Flamingo Flying South Read online

  From Back Cover…

  Cyprus held bitter-sweet memories for Georgia—memories of a never-to-be-forgotten summer with Justin, whom she had loved but who hadn't wanted her—and it was difficult to resist the opportunity of visiting it again. It was difficult, too, to turn down the possibility of a job looking after the two small children in the care of the unfeeling Agrippa Smith. He was such an unreasonable man and obviously had no idea how to deal with his two precocious youngsters. Georgia soon came to care for the children—and for their father, in spite of his difficult ways. But what about the children's mother? And what about Justin, who chose this moment to come back into her life again, more interested this time …

  Flamingo Flying South

  by

  Joyce Dingwell

  CHAPTER ONE

  All the way back from St. Paul's Pillar, which had been Georgia's final Cyprus offering to her sister-in-law since after tea they left the island for Greece again, Leone had been preoccupied. Even Aphrodite's Rock, rising Dover Cliff-white out of a pastel blue sea, had not left her rap­turous as before, but, smiling sympathetically, Georgia had not resented Leone's abstraction. Frankly, she had not ex­pected that mother hen… tagged fondly, of course… to have lasted this long. She was supremely unsurprised now that the family was calling Leone in a silent but not-to-be-resisted voice.

  'I wonder how John is coping,' Leone fidgeted, missing the damson bloom on the distant Troodos Range, the sight of a donkey carrying as well as his load of aromatic herbs four well tucked in, dark-eyed children. 'I wonder if Adrian is running round in his bathers all day—he will, you know, if you don't watch him. I wonder if—'

  'If Bronwen's nose is sunburned,' came in Georgia, 'if Trevor's toe has been stubbed on the rocks. Darling, do stop worrying! John will be seeing to all that.'

  'Who'… a little chokily from Leone, for Leone was a sentimentalist… 'will be seeing to John?'

  'You. From tonight on.'

  … But who will I be seeing to? Georgia had thought.

  She had not anticipated thinking in such a strain, since for some time now she had schooled herself not to, and, or so she had considered, had graduated with honours. But now there was an odd restlessness in her instead of that imposed acceptance, a less-than-composure in place of her carefully nurtured serenity. Perhaps John had been right and she shouldn't have come back to Cyprus. Yet still, she knew, though it might be just that she had no one pulling her away from it as Leone had, she didn't want to leave.

  Her brother had been astounded when she had told him she intended kidnapping his wife for a week on the island, not astounded at the offer, for he could see, as Georgia could see, that Leone needed a break from the children, but at Georgia's choice.

  'Cyprus?' he had echoed.

  Then: 'Georgia, do you think you should?'

  'Yes. Why not, John? All that is finished, the page turned, nothing left.'

  'It was glorious weather,' recalled her brother… he had been there as well, it was really because of him that Georgia had gone there… 'something like the ambrosial weather this year.' He had paused. 'Georgia, it could turn out a re­minder of another summer. You could be hurt.'

  'No,' she had smiled.

  'Places bring back memories.'

  'Of themselves as well as people in them. I love the island. More important, for Leone, I know it. How much better to take her to somewhere I'm familiar with.'

  'I see your point, but—'

  'John dear, Leone obviously needs a break. This Aegean holiday you're giving your family, and'… appreciatively… 'me as well, is simply wonderful, but so long as there's one of the three offspring around, that girl of yours just won't relax. A week away from them would be fabulous for her.'

  'Agreed, and accepted with thanks. But why not Rhodes? Crete? Even across to Tel Aviv for some night life?'

  'Because I know Cyprus, and I can make it much more interesting.'

  'And—reminding?'

  'You did say you agreed,' John's sister had ignored blandly, 'now all we need is Leone's approval.'

  Leone, at that stage, if still enjoying the Aegean bay that John had booked nonetheless finding a certain harassment in keeping three lively youngsters intact while living only fifty enticing feet from the sea, had eagerly approved. Georgia had no doubts that since then she had enjoyed herself com­pletely, but the children called now, and husband John. She was ready for the Aegean beach resort again, the watching of her wild ones as they romped in the bay, the pouring of sun filter, the bandaging of knees, the running-after with canvas hats. Family, in short. Of which Georgia had none.

  They were nearing Limassol now, the port city with its attractive gardens, its wide sea front hemmed with outdoor restaurants, its gay shops, but this time it was Georgia in­stead of Leone who gazed out and did not see. Georgia was looking back on another summer instead.

  John, in his trade advisory post, had not taken his family with him from Australia for his few months on Cyprus. Munich, was his next, and much longer, assignment, so Leone and children would wait till then. But as Georgia was visiting England anyway that year, why not take time off to see her big brother and to bring a breath of home?

  She had brought it, she hoped, and certainly John had assured her she had.

  … Just as Justin, an English rep this time, had assured her that she had brought him a breath of something just as sweet. A breath of spring, he had smiled.

  Justin Reynolds was not with the same firm as John, but their terms of Cyprus duration were similar.

  'Mostly, for our particular calling,' John had explained to his sister, 'Cyprus comprises only a passing-through, or at the most only a brief seasonal stop.' He had said it significantly, had Georgia only had the sense, as she had it now, to realize what he had been trying to tell her. He had been warning her not to take things seriously… not to take Justin seriously… but she had been eighteen, the summer had been idyllic. And she had fallen in love.

  Justin never had encouraged it, she had to be fair about that, but on the other hand he had met her halfway, and with an eager smile in his bright blue eyes, an electric touch in his fingers. They had gone everywhere together, done every­thing together, that remembered summer on the island, from speedboat racing at turquoise-watered Famagusta to anti­quity searching at Alasia, the Bronze Age city. But finally it had been across at Bellapais, on the island's northern side, that Georgia had known that the celebrated Tree of Idle­ness, under which they had sat for coffee, for her had been instead the Tree of the Moment of Truth.

  She had been chinking the ice in the accompanying glass of water to the small cup of dark sweet brew when she had remarked: 'A nice custom,. Justin. We'll adopt it in our home later.'

  He hadn't said anything, but it was even more clear than if he had. The silence almost had poised there above them Georgia had had the ridiculous idea that if she had reached up she could have taken that silence in her hands and read its label. The label would be: 'Oh, Gigi'… Justin had called her that… 'I never intended this.'

  She had sat on, growing progressively more uncomfort­able, feeling her cheeks grow redder than the pepper berries under which their table was placed. From Bellapais on a clear day you could look to Turkey, but Georgia had averted her head to look out only as far as the Gothic cloisters of the Abbey. Her eyes were filled with hurt tears.

  Justin had been just as kind to her on the way home, but when she had said to him, 'Good-bye, Justin' instead of 'Good night', he had known what she meant. He had put his hand briefly on her shoulder, then left. She hadn't seen him again. John had reported that he had gone on to Athens… then on to…

  'Mostly, for our particular calling, Cyprus comprises only a passing-through, or
at the most only a brief seasonal stop.'

  'Yes, John,' Georgia had confirmed on that second occasion that her brother had told her, 'you said so before.'

  But this time she heard.

  She had lasted out John's term with John, there were only a few weeks left, then returned with him to Sydney. Then her brother had received the Munich post, gathered up his family and left again.

  Georgia had settled back in her job, and it was not for any broken heart that she had not married, she had simply met no one she wanted, and so it was when Leone had written out: 'As a career girl rolling in money, why can't you visit us while we're here?' that she had gone overseas again. John's holidays had coincided, and he had brought the family down to Kassandra Beach, south of Thessaloniki, and from there Georgia and Leone had sneaked off to Cyprus, and this evening would sneak back.

  They were now turning into the street where Georgia had selected their hotel for their Cypriot stop. She had chosen Limassol as the most central city and the Curium as op­posed to any sea-front inn after Leone's mere fifty feet to the bay at Kassandra.

  Once in their hotel room, Leone got busy with her bags, and to conceal a little smile at her eagerness, Georgia went and stood at the window to gaze out. The Limassol Gardens were almost opposite, their trees spilling dark green pools of shade. There was a small zoo and aviary, and into the summer quiet came the drowsy stir of animals and the cool chatter of birds.

  It had been a lovely day, as lovely a summer day as that remembered summer. Irresistibly, Georgia began thinking of more island scenes to which Justin had treated her… small dreaming villages clinging precariously to hillsides with tiers of whitewashed cottages touching their cobbled streets… patchworks of barley and wheat seen from a hill­top whose gentle slopes were silver from olive groves or blurred pink from the first of the almond blossom… castles that seemed to grow out of rock and to touch the sky.

  'I don't want to leave.' The words escaped her.

  'Did you say something, Georgia?' Leone looked up from a case.

  'Yes,' smiled Georgia. 'Would Bronwen like one of those figurines we saw down in St. Andrew Street yesterday?'

  Leone made a helpless gesture. 'You've already been far too generous.'

  'I didn't ask you that, darling.'

  'I know. Then—yes. But you're not going now?'

  'It had better be now. It's fifty miles to Nicosia and the airport, and we'll have to start as soon as we finish tea.'

  'Then don't get lost there,' appealed Leone, who had nearly got lost herself in some of the narrow offshoot lanes and among the dense crowds.

  Tm an old Cypriot, remember,' returned Georgia, and stepping back from the window she took up her shady hat, for St. Andrew Street, was a few summer-hot blocks away.

  'Shall I pack for you?' Leone called as Georgia went out of the door.

  'No… that is… I mean…' As she got into the small lift to descend to the lobby, Georgia wondered why she felt so foolishly uncertain of herself.

  For most certainly she was returning to Thessaloniki with Leone, later returning with the family to Munich, later leav­ing for Australia again. Yet still she felt—unsure.

  No need to hand her key in this time to the clerk at the desk, Leone was still upstairs in their room, but, from habit, Georgia half paused there, and the receptionist, glancing up, said in the perfect English you encountered everywhere here in Cyprus: 'Now, why did I not think of you, Miss Paul?'

  'I beg your pardon?'

  'Our gentleman guest with the two children… of course you would be precisely what he would require.'

  'Bright, intelligent and attractive?' laughed Georgia, joining in the mystery.

  The clerk's dark eyes indicated unmistakably that this could be so, but aloud he indicated factually: 'Australian.'

  'Australian?'

  'On your passport.'

  'But—' Georgia began.

  'You are, aren't you?' he insisted.

  'Why, yes, I am, but then so is Mrs. Paul.'

  'But Mrs. Paul is not Miss Paul, and this gentleman—'

  'With the children, two of them,' Georgia prompted mis­chievously.

  'Certainly with the children, for they are why you would be required, would only accept an unattached person.'

  It's becoming curiouser and curiouser, decided Georgia, but she did not say so aloud; after all, it was asking a little too much to expect the English-speaking Greek clerk to know Alice in Wonderland as well.

  She went out into a leafy avenue, down by the Gardens to Limassol's wide waterfront, past the giant figure advertising the Wine Festival… remembering the summer when Just­in had taken her there… then by the stone sea wall to the teeming shopping area. St. Andrew Street. Most exciting street, she had thought once… Justin beside her… in the world.

  It was still exciting. The street was so narrow, cars liter­ally had to inch through; there were no sidewalks, so it was rendered more canyon-like still from streams of ped­estrians.

  But the shops were fascinating. Sweetmeat shops, cake and pastry shops, shops selling delicate embroidery and ex­quisite lace, shops selling cheap tin trays. Dresses made. Suits made. Boots made. Sheepskin rugs. Leatherware.

  At length she came to the more exclusive shop where yes­terday she and Leone had spent an enchanted hour over lovely silver filigree brooches, intricate gold chains, flawless lapis lazuli fobs and gleaming turquoise pendants. The figurine that had appealed to Leone as a gift for Bronwen was in the furthest display, and Georgia edged past many chattering groups of shoppers, for the store was popular with tourists, to mull again over the small china people, so faithfully moulded and finely presented, in their brightly-lit corner shelf.

  The shepherdess with the lamb in her arms had appealed to Leone, but the child with the ball, considered Georgia thoughtfully, might appeal more to her young daughter. Then there was the boy playing the pipes; a small, dimply moulded but quite exquisite donkey, very typical, she de­cided, of Cyprus; a china bell-wether you could well im­agine taking his rightful lead, his little neck bell ready to chime, in front of the flock. A small exquisite Jesus in tender blue porcelain.

  '… So if you could help me…'

  The voice cut clearly into Georgia's enjoyable mulling, but it had not, she saw at once, been directed at her.

  It had come from a man, a tall man, rather too tall and too broad-shouldered for a place of fine things like this. He must still have been addressing the group of women he had been speaking with previously, for his words came at the end of what he had had to say.

  '… So if you could help me…' he appealed to them.

  The group, all in holiday spirit, were obviously eager to help him. In the desultory way you listen, or at least words reach you, Georgia gathered that two gifts were required for two children, boys, but if such a thing was possible in a store like this, a more tough, or a more manly, gift was called for.

  'Because these two, I'm afraid, have been outrageously hothoused, and I want them to begin to face up.'

  The tourists were an all-American contingent, deduced Georgia from their voices, which was a little surprising, since Cyprus was not so much patronized by the States. But Georgia learned, as she still considered the shepherdess, that they had crossed from Jerusalem for a taste of the Medi­terranean, and since they all came from Wyoming, the in­quirer must have known he would get a good answer from a Westerner, where men were tall and tough and very male. Or so they assured him, and laughed.

  As they argued amicably between themselves on the pros and cons of plaited crops, wallets, leather camels, other male-slanted gifts, Georgia came back to the delicate figurines, feeling rather incensed.; Although she had not chosen anything china for Adrian or Trevor… heaven forbid!… she still liked to think they could appreciate it without being tagged 'outrageously hothoused'. She had no time for parents who only concentrated on the tough side, or so they strove for, of boys. Still fingering the shepherdess, she heard one of the American ladies
ask the man the boys' ages.

  'Six and seven.'—Georgia tried to work out the man's accent, but failed. But she did not fail to stiffen. Six and seven, yet expected to be tough. Poor babies!

  There was one of those sudden lulls that busy places oc­casionally stage. In it, and to her horror, not so much for the expense, for it was not such a dear piece, as for her extreme embarrassment, in her resentful stiffness Georgia suddenly dropped the shepherdess. She was bending over the shat­tered pieces when the man… the one with the tough sons-to-be, or so he hoped… came forward, and, edging her aside, brushed the fragments into a handkerchief where they could do her no injury.

  'Thank you.' Georgia said it sparsely, but at once the brown head shot up. The man looked sharply at her.

  'Not American?'

  'No.'

  He waited very obviously for more than that, but Georgia said no more. Pushing past him, she signalled the attendant across.

  'Unfortunately I've—'

  'It is quite all right, madam,' the attendant assured her.

  'But I've broken it.'

  'It is all right.'

  'I'm sure this is not your usual procedure,' protested Georgia.

  'If Madam will select her figurine—'

  'I had selected that one, but then I broke it. If you'll take a cheque—'

  'I have told Madam it is all right.'

  'It's also wise to make sure you have your cheques before you offer one,' the voice she had not been able to identify suggested dryly. The man, upright again now, handed back the travellers' cheques she must have dropped when she had mishandled the figurine—with it her passport, her hotel receipt.

  'Thank you.' It was inadequate, but she could think of nothing more. Annoyed at her clumsiness, angry at the fact that in that short time he could have noted her name, nationality, everything else about her, she stopped arguing with the attendant, whom she could see she would not influence, anyway, so she pushed her way past the crowds again, then once more emerged to St. Andrew Street.

  She had not gone far, for in St. Andrew you could not hurry even if you wished to, when a taxi, inching along as all the cars were forced to inch, pulled up.