Paul, she thought. Paul. My love. Dear love.
He seemed more unattainable than ever, their games last night trivial, her own pain an indulgence. After her walk she would try to get Arthur to bring the papers to her. She would sign without further delay.
It was obvious now why Paul was so desperate to keep the island. It was his wife's personal sanctuary. Her safe place in a world which would only offer pity or indifference.
After signing away her gift, she. would ask Arthur to help her get off the island. It would never do to meet Paul now she knew his secret. She would return to London. There would never be anything but heartache if she remained on Tago Mago.
CHAPTER SEVEN
She made her way along a path that led through a small stand of pines behind the villa and, reluctant to return before she had managed to sort out her feelings, she walked on up the next hill, puffing slightly as she reached the summit. She could understand why the island had so few domestic buildings, given its geography of short, steep hills, craggy red cliffs and few beaches. It would serve as an ideal hideaway for anyone who no longer wanted to be part of life.
Her eyes saddened at the thought of Paul, so vital, at the height of his powers, having to spend his life in a place like this, away from the dynamic centre of things where he rightly belonged. He must love Rowanna very much.
Fighting back her own unhappiness, which seemed trivial by comparison, she gazed out over the view revealed from her vantage point at the summit of the hill. Below was a flat, green headland, markers indicating that this was the helicopter landing-pad. A thin trail led up into the rocks on the far side and she guessed that it would probably take her back to her starting point. Now she could guess why Paul had tried to stop her crossing the bridge yesterday. It would have brought her out within sight of Rowanna's hideaway.
She could tell she'd reached the farthest end of the small island, and Aunty Vi's house, the Villa Torres, must lie somewhere over the next headland.
More for something to do to keep her mind off Paul and Rowanna than from curiosity, Shanna set off at a jog across the flat green turf, wondering where the helicopter was this morning, not having heard it take off. But only when she came to a stop at the foot of the path did she register that of course Paul had said something about leaving. He had simply set off far earlier than she had anticipated. She wondered if it was Paris as he had suggested: then the realisation struck her that if she left today as she intended they would probably never meet again.
The thought momentarily blacked all else from her mind. She flung herself down on to the grass, pulling her knees up under her chin and gripping them tightly as if to hold on to something safe, then tears glistened on her cheeks—the blue sky, sweep of green, the cliffs with their coronet of sea-birds, all became blurred under a mist of tears.
Eventually she got to her feet, dashing a hand across her eyes as she did so. That's that, she told herself. I'm calm again now. I can cope. I'll go back to London. Sadder but wiser. She smiled bitterly to herself. Maybe it was all part of growing up. To discover that one couldn't always have what one would give one's life for.
It took a good three quarters of an hour to return to the Villa Mimosa, after gingerly skirting the promontory on which the more splendid Villa Torres was perched and braving the rickety wooden bridge over the ravine where she had met Paul.
Vi's villa had been the epitome of luxury living, even more lavish than the one on the other side of the island, but she couldn't help thinking how lonely Henry Would be, living in such spectacular isolation. Perhaps as far as her plans for Henry were concerned, Vi had been right. He would be better off on the mainland with companions of a similar type.
As for Rowanna—well, it seemed callous to thrust a woman as disfigured as that unwillingly into the outside world.
Arthur came out as soon as she appeared.
'I've been looking everywhere for you, dearie. Everything all right?' He eyed her pale face with concern.
'Fine. I've just been for a walk. I thought I should see the rest of the island—for the first and last time,' she added, giving a rueful shrug.
'Desolate, isn't it?' he remarked. 'You ought to look at property on the mainland. Much more your style. If I were twenty years younger --' He smiled disarmingly. 'Anyway, enough of that. The boat's coming out as soon as this wind drops.'
For the first time Shanna noticed that away from the sheltered easterly coast there was a distinct on-shore breeze on this side. Out in the channel the wind would be much fiercer. 'When is it likely to get here?' she asked, thinking she might as well do what little packing there was to be done straight away.
'That's anybody's guess. We're often holed up here for weeks'.' He seemed unperturbed by the thought and turned back towards the house.
'Arthur! Do you seriously mean that?'
He laughed when he saw her worried face. 'I doubt whether it's going to be too bad at this time of year. But there's no telling. It could be a day or so, if this gale they're forecasting does come up.'
'Gale?'
He had gone busily off, and only turned with a helpless shrug when he heard the sound of dismay in her voice.
'Plenty to keep you amused here, don't worry,' he called. 'Go and browse in Vi's library. That's what you wanted, isn't it?
Or --' he came back '—we've plenty of videos here if you don't want to walk all that way again.'
'Thank you,' she murmured, making a gradual mental readjustment. What about her flight from Malaga? Would she have to cancel it and sit it out until another one turned up? That would mean taking a room in a hotel when she reached the mainland. Unexpected expense. Would her funds run to it? She remembered Paul's words telling her that he would make sure she left the island a richer woman than when she came. Running a hand through her hair, she followed Arthur indoors.
The wind did get up later that morning, and it was obviously going to be impossible to leave as planned. Following Arthur's suggestion, Shanna made herself comfortable in the games-room, a long, single-storey attachment to the main block, and chose at random from the shelves of videos on display. Neither Arthur nor Katerina joined her and she felt as lonely as if she had the whole island to herself.
If they're trying to give me a taste of what it would be like to live here—and hoping to put me off—they've succeeded, she thought morosely as the hours lagged by. At about half-past three, after a solitary lunch in a sheltered corner of the terrace, she heard the roar of the approaching helicopter.
Longing and fearing to hear it in equal measure, she went to the french windows and stood there looking up. It was so low that she could see Paul in the pilot's seat. He was alone. Perhaps Henry had had to be taken back to wherever he had been the previous day. One thing was for sure, Paul hadn't yet left for Paris.
He appeared about an hour later. By this time, rain was streaming down the windows as if k would never stop. His blond hair was slicked flat to his head, his face wet, his cotton shirt bundled damply in one hand as he strode across the terrace. Thinking she was unseen, Shanna watched him go through the door on the far side. Her heart had quickened at the sight of that powerful back and shoulders, wet with rain, shinily tactile; asking to be touched.
A moment after he disappeared there was a sound at the games-room door. It opened and suddenly he was standing there, staring in at her. She jumped to her feet, then froze where she was in confusion, quelling the impulse to go into his arms that his sudden presence had provoked.
'I see you didn't get away. I wasn't sure.' He came into the room after closing the door behind him. He had picked up a large towel from somewhere and rubbed his hair with it before slinging it over his shoulders. Its fluffy whiteness made him look like a soapflake ad. Or a champion boxer in one of those American movies, she thought, holding her breath as he came closer.
'Have you got a drink?'
'N-no,' she replied, unable to tear her eyes from him.
'I'll get you one. What would you like?'
'Anything. It doesn't matter, I—I'm just surprised to see you,' she muttered, trying to excuse her confusion. She had expected him to go to Rowanna first.
'So I see. You look as if you've seen a ghost. Watching something scary?' He nodded towards the video set.
'I don't know.' She gave a shaky laugh. 'It's just on. I'm not really watching.'
He picked up the controls and turned down the sound. 'I thought you'd have left by now. The weather too bad for the boat to come out?'
She nodded.
'Fate.' His face was chiselled in an attitude of resignation. He went to the cabinet and poured two large brandies. 'I saw you standing near the french windows when I flew over.' He screwed the cap on the bottle and turned.
'Wrong drink, wrong time. Wrong place, wrong people.' He handed a glass to her. 'Here's to being in the wrong.'
'I'm not sure I want to be in the wrong,' she said hurriedly. 'Let's toast the right people in the right place.' She tried to smile.
'Right, wrong, who cares? I --' He swallowed the words he had been about to utter and went to stand moodily by the window. Rain still beat against it in a slashing downpour. 'So what do we do now?' he murmured, half to himself. 'Sit it out. Sit it out, boy!' He turned, a self-mocking smile sweeping his face, and half sat, half leaned on the window-sill, eyeing her up.
She turned away, unable to withstand his burning scrutiny, her fingers tight on the fragile glass in her hands. She took a hurried gulp and felt the brandy scour her throat.
'Are you sorry you didn't get away in time?' he asked, voice rough-edged when he observed her evident signs of nervousness as she began to prowl the room.
'Yes . . . yes and no,' she corrected truthfully, giving him a nervous smile. She came to a stop at the farthest point away from him, determined not to go too close. His power could pull her in from a hundred yards—a hundred miles—or from the other side of the world if need be, she thought. Only the picture of a thin, dark woman at the lonely villa over the cliff held her back.
'This is going to be a nerve-fraying exercise,' he told her, making no attempt to hide what he was feeling.
'You shouldn't have come here, then, if you knew I hadn't left,' she reproved.
'Are you sorry?' he asked again.
This time she nodded, unable to express in words all the fullness of her heart.
'I had to come. I didn't intend to. When I saw you down here I thought, avoid, avoid!' He tried to speak lightly. 'But my feet have a will of their own, it seems.' He gave a harsh laugh. 'So have my feelings, more's the pity.' He dashed a hand across his brow. 'Is it just sexual attraction between us, Shanna?'
She shook her head. 'I don't—please don't ask me. I don't know.'
'You must know what you feel,' he broke in, tones hardening, face pale in the rain-filtered light from outside.
'It hurts,' she whispered. 'All I know is, it hurts.'
It was the sign he seemed to need. Blindly placing his glass down on the window-sill, he came across to her before she could move.
'I won't touch you. I promise.' His voice was hoarse. 'Shanna, Shanna.' He took a deep breath, all the longing for her welling up, forcing him back beyond the danger zone. 'I want to stop the hurt, believe me. I want to stop it.' He shook his head painfully from side to side, eyes never leaving hers, his own blue like the deepest ocean. 'It is more than lust—I feel a deep, deep involvement with you, darling. A closeness, as if I've known you all my life. It's illogical, irrational. It scares the hell out of me. I can't tell whether it'll fade as rapidly as it's arisen, or last a lifetime, but I know I want to risk everything for it. Do you understand me? Oh, God, Shanna, stay long enough to find out.'
'I can't stay. You know that, Paul. I can't! I daren't!' Her voice cracked. His words echoed her own feelings so closely that she felt possessed by some outside force. It was fate. He himself had used that very word. But it was a fate that had to be resisted.
He held out his arms, opening them to her, inviting her into the heaven within. But the thought of Rowanna held her in check.
'I saw her this morning,' she whispered, voice hoarse with emotion. 'She was sitting having breakfast. She looked so tranquil. I—I couldn't, Paul. I'm not the destroying type. I can't steal someone else's happiness. Understand me, please!' She opened stricken blue eyes, lashes darkened by the tears she resolutely resisted.
Slowly his arms fell to his side, his shoulders sagged, his face became white, haggard. 'You saw her.'
'She seemed content.'
'Content? Oh, she's content all right. Who wouldn't be, with everything they want?'
His savagery astonished her. Grinding a fist into the palm of his hand, he swung away and went over to the window again, picking up his glass and gulping down what remained of the brandy, then standing gazing out through the rain at the deserted terrace. She saw him press his forehead against the glass, and imagined the coolness of it against his burning skin. Everything about him asked her to go to him, to put her arms around him, to soothe his strange, wild anger, but instead she pointed out with an objectivity she didn't feel, 'That's marriage, isn't it? Today, tomorrow and forever.'
She hadn't meant it to sound harsh, but he swung back as if he'd been whipped.
'What would you know about it?' he ground back, his glance raking her flushed face with a flare of hostility. 'Words like that can have as little meaning as the jingles on a card in a stationery shop. But if you had to live with it, minute after minute, year after year—would you be so smug then?'
Silence widened between them. As if it had turned into a physical force, it seemed to send him back towards the french windows on the far side of the room. With a smile twisting his face, he gave her one last dark, despairing look before striding out into the rain.
His name sprang to her lips, hammering in her skull to be uttered, but she refused to call him back. Was his reaction unexpected? For her it was. She thought he was different from the sort of men who wanted the advantages of marriage but none of the restraints. He had slid down in her estimation. But her heart still bled for him. And, foolish though it was, she would have tried to forgive him, tried to make him see things more fairly, if only she'd had the chance.
They didn't meet until after dinner. Presumably he had dined with his wife. The thought was like a knife through her heart. But she had to bear it. She felt quite stoical by the time he reappeared, able to keep him at a distance, but relieved to find that Katerina and Arthur had every intention of staying around, as on the previous evening.
By now the wind was howling around the villa, making the shutters bang, tossing the terrace furniture about in disarray before Paul and Arthur together lugged the heavy things indoors.
'Is Rowanna alone this evening?' she asked when Katerina, suggesting a game of bridge, went to get the cards from a drawer in the card-table.
'Alone? No, why should she be?' It was Paul. He had scarcely looked at her since he came in, but now his eyes narrowed, flicking over her and away as if he didn't want to see her.
Shanna let the matter rest. Obviously he was going to be unforthcoming. She partnered Arthur and felt some satisfaction that they won the first rubber.
'What's the forecast like?' asked Paul a little later after the game had progressed with equal scores on either side.
'Switch on the radio,' suggested Arthur, looking at his watch. 'Worried about Paris?'
'Worried about getting Shanna back in time for her connection at Malaga,' he replied shortly. He dealt the next hand. Shanna frowned over her cards. Now he was savagely eager to get rid of her. She had failed to be taken in by his show of emotion, so now he wanted her to be gone.
'The sooner I can leave, the better. I have to get that flight,' she announced, looking worried, her eyes darting to Paul's face to see if he noticed.
Arthur unwittingly helped out. 'Have to be back home, do you? Work and boyfriend waiting with eager impatience?' he laughed. 'You can always ring and let them know if you miss it. Th
ere's a-very good international phone service these, days. Not like the old days. Remember that, Katerina? The palaver just to phone to England when we first came out here?'
'I do.' Katerina smiled as she dealt the cards.
When Shanna sneaked a glance at Paul, his expression was blank. He, 'had heard what she said but he didn't care. He looked up with a sardonic smile. 'Mustn't keep the boyfriend in suspense, Shanna. Ring him from the office if you think he's going to be worried.'
'It's all right,' she muttered, frantically, thinking of the two or three casual escorts she could ring if Paul insisted on making her go through with the charade. 'I'll wait and see whether I do miss that connection. No need to worry until then.'
'I'll do my best to make sure there's no disappointment for anyone,' he clipped. 'If the worst comes to the worst, I can even take you the whole way --' He broke off, his eyes suddenly meshing with her own. The accidental double meaning of his words struck them both at the same moment.
Shanna bent her head over her cards, gripping them tightly to conceal the fact that her hands were shaking. After such a show of concentration, it was surprising that she played such a poor hand.
CHAPTER EIGHT
As soon as Katerina and Arthur made a move to retire for the night, Shanna was on her feet. Paul eyed her departure with sardonic amusement, only murmuring as she had to brush close to him on her way out, 'Scared of me?' and raising both eyebrows in a sort of challenge.
Shanna's lips were frozen and she returned one stark, silent look as she went out through the door. Katerina was following close behind, and her last glimpse of him was as he settled back on the sofa with a magazine in his hand.
Trying to shut out that derisive glance, she quickly got ready for bed, sliding under the sheet with a feeling that the danger of being alone with him had been successfully avoided.
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