House of Storms Page 19

  'Hello!' She swung round to face her. 'You're Jack's secretary, aren't you?'

  'Yes, Miss Chandler.' Debra's heart pounded beneath her blouse . . . did she look very dishevelled and weepy? Did it show that she had been partially stripped by Jack's brother and still felt where his lips and hands had been? By comparison to the immaculate Sharon, she felt degraded.

  'We've never been introduced, but I remember you from Rodare's party—how sensationally the two of you danced together. You didn't look much like a secretary to me, the way you turned about in his arms like a real professional. I can never achieve that sinuous movement, though Rodare has promised to teach me.'

  Beneath the survey of those blue and rather inquisitive eyes, Debra flushed to the roots of her hair. She felt shabby, used, and wanted to stand under the shower in her bathroom until she felt clean again.

  She couldn't help but notice the fresh pink of Sharon's lips. Her brows with a curving prettiness to them, the soft mauve shadowing of her eyelids and the way her hair glistened like a halo. She looked like a beautiful doll straight out of a lace-edged box, with not a fingermark on her.

  Tears brimmed in Debra's eyes and suddenly she was dashing past Sharon towards the stairs. 'I—I have the most awful headache, Miss Chandler! Please forgive me—'

  Up the stairs she sped, making for her turret where she could be alone to break her heart in peace.

  A sustained shower helped and she stepped from beneath the water feeling refreshed in body though her thoughts were still shadowed by the incident with Rodare. There was nothing profound in whatever the feeling was that he had for her, and she wasn't sorry that she had flung Pauline's name in his face.

  The name had struck home because instantly she had felt desire go out like a flame in a gust of cold wind. He had spoken only three words, 'So that's it,' and he had spoken them through lips with a locked-in, swearing look.

  Debra wrapped her towelling robe tightly about her, her damp and glistening hair caping it. She sat down in one of the cane chairs and tried to read a book, but the print ran together in a jumble and with a sigh she took off her spectacles and rested her head against the cushion.

  Sharon Chandler was very pretty and she did seem as friendly as Jack had said she was. Debra didn't envy the prettiness or the wealth that made the girl's life so easy that her problems were reduced to a debate between a peach and a plum. Debra idly wondered if that was how Sharon regarded the Salvador brothers. Was she here on the island to try and make up her mind between them? Surely neither of them would be able to resist if she laid her hand with its pink fingernails upon one sleeve or the other and said, in her well-modulated voice, that she thought marriage would be a good idea and why not try it with her.

  Debra had fallen into a quiet mood of retrospection when all at once she was stirred to her feet by a rap on her door. She stood there staring at the door, her left hand clutching her robe against her body. Not Rodare! She couldn't bear to have him anywhere near her! 'Go away,' she prayed. 'Go away!'

  Suddenly the doorknob started to turn and Debra was getting ready to tell Rodare to go to the devil when Jack poked his head round the door. 'You all right?' he asked, his eyes fixed upon her face which seemed drained of colour except for the blazing green of her eyes.

  She gave a shiver of relief. 'It's you,' she said, and she even managed to give him a smile.

  'Can I come in or will propriety be offended?'

  'I don't quite know—' Her smile quavered. 'You are the apple of your mother's eye and I feel certain she'd pull out my hair if she caught us together.'

  His cheek clefted as he entered, carrying in with him a covered tray. 'Strawberries and cream,' he smiled. 'Want to share them with me?—I know you like them and I picked these a while ago in the light of the moon which means, my pretty wench, that they're bewitched.'

  As an enticement he threw back the white cloth and showed her the two heaped bowls and the jug of cream. 'Voila!'

  They did look appetizing and all at once she didn't want to be alone. 'All right, Jack, but could we—could we lock the door?'

  'Ah, sin and strawberries?' he murmured.

  'No,' she firmly shook her head, 'the cream will be sufficient.'

  'As you wish, madame.' He brought the tray to the foot of her bed and set it down. 'Will this do?'

  She nodded and brought forward a chair for him while he turned the key in the lock. 'We've built the bonfire and it's a beauty. It will burn for hours and the sparks will be seen way out over the water,' he informed her.

  'Good,' she said, a trifle constrainedly. 'What red-looking strawberries.'

  'To put some colour in your cheeks.' He sat down in the chair while she perched on the bed and she was aware of his eyes on her face as she poured the cream.

  'This is a very luxurious supper.' She bit into a strawberry and found it deliciously juicy. 'So they grow in the garden?'

  'Mmmm, there's a great patch of them down where the two big magnolia trees grow and they are a glorious sight in August, as you will see for yourself.'

  'But I shall have finished work on your book before August comes.'

  'That doesn't mean you'll be gone.'

  Debra gave him a startled look. 'I don't quite—'

  'I want you to stay.' He bit deliberately into a large red berry, his eyes upon her face.

  'As your editor and secretary?'

  'Yes. Now I've lost Miss Tucker I'm going to need someone on a permanent basis, and we get along fine, don't we? You seem to like it here at Abbeywitch—'

  'Jack,' she broke in, 'will you give me time to think over your offer?'

  'Do you need time to think it over, Debra?'

  She hesitated, remembering how she had hoped when she first came here that Jack Salvador would want her to stay on as his regular assistant with his books. What she hadn't bargained for was her strange involvement with Rodare . . . even if he returned to Spain there would come a day when he would reappear at Abbeywitch, and it was no use assuring herself that those feelings he churned into life would die and fade out of her system like autumn leaves when the season of their burgeoning was over.

  She spooned cream over a strawberry until it was quite hidden away. 'I do want to rise through the ranks at Columbine,' she said at last. 'I'm very interested in all aspects of publishing and Mr Holt thinks well of me.'

  'I think well of you,' Jack said, a winsome note in his voice. 'You came and saved my reason and I want to write more books with you there to help me. You won't suffer financially.'

  'I know, but let me think it over.'

  'If you insist, Debra.'

  She smiled, but it was something of an effort. 'Lovely strawberries and it's kind of you to want to share them with me. About an hour ago I saw Miss Chandler down in the hall and she seemed to be in the mood for some fruit and a companion. She's sensationally pretty, isn't she? It must be pleasant for you to have her staying here.'

  'Yes, she's as charming as a Pears Soap advertisement,' he drawled. 'Always was, from a child, and the peach of her mother's eye. Had you been out for a stroll?'

  Debra felt a racing of her pulses. 'Yes,' she licked juice from her lip, 'I did go out for a breath of air. What a moon!'

  'It will be even more barbaric tomorrow evening, if all is well and we don't get any clouds rolling in. Did you go along the headland—we were busy with the bonfire so—'

  'I did pass by earlier on, while you were all at dinner.'

  'I see.' He ate his last strawberry. 'Have you made up your mind about joining us for dinner tomorrow evening?'

  'I—don't see how I can, Jack.'

  Something stirred in his eyes and when he spoke there was a slight edge to his voice. 'You're being rather elusive tonight, Debra. First you shy away from my suggestion that you stay at Abbeywitch on a permanent basis, and now you're being indecisive about tomorrow's event. We Salvadors are only people, you know, and you have no need to be scared of people—they aren't quite so dangerous as tigers.' />
  'Some are.' She had said it before she could stop herself.

  'Have you a specific person in mind, Debra?'

  She lifted her shoulder in a shrug. 'I feel sure the Chandlers aren't in the habit of sitting at dinner with the hired help, as I've been called.'

  'Dash your sensitivity!' Jack reached forward and took her firmly by the hand, and he was about to say something more when his attention was caught by the bruising on the back of her hand, quite lividly dark against her white skin. 'How the devil did this happen?'

  Her fingers clenched and she tried to pull free of his hold on her. 'Oh, I knocked myself. It isn't anything to be concerned about.'

  'It looks as if it must have hurt.' And to Debra's astonishment he carried her hand to his lips and kissed the bruises which his brother had made during her struggle with him out on the headland. Stark in her mind was the image of herself being flung over Rodare's shoulder, and she couldn't help but wonder how Jack would react if she told him how close she had come to being ravished by Rodare.

  No, she could never tell Jack or anyone about that incident and the way it had ended, with Rodare looking as a matador must look when he makes a false move and the horn of the bull tears him open. Shock, followed by pain, and then a kind of fatalistic acceptance. All those emotions had been stark in Rodare's eyes when he had turned and walked away from her.

  Uncertain emotions were in Debra's eyes as Jack drew his lips from her hand. Then he smiled slightly. 'A touch of the Latin in me—do you mind being kissed by your boss?'

  'I—it was very nice—'

  'I'm pleased you think so.' His gaze dwelt upon her lips, moist and bright from the strawberry juice. 'I'm rather out of practice.'

  'Oh,' her smile faltered, 'do you plan to practise on me?'

  'Would you let me?'

  'I—I don't mind kisses on the hand.'

  'To be going on with, Debra?'

  Her heart had started to pound and her fingers flexed in his of themselves. He was flirting with her, lightly and charmingly, and so in contrast to Rodare's treatment of her that her shaken emotions brought tears to her eyes again.

  'Dear girl—I didn't mean to alarm you!' Jack himself looked a touch alarmed by her reaction. 'What a bundle of sensitive, sweet emotions you are, Debra. I've never met a girl quite like you.'

  'Oh, I'm just being silly.' She quickly brushed away a tear which had fallen to her cheek.

  'Have I upset you?'

  'Of course not.'

  'Then it's tomorrow evening you're all churned up about?'

  'Yes,' it was a good excuse, 'I think I am.'

  'Then I'd better not put pressure upon you— you will come to see the bonfire when it's lit? Father Restormel is coming across from the Chapel of the Sacred Sorrows in order to bless the fire—it's one of our pagan customs turned respectable.'

  'I'll be there to see the fire,' she promised.

  'Then I shall have to be satisfied with that, shan't I?'

  'I'm afraid so.'

  'I wonder what you are really afraid of?' he said thoughtfully, and his gaze dropped again to her bruised hand. 'If someone was making you miserable here at Abbeywitch would you tell me and let me deal with it?'

  'I'm not miserable,' she protested. 'I'm just a woman and we go up and down like a yo-yo.'

  'Did you used to have a yo-yo when you were a child?'

  She nodded. 'I used to chalk on the sides of it so it made coloured patterns as it went up and down.'

  His gaze ran over her, settling on her chestnut hair. 'I bet you were a charming child straight out of a Kate Greenaway illustration.'

  'I was leggy and awkward and my mother impressed upon me that my hair was my one claim to beauty.'

  'I have to disagree with your mother.' He held Debra's gaze, gone from green to a slightly shadowed grey. 'You have a kind of beauty inside you, Debra, and now and again it's there on the outside and you have a glow about you. Tonight that glow is dimmed. I know you aren't going to tell me why and I shan't pester you, but let me say again that I want you to stay on at Abbeywitch. I think I have need of you.'

  'That's kind of you, Jack.'

  'No,' he shook his head, glinting with silver here and there in the lamplight. 'I'm probably being selfish, but that's the way of men, not that I think you an expert on men. Ah, something has just struck me! Perhaps there's a young man working at Columbine whom you care for, and here am I suggesting that you stay on the island and work for me?'

  For fraught moments Debra was tempted to let him believe that she was attracted to someone at Columbine. It would give her a plausible reason for wanting to leave Abbeywitch when work was completed on Jack's book, but innate honesty prevailed.

  'I've always been too wrapped up in work to be bothered with men,' she smiled. 'My mother worked like a slave taking in boarders so I could have a good education and I don't intend to waste all she sacrificed for me. She was only a young woman when my father died and for years she didn't have any fun—'

  'What about your fun?' Jack broke in, a slight frown furrowing his brow. 'Your mother did what she did as much to please herself as to ensure your education, parents are like that. If I went broke tomorrow and couldn't write anything saleable I'd go and work on the bins in order to take care of Dean.'

  'I know how much you love him.' Debra's face softened into the smile she often smiled when she saw Jack and the child together.

  'God, I do!' A tremor of feeling shook Jack's frame. 'It all came rushing back when I saw him again—I grabbed him in my arms and he was flesh of my flesh! I had no more doubts on that score and I owe you a debt of gratitude that can never be fully repaid.'

  'I don't want to be repaid,' she assured him. 'Seeing you with Dean is payment in full.'

  'You really mean that, don't you, my wench?'

  'Absolutely.' Her eyes silvered as they met his. 'I think it was a stroke of fate that I decided to leave Abbeywitch that morning, and directly I cottoned on to the fact that Mickey knew your whereabouts I decided to gull him into taking me to you. It isn't something I'd do unless driven to it because Mickey is so trusting, but it seemed worthwhile, and as things turned out it was worthwhile.'

  'You're a young woman of spirit, as I said.' Jack held her gaze and a forcefulness crept into his eyes. 'Yet the spirit drains out of you when I ask you to become friends with my mother and sister. They won't eat you, you know. Mama has me back in the fold, and Zandra is so smitten with her handsome boy-friend she looks almost like a tabby cat these days, with cream all round her mouth.'

  'Do you think they will marry?' Debra wanted to steer him away from that dining-table, where she had no intention of sitting under the dark gaze of his half-brother.

  'It's a possibility.' Jack shrugged. 'Zandra made one bed for herself that turned out to be lumpy, and if she plans to make another then she has to lie on it. Coltan's looks have her in thrall and she can't see beyond them.'

  'They're both very handsome,' Debra murmured. 'They do look well together and they have the theatre in common.'

  'Having things in common is important,' Jack agreed, and a shadow passed over his lean face. 'My marriage to Pauline failed because she took no interest in my work and I didn't realise how much she needed excitement. I thought having a baby would calm her down, but instead her pregnancy turned out to be hateful to her. When she saw herself losing her slim figure she went crazy and I took no notice of the wild things she said.'

  He drew a deep and painful sigh as the memories ran through his mind like hot wires.

  'Poor little Pauline . . . she went to my head like a bubbly champagne, but when I became sober again I just didn't know what to say or do to bring back the sparkle into our marriage. It just fizzled out and a kind of sourness replaced the honeymoon sweetness. I know she only wanted to take Dean with her in order to punish me—she never loved him as I did—'

  Jack broke off and bowed his head as the painful memories overcame him. Compassion drove Debra to her feet and she went
to him, and the moment she touched his shoulder he was upon his feet and with the strength of need he pulled her into his arms. His mouth bore down on hers and she didn't resist him . . . she allowed his kisses, on mouth, eyes, and then her throat.

  'God, you're sweet, you are so sweet.' He breathed the words against her skin. 'With you it's like being on a summerlit lake, with the singing of birds and the white swans swimming along in all their grace. You are so different from Pauline.'

  'Am I, Jack?' And she could only think how different he was from Rodare. 'It's late, you know. You should be going—'

  'Must I go?' His eyes implored her to say no.

  'Yes, you must go.' She drew herself out of his embrace. 'Thank you for the strawberries.'

  'Thank you for not slapping my face.' He pushed a hand through his hair, and for a jaggedly painful moment Debra was so reminded of Rodare that her knees quaked as she went to the door and unlocked it. Jack came across the room towards her and there was a tinge of regret in his smile, deepening as she swung open the door.

  'Little saint,' he said as he passed her by and went out of the room. 'I'll see you in the morning—but we don't work tomorrow. Tomorrow is a holiday and we'll go riding instead. Dream sweet dreams, Debra.'

  'You too, Jack.' She closed the door behind him and then allowed herself to sink back weakly against its support. Little saint! His brother's name for her up there on the moon-swept headland, with the air like a wild wine, and the devil let loose in a pair of dark Spanish eyes.

  Wearily she pushed her hands through her own hair, then carried the tray with the juice-stained bowls into the bathroom, where she washed them under the tap. Jack's visit to her bedroom was another secret to add to her list . . . not a dark secret like the one she shared with Rodare, but it wouldn't make her stay at Abbeywitch any easier if his mother found out that Jack came late at night to her bedroom, bringing strawberries and cream.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  THE palomino's wheaten mane was half over his proud, bright, blue-nosed face and he snickered his pleasure as Debra fed him a quartered carrot which she had brought from the kitchen.