Scott waited.
“I mean, wasting all that good space. Don’t you think so, Howard?”
Crane took a silent but visible breath and said nothing.
Julia looked back at Scott and then, hearing a voice from outside, she said: “Maybe that’s them now.”
When Scott went topside Lambert and Freddie Gardner were already on deck and helping Sally Reeves aboard.
“Hi, Alan,” she said in her friendly, American accents. He said: “Hi,” seeing now the oval of her face and the bright curve of her smile, but needing no moonlight to know exactly how she looked. He had seen her constantly the past few days, often with his eyes closed at night. It was nothing he wanted to do, for while that part of him centering about the heart and stomach told him he was in love with her the other part centering in the brain reminded him that he was crazy, that Sally had her eye on young Lambert and his money. Why else, he asked himself, had she come down from the States to take this cruise her sister planned.
“Someone else here?” Lambert asked when he had sent the boat back for the Farrows.
“Howard Crane. And your wife,” Scott said, keeping his voice down,
Keith Lambert was a very tall and thin young man of twenty-four with a somewhat unkempt look about him that came not so much from untidy habits as from indifference. His straw-colored hair had a tendency to slide across the corner of his forehead and he had the slightly forlorn look of a college freshman about him even when he was enjoying himself.
“What?” he said, and started to laugh. “Julia?” His accent was British but not overwhelmingly so, and his voice carried a tenor-like, immature cadence. “Oh, God, no!” He peered down at Scott. “You’re joking.”
Scott said nothing while he gave Lambert time to digest his announcement. It occurred to him that this might make a difference in Sally’s plans but he had no time to dwell on the thought. For Freddie Gardner had moved closer, a smallish, sandy-haired man of thirty or so with a round, mobile face and glasses. In early times he might have been a court jester, since he served in a similar capacity for Lambert and stood ready to applaud all jokes when he was not telling his own. He had a nervous way of laughing that, in a woman, would have been called a giggle. He did it now. He said:
“You can’t mean it, Alan. Julia?” He turned to Lambert. “Well, at least she’s only your ex-wife now.”
“She says different,” Scott said and followed them down the companionway into the cabin.
Julia had a half drink in her hand when she spotted Lambert. She tossed it off instantly, walked up and kissed him hard on the mouth.
“Hello, darling,” she said. “Glad to see me?”
Lambert looked stunned. He wet his lips, as though tasting the lipstick and gin. He sat weakly down on the edge of the bunk, glanced bewilderedly about, then tried a smile.
“We’re not still married, are we?” he said hopefully.
“But of course.”
“But—you went to Reno.”
“I know.”
“I mean, I had some papers from there, a notice or something.”
“You had a notice I was filing suit.”
“But-”
Julia turned her back. She handed Scott her empty glass. “Do you mind?” she said.
Lambert tried again.
“But, really, Julia—”
“I went to Reno all right,” the woman said, “but I didn’t wait long enough. I had a chance to go to Hollywood. I went.” She laughed boldly. “Wasn’t I lucky, with you coming into all that money a month later.”
She took the drink from Scott, tasted it, looked over at Gardner who stood wide-eyed and immobile, his jaw slack.
“And dear Freddie,’ she said, her thickening accents contemptuous. “Say something funny, Freddie!”
When Freddie remained momentarily tongue-tied with shock she glanced at Sally. “Hello, dear,” she said. “You must be Miss Reeves.”
Scott turned and fled, his face wet with perspiration and darkly scowling as his resentment mounted. The boat with the Farrows was just coming alongside and when they stepped aboard he told them what had happened.
For a long moment the two stood looking at each other, saying nothing at all, Vivian Farrow standing straight in her tailored dress and nearly as tall as her husband. Across the water from the direction of the Aquatic Club there came the sound of recorded music and somewhere along the beach in the direction of town there came, faintly, the beat of a native calypso band and a voice raised in song.
It was Mark Farrow who broke the spell. He had been sucking on his pipe, his head cocked as he listened to the conversation that came up through the open skylight; now he gestured with it, a note of regret in his well modulated voice.
“Well, I suppose we’ll have to make the best of it.”
“Nothing of the sort,” Vivian said.
“You know how difficult she gets when she’s potted.”
“She’s not the only one who can be difficult.”
“But if she’s still married to Keith—” He paused, tried again. “I mean to say, she could make things rather sticky for us if she wanted to. No use antagonizing her, is there?”
“She’s not going to spoil our trip,” Vivian said coldly. “Believe me.”
CHAPTER 3
SCOTT did not actually witness the meeting of the Farrows and Julia; instead he busied himself at the sideboard and tried not to listen. He made highballs for Gardner and Lambert, for the Farrows; he made a refill for Crane, who stood in one corner listening to everything and looking very much like a man who wished he were elsewhere. When he could he went on deck and sat down on the cabin-house near the skylight and put his head in his hands while his mind tried to shut out the voices below him.
Ever since he had left the Navy as the executive officer of an LST he had looked forward to the day when he could sail his own boat, preferably on some sort of deep-water cruise. He had known about his Uncle George, who had been knocking about the Antilles for years, even though the method of communication was a picture postcard once a year. He knew his uncle had a boat and he had thought there was a little money as well. What he had not realized was that the boat was an eighty-two foot schooner, not new nor having the interior finish of a Stateside-built craft, but sound and seaworthy nevertheless, with a workable diesel that would do five knots when pushed.
The attorney who had written him upon his uncle’s death had given few details. On the strength of the letter Scott had managed a month’s leave from the Madison Avenue advertising agency which employed him. He had arrived a week before to find that his uncle’s estate comprised some second hand furniture in a rented bungalow, an almost vanished bank account, and the Griselda, on which the sum of $10,000 Barbadian was due the bank. Those who knew said the schooner might bring $15,000 at a forced sale, which was what Scott had in mind, provided he could cruise her before turning her in. At that point the Farrows solved one of the problems by offering to take a ten-day charter. It was the attorney who arranged it and Scott remembered the afternoon he had sat in the office overlooking Broad Street after the details of the estate had been covered.
“I don’t know what your plans are for the Griselda” the man had said, “but if you’d like to charter her for a few days before you try to sell I have a party who might be interested. I think you could get a fair price. It might be quite profitable if you are so inclined.”
Scott said he was interested and the attorney had immediately telephoned the Farrows, who said they would be right down. Scott had already been aboard the schooner and he had no doubt about his being able to handle her with the proper help. When he asked about this the attorney said that his Uncle George had managed quite well with two paid hands.
“He had a mate, who sailed these waters most of his life, and another native chap who served as cook and deckhand. Of course your uncle did much of the work himself.”
“I’d expect to do the same,” Scott said.
“Well,
in that case I don’t imagine you’d need anyone else. I think I could locate this pair for you and as I understand it Mr. Farrow would like to take a hand himself. He’s done quite a bit of sailing.”
Scott had been at once impressed with the Farrows. Mark was a soft-voiced man with an unmistakable British accent and a straightforward manner. His wife was dark-haired and handsome and her use of the vernacular told him at once that she was an American girl.
Once the introductions were over Farrow explained what he had in mind. He said he knew the Griselda and she was admirably suited for his purpose. What he proposed to do was to sail first to the island of St. Vincent, then take a leisurely course down along the Grenadines—Bequia, Union, Cannouan, Carriacou—stopping whenever the spirit moved them. They could spend a day or so in Grenada, go from there to Trinidad and then back to Barbados. He figured ten days would give them plenty of time and he wanted to know what such a charter might cost.
Because the proposition was unexpected Scott said he had no idea. He said he’d have to think about it and that the price would depend somewhat on the service the Farrows expected.
“Not a great deal,” Vivian said in her direct and uninhibited way. “We don’t expect any hot and cold running maids or breakfast in bed. We can take care of our own rooms if there’s someone to do the cooking and the dishes.”
“You can count on me for a deckhand when you need me,” Farrow said. “Keith Lambert, too.”
Scott liked these people and the idea excited him quite apart from the prospect of the profit which might be involved. He said he would let them know the following day and he spent that time in laying out an itinerary, estimating the cost of the food which might be needed, figuring when and where he’d have to use the engine and the expense of the fuel.
There was no trouble about the crew. The mate, whose name was Luther and whose antecedents were more East Indian than Negro, had originally come from British Guiana. Luther had located the other hand. A Negro Bajan of indeterminate age whose principal job with Scott’s uncle had been to serve as cook and steward, he was eager to work again and the wages the two men demanded were relatively small. With this figure budgeted along with other potential expenses, Scott gave Farrow a price of three hundred a day, and was quite prepared to knock fifty dollars from the price if necessary.
But Farrow had said yes without a moment’s hesitation, and a day later Keith Lambert solved Scott’s other problem, potentially at least, by saying that he might buy the schooner if she acted well on the cruise. . . .
Now, glancing round as a shadow moved nearby, he watched the shadow take shape and saw that it was Sally. She sat down beside him without a word, folding her hands and looking off across the starlit water at the Aquatic Club pier, her very nearness bringing again the unaccustomed fluttering in his stomach which had been bothering him on and off the past few days.
Vivian Farrow had cabled Sally as soon as the charter terms were accepted and Scott had seen her for the first time when she came aboard three days later. She was introduced as Vivian’s sister, though the two looked nothing alike, and Scott had been immediately impressed. He saw at once that her medium-brown hair had glints of auburn in it, that her green eyes, framed with long black lashes, looked right at you, not boldly but forthrightly and with interest. A modern, independent, no nonsense girl was the way she seemed to him, vital, friendly, curious. Only later when he saw her in her swim suits did he realize how very nicely she was put together.
She was easy to talk to and a common bond of interest had been immediately established when he learned she also worked for an advertising agency only four blocks from his own—as fourth assistant copywriter on a cosmetic account, was the way she put it. When he saw she wore no wedding ring and understood she was to be a member of the party he was greatly pleased, for, at the time, he had assumed that this was to be simply a pleasure cruise. Not until they took the Griselda out for an afternoon sail the following day did he realize that there was a more important reason for the cruise.
Keith Lambert had come along that time and Farrow had a briefcase full of maps, plans, charts, and blueprints. Before the day was over Scott realized that the Farrows were developing a resort island in the Bahamas. They had, apparently, put all their money into the venture and had run out of credit. What they wanted from Lambert was about a quarter of a million dollars—or any part thereof—of additional capital. Scott also understood why Sally had been imported from the States.
Farrow had been at the wheel at the time, with Lambert beside him. They had gone straight out from the mooring to have a look at the flying-fish boats at work and were on a reach to the leeward coast. The crew was forward, the two women were below, and Scott was sitting right where he was now, next to the skylight, not eavesdropping but hearing a snatch or two of conversation, mostly Vivian’s, since hers was the stronger voice. He never did hear Sally speak, but what Vivian said was more than enough to give him the general idea of the younger woman’s status.
“You don’t have to sell anything to anybody,” Vivian had said at one point. And again when the schooner rolled and the hiss of rushing water was momentarily stilled: “Actually all you have to do is be nice to him.” And again: “. . . and what’s wrong with marrying two million dollars?”
Since then Scott had tried to keep his emotional reactions in check. He had seen Sally almost daily but it was Lambert who was her most constant companion. They swam and rode and dined together, sometimes with the Farrows but often alone. When they came aboard Scott tried to remember that he was a hired captain and not a member of the party. . . .
A shout of laughter that was raucous, drunken, and unmistakably Julia’s shattered such thoughts and he heard her say:
“You’re not going to buy any island, toots, or build any club for Freddie until you’ve taken care of me,”
Beside him Sally shivered. “How awful for Keith,” she said.
“How awful for everybody.”
“If there was only something we could do.”
“We could give her a Mickey,” he said, “if we had the Mickey.”
Then, before Sally could reply, Julia’s voice rose once more.
“What I want to know,” she said, “is which cabin is mine? Where’s that cute captain . . . Hey, captain!”
Scott moved swiftly, stepping past Sally and ducking below. Julia was sitting on the edge of the bunk, weaving a bit, peering slit-eyed at Vivian Farrow and Vivian was answering her, a straight-standing, high-breasted woman with jet-black hair and an olive skin that was now pale at the cheekbone. A one-time New York show girl, she had developed over the years a certain poise and self-assurance that sometimes bordered on the arrogant. She was that way now as she eyed Julia and tapped the tip of her cigarette holder between her teeth.
“There’ll be no cabin for you, Julia,” she said, her voice stiff and her American accent showing. “Not on this cruise.”
“Ahh—” said Julia.
Farrow cleared his throat, a ruggedly built, pipe-smoking Englishman in his late thirties, with close-cropped dark hair and a sportsman’s look. Now there were angry glints in his eyes but his voice was oddly calm and contained.
“She’s quite right, you know.”
“Nuts,” said Julia.
“It’s quite impossible, really. I mean, there simply isn’t room, Julia.”
“Nuts,” said Julia again. “There’s always room for one more.”
“Not this time,” Vivian said.
“In any case,” Farrow said, trying his best to avoid an open argument, “it’s nothing we have to decide tonight.”
“Oh, yes it is.”
“It most certainly is,” Vivian said. “We chartered this boat and we’re paying for it, and we’ll say who’ll go and who won’t.”
“Okay.” Julia tried to straighten up and failed. “But get this. If I don’t go, neither does Keith. How do you like that?”
For a long moment then the silence closed down on the
hot, smoky cabin, and for the first time Scott understood clearly just how much trouble this one uninvited guest could make, how ruinous her presence was to the plans and affairs of the others.
He glanced first at Howard Crane, blaming him somehow for what had happened even though he sensed that he was being unfair in doing so. If Julia had been insistent, Crane could hardly have prevented her from coming aboard. It seemed unlikely that Julia could make trouble for Crane, now that his wife was away, but right now he was a very unhappy looking man as he stood there, his glance disgusted as it fastened on the drunken woman.
He thought next of himself, and the charter on which he had counted so much, of the preparations he had made. He could not imagine a ten-day cruise with Julia along; at least he could not imagine the Farrows sponsoring such a cruise. Should the cruise be canceled, and that’s the way it looked now, he felt sure the Farrows would reimburse him for any expense he had contracted. What bothered him most was the thought that if the charter was called off he might well lose out on the sale of the schooner to Lambert.
He glanced across to the opposite berth where the tall young man sat next to Freddie Gardner, aware that Lambert’s problems were more discouraging than his own. Lambert, who was in love with Sally, now had to contend not only with a wife who was out to make trouble but who also seemed determined to make him pay exorbitantly for his future freedom.
Freddie Gardner seemed also to realize what Julia’s presence meant to him. He sat very still in his white drill suit, wrinkled now and frayed at the cuffs, his round face moist and distressed. As long as he could be jester and man-Friday to Lambert he had a livelihood of sorts, for there were commissions to be made from those who dealt, or wished to deal, with Lambert, advances to be had, small payments for favors of one sort or another, as befitted a pensioner for long and faithful service. With Julia’s dislike for him so evident such favors would come to a sudden end.
As for the Farrows, it was easy to see why they were so bitter. Julia’s unexpected appearance seemed now to be downright disastrous to their plans. From all accounts everything they had had been invested in their island venture and it was imperative that they raise additional capital, and soon. Until now it seemed to Scott that Lambert was favorably impressed with their plans and seemed likely to join them. But with Julia on his neck haranguing and tormenting him the Farrows might not get the chance to press their case. To them the cruise meant everything and now . . .
Uninvited Guest Page 2