Juliet Armstrong - Isle of the Hummingbird

by Juliet Armstrong

  Juliet Armstrong - Isle of the Hummingbird

  Bryony went to work in the glamorous surroundings of the West Indies - but still found herself with the age-old problem of how to discourage the man who didn't interest her, and how to attract the one who did!

  CHAPTER ONE

  Bryony Moore was setting the last vase of tawny chrysanthemums in place in the restaurant of Roselands when Jackson, the elderly hall porter, came looking for her.

  'A lady to see you, Miss Bryony. Here's her card. Wanted to speak to you personally, so I put her in the writing-room. No one else in there just now.'

  Bryony looked at the card.

  Mrs. Ronald Gilbert,

  Adelbert Place,

  Chelsea, S.W.3.

  It meant nothing to her whatever, and her eyebrows went up. People who came to the hotel wanting to talk privately to her or her mother usually turned out to be time-wasters of one kind or another. However, Jackson was pretty good at sorting out, and shifting, the quite impossibles—the purveyors of wild schemes and crazy religions, the sharp practice merchants, the freaks.

  The young woman who was waiting for her did not, it was immediately clear, belong to any of these categories. A charming brunette in the early twenties —much the same age as herself, in fact—she came straight to the point.

  'I'm Yvonne Gilbert, Miss Moore, we have a mutual friend,' she said pleasantly. 'A Mrs. Paul Gregory.'

  Bryony hesitated.

  'I can't exactly claim friendship with her,' she said. 'She was a guest here, a fortnight or so ago, and I must say my mother and I liked her very much. In fact, I went out with her once to the pictures. One doesn't usually do that sort of thing with guests, you know.'

  Yvonne Gilbert smiled.

  'I didn't know! Anyway, she was dining with us in London the other night, and got talking about this place—and about you. She said your mother was going to remarry very soon—a very nice man who would help her run the hotel. That though they would very much like you to stay on with them, you felt that this was your chance to launch out on your own—to take a post abroad, if possible, and see something of the world.' She bent down to stroke a Persian cat which had just come up to them, and then went on: 'Well, I know of a kind of a job going—in the Caribbean—and that's what I've come to see you about.'

  'You've come all the way from London—on the strength of some casual remarks I made to Mrs. Gregory?' Bryony was eyeing her with astonishment.

  Yvonne Gilbert shook her head.

  'My husband and I have been staying with friends at Brighton for a day or two, so I came rushing over to Sweetbay—on the remote chance that you might be interested.'

  'What do you mean by a kind of a job?' Bryony asked curiously.

  'It's to run my brother's house in Trinidad for the next twelve months. He's a doctor, in practice with two others, and the household consists of him, our two teenage sisters, a brother and an old great-aunt. For staff, he has a married couple, living in the grounds.'

  Mystified, Bryony wanted to know how he had been managing up to now. Was he a widower—or divorced?

  Yvonne Gilbert laughed.

  'Lord, no I He's a real old stick-in-the-mud bachelor.' And then she went on, her pretty face sobering, 'Our parents died some years ago, within a few months of each other. Aunt Isabel came and looked after us all, until I was able to take over. But since I married and left Trinidad, Peregrine has been having a very difficult time with the girls. We both think that a complete stranger from England might cope with them better than anyone local. But there's a snag.'

  'A serious one?'

  'I suppose it is, really. If you came on a salary, in the way of a regular job, there might be difficulties— and certainly delays—over a labour permit. So all he can offer is travelling expenses both ways and pocket- money. And of course you'd be one of the family.'

  'That might not matter too much,' Bryony said cautiously. 'I've a little money of my own—and shares in this hotel. But I'm very much alarmed at the thought of trying to manage difficult teenagers.'

  'Oh, they're not so bad as all that. Perry worries so much, it makes him over-strict. And then, of course, they play him up. Incidentally, he thinks I'm crazy to suggest that a girl with a Home Economics diploma, and first-class hotel experience, should take on what is virtually an au pair job. And in the same breath he says you're far too young—that you'd want to be off with boy-friends all the time.'

  Bryony flushed slightly.

  'How has he heard about me at all, if he lives thousands of miles away?' she demanded.

  'Oh, he's staying with us in London, taking a course in tropical medicine at that famous school. We've left him there now. What I thought was that if the idea appealed to you at all you might come up to lunch with us on Saturday or Sunday. Then you and Perry could see what you thought of each other. I must warn you he's rather a dry stick, and mad on his work. And as I say, he's a dyed-in-the-wool bachelor. Doesn't take the slightest interest in any woman unless she's pretty seriously ill.'

  Slightly stung by this second reference to his bachelor status, Bryony remarked coolly: 'You can tell your brother before I come up to meet him that I'm equally set on living my own life, that the very idea of getting tied up in marriage bores me stiff.'

  'Then you will come up to London?' Yvonne Gilbert was plainly delighted. But she added the next moment: 'You sound horribly as though you were dead serious about never marrying.'

  'So I am,' was Bryony's brief retort.

  'That rather surprises me,' Yvonne Gilbert said slowly. 'Forgive my being personal. But I paint a bit—portraits, mostly—so I'm interested in faces. Your profile——- '

  'Oh, I know!' There was a touch of impatience now in Bryony's voice. 'Gives me a look of almost childlike innocence. I'm tired of hearing it—truly!'

  'It's the lovely line of your cheek,' Yvonne Gilbert persisted, with the enthusiasm and persistence of the artist. 'It gives you a sweetness that isn't nearly so marked full-face. Your eyes I There's a kind of wariness about them—bordering on hardness almost—as though you'd been badly hurt at some time.'

  'Not more than the average person, I suppose,' Bryony returned evasively. Then as Jackson came in, hovering around, evidently anxious to speak to her, she added: 'If you'll let me know which day would suit you best, I'll come and see you. By the way, I don't even know your brother's name.'

  Yvonne Gilbert got up from her chair. '

  'Dr. Peregrine Gray. I can tell you now that next Saturday would do splendidly—as soon after twelve o'clock as you can make it. Ron and I will leave you to chat with him over a glass of sherry. And I hope so much you'll fix things up.'

  Mrs. Moore, busy with preparations for her wedding, which was to take place directly after Christmas, shed a few tears over the thought of Bryony going off into the unknown, but encouraged her to go up to London to meet this unknown doctor.

  Although she dared not say so—Bryony being so prickly on the subject—she hoped that, once away and on her own, this darling, difficult girl might rid herself of the chip on her shoulder which she had carried for the last two years, might recapture her old lightness of heart, her gaiety, and look forward in the normal way to a happy marriage.

  She herself had been so fortunate. Her first husband, though something of an autocrat, had given her many years of happiness, and now, in later life, after what seemed a long widowhood, she was on the brink of marrying a kind, unselfish man who frankly adored her.

  If only Bryony, so pretty, and with such capacity for affection, could also find a loving husband!

  The tall, dark-haired man whom Yvonne Gilbert introduced to Bryony a
few days later—and then left alone with her—was slenderly built, with hawk-like features in keeping with his rather unusual Christian name and keen hazel eyes.

  His stiff manner was hardly calculated to set her at ease. But then, she reflected swiftly, he did not seem particularly at ease himself.

  'My sister is very impulsive,' he said at once, 'and I can't imagine you'll be greatly interested in the only proposition I'm able to make. She's probably explained my dilemma. I'm a busy doctor, living in Trinidad—several miles from Port-of-Spain, the capital—and I want someone to come and run my house for me for the next twelve months, and chaperone my young sisters. Anne-Marie is seventeen and Sally nearly a year and a half younger. And I figure that in a year's time Anne-Marie should have cultivated enough common sense to look after things herself.'

  'Yes; Mrs. Gilbert has told me all that,' was Bryony's comment.

  'Actually I had in mind a woman of thirty-five or so,' Peregrine Gray went on, in a worried sort of way. 'Someone who would enjoy a year in the sunshine, even without a salary, provided she had her return passage paid. A widow, perhaps, with a pension.'

  'And I'm only twenty-three—and a spinster!' She could not help smiling at his gravity, and this made him relax a little, and say diffidently, but with a trace of humour, 'But a highly competent spinster with all sorts of qualifications. Not the kind who could be expected to work for peanuts.'

  'I might,' she said. 'And if my age bothers you, I imagine that looking after a pair of teenagers would soon add years to me!'

  He ignored the small joke.

  'Yvonne thinks they'd be better with someone not too much older than themselves,' he said, and suddenly remembering the decanter which his sister had left on the table, he poured out a couple of glasses. 'All the same—to speak horribly bluntly—a girl of your age and obvious attractions will probably want boy-friends, might even cut her time short and get married to someone she met out there.'

  Bryony shook back her heavy golden-brown hair in a gesture of impatience.

  'As I've assured your sister, I've no interest in marrying,' she said curtly. 'You may think this an affectation on my part, but it happens to be true.'

  'People change, on issues like that,' he observed guardedly. 'So long as I could be sure that you'd stay with us a year, and not bother much about young men—so that I could settle down to hard work——————- ! I mean, of course, provided you were happy with us ——-!'

  She hesitated.

  'Those girls! They frighten me a bit. I'm an only child myself, and that makes me less sure of getting on with them. However, if they're anything like Mrs. Gilbert —- '

  He nodded.

  'Made in the same mould! She was a regular young demon, when she was Sally's age. Our great-aunt, who was coping with the family then, used to find her exhausting. But there's something likeable about them all—maddening as they can be.'

  'Would this great-aunt welcome a girl of my age into the household?' It was Bryony's turn to show diffidence.

  He smiled more easily now.

  'Aunt Isabel would like you much better than an older woman,' he said. 'You'd get on with her, I'm sure. And with the girls, too. Now I've met you, I agree with Yvonne over that. But I still think it's a bit much to expect you to come to us. If Mrs. Gregory hadn't mentioned that you were keen on going abroad for a while——-'

  She took a deep breath. She might or might not like the job—might even find the climate unbearable. But one had to take risks. And it would be a great relief to be out of England for a year.

  'When would you like me to come?' she asked.

  He took out a small black diary.

  'I'm flying home next week,' he said quietly. 'You'll want to be at home for Christmas, and for your mother's wedding, which I understand will be shortly afterwards. If I can fix up a passage by boat for early January, would that suit? You'd enjoy the sea voyage, I think.'

  'It would suit very well,' she said.

  He opened the door then, and called to his sister: 'We've fixed it, Yvonne!'

  'What—already? You haven't had ten minutes together.' And in came Yvonne, beaming, accompanied by her fair, stocky young husband.

  Soon they were having an excellent lunch, with Ronald Gilbert playing the host to perfection—chatting, joking and making Bryony feel thoroughly at home. He was far more genial than Peregrine Gray, who, now that the matter was fixed, seemed withdrawn and abstracted, with not much interest in her at all. And it was he who, after lunch, called a taxi for her and, before she could stop him, paid the driver to take her to Victoria.

  He was more ordinary-looking, this husband of

  Yvonne's, than his brother-in-law, but she would have felt more confident had someone of his sort been her prospective employer.

  Dr. Peregrine Gray had a certain distinction, but his features, in repose, were serious to the point of severity. He was, she felt—chilled by his manner at lunch—a deal less human.

  CHAPTER TWO

  She stood on board as the elegant white liner drew away from the quayside. Her mother and stepfather, married only two days earlier, had postponed their honeymoon and had come to see her off, and she watched and waved until their figures were no more than a blur in the crowd, then turned away and went down to her cabin.

  To her relief a hovering steward told her smilingly, in halting English, that she would have the cabin to herself, most likely, until Vigo, the first port of call. The last four weeks had been hectically busy, not only with her own preparations but with innumerable small matters connected with her mother's remarriage, and the temporary closing of Roselands, the family hotel.

  As befitted a widow, the wedding had been, by intention at least, a quiet one. But Bryony had had cause to reflect more than once that this was a comparative term. Even if the actual service was kept simple, and the list of guests short, one couldn't, it seemed, get married without reams of correspondence, and innumerable telephone calls—to dressmakers and milliners, florists, caterers and goodness knew who else.

  Her mother's tendency to emotionalism—that had been tiring, too. There was nothing to be ashamed of in marrying a thoroughly suitable man, after years of widowhood, while her daughter chose to remain single. But poor Mother—she could not, it seemed, shake off a sense of guilt, saying over and over: 'If only you were happily settled yourself, Bryony. If only you could find someone like Patrick to love you and look after you. I wouldn't feel then that I was deserting you.'

  'Nonsense! You've been wonderful to me, always,' Bryony had pointed out, kissing her. But that hadn't done any good at all. It was only Patrick Ryan himself, gay, stout and debonair, who could chase away these foolish notions. And naturally he had not, until the marriage actually took place, been always on the spot.

  It was a delight now to be alone, in this pleasant little cabin. In her tired, over-strained state she had dreaded having to plunge into intimacy with a stranger. Later on, when she was rested and feeling more at home, sharing might not be so bad. In fact, the companionship of some friendly girl might well add to the enjoyment of this, her very first voyage.

  Through a porthole she could see the land disappearing into the distance, the screaming seagulls, swooping and swerving in the wake of the ship, silver against the darkening January sky, the intermittent flash from a lighthouse, and she thought: 'It was lovely of them both to want me to stay on and help run Roselands—or say they did. But I'd have been horribly de trop. And anyway, it's high time J had a life of my own.'She unpacked the clothes she was likely to need and hung them up in one of the wardrobes, arranged her other belongings methodically, and was on the point of slipping on her new rose-coloured dressing-gown and lying down for a rest when there was a knock at the door and in came the friendly cabin steward with two great sheaves of flowers.

  'They can't be for me,' she exclaimed. 'Not both, anyway!' But when she examined the cards she found that the man had made no mistake. Her mother and stepfather had ordered pink carnations fo
r her through Interflora, and—more surprising, this— Yvonne Gilbert had sent white lilac, with a heartwarming good luck message.

  Soon, when the steward provided vases, the cabin wore a positively homelike look, giving her in some odd way the assurance she needed.

  'I'm going to extract every ounce of pleasure from this journey,' she told herself firmly. 'Things may be difficult in this new job, but I'm not going to think about that now. Just for this short time I shall live in the present, with neither past troubles nor future problems intruding. I'd be a fool if I didn't.'

  After a short sleep she woke up refreshed, took a shower in the tiny bathroom attached to the cabin, changed into a plain navy silk dress and went on her own little voyage of exploration.

  On the same deck as her cabin she found the large saloon, where the bar was just opening, and after a while caught a steward's eye and ordered a gin and tonic.

  Her self-possession was melting away—just a trifle. It was lonesome, sitting here by herself at this little table. She felt conspicuous, like a wallflower at a ball. But before long a friendly, middle-aged couple joined her. And though conversation was limited, for they were Dutch, with little English, she was thankful for their company.

  She did not, however, enjoy it for long. It transpired that they had been put down for the first dinner session, and she for the second; and all too soon, a bell clanging, she was alone again.

  This time it was a man on his own who approached her and asked with polite diffidence if he might share her table.

  She smiled. 'Please do!'

  He thanked her, and seating himself beside her, gave her his card. From this she learned that his name was Hubert Woods, and that he was travelling for a well-known British firm of wholesale chemists. His name surprised her, for though he spoke without the least trace of a foreign accent, his dark hair and eyes, and olive complexion, hinted at Greek or Latin blood. His manner, too, gave the same impression. In his late twenties—or so she guessed—he had a gentleness, an awareness of her as a woman, which had little in common with the hearty friendliness of the many young Englishmen whom she had met through her work at her mother's hotel.