Greek Wedding (2 page)

The younger woman went into a peal of laughter, then, quickly, put her hand over her mouth to stifle it. ‘Or we'll jump back into the harbour, Aunt Cass? Be reasonable. This gentleman seems to own the yacht, and frankly I don't much care
what he calls us so long as he gets us out of here alive. And himself, too.' She turned to Barlow. ‘I do recommend you lose no time, sir. Sultan Mahmoud's a bad man to cross. I'm ashamed to have involved you in this trouble…'

‘That's all right, miss. Luckily we've got our clearance already, and steam up too. They're not to know our sailing has anything to do with you.'

‘I hope not.' But he had turned away to rouse the crew.

Left alone with her reluctant host, Miss Vannick took charge of the situation. ‘I'm sorry, Mr—' She paused hopefully.

‘Renshaw. Brett Renshaw. At your service, it seems.' He said it without pleasure.

‘I
am
sorry.' She answered tone rather than words. ‘But let me introduce my aunt, Miss Cassandra Knight. And I'm Phyllida Vannick, from New York.' She said it, he thought irritably, almost as if she expected him to have heard of her.

‘Welcome on board the
Helena
.' His tone belied the hospitable words. He crossed the deck to where his poisoned goblet still stood untasted on the table. ‘Captain Barlow will take good care of you, I am sure, as soon as we are under way.' His hand went out to the goblet. Why not? It was the obvious escape.

‘Oh, how kind!' Phyllida Vannick had followed him. ‘It's just what Aunt Cass needs.'

He might poison himself, but he could not murder a woman. He looked for a distraction, and found it easily. ‘There they come.' He upset the goblet as he pointed back to Seraglio Point. ‘You'd best get below, Miss Vannick. I'll take you to my cabin.' It was merely the last straw to find himself compelled to give it up to them.

‘I'm sorry,' the girl said again. ‘We won't impose on you a minute longer than we must. And we are
grateful
, aren't we, Aunt Cass?'

‘To the captain. Yes.' Miss Knight had not moved from her original position by the rail. ‘As for you, Mr. Renshaw, I am still awaiting your apology.'

‘Oh, Aunt, be reasonable.' There was laughter in the girl's voice again. ‘What do you expect Mr. Renshaw to think of us, arriving as we did?'

‘I don't care what he thinks,' said Miss Knight. ‘It's what he said that we're discussing. I'm English myself, Mr. Renshaw. I thought a gentleman—you
sound
like a gentleman—was raised
to a certain code of good manners. I can tell you one thing, if any of my brothers had spoken to two ladies as you did, he'd have had his mouth washed out with soap, and quickly too.'

Phyllida Vannick was laughing again. ‘Dear aunt,' she said, ‘I'd like to have seen you do it to father.' And then, disconcertingly, on a sob. ‘Oh, poor father—'

‘Now look what you've done.' Once more, Miss Knight turned on Brett. ‘You've reminded her of her father that she saw cut down before her eyes.'

‘Cut down? I'm afraid I don't understand—'

‘Well,' said Miss Knight, ‘you didn't, surely, think we were in the Sultan's harem for the pleasure of it, did you?'

‘Of course he did.' Miss Vannick had herself in control again. ‘And we won't burden him with our affairs, Aunt.' It was unmistakably an order. ‘All we ask, Mr. Renshaw, is asylum on your ship until we are out of reach of the Turks. We will take care to be as little trouble to you, or your crew, as possible. And, of course, we will pay you for our accommodation.'

‘Pay?' As she spoke she had moved forward between him and the lantern, so that every detail of her admirable figure was outlined against its light. ‘With your diamonds, I suppose?'

‘If you like. Though it would mean waiting while I get them out of store in New York.' And then, suddenly understanding, she whisked herself into the shadow and changed to a tone of steel. ‘Now I will have that apology, Mr. Renshaw. Your first insult was understandable. I don't blame you for the misapprehension. But now, Aunt Cassy's right. If you are an English gentleman, as she seems to think?' She made it a question. ‘You have had time to recognise us as ladies in distress, though it's true that I am an American one. Look!' In her turn she pointed to the shore where they could see frenzied activity at sea level. ‘They're getting the boats out. Shall I call and tell them we're here? It will mean a slow and subtle death for us all. Or shall I have your apology?' She paused. ‘It seems a little hard on Captain Barlow and your crew.'

‘Yes.' He was angrier than ever, but quite helpless. ‘And on your aunt, Miss Vannick.' If only he had not spilled that wine. He caricatured a ceremonious bow. ‘Accept my humble apologies, ma'am, for anything I may have said to offend you. And you, too, Miss Knight.' His tone warmed a little as he spoke to the older lady.

‘Well, thank goodness for that,' said Cassandra Knight. At last, she abandoned her station by the rail and came across the deck to the lighted opening of the companion-way. ‘I take it you're one of the Renshaws of Sarum, sir.'

If it was meant for an olive branch, it was an unlucky one. ‘A cousin.' His voice was cold again. ‘And now, perhaps, you will do me the honour of coming down to my cabin.'

‘We'll make it very wet, I'm afraid.' Phyllida Vannick had recovered her temper. ‘Cassy's not so bad, but I had to swim out to the boat.'

He suddenly realised that she was shivering in the warm June air, and fighting to hide it. It put him, finally, irretrievably in the wrong. And, to make matters worse, he was aware of curious glances from the members of the crew, who were now busy on deck, making ready to sail. ‘We'd best get out of the way,' he said. ‘Down here, Miss Vannick—Miss Knight.' He ushered them down the companion-way to the large saloon in the stern of the ship that served him as dining- and living-room. ‘My cabin's through there. Do, please, make yourselves quite at home.' Once again his tone made nonsense of the hospitable words.

Left alone, the two women stood for a minute, looking at each other in silence. Then, ‘He doesn't much like us,' said Phyllida Vannick. ‘Poor man.'

‘“Poor man!”' Miss Knight crossed to the half-open door of the cabin. ‘I wouldn't waste my sympathy on him if I were you. If it weren't for the captain, we'd be in the Turks' hands by now. Listen!'

Phyllida was making sure that the curtains at the cabin portholes were closely drawn. ‘He likes his comforts, doesn't he?' She fingered the soft black velvet, then stopped to listen to shouting outside.

‘What are they saying, Phyllida?'

‘What you'd expect. The Turks began by asking if we'd been seen. Mr. Renshaw's doing it well, to give the devil his due. He's playing for time. First he pretended not to hear, then not to understand. Now he's telling them he's seen no one. They sound very near. No! Don't look, Aunt. I just hope Captain Barlow really had got steam up. I wish I knew more about these steam boats. The ones on the Hudson work well enough, I know, but whether the English can manage them—'

‘What is it now?' Her aunt had seen the change in her face.

‘The Turks want to come on board and search. They were bound to, I suppose. In case we have stowed away. That's how they put it. Clever of them: it gives him a way out, if he wants to take it.'

‘Phyl! He wouldn't?' But it was a question.

‘We must hope not. He'd be crazy of course. The state the Turks are in tonight, they won't care two cents for the chance of an international incident. If they find us, they'll kill everyone on board, and call it a regrettable mistake afterwards. I just hope Mr. Renshaw has the sense to realise that. No use hiding, if they do come. Would you say the engine was making a different noise?'

‘Yes. Is that good, do you think?'

‘We might as well hope so.' She came back from Brett's cabin with a silver-mounted pistol. ‘Loaded,' she said. ‘Obliging of him. You won't mind, Aunt?'

‘Of course I shall mind,' said Cassandra Knight. ‘Who wants to be dead? But, yes please, Phyl.'

‘That's settled then. But not till the last moment. He's not doing so badly up there. He's asking them why in the world he should let them on board after what he's seen and heard today. How does he know, he says, that they're not fugitive Janissaries themselves, who will take over the ship the moment they get aboard. He's a true friend of Sultan Mahmoud's. He must have proof that they really are his officers. I don't know how they are going to set about proving it out there in the dark.'

‘I don't suppose they'll try,' said Cassandra. ‘They sound awfully angry, Phyl.'

‘Yes. They're insisting on coming on board. They'll show him their credentials then, they say.'

‘Are there many of them?'

‘Hard to tell. But if it should come to a fight, we're lost anyway. It will alert the harbour guard. We'll never get past the Point alive. I'm sorry, Aunt. It's all my fault. I should never have brought you.'

‘Dear Phyl, you know perfectly well you had no choice. I told your father I'd look after you, and I shall. Besides, I love you, child. You're all the family I'll ever have, and if you're going to die, I want to be right here along with you. What's that? Are they coming aboard?'

‘No, I don't think so. Aunt Cass, I rather think it was the anchor coming up. My God, I believe we're moving!'

‘Phyllida,' said her aunt, ‘I don't like to hear you take your Maker's name in vain.'

Half an hour later, Brett Renshaw was irritated to find himself knocking tentatively on the door of his own saloon. It opened at once. ‘Congratulations,' said Phyllida Vannick.

‘Thank you. Yes. We're well out into the Bosphorus by now. Our troubles are over—at least until we reach the Dardanelles.' And then, to Cassandra Knight who was hovering anxiously in the background. ‘There's no wind. They can't follow by sea. With luck, they won't try by land.'

‘No?' Phyllida sounded unconvinced.

‘How well do you know the Turks, Miss Vannick? For them, failure in the service of the Sultan means death. So, if they fail, they are apt not to admit it. I'll be surprised if the officers who tried to stop us don't report that we left the harbour before your escape. Don't you see? That way they are safe.'

‘And so are we.'

‘Precisely. Though of course we'll take no chances at the Dardanelles. I'm glad, by the way, to see that you have contrived to find yourself some dry clothes.'

Phyllida was wearing the sumptuous frogged dressing-gown he had had made for his honeymoon. It made him sick to see it, and yet he could not keep his eyes off her. She had belted the fine crimson alpaca tightly round her slim waist, and tied a black silk scarf as a cravat at the neck. Above it, her face looked ivory white, her short hair, drying in curls, blacker than the scarf. Her eyes, dark too, had huge violet circles round them and the mobile lips showed pale above the red robe.

How could he help remembering Helena? That deep red was to have been the foil for her blonde, ethereal beauty. He wrenched his eyes away to Miss Knight whose question had hung anxiously in the air. ‘You don't mind?' she had asked, apologetically.

‘Mind? Why should I?' She had confined herself, he saw, to
purloining a pair of his Turkish slippers in exchange for her own wet shoes. Her voluminous black skirts, which had been kilted to her knees when she came on board, were in place once more round her ankles; her mouse-coloured hair was neatly braided about her head; she was every inch a maiden aunt.

‘You looked so angry,' she said.

It was the last straw. Bad enough to have to act host to this pair of unwelcome women, but if he must suit even his looks to their pleasure … He drew a deep breath.

‘Don't,' said Phyllida Vannick. And then, to Miss Knight. ‘You can hardly expect Mr. Renshaw to welcome us with open arms, Aunt Cass. But, I promise you sir, we won't trespass on your hospitality a day longer than we must.'

‘No?' He did not try to keep the scepticism out of his voice. There she stood, penniless, a fugitive, wearing his dressing-gown, beholden to him for her life, and dared to look him in the eye and speak to him as an equal.

‘No. We owe you more than we can repay already. But may I ask where we are headed after the Dardanelles?'

‘Wherever you please, Miss Vannick.' What else could he say?

‘Generous!' Could there really be a hint of laughter in those unfathomable dark eyes? ‘Suppose I should say, “New York?”'

He had asked for it. ‘I should give the order to Captain Barlow.'

‘More than generous. But I won't put your ship—or your hospitality—to such a test. You're cruising here for pleasure, I take it?'

For pleasure! ‘Naturally,' he said. The knowledge that if she had, in fact taken him up on his rash offer, he probably could not have afforded to take her so far as New York merely added to his rage.

‘Then you wouldn't mind taking us to Zante?'

‘Why not?' He had meant to go there anyway. There should be letters there that would confirm—or, please God, deny—the bad news he had received at Constantinople. ‘Then, with your permission,' he went on, ‘I'll suggest that Captain Barlow dine with us as soon as he thinks it safe to come below. He'll know whether we can make the trip without stopping, or, if not, where we can most safely stop.'

‘Yes,' said Miss Vannick. ‘I was wondering about that. But
you took on coal at Constantinople, did you not? I watched from the palace garden. It gave me my first glimmer of hope for six months. Tell me, Mr. Renshaw, what does she do to the ton, this remarkable yacht of yours?'

‘Well over a hundred miles.' He would not let himself show surprise at the knowledgeable question.