Stormspell Read online

  'I don't know where she is.'

  'What do you mean? Of course you know!' Dominic looked as if he might physically demand a response, but he restrained himself. 'Where's your son? Is she with him? I intend to find her, Miss Pascal, so you might as well accept it now, and save us both a lot of unpleasantness.'

  'I don't know what you mean.' Davina's nostrils flared, and Dominic swore violently.

  'All right, Miss Pascal,' he said grimly. 'Shall we start with your motives for bringing Ruth back to London? Do you think they'd make flattering reading in the gossip columns of the popular press?'

  Davina's face stiffened. 'My reasons for bringing Ruth back to England would bear any investigation. She is my niece, Mr Crown, and I have a strong sense of family.'

  'Oh, yes?' Dominic's lips curled. 'Particularly where your adopted son is concerned, Miss Pascal.' He paused, before continuing cruelly: 'What a pity he wasn't your son. Miss Pascal, your flesh and blood. If that were so, we might not be having this conversation at all.'

  Davina's jaw assumed a stubborn tilt. 'I don't know what you're talking about, Mr Crown. Please leave. If you don't, I shall call the police and have you forcibly ejected!'

  Dominic shrugged. 'That's your prerogative, of course. However, before you do, let me remind you that all wills are made public.' He paused. 'Even your father's, Miss Pascal.'

  Davina stared at him, her cheeks paling in the amber light, shed from the glittering chandelier. She looked suddenly old and apprehensive, and despite what she had done, Dominic felt his pity stir.

  'You think you're very clever, don't you, Mr Crown?' she got out at last, and Dominic shook his head.

  'Not particularly.' In all conscience, he felt the responsibility for what he was doing weighing heavily upon him. 'I only want to find Ruth, that's all. Where's your son? Perhaps he'll tell me, if only to protect you.'

  Davina made a negative gesture. 'Martin—Martin knows nothing of all this,' she exclaimed agitatedly. 'He—he's away, driving in some motor rally. Ruth's not with him.'

  'No?' Dominic was sceptical.

  'No.' Davina looked at him squarely. 'Martin— Martin is not involved. You've got to believe me.'

  Dominic hunched tiis shoulders. 'Ruth,' he said heavily. 'Where's Ruth?' and her answer left him completely confounded.

  'But she can't be.' he protested at last, and Davina regained 3 little of her imperiousness as she answered him.

  'But she is,' she declared, with evident satisfaction. 'She left London two days ago. We've both been spurned, Mr Crown. It seems she wasn't happy in England, so she's gone back to the island . . .'

  Ruth rested both her arms on the rail of the motor launch, supporting her chin on her hands. It had been another beautiful day, and already she could feel the peace and tranquillity of the islands seeping into her bones. The noise and the bustle of London seemed very far away from St Vincent, and Indigo, and here at least she would not have the constant fear of meeting Dominic unforeseen. She couldn't even read about his activities in the newspapers, or see his picture in one of the society magazines to which her aunt had subscribed. She need hear nothing about him—not his power or his influence, not the success he was having with his father's business, and most particularly, she would not be torn to pieces by reading about his forthcoming marriage.

  It was almost a week now since she had left Heathrow in the dampness and hustle of an April afternoon. Her flight had been late in departing, and the airport had been crowded, and she had climbed aboard the wide-bodied jet with a feeling almost of detachment. It had been so hard to leave England, to know that she was severing the tenuous bonds between her and Dominic, to acknowledge that if they ever met again, he would already have a wife.

  There had been times, during those last days, when she had been tempted to call the number he had left with Aunt Davina. She had even argued the justice of his right to know she was expecting his child. But always she came back to the same assessment: he had never questioned the possibility of her being pregnant, therefore he forfeited all rights to the information.

  Turning her head, she studied Joseph lounging, with his customary indolence, behind the wheel. Despite what Doctor Francis had told her that morning, she could not honestly find it in her heart to condemn the man, and instead she deliberately recalled the other occasion when he had taken her to St Vincent. She had not realised then, when she visited the bank and learned the truth about Dominic, that Joseph was going to play such a significant part in her life. Yet, in spite of what had happened, like Celeste, he was still an integral part of her existence, and as such, worthy of her respect.

  She gazed out over the blue water again, picking out the tiny atolls she had known since childhood. Sunbaked mounds of coral, they rose out of the water like so many tiny castles, mounting their defences, and guarding their inner secrets—just as she was doing.

  Celeste knew, of course. She had guessed at once. The minute she had seen Ruth walking up to the bungalow, she had sprung up from her chair on the verandah and embraced her, making Ruth overwhelmingly glad she had permitted the woman to stay there.

  'Honey, I just knew you'd come back!' she declared, her huge brown eyes moist with tears. 'Ain't no one else can take care of you like old Celeste. Isn't that what your daddy always used to say?'

  Of course her father had not. But then he had not known that Aunt Davina would descend from the heavens in her helicopter, churning up the sand on the shoreline, sending all the crabs scuttling for cover. If he had guessed, perhaps he might have had more sympathy with the black woman.

  Still, in spite of everything, it had been good to feel herself wanted again. And Celeste had done everything in her power to make Ruth feel at home. Indeed, she had even curbed her tongue on the subject of the baby's father, although Ruth suspected that was only a temporary reservation, not intended to be regarded as permanent.

  Doctor Francis had voiced his own reservations concerning Celeste's capabilities, when Ruth had had her interview with him this morning. But then he had voiced so many reservations she could hardly remember them all.

  His prime target had been her isolation on the island. If anything should go wrong, he said, if she should have a sudden miscarriage, she was fully two hours from the mainland, and any kind of professional help. Celeste was all very well in her way, but he would not trust her in the delivery of a baby, and her methods of nursing left a lot to be desired.

  Ruth knew he was referring to her indifference in providing Dominic with the means of his own destruction. If he had fallen off the motor-bike, Doctor Francis said, if he had sustained another infection in his arm, he could easily have lost it.

  Ruth had been shocked, she couldn't deny it. But then she had also been shocked to learn that the doctor knew about the motorbike. That was something she had not expected to hear, and to discover subsequently how Doctor Francis had acquired that information had left her feeling slightly bewildered! Only now did she realise that it successfully removed any lingering suspicion from Dominic, and she felt a twinge of conscience for the way she had accused him.

  Thinking of Dominic did not contribute to her peace of mind, however, and determinedly she tried to focus her thoughts on something else. Doctor Francis's suggestion that she might come and stay with him and his wife during the final weeks of her pregnancy had to be considered, and realising how much she wanted this baby, she was certainly tempted to submit. She had no doubt that Mrs Francis would see she had the best of care, but she was virtually a stranger to her, and right now she was in no state to decide. Too many strangers had played a part in her life recently, too many people wanting to control her future. There was plenty of time to make the arrangements; when she felt more capable of doing so . . .

  Celeste was waiting for her, when she wound her way wearily back to the bungalow. It had been a long day, and she was tired, but she suffered the black woman's ministrations, and gratefully accepted a cup of tea.

  'Well?' prompted Celeste eagerly
. 'What Doctor Francis say? Ain't no reason why you shouldn't have a healthy baby, is there?'

  'No reason at all, Celeste,' Ruth conceded a little flatly. Then: 'It's good to be home again. The temperature in St Vincent was in the high eighties.'

  'Maybe there going to be a storm,' Celeste remarked offhandedly, pouring more tea. it don't matter none. You and me's as snug here as two fleas in a blanket.'

  Ruth gave a wry smile at Celeste's turn of phrase, but thinking of storms brought her thoughts irrevocably back to Dominic. Was it only a little over three months ago that she had found him on the beach? So much had happened since then, it made the rest of her life seem dull and pointless.

  Such speculations were vaguely disloyal, she decided, finishing her tea and getting up from her chair. A shower and a change of clothes was what she needed, and then a lazy dinner with Celeste, hearing about the latest happenings amongst the varied members of the black woman's family.

  It was still quite early when she went to bed. As Celeste had predicted, lightning was flickering like wildfire on the horizon, and from time to time a low rumble of thunder vibrated the cosmetic jars on her dressing table. It didn't rain. It was only an electric storm. But the heat and her own restless thoughts kept her awake, and she lay wearily on her back, wondering if this was the pattern of things to come. Until today, actually being on the island, remote from the problems she had created for herself in London, had been enough. She had eaten well, and slept well, and anaesthetised herself against a mental breakdown. Now, however, with the memory of what Doctor Francis had said to distract her, and the disturbing atmosphere of the storm all around her, she felt the depressing awareness of what she would never have, bearing down upon her. Oh, Dominic! she breathed, silently into the night, and buried her face in the pillow to silence her racking sobs.

  She must have slept for a while, because she awakened with a fast-beating heart, evidence that something—or someone—had disturbed her. Yet the bungalow seemed as silent as ever. Perhaps it was one of Celeste's midnight suitors, stumbling over his own feet, she speculated doubtfully, then tensed again when she heard a muffled curse.

  It had definitely come from the verandah, and sliding out of bed, she reached for the cotton wrapper that matched her sprigged cotton shift. She was curiously unfrightened. They had never had an intruder at the bungalow, and if someone was prowling about, Celeste would surely hear him, too.

  Pulling open her bedroom door, she padded silently along the passage. There was little light, the low-hanging clouds concealing the moon, and casting shadows in dark corners. It crossed her mind, with a prickling of her flesh, that her father had died in the bungalow, and she had given no thought to her visitor being of anything less than physical origins, but remembering the muttered curse, she discarded such a fanciful notion.

  Then, when she saw the shadow beneath the door, moving purposely towards her. her courage almost gave out on her. Someone was out there, on the verandah, someone who must know by now he was in the wrong place. Her hand went to her mouth, and a scream rose in her throat, but it was never uttered. The loud rat-a-tat on the panels dismissed all suspicion of a stealthy intruder, and she stumbled quickly towards it, pulling the door wide.

  'Joseph!' she exclaimed, gazing weakly at the black man. 'what on earth—oh, my God! Dominic!'

  Ruth was as near fainting then as she had been that morning at the Crown house. Seeing Joseph like that, she had immediately assumed that something was wrong. Her father had been called out on occasion, to tend some feverish child, or to administer first aid to an injured seaman, and her first thoughts on seeing Joseph ran along those lines. It was only when her eyes moved to the second man, standing right behind him, that she realised she must be mistaken, and she gripped the door frame painfully in an effort to overcome the shock.

  'Hallo, Ruth,' Dominic said now, stepping forward. 'I'm sorry if we disturbed you. but—'

  'Mr Howard, he come with my cousin Wesley, from Kingstown. Missy,' Joseph interrupted him quickly, casting an indignant look over his shoulder. 'He say you be pleased to see him, but me, I ain't so sure. You want I should send him 'way, Missy, till the morn—'

  'Just try it,' drawled Dominic pleasantly, and Ruth rapidly came to her senses. The last thing she wanted was a fight to develop, here, on her verandah. She knew Dominic well enough to know that when he set his mind on something, he was unlikely to be deterred from getting it, and although his sudden appearance had set her pulses racing and her head throbbing, she could not ignore him.

  'It's all right, Joseph,' she said now, struggling to find words to hide her confusion. 'Mr—er—Dominic can come in. But—but thank you, anyway, Joseph. I appreciate your concern.'

  'You sure you don't want me to wait out here till he's ready to leave?' Joseph suggested hopefully, butRuth shook her head. Whatever had brought Dominic all this way. he was unlikely to be inhibited by Joseph's presence—but she would be! If Dominic had somehow learned about the baby, if he had come here to make some obligatory offer, the last thing she wanted was for Celeste to hear of her refusal, and if there was to be a row, better it should be in private.

  'I—I'm sure Mr Howard can find his own way back to the harbour, Joseph,' she assured him now, and Dominic politely inclined his head.

  'Thanks for the escort, old man,' he remarked dryly, and then stepped purposely forward as Ruth retreated.

  In the revealing light of the living room, she faced him bravely, her hands linked tightly together. With her eyes focussed somewhere near the dark blue knot of his tie, she addressed him stiffly, realising that this interview could well be the most significant of her whole life.

  'How did you find me?' she asked tautly, and Dominic moved his shoulders in an offhand gesture.

  'Your aunt told me.' He took a step towards her. 'Ruth, you have no idea—'

  Ruth took an involuntary backward step, then Stiffened herself again. 'What—what exactly did Aunt Davina tell you?' she persisted, avoiding his eyes, and Dominic made a sound of impatience as he searched for a reply.

  'What did she tell me?' he echoed. 'What do you think she told me?' He sighed. 'She said that you had told her you weren't happy in England. That you wanted to return to the island, of course. What else?'

  'What else?' echoed Ruth faintly, the weakness of relief almost robbing her of the strength in her legs. Of course—Aunt Davina would not have told Dominic the truth. She still held out hopes that at some future time Ruth would change her mind about Martin.

  'Ruth, I had to see you!' Dominic took another step towards her. expelling his breath with unsteady urgency, but now she knew where she stood.

  'You realise, of course, that the whole island will know about this by the morning, don't you?' she declared tautly. 'If you have no thought for yourself, you might at least have spared a thought for me!'

  'For you?' he repeated, gazing at her blankly, and she nodded.

  'Of course. I—I—this is my home. I have to live here. What kind of a person will they think I am, inviting callers into my home at—at—' she glanced anxiously at the clock,'—at midnight!'

  Dominic's expression took on a cynical twist, is that all you have to say to me. Ruth? I travel—I don't know—four thousand miles, and all you can do is worry about your reputation!'

  Ruth bent her head, it—it may not seem important to you—'

  'Of course it's important,' he interpolated impatiently. 'I've been left in no doubt as to the importance you place on reputations. But I'm hoping what I have to say may alter your opinion of mine!'

  Ruth could not allow this to continue. 'Dominic,' she said, and her tone was less defensive now, 'Dominic, you shouldn't be here. You're wasting your time—'

  'Am I? Am I?' He came towards her then, and although she stepped back, she came up against the front of the cabinet, and could go no farther. 'Ruth, I love you, and I think you love me. Can you honestly stand there and tell me that I mean absolutely nothing to you?'

  Ruth moved h
er head jerkily from side to side. 'I—I—I admit, we did have some—some good times together—' she began, seeking an escape, but Dominic would not let her get away with it.

  'Good times?' he echoed savagely, placing his hands on the cabinet at either side of her. 'Good times? I don't believe you. Ruth. They were more than just—good times!"

  Ruth's nervous gaze darted up at him then, and the sight of his thin, haggard face was almost her undoing. Whatever he had been doing since she last saw him, it had taken every ounce of flesh from his cheeks, and his eyes were dark-rimmed and slightly bloodshot, yet burning with an intense brilliance.

  'You don't understand,' she got out unsteadily. 'You don't understand! I—I can't go on as we were doing. I can't stand the pace. I—I know you think you care for me. but your kind of loving and mine differ, and—well, it's better if we just—just forget one another.'

  'Can you forget me, Ruth?' he demanded fiercely, pushing-his face close to hers. 'Can you forget this— or this—' And suddenly he was kissing her, over and over again, kisses that rapidly changed from an angry salutation to a bruising caress, kisses that brought her up close against him, and subsequently destroyed any hope of resisting him. He was so much stronger, so much more determined, and for a time she gave herself up to the mindless possession of his mouth.

  'Ruth—oh, Ruth,' he breathed, in a shaken voice. 'When I found you'd left me, I nearly went out of my mind!'

  It was these words that brought Ruth abruptly to her senses. For a while, the searching seeking pleasure of his mouth had acted like an intoxicant upon her, muddling her thinking and blinding her to the obvious recklessness of what she was doing. Nothing had changed, she realised desperately. She had known Dominic wanted her before she left England. But he was going to marry Barbara, and she was still pregnant!

  With a concerted effort she freed herself from him, taking advantage of his sensually-induced weakness, putting the width of the couch between them.

  'It's no good,' she declared breathlessly, wrapping her arms close about her. 'I won't be your mistress, Dominic, however I may feel.'