Robyn Donald – Iceberg (3 page)

Then I saw the plans, and I got an idea. The architect had put this in as the housekeeper's flat. I told him that

you'd contested Dad's will and wanted your half share and that I couldn't afford a house. He knew what I was up

to, of course; he's a clever man and what he doesn't know about women isn't worth knowing.'

She paused, smiling reminiscently. Feeling faintly sick, Linnet got up and walked across the room, her skirt

swishing gently as she moved.

'If he knew what you were doing why does he think I'm some sort of Jacob swiping your birthright?' she asked.

'Oh, he believed
that.
About the will, I mean. But he knew darned well that I could have rented a place. No, he

thought I wanted an affair.’

'Oh!'

Bronwyn laughed softly. 'Yes; he was amused, but quite willing. So he offered me this flat and then I refused to

play.'

‘Wasn't he angry?'

'No, he was intrigued. Which was just what I wanted. And things have gone on from there. I'm accepted by his

friends now as his girl-friend, rather different from his lover. But you can see why your arrival is hardly

opportune.'

‘Yes.' Linnet moved away from the window, trying to subdue the dismay which had been increasing within her

for the last half hour or so. ‘I’ll go if you like,' she offered.

The older girl pondered, sipping her drink with a shuttered expression, those heavy lids lowered so that any

emotions were carefully hidden. 'I don't dunk it's necessary,' she said-at last. I can manage him."

'If we're supposed to be at daggers drawn, you and I,' you're going to have to think up a pretty powerful

explanation.'

A low chuckle was her only answer, and, 'Don't enquire too deeply. Do you mind being considered a selfish

bitch by him?'

Linnet shook her head, the soft pale curb picking up a stray sunbeam so that for a moment she was aureoled by

radiance. 'Not particularly,' she replied slowly, remembering the icy contempt, the arbitrary treatment he had

subjected her
to.

'Ah, I'd forgotten—your stepfather. I suppose you won't be worrying much about any man's opinion until you

get over him. You've got to hand it to Jennifer, she's got something. To be able to put her daughter in the shade!'

But Linnet wasn't going to hear her mother spoken of in this manner. 'She didn't know,' she said crisply, 'and

she's just the same as she ever was—a darling.'

'Phew!' Bronwyn smiled -sardonically. 'Well, that's a matter of opinion. My eyes have never been blinded by

love, so perhaps I see her better. Anyway, we won't squabble over her. I might even invite her to the wedding.

You'll be over the suave Mr Perry by then, and I'd tike to show her the sort of man her despised stepdaughter

managed to land.'

'She doesn't despise you,' Linnet. retorted swiftly, though she knew it/ would have been wiser to say nothing.

Bronwyn gave her a disbelieving glance. 'Let's leave it, shall we? We'll never agree. Now, what have you in

mind for a job? I might be able to find you something in a boutique, though the pay's not particularly good.

You've done something like that, haven't you?'

'Yes, I worked part-time in a dress shop in Vaucluse, Mum liked
me
at home most of the time.'

'Don’t sound so defensive. Who am I to criticise your upbringing? Did you enjoy your part-time job?'

Remembering how she had had to try to convince large lathes of their true size, Linnet sighed. 'Sometimes. But

I might have something else.'

After she had told her sister of the position at the library Bronwyn nodded.

'Yes, I can see you there. Do you still write?'

Linnet looked her astonishment. 'How did you know?’

'Oh, I remember lots of things. You were a likeable creature—I missed you when you left. So you still scribble.'

'Yes. I've tried everything, but I like doing children's books most.'

She did riot say that it was only in the discipline of writing that she had been able to forget me ever-present ache

in her heart when she realised that David could never love her, or that she had a fantasy novel half finished

which she hoped might be at last good enough to submit to a publisher.

'I suppose it could beguile lucrative,' Bronwyn remarked idly. 'If you're any good, that is. Well, I suppose I'd

better, think about dinner’ No, I don't want any help. You unpack your things.'

As she hung her clothes in the small wardrobe of the second bedroom Linnet told herself that she should be

relieved ,that Bronwyn had accepted her presence so calmly. It had been horrifying to see the depths of her

dislike of Jennifer revealed, but at least the emotion didn't seem to extend to Jennifer's daughter. Unless she had

exorcised it by casting her in the role of the grasping sister.

Well, only Justin Doyle knew of that—and he didn't matter. Then remembering the housekeeper's less than

enthusiastic behaviour Linnet amended that to Justin Doyle and Anna. Except that he didn't seem the sort of

man to confide in
his
housekeeper. And really, could be no reason why she should care what either of them

thought of her!

After dinner Bronwyn excused herself without saying where she was going. It took little perception to realise

that she was off to see her landlord. No doubt to explain her greedy sister's continued presence! Feeling rather

prickly between the shoulder blades, Linnet took a shower, then, for the evening was warm, climbed into a thin

cotton wrap and wandered around, unable to settle to anything. There were few books, and those mostly

fashionable coffee table things, pretty as a picture but with little meat to them. After flicking through a couple,

Linnet resumed her pacing, wishing that she hadn't walked into the kind of situation she most dreaded. Now that

she knew the reason for Justin Doyle's antagonism she couldn't blame him, especially if he loved Bronwyn. But

she rather felt that her dislike of him would have been instinctive, he was too arrogant-imperious for her to ever

feel relaxed in his presence. Perhaps that disaster of a marriage had hardened him; perhaps he had been born

inflexible,' but try as she would and she rather prided herself on her imagination, she could not visualise those

cold pale eyes softened into tenderness, or the cruel line of his mouth ever relaxed. Passion, yes, bat not love. It

was to be hoped that Bronwyn knew what she was doing.

Yes—Bronwyn. A frown marred the smooth toe of her brow as she thought of her sister. So—so self-explained,

almost as hard in her feminine way as the man she wanted to marry. And that marriage the result of a well

thought out plan of campaign, as if it were a military operation. Did she love him? Who could love an iceberg?

Yet there had been a note of something dose to desperation in her voice when she spoke of him, and those blue

eyes had become irradiated with a blaze 'of the most intense feeling.

A shiver touched Linnet's skin. Such dark emotions, and all for a man who had made one wife so unhappy that

rumours of suicide were accepted without qualms! Possibly Bronwyn was tough enough to cope with him. For

herself, Linnet decided the sooner she moved off the better. His glance seemed to leave weals on her skin, a

most uncomfortable sensation. He must be very mercenary if the idea of Bronwyn losing money affected him so

strongly.

Yet that house, obviously luxurious, had been furnished with a kind of spare austerity which had impressed her.

Not the house of a man who loved money for itself. It had almost a monastic severity about it. Probably

dreamed op at great expense, by a fashionable interior decorator, she thought wisely, ignoring the fact that it

had mirrored his personality with subtle exactness.

A knock on the door made her look in something like panic at her scanty attire. It couldn't be Bronwyn; she had

her key.

'Coming!' she called out, diving into her room and yanking on a pair of jeans and a cotton shirt.

Her relief when she realised it wasn't Justin Doyle made her smile. And Linnet's smile was famous in its way,

an affirmation of genuine amusement with more than a glint of mischief.

The recipient responded in kind. 'Hey!' he exclaimed, 'are you the wicked sister?'

'Yes.' The amusement vanished from her expression.

'Sorry. No, don't took at me like that. We're two of a kind, you and me. I’m the rotten cousin.'

Against her will she lifted enquiring brows at him, seeing a younger, more dissipated-looking version of Justin

Doyle, with ready laughter in the grey eyes and a weakness about the chin and mouth which rendered his

undeniable good looks somewhat rakish. He looked fun, and quite untrustworthy.

'Aren't you going to let me in?' he asked coaxingly. 'I promise not to ravish you or run off with, me teaspoons. I

might drink a bit much of Bron's carefully chosen booze, but even drunk I'm amiable. Which is more
than
can

be said for Justin.'

'I beg your pardon?' Linnet's mind boggled at the picture of Justin Doyle drunk!

He laughed outright at that. That could have been better said. My masterful cousin doesn't, of course, get drunk

—-he's too conscious of his dignity for that But then he's never amiable, either, even though he's sober all the

time. Now me, I'm always amiable. Come on, move away from that door,' he added. 'I've been here before, you

know. Your sister doesn't like me, but as Justin puts up with me she's too afraid to show her dislike-openly.'

'Who are you?' Linnet asked, reluctantly leading the way into the sitting room. The sub had moved far enough

to the west to come straight into the|O0m so that'll was hot and stuffy. 'She pushed the sliding doors wide open

to let fresh air in, and felt that the room was too small,

'Stewart Doyle.' Like her he gazed around, but he frowned in distaste. 'About as much character as custard,' he

remarked. 'You'd think Bronwyn would have done something to it, wouldn't you? She's got the expertise. But

she views this as a temporary pad, of course. Next
stop
—and final one—the big house.'

Linnet frowned, angered by the note of jaded insolence in his voice. 'If you're going to be offensive, you'd belter

go!'

'Believe me, you pretty little thing, I'm not being offensive. I admire the girl immensely.’ He mimed elaborate

respect. 'She's got old Justin thinking seriously of marriage, which is more than anyone since his little Alison

has been able to do. Now, what would you like to drink?'

'Nothing.'

Grinning, he made his way over to the dresser and opened the door. 'If you thought that would prevent me,

you've a lot to learn, darling-I'll fix myself something— sit down and stop standing poised for flight. I promise

you I'm harmless. All the girls I've made love to have been more than willing partners. I don't smash up the

furniture and I don't flake out on the floor.'

Against her will Linnet laughed. He had charm, and a genuine appreciation of a woman's mind, speaking in a

droll manner which probably was a necessary part of his stock-in-trade.

'That's better,' he returned approvingly. 'And because you laughed I'll only have a very weak drink.'

'If you have all these virtues why are you the rotten cousin?' she asked demurely.

'Virtues? They aren't virtues, my love. I do have a few of those, but not many. It's my vices-which are

important. And the biggest of those, according to my respected cousin and the rest of society, is that I don't

accord the acquisition of money its proper appreciation.' He grinned, sat down and took a reasonable sample of

his drink. 'I prefer spending it. Sometimes, alas, I spend Justin's. He doesn't like that.'

Remembering the icy inflexibility of Justin Doyle, Linnet couldn't repress a shiver.

Stewart Doyle must have been watching more closely than he seemed, for he gave a mocking but sympathetic

smile. 'Exactly. He's a tough man, our Justin, Ruthless, you could say. At the moment I'm paying for my sins by

being kept under his eye. And on his purse-strings.'

Not a very pleasant position, Linnet had to own. One could expect justice from Justin Doyle, but presumably of

mercy there was none. 'What do you do?' she asked.

'Me? Oh, I'm a sort of general factotum.' When she raised her eyebrows at him he gave her a charming, lopsided

smile. 'Dull stuff. Let's talk about you instead. I know that you and Bron had different mothers, but try as I will I

can't see the slightest resemblance to your father in you. You must have got that Titian hair and those great

golden eyes from your mother.'

Linnet nodded, aware of the painful contraction of her heart which inevitably followed any mention of Jennifer,

now so happily David's wife.

'I thought as much. And what dire emergency forced you across here, when you must have known that Bron

doesn't exactly view you with approval?’

'That's hardly your business,' she retorted crisply, angered by his blatant curiosity. 'I shan't be here for long. As

soon as I can I'll get myself board.'

Not in the least put out by the edge in her voice, he murmured, 'Justin frighten you off, did he? I don't blame

you at all. He's a bad enemy is Justin. Poor Alison found that out. She was his first wife, you know.'

He drained his glass, set it down on the table by his chair and sent a swift, malicious glance across
the
room.

'You're dying of curiosity, aren't you? So's Bronwyn, but I won't tell her anything about it, and she's too afraid

to ask Justin. I don't mind telling you, though.'