Rooted in Dishonour Page 15

  'Raoul...' She could not let him go like this. 'Raoul, what did I do wrong?'

  'You didn't do anything wrong,' he retorted through his teeth.

  'Then why—why don't you—' She broke off. 'I—I'd

  rather it was you than—than anybody else.'

  'Don't you think I know that?' he snapped, as she inwardly recoiled at her own audacity. 'But if you think I'm going to make it easier for you with Willie—'

  She gasped. 'I'm leaving Willard!'

  'So you say. But you may feel differently in the morning, particularly if you then considered yourself a woman—and not just a feeble novice with all the experience of a schoolgirl!'

  Beth felt as if he had slapped her. 'That's a rotten thing to suggest!' she protested.

  Raoul shrugged. 'But practical, don't you think? After all, I'm no good to you. We both know that. I've got no money. I don't own an island—or even part of one, for that matter—while Willie is all-powerful here. I may even find myself out of a job in the morning.'

  She faltered, 'Is—is that all you care about? Whether or not you'll be out of a job?'

  Raoul's eyes darkened. 'What else is there?'

  Beth moved her head disbelievingly from side to side. 'You mean, you—we—' She started to pant as her breathing became constricted. 'Oh God, I hate this island! I hate it, do you hear? There's something about it—something about the air we breathe that makes us behave completely out of character!'

  'You're wrong,' he muttered, as she turned blindly away, groping for the bed and sinking down on to it. 'The island reveals us as we really are—in character, not out of it.'

  'No!' Beth crouched on the bed, drawing her legs up under her, continuing to shake her head. Love—that much-abused emotion—had come to her on this island, and now she knew what it felt like to have that love exposed and rejected. She would never have behaved this way in England. The island had sapped her inhibitions and destroyed her self-respect.

  'You're just feeling sorry for yourself,' he said harshly, seeing the traitorous tears on her cheeks, and she scrubbed at them with the back of her hand.

  'Perhaps I should feel sorry for you,' she choked bitterly. 'Don't you know it's not healthy to love nobody but yourself!'

  He strode to the bed then, and his weight bore down the springs as he pressed her back against the pillows. 'Is that what you think?' he demanded, eyes narrowed with anger. 'What do you know about love that I haven't taught you?'

  Beth could hardly breathe. 'N-nothing,' she stammered wonderingly, lifting her hand to his lips, and with a groan he brought his mouth to hers in a long drowning kiss of fulfilment.

  'Now, go to sleep,' he ordered at last, dragging himself up from the bed, and although her fingers lingered appealingly on his thigh she said nothing to destroy the tenuous bond that lay as yet unspoken between them...

  Amazingly, she slept, and when she awakened the sun was already streaming through the cracks in the curtains. For a few seconds she savoured the realisation of where she was, turning her face into the pillow where Raoul's head had rested. But not last night. Last night he had slept on the couch in the living room, although she doubted anyone would believe it. But she didn't care. She didn't care about anything.

  She stretched her hands high above her head, and regarded the black chiffon gown draped carelessly over the chair. It reminded her that it was all she had to wear, and while the cotton sheets against her naked body had a sensuous appeal, she could not wear a sheet to face Willard.

  Willard!

  Her nerve faltered, and thrusting the thought of her erstwhile fiance aside, she slid out of bed, dragging the sheet with her and winding it about her, sarongwise. Then she opened the bedroom door and went tentatively into the corridor.

  The first person she encountered was Tomas, and her face coloured as she realised what he must be thinking.

  'I—where is Mr Valerian?' she asked uncomfortably, and he gave a little bow before replying:

  'Mr Raoul left over two hours ago, missy. You want breakfast?'

  Beth heaved a sigh. Of course, she should have realised Raoul would not neglect his duties just because of her. But she felt a pang of anxiety when she contemplated confronting Willard alone. Still, it had to be done, and telling Tomas she would just have some coffee, she went back into the bedroom again.

  A rummage in Raoul's drawers produced a cotton tee- shirt and a pair of denim jeans that secured with a belt would not look too outrageous. Then she went along to the bathroom, shivering when she discovered there was only cold water to wash with.

  Cleaning her teeth with soap, she tried to imagine what Willard would say to her. He would be furious, of course, she had no doubts about that. But maybe after having had a night to think it over, he would be more amenable to her feelings.

  Which initiated another train of thought: if Willard had discovered she had left the house the night before, wouldn't it have been more in character for him to come looking for her? Her brow furrowed. So why hadn't he? Surely he could have guessed where she might go, particularly after what he had accused her of. The only satisfactory explanation was that after that affair with the de Vries, he had had other things on his mind. He might even have had to offer his bed to his guests, which would dampen anyone's ardour. She breathed more freely as this solution gathered conviction. She could even find it in her heart to feel sorry for him, secure in the knowledge of her own feelings for Raoul.

  She was hurrying from the bathroom to the bedroom to get dressed when she heard voices—one of them female and unhappily familiar. It was Barbara, and Beth's spirits sank. What was she doing here? Looking for Raoul—or for her? Had Willard sent her? Whatever, Beth guessed it would not be a friendly encounter.

  In her haste to regain the sanctuary of the bedroom, Beth tripped over the ends of the sheet, and only managed to save herself by grabbing the handle of the door. But her involuntary cry was clearly audible and as she struggled to wind the sheet more closely about her, Barbara came out of the living room and saw her.

  'So there you are, Beth,' she observed unnecessarily, her tones drawling and contemptuous. 'Raoul said I would find you here.'

  'Raoul!' Beth stared at the other girl disbelievingly. 'You've—seen—Raoul ?'

  'Obviously.' Barbara dismissed Tomas who was hovering behind her with a look of anxiety on his face, and indicated the room she had just vacated. 'Won't you come in here? I have something to tell you.'

  Beth hesitated. 'I'd like to get dressed, if you don't mind,' she said, needing time to absorb what the other

  girl had said, but Barbara was not prepared to wait.

  'You can get dressed later,' she declared, leading the way into the living room. 'I've brought you a change of clothes with me. Raoul said you had only your evening dress to wear.'

  Beth's nails dug into her palms, but she followed Barbara slowly now, anxiety needling its way unwanted into her brain. The other girl paused before the windows, looking out for a moment, then she turned and Beth gathered the folds of sheet about her. She was trying desperately not to believe the implications of what Barbara had just told her, but the fact remained that the other girl had not been surprised to see her, and how else could she have known?

  Barbara regarded her coldly for a few moments and then she said without preamble: 'My father's dead.'

  Beth couldn't believe her ears. 'Wh-what did you say?'

  'You heard me,' retorted Barbara without emotion. 'My father's dead. Jonas had just found him when Raoul arrived at the house. He must have had an attack early this morning. They found him in his study, sitting at his desk.'

  'Oh, Barbara!' Beth was shocked to the core of her being. 'Barbara—I'm sorry—'

  'Don't say that!' Barbara's lips curled. 'You're not sorry. You don't care about my father. You never did.'

  'That's not true!'

  'It is true. You were only interested in what you could get out of him. Like this...' She bent and picked up the solitaire diamond that had
lain on the table since Beth tore it off in the early hours of the morning. 'My mother's ring! This isn't yours. It should never have been given to you. It belongs to me!'

  'Then take it,' cried Beth urgently. 'I don't want it. I was going to return it anyway.'

  'Were you?' Barbara turned the ring over in her fingers. 'Why?'

  'Why?' Beth stared at her. 'Isn't it obvious?'

  'Because you spent the night here?' demanded Barbara scornfully. 'Oh, my dear, you're not the first woman who's spent the night here, and I doubt if you'll be the last!'

  Her knowing words were unnervingly casual, and Beth, who had been expecting jealousy, saw only mockery and contempt in her gaze.

  'I do not intend to discuss it with you,' she managed to say stiffly, but Barbara was not prepared to let her get away that easily.

  'Raoul told me how you came to him last night,' she continued destructively. ''He didn't mention anything about you breaking your engagement to Papa.'

  Beth drew a deep breath. 'I imagine he has had other things to think about.' She looked round and saw her vanity case standing near the door. 'I'll go and dress—'

  'Wait!' Barbara stepped between her and the case. 'I think there's something you ought to be told.'

  'Oh, Barbara...' Beth shifted wearily from one foot to the other. 'We have nothing more to say to one another ...'

  'I disagree.' Barbara's lips tightened. 'I want to know why you think Raoul's made such a play for you since you've been here. Why you? When there are plenty of other women only too willing—'

  'For heaven's sake!' Beth shook her head. 'Barbara, this is neither the time nor the place—'

  'What's the matter? Why won't you discuss it? Is it so distressing for you?'

  Beth gave a resigned sigh. 'What are you trying to say, Barbara? What do you want me to say? I know how you feel however much you try to hide it, but jealousy is a futile emotion at best '

  'Jealous? Me?' Barbara gave a scornful laugh. 'Of my own brother?'

  'Your—brother!' Beth couldn't take it in. She didn't want to take it in!

  'My brother, yes.' Barbara's dark brows arched con- temptuously. 'My half-brother, in fact. You didn't know my father had a son, did you? But Raoul knew—and he was just as eager as I was to stop you from marrying Papa. He just used a different method of going about it, that's all.' 'No!' Beth was trembling.

  'Yes,' insisted Barbara relentlessly. 'Why not? Isn't that just what he did achieve? Oh, Miss Rivers, don't you know you played right into his hands?'

  CHAPTER TEN

  So many things fell into place. So many things that hitherto had meant little or nothing to her. Raoul's familiarity with his employer, for one thing, his familiarity with her. Just imagine, she thought sickly, as she fumbled her way into her clothes, if she had married Willard she would have been Raoul's stepmother. His stepmother! It was unbelievable—and unforgivable.

  But who had been his mother? Not Agnes, that was certain. Barbara had said her half-brother, which meant that Raoul was a bastard. She zipped her jeans with trembling fingers. No wonder he had had such a fine contempt for his father! He had little enough to thank him for. But Raoul was older than Barbara, which meant that Wiliard's relationship with his mother had occurred either before he married Agnes or before Barbara was conceived. It was another unpalatable aspect of Wiliard's character, and one which Beth knew she could never have accepted. But Barbara had known, so why hadn't she exposed the truth before now?

  The answer was equally unacceptable. If what Barbara had said about Raoul was true, it would not have paid them to reveal their relationship sooner. If she had suspected that Raoul was Wiliard's son, she would have been on her guard with him and less loath to betray his treachery to his father. If Willard had been warned what his son was doing, how differently things might have turned out.

  And yet would they? Beth tugged the brush through her hair, aware of her pale reflection in the fly-spotted mirror. She looked terrible, and she knew it, but the shock of Wiliard's sudden death had been more than equalled by the revelation of Raoul's deception, and she was finding it incredibly difficult to think beyond the next few hours.

  Barbara had told her to come to the house as soon as she was dressed. The funeral was to be held that afternoon in deference to the weather, she had said, shrugging away the unpleasant implications of that statement, and leaving Beth with the distinct impression that it was all just a horrible dream. Wiliard's daughter was so calm and matter-of-fact, and it didn't seem possible that in the space of a day the situation could have changed so drastically.

  She rolled the black chiffon gown up and stuffed it into the vanity case with a sense of revulsion. She felt sure she would never wear it again, but if she left it here Tomas was sure to fetch it for her. She drank two cups of the coffee he had provided for her, and then, with a sense of fatality, she made her way back to the house.

  Someone had closed all the blinds, and the house had a cloistered air. Imaginatively, she thought she could smell an odour of decay, and a covering of goose pimples feathered across her skin. She wondered where Wiliard's body was. In his room, she supposed, and her mouth felt dry as she contemplated going up there and confronting him in such different circumstances.

  The hall was deserted, but she could hear the hum of subdued voices that seemed to be coming from the drawing room. Even as she stood there, hesitating about what she ought to do, Charles Templeton emerged and stopped abruptly when he saw her.

  'Beth!' he exclaimed. And then, reprovingly: 'You're back.'

  Did everyone know she had spent the night at Raoul's house? she wondered wretchedly, still unable to absorb the full extent of his treachery. 'H-hello, Mr Templeton,' she answered awkwardly, finding it impossible to call him Charles now. 'I—where—where is he?'

  'Willard?' Templeton regarded her coolly. 'In his room. But the rest of us are in here.' He indicated the room behind him. 'I think you should join us.'

  Beth hung back for a moment, but then, squaring her shoulders, she nodded, and walked ahead of hirfi into the room. She supposed she had expected Raoul would be there, and Barbara, too, but there was no sign of either of them. Instead, she was confronted by Wiliard's guests who had stayed overnight, their numbers swelled by the presence of Jacques Marin and, amazingly, Isabelle Signy. There was a definite air of hostility in the room, she was not mistaken about that, and only Isabelle's face showed her any sympathy.

  The awkward silence that ensued was broken when Charles Templeton turned to Jacques and said: 'Perhaps you should repeat the results of your examination to Miss Rivers. She will want to know how her—er—fiance died, I am sure.'

  Beth linked her fingers together. 'Please,' she murmured, almost inaudibly, and after a glance at the others, Jacques said:

  'The engagement party should never have taken place. It was too much for him. That—and the circumstances that came after—proved too stimulating for a heart already weakened by the first attack.'

  If they were blaming her, Beth decided not to argue. It would be useless to tell them now that she had not wanted him to give the dinner party, that she had warned him not to drink so much, that he became irritable when she tried to reason with him. They would think she" was trying to excuse herself, but she could never do that. She should never have left him; nothing could alter that.

  Steeling herself, she turned to Marta de Vries. 'Did he—did he go to bed after—after speaking to Jonas?' she asked, but Gilbert answered for his wife.

  'He gave up his room,' he inserted stiffly. 'As any gentleman would. Marta and Esther slept there, while Charles and myself made do with the couches down here.'

  'I see,' Beth nodded. 'I—wondered.'

  'But you didn't sleep in your room either, did you, Miss Rivers?' Laura Hammond remarked brusquely, and Beth was glad Isabelle Signy chose that moment to ask rather pointedly when Willard was to be buried.

  'At four o'clock,' said Raoul suddenly, strolling into the room, and immediately the air was
electrified. Beth looked everywhere but at him, and yet that didn't prevent her from being aware of him with every nerve in her body. In a dark suit, he looked so different from the casual stranger she had encountered on the beach, and much more like thrman who had been his father.

  Charles Templeton seemed to have appointed himself spokesman, because now he said: 'You realise the will must be read afterwards. As it happens, I have a copy with me. Willard asked me to bring it. I believe he had some idea of changing it, but unfortunately we never got around to that.'

  A faintly triumphant glance was cast in Beth's direction at these words, and she wondered whether he thought she was to have been the new beneficiary. Thank goodness, Willard hadn't changed his will in her favour, she thought fervently. She wanted nothing that was not hers to take.

  She was aware of Raoul looking at her, and deliberately turned aside to stare out of the window. She would not give him the satisfaction of knowing how he had hurt her. As soon as the funeral was over she would leave here, and she would never see either him or Bar- bara again. Perhaps the de Vries would take her with them. They would no doubt be returning to Castries this evening. She needed to put as much distance between herself and Raoul as she could before the insinuative spell of the island caused her to make an even bigger fool of herself than she had done already.

  'I think you should arrange all that with Barbara,' Raoul was saying now, hands thrust into the pockets of his jacket. 'She's coming down in a moment. You can speak to her then.'

  'She's very upset,' sighed Esther Templeton, shaking her head. 'Such a tragedy. Such a terrible way to end what had been one of the happiest nights of his life!'

  Beth tensed as meaningful glances were again cast, in her direction, but Isabelle Signy moved to her side and her voice was full of compassion as she said quietly: 'What about you? Are you all right? You look very pale. Have you had anything to eat this morning?'

  Beth was grateful to her. 'I'm fine really, she assured the other woman, nodding. 'But it was a shock to me, too.'