Island of Darkness (6 page)

Leonora felt her heart throbbing away under her ribs in a strange and urgent way that alarmed her, and she put a hand to her mouth, almost unconsciously, and touched her lips, still warm and tingling from his kiss. “You have no right to be so - so bitter,” she said quietly, rashly uncaring that she could arouse his anger again by being so frank. “You have so much to be grateful for, and yet you’re so bitter and — and angry that you’d stop Scottie seeing me just from sheer spite!”

It took her only a moment to realise that this time she had really gone too far, and she stepped back involuntarily when she saw the way his mouth tightened and the muscles that showed, taut and tense under the tanned skin of his bare arms. His hands were large, tight fists and he shook his blond head sharply as if to clear it.

“Go before you say any more,” he said in a deep, harsh voice that chilled her and made her shiver. “Go back to your fairytale village where you belong, you little fool, and don’t let me see you here again. Do you hear me?”

He was not aware yet, as Leonora was, that Scottie had at last come out on to the terrace, and he stood for a moment in the shadows looking across at them, catching those last few words. Then he came over in long anxious strides, his face creased and worried, one hand going out to touch his employer’s arm.

“Jason!”he said, his voice hushed with disbelief. “For heaven’s sake, man, what—” Jason swung round on him, his features hard and unrelenting.

“You take your pick,” he told him without preliminary, his mouth tight-lipped. “You can go with her or stay with me - please yourself!”

He turned and strode off, going across the wide, sunny terrace in the direction of the villa, only his hand before him in that touching gesture of helplessness, betraying his blindness. For a second Scottie watched him then he turned to Leonora, but she shook her head. There was nothing she could do about the tears that were in her eyes, and Scottie probably misinterpreted their meaning.

“Go with him, Scottie,” she said huskily, and turned swiftly, running down the long flight of stone steps to her boat. It was ridiculous to cry, she told herself, but there was nothing she could do about the tears that rolled down her cheeks and plopped on to her hand.

CHAPTER THREE

Leonora spent much more time than usual helping her uncle in his studio during the next two weeks, and she found the extra work helped to banish some of the hurt and embarrassment she felt at being so summarily dismissed by Jason Connor. She told herself over and over again that she was a fool to mind so much about a man she hardly knew, but she found Jason Connor dismayingly hard to forget.

She was disappointed, too, that so far Scottie had made no attempt to come and visit her. He must surely have some time to himself and it would have taken him very little effort to come and see her, if he really wanted to. The fact that he had not come hurt far more than she cared to admit.

She had told Clive no more than the bare bones of the incident, but she knew he would have read far more into it than she had told him. Fortunately he was discreet and tactful enough to keep to himself whatever opinions he had formed, but she knew he must be curious.

Things were going smoothly with Maria, at the moment, so there was no call for her help from Roberto, but taking his deliveries to Isola de Marta was not the only use for her boat, and she used it for pleasure quite often. The fact that she had not taken it out lately would, not have gone unnoticed by Clive either.

“You haven’t been sailing lately,” he observed casually at lunch one day, and Leonora shrugged.

“I’ve been rather busy, haven’t I?” she asked. “I’ve no time for sailing when I’m painting your pots.” She took another forkful of Maria’s special
Zimino
and gazed at it thoughtfully. The delicious fish stew was something she usually enjoyed, although it was something of an acquired taste, and she never liked to inquire too closely into its origins. “Anyway,” she, added after a few moments, “I know the bay pretty well by heart now.”

It was the first time she had ever come close to suggesting that she was bored and Clive raised a surprised brow in query. “Are you fed up with Terolito?” he asked bluntly, and she hastened to amend the impression she had given.

“Oh no, of course I’m not, Clive! You know I’d quite happily stay here for ever!”

“That
was
my impression,” he said quietly. He demolished another mouthful of
Zimino,
washed it down with wine, then looked across at her again. “Well, if you’re fed up with boating why don’t you take the car and drive along the coast for a bit?” he suggested. “It would make a change for you.”

Leonora looked at him after a moment and smiled, a little uncertainly, shaking her head. “I’m not sure I need a change,” she told him. “I’m not quite sure what I do want, to be quite honest, I feel a bit - restless.”

Clive ate the last of his meal and carefully put down his fork before he offered an answer. “Anything to do with your rather sudden departure from the rock the other week?” he asked softly, and Leonora felt the colour in her face.

It was not like Clive to make observations like that, or to ask such searching questions, but she was convinced that he did so new only from a genuine concern for her. “Nothing to do with that at all,” she told him, as quietly as she knew how, but that colour in her cheeks had betrayed her and he looked at her for a moment steadily.

“Do you want to talk about it?” he asked gently.

She thought about it for a moment or two, then shook her head. “Not really, Clive.” She looked at him, half apologetically. “It’s not that I have any deep, dark secrets or anything like that, but —” She shrugged uneasily. “I just felt a bit of a fool, that’s all, and I - I just don’t want to talk about it.”

For a moment he regarded her steadily as she gave her attention to the last of her meal. “As long as Connor isn’t trying to show his prowess as a lady-killer,” he said softly, at last. “Don’t be afraid to tell me if anything like that happens and you can’t handle it, honey, will you?”

Leonora smiled at him affectionately. “Nothing like that is likely to happen,” she told him. “I can handle Jason Connor without any trouble, don’t worry, Clive.” It was, she realised as she put down her fork, rather a rash claim to make, but she could always rely on Scottie to solve any on-the-spot problems, should they arise. With things as they were at the moment, it was unlikely that anything would happen at all.

Leonora, after some consideration, thought a drive along the coast might be a good idea and she said as much to Clive the following afternoon. “If you can manage without me for a while,” she told him, and he smiled wryly.

“I think I can cope,” he told her. “If Maria has one of her tantrums while you’re gone, I’ll send up flares!”

It had been a good idea, Leonora decided, some time later as she drove along the coast road. She could take her time and enjoy the journey which was really quite lovely at that time of year, and she had not taken the time to come for ages.

Thousands of flowers grew in cultivated profusion on the steep terraced slopes that had been painstakingly conjured from the alluvial deposits left by swift, torrential streams that poured down the rock face. A mass of perfume and colour.

There was acre upon acre of carnations, gladioli and roses blooming prolifically on the fertile deltas, and she feasted her eyes on the sight. There was so much to see and so much to enjoy that even the gloomiest mood would have responded to it.

Olive trees with their grey, twisty trunks and branches, and row upon row of vines providing the grapes for some of Italy’s finest wines. Chestnut trees and asparagus struck a more homely note, but fitted just as enchantingly into the fertile landscape as any of the more exotic crops did, and she made a vow to come again more often.

She resisted the temptation to drive any further inland but instead found a quiet spot to park the car and got out for a while to walk. It was as she strolled along with her eyes half closed against the bright afternoon sun that she found herself suddenly wishing Jason Connor could see this enchanting face of Italy. She had meant to keep him firmly out of mind, to forget all about Isola de Marta, but instead here she was with the very man she sought to forget, taking possession of her thoughts.

She quickened her pace slightly, as if that would distract her, but found herself seeing him in her mind’s eye, walking down these narrow paths among the heady scent of the flowers instead of isolated on that pinnacle of rock in the Mediterranean. There was no way, it seemed, to evade the persistent recollection of Jason Connor.

She exchanged greetings with one or two friendly people she saw, working the terraced crops. A smile and
“buon giorno
” was never ignored and she wished she had more knowledge of Italian so that she could have stopped and talked to them, but to anyone but the polite Italians, her accent would have been laughable.

It was rather later than she intended when she at last decided to leave for home, and she did so only reluctantly, but she would have to drive very fast all the way back to Terolito if she was to be in time for dinner. She switched on the engine and nothing happened, except a feeble coughing noise that made her frown. Another try proved even less productive, for even the feeble cough had gone, and she

sighed deeply and leaned back in her seat.

Leonora was no mechanic, and even trying to discover what was wrong would be a complete waste of time, but nevertheless she lifted the bonnet and peered down helplessly at the maze of pipes and oily metal. It was at least forty-six kilometres back to Terolito, much too far to walk, and heaven knew where the nearest garage was.

Sighing deeply in sympathy with herself, she saw no other solution but to find a telephone somewhere and ring her uncle. Clive could at least come out and fetch her, even if he was no more skilled a mechanic than she was herself.

She set off down the road and thanked heaven that at least the day was cooling as the evening drew on and she would not have to contend with a long hot walk. The farm people were going back to their homes too, and she received one or two odd looks as she tramped down the dusty road on her own.

A man and a woman were just ahead of her and she sensed that they knew of her coming before they actually saw her and were curious. Probably her footsteps were different from the steady pace of the country people, and the two heads turned as she approached from behind them, ready with the inevitable greeting.

“Buona sera, signorina
.”

Two smiling faces only hinted at curiosity as she passed and she returned the greeting automatically, wishing she had more comfortable shoes for walking. She sought for the right words to ask after a telephone, for it was doubtful if many of the country people had a knowledge of English.

“Mi scusi,”
she ventured cautiously.
“Desidero telefonare, per favore
—” She bit her lip as her Italian ran out, but the man was smiling his understanding of her problem, and nodding his head.

“Ah,
si, signorina,”
he said.
“II telefono”
So much Leonora could understand, but the spate of rapid Italian that followed completely foxed her and she shook her head despairingly.

“Parla inglese?”
she asked hopefully, and both the man and his wife shook their heads regretfully.

“Mi spiace, signorina”

Among the spate of words only one had struck a note and she struggled again to form a question, to ask them where she could find the restaurant they had mentioned, for she would surely find a telephone there.
“Ristorante,”
she ventured.
“Che via devo prendere
—
”

The man again came to her rescue with an understanding smile, and indicated that she should walk with them into the village. Relieved to have been understood, she nodded and smiled her thanks, praying that someone at the restaurant could speak some English. She had never before needed to make herself understood so urgently and it gave her a strange sense of isolation not to be able to communicate. She must, she promised herself, learn more Italian.

The restaurant proved to be more of a small cafe, but the proprietor was large and smiling and willing enough to let her use the telephone; he also spoke English and was quite anxious to prove it. She gave him Clive’s name and number and he got it for her, then handed over the instrument with a flourish, discreetly withdrawing out of earshot to hover about his only customer.

Leonora had noticed a rather ostentatious car parked outside and had registered vaguely that it looked very much out of place in this small country village. The solitary customer, she felt sure, must be the owner of the car, for she looked equally out of her element. One of the big cities would have been her more usual haunt, Leonora thought,

and experienced a mild twinge of envy.

Tall, dark and slinkily glamorous, the woman would have looked much more at home in a smart city restaurant than sitting in this small rural cafe imbibing the local wine and looking as if it offended her palate, and Leonora admitted to feeling curious about her.

“Are you hurt?” Clive’s voice at the other end of the line brought her back to earth. She had already told him where she was and she shook her head over his misunderstanding.