Emma’s eyelids began to droop; she reached to snap off the bedlight then eased herself down beneath the covers, gingerly so as not to move her head too much. Within three minutes she was asleep.
Chapter Ten
Louise was there when Emma opened her eyes to the golden sun slanting through a chink in the drapes. She blinked several times, endeavouring to recall and concentrate.
‘So you’re awake. I’ve only just this moment come in to see if you’re all right.’ Louise’s cool hand was on Emma’s forehead. ‘How are you feeling?’
‘Much better; I haven’t any pain.’ She knew that part of her head had been shaved in order that the wound could be dressed. ‘How is Jeremy?’
‘As lively as a cricket. He seems to have forgotten the incident already. He’s with Sarogni, eating a hearty breakfast.’
‘Mother,’ said Emma swiftly as her thoughts became more clear. ‘She’ll—’
‘I phoned her just after Paul brought you in—’
‘What excuse did you make for our not coming? You didn’t tell her of the accident, I hope?’
Louise was oddly silent for a space. She looked troubled, and Emma’s nerves tensed as she waited for her to speak.
‘As a matter of fact I didn’t speak to Mother. Mrs. Grant answered the phone—’
‘Her next-door neighbour? Is—is something wrong?’
‘Mother’s ill—a very bad attack of flu but tummy trouble as well. She’s been in bed for three days, and there doesn’t seem to be any sign of improvement. I had intended telling Mother that there’d been some mistake about the flight we were supposed to get, but we’d be home as soon as possible. However, as I said, I didn’t speak to Mother.’
‘Is it serious?’ Emma felt she must go home in defiance of the doctor’s order that she must stay in bed for a few days.
‘Seems so. But an equally worrying thing is that Mrs. Grant’s leaving tomorrow evening for Canada to spend a month with her son and his family; so I shall have to go home without you—if I can get a flight and I only hope to heaven I can.’ Louise looked exceedingly troubled about the possibility of her not being able to get a flight.
Emma said thoughtfully,
‘So Mother doesn’t know that we’re not coming home together—’ She stopped, a determined light in her eyes. ‘I’m coming with you, Louise!’
‘I’d not be too sure, Emma. It would be unwise to travel if the doctor doesn’t give his permission—please let me finish,’ she went on as Emma would have interrupted. ‘If I can get a flight then I shall be home before Mrs. Grant leaves, but if not—I have asked Mrs. Grant to get a nurse in—’
‘But Mother will be worried out of her mind!’
‘Mrs. Grant will already have told Mother the reason why we’re not arriving home today. I said we’d made some mistake about the flight date—’
‘That’s another thing. Mother will know that’s not true, because you and I would never muddle the time of anything so important as a flight. . . .’ She tailed off as the door swung inwards and Paul came into the room.
‘How do you feel this morning?’ he wanted to know, taking up her wrist as if he were feeling her pulse.
‘Much better,’ was her instant reply, ‘I’m going home today.’
There was a challenge in her voice which Paul completely ignored as he commented, ‘Much better. Good. You will stay in bed until the doctor gives you permission to get up—’
‘I don’t require the doctor’s permission!’
‘Louise has been talking to me, and I have just now managed to get her a seat on this evening’s flight—’
‘You have?’ from Louise who, mused her sister on noting her manner with Paul, had certainly acquired confidence in the last few days. ‘Thank you very much. It’s taken a load off my mind.’
Paul gave her his full attention for a space, and it was as if he were seeing her for the very first time . . . and forming a good impression.
Emma said, before either of the others could speak, ‘Mother will be so worried if I don’t go home. I don’t want her to know I’ve had an accident.’ In her anxiety she spoke without thinking and heard Paul say rather dryly as he glanced at her head, ‘And if you did go home, how would you explain the head shaving and the dressing?’
She bit her lip.
‘Perhaps I’d better stay—’
‘There’s no perhaps about it,’ broke in Paul inexorably. ‘You are staying.’
Louise shot him a glance, then transferred it to her sister. Emma had coloured up and turned her head away. If Louise had not been here she could have flashed Paul an acid retort!
Paul spoke to Louise. ‘You will have to tell your mother that Emma has had an accident, but you can truthfully reassure her that not only is her injury not serious but also that she is in good hands.’
Louise nodded mechanically, an odd expression on her face.
‘I shall make sure Mother’s mind is put fully at rest,’ she assured him, and after a moment’s pause she added curiously, ‘How long do you suppose it will be before my sister comes home?’
To her surprise he shrugged and said that depended entirely on the doctor. He seemed off-hand all at once, and a frown knit his brow. He spoke a few more words to her about the flight and then turned to go. Louise followed his departing figure, and now it was her turn to frown. She had been convinced, for one short moment, that Emma’s chances with Paul were rather good . . . but now she was having second thoughts.
‘What are you having for breakfast?’ she inquired after saying she would have some tea sent up.
‘Nothing much—er—a slice of toast will do. I’m not in the least hungry.’ She was vexed at this delay, and yet almost at the same second came the thought that if she and Louise had left the house without her, Emma, having gone into the nursery, then little Jeremy would not be alive at this moment.
‘I’ll see to it, then,’ she heard Louise say as she went over to draw the curtains back. ‘And then I’ll bring you a bowl of water to wash with.’
‘That isn’t necessary, Louise. I am quite able to use the bathroom.’
‘Sure?’
‘Absolutely.’ She paused and then asked where Eileen was, as Emma felt sure the girl would not be pleased by this delay in her departure from the chateau.
‘She decided to stay with her friend for a few more days, and likewise Madame Fanchette is prolonging her visit to friends.’
Emma fell silent, not too happy at the idea of all three women being away from the house. However, she hoped she could convince the doctor, when he came later this morning, that she really felt fit enough to travel with her sister this evening.
But her hopes were to be dashed; and when the doctor had gone, Emma looked at Paul, who had himself shown the doctor into her room, Louise being with Jeremy in the nursery.
‘It’s your doing, isn’t it?’ she accused even though she was not quite sure that her suspicions were correct.
‘You’re not fit to travel today.’ There was an incisive quality about his tone and a hard light in his eyes. He seemed hesitant for a space but then said tautly, ‘There is no need for you to trouble yourself about me. I am fully aware of your opinion of me, so I’m unlikely to pay you any unwanted attention.’ And with that he left her, her brows drawn together in a frown of sheer perplexity, the words repeating themselves in her mind, ‘I am fully aware of your opinion of me. . . .’
Oh, well, she had told him several times that he was pompous and arrogant—Emma shook her head. There was something more than this in the words he had spoken with, she now realised, a thread of bitterness in their depths.
It was two days since the accident, and Emma, feeling completely fit and well, was standing by the little gate leading from the chateau grounds onto Paul’s private beach, talking to Pierre. He had been walking on the shore, and there was a look of boredom on his face.
‘I’m for home later today,’ he announced, and Emma’s nerves went tight. She and
Paul alone . . . but for the servants. For the past two days she had been in bed for the most part—looked after by Ouma, another of the housemaids employed by Paul. But now she was up she must inevitably see more of Paul. . . .
‘You’re not waiting till your mother returns, then?’ she said.
‘There’s no knowing when she’ll be back. One never does know with my mother; she has what is called itchy feet. She always has to be on the move.’
‘But she was to stay here for a week—’
‘That’s guarantee that she wouldn’t get some other idea into her mind.’ His eyes wandered to where his brother’s yacht swayed gently in the water, movement caused by the trade wind breeze. ‘I can’t find much to do here; it isn’t as if I have a business to keep me occupied, like Paul.’ He looked at her head, the wound still covered with a buff-coloured dressing. ‘Feeling okay?’
She smiled at him.
‘Yes, thanks, I’m still feeling fine. I want to go home.’
‘Then why don’t you?’
She hesitated, wondering if she dared ask Paul for a loan.
‘I haven’t the money for my ticket,’ she said at length.
He stared at her.
‘You lost the other, of course, but surely Paul’s going to reimburse you?’
She shook her head reluctantly, and confided,
‘He hasn’t offered, Pierre, and I must get back home. My mother’s ill. I phoned my sister yesterday, and Mother is still very poorly.’
‘You seem distressed,’ he observed almost angrily. ‘Have you told Paul you want to go home?’
‘He knows I do. But I must admit that the doctor hasn’t said I can travel. However, I feel fine, and in any case, a flight doesn’t take anything out of you. You’re only sitting there, and it’s often possible to sleep.’
Pierre seemed puzzled and said decisively,
‘I’ll talk to Paul if you like? I know it’s a difficult subject for you to broach to him, but I feel sure it is only an oversight on his part—not offering you your fare, I mean. He’s so busy these days and spends long hours in his study. In fact,’ he went on a trifle grimly, ‘that’s one reason I’m going home. Paul’s been no company for me except at dinner. As for these past few days he’s even gone back to his study afterwards.’
Emma said tentatively, ‘You’re sure you won’t mind talking to him, Pierre? Perhaps you could mention it casually—in passing?’
He smiled at her manner and immediately reassured her.
‘I’ll be tactful, never fear. He won’t guess that you and I have discussed the matter.’
‘Thank you,’ was all she said, and they parted company, Pierre to make for the house and Emma deciding to go on to the beach. But she was restless, and greatly troubled about her mother. As she felt well enough to travel, she wanted to get away soon, especially now that Pierre was leaving the chateau. For she was profoundly alive to the temptation that might be put in her way by Paul once he and she were alone. Emma was as much afraid of herself—her weakness—as she was of Paul.
So she turned back, her mind fully made up. If Pierre had not yet spoken to Paul about the air ticket, then she would do it herself.
He was out when she arrived back at the house, and she frowned in vexation. She went in search of Pierre and found him in the sitting-room, looking rather disconsolate. He had a glass in his hand, and she looked questioningly at him, for it was early in the day to be drinking brandy—and that seemed to be what the glass contained.
‘Paul’s gone out for the day,’ he grumbled, ‘and so I can’t leave after all.’
‘Why not?’ Paul out for the day . . . this meant she could not ask him for her air fare, so she could not leave either.
‘I can hardly leave without saying good-bye,’ pointed out Pierre impatiently. ‘It would be the height of bad manners.’
‘Because you’re his brother,’ she murmured. ‘But with me it wouldn’t matter—’ She broke off with a sigh. ‘I wish you’d managed to catch him before he went out, so you could have mentioned the money I need.’ It struck her that it might be a good idea to phone the airline, explain everything, and ask if she could travel now and pay as soon as she arrived home.
‘I could lend you the money.’ Pierre made the offer after watching her expression for several seconds. ‘You look so worried, and it shouldn’t be like that. Yes,’ he added decisively, ‘I’ll lend you the money.’
‘Oh, thank you very much, Pierre!’ She might be lucky and get on this afternoon’s flight, she thought . . . but she would be leaving without saying goodbye to Paul. . . .
Mrs. Morris had lost weight and colour; Emma was shocked by her appearance as she looked down into the ashen face and noticed the sunken cheeks, the dull, half-closed eyes.
There had been a slight deterioration in her condition, Louise had said when Emma arrived very early that morning. But Louise had added that the doctor was hopeful of an improvement within the next couple of days.
‘The worst is almost over,’ she ended, quoting the doctor’s words.
‘I’m so glad to have you both back.’ Mrs. Morris’s voice was weak, and somewhat hoarse as if she had a sore throat. ‘Thank you for bringing Louise home, Emma. You’re a good, sensible girl.’
Good and sensible . . . bitterness brought a twist to Emma’s mouth. Not much sense in falling in love with a man like Paul Fanchette!
Once the girls were alone in the living-room, Louise naturally mentioned Paul.
‘I left when he was out,’ explained Emma, ‘so I didn’t say good-bye.’
Louise frowned.
‘Did you have to do that?’
Emma shrugged.
‘He’d gone off somewhere for the full day—so Pierre said, I suppose one of the servants told him because, he didn’t see Paul before he left the chateau. If he had done so, he was going to ask him for the money to buy my air ticket.’
‘Pierre was?’ in a puzzled voice. ‘But why him? Couldn’t you ask Paul yourself?’
‘I didn’t like.’ She paused. ‘Paul was not at all friendly with me during those last two or three days after you left.’
‘That seems strange. . . .’ Louise was thoughtful, recalling incidents which had made an impression on her mind. Philanderer Paul Fanchette might have been . . . but had he met his match in Emma? ‘Why should he be unfriendly towards you when you’d saved his nephew from drowning?’
‘I didn’t save Jeremy; Pierre did.’
‘Rubbish!’ snapped Louise irritably. ‘You know very well that it was you! And I say again: why should Paul be unfriendly at a time when he should have been showing deep gratitude?’
‘We’ve both agreed that he’s a strange man—unpredictable.’
Louise’s blue eyes were narrowed.
‘I’ve said several times that there’s something I don’t understand. Have you said or done anything to which he could take exception?’
‘Many a time.’
‘You have?’
‘We never agreed right from the first.’
‘And yet you fell in love with him?’ Louise’s tone was dry.
‘I’d rather not talk about Paul. He said he knew my opinion of him, and after that he was coolness itself.’
‘Your opinion of him?’ repeated Louise wrinkling her wide brow in puzzlement. ‘You must have given it to him pretty strong, then?’
‘I expect I did. I told him several times that he was pompous and arrogant, full of his own importance and superiority.’
‘Is that all?’ queried Louise and her sister blinked.
‘Surely it was enough.’
‘If you’d said it several times it must have lost its sting. No, there must have been some other reason for Paul’s coolness.’ There was a small silence and then, slowly and deliberately, ‘It’s my belief that Paul has seen something in you he’s never seen before in any other woman.’
Emma was silent for a space, remembering the several occasions when Paul had admitted to se
eing something in her that he had never seen in a woman before. And yet he only wanted her for his mistress. . . . Did it really make sense? A sigh escaped her as even yet again she wished she could understand the complex character of the man.
Louise was speaking, saying something that made Emma’s heart beat a little faster and her eyes open to their fullest extent.
‘In my opinion, Emma, Paul wants to marry you.’
‘Are you crazy! If he wants to marry me then he’d have proposed.’ She shook her head emphatically. ‘I don’t know what gave you that idea, Louise, but it’s stupid.’
‘Think, Emma! Go over certain incidents; recollect the way he was with you, sometimes almost proprietorial in his attitude.’ Louise’s whole manner was one of impatience, and for the very first time she was the one who seemed older, wiser and more mature. ‘At some point in your relationship you must have had a feeling that he was beginning to care for you—don’t shake your head like that! Why did he keep you there, at his house. If he was totally indifferent to you, he’d have given you your air fare when he gave me mine.’
‘Pierre believes it merely slipped his memory—’
‘Rubbish! How could a thing like that slip his memory?’ Louise shook her head. ‘No, in my opinion that was his weapon; he could keep you there. . . .’ She tailed off and gave a deep, impatient sigh. ‘Yet he didn’t propose to you, or even be friendly, you’ve said. I feel sure there is some very strong reason why he was so off-hand with you and yet, conversely, he couldn’t bear to let you go.’
‘Couldn’t bear—’ Although the exclamation carried disbelief, Emma was recalling incidents, as her sister told her to; and she had to admit that Louise was right when she implied that she, Emma, had suspected that Paul had begun to care for her. She looked at Louise, aware of racing heartbeats and irregular pulse. Could it be true? The signs were there, but Emma was afraid to accept them. Nevertheless she said, ‘You really believe he—he had begun to—to care?’
‘It should be obvious. Why else should he deliberately keep you without the money for your fare home?’
‘At the time he gave you yours I wasn’t fit to travel—or so the doctor said.’
Spell of the Island Page 13
