Sleeping Tiger

by Rosamunde Pilcher

  It lay on the floor between them, and they stared at each other in question, each imagining that the other must be responsible.

  “What is that thing?”

  George picked it up, and turned it over in his hands. “It’s a passport. A British passport.”

  “But who does it belong to?”

  “I think, the Señorita.”

  * * *

  The idea was to start, not at the beginning of the voyage, but in the middle—the week that Eclipse had slid into the harbour at Delos. And then he would go back to the beginning to show, in a series of back-flashes, how the voyage had taken shape, how it had all been planned in the first place. His typing-paper felt thick and smooth and his typewriter was running as sweetly as a well-tuned engine. Selina was still swimming, and Juanita was in her wash-house, beating hell out of George’s sheets with her bar of soap, and warbling away at some local love-song, so that when the knock came at the door, he did not hear it.

  It was a very discreet knock and scarcely audible above the pounding of his typewriter, and after a little the door was pushed open, and this movement caught George’s eye and he looked up, his hands suspended over the typewriter keys.

  The man who stood there was young, tall, and very good-looking. He wore a suit, a regular business suit, and a stiff white collar and a tie, and yet he managed to look maddeningly fresh and cool, and he said, “I am sorry to disturb you, but I got no reply to my knocking. Is this the Casa Barco?”

  “Yes, it is.”

  “Then you must be George Dyer.”

  “Yes, I am.…” He stood up.

  “My name is Rodney Ackland.” He obviously felt that the conversation should not go further without some sort of ritual recognition. He came across the room to shake George’s hand. “How do you do?” George thought Firm grip. Keen, straight eye, thoroughly reliable. And then, as an unworthy afterthought, Dead bore.

  “I believe Selina Bruce is staying here?”

  “Yes, she is.” Rodney looked around in mild question. “She’s swimming just now.”

  “I see. Well, in that case, perhaps I’d better give you some sort of an explanation. I’m Selina’s lawyer.” George did not comment on this. “And I’m afraid that, indirectly, it was my fault that she made this trip to San Antonio in the first place. It was I who gave her your book, and she saw your photograph and became convinced that you were her father. She spoke to me about it; she told me that she wanted to come and find you, and suggested that I should accompany her, but unfortunately I was forced to make a business trip to Bournemouth to see a very important client, and when I returned to London, Selina had gone. By then she’d been away three or four days. So, of course, I caught the first available plane to San Antonio, and … well, I think I should take her back.” They eyed each other. Rodney said, “Of course, you aren’t her father.”

  “No, I’m not. Her father’s dead.”

  “There is, however, a singular resemblance. Even I can see that.”

  “Gerry Dawson was a distant cousin of mine.”

  “What an extraordinary coincidence!”

  “Yes,” said George. “Extraordinary.”

  For the first time, Rodney looked a little discomfited. “Mr. Dyer, I have no idea of the circumstances of this … rather unconventional visit of Selina’s, or even how much she’s told you about herself. But she’s always had a great desire … an obsession, really, about her father. She was brought up by her grandmother, and her childhood was different, to put it mildly.…”

  “Yes, she told me.”

  “In that case, as you know the facts, I’m sure we’re batting on the same side.”

  “Yes, I expect we are.” He grinned and added, “Purely out of interest, however, what would your reactions have been had I really turned out to be Selina’s father?”

  “Well…” Caught for the moment without words, Rodney floundered. “Well, I … er…” And then he decided to turn it into a joke, and laughed gamely. “I suppose I should have caught you over the port and nuts, and asked your permission.”

  “My permission?”

  “Yes. A bit late, of course, because we’re already engaged. We’re getting married next month.”

  George said, “I beg your pardon,” and the words themselves were an indication of his state of mind. He had not used the outmoded formality for years, since the Bradderford days of polite parties and Hunt Balls, and had imagined that it was consigned to oblivion. But here it came, back again, jolted out of his subconscious by sheer shock.

  “We’re already engaged. You surely knew that?”

  “No, I didn’t know.”

  “You mean Selina didn’t tell you? She is an extraordinary girl.”

  “Why the hell should she tell me? It’s nothing to do with me if she’s engaged or not.”

  “No, but you’d think it would be important. The first thing she’d talk about.” George thought, You conceited clothes-horse. “But that’s beside the point. Now that you’re in the picture, I’m sure you’ll realise that I should take her back to London, and as quickly as possible.”

  “Yes, of course.”

  Rodney eased past him and went out on to the terrace. “What a splendid view! Did you say Selina was swimming? I can’t see her.”

  George joined him. “No, she’s, uh, out beyond the yacht. I’ll fetch her for you.…” And then he remembered that he couldn’t, because she had taken the dinghy. And then he remembered that he could, because he would borrow the boat of Rafael, Tomeu’s cousin. “Look … can you wait here? Take a seat. Make yourself at home. I won’t be long.”

  “You wouldn’t like me to come with you?” Rodney sounded unenthusiastic, and George said, “No, it’s all right. The boat’s full of fish-scales, and you’d ruin your suit.”

  “Well, if you’re sure…” and before George’s eyes, Rodney pulled a cane chair forward into the sun, and subsided gracefully into it, the picture of the well-bred Englishman abroad.

  George dragged the boat of Tomeu’s cousin Rafael down the slipway and into the water, swearing with every breath. It was long and heavy and awkward to handle, and there was only one oar so he had to scull, which he did inexpertly, and this in itself was infuriating, because Rodney Ackland, with his smooth bland face and his smooth bland voice and his uncreased charcoal-grey suit was watching him from the terrace of the Casa Barco. He made his way, rocking and sweating and swearing, across the water to where Eclipse lay, but when he called Selina’s name there was no reply.

  With some difficulty he manoeuvred his unwieldly craft around Eclipse’s stern mooring-rope, and immediately spied Selina, perched like a mermaid on one of the rocks on the far shore. She had climbed up the bathing-steps of one of the little wedding-cake villas that nestled in the pine trees and she sat with her arms wrapped around her knees and her hair lay close and wet to her neck like the fur of a seal. Rafael’s boat slid beneath Eclipse’s port beam. George shipped the heavy oar, and stood, cupping his hands to call her again.

  “Selina!” It came out as an infuriated yell, and she looked up at once. “Come on in, I want to talk to you.”

  After only a second’s hesitation, she stood up and came down the white steps, and let herself into the water and swam back towards him. When she reached the boat, the gunwales were too high for her to climb over, so he had to put his hands under her shoulders and lift her in, wet and dripping as a freshly caught fish. They sat on the two thwarts, facing each other, and she said, “I am sorry. Did you want the dinghy?”

  It occurred to him that any other woman would have demanded, before another word was spoken, an apology for his behaviour of the night before. But Selina was not any other woman.

  “I hope you didn’t mind my taking it…”

  “No of course not.”

  “You were asleep when I came down. I had to let Juanita in.” He watched her speak, not hearing what she said, trying to reconcile himself to the shattering knowledge that she was going to marry Rod
ney Ackland, had been engaged all the time, had never told George.

  “… and is your friend all right? She wasn’t too angry, I hope.”

  “My friend? Oh, Frances. I don’t know if she’s angry or not. She drove back to San Antonio last night. Anyway, it wasn’t your fault. She’ll simmer down and it’ll be all forgotten.”

  “I shouldn’t have come back to the Casa Barco, I do see that now, but…”

  He could bear it no longer. “Selina.”

  She frowned. “Is something wrong?”

  “Listen. There’s someone waiting for you at the Casa Barco. He’s come to take you back to London. Rodney Ackland.”

  She seemed to freeze to stillness. Her lips said “Rodney” but no sound came out.

  “He flew from London last night. He got back from Bournemouth and realised that you’d come to San Antonio on your own, so he caught the first available flight. I told him that I wasn’t your father, and I must say, he didn’t seem particularly surprised. But he does want to talk to you.”

  The breeze blew coolly and Selina shivered. He saw the thin gold chain, disappearing into the top of the little bikini he had bought her, but now he knew that it was not a Confirmation cross that hung there. He reached out and took hold of the chain and lifted it free, and the sapphire and diamonds of Rodney Ackland’s engagement ring swung and spun before his eyes, sharp arrows of sunlight darting from every facet.

  “Selina. Why did you never tell me?”

  Her eyes at that moment seemed almost as blue as the sapphire that he dangled beneath her chin. “I don’t know.”

  “You are engaged to Rodney?” She nodded. “You’re going to marry him next month.” She nodded again. “But why does it all have to be so secret?”

  “It isn’t secret. I told Rodney about you. I told him I thought George Dyer was my father. And I wanted him to come with me and find you. But he couldn’t. He had business to see to in Bournemouth, and he never thought I’d come alone. He said that if you were my father, then you’d be embarrassed by my sudden appearance. And if you weren’t my father, then it was a wild goose chase anyway. He didn’t seem to understand how important it was; to have roots and a family, and really belong to somebody.”

  “Have you known him a long time?”

  “Since I was a little girl. His firm has always looked after my grandmother’s affairs. She liked him very much, and I know she hoped I would marry him.”

  “And now you’re going to.”

  “Yes. I usually ended up by doing what she wanted.” George’s dark eyes were suddenly compassionate and Selina could not bear him to be sorry for her. “We’re moving out of Queen’s Gate. We’ve found a lovely flat in a new block. I wish you could see it. It’s full of sunshine and it’s got a wonderful view. Agnes is going to come and live with us. I’ve even bought my wedding-dress. It’s white, and very long. With a train.”

  “But you wear your engagement ring hidden away, not even on a finger.”

  “I thought you were my father. I wanted to meet you, for the first time, just as myself. Not belonging to any other person, or any other way of life.”

  “Are you in love with him?”

  “I asked you that question yesterday, and you wouldn’t reply.”

  “That was different. We were talking about my past and this is your future.”

  “Yes, I know. That’s what makes it so important.”

  He did not reply to this. Now Selina put up her hands to the back of her neck and unfastened the gold chain. The ring slipped free and she caught it and put it back on her finger and then re-fastened the chain once more about her neck. All these actions were deliberate and entirely composed. She said, “I shouldn’t keep Rodney waiting.”

  “No, of course not. Take the dinghy back, and I’ll follow on in this great crate of Rafael’s. But don’t sneak off without saying good-bye.”

  “I’d never do that. You know I’d never do that.”

  * * *

  After a little, Rodney had found it too hot to wait on the terrace. He could have taken off his jacket, but he was wearing braces, and there seemed something almost indecent in sitting about in braces, so he got out of the cane chair and went into the cool of the house. He was prowling to and fro, trying to make head or tail of its unconventional design, when Selina, unnoticed and unheard, came up the steps of the terrace, and said his name.

  Stopped short in his prowlings, Rodney swung round. She stood in the open doorway and he stared in disbelief. He could not believe that in such a short time one person could have altered so much. He had always thought of her as a monotone person, fawn skin and fawn hair, only relieved by the bright blue, Siamese-cat eyes. But now she was very brown and her hair, still wet from swimming, was bleached in streaks by the sunshine. She wore a bikini which to Rodney’s eyes seemed one step short of sheer bad taste, and as she stood there, regarding him, the large white cat which had been sunning itself on the terrace came to wrap itself affectionately around her bare ankles.

  The moment was fraught with a strange embarrassment. Then Selina said, “Hello, Rodney. This is a surprise.” She tried to put a lift in her voice but it fell sadly flat on the last syllable.

  “Yes,” said Rodney, “I thought it would be.” It was not easy to believe that he had just made the journey from London, had sat up all night in his clothes, had walked from the village down the stony, dusty road to the Casa Barco. Admittedly, his shoes were lightly veiled in white, but otherwise he looked as immaculate as he did at home. He came to give her a kiss, his hands on her shoulders, and he held her off to raise mildly disapproving eyebrows at her bikini. “What’s this you’re wearing?”

  She shrugged, “It’s all I have to swim in.” There was an old towel coat of George’s draped over the washing-line, and she went to collect it, and put it on. The towel was hard and dry with salt and sun and smelt of George. She wrapped it tightly about her, and in some inexplicable way it comforted her, and bolstered her courage.

  He said, “You were naughty to come out without letting me know. I might have been out of my mind with worry.”

  “I knew you were in Bournemouth.”

  “I called the flat as soon as I got back to London and Agnes told me where you were.” He added, “I came straight out, of course, on the first available flight.”

  “That was very kind of you, Rodney.”

  “How do you feel about coming home?”

  “I would have been back before, only I had all my money stolen at the airport, and I couldn’t buy a return ticket.”

  “You surely could have let me know; I’d have cabled you some by return.”

  “I … I didn’t want to bother you. And,” she added on a burst of honesty, “I thought you’d just say ‘I told you so.’ Because you were right and I was wrong, and George Dyer wasn’t my father … isn’t my father…”

  “No, I rather gathered that.”

  “But you do see that I had to find out?” It was a plea for sympathy, but Rodney misunderstood her.

  “I’m afraid I still feel it would have been better had you let me do the finding out for you.”

  “But I asked you to come with me. I wanted you to come, but you wouldn’t.”

  “Not wouldn’t. Couldn’t. You know that.”

  “You could have put off Mrs. What’s-her-name.”

  “Selina!” He was deeply shocked, and realised then, perhaps for the first time, that the changes in her were not merely physical, but deeper and far more subtle.

  She took a deep breath.

  “Anyway,” she said, “I don’t regret any of it. I’m glad I came, even if George isn’t my father. And if I were asked, I’d do it all over again.”

  It was an invitation to a stand-up battle, but before Rodney could think up any reply, they were joined by George Dyer himself, who came up the terrace steps, gathered Pearl into his arms, and chipped cheerfully into the conversation.

  “Well, now, isn’t this nice? You’ve found each other
again. How about a drink to cool us all down?”

  “I won’t have a drink, thank you,” said Rodney stiffly.

  “Cigarette, then?”

  “No, not just now.” He cleared his throat. “I’ve been telling Selina that I think it would be a good idea if we were to return to London as soon as possible. My taxi’s waiting now at the Cala Fuerte Hotel; we can go straight back to the airport.”

  “Good organisation,” said George.

  Rodney glanced at him swiftly to see if George was laughing at him, but the dark eyes were very solemn. Not entirely reassured he turned back to Selina. “Perhaps you should pack. Where have you been staying?”

  There was a long silence. Rodney looked at Selina. Selina looked at George and then back to Rodney. George, with great nonchalance, stroked Pearl.

  Selina said, “Here.”

  Rodney seemed to blanch visibly. “Here?”

  “Yes. Here. At the Casa Barco.”

  “Sleeping here?”

  “There wasn’t anywhere else to go.…”

  She shivered slightly and George knew that she was nervous. Rodney, however, did not seem aware of this, for when he spoke it was in tones of ice.

  “Wasn’t that just the slightest bit unconventional?”

  Abruptly, George tipped Pearl into a handy chair and joined in the discussion. “I don’t think so. After all, let’s not forget, Selina is a cousin of mine.”

  “And let’s not forget how distant. Besides, that is scarcely the point.”

  “Then what is the point?”

  “Well, Selina turned up here, uninvited, unannounced, a complete stranger to you, and you let her stay; living in this house—practically, as far as I can see, sleeping in the same room. I quite appreciate that you don’t necessarily have to consider your own reputation, but for Selina’s sake you could surely have made some other arrangement.”

  “Perhaps we didn’t want to,” said George.

  Rodney lost his temper. “I’m sorry, Mr. Dyer, but we obviously don’t speak the same language. I find your attitude insufferable.”

  “I am sorry.”