He was wearing a short, dark silk dressing jacket over a pair of plain grey pyjamas. His hair was wet from the shower, and he had evidently just finished shaving, as he was drying the vicious-looking blade of a cut-throat razor on a white huckaback towel. "I want to see Father," she answered constrainedly. Battista came in with a breakfast tray, which he placed on a low table in front of a couch.
"Mademoiselle wishes only for coffee this morning, m'sieur. Shall I serve it here?" he enquired.
David nodded, and the steward went back to the door, and took another smaller tray from someone waiting outside. He set this down next to the first tray, assured himself that everything was in order, smiled at Justine, and left the room.
David closed his razor, and dropped it into the pocket of his dressing jacket. The towel he tossed on to a chair. "Won't you sit down?" he invited.
Reluctantly, Justine seated herself on the extreme edge of the couch.
"You've made a conquest," he said. "Battista has lost his heart to you. In fact all the crew seem to be in your toils, little one." He sat down beside her, and began to peel his morning orange.
Justine shot a quick sideways look at his autocratic profile. He caught the suspicious glance, and his fingers stilled.
"I'm not being sarcastic. It's true," he said, looking amused. "Don't you sense their liking for you? No doubt it's because you appeal to their protective instincts."
She didn't know what to say. She couldn't fathom him. Last night, she had said things which — deserved though they might be — she had thought he would never forgive. Yet now his tone and manner were as if last night had never happened. Why? she wondered distrustfully.
He finished peeling the orange, and filled his cup with black coffee. "So you want to see your father?" he said consideringly. "Presumably to tell him what an infamous character I am, and to urge him to sever all connection with me?"
His percipience made her flush. "Yes — something like that," she admitted shortly.
When he had eaten the fruit, he wiped his hands on a linen napkin, and lit a dark-leaved cheroot. "How unfortunate that the boat won't be available today, and possibly not tomorrow either," he said lazily.
She did turn and look at him then. "Is that a veiled way of saying you won't let me go to Ajaccio?"
"I think it would be unwise to embroil your father in our differences until he is at least out of hospital. In any case, he may not share your indignation. He isn't as sentimental as you are."
"It has nothing to do with sentiment. It's a matter of principle."
"Well, I regret that, for the moment, you'll have to swallow your principles," he said, with a touch of impatience.
"Haven't you forgotten that your sister will be going back to the mainland some time today?" she pointed.out. "If I can't go this morning, I'll go over with her later on. You can't very well stop me, can you?"
David raised an eyebrow. "You think not? You underrate me. I can very easily stop you. Nothing could be simpler." He glanced at his watch. "None of the others is up yet. When they are, I can tell them you've had a slight tummy upset, and are spending the day in bed. If anyone asks to see you, you'll be sleeping and better not disturbed."
"I don't believe you," she said flatly. "For one thing, it wouldn't work. You don't imagine I'd submit to being locked in, do you? I'd shout the place down."
He shrugged. "In that case I should have to give you another sedative."
She said, with more nonchalance than she felt. "What would be the point? You couldn't keep me shut up indefinitely."
"No, not for more than a day or two," he agreed. "Your father would wonder why you hadn't been over to visit him. But you won't dispute that I could easily keep you confined today and tomorrow?"
"I suppose you could — if you went to such extraordinary lengths," she conceded, trying to sound casual. But she was suddenly intensely aware that she was alone with a man she had known only a very short time, a man who had already demonstrated his ruthlessness. Perhaps this was how he meant to punish her for the things she had said last night.
He answered — and his hardness made her flinch — "Oh, I'll go to any lengths to get my way. I thought you knew that."
If she had not been awake half the night, she might not have acted so foolishly. But she was tired, and confused, and her nerves were at snapping point. It flashed through her mind that, if only she could reach Diane's room, she would be free to leave the yacht when she pleased. That would spike his guns! He wouldn't be able to bend her to his will in front of Diane.
Without stopping to consider what reason she could give for bursting into the other girl's room at half past seven in the morning, she jumped up and dashed to the door.
Because her flight took him by surprise, she reached it and wrenched it open. But, a few yards along the corridor, he grabbed her and swung her round. He pushed her against the wall, gripping her arms above the elbows. She had never seen him look so menacing.
"My God! You believed it!" he said, in a savage voice. "You little fool. What kind of swine do you take me for? Of course I can't keep you here — and wouldn't, even if I could. I'm not yet entirely depraved — though you obviously think so."
He let her go, and stood back, and controlled himself. The fierceness went out of his face, and left it coldly impassive. He said, in his normal quiet tones, "I apologise for frightening you. I thought you would know I wasn't serious. I assumed — mistakenly, it seems — that you still had some vestige of trust in me. You can refuse, if you wish, but I'd like you to come up to the villa with me later this morning. After that, if you want to go to Ajaccio, the vedette will be at your disposal. In the circumstances, I'll tell the men that you won't be working today."
He walked away to his door, and disappeared.
It was about eleven o'clock, and Justine had not been outside her stateroom again, when Battista brought her the message that M'sieur was waiting on deck, if she wished to accompany him ashore.
She did not look at David when she joined him at the head of the gangway, and neither of them spoke on the short run across to the jetty.
On the terrace, they found Julien eating a late breakfast, and looking as if he might have a hangover. He had not yet shaved, and was wearing a flamboyant brocade robe over equally gaudy pyjamas. David explained tersely that, if Madame di Rostini was up, they would like to see her.
"She's in her sitting-room," said Julien, getting up to go with them.
"Alone, if you don't mind," said David. Julien blinked, and shot an enquiring glance at Justine, who pretended not to notice.
They found Madame lying on a day-bed. She seemed surprised that Mary Ghilardo was not with them. David said his sister would be coming to see her later.
Listening to their conversation, Justine even more puzzled about his purpose in bringing her here. She was not kept in suspense much longer.
He said suddenly, "Madame, Miss Field is very disturbed by the news that you have agreed to sell the island to me. She feels I've taken advantage of you, and that she can't go on living under my aegis. I would be glad if you could oonvince her that there's been no coercion in this matter." He bowed, glanced briefly at Justine, and left the room.
"Why does the sale of Pisano disturb you, my child?" Madame asked, when he had gone.
Justine looked down at her hands. "I know how much it means to you, madame," she said, in a low voice. "It's belonged to your family for so long. I can't believe you really wish to sell it." She raised her eyes, and met the old lady's dark ones. "Julien may not want to live here now. But he's young and restless. He'll change in a few years' time."
"Ah, there you are wrong, my dear," Madame said, shaking her head. "It is true that some wild young men become sober in later life. But the fundamentals of character — strength or weakness, selfishness or generosity — are inborn in us. I have known since my grandchildren were young that they took after my daughter-in-law, and had little of my son's strength of character. Julien is very dear
to me, but it would be misguided to hope that time will make him wise and strong. There is much that is good in him, but he lacks the highest moral qualities."
She paused, and toyed with the rings on her thin white fingers. "As you say, Pisano has been owned by di Rostinis for many years," she went on. "But there are families in the village whose forebears came here with Ludovico di Rostini. The island is their heritage too. In coming to this admittedly painful decision, I had also to consider their best interests. One can never resist progress, child. Times change, and we must change with them. The islanders, particularly the younger ones, are beginning to tire of the old ways. They want more money to spend, and work that is not as hard as fishing. They want a cinema, and the television. They want more shops, and the girls want fashionable clothes. If they cannot have these things here, they will leave the island. Soon, there will be no young ones left, only the old people like myself. But, if Pisano becomes a resort, they will obtain their desires, and stay here."
Justine had never considered the islanders' prospects before. She had thought only of Madame, and of her personal feelings.
"Yes, I suppose you are right," she said reluctantly. "I'm afraid I hadn't thought of that aspect of it. But surely—" She stopped, and looked uncomfortable.
Madame guessed the thought in her mind. "You are wondering why I do not keep possession of Pisano until I die?" she enquired.
"Well, yes — yes, I was," Justine admitted. "Won't you hate seeing it changed and built over?"
The old lady pursed her withered lips. "No, I believe — since it must be done :— it will interest me to see the future take shape."
Her black eyes twinkled suddenly, and she gave her gentle chuckle. "If I chose to leave the matter to my improvident grandson, he might not drive such a hard bargain. He would certainly waste the money. He is very extravagant. I shall leave him a generous income, but the capital will be in trust for his son, if he has one."
"What about this house?" Justine asked. "Will you be able to go on living here, madame?"
"Yes, Monsieur Cassano has agreed to my retaining this house for whatever short time is left to me." She put up the gilt lorgnette which she used for reading. "Will you bring me that box on the table, please?"
Justine fetched the Florentine leather casket, and placed it gently on her lap.
"There is something I wish you to have," said Madame, before she unlocked it. "A memento of your time here. It is very old-fashioned, but I think it will appeal to your taste."
The casket was a jewel case. From it, she took a necklace which made Justine draw in her breath.
"I haven't worn this for thirty years. It needs cleaning," the old lady said critically. "But the stones are good ones, and well matched."
"It's beautiful!" Justine exclaimed. "But aren't those amethysts, madame? I can't possibly accept such a valuable family heirloom. It's exceedingly kind of you, but—"
"Nonsense!" she was told briskly. "I wish you to have it. If I leave it to Diane, she will sell it or have it re-set. Take it my child. It pleases me to think of you wearing it."
Justine saw that the old lady would be offended if she persisted in refusing the gift. "I don't know how to thank you. I shall treasure it always," she said warmly.
Madame put the casket aside, and lay back on her cushions. But when, seeing that she was tiring, Justine got up to go, she said, "I am touched that you should feel such concern for me, my dear. But I am surprised you should have thought Monsieur Cassano might have dealt unfairly with me. He is an honourable young man. You misjudge him if you doubt his integrity."
"Yes, I see that now," said Justine, flushing. "I was wrong, I'll apologise to him."
But when she left the room, and returned to the terrace, Julien told her that David had gone back to the yacht.
"He's in a strange mood today," he said, with a grimace. "Why did he wish to see Grand'mere in private with you?"
Justine avoided answering this question by showing him the amethyst necklace. "I feel I ought not to have accepted it, but I was afraid of offending her," she said worriedly.
He pooh-poohed her misgivings. "She is quite right. Diane would never wear anything so old-fashioned," he assured her.
As she waited for him to dress, so that they could return to Kalliste together, Justine's cheeks burned at the memory of the charges she had flung at David the night before.
It seemed to her now that it was she who had behaved contemptibly. How, loving him, could she have been so ready to believe the worst of him? Trust was the keystone of love, yet her trust in him had been so tenuous that, at the first test, it had evaporated. In his actions, if not always in his words, he had shown her nothing but kindness and consideration; and, in return, she had denounced him as an unscrupulous profiteer.
When Julien came back, they went down the stone staircase to the jetty, where a seaman handed her into the motor-boat. After his own return to the yacht earlier, David had sent the man over to wait for them.
By now, it was nearly one o'clock, and they found the others having drinks on the main deck.
Justine walked up to David, who was talking to Captain Stirling. When he broke off his conversation to look at her, she said, in a strained voice, "Could I speak to you for a minute, please?"
"Excuse us, will you, Angus?" He put down the glass he was holding, and led the way along the starboard deck until they were out of earshot of the other.
"Well?" he said, without expression.
Her mouth was as dry as the palms of her hands were damp. She swallowed, and cleared her throat Looking down at the decking, she said, "I want to apologise for all the things I said last night."
David crossed his arms, and leaned back against the safety rails. He didn't say anything.
After a moment, she went on, "I'll get my things together, and leave at once."
"Leave?" he queried. "You still want to go to Ajaccio?"
"You can't possibly want me to s-stay after this," she said unsteadily.
There was another pause, and then, as he had done once before, by the waterfall pool in the pine forest, he put out a hand and tipped her chin, making her look at him.
"Can't I?" he asked dryly. "What should my reaction be? A vow of eternal vengeance on all who bear the name of Field? My dear girl, I may be a Corsican, but my pride is not so sensitive that it's injured beyond repair by a little spirited abuse. If Madame di Rostini has succeeded in allaying your qualms, I suggest we forget the matter. Come along — it's time for lunch."
Mary Ghilardo decided to spend a second night on board, and did not leave until the following morning, some time after Justine had gone ashore with her working party. So it was not until after lunch, when Julien came up to the dig, that Justine learned that David and Diane had also gone to Ajaccio for the day.
Speaking in French, as he always did when he wanted to express himself freely, Julien said, "Tell me, chérie, has it struck you that those two have a particular interest in each other?"
Justine, who was coating some coins with bedacryl, did not look up from her task. "What makes you ask that?"
He lit a cigarette. "Because I happened to overhear a rather interesting conversation this morning, just before they went. Madame Ghilardo was asking David when he would be going up to see them again, and he said he would try to be there for one of her kids' birthdays, in a couple of weeks' time. Then she said it was time he settled down and raised a family of his own. Then he said," and here Julien paused, to emphasise the significance of his next words, "He said, 'As it happens, I'm considering doing just that.' Madame Ghilardo made that sort of squeaky sound that women of her age do when they're excited about something, and David said, 'But it's no use grilling me about it, my dear sister, because I don't propose to discuss it until it's fait accompli.' Now, what d'you deduce from that?"
What Justine deduced made the hot day seem suddenly cold.
Fortunately, Julien's question had been a rhetorical one and, without waiting for an a
nswer, he went on, "Of course I know Diane is a good-looking piece, but it never occurred to me that she might be the one to catch him. Frankly, I thought she didn't care much for David — but maybe that's just a crafty bit of strategy on her part. He's so used to women flinging themselves at him that it could be her coolness which has hooked him. I wonder if that is her game? She's never breathed a word to me."
Justine turned away, ostensibly to inspect some other coins which were immersed in a bath of diluted formic acid.
"If that is what she's up to," Julien continued, "she may be overplaying her hand. David also told his sister that she needn't start planning a wedding because, at present, the affair wasn't progressing too well. Perhaps I'd better drop a hint to Diane that it's time to hot things up a little."
"I should mind your own business, if I were you," Justine answered, rather abruptly.
"I thought she'd had enough of marriage," he said contemplatively. "She had the devil of a life with that old brute, Mathieu St. Aubin, and one of the conditions of his will was that, if she marries again, she'll lose the fat income he left her. But of course that wouldn't matter if she hooked a big fish like David."
"I should have thought that what mattered most is whether she loves him — and he her," Justine retorted, in a brittle voice.
Julien laughed. "Depends what you mean by love, chérie. They've both knocked around too much to work up a grand passion. Diane's already in love — with herself. As for David, if he offers marriage, it'll be because he knows that's her price."
Justine whirled round, her face pale under her tan, her grey eyes bright with disgust. "How can you talk like that? It's revolting. I wish you'd go away. I'm busy."
"I'm sorry," he said, taken aback. "There's no need to bite my head off. I was only speaking the truth. You're too idealistic, petite. It's not my fault if real life isn't as romantic as you'd like it to be. Oh, come on, be your age, Justine. You don't really see David and Diane as a twentieth-century Aucassin and Nicolette, do you?"
"I credit them with some decent feelings," she countered fiercely. "The way you talk about him, anyone would think David was as debauched as ... as Caligula."
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