'Then we could go on to that place in the hills,' Avril broke in. 'It's a gorgeous drive.'
Raoul gently disengaged himself, leaning forward to stub out his cheroot. do not think Melissa is feeling inclined to take any more drives with me. Mahmoud shall take you to the souk. The other can wait.'
'You can count me out,' Melissa stood up quickly,
don't feel inclined to drive anywhere at the moment.'
If they thought she was going to fawn on Raoul
Germont for favours they could think again, even if it meant voluntary incarceration within the house's limits, she thought, casting a baleful glance at the amulet above the doorway as she entered. That crack about not feeling inclined to drive with him
She did not revoke her decision, even when Amorel pattered along the terrace and looked in at the open grille, to probe into Melissa's refusal. She hovered a moment, studying Melissa with some anxiety.
'You're still furious with Raoul for bringing you here, aren't you? I'm sorry, it's all my fault. I—I wish he hadn't . ..' She stopped, then after a glance along the terrace came into the room.
'Melissa can I talk to you?'
'Of course.' Melissa looked puzzled, wondering what was causing the sudden change to anxiety in the younger girl. 'It isn't your fault. I don't blame ..
'No, it isn't that. It's just that I've got to talk to somebody and I ...' She took a deep breath and sat on the edge of the divan. `It's not easy to explain. It all seemed tremendous fun, at first, coming out here and the will and everything. We never dreamed that Grandfather would leave it to me, and with all these funny conditions . . . Raoul did tell you, didn't he?'
When Melissa nodded, she went on in the same nervous little voice, almost as though she was afraid of being overheard: 'Grandfather—my English one—was furious. He didn't want me to come here at all, but I talked him round, and after he'd talked to his own solicitor and made enquiries he found it wouldn't be possible to upset the will, not unless I fulfilled the conditions and waited until I was twenty. After that he reckons no one could stop me doing what I liked with
it or living where I liked—and believe me, the old place at home could do with a shot in the arm.' A trace of flippancy came into Amorei's face. 'Ever seen a small and seedy stately home? In winter we put all the perishable furniture into the big drawing room because it's the least damp and we freeze in the room next to the kitchen until spring comes, and last year we had the front painted—no one sees the back.'
Melissa gave a sympathetic murmur, not sure where all this was leading, and said : 'These old houses bring a lot of problems.'
'It isn't that, though. When you came it made me realise how serious it is. At first it was a tremendous giggle, having Avril here and pretending to be each other, but when Raoul brought you here and forced you to stay I began to think of all the other angles. He's determined to make everything happen the way Grandfather wanted it. My making my home permanently here, and then . . .' She bit her lip and looked down. 'I'm not sure I want it to happen that way.'
'Yes,' Melissa sighed, 'it's difficult when one has two countries which are both home.'
No, you still don't understand. It's Raoul. You see, my grandfather used to write to me regularly all the time I was in England. He used to tease me that I'd come back to my proper home the moment I'd grown up, and then I'd stay forever, because Raoul would marry me.'
'Oh. Are you going to marry Raoul?'
`No, at least I don't think so.' Amorel got up restlessly. never took it seriously. I hadn't seen him since the last time he visited England when I was four
teen, and I hardly knew him. I didn't want to marry him—I'm half engaged to Larry Denton already—and I'm sure he didn't want to marry me. But there's something about Raoul. Do you know what I mean? When I'm with him I forget about Larry and feel like flirting, just to see how Raoul reacts.'
'And does he?' Melissa asked dryly.
`Nnot in the way Larry would. He just smiles and makes me feel like a little cousin.'
'You'll forget about it when this is all over.' Melissa smiled reassuringly. 'It's just with being here with him all the time and cut off from everyone else.'
suppose so.' Amorel still looked troubled. wish I knew what was going to happen. Sometimes I long to be home again, then I remember that this is my home as well, and I feel terribly torn. I mean, I couldn't stay here, could I?'
'If you married Raoul you'd have to.'
'But if I didn't ... I wish I knew what he was going to do. You see, I can't get married without his consent —unless I chuck it all up and go back to England. He mightn't let me marry Larry.'
Melissa shook her head. She was beginning to see that Amorel had her problems, but she still didn't see why Amorel should be so uncertain about her own state of heart. If she loved this Larry enough nothing, not even the redoubtable Raoul would stop her. It wouldn't stop me, Melissa reflected. She said lightly : `It'll work out. Don't worry. Nobody can make you marry anybody you don't want to marry, or live where you don't want to live.'
`No, you still don't understand, any more than your sister does,' the younger girl said sadly. 'It's easy to be
definite when you're looking on.'
'I'm sorry, I do understand,' Melissa said quickly. 'But I'm sure Raoul wouldn't try to stop you marrying this boy if you're really in love with him.'
'But that's just it. I'm not sure any more. That's what I'm trying to tell you. But you're just the same as Avril. She doesn't believe in love. She says you can fall for any man provided he's attractive enough and strikes the right spark. She says it's just physical magnetism that makes you fall for a man, and then you get used to each other and it all wears off. And that's why I'm .
'You don't want to take any notice of Avril. She's always been the same. One of these days she'll fall with a bump and settle down, but for goodness' sake don't be influenced by her opinions.' Melissa regarded the younger girl for a moment, then smiled faintly. `Avril just wants to enjoy herself at present, but she doesn't mean half of the things she says.'
'Maybe not, but she's right about the attraction bit. That's what frightens me.' Amorel went slowly towards the terrace and the droop of her shoulders betrayed her youthful vulnerability. By the grille she stopped and turned round. 'You see, she's immune to Raoul, and so are you. But I'm not.'
Quick footsteps sounded outside and Amorel turned as the impatient, `Oh, there you are !' came from Avril. A moment later Avril was also framed against the light. She looked into the room.
'Still in retreat? Don't run away before we get back —you'll only get lost.'
won't.' Melissa returned the ironical wave and did not move until silence settled again. Then she
paced slowly across the room.
Her initial resentment of the prank Amorel had played that night of her arrival was forgotten now. It wasn't all fun being an heiress, especially one dependent on the authority of a man like Raoul Germont. For a moment her mouth curved wryly. So Amorel had discovered he was attractive, and the attractiveness wasn't quite cousinly, on her own part, anyway. Heaven help her if he decided to exert that attractiveness. A wiser girl than Amorel would resist any dangerous temptation to flirt. ..
The wry little smile flickered again; it was a relief to know she was immune ...
She tried to dismiss the matter and went in search of Meriam to request writing paper. This done, she settled down to write a long letter to her mother. It took more difficulty to compose than she had anticipated, and a small sense of impatience warred with her instinctive avoidance of pouring out the whole story. She was committed now to a certain course of action so she would have to go through with it. If her mother had the slightest suspicion that all was not as it appeared on the surface there would be hell to pay. She reread it critically, decided it convinced and allayed concern without giving anything away, and slipped it into an envelope, but did not seal it—Avril might want to add a note.
At that point Meriam arrived
to enquire if she wanted tea. There was still no sign of the others returning, doubtless they would be late, and she took the tray into the niche she had discovered in the riad. When she had succumbed to the temptation of the last of the delicious little honey and almond cakes she re
laxed back, listening to the soft deep drone of the
bees, and found herself thinking of Philippe St Clair.
She should let him know she had found Avril and that everything was all right—almost all right! she amended. He might be wondering what had happened to her, perhaps even making enquiries. And he'd been very kind, trying to help when she hadn't a single person to whom to turn. Yes, she should let him know ...
The letter had to be headed simply : Fez, Wednesday, as was her mother's, and followed by the same 'moving on tomorrow' excuse. Melissa's eyes hardened with a cynicism normally foreign to them; she was becoming quite adept at skating over veracity : she was also beginning to experience surprise at her own deviousness once she stopped to reflect on it. It was perfectly understandable when it was for the sake of her own sister, and even for a girl who had been a stranger until two days ago, but that she should lie for Raoul Germont ... She couldn't quite credit herself, or admit that his power had daunted her spirit ...
The sunset rose was deepening against the indigo lace shadows stretching from the arbour, telling her that night was very near as she slipped the letter into an envelope and sought in her pocket diary for the scribbled address of Philippe's office. She was capping her pen when the crunch of footsteps came and Raoul looked down at her.
'So this is where you hide.' He appeared to be in a good humour as he seated himself casually at her side. 'You've been alone here, ever since lunch?'
'Yes, but not hiding.' She sealed the envelope and reached for her bag, intending to drop it in beside the
one for her mother. But before she could do so he said sharply:
'Did I see right? That letter—it's to Philippe St Clair?'
'And what ff it is! Why shouldn't I write to Philippe?'
No reason at all—in normal circumstances.' His features had reverted to their cold arrogance. 'But these are not normal circumstances. I do not intend to encourage visitors, particularly amorous young Frenchmen. I must ask you to tell me the nature of the message you are sending him.'
'And if I don't?'
'You will leave me no choice but to resort to other methods.'
'Such as those of yesterday morning,' she flared. 'Methods you know I can't counter. How despicable can a man get? You're just a barbarian! Using sheer brute strength—' Her words died in a gasp as he seized her arm and swung her to face him.
'Can you not be reasonable? Must you always provoke?' His face came close and a thin gleam of gold sparked and swung at the open neck of his shirt. He gritted, am many things, but no one has called me despicable and failed to regret it.'
'You are despicable! Let me go!' With. her free hand she reached down to the two letters in the open bag. 'Here!' she cried wildly. 'Take them. Read them. Go on!' She thrust them at him, her face taut with scorn. 'Then perhaps you will take my word that they contain nothing to endanger your plan or your cousin's inheritance, or anything ! Then you will see why I call you despicable. Well,' her voice rose,
'you've got what you wanted. Why don't you read them?'
He stared down at her, his mouth a grim line as she sank down on the arbour seat and turned her head away.
Her limbs were suddenly dangerously weak and the iron pressure of his fingers still ached in her flesh. She heard the thin rustle of notepaper and knew a flash of bitter satisfaction that it was now almost too dark for him to discern the writing. Then the two letters were put on her lap, the seal on Philippe's still unbroken.
He said quietly, apologise. I misjudged you. But why do you antagonise me this way?'
'Why?' She straightened wearily. 'Ask a silly question ..
am not accustomed to such antagonism from a woman. Is it any wonder it evokes a similar response?'
No, not if you treat them like this.' Unconsciously her hands had gone to enfold her arms. 'Force tends to beget force.'
'As pain begets pain. I think I understand.' He reached across and withdrew her arm from its safeguarding clasp. remember now. You said you had knocked yourself on something, this morning.'
He pushed the blouse sleeve up from her wrist and touched the dark bruise shadows on the opalescent skin. 'Did I do this?'
'You did.' She wanted to snatch her arm from his grasp, before her strength was spent completely in the insidious power of this new gentleness, and knew it was too late. One more moment of rash misjudgement would tip her over the borderline of tears.
'But it is not the cause of your pain, I think. You
are bitter because you can't lash out with equal force to appease that anger of yours.'
'Do you expect me to submit tamely?'
He shot her a sharp look, his grasp warm and firm still about her wrist, then shook his head. `No, I think not. Submission in a woman can be extremely boring.'
'Because it doesn't appease your domineering instinct?'
No, because a submissive woman lacks spirit. Thus she is uninteresting.'
The riposte had flashed like lightning and he was smiling now, his white teeth glimmering in the shadowy planes of his mouth. She realised that the violet veil of the brief dusk had fallen almost unnoticed. Suddenly she was aware of its quality of isolation, and that it had enfolded her in a subtle intimacy with him.
She stirred uneasily, wondering if she imagined his touch becoming more insistent and the outline of him closer to her. She said, 'You can't have it both ways. I suppose you prefer to browbeat a woman into submission to your will.'
'Melissa, what strange ideas you have of me.'
It was the first time he had used her name, and its tones lingered like a caress. A tremor ran through her; the way he had spoken it had penetrated right through the barrier she was striving to maintain against him.
He added softly : 'If I desire a woman's submission I do not have to browbeat her into it. Believe me, there are far more pleasurable ways.'
Warning bells clamoured in Melissa's brain, too late with their message of escape. The essence of Raoul Germont was a tangible power stealing about her,
heightened unbearably by the warm heady stillness of encroaching night. She could well imagine the more pleasurable ways ... if a girl was foolish enough to fall for them ... She tried to keep her voice cool as she said: Tor you, no doubt. Now,' she strove to appear practical, 'it's getting quite late. I ...'
'Late? What does time matter?' He was on his feet, placing an escorting hand under her elbow. 'Come, I will show you our English garden.'
'Oh ... but I've already explored the gardens.' She hung back. 'They're all very beautiful, but ... it's dark now,' she faltered hopelessly.
'This is the best part of the day—and you have not explored this particular part of the garden.' He looked down at her, and that disturbing smile glimmered again. 'What's the matter? You are not afraid, are you?'
'Of course not !'
Chin high, she could do nothing but allow him to escort her along the winding path through the riad until they reached the house. They passed through a little passageway she had not known existed and emerged on the outer patio. A little way to the right there was a high wall and in it a small door shaped in the traditional keyhole curve. Raoul took a key from a small concealed niche low in the wall and inserted it in the lock. The door swung in soundlessly and he motioned her through.
After a hesitation she complied, standing like a small tremulous wraith in the darkness while he closed the door behind them. He did not immediately move to her side, and a moment later she knew why as a soft amber radiance glowed to life and played over his dark
chiselled features.
On each side of the door hung two old-fashioned coach lamps, and it was these which Raoul had lit. She saw the rose trellises, the rustic seat and crazy pa
ving, and smelled the scents of an English country garden at dusk. Roses, lavender, meadowsweet ... so potent as to bring a rush of nostalgia. She must have sighed or exclaimed, for he spoke at her shoulder, and there was a ring of irony in his voice :
'You are surprised to discover a small corner of your native land hidden in the domain of a barbarian?'
`No !' The low voiced protest was involuntary. She turned away, pride struggling with shame, knowing his apology deserved her own in return. 'You must understand. In moments of stress it is easy to say things one doesn't mean, and later regrets. But sometimes it is the only defence.'
Tor a woman—yes.' He moved slightly and leaves rustled softly in the darkness. 'But a woman has no need of the weapon of vituperation. Do you not know, Melissa, that woman's supreme strength lies in her weakness?'
She was silent, and it felt like weakness.
He said, 'It is her strongest weapon, and her greatest defence, if she chooses to use it that way.'
'Then it's failed for me, obviously.'
'Has it?'
His hands closed over her shoulders and the warm hard strength of him drew her back against him like a magnet. Melissa trembled. The spell of the enchanter coursed through her veins like wildfire, this enchanter whose magnetism she had sensed at the very first
moment of meeting. But not until this moment had she comprehended the extent of the force latent within herself; a treacherous force that fired every sense with the urge to respond to that dangerous magnetism.
She knew he was going to turn her within his arms, that she was going to be powerless to resist, that her mouth wanted to experience the seeking power of those firm arrogant lips already parted to claim ... She tried to make her limbs obey her, and she did not know now which she feared most—the man, or herself. Then she saw the thin glint of gold as he moved, and with fierce desperation she grasped at the small gold object that swung from a fine chain within the open neck of his shirt.
The house of the Amulet Page 9
