But in this conjecture she was wrong. When they drew alongside Kalliste, the decks appeared to be deserted.
Climbing the gangway, Justine began to regret that they had not stayed out longer. If David and Diane had also gone to Ajaccio, and were still there, she would have spent an extremely wearing evening to no purpose.
All the lamps in the main deck area had been switched off, and it seemed that everyone on board, except the night watch, had retired. Julien caught Justine's wrist, and drew her expertly down on to a couch with him. But, just as she was bracing herself to receive her first proper kiss from someone who, dashing as he was, no longer had the smallest attraction for her, several lights blazed.
"Hello. Had a good time?" David asked amiably, from a few yards away.
Julien stifled a curse, and let her go. "I thought you were in bed," he said crossly, looking very much like a small boy caught red-handed at some misdeed.
Justine expected David to say something sardonic. But he only said, "No, I haven't been back long myself. I've been walking up on the cliffs." He glanced at his watch. "However, it is rather late, so perhaps we should get to bed now. See you tomorrow, Julien."
The younger man reddened, and glanced uncertainly at Justine. It was amazing how his boulevardier manner wilted when David was about, she thought, with a flicker of impatience. She willed him to assert himself, to say something like, 'Don't let us keep you up. We shan't be long.'
But, after some seconds of palpable indecision, he muttered, "Goodnight, Justine."
"Goodnight. Thank you for a lovely evening," she said brightly. Julien gave David a glowering nod, and disappeared.
"Would you care for a nightcap?" David asked, his tone still bland.
"I don't think so, thank you." She rose from the couch, and pretended to smother a yawn. Inwardly, she felt as if she were standing in range of a time-bomb. But she was determined to maintain an outward poise until the explosion actually happened.
David switched off the lights. "Thanks for leaving a note. We might have been worried if we hadn't known you were planning to stay in town. Where did you dine?"
"At La Côte d'Azur, and then we went on to Roi Jérôme."
He escorted her to her stateroom. It occurred to her suddenly that perhaps he wasn't going to flare up. Perhaps, while they had been gone, he had asked Diane to marry him, and was in too euphoric a mood to care what she, Justine, did.
Nevertheless, when they reached her door, every nerve in her body alerted. He stepped forward to open it for her. Then, with his hand on the lever, he paused.
"You know," he said mildly, "you had a remarkably unenthusiastic expression on your face when I switched on the lights and disturbed you and Julien just now. I have the impression that it's not so much the man you're interested in, as the experience of being made love to."
Justine said nothing, but her heart had begun to pound against her ribs, and she had difficulty in breathing evenly.
David let go of the door handle. There was only one subdued wall lamp lighting this part of the corridor, and it was some distance behind him. He could see the look on her face, but his own expression was veiled by the rosy dimness.
"I'm sorry I butted in before you could satisfy your curiosity," he went on, and there was mockery in his voice now. "But if it's merely the experience you want — well, I can give you that, little one."
He moved closer, and put his right hand on her slim, bare throat. His touch was light, but she could feel the latent strength in his fingers. She trembled, but she did not recoil. She couldn't — she felt literally paralysed.
He bent his dark head and kissed her, lightly and briefly, on the corner of her quivering mouth. His lips were unexpectedly soft, and warmer than her cheek, still cool from the spindrift flung up by the bows of the motor boat
He let go of her throat, and drew her into his arms.
"That's how I would have done it, had I been in Julien's place, he murmured, close to her ear. "But this is what he would have done."
His arms tightened, his mouth came down hard on hers, and he kissed her in a way which should have made her struggle to fight him off, but which, instead, seemed to make her bones melt, and her body tingle with response.
At last he let her go, and stepped back, and opened her door.
He said, with a rasp in his voice, "Well, now you know what it's like. Was it up to your expectations? Goodnight, Justine. Sleep well."
And he strode off along the corridor.
Battista did not call Justine the next morning, and it was nearly eleven o'clock before she woke up. She pressed the bell and, when he answered it, said, "Why didn't you wake me, Battista? Have the men gone to work without me?"
"No, mademoiselle. M'sieur Cassano gave orders that you were not to work today. He also gave me this note for you. He was called to Paris during the night, and left for Campo del Oro — the airport, you understand—at six o'clock."
Justine opened the note, and read—A friend of mine is in trouble and needs my help. I shall be away two or three days.
The two lines of bold flowing hand were initialled D.F.C.
"Shall I bring your tray, mademoiselle?" the steward enquired, when she looked up.
She shook her head. "It's too late for breakfast. Just coffee, please, Battista."
When he brought the coffee, the steward informed her that Madame St. Aubin had gone up to the villa, but would be back for lunch.
Justine quailed at the thought of lunching with Diane, and probably Julien as well, and she asked Battista if it would be convenient for her to go to Ajaccio.
"I—I want to have my hair done," she explained, this being the only feasible pretext which occurred to her on the spur of the moment.
Half an hour later, she was on her way to the capital. Luckily, since she could not very well return without a set, the hairdresser who had cut her braid was able to fit her in among his other appointments.
Without thinking, she had put on her newest dress — a shantung Empire style, with a band of smocking defining the high waistline. As her father was sure to notice it, she decided that the time had come to stop hiding her short hair from him. He was well enough to stand the shock.
When she walked into his room in the apricot dress, with her hair newly set, and coral lipstick on her mouth, Professor Field reared up in bed with a glare which would once have terrified her.
"What the devil have you done to yourself? You look like some cheap little strumpet. Have you lost your senses?" he demanded, in a thunderous voice.
"Don't bellow at me, Father," she said quietly. "Other people may be asleep. And it's no use getting worked up, because it won't have the least effect on me. I'd rather look a strumpet than a frump, which is how you like me to look."
"How dare you take that tone with me!" His face was purple with rage. "And wipe that red muck off your lips. I won't have you painting your face."
"I'm afraid you can't stop me," she said calmly. "I'm twenty-three, Father, not thirteen. In future, I'm going to dress like everyone else. I'm tired of being dowdy and unfeminine. You've brought me up as if I were a boy, or had no sex. Well, I have. I'm a girl — and from now on I'm going to look like one."
"My God! I might have known this would happen. It's that damned young lounge lizard, isn't it? He's put you up to this brazen, defiance of my wishes. He, and that vulgar harpy, the St. Aubin woman."
Justine sat down, and let him vent his choler unchecked. For nearly five minutes, he scarcely paused to take breath.
"You're like your mother!" was his final, most bitter sneer. "I've always been afraid you'd take after her. I hoped I could spare you her vanity and stupidity. But it seems I've failed. My efforts have been in vain. You're as shallow and frivolous as she was."
"Are you washing your hands of me, Father?" Justine enquired evenly. "Or do you still want me to work with you? If you do, I shall need a proper wage. I've already drawn some back pay out of the bank."
This sparked o
ff another outburst, and again she listened in unmoved silence.
"Well, I don't suppose you want me to stay," she said, when he appeared to have finished. "So I'll go now, and come again tomorrow. We'll discuss the future when you've had more time to think. I don't want to stop working with you, but it must be on my own terms. If you can't accept that, I'll have to work for someone else."
To her surprise, as she was leaving the room, Professor Field called her back. "I wrote to Fuller Agnew about the caves Cassano once mentioned," he said gruffly. "I had an answer from Agnew this morning. He'd like us to inspect the caves for him, and send a report. If you're not too busy bedizening yourself, I'd be obliged if you'd attend to the matter.".
"Yes, certainly," she agreed. "I'll do it tomorrow. Goodbye, Father."
The following afternoon, Justine called a halt to work at the dig at three o'clock. The crew returned to the yacht, and she and Julien set off inland on their way to explore the caves on the far side of the island. When she had mentioned them to him, the previous evening, he had said he knew them well, having often played in them as a boy.
The caves — one large one, and two smaller ones — were on a part of the island overgrown with dense, high maquis. It was half past four when they reached the mouth of the largest cave, and it was so well hidden by scrub that, had she been alone, Justine would not have detected it.
Julien hacked the scrub down with a machete-type knife with which he had cleared the long-disused track to the place.
The entrance chamber was about twenty feet high, and twelve feet wide, and then the cave narrowed into a winding tunnel with about eight feet of headroom.
With the aid of a powerful torch, Justine examined the rock faces, and scribbled notes. Julien said that the farthest he had ever ventured was to a point where the passage forked in several directions. He had never dared to go farther for fear of losing his way out.
They were nearing the junction when, without any warning, he suddenly seized her and tried to kiss her.
Justine fended him off, and said sharply, "Oh, not now, Julien. It's cold and creepy in here. I want to get on and get out."
"I thought you liked me?"
"I do ... as a friend."
"But I am in love with you," he burst out.
"Oh, Julien, of course you aren't. You're just bored, and at a loose end. You wouldn't look at me twice if you were in Paris." She moved farther along the passage.
"I know why you are so cold to me," he said angrily, following her. "It's David's fault. I suspected the other day when I told you he was going to marry Diane. I could tell you were upset. You have fallen in love with him, haven't you?"
At that moment, Justine's only concern was to make him be quiet and to get back into the open again.
She said recklessly, "Yes, I have!"
The effect of this admission was the reverse of what she expected. Julien lunged at her again, grabbed her, and made her drop the torch. The glass protecting the bulb was unbreakable, but the torch must have fallen on its switch as, when it hit the ground, the light went out.
In darkness, they struggled — he to pinion her arms, she to escape from his.
"Let me go!" she demanded furiously.
"Not until I have kissed you," he said, through clenched teeth.
Justine kicked his shin, and he cursed and began to be rough with her. Then a sound like distant thunder made them both freeze.
"Dear God! The roof's coming down!" she whispered in terror, clutching him. "Run, Julien — run!"
"Which way? I don't know which way," he cried, panic-stricken.
But, even if they had not lost all sense of direction, there would have been no time to escape. Within seconds of that first ominous rumble, the whole mass of hillside overhead seemed to come crashing down on top of them.
CHAPTER SEVEN
"JUSTINE . . . Justine . . . Justine!"
The urgent repetition of her name woke Justine from sleep — or so she thought. When she opened her eyes, the room was dark, pitch dark. Was it still night-time? Who had roused her? What was happening?
"Oh, my God! She is dead!" a voice exclaimed hoarsely, in French.
"No, I'm not. Who are you? What's going on?" she asked bewilderedly.
A cold hand brushed her arm, and felt its way up to her face. "Holy Mary be praised! You're alive. You lay so still. I couldn't wake you. I thought you were dead. I was frantic. Are you hurt? It's me . . . Julien. The roof collapsed. Don't you remember?"
She coughed. Her throat and her nostrils seemed to be full of dust. "Oh, it's you. I'm sorry — I couldn't think where I was for a minute. Yes . . . yes, I remember now. At least I remember being hit on the head by something. It must have knocked me unconsious. Have I been out long?"
"I don't know. I was knocked cold too. I came round some time ago. At first, I couldn't find you. We must have been thrown different ways."
"How cold you are," she said, taking his hand from her cheek, and chafing it with her own warmer ones. Then she realised she was still lying down, and struggled up into a sitting position.
"Ouch! I feel as if I've been scalped. My hair is all wet and sticky. I must be bleeding. There's a lump the size of an egg."
"Can you move your legs?" Julien asked.
"Yes — I'm all in one piece except for this crack on the head. What about you? Are you all right?"
"I think I've sprained my ankle. When I came round, the was stuff piled all over my legs. I managed to work myself clear, but I doubt if I can walk. Never mind: we're lucky to be alive. I thought we were going to be crushed like a couple of ants."
"So did I," Justine said, with a shudder. He shifted his position, and she heard him hiss at the pain from his injured ankle. Then his arm came round her shoulder.
"I'm sorry about what happened before the roof fell. Don't be frightened. I won't hurt you. I swear it."
"I know. Forget it. I'm glad you're here." She found and pressed his other hand. "If I were alone, I'd be petrified. Do you think there'll be another fall?"
"No, it's over now," he reassured her ."The question is — which side of it are we? If it fell behind us, you'll be able to grope your way out. But if we're behind it, we're stuck for some hours. I'm afraid."
"The torch!" she exclaimed. "What a fool I was to drop the torch. I'd better start crawling around to see if I can find it. If it hasn't been smashed to smithereens."
"No, wait," said Julien, restraining her. "I'd forgotten I've got a cigarette lighter. I could have used it when I was trying to find you. I forgot all about it. Here it is. Luckily, I refilled it this morning. It should keep alight for some time."
The little tongue of flame did not illuminate their surroundings, but it did reveal their faces to them.
"We look like a pair of golliwogs," Justine said. "Am I as filthy as you are? I suppose I must be."
"Yes, as black as a chimney-sweep. I can hardly recognise you. But the dirt will soon wash off. We need more light What can we burn to make a blaze?"
"I've got a hanky," she suggested.
"Ah, yes — so have I. We'll burn them both."
The flames from the two handkerchiefs did not make much of a blaze, but it was enough to show them how narrowly they had missed being pulped under the tons of rock n
which blocked the passage not more than twenty feet away.
"My God! We've been lucky," Julien said, in an awed voice, as they gaped at the jumble of jagged boulders.
"Give me the lighter, and I'll see if we're on the outside," said Justine, scrambling up.
She took the lighter and, keeping close to one wall, made her way along the winding passage, praying that soon she would find herself back in the entrance chamber. When, instead, she came to the junction of three narrower tunnels, a thrust of horror stabbed her. They were trapped. There was no way out, except through that impenetrable rock-slide.
'I mustn't panic,' she thought. 'I must keep calm. I mustn't scream.' And then she was rackingly sick.
"So we're stuck here, are we?" said Julien, when she got back. He must have guessed from her silence what she had found.
"I'm afraid so." She tried to sound casual. "Well, we'll just have to make the best of it till we're rescued. If we're not back for dinner, Captain Stirling will send out searchers. They don't know where the caves are, but someone from the village will show them."
"Oh, yes, it's only a matter of a few hours' wait," he agreed cheerfully. "Once they're here, they'll have us out in no time."
"Let me look at your ankle. If I tear my shirt into bandages, perhaps I can strap it and make it less painful," she said.
"No, please — don't touch it," he said sharply. "It's not sprained, Justine. It's broken. Unless you're an expert on fractures, it's best left alone."
"What? Are you sure? Oh, Julien, you must be in agony."
"It's not too bad. I'll survive. Better put the light out We don't want to waste it."
She knelt beside him. In her absence, he had dragged himself close to the wall so that he could lean against it. She capped the lighter, and put it carefully in the pocket of her ruined blue trousers.
Feeling for his hands, she said, "You're freezing. You're in shock. You should be swaddled in blankets, sipping hot tea. We've got to get you warm somehow. I know—I'll be a blanket for you."
She slid sideways into a sitting position, close beside him and face to face, and put her arms round him, and pressed herself against his chest.
She knew, and she knew that he knew, that their rescue could take several days. To break through that mass of rock would require expert knowledge, and special equipment. In the meantime, they would have no food, no water, no warm clothes. She could survive the ordeal, but what about him? The pain from his ankle must be excruciating. What happened to a broken ankle if it went untreated for forty-eight hours or more?
'Stop it,' she told herself sharply. 'It's no use looking on the black side. Try to remember all you've ever read about survival techniques. You've got to start thinking constructively.'
Anne Weale Page 17