She flew across the room and sank on to the floor beside Lucie, taking both her hands. 'Steve just phoned me. Oh, you poor dear,' she crooned, 'I'm so, so sorry. You must be absolutely shattered!' She glanced around the room. 'Your fiancé—is he with you?'
Guy answered for her. 'He's left,' he said shortly. 'Had to return to the UK.'
'Oh, that's bad, that sure is bad. Well, you must let me look after you. Come along to our villa next door and you can rest.' She was all maternal caring, her eyes misty with tears.
Lucie looked pleadingly towards Guy and even as she did so she thought with terrible wryness, so much for my wonderful independence, but I can't handle this myself, I can't. Save me from Dorothy, she willed him. I can't take a lot of understanding and sympathy.
But he merely nodded. 'Good idea, I'll know where to find you, then. I'll be along as soon as I have anything to report.'
Lucie let Dorothy lead her out of the room. She would have preferred to stay with Guy, extraordinary though that might have seemed a short time ago. His calm, dispassionate manner was just what she needed. She was still partly in shock, but she was dimly aware that her feelings were a long way away from straightforward grief at the death of a beloved parent. The situation between her father and herself had been too fraught, too complex for that.
But Dorothy was tactful as well as kind. She installed Lucie on a sofa and covered her legs with a fleecy rug and made her drink sweet tea. 'You've had a bad shock, you poor thing, and you must keep very quiet. I'll sit here by you and you can talk if you feel like it, but it would be better if you could just close your eyes and shut everything out and have a little sleep. Just swallow these tablets—they'll help.'
Lucie obediently swallowed the tablets and after a while began to feel drowsy. After that everything became very vague—the tablets must have been stronger than she had expected. Time ceased to register. From somewhere a long way away she heard voices and knew that she was being discussed. A man's voice said, 'OK, I'll carry her up,' and she was being lifted in strong arms and carried upstairs and lowered gently on to a cool bed. A hand stroked her hair gently back from her face and the same deep voice said, 'Everything's all right, Lucie, I'll look after you.'
James, she thought, it must be James, he must have got here very quickly. Dear James, he was such a comfort. She tried to open her eyes, but the lids seemed glued together. She reached up and drew his head down and rubbed her cheek against his. 'Don't leave me,' she murmured.
'I'll never leave you,' he said, and that seemed a funny thing for James to say. She wanted to ask about Angela, and if things were all right between them, but she was too tired to find the words. Everything was dim and confused, as if there were a fog enclosing her. She sighed deeply and was asleep.
She woke with the feeling of a huge lump in the region of her chest, making breathing difficult. Sunlight was filtering through the drawn curtains and she lay still and stared at the bright patterns on the ceiling, and gradually she remembered all that had happened—up to the time that Dorothy had given her the tablets.
She felt terrible. Her mouth was dry and her head was heavy and achy. She was wearing only bra and pants—her cotton dress was hanging over the back of a chair; Dorothy must have taken it off at some time.
She must get up and wash and dress and then she could face the day and everything that had to be done. She slid out of bed and staggered into the adjoining bathroom. When she had swilled her face and tidied her hair with a comb she found on the bathroom shelf she felt marginally better. She shook out the cotton dress and put it on again. Her white fleecy coat was on the chair too, and she remembered that Guy Devereux had found it and put it on for her after the telephone call.
He had promised to look after everything for her, and she remembered how in the weakness of the moment she had agreed. But of course she couldn't let him, she must handle things herself until James arrived.
Until James arrived! But James was here! Dimly, she remembered him putting his arms round her and kissing her last night, and she had clung to him.
She sank into a chair, trying to make sense out of that. Of course James wasn't here—there was no way he could possibly have got here in the time. Then who had carried her upstairs—comforted and kissed her so tenderly? Steve, she thought, that nice teddy-bear of a man. Yes, it must have been Dorothy's Steve. Otherwise—but she refused to believe that it had been Guy Devereux. The very idea made her go hot all over.
The door opened and Dorothy's face appeared round it, drawn into anxious lines. 'Oh, you're awake, Lucie, and you've got up! Now that surely is a relief.' She came further into the room, one hand on her breast which was rising and falling nervously. 'I've been out of my mind with worry, and Steve's been so mad at me for giving you those tablets. The doctor gave them to me to settle me down when I'd had my operation and couldn't sleep, and I brought them away with me. But Steve said you should never give your medicines to anyone else—and Guy said he'd given you brandy before and that made it more dangerous—and you passed out like a light and—'
Her fingers twined themselves together in agitation. 'If I'd harmed you I'd never have forgiven myself—if you hadn't been awake I was going to try to find a doctor—'
Lucie stood up and put her hand on Dorothy's arm. 'Please don't. I'm perfectly all right, and I'm sure that when you've had a shock the best thing is to sleep until you can pull yourself together. Now don't worry any more about it, will you?'
Dorothy leaned forward and kissed her. 'You're a sweet girl,' she said hurriedly, 'and we want to help as much as we can, but Steve has to go back to Houston tomorrow because of his business. He'll have to come back later, of course, to give evidence, but meanwhile Guy has taken everything over and he's being just marvellous, attending to all the legal things. He's waiting downstairs, to see you. I said I'd join Steve in the town—he went to interview the Governor about us leaving tomorrow.' She clicked her tongue distractedly. 'Oh dear, it's all so difficult!'
Legal things! Of course! Lucie closed her eyes as her head began to swim. Her mind shrank from the prospect of all the rather ghastly enquiries that must follow an accidental death. And all the things she ought to try to deal with until James arrived! There must be officials to interview, forms to sign. She wasn't sure if she could handle it, but she would have to try.
She drew in a deep breath. 'I'll come down,' she said. 'Please tell Guy I'll join him in a few minutes.'
Dorothy got to her feet, looking vastly relieved. 'That's arranged, then. I'll leave you and Guy together to talk.'
She bustled away, and Lucie waited until she heard the car start up, then she squared her shoulders and went downstairs to face Guy Devereux.
He was on the verandah, leaning his elbows on the rail and staring out over the sea. He hadn't heard her and she stopped for a moment, fighting down the sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach at the sight of him, so big and male and overwhelming.
'Good morning,' she said in a small voice.
He straightened up and turned immediately. He was wearing very dark-grey trousers and an open-necked shirt to match this morning. Perhaps he was in mourning for her father, Lucie thought idiotically. 'Hello, Lucie, it's good to see you up. How are you feeling?'
'I'm fine,' she said automatically.
He looked hard at her pale face. 'Hm—well, that's as may be. Come and sit down out here, it's cool on the verandah. The maid's just brought you some breakfast.'
Lucie could only nibble at the crisp rolls, but the coffee was good and strong and the bowl of fruit tempting. Guy sat on the opposite side of the small cane table and poured the coffee.
'What's happened?' she asked him. 'Have you been able to contact James?'
He shook his head. 'I got through to the number in Birmingham that you gave me, but his office there haven't heard from him since he left for Bulgaria. He promised to contact them as soon as he knew where he was going to stay. They're expecting to hear from him at any moment and then, of c
ourse, they'll pass on the message and he'll get in touch. I gave them the number of my office here, I thought that would be the best.'
Lucie's heart sank; she had been banking on James being told immediately what had happened, on his arriving soon, perhaps within twenty-four hours. But now everything seemed frighteningly vague. She took a sip of coffee and said, 'Thank you for what you've done, but I really mustn't trouble you any further. I expect James will telephone later today and I can handle things myself until he can get here.'
Guy leaned back, dark brows raised. 'Have you any idea at all of all the formalities that will have to be gone through? Have you any experience at all of a situation like this? Do you really think you're capable of handling it?—because frankly I don't.'
She bit back an indignant retort. It was no use kidding herself that she didn't need help—she needed help very badly indeed until James could get here. 'I expect I could get advice from—from the authorities here.'
'Look,' he said patiently, 'I've offered my help, why not accept it?'
'Because—' she began. Because you frighten me. There's something about you that disturbs me so that I can't think straight. Something about the way you look at me. 'I—I don't know,' she muttered. 'I'm not very good at accepting help.'
'Well, it's time you began to learn, then,' he said crisply. 'Now just forget about the—arrangements that have to be made. I'll see the officials concerned and find out the regulations and inform them that your brother will be arriving shortly. That should cover things for the moment.' He was watching her closely as he added, 'As the Caymans are British, I assume that there'll have to be an inquest, as there would at home.'
'Yes,' Lucie said tonelessly.
There was a long silence, then he said gently, 'Lucie, do you care very much?'
She stared at him wide-eyed. 'H-how dare you suggest—' she burst out. 'That's a beastly insinuation ! Of course I care. He was my father—of course I care. And what's it got to do with you, anyway?'
'I had to ask you,' he said, 'for reasons that will become clear later on. You see, I happen to know a little of what happened between you and your father. As his banker I've been in touch with him on and off ever since you quarrelled with him and walked out. I know that you haven't seen him again until you arrived here—yesterday, wasn't it?'
'You seem to be very well informed, Mr Devereux.
Or do you employ a private investigator to watch your customers and pry into their affairs? I imagine that's the way big business operates, isn't it? Well, there are a few things you don't know. My father and I made up our quarrel and I was so—so very happy that things were right between us again. I was looking forward to—to—' she bit her lip as tears stung behind her eyes. 'And now he's gone—it—it's horrible!'
She turned away, covering her face as sobs shook her. After a few moments a folded handkerchief was thrust into her hand. She mopped her eyes, gulping. 'Sorry,' she muttered.
'It's I who should be sorry,' Guy Devereux said formally. 'Please accept my apology. I had no right to say what I did.' He reached across the table and took the handkerchief from her.
There was an awkward little silence—at least, it was awkward for Lucie. As for the man sitting opposite, she got the impression that he would never feel awkward, at a loss, under any circumstances. When she couldn't bear the silence any longer she said in a muffled voice, 'I've been silly, I suppose. I try to be too independent. I'd be glad of your help until James arrives.'
'Good,' he said shortly. 'That's sensible of you. I'll let you know immediately I have word of your brother. Meanwhile, I'll be in touch with the authorities and give them any information they need at this stage. You just take it easy for the moment— stay with Dorothy and Steve while they're here— they're pleasant people.'
'Yes,' she said. It was just like it had been before— a man taking charge of everything, telling her what to do, expecting her to obey him. Guy Devereux was—as her father had been—a dominant male, and that was all there was to it. She comforted herself with the thought that it wasn't for long, that James would soon be here and then everything would be different.
'I'll leave you, then. Try to eat some breakfast— and there's plenty of coffee still in the pot.' He walked round and stood beside her chair. 'I'll be back later on and we'll have dinner somewhere quiet. There's a great deal I have to discuss with you, Lucie.' He put a hand briefly on her shoulder. 'Goodbye for the present.'
She watched him walk away along the verandah, so tall and strong and so maddeningly in control of himself and everything else. Could she have stood out against him? she wondered. Could she have snubbed him and refused his help? For all sorts of reasons the answer was No, she couldn't. She had to accept that for the moment she had to be what he called 'sensible'—which meant that she had to do as she was told. She put a hand to her shoulder where his hand had touched it, and suddenly she was reliving that moment in the garden in Paris, three years ago, when she had been eighteen. A long shudder passed through her as she remembered the feel of his lips, his hands. It hadn't only been her shoulder he had touched then, and the way her body had responded had terrified her. Nothing like it had happened to her since, she had taken care of that.
She stood up and shook herself impatiently, then she walked across the soft sand to the water's edge and stood there trying to sort out her thoughts and feelings. But it was all too much and it had happened too quickly, and the waves breaking lazily at her feet supplied no answer.
She was still standing there when Steve and Dorothy returned, and the question that was filling her mind was what Guy had meant when he said he had a great deal to discuss with her. Somehow that had an ominous ring about it. Oh, James, she thought desperately, why aren't you here?
CHAPTER FOUR
Lucie was sitting alone on the verandah of the Maddoxes' villa when Guy came back that evening. It had been a strange afternoon. She had stayed with the Maddoxes, not, she assured herself, because Guy had told her to, but because she couldn't yet face the prospect of returning to her father's villa next door. Dorothy—that understanding soul—had been there and brought back Lucie's clothes and toilet things. 'Until you decide what you're going to do,' she said.
Lucie thanked her and said she must go back to the villa tomorrow. Indeed, she had no choice. Even if she could get a room at a hotel the cost would be ten times as much as she could afford. But it was good to have her clothes here and it was good to get out of the cotton dress she had worn yesterday through all the confusion.
'Make free with the bathroom and everything,' Dorothy urged her, and she accepted the invitation gladly. When she had showered she put on the second of the two cotton dresses she had brought with her. Beach-wear seemed out of place today, and the dress was simple and pretty and unassuming, a crisp peach-coloured cotton with white polka dots and narrow shoulder-straps. Quite appropriate for a dinner with Guy Devereux to talk business, so she wouldn't have to go to the bother of changing again this evening. She would take trouble with her hair and her make-up, she decided, but she had no intention of dressing up for his benefit.
The day was hot and there was a suspended, unreal quality about it. Lucie's mind recoiled from thinking about what had happened but, fortunately, Dorothy was a compulsive talker and in her company you didn't have to think. Lucie helped her with her packing, listened to Dorothy's stories of her grandchildren and talked a little of her own two nieces, and they drank long, cool drinks and ate cookies while Steve spent most of the afternoon telephoning his office in New York. After one slightly embarrassed remark that it was such a shame that Lucie's fiancé hadn't been here, Dorothy didn't refer to Peter again. Lucie had the idea that she suspected that something might have gone wrong.
Steve and Dorothy went out for a meal just before seven. Before they left Dorothy called at the next-door villa to tell Blossom, the maid, what had happened. 'She hadn't got around to cooking the meal, so that was OK. She says she's very sorry about your father; and she'll call h
ere tomorrow to find out what you need. She's a good girl, she really was quite upset. You'll be OK on your own until Guy arrives?' Dorothy went on rather anxiously. 'Steve says he thinks Guy planned to go over to Cayman Brac this afternoon, but he should be back later on this evening. Anyway, if he doesn't turn up we won't be away long.'
But he did turn up, of course. Guy Devereux would come if he said he would come, Lucie was confident of that. If she had to rely on the man it was, she supposed, lucky that he was the reliable type. She felt the by-now-familiar little tug inside as she saw him walking purposefully along the verandah towards her, looking, as usual, extremely impressive in a pale lightweight suit. It was annoying that the man should have this purely physical effect on her, but there was nothing she could do about it. Some men, she knew, exuded sex appeal effortlessly, and they were not always the most admirable men. You admitted that and were on your guard against it—if you had any sense, or any self-respect. The chemistry could be recognised and then ignored.
'You all alone?' he queried, without any other greeting. 'Let's get going, then. We'll have dinner at my hotel, it's not too touristy and reasonably quiet.'
He led the way out to his car and Lucie picked up her handbag and white fleecy jacket and followed— like a little poodle, she thought resentfully. But not for long, Mr Guy Devereux. Oh no, not for long. And if that makes me an ungrateful beast, so be it.
The hotel was a short drive from the Maddoxes' villa, a long, low building fronted by masses of brightly-coloured flowers. The dining-room was still almost empty and the diners already there looked like extremely affluent businessmen. Lucie was familiar with the type. Tourism and money were the two faces of the Caymans, and this was the money face. Even Guy was wearing a tie this evening—silk, with a Paisley pattern, and Lucie had to admit reluctantly that he was by far the most distinguished-looking man in the room.
Honeymoon Island Page 6
