Chapter 29: Tamango!

Friday Night

"Go on, Doc Martin," said a familiar voice. "Drink up."

A woman had appeared at his side. Long blonde hair cascaded down her back. She was clad in just a bikini top adorned with strategically positioned oversized scallop shells, and a long figure hugging skirt of some shimmering green material that suggested a fishtail. Bright blue eyes peered at him from an emerald green mask. She smiled at him predatorily.

"I knew it was you. I'm not fooled by masks. You wear that bespoke suit like armour and you have a distinctive way of carryin' yourself, Dr. Ellingham." She looked at the cup in his hand and smiled a crooked, sneering smile. "It's good, isn't it? It's best if you toss it down in one shot."

The woman seemed so familiar but he couldn't place her, distracted as he suddenly was by noticing the mostly bare expanse of skin from her shoulders down to her hips was dusted with glitter that enhanced her curves most appealingly. The warmth from the drink spread to his elbows and the tingling sensation had reached his knees, making them feel wobbly.

"You're responsible for all this, aren't you," he said, still unable to guess her identity.

"It's my own recipe. Years ago I worked in a bar in Turin that was famous for a drink called tamango. It has a reputation for inducin' hallucinations, but that's a myth. It merely causes feelings of euphoria and a desire to dance in those who dare try it. It's a blend of tamarind and mango with a mix of some African plants and roots. The recipe's a closely guarded secret but I got the son of the bar owner to spill the beans and I've been experimentin' with a few variations on it ever since. My own secret…"

She leaned in closer to him, her voice low and husky.

"…is a rare hybrid of valerian that only grows in Cornwall. Legend says an elixir of Cornish valerian was the potion that caused Tristan and Isolde to fall hopelessly in love. I've come up with a modern version of it, a genuine love potion that could make me a fortune. This is my first big test of it, and this is the perfect place for a test, people wearin' masks have their defences lowered already. A real success, wouldn't you say?"

Martin looked around. The dancing was getting more lascivious, and a number of couples had retreated to darker corners of the tent. A few pairs of feet could even be seen poking out from under tables. However, some people were running out of steam and slumping down on tables or curling up on the dance floor. He looked back at the mermaid and it clicked.

"Ms. Mylow. You've slipped all these people an untested, experimental drug out of a desire to make money?"

"Money! Well, that's really just a trivial reason," she sneered. "The real reason for the test, well, you must have some notion, haven't you… Martin? I knew you'd never come to a party like this on your own. I got that fool of a constable to lure you down here. I reckoned you'd be worried your own object of affection would be caught up in all this."

Martin suppressed a feeling of panic. Had Mylow's sister poisoned Louisa? Distractingly, the warmth had reached his shoulders and the tingling had risen to his thighs. "My own object of affection?" he asked.

"The old hag from the chemist's. Sally Tishell. Don't know what you see in her."

"Mrs. Tishell?" Now Martin was really confused. "Don't be ridiculous."

"When I had my practice in the village she was always goin' on about how you two were soul mates."

Now it was Martin's turn to sneer. "I don't care what she said, there's absolutely nothing between her and me."

"All the better then, innit," the mermaid said.

"All the better for what?"

She reached out and touched his tie, stroking the material as if enjoying the feel of the silk fabric. "To get to know you better, of course."

"Thirty seconds to midnight!" the band leader announced over the music.

Martin started to back away but she grasped the tie and pulled him closer to her, into the shadows, running her fingers through his close cropped hair. The warmth was rising through his neck and his head began to feel foggy. The tingling moving up his legs had reached a crucial spot and the situation began to overwhelm him.

"Your hair is so soft, nothing like your bristly personality," she crooned. "And look how those ears blush pink with embarrassment. We've had our differences haven't we, but that's what causes the sparks to fly. I know you feel it too. You with your conventional suits and conventional life and conventional medicine, you're the soul of uptight Englishness. I'm the free spirit of nature and wild Cornishness. We're yin and yang, the opposites that inevitably attract. I've been wantin' to unknot that tie, peel off that jacket, and strip away your defences since I first saw you. Go on, drink the tamango. And we'll tango!"

"Twenty seconds!"

"Everyone kisses at midnight, then the masks come off to reveal who's paired up with who," she said.

"Fifteen seconds!" The music stopped. The crowd began to part. More people were slumping down as if exhausted, but plenty were still on their feet and carrying on.

The band struck up an electric guitar version of the Westminster chimes. The dance floor was now clear right beneath the mirror ball except for two figures, clad in blue velvet with gold trim and bejewelled Venetian masks, like a prince and princess from a fairy tale.

The strobe light came on again, pulsing along with the electric guitar notes counting down the seconds and the crowd's chant: "Ten! Nine! Eight! Seven! Six!"

The fairy tale couple ignored the chanting. They had their arms about each other as if dancing a silent tango, glittering flecks of light raining down on them from the mirror ball. Under the power of the flashing strobe they no longer moved smoothly or continuously but in dramatic illuminated still frames. With each pulse, they were drawing closer to each other… closer.

"Five! Four!"

With a mighty effort, Martin pulled away from Sandra Mylow's embrace and went toward the couple, feeling as if he were swimming against a tide, powerless, but determined to stop their kiss somehow nonetheless.

"Three! Two!"

The crowd was poised to shout out the final stroke of midnight. Then the roar of a rocket cut them short. Martin knew that sound. The Lifeboat signal!

To be continued…

Note: The tragic love story between the Cornish knight Tristan and the Irish princess Isolde is part of Cornish legend.