Room Beneath the Stairs (18 page)

“I—yes,” she said. “It's better.”

“I'm so glad.”

“I do think I'll go back up to my room, though. I—I'll speak to you later, Evan.”

“Yeah,” he muttered, still staring at me.

I stepped aside as Helen moved past me. She went on up the stairs, her footsteps making a loud staccato clatter that gradually faded away; and then there was silence. Evan didn't say anything, just continued to stare with intense brown eyes. They were dark, filled with suspicion. The faded jeans fit tightly. His red and black jersey was wrinkled. With his unkempt hair and suspicious eyes he looked more than ever like a tough, yet that bewildering magnetism had never been stronger. No woman in her right mind would have anything to do with him, I told myself, but even so I couldn't deny that perverse appeal.

“What did you hear?” he demanded.

“Hear? What are you talking about?”

“Just now. You were listening.”

“I beg to differ with you,” I retorted, seething with carefully simulated outrage. “I had just come down the stairs when you flung into the hall. If you're accusing me of—”

“I'm not accusing you of anything.”

“You certainly are! How dare you suggest—”

“I'm sorry. It was my mistake.”

“You've got a lot of
nerve
, Mr. Porter. If you think I have nothing better to do than stand around listening to other people's tedious conversation, you're very much mistaken. I resent your implica—”

“Look,
forget
it!”

“You needn't shout,” I said reasonably.

Evan shook his head in disgust. His shoulders seemed to sag.

“You've changed clothes,” he said.

“Is there a law against it?”

“Do you have to be so damned
cute?
Where are you going?”

“I'm going outside. I'm going to take a walk in the gardens. Would you like to chaperon me, or do you think I can manage on my own?”

“You're without doubt the most infuriating woman I've—”

“Go to hell,” I said firmly.

Evan Porter looked utterly frustrated as I left him standing there in the hall. I stepped outside, quite pleased with the way I had handled the situation. Your acting is improving, I told myself. You carried that off like a real pro.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

I walked for a long time, moving through shafts of radiant sunlight, enjoying the exhilaration of exercise and fresh air and the smell of the sea. I needed to clear my head. I needed to hear the birds warbling and insects whirring and leaves rustling in the breeze, to watch the soft mauve-gray shadows spread over the grass and the misty white clouds drift over the pure expanse of pale blue sky. This was real: walking, feeling my own body moving, my muscles flexing, in the sunlight and salt air. The other was a nightmare world that didn't exist at all, not at the moment. At the moment I was able to put it out of my mind and build up my strength and relax, deliberately forgetting everything else.

I walked the length and breadth of the gardens, examining the beds on both sides of the drive; finally tired, I sat down on the wall at the very end of the gardens. Behind me was space, a steep cascade of granite plunging down to the rocks far below. The breeze was stronger here, swirling my hair about my head in billowing strands. The sound of the waves was loud—a wet slapping, a splattering crash, a receding slosh, constantly repeated. Turning to my left, I could see down the length of the gardens, past the bowling green to the house at least three city blocks away.

Silhouetted against the sky, spreading in all directions and rising at different levels, it was majestic. The walls were a dazzling white in the sunlight, spread with shadows from balconies and eaves. The brown shutters were dark, the slate roof shone a deep dull red, and rays of sunlight burnished the bronze bells in the carillon. As I watched, a tower window flew open and a hand came out, sprinkling something over the ledge. Immediately the air was filled with sea gulls, appearing from out of nowhere, it seemed, scraps of white and blue-gray swarming about the window. For several minutes they dipped and darted and screamed raucously, their cries reaching me from the distance; and then the window closed and they disappeared like bits of confetti. All but one. He remained on the ledge, pacing about impatiently. I wondered if it was the same angry gull who had peered in at us yesterday morning.

There was so much to think about, yet I refused to acknowledge any of it. I thought, instead, of London and Ellie and the cluttered, noisy flat we had shared over Covent Garden. That seemed so very long ago now. I remembered the sudden, impromptu parties she had thrown, the swarms of good-looking men who filled the place, Ellie's vitality and incessant gaiety. I missed her dreadfully. I could pour out my heart to Ellie. I could tell her everything, and she would know exactly what to do, exactly how to handle things. Ellie would make short shrift of Evan Porter, of Helen and Burke. She was so sure of herself, so strong in spite of her frivolous, carefree façade. I wished I had some of her strength. My own had to be manufactured from scratch through sheer willpower.

Sitting there on the wall, I could feel myself weakening. Indecision and self-pity were gradually taking hold. I was in over my head. I was insane to think I could handle this alone. I wanted to go back to my room, pack my bags, leave immediately for London. If Grey loved me enough, he would come after me. In London, surrounded by all the safe and familiar things that were a part of me, I could make my stand. A swarm of tiny yellow butterflies fluttered down over a bed of grass and rose en masse, trembling on the air a moment before vanishing into the woods like fragments of yellow silk carried on the wind. If he loved me, I repeated, he would come after me. If he loved me, he would understand.… No, no, I couldn't do it. I couldn't give in, not after I had come this far. I stood up, frowning. It was time to manufacture some more strength.

Preoccupied, I started back toward the house. I had reached the bowling green before I heard the voices coming from up the drive. They were distant, barely audible, and I could discern only sound, not words. Moving around one of the evergreens, I peered up the drive. Evan and the girl seemed to be arguing violently. They were standing just a short distance from the portals. His hands were on his hips. She clutched the violet shawl tightly about her, and although I couldn't make out her expression from this distance, I could tell that she was greatly upset. He thrust his jaw out and said something that made her flinch.

The girl stepped back as though terrified. Evan seized her shoulders and shook her violently. She pulled away from him, lashing back at him in a voice that was a shrill thread on the wind. Evan said something else, and the girl recoiled. Her violet shawl slipped down her arms, and she pulled it back up, wrapping it about her. Evan glared at her, the tail of his red and black striped jersey belling out in the wind. The girl seemed crushed. Head lowered, shoulders hunched, long black hair spilling down on either side of her face, she looked broken. After a moment she drew herself up with touching dignity. Chin held high, she looked into his eyes, and I thought I saw tears gleaming on her lashes. She said something in a low voice, so low that the sound was entirely lost, and then she turned away from him and walked toward the portals.

Evan stood where he was, watching her leave. For a moment her bright violet shawl was visible beyond the portals, then it was lost in the shadows thrown by trees growing thickly on both sides of the drive. Evan came back toward the house, and as he drew nearer I could see that his face was dark with anger. Glancing up suddenly, he saw me standing by the bowling green. He grimaced, shaking his head as though this were the last straw. I made no effort to leave, knowing it would be foolish to try to avoid him now.

“You're all over the place, aren't you?” he said nastily, joining me beside one of the evergreens.

“I told you I was going for a walk.”

“That was over an hour and a half ago.”

“Really? Has that much time passed?”

“This hasn't been my morning,” he grumbled. “I suppose you saw. Yes, you did. I can tell from the look on your face.”

“I saw you with the girl, if that's what you're referring to.”

“You saw me shake her. I guess you think I'm a brute.”

“Something like that.”

“And you want to know who she is. Right?”

“Not especially.”

“Her name's Valerie. She works at the pub down in the village. She's what you might call a—uh—casual friend. A man gets desperate cooped up on this island, and I took her out a couple of times. Nothing special, mind you, nothing to get excited about, but Valerie—” He hesitated, groping for words. “She misconstrued things, got the idea a couple of inconsequential dates entitled her to stake a claim on me.”

“I see.” I knew he was lying through his teeth.

“She phoned from the pub, said she had to see me. I told her to forget it. She said she was coming to the house. I said don't, you'll just be wasting your time, but she's persistent. I came out to head her off. I knew damn well there'd be a rip-roaring scene, and I didn't want Mother to hear. She thinks I'm above women like Valerie.”

“Evidently she doesn't know you very well.”

“The bloody wench thought she could trick me,” he continued, ignoring the dig. “It's the oldest trick in the world, and I wasn't buying any. I told her so in no uncertain terms. I got pretty riled up, I'll admit. I don't usually manhandle my women, but this was a special case. She'll have to find herself another sucker.”

“She's a very beautiful woman,” I remarked.

“How could you tell? You were so far away.”

“I've seen her before.”

Evan was startled, but he did his best to conceal it. “Oh? And where have you seen her?” His voice was extremely casual.

“At the pier. She was there when we arrived on the island. I rather thought she'd come to meet Grey.”

“What gave you that idea?”

“Her manner, for one thing, and Grey's indifference. No man is that nonchalant about a woman who looks the way Valerie does.”

“What did he say?”

“He denied knowing her. Of course.”

“He was probably telling the truth,” Evan replied, shoving a heavy black wave from his forehead. “Grey's always gone after women, but he prefers a more refined type. He'd never look twice at a type like Valerie; he hasn't got my base instincts. Well, it's almost an hour before lunchtime. Maybe I can finish that damned report after all.”

Evan went on inside. I knew there wasn't a word of truth in what he'd told me. He wasn't a very good liar, and he had been lying outrageously. Why? And why had he taken such pains to explain why he had been quarreling with the girl? It was completely out of character. He was the one who had brought it up, providing answers to questions I hadn't even asked. Knowing I had seen him with the girl, he had been eager to explain everything thoroughly before my curiosity could expand. I realized he had been trying to hide something, and I suspected it involved Grey. Was he trying to cover for Grey?

I wasn't particularly sophisticated, I knew, but I certainly wouldn't have been shocked to discover that my husband had had an affair with the girl. I knew his highly sensual nature, his strong appetites, and Valerie was one of the sexiest creatures I had ever seen. Queen Victoria had been dead for decades. Men
did
have affairs before marriage, and a great many girls did sleep around before they got a wedding band, even if I hadn't. If Grey had been her lover, that was that. I wasn't going to swoon in horror, not in this day and age. Why had Evan been so cagey, saying she wasn't Grey's type, making such a point of it?

I didn't know, but it was one more thing I intended to find out.

Grey met me in the front hall. He looked handsome in tight blue denim trousers and a bulky-knit white sweater. His eyes lit up with pleasure when he saw me coming in, and his mouth spread in a wide smile.

“There you are,” he said. “I've been looking all over for you. Evan just came in, said you'd been taking a walk.”

I nodded. Grey pulled me into his arms and kissed me, then put his arm around my shoulders.

“Burke and I went down to look at the boat earlier on. It's in very good shape.”

“I'd like to have gone with you.”

“You were sleeping like a baby when I left. I didn't want to wake you. Figured you needed your rest. I thought maybe we'd take the boat out tomorrow morning if it's clear. Would you like that?”

“It would be lovely, Grey,” I replied, trying to sound enthusiastic.

“Hey, we've got an hour to kill before lunch. What would you like to do?” He curled his forearm around my throat, squeezing gently. “Want to try to beat me at another game of billiards?”

“I suppose so.”

“Come on, then.”

Arm crooked around my shoulders, he led me into the billiard room, as merry as a child. I tried to muster some enthusiasm as he placed the three ivory balls on the table and handed me one of the short, leather-tipped cue sticks. “You go first, luv,” he said, extending his arm toward the table. I chose my cue ball, lined my stick against it and shot, failing to get anywhere near the other two balls. Grey laughed, took his stick and proceeded to score point after point. Finally he missed. I shot again, managing to tip the side of the red ball. Grey leaned against the wall, slapping his stick against his leg like a riding crop. I shot again, this time with such force that the ball sailed over the table and banged against the wall.

“Terrific, luv! Now let me show you how it's done.”

We continued to play. My heart wasn't in it, but I kept playing for his sake. Grey was enjoying himself immensely, throwing himself into the game with great zest. He trapped the balls in a corner, scored repeatedly, smiled broadly as he won yet another game. I finally put my cue stick back in the rack. He looked disappointed but didn't protest. We'd been playing for forty-five minutes. His hair was damp, plastered over his forehead in a tangled blond mass. Leaning against the wall, I looked at him. He glowed with health, looked so large and warm and happy. I felt a tightness in my throat. A poignant feeling welled up inside. Sensing my mood, Grey came and stood in front of me, spreading a palm out on the wall on either side of me. He looked deep into my eyes and then, tilting his head down, kissed me for a long time.