The House on Flamingo Cay Read Free Page A

“Is there anything I can get you, Miss Gordon? A cup of cocoa or a glass of warm milk perhaps?”
    Sara shook her head. “No, thanks. I’m just not very sleepy.”
    “Well, if you do feel like a nightcap presently, do ring for me. The bell won’t wake anyone in here and I’m on duty all night.” The stewardess smiled and moved on.
    It was almost two o’clock before Sara finally began to feel drowsy, and then she slept so heavily that Angela had to shake her arm for some minutes before she roused. It was broad daylight again and, thousands of feet below them, an expanse of grey-green ocean, was the sunlit North Atlantic.
    “Everyone’s rushing to the powder room to put on fresh faces. I went early, but you’ll have to wait a while now,” Angela explained, as Sara blinked at the activity in the cabin.
    After breakfast, Angela chatted to the woman across the aisle and Sara studied the information folder provided by the airline. There was a map of the whole of the Bahamas and, as she studied the pattern of islands and some of the strange and intriguing names—Palmetto Point, Man-of-War Cay and Matanilla Reef—she could not help thinking that it would have been more fun to hire a small launch and explore the uninhabited islands than to spend their time in the rarefied atmosphere of the main tourist centre.
    The aircraft was due to land in New Providence at noon, and as they drew close to their destination, Sara saw that the sea was no longer a cloudy lichen color, but had become brilliantly aquamarine. And presently, craning forward, she saw her first coral island and its guardian reef, a dark shadow beneath the blue water.
    “Oh, Angela—look!” she said eagerly. But Angela was busy retouching her mouth and gave it only a cursory glance before returning her attention to her mirror.
    Half an hour later, stepping out of the aircraft into brilliant sunshine and a gusty salt-scented breeze. Sara felt as if they had landed in another world. It seemed incredible that, in the space of one night, they had been transported from the chill grey gloom of London to this midsummer world of vivid azure skies and tall tossing palms.
    The hotel at which Angela had booked their room ran a transport service to and from the airfield. Coming out of the Customs, they were intercepted by a beaming coffee-colored Bahamian in a smart white uniform and conducted to a spanking white-painted carriage with a shady rose-pink canopy.
    “Why, Angela, don’t you see—it’s a surrey with a fringe on the top,” Sara exclaimed delightedly, as the driver handed her sister into the cushioned seat and attended to their luggage.
    Her sister shrugged. “It’s an amusing gimmick, I suppose, but I think I’d prefer a car. I hope it isn’t as windy as this all the time,” she added, smoothing her ruffled hair.
    The driver must have overheard her.
    “Dere’s always a fine sailin’ wind in de islands, ma’am,” he announced cheerfully.
    Sara’s first impression of Nassau was of a city embowered in gardens. There were flowers everywhere: scarlet hibiscus, crimson and pink bougainvillea, golden poincianas and masses of white oleanders. Apparently their surrey was not merely the ‘gimmick’ Angela had thought. There were any number of similar carriages in the main streets as well as a great many gleaming American limousines and smaller British cars.
    The entrance to their hotel was on Bay Street, the central thoroughfare, and as the surrey drew up under the portico of what had once been a rich trader’s mansion, Angela said quietly. “Now do try not to look overawed, Sara. There are bound to be people in the foyer and first impressions are important.”
    So, trying her best to look as if she had never stayed at any but the best hotels, but not feeling very confident about the effect, Sara followed her sister to the reception desk, and they were presently shown to their room.
    Evidently Bay Street ran parallel to the sea-front as, when she