Night was falling but the pearl glow of dusk still remained with its delicate sprinklings of saffron and indigo. But in the low-lying cumulo-nimbus clouds over the sea to the south was the portent of a storm, which, as it happened, was not to materialise.
Shivonne stood on the deck of the Mohawk and watched with a brooding expression the languid interchange of light and shade and the gradual intrusion of duns and greys into the more subtle and delicate shades of sunset, but it was the oppressive awareness of the dark clouds that was more suited to her mood.
Why was she here-so far away from those she loved? Impulse alone had brought her to the paradise island of Gorda, one of the chain that made up the Virgin Islands of the Caribbean.
Impulse…? She frowned and shook her head. No, for she had certainly given at least some consideration to the matter before reaching her decision.
'Shivonne.' The abrupt voice brought her round to face the tall, Arab-dark Caymanian owner of the luxury yacht where she was for the moment a sort of Girl Friday-Well, not really that, she corrected, for there was a crew of three besides her on this great sea-going palace with its unique decor which set forth a narrative on Viking life.
'Yes, Mr. Drayton?'
He stood for a space staring down at her with what was now a familiar austerity of countenance. There was the suggestion of a frown between the black, onyx-hard eyes and the sensuous mouth was firmly set. She rather guessed that he knew she was not happy in the job she had chosen to do. However, all he said was,
'We'll be pulling in at Tortola to take on a passenger. She'll be occupying the guest stateroom aft to port. See that it is ready, please.' He spoke with that most attractive lilt of the Cayman people who were such a mixture of nationalities including American, English, Scottish and many others. Settlers had included people from places like Jamaica and other islands of the Caribbean and the result was that Caymanians were now among the most good-looking people in the world. And Kurt Drayton was certainly no exception, being superlative both in looks and physique. But there was an added arrogance about him which seemed to make him even more distinguished… and more formidable to Shivonne who, coming from a tiny village in her native Ireland, had not altogether lost her shyness even though she had worked as a secretary in Dublin since leaving school at eighteen three years ago. Kurt Drayton, she estimated, was no more than twenty-eight but carried the dignity and pure self-confidence of a man twice his age.
Perhaps, she thought, it was his great wealth which gave him such confidence, as he had inherited millions of dollars from an uncle whose business had been banking.
'Yes, Mr. Drayton,' she returned, 'I'll see that the stateroom is ready.'
He turned and left her; she watched him without emotion but with a certain mild interest in the arrogance of his gait, the way he held that dark head on broad, powerful shoulders, the way he always appeared immaculate when, even as now, he wore only shorts and a white short-sleeved shirt, open to reveal a dark brown chest and gleaming, mahogany throat.
The stateroom had a double bed with built-in drawers and lockers; the walls were covered with ash-wood suede cloth and the handles of all drawers and cabinets were plated with gold. The luxury was complemented by a private bath and shower and the floor of this elegant room was of Tennessee crab-orchard stone. All fittings were gold-plated, and one wall was a mirror delicately engraved with flowers and various species of marine life. Shivonne made up the bed, wondering about this woman who was boarding the yacht at Tortola. She had learned very little about her employer in the two weeks she had been with him. His home was on what must surely be the most beautiful island in the entire Caribbean, Virgin Gorda. And it was to this island that she had come when, her decision having been made, she left the home in which she had been born.
Perhaps she should merely have moved to Dublin, found a flat there, she mused with a sigh, for she was so lonely here and always her thoughts would take her treacherously back to Avoca, the lovely village in that part of her homeland known to the world as 'the garden of Ireland.' The lovely Vale of Avoca…. The gentle slope on which the cottage nestled among the pines. A deeper sigh escaped her and it came from the heart.
'I must go back.' The words were spoken audibly and she instantly coloured as she swung around. 'Oh, I didn't know-'
'I came to tell you that my friend doesn't like green.' His eyes travelled to the pale green coverlet which Shivonne had put on the bed. Sheets and pillow-cases matched.
'She doesn't?' Shivonne's big brown eyes widened to their fullest extent. 'How very strange,' she just could not help adding and one of Kurt Drayton's rare smiles appeared, taking a little of the innate austerity from his features.
'It will be strange to you, since you originate from the Green Isle.'
'Green is nature's especial colour.' She spoke in her quiet, musical tone, and she felt shy and inadequate, as she invaribly did when in this man's company. 'I'll-change the bedding, then,' she added, lowering her eyes from the intent gaze of her employer. Was he thinking of her words just now? If so, he made no comment.
'Yes, do that.'
What a strange woman, mused Shivonne as she changed the bed a moment later. How could anyone dislike green?
***
Tortola, the centre of one of the world's choicest yachting areas, lay gleaming in the sunshine as the Mohawk drew into the marina early the following day. Shivonne actually toyed with the idea of deserting! She could get a plane back to Miami and from there direct to Ireland! But she had her belongings in her employer's luxury house on the island of Gorda and so the tempting idea was shelved.
'We'll be here for a few hours,' her employer said, 'so you can go ashore if you like.' His abrupt voice carried that impersonal tone but somehow it was made mellow by the customary lilt which to Shivonne had been so very attractive from the moment she had heard it, over the phone in a long-distance call he had made after she had been interviewed in London by an agent who had advertised the post in the Times. It had seemed like fate that she had heard of the post at all, because of course her father did not take the Times. Shivonne had picked up the paper in the railway carriage on her way home from work…. And so much had happened because of that action.
***
Richard Coatsworth was also a Caymanian; he was the Captain of Mohawk and from the first had taken rather more interest in Shivonne than she would have expected. Now he was asking her to go ashore with him but she refused.
'I've some letters to write,' she said by way of an excuse, 'so I'll stay on board.'
Her cabin had two berths and was small in comparison to her lovely bedroom at Casuarina Mount, the Drayton establishment situated on a low rise overlooking the sea at Gorda. She had not expected to be working on the yacht-in fact, she was here only because one of the crew was sick and could not come on the short cruise which had taken in several of the islands of the Virgin group including the lovely island of St. Thomas where Shivonne had taken a taxi ride up the tortuous mountain road to Drake's Seat to look down on Magen's Bay, and of course the driver had taken her on to Bluebeard's Castle after leaving the Mountain Top Hotel where she and he had drunk the famous banana daiquiri. All very touristy but to Shivonne so novel and she had enjoyed that particular trip enormously because the driver was so jolly, acting more as a companion than a hired driver. Now, though, she seemed to have no desire to go ashore in Tortola. She was so homesick that she intended writing both to her father and to her cousin, Carmel, who was also her best friend.
How must she begin the letter to her father? Her face puckered as she chewed the end of the pen. The parting had been so emotional-well, emotional at first but anger had overshadowed all else in the end. Tears moistened her eyes as memory swept mercilessly in; she swallowed and rose from the stool on which she had been sitting. To go back was to accept the woman her father had married; and to go back was to see the man she loved going about with another girl. Yes, it was not only her stepmother from whom she had felt she must escape, but Paddy also-Paddy who didn't like to be called Patrick, and who had found Brid, a lovely blue-eyed colleen and had broken with Shivonne whom he had known since childhood.
'I can't go back!' she cried inconsistently. 'I've burned my boats and I must stay!'
The advertisement in the Times had come at a time when Shivonne was so unhappy she could scarcely think straight. Her father had married unexpectedly, a woman he had met while on holiday in England, and brought her home where she immediately took over from his daughter. She was now the mistress, she had not hesitated to tell Shivonne, though not in her new husband's hearing, and she would brook no interference in the running of the house. Resentment had come to both Shivonne and Madeline and it was of course the older, more forceful woman who had won every argument, leaving Shivonne miserable and flying to Paddy with all her troubles. While she had him to go to life was at least bearable, for Shivonne was also very happy in her job. But on the day Paddy told her he had found someone else and was madly in love Shivonne felt the entire bottom drop out of her world and she realised later that her mind and thoughts were flitting about in all directions as she unconsciously sought for some way of solving her problems and at the same time finding peace of mind.
To get right away…. The idea was born and flourished as the days and weeks went slowly by. Then the advertisement; it had caught her attention and the words seemed to stand out in gigantic capitals, forcing their message into her brain, and excluding every other thought or idea. A job as housemaid on the lovely Caribbean island of Virgin Gorda…. Somehow, she had found herself looking at a map, and the following lunch time she was at Grey's Travel Agency asking about the Virgin Islands. Gorda was so small that the assistant knew very little about it but, she said, her colleague had been on a cruise ship which had called at Tortola from where a launch had taken some of the passengers to the island of Gorda.
'She's at lunch,' the assistant said, 'but she'll be back at two, if you'd care to wait?'
'I can't, as I have to be back at work at two.'
'Ring her up this afternoon,' suggested the assistant and as this presented no difficulty Shivonne took the advice.
The result was that Shivonne immediately phoned the London telephone number given in the advertisement. She was informed that there had been so many applicants that it might not be worth her while coming over for the interview. To Shivonne this reply came as a relief. It let her out; it forced no impulsive decision upon her. She was just replacing the receiver when the voice from London said,
'Let me have your number, just in case.' And this she did, and as she had no desire to hear anything further Shivonne put the advertisement, and the Virgin Islands out of her mind.
The following Sunday Madeline rose 'from the wrong side of the bed' and she found fault with everything Shivonne did. Shivonne went to see Carmel who, strangely, said why didn't Shivonne find a job away, perhaps in England.
'I'd miss you but it wouldn't be so far away that we couldn't have holidays together. Also, you could visit your father and he could visit you. You could put up with that beastly stepmother for short spells. And it would mean your dad wouldn't feel so guilty about what he has done.'
Shivonne told Carmel about the advertisement. Carmel's blue eyes shone and she said she would jump at the chance of a job on an island in the sun.
'But you're happy at home,' Shivonne pointed out, brushing a slender, well-shaped hand through her honey-brown hair and then fingering a delectable curl, one of many forming a fringed end to a halo of sheer glowing beauty.
'I know, but a change would be great! So you didn't get an interview, though? Pity.'
'It's thousands of miles away.' Shivonne could not for the life of her understand why Carmel would love to leave her home. She had loving parents, two brothers and a sister and all were just super people. Shivonne had no brothers or sisters simply because her mother had not been able to have any more children. And she had died when Shivonne was twelve, leaving two bereaved and tragic people mourning their loss. Time had healed; Shivonne had been a busy girl, looking after her father even while still at school. It had never seemed a burden-no, rather a labour of love, to have chores to do when her friends were off to parties or to the dance hall. Bill Cavanagh had loved his daughter but as the years went by she realised that he was lonely in the way a man without a woman is lonely. He would marry again, she realised, and in fact had looked forward to the event; but the moment he brought Madeline into the house her heart sank. With the intuition so peculiar to women she knew she was not the right one for her father. But of course she said nothing of her conclusions and within a month Madeline was moving into the home which Shivonne had tended so carefully. Changes had instantly swept away years of tender care; even the garden was reorganised with the old-fashioned roses on the trellis being ruthlessly slashed down and left to die.
Shivonne had wept but managed always to keep her unhappiness from her father. He had worries of his own, she soon suspected.
'It might be thousands of miles away but I'd go if I had the chance.' Carmel's voice broke into Shivonne's reverie and she glanced up from the coffee she had been sipping.
'Well, I haven't been offered the job so I've no decision to make.' She put the cup down on the saucer and studied her cousin for a space. Fair as a lily…. Fine features, classical. These ran in the entire family of Cavanagh, having been inherited from the noble English Duke who, like many of his kind, had left his blue blood to be distributed through his illegitimate offspring. Carmel was soon to become engaged but for a couple of years she had been pursued by numerous hopefuls who admired her beauty. Shivonne was equally lovely in feature and build but her eyes were dark, deep pools of unfathomable purity and often holding an expression that betrayed an inner beauty, a depth of feeling and compassion. Carmel had long since reached the conclusion that Shivonne was one of those people who would be easily hurt, and Carmel had hoped and prayed that Paddy would marry her and care for her in the way that would shield her from the hurts of others. But he had let her down; and in addition Madeline had also inflicted hurt.
'What are you thinking about?' Carmel's voice was gentle, her smile faintly anxious.
'You.'
'Me?' in surprise.
'You're so lovely.'
Carmel laughed.
'And so are you.' An innocent beauty coming from the very soul of her, thought Carmel, frowning as the rosy full-lipped mouth quivered tremulously.
'Paddy doesn't think so.' A catch in her voice and moisture hampering her vision. Shivonne picked up her coffee and drained the cup.
'You might still hear from this London agent,' Carmel was saying as Shivonne was preparing to leave. They were at the door and the sun was shining down the valley… the lovely Vale of Avoca.
'I don't think so.'
'But if you did?' She paused. 'If you were to be offered the job?'
It was some moments before Shivonne answered, and when she eventually did her admission staggered her.
'I think I'd take it, Carmel.'
***
And she was offered it. Only the next day came the phone call from London. Would Shivonne attend for an interview? None of the other applicants had appealed to the Caymanian seeker of an English housemaid. Yes, the agency had approved several, but all had failed the telephone 'test' given by Kurt Drayton.
It was natural that Shivonne should be suffering some fears and trepidation when the moment arrived for her to speak to the man who had advertised. She wondered why he wanted an English girl and wondered too if, being Irish, she also would fail the final test.
She had the delightful Irish brogue which has attracted people all over the world and she did wonder vaguely if it was her voice which had influenced Kurt Drayton in his choice. His voice had without doubt found favour with her! She felt sure he was nice, kind, an understanding gentleman who would make her feel instantly at home.
How innocent she had been! How little she understood how the other half lived!
The scene when she informed her father that she was going to London for an interview was bad enough, but when soon afterwards she was saying she intended accepting the post offered he had stared at her in stunned disbelief.
Sadness, pleading, intense emotion… and then anger, and with her father actually shouting at her, accusing her of deserting him, stating emphatically that, if she went, he would be finished with her forever.
Only Madeline was unmoved by it all. And only Madeline was cool and calm at the final parting. Both Shivonne and her father were in tears….
***
The girl who came aboard fascinated Shivonne who in her plain cotton skirt and rather severely cut blouse, stared at the sleek beauty of a girl dressed in dramatic aquamarine and with her golden hair coiffed in a style of sheer perfection with a french pleat drawn to one side of her shapely head. The suit was of silk and fashioned, thought Shivonne, in Paris. It must have cost as much as she would earn in six months. The girl stepped aboard with Kurt closely behind, his hand beneath her elbow. Shivonne was about to move away, to go down to the galley where she would await the summons ordering her to take up refreshments. But her employer, spotting her as she turned, spoke her name and she halted at once.
'Shivonne, this is the lady I spoke to you about. Lisa-meet the new housemaid. She happens to be here because one of the crew took ill as we were about to move off.'
The girl looked her over with a kind of condescending hauteur, the vivid blue-green eyes hard as malachite.
'How do you do?' she murmured without expression. 'Your name's uncommon.'
'Shivonne is Irish,' provided Kurt and he edged the girl away, his action clearly a dismissal for Shivonne.
So this was the girl-friend of whom Richard Coatsworth had once spoken, the girl whom everyone expected Kurt would marry. Well, she certainly seemed suitable, an embellishment to all the luxury and splendour of this magnificent yacht and of the home which, when she had first entered it, had left Shivonne speechless with wonderment. Not that Kurt's home was ostentatious, just the reverse. Good taste aided by the wealth with which to indulge in it had created a home of great beauty and appeal. Even Shivonne's room was-to her-almost fit for a queen.
It was some time before the summons came to the galley, and meanwhile Shivonne moved about, busying herself in tidying up after preparing dainty sandwiches and placing pastries on hand-made lace doilies.
Brian, the engineer, came in and stood watching her as she wiped down the stainless steel sink. The galley was just below forward of the engine room and Brian often came in for a chat.
'Always busy.' He smiled as he spoke and she noticed the gold edging to his front teeth. Dark, with thick curly hair and powerfully-fashioned features, he was plainly descended from the Jamaican element, a good-natured man with a broad and very infectious smile. Married with three children, he considered himself exceedingly fortunate in his job for it was an undisputed fact that Kurt Drayton was more than generous in his payments to all his staff.
'I'm waiting for the bell.' She moved to rub the cloth over the fridge, and then the freezer. There was a two-oven electric stove also, and a combination washer and dryer. In the pantry which was close to the dining-room was an equally adequate amount of equipment-a refrigerator, ice-maker, dishwasher, electric range and toaster, and an abundance of warm cupboards for ensuring the food would be served hot at the table. The sheer luxury of the yacht had overwhelmed Shivonne at first, and even now she could still stand and stare, especially when she was in the owner's stateroom or the main saloon or in fact any of the entertaining rooms.
'What did you think of her ladyship?' Brian moved into the galley from his place by the door.
'She's-er-beautiful.' Shivonne's hesitancy brought a laugh from Brian's lips.
'But cold as steel, isn't that the conclusion you've come to? If it isn't then you think differently from the rest of us.' He was including all who were employed by Kurt, she decided, and wondered how they would all fare if and when their employer did marry the girl.
'I agree she looks kind of-well-unfeeling.' Shivonne flicked her cloth over the lighted vent hood above the stove and then put the cloth away.
'Matching the boss's personality, don't you think?'
'He too seems hard and unfeeling,' acknowledged Shivonne going to the sink to wash her hands.
'Is he what you expected when you took the job?'
Shivonne shook her head. But she did not voice her thoughts. She had expected her new employer to be kind and to treat her almost as an equal, she recalled. And this conclusion had been reached for no other reason than that she liked his voice!
'There's the bell.' She spoke urgently and as always when she received a summons into Kurt's presence her heartbeats increased. 'I'll have to go.'
She entered the aft-deck lounge where Kurt was sitting with his guest.
'You can bring in the refreshments now, Shivonne.'
'Yes….' She had never been able to call him 'sir' although everyone else did. She now began to wonder if the omission vexed him. But on second thoughts she decided that if anything vexed him he would very soon let the offender know. 'I have them ready.'
Lisa stared, then allowed her eyes to travel the full length of Shivonne's slender figure.
'She's a strange one, Kurt.' The words came to Shivonne as she left the lounge and she coloured painfully. But a certain innate pride lifted her chin and a hint of anger increased the colour in her cheeks. The girl might be beautiful and well-bred but her manner certainly left a good deal to be desired! For she must have known that Shivonne could hear what she was saying.
Brian was still in the galley when she returned, his having made himself a sandwich with some cold meat taken from the fridge. He was sitting at the wooden table eating it, and he had a mug of tea beside the plate. He looked up, his eyes roving over her interestedly, then settling on her face, a sudden question in their depths.
'You're blushing,' he observed and Shivonne's mouth tightened.
'That-that-' She stopped and began again. 'The lady who's just come aboard said something rude about me.' She went to the other side of the table and stared down at the contents of the tray, making sure everything was just right.
'Miss Templar? What did she say?'
'That I was a strange one.' Shivonne swallowed. Did she really seem strange? She knew she was regarded by the crew as 'quiet,' that they realised she was somewhat shy and withdrawn.
'She said it in your hearing?' Brian stopped chewing and stared at her as she went over to the kettle which was now throwing off steam.
'I was leaving but she spoke so loudly that I could hear.' Shivonne made the tea and placed the silver pot on a second tray along with the rest of the matching set of sugar box and cream jug.
'Nasty piece of work.' Brian spoke as Shivonne reached the open door of the galley. 'Take no notice; she doesn't know any better.'
Shivonne turned.
'Then why is Mr. Drayton thinking of marrying her?'
'Wealth, my child. Lisa Templar is a millionairess several times over.'
