Stormspell Read online

  She drew back. 'Yes.'

  Dominic's eyes narrowed. 'And what do you plan to do then?'

  'What do you mean, what do I plan to do?' Ruth shrugged. 'This is my home. I'll stay here, of course.'

  'Alone?'

  'I shall be quite safe. The islanders are my friends.'

  'Safe!' Dominic swung away from her abruptly. 'I don't believe it. You can't seriously consider remaining here for the rest of your life?'

  Ruth's palms dug into the wood of the verandah rail. The rest of her life! His words were unaccountably chilling. Was that what she was contemplating? A lonely existence here, with only Celeste for company?

  'There must be an alternative.' muttered Dominic angrily. 'You must have relations—family—'

  'I repeat—there's no one.' Ruth held up her head. 'You don't have to concern yourself about me. I'm quite capable of taking care of myself.'

  Dominic was not convinced. 'What about this income you said you and your father lived on? It must come from somewhere. Your mother's family, you said. What about that?'

  Ruth smoothed her damp palms down the seams of her skirt. 'That was from my grandmother, as I told you. But she's dead!' She dismissed the claim. 'Now—please—won't you go back to your room? I have work to do.'

  Dominic expelled his breath on an impatient sigh. Then, as if reluctantly stirred to remorse, he said: 'You're all right, aren't you?' And at her startled response: 'I mean, of course, what happened this morning. I—' He broke off half irritably. 'I should apologise. I don't usually make such a fool of myself. I'm sorry.'

  Ruth sucked in her breath. Inexperienced as she was of the ways of the world, she sensed the incongruity of his words. Somehow she knew that what had happened between them was not something one could dismiss with an apology. It reduced her to the ignorant adolescent she was. and destroyed her tentative bid for maturity.

  'There's no need for you to feel responsible.' she declared at last, struggling to appear nonchalant. 'I'm not a child. I knew what I was doing.' She forced her stiff features into a semblance of a smile. 'Really. I'm not as naive as you think.'

  'Aren't you?' Dominic moved his shoulders in studied disbelief. 'Very well, so be it.' He turned towards the door behind him. 'As you say.' he added, half to himself, 'it's not my concern.'

  Ruth ate supper alone in the dining room. Dominic did not put in an appearance, and her father was too weak to leave his bed. Celeste served her sullenly. apparently as troubled in her thoughts as Ruth was. and realising their unnatural relationship could not be sustained. Ruth endeavoured to mend the breach.

  'Doctor Francis has prescribed some stronger medication for Daddy.' she volunteered, making a stalwart attempt at a friendly tone. 'Let's hope it makes him feel better. I think having a visitor in the house has been too much for him.' And when Celeste still didn't say anything, she added: 'Never mind. Mr—Howard will be leaving soon. Then perhaps we can get back to normal.'

  The silence that greeted this statement left Ruth feeling utterly deflated. It wasn't like Celeste to bear a grudge, and usually their arguments were swiftly resolved. This uncharacteristic moodiness boded no good, and Ruth hoped the black woman was not going to cause more problems.

  'Has—has Mr Howard had any supper?' she ventured. determined to provoke some response, and- then flinched when Celeste speared her with a glare.

  'What you been telling Mr Howard 'bout me?' she demanded, startling Ruth into dropping her fork. 'What tales you been blabbing to him?'

  Tales—' faltered Ruth blankly, and Celeste's palms supported her as she leaned across the table.

  'That what I said.' she affirmed angrily. 'Seems like you can't wait to get Celeste into trouble, bad trouble!'

  'That's not true—''

  'Ain't it? You denying you went running to Mr Howard to show him what I'se supposed to have done to you?'

  'I didn't—that is—' Ruth groped for words. 'Celeste. Doctor Francis—noticed. It was he who told Mr Howard, not me. He—Doctor Francis, that is—he thought Mr Howard had done it.'

  Celeste's dark brows drew together. 'Why he think a thing like that?' she asked suspiciously.

  'I don't know.' But Ruth's face was suffused with colour now. and Celeste's eyes narrowed. 'Anyway.' she went on quickly. 'I'm sorry if—if Mr Howard spoke to you about it—'

  'He didn't.' Celeste sniffed, and Ruth gazed up at her uncomprehendingly. 'I see you together—on the verandah.' Celeste admitted carelessly. 'After the doctor leave. Celeste no fool. I got eyes.' She tapped her forehead significantly. 'Celeste know what going on.' -

  'There's nothing going on. Celeste!' Ruth got up ostensibly to pick up her fork, but also because sitting still left her at too much of a disadvantage. 'I don't know what you're talking about.'

  'Celeste got ears, too.' the black woman insisted infuriatingly. 'I hear what Mr Howard say to you. But don't worry . . .'She straightened from the table and raised one hand in a conspiratorial gesture. 'I won't go telling tales, no. sir—'

  'Celeste!' Ruth could hardly hide her revulsion at the knowledge that the other woman had deliberately eavesdropped on their conversation. 'You don't know—'

  'Ain't no other way you going to get to be a woman, Missy,' Celeste interrupted her insinuatively. 'An' I guess Mr Howard is just the man for the job—'

  'Be quiet. Celeste!' Uncaring that her words might rekindle the animosity between them. Ruth was compelled to silence her. but in this instance Celeste chose to be generous.

  'One day.' she said, 'one day you'll remember what I said, and know I'm right.'

  Ruth stared into her mocking face for several more seconds, and then, unable to think of any suitable response, she resumed her seat. With her hands clenched tightly in her lap. she silently conceded that she had no answer for her. But what hurt most was the knowledge that no one—not Celeste, nor her father, not even Dominic himself—behaved as if she had a mind of her own.

  She looked in on her father on her way to bed. and was relieved to find he was sleeping peacefully. The lines of pain and weariness were ironed out a little in sleep, and he seemed more relaxed than he had done of late. Perhaps the stronger medication was all he needed. She prayed so. Right now. she needed him more than she had ever done before.

  Notwithstanding the faint optimism she was feeling. sleep proved an elusive prey. In spite of the reassurance she had felt when she saw her father sleeping, her own metabolism was far too active to allow her to relax. She felt hot and restless, and her skin prickled every time she closed her eyes and thoughts of the day invaded her mind. So much had happened, so many experiences that were new to her. so many questions those experiences had left unanswered.

  Not least was the uneasiness of her own body. She neither recognised nor understood the sensations she was made aware of. and the extreme sensitivity of her skin was a tangible distraction. The nightshirt she wore acted like an abrasive, and every part of her it touched, seared like a flame. Her whole body felt as if it was on fire, and she wondered, with sudden anxiety, whether she had contracted a fever.

  But no. Her forehead was cool to her touch. Only her limbs burned with an inner heat, that manifested itself every time she allowed the memory of what Dominic had done to project itself. Over and over, she relived those moments on the beach, those moments when Dominic had kissed her. At least, she supposed it was kissing, even if it had been different from what she had imagined. Unknowingly, her tongue appeared, circling the lips that he had moistened-. her breath suspended in sudden recollection. She felt again the flowering of emotion inside her. the sensual lethargy of feeling that evoked an actual physical ache down low in her stomach, and the curious desire she had had for a closeness she had never experienced.

  With fearful anticipation, her fingers suddenly probed the contours of her body through the thin cotton shirt. As she had half expected, her breasts were engorged and swollen, the nipples hard and thrusting against her palm. She knew instinctively that that was how they had felt when Domi
nic crushed her down upon the sand that morning, when the hard muscles of his body had sought accommodation in hers . . .

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Professor Jason insisted on getting up for breakfast the following morning, and he looked so much better, Ruth made no demur. On the contrary, she was delighted to see him on his feet again, even if his sharp gaze was quick to notice the lingering puffiness around her eye.

  'You're not sleeping well on the couch,' he observed, fortunately misreading the signs, while a suspiciously amiable Celeste served them toast and coffee. 'I shall certainly get a date for Mr Howard's departure from Francis today. This situation can't be sustained any longer.'

  'Really. Daddy I'm fine,' Ruth protested, buttering her toast with an averted gaze, it was a—a hot night, that's all. I did sleep badly. Please, don't concern yourself on my account.'

  'But I do concern myself,' retorted her father, and becoming aware of Celeste's knowingly mocking gaze. Ruth forced herself to look up. 'I don't like this disruption to our lives,' Professor Jason continued severely. 'I'm constantly aware of how vulnerable you are when I'm incapacitated.'

  Ruth's feelings of guilt at the memory of the thoughts that had kept her awake until the early hours multiplied. She was shameless, she castigated herself bitterly, wishing Celeste would hurry up and leave them. She felt evil, corrupt, an abandoned creature, unworthy of his regard. While her father spent his strength in worrying about her. she indulged in wanton licentiousness, in moral degradation. anticipating with excitement the things he stood in abhorrence of. And Celeste knew it. Or, at the very least, she suspected it. which was almost as bad.

  'Thank you, Celeste. We have everything we need now,' Professor Jason remarked then, earning Ruth's gratitude, but after the black woman had reluctantly left the room, he returned to his theme: 'I'm going to spend the morning going over the translation you've been working at these past few days, but as soon as Francis appears. I want you to let me know.'

  'Yes. Daddy.'

  Ruth bit into the crisp bread in an effort to avoid further discussion, but her father wasn't finished yet.

  'I see no reason why Howard shouldn't leave here today or tomorrow. He can be cared for just as satisfactorily at the hospital in Kingstown, thus relieving us of the responsibility for his welfare.'

  Ruth put down the piece of toast she was holding, and wiped her mouth on her napkin. Now was her chance to explain who he was, she thought, but again her father forestalled her, pushing back his chair and rising to his feet.

  'Let me know when Francis arrives,' he directed her once more, and walked out of the room before she could swallow the food in her mouth.

  With the meal over. Ruth was obliged to carry theplates into the kitchen, and Celeste turned to her with sardonic eyes. 'Poor baby,' she mocked. 'Ain't you sleeping these nights on that hard bed o' yours? Maybe you ought to consider sharing with Mr Howard.'

  'As you do with Joseph, you mean?' Ruth was stung to retort, and Celeste's brown eyes opened wide in reproof.

  'Ain't no need for you to take that tone with me. Missy,' she declared huffily, giving the girl her back, but Ruth was in no mood to trade insults with her.

  'Have you given Mr—Howard his breakfast?' she asked determinedly, only hesitating over the name, and Celeste's plump shoulders quivered.

  'One way of finding out, isn't there?' she responded. plunging her hands into soapy water, and Ruth expelled her breath in impatient acknowledgement.

  Leaving the kitchen, she hesitated in the hall, listening for sounds of her father. But all that she could hear was the hens clucking in the yard, and the muted thunder of the ocean as it pounded the reef. The doors were open wide, and the scent of the flowering vine that grew in such profusion over the verandah was sweet and fragrant. The air was warm yet refreshing, a tantalising invitation to escape the confining limits of the bungalow, yet she had promised her father to wait and watch for Doctor Francis. She would have liked to get away, well away from the lingering anguish of deceiving her father, but for the present she was restricted and restrained.

  Turning her head, she looked along the hall to where her bedroom door remained firmly closed. Was Dominic in there, fretting as she was against the restrictions of these four walls? Was he aware of her father's desire to be rid of him? Would he welcome the freedom he was soon to be offered?

  She guessed it was a futile question. Without doubt, he would welcome the chance to live his own life once again, independent of people he neither knew nor understood. His family and friends would probably find his descriptions of life here on Indigo quite amusing, and they would laugh about it afterwards, and pity him being forced to stay here. There might even be some girl he could regale with anecdotes about her own naivete, or perhaps—and this was something she had not considered before— perhaps he was married, with a wife to share his experiences. Yet wouldn't a wife deserve to be told his whereabouts? Wouldn't a wife merit the kind of privileged information denied to everyone else?

  'Did you want something?'

  The coolly spoken remark nevertheless threw Ruth into a mild form of panic. She had not been aware of anyone's approach, and to be discovered hovering outside the door of Dominic's bedroom put her distinctly at a disadvantage. It was obvious he had been out again, without her knowledge, and she wondered how long he had been propped against the door frame, watching her.

  'You look thoughtful.' he added, straightening, when she didn't answer him. 'What's wrong? Your father's not worse, is he?'

  'Oh. no. No.' Ruth linked her fingers together behind her back. 'How—how are you? You look much better this morning.'

  'I feel better,' he averred, his expression still probing. 'I repeat—were you wanting me?'

  'No.' Ruth shook her head. 'I—I—'

  'You can't think of a suitable prevarication, is that it?' he suggested flatly, going past her to open the door of his room, and as she struggled to find words to deny this, he went on: 'Why don't you come right out and say it? You wanted to know where I was.' He shrugged. 'Well, here I am. So how about we stop playing games with one another and act like adult human beings, mmm?'

  Ruth glanced behind her, half afraid her father might overhear him. But only a bee's humming disturbed the silence that followed this remark, and she allowed herself to breathe again.

  'All right,' she admitted, coming to stand in the doorway. 'I was going to enquire how you were feeling this morning. But I can see. you're almost recovered.'

  'I am recovered.' he assured her curtly. 'Not almost. So how do you feel about giving me a guided tour of the island? What was it you called that place where you said my yacht might have washed up? The Serpent's Tooth?'

  'Teeth, actually,' corrected Ruth doubtfully. 'But that's right across the island. At least two miles.' She paused. 'Besides, Daddy has asked me to look out for Doctor Francis. He—he wants to speak to him.'

  'About me. no doubt,' observed Dominic, with sharp perception. 'However, as your friendly doctor doesn't usually turn up until after lunch, I'd guess we could be there and back before he arrives.'

  'I don't think so.' Ruth's face gained colour. 'Four miles, on foot. In this heat?'

  'Don't you have any transport?' He stared at her.

  'Only a bicycle.' Ruth confessed in embarrassment. And then: 'There are no roads.'

  'Of course not.' Dominic frowned, as if this thought had just occurred to him. 'Okay. Do you have two bicycles?'

  Ruth shook her head, in any case—'

  if you're going to tell me I can't ride a bike, then don't bother,' he muttered impatiently. 'Believe it or not, I get plenty of exercise back home in England. I'm in reasonably good shape, and cycling four miles isn't going to kill me.'

  'Well, we don't have two bicycles,' declared Ruth firmly, moving away from his door as she heard Celeste crossing the tiled floor of the kitchen. 'I'm sorry, but we don't.'

  Celeste emerged just as Ruth reached the door of the kitchen, but her shrewd gaze noted the open door a
long the hall and Ruth's flushed cheeks.

  'I guess you found out for yourself, honey.' she remarked, in an undertone, and then assumed a beaming smile when Dominic reappeared. 'Well, hi there, Mr Howard,' she greeted him warmly. 'You enjoy your walk? You ready for some of my ham and eggs now?'

  'Just eggs. Celeste, thank you,' Dominic assured her, casually following Ruth into the kitchen. 'Say, you don't know where I could borrow a bicycle, do you?'Celeste glanced at her employer's young daughter, then frowned. 'Why, Missy Ruth—'

  'I mean—other than Ruth's,' Dominic inserted smoothly. 'So she can show me a little of the island this morning.'

  Celeste smirked. 'Is that so?' she murmured, giving Ruth a sideways glance. 'Well now, Mr Howard, ain't no other bi-cycle on the island not that I knows of.'

  Ruth released her breath, but her relief was short-lived.

  'You ever ridden a motor-cycle, Mr Howard?' the black woman went on, adding thoughtfully:' 'cause my cousin Harold, he got one of them Japanese Sukis.'

  'Suzuki?' suggested Dominic, with evident interest. 'And yes, I've ridden motor-bikes in my time. Do you think he'd lend it to me?'

  'If'n I ask him to,' said Celeste smugly, but Ruth could not let this go on.

  'I don't think Doctor Francis would approve of Mr Howard riding a motor-cycle, Celeste,' she declared forcefully. 'He might fall off.'

  'Your confidence in me does wonders for my ego,' remarked Dominic, with a grimace, and Ruth's forehead furrowed as she struggled to understand him.-'Why should I fall off? Thanks to your ministrations my arm isn't paralysed or anything.' He flexed his wrist, curling and uncurling his fist. 'See! Everything's in working order.'

  'I just bet it is,' Celeste inserted, grinning broadly, and Ruth's face burned with colour.

  'I still think you ought to think seriously before risking a relapse,' she insisted, realising there was no point in appealing to the black woman. 'How can you be sure you won't lose control of the bike? This isn't England. I've told you. there are no real roads here, only tracks. What if you hit a boulder?'