Dancing on Coral by Glenda Adams

Author:Glenda Adams [Adams, Glenda]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: FIC000000, FIC004000
ISBN: 9781922148186
Publisher: The Text Publishing Company
Published: 2013-06-26T04:00:00+00:00

Paul vaulted up the ladder and came to Lark’s side.

“She’s not in her cabin,” he said. “I’ve looked everywhere.’’ He was distraught.

“Her visor was in the dining room,” said Lark, not able to look at him.

“She is nowhere,” said Paul. “I think she has been left behind.”

Lark joined him in the search, going to Donna Bird’s cabin, walking through her sitting room into the sleeping alcove and bathroom, as if Paul might have overlooked her and Donna would be found crouched in a corner. Donna Bird’s bright green fountain pen was on her table. Her visor and fan were next to it, presumably placed there by Paul, and next to them the flowers in a jar and the lamp filled with fuel and ready to light the evening meal.

They combed the deck, looking in the lifeboats and behind coils of rope.

“Damn,” said Paul.

They went to see the Captain.

“She went to look for you,” said the Captain to Lark. “We would soon leave. It was late, half twelve, and we were ready. She was good and went to find you.”

“But her sun visor was here?” whispered Lark, imagining that Donna Bird was still capable of turning up. The whole crew was now searching for her.

“She left the ship,” said the Captain. “She said not to worry, she knew where to find you. You say she is back, so we sail.”

They were now several hours away from the island. The Captain radioed Mr. Weiss on the island and eventually received the reply that Donna Bird had been found and was staying in one of the villages. After conferring with Mr. Fischer, the Captain decided, reluctantly it appeared, that he could not go back for her. She was to wait for another ship or for some little boat going to one of the bigger islands for supplies. “Native boats are always going there. And she is her father’s daughter. She will have ideas of her own. But what will I tell him?”

“She could be there for months,” Paul said to Lark. He was distressed. “I should have seen that she was not here. I can’t stand her, but I wouldn’t have wished her left behind, would you?

And Lark felt guiltier than ever.

At dinner, after the ritual scraping of chairs and leaping up by the men when Lark entered, silence prevailed until Lark asked the Captain, “What is in the box you took on board?”

Paul Crouch lounged morosely in the doorway.

The Captain, who was eating, looking at his plate, lifted his head briefly.

“What do you guess is in it?”

“A—a body? It looked heavy enough.” Lark attempted to smile, to indicate levity, trying to keep the fear and trembling out of her voice. “Like the one taken on board in Sydney.”

“Ah, yes, a coffin, of course. Why not a sarcophagus? A man in a sarcophagus, a heavy sarcophagus.” The Captain winked at Mr. Fischer, but without smiling. “The lady makes good jokes.”

“A German man in a heavy sarcophagus,” said Mr. Fischer.

“A heavy German man in a heavy sarcophagus,” said Mr.

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