‘Tomato soup,’ he said, ‘and crab meat for a second course. There is also a tin of crackers and a jar of butter. Some coffee, too, but we haven’t any water. We will have to make do with Rhum Clement—lord, you had better have half a cup of rum right now!’
He poured it and brought it to her, and she held her wrap together with one hand as she sipped at the potent rum.
‘Don’t leave a drop,’ Lucan said sternly, and she forced herself to obey him as he set about lighting the small oil stove, and opening the tin of soup. There was a small saucepan in the cupboard and he tipped the soup into it and set it to heat on the stove. This done he turned to look at Kara, his eyes flicking her slim legs beneath the short wrap.
‘Come over here,’ he said. ‘Where it’s warm.’
She came and stood near the warmth of the stove, slightly dizzy from the rum, her heart in her throat as Lucan took hold of her, roughly, and began to rub her dry with the wrap.
‘Don’t wriggle,’ his eyes glinted above hers, and she felt his hands on her body as he rubbed her down. Confusion and dizziness mingled, and she was glad when he decided she was dry and went over to the divan to get one of the rugs that was folded on the foot of it.
‘It’s a sensible idea to keep this beach house stocked with eatables and a few rugs. Here you are, wrap this around you—’
‘I can put my trews and shirt on,’ she said, with a dignity that was spoiled by a hiccup.
He grinned, and began to lay out biscuits, butter and pickles on a bamboo table. He opened the tin of crab meat, and the spicy aroma of the soup was filling the room as Kara struggled into her clothes. She was zipping the waist of her trews as he came over to the stove to give the soup a stir.
‘You still look as though I had caught you in a net,’ he said.
She combed her fingers through her damp hair, and was smoothing her hair with her hands when she noticed Lucan’s gaze upon her neck. There was an iciness to his gaze, a tautening of the brown skin over the bones of his face, and she only just stopped herself from hiding the amber necklace with her hand.
‘The soup is about ready,’ he said, and he whipped the saucepan off the stove, and Kara followed him to the table. Her face was nervously drawn, and she gave a jump as lightning knifed into the room and the jalousies shook in a peal of thunder.
‘Close them,’ Lucan said impatiently, and she did so, pulling over the jalousies the tropical birds and blooms worked in gay colours on the curtains. The room at once looked cosier, and she sat down facing Lucan at the circular bamboo table.
The soup was spicy and warming, and though his abrupt changes of mood were unnerving, she was glad to be in here out of the storm. Moths fluttered around the lamps and beat their wings against the storm glass, and the smell of soup, rum and paraffin mingled to make a primitive scent.
‘Do you think the family has guessed that we are safe in the beach house?’ she asked, biting into a buttered biscuit piled with crab meat.
‘I used to spend nights down here—in the old days. Care for another shot of buccaneer’s cocktail?’
She shook her head and watched the rum glint in the lamplight as he poured a shot for himself. His eyes now were flashes of peridot, and his hair had dried into a sea-rough crest above his beaky features. He looked at home with a buccaneer’s cocktail in his hand, his shirt open at the throat that was firm as teak.
Kara gave a jump as a tree crashed, only yards it sounded from the veranda of the beach house. The sea and the wind were howling together as if trying to outdo one another in fury. ‘The poor old palm trees are taking a beating,’ she said. ‘Do these storms last long, or do they blow themselves out in an hour or so ?’
He didn’t answer directly, and she glanced up from her plate and caught the mockery in his gaze. ‘It might be hours before this one blows itself out. It might last a night—who knows ?’
A night of storm. A night alone with Lucan. Her heart beat furiously, for here there was no door to close between them!
‘Have some persimmons?’
He had opened a tin of the plum-like fruits, but her appetite was satisfied and she rose from the table and walked across to the book shelf. If they were going to be here for hours, a book might help to pass the time more easily. She studied the titles, then took one and sat down in a wicker chair. She opened it and tried to shut from her mind the fact that she and Lucan had not been alone like this since their wedding night in the forest.
‘It is not the perfect, but the imperfect, who have need of love.’
She gazed blindly at the words as there drifted to her across the room the smoke of a cheroot. Lucan had stretched his long frame in a planter chair, and an hour ticked by as the storm raged on.
‘You seem to have found an interesting book,’ Lucan said lazily.
‘A book of plays by Oscar Wilde,’ she said without looking up.
‘The wise and witty Irishman. The Irish, Kara, often mask their tragic souls with the blarney. Did you know that?’
‘Are you trying to tell me that you have a tragic soul?’ she asked.
He merely gave a soft and cynical laugh. ‘I can ride a horse and row a boat, and go into the fields and cut cane with the men. I can walk the Dragon’s Stairway, and hold a woman in my arms—but Pryde can do none of these things. He is the one with the tragic soul, eh?’
She thought of Pryde, surrounded by inanimate things of beauty, the lamplight on the ash-grey of his hair. She glanced across at Lucan and saw the foxfire in his hair.
‘You do everything for Pryde,’ she said. ‘You give up things for your brother, but I sometimes think that you wish yourself a thousand miles from Dragon Bay, and that you only stay—’
‘To salve my conscience?’
‘Please don’t make me answer that question, Lucan.’
‘Why not? We are alone, surrounded by the elements. Never was there a moment more ripe for confession and the truth.’ He swung his legs to the floor and leaned forward, the smoke from his cheroot narrowing his eyes. ‘You regret our marriage, don’t you? You find yourself tied to a man you can’t love.’
You talk to me of love!’ She gave a scornful laugh. ‘Must I love a man who loves another woman? I think not! I am a Greek and too proud for that.’
‘Pride!’’ He surged to his feet and seemed to tower over Kara. ‘I’ve had about all I can stand of pride. My mother had it—she was so certain that to be a Savidge was the next best thing to being a king that she let my brother and me behave like little tin gods. We rode wildly on half-broken horses; we played around with the heart of every girl that crossed our paths—Kara, do you think I was the only Savidge who ever did a wrong thing? Do you imagine that Pryde was always a martyred saint?’
Kara stared at her husband and saw a small raw flame flickering in the depths of his eyes. There was a look of barely controlled emotion about him, a leashed quality, and in the silence between them she heard the hiss of rain on the roof and the clamorous clash of the waves against the shore.
Was it the sound of the storm that drove her to her feet, or was it the raking look that Lucan gave her as she clutched the amber necklace Pryde had given her?
He walked to the door and for a wild moment she thought he was going out into the storm, then he turned and stood with his back to the door. ‘That necklace belonged to Luella Savidge,’ he said quietly. ‘It was around her neck when they put out the fire at the old mill and found her smothered by smoke in the bell-turret. Did Pryde tell you?’
She shook her head, and suddenly she hated Lucan for telling her. She put up her hands and struggled with the clasp. ‘Y-you hate him giving me anything,’ she gasped. ‘You are jealous of him — you always have been—’
There she broke off as Lucan moved. The room seemed darkly filled with him as with a terrifying violence he reached out and broke the necklace. The golden flowers scattered to the floor, and her nape was bruised by the broken clasp. She watched in horror as Lucan put his heel
on the amber flowers and tried to crush them, and then like a wild thing she made for the door and wrenched it open. The wind and the rain blew in and she was about to escape when Lucan caught hold of her, and kicked the door shut again.
He spun her around like a doll, and never had she seen him look so devilish. A quiver shook her from her neck-bone to her knees — she would have fallen but for the sudden grip of his arms. You are keen to please Pryde, eh?’ he taunted. ‘Very well, we will give him the one thing that he wants so badly—we will give him this.’ The fire of Lucan’s mouth was against her throat. ‘And this.’
He lifted her and carried her across the room, and his eyes were purely sea-coloured and she was drowning in them as he put out the lamps.
The storm had spent itself in the night, and a deep stillness hung over the morning, not yet bird broken.
Kara stirred, and it was as though she had slept deeply in the hot sun and could not recall her name, or what bound her to the bed. Then she realized that it was a bare brown arm, and her fingers slipped free of the dark fire of Lucan’s hair, as if burned. She gazed at his face as she lifted his arm from across her body. So still, so withdrawn, so that once again he was the stranger, the man unknown.
She slipped from his side and dressed in the dawn light—the curtains were open and blowing a little, and she remembered that when the thunder had died away Lucan had risen and opened the curtains and the jalousies. Then he had returned to her side and she had fallen asleep. …
She zipped her trews, and made her way out of the beach house, standing a moment on the steps to get a grip of herself. She swallowed the pain of the tears she ached to give way to, and walked away from the beach house, the heels of her sandals leaving a trail in the damp sand.
Moisture clung to the bushes of wild coconut, and over everything hung a veil of freshness after the downpour. The sea purred like a cat that had wrought mischief and was now lying still and innocent.
Becalmed, like Lucan, who had possessed her without mercy, without tenderness, as if anger drove him … anger that it was she and not Caprice in his arms. Remembering those hard, terrifying kisses, she hastened her progress up the Dragon’s Stairway. The sudden flutter of a bird caused her pulses to race.
Lucan did not love her, and today she would pack her things and leave the Great House. A house divided because its loyalties conflicted; her slim body wanted only as a bridge across the chasm, to provide a son by Lucan, with hair like flame.
The sun began to rise and the sky flushed and burned like a bride’s blush. She passed beneath the arching bough of the scarlet immortelle trees and there stood the house, gracious, wrapped in early morning stillness, the sun glinting on its many windows and mellowing its walls. A house built by love, and yet haunted by bitterness and pride.
She fingered her throat where Pryde’s necklace had rested … where Lucan’s lips had left a different touch. A scarlet petal dropped from her shoulder to the flagstones of the veranda, and she entered the spacious hall and looked about her with that sense of awe she had felt upon arriving here as a bride.
She ran her fingers over the smooth surfaces of antique mahogany, and as she walked towards the fireplace the great mastiff stirred and stood up. Usually he slept across the threshold of Lucan’s room, but his master had been absent from the house last night.
‘Hullo, Jet.’ She stroked him and he nuzzled her with his great head, as alarming as a black lion to look at, but curiously docile towards those on whom he scented his master. He gave a slight growl, as if questioning her as to Lucan’s whereabouts, and she patted him and smiled wryly.
‘You ask no questions of him, do you, old boy?’ she murmured. Your animal instincts tell you that you need never doubt his love, or fear it.’
She walked across the hall to the great staircase and Jet followed her, a big dark shadow behind her as she made her way to the Emerald Suite.
The rooms of the suite felt cold as she walked through them, and she glanced at the French clock on her mantelpiece and was glad to see that it would soon be time for one of the maids to bring her a cup of hot chocolate with cinnamon. She had caught the morning chocolate habit from Lucan. She liked to ride out in the mornings as he did, and she sighed as she threw open the doors of her wardrobe.
A suitcase was propped open on her bed and clothing was scattered about when she heard Lucan enter the adjoining room. Kara’s heart skipped a beat, and Jet bounded into the other room.
‘Hullo, old son,’ she heard Lucan say. Then the door was pushed wide open and Lucan stood tall just inside the door. Kara felt him with her nerves, and knew his gaze was fixed on her suitcase and the clothing she was folding and packing.
‘What is all this?’ He came in a stride to the bedside.
‘I am leaving you, Lucan.’ She could not brave his eyes. ‘Julius will take me in his boat to Fort Fernand—if you will allow him—and from there I can travel to Martinique and catch a plane for Europe.’
‘Not Andelos?’ he said harshly.
‘Not right away.’ She fought a trembling in her hands as she folded a dress into her suitcase. ‘I wish to be alone for a while—’
‘Do you really?’ Hands gripped her shoulders, and she was swung round to Lucan. His expression was grim, his eyes cold and grey. ‘Do you imagine I will let you walk out in this cool way—as though last night made us strangers instead of husband and wife?’
‘We will always be strangers,’ she threw at him. ‘And if I have a child, Lucan, he will be a stranger to you. He will be brought up in a house of love—my brother’s house — not here at Dragon Bay, where bitterness rules instead of love!’
There was a deathly silence, and Kara had no idea what would have happened if at that moment there had not been a sudden scream and a crash rising from the hall below.
Lucan stared down into Kara’s wide, frightened eyes, and then he let go of her and hastened from the suite. She followed, nerve-torn, and when they reached the bend in the gallery they saw that a chandelier had fallen and broken into a thousand pieces on the floor of the hall.
Shards of crystal were scattered across the polished surface of the floor, and lumps of plaster mingled with shattered woodwork—then as the fog of dust gradually cleared they saw a small red-slippered foot and a small white-clad figure lying amidst the debris.
It was Rue. Elfin Rue in her Sunday dress, the sash torn from her waist and curling on the floor in the dust … scarlet as blood.
‘Rue!’ Kara’s heart quickened with fear and her voice echoed it.
Lucan tore on down the stairs. Doors were opening, servants were running, and Kara saw Pryde sweep out of his study in his wheelchair. His face was stern. Lucan’s was anguished as he bent over that small, debris-smothered figure and began to tear away the lumps of plaster and daggers of glass.
‘What has happened?’ Clare appeared in her working smock, a smear of clay across her cheek.
‘A chandelier has fallen,’ Kara said in a voice that shook. ‘Rue … the little one must have been almost underneath it …’
‘Rue?’ Clare whispered, and she swayed and went as white as her smock. The next moment she was running across the hall to her brother’s side. He was lifting Rue, who lay very still in arms.
There was a hospital at Fort Fernand, but Dr. Fabre decided that it would not be wise to take a concussed child all that way. By road or river the journey was far from smooth.
As a plantation doctor he had a small X-ray unit which was often carried by van to the scene of an accident, and this was brought at once to the house and Rue underwent X-ray examination. There were external contusions, but, heaven be thanked, no sign of a skull fracture, and the doctor attended gently to the cuts and bruises the child had suffered.
‘Let her be nursed in my room,’ said Kara. ‘I think she would like that.’
Kara knew as she spoke that Lucan would think she wished to put as much distance as possible between them. He didn’t look at her when s
he added that she would use the child’s room, and she hurried upstairs as the doctor attended to his small patient, and bundled into her suitcases the things she had been packing. Then she carried them past the window in which the Golden Lady hovered and into the panelled room which Rue disliked.
Kara unpacked her clothes and put them away in Rue’s wardrobe. She couldn’t leave at this critical time. She was good with sick people, having nursed her Aunt Sophula right up until the end, and Clare had said with a strained and helpless expression, ‘I-I am hopeless with the sick and the hurt.’
Kara was sure that selfishness did not make her speak in that way. That small, bandaged, silent figure unnerved Clare, who was fonder of the child than she cared to admit.
On her way back to the Emerald Suite, Kara paused in the bend of the stairs and caught sight of Clare in the hall below, staring at the shattered chandelier, and then up at the ceiling where a great hole gaped, with torn wires curling out of it.
Workmen would be called into repair the damage and to find out why the chandelier had torn away from the ceiling. Kara gave a cold shiver, for it seemed to her overwrought nerves that a sinister jester was at work at Dragon Bay.
She was about to continue along the gallery when she saw Nils join Clare and wrap an arm about her shoulders. Clare glanced up at him, and Kara saw from here that her face was strained and frightened. Nils bent his head and spoke to her, and as they made their way into the salon, a movement by the study door caught Kara’s eye. A wheelchair glided out from the shadows. Pryde swung it around the pile of debris, and Kara wondered what his thoughts were as he sat looking at what had come terribly close to killing a member of his family.
Was he filled with despair because he could not climb the stairs to be at the child’s side? Though lacking in Lucan’s charm of manner with children, he seemed fond of Rue—so pretty, so much a Savidge with her alive eyes and vibrant hair.
As Kara entered the Emerald Suite she almost collided with Dr. Fabre. ‘Ah, I wanted a few words with you, Mrs. Savidge. First let me take a look at your arm.’ He did so, and pronounced it almost as good as new. Then he took a look at Kara’s face, which was pale and anxious. ‘The pauvre petite will need much attention in the next few days and I have the hope that you will be her nurse. I could send for one, but that will take time—ah, I thought I was not mistaken in you, madame.’ He gave her a Gallic bow. ‘You will take on the task?’
[Stephanos 02] - Dragon Bay Page 14
