The Devil at Archangel (21 page)

she opened them tentatively.

'Theo?'

There was no reply. She glanced up at the edge of the pool where the

towels were, half expecting that he had climbed out to dry himself,

but he was nowhere to be seen.

Then suddenly something grabbed at her legs, dragging her down into

the vivid turquoise depths of the water. She gasped in surprise,

swallowing water. She fought free of the grip round her legs and

surfaced again.

'Theo, you brute ...'

Her words were cut off as she was dragged down again. She'd had

barely time to draw breath and she didn't—she really didn't—enjoy

being ducked. She was no water-baby. Above her head was sunlight

and air and that was where she wanted to be. She thrashed around

wildly, trying to kick her legs free, holding her breath with

determination. If Theo got hurt, he would only have himself to

blame.; she ; thought grimly.

It was beginning to get uncomfortable—her lungs were aching, and

she redoubled her efforts to free herself. Suddenly it was no longer a

game. It was a fight—a bid to establish some kind of supremacy—not

physical, Theo had no need to do that. He was stronger than her and

always would be, his muscles tempered by his swimming and riding.

This was a duel to show her who was the master.

She was frightened, of course she was, but her predominating

emotion was one of anger.

Don't panic, she adjured herself. That was the important thing;. They

couldn't stay down there for ever. Theo would have to breathe

eventually. All she had to do was remember that.

But it was becoming difficult to remember anything besides her own

obsessive need to draw breath. Her head was s pounding and she felt

as if something inside her was going j to burst. His grip round her legs

showed no signs of slackening, no matter how much she twisted and

wriggled.

No one, she found herself thinking with absolute clarity, no one was

allowed to reject Theo Brandon with impunity. All that charm, that

apparent good humour was just a cloak for an ego that you wounded

at your peril. And she had rejected him twice, so now she was being

punished, taught a lesson, shown who was boss. And she was damned

—damned if he was going to get away with it!

It was hard to stick to her resolution, particularly when she knew that

only a few inches above her head was blessed, blessed air, and that all

she had to do in order to get it was meekly submit. Her muscles were

aching now, and her whole body felt as if it had been stretched on the

rack. She was almost at the point where it was impossible to fight any

more. Almost, but not quite.

Suddenly her arms were being wrenched from their sockets as well as

her legs, and she groaned aloud, choking as the water rushed into her

mouth. There was an intense glowing brightness, but even as she

lifted her face towards it gratefully, the darkness came down and

smothered her.

Somewhere someone was retching, a harsh painful sound, It felt

painful too—like a great fist twisting in her stomach —pressing down

on her back, forcing the water out of her. With a moan she opened her

eyes. She was lying face downwards on a pile of towels at the side of

the pool. The pressure on her lungs increased, and she choked up

more water.

Memory came flooding back, and she tried to turn to see whose hands

were upon her.

'Lie still,' said Devlin, his voice grim. 'You'll be all right.'

'Tina.' Theo's voice. 'Oh, Tina, my darling!' He dropped to his knees

in front of her, his hands cupping her face. 'I'm so sorry, I didn't

realise you were in difficulties. It was all a game—only a game.'

There was remorse in his voice, and it might even be sin-cere. But

there was a veiled note of triumph too, and Christina knew that if it

was a game Theo was leaving her in no doubt as to who had won. She

closed her eyes to shut
Out
the sight of him.

'Can you walk?' Devlin again. Lips tautly compressed, he watched

her struggle on to her knees. 'Here, then.' She was lifted up into his

arms, cradled against his chest. This time there was nothing loverlike

in his touch, but there was an odd feeling of security. She could feel

his heart beating under her cheek, hear him asking Theo with chilling

abruptness for directions to her room, and Theo's sullen reply.

She kept her eyes closed until she felt herself laid none too gently on

the softness of her own bed. When she opened them, Devlin was

emerging from the bathroom with her bathrobe and a large towel.

She struggled up on to one elbow, her eyes enormous. 'How...?'

'Don't try to talk,' he said. 'Don't try to do anything. Just be still.'

And still she was, while he stripped the sodden bikini from her and

dried her briskly with the towel he had brought. Once—a lifetime

ago—she had burned with shame because he had touched her skin.

Now she lay mute with gratitude under his hands, submitting docilely

to being wrapped in the bathrobe while he dried her hair.

He did not speak. His touch was as cool and impersonal as a doctor's.

When the-excess water had been dried from her hair, he picked up the

house telephone and with the same- abruptness ordered a tray of tea

to be brought to her room. Then he sat down on the edge of the bed

and gave her a long, hard look.

'Do you usually indulge in such hectic swimming parties?' he

inquired levelly. 'If so, I suggest your technique needs improving. If I

hadn't arrived when I did, you could have been in trouble.'

She hesitated. A voice inside her was urging her to tell him the

truth—to throw herself into his arms and weep out the panicky

reaction which was beginning to set in. But she couldn't do that. She

knew only too well what she would be inviting if she did. Instead,

weary as she was, she had to fight again—a battle that made what had

just transpired in the swimming pool seem like an unimportant

skirmish, and which, for her own peace of mind, she could not lose.

'We were just—fooling around,' she said at last, tonelessly. 'Theo was

ducking me, and things got a bit out of hand. It was my own fault.'

'I wouldn't argue about that,' he said, too smoothly. 'Maybe you

should be a little more careful about the games you indulge in. Or at

least your choice of partner for these games.'

'Maybe so.' She bent her head wearily, allowing strands of still-damp

hair to fall across her face. 'I—I have to thank you again, it seems.'

He put out his hand and brushed her hair back behind her ear. It was

the most casual of gestures, but it made her feel alive again,

terrifyingly so. She had to fight a treacherous urge to turn her head

and kiss the lean hand that stroked back her hair.

Instead, she said icily, 'Please don't do that.'

His eyebrows rose. 'I'm sorry. I suppose this is another

game—pretending my touch is abhorrent to you?'

She lifted her chin defiantly. 'Does it have to be pretence? I—I've said

I'm grateful to you. Does that give you an excuse to—take advantage

of me?'

Not a muscle moved in his dark face. 'I wasn't aware I was doing so.'

He got to his feet. Tour tea should be arriving shortly. Have it with

sugar—plenty of it. Do you want me to have them call the doctor?'

She shook her head, an immense weariness possessing her. She very

badly wanted to cry, but she would not give way to such weakness in

front of Devlin. No matter what it cost, she had to retain what rags of

self-respect were left to her. She did not look at him again, and

presently she heard his footsteps on the gallery outside, dying away in

the distance as he descended the garden stairs, and then and only then

she allowed the first scalding tears to trickle down her face.

She was almost composed again by the time the bedroom door

opened to admit Madame Christophe with a tray, closely followed by

Mrs Brandon, leaning heavily on her stick.

'Christina!' There was a greyish tinge to Mrs Brandon's usually

exquisite complexion. 'What is this I hear? There has been some sort

of accident in the swimming pool?'

Christina gave her a long level look as she accepted the cup that

Madame Christophe handed to her. In spite of the warmth of the

sunlit room, she felt chilled to the bone and her stomach was

quivering with reaction. The tea was comforting and as she sipped at

it, she could feel the interior trembling begin to die away.

'You could say that,' she agreed.

Mrs Brandon paused for a moment, then made a dismissive gesture to

the housekeeper.

She pulled a chair forward to Christina's bedside and sat down.

Christina saw with astonishment that her hands were shaking.

'Pauvre enfant,
what a terrible thing to happen! And how fortunate

that Theo was there to rescue you.' Her voice wavered slightly on the

last words.

Christina set the cup back in the saucer. 'Is that what he's been

saying?' she asked caustically. 'Well, that isn't my impression,

madame.
In fact, if Theo hadn't been there, I probably shouldn't have

needed rescuing in the first place.'

The older woman gasped and shrank visibly in her chair. There was a

bluish look round her mouth and she produced a handkerchief and

dabbed nervously at her lips.

'You are—naturally—overwrought,
ma chere.
You don't know what

you are saying. Rest now, and we will talk later.'

'I know exactly what I'm saying,' Christina returned grimly. 'Theo and

I had a brief discussion on marriage, and my views didn't please him.

So he saw to it that I was made to suffer for them. I suppose I got off

lightly in some ways. A few generations back and he would probably

"have —tied me to the whipping post and given me fifty lashes.'

'Ma
chere
Christina,' Mrs Brandon tried to smile, 'you must make

allowances for a young man's—natural disappointment.'

'Oh, I'm so sorry,' Christina said scathingly. 'In all the excitement, that

never occurred to me. But you do realises I hope, that after this, it's

quite impossible for me to stay here. I'd like to leave as soon as

possible ...'

'Oh, no!' Christina saw with alarm that Mrs Brandon's colour had

deteriorated even further. She was breathing heavily, and one hand

was pressed to her chest.

She
said sharply, 'Mrs Brandon, are you all right?'

Her employer's eyelids flickered open. 'My pills,' she managed

weakly. 'Handbag.'

Christina jumped off the bed and found the bag lying near Mrs

Brandon's feet. She found the pill box and pressed it into the older

woman's hand. There was the usual jug of chilled fruit juice on the

bedside table and she poured some into a glass, slopping it in her

haste, and gave it to Mrs Brandon. After a few moments her breathing

began to quieten and the blueness started to fade from her lips.

Mrs Brandon leaned back in her chair with closed eyes for a while,

then she opened them and looked at Christina standing in front of her.

She shrugged her shoulders almost resignedly. 'You see how helpless

I am? Yet I have not had an attack since you have been here. You see

how I have grown to depend on you.'

Christina clutched the bathrobe defensively round her body. 'But I

haven't done anything,' she started to protest.

Mrs Brandon held up a fragile hand. 'You gave me hope,
mon enfant.

I have not much longer to live and it is the wish of my heart to see

Theo settled in life. In you, I saw the means to do this. You were that

little bit older and so much more mature. You could give him the

stability he needs.'

Christina stared at her. 'Mrs Brandon, you can't still be hoping—not

after what has just happened—after what I said?'

'But you were not harmed.' Mrs Brandon's tone became firmer.

'He—he just wished to—punish you a little, as you guessed. Already,

you see, you know him. Oh, I do not blame you for being angry. Theo

is—headstrong. I have allowed him, perhaps, too much his own way.

But a sensible wife could do so much to calm these foolish

impulses— this temper that sometimes gets the better of him.'

Christina began to feel that she was fighting her way out of a maze.

She said, 'You must listen and you must believe me, Mrs Brandon. I

will not marry Theo—now or at any time in the future. You'll have to

find someone else to cope with his—tantrums. I intend to leave Ste

Victoire and go back to England, with or without your permission.'

'Yes.' Mrs Brandon closed her eyes again. 'Perhaps that would be

best. I will arrange a flight for you from Martinique. But not yet.

Please—Christina—oblige me in this one last thing. I am not well and