Stormspell Read online

  'What been going on. Missy?' she exclaimed, examining the man beside her with a shrewd inquisitive gaze. 'What you been doing, spending so long at the beach? Don't you know your daddy's awake and been asking for you this last half hour?'

  Ruth sighed. 'You can see what's been going on. Celeste,' she protested impatiently, aware of the older woman's sudden interest. 'I found—him—' this, as she realised she didn't even know his name. '—washed up on the shore. His arm's quite badly injured. Can you help us indoors?'

  'I wish you wouldn't talk about me as if I wasn't here.' objected the man huskily. 'I may be tired, but I'm not unconscious—yet.' He acknowledged Celeste's curious stare. 'I presume you have seen a white man before?'

  Celeste's cheeks dimpled. 'Oh. yes'm, sir. I seen a lot of white men. But they ain't all as pretty as you are.'

  'Celeste!' Ruth made a sound of disbelief. "Celeste, will you mind your own business, and help me? Look if you could position yourself here—we could get up the steps—'

  'I can get up the steps myself,' the man insisted, releasing his hold on her to reach for the handrail. He succeeded in making the transfer, but he swayed as he clung to the wooden banister, and Ruth exchanged an impatient look with the black woman as she went to help him again.

  'It's this way.' she said, propelling him along the hall towards her bedroom, and pushing open the door with her foot, she edged him to the bed. She sagged, too. as he slumped down on to the mattress, and weakness made her grasp at the door frame for support. It had been a strain for both of them, and she could feel the moisture trickling down her own back.

  'Thanks.' he said, bracing himself against the iron- bedpost, and as he looked around the room, she wished she had made her bed before leaving. But he had to rest, and this was the only place, and regaining her breath, she began to pull the covers straight beneath him.

  Celeste hovered in the doorway, and Ruth turned to her impatiently. The black woman seemed fascinated by their visitor, and Ruth didn't appreciate having to issue her instructions which ought not to have been needed.

  'Will you tell Daddy what's happened?' she suggested. her eyes flashing messages that Celeste either couldn't or wouldn't understand. 'Ask him if he'll come here, will you? And then make some tea—hot and strong, with plenty of sugar.'

  'Yes'm.' Unwillingly, Celeste complied, sauntering off down the hall with evident reluctance. It was not every day they had visitors and she would obviously have much preferred to stay and hear where he had come from.

  'She's intrigued.' the man declared, resting back against the pillows Ruth had newly shaken. There was a faintly humorous twist to his mouth as he spoke, but the evidence of the pain he was still suffering was there in the darkness of his eyes. 'I'm sorry to be such a nuisance to you. I'll get out of your way as fast as I can. But. for now—if I could just rest—'

  'Your arm needs stitching,' said Ruth, when he would have closed his eyes. 'That tourniquet has to come off. My father will know what to do.'

  The man's lids lifted heavily. 'Is your father a doctor?'

  'No.' Ruth hesitated. 'He—he was a university professor. But he knows about such things. He's attended to the village people. And when Celeste's cousin was bitten by a barracuda—'

  'That's enough.' The man licked his lips weakly. 'Could I have some water, do you suppose? I'm very thirsty.'

  'Of course.'

  With reluctance, she went to the door, but as she reached it her father appeared in the aperture, his lined face drawn into a puzzled frown.

  'Celeste told me—she said—'

  'That's right. Daddy.' Ruth gestured towards the bed behind her. 'This man's yacht capsized in the storm. I found him on the beach.'

  Professor Jason entered the room with his slow, somewhat breathless gait. Even the smallest exercise tired him these days, and it was all he could do to get about the bungalow, or sit on the verandah with his pipe and his books. Age. and illness, had emaciated his always spare frame, and he stooped slightly, as if his body was curving in on itself.

  Ruth placed a chair for her father beside the bed. near enough for him to examine the injured man's arm without effort, and then waited hesitantly for his verdict. Like Celeste, she found, she was curiously loath to leave him. and she felt a certain amount of responsibility for his being there.

  'I'm sorry for the intrusion, sir.' He was speaking now. addressing her father, giving the older man time to regain his breath. 'But it was one hell of a storm, and I vaguely recall the keel scraping over some rocks before we turned over.'

  Professor Jason frowned, reaching for his arm and examining the wound. 'You were alone?' he asked, voicing the question Ruth had been considering, and the man nodded.

  'I guess no one else was crazy enough to come with me.' he remarked, glancing mockingly at Ruth, and she felt again that curious stirring in the pit of her stomach.

  'Tell me. Mr—er—' Her father waited expectantly. and the man complied.

  'Howard.' he said, after a moment. 'Dominic Howard.' and her father inclined his head.

  'Tell me. Mr Howard.' he continued, 'have you had any anti-tetanus shots in the last six months?'

  The younger man frowned. 'Not that I can recall, sir. Is it important?'

  'It may be.' replied Professor Jason levelly. 'This is a deep wound. It can be dangerous. I think some kind of anti-toxin is necessary. I can stitch up the wound, but I think a doctor's diagnosis is warranted.'

  'That's okay.' Dominic Howard shifted on the bed. 'I'll have a doctor take a look at it as soon as I get back to Bridgetown—'

  'You can't leave today!'

  Ruth's impulsive interjection was followed by an intense feeling of embarrassment, as both men's eyes turned in her direction, but to her relief her father seconded her declaration.

  'I agree.' he said, getting up from the chair. 'I'd advise you to rest for the remainder of the day. Mr Howard. Tomorrow . . . well, tomorrow is another day.'

  The younger man took a deep breath and swung his legs to the floor, pulling himself into an upright position. 'Really.' he said, obviously fighting against the dizziness that had once again gripped him. 'I'm all right. Just stitch me up. and I'll be on my way. Can I get a flight from—St Vincent to Bridgetown?'

  Ruth looked imploringly at her father, and after a moment's hesitation he said: 'I can't force you to stay here. Mr Howard, but I do ask you to consider seriously before ignoring my advice. You're in a state of complete exhaustion. You could permanently damage your health by over-exerting yourself. You're welcome to stay here. You're welcome to our hospitality. Have the goodness to accept my counsel and wait—at least until tomorrow.'

  Dominic's shoulders hunched, his uninjured arm hanging loosely between his spread knees. Then, with a weary look of acceptance, he half turned and slumped back against the pillows. 'All right.' he said heavily, and Ruth didn't know if it was her father's advice or his own weakness which had convinced him. 'Till tomorrow.' he muttered, closing his eyes, and they all breathed a sigh of relief. 'And now. could I have that glass of water?'

  CHAPTER TWO

  It was lunchtime before Ruth spoke to him again.

  Professor Jason had her fetch him a dish of clean water and some towels, and the chest containing his medical equipment. Then he asked her to leave while he examined his patient. Even Celeste, carrying in the tray of tea Ruth had ordered, was banished from the room, and the door firmly closed behind her.

  'Who is he?' she asked of Ruth, when the girl joined her in the kitchen for breakfast. 'He some man. that one. So strong and brown. Me. I don't care for white men. but him—he something else!'

  Ruth smiled. 'His name is Dominic Howard.' she confided steadily. 'That's all I know about him. That, and the fact that he set off from Bridgetown."

  'Bridgetown? Bridgetown. Barbados?' Celeste's dark eyes widened. 'How he get so far?'

  'He had a yacht,' explained Ruth patiently, helping herself to a glass of orange juice, it capsized. It was lucky he wasn't dr
owned.'

  Celeste nodded. 'He not drown—not that one.' Her lips curved expressively. 'He lucky man—I know.'

  'How do you know?' Ruth made a face at her. 'You don't know any more about him than I do.'

  Celeste sniffed, and tapped her nose with a knowledgeable finger. 'Celeste knows,' she insisted, and Ruth shook her head as she reached for a roll.

  'Anyway,' she went on, 'Daddy's persuaded him to stay until tomorrow. He wanted to leave today, but he's really not strong enough. He leaned on me all the way up from the beach.'

  'I know. I see.' Celeste's eyes twinkled insinuatingly. 'You not sorry he staying, no? You think him some big man. too. don't you?'

  'Celeste!' Ruth was affronted. 'Don't be so silly!'

  'What so silly?' Celeste shrugged. 'You seventeen now. It time you learn about men.'

  'With Mr Howard?' Ruth almost laughed. 'Celeste, he's old!'

  'He not old.' Celeste was impatient. 'He twenty- five. twenty-eight, maybe. Twenty-eight not old. Thirty not old!'

  'It's old to me.' replied Ruth firmly, concentrating on spreading butter on her roll, but those disturbing feelings had started inside her once more. Celeste was crazy, she told herself severely. And she was man-mad! Daddy said so. Hadn't she got three children already, and none of them within the bonds of wedlock? She was no connoisseur of the opposite sex. and if Professor Jason could hear what she was saying, she would be sternly reprimanded for spreading such gossip to his daughter.

  Nevertheless, as Ruth munched her way through three rolls and a slice of melon, topping it up with two cups of the strong black coffee Celeste provided, she couldn't help remembering the supple smoothness of the man's skin against her arm. and the pain-filled intensity of those curiously feline eyes as they looked down at her. She had never met a man quite like him before, and if Celeste was to be believed. neither had she, which was unusual. Celeste always maintained she had had experience with all kinds of men, and even if half what she said was true, she knew what she was talking about.

  Ruth sighed, running an exploratory finger round the rim of her cup. For the first time she wished she had listened with more interest to the stories Celeste had told her. But mostly her highly-dramatised narratives of what this man or that man had said to her had left Ruth cold, and certainly in no way convinced that she herself might entertain such feelings. She had found the whole business of the relationship between a man and a woman rather silly, and truth to tell, a little boring, and the idea of letting any man touch her in the ways Celeste had described had always aroused sheer disbelief. It simply didn't seem credible that one day she might permit some member of the opposite sex such liberties, and she half suspected Celeste was teasing her when she spoke of such things. She sometimes wished she had a mother, or that her father was not such an unworldly man. Apart from a rather embarrassed soliloquy on the facts of life, when Ruth had felt he was talking more to himself than to her, he had told her nothing of love, or marriage, and she had not been sufficiently curious to find out for herself. She supposed there were ways of finding out, books one could buy; but swimming and snorkelling, fishing and hunting for seashells. had always seemed infinitely more exciting. and it was only now that she was realising her ignorance.

  Dominic Howard was a disturbing man—she acknowledged that. And he was to blame for this sudden introspection. Even with the overnight roughness of his beard upon his chin, and his eyes heavy with exhaustion, he emanated a totally incomprehensible sexuality, and she was not immune to it. He was not a handsome man—at least, not handsome in the way the models were handsome in the mail-order catalogues her father had delivered from time to time. His features were too irregular—his eyes were too deeply set, his cheekbones were too high, his nose was too prominent, his mouth was too thin—and yet the whole combined to make a face she found quite fascinating, and her knees shook as she contemplated this conclusion. Here she was at seventeen— almost eighteen—years of age. and for the first time she was actually considering what it might be like to be married. Heavens, at seventeen Celeste had already had a baby, although she believed her father when he said that this was much too young. Nevertheless, it meant that she was old enough to have a baby, too, and her tongue circled her lips in trembling anticipation.

  Then she shook her head, irritated by her own naivete. Imagine contemplating what it might be like to have a baby when she didn't even know what a man looked like! She had never seen a man without clothes, and even her own nakedness aroused a kind of guilty excitement, as if by looking at herself she was committing some terrible sin. Usually she undressed and dressed without giving herself a second glance. and she had given no thought to the burgeoning maturity of her body.

  'You going to sit there with that cup of coffee all morning?'

  Celeste's faintly malicious tones aroused her from her reverie, and she glanced up almost absently. 'Why. I—no. No. of course not. I was just—thinking, that's all.'

  'About that Mr Howard?' insinuated Celeste

  mockingly, and Ruth felt the hot colour sweeping up her cheeks. 'I seen that mooning face before.' the black woman went on knowingly. 'You just realising what manner of man he is. ain't you? You thinking what it be like to have a man like that making love to you.'

  'No!' Ruth sprang to her feet, hot and embarrassed. 'You have a one-track mind. Celeste. I was thinking about what we might have for dinner, that's all. Can't I even think without you putting some sordid purpose to it?'

  'Ain't nothing sordid about making love!' retorted Celeste shortly. 'You just don't know what you're missing, that's all. If'n you did—'

  'That will do. Celeste.' Ruth clenched her fists at her sides. 'I don't want to talk about it any more. And I'd be grateful if you'd refrain from making those kind of comments in the future.'

  With this unequivocal statement Ruth left her. marching out of the kitchen with her head held high. But once she was outside, out of sight of the black woman's resentful glare, her shoulders sagged, and she thrust her trembling hands into the pockets of her shorts. Was Celeste right? Was that what she had really been thinking? And if so, what kind of girl did that make her?

  Her father came out on to the verandah, as she was leaning over the rail, securing the ravaged stem of the vine that had been torn from its bedding by the storm. She glanced round at the sound of his measured footsteps, and exclaimed at the evidence of fatigue in his face.

  'Sit down.' she insisted, dragging a cane chair forward. and helping him into it. 'You look worn out, Daddy. Let me get you a drink—some coffee perhaps. Or would you prefer something stronger?'

  'I don't want anything.' Professor Jason lay back in the chair and let his head relax against the cushion. Til be all right in a couple of minutes. I just need a few moments to rest.'

  Ruth studied his pale face with unconcealed concern. Every time she saw him he seemed to look frailer, and her heart beat fast at the realisation. How unfair life was! Why. when they were so happy together, did something like this have to happen?

  After a few minutes the look of exhaustion eased, and a faint smile lifted the corners of his lips. 'You're a good girl. Ruth,' he said, taking an unsteady breath. 'What would I do without you?'

  Ruth returned his smile tremulously, crouching down beside his chair and stroking his sleeve with tender fingers. 'You won't have to try,' she assured him firmly. Then, adopting a deliberately casual tone: 'Did you manage to dress Mr Howard's arm?'

  'It's done.' her father replied, nodding. 'It was quite a wound. Thank heavens for disinfectants.'

  'Will it be all right?' Ruth watched him anxiously. 'It won't go bad. will it? I mean, it's not infected or anything?'

  Her father moved his shoulders wearily. 'I don't think so. I've given him an anti-tetanus injection, and the wound seems clean enough. He's lost a lot of blood, but he's a strong man. His body will soon recover that.'

  Ruth bent her head. 'Did he—did he tell you any more about himself? Did he say where he was from?'

 
'Well, he's English, of course.' Professor Jason frowned. 'I don't think he belongs in the Islands. He was probably on holiday.' He paused. 'As a matter of fact, he has asked me to contact the telegraph office on St Vincent. He wants a telegram sent to his friends in Bridgetown, informing them that he's safe and well, and requesting that they transfer funds to the bank in Kingstown. He insists that I don't reveal his exact whereabouts, and he intends to use the money to buy some clothes and pay for his air ticket back to Barbados.'

  'But what about the yacht?' exclaimed Ruth in surprise, and her father nodded.

  'He intends to employ a salvage company. I believe. Right now. he has other things on his mind. He doesn't seem to care that the charter company may sue him for damages.'

  Ruth shook her head. 'Won't there be insurance?'

  'Possibly. But the fact that he apparently set off alone, in the face of a storm warning—' Professor Jason sighed. 'Insurance companies take all these things into account, you know.'

  Ruth made a helpless gesture. 'Perhaps he borrowed the yacht from a friend.'

  Her father looked doubtful. 'I hardly think so. Yachts are expensive, and while I get the impression that Mr Howard is unaccustomed to taking anyone's advice but his own. I don't think any friend would have permitted him to leave Barbados.'

  Ruth straightened and walked a little impatiently over to the verandah rail. 'It sounds as though you don't like him. Daddy.' she ventured tentatively, turning her face up to the sun.

  'I don't.' Professor Jason was blunt. 'The man's too sure of himself, too—arrogant for my liking.'

  Ruth turned, resting her slim hips against the wooden spar. 'Celeste thinks he's quite a man.'

  'She would.' Her father was unmoved. 'Celeste's interest is skin deep. A man's character means nothing to her.'