Captive Destiny Page 11

  ‘And you don’t?’ she countered bitterly, but he didn’t react as she had expected.

  ‘I just want you to be happy, Emma,’ he insisted harshly, combing his fingers through her hair for several heart-stopping moments. ‘Don’t make it so hard for me.’ Then he rose to his feet again. ‘Come on. We’d better go back before Stacey decides she’ll come after us.’

  ‘I—I’m surprised she hasn’t,’ declared Emma unsteadily, folding the towel and hanging it over a radiator, evidence of the craft’s capacity for sailing in colder waters.

  ‘I’m not.’ Jordan stood to allow her to precede him up the steps. ‘She’s not a strong swimmer. She would never tackle this distance without me.’

  Emma swung over the side on to the ladder, feeling the need to get under his skin as he always succeeded in getting under hers. ‘I suppose that means she—needs you,’ she observed, hiding the pain she had no more right to feel than he had to inflict, and his features took on an expression of impatience.

  ‘I thought we’d handled that,’ he protested, coming after her, but she dropped into the water before he could reach her, and swam powerfully for the beach.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  EMMA heard the telephone ringing during the uneasy night that followed, but it was all part and parcel of the strangeness of her surroundings. Despite the feather-soft comfort of her bed, she slept shallowly, waking at the slightest sound, aware of Stacey’s room next door and an urgent desire not to know if Jordan chose to share it.

  She had retired early, directly after Jordan’s father had said his goodnights at ten o’clock, and deliberately closed the balcony doors so that she would not be an unwilling eavesdropper to any conversation. In consequence, the room became uncomfortably warm as the night wore on which did not help. She had shed her nightgown and slept naked, but even that was no assistance, and indeed accentuated her over-stimulated senses.

  The evening had been an anti-climax, to say the least. She had returned to the house alone, leaving Jordan to make his apology to Stacey unobserved, and as Andrew was still sleeping, she had dressed in the cabana and then retreated to the comparative safety of her room. There was always the possibility that Stacey might follow her, of course, but a chair under the handle of the door would at least give her some warning, and in the event it was unnecessary. Whatever Jordan had said to his girl-friend, she had accepted his explanation, and while Emma paced restlessly about her bedroom, she could hear their voices echoing from the patio below.

  Not knowing whether she ought to dress for dinner, Emma had showered and then dressed in a midi-length gown of violet-coloured chiffon, whose flared skirt had survived the fashions since the trousseau for which it had been bought. It had not had many airings in the past four years, and still became her as well as it had ever done. With the wings of her hair curtaining her face from a central parting, she had been satisfied with her appearance, and prepared to do battle with Stacey should the need arise.

  But it hadn’t. Stacey had come in to dinner with Jordan, slim and attractive in a white lace trouser suit that exposed the pale skin to the harmless night air, and from the way she hung on his every word, he had successfully allayed any suspicions she might have been nurturing.

  Andrew Kyle looked tired as he tackled the wine-flavoured casserole of chicken, and although Emma felt it was encumbent upon her to explain that she could not stay for more than a couple of days, she hadn’t the heart to speak to him then. Instead, the meal passed without incident, and afterwards, Jordan gave in to Stacey’s suggestion that he should show her a little of the island by moonlight. His invitation for Emma to join them was perfunctory, and naturally she refused, but if she had expected that Andrew might talk to her now that they were alone at last, she was disappointed. Excusing his lack of conversation, he lay back in his chair, obviously weaker than she had imagined, and as soon as Jordan returned, he retired.

  When Emma awakened to daylight at last, it was already nine o’clock. Thrusting back the sheet which was all she had used to cover herself, she padded across the floor to the windows, and thrust wide the balcony doors. The house was not overlooked, so she had no fears for her nudity being observed, and the sight of the blue-green waters of the Caribbean splashing ribbons of white foam along the rocks of the headland couldn’t help but give her a feeling of well-being. It was such a beautiful island, she mused helplessly. How could anyone not respond to its charm?

  She was in the shower when she heard someone in the bedroom, and hastily wrapping a towel about herself, she went to investigate. She was unutterably relieved when she found not Stacey as she had half expected, but the maid who served their dinner the night before setting a tray on the table beside her bed.

  ‘Good morning, ma’am,’ she greeted her politely. ‘This is your breakfast. Maggie says she hopes you don’t care for an English meal.’

  Emma towelled herself dry as she walked towards the maid. Really, she thought, she was getting quite brave, walking about with only a towel as covering, but she smiled at the maid and said: ‘Rolls and fruit juice are fine with me. Tell Maggie I couldn’t eat a cooked breakfast to save my life.’

  ‘Yes, ma’am.’ The maid smiled in return and left her, and fastening the towel sarongwise about her, Emma seated herself beside the tray.

  She found she was quite hungry. Perhaps the abnormality of the events of the day before and the fact that she had not felt hungry then had something to do with it. Whatever it was, she ate all the rolls she had been given, interspersing them with the fresh orange juice and several cups of strong black coffee.

  Then she dressed. She put on a pair of white cotton pants and a blue and white spotted vest, and instead of coiling her hair at her nape as she often did for working, she secured it with a white hairband and left it loose about her shoulders. Viewing her appearance in the mirror of the dressing table, she realised the casual attire made her look younger, which she wasn’t at all sure was a good thing. She looked much as she had looked when she had first become aware of Jordan, and she wondered if she ought to wear a bra after all.

  But it was too hot, and when she carried her tray downstairs again, she was glad she had not given in to the impulse to wear something more in keeping with her image of a young married woman. Tomorrow, or the day after, she might be on her way home, and she was not harming anybody, after all.

  She encountered Maggie in the hall, and she protested that Emma needn’t have bothered returning the tray, one of the maids would have collected it when the beds were made.

  ‘It’s no trouble,’ declared Emma, relinquishing her burden with a smile. ‘And I’m afraid I made my bed, too. I’m not used to being waited on, as no doubt you’ve guessed.’

  Maggie shook her head. ‘Most guests don’t give it a thought,’ she said, balancing the tray on one hip. ‘Did you sleep well?’

  Emma avoided a direct answer. ‘The bed was very comfortable. Er—how is Mr Kyle this morning? He seemed very tired last night.’

  The housekeeper nodded. ‘Your arrival was too much for him, I think. He’ll be better today, you’ll see. He’s not down yet, but when he does appear, would you like me to let you know?’

  ‘Oh—yes. Thank you.’ Emma glanced about her doubtfully. ‘Am I first up?’

  ‘No, no.’ Maggie was very firm. ‘Jordan was up and out two hours ago. There was a phone call early this morning—from Los Angeles. He’s flown to Barbados to meet some West Coast representative of another electronics firm. He left before eight.’

  ‘I see.’ Emma felt an unwilling pang of disappointment. ‘Did he—did he—er—say when he’d be back?’

  ‘Not in so many words, no, Mrs Ingram. But I reckon he won’t be away more than a day or so.’

  ‘A day or so!’ Emma licked her dry lips. ‘But I—I—’ She broke off, realising it was no concern of Maggie’s that she might have to leave before Jordan returned. ‘Thank you. Thank you for letting me know. I—er—I’ll be outside if Mr Kyle wants me.’


  The hall of the house was cool and spacious, but when she emerged on to the verandah at the front of the building, the sun was pouring brilliantly down through the slats of the canopy that provided oases of shade. Below the house, the lawns gave way to flowering shrub hedges and vine-hung trellises, where stalks of red and purple bougainvillea twined between the lattices, and in the distance the blue-gold haze of the ocean shimmered on the horizon.

  Stepping across the lawns, she felt the heavy dew invading her sandals, and bent to smell the freshness of the earth. The air was alive with birds and insects of all kinds, and there was the steady beat of their wings as they spun past her ears. A humming-bird hovered close by and Emma stared in wonder at the palpitating flutter of its wings, marvelling at its ability to hang in the air without plummeting towards the earth.

  An elderly West Indian was employed in weeding the flower gardens, but he seemed more than content to lean on his fork and watch her as she threaded her way along the paths to where a stone seat had been hewn out of a rocky outcrop, and from where there was a magnificent view of the bay. Deciding to rest for a while, she seated herself in the embrasure, and leant her head back against the sun-warmed stone.

  Unwillingly, her thoughts turned to her eventual return to England—and to David. Jordan’s sudden departure had alerted her awareness of how accessible Valentia really was, and no matter how remote it seemed from the problems of her marriage, it was only a phone call away. That phone she had heard ringing the night before could have been David calling her, and if he had, what would she have done about it? What could she have done about it?

  Irresistibly, thinking of the phone message brought less controllable thoughts of Jordan and the curious relationship between them he had created. It was as though he felt obliged to treat her with a mixture of anger and respect, yet all the while she was aware of other emotions tearing that veneer aside. She didn’t understand him, and she didn’t understand what he expected of her. He didn’t love her, not as she loved him, for it was useless to deny that her feelings for him had undergone any fundamental change over the years. They had been stifled, that was all, but now, forced in his presence, they were expanding with a complete disregard for the means of their stimulation.

  She smoothed the rough stone with her finger tips and tried to think positively about the future. Sooner or later she was going to have to make a decision about David, and while she might despise him for his relationship with the other girl, nothing could alter the fact that she had married him in full knowledge of his disability. To bring up the past now was like raking over old fires, and although he had been disloyal to her, basically the situation hadn’t changed. Even if Sandra had been with him when he crashed, he was still the invalid she had always known him to be, and to walk out on him now, when he obviously needed her, was not in her nature to do. And he knew it. It was easy to think now that Sandra should have married him, that she should have had the task of taking care of him all these years. She hadn’t, and she was no doubt married now with a family of her own.

  The sun was warm upon her face as she sat there, sheltered from its direct glare; and perhaps because she had slept so badly the previous two nights, she fell asleep, and it was here that Andrew Kyle found her some forty minutes later.

  ‘Emma!’ His gentle ejaculation disturbed her slumbers, and she opened her eyes wide to find him gazing down at her with something akin to anxiety in his expression. ‘Emma, my dear, are you all right?’

  ‘Andrew!’ she breathed dazedly. Then, as she remembered where she was, she straightened, saying hastily: ‘Yes. Yes, I’m fine, thank you. I must have fallen asleep—I’m sorry. Have you been worried about me?’

  ‘I’ve been looking for you for almost fifteen minutes,’ he told her, sinking down on to the stone bench beside her. ‘I didn’t realise you’d found my little hideaway. Do you like it? I sit here for hours when I’m alone.’

  Emma ran smoothing hands over her tumbled hair and nodded. ‘It’s the most perfect place,’ she agreed. ‘And the view…’ She smiled. ‘You’re very—lucky.’

  She chided herself for the faint hesitation she had shown before finishing the sentence. Andrew might not be aware of the seriousness of his condition, and her careless tongue must not alert him to her knowledge. Rushing on, she added: ‘It’s the ideal place to retire to, isn’t it? I know I envy you. Looking out on to our rain-swept garden doesn’t compare with this!’

  ‘Doesn’t it?’ Andrew was watching her closely as he spoke, and only by an immense effort of will power did she prevent the revealing colour from flooding her cheeks. But seemingly it was not enough. ‘Oh, Emma,’ he exclaimed, tugging a strand of the dusky hair that lay on her shoulder, ‘you don’t have to pretend with me. I know I’m dying. I’ve known it for a long time. So long in fact that death and I have become quite old adversaries.’

  ‘Andrew!’

  Emma stared at him unhappily, but the man merely shook his head, no more perturbed than previously. ‘It’s true,’ he declared gently. ‘Don’t look like that. I’ve had quite a good run for my money, longer than a lot of my friends have had. Jeremy, for instance.’

  Emma bent her head, catching her upper lip between her teeth. Then she sighed. ‘It doesn’t seem fair somehow. My father cared so little for his life that he destroyed it, and now—now you’re having yours destroyed for you.’

  Andrew nodded. ‘Put like that, it does sound a paradox, doesn’t it? But then that’s life. We can’t ever know how things will turn out.’

  Emma lifted her head. ‘Why did you bring me out here, Andrew?’ She held his gaze. ‘Was it just to see the families—united? Because if so, then I think my mother—’

  ‘No.’ Andrew’s brief denial interrupted her, and she broke off what she was saying to look expectantly at him. ‘No,’ he said again. ‘It wasn’t just for that, although if I had my time over again…But there,’ he seemed to shrug away the sudden depression that had gripped him, ‘we can’t change our lives no matter how we try. We’re all trapped within the scheme of things, flapping about like birds in a net trying to make their escape. I see my life like that—a series of foolish mistakes, that viewed objectively seem so—so futile.’

  Emma listened to him with some misgivings. What was Andrew about to tell her? That her father had asked him for money and he had refused it? Was he about to take the blame for her father’s suicide? Knowing what Jordan had told her, she couldn’t allow that.

  ‘Andrew…’ she began, but he raised his hand to silence her.

  ‘No, Emma,’ he said. ‘Let me go on. It’s little enough I can do for you now, but I must tell you about—about your father. I wouldn’t if I thought it was going to cause you any unhappiness, but I feel you have the right to know the truth.’

  ‘What truth?’ Emma moved her shoulders helplessly. ‘Andrew, if it’s about the money—’

  ‘Money? What money?’ Andrew stared at her blankly.

  ‘The money…’ Emma found it difficult to go on. ‘Andrew, I know Daddy owed you money when—when he died.’

  Andrew’s brows drew together. ‘How do you know that? There was no documentation.’

  Emma sighed. ‘Oh—oh, does it matter? If that’s what you have to tell me—’

  ‘It’s not.’ Andrew was adamant. ‘And I can guess how you found out. It was Jordan, wasn’t it? But then Jordan always thought your mother got off too easily.’

  ‘My mother?’ Emma shook her head. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘It’s a long story…’ And already Andrew was looking weary.

  ‘Andrew, do you think—’

  ‘It’s something I have to do,’ he stated definitely. ‘Now, where should I start? I suppose the beginning is the best place.’

  Settling his bony shoulders back against the sun-warmed rock-face, he rested his hands on his knees before saying: ‘I first met your mother in 1951.’

  ‘In 1951?’ echoed Emma in surprise. ‘But that was before she and Daddy were
married!’

  ‘That’s right,’ Andrew nodded. ‘Do you remember the Exhibition? The Festival of Britain, as it was called? I met her there, one windy July afternoon.’

  ‘I don’t remember it. I’ve heard of it, of course.’

  ‘Of course.’ Andrew sighed. ‘Well, I was working for an electrical engineering firm in those days. It was just a small company, and later, when the owner died, he left the business to me. It was just a small company, nothing like Trace Transmissions at that time, but it was through selling that company that I had the money to buy into your father’s business later.’

  ‘I see.’ Emma didn’t quite see what this had to do with her, but she couldn’t deny the shock she had felt upon learning that he had known her mother before her marriage. She had always maintained she despised the man, and the relationship between the two families had only been cemented by the friendship of the two men, and Emma’s growing relationship with Jordan.

  ‘Anyway,’ he went on, ‘we—your mother and I—were what you might call—attracted to one another.’

  ‘You and Mummy!’

  The amazement in her voice got through to him and he smiled rather wryly. ‘That’s right,’ he said. ‘Me—and your mother. Oh, it didn’t last. She was already engaged to your father, and you know she always considered I wasn’t good enough for her—’

  ‘Oh, no!’

  ‘Oh, yes,’ he nodded. ‘I used to resent that, bitterly. But perhaps it was a kind of defence. Even after we were married to our respective partners, we were still aware of one another, and given half a chance, I’d probably have wrecked my marriage for her.’

  ‘You would?’

  Emma was incredulous, but he only laughed, albeit a little wryly. ‘Yes. Foolish, wasn’t it? But there you are. I was young then, and not unlike Jordan is today.’

  Looking at him, Emma could see what he meant. They were alike, and in his youth Andrew must have attracted women just as his son did now.