Captive Destiny Page 13

  As soon as the nauseating dizziness subsided, she scrambled off the banquette, and just as she did so, a shaft of light swept round the cabin. It startled her so much that for a minute she couldn’t speak, but then she realised that the light was not some spectre of her imagination, but a powerful torch being projected over the beam. And as she registered this, she heard voices, men’s voices, and guessed that it was this that had awakened her so abruptly.

  Tripping over the ends of the towel which she had pulled off the couch as she rose, she stumbled towards the stairway, calling: ‘I’m here. I’m here! Who is it? Are you looking for me?’

  There was silence for a moment, then she heard Jordan’s harsh tones: ‘Emma! For God’s sake, Emma, is that you?’

  ‘Yes, yes…’ She came out on deck, blinking in the light from their torches, just as Jordan swung himself over the side. He had not swum out to the yacht. He was fully dressed, still in the dark business suit he must have worn to go to Barbados, and she shook her head incoherently, hardly able to articulate her relief.

  ‘Emma!’ he said again, more angrily this time, and then: ‘My God, haven’t you heard us calling you?’

  ‘I—no—I must have fallen asleep—’ she got out nervously, but as if her unsteady words were a source of irritation to him, he interrupted her savagely, saying:

  ‘Asleep! You’ve been asleep! Good God, I thought you were dead!’

  ‘Dead—’

  ‘Yes, dead!’ he muttered, his hands clenched tightly at his sides, as if he dare not touch her for fear he might do her some injury. ‘We found your skirt on the beach half an hour ago. What else were we supposed to think?’

  ‘I’m sorry…’ She put out a hand appealingly. ‘I—I—”

  ‘You’re sorry! he snapped. ‘Sony’s not enough. God, I’ve been half out of my mind!’

  Emma began to shiver as the night air got to her, and awareness of her scarcely-clad figure caused him to tear off his jacket and toss it to her.

  ‘Put that on!’ he commanded grimly, glancing round at the small motor boat which had brought him, and its black-skinned pilot. ‘We’d better get you back before my father collapses completely. Didn’t you care that your carelessness might kill him? Or hasn’t what he told you moved you at all? I guess you’re more like your mother than I thought.’

  Emma moved then, stumbling across the deck to climb down the ladder, ignoring the hand he offered to help her, ‘What do you know about it?’ she demanded chokingly, subsiding into the motor boat. ‘Did your father discuss our conversation with you? Now that he’s aired the burden of his guilt, doesn’t he care who knows about it?’

  ‘I’m his son,’ retorted Jordan, dropping down into the craft beside her, and nodding to the pilot to get under-weigh. ‘I only know that when I came back an hour ago, he was frantic with worry about you.’

  ‘I’ve said I’m sorry,’ she whispered, burying her chin in the lapels of his jacket, overwhelmingly aware of its warmth, redolent with the clean male smell of his body.

  ‘Yes, you have,’ he agreed. ‘But you haven’t explained why you felt the need to sleep out there, or why you didn’t swim back.’

  ‘I—I—’ Emma’s eyes moved to the pilot, and then back to their downcast evasion. ‘I got cramp, swimming out to the yacht. I was—afraid to swim back.’

  ‘For God’s sake, when did you swim out there? Stacey told me that she and Clive were on the beach all afternoon. They didn’t see you, and that was why we didn’t immediately suspect where you’d gone. But then William found your skirt on the beach, and—here we are.’ He shook his head. ‘Can you imagine my father’s feelings when he saw that skirt? After what—Jeremy Trace did?’

  * * *

  Emma quivered. ‘He thought—that I might have—have—’ She broke off. ‘Like my father.’

  Jordan’s lips twisted. ‘Don’t you mean—like Jeremy Trace?’ he demanded savagely, and turned away from her.

  * * *

  Emma was still probing his words when the motor boat grounded on the coral sand. Without giving her a chance to argue with him, Jordan swung her out of the boat and on to the sand with little ceremony, and she was left to stumble after him in the darkness as he made his sure way to the steps. She had come down barefoot without mishap, but going up again, and in the dark, was a vastly different proposition. Pebbles made her wince, and once her toe encountered something soft and slimy, that made her shudder.

  The house was a dazzling mass of lights. A comprehensive search was apparently in operation, and Jordan’s call: ‘I’ve found her!’ as he entered the house was obviously intended for more ears than Maggie’s, hovering expectantly in the hall.

  ‘Oh, Mrs Ingram!’ the housekeeper exclaimed, with evident relief. ‘Where have you been? We’ve looked everywhere for you.’

  ‘I’m sorry—’

  ‘She was on the yacht,’ put in Jordan, before Emma could explain, and then gestured that she should follow him up the stairs.

  Andrew Kyle’s apartments were in the west wing, incorporating the turret room over the dining room below. But Emma had little chance to absorb the decorative comfort of the apartments, before Jordan pushed her before him into the huge bedroom, where his father was lying wearily among a pile of lace-edged pillows.

  ‘She’s here!’ he declared unnecessarily, as Andrew’s eyes flickered over the girl he was compelling towards the bed, and his father pushed himself up on his elbows and surveyed her with undisguised relief.

  ‘Emma!’ he spoke her name weakly. ‘Oh, Emma, thank God!’

  As Emma made some attempt to speak, her nerves shredded by Jordan’s anger, her embarrassment at how she must appear wearing only Stacey’s bikini and his son’s jacket almost overwhelming her, Jordan bit out the facts tersely.

  ‘She was on the yacht,’ he declared. ‘She must have swum out there before Stacey and Clive went down to the beach. She says she fell asleep.’

  ‘My dear.’ Andrew held out his hand towards her. ‘Are you all right? You’re not ill or—or anything?’

  ‘No. I—er—’ Emma glanced uncomfortably towards Jordan. ‘I—got cramp. I was afraid to swim back.’

  ‘Why didn’t you get Clive to swim back with you?’ asked Jordan shortly, overriding his father’s gentle acceptance of her explanation, and she was tempted to tell him exactly why she hadn’t been able to attract Clive’s attention.

  But instead, she murmured: ‘I—I must have fallen asleep before—before they came down to the beach. I’m sorry. There’s nothing more I can say.’

  Andrew was nodding understandingly, grimacing at Jordan when he would have questioned her further. ‘Leave it,’ he exclaimed, a little of his old authority colouring his voice. ‘Can’t you see the child’s exhausted? Go along, my dear. Go and have a warm bath. You feel chilled to the bone. I’m feeling—a little tired, so I’ll see you again in the morning.’

  ‘Very well.’ Emma turned towards the door. Then she halted, albeit a little uncertainly. ‘I—I really am sorry, you know. I wouldn’t have—I wouldn’t have done this—deliberately, you know that.’

  ‘I know,’ agreed Andrew tiredly, sinking back against the pillows, and nodding, she left them.

  But in her room, she found her thoughts returning irresistibly to what Jordan had said—to many of the things he had said since they left England. That morning, when Andrew had decreed that there was no way that Jordan could possibly believe she was his father’s daughter, she had accepted his word without question. Why shouldn’t she? It had been such a fantastic thing to have said, and in any case, Jordan had not been involved. But suddenly, after their conversation on the boat, other remarks he had made stood out in bright relief. It seemed incredible now, with this new knowledge, that she should not have suspected his insistence that he could only care for her as a sister, that his love for her had undergone a fundamental change. Maybe, like her father before her, her own lack of confidence had added conviction to the belief that Jordan had only
cared for the company, and she had been easily persuaded that he had never really loved her at all.

  There still remained the puzzle of how Jordan could have been so misled. Who would do such a thing? His father? No. His mother? Unlikely. Who, then? Gilda? Her stomach contracted. How could that be?

  She stepped out of the bath to find she was trembling. Her knees were almost knocking from the effort of supporting her body, and she knew no amount of soul-searching could displace the wholly selfish relief she felt at discovering what must surely be the truth. Somehow Jordan had heard the lie, and believed it, and all the time since then they had both been living it. Oh, Jordan, she breathed achingly. What a waste! What a terrible waste!

  But the impulse to go to him and explode the myth was quickly controlled. What useful purpose could be served by raking up the past? By eliminating the obstacles between them, she could only make the .situation more unbearable, and it was easier to keep the doubt alive. So long as Jordan believed there could never be anything between them, her marriage stood a chance, and in spite of everything, she was David’s wife. She was not the sort of girl to walk out on her responsibilities, and after what she had learned here, his involvement with the Hopkins girl seemed, a paltry deception.

  All the same, it took all her strength and determination to go down to dinner that evening as if nothing had happened. As Andrew wasn’t joining them, she half wondered if Clive Franklin had been invited to stay for dinner, but in that she was mistaken. Only Jordan, Stacey and herself gathered round the table in the dining room, where half a dozen candles provided the only illumination, their flames curling slightly in the draught.

  Stacey, in a clinging black dress of silk jersey crêpe, regarded Emma with hostility combined with a certain wary speculation. Obviously she wasn’t altogether sold on Jordan’s explanation of the other girl falling asleep on the yacht, and no doubt she was alarmed that Emma might have been an unwilling voyeur to what happened between herself and Clive Franklin. Stacey still regarded her as a rival, and even though she might have no worries on that score, Emma hated the thought of her deceiving Jordan. Not that she would say anything, Emma acknowledged, rolling a sliver of chicken round her tongue. She was no better, she thought bitterly, even though her love for Jordan could not be compared to the promiscuous tumblings of a provocative woman.

  Jordan spoke little throughout the meal, reserving his comments for the food, his face darkly brooding above the rich maroon velvet of his dinner jacket. Stacey did her best to arouse his interest, but from time to time her eyes flashed in Emma’s direction, as if she suspected she had already said more than she should.

  When the meal was over, Emma left the table to walk out on to the patio, lifting her shoulders in helpless supplication to the beauty of the night. One could become attached to this place, she thought wistfully, listening to the raucous sounds of the tree frogs, the continual scraping of the crickets. The air had a petal softness, like the brush of silk, and the scent of magnolia and the ubiquitous woodbine drifted irresistibly about her.

  ‘Darling, Clive’s giving a party this evening,’ she heard Stacy telling Jordan in a low wheedling tone. ‘Couldn’t we go? Your father’s all right now, and—she’s here.’

  Emma guessed she was gesturing in her direction, and determinedly moved a little nearer to the pool. Let them go to Clive Franklin’s, she thought tautly. The way they chose to run their lives was not her concern, and tomorrow, or the day after, she would be returning to England.

  Jordan’s reply must have been in the negative, because presently Emma heard Stacey’s voice raised in protest and the unmistakable sound of her high heels clattering across the wood-blocked floor as she made her furious exit.

  There was a stillness after that. Only the call of a night hawk rose above the constant chorus of the insects, soaring away into the night sky with a supreme disregard for earthbound humans. Emma wrapped her arms about herself, her fingers closing over the flesh of her upper arms, and started violently when Jordan’s voice right behind her observed quietly: ‘I suppose he told you.’

  T—what—who—’ Emma jerked away from him abruptly, tightening her arms around her middle. ‘That is—I don’t know what you mean.’

  ‘Oh, come on…’ Jordan’s hands were balled in the pockets of his jacket, but even in the half light it was possible to see the way they stiffened at her words. Then, as if forcing himself to relax, he said: ‘My father. I suppose he made his confession. That is why he invited you out here, isn’t it? I didn’t immediately grasp the import of it, but I see now. He wanted to make the situation clear before you came into your inheritance.’

  ‘Before I what?’ Emma stared at him aghast. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about. What inheritance?’

  Jordan hunched his shoulders, and she could tell from his expression that he thought she was only playing for time. But apparently he was prepared to play along with her, and disciplining his features, he explained:

  ‘The company—Tryle Transmissions. Don’t pretend you don’t know that—he—intends you should have half of everything when he dies—’

  ‘No!’ Emma was horrified. ‘I’m not pretending. I don’t know. How could I? It—it’s not true!’

  ‘Of course it’s true. I’ve even been involved with the drawing up of the papers.’

  ‘No!’ She stared at him as if she couldn’t believe her ears. ‘No, no! You must stop it!’

  ‘Why? It’s the least he can do, I should have thought. Even if it is the cruellest cut of all. Condemning you and me to seeing one another regularly for the rest of our lives—’

  ‘No!’ Emma gazed at him in dismay. It couldn’t be true. Andrew wouldn’t do this, would he? And yet—and yet it was exactly what he might do. After all, he had no inkling that Jordan knew, or thought he knew, of their relationship. So far as he was concerned, he was simply making amends for the wrong he felt he had done in the past.

  ‘What’s wrong?’ Jordan’s lips twisted bitterly. ‘You’re fortunate. You’ve had eight years of sublime innocence, while I—while I—’ He broke off emotively. ‘Dear God, Emma, can you understand now…’

  She put a trembling hand to her head, unable to think of anything just then but Jordan and his need to be told the truth. Yet how could she? she argued silently. If she blurted it out now, there would be no more peace for any of them. Better the devil he knew, she thought with anguish. Better the pain of ignorance than the torment of remorse.

  Clearing her throat, she said: ‘I don’t want your—your money, Jordan. Yours or—or your father’s. When I leave here, I won’t be seeing you again. You—you have your life, and I have mine. And I don’t want the—the responsibility of what—what you’re offering me.’

  ‘It’s not me who’s offering it, Emma,’ he declared harshly. ‘Tell—him—if you have any complaints. Not me. The will’s made. I can’t alter it.’

  Emma shifted restively. ‘But you must! Jordan, believe me! I don’t want anything from—from you.’

  ‘Is it so distasteful to you?’ he demanded, bitterness carving deep lines beside his mouth. ‘Has that narrow little mind of yours been shocked to the core by the realisation of human weakness—my weakness—for you?’

  ‘No. No!’ She put out her hand blindly, warding him off, desperate to keep him away from her, in case his need overcame her own. But he grasped her fingers and raised them to his lips, and at the touch of his mouth reason almost deserted her.

  Somehow she dragged her hand away from him, and cradling it against her, she hurried across the patio and into the house. And she knew as she did so that so far as Jordan was concerned, she was closing the door on any further contact between them.

  CHAPTER NINE

  EMMA returned to her job at Avery Antiques exactly a week later. She had needed a couple of days after she got home to recover from the jet-lag, but she was young and healthy, and in spite of her emotional upheaval, she was eager to get back to work.

  She had f
lown home alone. The day after her encounter with Jordan on the patio, she had told Andrew she was leaving, and although he was obviously disappointed, he put no obstacle in her path. He couldn’t know of her desire to put as many miles as was humanly possible between herself and Jordan, of course, but he thought he understood her need to return to familiar surroundings. Emma did not disabuse him. He had lived in ignorance of Jordan’s belief all these years. It was better he died without discovering he had destroyed their lives as well as his own.

  Jordan, for his part, had offered to fly home with her, but had accepted her insistence that she could manage alone without question. Like his father, he thought he understood her motives, and it was a poignant moment when he wished her luck for the future. She knew what a terrible strain it must have been for him, behaving in the cool detached manner he had adopted in her presence. But he carried it off magnificently, and with Stacey clinging to his arm, he waved goodbye to her as the Cessna made its takeoff.

  Because she had let no one know when she was returning, London Airport was cold and unfriendly. The overnight flight had left her feeling strangely disorientated, and on impulse she took a taxi into London to avoid the curious stares of other commuters on the underground.

  She managed to get a connection to Abingford just before lunch and dozed spasmodically as the train threaded its way through the rain-swept Buckinghamshire countryside. She wasn’t hungry. The continental breakfast they had served on the plane just before landing had really been surplus to requirements, a gentle reminder of the changing time zones, and to think of eating lunch when all she really wanted to do was sleep was anathema to her.

  Abingford was cold, but blessedly familiar. Handing in her ticket, and emerging into the station yard, Emma was made forcibly aware of being back on her home ground when one of Gilda’s regular customers hailed her. Mr Peabody was an obsessive collector of snuff boxes, and hardly a month went by without him arriving to examine the latest items Gilda had in stock. He told her he had been attending an auction the previous day in London, and when Emma wearily began to explain why she was rather tired, he insisted on getting a taxi for her, and helping her to stow her case.