'Why bother to ask? You've already accused me of conniving with Nevil.'
'What else can I think? Four days ago I sent you back to England to take charge of an investigation and the next thing I hear is that the investigation is called off and you've resigned. Why, Sara ? I've got to know the truth.'
Dumbly she stared at him, knowing it was impossible to defend herself without implicating Madame Rosa.
'Why did you do it?' he repeated. 'Even if you were only having fun with me in New York, why did you have to sell out to Lucille's? Was it Nevil's idea? Do you love him so much that you've got no mind of your own?'
'Please,' she whispered, near to breaking point. 'What good is all this doing? It's over. You won't make a fortune with your lipstick, but you'll be able to salvage something. Anyway, you were never all that enthusiastic about it. Concentrate on Hamish's new idea. You're on to a winner there.'
'New idea?' Bruno echoed, peering into her face as if he could barely see her. 'What new idea?'
'An anti-wrinkle cream. You should be able to launch it next year.'
'After Lucille's or before?'
'Lucille's don't know about it!' Sara wrenched free of Bruno's hold. 'Be grateful for small mercies. If I'd stayed a few more weeks I might have been able to steal that tool'
'I'm surprised you didn't.' He stepped back from her. 'Your hair may be gold, Sara, but your character is dross.'
'Still full of compliments, aren't you?' she said in a cracked voice. 'Do you think you could make that the last one?'
'It's the very last one. I hope that from now on I never set eyes on you again.'
Sara's departure from Rosalyn received a mention in two daily newspapers and there were many guesses as to the reason for her departure and where she was planning to go. She had been unable to avoid raking a few calls from reporters she knew but had steadfastly refused to discuss her future: an easy course to follow as she had no idea what her future would be. She's new she must eventually decide what to do, for though Madame Rosa had sent her an extremely generous cheque Sara had returned it at once, horrified at the thought that it might have been sent to retain her silence.
'You think I sent the money to glue your tongue?' Madame demanded to know, telephoning Sara the moment the post brought back her cheque. 'I may be old, but I am not senile. You will take the money, do you hear? It is the least I can do.'
'I don't need it. I appreciate your kindness, but I'd rather say no.'
'You are even more obstinate than I was at your age!
I suppose there is no chance of you changing your mind and coming back to Rosalyn?'
'No,' said Sara firmly, aware of how impossible Bruno had made it for her to do so, even had she wanted to consider it. "First, I'm going to treat myself to a long holiday and then I'll have a leisurely look around at other industries.'
'When you return from your holiday, come and see me—as a friend.'
'I—I'll wait until I know what my plans are.'
'Why ? Are you afraid to see me again ?'
'Of course not.'
Then are you afraid of seeing Bruno here?'
Sara tried to answer, but her mouth was suddenly too dry and Madame correctly interpreted the silence. 'So he did go and see you as he threatened? I wasn't sure if he would.'
'Yes,' Sara said huskily, 'he came. He—he thinks I..
'I know what he thinks and I told him he's crazy. You would never do anything dishonest.'
Again Sara tried to speak and failed. She clutched at the receiver and swallowed.
'Can't you make Bruno believe you?' Madame went on. 'You were never at a loss for words in the past.'
'It's easier to defend a product than to defend myself.'
'At least try.'
'What's the point?'
'It might improve his temper. It's always been like dynamite, but now it's nitro-glycerine!'
Sara forced a laugh. It must have been more successful than she realised, for Madame's voice lightened as she said:
'He probably doesn't like feeling that a woman has got the better of him. He is convinced you and Nevil sold the formula to Lucille's for a fortune.'
'I rather think Nevil did,' Sara said dryly. 'And if
Bruno thinks the same about me, then it's a small price to pay for your peace of mind.'
'Yes,' said Madame Rosa slowly, 'I suppose it is.'
With her usual abruptness she hung up and for a long while Sara listened to the purring tone before she replaced the receiver on its rest. Dejectedly she wandered round the living-room. She had to do something with her future, but did not know what. Financially she had no urgent need to do so, for in the last couple of years her salary had been high and she had a healthy bank balance. Perhaps she would take the holiday she had mentioned to Madame? It had been said on the spur of the moment, but the more she thought about it the more inviting it seemed. A change of scene would help her to see things in perspective. It would also take her away from the prying questions of friends and family who, by the time she returned, would have forgotten the seven-day-wonder of her abrupt departure from a job they knew she had loved.
Twenty-four hours later Sara was on a small Greek boat heading towards the island of Mykonos.
'You're mad to go there,' her brother had expostulated when he heard where she was going. 'If you left Rosalyn to see more of the world—as you said—at least spend your first holiday in a place where you'll meet people.'
'You mean men,' Sara had said with some amusement.
'What's wrong with men? Or are you planning to be a spinster all your life?'
'I'm not planning anything. I'm just going to be a drifter for the next month or so. When I come back I'll start planning. Not before.'
'I wish I knew the real reason you left Rosalyn,' her brother muttered. 'I sure don't believe what you've told me.'
The comment had made Sara more glad than ever that she was going away, though not until she set foot on the whitewashed quay of the Greek harbour did she feel safe from probing questions.
During the long, sun-filled days she slowly learned to relax and, absorbing the brilliant white light of this magical isle, was able to see the future with less bleakness. She could not contemplate there being another man in her life for a long time to come, but she could now envisage herself in another job which she would enjoy as much as her job at Rosalyn. And perhaps through her work she would eventually meet someone who would help dim the memory of a black-haired, dark-eyed man whose personality had imprinted itself on her as powerfully as had his kisses.
Who was the recipient of those kisses now? she wondered dismally and, aware of Bruno's reputation, knew he was not spending his evenings and weekends alone.
It was this knowledge that made her more responsive than she might have otherwise been to the overtures of the young Swiss archaeologist who was living on Mykonos and resident at the same small hotel where she was staying. He had asked her out on several occasions, but she had always pleaded tiredness. But one night she accepted his offer and, finding him an understanding companion, began to spend most evenings with him, even going to the site where he and several of his compatriots were digging. His interests were quite different from hers and she was intrigued by the serious thought he gave to civilisations long since gone.
'I've never concerned myself much with the past,' she told him one evening as they sat together outside their hotel sipping Turkish coffee. 'All my life I've been concerned with the present and with appearances.'
'I'm concerned with appearances too,' he grinned. 'We try not to overlook one tiny little thing. A speck of dirt— if it is found in the right place—can give you a clue to a whole civilisation. I am exaggerating, of course,' he added quickly, 'but you get my meaning.'
'Sure,' she laughed. 'Addicts always exaggerate.'
'You should take up archaeology. You might become an addict too.'
'Not for digging around old ruins.' She saw his expression and couldn't help laughing. 'Bu
t there are other things I'd like to learn about. History, for example.'
'That's the past too.'
'Not quite so past.'
He studied her for a while before speaking again, 'Why don't you go back to school, Sara? Until now you've only thought of a woman's appearance. Why not start to think of her mind?'
'You might have something there, Armand. I'll give it some thought.'
Later that night as she lay in bed watching the clouds scud across the face of the crescent moon, she did so. She had frequently regretted not having stayed at school longer and wondered if resuming her studies would help to give her a different set of values. It was not a decision she could come to quickly, but Armand had set something going in her mind and she was content to let it simmer. On this thought she fell asleep and, waking up next morning, knew it had been the best night's sleep she had had since leaving New York six weeks ago.
Was it really as long as that? Sometimes it seemed only yesterday, yet at other times it seemed a lifetime away. She pushed the past aside and firmly concentrated on washing and dressing. To keep her mood gay she wore a cotton sun-dress of buttercup yellow, almost the same colour as her hair. The Greek sun had tanned her and this made her eyes more vividly green than ever. But the weight she had lost since leaving Rosalyn had not been regained and she still had an overly fragile appearance.
Slipping a cashmere cardigan across her shoulders, she went down to have breakfast in the courtyard, then, following her usual morning custom, ambled down to the post office to send off some cards to her family. After this she strolled along the harbour, for today the ship from Piraeus was calling to take off visitors and bringing in new ones. As usual the quay was crowded with black- clad peasants staggering along with lumpy bundles and young boys in their Sunday best waiting excitedly to board the steamer that would take them to the wonders of civilisation. She found herself an empty table at one of the cafes and sipped a fruit juice as she watched the small ship come to rest in the harbour. Several dozen people got off, including a small party of matronly- looking tourists with blue-rinsed hair and serviceable shoes. A man was pushing his way past them down the gangplank, hurrying in his determination to be off the boat before anyone else.
Sara's heart began to pound. How like Bruno he was, with his thick black hair shining like sealskin in the sunlight and the broad, powerful shoulders in an open- necked blue shirt. He had reached the quay and she squinted her eyes and saw he was carrying a small overnight bag. He didn't look like a tourist, nor did he look like a commercial traveller, for he walked as if he were used to commanding attention. He stopped to speak to a youth who pointed up in the direction of the town and the white stone houses. The man nodded and began to walk on.
The pounding of Sara's heart had become an uneven tattoo, for it was not her imagination that had made her see Bruno in this man but the actuality of his presence.
What was he doing here?
She refused to believe it was a coincidence. If he had come as a holidaymaker he would have had more luggage. That meant he had come in search of her. Helplessly she watched as he crossed the road and then began to move up the hill. A bicycle whistled past him and he drew back to avoid it. He turned his head at the same time and the movement brought his eyes directly into line with Sara.
He was too far away for her to see his expression, but she knew from the stance of his body that he had seen her, and she waited motionless as he strode in her direction, threading his way purposefully through the tables until he was directly in front of her.
'You've given me a hell of a chase,' he said jerkily. 'Come on.'
'Where?'
'I don't give a damn where as long as I can be alone with you.'
Shakily she rose, dropped some coins on the table and followed him out to the road. 'We'd better go back to my hotel,' she said, and walked quickly in order to prevent any further conversation.
But she need not have bothered, for he seemed content to keep pace with her silently, his face set, his eyes narrowed against the bright sunlight that seemed harsh in the clearness of the air. Luckily none of the residents were in the hotel and Sara went to lead him into the small lounge.
'No,' he said firmly. 'Someone may come in, and I want to be alone with you.'
She averted her head. There's nowhere else.'
"Your bedroom, then. I assume you aren't sharing it with anybody?'
Her cheeks flamed and her head jerked back sharply.
'I knew that was one way to get you to look at me!' he said.
For the first time there was amusement in his voice, but it did not reach his eyes. They were still so dark she could only see his pupils.
"Your room,' he repeated and, with a shrug, she led the way upstairs and along the polished wood floor to the room at the far end. He stopped and waited for her to precede him, then closed the door firmly.
'I know the truth,' he said in a hard voice. 'Aunt Rosa —my mother—told me everything.'
Sara was afraid to believe she had heard correctly and mutely went on looking at him.
Reading her strained expression correctly, Bruno repeated what he had said. 'My mother has told me everything. I saw the documents and read all the letters the day before yesterday. It helped to explain many things I had never understood.'
'It must have come as a shock to you,' she said huskily.
'Not as much of a shock as it would have done if I had been told six months ago. I would probably have given it more importance then. But now nothing is important to me except the way I misjudged you.'
'Don't apologise,' she said quickly. 'It isn't necessary. I understand how you felt.'
'I doubt it. I hardly understood it myself. I was filled with such rage; such blinding, furious rage.' He came close to her but kept his arms at his sides. 'Why didn't you tell me the truth ? We could have saved ourselves a great deal of misery.'
'How could I tell you? It wasn't my secret and Madame didn't want———' Sara stopped, her eyes widening. 'What made her tell you ? She said she never would.'
'She couldn't help herself. It was either that, or accepting the fact that I would never settle down and give her the grandchildren she longs for.' His expression became wry and Sara found she was trembling without knowing why. 'For a woman who considers herself far-seeing, Aunt Rosa—I never remember to call her mother— wasn't particularly far-seeing about us. Knowing what a matchmaker she is I'm astonished she didn't know how I felt about you before I knew it myself.' His head tilted to one side. 'But now I do know. I knew it in New York. I love you, Sara. The way you look; the way you think; the way you respond to me. I love everything about you.'
'I—I…' She moistened her lips, but before she could say anything, he was speaking again.
'Don't try and deny it. I've come too far to be fobbed off with lies.'
'I wasn't going to deny it.'
'Then why did you let me believe such awful things about you?'
'How could I tell you the truth? Besides, it was Madame's—your mother's secret.'
'An unnecessary one. Who cares about illegitimacy these days? It's what you make of your life that matters; not whether you were born on the wrong side of the blanket!'
'Madame doesn't think that way,' Sara protested. 'She pretends she doesn't care about convention, but at heart she's very moral.'
Too moral to stand by and watch me make a mess of my life,' he said grimly. 'And I would have done if I hadn't been able to share it with you. You make my past seem such a hell of a waste, Sara. How soon will you marry me?'
He went to take her in his arms, but she side-stepped him and then moved swiftly to the far side of the room, glad that it was the biggest one the taverna possessed and that she could be sufficiently far away for her not to breathe the musky warmth of his body.
Tell me about Nevil,' she said quickly. 'Are you going to sue him?'
'No. I went to see him yesterday and told him I know the truth. I also told him I had no intention of hiding i
t.'
'He must have been surprised.'
'Sufficiently surprised to be indiscreet.' Bruno's voice was grim. 'He said a lot of things he shouldn't have done and luckily I was able to record it—courtesy of Mr Brian's highly efficient little machine! British courts frown on extortion and once Nevil knew he had committed himself on to a tape, we were able to come to terms.'
Glad of a chair nearby, Sara sank down on it. The sight of Bruno and all he was saying had made her feel faint. 'What—what sort of terms?'
'I got all the documents from him—every copy— plus a signed confession given in return for my promise not to prosecute him.'
'But Lucille's will still bring out the lipstick?'
'That's one thing I couldn't stop.' He shrugged, as if it did not matter to him. 'My lawyers have seen theirs and they've agreed to hold back their launch until we're ready to launch ours. It's as good an agreement as I could get.'
'It's far better than I expected,' she said shakily. 'I never thought I would see you here… that you would come after me.'
'Once I knew the truth I had to come after you! I love you. Don't you believe me?'
'How can you be sure? I'm not the stay-at-home wife you've always said you wanted.'
'Don't remind me what a fool I was!'
Striding over, he pulled her out of the chair and into his arms. Never had she been more conscious of his strength as he enveloped her in a bear-like hug, straining her so close that she was afraid her ribs would crack. It was only her exclamation of pain that made him ease his hold. Even then he would not let her go and drew her down on to the bed and cradled her in his arms.
'I love you,' he groaned. 'I swear I'll make up to you for those terrible things I said. Forgive me, darling.' His breath was warm on her cheek, his lips soft against the side of her mouth. 'Do you love me a little, too? I'm not a patient man, Sara. I'll keep pestering you until you promise to marry me.'
'You won't have to pester me for long.' She twined her fingers through his hair. 'I think I fell in love with you the moment I saw you. That's probably why I disliked you so much.'
Roberta Leigh - Not a Marrying Man Page 16
