Read The House on Flamingo Cay for Free Online Page B

her eyes and was resting her cheek on her knee when a sudden splashing made her look up. Peter Laszlo was wading in to her.
    “The Americans bore you, Miss Gordon?” he asked, returning her smile.
    “Oh, no! I like them. I—I just felt like coming over here.”
    “May I join you? Or do you prefer to be alone?”
    “Please do,” she said politely.
    He unzippered a waterproof packet in his shorts. “You don’t smoke, I think,” he said, taking out cigarettes. When he had lit up, he sat down in the water beside her.
    It was Sara who broke the silence. “What part of Europe do you come from, Mr. Laszlo?”
    “I was Hungarian,” he said, without expression. “Now, I am what you might call a wanderer.”
    “Oh ... I’m sorry.” Sara wished she had not asked. He turned his head and looked at her with a blend of curiosity and speculation.
    “Why are you sorry, Miss Gordon?” he asked, disconcertingly.
    Sara colored. “Well ... because you’ve lost your country,” she said awkwardly.
    “You do not think that all this—” he made a gesture that encompassed the pale pink beach, the feathery palmettoes and the foam-fringed blue water—“is preferable to a winter in Central Europe?”
    She decided to match his directness. “I don’t know—is it?”
    He shrugged. “I would say there was no question. Here one has all that life can offer.”
    He was looking away from her again, and Sara wondered if he was really as negligent as he appeared.
    “Perhaps the Out Islands have, but I wouldn’t say so of Nassau,” she answered gravely. “All that money can offer, perhaps—but fun in the sun isn’t everything.”
    “No?” His expression was amused. “What else do you require of life, Miss Gordon?”
    “Well ... if I were a man, I should need something to do, some work that interested me.”
    “You think all play and no work is too degenerating, eh?”
    “Just rather boring, I’d say.”
    “I wish I could share your view,” he said wryly. “For me, it is the work which is boring.”
    “What do you do?” she asked.
    Again he shrugged. “I teach the visitors how to water-ski. I have been giving lessons to the little American girl. And you, Miss Gordon—what do you do? I feel sure you are not content with nothing but amusement.”
    The question was an awkward one, since Angela had repeatedly warned her to dodge any enquiries about their life in London. “Nothing very inspired, I’m afraid,” she said, rather lamely. “But, for women, marriage is generally the best career, don’t you think?”
    He gave her another of those long speculative glances, then smiled. “Yes, for you, I think it would be so,” he agreed.
    Sara wasn’t sure how to take this, but she thought it prudent to change the subject.
    “Tell me about water-skiing,” she said. “Is it hard to learn?”
    “That depends on the pupil. It is all a matter of balance. For someone like yourself, who has no fear of the water, perhaps two or three lessons would be necessary. Then it requires only practice before the more ambitious techniques can be mastered. You would like to try it some time?”
    Sara would have liked it very much. Skimming over the sea in the wake of a speeding motor-boat appealed to her. But she doubted if their budget would run to even a few lessons.
    “I doubt if I shall have time. We seem to be fairly booked up,” she said casually. “What I most want to do is to go on a reef-roving trip.”
    “Ah, yes, they are very interesting. Beneath the sea is like another world.” Then, just as she thought the conversation was safely away from personal topics, he said suddenly, “You are very different from your sister, Miss Gordon.”
    Sara smiled. “Yes, I know,” she said drily.
    He laughed. “Oh, I was not thinking of your looks. But I don’t think you mind that you are less beautiful than Miss Angela. You have your own appeal,” he said frankly. “No—it is the difference in temperament that interests