THERE WERE bright stars that night when you looked out from the bows of the Atacama. Anne tried to find the Southern Cross, but so many cruciform patterns appeared in the sky that she could never be certain about it. The third officer had pointed it out to her, Don Sebastian had pointed it out; only Del Wayne had not bothered.
Probably Del Wayne knew nothing about stars, or he had other things to think of. Since the day in Havana he had been moody and preoccupied, seeming to come out of himself only when he snarled at Don Sebastian.
“Star-gazing?” Don Sebastian inquired. “You will find nothing up there to equal your eyes.”
Compliments from Don Sebastian had become irritating.
“I think that’s a very silly thing to say,” she snapped at him.
“That is because you do not see yourself.” He was quite undisturbed. “You are very lovely to-night, Anne. And in a different way. What has made such a change in you?”
Carmen had persuaded her to do her hair in a new way. Carmen had insisted on a different lipstick. Perhaps, under Carmen’s tutelage, she had rather overdone it.
Sebastian’s elbow touched hers on the rail. He was good at that sort of thing.
“What a pity there is no dancing to-night,” he lamented. “But to-morrow, our last night at sea, you will dance with me again?”
“I might.”
“The last night,” Don Sebastian sighed. “I cannot bear to think that we must part so soon.”
His hand caressed her shoulder and would have stayed there had she not turned abruptly from the rail.
“We must part this very moment,” she said. “I have to get a message off to Santa Teresa.”
“You leave me in desolation.”
“You had better take Carmen to the film. She wants to see it.”
She ran to her cabin and peered into the mirror. The lipstick was all right, but the general effect did not satisfy her. She worked on it for several minutes, then stared at herself.
Don Sebastian was right. She was changed, but the transformation went deeper than he imagined.
When had she ever borrowed an iron to press a dress? When had she ever consulted a Spanish dancer about the right shade of lipstick? When, indeed, had she ever cared a button for cosmetics or brushed her hair so carefully? Or, for that matter, when had she ever rushed from a ship’s cabin to keep a date with a copper-miner?
“Why have you been so long?” the copper-miner grumbled.
“I like that,” she retorted. “I waited where you said till I was tired of waiting.”
“I’m sorry. Sparks was chasing me with a radio. I had to get a reply off. I’m having a row with the dad.
“By wireless?”
“That’s how we always have our rows. It saves his blood pressure. Only this time I doubt if it will. He’s not going to dictate to me any more. I’ve sent him an ultimatum.”
“But, Del, you make it sound quite serious.”
“It is serious. Now forget it. Let’s have coffee in the lounge.”
“Must we? I don’t feel dressed for a crowd.”
“You’ll pass. Why do you have to use that lipstick? You don’t need it.”
She looked at him reproachfully, then shrank from the amusement in his eyes, embarrassed by the thought of how crudely she had angled for a compliment. Her reproach was now for herself, and when she was once more in her cabin she stared at the image in the mirror with distaste.
It was the sea voyage, of course. Sea voyages did strange things to people. Carmen had told her that, rather cryptically, and it was true. She was no longer the Anne Page who had embarked at New York, the serious artist, looking forward to days of work on her string quartet. Alas, the string quartet was forgotten; so, too, was the choral opus, “Where the remote Bermudas ride.”
Since Havana she had thought of nothing but dressing up and dancing and sight-seeing, of shuffleboard and deck tennis: all the trivial pursuits of the empty-headed.
Worry over the creature she had become kept her awake, and in the small hours she framed resolutions of reform. There was one day left to dissipate the effects of the voyage. To-morrow she would retrieve herself.
She began the day by hurling her lipstick through the port-hole, but she dressed without diminution of her newly-acquired care. This was no compromise; it was merely to preserve certain desirable aspects of the sea change. There was no need for a sane and serious composer to be a slovenly frump.
At the last minute, just as the steward came along thumping the breakfast gong, she thought of Uncle Julian’s ring. As she would have to wear it to-morrow, it would be well to give it an airing.
Don Sebastian, of course, was the first to notice it. He reached across the table and caught her hand in his long and elegant fingers, and Del Wayne glared at her disapprovingly as if she were encouraging the man.
“What a beautiful ring, Anne!” Don Sebastian exclaimed. “Why is it that you have not worn it before?”
Anne explained. Don Sebastian squeezed her hand.
“Cantaloup,” Delbert snarled at the steward. “And see that it’s properly iced.”
Don Sebastian said: “May I examine the stone, please?”
“I don’t think it’s a very good one.” Anne slipped the ring from her finger and handed it over.
“But it is a good one.” Don Sebastian peered at it, held it to the light, turned it to examine the facets. “I know all about emeralds,” he added modestly. “Before I discovered my voice, I worked in our Mines Department. My cousin is the Minister.”
“You seem to come of a very powerful family,” Delbert said unpleasantly.
“In San Mateo it is good to come of a powerful family.” Don Sebastian bent over the ring. “The setting is perfect, Anne, but I hope you will pardon me if I say the stone could have been better cut.”
Delbert jerked his head back. “I don’t see why you have to disturb Miss Page with your damn-fool criticisms.
“I’m not in the least disturbed.” Miss Page turned a reproving eye on her protector. “The ring has a sentimental value. That’s all.”
“Accept my apologies.” Don Sebastian was contrite. “The expert in me made me forget myself. We take great pride in the craft of our cutters. Even a small fault is to be deplored. It involves the honour of my cousin’s department.”
“Your cousin’s department is quite safe.” Anne laughed. “The stone was cut and set in London.”
“But that is impossible!” Don Sebastian was really surprised. “You say it came from San Mateo. In San Mateo emeralds are a government monopoly. No stone is permitted to leave the country uncut. It is the law.” He frowned, quite puzzled. “It is also the law that no one may sell an uncut stone.”
“I’m afraid my uncle couldn’t have known about it. Anyway, he didn’t buy the emerald. He found it on his estate. He certainly didn’t think it had any value.”
“Where is his estate?”
Del was suddenly in a good humour. “Careful, Anne, or you’ll find the whole family under arrest. Your uncle is obviously a notorious jewel smuggler.”
Sebastian flushed angrily. “You like to be absurd, señor. Miss Page understands that I am interested merely in the source of the stone.”
Del’s good humour passed in a flash. He bristled. “I don’t see what business it is of yours!”
“Please!” Anne interposed, holding out her hand for the ring.
People at nearby tables were staring. Sebastian continued to glare, but before he could frame an indignant retort, Carmen appeared and demanded attention.
“Sebastian!” she cried in the voice of a Cassandra. “Have you seen this?”
Her dark eyes had the fear of ruin in them as she thrust the daily news sheet at him.
“What is it now?” he asked, turning some of his rancour upon her.
“There has been shooting,” Carmen announced tragically. “Read!”
Sebastian read.
“Why must you always get so excited over nothing?” he demanded. “A river steamer reports hearing a few shots in the hills north-east of Trajano!”
“But it happened only yesterday afternoon!”
“So! It may happen again this afternoon. There are always hunting parties in those hills. I have given you my word that there will be no insurrection. Now sit down, and see that you do not eat too much. If you put on weight, you will spoil the season.”
Del rose, grinning. “I’ll see you later, Anne,” he said. “I have to get through a pile of papers to catch the air-mail to New York to-morrow. I’ll be on deck as soon as possible.”
When she passed his cabin at lunch-time, she heard the furious clicking of a typewriter, and his steward was coming along the alleyway with a sandwich and a glass of milk.
It was late in the afternoon before he came to his deck-chair. He seemed tired and nervous and resentful of the presence of Carmen and Sebastian. He tried to detach Anne from the party, but the other two defeated him, so they were a foursome till they broke up to dress for dinner.
Anne had pressed her once-despised ball creation for this last night, and she thought it would be too absurd to crush it into a suitcase again after all her hard work with Carmen’s portable iron.
Perhaps, as a reformed character, she hesitated for a moment. Then she put it on. It was an airy, delicate thing of white tulle and miniature pink roses, and it gave her a deplorable feeling of self-satisfaction.
To make up for it she devoted a few spare minutes to the “Principles of Orchestration”, but it seemed that Rimsky-Korsakov had lost his charm. Properly distributed chords had no interest for her, and it was boring to think how they might sound in strings, woodwind or brass. She wished she had accepted Don Sebastian’s invitation to a cocktail in the bar. She wanted to hear how the human voice would respond to her symphony of tulle and roses.
The response, when she went to dinner, was mainly in the husky folk-contralto of Carmen. The tenor of Don Sebastian could not get beyond the utterance of her name, but his eyes were eloquent. She turned nervously towards Del, but, for all the notice he took, she might have been wearing her old blue jeans and a crumpled shirt.
Sebastian insisted on champagne. “We must celebrate our last night,” he said. “It is nice to know that Anne will be with us in San Mateo. To poor old Del we must soon say good-bye, but we will think of him as he sails down to Antofagasta.”
Poor old Del was not happy. He was thinking too much of Antofagasta. Or he was worried about the quarrel with his dad.
Towards the end of the meal the table steward brought him a message.
“From the wireless officer, sir.”
Scowling, Del read the message, then laughed and thrust it into a pocket of his jacket.
“Damned old fool!” he exclaimed involuntarily, and called for more champagne.
When the time came for dancing Anne completely forgot her reformation. A languorous tango was heavenly music, and there could surely be no one to better Don Sebastian as a partner. The only trouble with him was that he would talk a lot of nonsense.
She tried to laugh it off, but he became more and more insistent. They must make a plan. He would meet her in Trajano, and the town would be hers. She must come to the opera and he would sing to her. Only to her.
When he drew her closer, she wanted to escape. She looked towards Del Wayne as they moved past him, but he merely scowled at her. The tango came to an end and Sebastian still held her.
“The next dance,” he pleaded.
“Sorry,” she answered. “It’s promised.”
Del said: “Let’s sit this one out.”
The proprietary note in his voice made her frown. He seemed to think he could order her about whenever the mood took him. She wanted to rebel, yet she followed him to the deserted promenade. Tamely. Or tamed. Suddenly she halted.
“I promised you the dance,” she protested hotly. “Why do you think you can cart me off down here?”
He was insensitive to her temper. Like Sebastian, he could think only of himself. He hauled the crumpled wireless message from his pocket and thrust it at her.
“Take a look at this.”
She faltered. Her anger evaporated.
“Is it from your father?” she asked.
“Read it!”
He was tense, watching her closely. She took a step towards a deck light and read:
BEG YOU COME TO YOUR SENSES STOP HATE SEE YOU VICTIMISED BY ADVENTURESS STOP AUTHORISE YOU BUY HER OFF STOP WILL MEET ANY REASONABLE SUM AVOID BREACH ACTION STOP THIS IS MY LAST WORD STOP IF YOU MARRY HER EXPECT NOTHING FROM ME REPEAT NOTHING
She was sinking, as if the ship had foundered beneath her. She tried to tell herself that it did not matter to her. He could have a dozen adventuresses waiting for him in Antofagasta for all she cared.
Yet she continued to sink, and she had a choking sensation as if the sea had closed over her. And he was standing there watching her, waiting for her to say something.
“Why do you show this to me?” She stared at the slip of paper and saw that her hand was trembling. “Are you going to marry this – this woman?” she asked in a faint voice.
“It depends on you.”
“How can it depend on me? What have I to do with it?”
She looked up to find him pulling nervously at his collar.
“You happen to be the woman,” he said.
She was rising to the surface and his hands reached out to pull her to safety.
It was a long time before a disquieting thought came to her.
“What about your father?” she asked.
“Please don’t worry about him,” Del advised her. “My bet is that you’ll have him under control in thirty seconds. Of course, we could get him to buy you off. Then we could marry on the proceeds. An adventuress with your looks should be worth a million at least. Let’s go to the captain and make him marry us right away.”
“Don’t be absurd. You’ll meet my father in Santa Teresa to-morrow. Then we’ll talk about it.”
But they talked about it until well after midnight, and they had plans worked out to the last detail before they parted.
Next morning they stood by the rail in silence, watching the coastline of San Mateo coming up out of the haze with hateful rapidity. They were solemn, even grim, for the landfall was ominous with the threat of the imminent parting.
The deck-steward came along with the kind of envelope that was only too familiar to one of the dejected couple. Del held out a hand to take it.
“For Miss Page,” the deck-steward told him.
“This time it will be from my father,” Anne said as she broke the envelope. Then her look changed from one of expectancy to alarm. “Del! He’s ill.”
Del read the message:
SORRY CANNOT MEET SHIP DOWN WITH TOUCH OF FEVER NOTHING SERIOUS AM SENDING FRIEND WITH TAXI AWAIT YOU AT HOTEL LOVE
“He says it isn’t serious,” Del comforted her. “What shall we do about to-day?”
She frowned. “He’ll surely be well enough to see you, even if it’s only for a moment. Del, he must see you.”
“I had better go along with you as soon as we dock.”
“No. I must prepare him. I’m afraid it will be a bit of a shock. You come to the Hotel Granada at one. Whatever happens, we’ll have four hours together before the ship sails.”
She read the message again. “It’s funny that he has to send a friend with a taxi,” she remarked. “I would have thought that Uncle Julian would meet me.”
“Perhaps he was too busy to make the trip. Anyway, you’ll all be together very soon. And I’ll be back here before you have time to miss me.”
Details of the Santa Teresa waterfront were already distinguishable, and presently a launch came alongside with the medical and immigration officers. A few minutes later Anne was summoned to the saloon to join a queue of disembarking passengers and Del went in search of expected letters.
The Atacama docked at eleven. In the last few minutes of bustle with mooring ropes and gangways, Don Sebastian waylaid Anne.
“I had hoped to take you ashore, but my people are meeting me,” he told her. “Where can I get in touch with you?”
“I don’t know.” She looked for Del, but he was nowhere in sight. “I’ll write to the Opera House,” she added hastily.
“Do that.” Don Sebastian was delighted. “I’ll be keeping a box for you every night. I must rush away now. Au revoir, my dear. Hasta la vista.”
He kissed her hand.
“Adios,” she said.
“No, no! Hasta la vista.”
At last Del came pushing through the crush of passengers round the gangway.
“I was kept at the purser’s office,” he complained, flourishing a handful of letters. “Now there’s urgent mail to deal with, but I’ll be on time if I have to drop everything. Where’s your escort?”
“I don’t know.” She glanced up and down and across the deck, then laughed at the futility of it. “I suppose he’ll ask someone to find me. If he doesn’t turn up, I can take a taxi.”
People were coming and going, greeting friends, calling names. She felt helpless in all the confusion. Then she saw the deck-steward pointing her out to a man in a chauffeur’s cap. The man came forward.
“Pardon,” he said. “You are Señorita Page, yes? Your friend waits for you in my cab. I have orders to help with your baggage.”
He was a spindly specimen with a large protruding nose and a receding chin.
“Where is your cab?” Del demanded.
“On the Embarcadero, señor. It is not permitted on the pier. If the young lady hurries, we will get through the Customs quickly.”
“Lead the way.”
“I’m all right now, Del,” Anne protested. “You get on with your letters.”
“Do you think I’m going to let you out of my sight till the last second?” He took her arm. “I’ll see you safely to your cab.”
The taxi-driver was efficient. He found Anne’s suitcases, caught the attention of a Customs officer, and argued with such urgency that the formalities were completed in little more than a minute.
Del was stopped at the exit. It seemed that his blue permit had to be presented at another gate. This one was strictly for pink disembarkation cards. A display of pesos had no effect, so he could only watch from inside the barrier while Anne followed the driver across the roadway.
On the far side of the taxi-cab a distinguished-looking gentleman awaited her. He was tall and thin and the length of his lean sun-browned face was accentuated by a greying goatee. He wore his immaculate clothes with an aristocrat’s ease, and he bowed most elegantly.
“I am charmed, Miss Page,” he said. “I trust you were not too disturbed by your father’s message?”
“Not greatly, thank you, señor.” Anne was quite shy in the presence.
“That is good. He is, I may say, much better this morning. Much, much better. But it is unwise for him to leave his room for a day or so. If you will permit me, I will take you to him at once.”
“You are very kind, señor.”
“It is nothing, señorita.” The stranger smiled. “I have had the pleasure to serve your father before to-day. My name is Balaguer. Mauricio Balaguer y Lucientes.”