Season of Shadows (10 page)

They left Gordon's Bay the following afternoon to return
to Bellavista, to Sally, and to the full realisation of what Laura
would have to endure as Anton's wife. Their marriage had become the
subject of tremendous interest, and often unkind speculation, and
although they shared the same bed, she came no closer to understanding
the enigmatic man she had married. During the first month of her
marriage she discovered that she had been added to the long list of his
many possessions to become something he could amuse himself with when
he was not jetting across the country or. business, and she resented
this fact bitterly.

She discovered, too, that she was pestered by reporters
wherever she went, and was subjected to a barrage of personal questions
ranging from her marriage to Anton, to the death of her sister and
brother-in-law. Her silence merely encouraged further speculation, and
she eventually became petrified to the point where she seldom went
anywhere without Anton for adequate protection.

The only one who seemed to be entirely happy with the
situation was Sally. She adapted to life at Bellavista like a fish to
water, totally content in the knowledge that Laura would always be
there even if Anton was so often away on business.

On Anton's instructions, and despite the excellent bus
service to and from Constantia, Eddie acted as chauffeur-cum-bodyguard
to the unsuspecting child, and he not only drove her to school in the
mornings but fetched her there in the afternoons as well.

Laura found herself left with plenty of time on her hands,
and very little else to do except brood about what had become of her
life and the dreams she had once nurtured of falling in love. She could
not think of Bellavista as home, and neither could she adapt to the
fact that she had taken up permanent residence in this magnificent city
which was steeped in history from the time Van Riebeeck and his party
had set foot on its shores. Perhaps, if things had been different, she
would have settled more swiftly, but the unusual circumstances of her
marriage had made it impossible for her to feel anything but an
intruder. She blamed Anton's attitude for this, and although she did
not want to think of him too often, she could not forget that he
somehow had the power to arouse her to a degree of passion she had
never imagined possible. But she could not love him.
Never
!
He was ruthless and cynical, and seemed to take a diabolical pleasure
in humiliating her when she lay in his arms, aflame with desire, and
utterly vulnerable. She despised him for it, but she despised herself
more for her own inability to resist him at such moments.

There was nothing strange in sitting down to an evening
meal in the small dining-room with only Sally for company, and that
evening was no exception. She listened to what Sally had to say about
her school projects, and questioned her about her studies, and later,
when Sally had gone up to bed, Laura indulged in her favourite pastime
of weaving stories around Anton's piratical ancestor whose portrait
hung against the wall facing her.

'You're always staring at old Friedrich DeVere's portrait,
Miss Laura,' Jemima remarked humorously when she came in to clear the
table.

Friedrich DeVere! So that was his name, Laura thought
excitedly and, pouring herself a second cup of coffee from the silver
coffee pot, she said: 'Tell me about him, Jemima.'

'Friedrich DeVere was the first owner of Bellavista, but
when he died his brother, Mr Anton's great-grandfather, took over the
place,' Jemima informed her while she busily transferred the things
from the table to the trolley.

'Is that all there is to tell about him?' Laura asked with
curious disappointment.

'No, Miss Laura, but'—Jemima cast a nervous
glance over her shoulder and added hurriedly—'Mr Anton won't
like it if I talk about it.'

'Now you've
really
made me curious,'
Laura laughed, adding milk and sugar to her coffee and stirring it
quickly before she took a sip. 'Mr Anton isn't expected back until
tomorrow, so tell me, please?'

Jemima hesitated, her nervousness quite apparent, but then
she shrugged and launched into the lengthy explanation Laura had
requested. 'Friedrich was a wild one, a fighter and a gambler. Some
people called him the devil himself, but then he met a Miss Dora
Goodchild soon after her arrival in South Africa, and fell in love with
her. They say she was a refined and gentle lady, and Friedrich was like
a lamb worshipping at her feet. The day before they were to be married
she went for a walk up into the mountain. The mist came down
unexpectedly, and she just disappeared.' Jemima shook her head sadly.
'Some people say she was buried under a rock-fall, and others say she
was killed by a mountain lion.'

'And some people say that Friedrich still walks the mist
at night searching the mountain slopes for the woman he loved,' a
deep-throated voice spoke with unexpected sharpness behind them, making
them jump guiltily.

'Mr Anton!' Jemima exclaimed, her dark eyes wide and
filled with a nervous apprehension that matched Laura's as they both
swung round to face the man who had entered the room so silently.

'You may go, Jemima,' he ordered abruptly, and the dishes
rattled noisily as she hurriedly pushed the trolley from the room.

Laura had remained seated, however, a trickle of fear
finding its way along her veins as Anton pulled out a chair and sat
down close to her, but when she met his coldly penetrating glance she
felt a renewed shiver of apprehension course its way up her spine.

'Don't blame Jemima,' she said in the Coloured woman's
defence. 'It was I who pestered her for information.'

His mouth twisted into a cynical smile that did nothing to
allay her fears. 'You're interested in my villainous ancestor?'

Laura swallowed down the nervous lump in her throat, and
explained lamely, 'It's the likeness, I suppose, between Friedrich and
yourself.'

'My grandfather always maintained that I'd inherited many
of his villainous characteristics along with his looks.' His eyes
mocked her ruthlessly. 'Do you agree?'

'I wouldn't know,' she said, making an effort to hide her
discomfiture while she poured him a cup of coffee, but she felt his
eyes, intense and hard, observing her, and her hand shook noticeably
when she passed the cup to him across the table. 'What happened to
him?' she asked hurriedly. 'To Friedrich, I mean?'

'When all attempts to find Dora failed, he shot himself,'
came the harsh reply, and a derisive smile curved his lips at her
shocked expression. He stirred his coffee and drank it down thirstily
while she tried to digest this information, then he added savagely,
'The story of Friedrich and Dora has been romanticised out of all
proportion over the years. If you ask me, she was stringing him along
solely for the reason that she felt flattered to think that she could
twist him round her little finger. It's quite likely that on the day
she disappeared he discovered that she'd had a lover elsewhere. They
quarrelled, and she walked out on him, it's as simple as that.
Friedrich, like a fool, couldn't face the humiliation, and shot
himself.'

'That's your version,' Laura concluded distastefully.

'That's my version,' he nodded with a distinct sneer about
his hard mouth. 'And you must admit it's a damn sight more credible
than the others you've heard.'

'I don't believe she walked out on him,' she argued for
some unknown reason. 'I think something happened to her; something that
prevented her from returning.'

'Such as a mountain lion dragging her up to its lair and
devouring her?' Anton questioned, then he laughed disparagingly. 'That
story is just as unlikely as the nonsense about Friedrich haunting the
mountain on misty nights.'

'You're only saying that because you—' Laura bit
back the rest of her sentence, horrified at how close she had come to
revealing the information Gina had passed on to her on her wedding day.

'Go on,' he prompted, his eyes narrowed to angry slits.
'Because I what?'

Under the close scrutiny of his piercing glance she
recovered herself swiftly and said the first probable thing that came
to mind. 'Because, for some obscure reason, you prefer to have the
worst possible opinion of all women.'

'My opinions were forced upon me by women such as Dora
Goodchild,' he replied with a savagery that made her recoil from him
inwardly. 'Prove to me that she didn't walk out on poor old Friedrich
there, and you'll restore a great deal of my faith in women.'

Her anger flared suddenly. 'You know very well that I
don't stand a chance of proving anything of the kind.'

'Exactly,' he stated harshly, rising to his feet. 'Now,
I'm going up to shower and change, and then, I'm afraid, I have to go
out again.' He leaned over her, the masculine scent of his body in her
nostrils and, against her will, her senses were stirred. Strong fingers
gripped her chin, and she found herself staring up into those hard,
glittering eyes for interminable seconds, before his mouth came down to
crush hers in a ruthless kiss that left her lips bruised, yet tingling
responsively. 'The subject of Friedrich will not be discussed again,'
he stated decisively. 'Is that understood?'

Laura nodded silently, unable to speak even if he had
demanded it, and then she was released to sit staring after him as he
strode purposefully from the room. Her nerves settled back into their
rightful order, but her eyes filled with tears when she glanced up to
meet Friedrich's leering appraisal, and, for no apparent reason, she
felt like weeping hysterically.

Laura
had been asleep when Anton returned home late that evening, and when
she awoke the following morning he had gone. Only the crumpled sheets,
and the indentation left by his head on the pillows, indicated that he
had slept beside her that night in that large bed with the intricate
carvings in the heavy stinkwood headboard. She felt vaguely cheated by
the knowledge that she had been unaware of his presence beside her in
Bellavista's master bedroom, but she had no time to linger on the
subject, and she washed and dressed hurriedly in order to see to it
that Sally would have her breakfast and not be late for school.

'Did you ask Uncle Anton about going to Gordon's Bay for
the holidays?' Sally asked expectantly when she got up from the
breakfast table and picked up her school bag.

Laura smothered her feeling of guilt at having forgotten
her niece's request, and shook her head. 'He was hardly home last night
when he had to go out again,' she replied, thankful that this at least
was the truth.

'We'll ask him this evening, then,' Sally stated firmly,
hugging Laura briefly before running off to where Eddie's bulky figure
stood leaning against the bonnet of the long black limousine with the
DeVere family crest on its doors.

Through the window Laura saw Eddie smile and salute
respectfully as he took Sally's bag and helped her into the back seat,
and moments later the car disappeared down the long, sweeping drive.
Laura could no longer hear the car's engine, and during the ensuing
silence she became acutely conscious of her growing loneliness, and a
longing for— she knew not what. Sighing heavily, she poured
herself a second cup of coffee, and swallowed it down quickly, but, in
the process of returning her empty cup to the saucer, her glance
inevitably travelled down the length of the table, almost as if she
expected to see Friedrich's portrait hanging against the cool white
wall. Drawn as if by an unseen magnet, she left the breakfast-room and
walked quickly down the passage towards the dining-room. There it was,
Friedrich's portrait against the panelled wall, and, seating herself at
the end of the table, Laura stared at it with a deep frown of
concentration creasing her forehead.

The devil was in his eyes this morning, mocking and
taunting her, and, quite suddenly, it was as if she were staring into
Anton's eyes. They were coldly penetrating eyes; eyes that never
displayed a fraction of warmth—not even when they were making
love. There was desire, yes, but nothing more, and she shuddered at the
memory of the times she had lain with his hard body against her own,
hating him for the violent emotions he always succeeded in awakening in
her, and despising herself for her inability to suppress her own
desires.

Last night he had slept beside her without so much as
touching her, proving conclusively, as he had done so often during the
past weeks, that he could take her or leave her with equal unconcern.
She was a plaything he could pick up, or discard at will, and the
knowledge hurt like a fiery sword being driven into her very soul. His
male independence had not suffered as a result of their marriage, and
she imagined that he came and went very much the same as he had always
done, but somehow he had succeeded in binding her to him with chains
which were as strong as they were invisible. She was like a bird, with
clipped wings, fluttering in his hands until his will had subdued her,
and then, his desire for amusement satisfied, she would be set aside
and forgotten until the next time. She hated him! Oh, God, how she
hated
him!

'Miss Laura?'

She came to her senses suddenly to find Jemima staring at
her curiously. She felt the cold dampness of perspiration on her
forehead, and her hands were clenched so tightly on the table that her
nails were biting into the soft flesh of her palms.

'Are you all right, Miss Laura?' the Coloured woman
questioned anxiously, her dark eyes taking in the pallor of Laura's
cheeks, and the shadows beneath eyes which had a faintly haunted look
about them.

'I'm fine,' Laura managed with a forced smile as she
pushed back her chair and stood up, but she turned away hastily when
her lips began to tremble. 'I think I'll go for a walk in the garden. I
need some fresh air.'