Authors: Alexandra Thomas
“The rest of the world is not quite as beautiful as Beau Vallon,” he said.
“Then I’m glad I haven’t any memories,” she shivered.
Their packed lunch was simple but sophisticated. Cold chicken, pâté, rolls, tomatoes, cheese, fruit. Sandy was delighted with the change in diet and ate hungrily. Afterwards Daniel swam. The water was deeper here and the reef teeming with fish. He wondered what the afternoon would bring. Would Sandy emerge as Gabrielle Webster, a rich young woman, but with the loss of father and fiancé to bear? It would almost be better for her not to know.
“You are so serious today,” Sandy chattered as she packed up the debris left from their lunch. “You haven’t said a word for hours.”
“I’ve always admired the way you have coped with the strangeness of your situation,” Daniel began, “and the way you have trusted me. Will you be very brave and courageous now, and trust me again?”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“I’ve arranged for you to see a Dr. Lefanue this afternoon. He may be able to help you.”
Sandy felt the world shrink around her. It became an area of two square feet of sand. He was casting her adrift. Daniel was loosening his involvement. She did not want to know who she was. She wanted to stay with Daniel, and for him to look after her.
“Courage,” he said, tilting her chin.
“You are going to leave me,” she trembled.
He shook his head, slowly and with some amusement. “No, I’m not, young lady. I will keep my word.”
The sunshine poured from the day and Sandy was silent as they walked back to where Daniel had left the buggy parked in the shade. The views on the scenic drive to La Misère, the road still climbing like a snake, failed to register on Sandy’s mind. She sat, sullen and in a trance. Daniel hoped she would shake herself out of it before she met the medico. He might come to quite the wrong conclusion if Sandy showed no signs of cooperation.
The doctor’s bungalow was in a garden riotous with red hibiscus, and a huge mango tree dropped its ripe fruit on the path to the veranda. The doctor’s wife, a kindly middle-aged woman, took charge of Sandy, and Daniel was left to cool his heels in the garden.
He watched his sea waif disappear inside the bungalow. She cast one despairing look behind her, as if she were about to be executed. He tried to think of something to say, but there was nothing.
The view from the terrace was magnificent, with bright colours undimmed by dirt or pollution. From this height, the shades of the sea indicated the coral reefs and the deeper channels of water. The two main islands of the Marine Park, Ste. Anne and Cerf, lay among a cluster of baby islands, rich and green in their watery cradle.
The heat slid away and the mango tree began to cast a pale shadow on the verdant grass. Daniel waited anxiously, wishing he knew what was going on. He felt he needed to be near Sandy, so that she could turn to him if the going was too hard.
It was some relief to see the stocky figure of the doctor coming out of the bungalow. He was not an intimidating figure at all, with thinning gray hair, his face tanned with sun and sea and lined with a network of expressions. He did not look like a doctor in his casual gray slacks and flower-patterned beach shirt.
“She is all right,” he said immediately, seeing Daniel look past him to the bungalow. “The young lady is helping my wife make some tea. She is a little tired, naturally, after all the questions.”
“And, well, is she…has she remembered anything?”
Dr. Lefanue began to walk alongside Daniel.
“I’m afraid I have not been able to help much. I feel she needs hypnosis to unlock her mind. There are certain areas which seem to cause her a great deal of distress, and it did not seem safe to pursue these lines of enquiry without the proper medication close at hand.”
“What areas?”
“The sea, extreme heat, flying—though all these can trigger normal anxiety attacks and it could be that we are attaching too much importance to Sandy’s reaction,” said the doctor.
“You’re calling her Sandy, too.”
The doctor nodded and smiled, his face puckering up into another arrangement of lines. “Giving her a name was a good thing. To give her a new identity to hang on to. It seems to me that she is a calm and capable young woman, and the answer may be just to let nature make its own cure. She is not mentally deranged in any sense at all, and if only she can believe this, I think she could recover her memory in some months more.”
“But she thinks she is going mad,” said Daniel, remembering her outbursts of distress.
“Of course she does. So would we if totally unexplained thoughts and pictures came into our mind for no reason, and alarming ones that had the power to evoke fear. Even you and I would question if our reason was leaving us.”
Sandy appeared, carrying a tray. She seemed pale but composed. Daniel could detect the weariness in her eyes and a slight droop in her shoulders. She was probably disappointed and frightened, despite her earlier insistence that she did not want to know her identity.
Mme. Lefanue joined them in the garden and they sat talking and drinking tea. Daniel was surprised to find that Sandy was joining in the conversation quite naturally. If nothing else came from it, then her visit to Dr. Lefanue was worth it if it had increased her self-confidence.
They talked mainly about the islands, which the Lefanues clearly loved. Their home had once been on the outskirts of Paris, and they believed that some ancestor of the doctor’s had settled on the island as a planter but no trace could be found. However, they happily spent their spare time turning up old documents and registers.
“It is like a treasure hunt,” said Dr. Lefanue. “But without any pirate hoard of Spanish gold nuggets to discover.”
The doctor and his wife walked with them to the parked buggy. Mme. Lefanue had picked a handful of wild orchids for Sandy. A stream of ants wriggled across the path like a black army. Their little dog began to bark at them, worrying their course and causing it to change direction several times.
“If only we could discover the secret of the ant, then we would be wise indeed,” said the doctor. He shook Sandy’s hand warmly. My prescription for you is a little work and a lot of love. Not easy, but perfect for the convalescent.”
“Thank you,” said Sandy. “Thank you for being so kind. May I come and talk to you again?”
“Of course, please. Any time. Just telephone before to make sure that we are not out treasure hunting. It is a long drive up the mountain to find that we are out.”
It was a crazy ride, downhill all the way, the buggy gathering speed despite Daniel’s careful handling. They passed a local taxi which had gone over the edge, nose-diving into a ravine, its bonnet wedged in a thicket of bamboo. The driver seemed unhurt and was sitting on the roadside, recounting the experience to a small audience. Someone had produced some rope, and it seemed that a half-hearted attempt was going to be made to retrieve the vehicle.
“My shopping expedition was pretty sketchy this morning,” said Daniel, wanting to take Sandy’s mind off the accident. “I’m afraid I forgot all sorts of important items in a young lady’s wardrobe. You’ll be needing a nightgown now we are in a hotel, and perhaps a dress and bikini. We’ll stop by in Victoria and see if any shops are open.”
“It’s very kind, but I don’t need anything more,” said Sandy. “You’ve spent quite enough money on me already.”
“I wish you would stop talking as if I exist on social security,” said Daniel. “I can well afford to buy you a few things. After all, I am going to use your drawings. I would have to pay an artist if I wanted illustrations.”
“That’s true,” said Sandy carefully. “But I don’t think a few little drawings are equal to clothes and hotels and air fares.”
“Let me decide that.” Daniel jerked back as they narrowly scraped by a lorry swerving around one of the hairpin bends. A row of dark beaming faces grinned at them from the driver’s cab. It was all part of the entertainment.
Market Street was bustling; the rickety balconies jutting out over the heads of the pedestrians looked as if they were about to fall to pieces and rain wood and splinters and old election posters. It was crowded with humanity. It was not quite a slum; bright colours saved it. Fresh produce was being carried home, herons and storks mingled with washerwomen, palm and breadfruit trees peered over corrugated fences, and chickens picked hopefully among the debris from the market.
There was a newly opened boutique down on the new parade by the quay. It sold mainly holiday clothes to tourists. Sandy peered at the window and did not want to go in. The assistant was a dark-skinned lovely in tight jeans and a halter-necked suntop. She looked at Sandy, but then her glance lingered on Daniel, and Sandy realised that women would find him very attractive. He had an aura of strength and resolution, but with a kind of remoteness. A fascinating mixture to tantalise any woman.
A touch of possessiveness took hold of Sandy as she became aware of the shop assistant’s interest in Daniel. Sandy linked Daniel’s arm lightly and they went into the shop. But once inside, her speech deserted her and she hung back, pretending to be absorbed in a rail of beachwear.
Daniel came to her rescue, sensing her panic.
“Perhaps you could choose a dress first,” he advised. “Would you like me to leave you, so that you needn’t hurry? I have some errands to do not far from here.”
“No, please…”
“I think perhaps I am going to insist. You know I will come back for you. This is as good a place as any for you to do something on your own for the first time.” Daniel turned to the shop assistant, who had been hovering at a discreet distance. “I’ll be back in about twenty minutes if you will have madame’s bill ready for me then.”
He left quickly. Sandy froze beside the rail. She was aware of the girl waiting somewhere behind her. She might come and speak to her, and that would be terrible. She had to get out of the shop. She had to escape, but where to? Out into that busy street, full of people and taxis and those noisy buses. Where would she go?
The girl came swaying forward, an armful of pink chiffon trailing over her coffee-coloured arm. Her wrist was an armoury of gold bangles and bracelets.
“This dress would look very nice with your blonde hair,” she smiled, all pretty white teeth and seductive dimples.
“I-I just want something simple,” said Sandy, forcing out the words. “But I can’t choose for myself. Will you choose something for me?”
The girl was mildly astonished, but not reluctant to have a pliable customer. She genuinely liked selling clothes, and had enough sense to know that if she took advantage of Sandy’s indecision, there would be Daniel to deal with later.
“Of course,” she said. “I would like to help you. I like these pretty denim dresses, though they can be a little warm. Let me show you some Victorian prints which are very charming.”
Sandy stood in the minute changing room and let the girl put clothes on her. Gradually her fear left her and she began to take some interest in the dresses offered. It was fine as long as the assistant kept to the subject of clothes, but as soon as she became more personal, Sandy again felt a wild longing to escape.
“You are very brown,” said the girl. “Have you been in the Seychelles a long time?”
“I don’t know,” said Sandy, abruptly. “Do you sell nighties?”
“We have a very small stock, but I will show you what we have.”
By the time Daniel returned, Sandy’s purchases were packed into a plastic carrier and the bill ready for him to pay. He glanced at the total and peeled the notes off a wad.
“Your husband is very generous,” said the girl, flashing Daniel a smile.
“Yes, he is,” said Sandy. “Thank you, darling,” she added, giving him a fluttering smile.
“Little minx,” he murmured as he carried her purchases out of the shop.
“Who?” Sandy objected. “Her or me?”
“Both of you. I shall have to watch you. You’re turning into a woman, Sandy.”
“Haven’t I always been a woman? What was I on La Petite? A fish? Or one of your precious birds?”
He tossed the carrier bag into the back of the buggy and climbed in over the side. “Neither. The birds are more predictable.”
Daniel had been into the travel office and booked their flight back to London in three days’ time. He had also taken the life jacket into the Marine Charter Association, where he had arranged to meet the owner of
Sun Flyer.
Don Walcott was a rugged Australian who was clearly distressed by the loss of his boat and all aboard her.
“Yeah, that’s one of
Sun Flyer’s
life jackets. They are a special lightweight type I brought from Australia. You know, I pleaded with them not to call off the search, but they were having transmitter trouble. I told them the boat could be blown miles off course and be drifting about somewhere in the ocean. But you reckon this girl could be the daughter, and she doesn’t remember anything? And if she was washed up on La Petite, then they can’t have been that far off course. There must have been a fire or an explosion. I wish I knew.” He was drinking neat whisky, and looked as if he had downed quite a few in the past. He had cold, sober eyes, but the merest tremor in his hands was a give-away.