Season of Shadows

by Yvonne Whittal

  Dark eyes, cold and assessing, met Laura's as they acknowledged each other, and instant dislike flared between them. Laura somehow managed to conceal her feelings, but Camilla made no effort to hide the fact that she considered Laura an insignificant nuisance and, turning towards Anton in a manner which excluded Laura completely, she linked her arm through his.

  'Darling, I simply must see you alone,' she purred up at him persuasively. 'There's something terribly important I want to discuss with you, and we can't talk privately among all these people.'

  Anton excused himself from Laura without hesitation and, leaving her standing there among an ocean of strange faces, he accompanied Camilla through the swinging glass doors, and out of sight.

  'There goes a lady who drinks the milk of a viper each morning, for breakfast,' a voice remarked knowingly behind her, and Laura swung round sharply to find herself staring up into the thin, intelligent face of a tall, lanky man with a familiar flashing smile. 'Alex Muir, remember?' he prodded her memory.

  'Oh, yes,' she smiled, her brow clearing. 'We met at Gordon's Bay last month.'

  'Madam, I'm flattered you should remember me,' he smiled, bowing towards her comically.

  Relieved to see a familiar face, but curious, Laura asked, 'What are you doing here this evening? I mean,' she corrected herself blushingly, 'I never expected to see you here.'

  He gestured vaguely with a slim-fingered, artistic hand. 'I did the decor.'

  'I thought you said you were an artist,' she frowned up at him.

  'My paintings don't bring in enough money,' he explained indulgently. 'And I have to eat.'

  An awkward silence followed, and Laura's glance strayed involuntarily towards the glass doors through which Anton and Camilla had disappeared. Where were they? What were they doing?

  'You look as though you could do with something to drink,' Alex interrupted her troubled thoughts, and, drawing her towards the drinks table, he asked, 'What will it be?'

  'Something not too intoxicating,' she replied absently, wishing she could rid herself of that gnawing fear within her.

  'I'll mix you one of my specials,' Alex offered, and seconds later a tall glass was placed in her hand.

  'What is it?' she asked after a tentative sip at the amber-coloured liquid.

  'Do you like it?'

  She took another sip, and nodded appreciatively. 'It's nice, thank you.'

  'Then don't ask questions, just drink it,' he ordered, taking her arm and leading her to a quiet corner behind the potted ferns. 'The Countess, I believe, is a very rich woman,' he said unexpectedly, staring down at the drink he swivelled in the glass between his fingers. 'Is your husband thinking of incorporating her wealth into his company?'

  'I have no idea.'

  'I hear they're old friends from way back when.'

  Laura stiffened automatically. 'So I believe.'

  Alex looked up from his drink, and smiled. 'You think I'm prying, don't you?'

  'Aren't you?' she demanded with a haughtiness she had been forced to adopt at times.

  'I'm curious,' he admitted without apology, his hazel eyes alert and probing. 'Why did you make no effort to stop her from dragging your husband off somewhere where she could have him to herself?'

  Taut with resentment, she said stiffly, 'I think my husband is quite capable of looking after himself.'

  'It's not your husband I'm concerned with.'

  The words were quietly spoken, but their meaning was clear, and her resentment made way for a warmth which temporarily melted the icy feeling about her heart. 'Let's change the subject.'

  'Right,' he smiled, swallowing down a mouthful of his drink before asking, 'Have you changed your mind yet about sitting for me?'

  'No, I haven't.'

  'Won't you give it a little serious thought?'

  'Mr Muir—'

  'Alex,' he corrected hastily.

  'Alex,' she repeated resignedly. 'Why should you want to do a portrait of me?'

  'Why not?' he laughed shortly.

  'But it's absurd,' she argued. 'I'm not even beautiful.'

  'You're a very attractive woman,' he contradicted, standing back a little to observe her critically. 'You have good bone structure, and a good figure, but your real beauty lies within. It's in your eyes, in the way you talk, and in the way you move. Very few women walk well,' he grimaced slightly. 'The Countess, for instance, sways her posterior too much, and although it's enchantingly seductive, it's not in the least graceful.'

  'Oh, Alex,' she laughed, her misery momentarily forgotten. 'You're just saying this to make me feel better.'

  'No, no, it's the truth,' he insisted adamantly above the noise as he dispensed with their glasses and gripped her hands tightly in his. 'I must paint you. I must capture what I see on canvas. It will be one of my masterpieces— I know it.'

  She stared up at him thoughtfully, at the untidy sun-bleached hair which distinguished him from the rest despite his impeccably tailored evening suit, and at the enthusiasm glowing in his hazel eyes.

  'You're really serious about this?' she asked at last. 'I'm more than serious,' he assured her with intense honesty. 'Now that I've seen you again, I'm desperate. Will you sit for me? Please?'

  Beyond him she glimpsed Anton returning to the party alone and, disengaging her hands selfconsciously, she said: 'I'll let you know.'

  'My number is in the book,' Alex reminded her, and she nodded briefly before making her way to Anton's side. 'I'm taking you home,' Anton announced brusquely, and without offering an explanation, he took her arm and led her from the building to where he had parked the Jaguar.

  Bewildered, Laura remained silent during the long drive out to Bellavista. It was late, admittedly, but that was no reason why he should have said so bluntly, 'I'm taking you home.' Not we're going home, but you. I'm taking you home. Had she done something wrong? she wondered frantically. Stepped on important toes, perhaps?

  When the Jaguar crunched to a halt in front of the house, Laura was weary with the effort of trying to understand. They climbed the wide, shallow steps in silence up to the front door, the skirt of her evening gown swishing softly about her legs, and, stealing a quick glance at the man beside her who was her husband, yet at times like this a stranger, she felt the nerves tightening into a familiar knot at the pit of her stomach.

  Anton unlocked the door and stood aside for her to enter, but when he did not follow her, she turned and asked nervously, 'Aren't you coming in as well?'

  His mouth tightened as if her question had displeased him. 'I have urgent business to attend to. Lock the door and don't wait up for me.'

  Dismayed, she stared after him, and only when the Jaguar's tail lights disappeared down the drive did she lock the door and go upstairs.

  What urgent business would require his attention at this late hour? she wondered suddenly, dropping her wrap and evening purse on to the chair beside the window and pulling down the zip of her dress. Was it business? she wondered with sudden scepticism, or did Camilla's waiting arms have something to do with the urgency of this late-night mission?

  'That's right! Torture yourself with your suspicious thoughts,' the voice of her conscience reprimanded her as she stepped out of her evening dress and hung it up in the wardrobe, but disturbing visions entered her mind, making a mockery of her determination to think no ill; visions of Anton and Camilla locked in each other's arms, their bodies close in a passionate embrace, and suddenly the room swayed about her, inducing a wave of nausea that sent her staggering through to the bathroom. She tried to control the spasms that wrenched her stomach, but couldn't, and for the first time since her childhood, she was violently sick.

  Weak and exhausted, she finally emerged from the bathroom with barely enough energy left to get into bed and, with the immediate circumstances forcing her problems into the background, she promptly went to sleep.

  She experienced a second flicker of nausea at the breakfast table the following morning, causing her to shun her usual baco
n and eggs, and settling instead for a cup of black coffee. Fortunately Anton was too busy shutting himself away behind the morning newspaper to notice her physical discomfiture, and Sally was hurrying through her own breakfast before leaving for school. She must have eaten something at the party which had not agreed with her, Laura decided, and this led to further disturbing thoughts. What time had Anton finally returned home last night? What had been the true nature of the urgent business he had mentioned?

  Anton slapped the folded newspaper down on to the table with a force that made her glance up at him with a guilty start, almost as if she suspected that he might have read her thoughts.

  'I'll be home late tonight, so don't wait dinner for me,' he told her curtly, pushing back his chair and rising to his feet, then, with a brief nod, he was striding from the room.

  'What's wrong with Uncle Anton?' Sally asked when they heard the Jaguar roar down the drive.

  'Nothing—why?' Laura prevaricated, her nerves settling slowly into their correct order.

  'He's different,' Sally announced frowningly. 'He's nearly always too busy to come home for dinner these days, and we hardly see him at weekends.'

  'I think a man in his position must have tremendous problems to cope with,' Laura replied carefully.

  'Well, I hope he solves his problems soon,' Sally said a little angrily, getting up from the table to kiss Laura's cheek. 'See you this afternoon.'

  Laura watched her go and, sighing, she drew the newspaper towards her, curious to know what Anton had found so interesting, but there was nothing there except an announcement that, after a legal and financial tussle resulting from the untimely death of the Chairman of Avron Enterprises, the directors of the company had decided to sell to the highest bidder.

  This did not affect Anton, surely? Not unless he intended placing a bid, of course, and if his bid was successful it would naturally result in added responsibilities. Did she have cause for concern, or was she merely leaping ahead into something which might never arise, and which Anton would rightly consider none of her business? From a medical point of view, Graham Abbot had long since given his valued opinion that Anton was heading towards a physical disaster, and suddenly Laura felt sick with anxiety. Nothing could be done, of course, until it was known for certain what Anton was planning, and the only one to discover this, without stirring up Anton's wrath, would be Graham Abbot.

  Laura suddenly had an idea and, with Anton's eventual approval, she arranged a small, intimate dinner party for the Thursday evening to which she invited Graham and Gina Abbot. Graham, naturally, understood Laura's predicament, and agreed readily to do his best to discover Anton's intentions with regard to Avron Enterprises, and to dissuade him if necessary.

  The evening was also intended to recapture some of their happier moments together before Camilla arrived on the scene, and Laura planned it with care, making certain that the menu consisted mainly of Anton's favourite dishes. Jemima too became fired with enthusiasm, as if she sensed the need for the evening to be a success, and when Sally complained about not being allowed to join the dinner party, it was Jemima who told her firmly, 'You will eat in the kitchen, Miss Sally, and no nonsense!'

  Everything went smoothly until Anton arrived home that evening and altered the course of her plans, heading them towards an inevitable disaster.

  'I've invited Camilla to join us for dinner this evening,' he announced as he passed Laura in the hall on his way upstairs to shower and change. 'One extra wouldn't upset your arrangements too much, would it?'

  'Yes, yes, it would upset my arrangements!' she felt like shouting at him, but instead she stood there helplessly, feeling as though her world had suddenly collapsed beneath her as she said stonily, 'No, of course it wouldn't.'

  What else could she say without making him suspect how vitally important this evening had been to her? She had never dreamed that something like this could happen, and never, never would she have thought that Anton would invite that abominable woman to his home. Was he actually such a fool as not to know that, having hurt him once, she could hurt him again?

  Laura closed her eyes and prayed silently for strength. He had invited Camilla to dine with them, a woman he had once loved, and probably still loved if he stopped long enough to take stock of his feelings, and somehow Laura would have to bear it.

  'That woman has come back here to make trouble, Miss Laura,' Jemima prophesied when Laura went through to the kitchen to inform her that there would be an extra guest. 'You mark my words, she's here to make trouble. It's in the stars.'

  'Don't say that, Jemima,' Laura reprimanded her anxiously.

  'I'm never wrong, Miss Laura,' Jemima insisted. 'When I saw you that very first time when you came here to Bellavista with young Miss Sally's mother and father, God rest their souls, I told Eddie you would one day be the mistress of Bellavista, and I was right. Now I'm telling you —with respect, madam—that woman is here to make trouble. Big trouble!'

  Laura shivered as if a cold draught of wind had blown up against her. 'I hope you're wrong, Jemima.'

  'Stand firm, Miss Laura,' the Coloured woman advised strongly. 'Don't let that woman drive away the happiness that belongs to Mr Anton and Bellavista.'

  'What do you mean?'

  Jemima must have thought her singularly dense, for she shook her head and smiled knowingly. 'When the fruit hangs heavy on the vines, you will be heavy with child.'

  Heavy with child. Those words returned to Laura repeatedly, and, although she argued away the possibility, she could not deny that she had already begun to suspect that a new life had started its growth within her. It was an incredibly wonderful possibility, she realised, but a car was coming up the drive just as Anton entered the living-room, and she was forced to shelve her thoughts.

  A strained silence hovered between Laura and Anton until a few minutes later when a waft of cold air entered the house with Camilla like the chilled hand of fate wrapping itself about Laura's heart, and she just barely managed to conceal the fact that she was shivering when the woman was shown into the living-room. Camilla was dressed in black once again, but this time in something a little less daring, and whether or not she happened to be in mourning, Laura had to admit that the colour suited this woman's olive-skinned complexion to perfection.

  'I shall have to buy myself a car. Taxis are so unreliable,' she complained, extending her hands towards Anton and smiling up at him with an intimacy that lodged like a brick in Laura's throat. 'Darling, it's absolutely wonderful to be here at Bellavista again,' she purred. 'It's been such a long time, hasn't it?'

  'More than eight years, if I remember correctly,' Anton smiled, raising her hands to his lips while Laura stood less than a yard away, ignored and feeling superfluous.

  'We did have some wonderful times together, didn't we?' Camilla continued to weave her little cocoon of intimacy.

  'Memorable times,' Anton agreed, releasing her hands and turning towards the cabinet where the drinks were kept. 'The usual, Camilla?'

  'Thank you, darling,' she smiled, white teeth flashing against full, crimson lips as she draped her fur stole over the back of a chair.

  'Good evening, Countess von Dissel.' Laura spoke for the first time, determined to make her presence known, and Camilla turned, the smile still evident on her lips, but the dark eyes were calculatingly hard.

  'Ah, the little wife. I never noticed you standing there.' Her disdainful glance swept up and down the length of Laura's taut, slender figure. 'You really shouldn't wear white, my dear, it makes you look awfully pale.'

  It was a stab Laura should not have ignored, but Anton was pressing a glass of wine unceremoniously into her hand while extending a more lethal-looking drink towards Camilla.

  'I hope it's to your taste?' he remarked, and Laura watched with infuriating helplessness while Camilla deliberately allowed her fingers to caress his hand before she took the glass from him.

  'You're an angel,' she told him with that intimate, faintly seductive smile whi
ch Laura was beginning to hate with an intensity that threatened to choke her.

  She clung to her control and remained silent, but she was fuming inwardly with a fury which stemmed from helpless despair as she observed them, and listened, like an unwanted third, to the undisguised intimacy in the trend of their conversation. What hope had she against a woman as beautiful as Camilla von Dissel, and what hope had Anton against the alluring charm of a woman who reminded Laura of a deadly black spider spinning her web with care in preparation for the kill?

  Anton was not a fool, but he was, after all, only a man, and men were often trapped solely by desire.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  The chiming of the doorbell some minutes later came almost as a relief, and Laura excused herself, going into the hall seconds after Eddie had admitted Graham and Gina Abbot.

  'My dear, you look lovely!' Gina exclaimed after- Laura had welcomed them with a warmth which stemmed from affection and a liberal amount of desperation. 'Doesn't she look lovely, Graham?' Gina added, nudging her husband.

  'Yes, yes,' the tall, grey-haired man nodded, his shrewd glance shifting from Laura's shadowed eyes to take in her slender figure. 'Laura always looks lovely to me, no matter what she's wearing.'

  'Thank you,' Laura laughed self-consciously. 'You've both done a great deal to restore my confidence.'

  From the inflection in her voice they must have guessed that something was amiss, but an explanation was unnecessary when they encountered Camilla in the living-room.

  Anton was naturally pleased to see Graham and Gina, but the conversation flowed like sticky toffee flavoured with bitter aloe. Laura did her best to smooth over the uneven patches, while Camilla, with clever subtlety, somehow managed to point out and criticise every alteration Laura had made to add a little of her own personality to Bella-vista's living-room. Anton, obviously, found it amusing, but Graham puffed away furiously as his cigar, which was a sure sign that he felt uncomfortable and agitated.