House of Storms (29 page)

'This you must have,' he said casually to Debra, and beckoned the stall-owner. It was wrapped in a sheet of newspaper, paid for and handed to her. As they walked away from the stall he told her not to drop the vase because it was probably quite valuable.

Debra gave him a startled look. 'Really?'

'I think so.' His lip quirked. 'Now you have proved that you have a good eye for a bargain; it's probably hard-paste porcelain and will clean up like pink silk.'

She flushed with a sense of pleasure she couldn't conceal. 'You should have it,
señor
, as you've paid for it.'

'Come, what would I do with a little vase meant for a vanity-table?'

'But if it's valuable—'

'All the better that you should have it.' He took her elbow in his grip as they crossed the road, his eye having been caught by a fruit shop. 'I wouldn't care to present a young woman with a shoddy gift... it isn't my style.'

The sudden ring of arrogance in his voice brought a reluctant smile to her lips . . . darn his eyes, why did he have to be such a mixture of devilment and generosity? So aloof at times, and then a man who deliberately tried to break down her defences.

They entered the fruit shop, redolent of luscious aromas from a rich variety of summertime fruits, piled in colourful mounds with greenery interwound in overhead beams in order to create a sense of coolness.

'May I help you, sir?' The girl behind the counter turned to Rodare with a very willing look in her eyes.

'What I need,' he said, 'is a pumpkin.'

The girl didn't look too surprised by his request. 'You want it for pie-making, then?'

'No.' His eyes smiled. 'My brother wants to make a spooky head out of it, for it's to be part of our Midsummer revels.'

'Oh, I see.' His smile had brought an applelike flush to the girl's cheeks. 'We get more requests for pumpkins around Hallowe'en but we may have one in the back room, if you don't mind waiting while I take a look?'

'I shall be grateful if you can find one.'

Five minutes later he and Debra were walking along in the sunlight, collecting amused glances from passers-by. The pumpkin was a bit shrivelled and an odd colour, but Rodare carried it with a total lack of embarrassment.

'Hungry?' he abruptly asked Debra.

'Why, are we going to sit on the seawall and eat some of that sad old thing?' she wanted to know.

'Tonight it will grin among the flames. No, I thought we might go and each lunch at The Garden Cafe, if you feel inclined to break bread with my hateful self?'

'Last night you were hateful.' She flushed at the memory.

'I would have said I was something else, but it's too warm for argument here on the pavement, and I am myself longing for a glass of wine, lobster and crusty bread. Have I tempted you?'

He was the essence of temptation, six feet of it, from his black hair to his hand-tailored brogues. He was also strangely endearing with that pumpkin in his arms.

'All right,' she said. 'I'd hate to deprive you of your lunch.'

'No matter what else you deprive me of?'

She tightened her lips and refused to answer that question. 'The Garden Cafe sounds nice,' she said, in cool tones.

'You won't be disappointed,' he assured her.

The place was rustic and charming, the garden tables shaded by trees that filtered the sun. Rodare ordered white wine right away and stowed the pumpkin in a nearby flower bed.

'It seems a shame,' Debra murmured.

'What is a shame?' He was taking a casual look at the menu.

'Using the pumpkin for a devil's head.'

'You said it was ancient.'

'I know, but in the story of Cinderella a pumpkin was turned into the glass carriage that took her to the ball.'

'Your head is filled with fairy tales.' He gave her an amused look over the top of the menu card. 'What a child you are at times.'

'Just because I happen to have some imagination?'

'A colourful imagination is fine so long as you don't permit it to distort your vision. Now what do you fancy as a starter? Will you have lobster or do you prefer melon and smoked salmon?'

She picked up her own menu card and decided on the avocado pear with shrimps.

'And to follow?'

She glanced up and his eyes were fixed upon her. . . she looked right into them and was lost in their darkness. A kind of panic took hold of her, for try as she might she couldn't seem to cope with the feelings he aroused in her.

'Don't look at me like that!'

'How do I look at you?'

'Like a man who always wants to finish what he starts. I—I didn't come with you today because I wanted to come. You made me!'

'I'm perfectly aware of that.'

'And what do you hope to gain by it?'

He slowly raised an eyebrow. 'My dear girl, this is merely a farewell lunch. Tomorrow I am going home to Spain, for what is there to keep me at Abbeywitch? Jack is there to be in charge of things and is it not significant that tonight we burn our various devils?'

As he spoke those words, the waiter came to the table with the wine and this gave Debra the chance to recover from the shock of his statement. There he sat, in all his dark dominance, but already he was slipping out of her life and by this time tomorrow he would be stepping on to Spanish soil—he would have become a stranger whom she would never see again.

A coil of pain seemed to wind itself around her throat and she could barely say, 'Thank you,' as the waiter poured wine into her glass.

‘
Salud
.’ Rodare raised his glass to her, then drank from it. 'I hope my news has put an edge on your appetite—have you yet decided on your main dish?'

She stared at the menu card and for the sake of her own pride she had to pretend that she was unaffected by his imminent departure from England. 'Do you recommend the white meat of chicken,
señor
, garnished with mushrooms and onions?'

'I'm sure it's delicious,
señorita
.'

'Then I'll go for that.'

'Excellent.' For himself he ordered tournedos and a selection of vegetables, but first they had their fish courses to eat, and Debra felt as if she would choke on every mouthful even though the avocado pear and shrimp had a heavenly taste. In fact, she told herself, it was like chewing on heaven and hell, having him there at the other side of the table, hearing his voice with its Spanish intonation, facing at last the full torment of her feelings for him. Her idealistic dreams of love faded to a pale grey beside the black misery of what she felt right now.

As her eating pace slowed, she felt him watching her and quickly she lifted her glass of wine and half-emptied it with a flourish which she hoped looked careless.

'I expect it will be very hot in Andalucia,' she said, gaily.

'Hot as the very deuce but I revel in it.' He broke a lobster claw and withdrew the white meat on his fork, dipping it casually in mayonnaise and carrying it to his mouth. 'One day you should visit that region of Spain; I feel sure you would find it most interesting. Perhaps Jack will bring you there.'

'Jack?' She gave him a startled look-.

'Why not?' He shrugged his shoulder. 'He may wish to research and I understand from him that you are considering becoming his full-time editor and secretary.'

'But I haven't quite—made up my mind—'

'Why not?' he said again, beckoning the waiter to refill their glasses. 'Jack is obviously pleased with you, in and out of the den.'

He spoke the words so smoothly that they almost slid away from her before she realised their import. Then her thoughts fled to her strawberry picnic with Jack in her turret, and when she met Rodare's eyes she felt her fear confirmed. He knew that Jack had been in her room last night. . . somehow he knew!

'Yes, I am sure you are quite invaluable to my brother,' he added, almost as if goading her into argument with him. But she decided not to be goaded. What purpose would it serve? He was leaving in the morning and what she decided to do about Jack's offer of a permanent job was her business. Right now she was too confused by misery and potent white wine to be able to sort out her problems.

Her chicken dish came to the table and once again she had to force herself to look as if she was enjoying every mouthful. . . God help her on the trip back to the island. Already she felt nauseated and could feel tiny beads of cold sweat breaking out on her brow. Suddenly, in a voice of iron, Rodare spoke:

'Put down that knife and fork, you damned little fool! Do you think I don't know what you are doing to yourself?'

She did as he ordered and sat back in her chair. She took several deep breaths of air and was vaguely aware that the waiter was at the table again and Rodare was ordering coffee.

'It's the heat,' she said at last. 'It's such a warm day.'

'Quite.' He had pushed aside his own plate. 'That and the way you take so much to heart.'

'W-what am I taking to heart?' Her voice scraped her throat. 'The fact that you're leaving? Is that what you mean?'

'Meeting you, Debra, has been an interesting experience, in view of the fact that you are the only girl I ever asked to be my wife.'

'You felt obliged to ask.'

'And you felt obliged to refuse.'

'Of course I did.'

'Will it be the same story when Jack proposes to you?'

She stared at him, her eyes wide with amazement. 'There's nothing like that between your brother and me! I like working for him, he's kind and considerate but—'

'Aren't kindness and consideration what you are looking for in a man?' Rodare probed her face with his dark eyes. 'Jack has all the virtues while I, so you flung at me last night, have all the vices. I'm the devil who comes to Abbeywitch, pretending to be a man of honour when all the time I'm a seducer, first of my brother's lawful wife, then of his secretary. Let me tell you—'

He stopped, breaking off abruptly as the waiter brought their coffee and proceeded to pour it. As usual Rodare took his black—black like his scowling brows—and when they were alone again Debra could feel the threat emanating from him across the table.

'Ah, think what you will!' He picked up his coffee cup and drank from it. 'It's over, and tomorrow I shall be in Andalucia.'

Debra went to speak but he looked away from her, showing his profile which looked rigid and forbidding. In that moment there wasn't a thing about him that looked English, he was entirely the proud and dignified Spaniard. He had closed a door between them and she had felt it thud against her heart.

'I—I'm sorry,' she managed to say, but he didn't bother to answer her.

As they skimmed back across the water to Lovelis Island she found it impossible to break the silence between them. She sat quiet in the stern of the motorboat holding on her lap the little pink vase wrapped in newspaper. She felt as if she would remember this trip for the rest of her days, until she was a little old lady like Nanny Rose who had given herself to a career instead of a man. And like Nanny Rose she might one day say to a younger woman:

'When I was a girl I met a big, dark-haired man who lit lightning in the heart and struck sparks with a look, and it's only once in a lifetime that a girl meets a man like that.'

Then all at once something struck Debra. 'Oh—' She glanced helplessly at Rodare. 'We forgot the pumpkin!'

'Did we?' he said. 'How unfortunate.'

She lowered her gaze and said no more and when he beached the motorboat she jumped quickly ashore and hurried to the cliffside steps. She ran all the way to the headland, clutching her little vase as if afraid fate would snatch it from her and leave her with nothing at all. When she reached her room she quickly unwrapped it, took it into the bathroom and gave it a careful wash. As Rodare had promised, it cleaned up beautifully and gleamed in her hands like pink silk. She selected a place for it on the vanity-table and stood back to admire her only tangible reminder of Rodare, the rest lay in her heart, and in her mind.

'Oh, God!' She sank down on the cane settle at the foot of the bed and her eyes were grey with remorse. How could she have believed him to be Pauline's man on the beach? As if Mickey Lee, with his big boy's mind, would ever again have accepted Rodare's authority if he had seen him making love to Jack's wife. Jack, who had so much of his trust and loyalty!

Debra wrapped her arms about herself and rocked back and forth in pain . . . her indulgence in pain and self-pity interrupted when fingers tapped upon her door. When she failed to respond the door opened and a maid entered carrying an envelope on a small tray.

'This came with the mail, miss, and I'm sorry it got overlooked. We've been that busy today, what with the big dinner tonight and Madam wanting everything just so.'

'That's all right, Kitty. Thank you.'

Kitty lingered, staring at Debra's wan face. 'Are you all right, Miss Hartway?'

'I've a bit of a headache—the sun's been hot today.'

'And not a breath of breeze about. Cook's been grumbling because of tonight's special dinner. Goose, of all things, to have to roast on a sweltering day!'

'Goose?' Debra groaned inwardly. 'I'll take an aspirin and hope for the best.'

'You'll be eating with the family tonight, miss?'

'Mr Salvador has invited me, and as it's Midsummer Eve I didn't like to refuse.'

'There's magic about on Midsummer Eve.' Kitty broke into a laugh between shyness and boldness. 'You'd best put a sprig of rosemary and a silver coin under your pillow, miss, and you'll dream of the man you're going to marry.'

'So you're superstitious, Kitty?' Debra had to smile.

'Aren't you, Miss Hartway? Anyway, it's worth a try.'

When Debra was alone again she tore open the envelope and withdrew the neatly typed letter. It read:

Dear Debra,