Read The House on Flamingo Cay for Free Online

Angela had made. “Oh, bother—I can’t after all. I’ve got to have lunch on some vast American yacht. What a pity.”
    “You can go another time. The sea floor is there for ever, but the big yachts come and go.”
    “All the same, I’d much rather go down a reef.”
    He got to his feet, his tanned skin bronze in the sunlight. “Time we were getting back or your sister will wonder where you are.” He held out a hand to help her up.
    “I left her a note.” Sara collected her belongings. “I think I’d better change, if you can wait a minute. The hotel may not approve of people in wet suits.”
    “Right. I’ll stroll ahead.”
    It took only a few minutes to dodge behind a palm and peel off the wisps of damp cotton. Sara hoped she would feel less conspicuous in them by the time she had acquired a decent tan.
    When she rejoined him, Stephen was also dressed. He must have pulled his drill slacks over his wet swimming shorts. Somehow she couldn’t imagine him in the formality of a lounge suit.
    “If you want to swim again tomorrow, I’ll be coming over about seven,” he said, when they were in the boat again. “Most people spend half the night in clubs, so the beach isn’t crowded until later.”
    “Thank you very much, for the ferry and for the coffee.”
    “It’s been my pleasure.” His smile had a hint of mockery. “I gather you’ve stifled your qualms about making friends with strange men. Yesterday afternoon you seemed a bit suspicious of me.”
    “It’s always a consideration,” Sara said evenly.
    “What reassured you? My honest face?” he asked, laughing.
    “I suppose I just took the risk,” she answered candidly. “After all, with a lift in a boat, one can always jump over the side and swim for the shore.”
    “I believe you’d do it, too,” he said amusedly. “I’m beginning to think you’re more the Out Islands type. One of these days, when you aren’t booked up with the yachting fraternity, I’ll take you over to my cay and you can practice what they taught you in the Girl Guides.”
    Sara laughed. “I never got further than the Brownies—but I’d love to visit your cay. Does it really belong to you?”
    He nodded. “You could lease one yourself if you wanted to. Providing there’s fresh water, and you don’t mind n diet of fish and lobsters, you could live for practically nothing in a nice little palm-thatch shack.”
    “I wish I could,” Sara said dreamily. “But once my money runs out—” She broke off sharply, her cheeks flaming. In an attempt to cover the slip, she said hurriedly: “It sounds idyllic, but I suppose one can never escape civilization indefinitely. It would be nice to shelve some of the dreary things, but I’m not sure that I could live alone for ever, or without books and music.”
    “Oh, naturally you’d find a mate before you marooned yourself,” he said gravely. “You could take the books and a gramophone with you.”
    “If you think it’s such a good idea, why don’t you stay on your cay all the time?” she asked, smiling. Perhaps he hadn’t heard her gaffe, or, if he had, had not been curious about it.
    Stephen shrugged. “Like you, I’d need a companion. So far, I haven’t found a girl who wants to do the laundry in a creek and cook over a camp fire. They’re a decadent lot. They all seem dependent on washing machines and pressure cookers.”
    They had reached the pier, and this time, after he had swung her up on to the planking, she was able to fasten the mooring line correctly.
    “See you tomorrow, then,” he said, handing up her beach-bag. “Have fun with your affluent Americans.”
    It was five minutes to eight when Sara got back to the bedroom, and Angela was still asleep. It was only as she threw away her scribbled note that Sara remembered Stephen saying something about them getting back before her sister wondered where she was. As she rinsed her swim-suit in the hand-basin, she tried to remember having mentioned