Sea Gem (15 page)

‘You’re talking riddles, Tante!’

‘I suppose I am but you see, down through the generations, the Penford women have been the remarkable ones. Three of them lived to ninety years and they were ruthless when the need arose.
From what I learned as a child from my father, they killed too for the family name—and got away with it.’

‘No!’

Tante nodded vigorously. ‘While in the men there has always been an evil strain which comes out unexpectedly in a generation. I think Christine must have been a breeding
mongrel.’

‘What about these Penford women and men? Who were they?’

‘Let me see. There was Emma who died when she was ninety. She was my great, great, great grandmother and never married. I don’t know exactly why. The male Penford who tried to blight
her life was Philip, who was an offshoot. Before Emma there was Anne who also lived to ninety years. From stories handed down she was a very tough character and the bad Penford blood there was her
own son who murdered his father.’

‘What!’

‘Before Anne there was Sarah who also died at ninety. There are family tales that she was some kind of spy in the civil wars. What I’m driving at is that some of the Penford females
are matriarchal and live to a great age but they have to carry the honour of the family on their shoulders and quite alone. While the evil Penford men do their best to wreck this.’ Tante
paused to catch her breath and eye Mary sharply.

She returned the look. ‘Are you hinting about my son?’ she asked flatly.

‘Yes!’ was Tante’s blunt reply. ‘I know it sounds madness but from the moment I looked down on William on the day he was born, I felt something uneasy just here,’
and she touched her heart.

Mary compressed her lips and averted her gaze. She gave a deep sigh before turning back to her companion.

‘I didn’t want to nurse him,’ Mary admitted slowly. ‘I felt as if I’d like to send him back somewhere but he’s here and my son. I must admit I cannot feel for
him like I do for Margaret. There is something about him which bothers me. It’s ridiculous to have this feeling for a small child. Yet—’ She halted uncertainly.

‘It’s instinct,’ Tante told her bluntly. ‘I think you’ve bred a bad one in William. You’ll always have to watch him. You should have another child or perhaps
even two more so—’

‘No!’ Mary said sharply.

Tante heard vehemence in her tone and she cocked her head aside slightly. ‘Aren’t things all right with you and Duret?’

Mary’s shoulders slumped miserably. ‘We don’t row, if that’s what you mean,’ she admitted, ‘but there is some void now. All Duret thinks about is that poetry
of his and since he had two poems published, he’s worse. He does nothing but moon about the place. I sometimes wonder just how much work he does in the glasshouses. Is Raoul carrying him? I
feel at times as if I have to be both parents at once and it’s not fair,’ she said hotly.

Tante was appalled. ‘What do you intend to do?’ Louise asked quietly. She had not guessed matters had reached this stage.

‘Do? Do? What can I do?’ Mary cried with frustration. ‘I’d like to give Duret a kick up the arse,’ she said crudely. ‘He exasperates me beyond all
patience!’

Tante was deeply shocked. This situation was far worse than she had envisaged when she had set out to have a quiet talk with Mary about the children.

‘I suppose all I can do is hide my feelings and try to be extra loving to William,’ Mary mused heavily.

‘What about Duret though?’ Louise asked with worry. ‘Have you talked to him and told him your feelings?’

Mary threw her a look. ‘I can’t be bothered,’ she explained. ‘Anyhow, it would be like talking to a brick wall if Duret is in one of his moods.’

‘Does he still have those nightmares?’

Mary shook her head. ‘Only occasionally now. He seems to have grown out of them with the doctor’s pills but sometimes—’ She paused uneasily.

‘Sometimes what?’

‘He looks at me queerly,’ Mary explained. ‘It’s as if he wonders who I am and what I’m doing in the house,’ she replied then looked at the old lady sharply.
‘I don’t think Duret is all there.’

‘You mean—he is mentally sick?’

Mary nodded. For a few moments the silence hung heavily and Louise’s round shoulders slumped unhappily. She realised Mary had put into blunt words what she had long suspected and about
which she had never allowed herself to think too much. It hit her that perhaps she had done Mary a grievous wrong all those years ago. Although she did not get out much there was little she missed
on the island through contacts. What if Mary had married Victor le Page? It seemed the Penford blood ran strong and true in him, even if he had come from the wrong side of the blanket. She wondered
if Mary knew the extent of her earlier plotting? She muttered to herself and remembered Sam’s words about meddling. With a grunt, she forced herself to sit straight.

‘Part of your trouble, girl, is you’re spending too much time in this house instead of getting out and about. Gwen looks after the children. Emily sees to the house. You must get the
book work done in the mornings. When did you last go on your cycle? It’s high time you wandered again!’ she stated flatly.

Mary looked out of the window. She could hear Margaret’s laugh and a squeal from William. Fortunately the two of them played well together but whether this would last as William grew was a
moot point. If she did have a third child, would this help the situation? The thought of letting Duret make love to her again stuck in her throat.

‘You’re right!’ she said with sudden briskness. ‘And there’s no time like the present. I’ll walk you back to your cottage, pump up my tyres and go out for a
spin.’

‘I’m capable of walking myself back, thank you. I’m not decrepit yet!’ Louise told her tartly. ‘Anyhow, I want to have a chat with Emily and Sam. You get yourself
out, Mary and blow some of this house’s cobwebs away from your mind.’

* * *

Mary pedalled briskly, breathing deeply. The air carried the salty tang from the sea and, with the sun overhead, she realised Louise had been right. She had spent too much time
indoors.

The tide was coming in but there was only the gentlest of winds and the waves were barely more than a ripple. She looked at the sea. The many sharp, black rocks were already hidden and this
never ceased to awe her. How many unwary ships in the past must have come to grief on this treacherous coastline? Who would think that under the sea lurked death?

She cycled on, then decided to turn inland and travel though the high-hedged country lanes. They were exceedingly narrow but gave tranquillity and Mary admitted Tante was correct. Too much time
spent indoors brooding about her husband was bad for morale. As to William, she had already made up her mind about him. If he was the recipient of the notorious male Penford bad blood, it would be
up to her to guide him down the straight and narrow path of respectability and common sense. Any child could be trained though she guessed this might well stretch her patience to the limit. Perhaps
rubbing shoulders with Margaret would help because upon Duret she knew she could not rely.

She topped a rise, then let her legs rest as the cycle began to freewheel with gathering speed.

The lane’s surface was rough and her tyres jolted but she laughed; this was great fun. Suddenly, approaching the next corner, her ears heard an ominous sound. Frantically she applied her
brakes but she was going much too fast. The cycle flew around the corner, heading straight at the car. In wild panic Mary jerked her handlebars to one side, grimaced and closed her eyes in
fright.

The cycle clipped the car’s wing, veered right off course and Mary shot from the saddle. She flew through the air and landed heavily against the hedge bottom while the cycle crashed in a
grating tangle of noise.

Mary landed with all the breath knocked from her lungs. She struggled to breathe, conscious some nettles had stung her leg where her skirt had ridden up. She lay still for a few seconds,
striving to regain her wits while her eyes registered a shocked beetle two inches from her nose.

Frantically she struggled to sit up. She quickly realised nothing was broken but was acutely aware she must look an awful sight for all the world to see. Her knickers showed clearly and a
man’s laugh rang through the air.

‘Well!’ he guffawed. ‘At last I can see your lovely bottom!’

Mary screwed her head around, cheeks a vivid red with embarrassment. Victor le Page stood with hands on his hips, face creased in amusement as he realised she was unhurt. Her eyes took in a
debonair jacket and grey trousers with shoes to match and a crisp, white shirt, open at the neck.

‘Don’t just stand there like an idiot!’ she shouted. ‘Help me up!’

‘Temper! Temper!’ he teased. ‘Where is the calm maturity which comes with motherhood?’

Mary scrabbled wildly, trying to regain her feet and pull her skirt down at the same time. Tears of humiliation and rage showed.

‘You have lovely legs, Catherine!’

‘Don’t call me that!’ she raged. ‘I’m Madam Noyen to you!’

‘Tut-tut!’ he rebuked. ‘Show manners or I’ll not help!’

‘Oh! Damn your eyes, Victor le Page!’

He grinned down at her, enjoying this unexpected situation. Her face was poppy coloured from hairline to neck. Every hair bristled with fury and he let his eyes slide down her lower half.
Despite all his hard work, Victor had never been able to forget her. His deep hurt and anguish at her marriage, had evaporated, yet jealousy was never far away whenever he saw Duret Noyen. Some
days he itched to attack him and seize what was really his.

Never had Mary looked more desirable and he felt himself harden with natural desire. He extended his hand and unceremoniously hauled her upright, then pulled her into his arms. He knew he would
never have a better chance. Certainly Nicole was incapable of arousing him like this.

‘Let me go!’ Mary spat at him.

He bent his head and kissed her ferociously, ramming his erection against her body then he pulled back, his eyes wild and glowing with intensity.

Mary churned with wrath and humiliation, yet his lips crammed against hers stilled immediate resistance. When she opened her mouth, his tongue probed impatiently. With a sharp stab from her
conscience she tried to jerk free but his arms were iron bands.

With a violent contortion, she wriggled, brought one shod foot down on his, kicked his ankle and, as he winced, jerked upwards to knee him in the groin. Another backwards leap freed her.

‘You miserable, uncouth, ill bred, degenerate boor!’ she spat at him.

‘Why you hell cat! It’s time a real man tamed you!’

‘Only a madman would drive through these lanes so fast. You shouldn’t bring a car along them in the first place!’ she yelled. ‘Look what you’ve done to my
cycle.’

‘There’s nothing wrong with it that a bit of paint won’t put right!’ he bellowed back with frustration.

‘Get out of my way! I’m going home!’ Mary shouted at him, bending to lift the cycle erect, prop it against the hedge and examine it.

‘You’re going nowhere until I’ve made you mine!’ he growled and grabbed her again.

‘Let me go or I’ll scream and scream!’

‘Go ahead! There’s no one around to hear you! It’s uninhabited!’

Without further ceremony, he pulled her back to his car, fumbled for the rear door and tumbled her inside. Mary kicked and bit savagely, aware she was weak against his powerful strength. This
was no compliant Duret. There was a look on Victor’s face which chilled her blood.

‘Victor—don’t!’

He slammed the door shut and, halting momentarily in his car’s large bench seat, looked down at her then, one hand holding her face steady, he kissed her again while the other commenced a
deliberate exploration. Mary wriggled and struggled to bite him, her lips were imprisoned while suddenly, unexpectedly, his skilful fingers sent electric shocks through her system.

‘Victor—’ She tried again but his lips silenced her while a hand skilfully stripped her knickers away with a savage jerk.

Mary stilled. She had never experienced anything like the feelings which surged through her body as it responded to his foreplay. She held her breath, lay still and looked into his eyes as he
paused from kissing.

‘I want you, Mary. I must have you! By God! I’m only flesh and blood!’

‘Victor!’ she whispered, memorised by him now and her hands met behind his strong neck.

He eased his clothing aside, then turned on to her but now he played her body as if a fine instrument. His fingers caressed and stroked, lifted her up then dropped her down until he felt her
quivering with anticipation. Only then did he enter, taking his time, anxious to please her, keen to demonstrate his masculine superiority.

Time stood still for Mary. She knew perfectly well she could have resisted and escaped to freedom but their coming together at long last was like something preordained. It was so good, so right
and had been so delayed.

‘Victor!’ she murmured.

‘Mary!’ he crooned back.

They climaxed together and their let-down afterwards was slow and gentle. Sweat streamed from his face as he half sat, worried his weight might be too much.

‘My sweet, wild sea witch of Sarnia,’ he whispered. ‘Why has it taken so long? I love you. Only you,’ he whispered and stroked a cheek.

‘Oh Victor!’ she murmured. ‘I should never have married Duret.’

‘Divorce him,’ he said quickly. ‘I’ll divorce Nicole and we’ll leave the island.’

She was sorely tempted but slowly shook her head. ‘The children,’ she said with a catch in her voice. ‘They would be the sufferers. We can’t do that. Anyhow, on what
grounds could either of us get a divorce when we are the guilty parties?’

‘Let’s just run!’ he tempted.

Mary sighed as tears truckled down her cheeks. ‘Don’t!’ she begged him. ‘You know we can’t do that. Too many innocents will suffer. I made a mistake, now it must be
paid for,’ she cried as the tears flooded.

He took her in his arms and pulled her skirt down. They had been crazy, he realised. Someone
might
have come along the lane. His blood chilled for her. Gossip would crush her spirit and
he gritted his teeth with anguish. Dear God, was there no escape for them?