Candle in the Wind

by Sally Wentworth

  'Please, I'd like to place a person-to-person call with Mr James Ashby of Ash by Incorporates in Barbados. I'm sorry, I don't know the number, and could you please reverse the charges.' The operator asked who was calling and she had to gulp twice before she could get it out. 'Would you tell him it's about Miss Ashby?'

  Sam waited for what seemed an eternity, the operator occasionally coming back over the crackling line to tell her that she was still trying to place the call. The phone booth was set back against the wall, but Sam still huddled into it, afraid that Big Annie or Mike might walk by and see her.

  The male voice, when it did come, almost startled her out of her wits. 'Who is this?' it demanded harshly. For a few minutes Sam was too shaken to speak and the man, angry now, said, 'Hello, who's there?'

  'H-hello. Is that—is that Mr Ashby?'

  'No, this is his secretary. Who is this? Do you have some news of Miss Ashby?'

  She ought to have guessed that she wouldn't be put straight through to such an important man; he had probably had dozens of crank phone calls. Her voice gathered more strength as she replied, 'Yes, I think I know where she is.'

  'Where?' The question was snapped out.

  'I want to speak to Mr Ashby personally.' 'He's a very busy man.' Then, rather cuttingly, 'Don't worry, you'll get the reward if your information leads to his daughter. You can tell me.'

  Sam mentally squared her shoulders. 'No, thank you. If Mr Ashby wants to find his daughter he'll have to talk to me himself.'

  There was a short silence and then the voice said, 'Wait!'

  Which she did, for nearly ten minutes of growing anxiety, before another man's voice came on the line, more modulated, much more polite.

  'Good morning, I believe you have some information about my daughter's whereabouts?'

  Huskily Sam said, 'Yes.' Was this her father's voice? She didn't know, it brought back no memories.

  'If you have, I shall be very grateful, and you will, of course, be well rewarded. Perhaps you could start by telling me where you saw her?' The tone was gentle, persuasive.

  Sam's voice, however, was cracked and unnatural as she said, 'Does your daughter have a scar on—on her left leg?'

  There was a sudden silence and then James Ashby said tersely, 'Yes. Yes, she does. Do you know where she is?' he demanded sharply.

  'Yes, I think so. I think I'm your daughter.'

  This time she heard him gasp before he said, 'Is this some kind of a sick joke?'

  Sam gave a sobbing laugh. 'Yes, I suppose you could tall it that.'

  'Samantha? Samantha, is that really you?' The voice was fierce, urgent.

  'I—I don't know. I'm not sure. I saw a picture of you with your daughter in the paper and it looked like me and I have a scar on my left leg. So I think I am, but I don't know, I just don't know any more.' Sam's voice became incoherent as she finished speaking.

  'What are you talking about? Who are you? How can you possibly not be sure?' James Ashby demanded angrily.

  Sam bit her knuckles and tried to pull herself together. 'I was in an accident and I lost my memory.'

  Now it was his turn to sound almost incoherent. 'You —you mean you can't remember anything, not even who you are?'

  'No, nothing. He—he told me that I was his wife and I believed him, but—but yesterday I saw the picture in the paper.'

  'Who? Who told you that you were his wife?'

  In little more than a whisper, she answered, 'He said his name was Mike Scott.'

  And now, incredibly, he believed her. 'Samantha!'

  He gasped out her name. 'Oh, Samantha, my dear child.' There was another silence while he recovered himself and then he said urgently, 'Where are you?'

  'I'm in St Vincent. We're staying at a hotel in Kingstown in a street that runs between the waterfront and the market. I—I don't know the name of the street and the hotel doesn't seem to have a name, but it's owned by a woman called Big Annie.'

  'Where is Scott now?' His tone had become completely practical.

  'He went out. He's bought a boat and we're going to leave tonight.'

  'I see. Are you in the hotel now?' 'No, I'm in a restaurant just along the street. It's called the Fontabelle.'

  'Do you know your way round the town?'

  'No, he made me stay in the hotel room.'

  There was a muttered imprecation and then-James Ashby said, 'How long will he be away?'

  'Several hours, he said.'

  'Then I want you to go back to your hotel room and wait for me there. Don't worry about me not finding the place, I have people tracking it down already. What's your room number?'

  'Number six, on the second floor.'

  'All right. Now, I have a jet plane standing by at the airport. I'll be with you very shortly.'

  'What—what if he comes, back?'

  'Then I want you to try and keep him at the hotel as long as you can. If he tries to take you away, then make an excuse to go to the bathroom and lock yourself in and don't come out. Can you manage that?'

  'Yes, I suppose so.'

  'Good. Now try not to worry. I'll be there as soon as it's humanly possible. I'm going to ring off now so that I can get started. See you soon, Samantha.'

  See you soon; they were the very words that Mike had used when he said goodbye to her. She wondered with a sick feeling of fear which one of them she would see first. Slowly she replaced the receiver. Suddenly shock set in and she leaned back against the grubby graffiti-covered wall of the phone booth and began to shake. What if she'd done the wrong thing? What if she really was Mike's wife? What if she had made a mistake and she wasn't Samantha Ashby? Panic ran through her in waves; she couldn't go back to their room and just wait, just sit there until someone walked through the door and directed her life one way or the other. Blindly she stumbled out of the restaurant and into the street, to be immediately caught up in the throng of people and carried along. Everyone seemed cheerful and laughing as they called out to one another. Sam gazed at them in resentful bewilderment, jealous of their happiness when she was being dragged unwillingly through this hell that circumstances had forced on her.

  She found herself in the market and wandered aimlessly in between the lanes of goods. How long did it take to fly from Barbados to St Vincent? How long before James Ashby arrived? She supposed she should have asked him. In her mind she thought of him only as James Ashby. She gave a gulp of almost hysterical laughter; how could you think of a voice on the telephone as your father? For a long time she wandered unseeingly up and down the market, her mind torn by doubts and fears, a fierce, darting pain shooting through her head. A clock on a distant church tower told her that it was past midday; she ought to go back, one of them would be coming for her soon, soon. Again panic flowed, but then a thought came that she caught and held on to tightly; if James Ashby could prove to her that he was her father then she would be sure of her identity and sure of her relationship with him, she would at least have one truth to cling to out of the welter of lies and uncertainties. And right now that was all she wanted, all she could hope for.

  Coming out of the market she found that she was lost at first, but then saw some old houses that she remembered Mike had pointed out because they were built of bricks brought as ballast in the holds of sugar schooners and she knew where she was. Quickly now, afraid in case anyone got there before her, Sam made her way back to the hotel. It looked all right, there was no car or anything outside. But she couldn't relax until she had reached their room and found it empty. Thank goodness, Mike hadn't come back. She collapsed on the bed, out of breath, but after a few moments sat up and took some more of the aspirins that Big Annie had left for her. God, how her head ached! It felt as if saws were being dragged through her brain.

  It was impossible to try to relax, she jumped up every time she heard the slightest noise, her nerves on edge. The time wore on and she began to be afraid that Mike would come back first. He would wonder if he found her dressed like this instead of ready for the w
edding, so she went into the bathroom to wash and then changed into the dress and sandals, combing her hair with an unsteady hand and not even attempting the lipstick.

  From below she heard the sounds of footsteps coming rapidly up the stairs and she turned to face the door, her eyes wide and dark with tension. There was a sharp rap on the door. So it wasn't Mike. She went to go to the door to open it but found she couldn't move. The knock came again, louder, impatient. She managed a hoarse, 'C-come in.'

  The door opened and a man stood on the threshold. It was the man in the photograph, only this time he was conservatively dressed in a well-cut light-grey business suit. And he wasn't smiling, his face was creased with an anxious frown. But the moment he saw her the frown was replaced by a look of triumph and he began to rush across the room towards her.

  'Samantha!'

  Sam backed away from his outstretched arms. 'Who are you?'

  He stopped abruptly and stared at her, then pulled himself together. 'I'm sorry—I hadn't realised. I'm James Ashby, I'm your father, my dear,' he said earnestly.

  'You—you think I'm your daughter, then?'

  'Darling, I know you're my daughter.'

  Sam bit her lip. 'Could—could you prove it to me, please?'

  His eyes widened incredulously, but then he reached for his wallet and said, 'Of course.' He took some papers out and handed them to her. 'Here's my driver's licence with a photograph on it, that will prove to you who I am, and yes, here's a copy of the poster I had printed offering a reward for finding you.'

  Sam looked at the poster. It was a much better photograph, taken in close-up so that she had no difficulty in recognising each feature of her own face. The reward was for a quarter of a million Barbadian dollars or its equivalent in any currency. So that was another reason why Mike had kept her hidden away. Slowly she folded it and gave the things back to him.

  'Yes, it would—it would seem that I am your daughter.'

  Suddenly her legs wouldn't hold her and she sank on to the bed, burying her face in her hands. James Ashby sat down beside her and put his arms round her, holding her head against his shoulder.

  'Oh, my poor child! But you're safe now, safe from that swine who took you away from me.'

  For a few seconds Sam nearly succumbed to the temptation to cry out her relief on his shoulder, but the mention of Mike made her sit up with a jerk.

  'We must go! He might come back and find you here. He might try to keep me with him.' She stood up agitatedly and tried to pull him to his feet.

  'No, it's all right, there's no need to be afraid of him any longer.'

  'But you don't know him. He's terribly strong, he could knock you down. Oh, please!' She began to tug at his sleeve, to make him move towards the door.

  'Samantha, listen to me.' Her father caught her by the shoulders in a firm grip. 'I tell you it's quite safe. Look if you don't believe me.'

  He let go of her and opened the door. Sam looked past him and saw two hefty men waiting outside in the corridor.

  'Who are they?' she asked in little more than a whisper.

  'They are in my employ, and I have another man waiting downstairs in the street. So you see there's really nothing to be afraid of any more. I don't think any man could knock down all four of us, do you?' he added with a slightly twisted smile. He drew her back into the room and made her sit down. 'Now, before we leave I want you to tell me everything that happened to you. How did you come to lose your memory?'

  'I—that is, he told me I hit my head when his boat sank.' Falteringly at first, but then with growing confidence she gave him the bare outlines of their time in the dinghy and on the island, finishing with their arrival at St Vincent. 'Then I saw the photograph in the paper. Look, here it is.' She went to the drawer and got the news-sheet to show him, explaining how she found it.

  James Ashby read it through quickly and then looked at her. He seemed about to say something, hesitated, but then said grimly, 'On the phone you said that Scott had told you you were his wife and you believed him.' His eyes went pointedly to the bed. 'This set-up—does that mean that you—that he made you—live with him as his wife?'

  Sam flushed painfully. 'Yes.' And then, at the look that passed over his face, she added almost angrily, 'Of course he did. What the hell did you expect? That I'd spent weeks alone with the man and still be—and still be…' She broke off and put her head in her hands, shaking uncontrollably.

  Immediately her father got to his feet and put his arms round her, holding her close. He swore violently. 'That swine! I'll kill him for what he's done to you! But first I'll make sure that he lives to regret it, I'll make him beg to die!'

  'No!' Sam pulled away from him and stared at him appalled. His eyes, his face, were twisted by hatred. 'No, please, you mustn't. You don't understand.' She sought for the words to convince him. 'Apart—apart from that he was always very kind to me, he looked after me. And he never hurt me. In fact he saved my life more than once.'

  'You call taking you away from your home, from me, and fooling you into letting him do what he wanted to you, you call that being kind?' he asked, his voice savage.

  Sam's voice rose. 'I could have died! When we were in the boat we only had a little water. He could have kept it all for himself, but he shared it with me—no, he gave me more than my fair share—while he went without himself.' She gazed at James Ashby, her face white and set. She said clearly, 'If you want me to come back with you then you must give me your word that you will do nothing to harm Mike. You won't tell the police where he is or do anything in—in revenge for kidnapping me. You won't try to hurt him in any way. I mean it,' she added as she looked at his suddenly grim face. 'If you don't give me your solemn promise then I won't go back with you.'

  His chin came out and for a moment she thought he was going to refuse, but then he gave a resigned shrug. 'All right, Samantha, if that's what you want. And maybe it's better that way; at least there won't be any more publicity and you'll be able to put all this behind you and forget it.'

  Sam gave a sigh of relief. 'Thank you. Thank you,' she hesitated, then added tentatively, 'Daddy.'

  James Ashby looked at her, a strange light in his eyes, then he put his arm round her shoulders and kissed her gently on the forehead. 'Let's go, the sooner I get you home the better.'

  Hopefully Sam said, 'Will there be anyone waiting? Do I have a mother, brothers and sisters?'

  His mouth gave a kind of jerk. 'No, baby. I'm sorry, you only have me.'

  He led her down the stairs, the two men going ahead. At the curb there waited a big American car, a convertible with the hood down. James Ashby opened the door for her, but just as she moved forward to get in she heard a shout behind her. 'Sam!' Turning round, she looked down the street and then stood as though turned to stone. Mike was only about twenty yards away! He began to run fast towards them, dropping the parcel he was carrying and dodging between the pedestrians.

  Sam was too paralysed to move, but her father picked her up and bundled her into the car anyhow, jumping in after her.

  'Get going!' he yelled to one of his men who had already got into the driving seat.

  Another man turned to grapple with Mike. He was built like a heavyweight boxer, but Mike brushed him out of the way like an annoying fly. But it had given the driver the necessary few seconds he needed to start the engine and start to pull away. Mike leapt forward and grabbed the side of the car. He caught hold of Sam and began to lift her bodily out of it. Her father hung on to her so that she felt as if she was being torn in half. Mike's strength began to tell, but then the third man ran round and put his arm round Mike's throat, trying to force him off. Mike had to release one arm to throw the man off and her father pulled away from him as the car gathered speed, blaring a path through the crowded street. Sam had one last look into Mike's agonised eyes as he called her name and then he had fallen off the car, rolling over and over in the dusty road.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  For a long time Sam was too numb t
o take any notice of where she was being taken; her mind was haunted by that look in Mike's eyes. No matter how long she lived she would never forget the look of anguish when he'd had to let go of the car. She sat in the back seat, oblivious of James Ashby's attempts to comfort her and blind to her surroundings even when they reached the airport and she was helped aboard a small executive jet plane that immediately took off for the return trip to Barbados. Looking down, she saw St Vincent gradually becoming smaller beneath the wings. A green island, with hills reaching the sea, the volcano, Soufriere, still active and a source of menace and constant danger. Sam thought of Mike still down there on the fast disappearing island and felt a sudden cold fear, but whether it was fear for him or of him she was too confused to tell.

  They flew on over the Atlantic and her father eventually left her side and went to a sort of communications console set into the plane where he proceeded to have a conversation over the radio. Sam didn't take too much notice of him, but she felt a sort of release from anxiety now that it was over and she had someone to take care of her, someone whom she knew she could trust and who had her best interests at heart.

  When they landed at Seawell Airport and the plane taxied to the far side of the airport away from the main complex, she turned to him in some trepidation.

  'I don't have a passport. It was lost when Mike's boat went down and then he—he arranged for me to be put on his new passport as his wife.'

  'It's all right, you don't have to worry about that, or anything else. I radioed ahead and everything's been arranged.'

  And it had, most efficiently. The plane went straight into a hangar that seemed very dark after the bright sunlight and there was a luxurious car waiting for them as soon as the plane rolled to a stop. Her father took her arm and helped her down the steps, spoke a brief word to a man in a uniform with lots of gold braid and then ushered her into the air-conditioned interior of the car. Sam noticed that it also had darkened windows so that no one would be able to see in. She began to realise how money could be used to make wheels run so smoothly; James Ashby had just whisked her out of St Vincent without a passport or any form of identification, whereas it had taken Mike nearly four days to try to achieve the same object.