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Outside the city limits the road stretched straight for some distance, cutting between the blue waters of the Bay of Islands. It was unbelievably beautiful, but this morning Rebecca had no heart to appreciate it. She was sick and shaken, terrified at the knowledge that Piers St. Clair could exercise so much power over her. In his presence her antagonism just melted away and so might her resistance.
Even so, it was exhilarating to know that he found her attractive, and that awful traitorous part of her that responded to flattery wanted to take what he offered with both hands. But the sane part of her knew that anything he might offer would be dangerous to accept and in consequence she was torn both ways.
When she got back to the villa, Adele was resting on a lounger in the garden, shaded by a huge striped umbrella. She gave Rebecca a speculative stare, and then said: ‘You’ve been long enough. What have you been buying?’
Rebecca managed not to blush. ‘Just what you asked me to buy,’ she replied, kneeling down on the warm mosaic tiles and beginning to unpack her straw shopping bag. The talc which Piers had given her was on the top and she handed this first to Adele. Then she went on through her purchases, handing out stockings and make-up, hair rollers and hairnets, toilet articles and toothpaste. At the bottom of her bag was a container of cologne-scented talc, identical to the first she had given Adele.
Taking it out, she stared at it incredulously, and Adele, seeing her consternation, exclaimed: ‘For heaven’s sake, girl, what have you been thinking of? Buying two tins of talc!’
Rebecca coloured now and thrust the second container aside. ‘I—I bought it for myself,’ she said quickly.
‘But you don’t like that fragrance,’ said Adele impatiently. ‘There’s no need to pretend, Rebecca. I don’t mind having two tins. They’ll both get used in time.’ She bent and lifted the second container from where Rebecca had put it.
Rebecca bit her lip tightly. ‘Oh, but really …’ she began.
Adele sniffed. ‘But nothing, my girl. Go and put these things away, and then ask Rosa for some coffee.’
It was the following day before Piers St. Clair telephoned, and Rebecca spent the period between meeting him at the market and his eventual arrival for dinner in a strangely unreal sense of expectancy. She had pondered the riddle of the talc until she had realised that as her bag was made of interlaced straw it would have been quite easy for him to see what was in it. Even so, she speculated upon his perception which had instantly jumped to the conclusion she might place upon the parcel in his hand, and the subsequent trick he had played upon her. He must know her sex extremely well, she thought with a sinking heart, the incident adding to her awareness of him as a potentially dangerous man. He arranged with Adele that he should join her for dinner the following evening, and the next morning Adele insisted upon making one of her very infrequent excursions into Suva to visit her hairdresser. Rebecca was doubtful of the advisability of such an excursion on a day when Adele was bound to become over-stimulated anyway, but there was little she could do to prevent it. When Adele made up her mind, there was little anyone could do.
In the afternoon, while Adele rested, Rebecca pressed the gown she had chosen to wear that evening. Adele had been loath to allow Rosa to do it, so Rebecca had offered in order to avoid any further upheavals.
Rebecca herself was absorbed with her own thoughts, aware that she was mentally searching for reasons for being absent from the villa this evening. Not that Adele expected her to join them for dinner, indeed the question had never arisen, but somehow she wanted to put some distance between herself and her employer’s brother-in-law.
She helped Adele to change after her bath, and Adele preened herself for a few moments in front of her dressing-table mirror.
‘Quite nice,’ she conceded at last. ‘Don’t you think so, Rebecca?’
Rebecca managed a smile. ‘Very nice, Miss St. Cloud,’ she agreed, nodding. Then she bit her lip. ‘You will promise not to over-excite yourself this evening, won’t you, Miss St. Cloud? This—well—this has been quite an exhausting day for you, and naturally—–’
Adele stared at her. ‘What are you talking about, girl? You’ll be here to keep an eye on me yourself, won’t you? Surely you know I expect you to join us?’
Rebecca’s cheeks burned. ‘Oh, no! No, Miss St. Cloud. I—I have—made other arrangements.’
‘What other arrangements?’ Adele’s voice was sharp.
Rebecca swallowed hard, searching her mind for excuses. ‘I—I thought I might go out. I—I—haven’t had many evenings off—–’
‘And where would you go alone?’ snapped Adele. ‘You may have freedom of the island during the day, but after dark—that’s a different matter.’
‘You—you did say—I might use the car.’
‘I know that. But it just so happens that I require your services this evening. Now, snap out of that awkward mood and go and get yourself changed. I don’t expect you to eat dinner in your uniform.’
Rebecca stared at her employer unhappily. ‘I’d prefer to eat dinner in my room, Miss St. Cloud,’ she asserted clearly.
Adele’s eyes flickered. ‘Why? Because of Piers?’
‘What? No! No.’ Rebecca turned away, and in consequence did not see the narrowing of Adele’s eyes.
‘Well, it can’t be me,’ remarked the older woman mockingly. ‘You’ve had dinner with me plenty of times.’
Rebecca gathered her composure and turned back to her. ‘I would feel the same, no matter who your guest might be,’ she said tautly. ‘Besides, I can’t recall you showing such a desire for my company before.’ She frowned. ‘Why do you want me to join you for dinner?’
If Adele was surprised by this sudden show of confidence, she hid it admirably, and smiling slightly said: ‘Perhaps, as your days here are so uneventful, I felt sorry for you. And after all, it isn’t every day you get the chance to break bread with a millionaire!’
Rebecca’s nails dug into the palms of her hands. ‘Do I have a choice?’
Adele’s expression hardened. ‘No, miss, you do not! Now go and prepare yourself, or do you want to be responsible for my over-stimulation?’
Rebecca heaved a sigh, and with a helpless gesture left the room. In her own room she surveyed the contents of her wardrobe critically. What on earth was she going to wear? Short dresses were cooler, but somehow unsuitable in the islands when so many oriental styles were much more feminine. She drew out an all-white gown, trimmed with gold braid, its classic lines cut to ankle length. The bodice was swathed under her breasts, but otherwise it fell without fullness to her feet. With her colouring, and the tan she had acquired, it would look attractive, but did she want to look attractive? Surely she would be more sensible to wear a less arresting garment. She had no desire to arouse any further interest.
Thrusting the white gown aside, she pulled out a jungle-printed caftan. It, too, was long, but its lines were all-concealing, and the wide long sleeves hid the rounded contours of her arms.
Throwing it on the bed, she went to take a shower, and later, after she was dressed, she surveyed her appearance with approval. Certainly the colour did nothing for her, although she could wear almost anything really.
She joined Adele in the lounge just as the sound of a car could be heard drawing up outside the villa. Rosa went to answer the door and a few moments later came into the lounge and said:
‘Monsieur Piers St. Clair, madam, and his companion, Mademoiselle Yvonne Dupuis!’
Rebecca could feel the colour drain out of her face as Piers came into the room, looking tall, and lean, and dark, in a white dinner jacket, a maroon handkerchief in his pocket showing a splash of colour. With him was one of the most beautiful women Rebecca had ever seen, although she was by no means young. Rebecca judged her age to be anywhere between thirty-five and forty-five, and there were strands of grey in her lustrous dark hair. Even so, she was immaculately elegant, and the slenderness of her figure owed nothing to clever upholstering. In a gown of silver grey crepe that moulded her body lovingly, a darker grey cape across her shoulders, she looked magnificent, and Rebecca glanced swiftly at Adele to note her reactions.
But to her surprise, Adele seemed not at all perturbed, and her greeting left Rebecca in no doubt that she had expected this second guest. Rebecca herself felt confused. Exactly why had Adele made such a thing about her joining them when she had known that Piers St. Clair was bringing a guest? And why hadn’t she warned Rebecca that her brother-in-law would not be alone? Rebecca compressed her lips, wondering what distorted enjoyment Adele expected to get out of this situation. Had she sensed her nurse’s interest in Piers and chosen this way to show her how hopeless were any aspirations in that direction? Surely she must know that Rebecca was aware of that herself. Or did she? Either way, tonight was going to be infinitely more difficult to endure.
While Adele chattered to Yvonne Dupuis, leaving Rebecca to realise that the two women had known one another for many years, Piers, after a smiling greeting to his sister-in-law, made his way to Rebecca’s side.
‘Bonsoir, mademoiselle,’ he murmured, regarding her with his intensely dark eyes. ‘I wondered whether you would be permitted to join us.’
Rebecca’s first instinct was to make some excuse and move away from him, but to do so would be tantamount to admitting her nervousness of him, so instead she said: ‘Miss St. Cloud insisted. Unfortunately, I am not in a position to choose.’
His eyes narrowed slightly. ‘Why do you persist in behaving so childishly?’ he enquired, in a low tone. ‘It is not becoming.’
Rebecca looked across at Adele who looked up at that moment and said: ‘Shall we have a drink? Rebecca, will you get them? By the way, Yvonne, this is my nurse, Rebecca Lindsay. Rebecca, Mademoiselle Dupuis and I were at school together.’
Adele’s tone was so light and pleasant, that Rebecca had no choice but to go and shake hands with the French woman and then ask her what she would like to drink. At the cocktail cabinet, her fingers were all thumbs, and after she had dropped a small bottle of dry ginger with a disturbing clatter on the glass surface, she felt Piers join her, and take the offending bottle out of her hands.
Deftly, and without spilling a drop, Piers dealt with their individual requests, and after handing Rebecca the bitter lemon she had insisted upon having, he poured himself rather a stiff measure of brandy.
‘Cognac, mademoiselle,’ he remarked, as Rebecca watched him swirling the amber-coloured liquid round in its balloon glass. ‘If ever I need it, it restores my—what would you say—equilibre?’
‘Equilibrium,’ said Rebecca, rather flatly, looking down into her own glass.
‘Ah, oui, equilibrium!’ He half smiled. ‘You understand?’
Rebecca compressed her lips. ‘I would not have thought anything would disturb your—equilibrium,’ she replied. ‘You seem superbly confident to me.’
His eyes searched her face, lingering disturbingly on her mouth for a long moment. ‘But then—you do not know me very well—yet,’ he commented softly.
Rebecca turned away. She would not listen to him, and as luck would have it Rosa came in at that moment to announce that dinner was served. Piers took charge of Adele’s chair, making her laugh as they walked ahead of Rebecca and the French woman into the dining room.
The meal was silent for Rebecca. Round a table it was so much easier for Adele to talk equally to both her guests and in consequence Rebecca was left to herself. She didn’t mind. Indeed, it was easier that way, but she longed to escape from all of them.
Coffee was served in the lounge, and the windows were thrust wide to let in the cool evening air. Mesh screens prevented the hundreds of moths and insects from penetrating to the attraction of the lamplight, and it was very pleasant to relax there. But after drinking her coffee, Rebecca rose and said:
‘If you don’t mind, I’ll leave you now. I—I have some reports to attend to. And I have rather a headache, too.’
Adele frowned. ‘Now, Rebecca,’ she said impatiently, ‘no report is that urgent. And as for your headache, I should think a walk round the garden would cure that. I’m sure Monsieur St. Clair would accompany you.’ Her gaze rested momentarily on Piers who had risen too.
Rebecca coloured brilliantly. What was Adele trying to do? Why should she suggest that Piers St. Clair should accompany her on a walk round the garden? She had never shown any interest in her nurse’s welfare before.
‘Thank you, but—–’ she began, when Piers said: ‘Adele is right. The night air would do you more good than sitting in your room. I’m sure Yvonne and Adele can find plenty to talk about.’
Yvonne leaned forward and put her hand on his arm, attracting his attention. ‘Let Nurse Lindsay decide for herself, chéri,’ she murmured insinuatively. ‘She may be tired.’
Rebecca watched that interchange with reluctance. Exactly what relationship did Yvonne Dupuis have with him? From the intimacy of her expression, Rebecca could only think the worst. Seizing upon Yvonne’s words, she nodded vigorously.
‘Yes, that’s it,’ she asserted. ‘I—I am tired. I’d like to go to bed.’
Adele’s expression was hard. ‘And what about me, young woman? You forget—your duties are not yet over for the evening.’
Rebecca hesitated. ‘I’m sure Rosa wouldn’t mind helping you—as she has done on those evenings when I have been out.’ Only twice had she been out in the evening, and that was when Dr. Manson’s wife had invited her for dinner.
Short of appearing a fractious employer, there was nothing Adele could do, and ignoring Piers’ contemptuous gaze, Rebecca wished them all goodnight, and sought the comparative sanctuary of her room. She knew Adele would make her pay for thwarting her in this manner, but right now she couldn’t have cared less …
CHAPTER THREE
THE following morning Rebecca did not go down to swim as usual. In the early hours she was awakened by Adele calling weakly for her and throwing on her dressing gown she hurried to her employer’s room.
Adele was lying across the bed. She had obviously been to the bathroom but had collapsed on her way back and was now panting for breath, pressing a hand to her chest as though to break the pain which seemed to be tearing her apart.
Rebecca helped her on to the bed properly, and then hurried to the bathroom cabinet. A few minutes later, with the aid of a drug, and Rebecca’s soothing presence, Adele began to look more normal, and Rebecca ran to telephone for Dr. Manson.
When the elderly doctor arrived he endorsed everything Rebecca had done and chided Adele for behaving so recklessly the day before. ‘You should know by now that you cannot spend the whole day in a state of excitement, my dear,’ he told her, shaking his head reprovingly. ‘And then to eat the kind of rich food Rebecca tells me you have eaten …’ He sighed. ‘It’s lucky you have Rebecca here. I don’t know what might have happened …’
Adele, gradually recovering from the paralysing attack, gave her nurse an impatient look. ‘I’m all right,’ she said ungraciously. ‘There was no need to call you at all. Rebecca coped with everything that was needed. She only wanted to let you know that I’d been disobedient. God! I wish I was free of this—this—dependence!’
Dr. Manson looked at her compassionately. ‘Now you know as well as I do that you’ll never be free,’ he said quietly, ‘and it’s something you’ve got to live with, it’s something you’ve got to accept and take into account at all times. You’ve lived with it long enough to know that.’
Adele’s expression was bitter. ‘I’ve lived with it all my life!’ she exclaimed, in a tortured voice.
Dr. Manson turned away, looking helplessly at Rebecca, and Rebecca gave an imperceptible nod of her head. They were both aware of the dangers of the depression Adele was sinking into now that the attack was over.
After the doctor had gone, Rebecca gave Adele a sedative. The older woman objected, but Rebecca used the hypodermic and presently Adele closed her eyes and gave in to the inertia that was creeping over her. After she was asleep, Rebecca cleared the room, tidying away the garments which Rosa had left about the floor. In all honesty, she felt a terrible sense of guilt about the whole affair. Maybe she should have stayed up. Maybe she should have seen Adele into bed herself. Maybe she would have noticed the tell-tale signs that heralded an attack.
So many maybes, and none of them certain. Adele had seemed perfectly all right all evening, and might have been perfectly all right all night, too, if she had not got up to go to the bathroom. No doubt the rich food and the small quantity of drink she had consumed had been responsible for that little journey.
Sighing, she left the bedroom and went to her own room to get dressed. It was already after seven and there was no point in going back to bed. Adele might need her.
When she was dressed she went to the kitchen and begged some coffee from Rosa. The dark-skinned housekeeper looked anxious and asked troubled questions about her employer. Rebecca reassured her, and then said:
‘Did she seem all right when you put her to bed last night?’
Rosa considered. ‘I think so, miss. She wasn’t flushed or anything. Just tired, that’s all. I saw that she took her tablet like you told me, miss, and she seemed fine!’
Rebecca smiled. ‘That’s okay, Rosa. Don’t worry any more. She’s going to be as awkward as usual in a day or two. But she’ll have to stay in bed for today and possibly tomorrow, too. Dr. Manson said so.’
‘Yes, miss.’ Rosa handed her a mug of steamingly aromatic coffee. ‘Are you recovered this morning? Monsieur St. Clair told me you had a headache and had gone to bed.’
Rebecca coloured. ‘Monsieur St. Clair? When did you see him?’
‘He helped me to put Adele to bed before they left, miss.’
‘Oh! Oh, I see.’ Rebecca bit her lip. ‘Were they late in leaving?’ She had not heard the car, but possibly that was because her room was away from the drive.
‘Not very, miss. Soon after you went to bed really.’
Rebecca nodded, and taking the coffee she walked to the wide kitchen windows which looked out on the tropical plantation-like growth which encroached almost to the lawn at the back of the house. There was a bitter-sweet ache inside her which could not be denied. Why did Piers St. Clair affect her like this? Why couldn’t she just put him out of her mind altogether?
Adele’s unexpected illness at least prevented her from exerting too much effort in her condemnation of Rebecca’s actions on the night of the dinner party. When she was fit enough to talk normally towards the end of the following day she merely contented herself with some sneering comments about Rebecca’s inadequacy, and Piers St. Clair’s name was not mentioned. Even so, Rebecca had the distinct impression that Adele chose not to bring his name into it for some devious reasons of her own, and she wished she knew a little more of what her employer was thinking.
Adele objected strongly to having to stay in bed, but perhaps the attack had served a purpose in that it had made her a little more chary of disobeying her doctor’s instructions, and she remained where she was. Rebecca’s job was a little harder in consequence, as she had to do everything for her, including giving her a blanket bath, and although Adele was thin her bones were heavy and required all Rebecca’s strength to lift her.
By the evening of the second day after the attack, Adele seemed almost normal, and Rebecca took the opportunity to go down for a swim after she had settled her employer down for the night. It was the first opportunity she had had to leave the villa, for the previous evening she had been too conscious of the possible dangers of a second attack.
It was a beautiful evening, and Rebecca put on her white bikini and her beach jacket, and ran eagerly across the grass and down the slope to the beach. The air was soft and velvety, and the sky above was a dome of midnight blue studded with diamonds.
Shedding the beach jacket, she allowed the wavelets to ripple round her toes, their chill wholly welcoming after the heat of the day. Then she plunged into the water, and swam strongly out to where she could no longer reach the bottom with her toes. Her limbs felt revitalised as the damp heat of the day was washed away, and she spread her legs and floated, staring up into the arc of sky above.
When she swam back to the shore, she felt cool and refreshed, and shedding her wet bikini she put on the beach jacket, wrapping it closely about her. But even as she did so, she heard the sound of a twig being trampled underfoot, and she swung round in startled expectation. The figure of a man emerged from the shadows of the palms, and her first instinct was to run, but although she was trembling, she stood her ground.
‘Are you aware that you are trespassing?’ she enquired, summoning all her confidence. ‘This is a private beach!’
‘And you are crazy bathing here alone!’ snapped a husky voice, with an unmistakable accent. ‘Mon Dieu, Rebecca, have you no sense?’
Rebecca stared up at Piers St. Clair with mutinous eyes. ‘Have—have you been spying on me?’ she asked tremulously.
Piers uttered an exclamation in his own language. ‘Of course I have not been ‘‘spying’’ on you. I admit I came here in the hope that I might see you, but the sight of the naked female frame is no novelty to me!’ His tone was hard and angry. ‘God in heaven, Rebecca, what would you have done if I had been an intruder? Do you imagine you could offer any defence, dressed like that?’
‘This—this is a private beach,’ she said again, shakily.
‘But it is not sealed off, is it?’ Piers raised his eyes skyward. ‘You constantly enrage me! When I speak to you—when I attempt to be friendly with you, you turn on me like a—a—she-cat! Yet you come here, alone, without taking any precautions for your own safety!’ He snapped his fingers angrily. ‘I—I lose patience with you!’
‘I don’t—recall asking for your indulgence!’ said Rebecca shortly. ‘Now, if you’ll stand out of my way—–’
Piers stood still, staring down at her, and when she moved to walk round him, he moved also, blocking her path. Rebecca looked up at him angrily, using her anger as a shield against his undoubted attraction.
‘Please!’ she said tightly. ‘Get out of my way!’
Piers stared at her for a long moment, and then without a word, stepped out of her path. The relief was such that Rebecca found it incredibly difficult to move at all. But at last, on rather stiff legs, she walked up the beach and crossed the grass to the villa. She didn’t look back, but she was aware of his eyes upon her the whole of the way.
The next few days passed uneventfully. Adele improved considerably and was able to get up and about again. Rebecca knew she had had a telephone call from Piers, but what he had said she was not to know. Later in the week, Adele deemed it necessary to inform her that her brother-in-law had gone to Lautoka, but if she expected some reaction from Rebecca she was disappointed. Rebecca had schooled herself not to show any emotion, and consequently Adele soon grew tired of baiting her.
At the end of the week, Rebecca surprised Adele making a telephone call herself; surprised because Adele always had Rebecca get her calls for her. However, as Adele obviously wanted privacy, Rebecca left her, but she could not help wondering who she had been calling so secretly.
Two afternoons later, after Rebecca had settled Adele down for her nap, Piers St. Clair made another appearance. He came walking into the wide tiled hall, just as Rebecca was gathering the dead flowers from their vases preparatory to adding new ones. In cream pants and a navy silk shirt that hung open, he looked cool and dark, while Rebecca, in her high collared uniform dress, was feeling the heat of the day.