Wild Enchantress

by Anne Mather

  ‘You had time to go down to the beach this morning!'

  Her accusing tones made Elizabeth catch her breath, and Jared's jaw clenched. ‘Yes, I did.'

  ‘It doesn't matter…'

  Laura again, and this time Catherine listened to her. It was a pointless argument anyway. Laura was apparently prepared to let him get away with it, so why should she care? All the same, she guessed that by taking Laura's part she had succeeded in antagonising Elizabeth still further. It was a relief when lunch was announced, and they could all adjourn to the dining room.

  The meal was a silent one. Jared was grim and morose, Elizabeth, cold and disapproving, and Laura miserably pandering to both of them. Catherine was irritated by the girl's humility, and couldn't wait to escape to her room. She ate melon without enjoying it, concentrating on her surroundings, unwillingly admiring the dark wood furniture, and magnolia damask walls. A low chandelier was suspended above the long polished table, but Catherine guessed that on special occasions they would light the pair of silver candelabra which stood on either end of the carved sideboard. She could imagine the mellow light from candles, reflected in dark surfaces, throwing the portrait above the mantel into relief. Her gaze lingered on that painting of a woman little more than Elizabeth's age, a dark-haired woman, wearing a white gauze gown, and strings of pearls, and bearing a distinct resemblance to Jared. Could it be a painting of his mother? And if so, who had done it? Her father had told her that Jared's own mother had died when he was in his teens, so it could hardly have been him. But it was good, very good, and when she returned her attention to the table, she realised that he had observed her interest. Nevertheless, neither the painting, nor the moist and succulent fish, stuffed with vegetables and herbs, cooked in wine, and served with a crisp side salad, could entirely take away the taste of bitterness in her mouth.

  But Elizabeth wasn't finished with her yet. ‘I think it would be a good idea if you did go along to the club with Laura, Catherine,’ she announced, when the main dishes had been taken away, and bowls of fruit and dishes of cheese had replaced them. There was still an edge of coldness to her voice, but Laura clearly saw it as the break in the ice.

  ‘Yes. Why don't you come along, Catherine?' she exclaimed eagerly, glad of anything to ease the situation. ‘I've brought my gear with me, and I'm driving over there straight after lunch.'

  Catherine's palms pressed hard against her knees. Her position was hopeless, and she knew it. She looked up and encountered Jared's eyes upon her from across the width of the table, and the malicious amusement in their depths made her want to hurt him very badly.

  ‘It will give you an opportunity to meet some other young people.’ Elizabeth warmed to her theme. ‘Jared and I both have work to do this afternoon, and you'd only be bored sitting here alone.'

  Catherine felt like saying that she would be the best judge of what would bore her and what would not, but in spite of her contempt for Laura, she could not hurt her.

  ‘Where is this tournament?’ she asked resignedly, and knew she had taken the first irrevocable step.

  ‘At the Alora Beach Tennis Club,’ answered Laura at once. ‘It's about half an hour's drive from here. It's a super place! You can play tennis or squash; swim, if you like. And there's a children's paddling pool, and the clubhouse.'

  Catherine thought it sounded exactly the sort of place she would prefer to avoid, and for the first time felt a twinge of sympathy with Jared. Somehow she didn't think he would enjoy that kind of stereotyped gathering either. But that still didn't excuse his behaviour.

  ‘You will come, won't you?’ Laura was endearingly eager, and Catherine gave in.

  ‘I—all right.'

  ‘Oh, wonderful!'

  Laura looked delighted, and even Elizabeth was visibly thawing. ‘You'll enjoy it,’ she said, permitting herself a look in Jared's direction, and intercepting that brief exchange, Catherine decided that they thought they had won the unequal contest.

  In the event, it was not an unpleasing afternoon.

  The tennis club was by no means the institution she had expected it to be. Situated on the coast south of the Royal estate, its low buildings sprawled over several acres. There were plenty of cars parked inside the iron gates, and concrete walkways between the tennis courts leading to the swimming and paddling pools which were almost on the beach, and adjacent to the colonial styling of the clubhouse. The final stages of the tennis competition were not due to begin until four o'clock, and Laura introduced Catherine to a crowd of young people grouped beside the pool in various stages of undress.

  Laura was greeted warmly, but it was apparent from the curious glances cast around that everyone wondered where Jared had got to.

  ‘He's not coming,’ Laura explained, no doubt wanting to get it over as soon as possible, and drowned their exclamations of ‘The beast!' and ‘What a shame!’ with the assertion that his work was more important than a game of tennis. Watching her, Catherine realised that she really meant what she said, a fact which would have pleased Elizabeth Royal enormously.

  While Laura was making apologies for Jared, a good-looking man in swimming shorts, with brown hair and the bluest eyes Catherine had ever seen, got up and offered her his seat. Thanking him, she subsided into it. It was very hot, much hotter than she was used to, and not even the thin dress she was wearing could prevent little trickles of dampness all over her body. He sat down cross-legged on the stone apron beside her, and looking up, said: ‘Are you staying in Barbados long, Catherine?'

  Catherine smiled. ‘About six months, I think. I'm sorry—I don't remember your name.'

  ‘John—John Dexter.’ He grinned in return. ‘And you're from England?'

  ‘Yes. London, actually. I'm staying with—the Royals.'

  ‘Yes, we had heard you were coming,’ remarked John, nodding. ‘Laura told us.'

  ‘Oh.’ Catherine fanned herself with one hand. ‘Isn't it hot?'

  John shook his head. ‘Not particularly. You should take a dip in the pool and cool off. That's what I've been doing.'

  ‘I wish I could.’ Catherine was serious. ‘But I haven't brought a swimsuit.'

  ‘I could lend you one.’ Laura had heard the tail-end of their conversation, and chimed in. ‘Would you like a swim, Catherine?'

  Catherine hesitated. Then: ‘Why not?'

  Laura smiled. ‘Come on, then. I've got a locker in the clubhouse where I keep my things. I'll show you where you can change.'

  ‘I'll be waiting.'

  John's casual promise followed them across the lawns and into the club buildings, and Laura chuckled. ‘It sounds like you've made a conquest already,’ she said. ‘But don't take him too seriously, will you? Johnny has quite a reputation.'

  ‘I'll try not to,’ murmured Catherine dryly, but Laura missed her sarcasm.

  The water in the pool was the warmest Catherine had ever swum in, and with several of the young men competing with John for her attention, it was not difficult to convince herself that she was glad she had come. Laura's navy swimsuit fitted her quite well, and by the time she emerged to watch the competition, she felt several degrees cooler.

  Unfortunately for Laura, she was knocked out of the tournament in her leg of the semi-finals. However, the girl who beat her went on to win, which assuaged her disappointment somewhat. They drove back to Amaryllis in the cooler air of early evening, but when they reached the house, Catherine left Laura to relate the events of the afternoon to her future husband and his step-mother, while she sought the welcome isolation of her room.

  Dinner proved to be a non-event, even though Catherine had spent some time deciding what to wear. Only Elizabeth joined her in the lamplit dining room, the chandelier having been waived in favour of a less revealing light. When Catherine ventured to ask where Jared was, she was told, rather irritably she felt, that he was out for the evening, dining with his future in-laws. So Laura had got her fiancé to herself at last, she thought wryly. With or without Elizabeth's consent?


  After the rather eventful day, Catherine slept soundly that night, and awakened much later the next morning. An examination of her watch revealed that it was already after eight o'clock, and she lay for several minutes recalling what she had been doing at this time yesterday morning. As she got out of bed and padded into the bathroom, she wondered if Jared had gone surfing this morning, if he had taken the direct route across the fields which she had denied him the day before.

  Showered, she dressed in blue denim jeans rolled back to the knee, and a striped halter top. Underneath, she wore the pants of a green bikini, and she looked forward to lazing in the sun, improving the tan she had begun the day before.

  Elizabeth was alone in the morning room, seated at the breakfast table, studying the financial pages of the local newspaper. She managed a cool smile when her guest appeared, surveying her with slightly raised eyebrows. She was wearing jodhpurs again, which Catherine guessed were her usual working attire.

  ‘Good morning,’ she remarked casually, as Catherine came to sit at the table. ‘You look—very well.'

  It was an ambiguous comment, and Catherine realised it was the first time since her arrival that Elizabeth had seen her in anything so revealing. Did the older woman's eyes linger on the bare expanse of her midriff? Had Jared told his step-mother what she had told him, and if so, why didn't she mention it?

  ‘It's another lovely day,’ Catherine said now, smiling at Susie, who had come to attend to her needs. ‘Oh, just toast and coffee, please.'

  ‘Yes.’ Elizabeth folded her newspaper. ‘We are lucky with the weather.'

  Catherine rested her elbows on the table, cupped her chin on her hands, and smiled her acquiescence with this statement. There were a few moments’ awkward silence, and then she persevered gallantly: ‘I can hardly believe it's February. Just a few thousand miles and the difference is amazing!'

  ‘Yes.’ Elizabeth finished her coffee, and pushed her cup aside. Then: ‘By the way, I'm afraid I shan't be able to show you the stables today. I'd forgotten, it's our dinner party this evening, and I must make an effort to get into Bridgetown later this morning. I have a hair appointment at three, so do you think you could entertain yourself?'

  ‘Of course.’ Catherine would be glad of the opportunity to do so.

  ‘What I mean is…’ Apparently Elizabeth wasn't happy that everything had been satisfactorily explained. ‘You won't—annoy Jared, will you, Catherine? I mean, he does have to work. I know he's not in at the moment—'

  ‘Down at the beach?’ Catherine's tone was dry.

  ‘I expect so.’ Elizabeth did not approve of her flippancy. ‘I have explained that, Catherine.'

  ‘Oh, you have!’ Catherine's eyes were wide and innocent. ‘And I understand. Don't worry, Mrs Royal. I'll just sit beside the pool and avoid making a nuisance of myself.'

  Elizabeth's smile was frosty, but she rose to her feet and adjusted her chair. ‘If you'll excuse me, then…'

  ‘Of course.’ Catherine looked demure. ‘Don't work too hard.'

  She finished breakfast alone, and then sauntered outside. The pool looked very inviting, but she decided to allow her breakfast to digest before trying it. She had sunglasses in her pocket, so kicking off her sandals, she stretched her length on a lounger.

  She had been there perhaps half an hour, and was considering going indoors for her anti-sunburn oil so that she could shed her jeans, when a man came strolling on to the patio. His booted feet sounded hollowly on the stone tiles, and she opened her eyes in surprise to find him standing a few feet away watching her.

  Wriggling into an upright position, she took off her dark glasses, and said politely: ‘Can I help you?'

  The man grinned. He was a little above average height, stockily built, with greying fair hair, and attractively tanned features. In knee-lenth boots and riding breeches, a thin cotton shirt open over his broad chest, he looked like an old-style plantation boss, but she had no idea who he could be.

  ‘You would be Miss Fulton, of course,’ he remarked, coming nearer, revealing that he walked with a distinct limp. His accent was unmistakable, and Catherine nodded, remembering.

  ‘And you're Mr Donovan,’ she countered, swinging her feet to the ground. ‘Are you looking for Elizabeth?'

  It was strange how easily Elizabeth's name came to her lips when she was not actually speaking to the woman herself.

  ‘That's right,’ Patrick Donovan agreed now. ‘Is she about?'

  ‘I really don't know. Actually, I thought she had gone down to the stables.'

  Donovan sighed. ‘Damn! I wanted to ask her whether the buyer we had yesterday was coming back today.'

  ‘Oh, I shouldn't think so.’ Catherine rose to her feet, so that she was almost on eye-level terms with him. ‘I understand she wants to go into Bridgetown this morning, and she has a hair appointment this afternoon. For a dinner party she's giving this evening.'

  ‘Yes.’ Donovan frowned. ‘Well, you could be right.’ Then he threw off his uncertainty. ‘How are you settling down at Amaryllis?'

  Catherine shrugged. ‘I—it's all right.'

  ‘You're not impressed.'

  ‘I wouldn't say that exactly. But…’ She shook her head. ‘Have you worked here long?'

  ‘About ten years.'

  ‘So you'll have known—Jared's father?'

  ‘Sure. He employed me in the first place.'

  Catherine nodded, fiddling with her glasses. ‘Does—does Jared take after his father?'

  ‘Jared?’ Donovan gave her a wry look, and she wondered if she had been indiscreet. ‘How do you mean?'

  Catherine could feel herself colouring. ‘What I mean is—is he a good boss?'

  Donovan grinned. ‘Do you really expect me to tell you?’ Then he laughed. ‘The best!'

  ‘Why do you say it like that?'

  ‘Because he never interferes in the business.'

  ‘You don't mind?'

  ‘Why should I? No, Jared's pretty shrewd in money matters, and he expects a fair return for his investment, but on the whole he leaves the running of the stables to me.'

  ‘And—Elizabeth?'

  ‘You ask a lot of questions, don't you?'

  Catherine bent her head. ‘I'm sorry. But you're the first person I've met since coming here that I've felt able to ask.'

  Donovan looked at her sympathetically. ‘I'll take that as a compliment,’ he teased, and she laughed, relaxing again. ‘As a matter of fact, Mrs Royal has a good business head on her shoulders,’ he added. ‘I leave the financial side of things to her. She likes paper work, and I'm no clerical assistant. She does all the buying and selling, and we both attend the bloodstock sales.'

  ‘It sounds interesting.'

  ‘If you like horses,’ he conceded, ‘and I love them. I was brought up on a farm in Ireland where they bred racehorses, and I've never forgotten the thrill I felt when my father put me up on my first mount. I must have been about three at the time, but it's stuck in my mind, you know what I mean?’ He paused. ‘Perhaps you'd like to see our own champion. Chartreuse! He won every big race he entered. Including the Kentucky Derby. That was a proud day!’ He shook his head reminiscently. ‘But now he uses his energies in another direction!'

  Catherine guessed what he meant and chuckled, but her amusement faded when a harsh voice interrupted them.

  ‘Are you looking for me, Donovan?'

  Jared walked on to the patio from the direction of the tennis courts, lean and sensually disturbing in tight-fitting cotton pants that hung low on his hips. That they were damp in places revealed that he had not bothered to dry himself before getting dressed, and Catherine had to make an effort not to stare too openly.

  ‘I was looking for Mrs Royal, sir.’ Donovan turned to face his employer. ‘But Miss Fulton's just been telling me she's going into town.'

  ‘Has she?’ Jared's tawny eyes flicked Catherine with cold arrogance. ‘And what have you been telling her?'

  Donovan looked non
plussed. ‘I don't know what you mean, sir.'

  ‘Don't you?’ Jared halted before them, dark and intimidating. ‘What is there about my stepmother going to town that's so amusing?'

  Donovan shifted uncomfortably and Catherine felt resentment flooding her being. What was wrong with two people talking together? Why shouldn't they?

  ‘Do you monitor all conversations on these premises?’ she inquired insolently, and was aware that Donovan did not welcome her intervention.

  ‘I was telling Miss Fulton about Chartreuse, sir,' he put in quickly, but Jared had turned to his house guest.

  ‘Donovan doesn't have time to stand here chatting to you!’ he stated grimly. ‘If you're bored, that's not his problem.'

  ‘Nor yours, either, I suppose!’ she retorted, but again Jared had transferred his attention.

  ‘If that's all, Donovan?’ he prompted authoritatively, and with an apologetic nod, the Irishman walked quickly away.

  When he had gone, Catherine flung herself on to the lounger, pushing the dark glasses on to her nose and deliberately ignoring the man at her side. She stretched out her legs, positioned her arms so that they benefited most from the sun's rays, and forced a look of relaxation which she was far from feeling.

  She expected Jared to leave her, not particularly caring what he thought of her right then, but when he spoke she realised she had been a fool to think she could get off so lightly.

  ‘Don't you ever speak to me like that again in front of a member of my staff!’ he told her angrily, and although Catherine quivered at the threatening note in his voice, she refused to let him see he had disturbed her.

  Opening her eyes, she tilted the glasses so she could see over them, and said: ‘Only when we're alone, is that right?'

  Jared pushed his balled fists into the hip pockets of his pants. ‘And while we're on the subject, don't interfere in matters between Laura and me!'

  Catherine sat up. ‘I presume you mean yesterday.'

  ‘When else?'

  ‘Has Laura been complaining?'

  Jared glared at her. ‘I'm telling you. Mind your own business!'