Scarlet Lady

by Sara Wood

  'Trust you?' Outside, she rounded on him, her body tight with fury. 'Why ever should I do that? You've been manipulating me ever since you arrived, you unspeakable rat!' she raged. 'You knew! You knew where Vincente lived! You could have told me ages ago, instead of making me go through this ridiculous play-acting with you! When I think of the lies, the prevarications, the downright ruthless way you kept the information to yourself, I feel... I feel... Oh, I could tear my nails down your face, you vicious, spiteful brute! How dare you play God? Why, Leo, why? Go on, tell me it was for my own good!'

  'It was for your own good,' drawled Leo obligingly.

  'It isn't funny V she cried, her eyes as dark as black honey with anger. 'You must have known for days I And you pretended that I must wait, so I sat around like a lemon, wasting time. Oh-h-h!' she spluttered. 'I didn't have to suffer that ghastly married stuff at all! You could have taken me straight to where Vincente lives—'

  'You've had your say; now listen to me!' Leo said curtly, shaking her by the shoulders. 'Dammit, listen! Doesn't it occur to you that I might have had a reason?'

  'Yes,' she muttered bitterly, her mouth sulky with resentment. 'Revenge. You wanted to give me a bad time. You liked to think I was in your power, dancing to your tune! And you're scared stiff that the press will associate me with Vincente and your wretched family will get the backwash of his reputation. That's ridiculous!' she scathed. 'No one could blame the Brandons for bad judgement—'

  'What do you mean by that?' he snarled. Ginny's eyes glittered. 'Your unfortunate marriage to me—a shallow, materialistic model who's a cheap little opportunist,' she said bitterly. 'And my possible relationship to a lecherous middle-aged man in the West Indies. It would make a good story, I can see. All the past rumours about me being a tramp would be instantly confirmed in everyone's eyes if a man with Vincente's reputation was discovered to be my father!'

  Her voice was shaking. She stopped for a moment to control it but the situation was too horrible for her to cope with. In despair she lifted her fists and battered his chest furiously. Leo just stood there, letting her. And then the waves of hopelessness engulfed her and she let her hands fall limply to her sides.

  'I hope you're thinking straight now,' he growled. 'You could do untold damage to your reputation, as well as the Brandons'. Walk away from it, Ginny, before it's too late!'

  'How can I? I can't turn my back on a question mark in my life, however unpleasant the answer might be. I have a lifetime habit of facing up to things, Leo,' she said grimly. 'So you can forget your manipulative little game! This is my business. You have no right to interfere. Not any more. Start talking—and no more lies!'

  'Oh, you'll get the whole story,' he growled. 'But not here in the street. You're drawing too much attention to us as it is. Over lunch.'

  'Bother lunch!' she defied, resisting his urging hand on her elbow. 'Just give me the address and let me get on with it.' Fuming, she planted her hands on her hips in a grim challenge. 'Tell me—then I won't have to see you or speak to you again!'

  'Is that what you want?' he asked flatly.

  Her eyes closed as a spasm of pain razored through her. 'Yes!' she rasped, emotion intensifying the force behind the word. And before she weakened she tilted up her chin and met his unreadable eyes straight on. 'Yes, yes, yes!' she hissed furiously, her voice rising in hysteria.

  Leo studied her, his face a mask. 'Then you have to allow me to tell you in my own way,' he said tightly. 'I'm going to have lunch now. You can join me or not; it's your choice.'

  'I don't need to,' she grated. 'I'm sure that information is in the library and you found it the first time you came here—'

  'But it will take you a while to find and if you don't listen to me you'll never learn the details. You won't find out why I'm so hostile to Vincente, for instance. It's more than a fear of scandal, I can assure you. If you wish to remain in ignorance of his wife, that's your funeral. You can do as you damn well please.'

  'His...wife?' she asked, bewildered. Ginny trembled at the brief flash of pity in his eyes and her heart began to thud violently. What did he know? 'Do you mean my mother? Could she be my mother?' she asked urgently, tugging at his arm.

  Frowning, he contemptuously picked her fingers off one by one. 'We do this my way,' he said in a lordly manner. 'Lunch.'

  Sullenly she watched him turn and walk off down the street, vowing she'd rather die than... What was wrong about the way he was walking? Her back went rigid. There was something about his manner that betrayed tension—perhaps the lifted shoulders, or the stiff and unnatural way he held his head.

  Alarmed, Ginny wove in and out of the crowds, annoyed that she was being forced to run after him again, annoyed with herself for ever trusting him. He held the whip hand again. It seemed that he always would.

  Suddenly he dived into a doorway and she hastened to catch up with him. It was a restaurant. Numb with apprehension, she stumbled up the stairs.

  From the start Leo had tried to prevent her from seeking Vincente out, feeding her with terrible stories. Could she believe him now? He might dish out a load of lies and she'd be none the wiser. Whatever he said, it would make no difference. One way or another she'd have fo meet Vincente and make up her own mind— and, remembering what Leo had said about Vincente's character, she cringed at the thought of doing that alone.

  'Over here,' he called imperiously, making himself heard above a milling throng. Height and an aristocratic manner had its advantages! Outwardly calm now, she wriggled around the tables in the busy room and emerged on a balcony outside, overlooking a busy street. Leo was already sitting at a table and he stood briefly while she settled herself just as a waitress appeared by his side. 'Two rum punches,' he ordered abruptly. 'And a menu.'

  'I don't want to drink or eat...' Ginny began fretfully.

  'You will.' Leo's eyes were unusually dark, his face very solemn, and she shivered with fear.

  'Why?' she husked. 'What is so awful? Why did you go to such lengths to set up an elaborate scenario where I was handed useless books by a primed, suitably dazzled librarian?'

  With a sigh, he put a gentle hand on her shoulder. Irrationally, she drew strength from the gesture, reassured by its firm security. 'I thought I could stop you ever meeting Vincente,' he said quietly. 'The hotel staff were obviously keeping their own counsel about the man's whereabouts for reasons I can only guess at. I imagined you'd give up trying when we had no joy in the library—'

  'I would have gone to the police station,' she said hoarsely, cold shivers running down her erect back in icy waves.

  'And I would have thought of something to stop you.' Leo removed his hand and brooded moodily on the complex weave of the raffia mat. 'Faked a twisted ankle, developed stomach cramps—I don't know. Anything to get you back to the hotel and buy time till I could persuade you that you were wasting your time looking for Vincente.' He grimaced. 'I didn't bargain on being recognised by anyone.'

  'You're very striking/ she muttered. Her eyes flicked up quickly because she was anxious that he shouldn't imagine that she found him anything special. 'Tall,' she said curtly.

  He acknowledged the arrival of their drinks and slid hers towards her: 'Take a few good swigs of that,' he ordered. 'Stop slicing me in half with your beautiful eyes and calm down. You've got to cope with a lot of information and some of it may make your hair stand on end.' Morosely he took a long gulp of his drink while Ginny sat in petrified silence, her lips parted in dismay. 'Drink,' he commanded roughly. 'I want you to be a little more mellow before I begin.'

  With shaking hands, she held the glass and obediently took several swallows. The menu arrived and she stared at it blindly.

  'Choose something,' he muttered.

  'I can't... I-'

  'You will eat,' he said brutally. 'I won't talk until you've got some food into you.'

  'Damn you! Damn you! Why don't you get out of my life?' she half sobbed under her breath.

  'I can't,' he snarled. 'I wis
h I could, but I can't. Not yet. Now choose something to eat.'

  The list of food on the menu swam before her eyes. Somehow she forced herself to focus. Around her and inside the room beyond she became conscious of much laughter and barracking, as locals recognised one another and caught up with the gossip. In a time capsule of her own—one that was probably about to explode—Ginny read and reread the menu. European, Creole and South-

  East Asian food. Thai shrimp rolls, she read for the third time. Java fish. Steak teriyaki.

  'I don't know,' she muttered miserably. 'Anything...' She flinched at his sharply indrawn breath. 'Beef roti and chilli sauce!' she said quickly.

  They sat in an ominous silence till he ordered. Seafood and fish in black bean sauce for him. Ginny felt the worry and misery wrapping around her like a thick cloak. Any other time she would have loved the restaurant. It was unpretentious—unlike the stiff, expensive place they'd eaten at before on the shoot—and everyone appeared to be having a wonderful time.

  On a small notice-board were adverts for local services. A step class. A beauty centre. Skin care, batik, a health club... Plenty going on. If it hadn't been for Vincente and Leo, she would have had fun here, she thought mournfully. St Lucia was her sort of place, the St Lucians her sort of people. None of them had 'attitude'. Not like Leo.

  'Well?' she muttered when her meal finally arrived and she'd pushed down two—admittedly delicious— mouthfuls.

  'Don't give me indigestion,' he said tetchily. 'I am going to tell you!' he growled, when she drew in a furious breath. 'Let me get something down me first.'

  More drinks arrived. Ginny was beginning to feel anaesthetised. 'OK. I'm calm,' she said coldly, finishing the last of the roti. It sat heavily in her stomach, but she was fuelled up and he couldn't delay any longer. 'Fulfil a promise for once in your life, will you?'

  Leo pushed his plate away and she noticed suddenly that he'd eaten virtually nothing. 'First,' he said abruptly, 'Vincente isn't in hospital any longer. He's at home—'

  'Which is where?' she asked quickly in an angry rasp.

  'Beau Rivage.'

  Ginny's mouth pinched in. 'Beau Rivage where the dolphins play offshore?' she asked sarcastically. Two high spots of colour burned in his cheeks but he stared back at her boldly. 'There was no dolphin, was there? You're such a liar! I despise you!' she said hotly, and she half rose to her feet before he brought her crashing down again by slamming a ruthless hand on each shoulder. 'What the—?'

  'I haven't finished,' he growled. 'Sit there till I'm done!'

  'You've got ten seconds,' she hissed, her eyes blistering his with an uncontrollable anger. 'And then I'm going!'

  'Ten seconds will do. Vincente's wife was—is—my aunt.'

  Ginny was too stunned to do anything but blink stupidly. 'Aunt?' she repeated, checking to see if it was some kind of joke. The strain in every line of his face told her that he was deadly serious.

  'My father's sister.'

  'Oh! The scandal...' She swallowed, remembering the woman whom, Leo had claimed, Vincente had treated badly. But was that true too? 'Leo!' she whispered. 'Tell me you're lying again!'

  'Unfortunately not. Mary Brandon was my father's elder sister. Lady Mary Brandon,' he said in an almost clinical monotone, and Ginny tried to grasp the significance of what he was saying.

  She looked up at his austere, bleak face and shivered despite the warmth on the small balcony. He looked very much like his father at that moment.

  Stuart, Viscount Brandon, had always unnerved her with his aristocratic confidence. The fact that his family had for centuries owned vast tracts of land and moved in a close and intimate social circle meant that the red- haired Stuart had a very definite idea of who he was and where he was going. One day he'd be the Earl of Castlestowe. And then, in time to come, it would be Leo's turn.

  The thought of that had intimidated her ever since she'd first realised Leo's destiny—but by then it had been too late. She'd fallen in love and stupidly imagined that love could conquer anything.

  No wonder Leo had scorned the possibility that she might be Vincente's daughter. That would mean that Mary —Lady Mary—would be her mother. 'You said... you always looked after your own.'

  'Yes.'

  'Does that mean that your aunt was cared for by your father and grandfather when she left Vincente and fled to Britain?'

  Leo frowned. 'By my father.'

  Ginny heaved a sigh. Mary, Lady Brandon couldn't possibly be her mother, then. Because her mother had been poor and desperate, not cherished and protected by one of the richest men in Scotland. 'I'm not Vincente's daughter,' she said shakily.

  He hesitated. 'I've always told you—it's highly unlikely.'

  But that hesitation had put her on the alert. Leo wasn't telling her everything. Maybe not even the truth. 'There's a little more for me to know, isn't there?' she asked.

  He frowned. 'Family business.'

  Ginny squared her shoulders. 'If you want me to abandon this search for Vincente, you'd better tell me everything,' she said sharply.

  His mouth thinned, as though it was painful telling anyone about a hiccup in the Brandon genealogy. 'You've been hunting down the biggest rogue you'll ever meet,' he grated. 'The kind of man who'd cheat his own cousin. There's a cloud hanging over that family, Ginny. You see, Vincente's cousin Louis died under suspicious circumstances. So did Pascal's first wife and baby son. They died in a fire. Vincente was implicated in both events—and Pascal was so certain that his father caused the fire that they had a brawl which resulted in Pascal going to prison for criminal damage and actual bodily harm.'

  Ginny swallowed. What a family! If Leo could prove without a shadow of doubt that she couldn't be Mary's daughter, she'd be heartily relieved. 'Tell me about your aunt,' she said huskily. 'How did she meet Vincente?'

  'Socially, in London. She was seventeen. Headstrong, stubborn, confident.' Leo's mouth twisted wryly. 'Apparently it was her engagement party. She was to marry Vincente's cousin Louis—a brilliant match, approved by everyone. Then, out of the blue, she declared this undying love for Vincente and they ran away to St Lucia. Gradually the family lost all contact with her and she even stopped writing to Father—who'd been a great friend as well as a brother to her.'

  'Didn't anyone come over to find her?' she asked hesitantly.

  'Several times. However, Vincente and Mary never seemed to be at home. Grandfather learnt of Pascal's birth from a local boatman.'

  'That's terrible!' she said indignantly.

  Leo shrugged. 'She'd cut herself off from the family. The Brandons are too proud to run after anyone.'

  Ginny nodded soberly. She knew that only too well. 'So why should Vincente have thought for one moment that I might be their daughter? And how did he find out about my mother's name and my date of birth?'

  'After thirteen years married to Vincente,' continued Leo patiently, 'she got in touch with Father out of the blue and begged him to help her leave the island.'

  'Why?' breathed Ginny, unable to tear her eyes from his pale, tight face and his lowered eyes. A terrible sadness washed through her body and, desperate for Leo's touch, she reached out hesitantly with her slender hand and rested it on his, shocked to find that it was shaking because he was clenching it as if crushing the life from Vincente's neck. 'Was she unhappy?'

  Leo fixed her with a piercing look. 'You have to stay away from the man,' he said tightly. 'My aunt suffered from Vincente's vile behaviour. He humiliated her by openly flaunting his mistresses. I understand that he attacked her, verbally and physically.' Leo's brows met in an angry line. 'He moved one of his mistresses into the house. That was when she decided to run away,' he muttered, and looked at her with such raw and bitter eyes that her heart lurched for him.

  'She was the woman in the scandal!' she breathed in compassion. 'Why didn't she run away before?'

  'She couldn't. Vincente's treatment had crushed her so much that she was terrified of stepping out of the house,' re
plied Leo grimly. 'Agoraphobia, I believe. She was a prisoner of her own mind. It took Father hours to persuade her to leave, once he reached her.'

  'She must have been terrified,' Ginny said quietly. 'Leo, I'm so sorry.' Her hand tightened on his in sympathy.

  'You do see what a terrible man Vincente is, don't you?' he asked urgently.

  'Yes. Yes, I do.' Vincente was a brute. Thank heavens Leo had kept her away from the man! She tried to swallow away the lump in her throat as the sun slanted beneath the shady roof of the balcony and lit Leo's haunted face with a searing light. 'Your aunt,' she said gently. 'Is she all right now?'

  Again that hesitation. Ginny tensed. He was about to lie to her.

  'Leo, I want the truth,' she said, her voice hardening in warning. 'I deserve the truth. I can find out when I get back to England what happened to her—'

  'Yes.' It was clear that Leo felt reluctant to tell her what he knew. Ginny waited while he stared sightlessly at the cheerful crowds below. 'I don't know,' he said slowly. His mouth hardened. 'She was pregnant with Vincente's child when she arrived in Britain but disappeared shortly after it was born. Father never found her. She's been missing for over twenty-five years.'

  Something knotted in Ginny's stomach. And the penny dropped. 'You said your father had taken care of her!' she accused shakily.

  'He did for a little while. And then she vanished.'

  Her breathing became shallow. Of course. Vincente wouldn't have been searching for his daughter... unless he'd known that his wife was pregnant before she left. Although Mary had disappeared, Vincente had finally traced his wife to the nursing home. And he'd placed that advert because Ginny's date and place of birth were right—even if her mother had called herself Sarah Temple.

  Vincente's wife and her mother could well be one and the same person. And that meant that Vincente might be her father. She remembered Pascal's fair hair. The colour drained from her face.

  'Your aunt Mary's child would be twenty-five years old now, wouldn't she? I'm twenty-five, Leo,' she said in a low voice.

  Leo's glacial eyes flicked briefly to hers. 'Yes,' he replied softly.