by Anne Mather
‘What happened last night? Emma disappeared after dinner. Did you see her? I was going to invite her to come for a walk with me.'
Damon helped himself to some kidneys and bacon before replying.
‘She came to see me,’ he remarked slowly. ‘Then I believe she went to bed. Did she know you were waiting for her?'
‘Well, no. But she doesn't usually go to bed so early.’ He looked concerned. ‘Do you think perhaps she's ill?'
Damon grew impatient. ‘Of course she's not ill. Now, when you've finished breakfast you can go see Joseph about the oxygen.'
‘All right.’ Paul shrugged his shoulders, a trifle bewildered. It was the first time he had felt himself unable to penetrate the mask which Damon presented to the world, and he couldn't understand why.
Damon was alone when Annabel appeared. He was just finishing his third cup of coffee when she entered the room, halting instinctively, aware of the presence of another person.
‘Daddy?’ she said. ‘Is that you?'
Damon swung back his chair, and crossing to her side took her hand. ‘Yes, it's me, sweetheart. I'm just finishing. Have you had your breakfast?'
‘Yes, thank you.’ Annabel nodded, gripping his hand tightly. She and Emma usually ate in the small dining-room which was on the same floor as Annabel's bedroom. Emma had lunch there with her, too, and only ate downstairs at dinner time. ‘What are you going to do today?'
Damon compressed his lips for a moment. Had Emma put her up to this?
‘I'm going sailing with Paul and Chris,’ he replied. ‘How about you? How is your swimming progressing?'
‘I can swim quite well now,’ said Annabel quietly.
‘But I don't know what we shall do today. We've swum an awful lot, and sometimes we go beachcombing, and sometimes we sunbathe. But I wish you could come and see me swim yourself. Couldn't you, Daddy? I mean, I hardly ever stay with you.'
Damon sighed, and Annabel, acutely sensitive to his moods, turned a bright red. ‘I know,’ she said. ‘You're too busy.'
Damon felt terrible. This was his daughter, after all, and she thought he was too busy to trouble about her. Whether Emma had encouraged her to speak to him, or whether she had just sensed the idea with her acute perceptions was immaterial actually. She wanted his company, and he could not ignore the unconscious appeal of her small features.
He went down on his haunches beside her and held her between his hands. Looking into her sightless eyes, he said huskily:
‘Honey-bunch, just what would you like to do today?'
‘Go out with you,’ replied Annabel guilelessly. She smiled. ‘Like we did that first day you came. Could we, Daddy? Could we? And could Emma come, too?'
‘Now hold on.’ Damon bit his lip. Taking Annabel with them was one thing; taking Emma too was quite another. ‘Paul and Chris and I were going out on the yacht, but there's no earthly reason why you shouldn't come too, if that's what you really want. But Emma would feel uncomfortable with three men.'
Annabel pursed her lips thoughtfully. ‘Maybe she would. But I'd be there.’ She frowned. ‘Well, you could invite Helen to come with us. She hasn't met Emma yet.'
Damon grimaced to himself. ‘No, I know she hasn't met Emma. But maybe she wouldn't want to come. Maybe Emma won't want to come.'
‘Well, let's ask them. You phone Helen, and I'll ask Emma. We could have a real party. We could go to one of those deserted cays and I could show you how well I swim.'
Damon half wished he hadn't started this. ‘Look,’ he said. ‘You run and ask Emma what she thinks, and I'll wait and see what her answer is.'
‘All right.’ Annabel turned and was gone almost before he finished speaking. Damon rose to his feet feeling a little relieved. Surely, after last night Emma would refuse.
But when Annabel came hurrying back to the room, her face was beaming with excitement. ‘Emma says she'll come, too,’ she exploded boisterously. ‘She said if that was what I wanted she couldn't refuse.'
Damon gnawed at his lower lip. ‘All right,’ he said gruffly. ‘I'll ring Chris and ask if Helen will come, shall I?'
‘If you think it's really necessary,’ said Annabel, in a small voice, and Damon remembered belatedly that despite Annabel's appeals that Helen might come too, secretly she didn't much like Chris's wife. Helen tended to treat her like an invalid, and Annabel wanted nobody's pity. But he refused to spend the day in Emma's company, without another woman present, and so he said:
‘I think it's necessary, honey-bunch,’ and lifted the telephone.
The Annabella was a thirty-five-foot ketch, with a small cabin capable of providing all the cooking facilities necessary for light meals, and a foldaway table, between side bunks which could be used as sitting space. On deck there was plenty of room for sunbathing and the rhythmic rise and fall of the waves was very relaxing.
Emma sat with Annabel, dangling their legs over the side of the yacht, watching the incredibly clear blue sky melting easily beneath a strengthening sun. It was a glorious morning, and she knew that there was nothing more delightful than the prospect ahead of them: a day's sailing and swimming and sunbathing. She was wearing knee-length cotton jeans and a sleeveless sweater, her two-piece swimsuit concealed underneath. She was not even certain she would have the confidence to remove her outer garments despite the heat if there was only to be herself and the three men.
Annabel had told her that Paul was going with them, and Chris, too. She had mentioned Chris's wife, Helen, and said that her father was inviting her also but that she doubted whether she would go.
‘Helen doesn't much like sailing,’ she said, making a face. ‘But if she knows we're going she'll probably come, just out of curiosity.'
Emma smiled at Annabel's old-fashioned way of speaking, and wished there were children she could play with. She was too much in the company of adults.
So now they were aboard; Paul and Damon were hauling up the sails, and soon they would be sailing across the channel to Sainte Catherine's Cay.
Emma had not yet met Helen, and she was loath to do so, particularly as it meant meeting Chris again. She had not seen him since the morning she had told him what she thought of him, and she doubted whether the day could be a success with so many undercurrents lying just below the surface.
Unwillingly her eyes turned to Damon. He was dressed in brief shorts and a thin knitted courtelle jersey, with short sleeves that revealed the muscular brown length of his arms, so thickly covered with dark hairs. His gold watch glinted on his wrist, while he wore a thin gold chain about his neck on which was a tiny medallion of Saint Christopher. She knew about the medallion; she had used to tease him about it in the good days.
Paul Rimini was dressed in like manner, looking slimmer and younger but no more attractive than his employer. Emma could not help but be impressed by the relationship between these two. They were such good friends and it was obvious Paul respected and admired the older man.
Annabel, wearing a rubber ring which was securely fastened to the yacht's rail, slid her fingers into Emma's confidingly.
‘It's wonderful, isn't it?’ she said, sniffing appreciatively. ‘Oh, I wish every day could be like today!'
Emma squeezed her fingers in return, but did not answer. She was wondering just how much of a fiasco it was going to be. It had been obvious from the start, from Damon's attitude, that he had not wanted her to go with them, and had only asked her because Annabel insisted. But Emma refused to disappoint the child, merely because of Damon's ill humour.
The yacht was moving now, slowly and smoothly, as the wind filled her sails, and gave her freedom. Out of the cove, the sea was calm as a millpond, with only gentle waves lifted by the breeze.
Emma felt the breeze ruffle its way through her hair, and was glad she had secured it back from her face with a wide blue band. She slid her sunglasses on to her nose, and rested back on her elbows lazily. It was impossible to remain indifferent to the day and her surroundings, and she smiled in pure enjoyment.
‘Hi! Did anyone tell you you're quite a dish?'
Emma chuckled. ‘No one ever did. And I don't believe you. You're just one of those amorous Italians I am always reading about.'
‘No, really!’ Paul protested laughingly. ‘It won't take us long to reach Sainte Catherine's. I wonder if Helen will be with Chris.'
‘She will!’ said Annabel gloomily. ‘I expect she'll want to see Emma, if nothing else. After all, Emma hasn't been over to the island yet.'
‘No, she hasn't, has she?’ Paul frowned. ‘Why not, Emma?'
Emma shrugged, flushing. ‘No reason. I've never been invited.'
Paul looked sceptical. ‘I can guess. Chris!'
‘Whatever do you mean?'
‘Don't tell me you don't know about Chris's affairs. Louisa, for example.’ He studied her appraisingly for a moment. ‘That was why Damon was so damned mad, wasn't it? You didn't arrive on the day you should, and cousin Chris was meeting you. Put two and two together…'
‘… and make five,’ said Emma dryly. ‘I'm sorry to disappoint you, but I only met Chris that one time, and we certainly didn't have an affair!'
‘No. But he made a pass at you,’ said Paul shrewdly. ‘I can tell from your expression that I'm right, but you, having a little more sense than Louisa, must have sent him back with his tail between his legs when you found he was married. Right?'
‘That's right,’ said Annabel, joining in. ‘Chris came a couple of days after Emma arrived, and he asked us to go out with him, but Emma wouldn't go, would you, Emma? And she was so mad!'
‘Oh, Annabel!’ exclaimed Emma, feeling embarrassed at being discussed this way.
Paul looked pleased with himself. ‘Good,’ he said grinning. ‘Good!'
Emma became conscious of a fourth presence, and glanced round to find Damon leaning against the hatch, watching them. He had obviously been able to listen to their conversation, and she wondered what he would make of it.
‘Come and give me a hand,’ he said, his voice cool and disinterested.
Paul sprang up, and winking at Emma followed Damon back along the deck. Emma sighed, and stared out across the water. Paul was a nice boy; nice and uncomplicated. How pleasant it would be, she thought, to fall in love with someone like that. Someone who would be gentle and kind, and respect you, instead of loving a man who hated her for what he thought she had done to him seven years ago, and who only wanted to hurt and humiliate her.
Helen Thorne was the complete antithesis of anything Emma had expected. Emma had thought Chris's wife would be tall and slim and soignée, but she couldn't have been more wrong. Helen Thorne was small, almost as small as Emma herself, but very plump, with fair hair which was cut short and straight to her head, and wearing shorts and a tight sweater, which drew attention to the thickness of her legs, and the roll of flesh round her middle. She wore plimsolls and white socks instead of sandals, and carried a knitting bag.
Damon and Paul greeted her casually, but it was apparent that her eyes were seeking the other female member of the adult party. When she saw Emma looking slim and attractive in her jeans and sweater, ropesoled sandals on her bare feet, her eyes narrowed angrily and she gave Chris a killing glance. Perhaps, thought Emma, he had been passing her off to his wife as some middle-aged spinster nurse, in the hope they would never actually meet. It was the kind of thing he would do, she thought.
Introductions were brief, and Annabel was unusually silent. Emma understood why when Helen squatted down beside the child a few minutes later, and said:
‘Hello, darling. How are you? Are you feeling a little better today? This fresh air will do you the world of good.'
Annabel sighed. ‘I'm perfectly all right, thank you, Helen,’ she said. ‘And I never felt better.'
‘What a brave girl you are,’ said Helen unheedingly. ‘Coming aboard a boat like this, and you unable to see or swim.'
Emma gritted her teeth. ‘Annabel can swim,’ she retorted. ‘I taught her.'
Helen looked coldly at her. ‘Did you, indeed? I understood that you were her nurse, not her playmate.'
Emma retained her composure with difficulty. ‘Annabel and I are the best of friends,’ she said. ‘We enjoy each other's company, and as I enjoy swimming, I felt sure she would, too.'
‘Don't you think that's rather a dangerous occupation for a blind child?’ Helen was annoyed, and her pale cheeks were flushed.
‘I think Emma knows rather more about that than you do, Helen,’ said a quiet voice behind them.
Emma's nerves tingled. Damon was actually defending her. She couldn't believe it.
‘Oh, Damon,’ exclaimed Helen pettishly. ‘You're so seldom here anyway, I hardly think you know the child's feelings about anything.'
Damon went down on his haunches beside them, and Emma felt his knee brush against her bare arm. The touch sent shock waves along her veins, and she moved her arm quickly away.
‘Maybe not,’ he said huskily, ‘but if I know little, you know less, so let's not get embroiled in an argument on a day like this. I'm glad you decided to come Helen. The change will do you good.'
The yacht was anchored at lunch time just off a small atoll which seemed to be composed almost entirely of rock, a tall cliff rising steeply into the sky above a deep water cove.
‘Minerva's Stone,’ remarked Chris, talking to Emma for the first time that morning. ‘Curious formation, isn't it? But a splendid place to swim from; a readymade diving board.'
Emma was staring at the island. ‘No one actually dives from the top?’ she exclaimed.
‘Well, people have, but very few, I'll admit, and I'm not one of them,’ admitted Chris. He forced her to look at him. ‘Am I forgiven?'
Emma half smiled. ‘You shouldn't be.'
‘But I am,’ he grinned.
‘Oh, I suppose so.’ She looked away. ‘Have you been married long?'
‘Ten years. I married Helen when I was twenty. She was twenty-five.'
‘Oh!’ Emma nodded.
‘After lunch Paul and Damon are going snorkelling.
Do you want to come?’ Chris's eyes were caressing.
Emma shivered. ‘I don't know how. Besides, there's Annabel.'
‘Annabel rests after lunch. And I'll teach you.'
‘I don't know… ’ Emma was reluctant. She was tempted to learn to snorkel but she was troubled about going with Chris. Already Helen was watching them again, and Emma was no husband-stealer.
Damon came across to them at that moment. ‘There are hampers of food and beer in the cabin. Do you want it up here?'
Emma knew he wasn't talking to her, and bent her head to avoid his eyes. Chris was saying: ‘Oh, up here, Damon. I'll get it,’ and then they were alone for a moment.
‘What was Chris saying to you?’ he asked, his voice low and commanding.
‘He… well… he asked me whether I would go snorkelling with him after lunch, while Annabel rests.’ Emma flushed. ‘Don't worry. I haven't agreed. I don't suppose you want me along. That's perfectly all right with me.'
Damon stared angrily at her. ‘You've a damned nerve,’ he swore furiously. ‘Don't treat me like some petty schoolboy!’ He looked out across the water towards Minerva's Stone. ‘Can you snorkel?'
‘No.’ Emma turned away, but he turned her back, his fingers hard on her arm.
‘Do you want to learn?'
Emma sighed. ‘What do you think?'
‘All right. I'll teach you myself. You can tell that to cousin Chris when he asks you again.'
Emma wasn't hungry at lunch time, her mind too active with the prospect of spending some time with Damon that afternoon. It was an exciting prospect, and her nerves were as taut as violin strings.
When Annabel was settled in the cabin for her rest, and Helen had announced her intention of staying aboard the yacht, the three men and Emma climbed into the dingy and using the outboard motor sped across the surface
of the water to the sandy beach of the island. Once there, the three men stripped off their outer clothes revealing themselves in swimming trunks. Gathering all her courage together, Emma peeled off her jeans and sweater, and ignored the admiring glances Paul and Chris cast in her direction.
Flippers and masks with breathing tubes were hauled from the dinghy, and Paul and Chris put on their tackle at once. Emma watched them wade into the water, and then with a twist they disappeared beneath the sparkling surface of the waves.
‘Easy, isn't it?’ remarked Damon, half smiling at Emma's surprised reaction. ‘There's nothing to it actually, so long as you don't go too deep. Come on, I'll help you on with your things.'
Emma was shivering as she pulled the flippers on to her feet.
‘Are you cold?’ asked Damon, frowning. ‘Don't go in if you're cold.'
Emma looked up at him awkwardly, as she sat on the sand. ‘I'm not cold,’ she said. ‘Just apprehensive, that's all.'
‘With me?'
‘Who else?'
Damon shook his head, then removed his sandals and pulled a pair of flippers on to his own feet. ‘I won't let you drown yourself, if that's what you're afraid of,’ he said mockingly.
Emma staggered to her feet, unsteady in the rubber feet. She watched him until he had finished, and felt that disturbing awareness of him increasing. She had never seen him in swimwear before, and she wondered what he would say if he knew how much she wanted to feel his body close to hers. He despised and humiliated her, but because he thought she was almost indifferent to him. She wondered idly why he should feel so angry, when he had married Elizabeth so speedily after their separation.
Damon handed her the mask and the mouth tube, and put on the same equipment for himself.
‘Right,’ he said, ‘are you ready?'
Emma had to smile. ‘As I'll ever be,’ she remarked dryly, and stepped gingerly into the water.
Afterwards she wondered at her apprehension, it was so easy. It opened up a whole new world for her, a world of waving fronds, and multi-coloured fish-life, of fantastically shaped coral, and delicate shells. The flippers propelled her forward steadily, and she found they helped her to remain under the water once she got used to them. To begin with, it was difficult not to surface every few minutes, but soon she was exploring deeper, and coming upon the dark shapes of Paul and Chris who grinned encouragingly at her, removing their mouthpieces to demonstrate their ability.
