Of course, he was partly right—she was scared of him, or of what he could make her do—but the biggest danger came from herself, from her desire to make excuses for him, to reason away the misgivings she felt, knowing that he would seduce her if she were willing, whether he were bound by marriage vows or not.
Sleep again did not come easily. Light from the games-room shone distractingly through the slats of her shutters. She got up and adjusted them, but even then she knew he was still there.
Exhausted beyond sleep now, she got out of bed and went to the window. Should she go down and tell him how she felt? Try to point out that, flattered though she was that he should desire her, he had obligations that must take priority? She resisted the impulse, knowing it was merely an excuse to go to him, and knowing that, if she did say anything like that, he would have no hesitation in pointing out that how he ran his marriage was no damn business of hers.
She could picture his cool blond arrogance as he said the words, those piercing blue eyes cutting her to shreds as he spoke.
Switching on her bedside-lamp, she rummaged in her bag for something to read. There was only the paperback she had finished on the plane. Another hour passed. The villa was gripped in the roaring of the wind, windows creaking, a door somewhere in the depths of the silent house banging back and forth with nerve-tautening irregularity.
She decided to get up to close it, perhaps find something to read on the way. She didn't need to go anywhere near the games-room. Sleep was past now. There was nothing to be lost.
Slipping on the thin cotton nightie she had brought with her, but without a dressing-gown as she had decided to travel as lightly as possible, she went to the door and looked out into the corridor. A light burned at one end, but there was no sign of anyone around. It took only a moment to locate the direction of the banging door, then she sped off over the thick carpet in her bare feet, pausing at the end of the corridor to make sure it was clear. Pulling the door firmly to, she turned, then gave a gulp of surprise. A man in a white polo-neck, shorts and trainers, was walking towards her. He was shorter than she was, but stocky, with tanned, sinewy, outdoors kind of legs. His cropped grey hair emphasised the bullet-shape of his head.
'I—who are you?' she whispered, wondering if he was some kind of burglar and trying not to look as if she was shrinking back too obviously against the door.
'Tom Padget.' He stuck out a hand. 'I didn't know there were guests.' He eyed her with interest, standing four-square across the corridor.
'I'm Shanna Douglas,' she replied. The name obviously meant nothing to him, for he merely nodded.
'I guess you're prowling the premises for the same reason as me?' He gave a brief grin, indicating the door. He turned then and began to walk back the way he had come. When he got to the end of the corridor, he paused. 'If you're finding it difficult to sleep with all this wind, why not join us? Paul and I have just broken into a bottle of Scotch.'
She shook her head, clutching the opening of her nightdress when she realised he was staring at the V of naked flesh between her breasts.
'You're a guest of Paul's, then.' It was a statement, not a question, but she nodded.
'Beats me what Paul is doing drinking with me when he could be --' The man spread his arms in a gesture signifying bewilderment. 'No offence, ma'am.' He inclined his head as if having read her thoughts from her expression. 'He's a lucky blighter.' His Australian accent was more pronounced as he said, 'See you around. G'night.'
Shanna hurried back to her room. Who in hell was that? she thought. He hadn't been particularly offensive, it was just the implication—that she was here for Paul's delight. He must do this all the time, invite girls back to the villa while wifey is tucked safely away on the other side of the island, she thought. What if she came over unexpectedly, though—how would he talk his way out of that?
*
Oddly enough, Shanna went straight to sleep when she got back, and it wasn't until Katerina knocked on her door at about eleven o'clock with a tray balanced in one hand that she opened her eyes. The howling of the wind was the first thing she noticed after the smell of freshly ground coffee.
'You certainly needed your sleep.' Katerina placed the tray on the bedside-table. 'I'm afraid you won't be getting off the island today, Shanna, dear. You'll have to wait until this wind has blown itself out.'
'I'll miss my flight,' she observed, feeling a sense of foreboding.
'Never mind, you'll get another, later one.'
Shanna sat up and straightened the sheet over her legs before reaching for the tray.
Katerina was at the door before she said, 'Henry wondered if you'd care to join him for lunch. He's rattling around in that place by himself such a lot these days. I don't think he knows what to do with himself since your Aunt Vi passed away.' She smiled kindly down at the girl in the bed. 'You see, there's not much to offer you here, I'm afraid. It must be boring for you youngsters with no bright lights.'
'It's all right. I'm not complaining.' Shanna grimaced. 'Paul's wife doesn't complain, does she?'
'Ah, well, Rowanna has no choice.'
She went out then. Shanna buttered a croissant and thought about what Katerina had said.
It was exhilarating to walk across the island in such a fierce wind, and by the time she came within sight of the Villa Torres Shanna was flushed and revitalised. There had been no sign of Paul. Henry was busy with the water filter by the pool when she called to him.
He looked up, obviously pleased to see her. 'My major occupation,' he explained jokingly, indicating the filter. 'Tom said he'd come over later to help me fix it, but I thought I'd surprise him and sort the devil out meself.'
Shanna was surprised to find a meal already prepared, with intricately cut vegetables and a mixed fruit salad and a main course of seafood mousse and asparagus tips.
'Used to be a master chef in the old days. That's how I met your great-aunt. She was doing some travel book—eat your way round the world, something like that—and it was love at first sight!' He twinkled at her. 'Great believer in love at first sight, meself.'
'It's not always convenient,' she returned, trying to match her tone to his.
'Convenient? Who's talking about convenient? Love makes the world go round, and damn you if you're looking for convenience, m'dear. Come, I'll show you Vi's library then, after lunch, while I play with the filter motor, you can have a good browse. Most of her books are still in print, but there's a library full of diaries, too, that I'm hoping to edit one day.'
Shanna felt it would be wrong to do more than peep at the diaries, but she spent a fascinating hour or two looking at photographs and the first drafts of one or two of her favourite books. Tom had arrived, and she could hear the two men chatting amiably down by the pool.
'All right, m'dear. You can come and test it out!' Henry stood in the doorway, looking pleased. 'Fancy a swim?' he asked.
'I wouldn't mind.' She got up then frowned. 'Except that I didn't bring a swimsuit over.'
'Averse to skinny-dipping, are you, with an old lecher like me around, I suppose you're thinking. Well, I'm going to be busy in the kitchen at the back, thought I'd do a bit of baking, give you something to take back with you to Katerina. But if you're really a blushing violet there's bound to be a spare suit in the poolhouse.'
He showed here where he meant and then bumbled off towards the kitchen. It was so sheltered over on this side that it was difficult to believe that on the mainland side there was a fierce wind still blowing. Feeling secure in the privacy of the villa, Shanna decided to follow Henry's suggestion. Soon she would be back in wintry old England, and it was silly not to make the most of the opportunities here. She soon found a skimpy bikini and slipped it on.
'Every time I see you you're looking like Venus emerging from the waves. Pity you're not blonde, you could be a stand-in for the original.'
With an inward groan Shanna swivelled towards the voice that had interrupted her daydreaming at the waterside. She'
d had her swim and was half sitting, half lying on the shallow steps that led into the pool, her head thrown back to catch the rays of the sun. She brought her legs up in a defensive hunching as soon as she heard his voice.
'What are you doing here?' she asked ungraciously, eyeing him from under her lashes.
'Spoiling your afternoon, by the look of it.' He stood over her, looking down into her angry blue eyes. 'I was going to ask if we were friends again, but I can see we're not.'
'Friends?' she asked scornfully.
'You don't want anything else, do you?'
'Don't waste my time or your own with questions like that. You're strictly off-limits, Paul. I'm not an adulteress.'
'My, we are high-minded! Or perhaps you protest too much?' He crouched down beside her and deliberately lifted the wet hair at the nape of her neck and began to stroke the skin behind her ears.
'Don't do that!' She tried to brush his hand away, but he pulled her towards him, grasping her by the shoulder with his other hand and turning her face up to his. 'I'm going to kiss you, even if you think it's going to earn me a thousand years of hell-fire,' he murmured, eyes glinting with amusement. 'You can't lie there half-naked and expect anything less.'
'Paul, if you --' Her protests were muffled at once by the pressure of his lips urgently taking her own in an irresistible attack that left her breathless and angry. 'How dare --' she began again, but as before her words were cut off by the piratical plundering of his lips, and this time she felt his hands kneading her spine in a whirlpool of little movements that made her swoon with the desire for more. This time, though, it was he who broke away first.
'That's just to remind you what you're turning down,' he told her, husky-voiced. 'Fate seems to be granting us a reprieve, Shanna. You have time to change you mind.'
'Is this the change of mind your whisky-sodden night with Tom Padget has brought?' Pulses racing, Shanna tried to shrug him away.
'Yes, I've just come from the villa. We both rather hoped you'd join us.'
'I'm surprised you didn't want to hurry back home to your wife, actually,' she said as cuttingly as she could. Not waiting to hear his reply, she slid into the water and swam out into the middle of the pool. He wouldn't follow her, she knew that. Not a second time. And when she looked back he was standing on the edge, his face that cool, cold blank she had observed before.
What goes on in his head at times like that? she wondered, heart-wrung despite her opinion of men like him. She turned on to her side. Although she tried to tell herself her path was clear, there was a misgiving like a small cloud bringing doubts with it. She had felt from die first moment that she knew this man. Then, as their relationship had rapidly unfolded, sweeping them both into dangerous waters, her feeling of recognition had been confirmed—it had only been the bombshell of discovering the existence of Rowanna that had blown everything asunder. But Paul's response, his philandering, seemed out of character. Yet she couldn't deny the facts.
He was still watching her, waiting for her to swim back. Deliberately she climbed out on the far side and went towards the poolhouse. He couldn't know how she yearned to understand him, to forgive, to express her love. Bottled up like this, all her best feelings seemed to turn back on themselves, bringing bitterness to her heart where love longed to blossom.
'Tuck into this, then, m'dear. And don't tell me you're on a diet. I know you young things with your fads.' Henry turned to Paul. 'Rowanna's been dieting ever since I've known her. Even now,' he added significantly, handing Paul a piece of apple pie and cream even bigger than the chunk he'd handed to Shanna.
Tom was hovering hungrily near the dish. 'I keep on telling her to put on a bit of weight,' he joined in. 'Make my job easier!'
Shanna accidentally caught Paul's eye and she must have looked puzzled because he said, 'If you don't already know, Tom is Rowanna's masseur.'
'Oh.' Shanna couldn't think of anything else to say.
Tom gave her body, now covered up under a dress, an assessing glance. 'You seem in good shape. But I'm always touting for custom.' He bit into a piece of pie, cream dribbling down his chin. 'This is a fair old pie, Henry,' he said, changing the subject when he saw the expression on Paul's face. 'My mother couldn't make better.'
'I like to see people eat,' remarked Henry, looking round the kitchen with satisfaction and ignoring Paul's scowl.
'Open that restaurant you're always talking about,' Paul suggested, between mouthfuls. He appeared to regain his good humour and started to chat to Henry and Tom, treating Shanna neutrally now in contrast to that blazing episode by the pool. She felt left out. They all seemed so close, a community. Rowanna was part of this. She was the outsider.
Henry was expatiating on the problems of opening a restaurant at his age.
'We all know you'll do it. It's simply a question of when,' observed Paul when he got the chance. He eyed Henry fondly. 'Go on, admit it. You'd like nothing better.'
'Who'd cook for you then, though, Paul? I hate to think of you living on dried fish.'
'I expect I'd get by.'
Shanna wondered why his wife didn't cook for him, as she seemed to do nothing much.
'I'd miss you, Henry, old man. But I guess I'll be moving on myself soon,' Tom contributed.
Paul was at once alert. 'Does Rowanna know?'
'Look, I did say six months. I've been here a year.'
Paul didn't argue.
As if something had been spoken aloud, Tom went on, 'If you could only get her to move to the mainland, I'd stick around indefinitely. Hell's bells, man, you know I would. But I can't take another winter here. She knows. I've told her.'
'And still she won't move?'
'Won't, can't.'
Shanna was surprised that Tom seemed to know more about Rowanna's intentions than Paul did. 'Why doesn't she like the mainland?' she asked cautiously.
'Didn't you know?' It was Tom. 'She's agoraphobic. At least, that's the name the experts put to it. There's more, though --'
'Shanna, I'm going to try to get a weather forecast from the coastguard,' Paul interrupted. 'If it's any good, I'll fly you back to Malaga. Have you tried ringing to change your flight yet?'
Shanna blinked. From talk about his wife he had deliberately changed the subject. Why?
'Well?' he demanded when she was slow to reply.
She shook her head. 'Not yet. I wasn't sure what the situation was --'
'This gale will go on for maybe another couple of days. You won't get back by boat. I'll have to take you --'
'I thought you were going to Paris.'
He shrugged but didn't explain. Obviously he had changed his plans yet again.
It was early evening when the three of them thanked Henry for his hospitality and, failing to persuade him to come with them, strolled off over the cliff path.
'Am I going to meet your wife?' asked Shanna as the white walls of ^Paul's villa came into sight.
'I don't think so.' Paul halted at the gate and Tom, wishing her a pleasant evening, went inside.
Feeling slighted by Paul's reply, Shanna turned to go.
'Want me to walk back with you?' he asked.
'I think I can manage,' she replied. Her heart was washed clean of emotion. He looked heart-rendingly desirable standing by the gate with his hand on the latch, she had to restrain herself from running to his arms. Of course she could understand now how difficult it must be to be tied to someone who would never leave the island. But that should make him all the more determined never to hurt her in any other way.
With a bleak expression, she managed to tear her glance away.
'I have to eat here tonight,' he told her.
'It's all right. I understand.'
'Believe me, Shanna, you haven't the first idea. Maybe I'll come over later?'
'No, don't. Not on my account.' Explanations would simply make matters worse when they both knew how they felt about each other.
'I'll come on my own account, then. I need to talk.'
A voice from within called his name. Suddenly feeling like an outsider again, Shanna swivelled and began to hurry back alone across the cliffs.
CHAPTER NINE
Feeling trapped at the Villa Mimosa, Shanna could only sit and wait for Paul's eventual arrival. She hoped and prayed he would have second thoughts about coming over, but even so her ears were pricked for the sound of footsteps outside on the terrace. In fact, she saw him before she heard him. Chancing to look up from her place beside the open french window, she saw a tall figure in white striding in through the gate. It was twilight. The sky behind him was streaked in a glory of crimson and purple.
She watched covertly from behind the pages of a magazine she was pretending to read, only looking up with a simulated start of surprise when he stood in the doorway looking in at her.
'I'm glad you're here,' he greeted her after a short pause in which she could plainly hear the sound of her own heartbeats.
'Where else would I be?' she came back, raising her chin. 'I'm a virtual prisoner here.'
'God forbid that any of our guests should feel like prisoners,' he replied easily, stepping over the threshold.
She had arranged it so that he had no option but to take a seat across the room. She leaned back in the safety of her armchair and waited for him to go on.
'Aren't you satisfied with the hospitality at the Villa Mimosa?' he murmured, raising his eyebrows. 'I hope Katerina has been looking after you properly --'
'I suppose you have a lot of guests,' she cut in, certain he had no doubts whatsoever about Katerina's efficiency in running the place and making everyone feel welcome.
'Not as many as I would like,' he remarked, ignoring her baleful stare and intended double meaning with an easy smile.
'It must be convenient, having this place,' she went on, smiling in her turn, 'what with your wife living so far away on the other side. But aren't you ever worried she might stroll over one evening—and catch you with one of your "guests"?'
He gave her a bleak look, the smile fading from his lips, eyes losing their glitter of fun, turning darker, colder. 'One,' he dragged out at last, 'I don't have the sort of "guests" you're suggesting—not often, anyway, and when I do Rowanna knows all about them. And two,' he went on, 'if she would walk over I'd be overjoyed.'
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