'I think you do, Debra.'
With an effort she met his eyes. 'Surely by now you know your own brother and his tendency to make most things sound more significant than they are?'
'He's my half-brother,' Jack reminded her, 'and I've never been entirely sure of him. There's a Spanish word called duende and in so far as it can be translated it refers to shadow of the soul. It's in Spanish music, drama and the bullfight. A kind of lament. A kind of reaching out for a dream so elusive that in retaliation the crowd sits in the arena and watches a man in a suit of lights put out with a sword the light of life in a bull's eyes, then an additional barbarism is the presentation of an ear to the loveliest lady present at the ritual.'
Jack sat back in his chair and there were brooding Latin shades in his own face. 'The spectacle is so brutally beautiful that I confess to having watched it once or twice on visits to Spain, and I've always been aware that in Rodare there is a ruthlessness allied to great generosity and even compassion. He has something of a matador nature, as many Spaniards have. The game of dare or die appeals to him, but he was born a gentleman and in the main the fighters of bulls are from penurious backgrounds. The hidalgo of Spain is very aware of his privileges and his duties and he observes tradition up to the hilt.'
'And when he comes to England?' Debra murmured.
'I'm never sure.' Jack cast a glance at his brother who sat drinking black coffee and looking amused by his blonde companion, who seemed to have a fund of diverting conversation.
'Don't you feel just a little twinge of jealousy?' Debra was a little curious, having been told by Nanny Rose that Sharon had been very friendly with Jack before he met Pauline. 'Miss Chandler seems to be as amusing as she's pretty.'
'She's a light, sweet wine before the headier vintage,' he rejoined, rising to his feet. 'I'm going to take Dean on a visit to Nanny Rose, so come along.'
As Jack held out a hand to her, Rodare glanced in their direction and she just saved herself from accepting that extended hand. 'I'll go and change out of my breeches and boots and join you in her room,' she said, and with a polite nod at Sharon and Rodare she walked out of the dining-room.
Alone in her turret, as she changed into a cool print dress that left her arms bare, Debra let the events of the morning slide through her mind. As she braided her hair and made it into a knot at the nape of her neck, she had an image of herself riding along the sands with her hair blowing free in the balmy wind. She knew what Rodare released in her, it was a response to the primitive, a yearning to let her senses rise above her sensibility as the high tide rose above the sands until only the rocks could be seen.
That image of the ebony rocks with the sea thrashing around them was so vivid that she felt it to be a warning. She held the jade hairpin poised above her nape knot, then stabbed it home like a sharp resolution.
Never again would Rodare treat her as if she was just a body for him to enjoy . . . someone he fancied as if she were a piece of candy to melt in his mouth.
She was fiercely glad that she had retained her chastity, which some girls seemed to discard as if it were an undergarment they no longer enjoyed wearing. But for Debra it was a symbol of her independence and the right to make a choice. It was the seal of approval upon her own thoughts, actions and dreams.
With a tilt to her chin she studied her reflection in the vanity-table mirror . . . the mirror which had once held the reflection of Pauline. Had Pauline stood here and placed her hands against her body and felt the movement of the child she had denied was her husband's. She had flung the denial in Jack's face and defiantly she had told him that Dean belonged to another man.
Debra drew away from the mirror, as if Pauline might appear at her shoulder and whisper the name of the man. She turned and hastened out of the turret and was glad when she reached Nanny Rose's room and heard, as she opened the door, the sound of Dean's happy chuckling.
Nanny Rose was in an armchair by the window, cuddling Dean in her arms . . . and Mrs Salvador was also in the room and it was too late for Debra to make a retreat for Jack spoke her name.
'Come along in, Debra. I was just telling Mama how well the book is going and that we've earnt the holiday we're taking today.'
Crossing that room to the group near the window was for Debra an ordeal, for she didn't believe for one second that Lenora welcomed her back to Abbeywitch. When they looked at each other it was impossible for them to forget their last confrontation.
'So there you are, Miss Hartway.' Lenora's voice was polite and she even managed to fix her lips in a smile. 'Dear Jack is quite insistent in telling me that you are responsible for his return to us. Needless to say, had we suspected for one moment that naughty Mickey Lee knew where he was hiding, then I would have insisted that my stepson shake the information out of him. You, of course, wheedled it out of him.'
Debra caught the underlying suggestiveness in the words, but she decided that the best way to deal with Lenora was to pretend that her claws left no scratches.
'He's just like a big child,' she said quietly. 'You get more out of children with a smile than you get with a scold.'
'Really?' Lenora raised an elegant eyebrow. 'I do happen to have borne two children of my own, Miss Hartway, and I don't think dear Jack would ever say I was a scolding mother. Both my children have been as loved and spoilt as darling Dean.'
'We know we have, Mama, so don't get prickly.' Jack lightly kissed his mother's cheek. 'And as I'm a big spoilt boy I want you to pamper me by being nice to Debra who may agree to take Miss Tucker's place as my right-hand girl.'
Lenora greeted this as Debra expected, with a sharp query in a voice of silk. 'You did say right-hand, Jack?'
'I did, Mama,' he said drily.
'One way or the other, Miss Hartway,' Lenora's silken tones seemed to thread a little, 'you have the knack of making yourself indispensable to the men of this family.'
'Mama,' Jack spoke warningly, 'you've lost me one proficient secretary and I don't intend to lose another. If Debra leaves this house a second time on your account—'
'My account?' His mother looked highly indignant. 'Your half-brother had more to do with her leaving than I did, or hasn't she told you of her involvement with him?'
'Debra has told me all about it.' But he spoke with just a touch of constraint. 'Anyway, let's drop the subject. I'm glad to be home and I think we should all forget our differences and be one big contented family.'
He leant down and kissed the top of Dean's head. 'You agree with me, don't you, infant? Miraculous age, isn't it? He thinks life revolves around the dinner bowl, a nice splash in the bath and lots of toys—what's that you're playing with at the moment, son?'
'He's taken a shine to my good luck medal, Mr Jack.' Nanny Rose wore the medallion on a long chain around her neck. 'Mr Rodare gave it to me; he said it wasn't likely lightning would strike me twice but I had best be on the safe side and be protected by St James of Spain.'
'Rodare and his superstitious nonsense! Jack, don't allow the child to put the medallion in his mouth!'
'It won't harm him, madam.' Nanny Rose gave Lenora a look between tolerance and mischief. 'It's pure gold, the chain as well.'
'Really?' A frown almost gathered Lenora's brows together, and then she disciplined her face into its polite, slightly disdainful mask. 'I'm gratified that you are feeling so much improved, Nanny. I would gladly look after darling Dean all the time but I am such a martyr to my nervous headaches. He's a dear child but he will persist in banging that drum which Zandra foolishly gave him. I tried taking it away from him but he went into such a tantrum.'
'I'm back on my feet now, madam,' Nanny Rose assured her. 'I'm only too happy to take up my duties again.'
'That's brave of you, Nanny.' Lenora glanced at her jewelled wristwatch. 'It's almost time for noon coffee with Millicent. She's a late riser but I do enjoy having her for company, along with dear Sharon. Will you join us, Jack?'
'I can't spare the time, Mama. Rodare and I have d
ecided to burn the Devil tonight and we've got to organise the effigy—'
'Jack,' his mother cut sharply across his words, 'your father dispensed with that custom, he always said it was tantamount to inviting trouble—'
'Now who's being superstitious?' he mocked. 'Come on, Mama, it's only an additional bit of fun.'
'Irresponsible, adolescent fun!'
'Ah well,' he cast a lopsided smile at Debra, 'it does all of us good to be irresponsible once in a while because the business of being an adult isn't always easy. I'm hoping to persuade Zandra to donate her scarlet jogging suit, which stuffed with hay should make an effective body for the effigy. The head is going to be the problem.'
'Make it from a pumpkin, if you can get hold of one,' Nanny Rose suggested. 'Scoop out the fruit and carve eyeholes and a mouth in the pumpkin case, then you can mount the head on a stick and fix it in the body.'
'We'll need horns for the head,' Jack laughed.
'And a cloven hoof and a tail,' Debra reminded him, rather taken with the idea of seeing the Devil burnt.
'This is too much!' Lenora exclaimed. 'I hope you know what you are doing, Jack?'
'Dicing with danger,' he said, a mischievous gleam in his eyes. 'I must get hold of that deliciously awful jogging suit—have you any ideas about the Devil's horns, Nanny?'
'A pumpkin head will look wicked enough, Mr Jack.'
'I'm surprised at you, Nanny, for encouraging him,' Lenora scolded. 'You're a Godfearing Welsh woman who usually exhibits some common sense.'
'It's God-fearing, madam, to want to burn bad Old Nick.' Nanny Rose smiled and rocked Dean in her arms. 'Burn, Devil, burn, and don't you dare return!'
'Nanny Rose!'
The two women locked eyes and suddenly there crept into the room a silence filled with the awareness of Pauline's untimely death, and the lightning which had struck Abbeywitch and left the smell of sulphur hanging over the house.
'Very well.' Lenora moved towards the door as if she were making a stage exit. 'It's quite obvious, Jack, that you are in a wilful mood encouraged by everyone but your mother. Burn your effigy, if you must—at least we'll be rid of the sight of Zandra looking like a pillarbox on the run!'
As the door closed behind his mother, Jack broke into a laugh. 'Now we know who Zandra takes after, don't we? Though I suspect that Mama would have made the more significant actress.'
'There's no denying it, Mr Jack, your mother knows how to put on an act.' Nanny Rose gave him one of her long looks. 'According to Mrs Lee, who got the information from Mickey, the bonfire is twelve-foot high.'
He nodded. 'We lugged a ladder to it last night and when it was finished it was such a beauty we decided to bum the Devil on it.'
'Is Father Restormel going to approve, Mr Jack?'
'He's a Jesuit monk, isn't he? He's bound to be delighted.'
'It's pagan,' Nanny Rose reminded him.
'Isn't everything?' He suddenly stretched his arms in the sunlight. 'I'd better be off to my art work—want to help me, Debra?'
'Debra's going to stay and have a chat with me, Mr Jack.'
'You can be a martinet when it suits you.' When he reached the door he turned and added with a smile: 'I'll have tea and biscuits brought to you both, not forgetting "joose" for my son and heir.'
The door closed behind him and with a smile denting her lips Debra sank down in the slipper chair; the room in which Nanny Rose had recuperated was much grander than her previous one.
'It's lovely to see you back to your old self, Nanny.'
'And what about you, my girl, are you back to your old self?'
Debra looked mystified. 'I haven't been struck by lightning.'
'Haven't you?'
'If by lightning you mean the señor.'
'I could have meant Mr Jack.'
'We both know who you meant—may I hold Dean on my lap?'
'If you haven't got the trembles.'
'Why should I—?'
'Girl, we know each other well enough to talk without beating about the bushes—hold open your arms and I'm warning you Dean's getting to be quite a weight. Going to be tall like your Papa, aren't you, my duck?'
As Dean snuggled against her, Debra studied his upraised face. They wrinkled noses at each other, then all at once she felt a great need to share a burden of another kind with Nanny Rose. 'If I tell you a secret, Nanny, will you promise to keep it?'
'I've kept many a secret in my time, Debra. It goes with the job, being trustworthy.'
'What I've got to tell you has been weighing on me—Dean is a Salvador, isn't he? You've seen their look in him, haven't you?'
'Many a time.' Nanny Rose gave Debra a sharp look. 'It's bound to be there, with Mr Jack for his father.'
'The fact is, Nanny, Pauline told Jack the baby wasn't his, that night on the yacht—the night she fell from the deck and was drowned. That was why he left Abbeywitch in such a terrible state of mind, and the awful thing is—it could be true.'
'Never—'
'It could, Nanny, because of something Mickey Lee told me the day he took me to see Jack. He said he'd seen Pauline making love with a man on the beach though he wouldn't say who the man was. Then I met Jack and talked with him and he finally came round to the idea that Pauline had lied to him about Dean. I managed to convince him that she said it in a fit of temper, because she wanted to leave him and he would have stopped her from taking Dean with her.'
Debra stroked the soft dark hair away from Dean's dreamy eyes, for he was half-asleep in her arms, with his thumb in his mouth. 'I wish I was certain she lied to Jack, but I'm not—'
'You believe he's the son of Pauline's man on the beach?' Nanny Rose shook her head in disbelief. 'That silly, silly girl, what could have got into her?'
A blade seemed to twist inside Debra . . . why, in God's name, hadn't Rodare slapped her face for saying what she had said to him? There could only be one answer, and he had provided it last night when he had walked away from her.
'If Pauline told Jack the truth about her baby,' Debra said, each word like a weight on her heart, 'there's only one other man on the island who could have been her lover.'
'Mr Jack's own brother?' Nanny Rose looked appalled. 'A man such as he, haughty and proud, and thoughtful in his own fashion. How can you think such a thing, Debra?'
'Because I have no choice.'
'What does that mean?' Nanny Rose stared at Debra, reading her stricken face. 'You've accused him of it?'
'I—I'm afraid so.'
'You might well be afraid, my girl. As if he'd lay hands on his own brother's wife? As if he'd stoop so low? How can you hold such hate of him in your heart?'
'Oh—' Tears cruel as acid filled Debra's eyes. 'I don't hate him in the way you mean, Nanny. It's loving him that I hate!'
The words were out, they were spoken and there was no recalling them. They had spilled from Debra with all the sad impetuosity of her tears, making Dean blink his black lashes in surprise as a teardrop fell on his face.
'Dear, dear.' Nanny Rose sat shaking her head to herself, her fingers twined in the chain of the golden medallion. 'And there's Mr Jack thinking you'll stay on at Abbeywitch.'
'There's no way I can, Nanny Rose.' Debra wiped the teardrop from the soft warm cheek of Pauline's baby. 'The next time I leave it will be for good.'
'Better so, my girl. Nothing good can come of Mr Jack wanting you when you're wanting his brother.'
'I don't—want him.'
'Spare me the lie, Debra. There's been enough lying from the sound of things, and hand me back the boy.'
Debra did so without comment. She didn't stay to drink tea with Nanny Rose, she went sadly out of the room and wandered along the gallery to the beautiful rose window at the far end, like a great jewel whose colours glowed deep ruby, emerald and gold. A multicoloured web which held Debra in its strands as she stood there and realised the truth of what she had said to Nanny Rose.
There was no way she could remain on Lovelis Island,
living in this house and never knowing when the master of it would stride into the hall and announce his return from Spain.
Work on Jack's book was coming to an end, and Debra knew that she must refuse his offer to stay on as his right-hand girl. 'Right-hand?' his mother had queried, and Debra had caught her meaning. She didn't want Jack to get any ideas about the part the left hand played in a relationship between a man and a woman.
It was in Spain where the right hand was ringed by a man, and as if running from her thoughts Debra sped down the staircase and was hurrying out of the sideway when she blundered into the very person she wanted so much to avoid.
'Dios, what is all this hurry, a touch of Midsummer madness?'
She shuddered to a halt in his grip, except for her heart which raced madly when she met his eyes. 'Believe me, señor, I've never felt so sane.'
'Then where were you going in such haste?'
'Nowhere in particular.'
'Then let me suggest that you come with me to Penarth in order to find this pumpkin which Jack insists upon.'
'Oh, the pumpkin head.'
'Si, the pumpkin head,' he said drily.
'No, I'd rather not come with you, thank you.'
His hands gave her a shake. 'It will be cool on the water and I refuse to accept no for an answer.'
'Typical of you to force people into doing what you want,' she said freezingly.
'So always I force you?'
'Yes.'
'In which case, come along!' Her wrist was gripped and like a mutinous child in rebellious silence, she was led down to the beach and ordered on board the motorboat. Mickey Lee stood there on the sands watching them, a big dark figure against the afternoon gold of the sky.
As they sped away from the island Debra wondered what Mickey Lee was thinking as he stood there rock-like, watching them out of sight on the sunlit water.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
PENARTH was crowded with people enjoying the Midsummer market fair and the scene was a lively one, with the sun shining down on summery dresses and white shirts. There was a roundabout with painted horses and children laughing on the backs of them, and it was all such a contrast for Debra, so different from the last time she stepped from the quay and crossed the cobbled pavement.
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