To Play With Fire

by Flora Kidd

  'He did it because he cares,' said Mandy quietly.

  'About me?' Tory was scornful now. 'Oh, come off it. He cares about no one but himself. He's unkind and inconsiderate.'

  'Listen, honey, I know you're hurt and resentful, but you had to learn about Rita one day,' said Mandy, putting a comforting nursely arm about Tory's shoulders and leading her to a divan-like settee to sit down. 'How you've managed to live for two months on Airouna without knowing about her is beyond me, but maybe like Dr Jarrold you can see no further than your own back yard. Rita is one of the few celebrities the island has produced, and we islanders are all very proud of her. Of course she's always performed under her maiden name of Ribiera.'

  'Performed what?' asked Tory miserably.

  'Songs, mostly Portuguese and Brazilian folk songs. You haven't heard her recordings with Pedro Lobos, the Brazilian guitarist?'

  'No, I haven't.'

  'Then you've missed something very special and unusual. When Pete comes back I'll ask him to play one to you. But to get back to your not knowing about her —hasn't Dr Jarrold ever talked about her?'

  'A little, but you see ... oh, I know this will sound silly to you, but it seemed to hurt him to talk about her, so I thought she must have died and when he hesitated I said I understood. He seemed relieved that I did, and so

  'And, so you deceived yourself, because you didn't want to hear that he had a while with whom he might

  be in love because you were in love with him yourself,' finished Mandy gently. 'No, it doesn't sound silly to me. We're all guilty of self-deception in our lives at some time or other, especially when we're young. Of course it hurt Dr Jarrold to talk about Rita because he's always been devoted to her. He met Rita when she was at a very low ebb after she'd been deserted by her first husband. Knowing of his devotion it's not surprising that relatives and friends of Rita were a little perturbed when you arrived on the island and went to live in his house, but then when you walked into the reception last night on his arm, looking radiant, so I'm told, the fat was in the fire. It was then that Denzil decided he had to do something about you.'

  Tory sat slumped and silent, going over all that Denzil had said the previous night; his taunts about her bewilderment, about her being an innocent abroad. How right he had been !

  'Why didn't he tell me about her?' she asked dully.

  'Partly because he felt you wouldn't believe him, partly because last night's party wasn't the place; too many sharp eyes watching, you know, and partly because he didn't know much about Rita himself. But he knew I did, so he invited you to come today.' Mandy rose to her feet and went to the window to gaze out at the sea. 'Now that you know all, what are you going to do?' she asked.

  'I don't know. I'll have to think about it,' replied Tory. 'Maybe I won't do a thing. Maybe I'll just wait until Mrs Jarrold returns.'

  ' Mmm. I wonder if that's wise?' murmured Mandy. 'Rita has an artistic temperament. She can't stand competition, and has a way of dealing with it quickly and effectively. She isn't going to be pleased to find you living in the same house.'

  'But Magnus arranged for me to stay there because

  there was nowhere else available for me to stay,' protested Tory. 'And I can't leave, because I'm under contract to work for a year and I don't want to break it. I'll just have to wait and see what happens.' She smiled rather tremulously. 'I'm not really afraid of Mrs Jarrold, you know, because I've done nothing I shouldn't. I've worshipped Magnus from afar, that's all. And I'd like you to know that I appreciate your telling me everything today, Mandy.'

  The other woman turned to smile at her.

  'And you won't take it out on Denzil for interfering?' she queried.

  'Oh, Denzil,' said Tory with a sigh. 'He's another matter altogether. I don't think I'll ever be able to cope with him. He's a law unto himself.'

  'Is that how you see him? As arrogant, domineering? Isn't it more true to say that he sees what should be done and does it? That he acts instead of hesitating or turning a blind eye? I don't know him very well, but I do know this, that Pete thinks the world of him, and that's enough for me,' said Mandy forcefully. 'And now I must get out of this swimsuit. I expect the men will be back soon and then it will be sundowners on the verandah. Ah, don't you love the way of life in the islands, Tory? Come day, go day and God sent Sunday, as my father used to say.'

  But they didn't have sundowners on the verandah, because they went to the hotel dining pavilion for dinner with the guests who were interested in chartering a yacht. Mandy lent Tory a dress to wear' which fitted not too badly because they were of similar height and since it was belted at the waist any surplus width could be disguised. Tory was glad of the diversion of the small social occasion because it prevented her from thinking about her own problems. It meant, too, that she could avoid direct conversation with Denzil; not that he made any effort to talk to her, being apparently more interested in making an impression on the daughter of the American businessman who wanted to charter a yacht, a long-limbed beauty with a gorgeous tan, sparkling blue eyes and, of course, masses of blonde hair.

  Later, when the stars hung like huge clusters of diamonds in the black velvet of the sky and the frogs were croaking their monotonous chant they walked back to the de Freitas house. The tap-tap of Ariel's main halliard against the mast, the rustle of leaves and the-smack of waves against sand and stone indicated that the night wind was strong.

  'Where would you two like to spend the night?' Mandy asked in her casual way as they reached the path which led up to the house. 'You're welcome to sleep here.'

  'I'll sleep on board,' Denzil answered crisply. 'I want to make sure the boat is anchored properly. Tory can please herself.'

  Tory thought of the two berths in the small cabin, remembered the effects of propinquity and retreated.

  'I'd like to sleep in the house, please,' she said stiffly, and to her annoyance Denzil laughed.

  'Not in the mood for experiments tonight, Victoria?' he jeered. 'Oh, well, I can take a hint. See you in the morning.'

  He went off in the direction of the jetty and Pete lumbered after him, saying that he'd help with the dinghy. Tory hesitated as she peered through the shadows, half-tempted to change her mind. Then she heard Denzil laughing again and resenting his mockery she turned quickly and followed Mandy to the house.

  She slept badly even though the bed was comfortable, and several times during the night she wished she had gone with Denzil. Tormenting and infuriating he

  would probably have been, but he would have been company. She wouldn't have felt as alone as she did in this room while she reviewed over and over again her own behaviour and her own feelings.

  She was hurt, Tory couldn't deny that. Anyone who had been living in a fool's paradise as she had been for the past two months, only to be shaken out of it, was bound to be hurt. But she couldn't make out whether she was hurt because she had discovered there was a possibility now that Magnus would never return her love or whether it was because she had a niggling feeling that he had deceived her by inviting her to live in his house without ever telling her of the existence of his wife.

  Wasn't it possible that the pain she was feeling was disillusion because the man she loved and trusted, to whom she had devoted so much time, had betrayed that love and trust because he had failed to be honest with her, to square with her? Could she continue to love him knowing that he had a wife whom he loved? Was she the sort of person who could spend the rest of her days in selfless devotion to a man who didn't return her love?

  She knew she wasn't. She knew she wanted a fulfilling relationship, the sort her parents had with each other, a sharing of everything, feelings, hopes, ambitions as well as all the physical things such as income and house, bed and board, an intimate warm partnership, even if she had to wait to achieve it.

  Wait for what? For Rita Jarrold to die? Tory writhed on the bed. It was one thing to love a man whose wife had died, quite another to love a man whose wife was sick and might die. Sh
e couldn't and wouldn't let herself hope for that. And the possibility of Magnus ever divorcing Rita or her divorcing him seemed out of the question.

  What, then, was the answer? How could she fulfil this silly hopeless love of hers for Magnus, if indeed it was love and not further self-deception? By a relationship outside his marriage? Was that where she was headed? Was that what he expected?

  Tory sat up sharply in repudiation of the idea. She couldn't do it. Mind and body shrank in revulsion from it. Her head aching from introspection, she swung off the bed and went to the window. Dawn streaked the eastern sky with grey light, and down on the lagoon she could just make out Ariel riding to anchor, not moving on the mirror-like morning surface of the lagoon.

  And as she stared the sunrise came with a sudden flushing of the sky. Round as a red ball the sun popped above the horizon. The sea became a deep rose-tinted blue, the lagoon changed from grey to a pale shimmering green. The yacht ceased to be a ghostly shape as the mast and varnish took on a golden gleam and the smooth white hull reflected the light flashed back to it from the water.

  There was movement on board. A figure appeared in the hatchway, swung up into the cockpit and untied the rope which tied the dinghy to the stern of the yacht. Watching Denzil step into the dinghy, sit on the centre thwart and fit the oars into the rowlocks as it drifted away from the yacht, Tory felt a sudden urge to be with him. Turning from the window, she Hung off the nightdress she had been lent by Mandy, stepped into her short shorts, pulled on her striped top, and carrying her bikini and her sailing shoes in her hand she tiptoed out of the room, along the passage to the front door, then opened it quietly and left the house.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  THE morning air was clear, giving everything, the curves of the coconut palms over the beach, the angle of the stone jetty, the scoop-shape of the small dinghy on the water, a sharp edge. At the end of the jetty Tory looked down into lucid water and saw thousands of tiny fish darting about in a world of sun-shot green light.

  Shipping his oars and letting the dinghy drift a little, Denzil tilted his head back and looked at her from under the slant of his cap brim.

  'You're up early,' he said, and the coolness of his voice was like a refreshing splash of water, alerting her to the fact that he was not feeling friendly this morning.

  'I couldn't sleep,' she admitted.

  'I'm not surprised,' he retorted. 'Mandy told you about Rita Jarrold, didn't she? And that would keep your mind on the hop all night.'

  'How do you know it would?' she replied weakly.

  'Think you're the only one who's been in this situation?' he countered enigmatically. 'You'd have been better on board the yacht with me, experimenting, than lying alone writhing.' He paused, eyeing her with an expectant gleam, obviously waiting for her to retaliate, but she was too tired to quarrel with him.

  'I know. I kept wishing I'd gone with you,' she said in a low voice, and saw his eyebrows lift in satirical surprise. 'Denzil, do you think we could leave now and sail somewhere else before we go back to Airouna?'

  By the way of answer he lifted the oars and rowed in towards the jetty. When the dinghy bumped against

  the stone he jumped ashore, tied the painter to an iron ring and then turned to face her. Raising a hand, he took hold of her chin to tilt her face to the light of the sun.

  'Black lines under the eyes, a droop to the mouth— oh, you are in, a bad way, Victoria,' he mocked. 'And you think that sailing all day might help?'

  'Yesterday I felt free, without a care in the world, when we were sailing here,' she said. 'I'd like to feel like that again.'

  'Escapist!' he jeered. 'Running away from the problem won't help. You and Jarrold have both tried that already, only you didn't run. You both buried your heads in the sand. Rita Jarrold is coming back, she's on her way now.'

  'How do you know that?' she exclaimed.

  'I was told on Friday night by one of the people I had dinner with, Ella Carson, who's in the know because she's secretary to Harold Ribiera, Rita's father. Your dear professor has gone to St Thomas to meet his wife to accompany her on the last part of her journey home.'

  'Oh! He told me he was going to St Thomas to attend to some family business.' she said.

  'He didn't lie. Rita is his family,' he pointed out dryly.

  'Yes, I suppose she is,' Tory murmured dully, and again the nasty feeling of having been deceived niggled at her. Magnus could have been more honest, more straightforward in his dealings with her. 'Can we go sailing, Denzil?' she asked.

  'You don't have to make the suggestion to me twice,' he replied with a touch of self-mockery. 'I'll go sailing at the drop of a hat. I'll just go up to the house to tell Pete we're off. Any message for Mandy?'

  'Only to thank her for everything.'

  Within half an hour Ariel was on her way south again, her sails full as she bounded over the white-crested blue sea. This time Denzil let Tory take the tiller, leaving her alone in the cockpit to steer while he went below to cook breakfast. She hadn't thought she was hungry, but she ate every scrap of the bacon and eggs he brought to her and gulped down several cups of tea. He didn't come into the cockpit to eat with her, but stayed in the cabin and later she could hear him talking into the ship-to-shore radio. But she didn't mind being left alone as long as she knew he was there, because in keeping the boat sailing, in sitting there feeling the fresh breeze on her skin and seeing the distant islands pop up to loom against the horizon, she found the forgetfulness of self and problems that she had sought all night.

  As they cleared the southernmost tip of Tequila another island appeared, lying further to the west, and Denzil, who by that time was standing on the cabin roof attempting to take shots of the sun with his sextant, pointed to it.

  'That's Berenique Island,' he shouted. 'Let's go there. There's a sheltered bay just west of the most northerly point. We could swim there, perhaps take a siesta.'

  He freed the sheets so that she could alter course to run before the wind towards the distant hump. At once the motion of the yacht changed; no longer did it forge forward but rplled and pitched on the waves, and Tory had a hard time keeping the tiller in the right place, knowing that if she was not careful the yacht might gybe violently or broach to so that the waves, which were much higher than they had been the day before, might slop over into the cockpit and swamp the boat.

  Since it was noon the sun's rays were hot and she was wearing the protective pyjama jacket as well as her sunhat. The movement of the boat plus the heat, added

  to the sleeplessness of the night before, had a soporific effect and several times she caught herself nodding and her eyes closing.

  As they drew closer to the island she could see that it was higher than Tequila and was smothered by rain forest. Denzil took the tiller over the tip of a rocky point as he guided the boat past it and turned into a tiny bay with a crescent of silvery sand at its head.

  Denzil luffed the boat within inches of the beach and when Tory dropped the anchor down from the bow at his command she watched it dig and hold in hard sand at the bottom of several feet of clear turquoise water.

  Apart from the lapping sound of water against the hull of the boat and the occasional squawk of a parrot from among the dense vegetation that crowded down to the edge of the beach all was silent. As she moved lethargically to help Denzil furl the lowered mainsail round the boom, Tory felt sleepiness overwhelming her again. With a muttered excuse she left him and went down to the cabin. Within a few seconds of stretching out on one of the berths she was fast asleep.

  She woke to the sound of the anchor chain dragging across the bottom and opened her eyes to blink at the white-painted ceiling of the cabin. Patterns of yellow light quivered on it, indicating that the sun was half way down the sky and peering in through the portholes. Turning her head, she saw Denzil sitting on the other berth, his legs thrust out before him, his arms folded across his chest, watching her with hard cold eyes.

  'Sleep well?' he asked.

/>   'Oh, yes.' Tory struggled to a sitting position. 'What time is it?'

  'About four.'

  'I slept so long?' she gasped.

  'Like to go for a swim?' he suggested, and she nodded her agreement.

  They swam from the boat, diving off the side-deck into the silky warm clear water and climbing back on board by way of a small ladder which hooked on to the side of the boat. Denzil produced snorkelling equipment and went off underwater while Tory sat and sunned herself, keeping a lookout for the tell-tale tube sticking above the water. The sleep had refreshed her, but her mind was still numb, closed to thought and feeling, and she was glad of Denzil's withdrawn attitude. He was there yet not there, silent yet supportive.

  When he came back from his snorkelling expedition he had some fish, snappers he called them. He cooked them for their evening meal, which they ate on deck as the shadows grew long. Again they didn't talk much. She could have asked him about his sailing experiences, found out more about him, but she didn't. She didn't want to disturb the tranquillity of mood which had been produced by the beauty and peace of their present surroundings.

  Sunset came, a vivid one which left orange streaks across a sky of pale primrose. The mainsail was hoisted, the anchor was pulled up and as the first stars pricked the darkening eastern sky, the yacht ghosted out of the small bay.

  As they sailed in the dark, watching the brilliant glitter of stars above the dim shape of the mast, glancing over the side to see the glow of phosphorescence dancing in a wave, Tory was surprised to find herself feeling happy.

  'I could sail like this for ever,' she said, and heard Denzil, who was a dark shadow in the opposite corner of the cockpit, laugh rather sceptically.

  'Sailing isn't always like this,' he remarked.

  'I realise that, but times like this must make up for

  all the other difficult, hair-raising times when sky and sea are grey and the wind is roaring and you wonder if you'll ever survive,' she replied.