by Isobel Chace
She heard a slight commotion in the main body of the salon, but with the noise of the drier in her ears, she couldn’t hear what it was all about, so she turned her attention back to her magazine. She was quite unprepared therefore for Peter’s angry appearance directly in front of her. He mouthed something at her, his face white with temper, and she ducked her head out of the drier to hear what he had to say.
“What?” she said to him.
“What have you done to Anita?” he shouted at her.
“Anita?”
He slapped his hands down on the arms of her chair, making her a prisoner with the roaring drier just behind her.
“Yes, Anita. What have you been saying to her? Why did you have to upset her?”
“I wasn’t aware that I had,” Helen began.
“Oh, come now! You can’t expect me to believe that! Dragging her back to England because you want to go! Doesn’t it ever occur to you to consider anyone else’s feeling but your own?”
“Well, yes, it does, as a matter of fact,” Helen retorted. She had an uncomfortable urge to laugh, but she knew that Peter was in no mood for levity. “Perhaps, if you told me what’s wrong—”
“You won’t get away with it! I suspected from the beginning that you didn’t like Anita, but to do this to her—It’s too much!”
“So I see,” Helen said gently.
Peter looked slightly embarrassed. “I don’t mean you weren’t kind bringing her out here in the first place—”
“I wanted to,” Helen reminded him.
“Yes, well, that was kind,” he agreed. “But why make her go home now?”
Helen began to wonder exactly what Anita could have said to him. “I wasn’t aware,” she said lightly, “that I was making her do anything.”
Peter stared straight at her. He looked very young and eager, and more bewildered now than angry. “Helen, tell the truth!” he pleaded with her. “Would Anita stay on here with me?”
“I should ask her,” Helen said.
“You won’t stop her?”
“I wouldn’t want to try,” she assured him.
He stood up straight, looking more puzzled than ever. “I can’t understand it,” he said. “Why should she want me to believe that you were going to take her away to England?”
Helen smiled. “Perhaps she wanted to see if you would stop her?” she suggested.
To her amusement, Peter’s white face went quite pink. “Oh, do you think so?” he asked her, mightily pleased.
“I do,” Helen laughed. “But I think I should warn you that your future mother-in-law is something more than a music-hall joke. I know, believe me!”
He grinned, momentarily amused. “She won’t bother me,” he declared. “America won the last War of Independence and I intend to see that she wins this one too if necessary!”
Helen could only admire his attitude. “Good for you!” she said. She hoped he would win, but her own experience with her mother-in-law had made her rather bitter on the subject and she knew it.
Peter kissed her lightly on the cheek and put up a teasing hand to feel if her hair were dry. “Another few minutes,” he said professionally. “But you’d better hurry it up,” he added as an afterthought. “Gregory is looking for you!”
Helen sank back under the drier, aghast at the awful apathy that grasped her. Only one thought kept hammering at her sheer reluctance to do anything in case she ran into Gregory. She had to keep away from him. She would find it quite pleasant to go to New Zealand and find herself a job there. She would grow to like teaching again, she knew she would. But not if she had to argue every inch of the way with Gregory first. They would go round and round in circles, making themselves more and more miserable, when all the time she knew perfectly well what had to be done.
She had fallen in love and she had married Michael Hastings. It was too late now to regret that fact. It had happened. And, because it had happened, it meant that what she felt whenever Gregory came near her was not love at all! Why, she had loved Michael, hadn’t she? She had worried about him, and she had liked him, and she would have gone on liking him. She certainly hadn’t wanted to kiss him at one moment and hit him the next. She hadn’t hated him so much that she had been spent with sheer agony of the emotion. Nor had she wanted his attention, his exclusive attention, in spite of disliking him. She hadn’t cried all over him at the slightest excuse, but then she hadn’t laughed much either. And that had been love? It must have been love, she told herself desperately. People like her didn’t marry the Michaels of this world for no reason at all—did they?
By the time the hairdresser had released her from the drier, and had combed out her hair to his satisfaction amidst a shower of Spanish superlatives as to how perfectly it had turned out, Helen was thoroughly frightened. She hurried away from the salon to her room and did her best to restore some kind of order amongst her emotions. Life, she told herself grimly, had to go on. And she wasn’t helping things, or herself, to go on like this, scared as a rabbit and twice as silly!
The telephone rang. Helen forced herself to answer it with a quiet “Yes” that gave nothing away.
“It’s Anita!” a female squeal told her. “Peter and I are going to get married! And, Helen, Gregory wants you—now!”
“You’d better come,” Anita said quickly. “I think he’ll come and get you otherwise!”
Helen slammed down the receiver. She would have to go, she supposed, but she was not pleased at being summoned in such a cavalier way. Even so she couldn’t help noticing that she did look nice. She caught a glimpse of herself in the looking glass as she walked across the room, smart, even a little sophisticated, and looking faintly unfamiliar in a tailored coat and skirt. She only hoped she could find a manner to match when she told Gregory that she was leaving just as soon as she could lay on the pilot to take her out of the Islands and back to New Zealand.
It seemed as though everyone had gathered in the foyer downstairs. Peter was busily opening bottles of Californian champagne to celebrate his engagement to Anita and everyone else had gathered round to join in the general excitement. At first, Helen didn’t see Gregory. She was busy congratulating Anita, suddenly overwhelmingly glad at her sister-in-law’s happiness.
“Don’t let anything spoil it for you,” she whispered to her.
“I won’t!” Anita assured her. “I won’t even tell her until after the ceremony.”
It was then that Helen saw Gregory. He looked straight at her and her stomach turned over within her.
“I thought we had a contract?” he drawled over the top of his champagne glass.
“But it’s finished,” she said. There was an annoying catch to her voice that she hoped he hadn’t noticed.
“Has it?”
“Well, we—we brought up the gold,” she said.
He went on looking at her. “I see,” he said. “So it’s glory for the female crew after all, and the hard work for the men!”
“That isn’t fair! she protested. “I’ve worked as hard as anyone!”
“But you’re quite prepared to leave your equipment in a mess, the Sweet Promise abandoned halfway up a creek and in need of a coat of paint, and your week’s money only half earned!”
She didn’t know what to say to that. She hadn’t thought about it at all. All she had known was that he wouldn’t need her any more.
“You hired me as a diver,” she said mutinously, “not as a maintenance man!”
“I took you on to the strength of the expedition,” he replied smoothly. “And that means turning your hand to anything, anything at all, Helen Hastings, until the expedition is finished. Is that clear?”
She nodded meekly. It wasn’t nearly as easy to tell him that she was going as she had thought it would be.
“Besides,” Gregory added bitingly, “what diver would leave her equipment like that? Did you think I was going to put it away for you? What you want is a nanny, not a boss!”
“I’m sorry,” she muttered.
This wasn’t going at all the way she had imagined.
He grunted. “I’ll expect you after lunch,” he said. “And you’d better come dressed for it! Those things don’t look very practical for our kind of work!”
It was, however, a lunch to remember. Gregory made a clever and rather witty speech that had everyone howling with laughter, and the only person who felt at all left out was Helen. It was so unfair, she thought, for she had worked hard, and Anita hadn’t done a thing to earn her money, and yet he had nothing but praise for her sister-in-law, while her he didn’t even mention. She might just as well not have worked for him at all!
“The gold,” he added amidst applause, “has been handed over to the Government. The wealth of the islands has been restored to them. We all of us will be starting out on new adventures, but the Melonga Islands, and the memories of our days here, will be a link between us for the rest of our days.”
Helen could have wept. She didn’t want to remember. She wanted to forget! And she would forget, she promised herself, she would forget every moment she had spent there—
Then it was all over and everybody was busy chatting. She would have to go upstairs and change, she supposed, for she didn’t dare keep Gregory waiting. He was right in a way, she admitted to herself, for the equipment would have to be stowed away before she could consider her job really finished. What she couldn’t excuse was the public way he had pointed it out to her.
She found herself hurrying though as she went down the path, through the devastated village, and on to the empty harbour. From there, she could see the Sweet Promise towering over the creek where they had left her. She was well and truly grounded, listing terribly over the muddy bank that was helping to support her. Gregory must have been there that morning and removed most of the debris from her decks, but even so she looked a sad and sorry sight. Her white paint had blistered and rusted, her sails hung in torn confusion, and a bewildering pile of abandoned diving equipment littered her foredecks in a manner that was anything but shipshape.
Helen swung herself on board and looked helplessly about her. It was hard to know where to begin. She tossed a few empty cylinders ashore, to make a little more room, and then set to with a will, washing everything that came within reach and stowing everything else away where it belonged.
She must have been working for about an hour when Gregory arrived. He swung himself up on board and stood on the sloping deck, watching her work.
“I’m afraid the sails have had it,” he said finally.
“We might be able to patch them,” Helen suggested eagerly.
“We?” he asked.
She blushed. “It was a manner of speaking,” she said abruptly. “What I mean is that I think it could be done!”
“I dare say,” he agreed, and smiled like a small boy. “But we’re in the money now. It’s the first time I’ve been able to afford to do something for the old lady. I think she deserves new sails, don’t you?”
She sat back on her heels and looked up at the tall masts and thought of the way she had come through the storm and brought them safely home to harbour.
“Yes, she deserves everything you can give her,” she agreed softly.
“I’m glad you agree,” Gregory went on briskly. “Anita was in no state to do much about anything, so I put in an order for some paint myself. They’re flying it out on the next flight.”
“Oh?” Helen said cautiously.
“Mmm. Having got her stuck in the creek, it makes a pretty good dry dock, doesn’t it? I thought I’d get her painted before we haul her back down into the harbour.”
“But you’ll never manage it alone!” Helen exclaimed.
“There’s Na-Tinn and Taine-Mal,” he pointed out.
“And have either of them ever painted a boat before?” she demanded.
“There has to be a first time!”
Helen turned her back on him and went on tidying away the ropes that were strewn across the deck. Another moment and she would have offered to have stayed. She had no pride at all!
“Shall I make some coffee?” she said, when the silence became unbearable.
“I thought we’d run out,” he answered.
“We have,” she admitted helplessly. “Oh well, it was just an idea!”
She wished he would do anything, anything at all, but stand there, watching her every movement.
“I’m not going to offer to stay!” she burst out furiously at last.
“What did you say?” he asked with friendly interest.
She turned and faced him. “You heard!” she said angrily. “Haven’t you anything to do?”
“I expect I could find something,” he agreed, grinning. “I was enjoying the view.”
“So I gather! Well, you made your point back at the hotel. I agree with you! I should have seen that everything was shipshape before I started to think about leaving. Not that you had to tell the whole hotel about it!” she added, for she was still smarting under his rebuke. “I would have come anyway. But then to sit there and watch me is just too much!”
Gregory began to laugh. “I didn’t know you cared!” he teased her.
“I don’t,” she snapped. “But surely there is something you can do besides check up on me?”
“Is that what I’m doing?” he said mildly. “How odd, I thought I was resting my leg, which incidentally is hurting quite a lot, and having an easy day after an appalling night that I want to forget all about, with children scared half to death, and me worrying myself about you!”
Helen blinked. “You’ve made me feel a cad now,” she said.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean to do that. Shall I go up to the hotel and get some coffee?”
She nodded, not trusting herself to speak. She waited until he had jumped down on to the bank below and then she called after him: “I’m coming too! Wait for me!”
She was in such a hurry that she didn’t notice that she had left one of the lines across her path and, instead of jumping, she half fell, landing practically on top of Gregory below. He opened his arms wide to receive her, taking the full impact of her fall against his own body.
“I—I’m sorry!” she gasped.
Gregory laughed. “My love, do you have to take everything so seriously? Didn’t you know that I’ve been waiting all day for you to fall into my arms?”
Helen stiffened. “L—literally?” she stammered, before she had thought.
“I’d have preferred a more voluntary means of propulsion,” he said with, humour, then let her go with a sigh. “We’re not making much progress, are we?” he added.
Helen forced a laugh. “I don’t know. I’ve practically finished with the diving tackle!” she said brightly.
His hands came down on her shoulders, and they weren’t a bit gentle. Slowly, ruthlessly, he turned her round to face him. “In just a minute,” he said, “I’m going to kiss you. And then I’m going to kiss you again. And I’m going on kissing you until you admit that you like it—”
“I—I’ll never speak to you again!” she threatened, badly frightened.
“Won’t you?” There was a touch of grimness about his mouth that made her tremble.
“You don’t understand—” she began helplessly.
“I think I do,” he answered. “I wish I didn’t.”
She sat down heavily, on the bank of the creek, because her legs refused point blank to carry her any longer. “You see,” she said quickly, “I’m not a young girl who—who—” She broke off, not knowing how to continue. She wished he wasn’t so tall, towering above her like some giant, and she wished he wouldn’t smile at her.
“You look pretty young to me!” he remarked.
“Yes, but—”
“But there was Michael!” Gregory sighed.
She looked up at him mutinously. “Yes,” she said, “there was Michael.”
He went on standing there, not really looking at her at all. His eyes wandered over the Sweet Promise and he half-frowned
at the sight she presented. “You know,” he said at last, “when I first met Michael, I felt sorry for him. I used to wonder what kind of a woman it was that he had married, that she wasn’t right there beside him, sharing things with him.” He saw she was about to protest and silenced her with a gesture. “That was at first,” he said. “Then I tried to get to know him better, but there wasn’t anyone there to know. He had charm and good looks and, for all I knew, a nice family who worried about him. And he had a wife.”
“It was your fault I wasn’t here with him!” Helen informed him. “It was you who wouldn’t have any women around!”
“That wasn’t strictly true,” he contradicted her. “I wouldn’t employ a married diver on a job like this—”
“But Michael was married!”
“He didn’t look very married to me,” Gregory observed. “I thought at first it was your fault, but it wasn’t, was it? It was his. He shouldn’t have married anyone. He didn’t know what it was all about!”
Helen studied her hands. “Nevertheless, I married him,” she sighed.
Gregory squatted down beside her. “You know what Miss Corrigan says it was?” he asked her. “Calf love! You weren’t married, my love! You may have gone through a ceremony and thought yourself in love with him, but if that’s your idea of marriage, it isn’t mine!”
“You make it sound so cheap,” she said.
He put his arm round her. “Do I? I don’t mean to. I’m just trying to point out that it was a charming idyll, not a marriage!” He looked at her anxiously and was surprised to discover that she was smiling.
“And that it’s over?” she suggested audaciously.
“Yes, I suppose so.” He sounded almost apologetic. “It is, isn’t it?” he almost pleaded with her.
She nodded. “It never really began,” she admitted.
She was ready for him when he kissed her. She allowed herself to be pushed back against the muddy grass and she welcomed the sheer, solid strength of his body against hers. He smelt nice too, she thought. He smelt so masculine and different from herself. And then he kissed her gently on the lips, almost as if he were afraid of her. But the next kiss was decidedly better. She put up her arms and held him closer, and he wasn’t gentle at all.
