Island of Darkness (9 page)

“I don’t think so, not in the way you mean,” Leonora insisted. “And anyway, he’s rather too old for me, don’t you think?”

Clive pulled a face, reluctant to agree. He had taken a liking to Scottie and it would take a lot to make him discard the idea of him as a suitable husband for his niece, regardless of the differences in ages. “He’s no more than thirty-seven or eight, I’d say,” he decided, and viewed the matter of Scottie’s youth from his own years. “Not so very much older, really.”

“Fifteen years,” Leonora said bluntly. “I’d say it was too much, Clive, and I honestly don’t think of Scottie in that light at all!”

“What about Connor?” Clive asked softly, and she looked across at him, swiftly suspicious, only to find him apparently giving all his attention to the work he was doing.

“What about him?” she asked quietly.

“Well—” He shrugged carelessly. “He must be in his middle thirties, at least.”

“He’s thirty-five, according to the last magazine article I read about him,” Leonora informed him calmly. “But I really don’t see what
he
has to do with anything.”

Clive chuckled deeply, catching her gaze at last, his eyes gently teasing. “Don’t you?” he asked softly.

“Clive—”

“All right, all right!” He held up two clay-stained hands, and laughed. “When
are
you going over there?” he asked.

Leonora put a last stroke of paint on the round belly of the vase and did not look up. “I thought I’d pop over this evening,” she told him casually.

The sun was already getting low in the sky when she set off from the quay, and Leonora wondered if she was doing a wise thing, starting out so late in the day. Having made up her mind, however, she was reluctant to change it, and she merely consoled herself with the thought that she would of necessity have to make her visit brief as she had no navigational lights. In the circumstances it was probably as well.

She felt fairly confident that she would not have received those messages delivered by Roberto if their mysterious woman visitor was still there, but she wished she knew for certain. More than once

she almost turned back, but something irresistible drove her on.

The sea was flat calm and from the boat the coastline was so pretty and peaceful. The more usual sun-bright scene she was accustomed to seeing was softened in the early evening light to something more mellow and romantic and in some way it served to make her own mood more mellow too.

When she could forget her doubts, the sight of such tranquility gave her a sense of well-being which was disturbed only by a flutter of excitement that curled in her stomach every so often. Try as she would to think of this as simply another visit like before, she knew it meant more than that.

The brown, rugged face of Jason Connor was before her constantly as she steered the boat across the deep blue water of the bay, and she despaired of her own susceptibility. He had worded his message to her as if his concern was for Scottie and how much he missed her, but the point that stuck irremovably in her mind was that he
had
asked her to come and in much more vehement terms than Scottie had.

The longer shadows of later afternoon gave the towering rock of Isola de Marta a more dark and brooding look somehow and she looked up at it with a prickle of apprehension as she moored the boat at the bottom of the steps. She felt suddenly even less sure of herself and of the wisdom of coming, and smoothed nervous hands over her dress as she started to climb.

She had changed from her daytime cotton dress into something more formal in pale blue broderie anglaise, although heaven knew why she had taken the trouble to change at all, she had never done so before. Scottie was used to seeing her in sleeveless cotton shifts or in jeans and a blouse, so he would have noticed nothing amiss, and it could scarcely matter to Jason Connor what she was wearing. But somehow she had felt like making the effort, if only because it was the first time she had paid a purely social call.

After climbing the long spiral of stone steps she was, as always, slightly out of breath when she got to the top and paused to regain her composure. One hand on the stone balustrade and the other over her ribs, she was suddenly and startlingly aware that there was someone standing in the concealing shadow of an umbrella-shaped almond tree growing close by the protective terrace wall.

Briefly she thought it was Scottie and almost called out, but then she recognised the blond head and the unmistakable height of Jason Connor and even before he stepped out of the shadows and came towards her, she felt a sudden and disturbing increase in her pulse rate as she watched his approach.

He was not barefoot today, but wore soft-soled casuals that whispered over the stone paving when he walked, and a cream shirt with dark blue trousers that were slim-fitting and perfectly tailored as usual. The smile on his tanned face wasn’t the bitter twist she half expected, but it had a hint of wariness as he cocked his head to one side, listening for her moving.

“Leonora?”

He spoke barely above a whisper, and she felt her fingers curled inwards into her palms as she swallowed hard before answering him. “Yes, Mr. Connor.”

She had the feeling that her formality was not altogether welcome, for he pulled a wry face, but. he said nothing about it for the moment. “I thought it was you,” he said. She put out a hand unthinkingly when he came right up to her, meaning it as a warning that he had come far enough, but he took it in one of his and curled his strong fingers round it, smiling again and more sure of himself. “I heard an outboard just now,” he told her, “and I waited to see if it was yours or not.”

Her reception was much more amiable than she had expected despite his message, and she was at a loss for a moment or two. Also she was alarmingly conscious of the way her heart was racing and kept reminding herself that she had met this man only three times before and then under hardly favourable circumstances.

“Were you expecting me?” she asked, and again he smiled.

“Perhaps!” His reply was enigmatic and she felt her pulses respond to some hint of hidden meaning.

It stunned her to realise how much she was affected by the mere touch of his hand holding hers and tried to keep her gaze from the smooth tanned chest just visible in the long open vee of the shirt he wore. “I - I hope I’m not too late in the day paying you - Scottie a call,” she said, and remembered their erstwhile visitor uneasily.

She had no option but to walk along with him as he made his way back to the villa, for he still held on to her hand as if it was the most natural thing in the world for him to be doing and apparently trusted to her eyes to keep them in the right direction. “It’s never too late,” he told her.

She glanced up at him warily. “I - I wondered if you had - company,” she ventured.

For a moment the fingers holding her hand tightened and there was a slight firming of his wide mouth too. “We never have company,” he said bluntly.

“From choice, surely,” she said softly, and wondered at her own rashness.

Then surprisingly he smiled, even though it was a rather tight-lipped effort. “From choice,” he echoed, and

laughed suddenly, a short, harsh sound that startled her.

“If you’re curious about Veronique,” he said, “I sent her packing!”

“Oh!”

His frankness surprised her, but it was the suggestion of cruelty in his words that troubled her. Veronique Tomaso had looked svelte and sophisticated and well able to look after herself, but Scottie had said she wanted to marry Jason, and it must surely have been for
some
of the usual reasons. If she cared for him at all she must have been cruelly hurt by his abrupt dismissal of her and, remembering her own experience, Leonora knew just how harsh his dismissal could be.

“Do I detect a note of disapproval?” he asked softly, and she suspected that if she confirmed it he would as swiftly send her packing too.

“It has nothing to do with me,” she told him quietly. “After all, you’ve sent me packing too, but I’m here again -although I’m not sure I should be.”

“Aren’t you?” Again his answer was enigmatic and he stopped walking and turned those blank and disconcerting lenses on her. “Scottie says you got yourself into a scrape the other day and hurt your face,” he said.

Leonora laughed ruefully, wondering at the flutter her pulses made just because he showed a hint of concern. “I fell flat on my face,” she confessed.

“There was someone with you?” Apparently Scottie had left nothing out of his narrative and she wondered just how much she was expected to explain. The thought of telling him that it had nothing to do with him did not even occur to her.

“People were very helpful,” she told him. “The elderly couple who helped me find a phone, the owner of the

ristorante,
and - and the boy who helped me to my feet when I went sprawling.”

“Boy?”

Evidently Scottie’s version had been different. She nodded, realised the futility of it and explained, “He was only about seventeen or eighteen, no more.”

His smile did incredible things to her pulse that both alarmed and disturbed her, and he shook his blond head slowly. “A boy,” he echoed softly. “How old are you, Leonora?”

“Nearly twenty-three,” she answered, willingly enough.

“Why?”

He was still smiling. “You made it sound as if that young Romeo was out of his depth,” he told her. “But in fact he wasn’t so far out of his own age group, was he? Scottie says he was making a nuisance of himself.”

She said nothing for a moment, then looked up at him and smiled. “It seems Scottie told you everything,” she said quietly, and he laughed again.

“He had no option,” he declared as if he relished the fact. “I was furious with him for being so late!”

“Poor Scottie! It wasn’t his fault at all, it was mine!”

“Then maybe I should have bawled you out too,” he said with a dry smile, and she shook her head.

“You’d already done that,” she reminded him. “That’s why Scottie had been down to see me.”

“So I had.” They stood in silence for a while, then he smiled down at her. “Is your face still sore?” he asked.

“A little.” She put a tentative hand to the fast-vanishing graze on her cheek. “It’s almost healed now, it was only a graze, nothing serious.”

“Good!” He smiled wryly. “Scottie says you’re a real beauty - I’d hate you to ruin your looks before I can see for myself!” She would have made some remark then, but he was suddenly and disturbingly serious again, his fingers tightly curled over hers. “I’m glad you’ve come, Leonora,” he said quietly, and for some inexplicable reason she felt a lump in her throat.

“Roberto gave me your messages - yours and Scottie’s,” she said. “I thought I’d better come in the circumstances.” “Because Scottie asked you to come, or because I did?” he asked quietly, and somehow she had the feeling that it mattered to him, although she told herself it was most unlikely.

“I think it must have been you,” she said, attempting a laugh when she recalled Roberto’s efforts. “It sounded far too grim to ignore!”

He looked curious for a moment, then smiled. “I don’t exactly remember what I said.”

“Roberto did,” she told him. “Word for word, I imagine.” She proceeded to give him a fair imitation of Roberto’s strong, lyrical accent, repeating his threatening message and watched the effect of it almost unbelievingly.

His laughter was as loud and unrestrained as her own had been and seeing him with his blond head tipped back and that strong brown throat throbbing with laughter that made fine lines at the corners of his mouth and eyes, she realised how much difference laughter made to him.

It revealed an entirely different man, one she had never suspected existed, and she could see now, more than ever, how women found him so irresistible; it gave her a warm, glowing sensation in the region of her heart. A light, lilting sensation that made her body tremble and brought a bright, shimmering look to her eyes.

But then he shook his head and became sober again, his mouth once more hinting at that wry smile. “I suspect you came because Scottie was miserable at not seeing you,” he said, and she did not answer at once, more sorry than she cared to admit to see his laughter die again.

“It was partly because of Scottie,” she confessed at last, and again he turned his blank gaze on her, a small frown between his brows.

“And the other part?” he asked softly.

It was a temptation to admit that his own message had intrigued her far more than Scottie’s, but her mind was in such chaos at the realisation, that she shook her head to rid herself of it. “I - I rather like it here,” she said in a small quiet voice. “I can’t explain why exactly, except that it always looks so lovely, especially at this time of day. Like a fairy-tale castle!”

His mouth was curled grimly and he looked down at her with his useless eyes, his fingers suddenly tighter again round her hand. “Not to me it isn’t!” he declared harshly. “To me it’s never any different, just dark! An island fortress

- Alcatraz in miniature!”

Leonora stood silent for a while, her hand in his, responding to some aura she found irresistible without a hope of finding the right words. He neither wanted nor needed pity, and the words that crowded into her heart were ones she rejected hastily. Shying away from them because it was incredible she could really mean them. Instead she attempted to sound as practical as possible.