A Guilty Passion

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A Guilty Passion Page 12

by Laurey Bright


  She found that the prospect was not as daunting as it had been, although she hadn't the faintest idea what she would like to do. She was not qualified for anything in particular. But then, she was not too old to train for something, perhaps even finish her degree.

  “That might be a good idea,” Janice said, when Celeste mentioned it to her the next day. “Why did you give it up in the first place?"

  “I got married."

  “Couldn't you have completed your degree, even so?"

  “Alec didn't think it was a good idea, as he was on the teaching staff at the university. He said he would have found it embarrassing."

  “You were very young, weren't you?"

  “I was nineteen when I met him."

  “It must have been hard for you, sometimes."

  “Sometimes,” Celeste agreed. “Do you know anything about silk painting?"

  “I know how to do it. Are you interested?"

  “Do you think I could learn? I've been looking at some painted silk scarves and other things, and they're very beautiful. I'd like to be able to create something similar."

  “I could teach you the basic techniques. You need special paints—I'll give you the name of a craft shop in Conneston where you can buy them—and a framework to stretch the silk while you work on it. An embroidery frame would do to begin with. I have a couple of those. It's a good idea to start small."

  The next morning, Celeste answered the telephone to find Steven Craig on the line. “I'm calling from Conneston,” he told her. “I hoped I could come and see you."

  “Yes, of course.” She mustered a spark of enthusiasm. “I'll pick you up. Ethan's away, and I have the use of his car."

  When she collected him, he said, “It's awfully good of you. I'm sure I could have got a bus."

  “It's no trouble. How nice to see you, Steven."

  “You don't mind?"

  “Of course not. I'm sorry you won't be able to see Ethan. I suppose you want to talk to him about those disks."

  “Will he be away for long?"

  “He expects to be here again on Thursday night."

  “I could wait for him, then. I don't need to be back in Sydney until the weekend."

  When they arrived at the house, Jeff was lounging in a chair on the patio. “I came over to check that you're getting on okay without Ethan,” he told Celeste, eyeing Steven with some curiosity.

  Celeste introduced them and asked Jeff to stay for lunch.

  As they ate it, Jeff asked, “Where are you staying, Steven?"

  “Don't know yet. I'll find a hotel this afternoon. Can you recommend somewhere cheap and decent? A hostel would do. I've got my own sleeping bag."

  “You can doss down on my sofa-bed if you like. No sense in going all the way back to Conneston if it's Celeste you've come to see."

  “Well, thank you,” Steve accepted gratefully. “That's ideal, if you really don't mind."

  “You'll have to fend for yourself,” Jeff warned. “But you're welcome to what's in the fridge, and providing a bed's no trouble. Come on over when you're ready,” he suggested, tactfully leaving the two of them alone when he had finished his coffee. “Celeste will tell you how to get there."

  When he had gone, Steven turned to Celeste. “I didn't just come to see Ethan,” he said. “I ... wondered how you were."

  “It's nice of you to be concerned."

  “Well, I hope we're friends. You know, I have—had—a tremendous respect for Alec and his work, but ... I could see that being married to him wasn't always easy."

  Celeste smiled wryly. Steven was no fool, and he had spent hours at a time in their home talking with Alec. He must have seen that all was not well between Alec and his wife. She had sometimes suspected that the young man was sorry for her. While Alec took her services for granted, Steven had gone out of his way to be helpful and considerate, taking cups and plates into the kitchen when she cleared up after bringing them a snack or a meal, opening doors when she was carrying a tray, always remembering to smile and meet her eyes as he thanked her. He had even made a point of dancing with her at social functions that Alec, unable to partner her, had reluctantly attended when they were quite unavoidable, only to spend the entire evening in conversation with various colleagues.

  “You're a very nice person, Steven."

  He shook his head. “I like you a lot. I always have."

  “Thank you."

  “So ... I had a few days up my sleeve, and I thought I'd pop across and see how you were doing. I mean, phoning isn't the same, is it? You seem ... more relaxed."

  “It's very peaceful here,” she said. “Very restful."

  “Mm.” He was gazing at the view. “I wouldn't have thought your brother-in-law was a very restful person to live with, though. Strikes me as a pretty dynamic character."

  “Yes. But he's so busy I don't see much of him, anyway."

  “Are you lonely?” he asked rather anxiously.

  “No, not a bit.” She told him about the Palmers and her art lessons, and promised to introduce him. Later, she took him over to Jeff's house and was persuaded to eat with them. The evening turned convivial—the two men hit it off, and Jeff was in a sociable mood. Celeste let him fill her glass again and again with wine, and it was late when they switched to coffee. The men decided to escort her all the way to her door, and stood for five minutes debating whether they should inspect her wardrobe and under the bed for possible intruders. Laughing, she shunted them out, promising to lock the doors when they had gone. As she did so, the phone began to ring.

  She snicked the lock and ran to pick up the receiver. The laughter was still in her voice when she said breathlessly, thinking it must be a wrong number, “Hello?"

  “Celeste?” Ethan said snappishly. “Where the hell have you been all night?"

  “At Jeff's,” she said. “Is something wrong?"

  He said finally, “I was just checking to make sure you're all right."

  “Of course I am. How often have you rung?"

  “I don't know. I started at about eight. You sound as though you've been having a good time."

  He didn't seem pleased about it, and she said coolly, “Yes, I have."

  She was about to tell him Steven was there, when he asked, “Is Jeff with you?"

  “No. He's just gone home. Did you want him?"

  “No, I don't want him. Look, I've changed my mind. I'll be on the morning flight tomorrow. Can you meet me?"

  “Yes, of course. Have you finished your business?"

  “Most of it. Someone I hoped to see isn't here. See you tomorrow, then."

  “Yes. Good night."

  He'd been rather abrupt, she thought, putting down the phone. But what had she expected? A lengthy good-night? Be realistic, she told herself. He'd had nothing more to say.

  * * * *

  The next day, she left early for the airport and found some cheap remnants of silk at a fabric store. Then she called at the shop that Janice had mentioned, and bought silk paints in three colours, brushes and a small bottle of something called gutta, which Janice had said she would need to draw lines that would prevent the paints from running into one another. “Although,” she had added, “sometimes that's just the effect you want. There's a variety of techniques you can use. Probably some that I've never heard of. Once you've mastered the basics you may want to experiment."

  “Steven's here,” Celeste informed Ethan on the way home.

  He had told her to stay in the driver's seat, and she felt his penetrating gaze on her face as he turned to her. “Steven?"

  “Steven Craig,” she said. “You remember."

  “Of course I remember. What's he doing here?"

  “He wants to see you. About those disks."

  “I told him I'd contact him. As a matter of fact, I've been trying to get hold of him in Sydney, but no one knew where he was. He could have phoned."

  “So could you,” she pointed out. “You didn't tell him you were going to Sydney?"


  “No. Well, where is he? In Conneston?"

  “No, at the bay. He stayed last night—"

  “What?"

  “—with Jeff,” Celeste finished.

  “I see. You didn't offer him a bed?"

  “I didn't like to, in your house."

  “Would you have, if it had been yours?"

  She glanced at him. “Probably. I offered you one when you came to Sydney."

  “So you did."

  She felt a flush rise in her cheeks. At the time she had hardly taken it in, because everything then had seemed to be happening at a distance, but now she remembered the implied insult when he had declined the offer. “Steven would have been more gracious in his refusal,” she said, her voice husky.

  “Would Steven have refused at all?” Ethan drawled. “I thought he might have jumped at the chance."

  If he said he was surprised that she hadn't, Celeste thought dispassionately, she would stop the car and hit him. But he didn't. Instead, when she didn't answer the jibe, he folded his arms and to all intents and purposes went to sleep. Her foot came down unconsciously on the accelerator, and without opening his eyes, Ethan said, “There's a speed limit on the island, you know."

  She did know, and she slowed so that the needle sat just on the limit.

  At the house, Ethan swung his bag out of the car and said, “Thanks. You're a good driver."

  “Thank you,” she said icily. She locked up the car as he opened the house door and stood waiting for her.

  “I feel something's missing,” he said, as she made to pass him.

  In the doorway, she looked back at him over her shoulder. “What?"

  He gave her a gentle shove with a hand on her waist, and followed her inside. “A proper welcome home, perhaps,” he said, and pulled her briefly close, brushing her lips with his.

  Before she could react at all, he let her go and made for his room, leaving her feeling ruffled and uneasy.

  Steven came over in the afternoon. Ethan greeted him with rather steely courtesy, and soon afterwards took him up to the workroom. When they emerged several hours later, Celeste thought that Steven was worried and Ethan frustrated.

  “Something the matter?” she asked.

  “Alec used a password on some of the data on the disks,” Steven said.

  “What does that mean?"

  “We can't read the notes on that part of the disk,” Steven explained. “He doesn't seem to have written the password down."

  “Can't you get round the problem somehow?” Celeste asked Ethan.

  “Maybe, in time. It would be simpler if we just knew what word he used, though. Have you any idea what it might have been?"

  “He hardly spoke about his work to me. I guess he would use something relative to what was in the notes, wouldn't he?"

  “We tried everything we could think of,” Steven said.

  “Of course, it might have been something he just picked out of the air,” Ethan added. “Some word with no relevance whatever to the work he was doing. And for that matter, we've no way of knowing if that document has anything to do with his work. It could contain something else. Perhaps something personal."

  Steven said, “The rest of what's on the disk is related to the study he was doing. He must have had some other notes somewhere. So far, all I've seen is the background material that I gathered for him, and some stuff I pieced together with him that he intended to use when he was working on his own."

  “Nothing else?” Celeste asked.

  “Well, some rather scrappy and frankly pretty useless theoretical stuff that was not much more than doodling. He was a bit cagey about the actual evidence for the theory that he was basing the project on,” Steven added hesitantly. “He said he didn't want to say too much until he had pulled the thing together, so I was working in the dark, rather. But I'm sure there was more to it than what we've found. From the research he asked me to do for him, I could see the direction his thinking was taking. I found it really exciting—enough to come up with some suggestions of my own, and he seemed to think they were pretty viable. But if we don't find out just what he was doing with the material he had...” Steven shoved his hands gloomily into his pockets. “I don't know."

  “I'm going to make dinner,” Celeste said. “Will you stay?” She glanced at Ethan. If she was cooking, she didn't think he could have any objection to her making the invitation.

  He didn't second it. Steven said, “Sure, if it's not too much trouble. I'd like to."

  After they had eaten, the talk drifted, but eventually came back to Alec and his career. “I don't mind telling you,” Steven said, “I was thrilled to my back teeth when he accepted me as his assistant. The chance to work with someone of Alec's calibre is something people like me dream about."

  “You were a brilliant student,” Celeste said. “I remember him saying that he was lucky to get you."

  “Really? I bet he wasn't nervous like I was, though. He was very patient with me those first few weeks while I learned about his methods."

  “Alec was always patient,” Ethan said.

  Steven turned to him eagerly. “Did you see much of him? He would have been years older than you, wouldn't he?"

  “He came home during the university holidays. Must have found me a right little pest, but he never showed it. He taught me all kinds of things. Used to spend hours playing cricket and football with me, coaching me. In some ways—” Ethan stared into the distance, apparently forgetting who he was talking to “—he was almost like a father, rather than a brother."

  “Were there other brothers or sisters?"

  Ethan shook his head. “No. Just the two of us. You're not planning to write a biography, are you?"

  “Just interested,” Steven said. “But you know, that's not a bad idea. If I did, could I count on your cooperation?"

  Ethan's eyes moved to Celeste and seemed to grow cold. His face went shuttered. “I'd have to think about that,” he said, and pointedly consulted his watch.

  Taking the hint, Steven said, “I should be going. If I think of anything that might help with the password, I'll let you know first thing."

  Ethan nodded and stood up. “Right. I can let you have the other disks shortly, anyway. I've transferred the data on them because of possible damage to the originals, but most of it is readable, I think."

  “Thanks a lot. I've been at a bit of a loose end, with ... everything that's happened. It'll be good to have something to work on, even if it's just checking over old ground."

  Ethan closed the door after him and came back to find Celeste washing the coffee mugs. Picking up a tea towel, he said, “He didn't just come for the disks, you know. He told me he wanted to see you."

  “I know. He told me that, too."

  “So why didn't you mention it?"

  “It didn't seem important."

  “Does that mean that he isn't important to you?"

  Celeste pulled the plug out of the sink and turned to face him. “Steven is a good friend. He's concerned about me, and I'm grateful for that."

  “I'm concerned about you, too."

  “I know, but..."

  He finished what he was doing and put down the tea towel. “But?"

  She moistened her lips with her tongue. “I somehow have the feeling that with you it's ... something else. What do you want from me, Ethan?"

  He gave a thin, peculiar smile. “There are times when I'm not at all sure myself."

  She said, “I can't bring your brother back."

  “You think that's what I want? Sometimes—” his mouth twisted, and she suppressed a shiver at the tortured look in his eyes “—sometimes, that's the last thing I want. Can you imagine how that feels?"

  Celeste swallowed. “Yes,” she whispered. “I can."

  “Perhaps you can,” he said strangely. There was a hard light in his eyes now that frightened her. As though he couldn't help himself, his gaze wandered over her, over her cotton pants and loose shirt, and at once she felt naked.
Her breathing was suddenly strained. She couldn't wrench her eyes away from his. Her lips trembled and parted.

  His mouth took on a bitter curve. “My God!” he said softly, his voice filled with disgust. “What a pair we are."

  Then he turned his back on her and left the room. She heard him go out, pushing the door shut behind him. Swinging around to the sink, she held onto the counter with both hands, her head bent, eyes closed as she fought down a wave of nausea. I have to leave, she thought incoherently. I have to get away from here, from Ethan.

  But in the morning she almost thought she had imagined the drama of the night before. Mrs. Jackson was there, with her down-to-earth normality, Ethan was as blandly courteous as he had ever been, and she found that she was again fighting a deadly lassitude that had the familiar effect of paralysing any ability to make coherent plans. Steven arrived with a list of words he had made that Alec might have used for a password, and the two men disappeared into the workroom. Celeste had coffee with Mrs. Jackson, then forced herself to prepare lunch for three, guessing the men would be too occupied to think about it themselves. Steven and Ethan ate rather absently before returning up the stairs. Afterwards she gathered up the things she had bought in Conneston and walked over to see Janice. She needed something to occupy her mind. Under Janice's guidance, she began with a simple design, which she drew onto the wrong side of some tracing paper. Then she placed the penciled side of the paper on a piece of silk on a table, and went over the lines again, transferring the design lightly to the fabric. Trying to concentrate, she fixed the silk into an embroidery frame and began outlining the drawing with gutta, squeezing it out of the nozzle fitted on the bottle.

  “Be careful not to leave any spaces in the lines,” Janice warned, “or the paints will bleed into each other."

  When the outlines were completed, Janice held the frame up to the light and said, “Good, I don't see any gaps. We'll leave this to dry now.” Looking shrewdly at Celeste, who had relaxed with a small sigh, she remarked, “Your heart's not in this today, is it? You've got a visitor, haven't you? If you want to get back..."

 

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