'I've been wanting to have a few words alone with you all evening,' he was saying as he drew her aside and urged her down on to the window-seat where she could feel the benefit of the cold night air on her hot cheeks. 'It's good to see you again, Jo, and welcome back.'
'Thank you, Chris.'
She arranged the flaring skirt of her silver-grey evening dress about her legs to make room for him on the window-seat, and he studied her intently as he sat down beside her. 'You're still one of the most beautiful women I've ever met,' he said at length, 'and I think I'm going to fall in love with you all over again.'
Jo stared at him in startled, contemplative silence, then her soft mouth quirked with amusement. 'I think you're flirting with me, Chris.'
'And why shouldn't I flirt with you?' His smile was roguish. 'It would be interesting to see if Rafe is still capable of feeling something as human as jealousy.'
She wanted to laugh, but she hastily suppressed the desire. 'What makes you think he isn't human?'
'Rafe hasn't been behaving that way for a long time, but perhaps he'll change now that you've come back into his life.'
Jo did not know what to say. What could she say without making Chris realise that things were not as they should be between Rafe and herself?
At the far end of the room Lorin was sliding her hands up the front of Rafe's jacket, and her fingers tugged slightly at the lapels as she raised her face to his in a gesture which was clearly an invitation to be kissed.
'There are times when I could cheerfully throttle that little sister of mine!'
Chris's vehement statement made Jo drag her gaze away from that scene playing itself out across the room. 'Don't be too harsh on your sister, Chris,' she said. 'She's in love with Rafe.'
'You know that?'
A mirthless smile plucked at her soft mouth as she looked into his startled eyes. 'I've always known.'
'Lorin needs a good kick in the butt!' he expounded in a savage hiss through his teeth.
'I might just do that some day,' she promised, her smile deepening.
Thank God she still had a sense of humour!
Leon Scheepers chose that moment to appear in the doorway of the crowded living-room, and he gestured anxiously to Chris. Chris cast an apologetic glance at Jo as he rose and went to his father, but some sixth sense made Jo get up and follow the two men into the hallway.
'What's the matter, Dad?' demanded Chris.
'There's been an accident,' his father explained with a look of deep concern. 'Eric was apparently hanging curtains for his wife when the ladder slipped, and I believe he fell through the lounge window.'
'You stay here, Dad,' instructed Chris. 'Let me handle this.'
Jo hastily disposed of her glass and followed Chris at a running pace into the kitchen, where she saw him haul a first-aid box out of a cupboard. 'I'd like to help, if I may,' she offered when Chris straightened. He seemed to hesitate, and she added hastily, 'Have you forgotten that I'm a qualified nurse?'
'I don't like the idea of taking you away from the party, but I think I'm going to need your nursing expertise in this instance,' he confessed, taking a bunch of keys off a hook against the wall and ushering her out of the kitchen door. 'My Land Rover is parked here at the back.'
Jo could feel the cold penetrate bitingly through her long-sleeved dress as they sped along the uneven farm track, but she forgot about her personal discomfort some minutes later when Chris brought his Land Rover to a gravel-crunching halt at the entrance to one of the cottages, where an anxious crowd had already gathered.
All that remained of the large window-pane was the few vicious-looking pieces of glass that still jutted from the frame. The rest of the glass window-pane lay scattered across a flower-bed and a section of the lawn, Jo noticed as she followed Chris into the cottage.
They followed the sound of voices coming from the kitchen, and there they found an ashen-faced black man lying on a mattress on the floor with a group of well-meaning friends hovering about him. The group quickly dispersed when they saw Chris and Jo. Only the woman kneeling on the floor beside Eric remained, and it was obvious to Jo that she was the injured man's wife.
'I thank the lord you've come, Master Chris!' the woman exclaimed with a hint of growing hysteria in her voice. 'We carried him in here on the mattress, but we can't stop the bleeding, and I just don't know what to do any more!'
The man was shaking and in obvious shock when Jo and Chris kneeled on either side of him, and Jo left Chris to see to the first-aid box while she removed the blood-soaked towels to carry out a hasty examination.
Eric had sustained several minor cuts and abrasions, but the wounds that concerned Jo were the long gash in his left arm, and the longer, deeper gash in his right thigh where they had sensibly cut away the one leg of his trousers. The blood was pumping freely from both wounds, and that meant only one thing: severed arteries!
'He's lost too much blood already, and if we don't work swiftly he's going to lose a lot more,' Jo announced in a voice that was clipped with urgency, and she wasted no time in taking charge of the situation when she noticed that Chris had gone a sickly grey at the sight of so much blood.
'He's going to be all right, isn't he, madam?' Eric's wife demanded through her tears as she recognised the fact that Jo was experienced in these matters.
'Yes, of course,' Jo assured the woman with a practised calm, the fingers of her right hand already applying a firm pressure to the brachial artery along the inner side of Eric's upper arm while with her left hand she was guiding Chris's fingers towards the femoral artery in the man's groin. 'Apply as much pressure as you can,' she instructed him and, looking up, she saw a grim-faced Rafe entering the kitchen. She didn't have time to wonder at the reason for his presence—she was simply glad that he was there. 'We need more light, Rafe.'
He turned towards the light which hung low from the ceiling in the centre of the room, and tilted the shade so that the light shone directly on to the man who lay groaning in a semi-conscious state on the floor. He held the light steady, and while he did so he chatted calmly and reassuringly to the distraught woman, drawing her attention away from Jo's and Chris's efforts to stem the flow of blood and cover the wounds. Jo worked as quickly as she could, but she found it difficult to hide her concern when she had secured the final tourniquet. 'You'll have to get this man to the hospital as quickly as possible, Chris,' she warned as she rose from her kneeling position to wash her hands in the kitchen sink. She didn't have to say more. Rafe and Chris understood the urgency, and they wasted very little time in lifting Eric between them and carrying him out to the Land Rover.
Chris made sure that the semi-conscious Eric and his anxious wife were comfortably ensconced in the back of the Land Rover before he got into the driver's seat. 'Thanks, Jo,' he said, leaning out of the window. 'I don't know what I'd have done without you.'
'Get going,' she urged quietly but urgently, and moments later she was watching the Land Rover's tail-lights growing smaller down the track.
The curious crowd outside the house began to disperse, and Jo shivered, realising for the first time how cold she was, as Rafe guided her to where he had parked his Mercedes.
'You'd better have this,' said Rafe, taking off his blazer and draping it about her shoulders.
'Thanks,' she muttered, relishing the warmth of his body which still clung to the inside of the blazer, and hugging it about herself when he helped her into the car.
Was he angry with her? she wondered, slanting a quick glance at his stern profile in the light of the dashboard as he got in beside her and started the car. Should she apologise for rushing away from the party without telling him?
The words 'I'm sorry' hovered precariously on her lips, but then she remembered his insistence that, apart from sharing the same bed, they were not to intrude on each other's lives. Dear God, how she hated this marriage that wasn't a marriage! She hated being so close to Rafe physically, and yet so far away from him emotionally that the
y might just as well be living on opposite sides of the earth! She wished she didn't still love him so much! She wished...!
Jo reined in her thoughts. If she carried on like this she would end up wallowing in self-pity, and that was the last thing she wanted.
The party was still in progress when Rafe parked his Mercedes at the gabled entrance to the homestead, and Jo was leaning forward in her seat to take off Rafe's blazer when he snapped on the interior light and turned in his seat to face her.
'You've got blood on your dress,' he said, his glance flicking over her.
'I know.' She drew the clean folds of the skirt over the soiled section to conceal the stains. 'The blood will wash out, but I can't go back into the house looking like this.'
His expression softened. No, she must have imagined it in the dim interior of the car. The eyes were too cold, the mouth too tight, and the jaw too rigid with that controlled anger she always sensed in him.
'I'll fetch your coat and your bag,' he said curtly, taking his blazer from her as he got out the car and shrugging himself into it while he strode up the steps and into the house. Jo leaned back in her seat while she waited for him, and stared blindly up at the stars flickering in the night sky. Why was there so much anger in Rafe? Would they ever be able to speak to each other again without that undercurrent of barely controlled anger
dominating their conversation?
* * *
Jo was sitting at the dressing table brushing her hair before going to bed, and Rafe had only just emerged from the shower, when she heard the telephone ringing in the hall.
'I'll get it,' she said, putting down her brush and getting to her feet. She left the room hurriedly and quickened her pace almost to a run in the passage. She had a feeling that it would be Chris, and she was right.
'I called home first and my father told me you'd left,' he said. 'I thought you might want to know that Eric has just come out of the theatre, and the doctor says he ought to be fine after a couple of days in hospital.'
'I'm glad.' The words came out on a sigh of relief. 'I was rather worried, so I appreciate this call.'
'I'm sorry the evening had to end so early for you.'
'That doesn't matter.'
There was a brief silence before Chris asked, 'Was Rafe angry with you for rushing away from the party with me?'
'No.
'Wasn't he even a little bit jealous?'
'Not even a little bit.' If only Rafe had been a little jealous then it might have given her some hope that...
'I suppose he must think I'm harmless,' said Chris, laughingly interrupting her thoughts. 'But little does he know,' he added, lowering his voice playfully to an animal-like growl, 'there's a beast lurking inside me that rises to the surface whenever I'm with you.'
'Don't be silly, Chris,' she rebuked him humorously, 'and goodnight.'
'Sweet dreams, sweetheart.'
The line went dead, and Jo was still smiling when she replaced the receiver, but she could feel the smile freezing on her lips as she turned and looked up to see Rafe observing her from across the hall. His big hands were thrust deep into the pockets of the green towelling robe that left his muscular legs bare from the knees down, and there was something in his narrowed, stabbing glance that was beginning to fill her with a new uneasiness.
'That was Chris,' she said, and a twisted, faintly cynical smile curved Rafe's sensuous mouth.
'So I gathered.'
'He phoned to let me know that Eric is going to be all right,' she explained, forcing herself to remain calm as she switched off the light in the hall and preceded Rafe down the passage to their room.
'I couldn't help noticing that you were getting pretty friendly with Chris after dinner this evening. Jo was beginning to sense the danger, and she quivered inwardly when Rafe followed her into their bedroom, but she was not going to be intimidated by him. 'If I was behaving in a friendly manner towards Chris, then it's because he is a friend. I always used to find him pleasant to talk to, and I still do.'
Strong fingers snaked about her arm, biting painfully into the soft flesh above her elbow, and Rafe's expression was dark and ominous as he spun her round to face him. 'Chris was flirting with you this evening, and
I didn't see you make an effort to discourage him.'
'Lorin was pawing at you all evening, and I didn't see you discouraging her!' she retaliated in a sudden fury, her eyes sparking green fire as she wrenched her arm free of his clasp.
'Were you jealous?' he mocked her unexpectedly, and Jo could joyfully have slapped that hateful smile off his face, but she firmly curbed the desire.
'This conversation is bordering on the ridiculous,' she retorted stiffly, turning towards the dressing-table and brushing her hair vigorously in an attempt to work off some of her anger. 'I thought we'd agreed that our marriage was of such a nature that we were free to live our lives separate from one another?'
'You're still my wife.' His voice was a low, ominous growl. 'And I won't have you embarrassing me in public by encouraging other men to flirt with you.'
'I was not encouraging Chris to flirt with me—and even if I were, it's none of your business!'
'I'm making it my business!' he snarled, his lips drawn back against his strong white teeth as he wrenched the brush from her fingers and flung it across the room so that it landed with a thud on the carpeted floor in the corner. Jo had never seen him like this before, and the sheer savagery of his appearance made icy fear clutch at her heart. 'Do you hear me, Jo? I'm making it my business!'
'You can't do that, Rafe,' she pointed out with an admirable calmness into the explosive atmosphere. 'If you claim the right to query my actions, then I have just as much right to query yours, and that would put an end to the freedom you've enjoyed so much these past three years.'
She had not intended that as a barb, but it seemed to strike home with a precision that made Rafe whiten about the mouth.
'My God!' he roared suddenly, towering over her with a wild fury blazing in his eyes.
'I could '
He broke off abruptly, and this time it was Jo who paled. Rafe had raised his hands as if to throttle her, but the next instant he turned on his heel and stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind him. What was the matter with Rafe? Why had he been so angry? He had made the rules, so why should he be upset when she was simply acting accordingly?
Jo was suddenly shaking so much that her legs only barely managed to carry her to the bed, and she flung herself across it to bury her face in the pillow with a strangled sob on her lips. She sat up abruptly a second later and brushed the heavy strands of hair away from her face. I'm damned if I'm going to cry! she reasoned with herself in silence. I've shed enough tears in this room to last me a lifetime, and I'm not going to start again now!
She drew a deep, audible breath, then released it slowly through her parted lips, and the action calmed the tremors that were still racing through her body.
Rafe had behaved like a jealous husband. But that was absurd! All he wanted from her was a legitimate heir for Satanslaagte in exchange for the loan he had given Danny, but her friendship with Chris had obviously upset him. Was it possible that he...?
Jo got into bed and snapped off her thoughts along with the lights. She curled herself up into the foetal position and tried to go to sleep, but the bed felt cold and lonely without Rafe. She was still awake an hour later when Rafe entered the bedroom. He came in quietly and got into bed beside her without switching on the light. The smell of pipe tobacco mingled with the clean, musky odour of his body, and she tensed. If he touched her now he would know she was awake. Perhaps he had already heard her heart thudding heavily against her ribs. She lay rigidly quiet, hardly daring to breathe, but she had been unnecessarily afraid. Rafe stayed on his side of the bed. He lay with his back turned towards her, and soon his deep, even breathing told her that he was asleep.
It took a while longer for Jo to fall asleep, and she was sleeping soundly when, for the fir
st time in weeks, that old dream returned to haunt her.
She was running up those familiar steps, but in her dream her movements were retarded and the stairs seemed endless before she entered Tony Ribeiro's flat. He was sitting at his instrument-cluttered workbench when she burst through the door, and he was running his hands lovingly over a half-finished guitar, then he turned to her and smiled.
'Will you help me, Jo?'
'You know I'll help you, Tony. You know I will.'
The smile on his handsome face made way for a look of terrible anxiety, and he held out his hands, groping for hers, but something held her back, preventing the fingers, of her outstretched hands from touching his.
'It's useless, Jo. I can't go on.'
'You can, Tony! You can!' she insisted, lunging towards his hands, but they were not longer there, and she broke out in a cold sweat at the swiftness with which the scene changed before her. Tony was pointing the muzzle of a gun at his temple, and there was a silent accusation in his eyes which she could not understand as she watched him curl his finger about the trigger. Suddenly there was a horrifyingly bizarre twist in the familiar nightmare. The man seated in the wheelchair was no longer Tony. It was Rafe who was looking at her with those dark, accusing eyes, and before she could do anything to stop him his finger had squeezed the trigger. Blood spurted from the gaping wound in his head, and a demented scream tore along Jo's throat. The scream was still spilling from her lips when she awoke with a start to find that she was sitting bolt upright in bed. Rafe had also shot up in bed beside her, and her breath was coming in anguished, gasping sobs along in her raw throat when he snapped on the bedside light.
Jo felt totally disorientated. The nightmare and the reality were still one as she sat blinking into the light. Her heart was behaving so oddly it felt as if she had a wild beast caged in her breast, and she was convinced that her saliva glands had dried up completely to leave her tongue clinging to the loot of her mouth. She stared at Rafe. Was HE real, or was he a ghost?
Valley of the Devil Page 7