A Girl Called Tegi

A GIRL CALLED TEGI

Katrina Britt

Tony whispered softly, “Waiting for someone?”

Tegi stiffened. “What does it matter to you?” she asked.

“It does. Where you waiting for ... now what’s his name—?” he snapped his fingers“—Colin?”

“No, I was not,” she denied.

“I hardly thought you would be. Colin is the not the right one for you,” Tony said tolerantly. “You need to date other men before making your choice.”

“You’re qualified to advise, I suppose? You certainly get around!”

“I’ve been around more than you, anyway. And there is a chance you might decide to settle for Colin and never know how exciting love can be.” Tony laughed. “There’s nothing like it.” And he pulled her into his arms, crushing her resistance with a fiercely passionate kiss.

CHAPTER ONE

Tegi
had heard him before she saw him, and when she saw him, he was a dark silhouette merging into the paler shadows of the passageway.

Weekends came around with monotonous regularity, bringing with them the problem of what to do and where to go.

Once upon a time Ramsey had been a flourishing little place with boats arriving daily at the pier from the mainland bringing fresh life and colour to the inhabitants.

There had been dancing and other activities including swimming at the open air pool at the Talk of the Town situated at the far end of the quay by the stone pier. Now that had all gone, along with the plethora of cafes and eating places along the front of the south promenade pulled down in the name of progress—or so they said.

Even the once thriving hotels along the Mooragh promenade had been converted into expensive flats and apartments, so entertainment was very limited and one had to go to Douglas, an hour’s journey away, by bus for a disco or cinema.

Tegi had been for a walk along the south promenade and was strolling past the blocks of flats to the passageway leading to the coffee house in the square. That was when she heard him, or his motorbike. The revving of the engine had resounded like a clap of thunder echoing and shuddering in the buildings
around, so Tegi had stopped in her tracks until the noise had stopped.

He did not even look up from his mac
hin
e when she walked gracefully by in dainty high-heeled sandals, her skirt swirling against pretty legs. Pushing the dark auburn hair from a fine-boned face, Tegi went into the coffee house to sit down at a small table for two overlooking the square of shops.

As she waited for her coffee, she began to question for the first time in her life the quality of her hearing, for the motorbike was being revved up again and coming nearer.

It could have been minutes or hours that she sat there listening to the noise without a quiver when suddenly the sun glinted on the magnificent machine as it slid to a halt in front of the window where she was sitting. The noise stopped.

Tegi could not decide which was the more dramatic, the instant silence or the appearance of the black tunic and helmet of the rider. Nonchalantly, he straightened from propping up his bike by the curb, removed his gloves and helmet, and arrogantly tossed a straying lock of black hair from a fine forehead.

He was beautiful—there was no denying it. His skin had the ruddy bronze brought on in the wa
rm
er climates. He looked about twenty-eight or so, a Renaissance prince on a motorbike instead of a white horse. Dark eyes contemplated her shrewdly, then with a brilliant smile he moved with a feline grace towards her.

In the coffee house he pulled out the chair facing her at the table.

‘Mind if I join you?’ he asked politely in a deep, pleasant voice.

Tegi could not manage to get out a word. She nodded. His name, he said, was Antonio Mastroni. He was over for the T.T. races and he came from Tuscany where his family had farmed for generations.

Tegi said, ‘Your English is excellent.’

He smiled at her mockingly. ‘My mother is English. Do you live here?’

She nodded. He did not tell her much about himself. He did not even say that he would see her again. He bought her another coffee because she had let hers grow cold looking at him and listening.

When they parted he gave his brilliant smile, waved a careless hand and went back to his motorbike. Tegi went across the square. The meeting with
t
he strange young man had pierced her loneliness for a short time, leaving her feeling lonelier than ever.

‘Is that you, Tegi?’ her mother called from the lounge as she made her way towards the stairs and her room.

‘Yes, Mother.’ She paused with her hand on the handrail of the stairs.

‘Dorothy’s coming!’ The tone of her mother’s voice rose in excitement. ‘She’ll have to share your room,’ she added.

Tegi fingered the smooth surface of the stair handrail.

Sharply, she said, ‘Why can’t she have the spare room? I thought it had been done up specially for when she came home again?’

‘You know Dorothy.’ Suddenly her mother was standing in the doorway of the lounge leading into, the hall. ‘She always brings such a lot of clothes with her and the spare room is so cramped.’

‘I’ll be cramped, but I suppose that doesn’t matter.’ Tegi shot her mother a brilliant look from green eyes and pushed the bright hair back from her face , as she raised it. ‘When is she coming?’

‘Today some time, by air.’

She looked frankly at her mother’s happy smile
,
thinking she looked more like an elder sister than the mother of two grown-up daughters and a son. Her blonde hair had no grey in it as yet and her face was remarkably unlined.

‘Where’s Gary?’ she asked.

‘Gone to the library again. Since you’ve started him reading borrowed books he’s been practically living there.’

Tegi, hating the note of censure, said, ‘What of it? At least it keeps him out of mischief, and he’s learning.’

Suddenly she turned around and made for the front door.

‘Where are you going?’ cried her mother.

‘Out
!’
, was the reply, and the door joined the echo of her cry as it slammed behind her.

She had to get some air, as if life was not bad enough without Dorothy around. Slowly she made her way down to the quay and walked along oblivious of her surroundings.

‘Hi, Tegi!’

She lifted her head and saw a bearded man in his fifties hailing her as he was about to board one of
the boats anchored by the quay.

‘Hi, Mr
.
McBain,’ she answered. Her smile was warm because he was one of her favourite customers at the bank where she worked. She liked his twinkling blue eyes and his easy philosophy of life.

He strolled towards her, turning away from boarding his boat, clad in fisherman’s thick knit jersey and big sea-boots covering the bottom of trousers tucked in.

‘What are you doing wandering around alone on a Saturday afternoon?’ he asked. ‘You look kind of lost.’

She blurted, ‘I wish I could get lost. I’m fed up
!’

He took her arm. ‘Come on board and tell me all about it,’ he invited.

‘Coffee?’ he asked as she coiled herself up on a seat in the cabin.

‘No, thanks. I’ve just had one with a very nice young man.’

Ben paused in the doorway leading to the galley. His blue eyes twinkled.

‘Why aren’t you with him now?’ he asked.

‘He didn’t ask me,’ Tegi answered frankly.

‘Is that why you’re feeling fed up?’ he queried, coming to take a seat opposite to her.

‘No.’ Tegi studied tapering,
well-kept
hands. ‘My sister is coming home.’

He raised a dark brow. ‘Is that bad?’

‘It is for me. She gets more unbearable each time she comes home. She is a model—television adverts and all that, when she can get the work
.’

‘Good-looker, eh?’ he murmured.

She shrugged slender shoulders. ‘She’s all right if
only she wouldn’t preen herself. We’re like two goldfish in a bowl while she’s home. She hogs all the bowl and leaves me gasping for air around the edges
!’

He leaned forward and touched her hand. ‘I wouldn’t have said you’re the jealous type.’

‘Goodness, I’m not jealous of Dorothy. I’d hate to be like her.’ She laughed. ‘Gary, my small brother,
calls her Dotty and he means it.’

B
en eyed her thoughtfully. ‘Wouldn’t you like
a glamorous job like that yourself? You’re pretty enough, you know.’

She stared at him as though the thought had never occurred to her.

‘I don’t know.’ She shook her head. ‘On second thoughts, no. Dorothy enjoys drifting around and drawing attention to herself. I don’t.’

Ben crossed one long leg over the over and sat back.

‘You’ll be married before you know it,’ he said philosophically. ‘Is your sister married?’

She shook her head. ‘No, she’s younger than I am, twenty to my twenty-five.’

He looked startled. ‘Twenty-five?’ He whistled. ‘You don’t look it, with that wonderful clear skin and those high cheekbones. The Celts are a nice-looking race. Are both your parents Manx?’

‘No, Mother is. Dad comes from the south of England. He won a lot of trophies in the T.T. races and when he retired he decided to come here for good.’

‘You don’t approve?’

‘Dad does. He lives for the races, and Mother
—
well, she’s come home, hasn’t she?’

‘You could say that,
b
ut what about you?’

She smiled. ‘I’m all right, but it does get a bit dreary here at times.’ Suddenly she flung out her arms and lifted a glowing face. ‘I’d love to fly away to somewhere warm and exciting.’

His smile was wry. ‘You make me feel terribly old. Sure you won’t have a coffee?’

‘No, thanks.’ She stood up. ‘It’s been nice talking to you. See you around.’

‘Sure.’ He rose to his feet. ‘You must come for a sail some time.’

Dorothy had arrived when Tegi got back after a walk around the shops and talking to several of her friends. By the time she had reached home she had decided that even her sister’s unwelcome presence would relieve the monotony.

Gary, her young brother, met her as she entered the house.

‘Dotty’s here,’ he said, wrinkling his small nose as if there was a bad smell under it. ‘Brought me nothing as usual, but I’ve got some money out of her. See you
!’

Tegi ruffled his thick dark hair affectionately. ‘Buy some fruit,’ she said. ‘Do you more good than sweets.’

Dorothy had already installed herself in Tegi’s room. She turned from the wardrobe already overflowing with the clothes she had put in with Tegi’s.

‘So there you are,’ she said. ‘This house seems to get smaller each time I come back. Like to help me unpack?’

Tegi glanced in the open wardrobe and stared at gorgeous evening gowns, skirts and tops. Then she said,

‘This isn’t London, you know. You won’t need all those evening dresses. A decent evening skirt and several nice tops would have been more sensible. I don’t know how you manage to carry your case, it must weigh the earth.’

‘I
don’t. I only have to look helpless and the men come running.’ Dorothy ran slim fingers through red-gold hair styled to her head and viewed Tegi’s long silky mane with a smile. ‘Old-fashioned, aren’t you, pet?’ she added pityingly. ‘Are there any good hairdressers here, by the way?’

Tegi’s dark eyes held the tawny ones coolly. ‘One or two, I believe. You can always go to Douglas if you aren’t satisfied.’

She had tried to enthuse something welcoming into her voice, but her sister was already getting her back up. Dorothy could with one disdainful look make her fee
l
years younger instead of five years older.

Dorothy ignored this suggestion and proceeded to fill drawers with frothy expensive underwear and cashmere tops.

‘How’s your love life?’ she asked, closing a full drawer. ‘Have you got a steady boy-friend?’

‘The same—Colin.’

‘That creep?’

‘Colin isn’t a creep,’ Tegi cried indignantly. ‘It’s my fault that we’re only casual friends. We go out together most weekends and an occasional night during the week, but Colin is away at the moment with his mother.’

She always
felt guilty over Colin. He was a clerk in the Civil Service in Douglas and she kept up a friendship with hi
m
because he was nice and inoffensive
—
in other words, safe.

‘Ye gods
!’
cried Dorothy. ‘Honestly, I’ll have to take you in hand. Why don’t you have a bit of fun once in a while? What are your plans for this evening?’

Tegi shrugged. ‘Dad will be having some of his old friends calling to see him during the next fortnight of the races.’

Dorothy clicked her tongue in
disgust. ‘I’d think Dad had more than enough of motorbikes, seeing how he spends most of his time in a wheelchair through them. You’re a fool to let Mother walk all over you and for keeping company with a fellow who’ll never do you any good.’

‘Maybe I am.’ By now Tegi was feeling fed up and ready to sling Dorothy from the room. ‘But I don’t have to stay in and help Mother cope with callers.’

‘Then why do you? Do you know that I almost took a holiday on the Riviera with the two girls I share a flat with, but I decided to come home seeing that the races are on? I expect a lot of noise is better than nothing. What about these millionaires we hear so much about in the island, the ones with the yachts and big cars?’

Tegi laughed. ‘Don’t tell me you came to sniff one out! What kind are you hoping for?’

‘It
isn’t a matter of hoping. I’m out to marry someone with money. No doubt you think it’s a bit coldblooded, but it’s what I want and I mean to get it.’

‘I suppose you’ve got time for tea before you go out on your quest,’ Tegi said in disgust. ‘I’ll go and see about it.’

She found her mother in the kitchen taking hot scones from the oven.

‘Make your dad a cup of tea, will you?’ she said.

‘He’s just come in. Joe Kelly took him to Douglas to see the boat come in with all the bikes, so I suppose he’ll be feeling whacked.’

Tegi put the kettle on and began to put out cups and saucers on a tray. She said crisply, ‘He’ll get ove
r it.’

‘Now don’t talk like that. He gets such little pleasure with that arthritis in his back.’

‘Oh yes—funny how it always seems to go when
t
he races begin. If you’d asked him to take you to Douglas he would have been horrified at the thought of going that far. All you can get him to talk about is the T.T. You’ll never catch me going all gooey-eyed over a motorbike enthusiast. He’d be a fine healthy man now if he hadn’t gone in for racing and risking his neck on motorbikes.’