The Guilty Secret (10 page)

‘I didn't know you two were on such friendly terms.'

‘We're not,' I said hastily. ‘Miles misunderstood.'

He glared at Phil and then, his jaw clenched tight, pushed roughly past Phil, slamming the door behind him.

‘Thank goodness you came in when you did,' I said with a shaky laugh.

‘Really? I thought perhaps my timing was out.' His knuckles were still clenched and he wasn't looking at me.

‘Oh Phil, come off it. You can't imagine I encouraged him!'

‘Why not. I understand he's devastating where women are concerned. Rozalinda thinks so anyway. Or did.'

‘
For the hundredth time I am not Rozalinda!
'

Phil's face crumpled. He turned to me, holding me close against his chest, his head lowered onto my shoulder.

‘I'm sorry, Jennifer. I didn't mean it. It was just coming and seeing the two of you like that …'

I patted his back. ‘ Even you must have seen I wasn't being exactly co-operative.'

‘It didn't register. Only the fact that he was making love to you.'

I drew away from him with a smile. ‘I shouldn't imagine Miles knows what love is about.'

‘I should have hit him,' Phil said, looking so fierce and unlike himself that I laughed.

‘I'm glad you didn't. It wasn't necessary. Did you see the way he left? I don't think he's likely to bother me again.'

‘I shouldn't think he'll even speak to you,' Phil agreed, his good humour regained. ‘ I came over to see if you would like to go riding?'

I forgot that I wanted to talk to both Aunt Harriet and Rozalinda.

‘I'd love to.'

There was no sign of Miles as we walked past his villa and onto the pine needled track that led through the woods to the stables, and if he could hear us laughing, neither of us cared.

There was no sign of Mary and Tom as the horses thundered over the firm sand. We reined in at the headland, the Atlantic breeze blowing fresh and clean against our faces, the horses snorting and stamping, eager to gallop further.

‘Want to go on?' Phil shouted across to me.

I shook my head. ‘I want to see Aunt Harriet. And Rozalinda.'

‘Rozalinda's incommunicado.'

‘What do you mean?'

‘I mean I went over there earlier on and Harold was in a fine old state. Apparently Miles upset her more than we realised last night. If she doesn't take the part she's open to litigation.'

‘Why?'

‘Contracts. It's more than my tiny mind can take in. When she signed on with the studio she promised to accept the next two parts they offered her. The first was a blockbuster and the last one is breaking all records. Naturally they want her in their Queen of Sheba epic
and
want her to sign a fresh contract, only Rozalinda isn't playing.'

‘Isn't it about time Harold told her agent how ill Rozalinda has been?'

I had forgotten Phil didn't know about her suicide attempt. He said mildly:- ‘I should hardly call Rozalinda's stubbornness and tantrums being ill. We'll go back and you can see her yourself … if she'll let you in.'

It was Harold who opened the door to me. His genial face was haggard with lack of sleep, dark circles making the pouches under his eyes even more pronounced.

I walked firmly past him saying:- ‘I know all about Rozalinda and after what I've been through I should have thought you would have come to me for help before this.'

‘It, er, it crossed my mind, but then Harriet said you were still ill and I, er I didn't like to say anything. Rozalinda is dreadfully touchy about people knowing. Even family.'

‘Well that's understandable. It's hardly something you would shout from the rooftops. I know about the letters as well.'

Harold cleared his throat unhappily. ‘Nothing to worry about, Jenny. A misunderstanding, er, a figment of the imagination …'

‘Harold, come off it. It's me you're talking to, Jenny. If you can't trust me, who can you trust?'

From the expression on Harold's face it seemed no-one. Not where Rozalinda was concerned. I took his arm, softening my voice. ‘Where is she? I want to help her. She did all she could for me last year and I haven't forgotten it. Let me have a word with her, Harold.'

‘You, er, really think you should?' Harold dithered. Torn between the chance of helping his wife and the fear of her wrath.

‘I think I should. If she's as distressed as Mary and Aunt Harriet have indicated, I think I will understand better than anyone else, don't you?'

Harold's eyes flickered nervously from the stairs to my face and back again. It seemed he was incapable of making a decision so I made it for him.

‘I'm going up. Don't worry. If you want to do something practical you could be making some coffee.'

‘Er, coffee …' Harold repeated helplessly, watching with agonised eyes as I went up the marble steps towards the bedrooms. Upstairs all was quiet. I padded on thick carpeting past a couple of bedroom doors, pausing outside what seemed to be the master bedroom. Tentatively I knocked.

Rozalinda's voice, sharp with fear said:- ‘Who is it? Go away.
Go away!
'

‘It's me. Jenny.'

There was a moment's silence and then her voice, dull and tired said again:- ‘Go away, Jenny.'

‘No. I want to speak to you. Open the door, Rozalinda.'

‘Oh Jenny!' The door flung open and Rozalinda was in my arms, crying hysterically. I held her tightly, steering her back towards the bed, whispering words of comfort.

‘Don't cry Rozalinda. It's all right. Everything is going to be all right.'

‘It's not! You don't understand Jenny! Oh God!' she twisted away from me, her fists pounding the pillows frenziedly.

‘I know that you tried to kill yourself,' I said gently. ‘And about the letters. Surely you can tell me about them. I want to help you.'

‘Why?' she rounded on me, streaks of mascara smearing her cheeks, her hair in a wild tangled knot. ‘ Why should
you
help
me?
'

‘Because I'm your cousin and because I love you.'

Her face crumpled again, tears streaming down it. ‘Oh God Jenny, forgive me. I'm such a bitch. And I'm frightened. So frightened!' Her eyes were glazed with fear, her body shaking. She crouched on the bed, kneading the pillows with her hands, no resemblance at all to the butterfly creature of the previous night. Tears dripped onto the sheets, her nose ran uncaringly. I stared at her, appalled. There was no play acting now, only a terrified woman, no longer caring what she looked like. I moved to the dressing table with its vast array of cosmetics, searching for tissues and handing them to her. She clutched at them, making no attempt to use them, moaning over and over again: ‘I'm frightened, Jenny. Oh God, I'm so
frightened!
'

‘But why? What was in those letters? It can't be anything that could possibly shock me, Rose. Tell me and let me help.'

She shook her head, her hair covering her face. ‘ No … No … Oh please, Jenny,
please!
'

Inadequately I held her close to me, her body shuddering with sobs, her nails digging painfully into my arms. ‘I wish I'd never done it, Jenny, but I was scared and now …'

‘Yes?'

She shook her head soundlessly. ‘I can't, Jenny. I can't …'

‘Would it help if Harold told your agent how bad you were and convinced him you were unable to star as the Queen of Sheba?'

Her eyes were blank. She had genuinely forgotten about the film part. For over an hour I held her, until the storm of tears died down, leaving her tired and exhausted.

‘Lay down and have a sleep.'

‘You won't let anyone see me, will you?' She said, strength surging back in her voice. ‘ Promise me you won't let anyone see me? Miles mustn't let anyone know where I am …'

‘He won't. I promise. Try and sleep.'

She lay down obediently and I pulled the silk sheets up around her naked shoulders, closing the blinds and plunging the room into shadow. When I turned round, her eyes were already closed, her energy spent. I stroked a tendril of hair away from her mouth and went quietly out of the room.

Harold was waiting anxiously downstairs:- ‘Is she all right?'

‘No, she isn't. Has she seen a doctor?'

‘She won't. She just wants to stay here but it's not helping. I thought after a couple of weeks, but …' he waved his arms helplessly.

‘Harold. Until you get rid of whatever it is that's frightening her so much, she'll never get better.'

‘Frightening her?' Harold tried to look bewildered and failed miserably.

‘The letters that she's been receiving. Are they still coming?'

‘I, er …' he chewed his thumb nervously.

‘Apart from Aunt Harriet I'm the only relative Rozalinda has. Now are you going to level with me or not?'

‘She wouldn't like it …'

‘She's not in any state to judge and all I want to do is help her. I can't if I don't know what it is that's making her so scared.'

‘I can't tell you.'

For Harold, it was an amazingly decisive statement.

‘Why not?' I said exasperatedly, ‘I'm her cousin and apart from Mary, the only friend she has.
What was in those letters?
'

‘Harold is right,' Aunt Harriet said from the doorway. ‘He can't tell you Jenny because Rozalinda burnt them all, and we don't know ourselves what they contained.'

‘You mean they are no longer arriving?'

‘No,' they both said simultaneously.

I looked from Harold to Aunt Harriet convinced they were lying. That Harold should lie came as no great surprise, but that Aunt Harriet should, silenced me completely.

‘I think perhaps we'd better leave Harold to get some rest. He had a bad night last night.'

‘Yes, of course.'

Harold wiped some beads of sweat off his forehead, seeing us out, his fingers rubbing nervously against his palms.

‘So you still don't think I'm fully recovered?' I said to Aunt Harriet once the villa door had closed behind us and we were in the garden.

‘On the contrary. I think you're looking remarkably well.'

‘Then why act as though I still have to be protected? Mary told me about the letters and that Rozalinda had tried to kill herself.'

Aunt Harriet let out a deep sigh.

I put my arm around her. ‘It's stupid you taking on all this worry yourself. You've lost at least two stones in weight and it's useless to deny it. Surely I can help. I love Rozalinda too, you know.'

‘I know you do, Jenny.' Her eyes were bright with unshed tears. ‘But I was telling you the truth in there. I don't know what it is that's made Rozalinda so afraid.'

‘But you have an idea?'

‘No.' Her voice was too sharp to be convincing.

‘It can't be that bad, Aunt Harriet. Everyone knows Rozalinda isn't faithful. Do the letters threaten to tell Harold? Is that what she's afraid of? Losing Harold?'

‘No … it's not that.'

‘Then what?'

But I was up against a blank wall. ‘I don't know. I don't want to know. A few weeks and she'll be her usual self again. Rozalinda has always been resilient. She'll get over it.'

Her words lacked conviction but it was obviously useless to continue questioning her.

‘Would you like a drive out in the car?' I asked, changing the subject.

‘No thank you, child. I'll have a rest. I'll see you for dinner tonight. I think I'll ask Maria to serve it in my villa. There's plenty of room and under the circumstances it might be wisest.'

Helplessly I watched her bird-like figure cross into the next garden and climb the winding shallow steps to her own front door. She didn't look back.

Tom Farrar was leaving Miles' villa as I wandered through the cool green of the pines in search of Phil. He smiled. ‘Hi there. I was wondering where you were hiding.'

‘I've been riding with Phil.'

I wondered if he had agreed to leave Ofir. He looked happy enough about it if he had.

‘Don't blame you. Superb horses Rozalinda has. I shall miss them.'

My smile warmed. I'd been as mad as Mary to think he had been taken in by Rozalinda's flirtation.

‘There's always the local riding stables.'

‘Yes. A bit of a come down though after this.'

‘I should imagine it would pall after a time. Aunt Harriet was saying you were doing very well lately.'

‘Business? Yes. We've had a good year. Exceptional in fact. I might even run to buying a villa down here myself.'

I controlled my surprise. Aunt Harriet had said Tom Farrar was driving this year's E Type around Templar's Way, but I hadn't realised he was doing so well.

‘Mary will like that. She'll be able to bring the children.'

‘Yes. She's been missing them. I must hurry on. I told her I'd be back in ten minutes and she tends to fret if I'm late. See you and Phil later.' And with an infectious smile he was off, jogging eagerly back to Mary and home cooking. Feeling happier in my mind over at least one person at the enclave, I let myself into my own villa to find Phil busy tossing a salad, eggs all ready for omelettes.

‘Did Rozalinda let you in?'

‘Yes …' it seemed unnatural not to be able to talk frankly to Phil, but until I had got Rozalinda's say so I hadn't the right to tell him about the suicide attempt or the letters.

‘And what's the matter with her?'

‘Overwork I think, let me do the omelettes Phil.'

He moved over obligingly. ‘There's some fresh cakes in the bag. Joanna-Maria brought them over a few minutes ago on her way home.'

I peeped in the paper bag to see an enticing array of cream filled pastries.