hurricane!

by Mary Lyons

  'In fact, Luke, if you think it might work—maybe. . . er. . . maybe this is the time to start saying a few prayers. . .?' she muttered huskily, swallowing hard against a rising tide of panic.

  'That bad, huh?'

  'Mm-hm.'

  She was surprised, both by the comforting warmth of Luke's hand as he grasped her trembling knee, and the dry amusement in his voice as he assured her, 'As they say: "the opera's never over till the fat lady sings". . .! So, relax, sweetheart. We're going to beat this little problem—no sweat!'

  'Luke Brandon's personal guarantee?' she asked, a slight catch in her voice as she gave him a shaky, wobbly smile.

  'Absolutely!'

  'Oh, Luke. . .!' She bit her lip and then took a deep breath. 'I think I'd better tell you. . .' She paused as another flash of lightning zigzagged across the sky, and she fought to control the plane as it lurched downwards once more. 'It isn't just the storm. I—I don't know if you followed what the man was saying over the in­tercom, but somewhere out there. . .' She nodded towards the black clouds surrounding the aircraft. 'Well, it seems that there are four other aeroplanes. . .'

  'Four? In that mess?'

  She nodded. 'A large passenger jet and three small aircraft.'

  'Oh-oh. That doesn't sound too good.'

  'It isn't. Because, other than the jet, none of them is likely to have any radar on board. Which means that there's a very strong chance that at least one of us is going to run into another plane. And if that happens. . .'

  'We'll be sitting on a cloud, harp in hand and learning how to fly with real wings?'

  'Yes—I'm afraid so,' she agreed in a small, tearful voice.

  'OK, so that's the bad news,' Luke said, his voice sounding calm and confident, although as she glanced at his face she saw a pulse beating rapidly in his jaw, and there were beads of sweat on his forehead. 'Is there any good news?'

  She shook her head. 'Unfortunately, no—not really. I. . .I'm flying as fast as this aircraft will travel—the sort of equivalent of putting my foot hard down on a car's accelerator,' she explained. 'What I'm hoping is that if we can succeed in avoiding all the other planes which are out there in the clouds somewhere, we may manage to out-fly the storm. But I've only a rough idea of where we are at the moment, and it. . . it's such a slim hope. . .' Her voice died away and she gave a helpless shrug of her shoulders.

  Her eyes felt gritty and her limbs trembled under the strain as she stared numbly at the compass. Had she chosen the right heading? It was a total gamble and the stakes were impossibly high. A wave of tiredness seemed to wash through her body, along with a stupefying feeling of futility. There was no way of knowing the height and speed of the other aircraft, and even if she could avoid them, she couldn't fly into any airport without radio contact—which was also a vital necessity if she was to attempt landing in this murky darkness. All she could do was to keep flying, and hope to God that she didn't run out of fuel, because if so. . .

  The long silence was broken by the sound of Luke clearing his throat. 'I guess we must have reached the point in the disaster movie where someone runs amok, the other passengers start singing "My country, 'tis of thee", and the little old lady of ninety—who's never flown before in her life—takes over the controls of the plane!'

  'Thanks for those few words of comfort!' Samantha was surprised to find herself giving him a weak, shaky grin, her tense body relaxing slightly as she continued to peer through the thick, black cloud outside the cockpit.

  'That's better,' he said, reaching over to give her hand a brief squeeze. 'You're doing fine, sweetheart. I have every confidence that you're going to get us out of this mess—so try and keep as cool and as calm as you can, OK?'

  'You. . .you really believe we're going to make it?'

  'I most certainly do,' he said firmly. 'Fear is a far more dangerous enemy than a few small planes out there in that vast sky,' he added, his strong personality con­tinuing to support and encourage her faltering belief in their survival as the minutes ticked slowly by.

  '. . .Besides which,' he concluded with a laugh. 'There's no way I'm going to Kingdom Come with so many loose ends lying around. And that's that!'

  'Luke Brandon is now dictating terms to the Almighty?' she asked with a wobbly smile.

  He grinned. 'Why not? I'm sure that whoever's up there will perfectly understand that I need some more time down here. After all, quite apart from anything else, I need time in which to try and convince you of a few, very important facts.'

  'Such as. . .?'

  'Such as the fact that I completely lost my heart to you, the very first time I laid eyes on you—and that there has never been anyone else for me, from that day to this. And the fact that I was a damn fool not to realise the trouble Adele was causing to our marriage.'

  'You mean. . .'

  'She was lying,' he said firmly. 'God knows why— because I most certainly never made love to her. She was a very efficient assistant—and that's all she was. Be­sides, Adele was the sort of girl who wouldn't go to bed with a man, not unless there was a very clear wedding ring in view.'

  'And Corrine. . .?' she muttered, staring at the in­strument panel in front of her. The force of the wind seemed to have abated somewhat, and it was proving easier to keep the plane on an even keel. 'What about your relationship with Corrine?'

  Luke sighed. 'You're such a fool, sweetheart! Is it likely, when I came to St Pauls for the sole purpose of trying to get you to come back to me, that I'd be stupid enough to bring a girlfriend along to keep me company?' He gave a harsh, sardonic bark of laughter. 'I do think that you might have given me credit for having some intelligence.'

  'Yes. . .well. . .' Samantha's cheeks flushed as she stared out of the cockpit at the enveloping darkness. 'But I thought. . . I thought you were there to buy the hotel,' she added lamely.

  'That was just an excuse for being on the island. There wasn't anything that couldn't be handled by one of my staff,' he said dismissively. 'And that's all Corrine was— a good architect whom I employed to do a job of work. End of story. I promise you that there has been no other woman in my life since you left,' he added, his voice heavy with sincerity.

  'Not one? In four years?' she gave an incredulous laugh. 'Now it's your turn to give me credit for having some intelligence!'

  'OK, OK. . .' he grinned, a slight flush reddening his cheeks. 'I'll admit that when you walked out on me, I was so damn mad with both you and the world in general that I. . .' He sighed and shrugged his broad shoulders. 'However, I very soon found out that I didn't want anyone else. I wanted you. But I wanted you to trust me; to know in your heart of hearts that I'm not the sort of guy who two-times his wife; to realise that I meant every single word of the marriage vows we made together. Was that too much to ask?'

  'Well, I. . .'

  'I guess it was,' he continued. 'I can now see that trust is something that needs time to flourish; time in which two people can really get to know one another. And I was always far too busy and preoccupied with work, wasn't I?' Luke gave a heavy sigh, brushing his fingers roughly through his dark hair. 'I was a damn fool, and it's largely my fault that our marriage didn't work out. It's taken me a long time—and, God knows, I sure hate to admit defeat!—but I guess I've finally come to accept the fact that you really do want a divorce.'

  'Oh, Luke! I've been so. . .so. . .' There seemed to be a large lump in her throat and she had difficulty in swallowing. How could she possibly ever begin to ex­plain that it had taken until now for her to realise—when it was far, far too late—that not only did she love this hard, tough man with all her heart, but that all the stresses and strains of the past now seemed totally un­important? The relationship between them, once so full of misery and tension, was now one based on a far more equal, mature footing. Barbara had been right. Odd as it might seem—and it certainly had taken her a long time to discover the truth—she and Luke really did enjoy ar­guing with each other, both of them even going as far as to relish a good f
ight! And now, because of her own blind stupidity, she had thrown away all her chances of future happiness.

  'I—I don't know what to say. . .' she added in a strangled voice, bitterly ashamed of the fact that there was nothing she could do to prevent her eyes from filling with hopeless tears.

  'Hey—there's no need to cry, sweetheart,' he mur­mured tenderly, leaning across to gently wipe her eyes with his handkerchief.

  'You. . .you don't understand,' she sniffed, trying to think how to explain that the last thing she now wanted was a divorce—especially when, only a few hours ago, she had so firmly declared that she did.

  'Sure I do. There are a lot of people who really care about each other—but, for one reason or another, they just can't seem to live together. I guess we fall into that category, hmm? And it's because I love you, and want you to be happy, that I promise—if we manage to survive this mess!—that I'll fix up a quiet divorce. OK?'

  'But you can't do that!' she wailed. 'Not when I've only just realised. . .'

  'My God—you've done it'.'

  Luke's jubilant shout resounded around the interior of the cockpit as the small aircraft suddenly broke through the black clouds into the normal, hazy sunshine of a Caribbean afternoon. The contrast between the smothering, dark mass of dense vapour which had en­veloped them for so long, and the brilliant azure-blue sky in which they were now flying, was so extraordi­narily dramatic that it was a second or two before Samantha could come to terms with their miraculous deliverance.

  'So I have!' she exclaimed at last, and then they were both overcome with hysterical laughter as they revelled in the euphoric relief of having escaped from dire peril— and the sheer, overwhelming joy of being alive.

  Luke pointed towards an island ahead. 'Is that St Pauls?'

  'Yup—it looks like we're home and dry,' she grinned, her smile slowly giving way to consternation as they drew nearer to the small airstrip. 'I don't understand,' she muttered, banking the plane so that she could stare down. 'It looks as if. . .'

  'Is that an aeroplane?' he asked, peering down at what seemed to be various bits and pieces of a broken toy lying on the grass runway.

  'Oh, lord—we must be too late! I—I don't under­stand, but it looks as if the hurricane must have somehow struck the island before we got here!' she cried. 'What on earth am I going to do? I can't land there—not without hitting some of that debris.'

  He put a warning hand on her shoulder. 'Calm down, and take a deep breath, OK? We've come this far—so the rest has to be a piece of cake! Cool down. . . that's right. Good girl!' he added as she began to relax her tense, strained body. 'Now, let's begin to start thinking straight again, hmm? Is there anywhere else you can land on the island?'

  'Well. . .' She frowned and tried to concentrate on the problem. She was feeling so tired that it seemed an age before she managed to cudgel her weary brain into finding a solution to the problem. 'The beach in front of the hotel is too short, but maybe. . .yes, there is another stretch just around the corner of the bay. I'm not sure. . . but it might be possible to land there.'

  'It doesn't look as if we've any choice—unless you think you can make it to Antigua?'

  Samantha shook her head wearily. 'No, I haven't enough fuel, and if the storm has caused that amount of damage to the plane on the airstrip. . . well, I must try and get back to the hotel.'

  'OK—let's go for it!'

  Her hands were damp with sweat, slipping on the joystick as she turned and flew low over the sea towards the proposed site. The fuel gauges looked pretty well empty, which would reduce the risk of fire, she thought, desperately trying to force herself into doing the vital checks before attempting a landing.

  'You'd better strap yourself in as tightly as you can,' she warned Luke, circling widely over the narrow strip of beach as she debated with herself the best approach for a landing.

  'Good luck, sweetheart,' he muttered.

  'I'm going to need it,' she said, checking the airspeed indicator and making a wide, banking turn to line up the nose of the Cessna on the unusual airstrip. 'Well. . .' she added with a shaky laugh, 'here goes nothing!'

  Putting on full flaps, she trimmed the plane as care­fully as she could, the controls feeling mushy beneath her hands as the aircraft lost airspeed. The beach looked so short, so narrow. . . She set her teeth and concen­trated as never before in her life. She was only going to get one go at this landing—and she was going to have to get it right.

  Slowly gliding down, she closed the throttle com­pletely as the wheels grazed the sand at the end of the beach. Everything seemed to be going well, until there was a sickening crunch, the airframe shuddering as the undercarriage struck a rock and the fuselage collapsed on to the sand, sliding with a horrifically frightening tearing sound towards the far end of the beach.

  Samantha fought with the controls, wrestling franti­cally as she tried to keep the aircraft pointing in a straight line. Oh, God! She'd misjudged the speed and landed too fast. She'd never be able to stop. . . When it was almost too late, she suddenly saw another pile of rocks ahead. In desperation, and using her last, dwindling re­serves of strength, she swung the rudder hard over, the fuselage of the Cessna swerving violently around with a loud, rasping sound like that of sandpaper on glass. And then, as if in slow motion, it seemed as if her side of the aircraft was caving in, and she barely registered the heavy blow to her head.

  Bracing himself for the crash, Luke watched help­lessly as the aeroplane spun sharply to the left and then— miraculously!—came to a shuddering, juddering halt beside some tall, jagged rocks, its nose buried deep in a sandbank.

  'That's my girl!' he laughed with relief, punching the release buckle on his harness before turning to Samantha.

  'I swear I never thought that we'd. . . Oh, no. . .!' he cried, his eyes widening in horror as he saw the steady flow of blood trickling down the pale, ashen cheeks of the limp figure lying unconscious in the seat beside him.

  * * *

  Samantha surfaced from the depths of a dark, swirling mist, her eyelids fluttering as she gazed blindly up at Luke's face, only inches away from her own. Where was she? And why. . . why did she feel so weightless, and yet have this peculiar feeling that she was somehow still travelling. . .? Gradually, her dazed confusion gave way to a deep, pounding headache and the dim, foggy realis­ation that she was being carried in her husband's arms as he made his way over rugged sand dunes at the edge of the beach.

  'L-Luke. . .' she whispered, closing her eyes as the pain in her head intensified. 'Where. . .? The plane. . .?'

  'Hush, darling. Don't worry, everything's going to be all right,' he murmured, clutching her firmly to his chest as, without slackening his pace, he lowered his head to press his lips to her brow.

  'But I—I must. . .please. . .put me down. . .let me go. . .' she gasped.

  His arms tightened convulsively about her. 'I'm never letting you go again. Never!' he said fiercely, the breath rasping in his throat as he struggled over the shifting sand towards a plantation of palm trees. 'Just hang on in there, sweetheart. It won't be long now,' he added, but she didn't hear him as their jolting progress proved too painful for her aching head to cope with, a low moan breaking from her lips as she lapsed back into the dark mists once more.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Samantha finally returned to full consciousness, slowly becoming aware of a confused background noise of ex­cited conversation and a heavy, rumbling sound as if some heavy object was being dragged across a wooden floor. She felt a cold cloth being placed on her forehead, and, as she opened her eyes, the worried face of Betty Finberg swam before her vision.

  'What's happened. . .? Ouch!' Samantha winced with pain as she turned her head, astonished to find herself lying on a sofa in the middle of the lounge of the Hamilton Plantation Hotel.

  'You must be careful, honey. You've had a nasty crack on the head,' Betty said, removing the cloth from Samantha's head, and replacing it with another from a bowl of cold water
on the floor beside her. 'Now, just take it easy,' she added as the younger girl struggled to sit up.

  'But what about Luke? And the plane? And. . . and I thought the hurricane had been through here, but. . .'

  'Whoa—relax!' Betty murmured, pressing her back on to the cushions. 'First of all, that husband of yours is just fine. He's out the back getting all the staff or­ganised, but I'm sure he'll be up here to see you just as soon as he can. As for your aunt's aeroplane—Luke tells me that it's a write-off, I'm afraid. But at least you got back here safely, in one piece and in time—that's the main thing, isn't it?' she added soothingly.

  Samantha frowned, gritting her teeth against the pounding ache in her head. 'I—well, I don't understand. Why is Luke organising the staff, and what about the hurricane? The hotel doesn't seem to have been damaged, and—oh Betty. . .' she groaned. 'Just now, I'd sell my soul for a couple of aspirins!'

  'Right here.' The older woman carefully helped her to sit up, and then placed two tablets and a glass of water in her trembling hands. 'You'll feel better soon,' she promised.

  'Oh, God—I hope so!'

  'Sure you will,' Betty said comfortingly, before briefly narrating the story of the flight from St Barts, as told to her by Luke, and the final emergency landing on a beach near the hotel.

  'Heavens to Betsy! I nearly died when I saw this man striding up over the lawn—and there you were, lying all limp and unconscious in his arms!' Betty sighed and shook her head.

  'But what about. . .'

  '. . . Hurricane Hannah? Well, the fact is that while we've heard the warning on the radio, we're still waiting to see if it's going to hit the island. Which is why that handsome husband of yours is busy getting everyone organised at the moment,' Betty explained. 'All the guests have been given various jobs to do—why, even my Hector is busy running around like a two-year-old!'

  'I—I'm sure that I saw a plane scattered all over the runway.. .and that's why I thought the hurricane had already hit the island. Or, at least, I—I think I saw a plane. . .' Samantha paused, closing her eyes for a moment as she tried to recall all that had happened since that swift, hurried departure from St Barts. Unfortu­nately, the sequence of events seemed to be jumbled up in her mind, and, although she could vividly remember the terrifying tension of the flight itself, she had little or no recollection of her crash-landing on the beach.