'Good morning to you, Mr. Hardiman,' Suzanne said. 'I hope we are not interrupting your work.'
'No trouble, Miss Suzanne. No trouble. Glad to have you back.' Hardiman sidled towards the door. 'Good to see you again, Mr. Matthew. Good to see you again.' He closed the door behind himself.
'Sit down,' Robert shouted. 'Sit down, the pair of you.'
Suzanne had already taken a chair immediately before the desk. Now she removed her hat, and fanned herself. Her hair scattered lightly before the self-created breeze. Matt sat beside her. His brain was in a whirl. It had, indeed, been in a whirl since leaving the Formidable. Or perhaps, he was beginning to think, it had been in a whirl for too long before that. Now he only knew that he was entirely at Suzanne's mercy. But that was a pointless exercise. She had come on deck to work the gun beside him. She had made herself into a deathless legend. It was not likely that she would ever desert him now. So then, where did that leave him?
Robert was sifting papers, not looking at them, but with some embarrassment. 'Now,' he said. 'I have penned a letter to Dirk which I have not yet despatched, because I deemed it best that you should yourself carry it, Sue. In it I have done my best to explain the situation, have offered him my most profound apologies for what has happened, and have begged him to take you back as my friend, and as the gentleman I know he is, and because he loves you, which I know he does. I have no doubt at all that when he sees you again, when he holds you once again in his arms, and when you add your entreaties to my own, he will be prepared to forgive you this escapade, and who knows, in time you may even regain your previous felicity. Of course there is absolutely no hope of your ever being accepted in polite society again, at least, not for many, many years. But there it is. You will at least have a husband. Now, then, as for you, you young scoundrel...'
‘I beg your pardon,' Suzanne said. 'But we have not finished talking about me, and it is useless discussing Matt until that is done.'
'What?' Robert demanded. 'What? I am afraid it would be very unwise of either of you ever to attempt to see each other again. Scandals of this nature are only mended by strict behaviour and confidence in the ability of the human race to forget.'
'Robert, sometimes you are capable of playing the absolute fool,' Suzanne said, without anger.
'What? What did you say?'
'Do you seriously suppose I intend to return to Dirk Huys? Even supposing I did not love Matt, and had acted out of some whim, do you possibly imagine that I could go back to my husband, and experience all the continued humiliations which would be heaped upon me, as well, no doubt, as the physical mistreatment? I should have to be demented.'
'By God,' Robert said. 'By God.'
'But as it happens,' Suzanne continued, speaking very quietly and very clearly, 'I am in love with Matt. And I propose to continue being in love with him. I never loved Dirk, as you well know. You elected that I should marry your friend, and I was not then twenty-one years of age. I am now twenty-three, and I have had three years of living with that great boring hulk of a man. I think I have obeyed you long enough.'
'By God.' Robert stared at Matt in absolute consternation.
'So you see,' Suzanne continued, 'wherever Matt goes, whatever Matt does, I shall also go and do. And whatever befalls him, shall undoubtedly befall me also.' She held up her hand as Robert would have exploded again. 'And before you have a seizure, let me remind you, and Matt, that he also is now more than twenty-one years of age, and entitled to form his own life. He has for too long been concerned with your opinions.'
'By God,' Robert said. 'By God. That any man can be so unfortunate ...'
'As to be handicapped by two whores as sisters, you were no doubt going to say,' Suzanne interrupted. 'I think you are totally wrong. I think that, in forcing me to marry Dirk, you were then making me act the whore. I have come to my senses.'
'Senses,' Robert bellowed. 'Senses? By God. By God. And suppose I cut you both off without a shilling, turn you from my door, leave you to starve upon the streets of Kingston?'
'Then at least we shall starve in each other's arms,' Suzanne said. 'Unless Matt has some better suggestion.'
Certainly she had fought alone long enough; but Matt's mind was once again reeling. That Sue, dearest, darling, magnificent Sue, should be willing to sacrifice all for him, seemed an utterly incomprehensible concept.
'Well?' Robert demanded.
'I am not entirely bereft of wits or accomplishments,' Matt said. 'Why, I doubt not that your friend George Rodney would be happy enough to have me back. Certainly we could find refuge with Louis.'
Now why, he wondered, did Suzanne suddenly frown.
'Oh, aye, Corbeau,' Robert said. 'You'd do well to be wary of that gentleman, the pair of you. Oh, he is a gentleman, do not mistake me on that. But the French planters, well, and especially those of St. Domingue, have a different attitude to life than us. Not that it is relevant. Have you considered what you will do when Dirk comes looking for you, pistol in hand? As he most certainly will once this accursed war is done. He could take the mole from your cheek without bruising the flesh.'
'Then I shall have to practise,' Matt said quietly.
'By God,' Robert said again. 'By God.' He got up, turned his back on them, and stared out of the window.
'No doubt you would like us to take our leave,' Suzanne said.
'And what of the cause of all this misfortune?' Robert asked, still not looking at them. 'As I recall the matter, when last we met, Matthew, your heart was irretrievably gone in favour of a nigger.'
Matt felt his cheeks burning, and looked at Suzanne. But both her face and her eyes were quite cool, as she returned his gaze.
'Well?' Robert demanded.
Matt licked his lips. ‘I doubt Dirk, were he standing here with a loaded weapon, could have done quite so much pain to me,' he said. 'My honour demands that I find Gislane, Robert. Be sure that I shall do so. Nevis is still only a few days' sail.'
'Your honour? By God. Nevis, by God. And what of the dishonour you have inflicted upon Sue?'
'I love her as she loves me,' Matt said. 'I shall remain by her side for the rest of my life, if she will but have me. No doubt you were right, and my affection for Gislane was no more than infatuation, but...'
'But now you would set up a menage a trois? Oh, very French you are suddenly become. What do you say to that, Sue?'
'I well understand Matt's predicament, Robert. I also respect his desire to behave in an honourable fashion.'
'Bah. Words. Words, by God. I wonder I do not take my whip to the pair of you, indeed I do.'
'Because I would twist it from your hands and break it over your head,' Matt said, his embarrassment taking refuge in a sudden anger.
'By God,' Robert said, in total wonder.
Suzanne smiled, for the first time that morning.
Matt waited.
Robert filled his lungs with air, and allowed them to explode. 'What a family to be cursed with,' he remarked.
'I do not think we are any different to any other members of the family,' Suzanne said. ‘I think we Hiltons, and the Warners as well, perhaps have a truer sense of values than ordinary folk.'
‘Values, by God. Values.' Robert sat down again, and leaned across his desk. 'Now you listen to me. Two whores and a scoundrel, by God, are my lot, no doubt decided by God to punish my pride. But as you are my lot, by God, I must make the best of it. Sue, you are determined upon this course?'
'I have made that plain, I think.'
'Aye. So you have. Then you shall take ship to Green Grove, tomorrow.' He banged the desk as she would have protested. 'Matt will go with you. God alone knows what Antigua society will make of it, but at least they are less in numbers than Jamaican society. You will live there as you choose, for three years. I wish you to swear me that. Three years, never leaving that island.'
'But...' Matt began.
'You'll hear me out, by God. In that time, I will accomplish what I can with Dirk, and attempt to
persuade him to divorce Sue. I cannot see why he should not, as she has utterly disgraced him. Then you may marry, and live honourably at least in the sight of God. Three years, Matt. Then we'll talk about the future. By God, boy, you'd be a fool as well as a blackguard to refuse me that.'
Matt glanced at Suzanne. Now at last the pink was gathering in her cheeks. But she would not attempt to persuade him either way.
'Three years,' he said, half to himself. Oh, Robert was cunning enough. After three more years, Gislane would be nothing but a memory. Could be nothing but a memory. And he would be then an utter scoundrel. But he would have Suzanne, and would be able to keep her, honourably, and in comfort. Christ, he thought, what a tangled world we can create by but a single careless moment. Had I not confided in Georgiana that October afternoon ...
Suzanne was still staring at him. He reached across to take her hand. 'I never doubted that blood was thicker than your notions of propriety,' he said. 'And I doubt that three years will be long enough, for Sue and me to honeymoon.'
'Cricket? What is this cricket?' asked Louis Corbeau.
Georgiana had reined her horse on the edge of the racecourse, and now she clucked her tongue impatiently. 'Oh, really, Louis. It is an utterly foolish game, played with sticks and a ball.'
'Tennis,' Corbeau suggested. 'We call it tennis.'
'No you do not,' she insisted. 'We also play at tennis. This is altogether different, and even less intelligent. But do we have to talk about Matt all the time?'
'And should I not? Were he not the man he is, I would not be the man I am.' He smiled as he spoke; when she was angry, or even pretending to be angry, she was twice as pretty as when her rather waspish features were in repose. It was a thousand pities that she was the unattached one, while her truly lovely sister - lovely in every way, he had no doubt at all - was hopelessly compromised. But yet, this girl promised much, in her laughter, in her flights of humour, in the traces of utter delight his practised eye could discern beneath the thin muslin.
'And that is probably the only good deed he has ever accomplished,' Georgiana agreed, walking her horse over the track. 'You will be attending the races, Louis?'
'But of course, Miss Georgiana. I have no choice, as I am your prisoner.'
'Now there's an attractive thought,' she said, and her ill-humour disappeared into one of her beguiling laughs.
Because, he thought, it was impossible not to be continually amazed at the workings of fate. It had never occurred to him to plan his life before, or even for one moment to consider the future further than a day ahead. He was thirty-one, and for the first twenty-five years of his life he had pursued nothing more important than pleasure, whether in Cap Francois or in Paris or in Fort Royal. The death of dear Papa six years ago had been no more than an interlude of sorrow; the plantations had been so well organized they had required nothing more than the assurance that there remained a Corbeau's hand on the whip to continue as prosperous as ever in the past. Even the Great Storm which had bankrupted so many lesser men had been no more than an irritation to him. He had elected to spend a year in Martinique entirely because it had occurred to him that it might be a good idea to get married, partly to preserve the name and heritage, of course, and partly because of what had happened to Helene. He had lost his temper, as he often did when drunk, and hit her, and she had cracked her skull open.
He regretted it. Helene had been, if not beautiful, certainly pretty, and most accomplished at her art, while one would hardly have supposed she was very nearly half black - unlike so many of his friends he had never been able to discover anything attractive in a pure Negress, however much he might occasionally desire their acknowledged ability in love-making. So Martinique had had an ulterior motive in beckoning him, for he remembered how when he had been a boy he had played with Rose Tascher de la Pagerie; even then she had been the most beautiful creature he had ever met. He had not doubted that as a woman she would be twice as desirable.
And there his ambition had encountered its very first check. Rose Tascher had no longer been in Martinique. She had married, above herself indeed, for de la Pagerie had been of little account, and in fact he had been one of those bankrupted by the storm. But Rose had become the wife of young de Beauharnais, son of the governor general and an officer in the army, and had departed for Paris. He had almost followed, but changed his mind. Louis Corbeau was no chaser after other men's wives; he desired only possession, when he desired. To share was quite beyond his nature, a fault he well recognized in himself, except that he preferred to regard it as a virtue.
So then, throwing himself into the reconstruction of the Trois Islets' plantation with all his energy, while feeling utterly disheartened, it had seemed no more than a logical, lime-consuming adventure to go to war, when de Grasse and de Bouille had summoned the youth of the Indies to their colours. A war which had ended so suddenly and so abruptly in a shark-infested ocean, from where he had been transplanted, in a quite miraculous fashion, to this stronghold of the plantocracy.
He was envious, certainly. Planting was in his blood. He knew no other way of life. And Rio Blanco was several times the size even of Hilltop; there was more land to be had in the vastness of St. Domingue. But was Rio Blanco as efficiently run? That he doubted. His rides with Georgiana had been quite a revelation. Here was concentrated wealth, being continually reconcentrated. And fate had chosen to plant him in the very centre of it. There was an interesting consideration. Especially as fate had also elected to plant an Eve in her garden of Eden with him. And also a serpent? He had not been able to discern one, as yet.
'You are very thoughtful.' Once again Georgiana reined her horse. 'You have been unusually thoughtful ever since Matt and Sue departed.'
'Perhaps I worry for them. I regard them both as my benefactors, you know. And with all these privateers...'
'Oh, rubbish. Robert says the war will be over this time next year. They are already discussing peace.'
'Oh, indeed, Miss Georgiana. But who is to convince the privateers of that?'
She glanced at him, and her tongue, red and wet, showed between her teeth for just a moment in a gesture which was peculiarly her own. ‘I don't believe you are thinking of them at all, Louis. I believe you are thinking of me.'
He had been warned that she was an uncommonly direct young woman. 'Would that displease you?'
She guided her horse into the paddock beside the stand, and slipped from the saddle. 'On the contrary, sir. It would displease me, intensely, were you not thinking of me. Am I not beautiful?'
He joined her on the ground. 'Indeed you are.'
She pouted at him. 'But you think Sue is prettier? Don't trouble to deny it. Everyone thinks Sue is prettier. And do you know what is so amusing? They think Sue is much nicer, too. They think Sue is a poor lovesick fool who has been led astray, just as they think I am a whore. But really she is the whore, running away after her own cousin. Wouldn't you say?'
She was very close, her face upturned towards him, no longer shaded by the broad-brimmed hat. And they were alone in the paddock, half a mile from the house or the village, on a still, hot morning; he could watch beads of sweat forming on her upper lip, and had the strangest desire to kiss them away. But then, this girl continually aroused strange desires in him. As perhaps she intended to do. He would really be unwise to fall into any trap she might be laying unless he was sure that he had dug the deeper hole.
'I think,' he said, 'that you are jealous because it is she Matt has taken off with.'
Her frown was genuine, he was sure. 'Me? Jealous of that ... that lout? Oh, really, Louis, if you knew...'
'Why do you hate him? Why don't you tell me?'
'I absolutely refuse to discuss him for one moment longer.' She turned away with a flounce, started up the steps to the lowest tier of the stand, and missed her step. She gave a little shriek and fell backwards, but the whole thing had been so patently planned that he was ready for her, and caught her round the thighs, discovering to his
delight that his suspicions were no more than justified, and she wore but a single shift beneath her gown. His fingers slipped on the flesh beneath, and then lodged under her breast; he could feel each rib.
She turned, in his arms, dragging her nipples across his palms. 'Upstairs,' she whispered. 'There is a couch.'
He tightened his grip and swept her from the ground, started up the steps, while her arms went round his neck and she kissed him on the mouth again and again, licking his lips, his nose, his eyes, his chin, seeming to count his teeth. She was utterly abandoned, and gurgled with delight, as she was a delight to hold. So then, he thought, as he emerged on to the floor level, I have after all fallen into her trap. Or has she fallen into mine?
And does it matter? She is Suzanne's sister. And Suzanne is unavailable. Presently. Pie wondered how long it would take that gorgeous creature to grow tired of that over-solemn little boy.
His knees hit the couch before he realized how close it was, and he fell forward. Georgiana gave a little shriek of pleasure and landed on her back, and seemed to bounce back into his arms as he sat down. Her skirt rode up, and his hands, starting at her ankles, and sliding past the leather of her boots, were already touching the sweat-damp warmth of her flesh.
'Oh, God,' she whispered. 'Oh, God, Oh, Louis, how I have waited ...' her own hands came down to seize him and fumble at his belt, as she then guided him to his goal, arching her body and rolling her tongue round and round her lips, seizing his mouth with hers and forcing her tongue into it until she filled every millimetre of space, throwing her legs round his thighs to hold him closer, tearing at his shirt with her nails, and ripping through the material to scratch his back, and then uttering another little shriek, and this time the pleasure was mingled with pain. Then it was too late for him; he was imprisoned and could not have withdrawn, except to thrust again, had he been commanded at gunpoint. But even as his body sagged on to hers, and he felt her legs relaxing to fall beside him, and her head lolled backwards to allow her mouth to flop open, and her eyes drooped half-shut, although she continued to stare at him with an almost frightening intensity, the alarm bells were jangling in his brain.
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