The music stopped.
"More!" the men shouted.
"In a minute," Lola said. She came toward David, clicking the castanets.
Again Cavendish leaned over, and this time he lifted Catherine to her feet.
"The dance is finished," he said.
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She said, "They will dance together, that man and Lola. In a minute."
"Then talk to me for that minute." His fingers fastened over her wrist. Havers had not looked up. Cavendish drew her slowly from the circle, just fifteen feet away, in the shadows.
"What did you want to say?" she asked, evenly.
"I want you to walk down the beach with me."
"I cannot."
His grip on her wrist tightened. "Why?"
"I do not wish to!"
"You'll come," he said, linking her arm with his, his hand still around her slender wrist.
"I shall not!" Her whole body was stiff and tense, braced against moving one step forward. "How dare you?" She was trembling with anger.
His blue eyes swept her. He said, harshly, "Why be coy with me, señora?" The picture of the handsome Spaniard whose portrait lay in her tent was plain before him. "Surely," he said, "you've known other men."
It was not true. She started to deny it. Instead, she said, "And if I have, Captain, they have been of my own choosing."
"I see," he said.
"And now that you understand me, I shall return to the dancing."
He released her arm. Catherine turned from him and went the few feet that had separated them from the circle of men and women. She sat down in her place beside Havers. David had moved away.
Havers watched her. Her head was bent. She dug her fingers into the sand, picking up a handful and letting it trickle through her fingers. She dropped her hand.
Havers put his big brown hand over hers. "Catherine," he said, "Do you-"
"I'll not cry," she said, and she looked at him with a small smile.
He said nothing.
"You knew before, didn't you, Havers?" she asked.
He nodded.
"I love him so very much," she said, with complete relief at telling someone, especially Havers. "Do you think—"
Havers had been staring grimly ahead, not seeing the dance, not hearing the music.
"I'm afraid he knows it, too," she said. "He is so used to having women in love with him."
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Havers said, "He is not sure, Catherine."
"How do you know?" she asked eagerly.
"I know," he said. "I know him well."
"Do you think, Havers," she asked, wanting to ask this so much, but hesitating, "do you think that he might be falling in love?" She gathered courage. "Sometimes, Havers, I feel that he does love me."
Havers said, "Something has happened to him, señora. But whether—"
"I see him," she said.
Cavendish was sitting not many feet away, alongside the black-haired Arabella. His shoulders were turned away from Catherine, but she could see the gleam of gold studs in his belt, and she could see his hands, loosely clasped over his booted legs.
Suddenly he stood up and pulled Arabella to her feet. He walked beside her, his head turned so Catherine couldn't see his face. She jumped to her feet and started to move past Havers. He didn't move.
"Where are you going?" he asked.
She stood there watching, and finally she said, "I'm not going anywhere, Havers; I'm staying here."
Chapter XIV
The Desire rode closest to the beach, Cavendish leaned against the rail; he was almost opposite Catherine's tent, and he was watching for her. She came out of her tent; she went to the water's edge, and she bathed her face and hands and dried them with a white towel.
For three days she had avoided him; for three days she had punished him well for Arabella. He stared across the water, squinting his eyes to see better.
She was kneeling at the edge of the water. He heard her laughter; it floated across the water to him. There was no sound of surf; the tide was at its ebb, and the bay was like a wary pool, so quiet was it with the offshore wind.
He even caught the clear sound of her voice as she said, "No, señorita. Not now." She was tying a ribbon in her little daughter's hair. She finished quickly; her hands were sure, he knew. Then she picked up the towel and hung it over a tree branch. She turned and left, and pretty soon there was nothing to see but the white towel, hanging there disconsolately.
He never saw her alone. She was always with someone—Lola, or de Ersola, or David. She was making making a sketch of Havers; he had come over to watch her, and she had looked up at him and said, "Captain Havers is a restless man to paint, sir."
Cavendish had asked, "Is that canvas?"
Havers said, "Yes," and Catherine told him please to be quiet for just a minute. Then both of them laughed together.
"I'd like to see the picture of the Desire," Cavendish said angrily. "Havers told me about it."
"Oh, did you?" Catherine asked, raising those green eyes to look at Havers. "Did you, Havers? But what did I tell you about it?"
Havers grinned. "I know, Catherine. I told the Captain it wasn't for sale."
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She seemed to notice Cavendish then, for she said, "Oh, I'm sorry, Captain Cavendish. You may see the picture later. I'll—I'll be finished in an hour or so."
"I don't have time to wait."
"A pity," she said. "Perhaps tomorrow, then."
He looked down at her and wanted to pick her up in his arms. "Tomorrow?" he asked, taking a step toward her. Then he glanced at Havers, and he turned away abruptly. . . .
Now he was leaning against the rail, and watching. He heard David approach him; he didn't turn. David was always with Catherine.
"Sir," David said from behind his back.
"What is it?" Cavendish said, sharply. There was no sight of her yet, and she had been in the tent five minutes.
"What is it?" he asked again.
"I wanted to ask if I could go ashore," David said.
Cavendish turned. "Why ask me?" He stared out to the tents again.
"Because, sir," David said, trying to keep his voice even, "Captain Havers is ashore."
"Oh," said Cavendish. So that was where Catherine was. With Havers.
"And," David continued, "Master Fuller is aboard the Santa Anna with Moon, to look over the last stores of powder and weapons."
Cavendish turned again to look at David. "What is that?" he asked, pointing.
David held up the object. "A toy boat," he said. "I made it for Kate."
"Kate?"
"Catherine's little girl. Havers and I call her Kate to keep her and Catherine separate. A good English name, we tell her," David explained. "I want to take it to her now, and—"
Cavendish said, "Havers, Moon and Fuller are not aboard, sir. I think you had better stay aboard. You can take your toys ashore later."
"Aye, sir," said David stiffly. "But it is a holiday, sir!"
Cavendish's eyes went over David's dress. "Is that holiday attire you're boasting? Change it." He turned his back on David.
David regarded his shoulders for a moment. Then Cavendish heard his retreating footsteps. Once again he leaned on the rail and looked toward the last gray-white canvas tent.
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There were only three days and two nights left. Already the first day was being swallowed up as time ate away its hours hungrily and the sun continued its impassive course across the heavens. The day was beautiful. It was calm, with little wind, and that from the pine-scented land. The slight wind carried the sounds from shore to his ears—the sound of voices and laughter, as women came in and out of their tents, as the Spanish poked up the fires for the midday meal, as a boatload of English sailors pulled for shore, carrying in the boat the first pig to be slaughtered. A few women had come down to the water's edge to see the pig wade ashore. They laughed and squealed.