The Takamaka Tree (20 page)

“But I want to tell you. I must tell you. I must get it all out of my heart and out of my mind. Gabrielle pushed me into my cabin and slammed the door. In the morning, I couldn’t open it. She’d locked it from the outside.”

“I remember. She said you were seasick.” Ralph sounded very tired and quite old all of a sudden. “I was feeling better and wanted to bring you some iced tea, but she wouldn’t let me. She said she was looking after you.”

“No one came anywhere near me. I drank water from my wash bowl. I banged on the door but no one heard me. I could hear music, quite loud, and the noisy creaking of the ship and the sails, and the waves. I was afraid of her. I thought she was quite mad. I kept thinking, someone must come for me soon.”

“We thought you were ill,” said Ralph lamely. “She said you were ill.”

“Then one night, several days later, I was asleep. I suddenly felt something burning around my feet. My mattress was alight. It had caught fire. I don’t know how. I thought I heard my door close, but I don’t really know if I heard it or imagined it. The flames spread along the bed, to the little curtains, running like little yellow tongues. I heard voices outside and people trying to break in the door.”

“We could smell the fumes, and smoke was escaping from the door of Marion’s cabin,” Ralph explained. “We managed to force the lock and get the door open. I pulled Marion out and told her to go up on the deck for some air. It was quite windy and I was afraid for her with no one to look after her, but I had to get back to the fire. So I just put my life jacket on her, and left her. There was panic. No one seemed to know where the fire extinguishers were. But Paul found them, and he and I put out the fire before it spread. Her cabin was gutted. When we got up on deck, Marion had gone, vanished, and Gabrielle was having hysterics. We couldn’t get any sensible explanation from her. By that time, the gale was really blowing and we were being blown off course. We tried to look for Marion, but it was hopeless. We didn’t know where we were.”

Daniel could feel sorry for the young man. He was suffering now in a way that was not easy to watch.

“I think you’d better go and pour yourself a brandy,” said Daniel. “A good stiff one.”

“No one knows how the fire started,” said Ralph.

“I think I can guess,” said Sandy. “You know Gabrielle’s careless habit of leaving a cigarette burning on the edge of a piece of furniture? The table in the saloon has several burn marks where she’s done this. I think she was in my cabin that night. I don’t know why. I think she put her cigarette on the edge of the chest of drawers, and it rolled off onto my bunk. Then she was too frightened and scared to say anything about it.”

Daniel stood. It was difficult to believe this was all happening on a brilliant sunlight morning, the sea glittering around them, the schooner gently rocking at anchor.

“Perhaps that’s what happened,” said Daniel. “But we’re not staying on
Sun Flyer
one minute longer. If you’re fit enough to walk, Sandy, I’m taking you back to La Petite immediately.” He turned to Ralph. The young man’s mouth had a grey tinge to it. He was suffering from shock as much as Sandy. “I’m not blaming you, Ralph. You did all you could, I suppose. It seems to me you’ve got a lot of serious thinking to do.”

“It’s my job,” said Ralph, his head in his hands. “It’s such a good firm and Paul Webster is a fine man to work for. I know Gabrielle is headstrong and a bit highly strung…” He faltered for the right words. “But Paul—Mr. Webster—thought my influence might help. She needs a steady sort of person around…”

“To calm her down?”

“I suppose that’s what he thought. In many ways Gabrielle has never really grown up. She’s just like a spoilt child. And she’s been going around with a wild set of people.”

“You can’t marry her out of gratitude to Paul Webster,” said Sandy gently.

“I don’t know. I really don’t know,” he said, rubbing his forehead as if it ached. “In a funny kind of way, I think she needs me.”

Daniel helped Sandy to stand. She was a little unsteady but seemed able to walk well enough. She hung on to his arm and needed help to climb down into the boat. Leon was overjoyed to see her returning. He had been much alarmed to hear Sandy screaming. He had not been far behind Daniel and Ralph, and he had seen the gutted cabin. It was all quite beyond his understanding. But the Seychellois sailors had told him some strange tales and he thought
Sun Flyer
had a bad feeling. The sooner they were away from it the better.

“Good-bye, Ralph,” said Sandy, giving him her hand.

He took it, then bent and kissed her cheek. He wanted to say so much but it was beyond him to express the way he felt.

“Sorry, Sandy,” he said. “So sorry, my dear.”

Sandy sat back in the boat, exhausted but strangely happy. She knew who she was. Daniel was taking her back to La Petite. The nightmare was over. Leon was singing quietly as he paddled back to the island, his face one big grin.

Sun Flyer
was already leaving. Daniel looked back and saw that one of the deck hands was winding up the anchor. There was a good breeze for the sails and the canvas was being unfurled to take in the wind.

Sandy watched the sunlight dancing on the waves and the beckoning palms of La Petite. The warmth was a radiant ray all around her, touching her skin with healing fingers.

“I’m so happy to be returning to La Petite,” she said.

“But you know that you can’t stay,” Daniel had to say.

“Why not? Don’t tell me the date, but I have a feeling that quite a lot of time has gone by. I should think the school term has already started and I’ve lost my job. I can stay here and help you with your work.”

“You don’t know anything about me.”

“You didn’t know anything about me and yet you let me stay,” she teased.

“I had no alternative.”

“And you’ve no alternative now. I can’t get back to Mahé until a boat comes for you. Or are you suggesting that Leon paddles me back? No, Mr. Daniel Kane, you’re stuck with me now.”

Sandy sat back, well satisfied with her arguments. “Besides I think I need the peace and quiet of La Petite,” she added. She did not say that she also needed Daniel. Sandy Kane loved him. And so did Marion Elliot. There was no other man in her life and never had been. She came to loving him with all the wonder and ardour of a first-time love. The return of her memory had not blocked out those early weeks with Daniel, and she remembered his care and his kindness, his tenderness and strength. She also remembered his kisses.

“At least we shall have plenty to talk about,” said Daniel. “I’m looking forward to a whole life history!”

“First instalment this evening,” said Sandy. “But only on one condition.”

“And what’s that, young lady?”

“That you tell me something about yourself in exchange. Do you realise that I know nothing at all about you, except your name and that you are an amateur ornithologist.”

For a moment Daniel looked a little disconcerted.

“Isn’t that enough to know?” he said, stalling.

“No, it isn’t. There’s something very mysterious about you, Daniel Kane, and I think you ought to tell me. For instance, I know that you are writing a book about terrorism in the Middle East.”

If she thought to surprise him, she was mistaken.

He nodded. “Yes, I knew you had found the manuscript.”

“How?”

“You left red finger prints all over the pages.”

“Oh. Well, what about it?”

“Nothing. The less you know about that the better.”

He was infuriatingly non-communicative, but Sandy decided she was too happy to argue with him any further. She lay back and closed her eyes to the dazzling sunshine. “All right, be mysterious,” she said. “You’ve probably got a wife and four children tucked away somewhere.”

“Six, actually.”

Flora had seen the boat returning with three people and hurried over to the veranda with a tray of orange juice and slices of cooked breadfruit dipped in coconut milk. She was smiling as broadly as her grandson.

“I knew Miss-Sandy would come back,” she said. “Takamaka tree tell me,” she added with a degree of smugness.

There was so much Sandy wanted to do, to explore the island again, to draw everything, but suddenly she was very tired. She sat in one of the basket chairs and within moments she was asleep. Daniel removed the glass from her hand and left her to recover. She would have to stay with him on La Petite. As Sandy had said, there was no alternative.

Later, after lunch, Sandy surprised him by asking if he would teach her to swim underwater with the snorkelling gear. She wanted to see all the exotic fish he was always raving about.

“But I didn’t know you could swim.”

“Of course I can swim. I wouldn’t go on a cruising holiday without being able to swim, would I? That would be very foolish.”

He found that she was quick to learn how to use the equipment, and they spent the afternoon exploring the nearest coral reefs. In fact, Daniel found it difficult to persuade Sandy to leave the wonders of the underwater world. It captured her imagination and dazzled her with its beauty. She was like a child with her enthusiasm.

“I need paints,” she said. “I wonder if Flora knows how to make dyes from natural substances.”

“White from coconut milk?” he suggested with a straight face.

“Red from mercurochrome,” she twinkled. “There’s no end to my resourcefulness.”

Back at the bungalow she changed into the skirt and blouse Daniel had bought her on Mahé. She did not feel quite so at ease walking around in a brief sarong anymore. The upbringing and background of Marion Elliot were having some effect.

Suddenly she remembered what it was that had been nagging her memory for days. Her drawings were in a folio on the table, along with the two newspapers that Daniel had bought at the airport.

It was not the fashion features she turned to; she refolded both newspapers so that she could read the front pages. Eagerly she found the items she sought.

“MYSTERY OF MURDERED JOURNALIST”, was the headline in the
Daily Telegraph. “
DEAD REPORTER ON POINT OF TERROR DISCOVERY”, led the
Daily Mail.

“A bizarre and possibly sinister development has confronted the World News Syndication team investigating the murder last April of their reporter, James Gunther.

“Gunther, 46, who was World News chief foreign correspondent, was shot in Cairo after arriving by air from Amman. It was known that he was working on a dynamic book about terrorism in the Middle East.

“On the World News’ investigation team was international journalist Dan Kane, whose knowledge of Middle East affairs was equalled only by Gunther’s. Kane, who covered the Berlin trials, is known to have been researching the book in collaboration with Gunther.

“Now both Kane and the vital book are missing. Egyptian police working on the killing, who believe that Gunther was murdered by either a Palestinian commando group or the Israelis, are anxious to question Kane. His existence is an unknown threat, and the corruption to be revealed by the book has made many factions in this area nervous.

“World News have put a complete shut-down on the whereabouts of Kane. Threatening letters have been received by their London office.

“‘We don’t want Kane back in circulation until we say it’s safe,’ said a spokesman today.”

Sandy sat back on the bed and read the story again. It was reported in more detail in the
Daily Telegraph.
The stories explained the mystery about Daniel, and she realised now what a risk he had been taking in returning to London with her. Yet why had George Webb turned up to replace him? Perhaps somehow World News had been able to infiltrate Daniel into a genuine migration project. What could be a better cover, especially when he knew so much about birds.

So Daniel was a journalist, a respected foreign correspondent working for one of the most powerful news agencies; and she had thought he was just an over-enthusiastic birdwatcher. The role fitted him. He was authoritative, competent and resourceful in every way. And she had been concerned as to whether he could afford to stay at the Reef Hotel and buy her clothes!

Then her elation faded. A world-travelled journalist must meet so many intelligent and beautiful women. He could not be interested in a rather obscure art teacher.

Sandy folded the newspapers and put them in a drawer under her clothes. Perhaps the daydream could go on for a little longer. Perhaps there was no need to come down to earth just yet.

She had found her identity and Daniel’s. But the price was high. She almost wished she could return to the days when she had first come to La Petite and Daniel had given her a new name.

Then she remembered what Daniel had once said to her:

Visions of the future are better than dreams of the past.

She could hear his voice and remember the tenderness in his eyes.

During the evening they strolled along the beach, the tensions of the day fading away. Flora was cooking some freshly caught fish for their supper and Noah was busy polishing a coconut shell to give to Sandy.