Devil and the Deep Sea (19 page)

'I was going to ask you precisely the same thing.' Her voice was

faintly breathless, she realised with vexation.

He said, 'I spent the night at the casino. I needed to think.' He

motioned her ahead of him into the
salon.
'I telephoned the house

an hour ago, and Elvire said you had taken Solange shopping to St

Laurent.' He gave her an incredulous look. 'Is it true?'

'Quite true. I—I told them to send the bills to you. I hope that's all

right.'

'Of course.' He frowned. 'But I should have made

arrangements—opened an account for you to draw on.'

'There's no need. You've already been far too generous.' She

sounded as stilted as a schoolgirl. She paused, taking a breath.

'The—the dress is wonderful, but there was no need . . .'

'I thought there was every need,' he said quietly. 'I have been unfair

to you,
ma chere.
You made me see that, and I wished to make

amends.' He paused. 'Samantha, will you have dinner with me

tonight?'

She swallowed. 'Of course. Will—will you be home at the usual

time?'

Roche shook his head. 'I did not mean here. There are still things I

must say to you—explanations which I would prefer to make away

from this house. Do you understand?' He made an impatient

gesture. 'No, that is foolish. How could you?' He smiled at her

gravely. 'I need to be alone with you,
mignonne.
Will you come

with me?'

Swift, incredulous joy was opening inside her like a sunburst. 'If—if

that's what you want,' she managed.

'It's what I want.' He walked over to her, and stood for a moment

looking down at her, at the shyness in her eyes, the betraying bloom

of colour in her cheeks. He said softly, 'But not all I want,
ma belle.

From tonight there will be no more secrets—nothing to keep us

apart.' He lifted a hand, and tucked a strand of hair back behind her

ear.
'D'accord?'

Samma nodded mutely, suddenly incapable of speech.

Roche bent his head and kissed her on the mouth, lightly, but with a

dizzying sensuousness, his hands holding her shoulders to draw her

swiftly and intimately close against him. Through the barrier of their

clothes, Samma could feel the warmth of his body, the sweet

yielding of her own flesh in response.

She seemed to breathe him, absorb him, wanting him as sharply and

frankly as he wanted her. She knew that if he was to draw her, in

that moment, down on to one of the sofas or even the floor, she

would surrender to him. When he straightened, putting her away

from him, her disappointment was almost painful.

He said huskily, 'Until tonight,' and left her with the echo of that

promise.

SAMMA put the final dress on its hanger, and stood back. 'That's

finished,' she said with satisfaction.

There was no reply, and she flicked a sideways glance at Solange.

The child had responded with enthusiasm to Samma's initial

suggestion that they should put her new things away in her room,

but she'd grown more and more silent, and the familiar sulky look

was now firmly in place.

Samma suppressed a sigh. 'What's the matter?' she asked directly.

'Don't you like your new clothes, after all?'

'They are beautiful,' came the grudging reply, after a pause.

'What is it, then?'

There was another silence, then Solange burst out, 'You mean to

stay here at Belmanoir, don't you,
madame,
in spite of the curse?'

This time Samma sighed aloud. 'Oh, Solange, you know as well as I

do that there is no curse. You invented it so you could play tricks

on your companions and get rid of them.'

'A little—maybe,' Solange admitted. 'But the curse is real, and it

will fall on you if you stay. It would be safer if you went now.'

In that, Samma thought wryly, she was probably quite right.

She shook her head. 'Sorry,
cherie. Le Diable
himself would have

to appear and order me to walk the plank before I'd take any notice.

And even then I'd probably challenge him to a duel.'

'You must not joke about such things.' Samma suddenly realised

that Solange was trembling. 'You are in danger.'

'We live in a dangerous world.' Samma dropped on to her haunches

beside her stepdaughter. 'Solange,' she said gently, 'you mustn't let

these silly old stories get to you.'

'They are not stories,' Solange denied. 'The hating is real, and it is

all around you. You must believe me.'

Samma smiled at her. 'Well, I'll believe that you believe it, and that

will have to do. And now I'm going down for a swim. Care to join

me by the pool?'

Solange visibly shrank, shaking her head vehemently, and Samma

did not press the point. There was time, she thought. All the time in

the world.

She was sorry the Delacroix curse had raised its ugly head again,

she reflected as she changed in her room, but at least this time

Solange had been warning her about it, instead of threatening her,

which had to be a step in the right direction.

On her way downstairs, she remembered that she hadn't yet told

Elvire that she and Roche would be dining out. She recalled, too,

that she'd seen Elvire going towards her room in the other wing a

little earlier.

She was just about to knock on the door, when she heard the

unmistakable sound of deep and passionate sobbing coming from

within. She stood very still for a moment, feeling slightly sick.

Elvire might have declared her intention of leaving Belmanoir, but

that didn't inevitably mean her love for Roche was dead.

It must hurt her, Samma decided wretchedly, to know that he's

started paying attention to me. His sending me that dress must have

confirmed all her worst fears. And what kind of happiness can I

build with him on the foundation of someone else's misery?

She shivered. Would Elvire be always there between them, even in

absence?

One thing was certain. She couldn't disturb Elvire now that her

serene mask had slipped, and she was giving way to her

unhappiness and bitterness.

I'm the last person in the world she'll want to see, Samma thought,

turning away. I'll speak to Roxanne instead.

But the incident cast a shadow over the afternoon, which not even

swimming and sunning herself could dispel.

And, later, as she walked back to the house to begin getting ready

for her dinner date with Roche, she felt that same odd conviction

that someone was watching her. She halted abruptly, peering

through the tall hibiscus hedges.

She said directly, 'Is someone there? Hippolyte—is that you?' But

only silence answered her.

She tried to tell herself that she'd imagined it because she was on

edge, but she couldn't convince herself. That awareness of prying

eyes had been too strong, too definite.

As she entered the house, she could hear from the
salon
Solange's

voice raised in angry, tearful protest, mingling with Roche's deeper

tones, and groaned inwardly.

'What's the matter?' she asked, as she went into the room.

'You are going out tonight, and leaving me alone here. I do not wish

that.' There were bright spots of colour burning in the child's

cheeks.

'You grow above yourself,
mon enfant,'
Roche said coldly.

'Understand that you do not dictate to me now or at any time.'

'But I am frightened to be alone,' Solange said, her face crumpling

desolately.

'This nonsense again!' Roche raised clenched fists towards the

ceiling in a gesture of total exasperation. He swung towards

Samma. 'Will you please explain to this child that the possession of

new clothes does not automatically grant her the right to accompany

us wherever we go?'

Samma tried to pour oil on troubled waters. 'Papa and I are only

having dinner together,
cherie.
Everyone in the restaurant will be

grown up. You would be very bored.'

'I want to go with you,' Solange said defiantly. 'I am always being

left here alone.'

Samma turned to Roche, 'Couldn't we . . .?

'No,' he said icily. 'We could not,
ma belle.
I refuse to submit to this

kind of emotional blackmail from a child. Solange must learn that

we need some time to ourselves, you and I.'

'But if she's frightened of being alone . . .' Samma persisted in a low

voice.

Roche gestured impatiently.
'Qu'est-ce que tu as?
A houseful of

servants, including Elvire, hardly implies total solitude.' He directed

a minatory glance at his angry daughter. 'You are becoming spoiled,

ma petite.
I also have a claim to Samantha's time and company. She

does not belong to you alone.'

'And she does not belong here, either,' Solange burst out. '
Le Diable

is going to make her sorry that she came here!' she added with a

little wail, and ran out of the room.

Samma made to follow her, but Roche's hand closed on her arm.

'Leave her,' he directed curtly. 'Nothing will be gained by pandering

to these tantrums of hers.'

'I suppose not.' Samma bit her lip. 'But I hate to see her so unhappy.'

Roche's lips twisted slightly. 'I see she has found the way to that

soft heart of yours,
ma chere.
But you must not let her impose on

you.'

Samma looked down at the floor. 'Maybe, if you gave her more of

your time—behaved more warmly towards her, she wouldn't

constantly seek attention like this,' she suggested in a low voice.

She expected some angry come-back but, after a pause, Roche said

quietly, 'Perhaps you are right, Samantha, but it is not easy for me

for all kinds of reasons. There is still so much you do not

understand.'

'Then tell me,' she begged.

He lifted a hand and ran it gently down the curve of her cheek.

'Later,
mignonne.
When we are truly alone.'

And with that, she supposed, she had to be content.

Upstairs, she ran a deep, hot bath, and luxuriated in its scented

water, letting the odd tensions which the day had produced drain

out of her. She massaged body lotion into her glowing skin, before

slipping on lacy briefs, and a matching underskirt. The design of the

white dress wouldn't permit her to wear a bra.

Sitting at her dressing-table, she experimented with various ways of

doing her hair, before deciding rather ruefully to allow it to swing

soft and shining on her shoulders in the usual way. She took extra

care with her make-up, shadowing her eyes so that they looked

wide and mysterious, accentuating the warm bloom of her cheeks.

I look like a woman dressing for her lover, she thought, and felt her

entire body clench in warm, pleasurable yearning at the thought.

Barefoot, she rose, and went across to the closet to get the dress.

Elvire, she thought frowningly, had not put it away with her usual

care, demonstrating her emotional agitation. In fact, it was sticking

out from the surrounding garments, and half off its hanger.

She thought, 'I hope it's not creased,' then stopped, a little choking

cry of disbelief escaping her lips, as she saw the gaping tears and

slashes all down the front which had destroyed it. The lovely filmy

skirt was in rags, and the bodice had been ripped apart in total

wanton devastation.

The dress fell from her shaking hands on to the carpet as nausea

rose within her.

Oh, Solange—no! Please don't let it be Solange, she thought with a

kind of agony.

Could this really be what the little girl's tearful, angry exit had led

to? And what would Roche say when he found out?

If
he found out, Samma thought, feverishly bundling the pathetic

heap of fabric to the back of the wardrobe. Relations between

Roche and Solange seemed strained enough. If he discovered his

gift had been deliberately ruined, then his anger would be

formidable, and Solange was already far too nervous and highly

strung.

If that was all, Samma thought, shivering. The rips in the dress had

obviously been made with a knife, or a sharp pair of scissors in a

blind fury of hatred and jealousy which went beyond mere temper

tantrums. Could a small girl really possess so sick and violent
a

mind? It didn't bear thinking about.

There was a tap on the door, and Roche said, 'Are you ready,
ma

belle?'

She clutched at the towel she was wearing draped over her bare