by Anne Mather
‘Thank you.’ Rebecca pressed her lips together.
Piers allowed her foot to drop back on to the sand, but he did not get up. Instead, he sat regarding her with a strange expression on his lean dark face. ‘Why were you crying?’ he asked softly.
Rebecca shook her head helplessly. ‘It was stupid. The—the injury was nothing—’
‘I don’t believe that was why you were crying,’ he said, his voice harsh. ‘Can’t you even be honest with yourself, Rebecca?’ He moved suddenly, and swung her up into his arms, standing upright. ‘I’ll take you back to the villa. It is well not to risk getting poison into your foot.’
Rebecca protested, but he ignored her, and she gave in at last and allowed herself to enjoy the sensation of being this close to him for a while at least. He did not look at her as he strode easily across the turf and into the house, but she was aware of him with every fibre of her being. The hardness of his arms, of the muscular width of his chest, was sensuously disturbing, and she could feel the heat of his body and smell the clean male smell about him.
‘Where is your room?’ he enquired in low tones as he stood in the centre of the hall, and Rebecca spread a hand expressively.
‘If you’ll put me down, I can manage myself,’ she said, quietly, half fearful that either Adele or Rosa might hear them.
His eyes bored into hers. ‘Are you going to tell me, or do I find out by a process of elimination?’ he asked, with cool mockery.
Rebecca sighed and pointed down the corridor. Piers nodded and strode down the passage and when they reached her door she indicated it. It stood slightly ajar, and he pushed it open and walked in. The bed stood unmade, the covers tumbled, while her clothes were strewn around. Piers walked over to the bed and bent to deposit her upon it, and Rebecca put her hands round his neck to steady herself. His skin was smooth to the touch and her fingers lingered so that when he would have straightened she prevented him.
‘Let me go, Rebecca,’ he muttered in a tortured voice, reaching up to wrench her arms from around his neck, but she would not unlink her fingers and with a groan he sank down beside her. His eyes were dark and tormented as he stared down at her, his hands encircling her throat, and then with a muffled exclamation he bent his head and parted her mouth with his.
Rebecca had been kissed before, but never like this. Never so hungrily, so urgently, that his touch destroyed any inhibitions she might have felt. One hand slid over her shoulder and down her arm to her waist, loosening the beach jacket and probing her soft flesh so that all coherent thought was impossible. He was no amateur, she realised, when it came to lovemaking, but what disturbed her most was the realisation that she could be as demanding as he, responding to his undoubted expertise with abandonment. The weight of his hard body on hers had a seducing quality about it, and when suddenly he dragged himself away from her she felt bereft.
He turned away, raking a hand through his hair, shaking his head with slow emphasis. ‘Non!’ he muttered thickly. ‘Non!’ I must not do it!’
Rebecca stared at his back, a frown marring her flushed features, and presently he turned and looked at her with impassioned eyes. ‘Rebecca,’ he said huskily, ‘I must go!’
Rebecca propped herself up on one elbow, the attitude unknowingly provocative. ‘Are you running away, Piers?’ she murmured softly.
He hunched his shoulders, thrusting his hands deep into his trousers’ pockets. ‘Yes! Yes, I am,’ he said, his eyes surveying her with devastating intensity. ‘I find even I cannot destroy such innocence!’ His expression hardened.
Rebecca’s frown deepened and she slid off the bed. ‘Piers,’ she murmured questioningly, ‘I—I know what I am doing.’
He raised his eyes heavenward. ‘I doubt it, Rebecca,’ he muttered grimly. ‘Please, don’t make it any harder for me than it already is. For the first time in my life, after years with a woman I loathe and despise, I have found something beautiful—something worthwhile! But—God help me! I cannot take it.’ He turned away abruptly. ‘I must go. Adele will be awake soon, and if she finds me here—’
Rebecca caught his arm. ‘Piers?’ she murmured, shaking her head. ‘What are you talking about? I—I haven’t asked you for anything—I don’t expect anything—’
He caught her shoulders and shook her gently. ‘Haven’t you been listening to me?’ he asked fiercely. ‘Look, we can’t discuss this now. There isn’t time, and in any case I need time to—to—’ He shook his head again. ‘Tonight—oui? Meet me tonight. We can talk then.’
Rebecca stared at him. ‘All right. But how? I mean —Adele—’
‘I’ll come here. To the beach. About nine, right?’
Rebecca swallowed hard. ‘All right.’
‘Good.’ He gave her a faint smile, and then with an exclamation he caught her close for a moment and pressed his mouth to hers. ‘Tu es adorable! Je t’aime!’ he murmured huskily, and then without allowing her to say another word, he went swiftly out of the door.
After he had gone, Rebecca moved on trembling legs to close the door, and once that was accomplished she leaned back against it weakly. The events of the past few minutes had been infinitely too momentous for her to be able to assimilate them with any degree of coherency. What did it all mean? What did Piers mean? Those final few words in his own language; could he possibly have been serious? He had said she was adorable—that he loved her! Was it possible? Could he love her? And if he did, what did he intend to do about it?
She moved like an automaton to the dressing table, forcing herself to concentrate on the face of her alarm clock. It was almost eight-thirty. It was time she was dressed and having breakfast. Rosa would begin to get curious if she was late.
Shaking her head, trying to bring normality back into her life, she went into the bathroom and under a cold shower put all thoughts of Piers St. Clair to the back of her mind. The hours between now and nine o’clock tonight stretched endlessly away ahead of her, and the only way to make them pass was to fill her day to the exclusion of all conscious thought…
CHAPTER FOUR
ROSA was not in the kitchen when Rebecca made her appearance, and she looked about her, puzzled. The housekeeper was always there at this time of the morning, preparing Adele’s tray, and evidences of her recent occupation were all about, so she must be somewhere. Rebecca decided she must have gone outside to gather some vegetables for lunch, and shrugging, she poured herself a cup of coffee from the pot on the electric cooker. She was seated at the kitchen table, drinking it, when Rosa came in from the hall.
‘Good morning, Rosa.’ Rebecca smiled.
‘Good morning, miss.’ Rosa did not smile, but made her way to the sink unit. ‘Did you get some coffee?’
‘Yes, thanks. You weren’t here, so I helped myself.’ She frowned, noticing Rosa’s preoccupation. ‘Is—is something wrong?’
Rosa glanced round, her normally amiable face slightly anxious. ‘Not really, miss. I—I’ve been taking in Miss Adele’s tray.’
Rebecca’s coffee cup clattered into its saucer. ‘You’ve been what?’
‘Taking in Miss Adele’s tray,’ repeated Rosa stolidly. ‘She asked for it, miss. I had to.’
Rebecca shook her head uncomprehendingly. ‘She asked for it?’
‘Yes, miss. At first I thought you were about, too. Miss Adele came to the kitchen, in her chair.’
Rebecca got rather jerkily to her feet. ‘She came to the kitchen in her chair!’ she repeated incredulously. ‘I’m sorry if I sound stupid, Rosa, but this has never happened before. Not since I’ve been here anyway.’
‘I know, miss. I was surprised, too.’ Rosa’s round face showed her concern. ‘I guess she woke early or something.’
Rebecca was thinking hard. All of a sudden a lot of things were occurring to her. ‘How—how long ago was this?’ she asked. ‘When Miss Adele came to the kitchen, I mean.’
Rosa considered. ‘Fifteen or twenty minutes, I suppose,’ she said thoughtfully.
Fif
teen or twenty minutes! Rebecca closed her eyes for a long moment. When she opened them again, Rosa was eyeing her with concern. Sensing the elderly servant’s anxiety, Rebecca managed a faint smile. ‘It’s all right, Rosa,’ she reassured her. ‘I was just—thinking, that’s all.’ She bit hard at her upper lip. ‘Did—did Miss Adele say anything when you took in her tray?’
‘No, miss. Just to tell you that she had been up and about.’
Rebecca walked restlessly across to the window, and back again. It was hard trying to find reasons for anything Adele did, and even now she might be jumping to conclusions unnecessarily. But somehow she was certain she was not. She took a deep breath. Whatever the situation, Adele had to be faced, and after all, there was no harm done, was there? Adele had practically encouraged her to go out with Piers St. Clair. Surely she could not object because he had brought her back from the beach.
But was there more to it than that? Had Adele seen them or heard them together in the hall? Or had she followed them to Rebecca’s bedroom? Rebecca’s face suffused with hot colour. Oh, no! Surely Adele would not have done that! She tried to remember whether her door had been open or closed. It had been open, of course. Piers had pushed it open when he brought her home and afterwards… She shook her head. They would not have noticed if an onlooker had come silently to that aperture and sat for a while watching them.
An awful feeling of nausea overwhelmed her, and she turned away so that Rosa should not see the pallor of her face. She must not jump to conclusions like this! Just because Adele had been up and about did not mean she had seen or heard anything. Even so…
She walked to the door. ‘I’ll go and see if she has finished yet,’ she said, in a taut voice, and went out of the kitchen.
In the corridor she halted again. Why was she torturing herself like this? What did it matter if Adele had seen them? Nothing had happened—nothing of which to be ashamed, at least.
Straightening her shoulders, she marched down the hall to Adele’s room, and after knocking, she entered. Adele was sitting up in her wheelchair, the breakfast tray across her knees. She was not dressed, but she had put on her dressing gown. She gave Rebecca a curiously triumphant look as she came into the room, and Rebecca swallowed hard before saying: ‘Good morning, Miss St. Cloud,’ in a deliberately casual tone.
Adele put aside the tray, thrusting it on to a small table beside her, and wiping her mouth on her napkin. ‘Good morning, Rebecca,’ she answered amiably. ‘Lovely morning, isn’t it?’
Rebecca compressed her lips. That was an unusual greeting. Adele invariably woke up in a foul mood and had to be humoured at this hour. But taking her cue, she replied: ‘It is indeed. Beautiful.’ She managed a bright smile. The room was filled with sunlight, and her gaze flickered to the venetian blinds at the windows which someone had opened to their fullest extent. ‘You’re up particularly early this morning.’
‘Yes.’ Adele lay back in her chair with obvious enjoyment. ‘Perhaps the brightness of the day disturbed me—or could it have been something else, do you suppose?’
Rebecca managed to retain her composure. ‘Did you draw the venetian blinds?’ she asked, crossing to adjust them so that the brilliance of the sunlight did not dazzle her patient.
Adele nodded. ‘Yes, I did. Take a look out there, Rebecca. Have you ever realised what a magnificent view I have?’
Rebecca looked out. Adele’s windows were further along the same wall of the house as the hall windows, overlooking the sweep of grass that led down to the beach. Anyone sitting at this window would have a magnificent view of everything and everybody that moved out there.
Rebecca swung round. ‘It—it is—magnificent!’ she agreed.
Adele nodded. ‘I often sit by that window, Rebecca. Not always in the mornings, I must admit, but sometimes. This morning I was restless, so I sat there for a while.’
Rebecca felt the muscles of her face freeze. ‘Oh, yes,’ she managed stiffly.
‘Yes. I saw you go down for your swim, Rebecca. How I envy you—’
‘Stop it!’ Rebecca could stand no more. ‘What are you trying to say, Miss St. Cloud? You are trying to say something, aren’t you?’
Adele stared at her in apparent surprise. ‘Dear me, Rebecca, you are touchy this morning. Whatever do you imagine I am trying to say?’
Rebecca took a deep breath. ‘Have you finished with your breakfast tray, Miss St. Cloud? If you have I’ll take it back to the kitchen.’
Adele’s expression hardened slightly. ‘All in good time, miss, all in good time. Come and sit down. I want you to tell me all about yesterday afternoon.’
‘Yesterday afternoon?’ Rebecca stared at her in astonishment. ‘What happened yesterday afternoon?’
Adele raised her eyebrows. ‘Your trip with Piers. I want to hear all about it.’
Rebecca moved restlessly. ‘There’s nothing to hear. Please, Miss St. Cloud, let me take the tray and then you can have your bath.’
Adele plucked at the cord of her dressing gown. ‘Later, Rebecca, later. Right now we have other matters to discuss. I—er—well, I think I ought to tell you a little about Piers.’
Rebecca felt sick. ‘I—I don’t want to talk about Monsieur St. Clair,’ she stated firmly.
Adele’s eyes narrowed. ‘Nevertheless, we will talk about him, Rebecca. If only for your own good.’
Rebecca stared at her now. ‘What is that supposed to mean?’
Adele shrugged. ‘Well, my dear, I venture to say I know him a little better than you do, and I just wonder whether I have been foolish in allowing you to—well, associate with him.’
Rebecca raised her eyes heavenward. ‘You didn’t allow me to do anything,’ she exclaimed impatiently. ‘I—I’m perfectly capable of making my own decisions, thank you.’
Adele sighed. ‘I wonder. I wonder. Poor Jennifer thought so, too, and look where it’s landed her!’ She shook her head regretfully.
Rebecca pressed her lips together. She would not be inquisitive. She must not be inquisitive. That was exactly what Adele wanted. Even so…
Adele watched the expressive features of her face, and went on: ‘Poor Jennifer. I did tell you about her, didn’t I? My sister, you know.’
Rebecca heaved a sigh. ‘The one who married Piers, I assume.’
‘Yes, that’s right. My sister Jennifer. It’s almost eight years since I’ve seen her.’
Rebecca was piling plates and saucers together on the tray, preparatory to picking it up, but something Adele said made her look at her with suddenly curious eyes. ‘But she’s dead!’ she said, almost involuntarily.
Adele’s eyes widened and she looked at Rebecca almost indignantly. ‘Jennifer? Dead? When did it happen?’
Rebecca gave an exasperated gesture. ‘You told me so yourself,’ she exclaimed impatiently.
‘Oh, no! No, I didn’t do that.’
Rebecca felt as though a cold hand was sliding into her stomach and slowly and systematically squeezing it. ‘But you did!’ she contradicted Adele urgently. ‘Don’t you remember? We were talking about Piers and—and the fact of his being married—and you said your sister was dead!’
‘Oh, I see.’ Adele nodded. ‘My dear Rebecca, you’ve got confused! I did say my sister was dead, I remember now. But not Piers’ wife; not Jennifer! Denise!’
Rebecca felt nausea welling up inside her. Piers was married! He was married! She couldn’t take it in. She couldn’t accept it. It was bad enough before, knowing of the enormous gulf between them, but this—this was terrible; agonising; destructive!
She stared tortuously at Adele and suddenly as she looked at her she realised something. Adele had planned this! She had deliberately misled her about Piers’ marriage, knowing that when Rebecca eventually found out it would be so much more painful. Maybe she had planned to wait until what had happened this morning had happened. Which brought her back to this morning, and the reason for Adele’s early explorations.
Uncaring of the consequences,
Rebecca exclaimed: ‘You saw us this morning, didn’t you?’
Adele feigned surprise. ‘Saw who, Rebecca?’
Rebecca clenched her fists. ‘Oh, you know, you know!’ she cried angrily. ‘You saw me with Piers! But when? And where?’ She raised a hand to her forehead. ‘You couldn’t—you couldn’t have—’ She turned away, suddenly, unable to go on.
Adele uttered an ugly sound of amusement. ‘Couldn’t what, Rebecca? Couldn’t what?’ She propelled her chair round the trembling girl. ‘I’ll tell you, shall I? You think I couldn’t have wheeled this old chair along the corridor to your bedroom—yes, your bedroom, miss—and watched Piers making love to you!’ She snorted contemptuously. ‘Well, you’re wrong, miss. I could! And what’s more, I did!’
‘No!’ Rebecca pressed the palm of her hand to her mouth.
‘Oh, yes, miss.’ Adele’s face was contorted with triumph. ‘Yes, I watched you, and it’s given me a new lease on life, believe me!’
Rebecca stared at her, repelled and yet fascinated. ‘I don’t begin to understand your motives. You’re twisted! Evil!’
‘Maybe I am.’ Adele was without remorse. ‘But I don’t care.’
Rebecca shook her head helplessly. ‘But what have you gained by it? A chance to hurt me, is that it?’
Adele’s lip curled. ‘That’s a small thing compared to knowing that the man who deserted me for Jennifer is no more reliable now than he was then!’
Rebecca froze. ‘Piers? What do you mean—deserted you?’
Adele sneered, ‘I told you before, Rebecca. When Piers first came here. We were once going to be married.’ She stared broodingly into space. ‘He wanted me, I know he did. But Jennifer wouldn’t leave him alone. And he thought she was perfect. As perfect as her appearance!’ Adele laughed cruelly. ‘Oh, but he was wrong, and he soon found out!’ She looked hard at Rebecca. ‘He married her, Rebecca, because she was pregnant! What else could he do?’