The Takamaka Tree (5 page)

A crackle spoilt the rest of the sentence. Daniel turned the control carefully, trying to recapture the voice. But all he got was the thump-thump of the latest Seychellois favourite.

Sun Flyer.
It was the first time he had heard any mention of a lost boat. But he had not had much time to listen to the radio while nursing Sandy through days of unconsciousness. He might easily have missed the announcements of a sea search. Was this the answer? Had Sandy been on a fishing trip to the other atoll of coral islands, the Admirantes? The schooner could have had an accident and been blown off course.

They would have to wait until they reached Mahé to find any answers. There would be some record of who was on board lodged with the port authorities or the Marine Charter Association.

Then Daniel remembered the life jacket with the word MINERAF printed on it. It was such a strange word. Perhaps it was foreign. He played around with the letters; even backwards, the letters FARENIM meant nothing.

Daniel thought of the lost schooner. It would cost something to charter a craft of that size. But even rich girls shopped at Marks and Spencers; perhaps his little waif came from a wealthy family.

He could hear a sound through the wooden wall of the bungalow. The vertical wooden slabs were not soundproof owing to the irregular gaps. Layers of palm leaves thatched the low slope of roof overhead, including the wide veranda. Geckos scuttled among the leaves and ran up the walls. The bamboo blinds had long since rotted with the weather.

He heard the sound again. It was weeping. Sandy was crying in the room, alone. He was moved. She had been so happy that afternoon, cooking with Bella and surprising him with her cake. Whatever had made her cry?

He hesitated. He wanted to go to her, but years of reticence held him back. He remembered the last time a woman cried in his arms. It hurt still, partly because of his own inadequacy at the time. He had let her down. It was not an easy admission to live with.

But he had let her down because he had not loved her. Daniel had never said those three vital words. He remembered Helen, his childhood sweetheart, an elfin girl with sad grey eyes, whom he had grown away from as the world swept him up into its busy hubbub while she stayed, waiting, hoping, still enmeshed in a parochial town he would never return to. Helen had become a nurse, he heard.

If he stayed on the veranda listening to Sandy’s small sounds of distress, he would not be able to stand it. He would have to go in to her.

Daniel swung his legs down from the rail and stood up out of the chair. He moved towards the door, and hesitated with his hand almost on the handle. The sounds were dying down now to quivering sighs, and he turned away, relieved. He escaped onto the shore, wincing as he trod on a sharp broken shell. It might be bleeding but he didn’t care. He was annoyed with himself for his cowardice. Even Sandy, with her overwhelming problem of identity and hidden fears, would have reacted with warmth and compassion. When he had found her on the shore, she had been like an injured creature, a bird or an animal, and he could tend such a creature with intimate care. But now that she was almost whole and a woman again, he could not touch her.

Daniel stood on the shore, dreaming in the warm darkness, looking out to the Indian Ocean, wondering if he would ever come to these islands again.

In the days that followed, Sandy began to sketch birds for Daniel’s notes. This was a great help, as he hoped his notes would be published as a paper when he was back in England. Sandy’s drawings were accurate down to the last detail, and she was able to capture something of the character of the bird in the eye or the tilt of a feathery head.

She was happy to have found this talent and to be using it. She must have studied art somewhere, and to think that she might be an art teacher or a commercial artist gave her a degree of comfort.

“It’s a clue, anyway,” said Daniel. “And when we get to London we shall be able to follow it up. There can only be a limited number of art courses available to students, and it’s worth a try.”

“But I don’t really want to go to London,” said Sandy. “I don’t like the idea at all.”

“Please don’t be childish about it. I’ve told you before that I am only here for three months, then I am returning to London, but we get the flight from Mahé. We can stay on the main island for a few days and make some enquiries. But then we have to fly on to London.”

“I won’t go,” said Sandy stubbornly in a low voice.

“All right then,” said Daniel, annoyed. “I’ll just leave you on Mahé and you can fend for yourself. Get a job as a waitress at one of the tourist hotels.”

Sandy looked straight at him, the amber flecks in her eyes glinting dangerously.

“Oh, that’s cruel,” she said. “What a cruel thing to say.”

“It’s not cruel,” he said. “I’m merely being realistic. I can’t stay here or in Mahé, so you’ll have to come back with me to London. You’ll soon get used to it,” he added more kindly.

Nameless fears crowded into her mind. He did not understand. She looked down at her drawing and it became a blur. Her knees were shaking and she could not stop them. She tried to hold them still, but her grasp made no difference, and she thought how silly it was to have knees that shook by themselves.

“You’ve no feelings,” she trembled. “You don’t understand at all. How should I manage in this England, in a strange place with strange people around me? I’m all right here on La Petite with you and Bella. You once said that I had four things, and the fourth thing was you. But I shan’t have you if you go to London.”

“You can’t tag around with me like a child or a little dog for the rest of your life,” said Daniel. “You’ve got to start acting independently soon.”

“But I need you.” Her mouth went dry. “I don’t want to fly. I hate flying. I don’t want to be flying into the sun. It’s so hot. Daniel, why is it so hot? I’m flying into the sun and it’s burning me.”

Her face had gone white beneath her honey tan. She was staring beyond him, her eyes seeing some horror in her mind. She was trembling like a butterfly caught in a web, gossamer strands of hair blowing across her face. She was hot. She was burning. She could feel it scorching the soles of her feet.

“What did you say about flying?”

“Flying…into the s-sun. I don’t…want…hot. Sun…flying…” The words jerked out of her mouth.

“
Sun Flyer?”
he asked carefully.

Suddenly she stood, like a puppet pulled to its feet. She stumbled across the veranda and almost fell down the steps.

Then she was running across the sand, tearing at her skirt. She could feel the terrible heat. She could not breathe. The air seared her lungs. Even her tears were hot and they stung her cheeks. She ran instinctively, not knowing why or where she was going.

“Sandy! Sandy,” Daniel shouted.

She had reached the sea. For a moment she hesitated as the shallow waves washed over her toes. Then with a cry she waded into the water, her arms wide as if in an embrace.

Chapter Three

They took her out of the water, Daniel and Leon. The young boy reached Sandy first, his strong arms scooping under her armpits and lifting her out of the waves. She fell limply against him, her hair spread across his chest like a wet fan.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” she said over and over again. She was totally awake and aware of the circumstances. It surprised Daniel to find her so calm. He had expected a repeat of hysterics or tears. But she seemed quite rational, frightened perhaps, but she allowed them to lead her out of the sea.

“I don’t know why I did that,” she tried to explain. “How stupid. I can only remember the heat. My feet were burning and I suppose I had to cool them.”

She sank down onto the sand and glanced up at Leon.

“Thank you for being so quick,” she added. “I don’t think I can swim.”

“I shall teach you,” said Leon, not missing a chance.

“Would you ask Bella to make some tea,” said Daniel. “And bring some towels here.”

He crouched on the sand beside her and peeled off her wet shirt. Her shoulders looked frail and childlike. He wrapped his own shirt around her trembling body.

“I don’t know why I did that,” she repeated forlornly. “Do you think I am going mad, Daniel?”

“Of course not,” he said, squeezing out wet rat-tails of hair. “Something triggered a memory.”

He turned her feet over to look at the soles. He rubbed the sand off the pink skin. They were soft despite her preference for walking barefoot.

It came as a shock when he saw the scars. There were definite irregular scars on the soles of both feet. He touched the areas gently but she did not wince, so apparently they did not hurt. Somehow the salt water had made them heal quickly. He decided not to say anything.

“Nothing wrong with your feet,” he said cheerfully.

They were recent scars, but he was not expert enough to date them. Certainly they could relate to the accident which had blocked her memory. He thought it better that Sandy should not be puzzled by their existence.

Her colour was beginning to return. Bella appeared with a tray of ready-mixed tea and two mugs. Her round face was full of concern.

“Ain’t you had enough of that bad sea?” she clucked like a mother hen. “You want to stay on good earth, Miss-Sandy.”

She ran the two words together so that they came out as one sound. Sandy gave a little smile.

“You are quite right, Bella. I’m no mermaid.”

“I ain’t never been in the sea,” said Bella stoutly, “and it ain’t done me no harm.”

“Come off it, Bella,” said Daniel. “I’ve seen you wading in the sea off Fish Beach up to your waist, your skirt tucked up around you.”

“That’s fishing, that’s different!” She ambled away, chuckling, her indignation immediately forgotten in the amusement of having out-sparred Mr. Daniel.

Sandy looked up through the takamaka leaves, suddenly expecting to see green hills and oak trees. It was an eerie sensation that alarmed her. She clung to Daniel’s arm as if they were about to be separated.

“Please don’t leave me,” she cried. “Things are happening to me.”

“What things?”

“Strange things…” Her voice tailed off. She had already forgotten what had frightened her. Her world was the island again, with its whispering palms and cascades of waxen frangipani fluttering in the warm breeze. No green hills, but black granite rocks and white coral.

She had not noticed the dark hairs on his wrists before. How brown his skin was. A dark man. She realised she knew nothing about him. Nothing about his family, where he came from or what work he did in England. He never spoke about his life. As if he had nothing, like herself.

Her fingers touched the hairs on his wrists almost unconsciously. They sprang back as if they lived a life of their own. A thousand centuries of woman stirred in her. But she did not recognise the feeling, only that Daniel was the one person who meant safety.

Daniel turned her towards him and looked deeply into the amber flecks of her eyes, seeking some sort of answer. He knew he wanted to kiss her and he could not stop himself. Her lips were glistening with moisture, parted, soft…

She did not move under his kiss. She closed her eyes, aware of the feel of his mouth, gentle yet firm, the pressure of his lips and his hand in her tangled hair persuading her to return his kiss. Her mind swam into a darkness where there was no sensation but his warmth and closeness. The kiss said unspoken words, thoughts that would never be voiced.

She wanted to stay in his arms. His mouth lingered then reluctantly drew away. They were both shaken; each disturbed by the magic they had produced. Each aware of the closeness, the salty-sweetness of the kiss, the musky fragrance of skin touching skin.

“Towels,” said Leon, grinning.

Daniel mentally gave himself a quick prod. He returned to the reality of La Petite.

“Thanks,” he said, taking the towels and ignoring the grin. He wrapped them around Sandy, more for her modesty than to dry her, like swaddling clothes. The sun had already dried the droplets on her skin.

He did not remind her again that the boat would be arriving soon to pick him up and take him to Mahé. It seemed to upset her so much. Bella knew. Despite her indolent nature, Daniel had noticed signs of preparation for her imminent departure. A relation would be on the boat, ready to take over housekeeping for his replacement, whoever that was.

He made his own preparations carefully so that Sandy would not notice. It was not too difficult as she spent a great deal of time collecting shells and adding to her portfolio of sketches. He thought that the more time she had to become reconciled to the idea, the more confident she would be in her ability to adapt.

Daniel had no doubts personally. He was more disturbed by the thought that Sandy might set foot on England, announce that she remembered she was Sally Jones of Uxbridge and simply disappear out of his life.

He did not want that to happen. He had become so used to having Sandy around, and he knew his days would be empty without her. And yet, for years he had been determined not to allow any woman to become necessary to him. A woman could be a tie, a trap, a burden. He had seen his friends become husband-fodder, premature fathers. The thought of being emotionally or physically shackled by society’s bricks and mortar had always made him want to start running. Daniel wanted to be free, to travel the world, to travel light—and this drenched slip of a waif had turned those resolutions upside down.