To Play With Fire Page 2

  'And are lucky to be alive to tell the tale, I suppose. I hear that Enid did a lot of damage on the east coast of the States,' said Magnus.

  The hard green-flecked tawny eyes considered him for a moment, and then flicked back to Tory.

  'I didn't know you had two daughters, Dr Jarrold,' said Denzil Hallam with a suave politeness which was belied by the wicked gleam in his eyes. Tory tightened her lips and looked away from him, only to see Carla's face crumple with laughter at the wild suggestion that she and Tory could be sisters.

  'I haven't,' replied Magnus with a smile. 'This young lady is Tory Latham. She's a botanist and has to come to work at the Gardens under my direction.'

  'A beautiful botanist.' The devil wasn't even trying to conceal his amusement at her expense now, and Tory felt herself trembling with an effort to appear unconcerned. 'I didn't realise that there was such a species, Doctor, and I congratulate you on your good taste,' he added outrageously. But Tory seems an odd sort of name for a woman. I've always thought it was the name of a political party.'

  'It's short for Victoria,' snapped Tory, goaded beyond endurance by his mockery, then wished she had

  kept her mouth shut when he laughed outright.

  'Oho, now I understand your lack of amusement back there on the ferryboat,' he scoffed. 'Your reaction was extremely Victorian.'

  'What's this? Have you and Tory met already?' Magnus sounded sharp and anxious but before she could think up an answer to ease his mind Denzil Hallam had said lazily,

  'Oh, we didn't just meet. We collided head-on, with extremely interesting results, wouldn't you say, Miss Latham?'

  He was being deliberately provocative, paying her back for her unaccountable behaviour on the boat, and Tory was beginning to feel a little ill as she stood there under the hot sun. She was, she noticed, the only one not wearing a hat, for Carla had a pretty wide-brimmed affair perched on her thick bouncy hair, Instead of rising to the bait which Denzil Hallam had trailed with another sharp answer, she began to search in her canvas holdall for her hat and was relieved to hear Magnus say rather diffidently,

  'Can we give you a lift, Hallam? As you know we pass the marina on our way to the Gardens.'

  'No, thanks.' The answer was crisp and brought Tory more relief because to have had his company in a car would have been unbearable. `I'm expecting Josh, and in fact I think I can hear the jeep coming now. It's been nice meeting you, Victoria Latham.' He paused, but when she did not look up or make, any acknowledgement he added curtly, 'I expect I'll be seeing you around, Doctor. You too, Carla.'

  He swung away on his crutches just as Tory settled her hat on her head.

  'Denzil, wait!' Carla was after him at speed, catching up with him as a blue jeep screeched to a stop beside him.

  'Carla, come back at once. We're going now,'

  Magnus's command was quite ineffectual. 'Damn,' he added softly as he watched his daughter speaking to the tough piratical-looking man on crutches. He turned to Tory with an apologetic smile.

  'You see what I mean? You see what I'm up against? A magnetic force which I imagine most women find hard to resist, to say nothing of a teenager like Carla. What did he mean about you and he colliding on the boat?'

  'I walked into him, that's all,' replied Tory coolly. 'He tried to make capital out of the incident.'

  'Mmm. That sounds like Hallam. But I mustn't keep you standing about in the hot sun any longer. You're looking a little pale, and I expect you're feeling tired after your long journey.'

  More than tired, thought Tory; absolutely exhausted, washed out, because for some reason the excitement that had kept her going ever since she had received Magnus's letter had seeped away, leaving her feeling flat and disappointed.

  He picked up her cases and led the way to a cream-coloured car. Magnus opened the boot and put her cases in it. As he closed it he glanced across to the jeep.

  'Ha! As I thought, Hallam has no time to spare for Carla today, so she's coming back,' he said.

  But apparently Denzil did have time to spare for Carla, for when the girl arrived, her shoulder-length hair bouncing against her bare tawny skin and her black eyes ablaze with excitement, she announced,

  'I'm going with Denzil in the jeep.'

  `No. I forbid it,' said Magnus sharply.

  'Oh, don't be so mean, Daddy,' Carla wheedled. 'He says I can swim at the pool at the marina and he'll drive me home later.'

  'No.' Magnus sounded thoroughly harassed and Tory racked her tired brain for some way of helping him.

  'Why not?' Carla's full red lips pouted prettily. 'Because I don't want you to have anything to do with that man.'

  'But why?' whined Carla.

  'I've told you several times already. Now get in the car, and remember we have a guest who has come a long way and is feeling tired.'

  Carla glanced at Tory. It was a truly female glance, unsmiling and critical; the glance of a woman taking the measure of another member of her sex and weighing up the competition, and it infuriated Tory even more than Denzil Hallam's bold raking glance of admiration had done.

  'Is your father stuffy about your relationship with other men?' asked Carla.

  The question disconcerted Tory. Carla was appealing to her as a contemporary, possibly hoping to enlist her as an ally against a member of the older generation, namely Magnus, whom his daughter saw as a stuffy, fussy father yet whom Tory regarded as a much respected and admired friend.

  'I don't think I've ever heard my father express an opinion on the subject,' she replied evasively.

  Again Carla's dark eyes measured her and dismissed her.

  'Oh, I can see you're going to be no help to me at all. You're on his side,' she said, jerking her head in Magnus's direction just as the sound of the jeep's engine being revved caused her to whirl round. As the vehicle moved off in the direction of the square, Carla let out a wail of frustration and stamped her foot.

  'Now look what's happened! And it's all your fault,' she cried, turning accusingly to her father, who looked very surprised by her attack. 'If I hadn't had to come and ask you if I could go I'd be on my way by now. He's gone without me.'

  'And saved me, a lot of trouble,' said Magnus dryly. 'Not that I ever want to be in debt to that doubtful character. Get in the back of the car, Carla, and you sit in front with me, Tory, and we'll be going too.'

  The atmosphere inside the car was stifling because it had been parked in the full glare of the sun. The vinyl-covered seats had become over-heated so that when she sat down Tory almost jumped up again, as even through the stuff of her dress her thighs felt as if they had been seared. And when she grasped the chromium door-handle to pull the door shut she gasped, for it was like taking hold of a naked flame.

  'You'll find many reminders of England in this part of the town,' said Magnus chattily as he drove through the shady square and down the main street. 'Most of the old shops and horses are built of bricks which were brought over as a ballast in the schooners which came to pick up sugar in the eighteenth century.'

  Looking out, Tory saw arcades with rounded arches casting deep shade over sidewalks which had very high curbs and deep gutters. Where there wasn't any shade sunlight gilded white paint and glinted on plain sash windows edged with blue or red louvered shutters. Purple bougainvillaea and scarlet creeping geraniums cascaded over the sides of window boxes, vivid splashes of colour against white wood or black ironwork.

  Magnus braked suddenly and she looked through the windscreen to see three shapely dark-skinned women, wearing printed cotton shifts and carrying baskets of goods balanced on their turbanned heads, drift gracefully across the road.

  'There isn't much vehicular traffic on the island, so the local people walk back and forth just as they like,' explained Magnus with a smile. 'I expect those three have been to the market. It's held in a hall in a street parallel to this one, and you have to be there early if

  you want to buy a goat or a chicken, fresh fruit, or perhaps a length of printed cot
ton. Look over to the left—there's something else which is very English. The Anglican Cathedral.'

  It was a pretty church with a castellated square tower and it was set in a leafy garden. Tory had a glimpse of a wide pathway shaded by graceful almond trees leading up to a Georgian portico. On either side of the entrance was a row of oblong, fan-topped windows set into brick walls the white paint of which had been washed away here and there so that the original red colour of the brick showed through in a patchwork effect.

  'I didn't realise that poinsettia could grow so big,' exclaimed Tory, recognising the shaggy shape of leaves on the bushes crowding one corner of the walled garden. 'And those big trees over there are Royal Poinciana, aren't they?'

  'Delonix regia,' said Magnus, slanting a smile in her direction. 'You're quite right. I suppose you think of poinsettia as small plants in pots cultivated for Christmas and not as huge ornamental shrubs as they are here. That particular garden was established by the first Director of the Botanical Gardens, as long ago as .'

  'He was Sir Jeffrey Downs,' she put in.

  'Right again. Anyone can tell, Miss Latham, that you specialised in horticultural science,' he teased, and she felt a warm glow spread through her to disperse the greyness of disappointment. She was with Magnus again and they were talking their language, the language of botanists who were steeped in their own particular branch of the science. It was a common interest Which had brought them together in the first place, which had brought them together now and which would keep them together in the future, Tory hoped.

  They left the town behind and followed a road which was little more than a winding lane through the banana bush. Here and there wooden huts with steeply sloping roofs of thatch squatted among the trees. Washing pegged to lines strung between the trunks of banana palms and fluttering in the steady breeze indicated that the huts were inhabited. On a clearing of sunbaked earth some barefooted black boys were playing cricket.

  The road dipped down a hill, then wound close to a beach of pale sand that curved beside shimmering turquoise water under the shade of leaning coconut palms. Beyond the beach Tory had a glimpse of the tall masts of sailing boats and the shining white superstructures of many motor cruisers tied up at pontoons, and then the view was screened by sea-grape trees and thick casuarinas enclosed by a white fence that edged the road. A large sign appeared at the wayside. It advertised that a few yards ahead they would reach the entrance to the Blue Horizons Marina, where yachts and cruisers of all kinds and sizes could be chartered by the hour, the day or the week.

  'Daddy, please let me off at the gate of the marina so I can go to the pool. I'm longing to swim.' Carla broke the smouldering silence in which she had sat all the way from the harbour.

  'You can swim from the beach at home,' replied Magnus.

  'But it's so far from the house. It takes ages to walk there, and it's not the same. There's no one there. It isn't any fun,' moaned Carla. 'Daddy, please!'

  `No. I'm certainly not going back on my word and

  letting you out to go and hang around a man with a

  reputation like Hallam's,' said Magnus irritably.

  'I don't hang around him,' protested Carla hotly. 'Yes, you do. Now please be quiet.'

  Carla slumped back against the back of her seat

  muttering to herself, and Tory gave Magnus a wary sidelong glance. The man who had lectured to her at university had never been irritable, nor had he ever spoken sharply. Now he was frowning and there was a pinched look about his face which destroyed the impression he usually gave of charming boyishness and good humour.

  She looked away from him quickly, just in time to see the entrance to the marina; a wide driveway of sandy gravel glittering in the bright sunlight. A blue jeep was parked in front of a modern two-storey office-like building and beyond that were the enticing boats, tied up in orderly rows between floating grey pontoons which stretched across the corner of the bay.

  'Not far now,' said Magnus, the sharpness gone from his voice. 'Unfortunately, from my point of view that is, Hallam is our nearest neighbour. The distance from the gates of the marina to the gates of the Botanical Gardens is five miles, but if you come over that hill through the rain forest it's only a mile and a half.'

  The road climbed in a series of bends. It topped a hill and there below them lay a green valley caught between two ridges of low hills. Another series of bends took them down into a valley where the road straightened beside a sturdy grey stone wall in front of which bright red hibiscus flowers clustered. The wall ended at an opening marked by square stone gateposts surmounted by stone balls.

  Magnus turned the car through the opening into a landscaped park which made Tory gasp with delight. As they drove along the smooth driveway she sat in silence, marvelling at the careful planning and planting which had been done in the past to produce such attractive contrasts of foliage and blossom.

  Round a shimmering blue-reflecting pond they drove, where two white swans sailed in state. Delicate

  white poinsettia, known as Snow Pillow because of the likeness of its blossom to a froth of drifting snow-flakes, drooped over the pool. Yellow spikes of the candle bush, dark red tails of the chenille plant, golden trumpets of allamanda, flush-pink beaks of the Bird of Paradise flower, they were all there growing naturally, their colours contrasting and sometimes clashing, set off by the green spikes of Spanish Bayonet and the thick heart-shaped leaves of anthurium.

  Leaving the pool, the driveway crossed green lawns shaded by giant tulip trees and led the way to an elegant Georgian house. Four white pillars supported its portico over a panelled front door which had a spider-web window above it. Wide shallow steps led up to the porch, and at either end of each step was a large pottery jar foaming with purple bougainvillaea, red begonias and delicate pink spray orchids.

  Magnus had hardly braked when Carla was out of the car. Banging the door closed, she raced away up the steps and disappeared into the house.

  'Well, here we are,' said Magnus, 'This is home. The director's house built for the Sir Jeffrey you mentioned earlier. As you can see, it's far too big for Carla and me, so I'm glad you're going to occupy one of the rooms. I was unable to find any alternative accommodation for you. All the bungalows provided for the botanists and gardeners are full and any other accommodation is in Port Anne eight miles away. I expect you'll be glad to get indoors and have a wash and change your clothing.'

  'Yes, I shall. I don't think I've ever felt so sticky with heat before.'

  'It'll take you a while to become acclimatised, and I think that right now you should have a rest. We can talk later when the sun goes down. There's so much I have to tell you, Tory, about my plans for the book.'

  They went up the wide shallow steps, through the

  door into a high-ceilinged hallway where a small black woman with frizzy grey hair snatched back into a tight knob on top of her head was waiting for them. Magnus introduced her as Mrs Dunnet, the housekeeper. A dark-skinned smiling boy wearing spotless white shorts and shirt appeared, and at an instruction from Mrs Dunnet he picked up Tory's cases and went off up the wide central staircase.

  With Mrs Dunnet, Tory followed the boy up the uncarpeted shining stairs to a wooden gallery which ran round the upper part of the hall. They went past several closed doors to a door which was open, and entered a lovely big room which had pale sea-green walls, white woodwork and turquoise-coloured drapes at two long windows opening on to tiny balconies.

  The door of the room closed as Mrs Dunnet and the boy left, and alone at last Tory kicked off her white shoes, peeled off the nylon tights which she should never have worn on such a hot day, and lay down on the silken turquoise bed.

  Hands under her head, she stared at the ceiling. Its plasterwork was intricately carved with leaves and flowers and could have been in a similar house in England.

  But it was here on this island, known as the Isle of the Blest, and so was she. England was far away and so were her family, her parents, her broth
er George and her sister Robina. Both her mother and her brother had been against this adventure of hers and she knew why they had been. They both thought she was making a fool of herself over a man old enough to be her father.

  'What's this Magnus Jarrold like?' George had asked when she told him of the job Magnus had offered her.

  'Oh, about forty-five, looks younger, about six feet one, slightly built, reddish hair, blue eyes ...'

  'Wears glasses, has knobbly knees,' George had interrupted her jeeringly. 'I don't mean what does he look like, I mean what makes him tick for you? You're pretty keen on him, aren't you?'

  'Am I?' Tory had tried to retort lightly.

  'You can't fool me,' had replied the young man who for most of his twenty years had been her friend, tormentor and confidant. 'You should have seen yourself light up over that letter. I don't think I've seen you so excited since you learnt you'd won a scholarship to university.'

  'Well, wouldn't you be excited if you'd been offered an opportunity to go and work on a tropical island with a man you admire, and who happens to be brilliant in his own field of science?' she had defended herself.

  'Of course I'd be glad, but I doubt if I'd blush over it;' George had scoffed. 'You're not going because of the job. You're going because you've got a crush on Magnus Jarrold.'

  'I haven't. I'm too old for crushes,' she had denied hotly. 'Honestly, George, I'd thought better of you. Fancy jumping to a conclusion like that before studying the facts!'

  'Seems to me I'm close to the mark,' he had retorted with a grin. 'And there's a trend lately, isn't there, for young women to fall for men old enough to be their fathers?'

  'Magnus isn't ...' she had begun, and stopped to stare at him as she did a rapid mental calculation. 'Magnus is exactly twenty-two years older than I am,' she had admitted reluctantly.

  'You see?' George had taunted smugly.

  Her mother's approach had been more serious and practical.