She chose a simple cotton dress in magnolia pink and donned it vaguely. Fastening the bodice buttons, she looked at the rest of her things piled neatly ready for packing. For the time being they would have to go back on the hangers. This wasn't the ideal moment to ask someone to take her back to Cathai.
The living room was empty. Boyd and Paula were strolling together over the lawns. Chris decided to go through to the kitchen and see what plans were being made for lunch. She found the high-mettled Eleni going full swing on a meal that was bound to leave Clive's larder sadly depleted. Fish soup was planned, with egg and lemon sauce, partridge with olives and celery, and of course a batch of the celebrated honey scones served with honey sauce. There were ripe figs dried and peppered and cradled in bay leaves, pickled lemons, green and bitter-sweet, and the usual cheeses and wines.
At Chris's raised eyebrows Eleni shrugged happily. The look in the bright bird-like eyes seemed to say "What could one do? One had guests." Chris smiled to herself. She had a shrewd idea that Boyd's arrival had something to do with the elaborate preparations. When she picked up the table-cloth with a view to giving a hand Eleni nodded with a "Epkaristo". Chris nodded back and went out on to the terrace. At least that was one Greek word she had learned: "Thank you". Not much to say, after she had been resident in the Greek islands most of the summer, but to her the language was just an indistinguishable babble of noise. The Greeks didn't even seem to stop for breath.
She saw that the sun had passed round the side of the house and the table was set in the cool shadows. There was just enough dappled sunlight to play on the grape-hyacinth and bee-orchis, and with the table drawn round a little to the left there should be comfortable seating for all. It wasn't long before Chris found herself caught up in the preparations. Humming one of Clive's tunes beneath her breath, she picked a vase of white and yellow daisies and set out the best crystal glasses and water jug. Surveying the table later in all its finery, she wondered what sort of a meal it was going to be. She had an idea that Eleni's culinary efforts were going to pass right over the heads of the diners. Actually it wasn't as bad as that.
Boyd ate with his customary appetite and Clive made a show of enjoying the food. Chris was ashamed of her appetite. Having had but a mouthful at breakfast she was positively ravenous, but with Paula just picking, it didn't seem right to have more than just a little of each course. She spent most of her time trying to work out Clive's mood. He had been missing since leaving the living room, and she guessed he had shut himself away in his workshop with his thoughts. Had he arrived at any decision? Was he going over it in his mind now? She watched his face as he talked to her, but there was nothing to indicate that he thought of anything other than the words he was about to say. Slightly flippantly he picked up an olive on his fork. He gazed at it and then at Chris.
"The olive, the fruit of our venerable olive tree. You know, Chris, without this there would be no Greek cooking. If you're ever stuck what to offer a Greek just give him a hunk of brown bread and a dish of these and he's your friend for life."
"I'll remember that,'' Chris smiled, thinking the information wouldn't be much use to her back in England.
"Some of the Greek olives are as big as plums," Clive went on. "They say the monks stuff them with caviare." He popped the olive into his mouth, still looking at Chris. She wished he wouldn't ignore the other two quite so obviously. "I'll take you to an olive harvest some day, Chris. It's great fun when it ends, feasting and dancing, singing and merrymaking..."
Boyd pushed himself away from the table. He lay back staring at his wine glass.
"That seems to be the story of the olive sewn up," he drawled.
Clive gave him a hostile look. "You don't have to listen," he retorted.
"I don't think anyone is particularly interested in your meanderings just now, Huston."
Paula leaned forward.
"Clive, you haven't said yet whether you..."
At the sound of Paula's voice, used for the first time during the meal, the nonchalant pose that Clive had been holding seemed to slide away like a mask. He looked at her with something close to alarm in his eyes, the peach-tanned features suddenly drawn.
"You know what you're asking me to do?"
"Simple," said Boyd. "Sticky with Paula until this is all over."
"You know what you're asking me to do?" Clive repeated as though he hadn't heard. "Something I've avoided all my adult life. Sticking my face straight into the spotlight. This hullabaloo you're going to have to face when you get back, you know I have no stomach for that kind of thing."
"It won't be as bad as all that, Clive," pouted Paula.
"Yes, it will, and you know it!" He flung himself up from the chair and paced. "I'm sorry, Paula, I can't do it. You ought to have known better than to ask.''
Boyd got to his feet. "And of course that's as far as it goes with you."
Clive swung on him. "Oh, sure! You'd like to see me out! It's what you've wanted all along. Chris told me of the little deception you had all planned. Too bad it fell through!"
Boyd flicked a glance over Chris. She felt her cheeks flame. He said undisturbed,
"You would have had to know sooner or later."
"That's right, I know now, so it's no good trying anything else. I'm here and I'm staying here!" He would have spun on his heel and left but for Boyd's authoritative tone.
"Very well, you've made your point. For Pete's sake don't go tearing off again."
"Please, Boyd, let him go." Paula stood up. "I never really expected any other answer."
Clive rolled a morose glance over Paula and then lowered his eyes. There was a throbbing silence. Chris stood up because she felt slightly foolish sitting when everyone had left their seats. Paula turned to go indoors.
"I had this ridiculous notion that it would be nice to have Clive along, but I ought to have known he wouldn't face that kind of fuss. You should have talked me out of it, Boyd."
"Paula, listen ..." Clive took a step forward, but she had already disappeared inside. Chris started to place the empty glasses on the tray. She wished that she could do something to help. But what? Boyd hadn't had very much luck intervening between a man and his ex-fiancee and a wrangle that had obviously been going on a very long time, so what chance would she have?
Eleni was taking a well-earned rest after the rigours of the morning. Chris put away the last dish and hung the tea-cloth on its hook. She gazed down the long cool kitchen reminiscent of the old English farmhouses with its shining copper pans and huge stove. She pictured the rest of the house and wondered how much Clive's father had had to do with the planning of it and how much his mother. Clive had told her that his parents had spent most of their young lives in the house. Probably they had had an equal say, she mused, for everywhere Greek vied with English. Clive was like that. The English in him showed in the fair hair and skin, the light blue eyes, yet he adored Greek food and spoke the language like a native.
Chris walked to the front of the house. Boyd had left shortly after lunch to work in his office on board the yacht. Clive seemed to prefer his own company, for he was nowhere around. Paula was standing on the grass gazing out to sea. She turned as Chris approached and nodded back towards the ocean meaningly.
"I thought I would have had a caller by this time," she said.
Slightly shocked, Chris asked, "Is the Athens man coming here?"
Paula nodded. "It's no secret that I'm on Cyrecano." She smiled obliquely. "He'll be along!"
Chris took a step nearer. "I wish there was something I could do," she said.
Paula looked at her. The green eyes were penetrating.
"This is the longest conversation we've had, isn't it, Chris? I'd like it to go on."
"So would I," Chris smiled. "What about a chair?"
They chose the two long ones at the end of the veranda and Chris added, "I'd better start by apologizing for my rudeness on the path last night. I've been meaning to ... I was a bit confused... I thought
..."
"That's all right." Paula lay back. "I suppose from your side it did look as though I was a little late offering my services."
Chris couldn't reply. She was a little startled to have her thoughts laid out so neatly before her. After a while she asked,
"You've known Clive a long time, haven't you?"
Paula nodded. "We went to the same art school. I was at the dithering age when I didn't really know what I wanted to do. The school was a filler-in. Clive was fun to be with then. Later ... I don't know, perhaps he thought the father in him would blaze out somewhere, and when it didn't he developed this kind of steel-plated armour against society."
"I think Clive must have many of his father's qualities," Chris reflected.
"Have you ever tried to tell him?" Paula tossed a harsh laugh. "He only sees the artistic side of himself and despises every inch of it."
Chris pondered. "He doesn't like you travelling alone, does he?"
"No. But then I don't like him living on Cyrecano."
Each tormenting the other, Chris thought. She saw Paula close her eyes for a second and then open them apologetically.
"You're really very tired, aren't you?'' she asked.
"Worn out," Paula admitted. "I haven't been sleeping well lately and I don't think the room I was given last night had had an awful lot of airing. It was musty and smelled of mildew."
"Some of the back rooms are like that. I'm sorry you weren't comfortable." Chris sat forward in concern.
Paula twinkled wanly. "I didn't want to appear too difficult!" She kept her gaze on Chris. "I can understand Boyd not wanting to get you mixed up in the necklace affair, but I'm selfish enough to wish I'd had you as a confidante sooner than this."
Chris smiled at the oblique compliment. She rose. "Would you like the use of my room? It faces front. Just down the veranda, in fact."
"Could I?" Paula gazed up at her. "I'd just lie on the bed for a few minutes..."
"Please do." Chris showed her the way. "Is there anything I can get you?"
"No, thanks. I'll be fine."
Chris waited until Paula was comfortably settled on the bed and then dropped a rather dated but practical version of a Venetian blind. From the shadows Paula's voice drifted drowsily across the room. "Chris, what was the deception that Clive spoke about? It involved you and Boyd, didn't it?"
"Yes," Chris answered briefly at first, and then decided on a fuller outline. "We were hoping to induce Clive to leave the house. My father would have got the airstrip surveying contract from Hideaways'."
"I see. Too bad you didn't succeed." There was a silence, and then, "Is that the only reason you came out to the island?"
"The only reason," Chris laughed, getting her implication. "I was due to sail out today, in fact." She turned to close the door. "Sleep well. I'll let you know if anything untoward happens."
"I'm not worried." Paula dozed. "This place has a kind of security about it." Was it the house, Chris wondered, or the fact that Clive was near ?
She tiptoed along to the living room. The afternoon stretched endlessly before her. She had read all the magazines in the rack a dozen times and there was no more work to do in the kitchen. She could go for a walk across the island or even a swim, but it wouldn't be right to go off and leave Paula alone.
Her eyes came to rest on the draped curtains. She could carry on with another pair. It would be less for whoever was going to tackle them when she left.
As much of the thread in the material was dark Chris decided it might be wiser to don some sort of apron to keep the bits off her dress. She found a neat floral print of Eleni's, slipped the halter over her head and fastened the strings. Now to work.
Luckily all the curtains had been measured and cut, so it was only a matter of turning the hems. Quite used to the rickety machine now, she trundled the handle and watched the needle dance along the hem. The sun blazed upon the veranda, but it was bearably cool back here at the end of the room. A scent-laden breeze wafted in occasionally from the open doors. Soon the flying needle held only half her attention; the other half became occupied with the thoughts and questions that crowded into her mind. What would happen to Paula? Did Clive really intend to let her go back alone? It looked like it, for nothing could have been more definite than his tone out there on the terrace.
With her head down and completely engrossed in conjecture, Chris didn't notice the shadow fall across the open doorway and then lengthen across the carpet. She was quite unaware that anyone had entered until a voice at her elbow rasped,
"Very cosy!"
"Boyd! I didn't know you were back." She raised flushed cheeks to gaze at him. The floral print of the pinafore enhanced the delicate shade of her dress, the pink softness of her mouth. Boyd swung away as though what he saw offended him. He flicked a black glance over the hanging curtains. "Whose idea?" he queried.
"Mine. The windows looked awfully bare and I thought..."
"Of course." He toured the room, fingering objects, perusing the rack of magazines, and pile of record sleeves.
"I'd say," he spoke almost lazily, but Chris didn't miss the steely antagonism in his tones, "top marks were in order for the layout at lunch."
"Well, thank you, but..."
"And the meal was your idea, I suppose?"
"Not really. You see..." she began.
"The curtains." He gazed up, ignoring her replies. "A decided improvement."
"There's not an awful lot to do on the island." Chris started to turn the wheel again. Something in Boyd's manner made her tremble inside. He didn't reply for some time, merely watched the click of the needle with a furiously flexing jaw and then, "No? I could think of one or two things just now."
"Oh?" She turned a square at the end of the hem and fastened off carefully. As she took the scissors up to snick the cotton the material was whipped away from her and flung across the room.
"You'd rather indulge in these sickly domesticities than lift a finger to help, I suppose?"
Chris stood up jerkily. "I don't know what you're talking about. What can I do?"
"I haven't noticed you putting your arguments forward as to whether Huston should or should not stay on the island. If you want to know what you can do you can stop bedding him in for a start and think of Paula instead of yourself!"
At his tone the light in Chris's heart shut off like a torch. Bewildered, she looked for some sign of it in Boyd's eyes, but they were steely and hooded and jerked distastefully between the floral pinafore and the half-sewn curtain material. His expression, she thought, apart from a certain anger, was no different now from what it had been on that first day when she had gone to him in Fernsea.
So from then to now there had been nothing. Nothing at all. Just for a little while this morning Chris had allowed herself the luxury of thinking. She closed her eyes at the stupidity of it all. Had she actually been entertaining the ideas of love? Why couldn't she accept the fact that Boyd was and always would be one hundred per cent business man? The bitter knowledge made her retaliate with anything she could find.
"Oh! And how do we know you aren't just thinking of yourself and Hideaways? Clive could be right. This could be your way of getting him out. Maybe that's why you don't like the thoughts of the curtains or anything permanent around here..."
She was quite unprepared for Boyd's next move. His arm snaked out and she was jerked up against him with breathtaking force.
"You ought to know me better than that by now," he muttered.
"Ought I?" Unflinchingly, she met his eyes, and because she was afraid that her heart might once again misinterpret their fiery depths she stammered, "You've ... never bothered to try and understand Clive and his worries. He feels he has a lot to live up to. He's terribly sensitive and withdrawn, and it's not easy to..."
"Got quite a profile on him, haven't you?"
"I've had plenty of time. It was your idea that I came out here in the first place."
"In the first place, yes. But your seco
nd visit had nothing to do with the contract, had it?"
"I... wanted to explain to Clive..." she began.
"Of course. You had a conscience." His biting sarcasm made her want to writhe in his grasp, but she had no intention of giving him the satisfaction. She made herself ask calmly,
"Will it help if Clive goes with Paula?"
"Big names have a big pull." He shrugged.
"What about your name? Whose could be bigger? You might be able to help her."
The woodsmoke eyes studied her closely.
"Is that what you want? Me to go with Paula?"
She met his gaze. Why was he asking her? Boyd Wyatt, the business tycoon who never allowed anyone to make his decisions for him. His grip tightened to draw her close, and she ran a pink tongue along her lips. What could she say ? What would she dearly love to say? That look was back in his eyes and she was sure that...
A footstep sounded on the veranda and Wooller appeared in the doorway. Being Wooller, he came straight to the point.
"There's a small launch heading this way, sir."
Boyd dropped his arms. "Where's Paula?" he asked.
"She's sleeping in my room," Chris replied.
He lifted a hand as she would have turned. "No, don't disturb her. I'll go down and meet him."
Chris waited. It was ridiculous to get to this hand-wringing stage and something she had wanted to avoid; that was why she had turned to sewing the curtains. Now after those turbulent exchanges with Boyd she felt drained of energy and fit for nothing but pacing the room.
Two figures were approaching - Boyd and a sandy-haired man. They crossed the lawn, deep in conversation. Boyd introduced Chris.
"Miss Dawnay, Randolph Moss. I've explained that Paula's sleeping. He's willing to hang on a while."
Hideaway Heart Page 17
