Juliet Armstrong - Isle of the Hummingbird Read online

  'If it really is the same garage, our names and address may be in one of their ledgers,' Anne-Marie faltered. 'That man who seemed so nice got us to pay a small deposit—gave us a receipt.'

  'We didn't get it back,' Sally went on. 'After what Dr. O'Dane said the other evening, we thought we'd better leave it alone.'

  'Don't look so scared, kids.' Dr. O'Dane spoke breezily. 'Nothing's going to happen to you.'

  And Dave added cheerfully: 'If you get landed in jug, we'll come and bail you out.'

  But the girls were not amused.

  Anne-Marie said, her chin in the air: 'We're not a couple of babies, but we have to think of Peregrine. It wouldn't do his practice any good if our names got into the papers—even if it was obvious we'd done nothing wrong.' And Sally nodded agreement.

  Bryony, watching Peregrine's face, and seeing the relaxed expression, the affection with which he looked across at his young sisters, felt not only relieved but happy.

  Certainly the atmosphere in the Gray household was becoming less tense.

  She could give herself no credit for it. But while they were packing up, Mrs. O'Dane said something to her which made her feel like hugging her.

  'You're doing something for this family, Bryony,' she said, 'just by being your sweet and loving self. You'll have troubles ahead, just as we all do with our kids, but you'll win through, because they're getting fond of you.'

  Before she could reply, Laura Forrest was at their elbow, and it was plain that she had heard something, at least, of what Mrs. O'Dane had said.

  'I wouldn't buoy Miss Moore up with false hopes,' she murmured. 'Those girls are deep. She'll never be upsides with them.'

  'Rot, my dear Laura,' was Mrs. O'Dane's reply to this. And then, Peregrine and David staggering up with baskets, the conversation came to an abrupt end.

  What became known as the Mystery Garage affair was duly reported in the daily Press, and in due course three men were committed for trial. Later some further arrests were made, and witnesses called. But no mention was made of Frank or Bernard, or anyone in their circle, and Anne-Marie and Sally breathed easily again.

  They remained far more docile now. The thought of being mixed up, however remotely, in a police- court case had given them a scare. And their changed attitude continued to have its effect on Peregrine.

  His work brought him so often in contact with serious problems—even tragedies—among high- spirited youngsters, whose parents found them impossible to control, that he was apt to see dangers lurking everywhere in his beloved young sisters' path. Now that they had quietened down, as he put it to himself, he could drop this perpetual worrying.

  And soon the household had something that was pure joy to think about.

  Ronald Gilbert, over in London, had brought off an unexpectedly lucrative deal in connection with a merger. He proposed to bring Yvonne over to Trinidad by air for a week—to cover the two all-important days of Carnival. He knew, he said in his letter to Peregrine, that every hotel in the island Would be booked to capacity by now; but he and Yvonne would far rather, anyhow, squash in with the family, even if it meant sleeping out in the garden.

  And what about Chris? he asked. If there was any chance of his getting leave of absence, even for twenty- four hours, he would gladly pay his air passage.

  Things at the surgeries went their accustomed way, with May Wicker quietly busy in the neat dispensary, and the doctors dealing with streams of patients from the village and surrounding country. But up at the house all was bustle and excitement. It was settled that Chris, if he came, would share his brother's room, and that Anne-Marie and Sally would sleep together. This would provide a room for Yvonne and Ronald and leave one free for May, who usually slept with the

  Grays overnight on occasions such as this—the traffic on the roads making them no safe place for a solitary cyclist.

  Anne-Marie found time, however, to finish her sketch of Bryony. She wanted to have it ready to show to Yvonne—for she cherished a dream that some day she might study at one of London's famous schools of art, living with this married sister of hers.

  Sally, unable to share this interest, in which Anne- Marie was increasingly absorbed, showed signs of becoming restive again. But Bryony acted quickly. She took her after school one day to buy a typewriter, and managed, busy as she was, to give her some lessons—an inspiration that bore excellent fruit, with Sally temporarily enthusiastic over her efforts at touch-typing.

  Within a fortnight Chris was writing ecstatically to say that he had been given thirty-six hours' leave—the deciding factor being the chance it would afford him of seeing his sister from London.

  Since he had gone to Canada, the duty had devolved on Bryony of collecting mail for the household from the Port-of-Spain main post office each morning, after depositing the girls at school.

  She did not receive many letters herself beyond a weekly screed from her mother, now settled with her bridegroom at Roselands again, but on this occasion she found among correspondence for Peregrine an air letter addressed to herself with a Jamaican stamp, and her heart gave a jump.

  She longed to open it right away, for she knew without looking at the name and address at the back that it was from Hugh. But common sense prevailed. She would certainly attract notice if she stood in the street devouring the contents of a letter; and to go to a restaurant for ice-cream, with the purpose of doing the same thing, entailed sheer waste of time, when there was so much to do at home. So into her handbag went the letter, and round the shops she went on urgent marketing, reaching home in time to cope with a crisis which had arisen in the kitchen, with Tina's daughter arriving from prison unexpectedly—some important letter having gone astray—and demanding tearfully to be taken in.

  'She pleadin' to stay until she find a place for herself and the kids,' Tina groaned. 'She swearin' she goin' straight now, but the doctor always sayin': "Gloria and Pearl, yes, so long as they under dey granny's eye. But dat daughter o' yours, Tina—no!"'

  The thin little woman in the neat gingham dress and bandanna handkerchief began to cry even more mournfully—watched wide-eyed by the two small girls, who stood pressed hard against their grandmother's ample form.

  'But there's no room for her here,' Bryony expostulated. 'Isn't there a Salvation Army hostel downtown that would take her in for a while?'

  'We squeeze her in somehow, Mis' Bryony, if Doctor allowin'. But I fearin' he still sayin' "No!"'

  Bryony glanced at her watch, and saw that it was getting late.

  'He'll certainly be less inclined to say "yes" if he comes in and finds no lunch ready,' she said. 'Give your daughter some dinner, of course. And then we'll see what he says.'

  She didn't expect him to give way over Lucy, and she didn't see how he could. Three adults and two children in the little house that Tina and Solomon occupied would be gross overcrowding. He wasn't happy about it, as it was.

  She dashed to her room, eager to read Hugh's letter, the first from him since that embarrassing parting on board ship, but again was frustrated.

  Aunt Isabel called through the curtains that she had a fly in her eye—or else an eyelash—and would Bryony please come to her bathroom and see what she could do. The offending insect removed, Aunt Isabel wanted her to fix another appointment with the hairdresser, insisting on patronising Polydore again, for all

  Bryony's efforts to persuade her to go back to the man who had formerly attended to her.

  She had hardly found time to tidy herself for lunch when Peregrine appeared. He was in a cheerful mood and she decided to say nothing about Tina's daughter until the end of the meal—her reward being that he passed on a suggestion which Yvonne had made to him. It would be fun, Yvonne had said, if she and Ronald, Perry and Bryony, could have seats together for Carnival. Aunt Isabel never went to the Savannah nowadays to watch the show. And Chris could find some nice boy and take the girls along, after they'd finished appearing in the school performance.

  It was on the tip of her
tongue to exclaim: 'Won't Mrs. Forrest expect you to take her?' But she refrained, suddenly recalling that Anne-Marie had mentioned once Yvonne's dislike of Laura.

  'That would be great,' she said, smiling with genuine pleasure. 'I'm getting as thrilled over Carnival as a true Trinadadian. It will be something to remember always.'

  He smiled back at her.

  'We'll all do our best to make it like that,' he said.

  She shrank from worrying him about Tina's repentant daughter, but to her relief he took it calmly, sitting at the table, stirring his coffee.

  'She was bound to turn up some time or other,' he said philosophically. 'She always does. If we send her to a shelter we may be quite sure she won't arrive. She'll disappear—and in less than a year she'll turn up here with another grandchild for poor old Tina and Solomon. No will, no brain! How those two good people begot her I can't imagine—except that these things do happen!'

  'Well, what are we going to do?' Bryony prompted him, pouring him another cup of coffee.

  'Oddly enough I may have a solution. One thing she can do really well—apart from increasing the population—is cook. She's like her mother in that. Now Laura's cook walked out on her a month ago, and she's had a succession of temporaries. If she'll take on Lucy—which she might, providing we don't land her with Gloria and Pearl—things might be all right, for some time, anyway.'

  'You mean—to part her from her children?' 'She can come and see them every day—which means that Tina will keep an eye on her, too. That will satisfy her, and the kids. They much prefer being with their grandparents.' And he added: 'Send her to me down in the surgery right away. I'll have a down-to- earth talk with her before I ring up Laura. But I'm pretty sure Laura will play ball.'

  At last Bryony escaped to her room for a siesta, and lying down on her bed with the mosquito curtains swayin in the welcome breeze, she took out Hugh's letter and opened it.

  'My darling Bryony,' he wrote, 'I've wonderful news. I've wangled coming to Trinidad for Carnival, and I want you to get time off and spend every possible moment with me. I bet you've had damn-all freedom in that rotten job, so square your delicious shoulders and demand your rights. I'll telephone you on arrival. Meanwhile, I ache to kiss you.

  'Hugh.'

  CHAPTER SIX

  What an ironical situation, Bryony thought. And how should she meet it?

  Peregrine was asking her to accompany him to the Carnival doings simply because Laura, whom he would normally have taken, did not hit it off with Yvonne.

  'I don't like Laura Forrest any more than Yvonne does,' she thought resentfully. 'But because I'm a paid employee I have to put up with the position of stopgap. I'm to make up the fourth in the party, knowing all the time that Perry is secretly wishing that I was someone else. It's humiliating!'

  And yet how could she, in her role of housekeeper, go to Perry and say: 'I know you have your married sister and her husband coming over to stay here for Carnival, and your brother, too, but don't expect me to stay around and look after you all, nor to watch the Carnival with you. My boy-friend is coming all the way from Jamaica to take me around, and I want to spend as much as possible of those two days of Carnival with him.'

  She hadn't the nerve to adopt such a line with him. She could not forget what he had said to her in London, when he had been interviewing her at his sister's flat—that he could only take her on for this job if for the twelve months' period of her employment she could devote herself to the household without getting involved with boy-friends.

  He had, of course, relaxed his attitude. He had said that he would raise no objection to her going out with Hugh, should he turn up again. But to go out with Hugh for a drive and a meal was very different from devoting herself to him for the best part of two all- important days—and leaving the family to Tina's well- meant efforts.

  Yvonne would think very poorly of her, she knew, and even Chris would be disappointed and a little hurt. And thinking along these lines, one thing stood out inescapably.

  After the first few days the Grays had treated her not as a girl working for them au pair but as an extra sister. Having accepted with pleasure that state of affairs, aught she not also to accept the obligations it brought.

  But protest as she might about her lack of interest in love—and marriage—there were thoughts and feelings stirring in her now, which were less easily denied in this glamorous, sun-warmed island of the hummingbird than in England.

  Hugh—with his dark good looks, his charm. There was nothing brotherly about him. To remember his kisses, the teasing, mischievous nonsense which he murmured into her ears, could still bring the colour into her cheeks.

  What a thrill it would be to listen lazily to his foolish flattery—to hear that one was as pretty as a picture, that one's particular shade of golden-brown hair made every blonde within miles look either brassy or insipid, that one's skin was flawless, one's figure perfect. And yes, how lovely to be held close in Hugh's arms—to kiss and be kissed.

  Maybe she wouldn't have felt so drawn to him, after all this time, if she hadn't given him her confidence over the matter of her birth. It meant a lot to know that he cared less than nothing whether she was related by blood to this or that old family—that he thought her quite ridiculous to worry, still more to feel disgraced, because she might very well have been born out of wedlock.

  To be fair, the Gray family would probably take up the same attitude; would say, in effect: 'So what?' But only if she could talk about it in a casual way herself.

  And having failed, through silly nervousness, to do that at once, she could not—absolutely could not—do it now.

  Turning things over in her mind, as she lay there trying vainly to rest, she decided to follow her tiresome sense of duty: write to Hugh then and there and explain matters. And reaching for the little case which held her stamps and stationery, she set about it.

  Rather to her surprise, she jibbed at calling him 'Darling' in a letter. It was a word one bandied about everywhere. But to write, 'My darling Hugh'—well, the phrase stuck on her pen, so to speak.

  'He attracts me very much, but I must keep my head,' she thought. 'I mustn't encourage myself to fall in love with him, when the odds are still that he only wants a temporary sweetheart—one, perhaps, sailor- fashion, in every port to which his work takes him.'

  After all, it was weeks since they had parted, on the ship that had brought them out from England, and this was the first time he had bothered to write.

  So she started her letter: 'My very dear Hugh,' and wrote a mildly affectionate note, telling him that her duties in the household made it impossible for her to take time off during Carnival, since visitors were expected and she would have to cope with them. She did not think it necessary to mention that she would be making the fourth in a quartet, with her employer, his sister and her husband, to watch the processions and spectacles. Men could be absurdly jealous, even when there was, as now, no foundation whatever.

  Instead, she asked him to get in touch with her, if he still—as she imagined—was coming to Trinidad for Carnival and then they could arrange, she was sure, to go out together.

  She intended to take the letter to the post next morning, dropping in at the post office, after leaving the girls at school. But her plan misfired.

  Laura, who had agreed to give Tina's daughter a trial as cook, was going in early to Port-of-Spain to buy her some overalls, and one or two articles of kitchen equipment which the meek little woman had the temerity to demand as essential, and arrived with a genial offer to run the girls in to St. Monica's.

  Peregrine, who was around, declared at once that it was an excellent idea—for once in a way Bryony wouldn't have to rush off when she'd hardly swallowed her breakfast.

  He didn't notice that Bryony was carrying an air letter in her hand, but quick as she was to push it into her handbag, Laura's keen eyes observed what she was doing, and she said sweetly: 'Give me your letter, Bryony. I shall be going to the post office. I'll p
op it in for you.'

  For fear of calling attention to herself by a refusal, Bryony handed the letter over to Laura with a casual word of thanks. But she found herself wishing, soon afterwards, that she had made an excuse for keeping it back. She didn't, she felt, trust Laura farther than she could push her—and couldn't even be sure the letter would reach the post-box.

  As she turned back into the house with Peregrine she was tempted to tell him that she had written to Hugh, so that Laura could not possibly make mischief. But if she did that she would have to explain that Hugh had written to her—and might be led into telling Peregrine of his invitation.

  That she particularly didn't want to do. Peregrine might say stiffly that of course she must go to watch Carnival with Hugh, and keep her up to it—annoyed with her all the time for not devoting herself to giving Yvonne and Ronald—and Chris, too—the most enjoyable visit possible.

  The days went by, and everywhere excitement grew as Carnival approached.

  Even out in the country one could hear until late at night steel bands practising in readiness for the competition which would decide the calypso of the year.

  Calypsos over the radio, calypsos in the streets, and Sally and Anne-Marie singing calypsos when they came home from school. Gloria and Pearl, too, shrill- voiced, swaggering round the kitchen, their small bottoms stuck well out, their knees bent—shrieking with laughter at their grandmother's protests, until driven out of her outraged presence—when she herself would fall to the temptation of a few syncopated steps.

  And all this time no word came from Hugh, leaving Bryony in painful uncertainty of the fate of her letter, and wishing with all her heart she had had the courage to make some excuse for withholding it from Laura.

  At last, on the Friday before Carnival began, Peregrine, Bryony and the two girls drove in two cars to Piarco Airport to meet Yvonne and Ronald—Chris being expected on the Saturday evening.

  Crowds of people had come to welcome friends and relatives, and as one plane came in after another a thrill seemed to run round the whole airport. It was no penance to hang about waiting. There was so much to see and hear. And Bryony found herself anticipating with real pleasure a meeting with the Gilberts.