by Anne Mather
Tobie’s colour deepened again. ‘Very well,’ she murmured awkwardly. ‘I—are you working at the moment?’
‘At this moment?’ he asked provokingly, the dark eyes full of amusement, and Tobie sighed.
‘You know what I mean,’ she exclaimed, speaking without thinking for the first time. ‘I mean, have you a commission at present? I don’t suppose there’s much scope for portrait painting here.’
‘You sound very knowledgeable,’ he remarked, his dark eyes narrowing. ‘Do you know much about painting, Tobie? And don’t tell me again that you know what you like.’
This was deeper water, and Tobie immediately sought for the shallows. ‘I—I used to work in an art gallery once,’ she said, and instantly regretted the admission. Mark didn’t even know that, and by confessing such a thing to Robert she was stepping dangerously near disaster.
‘An art gallery,’ he murmured now, his eyes watching her closely. ‘What art gallery? Where? In London?’
‘I—in Reading, actually,’ she lied, saying the name of the first town that came into her head. ‘It was just a small place. Not a proper art gallery really, a sort of—adjunct to the—to the public library.’
Robert frowned. ‘Really?’
She nodded. ‘But—but I gave that up a long time ago. I work for an insurance company now, in Holborn. Do you know Holborn, Mr Lang?’
‘Robert,’ he amended dryly, and then shrugged. ‘I used to know London very well. I used to live there. But since my accident …’
‘… you’ve lived here,’ Tobie finished for him eager to change the subject. ‘You’re very lucky really, being able to escape to such an island paradise.’
‘Is that how you see it?’ Robert enquired with a grimace. ‘It’s a lonely life, Tobie. Lonely, and—unfulfilled.’
Tobie bent her head, feeling the heat of the sun burning her shoulders. ‘I should have thought your work was—fulfilling,’ she commented, feeling obliged to say something, as he made a sound of exasperation.
‘I’m sure my mother thinks so, too,’ he essayed wryly, reaching for the almost empty bottle of champagne, residing in the melted ice cubes. ‘Will you join me?’ and when she shook her head, he poured the remainder into his glass and surveyed it with a crooked smile. ‘She doesn’t understand, I was a man first and painter second. I think she expects those roles to be reversed.’
Tobie darted a look up at him. ‘And they’re not?’ she asked involuntarily, almost immediately realising the antagonism she had provoked.
‘What do you think that crash did to me, Tobie?’ he demanded harshly. ‘It didn’t paralyse my feelings—my emotions! They still function as they always did.’
‘I—I’m sorry.’ Tobie was horrified at her blunder. ‘I didn’t—I didn’t mean—’
The sound of footsteps ringing across the stone tiles stilled her fumbling apology, and she sat there in mortified silence as Mark threw his towel down on to a lounger and stretched with evident self-satisfaction.
‘Magic,’ he remarked, half to himself, and then turned to his half-brother and Tobie. ‘So—how goes it? You two seemed deep in conversation when I came out of the house. What have you been telling her about me, Rob? Do I detect a certain aloofness in the air?’
‘Don’t be silly, Mark.’
Tobie got hastily to her feet, and as she did so Robert said indolently: ‘Don’t be so conceited, little brother. Your name hasn’t even been mentioned.’
‘No?’ Mark pretended to be put out. ‘Hey, Tobie, what’s been going on? Has he been taking liberties behind my back?’
‘I—no, of course not.’ Tobie found she couldn’t joke about it, and it was left to Robert to make light of their conversation.
‘We’ve been discussing my work, actually,’ he admitted at last. ‘You know what an egoist I am. I can’t resist extolling my talents to a willing listener.’
Mark grimaced. ‘I’ll believe you,’ he conceded good-naturedly. ‘But only because I know it’s true.’ He turned to Tobie. ‘So come on. I’ll race you round the pool, and if you win I’ll let you duck me, so long as I’m given the same privilege.’
Tobie hesitated. ‘It’s nearly lunchtime,’ she demurred, in no mood to act the fool with him, but Mark was adamant.
‘Lunch can wait,’ he said, advancing on her with menacing steps. ‘Now do you go quietly, or do I have to use force?’
Tobie backed away from him helplessly, realising she had to go through with this. But as she dropped her skirt and turned to dive smoothly into the water, it was Robert’s expression she remembered.
CHAPTER THREE
TO her relief, Robert made no further mention of the conversation they had had. The things she had admitted to him and the embarrassing remark she had made were all forgotten, and the rest of the day passed without incident. During the afternoon, while Robert rested, Mark took her on a tour of the island in a multi-coloured beach buggy, which he said Henri used to bring supplies up from the harbour, and after dinner she was much too tired to want to linger long on the terrace. She said goodnight, and made her way to her room, falling asleep almost as soon as her head touched the pillow.
The following morning, however, she awakened extremely early. With her body still attuned to European time, she was out of bed before six o’clock, stepping on to her balcony, shivering in the unexpected coolness of the salt-laden breeze. But it was deliciously refreshing, and she wondered if Mark was awake, and as eager to explore as she was.
On impulse, she shrugged off the shred of cambric she had worn to sleep in, and after sluicing her face and cleaning her teeth, she got dressed. She wore her bathing suit, because she had every intention of using the pool, but she pulled on a pair of baggy cotton pants over the black and white bikini, amazed to see that already her day in the sun had left the faint marks of her bra straps over her shoulders. With her hair confined by a black velvet hair ribbon, she left her room, threading her way along the corridors on impatient feet.
No one seemed to be about, and she wondered what time Monique served breakfast. Dinner had been served by candlelight the night before. They had eaten at the long dining table, overlooking the floodlit waters of the pool, and Tobie had found the effect quite intoxicating. The men had worn dinner jackets, or at least Mark had, his brother’s wine-coloured velvet jacket serving him equally elegantly. Robert had presided at the head of the table, with his mother on his right and Tobie on his left, but as Mark had monopolised the conversation, she had had little chance to amend the opinion he must now have of her. Perhaps today she would be able to repair her image, although why it was so important that she should do so, she didn’t care to analyse.
Mark had given her a short tour of the downstairs rooms before dinner, and now she knew where the living and eating rooms were, and the ways to get in and out of the villa. Most of the downstairs rooms had French doors anyway, but as well as these, there was a front and a back entrance through elegantly arched portals.
Now, realising that the villa was probably still locked for the night, Tobie made her way to the garden room, deciding it would be easier to open the windows than the doors. But to her surprise, the windows of the garden room stood wide, their wild silk curtains fluttering in the errant breeze, and from the pool came the distinct sound of splashing water.
So Mark was up after all. With lightening spirits, Tobie stepped out on to the patio, sauntering across the mosaic tiling that surrounded the pool. She could see a dark head under the water, swimming strongly across the pool, and kicking off her sandals, she rolled up the legs of her pants and squatted down on the rim of the basin, dipping her toes into the water.
The swimmer surfaced just below where she was sitting, but her anticipated words of teasing admiration died on her tongue. It was not Mark’s square-cut shoulders that emerged from the water, but Robert’s lean dark features, one hand raised to push back the dripping wetness of his hair. She didn’t know which of them was the most surprised, but one thing was cer
tain, Robert was the first to recover.
‘Tobie,’ he greeted her politely, keeping himself afloat without apparent effort. ‘Did you sleep well?’
‘Oh—yes, thank you.’ Tobie caught her lower lip between her teeth. ‘The—er—the water feels cold.’
‘Not to me,’ he remarked tautly. ‘Did you come to swim?’
Tobie shrugged. ‘I thought I might.’ She sighed. ‘But if I’m intruding—’
‘Not at all.’ He granted her a faint smile. ‘If you’ll give me a few minutes to get out—’
‘Is that necessary?’ Tobie broke into his speech. ‘I mean—’ she made an awkward gesture, ‘I won’t get in your way.’
‘But I might get in yours,’ he retorted flatly. ‘Do you mind? I am rather sensitive about being observed. If you’ll just hand me that robe …’ He gestured to a navy towelling gown that was draped over the nearby lounger. ‘I’ll only be a few minutes.’
Tobie drew her knees up to her chin, preparatory to getting to her feet, and then allowed them to drop down again. ‘Robert, really …’ she began, using his name without really thinking about it. ‘Please don’t leave on my account. I—I’ll go, if you want. I—I didn’t intend to interrupt your swim. Please—just go on as if I wasn’t here.’
Robert’s firm mouth twisted. ‘Do you think that’s possible?’ he enquired dryly, his expression softening slightly. ‘Somehow I don’t think Mark would agree with you.’
‘Mark’s not here,’ she retorted simply, and then wished she hadn’t when Robert’s expression hardened again.
‘No, he’s not,’ he agreed shortly. ‘But I’m telling you, he wouldn’t like it. Now, be a good girl and get my robe, hmm?’
Tobie hesitated. ‘As a matter of fact, I’m glad I’ve met you like this,’ she said, after a moment. ‘I—I wanted to apologise. About yesterday. I—I didn’t mean what I said to sound the way it did.’
‘It doesn’t matter.’ Robert swam to the side, and draped his arms over the rim. ‘Now, do you mind? I’m getting cold.’
‘Oh! Oh, of course.’
Tobie scrambled to her feet then, retrieving the robe and bringing it back to the shallow steps she could now see below the level of the water.
‘Let me help you,’ she said unthinkingly, and saw the darkening anger in his eyes.
‘I can manage,’ he insisted, dragging the robe out of her hands and tossing it down on to the side of the pool. ‘Go away, Tobie. Let me do this my way. I don’t need your assistance.’
She sighed, still lingering. ‘I’m not squeamish, you know,’ she ventured. ‘I’d like to help you. Where’s your chair? Let me get it for you.’ She looked round, her brow furrowing. ‘Where is it?’
‘Go away, Tobie!’ There was real anger in his voice now, and she looked down at him frustratedly.
‘Why won’t you let me help you? Why won’t you tell me where your chair is? How did you get here?’
With a groan of exasperation he rested his forehead on the rim of the pool, and then said in a muffled tone: ‘I walked here. On sticks. Didn’t Mark tell you about those? I’m sure he must have done. Mark’s very meticulous about my condition.’
Tobie remembered now. ‘He—he did say something,’ she admitted in a low voice. ‘I—er—I’ll go and take a shower. I’ll see you later—’
‘No, wait!’ Now it was Robert who detained her, hauling himself up on to the side of the pool and sitting there as she had done, with his feet in the water. She was surprised to see that in spite of his debility, his body and legs were deeply tanned, and she guessed that he spent long hours in the sun. His only attire was the sawn-off denim shorts he had worn to swim in, their frayed edges drawing her attention to the muscled strength of his thighs.
‘Look,’ he said quietly, ‘I’d rather you didn’t tell Mark you’d found me here.’ He hunched his shoulders, exposing the white bones under the skin of his back. There was not an ounce of spare flesh on him, and she wondered, with a ridiculous sense of responsibility, whether he was eating enough. ‘He doesn’t—that is, I’d rather he didn’t know about this until I’m more—proficient. Do you know what I’m saying?’
‘I think so.’ Tobie nodded. ‘You mean that Mark doesn’t know you use the pool.’
‘Something like that,’ Robert agreed, resting his chin on his chest. ‘Do you mind?’
Tobie shook her head. ‘Of course not. If you’d rather I didn’t.’
‘I would,’ he affirmed, looking quizzically up at her again. ‘Don’t look so worried. I’m not planning to drown myself.’
‘I—I never thought you were,’ she stammered, aware that his words had reminded her disturbingly of his father’s abrupt demise, and he grinned suddenly.
‘Okay. It’s our secret, hmm?’ He glanced behind him, reaching for the bathrobe. ‘And now…’
‘You want me to go?’
His eyes narrowed, dropping down over the swell of her breasts to the band of bare midriff displayed between the hem of her bra and the belt of her pants. Then, abruptly, they returned to her face again, and she was left in little doubt that he considered the remark provocative.
‘Yes, I want you to go,’ he said, with an edge to his voice, and she turned to make good her escape.
But she had forgotten the pool behind her, and instead of encountering the firm surface of the tiles, she found herself treading air. Her gulp of surprise was quickly stifled by the salt water, and she sank chokingly beneath the surface as the weight of her pants dragged her down.
Panic flared, and she was clawing for the air again when firm hands gripped her, assisting her progress, taking her up to safety and supporting her as she choked the stinging water from her lungs. It was Robert who held her, of course, and her skin tingled where it touched his, his arm around her waist, holding her back against him.
‘Are you all right?’ he demanded huskily, as she panted for breath, and she nodded helplessly, too distrait to sustain her indignation against him.
‘I’m sorry,’ she mumbled. She always seemed to be saying that to him. ‘That was a stupid thing to do.’
‘I don’t suppose you did it on purpose, did you?’ he taunted her a little mockingly, as he kicked out strongly for the side, and she was too weak to make any protest.
He pushed her up on to the side when they got there, and then dragged himself out beside her, taking gulping draughts of breath into his own lungs. It was only then she realised what a strain it must have been for him, and she put out her hand to thank him, her fingers touching the smooth skin of his shoulder.
‘You must think I’m an awful nuisance,’ she murmured, and he turned his head to look at her, his eyes cool and dispassionate.
‘I think you should go and take off those wet pants,’ he declared flatly, and she withdrew her fingers as if he had burned them.
‘I—I—yes, of course,’ she stammered, getting to her feet, and this time she didn’t make any mistake in her choice of direction.
By the time she came downstairs again Mark and his mother were eating breakfast on the patio, and he called to her as she crossed the hall.
‘Come and join us,’ he invited, getting to his feet, and she automatically gravitated towards them. ‘I thought you were never going to get up,’ Mark continued, after they had exchanged greetings. ‘I’ve already been in the pool, and I can tell you, it’s fantastic!’
‘Tobie’s hair’s wet,’ his mother pointed out, as the girl allowed Mark to help her into her seat. ‘Have you been swimming too, my dear, or am I mistaken?’
Tobie smoothed her moist palms down over the sides of her purple denim skirt. With the soaking baggy pants hanging in her bathroom, she was loath to tell a lie, but she had given Robert her word.
‘A shower, Mrs Newman,’ she answered, allowing Mark to squeeze her hand under cover of the tabletop. ‘I hope you don’t mind my coming to the table with wet hair, but I didn’t have a drier.’
‘There’s a hand-drier in the downstairs bat
hroom,’ Mark’s mother declared tightly, her nostrils flaring a little. ‘You may use that whenever you like.’
‘But not now,’ put in Mark firmly, keeping hold of her hand. ‘You look delicious, honey. And did you know—you’re already acquiring a tan!’
‘I know.’ With Mark, Tobie could relax. ‘So are you.’
‘Oh, I just go red,’ muttered Mark self-deprecatingly. ‘I don’t have the kind of skin that tans easily.’
‘You’re too fair, Mark,’ said his mother, helping herself to a warm roll, kept hot beneath a perspex cover. ‘Your skin’s too sensitive. It’s coarser skins that tan.’
‘Like mine, you mean, Mrs Newman,’ observed Tobie shortly, stung by the implied criticism, but the older woman was not perturbed.
‘That’s right,’ she essayed politely, spreading her roll with butter. ‘I’m sure you must agree.’
‘There could be a kinder way of saying it, Mother,’ Mark interposed, shrugging his shoulders helplessly in Tobie’s direction. ‘I wish I did go brown. Brown skin is so much—nicer.’
‘But not necessarily healthier,’ insisted his mother firmly. ‘Why don’t you ring for Monique, Mark, I’m sure Tobie must be hungry.’
In fact, Tobie was not, but she didn’t argue. While Mark went to summon the West Indian maid, she endeavoured to control the indignation his mother deliberately provoked, and wondered again whether there was not more to Mrs Newman’s antagonism than she yet understood.
Fan-backed wicker chairs had been set at the circular glass table, and with the breeze rippling the glassy waters of the pool and the whole panorama of the harbour spread out below them, it was an ideal situation. A blue and gold striped awning had been let out from the terrace, giving protection from the strengthening rays of the sun, and later in the day, the shadow of the house itself would provide an oasis of shade.
‘What are your plans for the day, Mark?’ his mother asked, after Tobie had been provided with orange juice and coffee, and a generous slice of fresh melon. ‘I told Cilla you’d be here, and she said she’d come over this morning. Robert won’t be here. Lately, he spends most of his mornings working, and I hoped you might invite her to join you for a swim.’
