by Anne Mather
It was not as steep as she had expected. Shallow outcroppings of rock provided natural footholds, and she realised it was possible to climb down to sea level. There were pools among the rocks, some of them quite deep, and constantly filled and refilled by the surging tide. They were the habitat of crab and lobster, and other shellfish that clung to the sea-smoothed crags, and the receding swell exposed their weed-strewn depths.
But the constant movement of the water began to have a different effect upon her. A curious giddiness assailed her, and she stumbled back from the edge, dropping down on to her knees as the earth and sky swam unsteadily about her.
‘Tobie!’
Robert’s call came from the beach buggy, but she felt too dizzy to make her way back to him. Perhaps if she just remained completely still for a few moments, the feeling would go away. The last thing she wanted to have to do was to make a nuisance of herself now.
‘ Tobie !’
This time the voice was much nearer, and she managed to hold up her head sufficiently to see that he was coming towards her on his sticks. He dropped them when he was within a few feet of her, kneeling down beside her and putting cool fingers on her sticky forehead.
‘What’s wrong?’ he demanded, his fingers moving from her temple to her chin, tipping her face up to his. ‘Are you ill? Is it the heat?’
His concern was reassuring, but she pulled her chin away from those disturbing fingers, saying tautly: ‘That—that’s probably what it is. The heat, I mean. I just felt sick, and—and a little dizzy.’
‘Dizzy?’ His eyes narrowed. ‘Are you thirsty? When did you last have anything to drink?’
Tobie moved her head dazedly from side to side. ‘I don’t know. Yes, yes, I do. It—it was this morning—’
‘This morning!’ His response was violent. ‘You mean you haven’t had anything to drink since this morning?’
‘I—don’t think so—’
‘You crazy little fool!’ He brought his fist down hard on the turf beside him. ‘And you went swimming this morning, didn’t you?’
‘Yes, but—’
‘You did have some lunch?’
Tobie sighed. ‘Actually, no—’
The word he used was very short and succinct, and also very crude. ‘Are you out of your mind?’ he demanded struggling to his feet and hauling her up with him. ‘Don’t you realise how easily you can get dehydrated in this climate?’
‘I didn’t think.’ Tobie endeavoured to free herself from his grasp, but he was amazingly strong, and with his arm around her back, supporting her, she was tempted to give in and let him take her weight. But with the hardness of his muscular body next to hers, and the smell of his warm skin filling her nostrils, she realised the dangers of simple promiscuity better than he did. At the moment, she was his half-brother’s girl-friend, and as such she warranted his consideration. But if, acting under influences she had thought forgotten, she did anything to unbalance the status quo, she and not Robert would be to blame.
‘I think there are some cans of beer under the back seat of the jeep,’ he was saying now, brushing aside the silky strands of her hair that the wind had blown into his mouth. ‘They’ll be warm, but I guess they’ll serve the purpose.’
‘I’m all right, honestly,’ Tobie insisted, trying once again to detach herself from him. ‘The dizziness has almost gone, and I feel loads better.’
‘Good.’ He acknowledged her assurance with a faintly mocking smile. ‘I’m glad you didn’t fall over the cliff. Mark would never have forgiven me.’ He pulled a wry face. ‘Come to think of it, I’d never have forgiven myself.’
‘It was my fault,’ Tobie said, her lips parting over even white teeth, and his dark eyes grew teasing.
‘I’d have had some difficulty convincing Mark of that,’ he commented humorously. ‘But fortunately I won’t have to. You’re still in one piece.’
Tobie’s smile grew a little fixed as he continued to look at her. He was so close she could feel his breath on her cheek, and feel the bone of his hip digging into hers. Under his scrutiny, her breasts rose and fell in quickened awareness, and when his eyes dropped to the shadowy hollow exposed by the low neckline of her dress, she felt the deepening of his regard.
Then he said something so intensely alarming and shocking that she could hardly control her gulp of dismay, and she was sure he must have detected her sudden instinctive withdrawal.
‘Do I know you?’ he demanded, gazing into her face. ‘Have I seen you before?’ He shook his head uncomprehendingly. ‘I don’t know what it is, but I keep getting this feeling of déjà vu.’
CHAPTER FIVE
TOBIE stood on her balcony, watching the sun sink slowly beneath the belt of cloud on the horizon. Its passing turned the sea from orange to red, and finally to deepest purple, its brilliance still reflected in the water even after it had disappeared from her sight.
It was another beautiful evening, the air as warm and soft as velvet. They had not had so much as a shower of rain since their arrival almost a week ago, and her skin was rapidly turning to honey-gold. Even Mark had acquired an all-over pink blush, but he assured her glumly that it would disappear once they got back to London.
To London …
Tobie sighed, allowing her palms to curl round the smooth iron of the balcony rail. London seemed so far away, a world away in fact, and with each passing day she felt more and more remote from the demands of everyday existence. Sometimes she told herself she would be glad when the time came for them to leave, but mostly she acknowledged that she was dreading that day coming, and with it the realisation that she might never see Robert again.
She drew a trembling breath. Robert! How easily she had fallen into the trap of her own making. Coming here, meeting him again; she had thought she could handle it. But she couldn’t. With each day it became harder, and the hardest thing of all was his persistent detachment. Not once since that afternoon at Lotus Point had he shown her anything but friendly civility, but his continued impersonality was beginning to tell on her nerves. It was what she had wanted, what she had not dared to hope for, yet it left her restless and dissatisfied.
To begin with, she had been relieved when he had drawn back from probing into her identity. She might easily have made mistakes in the chaotic state into which his questioning might have thrown her. His unexpected reaction to her silence had been like a gift from the gods. He had assumed she would object to his advances, and his awareness of her had made him release her.
‘I’m sorry,’ he had said stiffly, as he drew away. ‘You must forgive me. You have a curious effect on people, but I realise you must find my attentions disagreeable.’
Tobie, struggling to regain her balance, had found it difficult to answer him. ‘You—you don’t have to apologise, Robert,’ she said, forestalling his effort to retrieve his sticks, and handing them to him. ‘We—I—I’m grateful for your assistance. And—and we all get those feelings from time to time.’
The drive back to Soledad was accomplished almost in silence. Tobie had found diversion in sipping a can of warm beer, and Robert had driven the fifteen miles or so in controlled concentration. But they each had their own thoughts, and she wondered what Robert’s were.
Since then, however, her association with him had been limited. Mark persistently staked his claim, making it manifestly obvious that the afternoon he had spent with Cilla had been pressed upon him because Tobie was supposedly resting, and though Cilla had visited Soledad several times since, she evidently preferred Robert’s company. She and Mark behaved more like brother and sister, and Mrs Newman continually baulked at their apparent determination to avoid a closer relationship.
So far as Tobie was concerned, the situation had deteriorated. She constantly found her emotions warring with the dictates of her conscience, and she could no longer deny the feelings of resentment she experienced every time she saw Robert and Cilla together. It wasn’t that she was jealous, she argued with herself in her more reasonable
moments. Rather, it was a feeling that life had treated her so unfairly. The accident appeared to have altered Robert’s personality. She would never have believed he could be patient or understanding, and if he was thinking of marriage now, why couldn’t he have done so before they quarrelled, and he half killed himself? Sometimes she wondered if he might not have had second thoughts had things gone differently. If he hadn’t slammed into his car and driven so recklessly, if she hadn’t subsequently suffered the physical consequences of his rejection, might they conceivably still have been together, or was she fooling herself by imagining he had felt any deeper feelings for her than he had for the countless other girls who had shared his bed?
A film of sweat moistened her spine, and she shivered suddenly. It was strange, but since learning of his accident she had conveniently forgotten his selfishness. All her natural animosity towards him had been neutralised by compassion, and only now did she allow the memories she had hitherto avoided to harden her resolve. He was still the same man. She had to accept that fact. And perhaps the time had come for her to stop feeling so guilty.
Turning back into her bedroom, she switched on the lamps and surveyed the room without pleasure. This wasn’t Mark’s home, she thought with aversion, it was Robert’s. This was Robert’s furniture. Robert’s house, Robert’s island; it was Robert’s money that bought their food, and Robert’s aircraft that would eventually take them back to St Lucia. How could she have been so uncaring? She was accepting the hospitality of a man who had destroyed her life once already, and who had it in his power to destroy it yet again?
Expelling her breath on a heavy sigh, she moved towards the vanity unit. Somehow she had to compose herself and get dressed for dinner. The Jennings were joining them this evening, and Mark had especially asked her to wear something nice.
‘I want you to stun old Harvey,’ he had declared, his hands on her shoulders, his face alight with enthusiasm. ‘He never sees anyone except Cilla, and I want him to know what he’s missing.’
Tobie had protested, half embarrassed by his eagerness, but Mark had been adamant, and she had promised to choose something flattering. As a matter of fact, she had already decided what she was going to wear. It was a simple black chiffon gown, with a strapless bodice, bloused above a narrow pleated skirt. It exposed her tan, and its mid-length displayed her legs to advantage. It had hardly any back, and with her hair hanging loose from a central parting, she knew she would not disappoint him.
But now, leaning forward to smooth her fingertips over her cheekbones, Tobie wondered whether it was quite sensible to continue tempting fate. Robert’s momentary recognition had proved that somewhere on the periphery of his subconscious, he knew they had met before at least, and if he should betray this knowledge, whether deliberately or otherwise, how might Mark take it now? He might find her reasons for withholding the fact that she had known his brother in London suspect, and if he ever found out the whole truth …
She sighed, sinking down on to the end of her bed. Did it really matter, all this soul-searching? Was it worth it? Didn’t she really know that she and Mark were unlikely to make it together? And why tonight in any case? Why was she examining her feelings tonight?
She knew the answer. Just before she came to change, Mark had told her that Robert and Cilla planned to fly to Miami the next morning, to meet Robert’s agent, and the connotations were obvious.
Time was passing, and Tobie realised she would have to make an effort to get ready. Reaching for a jar of cream, she began to smooth it into her skin, and the rhythmic massage soothed her troubled emotions. It was pointless letting Robert’s behaviour have any effect on her behaviour, she told herself severely, and silenced the wayward voice inside her that mocked her feeble protestations.
By the time she was ready she felt infinitely more confident. A greeny-grey mascara had added mystery to the wide-spaced beauty of her eyes, and the lip-lustre she used had given her mouth a shining sensuality. She looked tall and slim and self-assured, yet with an underlying air of diffidence that was both provocative and feminine. She knew she had never looked better, and as she descended the stairs she acknowledged the unworthy thought that Robert might envy his half-brother’s good fortune.
The arrangement was that they should all assemble on the patio for drinks before dinner, but when Tobie emerged from the house she thought at first she was the only arrival. The moon-dappled terrace seemed deserted, and the only sound she could hear was the sucking motion of the water against the marbled lip of the pool.
She came out of the shadows into the subdued lighting cast by the floodlighting beneath the pool’s surface, and as she did so, the whisper of Robert’s chair wheels alerted her to his presence.
He must have been seated at the far end of the terrace, but now he propelled himself towards her, the glow of his slim cigar like a firefly in the darkness.
‘Tobie,’ he greeted her politely, acknowledging her with his usual courtesy. ‘You and I appear to be the only ones capable of being punctual.’
Tobie allowed a faint smile to tilt the comers of her mouth. ‘I’m five minutes late, actually,’ she answered inconsequently. ‘Unless my watch is wrong.’
Robert consulted the square gold watch on his wrist. ‘No,’ he remarked smoothly. ‘It’s after seven-thirty.’ He smiled. ‘No matter. Can I offer you a drink instead? Monique seems to have supplied most things here.’ He indicated the trolley behind them. ‘What will you have?’
Tobie took an impatient breath. His reactions, as usual, left her feeling tense and irritated. It was as if he didn’t see her as anything more than another human being, an acceptable one perhaps, but not necessarily female.
‘I’d like a Bacardi and Coke,’ she replied, in answer to his questioning stare, and he turned to attend to it while she stood silently, gazing broodingly down towards the little harbour. She and Mark had driven down there the previous afternoon, and Mark had rowed her out to the yacht, but as yet Robert had not suggested taking them out in it. It seemed he was too busy organising his own affairs, and Mark was content to spend his time alone with Tobie.
‘Mark tells me you’re going to Miami tomorrow,’ she ventured, after he had handed her a tall frosted glass, chinking with ice, and Robert swung his chair round to face her.
‘That’s right,’ he agreed, raising his glass of Scotch towards her in a silent toast. ‘I have to see my agent, Rowan Hartley, and the break will do Cilla good. I imagine Mark also told you I was taking Cilla along.’
‘Yes.’ Tobie swallowed a mouthful of her drink before continuing. ‘She’s a lucky girl, isn’t she? Earning a trip to Miami. You must—think a lot about her.’
‘I do.’ Robert studied the liquid in his glass. ‘Since I came here almost three years ago she’s been a good friend, and I owe her a lot.’ He paused. ‘In the beginning, I had a physiotherapist living here, working with me, but after he left Cilla started to spend more and more time at Soledad.’ He shrugged. ‘You have to admit, few girls of her age would give up their time to play nurse to an invalid.’
‘You’re hardly an invalid,’ said Tobie tightly, remembering the last conversation like this they had had, and he pulled a wry face.
‘I was,’ he remarked quietly. ‘You’re seeing the results of months— years—of patient effort.’ He sighed. ‘If you’d seen me after the crash you’d have wanted to throw up. I was a mess. I couldn’t do anything for myself at all. I don’t know how many bones were broken, but I do know it’s a miracle that my hands survived unscathed.’
Tobie cradled her drink between her two palms. ‘I—I suppose so.’
‘There’s no suppose about it,’ retorted Robert, an edge invading his voice. ‘I think if I’d lost the ability to paint, along with everything else, I’d have killed myself!’
‘ No!’ Tobie was horrified, her face pale in the moonlight, but he was adamant.
‘Yes,’ he contradicted her harshly, lying back in his chair, his dark face tilted towards her.
‘Oh, yes, I’d have done it. I had nothing else to live for.’
Tobie took an uncertain step and sat down rather heavily on the nearby lounger. ‘You—you had—your family—’ she tendered, but his mouth mocked her faint reproval.
‘My family hadn’t been around much up until that time,’ he essayed dryly. ‘A less benevolent individual might have been forgiven for wondering whether the summoning of one’s next-of-kin inspires a totally erroneous assessment of one’s chances of survival.’
As he spoke, his mouth curved in an exact replica of the smile he had worn three years ago, when he told her that marriage was not among his more immediate concerns. That had been the start of the row which had severed any relationship between them, and although she believed he was unaware of it, it sent an uneasy chill feathering along her spine. But was that why his mother had engineered their reunion? Because she had believed he was dying? And if so, was she aware that her eldest son was as perceptive of her motives as he had ever been?
‘So …’ Robert drawled now, interrupting her troubled speculations, ‘have I shocked you? Or am I wrong, and you weren’t silently admonishing my ingratitude?’
‘I—I—was wondering whether you weren’t perhaps being a little hard on your relations,’ she conceded tentatively. ‘I’m sure Mark’s very fond of you.’
Robert frowned, and then shrugged. ‘You’re probably right,’ he agreed flatly. ‘Can I get you another drink?’
‘I haven’t finished this one yet,’ she demurred, and he excused himself to pour another measure of Scotch into his own glass.
‘So now you know why I’m so fond of Cilla,’ he remarked, when he turned to face her again. ‘She’s the only one I can talk to. And she has no hidden motives.’
Tobie’s lips compressed. It was hard, sitting here listening to him extol Cilla’s virtues. She would not have been human if she had not felt some indignation at his evident lack of interest in her concerns, and anger made her reckless.
‘Perhaps she has,’ she said now, meeting his eyes across the rim of her glass. ‘Hidden motives, I mean. Only maybe you’re not aware of them.’