by Anne Mather
‘Come along, come along,’ Andrew said now, leading the way up to the verandah, and Jordan went past him into the house, calling for one of the servants as he went. Andrew looked after his son with apparent pride and admiration, and then turned back to Emma again and bade her sit down on one of the low cushioned loungers.
Stacey, unused to being ignored, made herself comfortable without invitation, and then gesturing towards the magnificent view of the cove below the shelving line of the cliff, she exclaimed: ‘I can understand why you live here, Mr Kyle. Who’d exchange Purgatory for Paradise?’
Andrew cast a reassuring smile in Emma’s direction, then he transferred his attention to his other guest. ‘Yes, it is beautiful, isn’t it? I never tire of sitting here. But then I’m an old man. I don’t think you’d be able to stand the quietness for long. There’s nothing to do here.’
‘Ah, but Bridgetown isn’t too far away, is it?’ countered Stacey, pleased to have gained his interest. ‘I mean—if one had a helicopter, one could be in Barbados in less than an hour.’
‘A little more than that,’ remarked Jordan dryly, coming through the open doors at that moment. ‘I’ve asked Maggie for some coffee,’ he told his father casually, walking to the rail of the verandah and resting both hands upon it as he, too, admired the view. ‘And some beer. I could surely use a drink.’
‘Was the flight uneventful?’ enquired Andrew, taking his seat beside Emma and giving her another warm smile. ‘Have you ever flown the Atlantic, my dear?’
‘No—’ began Emma, when Stacey chimed in again: ‘I have, lots of times. But strangely enough, I’ve never been to the West Indies before.’
As Andrew politely asked what she had thought of the United States, Emma digested her words with reluctant relief. So Stacey hadn’t been to Valentia before. She had naturally assumed she had.
The whisper of trolley wheels brought Emma’s head round with a start, but it was only a black-skinned woman wheeling out a tray of coffee above a refrigerated cabinet containing the beer. For an awful moment she had thought David was there behind her, and dry-mouthed, she found Jordan’s eyes upon her. He had seen her involuntary reaction, but fortunately, the others didn’t appear to have done so. For a disturbing moment his cold dark eyes held hers with deliberate mockery, and then he moved forward to speak to the woman.
‘Allow me to introduce you to my father’s guests, Maggie,’ he remarked with what Emma sensed to be intentional irony. ‘Stacey, Emma: this is Maggie, my father’s housekeeper. Maggie—Miss Albert—Mrs Ingram.’
The woman, Emma guessed her age to be around forty-five, offered a tentative smile. In an attractive blue overall and white shoes, her curly dark hair cut close to her head, she looked kind and understanding, and Emma wondered whether she knew of her employer’s terminal condition. It seemed likely. Jordan obviously treated her like one of the family, and the smile she bestowed on him was warm and affectionate.
The coffee Maggie had prepared for them was the best Emma had ever tasted. It was strong and aromatic, and combined with cream made the most refreshing of beverages. Emma drank hers eagerly, glad of the stimulation it engendered, trying not to speculate on the reasons why Andrew Kyle had brought her out here. The others talked together casually, Stacey doing her best to remain the centre of attraction, and presently Andrew suggested that the girls might like to be shown their rooms and have time to rest a while before lunch.
‘But I’m not tired!’ Stacey protested at once, and Jordan interposed gently that what his father really meant was that he would like to rest before the meal. ‘Oh, yes. Of course.’ Stacey sounded awkward for once, and Andrew took it upon himself to reassure her.
‘I’m an old man,’ he declared, without rancour. ‘You and Jordan can go down to the beach if you like, maybe even take a swim. I’ll see you all at one o’clock.’
Maggie appeared, to show their guests to their rooms, and as Jordan didn’t need that service he settled himself in the chair Stacey had vacated, and slid smoked glasses on to his nose. Stacey looked back at him lingeringly as she followed Maggie into the house, and Emma guessed she would waste no time indoors.
Their rooms were next door to one another on the first floor. Both rooms possessed a bathroom and both opened on to a balcony that ran along the full width of the house, divided by creeper-hung trellises. The view was the same as that from the verandah below, and Emma realised the balcony was directly above.
Maggie showed Stacey into her room and then accompanied Emma to hers. Her suitcase had been brought up by the stalwart William and presently reposed on the ottoman at the foot of the four-poster bed, and the open doors of the balcony sent the wild silk curtains moving with the draught. The floor was coolly tiled and strewn with rugs, but the predominant colour in the room was cream—cream walls, cream figured bedspread, cream curtains. A bowl of red and cream roses adorned the dressing table, and their perfume mingled with the scents from outside to give the room a fragrance all its own.
Emma shook her head helplessly, moved by the simple beauty of it all, and Maggie gazed anxiously at her. ‘You do not like it?’
‘Like it? Oh, yes. Yes!’ Emma turned to her, eager to correct her impression. ‘I love it, thank you. It’s—beautiful.’
Maggie smiled, relieved, and flicked a speck of dust from the table beside the bed. ‘I am glad. It was Mr Kyle’s wish that you should be most comfortable. Now, is there anything else I can get for you?’
Again Emma shook her head, turning round slowly, almost bemused by her surroundings. ‘No, nothing, thank you, Miss—Miss—’
‘Maggie will do,’ returned the woman easily. ‘Lunch is at one, as no doubt Mr Kyle has already told you. You can find your way?’
‘I think so.’
Emma returned her smile and Maggie left her to go about her own business. With the door closed, the balcony beckoned, and she moved towards it almost compulsively. She was here. She was actually here on Valentia, she thought incredulously. She was staying in Andrew Kyle’s house, and soon now she would have to assure him that she and Jordan were no longer estranged. A ridiculous whim considering their attitudes to one another…
Thinking of Jordan made her realise that where he was sitting on the verandah was almost exactly below where she was standing at this moment. What was he thinking? she wondered. What had been his reaction when his father first put the idea of bringing her out here to him? And why did he pretend he loved her when it was obvious he despised her? A shiver ran down her spine. Something told her that in his anger he could be far more formidable than David, and last night he had been very angry with her indeed. Physical violence would play no part with him; he had far more destructive weapons in his grasp, but it was up to her not to let him know it.
CHAPTER SIX
EMMA unpacked her suitcase and put its contents away in the drawers of the dressing table and in the tall polished wardrobe that stood against the wall. Then she took off her dress and went into the bathroom to wash.
The bathroom was tiled with squares of cream-veined marble inlaid with tiny red rosebuds. The bath was deep, and of the step-in variety, while an adjoining shower was cubicled in fluted glass. There were mirrors beside the bath and above the washbasin, and a fluffy rug to stand on while one got dry.
Emma contented herself with a wash in cool water, and was drying her face on one of the rich cream towels when a voice hailed her from the bedroom. Imagining Maggie must have forgotten something, Emma went to the bathroom door, and then stared in surprise at Stacey making herself comfortable on the side of her bed. Her appearance could not have been more unexpected, and Emma felt a wave of hot colour sweeping up her cheeks at the awareness of being caught in only bikini-brief cotton panties. Fortunately the towel she still held to her face concealed the upper half of her body, but all the same, she didn’t care for the other girl’s careless appraisal.
‘Hi,’ declared Stacey indifferently, unconcerned by Emma’s embarrassment. ‘You don’t mi
nd me joining you, do you? Jordan’s asleep and I’ve got nothing to do.’
Emma continued to hold the towel in front of her, hardly knowing what to say, and Stacey heaved an exaggerated sigh. ‘For heaven’s sake, stop behaving like an outraged virgin! Put your clothes on, if you want to. I’m not stopping you.’
Emma was tempted to ask her to get out of the room, but it seemed too open to misconstruction, so she shed the towel reluctantly and quickly slipped the cream smock over her head again. Then she reached for her hairbrush, as Stacey went on:
‘Jordan told me you were married. I must say, you don’t act much like it. What does your husband do?’
‘David?’ It was difficult to sound casual, but she managed to achieve something like it. ‘He—er—he’s a commercial artist.’
‘Really?’ Stacey sounded unconvinced. ‘Didn’t he want to come out here with you?’ She paused. ‘Or wasn’t he invited?’
Emma shrugged, keeping her face averted as she wielded the hairbrush. ‘He—I—the Kyles have known my family for—for years. Mr Kyle—Andrew, that is—he wanted to see me, that’s all, and as he’d been ill…’
Her voice trailed away and Stacey regarded her with narrow-eyed speculation. ‘You mean because he’s dying, he asked to see you?’ she enquired unfeelingly, and Emma’s shocked stare gave her away. ‘Oh, yes, I know. Jordan and I have—known one another for some time. His frequent trips out here have not gone unnoticed.’
‘I see.’ Emma moved her shoulders in a dismissing gesture. ‘Well, that’s why I’m here.’
‘How sweet!’ Stacey sounded sardonic. ‘And Jordan had nothing to do with it, of course.’
‘Jordan?’ Emma had coloured. She couldn’t help it, and Stacey’s lips thinned.
‘Yes, Jordan,’ she repeated. ‘Our mutual—friend! Don’t pretend you haven’t noticed him.’
Emma held up her head. ‘Jordan and I have known one another since we were children,’ she declared tautly. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’
Stacey uttered a short mirthless laugh. ‘Don’t you? Since you were children, eh? What were you? Childhood sweethearts?’
‘No!’ Emma’s face burned. ‘And in any case, I don’t see what our relationship has to do with you.’
‘Don’t you?’ Stacey shrugged. ‘I’m curious, that’s all. As the girl Jordan’s going to marry, I feel I have a right to know all his friends.’
Emma’s teeth clamped together. She wanted to order the girl from the room, but to do so now would play exactly into her hands. Instead she forced herself to say politely: ‘You’re engaged? Congratulations! Jordan didn’t tell me.’
‘He wouldn’t. He’s not proud of the reasons why we’re getting married,’ retorted Stacey carelessly. ‘But even a man like Jordan makes a mistake once in a while.’
Her meaning was obvious and Emma replaced the hairbrush on the dressing table with hands that trembled uncontrollably. ‘A-Andrew will be pleased,’ she got out jerkily. ‘I imagine he would like a grandchild.’
Stacey rose gracefully from the side of the bed and surveyed her slender form in the long mirror of the wardrobe with some satisfaction. ‘Do you think so?’ As yet Emma could see no sign of a thickening waistline. ‘Then it’s up to Jordan to make it legitimate, isn’t it? For all our sakes.’
Emma drew a deep breath. ‘Why are you telling me this, Miss Albert?’ she asked, unable to deny the question and Stacey turned patronising eyes in her direction.
‘Can’t you guess?’ she asked maliciously. ‘Because I know Jordan was in your bedroom last night, Mrs Ingram.’
* * *
Lunch was served in an octagonal-shaped room which overlooked the gardens at the side of the house. Sliding glass doors were pushed open on to a patio, and beyond the mosaic paving, a kidney-shaped swimming pool was backed by a row of cabanas for changing.
The room itself was unusual, but Emma later learned that there was a matching turret at the opposite side of the building, an affectation designed by the previous owner of the property who had mistaken delusions of grandeur. Nevertheless, it was an attractive room, with walls hung with green and gold damask to match the seats of the striped Regency chairs. The table was an ellipse of polished fruit-wood, set with intricately-sewn place mats and silver cutlery, the triple-branched candelabrum indicating that dinners were sometimes served by candlelight.
A young West Indian maid served the meal of iced soup and shellfish salad, but Emma had little appetite. Because she ate so sparingly, mostly pushing the food around her plate in an effort to make it look as if she was enjoying it, she couldn’t help but notice that Andrew Kyle ate little either, and even his son seemed more interested in the sheaf of letters he had brought to the table for his father’s perusal than in the meal. Only Stacey consumed her food with any enthusiasm, and Emma felt a sharp pain in her stomach when she contemplated the reason for the other girl’s healthy appetite. How could he? she was asking herself bitterly. How could Jordan have come to her bedroom last evening and made overtures of love to her when he knew that Stacey was carrying his unborn child?
From time to time she was aware of Andrew watching her, but when she lifted her head to intercept his gaze, he immediately averted his eyes. It was curious behaviour, and she wondered what he was thinking. Jordan had said he wanted her to come out here to prove there was no ill-feeling, but somehow, now she was here, that seemed a poor excuse. And yet a dying man could have strange fancies, and it was true that since her father’s death there had been animosity between the families. Her mother had never blamed Andrew in any way for the crash, but then she had never appeared to like the man, despising his brashness in business, and ridiculing his accent which had altered little over the years. There were times when Emma suspected she had enjoyed baiting him, and it was natural that after all the ties with the company had been severed, she should avoid his presence. Two days ago Emma had written and told her mother what she planned to do, but she had not expected a response.
Coffee was served at the end of the meal, and Andrew suggested they had it outdoors, beside the swimming pool. There were loungers there, set on the blue and gold tiling, and a swing couch moved indolently in the slight breeze.
‘Couldn’t we go sailing?’ demanded Stacey impatiently, as she accompanied the others outside. ‘I don’t want to spend the whole day lying by the pool. Jordan! Darling!’ She looked wheedlingly up at him, tugging appealingly at his arm. ‘Jordan, do say we can.’
Andrew flexed his bony shoulders. ‘Yes, why don’t you, Jordan?’ he agreed, and the glance that passed between father and son was full of meaning: compelling on the one hand and doubtful on the other.
‘And Emma?’ Jordan asked tautly, holding his father’s gaze, but Andrew shook his head.
‘Leave Emma here,’ he directed evenly. ‘She can keep me company, while you and Stacey take a trip across the bay. We’ll be quite content, won’t we, my dear?’
‘Oh! Oh, yes.’ Emma’s nod was urgent, and Jordan’s mouth turned down at the corners.
‘I don’t feel like sailing this afternoon,’ he declared flatly, much to Stacey’s annoyance, and as if to emphasise his statement he flung himself into one of the rattan loungers. ‘Maybe tomorrow,’ he added, in answer to the other girl’s sound of annoyance. ‘Relax, Stacey. There’s plenty of time.’
Andrew regarded his son with a mixture of impatience and unwilling admiration. Then, with a slight shrug, he indicated that Emma should take the lounger nearest to her, and himself relaxed into the chair beside her. Stacey, after a moment’s tight-lipped fury, flounced on to the swing, and it jerked back and forward clumsily before settling into a steady rhythm.
‘Isn’t this nice!’ remarked Jordan, but his tone was dry, and Emma wondered why he had chosen not to fall in with Stacey’s wishes. What possible motive could he have for wanting to remain at the poolside, unless he, too, had his suspicions as to why his father had brought Emma out to Valentia?
Ther
e was silence for a while. Emma, glancing at Andrew, noticed that his eyes were closed, but he wasn’t asleep. Even as her gaze moved past him to Jordan, his lids flickered, and in an undertone he said:
‘Tell me about yourself, Emma. Tell me about your mother. Is she still living in the Lake District?’
‘What?’ Emma forced herself to concentrate on what he was saying. ‘Oh, yes. Yes, she still lives in Cumbria.’
‘Do you see much of her?’
‘Not a lot, no.’ Emma became aware that more than one pair of ears was listening to her conversation. ‘Since—since I got married…’
‘Of course,’ Andrew nodded. ‘Since your marriage, you haven’t had a lot of time for anything else. How is Ingram? Does he do any work?’
‘Yes.’ Emma coloured. ‘He still gets commissions. Not so many as he used to, of course—’
‘Why?’ cut in Jordan at that point. ‘Because you’re there to support him?’ His lips twisted. ‘He always was a lazy devil!’
‘I beg your pardon—’
‘Jordan!’ Before Emma could think of any retaliatory comment to make, his father moved to the edge of his seat, his gnarled knuckles whitening with the grip he was exerting on the arms of his chair. ‘Emma is talking to me, not to you, Jordan. Why don’t you go and entertain your—er—guest? We can deal quite well without your crude observations.’
Jordan, however, seemed totally unmoved by his father’s anger. Stretching his booted feet towards the pool, he settled more comfortably in his chair, regarding them both through the short thick lashes that fringed his half-closed lids.
Andrew, after a moment’s silent battle, gave up the fight and relaxed once more against the cushions. ‘I must apologise for my son, Emma,’ he exclaimed, clicking his tongue in irritation. ‘He can be very trying at times,’
Jordan’s mouth revealed his cynicism, and Emma endeavoured not to look his way again. Between the swaying fringes of the couch, Stacey was watching the proceedings with something akin to boredom, but when her eyes rested on Jordan, they contained more than a trace of jealous possession.
