House of Storms Page 16

  By the time she went downstairs he had departed for the mainland and the house was quiet. Debra guessed that Zandra and her group would reappear later in the day, but right now she could relax a little and enjoy discussing Jack's book. He was in the den when she entered, at his ease on the window ledge. He smiled through the smoke of his cigarette as if he liked the light linen dress into which she had changed.

  'It feels good to be home,' he said warmly.

  'You seem to be very much a part of Abbeywitch.' Debra felt a warm sense of ease in this man's presence, so unrelated to the emotional turmoil she felt when Rodare came anywhere near her. 'You fit into its ambience.'

  'More so than Rodare, I think you imply?' He quirked an eyebrow at her. 'As the pair of you are so obviously cat and dog I can take it as read that you are free of any entanglement?'

  'Oh yes,' she said emphatically.

  He smiled and came to the desk where he picked up the sheaf of typed manuscript. 'I've been going through this and you've done a good job, but I've decided that I want to change certain parts of the first chapter—do you mind?'

  'It isn't for me to mind, Mr Salvador.' She accepted what he said, but to her way of thinking the first chapter seemed perfect.

  'I'd like you to call me Jack.'

  Her eyes widened upon his face but she didn't argue with him. If it flickered through her mind that Rodare would be ironically amused by the familiarity she strove to stay composed. His hint that Jack was developing an interest in her had to be ignored.

  'Do you want to dictate?' she asked him, preparing to pick up pen and notebook.

  'Tomorrow will do,' he murmured, his eyes upon her face. 'You have done me a great service, Debra, and you are so unassuming that you don't seem to realise your own capacity for feeling the aches and despairs of other people. Who made you so wise, you who look so young?'

  'It must have been my parents,' she smiled, warmed by his approval yet able to retain her composure.

  'Are they both still living?'

  She told him a little of her situation. 'My mother deserves every bit of happiness she's now enjoying. She worked so hard after my father died and she held a lot of sadness in her heart until Ben Langham came along and fell in love with her.'

  'Love is important to you, isn't it, Debra?'

  This time she was disconcerted by Jack Salvador, and this time it showed, and he stepped a little nearer to her so she became aware of his lean height and the way his weeks of solitude had worn hollows into his face and silvered the hair above his brow.

  'Love in the truest context of the word,' he added. 'Love that doesn't come to all who bend the knee and have faith that it won't be a moth the flame will destroy.'

  'Do you read Eric Mackay?' she asked, slender in her lemon-coloured dress, the afternoon sunlight in the gloss of her hair.

  'Romantic as Byron,' Jack murmured. 'A creat shame his more celebrated sister outshone him—have you ever read the Corelli melodrama?'

  Debra shook her head. 'I prefer your books.'

  'You flatter me, young woman.'

  'Oh, you know they're good.'

  He laughed. 'I regret the loss of Miss Tucker, but you are going to suit me fine. Shall I suit you, do you think?'

  'I think so,' she replied sedately.

  He raised his cigarette to his lips and drew on it, his eyes holding her gaze through the screen of smoke. 'No more tremors of apprehension regarding my mother?'

  'I can't be sure—' Debra heard birds twittering in the courtyard beyond the window and a kind of peacefulness brooded over the day. The trees and flowers had recovered their glory and weren't bowed down as they had been by yesterday's storm, but the storm had left its reminder in the heap of rubble that lay at the foot of the west-side cliffs; chunks of stone split by the lightning and hurled down upon the beach, and Debra remembered what Jack had said about the house being cursed.

  Had the long-ago abduction on the beach left a kind of curse upon Abbeywitch?

  She gave a slight shiver which Jack misinterpreted.

  'Mama will have me to deal with if she starts on you again.'

  'She must have been delighted that you've come home?'

  He nodded. 'We call it home, this house and island that belongs to my half-brother. He could throw us all out if he felt so inclined, and I believe he almost did when—'

  Jack broke off, but Debra knew instinctively what he had left unsaid. He had been about to say: 'When Pauline was drowned!'

  'If you don't want to do any work right now I'll look in on Nanny Rose,' she said breathlessly. 'I ran into Mrs Lee as I was on my way down to the den and she said Nanny Rose was sleeping. She might now be awake.'

  'I'll come with you,' he said, stubbing out his cigarette. 'She seems to have taken quite a battering and I'm infernally thankful that Dean was in his cot. As it overturned the covers sheltered him, but his nanny was in the rocker, it seems, sewing by the window.'

  When they entered the bedroom where Nanny Rose was recovering they found her propped up by pillows, enjoying a cup of tea. Her poor head was bandaged and there was a large dressing on the side of her neck, but the instant she saw Jack Salvador she summoned a smile.

  'So it's true,' she said, 'you're back home, Mr Jack.'

  'Yes, I've come home, Nanny.' He strode to her bedside and bending down to her gently kissed her cheek.

  'And not before your time,' she chided him. The little lad needs to have his father with him, especially the way things are. I hope you intend to stay?'

  'I fully intend to stay, Nanny Rose.' Jack beckoned Debra to the bedside. 'I think you know this young lady, eh?'

  For moments that stretched almost to a minute Nanny Rose and Debra looked at each other and both of them were remembering the things they had said to each other the morning Debra had fled the island.

  'So you didn't get to London?'

  'It seems not.' Debra reached for Nanny Rose's hand. 'I expect Abbeywitch has cast its spell over me.'

  'Humph!' Nanny Rose looked as if she was thinking that it was more than a house which had cast its spell over Debra.

  'Are you in pain, Nanny?' Jack looked concerned.

  'My cuts and bumps will mend,' she said. 'Hurts to the body do mend if they aren't mortal, not like some of the hurts we inflict on our feelings.'

  Though her eyes were still shadowed by pain and shock the old light of wisdom was creeping back, there in the glance which went back and forth from Jack to Debra.

  'You're looking more yourself, Mr Jack,' she finally said.

  'I'm feeling more myself, Nanny.'

  'Starting to put the sadness behind you, is that it?'

  He inclined his head. 'I had no right to run out on my responsibilities to Dean, and it's something I shall never do again. You've looked after him well, Nanny. He's a splendid boy and I'm proud of him.'

  'You've every right to be proud,' she agreed. 'He's bright as a lark from morning till eve, and by the time I'm out of this bed his grandmother will be glad to hand him back to me.'

  A glimmer of amusement lit Jack's eyes. 'You think he'll wear her out, eh?'

  'He's growing fast, Mr Jack, and he's in to everything.'

  'Well, I'm here to share him with Mama, and Debra's here to do my other work, so we'll manage. All you've to worry about, Nanny, is getting back on your feet. The storm has passed us by and now we're into calmer seas.'

  'It never does to anticipate, Mr Jack,' she warned.

  Her words brought a frown to his brow. 'I don't see why we shouldn't look forward to some halcyon days—haven't we earned them?'

  At that point Debra decided to intervene. Nanny Rose looked very frail and she wasn't a young woman who would bounce back to health without a struggle.

  'You must get your rest.' She raised Nanny Rose while she removed one of her pillows so she could recline more comfortably. 'There, how does that feel?'

  'You're a kind, good girl.' Nanny Rose gave a sigh of satisfaction. 'The pain-killers make me
feel drowsy—'

  'Sleep and don't worry any more,' Debra murmured. 'Dean is safe and sound as a chapel bell.'

  A smile flitted across his nanny's face. 'He sang in the choir did David bach; clear as a bell he sang.' With another sigh she turned her face into the pillow and fell quietly asleep.

  'Who was David?' Jack gave Debra an enquiring look.

  'Nanny used to know him when she was only a girl. He worked as a coal miner and died in an explosion with the pit ponies.'

  'I see.' Jack gazed down at her in a concerned way; it somehow wasn't noticeable when she was about her duties that she was such a slight woman. 'I hope she's going to be all right?'

  'She has a tenacious will,' Debra smiled, and they walked quietly from the room and left Nanny Rose to dream of the gallant young man who wouldn't leave the ponies to perish alone.

  'Dammit,' Jack growled, 'it always seems to be the nice people who bear the burdens and carry the crosses! The self-loving never seem to suffer much!'

  'The way of the world,' Debra reminded him. 'The path to damnation has always been the smooth one, but would you want to take it?'

  'I suppose not.' He gave a brief laugh and caught Debra by the hand. 'Come and take a stroll with me in the garden, the rhododendrons grow there like young trees and they are one of the reasons why I love Abbeywitch. Later on, you and I will have tea with my son.'

  'Your mother will be there,' Debra reminded him. 'It's kind of you, but let me settle in— don't foist me on her.'

  Jack's fingers tightened on hers, then relaxed. 'If that's what you want, Debra, but come and see the rhododendrons with me.'

  They were huge, so bursting with scarlet and mauve that they seemed unreal, almost theatrical ... in keeping, Debra thought, with the atmosphere of Abbeywitch. As she strolled the winding paths with Jack it was like being in the woods of an enchanted castle, and she wondered at the trick of fate that made this place the inheritance of the wrong man.

  Jack had his roots here, but Rodare's were in the stonier soil of faraway Spain. He was the master of the property by birthright, but Jack seemed to love every aspect of the place and it struck her rather painfully when he paused to cup one of the huge flower heads in his hands.

  'They're like bewitched court ladies,' he said, 'but soon their day of glory will be over and it will be Midsummer.'

  He let go the flower and swung to face Debra on the sun-dappled path. 'Thank heaven you came and found me—I was going to damnation before you came and that's the truth! Dear God, but it's good to be back!'

  For him it was good, she thought, but for herself it was a path strewn with obstacles and one of them stood six-foot tall.

  CHAPTER TEN

  IT wasn't long before workmen from the mainland had attended to the storm damage. They dumped the rubble and stone into the sea and when they departed the only outward sign that lightning had struck the house was the blank wall where the terraces had been.

  It was good to hear again the sounds of sea and birds, but working as she did in the den, Debra hadn't been too aware of the noise in the west wing as the rooms were repaired . . . she was far more aware of the arrival by launch of a pair of house guests whose presence didn't really surprise her.

  The workings of Lenora Salvador's mind were transparent; her son Jack was home and if there was any chance that he was going to miss having a wife then his mother duly presented Sharon Chandler to him by inviting her and her mother to the island. Complete with their personal maids and a curly-coated French poodle, they settled in.

  Debra had re-established her working routine, but she couldn't help but miss her morning visits to the nursery and the company of Nanny Rose at mealtimes.

  Dean's nanny was still in the throes of her recovery, and Lenora was still firmly in charge of her grandson, so Debra saw Dean only when Jack brought him to the den. He was growing by leaps and tumbles, but he and Jack were now firmly bonded and this for Debra was a source of real pleasure. Less so was her constant awareness that Rodare was still in residence and hadn't yet felt the sudden urge to pack his bags and go flying back to Spain.

  When alone at night she would forcibly brush her hair in an attempt to brush him out of her mind. But with her windows open, she often caught the sound of laughter and sometimes the sound of music, and knew that down in the drawing-room the Salvadors were entertaining Sharon and her mother.

  Debra wondered as she sat there by the window, the night air blowing cool against her face, what it felt like to be the kind of girl whose wealthy parents made it possible for her to pursue a life of ease and pleasure.

  A girl who had time on her hands to learn the art of being lovely and charming, her sole aim in life being that of a social butterfly whose mind didn't need to dwell on the serious business of earning a living.

  An image of her with the Salvador brothers would steal into Debra's mind, charmingly dressed, always ready with the amusing quip and practised in the art of making men feel as if they could rule the world.

  The drifting sound of dance music couldn't help but awaken in Debra the memory of the way she had danced with Rodare, following his steps so easily as if a kind of magic led her through the movements of the dance. Remembering the pliancy and strength of his body, she covered the burning warmth of her cheeks with her hands ... it was useless to deny the power of his physical ascendancy over her. It was a spell that wouldn't be broken until she saw him no more.

  In a kind of trepidation she waited for him to leave Abbeywitch, and at the start of each day she wondered if in the midst of her work he would open the door of the den and stand there tall and dark, looking in upon her, making good his warning that he wasn't going to allow her to be just a shadow in his house, flitting between turret room and den.

  Work was her distraction and soon she became absorbed in her editorial task, only breaking off when the maid arrived with her morning or afternoon refreshment on a tray. Then, inevitably, her mind would fly back to that first time Rodare had ordered wine and biscuits to be brought to her.

  Always in the morning it was wine and biscuits. In the afternoon it was a pot of tea and a slice of fruit cake, and because Debra wasn't partial to cake she would rather guiltily feed it to the birds from the window. The tea she enjoyed with relish, seated on the wide ledge of the window, alone and yet not really lonely. It wasn't in her nature to be gregarious and now the Chandlers were guests in the house, she was glad to be isolated in the den.

  And relieved that Stuart Coltan stayed away from her. Whenever she did see him he would give her a rather brazen stare but pass her by without comment.

  She was aware, however, from remarks made by Jack, that Coltan had charmed Lenora into accepting him. According to Jack his mother found Stuart attractive, amusing and attentive. The indications were that she might find him an acceptable son-in-law, and Jack's tone of irony made Debra realise what was going through his mind. Had his mother been more approving of the show business girl he had chosen to marry then his marriage might not have suffered such trauma and Pauline might still be alive.

  Debra thought he had been unwise to try and love wife and mother under the same roof, but at the same time she understood how much he relied on the atmosphere of the island to inspire his work. His fiction teemed with drama and suspense, and Debra sensed strongly that he drew inspiration and ideas from the atmosphere of Abbeywitch; his roots as a writer would be torn from their bedrock if he didn't breathe the air of Lovelis Island, if he didn't listen to the voices of his imagination in the thunder of the waves, if he didn't see the sun go down in glorious flame at the end of the day.

  As she grew to know him, Debra realised that Jack Salvador was more akin to the island than Rodare would ever be. His nature was that of a Celt while in Rodare lay impulses that were purely of Andalucia where for generations the fierce and possessive Moors had ruled, dark-skinned and autocratic and, as Rodare had said himself, jealous guardians of their women.

  Disturbing thoughts to be having while she
drank her tea and listened to the birds squabbling over the cake crumbs, but Debra couldn't shake free of them. The courtyard beyond the window was somehow Moorish in its arrangement of archways, with a fountain jetting into the sunlight and making a rainbow across the wide stone basins. Had the stonework of the court been white instead of grey then she could almost have fancied herself in Spain.

  A train of thought that was abruptly halted as the door of the den opened to admit the one man in the world with whom she didn't want to be alone.

  Lithe and tall, strikingly dark in beige linen trousers and a black silk shirt. The height and stance of him suggested castle doorways . . . great Moorish castles studded with iron. He smiled and she saw the menace in it; he seemed to sense that he wasn't welcome.

  'Good, I catch you in the midst of your tea-break. I wouldn't want to interrupt your work because I know how much it means to you.'

  Debra chose to ignore the tinge of sarcasm in his words. 'I'm about to start again,' she said, 'so if you were looking for Jack—'

  'Jack?' he broke in. 'That was never the way Miss Tucker referred to him; that good lady was always very formal.'

  Debra flushed slightly and her mood of relaxation was quite dispelled. 'I use your brother's first name at his request,' she said defensively. 'Were you looking for him, señor?'

  'No, I came on purpose to see you.'

  'Oh—what about?' Her pulses hammered as he crossed the room in a leisurely fashion and when he reached her, where she still sat in the windowseat, he handed her a small box stamped with the name of a Penarth jeweller.

  'It's all right,' he mocked, 'I'm not giving you an engagement ring.'

  She opened the box and felt a quick stab of joy at seeing her pearl pendant and chain which Rodare had promised to have repaired. She examined the little pear and the fitment and found they were as good as new and glossy from a careful polishing.

  'I am grateful to you.' She met his eyes confusedly. 'You must tell me how much I owe you.'

  Instantly his eyes had a deadly sheen. 'Very well, if you wish to pay me, señorita, then pay me with a kiss.'