Forget! How could she?
'You had a Spanish knife in your back, Laurel,' he said in the same flat tones. 'No one could win in those' circumstances. Now promise me you'll not let it prey on your mind any more. Has Yvonne told you about her birthday party?'
'Yes,' Laurel blew her nose and blinked away the wateriness in her eyes. 'It's in three weeks' time. I was going to ask you if you know of anything she would especially like.'
'Well, the perfume department from Harrods for a start,' he said with such dry humour Laurel had to smile. 'Her list of present suggestions kicks off with tights and works up to a car—but she'll get the music centre she's yammered on about for ages and think herself lucky.' He paused and his face grew thoughtful. 'I must say she's much easier to get on with since the Destino trip. More approachable and less moody, an of course my wife's recovery has made a difference. She was so poorly she couldn't cope with Yvonne, got irritable and impatient with her, all of which aggravated matters. But everything's tremendously improved now, thank heaven.'
'I'm glad,' Laurel said with sincerity.
He smiled. 'I rather think I owe a great deal to you, my dear. She has formed a great admiration for you and I hope you'll stay her friend, even though I realise she's bound to seem a bit juvenile at times.'
The genuine sincerity behind the words brought a warmth to Laurel's still bruised heart. She said awkwardly, 'Of course—but I think Yvonne's juvenile moods have ended now.'
He laughed, and with a fatherly quip at his daughter's expense moved towards his office, leaving Laurel to reflect on his remarks. At least her kindly employer's domestic troubles seemed to have ironed themselves out at last and for that she was thankful. If only she could say the same of her own! If only she didn't have this constant ache nagging at her conscience as well as her heart.
Although the hurt left by the Conde's merciless dismissal still felt as raw as ever she could not escape the, guilty knowledge of her own quota of responsibility for what had happened. Had the positions been reversed how would she have felt if she had welcomed someone into her home only to discover that they came with an ulterior purpose? She would have felt angry and disappointed. It was no use trying to avoid this truth by pleading the conflict of circumstances out of her control; Yvonne's youthful folly and her own loyalty to her employer. The basic truth remained exactly the same when stripped of other considerations; she hadn't behaved very well.
But what was the use of worrying about it now? Laurel sighed deeply. She had sunk her pride and written to him the week after her return, apologising for the deception and thanking him for his kindness to herself and Yvonne. It had not been an easy letter to write and she had half filled her waste-paper basket before she succeeded in saying what she wanted to convey without any dangerous betrayal of emotional feeling. It had taken quite a bit of courage to post the epistle and the temptation to crumple it impatiently and fling it away had remained even as she hesitated at the pillar box. Of course it wouldn't make any difference, she told herself scornfully; he had made it perfectly plain what he thought of her, but at least she had done what her aunt would call the right thing and all she could do now was start the long, painful business of forgetting.
Despite this resolution Laurel could not suppress the forlorn hope that he might acknowledge her letter, but as the weeks passed this gradually withered and she tried to harden herself against such weakness.
Yvonne's birthday party came and went, after a noisy, hectic party that went on until the small hours of the next day, and the long summer days stretched ahead, filled with promise for that young lady but strangely remote from any joy for Laurel. It was as though something precious had gone from her capacity for living. Two men came into her life that summer, one of whom she met at Yvonne's party and the other who was a newcomer to Mr Searle's staff. They both made overtures of interest, but no matter how she tried to accept the warm dawn of new relationships the chill of remoteness deep within her refused to melt.
'I'm getting worried about you,' Yvonne exclaimed bluntly one afternoon in late July when she called in at the office. 'You're just wasting away this gorgeous summer. What's the matter?'
'Nothing. I've been rather busy, you know,' Laurel evaded with a smile.
'Rubbish! Daddy isn't such a slave-driver, is he?'
'I never said he was—whatever put that idea into your head?'
'Dunno—but it's got to be something.' Yvonne looked worried. 'Listen, Laurie, I'd rather you told me—it's not me, is it? I mean, I don't bore you. Only I thought you'd like to see our weekend cottage, and that dress show last week was quite fun.'
Laurel gaped. For a moment she did not know what to say. Then Yvonne rushed on: 'I suddenly remembered that I said a few bitchy things to you when we first went to Destino and I wondered if you were still sort of annoyed about them, I mean,' she bit her lip, 'you don't have to be polite to me just because my father's your boss. And I didn't mean it, you know. I was going through a bad patch then and everything—'
'Oh, Yvonne—no!' Laurel recovered from astonishment. 'How could you think… Of course you don't bore me. I loved that weekend with your parents and you at the cottage. If it hadn't been for all these invitations I'd have felt very out of things.'
'Thank God for that! Phew! As long as it isn't my fault!' Yvonne visibly relaxed, but a slight frown still puckered her brow. 'Then what is it? Have you fallen out with Phil?'
'Phil?' Laurel almost burst out laughing. Suddenly she realised she had not given a thought to Phil since her return. Heavens! Was it only three months since Phil walked out of her life and left her to cry herself to sleep? Phil, who had occupied all her waking dreams for a whole six months. An ironic smile curved her mouth. If she could forget one man so easily there was hope for her!
'What's so funny?'
'I'm sorry.' Laurel's face sobered. 'No, it isn't Phil. How did you know about him, anyway?'
'Oh, Daddy mentioned him just last night. He said he once or twice took a call from Phil at the office and he used to call for you sometimes, but he hadn't noticed him around lately.'
'It's over. We ended it three months ago.'
'That's ancient history!' Yvonne pushed her long thick hair back from her face, muttering that she must get it cut. 'Well, listen, Laurie, I came to see if you were doing anything tonight. I know it's short notice, but you remember Noel—okay! I know he doesn't turn you on—well, his brother has just come back from Egypt and we're going to a new place that's just opened —they say it's the last word and super food—and we want you to meet Rick. Sandy and Clive are coming as well.'
'A blind date? Or are you trying to matchmake again?'
'Of course not!' Yvonne looked indignant. 'Sandy's met Rick—before he went to Egypt—and she says he's gorgeous. Oh, please, Laurie—it'll be fun.'
'All right.' Laurel capitulated, unable to resist all this persuasion. 'Is it jeans, or ethnic, or full evening splendour?'
'Oh, wear that lovely misty floating thing you bought for my party. It'll be perfect. I bet Rick will fall for you like a load of bricks!'
With this prophecy Yvonne departed for the hairdresser, after arranging to call for Laurel at eight o'clock that evening. When she had gone Laurel was left with a sudden sense of pleasurable anticipation, a feeling she had not experienced for some time, and by the time she let herself into her flat shortly after five she was really looking forward to the evening ahead. For once she was going to forget a tall man whose eyes could caress like warm dark velvet and whose passionate mouth could make her whole body dissolve into longing. But those same eyes could burn like a brand, she reminded herself bitterly, and that mouth was capable of shrivelling her with its scorn and arrogance. Yes, tonight was going to mark the end of memories and the start of forgetting.
She closed the door with unwonted force, as though it were a symbolic underlining of new resolution, and went to make herself a quick cup of tea. Unfortunately her hairdresser had regretted that he was unable to
fit her in at such short notice so she would have to have a shampoo and fix it herself. She would wear those dainty new undies snapped up at a sale she'd gone to with Yvonne last week, and she would open that new perfume she'd been hoarding since Christmas. She had just pinned up fragrant, newly washed hair and was running her bath when the phone rang.
Thank heaven it hadn't waited till she was in the bath!
She hurried to answer, and her heart plummeted when she heard Yvonne's voice at the other end of the line. Oh, surely the evening wasn't off! She breathed her relief when Yvonne said quickly: 'I thought I'd better warn you—I'll be a bit earlier. Something's cropped up and Daddy has to see a client, so he'll have to be back before eight-thirty. But he's going to run us over to Sandy's place and then we can go on with them. Can you be ready?'
'Yes, of course—no bother.'
'Goody—see you about twenty to. By-eee!'
Laurel glanced at the clock as she turned away from the telephone. She still had the best part of a couple of hours; no need to rush over the luxurious bath she'd promised herself, with lashings of the rich golden bubbly stuff that made one relax deliciously, then the sensuously scented body lotion that Phil had once bought for her—with rather more sensuous ideas in mind. It was the first time she had ever been propositioned by a man and she had promptly handed him back the expensive flagon of lotion. But he had just laughed and said he had no intention of rushing her, trying to kid her he'd only been kidding… Well, there was no sense in leaving the stuff to decorate the bathroom shelf, she reflected wryly as she slipped into her robe and went through to the bathroom.
She selected her choice of garments, checked that a new pair of tights were flaw-free, and spread them carefully over the bed, then sat down at the dressing table to lacquer her nails. While they dried she would be cooling off from the bath. Ten minutes later she was holding pearl-tipped fingers under the cold water tap to complete the hardening when she heard the door bell.
She exclaimed under her breath. Surely it couldn't be Yvonne already? It was still scarcely past seven. Or had her watch stopped? But the clock in the living room confirmed the watch's verdict as she ran to the door.
'Yvonne, you're soon! I'm not—Oh!'
But it was not Yvonne.
The door latch slipped away from Laurel's fingers and she caught at the edge to steady herself as she stared at her visitor. It couldn't be! She was seeing things!
'Good evening, seňorita.'
She wasn't seeing a ghost! Laurel opened her mouth weakly then closed it and swallowed hard. 'Seňor …?' she whispered incredulously.
'You are surprised to see me? I come in reply to your letter,' the Conde said calmly, his glance dropping briefly to her hands where they were clutching the tie belt of her robe. 'But I fear I have chosen an inopportune moment. Forgive me. I will return later, seňorita.'
He was preparing to turn away, and something came to urgent life in Laurel, overcoming the tremors of agitation pulsating through her veins. She put out her hand. 'No, don't go—I'm going out soon. I—I never expected to see—' She was caught and held by his gaze as he turned back and her voice deserted her. She could only drown in the sight of him and step back mutely.
He paused for an instant on the threshold, and again his eyes strayed to the nervous hand fluttering to secure the edges of the robe at her throat. A nerve throbbed at the corner of his mouth. 'You trust me, seňorita?'
'Shouldn't I?' she managed shakily.
'Dios mio!' He closed his eyes despairingly as he slammed shut the door behind him. 'Will I ever understand you? Even if I were betrothed to a girl of my own people I would never be permitted to glimpse her attired as you are at this moment—let alone be left alone with her.'
'But I'm not of your people, and I'm not betrothed to you.' Laurel strove to keep her voice steady. 'Anyway, I can't stand at the door like this, so if you could wait—while I dress—' his eyes were making a fiasco of all her earlier resolution— 'I'll only be a few minutes and then—'
'No—wait, Laurel.' He took a step forward. 'Tell me, why did you write to me?'
'Why?' she stared at him, then shrugged. 'Because I felt guilty, I suppose.'
'That was all?'
'Wasn't it enough?'
'No.' He shook his head slowly, and the negative was heavy with finality. Laurel's mouth tightened and her chin went up. 'Listen, seňor,' she began firmly. 'I tried to explain in my letter that I never intended to deceive you about the reason I came to Destine But the way things happened I couldn't—not until it was too late and we were actually at the castillo. And then—'
'Yes?' he prompted.
'I couldn't, because…' She turned away hopelessly. What was the use of starting all the anguish again? How could she explain without betraying her heart?
'Loyalty to your employer, perhaps?' he broke in.
'Something like that,' she said dully.
'But you did not believe I would listen courteously to the truth? Even if I had to refuse your request?'
'Well, would you?' she cried. 'Everything I did seemed to anger you! And the night of the romeria, after Carlota told you, I tried to explain and apologise, but you wouldn't listen. You just grew about ten feet tall and looked down at me as if—as if I—' Her voice broke and she gulped in a ragged breath. 'You seemed to forget that it was your own idea that we stay at the castillo—you insisted on it! It was to suit your own purpose in the first place, and then you practically threw us out. That was what it amounted to,' she accused hotly.
'Yes—but did I not have good cause?' The familiar rapier points glowed in the dark eyes. 'You had given me your kisses, melted in my arms as though you desired me. Was it not all part of your plan of deceit while you spied out my home and my island? I believed you an innocent when I looked into your eyes and sensed the tender wakening of your body to awareness of me, while all the time you seemed to fight that awakening. And when Carlota told me the truth I could scarcely believe you capable of such duplicity. I—'
'No!' Dawning horror widened Laurel's eyes. 'It wasn't like that! You can't believe that I—that I deliberately let you make love to me because I—Oh, no! It was because of Yvonne and her father—my boss —and she was frightened of more trouble.' Laurel took a deep breath, not realising that she had put an imploring hand on his arm as she poured out the story of Yvonne's involvement with unsavoury companions, the drug fear, her mother's illness and Gordon Searle's worry, probably the real motive behind Gordon Searle's dispatching of the two girls to Destino. 'I don't think he was really bothered about Destino from a business angle,' she rushed on frantically, desperate that the Conde should understand. 'And then Yvonne got involved with Renaldo and he took her ring, which was very valuable, that her father had given her. She was just beginning to come to her senses and realise how much distress she'd caused, and then that happened. She begged me not to risk our getting sent back home because you'd found out. And her father would never do anything unethical. I'm sure now that he was just trying to make me feel I was doing something useful to justify a long holiday at his expense. Because he wasn't in the least bit angry when we got back and told him I'd failed. But you must not believe that I— that I would use my sex to deceive you. It's not true!'
For a long moment he did not speak, and Laurel could scarcely bear the probing gaze that seemed to search down into her soul. Then he said softly: 'So, if that were not true, why could you not explain all this much sooner?'
She looked away, running trembling fingers over the soft little mounds of pinned-up hair.
'Was I so unapproachable?' he persisted.
She found the wisp straying free of its pin and doggedly pressed it back into place. 'It wasn't easy to explain things to you,' she said, refusing to look at him.
'Even when you were in my arms?'
She gave an imperceptible little shake of her head, and the silence stretched unbearably into a spell she could not break. The clock's tick became noticeable, heightening the tension
of stillness in the room, and then, so suddenly that she started nervously, the Conde uttered a sharp exclamation.
'Laurel, amada mia—someone once said that silence and solitude are as death to a Spaniard. I think it is true! One thing I do know: I can not face a future without the sound of your voice and the presence of your sweet, intractable, tantalising self.'
'W-what?' Laurel froze, wondering if she had heard aright. She looked for the glints of mockery in his dark eyes and looked in vain.
'Si! Stop looking at me as though you doubt both my sanity and your own. And tell me you wrote that letter because you cared about my opinion of you.'
'I think you know that already,' she murmured weakly.
'Si! But I want to hear you say it!'
Still she did not dare believe what her clamouring senses were telling her, nor what an age-old instinct urged her do. 'It's weeks since I wrote that letter,' she evaded. 'You didn't even answer.'
'Because the letter was delayed in a postal dispute, and by the time it reached the Castillo I had gone away —to try to fill a certain gap which had disturbingly appeared in my life. When it finally came into my hands I decided to respond in person.' He paused, a wicked glint coming into his eyes. 'I believed you needed my forgiveness, seňorita.'
'Your forgiveness!' She was still trying to resist belief, subduing the incredulous joy that wanted to bubble up and overflow. 'What about mine? For the way you looked and spoke to me that night. Always angry. Always ready to accuse. Except when—'
'Except when I could not resist desire a moment longer? Is that what you are trying to tell me but are too shy?' He gave an exclamation that was halfway between laughter and despair. 'Oh, Laurie mia! When will you begin to understand our temperament? That when we feel anger we have to voice it? We cannot hide our feelings, just as we cannot conceal our ardour or remain cold in our attitude for very long. Si, we quarrel, often hurt, but when it is over we do not bear malice. And the exchanging of forgiveness can be very sweet.'
The Velvet Touch Page 18
