Candle in the Wind Page 14

'All—all except one.' Sam looked at him searchingly. 'You haven't told me about Mike.'

  'Mike Scott.' Her father's lips set into a grim sneer. 'He's nothing but an opportunist. I suppose he must have read about you in the papers or had you pointed out to him somewhere and worked out a plan to kidnap you, trying to make it look as if you'd gone with him willingly. The police found out that you received a telephone call just before you left the house and they think you were lured out on some pretext; as you've lost your memory we shall never know. But because of the kind of man he is he was suspected from the start.'

  'What do you mean, the kind of man he is?'

  Her father looked at her steadily. 'He's a drop-out,' he said bluntly. 'He had a thriving business going in England, was on the point of becoming a millionaire, but he suddenly gave it all up and came out to the West Indies to become a beachcomber. Just bought himself a boat to live on and went native. The only work he ever does is occasionally to hire himself and the boat out to deep-sea fishermen. He's a failure, Samantha, no good to you or any woman.'

  'But if he sold his business why should he need money?' Sam protested.

  'He didn't sell it. He just left it in the hands of the directors.' James Ashby shook his head. 'The man must be crazy. He could have been something really big by now. Unless it was found out that he'd done some shady deals or been milking the company and got kicked out,' he added derisively. 'It wouldn't surprise me at all. He's just a parasite, Samantha, one of the thousands who cling on to the wealthy for what they can get out of them, fawning sycophants who spit at you behind your back and tell you they're your best friend to your face. I know, I've seen enough of them—and Mike Scott is one of the worst kind. If you hadn't made me promise to leave him alone, he'd be serving a twenty- year sentence by now.'

  'And you're sure that I didn't know him before he kidnapped me?'

  'Quite certain, if you had I would have known about it.'

  'I see.' Sam stood up and said formally, 'Thank you for telling me. I hope I haven't kept you from anything important.'

  Her father looked at her then stood up and came to place his hands on her shoulders. Earnestly he said, 'Nothing is more important than you, Samantha. All I have, everything I do, it's all for you, you know. And I want you to feel that you can come to me at any time and with any problem.' He kissed her on the forehead. 'All right?'

  'Yes, of course,' Sam answered rather woodenly. 'If you'll' excuse me I'd better go and change.'

  'A date with Paul?'

  'Yes, he's taking me out to dinner at La Bonne Auberge in St Philip.'

  'Sounds great, have a good time.' Sam nodded and then went quickly upstairs again. A worried glance at her watch told her that it was now over two hours since the attack on Mike and she still hadn't got the priest's number. Perhaps it might be better if she phoned his hotel direct, he might be back there by now. Or in a hospital, she thought with rising anxiety. She got her maid to tell her how to get the operator and then asked for the Miramar Hotel. Impatiently she waited while the operator looked up the number and put her through. The phone seemed to ring for a long time in Mike's room and she was almost on the point of putting it down so that she could try and contact the priest when to her vast relief she heard his voice.

  'Mike! Mike, are you all right? '

  'Sam? Yes, I'm okay. Where are you?' '

  At the house. When you didn't answer I thought— I thought you must be in hospital.'

  'No, I was bathing the cut when you rang.'

  'That's all it was? It looked so terrible.'

  'Forget about it. I'm all right. I take it it was your father's thugs?'

  'Yes. One of them hit you with his gun butt.'

  'You must point him out to me,' Mike said grimly, 'I'd like a word or two with him.' But then he added more gently, 'Sam, about this afternoon…'

  But she broke in quickly, 'I've talked to my father, asked him about the things you told me.'

  'And?'

  'And he's taken every fact and shown it to me in a different light, in a way that completely exonerates him of blame.'

  She heard him swear under his breath. Then, 'Sam, you've got to believe me, if you…'

  'Why? Why should I believe you rather than him?'

  Her voice rose angrily. 'And quite frankly, as of right now I don't really care which of you is telling the truth!' And she slammed down the receiver.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  When Paul came to meet her that night, looking extremely handsome in a well-cut tuxedo, he drew her into the library before they left the house and firmly closed the door.

  'Before we go out I have something for you,' he said with his charming smile. 'Now you must close your eyes and you must promise me not to open them until I say, tu comprends?'

  He looked so mysterious that Sam laughingly obeyed him. She felt him come up behind her and then place something cold and rather heavy about her neck. She reached up to touch it, but he stopped her. 'Mais non, you must wait until I give you permission.' He took hold of her arm and led her forward, positioning her so that when he said, 'Now, you may open your eyes,' she was facing directly into a mirror.

  The necklace was brilliant and scintillating, it hung round her neck like a thing alive, a sparkling river of diamonds and emeralds that outshone even the green in her eyes. Slowly Sam lifted her hand to touch it.

  'It—it can't be real!' she breathed.

  Paul looked pained. 'But of course it is real. Do you think that I would insult beauty such as yours by giving you imitation jewellery?'

  Immediately Sam was contrite. 'I'm sorry, I didn't mean to offend you. I just can't believe—it's so beautiful, so—so overwhelming!'

  He smiled. 'I am glad you like it.' He came to stand behind her and put his hands lightly on her shoulders. 'It belonged to an ancestress of mine who was one of Marie Antoinette's ladies in waiting. Her portrait hangs in my home in France. She too was very lovely, and I think she would approve of your having her necklace.'

  For a while the sheer magnificence of the jewels had driven all other thoughts out of her head, but now she looked at him with a slight frown. 'But I don't understand? You surely don't mean—you did only bring it to show me, didn't you?'

  His hands began to caress her bare shoulders. 'But no, ma mie, it is for you, a gift. A small token which can only indicate a fraction of what I feel for you.

  Oh, cheriel' He went to turn her into his arms, but Sam stepped quickly away, putting up her hands to try and undo the clasp of the necklace.

  Agitatedly she said, 'But I can't, take it, you know I can't. You had no right to give it to me after you said you wouldn't push yourself on me.' Her fingers fumbled at the unfamiliar catch. 'Oh, darn, I can't get it undone.'

  Paul chuckled softly and came to pull her hands down. 'Then you will just have to wear it, won't you? And perhaps by the time this evening is over I will have persuaded you to give me the right to smother you in jewels.'

  Sam tried to protest further, but he wouldn't listen, taking her hand and leading her out to the car. And all that evening he put himself out to be even more charming to her if that were possible, and the result was devastating; he seemed to have eyes for no one else but her, behaved towards her as if she was the only woman in the whole crowded room, and overwhelmed her by his sheer self-confidence and attentiveness. When they danced he held her close, moulding her against him, and when they drank the champagne he ordered, he lifted his glass to her in a silent but eloquent toast.

  After their meal Paul took her on to a night club and they stayed there very late, dancing to a slow, smoochy group on a pocket-sized dance floor, until they were almost the last couple in the place. Only then did Paul put her stole round her shoulders and lead her out to the car. He drove along beside the coast for a few miles and then down a narrow track that took them to a deserted cove, the sand glistening like silver in the moonlight. He helped Sam out and they walked along beside the water's edge, the sound of the waves lapping gently aga
inst the shore, their tips a phosphorescent glow beneath the breathtaking radiance of the moon. Behind them, in the stretch of woodland leading to the beach, tree frogs made a clinking sound and other frogs took up the cry until their collected voices sounded like glass chandeliers jangling gently in the breeze.

  The night had an almost soporific effect on Sam, she felt emotionally drained by the events of the day, but she'd drunk enough champagne to blunt the rawness of her nerves and now she felt only tired and unwilling to face tomorrow. She'd had enough conflict and was grateful to Paul for giving her the chance to forget her problems, even for a few hours.

  He was walking along beside her, his arm casually round her waist, but presently he stopped and turned her round to face him.

  'Ah, cherie, how lovely you look in the moonlight,' he said softly. 'You are beautiful by day, but in the night you take on an ethereal quality.'

  There was an intent look in his eyes, and Sam tried to dispel it by turning his compliment aside with a light rejoinder, but he hardly seemed to hear her, pulling her close against him and whispering endearments in French. 'Oh, ma mie,' he said thickly. 'I have tried so hard to be patient. But to see you, to hold you in my arms, and not tell you what you mean to me—I can't stand it any longer. I have to tell you how much I love you, how much I yearn to make you mine. Cherie, say that you care for me even a little.'

  He was holding her hard against him, his lips raining tiny, passionate kisses on her neck, her throat.

  Almost overwhelmed by his urgency, Sam tried to answer him. 'I do like you, Paul, of course I do, but I…'

  But she couldn't go on because he gave a triumphant cry and then kissed her. It was a very expert kiss, and one that left her feeling slightly dazed so that she only slowly became aware that Paul was asking her to marry him. His face thrown into sharp profile by the moon, he looked dashingly handsome, and he was obviously very experienced and sophisticated. He was tall, slim, titled and wealthy, everything a girl could wish for. And Sam was telling herself all this even as she took a step away from him.

  Her eyes troubled, she said awkwardly, 'I'm sorry, Paul, but I'm not

  Again she wasn't allowed to finish. 'But you're not ready to make up your mind. Ah, forgive me, cherie, I know I should have waited longer, given you more time, but you look so lovely tonight.' He bent to kiss her hand, lifting it to his lips. 'But will you promise me to think about my proposal? I know I could make you happy, and you would love my home in France. It would make me the happiest of men to take you there as my bride, my very beautiful bride.' He waited a moment for her to speak but then sighed and said, 'But you are tired. Come, I'll take you home.'

  They were silent during the drive home, but as he helped her out of the car at the house, he said again earnestly, 'Cherie, you did not answer my question; will you promise to think about marrying me?'

  Sam flushed a little. 'Yes, of course I will, I could hardly do otherwise,' 'And you will let me know your answer soon? Oh, I know you think I am rushing you, but if you only knew how much I long to claim you as my promised bride.' He kissed her again then, his lips insinuatingly seeking a response, his hands stroking her caressingly. Abruptly Sam pulled free of his embrace. For a moment she just stood and gazed at him, her breathing unsteady, and then she bade him a hasty goodnight and ran into the house.

  She had told the maid not to wait up and she undressed slowly, not bothering to turn on the light, the room was lit far more attractively by the moon rays that shone through the open windows. After she put on her lace-edged nightdress, she didn't go to bed straight away but sat on the window seat, her legs tucked up so that her chin rested on her knees. So much seemed to have happened today: her clandestine meeting with Mike and all the things he had told her about herself, all of them hateful, and then, when she had faced her father with them, the way he had turned everything round the other way and told her what he knew about Mike. And now Paul had proposed to her. It had certainly been an eventful day, she thought mirthlessly, and not one that she would be able to forget in a hurry. But that did make her give a wry smile; she had been beating her brains out to try to remember her past and now she wanted to forget the present.

  Sam gazed miserably out of the window at the shadowed garden and tried to think what was best to do. She had thought that by coming to live with her father she would be safe and happy, but she saw little of him and she could find no happiness in this large, museum-like house. Even so she must have had some kind of life before and she might have been able to find it again if Mike hadn't come storming back into her life and filled her mind with doubts and uncertainties. When she saw the newspaper cutting she had been sure that Mike was the liar and cheat, but now she just didn't know who was telling the truth, who really cared about her, Mike or her father. Or perhaps neither of them really cared about her, perhaps they were both trying to use her to gain their own ends. That thought made her feel worse than ever, and, as always when she tried to concentrate hard, her head began to throb and the familiar pain came back.

  Closing her eyes, she leant back against the wall. She felt like a candle in the wind, blown first one way and then the other. Did neither of them care what they were doing to her? Mike so insistent that she was his wife but with not one shred of proof, and her father who so suavely and cleverly refuted every accusation and who wanted her to marry Paul. The thought of Paul made her remember their stroll along the beach, the things he'd said. Sam glanced across at the necklace, lying on the dressing-table in a shimmering heap; if he was wealthy enough to give her a present like that then he couldn't be interested in her just for her money. And he'd said he wanted to take her to France, to live in his house there. And suddenly she saw this as a way of escape. If she married Paul he would take her far away from Barbados, away from Mike and her father, she wouldn't be torn apart by doubt and uncertainty any more, she would be able to create a new life for herself where she could shut out all the bitter memories.

  But how could she possibly marry a man just to escape from a situation that was becoming unbearable? To do so would be a supreme act of selfishness, and she hadn't sunk quite that low, not yet. But how else was she to break free? If she tried to leave she was quite sure that her father would bring her back; he would of course explain that it was for her own good, that she might be kidnapped again, but she would be brought back all the same. And Paul had said that he loved her, surely then she needn't feel guilty if she married him without loving him in return. He would have what he wanted and she liked him a lot, perhaps it was just too soon for her to love him. But even as she tried to find plausible reasons for marrying Paul, at the back of her mind there was a nagging doubt about his proposal. The perfect setting of the moonlight on the water, the palm trees sighing in the breeze—it had all been too contrived somehow. And when he had kissed her, it had been technique more than desire. He had used his expertise to overwhelm her, confident of his ability to make her respond, and for a while it had worked, but now, unbidden, her mind filled with the memory of Mike's kisses, the urgency that had brooked no denial, his need for her that had forced a response that lifted them both to the heights of passion. Even the touch of his hand had electrified her and made her physically aware of him as she had never been with Paul.

  Sam turned dejectedly away from the window and got into bed. But Mike was a criminal, a drop-out who couldn't take the pace of ordinary life and who now spent his time bumming around the West Indies, lying and cheating to get money. And no way could she live with a man like that. Better to marry a man she didn't love than to be used and degraded.

  The noise of the phone ringing woke Sam the next morning and she realised that she had slept very late, the sun already high in the sky. Yawningly she picked up the receiver.

  'Miss Ashby? This is Rosetta's Boutique in Bridgetown. The clothes you ordered have arrived. I'm sorry they took so long, but we had difficulty in obtaining exactly what you wanted and some of the garments had to be specially made.'

  'I
'm sorry,' Sam tried to gather her wits together, 'I'm afraid I don't quite remember.'

  The woman's voice went on. 'Well, it was some time ago. Before you were kidnapped, I'll describe the clothes to you.'

  She started going into detail about colours and styles and presently Sam heard a click on the line as if someone had replaced a receiver. Immediately the woman's tone altered and she said, 'Hold on a moment, please.' Then Mike's voice came on. 'Hallo, Sam.'

  'Mike! But why all this rigmarole about clothes?'

  'Sorry, sweetheart, but I've tried to phone you dozens of times and your father's secretary always intercepts the calls, so I got the operator at the hotel to help me with this subterfuge. How are you?'

  'I'm—I'm fine. How's your head?'

  'I'll live. Listen, Sam, I have to talk to you.'

  'No. We've said everything there is to say between us.'

  'Oh no, we haven't. Not by a long shot,' he said grimly. 'We have to meet soon. I'm going to the harbour now and I'll anchor off the cove below your father's place in half an hour. Get there as soon as you can and try not to have anyone follow you.'

  Her voice sharp with indignation, Sam said, 'You can't order me around like that, Mike. I'm not going to meet you and that's final!'

  His tone hardened. 'Then I shall just have to come up to the house and find you,' and he put down the phone.

  Sam stared at the receiver in her hand resentfully. How dared he speak to her as if he had the right to order her around. If he thought she would meet him after yesterday, he was crazy! She lay mutinously back on the pillows for a few minutes but then got reluctantly out of bed. She knew Mike well enough to know that if he said he'd do something then he would keep his word, even if it was something crazy like coming Up to the house to find her when he knew that her father's men would throw him out again.

  Putting on an orange towelling bikini with a matching beach robe, Sam picked up her bathing cap and made her way to the back stairs. There didn't seem to be any one about, although she could hear the hum of an electric polishes being used on the parquet flooring somewhere downstairs. Slipping out of a side door, she made sure the coast was clear and then ran behind a screen of shrubs that hid her from the house. So far so good, now all she had to do was to avoid the guards that patrolled the walls. But even this was easier than she had thought and soon she was running down through the woodland to the cove, confident that she hadn't been seen. She waited in the shade of the trees until she saw the boat come along and anchor in the bay as it had before and then she put on her cap, hid her robe beneath some leaves, and swam swiftly out to the raft. She had hardly reached it and pulled off the cap to shake her hair loose before she saw Mike cutting through the water towards her. He wasn't wearing the air-tanks this time and was swimming on the surface.