Authors: Alexandra Thomas
“I wonder if you will like me as a shy schoolteacher,” said Sandy. “I already feel more modest for a start.” She hitched her skirt a little so that it would not impede the longer stride she needed to keep up with Daniel.
“You’re just the same person,” said Daniel. “Are you wondering if you have changed? Well, you haven’t. A little more sure of yourself, but then that’s natural and very charming. Otherwise you’re just the same Sandy. My sea waif.”
“But I’m not famous, or interesting or anything,” she said a little wildly.
Sandy touched his arm where the little hairs were bleached by the sun. Her new identity seemed like a barrier. He was withdrawing from her, assuming a formality. She had to stop him. Desperation came into her eyes.
He stooped a little and stroked her cheek with the tip of his forefinger. He seemed so serious.
“What nonsense you are talking this evening,” he said, amused. “What makes you think it’s necessary for you to be famous? I should imagine that people will be admiring your little drawings of birds and shells long after—” He stopped abruptly. He had almost said too much.
“Long after what?”
“Long after my bird data has been filed away in some dusty museum,” he continued. “But don’t give up wearing a sarong. It suits you. There will be plenty of time for skirts and dresses when you return to your school in Surrey.”
She remembered his words the next morning and put on her old red bikini, now washed out and faded to a dusky pink, and wrapped a sarong around her waist. Daniel had seen enough of her midriff when he had bandaged her cracked ribs.
“I suppose I hurt my ribs as I fell against the rail of the yacht,” she wondered aloud over breakfast.
“That could account for the injury,” said Daniel, not mentioning the small bruise that he had found on the back of her neck. Sandy’s story of Gabrielle’s jealous rages had made him suspicious of all her injuries. But she could have hit her neck on something as she fell, or perhaps the waves had carried her roughly onto the shore.
“Do you remember how you came by your little silver bracelet?” he asked, changing the subject. “You were wearing it when I found you.”
She nodded. “It was made for me by my father when I was a little girl,” she said, twisting the delicate daisy chain. “He was a silversmith by trade. I suppose I get my small talent from him.”
“Are your parents still alive?”
There was pain even in learning her identity. “No. They died in a car crash when I was seventeen. I’ve no family at all.”
Daniel touched her wrist and there was enough sympathy in that brief contact to still her feelings. At that moment Leon came ambling over the sand with a vaguely worried look on his perspiring face.
“Speed boat coming in very fast, Mr. Kane,” he called out. “Look. Out there.” He pointed to a minute speck of foam on the ocean which his keen eyes had already identified. As the speck grew larger, they realised it was a high speed motor launch, its prow high out of the water. Sandy immediately thought foreign intruders had discovered Daniel’s refuge for his voluntary exile.
“Hadn’t you better hide?” she said anxiously. “You don’t want them to find you, do you?”
“My dear girl, I’m not a fugitive from justice. Is that what you think I am?” He leaned forward and pulled at a tendril of her blowing hair. “Your girls’ school obviously watches too much television.”
Sandy blushed faintly. She realised that she had become confused with the story of the murdered journalist and the fact that Daniel had been deliberately “removed” by his news agency. Her facts were not quite straight. But it might be these people who were looking for Daniel.
“I still think it would be safer if we weren’t here,” she said urgently. She got up and tugged at his hands. “Let’s go up onto Bird Cliff, at least until we see who it is.”
“I can see who it is,” Daniel said calmly, but letting her keep his hands. “It’s a very official-looking launch. Can’t you see the flag fluttering at the stern? It’s big enough.”
The sailor at the helm was in a white uniform. His passenger was also in a white tropical outfit. They did not look like foreign terrorists. The helmsman obviously knew the coastline, for he was now nosing carefully through the gap in the reef, having cut his speed. It was a beautiful white launch with a streamlined fibreglass hull.
Daniel let Sandy tug him to his feet, but then he led her down to the sand and towards the spot where the launch was aiming to beach. The passenger waved and Daniel waved back.
“It’s Hamish Macarthur,” said Daniel. He wondered if Sandy would remember meeting him on Mahé in the grounds of Government House.
“Oh! Now I recognise him! Of course I remember him. He was so kind.” She remembered her afternoon with the island-loving Scot.
“Hello there, you two,” Hamish Macarthur called out. So this is your honeymoon island! You couldn’t have chosen a more ideal spot. Congratulations.”
He jumped out onto the sand and hurried over to them. He was so correctly dressed: white shorts immaculately pressed, white tunic shirt complete with medal ribbons, white polished shoes and knee high white socks. It was obvious he had come on official business and thought it urgent enough to make an early start from Government House.
“Er, thank you very much,” said Daniel, amused by the congratulations and the news of their assumed honeymoon. “But how did you know? We thought it was a well-kept secret.”
“I play Scrabble once a week with Dave Watney. He’s an old pal of mine. I thought his description of the young couple fitted you two. And, of course, when he said La Petite, then I knew it was you. Changed your mind, did you, about going back to London?”
He chuckled, took his spectacles out of his pocket and peered at Sandy’s brief bikini and sarong. “Being married seems to suit you, young lady. You look a real bonny lass!”
He chuckled again, and Daniel had a strong suspicion it was because he knew they were not married. It was probably Hamish Macarthur who would have issued a special licence, and Hamish knew that he had done no such thing. Daniel could see the subject had complications.
“We’ll get Flora to make some fresh tea. You must have made a very early start from Mahé.”
“Aye. I like to be up early and at my desk. The Seychelles may be right off the beaten track, but I get a deal of work to do. And this morning, a telex came which I thought was very important. It’s a kind of wedding present for you. So I brought it right away.”
It seemed Hamish Macarthur wanted to make an occasion of it, as he made no move to tell them anymore. He sat on the veranda in a wicker chair and sipped the tea Flora brought over.
Sandy was almost off the edge of her chair with suspense. What was this telex that Hamish Macarthur thought so important? Her thoughts went around in circles. Did it concern herself, or Gabrielle Webster, or
Sun Flyer,
or could it be about Daniel?
“I won’t keep you young people waiting any longer,” said Hamish at last, putting on his spectacles again. He took a folded sheet of foolscap paper from his tunic pocket and handed it to Daniel. “It’s for you, Mr. Kane, from your employers, relayed to me through the Foreign Office. I thought you were no ordinary birdwatcher.”
Daniel unfolded the flimsy paper. The message was a long one and took some minutes to read. When he had finished, his face was quite still. There was a lot to digest.
Daniel went over to Sandy and handed her the paper but she did not read it. She was looking to him to tell her.
“I have a lot to explain to you, Sandy. And I don’t quite know where to begin. Firstly, ornithology is only a hobby and I earn my living as a journalist reporting world events for an agency called World News Syndication. They send me all over the world, mainly to trouble spots.
“I had been working on a book about the Middle East with a colleague when he was killed mysteriously. The agency were worried about my safety and decided I ought to disappear for a few months. Fortunately they were able to pull a few strings and get me this job on La Petite, safe from prying eyes and to all intents and purposes a harmless birdwatcher.” He broke off. “Does this all sound too melodramatic to you, Sandy?”
She shook her head and waited for him to go on.
“But now it’s all over. The terrorists that murdered James Gunther have been identified and caught and are in prison in Germany awaiting trial. The Foreign Office have decided that it is safe for me to return to London. Eventually, when the gang are sentenced and behind bars, then World News will publish the book. It must seem a very confusing reason for my disappearance, but I couldn’t tell you before.”
“Not all that confusing,” said Sandy demurely. “I vaguely remember seeing something about it in the newspapers that you bought at Mahé airport. But I only read the stories yesterday. I had kept the newspapers to show you the fashion pages. Oh, Daniel. Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I thought you had quite enough to worry about after your accident and loss of memory. I did not want to add to your troubles.”
Hamish Macarthur coughed and chuckled. “I should think World News ought to offer you a nice, quiet assignment for a couple of years. You deserve it, young man. A safe appointment in some country that is not at war with anywhere else. You’ve got to think of Sandy. She’ll be worried stiff that you might be ambushed or kidnapped on your way home.”
“But that would be too boring for Daniel,” Sandy put in quickly.
“Life’s been a little too exciting lately in the Middle East,” said Daniel. “I think I’ve had enough danger to last me for a while. I might quite enjoy writing features on birds. Sandy is an artist. She could do the drawings.”
“I have to speak to Flora about lunch,” said Sandy, suddenly feeling that the conversation about Daniel’s future really had nothing to do with her. “You will stay to lunch, won’t you, Mr. Macarthur? I also have some news I’d like to tell you about myself.”
“That will be delightful. And I’d like to see some of your drawings, if I may?”
Sandy brought out her folio of drawings and put them on the table. They left the kindly Scot turning over the sheets, pondering on the detail of a frigate bird on the wing or a sooty tern making arrowheads in the sand.
Sandy and Daniel walked away from the bungalow, barefooted as they had begun, the sunlight sparkling on the azure blue sea, the palms lazily dipping their feathery fronds, the glossy takamaka trees whispering in the soft breeze. Daniel stopped on the shore of White Sands, not far from the place where he had first found Sandy. He drew her to him, at last sure of what he wanted to say.
“I’ve no right to ask a woman to share my kind of life,” Daniel began, hesitating, his voice tender with overwhelming love for her. “You’d never know where I was, or what time I’d be home. I get sent all over the world at a moment’s notice, sometimes to very dangerous situations. And yet I love you and want you to be with me all the time. For the rest of my life.”
His mouth came down swiftly on hers in a long and passionate kiss. They clung to each other as if the world did not exist and Hamish Macarthur was no more than another grain of sand on the shore.
Sandy held him close, her heart pounding, her fingers deep in his dark hair. She had waited so long for this moment. She wanted to remember it always.
“But I love you too. I only want to be with you. It doesn’t matter where you have to go. I’ll wait for you or come with you. Just so long as we are together, nothing matters.”
“Sandy.” His face was buried in her cloud of tawny hair. Her closeness was a sweet torment. “I already have a gold ring but it was bought hurriedly and without much thought. I would like to buy you another one, my darling, this time bought with a great love for you,” his voice was husky.
“But I don’t want you to buy me a different ring,” said Sandy tremulously. “The other ring is all part of our strange story and will always remind me of how much you were prepared to do to help me. I love you, Daniel.”
They longed to be together. It was a taut bond of love and recognition that took them irrevocably towards the wild sweetness of loving each other.
“I know a very tiny, secret beach,” said Daniel. “It has the softest silvery sand. No one goes there. It’s even hidden from the birds.”
“I’d like to go there with you,” said Sandy, with a warm smile. “Dearest love, I can’t believe that you love me.”
The takamaka trees fluttered their leaves and whispered among themselves. They had known all along.
About the Author
Alexandra Thomas always knew that she wanted to write.
She left school at sixteen and became a cub reporter on a south London newspaper. She got all the worst jobs but her chief reporter, Victor Davies, taught her how to write. She worked her way up and eventually became chief reporter, the first woman chief reporter, the youngest and the only one who was pregnant.
After two years spent in Doha, Qatar, with her growing family, writing about deserts and sheikhs, she returned to Surrey, England, winning a prestigious national woman’s magazine competition.
She is currently writing two books, one set in Venice and the other set in Bali, both places which she loves.
Her home is full of books and photos of cats as she has been rescuing homeless cats for years.
She has just become president of the local operatic society.