Mills & Boon is proud to present a fabulous

collection of fantastic novels by

bestselling, much loved author

ANNE MATHER

Anne has a stellar record of achievement within the

publishing industry, having written over one hundred

and sixty books, with worldwide sales of more than

forty-eight MILLION copies in multiple languages.

This amazing collection of classic stories offers a chance

for readers to recapture the pleasure Anne’s powerful,

passionate writing has given.

We are sure you will love them all!

I’ve always wanted to write—which is not to say I’ve always wanted to be a professional writer. On the contrary, for years I only wrote for my own pleasure and it wasn’t until my husband suggested sending one of my stories to a publisher that we put several publishers’ names into a hat and pulled one out. The rest, as they say, is history. And now, one hundred and sixty-two books later, I’m literally—excuse the pun— staggered by what’s happened.

I had written all through my infant and junior years and on into my teens, the stories changing from children’s adventures to torrid gypsy passions. My mother used to gather these manuscripts up from time to time, when my bedroom became too untidy, and dispose of them! In those days, I used not to finish any of the stories and Caroline, my first published novel, was the first I’d ever completed. I was newly married then and my daughter was just a baby, and it was quite a job juggling my household chores and scribbling away in exercise books every chance I got. Not very professional, as you can imagine, but that’s the way it was.

These days, I have a bit more time to devote to my work, but that first love of writing has never changed. I can’t imagine not having a current book on the typewriter—yes, it’s my husband who transcribes everything on to the computer. He’s my partner in both life and work and I depend on his good sense more than I care to admit.

We have two grown-up children, a son and a daughter, and two almost grown-up grandchildren, Abi and Ben. My e-mail address is mystic-am@msn.com and I’d be happy to hear from any of my wonderful readers.

A Distant Sound of Thunder
Anne Mather

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Table of Contents

Cover

About the Author

Title Page

PART ONE

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

PART TWO

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

Copyright

PART ONE

CHAPTER ONE

THE velvet dusk of evening was spreading its cloak over the island, stilling the chattering minah birds and dimming the brilliance of the exotic frangipani and flame trees. A welcome, cooling breeze sprang up as the sun sank below the tangled web of the jungle behind the villa, pushing probing fingers against Rebecca’s hot forehead as she emerged from her patient’s room and closed the door thankfully. The humidity throughout the long day had been exhausting and not even the air-conditioning could cope entirely with the damp heat. Rebecca ran a weary hand through the thick silky fairness of the curls on her brow and longed for the luxury of the shower she would soon be taking. Adele had been particularly trying today, but she was asleep now and for a few hours her time was her own.

As she passed along the terrazzo tiling of the hall she glanced automatically towards the wide windows which in daylight gave a magnificent view of the lush green grass which was all that separated the villa from the palm-fringed reaches of the beach. Beyond the stretch of silvery coral sand surged the brilliant waters of the Pacific and Rebecca never tired of marvelling at the natural beauty of her surroundings. It was worth the humidity, the persistent hum of insects, the sometimes nauseating aroma of drying copra, and even Adele’s often cruel contentiousness.

Now she made her way to her room and stripping off her uniform and underclothing she went into the adjoining bathroom. The chill of the water took her breath away as she twisted and turned beneath the shower and she gasped pleasurably. She was vigorously towelling herself dry when the doorbell chimed.

At once she stopped what she was doing and frowned. What an annoying thing to have happened! It was the servants’ night off and she was alone in the villa, apart from the sleeping Adele, of course, and she would not remain sleeping long if whoever it was who was calling persisted in ringing the bell. She sighed exasperatedly. Perhaps they would see no lights and go away. She hoped so. She couldn’t imagine who it might be. Adele had few friends and it was not a night that the doctor usually called.

The bell rang again, and Rebecca pressed her lips together in annoyance. She would have to answer the door. There was nothing else for it. Thrusting the towel aside, she reached for her housecoat, a silky garment in rather an attractive shade of apricot. Her hair was a tangled mass of curls, and she had no time to comb it now. Smoothing it with a careless hand, she left the bathroom and walked impatiently along the corridor to the front door. In daylight a mesh screen was all that covered the entrance, but tonight the doors were closed and secured and she was loath to open them to admit … who?

She slid back the bolt, turned the key and opened the door a few inches. In the faint light emanating from the hall she could see a tall man waiting outside and for a moment her heart flipped a beat.

‘Yes?’ she murmured tentatively, but to her surprise the man stepped forward, gently but firmly propelling the door back so that he could step into the hall. ‘Just a moment—–’ began Rebecca indignantly, and the man inclined his head with frowning speculation.

‘Your pardon, mademoiselle,’ he exclaimed, his accent unmistakably French. ‘For the moment I mistook you for Adele’s maidservant. My apologies for startling you.’

Rebecca was trying to control the hot flush that was running up her body and engulfing her at the realisation that she was wearing only the clinging apricot gown and this man was standing, regarding her indolently with dark eyes which were nevertheless intense. He was one of the most attractive men Rebecca had ever seen, but this knowledge only added to her confusion.

‘Miss—Miss St. Cloud has retired for the night,’ she informed him uncomfortably. ‘I—I am her nurse.’

The man glanced round the wide hall with inscrutable eyes and then returned his gaze to Rebecca. ‘Ah, so. I should have realised perhaps, but my plane was delayed …’ He lifted his shoulders in a careless gesture. ‘No matter, I will not disturb her now. Will you tell her in the morning that I called?’

Rebecca swallowed hard. ‘Who—who shall I say has called, monsieur?’

The man raised his dark eyebrows for a moment, and then shrugged. ‘Just tell her it was St. Clair, mademoiselle. She will know who that is.’ He studied her flushed cheeks with faint amusement. ‘And you, mademoiselle? Do you have a name?’

‘Er—Lindsay—Nurse Lindsay,’ replied Rebecca jerkily.

He regarded her intently for a moment. ‘Nurse Lindsay,’ he repeated slowly. ‘You have been with Adele long?’

‘Two—two years, monsieur,’ responded Rebecca reluctantly, wishing he would go.

He frowned again. ‘Two years. A long time, mademoiselle. I should imagine my sister-in-law is not the most understanding of patients. And working here—in Fiji—do you not find it lonely? Or have you friends?’

Rebecca objected to this intent questioning, but as she had no idea what his involvement with Adele might be she could hardly be rude to him. ‘I—I am quite happy, thank you, monsieur.’

His dark eyes narrowed with mockery. ‘So formal, mademoiselle. I am embarrassing you, I can see it. I am sorry. You must put my curiosity down to a mere male’s insensitivity. I must apologise again.’

‘That’s not necessary, monsieur.’ Rebecca shivered involuntarily.

At once he was contrite. ‘You are cold, mademoiselle. I will go and contain my curiosity until another day. Au revoir.’

Rebecca’s cheeks burned. She could have said she was far from cold. She could have said that the shiver she had experienced was stimulated by entirely different sensations. But she said nothing, and with a faint smile he stepped outside again.

Rebecca waited until he had taken several steps and then she closed the door behind him, thrusting home the bolt with trembling fingers and leaning back against the cool panels. As she pressed herself against the wood she heard the sound of a powerful engine roar to life, and a few moments later the sound died away along the private track that led to the main road. Only then did she allow herself to relax completely, but the legs on which she walked back to her bedroom were uncomfortably unsteady …

Adele St. Cloud was a woman in her late thirties who looked years older. Born with a heart complaint that had crippled her life and to some extent her mind, she had left England more than ten years ago to make her home in the warmer climate of the south Pacific, taking with her an elderly servant who had served her as both nanny and nurse. Adele’s family were wealthy cloth manufacturers of French descent, living in Somerset, but apart from accepting an allowance as her due she had never got on with them. Maybe her congenital weakness was to blame, or maybe she was just naturally averse to her sisters, in any event when her only remaining parent died she lost no time in making a new life for herself in Fiji. Unfortunately her elderly nurse died some eight years later and in consequence Adele had to advertise for a replacement. And that was how Rebecca came to apply. Looking back on it now, Rebecca wondered whether she would ever have had the courage to travel so far alone if she herself had not wanted to escape from an unhappy situation.

The morning following the visit of the stranger, Rebecca was very thoughtful as she went for her early morning swim. This was the time of day she liked best when she could cast herself into the creaming waters of the lagoon and pretend the day ahead of her would not be filled with the constant demands of a fractious, unhappy woman.

As usual the water was still warm from the heat of the previous day but refreshing at this early hour. Rebecca shed her towelling jacket and ran into the water. In a white bikini, her skin tanned an even brown, she looked young and healthy, and she knew she had a lot to be thankful for. She swam strongly out to where the water deepened to dappled green and turning on to her back floated for a while, her hair spread like seaweed around her. Her eyes surveyed the shoreline, the darkness of the palms casting patches of shade in an oasis of gold. This was her particular sanctuary, for no one ever came here. The beach belonged to the villa, and as Adele never used it Rebecca had come to regard it as her own. The only sounds were the cries of the seabirds wheeling overhead and the distant thunder of the breakers over the coral reef.

When she returned to the villa she felt completely relaxed and ready to face the day and after breakfasting in the kitchen with Rosa, the Fijian housekeeper, she collected Adele’s tray and went to wake her.

Adele was already awake when Rebecca went into her room. Lounging back against the silk-covered pillows she looked pale and languid. Her naturally fair colouring was given an artificial brittleness by the coarse brilliance of her hair which she persisted in bleaching and without make-up her skin was unhealthily white. Rebecca, seeing her like this, could not help but feel pity for her even though she knew that Adele would not appreciate such sentiments.

‘Good morning, Miss St. Cloud,’ Rebecca said now, crossing cheerfully to the bed and placing the tray across Adele’s knees. ‘Did you have a good night?’

Adele sniffed, regarding her nurse contemptuously. ‘No, I slept badly,’ she said, lifting the lid of the coffee pot and peering inside. ‘Those new tablets Dr. Manson gave me are not as good as the others. It took me hours to get to sleep and then I tossed and turned—–’

‘You tossed and turned for hours?’ Rebecca frowned rather resignedly. ‘You surprise me, Miss St. Cloud. I thought you must have gone straight to sleep. After all, you didn’t hear the bell, did you?’

‘Bell? What bell? The telephone bell?’

Rebecca shook her head. ‘The door bell.’

Adele’s brows drew together. ‘We had a visitor last evening?’

‘Yes. Just after you had gone to—bed.’

Adele snapped her fingers. ‘Stop baiting me, miss! If I didn’t hear the door bell it must have been because I happened to be dozing at the moment it rang. Go on! Go on! Who was the caller? Dr. Manson? Or old Blackwell?’

‘No, it wasn’t the doctor, or Mr. Blackwell,’ replied Rebecca, tempted to tease her employer for just a few moments longer. But then she capitulated, and said: ‘It was a man. His name was Monsieur St. Clair. Does that mean anything to you?’

‘Piers St. Clair?’

‘He didn’t tell me his Christian name, Miss St. Cloud,’ replied Rebecca, suddenly aware of the similarity between the two surnames.

Adele sighed, shaking her head. ‘It will be Piers,’ she said, with definition. ‘I know his business takes him all over the world. It is not beyond the realms of possibility that he has business here in Suva.’ Her gaze grew speculative. ‘Why didn’t you let me know he was here?’

Rebecca sighed. ‘You know Dr. Manson’s instructions are very explicit. You must not be disturbed—–’

‘Rubbish! How dare you send away a friend when he takes the trouble to come out here to see me!’

Rebecca bit her lip. ‘I didn’t exactly send him away, Miss St. Cloud. He went of his own accord. He realised it was an inconvenient hour—–’

Adele moved impatiently, almost upsetting her breakfast tray in the process. ‘Did he say he would come back?’

‘Yes,’ Rebecca nodded. ‘At least—I assumed—–’ She halted abruptly, remembering certain parts of that encounter. ‘I’m—I’m sure he will come back.’

Adele’s face was contorted with anger. ‘Stupid girl! Can’t you do anything right? Haven’t you the sense to realise when a visitor might be admitted and when he might not? Surely it crossed your limited intelligence that Piers St. Clair was no ordinary visitor!’

Rebecca suffered Adele’s rage in silence. Apart from the fact that to argue with her would stimulate her still further, she knew that to do so was useless. It was far better to allow her employer to rid herself of the pent-up emotions which seemed to develop so quickly these days, and afterwards go on as though nothing had happened.

Adele finally lay back on her pillows, spent, and Rebecca came forward and poured her a cup of coffee without saying a word. Adele raised the cup to her lips and after swallowing several mouthsful, she said in quite a different tone: ‘What did you think of him anyway, Rebecca?’

Rebecca straightened, and sighed. She had half-hoped the subject of Piers St. Clair might be put aside for the time being. But knowing Adele she guessed she intended to make the most of the incident.

‘He—he seemed very nice,’ she responded rather inadequately. ‘Would you like me to butter you a roll? Would you like some of this mandarin jelly?’

Adele’s eyes flickered upward, and she studied her nurse’s face rather mockingly. ‘He’s a very rich man, Rebecca. He owns several construction companies in France and Spain.’

‘Indeed!’ Rebecca smiled with what she hoped was a politely interested manner. ‘Are you going to get up this morning? Shall I run your bath?’

Adele uttered an exclamation. ‘For heaven’s sake, Rebecca, stop behaving like an automaton! I asked you what you think of St. Clair. Surely you have some opinion!’

‘I don’t know him well enough to form any opinion, Miss St. Cloud.’ Rebecca folded her hands with resignation.

‘Oh, come now, Rebecca. Surely he has not changed so much over the years. He always was a handsome devil!’

‘The relative attractiveness of your visitors is nothing to do with me, Miss St. Cloud,’ answered Rebecca, rather shortly. ‘Is there anything else you want at the moment, Miss St. Cloud—–’

Adele put down her coffee cup with a clatter. ‘You’re deliberately misunderstanding me, miss! I just thought we might have a friendly chat about a man whom I once knew rather well …’ Her voice trailed away and there was a rather absent look on her face now. Then she seemed to realise she was being a little too confiding, for she thrust the tray aside, and said: ‘Of course I’m getting up this morning. I must look my best. St. Clair will call again. I’m sure of it!’

Later in the morning, Rebecca was wheeling Adele about the spacious garden of the villa when they heard the sound of a car’s engine. Adele looked up at her nurse, and her eyes brightened considerably. ‘That is St. Clair,’ she said. ‘Come! Wheel me round to the drive. Quickly!’

Straightening her shoulders, Rebecca complied, glancing down at her uniform to make sure it was smooth and uncreased. She wore a simple navy blue uniform dress, omitting the white cap and apron on Adele’s instructions. Her employer did not like to be continually reminded that she was an invalid.

A dark blue convertible stood on the drive, and even as they approached a man slid out from behind the driving wheel and looked swiftly up at the windows of the villa. Then, glancing round, he saw them, and began to walk towards them. In close-fitting beige slacks and a dark brown knitted shirt, open at the throat to reveal the brown column of his throat, Piers St. Clair was every bit as arrogantly attractive as Rebecca remembered, and she was annoyed to feel her pulse quicken. He was, after all, not the first attractive man she had known.

Adele’s manner became animated as they neared him, and holding out both hands she exclaimed: ‘Piers! Piers St. Clair! What in heaven’s name brings you to Fiji?’

Piers St. Clair grasped her thin hands within his two strong ones and the smile he gave her was warm and enveloping. ‘It is obvious you do not consider yourself a sufficient reason, Adele,’ he murmured, his accent giving his voice a husky tenor. His eyes flickered for a moment over the slim figure who stood just behind her chair. ‘Did your efficient Nurse Lindsay tell you that I called last evening?’

Adele nodded. ‘Of course she did. I was most annoyed that she had not bothered to tell me sooner. The doctors are fools. To be awakened one evening—such a special evening—would not have harmed me.’

Piers straightened, releasing her hands. ‘Chérie, doctors must be obeyed or there is no point in consulting them, you would agree, Nurse Lindsay?’ He looked fully at Rebecca.

‘Of course.’ Rebecca’s fingers tightened on the handle of the wheelchair.

Adele glanced round at her impatiently. ‘You would say that, naturally,’ she said shortly. Then she looked back at Piers. ‘Seriously, why are you in Fiji? Is—is everything all right at home?’

Piers lifted his shoulders in an eloquent gesture. ‘As right as it will ever be,’ he remarked enigmatically. Then he glanced with interest round the expanse of gardens, colourful now in the blaze of the sun. ‘You have a beautiful home here, Adele. I have long been curious about it.’ He thrust his hands into his trousers’ pockets. ‘As to what brought me here—there are plans to open up a stretch of coastline in the Yasawas. A community project, with hotels, etc. I am here to take what you would call—a survey, oui?’

‘Ah!’ Adele nodded. ‘Are you here for long?’

‘Two weeks, three maybe. I am staying in Suva at the moment, but I intend to move to Lautoka when my talks with government officials are concluded.’

Adele gestured towards the villa. ‘Come! We will go into the house. Rose will provide us with some coffee. You’ll stay to lunch, of course.’

Piers glanced once more at Rebecca, but she did not meet his eyes, and dropping his gaze to Adele, he said: ‘I should like that very much.’

As they moved towards the villa, he gently but firmly took the handle of the chair from Rebecca, propelling Adele himself, and she glanced round at him warmly. Rebecca had, perforce, to walk by his side, and looking at her again he said: ‘It is a beautiful morning, is it not, mademoiselle?’

Rebecca managed a faint smile. ‘Beautiful,’ she agreed. ‘But then most mornings are beautiful in Fiji.’

He inclined his head in agreement and went on: ‘Even so. But it puzzles me that a girl like yourself should be content with a position of this kind. My apologies to you, Adele, but you must admit it is usually older women who take up private nursing, is it not?’

Rebecca saw Adele’s impatience rise in a flood of colour up her cheeks. ‘For heaven’s sake, Piers!’ she exclaimed. ‘Don’t say that! You’ll make Rebecca discontented. I can assure you she is more than adequately reimbursed for her services!’

Rebecca flushed now, with embarrassment, but Piers St. Clair merely regarded her rather mockingly. ‘I am sure Nurse Lindsay would not be impressed by anything I said,’ he commented softly. ‘She strikes me as being a very self-contained young woman.’

Adele’s temper subsided, and she glanced at Rebecca with mocking amusement. ‘And you would know, of course, Piers,’ she said, making Rebecca feel worse than ever. She was relieved when they reached the slope leading into the villa which Adele had had installed to give her wheelchair easy access to the house.

In the hall, Rebecca halted uncertainly, and Adele said: ‘Ask Rosa to bring coffee to the lounge. You can tell her we have a guest for lunch, too.’

‘Yes, Miss St. Cloud.’ Rebecca was willing and eager to escape, not only from Adele’s mockery, but from the speculative amusement in Piers St. Clair’s eyes.

For the rest of the morning she busied herself with attending to writing up her daily report and checking the contents of the medicine cupboard in Adele’s bathroom. Then she tidied her room, washed a few of her personal items, and washed and added a touch of lipstick ready for lunch. As she brushed her hair into a smooth chignon on the nape of her neck, she wondered with dismay whether she would be expected to eat with her employer and her guest today. In the normal way, Adele was glad of her company, but perhaps today she would be dismissed. She hoped so; she had no liking for becoming a whipping boy for Adele’s complaints and her twisted sense of humour. She sat for a long moment staring at the contours of her face with critical evaluation. She was long accustomed to her features, and while she knew they presented a pleasing aspect, she had never felt any sense of complacency in the realisation. As for her hair, it would have been much easier to manage in a short style, but she was loath to have it cut. To do so would bring back too many memories of the days when she had lived with her ageing grandmother, who, while caring for her adequately, had nevertheless missed out on affection, and to save time and trouble had kept Rebecca’s hair in a kind of urchin style until she was old enough to look after it herself. Those were days Rebecca had little desire to recall, days when the hapless situation her mother had found herself in seemed to be branded upon her daughter, days when her grandmother had lost no opportunity to tell her how fortunate she was not to have been abandoned in some children’s home. And yet now, from the maturity of years, Rebecca could see that such a predicament might have been less tortuous in the long run.

Thrusting these thoughts aside, she rose from her dressing-table stool and crossed the bedroom to the door. Down the hall, the lounge door stood wide and she was forced to look inside to find her employer. Adele was seated in an armchair now, sipping a glass of iced cordial, while Piers St. Clair stood before the broad stone hearth, one hand resting on the mantel as he drank from a glass containing an amber-coloured liquid which Rebecca assumed was whisky. Adele looked across at her as she hovered uncertainly by the door, and said:

‘Come in, come in, girl. Is lunch ready yet?’

Rebecca compressed her lips. ‘I—I don’t know. I—I just wanted to see if you had everything you needed. As you have Monsieur St. Clair here for lunch today, I’ll—I’ll eat in my room.’

Adele frowned. ‘Very well, Rebecca. You may tell Rosa we are ready when she is—–’

‘Oh, but surely Nurse Lindsay is welcome to eat with us if that is her normal practice,’ exclaimed Piers St. Clair, at once. He looked at Adele. ‘Our conversation is not confidential. I think we have had plenty of time for confidences, do not you, chérie?’

Adele raised her eyebrows. ‘Rebecca can make up her own mind,’ she said, with a shrug. ‘We usually are alone. This situation does not normally occur.’

‘I gathered that. That is why …’ He spread his hands in a continental gesture.

Rebecca managed to remain calm. ‘Thank you all the same, Miss St. Cloud, but I shall be quite happy to eat in my room.’

Adele’s expression altered and she looked at Rebecca rather curiously, sensing that her nurse did not want to join them for lunch. In consequence, she chose to be difficult, and Rebecca, watching the changing features, felt a sense of dismay. She should have known better than to express any preference. She knew of old Adele’s delight in thwarting her.

‘Why don’t you want to join us for lunch, Rebecca? she enquired challengingly. ‘I gather you don’t, do you?’

Rebecca sighed. ‘My reasons are quite simple, Miss St. Cloud. I naturally assumed you and your—your guest—would prefer to be alone.’

Adele studied her lacquered fingernails. ‘Now why should you imagine that, Rebecca? Do you suppose that Piers and I cherish some long-lost affection for one another? Do you think perhaps we were once lovers?’

Rebecca’s cheeks burned. ‘I—I’ll go and tell Rosa you are ready, Miss St. Cloud.’ She would not argue with her.

Adele chewed her lower lip impatiently. ‘Why do you persist in disregarding my questions, Rebecca?’ she exclaimed. ‘Am I a child to be humoured but never debated with?’

Rebecca heaved a sigh. She cast a fleeting glance in Piers St. Clair’s direction but looked away from the mockery in his gaze. Obviously he could not—or would not—help her.

‘I think it would be as well if I got on with my work, Miss St. Cloud,’ she said at last. ‘I’m sorry if you feel I am being deliberately obtuse, but it is not part of my duties to share my—my breaks—with you.’

‘You impudent little chit!’ Adele stared at her incredulously. Rebecca had never answered her back in this manner before.

‘Now, Adele,’ murmured Piers St. Clair quietly. ‘Perhaps Nurse Lindsay is right. Perhaps she does not have to spend all her time with us—with you! She has feelings, too, you know, and I think you have teased her long enough, oui?’

Rebecca stared at him now. Although she hated to admit it, his intervention was welcome, and his deliberate use of the verb to tease reduced it all to a playful confrontation and gave Adele the chance to get out of the situation without loss of face. In consequence, after a moment’s soul-searching, Adele accepted his directions, and said reluctantly:

‘Yes, that’s all right, Rebecca. You can go.’

With relief, Rebecca left the room, and after informing Rosa that her employer and her guest were ready for their meal, carried a solitary tray to her room.

When the meal was over, another problem presented itself. Adele usually slept for an hour after lunch, but how was Rebecca to arrange such a thing today? She wondered whether she should simply forget her instructions, but somehow her code of training was too strong, and therefore it was with an immense sense of relief that she heard, a few moments later, the sound of a car’s engine being started. She rushed to the window and looked out. Her room was on the side of the house, but by opening her window she could look out and see the further length of the drive. She was in time to see the blue convertible approach the gates and after slowing, accelerate into the road beyond.

She heaved a sigh, resting her elbows on the window ledge. So he had gone. And now she could go and settle Adele down for her sleep without complications.

But that was easier said than done. Adele was emotionally and physically stimulated by her visitor, and was in no mood to be amenable with Rebecca.

‘How—how dare you speak to me like that in front of a guest!’ she stormed, as soon as Rebecca appeared to take her for her rest. ‘Don’t imagine because Piers chose to champion you that I have forgotten it! A chit like you who doesn’t even know who her own father was!’

Rebecca controlled the angry retort that sprang to her lips. Once, in a moment of compassion for Adele, she had confided the circumstances of her birth to her employer and she had regretted it ever since. ‘My father was killed on his way to the church to marry my mother!’ she said, through taut lips. ‘I wish you would not speak to me about it again!’

‘I’ll bet you do!’ jeered Adele unkindly. ‘If your parents were such paragons of virtue, how did you come to be here?’

Rebecca flushed hotly. ‘They were young—and in love! I couldn’t expect you to understand that!’ She turned away abruptly, unable to prevent the lump that filled her throat when she thought of the agony her mother had suffered. Her grandmother had never understood either, and had taken every opportunity to deride her for it. The train crash which had robbed her mother of her life must have seemed a blessed release.

Adele seemed to sense that she had said enough, for almost conversationally now, she said: ‘It was quite nice, wasn’t it? Having a man dine with us? There’s the doctor, and old Blackwell, of course, but they’re not the same, are they?’ Andrew Blackwell was the local churchman, and although Adele was not particularly religious and grumbled about him continually, she was often glad of his company.

Rebecca composed herself and turned to help Adele into her wheelchair. Adele looked at her critically before saying: ‘Seriously, why didn’t you want to have lunch with us?’ She frowned. ‘You couldn’t have thought we wanted to be alone. Piers wouldn’t be interested in an old hag like me!’

‘You’re neither old, nor a hag,’ responded Rebecca quietly. ‘Don’t be silly.’

Adele sighed. ‘Once Piers and I knew each other very well. When I was younger and not paralysed as I am now. I used to be able to do a lot of things.’

‘You’re not paralysed now, Miss St. Cloud,’ Rebecca contradicted her gently.

‘Not actually, perhaps. But in every way that matters, I am. Tied to a wheelchair, unable to walk, or dance, or swim!’ Her face twisted bitterly, and Rebecca felt distressed. It was at times like this when she felt an immense sense of compassion for Adele.

‘Now then,’ she said, smiling a little. ‘You’re not tied to the villa. We have the car. We could drive to Navua tomorrow if you like. Dr. Manson says the trip up river from there is quite beautiful. Forests and waterfalls—and it would be refreshing on the water.’

Adele turned to her impatiently. ‘I don’t want to go on a river trip,’ she snapped. ‘Don’t humour me, Rebecca. I don’t want that. Just because you’re young and healthy, don’t try to fool me! I’m useless! A wreck of a woman, not even fit to be called a woman.’

‘That’s nonsense!’

‘What is nonsense?’ Adele clenched her fists. ‘Do you think I don’t notice the way men look at you? The way Dr. Manson looks at you. The way Piers looked at you!’

Rebecca’s cheeks were scarlet. ‘Please, Miss St. Cloud—–’ she began.

‘Why? Why shouldn’t I say it? It’s true, isn’t it?’ Adele’s eyes narrowed. ‘And you can’t fool me about that, either, Rebecca! Piers was the reason you didn’t want to lunch with me. Piers! I wonder why? What did he say to you last evening to cause you such anxiety?’

Rebecca began to wheel the chair into the corridor and from there to Adele’s room, but Adele was not finished yet. Twisting in her seat, she watched her nurse’s mobile face, and her own grew contemptuous. Turning round again, she went silent, and Rebecca was relieved. But as they reached Adele’s bedroom, Adele spoke again, this time in an entirely different voice.

‘Tell me, Rebecca, now you’ve had the chance to speak to him again, what do you think of Piers?’

Rebecca bit her lip. What did Adele want of her now? Searching for a suitable reply, she said: ‘He seems—quite nice.’ She helped Adele on to the bed and began to loosen the buttons of her dress. ‘Have you known him long?’

‘Most of my life,’ answered Adele, sliding her arms out of the dress. ‘‘His family and mine were always very close.’

‘I see.’ Rebecca bent to unfasten Adele’s shoes and Adele’s eyes narrowed.

‘At one time—it was thought that he and I—might marry,’ she said.

Rebecca looked up, hiding her surprise. But then, of course, Piers St. Clair would be about Adele’s own age. Something he had said came back to her: he had called her his sister-in-law! A strange feeling twisted her stomach. He was married, then. Married to Adele’s sister.

Adele watched Rebecca closely. ‘Why are you frowning?’ she asked. ‘Are you so shocked by that knowledge?’

‘Why, no!’ Rebecca answered quickly. ‘But—it was something Monsieur St. Clair said.’

‘Which was?’ Adele prompted.

Rebecca shrugged. ‘Only that he was your brother-in-law.’

Adele nodded, and lay back against the pillows. ‘That’s right.’ Her mouth twisted again. ‘He married one of my four sisters.’

Rebecca straightened, lifting Adele’s legs on to the bed. ‘So he’s married,’ she said, rather flatly.

Adele regarded her intently, and then a strange smile curved her thin lips. ‘My sister died,’ she said, closing her eyes.

Rebecca pressed a hand to her stomach. ‘I’ll get the sedative,’ she said.

Adele’s eyes flickered. ‘That won’t be necessary, Rebecca. I feel—very tired.’

Rebecca hesitated. Adele’s cheeks were still flushed with hectic colour, but she could not force her to take the capsule.

‘Very well,’ she said now, ‘I’ll leave you. But if you want anything, just call.’

‘I will.’ Adele closed her eyes again. ‘By the way, Piers is coming for dinner tomorrow evening. Do you think you could ask Rosa to use a little more imagination with the food than she usually does?’

Rebecca walked to the door. ‘I’ll speak to her,’ she agreed, and went quickly out of the room.

CHAPTER TWO

THE next morning Rebecca went down to the beach as usual to take her early morning swim. A faint mist cast gauzy nets across the horizon heralding another perfect day. Spiders’ webs among the palms were hung with dew which sparkled like diamonds, and the sand underfoot was cool and soft between her toes. Shedding her towelling jacket, she stood for a moment, poised on the shoreline, stretching her arms to the rays of the rising sun.

And so it was, silhouetted against the golden skyline, that the man saw her as he emerged from the trees and came walking panther-like along the sand towards her. As though suddenly conscious of the approach of an intruder, Rebecca swung round and gasped, as much with annoyance as with surprise, as she recognised the interloper.

‘Bonjour, mademoiselle,’ Piers St. Clair said casually, reaching her side. ‘Do you usually swim at this hour?’

Rebecca managed to control her colour. This man always seemed to put her at a disadvantage, and dressed only in a bikini, her feet bare, she felt somehow aware and vulnerable.

‘This is the only time of day I can call my own,’ she replied, rather pointedly. ‘Miss St. Cloud does not rise until nine—or thereabouts.’

‘Ah, I see,’ Piers nodded.

Rebecca hesitated, and then said: ‘I understood you were invited for dinner—not for breakfast.’

He smiled. ‘What a sharp little tongue you have, mademoiselle. It may surprise you to know that I did not intend calling at the villa. My hotel room was hot and I was not tired. I decided to drive for a while and as I passed Adele’s villa I saw you crossing the lawns towards the beach. I apologise if my arrival is something of an intrusion.’

Rebecca coloured now. He had successfully reduced her small attempt at sarcasm to mere pettiness. With an inconsequent shrug of her shoulders, she said: ‘As you are a friend—a relative, almost—of my employer, your presence on the beach could hardly be termed an intrusion when I am merely Adele’s employee.’ She bit her lip. She had not meant to say Adele, it had just slipped out, but she was just as sure that he had noticed it.

Piers St. Clair frowned. ‘I care less and less for your explanations, mademoiselle,’ he commented dryly. ‘As I have said, I did not intend coming here. I should not have.’

With a flick of his fingers against his dark trousers, he turned and walked away along the beach, and Rebecca pressed her lips together unhappily. For all she was sure he would not mention this incident to Adele, nevertheless she felt a sense of shame that she should have behaved so rudely. After all, it was not his fault that she found him disturbingly attractive. No doubt he was used to women finding him so. It was just that some inner sense warned her about becoming involved with him, without taking into account the fact that he might not feel attracted to her. Sighing indecisively, she stepped forward into the water, allowing the small waves to ripple round her ankles. She would not allow thoughts of him to mar these moments of the day. This was the time when she shed all the petty restrictions Adele imposed and became a sun-worshipper.

The water was delicious, and it creamed over her shoulders delightfully. There was a sensuousness about warm water that compared with nothing she had ever known back in England. Occasionally, late in the evening, when Adele was fast asleep, she came and swam without her bikini, but although this beach was private she would not dare to do so in daylight. Piers St. Clair’s unexpected arrival was indicative of what could happen.

Later in the morning Adele received a telephone call, and when she put down the receiver her face was hard and angry. ‘That was Piers,’ she said shortly, as Rebecca turned from arranging some flowers in a huge urn in the hall. ‘He has postponed our dinner engagement.’

Rebecca swallowed hard, forcing her face to remain composed. ‘Oh! Has he?’ she murmured quietly. ‘Did—did he say why?’

Adele chewed her lower lip. ‘Something to do with his business here, I believe,’ she snapped moodily, her manner denoting the kind of day Rebecca might expect from now on. ‘In any event, he’s not coming! Damn him!’

Rebecca couldn’t help but feel relieved, even though a small core of anxiety inside her told her that his reasons for rejecting Adele’s invitation were not wholly impersonal. But she successfully hid her own feelings and managed to put all thoughts of Piers St. Clair to the back of her mind.

It was three days before she saw him again. Although Adele expected a telephone call daily, none came, and Rebecca was beginning to believe that he did not intend returning to the villa at all. When his business in Suva was over and he went to Lautoka the chances of seeing him were much less obvious and she told herself she was relieved.

Even so, she could not deny that his intervention in their lives had been a disrupting influence from which it would take time to dissociate themselves. Thus it was quite a shock for Rebecca when she encountered Piers St. Clair again.

She had gone shopping in Suva for Adele, and had completed her purchases and was idly wandering among the market stalls, when a stall selling oil of sandalwood attracted her. The oil was being sold in cut glass jars and was obviously intended to attract the eye of the tourist. The dark-skinned islander who was in charge of the stall sensed her interest at once as she stood, fingering a jar with probing curiosity, and he began to extol the virtues of the product with rolling eyes and extravagant hand gestures. Rebecca was smilingly shaking her head when she became aware that a man had come to stand slightly behind her and casually she glanced round.

Piers St. Clair inclined his head solemnly, his face dark and serious. ‘Bonjour, mademoiselle,’ he murmured smoothly.

‘Good morning.’ Rebecca managed a faint smile, and stood the glass jar back on the stall rather jerkily.

His eyes flickered to the oil and he said: ‘Are you going to buy it?’

Rebecca shook her head again. ‘No, I don’t think so. I—I—the glass jars caught my eye.’

‘As they were intended to do. Did you know that Fijians used to use this oil to anoint their bodies? It was very highly valued in that capacity. Nowadays, less so.’

Rebecca lifted her shoulders. ‘I like the fragrance.’

He raised his dark eyebrows, and then looked at the stall-holder with questioning eyes. ‘Cette essence,’ he said, indicating the jar Rebecca had put down. ‘Combien?’

Rebecca stared at him uncomfortably, and then before he could say anything she moved quickly away. She had the distinct feeling that he intended buying the oil for her, and she didn’t want that.

A ripple of apprehension running along her spine, she walked swiftly to the edge of the market area and waiting until the road was clear went quickly across. The noise of the traffic was deafening after the peace of the villa, and the sights and sounds of the city took some getting used to. As did the smell of dried copra that hung over the harbour on hot, humid days with intensity.

She had left the car parked in a side street. She knew the city area quite well, and had no fears for her safety among these big friendly people. From time to time she exchanged a greeting with a shopkeeper who was sitting outside his store, cross-legged in the sunshine. Many of these shopkeepers were Indians, and there was a variety of costume to be seen, from the calf-length sulus, worn by men and women alike, to the exotically draped sari, that seemed to enhance the femininity of all women, no matter what nationality. At this time of the year, too, Suva was thronged with tourists, and the tourist attractions did good business. Rebecca smiled to herself, as her surroundings temporarily banished all anxieties about Piers St. Clair, and she thought how lucky she was to live in such a paradise.

Reaching the car, she bent to unlock it, and then straightened to find the man she had been escaping from beside her. Containing her annoyance, she said: ‘Are you following me?’ in rather a tight little voice.

‘Yes,’ he said, almost negligently, and leaned against the car’s bonnet, his arms folded.

Today, in navy shorts, that drew attention to the brown muscular length of his legs, and a cream silk sweater that was unbuttoned almost to his waist, he looked somehow dark and alien, yet infinitely attractive. His thick dark hair was smooth against his head, and long sideburns darkened his cheekbones, while dark eyes surveyed her with enigmatic arrogance.

Rebecca, conscious of the formality of her uniform, was glad she had worn it. Somehow it added to the composure that seemed to be deserting her as it always did when he was around. Why did he persist in disturbing her in this way? Did it amuse him to make fun of her? Or was she a novelty to a man satiated by women of his own set? Whatever his reasons it could only spell disaster for her. Now she turned to him and said:

‘Exactly why are you following me, Monsieur St. Clair?’

He shrugged indolently. ‘To give you this,’ he said, offering her a parcel wrapped in coloured paper.

Rebecca did not take the parcel, but after putting her shopping bag into the car, put her hands behind her back. ‘Thank you, but I don’t want anything from you,’ she asserted jerkily. ‘Now—if you’ll excuse me—–’

Piers St. Clair regarded her coolly. ‘What do you suppose is in the parcel?’ he queried sharply.

Rebecca coloured. ‘I’d rather not say.’

‘You think it is the flagon of sandalwood oil, don’t you?’ he demanded.

Rebecca felt terrible. ‘Well? What if I do?’

He toyed with the wrapping on the parcel. ‘And what if I tell you you dropped something in the market—something I found and re-wrapped in this rather—well—colourful paper?’

Rebecca’s eyes went immediately to her shopping bag. Without taking it out and checking over the contents she could not be certain she had everything she had bought. Pressing her lips together for a moment, she said: ‘I’m sure I didn’t drop anything, monsieur.’ She ran a hand over her hair, checking that the chignon was secure with nervous fingers. ‘I think you are deliberately baiting me, for some twisted reason of your own.’

He raised his dark eyebrows, and with a deft movement he allowed the parcel to unwind in his fingers until a container of talcum powder fell into his palm, free of the wrapping. Rebecca stared at the talcum powder with disbelieving eyes. It was the cologne-scented talc she had bought for Adele. Her eyes lifted to his, but still his were guarded, revealing nothing.

Rebecca swallowed hard, and then said: ‘That is mine?’

‘If you say so,’ he remarked lightly.

Rebecca took a deep breath. ‘I couldn’t have dropped it without hearing it fall.’

‘What? In the noise of the market area? Don’t you think so, mademoiselle?’

Rebecca sighed. ‘I’m not sure.’ She ran her tongue over her upper lip. ‘Perhaps you took it from my bag.’

He shook his head impatiently. ‘What have I done that you have such a low opinion of me?’ he questioned. ‘What has my inestimable sister-in-law been telling you?’

Rebecca opened the car door wider. ‘She has told me nothing, monsieur. Now, if you’ll excuse me—–’

‘Don’t you want your talcum powder, mademoiselle?’

‘Oh—oh, yes, I suppose so.’ Rebecca almost snatched the container from his hands and thrust it into the back of the car with the rest of her shopping. ‘Now I must go. Adele—I mean Miss St. Cloud—will wonder why I’ve been so long.’

He gave a negligent lift of his shoulders and straightened from the car’s bonnet. ‘Very well, mademoiselle. If you insist.’

Rebecca got behind the steering wheel and then looked up at him almost appealingly. ‘I—I don’t understand you, monsieur.’

‘Non! I would agree with you there.’

Rebecca hesitated, biting her lip. ‘Are you—I mean—will you be coming to dinner before—before you leave?’

He regarded her with intense dark eyes. ‘Do you want me to?’ he asked softly.

Rebecca’s stomach contracted. ‘I—I—it’s nothing to do with me,’ she stammered.

‘Is it not?’ He shrugged. ‘Yes, I will come. I will ring Adele and arrange a time.’ His expression grew brooding. ‘And afterwards? Will you go for a drive with me?’

Rebecca’s eyes were wide and startled. ‘I—I—I am Adele’s employee. I cannot make arrangements like that. Besides,’ she fumbled for the ignition, ‘Adele would never agree.’

‘Adele need not know—need she?’ His eyes held hers.

Rebecca took a rather shaky breath. ‘I—I really think you—you are wasting your time, monsieur,’ she murmured unsteadily. ‘I—I am not like the—the women you know …’

‘I recognise that,’ he replied coolly. ‘I do have some perception.’

Rebecca shook her head helplessly. ‘I—I must go,’ she said. ‘Good—goodbye.’

‘Au revoir,’ he answered, and stepped back as she put the small saloon into gear, and drove rather erratically away.

Outside the city limits the road stretched straight for some distance, cutting between the blue waters of the Bay of Islands. It was unbelievably beautiful, but this morning Rebecca had no heart to appreciate it. She was sick and shaken, terrified at the knowledge that Piers St. Clair could exercise so much power over her. In his presence her antagonism just melted away and so might her resistance.

Even so, it was exhilarating to know that he found her attractive, and that awful traitorous part of her that responded to flattery wanted to take what he offered with both hands. But the sane part of her knew that anything he might offer would be dangerous to accept and in consequence she was torn both ways.

When she got back to the villa, Adele was resting on a lounger in the garden, shaded by a huge striped umbrella. She gave Rebecca a speculative stare, and then said: ‘You’ve been long enough. What have you been buying?’

Rebecca managed not to blush. ‘Just what you asked me to buy,’ she replied, kneeling down on the warm mosaic tiles and beginning to unpack her straw shopping bag. The talc which Piers had given her was on the top and she handed this first to Adele. Then she went on through her purchases, handing out stockings and make-up, hair rollers and hairnets, toilet articles and toothpaste. At the bottom of her bag was a container of cologne-scented talc, identical to the first she had given Adele.

Taking it out, she stared at it incredulously, and Adele, seeing her consternation, exclaimed: ‘For heaven’s sake, girl, what have you been thinking of? Buying two tins of talc!’

Rebecca coloured now and thrust the second container aside. ‘I—I bought it for myself,’ she said quickly.

‘But you don’t like that fragrance,’ said Adele impatiently. ‘There’s no need to pretend, Rebecca. I don’t mind having two tins. They’ll both get used in time.’ She bent and lifted the second container from where Rebecca had put it.

Rebecca bit her lip tightly. ‘Oh, but really …’ she began.

Adele sniffed. ‘But nothing, my girl. Go and put these things away, and then ask Rosa for some coffee.’

It was the following day before Piers St. Clair telephoned, and Rebecca spent the period between meeting him at the market and his eventual arrival for dinner in a strangely unreal sense of expectancy. She had pondered the riddle of the talc until she had realised that as her bag was made of interlaced straw it would have been quite easy for him to see what was in it. Even so, she speculated upon his perception which had instantly jumped to the conclusion she might place upon the parcel in his hand, and the subsequent trick he had played upon her. He must know her sex extremely well, she thought with a sinking heart, the incident adding to her awareness of him as a potentially dangerous man. He arranged with Adele that he should join her for dinner the following evening, and the next morning Adele insisted upon making one of her very infrequent excursions into Suva to visit her hairdresser. Rebecca was doubtful of the advisability of such an excursion on a day when Adele was bound to become over-stimulated anyway, but there was little she could do to prevent it. When Adele made up her mind, there was little anyone could do.

In the afternoon, while Adele rested, Rebecca pressed the gown she had chosen to wear that evening. Adele had been loath to allow Rosa to do it, so Rebecca had offered in order to avoid any further upheavals.

Rebecca herself was absorbed with her own thoughts, aware that she was mentally searching for reasons for being absent from the villa this evening. Not that Adele expected her to join them for dinner, indeed the question had never arisen, but somehow she wanted to put some distance between herself and her employer’s brother-in-law.

She helped Adele to change after her bath, and Adele preened herself for a few moments in front of her dressing-table mirror.

‘Quite nice,’ she conceded at last. ‘Don’t you think so, Rebecca?’

Rebecca managed a smile. ‘Very nice, Miss St. Cloud,’ she agreed, nodding. Then she bit her lip. ‘You will promise not to over-excite yourself this evening, won’t you, Miss St. Cloud? This—well—this has been quite an exhausting day for you, and naturally—–’

Adele stared at her. ‘What are you talking about, girl? You’ll be here to keep an eye on me yourself, won’t you? Surely you know I expect you to join us?’

Rebecca’s cheeks burned. ‘Oh, no! No, Miss St. Cloud. I—I have—made other arrangements.’

‘What other arrangements?’ Adele’s voice was sharp.

Rebecca swallowed hard, searching her mind for excuses. ‘I—I thought I might go out. I—I—haven’t had many evenings off—–’

‘And where would you go alone?’ snapped Adele. ‘You may have freedom of the island during the day, but after dark—that’s a different matter.’

‘You—you did say—I might use the car.’

‘I know that. But it just so happens that I require your services this evening. Now, snap out of that awkward mood and go and get yourself changed. I don’t expect you to eat dinner in your uniform.’

Rebecca stared at her employer unhappily. ‘I’d prefer to eat dinner in my room, Miss St. Cloud,’ she asserted clearly.

Adele’s eyes flickered. ‘Why? Because of Piers?’

‘What? No! No.’ Rebecca turned away, and in consequence did not see the narrowing of Adele’s eyes.

‘Well, it can’t be me,’ remarked the older woman mockingly. ‘You’ve had dinner with me plenty of times.’

Rebecca gathered her composure and turned back to her. ‘I would feel the same, no matter who your guest might be,’ she said tautly. ‘Besides, I can’t recall you showing such a desire for my company before.’ She frowned. ‘Why do you want me to join you for dinner?’

If Adele was surprised by this sudden show of confidence, she hid it admirably, and smiling slightly said: ‘Perhaps, as your days here are so uneventful, I felt sorry for you. And after all, it isn’t every day you get the chance to break bread with a millionaire!’

Rebecca’s nails dug into the palms of her hands. ‘Do I have a choice?’

Adele’s expression hardened. ‘No, miss, you do not! Now go and prepare yourself, or do you want to be responsible for my over-stimulation?’

Rebecca heaved a sigh, and with a helpless gesture left the room. In her own room she surveyed the contents of her wardrobe critically. What on earth was she going to wear? Short dresses were cooler, but somehow unsuitable in the islands when so many oriental styles were much more feminine. She drew out an all-white gown, trimmed with gold braid, its classic lines cut to ankle length. The bodice was swathed under her breasts, but otherwise it fell without fullness to her feet. With her colouring, and the tan she had acquired, it would look attractive, but did she want to look attractive? Surely she would be more sensible to wear a less arresting garment. She had no desire to arouse any further interest.

Thrusting the white gown aside, she pulled out a jungle-printed caftan. It, too, was long, but its lines were all-concealing, and the wide long sleeves hid the rounded contours of her arms.

Throwing it on the bed, she went to take a shower, and later, after she was dressed, she surveyed her appearance with approval. Certainly the colour did nothing for her, although she could wear almost anything really.

She joined Adele in the lounge just as the sound of a car could be heard drawing up outside the villa. Rosa went to answer the door and a few moments later came into the lounge and said:

‘Monsieur Piers St. Clair, madam, and his companion, Mademoiselle Yvonne Dupuis!’

Rebecca could feel the colour drain out of her face as Piers came into the room, looking tall, and lean, and dark, in a white dinner jacket, a maroon handkerchief in his pocket showing a splash of colour. With him was one of the most beautiful women Rebecca had ever seen, although she was by no means young. Rebecca judged her age to be anywhere between thirty-five and forty-five, and there were strands of grey in her lustrous dark hair. Even so, she was immaculately elegant, and the slenderness of her figure owed nothing to clever upholstering. In a gown of silver grey crepe that moulded her body lovingly, a darker grey cape across her shoulders, she looked magnificent, and Rebecca glanced swiftly at Adele to note her reactions.

But to her surprise, Adele seemed not at all perturbed, and her greeting left Rebecca in no doubt that she had expected this second guest. Rebecca herself felt confused. Exactly why had Adele made such a thing about her joining them when she had known that Piers St. Clair was bringing a guest? And why hadn’t she warned Rebecca that her brother-in-law would not be alone? Rebecca compressed her lips, wondering what distorted enjoyment Adele expected to get out of this situation. Had she sensed her nurse’s interest in Piers and chosen this way to show her how hopeless were any aspirations in that direction? Surely she must know that Rebecca was aware of that herself. Or did she? Either way, tonight was going to be infinitely more difficult to endure.

While Adele chattered to Yvonne Dupuis, leaving Rebecca to realise that the two women had known one another for many years, Piers, after a smiling greeting to his sister-in-law, made his way to Rebecca’s side.

‘Bonsoir, mademoiselle,’ he murmured, regarding her with his intensely dark eyes. ‘I wondered whether you would be permitted to join us.’

Rebecca’s first instinct was to make some excuse and move away from him, but to do so would be tantamount to admitting her nervousness of him, so instead she said: ‘Miss St. Cloud insisted. Unfortunately, I am not in a position to choose.’

His eyes narrowed slightly. ‘Why do you persist in behaving so childishly?’ he enquired, in a low tone. ‘It is not becoming.’

Rebecca looked across at Adele who looked up at that moment and said: ‘Shall we have a drink? Rebecca, will you get them? By the way, Yvonne, this is my nurse, Rebecca Lindsay. Rebecca, Mademoiselle Dupuis and I were at school together.’

Adele’s tone was so light and pleasant, that Rebecca had no choice but to go and shake hands with the French woman and then ask her what she would like to drink. At the cocktail cabinet, her fingers were all thumbs, and after she had dropped a small bottle of dry ginger with a disturbing clatter on the glass surface, she felt Piers join her, and take the offending bottle out of her hands.

Deftly, and without spilling a drop, Piers dealt with their individual requests, and after handing Rebecca the bitter lemon she had insisted upon having, he poured himself rather a stiff measure of brandy.

‘Cognac, mademoiselle,’ he remarked, as Rebecca watched him swirling the amber-coloured liquid round in its balloon glass. ‘If ever I need it, it restores my—what would you say—equilibre?’

‘Equilibrium,’ said Rebecca, rather flatly, looking down into her own glass.

‘Ah, oui, equilibrium!’ He half smiled. ‘You understand?’

Rebecca compressed her lips. ‘I would not have thought anything would disturb your—equilibrium,’ she replied. ‘You seem superbly confident to me.’

His eyes searched her face, lingering disturbingly on her mouth for a long moment. ‘But then—you do not know me very well—yet,’ he commented softly.

Rebecca turned away. She would not listen to him, and as luck would have it Rosa came in at that moment to announce that dinner was served. Piers took charge of Adele’s chair, making her laugh as they walked ahead of Rebecca and the French woman into the dining room.

The meal was silent for Rebecca. Round a table it was so much easier for Adele to talk equally to both her guests and in consequence Rebecca was left to herself. She didn’t mind. Indeed, it was easier that way, but she longed to escape from all of them.

Coffee was served in the lounge, and the windows were thrust wide to let in the cool evening air. Mesh screens prevented the hundreds of moths and insects from penetrating to the attraction of the lamplight, and it was very pleasant to relax there. But after drinking her coffee, Rebecca rose and said:

‘If you don’t mind, I’ll leave you now. I—I have some reports to attend to. And I have rather a headache, too.’

Adele frowned. ‘Now, Rebecca,’ she said impatiently, ‘no report is that urgent. And as for your headache, I should think a walk round the garden would cure that. I’m sure Monsieur St. Clair would accompany you.’ Her gaze rested momentarily on Piers who had risen too.

Rebecca coloured brilliantly. What was Adele trying to do? Why should she suggest that Piers St. Clair should accompany her on a walk round the garden? She had never shown any interest in her nurse’s welfare before.

‘Thank you, but—–’ she began, when Piers said: ‘Adele is right. The night air would do you more good than sitting in your room. I’m sure Yvonne and Adele can find plenty to talk about.’

Yvonne leaned forward and put her hand on his arm, attracting his attention. ‘Let Nurse Lindsay decide for herself, chéri,’ she murmured insinuatively. ‘She may be tired.’

Rebecca watched that interchange with reluctance. Exactly what relationship did Yvonne Dupuis have with him? From the intimacy of her expression, Rebecca could only think the worst. Seizing upon Yvonne’s words, she nodded vigorously.

‘Yes, that’s it,’ she asserted. ‘I—I am tired. I’d like to go to bed.’

Adele’s expression was hard. ‘And what about me, young woman? You forget—your duties are not yet over for the evening.’

Rebecca hesitated. ‘I’m sure Rosa wouldn’t mind helping you—as she has done on those evenings when I have been out.’ Only twice had she been out in the evening, and that was when Dr. Manson’s wife had invited her for dinner.

Short of appearing a fractious employer, there was nothing Adele could do, and ignoring Piers’ contemptuous gaze, Rebecca wished them all goodnight, and sought the comparative sanctuary of her room. She knew Adele would make her pay for thwarting her in this manner, but right now she couldn’t have cared less …

CHAPTER THREE

THE following morning Rebecca did not go down to swim as usual. In the early hours she was awakened by Adele calling weakly for her and throwing on her dressing gown she hurried to her employer’s room.

Adele was lying across the bed. She had obviously been to the bathroom but had collapsed on her way back and was now panting for breath, pressing a hand to her chest as though to break the pain which seemed to be tearing her apart.

Rebecca helped her on to the bed properly, and then hurried to the bathroom cabinet. A few minutes later, with the aid of a drug, and Rebecca’s soothing presence, Adele began to look more normal, and Rebecca ran to telephone for Dr. Manson.

When the elderly doctor arrived he endorsed everything Rebecca had done and chided Adele for behaving so recklessly the day before. ‘You should know by now that you cannot spend the whole day in a state of excitement, my dear,’ he told her, shaking his head reprovingly. ‘And then to eat the kind of rich food Rebecca tells me you have eaten …’ He sighed. ‘It’s lucky you have Rebecca here. I don’t know what might have happened …’

Adele, gradually recovering from the paralysing attack, gave her nurse an impatient look. ‘I’m all right,’ she said ungraciously. ‘There was no need to call you at all. Rebecca coped with everything that was needed. She only wanted to let you know that I’d been disobedient. God! I wish I was free of this—this—dependence!’

Dr. Manson looked at her compassionately. ‘Now you know as well as I do that you’ll never be free,’ he said quietly, ‘and it’s something you’ve got to live with, it’s something you’ve got to accept and take into account at all times. You’ve lived with it long enough to know that.’

Adele’s expression was bitter. ‘I’ve lived with it all my life!’ she exclaimed, in a tortured voice.

Dr. Manson turned away, looking helplessly at Rebecca, and Rebecca gave an imperceptible nod of her head. They were both aware of the dangers of the depression Adele was sinking into now that the attack was over.

After the doctor had gone, Rebecca gave Adele a sedative. The older woman objected, but Rebecca used the hypodermic and presently Adele closed her eyes and gave in to the inertia that was creeping over her. After she was asleep, Rebecca cleared the room, tidying away the garments which Rosa had left about the floor. In all honesty, she felt a terrible sense of guilt about the whole affair. Maybe she should have stayed up. Maybe she should have seen Adele into bed herself. Maybe she would have noticed the tell-tale signs that heralded an attack.

So many maybes, and none of them certain. Adele had seemed perfectly all right all evening, and might have been perfectly all right all night, too, if she had not got up to go to the bathroom. No doubt the rich food and the small quantity of drink she had consumed had been responsible for that little journey.

Sighing, she left the bedroom and went to her own room to get dressed. It was already after seven and there was no point in going back to bed. Adele might need her.

When she was dressed she went to the kitchen and begged some coffee from Rosa. The dark-skinned housekeeper looked anxious and asked troubled questions about her employer. Rebecca reassured her, and then said:

‘Did she seem all right when you put her to bed last night?’

Rosa considered. ‘I think so, miss. She wasn’t flushed or anything. Just tired, that’s all. I saw that she took her tablet like you told me, miss, and she seemed fine!’

Rebecca smiled. ‘That’s okay, Rosa. Don’t worry any more. She’s going to be as awkward as usual in a day or two. But she’ll have to stay in bed for today and possibly tomorrow, too. Dr. Manson said so.’

‘Yes, miss.’ Rosa handed her a mug of steamingly aromatic coffee. ‘Are you recovered this morning? Monsieur St. Clair told me you had a headache and had gone to bed.’

Rebecca coloured. ‘Monsieur St. Clair? When did you see him?’

‘He helped me to put Adele to bed before they left, miss.’

‘Oh! Oh, I see.’ Rebecca bit her lip. ‘Were they late in leaving?’ She had not heard the car, but possibly that was because her room was away from the drive.

‘Not very, miss. Soon after you went to bed really.’

Rebecca nodded, and taking the coffee she walked to the wide kitchen windows which looked out on the tropical plantation-like growth which encroached almost to the lawn at the back of the house. There was a bitter-sweet ache inside her which could not be denied. Why did Piers St. Clair affect her like this? Why couldn’t she just put him out of her mind altogether?

Adele’s unexpected illness at least prevented her from exerting too much effort in her condemnation of Rebecca’s actions on the night of the dinner party. When she was fit enough to talk normally towards the end of the following day she merely contented herself with some sneering comments about Rebecca’s inadequacy, and Piers St. Clair’s name was not mentioned. Even so, Rebecca had the distinct impression that Adele chose not to bring his name into it for some devious reasons of her own, and she wished she knew a little more of what her employer was thinking.

Adele objected strongly to having to stay in bed, but perhaps the attack had served a purpose in that it had made her a little more chary of disobeying her doctor’s instructions, and she remained where she was. Rebecca’s job was a little harder in consequence, as she had to do everything for her, including giving her a blanket bath, and although Adele was thin her bones were heavy and required all Rebecca’s strength to lift her.

By the evening of the second day after the attack, Adele seemed almost normal, and Rebecca took the opportunity to go down for a swim after she had settled her employer down for the night. It was the first opportunity she had had to leave the villa, for the previous evening she had been too conscious of the possible dangers of a second attack.

It was a beautiful evening, and Rebecca put on her white bikini and her beach jacket, and ran eagerly across the grass and down the slope to the beach. The air was soft and velvety, and the sky above was a dome of midnight blue studded with diamonds.

Shedding the beach jacket, she allowed the wavelets to ripple round her toes, their chill wholly welcoming after the heat of the day. Then she plunged into the water, and swam strongly out to where she could no longer reach the bottom with her toes. Her limbs felt revitalised as the damp heat of the day was washed away, and she spread her legs and floated, staring up into the arc of sky above.

When she swam back to the shore, she felt cool and refreshed, and shedding her wet bikini she put on the beach jacket, wrapping it closely about her. But even as she did so, she heard the sound of a twig being trampled underfoot, and she swung round in startled expectation. The figure of a man emerged from the shadows of the palms, and her first instinct was to run, but although she was trembling, she stood her ground.

‘Are you aware that you are trespassing?’ she enquired, summoning all her confidence. ‘This is a private beach!’

‘And you are crazy bathing here alone!’ snapped a husky voice, with an unmistakable accent. ‘Mon Dieu, Rebecca, have you no sense?’

Rebecca stared up at Piers St. Clair with mutinous eyes. ‘Have—have you been spying on me?’ she asked tremulously.

Piers uttered an exclamation in his own language. ‘Of course I have not been ‘‘spying’’ on you. I admit I came here in the hope that I might see you, but the sight of the naked female frame is no novelty to me!’ His tone was hard and angry. ‘God in heaven, Rebecca, what would you have done if I had been an intruder? Do you imagine you could offer any defence, dressed like that?’

‘This—this is a private beach,’ she said again, shakily.

‘But it is not sealed off, is it?’ Piers raised his eyes skyward. ‘You constantly enrage me! When I speak to you—when I attempt to be friendly with you, you turn on me like a—a—she-cat! Yet you come here, alone, without taking any precautions for your own safety!’ He snapped his fingers angrily. ‘I—I lose patience with you!’

‘I don’t—recall asking for your indulgence!’ said Rebecca shortly. ‘Now, if you’ll stand out of my way—–’

Piers stood still, staring down at her, and when she moved to walk round him, he moved also, blocking her path. Rebecca looked up at him angrily, using her anger as a shield against his undoubted attraction.

‘Please!’ she said tightly. ‘Get out of my way!’

Piers stared at her for a long moment, and then without a word, stepped out of her path. The relief was such that Rebecca found it incredibly difficult to move at all. But at last, on rather stiff legs, she walked up the beach and crossed the grass to the villa. She didn’t look back, but she was aware of his eyes upon her the whole of the way.

The next few days passed uneventfully. Adele improved considerably and was able to get up and about again. Rebecca knew she had had a telephone call from Piers, but what he had said she was not to know. Later in the week, Adele deemed it necessary to inform her that her brother-in-law had gone to Lautoka, but if she expected some reaction from Rebecca she was disappointed. Rebecca had schooled herself not to show any emotion, and consequently Adele soon grew tired of baiting her.

At the end of the week, Rebecca surprised Adele making a telephone call herself; surprised because Adele always had Rebecca get her calls for her. However, as Adele obviously wanted privacy, Rebecca left her, but she could not help wondering who she had been calling so secretly.

Two afternoons later, after Rebecca had settled Adele down for her nap, Piers St. Clair made another appearance. He came walking into the wide tiled hall, just as Rebecca was gathering the dead flowers from their vases preparatory to adding new ones. In cream pants and a navy silk shirt that hung open, he looked cool and dark, while Rebecca, in her high collared uniform dress, was feeling the heat of the day.

‘Oh,’ she said, when she saw him. ‘I—I didn’t hear the car.’

He shrugged. ‘I left it outside the drive. I guessed Adele might be asleep and I didn’t want to disturb her.’

Rebecca began to wrap up the dead flowers in an old newspaper she had brought for the purpose. ‘If you knew Adele would be asleep, why have you come?’ she asked, rather unevenly.

His eyes darkened. ‘For obvious reasons. Look, Rebecca, I can imagine what Adele has told you about me, but please, don’t judge me so hastily!’

Rebecca stared at him. ‘It’s not my prerogative to judge anyone, Monsieur St. Clair,’ she said tautly. ‘I just feel that—well—you’re wasting your time, and your undoubted talents, on me!’

‘Be silent!’ His voice was harsh. ‘You know absolutely nothing of life—of my life!’ He clenched his fists angrily. ‘Rebecca,’ his tone changed, ‘get ready, and I will take you for a drive, oui?’

Rebecca took a deep breath. ‘I couldn’t do that, monsieur. Miss St. Cloud might need me.’

‘Not for an hour at least,’ he said huskily. ‘Is it so much to ask? Is my company so abhorrent to you?’

She turned away. All her senses cried out for her to accept; only common sense said no. But sometimes common sense must be overruled for the sake of sanity, and Rebecca moved towards the corridor which led to her room.

‘Well?’ he demanded fiercely.

‘I’ll get ready,’ she murmured reluctantly, and left him.

When she came back he was pacing the hall impatiently, like a caged animal, but his eyes brightened when he saw her. In a short white pleated skirt and a sleeveless ribbed sweater she looked quite lovely.

‘I’ve told Rosa we’re going out, just in case Adele wakes,’ he said, indicating that she should precede him out of the villa.

Rebecca nodded, and they walked down the drive together. At its foot, the dark blue convertible was parked, and Piers helped her inside before walking round the bonnet and sliding in beside her. His thigh brushed hers and she looked at him quickly before looking away again.

They drove north from the villa, taking the road into the hinterland which was still largely uncultivated and scarcely inhabited. Here the jungle ran riot, and at times the road itself was lost beneath the snaking creepers of the parasites that wound themselves in a death spiral round the trunks of the trees in the rain forest at the head of the valley. The atmosphere was moist and sometimes unpleasantly aromatic with decaying vegetation. Rebecca lay back in her seat and wondered with mild curiosity exactly where they were going.

It wasn’t until they had been travelling for almost three-quarters of an hour that she realised that wherever it was they were going was far too far to attempt in such a limited time. The silence that had stretched between them since they began their journey was such that she was loath to break it, but as it happened she did not have to.

They had been climbing for some time, up through the rain forest, but now they emerged on a plateau which gave a magnificent view of the whole valley, and where, amazingly, a waterfall fell in solitary splendour from some few feet above them away down the rocky slope.

Piers brought the car to a halt and opening his door he slid out. Hands on hips, he surveyed the panorama of the island spread out below him and then turned to look at Rebecca, still seated in the car. ‘Bien?’ he said challengingly. ‘Magnificent, is it not?’

‘Magnificent,’ agreed Rebecca unhappily. ‘But we must get back. As it is we will be late—–’

‘Oh, Rebecca!’ He came to lean on her car door, his eyes lazily caressing. ‘Are you always so concerned with what is right and what is wrong?’

Rebecca slid across the bench seat and climbed out at his side, escaping from his nearness. As usual he succeeded in disconcerting her.

With a sigh, he straightened, and then said: ‘Come here. We’ll sit down for a while. Do you smoke? I am afraid I have only cheroots.’

Rebecca shook her head. ‘No, I don’t smoke.’ Her face was anxious.

Piers seated himself on a stretch of turf that was warmed by the heat of the sun and shaded by the outcrop of rock from which the waterfall tumbled. Taking out his cheroots, he lit one lazily, and drew deeply upon it. Then he looked up at her, shaking his head curiously.

‘Tell me,’ he said, ‘what is causing that anxious frown?’

Rebecca turned away, breathing swiftly. Suddenly she was remembering something she had thought long forgotten, the reason she had left England in the first place. Her grandmother had been dead before she finished her training, of course, and she had shared a flat with another nurse. Sheila had been engaged to a young houseman, Peter Feldman, and naturally Peter became a frequent visitor at the flat. Unfortunately, after a time, Peter became attracted to Rebecca, and she to him. It had been an impossible situation. Sheila had been such a nice girl, a good friend, too good to be hurt like that. As soon as Rebecca qualified, she had jumped at the chance of this post, thousands of miles away from temptation. For a time she had thought she had loved Peter, but in these new and exciting surroundings she had found it easy to forget. In consequence, she had been grateful for the discovery that what she had felt for him had been no lasting emotion. Piers St. Clair presented entirely different problems. This man aroused her in a way she had not believed she could be aroused. Without touching her, without any visible effort on his part, he could reduce her to a trembling mass of emotions.

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