House of Storms (5 page)

'Quite a sight, isn't it?' he said. 'Each time I return to the island I wonder why I leave it, but I'm a divided man, Miss Hartway. In the deep heart of Spain I have a
granja
where I live like my mother's people, but every so often I think about Abbeywitch and it calls to me, built as it is on these cliffs that rise from the sea itself. This wandering spirit has taken me back and forth since I was a youth, but it's unusual for my brother Jack to behave in such a way. Always he has put his work before anything else.'

'But along came Pauline,' Debra murmured. 'Your brother fell in love, Mr Salvador, and love can change people.'

The tall figure gazed down at Debra, a man far more Spanish in looks and outlook than his sister Zandra, and possibly his brother Jack.

The three of them had shared the same father, but Debra was inclined to believe that they shared little else. There might even be a certain undercurrent of enmity because Rodare had inherited Abbeywitch and yet chose to spend most of his time in Spain.

'What do you know of love?' He smiled slowly, sardonically. 'You look too young to have known the pangs and pleasures of a
relaciones amorosas
, apparent from the way you blushed down on the beach—ah, you catch your breath and want that encounter forgotten, eh? Do you think it's possible,
señorita
?'

Never in her life had Debra been addressed as
señorita
, which like many Spanish words was so provocative, and he attached it to a question which in itself was provoking.

'You won't say anything to your stepmother, will you, about seeing me nude on the beach—I don't think she'd understand?' This man not only managed to make Debra feel on the defensive, but he aroused other feelings to which she was a stranger. The men who worked for Columbine Publications had an attitude that was ambitious, their sights set on achievement in a modern world. Rodare Salvador seemed more attuned to the elemental fire of the sky as the sun dipped into the sea, where the waves surged to the shore with ponderous power, overwhelming the sands and the rocks.

'You may rest assured that I shan't say a word—it will be our secret, Miss Hartway.' Irony edged his voice as he glanced towards the sea, and when Debra looked at him, his profile was outlined against the dramatic beauty of the sky, broodingly strong and touched by a hint of melancholy. Was he remembering Pauline ... or had he shared the family disapproval of his brother's wife.

'Such atmosphere,' he spoke almost to himself. 'If I were a writer or an artist I would find such surroundings of inestimable value to my work, and I'm sure this has been so for Jack. What do you think of his work, young woman?'

'I think he's one of the best popular writers alive today,' she said warmly. 'I—I just haven't the words to describe his latest book!'

'I imagine it thrills,' he said drily.

She smiled. 'Columbine are going to be enormously pleased with the book—I get so involved with the typing that sometimes I don't notice that the room is darkening as evening draws in, and then I—I imagine that someone has come into the den and is hiding among the shadows. I quickly switch on the overhead light and everything is back to normal again—'

Debra broke off, for she hadn't meant to confide the eeriness that crept into the leather-walled den with the fall of dusk, when she would quickly cover the typewriter and hurry to the nursery suite to be with Nanny Rose and little Dean.

'If you don't care for the atmosphere of Jack's den, why not work in one of the other rooms?' Abruptly he turned to face her, his shoulders spread wide against the afterglow. 'There's a small morning-room facing the library, so why not work there on Jack's book? I am aware that his descriptive powers can be effective.'

'No,' she shook her head, 'it would be childish of me to give in to fancies, and I'm all right most of the time.'

'You're over-imaginative, I expect.'

'I think I am,' she agreed. 'That's why I chose to work for a publishing house.'

'You have ambitions to become a writer yourself?'

'Oh no,' she said quickly. 'I love books, but I don't think I have it in me to be a writer of them. I was so grateful for the chance to work for your brother.'

'A touch of hero-worship, no doubt.' Abruptly her chin was enclosed by his hard fingers and he tilted her face so he could study it. The tide below them was crashing across the beach and hitting the cliffs as the sky turned to sable.

Debra felt her pulse beating with an intensity that was quite frightening and she had to subdue the urge to pull away from this man who had seen her with only her long smooth hair caping her body. She wished he was a stranger who would walk away from Abbeywitch, but instead he was the master who meant to stay awhile, and he had already implied that it wouldn't be possible for either of them to forget the way they had met down on the sands that were now possessed by the sea.

'Let us go and have dinner,' he said decisively, and they walked towards the house where lights were glowing behind the windows. 'Do you take your meals with the family, Miss Hartway?'

'No, I have them with Dean's nanny.'

'At your wish or my stepmother's?'

'Mrs Salvador suggested it, and it's what I prefer to do.' Debra spoke firmly. 'I like Nanny Rose and I—I feel more comfortable with her.'

'I'm sure you do,
señorita
.' But there was a rather hard note in his voice, and as they entered a sideway into the hall of the house the big chandeliers lit his face and reflected diamond-hard in his eyes. Instantly, in the big portrait of the Don Salvador who had founded the family, which hung against the dark richness of the panelled wall, Debra saw the man who walked at her side.

There was the proud arrogance in the shape of the head and the features; there the compelling look of authority, and the skin that a hot, fierce sun had tanned.

More than once Debra had stood and looked at the portrait that commanded the attention of whoever came into the house, but she hadn't dreamt that she would ever meet such a man in the flesh.

'My infamous ancestor,' said Rodare Salvador, catching the look she flung at the portrait. 'He was said to have the blood of the Moors in his veins . . . very jealous men where their women are concerned, as Othello proved to the doomed Desdemona.'

And there in the eyes looking down at Debra, framed by brows and lashes of a wicked blackness, was the menace of strange places . . . the desires of a strong personality.

With a breathless urgency she said: 'Nanny Rose will wonder what's become of me—good night, Mr Salvador!'

'Good night, Miss Hartway.' He spoke with a slight note of mockery in his voice and watched as she backed a few paces to the stairs. 'Ours has been an intriguing introduction to each other. Please give the
hijito
a kiss and a hug from me.'

When she looked puzzled he briefly smiled. 'I use the Spanish word for little boy.'

'Oh—I see.' She stepped upon the stairs. 'Yes, all right.'

She turned and fled, obeying the impulse which had been clamouring in her from the instant she had looked into the Spanish eyes of Rodare Salvador.

BEYOND the parapet the sea had a breathless, sparkling beauty as the sun arose, with the seabirds flying on the crest of the waves to snatch their prey.

It had never been possible when Debra worked in the city to feel such a sense of expectancy in the day ahead, it merely came as a relief to reach the office after the usual subway scramble, the air in the streets still stale from the day before, the traffic fumes locked in by the tall buildings.

But here on the edge of the ocean the air was like a wine that went to her head so that she slept soundly and awoke hungry for her breakfast. She always had lunch and dinner with Nanny Rose, but chose to have her breakfast on the terrace. She never bothered the staff but went quietly to the kitchen to collect her tray and with a sense of luxury she would eat her eggs, bacon and toast while listening to the sea churning into the cove.

Although she had no need to work on Sundays, she chose to do a morning's stint at the typewriter. It helped pass the day and kept her from running into Zandra and her friends.

Several of them were staying at Abbeywitch and upon passing the drawing-room the other evening she had heard herself referred to as 'that mouse who pecks away at the typewriter in the den of mystery.'

Debra had to admit it was an appropriate description but it made her feel self-conscious, and it also made her aware of the actor who had tagged her as a mouse.

She knew him to be Stuart Coltan who had appeared in a television series about a famous dance-hall in New York which during wartime had been a rendezvous for servicemen and their girl-friends. Debra had enjoyed the series not only because it had been well-acted and lively, but because it had given her an insight into her father's life. He had seen action in Korea as a young man, sustaining the injury which had led to his broken health and his early death.

Stuart Coltan had played a young soldier in the series and much as Debra had enjoyed his acting and his skill as a dancer, she decided that in reality he was a rather brash American who liked to air his wit at other people's expense.

He seemed to be extra friendly with Zandra Salvador, and Debra was willing to bet that Zandra was the type of woman who demanded to be the centre of a man's attention. They certainly made a striking pair, and from the terrace Debra had watched them water-skiing, and going out in the launch to dine and dance on the deck of the big yacht belonging to the theatrical producer who was backing the show they were still in the throes of rehearsing.

Before starting her own work Debra went along to the nursery suite to wish Nanny Rose good-morning and to have a little game with Dean, who this morning had a new toy to show her, a clown with floppy legs and a bright red nose.

He held it out to Debra, his blue eyes beaming into hers. 'Dino,' he announced, his name for all his toys including his spinning-top and his teddy-bear with a bent ear.

'Isn't he a funny Dino?' she said. 'Did your uncle give him to you?'

Nanny Rose came over to the high-chair with Dean's bowl of cereal. 'So you know about Dean's uncle. No one had any idea he was arriving; he just turned up out of the blue looking as brown as a bullfighter and he popped into the nursery last night to take a look at his little nephew. He's that foreign-looking it's hard to believe he's half-brother to Mr Jack and Miss Zandra.'

Nanny Rose always referred to the members of the Salvador family in the old-fashioned way; she had worked her way up from a nursery-maid in the households of upper-class families and had been recommended to Jack Salvador by his publisher.

Debra smiled, but didn't mention her own disturbing encounter with Rodare Salvador.

'A pity it isn't the little lad's daddy who has come home.' Nanny Rose coaxed milky cereal into the child's mouth. 'The lord knows when he's going to return ... I really start to wonder if he's gone and joined his poor love of a wife.'

'Oh—don't say that!' Debra exclaimed.

'You didn't see him, my dear, the day he scattered her ashes.' Nanny Rose gave Debra a significant look. 'Ashen-faced he was and he left Abbeywitch about an hour afterwards, speeding away in the motorboat like a man pursued by devils. There was such a to-do. Madam had hysterics and even Mr Rodare couldn't calm her down. And Miss Zandra got pie-eyed and went out on Firefly in that state and ended up breaking the mare's left foreleg. You should have heard the language Mr Rodare used! He had to go out with the gun and do the necessary, and when he came storming back into the house the chandeliers shook in the hall when he told those two women what he thought of them.'

Debra could well imagine the scene which had taken place. 'Nanny, I wonder why the family was so upset when none of them seemed to care very much for Pauline?'

'Perhaps they felt guilty.' Nanny Rose gave Dean's chin a wipe. 'We all feel a touch of guilt when we lose someone we love, so just imagine what mother and daughter went through when Mr Jack went off as if he couldn't stand the sight of them.'

'But he left his little son behind.' Debra touched a finger to the child's milky cheek; he was sloshing about with his spoon and getting most of his breakfast over his face and bib. A man, Debra thought, would have to be in a very stricken state to do what Jack Salvador had done. This, after all, was Pauline's baby.

'There's no accounting for what folks will do when they're in a state.' Nanny Rose gazed at the little boy with a look of sadness in her eyes. 'I've been on this earth long enough to have learnt that people are the strangest of God's creatures, and that's a fact.'

And even as she spoke, the door of the nursery opened and in strode the boy's uncle. Debra felt a leap of her nerves, for here in the nursery he looked even more formidable than he had looked down on the beach. A cambric shirt was thrown open against his throat and he wore corded breeches and a pair of boots laced up the front to the knee. He brought a whiff of horse in with him and his shirt was generously splashed as if with sea water.

He gave Dean's nanny a courteous inclination of the head, then fixed Debra with a brief look that penetrated. When he turned to his nephew a smile quirked the edge of his mouth.

'How quickly a child loses the baby look,' he said. 'When last I was here Dean was so much smaller, just a bawling bundle of wants, now look at his chunky limbs and those mischievous eyes.'

Dean sat gazing up at his tall uncle, his mouth open like a cuckoo bird's so his nanny could feed him. 'Dino!' He turned in his high chair and waved a fist at his clown. 'Nice Dino.'

'Is that his name for me?' Rodare asked, amused.

Nanny Rose gave an indulgent laugh. 'That's the little lad's name for all his toys, isn't it, my duck?'

'You're a quaint
pequeño
, aren't you?' Rodare gently stroked a hand across the boy's dark hair, and in return Dean gave him a wide smile that revealed his tiny teeth.