The Island Bride

by Jane Corrie

  As it was just past sunset, lights were springing up from the various dwellings set on the hillside. Residences that could only be afforded by the wealthy, for their position commanded a breathtaking view of the sea and the surrounding countryside. The same went for the restaurant that they were now entering, Cara surmised, as her eye caught the gleaming silver on the snowy white cloths on the tables in the large ornate dining room they were shown into, and the waiters who glided noiselessly

  from table to table making themselves as unobtrusive as possible.

  There was no music here to distract one from the culinary delights that undoubtedly awaited its clientele, but a hushed, almost reverent silence.

  After handing Cara the large red and gold embossed menu, Pierre asked her if she had any dislikes, and Cara, who had not bothered to study the rather intimidating list of fare offered, shook her head since she was sure that whatever was ordered she would not enjoy, for she was dreading the social evening ahead of them.

  Feeling a little like the condemned man about to partake his last meal, she listened as Pierre ordered the meal in his native language, and she thought how expressive and elegant the French language was. Some thought of it as the language of love, she mused, and on this thought she hastily applied her mind elsewhere; this was not the time to dwell on such a subject, considering the ordeal in front of her.

  Her brooding eyes studied Pierre's dark head as he consulted the menu and gave the order. He was not in evening dress, although his dark blue striped business suit and immaculate white shirt with pinstriped tie had obviously passed muster in an establishment that would insist on evening wear for their patrons. In all probability, they had waived the rules for him as it was clear that he was not unknown to them as the head waiter had taken it upon himself to personally oversee proceedings.

  When the food arrived Cara had to admit that the Entrecote Bordelaise was as delicious as it had looked as the waiter placed the chosen fare in front of them. To her surprise she was able to make a fair

  inroad into her portion of food, enough anyway to forestall any comment on her lack of appetite. Another fact also emerged during the course of the meal that rather surprised her, and this was their conversation; she was not sure whether it was Pierre's skilful handling, or whether they were completely in accord with one another. They spoke of England, and he told her of the time he had spent there managing his father's business affairs, and Cara spoke of the college she had attended and a little of Devon where she had spent most of her vacations with Ermyntrude.

  By the time they had reached the chocolate George, a nest of meringues filled with chocolate cream, and laced with brandy, Cara was way past worrying about the next item on the evening's agenda, and as she sipped the delicious coffee later and tried a liqueur that Pierre recommended, she knew she was in love with him and would always be. It was a wonderful exhilarating feeling that made her feel slightly reckless, for she could not see that he would ever reciprocate that love, and rather suspected that he was making a point of being particularly charming to her in order to bend her to his will. He needed her full co-operation for the evening ahead of them, and was making sure that he received it.

  It seemed the most natural thing in the world when he pulled her arm through his as they strolled towards the place where he had parked the car and Cara had no objection, not then anyway; tomorrow she might flay herself for her weakness, but tomorrow was another day.

  When they arrived at his home, he escorted her

  into the cool wide hallway with a courtesy that only her Uncle Theo could have emulated and she felt cherished, even though she did wonder if he was not overdoing things, and while loving every moment of such preferential treatment, she was not unmindful of the reason behind his actions.

  The murmur of voices met them as they crossed the marbled floor towards the lounge, and the moment they entered the room Cara saw that Paula's guests were not what one might call social guests, for judging from the notebooks at the ready, Paula was in fact holding a press conference that she broke off as soon as she saw that Pierre had arrived.

  'How long are you going to be here, Miss Ericson?' queried an earnest-looking. spectacled young girl.

  Paula gave what Cara could only describe as a coy look towards Pierre and flung out a welcoming arm towards him. 'I think you'd better ask Monsieur Morelon that question,' she replied with a light laugh. 'Come over here, darling. As you see, I need your help.'

  Cara felt herself caught round the waist and being propelled by Pierre's side to join Paula. 'We shall be very disappointed if you leave before our wedding, won't we, darling?' he asked Cara.

  'Darling' was extremely grateful for the firm hold her 'fiancé' was then affording her, and at the extra pressure from his arm, she nodded dumbly in assent.

  It seemed to Cara that time stood still from that moment, and she had a feeling that Paula felt exactly the same way, though she made a stout re-recovery with an acid sweet, 'Oh, I wouldn't miss that for the world! '

  'What was the special announcement you promised to make?' demanded a young man with hair that was a trifle too long, and a badge pinned to his lapel that read, 'Music News'.

  Paula flashed him a look of pure hate, and her flashing eyes rested for a second on Pierre before she answered haughtily, 'I have accepted a contract to go on a tour of the United States.'

  'Didn't you say you'd had enough of touring and were thinking of settling down?' persisted the same young man, who had no idea he was dicing with death if Paula's look was correctly interpreted, or at best, loss of job in the very near future.

  'There are times,' she answered smoothly, 'when everything gets on top of you, and you just want a break. I am resting now, but I am sure that I shall be more than ready to return to my career in a few weeks' time.'

  If Cara had been wearing a hat she would have taken it off to Paula. Such was her admiration for the smooth way she had covered her tracks. The announcement she had promised the newsmen had nothing to do with a tour of the United States, of that Cara was certain, but was of a very different nature.

  She turned her head to look at Pierre whose arm was still round her slim waist and met his questioning glance at her with a stab of apprehension in her heart, and without knowing why, she slipped out of his grasp and made for the door.

  Paula was again immersed in answering various questions put to her, and there was no need for her presence. The crisis had been averted, and there was no call for any further play-acting on either her part or Pierre's.

  When Cara got to the hall she realised that she had no transport and would have to wait for Pierre to take her back to the villa. She stood there for a moment or so, not wanting to go back to the lounge, but most of all not wanting to meet Pierre again. She knew she was being unreasonable and that he was waiting for her return, thinking that she had gone to the powder room.

  'Going to desert me?' Pierre asked softly behind her, and her heart lurched as he gently pulled her round to face him.

  Cara tried hard to meet his probing blue eyes, but failed utterly, and fixing her gaze on his tie she took refuge in an excuse. 'I'm not used to press conferences. They're a little overwhelming, aren't they? I mean, they don't give one much privacy, do they?'

  'It's the price of fame,' he replied lightly, but his eyes continued to probe hers. 'I don't think we'll be bothered any more in that line, but if things get tough, I'll hold your hand if you'll hold mine,' he offered solemnly.

  Cara's previous embarrassment vanished as she gave a choked chuckle, and allowed Pierre to take her back to the company.

  Pierre's light offer to hold her hand should the going get tough was no idle promise, although Cara had thought it amusing but unnecessary. However, she was shortly proved wrong, for as soon as the press had left, Paula turned her attention to Cara.

  Dressed in a black velvet gown that emphasised her curves, and her hair piled high in the classical style, she radiated beauty and assurance, but her eyes echoed her
true feelings when she looked first at Cara, then at Pierre, who was replenishing their

  drinks. 'That was a foul thing to do,' she remonstrated in a low vibrant voice to Pierre.

  He gave her a warning look before he handed her her drink. 'I have a distinct feeling that it might well have been me -making that remark,' he replied airily, though there was a hint of steel in his voice that clearly told Paula to watch her step.

  Paula was not in the mood to take any such advice, unspoken or otherwise. With her drink in her hand she paced up and down the long room in regal splendour as if it were impossible for her to stand still. 'You fool, Pierre! ' she said vehemently, and seeing that Pierre had settled himself beside Cara on the divan, she flung her a furious look. 'I see no reason why she should still be around. She's served her purpose, hasn't she? Why don't you ring for a taxi for her?'

  There was a tiny silence after this, and Cara, who entirely agreed with Paula's observations, actually made a move to get up, but Pierre's arm shot out and clamped her by his side.

  'If anyone's de trop, my pet, it's you,' he said silkily, yet managing to inject a veiled amount of insolence in his voice.

  Cara held her breath. And to think she had accused him of being weak and not being able to handle a woman! If he had spoken to her like that she would have crawled under the floorboards and taken up permanent residence there.

  Not even the sophisticated Paula could withstand a remark like that and wisely took her cue. 'Thank you, Pierre,' she said haughtily. 'It's nice to know where one stands, isn't it?'

  'I think you've always known that,' Pierre pointed

  out, gently this time. 'I had hoped that we would still remain friends.'

  Paula blinked hastily but refused to accept the peace offering. 'I hope you'll both be very happy!' she spat out, and on this doubtful sounding felicitation she swept out of the room.

  Pierre took hold of one of Cara's trembling hands and turning the palm towards him kissed it slowly. 'Shall we be happy?' he asked her softly.

  Cara attempted to pull her hand away, but he refused to relinquish it. She couldn't look at him, for there were tears in her eyes. She knew now what it felt like to love and hate someone at the same time. Her voice was as low as Paula's had been and just as vibrant, only emotion. not hate, tempered it. 'As Paula has just said, there's no need to go on with the play, is there?' she said bitterly.

  'Who's playing?' he queried gently, and placed a finger under her small defiant chin, making her look at him. 'I'm not, and I wouldn't advise you to either.'

  Cara's eyes met his in a long look; hers were wary, his were searching, and when she saw his gaze rest on her lips she pulled herself away from him. If he kissed her she would be lost, for she would not be able to prevent herself from responding in a way that would leave him in no doubt that she loved him, she was not experienced enough to be able to hide her feelings. 'Please take me home,' she said in a low impersonal voice.

  She did not look at him—she couldn't, she was so afraid her misery would show in her eyes. Somehow she had to keep going until she got back to the villa, and then it would be beer. She did not want

  his gratitude, at least, not in the way he had attempted to prove how grateful he was. A sincere `thank you' was preferable to that.

  His sigh was long and deep and spoke of disappointment, yet his voice was light as he said, 'Very well—I suppose I was asking a lot. There's time enough; come along, my obstinate one, your word is my command.'

  Neither of them spoke on the way home, and Cara for one was very grateful for this intermission and used the breathing space to think up some light quip she could make before she said goodnight to him, then she remembered that she could thank him for the lovely meal. She must not be too polite about it, but try and act normally, for she had enjoyed that part of the evening. One thing did worry her, though; since the following day was a holiday it was quite possible that Pierre would attempt to make a date with her. He might feel obliged to do so, and Cara would have to turn him down without making a big thing about it, and try to keep things casual.

  In the event, he made no mention of a meeting the next day, and Cara, womanlike, felt quite piqued about this. It was unreasonable of her, she knew, but she would have liked to have been given the option of saying yes or no to him.

  With the same courtesy he had shown earlier, he walked to the door of the villa with her, but did not attempt to take her arm as he had done before, and this too rather hurt Cara, so when he took her key from her and inserted it into the lock, and gave her a light, 'Goodnight, Cara,' she was able to answer with just as much casualness, only remembering as

  she closed the door behind her that she had not thanked him for the meal.

  It was only a little thing, yet it brought the tears to her eyes and unleashed the misery she had kept at bay for so long.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  BY the time Cara sat down to her solitary breakfast the following morning, she had reached a more philosophical attitude towards life, having spent the previous night turning matters over in her mind. One part of her was regretting that she had refused Pierre's kiss, for he would have kissed her, of that she was certain, and wondering what his kiss would have felt like, longing to feel his firm lips crushing hers, but the other part of her, the sensible part, knew there would only be heartbreak in store for her if she had succumbed to temptation. This part of her was proud of her, proud because she had kept her head even though she had yearned to feel Pierre's strong arms around her.

  In spite of her unhappiness Cara knew she had a lot to be thankful for; since Pierre could have forced the issue, he was astute enough to gauge her feelings, and she would have had no defence against him, but he had decided to abide by her decision. There could have been no other reason for the calm, almost polite, way he had escorted her back to the villa and wished her goodnight without attempting to seek her company the following day. But why should he? she asked herself bitterly. He had got what he had wanted, and though Paula had guessed that he was only using Cara to thwart a master plan of hers to trap him into marriage, she was hardly likely to make another bid to capture his affections.

  If anything good had come out of the evening for Cara, it was the fact that Pierre had announced that they were engaged, for as untruthful as the statement had been, it did release her from his earlier plan of using her as a cover and there was now no need for the nocturnal visits to be carried out.

  He hadn't, she thought sadly, apologised for that, and he ought to have done. She put down the piece of toast she had been attempting to chew and pushed the plate away from her, her once healthy appetite completely deserting her.

  Pouring herself some more coffee, she gazed down into the swirling golden liquid. He hadn't apologised for the same reason that he hadn't asked to see her again. He must have thought that he had got off lightly and wished to keep things that way. Well, he needn't worry; she had no intention of presuming upon their acquaintance, not even of accepting another cocktail invitation that she was sure she would be bound to receive if only to show her that he was grateful to her.

  Her fingers clenched hard round the handle of her cup; if he so much as tried to thank her ... She took a deep breath—if he did, then she would say that she owed him that much at least. It was one way of paying her family's debt to the Morelon family. Only, her heart whispered, she wished it hadn't cost her so dear.

  The telephone rang as she was clearing away the remains of her meagre breakfast, and as she went to answer it she was certain it was a wrong number, she had been getting quite a lot of those lately. On answering, she gave her number in a clear voice, advising whoever was calling of the number that

  they had rung, then waited for the usual 'Sorry wrong number.'

  'Did you sleep well, cherie?' Pierre's lazy voice enquired.

  Cara stood rooted to the spot and her nerveless fingers almost dropped the receiver, but she pulled herself together. 'Very well, thank you,' she lied.

&nbs
p; 'You did better than I, then,' he replied lightly, yet there was a teasing quality in his voice that made Cara want to put the phone down on him. 'I'll be over about six,' he went on casually. 'I meant to make it earlier, but an old business acquaintance has dropped in on me. Are you still there?' he queried, the amusement now plainly audible in his voice.

  'Yes,' said Cara, 'but I don't know for how long,' and she meant just that !

  'If you want to go and sunbathe for a few hours on the beach, I've no objection,' he told her authoritatively, 'but don't overdo it. Take a hat with you, sunstroke can be quite nasty.'

  'Very well,' replied Cara carefully, thinking that she might as well humour him, since that was what was advised when dealing with distinctly odd people. He might have got a touch of the sun himself !

  His parting words consolidated the sunstroke theory, if not something worse, for he murmured a few endearments in French to the effect that he would be counting the hours, and rang off leaving a decidedly worried Cara looking at her receiver.

  Her knees were weak as she walked back to the sitting-room and sank slowly on to the nearest chair. The sunstroke theory was out, and she didn't at all

  care for the alternative explanation, but there was no other answer. Tears of frustration filled her eyes, and she resolutely blinked them back. This was not the time for weakness, she had some serious thinking to do.

  Pierre had not accepted her decision to keep her distance from him, that much was plain, and what was worse, it very much looked as if he intended going through with the original plan, even though there was now no need for the follow-through. At least, she thought bitterly, not where Paula was concerned—as for Pierre—had he taken her refusal as a challenge? Had his pride been unable to accept that there was one woman who could stand firm -against his devastating charm?