Greek Wedding Page 10

  ‘Brett?’ She moved to stand beside him. ‘Please tell me what’s the matter?’

  He evaded the question. ‘It seems I am to congratulate you, Miss Vannick. And apologise once again.’ He was remembering their first encounter. ‘I take it there really are diamonds in New York?’

  ‘Who cares if there are? Do you think I wouldn’t rather have my father, and no fortune? And must I be called “Miss Vannick” just because I happen to be the proud possessor of some coal mines and a cotton-mill or two. As for Mr. Biddock! Did you see how his liking for me grew with each bit of property he remembered? I wonder what he’s telling his wife about me? Brett, I don’t have to go and stay with them, do I? He actually made me feel, by not looking at it, that this costume of mine was improper. Which is more than you ever did.’ And that was not quite true, but never mind. At least it had raised the travesty of a smile.

  ‘He’ll warn Mrs. Biddock that you are a most unusual young lady—and so rich that it doesn’t matter. But I think you should go and stay with them, Phyllida.’

  ‘Why?’ She noted his use of her first name with relief.

  ‘Oh,’ impatiently, ‘for a thousand reasons. Surely I don’t need to spell them out to you.’

  ‘You’re tired of slumming it in Mr. Barlow’s cabin?’ She intended to irritate him, and succeeded.

  ‘Nonsense. And you know it as well as I do. It’s not that at all. Sailing together, with your aunt on board, was well enough. Besides, we had no alternative. But now we’re here, and safe, it’s quite another thing. Your aunt will say the same.’

  She sighed. ‘Oh, you English. So many rules … You mean, just because we are safe, I must go and be bored to tears by Mrs. Biddock who I am sure is a good little woman with five squalling children and nothing to talk about but the servants.’

  He could not help smiling. ‘I’m afraid so.’

  ‘There,’ triumphantly. ‘I’ve made you smile twice. Brett, I do wish you’d tell me what’s the matter. And don’t pretend there’s nothing. We know each other better than that.’

  ‘Just the same,’ it’s nothing I want to talk about. I’m only ashamed I’ve let it show. And don’t think you can get it out of Mr. Biddock either.’ He knew her well enough to anticipate her next move. ‘Because he won’t tell you, and will think less of you for asking.’

  ‘Yes. You English—’ she said again. ‘So, what do I do? Say a gay goodbye, go ashore and leave you in worse case than I found you? I thought we were friends.’

  ‘And so we are.’

  ‘Well, then.’ This was incredibly dangerous ground. ‘As your friend, I don’t propose to leave you alone like this.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Do you really think I didn’t know what you were doing, that first night at Constantinople? Oh, it took me a while to work it out. At first I thought you were just a boor, who didn’t like women, but as I got to know you better I knew that wouldn’t do. There had to be more to it. And then I remembered that glass of wine you spilt so conveniently when I wanted to give it to Aunt Cassandra. Yes—’ She had seen the betraying flush along his cheekbones. ‘No need to say more about it. But, knowing that, if you think I’m going to leave you alone on board, you’re crazy.’ She spoke more boldly than she felt, and watched anxiously as he took a furious turn across the deck.

  Returning, he spoke with an irony more disconcerting than rage: ‘Good of you to appoint yourself my keeper, Miss Vannick, but it won’t do, you know. You must just leave me to go to the devil in my own way. It’s been a pleasant interlude, and I’m grateful for it. Now it’s over. I’d be most obliged if you and your aunt would arrange to move ashore at your earliest convenience.’

  ‘Oh, very well.’ She was angry too, with herself as much as with him. Folly to have imagined that he was beginning to care, a little, for her. Now with news no doubt of Helena, he was eager to be rid of her. ‘I’ll talk to Mr. Biddock this afternoon. With luck, you should be quit of us by tonight.’ And she turned away, unaware of his quick almost involuntary movement after her.

  Arriving with the invitation he had forced out of his reluctant wife, Mr. Biddock was surprised to have it instantly accepted. He had brought a voluminous cloak for Phyllida. ‘We thought you would not wish to be seen in town like that…’

  ‘Did you so?’ He did not know her well enough to recognise the anger in her tone. ‘Good of you, but I have quite decided to set up as an eccentric. As to wearing a cloak in this heat: nonsense.’ She turned to say goodbye to Brett and the crew of the Helena, who were all on deck to see them go. ‘You’ll be here for some time?’ she asked Brett. This was not the moment, she knew, to raise the question of payment for their passage. She rather thought she would make Mr. Biddock do this for her, and also take care of the necessary vails to the members of the crew.

  ‘I expect so.’ His voice was toneless, and there was no inducement to prolong the farewells. Only, shaking Price firmly by the hand, Phyllida paused for a moment, struck by his reproachful look. But what else could she have done?

  Chapter 9

  Something in Mr. Biddock’s tone had prepared Phyllida for his wife. Hot weather had made Cissie Biddock sallow, discontent had marred a face that should have been plump and pretty. Visibly taken aback by her guest’s unusual garb, she hurried her up to her bedroom. ‘For fear the servants should see,’ she explained with unlucky frankness. ‘Or the children. My little innocents. I do beg, Miss Vannick, that you will refrain from discussing your—ahem—adventures in front of them. The bloom of youth is so precious, so fragile…’ She trailed off into silence under Phyllida’s basilisk stare.

  ‘I will do my best, ma’am,’ she said, ‘to discuss nothing with your children. I take it they are the three boys I saw stoning a dog in the yard? If my brother had done such a thing, I would have whipped him soundly.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Cissie Biddock, ‘and look what’s become of him.’

  It was hardly a propitious beginning, and relations were not improved when Phyllida found a shabby pink satin dress laid out on the bed in her room. ‘I thought you would prefer to change for dinner,’ explained her hostess, a trifle nervously.

  ‘I intend to go shopping.’

  ‘But it’s a saint’s day. Did Mr. Biddock not explain? There will be no shops open today. If they were,’ she was pleased to point it out, ‘you’d not get anything ready made. And we expect company for dinner.’

  ‘A pity your husband did not think to tell me.’

  ‘My dear!’ Mrs. Biddock lowered her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. ‘He was frantic to get you off that yacht. Of all things: Brett Renshaw!’ She gave it a kind of horrified gusto. ‘How you endured his company all this time! Tell me, what was it like? If you can!’ Her tone suggested things too bad for words.

  Phyllida was staring at her in frank amazement. ‘My dear madam, what in the world are you talking about?’

  ‘You mean you don’t know? You’ve not heard? Well, of course, how should you have? Mind, Mr. Biddock tells me nothing; one might as well be married to an oyster; but I heard it from my sister at home. It was in all the gossip columns. Only think of his turning up for his own wedding drunk as a wheelbarrow! And his bride waiting half an hour in the church, all in her satin and lace … And when he did get there, he said one word’—she flushed unbecomingly—’not a word I could mention to you—threw her letters at her feet, and walked out. Is it any wonder that his uncle has disinherited him? His mother’s brother that’s so rich!’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Well, of course.’ It is always pleasant to describe the misfortunes of others. ‘I imagine that is what Mr. Biddock, poor man, had to break to him today. A vast fortune, my dear, that he had counted on, and all left to the girl: “Who should have been my nephew’s wife”. Touching, is it not?’

  ‘It’s monstrous! Disinherited because of that scheming little piece! And in her favour. You mean he has nothing?’ Overtones of various conversations, unheeded at the time
, echoed in her mind. Brett must have learned something of this at Constantinople, had been hoping, perhaps, to have better news from Mr. Biddock.

  ‘Nothing but the Helena. And plenty of debt.’ Cassie Biddock enjoyed the idea. ‘He’ll have to sell the yacht, of course. My husband’s been making enquiries already. I know that,’ she added a shade defiantly, ‘because he spoke about it to the husband of a friend of mine.’

  ‘Before Mr. Renshaw even got here?’

  ‘Well, of course. Who do you think will be the prime creditor, but my poor Algy, who’s been letting that young man draw on him all the way down the Mediterranean? And not for small sums either. I was tidying the study the other day and happened on some papers … And at Nauplia, too, when he must have had some idea … Right down dishonest, I call that, but it’s all of a piece with the rest of his behaviour.’

  ‘Where is your husband now, ma’am?’ Phyllida had had enough.

  ‘In his office, of course. Downstairs.’

  ‘Good’. She moved towards the door.

  ‘You’re never going to tell Algy what I’ve told you?’

  ‘Why not?’ And then, taking pity on the woman’s obvious fright. ‘Well, I won’t refer to you if I can help it. I suppose I owe you that for telling me. And doubtless I can get at it some other way.’

  ‘But, Miss Vannick!’ She fluttered anxiously between Phyllida and the door. ‘Algy don’t like to be disturbed while he’s working.’

  ‘Not even by several cotton mills and a coal mine? Don’t worry, ma’am. I think he’ll be happy to see me.’

  She was right. Mr. Biddock had spent a delightful morning working out her total assets, and greeted her with enthusiasm. ‘And what can I do for you, my dear Miss Vannick? You’re never out of funds already?’

  He meant it as a joke, and was taken aback by her answer. ‘Precisely. Or rather, I am come to ask you to pay my debts for me.’

  ‘In debt?’ She amazed him more and more. ‘But how in the world?’

  ‘To Mr. Renshaw of course. Obviously my aunt and I owe him for our passage from Constantinople. He had to change his plans on our account. Otherwise he’d have coaled up at Smyrna and never gone near mainland Greece. I reckon I owe him not only for passage, but for the entire expense he was put to by those pirates. Repair of the engines, everything. He won’t discuss it, so you and I will just have to work out a figure between us.’

  ‘Generous indeed!’ He cracked his knuckles enthusiastically. ‘Leave all to me, Miss Vannick. Just give me the details in so far as you can. Unorthodox, of course, but, yes, most generous, and like your father’s daughter.’

  ‘Thank you.’ She was amused to find out how eagerly he cooperated in exaggerating the expenses she and her aunt had caused Brett. When they had arrived at a total that almost satisfied even her, he leaned back happily in his chair. ‘Then it merely remains for you to authorise the expenditure, Miss Vannick.’

  ‘Yes.’ She had expected this, and found herself grateful to his tattling wife. Inevitably, his first thought would be to see that Brett’s debt to himself was covered. ‘And then for you to make me out a draft, payable to Mr. Renshaw. At once, if you would be so good. I mean to visit him directly.’ And when had she decided that?

  ‘To go back?’ He was horrified.

  ‘To pay my debts, Mr. Biddock. My father used to say that punctuality was the heart of business. And besides, I have a proposition to put to Mr. Renshaw. I don’t know why I didn’t think of it sooner. I hope in a few days’ time, to have news of my brother. Perhaps he’ll be able to come here to me; perhaps not. Personally, I think it unlikely. So—I’ll have to go to him. And how better than in the Helena? Do you think Mr. Renshaw might let me charter her? And, if he did, what should I pay him?’

  ‘A charter? Now that’s an idea.’ Had Mr. Biddock found it more difficult than he had expected to find a buyer for the Helena? His face, which had lengthened visibly when he saw he was not going to get his hands on the money Phyllida owed Brett, brightened again. ‘It would be expensive, of course—a steam yacht, fully equipped…’

  ‘Of course.’ Once again, they found it easy to agree on a figure.

  ‘Right.’ Phyllida rose to her feet. ‘Then if you would be so good as to have one of your servants accompany me, Mr. Biddock?’

  ‘I’ll come myself.’

  ‘No.’ Not for the first time, she reminded him disconcertingly of her father. ‘I’ll go alone. This is a matter between Mr. Renshaw and me.’

  ‘But you’ll take your aunt?’

  ‘I think not. For one thing, she’s resting. For another, I shall do better without her. My father has left me with a man’s responsibilities. I shall have to carry them like a man.’ She dealt ruthlessly with his remaining objections, aware, all the time, of a swelling tide of anxiety about Brett. She should never have left him alone, would not have done so but for that misunderstanding about Helena. How could she have been so stupid?

  It seemed an age before she was back at the harbour, being rowed out to the Helena. The heat had gone from the sun, and the brightness from the day. She would very likely be late for Mrs. Biddock’s dinner party. As if that mattered. They were almost within hailing distance now and she could still see no sign of life on the Helena’s deck. Where was the lookout?

  Ridiculous to be so anxious. She cupped her hands round her mouth: ‘Ahoy there, Helena!’ Would Brett remember, as vividly as she did, how she had called that, once before, back in the Golden Horn?

  No answer. No sign of life above-decks, but suddenly something flew out of one of the saloon windows and fell with a splash into the still water of the harbour. She thought she could hear shouting, and was aware of the bright enquiring glances of the Biddocks’ servant and the oarsman fixed first on her, then on the Helena.

  ‘Row along the side,’ she said. All was quiet again on board. She raised her voice and shouted as loud as she could: ‘Helena! Is anybody there?’

  And now, with a sigh of relief, she saw a face pressed to a cabin window. ‘Price!’ But he had vanished, to reappear a moment later on deck.

  ‘Miss Vannick.’ He leaned over the rail. ‘Thank God. I’ll get help.’

  ‘No need.’ Lucky she had refused to change her Turkish dress. ‘I’ve done it before.’

  ‘Don’t let them come on board,’ Price said softly, for her alone, as he helped her on to the deck.

  ‘No?’ She turned to the servant, who was making as if to follow her. ‘No need to come too. Take a message to Mrs. Biddock, will you? Give her my apologies and tell her I’ll be late for dinner. Mr. Renshaw will send me back.’ Would her reputation for rich eccentricity carry that for her? ‘Hurry,’ she said, and turned away. ‘How is he, Price?’

  Something splashed in the water close to the rowboat. Price watched for a moment as it began slowly to draw away. ‘Mad drunk, miss, and dangerous. I oughtn’t to be so glad to see you.’

  ‘Oh yes you should. I ought not to have left. I know that now. I had no idea … But where is he? What’s he doing?’

  ‘Throwing Miss Helena’s things out of the cabin window. The captain and Mr. Brown are with him, but he’s beyond minding them. He’s been at it ever since you went ashore.’ No mistaking the reproach in his tone. ‘And eaten nothing.’

  ‘Lamentable.’ She moved briskly past him and down the companion-way to surprise several members of the crew loitering in the yacht’s long corridor, listening to the sounds of strife from the saloon. ‘Good evening.’ Her chilly glance sent them scurrying back to their own quarters, and she waited till they were out of sight before pushing open the door of the saloon.

  Chaos. Brett, wildly untidy, in his shirtsleeves, had his back to her as he delved in Helena’s box. Barlow was beside him, vainly expostulating, Brown was trying to shut the saloon window. The room stank of brandy, and an empty bottle bore mute witness to how Brett had spent the afternoon. A chair lay broken at the head of the table, and another bottle had been hurled at the gold-framed loo
king-glass, which was cracked from side to side.

  ‘Dear me,’ said Phyllida.

  ‘Oh God!’ Brett straightened up and turned to face her. His face was flushed, his hair wildly disordered. He was holding a tiny, silver-mounted pistol. ‘You.’ He pronounced each word individually, as if with a great effort. ‘You should have stayed away. Or come sooner.’ His hand was steady as he checked the little weapon. ‘Loaded. Thought I’d never find it. Bought for Helena. Manton’s. Tell her it came in useful in the end. Keep off, you—’ Barlow had advanced a cautious step. ‘And you, too.’ Brown was immobile at the window. ‘Can’t you see I’m talking to a lady? To two ladies? A death-bed speech: “Here lies one whose name was writ in water.” I should have known it was no good.’ He was speaking directly to Phyllida now, the others forgotten. ‘I should have learned. “Don’t touch me,” she said. Loathsome. Like a snake, a toad … Untouchable. Should have known.’ Suddenly he smiled at Phyllida with immense charm. ‘You knew. Just don’t interrupt me this time—’ His hand shook as he raised the pistol, and he had to steady it with the other one.

  ‘Nonsense,’ said Phyllida. Dared she try to take the pistol? No; movement would provide the final spur. ‘So you’ll let Helena win?’ she said.

  ‘She’s won already. You don’t know the full humour of it. Mr. Bidd … Bidd … Biddock told me today. My uncle’s leaving her his estate. To make up for my cruelty. Mine! Drunk in church. Shame! And she waiting in her Val … her Valenciennes. “Don’t touch me!” Rich Helena; lucky Helena! Give her my con … my congratulations.’ Once again the pistol wavered upwards.

  ‘You care so much for money, Mr. Renshaw?’

  ‘Who doesn’t?’ But the contempt in her voice had got through to him. ‘You shouldn’t have come. No sight for a lady. Blood. Should be Helena. “Don’t touch me.” Blood on her little white slippers. Blood on her veil.’

  Keep him talking. And, suddenly, inspiration: ‘Have you made your will, Mr. Renshaw?’

  Surprisingly, he laughed, a queer horrible croak of a laugh. ‘That’s the cream of it. Made it before my marriage. Everything to her; to Helena. All my debts … A present for Helena … A bride gift—a blood gift…’