Island of the Heart (8 page)

he walked past her to the door. 'That's why I want to talk to you—

alone, away from prying ears. I want to set the record straight, my

sweet. So don't keep me waiting too long, will you?'

When she was alone, Sandie tore off her clothes with almost

feverish haste, making her way along to the bathroom. Even if it

meant keeping Crispin hanging about, she had to have a bath, and

wash the salt out of her hair.

Half an hour later she walked sedately down to the hall. She was

wearing one of her favourite skirts- huge jungle flowers in pink,

turquoise and gold on a black background—and a plain black silky

top, short- sleeved with a scooped neckline. Her hair still felt

slightly damp, but she thought she looked good, and hoped Crispin

would approve. But it wasn't Crispin who was waiting at the foot of

the stairs, his eyes fixed on her as she descended.

' "She walks in beauty like the night",' said Flynn, and managed to

make it sound like an insult. 'Going somewhere, Miss Beaumont?'

'As a matter of fact—yes. If it's any concern of yours,' she added for

good measure.

'I'm concerned with the welfare of everyone in this house,' he said.

'Even yours, my pretty fly-by-night. I suppose I don't need to ask

whom all this glamour is aimed at?'

Sandie lifted her Chin. 'You don't need to pry at all,' she said. 'But at

least you won't be obliged to be civil to me over dinner.'

'Believe me, Miss Beaumont, I should have felt no such obligation.'

Her foot itched to kick him smartly on the shin, but common sense

told her that she would make little impression against his riding

boot, so she contented herself with a look of icy disdain before

sweeping past him into the drawing-room.

'Nicely done.' His voice followed her sardonically. 'When the

concert platform fails, you could always try the comedy stage.'

Sandie was still shaking inwardly with temper when she drove away

from the house with Crispin ten minutes later.

'There you are,' said Crispin, pointing as they negotiated the narrow

twisting road. 'As the song says, you can see the sun go down on

Galway Bay, or very nearly. Another time I'll take you up on the

Sky Road out of Clifden. The sunsets are spectacular from there.'

'O'Flaherty says it's going to rain again tomorrow.'

'Well, that could happen. One thing about the climate here, it's never

dull.' Crispin paused, 'I hope you like seafood.'

'I love it.'

He laughed. 'A girl after my own heart!'

Sandie gave a constrained smile in response. She said, 'Crispin,

shouldn't we talk—about Franeesca?'

'Oh dear, that sounds terribly—and unnecessarily- serious.' His tone

was still light. 'Save it for the restaurant, my sweet, I need all my

attention to keep the car on what passes for a road round here.'

He took her to a hotel standing in its own grounds, the dining room

windows looking over sloping lawns to the calm waters of the bay.

Crispin ordered platters of Dublin Bay prawns and lobster, and a

carafe of white wine, and when they'd been served, he said, 'Now,

what's troubling you, my lovely Alexandra? The fact that I'm

married—or simply that I didn't think to mention it?'

She summoned a smile, her fingers closing round the fragile stem of

her wine glass. 'Both, I suppose. Perhaps I'm just being silly, only—

I wish you'd told me.'

Crispin was silent for a moment, his brows drawing together in a

frown. He said at last, 'I guess it didn't occur to me to say anything

because I didn't think it mattered. It no longer does—to me. It's all

over—an episode in my life I'm doing my best to forget.' His mouth

tightened. 'I suppose Flynn told you, damn him to hell.'

The denial was on her lips, but she suppressed it. If Crispin was

going to be angry, it was better his
anger fell on its usual target,

rather than the twins, she reasoned confusedly.

She said, 'It's not really important who told me. I just wish that it

had been you.'

He looked at her ruefully. 'Call it a sin of omission. Or perhaps it

goes deeper than that. Maybe I was afraid that if I told you I still had

a wife—even if the marriage only exists in name—you might not

have come here.'

Sandie looked down at the table, feeling the colour rise in her face.

'It's not really any of my business..'

'Oh, come on, sweetheart, you know better than that!'

Her heart began to pound in painful excitement, as it did whenever

Crispin's voice took on that note of tender teasing. But there were

other things she had to know before she could surrender to the

hopeful joy inside her.

'Your wife—Francesca—she was a pianist too?'

'My former wife,' he said firmly. 'Yes, she had a career in music

planned. That was one of the things that drew us together.' He drank

some wine. 'And it was also the factor that drove us apart. Among

other things.'

Sandie hesitated. 'Would you rather not talk about it? I'm sorry...'

'Don't be,' he said swiftly. 'They say confession is good for the soul,

and maybe you're the ideal person for me to confide in, after all this

time.' He paused. 'I met Francesca and fell in love, and for me it was

as simple as that. I assumed it was like that for her too, but I was

wrong. All the locals had always thought she'd marry Flynn and

become mistress of Killane, but he was far too busy playing the

field, and never asked her. So in me Francesca saw the perfect way

of getting her own back on Flynn, and boosting herself up the

musical ladder at the same time. And I was too besotted to see it—

then.'

Sandie swallowed. 'But that can't be all there was to it,' she

protested. 'She must have cared for you.'

'Briefly, perhaps.' Crispin's mouth twisted. 'But it was a phase which

soon passed. And it didn't help matters when she discovered that she

didn't have what it takes to succeed as a soloist, and that my

influence wasn't going to make the slightest difference. Somehow,

that became my fault, along with the fact that she'd married the

wrong man for the wrong reasons.'

Sandie stared down at her plate. 'That's—awful,' she said slowly.

'It was at the time, certainly. I still loved her—then. I wanted to try

again—to fight for her, but she soon made it clear there was nothing

left to fight for. In a way, it was a relief when she left me.'

'Do you know where she went?' Sandie's tone was hesitant.

Crispin laughed shortly. 'To pursue her career elsewhere, I presume.

What does it matter? There was nothing for her to hang round for

here. Flynn has no contacts in the music world, and she'd already

got the message that he isn't the marrying kind—so...'

'But you're not divorced?'

He shrugged. 'She knows where I am if she wants to institute

proceedings.'

'You'd think she would want to,' Sandie said, half to herself, and

flushed when she caught his surprised look. 'I mean, having made

the mistake, I'd want to put the whole thing right—start again.'

He reached across the table and took her fingers in his. 'But you, my

sweet, are not Francesca. There's a warmth in you, a tenderness, and

an intrinsic modesty about your talent which Francesca totally

lacked, only I was too much in love to see it. She was a go-getter,

ambitious down to her bones, hard as nails. In fact, she and my

beloved brother were well suited to each other in those respects.'

'I wish he'd go,' Sandie said stormily.

'He will soon.' His tone was soothing. 'I've already told you, he

doesn't stay around long. He's the eternal rover—always restless,

looking for new worlds to conquer.' He smiled bitterly. 'And new

women.'

Against her will, Sandie found herself remembering those few

shattering moments in Flynn's arms that first night in the music

room—the slow insolent rake of his eyes down her body on the

sunlit beach only a few hours before.

She shivered. 'He's vile!' she said passionately.

Crispin smiled at her across the flowers and candles. 'And you're

adorable,' he said softly. 'I should have waited for you to come into

my life, little Alexandra, instead of chasing shadows.' He watched

the warm colour rise once again in her face, and smiled. 'And you

blush,' he said. 'I'd forgotten that women still could. Now eat your

meal,' he added, releasing her hand. 'Unless my troubles have

destroyed your appetite?'

She forced a smile. 'I don't think anything could do that. The food's

wonderful.'

There was another pause, and she wondered if she'd said the wrong

thing, but all he said was, 'So ethereal, and yet so practical,' before

turning the conversation to the forthcoming concert season.

They lingered over the coffee and brandies, and Sandie was content,

at least on the surface of her consciousness. Underneath, she was

uneasily aware, there was a morass of tangled emotion,

encompassing sympathy of Crispin, condemnation of the girl who'd

treated him so callously, and violent resentment towards Flynn

Killane.

A hazy moon hung over the trees as they drove back to Killane.

Sandie felt reluctant to return to the house. It was no wonder that

Crispin, sensitive as he was, felt the need to escape from it

sometimes, she thought sadly. Flynn Killane had his island. Why

didn't he go there and stay there, instead of sitting in judgement? He

was the last person in the world with any right to criticise someone

else's morals, after all.

'Are you coming into the drawing-room?' Crispin asked, as they

entered the hall.

Sandie shook her head with a swift smile. 'It's been a wonderful

evening, but I'm rathef tired.'

'That's a pity.' He stroked the curve of her face with his finger.

'Because it doesn't have to end here— unless that's what you want.'

Her heart missed a beat, and her mouth was suddenly dry. She said

falteringly, 'I don't understand.'

'Yes, you do. You knew from the moment we saw each other, just as

I did. And we've become so close, darling, especially over the last

few hours. I've told you so much—revealed for the first time all the

hurt, all the loneliness Francesca left behind.' His voice was low, but

it vibrated passionately. 'But you could heal me, little Sandie. Don't

you know that?'

She didn't think she knew anything any more, she thought

confusedly. Crispin was supposed to be her teacher, but now he

wanted to be her lover. He'd promised he wouldn't rush her into

anything, and yet within forty-eight hours of her arrival...

She found her voice. 'It—it's too soon.'

'How can you legislate about these things? I need you, sweetheart,

and I think you need me. I want to know you in every way there is. I

want to share everything with you—emotional and artistic

fulfilment at their highest level. It could be a turning point in both

our lives.'

Sandie drew a breath. 'Crispin—I don't know whether I'm capable of

giving you what you want. I—I have to think about this...'

'Of course,' he said immediately. 'You're such a little innocent, my

pet, that you're bound to have misgivings. But you must see that the

closer we are in every way, the deeper the level of understanding

we'll be able to achieve in our music as well as everything else.

Maybe this is why you haven't quite come to terms with
Elegy
yet—

because the passion in it defeats you. Because you've never

experienced total fulfilment.'

Sandie bit her lip. 'Perhaps—I don't know.'

'How can you know?' He drew her into his arms. 'Let me open up

this new world for you, my sweet. I want you so much.'

She remained passive while he- kissed her, not encouraging the

pressure of his mouth, the tentative probing of his tongue, but not

rejecting it either. She had the uneasy feeling that if she responded

too warmly, Crispin might try further intimacies, and her instinct

told her she wasn't ready for that.

She detached herself gently from his embrace, and stood back. 'I

really am tired, Crispin. I need to go to bed.'

'So do I.' His smile was rueful as well as tender. 'But I can see I'll

have to be patient a little longer.' He looked down at her, his eyes

searching. 'Or must I? Won't you take pity on me tonight, my

sweet?'

She swallowed. 'I don't know—I can't think. I can't answer you