‘Then you must come along with us. I shall be coming back at about three this afternoon.’
Emma slanted him an upward glance.
‘You?’ she said. ‘Won’t Eileen be coming back with you?’
Paul quirked her a perceptive smile and shook his head.
‘No, she’s staying in Port Louis tonight with a friend. So you’ll have me all to yourself on the way back,’ he added in some amusement after a slight pause.
He expected an acid retort from Emma and was not disappointed. But in her anger Emma spoke words that left her wide open to a riposte that sent the blood rushing to her face.
‘That’ll be an exciting experience for me!’
‘I can make it so, Emma . . . so exciting you’ll remember it for a long time. As you once said, there are lots of lonely places between here and town.’
‘I don’t want your lift after all,’ she snapped, putting cool palms to her hot cheeks. ‘I’ve changed my mind!’
‘Don’t be silly.’ A dramatic change in him all at once and she rather thought that he regretted goading her to the point where she would refuse his offer of a lift. ‘You know very well I’ll not molest you—’
‘Do I? A statement like that amazes me! Your memory must be very short.’
‘Let us not start another slanging match, Emma. If I give you my promise, will that put your mind at rest?’
The temptation to remain stubborn was very great, simply because she knew for sure that he would continue in his efforts to persuade her, and she would like to see just how far he would go. However, she decided against it and said more quietly, ‘All right, I’ll come with you.’
‘Good. I shall be leaving in about half an hour.’ He smiled down at her, and her heart caught. What an incomprehensible man he was! Suddenly she was recalling something she had read which was on a temple at Delphi in Greece: ‘Know Thyself.’
Emma was of the opinion, as she watched him striding away over the lawn, that Paul Fanchette did not know himself!
‘So how,’ she murmured quite audibly, ‘can I expect to know or understand him?’
Eileen was already in the front passenger seat when Emma arrived at the place where Paul usually left his car, and as he came up at that same moment he opened a rear door for her. Emma smiled as she glanced up, and he responded. But during the drive his conversation was mainly with the lovely girl sitting beside him. On reaching Port Louis he wasted no time in leaving the girls as, glancing at his watch, he realised he was already a little late for his appointment. Eileen suggested they go into a nearby cafe and have morning coffee, and Emma reluctantly agreed, much preferring to go off immediately on her own. She was to be back at the car at three, and she wanted to have a wander around the town before making her purchases.
The cafe was outdoors, beneath the trees in the square. Eileen was soon asking Emma questions about herself, her interest seeming to be out of all proportion. Emma passed most of them off effectively and without being too cool with the girl. But when she was asked what she thought of Paul, she stiffened immediately and said with a chill inflection, ‘I wouldn’t dream of passing an opinion on my sister’s employer, Miss Jennings. Such a thing would be quite out of place.’ Finality in her tone but little did she know that, later, she was to say something about Paul that the girl would carry to him—later but not today.
‘Perhaps I shouldn’t have asked,’ was all Eileen said to that, and for the next ten minutes or so the conversation was scanty and confined to the merits of the town.
Glad to get away, Emma made for the museum after having seen a sign directing people to it. She wanted to see the life-like model of the famous dodo, a bird made extinct in the seventeenth century when the island was occupied by those who obviously had destructive tendencies. And its name had since then been inseparable from that of Mauritius, its being figured in the Arms of the island and incorporated in many tourist souvenirs. She felt sad as she stood there, staring at the model, and a copy of a painting done by Savery in 1625, sad that it should be extinct. It could not fly and apart from its destruction by men, it seemingly fell prey to the newly-introduced pigs.
‘Dead as a dodo. . . .’ How apt the saying!
From the museum she went to the shops and strolled along, merely window-gazing at first, enjoying novel experiences and the warm sunshine. A small cafe tempted her to take a snack lunch before setting out to look for the presents she wanted. The choice was limitless, with lovely things both from Europe and the East. For one friend who made all her own clothes she bought a dress length of embroidered satin, and for the other friend a set of Indian costume jewelry—necklace, bracelet and earrings—which were packed in a velvet-lined gift box.
With still an hour to spare she wandered to the waterfront to enjoy the cool trade-wind breeze and watch the activity of the busy harbour.
Paul arrived at their meeting place only two minutes after she did; he looked at his watch and asked Emma if she would like a drive to Pamplemousses Gardens, which would take about twenty minutes. She eagerly accepted, for she had read about these world famous botanical gardens and had regretted not having asked Louise to take her there when they were in Port Louis.
Paul was oddly silent for the entire drive, but Emma was glad in a way for she was able to absorb the scenery, giving her whole attention to it.
Once at the gardens Paul parked the car, and they began a stroll which took them down long avenues, past pretty ornamental lakes, in some of which thrived the fantastic water lily of giant size, named Victoria Regia.
‘It’s so peaceful here,’ breathed Emma feeling almost light-hearted and happy . . . with Paul beside her, friendly in a distant kind of way. Emma was grateful for small mercies; Paul and she usually had arguments, and so today was a special treat for her. A memory she would cherish for years to come. ‘It’s almost tangible—the atmosphere of peace and calm, I mean.’
He nodded and slanted her a glance. She wished he would hold her hand. She smiled wanly to herself, and her lip quivered.
‘These gardens are famous for the rarity of many of the trees and other plants,’ he told her after a while. ‘They were planned by two Frenchmen, one of whom, Pierre Poivre, was so enthusiastic that he actually risked his life by smuggling spice plants from the Sundra Islands. The Dutch had already inflicted the death penalty on several people who had tried to smuggle spices from these islands.’
‘You mean—the Dutch had a jealously guarded monopoly in the Sundra Islands?’ She glanced up at him in disbelief. ‘The death sentence—that was awful!’
‘They were strange times,’ he agreed, ‘and stranger laws. The spices never did bring huge fortunes to Mauritius in the way they did to the Sundras,’ he went on to say.
‘Another plant that deserves mention,’ went on Paul after another long silence, ‘is the Cassava or manioc. It was brought over from Brazil as food for the slaves.’
Emma frowned, but made no comment. She was taking in the beauty of rare palms and numerous other trees and remembering that these gardens would be more beautiful still were it not for the damage done by cyclones. Even as it was, the sheer loveliness of the palm-lined avenues, the lakes, the flower-bordered little pathways, was something she knew she would never forget.
‘And now we come to Paul and Virginie Avenue—’ Paul turned his head to look down at her with a hint of amusement in his dark eyes. ‘I expect you know all about these immortal lovers?’
‘I’ve read about them, yes. it was a sad story.’
‘A novel whose main characters have become so real that we are now approaching the legendary tomb.’ Laughter in his voice and Emma thought she would never see him as attractive as he was today. But then she would not have time, seeing that she was leaving tomorrow night. ‘The “tomb” is in fact a pedestal of a statue of the Goddess Flora.’
‘It is easy to imagine that the story of Paul and Virginie is true, though,’ mused Emma almost to herself. The couple had been brought up as neigh
bours on the Ile de France in the eighteenth century and grew to love one another. Virginie was sent to France to be educated, and Paul waited for her. But the Saint Geran on which she sailed was wrecked and Paul, standing on the shore waiting for his beloved, saw her drowned before his eyes and he died of a broken heart. ‘There’s been a film of Bernardin de St. Pierre’s famous book,’ she added, ‘but I expect you already know that?’
He merely nodded his head; he seemed far away from her now, distant, aloof.
How changeable his moods!
Back in the car he again drove in silence, his profile set, his eyes staring ahead, unmoving for most of the time. Where were his thoughts? Emma wondered, thinking of the conversation she had overheard. Perhaps he was bored with his life at present and was ready for another diversion. Would he tempt Eileen to be his mistress? Or would he marry her? If his response to his mother’s persuasion were anything to go by, then marriage was not at present contemplated.
Her thoughts switched, because she did not want to spoil this ride by thinking of Eileen and coupling her name with Paul’s.
It was a long time later that he said, sending her a swift, sideways glance as he took his eyes off the road for a second, ‘What are you thinking about, Emma?’
She had been thinking that it seemed much longer than a fortnight since she came to the Chateau Fanchette, but the answer she gave him was, ‘This time tomorrow I shan’t have more than a few hours left.’
Silence, profound and incomprehensible. The car seemed to be invaded by an electric current, and Emma felt her nerves tense. She looked at her companion, noticed the almost glowering expression, saw with fascinated eyes the way his hands had tightened on the wheel so that the knuckles stood out white against the teak darkness of the skin. That he was in the grip of a strong emotion seemed evident, and when he spoke it was with thinly veiled irritation.
‘You appear exceedingly eager to be gone from Mauritius.’ He jammed on his brakes as a car came swerving round a bend, taking up much more than half of the narrow road.
‘I only came for a fortnight,’ Emma reminded him, her nerves a little shaken by what had just occurred. Paul was speeding along again and she saw with an access of depression that they were nearly home.
‘And I invited you to stay longer.’ There was a harsh thrust to his voice, but his expression had eased, was not nearly so formidable as it had been a few moments ago.
Ignoring his remark Emma said, ‘My mother’s alone; she’ll be glad that Louise and I are going home tomorrow.’
‘You told me you didn’t live at home.’
‘Nevertheless, I do visit her regularly.’
Paul flashed her an obscure look.
‘So you wouldn’t live here under any circumstances?’
‘Under . . . ?’ Emma slid him a mystified glance, ‘I don’t understand. If it’s a subtle way of putting your offer again, then you can forget it.’
Paul made no response, and the rest of the drive was not at all pleasant for Emma, for as on another occasion she was left with the idea that, somehow, the moment had been lost, that she had failed to say the right thing.
Deep depression dropped on her as the silence stretched, and even when Paul did break it on reaching the chateau, his voice was curiously detached and his manner distant.
‘I hope you enjoyed it, Emma.’
‘Yes—thank you.’ He was opening the door for her; she came close as she stepped out. The nearness of him seemed only to increase her depression, and her lips quivered uncontrollably. Paul looked down into her face, and his expression became veiled. Emma managed a wan smile as she thanked him again, and she would have moved on, but he reminded her of her parcels which she had put on the back seat. ‘Oh, yes. I forgot them.’
He was reaching for them; his hand brushed hers as he gave them to her, and she quivered at the contact.
Paul closed the car door, and they went towards the chateau entrance together. Tomorrow night she would be leaving . . . so this would most likely be the last time that she and he would meet—at least, without someone else being present.
The terrible weight of dejection became almost unbearable, and tears fought for escape at the backs of her eyes. Paul glanced at her as they entered the hall, and a frown knit his brow. She felt sure he was going to ask if anything was the matter so she spoke quickly, saying she must go as she had promised to help Louise in the nursery.
Once in her room she flung herself on the bed and wept bitterly into her pillow. If only she could put the clock back for a fortnight. . . .
Chapter Nine
‘So you’re leaving today?” Eileen had come strolling along the beach to where Emma was sitting on a towel, having taken her last swim in the warm, tropical sea. Eileen was the last person she wanted to meet at this time when her spirits were at about their lowest ebb. However, she managed to produce a smile and said yes, she and Louise were catching the five o’clock plane.
‘You’ve enjoyed your stay?’ There was a supercilious quality about the girl’s voice and an air of arrogance in her demeanour as she stood, cool and serenely lovely in an expensive, sleeveless cotton dress which unmistakably bore the stamp of Paris.
‘Very much,’ lied Emma, and she added for the sake of conversation even though, from the first, she had taken a disliking to the girl, ‘And you—are you enjoying your holiday?’
‘Of course, but then I have Paul for company.’ A small pause; Eileen’s long-lashed blue eyes flickered over Emma’s sun-tanned body. ‘Have you a boyfriend at home?’
‘No,’ briefly and with that particular kind of intonation which should have put Eileen off from any further questioning, but she seemed, thought Emma, to have come here for some specific reason.
‘That’s a little surprising, since you are quite pretty, in a way.’
Emma frowned, more puzzled than annoyed by this patronising manner.
‘Thank you,’ she returned coldly.
‘I have noticed your—er—attitude towards Paul. You like him, don’t you?’
Emma’s puzzlement grew. What on earth was the girl trying to say?
‘Paul is my sister’s employer—at least, his sister is. After half-past eight tonight, when we leave, she will no longer be in his employ.’
‘You’ve avoided my question, Miss Carpenter. I am well aware that your sister has been employed here as nanny to Jeremy. You like Paul, don’t you?’ she persisted.
Emma pursed her lips, brow creased in thought. Something lay beneath all this, but what?
‘I don’t think I understand just what you are getting at,’ she said, not wishing to be downright rude, but her tone was brusque for all that. She was remembering telling the girl that she would not discuss Paul.
‘I’ve noticed how you look at him; I noticed too that there was something between you when you were dancing together. You were appearing to be having a . . . lovers’ quarrel. . . .’ The slow dragging of the last couple of words annoyed Emma even more than their content, although she couldn’t have said why.
Her chin had lifted and there was a distinct sparkle in her eye.
‘Lovers, Miss Jennings? You’re insulting—but I suppose you intended to be. Perhaps you will explain why?’
The girl sat down on the warm sand, a little way from where Emma was sitting on her towel, knees now drawn up and cradled in her arms.
‘Paul’s philanderings are well-known to lots of people. The way you are with him has, I believe, been effective. You and he have—’
‘That,’ broke in Emma furiously, ‘is enough! How you can dare to say such things without foundation I do not know! I do know you’ll have to learn to curb that malicious tongue of yours if you want to keep out of trouble! And now, please leave me. I’d like to enjoy my last hours here.’ Deliberately she turned aside, her whole body quivering with temper, and she tried to calm herself by gazing out to the tranquil sea. Colours were changing, and the water was darkening from aquamarine to emerald. It was all in the
sky, she mused, reflections. . . . The sun was lowering a little; wispy clouds twisted and writhed, transparent and beautiful, golden-tinted. How she would miss it all!
A movement beside her made her jump. Lost as she was in appreciation of the beauty before her and above, she had fleetingly forgotten all about the girl sitting there.
‘You still haven’t answered my question,’ murmured Eileen. ‘Do you like Paul?’
Something snapped within Emma and she said explosively, ‘I don’t know why you’re asking this, but the answer is no! In fact,’ she added, looking at her, ‘if it will please you—I detest him! And now that you have your stupid question answered will you go—’ Something made her stop, for there was a sort of sneering triumph on Eileen’s face. ‘Just why did you ask the question?’ she inquired curiously and the girl’s face was instantly masked.
‘That,’ she answered haughtily, ‘is my business.’ And with that she rose gracefully and strode away.
‘The girl’s crazy,’ declared Emma and promptly put her out of her mind.
Louise had been with Jeremy all afternoon, and it seemed to Emma that at this late stage she was regretting leaving him. The child had not been told anything, and Emma herself was troubled. Still, Jeremy was certainly adaptable, and doubtless he would soon forget both Louise and her sister.
‘Well, there isn’t much time left.’ Emma and Louise were having their last meal; it was eight o’clock and they had to be on their way in less than an hour. Both were depressed, and the meal had been a silent one until broken by Emma with a remark that was unnecessary, but she had to say something since the silence had become oppressive.
‘You can say it’s ended already.’ Louise heaved a deep sigh. ‘I feel awfully low, Emma.’ Her eyes were bright, her mouth moving convulsively.
Spell of the Island Page 11
