Rooted in Dishonour Page 6

  'I prefer the ocean,' she said, wrinkling her nose at the unpleasant smell of the pond, and he smiled.

  'All right. I can't expect you to picture it as it was, can I?' He allowed her to draw him along a moss-covered path. 'And tomorrow of course you must go swimming.

  If only I were well enough to go with you. Damn this puny heart of mine!'

  'If your heart hadn't let you down, we would never have met,' she reminded him gently, and he bent to kiss her cheek.

  'No. And I shouldn't forget that, should I? The most important event in my life.'

  'Oh, Willard!' Her lips parted. 'Don't say things like that.'

  'Why not? It's true.'

  'But your wife—Agnes—'

  'I married Agnes because it was expedient for me to do so. Even in those days, money was always at a premium. Have you any idea how much it costs to keep a plantation of this size going?'

  Beth digested this without satisfaction. 'You mean, you married—your first wife for—money?'

  Willard made an impatient sound. 'Not entirely, not entirely,' he exclaimed. 'She was an attractive woman, I'm not denying that. But she was several years older than I was, and—well, it wasn't important why we got married. We did. And we were happy, after a fashion.'

  Beth withdrew her hand from his arm. The callousness of his words did not apparently trouble him, but she found it hard to equate what he was saying with her image of him. She had naturally assumed he had loved his first wife and that was why he had remained a widower all these years. But it seemed this was not so.

  'Beth...' He reached out and caught her round the waist. 'What's the matter? Have I shocked you? Surely not. These days people get married for much less sound reasons.'

  'I just thought you had loved your wife, Willard,' she murmured, forcing herself to relax back against him.

  'Oh, Beth...' He sighed. 'In the islands, suitability means more than some romantic ideal of love.'

  'And I'm suitable? Is that what you're saying?' she asked, twisting round to face him.

  'No.' He put up his hands to cup her face. 'You must know suitability has nothing to do with how I feel for you.'

  'Then-doesn't that make a mockery of what you said before?'

  He sighed and bowed his head. 'I suppose it does.'

  Beth hesitated and then seeing his slightly drawn expression, she relented. 'What about Barbara?' she asked gently. 'Is that why she disapproves?'

  Willard slipped his arm about her shoulders, and they walked slowly back towards the house. 'You got that impression too?' he frowned. 'I was afraid you might.'

  Beth forbore to tell him exactly what had passed between herself and his daughter, but it was obvious Barbara had said much the same to him.

  'She resents me,' she said steadily.

  'Yes,' Willard nodded regretfully. 'It was to be expected, I suppose. You're younger than she is, and Barbara has been mistress here for so long.'

  They were close to the house now, and Beth looked up at the line of shuttered windows feeling a sense of impotency. She had so looked forward to coming here, and now it had all gone sour somehow. Was it only Barbara's attitude? Or had Willard's confession about his wife influenced her? And why had Raoul Valerian's contempt upset her so?

  For a few days, Willard took things very easily. In spite of Beth's fears that he might throw himself headlong into his work at the plantation, he seemed to realise that any unnecessary strain on his heart would retard his recovery, and recovery was what he wanted most. She knew why. He knew she would not consent to marry him until he was stronger, and since his return to the island his desire for them to be man and wife was growing stronger every day.

  The situation at the house had only marginally improved. Beth saw next to nothing of Barbara and she sometimes wondered how the other girl spent her time. For herself, she breakfasted with Willard in his room, and afterwards while he attended to his morning ablutions, she tidied her room. Then they went downstairs together and had coffee on the patio.

  Later in the morning they either went for a walk on the beach or Beth drove them over the island, sticking to the rough country roads which were only slightly better than grass tracks.

  The afternoons, Beth thought, were over-long. Willard always rested for a couple of hours after lunch and she was left to her own devices. But while she had promised herself to swim at the first" opportunity, that opportunity seemed as distant as ever. It wasn't that Willard had forbade her to swim in the afternoons, he had merely pointed out that it was dangerous for her to swim alone, and that even though the lagoon was coral-fringed, there were breaks in the reef in places which a shark or a barracuda could breach. Without wanting to worry him unduly, she had assured him she would not swim alone, and in consequence she had not swum at all.

  Evenings were the most sociable time of day. Sometimes after dinner they would drive into Ste Germaine, and once they had called at the French doctor's house for a drink. Beth had liked Jacques Marin and his wife. Susie was only about eight years older than she was, and although Jacques was in his forties, he was still youthfully attractive. Beth met their American governess too, Diane Fawcett, but Diane it turned out was a friend of Barbara's, and therefore showed a certain amount of hostility towards the other girl.

  'We must give a dinner party,' Willard announced one morning, while they were drinking coffee on the patio. 'Would you like that?'

  Beth, who had been examining her steadily-tanning legs with some satisfaction, looked across at him doubtfully. 'Do you think we should?' she queried. 'Don't you think we should wait just a little longer?' 'Until I'm stronger, you mean?' Willard asked. 'I'm getting stronger every day, and I can't see that a dinner party is going to tire me excessively. I was only saying to Raoul yesterday—'

  He broke off abruptly, and Beth stared at him. 'You— saw Rao—Mr Valerian yesterday?'

  . 'In the afternoon,' agreed Willard carelessly. 'He came to see me. I was resting, but I wasn't asleep.'

  Beth looked down at the cuffs of her green shorts. 'I don't think he should come here while you're supposed to be resting,' she said stiffly, wondering apprehensively if her name had been mentioned in their discussions, and Willard shifted restlessly.

  Her eyes went swiftly to him, half expecting censure, but it was he who looked discomfited. 'If you must know, I sent for him,' he declared, adding defensively: 'I had to speak to him. I feel so—out of touch. I should have been down to the office before this.'

  Beth breathed a little more easily, but she couldn't help feeling annoyed that Willard had chosen to speak to Raoul behind her back, as it were.

  'You know Dr Isherwood told you that you should

  have at least three months' complete rest—' she was

  beginning, when he interrupted her.

  'Isherwood doesn't have a plantation to run!'

  'It seems to me that—that Mr Valerian has run it quite satisfactorily while you've been away.'

  'That's just the point,' exclaimed Willard impatiently. 'He has. If I'm not careful I won't have a job to go back to!'

  'Oh, Willard!' She stared at him. 'It's your plantation, isn't it? Nothing can alter that.'

  'It's my island,' he grunted broodingly, and she spread her hands.

  'There you are, then!'

  Willard frowned. 'You've heard of. possession being nine tenths of the law, haven't you?'

  Beth shook her head. 'What are you saying? That— that this Valerian man could create a workers' co-operative, or something?'

  Willard snorted, 'Let him try!'

  'Oh, Willard ...'

  He looked half shamefaced. 'Oh, I'm not saying that he would. He's a damn good overseer. But the men do respect him.'

  'I expect they respect you, too!'

  'What! An old wreck like me?'

  'You're not an old wreck...'

  'Well, just let him try anything, that's what I say,' muttered Willard dourly. 'I own this place. I'd sell it before I'd let him take over!'

&nbs
p; 'What? Bored already, Miss Rivers?'

  Barbara's cool hostile tones broke into their conversation. The other girl had apparently been riding, for she was wearing elegantly-cut jodhpurs and a cream silk shirt, a riding crop flicking carelessly at her boot. She walked out of the house with all the arrogance of possession and Beth looked at her uncomprehendiugly.

  'Bored?' she echoed. 'No, I'm not bored.'

  'You shouldn't eavesdrop on other people's conversations, Barbara,' Willard remarked grimly. 'Where have you been? Don't you think it's about time you dropped this charade of antagonism and made an effort to get to know your new stepmother?'

  'She's not my stepmother yet,' declared Barbara contemptuously. 'And even if you marry her, Papa, which I doubt, I'll still never acknowledge a girl younger than I am as my stepmother.'

  Willard lay back in his chair wearily. 'Really, Barbara, this is particularly childish!'

  'Well, I am your child, aren't I? Or had you forgotten that?'

  'I will not have you insult my fiancee, Barbara! If necessary, I shall have another house built on the island, or off it if you prefer, and you can take your resentments and your aggressions there!'

  Barbara's bubble of self-confidence exploded. 'You wouldn't do that!' she cried.

  'Wouldn't I? Don't try me too far.'

  Barbara cast a purely malevolent look in Beth's direction. 'You can't expect me to be—friends with her!'

  'Why not? You're much of an age. I'm sure Beth gets bored here, as you so kindly pointed out. I should like you to entertain her—'

  'Oh, please...' Beth broke in now. 'I don't need entertaining ...'

  'You ride, don't you?' Willard looked at her now, and reluctantly she nodded.

  'I used to. When I was a child.' She frowned. 'But are there horses here?'

  'Papa banished them to the stables at the plantation when he had a bad fall,' put in Barbara spitefully. 'Didn't you, Papa?'

  'There was no one to care for them here,' retorted Willard shortly. He looked at Beth. 'You've seen how it is. Servants are not easy to come by.'

  'I'd really rather you didn't force Barbara to look after me,' Beth insisted, but Willard was adamant.

  'Tomorrow,' he said, looking pointedly at his daughter. 'Do you agree?'

  'Does—Miss Rivers have some riding gear?' Barbara enquired shortly. 'Because I doubt that anything I have would fit her.'

  It was a subtle insult, but Willard ignored it. 'Beth has trousers. She's not joining the hunt, Barbara, only going hacking with you.'

  Beth bent her head. This was awful. How could she go with someone who obviously disliked her as much as Barbara? But neither of them were being given any choice in the matter, and she wondered desperately whether she could develop an attack of migraine by the following morning.

  That afternoon she couldn't rest. While Willard slept, she had taken to reading on her bed in an effort to shut out the inviting sounds of the ocean pounding on the distant reef, but after the confrontation with Barbara that morning, she found it impossible to-concentrate on anything so mundane as an historical novel. Willard's suggestion of having a dinner party was something else she had to consider, and it brought home to her the difficulties she was eventually going to have to face when she became mistress here. Just now, Barbara organised the household, chose the menus, directed the housekeeping. Already Beth itched to set about cleaning out some of the rooms which had never been touched for years and years, and while she appreciated they could not continually be used, a yearly turn-out was surely in order. Even the rooms they did use were not cleaned as well as Beth would have liked, but Barbara paid little attention to her surroundings except to feel herself an integral part of them.

  Sliding off her bed, Beth went to the windows, unable to resist the insistent call of the ocean. She had brought several bathing suits with her, but so far they had only been used for sunbathing on her balcony. At home in England and at holiday resorts, she had seen girls wearing bikini bras as suntops, with perhaps a skirt or shorts hiding the briefs. She could do that, put on her bikini and a denim skirt, and go down to the beach. There was no one about, and she knew that Barbara would not seek her company without being compelled to do so. She wondered if Barbara ever swam. She had never seen her. But then Barbara spent most of her time elsewhere.

  Stripping off her bra and pants, she put on the brown bikini with the gold-fringed beading which she had bought in a store in Oxford Street. The colour complemented the tan of her skin, but unfortunately her midriff was still only lightly brown. She would have to wear the bra instead of the cotton vests she invariably dressed in, she decided, although she didn't really know if Willard would approve.

  Outside the sun was hot, and as she had brought sun- glasses with her, she pushed them on to her nose. Then she quickly crossed the lawns to the shielding belt of trees, half afraid someone would see her, and ran down the slope to the beach.

  Freedom! She sighed, glancing back half guiltily at the upper floors of the house, visible above the trees. Well, she justified herself, she had been here almost ten days. Surely she was entitled to feel the water.

  But a feeling of wilfully violating Willard's trust in her persisted, and she found herself straying further along the beach, out of sight of the windows.

  She dropped her shoes on the sand, and walked down to the water's edge. She would just paddle, she told herself firmly. She would just let the water come up to her ankles, and splash about a bit.

  The water was incredibly warm after the first initial coolness, and with the sun beating down on her bare shoulders, she longed to submerge herself completely in its depths. Where was the harm? she asked herself impatiently, and she had no answer to give. Her skirt and dark glasses joined her shoes on the dry sand, and then, with a feeling of guilt out of all proportion to the offence, she plunged bodily into the waves.

  It was marvellous. She had never swum in such buoyant water. Only the gentlest of arm movements was needed to keep her afloat, and she swam overarm for some distance, finding a sensuous enjoyment in the feel of the water against her heated skin. She turned on to her back and floated, the sky an incredible bowl of blue overhead, and then turned back to the shore, her eyes dazzled by the translucent quality of the light.

  km

  Then, out of the corner of her eye, she saw it, the black object, moving fin-like through the water. She had never seen a shark before, but she knew enough about their habits to know that the shallowness of the water would not deter him. She must not panic, she thought, summoning all her nursing training, but her heart was pounding like a hammer, and somehow her brain was telling her one thing while her stomach was telling her another. The shore was not far away, she could swim it easily, but her strokes were not so measured now, and she hardly seemed to be moving despite the effort she was making. A sob rose in her throat as the sinuously moving black body drew nearer, and her horror-stricken face was turned towards it as its head surfaced.

  Beth's relief was so great that she stopped swimming altogether and sank immediately below the waves. Water filled her open mouth and nose, stung in her eyes and brought her spluttering to the surface. She threshed about wildly for a moment, and then a firm hand was beneath her breasts, holding her against the slippery wetness of rubber, and powerful legs were kicking them unerringly in to the shore.

  As she coughed and spat and rubbed impatiently at her eyes, Beth's gratitude at being saved from drowning turned to angry irritation. She stumbled up the beach after he had released her, pushing the soaking coil of hair back from her face, and became uncomfortably aware that her legs were trembling like jelly.

  Raoul Valerian, for it would have to be him, she thought angrily, pulled off the goggles and mouthpiece and cylinders of oxygen he had been wearing, and dropping them on the sand, came up the beach behind her. He unzipped the neck of his wet-suit and tugged off the hood, then dropped down beside her where she had flopped weakly on the sand.

  'Did I frighten you?' he asked, with
out looking in the least apologetic, and Betlr didn't deign to answer him. She was more aware of the fact that she had come down here without even a towel to cover herself with, and unlike him she had no intention of wetting her skirt. The problem of how to get back into the house again unseen would have to wait, and she fumbled for her sunglasses, needing their shield between herself and Raoul's probing appraisal.

  He studied her averted head for a few moments, and then he said quietly: 'I could have been a shark, you know. They have been known to get into the lagoon.'

  Beth gave him a sideways glance. 'And you didn't know you were scaring me half to death?' she demanded scornfully.

  He shrugged and looked out to sea. 'Of course I knew. But what the hell could I do about it?' He turned to look at her again. 'Once you'd seen me, would you have felt any safer if I'd disappeared?'

  Beth pursed her lips. 'I doubt if you worked that out out there.'

  A mocking smile twisted his lips and with a half laugh, he stretched his length beside her, tugging the zip down to his waist to expose the expanse of his chest. 'Okay,' he agreed without attempting to deny it. 'So I'm an ignorant so-and-so! But you'd already decided that, hadn't you?'

  Beth looked down at him indignantly. 'I didn't say so.'

  'No?' The curious green eyes were shaded by the thick black lashes as he fixed her with a narrow stare. 'What would you say, then? You seemed in a terrible hurry to get away from me the last time we met.'

  'You were rude!' she declared shortly, drawing up her legs and wrapping her arms about them.

  'Don't you mean crude}' he suggested, rolling on to his side and propping himself up on one elbow. Then, when she didn't answer, he added: 'Didn't your fiance warn you about swimming in the lagoon?'

  The last thing Beth wanted was to be reminded of Willard just at that moment. She was already flaying herself with the knowledge that she was forced to remain here until her bikini dried sufficiently to put on her skirt. Hut in any case the weakness in her legs prevented her from making a dignified exit.