Cruise to a Wedding Page 10

  Guake spoke first. ‘Nice to see you enjoying yourself, Loveday,’ he observed, and she could see that he actually meant it, but Rimada said in a surprised voice: ‘Why, Loveday, I didn’t know you were like that.’

  ‘Like what?’ The vermouth was going to her head.

  ‘Well, so very…your manner was quite…’

  ‘Come-hitherish,’ supplied the Baron in a voice which had a nasty edge to it. He looked at Loveday and smiled coldly. ‘A pattern for me to follow, dear girl?’

  The vermouth spoke. ‘Not you, Professor de Wolff, perhaps I didn’t make that quite clear out on the terrace just now.’ She put her elegant head on one side and smiled sweetly at him, longing to burst into tears. ‘I wanted to see what you would do—and you did.’

  She had a brief glimpse of his blue eyes, blazing down at her. He was very angry: probably girls didn’t speak to him like that, and if they did, it would only be the once; they wouldn’t get a second chance. She swallowed and asked a shade too brightly: ‘Are there any plans for tomorrow?’

  It was he who answered her. ‘None of importance, so don’t let us interfere with any of your own.’ His glance flickered towards her erstwhile dancing partner, sitting at the bar. ‘You have a date, perhaps?’ His voice was casual now, almost friendly; she must have imagined the anger. She made haste to deny any plans of her own and entered enthusiastically into several ideas for the following morning. There was a village up in the hills which really should be visited, she was told. They could drive up there and the two girls if they fancied the idea, could return downhill on a sort of sleigh, very popular with tourists. And after lunch, perhaps a stroll round Funchal. It sounded pleasant and not too arduous, they parted for the night on the friendliest of terms.

  Loveday was sitting up in bed brushing out her hair when Rimada came round the balcony to sit on the end of the bed. She began in a satisfied voice: ‘I have had a very pleasant day,’ and sounded so smug about it that Loveday said rather sharply: ‘You might have been married by now.’

  Rimada looked conscience-stricken, but only for a moment. ‘It would have been a disaster,’ she pronounced. ‘Adam was right, I see that now. I am definitely not the right wife for a poor man. He considers it noble and unselfish of me to give Terry up without a fuss.’

  Loveday choked. ‘He said that?’ She wondered what he had told Terry; something equally comforting, no doubt. ‘You’re quite happy to go back to Holland, then, Rimmy?’

  The Dutch girl looked surprised. ‘But what else should I do? Besides, there is Guake.’

  ‘So there is,’ said Loveday dryly. ‘Isn’t it going to be a little awkward when you get back to the Royal City—with Terry?’

  ‘But I do not go back—Adam will arrange it, he says that it will not do at all. I shall stay at home with Mama.’

  ‘Won’t you find that a little dull?’

  Rimada had strolled over to the looking glass and was examining her face carefully. ‘Dull? How can that be? And there will be Guake.’

  Loveday swallowed a number of things she would have liked to have said and remarked instead: ‘Rimmy, you weren’t really in love with Terry, were you, only infatuated.’

  ‘You are right—it was romantic, but not very real now that Guake has explained to me what married love should be.’ She spoke seriously and then turned back to the glass again. ‘I have a spot, does it show very much?’

  ‘You look very pretty,’ said Loveday, ‘and I can’t see any spot.’ She couldn’t help adding: ‘I wonder what Terry’s doing now?’

  ‘Finding himself an heiress,’ stated Rimada, and there was no regret in her voice at all. Loveday sighed and wondered if she would be able to throw off her feelings for the Baron as easily. She thought not.

  The morning proved fine and still warm. They set out after breakfast, Loveday sitting with the Baron because the other two took it for granted that they should share the back seat. To begin with her conversation was a little stilted, but even if she hadn’t forgotten the previous evening, her companion appeared to have done so; he was casually friendly and seemingly intent on her enjoyment of the outing, and even if she had wanted to talk about anything other than the pleasant nothings he kept to, she would have been given no opportunity. Presently, lulled by the colourful surroundings and the warm morning, and above all by his friendly manner, she began to enjoy herself; she might just as well; it wouldn’t help matters at all by yearning over the impossible and at least she had the consolation of knowing that Rimada was going to be happy—was happy already, judging by the laughter and happy chatter coming from the back seat. Loveday forced her thoughts into more cheerful channels and became very nearly the life and soul of the party.

  The sleigh ride was fun; the two girls arrived at the bottom of the hill long before the men with the car. They wandered about, visited the church, bought postcards and souvenirs, and then went and sat in the little village café nearby and ordered coffee. The men joined them presently and the rest of the morning was spent sitting in the sunshine drinking more coffee and talking in a pleasant desultory fashion before Adam drove them back along the coast road and eventually to Funchal and the hotel. A quiet, almost dull morning, but delightful—no rush, no hurry, nothing to do but enjoy themselves. By lunchtime Loveday was nicely relaxed despite her problems.

  There weren’t a great many shops in Funchal, although opposite the hotel there was a row of expensive boutiques, flower shops and confectioners. They wandered across to them after their lunch, and Rimada, quite forgetful of the fact that she had no money any more, bought a great many costly trifles and then asked Adam placidly if he would pay for them. Which he did with no word of complaint. Guake bought several things too; Loveday suspected that he was buying them for Rimada because she had admired them. She herself was contented to purchase a scarf which would do very well for her mother and which cost a good deal more than she could afford to spend, and when Adam asked her if she could see anything she liked for herself, she was careful to say no, for fear he might feel called upon to buy things for her too.

  They wandered off into the town presently, to explore the pretty gardens and smell the frangipani trees and admire the flowers, and then walked on through the town to the church in its centre. It was dark and cool inside and Loveday wandered off on her own, to find shortly that Rimada and Guake had disappeared and the Baron was waiting patiently for her by the door. He smiled but made no reply to her apology and they went out into the sunshine together, and since there was no sign of the other two, they wandered from shop to shop, stopping for tea at a pavement table outside a café. The Baron had never been so pleasant. Back at the hotel they found Rimada and Guake already there, leaning over the terrace balustrade. They turned surprised faces as they joined them, observing that the afternoon had come and gone so quickly and suggested drinks before they went to change for dinner, and then asked, a little belatedly, if their companions had enjoyed their afternoon too.

  Loveday made no answer beyond a polite murmur, leaving it to the Baron to express his opinion, something which he did with conventional politeness and no warmth, confirming her suspicions that he had been merely filling in time in her company so that the others might feel free to go off on their own. Well, possibly she had deserved it, but he could have pretended; she reminded herself that he wasn’t a man to pretend. She was being paid back for her disgraceful behaviour of the evening before.

  She sipped her drink and wondered if it would be possible to cry off the evening’s entertainment with a sick headache. She frowned; possible or not, that was what she intended doing. It would be a pity, of course, because she had planned to wear a particularly charming dress, silk voile, coral pink and most becoming to her, but since the Baron wouldn’t even notice it, that didn’t matter. She made no mention of her imaginary headache, however, until she and Rimada went to their rooms, when she voiced her uncertainty as to whether she could face the evening in any other place than her bed. They had packed once more, r
eady for their flight to Lisbon on the following morning, now Rimada was sitting, as usual, at Loveday’s dressing table, trying out a variety of hair-styles. She turned and surveyed Loveday with some concern. ‘You poor thing—of course you shall go to bed, and it will not matter in the least, for Adam said only this morning that he had his own plans for this evening. I asked him because Guake and I thought we might go for a stroll, but we didn’t like to do that until we discovered what you two wanted to do. But now that is most convenient, is it not?’

  ‘Very,’ agreed Loveday. Especially for Adam, who must have been wondering how he was going to shake her off so that he could follow his own amusement. She had a bath and got into bed, and when Rimada came back presently to see how she was, remembered to say that the headache was no better, but that a couple of Panadols and a warm drink would soon settle it.

  ‘I’ll get someone to send up some dinner,’ offered Rimada, rustling to the telephone. ‘What do you fancy?’

  Loveday considered. Since she would be forced to spend the evening in bed, she might as well have a good meal to while away the time.

  ‘Iced consommé,’ she decided, ‘some of those little fish we had last night, and that baked duck with rice was very good—just a water ice will do nicely for afters.’

  Rimada conveyed her wishes to the reception desk and added: ‘I’ll tell them to send you some white wine, shall I? And coffee afterwards. You’re sure you’re all right?’

  Loveday arranged herself more comfortably in her bed. ‘Fine,’ she said quite cheerfully. ‘I’ll be perfectly all right here; a good night’s sleep and I’ll be OK—pop in on your way to bed.’

  There was a paperback in her case which she hadn’t even opened; when Rimada had gone, she hopped out of bed and found it and settled back on her pillows with it opened before her. She read the first page and then let the book fall while she considered her wasted evening. She had never felt better, she had to admit that; being in love must be good for one, even if that love was hopeless. She wondered what the others were doing—having a drink, she supposed; she wondered too if Adam had shown concern when Rimada had told him that she wouldn’t be coming down. He was unlikely to care in the very least, reason reminded her; he had his plans for the evening, Rimada had said so. Loveday picked up the book again and read the next few pages with increasing pettishness. She had played right into his hands, hadn’t she? Now he could go off and enjoy himself. ‘And may it do him good!’ she muttered furiously, and had her train of thought interrupted by a knock on the door. She put the book down and called ‘Come in’. Dinner would relieve the monotony, at any rate.

  It wasn’t her dinner, it was Rimada, and hard on her heels, Adam, elegant and unhurried, his handsome face infuriatingly calm. He walked over to the bed and stood looking down at Loveday, and it was impossible to tell whether his concern was genuine or not. Probably not.

  She eyed him warily while her heart thudded its delight at the sight of him. He said cheerfully: ‘Sorry to hear about the headache, I thought I’d better come along and see how you were, though. Perhaps you’ve had too much sun.’ His voice was smooth and professional. ‘You were wise to go to bed; I’ve taken the liberty of cancelling your order for dinner and substituted something more suitable; we can’t have you ill.’ His eyes fell upon the book. ‘I shouldn’t read either,’ he added, still smooth.

  He had whisked the book away as he spoke, keeping it in his hand. ‘If I might advise a light supper and then a good sleep. Are you prone to headaches?’

  She shook her head; she couldn’t remember ever having had one, although she felt reasonably certain that if he went on in the same strain, she would experience one of some magnitude.

  ‘I’m sorry about this evening,’ she told him woodenly. ‘Luckily you have your own plans made, so Rimada told me.’

  She wondered why he should look so amused, although he said nothing, leaving Rimada to fuss round the bed for a minute or two and repeat her promise to come in on her way to bed, before they took their leave.

  Loveday fumed. He had taken her book with him, so she had nothing to read; she had done her nails that morning and washed her hair, she had packed, she had, in fact, done everything necessary and time-consuming. She could, of course, take another bath. She was saved the necessity of doing this when there was another tap on the door and a chambermaid came in with her dinner tray. Loveday eyed it anxiously, wondering what the Baron had substituted for her own choice. Bouillon, a small portion of steamed fish with no trimmings, and a miniature jelly were sustained by a few grapes artistically arranged in a small glass dish, the whole flanked by a glass of what she discovered to be tonic water.

  She ate the lot very slowly so that it might seem more than it was, wondering the while how she could possibly be head over heels in love with a man who could be so utterly beastly as to starve her—and to take away the only book she had. She drained the last drop of tonic water, got out of bed and went to sit on the balcony in her dressing gown. It was a beautiful evening, but she ignored the moon; it hadn’t been of much use the night before, it merely mocked her now. She sat on, thinking of Adam, and when she wasn’t thinking of him she was thinking of the splendid breakfast she would eat in the morning. An early swim, she decided, and then a really good meal. Quite cheered by the thought, she went back to bed and much to her surprise, fell asleep so soundly that when Rimada peeped in she didn’t stir.

  She had the pool to herself the next morning. Fortified by her early tea, she swam its length and back again and then climbed on to the low diving board. She didn’t dive well and then only from a foot or two, but as there was no one to see, it was a splendid chance to get some practice. She did rather well, and much emboldened, she climbed higher. She was on the end of the highest diving board when she looked down. The pool looked a long way away, she found herself unable to take her eyes away and the longer she looked the higher she seemed to be. She began to shake with fright while she tried in vain to remember that the pool wasn’t far away at all; that she wasn’t thousands of feet up. She longed to turn back, but her feet were glued to the board. She went on staring helplessly, feeling sick.

  ‘Just stay there,’ Adam’s voice from somewhere behind and below her sounded completely reassuring. ‘I’m coming up.’

  ‘Turn round,’ he ordered her, seconds later.

  ‘I can’t,’ she admitted miserably, ‘I shall fall.’

  She felt his hands on her shoulders. ‘Close your eyes and trust me,’ he advised. ‘Now turn round.’

  Loveday did as she was told and stood shuddering. At his ‘Good girl, keep your eyes shut’, she nodded and then gave a gasp as she felt his hands relax for a second. He had turned round too, her hands were on his shoulders now, his own holding them there. ‘Now walk,’ commanded the Baron in a voice which defied disobedience.

  Safely on the ground once more, he wasted no time in questions or sympathy. ‘Race you to the end of the pool and back,’ he said, and pushed her gently in.

  It wasn’t until they had swum, side by side, for five minutes or so that he said: ‘Now a good rub down and breakfast,’ and hauled her out as though she had been a rag doll, set her gently on her feet, wrapped her robe around her and trotted her back to the hotel. Only as they parted he remarked matter-of-factly: ‘Don’t do that again, dear girl,’ and then, surprisingly: ‘I missed you last night.’

  Loveday hugged the robe to her, her eyes on his face. It gave nothing away, as usual. ‘You had your evening planned,’ she reminded him. ‘Rimada…’

  He smiled. ‘Quite right, I had, but Rimada didn’t wait to find out if you were included in my plans. You were. Is the headache better?’

  She went red. ‘Yes, thank you,’ she answered him, and sped away to her room.

  Breakfast was a carefree meal; Loveday ate hers with appetite and no one mentioned her headache, only as they left the table did Adam say softly to her: ‘I daresay you were hungry, Loveday.’ A remark she saw fit not to answer.r />
  CHAPTER SEVEN

  LOVEDAY hadn’t liked the idea of flying to Lisbon, but she had been given no other choice. Everyone flew nowadays, she told herself stoutly as they drove to the airport outside Funchal, and to proclaim her fright at the very idea was to admit at being a coward. She sat, rather white about the mouth, beside the Baron, making conversation while her mouth became more and more dry. They had cleared Customs and were actually going on board when he caught her by the arm. ‘I’ll sit on the outside,’ he told her briefly, and gave her an understanding smile. ‘You’ll be quite all right, just don’t look out until we’re airborne—it’s not at all the same as looking over the edge of something, you know.’

  Rimada and Guake were sitting across the aisle. The Baron squeezed his substantial person past Loveday and sat down, almost obscuring any view Loveday might have had; he also took her hand and held it. He held it for the entire journey—some five hundred and sixty miles, only relinquishing it when refreshments were served and when, having screwed up her courage, she went with Rimada to tidy herself. Back in her seat once more she remarked with relief: ‘It’s not nearly as bad as I thought it would be.’

  He had taken her hand again. ‘Good—you won’t mind flying on to Amsterdam tomorrow, then.’

  ‘No. I’m sorry to be so silly—it’s been boring for you.’

  His voice was nicely friendly. ‘Not at all. We all have an Achilles heel, you know, only it isn’t always discovered.’

  ‘Have you a chink in your armour, too?’ she asked.

  He turned a faintly smiling face to hers. ‘But of course. Will you feel like going out this evening, do you suppose? I expect you and Rimada will want to go shopping before tea—the hotel is near the best of the shops. That will leave us tomorrow morning in which to drive to Sintra and Cascais, there won’t be time for more than that, I’m afraid. We can lunch somewhere on the way. Our flight leaves in the late afternoon.’