He seemed reluctant to let her go. “You didn’t take much part in the later stages of the party. Were you annoyed with Marietta?”
“No. Why should I be?”
“She did rather monopolise the younger male element.”
“She was welcome to both of you,” Celeste said rather tartly. “And neither of you is young enough for her.”
He laughed a little. “Sour grapes?”
“As a matter of fact,” Celeste told him, “I had a very good time talking to Janice and her friends.”
“I’m glad to hear that.” Obviously he didn’t believe a word of it.
“Janice is going to give me some lessons,” she said. “In drawing and painting.”
“Really?” He sounded decidedly sceptical. “Do you have any talent in that direction?”
“I used to enjoy art classes at school. My teachers thought I was quite good.”
“Well, go to it,” he said. “It can’t do any harm, and it might be good therapy.”
“I’m doing it for fun, not therapy.”
He pursed his lips briefly. “Of course. Sorry. How are you feeling now?”
“I’m fine. Thank you. But I’m tired, and I’d like to go to bed.”
“What’s stopping you?” he asked.
Nothing, of course, except that he was standing there, apparently immovable. She walked slowly across the room and brushed past him. She could feel the warmth of his body, they were so close. But he made no attempt to detain her.
Feeling as though she had passed by the edge of a cliff, she put her foot on the step, and then, as though compelled, paused to look back at him.
He was watching her, his expression dark and forbidding. Celeste shivered and turned away, suppressing the urge to run. She knew he continued to watch her all the way to the top.
Chapter Nine
Celeste enjoyed her lessons with Janice. The older woman was both patient and exacting, and when she praised, Celeste knew the praise was deserved.
Some days she sat and watched afterwards as Janice went on with her own work, learning more about techniques by taking note of how an experienced artist used her tools and paints. Sometimes she spent the entire afternoon there.
Ethan said he had to go away for a few days. “If you don’t want to stay here alone, Janice and Henry would be pleased to put you up until I come back,” he said.
“I should be making some plans about leaving, anyway,” Celeste said. “I’ve imposed on your hospitality for long enough.”
“Don’t even think of it!” Ethan said sharply. As she glanced up in surprise, he added, “We need a lot more time.”
“We?”
“You do,” he amended. “Henry said you’re just beginning to show signs of recovering.”
“From what? And have you been discussing me with Henry again?”
“Depression,” Ethan answered. “And don’t blame him,” he added, noting her mutinous face. “You’re not officially his patient, and he hasn’t violated any confidences.”
“I haven’t given him any to violate,” Celeste said. “But you have no right to consult him behind my back.”
“I asked for an informal but informed opinion, because I had to know. . .”
“To know what?” she challenged him.
“How to help you,” he said slowly. “If you needed it.”
“I don’t need your help, Ethan.” She stared at him, trying to work out the meaning of the second part of his answer. “You think I was shamming?”
“No. At first, maybe. But I realise it wasn’t a pretence. You have been reacting in some fairly extreme way to Alec’s death. What I’d like to know is, why?”
She flushed slightly. “He was my husband. Perhaps you’d forgotten that?”
“I’ve forgotten nothing. Have you?”
Her cheeks burned. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said huskily, and made to go up to her room.
“I think you do.” His voice sounded cool and hard.
She turned at the bottom of the stairs. “You know nothing, Ethan,” she said clearly. “Nothing.”
As she started to ascend, he strode across the room and caught her before she was halfway up, swinging her round with her back to the wall. “So tell me!” he said. “Tell me what happened between you and Alec that sent him to his death—what that last straw was.”
She shook her head, her mouth pale and stubborn. “Whatever I say would make no difference,” she said. “Let him rest, Ethan.”
His hands tightened on her shoulders. “I need to know!”
“Why?” she asked. “Because of your sense of guilt?”
He drew in a breath, his eyes boring into hers. “What did you say to him,” he said, “about us? What did you tell him?”
“Nothing. There was really nothing to say, was there? Nothing to tell.”
Ethan’s mouth was grim, his eyes very dark. “I suppose not,” he said. “From your point of view. Your kisses always came cheap, didn’t they?” She winced. “Don’t—”
She tried to push him away. But he trapped her against the wall, her hands caught between their bodies. His eyes held hers, then wandered to her mouth. Celeste took a shuddering breath. “Ethan, please don’t!”
A frown line appeared between his brows. He echoed softly, incredulously, “Don’t?”
Celeste turned her head away. “Please!” she whispered. “Let me go.”
The frown deepened. He moved one hand from her shoulder, trailing his fingers along the line of her jaw to lift her chin.
Suddenly fierce, she gave him a shove with all her strength, so that he momentarily lost his balance on the narrow step, and while he regained it she fled to her room, closing the door behind her.
The next day he kept giving her speculative, slightly baffled looks. In the evening he said, “I’m flying out tomorrow. You could drive me to the airport and use the car while I’m away.”
Her first instinct was to refuse, a flutter of alarm overtaking her at the thought of driving his car. But that was silly. Her driving was perfectly competent; she wasn’t likely to do the vehicle any harm. And Ethan, apparently, was willing to trust her with it. She swallowed and said, “Thank you.”
“I’d rather have it here than sitting in the airport carpark. Can you pick me up on Thursday? I’ll be on the evening flight.”
“Okay.”
“Sure you’ll be all right on your own?”
Janice had backed up the suggestion that she stay with the Palmers, but Celeste had firmly declined. “I’ll be fine.” She was, in fact, looking forward to being alone. Apart from the brief lapse last night, Ethan had been handling their relationship with kid gloves for weeks now, keeping everything calm and polite, and yet whenever he was around she was conscious of an underlying tension in the air.
After dropping him at the airport in the morning she browsed in the shops. There really were some lovely clothes. Perhaps it was the sunshine and the colour of the island, with its blooming tropical shrubs and glossy palms, that made her dissatisfied with the drab contents of her wardrobe. She resisted the urge to buy, though. Until Alec’s will was probated, she ought to be careful with her money. And afterwards, it didn’t seem she was likely to have a great deal. She really would have to get a job.
She found that the prospect was not as daunting as it had been, although she hadn’t the faintest idea what she would like to do. She was not qualified for anything in particular. But then, she was not too old to train for something, perhaps even finish her degree.
“That might be a good idea,” Janice said, when Celeste mentioned it to her the next day. “Why did you give it up in the first place?”
“I got married.”
“Couldn’t you have completed your degree, even so?”
“Alec didn’t th
ink it was a good idea, as he was on the teaching staff at the university. He said he would have found it embarrassing.”
“You were very young, weren’t you?”
“I was nineteen when I met him.”
“It must have been hard for you, sometimes.”
“Sometimes,” Celeste agreed. “Do you know anything about silk painting?”
“I know how to do it. Are you interested?”
“Do you think I could learn? I’ve been looking at some painted silk scarves and other things, and they’re very beautiful. I’d like to be able to create something similar.”
“I could teach you the basic techniques. You need special paints—I’ll give you the name of a craft shop in Conneston where you can buy them—and a framework to stretch the silk while you work on it. An embroidery frame would do to begin with. I have a couple of those. It’s a good idea to start small.”
The next morning, Celeste answered the telephone to find Steven Craig on the line. “I’m calling from Conneston,” he told her. “I hoped I could come and see you.”
“Yes, of course.” She mustered a spark of enthusiasm. “I’ll pick you up. Ethan’s away, and I have the use of his car.”
When she collected him, he said, “It’s awfully good of you. I’m sure I could have got a bus.”
“It’s no trouble. How nice to see you, Steven.”
“You don’t mind?”
“Of course not. I’m sorry you won’t be able to see Ethan. I suppose you want to talk to him about those disks.”
“Will he be away for long?”
“He expects to be here again on Thursday night.”
“I could wait for him, then. I don’t need to be back in Sydney until the weekend.”
When they arrived at the house, Jeff was lounging in a chair on the patio. “I came over to check that you’re getting on okay without Ethan,” he told Celeste, eyeing Steven with some curiosity.
Celeste introduced them and asked Jeff to stay for lunch.
As they ate it, Jeff asked, “Where are you staying, Steven?”
“Don’t know yet. I’ll find a hotel this afternoon. Can you recommend somewhere cheap and decent? A hostel would do. I’ve got my own sleeping bag.”
“You can doss down on my sofa-bed if you like. No sense in going all the way back to Conneston if it’s Celeste you’ve come to see.”
“Well, thank you,” Steve accepted gratefully. “That’s ideal, if you really don’t mind.”
“You’ll have to fend for yourself,” Jeff warned. “But you’re welcome to what’s in the fridge, and providing a bed’s no trouble. Come on over when you’re ready,” he suggested, tactfully leaving the two of them alone when he had finished his coffee. “Celeste will tell you how to get there.”
When he had gone, Steven turned to Celeste. “I didn’t just come to see Ethan,” he said. “I. . . wondered how you were.”
“It’s nice of you to be concerned.”
“Well, I hope we’re friends. You know, I have—had—a tremendous respect for Alec and his work, but. . . I could see that being married to him wasn’t always easy.”
Celeste smiled wryly. Steven was no fool, and he had spent hours at a time in their home talking with Alec. He must have seen that all was not well between Alec and his wife. She had sometimes suspected that the young man was sorry for her. While Alec took her services for granted, Steven had gone out of his way to be helpful and considerate, taking cups and plates into the kitchen when she cleared up after bringing them a snack or a meal, opening doors when she was carrying a tray, always remembering to smile and meet her eyes as he thanked her. He had even made a point of dancing with her at social functions that Alec, unable to partner her, had reluctantly attended when they were quite unavoidable, only to spend the entire evening in conversation with various colleagues.
“You’re a very nice person, Steven.”
He shook his head. “I like you a lot. I always have.”
“Thank you.”
“So. . . I had a few days up my sleeve, and I thought I’d pop across and see how you were doing. I mean, phoning isn’t the same, is it? You seem. . . more relaxed.”
“It’s very peaceful here,” she said. “Very restful.”
“Mm.” He was gazing at the view. “I wouldn’t have thought your brother-in-law was a very restful person to live with, though. Strikes me as a pretty dynamic character.”
“Yes. But he’s so busy I don’t see much of him, anyway.”
“Are you lonely?” he asked rather anxiously.
“No, not a bit.” She told him about the Palmers and her art lessons, and promised to introduce him. Later, she took him over to Jeff’s house and was persuaded to eat with them. The evening turned convivial—the two men hit it off, and Jeff was in a sociable mood. Celeste let him fill her glass again and again with wine, and it was late when they switched to coffee. The men decided to escort her all the way to her door, and stood for five minutes debating whether they should inspect her wardrobe and under the bed for possible intruders. Laughing, she shunted them out, promising to lock the doors when they had gone. As she did so, the phone began to ring.
She snicked the lock and ran to pick up the receiver. The laughter was still in her voice when she said breathlessly, thinking it must be a wrong number, “Hello?”
“Celeste?” Ethan said snappishly. “Where the hell have you been all night?”
“At Jeff’s,” she said. “Is something wrong?”
He said finally, “I was just checking to make sure you’re all right.”
“Of course I am. How often have you rung?”
“I don’t know. I started at about eight. You sound as though you’ve been having a good time.”
He didn’t seem pleased about it, and she said coolly, “Yes, I have.”
She was about to tell him Steven was there, when he asked, “Is Jeff with you?”
“No. He’s just gone home. Did you want him?”
“No, I don’t want him. Look, I’ve changed my mind. I’ll be on the morning flight tomorrow. Can you meet me?”
“Yes, of course. Have you finished your business?”
“Most of it. Someone I hoped to see isn’t here. See you tomorrow, then.”
“Yes. Good night.”
He’d been rather abrupt, she thought, putting down the phone. But what had she expected? A lengthy good-night? Be realistic, she told herself. He’d had nothing more to say.
The next day, she left early for the airport and found some cheap remnants of silk at a fabric store. Then she called at the shop that Janice had mentioned, and bought silk paints in three colours, brushes and a small bottle of something called gutta, which Janice had said she would need to draw lines that would prevent the paints from running into one another. “Although,” she had added, “sometimes that’s just the effect you want. There’s a variety of techniques you can use. Probably some that I’ve never heard of. Once you’ve mastered the basics you may want to experiment.”
“Steven’s here,” Celeste informed Ethan on the way home.
He had told her to stay in the driver’s seat, and she felt his penetrating gaze on her face as he turned to her. “Steven?”
“Steven Craig,” she said. “You remember.”
“Of course I remember. What’s he doing here?”
“He wants to see you. About those disks.”
“I told him I’d contact him. As a matter of fact, I’ve been trying to get hold of him in Sydney, but no one knew where he was. He could have phoned.”
“So could you,” she pointed out. “You didn’t tell him you were going to Sydney?”
“No. Well, where is he? In Conneston?”
“No, at the bay. He stayed last night—”
“What?”
“—with Jeff,” Celest
e finished.
“I see. You didn’t offer him a bed?”
“I didn’t like to, in your house.”
“Would you have, if it had been yours?”
She glanced at him. “Probably. I offered you one when you came to Sydney.”
“So you did.”
She felt a flush rise in her cheeks. At the time she had hardly taken it in, because everything then had seemed to be happening at a distance, but now she remembered the implied insult when he had declined the offer. “Steven would have been more gracious in his refusal,” she said, her voice husky.
“Would Steven have refused at all?” Ethan drawled. “I thought he might have jumped at the chance.”
If he said he was surprised that she hadn’t, Celeste thought dispassionately, she would stop the car and hit him. But he didn’t. Instead, when she didn’t answer the jibe, he folded his arms and to all intents and purposes went to sleep. Her foot came down unconsciously on the accelerator, and without opening his eyes, Ethan said, “There’s a speed limit on the island, you know.”
She did know, and she slowed so that the needle sat just on the limit.
At the house, Ethan swung his bag out of the car and said, “Thanks. You’re a good driver.”
“Thank you,” she said icily. She locked up the car as he opened the house door and stood waiting for her.
“I feel something’s missing,” he said, as she made to pass him.
In the doorway, she looked back at him over her shoulder. “What?”
He gave her a gentle shove with a hand on her waist, and followed her inside. “A proper welcome home, perhaps,” he said, and pulled her briefly close, brushing her lips with his.
Before she could react at all, he let her go and made for his room, leaving her feeling ruffled and uneasy.
Steven came over in the afternoon. Ethan greeted him with rather steely courtesy, and soon afterwards took him up to the workroom. When they emerged several hours later, Celeste thought that Steven was worried and Ethan frustrated.
“Something the matter?” she asked.
“Alec used a password on some of the data on the disks,” Steven said.
“What does that mean?”
Guilty Passion Page 12
