Caribbean Cocktail

by Jane Corrie

  at least she had not under-tipped them.

  Before he left, the porter directed her attention to a printed list of numbers hung up beside a telephone on a small side table. 'Anything you need, you just ring for, ma'am. It's all listed.'

  The next item on Cassy's agenda was the shower she had longed for since stepping off the plane, and although she was tired and tempted to forgo it when her eyes lingered on the comfortable bed, she searched out her toilet requirements and resolutely took the shower.

  The cold water somewhat refreshed her and as she rubbed her short curly brown hair dry, she studied the list of numbers the porter had drawn her attention to. Her eyes scanned the services listed, dining room, bar, reception desk—all very convenient, and she debated whether to ring down and request something in the refreshment line, liquid that was, as she had eaten on the plane only an hour before they had landed. In the end sleep won the toss, and she locked the bedroom door and crawled thankfully between the cool sheets, too tired to unpack any other items but her nightwear. Tomorrow, she told herself drowsily, she might have to book out again. It all depended on where Sylvia was to be located.

  The following morning she woke to the kind of weather one expects to get from an island in the Bahamas. The sunbeams filtered through the chinks of the window louvres, and for a while she lay and watched the pattern of the bright beams playing on the bedroom carpet.

  After a short dalliance on the wonder of finding herself in such a Caribbean paradise, she gave a short

  sigh and jerked her mind back to her problem of locating Sylvia. Now that she was refreshed, she could put her mind to the task without tiredness hampering her mental processes. She had been too exhausted the previous evening to even ask at reception if a Miss Mellar was registered there, and for all she knew, Sylvia could be occupying the very next room to hers.

  Cassy frowned on the thought. Somehow she did not think so, and was sure her original assumption had been the correct one. Sylvia knew her father a little too well to risk sending him her address.

  After a light but satisfying continental breakfast, that she had had sent up to her room, Cassy searched in her luggage for a cool dress to wear, and eventually chose a halter-necked cotton dress of a bright orange hue that brought out the lights in her chestnut hair. After tidying her hair, and applying a light touch of an orange-coloured lipstick to her generous mouth, she was ready for action, and set off on her way down to reception to begin her search for Sylvia.

  When she was eventually able to be attended to in the midst of the incoming and outgoing guests, all with different and seemingly urgent requests of the three receptionists on duty, and accepted with a coolness and calm that earned them Cassy's admiration, she felt almost apologetic when it was her turn to add to their harassment.

  After a quick check in the register, that covered the previous fortnight, the receptionist told Cassy that a Miss Mellar was definitely not booked in that hotel. Cassy's slight nod and exasperated sigh prompted the girl to suggest that she tried the other hotels in the

  vicinity. There were three in all, in this particular section of holiday accommodation.

  Cassy thanked her and wandered out into the spacious grounds surrounding the vast complex. Although she knew she ought to have gone to the front entrance and commandeered a taxi to take her to the other hotels as suggested by the helpful receptionist, she still had this unshakable conviction that it would be a waste of time. Wherever Sylvia had landed up, it would not be in this section of the island, and this meant that Cassy had to put on her thinking cap and try to come up with an answer.

  As she walked past lawned areas around which glorious blossomed shrubs gave off a heavenly scented fragrance, her eyes saw and admired the bright scarlets and pinks of the brilliant hisbiscus, and stared in wonderment at a poinsettia bush almost reaching tree proportions, only recognising the bright pointed flowers as she had bought a potted plant for Mrs Peel not so very long ago, in an effort to cheer her up when she had been poorly.

  Although she saw and wondered at the lovely kaleidoscope presented for the enjoyment of the guests, her mind was never far away from her present problem. The sun was warm on her bare arms as she followed the well kept paths that led her through the lush vegetation of the tropical gardens.

  Soon she came to a sports section; tennis courts on her right, and far into the distance on her left could be seen a golf course.

  It was the golf course that gave Cassy her first clue as to where Sylvia might be located. Her uncle had mentioned Mr Marchant, the firm's accountant, in

  whose hands her uncle had placed the responsibility of keeping an eye on his daughter. That had not really been fair, Cassy mused, as her eyes lingered on a bright red flag that directed one's attention to the green in the distance. Mr Marchant was a golf addict and had specifically come to Nassau to watch a tournament, and with luck get a game. Fortunately his wife was also addicted to the sport and had accompanied her husband, which was very fortunate for Sylvia at the time, as it was doubtful whether her father would have agreed to let her go that far away from home, even for a three-week holiday. As it was, he had charged the Marchants with the task of watching out for Sylvia— a charge that had had to be grudgingly accepted by all parties concerned, as far as George Mellar. was concerned anyway, but Cassy was in no doubt that Sylvia had no intention of following the Marchants round a golf course for most of her holiday. The same went for the Marchants, who would naturally not expect her to.

  Whether her uncle had taken this into consideration was doubtful, but the main thing was that Sylvia would not be entirely alone during her holiday. All she had to do, Cassy thought, was to find out where such a tournament was being held, as it was quite possible that Sylvia had booked into the same hotel as the Mar-chants; that way they would in part be fulfilling her father's wish.

  Cassy nodded to herself. That would be the way of it. Even if Sylvia had not booked into the same hotel, the Marchants would be sure to know which one she had booked into.

  With a feeling of accomplishment, she set off back

  to the hotel with a light step. With any luck she would be having lunch with Sylvia and listening to an explanation of her extraordinary decision to stay in the Bahamas.

  Back at the hotel, Cassy sought the assistance of the same receptionist who had been so helpful before, and made the enquiry as to which hotel would be holding a golf tournament at that particular time.

  This time the receptionist was able to help her. 'Oh, that would be the Beach Hotel,' she exclaimed quickly. `It's a little way away from here, though, in the Lyford Cay area. Any cabby will know; just ask for the Beach Hotel,' she said smilingly.

  Cassy thanked her, and at her courteous reply of, `You're very welcome, have a good day,' Cassy went in search of a taxi, fervently hoping that the kindly sentiment would be fulfilled.

  CHAPTER TWO

  THE Beach Hotel was an even plushier establishment than the one Cassy had just left, and considering the surrounding grounds contained a championship eighteen-hole golf course it was not surprising that the hotel lived up to the standards that would be demanded by the golf-addicted clientele.

  The sport was costly no matter where it was played, but out here, Cassy suspected, it would be even costlier. Her surmises were borne out as her feet sank into the plush carpeting of the reception foyer as she went to the desk to enquire after Sylvia.

  `Yes, we have a Miss Mellar registered with us,' supplied a uniformed clerk behind the impressive desk, and gave Cassy a swift appraisal as if trying to assess her business, and whether she was a friend or whether she was out on a commercial mission. He must have decided the former, for he gave her a rather bored smile and asked if she wanted her paged.

  Cassy shook her head. Chances were that Sylvia might just do a bolt should she hear her name being called over the relay system, for she must have known that her father would not have accepted the situation. `If you can give me some idea where I can find her,' she said
quickly, noting the way he had flicked down a switch on a panel in front of him. 'I shouldn't think she's still in her room, would you?' She looked at her watch; it was ten-thirty.

  He glanced back at a wide panel that listed the room numbers too numerous to have the old system of the room keys displayed, but they must have had some system, Cassy thought as he answered, 'Her key's not been handed in. Guess she's around the hotel. I should try the Treasure Trove,' he suggested laconically,

  'Treasure Trove?' queried Cassy, frowning.

  'It's a lounge,' he replied, 'first floor up. Lift's over there,' he added, indicating the direction with an abrupt nod, and turned away to attend to another enquiry.

  When the lift arrived at the first floor, Cassy asked the lift attendant, a Bahamian dressed in a smart maroon uniform, to direct her to the Treasure Trove feeling slightly foolish in asking for such a destination, but the request was taken with matter-of-fact coolness, and he directed her to the end of the corridor, and to turn right. 'You can't miss it, missy,' he told her in the soft island intonation.

  On turning to the right as directed, Cassy saw what he had meant by her not missing it. Instead of the usual doors to the entrance of the lounge, there was an archway around which hung tropical flora, and one had the distinct feeling that one had to hack away at the thick ferns covering the entrance before admittance. As Cassy moved nearer she saw that this was an optical illusion and an extremely clever contrivance to give the atmosphere the name suggested, and half expected to find herself in some kind of cavern once she had stepped over the threshold. However, when she entered she found a long sunlit room with a horseshoe-shaped bar at the far end, much like the type of lounge to be found in any other large hotel, except for the displays of tropical flowers that hung from wire baskets

  at various strategic points in the room.

  The 'decor was on a theme of orange and white, Cassy's favourite combination. Cool orange and white striped loungers were in plentiful supply, as were the white-topped tables and orange chairs grouped around them.

  All this Cassy noted as her eyes swept around the occupants of the lounge, and from the number of guests present it appeared to be a favourite meeting place. The talk that Cassy caught snatches of was mainly on golf, and that was to be expected, several men were dressed for action and were discussing tactics. It occurred to Cassy that either Sylvia had fallen for a golfer, or her previous tastes had somewhat changed, for her to be passing the time in such a gathering.

  It was at this moment that she caught sight of her quarry sitting on a lounger not very far from the bar and talking animatedly to a bronzed man by her side. As yet her presence was unknown to Sylvia and Cassy took the opportunity of sizing up the man by her side. Judging by Sylvia' s animation, and the way she tossed her fair hair back on making some point, Cassy was in no doubt that she was attempting to make some sort of an impression on the man.

  He would not be easily impressed, thought Cassy shrewdly, as her curious eyes lingered on his tanned features. A strong face if she ever saw one. That strong chin of his spoke of determination, as did the finely moulded lips. His eyes, she judged, would be grey. Her glance went on to note the brown hair, not too long but cut in the style of the day. An outdoor man, she decided, for quite apart from his deep tan there were blond streaks in his hair bleached by the sun. Her

  gaze then centred on his clothes, and she saw that he wore much the same sort of clothing as that favoured by the other golfers. So he was a golfer, she thought with a pang of surprise. Well, that explained Sylvia' s presence in such company for a start.

  Realising that she was about to give Sylvia a start, she moved forward in the surety that after the initial shock had been absorbed she would be welcomed with open arms. Sylvia did not hold grudges, and certainly not with Cassy; the girls were too close for that.

  Sylvia was on the point of taking another sip from her glass of fruit juice when Cassy presented herself with a calm, 'Hi, Sylvia! Your papa sends his regards ! '

  Sylvia choked on the drink, and a few drops of liquid slopped over from the glass that she now held in a slanting position on to her sun dress of deep blue. Making a swift recovery, she glared at Cassy. 'You! ' she said in low vibrant tones that would have done credit to the amateur theatre group she belonged to back at home. 'I suppose He sent you ' she hissed vehemently. She flung a defiant look back at the silent man beside her now studying Cassy with an intense stare. 'It's her,' she said dramatically. 'I told you they'd try and get me to go back, didn't I? Well, I'm not going. I've just about had enough ! ' She tossed her hair back and gave the man a pleading look, and Sylvia was exceptionally good at pleading looks, as she well knew, her wide pansy blue eyes gave her a head start in such a situation. 'I need that job, Justin,' she said urgently. 'Please see to it for me.'

  The man remained staring at Cassy, giving her the sort of look that made her feel naked, and kept his eyes on her as he said dryly, 'I might at that.'

  Sylvia caught his hand in a fervent hold. 'Oh, thank you, Justin ! I knew I could rely on you!' she said, in a way that suggested that he had just saved her life.

  Thoroughly bemused, Cassy just stood there, vaguely wondering if she ought to start from the beginning again and make another entry, as it was obvious she had come in on the wrong cue ! Her indignant blue eyes stared at Sylvia, then she found her voice with a, 'What is all this about?' and looked suspiciously at Sylvia's glass. 'What are you drinking?' she asked suggestively.

  Sylvia stared back at her. 'You don't have to pretend with Justin,' she said haughtily, 'he knows all about it.' She got up swiftly. 'I'm simply not going to discuss it —not here, anyway.' She gave Cassy a haughty look. `Whatever he wants to say to me, you can tell me in my room—but I warn you, it's not going to make the slightest difference. I'm staying!' She glanced back at the man, who had now got to his feet, and Cassy noted how tall he was as he towered over them. 'Justin's just offered me a job, so I can now keep myself, and you can tell my father that I have no need of any further funds from him.' With an air of a duchess, she then ordered Cassy to, 'Follow me,' and swept out of the lounge.

  `What's going on?' queried Cassy indignantly, when she had got her breath back, and they were well out of earshot of any listener.

  Sylvia gave a quick glance behind her before she answered, 'Wait till we get to my room,' and Cassy was forced to do just that.

  It was fortunate for her that Sylvia' s room was on the next floor up, although she used the stairs rather than take the elevator. This, Cassy suspected, was a ploy to give her more time to work out a plausible

  answer to her extremely odd behaviour. Whatever it was, Cassy was determined to get to the bottom of it.

  When the girls reached Sylvia' s room, Cassy firmly shut the door behind her, absently noticing that the room was almost identical to her room at the other hotel, in that she too had a bathroom off the entrance lobby. The decor, though, was on a more lavish scale than hers.

  Leaning back against the door, she watched Sylvia walk across to the bed and sit down on it. 'Now give!' she said in a voice that warned Sylvia that she had better have a good excuse for her extraordinary welcome to her.

  Sylvia looked back at Cassy, taking in the flush of indignation on her high cheekbones, and the sparkle in her periwinkle blue eyes, then at her curly chestnut brown hair that framed her heart-shaped face that glinted with amber lights as the rays of the morning sun caught it, and finally rested on her retroussé nose that made her look more like sixteen than twenty-two. `Perhaps it wasn't such a good idea after all,' she murmured, rather to herself than for Cassy's benefit.

  `Well?' demanded Cassy.

  Sylvia gave a low chuckle that added to Cassy's indignation. 'If you could have seen your face!' she chuckled. But honestly, dear, there wasn't anything else I could do.'

  Cassy drew a deep breath. 'I didn't expect a rip-roaring welcome,' she said dryly, 'on the other hand, I didn't envisage quite that sort of welcome. What are you up to?'
>
  An impish look appeared in Sylvia's eyes. 'You're not going to like it,' she said, giving Cassy a quick look

  before she went on. want to stay here, Cassy,' she was serious now. 'And to stay here, I must have a job,' she explained slowly.

  think I've got that message,' replied cassy a little caustically. 'Though why you should want to make the stay permanent somewhat eludes me. A place like this is fine for a few weeks, but it's not home.' She gave Sylvia a long studying look. w ho is he?' she asked abruptly. 'The bronzed Apollo you were appealing to to find you a job when I walked into the line of fire?'

  Sylvia smiled. 'He's quite something, isn't he?' she said confidingly, then sighed. 'He'd never look at me in that way,' she said with a trace of disappointment in her voice. 'To him, I'm just a girl who's a long way away from home, and he's been trying to persuade me to go back.'

  Cassy's brows rose in surprise; it was not as she had thought. 'Well, why don't you do just that?' she answered brightly. 'At least after this next week; I don't want to go back straight away, not having come this far, so I might as well get some sunbathing in.' She spoke lightly, for she was relieved; her task was not going to be so difficult as she had imagined after seeing the man Sylvia was trying to impress, since it appeared that he was on her side and was trying to make Sylvia see sense.

  'Because I don't want to !' replied Sylvia firmly, and her glance left Cassy and lingered on her fingers now playing with the ornate tassel of her dress belt. 'It's all right for you,' she said in a low despondent voice. 'You've got the kennels, but what have I got? Apart from the office job that's becoming a rotten bore, and Trevor Bruton breathing down my neck waiting to

  put a ring on my finger simply because father's given him his blessing.' She took a deep breath. 'It's only through you that I've stuck it out for so long, but you've got the kennels now—or at least you will have, I can't see Mrs Peel letting them go to anyone else— and you'll move next door.' She gave Cassy an appealing look. 'And that leaves me with Christine on one side and Dad on the other pushing me up the aisle with Trevor!'