Hideaway Heart

by Roumelia Lane

  "It won't work." He waved a hand irritably. "The fellow's completely irresponsible. Neither is it correct for you to stay in the same house as Huston."

  "Well, considering it was your idea in the first place . . . And what about Eleni ? You never minded before."

  "Well, I mind now. What's the matter with you anyway?" He turned to her abruptly. "You're acting as if you don't want to leave. You're always telling me it won't work. Well, now I'm finally convinced. I thought you detested the whole business?"

  "I did, but..."

  "You did, but don't now. Is that it? You want to carry on with the game. Or isn't it a game any more?"

  Chris's thoughts were in a whirl. She knew herself that she had planned to leave the island; even expected a searing row with Boyd over her decision. Now here he was, calmly turning the tables on her, telling her to forget the whole idea.

  But could she? Clive wasn't the sort of person one could forget easily.

  She stared out over the garden.

  "Without the contract my father is ruined," she said quietly.

  "It's a pretty feeble excuse and it won't do. I'll call around nine to pick you and Eleni up. Be ready. Tell Huston your holiday is up and I've offered to take you back."

  He turned and strode off, pushing the tangled blossom roughly out of his path.

  Chris looked down at her feet. Now what? Should she tell Clive everything? He deserved some kind of explanation, but would it help just now when he seemed to have more than his share of problems? Undecided, she sat down quickly at the sound of footsteps. The next moment Clive appeared, fresh in white shirt and slacks, the customary fruit juice in one hand. He looked round warily. "He's gone, then?"

  "Yes." Chris hesitated and then plunged. "Clive, I'm afraid I'll be leaving in the morning. My return to England is long overdue, you know. Mr. Wyatt has offered to take me back to Cathai."

  Clive looked down into his drink.

  "I'm not kidding myself you wouldn't have to go some time, but if it's about the dive..."

  "No. Clive. it's nothing like that. You see I want to..."

  "Oh, don't tell me." He slewed her a hurt smile. "I know it's not exactly restful being marooned with the original crazy mixed-up kid..."

  "Oh, Clive!" Chris admonished gently. She stood up and was shocked at the depth of loneliness she saw in the blue eyes. She swallowed. "Clive, I must tell you that..."

  "Spare me, Chris." He swung away, lowering the fruit juice on to the table with a drawn smile. "I'll see you tomorrow before you go."

  He moved off, and she heard the doors of his workshop close almost noiselessly.

  Eleni received the news that they were leaving the island with her usual matter-of-fact nod. After supper she packed her belongings and then went along to Chris's room with a half-empty suitcase to take the overflow of dresses and shoes. Clive didn't show up all evening and Chris went to bed with a heavy heart. She hated leaving things like this.

  The next morning Eleni went down to the beach to look for the boat. Chris sat near the suitcases listening for Clive's footsteps. He hadn't appeared at breakfast. She wondered if he was going to show up at all, and then his door opened. She heard him making his way to the living room. He came in slowly, shot a resigned glance at Chris in cream linen and the suitcases at her side.

  "You're all set, then?"

  "Yes, Clive." Chris stood up. "I was afraid you weren't going to come and say goodbye."

  He looked at her for a long moment. "Is it goodbye, Chris? It's funny, I thought. . . well, your being here has . .He plunged a hand through his hair and then drew her towards him. "You know what I'm trying to say. I think you're the one person who understands just what goes on in this fool head of mine."

  Chris smiled tremulously, unable to think of a word to say. Clive's hands crept along her shoulders. He said hoarsely,

  "Don't leave me, Chris. Help me to beat this thing."

  "I wish I could, Clive," Chris jerked, "but I have certain commitments elsewhere, and..."

  "But you could come back as soon as you've sorted things out."

  Could she ? Free and unfettered with no Boyd Wyatt striding around the place? And Clive would have to know the truth.

  "Please, Chris..." he urged.

  She drew in a breath. "All right, Clive, I'll come back."

  "You're an angel!" He drew her into his arms and kissed her gently on the mouth. "Don't forget . . . hurry back to me.

  There was a harsh cough at the door.

  "Sorry if I'm interrupting something, but we're about to sail."

  Boyd's granite features took in the situation at a glance. He swept up the suitcases and left Chris to make her own way, down to the boat.

  The island of Cathai drowsed in the afternoon heat. The sea, loath to stir itself, spread like a cape of blue silk, knotted at the edges with brown caiques and various sailing craft. Chris gazed down from the Villa Tamerlane, wondering if the boatmen succumbed to the heat on board, or if they retreated to the cool white houses dotted up the cliffside. The quay was deserted and even the town of Poladras in the distance had a curious Rip Van Winkle haze about it.

  Chris sighed at the colour around her - a picture postcard of peacock blues, aquamarine, and flame. Fernsea was going to seem quite a comedown after this. Still, there was always Dad. It would be good to see him, even though she was going to have to break the news to him about the contract. And then there was Clive. Somehow she would have to find ways and means of visiting him again.

  She sighed again. Did absolutely everyone on the island sleep in the afternoon? Apparently not, for at that moment a firm footstep sounded behind her. Chris tensed. She knew that sound. She hadn't seen Boyd Wyatt since the day the Barbary Cloud had sailed in from Cyrecano.

  He leaned negligently over the parapet.

  "Not having the traditional siesta?"

  Chris shook her head.

  "I couldn't bear to sleep this view away. I want to remember everything when I get back home."

  He took out cigarettes and for the first time offered Chris one. When she refused he smiled.

  "Good. I wouldn't want to be the one to start off the bad habits." He looked out to sea and then turned to say casually, "We could take a walk through the old town if you want to. It's cool amongst the buildings."

  Chris looked up, surprised.

  "A walk? With you?"

  "Just me."

  "But I thought you were far too busy to..

  He shrugged a tight smile.

  "Howes, my secretary, is due in later today. He can handle the paperwork." He continued to give her a steady stare. "Since he and your father are only marking time at that end I thought they might as well be out here."

  Chris's eyes were twin orbs of gold.

  "You mean Dad is coming out here?"

  "There are one or two points I want to discuss concerning the airstrip."

  The light died in Chris's eyes. She lowered her head. What was the point of discussions when they knew there wasn't going to be any airstrip? He must have read her thoughts, for he commented evenly,

  "I've decided to try a new tack to get round to our friend Huston."

  "Oh?"

  "I'll let you know about it in due course." He flicked a glance over the heavy dress, for Chris hadn't hesitated to revert back to her own wardrobe once back at the villa. "You'll be too hot in that. I should stick to the lighter materials while you're out here."

  Chris bit her lip. She knew he was referring to the dresses he had bought , and had to admit they did something for her morale ... and if she was going for a walk with Boyd it would be nice to dress up. She nodded, and he turned.

  "I'll see you back here in ten minutes. And you'll need a hat in this heat."

  Chris washed and changed in a dream. Instead of winging her way back to Fernsea as she had expected to be doing by now, she was here preparing to go out walking with the man who had started all this. The thought made her hands tremble a little, as she fixed on
the wide straw hat. It suited the lavender dress with its froth of skirt and puffed sleeves. She slipped her feet into low-heeled sandals and picked up her handbag. If only her heart wouldn't thump so!

  Boyd looked broad and bronzed in an off-white linen suit, cream shirt and tie. He took her arm and led her out to the familiar donkey and trap.

  The old town was enchanting with its steep pebbled streets and houses decorated with arabesques and flowers. Many had stone carvings, and sported gilded ornaments along their leaning balconies. The inevitable mosques looked down from almost every hill and at times Chris had difficulty in accepting the fact that this was a Greek island and not Somewhere in the heart of the East, especially when a string of camels stepped disdainfully by.

  Seeing her surprise, Boyd took her arm lazily.

  "Most of these people are descended from the Turkish invaders. They cling to their own customs," he explained.

  Now that the heat had subsided more figures began to appear. Shutters were being raised to show a mixture of Greek and Turkish merchandise, and the noise gradually increased. Soon the streets were thronged with bustling robed figures, and all manner of animals, carts and vehicles. Boyd held an encircling arm as Chris was jolted against him. He hailed a taxi with a slow smile.

  "About now is the time to be pulling out."

  She noticed a little breathlessly that he hadn't removed his arm but held her tight against him. The taxi jerked up and Chris told herself this was a natural reaction to all this noise and clamour. Her father would have done exactly the same. Seated in the dim interior, she was amazed to find that she had actually enjoyed her afternoon with Boyd ... so much so that she was reluctant for it to end... but it hadn't yet, for the taxi was drawing in beside a small cafe.

  Now the surrounding houses were typically Greek, stark white and riddled with windows. Olive-skinned girls glided by in spotless embroidery, and the older women wore voluminous skirts and dark shawls. The men favoured baggy trousers and neat clipped moustaches.

  Boyd led her into a sun loggia where the walls were painted with tulips and cypresses and their table looked over a shimmering sea. Chris was glad he hadn't ordered the thick syrupy coffee, for she found it did nothing to quench the thirst. Instead a tray appeared holding a tall glass jug of amber liquid and a casket of ice. There were biscuits, hard and crumbly, and a dish of lemon-flower jam.

  Still standing, Boyd poured the drinks and scooped up the ice cubes.

  "How many?" he asked her.

  "A couple." Chris looked away shyly. It was a little disconcerting to have such a man towering over one, especially as he seemed to have put aside the brusque business manner she was used to. Even the taciturn features had relaxed a little. Why, in this mood he was almost likeable! She might have guessed it wouldn't last.

  As long as she had known Boyd Wyatt things had never gone smoothly between them for long. Unhappily today was going to be no exception.

  As they walked back to the villa Chris stopped to marvel at the clarity of the view, and a cluster of popular islands to the right. After some moments she asked pensively,

  "Most of the islands are in contact by radio, aren't they... I mean the really isolated ones ?''

  Boyd nodded. "By law they have to be." He looked at her. "Why do you ask?"

  "I was wondering ... well, if Clive got into difficulties ... his boat's out of action, you know."

  Boyd dug his hands into his pockets.

  "He's managed up to now without your female flutterings," he pointed out.

  She looked up at him.

  "Why don't you like Clive?" she asked.

  He shrugged. "Like? Dislike? There are no emotions involved. I just know he could stop wasting his time and mine if he wanted to."

  "Clive's got his troubles."

  "Haven't we all?" He swayed forward sarcastically to the toes of his shoes. "But then some men need to lean on a woman, I suppose."

  "You really can be nasty about him, can't you?" she flashed. "Just because you've never let yourself lean on anyone!" The woodsmoke eyes crackled and she ran a tongue round pink lips. "You might try a little understanding instead."

  "Oh no, that's your department. I'm sure you can give him all he needs."

  "Yes, I can... and I will!"

  He looked at her sharply. "What do you mean, you will? Are you planning to go back to him?"

  "Just as soon as I can."

  "I thought there was something like that in the wind." He took her roughly by the shoulders. "You young fool! Can't you tell the difference between loneliness and affection? The fellow's just pining away for any kind of company."

  "I seem to recall a time when you got almost excited at the prospect."

  For a long moment steel-grey eyes bore down into fiery brown, and then he lowered his hands abruptly.

  "For pity's sake let's drop the subject. And if you're coming to me to take you back to Cyrecano the answer is quite definitely no."

  He swung away towards the villa, leaving her to keep up with his tremendous strides as best she could.

  She didn't have time to ponder on his bad humour, for when they arrived her father was waiting to greet her. Fit and jovial in lightweight suit he strode across the echoing hall, arms outstretched. Chris ran to hug him. She had always regarded her father as tall, but against Boyd he seemed only average.

  They held each other at arms' length and chatted unselfconsciously while Boyd stood a short distance away, drawing lazily on a cigarette and viewing the scene with a mocking tilt to the hard mouth. Eventually Mr. Dawnay stepped forward with an outstretched hand.

  "Mr. Wyatt, I hope I'm not putting you out in any way?"

  "The name's Boyd." He took the hand easily and pulled a smile at the sound of cars and voices in the drive. "It might be the other way round. I'm afraid our business will have to stay shelved for the time being. We're about to get all we can take from the party outside." He grinned wryly. "City business men and their wives doing the islands. Do you mind being just one of the house guests for the next few days ?''

  Frank Dawnay, always happy to fall in with other people's plans, smiled good-naturedly. "Suits me."

  Chris had never seen so much luggage. Mountains of it, and as many as a dozen at a time in matching leather or with the same monogram. Piece by piece it was transported upstairs to one room or another, and soon the Villa Tamerlane was a-hum with activity. It became a common sight to see strange bodies stretched out over the once deserted lawns, and numerous articles of swimwear draped over the steps leading to the pool.

  She was introduced to expensively dressed women, and men who though now in gay holiday garb still retained an unmistakable air of bowler hat and black umbrella. Although Boyd announced each name clearly she soon lost track of who was who, except for Mrs. Lovell, whom one didn't get a chance to forget. A mountainous woman with a startling hair-do, she dragged her uncomplaining husband round from one group to another, talking to everyone as though they were lifelong friends, Chris and Boyd included. Meals at the villa were traditionally Greek now, and Chris found herself eating octopus in red wine which she thought she would hate, and loved, mayonnaise of fish, Athens style, aubergine salads, and delicious kataifi, sweet pastry rolls. There were endless cheeses and wines, of which the golden Retsina proved most popular with Boyd's discriminating guests.

  One night the whole party including Chris and her father were transported in a fleet of taxis to the local taverna where copper pans filled with food simmered on huge ovens, and tables spilled out along gravel paths beneath spreading mimosas. Boyd told her the mandolin-type instrument that the musicians played was known as a bouzouki and the aim was to inspire the audience to dance or to sing. She watched with interest as men at the tables gradually began to clap in rhythm to the oriental sound. Here and there a deep baritone voice broke out.

  As the music increased in volume one of the men, Greek-looking with black eyes and thick hair, left his seat and began to move in perfect rhythm to the music
without any self-consciousness. His friends clapped and sang with gusto, and when the music came to an end, each one readily handed money to the band, apparently well satisfied with the evening's entertainment.

  Chris knew her father was enjoying every minute of his stay at the villa, but she wondered if they were right to just drift along this way. It was all very well for Boyd to hint casually that he had another plan concerning the airstrip, but so far he had made no mention of it, and all the while she and her father were drifting nearer disaster. Even now the bills must be mounting, to say nothing of maintaining the men's wages until the contract materialized. And how could it possibly when Clive had flatly refused to leave?

  Worriedly Chris decided to seek Boyd out and find out just what he intended to do. As it happened, he brought up the subject first, along with a rather surprising proposal.

  The next morning when the last of the guests had drifted out into the garden Boyd announced that he was taking the Barbary Cloud down to Beirut. He turned to Mr. Dawnay and added conversationally,

  "Chris and I have to go there on business, but there's no reason why you shouldn't come along for the trip with the other guests. We're picking a couple of pilots up on the way down. You may find the three of you have got something in common."

  Seeing the leap of interest in her father's eyes, Chris interposed,

  "Dad, do you think you should go to Beirut? I mean, the way things are we,.."

  "My dear girl," he chuckled, "my business judgement might be slightly impaired, but my sense of adventure is not."

  "That's the stuff!" Boyd rose, including Chris in his conversation. "Get together all you need for a four- or five-day stay. I'll have a boy take the lot down to the boat."

  Frank Dawnay went off to pack and Chris got to her feet. She looked pointedly at Boyd.

  "What business could I possibly have in Beirut?"

  "I hope you haven't lost sight of the fact that you're still working for me?"

  She looked towards the door after her father.

  "How can I ?" she said sarcastically.

  He took the implication with a tightening of the jaw.

  "Your father needs a break. It's not done to gain any hold over you. You'll admit he looks better than he did back in Fernsea?"