Time of the Temptress

by Violet Winspear

  Her guardian clamped his teeth on his cigar and Eve could see that he was none too pleased by her piece of information. She knew he quite liked Larry, but for him there was no denying that the young student doctor was poor and struggling and hardly the auspicious match that he wanted for his ward. She saw the struggle he was having with his temper, and then he shrugged his shoulders.

  "You're a sensible wench," he said. "You'll do the right thing in the end, and I'm not saying that young Mitchell isn't a rather handsome lad, but he's far too young for you, Eve, and you know it. I know you, girl, don't think I don't. You like older men--always have."

  "Dear Guardy," she laughed, "to hear you speak you'd think I was always chasing the local grandfathers! Larry's a dear--"

  "He's a cub, and you'll ring the Beach Club and tell him you can't make it tonight because I need you to play hostess to my guests."

  "Is that a direct order?" she asked, standing there in the open frame of the door, her chin tilted and her eyes [160-161] defiant. She hadn't needed to defy him in a long time, and that alone told her that he was banking on Carlisle making an impression on her. Good lord, was he a millionaire?

  "Yes," Charles gave a curt inclination of his head, "you may take it as an order, Eve."

  "All right." Tonight she wouldn't argue with him. "But I shan't be letting him down on Sunday. I'm going to lunch with his people--it's something I want to do very much."

  With those words she left the three men and walked across the hall to the curving staircase, feeling the heat in her cheeks as she ran upstairs and hurried along to her suite. No, she wouldn't let it start all over again, that coercion into a marriage she didn't want. Life with James would have been vapid and monotonous, but there was something about Carlisle's mouth that warned her he was a sensualist as well as an art collector. She actually shivered when she thought of that thick mouth with its full quota of hard white teeth descending on hers ... it reminded her ... Oh God, she raked her fingers through her hair and tried to pull the tormenting memory out of her reluctant mind. Something terribly, frightening, which must have happened to her out in Africa. Had someone attacked her ... had the soldier who had put her on the plane saved her from that attack?

  Eve took a shower and all the time she was dressing her mind was probing for an answer to that question. It was awful to have a gap in her memory and to feel that it was important that gap be filled in.

  The mirror gave back her reflection to her, outwardly poised and composed in a tulle dress in palest [161-162] green, with eyelet embroidery in the full sleeves. She sprayed on perfume and stared at the container. Tabu--now why had she bought that the last time she had called in at the pharmacy in town? She usually bought Je Reviens, which was slightly more discreet.

  She met her own eyes in the mirror as she fastened a string of pearls, glossy as satin against her throat and a get-well present from Charles just after she recovered from her illness and came home to Lakeside from the hospital. She smoothed her hair, which fell in a glossy auburn wave down over her left profile . . . Garbo, she grinned, about to sit among the men and look like a femme fatale. She must remember to tell Larry about that season of Bogart films they were putting on at the Classic cinema . . .

  "Here's looking at you, kid."

  Eve raised her hands to her cheeks and her eyes begged . . . begged for the memory to complete itself. "Who are you?" she whispered, glancing around her bedroom. "Why do you haunt me like this? What were you to me . . . please, please, don't hide from me!"

  But all she saw was a lovely, high-ceilinged room furnished with a Queen Anne bed, slipper chairs upholstered in gold with hints of green, a handsome rosewood bookcase that curved at the sides, and an array of long windows draped in brocade reaching to a carpet woven with flowers in ivory against leaf-green.

  A graceful, sedate room, where only two men had ever entered, her guardian and her doctor. The ghost [162-163] that flirted with her memory had nothing whatever to do with this room, this house, or any part of Lakeside and its surrounding country.

  It was someone she had known out in Africa, and as her hand slid down her face, her neck, finding her heart, Eve knew that he was dead. Yes, she knew the feeling now; it was an ache, a deep sense of very personal loss, which meant that she had cared for him. Who had he been . . . what had he been, that unremembered man for whom, unaware, she wore Tabu?

  She went downstairs and sat composedly at dinner with the three men, listening politely to their conversation, and ignoring the compliments that lay in Carlisle's eyes each time he looked at her. They had fresh local lobsters stuffed with onions, mushrooms, breadcrumbs and grated cheese, baked to a golden brown; steamed chicken with melon and shrimp, followed by iced coffee-cream. Her guardian had once served in a Government post out in Barbados, and he was still fond of the food and had it served at Lakeside at least twice a week.

  "A most excellent meal, good sir," Carlisle leaned back in his chair and looked as sleek and replete as a well-fed wolf, Eve told herself. "If you and Tyler are going to smoke, may I ask Miss Tarrant to invite me for a stroll on your lakeside terrace?"

  "By all means, Stephen." Charlies ignored Eve's glance of appeal. "A cigar is the solace of the middle-aged man, but you're entitled to enjoy the company of a pretty girl. I believe there's a midsummer moon, and our lake is a picture you won't be able to buy with your dollars. Run along, Eve, show our American friend what an English garden can look like in the moonlight."

  [163-164] Eve wanted to run, but even before she reached the door Stephen Carlisle had his hand beneath her elbow, his fingers closing upon her arm so that she'd look undignified if she tried to shake free of him. "You won't need a wrap, will you?" he murmured. "The night is warm and I'd hate you to cover up that charming dress."

  Eve knew what he really meant, that he didn't want her to cover up the slim figure which the dress flattered. "I really would like my cloak," she said in a cool voice. "Although the midsummer days are warm, the nights are quite chilly."

  "You sound rather chilly yourself." He held her under the hall lights and forced her to look at him. "Don't you like me -- Eve? Women usually do."

  "How nice for your ego, Mr. Carlisle," she rejoined. "But I happen to have a rather nice young man who works very hard for his living, and it would be unfair to him if I allowed other men to get the idea that I'm--free."

  "Your guardian has assured me that nothing of a definite nature exists between you and this young man, and even so, Eve, I wouldn't be put off by even a fiancé if I felt strongly enough attracted to a girl, and you're very attractive." His eyes slid over her. "It really is true, isn't it, that English girls have an outward air of coolness, even aloofness, but they smoulder beneath it. I came to England not only to buy works of art for my house in Manhattan, but I came in search of a wife--"

  "Mr. Carlisle," Eve pulled forcibly away from him, "I am not in the marriage market, no matter what my guardian might have implied. I am not up for auction like some--some damned painting! I live my own life [164-165] and I choose who I want to care for, and you are not the type of man I could ever imagine myself caring for!"

  "How your eyes take fire when you get aroused," he drawled. "Funnily enough, I like you better for not falling into my arms right away, for when a man is rich there are too many women ready to throw themselves at his head. You really intrigue me, Eve. You really make it sound as if you prefer some impecunious medical student to a man of considerable means--what are you, honey, some kind of romantic?"

  "Perhaps I am." She tossed her hair and it gleamed with deep tawny lights. "I expect we're a dying breed in this age of meretricious love affairs."

  "More and more do I like you." A smile curled around his heavy mouth. "Little did I realise when I accepted an invitation to Derrington's house that I'd find a gem of a girl in his collection of rare stones and coins, which was my direct reason for coming here. Now aren't you going to show me the lake from the terrace?"

  "I'll fetch my cloak."
Eve walked across to the big oak closet in the hall which contained odd coats and wraps. The cloak she wanted was an old black velvet one with a cowl, and as she took it from the closet she could feel Stephen Carlisle staring at her and moving his gave up and down the silken fall of hair over her left eye. She swung the cloak around her and quickly covered her hair with the cowl, and she saw his teeth show hard and white against his tanned skin as he studied her.

  "Are you hoping that outfit makes you look like a nun?" he enquired.

  Eve disdained to answer him and moved across to the small flight of curving stairs that led to the terrace. She opened the glass doors and stepped out into the night, [165-166] moving to the curved parapet, built like this long ago to accommodate the wide crinolines of the era in which Lakeside had been erected.

  She stood tensely by the balustrade, aware of Carlisle's tall figure behind her. Above them was the milky radiance of the midsummer sky at night, with a glittering shell of a moon reflected in the still water of the lake. The reeds in the shallows were softly rustling and the willow leaves were whispering . . . it was a glorious night and Eve could feel that ache in her heart that Larry Mitchell was possibly too young to assuage, and this man Carlisle too self-centred to ever understand.

  "Your guardian is right about his lake," he murmured. "It really is a picture that would be hard to put upon canvas with any justice. Tell me, Eve, has he never wanted to have your portrait painted?"

  "When I was eighteen," she said, "but I didn't like the idea. Portraits should only be painted after people have really lived--and suffered."

  "So that they have character, eh, and don't resemble birthday cards." He stepped round to her side and leaned an elbow on the parapet, the moonlight on the angular planes of his face. "This is how I would have you painted, Eve, clad only in this cloak with the cowl thrown back on the nape of your neck, your eyes upon that glimmering lake as if you see there what other people haven't eyes to see. What is it, I wonder? The golden sword of some knight in shining armour?"

  "What nonsense!" she scoffed, even as her fingers clenched the stone balustrade. "I'm not that foolishly romantic, Mr. Carlisle."

  "Won't you call me Stephen?"

  [166-167] "What would be the point?" she asked coolly. "I shan't be seeing you again after tonight."

  "From any other girl I would construe that remark as a hook doing a little fishing." He leaned nearer to her. "I very much want to see you again and I shall let your guardian know this quite frankly. He knows your worth, Eve. He won't allow you to throw yourself away on a medical student who even when qualified will earn barely enough to support a wife--least of all a young woman who has been accustomed to the kind of life Charles Derrington has provided for you here at Lakeside. Could you really live in a cramped apartment, making ends meet on a few pounds a week? Could your romantic feelings survive on that kind of love?"

  "I imagine real love could survive any kind of odds," she rejoined. "If I married Larry I'd go on working so that we could pool our earnings. I'd be his partner, not his possessions [sic]."

  "My dear Eve, you were made to be a man's possession," he laughed, softly and sensuously. "Come, be honest with yourself. You know in your heart that you don't want a boy but a real man, one who has had experience of life, who can show you the world, and bring out all the glowing woman in you. There is such a woman in you, coolly restrained at the moment, held in chains that need to be broken by a strong man. Then what a change in you, running madly to him with your hair like a vixen's in the sun."

  Eve stared at him and felt a sudden throb of the heart. Why did his words strike her as familiar . . . a vixen in the sun he had called her, but it wasn't the first time a man had said that to her.

  [167-168] "That is the colour of your hair, isn't it?" he drawled. "Vixen red?"

  "I--I suppose it is. If you've seen enough of the lake, shall we--"

  "No." His hand closed over hers, tightening those big, well-manicured fingers about hers. "I like your company, Eve, and I don't want to lose it. Allow me to book seats for the theatre, and afterwards we could go on to a supper club. Allow yourself to get to know me. Some of the greatest love affairs have evolved from antagonism at first."

  "You're very sure of yourself, aren't you?" Eve exclaimed. "I've only ever known one other man who--" There she broke off, glancing away from him towards the lake. She listened to those mysterious night-time sounds that the water made as it rippled around the reeds and moved the willow tresses. She stared at the water and she did seem to imagine that someone might come moonlit out of the lake, shaking the drops off black hair, tough and primitive as some animal of the jungle. Eve shivered, for his ghost was walking again, but when she peered forward across the balustrade there were only trees at the edge of the lake and nothing tangible for her to reach for.

  As she sighed, Carlisle's fingers tightened painfully on her hand.

  "Who was this man you speak of? He was important to you, eh?"

  "I think he was--"

  "Where is he now? Do you still see him?"

  "You--" Eve turned her head to look at the American, a stranger to her until tonight. "You have no right to question me about him. You have no hold on me, so don't go assuming one!"

  [168-169] "No hold, you say, eh?" Abruptly he pulled her to him and was bringing his lips down to crush hers when she swiftly turned her head and his mouth descended on the velvet cowl and she heard him curse.

  "Let me go, Mr. Carlisle, or I shall let loose a scream and tell my guardian that you tried to rape me--our rape laws in England are still rather grim, especially if the ward of a local magistrate should be involved."

  His arms fell away from her and he forced a smile to his face, even though his brows were meshed together above thwarted eyes. "You've quite a sharp little tongue on you, haven't you, Eve? You're overdue for a bit of taming, that's your trouble. Is that how you lost the first man, and why you're now running around with a bit of a boy? Does it frighten you when a man exerts his strength?"

  "Any bully can show his muscles," she said scornfully. "When a woman wants to be kissed she enjoys that superior show of strength--"

  "You mean you've actually enjoyed being kissed?" he sneered.

  Eve didn't even bother to reply to him but walked away down the steps to the hall and across to the drawing-room where she looked in to say goodnight to Tyler and to wonder as she wished her guardian goodnight how he could thrust her on to someone like Carlisle and assume that she'd be dazzled by his money and ignore his arrogance with regard to women.

  "Where's Stephen?" Charles enquired and a little hard glint came into his eyes, such as she remembered from the days when she had fought not to be thrown into marriage with James. Oh God, she thought tiredly, how

  mistaken you could be about those who were supposed to love you, or at least

  care what became of you.

  [169-170] "Gone to the devil for all I care," she said, and there was a chill little note of disillusion in her voice. "And you might as well know, Guardy, that he won't be putting in a bid for me--he's found out that I don't go for the branding-iron type of charm. I'm my own person, Charles. I earn my own living and I stay under your roof because I thought you wanted my company, but if we're back to the old system of selecting a rich man to keep me in heart-rotting idleness, then I pack my bag and leave in the morning. Goodnight!"

  Eve went upstairs, feeling unhappy and nervy. She clung to the thought of Larry . . . he at least wanted her for herself, with none of this bartering her body and soul for the sake of a socially acceptable and financially suitable match, regardless of whether it made her happy or miserable.

  Inside her bedroom, with the door firmly closed, she lay stretched along the length of her bed, her face buried deep in her arms. She didn't weep but felt waves of grief and hopeless longing sweep over her. She wanted love . . . the love she had lost somewhere on the other side of the earth . . . somewhere on the other side of heaven. It was an active pain deep insid
e her and she knew . . . knew with every fibre of her body and heart that she loved the man and she was never going to see him again. And he had cared about her . . . cared as no one else ever had, and her fingers clenched the bedcover and she felt as if never again would there be anyone in her life who would love her so selflessly.

  "What was your name?" she whispered. "Why can't I remember your name or the way you looked when I remember with my heart that you loved me?"

  She sat up, staring into the wash of moonlight [170-171] through the windows where the drapes were open to let in the air. Her heart was beating fast and she was seeing the flames of a burning town, hearing the gunfire, feeling the hard clasp of arms as she was carried through the streets to the airfield. A rough-looking soldier, they had said, who placed her in the care of the stewardess and then vanished back into the flames and the fighting.

  A soldier, torn, grubby, unshaven, making sure she got to safety, and then turning back to face the bedlam . . . and to be killed.

  He was dead, otherwise he'd have come to her, found her again, put those hard arms around her and made her safe for always. The hot tears filled her eyes, and she was crying her heart out when Charles Derrington came into her room and switched on the light.

  "Good heavens, child!" He drew her against his shoulder and stroked her tousled hair. "Are you feeling ill?"

  She fought with the tears and shook her head.

  "Then why are you upsetting yourself like this, talking about packing your bag and leaving me? Tyler gave me a ticking-off, d'you know that? Said I was pushing you again and you aren't a girl to be pushed on to any man--look, what is it, my pet? Do you want to marry that young doctor, is that it? Think I won't approve? Well, if that's what you want, Eve, then maybe we can see about making him some kind of an allowance so that he can--well, I don't want you living in rooms somewhere, going hungry, or anything like that--"

  "Guardy," she drew away from him, her face tear-streaked and the tip of her nose pink from weeping, "I--I don't want to marry anyone--not yet--maybe not [171-172] ever. Don't you understand? There was someone--someone I loved so much that it still goes on hurting a--and I don't--can't put anyone in his place. He loved me and saved my life," the hot aching tears fell again from her eyes and burned against her lips. "He's dead and I can't stop my heart from aching for him, a--and the awful part is that I can't remember the very last thing he said to me--the very last time he kissed me. I just know he loved me and I--I want him--I want him, Guardy, and he's dead!"