‘Work?’ she echoed stupidly.
Anthea swivelled round on the stool and smiled a not unkindly smile at her.
‘Yes ... The distant attitude—the disapproval!’
‘But I haven’t said I disapprove of your brother!’
‘No; but you do, don’t you? At any rate, you don’t like him!’
‘I—I—’
Anthea smiled more brilliantly.
‘Don’t attempt to apologize,’ she begged. ‘It’s so unusual that I find it fascinating ... In fact, when I first caught sight of you literally scowling at poor Steve I could hardly believe it! Ned had warned me that you’re the independent type—the self-supporting type—but I never really expected anyone like you! You’re so pretty, for one thing, and you must bowl a lot of men over. But Steve is the hardest man in the world to bowl over, and you could be the one to succeed where others have failed.’
It took almost a full minute for complete understanding to seep into Laurel’s mind, and when it did two angry spots of colour burned in her cheeks. She snapped to her feet as if she was controlled by wires and subjected the complacently smiling Anthea to a look of cold scorn.
‘If you have quite finished, Miss Barrington, I will go downstairs and join my brother,’ she managed to articulate frostily. ‘As for your brother...’ She drew in her breath and her delicate nostrils dilated slightly. ‘The little I’ve seen of him has been enough to convince me that he’s utterly detestable. I do not go in for “lines”, and the impression he made on me when he came to my brother’s bungalow was far from favourable. In fact, I think he’s the most arrogant and presumptuous man I’ve ever met—!’
She turned abruptly for the door, but Anthea held out a hand to her and spoke in a light and laughing voice.
‘Don’t be so silly! You can’t be as touchy as all that! ... And all I’m suggesting is that you could have an effect on Stephen, and that in itself would be a miracle! He’s so spoiled ... and women go down before him like ninepins. But you have to admit he’s very handsome.’
‘Is he?’ Laurel demanded in an arctic tone.
Anthea surveyed her whimsically.
‘Well, I think so, and I’m his sister. And I also think he’s rather fascinating—and so do ninety-nine per cent of the women he meets. But you can’t have it all ways, and he is rather dominating, I admit that! But that you should think him detestable strikes me as quaint.’
‘There is nothing about your brother that strikes me as quaint,’ Laurel replied.
Anthea rose and moved towards her.
‘Have you ever been in love?’ she asked.
Laurel looked startled.
‘If I had I don’t see why I should admit it to you,’ she answered. ‘But as a matter of fact, I haven’t.’
‘Then why don’t you try falling in love with Stephen?’
‘You must be joking,’ Laurel said.
‘Oh, indeed, I’m not.’ Anthea’s bright blue eyes were engagingly honest, and at the same time they gleamed with amusement. ‘The idea occurred to me when I saw you for the first time downstairs ... and I still think it’s the most marvellous idea I’ve ever had. You see, I’d rather like you for a sister-in-law, and I’m sure that Stephen finds you intriguing. Men are always bored when the same things happen to them, and when a novelty comes along it reduces their resistance. I’ve an idea Stephen is thinking about you at this very minute!’
‘Nonsense!’ Laurel returned.
Her hostess shrugged.
‘Well, if he isn’t he’s wondering why I’m keeping you up here. I suppose we’d better go down.’ She was obviously affected by the scarlet flags of embarrassment in Laurel’s cheeks. ‘I am rather a horrible brat, aren’t I?’ she said with a light laugh and no real sign of repentance. ‘Still, I did mean it.’ She touched Laurel’s arm lightly as she turned to the door. ‘About having you for a sister-in-law.’
‘Heaven forbid!’ Laurel burst out involuntarily. ‘He’s the last person I would want to marry, and I couldn’t imagine him wanting to marry me under any circumstances.’
‘Oh, you never know with Stephen,’ retorted his sister, rather enigmatically.
When they reached the bottom of the wide staircase, Laurel was glad to find Ned awaiting her, to take her in to dinner, and the next part of the evening passed off quite bearably for her. On one side of her at the table was Ned and on the other a pleasant, middle-aged woman whose name she sought for frantically, until her neighbour leaned towards her with a twinkle in her eyes and whispered confidentially:
‘Dalkeith.’
Laurel smiled apologetically and after that it was easy. Mrs. Dalkeith kept her occupied with reminiscences of England, while Ned chatted quite happily to another planter on his other side. Mercifully, Stephen was away down at the head of the table and Anthea kept up a lively, vivacious chatter, interspersed with the sound of appreciative male remarks. Sometimes she heard Stephen’s characteristic mocking drawl and on one occasion she heard his voice become sharp and clipped in some technical discussion with a man across the table from him. Perhaps the hint of soft derision she had come to associate with him was used only when he spoke to women.
Conceited, detestable creature, she thought crossly to herself, and looked away quickly as he happened to glance up. Momentarily her gaze was caught by the sharp darkness of his, but resolutely she turned her head and concentrated her whole attention on what Mrs. Dalkeith was saying.
‘Ned tells me he hasn’t seen you for several years,’ Mrs. Dalkeith remarked with kindly interest. ‘How long do you intend to stay here now?’
It was a safe, conventional topic and Laurel was glad to be able to embark upon it.
‘I really don’t know yet. Ned has suggested that I live with him for as long as I want to, but I should feel altogether useless without anything to do. Pepita and the two girls manage the cottage quite easily. I can’t just let poor Ned support me.’
Mrs. Dalkeith patted her hand gently. ‘Whatever you feel, my dear, stay with him as long as you can. You’ll be company for him. You might even be able to find something to do on the island if your conscience bothers you.’
Laurel smiled. ‘I was a schoolteacher at home. I doubt whether there would be an opening of that sort on the island.’
The elder woman considered the matter thoughtfully. ‘I don’t know. There’s no school here at all. The children all go to the boarding school on the mainland when they’re old enough, or over to England. Some kind of a preparatory school here might be a good idea. I for one would be glad to send my two daughters, and you might even be able to organize something for the older ones during vacation times, not studies, but something to occupy them.’ She shook her head with a whimsical grimace. ‘There’ll be plenty of us to greet you with open arms for doing that.’ She broke off with a quick little gesture, excusing herself. ‘But there I go, rushing ahead. You probably have a job or a young man in England to return to.’
Laurel shook her head. ‘Neither,’ she said emphatically. ‘As a matter of fact, I was quite glad to give up my job. The school was a small private one and the headmistress had a sister she wanted there, in my job, but I don’t think she liked to ask me outright to leave. Sometimes it was uncomfortable. I had been meaning to resign for some time, but I suppose I just stayed on through sheer obstinacy, until I found something else to go to. I didn’t like being forced out. Then Ned’s letter arrived.’ She smiled a little shamefacedly. ‘I must confess it gave me great pleasure to hand in my notice and tell them where I was going.’
Mrs. Dalkeith laughed. ‘A very human satisfaction, my dear. I’ve often felt the same thing myself.’ She glanced further along the table at a burst of laughter from around Anthea. ‘Young Anthea is a lively child. The man who eventually gets her will have his hands full.’
Laurel gave a funny little twisted smile. ‘Do you think any one man would be able to hold her?’
‘Very easily, if he’s the right one. These Barringtons fal
l hard when the disease eventually catches up with them.’
Laurel privately thought that the disease probably knew the uselessness of attacking where there was no heart and would not attempt to storm the fortress that was Stephen Barrington. Anthea perhaps was different. One day she might fall deeply and sincerely in love with someone—and I hope it’s you, Ned dear, Laurel thought to herself, because however much she disliked Stephen, she had just realized that she could never dislike Anthea. Not entirely, at any rate.
After dinner the women went into a specially fitted room adjacent to the drawing-room to repair their makeup, while the men remained in another room with brandy and cigars. Laurel quickly repaired what make-up she wore and then caught sight of Anthea making her way across the room to her.
‘I’ll show you the local picture gallery while the pussies discuss the latest gossip,’ she said with a wicked glint in her eyes. ‘It always helps if I’m out of the way. They can really rip me to shreds and embroider my “goings on”,’ she added, mimicking a high-pitched, catty voice.
A reluctant smile tugged at the corner of Laurel’s mouth. ‘Don’t you mind?’
‘Not at all,’ Anthea made an airy gesture. ‘I sometimes do it deliberately, to give them something to talk about.’ She shook back her silky fair hair with a sideways glance at Laurel that dared her to disapprove. ‘A bit of gossip keeps the old tabbies happy.’
By this time they were out in the spacious hall with its lofty pillars and Laurel threw her companion a curious glance.
‘What about the ... the partners ... who aid you in supplying items for the local gossip column?’ she inquired tentatively.
Anthea shrugged. ‘They know what to expect from me.’ Momentarily a touch of grimness set her soft mouth. ‘If any of them take me seriously, it’s their own fault.’ The next moment the seriousness was gone in the usual gay event of laughter and chatter.
Laurel followed her more slowly as they reached the wide staircase, thinking of Ned, who even though he had known what she was, had not been able to escape being hurt.
‘By the way,’ Anthea said, as they reached the top of the stairs, ‘do you ride?’
‘I used to, when we lived in the country, but I haven’t done so for ages.’
‘Doesn’t matter,’ Anthea answered with gay carelessness. ‘You’ll soon pick it up again. Ned hasn’t any horses, but we have plenty here.’
‘You seem well acquainted with my brother’s affairs,’ Laurel commented dryly.
‘Oh, everybody knows everybody else’s business on the island,’ Anthea answered with typical airy inconsequence. By this time she was leading the way along a corridor and she flashed a glance at the other girl over her shoulder. ‘Stephen is the one who really amazes me, though. He gets to know the most odd things, especially those you would rather he didn’t,’ she added with a rueful laugh.
Stephen would, Laurel decided with a touch of acidity in her thoughts. In fact, Stephen had things far too much his own way.
Anthea found a switch and the long gallery immediately became flooded with light. A slim white hand that had never done a day’s work in its owner’s life waved gaily at the portrait they stood in front of.
‘Meet Miguel Felipe Luis Castelanto de Valente, the founder of Castelanto.’
Laurel looked up at the portrait interestedly. Yes, there was the same thick black hair, springing off a tanned forehead in exactly the same way that Stephen’s did, but the rest of the face was distinctly Portuguese and the man was far shorter than his distant descendant.
Dom Miguel’s wife was a rather plain Portuguese woman, but their daughter was beautiful. There was also a son, dark and good-looking—with a mischievous tilt to his mouth that somehow vaguely reminded Laurel of the girl at her side, in spite of Anthea’s fairness. The next portrait in line was that of a rather pompous Englishman.
‘Jonathan Barrington,’ Anthea said. ‘I believe he was a bit of a nitwit. He looks it, anyway. He married old Dom Miguel’s daughter. I don’t know what she saw in him. It was probably parental pressure. The son moved out and a bit later he was appointed governor of one of the other Portuguese islands nearby. Lord, I sound like a walking guide book!’ she laughed. ‘Anyway, you’ll probably meet one of his descendants before long. Manoel drops in on us every now and again.’
Laurel was about to pursue the subject of the unknown Manoel, fearing that Stephen’s name was about to crop up again, but Anthea moved on to the next portrait and stopped there with a delighted smile on her piquant features.
‘My favourite ancestor,’ she said with a chuckle of pure glee, and leaned forward to switch on an additional light over the portrait, throwing into sharp clarity all the audacious buccaneering attraction of the painted figure. It was only too clear whom he resembled, even though Nicholas Barrington had possessed hair of a vivid and flaming red.
‘Nicholas Barrington, the buccaneer,’ Anthea said, savouring the words deliciously. ‘He kidnapped his bride from an adjoining island and when they came to rescue her they couldn’t prise her loose from him with a ton of dynamite. She wasn’t having any. She’d been kidnapped and she was very definitely staying kidnapped.’ She spread out her arms and sighed with pure envy. ‘Wouldn’t it be wonderful to be loved like that?’
‘I don’t think so,’ Laurel disagreed. ‘Suppose she had hated the sight of the man she was forced to marry?’
Anthea gave her a roguish glance and pointed to the portrait. ‘You tell me just one thing a hundred per cent truthfully, Miss Laurel Shannon—if that man carried you off and forced you to marry him, would you be able to hate him?’
Laurel glanced up at the portrait again and smiled very slightly, shaking her head. The admission was made with extreme reluctance, even though there was just enough difference from the present-day Stephen Barrington to allow her to make it without feeling self-conscious. Nicholas Barrington was laughing and audacious, instead of mocking and derisive. His eyes were a bright, challenging blue instead of a too perceptive grey. For the rest, though, the tall strong body, the thin tapering hands, the arrogant poise of the head, even the features—it was Stephen and nobody else.
Anthea leaned forward and switched off the portrait light. ‘I suppose we’d better go back now. I’ll show you the rest some other time. I always think the others come as an anti-climax, though, except Stephen himself, but then I’m prejudiced,’ she added, with a side glance that Laurel did not quite catch. ‘On second thoughts though, there is somebody else worth having a look at.’ She went further along the gallery and again switched on one of the portrait lights. ‘Lavinia Barrington.’
This time the portrait was of a tall young woman of striking beauty. She had been painted in a severe black gown, but her stance suggested that she should have been wearing male attire and wielding a sword. Here at last were eyes of a dark, piercing grey, lit with a mocking light that was too familiar.
‘One of these days I’ll lend you the family history to read about her,’ Anthea offered. ‘She was a holy terror with a sword. The family apparently turned up another pompous idiot like old Jonathan at that time and she was the bane of his life. He was her brother, by the way,’ she added gratuitously. ‘He did his best to marry her off, but she wasn’t having any. In the end she received a fatal wound while still young, defending the palace against pirates.’
‘Perhaps she preferred it that way,’ Laurel said quietly. ‘She looks ... rather independent, and they didn’t care for feminine independence in those days.’
Anthea gave the portrait a rather curious glance, as if she had never thought of that aspect of it before.
‘No, I suppose they didn’t,’ she said, and leaned forward to switch off the light.
They returned to the staircase, Laurel with her thoughts still in the past, thinking of the girl who had preferred to live a life that had brought her to a violent death rather than be forced to marry someone she had perhaps despised. It had been in every line of her young body; the pride an
d the desire for freedom. Somehow she had escaped the conventional restricted upbringing of her time and she had never been able to fit into it later. Probably she really had preferred to end her life that way.
Suddenly she stiffened, because she realized that Stephen had come out of the drawing-room and was standing at the foot of the staircase, watching them descend. She attempted to keep her gaze steadily in front of her, but all the time she was over-conscious of his probing eyes watching them both, one a vivid tropical flower and the other a pale, cool nymph; then his glance went to his sister with the amused, tolerant affection he seemed to keep specially for her.
‘I thought you’d gone out into the garden again. It seems that I misjudged you.’
Anthea gave him a mock reproachful glance. ‘And I was taking a very solemn tour of the picture gallery with Teacher!’
Laurel, remembering some of the other girl’s comments, could hardly agree that it had been solemn.
‘No lectures from Miss Schoolteacher?’ Stephen inquired, slanting a half taunting glance at Laurel.
‘I was lecturing her instead,’ Anthea replied wickedly. ‘She knows all about our family skeletons now.’
‘All of them?’ Laurel felt the derisive glance slide over her. ‘No wonder she came downstairs blushing.’ Again that speculative rather unkind glance that mocked at her youth. ‘But then even teachers have to learn.’
‘I might point out that I finished training some time ago,’ Laurel stated evenly, deliberately choosing to misunderstand him. ‘I’ve been teaching myself for nearly a year.’
‘You still have a vast amount to learn, my child.’
‘He means about men,’ Anthea chimed in shamelessly. She gave Laurel an interested glance. ‘I must get you aside one day and give you some instruction on the subject.’
‘She needs to learn that from a man.’
‘I don’t think I care to learn from anyone, thank you,’ Laurel interrupted firmly. Much as she had decided she like Anthea, she could have slapped her at that moment. As for Stephen, her fingers literally ached to strike his dark face.
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