Rooted in Dishonour Page 13

  All the guests had arrived now except the Marins and Raoul Valerian. With every new face that appeared, Beth had suffered agonies of apprehension, only to find her fears unfounded as some stranger was introduced to her. Barbara was present, of course, displaying unexpected charm and personality as she talked to the Dupois' son, Arnaud, who Beth mentally estimated to be somewhere around her own age.

  A stir from the hall signalled the arrival of the Marins, and Beth excused herself from the Hammonds and went forward to greet them. It was so good to see a half familiar face, even if her acquaintance with Jacques and Susie was of such brief duration. Diane Fawcett was with them, slim and attractive in purple culottes, and behind them strolled Raoul, dark and wholly unfamiliar in a wine-coloured velvet dinner suit. He looked so different—and so disturbing—that Beth found herself staring at him, her colour deepening as she realised that other eyes were intercepting her gaze. She shifted her attention back to Susie, complimenting her on her gown, and thanking Jacques for his gallant approval of her own.

  'Sorry we are so late,' Susie exclaimed, removing the lacy shawl she had worn about her shoulders and handing it to the maid. 'But Annette was put out because Diane was coming with us. She doesn't like being left with just a nanny.'

  'You must bring her over one day so that I can get to know her,' said Beth at once, conscious of Raoul with every fibre of her being. 'I like children.'

  'Do you intend to have some of your own soon?' inquired Diane sardonically, and it was not a friendly question, but fortunately perhaps, at that moment, Willard came bustling out of the drawing room having just heard that his remaining guests had at last arrived.

  'Jacques!' he cried, shaking the other man's hand warmly. 'You spend too long at that hospital!'

  'Sorry. Not guilty,' replied Jacques goodnaturedly. 'It was Annette. She wanted to come, too.'

  'You should have brought her,' exclaimed Willard expansively, but he didn't really mean it, and they knew it. Instead, he turned to Susie and Diane, bestowed a kiss on each of their cheeks, and finally shook hands with his overseer. 'Welcome, welcome,' he added, somewhat gruffly, and then insisted they all came into the drawing room for an aperitif.

  Clarrie's announcement that dinner was served was delayed while Willard opened another bottle of champagne, and standing on the fringes of the group, Beth saw the way Diane's hand rested familiarly on Raoul's shoulder. Her nails were painted almost the same colour as his jacket, and they moved sensuously against the smooth material, almost caressing its texture. Beth found her teeth clenched tightly together, and it was all she could do to answer Susie's excited admiration for her ring.

  'You are lucky!' she exclaimed: 'Willard thinks the world of you, you know. He was talking to Jacques the other day, and it's obvious he's absolutely mad about you!'

  Beth forced a smile. 'We—we seem to—get along well together.'

  Susie gurgled with laughter. 'Cherie, what an understatement! We have never known Willard like this. We never knew his first wife, of course, but we always thought of Willard as being—well, rather a phlegmatic individual—not easily roused, you know. But since he has known you...' She spread her hands in characteristic expression. 'You must know what I mean.'

  'Yes.' The champagne cork exploded, and amid the laughter surrounding Wiliard's attempt to get the bubbling fluid into a glass, Beth tried to recapture the excitement she had felt when he first asked her to marry him. But somehow it had gone—lost in clouds of distrust and hostility, in the inescapable knowledge of her own dubious feelings, and the mockery of a man who could take what he wanted without paying, the cost.

  Unaware of her emotional upheaval, Susie squeezed her arm warmly before turning to speak to Albertine Druon, and Beth endeavoured to shake away the deep depression that gripped her. It was useless wishing Willard had given her more warning before producing the ring. Already, he had been very patient, and after all, an engagement ring was not like a wedding ring...

  A glass of champagne being thrust into her hand brought her thoughts back to the present with a jerk, and Wiliard's arm about her shoulders, drawing her close to him, signified his possession.

  'A toast!' called someone eagerly, and it was quickly seconded. But the circle of smiling faces filled Beth with alarm and it was all she could do not to struggle free of her confinement and escape from the inevitable congratulations which were to follow. But first they all raised their glasses to the happy couple, and Willard pressed hot lips to her temple.

  'Friends,' he exclaimed, and Beth's panic briefly subsided beneath a purely professional concern for his hectic colour. 'Friends,' he repeated, 'let me take this opportunity to invite you all to the wedding.' Before she could absorb this shocking announcement, he added: 'I don't believe in long engagements, and now that I'm fully recovered, we don't see why we should wait any longer, do we, darling?'

  He expected her to say something, but she couldn't. Her tongue seemed cloven to the roof of her mouth, and she stared at him mutely, aware of his darkening expression.

  'I—I—' she started helplessly, when Jonas's voice

  from the doorway proclaiming that dinner was served proved a welcome distraction. Immediately all eyes were turned in the black servant's direction, and in the interim, Beth had time to recover her breath. But even so, Wiliard's announcement had left her stunned, and she could hardly believe he would make such a statement without first discussing it with her.

  Fortunately perhaps, because they were expected to lead the way into the dining room, Willard had little time to make his feelings felt, but the hand that covered hers where it rested on his arm had a grip of steel, and walking ahead of the others he was able to whisper irritably: 'What's the matter with you? Surely you've got over those girlish qualms you exhibited upstairs! Good heavens, you'd think a man had never laid hands on you before!'

  Beth looked at him, her eyes wide and indignant, but the length of the dining table had opened out before them, and Willard took over the designation of the chairs, seating Beth on his left and Barbara at his right. Raoul was seated beside Barbara, much to Beth's surprise and discomfort. It meant that he was almost opposite her across the table, and as her immediate neighbour was Charles Templeton, she found little to say to him. In consequence, she was supremely conscious of the overseer's green eyes upon her when Barbara or Diane, who was given the adjoining chair, was not monopolising him.

  The meal was a triumph for Clarrie's expertise. The pate which, Willard explained to the table in general, she had made herself was smooth and creamy, the iced consomme was flavoured with sherry, and the braised beef served in its wine sauce simply melted on the tongue. The food was rich and plentiful, and Beth, trying desperately to cling on to the ordinary things of life, noticed how Wiliard's complexion took on a deeper purplish tinge with every succeeding glass of wine. Since his return to the island, his appetite had steadily increased, and while she guessed he was trying to regain his former constitution, she knew his heart would never stand the strain. But as with everything else, he was a law unto himself, and he attributed her troubled expression to other matters.

  'Smile, can't you?' he hissed once, bending close to her as if to tell her some private secret, and her lips quivered.

  'You're drinking too much,' she murmured, unable to defend herself in any other way, and he glowered unbecomingly.

  'Is that all you can say? This is my engagement dinner—my celebratory engagement dinner, damn it! Why shouldn't I drink too much? I've been a good boy long enough.'

  'I'm only thinking of you,' replied Beth in a low tone, pushing a slice of mushroom round her plate without appetite, but Willard had turned away to speak to Philip Hammond and the moment was lost.

  After the meal, coffee was served in the drawing room with the tables and chairs pushed aside for dancing later. Barbara and Diane were by the record player, sorting through the pile of records, when Beth became aware of Raoul standing beside her, the tiny coffee cup looking almost out of place in su
ch strong, long-fingered hands.

  'So..." he drawled, after a brief glance from her had identified his presence. 'I suppose congratulations are in order.'

  'Not if you don't want to offer them,' she retorted in a taut voice, glancing round apprehensively to see if they were being observed, and he expelled his breath on a derisive sigh.

  'Relax,' he said. 'No one's taking any notice of us. Not yet, anyway.' He bent and deposited the empty cup on a low table. 'You look anxious. What's wrong? Has the gilt begun to tarnish already?'

  Beth caught her breath, but she couldn't arouse the anger she knew she ought to be feeling. 'I—I see you're not wearing the plaster on your wrist any longer,' she blurted, and he gave her a wry glance.

  'Well, you see now, I only have one piece of plaster and I thought it would be better employed elsewhere.'

  Beth stared at him then. 'You—you're not serious!' she exclaimed, and he relented.

  'No,' he agreed. He showed her the mended scars on the back of his hand. 'As you can see, I'm fully recovered.'

  Beth's tongue explored her upper lip. 'And—and—the other?'

  Raoul's eyes darkened. 'Not here, Beth. Never here. You should know that.'

  'What do you mean?'

  'Oh, come on ...' His eyes shifted restlessly around the room as he spoke. 'I don't believe you're that naive!'

  His words, coming so soon after what Willard had said to her, had a double meaning. 'Wh-what are you imply-

  Twin green irises riveted on her face. 'This is neither the time nor the place for a discussion of this kind,' he muttered. 'But don't pretend that you don't know what's between us, because I won't believe you!'

  'I—I—' Beth's hand sought her throat. 'I don't know

  what you're talking about.'

  'No?' Raoul's eyes dropped the length of her body. And as if he was discussing the weather, he said softly: 'Shall we give them a demonstration?'

  Beth's eyes revealed her fears that he might do exactly that. There was in Raoul Valerian a wholly unpredictable streak, and she was not convinced that he cared sufficiently about his position here not to jeopardise everything on the strength of a whim.

  'You—you wouldn't...' she stammered, and although his mouth tightened for a moment he shook his head.

  'No, I wouldn't,' he conceded. 'But not for your sake!'

  'You—you care about Willard,' she faltered, and he nodded.

  'Crazy, isn't it?' he demanded bitterly, and strolled away.

  Willard came to claim her when Barbara put on a melodic waltz, and Beth schooled her features into a semblance of enjoyment. But Raoul had destroyed her peace of mind and she found herself longing for the evening to end. It had started disastrously, but it must not end that way.

  'Jacques says a good binge now and then never hurt anyone,' he said, holding her so close that the buttons of his jacket dug into her breast, and Beth determined not to cause any more argument.

  'That's good,' she murmured brightly, but curiously enough her answer seemed to annoy him.

  'I suppose you've decided it doesn't matter any more,' he demanded, swinging her round too fast and almost overbalancing them.

  'No,' she denied carefully. 'But as Jacques Marin is a doctor, I thought—'

  'He's not a heart specialist,' retorted Willard aggressively. 'What would he know?' «"

  Beth sighed. 'Well, let's not argue. Are you enjoying yourself?'

  'Not particularly.' He looked down at her. 'What were you and Valerian talking about? It seemed very intense?'

  What had they been talking about? For a minute Beth could think of nothing but the undeniable attraction between them, and the blood sang in her ears.

  'He—we—I was asking him if—if his hand was better.'

  'How do you know about his hand?'

  Beth gulped. 'You—you told me.'

  'I didn't.'

  'Then Barbara must have done. Or perhaps he did. Yes, that's right. That morning he came to the house when—when I was cleaning this room out.'

  Willard sniffed. 'Huh. Cleaning!' Fortunately he seemed to have been diverted. 'I won't have my wife— cleaning!' His eyes possessed the warm flesh rising from the neckline of her dress. 'My God, but you're a fine figure of a woman, Beth. I can't wait for these fools to be gone and you and I to be alone!'

  Beth's stomach plunged. 'Willard! We're not married yet. Besides, you—you have guests.'

  'Clarrie's put them in the other wing. I had her clear out a couple of those bedrooms you were grumbling about. With some fresh curtains and a change of bed

  linen it's amazing what can be accomplished.'

  Beth was aghast. But her sympathy for the de Vries and the Templetons and the Hammonds was overridden by the agony of her own position. What did Willard mean? Had he just been waiting to get the ring on her finger to stake his possession? And why should it come as such a shock to her when in a matter of weeks anyway he would have the legal right to share her bed whatever her feelings?

  Any further conversation was interrupted by Jacques Marin breaking in on them, insisting that he must dance with the bride-to-be. Willard surrendered her without too much protest, and Beth's heart sank as she saw him weaving his way towards the tray of drinks once more. But she could not forbid him to swallow any more alcohol, and Jacques, her only possible ally, wasn't entirely steady on his feet himself. As well as champagne, the island spirit had flowed quite freely, and after tasting their particular brand of rum punch, Beth was hardly surprised at the effect it had on people.

  Raoul did not approach her again. She saw him dancing at various times during the rest of the evening, but although he partnered Diane and Susie, and occasionally one or other of Wiliard's colleagues' wives, Barbara seemed to occupy most of his attention. Beth told herself it was just as well, that Willard was prejudiced enough without the added provocation of her dancing with the other man. Yet she longed for Raoul to take her in his arms with an intensity that was almost unbearable at times, and she realised the champagne had not been without its effect on her. Perhaps she should drink some more, she thought bitterly. Perhaps she should get good and drunk. Maybe that way she could forget the high hopes she had had before coming to Sans Souci.

  It was after two before the party began to break up. The Dupois were the first to go, and then the Druons, and it was only when the Marins were taking their leave that Beth realised Raoul had slipped away unnoticed.

  Barbara and Willard were absent, too, she realised with a pang, as Jacques, Susie and Diane Fawcett got into their car, but her fiance and his daughter appeared as she reentered the hall. Judging by Wiliard's expression, what they had had to say to one another had not pleased either of them, and there was again in Barbara's eyes the angry malevolence she had kept hidden these past few days. Beth wondered if Willard was angry because his daughter had spent the whole evening with his overseer, and then chided herself for the self-deception that it was. Why should her father object to Barbara's friendship with Raoul? The man was his friend, and in spite of Wiliard's jealousy, the only man capable of running the plantation in his absence.

  The guests who were staying over said their good- nights and departed to their rooms, and Beth, aware of Barbara's inimical stare, decided to do the same. Willard had not spoken to her since his reappearance with his daughter, and she could only hope the night air had sobered him, and he saw his earlier behaviour now for what it was.

  'Goodnight, then,' she said, as they all stood together at the foot of their staircase. 'See you in the morning, Willard.'

  Willard glanced at his daughter before saying shortly: 'I'm coming up now.'

  Beth's fingers curled around the banister rail. What did that mean? Forcing her fears away, she turned to Barbara, but the other girl ignored her, walking past her up the stairs and leaving them alone.

  They climbed the stairs side by side, and Beth couldn't help noticing how the effort affected Willard. He stood for a moment at the top, panting in an effort to relieve his tortu
red lungs, and then followed her heavily along the corridor. When they reached the door to his room, he put a detaining hand on her shoulder. Beth trembled violently, but when she turned to him she saw that he was leaning exhaustedly against the wall.

  'I don't think I can manage alone,' he said, with apparent reluctance. 'Do you think you could help me?'

  Beth hesitated. The last thing she wanted was to go inside Wiliard's bedroom tonight. But she was a nurse, his nurse, and she would have done as much for any patient.

  'Of course,' she said at last. 'Come along—I'll help you to undress.'

  She opened his door and Willard staggered inside, sinking down wearily oh to the side of his bed. Beth paused a moment, but then, realising she could hardly help him to undress with the door open, she closed it.

  Willard sat obediently while she unfastened his tie, and pulled it off, then slid his jacket from his shoulders. Helping him like this rekindled all her sympathy for him, and a little of the coldness around her heart began to melt. But even while she acknowledged this phenomenon, she had also to acknowledge that perhaps that ' was all she had felt—sympathy. That, and a selfish desire to share her life with someone who would make no demands upon her. Maybe, too, she had unconsciously been seeking a father figure, someone to care for and rely on, someone who did not treat her as a woman at all, but as a human being and not a sex symbol.

  'How did you know Valerian had burned his hand?' Willard asked suddenly, and she felt a sudden apprehension. t