It was Nicholas who finally broke away, dragging his lips from hers and with the hands which had explored and caressed her willing body earlier, set her away from him.
"What a temptress you are, Petra," he said with a twisted smile. "But this is neither the time—" he glanced round the hallway—"nor the place."
Petra leaned weakly against the door post and, as he spoke, suppressed a quick vision of herself in Tom's arms as Nicholas had seen her last time he was there. Perhaps he had had the same thought, she didn't know, but he didn't touch her again.
"Good night, Petra," he said gently and turning abruptly crossed to the outside door. He opened it and the wind howled in, then he closed it again and turning back saw her still leaning shakily against the door jamb.
"I'm moving Mrs. Arden on Saturday," he said. "Will you have dinner with me afterwards?"
Petra nodded, still unable to speak and Nicholas smiled before he disappeared into the night.
Chapter Four
Petra didn't sleep easily that night despite the strains and stresses of her day. The wind howled and moaned round the house, rattling the windows, a perpetual cacophony, but it was not the raging storm outside which kept her from sleep, it was the turmoil in her mind as she lived and re-lived the strange events of the day.
Each happening might have been enough to keep her awake, but all of them together made sleep impossible. She had run the whole gamut of her emotions, from fear and anger through to shame and love. She accepted this last emotion in its widest sense, recognising she had been tremendously attracted to Nicholas, his strength and his masculinity drawing her to him in a way no other man had.
She was, however, quite realistic enough to accept that Nicholas had had no further thoughts than an evening together, the idea of it culminating in bed had not occurred to him and when it did present itself as a possibility, he had held back.
Petra was glad he had, though she still felt physically weak when she remembered the feel of his hands on her body, of his mouth against hers, because she didn't subscribe to the idea that for an evening to be enjoyable it had to end up in bed. It was one of the differences she had with Tom, and it was one where she was not prepared to give way lightly. But then Tom had never stirred her as Nicholas had tonight. Considering everything she was surprised Nicholas had kissed her at all. She was still stricken when she thought of the way she had behaved at their first meeting, and determined not to interfere in his life again. But she smiled as she recalled his invitation to dinner next week.
Turning over yet again, she thumped her pillow and in doing so knocked her book off the bedside table. It splashed to the floor. For a moment Petra didn't register the sound then, puzzled, she reached out with her hand and felt on the floor beside her bed. It was wet. There was at least an inch of water.
Startled, she sat up with a cry and reached for the bedside lamp, but something stayed her hand. Electricity and water do not mix. Carefully, she pulled open the drawer of her bedside table and felt round inside for the little flashlight she always kept there. Taking it out, she quickly switched it on.
What she saw made her gasp with horror. She was marooned on her bed, entirely surrounded by water. Her bedroom door, which she always left ajar, now stood wide, pushed open by the pressure of the water.
How long she sat and stared in disbelief Petra didn't know, probably only a matter of minutes, though everything seemed so unreal it could have been longer. It was the sight of her slippers bobbing gently across the room which galvanised her into action. She reached for her dressing-gown, which lay across the foot of the bed, but quickly discarded it again, the end of it had trailed in the water and was soaked. Hitching her nightie up above her knees, Petra swung her legs over the side of the bed and stepped down on to the floor. The water which lapped her ankles was icy and she hastily drew her feet back on to the bed.
Think, she said to herself. Think carefully. Boots, A pair of Wellingtons she used for college field trips stood in her wardrobe and braving the cold water she paddled across and opened the wardrobe door. She grabbed the boots and collected a thick sweater from the shelf, and trousers from a hanger. Carrying them back to her island bed, she quickly put them on, feeling much less vulnerable than she had when clad only in her nightie. Dry in her boots, she left her bedroom to look at the rest of her flat. There was water everywhere, right up to her front door.
Petra was still confused. Where on earth had the water come from? Her hands were wet and unthinking she licked her fingers. They tasted of salt. Then at last she realised. It was the sea. Driven by the violence of the gale, the sea at high tide had breached the sea wall and flooded the surrounding streets.
Petra returned to her bedroom and looked out of the window which faced the street. Her eyes widened in disbelieving horror as, by the light of a distant street lamp, she saw a dark river of water swirling past, already well above the bottom of the outer front door.
She ran to the living-room windows and peered out. There was no light this side of the house and, using her torch, she probed the darkness of the garden. She could actually see very little, but she could hear the water cascading relentlessly down the slope on which the house was built.
Then Petra had an idea. She dragged open the glazed door which led out on to her balcony and thus allowed the water in her flat an escape route. It gushed out spreading the length of the balcony and pouring over the edge in a cascade. Petra could hear it splashing into the river already sweeping through the garden outside the windows of the basement flat.
The basement flat! With a heart-stopping jolt, Petra remembered Mrs. Arden. Her flat could be completely flooded by now and Mrs. Arden drowned because she couldn't escape.
Petra's first instinct was to grab her key and rush down to the basement flat, but she made herself stop and consider. If she opened the door to the basement flat, the water from the hall would flow down the steps. Could she climb down from the balcony and approach Mrs. Arden from that direction? The climb was possible for there was a cast iron drainpipe running down the wall, but what would she do once she was down? She could never get Mrs. Arden up that way, and though the water seemed to be running down beyond the house, she had no idea how deep it was.
'And if I can't make Mrs. Arden open the windows,' thought Petra, 'I could well be stuck down there myself, for I'm sure that drainpipe climbing is not as easy as they make it look in films!'
There was no other way into the basement except for the bedroom window which looked out over a little area below the pavement, and this would already be under water, so Petra decided that she must risk opening Mrs. Arden's front door to try and get the old woman out.
Quickly she found the key and paddled out into the hall. The outer door was still holding most of the water out, but by the light of her torch she could see it pouring in under the door. Opening her balcony door had indeed helped to lower the level of the water, but it still swirled round Petra's feet as she shone the torch on the basement door.
She eased the door open and peered down into the unbroken darkness below her. The water from the hall rushed, gurgling, down the stairs.
Petra made her way cautiously down the stairs, calling to Mrs. Arden as she did so. The beam of her torch showed her that here the water was also several inches deep. She swung the light round the living-room and discovered the old woman asleep in her chair, her feet propped up on a stool, as yet above the encroaching waters.
Petra crossed the room and shook Mrs. Arden gently to waken her.
The old woman woke with a jolt and a frightened cry. "Who's that? Why's it dark? I don't like the dark."
"It's me, Petra, from upstairs. There's a power cut—"at least I hope there is, thought Petra privately. "Now, don't be frightened, Mrs. Arden," she began but was interrupted by a loud wail.
"It's all wet."
"Don't worry," soothed Petra, "I've come to take you upstairs. We'll get you dry up there."
"What's happening? Put the light on, I
can't see." The old woman was completely confused and struggled away from Petra as she tried to help her to her feet.
Petra spoke to her firmly. "Now, listen. The sea is coming in. Your flat is flooding and we must get you out. Come on, Mrs. Arden, we must try to get you upstairs."
The old woman continued to ask questions, but she did allow Petra to take her arm and pull her to her feet. As her feet, still in their carpet slippers, plunged into the cold water she gave another wail of dismay, but Petra had been ready for her and keeping a tight grip on her arms, refused to let her sit down again.
"You've got to come with me," she said desperately. "Don't sit down again, please." There were tears of frustration in her eyes as she hung on to the old lady. Petra's torch was the only light they had to guide them to the door, but at last, still protesting, Mrs. Arden allowed herself to be helped across the room, following its yellowing beam to the staircase.
Water continued to pour down this and the level was rising with alarming rapidity. Petra realised it must be coming into the flat in other places as well, perhaps the bedroom window had given in under the pressure of water outside. The thought frightened Petra and she tried to hurry Mrs. Arden's progress, but it was impossible, particularly as the old woman was still dressed in her voluminous nightgown, the bottom of which was now soaked and clinging to her unsteady legs.
Shining the torch ahead, Petra made Mrs. Arden go in front and came up the stairs close behind her in the hope of catching her if she fell. At length they reached the hallway and Petra could see to her relief that the front door was still holding.
She guided the old lady into her own flat and because the water was now flowing out more quickly than it was flowing in and the level had dropped, she managed to force her front door shut. But having the balcony door open had allowed the freezing air outside to invade the flat and the living-room, particularly, was extremely cold.
Petra closed that door now as the incoming flow was cut down by the front door, and then deciding that the bedroom would probably be a little warmer, led Mrs. Arden through and sat her down on the bed.
Once again Petra peered out of the window to find the water still surging by. All the houses were in darkness, but she was sure other anxious faces must be pressed to the windows waiting for the help which she was sure was on the way. As she looked across at the houses opposite, Petra saw that the water was not far below window level and realised it must be the same below her. She opened the window and leaning out shone the torch downwards, shuddering as she found the sea bubbling and sucking only a foot below her.
Quickly she closed the window again. 'We've got to get out of here,' thought Petra. 'We must get up to the next floor somehow.' But the only way up to the first floor was to climb out of a window. Since the house had been converted into self-contained flats, there was no longer an indoor staircase.
Quickly Petra darted to her balcony door. She stood on the balcony above the tumbling water and looked upward. There was a window above hers, but no means of reaching it. Even if she managed to alert Mr. Campbell, they would never get Mrs. Arden to safety that way.
She hurried back to the bedroom, sloshing through the water still lying on the floor.
As she crossed the living-room the beam of her torch picked out the telephone. "Fool!" she cried aloud and snatched off the receiver. The line was dead. "Damn." She spoke softly and clearly. "Damn, damn!"
Dropping the receiver back into its cradle, she went back to Mrs. Arden. She looked up suddenly as Petra came in and demanded, "Where's Peregrine? Does he know the pipe's burst?"
The ludicrous suggestion that all the water around them could have come from a burst pipe made Petra laugh; then she said, "I'm sure he'll come as soon as he can. Don't worry. I'm going to put a message out to the rescuers. Someone's sure to come soon. The police will be out in boats, I expect."
Leaving Mrs. Arden in the dark for a moment, Petra hurriedly found a white pillowcase and a thick red felt pen which she normally used for diagrams and posters. Quickly she scrawled HELP S.O.S. on the pillowcase and returning to the bedroom, pushed up the sash and leant out. She had intended to hang the pillowcase from the sill, but realising now it might well float away she went back in, collected a couple of drawing-pins, and sitting on the sill reached up and pinned her distress signal to the top part of the frame.
Her torch beam was fading fast now and it wasn't until Mrs. Arden said with sudden lucidity, "Haven't you got any candles?" that Petra remembered she had. She went to find them and soon she and the indomitable old lady were sitting in the bedroom in the flickering light given by two elegant red candles Petra had once bought for a dinner party.
She found a towel to dry Mrs. Arden, but the old woman had refused point-blank to remove her soaking clothes and in the end Petra had to settle for wrapping a blanket round her and hoping she wouldn't catch pneumonia. It was too cold to keep the window open, but Petra sat beside it scanning the street for any signs of a rescue party. There were flickering lights in several houses now as people awoke to discover their plight and managed to find flashlights and candles.
Suddenly, Petra realised the water level was rising again and went quickly through to open the balcony door. Once again the water gushed away and Petra thanked God she had such a safety valve.
Despite the cold she left that door open this time in the desperate hope that any more water seeping in would not get as far as the bedroom.
"Where's Peregrine?" demanded Mrs. Arden. "You said he was coming."
"I'm sure he will, as soon as he can," said Petra reassuringly. "But the streets are under water too, you know. It won't be easy for him."
How long she sat beside the window Petra did not know. The slow minutes crept away as she concentrated on the flooded world outside. At last she saw them, a small motor boat with a spotlight moving slowly along the water-filled street.
"Thank heaven!" Petra cried aloud. "Here come the police." She opened the window again and as they approached, listened with relief to the man in the bows of the boat who was speaking through a loud hailer.
"Please signal if you have anyone injured or infirm in the house. Signal to us if there is anyone injured or infirm in your house."
Petra waved frantically and at last the boat drew level with the window.
"There's an old lady here," she called. "I've got her up from the basement flat, but she's soaking wet and cold and I've no light or heat."
"Is your flat under water?" the man called as he saw how close the sea was to the window sill.
"Not completely, but we can't get out."
"Hang on, and I'll radio a rescue boat. Stay by the window and have the old lady ready."
The boat moved on. broadcasting its message and answering signals from other houses in the street, particularly those like Petra's which had been divided into flats.
Petra turned back inside to look at Mrs. Arden. How would they ever get her out through the window? She had trouble enough moving at the best of times, but to heave her out into a boat bobbing below her might prove well-nigh impossible. Still, she must get her ready; perhaps she should tie something round her just in case she did fall.
Quickly, Petra moved the old lady to the window, seating her on the chair there and then she pulled a sheet off her bed, twisted it into a makeshift rope and secured it round the old woman's middle.
Within a few minutes another boat arrived, a much bigger boat which already held two people huddled together, wrapped in blankets. Petra leant out of the window and called and the boat came over, manoeuvring carefully under the window-sill.
"Who have we got?" demanded one of the men, holding on to the window to keep the boat steady.
"Mrs. Arden, from the basement flat. She can't move at all easily and she's soaking wet and cold."
"Can you sit on the window ledge, love?" the rescuer asked, turning to Mrs. Arden. But she gave no sign that she had heard him, merely continuing to stare vacantly ahead of her.
"I'll
try and get her to do it," said Petra. "I've tied a sheet round her like a rope; just in case she slips."
"Well done," said the man. "We'll manage. Hold steady, Charlie," he called to his assistant. "Now, if you can sit her on the sill, we'll try and swing her legs round. I'll hold her this side, you hold her that. Think you can?"
Petra nodded and helping Mrs. Arden to her feet, pushed her against the sill. It was no easy task, but at last they got her round and with Petra actually sitting on the window-sill beside her, managed to ease her into the boat.
What happened next, Petra never knew, but as Mrs. Arden's weight went from her grasp, she herself slipped and fell sideways out of the window. The shock of the freezing water made her cry out, and she swallowed a mouthful of salt water. Coughing and spluttering, she struggled to the surface once again, but she crashed her head against the underside of the boat and remembered nothing more.
When she awoke, Petra found herself in bed, warm and dry with a splitting headache. She opened her eyes cautiously and shut them again in a hurry as the light pierced her head and set it hammering in protest. After a few moments she tried again and this time, despite the pain, she kept her eyes open and discovered she was in a hospital room.
Petra wondered for a moment how she came to be there and then the events of the night all came rushing back to her, the flood, the cold, Mrs. Arden and the boat. Shakily, she raised a hand to her head and found it bandaged.
She closed her eyes again and lay still, her mind drifting back. She wondered if Mrs. Arden was safe somewhere, but it was too much effort to think coherently and she dozed again.
Next time she woke she felt a little better and when a nurse bustled in she was able to ask where she was.
A Chance of Happiness Page 5
