To Play With Fire

by Flora Kidd

  Work at the Gardens went on in its usual tranquil rhythm. Flowers bloomed in profusion, producing psychedelic flashes of colour, and every day Tory was fascinated by the way the hibiscus mutabilis changed colour from white in the morning to delicate rose

  pink at noon through deeper and deeper pink all afternoon, to end as dull red before it closed its petals in the evening.

  She gave her first talk on gardening to a group of enthusiastic islanders in a church hall in Port Anne. Nervous at first, she warmed to her theme when she found that her audience listened quietly and appreciatively. Some of the listeners came forward afterwards to invite her to see their gardens so that she could give them on-the-spot advice about which plants they should grow. Tory accepted the invitations happily, knowing that they meant she had been accepted by the friendly people.

  Yes, work was going well and her relationship with Magnus too seemed to be making progress, although so far he had not shown by any word or action that he regarded her with any more fondness than he might have for an old and trusted friend.

  But it would take time for him to realise she could be more than that, she told herself on the Friday of that week, as she dressed in her delphinium blue gown for the first real social occasion since she had arrived in Airouna; a reception held in Government House for all the people in government employment and which Magnus had insisted she should attend in his company.

  The reception was held in a large white room, glittering with mirrors and chandeliers, which was on the ground floor of the beautiful eighteenth-century building situated on a hill overlooking Port Anne. Drinks and savoury titbits were served, and gradually as the room became more and more crowded the noise level rose until it was impossible to speak to anyone without shouting at them or leaning very close to them.

  The temperature rose too, even though the long jalousied windows were open to the sea breeze. Faces both white and black began to shine. Many a masculine

  brow was mopped with a handkerchief, and many a woman had cause to glance surreptitiously into one of the mirrors, to gasp in dismay at a wilting hairdo or melting mascara.

  Finding herself alone and cut off from Magnus, who was apparently trapped against a wall by the portly middle-aged man with steel-grey hair and a swarthy aquiline face who was Harold Ribiera, Chairman of the Department of Parks and Gardens, Tory decided to slip out through a nearby window on to a terrace to cool off.

  It took time to sidle through the chattering laughing groups, but she had almost reached the window when one of her hands was grasped and held tightly. One tug and she was jerked round to face Denzil Hallam's wickedly glinting eyes.

  'If I'd known you were going to be here I wouldn't have made a date to have dinner with someone else,' he said. 'Why haven't you been to sail a dinghy again?'

  A smoothly fitting cream safari jacket made from lightweight suiting and a green shirt which matched the fleas in his eyes tamed the toughness slightly, but he still looked vaguely piratical and for a moment she felt a pang of disappointment because he had a date with someone else.

  'I ... I've been busy,' she muttered, trying to free her hand from his.

  'Conducting experiments with your dear professor?' he taunted daringly. 'The two of you have certainly turned a few heads and wagged a few tongues here tonight! '

  'What do you mean? Whose heads and tongues?' she demanded.

  'Those that belong to the people who matter, the wives of the politicians and civil servants, the social elite of Airouna.'

  'I don't see why I should draw their attention more than anyone else,' she countered.

  'Then obviously you're one of the few women here tonight who hasn't looked in a mirror lately,' Denzil murmured. His hard bright glance flicked over her. 'Silver-gilt hair, golden peach-bloom tan and a simple blue dress that draws attention to your far from insignificant charms. It's not quite as revealing as Carla's blouse, perhaps, but it flatters you, and ... yes ... I do believe it makes your eyes seem just slightly more blue than grey.'

  'I wish you'd let go of my hand,' she whispered, frantically trying to free it from his grasp and at the same time looking round to see if anyone nearby had noticed how closely he was standing to her.

  'Why is it you don't like having your hand held in mine?' he mocked, leaning closer to her so that she could smell the scents of the soap and the talc he used and the sweet-sharp tang of the rum he had drunk. 'Does it turn you on when least expected?' he added outrageously.

  'You are ...' she began furiously.

  'Insufferable, I know,' he agreed with a grin. 'But seriously, do you think it was wise for you to come to an affair like this with your professor, to walk into this nest of gossips with your arm through his?'

  'I was invited to come with him,' she retorted. 'I wish I knew what you're talking about.'

  From beneath her lowered lashes she saw his eyes narrow, his thick dark lashes almost covering the clear bright gleam as he considered her.

  'That air of innocent bewilderment is amazing,' he scoffed. 'I wonder how you do it? I could almost believe that you really don't know, only last time we met you told me that you did.' He leaned closer and she felt her cheek tingle as his hair brushed against it. 'Supposing

  his wife comes back,' he whispered. 'What are you going to do?'

  She shivered in that hot close room and clung to his hand for support. Then common sense asserted itself.

  'I think that sort of joke is in very bad taste,' she snapped, leaning back, away from him. 'She can't come back because she isn't alive.'

  'Did he tell you that?' he demanded sharply.

  'Not in so many words, but when I asked him about

  her he couldn't talk, so I just assumed that she'd died.' 'What about Carla? Doesn't she mention her

  mother?'

  'No ... well, only once, and that was to wish her mother was here.' Tory became aware that he was looking at her in a very strange way, almost as if he pitied her. 'Denzil, if you know something that I don't know but should know, please tell me,' she asked in an urgent whisper.

  His mouth quirked mockingly and he released her hand.

  'I know lots of things you don't know, but I'm not at all sure I should tell you about them. Many of them aren't suitable for the ears of an innocent abroad, as you pretend to be,' he taunted lazily, letting his glance rove round the room.

  'You know something about Rita Jarrold,' she accused.

  'Do I?' His glance came back to her to mock her. 'Please tell me,' she pleaded.

  He raised his hand, pushed back the cuff of his sleeve and studied his watch.

  'It's time I left,' he murmured. 'Nice seeing you again, Victoria, even if it was for such a short time. Doing anything over the week-end?'

  'I shall probably do some shopping, a little swimming and sunbathing and some reading,' she replied coolly.

  'Sounds exciting,' he jibed. 'I could use a deckhand if you're interested in having a cruise down to Tequila and back, I promised some people who are going to spend a week there that I'd take them myself.'

  'On your own boat? You still have it, then?' she asked, her interest suddenly roused.

  'Yes, she's part of the charter fleet. If you decide to come, be at the marina by eight o'clock in the morning. If you don't turn up on time I won't wait, but will assume you have other things to do—like conducting experiments with the dear professor.'

  CHAPTER FOUR

  THE path from the Botanical Gardens over the hill to the part of the road that ran past the entrance to the marina—that short cut once mentioned by Magnus— was well-worn; trodden many times during the past few months, Tory suspected, by Carla. It climbed steeply through the rain-forest under primeval trees bearded with moss and festooned by airplants and vines whose twining branches were as thick as a man's leg. Huge ferns and wide spade-like leaves created a green gloom that was broken only occasionally by thin shafts of yellow sunlight. And everywhere the forest was alive with the morning shouts and whistles of many birds.r />
  As she stepped over fallen branches and ducked under trailing vines, Tory wished she had time to examine some of the flowers that glowed and twinkled, like stars of crimson, yellow and white in a dark green sky, but she was in a hurry to reach the marina before eight o'clock because she didn't want Denzil to leave for Tequila without her.

  She wasn't sure why she had decided she would accept his casual invitation to crew for him; she only knew that she had decided it when she had gone to bed the previous night.

  On the way home from the reception Magnus had been silent and preoccupied and she had not disturbed him with chatter, but had sat in the semi-darkness of the car thinking of Denzil and how tormenting he could be, how cruel, as if he were determined to shake her trust in Magnus. His suggestion that Rita Jarrold might come back had been macabre and had stirred up remembrances of novels such as Wuthering Heights

  and Jane Eyre, which she had read at school. The last-named story haunted her in particular as she had sat at dinner with Magnus in the Director's house, and she had even found herself wondering in which room Rita arrold was locked away because she was mad.

  And then she had looked across the flickering flames of candles and had almost laughed aloud. No one looking at Magnus could possibly confuse him with Mr Rochester, the passionate, domineering hero of Jane Eyre.

  'I have to fly to St Thomas tomorrow morning,' he had said, coming out of his abstraction. 'Some family business to attend to. I might not be able to get back until Monday, so you're free for the entire weekend, my dear. What will you do?'

  'I might go sailing,' she said.

  'Oh. I didn't know you were interested in the activity. You never told me,' he remarked, and she had been unable to stop smiling at his obvious pique because he didn't know everything about her.

  'I could say that a student rarely has the opportunity to discuss her spare-time pursuits with her professor.' She hadn't been able to resist mocking him a little and had been surprised when he looked hurt.

  'But you and I are beyond that stage now, surely. We're friends and professional colleagues,' he said. 'We are friends, aren't we, Tory?' His blue glance above the flame-topped tapers was anxiously appealing, and she had capitulated at once.

  'Yes, of course. You should know by now that I'd do anything for you, Magnus,' she said breathlessly, going all the way, committing herself impulsively. For a moment their glances had met above the yellow flames and he had reached forward to place his hand over hers where it rested on the table.

  'Thank you,' he said simply, 'I appreciate very much

  what you've just said. You're a very sweet person, Tory, and your dedication to our work, your devotion to me personally, have helped enormously during the past few weeks.' His eyebrows twitched together and his mouth thinned. 'Life hasn't been too easy for me during the past year. There have been problems, difficulties ...' His voice died away and once again she had sensed that he could not talk about his unhappiness.

  'I understand,' she said quickly, and he flicked a glance at her, a curious puzzled glance.

  'I hope you do, my dear, I hope you do,' he murmured, withdrawing his hand, and they both left the table to walk together into the hall. At the foot of the stairs they halted as if by mutual agreement. He raised a hand and had touched her hair, lifting a stray strand that had slipped forward across her brow and laying it back in place.

  'If you go sailing tomorrow tell Mrs Dunnet, please,' he said. 'Carla should be returning on Sunday evening, so I'm afraid our quiet time will be at an end. Now if you'll excuse me, I have to make preparations for my journey tomorrow, so I'll say goodnight.'

  'Goodnight, Magnus,' Tory whispered, hoping he would read the message in her eyes correctly, and it seemed as if he had, for he leaned forward and kissed her on the lips and with another muttered 'goodnight', turned and walked away quickly to the study.

  Tory should have gone up the stairs with springing steps and a heart that sang, but she hadn't. She had trudged up with her head bowed, conscious of a flat feeling of anti-climax because Magnus had kissed her and nothing had happened.

  The shimmer of sunlight on blue water alerted her to the fact that she had come through the green tunnel of tropical foliage and that the path was descending towards the road and she came out of the flashback of

  her thoughts into the present again and the need to hurry because she guessed that Denzil Hallam would wait for no woman or man.

  Soon she was entering the marina, and realised that she had no idea where Denzil's boat was berthed, or even what it was called. A few people were moving about the pontoons preparing to go sailing, and as she approached the steps that led up to the door of the office building the door opened and Denzil came out. He saw her at once, ran down the steps, lifted his yachting cap briefly from his head and set it back at an angle.

  'What brought you?' he queried tauntingly, standing before her his hands on his hips while his hard glance surveyed her from head to foot. 'Curiosity about Rita Jarrold or a longing to be near me?'

  'Neither,' she said between her teeth. 'I came because I want to go sailing. And stop looking at me like that, as if I'm an article that you're considering buying. I'm not for sale.'

  'Sharp in the morning, aren't you?' he countered. 'What's wrong? Didn't the professor come up to scratch last night?'

  'Oh, you ... I'm sorry I came I ' she retorted wildly, and turned to leave, feeling those tears which Denzil seemed so adept at rousing start into her eyes. Immediately he caught her by the arm.

  'Okay, I'm sorry, that last remark was out of line. My only excuse is that I got out of bed the wrong side myself this morning after a bad night,' he murmured. 'And I was looking you over to make sure you were properly dressed. I hope you've brought something thin with long sleeves to cover your arms.'

  'No, I haven't,' she admitted.

  'I'm afraid your arms might get burnt, your skin is so fair. Any objections to wearing a man's cotton pyjama jacket if I bring one for you?' he asked. 'You'll

  find it very effective without being too hot and cumbersome.'

  The change in his attitude from carelessness to caring had the effect of mesmerising her, so that she nodded her agreement almost without realising it.

  'Good, then go to the boat ... you'll find it berthed at the end of number four pontoon. You can't miss it because it has canvas dodgers protecting the cockpit, with the name on them—Ariel. The passengers are already aboard making themselves at home. You can start taking the cover off the mainsail.'

  He went off in the direction of the path to his bungalow and Tory found the pontoon and made her way along it. The boat was a sturdy-looking vessel built of wood. Its mast was short and well-rigged for ocean sailing. Tory stepped aboard and introduced herself to the two women and two men who were sitting round the cockpit. They were in all their middle twenties and obviously excited about the forthcoming sail.

  Stepping past them, Tory made her way through the hatchway, down a narrow ladder into the main cabin of the boat to stow the canvas holdall in which she had brought a change of clothing, some nightwear and a bikini. At once she was impressed by the size and airiness of the accommodation. There were two wide settee berths with a folding table between them, and a galley with an oven and sink. Under the berths and beside them were lockers with sliding doors, and opposite the galley was a chart table with navigational aids set above it on shelves, including a ship-to-shore radio.

  The woodwork was well varnished and a peep through a door near the mast showed her that there was a lavatory and washing facilities up forward. There was, in fact, everything a long-distance sailor would require, she thought, taking a minute longer to look around, and everything was of the best quality. Denzil

  might have been ragged, half-starved and have had no money to speak of when he had arrived in Airouna, but his boat had cost money to build and equip.

  A shout from the hatchway turned her round just in time to see a plain green pyjama jacket fall through the opening
to the floor of the cabin. Quickly she slipped out of her polyester sleeveless top and pulled on the jacket. It was very wide and a little long in the sleeves, but she realised that its large size and the thinness of the cotton would be both protective and airy.

  Back on deck she was soon busy obeying Denzil's crisp orders. Apparently the two men passengers were keen to help and it wasn't long before the boat had cleared the pontoon and the sails were being hoisted as it forged across the bay in the direction of the open sea.

  The course to Tequila was due south-east from Airouna and since the trade wind blew from the northeast it was an easy reaching sail. Mainsail and foresail full and curved, the boat bounded over waves crested with silvery foam. Standing on the foredeck, her legs braced against the movement of the deck beneath her feet, feeling the wind in her hair and the sting of spray on her skin, Tory experienced a freedom of spirit she had never known before. Ahead the sun laid a path of gold upon the blue sea, a path which seemed to beckon temptingly, inviting the sailor to follow it for ever.

  Within two and a half hours a small blue hump rose up out of the sea, and within another hour the island had taken on shape and colour. It was crowned by a tangle of green trees and edged by pale sand and sparkling white surf, and it looked deserted. As the boat approached closer the land seemed to shift..An opening appeared at the end of what appeared to be a ridge of sand. The boat altered course and the sails were trim-

  med accordingly as it made straight for the opening, and soon they were entering a lagoon of placid turquoise water shading to clear limpid green where it touched a curving beach overhung by graceful palm trees.

  It was not until the boat was anchored that Tory noticed the small stone jetty jutting out from the shore. A launch was detaching itself from the side of the jetty. Its outboard engine roared into life and soon it was alongside the yacht. The passengers stepped over the side into the launch, their luggage was handed down to them, and with a few cheery waves and shouted goodbyes they were gone.