Hie young man left the men in the charge of John Tucker, and with the assistance of Samura, for whom he had a sneaking affection, saw himself to the ladies.
After a little light refreshment, and lighter chat, litters were brought, for the road was steep, when a motor car turned a corner and came to a buzzing stop in front of the cafe.
Lady Tittle's head began to swim. These extraordinary contrasts bewildered her.
From the car descended a magnificently handsome native lady, dressed in what we might call a Directoire gown. There wasn't much else besides the gown. Her brown legs were bare, but though she had no stockings she carried a jewelled garter. She wore a fillet round her head with an emerald star upon her temples. In her hand she carried a long ivory stick, emerald surmounted.
'Naroina, the mother of Samura,' the young man said simply. 'We call her our queen.'
Helena sniffed audibly.
'My dear, my dear,' said Naroina, 'I had not expected so much pleasure. My poor house is entirely at the disposal of your ladies.'
This rather suited the young man. Hastily he commended Lady Tittle to the care of Naroina, Miss Jepps also, and the Sisters Lovett. 'I will look after the girls myself,' he added quickly, 'Miss Madge is their chaperone. I wish them to learn the vernacular from my maiitresse de la maison?
Lady Tittle acquiesced. She liked the look of Naroina, and felt she'd like to teach her bridge. Hony was clever enough to look after herself.
After brief instructions concerning luggage, Naroina whirled her guests away in the car. Hony and Carrie were placed in litters, beside which walked the young man, Madge and Samura.
Helena watched viciously. Her eyes changed from turquoise to emerald.
She turned back to the cafe. The group of newcomers was the cynosure of every eye. John Tucker and Herr Kunst had secured a little table to themselves, and were soul-deep in converse. The word 'diamond' recurred continuously.
Helena was going to join them when Tucker waved her aside.
'It's business now, little one,' he said. 'I shall be an hour. Run home and get ready for our new friends; they are all coming with me.'
Helena made a snarling pout. She was none too pleased at the advent of these new people. She saw her sovereignty a little in danger.
She determined to get even with John Tucker.
Lord Reggie Cameron sat alone, dreamily gazing over the sea. He didn't get on too well with his fellow captives, and felt rather lonely.
Lord Reggie was good-looking, in the clean, debonnaire, tres bien soigne style of the public school and varsity man. Helena spotted him and slid into a chair by his side. Without speaking, she picked up his gold cigarette case, opened it, took one, and took his from his fingers for a light.
Quite a minute elapsed before she said, 'Well?'
Lord Reggie was too confused to answer anything but the banal, 'Will you have a drink?' This semi-naked little deity was too much for him.
'No, but how do you like the island, and what do you think of us?'
Lord Reggie stammered out something about 'he hadn't a chance to know yet'.
Helena laid her hand on his-she saw her chance of getting even with John Tucker.
'Come and know it,' she said.
They wandered through the back gardens, up the soft hills, to the facade of John Tucker's house.
Helena had not had any white man with the exception of John Tucker. She was a virgin when he swam with her to the New Decameron. True to her promise to leave the other pirates alone, her other lovers had only been Samura and a few other natives.
She took Lord Reggie straight to her bedroom there wasn't too much time to spare. It was the coolest room in the house, she explained.
Lord Reggie took the proffered cigarette, likewise the proffered drink, and watched with lusting eyes the pretty girl curl herself up on the bed. The great emerald on the toe of her naked left foot seemed to wink at him.
'I'm intensely interested in you and your friends, and want so much to know who you are and why you came here, but I like your eyes best; I think they match mine, let me see them closer.'
'Yes, I'm sure they match,' she said as their eyelashes kissed, 'and your mouth isn't much bigger than mine, is it?
'Your teeth are lovely and white and firm-don't bite my tongue. Put your hands just so.' She placed them at the back of her waist. 'Now get right on the bed. That's all the buttons undone, isn't it? Oh! it if stiff. You like just the tickling of my fingers on it, and the caress of my other hand beneath your-your round things-I know it. You can take your hands away from my back and smooth my legs now. Put your fingers on my ankles and feel very gradually up. Yes: take one hand to undo my drawers. Yes; pull them off. Your hands are very strong, but very delicate. Just two fingers on each side of the little patch of hair. I'll open my legs a little wider. Don't kiss my lips, just my cheeks, very softly. I want to talk. All right, I can manage it quite easily with one hand. That's it, isn't it, feel the grip? Now a little farther. On, on, right up now. I can't feel anything but hair between us now. Ah-ah-'
Helena had spent. Lord Reggie had not. It was all so wickedly novel that the spunk was still half-way up his spine.
'You can talk now,' she said roguishly. 'Have I teased you?'
Lord Reggie didn't talk, and he didn't move his body. His hands, which had been upon her shoulders, he moved slowly down her back, and as his fingers travelled slowly down her spine, so the spunk kept pace down his. When his hands gripped the firm little buttocks the cords beneath his balls tightened, his penis swelled as if all the strength in his body was located in that rigid seven inches-and he shot into her. Helena gave one little wriggle, and the act was mutual.
'You little love,' were the first words Lord Reggie spoke.
He had indeed wildly enjoyed himself. This masterful little devil was a new experience. He began to like the idea of the island life.
'Well, you didn't even undress,' she said. 'Suppose you do now, and come back to bed properly. I'm going to have a bath; there's one behind that portiere. Come and have one too, it's a big bath.'
Helena's bedroom was divided by heavy curtains of some Japanese texture ornamented with wild barbaric designs, mostly odd Japanese love scenes in which little brown men and women were frankly copulating in the oddest of attitudes.
The half holding the bed was almost ultra-Parisian in its dernier cri du chic.
The great bed stood in a corner on a dais. One climbed into it by little steps. Immediately at the side of the bed was a great window, so that one could lie and look over the blues and me greens of the skies and sea and hills. Gaudily coloured birds chattered in a fruit tree by the window.
The furniture was not elaborate, but very dainty. A huge cheval glass formed the dominant feature. It was Sheraton. Two dressing-tables, also Sheraton, bore a profusion of toilet necessaries. It was a riot of gold- and silver-topped and jewelled bottles, pots, brushes, and all the charmingly infinite variety of implements of the battery of Venus.
John Tucker himself slept in a camp bed in a small plain room, but he liked to see beauty surrounded with luxury.
The pictures were few and all water-colour. One or two little paintings of Helena, a strong vigorous full-length of John Tucker, and some delicate seascapes and sylvan scenes. Mermaids gambolled in the silver surf, nymphs and satyrs ran naked and unabashed in the glades. Pan played his pipes, Bacchus himself rolled among his familiars, cheerily raising his glass to the little floating cherubims.
The further part of the great bedroom was as severely Roman as the other half was Parisian.