The Daughters of Eden Trilogy: The Shadow Catcher, Fever Hill & the Serpent's Tooth (136 page)

He ran a hand through his hair. ‘Last defence of the about-to-be-vanquished. Can you forgive me?’

‘No,’ she said.

Again that slow nod. But this time he was smiling.

Belle wasn’t. She was so nervous that she could hardly stand. It was extraordinary. Over the years she’d been pawed by dozens of men who meant nothing to her, and she’d never suffered from nerves – never
felt
anything. Yet now that she was with a man for whom she really cared . . .

Then he was coming towards her, and she was putting her tumbler on the chimney-piece and going to meet him, and he was taking her in his arms and kissing her.

That first touch of his mouth on hers, that first taste of his breath, altered her perception of him for ever. She sank her fingers into the softness of his hair; she felt the muscles of his jaw tense as he kissed her more deeply; she tasted his taste of whisky and spring water, and breathed in the sharp, peppery tang of his skin.

They drew apart for breath. She tightened her arms about his waist, unwilling to let him go.

Very gently, he placed his hands on her shoulders and put her from him. ‘I think,’ he said, smoothing her hair behind her ears, ‘that you’ve had about enough for one day.’

‘
What?
’ she said.

His eyebrows drew together, and his gaze dropped to her mouth. She could see the hunger in him; feel the tension and the holding back.

She guessed what was troubling him, and gave his shoulders a little shake. ‘Adam, you are so old-fashioned.’

‘Am I?’

‘You don’t want to “take advantage of me”. That’s it, isn’t it? Because I’m here in your house, alone with you, and you don’t want to abuse your position.’

‘Am I that transparent?’

‘As spring water.’

His lip curled. ‘Well. But I still think you need to rest.’

‘God, you’re stubborn. Can’t we—’

‘No. No we can’t.’ His smile broadened. ‘Maud would never forgive me if you had a relapse.’

She half expected him to come to her room, but he didn’t.

Biting back her frustration, she undressed and slipped on her nightgown, and washed her face at the wash- handstand.

Down in the hall she heard him locking the door, then coming upstairs and turning off the lights. He didn’t even pause outside her room, but passed on down the corridor to his own.

Now what do you do? she wondered.

She stared at herself in the looking-glass. Her eyes were bright, her lips swollen and slightly parted. She could still taste him; still feel the roughness of his cheek against hers.

Suddenly, out of nowhere, she had an unwelcome flash of another time when she’d stared at herself in a looking-glass. Years ago, when she’d rushed home from Bamboo Walk after meeting Cornelius Traherne. She’d been in the bath-house, desperate to wash the blood from her underthings, when Mamma had knocked at the door.
Belle? Are you all right?
In horror she’d raised her head and stared at the blank-faced stranger in the glass.

Why think of that now? she thought angrily. This is utterly, utterly different.

She blew out her candle and climbed into bed.

Sleep was impossible. She lay staring up at the canopy, straining for the least sound that might mean that Adam was coming to her. All she heard was the wind in the pines, and the creaks and groans of the old house settling in its sleep.

Around midnight she couldn’t stand it any longer, and went to his room.

She was shaking with nerves, but somehow managed to open the door without making any noise.

Instantly he turned his head. The curtains were open. He was lying on his back in a patch of moonlight. In silence he raised himself on one elbow and looked at her.

‘I thought you might be asleep,’ she said.

He shook his head. ‘Not possible.’

‘Me too,’ she said, her teeth chattering.

He drew back the covers. ‘Get in, you’ll catch cold.’

Somehow she crossed to the bed and climbed in beside him. He drew the blankets around her and pulled her against him, and for a moment she lay still, breathing in his warmth. Then she slipped her hand under his pyjama top and felt the smooth hardness of his chest; the long ridged scar to the left of his heart.

He tensed.

‘Does it hurt?’ she whispered.

He gave a slight smile. ‘No. Your hand’s cold.’

She withdrew it and blew on it, then unbuttoned his top. Her hand moved over his chest to the ridge of his collarbone, then down to the curve of his biceps.

‘Belle—’

‘Sh . . .’ she whispered.

She dug her fingers into the back of his neck and drew him towards her, and his mouth came down on hers.

It felt so right, so easy, to be pressing her body against his, to feel his warm hands caressing her hips, her flanks, her back; so right that she felt a piercing sadness in her breast: a twist of physical pain that made her wince. ‘If only we’d met years ago,’ she whispered.

She felt him smile against her throat. ‘We did. On the beach at Salt River, remember? But I’d just married Celia, and you were about twelve years old. A little young for this sort of thing, don’t you think?’

Again that twisting pain. To chase it away, she buried her face in his chest, breathing in his warmth. It didn’t work. She kept seeing Cornelius Traherne holding the sun-umbrella over her, and smiling his courteous old-gentleman smile.

She wasn’t in bed with Adam, she was on the beach at Salt River in the glare of the silver sand, hoping against hope that the tall young man up ahead would turn and walk towards them, so that she wouldn’t have to listen any more . . .

The pain in her chest broke free and burst from her in a sob. To her horror she realized that she couldn’t stop. On and on it went: great heaving, wrenching sobs.

After the first frozen astonishment, Adam held her close and stroked her hair, while she lay sobbing and shuddering against him. ‘It’s all right,’ he murmured. ‘It’s all right. I won’t do anything.’

She tried to tell him that she was sorry, but she was crying so hard that she couldn’t get the words out. She lay sobbing helplessly against him till her throat ached and her eyes were swollen and sore, while he smoothed her hair and told her over and over that it was all right, that everything would be all right.

She awoke before dawn to the cries of seagulls on the lawn.

She was alone in the bed, curled up under warm blankets that smelt faintly of Adam. Her face was stiff, her eyes scratchy. She felt fragile, as if any sudden move might shatter her to pieces.

Adam had fallen asleep in an easy chair drawn up by the side of the bed. He’d pulled on the fisherman’s sweater over his pyjamas and thrown his greatcoat over his legs. Despite the dark shadow of a beard, he looked like a schoolboy, his hair tousled, his eyelashes shadowing his cheeks.

After a while he opened his eyes and met her gaze and smiled.

‘Why didn’t you stay in bed?’ she said.

He sat up, rubbing the back of his neck. ‘I’m afraid,’ he said, ‘that would have been more than flesh and blood could stand. How do you feel?’

‘So-so. I probably look dreadful.’

‘Well, your eyes are red, and you’re very pale. But you look a damn sight better than you did when you had the ’flu.’

She tried to smile. ‘How about you? Did you get much sleep?’

He yawned. ‘Not really. The age of chivalry is vastly overrated.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘I read about it once. Apparently medieval knights used to prove their devotion to their lady by spending a night alongside her without lifting a finger. Or anything else. I can’t imagine they got much sleep, either.’

‘Adam, I’m so sorry.’

Again he smiled. ‘I’ve spent worse nights, believe me.’

‘I want to be with you. I really do. It’s just that . . .’ Her voice trailed off.

‘I have to admit that I’ve never had that effect on a woman before.’ His face became thoughtful. ‘It did make me wonder why.’

She tensed.

‘I think – at least, I get the sense,’ he went on, ‘that some time in the past, some man gave you a bad time of it. Am I right?’

Her skin began to prickle. He was getting too close. ‘In a way,’ she said.

He hesitated. ‘This is going to sound completely absurd. But was it – it wasn’t – Cornelius Traherne?’

Her stomach turned over. ‘
What?
’

‘It’s just that I saw you with him in the glasshouse at Kyme, and you seemed – well, the way you seemed together. As if there was something . . . It made me wonder, that’s all.’

She couldn’t breathe. Her skin was prickling and hot.
Found out, found out.
‘Good heavens, Adam,’ she said, ‘I’ve known him since I was a child. He’s older than my father.’

‘Sorry. Sorry. Absurd even to think it. God, what a relief. It’s strange, the things that seem entirely plausible in the middle of the night.’

‘I know,’ she said quietly.

‘I’m sorry,’ he said again. He looked at her for a moment, as if he was wondering whether to fling back the bedclothes and join her. Then he seemed to come to a decision, and got to his feet. ‘I’ll go and make us some tea.’

‘You could come back to bed,’ she said.

He shook his head. ‘I think it’s a bit soon, don’t you?’ Stooping, he kissed her cheek, and she reached up and stroked his hair.

‘We’ll be all right, won’t we?’ she said.

He smiled and kissed her again. ‘Of course we will.’

When he’d gone, she curled on her side and lay staring at the grey sky. Drum Talbot had said once that it was tiring, telling lies all the time.

No it’s not, thought Belle. It’s easy.

While Adam was downstairs, Belle had a bath and dressed. She felt exhausted, and more like an invalid than since arriving at Cairngowrie. But it’ll be all right, she told herself. There’s nothing in the way. Not really.

As she was brushing her hair, a motor crunched on the gravel. By the time she reached the window, whoever it was had gone inside.

The car in the carriageway was an expensive one, a Daimler or a Bentley; she couldn’t tell which from this angle. So not the Ruthvens, she thought with a vague sense of unease.

She opened the door and went out onto the landing. Voices in the drawing room. Slowly she went downstairs, and paused with her hand on the door handle.

‘I wish you’d let me know you were coming,’ she heard Adam say curtly.

‘I didn’t know I was until yesterday,’ the other man replied.

Belle’s hand tightened on the door handle. It can’t be, she thought.

‘. . . but it seemed the natural thing to do, to stop by and see my grandson,’ said Cornelius Traherne.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

‘I’m afraid that Max is from home,’ said Adam.

Why did you let him in? thought Belle, shifting uneasily on the sofa. Why can’t you just tell him to get out?

With every second that Traherne stayed, her sense of danger grew. Couldn’t Adam feel it too? How could he stand there, calmly talking to this man? How could he not see through the avuncular façade to what he really was?

‘What a pity,’ said Traherne, leaning back in his chair and studying Adam with amusement.

Belle could see him noting Adam’s red-rimmed eyes and unshaven cheeks, just as he’d taken in her own hastily brushed hair and lack of make-up. No doubt he was adding two and two together and making five. No doubt he would make use of it if he could.

‘If you’d be so kind,’ he said to Adam, ‘as to tell me where I can find the little fellow, I should so much like to see how he goes on.’

‘I’m sure you would,’ muttered Belle.

Traherne ignored her.

Adam threw her a glance. ‘Since you’re in the area for a while,’ he said, turning back to Traherne, ‘perhaps something can be arranged, but not yet. Max isn’t well.’

‘I’m sorry to hear that,’ said Traherne with every appearance of concern. ‘Not this dreadful influenza, I hope?’

‘Nothing like that,’ said Adam. ‘He got into a scrape on the beach, and needs to rest for a couple of days.’

Why did you have to tell him that? thought Belle.

‘Mr Traherne,’ said Adam, ‘forgive me for being blunt, but you are aware of the terms of your daughter’s will?’

Traherne sighed. ‘Poor dear Sibella. All that energy, wasted in needless antipathy. But really – and do call me Cornelius – there’s nothing in the will to prevent my simply calling on my grandson. Now is there?’

‘Not as such,’ Adam conceded, ‘but—’

‘Well, then.’ Traherne smiled. ‘And now, Palairet, you must forgive
me
for being blunt in my turn, but I feel it my duty as a grandfather to register my concern. I arrive in London only to be told by my daughter’s solicitors that my grandson has been whisked away to some remote and not altogether healthy Scottish outpost. I take the first available train, as any grandfather would, only to be told that the little chap is “from home”, whatever that means, having been laid up after a “scrape” while in his new guardian’s care—’

‘Adam was the one who rescued him,’ Belle cut in.

‘He needed to be “rescued”? Dear me, how very unfortunate. Although perhaps it’s as well that he
is
from home, given that arrangements here at Cairngowrie Hall seem so extraordinarily . . . well, informal.’

Belle felt her cheeks growing hot.

Adam’s face went stiff. ‘Now look here, Traherne—’

‘But I shall say nothing of that,’ said Traherne imperturbably, ‘for I’m well aware that times have changed, and it is only old fogeys such as I who still have any regard for the proprieties . . .’

Belle’s jaw dropped.

‘. . . although as a friend of the family’s,’ he went on with a fatherly glance at her, ‘it occurs to me to wonder, Belle dear, what your papa and mamma would say if they knew what you were up to. By the way, they were both well when I saw them last, as were the twins. Your mamma’s efforts at quarantine appear to be keeping them clear of the influenza, at least for the present.’

Belle gripped the edge of the sofa. ‘But – there isn’t any ’flu in Jamaica.’

Traherne opened his eyes wide. ‘My dear girl, where have you been? It’s been ravaging the island for weeks. Tens of thousands have died.’