Strange Adventure

by Craven, Sara

  She gestured quietly towards the cases which stood packed and ready at the side of the room. 'My trousseau is there. You may examine it if you wish ...'

  'If I wish! ' Michelle's laugh sounded strident. 'Since when have my wishes been of the least account?'

  'Michelle!' Lacey felt uncomfortable. She was totally unprepared for this open hostility and found it inexplicable. 'I know you're upset about something—I've been aware of it for weeks. I wish you'd tell me what it is. I'd like us to at least part on good terms. Is it the wedding? Are you upset because I wanted to have it here instead of in London, or ...'

  Michelle interrupted and there was real venom in her voice. 'Yes,' she said slowly, 'I am upset, but not for the petty reasons you seem to think. I am angry that it is taking place at all.'

  `But surely,' Lacey felt thoroughly confused, 'surely it's what you wanted—the answer to all our problems ...' `What I wanted?' Michelle laughed again, a desperate

  sound. 'How do you know—how can you tell what I want? What do you know of anything—you, a little convent schoolgirl, frigid like all the English? How can you hope to hold a man like Troy Andreakis?'

  Lacey was trembling. 'But it was your idea. You—packaged me and presented me to him. You know that.'

  `C'est ca. But for one night only, as one gives a child a toy to amuse him for an hour and then be forgotten. I never dreamed he would offer marriage—not now, not to you.'

  'I think you'd better go back to your room.' Lacey was

  ii too disturbed by the look on her stepmother's face to pay much attention to what she was saying. 'You're overwrought—all the work you've done for the wedding, and then the worry about Daddy.'

  `Thank you for the reminder,' Michelle almost spat at her. 'That is all I will be left with—the worry, and a sick old man to nurse—while you, petite salude

  She got no further. A firm tap on the door broke across the torrent of words, and Vanessa appeared in the doorway in her dressing gown.

  'I do hope I'm not interrupting,' she said too brightly. `Have you got any aspirin, Lacey? I've a splitting head. All the excitement, I expect.'

  Michelle muttered something under her breath in French and swept out, brushing past Vanessa as she went. As the door closed behind her, Vanessa gave vent to a low whistle.

  `What was all that about?' she exclaimed. 'I could hear her from the corridor and thought you might want to be rescued.'

  Lacey was still shaking. 'I think she's mad,' she said in a choked voice. 'She doesn't want me to marry him.'

  'I don't suppose she does,' Vanessa said calmly. 'After all, she's nearer his age than you are, love, and her prospects aren't exactly lively just at the moment. No islands in the Ionian Sea, or Mediterranean cruises for her. Just a quiet existence here looking after your father, which doesn't seem quite her métier.'

  `She talked about Daddy—she called him a sick old man. It was as if she hated him,' Lacey said numbly.

  Vanessa spoke gently. 'Now don't imagine things. She was probably so full of jealousy and resentment that she didn't know what she was saying. Besides, you've never had any illusions as to why she married your father. She wanted wealth and position, and he gave them to her. She wasn't to know that the going would suddenly get tough, and for Michelle the unforgivable thing is for someone to do better materially than herself. She's probably been brooding for weeks, comparing lots, and tonight she just couldn't keep quiet any longer. Now don't think about her any more. She's a malicious woman and tomorrow you'll be rid of her. She won't be able to hurt you any more. Now get into bed, and I'll tuck you in. You need your beauty sleep. You don't want to give her the triumph of seeing you look less than radiant tomorrow.'

  Lacey obeyed silently. After Vanessa had gone, she lay sleeplessly, staring into the darkness, and going over and over the scene that had just taken place. It seemed to her that there was something else as well, something that she ought to remember, hiding in some corner of her mind, but she couldn't think what it could be, and it was while she was struggling to recall it that she finally drifted off into an uneasy sleep.

  CHAPTER SIX

  LACEY stood by the window of the hotel suite, staring out into the gathering darkness. There was little but the traffic in the street below to engage her attention, but at least it gave her the semblance of an occupation, and that was what seemed most important just at present.

  Behind her she could hear the muted clatter of dishes as the waiter cleared the remains of their dinner on his trolley. Lacey had eaten little. She knew she would be hungry if she did not try, but sheer nervousness made it difficult for her to swallow, and she had only sipped at the vintage champagne which had been delivered to the suite with the management's compliments.

  The day had passed in a blur. The last moment of reality had been her father's face smiling up at her as she came down the stairs in her wedding gown, Troy's flowers, the palest of orchids veined delicately in pink and gold, clasped in her hands. Everything else after that had assumed a strangely dreamlike quality, Troy waiting for her by the altar banked high with Easter flowers, her own voice, clear and unreal, repeating the vows, the blaze of flash bulbs as they emerged from the church and faced the local and national press who had seized eagerly on a millionaire's wedding to break the monotony of the holiday period.

  She could remember standing beside Troy at the reception, smiling until her face ached, and presenting her cheek to be kissed what seemed a thousand times, laughingly agreeing with the voices that told her, 'Happy the bride that the sun shines on.' Then it was time to change, and she was going upstairs with Vanessa obediently taking off the delicate gown, and putting on the grey shantung dress and jacket she was to go away in, brushing her hair free of the elaborate coronet she had worn for the ceremony, and fastening it back instead into a simple French pleat.

  Then there had been the emotionalism of the goodbyes.

  Aunt Mary's eyes shining with tears, her father's voice gruff with emotion as he held her to him, saying, 'Goodbye, my darling girl,' the chorus of good wishes that had followed them down to the waiting car which was to take them to London for the first night of their marriage before they left for the Bahamas the following day. The only dissident element had been Michelle. She had said nothing, merely stepped forward and laid her cheek for the briefest moment against Lacey's. The contact, though fleeting, had been cold and unpleasant and Lacey shivered as she remembered it.

  And now here she was in the suite that Troy usually occupied during his sojourns in London, she had gathered. She was thankful it was not the bridal suite. As it was, everyone in this vast hotel must be aware that they were starting their honeymoon. Everything Troy Andreakis did was news, she thought wryly, understanding a little better why he was apparently prepared to go to such lengths to preserve his privacy when he was on Theros.

  From behind her, she heard the waiter's voice, low and deferential. 'Will there be anything else, Mr Andreakis?' Followed by the rustle of money and a delighted, 'Thank you, sir.' Presumably a bribe substantial enough to ensure that they would not be disturbed for the rest of the evening, she thought. And the presence of Stephanos on the floor above would ensure that any messages that would normally come direct to the Andreakis suite would be re-routed.

  She heard the outside door of the suite close and knew that she and her husband were alone. A sudden tension gripped her. Troy had not displayed any embarrassing ardour in front of any of the hotel staff, but she could not suppose he would hesitate any longer to transfer their relationship to a more intimate footing. Even as she felt panic begin to rise in her at the thought, she heard his voice.

  `Come here, Lacey.'

  Slowly she turned. He was sitting on the low luxurious sofa, his jacket discarded and his tie loosened, looking completely at his ease.

  `I said come here.' He frowned impatiently. 'Don't force me to make you obey me, Lacey mou. Let us start off our

  marriage with a little dignity, if nothing else.'


  Her hesitation was only momentary, then she walked stiffly and reluctantly across the room and stood in front of him.

  `That's better.' He leaned back against the cushions, staring up at her under lowered lids. 'Don't look so petrified. I am only a man, you know, not a monster.' He waited for a moment, but she made no reply, so he went on, 'You looked very charming today, my sweet one. You made a picture as you came up the aisle to me that I find totally unforgettable.'

  `I shall-not find it easy to forget today either,' she answered, and his eyes narrowed.

  `More little barbs?' he questioned. 'Someone should have taught you to respond more sweetly when you are being wooed, pethi mou.'

  `Am I supposed to be .grateful for your wooing?' She looked at him defiantly. `We do have a bargain, and I'm quite aware of the price I have to pay.'

  As soon as the words were uttered, she wished them unsaid, but they did' not provoke the angry outburst she half expected. He just went on looking at her for a long moment; with a frankly sensual appraisal that made her want to cringe away.

  `As you wish,' he said evenly. 'My only desire was to try and ease you through the inevitable difficulties of this sort of situation. But if you find it unnecessary ...'

  Before she could move, he had reached for her, gripping her wrist and half dragging her down on top of him. He hurt her and she cried out in protest, but the cry was smothered under the pressure of his lips and the strength of his hands quelled her ineffectual struggles, turning her in his arms as easily as if she was a doll. At last she lay breathless and still in his embrace, her lips parted helplessly beneath his insistence, her whole body alive, in spite of herself, to his utterly sensuous exploration of her slenderness.

  `Please—no,' she managed at last, against his mouth.

  `Please—yes.' There was a laziness in his voice which matched the insidious languor which threatened to overwhelm her.

  'But you're creasing my dress.' Her protest sounded lame even to her own ears. 'It will be ruined.'

  She felt a quiver of laughter run through him.

  'That is easily remedied,' he murmured, and she felt the long zip fastener at the back of the dress give way under his fingers. 'Take it off,' he said, his mouth moving persuasively against her ear.

  'No!' She clutched the loosened bodice against her.

  'What's the matter?' He studied her, his dark eyes slumbrous with desire. 'Didn't it occur to you that this might be part of the price you spoke of?'

  'No—yes.' She moistened her lips desperately. 'But please —not here, like this.'

  There was a long pause, then he sighed softly, and she found herself lifted away from him and set on her feet.

  `Your period of modest seclusion will last precisely ten minutes.' His voice was deceptively soft.

  Still holding her dress, she looked at him doubtfully. 'You—you won't come in? You promise?'

  'I promise—this time,' he said, and smiled faintly. 'But don't keep me waiting. A minute of your ten has gone already.'

  Lacey fled into the bedroom, closing the door behind her. She slipped her arms out of the grey dress and let it fall to her feet, stepping out of it on her way to the case where her nightgown—white threaded with silver—and negligee were packed. She just had time for a shower, she thought, discarding her waist slip and tights on the way to the bathroom that adjoined the master bedroom.

  'Lacey ! '

  She turned unbelievingly to see him framed in the bedropm doorway. Her face flamed and she held the nightdress in front of her.

  'You promised!' she accused him hotly. 'You said you wouldn't come in.'

  But he seemed totally unaware of her state of undress. He walked slowly across the room to her side, and his hands gripped her bare shoulders. But there was no passion in his touch. It seemed instead as if he was trying to impart to her some of his own strength. There was an odd look in

  his eyes—almost pitying, she thought wonderingly. Then he spoke.

  `You must get dressed, pethi mou. We have to go on a journey.'

  `A journey?' Her eyes searched his face. She was puzzled and a little frightened by this change in him. 'But where?'

  `To Kings Winston, Lacey. Take only what you need for tonight. Stephanos will follow with the rest of our luggage.'

  `Daddy?' Her face was paper-white, and he bent his head in silent affirmation.

  `Oh God!' The cry burst from her. 'Oh, Troy, I must hurry. I must go to him.'

  `You shall go to him, pethi mou.' For a moment she felt his lips move like a benediction against her hair. 'But I have to tell you there is no longer any need to hurry.'

  Someone had kindled a log fire in the wide hearth of the drawing room at Kings Winston. Stretching her hands out to it, Lacey wondered drearily whether she would ever feel warm again. Outside the rain lashed against the windows with a sombre monotony that reflected the melancholy atmosphere prevailing within the house.

  Somewhere a door closed and Lacey lifted her head to listen, her slim body filled with sudden tension. Following her father's funeral which had been held that morning, Troy had brought some of the Vernon—Carey board back to the house for a business lunch. It was now midway through the afternoon, and she supposed they would be leaving soon and that she would be called upon to say goodbye to them, as Michelle had shown so clearly that she was either not capable or not prepared to carry out the normal duties of a hostess.

  She bit her lip. Perhaps she was being unfair, she told herself. Perhaps the near-collapse that Michelle seemed to have suffered was quite genuine, and she was more devoted to her late husband than Lacey had ever believed.

  When they arrived back at the house three nights before, it was to find the household in a weird state of disorganisation. With the exception of Lacey's aunt and uncle, most of the wedding guests had departed during the afternoon,

  and Mrs Osborne and the hired staff were engaged in clearing up the aftermath when Sir James' collapse had occurred. Dr Gervase had been sent for and arrived within minutes, but before the ambulance he had summoned had come, it was all over.

  During the swift drive through the darkness, Lacey had felt almost numb with disbelief. It was the quiet, stunned atmosphere in the house, and Mrs Osborne's reddened eyelids as she came forward to greet them that brought her loss home to her. For a moment she felt a child again, helpless and terrified, and then Troy had stepped forward, taking charge, prompting people to respond with their usual efficiency and creating order out of the prevailing chaos.

  Michelle, they learned, was in her room, and Troy asked the doctor whether she had been given any sedation. Dr Gervase shook his head quietly, and Lacey saw him mouth something at Troy. Later when she went herself to Michelle's room to see if her stepmother wanted anything and found her lying fully dressed across her bed, she was immediately conscious of a strong smell of alcohol, and understood why no tranquillisers had been prescribed for the widow. What did it matter? she thought wearily, as she left the room. One form of oblivion was much the same as another.

  But even once the initial shock of bereavement had worn off, Michelle had shown no sign of wanting to take over her duties once again. She spent most of her time in her room, and trays of food were sent to her there. While Troy attended to the funeral arrangements, with the help of Stephanos, it was left to Lacey and her aunt to deal with the domestic routine, answer the letters of condolence that poured in, and even fend off the inquiries from the press who scented a story in the fact that a millionaire's bride had been robbed of her honeymoon by a family tragedy. Lacey hated the sentimental headlines that had appeared, but she was thankful that none of the stories revived any of the doubts about the solvency of Vernon—Carey. The Andreakis name had stemmed the flood of those rumours, she realised.

  Her eyes fell on the broad gold band on her wedding

  finger and she touched it almost questioningly. She still had not fully assimilated the fact that the Andreakis name was now hers. Since they had been back at Kings Winston, Tro
y had made no attempt to pursue a more intimate relationship. Lacey had occupied her old room, alone, while he slept in a hastily refurbished guest room, but she knew that this state of affairs could not be expected to continue indefinitely.

  The sound of men's voices in the hall roused her from her reverie, and she went out to join them, looking slender and fragile in her black dress. The goodbyes said, she stood on the steps watching the last of the cars pull away down the drive, then she turned, and with a faint sigh, walked back into the house.

  `I would like to speak to you, Lacey.' Troy was standing holding open the study door.

  `But I was just going to my room to lie down. I'm rather tired.'

  `Nevertheless, I should still be glad of a few moments of your time. I will not keep you long.'

  After a momentary hesitation, she walked past him into the study and stood looking round as he closed the door. He walked over to her and stood looking down at her with a slight frown. His hand came up and lightly touched the shadows beneath her eyes.

  `Didn't Dr Gervase give you something to help you sleep?' 'Yes,' she said helplessly. 'But they don't stop me—thinking during the day.'

  'Of course not.' He produced his cigar case and lit a cigar with a certain amount of deliberation. 'However, I feel that a change of air and scenery is what you most need now, and I have arranged for Stephanos to escort you to Theros tomorrow.'

  She stared up at him, her lips parted in astonishment. `Theros?' she echoed. 'But I don't understand.'

  `Well, you would hardly wish to continue with our trip to the Bahamas under the circumstances.'

  `But they won't be expecting us.'

  He looked impatiently at her. 'I have already cabled Aunt Sofia and told her to make all the necessary arrange-

  ments to receive you. I shall expect you to have lost those hollows in your cheeks when I see you next.'