"What I can't understand is why he's arranging the wedding before he's asked Justine to marry him," Charles Hurst said perplexedly. "You are quite sure it isn't some kind of cruel joke?"
"Don't be silly, dear. Of course it's not a joke. Do you realise what it must cost to phone all the way from Corsica, and he was on the line for at least ten minutes," said Mrs. Hurst rather crossly. "I can't understand you Charles. I know it's a shock — I was flabbergasted myself — but I should have thought you'd have been delighted. I certainly am. It's exactly what I hoped would happen . . . though I must admit I never thought it would."
"What about Richard? Does he know? I can't see him being delighted at Justine rushing into marriage with a man she can't have known very long."
"Richard doesn't know anything about it yet. David is going to get his consent before he proposes to her this afternoon. He said he'd telephone again tonight, and we'd be able to speak to Justine too. He rang up this morning to give us as much time as possible to arrange getting away. The wedding will probably be on Friday."
"He seems a very assured young man. What if Richard refuses his consent?" the Rector suggested.
"How can he?" said Mrs. Hurst. "Justine's not a minor. Asking his permission is merely a courtesy. He will have to agree, whether he likes it or not."
"My dear Helen, he may have no legal right to prevent her marrying, but you can't seriously suppose that he'll give them his blessing? As you said yourself, when we were discussing her future some time ago, your brother will never willingly release his hold on her."
"And you said that one day she would meet someone whose influence would be stronger than his," his wife reminded him.
When the nurse found that Justine had scarcely touched her lunch she scolded her like a nanny admonishing a faddy child.
"I'm sorry — I'm not very hungry. It's too hot to eat much," said Justine.
"And it's too hot to sit out here. You must come into the shade and rest on your bed, Miss Field," the nurse said firmly.
Justine argued that she was used to the afternoon glare, but the woman was adamant, and made her lie down on the bed, and drew the curtains.
"I will call you at four. Until then, you must sleep," she instructed, before she bustled away.
Justine closed her eyes, and tried to empty her mind of thoughts. But the room was full of the delicate scent of the carnations, and she was tormented by a mental picture of David and Diane relaxing on loungers in the shade of the yacht's awning. Perhaps by now there was a ring on Diane's left hand; a ring bought yesterday at some exclusive jeweller's in the Faubourg St Honors in Paris. In her mind's eye, Justine saw David lean from his chair to capture the other girl's hand and press his lips against her knuckles as, that very first night on the terrace, he had kissed Justine's.
And, remembering how, only two nights ago, he had held her hard against him, and kissed her mouth, Justine moaned and rolled over, and buried her face in the pillow.
When, some time later, she heard the door open, she thought it was the nurse, looking in to make sure she was obeying orders. She lay still, waiting for the door to close, and footsteps to fade away down the corridor outside.
The door did close, but the footsteps approached the bed. Someone sat down on the side of it.
She tensed. Who was it? Not him . . . please God, not him ... not now, not yet.
"Justine," David said quietly. Gently, he tapped her shoulder.
Did he know she was awake? No, how could he? Perhaps, if she didn't stir, he would go away. 'I can't face him,' she thought. 'I can't.'
After several interminable moments, he rose from the edge of the bed. But he did not leave the room and, to her consternation, she heard him sit down in the visitors' chair. There was a scratching sound, the faint rasp of a match struck. He was lighting a cigar.
Cornered, knowing it was impossible to go on feigning sleep while he sat there, watching her, she waited a few minutes, then pretended to be waking up.
"Oh . . . David. How long have you been here?" she murmured, simulating drowsy surprise when she turned over and saw him.
"Not long." Before she had a chance to sit up, he came over and sat beside her again. "How are you feeling today?"
"Oh, fine, thanks," she said hollowly. She attempted to sit up, intending to slip off the bed, but he shook his head, and pressed her back against the pillows. "No, don't move. You're supposed to be resting."
She turned her face towards the carnations on the locker. "I imagine you sent the flowers. Thank you — they're lovely. How much longer have I got to stay in here?"
"Only until Wednesday. Then you can move to the Hotel des Etrangers for a couple of nights. That's where your uncle and aunt will be staying."
"My uncle and aunt?" she echoed blankly.
"I phoned Mrs. Hurst early this morning, and she and your uncle will be arriving some time on Wednesday."
Justine jerked into a sitting position. "Why? What for? I'm not ill. What on earth possessed you to send for them ... both of them?"
He smiled, and suddenly there was a blaze in his eyes which made her tremble. "A bride must have someone to give her away. Unfortunately, the doctors don't think your father will be up to it by Friday, so your uncle will have to stand in for him. In any case, I assumed you would want them to be present"
'I am concussed,' she thought dazedly. This isn't really happening at all. It's a hallucination. They're one of the symptoms of concussion.'
David took her hands in his. "I'm not mistaken, I hope," he said quizzically. "You do want to marry me, don't you?"
"B-but you're going to m-marry Diane," she stammered, in a stunned voice.
His black brows lifted. "Marry Diane — God forbid! What gave you that crazy idea?"
"She told me you were," she said faintly.
His grey eyes narrowed. "Did she indeed? I see. Well, she was wrong. I wouldn't marry the ornamental Widow St. Aubin if my life depended on it."
Then the grim look left his face, and he laughed, and let go of her hands and pulled her against him.
"I'm in love with you, my foolish Miss Field. And when you shot into my arms last night, I assumed my feelings were reciprocated. Well, are you going to marry me, or aren't you? A fine fool I shall look if you say no."
This rocketing ascent from the depths of wretchedness to a pinnacle of happiness far above her wildest day-dreams was too much for Justine. She burst into tears, and clung to him.
She was calming down, and David had just given her his handkerchief, when the nurse came in to wake her, and administer some tablets.
"Oh, excuse me ... I did not know you had a visitor, mademoiselle," she apologised, looking rather flustered.
Evidently she did not approve of David sitting on the bed, and as soon as Justine had swallowed the pills, she suggested that Monsieur should wait outside on the balcony while the patient tidied herself. Then she would bring them both refreshments.
David had brought Justine's clothes with him in a suitcase. She was glad to change into a dress, and attend to her hair and face, but it was with renewed shyness that she joined him on the balcony.
"I'm afraid we've shocked your nurse," he said, turning round from the balustrade, and holding out his hands to her. "In Corsica it isn't proper for unmarried people to be alone together, particularly in a bedroom with the curtains drawn. You'll have to marry me now, ma mie, if only to redeem your reputation!"
She laughed, and blushed, and put her hands into his. "Oh, David, are you sure? I'm not at all the sort of person you ought to marry."
He lifted an eyebrow. "Why not?"
"Well . . . your world is so different from mine."
A curiously sombre look came into his eyes. "Most people would say I'm not the sort of man you should marry, Justine. I'm thirteen years older than you are, and my life hasn't been an ascetic one."
"I know that," she said candidly. "You don't have to tell me. I've heard it already from Diane and Julien. According to them, no woman is safe
with you. If it's true, you've been amazingly circumspect with me — at least until the night before you went to Paris."
His hands tightened on hers, and she saw amusement tugging at the corners of his mouth. "Did you enjoy what happened the night before I went to Paris?"
"Yes. I didn't want to — but I did," she admitted honestly.
He laughed. "So did I. I'd like to repeat the experience, but unfortunately it isn't very private here. For the moment, I'll have to be content with this." He lifted her hands in turn, and pressed his lips against her palms.
The nurse reappeared with iced coffee and cream cakes.
"You weren't serious about getting married on Friday, were you?" Justine asked, when they were sitting down with the width of a wicker table between them.
"Certainly I was serious. You have no objection, have you?"
"No ... but I'm sure Father will have," she said, frowning. "It's only two days since he found out I've cut my hair and started to use make-up. This is going to be an even worse shock for him."
"And if he objects?" David asked.
She studied her hands for a moment. "You're the most important person in my life now," she answered steadily.
"Don't worry, mon coeur. I've already told your father. I saw him this morning."
Her eyes widened. "What did he say?"
"Well, I didn't announce that we were going to be married. I asked his permission to address you. It's still the custom here in Corsica. As a matter of fact, he took it very well. He even wished me luck."
"Wished you luck?" she repeated disbelievingly.
"He said you had lost your head over 'that damned young whipper-snapper' — which I took to refer to Julien — and, if I could bring you to your senses, he'd be grateful to me."
"He wouldn't call Julien a whipper-snapper if he had seen him getting out of the cave yesterday," Justine said shortly. "I can't imagine why he thinks I'm infatuated with Julien."
"You can hardly deny that you have been at some pains to give me that impression," David said dryly.
"Only because I didn't want you to guess the truth, David —" she stopped, colouring. "David, when did you begin to like me?"
He smiled. "I liked you from the first You gave me such fierce looks, but you were so easy to rout. I realised I was in love with you that day we met near the dig, and I saw you'd been crying. I told you I was going to marry you the night your father was taken ill."
"You told me?"
"The night I 'drugged' you, and put you to bed. Surely you haven't forgotten that?" he said, with a mocking gleam. "You were nearly asleep at the time, and I said it in Corse, so even if you had heard, you wouldn't have understood."
"But if you wanted to marry me as long ago as that, why were you so nasty to me, and so nice to Diane? That day you took me to lunch with your sister, for instance. You didn't say a word on the way home, and when I was coming back from the hospital, I saw you going off with Diane."
"My dear child, when a man touches a girl and she flinches, as you did that day, you can't expect him to be in a very good mood."
"That was the day I knew I was in love with you," she said huskily. "I didn't mean to flinch. But it still doesn't explain why you took Diane out."
"Were you jealous?"
"No — not jealous exactly. I didn't hate her. I envied her for being so beautiful, and sophisticated, and . . . well, your kind of woman."
"My kind of woman!" He sprang up from his chair and went to stand at the balustrade, his brown hands gripping the rail with a force which frightened her.
"What have I said?" she appealed. "David . . . darling . . ."
He swung round, his dark face set. "I took Diane out that night — and other nights — because it amused me," he said savagely. "If you think she offered to chaperone you out of disinterested kindness, you're mistaken. She's more subtle than most of her kind, but I'm too experienced not to recognise an opportunist when I meet one." He paused, and went on less fiercely, "When I was a boy in my twenties, I didn't want marriage. I was too restless and ambitious to have time for more than casual relationships. By the time I'd achieved my objectives, the only women I met were like Diane. But by then I wanted what my father had — a woman who wouldn't give a damn if I lost every cent and went back to fishing for a living." His mouth took on an ironic twist. "Well, finally, I met someone like that — a prim English girl who not only didn't care about my money, but showed all too plainly that she didn't like me much either." He came to her, and went down on his heels beside her chair. Very gently, he touched the bruise discolouring her cheek. "When they told me about the accident — before they said you were safe — it was the worst moment of my life. You are my kind of woman, Justine. Can't you believe that?"
Five days later, at three in the afternoon, the Kalliste left Ajaccio for a destination known only to her owner and her captain. Even the owner's bride had no idea where the yacht was bound, nor was she particularly curious to know. As she took off her short white wedding dress, and hung it tenderly away, all that concerned her was that five hours earlier she had ceased to be Miss Field and begun to be Madame Cassano.
She had changed into a cotton sun-dress, and was dreamily brushing her hair, when there was a tap at the door. She called "Come in," but no one came. Puzzled, she went to the door. The passage outside her stateroom was empty. Then, when the knock was repeated, she realised that it was coming from the other door — the one communicating with David's room. For the first time since she had occupied the room there was a key in the lock. Smiling, her heart beginning to bump, she went across and turned the key.
"Well, did you enjoy your wedding, madame?" David asked, as he came through the doorway.
"Yes, it was lovely," she said shyly. "But at the moment it all seems rather unreal. Everything's happened so fast that I feel I may suddenly wake up and find it's only a dream." She went back to the dressing-table, and took up her hairbrush again.
"Perhaps I should have given you more time. Perhaps it was selfish of me to rush you like this," he said.
"Oh, no — I don't mind," she said. "I expect I should feel the same if we'd been engaged for several months. I expect all brides feel a bit strange to themselves at first. Don't you feel odd . . . being somebody's husband, I mean?"
"It would help me to adjust to my new status if you came over here and kissed me," he said, sitting down and beckoning to her.
She put down the brush and went to him, trembling a little. The preparations for the wedding, and the arrival of her aunt and uncle, had left little time for them to be alone together during their brief five-day engagement. And, when they had been alone together, he had never made ardent love to her, but had conducted himself rather formally, as if she were a strictly reared Corsican girl.
"I hope my plans for our honeymoon aren't going to disappoint you," he said, as she sat down beside him on the end of the bed. "I've rented an empty fisherman's cottage on one of the Greek islands in the Aegean. Kalliste will drop us off there, with enough supplies to keep us going for three weeks, and then we'll be virtually marooned until she comes back for us. There's nothing to do there but fish, and swim, and lie in the sun. Will you mind that? Will it be dull for you?"
"Oh, David, it sound heavenly. Will we be quite alone there?"
"Yes, which means we'll have to do our own cooking and cleaning."
"You mean I will," she said, laughing. "I don't suppose you can fry an egg."
"On the contrary, I am extremely competent in the kitchen. My mother believed that boys should be taught such things. I am probably more adept than you are, ma mie.
Her shyness forgotten, she slipped her arms round his neck. "I'm glad we're not going anywhere grand. I'd rather have you all to myself. Darling David, I'm so happy."
He caught her close, and kissed her as he had done on the night before he went to Paris, and she felt his heart pounding against hers. And then she knew that it didn't matter that his world had been so different from hers. B
ecause today they had begun to make their own new, private, shared world.
THE END
Anne Weale Page 19