Authors: Barbara Cartland
Secret Harbor (13 page)
“I find it very difficult not to be when I am talking to you. At the same time, Grania, as you have pointed out before, the French are sensible and realistic, and that is what we both must be.”
“Yes ... of course,” she agreed.
But she was reluctant to dye her hair, feeling that perhaps she would not look so attractive in the
Comte's
eyes.
Henri came to the cabin to explain to her what she must do, and first of all he dipped a tress of her hair in a liquid he had in a jug and she saw that it took away the gold and darkened it considerably.
“No, no! I cannot do it!” she exclaimed.
He put down the small jug and brought another one filled with fresh water, and dipping her hair once again he swirled it round then held it up.
The brown had vanished.
“That is very clever of you, Henri!” Grania cried.
“It is a very good dye,” Henri said with delight. “When there is no more war I will put it on the market and make my fortune!”
“I am sure you will”
Henri explained to her that if they used a walnut dye, or even one distilled from nutmegs, it would take months to remove, and the hair would have to grow out before she was absolutely free of it.
“This is different,” he said proudly, “and one day, you see,
M’mselle,
everyone in Paris will be asking for ‘Henri’s Quick-Change Colour’!”
Grania laughed.
“I am delighted, Henri, to be the first to try it.” Henri brought a basin and towel and dyed her hair for her.
When she looked at herself in a much larger mirror than she had used before, she thought at first she looked like a stranger and one she did not particularly admire.
Then she knew that if her skin had seemed white before, now it glowed like a petal, and in a way she thought that the darkness of her hair made her look intriguing and perhaps a little mysterious.
She came on deck the next morning somewhat self
-
consciously, but the
Comte’s
friends had no inhibitions.
They complimented her so vociferously that she blushed and ran away from them! When she reached the
Comte
who once again was at the steering-wheel he smiled and said:
“I see I have a very pretty new relative! You will certainly embellish the annals of the
Comtes de Vence
!”
“I was afraid you might be ashamed of me.”
He merely smiled at her and there was a look in his eyes which told her far better than words that she had not lost his admiration which was all she wanted to know.
She stayed beside him and soon he realised that she wanted him to show her how to steer the ship.
It was not so much the excitement of doing something that gave her a feeling of power, but that to make certain she did it properly he stood behind her at the wheel putting his hands on the spokes above hers.
She could feel the closeness of his body and felt as they looked out towards the horizon that they were sailing over the edge of the world and the past was left behind them.
It was only when the
Comte
had walked away from her that she suddenly felt alone.
She had been so happy these past days and she was afraid when they reached St. Martin that things would change.
She was watching him on the deck below and for a moment she lost control of the wheel and the ship keeled over in the breeze.
Instantly one of the men came to help set it to rights.
She gave the wheel to him and walked onto the deck to follow the
Comte.
It was then she knew quite suddenly that she wanted to be near him, that she wanted to feel him close to her and that it was an agony when he was away.
“What is the matter with me?” she asked herself. “How can I feel like this?”
Then she knew the answer.
It was as if it was being fired at her in an explosion from one of the cannons which stood along the sides of the deck.
She was in love!
In love with a man she had known only for a few days; a man who meant safety and security to her, but was in fact a pirate, an exile, a man with a price on his head, outlawed not only by the English, but also by the French.
“
I love him whatever he is!” Grania told her heart. Because she could not bear to be away from him for one moment longer she went to his side.
Chapter
Six
GRANI
A
saw that
St. Martin was not as beautiful as Grenada with its mountains and its tropical vegetation, but it was certainly very attractive with its golden beaches.
She had also noticed as they sailed alongside the island many small attractive bays.
They dropped anchor, and although she realised it was not as secluded as Secret Harbour it was nevertheless a good place for a pirate ship to hide.
While the crew were busy furling the sails the
Comte
took Grania ashore and they walked a little way up the low cliffs until in front of them she saw a very attractive house.
It was quite small but resembled the older plantation houses in Grenada and had the usual verandah over which vines were growing profusely.
The
Comte
did not say anything and she wondered if she should tell him how pretty she thought the house looked, but she felt he was thinking of his real home in Martinique and wishing they were there.
He opened the door with a key. Then as they walked through a small hall into a Sitting-Room at one side of it, she gave an exclamation of surprise.
T
he room was furnished with exquisite inlaid French
furniture including some very fine marble-topped commodes with gilt handles and beautiful embellished feet.
O
n the walls were portraits which she knew without being told were of the
Comtes
ancestors, and guessed these were the possessions he had brought to safety from his house in Martinique.
There were also many china ornaments, among which she recognised some pieces of Sevres, while on the floor was laid a very fine Aubusson carpet.
“So this is where you hid your treasures!” she exclaimed.
“At least they should be safe here,” he answered.
“I am so very, very glad you were able to bring them away.”
She wanted to go round looking at the pictures and at the china, but the
Comte
said in a very different voice: “I want to talk to you, Grania, so please listen to me.” She looked up at him enquiringly and he went on: “You came to me for protection, and that is what I want to give you. I am going now to find the woman who looks after this house in my absence and ask her if she will come here to sleep.”
“But ... why?” Grania asked. “And ... where will ... you be?”
“You must be aware that it would be quite wrong for me to stay here with you,” the
Comte
replied. “I shall sleep in the ship with my crew and there will be nothing to frighten you.”
Grania said nothing and after a moment he went on: “I do not have to tell you that you must play your part of being a Frenchwoman at all times, and to do so you must speak French, think French and to all intents and purposes
be
French.”
“I will try,” Grania said in a low voice, “but I thought now we were here we could be ... together.”
She spoke pleadingly, but to her surprise the
Comte
was not looking at her, but had turned his face away and she had the feeling he was going to say that was impossible.
Then at that moment there was a sudden shout from the front of the house, and the next minute they heard footsteps running across the verandah and Jean came bursting into the room.
“
Vite
—
vite! Monsieur
!”
he said urgently.
“Un bateau en vue
!”
He pointed as he spoke in the direction of the sea.
“Stay here!” the
Comte
said abruptly to Grania.
Then he had gone from the house, closing the door behind him.
She went to the window to see him running towards the cliffs and Jean just ahead of him.
When he had gone she stood looking out and although she could see nothing, she was frightened there was danger, and she wished she was with the
Comte
and not left behind.
To see a ship at sea, she knew, always spelt danger for him, and she had been well aware how all the way from Grenada the
Comte
had a look-out posted on the mast, and at the first indication that there was another ship in sight had immediately changed course.
She wondered if they had been seen coming into the bay, or perhaps it was an English Man o’ War intent on invading St. Martin.
The
Comte
and his friends had been quite certain this would not happen, but there was always the chance that the English would change their minds and wish to add to their conquests amongst the islands.
It was all very perturbing and although Grania stood for a long time at the window hoping she could see some sign of their own ship or the one Jean had come to warn them about, there was only the blue horizon.
It grew more and more indistinct as the afternoon merged into evening and the sun began to sink.
She wanted to go to the top of the cliffs to see what was happening, but the
Comte
had told her to stay where she was and because she loved him she wished to obey him.
After a little while she started to look around the small house, but it was hard to concentrate on anything but the fact that the
Comte
might be in danger, and she would not know what was happening.
Slowly she went upstairs and found one large important bedroom which she knew must be his, and several others.
They were all beautifully furnished, but the
Comte’s
bedroom had a magnificent French bed with curtains falling from a gold corola.
She knew he must have brought it here from Martinique and she admired the painted dressing-table which was more suited to a woman than to a man.
There were small commodes on either side of the bed which she thought were the work of one of the great French craftsmen, and the pictures which were not of his ancestors were she realized painted by Boucher.
It was all so lovely that she thought it was a room for love, then blushed at her own thoughts.
She moved restlessly about until she went downstairs again to discover a small Dining-Room with more of the Comte’s ancestors on the walls and a kitchen which she was sure must delight Henri.
There was also a small room lined with books, and she told herself that at least here she would have plenty to read.
She had however, no wish to read at the moment. All she wanted was to be with the
Comte
and again she went to the window, frightened because he was away for so long.
Now the sun was sinking in a blaze of glory and when the last crimson light disappeared night came swiftly.
Although the stars were coming out one by one and a new moon was climbing up the sky Grania thought she was encompassed by the darkness of despair and was afraid she would never see the Comte again.
Supposing he had sailed out to sea to investigate the enemy ship, and there had been a battle? Supposing he had been defeated and was either drowned or taken prisoner?
She did not know what would happen to her if she was never to see him again.
She wanted to cry out at the agony of knowing he had disappeared and there would be no one to help her.
What was more, she knew despairingly, since her luggage had not been brought ashore, that she had no money and no possessions. But that was immaterial beside the fact that she had lost the
Comte.
Now she thought her agony was like a thousand knives piercing her heart and making her suffer in a way that was almost unbearable.
Because her eyes ached from staring into the darkness she moved across the room feeling her way to a chair and sat down.
She put her head in her hands, half-praying, half just suffering helplessly like a small animal caught in a trap.
“Send him back to me ... please, God, send him ... back to me,” she prayed.
She felt as if the darkness suffocated her and she was completely and utterly lost!
Suddenly when she felt she could bear it no longer and must go to the bay and look for him, the front door opened and he was there.
She could not see him, but she gave a little cry that seemed to echo round the walls and ran instinctively finding him.
She threw herself against him, put her arms around his neck, holding onto him and crying as she did so:
“You ... have come ... back! I thought I had ... lost you! I was frightened ... so desperately ... frightened that I would ... never see you ... again!”
The words fell over themselves, and because she had been so frightened and her relief at his return was so overwhelming she cried not quite involuntarily: