Handful of stardust

by Yvonne Whittal

  When he drove her home that evening, she made up, her mind that she would avoid him at all costs in future, if only for her own peace of mind.

  'What is it that you have against Clive?' she asked bluntly as he took the key from her and unlocked the door to the flat. 'Why have you been trying your best to make me believe he's a scoundrel of some sort?'

  His eyebrows rose sharply. 'My dear Samantha, I've done nothing of the kind. I'm merely trying to place you on your guard against the pitfalls of life. I can sense that you're much too trusting, and absolutely sincere in everything you do, but that doesn't mean that others share your admirable principles.'

  Samantha stared at him for several seconds in the dimly lit entrance to the flat, but his expression remained formidable.

  'I'm sorry I mentioned this subject once more,' she

  said dully. 'I don't really wish to continue this discussion further.'

  'Right, let's change the subject,' he agreed. 'What are you doing tomorrow evening?'

  Samantha held her breath. 'Why?'

  'I have two tickets for a show in town and we could have dinner afterwards.'

  'Thank you very much for the invitation, but—'

  'That's settled, then,' he interrupted her refusal, and she leaned weakly against the door in an effort to control the unfamiliar weakness in her knees.

  'Mr Carrington, I

  'Brett,' he corrected, leaning closer to her, and for one wild moment she thought he was going to kiss her. Panic held her in its fierce grip as she stared into his rugged face so close to hers. His glance swept over her upturned face and lingered for a moment on her trembling lips before he straightened and twisted his lips into a mocking smile. 'You've avoided using my name all evening, but I insist that you use it now.'

  'Brett,' she managed finally, not wishing to prolong the evening. 'I must thank you for your kind invitation just now, but the answer is ... no.'

  To her chagrin he smiled at her tolerantly as if she were an amusing child. 'Despite the fact that you say no very prettily, Samantha, I shall call for you at six-thirty tomorrow evening and hope that you've changed your mind.'

  Without waiting for a reply he turned on his heel and disappeared down the stairs. Samantha stood as if she had been mesmerised until she heard the silver Jaguar drive away. Brett Carrington was really the most infuriating man she had ever met, she decided as she went inside and locked the door behind her. His arrogant refusal to accept no for an answer only made her

  more determined that, no matter what, she would not be ready and waiting for him when he arrived the following evening.

  Later, as she lay staring into the darkness, she tried to think of Clive, but Brett Carrington's angular face kept intruding into her thoughts. Time and again she banished him until she finally gave up, allowing her mind to conjure up his image. The thick, almost black hair, greying at the temples, the dark brown eyes beneath heavy black eyebrows, with a straight nose and square chin. She thought again of how he had looked in that moment when she had feared that he would kiss her, and for one horrified moment she wondered what it would feel like to have that chiselled mouth pressed against her own.

  Placing her hands against her hot cheeks, she felt an incredible anger rising within her. What was happening to her? How dared she entertain such thoughts about a man like Brett Carrington? The reason for his sudden interest in her was beyond her understanding, but she would not allow him to dominate her life in this way. Clive would be back within three weeks, and until then she would have to be on her guard against Brett. He had wealth and influence as well as being in a position of authority and, even at this early stage she had a feeling that, given the opportunity, he could wield a strange power over her, a power that could quite easily drive Clive from her heart and mind.

  Brett Carrington was not a man to be overlooked, and her feminine instincts warned her that, like so many others before her, she could become an easy prey to a man of his experience.

  'Oh, Clive,' she moaned softly to herself, 'why did you have to be sent away just at the time when I needed you most?' But would Clive be able to protect

  her adequately from something she was unable to explain even to herself?

  She thumped her pillow and tried to sleep instead of allowing her thoughts to go round in endless circles that led nowhere in particular. Everything will make more sense in the morning, she consoled herself.

  CHAPTER THREE

  'WELL?' Gillian demanded the following morning at work. 'Was it as bad as you thought it would be?'

  'No,' Samantha shook her head, 'but I would rather see as little as possible of Brett Carrington in future.'

  'Don't tell me he made a pass at you! '

  'Gillian,' Samantha replied with mock severity, 'a man like Brett Carrington doesn't make passes at a girl.'

  `No, I don't suppose he would,' Gillian nodded gravely, adding with a hint of humour, 'I must admit Stan and I were hoping he would sweep you off your feet.'

  Samantha laughed outright at her friend's admission. 'I never gave him the opportunity, and he behaved like a perfect gentleman all evening.'

  'How disappointing,' Gillian murmured half in earnest. 'I had hoped he would at least make you realise that there were far more interesting men about for a girl to fall in love with.'

  'Gillian,' Samantha reprimanded, 'I happen to be in love with Clive, and as far as Brett Carrington is concerned ... well, I want no part of him.'

  'What a pity, because he has all the qualities most women admire. He had a wonderful physique and such good vibrations, and added to that he's so terribly rich! '

  'That may be so, but he doesn't interest me at all.' 'Where did you have dinner?' Gillian asked exasperatedly. 'At a restaurant in town?'

  'No, in his private suite at the hotel.'

  Gillian pouted her lips and whistled softly. 'Just as well Clive isn't here. Were you alone?'

  'There was a bevy of servants who very discreetly managed to make us feel as though we were alone,' Samantha told her with a touch of irritation.

  'Has he asked you to go out with him again?'

  'Yes ... but I shall refuse to go,' Samantha added swiftly, determined that she would remain adamant about not seeing him again.

  She should have realised, however, that Brett Carrington was a force to be reckoned with. He arrived at the flat that evening at six-thirty sharp and found her dressed in a pair of old slacks and sweater, and sitting cross-legged on the lounge carpet with several dress patterns and pieces of material in disarray about her. Encouraged by her father, who thought the whole episode amusing, Brett instructed her to change immediately, glancing at his wristwatch and giving her not much more than ten minutes to do so.

  Infuriated, she gathered up the patterns and material and escaped to her room, slamming the door behind her and locking it. He could wait there in the lounge for ever as far as she was concerned, she thought, but fear of what he might do when provoked made her change swiftly into something more appropriate. Brett Carrington was to have his way after all, she thought helplessly.

  The show he had tickets for turned out to be a classic tragedy that left her on the verge of tears towards the end, and he mocked her gently throughout dinner about being tender-hearted, finally succeeding in making her wonder why she had been so afraid to accept his invitation in the first place.

  Brett was pleasant company, but there was Clive to

  consider. She had to remain faithful to him in every respect, but was there really any harm in accepting a few casual invitations from one of the directors of the firm she worked for? Samantha knew somehow that she was merely making excuses for herself when every nerve in her body was crying out that she should take care. She had hoped that Clive would have telephoned her soon after his arrival in Cape Town, but after two days had passed without a word from him she felt somehow justified in allowing Brett Carrington to monopolise her free time to such an extent, but that was all

  Samantha was quite mollified
that evening when Brett left her on the doorstep without so much as a peck on the cheek. His behaviour that evening had been impeccable, just as it had been the evening before, and Samantha began to wonder whether she had allowed her imagination to run away with her. She would not see him again, she was sure. After issuing an invitation to her on two consecutive evenings in a row, he would now have tired of her company, she told herself happily.

  She was mistaken, however, for Brett became a regular visitor at her home during the following two weeks. He would either invite her out to dinner or take her to a show, and quite often he would spend the evening sitting in one of their brightly covered armchairs, exchanging views with her father while she sat and stared in amazement at the way her father responded to their important visitor. 'Important' was rather a mild word to describe Brett, for his bearing and manner made it quite obvious that he was used to having his every command carried out promptly. He was also, she had to admit, someone who could be depended upon in every way, and a man who expected honesty in return for the same. It was perhaps these characteristics of his that

  had her father eating out of his hand in a short space of time.

  'We don't see much of you these days, Sam,' Stan Dreyer remarked one morning when he joined Gillian and herself during their tea break in the cafeteria. 'I hear you're hobnobbing with the cream of society lately.'

  'Don't be silly, Stan,' Samantha rebuked him good-humouredly. 'Once Clive has returned Brett Caning-ton will realise that I have no interest in him whatsoever, but until then why shouldn't I go on enjoying myself while Clive is away?'

  'There's no reason at all why you shouldn't enjoy yourself,' Stan agreed readily. I'm sure Clive is

  He broke off suddenly as Gillian rammed him in the ribs with her elbow and gave him a fierce look. Samantha could not help noticing this, but decided to ignore the implication that Clive would be anything but faithful to her. He had telephoned her only once during the two weeks he had been away, and it had been a very unsatisfactory call, for the line had been bad at the time, which made conversing intelligently impossible. She was able to understand, however, that he would not telephone again owing to pressure of work, but that he would contact her as soon as he returned from Cape Town. Samantha accepted this as gracefully as she could, because it would, after all, not be long before she saw him again. Hearing Clive's voice, however badly due to the disturbances on the line, had merely served to re-awaken her longing for him, and she began to count the days to his return.

  Samantha arrived at work one morning to find Gillian and Brett Carrington deep in conversation on the steps leading to the entrance of the offices. Curious as to why her friend should be wearing such a serious

  expression, Samantha approached more swiftly, but Gillian saw her coming and gave a guilty start. Brett turned at that moment, his expression perfectly calm as he smiled down at her.

  `Good morning, Samantha.'

  She returned the greeting, her cheeks flaming for some unknown reason as his glance swept over her appreciatively from her pale gold hair to her soft leather shoes. Gillian added to her embarrassment by hastily excusing herself and entering the building, leaving Brett and herself alone on the steps. Samantha tried to follow suit, but found her arm held firmly above the elbow.

  `Will you have lunch with me?'

  'I have some typing to get through during lunch,' Samantha hedged, aware of the magnetism of this tall, immaculately dressed man who had fallen into step beside her.

  `I know of a place nearby where the service is quick and the meals superb,' Brett persisted persuasively, and even without looking at him she knew there would be a gleam of mockery in his eyes because of her continual reluctance to accept his invitations.

  `Why can't you take no for an answer?' she sighed, as they reached the door to the general office.

  `Because you don't really mean it, Samantha,' he replied arrogantly. 'You can't deny that you've enjoyed my company these past two weeks, can you?'

  Samantha shook her head helplessly. 'No, I can't deny it, but—'

  `Then why do you continually want to deny me the pleasure of your company?'

  `There's Clive,' she reminded him.

  `Clive is almost eight hundred kilometres from Port Elizabeth at the moment, but I'm here,' he stated

  firmly. 'I shall be waiting for you at the front entrance. Twelve-thirty?'

  An involuntary smile plucked at her lips as she nodded and pushed past him into the office. His manner was infuriating, his arrogance breath-taking, yet she could not deny that his company was stimulating and never dull.

  Samantha never did find the time to ask Gillian the reason for her serious discussion with Brett but there was something in the way Gillian stared at her from time to time that disturbed her. At such times Gillian would switch instantly to her usual madcap self, and Samantha would eventually be left to wonder whether her imagination had played tricks on her. Whatever it was that they had discussed in such earnest, Gillian was obviously not going to tell her, and Samantha knew her friend too well to pry.

  After that luncheon date with Brett she did not see him again until he arrived at the flat one evening, three days before Clive's return to Port Elizabeth. Samantha was shampooing her hair when the doorbell chimed and, thinking that her father might have forgotten his latch key and was returning for it, she rinsed her hair and wrapped a towel about her head before going to the door.

  `Daddy isn't home this evening,' she said stupidly when she found herself confronted by Brett's tall, imposing figure. 'He's at a meeting.'

  `I know,' Brett smiled, his glance flicking over her beige slacks and loose-fitting blouse as he closed the door behind him and followed her into the lounge.

  Flustered by his unexpected appearance, she stood in the middle of the floor and wished the roof would cave in on her as he seated himself in the only comfortable

  armchair they possessed, behaving as though it was nothing unusual for him to see her with a towel wrapped like a turban about her head.

  Her trembling hands were seized suddenly and she was pulled down on to her knees before him. It was so unexpected that she found no time for protest as she felt his hands undoing the towel.

  'I used to dry my sister's hair for her,' he explained quietly at her questioning glance, and proceeded to rub her hair vigorously until her scalp tingled pleasurably.

  It was a perfectly natural situation, yet somehow she had never associated Brett Carrington with the menial task of drying a woman's hair. Neither had she bargained for the unwanted though pleasurable sensations caused by his nearness. It was at a time like this that she had to force herself to remember that her heart belonged to Clive alone.

  'I believe your sister died a few years ago,' she remarked, not particularly wanting to discuss a subject which might be painful to him, but it happened to be the first thing that came to mind when she felt the need to break the heavy silence between them.

  Surprisingly enough he said quite casually: 'That's right. Who told you?'

  'My father, but I believe he read it in the newspapers at the time.'

  'Yes, it was a terrible waste of such a young life,' he stated firmly, letting the towel fall to the floor.

  There was a touch of bitterness in the glance that met hers and then, realising that she must look a mess, she hastily excused herself. In the sanctuary of her room she quickly combed her hair, the feathery yet still damp curls refusing to remain in position and curling about her ears. Exasperated, she let them be and

  touched up her make-up before returning to the lounge.

  Brett stood at the window with his back to her. He had removed his jacket and his shirt was spanning almost too tightly across the width of his shoulders. He turned to face her then, almost as if he had sensed her presence, and something quivered in her throat at the graveness of his expression.

  `There's something I want to discuss with you,' he said brusquely, adding to her nervousness.

  `Oh?'

>   The only other occasions when he had adopted this serious attitude was when they had discussed Clive, and Samantha prepared herself mentally to do battle with him as he came towards her and gripped her shoulders until she winced inwardly.

  'Samantha, I want you to stop deluding yourself that Wilmot will ever marry you. He won't ... and when that happens I may not be around to pick up the pieces.'

  `How dare you!' she exclaimed angrily, shaking off his hands.

  'I dare because I happen to care what happens to you when you discover the truth about him, but I'm also certain that you don't love him as much as you think you do.'

  `You're wrong ! I do love him—I do

  `No, you don't I ' he contradicted harshly. 'You've been dazzled by his charming manner and glib tongue like so many others before you, but you don't love him.'

  Samantha stared at him, her eyes dark with anger. 'I'm quite capable of looking after myself, but I fail to see what you're trying to achieve with all your insulting remarks.'

  'I'm trying to make you see that what you feel for him is nothing more than infatuation,' he replied with galling confidence.

  This was too much, and Samantha drew a shuddering breath, almost choking in her fury as she tilted her head upwards to face him defiantly. 'Brett Carrington, you bulldozed your way into my life without so much as a by-your-leave, but I will not have you dictating to me as to whom I should and should not love I How can you claim to know my feelings, and who gives you the right to make accusations against someone who isn't here to defend himself?'

  'I presume you're referring to Clive Wilmot?'

  His mockery did not escape her, and it only served to infuriate her more. 'You know very well I am!'

  'I'm quite prepared to repeat my accusations with Clive Wilmot present, and it would give me the greatest pleasure to see him squirm.' There was a hard brutality in his features she had never seen before, but he recovered himself swiftly. 'Samantha, you're too good for him.'