Читать книгу Images Of Love - Anne Mather - Страница 8

ROBERT’S villa lay on the south-west side of the island, above the tiny manmade harbour. As they came down the winding road towards the sea again, Tobie saw its sprawling green-tiled roof, and realised it was much more than the comfortably-sized bungalow she had envisaged. It was much bigger, for one thing, and set on different levels, it looked more like a Spanish hacienda, with the large circular swimming pool providing a focal point. The walls were colour-washed in pastel shades, and overgrown with clinging vines and bougainvillaea, and as they drew nearer she could see the white shutters bolted back against the walls, and the arched courtyard below the patio. It was, without doubt, the most beautiful house she had ever seen, and in other circumstances she would hardly have been able to contain her excitement. As it was, she felt a bewildered sense of confusion, and was troubled by the knowledge that Mark’s mother was not as ingenuous as he imagined her to be.

As the sleek convertible entered the tiled courtyard, Mark pointed down to the harbour below them, where a tall-masted sloop lay at anchor. ‘The Ariadne,’ he told her whimsically. ‘Beautiful, isn’t she?’

‘Th-that’s Robert’s yacht?’ Tobie ventured.

‘The same,’ agreed Mark lightly. ‘Fancy a sail?’

‘Per-perhaps.’ The car had come to a halt, and Tobie avoided his mother’s eyes as she climbed out. ‘I—it’s not what I expected.’

‘What did you expect, Miss Kennedy?’ enquired a low voice from somewhere behind her, and her whole body froze in an attitude of consternation. ‘Some kind of motor launch, perhaps? Something I can control with my hands? Or am I being unkind, and you didn’t mean to be tactless?’

‘Rob!’

Mark’s ejaculation was both impatient and enthusiastic. Turning quickly to face the man whose wheelchair had rolled so silently up behind them, he shook his hand energetically, unknowingly giving Tobie time to gather her scattered senses. He obviously shared her disconcertion at his brother’s unexpected appearance, but he could have no idea of the traumatic effect Robert’s arrival had had on her. She had expected to be shocked, she had expected some kind of physical reaction; but nothing had prepared her for the emotions that swept so devastatingly through her as she encountered those achingly familiar features.

He hadn’t changed, or at least, not a lot. He was thinner, perhaps, and there were streaks of grey in the night-dark hair that brushed the collar of his open-necked denim shirt, but he still possessed those disturbingly uneven features that combined to make such an attractive whole. He was looking at her now in frank appraisal, but there was no element of recognition in that coolly admiring glance. He was looking at her as a man might look at the girl his brother was expected to marry, and she knew with a wrench that that was the cruellest cut of all.

Her eyes dropped lower, over the long legs, folded on to the chair’s footrest, jean-clad and casual, but without the strength they had had when he first walked into the gallery less than four years ago, and she knew a pain like nothing she had ever known before. Oh, God! she thought in agony, I did this to him! And he doesn’t even know me!

‘Let me introduce you,’ Mark was saying now, shaking his head over Robert’s unconventional method of greeting his guests. ‘This, as you’ve already divined, is Tobie. Tobie, allow me to introduce you to your favourite artist—Robert Lang!’

‘Painter, Mark,’ Robert inserted dryly, holding out his hand towards her in apparent friendliness. ‘How do you do, Miss Kennedy? You’ll have to forgive my not getting up. It’s not so easy as it used to be.’

‘How—how do you do?’

Somehow Tobie articulated the words, withdrawing her hand as swiftly as possible from the firm coolness of his. Hers felt hot and sticky, and even that slight contact had left her feeling weak and shaken.

‘Call her Tobie,’ Mark intervened, putting a possessive hand on her shoulder. ‘She’s going to be your sister-in-law, Rob. Don’t you approve?’

‘Very much.’ Robert was polite. ‘And a fan, no less. Tell me, Miss—I mean, Tobie—are you an expert?’

Tobie swallowed with difficulty before replying. ‘I—I just know what I like,’ she said, giving the stock answer, and Mrs Newman moved forward authoritatively to take charge of Robert’s chair.

‘Come along,’ she said. ‘I think we could all do with a drink, don’t you? Henri, ask Monique to fetch some iced lime juice to the patio, and tell her we’ll eat in an hour.’

‘Yes, m’m,’ responded the black man, who had chauffeured the car from the landing strip and was presently unloading their cases on to the courtyard, but as Mrs Newman attempted to wheel his chair forward, Robert dislodged her fingers with an impatient gesture. It was the first sign he had shown of any irritation with his condition, and Tobie intercepted the sympathetic glance that Mark and his mother exchanged. Curiously enough, their attitude irritated her, too, and she was not surprised when Robert countermanded his mother’s instructions.

‘You can wheel me up to the verandah first, Henri,’ he said, his tone brooking no argument. ‘I’ve already asked Monique to provide refreshments, so you can attend to the luggage.’

‘Yes, sir.’ Henri’s dark face creased into a smile, but Mrs Newman’s expression was less easy to read as they all began to move towards the house.

There was a slope beside the steps that ran up from the courtyard to the patio above, and although Robert’s electric chair could come down in safety, he needed assistance to reach the upper level. Following behind, Tobie felt her nails digging into her palms as she climbed the short flight of steps, and then anxiety was suspended as she had her first real sight of the villa and its surroundings.

The house itself was built on Spanish lines, as she had first suspected, with low-hanging eaves, and grilled balconies, and a winding iron staircase, attached to the main building, giving access to an upper floor. The various levels of the house ran out in different directions, and all the rooms had long windows, opened wide to the sun, and the salt-scented breeze that dispelled the humidity. In front of the villa lustrous Italian tiles surrounded the poolside area, with wooden cabañas set among vinecoloured trellises providing changing rooms. It was even bigger at close range than she had anticipated, and she became aware that Robert was watching her and her reactions to it.

‘Welcome to Soledad,’ he said, with wry humour, as Henri was dismissed, and he propelled himself across the sun-dappled patio. ‘What do you think of my house—Tobie? Would you say it was wasted on a cripple like me?’

‘Rob!’

‘Robert!’

Mark and his mother spoke simultaneously, but Tobie knew he expected her to answer. It was a natural question, after all, albeit an uncomfortably candid one, and Mark had warned her of his sarcasm.

‘I don’t think you believe you’re a cripple, Mr Lang, any more than I do,’ she ventured carefully. ‘And no one who appreciates beauty as you do should be denied such magnificent surroundings.’

‘You know I appreciate beauty?’ he mused. ‘How would you know a thing like that?’

Tobie’s cheeks burned. ‘I know your work, Mr Lang,’ she defended herself quickly. ‘M—Mark told you, I admire it very much.’

Robert brought his chair to a halt in the shade of the balcony where a glass-topped table was set with a jug of iced fruit juice, several frosted glasses, and a bottle of champagne in an ice-bucket. He indicated that they should make themselves comfortable on the cushioned basket-weave chairs nearby, and then himself took charge of the champagne, uncorking it easily, and allowing the bubbling overflow to spill carelessly on to the tiles.

‘You’ll all join me, I hope,’ he said, reaching for one of the tall narrow glasses and filling it. ‘I think a toast is in order, don’t you?’ He passed the glass to Tobie, and then filling another handed it to his mother. ‘To the good times, hmm? For all of us? But most especially to Mark and Tobie. Good luck!’

Tobie sipped the delicately flavoured liquid with trembling lips. This was all wrong, she thought unhappily. This wasn’t at all the way she had expected it to be. But why, when everything seemed so normal, did she feel so uneasy?

In spite of her apprehension, no one else seemed perturbed by the situation, and although she contributed little to it, conversation became general. Mark asked Robert about his painting, and Robert, in his turn, questioned his brother about his work at the hospital. They were obviously good friends, and under cover of their discussion Mrs Newman suggested that Tobie might like to see her room. It was a polite suggestion, and Tobie had no reason to object to it, and yet she was curiously reluctant to find herself alone with Mark’s mother.

However, Mark had overheard and he seconded his mother’s proposal, nodding his head and adding lazily: ‘Put your swimsuit on, honey. We don’t stand on ceremony here, and I intend to show you how fit I am, in spite of just surviving an English winter.’

Tobie managed a slight smile, and then rose to accompany the older woman into the house. Her last image was of Robert’s face turned politely in her direction, with just the faintest hint of a frown drawing his brows together.

They entered the house by means of a garden room, where flowering plants and shrubs filled the air with their exotic perfume. All thresholds had been moulded to allow the free passage of Robert’s wheelchair, Tobie noticed, and she wondered who looked after him. Someone must help him to bathe and dress, but so far as she could see, there were only the two servants.

‘Robert’s rooms are downstairs, naturally,’ Mrs Newman observed now, as they entered an almost circular entrance hall, with a magnificent chandelier hanging at the foot of a curving flight of stairs. ‘This is the oldest part of the house, but as you probably noticed, there have been various additions made in recent years.’

‘It’s—beautiful,’ said Tobie helplessly, unable to think of anything else to say, and after a moment’s hesitation, Mark’s mother led the way up the stairs.

At the top of the stairs, a balcony circled the hall below, with corridors leading off in several directions. Their complexity made Tobie believe that she would never be able to find her way about, and after following Mrs Newman along one of them, up and down odd little staircases set into the hillside, she was convinced of it.

Nevertheless, when they reached the suite of rooms assigned to her for her stay, her gratitude was such that she forgot her earlier antipathy.

An arched doorway led into a spacious sleeping apartment overlooking the sweep of the headland and the ocean beyond. French doors opened on to a comer balcony, private from the rest of the house, with an unlimited vista of the terraced gardens that fell away below the villa. The room itself was furnished in shades of cream and turquoise, with a heavily embossed cream quilt on the wide bed and long turquoise silk curtains at the windows. Adjoining this room was a small dressing room, and beyond that a luxurious bathroom, in matching pastel shades.

‘I don’t know what to say,’ Tobie murmured. ‘It’s just—perfect.’ She fingered a label hanging from the handle of one of her suitcases, which had been set on an ottoman at the foot of the bed. ‘Thank you so much.’

Mrs Newman paused in the doorway. ‘Don’t thank me,’ she responded tersely. ‘As I said before, this is Robert’s house, not mine.’

She would have gone then, but Tobie knew she had to say something. ‘You—you don’t want me here, Mrs Newman?’ she queried cautiously. ‘You—have some objection to my—friendship with Mark?’

‘Did I say so?’ The older woman’s eyes were wary.

‘No, but—’

‘So long as both my sons are happy, I’m content,’ Mrs Newman replied smoothly, and without giving Tobie a chance to say anything more, she left her.

It would take too long to unpack all her clothes, so Tobie contented herself with unlocking the cases and taking out the most crushable items. Then, stripping off the skirt and cotton shirt she had worn to travel in, she rummaged around for her swimsuits. She had brought three bikinis—a white one, with black edging, a yellow one, which she knew toned well with her creamy skin, and a dark brown one, with red beading, that was without doubt the most provocative of them all. Mark had asked her to put her swimsuit on, and she had no doubt he meant what he said, but looking at their skimpy appearance, she was curiously unwilling to expose herself before Robert in one of them. Before she had known of his accident she had intended to do so deliberately, but now—now she felt quite different, knowing he could not join them.

Running distraught hands through the silky weight of her hair, she caught a glimpse of herself in the long mirrors attached to the vanity unit, and on impulse she turned to face herself fully. In nothing but flimsy bikini briefs she studied her reflection critically, wondering whether, had Robert not suffered the amnesia, he would see any great change in her. She was older, of course, three years older, with the memory of her experiences adding a touch of mystery to eyes he had always found fascinating. Green eyes, they were, with long curling lashes, her best feature, she had maintained, in spite of Robert’s assertion that she had more desirable attributes. Certainly her figure was good, with full, rounded breasts, and a narrow waist above the swell of her hips. Her legs were long, slim, without being angular, and she had lived long enough to know that she had that indefinable something that men found attractive. Did Robert find her attractive now? she wondered, despising herself for the traitorous thought, but unable to prevent it. If she had met him as she had done before, without ties or complications, would he still have found her desirable? It was a tantalising idea, but one which she recognised as being the most dangerous notion she had had since first she learned of Mark’s identity.

In the event, she decided to wear the yellow bikini, teaming it with a wrap-around cotton skirt patterned in shades of brown and white. It left her legs and shoulders bare, but it was at least as concealing as a sundress, and she could easily shed the skirt when she had to.

Finding her way back to the patio was not as difficult as she had at first imagined. There were plenty of windows along the winding passages to keep her in touch with her whereabouts, and she emerged on to the balcony above the hall with a feeling of achievement.

To her relief, Mark was just mounting the stairs as she went to go down, and she waited at the top for him to join her. ‘Do I look all right?’ she whispered protestingly, as he reached for her, but his murmur of approval was muffled against the satiny skin of her shoulder.

‘Go and talk to my brother,’ he said huskily, when at last he let her go. ‘I won’t begrudge him a few minutes of your company. But remember, I saw you first, hmm?’

Tobie’s tongue circled her lips. ‘I—I’ll wait for you,’ she demurred, reluctant to leave the safety of his presence, but he urged her forward.

‘I shan’t be long,’ he promised, bestowing a last kiss on her parted lips. ‘And knowing you’re with Rob, I’ll make sure I don’t waste time.’

Tobie’s smile was uncertain, but she had no reason not to do as he asked, and besides, why should she feel so anxious? Robert had not recognised her. So far as he was concerned, she was his brother’s girl-friend, and nothing else. If all went well, she could leave here without even ruffling the surface of her relationship with Mark, and surely that was what she wanted.

Taking a deep breath, she descended the stairs, and walked briskly across the hall and out through the garden room. The gurgling fountain that kept the plants watered had a cooling sound, and she tried to emulate its unhurried progress.

Outside, the sun seemed more brilliant, and she wished she had thought to bring her dark glasses with her. Their shade would have provided anonymity as well as protection against the glare, but aware that Robert had observed her appearance, she could hardly turn and march back into the house again. Instead, she compelled herself to put one sandalled foot in front of the other, crossing the tiles to where his chair was situated with what she hoped appeared to be calm composure.

He was alone. No doubt Mrs Newman was attending to her duties as housekeeper and supervising the arrangements for lunch, but Robert remained much where they had left him, staring thoughtfully out across the sparkling green waters of the pool. There was a moment, before he turned to greet her, when Tobie could watch him unobserved, and her heart lurched at the remembrance of what they had once shared. It was almost impossible, seeing him sitting there so casually, so relaxed, to imagine he was incapable of getting up out of his chair, and she hardly understood the emotions that gripped her at that awareness. There was pity, of course, and sympathy, too, despite Mark’s assertion to her that Robert would welcome neither, but it wasn’t only compassion that brought such an unwilling sense of awareness. They had been too close to dismiss their relationship lightly. They had loved, they had been lovers. And for the first time, she could think of the past without so much bitterness.

‘Tobie!’ He had observed her approach and now hailed her with friendly enthusiasm. ‘Come and join me. Mark’s gone to get changed, but I don’t suppose he’ll be long.’

‘No—no. I—I saw him.’ Tobie automatically quickened her step and came to stand beside him. ‘I—er—isn’t this a marvellous view?’ She gestured towards the harbour and the wide expanse of ocean beyond. ‘I should think you never get tired of looking at it.’

‘You’d be surprised,’ he remarked dryly, glancing up at her with wry humour. ‘When it’s the only view you see, it can become a little—monotonous.’

‘Oh, I —’ Tobie flushed. ‘I didn’t mean—that is—I didn’t intend to imply—’

‘I know.’ His smile was heartbreakingly familiar. ‘So—won’t you sit down? Or must I get a crick in my neck looking up at you?’

‘I’m sorry.’ Tobie bumped down jerkily on to the low lounger beside him. ‘I didn’t think.’ Her fingers closed over the rim of the cushion she was sitting on. ‘Er—it’s a beautiful day, isn’t it? It was raining when we left London.’

‘Was it?’ Now his eyes were slightly above hers. ‘Yes, that’s one thing you can be sure of here. We usually have beautiful days.’

She sensed the irony in his tones and realized she was not making a good job of this. He probably thought she was one of those useless females, without a thought in their heads outside of the latest fashions and make-up, and certainly she had not displayed any particular intelligence in their conversation so far.

‘Do—er—do you work indoors, Mr Lang?’ she ventured now, choosing the subject least likely to prove controversial, and he inclined his head.

‘In a manner of speaking,’ he agreed, half turning in his seat to indicate a path that led around the side of the building. ‘I have a studio that’s attached to the house, but only accessible from the outside, if you know what I mean. It’s along there, if you’re interested. And the name is Robert, Tobie. I can’t have my future sister-in-law calling me Mr Lang.’

Tobie’s colour deepened again. ‘Very well,’ she murmured awkwardly. ‘I—are you working at the moment?’

‘At this moment?’ he asked provokingly, the dark eyes full of amusement, and Tobie sighed.

‘You know what I mean,’ she exclaimed, speaking without thinking for the first time. ‘I mean, have you a commission at present? I don’t suppose there’s much scope for portrait painting here.’

‘You sound very knowledgeable,’ he remarked, his dark eyes narrowing. ‘Do you know much about painting, Tobie? And don’t tell me again that you know what you like.’

This was deeper water, and Tobie immediately sought for the shallows. ‘I—I used to work in an art gallery once,’ she said, and instantly regretted the admission. Mark didn’t even know that, and by confessing such a thing to Robert she was stepping dangerously near disaster.

‘An art gallery,’ he murmured now, his eyes watching her closely. ‘What art gallery? Where? In London?’

‘I—in Reading, actually,’ she lied, saying the name of the first town that came into her head. ‘It was just a small place. Not a proper art gallery really, a sort of—adjunct to the—to the public library.’

Robert frowned. ‘Really?’

She nodded. ‘But—but I gave that up a long time ago. I work for an insurance company now, in Holborn. Do you know Holborn, Mr Lang?’

‘Robert,’ he amended dryly, and then shrugged. ‘I used to know London very well. I used to live there. But since my accident …’

‘… you’ve lived here,’ Tobie finished for him eager to change the subject. ‘You’re very lucky really, being able to escape to such an island paradise.’

‘Is that how you see it?’ Robert enquired with a grimace. ‘It’s a lonely life, Tobie. Lonely, and—unfulfilled.’

Tobie bent her head, feeling the heat of the sun burning her shoulders. ‘I should have thought your work was—fulfilling,’ she commented, feeling obliged to say something, as he made a sound of exasperation.

‘I’m sure my mother thinks so, too,’ he essayed wryly, reaching for the almost empty bottle of champagne, residing in the melted ice cubes. ‘Will you join me?’ and when she shook her head, he poured the remainder into his glass and surveyed it with a crooked smile. ‘She doesn’t understand, I was a man first and painter second. I think she expects those roles to be reversed.’

Tobie darted a look up at him. ‘And they’re not?’ she asked involuntarily, almost immediately realising the antagonism she had provoked.

‘What do you think that crash did to me, Tobie?’ he demanded harshly. ‘It didn’t paralyse my feelings—my emotions! They still function as they always did.’

‘I—I’m sorry.’ Tobie was horrified at her blunder. ‘I didn’t—I didn’t mean—’

The sound of footsteps ringing across the stone tiles stilled her fumbling apology, and she sat there in mortified silence as Mark threw his towel down on to a lounger and stretched with evident self-satisfaction.

‘Magic,’ he remarked, half to himself, and then turned to his half-brother and Tobie. ‘So—how goes it? You two seemed deep in conversation when I came out of the house. What have you been telling her about me, Rob? Do I detect a certain aloofness in the air?’

‘Don’t be silly, Mark.’

Tobie got hastily to her feet, and as she did so Robert said indolently: ‘Don’t be so conceited, little brother. Your name hasn’t even been mentioned.’

‘No?’ Mark pretended to be put out. ‘Hey, Tobie, what’s been going on? Has he been taking liberties behind my back?’

‘I—no, of course not.’ Tobie found she couldn’t joke about it, and it was left to Robert to make light of their conversation.

‘We’ve been discussing my work, actually,’ he admitted at last. ‘You know what an egoist I am. I can’t resist extolling my talents to a willing listener.’

Mark grimaced. ‘I’ll believe you,’ he conceded good-naturedly. ‘But only because I know it’s true.’ He turned to Tobie. ‘So come on. I’ll race you round the pool, and if you win I’ll let you duck me, so long as I’m given the same privilege.’

Tobie hesitated. ‘It’s nearly lunchtime,’ she demurred, in no mood to act the fool with him, but Mark was adamant.

‘Lunch can wait,’ he said, advancing on her with menacing steps. ‘Now do you go quietly, or do I have to use force?’

Tobie backed away from him helplessly, realising she had to go through with this. But as she dropped her skirt and turned to dive smoothly into the water, it was Robert’s expression she remembered.