"She's beautiful," Justine said sincerely. "And I think she must be quite rich herself. She has lovely clothes and jewellery. She's very nice, too. I like her."
"Beautiful, rich and likeable ... she sounds a paragon," Mary said thoughtfully. "You've whetted my curiosity. Perhaps I'll come to Ajaccio one day next week and take a look at her."
Her brother put his head through the window. "Have you two nearly finished? We're going for a tramp. Will you come, or would you rather stay here?"
"We'll only be a few more minutes. You go on, and we'll catch you up," said Mary. "I was just saying to Justine that I may come down to shop and spend a night with you some time next week."
"You know you're always welcome, ma mie. Bring the kids, if you like." He glanced at Justine, his shrewd eyes narrowing slightly, and his mouth curling in the way that always made her tense, and feel a faint tremor.
"An apron becomes you, little one," he said, on a teasing note. "I fancy this is your true metier." He made a gesture encompassing the pleasant kitchen.
"Perhaps it is," Justine said equably. David laughed, and withdrew from the window, and disappeared. And it was then, as the sound of his footsteps died away round the corner, that she knew that what she felt for him was more, much more, than a purely physical attraction. She knew she had fallen in love with him.
The others were still in sight when she and Mary left the house. Seeing the two women coming after them, the men stopped and waited for them to catch up.
"I took Justine to have lunch at Maria Bussaglia's place the other day," David said to his sister.
"Oh, how is she?" Mary took her daughter's hand, and the three of them moved off together, with the two older boys scampering ahead, and Justine and Nicolo bringing up the rear.
Justine and her host engaged in a separate conversation all the way to the fringe of the forest. The objective of the walk was a waterfall, which they could hear for some time before they reached it. As soon as they arrived at the place, the children tugged off their shirts and shorts and jumped into the pool below the fail.
"What a heavenly spot," said Justine, watching the sparkling torrent pour down from the rocks above the clearing which surrounded the pool. "I wish I had brought my swimsuit. I'd go in with them."
"The children aren't allowed to come here by themselves," said his sister. "The pool isn't deep, and they can all swim well, but we think it's best to keep it out of bounds until they're a little older." She moved away to keep an eye on her youngest son, and her husband also strolled off to stretch out on the turf some distance away, and enjoy a pipe of tobacco.
If Justine had foreseen this, she would not have sat down. But, having done so, she felt she could not get up again without David guessing that she did not want to be alone with him.
"What would do you good is a couple of weeks up here with Mary and her brood," he remarked, after watching the antics of his nephews and niece for several minutes.
His avuncular tone was more than she could bear just then. "I wish you wouldn't always treat me as if I were the children's age," she said, with some heat.
To her confusion, he responded to this cross retort by slipping a hand under her chin and turning her face towards him.
"If any other girl said that to me, I should take it as a challenge," he said dryly. "Perhaps it is. Perhaps I've been underestimating you."
His touch made her pulses race, and her face flame. "I don't know what you mean," she said huskily.
"No, I daresay you don't," he said off-handedly. "Anyway, I'll give you the benefit of the doubt." And, he eased his tall frame off the boulder, and went off to join his brother-in-law.
Perversely, as soon as he had left her, Justine wished he would come back. Although it had not been calculated, she saw now that what she had said had been a challenge. But why should that make him angry?
Watching him, she felt the kind of terrified helplessness that poor swimmers must feel when swept out of their depth by an unsuspected undertow. Until today, she had been able to comfort herself that what she felt was no more than a simple infatuation, which would eventually pass and be forgotten. But now, all at once, she knew with a terrible certainty that the whole course of her life had changed direction on that stiflingly hot afternoon when a stranger had stopped by the dig and said, 'I am David Cassano.'
'Why him—why him, of all people? The last man on earth who could ever love me,' she thought achingly.
What could you give him? Beauty? Elegance? Wit?
No, but he's known women who've had all those attributes, and he hasn't fallen in love with any of them.
Perhaps he doesn't wish to marry. Why should he? He doesn't need someone to cook for him. He has a French chef. He doesn't have to darn his own socks, and wash his own shirts. He has a manservant to attend to his clothes. What does his life lack that marriage would supply?
He must want children ... a son to inherit his name, and his money and possessions. Every man wants a son.
Any number of women could give him a son. What could you, Justine Field, give him that no one else can?
I love him for himself. I don't care about his money. If he lost every cent tomorrow, it wouldn't bother me. I wish he were a poor man.
"We mustn't stay too long, or you will be late for your visit to the hospital this evening," said Mary Ghilardo, touching her arm, and ascribing her frowning abstraction to concern about her father.
Startled out of a mental duologue between mind and heart, Justine feared for a moment that she must have been talking aloud. Then what Mary had said to her registered, and she hastily masked her consternation, and said with artificial brightness, "Goodness, it's four o'clock. I had no idea it was so late. I was miles away."
"Yes, I guessed you were thinking about your father," Mary said sympathetically. "You must be very close."
"Yes .. . yes, I suppose we are."
"He'll miss you very much when you marry. I should think that, however unpossessive parents try to be, it must always be a wrench when children leave home — and particularly hard for widows and widowers," said Mary.
Justine took off one sandal, and shook out a fragment of grit. "I may never marry," she said casually.
Mary gave her a curious glance. "Don't you want to?" she asked.
Justine buckled her sandal, and stood up. "I haven't given it much thought."
"Well, I suppose, if you have a career, you don't — until you fall in love. It was different for me. I never had a vocation for anything interesting. I'm a natural home-bird," said Mary contentedly.
By five o'clock David and Justine were on the road again. Turning in her seat for a last glimpse of the village before it was lost to view, Justine felt a pang of envy for the people who lived there, and especially for Mary Ghilardo.
"It's been a lovely day," she said to David. "Thank you for bringing me with you."
"I'm glad you've enjoyed it," he answered, without glancing at her.
It was the only time he spoke during the whole long drive back to the city and, after the first half an hour, Justine felt that his silence must be deliberate.
Outside the hospital, he said, "I won't wait, if you don't mind. Get a cab to bring you back to the harbour. Have you some money on you?"
She nodded, and he reached across to open the nearside door for her. "Give my regards to your father."
Justine swung her legs to the ground, then paused and looked over her shoulder at him. "David, I'm sorry. Please don't be angry," she said contritely.
His eyebrow lifted. "Angry? Why should I be angry?" He had not switched off the engine, and his hand was on the brake, ready to release it the moment she was out of the car.
"When you said it would be good for me to have a holiday up in the mountains, I didn't mean to sound . . . ungracious," she murmured, her throat tight.
"Good God! Is that what you've been brooding about for the past couple of hours? I gathered you had something on your mind." He depressed the clutch and moved t
he gear out of neutral and into first. "You're too introspective, my girl. I'm not angry. Why on earth should I be? I'd forgotten about it." The engine revved, and he drummed his fingers on the wheel. "Off you go. I'll see you later."
But, as she watched him drive away, she was not convinced. He was angry . . . she was sure of it
While Justine was entering the hospital, Diane was pacing the lilac carpet in her stateroom, smoking a cigarette, her sixth in the past hour.
She had returned from the beauty salon at three o'clock, and had been surprised and annoyed when one of the crew had informed her that Monsieur and the young lady from England were spending the day inland.
She was on the point of ringing for a steward to fetch her an apéritif, when she heard a car being driven fast along the quay. Hurrying to the port, she was just in time to see David slam on the brakes, and bring it to a halt at the foot of the gangway. Judging by his expression, as he climbed out and strode on board, he was in a savage temper.
Diane smiled to herself, her own crossness instantly dispelled. Clearly, he had had an excruciatingly boring day, and would be all the more responsive to her. So far, she had kept her manner cool, verging on indifference. Now the moment had come for a change of strategy.
She was too well versed in masculine psychology to confront him while he was still at boiling point. Let him take the edge off his mood with a shower, and a glass of pastis, and then what was left of his temper would not be a hazard, but an advantage to her.
She was glancing through Paris Match when, half an hour later, he appeared on deck, his dark head still damp from the shower.
"Good evening," she said, smiling. "Have you had a pleasant day?"
He bowed, and sat down beside her. "It was necessary to visit my sister. I've left Justine at the hospital." His eyes glinted appreciatively. "You are looking particularly charming tonight, madame."
"Thank you."
"Perhaps you would like to dine on shore again?"
"Yes, by all means, if you prefer it. Is Justine to accompany us?"
"I think not. She is tired, and will prefer to go to bed early."
After they had had a drink, Diane went below to change her silk shirt and pants for a Marucelli dress of finely pleated black and white georgette, which she had already laid out on her bed in anticipation. In case she felt chilly driving back later, she also put on a black silk theatre coat, with a cowl which would protect her hair from being blown about by the slipstream from the car's windshield.
As David escorted her down the gangway, neither of them noticed a figure dodge quickly behind a palm tree a little way along the quay.
When the car had driven off, Justine stepped out of hiding and walked the hundred yards which had saved her from meeting them face to face.
"A fine evening, mam'selle," the man on watch said politely.
She nodded and managed to smile. A few moments later, she was in the sanctuary of her stateroom. Through the portholes, the western sky was ablaze with sunset colours. The sea shimmered like amethyst lamé shot with crimson. The moon and some stars were already out. She had noticed them on her way back from the hospital, and remembered Longfellow's lines — Silently, one by one, in the infinite meadows of heaven, blossomed the lovely stars . . .
But now, the beauty of the evening, the scent of the maquis, and gentle lapping of water, seemed only to intensify her misery. For when, from her place of concealment, she had watched David hand his companion into the car, everything which had puzzled her had suddenly become clear. It should have been clear that first night when Diane had come into the salon of the di Rostini villa on Pisano.
Mary had asked if Diane was after David. In fact, it was the other way round. David was after Diane.
'That's why he insisted on my staying here,' Justine thought, sickened by her own guilelessness. 'He knew very well that Madame would think it improper, and send Diane to chaperone me. And that's why he's offered to provide a team for the dig. It gives him a perfect pretext to anchor off the island again, and pursue Diane at his leisure. He wasn't being kind. He doesn't give a damn for me. He's just using me as a stalking horse.'
CHAPTER FIVE
IT was almost midnight when Diane and David left the restaurant on the Route du Salario, high above the moonlit gulf. They had dined at a candlelit table in a secluded alcove, with a violinist playing in the background to enhance the romantic atmosphere.
As she retouched her make-up in the powder room, Diane wondered how the evening would end. Would he make love to her, or not?
With any other man, she would not have had to speculate. With David, she could not be sure. She had no doubt that he wanted to make love to her; she could tell by the way he looked at her. But that did not mean he would do so — at least not tonight, not so soon.
"He isn't sure of me either," she said, to her reflection in the mirror. And she laughed, well pleased with her skill in leading him on, but only to a point from which she could still, if she chose, repulse any further advance.
No doubt, with most women, the possibility of a rebuff would never occur to him. Why should it, indeed, when he was such an outstanding parti? But she was different from most women. Firstly, she was confident that her allure, though it might have been equalled, had certainly never been surpassed by that of his previous quarries. Secondly, he knew that her late husband had left her an exceedingly handsome independence. So he would not suspect her of being swayed by mercenary considerations.
"I wonder?" she murmured aloud. "We are well matched, he and I."
David was standing outside near the car, his arms folded across his chest, looking down on the spangled skeins of light which were the streets of Ajaccio by night. She started towards him, then stopped, her eyes dilating, her hand going up to her mouth.
It had been only a trick of the moonlight but, for one unnerving instant, she had thought he was someone else . . . someone she had not seen for more than eight years. Like that, with arms crossed, Andria had stood on the cliffs on Pisano, waiting for her to keep a clandestine rendezvous.
Angry with herself for allowing such a foolish illusion to disconcert her, even momentarily, Diane readjusted her composure and took her place in the car.
When, some distance along the road, David pulled up at another vantage point — one less public than the restaurant's forecourt — she repressed a smile, her speculation resolved.
Naturally, he had too much finesse to take her in his arms the moment he had switched off the engine and the headlamps. She would have been disappointed if he had. They both knew what was going to happen presently, but it was more amusing and exciting to postpone the moment for a little. He offered her a cigarette, and lit a petit corona for himself. It would take him about fifteen minutes to smoke it, and then he would toss it way, and turn towards her.
"It seems we have both been lecturing Justine on the hazards of her sudden emancipation," he said casually. "I've been warning her not to take your young brother too seriously, but I gather you feel she stands in more peril from me." His tone was lazy and amused. "You don't seriously suppose I would take advantage of such an ingénue, do you?"
"No, of course not," she answered, matching his tone. "Justine must have misunderstood me. Naturally, I assumed that she had her hair done, and bought some clothes, to please someone. I was afraid she might be developing an adolescent penchant for you. She is very immature, poor girl. It's not her fault, of course. It's her father who's to blame. But, as you know, young girls are often attracted to older men, and I would not like her to be hurt, or for her to embarrass you."
"What did she say when you spoke to her about it?"
"She denied that her transformation had anything to do with you or Julien."
"Did you believe her?"
"I think I was wrong in suspecting that it was you she wished to please. Why do you disapprove of a love affair with Julien? Surely it's what she needs to give her confidence in herself?"
"Possibly, but I am not a
t all sure that your brother is a suitable person to initiate her," he replied "She has no experience at all, and Julien might not go gently with her."
"I don't think you need worry that he'll seduce her. He's not always wise, but he isn't as foolish as that"
"I'm not concerned about that," he answered, with a trace of curtness. "I doubt if he'd succeed if he tried. But I do think she might fall seriously in love with him."
"Perhaps he'll fall in love with her," Diane suggested.
"And marry her?" David asked sceptically.
She shrugged. "It's possible. She is rather charming now that she's begun to arrange herself."
"It would never work," he answered crisply. "She's too intelligent for him. However, enough of Justine." Unexpectedly, he flipped the half-smoked cigar into the bushes. "You aren't cold, I hope? It's cooler up here than in the harbour." He slid his arm behind her, along the backrest, and his hand closed on her shoulder.
She turned her face up to his. The glitter in his eyes sent a stab of wild excitement through her.
"But it's late, and you're tired," he said blandly, withdrawing his arm.
And, five seconds later, the headlamps were blazing, and the car was in motion again.
As she walked to the hospital next morning, Justine wished she had not already told her father about David's offer to expedite the completion of the dig. If she had not mentioned it last night, she might have been able to persuade him that the rest of the work would have to be postponed until the following season. But unfortunately she had told him, and he had accepted the idea with enthusiasm.
"When is Cassano proposing to return to the island?" he asked, as soon as he saw her.
"I don't know. I haven't seen him since he dropped me here yesterday evening," she said. "Not until next week, I should think. His sister is coming to spend a night with him."
Today he was more alert, and as she sat down, he noticed the yellow dress. "How much did you spend on that?" Justine told him.
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