Rooted in Dishonour Read online

  Andre finished entering the invoice he was working on, and then got up to cross to where a pot of coffee was simmering over a gas burner. He was a man in his early thirties, only about five years older than Raoul himself, but unlike his employer his skin revealed a darker cast. Yet for all that, he could pass for white, and Raoul had often speculated about which of Petrie's ancestors had been responsible for that particular branch of his family.

  'Something is wrong?' Andre asked now, bringing a mug of coffee to Raoul's desk, and thanking him, Raoul raised the mug to his lips.

  Then he set it down again and looked squarely at the other man. 'Barbara came to see me this morning,' he stated flatly, and Andre's dark eyes took on a dawning comprehension.

  'Ah,' he said, 'she is not happy about your association with Yvette—'

  'No!' Raoul was impatient. 'Do you think I give a damn what she thinks? If I choose to spend my time with your sister, do you think she can stop me?'

  Andre looked discomfited. 'I merely thought...'

  'I know.' Raoul's mouth ground into a thin line. Then he shook his head. 'I'm sorry, I shouldn't have jumped on you like that. But it's not to do with Yvette. Willard's coming home.'

  Andre nodded. 'I see. He is recovered?'

  'Apparently.' Raoul gave a rueful grimace. 'Some might say—too well.'

  'What do you mean?'

  'He's bringing some girl back with him. His nurse, no less. According to Barbara, they're planning to get married.'

  'No!' Andre was shocked. 'But Mr Petrie—he must be—he must be—'

  'Fifty-six, I know.' Raoul regarded his assistant dourly. 'And this girl, whoever she is, is apparently twenty-four.'

  Andre gasped. 'But—He broke off awkwardly, but Raoul could guess what he had been about to say.

  'I know. Why would a girl of twenty-four want to marry a man of fifty-six?' he drawled. 'Barbara's theory is that she doesn't. That she's only interested in his money. And if so, will she be happy to live here on Sans Souci without any of the accoutrements of the high life?'

  'You mean—they might live elsewhere?' ventured Andre slowly. 'But surely, Raoul, that is all to the good. We do not need Petrie to run the island. You have done it well enough while he has been ill, and you know as well as I do that Petrie's contribution in recent years has been negligible!'

  'Hey!' Raoul's lips twitched. 'That's anarchy you're talking, old friend.'

  Andre's dark cheeks deepened with colour. 'I don't care. It's true!' he exclaimed. 'And Petrie knows this as well as I do.'

  Raoul half smiled. 'Well—maybe. But whether or not either of us runs the island is not the point here. Barbara's anxiety runs in an entirely different direction. She's afraid Willard might be persuaded to sell.'

  'To sell?' Andre looked appalled. 'But— last year — '

  'Last year he wasn't thinking of getting married. Who's to say what his fiancee might persuade him to do?'

  Andre returned to his desk to flop dispiritedly against it. 'You don't think he might, do you?'

  'I don't know.' Raoul swallowed another mouthful of his cofEee. 'I just don't know.'

  'But—getting married! At his age!' Andre returned to the initial issue. 'Who is she? What's her name?'

  'You know as much as I do. She nursed him in the hospital in London. That's all I can tell you.'

  Andre sighed. 'What is it you say about old fools? There are none like them?'

  'Something like that,' agreed Raoul dryly, emptying the mug. 'Well...' He pulled a ledger towards him. 'Did you check those supplies from Kamal Chemicals?'

  'Yes.' Andre bit his lip. 'I—I suppose it's up to us to show Petrie that he would be a fool to sell this place.'

  Raoul's lips twisted. 'Now let's not get fanciful, Andre. You know as well as I do that growing sugar cane is a precarious business right now. The world sugar markets are changing. Prices fluctuate, and no one can pretend that Sans Souci is making a fine profit. Labour's too expensive. And already the younger people are looking towards Trinidad and Martinique for employment. The fact that there's unemployment there the same as throughout the rest of the western world makes little difference. It's the glamour they're seeking, and sooner or later we won't have the men to harvest the crop.'

  'You talk like a reactionary,' protested Andre in dismay. 'Do you want Petrie to sell?'

  Raoul didn't even acknowledge his question, merely looking at him in a way that made Andre squirm uncomfortably. 'I suggest we deal with something a little less nebulous,' he remarked curtly, and Andre subsided behind his desk once more.

  But while his brain ticked off the hundredweight sacks of lime stored in the warehouse, Raoul's subconscious mind explored every avenue of what Willard's actions tnight mean to all of them. Damn Barbara, he thought savagely. Damn her for putting the doubt into his mind, damn her for putting her finger on his own insecurity. And what in hell did she expect he could do? Threaten

  to withdraw his labour? Willard would find someone else. Andre, perhaps. Or Samuel, the massive black foreman who could do the work of half a dozen men. Or did she expect him to seduce the girl, to return her to her fiance soiled by. his hands, and in so doing destroy her and himself as well?

  He wrenched open his drawer and pulled out a pack of cheroots. Putting one of the long narrow cylinders between his lips, he struck a match and inhaled deeply. The aromatic tobacco was fortifying, reaching down into his lungs, relieving the corded muscles of his solar plexis and relaxing the tautness of his thighs. Perhaps they were all being unnecessarily pessimistic. It might never come to a confrontation. He was letting Barbara's jealousy influence his thinking. She would be jealous of anyone who threatened her position. She had been mistress of the big house for so long. She would not welcome any usurpation of her authority.

  CHAPTER TWO

  THE pilot had said it was raining in Castries, and the plane made its descent through banks of low-hanging clouds to emerge above a beach so white Beth could hardly believe it was real. For the latter half of the afternoon they had been flying over a turquoise ocean inset with a curling chain of islands that seemed so small from the air it was hardly possible to believe that anyone actually lived on them. But suddenly they were poised above St Lucia, and in spite of the clouds its colour and beauty were undeniable. The beach was lapped by foam- flecked surf, and away to the left was the tarmacked runway of the international airport, Vigie.

  'That's Vigie Beach,' said Willard, leaning past her to point out the luxurious hotels which faced the ocean.

  'And over there—those are the twin peaks of Gros Piton and Petit Piton, the islands' landmarks.'

  'Piton,' repeated Beth, frowning. 'That means peak, doesn't it? I'm afraid my French is not what it was.'

  Willard's arm lingered about her shoulders. 'Big peak and little peak,' he conceded, smiling into her eyes, and she drew her gaze away from him to look out of the window again.

  It had been a long flight, but she was not tired. She thought Willard was beginning to look a little drained, but that was not surprising in the circumstances. This was the most energetic day he had had since leaving the hospital, and the excitement of returning home was beginning to take its toll of him.

  Fortunately, her concern for Willard had successfully banished her own anxieties about accompanying him, but she was glad they were spending the night at an hotel in Castries before going on to Sans Souci. Sans Souci; the name intrigued her, and in spite of her inhibitions she could not deny the surge of anticipation that filled her at the thought of spending the rest of her life in that part of the world which had fascinated her for so long. She looked down at Willard's hand resting possessively on her shoulder and drew her breath in on a sigh. She would make him happy, she told herself determinedly, and ignored the speculative gaze of the first class steward who had been staring at her so admiringly throughout the flight. If he thought there was something odd about the relationship between a man obviously well into middle age and a girl of her obvious youth, it was jus
t too bad.

  The airport formalities were soon over with and a chauffeur-driven limousine took them the few short miles to the island's capital. They drove past the surf- kissed beach and the sun came out long enough to make Beth catch her breath at the beauty of a sea that paled from deepest green to translucent opal. It was all so alien and exotic, and she stared wide-eyed at the green hills

  behind the town, thick with alemada vine and coconut palms.

  Willard, as usual, seemed quite content to lie back and enjoy her excitement in it all. It was enough to know that she was with him, and the admiring glances she attracted satisfied his belief that he was escorting the most beautiful woman around. At first, Beth had not liked this aspect of their relationship, but as she got to know him better, she had realised it stemmed from an innate sense of insecurity. For herself, she found his undemanding company reassuring, and it was such a relief to be free of the fumbling advances of the men of her own age she had dated in the past. Her looks had not made her conceited, but she had long accepted the fact that blondes of her size and build could not help but encourage every available male in sight to try their luck, and she was sick of fending off unwelcome passes. She had even begun to wonder if she was frigid when Willard came on the scene, but his charm and easiness of manner had soon disarmed her, leaving her aware that for the first time in her life she felt pampered and cared for, and more importantly, respected.

  Of course, the hospital authorities had not approved. Nurses, particularly staff nurses who should know better, were not encouraged to get involved with their patients, and their initial association had taken place under the eagle eyes of the doctor in charge of the case. It had not helped that the doctor in question, Mike Compton, had himself been attracted to Beth, but Willard had been more than a match for the authorities. As soon as possible he had moved out of the hospital into a nursing home, taking Beth with him as his private nurse. Everyone had said she was a fool, that she would regret giving up the staff appointment, that when he went back to his home in the West Indies she would find it hard to get another post. But somehow something had driven her on, and now she knew it was the love she felt for this man who was to be her husband.

  In the hotel which faced the harbour, Beth insisted that Willard went straight to bed. 'It's been a long day,' she said, when he would have protested. 'It may be only early evening here, but it's much later than that in England, and you must conserve your strength.'

  Willard regarded her half impatiently. 'I'm not a child, Beth,' he assured her, although he began to undress obediently enough and she went to unpack her bag and take out his medication.

  When she came back, he had put on his pyjamas and was folding back the fine linen bedspread. He was a big man, but these past weeks had stripped the flesh from his bones, and she guessed he was only a skeleton of the man he had onee been. Yet for all that, he was still a handsome man, his greying dark hair as thick as it ever was.

  Between the sheets, he looked up at her with resignation. 'Is this to be our lives, Beth?' he exclaimed. 'You putting me to bed, instead of the other way around?'

  Beth smiled, shaking out a couple of tablets from a bottle and handing him a glass of water. 'You know that only time and rest can effect a cure,' she told him, as he swallowed the tablets. 'Now, do you need anything else?'

  'Only you,' he said, reaching for her, drawing her down beside him on the bed and holding her close. 'Hmm, you smell delicious. What is it?'

  'Only that perfume you bought me in Harrods,' she murmured, aware of the hardening grasp of his fingers. His strength was certainly returning, she thought, and wondered why it should make her feel suddenly so vulnerable.

  Beth's own room was similar in style to Willard's. Simply but imaginatively furnished, it adjoined a central lounge where she chose to eat dinner that evening. The golden lobster nestling in its bed of salad was appetising, but her own energies had been stimulated by the flight, and the sights and sounds beyond the balconies of the suite tempted her to go exploring. However, the brief dusk had given way to darkness, and although there were plenty of lights outside there were also too many people to risk losing herself among the crowds that thronged the narrow streets abounding the harbour. Instead, after eating only a minute portion of her dinner, she contented herself by standing on the balcony in the velvety darkness, listening to the combating sounds of various steel bands and the shrill music and laughter that seemed to flood from every bar and eating house. The yachts that were anchored in the harbour were floodlit at night, and on some of them there were parties going on. And towering above them all was a cruise ship of an American line, docked in Castries for an overnight stay.

  It was late when she finally retired to her bed, but still she couldn't sleep. Although the sounds outside were muted now through the louvred shutters on the windows, her brain refused to cease its chaotic tumble, and everything that had happened these last hectic weeks came back to torment her.

  It was difficult to believe that it was only eight weeks since she and Willard met. It seemed so much longer than that, and perhaps that was part of his charm. From the very beginning she had felt relaxed with him, but even so she had had her doubts about his immediate attraction to her. A patient often imagined himself in love with his nurse, particularly if his illness was serious, and she had treated his devotion with a certain amount of cynicism in the beginning.

  Her own feelings had been less easy to diagnose. After spending two days in the intensive care unit at the hospital, Willard had been put into her charge, and in a short time they had become friends. He had told her who he was, and where he lived, all about the island; and she had listened with the kind of fascination shown by anyone who had lived an ordinary humdrum sort of life faced with the unknown and the exotic. The fact that Beth had always been attracted by that area of the world just added to its appeal, and she guessed Willard had

  used that shamelessly to encourage her interest.

  But gradually they had talked of other things and other places. Beth had explained how she had always wanted to be a nurse, and how she and her mother had struggled to pay for her education after her father had been drowned in a boating accident when she was four. She could hardly remember him now, and as her mother had died two years ago she had no one to keep the memories alive.

  'What about marriage?' Willard had asked her. 'I don't believe there haven't been opportunities.'

  'I've never seriously wanted to get married,' she had replied honestly. 'I enjoy my work, and I've seen too many of my friends' marriages come to grief to risk making the same mistakes.'

  'And why do you think they came to grief?' Willard surprised her by asking one afternoon, when she was helping him up on to his pillows. 'Your friends' marriages, I mean. I'm interested.'

  Beth pulled a face. 'I don't know, do I? Shortage of money, poor living conditions, incompatibility.' She sighed. 'Or maybe a combination of them all.'

  'But do you believe marriage can work today? With all the pressures you young people put on it?' he demanded, and she smiled.

  'I suppose so. If the circumstances were right.'

  'And what circumstances would they be?'

  Beth hesitated. 'Well—so long as the only reason for getting married wasn't just to legalise sex,' she declared, and flushed. 'I'm sorry, but I feel rather strongly about this.'

  Their relationship entered a new phase that day, she realised now. Willard had been feeling her out, testing her. Assuring himself that they were on the same wavelength, so to speak. It was after that that he asked her whether she had ever considered private nursing, whether she would consider returning to Sans Souci with him as his nurse.

  She had told him it wouldn't be necessary, that he wouldn't need a full-time nurse. So he had told her he was going to convalesce at a nursing home in Buckinghamshire, and asked her to go with him.

  She had refused at first. She had a perfectly good position at St Edmunds and she didn't want to leave. But then all that trouble
with Mike Compton had blown up, and almost before she knew what she was doing, she had resigned.

  It had caused quite a stir in the hospital, and she knew some of the nurses assumed she saw Willard as something of a gift horse. There were others, closer friends, who thought she was mad tossing up a promising career just because Doctor Compton was making life difficult for her. But Beth reassured them, and herself, by making the point that there were equally successful careers to be found in private nursing.

  In fact, her life changed more drastically than she could have imagined. A week later, Willard asked her to marry him, and although she did not immediately accept, she knew she was not entirely surprised by his proposal. The attraction, the mutual empathy between them, was no temporary infatuation and she knew she had been dreading the day when he would leave the nursing home for good. But whether they were sufficient grounds on which to accept his offer, she had not been sure, and she was plagued with doubts and uncertainties. Then Willard had suggested that as he could not offer her a ring, their engagement should remain unofficial until he returned to Sans Souci, but that she should accompany him. It would give her time, he said. Time to get to know him better, time for her to decide whether she really would like to live in surroundings so utterly different from what she was used to. That was when she had felt she really loved him, that she had not made a mistake by leaving St Edmunds, that after a brief engagement she would marry him because he cared for her feelings more than his own...

  She rolled on to her stomach now, and banged her pillow into shape. She - wondered what he would say when he discovered she was a virgin. Although his illness had prevented their relationship from developing far along those lines, she guessed he imagined she had had a lover. Mike Compton, for instance, had behaved as if he owned her, and besides, these days women with her looks were expected to be experienced. But she wasn't.