The Velvet Touch

by Margery Hilton

  She went to the window, drawing aside the flax curtains and looking out into the night. There was a small balcony, in the traditional lacework of black wrought iron with hanging baskets of geraniums and lobelia, and blue painted shutters that could be closed against the fierce storms that could sweep in from the Atlantic when the weather was in less benign mood. In daytime the balcony afforded a glorious, picture-postcard view' of the sea and bay; now, under a thin crescent moon, it took on an air of mystery. The lanterns in the garden cast pools of amber amid the black shadowy shapes of trees and shrubs and the lovely old ornamental urns and statuary with which the grounds were dotted, and the night insects fluttered palely, the sound of the cicadas a soft background music to their flight.

  It was a wildly romantic setting, and for a moment it evoked strange echoes that dispelled Laurel's present worries. If only Phil could have been here… if they could forget that miserable night and start again… if, after all, she could only discover that she had been completely mistaken, that he was sincere in all he said, she would say she was sorry with all her heart… Perhaps when she got home it might not be too late…

  She closed her eyes, seeking Phil's face in her mental view, and suddenly she was trembling. Although Phil was in her mind the picture she saw was not of him… Almost angrily she turned back to the shadowy room. It was bad enough that a stranger should invade her innocent privacy, cause her to half drown and endanger her life, without pervading her thoughts with his image…

  Forcing her mind to concentrate on the minutiae of undressing and brushing her teeth, winding her watch, tidying the things Yvonne had left strewn about the room, and finally giving a sigh of gratitude for the blissful coolness between the sheets, Laurel prepared for sleep. But the dark and quiet seemed to welcome her unwelcome adversary. In slow motion he recreated the entire sequence, his voice, the burnishing sun and the crystal waves, his arms and his thick black hair, his mockery and his anger, his arrogance and his sheer compelling power…

  Laurel turned and tossed in her efforts to escape. Her body began to burn with the effects of hot sun and salt water—and the re-awakening knowledge of an unknown man's arms holding it at his mercy. Had he… looked at her…?

  If only she had resisted that crazy impulse to swim!

  She curled up into a small huddled shape under the clothes, as though the subconscious action would exorcise the memory of those moments of total vulnerability. She didn't even know who he was…

  But there was a strange kind of relief in this knowledge. Fate willing, she would never cross his path again. The humiliation of a second meeting would be unbearable.

  At last she succumbed to sheer weariness, drifting into an uneasy sleep. The soft secret rustles of the night receded beyond her hearing as her breathing steadied, and the new, stealthy sounds which began some twenty minutes later did not intrude into her slumber.

  Yvonne gave a sigh of impatience and slid cautiously from under the coverlet, giving frequent glances towards the other bed as she began to dress. Her face was pale and anxious, and a hint of fear was in her eyes when she strained to see the time by her small jewelled wristwatch. Impatience made her careless as she picked up her sandals and tiptoed towards the door. A buckle on one of the slingbacks was loose and as she opened the door inch by inch the strap gave way and the sandal clattered down on the polished wood surround beyond the big Spanish rugs that were scattered on the floor.

  Laurel stirred, and gave a murmur.

  There was a stifled imprecation, a swift blur of movement, and then the door closed.

  Suddenly Laurel was wide awake. She sat up, groping for the lamp switch and blinking in the flare of brilliance. Then her dazzled eyes took in the empty bed opposite, and with a cry of alarm she sprang out of bed and ran to the door. Yvonne had reached the head of the staircase.

  Laurel sped towards her. 'What's the matter? Are you ill?'

  Yvonne made a gesture to ward off interference. 'No —go back to bed.'

  'But why are—where are you going?'

  'Shut up!' Yvonne's mouth grimaced angrily. 'Do you want to wake the place?' she hissed. 'I'm just going downstairs.'

  'But what for?' Laurel was still more puzzled than angry at the younger girl's rudeness. 'Why didn't you wake me? I'd have got whatever you—'

  'I did wake you—worse luck!' Yvonne began to descend the wide carved oak staircase, her bare feet noiseless on the carpet pads.

  'Yes, but—' Laurel gave a hunted look round at the still closed doors along the galleried landing, and began to follow. 'Yvonne, why are you fully dressed? What's—'

  'Because I'm going out. And don't try to stop me!'

  'But you're not—not without an explanation.' Laurel shot out a restraining hand. She caught Yvonne's wrist. 'Now what's going on?'

  'I told you—nothing!' Yvonne tried to tug free as some instinct made Laurel hold tight to the slender wrist. Then a door opened and a portly dressing-gowned figure peered out.

  'Is something wrong?' Mr Binkley looked for the source of the disturbance, then changed his tone from curiosity to archness. 'Ah, our young friends. Is this a secret assignation, ladies?'

  'Oh, damn!' Yvonne spun round and began to run back up the stairs and along to her room, passing the somewhat astonished Mr Binkley and leaving him staring after her. The door slammed, and after a brief hesitation Laurel also turned back, brushing past Mr Binkley without speaking; at least Yvonne was clothed, which was more than she could say of herself, Laurel thought bitterly. It just hadn't been her day!

  Her face was flaming as she entered the bedroom and grabbed her wrap, and by now she was in no mood for excuses. Yvonne had hurled herself on to the bed and was weeping noisily, but Laurel said sharply: 'Now what was all that about?'

  'It's all your fault! You've ruined everything.' Yvonne wriggled furiously and squirmed her face into the pillow. 'Oh, go away—I hate you!'

  'What the devil do you mean?' Laurel was fast losing patience. 'You were supposed to be feeling off-colour,, then you try to sneak out. Why?'

  There was no response, and Laurel crossed to the bedside. 'Where were you going?'

  'To meet somebody, if you must know!'

  'Meet somebody? At this time of night?'

  'And now it's too late, and I'll never get it back. Oh, what am I going to do?'

  Yvonne burst into a fresh spate of weeping, and Laurel stared down at her with puzzled eyes. What on earth was the girl talking about? A conviction that something was wrong, much more than some teenage escapade, began to supersede Laurel's anger, and she bent to touch Yvonne's shoulder.

  'I don't understand. What's too late? What is it you'll never get back? I think you'd better tell me, Yvonne,' she said quietly.

  'It's my ring.'

  'What ring?'

  Yvonne sniffed miserably. 'My ruby ring—the snaky one. It's gold and the eye is a real ruby. Daddy gave it to me for my birthday—it cost a bomb. He'll be furious.'

  'You've lost it?'

  Yvonne nodded, trying to find a dry corner of the soaked little tissue balled in her hand. 'Today.'

  Laurel gave an exclamation of concern. She remembered the ring very well; Yvonne had worn it that day her father had taken the two girls out to lunch, and its strange Eastern opulence had instantly caught Laurel's attention, although she had not made any comment on its fascination. It was obviously gold, beautifully engraved and inlaid with fine silvery wire patterns, and the glowing red eye of the head had seemed almost alive. No wonder, if it was a precious ruby. But what on earth had possessed Yvonne to bring such a valuable item of jewellery with her? Laurel reached for a clean tissue from the box on the dressing table and pushed it into Yvonne's hand.

  'When did you last see it?'

  Yvonne buried her face in the tissue. 'I'm not sure.'

  'Did you wear it today?'

  There was a pause, then a muffled sound that Laurel took to be assent. Suppressing a sigh, Laurel persisted: 'Well, where did you go while I
was out?'

  'Nowhere in particular. Just the beach.' Abruptly Yvonne sat up, and now her tears had vanished, leaving her face sulky. 'Oh, what's the good? I'll just have to say I lost it, won't I?'

  But she avoided Laurel's eyes, and Laurel felt a rush of suspicion. Yvonne was hiding something.

  Laurel said sharply, 'Stop lying to me. You said it was too late before. What did you mean by that? And why were you trying to sneak out?' There was a pause, and Laurel added in the same sharp tone, 'If that ring doesn't turn up I'll have to report the loss to Mrs Allen, you know, and she'll have to inform the police.'

  'Oh no!' Yvonne looked up with such horror on her face that Laurel was shocked. 'No, you mustn't say anything! Promise!'

  A flash of perception made Laurel subdue her impatience. Beneath the outward display of teenage tears and rebellion Yvonne was frightened. Laurel sat down on the bed and touched Yvonne's arm. 'What is it?' she asked gently. 'Can't you tell me?'

  Yvonne turned away. 'Only if you promise not to interfere and tell anybody.'

  It was stalemate. Laurel sighed. 'I only want to help you.'

  'Then help me by not making a fuss—let me get out of here without waking all the old pussies.'

  Laurel lost patience again. 'Listen, I wasn't born yesterday. Who are you planning to meet? I don't believe you've lost that ring—it's just an excuse.'

  'All right!' Yvonne flung round. 'I'm going to meet Renaldo—he's got my ring!'

  'Oh no!' Laurel paled. 'But why? And—'

  'We were on the beach this afternoon, swimming and fooling around. I forgot I was wearing the ring, until he noticed it, and said I might lose it in the water.' Yvonne's mouth trembled. 'I was going to run back here and put it away, but he said he would look after it for me, on the gold chain he wears round his neck.'

  Laurel nodded grimly. She remembered seeing Renaldo during the day, out of his waiter's livery and in more informal jeans with a cotton shirt open to the waist, revealing the long gold chain and a gilt medallion that glinted against his olive skin.

  'So he threaded it on the chain,' Yvonne went on, 'but afterwards, when it was time to come back, and I asked him for it, he said I had to take it myself. We were laughing, and he caught me and started to kiss me, and—'

  Laurel's mouth tightened. The age-old moral blackmail was inevitable in such circumstances. 'And he refused to return it.'

  Yvonne nodded. 'He said he'd give it back to me tonight, in the cove at midnight.'

  'You little simpleton!' Laurel groaned. 'Do you really believe he'll return it? Can't you see it's just his way of fun at your expense?'

  Yvonne gave a choked laugh. 'I thought you were going to say he would have his way with me! Don't worry, I know what I'm doing, and I can deal with Renaldo.'

  'Famous last words. You haven't been very successful so far,' Laurel reminded her. 'For goodness' sake, grow up. Renaldo's been boasting about his conquests —and the presents they buy him. Mrs Allen told me.'

  'And Renaldo told me himself,' Yvonne said triumphantly. 'He told me everything. How sometimes girls on holiday are lonely, and he feels sorry for them, and his job means he has to be friendly to them. But he isn't like that, not the way you're implying. As though he were a common beach lizard.'

  'I think you've said it yourself,' Laurel told her flatly, abandoning all pretence of sternness, 'and I think you know that you're heading for hurt and disillusion.' She sighed and stood up. 'I'll get your ring back for you.'

  'You!'

  'Yes.' Laurel was stripping off her night robe. 'I promised your father I would look after you, and I mean to do just that. I'll get that ring, even if I have to rouse the local guardia.'

  'No!' Yvonne grabbed her arm. 'Not the police— you promised! He'll deny it! Don't you see—it's only my word against his. He'll say I lost it, and I'll never see it again.' She sank down on the bed and her slight shoulders trembled with renewed sobs.

  'You will,' said Laurel, with an assurance she was far from feeling. 'Now get back into bed—and stay there. Or I will raise a fuss.'

  Yvonne subsided without further argument, and a moment or so later Laurel went quietly downstairs and let herself out of the silent guest house. She was too angry to feel nervous, but as she hurried down the narrow winding track to the village she began to wish the island were just a little more tourist-orientated. Although people were still abroad and from the open windows behind the little iron balconies came lamplight and voices, occasionally the crying of a baby and often the blare of radios, it seemed to close her out and heighten the sense of loneliness. An English voice and her own tongue would have been comforting, and when the soft fur of a cat brushed her legs before it vanished into the shadowy courtyard of the inn she could not restrain a small gasp of shock.

  Then she came out of the last narrow street and saw the open countryside stretching away into the night. A few minutes' walk would bring her to the beach and the cove which was the trysting place. Her anger had now dissipated, leaving edgy tremors playing down her spine. What if Renaldo refused to hand over the ring? She could scarcely take it from him by force. For the first time Laurel began to realise she was as foolish as Yvonne. Renaldo might not even be waiting. He might be intending to play along for the rest of the holiday, alternately teasing and promising, then withholding. But she must go on now, Laurel decided reluctantly.

  To her relief the moon was rising, casting a silvery radiance over the path that led down the rocky incline to the beach. The rocks and foliage cast inky shadows, and the sea made its soft, lonely music, unbroken by the birds' calls and the sounds of the day. Laurel stepped down on to the soft shifting sand and looked around her. She could see no one, nor hear any indication that anyone but herself was about at this eerie hour of midnight. Stifling the impulse to turn back, she walked along the beach for a short distance, then stood still, anger returning with the thought that she had come on a wild goose chase. Today had certainly brought its measure of trouble to herself and Yvonne—and from similar sources, she thought ironically. So much for the local Latin Lotharios! In future she would take good care not to—

  'Seňorita?'

  A small cry of shock rose in Laurel's throat. She spun round to seek the presence of her adversary, and for a moment could see no one. Then a shadow moved at the base of the cliff and a chuckle stole from the darkness.

  'So you come at last, seňorita. I was beginning to think you were going to disappoint me.'

  He seemed to expect her to go to him, towards the great gaping fissure of what looked like a cave or deep indentation on the rock face. Laurel remained still, obeying an instinct to stay silent. Presently the dark shadow moved and Renaldo swaggered into the thin silver swathe of moonlight. She could see the glint of his teeth and suddenly she realised that her own face was in shadow, and he had not yet realised her identity.

  She said coldly, 'I'm afraid you are going to be disappointed, seňor.'

  He started, recognition dawning, and the smile disappeared. 'I do not understand. Where is the Seňorita Searle?'

  'At the hotel.'

  'What are you doing here?' he demanded, moving closer to stare at her with snapping black eyes. 'Why does she not keep her appointment?'

  'That doesn't concern you. Where is her ring?'

  'What ring?' He pretended puzzlement. 'I do not know what you mean.'

  'I think you know very well.' Laurel gripped the edges of her jacket with fingers that wanted to tremble. 'The ring that belongs to Seňorita Searle, which you did not return to her this afternoon.' Suddenly she caught the glint of brightness on his little finger as he moved. 'You are wearing it, I think, at this very moment.'

  He moved the hand behind his back. 'You are not the owner, seňorita. I promised to return the ring to its owner, and no one else.'

  'You had no right to take it in the first place!'

  'Are you threatening me, seňorita?' His voice held a note of veiled menace.

  Laurel stood her ground. 'Not yet
. I am demanding the return of my friend's property.'

  'I do not like demands of that kind, seňorita. Why do you not ask me nicely? It was only a little joke.'

  'My sense of humour never learned Spanish.' Laurel took a deep breath. 'The joke is over, Renaldo. It's very late, and I'm very tired. Now give me that ring.'

  He stepped back a pace, his dark eyes looking her up and down. 'In a moment. You are making me angry, seňorita, and I think you have deliberately stolen something from me.'

  Laurel lost patience. 'For heaven's sake, stop being so ridiculous! What could I possibly have stolen from you?'

  'You have robbed me of the moments I have looked forward to all evening—my meeting with the enchanting Seňorita Yvonne. Oh yes,' he moved again, close to her, 'she has told me of you, of the authority her father gives to you, of the yoke you put on her freedom.'

  This carried a ring of truth that was undeniable. She could almost hear the wilful Yvonne uttering the words. Laurel suppressed a sigh of despair and a natural impulse to defend herself. She said coldly, 'I'm not going to argue with you. Now are you going to hand over that ring, or do I go to the guardia?'

  'So!' his breath came in a warm hiss against her cheek, 'you do threaten me! Or perhaps I am mistaken!' Suddenly his hands shot out and caught her by the shoulders. 'Perhaps you have another reason, seňorita.'

  'Another reason?' Laurel started back. 'Whatever do you mean?'

  His hands tightened, forestalling her move and maintaining their imprisoning grip. The moonlight caught the shadows in his unpleasant smile as he put his face close to stare into her frightened eyes. 'I mean,' he taunted, 'that you are curious about me, seňorita. Perhaps even envious of your friend.'

  'Envious! Of—Why, you conceited—!' Laurel almost stuttered with shock and disgust. Did he really imagine that was her true motive for keeping the appointment? She struggled angrily. 'I never heard such a stupid idea! Let me go! You must be—'