A Multitude of Sins

by Margaret Pemberton

  ‘I’ll get myself very fucked and I won’t care about the bruises,’ he said, his electric-blue eyes dark with heat. ‘Now, for God’s sake, get yourself over here, Julienne!’

  She giggled and rose to her feet, moving carefully as the sailing-boat rocked gently. ‘I think, chéri,’ she said mischievously, ‘that you are going to have to be very, very careful!’

  She slid down next to him, and as he slipped his arm around her shoulders she said. ‘How long will Raefe be in the hospital? Does anyone know?’

  ‘No.’ A light breeze had sprung up, and Derry eyed the sails doubtfully, wondering if he should put a couple of reefs in them. He didn’t want to capsize off Cape d’Aguilar with his shorts around his ankles. The breeze petered away, the sails flapping desultorily. He relaxed, saying: ‘Melissa went to visit him the day after it happened. They seem to be on extraordinarily good terms at the moment. You would think, now that the divorce is going ahead, that they’d hardly be speaking to each other.’

  ‘Divorce?’ Julienne asked curiously. Her cheek had been resting against his shoulder. Now she turned her head and looked up at him. ‘I didn’t know that they were getting a divorce. I thought she had moved back in with him.’

  Derry shook his head. The sun had bleached his hair, and the spray from the sea had tightened his curls, so that he reminded her of a statue she had once seen of a Greek god. ‘She’s back in the house they used to share, up on the Peak. But Raefe isn’t living there. He’s moved permanently into his apartment in Victoria. I can’t imagine him staying there once he has remarried. It’s only small.’

  ‘Remarried?’ She sat bolt upright, her eyes wide. ‘Tiens! He can’t be going to marry again! It isn’t possible!’

  ‘It’s very possible,’ Derry said, a slight frown touching his brow. ‘You haven’t had any hopes in that direction yourself, have you, Julienne?’

  She looked genuinely shocked. ‘Non! How can you think such a thing?’ She kissed him, open-mouthed, pressing herself against him. Derry enjoyed the embrace, but did not allow himself to be distracted.

  ‘Then, why does the news shock you so much?’ he asked when he finally drew his mouth away from hers.

  ‘Because I know who it is he is in love with. And never, in a million years, would I have believed it possible that she would leave her husband for him. It is amazing! Incredible!’

  The breeze was beginning to lift again, filling out the sails. Derry ignored them. ‘Who is she?’ he asked, fascinated. ‘I know it isn’t Mark Hurley’s wife, because she’s been looking as miserable as sin lately. And I haven’t seen him with his Chinese girlfriend for weeks.’

  ‘I don’t think I should tell you, chéri,’ she said teasingly. ‘It would not be very discreet of me.’

  ‘To hell with discretion,’ Derry said thickly, his hand sliding down inside the low neckline of her halter top. ‘Now, who is it? Tell me or I’ll throw you overboard!’

  He had begun to caress her nipple, and familiar sweet urgings were centring in her vulva. ‘I don’t think you would do such a thing,’ she said, her eyes beginning to darken with her desire. ‘But just in case.…’ She laughed throatily as he lowered his head to her breast. ‘It is Elizabeth Harland, chéri. And never did I think she would be so reckless. So very un-English!’

  ‘We English,’ Derry said hoarsely as he slid her down beneath him and the boat rocked wildly, ‘can be very reckless.…’

  His hands were on the waistband of her shorts. She undid the button and zip, wriggling obligingly as he eased them down over her hips.

  ‘Why is it your pussy hair is an even spicier red than the hair on your head?’ he asked as the tight tousle of curls sprang erotically against the heel of his hand and his fingers slipped inside her.

  ‘C’est joli, non?’ she whispered, pushing herself up against him, her eyes closed, her lips parted. ‘Oh, but that is good, mon amour. Very, very good.’

  The breeze was blowing landwards, filling the sails. Derry felt the boat begin to scud, and an edge of water creamed over the side, splashing down on them. He ignored it. The tide was on the turn. The worst that could happen was that they capsized or were blown ashore, still fucking. He kicked his shorts from around his ankles, Julienne’s silky-dark nipples were erect against his chest, her legs were wide, uncaring of the sea-water that now slopped around them. He took his prick in his hands. He wasn’t going to stop now. Not even for old Father Neptune. He grinned as he thought of the sight they would make as they neared the shore. He hoped no one would be so daft as to think they were in difficulties and send out help. He didn’t need any help. None at all. He was going in hard and strong and with all flags flying.

  Late the next afternoon Helena visited Tom for the second time that day. She felt incredibly tired. Tom had not wanted to stay another night in hospital, and it had taken all her persistence to ensure that he did so. He wasn’t badly hurt. His nose had been broken and would probably set a trifle crooked, but his good-looks had always been of the rugged kind and she did not think they would suffer. His broken ribs had been strapped. The wound on his chest had required only half a dozen stitches. His mental suffering far exceeded his physical suffering.

  ‘I must see Lamoon!’ he said to her fiercely when she entered his room. ‘I must know that she is all right!’

  ‘She wasn’t hurt,’ Helena repeated for the twentieth time. ‘You told me yourself that the chauffeur merely dragged her away.’

  Tom slammed his fist down on the tightly tucked-in sheets, his eyes blazing. ‘She was fighting him for all she was worth! Anything could have happened to her! A man crazy enough to try to have me killed isn’t exactly going to be lenient with a daughter who is completely in his power, is he? Christ!’ He ran his hand through his hair. ‘And I just laid there! I didn’t lift a finger to help her!’

  ‘You can only have been semi-conscious,’ Helena said practically. ‘When the police arrived seconds later, you were flat out and that horrid Chinese was lying senseless on top of you. How could you have helped her?’

  He swung his legs from the bed, wincing with pain from his ribs as he did so. Helena put her hands restrainingly on his shoulders. ‘Oh, no, you don’t,’ she said firmly. ‘You’re not leaving here till tomorrow morning at the earliest. Even if you did, it wouldn’t do any good. You can hardly call in person at the Sheng mansion and ask for her, can you? Not unless you want more thugs to complete yesterday’s unfinished task!’

  ‘But I have to know what has happened to her,’ he repeated despairingly. ‘I’m responsible! I knew the risks she was running and I encouraged her!’

  ‘Lamoon knew the risks as well,’ Helena said quietly.

  Tom groaned, not wanting to put into words what he most feared. That she was no longer even in Hong Kong. That he would never see her again.

  ‘I’m going across to see Raefe,’ she said, satisfied that he had accepted the futility of storming out of the hospital. ‘He has Chinese friends who will be able to tell us what has happened.’

  ‘How is he?’ Tom’s eyes darkened. ‘I tried to go over and see him this morning, but that dragon of a ward sister said the doctor was with him and that I couldn’t see him until tomorrow.’

  ‘She probably had her instructions from the police,’ Helena said drily. ‘I imagine they want to keep the two of you apart until they have finished taking statements from you both.’

  ‘They can take statements till they’re blue in the face!’ he said savagely. ‘Any injuries we inflicted were in self-defence. If Raefe hadn’t shouted out to me when he did, that bloody Chink would have knifed me with no one on the street being aware of it!’

  ‘And if he hadn’t hit the supposed stall-holder, where your first attacker failed, the second would have succeeded,’ Helena said, her face going pale at the thought of how near he had come to losing his life. ‘I hope the powers that be decide it wisest to take no action against Raefe. He’s suffered enough as it is. I don’t believe he was half so indiff
erent to the murder charge that was brought against him as he would have had us believe.’

  ‘I don’t believe he’s half so indifferent about a lot of things as he would have us believe,’ Tom said wryly. ‘Underneath that devil-may-care swagger of his, there hides a damned nice bloke.’

  ‘Yes,’ Helena agreed wearily as she turned to leave. Raefe Elliot was a damned nice bloke. And he had saved Tom’s life, which made it all the more difficult for her to blame him and to dislike him for the unhappiness he was causing Adam.

  ‘So there’s no news at all of Lamoon?’ Raefe asked her, propped up against pillows, his hard-boned face oddly pale, his eyes burning blackly.

  ‘No, you are the only person I know who has access to the Chinese grapevine. I wondered if you could find out what has happened to her?’

  ‘Yes,’ he said unenthusiastically. ‘I can do that, Helena. But I can already give a pretty good guess. She won’t still be in Hong Kong, that’s for sure. She will have been sent to relatives as far away as possible. And she will stay with them until a suitable marriage can be arranged for her.’

  ‘Poor Tom.’ Helena’s deep blue eyes were bleak. ‘He loves her so much.’ She crossed the small room to the window and stood for a moment, looking out, seeing nothing.

  ‘There was never even the vainest hope of them being able to marry,’ Raefe said, his voice oddly flat. ‘For families like the Shengs, mixed marriages are out. There are no exceptions.’

  Helena continued to look out of the window. ‘What a stupid world we live in,’ she said bitterly. ‘There is so much unhappiness that can’t be avoided. You would think, by now, the human race would have stopped inflicting misery that can be avoided, simply because one person’s skin is a different shade from another’s. Surely all that matters was that they loved each other? Surely loving each other is the only thing that matters?’

  ‘It may be, one day, but that day hasn’t dawned yet, Helena.’

  ‘Do you think it will ever come?’ she asked, turning towards him once again. ‘Not an ideal world with everyone loving one another, but a decent world. A multi-racial world, where people are judged by their worth, and not by their colour or social status?’

  ‘If enough people want it, and work for it, and are prepared to die for it, then it will come,’ Raefe said sombrely, ‘but it won’t come in a world dominated by Hitler or the Japanese.’

  Helena managed a tired smile. ‘Oh dear, what a subject to bring into a sickroom! I meant to try to cheer you up, not cast you into a pit of depression.’

  ‘Then, cheer me up,’ he said, his eyes watching hers closely. ‘Where the hell is Lizzie? I haven’t seen her since yesterday evening, and I was too groggy then from anaesthetic to appreciate her visit properly. I expected her to be here this afternoon.’

  ‘Perhaps she thought Melissa would be visiting,’ Helena said awkwardly. ‘I know that she telephoned her from here late last night.’

  Raefe’s eyes narrowed slightly. ‘Melissa has been and gone. A telephone call to the ward would have told Lizzie that. Where is she, Helena? What do you know that you’re not telling me?’

  Helena wished that she had remained standing at the window where she could avoid Raefe’s all too perceptive eyes. ‘I don’t know,’ she said uncomfortably. ‘We parted outside the hospital at about nine last night. I had suggested we go for a drink together, but she.…’ She faltered, cursing herself for a fool.

  ‘But she what?’ Raefe demanded, his nostrils pinched and white, his mouth tight.

  ‘She said she was tired,’ Helena finished lamely.

  Raefe’s near-black eyes held hers mercilessly. ‘Don’t lie to me, Helena,’ he said tautly. ‘Why wouldn’t she go for a drink with you? What was it she said?’

  ‘That she had to go home to talk to Adam,’ Helena said at last, defeatedly. He had saved Tom’s life. She couldn’t lie to him, no matter how much she wanted to.

  ‘Talk to him about what?’ Raefe demanded, every muscle in his body tightening with tension.

  ‘She said that Adam knew about her affair with you. I imagine that was what she needed to talk to him about. He loves her very much, and—’

  ‘Christ!’ He swung his legs from the bed, pulling free the drip that was inserted in his arm.

  ‘Now see what you’ve done!’ Helena cried out, horrified. ‘Stay where you are! Don’t move until I can get a nurse!’

  ‘I don’t need a damned nurse!’ he snapped, but to his fury the sudden movement had made him sick and giddy, and as she rushed to the door to get assistance she was relieved to see that he was swaying unsteadily and was not hard on her heels.

  It was the ward sister who came in answer to Helena’s call for help. She took one look at Raefe, his face bone-white, and said crisply: ‘Thank you, Mrs Nicholson. Perhaps you would leave now. Mr Elliot is far weaker than he believes himself to be.’

  ‘Telephone Lizzie,’ Raefe said to Helena, knowing defeat when he met it, and accepting it with appalling grace. ‘Tell her I want to see her. Tell her if she doesn’t come to me, then I’m coming to her!’

  ‘Not without my permission you’re not,’ the ward sister said tartly.

  Helena grinned. She doubted if Raefe had ever been spoken to in such a way before. Then, sensing that a full-scale battle was about to commence, she made a hasty and diplomatic exit. At the public telephone booth in the hospital’s foyer she dialled Elizabeth’s number.

  ‘Mr Harland, Missy Harland not home,’ Chan said before she could even state who it was she wished to speak with. ‘Please to telephone back another time.’

  ‘Could I leave a message …?’ Helena began, but Chan had already severed the connection. The line was dead.

  Helena replaced the receiver on its rest, perturbed. It was unlike any of the Harlands’houseboys to be rude or curt. As she walked through the busy foyer and out into the street she was convinced that Chan had been so because he had been lying. Adam and Elizabeth were at home. But they weren’t answering the telephone, not even to her. She unlocked the door of her open-topped Morgan and slid behind the wheel, wondering what on earth was happening in the Harland home, and whether she should drive up there.

  Julienne walked with hip-swinging pertness down the hospital corridor towards Tom’s private room. She was wearing a suit of sizzling lemon linen, the waist nipped in tightly, a peplum emphasizing the curve of her hips. She wore no blouse beneath the jacket, and the collar was open deeply, revealing honeyed skin and a small diamond on a chain nestling at the cleavage of her breasts.

  ‘Mr Tom Nicholson, please,’ she asked the ward sister, her red hair glinting, her eyes bright with health and love of life.

  The ward sister put down the sheaf of notes she had been carrying. The private lives of her two most recent patients was growing increasingly interesting. She knew very well who Julienne was – and of her reputation. ‘Certainly,’ she said, her face revealing none of her thoughts. ‘This way, please.’

  Julienne’s treacherously high-heeled shoes tip-tapped in the sister’s wake, along the corridor towards Tom’s room. ‘How is Mr Elliot?’ she asked the sister, her eyes flicking over the names on the doors of the few private rooms. ‘Is he going to be all right?’

  The ward sister turned her head, her eyes meeting Julienne’s. ‘Yes,’ she said, wondering which man it was that Julienne was most interested in, and what her relationship with both of them was. ‘But he needs rest.’

  If there was any irony in the sister’s voice, Julienne was blithely unaware of it. ‘Vous avez été trés gentile,’ she said as the sister opened the door of Tom’s room. ‘You have been very kind.’ And then, on seeing Tom, his chest heavily bandaged, her smile faded. ‘Oh, mon pauvre petit!’ she exclaimed, the heady fragrance of her French perfume filling the room as she hurried to his side.

  Tom was genuinely glad to see her. They hadn’t been lovers for over two years but, unlike most of the women he knew, Julienne had a capacity for friendship, as well as for l
ove, and his affection for her ran deep.

  ‘Ça va?’ she asked urgently, taking his hand. ‘Are you all right?’

  ‘I’m fine, Julienne,’ he said, not looking fine at all. ‘A couple of cracked ribs and a broken nose. That’s all.’

  She ignored the stiff-looking chair by the side of his locker and perched on the bed. ‘You do not look fine, chéri,’ she said, her kittenish face unusually sombre. ‘You look very, very unhappy.’

  ‘I am.’ Worry and anxiety had carved deep lines on his handsome face, and his long mobile mouth was tight with strain. ‘You know about Lamoon?’

  Julienne nodded. Helena had told her. She had not been surprised. She had known that a man as virile as Tom must have been conducting a love-affair with someone, and the fact that he had never brought that someone with him to picnics and parries indicated that she was, perhaps, a Chinese.

  ‘I am very sorry for you both,’ she said sincerely, ‘but you must have known it was hopeless, Tom. A girl like Lamoon … I don’t even understand how you managed to meet undiscovered for so long.’

  ‘Elizabeth and Adam Harland gave us hospitality and the use of their summerhouse,’ he said bleakly.

  ‘Tiens!’ Julienne’s pansy-dark eyes were shocked. ‘I would never have believed it in a million years! I always thought the Harlands so prim and so very proper, and now I discover that Adam is really a romantic at heart, and as for Elizabeth.…’ Words failed her.

  Tom looked at her curiously, unused to such an occurrence. ‘What about Elizabeth?’ he asked, sensing that something was wrong.

  ‘She’s in love with Raefe,’ Julienne said simply. ‘Derry tells me that Raefe intends marrying her.’

  Tom stared at her. ‘I don’t believe it,’ he said at last.

  Julienne’s shoulders lifted in a tiny shrug. ‘I do not blame you, chéri, but I think it is the truth. I think that very soon the nice steady Adam is going to be a very unhappy man.’

  ‘Christ! Tom continued to stare at her in disbelief. ‘Raefe and Elizabeth. It never occurred to me.…’