Violet Winspear - Sinner ... Page 9

  ‘Don’t set fire to yourself,’ Paul said warningly. ‘Drench it in the spirit and then set a match to it—are you sure you can manage? Remember the thing is venomous and its sting can kill.’

  ‘I know,’ she shuddered again as she thought of how close it had crawled towards him, attracted by the warmth of his skin. ‘Couldn’t I crush it with some thing?’

  ‘You haven’t enough muscle, and I haven’t the eyesight. What was it you slammed down over it?’

  ‘A food cover—oh, where are the matches?’

  ‘By the lamps—have you got them?’

  ‘Yes—mynheer, did you light these lamps with matches?’ She gave him a look of horror.

  ‘Of course!’ He spoke impatiently. ‘Now lift off that lid very carefully, toss on the brandy as if dousing a plum pudding and then be quick with the match, only don’t set light to yourself!’

  ‘You could do that, lighting lamps with matches!’

  ‘What else would I use, an incantation? Now get set— you have the cork out of the bottle?’

  It popped as she drew it. ‘Mynheer, do you mind going over to the other side of the room? It might get on you —the centipede, I mean. Please?’

  ‘I’ll stand just here.’ He rose from his chair and moved round to her side, tilting his head in that listening attitude as the brandy gurgled out over insect, table, matting and parts of Merlin’s silk skirt. The large insect, released, scurried in a circle, then halted as if dazed by the strong spirit. In that instant Merlin struck a match and dropped it flaming on to the soaking wet centipede, which in an instant was aflame and crackling.

  ‘Slam that cover back on,’ Paul ordered, and with a shaking hand she obeyed him, and was glad not to witness any more of the incineration.

  ‘Good,’ he approved, ‘and now take several deep breaths and you won’t be sick.’

  ‘Y-you can be quite ruthless, can’t you?’ She swallowed and the nausea ebbed away. ‘I shall have nightmares about that.’

  ‘Console your soft heart with the thought that it had to be done, but for a few minutes it took your mind off the typhoon, eh?’

  She gazed up at him, rubbing at the same time at her brandy-dampened skirt. ‘Shall I leave the remains where they are, or will it be all right if I take them to the kitchen and wash them away? I could make a pot of tea?’

  ‘I don’t know.’ He stood there, eyes narrowed, listening with hyper-acute ears to what was going on outside the comparative safety of this room. ‘Get a table napkin and wrap the corpse in that and hide it somewhere. We’ll have that champagne, I think. It will be good for both of us.’

  ‘As you say, mynheer.’ She wasn’t going to argue with him, and with the aid of a napkin she swept the remains of the centipede from the table and quickly folded it up, taking it to the trolley and placing it with the remains from their lunch. ‘The little table has been scorched,’ she told him.

  ‘But for you my hand would have been stung.’ A smile edged his lips, but his eyes were serious. ‘My grateful thanks for your quick eyes and your level head. Some women would have had hysterics.’

  ‘I’m not that sort—oh, it’s such a pity that we can’t have tea. I do fancy a cup!’

  ‘The typical Englishwoman. Always tea in a moment of crisis, eh? But bang wine is much more glamorous, and we have to celebrate the fact that you probably saved my life. I shouldn’t much care to go that way.’

  ‘I shouldn’t much care to see you go—that way,’ she said, colour rising into her cheeks. ‘Shall I bring you the champagne?’

  ‘If you will, and the wine glasses.’ He seemed to watch her, gauging her movements from the silky ripplings of her skirt. ‘To have conquered a crisis is always exciting, and now you and I, mevrouw, will get ourselves just a little on the wrong side of sobriety.’

  ‘Tipsy, you mean?’ She came to him with the long-necked bottle and the pair of stemmed glasses, loving his tallness as she stood near him, her eyes upon his hands as he stripped the foil from the bottle and took leverage on the cork. It moved under the long, strong fingers and came out with a hiss, the pale gold wine bubbling over his skin.

  ‘You will have to pour,’ he said, handing her the bottle. ‘Generous measures for both of us, do you understand?’

  ‘I think so.’ In that moment a sudden disturbing stillness had fallen over the house. The lamps burned with a matching stillness and overhead the fans creaked almost loudly. Merlin poured the champagne and placed Paul’s glass in his hand; he thanked her softly and his features were as if moulded in bronze, with not a flicker of a muscle, not a movement of an eyelash as he listened to the silence. She could feel him listening with his entire body, and she took quick nervous sips of her wine. She knew that every one of Paul’s senses was attuned to what was happening out there in the darkness—waiting, like a beast with claws extended towards them.

  ‘Merlin,’ never before had he called her by her first name, ‘there is an alcove in this room, but I can’t quite recall its direction. You will take hold of my hand and lead me into it, and then you will place cushions on the floor, and there we will drink our bang wine and think only of the good times we have had in our lives. Maybe not too many, but enough, eh?’

  ‘The eye?’ she breathed, clasping his fingers with her left hand.

  ‘Yes, right above us, Cyclops watching, deciding what to do with the island. It isn’t terribly big and if the eye descends, then it will sweep Pulau-Indah back into the ocean.’

  ‘Oh, God! All those people—those children!’

  ‘Yes, but try not to think about them, though I know that is asking a lot of you. The alcove will provide some moments of shelter for us, so lead me there.’

  ‘I’m glad,’ her fingers tightened on his, ‘that I didn’t leave you to face this alone. I’m glad I’m with you!’

  ‘You are talking like a romantic girl,’ he crisped. ‘What can a blind man do for you? I am in your hands!’

  She took him into the alcove at the far end of the room, gulped a little more champagne, then collected all the cushions and piled them on the floor.

  ‘Now bring the bottle,’ he said. ‘It would be a pity to waste such an excellent wine.’

  They settled themselves among the cushions and after her second glass of champagne Merlin gave a sudden giggle. ‘It’s crazy, mynheer, a pair of grown-up people lolling about like tipsy teenagers at a Hallowe’en party. When do you reckon the poltergeist will start throwing the furniture about?’

  ‘Soon, or not at all. Suspense has a frightening yet fascinating quality to it.’ There he broke off, for in that moment the wind woke up again, rising to a sudden shriek like something demented. ‘Quick, get rid of those glasses and the bottle—get them out of the alcove in case they break!’

  Heart pounding, head spinning, Merlin obeyed him, and then found herself flying back to where he waited, unthinking that it was strange that his arms should be held open, waiting for her to dive into them. They closed hard about her and she was drawn inexorably close to him ... well, if this was to be the end of everything, then she wanted it to end in his arms, pulled close against his hard chest, allowing herself the luxury of melting against his heart, no longer concerned that he might realise from the feel of her that she was far younger than the sedate woman she made out to be.

  She felt the cushions beneath her spine as Paul laid himself over her in a shielding, muscular arc. ‘No moment, Miss Lakeside, for the usual proprieties,’ he murmured. ‘I’m not crushing you?’

  ‘No—‘ Her voice was faint, half-lost in her throat, and she let her arms close around him. Sweet heaven, this was actually real, it was happening, she was lost in Paul’s arms, locked close to someone so dear to her heart there were no words to describe the feeling.

  Then the conflicting winds struck the house and it seemed to lift from its foundations, and Paul held every bit of her to every bone and sinew of his body, his face pressed into her hair, his long legs wrapped around her, his elbow fixed int
o position so he wouldn’t quite suffocate her with his large frame. The house rocked and they were locked together in that rhythm ... like lovers, she thought wildly. Like a pair of pagans who flung themselves tightly together to be destroyed. The wind and the fear and the love all mingled in her head as the storm built to a crescendo and clashed around them, hurling trees right across the compound, wrenching shutters off their hinges, and tearing great chunks of thatching out of the roof.

  That nightmare pounding would never end, Merlin told herself, and if it ended she and Paul would be swept like this into the velocity of the storm, and then probably torn apart.

  That she couldn’t bear, and with fierce arms she clung to him, a limpet, she promised herself, who wouldn’t let go but who would fly straight with him through dark space into deep silent peace ...

  ‘Are you taking a nap down there?’ His voice grated right in her ear, and with an effort she forced open her eyes and saw his face directly above her. An hour could have passed, or an eternity, but buried in Paul’s arms she had not resisted the hypnotic roar deep inside her head and had fallen into a kind of trance, waiting for what must happen.

  Had it happened, for an uncanny silence seemed to hang in the air?

  And then she felt herself coming back to earth as Paul began to loosen his arms from around her, to lift himself away from her, uncoiling his legs and releasing her to a sudden feeling of emptiness and chill.

  ‘The typhoon passed over us,’ he said. ‘Right over us. There has been a great deal of damage, I would think, for a typhoon moves like the rotors of a big cutting machine But once it passes it continues on its way and I believe we are now—safe and out of danger.’

  Merlin lay there on the crushed cushions absorbing his words; her hair was tousled madly about her face and neck, and never again would she be free of the sensation of Paul moving his face in her hair as if he liked the feel and scent of it, his heartbeats kicking her through the silk of her shirt, the warmth and hardness of him pressed to every portion of her body.

  Now he was on his feet and thrusting the tousled hair back from his eyes, but on his face there was a look that dismayed Merlin; a sternly thoughtful look as if he were brooding upon something unconnected with the storm itself.

  ‘Thank goodness that screaming wind has died away!’ Merlin gathered herself together and assumed a brisk tone of voice. She pulled her skirt into some kind of order and tidied her own hair with a slightly unsteady hand. It wasn’t easy trying to get back to normality after the experience they had gone through. The trauma and the excitement still lingered, and though she knew that Paul’s impulse to protect her had been entirely impersonal, the action of a man who would have sheltered in his arms any woman caught in such a perilous situation with him, there had been a magic to it that still ran like quicksilver through Merlin’s veins.

  ‘Oh, it’s good to be alive, but it was a close call, wasn’t it, mynheer?’ She could betray her inmost feelings if she wasn’t careful and a deep breath steadied her. Once more they had to be employer and secretary, and all other longings and emotions had to be kept under severe control. The intimacy of close physical contact with Paul had to be looked upon as no more than a necessity of the moment, and the fact had to be faced that it would never happen again. Only very unusual circumstances had made it possible for her to experience his embrace ... but it had been marvellous despite the danger and the very real threat to their lives. -A fragment of a dream come true, and she must now accept the realisation that she was unlikely to ever feel again the power and warmth and helpless joy of letting him hold her while the earth rocked.

  ‘It was a very strange experience,’ he said, almost sombrely. ‘I felt that something lifted us, then set us down again. What of you?’

  ‘I just held on to you for all I was worth—all I wanted was not to be swept away on my own.’ Merlin forced a laugh. ‘I’ve probably left fingernail marks in your back.’

  ‘Then let us hope that the boy who acts as my valet doesn’t happen to notice them.’ A very odd note had come into Paul’s voice and Merlin gave him a searching look. ‘Nail stabbings might condemn me, eh?’

  ‘Condemn you—but why?’ Her gold-flecked eyes were fixed upon his face and a pulse beat with sudden madness under the skin of her throat.

  ‘Passion marks, Miss Lakeside.’ He drawled the words almost with insolence. ‘Come, don’t tell me you are innocently unaware that lovers sometimes bite and claw each other as they embrace? I think if a man’s distrust of a woman was as intense as his desire for her, he might feel driven to inflict pain on her slim, white, tantalising body. A man who is blind has to take a lot on trust, and he wouldn’t really know an angel from a devil.’

  As he spoke he seemed to gaze with deadly intention at Merlin, and she felt a sensation of unsteadiness and had to clutch at the wall. What was he doing, letting her know that he had felt her nubility in his arms and was going to be subtle, even cruel before demanding an explanation?

  ‘Have I shocked you?’ he asked, still in that insolent tone of voice. ‘A woman of your age, who has had nursing experience?’

  Merlin’s heart gave a lurch ... a different kind of storm was gathering and she was alone at the centre of it, but he wasn’t yet ready to let it break; abruptly he turned his back on her.

  ‘We’ve spent enough hours in this room,’ he said curtly. ‘I, for one, would like nothing better than a stinging cold shower.’

  He made his way towards the door, using an outflung hand to guide him. He found the bolt and slid it open. He flung wide the door as if he couldn’t wait to get away from her. Merlin felt a doomed woman ... close like that in his arms she had been brailled by his senses; he had felt the softness of her hair against his skin, the slim suppleness of her body, the shy, wild fear that had shaken her even though she loved and adored him ... she was still a virgin and she hadn’t known how potent the male body could feel in such close contact.

  ‘I—I could cook us a hot meal,’ she said hesitantly. ‘If you would like that, mynheer?’

  ‘As you please.’ He flung the words over his shoulder. ‘Don’t go outside the house, for we shan’t know until daylight what sort of damage has been caused. It will be dark as hell and there could have been a certain amount of flooding and the rain is still falling, though not so violently as before.’

  ‘I do hope all those people in the tea valley are all right.’

  ‘Lon will take care of them and ensure that they remain sheltered in the long sheds where the tea is packed and stored. They will have food and bedding with them, and it will be a freakish trick of the devil’s if the storm wheels in this direction again.’

  ‘Then you think the island is now safe?’

  ‘Let us hope so.’ He walked away along the corridor, and Merlin sagged against the wall with a weary sigh that was almost a sob. She had wanted the sanctuary of Paul’s arms so much that she had flung caution to those stormy winds ... now he realised that she had been deceiving him all these weeks and he was justifiably angry with her. He would demand to know what sort of a game she was playing with him, and she dreaded the moment when he sprang his demand and she had to try and conciliate him without arousing the suspicions that could never be far away from his nerve ends.

  A nurse had been responsible for his blindness ... and only minutes ago he had spoken of her nursing experience in a voice as coldly cruel as the parang, the axe-bladed cutlass the islanders used for chopping the great hands of bananas and the hard stalks of sugar-cane that grew high in the plantation fields.

  What would those fields look like in the morning? The wind and rain would have scythed the sugar-cane and flung it into the mud; the crops would be ruined along with many of the tea-bushes. Perhaps in having to deal with all that Paul would forget ... no, Merlin shook her head in a gesture of despair. It was too much to hope for that he would allow the deception to go on that she was a woman double her own age.

  She glanced drearily around the room which for a
while had seemed such a haven. Now it looked like a smoky den, with cushions sprawled untidily on the floor, champagne spilled across the matting, and a trolley of unwashed dishes by the door. Merlin set about tidying up, then she wheeled the trolley to the kitchen, where a shutter had been entirely wrenched off, the window broken and a great puddle of water let in. Uncaring of the rainwater, Merlin stood by the window and gazed out upon the dark, drizzly night where the stars seemed to have gone into hiding. A low-pitched wind moaned in the palm trees and the air that blew in upon her was chilly and damp. She gave a shiver as from the jungle there came the growl of an animal who had ventured from its lair now the storm had passed ... a tiger, probably hungry and seeking its supper.

  She had better start that supper Paul had been promised and going over to the ice-box, which like the stove and the hotwater system was run on kerosene, she scanned its interior to see if there was any steak available. If so she would braise and garnish it with onion and herbs, bake some succulent sweet potatoes and sliced courgettes, and add a hot rich gravy. To start with he could have some smoked ham with egg mayonnaise, and to finish with she would make hot jam pancakes. Such a meal would make a change for him; the cook was Indonesian and inclined to favour the spicy foods of the island. Paul never seemed to mind, but it sometimes occurred to Merlin that he must get a little homesick for a more civilised cuisine, and back home in England she had filled in a number of her lonely evenings by taking a course in cookery. She had enjoyed those lessons and had proved a good pupil, and right now was determined to soothe Paul’s angry feelings by serving him such a delicious meal that he wouldn’t have the heart to chastise her tonight.

  Merlin couldn’t have endured it, not after the racking experience of the typhoon, and tying an apron over her long skirt she started supper, moving about the damp and chilly kitchen with a brisk determination to make the best of a fraught situation, garnishing the meat and placing it in the oven, peeling potatoes and slicing courgettes, whipping the pancake mixture and placing a dampened square of muslin over the bowl.