House of Storms (20 page)

'You enjoyed it!' His eyes blazed darkly into hers, then he spun on his heel and strode off out of the house, leaving her mortified and unable to deny the flame-like thrills he had induced when he touched her. She felt sensitised to the very centre of her being and she stared blindly at the door out of which he had walked with his head held so high, and she despised herself as much as she despised him for the emotions he had aroused.

Desires which had been lurking in both of them ever since their first encounter on the beach . . . urgent, dark desires.

Debra wildly told herself that she couldn't stay in this house, but even as she emerged a little tidier from the alcove, she saw Jack Salvador coming downstairs with young Dean clasped in his arms. 'Come and say hello to my son,' he called out to her.

What else could she do but force a smile to her lips and silently implore her knees to hold firm as she walked towards Jack and the boy.

'Dibby!' He knew her and started jigging up and down in Jack's arms and as if seeking some of Jack's protection of the child Debra drew close to both of them and kissed Dean with an aching kind of tenderness. She kissed the bruise on his chin and bent her head and kissed the scratches on his plump legs.

'Poor little darling,' she crooned. 'You must have been so scared by the storm, but now your Papa's here and you're safe and loved.'

'I can see you're fond of children,' Jack smiled.

'Dean is someone special,' she quickly replied. 'I'm really a career-girl at heart.'

'I wonder.' Jack looked quizzical. 'You have a caring heart, Debra, and it will govern you.'

'No,' she argued. 'I intend to guard it for all I'm worth—I don't want my heart leading me astray.'

'We all say that when we're young, Debra. We're all so certain that we make our own destiny and do our own choosing, but there's some devil inside us that upsets the apple-cart and hands us the fruit that looks so sweet and sometimes turns out to be so bitter.'

'You don't need to be bitter any more.' Debra held Dean's little hand and tickled his palm. 'Look who came out of the apple seeds.'

'Yes, just look.' Jack eyed the boy with a kind of wonderment, and then with a flash of pain. 'I could so easily have lost him again and I daren't think what that would have done to me—driven me mad I believe. The nursery and your previous room are a shambles so you'll be located in the east turret this time . . . like Rapunzel of the flowing hair which she braided into a rope so her lover could climb up to her.'

'I have no lover.' Debra spoke with quiet control.

'That business with Rodare has to be sorted out.'

'I—I've seen him,' she replied, keeping her gaze on Dean in case some revelation of her churned up feelings showed in her eyes. 'I believe I've made him understand that his proposal of marriage was unnecessary—with his flair for drama he should have been an actor or a writer.'

Jack gave a laugh. 'It's in the blood, and rather in the atmosphere of this old house on an island. Islands are rather cut off from civilisation and surrounded as they are by the sea they tend to intensify the emotions of those who live on them. The sea, after all, is the most elemental of all the elements so can it be wondered at that we Salvadors tend to have emotions that match those high waves and those low troughs.'

'And those dangerous undercurrents,' she murmured.

'Ah yes, those undercurrents.' He quizzed her thoughtfully. 'So you've confronted Rodare and made him understand that you are here at my bidding?'

She nodded and watched Dean nod off slumberously against Jack's shoulder ... oh yes, whatever the outcome, it had been worth her while to seek out Jack Salvador and put at rest his doubts and fears regarding Dean. If deep within herself she harboured her own fears, they didn't matter so long as Jack believed he had sired Pauline's baby.

There was sudden activity in the porchway and Rodare strode back into the house followed by Mickey Lee and both of them were laden with suitcases and boxes.

'Mickey tells me this is yours.' Rodare exhibited Debra's suitcase, very much a poor relation compared with Jack's pigskin baggage. 'He said he collected it from Jack's room at The Cap And Bells.'

'Yes, it's mine.' She flushed vividly despite the innocuous reason why it had been in Jack's room. He had suggested that she leave it with his baggage while they ate breakfast down in the dining-room. Mickey had arrived while they had been eating eggs and bacon, ambling in from the newsagents where Jack had left a message for him, a great grin on his face when Jack told him to fetch the baggage because they were going home with him to Abbeywitch.

And here in the hall of Abbeywitch Debra was made uneasy by the way Rodare was regarding her . . . what on earth did he imagine, that she had used actions rather than words in order to persuade his brother to return home?

'Has it been decided where you will sleep?' he demanded.

'I'm not sure that I—'

Jack overrode her tentative words. 'I thought Debra would be comfortable in the east turret, in the Sky Room.'

'There?' Rodare frowned at Jack.

'Yes, I know it used to be Pauline's hideaway, but I think Debra will appreciate the quietness and the view.'

'If you say so.' Rodare glanced at Debra as if curious about her reaction to his brother's words. She had reacted when Jack mentioned Pauline but she strove to hide it, especially from Rodare.

'If you will come with me,' his voice was as smooth as silk, 'I'll lead you to the Sky Room.'

But hesitation held her in its grip and Jack said encouragingly: 'You'll be comfortable there and I'll see you in the den later on. I want to see how far the manuscript has progressed.'

It was now or never Debra told herself. She either took her suitcase from Rodare and walked out of Abbeywitch or she followed him to Pauline's hideaway, as Jack had called the room.

'Are you afraid the room is haunted?' Rodare taunted.

'Not in the slightest—a ghost is the least of my worries.'

'You are more scared of the living, eh?'

'Without a shadow of a doubt,
señor
.'

'The Salvadors in particular?'

'Yes.'

'Yet you returned.'

'I—I have work to finish.'

'Then you had better not waste any more time dithering.' He marched to the stairs and Debra reluctantly followed, keeping one tread lower than he as he mounted to the topmost gallery and turned left, leading her along a passage to a door that gave access to the steps of her new domain.

They spiralled upwards with little windows deep in the stonework and Debra had an image in her mind of Pauline coming here to hide from her mother-in-law.

Debra had always been curious about the turrets but had been told by Nanny Rose that they were never used. She expected signs of neglect but when Rodare unlocked the door and stood aside for her to enter, a shock of delight ran all through her.

She couldn't contain a little gasp of surprise and pleasure and felt Rodare pierce her with a look as he carried her suitcase across the room and placed it on a cane-backed seat at the foot of the bed.

'You don't have to sleep here if you don't want to,' he said.

'I want to very much.' She walked to one of the windows and gazed down at the flickering sea, excited by the thought of how self-contained she would be in the turret, almost in seclusion from the family. She also liked knowing that the door could be securely locked.

As these thoughts went through her head she felt Rodare watching her . . . they were very alone up here and she was still feeling the after-effects of the way he had kissed her. She still felt threatened by him, animal still, his shirt open against the dark-gold skin that was never cold to the touch.

Such thoughts had to be overcome and she proceeded to examine the room, going from one piece of furniture to another and opening drawers and cupboards.

Over the floor lay a round carpet with a pagoda design and the furniture was in pale bamboo so the effect was slightly exotic. The bedcover and curtains had a bamboo design on them and were silky to the touch, and Debra noticed vanity items still in place on the vanity-table.

Debra's heart gave a sudden throb . . . had Rodare ever been alone here with Pauline? The thought was a tormenting one that drove her to the door which she held open in readiness for him to go.

'Do you mind?' she asked. 'I'd like to unpack my things.'

Instead of going, he wandered to the vanity-table where he withdrew the stopper of a swan-necked scent bottle and sniffed at the scent applicator. 'Tell me something—are you planning to replace Pauline?' he asked.

That he should ask such a thing made Debra feel furious. 'I suppose that's going to be your strategy, to be as hateful as you can? Such a thing never entered my head!'

'Come,' he swung round to face her, 'Jack is your ideal, is he not? Isn't that why you came to work for him, because you are fascinated by his novels, and isn't it true to say that a writer is reflected by his writing? Surely the very romance of it appeals to you, a widower with a baby son on his hands, who is so grateful to you for making him see the error of his absence.'

Temper flared into a flame that Debra couldn't control. 'I'm beginning to hate you—'

'Only beginning, Debra?' He began to approach her. 'Haven't I been a thorn in your flesh since the day we met?'

'Yes,' she recklessly agreed. 'This job started to go wrong for me when you came back to Abbeywitch. You resent the island because it isn't your precious Andalucia . . . you regard it as a kind of burden, and so you start to look for a distraction and this time you settled on me to provide you with amusement. No one very special, only the girl working on your brother's book, a bit of a mouse who might take a nibble at a few crumbs of attention.'

Debra regarded him, her eyes pure green. 'I don't want your attentions, Señor Salvador. My head isn't turned by your machismo!'

'Your head might not be turned, m'dear,' he mocked, 'but if I chose to kiss you right now, if I chose to touch you, the rest of you would melt to jelly in my hands. Gran Dios, do you imagine I don't know when I arouse a woman?'

As his gaze went over her, a hot flame of memory licked her skin. She could hardly bear to remember the dark desires he had set aflame between them so that every particle of her body had wanted to be consumed by his touch.

'I daresay you've had lots of women,' she said icily. 'Women are just toys to you—the playthings you discovered a long time ago. I don't think you ever had any conscience about any of them until—' There she broke off, as if a hand clamped itself around her throat. To mention Pauline would be going too far, and that poor dead girl deserved to rest in peace.

'Do go on.' With voice and eyes he menaced her. 'When did I suddenly develop a conscience—when I met you?'

Debra caught her breath sharply, like someone who had come close to being burnt. 'I—I don't want to discuss it any more. I came back to continue with my work a-and if you have any feeling for your brother you'll allow me to work in peace with him.'

'I wouldn't dream of intruding upon such an idyllic partnership.' He drew level with her and she had to fight her inclination to shrink away from him in case they made contact. Gleams of mockery danced in his eyes as he stood over her.

'Do you imagine that you and I can live beneath the same roof and behave like polite strangers?' he asked. 'It just isn't possible.'

'It has to be,' she breathed.

He shook his head at her. 'Between us,
señor
-ita, there is an affinity, deny it though you will. It may be one or the other of the two most powerful emotions in the world and until we have resolved the question we can't help but be aware of each other. But for now, you will be glad to learn that I have business on the mainland which will keep me absent from Abbeywitch for a day or two. Do keep busy, won't you?'

After he had gone she leant against the solid support of the door and slowly her heart quietened down. If only he were returning to Andalucia, then she would be free of his dark bedevilment!

By the time she went downstairs he had departed for the mainland and the house was quiet. Debra guessed that Zandra and her group would reappear later in the day, but right now she could relax a little and enjoy discussing Jack's book. He was in the den when she entered, at his ease on the window ledge. He smiled through the smoke of his cigarette as if he liked the light linen dress into which she had changed.

'It feels good to be home,' he said warmly.

'You seem to be very much a part of Abbeywitch.' Debra felt a warm sense of ease in this man's presence, so unrelated to the emotional turmoil she felt when Rodare came anywhere near her. 'You fit into its ambience.'

'More so than Rodare, I think you imply?' He quirked an eyebrow at her. 'As the pair of you are so obviously cat and dog I can take it as read that you are free of any entanglement?'

'Oh yes,' she said emphatically.

He smiled and came to the desk where he picked up the sheaf of typed manuscript. 'I've been going through this and you've done a good job, but I've decided that I want to change certain parts of the first chapter—do you mind?'

'It isn't for me to mind, Mr Salvador.' She accepted what he said, but to her way of thinking the first chapter seemed perfect.

'I'd like you to call me Jack.'

Her eyes widened upon his face but she didn't argue with him. If it flickered through her mind that Rodare would be ironically amused by the familiarity she strove to stay composed. His hint that Jack was developing an interest in her had to be ignored.

'Do you want to dictate?' she asked him, preparing to pick up pen and notebook.

'Tomorrow will do,' he murmured, his eyes upon her face. 'You have done me a great service, Debra, and you are so unassuming that you don't seem to realise your own capacity for feeling the aches and despairs of other people. Who made you so wise, you who look so young?'