The night was filled with the sweet scent of shrubs and flowers wafting on the cool breeze. Watching the ripples break out on the lake’s murky surface, a shiver went through her at the thought of how deep those waters were. Coral was starting back toward the bench when the hurried beat of her heart warned her of the presence of a dark figure standing motionless beside the seat. She would recognize that silhouette anywhere, but still had to stifle a cry of surprise and suck in her breath.
All of Coral’s inner promises to remain calm should they ever meet again fled as she blurted, “What are you doing here?”
“Presumably the same thing as you — tasting the cool of a peaceful night.”
“How long have you been standing there?”
Rafe laughed shortly. “Oh…I’d say long enough to have witnessed the effect you had on your partner and your own very predictable reaction.” There was an edge to his calm voice.
“What d’you mean?”
“I mean that when one chooses to wear such a minimal outfit as that, one shouldn’t be surprised at the reaction of young studs showing their appreciation. If you play with fire, one day you’ll burn yourself.”
The tone was sarcastic and pompous; though Coral could not see his eyes, she guessed at the look that filled them. He had the effrontery to think he could swan into her life, take her by storm, and drift out just as casually, without the slightest consideration for her feelings. And now he seemed to be judging her behavior. She battled to master her anger.
“What business is it of yours anyway?” She managed to recover her composure, but her voice was quavering. “I’m old enough to take care of myself.”
“Sure…Still, I just meant it as a warning.” Rafe stepped out of the shadows and offered an uneven smile. Here he was, appearing out of nowhere after all this time, expecting her to fall under his power instantly. Who the hell did he think he was?
“Do you know something, Monsieur de Monfort?” she burst out, clenching her fingers so tightly that she could feel the imprint of her nails cutting into her palms, “you’ve got a cheek…you’ve got one hell of a cheek.”
“I have? And do you know, Miss Sinclair, what I’d most enjoy doing right now?” he countered, a mischievous gleam in his dark eyes.
“No, and I really couldn’t care less!” she snapped back, cutting him off before he had the satisfaction of telling her.
Coral took several deep breaths to calm herself down. She was trembling so much her limbs seemed totally out of control. Damn the man. He had a way of looking at her that made her feel limp with…No, it was best not to dwell on that. Through the corner of her eye, she saw Dale emerge from the house. It would be an effort to walk past Rafe in her bottom-hugging skimpy outfit about which he had been so disparaging. She felt naked, and she was sure he would notice her embarrassment. However, calling on all her willpower, she managed to toss him a haughty look and went to meet Dale. With quivering fingers, she took the drink from his hands, spilling a few drops of champagne in the process.
“What’s wrong?” asked the young man. “You seem upset.”
“Oh, nothing…I thought I heard an animal in the shadows,” she replied, saying the first thing that popped into her head. “Let’s go in. I find it rather chilly out here.”
They went back into the house and made it through the crush across the dining room where a group of guests were already milling around an attractive buffet. “Shall we get something to eat? The smell of food is making me hungry. You?” asked Dale.
“Ah, there you are, Coral dear!” exclaimed Cybil, threading herself through the throng.
She looked aloof and sophisticated in her loose-fitting, green silk, flapper-inspired outfit. The low-slung bodice was held up by thin shoulder straps while the skirt fell to knee length. The decorated hemline ended in handkerchief points, accentuating her shapely calves. The fuchsia sash double-knotted around her hips emphasized the swing of her body as she walked. Everything from the perfect kiss-curl in the middle of her forehead to the strappy shoes contrived to create a slick and sexy image that Coral was sure was meant to attract Rafe, which pinched Coral’s heart with a jealous twinge.
“Hello, Cybil,” she said as her stepmother came up to them, twiddling the beaded ends of a rope necklace hanging loose to beneath her waist. “Cybil, meet Dale, Dale Halloway, an old friend. Dale, this is Cybil Sinclair, my stepmother.”
“Oh, yes, Dale Halloway, I know…I recognized you from your photographs.” Cybil’s glance slid over him with amusement as she emphasized the words, alluding to the society photos that had announced their former engagement. “How extraordinary for you both to meet like this again, so unexpectedly and in such a romantic place too. What a small world this is!”
“Yes, it’s lovely to see Coral again,” agreed Dale, putting a possessive arm around his companion’s shoulders.
“Umm…” Cybil took a deep puff from her cigarette that glowed at the end of an elegant amber cigarette holder. Ignoring her stepdaughter’s presence, she continued, stressing her words to make her point sink in, “Coral has been feeling rather down lately. Perhaps the rekindling of an old flame will do her some good. I’m counting on you, young man.” Cybil smiled at Dale and gave his arm a knowing squeeze before drifting off toward a group of friends who, judging by their effusive greeting, were delighted to see her.
“I’ll fetch us something to eat. D’you have a preference for anything?” Dale asked.
Coral felt wretched and no longer in a mood to socialize. It was bad enough having to put up with Dale all evening, but having to suffer and contend with Rafe’s presence and his sarcastic remarks on top of that was more than she could bear. “No, I’m not very hungry.”
“Nothing like some warm food to boost one up.”
Coral sighed. If she’d had any appetite at all, that last interlude with Cybil had destroyed it. The evening was unexpectedly turning into a nightmare, and she was tempted to end it there and then on the pretext of a headache and get back to the solitude of her room. Had she been honest with herself, she would have realized it was Rafe’s appearance that made her uneasy and was causing the sick feeling that gnawed at the pit of her stomach; she would have recognized the nagging little stab that caused her to glance at the door every time someone walked into the room. Coral did not know what she would do if he appeared again, or what she should say. Still, even though he threatened her emotional equilibrium, she perversely craved his presence and…perhaps more.
Dale came back, carrying two plates heaped with appetizing fare. Coral accepted hers graciously, wondering how she would get through it all. While her companion tucked in merrily, she picked unhappily at the small mounds of meat, rice, and vegetables.
“Aren’t you hungry?”
“I seem to have developed a headache.” Coral was aware that she was probably dampening the atmosphere and spoiling his fun.
“I’ll tell you what…this will fix it,” answered the young American as he signaled to one of the servants milling around and topping champagne glasses.
Until this trip to Kenya, Coral had never really been fond of alcohol, but of late had certainly developed a taste for it. She emptied this second glass of bubbly in one gulp. Despite her partner’s assurance that this would “fix it,” as he put it, common sense warned her that on an empty stomach, guzzling down several glasses of champagne was hardly the answer.
Dale liked to talk. He talked all the time: about his business, which was flourishing; about the economic and political state of the world, that by the sound of it would have been in a better shape had the people in charge taken his advice; about Concorde’s first supersonic flight and, of course, how he had flown on the jet plane himself; about men landing on the moon in July of the previous year, and how he always kept up with the latest news about the space program; and about his parents, and of how disappointed they had been at the way things had turned out between the two of them. Actually, Coral did not mind him talking — quite the rever
se — it took no effort on her part to keep the conversation alive. She could let her mind wander, and wander it did, with unacknowledged anxiety at Rafe’s whereabouts as dinner was ending and there was still no sign of him. Maybe he was not hungry, or perhaps he had been kept in conversation by some other loquacious person. For all she knew, he may not have been invited to the party at all…but then what had he been doing in the garden earlier? Was the European social circle in Kenya now so small that this sort of coincidence was common? Come to think of it, Rafe had mentioned he had close friends who owned a coffee plantation in the southern plains of Kenya, even serving their coffee on that last evening at Whispering Palms.
The guests were now moving to a neighboring room where a jazz band played. “Care for a dance?” Dale asked as he relieved her of her plate.
“Er — yes, that’ll be lovely.” Coral attempted to sound enthusiastic. There was nothing worse than being a wet blanket; she was determined not to let Rafe ruin her evening.
The room had been cleared of furniture for the occasion, and flashing bright lights were strategically placed to give a nightclub atmosphere. The band sat on a raised platform set up between two French windows that opened onto a terrace. Drinks were being served at a bar in one corner, and the dance floor took up the remainder of the room.
Dale danced well; he was light on his feet and had an excellent sense of rhythm. They alternated between dancing and drinking, bringing Coral back into a party mood.
With midnight approaching, the lights were dimmed and the music slowed. The sultry voice of a female vocalist breathed across the shadows, filling the atmosphere with a romantic tune. Couples drew together. Likewise, Dale pulled Coral gently toward him, holding her firmly against his tall frame as he glided slowly around the dance floor. Light-headed from the champagne, Coral did not find this masculine contact unpleasant. She relaxed, moving a little closer to him, and closed her eyes. As they danced in silence, her partner’s palms slid lightly up and down her back, over her shoulders, and onto her bare arms. Coral let herself imagine being held this way by Rafe…but she knew only too well how it would feel. She was comfortable in Dale’s arms, but there were no butterflies in the pit of her stomach; the blood did not rush through her veins furiously. Her heart continued beating at a normal pace, and the warm ache that flooded her when Rafe had touched her was missing. Lately she had hoped she was getting over him, even though thoughts of him always lurked somewhere at the back of her mind. Meeting him unexpectedly this evening seemed to set her back again, and the bittersweet pain of her feelings toward him were threatening to resurface.
The warm voice of Frank Sinatra filled the room as the music changed to “Strangers in the Night.”
“Having a nice time, Miss Sinclair?”
Jerked from her reverie, Coral pulled herself back from Dale’s arms like a guilty teenager. The sardonic inflection in Rafe’s voice had not escaped her. She felt the color rise to her burning cheeks. She whirled round sharply, unconcerned that, to onlookers, the vehemence of her reaction would seem peculiar. But the flow of biting words that was about to tumble out stopped right there as she realized Rafe held his own dancing partner too closely to his chest: Coral’s glamorous stepmother.
He grinned back candidly at her glare as though to say, Come, then, Miss Sinclair, where’s our sense of humor? And she knew beyond a doubt that the silent message I’ve none tonight, Mr. de Monfort, conveyed in her own glowering eyes, was similarly unambiguous to him.
“Is anything the matter, dear?” enquired Dale as she snuggled back into his arms. She shook her head and smiled up at him, her eyes riveted on his face, determined not to let them stray and betray her secret. Still, it wasn’t easy avoiding Rafe on the dance floor. Although the area extended the length of the room, she sensed rather than saw that he was never more than a few paces away. It made her feel awkward and uneasy, despite the fact that his presence had definitely added spark to the evening. Would he ask her to dance? Any unacknowledged hopes she may have harbored were rapidly quashed as she caught sight of the couple out of the corner of her eye. The picture presented confirmed her wildest fears: her ravishing stepmother was clinging to Rafe like a boa, running crimson-tipped fingers through the thick dark hair that flirted with the edge of his collar. Pangs gnawed at Coral’s chest while her throat went tight.
Suddenly, all the grief and anger she’d felt during the first few weeks following her father’s death were alive again. It was quite plain to her now: they had been and still were lovers. As the couple came into focus once more, Coral bit her lip sharply, trying to control the tears that were welling up in her eyes. She turned her head, incapable of looking at them.
“You’re trembling,” remarked Dale as he took the opportunity to draw her closer to him. “Are you cold?”
“No, no,” she whispered weakly, “only a little tired.”
“Let’s sit down at the bar.”
“I think I ought to go to bed. I’ve already had too much to drink.”
“One more for the road,” he coaxed. “It needn’t be potent. I’m sure Lady Langley’s ingenious barman will be only too happy to concoct one of his non-alcoholic specialties for you.”
Too tired to argue, Coral followed him limply through the elegant crowd and perched herself on one of the high stools. Dale ordered the drinks and soon found an audience for his latest ideas on African economic strategies.
Coral was growing wearier by the second. Her head was swimming, and despite the cooling drink, she was flushed and her mouth felt dry. She was pondering whether to discreetly call it a night when a deep-timbered voice interrupted her thoughts and sent her heart racing.
“Are you going to dance with me, Coral?”
She looked around to find that Rafe stood behind her, his charred-brown eyes regarding her with an almost hypnotic gaze. Frank and Nancy Sinatra’s “Something Stupid” was now playing.
Of all the damned cheek, she thought angrily, this man really did have a nerve. “I don’t think so,” she said in a definitive tone, raising an unsmiling face as she brushed past him to leave the room.
“Suit yourself. Perhaps you prefer the company of your American millionaire.”
She felt a pang of disappointment that he had called her bluff, but as she walked out the door, she didn’t look back.
* * *
Coral spent hours tossing and turning in the old-fashioned double bed. Jumbled images of Rafe, Cybil, and her father spun through her mind in an uncontrollable merry-go-round, intermingled with snatches of reprocessed conversations that had occupied her thoughts ever since she had arrived in Kenya.
Waking with a start, Coral bolted upright in the bed, her chest rising and falling as though she had run to catch the last train to paradise. Her ears pounded with the thumping of her riotous heartbeats. Under her nightdress, her skin felt hot and clammy, and her hair was damp and clung to her scalp. The room was claustrophobic, so she pushed aside the heap of covers and tumbled out of the bed. Pushing back the shutters, she filled her lungs with cool air.
Coral staggered toward the bathroom, switched on the light, and flicked it off again with a groan, finding the sudden glare unbearable. Anyway, the room was bathed in starlight from the open window. With trembling fingers, she poured herself a glass of water and gulped it down, and then did the same again. She was already beginning to feel better, though her body was still stiff and numb. Nothing like a shower to freshen you up, she thought as she turned on the tap and stepped under the icy drizzle, shivering and shuddering while energetically washing her goose-fleshed limbs. Five minutes later, she emerged from the bathroom, clad in a pink robe, her skin feeling clean and smooth.
She turned on the bedside lamp and glanced at the clock. It had just turned two o’clock. Her bed looked as if a thousand cats had been fighting on it. Though her headache had subsided, sleep seemed far away now. She turned off her lamp, remembering that in Africa light attracted all sorts of unwanted creepy-crawlies.
> Like most of the guest bedrooms, the one Coral had been allotted was on the ground floor of a courtyard at the back of the house. Dorian columns supported the awning overhanging the arcade. Two windows looked out on clumps of spindly, exotic pawpaw trees that dotted the courtyard and bordered a cobbled pathway leading out to the coffee plantation in the distance.
She walked to the open window. Crisp air gusted into the room. Africa slept in enigmatic darkness beyond the door…
Withdrawing into the room, Coral pulled on a clean nightshirt of blue silk trimmed with lace and stepped out into the cool stillness. The moon, unnaturally close and still bright, hung suspended in a sky thick with stars over the vague outline of the treetops. She stood a while at the edge of the tiled patio, leaning against one of the columns and listening to the even breathing of the bush.
“Can’t sleep?” Rafe’s voice emerged from the night, making Coral jump. A stifled gasp escaped as she spun around, her hands flying to her throat. Surveying the surrounding emptiness, the shadows stared back at her — there was no one there.
“Unfortunately, I too suffer from insomnia from time to time,” he said, and Coral could hear the smile in his voice as he moved from outside the guest room that faced hers, across the courtyard, and drifted toward her. He stopped only a few paces away, and she instinctively stepped back, not quite knowing what to expect next.
At this distance, she could detect the faint scent of his cologne. “Do you make a habit of creeping up on women in the dark?” she hissed, ignoring the effect his proximity was having on her senses.
“I’m sorry, but I do have a habit of prowling around at night when I can’t sleep. Besides, the garden is for all the guests, isn’t it?”
“One should be able to feel secure at this unearthly hour,” she mumbled.
He moved closer and lifting her chin up with his thumb and forefinger, he looked intently into her eyes. “Remember this, Coral,” he whispered huskily, “in the treacherous jungle of life, the safest way is never to feel secure.”
Burning Embers Page 15
