The Questing Heart (16 page)

As for his subsequent declaration that they were engaged, that had been a generous impulse to protect her from Violetta's calumny. It meant nothing. Once they had escaped from the Signora's proximity, he would make a jest of it and find some other means of silencing Violetta's slanderous tongue. But it was a cruel jest for Clare, for with all his imperfections it was borne in upon her with passionate urgency that she could ask nothing more of life than to be Christopher Raines' wife.

She turned from the window and crept into her tumbled bed. There, overcome by conflicting emotions, she wept bitterly until exhausted, she slept.

Clare awoke to bright sunshine pouring in through the window at which she had left the curtains undrawn. She sprang out of bed and gazed out at the tranquil morning. The sky was a deep blue and the air so clear she could see right down to the valley floor; the gulf no longer looked ominous. She crossed to the other window where the battered flowers were reviving in the warm air. The tempest of the previous night had passed away, leaving no trace like a bad dream. The events that had occurred also seemed like an evil dream. Violetta had evicted them, but Clare, ye stored to her usual sane and sensible self, thought she would probably revoke her decision. Chris would go to her and persuade her to change her mind, but she might make it a condition that the secretary was sent away.

Someone knocked on the door to the passage, and in response to her '
Avanti!
' Emilia came in carrying a tray of coffee and rolls.

'E tardi
,' she said, and went on to explain, mixing her few English words with Italian, that everyone had been kept awake by
la tempesta terrificante
and so were stillasleep, except herself and Roberta.
La signorina
need not„ hasten.

Clare sat down on the edge of her bed and drank her coffee. The storm had been no dream, though in retrospect the whole bizarre evening commencing with that weird dinner seemed a phantasm conjured up by it. Surely the three of them could not have actually done and said what she recalled? Signora Albanesi, so stately and dignified, ranting like a fishwife, herself fleeing into Christopher's room inviting seduction, and Chris ... only he had acted in character, arrogant, teasing, in control of the situation, making both the women seem ridiculous with his offer of reparation for something that had not occurred to gull the unfortunate Violetta and fool herself, who knew it could not be genuine.

Clare sighed as, unbidden, Christopher's image came before her mind's eye as he had stood like a Greek hero exulting in the storm, Ajax, wasn't it, who defied the lightning? He had everything—physical perfection, fame, success and the adulation of beautiful women while she was what he called her, a sparrow of a girl whom fate had brought within his orbit and it had pleased him to tease.

Sounds from the next room brought her out of her reverie, and she ran to the connecting door, opening it a chink. Roberto was inside collecting Christopher's possessions. Going to the window that looked on to the courtyard, Clare saw his car drawn up before the front door with the boot open. He had taken Violetta at her word and was leaving without attempting a reconciliation. Clare showered and dressed in frantic haste, obsessed by the quite unjustifiable idea that he might leave her behind. She decided to wear one of her 'business' dresses and the silk coat, since they were leaving the country ... or were they? She resolved that she would not allow Chris to persuade her to accompany him to any more rustic retreats.

Emilia came in to fetch her cases, thus allaying her unreasonable fear of desertion. Together they packed her belongings and when she would have stuffed the evening dress into its box, the girl took it out of her hands and folded it reverently.

'Bella,
' she said.

Only the knowledge that she had not yet repaid Christopher for its purchase kept Clare from making her a present of it, though what use Emilia could have for a stylish evening dress that would not fit her ample proportions did not occur to her. She only knew she would never see it without recalling that uncomfortable dinner and what had followed.

Emilia departed loaded with her luggage, but Clare lingered over putting on her hat, suddenly shy of meeting Chris. The mirror showed that she was looking pale and washed out, with dark marks under her eyes. She had no time to fiddle with elaborate make-up, and taking the sunglasses which she never dared to wear in Christopher's presence out of her handbag, she put them on, feeling they offered some sort of a disguise. She did not know what to expect from him; he might be resentful that she was the innocent cause of their eviction, or he might tease her about their supposed engagement. He had a cruel tongue and she would find that hard to bear. He would not be pleased if she kept him waiting, and postponement of their meeting would only aggravate her embarrassment. Squaring her shoulders, she traversed the long corridor for the last time, descended the stairs and went out into the sunshine.

Chris was standing by the car when she appeared, beating an impatient tattoo with his fingers on its bonnet. He was informally dressed in tee-shirt and levis, but as always immaculately shaved. He was scowling. Roberto was packing Clare's cases in the boot.

'What an unconscionable time you've been,' Chris grumbled. 'I can't wait to get away from this dump.'

His feelings towards the
castello
seemed to have undergone a sea change, or perhaps he had appealed to Violetta and been rejected.

Oddly enough his ill-humour restored Clare's confidence. She paused, looking round for Emilia.

'Come on,' Chris commanded. 'What are you loitering for?'

'I want to say goodbye to Emilia.'

'She's gone about her duties. Here, Roberto,' he held out a bundle of notes. The man had closed the boot and approached him expectantly. 'That's for your trouble, and give Emilia her share with the Signorina's
addios.
Get in, Clare.' He wrenched the car door open on the passenger side. 'And take those damned glasses off your nose. You look like a broody owl!'

Clare snatched the offending glasses off and entered the car. She was not afraid of Chris in this mood.

'Didn't you get any sleep?' she asked sweetly.

He glowered at her. 'There wasn't much night left, was there?'

She seated herself, arranging her skirt demurely, as he closed the door and went round to take his place beside her. An imp of mischief caused her to say:

'For a fiance yours was scarcely a lover-like greeting.'

He shot her an inimical glance as he started the engine.

'We'll discuss all that another time when we're rested,' he declared, and drove out of the gate.

'Where are we going?'

'Home.'

She wondered what place represented home to him. England, she supposed, and London. Her own home was there, she might be wise to seek its shelter. Chris decided to be more forthcoming.

'We'll drive through the Alps and across France. This is a powerful car, we should be able to do the journey in a couple of days. Can you navigate? I mean, read a map?'

'I've never tried.'

'Then you won't be any use.'

He relapsed into silence as he negotiated the zig-zag road that led down from the castle. Clare turned in her seat to look back at its honey-coloured walls glowing in the early sunlight against the dark background of mountains. She half expected to see a redhaired figure beckoning to them to return, but no human form disturbed its remote serenity. Roberto had gone in.

Her gaze travelled to Chris's grim profile beside her. His lips were compressed, his brows drawn over hooded eyes —his falcon look, she had often termed it in fancy. She did not know if Violetta were needling him, or her enforced company. She could relieve him of that. They would pass through towns where there were trains and aeroplanes. She would suggest that he put her off somewhere suitable and she made her way to England alone. After all that had happened he could not be desirous of her society and she would be safer out of his. Mournfully she decided that the sooner their unfortunate connection was severed the better for them both.

O
NCE
they were out of sight of the
castello
and had reached the busy north-bound highway, Christopher recovered his temper. Clare knew he never stayed ill-humoured for long. He ceased to frown, and presently he began to sing in an untuneful baritone:

'He sipped no sup and he craved no crumb, For he sighed for the love of a lady.'

'Most inappropriate,' Clare told him, for his rudeness still rankled. She was aware that she was not looking her best, but to be likened to a broody owl was going a bit too far, especially as she feared the description was apt. 'You'd never sigh for the love of any woman.'

'The song was sung by one Jack Point who had more heart than sense, and doesn't apply to me,' he parried. 'But even the most hardened cynic has been known to succumb to the tender passion. Isn't that a favourite theme among you romantic writers? The mere male subjugated by sheer weight of femininity?' He glanced at her slyly, but she did not deign to reply to this flippancy, and failing to get a rise, he asked conventionally: 'Did you manage to get some sleep in the end?'

'Yes,' thank you,' she answered coldly; she did not want to be reminded about last night.

He shot her another quick enquiring glance and drove for a while in silence, then he said:

'I seem to have offended you, and I must apologise for what happened. I go a bit crazy during a good storm, drunk on thunder and lightning, you might say, and I'm sorry I forgot myself, but ...' he smiled winningly, 'there was no harm done.'

His casual way of referring to the incident stung her. Didn't he realise that he had nearly seduced her? Perhaps he did not; he had been, as he said, drunk with excitement, and in that case she could pretend to be equally hazy.

'Actually I'm not very clear about what did happen,' she lied. 'I know I came to you because I was petrified by the storm and I think you were trying to comfort me, I was all confused, when Signora Albanesi came in and misinterpreted what she saw.'

'In fact all hell was let loose, damn her,' he said cheerfully. 'Excitable creature, Violetta.' He slowed down on a straight piece of road, and gave her a long searching look. 'That's all you want to recall?'

'That's all I
do
recall,' she said firmly. 'Watch where you're going.'

He turned his attention to the road. 'You're not angry with me?'

'No, should I be?' She was deliberately offhand.

He carefully negotiated passing a bus, then observed:

'From what I remember we ended up engaged.'

'You did say so to stop Signora Albanesi abusing me,' Clare admitted. 'It was very noble of you, Chris, but of course I shan't hold you to it. Can't we forget all that happened?'

'Is that what you wish?' He seemed oddly disappointed.

'Yes, please.'

'I'm afraid it isn't quite so simple. There may be ... repercussions, but as I said, we'll discuss the situation at journey's end. At the moment I need all my concentration for the road and we've a long gruelling trek in front of us.'Clare sighed. She did not want the subject to be re-„ opened at any time, that unpleasant scene was better forgotten. She did not believe that Christopher really feared retribution from the angry Italian woman. The popular press had far more juicy scandals to report than the minor indiscretion of an actor, however well known. His promoters might even consider it had publicity value. Nor could she rid herself of the suspicion that Chris would come to regret his break with Violetta and seek a reunion. Their association was evidently of long standing and he was attached to the
castello.
At the moment he was absorbed in the production of his play and had resented Violetta's intrusion, been galled by her possessiveness. Later when the play was successfully launched-and his new part began to pall, he might want her back again. Clare was very susceptible to good looks and Signora Albanesi had made a deep if not very pleasant impression upon her. She could not believe that Christopher would be able to put her out of his mind altogether, but if when he was ready to discuss the matter he was going to ask her to placate the outraged lady with some sort of an apology, he would find her adamant. There were limits to what she would do for him.

Christopher reverted to the all-important subject of his play, remarking that he must phone from the first town en route to advise various interested people that he was on his way back to London and would be at their disposal as soon as possible. Clare noticed he took it for granted that she would still be working for him and even asked her to make a note of this and that. So much for their supposed engagement which she had thought from the start was phoney, but she did not intend to continue as his secretary. She could not trust herself if he took it into his head to make another pass at her, and her self-respect would not permit her to be taken up and discarded at his pleasure. As regards her earnings, her father would have to manage until she could find another job, and he had said he wanted her to go home. Manchester was where she belonged, not Cedric Radford's tinsel sphere where she would feel an alien.

When they stopped for Chris to do his telephoning and to have some coffee, she began to enquire what towns they would come to next, and put forward her suggestion of returning by other transport.

'Why?' he demanded quickly. 'Do you get car-sick?'

'Oh no, but I thought it would be better.'

He gave her another long searching look; he seemed to be always studying her as if he expected a revelation that did not come.

'You don't trust me, do you, Sparrow?'

Clare laughed shakily. 'There might be another thunderstorm.'

'I never repeat myself,' he returned. 'It's bad theatre. But you're a bit of a hypocrite, aren't you, darling? You do remember ... everything, and I've sinned against your Puritan conscience.'

'Need we discuss it?' she asked stiffly.

'We've got to sort out a number of matters, including that of our engagement, but we'll call a truce while we're travelling. I've got to reserve my energies for the long, long road to the Channel ports. As for your absurd suggestion of going by train or plane, don't you know it's expensive? Two can go for the cost of one, in a car. Why throw away good money out of pique or whatever is motivating you? I promise I'll be. a good boy, I'll be too exhausted to be anything else.'