The House on Flamingo Cay (14 page)

“What are you going as?”

“Nothing ambitious. I don’t usually go at all, but I’ll be there this time.”

Her heart gave a crazy up-jump, then plummeted. Because of the Langdon-Owens, she thought dully. Back at the hotel, Valerie Langdon-Owen was the first person they saw. She was sitting on the terrace with an attentive young man whose conversation she did not hesitate to cut short when Stephen appeared.

“Stephen! I’ve been looking for you. Come and join us for a drink. Oh, this is Guy Castell ... Stephen Rand.”

Although obviously not too pleased at having to share Valerie’s company, Guy Castell rose, shook hands with Stephen and pulled out a chair for Sara.

“Stephen, there seems to be something the matter with my camera. The lever keeps jamming. Would you be an angel and look at it for me?” Valerie said winningly, as soon as they were all seated. “I expect it’s only a tiny fault, but I never have a clue about mechanical things.”

“Perhaps I could mend it for you, Valerie. Photography is rather a hobby of mine,” Guy put it readily.

“Oh, is it?” Valerie’s tone was cool.

“In that case you’d better let Castell deal with it. Cameras are out of my line,” Stephen said easily, offering cigarettes. “What sort of cameras do you use?” he asked the boy.

“At the moment I’ve got a 35-mm. Agfa Optima—but what I really want is a Zeiss Contaflex.” With the ardor of the true enthusiast, Guy launched into a highly technical explanation of the rival merits of various notable makes.

But when he began to explain the complexities of filming under water, Valerie said sweetly, “You’re casting pearls before swine, Guy—unless Miss Gordon knows all about coupled split-image range finders and full flash synchronization. It’s all so much gibberish to me.”

He flushed. “Oh, sorry—I didn’t mean to bore you.”

Sara smiled at him. “You weren’t,” she said quickly. “But I’m afraid I’ve never got beyond a few snapshots with a box Brownie. I wish I had.”

“Have you been anywhere exciting this afternoon?” Valerie asked Stephen.

Sara wondered if Guy was also made to feel that they were a couple of over-grown adolescents to be treated with amused patronage. But perhaps he was too dazzled by Valerie to realize that she would only have use for him when there was no one more interesting in sight. Yet his admiration was quite understandable. Today, in sleek emerald beach pants and a sleeveless black and white overblouse, Valerie looked as indolently assured as a top fashion model. A beaten silver bracelet circled one slim bronzed wrist and she wore white kid sari sandals on her narrow feet. Her finger and toe-nails were painted with silver-pearl lacquer, her mouth a deep peony red.

“Only for a run along the coast,” Stephen said, in answer to her question.

Valerie looked at Sara, and this time with more attention. A man would probably not have noticed the swift head-to-toe appraisal that went with her smile as she said, “Have you just started your holiday, or is it nearly over, Miss Gordon?”

Sara, conscious that the older girl had made a split-second assessment of everything about her, including an expert estimate of the price and source of her pink gingham separates, said, “We have another ten days, I think. Are you staying long?”

Valerie shrugged. “Our plans are rather indefinite.” I’ll bet they are, Sara thought succinctly.

“Oh, there you are, Sara.” Angela came out of the lounge doors, cool and sophisticated in a blond silk suit with a hat of massed bronze petals.

The two men rose, and Stephen introduced Guy and invited her to join them.

“A cocktail, Miss Gordon, or would you prefer something longer?”

“Oh, I think an iced lime, please. We’ve been at the races all afternoon and it was rather hot and dusty,” she explained to Valerie and Guy.

Since her sister must have recognized Valerie’s back view from the doorway Sara was surprised that she had come out. With unkind satisfaction, she noticed that, beside Angela’s real beauty and subtle coloring, Valerie’s brand of prettiness had a diminished effect. “I know it’s madly reactionary, but racing always bores me to death,” Valerie said languidly. “Oh, Ascot’s quite amusing, of course, and everyone adores Longchamps, but otherwise I find it really too deadly.” She fitted another cigarette into her silver holder, and said, “You know, I’m quite sure we must have met before, Miss Gordon, but I can’t think where. Do you live in London”

Sara held her breath, but Angela looked completely composed. She took off the petal hat and tossed it carelessly on to another chair as if fragile model hats were as expendable as a pair of nylons.

“We have a flat there,” she said carelessly, her tone suggesting that this was merely a convenient
pied-a-terre
for changing for the theatre or putting up after a dance.

“I seem to know your face so well,” Valerie said thoughtfully.

“Perhaps I have a double.” Angela sipped her drink. “Mm ... this is delicious.”

Valerie did not pursue the point, but Sara knew Angela had been right. It was only a matter of time before recognition came.

Presently Stephen asked them to excuse him, and it wasn’t long before Valerie also left and Guy with her.

“How come you were with those three?” Angela asked when the others had gone.

Sara explained, but she had a feeling that her sister wasn’t redly listening.

“I had rather a good afternoon,” Angela said complacently, apparently finding no point of comment in the fact that Sara had been out with Stephen. “I had to place a few bets for the look of the thing, so I backed a couple of outsiders and came up with some extra pin-money.” She crossed her legs and swung a slender ankle. “This is certainly the life, my pet. It isn’t until you move in this kind of milieu that you realize how utterly dreary our old existence used to be.”

“This might be dreary when the novelty has worn off,” Sara said drily. “You may not have noticed, but, in spite of the minks and diamonds, everyone isn’t radiating happiness.”

“Some of them probably have ulcers or diet problems,” Angela said, with a shrug. “Come on, let’s go up and change.” She retrieved her hat. “I hope you noticed the superb nonchalance with which I tossed this creation away just now. Still, I have a feeling that little Angela is going to have lots of expensive furbelows from now on.”

It was not until they had both had baths and were changing into dinner dresses that Angela said casually, “Oh, by the way, something else happened this afternoon. Conrad asked me to marry him.”

Sara swung round from the wardrobe. “Oh, Angela—what did you say?”

Her sister laughed. “I’ve missed my vocation. I should have been an actress, she said angrily. “First of all I looked stunned with surprise, and then I blushed and fluttered for a bit, and finally I begged him to give me time.” She began to dab on her foundation cream. “I think he’s about ninety per cent sure what my answer will be, but he can’t be positive, poor lamb.”

“How can you?” Sara said dully. “How
can
you be so heartless?”

“Well, I can hardly say ‘yes’ right away. I’ve only known him five minutes,” her sister said reasonably. “Even a whirlwind romance needs some discretion.”

Sara thrust her hands into the pockets of her dressing-gown. Even if she was only wasting her breath, she had to make one final attempt to dissuade her sister from this criminal folly.

“What about Peter?” she asked quietly.

“Peter? Peter who?” Angela queried abstractedly. But, for a fraction of a second, her eyes had been apprehensive. Sara, watching her through the mirror, had seen that momentary wariness.

“I ran into Peter in the street today. He told me everything,” she said meaningly.

Angela reached for a tissue and carefully blotted away the excess foundation cream. “Were you furious?” she asked calmly. “I only did it for your good, my dear.”

“I might have believed you if Peter hadn’t explained your real motive.”

“What ‘real’ motive? I went to see him to warn him off. There was no other reason.”

“How lucky I am to have such a devoted sister,” Sara said coolly. Then, with sudden sharpness, “Aren’t you forgetting something? I
may
be youthfully naive—but Peter isn’t! As he said, if you hadn’t secretly wanted to spend an evening with him, you’d never have agreed to such a bargain. You feel the same way about him as he does about you.”

Angela fell neatly into the trap. “How does he feel about me?”

Sara smiled, but it was with relief, and not malice. “I’d thought you’d ask me that! Because if you didn’t care twopence about the man, you’d have scoffed or shrugged.” She paused and decided to gamble. “He loves you, you idiot.”

But Angela’s reaction was not what she expected. There was a moment of tense silence and then her sister gave a long sigh and nodded her head. “Very well, I’ll admit it,” she said wearily. “I
was
attracted to Peter—desperately attracted. I didn’t believe it could happen like that, but apparently it does.”

“Then why aren’t you with him?” Sara demanded.

“Because it couldn’t last. It wasn’t love as you mean I it—or as I used to mean it. It was just a ... a tremendous physical attraction. Once it had burned itself out, there would have been nothing left.” She spoke in the past tense as of something that had happened a long time ago.

“Well, of course it wouldn’t last
for ever
—it never does,” Sara exclaimed impatiently. “You don’t think that people who’ve been married for years still thrill at every glance, do you? Love changes and ... and mellows. But it has to
begin
excitingly.” She had spoken with such an intensity of conviction that her sister looked faintly startled.

“You’re probably right—but there’s still a world of difference between love and infatuation,” she said wryly.

“How do you know it is just an infatuation? You can’t tell that until you’ve found out other things about Peter—like whether he shares your jokes, and what his faults are, and if you can trust and respect him. You can’t dismiss him without a trial.”

“Oh, Sara, stop it! You talk as if Peter was like ... like one of the men in the hotel. I don’t have to wait to see that it’s impossible. It stares me in the face. He’s of a different nationality, he hasn’t any roots and he more or less lives by his wits. In six months from now he’ll probably be emerald-mining in Brazil, or involved in some other mad project.”

“Not if he had a home and someone who really cared about him,” Sara said vehemently. “Surely you can see that he isn’t a naturally shiftless man? It’s his life that has made him feel footloose. You could change that—if you loved him enough.”

“Love doesn’t change people. If you love them, you accept them as they are,” her sister said soberly. Then, with sudden fierceness: “But I’ve told you, I’m
not
in love with him. So for heaven’s sake leave me alone!” And, snatching up her cosmetic tray, she whirled across to the bathroom and banged the door behind her.

Four hours later, Sara knew she would have done better to have kept silent. When Conrad brought Angela back from an after-dinner stroll, he was beaming all over his face and exuding elation.

“Sara, honey, you’ve just got yourself an American brother-in-law,” he announced delightedly.

*
*
*

Early next morning, Conrad took Angela into town and bought her a magnificent emerald and diamond engagement ring with matching ear-rings and a dress clip. When, shortly before lunch, Sara ran upstairs to fetch a handkerchief, she staggered to find the bedroom full of flowers. Conrad must have ordered a florist’s entire stock. A silver basket containing at least two dozen perfect white roses stood by the window, there were orchids on the dressing-table and gardenias on both bedside lockers. An enormous box of chocolates adorned with a scarlet satin bow and a presentation bottle of Patou’s ‘Joy’ in a transparent casket had been put on Angela’s bed.

But, as well as showering his beloved with tokens of his almost worshipful devotion, Conrad was evidently determined that everyone in the hotel should have a share in his felicity. When Sara rejoined the others in the bar, he ordered champagne cocktails and gave some murmured instructions to the waiter. Five minutes later, all the occupants of the bar had been presented with similar cocktails ‘with the compliments of Mr. Stuyvesant on the occasion of his engagement to Miss Gordon’.

And while their table was the cynosure of attention and Sara was enduring an agony of embarrassment, convinced that more than half the interested glances in their direction were tinged with a tolerant derision of American brashness, Conrad added to her chagrin by producing presents for his mother and herself.

“Why, Connie, what a sweet thought.” Mrs. Stuyvesant examined her ornate gold bracelet with uninhibited pleasure. “I believe Angie had a hand in this,” she said happily, winking at her prospective daughter-in-law.

Sara’s gift was a single strand of finely matched pearls—undoubtedly real—with a delicate enamelled silver clasp.

“Oh, they’re just right for you, honey. Here, let me fasten them for you,” said Mrs. Stuyvesant. “My, don’t they set off your tan? I always think there’s nothing nicer for a young girl than a simple little pearl necklace.”

Sara, her face a dull red, submitted to having them fastened about her throat. “Thank you, Conrad. It’s very kind of you,” she said, in a low voice.

“It’s my pleasure, honey.” Conrad was beaming again. “I guess now Angie and I are set for wedding bells, you’re feeling kind of lonesome, huh? Well, don’t you worry about it. I know how close you two are, and Angie being Mrs. Conrad Stuyvesant the Second won’t change that any. You’re welcome to a place in our home just as long as you want it. Mind you, I don’t say we’ll take you two girls with us on our wedding trip.” He gave a delighted guffaw. “A honeymoon’s more of a twosome, eh, Angie?”

“Maybe you and I’ll go up to New York and have ourselves a whirl on our own account, Sara,” suggested Mrs. Stuyvesant. “Where are you two lovebirds planning to go for your trip?”

“We haven’t fixed the wedding date yet, Mom,” Conrad said, with an ardent glance at Angela.

“Well, I don’t see any reason for delay, unless Angie wants to take you over to England and show you off to her family. It isn’t as if you were a couple of crazy teenagers. You’re both adult people who’ve been around enough to know your own minds. As I see it, you might just as well get married right away.”

“That’s the way I see it, too,” Conrad agreed. “So how about it, honey? What do you say to getting hitched just as soon as we can fix the details?”

Angela sipped her cocktail with a contemplative expression. She was sitting nearest the window in a shaft of sunlight that lit rich damson gleams in her hair and revealed the flawless texture of her skin. She moved her hand to rest it on Conrad’s arm, and the huge emerald flashed with keen fire on her third finger.

She smiled at Conrad over the rim of her glass, and her eyes were melting and submissive. “Why not?” she said softly.