Full Tide

by Celine Conway

  When Mark came in she still stood there, the unfinished drink in her hand, eyes heavy and her mouth tight to keep it steady.

  “It’s not so bad as that,” he said quietly. “I don’t think for a moment the youngster will come to harm. For one thing, as soon as she tells anyone she’s from the ship she’ll be put on the road home. They make a good living from tourists and won’t do anything to jeopardize it.”

  “She can’t speak their language.”

  “It won’t matter. They’re persevering with children and they’ll make her understand. A pity it’s night time—she’d be rounded up in no time during daylight.”

  She looked at him with dark, troubled eyes. “What if she isn’t located tonight?”

  “She will be. With a reward in the offing the local police will ransack every building, and do it quickly; fifty pounds is riches to them. In addition the whole town will get to know and be on the lookout.”

  “But there’s the chance they won’t find her.”

  “We won’t sail till they do.”

  “You’d do that—for us?”

  “Surprising, isn’t it?” he said a trifle curtly. “I’d do it for any passenger. You’d better take the remainder of that drink. I’ve ordered a few sandwiches and some coffee for you.”

  “To be brought here?”

  “Where else? The fact that Nancy’s missing has spread like a bush-fire and if you go below they’ll seek you out and swamp you with enquiries. I’m sure you’d rather avoid that.”

  She managed another gulp of the whisky, and placed the glass on the desk. Despondently she said, “It must be horrid for you—having this happen. If only I could have foreseen, I wouldn’t have done it to you for the world. Mark,” his name came huskily, for the first time, to her lips, and neither of them seemed to notice it, “will you please let me go back to Las Palmas and help with the search? I’ll promise to act under orders.”

  “You can’t go—it’s a man’s job. And anyway, you’re flat out. They’ll ring me through as soon as there’s anything to report.”

  She let out a long, unhappy sigh. “Won’t it appear odd—my being in your cabin?”

  “Odd?” The gaze he swerved to her was remote and ice-blue. “Why should it? It’s a captain’s duty to safeguard his passengers, and I’m always accessible. Rest over there on the sofa. I have a few things to do.”

  He was putting her in her place, demonstrating that his willingness to give her sanctuary must not be misconstrued; he would have done the same for anyone else.

  Lisa sat in the corner of the red leather sofa and Mark dropped into the chair at his desk. She heard the whisper of papers, the soft scratch of his pen, saw his broad back and the dark hair glistening under the light. She was restless and aching with anxiety. In a nightmarish vision she imagined herself explaining to Dr. Veness that Nancy had been lost in the Canaries. No one but she and Jeremy would realise how simply it had occurred. Little Nancy, alone and frightened among people who scarcely knew a word of English beyond those necessary to sell their products.

  She did wish the pen would stop its noise, that Mark would show some sort of feeling, even if it had to be anger. She wished the telephone would ring, or pandemonium break out on the lower decks. Anything but this frightful calm.

  Of course, this was Mark: imperturbably facing catastrophe. The hours lost would have to be logged and explained. He would try to make up for them in the days ahead, but the incident was bound to leak into English and South African newspapers. Perhaps underneath he was a bit angry about, it; or perhaps he faced it as he faced plunging seas and tropical storms; sternly, and keyed to meet the worst. The whole world of the ship was in his hands, which was responsibility enough for any man, without this additional burden of the lost child.

  She felt ill with the increasing implications of the situation and a frightful sense of humiliation clogged her throat.

  The steward knocked; and brought in a tray. “Here’s the snack you ordered, sir.”

  “It’s for Miss Maxwell,” the Captain answered him off-handedly. “Place a table for her.”

  While the command was obeyed, Mark went on writing. The steward looked pityingly at Lisa, obviously thinking it a shame that the poor young thing had to sit with the Old Man, who was about as flexible as a ramrod. One of the other officers might have comforted her, but she didn’t stand a chance with the skipper.

  Lisa thanked him and poured some coffee, which she drank down, shakily. The dish of sandwiches she left covered. As noiselessly as she could she stood up, but Mark turned in his chair. Her pallor brought him to his feet.

  “You’ll have to take hold of yourself,” he said sharply. “Everything possible is being done and it’s bound to get results. We can’t have you going to pieces.”

  “If she were a boy...” she began tremulously.

  “I know.” For once he allowed emotion to roughen his tone. “She’s a nice child, and I’m praying as hard as you are that she’ll get through with nothing more than a scare. Worrying yourself into a state of nerves won’t get us anywhere, though. You must realize that.”

  He took a cigarette from the case and slipped it between her lips, before applying the lighter. An intimate little act which Mark performed as he did everything else, economically and without emphasis. He set the flame to a second cigarette and inhaled, smiling down at her through the smoke.

  “This is my concern as much as yours. Does it help if I tell you we’re in this together?”

  “Yes. Yes, it does, tremendously.”

  “Good. By the way, what happened to Carne?”

  “Jeremy?” She shook her head vaguely" “I left him there—told him to go on searching; he wasn’t very sympathetic and I was frantic. It was a beastly afternoon altogether. You see, Nancy doesn’t like him much.”

  “The child has perspicacity.”

  “He was good to her later, but I had to spend a lot of the time soothing her and diverting him, and we saw almost nothing of the island. Not that that matters much now—I wish we’d never set foot on land!—but it does account for my being so tired that I didn’t watch her as I should. I was more worn out than either of them.” She looked at her watch. “It’s gone eight. Couldn’t you ... will you phone again?”

  The final word was obliterated by the staccato ring of the bell. For a startled second she stared at him, then as his hand reached for the receiver she went closer, her mouth parted, eyes wide with hope and fear.

  Mark said, “Yes, the skipper here.” He listened, and p when he spoke again his voice was deeper and more brisk. “That’s fine. Is she all right? Tell her she’s become Public Nuisance No. 1 and is to report to the Captain the minute she gets here. Pay the reward right away. When you arrive we’ll have a roll-call.”

  He dropped back the telephone; blue eyes met grey ones which had filled with sudden tears as the tension snapped. Gently his arm went about her shoulder and drew her to lean against him.

  “She was picked up on the Triana,” he said. “She’s a game child. Apparently she was hoping to walk back to the ship. Don’t speak for a minute—I know how you feel.” Lisa shivered; she was quite sure he didn’t know how she felt. The beating in her veins had rocketed to a pitch of delirium. Reaction, or it might have been the circle of Mark’s arm, clouded her brain, so that she could not think, only feel his strength and the encompassing warmth of having reached a. haven.

  It lasted no longer than two minutes. Mark let her go and put a foot of space between them.

  “There’ll still be dinner going in the saloon, if you feel you can face it,” he said coolly.

  “Thanks, but I don’t. I’ll go to the cabin and wait for Nancy.” The bent head lifted slightly, but she looked away. “I’m very grateful for all you’ve done. No one else could have handled it as you did.”

  “I’m glad you came straight to me,” he replied, still with the non-committal inflexion. Then swiftly his hand came up and she felt a painful little tug at the hai
r above her ear. He flicked the limp red daisy into a waste basket. “I’ve been wanting to do that ever since you burst in here,” he said, glinting at her half-savagely. “It was a typically cheap touch from young Carne.”

  She was too depleted and dazed by recent events to offer resistance or even defence. She went to the door. Mark opened it, and called his steward to accompany her.

  “When Nancy turns up have some hot milk and go to bed,” he said austerely. “Goodnight.”

  The Wentworth sailed away from Puerto de la Luz at precisely ten-twenty. Nancy was in bed, peacefully sleeping off the effects of her adventure. Lisa, in the lower bunk, lay wondering why, with Nancy safe, she felt so wretched, so utterly out of tune with her surroundings.

  The child’s explanation had been lucid. She had crossed to the other cafe and seen the singing boy lope away down the street. Determined, because she had loved his voice, to give him the coins, she had followed him, hardly noticing that he had turned a couple of corners before she caught up with him. Trying to find her way out of the maze of cobbled alleys she had eventually come to the Triana, which she had recognized from their afternoon saunter round the shops. Jeremy had been grousing all the time because no one knew English, so it had seemed useless to ask the way to the cafe where she had left them; she didn’t know which street it was in, anyway. So she had started walking, intending to request the first English-looking person to “lend” her the bus-fare and guide her to the terminus. Eventually, she had been swooped upon by a little islander who, in his haste to qualify for the reward, wore police trousers with a pyjama jacket.

  No, said Nancy, she hadn’t been scared, except in the police station, which was the nearest thing she could imagine to the Tower of Babel, though she believed they had all been talking the same language. They’d been kind, though, and really hurt when she refused a bowl of onion porridge brought in from an eating house. But goodness, hadn’t she been glad to see the red-haired purser! Did Lee know that the purser had paid out a hundred pounds of the Captain’s money—fifty to the man who had found her and the other fifty between the rest at the station? It wasn’t everyone, announced Nancy with pride, who’d been lost among the Spaniards and been bought back by a handsome sea-captain! You wouldn’t think such a. thing could happen these days, would you?

  Lisa’s utter relief at Nancy’s return not a whit disturbed by the experience, gave way, in the midnight darkness, before new worries which centred on Mark, but presently even they disintegrated in a tingling love for the man who, perhaps involuntarily, had shown he could be gentle and compassionate, knowing all the while that she had brought the trouble upon herself.

  Next morning Nancy basked for a time in the envy and admiration of the junior passengers, while Lisa bore commiseration tinged with blame for the adult women; she was too hurt and proud to do any explaining. Soon, though, games and other amusements claimed attention and the episode was forgotten.

  For Jeremy life promised to be less strenuous. In taking on his intensive tuition so soon after being released from the strain of eight shows a week in London, Astra had overstepped her capacity. Her zeal, however, remained undimmed, and Jeremy had pledged himself to work with her every morning, which left him free for sport of some kind with Lisa in the afternoon, while Nancy went to the reading, class in the nursery.

  Today, Lisa and Jeremy played quoits and swam, but found time for a drink and a chat. The fact that he was putting so much physical and mental energy into learning Astra’s art did not mean, he assured Lisa, that he was bound to go with her to Johannesburg. She had offered him a six months’ contract, which he considered fair enough taking into account the fact that he had never yet appeared before an audience, but he was not forced to sign before they reached Durban, and that was still a fortnight away. Astra had mentioned having a play reading in the ship’s lounge—on the other side of the tropics, of course; for a few days it would be too sticky to do anything but laze.

  Laura Basson was comfortingly unimpressed by Astra Carmichael.

  “In her way she’s beautiful,” she conceded to Lisa over a cocktail that evening, “but she’s probably taken at least ten years to attain her position in the theatre and, after all, where has it landed her? She’s merely a passenger, like you and me, going abroad on a job. Wordily success has made her selective, and her exclusiveness deprives her of a good many worthwhile friends. No,” she finished decisively, “she’s not a woman to be envied.”

  “She wears some wonderful evening creations,” said Lisa wistfully, remembering the length of rainbow georgette which had been left behind with the tartan umbrella on a cafe seat in Las Palmas.

  “Dress sense and the money to pander to it.” Mrs. Basson was dismissive. “Stripped of artistry her appeal is almost crude: smoky eyes—when they’re not stony—caressing voice and a sinuous grace. She’s completely physical—no soul at all.”

  “Men don’t seem to mind a lack of soul,” remarked Lisa ruefully.

  The other’s eyes were bird-like and bright. “Do you mean Jeremy? Is he fascinated by that creature?”

  Guardedly, Lisa said, “It’s inevitable he should be, a little.”

  “If it’s only a little don’t let it bother you. I’m sure you’ll get your Jeremy back hardly the worse for wear, because that woman really hasn’t any time for anyone so young and light-hearted. She has her eye on the Captain.”

  Lisa’s heart sank still lower. Was it really so patent? She had believed that only her own heightened perceptions had taken into the fact, she had even tried to believe that she was completely and absurdly mistaken. “How do you know?” she asked.

  Mrs. Basson shrugged. “I didn’t go far yesterday. I’ve seen Gran Canaria several times, so I simply took a walk for an hour and returned to the ship. She was here, giving the Captain tea in the empty lounge. Later on, as I stood at the forward rail, I saw them go into a cabin on the lower deck, right away from the passenger deck.”

  The den, thought Lisa, her throat hot and dry. He had not waited long before taking a second woman into the sanctum which, until this trip, he had kept inviolate. She was afraid that if she went on talking with Mrs. Basson she might betray herself, so she said, “I must go and dress ... Will you excuse me?”

  In the cabin she finished off the ruby-colored bolero. Together with the large bow at the waist it made a tremendous change to the white frock, but there was no glossing the truth; there were eight more nights to Cape Town, and white dresses do not last an indefinite time without cleaning. The stewardess said the ship’s laundry could not undertake to do dry cleaning in less than two days. Lisa decided that if there were no other way out she would have to convert the black frock; quite a few women were wearing calf-length dinner frocks.

  The following day she sought a word with Mark. How difficult a task she had set herself, Lisa did not discover till nearly lunch time, when the purser sent her a message which read: “I understand from my junior that you wish for an interview with the Captain. If you will call at my office I will do my best to help you.”

  The purser was about thirty-two. He had the red hair which Nancy adored, and an engaging smile, and the moment Lisa stepped into his office he slid forward a chair and bowed.

  “I hope I can be of service to you, Miss Maxwell. It isn’t usual for the Captain to concern himself with the ordinary affairs of the passengers, but if you’ll fill in the official chit I’ll see that he gets it. I can’t do more, I’m afraid.”

  Mark didn’t come to lunch, but the purser’s clerk handed Lisa a scrap of paper as she left the saloon. Written upon it were the words: “Captain Kennard will see you in my office sharp at three. Purser.”

  Lisa’s pulses began to jump. So this was to be an official interview, possibly with the purser present. She had to prepare her little piece and get it said fluently, without wasting time. Which was not quite what she had visualized, because she badly wanted Mark to understand how she was placed, and how she felt. And she definitely didn’t wa
nt the purser to hear.

  It was terribly hot. Lisa gashed and changed into a spot muslin with a wide neck. Gravely, she looked into the glass above the dressing chest, and was glad her ashen hair looked as cool as the grey eyes. Her skin was pale, too; she took a long time to tan. Not that Mark would notice her appearance; today she was a minor duty in his day’s routine.

  At precisely two minutes to three she saw Nancy safe with the nurse at the playroom and made her way to the purser’s office. Outside it she paused and unnecessarily smoothed her skirt and belt, patted her hair. She knocked and the plunge was taken. Mark opened the door.

  “Come in,” he said casually, indicating the chair in which she had sat earlier. “I hope your reason for wanting to see me is not what I think it is.”

  How like him to drive straight at the point. It was no use preparing a tidy speech for Mark; he was too adept at slicing the ground from under one’s feet. However, she saw with gratitude that they were alone, and took a moment to reshuffle her defences.

  “It was about Nancy,” he reminded her kindly, too kindly. His pleasantness had an undertone of mockery.

  “Not Nancy, exactly,” said Lisa. “She’s perfectly all right now. Thanks to you, she had no time to have any horrid experiences in Las Palmas. I’m well aware that—what I owe you can’t be assessed in terms of money—except the reward you paid. It was about the hundred pounds that I wished to speak to you.”

  “I guessed it. Don’t tell me .they allowed you to bring that much sterling out of England.”

  She clutched at the straw he offered. “No, they didn’t. But I was anxious you should know the amount will be refunded. Nancy’s father will pay the debt, and I’ll arrange to pay him.”

  “Fine,” sardonically. “Then what are, you dithering about?”

  “I’m not dithering,” she retorted indignantly, and then was halted by the glint of sarcasm in the glance he bent her way. “Are you being nasty?”