by Jane Corrie
Cara was only too happy to tell the truth. 'Oh, hardly well at all,' she replied as brightly as she was able. 'I thought it was very good of him to offer me alternative housing, but he probably felt responsible—I mean,' she said hastily as she saw the way Matron's eyes had narrowed at this last remark, 'his plans for the airport included our villa— well, not ours, of course,' she amended quickly, feeling she was getting deeper into the quagmire. 'The villa that was leased to us by his father—er—by us, I mean my father and myself.'
'I see,' murmured Matron, in a tone that suggested exactly the opposite. 'The hostel is very well provided for,' she added meaningly.
'I'm sure it is,' Cara agreed hastily, 'but I'm quite happy where I am,' she added foolishly, only seeing a fraction too late that she ought not to have said that.
There was a definite glint in Matron's eyes as she replied tartly, 'Oh, I'm sure you are. However, I feel I ought to warn you that it may only be a temporary residence for you. You see,' she said
slowly, giving Cara a sugary smile as if to soften the blow, 'I have a prior claim to the villa that must have been overlooked by Monsieur Morelon, but I'm sure that things will soon be straightened out between us.' Her eyes left Cara and she studied the papers on her desk again. 'My case is somewhat similar to yours,' she remarked in a confiding tone. 'You wouldn't have liked anyone to take over the villa you considered as your home, would you?' she asked Cara.
'No, of course not,' Cara answered swiftly; it was the truth, she would have hated to have come back and found someone else living in her old home.
For this honest answer she received another patronising smile from Matron. 'Very well, then. I take it you have no objection to my telling Monsieur Morelon that you are quite prepared to turn over the lease of the villa in my favour?'
Cara stood looking at her with a slightly stunned expression on her face. How did she get out of that? A moment's reflection told her she didn't, and if the truth were known she didn't want to. She loved the villa and the independence it gave her, but she loved the island more. If Matron got her way, she would have no worries over possible dismissal from the hospital. In a way, it was a thinly disguised blackmail that was being used against her, but she was in no position to argue. 'No objection at all,' she found herself answering steadily.
From then on the interview really did concern work, and no further mention was made about the villa. There was no need anyway, the Matron had got what she had wanted—at least, as far as Cara
was concerned, and it was now up to Pierre Morelon to do the rest.
The following week Cara prepared herself for the move that now looked imminent, for she couldn't see even Pierre Morelon withstanding an onslaught from the redoubtable Matron, and even if Cara did not like Miss Besson, she had to concede that she had a prior claim to the villa.
On the Wednesday she received an invitation from Pierre Morelon to attend a cocktail party at his home on the following Friday evening. The invitation did not surprise her, for she saw it as a confirmation that Matron had got the villa, and that Pierre Morelon would use the occasion to tell Cara of his decision to transfer the lease of the villa to Miss Besson. In all probability, Cara mused, he would want to apologise to her for the inconvenience that she would be put to in moving; he was that sort of person.
Later that day she rang up her Uncle Theo to ask him if he had been invited, too, and received an amused, `No, thank goodness! He used to send me invites to various do's, but it's not my scene, you know. Enjoy yourself, though how, I can't conceive. You won't be able to hear yourself speak, and you'll find yourself jammed in a corner trying to answer two entirely different questions from two equally persistent bores—and doing a conjuring act with a glass of sherry and a plate of those fancy concoctions that are always handed round at such do's,' he chuckled hugely as if already picturing the scene.
After thanking him for his edifying comments on the treat in store for her, Cara hung up with a ghost of a smile on her face. She hadn't told him
about the villa, but there would be plenty of time for that later.
Cara chose to wear a white lace cocktail dress for the occasion, and it set off her blue-black hair now twisted into a thick coil on the top of her head. She had also acquired a faint tan by now, and even though she was not one inclined to conceit of any kind, she had to admit to herself that she looked as well as she had ever looked and was quite satisfied with her appearance. So apparently were the unattached men at the party, two of whom made a beeline for her as soon as she made her appearance. Remembering her uncle's unkind remarks, Cara had to hide a smile when she found herself in just the position he had described, but she was not complaining. At least it made her feel part of the occasion, for she had been a little nervous of attending such a gathering, and doubted if she would know any of the other guests present.
In this she was wrong, for when a few of the guests who had grouped together over her side of the large beautifully furnished lounge parted to allow a few more standing space, she caught sight of Miss Besson standing talking to a tall slight man whom Cara vaguely remembered seeing somewhere, and this puzzled her until she had the answer; he was one of the doctors at the hospital:
While she answered the questions put to her by her two companions, both of whom were determined to make a start on what they hoped would be a blossoming friendship, she covertly studied Matron. Her fair hair was now long and hung well over bare shapely shoulders, for she had elected to wear an off-the-shoulder dress, and Cara had to
admit that the pale blue chiffon three-quarter-length dress highlighted her attractiveness.
It was hard to envisage her now in the stiff uniform of the hospital; she looked an entirely different person, and acted as such, thought Cara, as she saw the way she smiled at her companion even though her thoughts were plainly elsewhere as she would cast several quick looks around her as if seeking someone. The someone would be Pierre Morelon, Cara was sure, and following Matron's last look towards a group of people near the door she caught a glimpse of the tall proud head of their host.
He was so tall that Cara had no difficulty in picking out his progress as he moved amongst his guests. His dark blue suit was elegant without being too official looking, and when he stood before her a short while later Cara noticed how the clear blue of his shirt echoed the colour of his eyes that were now smiling at her as he somehow managed to dismiss the two persistent men who had so far monopolised her company.
`So you got here all right?' he queried, his eyes travelling lightly over her upswept hair style and over her slight figure. Remembering the last time he had given her such a look, Cara felt the colour tinge her cheeks; at least she was presentable now.
'I did wonder if you'd have any trouble securing transport out here, and had half a mind to send a car for you,' he gave her an amused look. 'Your uncle, I've discovered, does not care for these social occasions.'
Cara smiled back at him, 'Er ... no, I'm afraid' -not,' she answered with a twinkle in her eyes. 'But
there was no need for you to provide transport for me. It's not all that far really, is it? I've noticed that there are some people here from the hospital, and I daresay I could have got someone to give me a lift if I'd been stuck,' she added brightly, wondering how Matron would have reacted to that assured statement. Still, she mused, considering the reason why she had been invited, Cara was sure she would have had no hesitation in offering her a lift.
`Yes, there are,' he said abruptly and slightly turned towards a group of people on his left, and Cara following his look, saw that the Matron and her friend were in that group. His brief glance rested on Miss Besson and received a brilliant smile from that lady, who must, thought Cara, have been watching them pretty closely to have been able to have timed such a welcoming response, and would have joined them, Cara was sure, had Pierre given her the slightest encouragement. As it was, he turned his full attention back to Cara, and she caught a look of distaste in his eyes as he asked her how she was getting on in her
new job.
Cara would not have described herself as being au fait where matters of the heart were concerned, for she had no experience in these matters. One or two youthful crushes on her good-looking tutors in the past were her sole excursions into the realms of romance, and as these had never got past the dream stage she was hardly qualified to pass an opinion one way or the other. But one did not need experience to see that Pierre Morelon did not care for Miss Besson. There was, of course, Paula, the woman he had left behind, and whom he was probably engaged to, since her rather proprietorial
attitude towards him at the airport rather suggested such an alliance. Even so, Cara mused reflectively, being engaged to someone didn't mean you had to dislike other women. But he did dislike Miss Besson, Cara was in no doubt of this, and knew she had not imagined his distaste; it was obvious by the way he had abruptly dismissed not only her smile but her very presence from his mind.
Pierre stayed by her side for the rest of the evening, to the consternation of Cara's other two admirers, and the annoyance of Julia Besson, who had made several unsuccessful forays to join their company, but without seeming impolite, they were always countermanded by an astute move by Pierre, on one excuse or another, 'Would Cara like to see the garden?' being one of them, and even the resourceful Julia Besson finally got the message and retired from the fray.
Under different circumstances, Cara might have been worried, but as it was she only saw Pierre's attentiveness as an extended apology for having to turn her out of the villa, and as she had accepted the situation, she would be able to assure him that she understood completely, and that he had no need to feel apologetic about it.
However, her ready assurance on this matter was never voiced, since the matter was not brought up, and as time slipped by Cara became more and more perplexed. Had he taken it for granted that Miss Besson would inform her of the date she would be taking over the villa? This thought was rejected as soon as it was conceived. Pierre Morelon was not the sort of man to pass such a task on to someone else—but why didn't he say something? By the
same token she could not envisage him shaking her by the hand at the close of the evening and casually remarking how much he had enjoyed her company, and by the way, would she mind if Miss Besson took over the villa?
By the end of the evening Cara was beginning to feel slightly desperate, for a horrible thought had taken root in her mind. Supposing Pierre had no intention of allowing Matron to take over the villa? Where did that leave her? She swallowed, she knew very well where it left her—with a one-way ticket back to the U.K.!
Just to add to her misery another unpalatable thought made itself felt. She had told Matron that she hardly knew Pierre Morelon, yet he had made a point of sticking close to her all evening—which would either look as if she had been telling a lie —or much worse, that he had developed a predilection for her company!
It was sheer desperation that made her suddenly blurt out, 'I don't mind Miss Besson taking over the villa, you know. It was her home after all, and I do understand. I'm sure I shall be quite comfortable in one of the hostels. The nurses say they're like hotels.'
Pierre gave her a surprised look as if not quite sure what she was referring to, then his eyes rested briefly on the elegant back of Julia Besson as she made her departure together with several other guests, only stopping to give a stiff-sounding 'Goodnight,' addressed to Pierre, and affording Cara the brief acknowledgement of a very cold look.
'I'll just see the rest of the guests off,' Pierre said quickly, 'then I want to have a word with you.
Don't worry about transport, I'll see you get back to the villa.'
So Cara was forced to wait apprehensively until all the guests had departed. Julia Besson was not going to get the villa, she was now certain of it, and she miserably wondered what she could say to make him change his mind. It was her job that was at stake when all was said and done. In all probability Miss Besson was at this very moment working out ways and means of removing her from the hospital.
One thing did puzzle her, for as far as she could see, there had been no chance of a private conversation between Pierre and Julia—unless it had taken place shortly after she had arrived, and before Cara's appearance. Remembering the way she had smiled at Pierre earlier in the evening, Cara was sure she had not at that time known that her cause was a lost one. Yet she had been in no doubt of the fact by the time she had departed.
Cara's bemused eyes rested briefly on Pierre as he ushered the last lingering guest off the premises, and seeing what a handsome figure he cut, she suddenly had the answer—he hadn't needed to say anything to Julia—his behaviour that evening had given her the answer! She bit her lower lip in anxiety as her racing thoughts ran on. By practically ignoring her, and clamping Cara to his side, he had made his thoughts pretty clear on the issue, but he couldn't have known what the end result was likely to be—for Cara, that was, and as she gave him a tremulous smile in reply to his as he came back to join her, she made up her mind to put him into the picture as soon as possible.
Pierre offered her a drink as he walked towards
the miniature bar at the end of the lounge, and raised his expressive eyebrows at her firm refusal; she had had several sherries, and now wanted a clear head to be able to argue her case.
He fixed himself a small whisky and soda, and brought the glass back with him as he joined her, then pointed to a comfortable-looking deep chair by the ornate fireplace. 'Do sit down,' he urged her gently, 'and don't look so worried. I have no intention of allowing you to go into a hostel. You are to stay where you are.'
Cara took a deep breath. It was now or never I 'I do appreciate your thoughtfulness, but it's not as easy as that,' she began, but that was as far as she got, for Pierre held up an elegant hand to stem her words.
'Please let me finish,' he interjected, still in that gentle almost apologetic voice. 'Firstly, I must apologise for rather presuming on our acquaintance this evening,' and he met Cara's questing brown eyes with a definite twinkle in his blue ones, and she felt a flutter somewhere around the heart region. 'Not that I didn't enjoy every moment of it, I did, but I also had a particular reason for acting as I did.'
Cara had already worked that out for herself, and she knew a slight spurt of annoyance towards this handsome, charming man with cool assurance, and suddenly realised he was more than a match for the Julia Bessons of this world. If he had decided that Cara would stay in the villa, then stay in the villa she would. For how long, though, was questionablejust as long as it took Matron to have her dismissed, she thought miserably. Her depressed gaze lingered on the man now sitting
opposite her in an identical chair to hers. His dark head was bent towards the glass in his hand, and although he was looking at the liquid it contained, Cara knew his thoughts were elsewhere.
She felt a spurt of pity for Matron who was certain to lose hands down, not only on her desire to take over the villa, but what she had hoped would be the culmination of such a move. Cara wondered how long Matron had known Pierre. It could have been for years, of course, but there was no doubt that she was in love with him, her every glance had shouted it, even at a distance. There was Paula, too, of course, and Cara was sure that Matron did not know about her, which was a pity— looking at it from a purely personal point of view. If only she had accompanied him back to the island, for with Paula in loving attendance by his side, Cara would have been let off the hook.
'I do feel, however, that I owe you an explanation,' began Pierre slowly, breaking into Cara's musings. 'It's not easy to explain, so I must ask you to bear with me for a while.' He glanced quickly at Cara to note her reaction to what he was about to -tell her. 'Did you know or hear anything about the villa during your earlier stay here?' he asked her suddenly.
Cara's cheeks did their party act again, and as with Armand's question, she did not have to answer. He nodded abruptly before carrying on. 'Perhaps what you didn't know was that Miss Besson—er your Matron, that is, is the dau
ghter of the woman who previously lived at the villa.'
It was not easy for Cara to try and assume a surprised countenance, and she was not too sure she
succeeded, but she need not have worried, for he did not seem too concerned over her slow reaction at the news. However, when he spoke again she was proved wrong, for he gave her a heart-warming smile, and shook his head as if to clear a fog around his senses. 'Of course,' he said abruptly. 'She would have told you, wouldn't she?' He smiled again. 'She wanted your co-operation, didn't she?'
Cara had to nod in agreement, Cooperation was one way of putting it, she thought wryly.
'She can be a very persuasive woman,' he remarked sardonically, adding on a bitter note, 'as was her mother.'
Now embarrassed, Cara hoped her feelings were not apparent, but once again correctly interpreted her thoughts. 'I'm sorry,' he said contritely, 'to drag you into the business, but I have a specific reason for not wanting Miss Besson to take up residence there.' He gave a casual shrug of distaste. 'If there were only myself to consider, then people would be welcome to put whatever interpretation they liked on the situation, and Julia Besson would be only too pleased to add to the speculation.' He frowned. 'As it is, the last thing I want is to rake up the past, but I won't bore you with the details now. What I do want is for you to stay exactly where you are. I'm not insensible of the awkward position it will put you in at the hospital, but one thing I can tell you, and that is that should Miss Besson make life difficult for you, you can rely on my assistance to smooth things over for you. I am not without a certain amount of authority there, and I shall not hesitate to use it should the occasion warrant it. You may,' he added, his grim expression
relaxing in a smile, 'claim that we were acquainted in the U.K., that should take the sting out of any backlash aimed at you. And now,' he said abruptly, as if it was all settled, 'I'll take you home.'
CHAPTER SEVEN
