Secret Harbor (16 page)

“I did not believe anyone could be so beautiful.”

She smiled at him through her veil.

“I love you!”

“I will be able to tell you later how much I love you,” he answered, “but now I dare not touch you. I only want to go down on my knees and light candles to you, for I not only love you, but worship you.”

“You must not ... say such things,” Grania protested. “It makes me ... afraid that I am not ... good enough.”

He smiled as if she was being absurd. Then he kissed her hand before he said:

“Our carriage is waiting at the back of the house. Because the crew did not think the horses pulling it were fine enough, they themselves are going to draw us to the Church.”

Grania gave an exclamation of surprise and when she walked outside she saw that the light open carriage was horse-less while the shafts were ready to be pulled by all the young members of the crew.

The carriage itself had been decorated with the same white flowers that had made her wreath, and there was also a bouquet of them on the seat.

As they moved away Grania thought that it was just the sort of fairy-tale wedding that she wanted to have.

The
Comte
held her hand tightly in his as they were pulled down a narrow road which led to the small village.

It consisted only of a few West Indian “ginger-bread” houses with wrought-iron balconies.

They were built on the edge of the sea and inland behind them Grania could see several steep hills forming a very lovely view.

The small ancient Church was full and, as the Priest met them at the door and led them inside, the
Comte’s
friends and all those who had not been pulling the carriage were waiting to watch the marriage take place.

To Grania it was a very moving service and she felt as if the fragrant incense rising towards the roof carried their prayers up to God and that He Himself blessed them and their love for each other.

She was very conscious of the wedding-ring on her finger, but more than anything else of the
Comte
kneeling beside her and his voice repeating his vows with an unmistakable sincerity.

Last night she had said to him a little nervously:

“If I am to be ... married as your ... cousin will it be ... legal?”

“I thought you might ask that question,” he said. “As you know we shall only be called by our Christian names, and therefore I have already told the Priest that you were Christened ‘Teresa Grania’.”

“I thought I was to be ‘Gabrielle’?”

“I thought Gabrielle Grania sounded too much of a mouthful,” the
Comte
replied, and they both laughed.

“Teresa is a very pretty name, and I am quite content with it,” Grania said.

She found out at the Service that her husband had other names, when as he repeated his vows he said:

“I Beaufort Francis Louis.”

When they left the little Church and were drawn back in their carriage to their own house, Grania could think of nothing except the man beside her and the words of love that he whispered in her ear.

Then they were joined by everybody who had watched the ceremony, and some friends too who lived on the island. There was wine in which to drink their health and food which Grania was sure Henri must have spent most of the night preparing.

It was all very happy and gay, with a laughter that seemed part of the sunshine.

Then at last somewhat reluctantly the people began to leave.

First the friends who lived on the island, then the Priest and his housekeeper, and finally when it was time for
siesta
the crew said they must go back to the ship.

It was then Grania realised that she was alone with her husband, and she turned to look at him, raising her face to his.

“I think,” he said, “we would both be more comfortable if we had our
siesta
without being encumbered by our smart clothes, and I am very much afraid of spoiling that beautiful gown.”

“It was meant to be worn at Buckingham Palace, Grania replied, “but it is much, much more appropriate that I should wear it on the day I was married to you.”

“I agree with you,” the
Comte
smiled. “Why should we worry about Kings and Queens when we have each other?”

He drew her up the stairs and when they reached the bedroom Grania realised that somebody, she expected it was Jean, had lowered the sunblinds so that the room was cool and dim.

It was fragrant with flowers which Jean must have arranged for them when they came back from the Church, and they stood in great vases on the dressing-table and on either side of the bed.

“My bride!” the
Comte
said very softly.

Then he took the wreath from her head and lifted the veil.
He looked at her for a long moment before he took her in his arms.

“You are real!” he said almost as if he spoke to himself. “When I was marrying you I was half afraid that you were a goddess who had come down from the top of one of the mountains or a nymph from a cascade.”

“I am ... real,” Grania whispered, “but I feel like you that this is all a dream.”

“
If it is,” the
Comte
said, “then let us go on dreaming!”

Chapter Seven

g
rania awoke and
felt her heart was singing like the birds outside the window, and she looked adoringly towards the
Comte
sleeping beside her.

She knew that every day and every night she spent with him she loved him more.

But today was special because they were leaving for Grenada.

They had been married for over three weeks and yesterday the
Comte
had said:

“I think, my darling, we must take our last trip in the ship before I sell it.”

Grania looked at him in a startled manner and he had explained:

“I intend to sell the ship first. That will give all the crew and myself enough money for us to look around and plan our futures. After that, if no one is settled, other things will have to go.”

The way he spoke of “other things” told Grania how much he minded the thought of having to part with his pictures and treasures which she had learned had been collected by his ancestors over many centuries.

“They were so fortunate that they were able to bring them away from France, before the Revolution,” he had said. “Otherwise everything we owned would either have been confiscated or burnt by the peasants.”

There was a little silence and Grania knew that he was thinking he would have liked to keep them intact for his eldest son, but that would not be impossible.

She moved away from him to say after a moment: “Sometimes I feel I should have left you ... roaming the sea as a ... pirate.”

The
Comte
laughed and it had swept the expression of regret from his eyes.

“My darling, do you think I would really want to be a pirate if it meant I had to leave you? I am so happy that I thank God every day that we are together and you are my wife. At the same time we have to live.”

“Yes, I know that,” Grania said, “but ...”

To keep her from apologising any further he kissed her and the rapture and wonder of it took everything else out of her mind.

Now knowing the ship was for sale, she prayed that it would fetch enough money for it to be a very, very long time before the
Comte
had to sell anything else.

She knew also that he was right in saying that before they were marooned on St. Martin with no means of getting away she must find out how her father was and if possible tell him of her marriage.

Because it meant leaving even for a little while, the
Comte’s
small house and the happiness she had found there, she pressed herself against him.

He awoke and without opening his eyes he put his arms around her to hold her close, and she said:

“We will not take any risks, will we? If it is not safe to go ashore at Grenada, you will turn back?”

The
Comte
looked at her.

“You do not think, my adorable wonderful little wife, that I would take you anywhere where there was danger? I promise that if Abe’s white flag does not tell us everything is safe we will turn back immediately.”

“That is all I want to know,” Grania said. “If anything should happen to you now I would want ... to die!”

“Do not talk of dying,” he answered.
“
You are going to live, and we will see our children and our grandchildren running the plantations at Martinique before we either of us leave each other or this earth.
”

He spoke prophetically and Grania put her arm round his neck to draw his lips close to hers.

“How can I tell you how much I love you?” she asked.

“Like this!”

Then he was kissing her, his heart was beating against hers, and as she felt the fire rising in him she knew the flames he evoked were rising in her too.

Then it seemed to Grania there was the music of the angels and a celestial light which covered them like the blessing of God, and they were one... .

The sea was vividly blue and emerald, the sky was dazzling with the sunshine, and as the sails billowed out in the breeze the ship seemed to be skimming over the smooth water rather than sailing through it.

The crew were whistling and singing as they worked and Grania had the feeling that like the
Comte
they were content to give up the risky, dangerous life of piracy and return to what he called “respectability”.

Every night over dinner they talked of what they could do.

“It is a pity there are not more people on St. Martin and that there is no crime,” Leo said, “otherwise they would need my services.”

“No crime?” Grania questioned.

He shook his head.

“If anybody stole how could they get away with the spoils? And everyone is so good-natured that nobody wants to murder anyone.”

“It seems a waste of your intelligence,” the
Comte
said, “but when we get home I am sure there will be hundreds of cases waiting for you to deal with them.”

They always talked optimistically of the time when they would return to Martinique, and the clerks who had worked in Leo’s office were, Grania knew, studying in the evenings so that they would not be behind in preparation for their Examinations however long they had to wait before they took them.

She had by now a real affection for the three men who were so close to her husband, and she also found that the rest of the crew not only admired her but sought her help with their problems and wanted to talk to her about their future.

“I am sure every woman in the world would envy me if they knew I had so many delightful men all to myself,” Grania said to the
Comte.

“You belong to me,
ma petite,
and if I find you so much as looking at another man, you will find I am very jealous!”

She pressed herself nearer to him as she said:

“You know I could never look at anybody but you. I love you so much that sometimes I am afraid you will be bored with my telling you so and go in search of somebody less predictable.”

“I want your love,” he said, “and you do not love me yet half as much as I intend you to do.”

He had then kissed her fiercely and demandingly as if he would force her to realise how much he needed her.

As they saw no ships on the voyage towards Grenada it took them less time than they had taken when they had left it for St. Martin.

The afternoon before they reached the island Henri came to the cabin after the
siesta
to help Grania wash the rinse out of her hair.

She had to apply it again every time it was washed, but this time it had to be washed out thoroughly so that when she landed on Grenada she looked English.

She dried her hair in the sunshine and when it was dry she left it hanging over her shoulders.

The
Comte
had been busy on deck steering the ship, and when he came into the cabin as the sun was sinking he saw Grania standing by a port-hole and for a moment stood still looking at her.

Then he smiled and said:

“I see I have an English visitor! I am delighted to meet you, Mrs. Vence!”