A Durable Fire

by Robyn Donald

  It didn’t help that she was not sleeping. Not even make-up could hide the hollows in her cheeks or the indefinable air of weariness that clung to her. But she would not give in. If she couldn’t get a job in an office then there were other things she could do, working in a shop, perhaps.

  During the day she managed to ignore her grief, but at night she twisted in her narrow bed, her too-active brain recalling every time Kyle had touched her, every time his eyes had rested on her. Oh, she hated him, hated him and loved him, and she was eating her heart out for him.

  After ten days or so she had some luck.

  ‘It sounds ideal,’ she said, trying to summon up some eagerness. ‘In a lawyer’s office?’

  ‘Yes.’ The woman at the agency gave her a strange look. ‘Here’s the address.’

  It was a suite of offices on the thirtieth floor of one of Brisbane’s modern buildings, very opulent, very hushed. But when the door opened into the interview room the man behind the desk was the man who had befriended her on the plane.

  ‘Oh!’ she gasped, sudden colour flooding her skin. ‘Oh, it’s you!’

  He smiled, the shrewd, kind eyes noting her thinness, the shadows beneath her eyes and the tightness around her mouth. She had the impression that he could read everything that had happened, all the disappointments that had sapped her spirit. Her hands jerked in an involuntary movement, defensive, wary.

  ‘Was this a set-up?’ she asked.

  He nodded, but as she made a blundering movement towards the door said quietly, ‘Sit down, Arminel. I promise you that I have no evil intentions towards you.’ And when she hesitated, he smiled, and she could see the tiredness behind it. ‘Sit down, you silly child.’

  The charm was there, the kind of gentleness that only the very strong possess. Numbly she sat down, her head lowered, her fingers nervously twisting the clasp on her bag while she waited for him to tell her why he had gone to all this trouble to meet her again.

  ‘I should have realised that you wouldn’t stay in the hotel a minute longer than necessary,’ he began. ‘I’ve had the devil’s own job to trace you, and finally had to fall back on this. Do you realise that I’ve already interviewed two women for this non-existent position?’

  Without raising her head she asked, ‘Why? Why did you want to keep in touch with me? On the plane you said we’d never see each other again.’

  ‘When I said that I intended it to be the truth,’ he said calmly. ‘Before I explain, have you heard from Kyle Beringer?’

  The colour rushed from her cheeks, leaving her like a pale flower, broken in the wind. ‘No,’ she whispered, too tired to feel anything more than pain.

  ‘I sent him a telegram purportedly from you, communicating your safe arrival,’ he said with cool deliberation.

  Her head jerked upright on the slender neck. Quick reviving anger lit the depths of her eyes. ‘How dare you!’ she choked, springing to her feet in a swift motion. ‘Just who do you think you are! I—you had no right to do such a thing, poking your nose into my business! Just who are you?’

  ‘That can wait,’ he told her without emotion. ‘Are you quite sure there’s no hope? He’s not likely to come haring across the Tasman after you when he’s had a taste of life without you?’

  It seemed easier to answer him. ‘No,’ she said, her mouth twisting. ‘I told you, he threw me out.’

  ‘The way you told it, he’s in love with you.’

  ‘No.’ Wearily she shook her head. ‘He hates me.’

  ‘Sometimes the two go together.’ But when she shook her head again he went on in a softer tone, ‘Well, all right, but even if he hates you he must know there’s the possibility of a child. Surely he wouldn’t just abandon you.’

  ‘He thought—he probably assumed that I took care of that,’ she said with painful candour. ‘He thought that—that I’d slept with Rhys. Anyway, there’s no possibility now.’ She lifted her head, met without flinching eyes which were suddenly very hard and piercing. ‘Not that it would have made any difference. You don’t know Kyle. Even if he does—did—love me, there’s no way that he would let me set foot on the station again. I’m not suitable material for a Beringer wife. And there’s nothing anyone could do to make him change his mind.’ She looked down at the hands that were clenched in front of her body and lifted them, joined together in a parody of prayer. ‘Do you think I didn’t try?’

  ‘I see.’ And if the compression of his mouth was anything to go by he did indeed see, and didn’t like what his imagination visualised. Well, she didn’t like to recall such humiliation either, but it had one good result. Never again was she going to allow herself to get in such a position. She had humbled herself for the last time.

  But she was tired, so tired that she felt as though nothing would ever be right again.

  ‘I think that had he wanted to change his mind he’d have contacted you by now,’ he said thoughtfully. ‘I’ve had the hotel checked and there’s been nothing. What do you think I was doing in New Zealand, Arminel?’

  She collapsed into the chair again. ‘I don’t know,’ she said, exhaustion robbing her voice of colour and vitality.

  ‘I’d been to see a doctor in Auckland. After a battery of tests he confirmed a diagnosis I’d already heard here.’ He spoke dispassionately, as though discussing a person neither known nor liked much. ‘A diagnosis which says that I have a degenerative disease which is going to kill me in three or four years.’

  Appalled, her horror dilating her eyes, she whispered, ‘I’m so sorry, so sorry,’ then fell silent, for in the face of his lack of emotion hers seemed excessive.

  ‘I’ve had some months to live with it,’ he said indifferently, though he was watching her keenly. ‘And I’ve had a good life. There is only one thing that I regret. I have no children.’ A deliberate pause, his eyes still holding hers, before he finished, ‘So will you marry me, Arminel, and give me a son or a daughter?’

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  ‘Felice, Felice—where are you, darling?’

  The child laughed, bounding out from behind a clump of banana palms, her head tipped back as she looked up into her mother’s face.

  Arminel’s heart contracted. She looked so like Dan, this daughter of his, with the same strong features and wide mouth; the same strong will, too, her mother thought wryly as she picked her up and buried her face in the amber curls.

  Although only just four, Felice was already making it quite clear that she was very much a personality in her own right.

  ‘Have you found her?’ That was Karen, hot in the Fijian sun, her round face brown and vital.

  ‘She was hiding down in the banana grove.’

  Karen grinned at Felice’s mischievous glance over her mother’s shoulder. ‘Baggage,’ she said affectionately, and tweaked a curl. ‘Time for your sleep, sweetie. Are you going to let Auntie Karen sing you a lullaby?’

  ‘Ten green bottles?’ Felice asked cunningly.

  Karen laughed even as she pulled a face. ‘Oh, very well, even though it’s far too long. Come on, brat.’

  Ten minutes later she came out and flopped on to a lounger beneath the shade of a corallita vine. ‘Sound asleep,’ she told Arminel. ‘Gosh, she’s a real ball of fire. All that energy!’

  ‘Like her father,’ Arminel said softly.

  Karen looked across at her, her eyes considering. Three years as Dan Evans’ wife and two as his widow hadn’t made much difference to Arminel apart from a surface gloss which was the product of his great wealth. The woman who lay back beside the swimming pool was much the same as the girl who had grown up with Karen in the home. Stronger, less ebullient, her natural reserve had intensified so that even those who whispered that she had married for money and position didn’t dare to say so to her face. Grafted on to the disturbing beauty was dignity and a poise earned by self-confidence.

  ‘You still miss him, don’t you,’ said Karen. Arminel nodded. ‘Oh yes, every day.’

  ‘Is that why you show no i
nterest in any other man? And don’t answer that if you don’t want to.’

  Even after all these years it hurt. Strange, for she had been so sure that the violence of the emotion must lead to its early death. But Kyle Beringer’s image still prevented any other man from taking his place in her heart.

  ‘No,’ Arminel said quietly. ‘Most of the men who want me come with dollar signs in their eyes.’

  ‘Oh, rubbish! You know, you’ve got a fixation about the money. If you can believe that I like you for yourself, why be such a cynic about men?’ Karen demanded with the robust common sense which made Arminel so fond of her.

  ‘My dear, you were my friend before I married a millionaire. You are about the only person I trust completely to have my interests at heart.’

  ‘Truly?’ Karen was horrified. ‘But what about all the advisers who watch over you so carefully? Dan must have trusted them to care for you?’

  ‘So much so that he made sure they all watch each other and I watch them,’ Arminel informed her drily. ‘Dan had no illusions, believe me. He did his best for me and for Felice, but he would be the first to admit that the only certainty in this life is death.’

  Karen’s dark curls gleamed when she nodded. Her three years as Arminel’s social secretary and companion meant that she had some idea of her employer’s financial status but none of the ramifications of the trust which controlled her income.

  Aloud she asked, ‘Why did you marry him, Arminel? I know it wasn’t the money.’

  Arminel sighed. ‘I—well, I suppose it was pity,’ she said quietly. ‘He told me about his condition and that he wanted a child.’ She smiled with irony. ‘I didn’t, of course, realise how determined he was, or how ruthless. He quite deliberately played on my compassion. And I was at a—at a low ebb just then. He was kind, so kind when I needed kindness that I found myself married before I knew where I was.’

  ‘He was an odd mixture, wasn’t he?’ Karen remarked, remembering.

  Odd? No, Dan Evans just knew what he wanted and let nothing stand in his way, not even his approaching death. Arminel realised now, as she had not then, how skilfully he had played on her compassion and her weary desolation to pressure her into marrying him. It was not until some months later that she realised that he loved her with the desperate anguished love of a young man. Not that it would have made any difference to her decision. She would have still married him, forced into it by her intolerable need for someone to love her. He had been a gentle, considerate husband and lover, using his immense expertise to overcome her initial shyness and tension, but after Felice’s birth his illness had prevented him from being a lover to her.

  Secretly she had been unable to prevent herself from feeling a slight relief; if Dan knew of it he gave no indication but continued calm and good-humoured until his heart stopped one day as he was being prepared for bed.

  Arminel had mourned him sincerely and long, emerging from her grief to discover that she was a very rich widow and therefore immensely eligible.

  Not that any of the suitors who flocked to her side received any encouragement. Somewhat to the surprise of those cynics who assumed that they knew why she had married Dan, she neither took a lover nor showed any interest in remarriage.

  ‘Was he disappointed that Felice was a girl?’ Karen asked.

  ‘Not in the least,’ Arminel grinned. ‘He took one look at her and laughed and said, “My God, I hope she’s as tough as she looks!” and loved her.’

  ‘Why don’t you want to marry again? And don’t give me any rubbish about them being after your money, because you know that Guy Cooper for one is besotted with you, and has more than enough money of his own to care about yours. And he’s not the only one. You’re absolutely beautiful, you always have been; even at the home we used to have trouble with boys. If I looked like you I’d have a ball, but you almost seem frightened of your face.’

  Astute of Karen. ‘Looks aren’t everything,’ Arminel returned vaguely. ‘And I don’t want another man. I’m perfectly happy the way I am.’

  Lies, of course. Five years ago she had fallen in love with Kyle Beringer and she was still in love with him, so much so that his face haunted her dreams and no day went past that she didn’t long for him with an emotion that was physical in its intensity.

  Five years! Apart from the patient Griselda of legend she must hold some sort of record, she thought grimly. Not the kind to get her into the Guinness Book of Records, but if they had a book of fools she’d be a certainty for inclusion!

  He was probably married by now, to Patrice Gribble or someone like her, someone sleek and sophisticated whose father had money and whose boarding school had concentrated on turning out young ladies, someone who had only had a job because life was dull without one. No doubt there were children, she thought, hugging the weapon of her thoughts to her breast, children who looked as much like Kyle as Felice looked like her father.

  Stupid, sudden tears formed little rainbows across her lashes. From somewhere one of the Fijians began to sing, just a few phrases in a deep voice before he went back to sleep. Here in this enchanted hideaway in the islands everyone, even the people who came here as visitors, believed devoutly in the siesta.

  Karen yawned. ‘Are you still going along to the Goudges’?’

  ‘We are still going,’ Arminel told her.

  ‘Oh, lord, must I? They’re too—too society for me.’ By which she meant that although perfectly pleasant Helen Goudge never let Karen forget that she was only in their charmed circle by virtue of her job.

  Arminel smiled heartlessly. ‘We did accept for both of us.’ Then she relented. ‘Well, I suppose I can produce a headache for you as it’s not dinner. Although I believe they’ve got a visitor. Male. And according to Asena the sort of man to make your legs shake.’

  ‘Asena is incorrigible,’ Karen said sleepily. ‘I mean, she’s got Samuela, who must be the handsomest man I’ve seen in some years, but that doesn’t stop her from eyeing every other man in the place, resident or visitor, up and down.’

  ‘When you’re married to someone who looks like Samuela you’ve got to keep them on their toes,’ Arminel told her.

  The sun rolled quietly across the sky in lazy tropical splendour while even the birds slept, in the breadfruit trees and in coconut palms and the canopy of the mango trees. No breeze cooled the long volcanic island which rose steeply to a ridge behind the wide flat area of the coconut plantation.

  Because he had seen its potential Dan had bought it years ago and set about developing it with skill and a loving care which made it something unique. Set within Fiji’s barrier reef, it was far enough from the main island to be isolated, close enough to make sure that life had no awkwardnesses.

  The people lived or stayed on it had been carefully chosen. Mostly very rich, they inhabited houses as varied as each owner, all set in acres of coconut palms and exquisite gardens. Each year Arminel came here to relax. It was a kind of pilgrimage, for Dan had loved it most of all of his houses.

  Now she slept while the sky blazed down and the sea murmured gently and the perfume of frangipani and ylang-ylang floated on the drowsy air.

  Later that evening she and a resigned Karen walked along the crushed coral path which led to the Goudges’ fantastic home.

  ‘Mind you, I’m only coming because of Asena’s man,’ Karen said cheerfully. ‘How do I look?’

  ‘Stunning!’ And indeed she did, her bronzed prettiness emphasised by the fine cotton caftan she wore in shades of rose and peach and gold.

  ‘While you, of course, look superb,’ Karen told her blithely. ‘White makes you look like a queen.’

  Arminel smiled. Her dress bore all of the hallmarks of expensive simplicity, a fine linen with a dirndl skirt and a little side-buttoning top that hid her waist, still as narrow as it had been before Felice came. Against the pristine clarity of the material her skin gleamed pale gold; she wore no jewellery apart from her gold wedding ring and small gold ear studs, but she had u
sed gold eye-shadow to emphasise her eyes and she wore her favourite perfume, ‘Ivoire’, its haunting scent evoking the mystery of the South Seas.

  ‘I wonder what Helen will wear?’ she wondered idly, not really caring.

  Karen snorted. ‘If the man’s as hunky as Asena says it will be something really startling.’

  Asena hadn’t exaggerated. Helen had pulled out all the stops, draping her long lovely legs in Capri pants in gold and black which she topped with a short tunic in scarlet silk. Around her neck she wore a barbaric necklace of gold and black and dangling from her ears were great gold leaves. Startling enough, but it was not she who made Arminel draw a deep, harsh breath and falter in her stride.

  Only for a moment, although her heart felt as though it was being squeezed in an iron fist. For it was Kyle who rose as Helen brought them out on to the wide terrace, and took her hand and said in a deep imperturbable voice,

  ‘You don’t need to introduce us, Helen, Arminel and I are old friends.’

  ‘Really?’ Helen’s eyes were not the only ones avid with curiosity. ‘Trust you, Arminel! How long have you known each other?’

  He lifted Arminel’s hand and kissed the back of it, the pale eyes coldly satisfied as they surveyed her pinched face.

  ‘We met five years ago,’ Arminel said huskily while her fingers crooked into claws.

  ‘You must have been a baby.’

  Arminel smiled, saying deliberately, ‘It was just before I met Dan. I was nineteen.’

  And drew blood. His eyes narrowed, but not until she saw the blaze of some dark emotion before he released her hand and was being charming to Karen, quite deliberately dazzling her as he did Helen, using that virile masculine charisma to reduce them to willing slavery.

  By the time Tim Goudge had got them drinks and conversation became general once more Arminel had regained her poise, or the outward appearance of it. Amazing what you could do even when you felt as though you had been hit between the eyes with a hammer. Only the tiniest catspaw across the surface of her drink revealed that her hand was trembling, and under the cloak of self-command she was in such pain that it took all her strength not to cry out. Beneath the sun’s kiss her skin was pale and clammy. For a moment there she had thought that she was going to faint— when Kyle had lifted her hand to his mouth her whole body had shouted its recognition of his touch and he had known it. His eyes had glittered with a savage triumph.