Romance Classics (135 page)

“Oh, his ankle’s practically well. The doctor says he can dance again in a day or two.”

“He’s probably in his room. I’ll go and see him.”

Sherry walked to the window, looked out over the beach and gestured to Kristen,

“See that very small figure way up near the rocks?” Sherry said grimly. “The one that’s hidden in a dark cloud of gloom? Well, that our boy. Every afternoon about this time he goes for a long walk along the beach and then suns himself there. Though how the sun, even this kind of sun, can get through that black cloud he wears these days, I wouldn’t be knowing.”

Kristen turned back into the room and said briskly, “Where’s my bathing suit? I’ll go talk to him, and get in a swim while I’m about it.”

“Luck, pal—and believe me, you’ll need it! He’s been like a bear with a sore head, instead of a rising young dancer with a twisted ankle. A little more of his gloom and I think the whole engagement will go to pieces with a loud boom!”

Getting into her bathing suit, Kristen eyed her worriedly.

“You really think so, Sherry?”

“I’m really afraid so, Kristy—and it would be a blinkin’ shame. Everybody except old Sore-Head is crazy about the place and making friends and having fun. But he’s a damper on everybody’s spirits. Zounds, it isn’t our fault he had to go and slip and twist his ankle—yet he seems to feel that it is. He goes around snapping people’s heads off, until I wouldn’t be surprised if one of the boys in the band took a poke at him and marred that handsome profile of his!”

Kristen slipped into her beach robe, thrust her feet into clogs and said, “Don’t worry. Maybe when he starts dancing again he’ll be all right.”

“Well, his disposition never
was
one the angels would envy, but nowadays—
whoosh
!”

Kristen paused at the door.

“When I left here a week ago, you were thrilled pink because you were going to have him all to yourself for a while,” she mused.

“And wasn’t I the prize dope of all time.” Sherry grimaced. “You hadn’t been gone twenty-four hours before he started going sour!”

Kristen scowled for a moment, and then she nodded.

“Well, I’ll see if I can find out what’s on his mind,” she said, and went out of the room.

On her way to the terrace, Kristen encountered Mr. Belmont, who greeted her warmly.

“So you’re back, Miss Dillard! I’m very glad! We’ve missed you.”

“Thank you, Mr. Belmont. I’m glad to be back.”

“I hope you and Westerman will be able to return to the floor show soon, Miss Dillard. I’m afraid the folklore group is not exactly what the Riviera needs,” he admitted frankly.

“I’m going out now to talk to Leon, and I hope we can be back in the show by tomorrow or perhaps the next night,” she told him.

“That’s good news, Miss Dillard—very good news indeed,” said Mr. Belmont with frank relief.

Kristen went down the steps to the beach, threaded her way through the sunbathers and hurried toward the distant spot where Leon lay.

He lay flat on his back, his arms beneath his head, his ankles crossed, and behind the dark sun-glasses she could not tell whether he was asleep or not. She dropped down on her knees beside him and sat back on her heels, studying him. Should she wake him?

“So you’re back,” he said quietly. Startled, she realized that he was not asleep and had probably been watching her progress along the beach.

“I’m back,” she agreed, and smiled warmly. “Did you miss me?”

Leon sat up, took off his glasses and scowled at her.

“Miss you? Why should I? I couldn’t dance anyway, so there was no point in your hovering around. Much better for you to make time with our esteemed boss. Which, I’m sure, you did.”

Color burned in Kristen’s face.

“Why, yes, I think I did,” she said coolly. “He wants to marry me.”

She hadn’t meant to say it. The words had slipped out, and instantly she was ashamed of herself.

“Which, of course, you’ll be delighted to do,” said Leon, and his eyes were bleak.

“I haven’t quite made up my mind,” she admitted.

A smile touched with contempt and entirely free of mirth curved Leon’s handsome mouth.

“Putting the poor guy through the wringer, are you? Stretching out the suspense, keeping him dangling, so he’ll appreciate you properly when you consent to end his misery? A very feminine trick, Kristy, my girl! Very feminine!”

“It’s not like that at all,” Kristen defended herself hotly. “I like him a lot. But I’m not sure that I love him.”

His smile was thin-lipped and bitter.

“Oh, come on, Kristy!” he mocked. “A man with all that money? Of course you love him—how could you help it? And you’re jumping with glee at the idea of marrying him.”

Kristen studied him for a long moment.

“Sherry told me that you’d developed into a first class grouch,” she told him deliberately. “But I don’t find you changed at all. This is the way you’ve been ever since I’ve known you. And I don’t know why I’ve put up with you.”

“Don’t you? Where else would you have gotten the training I’ve given you—and a chance to come here and snag yourself a millionaire?” he drawled infuriatingly.

Kristen still sat back on her heels.

“How soon will you be able to resume The Act?” she asked quietly.

“Begin dancing again? Oh, as soon as I can find and train another partner. And that’s not going to be easy, I’ll admit, off down here—that is, unless Marisa—”

She shook her head definitely.

“Marisa is going to be married,” she said quietly. “Dancing lessons were never anything serious for her; just something to kill time for a little, until she decided what she wanted to do with her life.”

“And now she has decided to marry.”

“Yes. She feels a deep sense of responsibility toward the people who have worked on the plantation ever since
her
ancestors employed
their
ancestors.”

“Royalty being loyal to devoted subjects—”

“I suppose it does sound like that, but it didn’t when Marisa told me,” Kristen answered stiffy.

“I’m sure.”

“So if you want to finish this engagement, I’m afraid you’re stuck with me as a partner.”

He looked at her sharply.

“You mean you’re not going to marry Got-Rocks right away?” he shot at her.

“I’m not sure I’m going to marry him at all,” Kristen answered.
“And I promised you in New York, Leon, that I’d stick with The Act as long as you wanted me to.”

“And I told you that any time you wanted out, you had only to say so.”

“Well, I don’t want out, and that’s that.”

He sat up now, eyeing her eagerly.

“I wouldn’t want you to make any real sacrifice for The Act, Kristy, but if you’re sure you don’t mind sticking until the end of the season—”

“I
want
to!”

He gave her a warm, eager smile.

“That’s wonderful, Kristy. I’m so glad. I’ve got some wonderful ideas for a
Martiniquais
number, from watching this folklore group. Kristy, they are really wonderful!”

Kristen laughed, deeply relieved.

“Sherry hates them. She says they just ‘holler and stomp,’” she told him.

“Oh, well, Sherry’s a ‘pop’ singer. The only music she understands is a rock ‘n roll number or a syrupy ballad. She can’t appreciate the deep basic qualities of the numbers the folklore group do,” Leon brushed Sherry’s criticism aside. “Do you know, Kristy, the very way the women tie their head scarfs, every knot tied in them means something? For instance, if there is a single point, it tells the girl’s friends and admirers she is unattached; if two or three points are tied, she has already found her man.”

“That sounds like a good idea,” Kristen commented. “It should save a lot of confusion.”

Leon laughed. “Oh, I think it’s an idea that should spread to other countries where the poor males are kept in the dark about the condition of a gal’s heart.”

He stood up, brushed off the sand and held out his hand to her, lifting her to her feet.

“We’ll start in the morning,” he told her eagerly. “I’ll get some of the folklore musicians to play for us and we’ll get the routine started. I don’t think we’ll do the number for a while; maybe not here at all. It should be a sensation back in the States; perhaps we could take a few of the
Martiniquais
musicians back with us.”

And then he caught himself and said awkwardly, “Sorry. I forgot you wouldn’t be going back to the States with me.”

“Let’s not worry about that now, Leon. Let’s get ourselves oriented for our first performance here.”

After dinner that night, Kristen sat at a small table with Leon, while the show went on. And as the six
Martiniquais
dancers began their performance, she saw the absorbed attention Leon gave them.

The dancers had their own music: a band composed of four elderly men with a weird assortment of instruments, some that were a far cry indeed from the musical instruments to which she had been accustomed. Only the bongo drums were familiar to her, and they were played with an odd half-beat note.

Casey and some of the boys from the band joined Kristen and Leon while the act was in progress.

“Now, if we could just get some of
that
back to the States with us—” mused Casey, his eyes alight, his fingers tapping the table top as he tried to catch the odd, uneven beat of the drums.

“We’re going to, son,” Leon said softly. “Kristy and I are taking notes. We are going to work out some routines.”

“Good enough as far as it goes,” Casey reminded him, “but it doesn’t go far enough. You’ll never find a Stateside band that can play that kind of music—not and make it sound the way this does.”

“You don’t think your outfit—” Leon began.

“I know my outfit couldn’t play like that—I wouldn’t ask them to try,” Casey answered firmly. “Look, Lee, my lad, Martinique is a very frabjous place, and we’re all charmed and enraptured by all the sights and sounds and the smells of the place; but we’re smart enough to know we can’t take it away with us. It’s been anchored right here in the li’l ole Caribbean for a heck of a long time—and that’s where we have to leave it.”

“You want to bet?” asked Leon.

Casey glared at him.

“Now what’s cooking in that cockeyed mind of yours?” he demanded with some heat.

“Just a small idea that three or four of these musicians might like a tour of the States as part of a new night club
act starring Kristen and Leon?” suggested Leon, his eyes bright.

Casey stared at him for a moment, and then he nodded thoughtfully, his imagination caught by the picture Leon was sketching.

“Now, you know, you might have something there,” he answered slowly.

“Why, Casey, it will be a sensation.”

He plunged into an account of his plans, while Casey listened and commented and Kristen watched and listened, and wished that Leon could always be like this. He could be so darned nice when he wasn’t glowering and making sarcastic remarks and sneering at everything and everyone.

He turned to her suddenly, his eyes alight.

“How does it sound to you. Kristy?” he asked eagerly.

“It sounds wonderful, Lee, just wonderful,” she agreed, and did not realize that for the first time she had called him “Lee” instead of “Leon.”

“How about giving us a couple of hours rehearsal tomorrow, Casey?” Leon turned back to Casey. “I know the boys hate being overworked, but Kristy and I really need to go over some of the routines after being out of action for so long.”

“Sure, the boys will be glad to oblige. After lunch, say?” Casey answered promptly. “You want to go easy on that ankle, though, Lee.”

Leon nodded. “I know. We’re starting in with some of the less spectacular routines.”

“In that case,” said Kristen unexpectedly, as the folklore dancers finished their act to a spatter of polite applause, “you’d better be getting some sleep.”

Leon looked up at her, startled and affronted, because never before had she called “Time” on him. That had always been his prerogative. Kristen chuckled at his expression.

“I know, it’s always you who announce it’s bedtime and send me kiting off to bed while you stay up dancing with all the gals,” she answered that look. “But under the circumstances, I think it’s time Casey and I sent you off to bed, don’t you, Casey?”

Casey chuckled. “I refuse to get involved; I’m strictly neutral,” he said firmly.

Leon stood up, grinning.

“Tomorrow’s another day, I’ve often heard it said. See you after lunch tomorrow, Casey.”

“See you,” Casey answered, and winked at Kristen behind Leon’s back….

By the end of the week, Kristen and Leon were dancing as smoothly, as delightfully as before the accident to Leon’s ankle.

Gradually Kristen forgot she had ever been away from the show.

There were hours every afternoon when they went sight-seeing, Leon with an eagle eye for any bit of atmosphere that might be added to the routine he was choreographing for the tour he was so eagerly planning. She was grateful that he seemed to take it for granted that she would be a part of the tour; and it was only at odd moments that she remembered George Newman, and his proposal of marriage.

Then one morning as she came down to the lobby, George came to meet her. For a startled moment she stood quite still, a little rush of memory bringing with it a touch of confusion, until he smiled at her, and said pleasantly, as though she had been the most casual acquaintance, “Well, hello there. Nice to see you again after all these weeks.”

Kristen stared, amazed.

“Oh, but it can’t possibly have been weeks,” she protested.

“Three weeks, two days, and several hours,” he reminded her quietly.

“But it seems no more than yesterday,” she replied. She caught the faint hurt in his eyes and went on hastily. “We’ve been working so hard—”

“I know,” George said quietly. “I saw the show last night. You were superb, both of you.”

“Why, thank you.”

“I thought perhaps we might have lunch together,” George suggested.

“No, of course not,” Kristen stammered. “I mean I don’t have a date, and I’d like to have lunch with you—but it has been only an hour since I had breakfast!”