Island Of Pearls

by Margaret Rome

  That his taste was impeccable was borne out by her transformed image staring out of the mirror. Through sheer black nylon her arms and shoulders attained an untouched, virginal beauty; a diamante belt, bracelet-wide, spanned her wisp of waist and slippers formed from slender straps of silver had matching diamante around their soles so that when she moved rays of light flirted from gem to gem, adding elegance to her slender figure.

  When he knocked upon her door she waited with confidence for him to enter. He was wearing a white dinner jacket and the corsage of tight crimson rosebuds he was carrying contrasted like drops of blood against his sleeve. He handed her the flowers, then stepped back a few paces to shape her figure with eyes inscrutable, missing nothing from the golden sheen of her hair to the nervous flexing of her toes in their trapping of silver. A lick of flame, quickly doused from his eyes, flared again in his voice as he helped her into her wrap and

  invited softly: "Let's go!"

  The restaurant was discreetly luxurious, catering almost exclusively for the local aristocracia. Panelling of dark wood gave to the interior an aura of antiquity which was emphasized by ornate chandeliers that glittered brilliantly above silver candelabra, gleaming cutlery and gilt-framed oil paintings of past dignitaries hung upon the walls. The murmur of small talk rising from the crowded tables ceased when they entered, and every eye was upon them as the head waiter escorted them to their table. The experience was not a pleasant one and had Francisco's hand not firmly propelled her forward she might have succumbed to the temptation to turn and run. Coolly, he returned stiff nods from men who seemed reluctant to acknowledge his presence. Their wives also were aloof, curiosity alone preventing them from dropping their eyes to avoid encountering his glance of glinting derision. Hazel was trembling by the time they reached their table, the unexpected hostility demoralizing her completely, but Francisco seemed completely unconcerned as he sat down to study a proffered wine list. A quartet of musicians began to play vigorously, as if they sensed the need to cover up an incident of unexpected drama, and to her relief the murmur of small talk which had ceased abruptly the moment they entered was resumed with increased intensity under cover of the music.

  Francisco put down the wine list to regard her troubled face. "Cheer up, amada, the vultures wish to peck my bones, not yours."

  Suddenly she felt very angry with the people around them. His proud refusal to discuss or even deny the

  rumours surrounding his brother's death condemned him in their eyes as guilty. She wanted to jump up to defend him, to berate them for their blind obtuseness in refusing to see that his shock tactics were deliberate, brought about by the sense of betrayal he felt at having to explain to life-long friends what should have been obvious.

  "They're fools, all of them!" she choked, thankful the fierce light above had been cut, leaving the tables lit only by the glow of small lamps that illuminated their surfaces but left their occupants bathed in half shadow.

  She sensed he was smiling when he charged idly, "But you too think of me as a monster. Have you not found me cruel, heartless, and completely coldblooded?"

  Hazel was glad of the anonymity of surrounding shadows that helped to hide a slip of composure he might have seized upon as weakness. Her voice was a mere thread of sound when she answered, "Yes, I have found you cruel - and heartless - but never coldblooded. Your worst actions have been committed in heat of passion and some deeds with which you've been credited have, I suspect, been shouldered without complaint as added penance to appease a conscience burdened by self-inflicted guilt. You weren't responsible for the death of Carmen's parents, I know it and so do you, so why do you allow the myth to grow ? Friends are only human, they need the strength of your assurance to prop up their human weaknesses."

  He drew in a sharp breath and leant forward. Outlined by the glow of the lamp his jawbone stood out

  taut, and his eyebrows were black strokes uplifted in amazement. "Twice today I have been shocked by the outspoken views of mere infants, first Carmen and now you," he admitted slowly. For long seconds he stared across at her and her pulses began to throb as the current that ran between them disturbed emotions she had thought were too deeply frozen ever to be revived. But then with a shrug he jerked himself alert and placed her back in the ranks of adolescence with the humiliating command, "Tonight was chosen for enjoyment, not for concern. Come, nina, let's dance before your young brow becomes permanently wrinkled with worries too complex to be understood by one of your tender years."

  It was very late and she was very tired when they returned home in the early hours. The house was silent as they made their way upstairs and when they stopped outside her door he kept his voice low to avoid disturbing the sleeping household. "Have you been happy this evening, nina?" he whispered, enclosing her waist in palms of steel. The effect of his charm was such she almost allowed her arms to steal around his neck, but remembering his past scathing indictments of childishness, she resisted, and drawing her slender frame erect, she marshalled every ounce of dignity into her reply.

  "Perfectly, thank you. You must seek Carmen's advice again if ever you need guidance on ways of seeking absolution."

  His hands tightened around her waist as if tempted to punish her sarcasm, but he changed his mind and instead lowered his head until a breath was all that separated his lips from hers. "A kiss," he mocked, "will prove that I'm completely forgiven!"

  She hesitated; a refusal might help him guess that her heart was hammering in her breast and every nerve in her body was clamouring for his touch. She sensed he was playing on her immaturity, confident of his ability to break down her attempted indifference by sheer force of charm, but she had no intention of allowing him to guess how nearly he was succeeding. She raised her head and rested her cool young mouth upon his, projecting into the kiss passion, yearning and tenderness but still somehow retaining a hint of mystery to keep him deceived. For as long as the kiss lasted he remained startlingly still, then when she drew back he breathed in deeply and searched her face for signs of disturbance. Composedly, Hazel stared him out, suppressing a longing to throw herself in his arms and beg for the love it was not in him to give. Bitter triumph filled her when he retreated a step and with lines of tension scoring his mouth, apologized stiffly, "Forgive my teasing, amada. I ought to have realized sooner how

  completely the child has been overtaken by the woman..."

  CHAPTER XIII

  They returned to the Casa a few days sooner than planned because Tio Garcia found the heat of the town trying. Carmen, once the novelty of sight-seeing had worn off, admitted to a yearning for the quiet gardens and private beach of home, whereas Hazel, once Francisco's flying visit had ended, endured a great ache which she knew would only be assuaged by his company. So happily they'packed their things and without bothering to inform anyone beforehand of their decision, set off on the return journey. Hazel spoke little as the car ate up the intervening miles; her thoughts were with Francisco, wondering if he would be pleased to see them, if his welcome would be one of surprised pleasure or vexed dismay.

  His expression had been unreadable on the morning after their dinner engagement when she had joined him for breakfast. Courteously he had discarded his morning paper to ask her how she was feeling after her late evening, then polite conversation had ensued across a barrier of formality, the erection of which had puzzled her greatly. He had seemed determined to shun any subject pertaining in the slightest degree towards intimacy, although once when she had looked up unexpectedly she had found his attention riveted upon her mouth with a puzzled look almost as if he were debating whether its youthful freshness really had delivered a message as old as Eve the evening before. Her quick

  blush had seemed to supply the answer, for he had pushed his chair back from the table and made urgent business at the factory his excuse for a hurried exit.

  The towering walls of the Casa were visible long before the car turned into the drive, so that by the time it drew up at the front entranc
e Hazel was keyed up to a pitch with the excitement of returning to what she now regarded as home. They had passed Francisco's car parked in the drive, so after a quick wash and a change of clothing she and Carmen went in search of him. It was a shock to find him relaxing beside the pool with Catryn stretched out on a sun-lounger next to him. She was wearing a very brief bikini, but his casual slacks and loose shirt indicated his contentment of lazing in the sunshine chatting to his attractive companion while they sipped long, cool drinks from tall, frosted glasses. His obvious surprise at the sound of their approaching footsteps blended with Catryn's frown of annoyance to make Hazel feel they were unwanted intruders.

  "We're home, Tio Francisco!" Carmen greeted him gleefully, running eagerly into arms which she last remembered as kind. "We missed you so," she hugged him, "we had such fun that day on your boat we've talked of nothing else since! Hazel says that perhaps some day you'll take us again, when you have time, so if you do will you teach me now to hold the wheel ? I promise not to be afraid, especially if you hold me as tightly as you held Hazel!"

  Catryn's eyes raked like claws across Hazel's crimson cheeks, making it an effort to remember that she was Francisco's wife, with every right to share his leisure,

  as she faced the fury of a woman who, of necessirv. must have received plenty of attention to warrant such a display of jealousy.

  "Come along, Carmen," she urged, hot with embarrassment, "your uncle is busy just now, you can talk to him later." But Carmen had no intention of being prised away, she tightened her arms around her uncle's neck and made no bones about her preference for his company as she pleaded:

  "Please, Tio, let me stay so that we can talk some more about the lady who was unkind to you, I've thought of another idea which might help to make her like you!"

  When her uncle burst out laughing she knew she had won, but only a partial victory, as was made plain when he sat down and lifted her on to his knee. "We'll leave our private discussions until later, if you don't mind, nina, otherwise we might bore our guest." Even beauty such as Catryn's can be rendered ugly with anger; in the space of seconds she was relegated from the favoured position of companion to the dubious rating of a mere guest. She jumped to her feet, turning her back so Francisco could no longer see her face, and vented her fury on Hazel by shafting her a look of hard dislike before plunging into the pool with a splash deliberately calculated to shower water all over her. Hazel gasped at the unexpected sting of cold water against her bare arms and when Carmen cried out in sympathy she reacted by spinning round to face her and her uncle, only to be piqued beyond endurance at the sight of Francisco's broad grin. Huffily, she tossed her head and stalked off to change her sodden dress.

  Catryn sought her out later that evening. After a mere apology of a knock, she stalked uninvited into Hazel's room just as she was dressing for dinner. She was hesitating over a new gown chosen from the collection sent from Madrid. The bodice was just two broad strips of material attached to the waistband to travel upwards across her shoulders and down until they reached and were caught up in the waistband at the back. At first glance it looked fairly demure, a sheath of figure-hugging jersey, gossamer light, shaded from deep rose to tender pink. But the daring cleavage was worrying. Her eyes reflected doubt as she turned from the mirror to face Catryn's advancing figure. "My word, the butterfly is certainly spreading her wings!" she greeted Hazel, her derogatory stare just failing to conceal chargin.

  "Is there something I can do for you?" Hazel enquired, her tone and expression distant. Catryn, she was certain, had come to gloat, to make clear that the attachment existing between herself and Francisco had not gone unnoticed, so she drew herself erect and waited proudly for the stab of cutting words. But much to her surprise Catryn's initial remark lacked bite. Perhaps her own new-found maturity was responsible, but it was as if the sting had been withdrawn from a jab which once would have left her quivering.

  "Oh, really, Nut-brown, don't assume a marquesa's airs with me - under that facade of assurance you're still little Miss Nobody and always will be!"

  Her watchful eyes widened when a dimple appeared at the corner of Hazel's mouth and dimly she became aware of armour deflecting arrows of spite away from

  the poised woman who had suddenly arisen from the ashes of a timid, uncertain girl. Fury erupted as she sought and found the reason for the change. "So," she charged softly, "you think your position impregnable ? Because of a few interludes shared with a man too courteous to betray boredom you have begun weaving stupid dreams around his unsuspecting head! Well, let me put you wise, Nut-brown! Francisco is not for you. He married you to provide a playmate for his niece and if he'd combed the world he couldn't have found one more suitable - someone old enough in years to comply with the demands of convention but physically, mentally and emotionally a complete infant!" She drew in a triumphant breath and took stock of Hazel's stricken face; her shaft had driven straight through the enemy's defences.

  "That's not true!" she clenched, clinging to tattered pride, unwilling to believe Francisco could have confided in Catryn the reasons behind their marriage, especially when he had made his displeasure so obvious the night he had accused her of the same transgression.

  "Isn't it?" Catryn allowed a vicious smile. "I think you know it is. Believe me, my dear," she patronized, "it's much better that you face facts. Francisco must take part of the blame for your disastrous alliance, but surely he can be excused if you consider what his state of mind must have been to even consider such a drastic step. Anyway, I can't see you losing on the deal; he's sure to settle a goodly sum on you as alimony."

  "Alimony?" Hazel repeated, confused by the reference.

  "Surely. Knowing Francisco, he'll insist upon pro-

  viding for you even after the divorce."

  "There'll be no divorce," Hazel contradicted, her heart soaring at this proof that Catryn's statement was mere fabrication. "On that subject he has always been most adamant. Broken marriages are unknown in the Drach family, but besides his own personal feelings he has to consider his duty to his position. Even in these enlightened days divorce is a dirty word to the aristo-cracia of Spain!" Catryn stared, her mind too attuned to the permissiveness of modern society to cope immediately with such an outmoded viewpoint. But the serenity of Hazel's expression was convincing enough to procure from her a thin, venomous smile. Uneasily, Hazel shifted, the masklike rigidity of Catryn's features stirring vague forebodings that had their origin in memories of past hurt inflicted by the wilful girl who all her life had schemed to have her every wish granted. Something about her eyes made Hazel shiver; they had the glazed, half-demented glitter of a fanatic - one who never had and never would admit to defeat.

  Hazel's shiver seemed to act as a warning. With a tremendous effort Catryn pulled herself together and the thin smile on her lips widened as she answered obliquely, "There are more ways than one of skinning a cat!" The northern homily fell with such assurance from her lips Hazel tensed, facing with sick dismay the utter uselessness of trying to thwart whatever secret alternative had been hatched by Catryn - with Francisco's blessing.

  They walked in silence down the passageway, immersed in thought, but as they approached Francisco's room his appearance on the threshold brought them

  to a halt. Hazel's pulses leapt as his glance swept, physical as a touch, over her slim body, then subsided with a thump when he frowned. Against immaculate linen his tan stood out deeply brown, he looked relaxed with one hand slid negligently into the pocket of black slacks, but the sound of keys jangling in impatient fingers gave the lie to an overall impression of unconcern. As his glance lingered on the cleavage of her dress his frown deepened, giving a definite impression that at any moment he was about to order her to discard the dress for one less obvious. She stiffened; suddenly his insistence upon having his own way appeared as a threat to her personal liberty: if the command came, she decided, it would not be obeyed! When her chin tilted and a pair of defiant eyes parried his frown his s
urprise showed in uplifted eyebrows, but then he confused her by addressing a smooth request to Catryn.

  "Would you mind making your way downstairs alone? Tio Garcia will be waiting in the salon and Hazel and I will join you both there for a drink before dinner."

  Instead of showing anger, Catryn smiled, a smile of understanding, of conspiracy almost, that seemed to convey to Hazel: "Make the most of today, tomorrow is mine!"

  A cold hand squeezed her heart as Catryn swept confidently towards the stairs and doubts which only minutes before had been laid were once more revived. Perhaps, after all, the conclusions Catryn had drawn had not been the result of educated guesswork; her whole manner exuded the assurance of one well informed as if she knew and approved of the words

  about to pass between herself and Francisco. Divorce Hazel dismissed as impossible, but then her mind began to race, resisting like a wild thing the alternative that had once before presented itself - an annulment carried with it no shame, no dishonour to soil the tapestry of Drach history .. . !

  She looked calm as she stepped past him into the room, but it was the calm of numbness, a blessed freezing of the senses which she hoped might last long enough to see her through the coming ordeal. He closed the door, then with inconsistent edginess began pacing the room. Twice he stopped, seemingly on the verge of speech, then he changed his mind and turned away. She needed no more to convince her that what he had to say was of the utmost importance, never had she seen him so utterly at a loss for words. She waited with head bowed, her hands clasped childishly behind her back so that he could not see the convulsive tightening of her fingers as tension reacted upon her nerves.

  "Hazel!" he began, swinging impulsively on his heel, "there is something I must have explained. That night in Palma," she knew his keen eyes had noted her start of surprise, "I thought... I began to suspect..." he broke off and strode towards her, close enough to tip up her chin with an enquiring finger. "Did you experience a slight change of heart that evening?"