Captive Destiny

by Anne Mather

  Emma herself gave a little thought to what would happen on her return. Deliberately, she shut such thoughts out of her mind, knowing that divorce might be the only answer. But how could she divorce half a man? she asked herself, and knew she had no answer to give.

  Gilda had been kind about giving her the time off. It was not one of their busiest periods, and she insisted she could manage alone. As to Emma’s decision to go with Jordan, she had been curiously non-committal about that, and Emma couldn’t make up her mind whether this was due to dissention or discretion. The latter had never seemed one of Gilda’s strong points, and she had certainly not been enthusiastic when it was first suggested. But maybe she had noticed Emma’s pale cheeks and come to her own conclusions about their origins.

  Jordan’s secretary had telephoned the travel arrangements to her. She sounded young and super-efficient, and Emma guessed he never surrounded himself with inadequate people. The flight they were taking left London at half past one on Friday afternoon and arrived in Barbados soon after six o’clock, their time. The onward flight to Valentia was not to be undertaken until the following morning, and they were to spend the night at an hotel not far from the international airport. Jordan, his secretary said, had business which would keep him in London on Thursday night and therefore it was arranged that Emma should take the early morning train to the capital and make her own way to the airport. Jordan would meet her in the departure lounge of Terminal 3 before one o’clock. Her ticket, so that she could clear passport control, had been delivered to her by messenger, and it now reposed in its folder at the bottom of her handbag.

  Emma, absorbed with making the final arrangements for her journey, had determinedly thought no more about David’s accident and its subsequent revelations. She didn’t want to know any more about it, she had told herself fiercely, uncaring for the moment that something left un-aired can sometimes decay.

  But the night before she was due to leave, David made his final attempt to stop her from going, and she remembered what Jordan had said. Waiting until he paused in his recriminatory accusations, she asked him what Sandra had been doing when the car crashed.

  ‘What do you mean?’ To her surprise, David had turned pale, and his bony fingers closed round her wrist in a vice-like grip. ‘What have you heard? What’s Kyle been saying?’

  ‘Jordan?’ Emma frowned. ‘What could he say?’ Then, when her efforts to free herself did not succeed, she added: ‘Except that half the town knew of your affair with the girl. You didn’t tell me that!’

  David stared at her searchingly, and then let go her hand. ‘He’s lying,’ he declared shortly. ‘I was very—discreet!’

  ‘Discreet!’ Emma pressed her lips together. ‘Oh, David, you don’t know the meaning of the word. And as for Jordan lying—you’re well qualified to judge, being a liar yourself.’

  ‘For God’s sake!’ David scowled angrily. ‘Let it go, can’t you? Hell, if you’d never gone into the attic, you’d never have found the damn bag! Just remember that.’

  ‘But that wouldn’t have altered the fact that it was there,’ she protested bitterly. ‘Can’t you see that? If only you’d told me,..’

  ‘Oh, come on…’ David was scornful. ‘What would you have done if I’d confessed? Let me cry on your shoulder? No! You’d have walked out on me, just like Kyle walked out on you. And I wasn’t having that. I needed you—I still do. And God help me, you’ll never get a divorce so long as I’m alive. Don’t think you’re going to run to Jordan Kyle for sympathy, because you’re not!’

  Emma sighed. She had revealed that Stacey Albert was going with them in the hope of placating any jealousy on his part, but he sickened her with his crude assertions.

  ‘If,’ she said, ‘and I admit it’s unlikely, I should ever decide I want a divorce, you won’t be able to stop me,’ she declared, and then gasped in pain and revulsion as his hand thudded against the side of her face.

  ‘Don’t you ever say a thing like that to me again!’ he snapped savagely. ‘You’re my wife. Nothing can alter that. And what I have, I keep!’

  * * *

  The departure lounge of Terminal 3 was large and impersonal. Most people occupied their time by queueing for trays of tea or coffee, eating sandwiches they didn’t really want to calm their nerves or simply for something to do. Even on this frosty February morning it was a hive of activity, and Emma was glad of the anonymity. With her fur hat pulled down low over her ears, and a scarf hiding the lower part of her face, she was unrecognisable, and she huddled over her own cup of coffee with a feeling of cold isolation.

  Occasionally, a pair of male eyes was attracted by the silk curtain of hair that spilled over her shoulders or by the sooty lashes hiding her eyes, but mostly she felt people wondered why she should feel the cold so severely when the temperature in the departure lounge was easily sixty degrees.

  Getting to the airport had been no problem. Gilda had insisted on driving her to the station and seeing her on to the train, and apart from her initial horror at the sight of the swelling above Emma’s cheekbone, she had said nothing to disturb her. On the contrary, she had urged her to enjoy herself if it was at all possible, and to get some healthy colour into that pale face.

  David had not even been up when Emma had left the house, but she had made the effort to say goodbye to him, an effort which went unrewarded when he turned his face to the wall and wouldn’t speak to her. He didn’t even apologise for the ugly swelling around her eye, and she closed his door again with an awful sense of finality.

  At Euston, she transferred to the underground, taking the tube right out to Heathrow. It was a simple matter then of wheeling her luggage along the walkways to the international air terminal, and checking in at one of the British Airways desks. With her luggage disposed of, she was free to clear passport control and wait until the flight was called. Her ticket was first class, the first time in her life she could remember travelling so expensively, and she wondered whether she ought to offer Jordan the cost of her fare. To do so would just about clear her bank balance, but perhaps he expected her to. After all, several hundred pounds meant nothing to him, not when he could pay for her fare, his own, and no doubt for Stacey Albert’s as well.

  She glanced at her watch. Twelve-fifty, she acknowledged tensely. Ten minutes to one. The flight was likely to be called at any moment. A swift examination of the departure board supplied the information that theirs was indeed the next flight on the rota, all flights listed above it having already reached the ‘Now boarding’ or ‘Last Call’ frequencies.

  ‘Emma!’

  She looked up reluctantly to find Jordan standing beside the table, his brown leather coat unbuttoned to reveal the dark blue corded suit beneath. He was carrying a briefcase, and his light hair was dampened with what appeared to be rain. He was alone, and for a moment her heart raced with painful intensity, but then he drew out a chair and sat down beside her, adding lightly: ‘Stacey’s gone to the ladies’ room. Flying always affects her that way.’

  ‘Oh!’ Emma looked down into her coffee, willing him not to stare at her too closely, and with an impatient sigh he exclaimed:

  ‘What’s wrong? No last-minute hold-ups, were there? You found your way here without difficulty?’

  ‘Oh, yes. Yes,’ Emma nodded, her voice muffled in her scarf. ‘I—er—I took the tube.’

  ‘Fly the Tube, eh?’ he remarked dryly, quoting the current slogan British Rail were using to advertise this new method of getting out to the airport. ‘I bet you’re the only first class passenger that came that way.’

  He was trying to be casual, she knew that, to put her at her ease and remove the stiffness that had developed between them at their last meeting. But she couldn’t relax, and she was very much afraid he would put the wrong interpretation on her behaviour. But how could she show him her face and tell him that David had placed his final sign of disapproval upon her? It would be so humiliating. She could only hope he would be so involved with Stacey thr
oughout the journey that by the time he did notice her the swelling might have subsided.

  She heard him expel his breath rather harshly, and then, in a low angry voice, he said: ‘For heaven’s sake, why are you all wrapped up like that? It’s not cold in here. What are you trying to do? Avoid being recognised with me?’ And before she realised his intention, he had pulled the fur hat from her head and exposed the ugly contusion below and around her left eye.

  ‘Oh, God!’ His irreligious ejaculation contained both sympathy and anger in equal measures. ‘Emma…’

  Involuntarily, his hand was extended towards her, his fingers moving almost tenderly across the puffed and purple skin. His touch was a caress and they both knew it, and when his fingers moved to her lips, they parted automatically.

  ‘Ingram!’ he said, between clenched teeth. ‘I’ll kill him!

  His dark eyes probed hers with increasing intensity, and then, when she was lost to everything but the devastating intimacy of his gaze, a chair was pulled out between them, and a bright, artificial voice asked:

  ‘Is this a private party, or can anyone join in?’

  Immediately Jordan rose politely to his feet, but the white line around his mouth took longer to disappear, and it was left to Stacey to introduce herself.

  ‘I say,’ she exclaimed, after she had announced her name and professed knowledge of Emma’s, ‘that is a nasty bruise you’ve got there! No wonder Jordan was so uptight. He never strikes a woman, do you, darling?’

  ‘What?’ Jordan made an obvious effort to assert himself. ‘Oh, no. No.’ He forced a grin. ‘At least, not to date.’

  Stacey smiled up at him, taking his hand and clinging to it. ‘Sit down again, darling. Don’t stand on ceremony. I’ve completed my ablutions, and if I have to meet my maker, at least my lipstick is on straight.’

  ‘Our flight’s been called,’ remarked Jordan, indicating the board behind her. ‘We can get on the plane, if you like.’

  ‘Oh…’ Stacey glanced over her shoulder. ‘Oh, so it has. But darling, first class passengers don’t need to join the queue. Couldn’t I have a little drink first? Like a double vodka and tonic, for instance?’

  ‘You can get a drink on board,’ retorted Jordan firmly. ‘Emma: are you ready?’

  Emma nodded, jamming the fur hat back on to her head again, and getting to her feet she followed the others across to the departure gates. The long corridor stretched away ahead of her, and she felt a twinge of apprehension. It was years since she had been in an aeroplane, and then only to the continent. She had never crossed the Atlantic before, and her knees trembled. But Jordan was striding confidently ahead with Stacey beside him, trying to keep up with him, and she hastened after them. She was committed now, and there was no turning back.

  The flight was uneventful. The aircraft was not full, and Emma had the two seats on her row to herself. Jordan sat behind with Stacey and apart from an occasional giggle from the other girl, she would scarcely have known they were there. A covert glance over her shoulder essayed the knowledge that his briefcase had not been an affectation, and he spent the journey studying the files he had brought with him. Stacey slept, curled up beside him like a kitten, the blonde head resting on his shoulder apparently no annoyance to him.

  Emma could not sleep. She had accepted a magazine from the stewardess, but she hardly glanced at it, although the view from the window was of little interest to her. Acres of cloud beneath them gave way to the distant haze of the ocean, but from several miles up it was impossible to see anything. It was boring really, although because of her own fears and apprehensions Emma felt far from that innocuous state.

  For the first time she let herself think about the man she was flying all these miles to see, without the constant strain of uncertainty. Until now, there had always been the possibility that something would happen to prevent her trip, but high above the south Atlantic she could contemplate their meeting without any complications. It brought the seriousness of his condition into complete focus, and she couldn’t help wondering what had driven him to send for her. Was it only a desire to see her, or had he some notion of reuniting her and Jordan? Surely, as he knew she was married he could not be thinking along those lines. And yet it was strange that he should think of her at a time like this. He had always been in favour of their relationship in the old days, but that was before the break-up of the partnership…

  Throughout the lunch and dinner that were served during the flight, Emma was extremely selfconscious of her bruised appearance. But the steward and stewardesses were paid to be discreet, and apart from their initial reaction they made no reference to it. On the contrary, by the end of the flight Emma had almost forgotten it herself, until she went to the tiny toilet compartment and glimpsed her face in the mirror.

  It was still light when they landed at Seawell. For the past hour or so the aircraft had been slowly descending towards a sea as blue as any Emma had ever seen, splashed about with islands that seemed to rise in peaks from the translucent water. Here and there, she glimpsed a beach, with sand that looked white from the air, and the billowing sails of a yacht that moved smoothly across the calm waters. Circling above Barbados, she could see its greenness, and as they dropped lower, the settlements spread out across the island.

  The airport formalities were soon dealt with, but the heat was almost an assault. In her knee-length boots and suede coat, Emma felt stifled, and the idea of wearing the fur hat and scarf had to be abandoned.

  ‘We’ll take a cab to the hotel,’ Jordan explained, walking between the two women as they left the Customs hall. ‘I can ring my father from there and make arrangements for the Cessna to come and pick us up tomorrow.’

  Stacey fanned herself with her hand. Like Emma, she had been wearing a warm coat, but presently her fur was draped over Jordan’s shoulder, and she had unfastened the neck of her cream silk blouse. With her golden hair blowing in the faint breeze that drifted off the ocean and her perfect features lifted to the sun, she looked like some exotic model girl, Emma thought, overwhelmingly conscious of the shortcomings of straight dark hair and a sallow complexion. The bruised eye didn’t help, but she acknowledged that even without it she couldn’t hold a candle to the beautiful Miss Albert.

  The drive to their hotel was not long, but curving along the coast road as it did, they were given a magnificent view of the sun sinking into the horizon. Night fell quickly on the island, and by the time they had checked into their rooms it was quite dark. As Emma shed her clothes to take a longed-for shower in her bathroom, she could hear the persistent piping of what she later learned was a tree frog, and experienced her first real feeling of excitement, of something unexpected about to happen.

  Jordan had suggested that as it was already ten o’clock-plus by the time they were used to, she should have a light meal served in her room instead of dressing and going down for dinner, but Emma couldn’t help wondering if that was what he and Stacey would do. There was a tightness in her chest when she contemplated what the culmination of their evening might be, and she determinedly ran the water cold in the shower to rid herself of any thoughts of that kind.

  Deciding not to dress, she put on a light cotton wrapper after her shower and was drying her hair with a towel when a black-skinned waiter brought her a crisp chicken salad and some fresh fruit.

  ‘Mr Kyle said this would be suitable, Miss Ingram,’ he explained, setting the tray on the table beside her. ‘The pot contains tea, not coffee. Is that all right?’

  ‘It’s fine, thank you.’ Emma nodded, wondering what the waiter was making of her face, and decided not to correct him about her married state. The last thing she wanted was for him to think she was running away with Jordan, perhaps escaping from a brutal husband. ‘Er—what time is breakfast?’

  ‘Any time you like between seven and ten,’ replied the man with a grin. ‘But you’ll be awake long before then, I expect. The trip west is always easier to adjust to than the trip east.’

  Emm
a returned his smile and he withdrew after assuring himself that the tray was set to his satisfaction. Emma wasn’t hungry, but it was kind of Jordan to do this for her, and she was tempted to ring his room and thank him. But suspecting that Stacey might be with him, she decided not to bother. If he was sleeping with the girl, she’d rather not know about it.

  With her hair dry, she turned out the lights and opened the windows on to her balcony. Without the light to attract them, the night insects were much less of an annoyance, and the air was pleasantly cool as it probed inside the open neckline of her wrapper. She wouldn’t wear her nightgown tonight, she thought with sudden daring. It was too warm, and besides, it would prove that for the next few days at least she was her own mistress. Her own mistress! She folded her arms about her. It was ironic that the last time she and Jordan had been together, if he had not been stronger-minded than herself, she would have been his!

  CHAPTER FIVE

  SHE was still standing there, gazing out at the dark ocean as it moved in silent infinity along the curving shoreline, when there was a sudden tap at her door. At first she thought she had mistaken it, the sounds of the hotel clearly audible at this hour of the evening when most people were preparing to go down for dinner. She could even hear the sound of an orchestra playing in the distance, and guessed the hotel catered handsomely for its three hundred or so guests.

  So she didn’t immediately respond to the tapping, and only when it was repeated and Jordan’s low voice demanded: ‘Emma! Emma, are you there?’ did she hasten across the room and switch on the light before opening the door.

  ‘Jordan!’ she exclaimed, half alarmed by her own reaction to him, and supporting himself against the doorpost with one hand, he said: ‘Can I come in?’