House of Storms (7 page)

'Then that makes two of us, doesn't it?'

'Okay, Miss Heartless, but you haven't seen the last of me.' And as he passed by he quickly bent his head and planted a kiss on her mouth, then he sauntered off down the corridor, walking with the confidence of a young man who had decided that the world was his peach-tree and he was going to shake it for all he was worth.

Debra reluctantly smiled as she closed the door and returned to her typewriter. He was charming and insouciant, with a dash of East Side shrewdness which had already brought him a measure of success. Debra felt quite sure that he had already broken several hearts and gone casually on his way without looking back at the damage.

She slid carbons between sheets of manuscript paper and switched on the tape-recorder. Soon the sound of Jack Salvador's voice had dispelled the drawling tones of Stuart Coltan. She was into the third chapter of
Savage By Night
and the story grew stronger with each tape that she listened to. It saddened her that the author didn't come home to his little son and his new book, but if Rodare Salvador was right, then it was something to do with the failure of his marriage that made him reluctant to return to Abbeywitch.

Debra pondered the drama of it all as she worked away at Jack's fiction, and she couldn't help wondering if Pauline had deliberately drowned herself? Had Jack grown bored with her once the physical side of their marriage was satisfied and was that why he stayed away, because he was racked by doubt and the suspicion that his young wife had intentionally jumped from the side of the yacht?

Yet even as Debra reasoned it out, she couldn't quite believe that a lively showgirl would take her own life. It would be more feasible to imagine her taking a lover.

Debra's fingers paused on the keys and she gazed reflectively at the sun's rays picking out the sombre patterns on the jackets of her employer's many books of reference . . . the one piece of pattern that seemed to fit was that Lenora Salvador should be so sure that her clever son would in time find Pauline tedious, and it seemed to Debra that in self-defence Pauline would turn to another man to whom her blonde charms would appeal. A man, perhaps, who was less intellectual than her husband.

Debra couldn't pretend to be experienced in such matters, but she could see how the attraction of opposites could lead to unhappiness. Feelings of mutual attraction couldn't always be controlled, and the mere glimpse of someone could set the pulse racing.

That morning in the nursery it had happened to her when Rodare Salvador walked in. Her knees had gone curiously unstable and again he made her feel vulnerable even though he gave no sign that previously in his presence she had not been wearing a sedate blouse and skirt.

Without effort he made her aware of his forcefulness, to such an extent that she felt almost a sense of threat ... as if her instincts were sending warning signals through her body.

There was no telling how long he meant to remain at Abbeywitch, and perhaps had they met in a less unconventional manner, then she might not be so sensitive to his presence in the house. At least, that was what she told herself.

Determinedly she pushed him from her thoughts and carried on typing, taken by surprise when a maid tapped on the door and carried in a glass of wine and biscuits on a silver tray.

The master said to bring you these refreshments, miss.'

'Oh—thank you—!' Debra felt flustered by the unexpected attention and when the maid had gone she slowly raised the tawny wine to her lips and tasted it. It was utterly delicious and the first time she had been offered wine from the Salvador cellar which was deep beneath the house in the cool old cloisters which had been part of the ancient abbey.

Giving in to a sense of luxury, she sat in the windowseat drinking her wine and nibbling her biscuits, thinking to herself that along with more subtle and disturbing ways, Rodare Salvador had his share of Spanish courtesy. He knew to the hilt how to play the
hidalgo
.

Having savoured the wine, she held the empty glass up to the sunlight and watched the myriad fine colours sparkling in the crystal. How long, she wondered, did the
hidalgo
stay when he came home to this fascinating old mansion on Lovelis Island? This house whose motto declared:
Let honour reside within.

Could there possibly be a more romantic setting for an island than this most evocative of regions—the Land of Merlin, whose legends and stories still haunted the very air? Cornwall itself was almost an island, surrounded as it was by the sea and the River Tamar. Though its old Celtic language was seldom spoken now, there was in the voices of its people a sound like no other; a kind of depth and mystery.

Debra sat there with the taste of wine on her lips, and her mouth wore a small, almost poignant smile. In the city she had felt alone, but here she felt akin to the sea as it tore itself on the teeth of the rocks; she breathed honey when the wind blew through the grasses of the cliffs, great ledges of granite where the chough had its nesting place.

She even loved the beach at low water, when it was desolate and the sands were lit strangely by the dying sun. Across the water she would hear the bells of the Chapel of Sacred Sorrows and combined with the duskfall and the lapping sea they would create an indelible impression.

A little voice in the mind warned her not to become too attached to Lovelis Island, but with the optimism of youth she told herself that perhaps when Jack Salvador came home he would decide to employ her as his full-time secretary.

It would be so much more rewarding for her than working in the city where the rush and roar of the traffic had eliminated any sense of enjoyment for most people. It was part of Debra's nature to like natural things and she found the ambience of this island more exhilarating than anything she had ever known before.

With each passing day there seemed to be something expectant in the very air she breathed and with all her heart she longed to stay. She returned to the typewriter, feeling today less of a stranger in the house which long ago the piratical Don Rodare had built for the bride snatched from the sands and carried on board his ship with his other booty.

It was no wonder, she told herself, the Salvador men were unconventional in their ways. Debra glanced across at the silver tray on which stood the crystal wine glass and she felt the strangest of feelings go tingling through her veins.

Was it possible ... oh no, her reason for wanting to stay at Abbeywitch couldn't be related to that proud personage who chose to spend most of his time in the deep warm heart of Spain! The very idea alarmed her and her fingers were as if petrified upon the typewriter keys.

It wasn't only that she had never met his like before, it was that she distrusted the emotions which gave rise to physical attraction. That distrust had taken root in her when she was at a very impressionable age, and though she could be detached about it all in a book, she didn't know that she could face the reality of it . . . least of all in relation to Rodare Salvador.

She typed rapidly and her heart almost kept pace with her flying fingers. She wanted the thought of him to go away, but it was as if his every feature had become a fixture in her mind. Dark, aloof, fascinating... it was as if the wine he sent to her had contained a potion that cast a spell over her.

She firmly told herself that when she was through with her work she would take a brisk walk along the headland and let the wind blow these schoolgirl notions out of her head.

Getting ideas just because he behaved with Spanish courtesy and sent her a glass of wine to refresh her! She smartly tapped the key with the exclamation mark upon it.

EVENING had fallen and as Debra crossed the court to the side entrance a light rain was coming down. The combination of moisture and lights sheened her hair as she stepped into the great hall. She shook the moisture from her wind-blown hair and her eyes were still alight from the fantastic sunset which she had watched from the brim of the high cliffs.

'Buenas tardes,
señorita
.’

She swung round with a catch of her breath, expecting to see the tall figure who had been in her thoughts as she walked in the wind and rain. But it was Stuart Coltan who stood running his gaze over her slim figure which was warmly encased in a fluffy jersey and hip-hugging pants. 'That set your nerves jumping, didn't it?' he jeered. 'You thought I was El Rodare.'

'Oh, it's you,' she said in a cool tone of voice, and she proceeded across the hall to the staircase.

'Whoa there!' Stuart leapt forward and caught her by the arm. 'You don't have to be in such a hurry.'

'Do you mind letting go of me?' She  attempted to shake off his hand.

'I rather like the feel of you,' he rejoined. 'What do you call that fluffy stuff?'

'Angora wool.'

'Feels real nice.' He stroked her and she very quickly slapped his hand.

'Look, Mr Coltan, I thought I'd made it plain that I don't play your kind of games.'

'Maybe you did, honey, but that was in working hours and now it's time to relax. I thought I made it plain that I like you—you're a girl with class, aren't you?'

'I'm a girl who happens to be particular,' she said frostily. 'I don't wish to lose my job by being caught with you. We both know that Zandra Salvador wouldn't like it.'

'Why should it concern Doña Zandra if I want to talk to you?' There was a wicked glint in his blue eyes as he spoke. 'She's at least ten years older than me.'

'I feel that wouldn't stop you, Mr Coltan, not if you found a woman attractive.'

'I certainly find you attractive, with that chestnut hair undone by the wind.' His hand tightened on her waist and he pulled her against him before she could resist. 'There's to be a party to welcome home the master of the manor and I'd like to share the evening with you. Come on, live a little or you'll turn into an old maid.'

'What a terrible fate,' Debra mocked, pushing a hand against his chest in an effort to lever herself away from him, but he had the strength and resilience of a dancer and she found herself his very unwilling captive.

'Release me, Mr Coltan,' she said firmly.

'You scared of men and emotion?' he asked, an inquisitive gleam in his eyes as they stroked over her face.

'It takes more than someone like you to make me scared!'

'Someone like El Rodare, for instance?'

Every separate nerve in Debra seemed to give an alarming little jump. 'You'd better mind he doesn't hear you calling him that.'

'You sound in awe of him.' The laughter left the vivid blue eyes and they probed her features. 'Relax, kid, he doesn't know you're alive. The girl he'll be squiring tomorrow evening is the daughter of Morton Chandler, one of the Cornish bigwigs. D'you imagine you can compete with her sort?'

'Is her first name Sharon?' Debra asked thoughtfully.

'That's the lady.'

'I had the idea she was Jack Salvador's girlfriend before he met and married Pauline.'

'Maybe she was, but now she has her eye on his half-brother and it's no secret that the Salvadors would like her in the family. She has what they consider the three essentials: face, fortune and finesse. Be warned, Debra, you and I might amuse these people but we don't really fit in. No more than Pauline did.'

'Did you know her?' Debra eyed him curiously.

'Casually,' he replied. 'She danced in the chorus line of a few of the television shows I starred in. Pauline was a climber, but she lacked the streak of ruthlessness that creates people like the Salvadors. Don't pretend you haven't taken a long look at El Rodare.'

'I—I know what you mean.' From the first moment Debra had looked at Rodare Salvador he had seemed to have an almost barbaric detachment from gentle feelings; a high-and-mighty man, proud of his bloodline even if he had forebears who had strayed from the path of virtue. He probably knew that he was the living image of the family founder.

'You and I are amusing outsiders, honey, but that doesn't mean that we have to be subservient.' Stuart Coltan gave a scornful laugh. 'So how about putting on your party dress tomorrow evening and keeping me company?'

'I—I don't know what to say—' Debra was hesitant, and yet something inside her responded to the idea of dressing up and being a person in her own right instead of being the quiet mouse in the den who got on with her work and bothered no one. 'I haven't been invited to the party by Zandra and I'm not the sort to stroll in with the casual assumption that I'm wanted.'

'You'll be strolling in with me,' Stuart said airily, 'and I've handled tougher propositions than Zandra in my time. She isn't as tough a chick as she likes to pretend, you can take it from me.'

Debra felt sure that she could take it that the good-looking and insouciant Stuart could handle most females. 'Won't she want you to keep her company?' Debra asked.

'Sure, she'd like my company, but the producer of our show is invited to the soiree and he'll expect the VIP treatment, which means that she'll have to be attentive to him.'

'I see.' Debra looked directly at Stuart and once again she found herself thinking how attractive he was, and yet he didn't stir her pulses in the least. 'Are you involved with Zandra?—I hope that doesn't sound as if I'm prying but I don't want her thinking that I'm trying to take you away from her.'

'Honey babe,' he drawled, 'you have my permission to take me away from all other women.'

'I bet!' Debra scoffed. 'Seriously, is Zandra attracted to you?'

His smile answered for him. 'I play up to her because I'm ambitious and she has connections in the right places, but the real truth is that I don't feel drawn to thin brunettes who live on cigarettes and salads.' He looked Debra over in his impudent way. 'You're just the right height for me; you come to my shoulder and I bet we'd dance a dream together. Do you dance?'