Gypsy Magic (The Little Matchmakers) (6 page)

He shot her a quick, apprehensive glance and she shook her head, shaking her hair off her face. “No,” she said, “I’m not getting hysterical. It’s just that every time you speak to me, it’s to tell me to eat or drink. Like the witch… With Hansel and Gretel.”

“No,” he said coolly, “I’m not trying to fatten you up for the kill.” Obviously he was going to reject any attempt she might make toward friendliness, but Gypsy decided to try again. “This is really quite good,” she said, gesturing toward her nearly empty bowl. “For canned stew, that is. It was kind of you to take me in and look after me—”

“Kindness has no bearing in this case. I had—have—no choice.” He fixed her with a steady gaze. The lantern light off to one side cast interesting shadows on his face.

“But now,” he went on, “comes the time of reckoning. You owe me an explanation, so give it and then if there’s anything I don’t understand I’ll ask questions.”

Again she had the feeling that she was being bossed around, and that there would undoubtedly be many questions when she was finished, but she put both thoughts aside and began a more lucid account of herself, than she’d managed before.

He was silently thoughtful for some minutes after she finished and then a look of angry disbelief darkened his eyes. “Why, in God’s name, were you left behind?”

Dumbly, Gypsy stared at him while the full impact of his words barraged her senses. “You mean… Why wasn’t I
in
it?” she asked in horror of what she had taken his words to imply.

“Exactly. Why?”

“What a rotten thing to say!” Outrage sharpened her tone as she leapt to her feet knocking the chair to the floor. “Do you mean you honestly wish I had been killed just so you wouldn’t have the temporary inconvenience of my presence? You’ve got to be the most self-centered person I’ve ever met. Well, I’m sorry, Mr. Saunders, but I am alive and no matter how difficult it is for you to accept, it’s your responsibility as a human being to get me off this island so I can tell the families of those men that they did not suff—Ouch! Let me go!”

“Shut up,” he grated, his face close to hers, his eyes glaring, his hot breath fanning the hair back from her brow. “Just shut up for a minute, you bad tempered little firebrand! That was not what I meant. And while I agree that having you here is going to be a bloody great inconvenience, what I was trying to find out was what in hell were those two men thinking about to leave you alone on the beach of an island they believed deserted, while they took off? Just answer me that, lady, and never mind the histrionics.”

“I told you! You just don’t listen! The mink was to be shown over a bikini and I was to lie a rock and pull the cape around me after he had panned the entire, deserted beach, as seen from the ocean. That’s why I was on the beach and they weren’t. There was only the pilot and the photographer. Halliburton—the owner of the model-agency I work for—wasn’t even able to scrounge a make-up person at the last minute. It’s—it was—a long-weekend Monday. They did not leave me behind deliberately no matter what you choose to believe, and I was not brought here to plague you and the sooner you take me away, the better. Then you can be all alone with your precious birds and squirrels and sketchbook that your son told me about. While I’m at it, shall I take him away with me? He seems to be as much of a nuisance to you as I am.”

“Believe me. Believe me. If there was a chance of getting you off this island, Ms. Gaynor, you’d have been gone half an hour after Kevin brought you here, and all the fainting spells, weeping, and getting sick in the world wouldn’t have prevented me from removing you.”

“If…
If
there were a chance?” She picked up her chair and subsided weakly onto it, gaze pinned to his stony face.

“That’s exactly what I said.” He scowled. “But unfortunately for both of us, I’m stuck with you for the next month or so until I’m picked up.” He added tiredly, “Oh don’t worry, I don’t intend to throw you out to live in the woods and eat roots and berries and seaweed like I threatened when I thought my brother-in-law had sicced you on me. You’ll stay here. That’s why I rigged the curtain around one of the spare bunks… To give us each a certain amount of privacy. All I ask is that you stay out of my way. I want you to leave me completely alone. Follow Kevin’s lead. He’s a past-master at avoiding me. Oh, he makes the odd error now and then,” Lance admitted sourly, “but he normally manages to slide away as soon as I appear or he knows I’m around. But then, that’s the way he wants it, too. So see that you do the same.

“I’m not unaware that I can be attractive to women, and under the circumstances, you might decide to feel some attraction. I warn you… Don’t.”

Gypsy reeled back, feeling as if she’d been slapped, but recovered quickly. “I’ve never yet been attracted to arrogant bullies, Mr. Saunders. The men who appeal to me have a certain amount of savoir-faire… And wear clean clothes,” she added scathingly. “They also shave and bathe regularly.”

“I’ll remember that,” he responded bitingly, “and hope that for the next four weeks you don’t change your mind. Women, Ms. Gaynor, do not appeal to me at all.”

Gypsy smiled sweetly, showing, clenched teeth. “How convenient for both of us. I’m so glad I’m not a man, then, or I’m sure you’d be all over me.” And before he could unleash the fury which blazed up in his eyes, she went on. “But surely you must have some means of getting off the island? What if there’s an illness, an accident?”

She thought she saw a flicker of guilt in his expression, but she could have been mistaken. “I’m not one to borrow trouble,” he said. “Now, I suggest you get some more sleep. You remember where the… er… facilities are?” She nodded. “Fine. I’ll leave the flashlight on the floor near your bunk. Try not to waste the batteries. Good night.”

~ * ~

It took three days for Gypsy to feel halfway better. Her black eye recovered enough for her to be able to open it, but she worried about the cut on her cheek. When she asked her host just how bad it was, he reassured her gruffly, saying that it was very small and shouldn’t leave a scar as long as she left the tapes on for a sufficient time. Trouble was, neither of them could judge what would be ‘sufficient’ time. He claimed not to have a mirror, so she was forced to leave the extent of the gash to her imagination. His shaving, it seemed, was done with the battery razor, and did not require a mirror. Privately, Gypsy thought it was more likely he was unable to face himself in the mirror without becoming ill, and so did not use one. A few days in his company had not improved her opinion of this most odious man she had ever met.

But, she had to admit, for all that he had done a few kind deeds. On her first morning in the cabin he had given her a toothbrush still in its package, a short, black comb of the kind men used, and tossed a pair of jeans on her bunk.

“They won’t fit you, of course, but there’s a needle and some thread, scissors, too, so you can fix them. They’ll be better than nothing, and you can’t run around in a mink cape and a bikini for the rest of your time here. You can keep the shirt you’re wearing, to sleep in, and here’s another for daytime.”

When he noticed her hobbling across the yard over the stony ground, he inquired if her shoes had been in the helicopter, as well. After some thought, she remembered they had been sitting behind a log, along with her makeup case, well out of camera range.

“I’ll go have a look.” He had brushed aside her thanks and stomped out without a backward glance, but on her return to the cabin with the child, for lunch, she had found her sandals beside her bunk with the red silk scarf lying on her covers. Of her makeup case he denied any knowledge.

For a few days Gypsy worried about squint lines and wished for her sunglasses, which were in her makeup case, wherever that was. Maybe it had been below the high tide point and drifted away. Nevertheless, her pleasure in Kevin’s company grew along with her enjoyment of the spectacular surroundings.

Wind-twisted pines grew along the north-western side of the island, which rose in the center to form a pair of cone-shaped, tree-clad hills with a divide between them. There must be a lake, or perhaps a spring up there somewhere, source of the creek Kevin liked to play in.

Beyond that stream of fresh water, a long, high point of land thrust out, shaggy, golden grass flattened by the ever-present breeze off the ocean. A few miles away, she saw similar islands, some higher, some lower, but all with lacy edges of surf creaming around their rocky bases. Gulls flew and mewed, sea lions barked and startled cormorants, which lifted like clouds of tossed black pepper from a low rock just off-shore where they often stood, wings spread out to dry in the warmth of the sun and the touch of the breeze. Periodically, salmon, flashes of silvery-blue, jumped clear of the water and splashed back in.

On one particularly beautiful morning near the end of her first week on the island, she and Kevin watched a pod of orcas swim by, black dorsal fins of the males jutting high, shorter, rounder fins on the females and young whales cutting sleekly through the water. To her and Kevin’s mutual delight, a number of whales performed that odd, orca habit of “spy-hopping” rising up on their powerful tail-flukes, lifting their huge bodies two-thirds out of the water to gaze around. Finished their tail dance, they flopped down onto the surface again in a circle of rainbow-streaked spray. Others, after a deep dive, burst through the surface, shooting fully from the water and smashing back down onto it again, creating impressive concentric circles of waves.

“They look happy,” Kevin said. “Like they’re playing.”

Gypsy agreed. “I think they are.” Then she wrinkled her nose as one large male with a badly notched dorsal breached the surface, blowing his stinky breath high in a steamy spout that the wind caught and wafted straight to where they stood. She waved the smell away with the back of her hand and made a conscious effort to smooth her face. She’d been frowning, grinning, squinting, screwing up her nose and pursing her lips far too much this past week. Lance Saunders made her frown. Kevin made her grin. The sun glaring off the water made her squint, and the odor of the out-house definitely made her wrinkle her nose whenever she had to use it. Daily, she cut fresh cedar boughs to lay on the floor of the toilet, and hang on the walls. It helped, but not much. And she’d clamped her jaw and pursed her lips far too often so as not to snarl at Lance Saunders when his attitude annoyed her.

All in all, though, she reflected, the concern about her complexion, her skin’s texture, her weight, and the condition of her hair had dwindled to almost nothing. How nice it is, she thought, leaning against a pine tree at the edge of the windy, open meadow the day after they’d watched the whales, to know there is nothing at all I can or must do about my appearance. Every morning since her arrival, after Lance had gone about his business, she sent Kevin outside and gave herself thorough a sponge bath at the sink in the kitchen area. She also, to his irritation, made Kevin wash well daily before she helped him get ready for bed.

And today, she had decreed they both needed clean clothes, so she had done laundry in the sink. Now, she and Kevin waited for it to dry. Here, high above the water, the breeze blew strongly and the sun shone hot. It wouldn’t take long, she thought, even for jeans. Idly, she braided three long blades of coarse grass and wrapped it around her wrist like a bracelet. As she did so, her diamond engagement ring flashed in the sun.

I really should take it off. She frowned. Now, what made me think that? she asked herself moments later. Because, to Tony, I’m dead? Hmm…How seldom I’ve thought of him since I came here. It was, she thought, since she knew she was dead as far as he was concerned, he—and their engagement—had somehow ceased to feel real to her.
It has for a long time, Gypsy.

Where had that bit of insight come from? From solitude, she reasoned. From having permitted herself to let go of the trappings that made her the “perfect” companion for Tony, from having allowed herself—well, to be honest—been forced to dress like a hobo—and enjoy doing so.

She looked down at the child who was drowsily watching bugs in the long grass, and then at herself. A couple of Robinson Crusoes, she thought, and grinned. He, wearing shorts and a torn tee-shirt, and she with her shirt tails knotted at the waist, bikini bottoms her only other garment while her jeans dried. Or are we Huckleberry Finns? Are we castaways or runaways? Right at this moment she felt more like a happy runaway. The sun was warm, the waves incredibly blue with white icing creaming over the tops where they broke on the reefs between their island in the next.

Would she really prefer not to be having this unusual, unexpected vacation in this lovely, uninhabited place? She knew, in spite of everything insisting she should feel otherwise, she’d found a great deal of satisfaction and fulfillment here. Heck, she even enjoyed making a temporary home out of the grungy cabin.

Roughly, Lance had said, “There’s no need for you to spoil your manicure cooking and cleaning, Gypsy.” After the first two days he’d progressed beyond “Ms. Gaynor,” which made her comfortable using his first name. Formality seemed just a tad misplaced under the circumstances. “I’m quite capable of doing what’s required to look after my son and myself.”

She’d seen not one, single sign he was capable of adequately cleaning anything, except himself. Her jibe about personal hygiene must have struck home. But nearly all his cooking involved opening cans and heating up their contents.

“I want to earn my keep,” she’d replied with some asperity, surprised that he hadn’t realized that himself. What kind of person did he take her for? Sure, he knew she was a model, had commented on her pretty pink manicure, as if he disapproved, but there was nothing she could do about his attitude except ignore it.

“Since I’m here, and under sufferance at that, at least let me pull my own weight.”

Lance had shrugged and not argued. He continued to ignore both his guest and his son, and Gypsy swept then scrubbed the floor and took over the cooking. To her surprise, she found boxes of fruits and vegetables not requiring refrigeration—lucky, since there was none—stored in boxes in a cool walk-in cupboard built under the high side of the cabin. If Lance had known they were there, he’d given no indication. Kevin, though, had showed her. “Let’s get some apples to take with us on our walk.”