Stormspell (2 page)

'Indigo!' he echoed blankly. 'What and where is Indigo? And where's the yacht?'

Ruth stopped trying to prise his fingers from her arm and stared at him. 'You were sailing!' she exclaimed. 'Then you must have capsized.'

He blinked, his brows drawing together in a puzzled frown. 'Capsized,' he repeated, considering her words. Then: 'Yes—yes. I'm beginning to remember. There was a storm . . .'

Ruth succeeded in freeing herself, and drew her arm away, rubbing it painfully. 'Who on earth allowed you to go sailing yesterday?' she protested. 'There were plenty of warnings of bad weather. They were broadcast regularly—'

'No one
allowed
me to go sailing,' he retorted, in those same harsh, but now slightly mocking, tones. 'I chose to take the risk, and obviously I've paid the penalty. Is the yacht a complete write-off?'

'The yacht?' Ruth shook her head, scrambling to her feet. 'I can't see any yacht. But if there is one, it's probably been washed up on the Serpent's Teeth.'

The man endeavoured to prop himself up on his uninjured arm, and looked up at her half im-patiently. 'Oh. there was a yacht, believe me.' he assured her dryly. 'I didn't swim here from Barbados.'

'Barbados.' Ruth was astounded. 'But that's almost a hundred miles away!'

'Is it?' The man shrugged, and then winced as if his arm pained him. 'So where am I?' He touched the gaping wound with probing fingers. 'Some other island. I guess. I've never heard of it.'

'You wouldn't.' said Ruth, shifting her weight uneasily from one foot to the other. 'It's only a small island. Daddy and I and Father Andreas are the only Europeans here.' She paused. 'But now I must go and get some assistance. I've put a tourniquet on your arm. but as you can see. it needs urgent treatment. If you'll just rest here—'

'No—wait!'

Much to her dismay, he hauled himself into a sitting position and thrust long fingers through the slick wetness of his hair. The effort of sitting up drained what little colour still remained in his cheeks, but when she would have protested, he held up his hand as if bidding her to give him a few moments to recover.

Then he looked up at her once more. 'I'll come with you.' he said, cutting off her immediate objections-.'If you'll just be patient. . .'

'But your arm will start bleeding again.' she pointed out frustratedly. 'You're not fit to make the journey to the house without help.'

'I'll decide whether I'm fit or not.' he told her shortly, abnegating her attempts to restrain him. 'I'm not an invalid. I've merely gashed my arm. that's all.

The sooner I get up off my back, and get to a telephone. the better.'

'There are no telephones on Indigo.' declared Ruth stiffly, and his mouth assumed a resigned slant.

'No?'

'No.'

'So how do you make contact with the outside world? You do make contact with the outside world, don't you? Where is it? Trinidad? Martinique?'

'It's St Vincent, actually.' replied Ruth, naming one of the smaller islands west of Barbados, and he grimaced. 'And most of our contacts are by sea.' She paused. 'We have a two-way radio to use in an emergency.'

The man quirked an eyebrow. 'But you wouldn't call this an emergency?'

'I didn't say so.' Ruth was confused by his mocking humour. 'But—if you insist on coming with me—'

'I know.' He took a deep breath, if you could just help me up . . .'

Ruth bent so that he could put his uninjured arm about her shoulders, then straightened slowly as he struggled to his feet. He was much heavier than she had expected, and she staggered a little under his weight. But more disturbingly, it was the first time she had been so close to any man other than her father, and his hard body weighing down on hers was both distracting and unfamiliar. His body was much different from her father's; for one thing, it was firm and muscular, whereas his was soft and flaccid, and the long thigh pressing against her hip was disruptively masculine. It gave her a curious sensation in the pit of her stomach, one that was not entirely unpleasant, and she glanced sideways at him. as if seeking a similar response. But the man beside her was only intent on gaining his balance, and he apologised for his weakness as sweat beaded on his forehead.

'I'm sorry.' he muttered, holding his injured arm to his chest. 'I feel so bloody dizzy. I must have lost more blood than I thought.'

Ruth caught her lower lip between her teeth. 'Won't you stay here and let me get assistance?' she pleaded, but he shook his head.

'I'll make it.' he determined, through gritted teeth, and she had no alternative but to acquiesce.

It was an arduous walk to the bungalow. True to his word, he made it. but she knew he was in pain every step of the way. How could he be otherwise, with his flesh gaping almost to the bone, and the weariness of exhaustion upon him? She could hear his laboured breathing, feel the warmth of his breath against her temple, for even in that slumped state he was taller than she was. and smell the sweat on his body as he strove to sustain what little strength he had left.

Celeste must have seen their approach, because as they neared the bungalow she came hurrying out to meet them, round and black and bustling, her ample girth' wobbling beneath the loose flowered smock she wore, her face creasing into a dozen different expressions as she endeavoured to identify their unexpected visitor.

'What been going on. Missy?' she exclaimed, examining the man beside her with a shrewd inquisitive gaze. 'What you been doing, spending so long at the beach? Don't you know your daddy's awake and been asking for you this last half hour?'

Ruth sighed. 'You can see what's been going on. Celeste,' she protested impatiently, aware of the older woman's sudden interest. 'I found—
him—'
this, as she realised she didn't even know his name. '—washed up on the shore. His arm's quite badly injured. Can you help us indoors?'

'I wish you wouldn't talk about me as if I wasn't here.' objected the man huskily. 'I may be tired, but I'm not unconscious—yet.' He acknowledged Celeste's curious stare. 'I presume you have seen a white man before?'

Celeste's cheeks dimpled. 'Oh. yes'm, sir. I seen a lot of white men. But they ain't all as pretty as you are.'

'Celeste!' Ruth made a sound of disbelief. "Celeste, will you mind your own business, and help me? Look if you could position yourself here—we could get up the steps—'

'I can get up the steps myself,' the man insisted, releasing his hold on her to reach for the handrail. He succeeded in making the transfer, but he swayed as he clung to the wooden banister, and Ruth exchanged an impatient look with the black woman as she went to help him again.

'It's this way.' she said, propelling him along the hall towards her bedroom, and pushing open the door with her foot, she edged him to the bed. She sagged, too. as he slumped down on to the mattress, and weakness made her grasp at the door frame for support. It had been a strain for both of them, and she could feel the moisture trickling down her own back.

'Thanks.' he said, bracing himself against the iron- bedpost, and as he looked around the room, she wished she had made her bed before leaving. But he had to rest, and this was the only place, and regaining her breath, she began to pull the covers straight beneath him.

Celeste hovered in the doorway, and Ruth turned to her impatiently. The black woman seemed fascinated by their visitor, and Ruth didn't appreciate having to issue her instructions which ought not to have been needed.

'Will you tell Daddy what's happened?' she suggested. her eyes flashing messages that Celeste either couldn't or wouldn't understand. 'Ask him if he'll come here, will you? And then make some tea—hot and strong, with plenty of sugar.'

'Yes'm.' Unwillingly, Celeste complied, sauntering off down the hall with evident reluctance. It was not every day they had visitors and she would obviously have much preferred to stay and hear where he had come from.

'She's intrigued.' the man declared, resting back against the pillows Ruth had newly shaken. There was a faintly humorous twist to his mouth as he spoke, but the evidence of the pain he was still suffering was there in the darkness of his eyes. 'I'm sorry to be such a nuisance to you. I'll get out of your way as fast as I can. But. for now—if I could just rest—'

'Your arm needs stitching,' said Ruth, when he would have closed his eyes. 'That tourniquet has to come off. My father will know what to do.'

The man's lids lifted heavily. 'Is your father a doctor?'

'No.' Ruth hesitated. 'He—he was a university professor. But he knows about such things. He's attended to the village people. And when Celeste's cousin was bitten by a barracuda—'

'That's enough.' The man licked his lips weakly. 'Could I have some water, do you suppose? I'm very thirsty.'

'Of course.'

With reluctance, she went to the door, but as she reached it her father appeared in the aperture, his lined face drawn into a puzzled frown.

'Celeste told me—she said—'

'That's right. Daddy.' Ruth gestured towards the bed behind her. 'This man's yacht capsized in the storm. I found him on the beach.'

Professor Jason entered the room with his slow, somewhat breathless gait. Even the smallest exercise tired him these days, and it was all he could do to get about the bungalow, or sit on the verandah with his pipe and his books. Age. and illness, had emaciated his always spare frame, and he stooped slightly, as if his body was curving in on itself.

Ruth placed a chair for her father beside the bed. near enough for him to examine the injured man's arm without effort, and then waited hesitantly for his verdict. Like Celeste, she found, she was curiously loath to leave him. and she felt a certain amount of responsibility for his being there.

'I'm sorry for the intrusion, sir.' He was speaking now. addressing her father, giving the older man time to regain his breath. 'But it was one hell of a storm, and I vaguely recall the keel scraping over some rocks before we turned over.'

Professor Jason frowned, reaching for his arm and examining the wound. 'You were alone?' he asked, voicing the question Ruth had been considering, and the man nodded.

'I guess no one else was crazy enough to come with me.' he remarked, glancing mockingly at Ruth, and she felt again that curious stirring in the pit of her stomach.

'Tell me. Mr—er—' Her father waited expectantly. and the man complied.

'Howard.' he said, after a moment. 'Dominic Howard.' and her father inclined his head.

'Tell me. Mr Howard.' he continued, 'have you had any anti-tetanus shots in the last six months?'

The younger man frowned. 'Not that I can recall, sir. Is it important?'

'It may be.' replied Professor Jason levelly. 'This is a deep wound. It can be dangerous. I think some kind of anti-toxin is necessary. I can stitch up the wound, but I think a doctor's diagnosis is warranted.'

'That's okay.' Dominic Howard shifted on the bed. 'I'll have a doctor take a look at it as soon as I get back to Bridgetown—'

'You can't leave today!'

Ruth's impulsive interjection was followed by an intense feeling of embarrassment, as both men's eyes turned in her direction, but to her relief her father seconded her declaration.

'I agree.' he said, getting up from the chair. 'I'd advise you to rest for the remainder of the day. Mr Howard. Tomorrow . . . well, tomorrow is another day.'

The younger man took a deep breath and swung his legs to the floor, pulling himself into an upright position. 'Really.' he said, obviously fighting against the dizziness that had once again gripped him. 'I'm all right. Just stitch me up. and I'll be on my way. Can I get a flight from—St Vincent to Bridgetown?'

Ruth looked imploringly at her father, and after a moment's hesitation he said: 'I can't force you to stay here. Mr Howard, but I do ask you to consider seriously before ignoring my advice. You're in a state of complete exhaustion. You could permanently damage your health by over-exerting yourself. You're welcome to stay here. You're welcome to our hospitality. Have the goodness to accept my counsel and wait—at least until tomorrow.'

Dominic's shoulders hunched, his uninjured arm hanging loosely between his spread knees. Then, with a weary look of acceptance, he half turned and slumped back against the pillows. 'All right.' he said heavily, and Ruth didn't know if it was her father's advice or his own weakness which had convinced him. 'Till tomorrow.' he muttered, closing his eyes, and they all breathed a sigh of relief. 'And now. could I have that glass of water?'

It was lunchtime before Ruth spoke to him again.

Professor Jason had her fetch him a dish of clean water and some towels, and the chest containing his medical equipment. Then he asked her to leave while he examined his patient. Even Celeste, carrying in the tray of tea Ruth had ordered, was banished from the room, and the door firmly closed behind her.

'Who is he?' she asked of Ruth, when the girl joined her in the kitchen for breakfast. 'He some man. that one. So strong and brown. Me. I don't care for white men. but him—he something else!'

Ruth smiled. 'His name is Dominic Howard.' she confided steadily. 'That's all I know about him. That, and the fact that he set off from Bridgetown."

'Bridgetown? Bridgetown. Barbados?' Celeste's dark eyes widened. 'How he get so far?'

'He had a yacht,' explained Ruth patiently, helping herself to a glass of orange juice, it capsized. It was lucky he wasn't drowned.'

Celeste nodded. 'He not drown—not that one.' Her lips curved expressively. 'He lucky man—I know.'

'How do you know?' Ruth made a face at her. 'You don't know any more about him than I do.'

Celeste sniffed, and tapped her nose with a knowledgeable finger. 'Celeste knows,' she insisted, and Ruth shook her head as she reached for a roll.

'Anyway,' she went on, 'Daddy's persuaded him to stay until tomorrow. He wanted to leave today, but he's really not strong enough. He leaned on me all the way up from the beach.'

'I know. I see.' Celeste's eyes twinkled insinuatingly. 'You not sorry he staying, no? You think him some big man. too. don't you?'