by Anne Mather
Tobie’s lips trembled. ‘I’m not a little girl, Robert,’ she retorted, in a scarcely audible undertone, and his eyes darkened ominously.
‘No, you’re not,’ he agreed, gripping her neck with barely-suppressed violence. ‘And believe me, this is the last thing I could have wished to happen—for several reasons. But I don’t have time to argue with you now. I just want your word that you’ll do as I say, and not create any more problems than I have already.’
‘ You have problems!’ she taunted, knowing she was behaving badly, but somehow sensing this might be her last chance. ‘You don’t know the meaning of the word!’ and dragging herself away from him, she ran after Henri. The last image she had was of Robert still standing there, staring after her, his face contorted with an emotion she had never seen before.
The villa seemed strangely deserted when she returned. There was no one about, and although breakfast had been laid on the glass-topped table on the patio, no one appeared to have touched the jug of iced orange juice, or sampled the now lukewarm rolls under their perspex shield. Of course, Mark was at the Jennings’ house, lending his professional assistance, and with Robert absent too, Tobie felt curiously vulnerable.
As her hair was still damp from her swim, she went to dry it, using the hand-drier Mrs Newman had offered that first morning she was at Soledad. She was glad of the distraction. She wished there was something useful she could do. But as Cilla was already on hand to offer her help, she could only wait in helpless anticipation.
She started, when the door to the downstairs bathroom opened behind her, and her doubts of minutes before crystallised at Mrs Newman’s appearance. Mark’s mother was obviously not surprised to find her, and Tobie guessed that that had been her intention.
‘So you’re back,’ she remarked, with unnecessary emphasis. ‘I thought it must be you. I imagine Robert’s gone tearing over to the Jennings’, hasn’t he?’
Tobie turned off the drier. ‘Henri told him what had happened,’ she admitted. ‘Naturally he went to see if he could help.’
‘Naturally.’ Mrs Newman’s lips twisted. ‘Did you enjoy your sail?’
Tobie tried to remain casual. ‘Very much,’ she averred. ‘I’ve never done any sailing before.’
‘Haven’t you?’ The older woman raised her eyebrows. ‘No, I don’t suppose you have. Girls from your background seldom get the opportunity.’
It was said mildly enough, but it was an insult nevertheless, and Tobie had to steel herself not to rise to the bait. ‘No, I don’t suppose we do,’ she responded, deliberately misunderstanding her. ‘The weather in England is so unpredictable, and one rarely finds a suitable weekend.’
It was not what Mrs Newman had meant, and they both knew it. But short of forcing the issue, there was nothing she could say. Putting the drier aside, Tobie reached for the brush and began to stroke its bristles through her hair. She thought, rather shakily, that she had won that particular point, and when, after a moment’s hesitation, Mrs Newman left her she breathed a sigh of relief.
But it was not over. Mrs Newman was waiting in the hall when Tobie emerged from the bathroom, and she suggested they had coffee together on the patio.
‘I’ve asked Monique to fetch us a fresh pot,’ she said, urging the girl outside, and Tobie was hard pressed to find an excuse.
‘Really,’ she murmured, ‘I don’t want anything right now, thank you. I—er—I’m a little tired. I thought I might lie down for a while.’
‘Surely you won’t leave me to take refreshment alone?’ Mrs Newman’s expression was challenging now. ‘After all, you are a guest in my house. I’ve asked very little of you so far.’
Tobie could have said that it was Robert’s house, and that Mrs Newman herself had made it plain that she had not wanted her here, but she didn’t. Instead she allowed herself to be coaxed into a chair in the shade of the awning, and accepted the cup of coffee that Monique’s reappearance afforded.
‘We’ll have lunch in half an hour,’ Mrs Newman ordered as the black maid departed. ‘I don’t suppose my sons will join us. I imagine they’ll remain with Miss Cilla until after the helicopter has arrived.
‘The helicopter?’ exclaimed Tobie involuntarily, as Monique nodded and left them. ‘Is Mr Jennings being taken to hospital?’
The older woman regarded her coldly for a moment, then inclined her head. ‘At Mark’s suggestion, yes, he is,’ she replied, raising her cup to her lips and sipping the strong black liquid. ‘It’s necessary that Harvey should receive the most efficient treatment possible, and without the appropriate equipment Mark’s contribution is limited.’
‘Of course.’ Tobie was concerned. ‘How ill is he? Can Mark make a diagnosis?’
‘I really don’t see of what possible interest it can be to you,’ retorted Mrs Newman bleakly. ‘The Jennings are hardly friends of yours, merely acquaintances, and the state of Harvey’s health is our affair, not yours.’
Tobie caught her breath at the hostility in Mrs Newman’s voice. She could see no reason why the older woman should feel it necessary to treat her in this way, and she could only assume that until now Mark’s presence had provided a buttress.
Choosing her words carefully, she said: ‘I’d be concerned about anybody in the same situation. And I really don’t see why you invited me to join you, Mrs Newman, if my company arouses such antagonism.’
It was bravely said, and for a moment the older woman was taken aback. But not for long. ‘I asked you to join me because I wanted to talk to you,’ she declared, setting down her cup. ‘I wanted to ask you what your intentions are concerning my sons.’
‘Your sons?’ Tobie was flabbergasted now. ‘You make it sound as if I had designs on both of them!’
‘I think you have had, in your time,’ retorted Mrs Newman smoothly. ‘We both know you knew Robert before his accident, and as soon as you got to know who Mark was, you got your claws into him, too.’
‘That’s not true!’
‘It is true.’ Mrs Newman’s mouth compressed. ‘I know. I was there the day you came to the hospital, begging to see Robert. I knew what you were the first time I laid eyes on you!’
Tobie uttered a shocked cry. ‘You mean—it was you—’
‘—who turned you away? Yes. I’m not ashamed to admit it. You were no good for Robert, I could see that. And in the event, you’ve proved me right.’
‘No—’
‘Yes.’ The older woman was implacable in her hatred. ‘As soon as I heard your name I had my suspicions, and when I saw you …’
Tobie licked her dry lips. ‘So why did you let me come here? It’s obvious you have some influence with Mark. Why didn’t you forbid it?’
‘How could I?’ Mrs Newman was grim. ‘Robert insisted he wanted to meet you. This is his island, his house. How could I prevent you coming without arousing suspicions?’
‘I see.’ Tobie touched her temple with the tips of her fingers. ‘So it was Robert who brought me here …’
‘Not for the reasons you would like to imagine,’ retorted his mother coldly. ‘You forget, Robert doesn’t know you. He was curious, that’s all. Now his curiosity has been satisfied. My gamble has paid off.’
‘Your—gamble?’
‘Of course. It was a gamble allowing you to come here. His memory could have been jolted.’ Her face twisted into the semblance of a smile, but it was not a pleasant expression. ‘Instead, I got what I wanted—and so will Mark.’
‘What—you wanted?’ Tobie was bewildered.
‘Yes. Mark told me this morning. You and he—it’s all over. I knew it would be, once he found out what you were.’
‘What I was?’
‘A tramp, Miss Kennedy,’ said the older woman succinctly. ‘Someone without morals or self-respect. Someone who’ll sleep with any man who shows an interest—’
Tobie’s chair overturned as she got to her feet. ‘You’re lying!’ she choked, instilled with a feeling of loathing so great it almost overwhel
med her powers of speech. ‘I’ve never slept with any man but Robert, and you know it!’
‘Do I?’ Mrs Newman looked up at her without compassion. ‘I suppose you’re going to tell me it was Robert’s child you were expecting, that day you came to the hospital.’
Tobie couldn’t believe this. ‘I—of course it was Robert’s child,’ she got out with difficulty. Then, as comprehension dawned: ‘You knew?’
‘I’m a woman,’ stated Mrs Newman chillingly. ‘I recognised the symptoms. There’s a certain look a woman has when—’
‘But you didn’t see me!’
‘Oh, yes, I saw you. You, however, did not see me.’
Tobie could feel herself beginning to shake, and a sense of panic gripped her. She couldn’t break down here, she thought wildly, not in front of this woman.
‘I didn’t need to tell Mark, naturally,’ Mrs Newman continued. ‘It was enough for him to know that you and Robert—’
‘No!’
The denial was tom from her, and Tobie felt the tears she had been fighting for so long beginning to have their way with her. She couldn’t stop them. They poured down her cheeks, running off the tip of her nose, invading the parted softness of her lips.
‘Tears won’t arouse my sympathy,’ the older woman went on relentlessly. ‘I’m so relieved that Mark has seen through you. I knew he would. He’s not like Robert. Robert was always wilful—reckless! Blaming me for his father’s weakness.’ Her lips curled. ‘Mark is my son, my real son. He’s the one I care about. You don’t imagine I’ve enjoyed humbling myself before Robert, do you? Living here with him, making myself indispensable. But Mark needs money to continue with his career, and I’d do anything to ensure his future.’
Tobie scraped her palms across her cheeks. ‘Mark’s future is assured,’ she exclaimed. ‘He’s a doctor.’
‘He’s a junior houseman at an inferior hospital,’ retorted Mrs Newman scathingly. ‘Mark has ambition. He wants to specialise. If he could open his own clinic—either here, or in London—’
Tobie sniffed. ‘Why are you telling me all this? Aren’t you afraid I’ll tell Robert?’
‘Who would believe you?’ Mrs Newman’s smile was smug, an unpleasant rictus. ‘Not Robert. He doesn’t remember you. And would you expose yourself—expose how you turned away in horror when you found he might be paralysed?’
‘I didn’t!’
‘Try telling him that. Robert’s very sensitive about such things. And he might just believe the child was his!’
Tobie tried to think. She was tempted to tell this woman that Robert already knew who she was, had already exposed her naïve attempt to deceive him. But to do so meant betraying the things Robert had told her, and after what she had learned just now she could not do that.
‘I suggest we understand’ one another,’ Mrs Newman was saying now, returning to her seat again. ‘I wanted to make my position clear, and I’ve done so. Naturally you won’t discuss any of this with Mark. You’ll return with him to London tomorrow, and that will be the end of it.’
Tobie’s features felt frozen. ‘You think you hold all the cards, don’t you?’ she choked.
‘I believe I do,’ the older woman remarked smoothly, as the droning vibration of rotor blades attracted their eyes upward. ‘Ah, good, the helicopter has arrived. If you’ll excuse me, I must go and see about lunch.’
She was so matter-of-fact, apparently caring as little about Harvey Jennings’ attack as she did about everything else—except Mark. Left to herself, Tobie righted her chair, but did not sit down upon it. She felt exhausted, both physically and emotionally, and her head was aching quite abominably. What a situation! she thought, her palms curving over the fan-shaped arc at the back of her chair. What could she do? And what was more to the point, what should she do?
Could she go to Robert and expose his mother? It would be her word against Tobie’s, and why should she expect him to believe her? He hadn’t done so far, and there was still a barrier between them. Could she risk everything on one final desperate throw?
Scuffing her feet, she went into the villa and climbed the stairs to her room. It was unnaturally tidy, and it wasn’t until she began to look through the drawers that she realised someone had already been through them. They were empty. Her clothes had gone. And when she saw the suitcases sitting neatly on the ottoman she knew why. Her belongings had been packed for her. Mrs Newman was taking no chances that she should not be ready to leave in the morning. Only one evening dress had been left hanging in the wardrobe, obviously for this evening, but everything else, even her swimsuits, had been systematically stowed away.
It was what she had needed. Mrs Newman might never know it, but she had just pushed Tobie too far. The sight of those expertly-filled suitcases was enough to bring her to her senses. Until then she had been wavering, tom by the knowledge of what Robert had accused her, weakened by the need to protect him, and reluctant to submit to his demands. Now her doubts evaporated. She would tell Robert. She would tell him everything, and risk whatever came after. What had she got to lose, after all, except perhaps those remnants of self-respect she had saved on the yacht, and they would be cold comfort in the years to come. Better to risk everything and be completely honest with him, than run away to live her life, always wondering what might have been. To do that would not only cheat Robert but herself.
CHAPTER TEN
SHE even managed to eat some lunch, although by late afternoon her confidence was waning. The hours had passed slowly, and although she had waited patiently, neither Robert nor Mark had appeared.
It was Monique who eventually told her. ‘Mr Robert and Mr Mark—they gone with Mr Jennings,’ she explained, when Tobie ventured into the kitchen, ostensibly in search of tea. ‘Missy Cilla, she too upset to go alone, and Mr Mark, he want to talk with the doctor at the hospital.’
‘I see.’ Tobie’s spirits plummeted. ‘I wonder what time they’ll get back.’
‘Don’t know, missy. You like something to eat?’
‘Oh, no. No.’ Tobie shook her head almost absently, absorbed with her thoughts. ‘Tea will be fine, Monique. I—I’ll be on the patio.’
‘Yes’m.’ Monique smiled, and leaving her, Tobie trudged across the hall and out on to the terrace.
It was a humid afternoon, the sky tinged a curious shade of ochre. At home, she would have surmised that they were in for a thunderstorm, and she wondered if that was what the humidity portended. If it was, it was unlikely that Robert and Mark would get back from Castries that evening. Until then she had not considered what she would do if Robert didn’t get back, but now frustration crystallised like a hard ball inside her. She might not even see him in the morning. She and Mark were planning to leave before lunch. Their plane was due to leave in the late afternoon. What chance would she have of talking to Robert, if Mark was breathing down her neck? Robert’s demand that she should stay, she discounted. Cilla’s needs evidently came first, and that should convince her of something.
Mrs Newman appeared as she was drinking her second cup of tea, and Tobie looked up at her half apprehensively. But for once the other woman was not concerned with their relationship, scanning the sky anxiously, confirming Tobie’s suspicions.
‘There’s been a storm warning on the radio,’ she admitted unwillingly, linking and unlinking her fingers. ‘I wonder what time Mark will get back.’
Tobie decided there was nothing to be gained by remaining silent. ‘Will they come back tonight, if the weather’s bad?’ she asked, shrugging her slim shoulders, and Mrs Newman made a sound of impatience.
‘Of course Mark will come back,’ she exclaimed. ‘He wouldn’t stay away, not when it’s his last night.’ She compressed her thin lips. ‘Robert—well, Robert is a law unto himself. If Cilla needs him, I imagine he’ll insist on staying with her.’
Tobie digested this piece of information without comment. It was what she had expected, after all, and she resigned herself to the conclusion that fate had dec
reed it so.
The breeze blowing up from the harbour was strengthening, rippling the waters of the pool, bending the sprays of blossom that twined over the cabañas. Clouds were scurrying hurriedly across the sky, and the first drops of rain sprinkled the terrace. The radio warning had not been ill timed. They were in for a downpour, and whether the helicopter would return this evening was becoming very doubtful.
‘Mark couldn’t stay away—he wouldn’t!’ Mrs Newman insisted, gazing anxiously towards the heavens, and Tobie was moved to reassure her.
‘I don’t suppose he wants to,’ she said, lifting her shoulders helplessly. ‘But you wouldn’t want him to risk his life, or that of the pilot’s, by flying back in bad weather, would you?’
‘He will come back,’ exclaimed Mrs Newman, pulling out her handkerchief and twisting it tortuously. ‘He must! He knows how I hate storms!’
‘Oh, I see.’ Tobie grimaced. This was something she had not considered. Mrs Newman seemed so strong, so invincible. It hardly seemed possible that a little thing like a thunderstorm should distress her. ‘Well, don’t worry. I’m here, and storms don’t frighten me.’
Mrs Newman gave her a disdainful look. ‘Mark will be here,’ she affirmed tightly, and turning, walked back into the house.
The sky was getting much darker now, and Tobie decided she might as well go indoors too. Mrs Newman had switched on the hall lights, and the chandelier cast its illumination in a thousand prisms. It was strange, having the lights on in the afternoon, another curious facet to this curiously unreal day.
In her room, she sat by the window, watching the clouds deepening. It would be quite a change to see the rain, she thought. So many days of fine weather could become monotonous. The plants would welcome a watering. Henri did his best, but it was never enough. A change of scene was what they all needed, she decided wearily, and thought, with sudden nostalgia, of her home in Wimbledon. She wondered what Laura would say if she told her everything that had happened. Laura was notoriously partisan; she would never accept that Robert had any justification for his beliefs. In her eyes, everything was either black or white, and so far as she was concerned, Robert was to blame—for everything.
