Some time later, when Julien had become a little less alarmingly cold, something suddenly occurred to her which made her sit up, and exclaim, "Julien, perhaps we aren't trapped. Haven't you noticed the smell?"
"The smell?" he echoed blankly.
"The maquis! Can't you smell the maquis?"
He sniffed, then sniffed again. "Yes . . . yes, I believe I can. Yes, I am sure I can." He stiffened, gripping her hands. "Which means there is another opening somewhere."
"There must be," she said excitedly. "I'm sure there's no air coming through that great barricade of rock. And if this cave was sealed now, the air would be sour and stuffy. But it isn't. It's still quite fresh."
"Then why are we sitting here? Come on: let's get started," he said.
"You can't move with a broken ankle. I'll go and find the way out, and then run and fetch help. Oh, dear, it means leaving you alone for at least an hour, I'm afraid. I'll need the lighter to find my way to the opening. Can you stand being left here on your own?"
"I am not a little boy, afraid of the dark," he said shortly, "But anyway I'm coming with you. You don't think I'd let you explore those tunnels alone? You might lose your way, or fall, or even faint. No, we have to stick together."
"But how can we? You can't hop. The pain would be torture," she expostulated.
"I can stand it," he insisted stubbornly. "Light the lighter, and help me up."
When they reached the place where the passage forked in three directions, Julien slumped against the wall.
"Let's rest for a minute," he muttered.
Justine found it incredible that he had managed to get so far. Every lurching step must have been like treading barefoot on red-hot coals. But, using her as a crutch, and never once even moaning, he had hauled himself forward, his injured foot crooked off the ground.
Sweat had poured from his face and body, washing his face almost clean again. Watching his laboured breathing as, with closed eyes, he mustered his stamina, Justine thought, 'You were wrong, Madame di Rostini. He has more mettle than you think.'
Aloud, she said, "I'll go a few paces along each passage, and see if the air smells fresher in any one of them. I shan't go far. You wait here."
When she returned from the third tunnel, she said, "I may be wrong, but I think the maquis scent is stronger in the right-hand passage, Julien."
He nodded, his jaw clenched. "Right — let's try it"
The passage seemed to have no end. When they stopped, to rest again, she said, "If this is the wrong way, you're being tortured for nothing, mon cher. Please let me go on alone. We can keep in touch by shouting."
But he would not let her go without him and, soon, they set off again.
They must have travelled at least a quarter of a mile, and Julien's teeth were grinding and his face was glistening, when the flame of the lighter began to flicker and dwindle.
'Now we're really sunk,' she thought desperately. 'We'll never get out this way, and we'll never get back in the dark, and if they can't hear us shouting they'll think we were killed in the rockslide.'
And then, just as he gave his first sobbing groan of anguish, the passage turned, and she saw a faint radiance ahead.
"We've made it!" she cried. "Oh, Julien, look! We're safe. We're nearly there!"
Fortunately, the way out of the cave was not as densely overgrown as the entrance had been. Justine was able to push her way through the shrubs growing outside the opening, and trample them down and make a way clear for Julien.
For her, it was ecstasy to be safely in the open air again. No doubt because she had been so long in darkness and near-darkness, the colours of the sunset sky seemed more vivid and beautiful than any she had seen before.
"Now you lie down and, before you know it, I'll be back with a stretcher party," she said to Julien.
But the last stretch of tunnel had taxed his endurance to its limit. Before she could help him to lower himself, his body sagged, and he fainted.
When after three or four minutes he showed no sign of coming round, she judged that the best thing to do was, not to wait any longer, but to get to the yacht as fast as possible.
Stripping off her grimy trousers, she folded them into a pillow for Julien's head. Her shirt was equally dirty, but the part which had been tucked inside her trousers was still bright pink. She shinned up a nearby tree, and tied it to a branch as a marker flag, in case she had any difficulty in leading the men back to the spot where Julien lay. Then, with no clothes left but her bra and nylon briefs, she began the rough cross-country race to fetch help.
She never knew how long it took her to get from the cave exit to the beach of the bay where Kalliste lay at anchor. On the way, she remembered that the dinghy belonging to the villa was tied up to the yacht, so she knew, that, unless someone on board saw her scrambling down the cliff path and realised something was amiss, she would have to swim the last lap.
This, as it turned out, she had to do, for there seemed to be no one about on deck when she arrived, panting and almost exhausted, on the beach.
However, someone aboard must have spotted her as she plunged into the sea, as most of the yacht's company were craning over the rails when she reached the bottom of the gangway. By now she was so worn out by her exertions that she couldn't have hauled herself out of the water unaided if there had been a shark at her heels. One of the crew hoisted her on to the platform, lifted her into his arms and carried her up the steps.
"Good grief, lassie, what a state you're in!" Captain Stirling exclaimed, arriving on the scene just as the seaman stepped on deck with her.
Two of the stewards had already had the forethought to hurry for a couch from the main deck. Before the Captain could ask any questions, they returned to the gangway, carrying the couch between them. Gently, the seaman laid Justine down on the cushions.
"What's happened, Miss Field? You look as if you've been through a shipwreck. Where's young di Rostini?" Angus Stirling asked, bending over her.
Justine was shaking with reaction. Even her teeth were chattering. She said, as coherently as she could, "The roof of the cave fell in. Julien's broken his ankle. We got out of the cave, then he fainted. I left him unconscious. If someone could fetch me some clothes, and a glass of brandy, I'll show you the way to where he is. Is there anyone on board who knows how to splint a fracture? When we get him back, you'll have to take him to hospital. He's badly shocked, and his foot will have to be X-rayed."
The Captain rapped out orders, and men hastened off to obey them. He turned back to Justine. "We'll find the lad, if you can tell me roughly where he is. You can't come with us, Miss Field. You're in no condition to move. You're prostrate yourself, lass."
It was only then that she realised she was bleeding from head to foot. Blundering her way through scrub, thinking only of Julien, she had scarcely felt the briars and thorns which had scratched and gashed her bare flesh. Her swim had washed most of the blood off, but now she was covered with it again. It trickled and oozed from a score of painful lacerations.
Someone covered her with a blanket, and someone else brought her a mug of hot, sweet coffee. As she drank it she felt so weak and giddy that she knew the Captain was right. She couldn't return with the rescuers. She would need a stretcher herself.
She told Captain Stirling the area Julien was in, and about the maker she had left.
"Right, I'll go along myself," he said briskly. "As soon as we get the laddie back here, we'll take the pair of you to hospital."
At this point, Diane hurried up. When she saw Justine's condition, she gave a little scream of horror.
"What's happened? Where's Julien? Is he hurt?"
Briefly the Captain explained. "I'll leave you to see to Miss Field while we're gone, madame. Never mind dressing her cuts. Keep her warm — that's the most important thing. She's had nasty crack on the head. She may be concussed."
By the time he had given orders for the big launch to be standing by to rush Julien and Justine to Ajaccio,
the rescue party had assembled with all the necessary equipment.
"You lie still and rest," he told Justine. "Don't worry, wel'll soon find the lad and fix him up. You're a plucky girl, Miss Field. You deserve a medal."
As the motor-boat roared away to land him and his men on the island, Battista brought along some more blankets to wrap round Justine. It was some time before her shuddering abated, and she began to relax and feel warm again.
"We must contact M'sieur in Paris. He will wish to return immediately," Battista said, as he ministered to her.
"Oh, no, Battista — he's busy," she objected. "There's no point in bothering him. He'll probably be back tomorrow anyway."
Presently, in spite of the steward's indignant objections, Justine insisted on going down to her stateroom to put on some clothes.
"Don't fuss, Battista," she said, smiling at him. "I'm perfectly all right again now, and I'd feel a fool arriving at the hospital in blankets when I'm only suffering from a few scratches and bruises."
When she saw her reflection in the mirror-glass doors of the wardrobe, her jaw dropped. She had realised she must look very bedraggled, but she had not known that her eyes were still rimmed with black dust, or that she had a large bruise on one cheekbone and streaks of dried blood across her forehead. As Captain Stirling had said, she looked like a survivor from a shipwreck.
She put on some dry underclothes, and her other shirt and trousers. But before she had time to deal with her hair, which was drying in untidy wisps, or to clean up her face, Battista came to tell her the rescue party had been sighted on top of the cliffs.
Although he had been only semi-conscious when they reached him, Julien was sufficiently recovered to give her a feeble grin as they lifted him from the vedette into the launch. Seconds later, accompanied by the Captain and Diane, and two of the crew, they were on their way to Ajaccio.
"I'm afraid his ankle is badly smashed up," Captain Stirling murmured to Justine. "To be frank with you, I'd regarded him as a rather spineless young man until today. But he's come through this like a Trojan. Getting out of that cave must have given him hell. He's not the weakling I took him for."
An ambulance was waiting on the quay for them and, as soon as they reached the hospital, Julien was borne away on a trolley as Professor Field had been on the night of his collapse. The casualty department was busy that evening, and a nurse showed Justine to a curtained cubicle, and asked her to wait there until someone was free to attend to her less urgent hurts.
She was sitting on the examination couch, trying to ignore the stabbing headache which had started during the crossing, when the curtain was swished aside. "David!"
For an instant, she gaped at him. Then, slipping off the couch, she flung herself into his arms. "Oh, thank goodness you're back!" she exclaimed, with her face pressed against his chest.
The words were scarcely out of her mouth before she realised what she was doing, and recoiled in chagrined confusion.
"I—I'm s-sorry," she stammered, backing away. "It's just that it's been such a day. I'm a bit shaken up, I'm afraid. What are you doing here? I thought you were still in Paris."
"I got away earlier than I expected. When we landed at Campo del Oro, I rang through to Kalliste to ask them to send a boat over, and they told me about the accident."
"Oh... I see."
Before either of them could say any more, a doctor arrived to examine her. David seemed about to speak, then changed his mind and disappeared.
She did not see him again until after her cuts had been tended and her skull X-rayed. And then Diane was with him.
"Is there any news of Julien yet?" she asked them.
David said, "Yes — they've set his ankle, and admitted him for a few days, in case there's concussion. I've also been up to see you father, and told him what's happened. How are you feeling now?"
She avoided his eyes. "Oh, I'm fine. My head aches a bit, but that's not surprising. Otherwise I'm as right as rain."
"We'll see what the doctor has to say about that," he said.
The doctor's verdict was that she must rest for a few days, but that it would not be necessary to detain her.
David drew him aside, and had a low-voiced conversation with him. Then the doctor went away, and David returned to the girls.
"I don't think you should come back to the yacht tonight," he said to Justine. "No doubt the doctor is right, but to be on the safe side, I'm arranging for you to spend the night in a nursing home."
She knew that tone. It would be useless to argue with him. "Very well — if you feel it's best," she agreed docilely.
He and Diane took her to the nursing home in a taxi. Half an hour later, she was tucked up in bed, and they were on their way back to Pisano.
When Justine woke up the next morning, her headache had gone. There was still a tender lump on her scalp, and she was a little stiff, but otherwise she felt perfectly normal.
After breakfast, she was visited by the director of the nursing home, who took her pulse and temperature, and tested her blood pressure and her sight.
"Surely I haven't got to stay in bed, have I?" she asked him. "There's nothing wrong with me."
"No, I see no reason why we should confine you to bed," he agreed. "You can rest equally well in a chair on the balcony. As you see, there is a delightful view."
While she was dressing, a nurse came in with a vase full of white carnations.
"These have just arrived for you, Miss Field. There was no card with them, but no doubt you will know who sent them." She smiled as Justine's heightened colour, little guessing that the two dozen exquisite blooms gave the English girl more pain than pleasure.
When the nurse had gone to fetch a radio and some magazines for her, Justine stood gazing at the carnations through a blur of tears.
'He knows,' she thought miserably. 'After last night, he must know. Oh, why did I have to give myself away like that?'
And she wished with all her heart that she was free to go to the airport, and catch the first flight out of Corsica.
At that moment, far away in England, her Aunt Helen was speeding through the village on her high-saddled vintage bicycle. "Morning, Mrs. Hurst," someone called to her. She pedalled past without replying. She had just received a telephone call which had made her rush out of the house in search of her husband, her mind in such confusion and excitement that she had even forgotten to take off her nylon overall.
She found Canon Hurst in the church, chatting to the Langham children while they started work on a brass rubbing.
"Oh, Charles, thank goodness you're still here. I was afraid you might have gone," she burst out breathlessly.
"What on earth is the matter, Helen?" the Rector asked, in astonishment. He had never seen her looking so agitated.
"You won't believe it. I can't believe it myself. It's incredible ... quite incredible!"
Deducing that whatever had happened was not of an unpleasant nature, her husband steered her to the vestry, and made her sit down to get her breath back.
"Now, what is incredible?" he asked, curious to learn what had put her in such a fluster. She was normally so placid and imperturbable.
"Justine is getting married!" she announced, still panting.
"What!" His eyebrows shot up. "Well, that is a shock. When did you hear? There was no letter this morning, was there? Have you had a wire from the child?"
She shook her head. "No, no — a telephone call. But not from Justine herself. She doesn't know, you see. He says he hasn't asked her yet."
Canon Hurst sat down himself. "You're not making sense, my dear. Start at the beginning. Who was it who rang you up?"
His wife drew in a deep breath, and became a little more composed. "This Monsieur Cassano who's been putting her up on his boat while poor Richard has been in hospital. I thought, from what she said in her letter, that he was a man of your age. But he's young ... at least his voice is young. Oh, really, it's all most bewildering."
"Go on .
.. go on," the Rector urged, greatly intrigued by what he had learnt so far.
"Well, the first thing he said was that Justine is in hospital as well now. It's nothing serious, apparently. She got trapped in a cave with some other man, and they thought she might have concussion. She was hit on the head by some rocks, he said. However, they've had her X-rayed, and it seems there's no damage done. She'll be out tomorrow, or the next day."
"What was she doing in a cave?" Canon Hurst enquired.
"I don't know. He didn't explain. But anyway it isn't important. We'll hear all about that when we get there."
"We? There? What are you talking about?"
"He wants us to fly there at once, to attend the wedding, I said we couldn't possibly go today, but that we'd go on Wednesday. That will give us time to—"
With commendable restraint, in the circumstances, her husband broke in, "Really, Helen, you must know we can't afford—"
"You needn't worry about the expense, dear," she interrupted. "David insists on paying for everything. All we have to do is to ring up some office in London, and tell them when we can go, and the whole thing will be arranged for us. You can get old Whittaker to take the services on Sunday, can't you? How lucky there are no weddings this Saturday."
"I'm beginning to feel as if were suffering from concussion," said the Rector, closing his eyes for a moment. "I don't like to appear obtuse, Helen, but who is this fellow called David?"
"Oh, Charles — David Cassano . . . the man she's going to marry, dear," said Mrs. Hurst, in the tone of someone explaining a point which should need no explanation.
"But you said he hadn't asked her yet."
"Well, no — but he obviously knows she's going to say 'yes'. He sounds simply charming, Charles. You'd never guess he was a foreigner. His English is perfect. I could tell from his voice that he's nice."
"Could you indeed?" the Rector said dryly. "The whole thing seems very extraordinary to me, I'm afraid. How long has she known this man? Who is he? Why all the haste?"
"Oh, what does it matter who he is, as long as he loves her? I can't wait to meet him."
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