The House on Flamingo Cay (12 page)

Dear S. (she read),

I can’t sleep so have gone out. Don’t flap if I’m late back. And for Pete’s sake don’t tell C. or he’ll have the harbor dragged. A.

Sara crumpled the note into a ball and dropped it in the waste basket. She frowned. As the Stuyvesants would have put it, she had a hunch that there was more in those two scrawled lines than met the eye. For one thing, now her suspicions were aroused, she noticed that the bed, although rumpled, did not look as if anyone had actually lain in it. The first thing her sister did on getting into bed was to untuck the clothes. She hated to sleep under taut sheets and blankets. But now, although the under-sheet was ruckled and the pillow dented, on the far side of the bed the clothes were still firmly tucked in.

From which one might conclude that Angela had not been to bed at all, but had only wished to give the impression that she had, Sara reflected.

Her ‘hunch’ growing stronger, she opened the wardrobe. The casual silk print which Angela had worn at dinner was back on its hanger. But an ivory taffeta dance frock with a matching mink-cuffed jacket, which her sister had not yet worn and which was very much a special occasion outfit, was missing from its plastic shield.

And from that significant piece of evidence one would then deduce that Angela’s headache had been nothing but a pretext and that, as soon as the others had left, she had whisked upstairs, hustled into her most effective dress and waltzed out to enjoy herself. All of which left only two questions to be answered. Who had she gone to meet? And to what end?

Finally, after puzzling it all over for a long time, Sara began to consider the possibility that tonight’s outing might have some connection with the events of the morning. Supposing Angela had met someone she liked and had been persuaded to meet him again? It was not only feasible, but even hopeful. Because if she liked him enough to go to such lengths for tonight’s date, she might like him enough to risk loving him.

* * *

Sara had fallen asleep before her sister returned and, next morning, she deliberately made no mention of the note. She noticed, however, that Angela sang in the bath and that, from time to time as she was dressing, a faint secretive smile played round her sister’s lips.

Before going in to breakfast when the others would decide how to spend the day, Sara slipped off to the telephone booths and looked up Peter’s number.

“Hello, Peter? This is Sara Gordon. I was wondering if you could give me another skiing lesson today—an official cash-on-the-nail one this time?” she said laughingly.

There was a pause before Peter said slowly: “I think I’m all booked up today, Sara. Wait a moment, will you? I’ll look up my appointments book.”

While she waited, Sara looked at herself in the mirror on the wall of the booth. She was really brown now and the deeper colouring suited her, accentuating the whiteness of her teeth and making her eyes seem larger and softer.

Peter came back on the line. “I’m sorry, Sara, but it is as I thought. I’m booked until six o’clock, and it’s the same tomorrow.”

“Oh ... oh, never mind,” she said casually. “Perhaps I’ll patronize one of your rivals.” She waited, half expecting him to suggest a rendezvous for the evening. But he didn’t say anything. “Well, sorry to have bothered you. Goodbye,” she said, disguising her disappointment.

“It was no bother, Sara. Goodbye.”

Puzzled by the blankness of his voice, Sara heard him ring off. Slowly, feeling oddly hurt, she replaced her own receiver.

The next two days were fairly uneventful. To Sara’s disappointment Angela didn’t slip off again, but was so charming to Conrad that her sister feared he would propose at any moment. Every time she saw Stephen, he was with Valerie Langdon-Owen—either helping her into his launch, or laughing with her in the cocktail bar or dining at her parent’s table at the other end of the terrace. She wondered if he was aware of Mrs. Langdon-Owen’s designs on him and was only amusing himself, or if Valerie was the type of girl who attracted him and whom he might consider marrying.

On the afternoon of the third day, Sara went out on her own. The others had gone to the Hobby Horse Hall race-track near the Emerald Beach Hotel, but Sara wasn’t interested in racing and had said she would rather go swimming. Then, halfway to the public ferry dock, she had changed her mind and decided to explore the many intriguing side streets between Bay Street and the waterfront.

She had been admiring a display of jade and ivory and coral in the window of a gift shop and was wondering what it was like to be as wealthy as the Stuyvesants and able to buy whatever took one’s fancy, when, strolling further along, she met Peter Laszlo.

“Hello, Peter,” she greeted him.

“Oh ... Sara. How are you?” He did not return her smile, and she had a feeling that he was displeased at having run into her.

To bridge the awkward pause that followed his greeting, she said brightly, “I’ve just been spending about five hundred pounds on curios.” Then, as his eyebrows went up, “But only in my imagination, of course. Some of the shops around here seem designed for millionaires.”

He seemed to relax a little.

“So you make believe that you are married to a rich old man who indulges your every whim,” he said, smiling now.

Sara stiffened. At any other time she might have taken the sally with a smile, but, at present, it cut too close to the bone.

“I must get on. I—I have some things to buy,” she said hurriedly.

“No, Sara—wait.” Peter caught her arm. “You can spare a few minutes, can’t you? I’ve something to say to you.”

“What about?”

“I can’t tell you here. Let’s find somewhere to sit down. Please!”

“All right. But I mustn’t stay long,” she agreed uncertainly.

He tucked her arm through his. “Is this where you were being so very extravagant?” he asked, as they passed the gift shop window.

Sara nodded. “Though really it wasn’t the most expensive pieces I liked best. I’ve fallen for that little jade bracelet.”

“Then why don’t you buy it?” Peter asked.

“Oh, I’ve got so many ornaments already. I ought to restrain these impulses,” Sara said casually. The truth, of course, was that on the limited spending money which Angela had allotted to her, even that cheap little trinket was beyond her.
They moved on until they reached a cafe. Peter ordered iced coffees, asked Sara if she would care for any cream cakes, then lit a cigarette.

“What do you want to tell me?” she asked curiously.

He was silent for some moments, his thin sensitive fingers playing restlessly with his lighter.

“I had a visit from your sister the other morning,” he said, at length.

“From Angela?”

“I also was surprised,” he said drily.

“She never mentioned seeing you,” Sara said, puzzled.

“I imagine not. From her point of view, it was of a rather confidential nature.”

“Which morning was this?” Sara asked sharply. And, when Peter had told her: “So that’s where she was—with you!”

“She did not intend me to tell you this,” Peter went on, “and perhaps if I had not met you in the street I would not have done so. But I think when you called me on the phone the other morning, your feelings were hurt a little—yes?”

“I wouldn’t say that exactly. I did think you sounded a bit offhand,” Sara admitted. “And you didn’t look too pleased to see me this afternoon,” she added, a shade wryly.

“Not because I do not like you any more, Sara,” he said quietly. “But because I have promised your sister I will not see you again.”

“Promised Angela ... not to see me? What on earth do you mean?” she exclaimed bewilderedly.

“Your sister seemed to think that my interest in you might have something to do with money—your money,” he explained. “I told her this was not so, but I could see she did not believe me. Finally, after some argument, we made a bargain.”

“You mean she
paid
you to stay away from me?” Beneath her suntan, Sara had gone very pale. Her hands were clenched into fists and she sat bolt upright.

“In a way—yes!” he admitted. “No, don’t lose your temper, little one. It was not a financial exchange.”

“Then what exactly was it?” Sara demanded.

He gave her a strange look. “I promised to stay away from you—and to discourage you from coming to see me—and, in return, your sister agreed to spend one evening with me.”

Sara gaped at him. “But
why?”
she asked blankly. “I don’t understand. Why should you want to spend an evening with her?”

Peter shrugged. “It is simple enough, my dear,” he said, in a curiously weary tone. “From the first moment I saw her, I felt ... well, I suppose you could describe it as a strong attraction.”

“To Angela!” Sara looked incredulous. “B-but she doesn’t even like you. You must have realized that.”

“No? Do you know why that is?” he enquired.

“Well ... for the reason she came to see you,” Sara said awkwardly. “She ... she doesn’t think you’re respectable.”

Peter laughed then. “Oh, Sara, you are so innocent,” he said delightedly. “But also very sweet. If your sister pretended to disapprove of me, it is because she also feels this magnetism between us and she is afraid of such feelings. That was why she came to see me. Not because she was worried for you, my dear, but because—like a moth who must go to a flame—she could not resist her impulse. Do you think she would have come out with me if she had not wanted to do so? Of course not!”

Sara sank back in her chair and shook her head in bewilderment. What Peter had told her was so utterly unforeseen that she needed time to take it in.

“Do you mean that you’re in love with her?” she asked, at last.

He crushed out his cigarette. “Love is a word that we use to cover so many emotions,” he said wryly. “For someone like yourself love is a sweet adventure that leads to marriage and a new life. I do not think you would call this love, Sara.”

“What happens next? Are you going to see her again?”

“That will be up to her,” he said drily. “When one wishes to do something which is against one’s principles, one must find a reason to justify it. What is that phrase in English? To ‘square one’s conscience’—yes?”

Sara nodded. She wondered how much Peter knew, or guessed, about the reasons why Angela would have to think up some pretext for seeing him again.

“You are still angry now that you know the truth?” he asked gently. “You feel I have betrayed our friendship?”

She shook her head. “Not angry, just staggered that you and Angela...” She concluded the sentence with an expressive gesture. “I was so convinced that you loathed each other.”

“Because you are not very experienced and you judge from what appears on the surface,” he said wisely. “You will find that when people are drawn to each other against their will, they often pretend antagonism. Sometimes they are not even conscious of the truth, but they have this instinct to protect themselves.”

Sara finished her coffee. “Life is very complex, isn’t it?” she said, a shade forlornly.

Peter laughed and patted her hand. “Don’t worry: it won’t be so complex for you. One day you will meet someone and your heart will beat very fast because you know he is the man for you. Then he will ask you to marry him, and you will say ‘yes’ and, like the end of the fairy-tale, you will be happy ever after.”

“Will I?” Sara said doubtfully.

“But of course. So all you have to do is wait.” He signalled to the waitress for their bill. “Now I must go or I shall be late for my next lesson. It is a pity I can’t teach you any more. You have great promise.”

Sara rose. “Thank you for telling me, Peter. I’m glad to know the real reason why you suddenly seemed to stop liking me,” she said, holding out her hand.

He raised it to his lips, his mouth just brushing her fingertips. “Goodbye, Sara. Take care of yourself, little one.”

When he left her, Sara walked down to the waterfront to consider all he had told her. She still found it difficult to accept that, beneath a veneer of expressed dislike, her sister had really been battling with a compelling attraction.

Deep in thought, oblivious to the bustling activity of the wharf, she might have wandered on indefinitely had not a firm brown hand suddenly gripped her upper arm and swung her about.

“This is no place for day-dreaming. You’re liable to trip into the harbor,” said Stephen Rand.

Jolted out of her abstraction, Sara looked blankly up at him. And then, as his hand slid down to her wrist and drew her out of the path of a trundling produce cart, a strange kind of shudder ran over her. What was it Peter had said?
“You will find that when people are drawn to each other against their will, they will often pretend antagonism. Sometimes they are not even conscious of the truth, but they have this instinct to protect themselves.”
So this was the truth? This was why she had been so restive and troubled lately. Because, while her mind had tried to reject it, her subconscious self had known all the time—perhaps even from that first day here on the quayside—that she was falling in love with Stephen.