Authors: Alexandra Thomas
Daniel requested an appointment with the British High Commissioner in order to explain Sandy’s plight and to make arrangements for the issue of a special licence.
The official who saw him was a weather-beaten Scot who had not seen the Highlands for seventeen years and had no desire to return to his homeland. The Seychelles had captured his heart on a three-year tour earlier in his diplomatic career, and he had pulled every string to make the islands his home.
“My dear young man,” said Hamish Macarthur, waving Daniel into a wicker chair in his large airy office. A huge fan turned slowly in the ceiling, high over a large desk piled with papers and books. “What an amazing story. Of course we must help this young woman—Sandy, whatever you call her. Yes, I remember the sad affair of
Sun Flyer,
and it does seem very probable that she is the only survivor. But we are not able to issue any documentation for her until she has been identified by some member of the family, or she regains her memory.”
“Then we had better be married, so that I can take her back to England with me,” said Daniel. “I have no wish to run afoul of the law by trying to smuggle her into the country.”
Hamish Macarthur shuffled through some papers, looking for his spectacles. “Amazing the amount of stuff they send out here,” he commented. “We get copies of everything—statements, communiques, don’t know what they expect us to do with it all. You were saying—oh yes, a special licence. My dear boy, you don’t have to have a passport to get into England. People panic about lost passports and it’s all quite unnecessary.”
He found his spectacles and settled them on his nose. He immediately assumed a more official stance and coughed, heralding the change of tone.
“The Immigration Officer simply has to satisfy himself that the individual has some entitlement to come in, and that as much identification as possible can be produced. It seems obvious that Sandy by her accent, you say, is a British citizen, and not, for instance, an American or an Australian.
“Since we can have no definite proof of her identity, and as it is my responsibility to look after the interests of British citizens abroad, I will furnish some temporary proof of citizenship. I suggest you get a letter from Dr. Lefanue on her medical condition, plus perhaps a copy of the charter agreement. I’m sure that all this will convince the immigration officer. After all, a passport is not proof of identity, merely proof of citizenship.” He took off his spectacles and put them carelessly into an out-tray.
“So, no more worries on that score, Mr. Kane. But marry the girl if you want to. I wouldn’t like to stand in the way of true romance,” Hamish Macarthur chuckled. “I’ll even give the bride away. All part of the service.”
“No, thank you,” said Daniel. “It wasn’t going to be that kind of wedding. In fact what you have told me is a great relief. I do not anticipate a wife in my life at this stage. It’s the wrong time and I shall be in the wrong place… I’m not putting it too well.”
“I’m sure you have your reasons, Mr. Kane. Now when could I see the young lady? It ought to be as soon as possible if you are flying back to London shortly. I’m sure there must be some anxious relatives somewhere, although no enquiries have come to me through the Foreign Office.”
“I’ll bring Sandy along this afternoon.”
“Grand. But not too soon after lunch.”
Daniel returned to the Reef to tell Sandy that the newly-on wedding was already off. He had a feeling she would be relieved. She had not exactly been ecstatic about the arrangement.
The maid was still sitting outside the door of Room 27, diligently mending some linen. She gave Daniel a big shy smile, and stepped aside for him to unlock the door.
“Your wife is very happy,” she said. “She has been singing. Not sound ill at all.”
“That’s splendid,” said Daniel. “It must be the lovely climate and your lovely island.”
The maid giggled and gathered up her sewing. “Will you want me to sit again?” she asked. She had obviously found the occupation much to her liking.
“No, thank you. We will be going out together soon.” Sandy had put on her new dress for her wedding. It was a pale blue shirtwaister, and she wore her gold sandals and had tied her hair back with one of Bella’s scarves. She had washed her hair again and dried it in the bright sun that shone hotly through the window. It had had to be shampooed again to remove all the dust and scents of Leon’s cabin, and she had almost scrubbed her skin raw.
She heard Daniel’s key in the lock and there was an unexpected flutter of her heart. It was all so silly. She had nothing to be nervous about. It wasn’t going to be a real marriage, just an arrangement.
“You look very nice,” said Daniel, awkwardly.
“Well, it is an occasion, isn’t it,” she said gaily. “Supposed to be the greatest day in a girl’s life. Got to make the most of it.”
Daniel put his arms loosely around her and linked his hands. He peered down at her from his superior height. The scarf looked like a butterfly that had alighted for a moment at the nape of her neck.
“What would you say if I told you it was all off? That it wasn’t necessary after all? No marriage arrangement to complicate matters still further.”
“Oh Daniel, I don’t understand.” She pushed hard against his chest and broke the link. “You’re playing games with me. How could you be so cruel.” She shut her mouth tight and hard. She almost wept with disappointment.
“It isn’t necessary, you see,” he said gently. “I’ve been to see Hamish Macarthur, and he does not think your entry into Britain is going to cause any problems. We simply have to prove British citizenship. Who you are does not seem to be the essential identification.”
“I don’t care! I would be safe with you. It doesn’t matter if it isn’t a real marriage,” she pleaded. “Please, Daniel, I’m so frightened.”
Daniel fought against an overpowering urge to sweep her into his arms and to hell with everything. To push that wild tawny hair from her face and cover her golden skin with kisses. He could imagine how she would feel in his arms, and a baffling wave of despair made him move abruptly.
“Hamish Macarthur is quite sure that it isn’t a necessary formality,” he said harshly.
“Hamish Macarthur? Who’s he? What does he know about me?”
“He’s in the British High Commission and he wants to help you. He wants to establish as clearly as possible that you are British and entitled to citizenship, and then you will be allowed into Britain without a passport.”
Sandy regarded him suspiciously. “How will he do that?”
“The
way you speak. That’s the only real clue we have. But we could mention the Marks and Spencer’s label and the life jacket from
Sun Flyer.”
Daniel stopped abruptly. He had not meant to say that. It had come out without thinking. The last time he had mentioned
Sun Flyer,
the reaction had been violent and frightening. But now she merely looked puzzled and a little apprehensive.
“Life jacket from
Sun Flyer?”
she queried. “You’ve found something out and you haven’t told me about it. Why not? Haven’t I a right to know everything that might tell me who I am?”
Daniel hurriedly tried to cover up. He felt it was too soon to break the news of the Webster tragedy. He felt that in no way was she prepared yet to accept the shock of the double loss of her father and fiancé, even if the knowledge gave her a name.
“I was able to trace that an ocean-going yacht seems to have disappeared, and the life jacket washed up with you came from it. Nothing more. Now, if you’re ready, we’ll slip back to see Mr. Macarthur.”
“But who was on board
Sun Flyer
?
”
Sandy persisted. “Don’t you know?”
“No, I don’t know exactly.”
“Well you haven’t done your homework very well,” she said smartly. “Can’t you find out?”
Daniel glared at her. “I happen to have been run off my feet since arriving on Mahé. Don’t worry, I haven’t wasted any time. I haven’t been sitting around sunbathing.”
He was angry with her again. Sandy remembered her earlier vow of acceptance. “Sorry,” she said, trying to sound humble and penitent.
It was like being in a dreadful play in which she was miscast and did not know her lines. Mr. Macarthur was kindness itself, but it was the helplessness of her situation which enveloped her in despair. It was different with Daniel, and with Dr. Lefanue when she had simply felt herself to be a patient. But this was officialdom, trying to decide if she was entitled to her birthright.
But was she? She tried to listen to her own voice. Did she have any kind of accent? He was asking her questions about London but she had nothing to tell him. He kept putting on and taking off his spectacles, losing and finding them among his papers.
Eventually he took her for a walk in the gardens, and it was here that they began to talk about art. Hamish Macarthur suddenly became enthusiastic and excited. He felt sure now that Sandy was English.
“This church in Surrey. Can’t you remember anything more about it?” he asked. “Think hard. This is very important.”
She shook her head sadly. It was beginning to ache with concentration. It was only a clear recollection of a mural. But she could have read about it or seen a photograph.
“I’m sorry, but I don’t know anything more except that it has this painting on the wall. At the back, I think. Bodies falling through the air, falling into hell.”
“Can you remember going to school? College? Anything?”
“No.”
Daniel was coming across the lawn towards them. She wanted to run to him, to say that she would prefer his other plan, simply to be Mrs. Daniel Kane. This other person that she might be, elusive creature, could stay lost in the Indian Ocean.
“I’ve got a letter from Dr. Lefanue and the other document you mentioned,” said Daniel easily. He was totally relaxed and confident now. He felt sure it was only a matter of time before Sandy was reunited into the bosom of the Webster family and he could bow out of the whole affair.
“Good. Sandy and I have been getting on famously. I’m sure I can provide a helpful explanation of the situation for the Immigration Authority.”
“That’s splendid. And you don’t anticipate any trouble?”
“None at all, my dear fellow. Especially with you escorting her.” Hamish Macarthur nodded knowingly. “Aye. I’ve been doing my own little line of enquiries, Mr. Kane. The Seychelles Government’s conservation policy is very important and the work on La Petite is no small contribution. I know quite a lot about you, Mr. Kane.”
Daniel took Sandy’s arm. “We mustn’t keep you, Mr. Macarthur. You’ve been most kind.”
“Soon be shutting shop,” he agreed, retracing his steps. “This is the time of day I like most: late afternoon. The heat of the day almost gone; work over. I take a glass of something out onto my veranda—I live up in the hill off the road leading to the tea factory—and sit and watch the sunset. She never fails to provide me with something spectacular…” His voice trailed away as he remembered the emotions such beauty brought him. “I wish you were staying on. I would like to have invited you up to my place.”
It was difficult to get away, for Hamish Macarthur could talk—especially about the islands. Everyone seemed to be in love with the islands except the islanders. They wanted to leave, expecting the bright lights of Nairobi to compensate.
They ate outside in the patio restaurant that evening, their table close to the beach. It was laid with pink linen, and a flickering candle stood in a silver holder. Sandy had no idea what she ate, although the food was delicious. With dessert, the waiter brought a bottle of champagne and drew the cork with a flourish. The bubbles rose in her glass, reflecting the light from the candle flame—a stream of silver specks that existed for only a few seconds and then vanished into the velvety night.
Sandy looked mildly amazed. “What’s all this for?”
“Because,” said Daniel, taking a drink first. “Because I have never seen such a miserable couple as you and I this evening. I thought a little champagne might cheer us up. And today has been something of a hurdle.”
“Yes, I suppose you could call me a hurdle,” she said, dryly. “And few people get engaged to be married and then jilted all on the same day.”
“Okay. So it’s not going to be white lace and roses, but this way is important for you, for a whole set of reasons. We are getting you back to England with the minimum of complications. We shall get the best possible advice about your amnesia. And without doubt, you will soon know who you are and be reunited with your family.” Daniel was almost angry with her, his own strange despair lending a harshness to his voice.
“Yes, I suppose you are right.” She sighed.
She raised her glass and smiled at Daniel, a smile of extraordinary sweetness that caught him completely off balance. She looked indeed like some creature from the sea, with her pale blue dress shimmering like water and strands of her tawny hair blowing across her face, combed by the warm breeze.
“So how about a toast to Sandy and Daniel?” Daniel suggested, not wanting the smile to fade. “Partners?”
“Partners,” agreed Sandy, her heart lifting.
A strange awareness formed in the few inches of air between them. They did not drink their champagne, or speak or move. The awareness came from a warmth in their veins, a recognition of the other as a person who was desirable, who at that moment seemed right beyond all others.