The irony of the situation did not please her and she wished she could have met Stephen without any subterfuge or lies. It was suddenly important that he should not think badly of her, and though she knew she could justify her actions on the grounds that she was doing it for his own paper, from her knowledge of the man she knew he would not easily forgive anyone who made a fool of him.
'Hey, Janey!' Greg Pearson's drawling voice with its pseudo-American accent broke into her thoughts. We're supposed to be doing the cha-cha, remember, and you're a million miles away.'
'Sorry, Greg, I was just thinking.'
'A beautiful girl like you has no business to think!' Greg pulled her close. 'Now come on, baby, give with the hips!'
By the end of the day Jane had culled enough material to be able to return to her cabin and write a long article. With so many celebrities on board no reporter worthy of the name could have failed to concoct a dozen human interest stories, but she had had to be careful how she had gathered her material, for questions that came naturally from a reporter were apt, unless carefully worded, to sound impertinent from a girl ostensibly indulging in social conversation.
It said much for her ability that she was able to extract her information without exciting suspicion, and her pen flew over the paper as she turned all that she had learned into paragraphs which she knew would be lapped up by the readers of the Morning Star.
So intent was she on writing that she did not hear the dinner bell, and by the time she looked up from her pad it was nearly nine-thirty. Her head was aching and, unable to face the prospect of changing, she ordered a light snack to be brought to her cabin. The Cambrian would be docking at Cannes at nine the next morning and she wanted to be fresh for the forthcoming day.
When the yacht dropped anchor outside Cannes Harbour the sky was already a fierce blue, its colour echoed in deeper tones in the water. The harbour itself was filled with yachts bobbing and tossing in the breeze, and though from this distance she could not distinguish the Croisette itself, she was able to make out the gaily coloured awnings of the restaurants that lined the quayside and the twin towers of the Carlton Hotel further along the promenade. Even from this distance there was a magic quality about her first sight of the Cote D'Azur, a quality enhanced by the crispness of the air and the muted colours of the grey-green hills that receded into the distance.
'It's a lovely sight, isn't it?' a voice said behind her, and she swung round to see her escort. Once more he was wearing navy slacks, but his shirt this time was white silk and emphasized the blackness of his hair. 'I suppose you've seen it many times before?'
'As a matter of fact I haven't. I've been to Paris and the Normandy coast, but never as far south as this.'
'Then I look forward t6 showing you a bit of the real France hidden away behind the glamour.'
In the distance they heard the chugging of an outboard motor, and he leaned over the rail. 'We'll be able to embark in a minute. They've already lowered the gangplank.'
'Is everyone going ashore?'
'I should think so, if only to buy perfume! The richer the people the bigger their desire to find bargains.'
Jane longed to ask him where Claire was, but as she descended the gangplank she glimpsed the girl walking along the deck with Colin. There was a sullen expression on her face and Colin too seemed ill at ease. Poor man! He was no doubt getting the benefit of Claire's temper!
But soon all thoughts of Colin and Claire were forgotten as she took her place in the small boat and felt the salt spray beating against her skin.
'I should have warned you to bring a scarf,' the man at her side said. 'Sea water will ruin your hair set.'
'How knowledgeable you are about women!' The laughter in her voice died as she felt him stiffen beside her, and realized that his schooling must have come from the woman to whom he had been engaged.
Within a few moments they were on shore and Jane was astonished to see the Croisette packed with cars, most of them gleaming roadsters and all seemingly occupied by bronzed, handsome men, and women who resembled either
Brigitte Bardot or Sophia Loren. She was glad she was wearing one of Janey's more sophisticated outfits, a pleated dress of blue shantung that almost matched the colour of her eyes. The bodice was cut lower than she would normally have worn, and she made a conscious effort to keep her shoulders well back. One could show almost everything in a bikini without attracting a second glance, yet a bodice cut an inch too low took on an extraordinarily provocative appearance.
'Horse or horse-power?' Stephen Drake asked as he led her across the quay to the -fiacres and cabs lining up for their first customers.
'Horse, please.' Seeing him smile, she said defensively: 'I suppose you think I'm silly?'
'Young, but not silly.' Holding out his hand, he helped her up into the rickety carriage.
It was the first time Jane had ever ridden in a fiacre, and though the horse moved slowly the carriage shook from side to side, giving the impression of great speed and making her cling breathlessly to the sides.
'Relax,' her escort said. 'I promise you'll come to no harm!' He pulled her back against him and she was intensely conscious of his thigh pressing against hers. 'That's better,' he said and, putting his arm round the top of the seat, let his hand rest lightly on her shoulder. 'These horses are very sure-footed and you've nothing to worry about.'
'I'm not worried. I just feel as if I'm being put through a blender.'
He laughed. 'What a funny kid you are. You have the strangest expressions.'
'I wish you wouldn't call me a kid, Mr. Drake.'
'The name's Stephen. And I'm sorry if I sounded fatherly. But you must blame your blonde hair. It makes you look so young.'
'Blondes are supposed to look sophisticated.
'Not when their hair curls up at the ends like ducks' tails.'
At the teasing in his voice she felt as though a hand were pressing against her throat making it difficult to breathe. More aware of his glance than ever, she turned her head away and concentrated on the scenery. The palm-lined Croisette would have been beautiful had it not been for the preponderance of cars, but even so she could appreciate the luxury of the hotels set back from the road, many of them with their own terraces dotted with small tables and gaily coloured umbrellas. White-coated waiters were already serving aperitifs, and holiday-makers were strolling down to the narrow stretch of sand covered from end to end with deck-chairs and mattresses and sunshades.
Presently the fiacre left the main road and took an uphill path between stretches of pine wood. The road became steeper as they climbed, and after about half an hour the driver reined in his horse and spoke volubly to Stephen. His accent was too thick for Jane to follow, but she was aware of many gesticulations towards the animal between the shafts.
'Is anything wrong?' she asked.
'He says it's too steep for the horse,' Stephen answered. 'I was a fool not to have realized it myself.'
'What a pity he didn't tell us before.'
'I expect he didn't want to lose the fare.' Suddenly he leaned over the side of the carriage and waved his arm. A small car screeched to a stop and he jumped down on to the road and held out his hand to Jane. 'We can take a taxi the rest of the way. At least you've had your buggy ride.'
Soon they were driving along the Grande Corniche with Cannes far below them and olive groves ahead. For more than an hour they drove along the winding road, negotiating the hairpin bends with a turn of speed that petrified her. Stephen did not even appear to notice and sat smoking a cigarette in a corner of the car. Soon they turned off from the main highway, and as they drove deeper into the heart of Provence the air grew heavier and warmer. They drove slowly through many villages, and Jane was delighted by the beautiful play of shadows on the cobbled roads and the tall trees that formed a green canopy high above their heads.
They stopped for a drink at a small bistro and sat at a table on the pavement watching the passers-by - plump, dark-skinned women doi
ng their shopping and small knots of men indulging in a never-ending conversation, while children played marbles around a small fountain.
'I'm always promising myself I'll tour Provence, village by village,' Stephen said as he sipped his Dubonnet and lit another cigarette. 'I think this is the real France. Here you can feel its heart beat. Not at all like the phoney glamour of Cannes or Nice. Still, maybe you'd have preferred to stay there? I'm afraid I took it for granted you'd like something quiet.'
'I do. It's a pleasure to get away from people. Besides, when you're in Cannes you could just as easily be in Bournemouth - except for the difference in food and language! But here—' she waved her arm, indicating a woman carrying a French loaf a yard long and shouting at a swarthy-skinned child leading a donkey by the reins - 'here it's unmistakably different.'
He nodded and, dropping some coins on the table, stood up. 'Come on, Janey. We've still got a way to go.'
"Where are you taking me?
'To a place I know where they serve the best lunch on the coast. It's not as pretentious as La Mer Terrasse or La Bonne Auberge, but the food's even better.'
They drove for another half hour, climbing high into the hills before finally stopping at a low-storeyed villa, its walls painted pink, the doors and windows heavily covered with bougainvillea.
An elderly man in a white jacket greeted Stephen with an exclamation of pleasure and led him through a flat-tiled hall to a large terrace set with tables and tall columns around which twined dark green leaves. The view that met Jane's eyes was breathtakingly beautiful. Endless groves of olive trees stretched for miles and beyond them in the hazy distance shimmered the sea. There was no sound of cars to spoil the peace, only the chirping of crickets and the buzzing of the cicadas.
'Have you any preference as to what you'd like to eat?' Stephen asked as they, sat at a table on the edge of the terrace, 'or will you leave it me?'
Knowing that he hoped she would do just this, Jane nodded and listened with amusement as he proceeded to order. It was not an order quickly given nor lightly accepted, for he and the patron had lengthy discussions over every item. Jane was able to follow this conversation, but could not make head or tail of the dishes eventually decided upon, and said as much when they were left alone.
'Theirs not to reason why,' Stephen replied. 'But of course if you'd like steak and two veg…'
She laughed and leaned back in her chair. 'It's glorious here. We seem miles from civilization.'
'This is civilization. The life that's led down below—' he waved his arm '—isn't life at all. It's a meaningless round of activity, and the people who indulge in it are like mice on a wheel, going round and round and never getting anywhere.'
'You're on the wheel too,' she reminded him. 'And your wheel is bigger and faster than anyone else's!'
'I know. Sometimes I've a notion to give it all up and live on an island miles away from anyone.'
'What stops you?'
He did not answer, but his expression was so bleak that she leaned forward and touched his arm. 'You're depressed because you're tired, Stephen. There's been too much output in the last few years and not enough input. A month of rest will, give you the energy to go on.'
'Go on,' he said dully. 'Go on to where and to what? And for whom?'
'The last question is the most important,' she said softly. 'It's for whom that matters to you most. If you had someone for whom you wanted to work, your whole life would take on meaning. It isn't empty because you have to work, it's empty because you don't love. That's why you're lonely, too.'
'How do you know I'm lonely?'
'We're all lonely without love.'
'What about your great saints? Or your priests? What love did they have?'
'Love of God. It doesn't matter what it's love of.' She smiled. 'As long as it's not love of self.'
He was a long time replying, and when he did his answer was surprising.
'I've never talked to a woman the way I've talked to you. It's as if I've known you all my life. I thought at first it was because we were on a ship and ships do strange things to people. But we're on firm ground now and the feeling is still the same.' He smiled slightly. 'Somehow I can't think of you as Cedric Belton's daughter. You're not an heiress type, Janey. In fact, you're not even a Janey! It's a ridiculous name and it doesn't suit you.'
'I agree with you. I'd much rather you called me Jane.'
'Jane. That's much better. Yes, you are a Jane. Reserved and warm.'
Jane closed her eyes, listening not so much to what he said as to the way he said it To have him call her by her own name made her feel less of an impostor, and once more she knew a longing to reveal her identity. In the normal way she— Abruptly she opened her eyes and brought herself back to reality. In the normal way the nearest she could have got to Stephen Drake was a name on a staff list!
At that moment the patron arrived with the first of many delicious courses, and she forgot the past and the future and savoured only the present And what a mouth-watering present it was: vine leaves stuffed with rice and olives, moules farcies a la Proven$ale- mussels covered with egg yolks and butter and golden breadcrumbs - and cotes de volatile - chicken breasts with smoked ham and foie gras fried in butter, the meal ending with omelette soufflee, a golden ball of lightness flavoured with Grand Marnier and cognac.
'I don't think I'll ever be able to eat again,' she said as she spooned up the last delicious mouthful.
'I'm glad you thought it worth the drive!'
'Oh, I do.'
Yet it was not so much the food she appreciated as the hours she had been able to spend alone with Stephen. She had expected him to have a keen mind and to be highly intelligent. But she had been unprepared for his sense of humour, his sympathetic outlook and warm understanding of many problems.
It was only as they strolled from the terrace and began to walk through the woods below that he expressed the same surprise in her.
'I assume you've led a sheltered existence,' he said, 'yet you seem extremely knowledgeable about a great many things.' He caught her arm as she stumbled over the root of a tree. 'Where did you learn so much about life? I assume it wasn't from your school!'
'It certainly wasn't,' she laughed, and wondered what he would say if he knew that he himself had paid for much of her experience. She remembered the tedious weeks she had spent in Glasgow, culling information for a series of articles, and the days she had spent sitting on hard benches in dreary courts as the washed-out dregs of humanity had shambled through them. It was difficult to retain one's idealism in such circumstances, difficult to keep up the pretence of being naive and uncaring of the world. Yet so many reporters did stop caring, became cynical and weary, regarded other people's tragedies as their own good stories.
'Come back, Jane.' Stephen's voice was teasing. 'You've a strange habit of mentally disappearing.'
'I'm sorry.' She walked on more quickly, nervous of his closeness and of her own reaction to it.
The air was cool in the wood and the lemon gloom was occasionally broken by a slanting ray of sunlight The ground beneath her feet was slippery with pine needles, but Stephen's hand was always ready to help her. Gradually the trees began to thin out until they reached an open space at the bottom of the hill. Here the grass was dry and yellowing, and she sank down on it. He sprawled beside her, his lean face upturned to the sun, his hands clasped beneath his head.
'I'd forgotten how beautiful it was,' he said. 'It's so long since I've been here.'
'Sometimes it isn't good to come back.'
He was silent for a moment as though considering her statement. 'It's been even better this time,' he said at last. 'When I was here before I was alone.'
Jane's cheeks burned and she turned her head away, hoping he had not noticed. How stupid of her to blush like a schoolgirl because a man paid her a compliment! The silence between them lengthened, became so heavy with unspoken thoughts that she was compelled to break it.
'You're bra
ver than I am, Stephen. I've always thought it a mistake to retrace one's steps.'
He smiled. 'It isn't like you to be cynical.'
'I'm not cynical,' she protested. 'Only I think we either tend to glamorize the past or else give it an intensity it never had. Return to a place that once gave you happiness and you're pretty sure to find it deadly. Meet someone you used to love and you're pretty sure to…' Her voice trailed away and she looked at her hands, wishing she could draw back the words. But words once said could never be unspoken, could rarely be forgotten.
'I wonder if you're right.' His voice was almost inaudible. 'I wish to God I could find out.'
'Maybe you - you'll meet her.'
'Meet whom?' he asked sharply.
'Georgina.' Jane waited for him to explode, but he merely sighed.
'I'll tell you if I do. I promise you that.' He jumped to his feet. 'Come on, child, we've a long drive ahead of us and I
wouldn't like us to miss the boat.'
'It would be terrible for my reputation,' she giggled.
'I didn't think you young things worried about that I do, but then I'm old-fashioned.'
'When men say they're old-fashioned they generally mean they have one standard for themselves and another standard for their womenfolk!'
The thick black eyebrows lifted in surprise. 'And what exactly does that mean?'
Rachel Lindsay - Moonlight and Magic Page 6
