Today, Tomorrow and Forever Page 4

  Soon they were rocking over the waves, a fresh breeze bringing a flush of delicate colour to Shanna's cheeks. Her hair was quickly knotted by the wind and she wished she had a headscarf. Unsure what lay ahead, she wanted to look her best, but after dabbing ineffectually at her flying locks she soon gave it up as a bad job and let the wind do what it would.

  As they approached the island the boat began to plunge and dip more alarmingly through the rip-tide that lay like a barrier in mid-channel. The old man sat calmly at the helm, ignoring the sudden splash of water hitting the bows and scattering icy drops into the boat, but Shanna soon felt wet and shivery and she scanned the approaching coastline for a sign of journey's end with impatience. There seemed to be nothing ahead except jagged cliffs and a tiny yellow strand beneath a jutting rock. No wonder there isn't a regular ferry service, she thought. It isn't the sort of place to which anybody but a real world-hater would want to come. Then she remembered Great-Aunt Vi. Certainly no world-hater, she had sought the seclusion of Tago Mago only after she married her fourth husband, who was with her to the end. This much she had managed to glean from Mr Metcalf. He had also told her that her great-aunt made frequent and protracted visits to various parts of the world even just before her final illness. Much of her time, in fact, was spent at one or other of her houses in Florida or Scotland.

  She began to shiver now as she looked around, partly with cold, but mainly with fear at the sight of the massive red cliffs which as they approached seemed to loom with a definite sense of foreboding, making their boat seem tiny, like a fragile leaf on the waves. It would be a dour place in the depths of winter.

  With a display of unexpected skill the skipper guided the boat between two partly submerged rocks, and then suddenly there was a stretch of sheltered water with a real jetty ahead, and they were skimming across the unrippled waters within the harbour. The old man brought the boat up to the wall, throwing an old rope around the lower rung of a metal ladder set in the slabs. Then, courteously guiding Shanna up the ladder, he handed her bag up after her and finally, with a hand raised in farewell, turned the bows towards the harbour entrance again. It was all done so quickly that soon all that was left was the lapping of the water as the wake washed against the smooth stones below where she stood.

  Alone, Shanna desperately wished for Paul to be beside her. The folly of coming all this way and being unable to talk to anyone struck her as absurd now. Still, what's done is done, she chided herself, preparing for an uphill climb to the top of the cliff. Wondering if anyone would be coming down to meet her, for someone must have noticed her arrival, she trudged gamely on, expecting at any moment to be hailed. But she reached the top with only the cry of sea-birds for company.

  She stopped, panting a little, and gazed around. So this was it, this was her inheritance!

  The island was small enough to see right across to the other side, but its sharp crags and sudden gulfs were enough to keep any secrets hidden. A single track wound away towards a small group of wind-buffeted trees, and beyond that was a wall with a hint of roofs beyond. There was an air of orderliness, a neatness in the clipped grass and white-painted walls, and in the more sheltered dips flowers bloomed in a profusion of late blossoms.

  As she approached she couldn't help feeling a kindling of the excitement she had first felt when she'd learned she was the owner of an island. Part-owner, she corrected herself once again. If only Richard Mather was here to share this fleeting moment, she thought, for soon this unexpected pride of ownership would be only a memory.

  Everything was quiet as she approached an open wrought-iron gate. Beyond it was an enclosed courtyard, paved lavishly in traditional Spanish tiles, and within, visible through a line of palms, the bright turquoise of a swimming pool. A couple of loungers were placed haphazardly half in and half out of the sun. Shanna gasped at the unexpected luxury of the scene, having already convinced herself that so inaccessible a place must be primitive in every sense.

  Now, coming closer, she saw that it was what Dee would have called a haven for the idle rich. Drinks on a painted trolley stood on the terrace steps, and from somewhere inside she could hear the sound of dance music from a powerful stereo. Sheltered as it was in a hollow of the island, the courtyard was surrounded , by profusely growing palms, and over the shallow pitch of the red roof she saw the tops of others like clipped flowers, stark and glossy.

  Wondering how to make her arrival known, she walked towards the edge of the pool, gazing across it towards the open french doors in the hope of catching sight of someone. Then there was a sound above her head.

  'I don't believe it!' exclaimed a voice from inside the villa. A man's face appeared at a first-floor window. 'You can't be the new owner? Never!' A hearty laugh followed and then the sound of sandalled feet flapped across a marble floor. The plump figure of a man in a bright Bermuda shirt and shorts, and obviously the owner of one of the half-filled glasses on the trolley beside the loungers, came hurrying down steps that ran up the outside of the villa to the first-floor balcony.

  He came swiftly towards her, hands outstretched in greeting. 'Metcalf said you were young, but honestly, you're nothing but a babe in arms.' He shook her hand vigorously before she could say anything, then stepped back and gave her a close look.

  'Of course you're not going to hang on to the old place, are you? It's like a sponge, dearie, but it's money not water the place absorbs. Don't be taken in by the air of decadent luxury --' he waved a pudgy hand '—it all costs, dearie, it all costs. Luckily Vi had the wherewithal and so, I gather --' he glanced hurriedly from side to side '—does the new man.'

  'The who?' asked Shanna stepping forward as if to receive a secret confidence.

  'The Mr Moneybags who wants to buy us out. Well, now, what can I get you? Gin and tonic, Martini and lemon, Bacardi and soda?

  Or would you prefer our own label --' Again he glanced from side to side.

  'No, really, it's a little early --' Shanna protested, taken aback by all the things this stranger had told her even before she had managed to draw breath.

  'Ah! I can see you're not used to island life, time standing still, all that. At least, it does on Tago Mago. The thing to do is go with it. Go with it, dearie.' He raised his glass in a salute.

  'I didn't know anyone was actually living here,' she remarked, feeling hopelessly out of her depth. 'Mr Metcalf was fairly vague. To tell you the truth I don't think he knew very much, but he gave me to understand there was a housekeeper and some other staff employed by my Aunt Vi who were ail working out their notice --' She stopped abruptly, wondering if she had been tactless, but her; companion smiled pleasantly.

  'Quite right, too!' As if to scotch any idea she might be the smallest bit wrong, he shook his head vigorously. 'All staff. All tried and trusted employees. Nobody else here. Not a soul. Island empty. Don't bother your head about that. No permission to build, you see.' Then he gave her a sideways glance. 'You're the only other one here apart from staff.'

  'What about Richard Mather? I gather the Stile can't go ahead without his signature too. Have they managed to contact him?' she asked.

  The man shook his head. 'They will. Don't worry. You ignore him. No need to bother about him at all.'

  Shanna frowned. 'Well, it's certainly difficult enough to get here,' she went on feelingly. 'I hope he manages all right!'

  The fat man merely gave an odd smile and turned to refill his drink from the trolley beside the lounger. When he turned back he said, 'My name's Arthur. I was your aunt's general factotum. Henry isn't here. He had to go away on business.'

  'Henry?'

  'Vi's number four.'

  'Four?'

  'Husband, dearie.' He gave her a puzzled frown.

  Feeling like a fool, Shanna nodded. Just then they were interrupted by a woman's voice from within the villa. A figure came into view in one of the doorways. Evidently a housekeeper from the severe grey bun and the apron she wore over a pair of slacks and a pale pink sweater, she c
ame out on to the terrace. 'Leave the poor girl alone, Arthur. She's probably feeling sea-sick,' she called in greeting.

  'No, I'm not --' protested Shanna. I'm just a little confused, she thought to herself, glancing from one to the other.

  'A nice cup of English tea will soon solve that,' said the housekeeper as she came towards her. 'Come into the kitchen, and Arthur,' she turned to the fat man, 'go and warn Jorge about the landing. He'll be here soon.'

  More puzzled than ever by the housekeeper's cryptic words, Shanna obediently followed her inside.

  It was equally sumptuous, with polished wooden floors scattered with bright designer rugs, paintings covering the walls with warm and subtle colourings and gold gleaming in little shafts from the furniture and ornaments. There was a kind of atrium in the middle of the villa and the housekeeper led Shanna briskly across it and into a cluttered kitchen. 'Cook won't mind if we help ourselves,' she observed, preparing tea in a china pot. 'I'm Katerina, your great-aunt's housekeeper,' she explained. 'How long do you want to stay? Long enough to be glad you've had an offer on the place, I suppose?'

  'I—I don't know. But, yes,' she admitted slowly after a moment's thought, 'I suppose I shall sell. But it's also up to Richard Mather too. It's not just my decision.'

  'He won't want the trouble of a place like this.' She sniffed. 'When Vi told us what she was going to do it was a bit of shock. I think she harboured a lot of romantic ideas. I don't know what you feel about it?'

  Shanna looked puzzled. 'How do you mean? I don't think I understand.'

  'She was always a bit of match-maker, your great-aunt. Best heart in the world. But romantic. Unconventional. She seems to have imagined that you and Richard might get together. As business partners, well, who knows what it might lead to? she said. Personally I think she might have consulted you both. From what I hear Richard is the same as when he was a lad. I can't imagine him settling down in a place like this. And for all Vi knew he could have had a little wife tucked away in Asia somewhere. He's been out there for years now.'

  'How old is this Richard Mather?' asked Shanna cautiously.

  'Older than you. The perfect age for a husband, said Vi, and she should know!'

  'What, about thirty?'

  'Early thirties, yes.'

  'Is he nice?' Her eyes sparkled mischievously.

  'I haven't seen him since he was a boy. He used to come out in the holidays sometimes. Always up to mischief. Yes,' she paused, 'I should think a girl like you might go for that type. More fool you if you do. He always had a real wanderlust. You'd have to be pretty self-sufficient to make a go of family life with a man like Richard!' Though it was a criticism, she was smiling as she spoke, and Shanna guessed she had a soft spot for this Richard Mather.

  'What does he do?' she asked. 'For a living, I mean?'

  'Same as Vi. Travel writing. Knocking about in every unlikely godforsaken bit of a country he can find. Roughing it. That's what he does for a living. Roughs it.'

  'He sounds quite swashbuckling,' she mused, drawing a pattern with her fingertip on the kitchen worktop.

  'Yes, you would say that. You'll be a romantic like your great-aunt, no doubt. Well, all I can say is, lass, watch your step. He's the love 'em and leave 'em type, I wouldn't wonder. Not that it's my place to have an opinion.' She patted Shanna on the arm. 'You're a pretty little lass. I can't quite think of you as the landlady!'

  'Good, because I don't feel like one!' She got up. 'What will you do when the place is sold, Katerina?'

  The older woman became serious. 'Me and Arthur, you mean? Well, we always thought of retiring somewhere like this. But who knows, we're not in line for our pension yet. And this one who's putting in a bid for the. place, maybe he'll keep us on?'

  'Oh, I do hope so. If he's not going to, maybe Richard and I should try to keep things going?'

  Katerina shook her head. 'It's a kind thought, but I don't think you understand all the problems with a place like this. Take my advice, my dear: sell up. Don't bother about us. For all we know, the man who's offering so much for it will keep us on. And why not? We're a good team and we can run this place with our hands tied behind our backs. What's more, it's nearly impossible to keep staff in a place like this. Who wants to live on a remote lump of rock cut off from the rest of the world?'

  Shanna felt like pointing out that Katerina and Arthur obviously did, but she felt it wouldn't be polite. She couldn't help feeling intrigued by the housekeeper's description of Richard Mather, and she wondered if he would show up before she left. The trouble was, she had only intended to stay for a day or two.

  As if to confirm this, Katerina looked down at Shanna's one piece of luggage. 'Not brought much with you. Is that all of it?'

  When Shanna nodded she gave a slight smile. 'Come along, then. I'll show you the guestroom.'

  Soon Shanna was alone again. Thoughts of Paul came flooding back as she sank down on to the bed and closed her eyes. What had he meant by asking her to trust him? Why had he said they would meet again? And why was she so intrigued by the idea of Richard Mather? As a travel writer did he perhaps have an alias? Like 'Paul Elliot', for instance?

  She kicked off her trainers and wondered whether to get changed into something prettier. Perhaps when she returned to the main island, to Cala Longa or Santa Eulalia, she would bump into Paul again.

  The thought of doing in reverse the journey she had just completed filled her with weariness. Only Paul's presence would make it bearable.

  With a start she opened her eyes. She must have dozed off for a moment. The roar of an engine filled her ears. It was directly overhead. Confused for a moment, she suddenly realised what it was. Slipping off the bed, she ran to the window and looked out. A scarlet helicopter was passing over. If she craned her neck she could just make out its gigantic, somehow threatening shape as it lumbered over the island. Then she had a moment's panic as it seemed about to crash on to the cliffs on the other side before she realised it was trying to make a landing. The housekeeper's instructions to Arthur came back. Now it made sense—there must be a pad somewhere, she registered. Some lucky devil knows how to get on and off without having to go through the rigmarole of taxis and outboard motor-boats, she thought.

  She watched for a moment or two, expecting to see the passengers walking over the hill towards the villa, but the helicopter was out of sight and no one appeared in view. Deciding to take a closer look and eager to see the rest of her island, she slipped her shoes back on and went downstairs. There was no one around, the loungers were empty, and the pool lay like a splinter of lapis lazuli now the sun had shifted.

  Pausing for only a second at the gate, she turned inland, intending to cut right across the island to the far side. There was no path, but it would surely be no more than a fifteen-minute walk.

  She was wrong. After a good twenty minutes she was still labouring up the side of a steep hill. It was so steep in parts that she had to go on hands and knees. Regretting her hasty decision to explore without first talking to either Arthur or Katerina, she scrambled the last few yards then paused breathlessly at the top. There was a ravine below, with a small wooden footbridge leading to the other side. Determined now to go on—after all, her time was her own and the place did partly belong to her—she set off, slipping and sliding down the other side until she reached some stone steps leading on to the bridge. She was just about to put out a hand to grasp the wooden rail when a voice overhead gave a shout.

  'Shanna!'

  She tilted her head, squinting against the sun, and could just make out a dark shape outlined on the clifftop on the other side.

  'I wouldn't if I were you!' came the warning. It was a voice she recognised, sending shivers of surprise and pleasure racing through her veins.

  'Paul! I can't believe it!' She still couldn't see him, but the voice was unmistakable. The silhouette disappeared and she saw the familiar figure in the white clothes, hair bright against the darker rock, come scrambling down the cliff towards
her.

  'Do you think it looks safe?' he asked when he reached the other side of the footbridge. 'I wouldn't risk it!' There was only a yard or two separating them, but below, far below, were savage rocks in a tumble of lethal spikes.

  'I still can't believe this!' exclaimed Shanna, not trying to disguise her pleasure. 'How did you get here? Was it you in the helicopter?

  Oh, Paul, why on earth didn't you tell me you were coming over?'

  'I told you we would meet again.' He didn't make any move to cross the bridge and Shanna took a step forward, intending to join him.

  'No, don't.' He glanced back up the cliff. 'Look, Shanna—don't come any further. I've got to go now.'

  'But I --'

  'Don't argue.' His face looked harsh, stern lines etched in it, the look of cold decision on it she had noticed with misgiving at their earlier meeting.

  'If you say so --' she agreed, reluctantly.

  'But aren't you coming over here? Can't we talk properly?'

  Once again he glanced up the cliff-face in the direction from which he had appeared. 'There isn't time. I'll contact you later. Now, go back to the Villa Mimosa and don't come this way again.' He started to turn.

  Shanna couldn't bear to see him leave. 'Please, Paul,' she called as he began to climb back up the cliff. 'Don't go.'

  'Do as I say. Now go back.' He gave her a look that stopped her in her tracks. Observing her expression, he paused, looking down at her with a softening in the harsh features, and said, 'Don't worry. You'll see me soon enough!' With that he completed the rest of the climb and disappeared over the top of the ridge.

  Puzzled, Shanna made her way back the way she had come. Why shouldn't she cross the bridge? And what on earth was Paul doing here, acting like a fugitive, yet so clearly used to having people obey him without question?

  She wended her way back, in no hurry to return, but unsure which direction to take now that she was within sight of the villa and the obvious route to the other side of the island had been closed to her.