Follow Thy Desire Page 17

  ‘Well,’ Helen said now, after Andrea had dried her spectacles and blown her nose, ‘this isn’t exactly the way we should be celebrating your birthday, but later today…’

  ‘What?’ Andrea sniffed and stared at her.

  ‘Well, we should reach Charlottesville some time this afternoon, shouldn’t we?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Yes. So I suggest we do some shopping, hmm? And first on the list is a bikini.’

  ‘Oh, Helen! I can’t wear a bikini!’

  ‘You don’t expect me to wear mine on my own, do you?’ demanded Helen teasingly, and ruefully, Andrea gave in.

  ‘But only if Daddy approves,’ she insisted, and Helen allowed her that small condition.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  MORGAN’S ‘shack’ turned out to be a wooden building set among palm trees at the edge of one of the most perfect beaches Helen had ever seen. Compacted white sand ran down to the water’s edge where, when the tide receded, crystal-clear pools of rock coral invited exploration. Situated some distance outside Charlottesville, it was completely private, and what it lacked in amenities it more than made up for in beauty and solitude.

  The cabin itself consisted of two bedrooms, as Andrea had said, with a living room, and kitchen-cum-dining room at the back. There was no bathroom, only an outside shower, fed by an overhead tank which had to be filled before it could be used, and the smallest room of the house contained only a chemical toilet. But there was plenty of fresh water from an underground spring, which Andrea explained was why her father had chosen to site the shack here.

  They drove down to Charlottesville later in the morning, after requesting Kori to keep his cake refrigerated until their return, and after lunching at the Yacht Club, Helen and Andrea went shopping. Morgan had produced a silver charm bracelet for Andrea’s birthday present, but he was more than willing to finance their shopping trip, and Helen felt embarrassed when he pressed a roll of notes into her hand.

  ‘You can pay me later,’ she said, planning on using the international credit card he had suggested she acquired before leaving England, but Morgan was firm.

  ‘Spend as much as you like,’ he advised her shortly. ‘I may not be a wealthy man, but I’m not a poor one either. Andrea’s been needing some clothes for ages, but I don’t know much about these things. Get whatever you like.’

  So Helen had reluctantly agreed, and after a time she found she was enjoying herself immensely. The stores that lined Bay Street were not as comprehensive as those one might find in Oxford Street, but they were sufficiently modern to allow her to choose the most suitable garments for a girl of Andrea’s age. In no time at all, they had bought jeans and tee-shirts, corded pants and sweaters, tights and shirts, and several sets of underwear.

  ‘I’ve never worn a bra before,’ exclaimed Andrea, fingering the scrap of nylon lace that matched some lacy panties. Then she giggled. ‘Gosh, I feel quite grown up!’

  In a store catering for teenagers, Helen found the dresses she wanted for Andrea, loosely fitting smocks, with scalloped necklines and embroidered skirts. Their fullness only hinted at the slenderness of her figure, and high-heeled sandals gave her height and unexpected allure.

  Andrea had shed her spectacles to try on the dresses, and now she looked at herself in the mirror with startled eyes, hardly daring to believe that that slender young girl with the long curving legs and cascade of silky hair was really herself.

  ‘I—I look—I look—’

  ‘Very attractive,’ declared Helen dryly. ‘So don’t ever let me hear you putting yourself down again. Do you see that young man over there—the manager?—he even has his eye on you. And I’ve changed my mind about your hair—we’re going to keep it long.’

  Andrea made no demur. So far as she was concerned, Helen had performed a small miracle, and she was humble with admiration.

  They had arranged to meet Morgan at the Yacht Club at six, but it was only a little after five-thirty when they entered its cool portals. Andrea’s name was sufficient identification, but the steward looked long and hard at the two young women, the one so dark and the other so fair.

  ‘Why is he staring at me?’ Andrea asked in an undertone, after they had handed over their packages for his safekeeping, and Helen smiled.

  ‘I expect because he hardly recognises you,’ she remarked wryly. ‘That smock really does things for you, and those sandals surely are an improvement on plimsolls.’

  Andrea made a sound of delight. ‘They do give my legs some shape, don’t they?’ she murmured consideringly, and Helen nodded.

  ‘Heels always do.’

  ‘But I always thought a high heel would make me look too tall.’

  ‘Tall, yes. Too tall, no. Don’t be ashamed of your height, Andrea. I’m taller than you are, and I wear heels. Why should you worry? Your father’s well able to give you a few inches.’

  ‘I know.’ Andrea sounded as though she had just made a wonderful discovery. ‘Oh, Helen, this has been the best birthday I’ve ever had!’

  ‘Good.’ Helen was pleased. It was time Andrea started having some fun in her life.

  They were entering the lounge when a vaguely familiar voice hailed them:

  ‘Helen I What a surprise! Why didn’t you let me know you were in Charlottesville?’

  Helen turned and found James Oneba threading his way between the tables towards them. Immaculately dressed as usual in a light fawn lounge suit, he looked big and handsome, a supremely confident man, with an air of command.

  ‘Helen!’ he exclaimed again, as he reached them, wringing her hand with obvious warmth. ‘How good to see you again. Is Morgan with you? Why haven’t you given us a call?’

  Helen extracted her hand with difficulty, and then made an apologetic gesture. ‘We only came down this morning,’ she protested. ‘We haven’t had time to contact anyone. We’ve been shopping.’

  James shook his head. ‘I forgive you,’ he smiled. Then he glanced briefly at the girl by her side, before performing a swift double-take. ‘Good lord! It’s Andrea, isn’t it?’

  Helen could have hugged him. She was almost sure he had recognised Morgan’s daughter immediately, but knowing women as he did, he had guessed that some favourable reaction was demanded.

  ‘Hello, Uncle James,’ murmured Andrea shyly, and he took both her hands in his and surveyed the transformation with evident admiration.

  ‘My dear Andrea, you look delightful!’ he exclaimed sincerely. ‘The dress—it is perfect. You look at least—sixteen! A young lady, no less.’

  ‘You really like it?’ Andrea’s voice betrayed her lingering uncertainty, and James nodded. ‘Do you think Daddy will like it too?’

  ‘I’m sure he could not fail to do so,’ James assured her, squeezing her fingers before releasing them. Then he turned back to Helen. ‘But where is Morgan?’

  ‘I’m not sure.’ Helen moved her shoulders doubtfully. ‘He said he would meet us here at six o’clock.’

  ‘It is some occasion, then?’ enquired James, frowning. Then he pressed a hand to his mouth. ‘Good lord! It’s the eighteenth, isn’t it? Your birthday, Andrea. Oh—happy birthday, darling.’

  He kissed her cheek and then clapped his hands. ‘I know—we must have a celebration. You must all come to my house for dinner this evening.’

  ‘Oh, Uncle James!’

  Andrea was clearly excited at the prospect. She obviously saw it as an opportunity to show off her new clothes, but Helen wasn’t sure Morgan would approve.

  ‘I don’t know…’ she began, but James was forceful.

  ‘You are staying overnight, aren’t you?’ he demanded, but this time Andrea replied.

  ‘We’re staying at the beach house,’ she explained. ‘Helen hasn’t seen it yet. We had lunch in town.’

  ‘Ah, I see.’ James drew them into the lounge as he spoke, directing them to the table he had been occupying where several young men rose politely to their feet at their approach. ‘But it will be dark before y
ou get there anyway. What do a few more hours matter?’

  Before Helen had a chance to reply, he was introducing them to his companions, three of his aides from the Ministry. They were all well-dressed, intelligent young men, younger editions of himself, and watching them with Andrea, Helen guessed that this was exactly what she needed—attention from the opposite sex.

  They all seated themselves around the table, and while one of the young men was despatched to fetch drinks for the girls, the others spoke casually to Andrea. Watching her, Helen saw her intense shyness being forced aside, and when the conversation came round to swimming and sailing, she spoke quite unselfconsciously.

  ‘She is growing up,’ said James’s low voice near her ear, and she turned to find he had taken the seat beside her. ‘Don’t worry so much on her behalf. She’s Morgan’s daughter. She will make out.’

  Helen forced herself to relax. ‘Is it so obvious?’ she asked ruefully, and he smiled into her eyes.

  ‘Not to everyone,’ he assured her gently. ‘Now, tell me: how is Morgan?’

  ‘Morgan?’ Helen glanced round, then realising their exchange was not being overheard, she added: ‘He’s fine. Tired, of course, but otherwise…’ She frowned. ‘Why do you ask?’

  James shrugged, and drew back in his chair. ‘I can see you are not suffering from any dread disease, although I do believe you have lost weight since I last saw you. And Andrea is obviously blooming. Can I not ask about my good friend’s health?’

  The words were said with a smile, but there was an underlying note of gravity which James was trying hard to disguise. It troubled her a little. It was all too reminiscent of her thoughts on the reasons why Morgan refused to consider a permanent commitment, and she was tempted to ask James why he thought Morgan was so adamant.

  But of course she couldn’t, and instead, she said: ‘I think this break will do him good. He’s been working very hard lately.’

  ‘Morgan always works hard,’ James agreed regretfully. ‘Maybe if his marriage had worked out…’ He shrugged. ‘Who knows? I suppose he’s told you about that.’

  ‘He hasn’t. Andrea has,’ replied Helen quietly, and James looked impressed.

  ‘You know, she’s never talked about that before, to anyone.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘She must like you very much.’

  ‘I hope so.’

  ‘It wouldn’t be difficult for her to love you,’ he continued softly. ‘You’re a rather—lovable person.’ And then, as her cheeks flamed, he added: ‘But I expect Morgan’s told you that, too.’

  ‘What have I told her?’

  Lean fingers descended, one hand on Helen’s shoulder, hard and compelling against the flesh exposed by her sundress, the other digging into the fine material of James’s collar. It was Morgan, right there behind them, and Helen was unutterably relieved when he caught a glimpse of his daughter at that moment, and her shy expectancy sent him round the table to her side.

  ‘We’ll, well!’ he remarked, drawing her to her feet so that James and his aides were forced to rise, too. ‘What a pretty dress!’

  ‘Do you like it?’ Andrea was anxious, but she needn’t have been.

  ‘I like it,’ he agreed, his eyes dropping down to the high-heeled sandals. ‘You make me feel quite old.’

  Helen crossed her legs, and smoothed her skirt with distrait fingers. Now she was more nervous than Andrea, and not even James’s encouraging squeeze of her hand could rid her of the feeling of impending disaster.

  James sent one of his minions to get a drink for Morgan, and Morgan himself took the chair nearest his daughter. It was across the table from Helen, and she had the feeling he had seated himself there deliberately to observe her every movement. James reseated himself beside Helen, his arm familiarly along the back of her chair, but if he hoped his support would relax her, he couldn’t have been more wrong. She knew Morgan so well by this time. She could see the disturbing glitter of his eyes. And she knew he thought she had been discussing their relationship with James.

  ‘I have just been suggesting to your daughter and Helen that as it is Andrea’s birthday, you should all come to my house for dinner this evening,’ James said now, spreading his hand expansively. ‘You know how pleased my family always is to see you.’

  Morgan’s mouth turned down at the corners. ‘I don’t think so, thanks all the same, James.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Yes, why not, Daddy?’ Andrea turned to him eagerly. ‘I’d like to—well, I’d like to show Mariana my dress.’

  Morgan’s eyes met Helen’s coldly. ‘Do you want to go, too?’

  Helen flushed. ‘I—I—’ As she sought for words she couldn’t help thinking that dinner at the Onebas’ would at least provide a respite for Morgan’s anger to subside. ‘I think—it would be very nice.’

  ‘You see!’ James was triumphant. ‘How can you refuse?’

  ‘How indeed?’ agreed Morgan dryly, but no one was deceived by his apparent acquiescence.

  The drive up to the Onebas’ house was accomplished in virtual silence. Helen was glad to be occupying the back seat, particularly after listening to Andrea’s thwarted attempts to make conversation with her father. Eventually she too fell silent, and Helen quelled her automatic exclamation of remembered delight at the floodlit beauty of the building.

  Before dinner, they were all invited to shower and change in the rooms they had occupied during their previous visit, and as Helen extracted the case that contained her garments from the station wagon, she felt relieved that she had decided at the last moment to bring a gown suitable to the occasion.

  Surveying the enormous bathroom, she looked with wry uncertainty at the bath before deciding to use it after all. Why not? she argued with herself impatiently, as she shed her dress and flimsy underwear. She might never get another opportunity, and it was magnificent.

  It looked even more magnificent when it was full. The four mixer taps, each shaped like a silver tiger’s head, issued a steady stream of crystal clear water into its depths, and when she plunged in it was like having her own private swimming pool. She gurgled with laughter as she played about, her problems melting beneath the concealing foam of the lotions she had added to the water, and submerged her whole body beneath its satin-soft canopy.

  She had not locked the bathroom door. She had not felt the need to do so; and she was so absorbed with the novelty of the bath that she did not hear the door open or anyone come in, until the cooling draught of air from the bedroom aroused her to the awareness of someone standing by the bath, looking down at her. Her gaze travelled up over booted feet and mud-coloured Levis that clung revealingly to the powerful muscles of their owner’s legs, to a bare, brown chest, covered lightly with fine, sun-bleached hairs. Then her eyes dropped again, and she sank lower into the water, trying to hide her foam-coated body from his gaze.

  ‘What do you want?’ she demanded, her voice higher than it might have been had she had some warning of his appearance, and flinched as Morgan lifted one boot and collected a smear of foam on its toe.

  Then he said broodingly: ‘What has James been telling you about me?’

  Helen tried to make light of the situation. ‘Was it necessary to come into my bathroom to ask me that?’ she exclaimed. ‘Couldn’t it have waited until later?’

  ‘No, damn you, it couldn’t,’ he retorted angrily. ‘And how was I to know you’d be in the bath? I took a shower. I imagined you would do the same.’

  ‘And would it have made it any less embarrassing if I had?’ she asked, indignation colouring her tone, and he pulled a wry face.

  ‘Embarrassing?’ He shook his head. ‘Helen, I do know what a woman’s body looks like. I know what your body looks like. Remember?’

  She coloured then, avoiding his eyes. ‘Must you be so callous?’

  ‘Callous?’ He sighed. ‘Helen, you still haven’t answered my question. What was James saying to you?’

  She shrugged. ‘This and that.’r />
  ‘Helen!’

  ‘Well! It’s true.’ She looked mutinously up at him. ‘I notice it doesn’t worry you that he seems to find me attractive!’

  ‘James?’ Morgan chafed at the distraction. ‘James finds all beautiful women attractive. However, I doubt he’d get seriously involved with anyone who didn’t share his religious beliefs.’

  ‘Well, thank you!’

  Helen pursed her lips and with another sigh, Morgan squatted down beside her. ‘Helen,’ he said, more gently this time. ‘Helen, don’t be a fool.’ His hand probed her jawline, smoothing the damp hair back from her shoulder. ‘I’m not made of stone. Watching you like this is the purest kind of torment I know. Now, please what were you and James talking about?’

  Helen sniffed. ‘I don’t remember.’

  ‘My God!’ Morgan stared at her. ‘You really are a selfish little—’ He bit off an epithet, his mouth clenched impotently, and in spite of the warm water, she shivered. ‘What am I supposed to have told you? That’s all you need to remember. Or have you forgotten that as well?’

  ‘Oh!’ Helen brushed her lips with a thoughtful finger. ‘As—as a matter of fact, he expected—that you might have told me about your wife!’

  It came out with a rush and she sat regarding him anxiously afterwards, glad that she had not had to lie to him.

  ‘About Pamela?’ Morgan frowned. ‘What about Pamela?’

  Helen bent her head, not at all sure she ought to discuss Andrea’s confidence with him. She wished now she had not said anything to James, but she had had the suspicion that he was about to discuss it with her, and somehow she hadn’t wanted him to talk about Morgan’s marriage.

  ‘Oh, well…if you must know…’ She looked up at him with rueful reluctance. ‘Andrea told me about—well, about what happened.’

  ‘Pamela’s taking her to Cape Town?’ asked Morgan, with ominous quietness.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘But she’s never spoken about that before.’ His mouth tightened. ‘Are you sure it wasn’t James who told you?’