“I said I had an alternative suggestion. Would you listen to it?”
“I suppose so.”
David’s tone was ungracious.
“I was in Paris last night,” Tyrone Strome said. “When I arrived at the Ritz, I found three friends I have known for a long time who were just going off to Africa on a big game safari. They asked me to join them as there had originally been four in the party, but someone had dropped out.”
He realised that his nephew was attending to him as he went on, “They intend not only to shoot, but also to explore parts of Central Africa about which very little is known.”
He paused before he went on,
“Of course I realise that sort of thing may not interest you, but I promise you my friends are extremely charming, good shots and experienced travellers.”
“Are you suggesting that I should go with them?” David asked in a dull voice.
“Why not?” Tyrone Strome asked. “The alternative is, of course, to stay here and make yourself more miserable by trying to persuade a woman who obviously has no interest in you to change her mind. Something I think you know in your heart she is unlikely to do.”
What he had heard of the conversation made Tyrone Strome think that Nevada, whoever she might be, was a most unpleasant young woman whom his nephew would do well to avoid.
But he was far too tactful and too sensitive to other people’s feelings to say anything disparaging about the object of David’s affections.
“Do you think that if I went with your friends Nevada would miss me?” David asked after a moment.
“I think all women miss an admirer when he is no longer there,” Tyrone Strome said cautiously, “and I think, too, David, you would find your outlook on life would, after a journey of that sort, alter considerably.”
“You are trying to say I should forget Nevada. That is something which will not happen,” David said sharply.
“I was not suggesting anything of the sort,” his uncle replied. “What I think is that you would become a much more interesting person. It is a cliché to say that travel broadens the mind because it depends very much on the sort of travelling you do, but I can assure you Africa is a place of hidden possibilities and as yet undiscovered knowledge.”
“I know that,” David murmured.
“It would not interest you, of course,” Tyrone Strome continued, “but the National Geographical Society consider that men who make that sort of journey are not only pioneers but heroes!”
“If I went,” David said, almost as if he spoke to himself, “Nevada would realise I am not as gutless as she thinks.”
There was a silence and after a moment Tyrone Strome said,
“There is only one difficulty.”
“What is that?”
“You would have to leave tomorrow! I could wire my friends that you are coming, but I am sure I am not mistaken in thinking that the ship they are sailing in from Marseilles will leave late tomorrow night.”
There was silence, a long silence, before David replied loudly,
“I will go! Dammit, Uncle Tyrone, I will go! That will show Nevada, if nothing else, that I am not there only to be played with.”
“I am sure you have made a wise choice, David.” His nephew jumped to his feet.
“You can tell me what clothes I require.”
“Quite easily and I have some guns aboard my yacht that you will find very useful.”
“You will lend them to me? That is very kind of you, Uncle Tyrone.”
There was a note of excitement in David’s voice which his uncle did not miss.
Then in a different tone he said, “Mother! What will she say?”
“I suggest you leave your mother to me,” Tyrone Strome replied. “Don’t say anything to her until I have talked to her and incidentally I think, as her guest, I should go and find her now. We can do so together if you will allow me to fetch my coat.”
“I will get it for you,” David Merrill said. “It’s in your room?”
“You will find it on the chair,” his uncle answered. David started towards the chalet and then he paused.
“By the way, Uncle Tyrone, that was pretty agile the way you dropped from the balcony. I would think twice about doing that myself.”
“And, of course, it is surprising in your decrepit old uncle,” Tyrone Strome remarked with a note of amusement in his voice.
“I did not say that.”
“But I am sure you thought it. Never mind. Fetch my coat and we will find your mother.”
*
“But, Tyrone, is it safe for David to go off to Africa with these men?”
“He has to grow up, Helene,” her brother answered, “and from what I have heard he is taking what I imagine is his first love affair very seriously.”
Helene Merrill sighed.
At forty-five she was still very beautiful and there were several men beseeching her to marry again, only to be refused because, as her brother knew, she was so devoted to her only son.
“Nevada van Arden is very lovely,” she sighed. “One can understand David and quite a number of other young men losing their heads over her.”
“She sounded from what I heard of her conversation with David, one of the most unpleasant examples of heartless and frivolous modernity I have encountered for some time,” Tyrone Strome replied.
His sister looked startled.
“I suppose you think that because you have not seen her.” “What had happened to her, by the way, when I joined your party?”
“She rushed off in a car with several neighbours. I did not approve, but she did not exactly ask my permission.”
“In spite of the fact that she is staying in your house? Extraordinarily bad manners, if nothing else.”
Lady Merrill smiled.
“You are being very old-fashioned, Tyrone. American girls like Nevada have an independence which is denied their poor English counterparts.”
“You forget I know nothing about her.”
“Then let me tell you that Nevada van Arden is one of the richest heiresses in America.”
“I realise that she is American and with all that money she has naturally been excessively spoilt.”
“I am afraid that’s true,” Lady Merrill said, “but her mother, who was at school with me, was one of the sweetest and gentlest people I have ever known. Elizabeth was the daughter of the Earl of Fenbridge and she married Clint van Arden a year after her debut. I believe she was very happy.”
Tyrone Strome was listening with a somewhat cynical smile on his lips, as his sister continued,
“We used to write to each other, although it is always difficult to keep up a friendship with a person on the other side of the Atlantic. Then, when Nevada was eight or nine, Elizabeth died and Clint van Arden was, I believe, broken-hearted.”
“Who told you that?”
“Oh, a lot of my American friends,” Lady Merrill answered. “He concerned himself only with making money and I imagine had little time for his only child.”
“You are trying to make me feel sorry for her,” Tyrone Strome said accusingly, “but quite frankly, Helene, pity is the last thing I would offer her.”
“I think she would be insulted if you did,” Lady Merrill replied. “She is very sure of herself, quite convinced that the world is there for her to walk on. But the thing is that she does not walk on ordinary soil but on hearts.”
She saw the expression of contempt in her brother’s eyes and went on,
“Wait until you see her. When you do so, you will understand why my poor David and other young men like him have not a chance.”
Lady Merrill paused, then said with a throb in her voice, “Oh, Tyrone, I have been so worried about him.” “I can understand that,” her brother replied.
He had not told his sister of David’s threat to take his life or the fact that he had found him actually with a revolver in his hand. But perhaps Lady Merrill knew more than he thought, because after a moment she
said,
“I think you are right, Tyrone. If David goes away he will perhaps forget Nevada.”
“I have no wish for him to forget her,” Tyrone Strome said. “What I want him to realise is how shallow and worthless she is.”
His voice sharpened as he added,
“I cannot imagine how a man with any sense in his head would want to marry a creature without any attribute that is essentially feminine.”
His sister smiled.
“There have been many feminine women in your life, Tyrone, but you have never married.”
“I have never found anyone as attractive as you to look at or to talk to, my dear.”
She laughed.
“You flatter me!”
“No, I am speaking the truth. I find women alluring until I have to listen to their conversation. I find them extremely desirable until they try to interfere with my way of living.”
“But, Tyrone, you cannot be a bachelor for the rest of your life.”
“Why not?”
“Because it would be such a waste and I would love to see you with children of your own.”
Lady Merrill sighed.
“I regret so bitterly that I only had one child. I would have loved a dozen, but as you know, after David was born, the doctor said there could be no more.”
Tyrone put out his hand and laid it on his sister’s.
“It’s too late for children, Helene, but I would like to see you happily married again. There are, I am sure, a number of applicants for the position.”
His sister smiled.
“One or two, but I feel I should devote myself to David until he settles down. There is sometimes a wild streak in him that makes me afraid.”
“It is a part of growing up, Helene, and a husband would help you to understand David and how to manage him.”
“I certainly would not have thought of sending him to Africa – ”
“It will be the saving of him, even though I know it will hurt you to part with him.”
“If I am honest I think I should be glad for him to go if he can forget Nevada van Arden. She has made him so desperately miserable and now she is doing the same to young Dundonald.”
“Gerald’s son?” Tyrone asked.
“Yes, you remember him? Such a nice boy.”
Lady Merrill paused and then said,
“Of course there is no reason why she should not marry him, he will be a Marquis one day. I suppose all Americans like titles.”
“So that is what she is after – in which case why not David?”
“I don’t know, unless she thinks a Marquis is a better catch.”
There was a note of bitterness in Lady Merrill’s voice which made her brother tighten his lips. Then, with an effort, she said,
“Talking of titles, Tyrone, I am told that you refused the K.C.M.G. Why?”
“Who has been talking?”
“Someone who knows and admires you enormously.” “Then they should be intelligent enough to keep their mouths shut.”
“Then it is true – you were offered the K.C.M.G.?”
“I might have been,” Tyrone said evasively, “but I made it very clear that I am not interested in titles or decorations.” “It would have made me very proud of you.”
“Do I really need a title for you to feel like that?”
“No, of course not. You know I think you are wonderful, I always have! There has never been anyone like you, Tyrone, but I would like the whole world to realise what an exceptional person you are.”
Tyrone Strome laughed and rose to his feet.
“You are becoming spoilt by social standards,” he said. “When I go to London and when I come to the Riviera I realise how very small this glittering little world within the world is.”
“I suppose that’s true,” his sister admitted, “and whatever you do or do not do, Tyrone, I love you. You have always been the kindest and most wonderful brother any woman could have.”
“Then trust me to do what is right for David.”
“I am trusting you, and I am sure – really sure – you are right.”
“I know I am.”
Tyrone Strome rose from his chair to kiss his sister’s cheek.
“Go to bed, dearest,” he said. “We will talk everything over in the morning, but don’t forget that David will have to leave on the two o’clock train.”
“Ronaldson will see to everything,” Lady Merrill said. “I heard David telling him before we came upstairs to have everything ready.”
“Ronaldson will not fail. He has never failed any of us,” Tyrone smiled. “Goodnight, my dear. Try to sleep. There are few problems that cannot be solved by the morning.”
He gave her what she thought of as an irresistible smile as he went from her bedroom.
Tyrone Strome walked downstairs preparatory to going to his own room.
It was very late or rather early in the morning and the servants, having cleared up after the dinner dance, had gone to bed.
The villa was very quiet, but the lights in the hall had been left on and shone on the huge vases of arum lilies standing on the side tables.
They always seemed to Tyrone Strome to be an emblem of purity and he knew that he looked forward to seeing them whenever he returned to the South of France.
His eyes were in fact on the lilies that had been skilfully arranged to display their exquisite beauty at its best when the front door opened and someone came in.
He turned his head to see who it was and saw it was a girl. She was wearing a white wrap over a white gown and at first glance she seemed to be as pure and perfect as the lilies he had been gazing at.
Having closed the door behind her, she took off the white chiffon scarf that covered her head and he saw that her hair was the flaming vivid red so beloved of the Viennese painters.
She had a small heart-shaped face with perfect features and huge eyes that seemed almost too large to be real.
He thought they were dark, then, as she moved, he realised in the light that they were green.
The girl was looking at him and Tyrone Strome was aware that they were both staring at each other in a manner that had something significant about it. Then she asked,
“Who are you?”
It was only then as he heard her voice that he knew who she was.
“I am Tyrone Strome,” he answered, “Lady Merrill’s brother and – David’s uncle.”
He accentuated the last two words and there was a faint smile on Nevada’s red lips as she replied,
“Of course! You were expected yesterday. David has told me quite a lot about you.”
“I have heard a lot about you, too, Miss van Arden.” “And everything, I am certain, to my disadvantage.” “Exactly!”
The word was spoken quietly and yet somehow it sounded an insult.
She looked at him from under her eyelashes, which were very long and dark and turned up at the ends.
“So the explorer, the adventurer, the gentleman whose exploits are veiled in mystery, is disposed to be critical!” “Can you expect me to be anything else?”
“I expect nothing, Mr. Strome. It is simply amusing to know that you are prejudiced.”
“Only as regards certain people.”
“And me in particular.”
Nevada made a little gesture with her hand, which he had to admit was very graceful.
“You put yourself in a position, Miss van Arden, that leaves you open to criticism.”
“Which I find far preferable to being a nonentity and making no impact at all on the people I meet.”
“I am sure that would be quite impossible.”
The words were a compliment and, as he saw the laughter in her eyes, he had a feeling she was deliberately trying to incite and provoke him.
Her next words confirmed the impression.
“You have lived in the wilds for so long, Mr. Strome, that I think you are out of touch with civilisation. Let me assure you that tomorrow it will be amusing to
expose your ignorance and find flaws in such an acclaimed hero!”
Every word, spoken softly, was a rapier thrust.
Then she moved towards the stairs and, as she passed him, he smelt the fragrance of tuberoses, which he thought scornfully was a very inappropriate perfume for a girl to use.
“Goodnight, Mr. Strome,” she said with her hand on the bannisters. “I shall look forward to meeting you again, but you must forgive me if I say that so far I find you disappointing.”
Her green eyes were undoubtedly provocative and her lips curved over the words.
She moved slowly up the stairs with the grace of a Queen, conscious with every movement, Tyrone Strome was sure, that he was watching her.
When he heard the door of her bedroom close behind her, he found himself laughing.
There was no doubt that Miss van Arden, unpleasant, hard and exemplifying everything he disliked in a modern girl, was in appearance, if nothing else, very different from what he had expected her to be.
‘No wonder,’ he said to himself, ‘that poor English David is hypnotised by this exotic serpent – or rather with her red hair, would not a more appropriate simile be a vixen?’
As he walked back to his chalet, Tyrone Strome was thinking of the cruel unpleasant manner in which she had spoken to his nephew and the boy’s misery and despair.
He was well aware that, if he had not arrived when he had, if he had not overheard the conversation from the balcony, David might have been provoked into an action which would have broken his mother’s heart.
It was sheer chance that he had been able to prevent such a tragedy and, as he reached his room, Tyrone Strome said aloud, “Damn the little vixen! She needs a sharp lesson and I hope to God that one day she gets it!”
CHAPTER TWO
Tyrome Strome was having breakfast on the terrace outside his chalet.
He had risen early, as he always did, and was finding the cool of the morning with the sunshine paler than it would be later in the day an enchantment.
He had always loved the vivid colours of the Mediterranean and he thought, as he had often done before, that nothing could be more attractive than the view from his chalet, the tinkle of a fountain in the garden below and the exotic blossom climbing over the balustrade in front of him.
The Punishment of a Vixen Page 2
