw with dismay that it was much, much too honest. The soft little mouth drooped wistfully, the large eyes were full of apprehensive appeal. My God, Elisa thought, if she were a puppy she wouldn't even have to raise a begging paw to break my heart.
She was wondering whether to tear it up and draw something less painfully observant when the outl
ines blurred and another face seemed to grow out of it, stronger and full of challenging anger.
Sinclair, the child's father.
Well, let him be angry. If it took an artist's eyes to show him what he should see for himself, perhaps the jolt would do him good, teach him something. She saw again those cold, dismissive eyes. He hadn't bothered to hide his unmerited scorn of her. Why should she bother to hide her merited scorn of him as a father?
It was tit for tat, and he would be the loser. She felt a tiny tingle at the bottom of her spine that crept icily up to her scalp, making her give an involuntary shiver. It was suspiciously like fear... a warning he didn't look like a man who lost easily.
To hell with him. Decisively she unclipped the sketch and passed it over to Penny. The child didn't see any messages in it, she just exclaimed, 'It's—it's me.'
Elisa smiled, her strange apprehension gone as though it had never been. 'That's the nicest compliment you could pay me.'
It was an unfortunate choice of words. At the mention of 'pay' Penny became the formal little lady again. 'I must see Daddy. It says in the advertisement a sketch costs six hundred drachmas.'
'So you can read...' Elisa began.
'Of course I can. I'm six and I've been reading for ages.'
'Ah, well, if you're six and can read, you should also be able to listen,' Elisa continued teasingly, then wondered what on earth she'd said. Penny's brief animation fled. She sat up straight, almost bristling with attention, that puppy-dog anxiety filling her eyes again.
Elisa sighed, baffled, and explained, 'I only wanted to say you don't owe me anything. I only charge customers. You're a friend.'
'Oh!' The smile, the sparkle, was back, but by now Elisa was resigned to its vanishing. She was right. Penny climbed down from her chair, saying, 'It was very nice to meet you, Elisa. I mustn't stay any longer or I will be a nuisance, won't I?'
'You could never be a nuisance. Perhaps you'd better let your father know you haven't wandered away, though.'
'Yes, and I want to show him my picture.' A grave smile, and she walked primly away.
Elisa shook her head, mystified, then went behind the counter at the same time as Rich to put her art materials away. He poured two ouzos and lemonade for customers and a third for her. 'On the house,' he murmured, 'while the boss is away. I reckon he's got a nerve to charge you commission. You attract customers to the place.'
'It's fair enough. I take up chair space while I'm working, after all.' Elisa put three hundred drachmas in the commission box and picked up the long, cool drink he'd poured for her. 'Thanks, I could do with something with a kick in it. Bring me back to the twentieth century.'
Rich's mobile eyebrows shot up questioningly. 'Come again?'
'You're never going to believe this, but that little girl is pure Victorian. As our resident sociology expert, what do you make of that?'
'Must get it from her father. He didn't approve of us having a bit of fun in the sun, did he?'
'I wonder why?' Elisa mused.
'Probably jealous. I would have been if you'd been rolling around in the sand with him.'
'Not much chance of that.' She meant to laugh, but somehow she couldn't quite manage it. She felt too strangely—wistful. How ridiculous! Pulling herself together, she added, 'Besides, neither of you have the least right to be jealous of who I roll in the sand with— not that I make a practice of it.'
Rich picked up his tray with the drinks on and manoeuvred carefully past her. 'Men are men, darling, and rights don't come into it when the old green-eyed monster rears its ugly head.'
'His eyes are blue.'
'Whose?'
'Sinclair's. Penny's father.'
Rich paused and looked at her searchingly. The banter dropped from his voice as he said, 'I hope you haven't forgotten there's a wife in the picture somewhere. I know the woman with him was only the nanny, but...'
'Of course I haven't forgotten,' Elisa broke in, forcing a laugh that should have come easily. 'I'm not interested in the man.'
'Oh?'
Elisa flushed slightly at the doubt in his voice. 'No, not interested, more sort of intrigued.'
'That's worse.'
'All I meant was I can't understand why he seemed to disapprove of me so much.'
'You? I thought it was us?'.
'Whatever.' Elisa was annoyed she'd got herself into this and sought for a way out. 'Rich, you're beginning to sound as Victorian as that little girl.'
'You mean this isn't the time to point out that the sun, foreign soil, escape from responsibility, tanned bodies, spiked drinks at midday and all that jazz can do funny things to people?'
'I mean it isn't necessary. I'm not the novice abroad, and my drink had better not be spiked. Ouzo doesn't need it, thanks very much,' she retorted.
'I think you're ducking the issue, darling.'
'Oh, go and twirl your side-whiskers! I'm going to finish my drink on the beach, then check on Sue—and God help any other nit-picking men who cross my path today.' Elisa wanted to stride off, but she strolled, just to let Rich know he was stirring up a storm in a teacup.
It was really hot now, and oiled bodies were stretched out all over the place. Elisa's own particular space, secured by her beach mat and sandals, had been respected. She sat down, fanning her oven-heated face with her frayed hat.
After a while, honesty compelled her to admit she was the one being ridiculous and that Rich was right, Sinclair was a no-go area. That was no problem. Sinclair might have given her a funny look, but that was all it was, and since when had she been over-sensitive?
Probably he always looked like that when he found himself unexpectedly slumming in a package-holiday resort, the snob! What a lot of fun he must miss, to say nothing of his little girl.
Elisa, sipping her drink and sighing, wanted to forget all about the Sinclairs. The problem was, they wouldn't go away. She found herself puzzling over Penny and frowning over her father. The one was quaint while the other was --
She was still trying to figure out the right word for Sinclair when she was conscious of somebody standing over her. She raised her hat to shield her eyes from the sun and, expecting it to be Rich, she smiled to show she had returned to her normal sunny self.
It was Sinclair.
She was instantly alert, but somehow she wasn't surprised. It worried her, not being surprised. Had she known in her bones they would tangle again? Last time they'd duelled with their eyes...or, at least, he had. This time she hoped for something pleasanter, something more civilised and normal, so she could push him out of her mind.
One look in his eyes and her hopes died a sudden death. They were as icy as ever. So he hadn't liked the sketch. Well, she hadn't expected him to, had she?
'Your fee,' he said.
Elisa rose to her feet in one fluid movement. She didn't want to argue from an inferior position, not that there should be an argument. She still found herself looking up to him but there wasn't anything she could do about that. 'No, that's not necessary. I offered to draw Penny, I wasn't asked. I did explain to her about that.'
She might have saved her breath. 'Six hundred drachmas,' he went on, 'that's less than three pounds sterling. Anybody who works as cheaply as you do really can't afford to work for nothing.'
Elisa gasped. The implication was that she was cheap. The nerve of the man. All her pacific impulses shrivelled and she said angrily, 'Spend the money on a pedal-boat ride for Penny. She's the one in need, not me. Who knows, you might actually bring a smile to her face, poor little thing! As her father, you should find that more rewarding than trying to take the smile off mine.'
She saw the anger glow in his eyes and thought, Good heavens, nobody ever told me ice could burn. But he wasn't the sort of man to Ipse control, and he sounded more impatient than anything when he said, 'You appear to have trouble running your own business, so I don't think it's advisable to interfere with mine.'
Then he took her hat out of her hand, put it on her h
ead, curled her fingers around the drachmas and held them there. 'As I was saying, your fee.'
At his touch a surge of feeling shot up her arm and radiated over her entire body. There was nothing fierce about the way his hand closed over hers, and yet she felt as though she were being assaulted and embraced at the same time. It was exciting, frightening—and humiliating to know he could have this effect on her.
She could only hope there was a short circuit somewhere and he couldn't sense what he was doing to her. She said, more breathlessly than she cared for, 'When you've quite finished with my hand, I'd like to have it back. We've been attached to each other for a long time.'
He released her and now she couldn't read his expression at all, not that he gave her much chance. His mission accomplished, he turned and walked away. Elisa stared after him, then sat down rather suddenly.
A brunette close by, one of a group of girls sunbathing topless, raised her head and said with an irrepressible Geordie accent, 'Half your luck, love. I wouldn't mind a bit of that myself.'
Elisa smiled weakly. She felt weak all over. Perversely, she was angrier with herself than with Sinclair. First she'd been over-sensitive, now she was over-reacting. What was the matter with her. There was a wife somewhere! Besides, she didn't like him and he didn't like her.
Burning ice, indeed! How puerile. Whoever heard of ice that burned? And yet... and yet she felt scorched and she had the shocking feeling Sinclair knew it. 'Little girls who play with fire...' she breathed, mocking herself, trying to kid herself out of it. That didn't do much good so she changed it to, 'Little girls on the rebound...'
That did the trick but, for a moment, her face was as wistful as little Penny's had been.
Walking through the cafe, the garden and into the hotel, Rafe Sinclair was thinking: deep-water eyes. She had deep-water eyes. Not the turquoise or aquamarine of the shallows, but the mysterious indigo that could only be found far out in the bay.
And he didn't like the way they haunted him, those deep-water eyes.
CHAPTER TWO
Elisa was moody that afternoon, full of contradictions. She didn't want to be on her own, but she didn't feel particularly sociable, either. She knew why, and that only made her moodier.
That Special Touch Page 2