Season of Shadows

by Yvonne Whittal

  Anton DeVere was a man apart; an enigma, and, as the head of DeVere Enterprises, she was certain that he would never quite realise the total extent of his wealth. He was far beyond her reach, and even if she had ever been foolish enough to hope for something more in their relationship— which she had not—then she had known from their first meeting the futility of it. With Elizabeth and Robert no longer there, she would, in all probability, never meet him again after this, and the realisation left her with the curious sensation that she was in the process of losing something of value.

  'More coffee?' Anton interrupted her thoughts, and she lowered her lashes swiftly to conceal what was mirrored in the depths of her deep blue eyes, but she could not conceal the guilty flush that stole up into her cheeks at the thought of how close she had come to being caught staring.

  'No, thank you,' she said with frigid politeness. 'No more coffee for me.'

  'Cigarette?'

  'Please,' she nodded, leaning forward to accept a cigarette from him.

  Laura seldom smoked, except in moments of stress, and this, she felt, was one of those moments. She had grown tense with concern for her niece, and the knowledge that she had to be strong for the child's sake. The shock of Elizabeth and Robert's deaths had had to take second place, but she felt it now in every taut muscle as she sat in Bellavista's luxuriously furnished living-room, smoking her cigarette in thoughtful silence. She felt Anton's eyes on her, invading the turmoil of her unhappy thoughts, and she said the first thing that came into her mind when the silence between them became unnerving.

  'Do you think their bodies will ever be recovered?'

  'I doubt it,' Anton replied without hesitation. 'The sea nearly always holds on to its own.'

  'It's a distressing thought,' she said unsteadily, crushing her half-smoked cigarette into the ashtray beside her chair.

  'It's a very appropriate burial ground for two people who loved the sea as much as they did.'

  'I think I'd like to go to bed,' she said at once, unable to bear the idea of two such vital people lying fathoms deep somewhere under the ocean, and Anton rose politely to wish her goodnight, but at the door she paused and turned. 'I hope you don't mind, but I'd like to stay until the end of next week. There's Sally's future to think about, and—'

  'You may stay as long as you wish,' Anton interrupted in that firm, autocratic voice, 'but Sally's future has already been decided.'

  Laura felt a new tightness coiling about her insides. 'What do you mean, her future has already been decided?'

  He dismissed her query with an imperious wave of his hand, but when she stood her ground, he said harshly, 'I think we'll leave that discussion for the morning when we're both less tired.'

  'But I insist on knowing!'

  Except for a slight narrowing of those heavy-lidded steel-grey eyes, his granite-like expression remained unaltered, but Laura knew at once that she had overstepped the mark.

  'You are not in a position to insist upon anything,' he reminded her coldly. 'It's I who am insisting that you retire to your room and leave me to the privacy I'm accustomed to.'

  Laura felt very much like a child who had been rapped severely over the knuckles, and, as the blood surged painfully into her cheeks, she realised that, despite his hospitality and the generosity of his efforts to bring her to Sally's side, Anton DeVere still considered her an intruder. She wished she knew why this knowledge should hurt so much, but she was not going to hang around to find out and, muttering a hasty 'goodnight', she managed to find her way back to the room she was to occupy for the next few days.

  There was no sign of her suitcase, but, to her astonishment, she discovered that her clothes had been transferred neatly to the stinkwood wardrobe and dresser in the room. The satin quilt had been removed from the old-fashioned copper bed, and her thin cotton nightgown had been folded and placed neatly on the pillows.

  She entered Sally's room quietly and found that she was sleeping soundly with her one hand curled beneath her cheek. Laura stood looking down at her with sympathetic concern until a warm tenderness threatened to choke her and, drawing a steadying breath, she turned away and returned quietly to her own room.

  In the adjoining bathroom she soaked herself in a hot bath until she felt the aching tension drain from her body, but reaction set in when she eventually put out the light and climbed into bed. Choking sobs racked her body, and she buried her face in the pillows to stifle the sound of her tears for fear of disturbing Sally. Laura had felt it coming since her arrival in Cape Town, but somehow she had managed to keep it in check until now. She had been terrified, also, of making a fool of herself in her imperious host's presence, but she had thankfully been spared that humiliating experience.

  When the storm of her weeping finally ceased, Laura slipped into an exhausted sleep from which she did not awake until a light hand touched her shoulder the following morning. She opened her eyes reluctantly to find herself staring into two accusing brown eyes.

  'I've been waiting ages for you to wake up,' Sally announced with a hint of impatience in her voice.

  Laura sat up at once and stifled a yawn. 'What time is it?'

  'It's half past eight,' Sally informed her, perching on the side of the bed and flicking her long plaits over her shoulders. 'I had breakfast with Uncle Anton before he went to the office, and he said I was not to wake you until now because you were very tired last night.' Laura could not quite make up her mind whether to feel touched or displeased by that remark, but she allowed it to pass when she noticed a suspicion of tears in Sally's eyes. 'I'm so glad you came, Aunty Laura.'

  Laura opened her arms wide, and Sally almost fell into them. 'Did you think I would stay away when I knew that you needed me, darling?' she asked with her cheek pressed against the smooth dark head resting on her shoulder.

  'No, but…' Sally paused and tightened her arms about Laura. 'You're always such fun to be with, and—and when I'm with you I know I—I shan't feel as though Mummy is so far from me.'

  Her childish logic was touching, and Laura stared beyond Sally at the patch of sunlight on the floor, vowing to herself that she would bring the sparkle back into her niece's eyes, and the laughter to that drooping little mouth.

  'I'll go and tell Jemima you're awake so that she can make your breakfast, then I'll come back to show you the way to the breakfast-room,' Sally announced eagerly as she extricated herself from Laura's arms and made for the door.

  'Sally, wait!' Laura called after her. 'I don't want much to eat. Just a slice of toast and a cup of coffee will do.'

  'Okay,' Sally nodded, slamming the door behind her in her haste.

  Laura washed and dressed quickly before she brushed and coiled her hair into its usual knot. Shadows still lurked in her usually clear blue eyes, and there was an unusual tightness about the soft, generous mouth when she applied a touch of lipstick to it. Her mind had conjured up a remembered vision of a man and a woman, their happy laughter drifting towards her on the breeze as she watched them standing with their arms wrapped about each other. Robert and Elizabeth had been crazy about each other, almost to the exclusion of their daughter, Sally, but the child had somehow never been made to feel in the way. Their love for each other had been something unique; a once-in-a-lifetime thing. The one would have been totally lost without the other, and it was almost a blessing that fate had decreed they should die together.

  She shivered and shed her morbid thoughts with a hasty effort when Sally burst into the room, and then she was following the child through the house with its priceless collection of antiques.

  The breakfast-room was spacious and sunny, and Laura had barely seated herself at the large table when a Coloured woman pushed a laden trolley into the room. Her spotless white apron almost crackled as she moved, and her dark eyes summed Laura up in a friendly, interested fashion, then white teeth flashed in a smile.

  'Good morning, Miss Laura,' she said politely.

  'Good morning… er… Jemima?'

&nb
sp; 'That's right, miss.'

  'Did you unpack my suitcase for me last night?' Laura enquired curiously.

  'Yes, Miss Laura.'

  'That was very kind of you,' Laura thanked her, but when she observed the contents of the dishes being transferred from the trolley on to the table, her eyes widened in dismay. There seemed to be enough there to feed half a dozen hungry men, she thought with a touch of humour as she eyed the amount of eggs, bacon, fried tomatoes and steak. 'Good heavens, Jemima,' she exclaimed at last, 'I'll never be able to eat all that!'

  'It's Mr Anton's orders, Miss Laura,' Jemima announced emphatically. 'He said, "See that Miss Laura has a good breakfast. She can't live on sandwiches alone." That's what he said.'

  'You'll have to eat it, Aunty Laura,' Sally warned, seating herself on the chair beside Laura and resting her elbows on the table. 'Uncle Anton gets awfully furious if his orders aren't carried out.'

  Uncle Anton could go hopping for all she cared, Laura thought irritably, but it was the thought of Jemima being caught in the backwash of his anger that brought her swiftly to her senses.

  'It seems I have no choice, then, so I'll just have to do the best I can,' she replied, eyeing the food dubiously. 'Thank you, Jemima, for all your trouble.'

  'No trouble, Miss Laura,' the Coloured woman assured her with that flashing smile that lit up her dark eyes. 'But there will be trouble if Mr Anton finds out that I had to take it all back to the kitchen.'

  Some minutes later Laura discovered, to her amazement, that she was actually hungry, and with a certain amount of assistance from Sally, the serving dishes were practically empty when they were eventually wheeled back to the kitchen by a beaming Jemima.

  Bellavista lay high up in the curve of the mountain, and when Laura went for a walk with Sally through the grounds among the cedar, beech, and olive trees, she could almost forget what had brought her so unexpectedly from the concrete jungle of Johannesburg to the peace and tranquillity of the Constantia valley. Sparrows and buntings fluttered noisily in the trees, while a turtle dove called from somewhere to its mate in the branches overhead. Butterflies flitted back and forth among the bright yellow chrysanthemums while the sun climbed higher in the clear blue sky and, as they approached the ornamental well, they disturbed the lazy, early-morning siesta of a small, sleek lizard, and it scurried off the stone wall to disappear into the undergrowth.

  Laura channelled the conversation with her young niece into avenues free from grief, but they inevitably led back to the events of the day before.

  'Uncle Anton fetched me out of boarding school early yesterday morning, and the headmistress gave permission for me not to attend school these two days before the weekend.' Sally kicked listlessly at a pebble while she spoke. 'I have to go back to school on Monday, but for the rest of the term, until the March holidays, I'll be a day scholar.'

  'And after the holidays?' Laura prompted curiously.

  Sally shrugged in a surprisingly adult fashion. 'Uncle Anton said that, when the holidays were over, he would decide what to do about me.'

  So Sally's future was not as decided as Anton DeVere had wanted her to believe, Laura reflected wryly. She would have to speak to him again about the child, and soon it seemed, in order to make the necessary arrangements for their flight back to Johannesburg. She wanted Sally with her; as her aunt she had that right, and Anton DeVere was not in a position to prevent it.

  A small hand gripped her fingers tightly. 'Don't leave me, Aunty Laura.'

  Laura smiled confidently down into those anxious brown eyes, and made a promise she was to regret bitterly in the not too distant future. 'I shan't ever leave you, Sally, and that's a promise.'

  A look of relief flashed across the child's face, and she smiled for the first time as she released Laura's hand and ran towards the kidney-shaped pool with her plaits bobbing down her back. The water looked cool and inviting on that humid summer morning and, when Sally suggested a swim, Laura blessed the fact that she had remembered to pack her swimsuit almost at the last moment.

  They went indoors to change, but when they emerged some minutes later Laura saw a slight young man approaching the house. Tightening the belt of her towelling robe about her waist, she sent Sally on ahead to the pool while she herself remained on the terrace to await the arrival of their unexpected visitor.

  'Good morning,' the man smiled as he leapt eagerly up the steps towards Laura, his keen, alert eyes taking in her slenderness, and the length of her tanned, shapely legs beneath the hem of her short robe. 'Miss Laura Hoffmeyer?' he asked at last, meeting her steady blue gaze with a hint of familiarity in his glance that made her stiffen with distaste.

  'That's right,' she said abruptly, wondering how he knew her name, and when he made no effort to introduce himself, she asked, 'Have we met before?'

  'I don't think so,' he smiled ruefully, casting another swift glance down the length of her before he explained 'I'm from the press, Miss Hoffmeyer, and—'

  'Are you here with Mr DeVere's knowledge?' she interrupted hastily, not quite certain how to handle a situation such as this.

  'Not with Mr DeVere's knowledge, no,' the man admitted unashamedly, 'but I don't imagine he will object to my asking you a few questions in connection with the accident which involved your sister and brother-in-law.'

  'I suggest you approach Mr DeVere for the information you require, but, as he isn't here at the moment, I think it would be advisable if you left the way you came.'

  Ignoring her remark, he flicked open his notebook and held his pen in readiness. 'Miss Hoffmeyer, is there any truth in the rumour that Robert Dean was on a secret mission for the government?'

  'Secret mission?' Startled, Laura stared at him, not quite certain whether to laugh, or be angry. 'What are you talking about?'

  'Come now, Miss Hoffmeyer, you must have known something about it?'

  'I assure you, I—'

  'There are also rumours that it was an explosion on board the Bluebird which caused the deaths of Robert Dean and his wife,' the infuriating man continued blandly, and Laura felt as though she had been dealt a shattering blow to her midriff. 'Is there any truth in this rumour?' he persisted uncaringly.

  'None whatsoever,' a deep-throated, autocratic voice replied coldly, and Laura turned blindly towards the man who had joined them on the terrace. 'Anton!'

  CHAPTER TWO

  The world tilted and swivelled at a sickening pace about Laura as she swayed towards Anton, and a hard, steadying arm was instantly placed about her slim shoulders during the frightening silence which followed his arrival.

  The cocky young reporter seemed unperturbed, however, by the imperious presence of the master of Bellavista. 'Mr DeVere, I'm from the press, and I wonder if you would—'

  'You can stop wondering and get off my property,' Anton ordered harshly.

  'I'm only doing my duty, Mr DeVere. Robert Dean's death is news, and I—'

  'Find your news elsewhere,' Anton interrupted in an icy voice that made Laura feel thankful that she was not at the receiving end of it. 'You're here without my authorised permission, and I call that a blatant invasion of my privacy. Now, get off my property, and make it snappy before I order my man to see you off the premises.' The young man stood his ground with a fearlessness Laura could not help admiring until Anton glanced back over his shoulder and rapped out, 'Eddie!'

  A bulky, well-muscled Coloured man appeared in the doorway behind them, and, as he advanced, the young reporter retreated hastily.

  'All right, I'm going,' he said resignedly, hurrying down the steps and heading towards the driveway, but Anton was taking no chances and he gestured Eddie to follow him to make certain of his departure.

  'Anton, what was all that about?' she asked after a moment, moving selfconsciously from the solid circle of his arm.

  'Nothing you need concern yourself with.'

  'But he insinuated that Robert had been on a secret mission, and that there'd been an explosion on board—'

 
'Forget it,' he cut in harshly, but Laura felt driven to get to the bottom of the reporter's odd remarks.

  'Was he merely seeking sensationalism where there was none, or was there some truth in his insinuating questions?'

  'I said forget it!'

  'I can't forget it!' she cried chokingly, her hands clenched at her sides as she tried to control the shudders that rippled through her body, and her glance was imploring as she added shakily, 'Anton, I have a right to know the truth.'

  The air was tense between them and, for a moment, she thought he was going to refuse, then he gestured grimly towards the wooden bench against the whitewashed wall. 'Let's sit down over there.'

  He offered her a cigarette and, when she refused, he lit one for himself and drew on it deeply. She sat there stiffly beside him, her hands clasped tightly in her lap as she waited to hear what he had to say, but she knew, with a deadly certainty, that he would merely be giving her a more detailed version of what she already knew.

  'Robert was on a secret mission,' Anton admitted finally in clipped, decisive tones. 'Not to South America as I led you to believe, but to a country I'm not at liberty to mention. The information leaked out somehow, and made its way into the wrong hands. An anonymous caller telephoned Defence Headquarters early yesterday morning, tipping them off about the bomb which had been placed on board the Bluebird, and a bomb disposal team was flown out in a helicopter.' He drew hard on his cigarette and blew the smoke forcibly into the air, but his action relayed a suppressed violence she felt certain he would not hesitate to unleash if he could get his hands on the culprits. 'They arrived seconds too late,' he added harshly.

  'Why was this information not transmitted through to Robert on the radio?' she wanted to know, helpless anger rising within her at what she suspected was gross negligence on the part of the proper authorities. 'It would have given them time to abandon the yacht, and—'

  'They couldn't contact them,' Anton interrupted. 'The bomb was connected to the radio, and whoever planted it there knew that Robert would maintain radio silence until seven yesterday morning when he was well out to sea from Walvis Bay. The moment the radio was activated with incoming or outgoing calls, the bomb would be detonated, and that left us with no choice but to try to reach them in time.' He rose suddenly and flicked his cigarette angrily over the low wall. 'The whole operation was futile from the start, and I warned Robert against it, but he insisted on going.'