Handful of stardust Read online

  Settling down happily in her marriage! The words mocked her ruthlessly, but she did not have the heart to disillusion her father. She would never lack money, Brett would see to that, but he would never be able to provide that spark of inner happiness that came only from loving someone.

  The magnificent homestead was filled almost to capacity and in the crush of people no one appeared to notice the occasionally stilted behaviour of the bride and groom. The most pleasant surprise for Samantha

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  on her wedding day was the arrival of Gillian Forbes and Stan Dreyer.

  Gillian burst into her room that morning while Aunt Emma was helping her to dress and literally pounced on Samantha, almost hugging the breath from her lungs.

  'Gillian, it's marvellous to see you!' Samantha exclaimed excitedly, checking swiftly to see that her dress was still intact. 'I didn't dare hope you would come.'

  'Darling, when I received your invitation I made immediate arrangements to have this Saturday off, and so did Stan,' Gillian added, her green eyes sparkling.

  'I think I'll leave the two of you alone for a few minutes,' Aunt Emma said tactfully, hesitating at the door. 'Only a few minutes, remember, or we shan't be ready in time to drive to the church, and Bosmansvlei is thirty kilometres away.'

  Samantha sent her a thankful glance, but she sobered instantly as the door closed behind Aunt Emma's slender figure dressed in a prim pale blue suit.

  'Darling, I'm so glad you realised in time what a shallow creature Clive is,' Gillian continued, gripping Samantha's hands. 'You are happy now, aren't you? Brett is such a wonderful man.'

  'Yes, Brett is ... wonderful. He ...'

  'Sam darling Gillian exclaimed anxiously. 'You've gone awfully pale. You're not feeling ill, are you?'

  Samantha pulled herself together with an effort. `No, I'm not ... ill. It's just that I suddenly realised the significance of this day. It's my wedding day.'

  'But of course it is, silly,' Gillian laughed. 'You're having a slight bout of pre-wedding jitters, and every bride is entitled to that.'

  'Yes, I suppose so,' Samantha nodded, forcing a smile to her unwilling lips.

  'Sam, you look lovely,' Gillian sighed, stepping back to examine the expensive satin trimmed with fine lace and intricate beadwork along the neckline of the low-cut bodice. A single pearl pendant, a gift from Brett, hung about her neck and nestled against her creamy skin like a solitary tear. 'I always said you were beautiful, Sam, but today you surpass just ordinary beauty. Brett will be proud of you.'

  A lump rose in Samantha's throat, but she was fortunately saved from replying by the timely arrival of Aunt Emma. Gillian kissed Samantha swiftly on her pale cheek. 'See you later!'

  Aunt Emma passed a critical eye over Samantha when they were alone once again. `Hm ... a little more rouge on your cheeks, I think. You're much too pale.'

  Samantha turned away from the mirror and clutched at the older woman's arm. 'Aunt Emma, I'm afraid!'

  `My dear child, Brett isn't a monster.'

  `But I don't love him! '

  Aunt Emma's eyes softened. 'I never loved my husband when I married him, and I couldn't have wished for a better man. He was so gentle and understanding that, after being married to him for only a few weeks, I was so madly in love with him that I couldn't imagine why I hadn't seen instantly that he was the only man for me.'

  Samantha was startled by this revealing bit of information, but it did nothing to ease her fear. 'I don't think I ever want to love a man again,' she said firmly. 'I don't think I shall ever love again ... not the way I loved—' She bit her lip, unable to say the name of the one whom she had come close to despising.

  `You will love again, Samantha,' Aunt Emma insisted quietly, 'but this time it will be a mature love that will be lasting for all time.'

  'I could never love Brett ! '

  'Love often kindles love, my dear,' Aunt Emma continued confidently. 'Has it never occurred to you that Brett might be in love with you? Have you never thought it strange that, after remaining a bachelor for so long, he should have left no stone unturned to make you his wife?'

  Samantha quivered inwardly, rejecting this suggestion instantly, yet finding the idea intriguing enough to allow her thoughts to linger on it for some time. Long enough, in fact, to sustain her on the long journey to Bosmansvlei and the slow walk down the isle on her father's arm. It was when she saw Brett, tall and distinguished in his dark suit, that her fears returned. His dark hair was brushed back severely, and those unusual brown eyes never left hers from the moment she entered the church. Broad-shouldered and so infinitely masculine, he was every girl's dream of a perfect husband, yet Samantha could not help wishing herself millions of kilometres away at that moment. He appeared so cold and remote that she instantly discarded Aunt Emma's foolish suggestion that he might love her.

  James Little raised the frothy veil from his daughter's face and kissed her raised lips. She noticed the film of tears in his eyes and swallowed violently as a lump rose to her throat, but she instantly regained her composure as Brett took her hand and slipped it through his arm. She glanced at him surreptitiously as the murmurs of the guests subsided and marvelled at his apparent calmness Did nothing ever unnerve him?

  His eyes met hers unexpectedly and, unable to tear her glance from his, she saw a flicker of admiration in their depths and something else which she was unable to define in that brief moment before he returned his glance swiftly to the clergyman who was clearing his

  throat, indicating that the ceremony was to begin.

  Panic seized her at that moment. She was to become Brett's wife on this warm April morning, and it was too late to turn back the clock, or to wish she had never entered into this crazy agreement. A tremor shook through her and Brett's hand closed instantly over hers where it lay on his arm. It was a strangely comforting gesture, very much the same as when she had wept in his arms after learning of Clive's marriage. She had been aware of his inner strength on that occasion, just as she was made aware of it now, and she knew quite suddenly that, even if he did not have her love, he had her respect.

  At Brett's request there was no reception, merely a buffet lunch and something to drink at the homestead for those who had travelled far and still had to return to their homes that same day. Their suitcases were packed and, after snatching a bit to eat, Brett and Samantha were given a send-off by the farmhands as they prepared to fly to Port Elizabeth on the first leg of their journey to Mauritius. It was touching to see the happiness of these Coloured people as they danced and sang for their 'Master Brett' and his wife on their wedding day. It was a gesture that brought Samantha close to tears.

  The added weight of Brett's wedding ring on her finger, as well as her engagement ring, made her glance at it several times during their flight. In the rush to change into something more suitable she had had only a few moments to spend alone with her father, for which she was thankful, as it merely brought a lump to her throat at having to say goodbye to him again.

  Brett kept up a flow of easy conversation as they transferred themselves and their luggage from his small aircraft to the Durban-bound Boeing, never giving her

  the opportunity to consider her nervous state. He was being a perfect companion, behaving very much like a man who was taking a girl out for the first time.

  After changing flights once more at Durban they arrived at Mauritius late that afternoon and took a taxi directly to their hotel on the beach-front. Brett had acquired a suite with a private dressing-room and bathroom, and the view from the bedroom looked directly on to the picturesque beach with its tall palms.

  `I've arranged for us to have dinner in the main dining-room,' he told her after they had unpacked their suitcases. 'I thought it would be preferable to have people around us this evening instead of spending it alone.'

  His lips twisted into a wry smile as she stammered her thanks, but he did not pursue the subject and merely waited calmly while she checked her make-up befo
re they left the suite and took the lift down to the ground floor. Brett ordered wine before dinner, but Samantha could not bring herself to take more than a few sips. The night lay dark and frightening before her and, no matter how much she tried, she could not rid herself of the alarming thought that she had to spend the night alone with Brett. He was her husband, and yet she dreaded the thought that he should touch her. Oh, God! What was she going to do?

  Struggling through that superb dinner was a nightmare she thought she would never forget, and when they finally returned to their suite her hands were cold and clammy with tension and nerves. She was being silly, she told herself, but she could not help it.

  Brett displayed amazing diplomacy by leaving her at the door with the excuse that he needed to buy cigarettes, and Samantha was left alone to wash and change into the frothy lace nightgown Aunt Emma had insisted

  she should buy for her honeymoon. It was far removed from the choice she would have made, for it was too flimsy and revealing. Her cheeks burned with mortification at the thought that Brett would have to see her in it, and she hastily pulled on the silken powder-blue robe which had been an unexpected going-away gift from her father.

  She jumped violently as the door opened and Brett, still fully dressed, entered the room. Her heart was hammering so wildly that for a moment she had difficulty in breathing.

  Brett's glance swept over her momentarily and a smile of satisfaction curved his lips. He gestured towards the two glasses and the bottle of champagne in his hands. 'With the compliments of the management,' he said, still smiling enigmatically as he placed them on the dressing table and proceeded to open the bottle.

  She flinched nervously when the cork shot from the bottle, but Brett appeared not to notice as he filled the two glasses with the sparkling liquid. He drew a chair closer for himself and, as she subsided weakly on to the stool behind her, he placed her glass in her hand.

  'To us, Samantha,' he said, raising his own to his lips.

  `To us,' she echoed hollowly, sipping at the champagne and spilling some of the liquid before she could control the trembling of her fingers.

  'Relax, my dear,' he said quietly, noticing her agitation and interpreting it correctly. 'I have no intention of pouncing on you and demanding my conjugal rights while you're in this state of nervous tension.'

  Relief flowed through her veins like a heady wine and brought tears to her eyes. 'I'm sorry, Brett, just ... give me a little time.'

  'I'll give you all the time you want. I can wait.' The

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  colour flowed back into her cheeks as she raised her glance to his. His expression was unfathomable, but there was a slightly cynical smile playing about his firm lips as he answered her unspoken query. 'There's a couch in the dressing-room. It looks comfortable enough to be made into a bed.'

  Samantha blushed profusely and lowered her glance, but her conscience pricked her severely. 'I'm sorry,' she whispered again, not daring to meet her husband's eyes.

  `Stop apologising, Samantha, and drink up that champagne,' he laughed, but his laughter curiously lacked mirth. 'Let's make up our minds that we're going to enjoy this short holiday, and let everything else take care of itself.'

  When he eventually wished her goodnight, the tension went out of her as she subsided on to the bed and began to cry. She cried with relief, releasing all the pent-up emotions she had suppressed consciously and subconsciously during the past weeks until, exhausted, she crept between the cool sheets and slept.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  AFTER a tearful start to that sun-drenched week on the island, Samantha found herself relaxing under Brett's undemanding influence, and it became the laziest dream holiday she had ever experienced. They had nothing more strenuous to do than to spend their days swimming in the cool blue waters of the Indian Ocean or languishing on the glistening sands, soaking up the sun while the island children amused them by clambering expertly up the stems of the tall palm trees.

  The nights on Mauritius were warm and scented and they invariably had their evening meals served on the trellised balcony leading off their suite, after which they would stroll along the almost deserted beach while it was bathed in moonlight. Everything was so perfectly right for a romantic honeymoon that Samantha's heart ached inexplicably when she allowed herself to dwell fleetingly on that subject. Had Brett purposely chosen this island with that thought in mind? she wondered distractedly. Had he hoped that the romance of the island might influence her?

  It was futile to dwell on these thoughts, since they merely served to make her withdraw further from Brett, instead of bringing them closer. Despite the unnatural circumstances of their marriage, Brett was surprisingly attentive, but the impenetrable wall between them remained firmly intact. Holding hands while they strolled on the beach seemed to come naturally, and when he occasionally kissed her lightly on the lips, she found it a pleasing experience instead of repulsive. She became

  accustomed to seeing his dark hair lying across his fore head in an unruly fashion after a swim, and began to admire the muscular fitness of his tanned body.

  Samantha, too, had acquired a deep golden tan by the end of that week, and she found herself wishing that their stay could be prolonged, for she was beginning to discover things about her husband that intrigued her. Beneath that harsh exterior there was a gentleness she seldom saw and, behind his mockery, a vulnerability that left her with the tantalising thought that, if she wanted to, she could penetrate his defence and discover the real Brett Carrington. But, like all similar thoughts, these were instantly disposed of.

  Samantha spent their last day on the beach, soaking up the sun while Brett went for a swim. It was peaceful lying there, listening to the sound of the waves breaking on the shore, and the laughter of the children as they built sandcastles only to have them dashed away by the sea. Now, as she watched Brett coming towards her across the warm sand, she was not unaware of the admiring glances women sent him as he passed. Inexplicably her own glance sharpened, taking in the broad shoulders and the rough dark hair, now damp and clinging to his muscular chest. She lowered her gaze to the slim hips and the rippling muscles in his thighs and calves, for the first time experiencing a feeling of pleasure at the sight of him.

  'You should have come for a swim instead of lazing about here in the sun,' he said, drying himself vigorously with his towel before lowering himself on to the sand beside her. His eyes sought hers then and they were gently mocking. 'Did you miss me?'

  'Would it flatter your ego if I said yes?' she asked lightly, by now quite used to his teasing, often mocking manner.

  'It would at least be a sign that all was not in vain.'

  Samantha froze instantly, growing hot under his direct scrutiny. It was the first time he had referred in any way to their relationship. She avoided his eyes, but his hand was beneath her chin and she was forced to meet his glance.

  'Don't take everything .I say so literally,' he said. 'I was merely teasing.'

  Ashamed of herself for reading more into his remark than was intended, she grasped his hand in both of hers and pressed it against her cheek, uncaring as to how he interpreted her actions. 'Forgive me, Brett. You've been very kind to me and I haven't exactly been a model wife. If you think that it hasn't troubled me, then you're wrong. I—'

  'Forget it,' he interrupted her stilted speech and, not caring who saw them, he kissed her on her unguarded lips. 'I told you I would wait, and at the moment we have enough on our hands trying to get to know each other.'

  With that the subject was closed and Samantha was filled with intense relief. She needed time; time to adjust and to come to terms with the demands he would eventually lay upon her.

  Settling into the homestead's plush white Master Suite with its gold trimmings was accomplished without any traumatic experience. Brett moved into the dressing-room without a murmur while Samantha had the main bedroom with its enormous four-poster bed to herself.

  Taking over the running of that
vast household under Aunt Emma's guidance was a far more difficult task, but Aunt Emma was adamant that Samantha should learn all there was to know as soon as possible. It was

  time she took a well-earned rest, she explained laughingly.

  For Brett, the holiday was over in every respect. The relaxed manner disappeared behind the cool, aloof exterior of the business man who divided his time between city and farm. Samantha soon discovered that he appeared to have an inexhaustible supply of energy for every task he undertook, and that he never became ruffled when problems arose. She realised too, why his farm labourers followed his instructions so diligently, for he was always fair and prepared to listen to whatever they had to say.

  As time passed she gradually became accustomed to his timely and often untimely invasion of her privacy. To see him emerging from the shower with his hair damp and tousled, and with nothing more than a towel fastened about his waist, was no longer unusual or embarrassing to her, but quite natural. He made a practice of entering her room at night before retiring, and it soon became a pleasant interlude she looked forward to when he was not in the city. They would talk about what had transpired that day, discussing incidents of importance, or sometimes maintaining a companionable silence while he smoked a last cigarette before retiring. just before he left her on these occasions he would brush his lips against her cheek, a fatherly gesture that made her feel like a child instead of the woman she was and, as a woman, she began to reject the set pattern of her life.

  It came as almost a shock to realise how rarely she thought of Clive during that time, and when she did, it was without pain or regret. Her experience had taught her to be wary of men with glib tongues and polished manners that smacked of insincerity. She found instead that she longed for Brett's company, the

  sound of his voice, the often accidental touch of his hand. At times she caught herself listening for his light step, the brief laughter that occasionally broke from him when he found something amusing and, most of all, she became inexplicably aware of a longing to feel those strong arms about her ... a yearning that usually left her shaken and confused.