Wild Enchantress Page 5

  ‘What about your breakfast?’ His stepmother's voice followed him plaintively.

  Jared paused and looked down. ‘I'll get something later. Have Susie make me some coffee. I'm not particularly hungry.'

  Elizabeth's lips tightened as he disappeared through a door off the gallery, and it was with an obvious effort that she forced herself to be civil to their guest.

  ‘Are you hungry, Catherine? Of course, you must be.’ Catherine stiffened, and then relaxed once more as her hostess went on: ‘You didn't have any dinner last evening.'

  Following Elizabeth across the hall, and into a small, sunlit morning room, where a circular table was laid with a white cloth, Catherine apologised. ‘I must have been tireder than I imagined. I had a bath, and I don't remember much after that.'

  Elizabeth's smile was a shade easier. ‘No. Well, never mind. It's always best to get over jet lag at the earliest opportunity. And we quite understood. Jared sent one of the servants to make sure you were all right.'

  ‘You're very kind.’ But what else had Jared told her?

  ‘Not at all. We want you to feel that this is your home—for the next six months anyway.’ Catherine had to smile at the way this was hastily tacked on, limiting their generosity. ‘We—Jared and I, that is—want you to relax here.'

  Catherine wasn't quite sure that she liked the coupling of their names. While it was physically obvious that Elizabeth could not be a lot older than her stepson, culturally speaking they should be poles apart. Elizabeth had been married for twelve years to a man at least twenty years her senior, while Jared had never experienced the total commitment of such a relationship. And yet Elizabeth spoke as if they were equals, sharing a common interest.

  Susie appeared, and Elizabeth told Catherine to order whatever she liked. She had already eaten, she said, but she joined her guest for coffee, and remained with her while she ate fresh fruit and cereal, rolls and apricot conserve. Catherine would have preferred to be alone. She needed time to assimilate her position here. But Elizabeth had evidently decided to apprise her of the normal running of the household.

  ‘We breed racehorses,’ she said. ‘Did Jared mention it to you?’ Catherine shook her head. ‘We have quite a successful record.’ She waved a careless hand towards the windows. ‘You must have seen the horses in the paddock.'

  Catherine put a slice of honey-sweet peach into her mouth and nodded, wiping her sticky fingers on her table napkin. ‘I did see the horses, yes. But I didn't realise…’ She shrugged. ‘I thought Jared—painted.'

  Elizabeth gave a light, patronising laugh. ‘Oh, my dear, he does. And very successfully, too. But the horses—they were his father's pride and joy.'

  ‘I see.'

  ‘When James—that was Jared's father's name'—Catherine noticed she did not say my husband, ‘when James died, I took over the stables. We have a very efficient manager, an Irishman by the name of Patrick Donovan, and I like to think that we've continued to maintain the high standard Royal horses have always been noted for.'

  Catherine smiled. There was little she could say which would not sound like a cliché. She liked horses. She had ridden frequently when she was a child. But it was some years now since she had mounted any animal…unless you could count a camel on a visit with her father to Saudi Arabia!

  ‘Do you ride, Catherine?'

  It was a reasonable question, but Catherine realised it had other implications. Was it the kind of question Elizabeth would ask a girl she thought to be pregnant? Or was it perhaps a catch question, intended to draw from her guest the information she had thrown so carelessly at her stepson?

  Deciding there was no point in burning her bridges until she had crossed them, Catherine chose the easy way out. ‘I have done,’ she conceded. ‘But not for years.'

  ‘Then we must find you a mount,’ exclaimed Elizabeth, pouring herself more coffee. ‘It's the only way to explore the island. We must find you an escort, too. I'm giving a little dinner party tomorrow evening, and I shall invite one or two young men I know who will be enchanted to meet you.'

  ‘Really, that's not necessary.’ Catherine made a deprecatory gesture. ‘You don't have to entertain me, Mrs Royal.'

  ‘Elizabeth. And I know that, my dear. But—well, I hope you won't take this amiss, but I don't want you making a'—the word nuisance hovered on the tip of her tongue, Catherine could almost see it!—‘making things—difficult for Jared.’ She hastened on before her guest could intervene. ‘This morning, for instance. Jared goes down to the beach most mornings. It's his—sabbatical time, do you know what I mean? The time when he—when he thinks'—she spread her hands extravagantly—‘when he—recharges his batteries, as it were. His work is so demanding. You must appreciate that. He needs time to be alone. No one ever intrudes!'

  ‘I'm sorry.’ There didn't seem much else to say. And she could hardly deny being aware of his extreme reluctance to take her!

  ‘I'm sure you meant no harm, my dear.’ Elizabeth could afford to be generous now her point had been well and truly made. ‘But you'll learn that in this household, we all make allowances for the—how shall I put it?—artistic temperament?'

  Catherine finished her breakfast without enjoyment, but Elizabeth, having delivered her little speech, began to excuse herself to go about her own duties.

  ‘You do whatever you like, my dear,’ she said, getting to her feet and brushing a speck of dust from the immaculately fitting jodhpurs. ‘Sunbathe, if you like, or have a swim in the pool. The house is yours. Jared will probably spend the rest of the morning in his studio, but Laura should be here by twelve. I would show you the stables, but I have to go over the accounts with Donovan this morning, and we have a prospective buyer coming at eleven.'

  ‘That's all right.’ Catherine pushed back her chair. ‘Don't bother about me, I can look after myself.'

  ‘I'm sure you can.’ Was there a trace of irritation in the smooth, cultured tones? ‘Well, I'll see you later, then.'

  ‘Thank you.'

  Catherine didn't quite know what she was thanking her for, but she breathed a sigh of relief when Elizabeth left her, realising her gratitude could well be attributed to this awaited release. It was obvious that for some reason Elizabeth felt the need to specify the situation here in no uncertain terms, leaving Catherine in no doubt as to her insignificance in the general scheme of things.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  THE morning passed reasonably quickly. Catherine collected her dark glasses from her room, and settled on one of the comfortable loungers beside the pool, removing her jeans and smock, and smoothing oil into her pale skin. Although she was fair, she usually tanned easily, and she hoped it wouldn't be long before her skin lost that sun-starved appearance, a reminder of winter in England. Stretched on the lounger, with the sun pouring its rays down upon her, it was easy to give herself up to a welcome feeling of well-being, much different from the veiled antagonism evident in so much of what Elizabeth had had to say. At eleven o'clock, Susie brought out a tray on which reposed a jug, clinking with iced orange juice, and the sharp, tangy flavour was coolly refreshing. The maid also suggested that it wasn't wise to spend too long in the full glare of the sun on her first day, and Catherine did not object when she moved a large multi-coloured striped umbrella so that its fringed canopy provided a barrier to her already burnished arms and legs.

  She had pushed her dark glasses up above her forehead, and was slowly savouring another glass of fruit juice when the clatter of heels across the mosaic tiling caused her to glance round. A girl was coming towards her, taller than Elizabeth but not so tall as herself, with shoulder-length dark hair which curved confidingly into the nape of her neck, and serene, even features. She was wearing a halter-necked sundress, patterned in shades of yellow and blue, that made the most of smooth tanned arms. Catherine guessed at once that this was Laura, Jared's fiancée, and she swung her legs to the ground and reached for the smock she had discarded earlier.

  ‘Please—don't get up.�
� Laura's voice was warm and friendly. ‘You look so comfortable! You must be Catherine, of course. And I'm Laura, Laura Prentiss. How do you do?'

  Catherine pulled her long hair free of the neckline of the smock, and held out her hand in response to Laura's. ‘Yes, I'm Catherine Fulton. Hello.'

  Laura subsided on to an adjacent lounger, pulling her skirt down over her knees, and making Catherine wish she had had time to put on her jeans as well. ‘Welcome to Barbados. Do you think you're going to like it here?'

  ‘Oh, I'm sure I shall.’ Catherine made a gesture which encompassed the pool and gardens and the countryside beyond. ‘Who wouldn't?'

  Laura nodded. ‘I'm biased, I'm afraid. I've always lived here, and I always want to do so. Once an islander, always an islander.'

  Catherine was tempted to point out that the British were islanders, too, but she thought it might sound rather rude, so she just smiled and waited for Laura to continue.

  ‘I was sorry to hear about your father,’ she added disarmingly, and Catherine felt she really was.

  ‘Are your parents living on the island, Laura?’ she asked, after acknowledging her condolences.

  ‘Heavens, yes.’ Laura smiled. ‘You can't get Mummy to go away, not even for a holiday. As she says, what could we possibly find elsewhere that we haven't already got here?'

  Catherine could think of any number of things, but she bit her tongue. Their attitude was insular in the extreme, but then they would probably be the first to acknowledge this and be proud of it.

  ‘And have you travelled, Laura?’ she asked politely, half wishing that Elizabeth would appear so that she could make her escape and go and change.

  ‘Well, I went to the United States with Daddy once,’ replied Laura thoughtfully. ‘And I've visited some of the other islands. But that's all. I went to school in Bridgetown. I don't suppose you've been there yet.'

  ‘No. I only arrived yesterday afternoon, and I was so exhausted, I'm afraid I slept all evening and night as well.'

  Laura nodded sympathetically. ‘I'm not surprised. It's a long journey. I'd never make such a journey on my own.'

  ‘Oh?’ Catherine raised her dark eyebrows. ‘Why not?'

  Laura's laugh was girlish. ‘I'd be terrified! All that way without anyone to talk to, not knowing what one was going to meet at the end of it!'

  Catherine realised that there were women who felt like this, and tempered her impatience with humour. ‘That's no way to speak of your fiancé,’ she remarked dryly, but Laura didn't notice the irony.

  ‘I suppose once Jared and I are married, I'll have to get used to travelling,’ she mused. ‘He's often invited to lecture in North America, and occasionally he goes to England. But then you know that, don't you? That was how he met your father.'

  Catherine heard more footsteps, but they proved only to be Susie's again, come to see whether Miz Prentiss might like some coffee.

  ‘Miz Royal says she'll be joining you directly,’ she added, which was more to Catherine's liking, ‘and Mr Royal—oh, he's coming right now!’ which was not.

  Laura got eagerly to her feet as Jared appeared, strolling across the patio towards them. In close-fitting gaberdine pants, and a navy blue silk shirt, unbuttoned at the neck and the cuffs turned back, he looked coolly masculine, a gold signet ring, his only piece of jewellery, glinting on his little finger. His gaze barely touched Catherine, but she registered the contempt in his eyes, before his expression warmed to greet his fiancée.

  They kissed. Watching them, Catherine acknowledged a certain satisfaction in the awareness that their embrace was anything but passionate. Laura's lips never parted when they encountered her fiancé's, and her head rested on his shoulder for only a second before she turned back to their unwilling audience.

  ‘Catherine and I have been getting to know one another,’ she said, holding on to one of his hands with both of hers. ‘Have you been working hard this morning, darling?'

  Before Jared could reply, Catherine got to her feet. ‘If you'll excuse me, I'll go and dress,’ she said, and without waiting for their compliance, she exchanged a smile with Laura, gathered up her belongings and left the poolside. As she entered the house, she heard Laura say: ‘Isn't she a sweet girl, Jared? And all alone in the world!'

  Until then this contingency had not occurred to Catherine. She had never been a particularly dependent person, and since her father's death there had always been Tony. She sighed, stamping her bare feet as she made her way upstairs. Oh, well, Jared would no doubt disabuse Laura of that belief! Even now, he was probably confiding that ‘Miss Fulton’ was anything but sweet, and was about to pay the penalty.

  Despite her assertion that she could manage to unpack her own cases, in her absence someone had done it for her, hanging her belongings away in the cedar-scented units, setting out her perfumes and cosmetics on the vanity unit.

  Catherine spent some time deciding what to wear for lunch, and it was almost one o'clock when she went downstairs again, tall and elegant in a backless dress of swinging silk jersey that exactly matched the colour of her eyes. Smart high-heeled sandals adding inches to her height gave her confidence, and she sauntered out on to the patio to join the others. But the pool area was deserted, and her entrance was lost on the tiny sugar-bird, hopping about the glass-topped table searching for crumbs.

  She turned back into the house, and encountered Lily in the morning room.

  ‘You looking for the family?’ the old servant inquired, and Catherine nodded. ‘They're taking cocktails in the library, Miz Fulton. You know where that is?'

  ‘I—no.'

  Catherine shook her head and with an understanding smile, Lily beckoned for her to follow. Out in the hall, they turned through an arched way leading to the opposite wing of the house from that which Catherine had seen so far. Double doors to a book-lined room stood wide to admit the maximum amount of air, and she could see Elizabeth and Laura seated together on a straight-backed settee, while Jared was standing by the open windows, staring out on to the sweep of drive at the front of the building.

  Elizabeth was first to look up, and with a dismissing nod towards Lily she rose to her feet and said: ‘I've just sent Susie to look for you, Catherine. We thought you must have fallen asleep again.'

  Catherine absorbed this without comment, and Laura stood up, too, and exclaimed: ‘What a pretty dress, Catherine! It's the colour of those African violets Mummy cultivates at home. You've seen them, haven't you, Jared? Don't you think Catherine's dress is the same colour?'

  Jared had turned with evident reluctance, but Catherine met his gaze squarely. If he already thought the worst of her, it might be fun to augment that opinion. What did she have to lose?

  ‘I don't think Miss Fulton is interested in what I think, Laura,’ he was saying now, but Catherine chose to differ.

  ‘A girl always likes to know if she's looking her best, Jared,’ she insisted silkily, and was rewarded by his darkening expression.

  ‘Will you have a drink before lunch, Catherine?'

  Elizabeth's intervention was smooth and deliberate, successfully cutting off any interchange which might have developed between them, diverting attention to herself. She was wearing another of her long hostess gowns, a feminine garment, much different from the masculine lines of her riding breeches. Catherine wondered idly if she ever wore skirts.

  Laura, who had apparently noticed nothing amiss, exclaimed: ‘Yes, Catherine, do have a cocktail. Jared mixes them himself, and they're delicious!'

  ‘Then I must try one, mustn't I?’ said Catherine, avoiding looking at Jared, but acutely aware that he was looking at her.

  ‘Would you like another, Laura?’ Elizabeth handed Catherine a glass frosted with ice cubes. ‘I think Lily must be almost ready for us.'

  ‘No, thanks.’ Laura uttered a little giggle. ‘I don't want an unsteady hand this afternoon. You are coming to watch, aren't you, Jared?'

  Catherine sipped her cocktail experimentally. It was delicio
us, as Laura had said, and she probed her palate with her tongue trying to distinguish what it was made from. She had expected rum in some form, but it wasn't that. There was whisky—and orange juice—and something else…

  ‘But, Jared, you promised!'

  Realising she was missing out on the conversation, Catherine endeavoured to catch up on what was going on.

  ‘Jared does have this commission to finish, Laura.’ That was Elizabeth in her gently reproving role. ‘You know it isn't always possible for him to spend a whole afternoon—'

  ‘But it's only once a year! And it's the first time I've got as far as the semi-finals!'

  Catherine frowned. The semi-finals of what? What was that Laura had said about needing a steady hand? It couldn't be swimming, could it? Diving perhaps? Or riding? There seemed a strong interest in horses around here.

  ‘Perhaps Catherine would like to go and watch you, Laura.’ Elizabeth again, and Catherine raised her eyebrows helplessly. ‘You like tennis, don't you, Catherine?’ She was persistent, but at least now Catherine knew what they were talking about.

  ‘I—well, sometimes,’ she conceded.

  ‘It's the club tournament finals this afternoon,’ explained Laura, disappointment bringing a droop to her shoulders. ‘We organise a competition every year, and this is the first time I've got so far.'

  ‘How exciting!’ Catherine tried to sound enthusiastic. Then she looked straight at Jared, astounded to find herself in the position of needing to defend his fiancée! ‘And you're not going?'

  ‘Jared's working—’ began Elizabeth, but Catherine interrupted her:

  ‘Can't Jared speak for himself?'

  ‘Oh, please…'

  That was Laura, her face flushed with embarrassment, but Catherine ignored her. It suddenly seemed clear why Elizabeth had no objections to Laura as a future wife for her stepson. Between them, they could reduce her to a jelly!

  ‘It's true.’ Obviously Jared did not care for having to explain himself to her, but short of ignoring her altogether, there was nothing else he could do. ‘I do have to work this afternoon. I'm sorry, but there it is.'