Island of Darkness (10 page)

“It doesn’t have to be a - a prison,” she said quietly, trying to steady her voice. “Only if you choose to make it one.”

“Huh!” His laughter this time held the more familiar bitterness and he gripped the hand he held as if he wanted to hurt her. “So you’re a philosopher as well as all your other talents!” he jeered. “You never cease to astound me, little

Miss Jackson! Thanks for the lecture!”

Leonora felt almost as if he had struck her. She felt hurt and horribly vulnerable as she tried to withdraw her hand from his relentless grip. It was now obvious that her earlier misgivings about coming had been right. She should have stayed away, no matter what message he sent, for it had been inevitable that it would end like this. What hurt most was that he had fooled her in those first few minutes into thinking that this time it was different, when nothing had really changed at all.

“I wasn’t lecturing you,” she said in a small, cold voice that gave the impression she was about to cry like a baby. “I should have known better than to come and I—” She swallowed hard and pressed the hand he had been holding against its mate, feeling the tingling warmth left by his fingers. “Give my love to Scottie, and - and tell him — I’ll see him some time.”

“Leonora!”

He put out a hand, feeling about helplessly as he tried to contact her, and at first she determinedly avoided him. But then it occurred to her that she could not simply go and leave him standing where he was, without contact of any sort. He probably had some idea where he was, but not exactly, and she could not bear the thought of him stumbling about trying to locate some familiar guide.

The least she could do was to guide his hand to the top of the wall, so that he could follow it along to the house. But when she took his hand with that in mind, he curled his grip around it once more and held her much too firmly for her to break loose.

“Please —!” She tried to break free, but he made no effort to do as she asked.

He stood for a long moment, her hand in his, his brown face set grimly, then a trace of a smile touched his wide mouth and he held her hand palm upwards, facing him, lightly brushing the warmth of his body. “If I go down on bended knee will you stay?” he asked softly, and Leonora hesitated, biting her lip. It was difficult to resist such blatant persuasion, but he was such a creature of moods that she did not really know what to do for the best.

She faced ruefully the fact that she did not want to go, and he probably guessed it, but she shook her head.

“I don’t know if I —”

Maybe her voice gave the impression that she was merely being capricious, but whether it did or not, he reacted as if he thought so. “Then go and be damned to you!” he declared shortly. “I’ve never gone on my knees to any woman, and I don’t see why I should start with you! Go or stay as you please!”

He discarded her roughly and turned too swiftly, his hands outstretched, with no idea of his bearings, and cursing softly under his breath when he stumbled and almost fell. His hands sought the guiding wall and Leonora watched him for a moment or two, hardening her heart, but she could stand it no longer suddenly and impulsively ran after him.

She took his arm, and felt the muscular tautness under the smooth tanned skin. “It was
your
idea to go down on your knees,” she reminded him quietly, trying to stop her heart from tapping so hard at her ribs that she felt quite breathless.

He said nothing, but looked stubborn and angry as she walked beside him, and did not even turn his head. “I want to stay,” she said, her fingers still curled about his arm, and she thought she felt the tension ease a little. “And you really don’t have to go on your knees!”

“Don’t bother on my account!” he told her ungraciously, and obviously suspected that sympathy had prompted her change of heart, but Leonora shook her head.

“I’m not bothering on your account,” she said quietly. “I want to see Scottie, and I don’t see why you should drive me away!”

For a moment she thought he would really lose his temper, resent an independence as fierce as his own, but then he quite suddenly laughed. It was a short, harsh sound, more derisive than humorous, but it was a laugh and she was so glad to see it that she smiled.

“You’re too sassy by half,” he told her as he reached for her hand. “And if I ever—” He stopped there and shook his head slowly. “You’re safe for the moment,” he added grimly.

CHAPTER FIVE

It was not long before her visits to Isola de Marta were quite a regular thing, and Leonora no longer waited until Roberto needed someone to act as delivery girl before she went. She made little effort to convince herself that Scottie was her main reason for going, but she rather hoped that her uncle and Scottie himself would continue to think so.

Her feelings towards Jason Connor she viewed uncertainly and a little warily, for she was only too well aware of the futility of letting them get out of hand. She had no doubt at all that he had always been arrogant and domineering, but these qualities combined with his present sense of vulnerability made him as variable as the wind, and just as unpredictable.

Just as certainly she knew that she wanted to spend more and more time with him no matter if he did tease her unmercifully, sometimes almost cruelly, so that she was glad he could not see the hurt his thoughtlessness occasionally caused her. He had made no more attempts to kiss her since that first time, when anger and pride had driven him to prove he did not need her pity, and she told herself she was content to leave it like that.

Her uncle viewed her more frequent visits to the rock with no other comment than the occasionally raised brow when she announced yet another visit, and she sometimes wondered if he still saw Scottie as the ideal husband for her. He had never again mentioned the subject, and she had no way of knowing whether or not he thought her increased number of social calls were an indication that things were going the way he wanted them to.

Scottie himself was as quietly polite and attentive as he had always been, and she liked him no less than she had at the beginning of their friendship, but nor did she feel any more intensive emotion either. Scottie was just Scottie, a quiet, dependable man she could rely on.

The sun was hot and sultry and she breathed deeply as she got to the top of the steps and looked across the terrace instinctively. Seeing no sign of a familiar blond head or the long lean body stretched out on the lounging chair, she experienced a brief but undeniable sense of disappointment, and immediately frowned over it impatiently. It was foolish, she was the first to allow, but seeing Jason seemed to matter to her more than she cared to admit lately.

The patches of shade where the trees edged the protective wall round the terrace gave the stone paving a dappled look, and the roses were heavy-scented on the warm, sultry air, pink, scarlet and white blooms stirring in the very slight breeze that always cooled these higher

places.

It was an idyllic outlook and she loved to stand by the waist-high wall looking across to the bright-patterned coastline or down at the sea where it glistened like rippling blue and gold silk in the bright sun or broke into fountains of creamy spray at the foot of the rock.

She never grew tired of looking at it herself and wished again, each time she saw it, that Jason could see it and appreciate its beauty. For him Isola de Marta was still a dark island on which he hid and kept the world at bay.

Several times she had tried to persuade him to go for a drive with Scottie, but he always insisted that he was not at ease with someone else driving. Leonora suspected, and had said as much to Scottie, that he could not face the prospect of people recognising him and probably extending sympathy. He hated pity more than anything else, and turned on both her and Scottie if he suspected they were feeling even slightly sorry for him, for no matter what reason.

She was so engrossed in her innermost thoughts that she did not hear anyone approach from behind her and started, catching her breath, when a hand lay suddenly and heavily on her shoulder. Then she laughed and briefly, but instinctively, brushed her cheek against the hand on her shoulder before she turned.

“Hello, Jason,” she said, turning slowly. “I was daydreaming and I didn’t —”

She spun round more swiftly suddenly, her bottom lip nipped tight between her teeth as she looked up into Scottie’s broad, homely face and saw the dark dislike in his eyes for the mistake she had made. “I’m sorry if you’re disappointed, Leonora,” he told her quietly, and she hastily shook her head to deny it.

“Of course I’m not, I just thought—”

“Jason’s resting,” Scottie said in the same quiet voice that somehow managed to convey disapproval and dismayed her with its coolness. Coolness from Scottie was something she was unaccustomed to, and it startled her as well as surprised her.

“He’s all right?” Her evident anxiety did nothing to appease Scottie, but she could not help feeling anxious, for getting Jason to have as much rest as he should was one of his most arduous tasks.

“Aye, he’s all right,” Scottie said quietly. “But he’s a pretty long session with Sir Basil Thorpe this afternoon and it takes it out of him a bit - he needs to rest this morning.”

“Sir Basil Thorpe?” Leonora looked at him anxiously. “The eye surgeon? Is he seeing Jason to—”

“He is,” Scottie agreed, seeing her hesitate over putting anything into words. “He’s in Genoa and I’m driving Jason there this afternoon for some tests.”

For a moment she was silent, her thoughts a chaotic mixture of hope and anxiety. Of course it would be wonderful if Jason regained his sight, but it would also mean the end of her own part in his life. A fit and seeing Jason Connor belonged to the big, expansive world, not on a small, sunny rock in the Mediterranean.

She leaned on the stone wall, her gaze on the glittering sea and the warm, mellow crags of the rock on which they stood. “Is he excited about it?” she asked, and Scottie looked dubious.

“He’s terrified,” he said bluntly and quietly, and she turned swiftly and looked at him, a hint of reproach in her eyes for such brutal frankness.

“That’s natural enough,” she told him. “Although I can’t imagine a man like Jason being afraid of anything.”

Scottie shook his head, attempting to dismiss the wrong impression he had given her. “Oh, don’t think I’m belittling him,” he begged her earnestly. “But this operation is going to take a lot of courage even for a man like Jason, maybe more than anything he’s ever done before, and he knows it.”

“Operation?” Her heart was pounding crazily at her ribs and she felt a sudden cold sensation in the pit of her stomach. Of course she had known that it would mean an operation if he was to regain his sight, but she had always seen it as something in the distant future. Now it was looming large as a very real prospect in the not too distant future, and she hated the idea of it.

Scottie was looking at her steadily, as if he suspected how she was feeling. “I told you there was a chance he’d regain his sight,” he reminded her. “If it’s possible to do, Sir Basil Thorpe’s the man to do it, but—” He shrugged, an uncharacteristic gesture for Scottie, and Leonora looked at him anxiously.

“And Jason - Jason’s afraid it won’t work?” she guessed, and found her lips suddenly dry, and her palms pressed close together in an attitude of prayer. “Oh, Scottie, it
must -
mustn’t it?”

“It will,” Scottie assured her quietly, and sounded so sure that she was almost bound to believe it.

“Poor Jason.” She spoke softly, and felt Scottie’s eyes on her for several seconds before he spoke.

“You’re very concerned about him,” he said at last, and she looked up to see that dark hint of dislike in his eyes again.

“Of course I’m concerned, aren’t you?”

“Aye, of course, but not in the same way, I daresay!” She was searching for words, aware in a sudden flash of intuition that Scottie’s apparently quiet devotion to her went much deeper than she had realised. He was quite plainly jealous of her concern for Jason, and obviously meant her to know it. His brown eyes glowed with an expression she had never seen there before and his broad friendly face looked stern and distant.

“Mebbe I’ve been wrong all along,” he suggested in a voice that had even more of a Scottish burr than usual. “I always thought it was me you came here to see. It seems I was mistaken.”

“Oh, Scottie, of course you’re not mistaken!” She looked up at him anxiously. “I
do
come to see you,” she said. “You were the reason I came over again after the first time, you know that.”

“Aye, I thought I knew that,” he said still in that flat, unfriendly voice. “But that was before you got on so well with Jason!”

“But Jason likes to - to talk to me,” Leonora insisted, wondering where this could possibly end. If she quarrelled with Scottie how could she come to the rock again? “How can I simply ignore him, Scottie? It wouldn’t only be rude but heartless too - and anyway, it’s
his
home!”

Scottie was all too willing to be persuaded, but he was still not quite convinced and he looked at her with a wary, narrow-eyed look. “And you’re not falling in love with him like the others have?” he asked, and Leonora shook her head.

That mention of others cut much more deeply than it should, but she would not let him know that. “Of course not!” She laughed in an effort to convince herself as well. “You should give me credit for more sense, Scottie! Would I join a harem?”