Chapter Five

Despite the air-conditioning, Sandy awoke feeling warm, perhaps because she was not used to sleeping in bra and pants. She slipped on her new nightie and stepped out onto the balcony. There were two chairs and a small glass table, and the breeze from the sea was tranquil and refreshing.

For a few moments she watched the activities in the garden of the hotel and around the pool, feeling safe at that distance. Sounds of laughter drifted up and the clinking of glasses. This made her feel thirsty and she fetched a glass of iced water from the thermos thoughtfully provided by the hotel.

“Hi, there!” came a greeting from a burly young man standing on the adjoining balcony. He was hanging swimming gear out to dry. He grinned in a friendly way.

“Hello,” said Sandy.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” he said, indicating the view of lush mountains and the sea-green lagoons.

“Yes.”

“If you like the Seychelles, then you’d like the Caribbean. Or Bermuda? Have you ever been to Bermuda?”

“Er…no.”

“Very English. Of course, Bermuda is right on our doorstep, but I said to Madge, that’s my wife, we must go somewhere different this year. You English?”

“Yes.” Sandy began to feel a cold sweat breaking out under the barrage of questions.

“Where do you come from?”

Sandy thought quickly. There was only one place she could think of. “London.”

“We’ve been to London, last fall. Great place. Loved it. We met some people from Epping Forest. Swell couple. Do you happen to know Epping Forest?”

“I-I don’t know. I’m sorry, but I don’t know.” She began to feel flustered. The young man went on talking but she could not take in the words. It was just sounds floating over her head. Somehow she had to get away from him. She heard the sound of a glass falling and breaking, and she had a sensation of moving, although she did not know that her own legs were the means. It was difficult to separate what was really happening from what might be a dream.

It was a long journey through overhanging branches and trees, sometimes a dark place, and she was shaken this way and that way by strange images. She tried to tell forms and shapes to keep still but no words would form.

“Don’t worry Miss-Sandy. Everything going to be all right.”

Now she was being carried like a baby. It was near the sea; she could smell the tangy salt of the ocean. Her protector was walking on sand, for she could hear no footsteps.

Slowly she opened her eyes, and the black sky was all swaying stars, a Milky Way of dazzling, bewildering fragments of light. Her head was hurting again, and for a moment she thought she was on La Petite and everything was happening again like some terrible repetitive nightmare.

All the doors and windows of the room were closed. In the darkness someone struck a match and lit a candle. In the wavering light Sandy became aware of crowds of furniture and intense clutter. She was sitting on a rickety bamboo chair next to a table covered in ornaments. She was in a flimsy shack with walls that seemed to sway with the flickering of the candle. She could hear pounding surf.

Surf—that meant a different part of the island. They must be near a wide bay without a reef of coral, where the Indian Ocean could roll onto the shore.

A man was moving around the crowded room with the careful grace of a black panther.

“Where am I?” she asked. “Why have you brought me here?”

Leon came over. He looked bigger and blacker than ever in the gloom.

“This is my grandfather’s house at Anse Boileau. He was a fisherman. I found you running along the shore. You were lost.”

Sandy felt stifled by the claustrophobic atmosphere. Now her eyes were becoming accustomed to the candlelight, she found she had never seen a room so filled with junk. There was hardly room to move for chairs, tables, boxes, poles, basins, dog-eared magazines, heaps of shells, fishing gear and dead flowers crumbling to dust. The walls were plastered with cut-outs from magazines and old calendars. Hardly an inch was uncovered.

“Mr. Kane will be worried if he doesn’t know where I am,” said Sandy, clinging to the one thing she knew to be true.

“Leon will look after you until you are well,” he said. “Miss-Sandy should not be left alone. It is not safe. I saved you. Mr. Kane is going to fly away soon anyway.”

“How do you know?”

“Today I saw him at the travel office in Port Victoria. He will go soon, and I will look after Miss-Sandy.”

“But Mr. Kane will be looking for me, Leon. You can’t keep me here. You must take me back.”

A stubborn look came over Leon’s face. “Mr. Kane going away,” he repeated. “I will take care of you. I will work on a building site and buy you pretty clothes. I am very strong and will soon get work. This will be your little house. You can do what you like with it. You can make it very pretty, pick flowers—I shall not mind what you do. I will buy everything you want for a little house.”

He was obviously quite sincere. He only wanted to look after her. He meant no harm to her.

“You will be safe now,” he said with an air of manly finality. “And you will be very happy, you’ll see.”

Sandy struggled to quieten her fears. She had to keep her head or Leon might become difficult to handle. At the moment, he was still in some awe of her, but this might wear off the longer she remained here.

But where on earth was Anse Boileau? Which way had she run? And how far? One thing she knew for sure: Daniel would never find her here.

“I am very tired,” she said. “I want to sleep.”

 

Sandy curled up on an old stuffed horse-hair sofa, pulling down her brief nightie. Leon was grinning, interpreting her acquiescence as a good sign. Dust from the old shack filled her nostrils and from the patchouli leaves which had once been stored there in sacks. She could smell the strong sweat from Leon’s skin. She closed her eyes and hoped that he would go away.

She kept very still. Leon was obviously undecided now what to do with his prize, torn between his desire to stay with her and his desire to win her confidence. She began to breathe more deeply and slowly, pretending to be asleep. Leon ran his hand over his red hair and crept away, blowing out the candle as he moved.

She listened to all the noises, trying to follow what he was doing. He had secured the door and pulled some sort of mattress across the front of it to lie down on. She waited a long time until his breathing was heavy and even. Slowly she sat up, moving carefully in case the sofa creaked, then swung her legs over the side.

She moved like a zombie, weighing every floor board before she put her weight on it. Her outstretched hands searched for windows. The walls were flimsy wooden partitions. In the darkness the palms of her hands became extra sensitive. She could feel the edges of the pasted magazine pages, wood, then something different. It was cardboard. Part of the wall was actually cardboard. Sandy felt a surge of wild hope, and her pulse began to race. Now she had only to find something sharp.

Knowing that she had a chance to escape if she could remove the cardboard without waking Leon, she moved even more carefully. Her hands felt over a pile of rubbish, hoping there would be something she could use. A sharp edge nicked her skin. It was a broken bottle.

She found her way back to the strip of cardboard in the wall. It was joining a lower piece of corrugated iron to a plank of wood. Where the two sturdier pieces of building material did not meet, the piece of cardboard had been fitted, casually pasted on with pages of pictures.

The broken bottle top sawed through the cardboard easily after the initial jab. Leon still slept soundly but restlessly. Each time he moved, Sandy made use of the noise he created to cover up a more vigorous thrust through the cardboard. The stream of cool night air on her face was like the touch of a friend.

She was so thin she could easily wriggle through the gap, though she scraped her forehead on something rough. Outside, she listened for a moment to Leon, but he slept on. Now it was more difficult not to make a noise as the trodden leaves crackled like swaying timbers at sea. It was easier once she reached sand. Then she hurried, not bothering to sweep away her footsteps. She knew Leon would be able to follow any such amateurish attempts to cover her tracks. The main thing was to put as much distance between herself and Leon, and if possible find her way back to the Reef Hotel.

She knew that she could not simply follow the beaches around to Anse aux Pins, for there were many headlands and outcrops of rock. Her best plan was to strike inland somewhere and get onto the coast road, which would eventually take her to the Reef, though she had a feeling it was going to be a very long walk.

She found something which looked like a path, and took it, pushing through the undergrowth, her feet slithering on fallen leaves and branches. The moonlight shone eerily through the palms and everywhere the leaves were rustling and whispering to the wind. She pushed out all thoughts of night creatures and concentrated on following the dim line of way through the grove. Something furry scuttled across her feet, and she almost choked on a scream. She was dripping with sweat now, chilled, aching with tiredness before she even began the long walk back.

Then she came out of the trees abruptly, and there was a road. She could have gone on her knees and kissed its dusty surface. But now, to go to the right or to the left? She went right, not knowing that if she had gone to the left she would have ended up among the swamps and lagoons of Baie Ternay Marine Reserve. Nor did she know that there was another road across the mountain which would have taken her to the hotel.

Her feet were sore and bleeding. She tore off the frill from the hem of her nightie, and bound the cotton strips around her feet. It gave her some relief. The ungainly stalks of banana trees growing closely to the road reminded her that she was hungry and thirsty. She had no second thoughts about helping herself to some ripe fruit, and its sweetness immediately revived her energy. There was nothing for her to drink. She saw no streams or mango trees, and could not get to any coconut milk without a knife, although fallen coconuts lay about in abundance.

Sometimes she saw wavering headlights coming towards her, and as a clattering taxi or car approached, she froze into the undergrowth. Sometimes it was a solitary driver; once a car full of noisy revellers on a drinking spree. She kept out of the way.

Almost imperceptibly, the sky was lightening. Sandy began to quicken her pace. She had to be somewhere safe by daylight, before Leon woke and found she had gone.

The island was stirring. She heard cockerels crowing and the birds beginning to twitter in their thousands. Dogs barked. She was so tired now that her legs were just moving automatically.

Vaguely she heard the clanking jangling of some vehicle approaching from behind, but she was too weary to do anything more than step aside off the road.

The vehicle slowed down and stopped beside her. It was a battered old lorry with Marlena painted in a bright pink scroll along its side. A broad-shouldered, beaming young man wearing a rakish Stetson leaned from the driver’s seat with scant care for the running engine and shouted at her.

“All aboard, lady,” he said.

It was a bus, crowded with early morning workers. Sandy remembered that Daniel had told her there were three factories in Victoria, for the production of bread, cigarettes and Seybrew, the Seychelles home brewed beer. She supposed these must be the bread workers.

“I’ve no money,” she said, shaking her head.

He shrugged his shoulders and put an old tobacco tin back on the dashboard, rattling the coins with a flourish.

“Pay me tomorrow,” he said, and waved her on.

She knew she looked a sight. The simple cotton nightie could pass for a shift-style sundress, but she had torn the hem off, and her feet were bound with filthy bandages. She climbed onto the lorry, thankful that at last she was going to sit and travel at some speed.

“Thank you,” she said wearily. Some women edged up together to make room for her on the hard wooden bench seat. Sandy could almost have gone to sleep sitting up, but for the violent bumping and jolting of the van as the bus-cowboy hurled his vehicle along the road.

The other passengers looked at her curiously. They did not know her, although she supposed she could pass for a local with her deep tan and freaky hair. And she looked poor enough to be one of the Seychellois unemployed.

At one point they picked up a bundle hanging from a tree; at another the driver put some freshly caught fish neatly wrapped in banana leaves on the grass verge. The bus obviously acted as a kind of unofficial go-between for various transactions.

Rounding a curve, Sandy suddenly recognised the long low white buildings of the Reef Hotel. “Could you put me down here?” she called out hesitantly.

The driver summed up her rags. “Looking for a job?” he asked.

“You could say so,” said Sandy, stepping off the bus.

“Good luck,” he grinned back, and drove off.

 

She ran into the hotel, well aware of her appearance. But she was just so thankful to be back within its civilised walls that she cared little for the curious stares of the staff. She ran up the stairs towards Room 27, and straight into Daniel in the corridor.

He had not slept all night, and looked it. There had been no starting point. Anything could have happened to Sandy. The strange compelling magnet of the sea could have called her again; perhaps she had gone to see the good doctor; perhaps her memory had returned, and the independent Miss Webster had taken herself off to separate accommodation. He had made discreet enquiries and several abortive trips into Port Victoria. He had searched the shore line for miles.

But one look at her distraught appearance, and any irritation vanished. She looked as though she had been through another terrible experience. There was dried blood on her forehead and her clothes were torn.

“All right. It’s all right now,” he said, as she fell against him. She was sobbing with relief, and he leaned back against the wall, just glad to have her there, alive and well.

He touched her hair absent-mindedly, thinking how many strange things had happened in the last few months. He was not returning to England the same man. He let her weep, then when she seemed steadier, he steered her towards their room. She was spilling out her story, confused and incoherent, but he let her get it out of her system.

It did not surprise him. All those questions had unnerved her. It was lucky that Leon had found her. Leon had shown signs of a fierce protectiveness towards Sandy on La Petite. But from now on, Daniel would not let her out of his sight till they were safely on that plane to London.

She drank and drank so much water that Daniel was afraid she would make herself ill. He took the glass away from her, and rang down for some coffee and juice to be sent up to their room.

Sandy tore off the filthy bandages from her feet and stepped into the bath. She just wanted to lie in the water and soak all her aches away. Then she wanted to sleep.

Daniel insisted that she drank some hot milky coffee before she curled up under the sheet to sleep. She was beginning to shake, and he thought the warmth inside might calm her.

“If only I knew who I was,” she moaned, “perhaps I could be more definite about everything. I could say what I wanted to do, where I wanted to go.”

“Well, that’s a nice change,” Daniel remarked. “For weeks you’ve been saying you did not want to know. Why this sudden interest?”

Her hands curled around the hot cup. She was bone-weary but she had to talk to Daniel.

“It was while I was with Leon. I realised that if no one looked for me, then I might be there for days, weeks, forever. You were the only person who would be concerned, but then you had no real reason to be. I’m not your responsibility. I suddenly wondered if I had any family, anyone who might be wondering where I was.”

Daniel did not answer at first. There might well be other members of the family at Windelshawe Court anxious for news. But one thing was certain, her father and her fiancé had not been found.

“Are you quite sure that you can’t remember anything at all? Surely back here on Mahé…no bells ringing?”

“Oh, Daniel. You sound as if you don’t believe me. Have I been here before? I don’t know, I don’t know anything.” She began to tremble, and Daniel hastily drew the sheet up around her shoulders.

“Try to get some sleep,” he said, making up his mind. “I know a way to give you an identity and get you back to England. I don’t know why I didn’t think of it before. It can’t be too difficult to arrange.”

“What do you mean?” Sandy asked sleepily.

“You’re getting married. Just as well you bought a new dress.”

“What? Sandy sat up, clutching the slippery sheet. Daniel was standing by the window, tall, dark, utterly familiar. She looked at him with dismay. “Who? Me?”

“Of course, silly. There will be no passport difficulties if you enter the country as Mrs. Daniel Kane.”

“You mean really marry me? Not just this pretence?” She flushed suddenly angry at his matter-of-fact voice. “You don’t have to marry me out of charity, you know. I can get a job here at the hotel as a waitress, I’m sure!”

“Stop being so uppity. This is simply a way out. We’ll get married here, and once you are safely in London, then the marriage can be annulled.”

“Oh!” Sandy’s voice was harsh with shock. “How awful. Marriage is special, not just a game. You’re making it all sound so commercial.”

Daniel thrust his hands into his pockets. “What do you expect me to do? Go down on my knees and propose properly? Vow undying love? As you said only a few moments ago, you are not my responsibility. I am merely protecting my own interests by making sure that I don’t break any laws taking you into the country without a passport.”

“Oh!” she shrieked, pulling the sheet up over her head like an outraged little girl. Daniel’s stern expression relaxed.

“Sleep on it,” he chuckled. “See you in church.”

 

He did not linger over starting to make the arrangements, although he took the precaution of locking both the door and the windows before leaving Sandy. And he had asked one of the maids to sit outside the door of Room 27 in case Sandy awoke and was frightened. He explained that his wife had been ill, and he did not like to leave her for long.

He bought a gold ring as casually as a curtain ring. He was looking forward to the bridal night. That divan would be bliss after so long sleeping on boards; such comfort was a half-forgotten luxury, almost worth getting married for. Then Daniel dismissed his own cynicism. God only knew why, but he was doing it for his sea waif.

Government House stood in beautiful gardens overlooking the new Long Pier, the shrubbery well kept and overflowing with blossoms. On the front lawn was the tomb of Chevalier Jean Baptiste Queau de Quincy, the most famous of the French administrators. When de Quincy first became Commandant of the Seychelles in 1794, there were less than 600 inhabitants, two-thirds of whom were slaves.

Daniel requested an appointment with the British High Commissioner in order to explain Sandy’s plight and to make arrangements for the issue of a special licence.

The official who saw him was a weather-beaten Scot who had not seen the Highlands for seventeen years and had no desire to return to his homeland. The Seychelles had captured his heart on a three-year tour earlier in his diplomatic career, and he had pulled every string to make the islands his home.

“My dear young man,” said Hamish Macarthur, waving Daniel into a wicker chair in his large airy office. A huge fan turned slowly in the ceiling, high over a large desk piled with papers and books. “What an amazing story. Of course we must help this young woman—Sandy, whatever you call her. Yes, I remember the sad affair of Sun Flyer, and it does seem very probable that she is the only survivor. But we are not able to issue any documentation for her until she has been identified by some member of the family, or she regains her memory.”

“Then we had better be married, so that I can take her back to England with me,” said Daniel. “I have no wish to run afoul of the law by trying to smuggle her into the country.”

Hamish Macarthur shuffled through some papers, looking for his spectacles. “Amazing the amount of stuff they send out here,” he commented. “We get copies of everything—statements, communiques, don’t know what they expect us to do with it all. You were saying—oh yes, a special licence. My dear boy, you don’t have to have a passport to get into England. People panic about lost passports and it’s all quite unnecessary.”

He found his spectacles and settled them on his nose. He immediately assumed a more official stance and coughed, heralding the change of tone.

“The Immigration Officer simply has to satisfy himself that the individual has some entitlement to come in, and that as much identification as possible can be produced. It seems obvious that Sandy by her accent, you say, is a British citizen, and not, for instance, an American or an Australian.

“Since we can have no definite proof of her identity, and as it is my responsibility to look after the interests of British citizens abroad, I will furnish some temporary proof of citizenship. I suggest you get a letter from Dr. Lefanue on her medical condition, plus perhaps a copy of the charter agreement. I’m sure that all this will convince the immigration officer. After all, a passport is not proof of identity, merely proof of citizenship.” He took off his spectacles and put them carelessly into an out-tray.

“So, no more worries on that score, Mr. Kane. But marry the girl if you want to. I wouldn’t like to stand in the way of true romance,” Hamish Macarthur chuckled. “I’ll even give the bride away. All part of the service.”

“No, thank you,” said Daniel. “It wasn’t going to be that kind of wedding. In fact what you have told me is a great relief. I do not anticipate a wife in my life at this stage. It’s the wrong time and I shall be in the wrong place… I’m not putting it too well.”

“I’m sure you have your reasons, Mr. Kane. Now when could I see the young lady? It ought to be as soon as possible if you are flying back to London shortly. I’m sure there must be some anxious relatives somewhere, although no enquiries have come to me through the Foreign Office.”

“I’ll bring Sandy along this afternoon.”

“Grand. But not too soon after lunch.”

 

Daniel returned to the Reef to tell Sandy that the newly-on wedding was already off. He had a feeling she would be relieved. She had not exactly been ecstatic about the arrangement.

The maid was still sitting outside the door of Room 27, diligently mending some linen. She gave Daniel a big shy smile, and stepped aside for him to unlock the door.

“Your wife is very happy,” she said. “She has been singing. Not sound ill at all.”

“That’s splendid,” said Daniel. “It must be the lovely climate and your lovely island.”

The maid giggled and gathered up her sewing. “Will you want me to sit again?” she asked. She had obviously found the occupation much to her liking.

“No, thank you. We will be going out together soon.” Sandy had put on her new dress for her wedding. It was a pale blue shirtwaister, and she wore her gold sandals and had tied her hair back with one of Bella’s scarves. She had washed her hair again and dried it in the bright sun that shone hotly through the window. It had had to be shampooed again to remove all the dust and scents of Leon’s cabin, and she had almost scrubbed her skin raw.

She heard Daniel’s key in the lock and there was an unexpected flutter of her heart. It was all so silly. She had nothing to be nervous about. It wasn’t going to be a real marriage, just an arrangement.

“You look very nice,” said Daniel, awkwardly.

“Well, it is an occasion, isn’t it,” she said gaily. “Supposed to be the greatest day in a girl’s life. Got to make the most of it.”

Daniel put his arms loosely around her and linked his hands. He peered down at her from his superior height. The scarf looked like a butterfly that had alighted for a moment at the nape of her neck.

“What would you say if I told you it was all off? That it wasn’t necessary after all? No marriage arrangement to complicate matters still further.”

“Oh Daniel, I don’t understand.” She pushed hard against his chest and broke the link. “You’re playing games with me. How could you be so cruel.” She shut her mouth tight and hard. She almost wept with disappointment.

“It isn’t necessary, you see,” he said gently. “I’ve been to see Hamish Macarthur, and he does not think your entry into Britain is going to cause any problems. We simply have to prove British citizenship. Who you are does not seem to be the essential identification.”

“I don’t care! I would be safe with you. It doesn’t matter if it isn’t a real marriage,” she pleaded. “Please, Daniel, I’m so frightened.”

Daniel fought against an overpowering urge to sweep her into his arms and to hell with everything. To push that wild tawny hair from her face and cover her golden skin with kisses. He could imagine how she would feel in his arms, and a baffling wave of despair made him move abruptly.

“Hamish Macarthur is quite sure that it isn’t a necessary formality,” he said harshly.

“Hamish Macarthur? Who’s he? What does he know about me?”

“He’s in the British High Commission and he wants to help you. He wants to establish as clearly as possible that you are British and entitled to citizenship, and then you will be allowed into Britain without a passport.”

Sandy regarded him suspiciously. “How will he do that?”

“The way you speak. That’s the only real clue we have. But we could mention the Marks and Spencer’s label and the life jacket from Sun Flyer.”

Daniel stopped abruptly. He had not meant to say that. It had come out without thinking. The last time he had mentioned Sun Flyer, the reaction had been violent and frightening. But now she merely looked puzzled and a little apprehensive.

“Life jacket from Sun Flyer?” she queried. “You’ve found something out and you haven’t told me about it. Why not? Haven’t I a right to know everything that might tell me who I am?”

Daniel hurriedly tried to cover up. He felt it was too soon to break the news of the Webster tragedy. He felt that in no way was she prepared yet to accept the shock of the double loss of her father and fiancé, even if the knowledge gave her a name.

“I was able to trace that an ocean-going yacht seems to have disappeared, and the life jacket washed up with you came from it. Nothing more. Now, if you’re ready, we’ll slip back to see Mr. Macarthur.”

“But who was on board Sun Flyer?” Sandy persisted. “Don’t you know?”

“No, I don’t know exactly.”

“Well you haven’t done your homework very well,” she said smartly. “Can’t you find out?”

Daniel glared at her. “I happen to have been run off my feet since arriving on Mahé. Don’t worry, I haven’t wasted any time. I haven’t been sitting around sunbathing.”

He was angry with her again. Sandy remembered her earlier vow of acceptance. “Sorry,” she said, trying to sound humble and penitent.

 

It was like being in a dreadful play in which she was miscast and did not know her lines. Mr. Macarthur was kindness itself, but it was the helplessness of her situation which enveloped her in despair. It was different with Daniel, and with Dr. Lefanue when she had simply felt herself to be a patient. But this was officialdom, trying to decide if she was entitled to her birthright.

But was she? She tried to listen to her own voice. Did she have any kind of accent? He was asking her questions about London but she had nothing to tell him. He kept putting on and taking off his spectacles, losing and finding them among his papers.

Eventually he took her for a walk in the gardens, and it was here that they began to talk about art. Hamish Macarthur suddenly became enthusiastic and excited. He felt sure now that Sandy was English.

“This church in Surrey. Can’t you remember anything more about it?” he asked. “Think hard. This is very important.”

She shook her head sadly. It was beginning to ache with concentration. It was only a clear recollection of a mural. But she could have read about it or seen a photograph.

“I’m sorry, but I don’t know anything more except that it has this painting on the wall. At the back, I think. Bodies falling through the air, falling into hell.”

“Can you remember going to school? College? Anything?”

“No.”

Daniel was coming across the lawn towards them. She wanted to run to him, to say that she would prefer his other plan, simply to be Mrs. Daniel Kane. This other person that she might be, elusive creature, could stay lost in the Indian Ocean.

“I’ve got a letter from Dr. Lefanue and the other document you mentioned,” said Daniel easily. He was totally relaxed and confident now. He felt sure it was only a matter of time before Sandy was reunited into the bosom of the Webster family and he could bow out of the whole affair.

“Good. Sandy and I have been getting on famously. I’m sure I can provide a helpful explanation of the situation for the Immigration Authority.”

“That’s splendid. And you don’t anticipate any trouble?”

“None at all, my dear fellow. Especially with you escorting her.” Hamish Macarthur nodded knowingly. “Aye. I’ve been doing my own little line of enquiries, Mr. Kane. The Seychelles Government’s conservation policy is very important and the work on La Petite is no small contribution. I know quite a lot about you, Mr. Kane.”

Daniel took Sandy’s arm. “We mustn’t keep you, Mr. Macarthur. You’ve been most kind.”

“Soon be shutting shop,” he agreed, retracing his steps. “This is the time of day I like most: late afternoon. The heat of the day almost gone; work over. I take a glass of something out onto my veranda—I live up in the hill off the road leading to the tea factory—and sit and watch the sunset. She never fails to provide me with something spectacular…” His voice trailed away as he remembered the emotions such beauty brought him. “I wish you were staying on. I would like to have invited you up to my place.”

It was difficult to get away, for Hamish Macarthur could talk—especially about the islands. Everyone seemed to be in love with the islands except the islanders. They wanted to leave, expecting the bright lights of Nairobi to compensate.

 

They ate outside in the patio restaurant that evening, their table close to the beach. It was laid with pink linen, and a flickering candle stood in a silver holder. Sandy had no idea what she ate, although the food was delicious. With dessert, the waiter brought a bottle of champagne and drew the cork with a flourish. The bubbles rose in her glass, reflecting the light from the candle flame—a stream of silver specks that existed for only a few seconds and then vanished into the velvety night.

Sandy looked mildly amazed. “What’s all this for?”

“Because,” said Daniel, taking a drink first. “Because I have never seen such a miserable couple as you and I this evening. I thought a little champagne might cheer us up. And today has been something of a hurdle.”

“Yes, I suppose you could call me a hurdle,” she said, dryly. “And few people get engaged to be married and then jilted all on the same day.”

“Okay. So it’s not going to be white lace and roses, but this way is important for you, for a whole set of reasons. We are getting you back to England with the minimum of complications. We shall get the best possible advice about your amnesia. And without doubt, you will soon know who you are and be reunited with your family.” Daniel was almost angry with her, his own strange despair lending a harshness to his voice.

“Yes, I suppose you are right.” She sighed.

She raised her glass and smiled at Daniel, a smile of extraordinary sweetness that caught him completely off balance. She looked indeed like some creature from the sea, with her pale blue dress shimmering like water and strands of her tawny hair blowing across her face, combed by the warm breeze.

“So how about a toast to Sandy and Daniel?” Daniel suggested, not wanting the smile to fade. “Partners?”

“Partners,” agreed Sandy, her heart lifting.

A strange awareness formed in the few inches of air between them. They did not drink their champagne, or speak or move. The awareness came from a warmth in their veins, a recognition of the other as a person who was desirable, who at that moment seemed right beyond all others.

Their glasses touched and the champagne sparkled. Sandy wrinkled her nose as the bubbles tickled. The daisy-chain bracelet on her wrist glinted in the light and she wondered who she would be and where, and with whom, in a year’s time.

In the late evening they walked along the shore line, enjoying the balmy night air and fragrant blossoms. Petals lay strewn on the sand like confetti. Sandy was almost happy, walking by Daniel’s side. She did not know that they would be flying to London the next day. Daniel had not told her. He had decided that the best course was simply to arrive at the airport and take off.

Back in Room 27, Sandy showered and put on her nightie. She looked at herself in the mirror and almost laughed. The nightie had been laundered but it was still raggedly torn. She sat on the edge of the bath, wondering what she ought to do. They had not talked about what would happen now, although she supposed that she had better get to bed. Then she would pretend to be asleep. She could not bring herself to face the situation, or admit what she really wanted.

Daniel rapped on the door. “Come out, Sandy. You’re quite safe. I’m not going to attack you. I just want to get into the bathroom. You weren’t as shy as this on La Petite.”

Sandy opened the door a fraction, then rushed past Daniel and into bed. Daniel caught sight of her night attire.

“Such glamour,” he commented laconically. “I’ve changed my mind about your safety.”

But he did not touch her. He put out the light, and she heard him get into the other bed and stretch out with a luxurious yawn.

“Ah, that feels good,” she heard him murmur.

She listened to his movements in bed. Had he forgotten that he was supposed to sleep outside? And yet it seemed cruel to make him endure yet another night sleeping on boards.

“Whatever are you doing?” she asked at last.

“I’m sorry,” he drawled sleepily. “But I can’t stand another night sleeping on the floor, especially when…there’s this…lovely bed empty. You don’t mind, do you? Not outraged or anything? I’ll get up and pile some furniture between us if that’ll make you happier?”

“That won’t be necessary,” said Sandy, stiffly.

“Get some sleep then,” he said. “You’ll need it for tomorrow.”

Sandy digested this. “Why?” she asked.

But he was asleep.

She curled up on her side, listening to his regular breathing. It was strange to have this man so close to her, so vulnerable in sleep. Waves of protectiveness rose in her. She stretched out her hand across the pillow to the shelf between the beds and touched a small object wrapped in tissue paper. Her fingers explored it in the darkness, feeling the tiny hard circular shape. It was a ring. A gold band. The ring she would never now wear. Suddenly she found she was trembling.