The Affair in Tangier

189 Pages·2016·0.79 MB·English

by  Blair Kathryn

Kathryn Blair
THE AFFAIR IN
TANGIER
MILLS & BOON LIMITED
LONDON - TORONTO
All the characters in this book have no existence outside
the imagination of the Author, and have no relation
whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names.
They are not even distantly inspired by any individual
known or unknown to the Author, and all the incidents
are pure invention. The text of this publication or any
part thereof may not be reproduced or transmitted in any
form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, inclu
ding photocopying, recording, storage in an information
retrieval system, or otherwise, without the written
permission of the publisher.
First published 1962
This edition 1078
Philippine copyright 1978
Australian copyright 1978
This edition © the estate of the late L. D. Warren
1978
For copyright reasons, this book may not be issued on
ban or otherwise except in its original soft cover.
ISBN O 263 72709 2
Set in iopt. Baskerville
Made and Printed in Great Britain by
C. Nicholls & Company Ltd
The Philips Park Press, Manchester
CHAPTER I
THE ship left Lisbon twelve hours late. Eleven of the ship's
passengers knew why, but Tess Carlen was served dinner in
her cabin and after it she slipped back into bed, read for a
while and went to sleep. When she awoke next morning
they were at sea and quite some way out from the coast even
though they were steaming south. Tess looked through the
porthole at the heaving grey-blue Atlantic and thought how
remarkable it was that one could travel so comfortably and
be so well cared for on a cargo vessel. They made up in the
way of cuisine and service for the lack of a sun lounge and
games deck. Tess liked to lounge in the warm southern sun,
but she had no urge towards athletics. Her leg was still weak
after eight days out of plaster and her shoulder ached if she
didn't rest a good deal. But she was feeling better inside
herself every day, and the few weeks in Tangier would put
her back where she had been before the accident, on top of
the world.
Wonderful of Clare to invite her. It had been so un
expected, after the year's silence. First of all the letter which
had arrived during her first week in hospital. An invitation
to spend her summer vacation in Tangier—a month at least
if she could manage it. Tess had written back, telling Clare
about the car crash and her own multiple injuries, and
within days had come that remarkably solicitous letter and a
renewed invitation. 'As soon as you can travel, darling, come
and stay with me for as long as you can manage. I'll pay
your fare—can't run to air travel, I'm afraid—but it won't
cost you a penny from start to finish. Please let me know
when you can come.'
Tess hadn't quite believed it, but what a difference even
the hope of a long holiday had made to those weeks she had
languished in plaster. A holiday with Clare, of all people.
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After her father's death, a little over a year ago, Tess had
thought she would never see her stepmother again.
There hadn't been enmity between them, but neither had
they been friends. Clare was thirty-six now, fourteen years
older than Tess. The distance between them had not been
quite enough, and in any case Clare's nature could never be
maternal. She had married twice, the first time an immature
young man who had bored her and the second time James
Carlen, who was much older but still not quite what Clare
had wanted. During the past year Tess had wondered
several times how long that marriage would have lasted if
her father hadn't died suddenly when it was three years old.
Once or twice, when remembering his tired, good-humoured
smile and feeling an ache of loss, she had reminded herself,
consolingly, that at least he had had Clare right up to the
end. He would never know that she had sold the house and
was presumably squandering the proceeds on high living on
the Continent and elsewhere; or that Tess had had to find a
room and leave the library to take a job in the book depart
ment of a store that paid better.
Had she misjudged Clare? It seemed so; the tone of both
letters had been affectionate and full of goodwill. Clare was
actually renting a little house, so she must like Tangier and
the people she knew there. Tess was looking forward to
meeting them herself. Eccentrics lived in those places, so she
had been told, and such types were fascinating. Well, it was
the ship's next port of call, the last for Tess.
As usual, she had breakfast in her cabin and dressed after
it. She was still too thin, she thought critically, surveying her
figure in cream cotton with gay stripes about the skirt. The
smooth rounded cheeks had gone hollow and her collar-bone
showed, yet her appetite was pretty good. The doctor had
said it was shock that had thinned her down, that a gradual
increase in exercise would help her fill out. She hoped he was
right. She had always rather fancied herself as tall and serene-
looking, but somehow she didn't even look tall, now. Elfin,
rather, the dark brown hair with its wind-blown cut em
phasising the effect. She looked closely into her hazel eyes.
They hadn't changed, had they? How strange it was for
Tess Carlen, who knew her book department from end to
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end and handled the most difficult customers with poise and
carefully acquired charm, to have become so uncertain of
herself! She really did need a holiday.
The steward knocked and came in for the tray. He also
brought a message. 'Captain would like to see you, miss. In
his cabin, if you don't mind.'
'Now?'
'Yes, miss.'
'Only me, or other passengers, too?'
'Only you, I think. He said at your convenience within the
next hour, but I'd go soon if I was you. Old boy's worried.'
'What about?'
'This woman who's missing. She just scarpered in Lisbon
—that was what made us late leaving. We're not a proper
passenger boat, see—haven't got the set-up to deal with this
kind of lark.'
'I seem awfully out of touch—been resting too much. I do
know the other passengers, though. Which woman is miss-
ing?'
'The little dark quiet one, at the lower end of the dining
table. Señorita Moreno, her name is.'
Tess remembered her only vaguely. Thirtyish, mouse-like,
no English. 'She disappeared in Lisbon? Isn't she Spanish?'
He nodded. 'She came aboard at Oporto, though. It's just
a short hop from Oporto to Lisbon, so no one got to know
her. The Captain was in touch with the police and we
waited till dawn. No sign of her, but the Portuguese police
are going to cable if they learn anything.'
'Why should the Captain want to see me about it?'
'I reckon you'd better go and find out, miss. Need any
help?'
She smiled. 'No, we're not pitching. Thanks for the offer.'
In the rubber-floored corridor she could feel the beat of the
ship's engine. She was a safe, steady little ship, but she had a
positive, vehement chug. Tess stepped into the tiny foyer and
out on deck, mounted the companion way to the bridge cabin
and found the door latched open. The Captain was inside,
but he got up and came to help her. Everyone on board did
the same for Tess, yet she was sure she didn't limp and quite
certainly there was nothing pathetic about her.
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The Captain was about fifty and bluff-looking. At the
moment he also looked relieved and almost happy. 'Come in,
come in,' he said cordially. 'Sit down, Miss Carien. Like a
footrest?'
'I'm so spoiled on this ship that life is going to be hard
when I leave it,' she said, as she took the chair he indicated.
'The steward told me you wanted to see me. Is it something
to do with the missing woman? I didn't know her any better
than the others did.'
'I'm glad to say that's cleared up. I've just had a radio
message from Lisbon—seems that as soon as the woman
knew we'd left she gave herself up. She was booked through
to Tangier, of course. She jumped ship because she was the
only Spaniard on board and was frightened.'
'Frightened?'
'Never left home before.' He threw out a hand. 'You
know the sort of thing. A narrow life in Salamanca and
suddenly she's forced to take this trip. Someone put her on
board at Oporto, but once at sea she was lonely for her own
people as well as seasick.'
'I suppose it's understandable. What a pity none of us
know Spanish; we might have reassured her. Wasn't she
going to meet someone in Tangier?'
'Well, that's the reason I asked you to come and see me,
Miss Carien.' He swivelled his chair and looked directly
across at her. "This Señorita Moreno was nurse to a little
boy—that's why we waited in Lisbon so long. He's half
English, and she was taking him to Tangier to his father,
and was supposed to remain there as the boy's nurse for
some time, till he's used to the place. The child is still on
board.'
'Is he? I haven't seen a child.'
'She kept him in the cabin mostly, and left him in charge
of the steward while she went ashore at Lisbon. This radio
message,' he half-turned and tapped a sheet of paper on the
desk, 'asks that the little boy be taken to Tiran, which is a
village a few miles from Tangier, and delivered to his
father.'
'Surely the father will meet the ship?'
'That's what I thought, but it looks doubtful. It's possible
the man doesn't know the child is on this particular ship.
Miss Carlen, you're the only passenger who is leaving us at
Tangier, and I believe you're going to your mother?'
She nodded, rather than correct him. 'You want me to
help?'
'You'll be met, of course?'
'Oh, yes, I think so.'
'Then I wonder if I may pass the responsibility for seeing
the boy to his destination on to you? If I hadn't lost so much
time at Lisbon I wouldn't ask it of you. We generally stay a
whole day in Tangier and leave at sunset—and that would
have given me long enough to handle it myself, but this time
we'll sail as soon as we've unloaded some goods and taken
others aboard—possibly within two or three hours. I have to
make up that time.'
'I'll be happy to do all I can.'
'Good. We needn't worry you with the child during the
next day or two—the stewards will look after him—but if
you'll see him through to Tiran I'll be most grateful. I'd
much rather leave the boy with you than with a shipping
agent.'
'I'd like to meet him. Where is he now?'
'Your steward will find him. Don't let it make you
anxious, Miss Carlen. I just wanted to make sure the boy and
his luggage would be in good hands.'
'I'd love to do it, but couldn't you cable the father?'
'We'll try, but Tangier isn't like Britain, you know. If we
can get the father to the ship, all the better. I just wanted to
be sure you'd take over, if it's necessary.'
'Of course I will.' As they stood up she said, 'You know, I
feel rather sorry for Señorita Moreno. She must have been
very scared to leave a child like that. But why should she be?
They speak Spanish in Tiran, don't they?'
'Both Spanish and French. There's no knowing what got
into the woman. Luckily, the child doesn't seem to care very
much. He's an unusual kid—comes of the mixed parentage,
I dare say.'
'Which half was Spanish?'
'The mother. The boy's name is Benito Westland. The
father is Boyd Westland of Cuera, Tiran. I imagine Cuera is
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the name of a block of flats or a pension. A taxi-driver would
find it for you.'
Tess smiled cheerfully. 'We'll get the boy to his papa,
Captain. And now I'm going to rootle him out.'
Again the man's hand went instinctively to her elbow as
she stepped from the cabin. What is it with me now? Tess
wondered. Men had never jumped to it like this before,
when she'd had looks and something of a presence. Had the
accident proved something—that the slender wilting woman
has a stronger appeal to the male senses than the poised
efficient kind ? It was most intriguing.
She went below and looked over the rail, saw the Portu
guese coast like a thickly pencilled wavy line on the horizon
and long boats with as many as eight men rowing them, not
far from the ship. The fishermen shouted greetings and
waved, but kept on moving as if they loved the rhythm and
the spray and the sun on their swarthy faces. If they did,
Tess felt a kinship with them. Even after summer in Eng
land the south felt good. It was autumn back home, a sad
time, she always thought. Here, it felt like eternal summer.
She found her steward and told him she would like to see
the small boy, Benito. He persuaded her to go outside again
and sit down; he'd bring the child along. She sank down
gratefully into a deck chair. Sometimes, when she found
herself tired early in the day, she was uneasy. She had never
been the limp kind, had never needed looking after. If you
grow up motherless you don't. Now, though, muscles ached
unfamiliarly because she walked differently to guard her
right leg; her right shoulder was only really comfortable
when she lay back in a chair at a certain angle, and too much
sunshine made her see green cartwheels. The doctor had said
it would all even out, that she'd been badly knocked about
and couldn't possibly recover in a hurry; he had told her,
crisply, that she was darned lucky to have got away with
only external injuries. She was young, but it might take her
all of two months after leaving behind the plaster to feel
normal again.
Tess was glad she couldn't remember much about the
accident. She'd been out for the day with a crowd from the
store, had fitted herself into one of the cars for the return
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journey and practically gone to sleep with another girl half
on her lap. She hadn't even known that with a load of eight
in the car the driver was doing seventy. They had hit a tree,
and the very fact of their sardine tightness had saved the
others from serious injury. But Tess had been the one near
the door which had burst open. She had been flung fifty
yards on tarmac. She'd eventually regained consciousness in
a hospital bed with compound fractures of this and that and
mercifully only a slight concussion. It was only weeks, but it
seemed years ago.
She had closed her eyes, but now opened them to look at
the child who stood assessing her. He was round-faced, dark-
eyed, olive-skinned, Spanish-looking except for a decided red-
brown shine on the dark hair. He wore an old blue shirt and
absurdly short shorts, had bare legs which ended in cheap
espadrilles. About his firm little neck he wore a bright
medallion on a string. He looked the sort of little boy you
might see playing with others on a sunlit square or a beach.
'Hallo, Benito,' she said. 'Do you speak English?'
'What do you mean, do I spik Eengleesh ? Sure I do.'
She laughed. 'You're positively fluent. Where did you
learn it?'
'From my papa.'
'You know him?'
'Sure I do. He live with us till I was four.'
'And you're five now?'
'Nearly six.' He made an almost elderly, humourless
grimace. 'Time for go to school, my grandmother say. Papa
must send me.'
'And your mother?'
'She die,' he said matter-of-factly.
'How old were you then?'
'Nearly four. Then Papa go.'
'I see.' She patted the chair beside her. 'Sit and talk to me.
Tell me about Señorita Moreno.'
'Carmela? She is a fool.'
'You're awfully grown up, Benito. Why is Carmela a
fool?'
'She not want to go live in Tiran. Grandmother say yes,
and Carmela's father put us on a ship. Carmela cry, cry all
II
the time. She 'fraid of Tangier. Me, I am not afraid.'
'I'm sure you aren't. You'll probably be very happy with
your father.'
'Except school.' He swung his legs as he sat, making
circles with his toes. 'You go to Tangier, señorita?'
'Yes. If your father doesn't meet you I'll take you to him.'
'I am glad. You think he will want me, my father?'
'Of course he will. But doesn't he know you're coming?'
'I do not know. I asked, but they would not tell me. Me, I
am a parcel,' he said, jutting his lower lip in self-disparage
ment. 'Carmela said I am molestio ... what is the Eengleesh
word?'
'I'm afraid I don't know.' From the way he spoke it Tess
guessed it wasn't a complimentary expression. He was a self-
assured little boy, no one to inspire pity, but she couldn't
help feeling that that in itself was lamentable. What sort of
man could have left this little boy with a grandmother who
didn't want him? 'Tell me about Salamanca,' she said.
He looked vague. His shrug said, Salamanca ... well,
Salamanca is... Salamanca.
'I live there, but not any more.'
'Weren't you sorry to leave your little friends?'
'Sure I was. But they all say they come to Tangier when
they grow up. Señorita, you know my papa?'
'No, I've never been to Tangier. If it's only two years since
he saw you he'll know you very well.'
The boy nodded gravely. 'But he is Eengleesh. My grand
mother said that is bad - the Eengleesh do not care about
their families.'
'Oh, but they do care,' she assured him. 1 think your
father left you with your grandmother because you were too
young at that time to live with him. What is he like?'
'He is tall with much hair.' He looked consideringly at
hers. 'Not like yours, señorita. It is red, dark red, and his
eyes -I think they are like the sea.'
'Is that all you remember?'
'He has many white teeth and he smiles always. Even
when he is angry he smiles, but not nice. What is your
name?'
'Tess Carlen.'
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