Spell of the Island (2 page)

Do this for me. . . . Not much to ask after all she has done for me, thought Emma, and she gave her mother a swift smile.

‘All right, darling, if it’s really what you want.’

‘You’re a real daughter to me, Emma—’

‘No gratitude,’ said Emma quickly. ‘It is I who am grateful to
you.’

‘When can you go?’ was the next question, and again before Emma could answer, ‘You still have three weeks, I think?’

‘That’s right.’

‘You couldn’t have them tacked on to this present week? I mean, you’ve only had three days. . . .’

‘You want me to go at once?’

‘Is that possible?’

‘If I can get a flight.’ Emma paused a moment. ‘I’m not sure that my boss’ll let me off, but I’ll phone him and see what he says.’ Emma doubted she could get away in less than a week at least.

‘Tell him it’s an emergency, love.’

Emma forced a smile. She had practically arranged to have one of her weeks with a friend in the Lake District, intending to stay with her mother for a few days on the way there and again on the way back.

‘Yes,’ she said as she realised the tension in her mother’s face. ‘I’ll tell him it’s an emergency.’ She looked at her, thinking that she was definitely aging these days, with the once lovely brown hair—almost
the same colour as Emma’s and with the same auburn tints—almost completely grey, and the once clear skin beginning to wrinkle and fade. The hands, too, were loose-skinned, the knuckle bones more prominent. Emma gave a small sigh and wished she could put back the clock.

‘Will you stay tonight with me?’ Mrs. Morris was pleading; Emma said at once that she had meant to stay.

‘I brought my suitcase,’ she added as a reminder.

‘Did you, love? I hadn’t noticed.’

‘It’s by the stairs. Surely you didn’t suppose I’d come up and go back in one day?’

‘No, it was silly of me, for you never do. I don’t know what I’m doing half my time,’ she added frowningly. ‘My mind’s concentrated on one thing only—the plight of my poor child.’

Emma knew she would never ever forget that pulse-stopping moment when she was introduced to Paul Fanchette. She had previously sent Louise a telegram, and there had been no time for a reply. Louise evinced neither surprise nor puzzlement when she met Emma at Plaisance Airport and drove her to the Chateau Fanchette, set on a prominence from where the view was to a semicircular beach and sapphire blue lagoon where multicoloured sails gave evidence of luxury yachts and other craft.

‘You don’t seem surprised at my rather hasty decision to come over and see you,’ observed Emma who had merely said in the cable that she felt like seeing Louise and the island on which she worked.

‘I rather thought that eventually you’d get round
to visiting me here. I did describe how beautiful it was.’

No mention of what was troubling her, and at present no sign of anxiety on her lovely, fragile-like features. Fair and slender, with big blue eyes and pale but lovely skin, Louise had always inspired gentleness in her boyfriends, whereas Emma with her dark hair and expressive brown eyes, had mainly had boyfriends who seemed to take it for granted that she could fend for herself. The firm chin and high cheekbones denoted a sort of classical strength of character, though the mouth was full and tender, compassionate and could tremble if its owner were hurt. Slender like Louise, Emma was an inch taller—a little above medium height—and she supposed this, too, made men think she had no need of protection. But Emma basically was soft and at times, very vulnerable; she felt more deeply than Louise but was able more easily to hide her feelings.

However, as they drove from the airport, Louise was undoubtedly hiding her feelings, though she must know that her mother would have confided in Emma; and, therefore, Emma knew of the trouble in which she, Louise, was in with her new employer.

It was on the glorious, wide lawn that Emma first met Paul Fanchette, a lawn manicured to perfection and like a thick-pile carpet to the feet. He was merely standing there, staring out to the lagoon where, Emma was later to learn, his luxury yacht was moored.

‘He’s there—er—Monsieur Fanchette. . . .’ Louise seemed to falter for a fleeting moment but recovered so swiftly that her sister never even no
ticed. In fact her eyes were already glued to the tall, lithe figure whose very pose seemed to brand him a scion of the French nobility. ‘I suppose I’d better introduce you at once. I’ve said we’re sisters, but you have a different name because you were fostered. I don’t think he was really interested.’ Louise led the way, adding over her shoulder, ‘I said I could get you into an hotel, but he said you could stay here—but I’ve told you this already,’ she added as if impatient with herself for the repetition.

The next moment Emma’s hand was in a firm grasp that made her wince, and she was tilting her head right back to look into the most formidable countenance she had ever seen. No wonder Louise was afraid of him! He seemed like a god, so incredibly tall and distinguished but with features so set and stern that even Emma was overawed in his presence. He was dressed in white linen slacks and a white shirt with rolled-up sleeves, revealing teak dark arms to match the colour of his face. His raven hair was formed into a widow’s peak at the front and brushed back, waving slightly, from his forehead. One or two threads of silver at the temples accentuated the air of distinction, just as the hollows in his cheeks accentuated the high cheekbones and straight, aristocratic nose. His mouth was firm but somehow sensuous at the same time, full . . . too full. . . . Emma swallowed hard to relieve the dryness in her throat. Never in her entire life had she been affected like this by a man. It was absurd, she chided herself, for she had not been in his presence more than a mere few seconds!

‘How do you do, Miss Carpenter?’ he said, sub
jecting her to the keenest scrutiny she had ever known. His dark eyes seemed to take in everything about her face before travelling downwards . . . to rest for one interested moment on the firm outline of her breasts. She coloured delicately, was aware of her sister’s narrowed gaze and made a supreme effort to compose herself. ‘You had a good flight?’ The suave voice was finely-timbred and low.

‘Yes, thank you,’ murmured Emma, vitally conscious of the cool strength of the hand which still held hers.

‘Welcome to the chateau,’ said the suave voice, while the eyes seemed to have locked themselves to Emma’s. ‘I hope you have an enjoyable holiday.’ He paused, releasing her hand. ‘How long shall you be staying?’

So formal! There was a formidable rigidity about him that made Emma wonder if he ever unbent.

‘About a fortnight,’ answered Emma, ‘or perhaps a little longer.’ She had at first suggested to her mother that she should spend only a week here, leaving herself some further holidays but after a discussion it was decided that Emma should stay at least a fortnight. The fare was expensive so it was not logical to have a mere seven days on the lovely island.

‘You haven’t been to this part of the world before?’ His eyes had moved. And he was staring out to the lagoon again, just as if he had had enough of the two girls, thought Emma.

‘No, this is my first visit abroad in fact.’

‘I’ll not keep you,’ he said after a pause during which he gave Emma his attention again, his eyes
roving her figure and his mouth curving in a sort of mocking amusement when he saw he was embarrassing her.

A womaniser! No doubt about it, decided Emma. And yet, why hadn’t he given Louise some attention? ‘Miss Morris, take your sister to her room.’ The order was brusquely spoken, and the look he gave her was one of cool indifference.

‘What do you think of him?’ Louise wanted to know once they were in the lovely mauve and cream room Emma was to have.

‘A strange man . . .’

‘With striking looks.’

‘He’s certainly handsome despite the austere features and hard eyes.’ Emma paused momentarily. ‘How are you getting on with him, Louise?’

Silence, with Louise staring hard at her sister,

‘I expect Mother’s told you how I feel—and that’s why you’re here, isn’t it?’

Emma nodded her head, rather glad that Louise had made the intelligent guess as to the reason for her coming out to the island.

‘Yes , it is. Mother’s dreadfully troubled about you, Louise. You shouldn’t have let her know just how unhappy you are.’ Emma’s tone was critical and Louise pouted. She’s changed, discovered Emma in astonishment.

‘I couldn’t help it; I was feeling as low as could be when I sent those letters.’

‘Perhaps,’ suggested Emma lifting her suitcase on to the bed, ‘you ought to explain.’

Louise looked at her from where she stood with her back to the high, wide window behind which was
a balcony dripping with exotic flowers growing in earthenware pots.

‘He’s awful with me,’ began Louise when Emma interrupted her.

‘I have gathered that. But there must be more to it. Why should this Monsieur Fanchette take such a strong dislike to you?’

‘You feel there’s a good reason?’

Emma shrugged and threw back the lid of the case.

‘It’s not normal for someone to act as he does without reason.’ She lifted a lapis blue evening dress from its tissue paper and laid it on the bed.

‘What reason did you have in mind, Emma?’ inquired Louise, and Emma started in surprise, turning to her questioningly.

‘That’s a strange thing to ask,’ was all she could find to say.

‘I can tell by your manner that you feel instinctively that Paul must have a good reason for the way he treats me.’

‘Paul?’

It was Louise’s turn to shrug impatiently. She looked sulky, observed Emma with an inward sigh. Just what
was
the matter? She had been sent to find out; she had hoped to be able to do something positive—though for the life of her she could not figure out what—in order to be able to reassure her mother on her return.

‘I don’t call him Paul to his face—I’d never dare! But I naturally always think of him as Paul.’

‘You do?’ in some surprise. ‘I don’t think I would—not if I were in your position.’ Another dress was
shaken from its soft wrapping, and now Emma put them both in the wardrobe. The other one was a lovely creation of citrus green with rather sexy tight-fitting bodice and full flared skirt. The neckline was rather low, but along with the antique silver necklace which was her mother’s twenty-first birthday present to her, it looked a million dollars!—or so one of Emma’s boyfriends had said. Somehow, Emma did not think she would wear it while she was here.

‘A servant?’ from Louise shortly. She turned and looked out at the lovely gardens where fountains played and bright tropical fish swam in the pool below. ‘I don’t consider myself as a servant. A nanny’s job is different. Nannies usually eat with the parents of the child, I did when I was with the Winnicks.’

‘This man is different, then?’

‘You know very well he is! He treats me like dirt!’

Emma turned from her unpacking and stared at her sister’s back.

‘Are you sure you’ve done nothing to offend him?’ she inquired tentatively, and Louise swung around, anger in her big, blue eyes.

‘What makes you ask a question like that?’ she demanded.

There was a short silence before Emma spoke. She was extremely perplexed, and a little frustrated as well. There was something deep here, but she knew for sure she would get nothing out of her sister.

‘It occurred to me, that’s all,’ she returned and went on with her unpacking.

Louise glanced at her watch.

‘I’ll have to go and pick up Jeremy from school,’ she sighed. ‘Are you coming with me? It’s only about twenty minutes there and back in the car.’

Emma shook her head.

‘I’ll finish this if you don’t mind. And then I’d like to take a bath and change my clothes.’

‘All right.’ Louise moved to the door. ‘I’ll see you later,’ she added and went out.

Emma stared at the closed door for fully thirty seconds, her thoughts on the conversation they had just had. And then with a sigh of impatience, she hurried through her unpacking, and as she went to the dressing-room to put away the suitcase, her eyes wandered to the window. It looked so peaceful out there that she postponed the bath and decided on a stroll in the garden.

Once out in the grounds she realised that Monsieur Fanchette had his own private beach. But she left that exploration for another time and wandered along a secluded path instead. And suddenly she found herself almost face-to-face with the owner of the chateau.

He was coming towards her as she took a bend in the path, and quite illogically she wanted to turn and run from him. But of course she did nothing of the kind, and soon he had stopped, fully blocking the path. Emma felt as if her legs were made of rubber, and she frowned in sheer annoyance, for she did think she was behaving like a shy schoolgirl who has suddenly become aware that she has a crush on someone.

Colour was sweeping into her face, and her long,
curling lashes were lowered, sending exquisite shadows onto her hot cheeks. She was deeply affected by the man but hoped she did not show it.

‘So we meet again,’ he remarked with a sort of satirical amusement. ‘Where is your sister?’

‘Gone for Jeremy,’ briefly and with a side-stepping attempt to pass him. To her amazement he moved at the same time and again her escape route was blocked. He was close, towering above her, his dark eyes kindling in a way that set the nerves tingling in her veins. It was so quiet here, and lonely—quite a distance from the chateau.

‘You didn’t go with her,’ he commented unnecessarily. ‘Decided to take a stroll instead, eh?’ The accented voice almost held a sneer, and Emma frowned in puzzlement. ‘Did you happen to see me taking a walk?’

‘You—! No, what do you mean?’ There was only
one
meaning, she thought, and now it was anger that set her cheeks on fire.

‘It seems that there are two of you—but you’re a little different, more to my taste—’ Without giving Emma the slightest sign of what he intended, he had caught her wrist, jerked her to him, lifted her chin and his lips were imprisoning hers in a long and passionate kiss. ‘Satisfied?’ he inquired imperturbably when at length he held her from him. She was shaking, not only with fury but also with the effects of that kiss.