Dangerous Rhapsody Page 5

  Annabel shrugged, staring at Emma with those vacant blue eyes intensely. ‘Do you think I could, Miss Harding? Do you really think I could?'

  ‘Yes, I really think you could,’ Emma smiled. ‘And that's why I'm here, to help you. We'll soon have you swimming like a fish. It's criminal to live here and not enjoy the water.'

  Annabel nodded. ‘It sounds marvellous, I know. But you see, Brenda didn't swim, and she couldn't teach me, and Daddy has always said the water was dangerous.'

  ‘Well, we'll have to prove him wrong,’ said Emma firmly, unable to prevent a feeling of compassion for Damon Thorne himself. If he was afraid for his daughter's safety to that extent, it proved he was not as unfeeling as he would have her believe.

  * * *

  Apart from Louisa Meredith's antagonism, Emma's first days at Sainte Dominique's Cay were quite enjoyable. She had the run of the house, which was quite large, and apart from Damon's study which was on the ground floor, she had complete freedom of movement. There seemed an enormous amount of servants, but as they all had their own particular duties, they did not get under each other's feet. Tansy seemed to have taken over the running of the house in Damon Thorne's absence, but Louisa wielded her authority as governess to the full.

  Emma discovered that the island was a mere half-mile wide by two miles in length, and its whole coastline was edged with beaches and coves of undoubted beauty. Fringed with palm trees, the beaches were pearly white in places, and in others tinged with the pink of coral, crushed into tiny fragments.

  Sainte Catherine, across the water, was clearly visible from the house, and like Sainte Dominique had only the one main building on it; Christopher Thorne's house.

  Further along the beach from where Emma had landed there was a wooden wind-break, and several boats were pulled up on to the shingle, and to the leeward side of the island, a yacht was anchored, out in a small cove, and Emma discovered from Annabel that that was her father's boat.

  ‘He likes sailing,’ she said one morning, as they were walking along the beach before breakfast. ‘I've been on the yacht, but I have to wear a life-jacket and a safety harness, and it's not very comfortable when it's hot.'

  Emma squeezed her hand. ‘Well,’ she said, ‘we must start our swimming lessons, and then maybe you won't have to wear a life-jacket all the time.'

  ‘Oh, yes, please!’ Annabel was excited. ‘It would be super if I could swim before Daddy comes again. I hope he doesn't come back to be cross with me for falling in the pool. Louisa shouldn't have cabled him.'

  ‘I expect she thought she was doing the right thing,’ remarked Emma thoughtfully. ‘After all, you could have been hurt.'

  ‘If Chris had been here, he wouldn't have let her do it,’ said Annabel.

  ‘No, perhaps not,’ Emma agreed. ‘But that's not to say he would be right. You love Chris, don't you?'

  Annabel smiled. ‘Oh, yes. I miss Daddy an awful lot, and Chris tries to make up for it. But Helen doesn't like him coming here often. I think she's jealous of me. Do you think that's silly?'

  Emma frowned. ‘I don't know. Who is Helen?'

  Annabel shrugged. ‘She's Chris's wife. Didn't you know?'

  Emma was staggered. Not particularly because of her own feelings, but because of the casual way Chris had acted. The fact that he had kissed her, for instance. Was that why Louisa despised him so? Had he tried the same tactics on her and met with a rebuff?

  Emma swallowed hard, and mentally stiffened her shoulders. If Louisa thought that she, Emma, had known of his married state and still condoned his behaviour it might account for a little of her antagonism. No wonder she had been so annoyed with them for staying overnight in Nassau! And as another thought struck her, Emma flinched. What construction might Damon Thorne put on her actions? Despising her as he so obviously did, was it not probable that he might think the worst? He could hardly be expected to believe that Emma did not know that Chris was married. Did he wear a ring? She couldn't remember seeing one, but she ought to have thought about it, at least maybe even asked him. But that was ludicrous, her brain ridiculed her reasoning. A girl didn't immediately ask a man whether he was married, the minute she met him. But would Damon Thorne realize that, and if not would he consider her actions disgraceful, and hardly fitting for those of the nurse-companion who was taking charge of his only child?

  Emma shrugged. What of it? she argued with herself. If he dismissed her and sent her home to England, surely that was what she really wanted. She could easily take up the threads of her life. Johnny would be delighted, she was sure.

  And yet she was reluctant now. Whether it was the pull of the islands, whether she basked in the warmer climate, she wasn't sure, but what she was sure of was that since meeting Annabel Thorne her feelings had somehow changed. No one could know Annabel without being supremely conscious of her courage in the face of such disability, and Emma knew that she wanted to stay with her, help her to overcome her difficulties, and one day see her completely restored to health. She wanted to talk to Damon Thorne about her blindness, she wanted to learn the truth of the specialists’ reports, and most of all she wanted to give her the love and affection of which she had been deprived on the death of her mother.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  HONG KONG was hot, very hot, with the kind of damp heat that saps the energies, and jars the nerves. Damon Thorne paced restlessly about the spacious departure lounge of the international airport, disregarding the pleas of the airport officials, who suggested he should retire to the V.I.P. lounge, and partake of some tea, or coffee, or whisky, if he preferred it. But Damon was in no mood to be placated, and more than one of the officials had suffered the knife edge of his sarcasm. Even Paul Rimini, his personal assistant who accompanied him, couldn't persuade him to relax. They had been waiting at the airport for the best part of two hours now, their Boeing having developed a fault at take-off, and no substitute yet available.

  His personal assistant approached him again. Paul Rimini, was a tall slim young Italian, with the dark hair of his race, and exceptionally good looks. He accompanied Damon everywhere, and they were good friends. He knew Damon was impatient to leave for personal reasons, and the prolonged delay infuriated him.

  ‘Say, I could use a drink, sir,’ he said. ‘Couldn't we find a bar.'

  Damon rounded on him. He knew the fact that he felt hot and that his clothes felt as though they were clinging to him in this atmosphere, was responsible in part for his ill-humour, but it didn't prevent his irritability.

  ‘Alcohol! Is that all you think about?’ he snapped angrily. He unbuttoned his shirt beneath his tie and ran a raking hand through his thick hair. ‘Hell, sorry, Paul. I know it's not your fault, but when are we likely to get out of this sweltering place?'

  Paul grinned amiably. Fortunately, he knew Damon too well to be concerned about his moods. ‘I'll go see if there's any news,’ he said. ‘Then maybe we'll have a drink, hmm?'

  ‘All right. Go see what these creeps are doing.'

  A young Chinese girl was watching him across the width of the lounge. She was seated, legs crossed, on one of the low couches, her cheongsam slit to thigh level. Damon was aware of her scrutiny, and of the fact that she was attracted to him. He had not lived so long without being aware of his charm so far as women were concerned, but his interest in them was only fleeting. There had only been one woman he had really wanted to marry, and that was Emma Harding. Although that was in the past now, it still infuriated him when he recalled her refusal.

  He shrugged these thoughts away, concentrating his attention on the tip of his cigar between his fingers. It was no use remembering his association with Emma in that way. She was now again, just another of his employees, and it ought to please him that she had at last been subjugated to his wishes. But it didn't somehow. He despised himself for blackmailing her as he had done, even if she deserved his contempt.

  The Chinese girl had risen to her feet and walked towards him, stopping in front of him. She held an unl
ighted cigarette in her fingers.

  ‘Please,’ she said, indicating the cigarette, and Damon shrugged, and feeling in his pocket, produced his gold lighter. He allowed her dark eyes to hold his as she lit the cigarette, cupping his hand momentarily, and then smiling her thanks. ‘I am afraid I have mislaid my lighter,’ she exclaimed, her voice light and tinged with an accent.

  ‘My pleasure,’ returned Damon smoothly, and glanced round impatiently for Paul. Where had he got to?

  ‘You are flying to San Francisco?’ she asked conversationally.

  ‘Eventually,’ agreed Damon heavily.

  ‘So am I.’ She smiled wider. ‘Maybe you would let me buy you a drink to show my appreciation.’ She laughed softly. ‘For the light, of course.'

  Damon's eyes narrowed. ‘I don't think that's a very good idea,’ he said coolly. ‘My assistant and I are going to the bar.'

  She would not be snubbed. ‘So am I,’ she said easily.

  Damon drew on his cigar. He could quite simply be rude to her and get rid of her that way, but it was not in his nature to offend people indiscriminately. He saw Paul returning, and gave him a derisively mocking glance over the girl's head. Paul half-smiled, and joined them. He was used to his employer's magnetism attracting all kinds of females.

  ‘My assistant,’ remarked Damon, omitting purposely to ask the girl's name. ‘Paul, have you any news?'

  ‘Yes, some. They reckon another fifteen minutes, and the plane will be ready for take-off. It was only a minor fault, after all.'

  ‘It's taken them long enough to discover that,’ muttered Damon, with some sarcasm. ‘However, I guess we do have time for that drink now. Will you excuse us?’ He bowed his head politely towards the Chinese girl, and saw that at last she seemed to have realized he did not welcome her company.

  He walked across the lounge with Paul, who glanced back pointedly and said: ‘Obviously, she didn't want you to be bored any longer.'

  Damon grinned. ‘Obviously. Unfortunately, I'm not in the mood for seductive oriental females.'

  * * *

  The cable caught up with them in Los Angeles. They were staying at the Royal Bay Hotel while Damon visited the Thorne Chemical Plant out at Thorneville, the township which had grown up around the enormous scientific laboratory. It arrived on their second evening, when they were sitting at the bar, having pre-dinner aperitifs.

  Damon opened it casually, expecting to find some new information about one of his companies. It was a complete surprise to him to find Louisa Meredith's name at its foot. He read her remarks carefully, then tossed the cable to Paul, who had been studying Damon's reactions curiously. Paul read the cable and grimaced.

  ‘Serious, do you suppose?’ he asked.

  Damon swallowed his drink, and ordered another Scotch. Then he read the cable again, more slowly. Louisa's comments were sharp and to the point. Annabel had fallen into the pool, had almost drowned, in fact, and his new nurse-companion had not as yet arrived.

  He accepted a cigarette from Paul, then shrugged his broad shoulders. ‘I guess it's possible Louisa's histrionics are over-played,’ he remarked. ‘Nevertheless, Annabel did fall into the pool, and could have been seriously hurt.’ He drew on his cigarette deeply, and folded the cable again.

  Inside, he felt coldly angry. Why hadn't Emma Harding arrived? The cable was dated the day after she had been expected. Where the hell was she? He was angry, too, to know that her absence disturbed him intensely, quite apart from Annabel's accident. She was the only woman who had ever had this effect on him, and because of it he felt he could willingly crush her. His life had taught him many things; the power of money; the power of his own attraction; the power of intelligence above all things. Before the mighty Thorne Chemical Corporation developed into the combine it was today, Damon himself had been just a research chemist, with an honours degree in physics. He had known all types of women, from ordinary typists who worked for him, to highly specialized and intelligent women in his own field, but only one had ever held any power over him. Always he had held the upper hand, always he had called the tune. It was soul-destroying to know that the only woman he had ever loved did not give a thought for his feelings.

  Paul broke into his reverie. ‘What are you going to do?'

  Damon glanced at him. ‘What do you mean?'

  Paul half-smiled. ‘I can guess what's going through your head. You're the child's father, after all. And where is this nurse you employed?'

  Damon stubbed out the cigarette. ‘That is the question. Still, I guess she'll be there by now. It's possible she was delayed.’ He was cooling his temper.

  Paul laughed. ‘Did you say Chris was meeting her? I wouldn't put it past our fair gallant to delay her in Nassau. After all, he doesn't have much of a life with that jealous wife of his.'

  Damon swallowed his Scotch. ‘I hope you're wrong,' he said harshly. ‘Whatever Helen is like, Chris is married, and that's that.'

  Paul stared at him. ‘So what! You didn't give a damn when he made the running with Louisa last year, and the year before that, come to think of it.'

  ‘Mind your own blasted business,’ muttered Damon savagely. ‘Get me another drink, and then ring the airport. We're catching the next available flight to Florida. I guess we can pick up the Beagle there, can't we?'

  Paul looked astonished. ‘I guess we could. If I make the necessary arrangements.'

  ‘Good. Then do it.’ Damon lit another cigarette. Paul finished his drink, shrugged, and walked through to make the phone call. Something had upset Damon, something he said, but what? Surely this Emma Harding, whatever her name was, meant nothing to him. In the six years he had been with Damon, he had never known him take more than a transitory interest in any woman, and there had been plenty, since Elizabeth was killed. Not that theirs had ever been a happy marriage, and only the child had prevented a break-up within a few months of the actual wedding. Elizabeth was beautiful, yes, but cold and hard, and Paul had never been able to figure out why Damon married her.

  Damon was alone when the slim figure of a woman slid into the seat beside him. She allowed her fingers to trail along the sleeve of his jacket, and Damon, absorbed in his thoughts, gave an involuntary start.

  ‘Hello,’ she said. ‘Remember me?'

  Damon sighed. Dressed tonight in a cheongsam of royal blue figured silk, she was very attractive, her straight hair long and smooth down her back. He half-turned towards her, diverted from the abyss of his thoughts. She smiled, her lips very red, her eyes heavily made up. The triple string of pearls around her throat could be real, he thought. If they were, she wasn't interested in him for his money.

  ‘I remember,’ he replied lazily. ‘Can I buy you a drink?'

  She nodded. ‘A cocktail, but please, I'll pay.'

  ‘When I'm with a lady, I pay,’ remarked Damon abruptly, beckoning the bartender. He ordered her a cocktail and a whisky for himself. ‘Who am I buying a drink for?'

  She seemed to hesitate for a moment, and then: ‘Tsai Pen Lung.'

  He glanced at the rings on her fingers. ‘Madame Tsai Pen Lung?'

  She agreed. ‘And you?'

  ‘Thorne. Damon Thorne,’ he replied, offering her a cigarette.

  ‘What are you doing in San Francisco, Mr. Thorne?'

  Damon shrugged. ‘Business,’ he replied vaguely.

  ‘You own the chemical plant out at Thorneville,’ she said slowly.

  Damon frowned. ‘Not exactly, I own a piece of it.’ He wondered how she had found that out. If she had not known his name, why had she immediately associated him with the plant? Thorne was not an uncommon name.

  She was looking round the bar, studying the other customers. Her eyes were shrewd, and this close he could distinguish tiny lines about her eyes which despite her youthful figure belied her age.

  ‘Why are you in San Francisco?’ he asked, attracting her attention.

  She shrugged. ‘I live here,’ she replied smoothly, and that was all. Damon felt piqued. She s
eemed interested in his movements but had obviously no intention of divulging her own affairs. She must be aware that he wanted to ask what she had been doing in Hong Kong, but she volunteered no information, nor did she encourage him to ask.

  She looked at him smilingly. ‘You are leaving San Francisco soon?'

  Damon hunched his shoulders. This direct questioning was annoying him. ‘Maybe,’ he said coolly. ‘Maybe not.'

  ‘But you are an American,’ she said firmly. ‘Your accent is unmistakable.'

  ‘I was born in the States,’ he agreed. ‘Were you?'

  ‘No.’ That was all. Again the brick wall, he thought irritably, looking round to see whether Paul was returning yet. If she didn't want to talk, why had she approached him in the first place? Then, as though relenting, she went on: ‘I was born in Peking. My family still live there.'

  ‘I see.’ Damon nodded. ‘Tough.'

  She shrugged. ‘For some. Don't you believe in the Communist state, Mr. Thorne?’ She laughed. ‘Of course, you wouldn't.'

  ‘Why, of course? Because I am a capitalist, I suppose. And yet I can see the advantages of equality. My one concern is that there can never be complete equality, and so, as in George Orwell's book, when one government lapses, another takes over. Better the devil you know, is my opinion.'

  She chuckled. ‘Are you a fatalist, Mr. Thorne?'

  ‘Maybe.’ He grinned. ‘This is a strange conversation for us to be having.’ He looked round, a little restlessly, and rose to his feet as he saw Paul returning. Paul raised his eyebrows when he saw who Damon's companion was, but Damon did not introduce them. Instead, he excused himself, and drew Paul half out of the bar before asking him what he had achieved.

  Paul sighed. ‘We leave in approximately forty minutes for the airport,’ he said, grimacing. ‘There were two cancellations on the flight, so I took them. Did I do right?'