The Devil at Archangel (13 page)

met your nephew on the beach. He was—good enough to strap it up

for me.'

'Indeed?' Mrs Brandon said very calmly. 'That was— most obliging

of him. And not for the first time either. Theo tells me that you also

met Devlin in Martinique?'

'Yes.' Christina felt her colour rising. 'Though I didn't know who he

was then, of course.'

'Of course,' Mrs Brandon agreed in an absent tone. She was silent for

a moment, then she gave a little sigh. 'I am in a difficult position,

Christina. Yet I feel that I am now responsible for you in the same

way as your godmother was, so I must warn you.'

'Against—Devlin?' Christina could feel the betraying colour burning

in her face—could see Mrs Brandon noting it, assessing it. The older

woman nodded.

'My sister's child,' she said, and there was a world of sadness in her

voice. 'She was the only one who seemed to have any influence on

him at all—who could restrain this —Brandon wildness. To give him

credit, I believe his affection for her was genuine. Certainly I have

never known him exhibit any similar emotion towards anyone else.'

Christina sat very still, her hands clasped tightly together in her lap.

'Once the—parental restraint had gone,' the cool voice continued, 'he

abandoned any pretence of responsibility towards the family name.

He left this house, in spite of all our persuasions—at that time my late

husband was still alive— and installed himself in that—hovel on the

beach. He gave up any active involvement in the running of the

plantation ; and became—what is that phrase—a drop-out. He now

supports himself on the income from the money he inherited from his

parents and subsidises himself by—wood- carving.' Airs Brandon's

voice was icy with scorn.

Christina's mind ran back to the work bench she had noticed in the

living-room of the beach-house. 'Is he good at it?' she asked

unthinkingly. Mrs Brandon gave her a look of surprised
hauteur.
'Of !

what concern is that? He seems to find a ready market for his
wo
rk.

But it is hardly a fitting occupation for a Brandon of Archangel. His

duty lay here—in helping me prepare Theo for his inheritance.'

'I don't quite understand ...' Christina began. Mrs Brandon sighed

again. 'It is all quite simple. My husband and his brother were twins.

My husband was the older by half an hour, and therefore inherited

Archangel when his own father died. In fact he and his brother Carey

became partners and ran The plantation together. In the course of

time, Carey met my sister Aladeleine and married her. At the

wedding, I met my husband—we were married the following year.

We all lived here together and for a while life was very good. The

difficulties began later.'

'Madame,' Christina said uncomfortably, 'is there really and need to

tell me all this? It's none of my business and...'

'I should not have embarked upon it if I did not feel it necessary.' Airs

Brandon resumed her embroidery, her eyes fixed on the minute

stitches she was taking. 'You are one of the family now,
ma chere
, or

I feel that you are. It is essential that you understand why Devlin hates

us all so much.' She reached for her scissors. 'He was born at a time

when, frankly, I think my poor sister had given up all hope of having

a child. She and Carey were so delighted with him that he became

quite spoiled, but who could blame them? Yet even then the damage

was being done. Because Carey and my husband were partners in

Archangel Devlin was led to believe, quite wrongly, that he would

have equal rights of inheritance. When—eventually—it was pointed

out to him that this could not be so and that Theo would be the heir, he

could not accept it. Neither, I fear, could his parents. They began to

spend more and more of their time away from here—travelling,

sailing. The rift between us grieved my husband terribly. He had

grown to rely on Carey and on Devlin too. Theo was only a child, of

course.' She picked up another skein of silk and began to thread her

needle.

'It was during one of these sailing trips that a squall blew up and

Madeleine and Carey lost their lives,' she went on after a small pause.

'Devlin behaved like a madman. He accused us of having driven them

away—almost of having caused their deaths.' She shuddered and

closed her eyes for a moment. 'Added to our own grief, his attitude

was almost more than we could bear. Hard words were spoken— on

both sides. Two years later my husband became very ill and sent for

Devlin. I hoped with all my heart that the breach between us might be

healed, but he made it clear then and later at the funeral that nothing

had changed. By that time, of course, he had begun to work actively

against us.'

'In what way?' Christina was bewildered by what she had been told.

Mrs Brandon shrugged. 'Devlin, while away at university, had

become—imbued with some strange sentiments. When he returned,

he behaved as if the
status quo
would no longer suit him. He criticised

the running of the plantation—the fact that we produced only sugar.

He claimed that the economic difficulties of the West Indies were

caused by this form of monoculture—that only the large islands like

Barbados should devote themselves to sugar cultivation, and the

others should turn instead to agriculture and food production to cut

down on costly imports.' She gave a harsh laugh. 'He really seemed to

think that his uncle and I would fall in with these views and calmly

hand over our land and our livelihood—the plantation which has

belonged to the Brandons for generations. He soon discovered his

mistake, but he managed to gather round himself a group of people

who share his views. They now operate as the "Island Committee".'

She folded her embroidery and put it to one side.

'F tell you all this,
mon enfant,
so that you are warned. You are a

stranger here and Devlin will not hesitate to use you if he can.

His—disappointments have made him bitter. Also…' she paused

delicately, 'he is no respecter of innocence. You would do well to

avoid him. It will not be difficult—his visits here are few.'

Christina nodded silently. It was not difficult advice to accept, she

thought. The less she saw of Devlin Brandon, the better for her own

peace of mind. She was thankful that Mrs Brandon did not know the

real reason for her apparent docility. That would be too humiliating!

She spent the next half hour or so taking dictation as Mrs Brandon

dealt with her correspondence. There was not a great deal to do, and

much of that was trivial, she discovered—responses to fund-raising

appeals, social invitations and the like. Mrs Brandon did not lead a

sufficiently active life to need a social secretary, Christina thought. It

occurred to her that it might be difficult to find sufficient work to

keep her occupied, and she resolved that if this situation arose, she

would go back to England—or look for another job where she could

at least justify her existence.

She typed the few letters there were on a small portable typewriter

which had been set on a table in the library downstairs for her. When

they were done, she was presumably free again, as Mrs Brandon had

given her no further instructions. She debated whether to take them

upstairs immediately for signature or wait until she was sent for. She

went into the hall and stood looking around her rather irresolutely.

Mrs Brandon had said she considered her 'one of the family', but

Christina thought she had never felt so utterly isolated in her life. She

tried to tell herself robustly that she was feeling disturbed because of

what had transpired earlier that morning and the warning from Mrs

Brandon which had followed it.

Mrs Brandon had assumed, she thought wryly, that she would be

totally in sympathy with what she had said. Yet at school, Christina

had heard that the concentration on a single sugar crop was a major

reason for the economic ills of the West Indies, and that the

production of sugar cane had to be heavily subsidised by the major

economic powers. No one could expect such theories to be popular

with the plantation owners, many of whom had grown very rich

through sugar, and Devlin had probably been less thantactful in

putting them forward. But that did not mean he was as much in the

wrong as Mrs Brandon had suggested.

She recalled her thoughts with a start, realising that she was under

scrutiny. Madame Christophe was passing through the hall carrying a

bowl of flowers. As she passed Christina, she gave her a slight nod,

but her face remained impassive.

Christina detained her. 'Do you know if Mrs Brandon will want me

again this morning?' she asked. 'I've finished her letters and ...'

Madame Christophe shook her head. 'Her masseuse from Fort

Victoire is with her now,' she said. 'Then she will rest until lunchtime.

Do you wish me to inform her that you have gone out?'

'Oh, no.' Christina was a little taken aback. 'It's just that I'm

not—altogether sure what is expected of me.'

'Are you not,
mademoiselle?'
There was more than a trace of irony in

Madame's voice. 'I am sure all will be made clear to you in time. But

for now—do you wish to go out? Fort Victoire is quite an interesting

town. Louis will bring the car round, if you wish ...'

'No—please.' Christina felt that odd sense of bewilderment again. It

seemed her role of the honoured guest had been reverted to without

her being aware of it. 'I diink I'll have a look round the garden. I used

to do a lot of gardening at home. I expect it will all be very different.'

She stopped uncomfortably, aware that she was babbling inanities,

but there was something overpowering about Madame Christophe

that had a disastrous effect on her precarious poise.

'Yes,' Madame said calmly. 'I daresay everything will be

very—different. But Mademoiselle will no doubt accustom herself in

time—if she stays.'

Christina watched her go, aware that her heart was beating

uncomfortably. There had been nothing to complain of in Madame's

manner—she had been quietly polite, respectful even—and yet...

Christina told herself she was being over-imaginative. There must be

something in the air of the islands, she thought ruefully, something

that made one over-sensitive—too susceptible to impressions. After

all, there was very little to disturb her if she tried to be logical about it.

She was staying in a beautiful, luxurious home with people who

seemed intent on making her feel at ease. Surely she could accept that

at its face value, and not try to go delving underneath searching for

motives that might not even exist.

It was Devlin Brandon she had to thank for this, she told herself

defensively. He was the root cause of all her uneasiness—her

uncertainties. She had never hated anyone in her life, but she

might—she just might begin with him. He seemed to have the power

to spoil everything—the serpent in this Eden. She glanced across at

the huge statue—the Archangel trampling the devil under his

feet—and bit her lip. That was just a story—a legend. The devil she

had to cope with was all too human flesh and blood. She folded her

arms across her body in an instinctive gesture of protection, trying

vainly to shut out of her memory the sensation of being in his arms,

knowing their strength, feeling the lean muscularity of his body

against hers.

,

And he'd known—that was the real humiliation—he'd known quite

well precisely what response he could evoke, apparently at will.

But never again, she whispered to herself fiercely. Never again would

he have the satisfaction of exploring her vulnerability. There was a

kind of bleak triumph in coming to this decision, but she did not dare

ask herself, long hours afterwards when the triumph had faded, why

only the bleakness remained.

THE week that followed soon adopted a pattern of its own.

Christina breakfasted in her room, then went for a walk until Mrs

Brandon sent for her. But she restricted her activities to the grounds,

and kept away from the beach, much as it grieved her to do so.

Devlin did not come to the house, nor was he mentioned by any of the

occupants. Mrs Brandon did not venture any further confidences

about the family history, and Christina wondered whether she might

not be regretting saying as much as she had done. She did not initiate

any inquiries herself, even though there were things she would liked

to have known. It had not occurred to her until much later that Mrs