The Passionate Sinner (13 page)

‘What are you trying to do,’ he snarled, ‘catch your death of cold?’ He came forward into the kitchen and pieces of glass crunched beneath his shoes; the next instant he struck his body against the corner of the table and cursed it.

‘Please, I’ll sweep away the glass and help you with the shutter—just stand there for a moment.’

‘Yes, like some damned blighted log while a bit of a girl clears up the mess! Why the hell did you come to Pulau-Indah? Who wants your sort here?’

The tears sprang into her eyes and dropped down her face as she moved the broom about the floor, sweeping bits of wet glass into a corner out of his way. She had no defence against his anger and that was why she didn’t try to answer him.

‘Lost the tongue that’s been so agile up to now?’ he demanded. ‘All right, Miss Lakeside— or should I say fake? lead the blind fool to where the shutter is and I shall try, in my clumsy way, to adjust it so the snakes and tarantulas don’t crawl in while you are playing at being domestic.’

Merlin gave him a hurt look and didn’t remind him she had managed to cope when a centipede had got into the house. Her hand was like ice as she took hold of his and guided him to where the heavy teak shutter lay lop-sidely against the wall, its hinges hanging loose.

‘Idiotic little fool,’ he growled. ‘Your hand feels frozen —and let me warn you that if you go down with a chill and it turns to a fever you’ll be quite ill in this kind of climate. Your metabolism is English, and this place is tropical and there are all kinds of bugs in the atmosphere, waiting to attack a sick person.’

‘Then that ought to please you,’ she shot back at him. ‘You obviously want to punish me and that should do it, courtesy of the bugs without your hand being involved. Shall I help lift the shutter?’

‘You will stand clear! You would only manage to drop it on your feet, which are probably soaking wet, and it’s my eyes, Miss Lakeside, not my arms that are useless!’ He hoisted the great shutter without any effort and managed to force it into the frame of the window, giving the hinges a thump with his fist so the screws locked back into their holes. ‘That should hold until the morning, I think, unless the wind gets up again. What are you cooking? It smells good.’

‘As long as you don’t think I’m brewing some witches’ potion to poison you with.’ As she bent to the oven to take a look at the braised steak and onions, Merlin could feel the dried tears on her face, and the nerve that flicked at her lip.

‘I’ve learned,’ he drawled, ‘to beware of witches and their potions—they aren’t always as innocuous as they look, and I am now in the position of having to trust to my sense of smell. So as well as being a proficient secretary, you are also an efficient cook. Shall I never cease to discover what a jewel you are—and what an outlandish little liar!’

‘I—I hope you won’t let it spoil your appetite,
mynheer,
now you’ve uncovered my—my little deception. I meant no harm.’

‘Harm?’ he exploded. ‘You are either ineffably innocent, or the most brazen, sweet-voiced hussy it has ever been my misfortune—let me tell you this, Miss Lakeside, we shall eat that supper because it smells too damn good to resist, but afterwards you and I are going to have a little talk and you are going to explain this charade which you have been enjoying at my expense. But before dishing up the food, you will go upstairs and get a change of footwear. Fool girl! Sloshing about in puddles! Perhaps you are a natural innocent? Are you, I wonder?’

Merlin’s eyes raced over his face, seeking a softening in the bronze hardness of his features, but he turned away and left her in a state of nervous doubt and fear. ‘I will go and check out the salon,’ he said. ‘If there’s no damage we can take supper there—and have that talk.’

As his footsteps died away, Merlin pressed shaky hands over her face. She was going to face another inquisition, and like that one in London it was going to be hell.

CHAPTER SIX

THERE was no way to forget how she had stood white-faced and stunned before the hospital committee, with no defence against the harsh accusation that because of her neglect of her proper duties a man had been cruelly blinded. She would, they said, have faced a term of imprisonment had Paul van Setan laid criminal charges against her.

Why had Paul not done so when he admitted to a bitter hatred of the person whom he believed was responsible for his loss of sight? Had he some other, more torturous punishment in store for
her ...
the one they had blamed, and who had blamed herself for not checking that the eye lotion was the innocuous one he always used. But why should she even suspect that anything was wrong with it when she always took such care that the drugs in the surgery cabinet were always in order and clearly marked as to their contents? A mistake just couldn’t happen ... unless it was intentional!

Merlin could never forget the other nurse in surgery that day ... petite and shapely, with hair smooth as brown silk under the theatre cap, a slight sultriness to her full lips. Was it remotely possible that she had some reason for injuring Paul? Oh no, it was too ghastly to even think about—no woman would do such a thing, and a nurse would know in advance how much pain and damage would be inflicted.

Paul van Setan, tall, distinguished, and desirable to most of the female staff, except those who were so dedicated that they actually preferred a sick person to a man in the prime of his career.

A career that was shot to pieces ... and she, an ex-nurse in her early twenties, was facing a dreaded confrontation with the man who had every justification to want revenge on a nurse! Merlin felt as if only a thin remnant of a veil remained to be torn away from her cowering body, and there was no escape from that revelation; no place to hide, with only the dark forest beyond the house, where the tigers prowled.

Here inside the house another sort of tiger was waiting to unsheath his claws and his terrible anger; he’d be merciless if he had guessed her identity, and Merlin glanced about her like a trapped creature, and her legs felt as if they wouldn’t support her as she made her way upstairs for a change of clothing, her hand gripping the handrail every step of the way. Once inside her room she had to hasten into the bathroom for a drink of cold water. A faintness had come over her, making her lean against the wash-basin with eyes closed and a tight, choked feeling as if unable to get air into her lungs. Paul knew who she was! He knew and was going to make her suffer for it! Oh God, it wasn’t pain or even humiliation that made her shrink, it was being hated and scorned by a man who meant everything to her. She even wanted to die rather than face the ordeal of that interview ... heaven help her, why hadn’t she resisted his arms at the height of the storm! It was that need to be held and protected while the typhoon raged which had given away the secret even his loyal houseboys had kept from him.

As the faintness ebbed away Merlin splashed her face with cold water and pulled herself together. Paul had said she wasn’t a coward, but right now her courage was in rags ... he scared her more than the storm which seemed as if it had gone on its turbulent way, leaving a residue of rain and quietly moaning wind.

Merlin slipped out of her damp skirt and crumpled shirt, unpeeled her tights and towelled her feet until they felt a little warmer. There in her bedroom she debated what to wear and put on the kimono embroidered with persimmons, its sleeves like big dragonfly wings. Her hair was combed back smoothly and clipped, and the mirror showed her a pale, apprehensive face, with eyes that looked enormous and almost dark because her pupils were so enlarged. With a weariness of body and spirit Merlin pushed her feet into flat-heeled slippers and took a handkerchief from the drawer of the dressing-table.

Paul would be waiting for her in the salon, and there they would eat supper like a gaoler with the condemned prisoner. There was no way to avoid that confrontation and if she didn’t go down to him, he would come up here to her.

Merlin slowly turned to her big carved bed, with its silk coverlet to the floor and the netting looped back in bamboo rings. What if she did wait here ... what if he came and she used her body to try and appease his anger? Other women did such things. Like Eve they tempted Adam and kept the devil at bay.

Yet even as she contemplated curling up on her bed and waiting for Paul to come to her room, Merlin was moving towards the door as if obeying a deep instinct of pride, and possibly the need to be punished for the part she had played in his ruined life. Kimono-clad, her head held high as if carrying it to the block, Merlin made her way downstairs and walked to the door of the salon. It stood partly open and Paul was inside, his back to her, and in front of him a beautiful hand-painted screen with bluebirds flying wing to wing towards the turrets of a castle in the clouds. The birds and the castle were created in a crusted style of embroidery so they stood away from the silk of the screen, and Merlin realised at once that Paul had been brailling the scene with his sensitive fingertips, feeling the flight of those lovebirds, the oriental symbol of felicity.

‘I—I’m just about to bring in supper,’ she said. ‘This room seems all right.’

‘Yes,’ he swung round, ‘it isn’t too bad. Again there was a smashed window, but I’ve placed this screen in front of it. Have you changed into dry slippers?’

‘Yes,
mynheer.’
Merlin felt pinned by the grey steel of his eyes, like knives flying blindly through the air towards her. ‘Illfetch the food.’

She almost ran to the kitchen, pursued by what he must be thinking about her, and dished up the food with hands that kept dropping things. She felt convinced she would drop the tray on the way to the salon, but fortunately this didn’t happen and the laden tray was placed on a glossy black table set in front of a low leather couch with great curved arms. Imari shaded lamps were softly alight, standing on a black and gold lacquer cabinet. Jade-blue temple jars and a lovely oriental carpet added colour to the room.

Head bent, heart scared, Merlin arranged Paul’s plate and cutlery, then set her own at the far end of the table. When the food covers were lifted a delectable aroma filled the salon. ‘Supper is ready,
mynheer.’
Her voice was low-pitched in an attempt to stop it from shaking. ‘I—I thought you might appreciate an English type meal for a change.’

Directed by the sound of her voice, he came across the room and instinctively Merlin extended a hand and caught at his wrist. ‘I thought just here.’ She drew him to the couch where the table was set. ‘Your plate is ready if you’d like me to arrange your meat and vegetables?’

‘Do go ahead, from the smell of that food you really do know how to cook.’ He sat down and waited while she laid his plate so he would have no trouble finding what he wanted. The rich, dark gravy was poured over the steak and in the silence between them the rustle of her silk sleeves could be plainly heard.

‘This time you are dressed as a
geisha,
eh?’ He broke a roll with a crisp little snap, and it was only then that Merlin realised she had forgotten to start the meal with the ham and egg mayonnaise; she was about to tell him when he sliced into his steak and carried the portion to his mouth. As he ate he half-closed his eyes with appreciation and a ray of little lines showed beside them.

‘Excellent,’ he murmured. ‘I could almost imagine myself at the Ritz grill, except that I’d be served by a waiter instead of a girl in a kimono. Do you know anything at all about the
geisha?’

‘Not very much.’ Merlin served herself with about half of what she had given Paul; she had very little appetite and could have forgone supper, except that he would insist she eat something.

‘The
geisha
is trained to the fingertips to serve a man with whatever he desires in the way of food and drink, music and dancing. She is the epitome of all the graces, pretty as a doll, and never quite real. The man who wishes to enjoy her company must never expect her or himself to overstep the bounds of politeness and tradition. She is not a woman, you see, but is the shape of a man’s ideal dream —but dreams can be rather sterile, when all is said and done, so you will have to forgive me, Miss Lakeside, if I stop thinking of you as my
geisha.’

There he paused and glanced up, the light of the lamps catching in his blind eyes. ‘Now do stop hovering and enjoy what you have so deliciously cooked up.’

That there was a double meaning in his words Merlin didn’t doubt, and she sat down on the couch as far from him as possible, and pecked at her supper. She had to eat a few mouthfuls, for she couldn’t risk coming over faint again. He would only presume it to be an act, and Merlin had made up her mind to take what was coming, and as with that other storm there was in the atmosphere of the salon a gathering tension; the pauses between Paul’s remarks grew longer and the silences played on Merlin’s emotions.

He laid down his knife and fork, wiped his mouth with a napkin, then lounged against the leather of the couch.

‘Will you have dessert?’ Merlin asked.

His eyes focused on her face and she drew back against the couch arm, as if he could actually see the fright on her face. ‘I don’t think I’m in the mood for anything sweet,’ he said deliberately. ‘And from the way you have been playing about with your supper—for heaven’s sake stop pretending to eat. I’m tired of your games!’

‘I’m sorry.‘

‘Spare me the humility.’ His eyes glittered stone-grey, with a cold glow of revenge beginning to light them. ‘Putting on that kimono hasn’t turned you into the epitome of all the virtues—now what are you fiddling about with?’

‘I’m clearing the dishes so I can take them to the kitchen. You’ll want coffee, or perhaps tea?’ Merlin was shivering a little ... she wanted to get away from the storm light that was gathering in his eyes, if only for a short while.

‘Coffee or tea can wait,’ he said curtly. ‘Put the tray on one side and then come back here—I’m warning you,
meisje,
you take one step out of this room and I shall be after you, and don’t imagine you could evade me. The moment I fell over something you would be there to administer your cool and sympathetic touch—one of the requirements of being a nurse, eh? I just can’t understand how you came to give it up. I should think you were just the type for self-sacrifice, so long as it gets you what you want!’