The Guilty Secret

by Margaret Pemberton

  For the next few minutes I was able to sit back and watch them all. That brief glimpse of Rozalinda had reminded me of what Phil had said. That she was virtually hiding at Ofir, and that not even Miles’ visit had managed to lure her away and into a major film part.

  It was hard to tell if she was genuinely in need of a rest or not. Rozalinda’s play acting never ceased and I had long ago given up the attempt to discover what her real feelings were about anything or anyone. Her blue-black hair hung in a cloud around her face, her eyes a brilliant, compelling violet. That she had been born with grey ones hadn’t deterred Rozalinda. Violet eyes were more photogenic. Soft contact lenses saw to it that she had them. The same was true of her hair. As a child it had been mouse-brown, I didn’t fancy anyone’s chances of surviving if they reminded her of the fact now. Aunt Harriet had once told me in amused exasperation, that Rozalinda had destroyed all her childhood photographs in case any enterprising pressman should get hold of one of them. Rozalinda was a natural beauty. And that meant that her violet eyes and blue-black hair were natural too! Phil had said callously that she had also had her breasts operated on. Certainly they were breathtaking and I couldn’t remember them being quite so awe-inspiring when we were in Templar’s Way, but how Phil, of all people, would know a detail like that was beyond me. Rozalinda was Rozalinda. Bright. Sparkling. Flirtatious. Demanding constant attention. But tonight there was something else as well. A brittleness under the gay laughter that I had never noticed before. Perhaps she was under pressure. Being a constant sex symbol couldn’t be easy.

  Phil, satisfied with his mischief making, was looking more like a little boy than ever. His auburn hair curled attractively around a regular face that was usually too serious. Aunt Harriet said it was only my company that brought out the light-hearted side of him. What he needed was someone who would love him and with whom he would feel as much in tune as he did with me. And who, hopefully, he loved in return. I sometimes doubted Phil’s ability to love physically. He had once had a brief affair with an older woman. She expected nothing more from him than he was prepared to give, yet he had broken off the relationship suddenly, saying that he had found out it wasn’t her first affair and that it made him feel unclean. It seemed to me an unnatural attitude to take. She wasn’t promiscuous and surely he couldn’t have expected a woman of twenty-nine to have remained a virgin. But Phil had. The fact that he had no serious intentions towards her didn’t signify. If there had been any other affairs I knew nothing of them. As far as I knew, and I was sure I knew pretty well, Phil’s life was celibate.

  The way Rozalinda was teasing and flirting with him, I wondered if I wouldn’t be doing her a favour by telling her what I knew. She might have seduced every other man she had wanted, but she would never get Phil into bed with her in a million years. Purity of the soul was what Phil was looking for. Despite her many other attributes, purity was definitely not on Rozalinda’s list. Failing to get the answering banter from Phil, Rozalinda was turning her attention more and more to Tom. I felt sorry for Mary having to watch Tom manfully respond to his hostess’s flirtation. Though perhaps Tom wasn’t finding it so hard. Rozalinda was undeniably beautiful and when she wanted to turn on the charm she could do it at a full blast. It was a charm that worked only on the opposite sex, but it certainly worked, and seeing the hurt in Mary’s eyes I began to feel annoyed. I accepted a helping of the delicious looking sweet, determined to have a private word with Rozalinda afterwards. It was unfair of her to ruin Mary’s holiday by teasing Tom for want of another more suitable admirer. She lifted her eyes at that exact moment, narrowing them on Miles’ unseeing head. I had a glimmer of the answer in that look. Suddenly sure that Rozalinda was only flirting with Tom to make Miles jealous. I remembered back to the night of Phil’s party and the gossip that had been current at the time. That Miles and Rozalinda were having an affair. If the affair had lasted and she was wanting to provoke him, then the only other males she was able to do it with were Tom and Phil, and as Phil wasn’t playing it had to be Tom. I wondered if Harold was even slightly aware. He didn’t look it. He sat at the foot of the table, corpulent as ever, beaming at all and sundry, seemingly oblivious of his wife’s neglect.

  Miles said softly to me:- ‘Rozalinda is in fine form, don’t you think?’

  ‘If you’re meaning what I think you mean. Yes.’ I said shortly.

  He laughed. ‘I’m glad you’ve come. I don’t like to see innocent little creatures getting hurt.’

  I said equally softly, my voice tinged with anger, ‘Are you referring to Mary?’

  ‘Who else?’ he said in mock surprise. ‘Rozalinda doesn’t mean it of course. She flirts with everyone. It’s a reflex action, but I don’t think little brown mouse understands that.’

  ‘Mary is not a little brown mouse!’ I said, and then as Aunt Harriet looked enquiringly across the table, lowered my voice even further. ‘If you’ve got anything else to say I think it would be wisest to leave it till later.’

  ‘With pleasure,’ he said, giving me the benefit of a gleaming smile and teasing eyes. Rozalinda wasn’t the only compulsive flirt who sat at the dinner table.

  Deliberately I turned to Rozalinda, interrupting her as she playfully pinched Tom’s cheek.

  ‘I still don’t know which villa is mine, Rozalinda. Is it one of those near to Phil’s?’

  ‘Yes. Mary and Tom and Aunt Harriet have the two villas nearest this one. Phil and Miles have one each in the woods and the third is all ready for you. When Jonathan comes we’ll have to put him up with Phil or Miles.’

  ‘He’s more than welcome to share with me. There’s not enough room in Phil’s,’ Miles said generously. ‘Besides, I won’t be here for much longer.’

  His eyes and Rozalinda’s held.

  ‘Just till our business affairs are tied up.’

  ‘Not now, not now,’ Harold said hastily. ‘Don’t spoil a nice evening by talking business.’

  Phil’s eyebrows raised slightly as he looked across at me, signalling ‘I told you so’. Certainly the mention of business affairs had taken the smile from Rozalinda’s mouth and replaced it with a look of sulky defiance.

  Miles turned to me, saying pleasantly:- ‘Rozalinda is to star as the Queen of Sheba in a mammoth spectacular. Perfect casting, don’t you think?’

  Rozalinda’s chair scraped back sharply and she rose to her feet her eyes flaming. Harold said nervously:-

  ‘Later old man, later. Rozalinda is tired at the moment. No time to be talking business.’ His eyes full of concern he hurried the length of the table and took her arm. She jerked it away, turning and sweeping into the salon.

  There was a short embarrassed silence and then Tom excused himself from the table and hurried after her, followed equally quickly by Aunt Harriet.

  ‘You seem to have successfully wrecked the dinner,’ I said to Miles.

  ‘That, you will find, is easy done,’ he said lightly, rising to his feet and taking his glass of wine with him. For the first time in her life, Mary avoided my eyes leaving the table and her scarcely touched wine.

  ‘I thought,’ I said to Phil, my voice heavy with sarcasm, ‘ that you said everything was fine here except that Rozalinda was a little nervy.’

  ‘I did.’

  ‘Then you must be blind.’

  He looked genuinely surprised. ‘You mean Rozalinda storming out like that? That’s an everyday occurrence, always has been.’

  ‘I mean,’ I said, wondering just how unseeing Phil could possibly be. ‘Rozalinda flirting mercilessly with Tom and making Mary intensely unhappy. I mean Aunt Harriet being obviously unwell. I mean the fact that there’s more to the Miles-Rozalinda relationship than co-stars, and that there’s an atmosphere under all this gaiety that you could cut with a knife.’

  ‘That’s just what Mary said as she left the table,’ Phil said, helping himself to more fruit flan.

  ‘What, that you could cut the air with a knife?’

  ‘No.’ said Phi
l innocently, ‘ that she wished she had one.’

  Chapter Eight

  Rozalinda had regained her composure by the time Phil and myself joined the rest of the party in the next room. She swept across taking me by the arm.

  ‘I must apologise for Miles, darling. It was too, too bad of him to provoke me like that on your first evening here. He knows I don’t want this beastly film part and I shall be glad when he goes. He’s making me quite ill.’

  ‘It sounds a good part, there’s not that many million dollar films to turn down these days.’

  Her mouth took on an obstinate line. ‘I’m not doing it. I’m staying here … with Harold. Why, we hardly see anything of each other!’

  Seeing Harold had never been one of her priorities in life.

  The laugh was back as Tom approached us. ‘I’m just apologising to Jenny for Miles’ bullying,’ she said, pouting.

  Tom was instant sympathy. ‘Just because he’s frightened of being replaced in the film if you turn your part down. If you want him to leave, tell him so. Can’t he see he’s making you ill with his pestering? If you want me to have a word with him …’

  She laid a hand delicately on his arm, lashes fluttering. ‘Darling Tom. Always so considerate. How lucky Mary is. No, Miles was my co-star in my last film, and,’ she drew a martyred little breath. ‘I shall just have to be patient with him.’

  Aunt Harriet interrupted them. ‘Jenny must be tired after her drive down from Viana, if you like I’ll take her to her villa and we’ll see you in the morning.’

  Rozalinda sulked prettily at the prospect of her party breaking up so early, wrapping her arm around Mary’s shoulders and insisting that at least she would stay for a little longer. As I kissed Mary goodnight, I whispered:- ‘See you in the morning for a chat,’ and squeezed her hand. Our roles seemed to be reversing. Previously it had been Mary who had dispensed comfort and reassurance. Now it seemed to be my turn.

  The breeze blowing in from the Atlantic had a refreshing bite to it after the perfume laden air of Rozalinda’s villa. I linked my arm with Aunt Harriet’s as we made our way in the moonlight down the shallow stone steps and out of the garden into the woods.

  ‘Will you be able to find your way back all right. It’s very dark.’

  ‘Phht, child, of course I will. I live here for nine months out of every twelve. I know every path in these woods like the back of my hand. Now let’s cut out the chit-chat. Who is this young man you say you intend marrying?’

  ‘His name is Jonathan Brown and he’s English.’

  ‘You told everyone that at the dinner table,’ she said caustically. ‘Now tell me what he’s like.’

  ‘He’s … nice,’ I said inadequately.

  ‘So are thousands. What’s so special about this one?’

  ‘You’ll see when he arrives. He needs me and loves me and I’m happy, Aunt Harriet. Really and truly happy.’

  ‘Well, for that child, I’m glad. It’s about time you had your share of happiness.’ There was silence for a few minutes and then she said:- ‘Does he know?’

  ‘No. Not yet.’ I saw her expression change and said quickly. ‘ I was going to tell him on our last evening. I started to but he said we would have plenty of time to talk when he came here and that nothing I had done could change the way he felt about me.’

  ‘If he’s a good man then it won’t.’ Aunt Harriet said, but beneath the firmness I knew she was worrying that I was about to be hurt yet again.

  ‘He is a good man, and everything is going to be all right. I know it is.’

  ‘I hope so, child. I really do hope so.’

  The pines thinned and the three villas gleamed in the moonlight. They were set in a rough triangle. Phil’s the nearest and parallel with it the villa Miles was occupying, and some twenty-five yards behind them, mine. Aunt Harriet pushed open the door and switched on the light.

  A large stone fireplace linked the two main downstairs rooms together. The floor was tiled and scattered with the same pretty rugs I had seen in Phil’s villa. But here, instead of only two grand pianos and floor cushions for furnishings, were comfortable settees and deeply upholstered chairs in rich velvet and small, marble topped coffee tables. A scattering of softly shaded lamps had switched on simultaneously at Aunt Harriet’s touch, giving the room a soft, welcoming glow.

  ‘There’s only one bedroom in this villa,’ Aunt Harriet said, leading the way into a beautifully equipped kitchen. ‘It isn’t often in use, being the furthest away from Rozalinda’s.’ A wrought iron spiral staircase led enticingly upstairs. While Aunt Harriet began making coffee I went up, gasping with pleasure at the bedroom with its four poster bed with white lace canopy and decadent looking silk sheets. Through an open door I could see the bathroom and a wealth of gold fittings. I ran back downstairs.

  ‘It’s super! Are all the villas as nice as this?’

  ‘This,’ Aunt Harriet said dryly. ‘Is the most spartan. Most of the furniture was taken out of Phil’s at his request. Rozalinda knew that without a piano she would never persuade him to come here. Miles comes quite regularly and so his villa has a lot of his personal possessions in it and is never used by anyone else. Mary and Tom’s villa is the one guests usually have. Mine is next to it and so far Rozalinda has left me its sole occupant.’

  ‘And you like it here?’

  ‘Yes. When it’s quiet.’

  ‘You mean when Rozalinda is away?’

  ‘Rozalinda doesn’t bother me and never has done.’ Aunt Harriet said reprovingly. ‘I love her just as much as you or Phil and you should have the common sense to know that. No, it’s been Harold who has been making all the commotion this last few days.’

  ‘Harold?’

  ‘Him and Miles. I could hear them rowing the other night.’

  ‘I can’t imagine Harold rowing with anybody.’

  ‘Well, he has lately. Miles wants Rozalinda to sign a contract for this film he’s going to star in and we keep getting frantic telephone calls from her agent in London, but Rozalinda is adamant she isn’t going to do it. Harold has got himself quite steamed up about it. He’s quite insistent that Rozalinda needs a rest and that she is staying on at Ofir until the end of the summer.’

  ‘Does she need a rest?’

  Aunt Harriet nodded her head emphatically. ‘ Yes. I’ve never known her nerves to be so bad. Which is why, of course, she’s acting so stupidly.’

  ‘You mean flirting with Tom?’

  Aunt Harriet nodded. ‘Though don’t let that worry you, Jenny. I’m going to have a word with her about that tomorrow. If she knew she was hurting Mary she’d stop immediately. She just doesn’t think.’

  ‘Then she should,’ I said, remembering the hurt on Mary’s face.

  Aunt Harriet patted my hand reprovingly. ‘You mustn’t be hard on her, Jenny. She never had the advantages of a loving mother and father. I hate to say it but my youngest niece was totally selfish. She hardly ever spent any time with Rose at all. Which is why she was always round at my house and always wanting to be with you, Phil and Mary. And if it hadn’t been for Mary she would have been left out altogether. You and Phil were sufficient unto yourselves. That little girl was intensely lonely and she has always been insecure. All Harold’s money can’t give her the security she needs. That’s why she clings to you all so much. Underneath that veneer of sophisticated gaiety Rose is nothing but a frightened little girl.’

  ‘Frightened? I can understand that she’s insecure. But she’s nothing to be frightened of.’

  ‘No, she hasn’t. Which is why it’s puzzling.’ And Aunt Harriet abruptly took her cup and saucer back into the kitchen, saying:- ‘Have a good night’s rest, Jenny. And don’t forget. Phil’s villa is the one to the right of you. Don’t go mistakenly into Miles. I saw the way he was looking at you at the dinner table. I wouldn’t fancy your chances if you did.’ She kissed me goodnight, closing the door behind her with the embarrassment of someone who has said more than they intended. I wen
t slowly into the kitchen with my own cup and saucer.

  The meek Harold rowing with forceful Miles. Tom making a fool of himself. Mary hurt. And Rozalinda frightened. It seemed I was the only person at the enclave without a problem.

  Thank God, I thought sincerely as I slipped between the silken sheets. Thank God for Jonathan. And with the distant sound of the Atlantic breakers beating on the shore, reminding me again of our last night together, I ignored my tablets and fell into a deep and natural sleep.

  I was woken by a soft tap at my bedroom door and before I could fully wake up a slip of a girl with thick dark hair tied back in a ponytail, came in with a breakfast tray of fresh coffee and rolls. It was just like being back in the hotel. She smiled shyly, placing the tray on my bedside table with a softly spoken ‘Obrigadoa.’

  ‘Obrigadoa,’ I said. ‘ My name is Jenny, what is yours?’

  She stood hesitantly, not fully understanding. I smiled reassuringly, pointing to myself and saying again, ‘Jenny.’

  Her smile widened. ‘Joanna-Maria,’ she said, leaving the room with none of the nervousness with which she had entered.

  I was still drinking my coffee when I heard Mary’s voice downstairs, I swung my feet off the bed and called out:-

  ‘Come up, Mary. I’m still having breakfast, ask Joanna for an extra cup.’

  She came in the room looking tired and drawn. She had never had any dress sense, now she was beginning to look positively dowdy. I poured her a coffee saying:- ‘You’ve no need to tell me, Mary. You’re missing the children and want to go home.’

  ‘And how,’ she said fervently, sitting down on the bed. ‘We’ve been here ten days now and I really do miss the children. I wanted to see you, of course. I wouldn’t have left till then. But now I know you’re all right there doesn’t seem to be much point in staying on.’