The Devil at Archangel (19 page)

the humiliating thought that Eulalie had been comparing her

unfavourably with her own lush curves.

Yet it was all covert. There was nothing at all in Eulalie's attitude that

Christina could have complained of, even had she been so minded.

She had always known that the girli resented having to wait on her,

but that hardly mattered as she intended to leave.

But how? She had resigned herself to the fact that she could not leave

until she had received her first salary cheque, and that was not due

yet. She could not very well ask-for an advance, because Mrs

Brandon was quite aware that she had had no expenses to speak of.

Besides, it would not be right. She would not leave in the Brandons'

debt. There must be no strings attaching her still to Archangel once

she had gone from Ste Victoire.

Somehow she would have to transfer herself and her belongings from

the house to the harbour at La Villette to catch the boat for

Martinique, even if she had to summon one of the few local taxis to

take her instead of slipping away as she wished. But here there was

another difficulty. The only outside telephone was situated in Mrs

Brandon's sitting room, and the chances of making a call unobserved

were few and far between. Christina sighed. That was another bridge

she would have to cross when she came to it.

She had just returned from her walk on the beach one morning,

having ascertained that
Moon Maiden
still had not returned, when

Mrs Brandon sent for her. Although it was still relatively early,

Christina found that she was up and dressed and sitting at the elegant

desk in her sitting room. There was a brisk almost excited air about

her.

'Come in,
ma chere.
There is a lot for us to do today.' She held out a

long handwritten list of what appeared to be names and addresses.

'You will find a box of envelopes in that drawer. Type them quickly,

please. The invitations arrived from the printer this morning and I

wish them to go out without delay.'

'Invitations?' Christina picked up the list and studied it. Practically all

the island's notables appeared to be on it.

'Oui
. It is Theo's
jour de fete
next week—his birthday— and naturally

we shall have a celebration—a small party.'

Christina's brows rose slightly. If this was a small party, she would

have liked to have known Mrs Brandon's idea of a large one. But as

she read down the list of names, one omission leaped out at her.

Devlin's name was not there. She had no doubt this was quite

deliberate, a way of signifying his aunt's displeasure with him, yet it

seemed unfair when his colleagues on the island committee such as

Ludo Bellairs and his family were being invited.

'I'll get on with it immediately,
madame
.' She turned towards the

door.

'Un moment.'
Mrs Brandon's voice halted her. Christina looked back

and saw that she was sitting, twisting her fountain pen in her fingers

as if she was suddenly nervous about something. 'Christina—it would

please me greatly if the party were not merely to celebrate Theo's

birthday but also his engagement.'

Christina's heart felt like a stone inside her. She suppressed a groan.

She had foolishly hoped that any further discussion on the subject

could be avoided for the duration of her stay at Archangel.

She tried to temporise. 'Madame, you said I should have time to

think—to consider ...'

'But what is there to consider?' Mrs Brandon's eyes fastened on hers.

There was a strange appeal, in them. 'And you must have thought it

over by now. Theo is young— headstrong. He will not wait for ever

for his answer while you debate with yourself.'

'I don't want him to wait,' Christina said obstinately. 'I —I can't marry

him, Mrs Brandon. I don't love him.'

'But you could learn.' The older woman's eyes seemed to burn into

hers. 'What else, after all, is an engagement for but to enable two

people to get to know each other—to grow from friends to lovers.

Theo has kept his distance in accordance with your wishes, but—if

you were promised to each other—it would be a simple matter, living

in die same house as you do, for him to teach you to care for him.'

Christina stared at her, her brain reeling. 'I don't know what you

mean,' she managed eventually.

'Oh, come,
mon enfant,''
Mrs Brandon's tone was chiding. 'You must

not be coy. I am saying that when two young attractive people live in

close proximity there will naturally come a time when their emotions

may—overwhelm them. If you -were to—belong to Theo

completely, your feelings might well undergo a change.'

Christina felt sick. 'I'm sorry if you regard me as merely being coy,'

she said, trying to keep her voice calm. 'But I have no intention

of—sleeping with Theo. Whether I was engaged to him or not

wouldn't make the slightest difference.'

'I have shocked you, I see,' Mrs Brandon gave a rather negligent shrug

of the shoulders. 'Forgive me. It seemed an eminently practical

solution.'

Christina closed the door firmly behind her and leaned against it for a

moment, closing her eyes in utter disbelief. Not for the first time, she

found herself totally bewildered by the fact that this woman had been

Aunt Grace's friend. Certainly they had not seen each other for years,

but did people really change all that much? She just could- not

imagine how Aunt Grace would have tolerated for a moment

someone so apparently amoral as Marcelle Brandon. Her own life had

been conducted on lines of quite rigid principle, instilled in her since

girlhood. Unless Mrs Brandon had been a consummate actress, Aunt

Grace must surely have seen that her friend had feet of clay.

She walked down to the library and set about the task of typing the

envelopes. But her fingers were all thumbs and she found that her

usual accuracy had deserted her. With a groan she ripped another

spoiled envelope out of the carriage and screwed it into a ball before

hurling it towards the open window.

'Good shot:' The last voice in the world she had expected to hear

spoke in mocking approval from the doorway behind her. 'Beware,

Miss Sort-of-Secretary. Your halo would appear to be slipping.'

She sat very still, resisting the immediate impulse to turn and look at

him, aware that a tide of betraying colour was sweeping up into her

face.

Devlin strolled across the room and stood beside her, looking down at

the creased list lying beside the typewriter. 'So Tante is having one of

her rare bouts of sociability,' he remarked, raising his eyebrows

sardonically. 'Don't bother to type an envelope for me, Miss Bennett.

I'll take my invitation with me.'

She picked up another envelope and wound it into the machine. 'I

don't think you're being invited,' she told him woodenly.

He didn't seem put out in the slightest. 'Then I shall gatecrash. This is

one Archangel party I wouldn't miss for the world. I want to be there

when Theo puts the Brandon ring on your finger. Have you seen it

yet, by the way? It's an enormous emerald flanked by

diamonds—vulgarity personified.'

The letters being formed under her fingers were sheer gobbledygook,

but she went on typing steadily. 'For the last time,' she said between

her teeth, 'I am not getting engaged to Theo.'

'No?' He threw himself into a chair, stretching his long legs out in

front of him. 'That's not what's being whispered all over the island.

But perhaps you never listen to gossip.'

She paused uncertainly, her fingers poised over the keys. 'People are

saying ...?'

'That you're on the verge of being married off to Theo —yes.' There

was no mockery now in the silver eyes. They were sombre, almost

brooding. 'This party will simply be regarded as the seal on the

contract.'

'But it's not true,' she said with a kind of quiet desperation.

He shrugged, his eyes resting on her taut, unhappy face. 'Perhaps it

will be—by the time of the party. When's it being held? Theo's

birthday? That's just over a week— plenty of time for a determined

woman like Tante to achieve her own way. You're not still denying, I

hope, that it's her intention to marry you to Theo?'

'No,' she said in a low voice, her head bent. 'But I didn't know—when

I came here ... you must believe me.'

'Oh, I do—for what it's worth.' He took a pack of cheroots from his

pocket and lit one. 'What I want to know is what you intend to do

about it.'

'Do?' She took the envelope out of the machine and laid it to one side.

'Why? yes,' he sounded impatient. 'I do have a vested interest in all

this, you know.'

'I don't see how ...' she began, and then light dawned.

'Oh, of course! If Theo marries and has a child, then that would put

you right out of the inheritance.'

There was a long silence, and then he uttered a brief, mirthless laugh.

'Clever girl!' His voice was cynical. 'You catch on fast. Yes, I do have

my reasons for preferring Theo to remain single. Do I have your

co-operation in helping to achieve that entirely laudable aim?'

'I've already told you I have no intention of marrying Theo.' Her

throat seemed to be hurting her oddly. 'You— you have nothing to

fear from me in your—plans.'

'I'm delighted to hear it,' he said drily. 'And how do you intend to

escape the fate that Tante has it all mapped out for you?'

'Oh,' she shrugged vaguely, 'I do have one or two little schemes in

mind. You really don't have to worry.'

'Oh, but I do,' he said softly. 'Particularly if I happen to be involved in

any of them.'

Her eyes flew to his with something like panic. 'You're not,' she said

quickly.

'No?' He stood up and walked over to her. For a moment he looked

down at her, then he reached into the pocket of his dark grey corded

pants. 'Yours, I believe,' he said lighdy, and dropped something into

her lap. It was a handkerchief, small and lace-trimmed and entirely

unremarkable but for the betraying embroidered 'C' in one corner.

Her hand closed round it.

'Where—where did you find this?'

'Don't you remember? Or were you in too much of a hurry to leave?'

His hand reached down and took her chin, remorselessly forcing her

face up to meet his glance. 'Don't pretend, Christina. You came to the

beach house while I was away in Martinique. I knew someone had

been there because a shutter had been left open "and it was obvious

someone had been having a sneak preview of some of the exhibits for

my next show. I realised it was you when Ifound your handkerchief

on the floor. I couldn't quite swallow the premise that it was a burning

interest in my prowess as a woodcarver which had brought you there,

so it occurred to me you might have needed my help. Am I right?'

She sat very still, then she managed a shaky laugh. 'It's very kind of

you to offer me a way out—but I'm afraid it's much simpler than that.

Sheer feminine curiosity, and quite unforgivable, I know. You were

away—and I was dying to have a look round, so I just walked in ...'

Her voice tailed away, then rallied. 'I—I shall have to cover my tracks

more carefully next time.'

'I see,' he said expressionlessly. His fingers fell away from her chin

and she touched her flesh uncertainly, wondering if he had bruised

her. 'I'm sorry I wasn't there to entertain you in person. I might have

been able to satisfy your curiosity on several other points as well.'

There was no mistaking the implication in his words, and Christina's

face burned. 'I'm sorry too. Sorry I ever went near the place,' she said

in a constricted voice. She tried to get up, but his hand caught at her

shoulder, pressing her down into her seat. Her eyes dilated as she

looked up at him.

'Sit still,' he said roughly. 'I haven't finished with you yet.'

'Oh, please!' Her voice trembled. 'I've apologised. What else can I

say?'

'To hell with words.' His tone was even, but she could hear the

suppressed anger underneath it. 'You've invaded my privacy, my dear

Miss Bennett, so it's only fair that you should suffer a similar

invasion.' As he spoke, he sank down en to the chesterfield beside

her, his hand moving from her shoulder to tangle in the soft honey

mass of her hair. -»

She tried to say 'Devlin', but her voice broke in the middle of the word

and then his mouth was on hers and her chance to protest was gone.

She felt as if she was drowning in delight. An agonising sweetness

pierced her innermost being as he drew her against him. One hand

stroked the nape of her neck, the other moved on her back softly and