by Isobel Chace
“Well, I think he can be beastly!” Helen said thoughtfully. “In fact he can be nastier than anyone else I know!”
Anita smiled a superior smile. “I thought you reserved that for my mother,” she reminded her. “And with a great deal more justification!” she added justly.
Helen sipped at her tea and swung her legs on to the floor, stretching herself as she prepared to get up. “Don’t remind me!” she exclaimed. “I’d forgotten for the moment!”
“Then you don’t think so badly of Gregory, do you?” Anita went on smugly. “You can’t really think he’s nasty!”
Helen wondered briefly why her sister-in-law should be so concerned with what she thought about anybody. She frowned thoughtfully. “He can be quite nice too—sometimes,” she said judiciously.
Anita giggled. “I think you like him more than you’re saying!” she observed. “And it’s no good getting cross! I know how you used to look at Michael sometimes! You’d go all dreamy and thoughtful about him.”
More annoyed than she could say, Helen struggled into her clothes. “And what has that to do with it?” she demanded darkly.
Her sister-in-law blinked. “N—nothing,” she said nervously. “Only, Helen, don’t you think that Gregory sometimes has that effect too?”
“On every female within a radius of fifty miles!” Helen agreed crossly.
Anita sighed. “I suppose so,” she admitted. “But I wish he were Peter. He’s more like Michael, don’t you think?”
Helen hadn’t thought about it at all, but she was prepared to agree to anything so that they could talk about something else besides Gregory de Vaux. She grew muddled whenever she thought of him, and she preferred to have all her thoughts neat and logical—and manageable!
“Do you like Peter?” she asked Anita with interest.
To her surprise, her sister-in-law took a long time to answer. “I hardly know,” she said at last. “He has a terrific admiration for you, Helen. At least, he hopes to dance with you tonight. He told me so!”
“With me?” Helen repeated. It would be nice and comfortable to have Peter Harmon as her escort to Miss Corrigan’s party, she thought happily. “Good!” she said out loud. “I hope he does dance with me!” And she wondered why Anita gave her such an odd look before she took her empty cup back to the saloon.
The whole hotel had been decorated for Miss Corrigan’s party. Palm leaves hung from the ceilings in clusters, the water in the swimming pool had been coloured a delicious deep shade of green, and there were coconuts, carefully prepared, for all the guests to drink from. It was strange at first to see the empty hotel come to life under the presence of its American guests. They were everywhere, determined to make the most of their short stay in the Islands. The novelty of everything appealed to them, and that they should be included so readily in Miss Corrigan’s party went straight to their hearts. They were unanimous in their determination that the party should really swing!
Miss Corrigan herself was all that was gracious. She fell easily into the part, despite her large, bulky figure and the uncompromising style in which she wore her hair.
“There must be plenty of everything,” she had told Peter. “I won’t have anything skimped. Tell the boys to get busy bringing in the lobsters, clams, and everything else, will you?”
Peter had been rather nonplussed at first. He was accustomed to importing all his needs from the States, and he was frankly astonished at how this elderly spinster set about things. He had not known that the Islands could produce such a variety of foods. For, apart from all the seafoods, there were sweet potatoes, pineapples and other fruits, sucking-pigs all ready to be baked in the traditional manner, sweet corn, piled up cob upon cob, and so many coconuts that he gave up trying to count them. It seemed the whole Melongese people had combined to provide Miss Corrigan with everything that she might need, most of them refusing to accept anything at all by way of payment.
The whole day had been spent in these lavish preparations. Peter had been everywhere at once, working harder than he had since he had been chosen to manage the hotel.
“I missed you,” he said to Anita. “I’ve got used to having you around!”
Anita looked pleased. “I wish I had been here— in a way,” she said shyly. “It was nice being on the boat, of course, but I wondered what you were doing here—”
“Were they kind to you?” he shot at her.
“Of course they were!” she insisted. “There was a bit of an upset because the supplies hadn’t come, but they seemed to get over that.”
Peter groaned. “Oh lord! I forgot to tell you. I told them to leave their stuff off for this trip. I thought we’d need such a lot of stuff for this party and I didn’t think there’d be any hurry—”
Anita giggled nervously. “I don’t think it matters,” she soothed him, then she wrinkled up her brow thoughtfully. “Quite honestly, I think they take everything far too seriously. There wasn’t a breath of wind today, but they did nothing but talk about some typhoon or other, just as if it were going to come upon us at any moment. It would be quite exciting, wouldn’t it?”
Peter grinned. “I’ll believe it when I see it!” he agreed.
Helen stood awkwardly in the centre of the foyer, knowing that she shouldn’t be listening to someone else’s conversation.
“It’s easy to see that neither of you have ever been in a typhoon!” she said loudly, to remind them that she was there.
“Have you?” Anita enquired sweetly.
Helen shook her head. “But I’ve heard my father speaking about them,” she said.
Anita smiled gently. “That hardly makes you an expert, darling,” she drawled. “I expect Peter knows far more about it than you do.”
Helen had no such faith. “We ought to go and change,” she suggested, hoping to change the subject. “Almost everybody else has come downstairs. Doesn’t it all look pretty?”
Anita looked about her, wide-eyed and suddenly gay. “Oh, it does!” she agreed. “I’ve never seen anything so pretty. You’ve done a marvellous job, Peter!”
Helen was conscious of Peter’s eyes on her face, expecting her to join in the praise, but somehow the words stuck in her throat. She knew that Peter hadn’t really been responsible for them, that had been Miss Corrigan and, although there was no reason for her not to congratulate him as well as the old lady, she couldn’t bring herself to do so.
“Come on,” she said urgently to Anita. “We must go and change!”
The lifts were occupied, so they raced each other up the stairs, clattering up them as fast as they could go. When they arrived on the floor where they were now sleeping, they were breathless and unable to speak.
“I’m glad I kept my prettiest dress for tonight,” Anita said when she could. “What are you going to wear?”
Helen smiled softly. “Lace over a shocking pink petticoat,” she said. “It’s by far the nicest dress I have.”
Anita hesitated. “But do you think you ought to?” she asked frankly.
“Why not?”
Anita coloured. “Well, you being a widow,” she said awkwardly. “It isn’t the same, is it?”
Helen was frankly surprised. “What do you expect me to wear?” she demanded. “Black crepe?”
“Of course not!” Anita muttered. “Only shocking pink, Helen? Michael wouldn’t have liked it, would he?”
“Michael won’t be here to see me!” Helen snapped. She went into her room and slammed the door shut behind her. Would Michael have objected? She couldn’t be sure. But she could be sure that she didn’t care! It wasn’t Michael that she wanted to please tonight! She was going to please herself! She told herself that often while she was dressing, but she knew even then that it was only a half-truth. The one she really wanted to please was unlikely to notice, but in case he did— In case he did, she took a great deal of care with her hair and even more care with her make-up. She thought she looked quite pretty when she had finished at her dressing-table and s
tood in the centre of the room, looking at herself in the long glass, as she swept first the shocking pink watered silk petticoat over her head and then the hand-made lace dress. When she had done, even she was astonished by the result. She felt a little prick of pleasure in the back of her spine as she knew herself to be looking truly beautiful. He couldn’t help but notice, she thought with pride, she looked like a new person ; a younger, gayer version of her old self, a young girl ready for love.
Anita was still disapproving when they met at the lift shaft. “Honestly, Helen, I think you look lovely,” she said, “but it isn’t right! It’ll give everybody the wrong idea!”
“And who is everybody?” Helen asked, her voice catching ominously in the back of her throat.
“Well,” Anita said unhappily, “Mr. de Vaux for one! I’m sure he’s very susceptible—”
“Gregory!” Helen could feel the tingling sensation in her spine again. “Do you really think Gregory will notice?” she asked with interest, unable to conceal her pleasure at the idea.
“He could hardly help it!” Anita snorted. “But at least he can look after himself. What about Peter?”
Helen had to bite the inside of her lower lip to keep herself from laughing. “Oh yes, Peter,” she agreed carefully. “Peter won’t care!”
“I don’t see how you can be so sure!” Anita complained. “He was asking about you all over again. I told him you were still getting over Michael and weren’t interested in anyone else, but he’s hardly going to believe me with you in that dress!”
Helen shook her skirts and listened with satisfaction to the rustle they made. “You’re looking lovely in your dress too!” she told Anita firmly. “I’ve never seen you looking half so pretty!”
Anita preened herself happily. “Do you really think so! Oh, Helen, you are good to me, bringing me here and everything!”
Helen kissed her gently on the cheek. “Have a lovely evening,” she told her. “And try not to worry about me! I’ll behave very well, I promise you!”
Anita bit her lip and looked away from her. “As well as they’ll allow you to!” she said sharply. “Peter promised the first dance to me, but—”
Helen’s eyes widened slowly as she looked at her sister-in-law. “I don’t think I shall be dancing much with Peter,” she said immediately. “To tell the truth, it’s one thing to get all dressed up, but another to dance all night. I don’t think I want to dance much at all!”
Anita’s relief was so patent that Helen nearly laughed. But she was more than a little cross too, for she loved to dance and had been looking forward to it all day. Oh well, she thought, she’d join Miss Corrigan on the sidelines and watch the others as a widow should. It was another thing about widowhood that she would have to learn—if she could!
Miss Corrigan, however, had no intention of sitting on any sidelines. She had taken the Hawaiian-type band aside and had drilled them carefully in their duties. “As many Island dances as possible!” she had roared at them. “If no one else can do them, I can! It will loosen them all up to swing their hips! Have you heard me?”
They all laughed like mad. “Sure thing!” they shouted back in unison.
The guests were cautious at first, but most of them managed something that resembled the graceful Island dances and they were all eager to learn how to do it properly.
“You show them, Helen,” Miss Corrigan said at last, exhausted by her own efforts. “And slow the music down! Do it by yourself, girl! Show them how it should be done!”
Helen was shy at first, but the music caught at her and she could no more have stood still than died. She made a nervous start, not sure that she could remember the steps that her father had taught her so long before, but after the first few seconds the rhythm was enough and she didn’t have to think at all. She shut her eyes and gave herself up to the music. It was the loveliest feeling, to sway as gently as a palm-tree in the wind and then to break out as the music quickened, into a dance that spoke easily of her loneliness and her sadness and the curious fancies that haunted her dreams.
When the music came to an end, it was the Islanders who led the applause. Helen opened her eyes, embarrassed by the mild sensation she had caused. “I—I learned as a child,” she explained baldly, and did her best to lose herself in the crowd of dancers that edged the space that had been cleared for her solo performance.
“I thought you said you weren’t going to dance!” Anita accosted her fiercely.
“I shouldn’t have done!” Helen admitted. “I’d forgotten—”
“And in that dress!” Anita added in a shocked voice.
“What’s wrong with the dress?” a masculine voice demanded, and Helen was horrified to discover that she had run practically straight into Gregory’s arms.
“It isn’t really suitable for a widow,” Helen told him breathlessly. “Only it’s pretty and I wanted—”
Gregory’s enigmatic eyes looked the dress over carefully. “Very revealing,” he said with laughter running through his voice, “but not half as revealing as that dance!”
Helen drew herself up. “I wouldn’t have called it particularly revealing!” she said witheringly. “It has rather a modest neckline, in my opinion!”
“Oh, quite!” he agreed.
“Michael wouldn’t have liked it,” Anita put in nervously.
“Well, that’s a point in its favour!” Gregory drawled.
“It may be in your opinion,” Helen informed him loftily, “but to me it matters a great deal what Michael would have thought—”
“Rubbish!” Gregory said roundly.
Helen stared at him. “How can you—”
Gregory cut her off with an impatient gesture. “You don’t give a damn for what Michael would have thought! Even supposing that he thought about you at all!” He forced her chin up so that her eyes met his. “You’re less of a hypocrite when you don’t bother to think, Helen Hastings,” he told her roughly. “You’d better get back on the dancing floor.”
“But I don’t want to dance any more,” she said breathlessly.
He laughed unkindly. “If you think I can’t dance because of my leg, you’re very much mistaken!” he almost shouted at her. “And you’ll dance with me! And you’ll like it!”
There didn’t seem to be any future in arguing with him. Already she thought a lot of people must be looking at them, and the very last thing she wanted was to go on being in the centre of attention.
“All right,” she said. “I’ll dance with you—and if you open up your leg it will be your fault!”
He grinned, but he said nothing. His arm went round her and held her tightly against him. It was the first time she had ever been so close to him, except when he had handed over the wheel to her on the Sweet Promise, and she didn’t remember that it had been at all like this!
“If you would allow me to breathe—” she said aloud. “Or am I holding you up, as well as dancing with you?”
“That tongue of yours will get you into trouble one of these days,” he warned her. “Is that better?”
It wasn’t better at all! Even with him standing away from her as if they were strangers and didn’t approve of each other at all, she still had difficulty in breathing properly, a sensation which she didn’t like and didn’t intend to put up with.
“This is ridiculous!” she said sharply. “Have you forgotten that you’re supposed to be diving in the morning?”
“Helen, can’t you relax and shut up?” he pleaded with her.
“But I’m worried—”
“Then don’t!” he advised. He broke away from her, looking down at her with exasperation. “If I hadn’t seen you with my own eyes—” he began.
“Seen me what?” she asked him nervously.
“Dance!” He waved to the band and they broke out into another Island number, grinning and nudging at one another as they did so.
“But we can’t dance this!” Helen protested feebly, for already the music had set her feet following th
e rhythm whether she would or no.
“Why not?” he asked, his arm coming round her again as tightly as before.
“It’s a courting dance,” she murmured. “It isn’t proper!”
His laugh caught in the back of his throat. “My lovely Helen, you have the oddest ideas of propriety, he said. “I should have said it was eminently suitable!”
But Helen wasn’t even listening. In the music she could hear all sorts of things that she had forgotten about for more years than she could remember. In it was the sound of love and growing things, and the spinning world reached out for the destiny that awaited it. In it were her own beginnings and the beginnings of the man who stood beside her and who danced it with her. It was a dangerous, persuasive sound that promised who knew what?
The band thudded out the rhythm with the hollow sound of a bare hand on dug-out wooden drums. A guitar or two, of local manufacture, added the sweeter sound of the melody, while a flute and a home-made whistle sounded the counterpoint that completed the complicated pattern of sound. When they saw that Helen and Gregory could interpret the music and follow it as they would themselves in their own dances, they settled down to the sheer joy of playing, complicating the beat and adding words that no one but themselves could understand in a compulsive, husky undertone. One by one, the other dancers fell out, content merely to sway an time to the music, and to watch someone else who could turn the dance into a living, breathing thing before their eyes.
She should never have allowed it, Helen thought desperately. She knew the ending would have to come. The drums hurried out a quicker and quicker beat, and the singing became louder, burning her ears although she had no idea of their meaning. Then, in the middle of a phase, the music stopped. There was a long moment of silence, and then a crashing crescendo of sound that drew her closer to Gregory. She was almost expecting it when his lips came down on hers and she was kissed more soundly than she had ever been.
