Moonflower Madness (8 page)

‘Yes, I left a letter …'

Zachary Cartwright swore again, savagely. ‘You'd think if the man had an iota of commonsense he would have caught up with her before she even left the city. As it is, with luck we'll meet up with whoever he's sent after her and not have to return every step of the way to Chung King.'

‘I'm not going back,' Gianetta said defiantly.

‘You damned well are!' Zachary Cartwright thundered.

‘Does she have to?' Lord Rendlesham asked pleasantly.

Zachary Cartwright wheeled on him. ‘Of course she has to. You heard what I said to her a few minutes ago. Unless she's returned, our personal reputations will be ruined both here
and
in England. She can't be a day over seventeen …'

‘Eighteen,' Gianetta corrected.

‘… and she's the Consul's niece,' Zachary continued, taking no notice of her interruption. ‘Can you imagine the hue and cry she's left behind her?'

‘As I am only the Consul's niece and not his daughter, and as he's always found me an inconvenience to take care of, he might not much mind that I've decided to live an independent life,' Gianetta said practically.

A smile quirked the corners of Lord Rendlesham's well-shaped mouth. ‘I cannot imagine you being an inconvenience to anyone,' he said gallantly. ‘You are obviously very tired. Don't let Zac bully you any more. We can discuss your return to Chung King later. For the moment you need a rest and something to eat. We were just about to have some lemon chicken,' and he took her gently by the arm and led her away from Zachary Cartwright and towards the fire.

The Chinese, who had been staring wide-eyed at the altercation between the two European gentlemen and the English missy bizarrely garbed in Chinese dress, hurriedly resumed their culinary duties.

‘Thank you very much, Lord Rendlesham,' Gianetta said, her heart beginning to beat a little less furiously. ‘There really is no need for me to be returned to Chung King. If you would just let me explain …'

‘You can't keep calling me Lord Rendlesham, out here in the wilds of nowhere,' he said, smiling down at her, the corners of his eyes crinkling attractively. ‘My name is Charles.'

She found herself smiling back at him. ‘If we are to be so informal, then you must use my Christian name also.'

‘Gianetta is a very pretty name,' he said, sitting her down in the canvas chair that Zachary Cartwright had been sitting in when she had ridden up to them. ‘Is it Italian?'

She nodded. ‘Yes, my mother came from Florence, though when I was a child we lived further north. On the shores of Lake Garda.'

‘And are your parents still there?' he enquired, fetching another collapsible chair and setting it down alongside hers.

‘No,' she said, looking with interest at the plant-collecting box that lay on the ground at the side of her chair and the notebook, covered with strong, bold handwriting, that Zachary Cartwright had thrown down on her approach. Lord Rendlesham waited expectantly. ‘They're both dead,' she said briefly, and did not see the slight lift of Zachary Cartwright's brows as he looked across at her, an indefinable expression in his near-black eyes.

She rose to her feet suddenly. ‘I'm sorry, Lord Rendlesham … Charles. I can't sit down and eat yet. Ben will be tired, too, and I haven't seen to him yet.'

‘Ben?' He stood up with her, looking puzzled. ‘I thought you had ridden here alone?'

‘My pony,' she said with a tired smile. ‘I don't know what his real name is, but I've christened him Ben and he's quite, quite wonderful.'

She walked out of the circle of firelight and across to where Ben was standing, still saddled and patient.

‘There's nice grass for you, and fresh water,' she said, patting him lovingly. ‘And tonight we'll both have some company. It won't be as frightening as last night was.'

‘I'll take his saddle off for you,' Zachary Cartwright's deep, dark voice said from behind her. ‘Those
miao-tse
saddles are heavy.'

She whipped her head round, hoping that he hadn't overheard her admission of fear.

‘I can manage,' she said stiffly. ‘I've managed quite well for two days now.'

He took no notice of her, unsaddling Ben and slackening his bit, unbuckling an end of the rein and tying it to a nearby sapling so that he could graze.

‘If you have, you've been lucky,' he said curtly. ‘China isn't a country where it's safe for anyone to travel alone, not even a Chinese.'

‘I think you're wrong,' she said coldly, trying not to remember the gang of beggars in Fu-tu Kwan who had almost pulled her from Ben's back. ‘The Chinese are just as courteous and hospitable as anyone else.'

His brow quirked and she looked away from him swiftly, hating the discomfiture he aroused in her.

‘I quite agree with you that they are an amazingly courteous nation. They quite often carry hospitality to incredible lengths, but realities have to be faced and the reality is that the countryside is vast, poverty-stricken and infested with beggars and brigands.'

What he was saying was true, but she had no intention of admitting it. Picking up the quilted cloth that had been on the saddle, she began to rub Ben down. He watched her silently for a minute or two and then said, his voice oddly gentle, ‘You have to go back, you know.'

Her fingers tightened on the cloth. ‘I do
not
have to go back,' she said fiercely, keeping her back to him. ‘If I go back I shall be sent to England and in England I shall have to live in a mausoleum of a house with no-one for company but servants.'

‘Is that where you lived before you came to China?' he asked, and there was genuine interest in his voice.

‘Yes.' She continued rubbing Ben down. ‘My aunt always travels with my uncle, and until a few months ago it was customary for Serena to remain in England in the care of her governess. When my parents died I was obliged to join her.' She paused for a moment, stroking Ben's neck, saying with touching candour, ‘Serena never minded the arrangement very much because she has never been used to anything else, but I hated it. The house is in Lincolnshire,' she added, as if it explained everything.

Zachary Cartwright's unsmiling mouth twitched suspiciously at the corners. ‘Yes,' he said sympathetically. ‘Lincolnshire must have been rather dull after Lake Garda.'

All through their conversation she had had her back towards him. She was just about to turn to him and tell him confidingly how
extremely
dull Lincolnshire had been after Lake Garda, when she remembered to whom she was talking. Her chin lifted defiantly. ‘And so you see, Mr Cartwright, I shall
not
return to Chung King or to England. I am going to Kansu.'

The moment of near-camaraderie was lost. His mouth hardened. ‘Not with me, you aren't,' he said with all his old fury.

She swung around to him, facing him fully, refusing to be intimidated by his almost overpowering masculinity. ‘You are not the only member of the expedition to Kansu, Mr Cartwright. Lord Rendlesham may very well have other ideas.'

The fire was some distance from them but, in the flickering light that it gave, her small high breasts were clearly defined beneath her jacket and her softly rounded hips were anything but male in the frugally cut Chinese trousers.

‘Yes, and I can imagine what some of them are,' he said darkly. ‘You are returning to Chung King tomorrow. I'm going to take you there myself.'

Her eyes flashed furiously. ‘We'll see about that,' she said between clenched teeth, striding past him and back towards the circle of fire and Lord Rendlesham. She placed herself firmly in front of him.

‘Lord Rendlesham … Charles … I am formally asking you that I may be allowed to join your expedition to Kansu. I can be very useful.' She tried desperately to think in what way she could be useful. ‘I can help find flowers. I've already found one that I've never seen before. It's in my saddle-bag. I can paint the flowers that we see. I am a very good and accurate artist. I can …'

Charles raised a hand protestingly. ‘Please, Gianetta. I am sure that you could be very useful indeed, but the decision is not mine to make.'

She looked at him blankly and he said apologetically, ‘The expedition is not
my
expedition, Gianetta. It's Zac's. I am merely an invited amateur. I can make no decisions as to who may join us, or where we are to go. All those decisions are Zac's.'

‘So you see, Miss Hollis,' a dark, smugly satisfied voice said from behind her. ‘You
will
be returning to Chung King after all.'

‘She dug her nails into the palms of her hands and lifted her head a fraction higher. ‘At least you can have a look at the flower that I brought with me,' she said, still speaking to Charles. ‘It's very pretty.' Her voice was suspiciously thick. ‘I've never seen one like it before,' and she turned away from him, running into the concealing darkness towards Ben and her saddle-bag.

Neither man attempted to follow her and it was several minutes before she returned. When she did so her eyes were overly bright, but her voice was once again normal. She handed the cutting she had taken to Charles. ‘Have you any idea what it is?'

He took it from her and to her relief did not laugh. ‘I'm not sure. It looks a little like a potentilla. What do you think, Zac?'

Zachary Cartwright lifted the cutting from the damp handkerchief around its stem and laid it flat on the palm of his hand. ‘It's a Potentilla Veitchii'he said with sharp interest. ‘Where did you find it? Where there many of them?'

She shook her head, disappointed that he had known immediately what it was and that it was obviously very common. ‘It was growing near the river where I camped last night. There was only one bush. I didn't see any others.'

‘You should have had the sense to take a root cutting …' he began angrily.

She had had enough of his anger and his comtempt. ‘Why should I?' she flared, interrupting him. ‘I'm not a member of your expedition, as you have so rightly pointed out. And if it's only a common old Potentilla Veitchii, what does it matter?'

‘Potentilla Veitchii isn't common,' he snapped back at her. ‘It's usually to be found in the far west, on the border with Burma. I've never come across it so far east before.'

She forgot her fury at his bad temper and her crushing disappointment at having to return to Chung King. ‘Really?' she said, her face brightening. ‘You mean I've actually found something interesting? Something rare?'

‘Yes, which makes your negligence in not taking a root cutting, and not knowing exactly where you found it, even more reprehensible.'

‘I can draw the cutting for you,' she said, refusing to be browbeaten. ‘Do you have pencils and a sketch-book?'

‘We're a scientific expedition,' he retorted. ‘Of course we have pencils and a sketchbook.'

In the light from the leaping flames, with his thick black hair tumbling low over his brow and his winged brows drawn together demonically, he looked so like a storybook picture of Lucifer that she burst out laughing.

‘What is so funny?' he asked, startled.

‘You are,' she said, still laughing. ‘You look exactly like Lucifer!'

Charles hooted with laughter. ‘She's right, Zac. I can't imagine why I never saw the likeness before,' he took Gianetta's arm. ‘Come on. Stop wrangling with Zac and let's eat. I'm starving.'

As he propelled Gianetta once more towards one of the canvas chairs he said, still smiling, ‘You know, I've finally realised why you and Zac are like cat and dog. Seeing the two of you there together, you looked exactly like brother and sister. You have the same kind of hair, so black it's almost blue, and there's something else similar about the two of you that I can't quite put my finger on. Whatever it is, it explains a lot. People who look alike
never
get on and brothers and sisters certainly don't. I fight like the very devil with mine.'

Gianetta didn't see how she could take being likened to Zachary Cartwright as a compliment, but Charles obviously didn't mean to be insulting and she said a little stiffly, ‘It isn't always true that it is opposites that attract. Serena has just become engaged to Henry Plaxtol and both he and Serena are very alike, especially in their tastes.'

This time it was Charles'turn to quirk an eyebrow. ‘Has she indeed? That will take the wind from Zac's sails. He was quite bowled over by her and looking forward to seeing her again.'

She had known that Zachary Cartwright had been much taken with Serena, but it hadn't occured to her that he had intended pursuing his interest. The knowledge gave her an uncomfortable sensation that she couldn't identify. It was almost as if a fist had been slammed hard into her solar plexus. She said crisply, ‘Mr Cartwright isn't at all the sort of man to appeal to Serena. She is very gentle and placid; he would terrify her half to death.'

Charles laughed. ‘Yes, he would. He terrifies me half to death and I've known him all my life.'

The Chinese had begun to serve the chicken. Zachary Cartwright was sitting on the ground, his legs crossed Indian fashion, and as he was well within earshot she decided not to ask Charles how it was that he had known Zachary Cartwright for so long.

The chicken was tender, deliciously flavoured and very welcome after her tedious diet of bread and cheese. Even though Zachary Cartwright was still adamant that she couldn't remain with them, there was an atmosphere of camaraderie that evening, as they sat around the fire, that Gianetta was never to forget. When the dinner had been eaten and the dishes cleared away, Zachary had picked up his discarded notepad and, still sitting Indian-fashion on the ground, had continued to write up his notes, including the details of her potentilla.

Charles had put the cutting into a little jar of water and placed it on the small, collapsible table. Gianetta had begun to sketch it, noting every tiny detail of the stem and leaves and promising that in the morning she would draw another, when the petals were open. Charles had sat at her side while she had worked, chatting about how much he had enjoyed the voyage up the Yang-tze, through the Ichang gorge, and of how he was hoping that they would not only reach the border of Tibet, but actually cross over and into it.