Across the Lagoon (11 page)

Carol was taken unawares. She watched as Stephanie poured the light ruby red liquid into her glass, and asked, 'Do you think your uncle would approve?'

'Gray isn't here,' Stephanie said simply.

On Tuesday night there was dancing at the hotel. Stephanie had spent most of the day preparing for it. When they went down at a lateish hour to where the strains of the music drifted out across the foyer, she was looking her best in an expensively tailored pastel- coloured dress. Her dark hair was wavy and silken. Swept back from her face in a pale hairband, it showed to perfection her honey-toned classic features.

Carol was too conscious of her responsibilities as chaperon to bother much about her own appearance.
She
wore a simple linen dress and her hair was pale on
her
shoulders. She couldn't think what harm there would be in Stephanie dancing in their own hotel, but
she
felt easier taking a back seat away from the dance floor so that she could keep her eye on things unobtrusively.

Stephanie, completely at ease, drifted where the lights were brighter and soon she had a partner, the first of many throughout the evening.

The chandeliers above the dance area were heavy and golden. The orchestra was dressed formally in white tie and cherry-suited tails. The various young men who danced with Stephanie moved with aristo
cratic
grace and held her in a proper, aloof way.

In the shadows Carol sat back and relaxed smilingly.

While they were at the Hotel Albany, what did she have to worry about?

Time passed. The days took on a rhythm—swimming, sunbathing. Dining on the terrace when the weather was warm. Shopping in the nearby tourist area, and occasionally hiring racquets for a game of tennis.

After the long hours out of doors the late evenings became the time for gossip. Stephanie, her hair washed and coiled in a towel or some new skin cream pasted on her face, would drift in and claim Carol's bed and ask her what she thought of this colour nail varnish, or that new brand of shampoo. With Carol idly brushing her hair before the mirror, or smoothing her lashes, they would air their opinions in this field before moving on to discussing the events of the day, or their plans for the morrow. But these were just the preliminaries. Nearly always Stephanie would manage to steer the conversation round to her pet subject—Carol's family.

One evening, lying in her favourite position, her elbows propping up her chin and her feet circulating the air, she asked out of the blue, 'Would your brother Clive like me, do you think?'

'Clive?' Carol swung her surprised smile up from the press stud she was re-stitching on her nightdress case. 'He hasn't shown much interest in girls up to now,' she replied truthfully, and with a rueful grimace. 'He's mad on anything mechanical.'

'What does he do?' Stephanie asked dreamily.

'He works at the aircraft factory with my father,' Carol turned her smile down at the corners again, 'but he says he'd rather fly planes than make them.'

'Is he like you?' The question was asked musingly.

'Not very much. He's quite a bit taller.'

'I expect Peter's nice, isn't he?' the voice mused on from the bed.

'For a brother I suppose he'll do,' Carol twinkled.

To the query, 'Is he going to work in the aircraft factory too?' she replied, 'I doubt it. He likes school. I think he's trying to get to university.'

'Peter's seventeen, isn't he?
He
would like me. I would be just right for him. I'm fifteen and he's seventeen.' Dreamily Stephanie turned on her back and gazed at the ceiling, lost in her own thoughts.

Another evening when she had spent the time asking questions about Carol's younger brothers and sisters, and listening to the antics they got up to, Stephanie, who seemed to revert to her frigid mood, asked suddenly, 'What's your mother like?'

'Oh, small and plump,' Carol shrugged with an affectionate gleam. 'I'm more like my father. He's fair and on the lean side.'

'My
mother's beautiful.' Stephanie rose from the bed and floated around with a superior air. 'She and my father run a nightclub in Beirut. She wears fabulous gowns and she dances all the time. I expect when I've finished school she'll take me out there and I'll dance all the time at their nightclub!' This said, she tilted her well scrubbed little features and made an airy exit.

It was two weeks before Gray Barrett put in an appearance at the hotel. He turned up one evening when the girls were returning from the beach.

It had been a particularly merry afternoon with Stephanie in one of her carefree moods, and the girls had taunted each other playfully in and out of the sea. At last Carol had showered off carefully ready for going back to the hotel to dress for dinner. Just when she was free of sand, Stephanie had grabbed a handful and tossed it over her. To get her own back Carol had turned the shower head full on her tormentor and then fled for her life.

Her legs were longer than Stephanie's and she was soon halfway through the gardens. But gasping laughingly, and feeling far from safe, she kept glancing back breathlessly to catch sight of her pursuer.

The path wound through clumps of dwarf palms, star-shaped cactus, crowds of trailing green trees and flowers all overlooked by giant chestnuts and pines. „ The evening sun was slanting away, leaving the gardens in dappled gloom. Intent on one thing, getting to the hotel first, Carol crashed on. With her glance behind her most of the time, and her own laughter drowning out the sound of footsteps, it was inevitable that she should collide headlong with the big shape rounding the leathery leaves of a ficus tree.

Winded and weak with the giggles, Carol could do nothing at first except teeter in the arms of the man who had caught her. That was until she saw who it was. As recognition slowly dawned on her whirling senses... those heavy frowning features, the big shoulders ... she plucked herself away from him hastily. Her laughter died in her throat behind a furious rush of colour as she stammered, 'I'm ... terribly sorry... I was—I didn't see you coming.'

She looked apologetically at where her wet sandy frame had left its damp imprint on his dark grey suit.

'It might help if you were to look where you were going.' Gray Barrett brushed himself off with a sour smile. In that moment Stephanie came hurtling round the bend.

'Gray I' Her eyes shining at the sight of him, she pulled herself up to gasp delightedly, 'When did
you
arrive?'

'About half an hour ago,' her uncle replied drily amidst a fresh spray of sand and sea water. 'You were nowhere in the hotel, so I gathered you were still out here somewhere.'

Stephanie skipped alongside him as he walked, gaily oblivious to her dripping figure and tousled hair. Carol slid silently at the side trying to make herself look as small as she felt after her rather irresponsible performance just now. Damp and tanned, her hair trailing in wet strands on her shoulders and scuffing along in single toe-strap mules, she had a feeling that in the role of level-headed chaperone she had gone down another rung in Gray Barrett's estimation.

'I've been going through the list of excursions,' he said in his clipped tones as they approached the hotel. 'Venice, I think, would be a suitable outing to start with. I've booked three tickets for the day trip tomorrow.'

'Oh, Gray!' Stephanie's face went pale with disappointment as she looked up at him. She edged as close to him as she dared in her wet state and hinted, 'Couldn't we just laze round the hotel, while you're here?'

'I came over to give you a change of scene,' he said crisply. 'Venice is full of historical interest. It would be foolish not to take advantage of these guided tours while you're in Italy.'

'Yes, Gray,' Stephanie nodded meekly as they padded into the foyer. Towels wrapped around them, they scuffed away towards the lift after his order that they were to be down on the stroke of eight for dinner.

As she bathed and changed upstairs Carol nursed a bubbling excitement at the thought of Venice tomorrow. Though she knew Stephanie was blas£ about travel, having done plenty of it in her young lifetime, for herself she couldn't wait to get a closer look at the romantic city across the water.

At a minute to eight they went out to the lift. In the process of dressing Carol had been at pains to present a picture of poise and maturity. She wore a severe brown dress with cream lace collar and cuffs, little knowing that it only enhanced her girlish grace. Stephanie, secure in the knowledge that she would be dining with her uncle, looked vivacious and radiant in coffee- coloured nylon.

Gray Barrett was striding around the foyer impatiently. There was no table on the terrace tonight for the girls. He led the way automatically to the indoor restaurant populated by the elderly gentlemen of the hotel and their ladies in their camphor-scented gowns. The younger set, and the more adventurous, preferred - to dine out under the stars.

They were shown to their usual table and Gray Barrett ordered for the three of them. The waiter was different from the one the girls were used to smiling and chatting to on the terrace. He went away after seeing them settled and returned a few minutes later. Carol knew an icy horror when she saw what he was carrying in his hand.

Any extra luxury requested on the tables was labelled with the client's room number in case it was intended to be consumed at more than one meal. Carol remembered now that they had been halfway through a bottle of Chianti at dinner last night. She had long since succumbed to the idea of Stephanie filling her glass with the sparkling liquid too. Well, what harm was there in taking a little wine with a meal? Unfortunately both girls had forgotten that what they had left on the table last night would be brought out again to them this evening, and before Carol's very eyes the waiter swept in, obligingly uncorked the bottle of Chianti and proceeded to fill the girls' glasses.

Carol shrank in her seat. Stephanie, perhaps even more aware of her uncle's stiffening jaw, admitted with tilted chin and an over-bright gaze, 'I ordered it, Gray.'

'I'm not aware that a fifteen-year-old is in a position to order wine or anything else.' Gray Barrett fixed his eagle eye on Carol. As she sank beneath a blaze of colour, only too conscious of her incompetence, he clipped, 'Bring some mineral water, Pietro.'

'Si, signore'
The waiter, happily unaware of the fluster he had caused, sailed away and returned with a bottle of sparkling San Pellegrino. Gray Barrett ordered a Volpolicella wine for himself and thankfully the meal was got through without further incident.

For coffee Stephanie led the way optimistically across the foyer and into the lounge She chose one of the bamboo screened-off sections and plumped down, full of chatter about the past fortnight and the things they had done to pass the time.

In his armchair Gray Barrett pulled on his cigarette and drank his coffee and gave the appearance of listening, but it wasn't difficult to see that his mind was on other things. Across from him, Carol sat in her armchair and gazed down at her coffee as she sipped it.

They retired early, Gray Barrett rising and pointing out in his taciturn way that it would be as well for them to get plenty of sleep in readiness for the excursion the following morning.

At ten o'clock in bright sunshine they went to join the rest of the crowd from the Albany and other nearby hotels who had booked for the day trip to Venice. Stephanie, having resigned herself to the tour, was looking pertly attractive in a royal blue sun dress which showed to perfection her honey-gold arms and complexion. Carol, her blue eyes sparkling with anticipation, had chosen an apple-green sun dress, decorated with white piping. Gray Barrett wore one of his inevitable dark business suits, although Carol noticed that once out on the forecourt of the hotel where the sun was at its hottest he frowningly removed his jacket and folded it over his arm.

As they stood lined up ready to take the coach to the landing stage Carol found herself completely fascinated by the little man who was to be their guide for the day. His name was Aniello and he was no more than five foot two and balding, but his smile was big, his back and shoulders were straight and he moved with the pride and flair of a dashing cavalry officer.

Radiating a dynamic personality, he told everyone in his quaintly expressed English to stick together and to keep their eye on him at all times throughout the tour. Then with his jolly air he led the way on to the coach.

In with the rest of the holidaymakers, Gray Barrett ushered the girls on in front of him. It was but a few minutes' ride to the landing stage. Here he shepherded _ them ahead of him on to the launch, saw that they had a seat, then engrossed himself in the guidebook that he was carrying.

As they started off Carol didn't know how he could bear to just stand and stare at the printed word when there was all this fabulous scenery to be noted. She reminded herself that he had done this trip twice already and was probably familiar with the island of San Giorgio and the church and campanile, which Aniello was pointing out in his rich tones for everyone's benefit.

Carol was still gazing back in wide-eyed awe at the magnificent domes and pillared construction when the launch bumped to a halt at the Venice landing stage. Everyone crowded on to the wide promenade where tall stately buildings rubbed shoulders with shabby pastel- tinted exteriors. This was the Riva degli Schiavoni, Aniello told his group, as he herded them into a cluster with his outstretched arm and hand holding his sheaf of notes, then led the way two yards in front like a drum- major at the head of a parade.

As the knot of people followed obediently they were told to look right when they crossed the first canal bridge to see the Bridge of Sighs. Carol couldn't wait to get there. She almost fell up the steps over the canal, so intent on craning her neck to gaze along the stretch of water flanked on either side by sombre buildings. Well, It didn't seem all that special! Just a stone arch spanning the water, with fancy brickwork and a couple of tiny grille-faced windows looking out over the canal. But Aniello made it live when he described how the prisoners crossing over from the Doge's Palace to the prison building would sigh as they looked out on the city of Venice for the last time.