His companion nodded and Tressy went over to the cabinet to pour the drinks. She was aware that both men were watching her: Crispin in that hatefully amused way, knowing that she didn't want him there, and Michel de Quebris in appreciative and interested speculation, guessing that there was something between them but not sure what it was. But she was saved from their further scrutiny when her uncle hurried into the room, apologizing profusely for not being there to receive them and shaking hands in his bluff manner.
'Please, it's I who should apologize,' Crispin demurred. 'I would, of course, have phoned first, but unfortunately the card you left somehow got mislaid. And I probably wouldn't have been able to repay your call at all if you hadn't left that message with the harbormaster. '
'It's lucky we did, then,' Uncle Jack laughed. 'We managed to get tickets for the theatre and wondered if you'd like to join our party.'
Tressy carried the drinks over to the two younger men and then turned to her uncle, but he just said curtly, 'That'll do. I'll get my own.'
She turned to go, but Crispin said clearly, 'But aren't you going to introduce us to this young lady?' 'Oh, but she's only the ma .. .'
But Crispin interrupted before he could finish saying, 'She has a definite look of you, Sinclair. I wasn't aware that you had more than one daughter.'
Uncle Jack gasped and nearly choked, and Tressy had to haltely look away to stop herself from bursting out laughing; she and her uncle weren't in the least alike, thank God.
'She's not ... She's not my daughter,' Jack Sinclair managed to stammer, his face bright red with anger and indignation.
'No?' Crispin questioned blandly. 'Some other relation, then? Your niece, perhaps?'
Tressy tried to catch his eye and frown him down but he deliberately didn't look in her direction. '
Uncle Jack got his voice back and said suspiciously
'Has she said anything to you?' '
Crispin's left eyebrow rose rather disdainfully. 'My dear chap, she merely showed us into this room. I take it, then, that she is a relative of yours?'
Knowing that he was cornered and that there was no way out, her uncle nodded and said ungraciously,
'She's my niece,' and would have left it at that if Crispin hadn't turned to her and held out his hand. 'How do you do, Miss ... ?' He turned questioning eyes to Jack Sinclair.
'Sinclair,' he supplied with annoyed reluctance. 'Tressilian Sinclair. She's my brother's daughter.'
'Tressilian; what an unusual name,' Crispin remarked as he shook hands with her, devils of amused mockery in his eyes. 'I hope you're enjoying your holiday?'
Tressy glared at him and tried to pull her hand away, but he held on to it as he led her over to his friend. 'May I introduce Michel de Quebris? An old friend of mine and a native Monegasque.'
'Enchante, mademoiselle.' Michel gallantly took her hand and kissed it, and Tressy looked at him in some awe; only a Frenchman could get away with that in this day and age without looking like a ham actor.
Her uncle got himself a drink and, when he noticed Crispin's raised eyebrow, remembered to offer her one as well, which she refused. For a few minutes they stood and talked, Crispin deliberately drawing Tressy into the conversation so that she couldn't slip away as she wanted to and as her uncle was trying to get her to do with eye signals that he tried to hide from the others. Why Crispin had forced the introduction she didn't know, and the fact that he had made Tressy instantly suspicious. And why had he brought his friend with him instead of coming alone? Even though she disliked him so much, Tressy had to admit that she found his actions intriguing.
Aunt Grace and Nora came into the room together, Nora wearing a skin-tight white dress that might have looked good if she'd had a tan. She seemed to think that she ought to wear very tight dresses to show off her thinness, but it just revealed the hollows under her shoulder bones and made her look gawky. Also she had made up her face herself, probably using her new set of cosmetics with a liberal hand, but she had been in too much of a hurry, so that the result was overdone and amateurish, like a teenager let loose with stage greasepaint.
Her aunt didn't notice Tressy until after she had greeted the visitors, but then she turned on her while they were speaking to Nora. 'What do you think you're doing here?' she hissed angrily. 'Get on out!'
Tight-lipped, Tressy moved to obey her, but as she got to the door, Crispin said, 'I wondered if you'd all care to have dinner with us tonight? Tressilian, too, of course.'
She stopped and turned to stare at him while Grace Sinclair said hurriedly, 'Oh, we'd love to. How very nice. But Tressy can't come.'
'Oh? Why not?'
'Because ... because ... ' Her aunt stood there helplessly, too flustered for a moment to think of an excuse.
'Because I have a headache,' Tressy put in clearly. 'That's right. She was lying down with a headache before we came home.' Her excuse was swiftly and eagerly corroborated.
Crispin's brows drew into a frown. Only he knew that she had more than true reason enough for a whopper of a headache. 'Have you eaten yet?' he asked abruptly.
Taken by surprise, Tressy automatically answered, 'No,' before she'd thought about it.
'Then I'm sure that your head will feel much better after you've had something to eat. But if it doesn't clear up, I promise to bring you straight back home,' he assured her.
All three Sinclairs were looking at him with expressions that at any other time Tressy would have found funny: astonishment, resentment and uneasy apprehension chased across their faces.
'But she can't come,' Nora began to object. 'She's only here to ... '
'Nora,' her father said in quick warning, 'I've already told them she's my niece.'
Unable to stamp her foot and throw a tantrum to get what she wanted.., Nora had to resort to, 'But she isn't ready.'
'Then we'll wait,' Crispin said smoothly. 'I'm sure she won't be long.' Crossing to Tressy's side, he reached to open the door for her. She looked up into his face, trying to read some purpose behind this game he was playing, but his features were completely enigmatic. For a moment she hesitated, knowing that it was still within her power to refuse to go, but curiosity overcame her and she gave a mental shrug. After all, the cat was out of the bag now anyway, so what had she got to lose? And if Crispin Fox was paying for the meal she would make sure she had a good one. So she merely turned and ran upstairs to change.
Her tan, too, wasn't more than a pale brown as yet, so Tressy put on a simple black dress and jazzed it up with a colourful scarf tied round her waist and a jeweled band, gypsy-fashion, round her forehead. She didn't use much make-up, but she knew how to use it, and quickly, so that within twenty minutes she was ready, standing tall, slender and sophisticated to give a last critical look at herself in the long mirror in Nora's bedroom before going downstairs.
They were all talking away as she quietly entered the room, her aunt and uncle to Michel and Nora to Crispin, gazing up adoringly into his eyes, but first Crispin and then the others noticed her and fell silent.
Her relations had never seen her dressed up for the evening before and were surprised at the change in her, Nora most ,of all. She turned petulantly away, ignoring Tressy and speaking to Crispin again. He didn't seem to hear for a moment, but then he bent to courteously listen to her.
They left soon after, and while they were sorting out who should go in which car, Tressy momentarily found herself alone with Crispin. 'What the hell are you doing this for?' she demanded in an undertone. 'You promised you wouldn't give me away.'
'But I haven't,' he pointed out. 'We've now been introduced, so that I can know you officially.'
'Don't play games with me,' Tressy retorted. 'Why have you invited me to dinner?'
'To make the numbers up, of course,' he replied blandly, his face a picture of innocence.
Goaded, she opened her mouth to have a go at him, but Nora saw them together and came over to intervene.
'I'll come in your Rolls with you, Crispin,
' she said with a smirk. Then, 'Oh, your poor car! There's a dent in the wing. Did you have an accident?'
'A kind of accident,' he agreed, adding with a sideways look in Tressy's direction, 'As a matter of fact, someone ran into me.'
Nora was immediately indignant. 'Well, I hope you make them pay for the damage.'
'Oh, I intend to,' he assured her. 'To the last centime.'
Tressy gave him a filthy look, aware now of how he was amusing himself at her expense, then strode angrily away to get in the back of her uncle's car and slam the door.
CHAPTER FOUR
CRISPIN took them to the Empire Room Restaurant in the Hotel de Paris, one of the most popular and famous places in Monte Carlo. It was a huge room, fabulously and ornately decorated in the Empire style with a long fresco painted all across one wall. Nora and Aunt Grace obviously hadn't been there before and exclaimed in admiration as the maitre d', who recognised Crispin and knew his name, conducted them to their table, a good one near a window looking over a garden and the sea.
Tressy somehow found herself between Crispin and Michel, with Nora on Crispin's other side, although she had tried to maneuver so that she would be between Michel and her uncle, not wanting to give Nora grounds for further jealousy. How she had come to be out-maneuvered she didn't quite know.
Michel began to tell them the history of the hotel, which was beside the Casino, describing how it was built to house the kings and queens, aristocrats and nouveaux-riches who flocked to the Casino when it opened in 1865. 'This is a beautiful room, non?' Michel asked her.
Tressy looked round and decided that it was too ornate for her taste, but remembered in time that her neighbour was a native of Monaco. 'I'm sure it was very fashionable in its time,' she answered diplomatically.
She could have sworn that Crispin chuckled beside her, but the sound was lost under Aunt Grace's gushing praise of the room. Tressy quickly turned to look at him, but his attention was on the head waiter, who had just come up to the table. The menu of course was completely in French. Aunt Grace said something in an undertone to her husband and then they both looked at her, and Tressy guessed that they were afraid she would show them up by ordering a fingerbowl of water or the cover charge or something. She was strongly tempted to do just that, just to spite them, but Crispin's laugh made her change her mind, aware that she was on trial in his eyes as much as in theirs. Although she never bothered to use it, Tressy had, along with everyone else, done French at school and she recognized enough words to pick out the basics of the dishes, and when she didn't understand she simply asked the waiter who hovered deferentially at her elbow. If you don't know something-ask, was one thing at least that she had learnt.
Since that brief conversation by the car, Tressy had been afraid that Crispin would pursue this game of his by paying her too much attention, but he divided his time equally between Nora and herself without favoritism, and often drawing everyone into a general discussion. He was a very good host, keeping his eye on the way the meal was going and lifting a finger to attract a waiter whenever he thought anyone needed something. Tressy had to hang back a little on one or two courses to see which of the large array of knives and forks beside her plate she should pick up, but she learnt quickly and enjoyed the meal, although she had been thwarted in her intention to order the most expensive dishes she could find by there not being any prices on the menu.
The food was a real treat, she very seldom got the chance to eat really good food and she savored every mouthful, finding that the French preferred to serve smaller portions but of a very high quality. The wines, though, were something else again. Tressy knew very little about wine except that it came in different colours, and she was bewildered by the way a new wine was brought for almost every course. My God, how the . rich live, she thought, lifting her long-stemmed glass and watching all the hundreds of lights in the room reflected in its cut surface. She wondered if it was as much a treat for anyone else in the room as it was for her. Probably not. They all looked as if they lived to this standard every day of their lives.
Crispin turned towards her and, after a couple of minutes, said, 'Do you like it here?'
Withdrawing her eyes from her glass, Tressy shrugged indifferently. 'It's okay.'
'How's your head?'
'Not too bad.' She was surprised to find that he had been right and her head didn't hurt so much now that she had eaten. 'I suppose you eat here all the time?' He shook his head. 'Very seldom. Only when I entertain people that I think might like this sort of ambience.'
Which gave her a good idea of his opinion of the Sinclairs' taste. Challengingly she said, 'I don't like it. It's too ornate and fussy. Everything's overdone.'
'So why didn't you say that when I asked you? Or is it just that you feel you have to challenge me all the time?' She didn't answer, just returned his gaze with animosity in her blue eyes. 'Why, Tressy?' he insisted.
'You know why, because your sort puts my back up,' she returned bluntly.
His mouth thinned. 'I'm not a sort, Tressy, I'm an individual. Try remembering that.'
Her mouth drew into an amused smile that didn't reach her eyes. 'I'd rather not bother to think about you at all.'
Instead of being offended, Crispin grinned at her.
'Be careful, I might decide to make you think about me.'
She laughed mockingly. 'You couldn't.'
'Now that sounds very close to a challenge.' His eyes were on hers, imps of devilment in their dark depths.
Tressy looked at him and was strongly tempted to pick up the glove he'd thrown her, but then she became aware of Nora watching her, and shrugged. 'You're crazy.'
'Coward!'
But again she didn't rise to his bait and turned to Michel, who was more than willing to talk to her after five minutes of Aunt Grace.
He was too long-nosed to be conventionally handsome, but he was a personable young man, with an attractive accent, and had been brought up to be charming to females of all descriptions, treating them as if they were very special and feminine. It was obvious that he was curious about her, but Michel was far too polite to come right out and ask her about her position in the Sinclair menage or where she had met Crispin before. But that didn't stop him from trying to find out by asking subtle questions that would eventually give him the information he wanted. But Tressy decided to block him from the start, not wanting her, aunt or uncle to overhear anything that might give her away. So she asked him instead about the Grimaldi family, Prince Rainier and his children, who ruled the minute but rich principality, and in this she struck gold, because he was a mine of information on the subject and immediately captured Nora and Aunt Grace's intense interest, and even Uncle Jack wasn't averse to all the name-dropping.
Tressy sat back in her chair, letting his voice wash over her. She had had too much wine after that knock this afternoon and felt decidedly lightheaded. The lights on the dozens of crystal chandeliers, the gold gilding on the walls, the silver cutlery and the jewels that sparkled on women's necks and wrists, were all too much for her eyes; she wanted to close them and shut out the glare. She felt dreamy, and too tired to talk any more, content to let her relations ask Michel the questions that kept him on the Grimaldi family. Again she wondered why Crispin had brought Michel along-because there was safety in numbers, perhaps? But there could be a perfectly innocent explanation, although she doubted it; somehow she couldn't believe that Crispin Fox would ever do anything innocently. But her poor old brain couldn't cope with the question and she let it go.
She was very aware of him sitting in the seat beside her, although there was plenty of space round the table and they hadn't touched at all. Through her half-closed eyes, Tressy could see his left hand lying on the table, a strong, tanned hand with long fingers and well-manicured nails. A ringless hand and one that wasn't used to manual labour, for all he'd said he could turn it to most things. He wore a watch on his wrist, a very thin gold digital watch that simply told the time and didn't have any gadg
ets, but still looked extremely expensive. Her eyes travelled slowly up his sleeve and she wondered whether his body was fit or flabby; he had been wearing a jacket on all the three occasions that she'd seen him. Tressy decided she was willing to wager a large bet on him being fit, he had that athletic kind of figure you only get from playing a lot of sport-or else working very hard, she thought wryly. Her eyes moved a little higher to his shoulders and then stopped abruptly as he spoke, and Tressy realized that she was, in fact, thinking about him even though she had told him she couldn't care less.
Quickly she looked away and became aware that Michel had stopped talking and her relatives were looking at her expectantly. 'Er-did I miss someething?'
'Crispin has just asked us to go on to a night-club,' her aunt said impatiently. 'But I explained to him that you were tired.'
The Wings of Love Page 7