Hotel Mirador (16 page)

“Tony’s not as tall as you are, Dane—I was able to use his shoulder easily. I’d better have Sally.”

“We’ll manage,” Dane said. “She’s not' an Amazon.”

“I can do it,” Sally told him. “I’ve done it before.”

“Let Mike find a new way of entering the water.” Dane crooked his elbow. “There you are—lean on that.”

To get the moment over, Sally waded in up to her waist and swam. She looked back and saw that Mike was hopping furiously into the water while Dane kept a grip on him. Tony had been accommodating, a slim young male who did exactly as Mike told him. Dane was used to running everything he touched, and he had the gaunt strength of an eagle; if Mike had been willing, Dane would have picked him up and carried him into the deeper water.

They swam, Sally on her own and Dane close to Mike. Lying on her back, she thought of last night, when she had told Dane she had had enough and wanted to leave Morocco. He had said, “You’re staying,” and as far as he was concerned that clinched it. His mere presence made her feel powerless to oppose him. Yet today she felt more than ever that she couldn’t go on for much longer hiding her emotions behind a mask of cool indifference.

Sally was floating, and thinking deeply. Her hands moved like slow fins and occasionally she felt the fingers nipped by a small outraged fish. Then, quite suddenly, she was aware of the tremendous pull of waves seeping back towards the rocks which enclosed the lagoon, and at the same second she heard a warning shout from Dane. The next moment, as she struggled, the pull came again, so much stronger than before that it dragged her swiftly into the rocks. She felt a sickening thud on the right side of her skull, saw the sky tip drunkenly and go black for an agonizing minute before if righted itself.

Then Dane was at her side, hauling at her waist and wresting her back from a third tidal drag. He got her away, his arm like a steel band about her—and even in .her stress Sally remembered that other time when his arm had saved her. He thrust her back into the calm water of the lagoon and hauled her into the shallows. From her knees, she got shakily to her feet.

“God, I thought you'd crash into the rocks,” he said, and she realized he didn’t know. “What made you go that far?”

“I ... I was floating and didn’t notice. Dane, look
...
after Mike.”

“You scared the wits out of me,” he said roughly. “Don’t come in again.”

“I’ll
...
dress, I think,” she managed, and staggered up the beach.

Dane swam back towards Mike, and after a moment in which she was able to pull her cap from her head and get her bearings, Sally trudged slowly towards the rocks. Her vision blurred, her head swam. Somehow she forced herself upwards from rock to rock and reached the cave. She was out of sight now, and able to sink down on to the sandy floor of the cave and hold a head that felt' ten times heavier than it should. The pain was unbelievable, yet she had only broken the skin slightly over an area the size of a halfpenny. Odd that the cap hadn’t torn.

She forced herself to move, pushed off the swim suit and pulled on the blouse and shorts; after which she had to rest again and close her eyes. Her whole head was aching now, and it was worst behind the eyes. She thought, bleakly, that massage across the back of her neck and shoulders would have helped, but it was something she couldn’t do for herself.

With a tremendous effort, she picked up the wet suit, cap and towel and came out into sunshine that seemed at once to find the sore spot in her scalp. She was halfway down the rocks when Dane reached her, already clad in his slacks and shirt. He put out a hand to steady her, looked keenly at her pale face.

“The remnants of wind-up, or don’t you feel well?” he asked quickly.

“I’ll be all right. Where’s Mike?”

“Dressing. I gave him one of the vacuum jugs, but the other is still intact. Come on, we’ll get a drink.”

His concern made him companionable. He slipped an arm across her shoulders and half lifted her down on to the beach, kept the arm there as they walked towards the trees where the car stood. He poured ice-cold grenadilla laced with gin, gave her the beaker while he poured another. They drank slowly and in silence. She
refused a second drink and he opened the car door.

“Sit in,” he said. “I’ll get Mike.”

Only a few remarks were exchanged on the way back to Shiran. Knowing that Sally was accustomed to the lagoon, Mike apparently thought that Dane had become alarmed over nothing, but' he did ask how she felt. When Dane pulled up outside the villa and told Sally to remain in the car, Mike’s lip curled.

With heavy sarcasm, he said, “You’re able to appropriate the girls now, Dane, and I’m just an onlooker. Times change, don’t they?”

“So do tastes, old chap,” came the reply. “I’ll help you indoors.”

Sally waited. Dane came back and started the car, swung it out to the road. She was not thinking very clearly, but she did wonder how it was that a man whose reactions were often violent could remain calm and even kindly towards someone who was obviously goading himself into hate for him. This afternoon she had seen a facet of Dane that she hadn’t quite known existed. She wished she felt equal to analyzing it; at the moment she could only reflect that Mike’s game leg put him, for Dane, beyond retaliation in any form. But what, more than usual, could be eating Mike? Some of his comments had been rude and malicious, and it had angered him that Dane remained even-tempered and as helpful as ever.

At the Mirador, Dane ran alongside the hotel and pulled up. He came round to her door, kept his hand at her elbow as they crossed the foyer to the lift. Sally was glad of that hand giving its strength. She stood in the lift as they floated upwards, quivered a little as the lift halted and the doors slid open. More than anything she wanted to lie down on her bed.

But Dane did not lead her towards Suite Seven. He guided her to the left, opened the door of his own apartments and gently pushed her inside. She found herself in the room in which she had first seen him; felt the breeze through the open french windows as she had then and saw the couple of landscapes above the desk—which she hadn’t noticed that first time.

Dane indicated a brown silk-covered divan. “Relax a bit I’
ll
get you a proper drink.”

Dazedly, she remembered that
Cécile
had lain there one night, complaining of a bogus laryngitis, and shook her head. The action sent a knife into her scalp and she winced. Dane came close, took her by the shoulders and looked deeply into her face. Then, not quite audibly, he swore.

“You
did
get hurt out there. Was it your head?”

“It smarts a bit—only a graze.”

“Why the deuce didn’t you tell me?”

“It wasn’t’ much use, and I didn’t want Mike to know.
”

“
Damn Mike! He’s had so much consideration that he’s gone soft and stupid with it. Sit down, for heaven’s sake, and let me look at this graze.”

She sat as he stood over her, parting the short bronze hair gently with his fingers till he found the small clot of dark blood. He made another sound under his breath, told her to sit still and went into the bathroom. A minute later he was snipping the clotted hair and sponging the wound with an antiseptic solution. He snipped again, and foggily Sally wondered what she would look like when he had finished. She felt an adhesive dressing pressed over the abrasion, the front hair smoothed backwards to hide it.

In queer tones he was saying, “Why did you do it, Sally
—
go so far across the lagoon? You’ve been there many times and nothing of this kind has happened, but today, when I’m there, you drift straight into danger. Why?
”

“
You can’t really explain these things,” she said in low tones. “Previously I’ve stayed near Mike because
...
well, Tony is young and sometimes thoughtless, and I wanted to be sure of Mike’s safety. Today, of course, it was different. You’d taken over with Mike and I was free to swim or let myself go.”

“You could have done it closer to Mike and me.”

She looked down at the fingers which were locked together in her lap. “Yes, I know. It was very foolish.”

He turned away and poured a small whisky, added a little soda and put the glass into her hand. “Take it right down.”

“Ought I to mix my drinks?”

“You’re young enough to survive it,” with just a hint of mockery. “Besides, the whisky will make you sleep. You’re going to bed, young Sally. I’ll let Mike know that you’re not going there this evening, and if you want to, you can sleep through till the morning.”

“I couldn’t do it.”

“You must rest, anyway.” He paused. “I intended to tell you while we were out this afternoon that I’ve had another letter from the Caid who asked me to bring a party to his kasbah. He wants us there by six tomorrow evening.”

“Perhaps I oughtn’t to go. Mike
...”

“You’ll take time off from Mike,” he said abruptly. “I know you’re doing all you possibly can for him, but I’m also pretty sure that you were right when you said that your treatment can only have a limited effect. He’s got to go away for the whole works. There’s no hurry, but he’ll have to go.”

“All right,” she said wearily, “but don’t be dictatorial with him about it. I’d like to go to my room now.”

Dane took her there, walked with her into the bedroom. Lucette’s bed was strewn with her play suit, gay scarves which she must have discarded in favor of a particular color, and one straw slipper. Dane gave the array a tolerant glance and turned to fold back the lavender cover on Sally’s bed and transfer it to a stool. Because she was feeling like death but unwilling to let him suspect it, Sally stepped out of her slippers and lay down. He covered her with a sheet and one of the thin cellular blankets, stood looking down at her.

“You’re not to worry about a thing. That clear?
”

“
Yes.”

“I’ll
come in and see you later on.”

“No, don’t!” She felt a painful drumming in her throat “I’ll sleep. I promise. And
...
and thank you.”

“For what?” His tone had a faint edge. “You banged your head because you were getting as far away from me as you could. Some time we’ll get to the bottom of it all
—
but not now. Go to sleep. I’ll keep Lucette out of the way; when she gets back from Marrakesh I’ll arrange another outing. I did once say I’d show her the old palace, here in Shiran.”

Sally said baldly, “Yes, do that—show her the old Moorish palace in the moonlight” Then she turned her head from him and pressed her cheek into the cool pillow.

She thought, prayed, that he would go then. But he didn’t. She felt him there behind her, close to the bed. Then, without a warning sound of any sort, he was bending near, his breath warm across her cheek. Briefly, his lips touched her temple. Then he crossed the room and left the suite.

A suffocating pain gripped Sally, a pain which bore no relation to the physical soreness of the little wound. He had bestowed a light kiss, as though she were a hurt child who needed comfort. He had done his best for her in the circumstances, and now he could wade back into the business of living and forget her. That was Dane, whether she could bear it or not.

* *
*

Sally was up and about next morning, with pale cheeks and a tight heart. But her expression was serene and unrevealing, and she smiled when Lucette grumbled, from the depths of her bed, that it was a sin to rise before nine. She drank some coffee and ate a roll in the sitting room, went' downstairs to discover that mail had been waiting in her pigeon-hole since yesterday afternoon. There was a letter from her mother, and two postcards from children at the Beckmoor. All three brought back the scents of Cumberland and Yorkshire, but the heat and brilliance of Shiran quickly dispelled them. That was the trouble with Morocco, thought Sally; it robbed every other place of color and point.

She spoke briefly with Pierre de Chalain and assured him that §fie would still like to advise Tony about his kitchen, if he needed her.

“Actually, though, he could get the same ideas from any magazine for the home. I’ll give you a couple for him, if you like.”

Pierre gave his deep shrug. “Your personal opinions would be worth much more than a picture, mademoiselle. Perhaps in a week or so you will visit the plantation with me?”

“Perhaps I wil
l.
We could take Mike.”

Pierre beamed. “We will indeed take Mike! But say nothing until we have made the arrangement. I will first visit Tony alone, to see how he goes.”

“Good. Give him my love.” In case this should be misconstrued, she qualified it. “Make it friendly affection, monsieur!”

Pierre hummed happily on his way, and Sally thought how good it was that he should be gaining something he really wanted for Tony. For Pierre, the date plantation was the culmination of his hitherto frustrated hopes and ambitions for his son. At last Tony was settled, and if it was hard for a year or two
...
well, Tony’s father would be there to help with occasional loans and much enthusiasm. Pierre, the dear good man, had every reason to be happy.

Sally walked in the grounds, avoiding the pool and the paths nearest the hotel. She trod the mosaics round the fountain and watched the shimmering cascade for a while. She let the peace of clipped trees and shrubs, of trilling birds and the murmur of the sea seep into her till her watch said ten minutes to ten, when she walked back to the courtyard and found the usual hotel car waiting for her.

It was exactly fen o’clock when she walked into Mike’s lounge and found him seated at a table, working out a chess problem.