She was leaning from one of the casements, breathing the dew on the grass and the vanilla scent of heliotrope, when John came in from the adjoining room. She had heard his tap on the door, but she didn’t turn round. She willed him to come and stand close to her, to breathe the perfume she had dabbed behind her ears, and to maybe put his arms around her for a moment.
“Don’t you want any dinner?” he said dryly. “Personally I’m starving.”
She forced back a sigh, and when she turned round, he was holding open the door of her room and waiting for her to go down with him.
They were a trifle late making their entrance into the dining-room and speculative glances dwelt on them as they followed a waiter to their table. A woman caught Tina’s eye and beamed at her, then in the over-loud voice of the elderly she said to her dining companion: “Those two are new— father and daughter on holiday together, I shouldn’t wonder.”
Tina wanted the floor to open and swallow her, and when she finally dared a glance at John his lean face had taken on that rather forbidding expression. His dark brows were drawn together so that his eyes lay in their shadow, and the compression of his lips had hardened his jawline.
They ate in silence, Tina too miserable to appreciate the meal, while John was satisfying his hunger in an automatic fashion, broodingly working his way through smoked trout, then baked ham salad. He declined a sweet in favor of cheese, but when Tina would have followed suit, he said in a rather curt voice: "I don’t often eat dessert, Tina, but you young things like sweet concoctions. Have the chocolate souffle if you don’t fancy the pears in cider.”
Too nervous to defy him in his present mood, she asked the waiter to bring her a small portion of the souffle, then she sat looking round the dining room with forced interest. "I love old oaken beams, don’t you?” she said brightly. “And those drinking horns above the fireplace must be terribly old.”
“I quite appreciate your predilection for ancient objects,” he drawled. “It would seem that you lived too long with a much older person and that in agreeing to marry me you were only conforming to habit.” His eyes brooded on her startled face. “What do you expect of me, I wonder, Tina? Is it a guardian ... or is it a husband?”
Before she could reply to him, before she could assure him that she wanted him in whatever capacity he chose to want her, the waiter reappeared at the table with her sweet, and John’s Camem-bert. John told him they would have their coffee in the lounge, where a little to Tina’s relief John fell into conversation with one of the other guests, leaving her to sit quietly in the corner of a settee with a copy of The Tatler. She read an article without taking in a word of it, and John eventually remarked that she could go to bed if she liked, he was going to have a pipe and a stroll before turning in.
She rose from the settee, confused and uncertain. This was their wedding night, yet there wasn’t a hint of warmth or expectancy in his manner. “I—I am a little tired,” she blurted. “Shall I—see you later?”
His blue glance ran over her young troubled face, and as she steeled herself to meet his rejection she put back her shoulders and tilted her chin. John narrowed his eyes as he watched her do this, then with a hint of impatience in his voice, he said: “If you’re asleep when I come up I shan’t disturb you.”
“All right.” She turned from him and made for the door, feeling in her pretty chiffon dress not unlike a child who had dressed for a party which had not taken place.
“Off to bed, my dear ?” said a voice.
Tina saw that she was being addressed by the woman who had made that over-loud remark in the dining-room. With gregarious friendliness she went on to ask how long Tina was staying here.
“My husband and I leave in the morning,” Tina replied, adding a quick goodnight before the woman could give voice to any more tactless remarks.
A few minutes later she was alone in her bedroom, gazing into the mirror at her pathetic finery. Lord, how young and naive she looked! That was how John saw her. No wonder he was hardly interested in following her up to bed. No, it was a pipe for him, his faithful old briar, and a stroll among the tobacco plants.
She went to one of the casements, but the garden was dark and the scent of the nicotiana rich and fragrant. She couldn’t see John, she only felt bleakly that some of the enchantment of her wedding day had dissolved and would not return. She lifted her hands and pressed them to her cold face, for here she was, no longer living a dream, but tied to a stranger whose moods were already beginning to baffle her.
“I can be kind—but I can also be cruel,” he had warned her. It seemed that he had not warned her in vain.
She unlatched her suitcase and took out her nightdress and negligee. Rows of frilled lace curved round the yokes of the delicate matching garments, and as she laid them on the bed she reflected wryly that she might as well have packed an unromantic pair of pyjamas. From John’s attitude downstairs, one might assume that he wouldn’t care much if she was fast asleep when he came to bed.
She prepared for bed, then clad in her honeymoon finery she slipped between crisp sheets redolent of lavender. She tucked the pillow into a mound under her cheek, and though she didn’t mean to fall asleep, her day had been a full one and she was emotionally disturbed as well. The dream she drifted into was about Chorley and Aunt Maud. But in her dream her aunt was kind and understanding and that old house on Dulcey Avenue was alive with friends. It was all as pleasant as the reality had been grim, and Tina woke up just as she was on the point of blowing out the candles on the twenty-first birthday cake she had not really had.
“Now you must blow out all the candles,” everyone at the party was saying. “If you don’t, your dreams won’t come true . . .”
The dream fled away. Tina sat up with a start, John’s name breaking from her lips.
He came to the door of the adjoining room. He had removed his jacket and tie and his white shirt lay open at his throat. His hair where he had been walking alone in the night breezes was ruffled— making him shatteringly attractive to the girl who sat gazing at him with big, sleep-misted eyes.
“Go back to sleep, honey,” he said gently. “You’ve had a long day, and tomorrow we’ll be doing a lot of travelling.”
Though he used that little endearment, it was as though he spoke to a child—to Liza! But Tina wasn’t a child. She was his wife . . . and she wanted her dreams to come true, not to flicker dangerously in the draught of other people’s unthinking remarks.
She threw back her bedcovers as he strolled back into his own room. She pattered after him in bare feet. “John, don’t treat me like a child,” she said. “Coming here in the car you—you were different.”
His glance flickered over her. The fine silk of her shell pink nightdress hung softly about the slight contours of her body, her ashen hair glimmered about her pale, upraised face. On the hand that caught at his cuff there shone the gold and ruby symbols of his ownership.
“I’m prepared to be a wife to you,” she said shyly. “I want to help you forget—”
“Forget what?” The words leapt at her.
“You—you know,” she faltered.
“My first marriage?” he baited her cruelly. “Is that what you're referring to?”
At once she let go of his cuff and backed away from him. His eyes were suddenly shimmering— she had probed his secret wound and in his pain he looked a harsh-faced stranger who might be capable of anything.
“Talking about my first marriage doesn’t come easy to me, Tina,” his hands caught at her shoulders and his fingers bit into the fine bones as though he needed to inflict pain in order to ease his own, “and you might as well know now, as later, that I have no intention of dredging to the surface things that are best left hidden. Out of sight they don’t hurt quite so much, but as for forgetting them—” his harsh glance swept over her face, “I doubt whether that possibility exists.”
“I—I’m so sorry, John.” The words were inadequate, but her sensitive pride had crept
back into its shell and she could not offer him her love. She could not say that she wanted him despite everything. She shivered as he released her and felt the ache where his fingers had gripped her.
“Go back to bed, Tina,” he said. “You’re looking whacked.”
“John—” she stood before him, nervously twisting her rings, “you aren’t regretting our marriage, are you?”
“I think it might be a good idea if we got to know each other a little better.” He narrowed his eyes. “You’d prefer that, wouldn’t you?”
She knew it was what he wanted, so she nodded her head.
“Come along, I’ll tuck you up.” He scooped her up in his arms and carried her to her bed. He tucked the bedclothes in and brushed the flyaway hair from her eyes. “Sleep tight, my dear. We’ve a long day ahead of us tomorrow.”
She lay there looking at him, and with a smile he bent and lightly kissed her mouth. The door closed behind him. And so ended Tina’s wedding day.
Chapter Four
THERE was a faint humming in Tina’s ears, While she experienced the oddest sensation whenever she realized that beneath the floor on which her feet rested there was an immensity of space and nothing else.
She gazed out of the window beside her and saw the sky all around them. The Super-Constellation, like a huge fly on the ceiling of heaven, buzzed with regular monotony as it bore her to her new home. John’s newspaper no longer rustled as he turned the pages, so she knew he was staring in front of him and thinking about the island. Visualizing all that was beloved and familiar— and painful to him. She bit her lip and wished their first night together had turned out differently. Some of the barriers between them would have been down and she could have slipped an arm through his and felt much more of a real wife ...
“Feeling nervous, Tina?” John put a hand over hers and pressed it. When she looked at him there was a disturbing quality about his smile that got right to her; a hint of sadness, she thought, and her fingers twisted beneath his to interlace with their hard leanness.
“A little,” she admitted, which was definitely an understatement. Her knees were literally knocking.
“You’ll soon get the hang of things,” he reassured her. His sea-blue glance searched out the apprehension in her young face. “I doubt whether Liza will be very bashful with you, if that’s what you’re worried about. When she sees how youthful you are she’ll probably regard you as her own special playmate, brought all the way from England by her doting father.”
Beneath his bantering tone there lurked a shade of seriousness, and Tina knew, with a jolting heart, that John was questioning the wisdom of their marriage—all because that darned woman at the inn had referred to them as father and daughter. Tina wanted to say outright that she didn’t feel in the least like his daughter, but this was neither the place nor the time for such a declaration. She could only hope that once they had settled down together at Blue Water House, things would work out between them. They must! He meant so very much to her—more than could ever be put into words!
“Do you fancy an appetizer before lunch?” he asked.
She nodded, and he beckoned one of the smartly uniformed hostesses and ordered a sherry for Tina and Dimple Haig with water for himself. While they enjoyed their drinks he talked about the island, describing the tranquillity of its lagoons where coral scattered the sands like broken flowers, but where sting-rays might also lurk, and the sea hide giant squids and saw-toothed barracuda in its turquoise depths ...
The rest of his drink was abruptly gone from his glass and Tina saw his glance rest on his stretched-out left leg. She remembered what Gaye had told her, that in his attempt to save Joanna he had tom open his leg and been attacked by a barracuda. He had almost lost his own life that tragic day—and afterwards people had gossiped about him and Joanna’s cousin!
Tina launched into questions about the island in an attempt to take their minds off more personal matters, and she seemed to succeed, for in a while John was looking much less taut and even smiling as he described the antics of some of the West Indians he had working for him. Tina hadn’t known until now that her husband owned a citrus plantation. It was fairly large and managed, he told her, by a cousin-in-law named Ralph Carrish.
“The house and the plantation were left to me by a bachelor uncle,” John added. “The Trecarrels have always had roving blood in them, and many years ago one of them was an officer on the ship that discovered Ste. Monique. He settled down on the island as a planter, raised a family, which gradually dwindled down to this uncle of mine. Upon his death I took over the house and the estate. I—work on the island, which is one of the reasons I’ve never left it. Ralph is a thoroughly reliable manager, so I’ve no worries on that score.”
John’s eyes met Tina’s. “Ralph and my first wife were cousins. He has a sister, Paula, whom you will meet. She runs his bungalow for him. It isn’t, by the way, anything like an English bungalow. It’s quite large, very picturesque. Paula is an artistic creature and she’s turned the place into quite an eyeful. You’ll get on well with Ralph, I should think.”
Which remark, Tina reflected, could mean that she might not get on with Paula. Somehow Tina didn’t expect to. If Paula wanted John, she wasn’t going to be overjoyed to meet his new wife!
They had lunch. Tiny, delicious Trinidad oysters, aspic chicken with a green salad, followed by sliced mangoes in dry champagne. Tina made a good meal. Afterwards John remarked: “I’m glad I haven’t landed myself with a sickly travelling companion, grabbing at paper bags all the time. That would have been fun.”
“I’m pleased with myself,” Tina smiled back. “I was awfully worried in case I had air-sickness. I mean, I’ve done so little travelling.”
“What about summer holidays?” John enquired. “Well, we lived near the sea and Aunt Maud saw no point in going away.”
“You haven’t played at all, have you, Tina?” He spoke gently. “Well, we must remedy that on the island. You’ll be able to swim, explore, play tennis. I’ll teach you to ride as well, and drive. We’ve a speed limit, which is a good thing, for no one need go at the pace some people go it back in England. They’ll lose the ability to enjoy simple pleasures if they’re not careful.”
“Is that one of the reasons why you prefer to live on an island?” Tina asked.
“One of them,” John agreed, watching as she flipped open a pancake-compact and dabbed at her nose with a penny-sized puff. She noticed in the small mirror the petals of color which his lazy scrutiny brought to her cheeks. She wondered— uncontrollably—if he was comparing her to Joanna, and quickly shut the compact and slipped it into her bag. She wasn’t vain. She knew that her pretensions to good looks were limited to a clear skin and a certain luminosity about her eyes.
“No lipstick?” he drawled amusedly.
“Do you—want me to wear it?” She gave him a shy, uncertain glance.
“You must please yourself about such things, Tina.” His amusement was faintly touched with surprise at her question. “Do I strike you as a tyrant?”
“Of course not!” she exclaimed. “But you may be one of those men who dislike cosmetics.”
This remark underlined the little she really knew about him and his tastes, and somewhat quizzically he said: “I can take them in small doses, but I do happen to think that they're less attractive on young things like yourself. It isn’t that older woman always need the embellishment, but they carry it off with a certain admirable panache.”
“I wish I were a little older,” Tina sighed, knowing she’d have more assurance and not be reduced to a bundle of nerves at the thought of being chatelaine of Blue Water House and stepmother to another woman’s child.
“Quit worrying and take things as they come,” John advised, blowing out the flame of the match he applied to a narrow cheroot and putting his seiat into a reclining position. He lay smoking with an air of contentment that warmed Tina’s heart. He was right, of course, she must take things as they came. Not gi
ve way to youthful impetuosity to have everything at once—especially his love.
They still had about three hours’ flight ahead of them, and Tina dozed off, awakening suddenly to find the lights on in the cabin and darkness beyond the windows. John told her they were approaching the island of Jamaica, where his motor-launch would be waiting to take them across to Ste. Monique. The various landing signs flashed on, and because Tina’s hands were shaky, John fastened her seat belt for her.
Now the big plane was dropping like a bird through the air and very gradually there was a speckling of lights far below them. A wavy necklet where the harbor humped out into the sea, straightening out into the sweep of Kingston, scattering up the hillsides where habitations were dotted. The sea was dense as velvet, with a lighthouse thrusting out of it like a stick of rock. Mountains showed against the star-glow, and Tina could feel her heart performing excitable little somersaults, her fingers gripping her husband’s unaware as the landing gear and brake flaps vibrated. The plane skimmed at a tremendous rate along a runway of the terminal, then came twin thumps, a roar of propellers, a gradual lessening of speed and beyond the cabin windows the brightly lit airport buildings.
Passengers were requested to remain seated while the aircraft was cleared by the Health Authorities, then they were outside in the warm evening air, tinged by a spiciness that flickered Tina’s nostrils and creaking with the antics of hidden crickets.
The ensuing three-quarters of an hour was a mill of people, voices, chocolate-colored officials looking at various certificates, and finally a pink-palmed hand chalking on their baggage and releasing them into the velvety dusk. Beyond the barrier John spotted a couple of men who were obviously waiting to act as porters, and within seconds he had obtained their services. Their high, sing-song voices intrigued Tina as they carried the various suitcases to a taxi. Tina and John squeezed in, then with its headlamps full on the vehicle zoomed in the direction of Kingston harbor, where lights spangled the various sea craft, and a big, genial islander awaited them, a yachting cap pushed to the back of his crinkly head and a wide, shy, friendly grin showing his white teeth.
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