Today, Tomorrow and Forever Read online

  She was out of her element with him, that was the trouble. Her feelings were careering from one direction to another. Meeting him had been like a forest fire—one moment there was nothing, then suddenly there was a spark and the next a conflagration burning everything in its path.

  There was a knock on her door.

  'Yes?' she called, hearing her voice crack and having to repeat the invitation to enter.

  It was Paul. He was holding her evening-bag. 'You left this.' He held it out.

  'Oh, God . . .' Her face crumpled. 'I'm so tired,' she muttered, trying to excuse herself as she felt him come across the room and kneel down beside her. 'I'm just so tired.'

  He stroked her hair. 'I'll get you a drink. I jet all over the place. I'd forgotten it can be a bit of a strain if you're unused to it. Wait here.'

  He went out and Shanna, after an ineffectual protest, waited for him to return, smoothing her hair in the mirror and pointlessly checking her make-up. He would bring her drink, then go back to his Rowanna, whoever she was. Their room must be in one of the other corridors, but where was she this evening? Was she away? Was that why Paul had taken such risks, holding her in his arms, kissing her on the beach where anyone could have strolled up to the clifftop and witnessed them?

  He came in with a mug of hot milk. 'There's brandy in it. You'll sleep like a top.'

  'Paul,' she said as he turned to go, 'who else lives here?'

  'At the villa? Only Arthur and Katerina and the cook.'

  'And Henry?'

  He paused. 'No, actually. He --' he hesitated, 'he's in the main house, Vi's old place, on the other side of the island. It's called the Villa Torres.'

  'You mean there's more than one villa on the island?'

  'Yes.'

  'Two, then?'

  He shrugged. Then, as if having regretted holding out on her even for a moment longer, he said, 'Three, actually.'

  'The third being yours?'

  He nodded.

  She took a deep breath. Her fingers felt like ice. 'And you live there with your wife, do you? Or is she just a girlfriend?' She raised her face, watching him, half expecting him to tell her to mind her own business.

  He didn't flinch, though, looking her straight in the eyes and saying, 'Wife, actually.'

  'I see.'

  'No, you don't see, Shanna! You don't see at all.' He bent down and gripped her by the back of the neck. 'Who's been talking to you? Who is it? Tell me?' His face was flushed with anger, his eyes sparking.

  'Does it matter?' she replied hotly. 'Does it really matter?' She struggled wildly to free herself from his grasp, but he was determined not to let her go.

  'What have you found out about her?' he demanded hoarsely, his fingers clawing into the back of her neck.

  'My God,' she explained in as dignified a voice as she could muster, 'you are upset! Why should it bother you that I've discovered your nasty little deception? What's the matter? Does it spoil the image of honest Joe you were hoping to create? Poor Paul! I never guessed you were going to be so wild about being found out!'

  'Shut up, Shanna! What are you saying?'

  'Do you make a habit of going around seducing disco-loving tourists, then? Is it a hobby? Poor Rowanna. At least she can see her photograph in your office and feel you're thinking of her every time you go to work.' She gave a hard laugh. 'You can obviously manage to pull the wool over her eyes, but thank goodness you can't do it with me!'

  Her own blue eyes searched his face, noting the drawn look, evidence, she judged, of guilt. She gave another hard laugh, if only to stop herself from crying.

  'She must take one look at your face and be able to read your guilt off it like reading a page of a book,' she bit out. 'I've never seen anyone look so guilty at being found out.'

  'Maybe because I'm not used to it,' he snapped back.

  'Being found out?'

  'Lying,' he snarled. Deep in his eyes there was a look of puzzlement mingled with something that might have been mistaken for relief, but, if that was what it was, it made no sense to Shanna.

  'Listen to me, idiot, you don't know anything,' he said on a different note, his fingers still grasping her by the nape but becoming gender, caressing it. 'I asked you to trust me. I'll ask you again. And I'll say this. Whatever the outcome of the sale of Tago Mago, we shall meet again. That's a promise. Having found you, I'm not going to give you up easily.'

  She gazed at him in stupefaction. Her face crimsoned. 'Thanks for nothing. Are you serious? You think I'd contemplate a sordid little affair on the side? What sort of scheming type do you think I am? What's more important, why do you think that? It's grossly insulting!'

  'Wait, listen to me --'

  'Don't you dare fill my ears with any more lies and false promises. Don't you dare! And, take your hands off me. I hate you, you--'

  'Shanna,' his voice was soft, 'Shanna. . .' He shook his head. 'What I promise, I mean - today, tomorrow and forever.'

  With that he got to his feet, gradually releasing her, and, with a look that seemed empowered to squeeze her heart into a ball of pain, he went slowly from the room.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Shanna couldn't sleep. The moonlight travelled a path from one side of the window to the other as she lay awake through the silent hours, watching it. Lying stiffly under the single blanket for as long as she could, she eventually flung herself out of bed with a cry of exasperation and went over to the window to lean out.

  It was a night made for love: warm, flower-scented, the air disturbed only by a light breeze freshening from the sea. Stars scattered the pathways of heaven, stars lovers could spend their lives counting.

  In the darkness the pool gave only a hint of silver as the breeze stirred its surface with the. lightest breath.

  Well, why not? she thought, driven on impulse by inner pain. I won't get another chance . . .

  With this desolate thought she was sent slithering over the window-sill to tread a silent path to the water's edge, then, naked, she lowered herself into the cool depths. A little gasp as its cold fingers tickled her ribs was the only sound before she began to ripple with smooth, leisurely strokes across the calm surface, the pain of the last few hours momentarily banished by the pleasure of the lapping waters caressing her bare skin.

  When she touched the other side she turned, intending to swim back, but a slight movement out of the corner of her eye made her turn her head. She gave a gasp. Something blurry passed her line of vision. Then suddenly she was looking up the long length of a man's body encased in white trousers and an open-necked shirt, and even before her startled glance reached his face she guessed at once who it was.

  It was Paul Elliot. And he had a face filled with fury.

  Why he was so angry she didn't have time to find out. 'What the hell do you think you're doing? Get out!' he snarled. He swivelled, and for a moment she thought he had simply gone inside. But in a moment he returned with a large white beach-towel, holding it out like a wind-break, and, it seemed, fully expecting her to climb out and wrap herself up in it.

  She swam lazily back into the middle of the pool. 'Do what?' she called from her vantage point of relative safety.

  'You heard.' He sounded less angry, but no less peremptory.

  'I think you said, get out, but as I'm not in the habit of obeying irrational orders without question, I'm afraid I feel disinclined to comply.' She swam a few more strokes, then lay back, kicking her legs idly in front of her. He seemed to be in a towering rage, only mitigating his earlier uncalled-for instructions with the obvious need to appease her if he wanted to get her to do as he ordered. Obviously he realised this. She smiled grimly. If she wanted to swim naked at midnight, that was her decision.

  'Shanna,' he began patiently, 'it's not a good idea to swim alone in the middle of the night when you've been drinking.'

  'Have I been drinking?'

  'Probably more than you're used to.'

  'Oh, but we disco girls drink an awful lot!' she mocked. 'Pl
ease don't imagine I don't know what I'm doing.'

  'I expect you always know that,' he replied coldly. 'Why are you teasing me like this?'

  'Am I?'

  'You know you are.'

  'Then put that silly towel down and come and join me,' she challenged.

  She expected him to throw in the towel, probably literally, and stomp off. Instead he stood watching her for a moment, his expression difficult to gauge in the moonlight, then, to her astonishment, he slowly began to strip. First the shirt, ripped off over the head and flung to one side, then the shoes, and then the belt of his white trousers, snapping audibly as he unbuckled it and snaking away through his fingers as he dropped that too to the ground.

  She saw his hand hover over his zip, then there was a sharp rasp as he pulled it down. She watched, unable to tear her eyes away as his trousers slid over muscular, tanned legs to the tiles. He was wearing very brief white boxer shorts. They stood out starkly against the deep even brown of his magnificent physique.

  She waited, holding her breath. Then, with a chuckle, he called softly across the water, 'You should know me well enough by now to realise I never resist a challenge, especially coming from the lips of a water nymph.' And with a deft flick of his wrist he slid out of the shorts and threw them to join the rest of his things.

  Before she could move he was plunging into the pool in a graceful arc, entering the water as smoothly as an arrow, and then she saw the approaching ripples as he moved powerfully under the surface towards her.

  Some primitive fear made her thrash frantically to get out of his reach, but she reckoned without his superior speed. She felt his hands snatch at her legs, then they were slithering up her thighs and he was pulling her down under the water with him, hands twining around her waist, in her hair, a confusion of arms and legs threshing to the surface where, gasping and spluttering, she tried in vain to wriggle from out of his clutches.

  He caught her strongly round the waist again, and even while she still struggled vainly to free herself he swam with her to the edge of the pool. There, dragging her up the shallow steps, drops of water cascading from his shoulders in the moonlight, he pulled her out of the water, the air striking warm as a caress on her naked flesh, making his warmer touch merge into the night with a dizzying of her senses. It made her long to yield to the force of his apparent intention.

  'I told you to get out, and I mean what I say. So if you won't come when asked, you should expect this method --' he murmured huskily, making it a game as if to deny the reality, the all too apparent reality, of his desire.

  When she didn't answer he laughed softly. 'You're not so sparky now you're in my power,' he remarked, teasing, bringing his face into her hair and dragging her unprotesting body against his hard-muscled one. Shanna felt as if she would faint. The white heat of desire swept through her, wiping everything else from her mind.

  But it was Paul holding her in an attitude ready for lovemaking, Paul, who was married to someone else.

  The thought made her struggle madly, kicking out with bare feet and biting and scratching any piece of naked flesh she could find. At first, taken by surprise, his hold slipped, until, provoked by what he misconstrued as an attack, he gripped her more roughly, twisting her arms behind her back, holding the thrashing legs tight against his own so she was almost immobilised.

  'That's not fair, it's a judo hold,' she panted, wondering what he was going to do next now he had her in his power, and breathing rapidly in anticipation as the length of his body covered her own with its burning heat. Her whole frame was trembling, yearning towards him, but she was determined never to yield.

  'I know a lot more than judo holds, so just keep still,' he rasped. Then, in a different tone, he added, 'Don't worry, I get the message. And it's no. With regret.'

  'Arrogant devil.'

  'Regret on both sides, Shanna.' He muffled his face in her hair again and gave a harsh groan. She felt him shudder with thwarted desire as she turned in his arms.

  'If I let you go, do you promise to cover yourself up at once like a good girl? I don't think I can take any more, and I warn you, I won't let you go unless you promise.' His voice shook with the strain of holding back his natural desire.

  'I haven't much choice, have I?' she groaned, feeling as if the world was spinning and vibrating beneath her feet with the power of her resistance. She felt him slide away, slowly, holding her as her melting limbs refused to take her weight, catching her once as she stumbled, then stepping back as she regained her balance.

  'Towel,' he prompted, bending to retrieve it.

  She pulled it haphazardly around herself.

  'No, like this.' He reached out, folding it tightly over her breasts and tucking it so that it couldn't open accidentally. 'I never knew I could stand so much,' he said huskily, stepping back as if it took an effort to keep his hands off her. 'Do you always sail this close to the wind?' He laughed before she could answer. 'Go, please, Shanna. I know you'd regret it in the morning if I did what I wanted to do with you. Please, baby,' he repeated, 'don't push me . The way you're looking now, you don't seem to realise what you're doing to me. Either that or you get your kicks this way.' His mouth twisted, humour vying with frustrated hunger.

  She walked slowly out of range, sneaking a look back at him, wondering what she would do if he followed, and wondering, equally, what she was going to do when he didn't.

  If she had failed to find sleep so far tonight, the rest of the night was going to be an even bigger failure.

  She reached her room, closing her door and leaning her forehead against it. Listening for the sound of his footsteps. Hearing nothing. Wondering where he was, whether he had gone back to his wife. Wondering, now there was time to think, what he had been doing, sitting out by the pool by himself through the night. Both of them sleepless. But for the same reason? She wanted to believe it. But the ugly thought that he was a married man hammered at her heart, making it bleed.

  Morning couldn't come soon enough. Exhausted, Shanna crawled from the tangled covers and made her way to the shower. Unrefreshed by it, made weak with anticipation, she dressed carefully in a pair of casual beige trousers and a plain cotton top and made her way down to the kitchen. She knew it was time for breakfast because she had heard Cook clashing pans. A cup of coffee was all she wanted.

  Relieved of the necessity to make conversation by the woman's busyness in the kitchen, she went outside. Already the sun was hot. With no particular plan, she decided the best thing in her present state of mind was to go for a good, brisk walk. Besides, she was curious to see the rest of what was still her island before she lost it for good. Somewhere in her mind she knew she wanted a look at the other two villas.

  Taking a cliff path different from the one she knew led to the rickety bridge over the ravine, she set off energetically, pleased to see no one and guessing that Arthur, if not Katerina too, was still in bed.

  The sea crawled at the foot of the cliffs like a sleeping monster, belying its power, the wrinkled blue expanse like skin moving over bunched muscles. Her mind flew to Paul's smooth, muscular, bronzed perfection . . . No, she told herself, giving her arm a pinch. Forget him. He's not for you.

  The enigma of his life taunted her, daring her to prise its secrets from it. She felt that if she could only see his life in its day-to-dayness he would lose his mystery, his power over her. She had never met anyone like him, could never hope to. His coolness, his fire, taunted her. The enigma she sensed at the heart of him. His sudden sadness.

  And above all else his words of love: today, tomorrow and forever. Those were the ones she. remembered. Only common sense told her they were merely words.

  Reaching the top of the cliffs without noticing anything, so enrapt in thoughts of Paul was she that she began the descent and was part of the way down before she noticed a villa perched precariously on the cliff-edge below. It was surrounded by a walled garden, and there was a pool, clearly visible, a large sweep of curving terrace littered with c
hairs, a table, and— Shanna slowed her pace—a lone figure sitting at a table, breakfasting, she observed, a coffee-pot, a cup and saucer, everything clearly visible from above.

  'Rowanna,' she said aloud. It must be. Dark hair, long, tied back in a bright scarf, dark glasses, a thin, tanned face, bracelets glinting in the strong sunlight. As she watched, the woman rose to her feet and, holding the coffee-pot carefully in front of her, made her way indoors.

  Shanna moved a pace or two down the slope, wondering if she had been observed. It was crazy to go back now. The woman would have seen her. If she didn't go on she would look like a spy. Heart in mouth, she traced the faint indentation that was the path until she was a few hundred yards away. Still the way was steep enough to enable her to see over the stone wall surrounding the garden.

  The women re-emerged from the house, coffee-pot held carefully between her hands. She seemed to be deep in thought, or dreaming, standing for a moment, the pot still held in front of her, her eyes fixed on the horizon, sitting carefully at last, pausing, then thoughtfully, dreamily, pouring a jet of coffee into her cup.

  Now she was closer Shanna could see how thin she was, her loose smock hanging in billowing folds about the gaunt figure. A little closer and she drew in her breath. There were purplish scars down the side of the woman's face. She turned her head, looking away to where the sea danced beneath the cliff, and Shanna wondered if she had imagined those livid marks destroying the woman's beauty. She hesitated a moment, willing the woman to turn back so she could see whether she had been imagining it or not. And then again the woman turned, revealing them to her appalled scrutiny.

  Shanna's breath was released in a long sigh of pity. Her thoughts flew to Paul, the underlying sadness in his eyes, his unexplained reticence about his private life.

  She turned away. Was this what he had been trying to hide?' Had she now unwittingly stumbled upon his secret?

  In a confusion of pity and horror at what she had seen, she set off on a path that took her round the back of the villa. She would walk on. It was a way of clearing her head.