Spell of the Island (11 page)

‘Don’t panic,’ he said with a hint of asperity. ‘I’ll not force myself on you. But you need to sit down for a few minutes. There’s a seat on the shore just outside the gate—you’ve probably seen it. We’ll sit there for a while.’ He was already urging her forward, and soon they were sitting down, the lagoon dark and sleepy before them, the reef sparkling in the moonlight, the sails of the graceful yacht still bending in the breeze.

Emma closed her eyes tightly to hold back the cloud of tears gathering behind them.

The truth had come to her—at which precise moment she did not know, but perhaps it had been there already, hidden in her subconscious.

The truth . . . which could not be denied or cast out to be forgotten so that recovery would be swift.

‘What are you thinking, Emma?’ Paul’s voice was low and it sounded strangely alien, attractively so. ‘You are miles away from me.’

She looked at him and merely shook her head, unable to speak for the misery that seemed to rise
into her chest and throat so that she was aware of a choking sensation which prevented speech.

Miles away, he had said. But she was close, sitting here . . . beside the man she had foolishly fallen in love with, a man who wanted her only as his mistress, his bedmate, a man who had already several times tried to seduce her.

‘If you are feeling better now,’ she heard him say, ‘we’ll go back.’

‘Yes, I’m ready.’ Her tone was dull and he turned swiftly to look at her.

‘Are you all right?’ He sounded anxious, she thought and immediately answered him.

‘I’m okay, now, thank you.’

‘You’re pale,’ he observed and fingered her cheek lightly.

‘I’m tired.’ She knew her manner was cool and short, but she wanted to get away from him, to the bedroom where she could release the painful pressure behind her eyes.

He took her arm but moved away as they neared the house. Emma looked upwards instinctively. Eileen was standing on the verandah of her bedroom, looking down at them. She waved, then called, ‘Paul, I’d like to go in for a swim. Are you coming, too?’

A second’s hesitation before Paul answered, a smile on his lips, ‘Yes, I’ll join you. Give me ten minutes or so.’

Emma’s lips quivered; she just had to say, ‘You’re still not tired apparently.’

‘Very wide awake, in fact.’ He looked down into her eyes and added with what could only be de
scribed as a grim inflection, ‘Contrary to what you believe, I do have troublesome things on my mind.’

She glanced away.

Not nearly so troublesome as mine, she thought, and bade him a brief good night.

‘I hope you can sleep this time,’ he said on opening the front door for her to precede him into the hall. ‘You look as if you could do with a good night’s rest.’

Something beyond her control made her say tartly,

‘Your concern’s very touching, Paul, but quite unnecessary.’ And on that parting shot she left him, hurrying up the stairs.

Chapter Seven

Eileen was sunning herself on the lawn, a book on the grass beside her brightly-flowered lounger. Louise and Emma had lunched out at an hotel, and now Louise had gone off to collect Jeremy, Emma declining to accompany her because she wanted to wash a few smalls and handkerchiefs in readiness for packing.

‘I might as well do them here as take them home soiled,’ she had said, and so Louise had gone off on her own.

The washing done and drying on a line at the back of the chateau, Emma was now on her verandah, watching the lovely girl with a brooding expression.
That Eileen was keen on Paul was plain, but his feelings for her were by no means so plain. With only two days left of her stay at the chateau, Emma was becoming more and more depressed, tormented by the knowledge that once she had left she would never see Paul again. There were times when she felt she could abandon everything and accept his offer, and she could only hope, as the time passed, that common sense would prevail and she would remain immune to the temptation to become Paul’s mistress.

He had not tried to tempt her since that night—was it only four nights ago!—when she had been so deeply affected by his lovemaking that he had sat her down to relax. In fact, he had treated her with near indifference, and she could now fully understand just how her sister had once felt—the sheer hopelessness, the misery and the frustration that resulted from the knowledge that one was powerless to penetrate the hard core of Paul’s personality.

Paul came into her vision now, distinguished even in casual slacks and the pearl-grey shirt to match—open-necked and short-sleeved.

He swung along towards where Eileen was sitting, and Emma drew back into her bedroom.

Madame Fanchette had gone off to visit an old friend, so Emma and Louise had already said goodbye to her. But Pierre was still here, very friendly with Louise, and Emma began to wonder if anything would come of it. It was a bridge to be crossed later, though. For the time being Louise would be at home with her mother, and for that, Emma was more than a little thankful.

‘I think we shall dine out this evening,’ suggested
Louise much later, after the little boy had been put to bed, Emma as usual having read a story to him. As the time went by she was more and more concerned about him, for he did seem to have an affection for Louise despite her shortcomings as a nanny since coming to live in Paul’s home.

Emma had asked Paul if he had done anything about a replacement and had received an abrupt, in my own good time, Emma. There’s no need for you to concern yourself about it.’

‘Dine out?’ She asked Louise what restaurant she had in mind.

‘The Tropicana in Curepipe. I feel sure Paul will let us have the car. In fact, I needn’t ask, as he’s already said I can use it.’

‘All right. It’ll be a nice change to have dinner out.’

However, it transpired that Paul was again to invite the sisters to dine with him and his two guests. Remembering how she was the odd one out last time—after Madame Fanchette had left, that was—Emma would have declined; but Louise seemed eager to accept, and Emma surmised the reason to be Pierre. . . .

‘You didn’t seem too keen on accepting my invitation.’ Paul and Emma had met on the landing when she and he emerged from their bedrooms together, his room being two doors away from hers.

‘We’d talked of going out,’ she returned, ‘It would have been a change, seeing that we’re leaving the day after tomorrow.’

His brow darkened at that reminder, and she strongly suspected that despite his interest in Eileen, he still desired Emma for his mistress.

‘Perhaps we could all dine out,’ he mused after a small silence and, staggered by the suggestion, Emma shot him a questioning glance.

‘All of us?’ she frowned. ‘But why should you bother changing your plans just for Louise and me?’

The dark eyes became veiled,

‘I’m not changing them. As a matter of fact, I had thought of taking you out to dine before you left,’

‘Me . . . or my sister as well.’ She was all suspicion without quite knowing what she had to be suspicious about.

He quirked her a smile. This was more like his old self, she thought, coolly sardonic with a degree of amused mockery. It suddenly occurred to Emma that she felt more comfortable than when he became deep and serious.

‘Always suspecting me of some ulterior motive, aren’t you, Emma. If I did take you out alone what possible danger could you be in?’

She hesitated about entering into his mood, dejected as she was. But the temptation was too much for her and she retorted with, ‘I’d be alone with you in the car—and there are many dark and lonely lanes between here and a town.’

He laughed, and she caught her breath as always. Really, it was no wonder women found him irresistible, she mused, waiting for him to speak.

‘Your opinion of me isn’t very high, is it?’ he said.

‘Should it be? After the way you have treated me?’

‘You reciprocated—’

‘Can we change the subject?’ Emma sent him a glowering look. ‘If you want Louise and me to have
dinner here with you and your guests, then we accept—we already have accepted, so I don’t see what all the argument is about.’

‘That temper,’ murmured Paul with mock severity. ‘I ought to help you curb it.’

‘We were talking about dinner tonight,’ she reminded him acidly. ‘Please keep to the subject.’

He asked curiously, ‘What made you accept if you’d already decided to dine out?’

‘It was Louise—she wanted to—to. . . .’ Emma stopped herself but obviously not in time for her companion said sardonically, ‘So it is Pierre on whom your sister has now set her sights, eh? How fickle women are.’

‘I don’t suppose for one moment Louise is expecting anything to come from the slight friendship which has sprung up between them.’

‘I shall have to give my brother a talking to,’ he murmured as if to himself, and Emma felt her temper rise.

‘My sister’s not a gold digger, no matter what you think!’ she flashed. ‘I shall be glad when we’re away from here—and I wish I didn’t have to dine with you tonight—in fact,’ she went on as the idea shot into her mind, ‘I shall decline your invitation and eat on my own! Louise can dine with you if she wants, either here or at an hotel, but count me out!’ and on that furious note she swung on her heels and walked swiftly away, back into her bedroom.

She was trembling with anger, but crying too; she could not stem the tears that came swiftly to her eyes.

She cursed the fate that had decreed she and Paul
should bump into one another like that. Now she had the difficult task of telling her sister that she had opted out of the dinner invitation. Louise was bound to ask questions—Her thoughts were cut, and her eyes flew to the door as she heard a knock on the panel. Paul surely wouldn’t. . . .

‘Can I come in, Emma?’ Louise was in the doorway, her hair in rollers. ‘Did you bring a dryer with you?’ she asked hopefully. ‘Something’s gone wrong with mine. . . . Is anything the matter? You look—furious.’

‘No, I’m all right.’ She paused a moment, forgetting the dryer. ‘About this evening, Louise—I’ve decided not to come to dinner. I’d rather have something here, in my room—a sandwich will do.’

Louise closed the door and came into the room.

‘There must be some reason. We’ve accepted Paul’s invitation, so he’ll be expecting us to dine with him and the other two.’

‘He’ll be expecting you, but not me.’ She looked down at the carpet, avoiding her sister’s puzzled gaze. ‘I’ve told him I shan’t be there.’

There was an odd expression in Louise’s eyes, as well there might be, for this was certainly unexpected. She said slowly, ‘Have you and Paul had words, or something?’

‘We have.’ There seemed nothing for it but to say outright that she had lost her temper with Paul and told him she was dining on her own. But of course this led naturally to the further question: what had they quarrelled about? ‘I can’t tell you, Louise, so don’t waste your breath on pursuing the matter. I wish we were leaving here tonight!’

‘Why were you crying?’

Emma’s teeth snapped together.

‘I’ve toid you not to question me,’ she said, marvelling that she could keep her voice steady for she was all churned up inside. ‘Please leave me,’ she begged. ‘I’m not in the mood for company—oh, the dryer: yes, I’ll get it from the bathroom.’

A moment later she was handing it to Louise, conscious of her puzzlement, her surprise that Emma should have spoken to her like that.

‘I don’t feel like dining without you.’ Louise toyed with the dryer. ‘Let’s go out, as we said we would,’ she suddenly added decisively. ‘I think a change is what you need.’

‘But—Pierre?’

Louise’s eyes widened.

‘Pierre?’ she echoed blankly. ‘What about him?’

‘I thought—’ Emma looked nonplussed. ‘I took it for granted that you’d enjoy his company. . . .’ She tailed off lamely.

‘You thought I was—keen on him?’

‘Forget it, Louise. I came to a wrong conclusion, that’s all. Do you really want to go out, then?’

‘Of course. But about Pierre—we do enjoy each other’s company, but, Emma, I don’t happen to have a crush on him. I assure you I’m off the Fanchettes as far as anything like
that
is concerned.’ She looked at Emma with sudden perception. ‘You didn’t quarrel with Paul about me, did you?’

Emma gave a start.

‘What makes you ask that?’ she prevaricated.

Louise smiled thinly.

‘You seem surprised at my intelligence—oh, I can
understand, seeing that I never have been as bright as you, Emma—’

‘Louise—’

‘I’m not offended,’ she laughed, ‘It’s out of character for me to cotton on like that. But I know, somehow, that I was the cause of your quarrel with Paul, and that his brother had something to do with it. And having deduced that much, it isn’t difficult to guess that Paul made one of his caustic remarks to the effect that I was running after Pierre.’ She looked at her sister for confirmation and yet denied her the chance of commenting as she continued, ‘Thank you for defending me, Emma. It was good of you, especially as you yourself believed I was keen on Pierre.’

‘You must admit,’ Emma just had to say, ‘that you and Pierre do get along very well together.’

‘I like him very much, but I’m keeping my heart in its right place—at least for the time being.’

Emma had to laugh at her phrasing, and as Louise joined in, the whole situation was eased. They decided to go out to dinner; but Louise had been glancing through a brochure, and she had noticed that there was dancing nightly at the Saint Geran, an hotel reputed to be the most exclusive—and expensive—on the island.

‘Let’s go there,’ she urged. ‘My treat.’

‘No, mine.’

‘We’ll go dutch,’ decided Louise and hastened away with the hair dryer.

The hotel was all it was made out to be—and more. Situated on what Emma felt was the most
beautiful beach she would ever see, it was a low, sprawling building surrounded by exotic gardens where fountains played, where multicoloured fish swam in ornamental pools where water lilies abounded. Rockeries and cascades, tropical flowers and bushes, flame trees and Royal palms, junipers with their beautiful rose-coloured highly perfumed timber, variegated bamboos striped with vivid green, the orchid trees and Indian walnut trees—the variety was endless. Flowers, too, grew in abundance around immaculately tended lawns or in beds and borders or round the ornamental pools.