When the telephone rang Elizabeth leaped towards it, her heart racing. Adam was down at the tennis-courts, inspecting the nets in the last flush of light before darkness fell.
‘Yes,’ she said eagerly, ‘Elizabeth Harland speaking.’
It wasn’t the rich dark voice she so longed to hear.
‘It’s Helena,’ Helena said briefly. ‘I knew you were back. I saw Adam with Leigh Stafford in the Long Bar at the Pen a couple of hours ago.’
‘Oh, Helena, it’s lovely to hear from you,’ Elizabeth began, trying to tear her thoughts away from Raefe. ‘I was going to ring you, but—’
‘There’s been an accident.’
Elizabeth’s hand tightened on the telephone receiver. She knew now what the strange curtness was in Helena’s voice. It wasn’t pique because she hadn’t rung her the instant she had returned from Singapore. It was the sound of sobs being barely suppressed.
‘Oh God,’ she whispered, her stomach muscles tightening, thinking immediately of Jeremy and Jennifer. ‘What is it, Helena? What has happened?’
‘Someone told Kaibong Sheng of Tom’s affair with Lamoon,’ she paused, trying to steady her voice. ‘He ordered the Tongs to kill him.…’ She began to cry, and Elizabeth sat down very slowly, keeping the telephone receiver pressed tight to her ear.
‘Yes, Helena?’ she prompted, terrified of what Helena was about to tell her.
‘They were waiting for him when he brought Lamoon back to the hospital.… They tried to stab him.…’
Elizabeth clung tightly to the word ‘tried’. ‘But they didn’t?’ she asked urgently. ‘Tom isn’t hurt? He’s still alive?’
‘Yes.’ There was another pause while Helena blew her nose. ‘I can’t stop crying. It’s the shock. The thought of that evil old man giving orders for Tom to be killed.’
‘What happened?’ Elizabeth asked again. ‘Tom brought Lamoon back to the hospital, and the Tongs were waiting for him. What happened then?’
‘Someone – I don’t know who – rang Raefe and told him what was planned. He reached the hospital just in time to shout a warning to Tom and to help him.…’
Elizabeth felt the blood leave her face.
‘There was a dreadful fight on the pavement. Tom’s nose is broken and two of his ribs are cracked and he has a shallow knife-wound in his chest.’ Her voice trembled. ‘It would have been much worse. It was Raefe who saved his life.…’
Elizabeth said tightly: ‘He’s hurt, isn’t he? Raefe’s hurt?’
Helena began to cry again. ‘He was stabbed … the knife punctured the pancreas. They operated on him an hour ago.…’
‘Jesus God!’ The room rocked sickeningly around her. ‘I must go to him. What ward is he in? Where is he?’
‘He’s in a private room just off ward three, but you can’t go to him, Elizabeth! There’s Adam to think of! I’m going down there now. I’ll see him. I’ll tell you how he is!’
‘No!’ Elizabeth shook her head, her eyes frantic. ‘I’m going there myself!’ And she slammed the receiver back on its rest, running for the door.
‘What on earth is the matter, Beth?’ Adam asked in amusement as he entered the room and she hurtled into him. ‘Where’s the fire?’
He had put his hands steadyingly on her arms, and she wrenched herself free. ‘I’m sorry, Adam,’ she gasped, ‘I have to go down to Victoria.’
She ran out into the hall, scooping her handbag from the hall table, seizing her jacket from the bamboo coat-stand.
‘But why?’ he asked perplexedly as he followed her. ‘What on earth has happened?’
She was scrambling in her handbag for her car keys. ‘Lamoon’s father has discovered she is having an affair with Tom.’ Her fingers curled round the keys. ‘He sent the Tongs to kill him!’
‘Dear Lord…,’ Adam’s face paled.
She ran to the door, opening it and looking back at him, her eyes anguished. ‘He’s all right, Adam. He has a broken nose and a couple of cracked ribs, but he’s all right.’
‘Then, I don’t understand why there is all the urgency.…’ He took a step towards her. ‘We can visit him tomorrow, together.’
She shook her head. ‘No!’ she whispered, knowing that she could not stay to explain to him, that every minute was precious. ‘Raefe’s been hurt, too. He’s been stabbed. They operated on him an hour ago!’ And she wheeled on her heel, running out of the house and across the gravel towards the garage, slamming open her car door without even looking back towards him.
For a long moment he couldn’t even move. He felt as if he had been kicked savagely in the chest. By the time he managed to stumble to the door, her car was already screeching down the drive towards the road.
‘Beth!’ he shouted vainly. ‘Beth!’ He ran down the shallow steps of the portico, but it was no use. With a scream of tyres she had slewed out on to Peak Road, and he could hear the engine tone change as she slammed through the gears and into fourth.
He leaned against one of the portico’s flower-wreathed pillars, sick and disorientated. What had Beth said? Surely she couldn’t have meant it? Surely he had misheard, as he had misheard Alastair in the golf-club bar. A flock of blue magpies, disturbed by the raucous noise of her departure, wheeled over his head before settling again in the flame trees. Elliot? She had gone racing down to Victoria like a woman demented, all because Raefe Elliot had again involved himself in an act of violence? It didn’t make sense. It couldn’t make sense.
He could no longer hear the sound of her car engine. The magpies had settled down again in the branches of the flame trees. And it did make sense. It made the most awful, most diabolical sense. Like an old man he pressed his hand against the pillar in order to launch himself into a tottering walk. He hadn’t misheard Alastair. He had told Alastair they were leaving Hong Kong because Beth was having problems, and Alastair had immediately assumed that her problem was Raefe Elliot.
He walked slowly into the house, his shoulders hunched, his hands pushed deep into the pockets of his cardigan. Alastair was a man who hated gossip and never indulged in it, and yet he had known about Beth’s passion for Elliot. And if Alastair knew, then Helena must know, and Julienne and Ronnie. He poured himself a large measure of whisky. Probably the whole island knew. His hand shook as he raised his glass to his lips. He had never known such pain. He couldn’t even begin to imagine how he would live with it. A world without Beth. It was inconceivable. The glass fell to the floor, whisky seeping and staining the pale beige carpet as he lowered his head to his hands and wept.
Helena was in the hospital foyer waiting for her when she arrived.
‘How is he?’ Elizabeth asked, running across to her, her eyes fierce with anxiety.
‘I haven’t been allowed to see him. I don’t think he’s fully recovered consciousness yet. The sister says there’s no need to worry, that he’s going to be all right. The knife missed the lungs and, though it pierced the pancreas, she says that no lasting harm has been done.’
Her relief was so intense that she swayed slightly. ‘I must see him, Helena.’
‘They won’t let you. It’s strictly next-of-kin so soon after surgery.’
A new look flashed into Elizabeth’s eyes. ‘Does Melissa know yet? Has anyone told her?’
Helena pushed an untidy mass of dark hair away from her face. ‘I don’t know. Perhaps the hospital has. I never gave Melissa a thought.’
‘She should be told!’ Elizabeth said vehemently. ‘I’m going up to the ward now. The sister will know if she’s been told or not.’
‘And if she hasn’t?’ Helena asked, her beautiful square-jawed face troubled.
‘Then, I will tell her,’ Elizabeth said, leaving Helena with slightly raised brows as she walked swiftly off in the direction of ward 3.
‘No, Mrs Elliot hasn’t been informed,’ the ward sister said apologetically. ‘I understood that Mr and Mrs Elliot were separated and that Mrs Elliot was living in the New Territories.’
‘They
are separated, but she isn’t living in the New Territories,’ Elizabeth said, her eyes going to the door of the private room opposite the sister’s office. ‘She’s at the family home and she should be told what has happened.’
‘Of course.’ The ward sister hesitated. ‘Perhaps, if you are a family friend, it might be less of a shock if you were to contact her?’
‘Yes,’ Elizabeth said, her eyes still on the door of the private room. ‘I will telephone her when I leave. After I have seen Mr Elliot.’
‘I’m afraid Mr Elliot only returned from surgery two hours ago. There will be visiting tomorrow evening,’ the ward sister said pleasantly.
Elizabeth turned and looked at her. ‘Please let me see him. I don’t want to be here tomorrow when perhaps Mrs Elliot may be visiting.’
The ward sister drew in a deep understanding breath. It hadn’t occurred to her that the lovely Mrs Harland was here in any other capacity but that of family friend.
‘Please!’ Elizabeth repeated, her eyes urgent.
The sister hesitated and then said compassionately: ‘All right, but only for five minutes. And don’t expect him to make much sense, because he won’t. He’ll still be fuzzy from the anaesthetic.’
With her legs almost buckling with relief, Elizabeth followed her out of the office and across the corridor to the private room.
‘Five minutes only,’ the sister said again as she opened the door.
Raefe made beautiful sense. ‘Hello,’ he said as she reached the bed, his voice heavily slurred as if he had been drinking. ‘I love you, Lizzie.’
Tears stung her eyes. ‘I love you, too,’ she said softly, stocked at how pale he looked.
He gave her a crooked smile. ‘Bloody Tongs,’ he whiskered expressively. ‘They can’t do anything right. It was me they damned near killed, not Tom.’
She took hold of his hand. ‘It would take more than Tongs,’ she said with a wobbly smile.
His hand tightened on hers. ‘I’m glad you’re back,’ he said weakly. ‘Another week and I would have come for you, Adam or no Adam!’
She thought of Adam as she had left him. White-faced and shocked. Knowing at last of her passion for Raefe. ‘Don’t worry about Adam,’ she said sombrely. ‘I shall never leave you again, my love.’
The sister stood at the door. ‘Your five minutes are up, Mrs Harland. Any further visiting will have to be at the appointed times.’
She squeezed his hand. ‘Melissa doesn’t know yet. I’ll telephone her tonight.’
‘Good,’ he said wearily. ‘She’ll be grateful. Goodnight, sweet Lizzie.’
She withdrew her hand reluctantly from his. ‘Goodnight, my love,’ she said, blowing him a kiss, knowing that from now on her life would be shared with him. That there were no more decisions to make, no more choices to agonize over.
The door closed behind them. ‘So you will telephone Mrs Elliot?’ the ward sister asked, disguising the prurient curiosity she felt.
‘Yes. Could I do it from your office, please?’
The sister nodded. It would be as well to know that the news was broken in the proper manner. ‘Of course,’ she said, leading the way across the corridor. ‘You will need to ask the switchboard for an outside line.’
Helena was waiting for her when she walked back into the foyer. ‘How is he?’ she asked, rising to her feet. ‘Did they let you see him?’
Elizabeth nodded. ‘For five minutes. It was strange to see him so weak and so pale.’
‘But he’s going to be all right?’ she asked anxiously, not able to imagine Raefe either weak or pale.
‘Yes,’ Elizabeth said as they stepped out into the darkened street. ‘He’ll probably be discharged by the end of the week.’ Her voice was tired, drained of energy.
‘Let’s go for a drink somewhere,’ Helena suggested, knowing exactly how she felt. ‘The Pen, perhaps, or Grips?’
Elizabeth shook her head. ‘No, Helena. I have to get back home. I need to talk to Adam.’
They had stopped near her Buick. Helena looked at her in alarm.
In the garish light of the street-lamps Elizabeth looked almost ill. ‘You’re not going to tell him about Raefe, are you?’
‘There’s no need,’ Elizabeth said wearily. ‘He already knows.’
Helena’s face was horrified. Elizabeth bent down and unlocked the Buick’s door. She didn’t want to talk to Helena about Adam. Not yet. Perhaps not ever. ‘You didn’t tell me what happened to Lamoon?’ she said as she opened the door and slid behind the steering-wheel. ‘Was she hurt as well?’
‘No. At least, I don’t think so.’ Helena was still thinking of Adam. How on earth would he have taken such news? Of all the men she knew he least deserved such a blow.
‘Where is she now?’ Elizabeth asked curiously.
‘Lamoon? I don’t know.’ She dragged her thoughts away from Adam. ‘I don’t think anyone knows. I don’t think we will ever see or hear of Lamoon again.’
Elizabeth turned the key in the ignition. ‘Poor Tom,’ she said bleakly. ‘Goodnight, Helena. I’ll give you a ring tomorrow.’
Helena stood on the pavement, watching her as she drove away. ‘Poor Tom,’ she repeated, heartsick. ‘And poor Adam. I wonder what he will do now?’
Elizabeth sped away from the hospital, driving through Victoria’s neon-lit streets and squares and towards Garden Road and the slow climb towards the Peak. Magazine Gap Road was deserted, and as she climbed higher she could see the silky blackness of the bay and the distant twinkling lights of Kowloon. The feeble orange glow of the streetlights lit her on to Peak Road. She drove carefully, mindful of the precipice on the left, catching occasional glimpses of white stuccoed mansions hiding palely between the trees, thinking of her telephone call to Melissa.
Melissa had sounded disorientated when she had first spoken to her; and then, when she understood what the message was, and what had happened to Raefe, she had been genuinely distressed.
‘Can I see him now? Tonight?’ she had asked uncertainly, wondering if the chauffeur was in his quarters and if he would drive her to Victoria.
‘I think it is probably too late now,’ Elizabeth had said awkwardly. ‘There is visiting tomorrow.’
There was a long pause, and then Melissa said: ‘You’ve already seen him, haven’t you?’
‘Yes,’ Elizabeth had said unhappily. ‘Yes, I’ve already seen him.’
There was another long pause, and then Melissa said: ‘I’m sorry, but I don’t know your name.’
‘Elizabeth. Elizabeth Harland.’
There had been a slow intake of breath on the other end of the telephone, and then Melissa had said in a flat defeated voice: ‘Thank you for telephoning me, Elizabeth. It’s more than I would have done if our positions had been reversed.’
She had put the telephone receiver down, and the conversation had come to an end. What the listening ward sister had made of it Elizabeth neither knew nor cared.
The road wound between high banks of thick foliage and tall dense pines. It had been a disconcerting conversation, but one that had done nothing but increase her sympathy towards Melissa. There was a far more terrible conversation lying in wait for her. She eased the Buick off Peak Road and on to the narrow track that led towards the drive of her home. The lights were on as she had known they would be. She slid the Buick into the double garage, closing the door quietly behind her, hating herself to the bottom of her soul as she walked reluctantly towards the house, and Adam.
Chapter Eighteen
Julienne and Derry were in a small sailing-boat, drifting pleasantly in a dead calm off Cape d’Aguilar.
‘I can’t understand why the devil he wasn’t arrested,’ Derry said, a note of admiration in his voice as he sprawled at the helm, wearing nothing but a small gold crucifix and chain and a pair of white shorts that had seen better days. ‘It’s only months since he was cleared of Jacko’s murder. How he can rampage the streets with a loaded revolver and get away with it is beyond me.�
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Julienne leaned against the side of the boat, her hand trailing languorously in the jade-green water. ‘But he knew the Tongs were lying in wait for Tom. And he didn’t burn the gun. He only pistol-whipped the Chinese who was attacking Tom.’
‘Fire,’ Derry corrected in amusement. Julienne’s rare lapses of idiom always entertained him. ‘You fire a gun, sweet love. You don’t burn it.’
Julienne shrugged a naked shoulder imperturbably. Her shorts were cerise, very brief, very French, and her halter top was a sizzling shade of apple-green. ‘Fire, burn, what does it matter? All that matters is that he did not shoot the man. He simply prevented him from murdering Tom. And for that, mon amour, I am very grateful.’
Derry looked across at her speculatively. He wasn’t sure, but he thought she had once been Tom’s mistress. If she bad been, he didn’t want the affair to rekindle now that Tom’s rash affair with Lamoon had been brought to an abrupt conclusion. If he didn’t know himself better, he would have said that he was headlong in love with Julienne. As it was, he merely considered himself delightfully infatuated. But, infatuation or not, he was seriously disturbed at the thought of losing her. Ronnie he could come to terms with. He had no choice. But the thought of Julienne romping in bed with anyone else made cold sweat break out on the back of his neck.
‘Come over here,’ he growled, feeling a rising in his crotch as Julienne withdrew her hand from the water, her nipples straining full and taut against the thin cotton of her top.
She smiled across at him lazily. ‘A sailing-boat is not a very good idea for what you have in mind, chéri. You will get yourself very wet and very bruised!’
A Multitude of Sins Page 33