by Anne Mather
* * *
After Doctor Mortimer had gone, Rebecca had to enter the lounge again to confront the others. She would have liked to have avoided this, to have gone straight to bed herself, but of course that was impossible. Besides, Mrs, Gillean was in the process of remaking her bed, taking away the bloodied sheets and pillowcases and replacing them with clean ones. Piers had gone to his own room and Gillean had assisted him to bed, and Paul had already spoken to his father.
But now it was her turn to be questioned, and she hoped she could remain as composed as she outwardly appeared. Adele, as usual, was first to attack.
‘Well, miss,’ she said bleakly, ‘we’re waiting for an explanation. Exactly what did you hope to achieve by keeping what was going on from us? A chance to win favour with my brother-in-law?’
Rebecca sank down weakly into an armchair, sure her legs would no longer support her. ‘Not—not at all,’ she stammered awkwardly, hardly daring to look at Paul. ‘It was simply that everything happened so quickly—’
Paul lit a cigarette, inhaling deeply. ‘Telling us wouldn’t have taken a moment,’ he said. ‘And before we go any further, I’d like to know how it happened.’
‘I’ve told you. The lorry was splintered metal. Your father tore his shoulder on the metal.’ Rebecca stared at him.
Paul studied the tip of his cigarette. ‘And I suppose you thought here was another chance to shine in his eyes.’
Rebecca’s expression was mortified. ‘Paul!’ she exclaimed.
Paul had the grace to look shamefaced. ‘Well…’ he said, defensively. ‘It’s pretty obvious it was something like that. I’d be interested to know exactly how well you knew my father in Fiji.’
Rebecca heaved a sigh, unable to prevent the embarrassment that showed on her face. She looked angrily at Adele and saw her smug expression, and wondered what she had been saying while she was upstairs. Feeling as though nothing would hurt her after this, she said: ‘Why don’t you ask your aunt?’
Tom Bryant stepped forward. He had been leaning against the cabinet in the corner and she had scarcely noticed him, but now he said: ‘Come on, Paul, stop this stupidity. I think Rebecca acted in your father’s best interests, and as Doctor Mortimer has told us he put twelve stitches into your father’s arm, I hardly think you should complain because you weren’t consulted before the doctor was called. Heavens, man, you should be thankful it was not more serious!’
Paul looked a trifle shamefaced. ‘It’s all right you talking like that, Tom—’
‘Oh, stop it!’ Tom seemed to be losing his patience. ‘What happened, after all? Why should you have been told at once? What could you have done that Rebecca couldn’t do just as adequately?’
‘Paul is Piers’ son,’ interrupted Adele sharply.
‘So what?’
Adele lifted her shoulders a trifle nervously. ‘So you’re championing Rebecca, too, are you, Tom?’
Tom gave her an eloquent stare. ‘Well, as there are three of you, I think that’s only fair, don’t you?’ he observed sardonically.
Adele flushed. ‘Oh, well, leave it, leave it! It’s over and there’s nothing we can do about it now.’ She looked fully at Rebecca. ‘You’ll be leaving tomorrow?’
Rebecca got to her feet. ‘I’d leave tonight if I could,’ she said tautly, and left the room before any of them could say anything else.
Outside, in the hall, she leaned against the wall weakly. She was a fool to allow anything Adele said to upset her, but it did. And what Doctor Mortimer had said hurt her, too. It seemed that all the St. Clair family could do was hurt her.
She walked slowly across the hall and heard a door close behind her. Glancing round swiftly, she expected to see Paul, but instead she saw Tom Bryant. She felt relieved. At least Tom believed that what she had done was right.
‘Come into the library,’ he said. ‘You’re too upset to go to bed. We can have a drink together. That will help.’
Rebecca hesitated, and then smiled. ‘All right. Thanks.’
While Tom prepared their drinks, Rebecca tidied away the records she and Paul had been playing earlier. Then they sat in opposite armchairs and Rebecca sipped the long drink Tom had given her. It was a mixture of lime and lemon and laced with vodka, and it was quite delicious.
‘That’s better, isn’t it?’ said Tom, smiling, and Rebecca nodded. ‘Much,’ she agreed.
‘Tell me,’ Tom frowned, ‘exactly what is your relationship to Paul?’
Rebecca coloured. ‘We don’t have a—relationship, as such. We’re friends, that’s all.’
‘I see. And of course Paul didn’t know you knew his family.’
‘No.’
Tom nodded thoughtfully. ‘I gather you and Adele don’t get on.’
Rebecca half smiled. ‘That’s the understatement of the year.’
Tom shrugged. ‘She’s not an easy person to get on with. She’s had too much adversity in her life to cope with it sensibly. She had a grudge against life, and against her family, and against anyone who dares to challenge her, I suppose.’
‘I used to pity her,’ said Rebecca slowly. ‘But she doesn’t want pity. At least—not from me.’
‘No, she never did. I guess that’s why she’s so embittered. It’s gnawed into her soul. Maybe if she’d got rid of some of that bitterness in a normal healthy way, she would have been a different person. But she never could.’ He sighed, swirling the liquid round in his glass. ‘She’s never forgiven Piers for marrying Jennifer, you know. Just as she never forgave Jennifer, although that didn’t bother her. The St. Clouds as a family are alike in the respect that they care only for themselves.’
Rebecca frowned. ‘Why are you telling me all this?’
Tom shrugged. ‘I got the feeling you were interested.’
‘I was. I am!’ Rebecca bit her lip. ‘But it’s really nothing to do with me, is it?’
‘Isn’t it?’
‘What do you mean?’
Tom swallowed some of his whisky, savouring it for a moment. ‘Well, I remember Piers three years ago. When he came back from his exploratory trip to the Yasawas!’
Rebecca’s fingers tightened round her glass. ‘Oh!’
‘Yes.’ Tom leant forward, resting his elbows on his knees. ‘He—well, something happened out there. I never did find out what, but tonight—when he saw you in the hall—’ He lay back in his chair. ‘It all came back to me.’
Rebecca bent her head, trembling a little. ‘I see.’
Tom gave an involuntary lift of his shoulders. ‘If it’s any consolation to you now, you must have dealt him a pretty low blow out there.’ He shook his head. ‘For months he was hell to work with. God knows what he was like to live with!’
Rebecca looked up at him tremulously. ‘And he was married, too, wasn’t he?’
Tom grimaced. ‘Married? Well, I guess you could call it that. But Jennifer was no wife, if that’s what you really mean.’
Rebecca rose to her feet, unable to sit still and listen to him. ‘It’s nothing to do with me,’ she said tautly. ‘How—how long have you worked with—with Paul’s father?’
Tom uttered an exclamation, and then sighed. ‘I don’t know. Twenty years, I guess. What does it matter?’ He drew out his cigarettes, but she refused when he offered them to her. Putting one between his lips, he lit it carefully, and then went to get himself another drink.
Rebecca moved about the room restlessly, fingering the leatherbound volumes that lined the shelves. There were many first additions and it seemed obvious that like the jade these books had been collected over many decades. Tom went back to his chair and watched her with narrowed eyes. Finally he said: ‘Did Adele tell you about her sister?’
Rebecca turned slowly, fingering her glass. ‘She told me she was in love with Piers herself and that Jennifer took him away from her.’
Tom nodded. ‘I see. And you believed that?’
Rebecca sighed. ‘Wasn’t it the truth?’
‘Of co
urse not. Could you see Piers and Adele together?’
Rebecca shrugged. ‘I don’t know. I imagine Adele was more active when she was younger.’
‘She was. But never to the extent of having boyfriends. That was why she hated her sisters. They were always in and out of the house with different men. I guess it was hard for her, and she couldn’t take it.’
Rebecca shook her head. ‘Well, anyway, does it matter? If Adele likes to think she once attracted Piers, does it matter?’
‘It does if what she’s told you about him is a pack of lies.’
Rebecca clenched her fists. ‘Look, Tom,’ she said, rather unsteadily, ‘whatever happened between me and Piers in Fiji is long over. I was just a—a diversion. One of many in his lifetime, I suppose.’
‘Do you really believe that?’ Tom frowned. ‘Piers has his faults, I know, but he’s no animal!’
Rebecca sipped her drink slowly. ‘Tom,’ she said carefully, ‘you’re his friend, his good friend obviously. But don’t ask me to believe that a man who is willing to have an affair with another woman when he already has a wife at home is to be trusted!’
Tom drew impatiently on his cigarette. ‘Don’t condemn him too quickly. You obviously have no idea what went on.’
Rebecca gave an involuntary gesture. ‘Well, Jennifer had his child, didn’t she?’ Then she coloured. She was confiding in this man as she had never confided in anyone ever before. But he was so easy to talk with—to share her anxieties with.
Tom sighed. ‘Paul is Piers’ son, yes. He’s never denied it.’
Rebecca moved restlessly. ‘You see!’ She pressed her lips together. ‘Besides, when he was in Fiji he told me he lived outside Paris, and now today I find that he bought this house fifteen years ago. Everything he said was just lies!’
Tom leant forward. ‘Piers bought this house for Jennifer.’
Rebecca pressed her hand to her stomach. ‘What do you mean?’
‘I’ll explain.’ Tom held her gaze. ‘Piers owns four houses. Apart from Sans-Souci and the Paris house, he has a villa in the south of France and a house in Jamaica. Jennifer used his houses, yes, but she never shared them with him. They were separated. Do you understand? It’s the nearest their church will go to a divorce.’
Rebecca digested this incredulously. If only she had known, but she hadn’t. Tom looked angry. ‘There’s more. Jennifer was purely a bitch! She liked men. Do I make myself clear? And Piers couldn’t take it! He despised her, and she sought her pleasures elsewhere.’
‘Oh, no!’ Rebecca felt revolted.
‘Yes. Having Paul nearly killed her, but he was the one redeeming factor of their marriage, the one reason why Piers didn’t cut her off without a penny. I don’t suppose Paul has any idea of the kind of life his father was forced to lead when his mother was alive. Paul was away—at boarding school—at university. It was all concealed from him. His father’s work took him away a lot, and I suppose Paul accepted that his parents were not as happy as they might have been, but that was all. Jennifer, in her way, avoided being too—blatant, while he was around. That was the one condition Piers placed on their artificial relationship. But no one can deny it was a blessed release for him when she died.’
Rebecca stood staring at him. ‘How—how did she die?’
‘She contracted an incurable disease. The St. Clouds are not a healthy family, and quite honestly I can’t confess a regret I didn’t feel.’
Rebecca passed a hand over her forehead. ‘I suppose whenever I thought about it, Paul’s presence got in the way.’
Tom bent his head. ‘Piers was only nineteen when he married Jennifer. She was several years older. He’s paid for his adolescent irresponsibility, don’t you think?’
‘Adele made everything sound so different…’
‘She would. She’s a twisted woman. The whole family were twisted, if you ask me. Denise—Jennifer’s younger sister—committed suicide when she was twenty-five.’
‘That’s a terrible story.’ said Rebecca, shaking her head. ‘Adele told me nothing like that. She made it sound—well—as though Jennifer was the innocent party.’
‘I can imagine,’ muttered Tom grimly. ‘Well, are you going to tell Piers?’
‘Tell Piers? Tell him what?’
‘That you know the truth now.’
Rebecca drew her brows together. ‘I—I couldn’t do that. Besides, he—he’s not interested in me.’ She flushed. ‘In what I think.’
Tom lay back in his chair. ‘He has no wife now,’ he remarked quietly.
Rebecca finished her drink and turned the empty glass between her palms. ‘You don’t imagine—after all this time—’ She swallowed hard. ‘I—I think you’re presuming too much…’
Tom shrugged. ‘Maybe I am. But wouldn’t you like to find out? Or are you really involved with Paul?’
‘No! Oh, no, not Paul. He’s—well, he’s too young. Besides, I could never—’ She broke off, feeling slightly sick. Glancing at her watch, she gave an exclamation: ‘Do you realise it’s almost midnight? We ought to go to bed.’
Tom smiled slowly. ‘That’s a rather tantalising suggestion,’ he murmured lazily. ‘Do you know, I’m beginning to understand why Piers wanted you…’
CHAPTER FIVE
THE following morning Rebecca was awake early, before the first faint fingers of dawn pushed their way through her curtains. She slid out of bed and went to the window, peering out curiously. In the grey gloom she could see that the fog still persisted, although it was much less dense than the night before. She glanced at her watch and saw that it was only a little after seven and there seemed no sounds from anywhere to indicate that anyone else was awake. She washed in the bathroom and then dressed and did her hair, taking her time and wondering whether she dared go downstairs.
Eventually she decided she must do something and she went out of her room on to the landing and through the door into the main gallery. Leaning over the balustrade, she could see the hall below where a young girl was busily cleaning out the stucco-flanked fireplace. Glad that someone else was about, Rebecca went downstairs and as she reached the bottom the maid looked up and saw her.
‘Heavens, miss,’ she exclaimed in a rough country brogue, ‘you startled me!’
Rebecca smiled apologetically. ‘I’m sorry. Who are you?’
‘I’m Elizabeth, miss. I help Mrs. Gillean.’
Rebecca nodded. ‘I see. Well, Elizabeth, perhaps you could help me. Do you know what time breakfast is usually served?’
Elizabeth got to her feet, wiping her hands clean on an old piece of rag. ‘Mrs. Gillean doesn’t usually serve breakfast, miss. Apart from when Mr. Piers is at home, that is, and then only for him. Miss Adele and Nurse Stephens have theirs together in Miss Adele’s suite, and when Mr. Paul is here he doesn’t often bother. He prefers to sleep on, I think.’
A ripple of anticipation ran over Rebecca as the maid mentioned Piers, and she quelled it as she said: ‘And is—your employer up this morning?’
The maid shook her head vigorously. ‘Oh, no, miss. Cook said he was having a tray today. Besides, it’s only a little after eight, miss. Mr. Piers doesn’t usually get up much before nine.’
‘Oh.’ Rebecca sighed. Then she said: ‘Tell me, where is the cook?’
‘Mrs. Gillean, miss? She’s in the kitchen. Do you want to see her?’
‘Well—yes, all right. Will you show me where to go?’
‘Yes, miss. It’s just through there—see?’
Rebecca followed the maid’s instructions and passed through a baize door which led down a passage to the huge kitchens. She could tell where the kitchen was from the delicious smell that emanated from it, and when she pushed open the door she found Mrs. Gillean busy at the stove frying bacon and sausages. The older woman looked up in surprise as Rebecca came in, and said:
‘Oh, Miss—Miss Lindsay, isn’t it? Is something wrong?’
‘No, nothing, thank you, Mrs. Gillean. I—er—I wondered if I
could possibly take up Mr.—Mr. Piers’ tray?’
Mrs. Gillean could not have looked more surprised and she coloured hotly, her rosy cheeks brilliant. ‘Well—er—I—er—I don’t see why not,’ she finished awkwardly. ‘Er—you mean right now?’
‘If that’s possible. Is this for him?’ Rebecca indicated the bacon and sausages in the pan.
‘Bless you, no, miss. Mr. Piers doesn’t like anything like that for his breakfast. He likes some of these.’ She bent and opened an oven door and drew out a tray of golden brown rolls, newly baked and smelling deliciously.
‘Of course.’ Rebecca smiled ruefully. ‘I should have guessed. Look, you get on with what you’re doing, and I’ll do this. I used to be Miss Adele’s nurse, so I’m used to preparing breakfast trays.’
Mrs. Gillean extracted a tray from a rack on the wall and shook her head firmly. ‘Oh, no, miss, if you don’t mind. I’ll do it myself. I always prepare Mr. Piers’ tray myself, even when I have help. It’s only right that I should.’
‘You know best.’ Rebecca stood aside and watched Mrs. Gillean take a sparkling white linen cloth from a drawer and lay it on the tray. Then she went to the stove and put several of the hot rolls into a serviette-lined basket and put it on the tray as well. To go with the rolls there was a dish of curls of butter, a small jar of honey, and a tub of marmalade. Finally Mrs. Gillean added a jug of steaming aromatic continental coffee. ‘There you are, miss,’ she said. ‘But what about your breakfast? What do you like?’
Rebecca shrugged. ‘I’m never hungry in the mornings,’ she temporised. ‘I’ll have some coffee when I get back.’
‘Very good, miss.’ Mrs. Gillean folded her arms.
Rebecca smiled and lifted the tray. Now came the most difficult moment, she thought.
‘Er—could you tell me which room is Mr. Piers’?’ she asked, walking to the door.
Mrs. Gillean was clearly surprised now, but she hid it admirably. Rebecca felt sure she had decided they had shared the same room.
Piers’ room was down a corridor off the main gallery, but with Mrs. Gillean’s instructions Rebecca found it easily and knocked gently at the door. There was no reply, and balancing the tray with one hand she turned the handle and entered the room, closing the door behind her.