Handful of stardust Read online

  'Don't make me laugh,' she said sarcastically. 'Will you marry me, Samantha?'

  She stared at him in stunned silence for immeasurable seconds before she managed to gather her wits about her. 'You must be mad!' she blurted out. 'I wouldn't marry you if you were the last man on earth!'

  Those firm lips twisted cynically. 'You won't marry Clive Wilmot either—all he'll do is to persuade you to become his mistress. He won't marry anyone unless he can benefit financially from the marriage.'

  Samantha paled visibly. 'What a horrible thing to say!'

  'Horrible things sometimes have to be said when

  someone is too stubborn to take advice.'

  'I refuse to listen to you!' she cried desperately, placing her hands against her ears to shut out his accusations and detestable insinuations. 'You've said quite enough!'

  Cruel fingers latched on to her wrists and dragged her hands from her ears. 'If you won't listen to me, then I shall have to prove to you that your affections are misplaced.'

  Not guessing his intentions, she was quite unprepared for the sudden onslaught on her emotions. Arms of steel held her with effortless ease against the muscular hardness of his body, while his lips found hers unguarded. This was what she had feared, and now she knew the reason why. His kiss ripped through her defences, drawing a wild response from her that was terrifying as well as intoxicating while strange new emotions raced through her, engulfing her in their intensity. She was vaguely conscious of the fact that she had to resist, but she had neither the will nor the strength to do anything other than cling to him and wish that this awe-inspiring moment would last for ever.

  It seemed an eternity before Brett eventually raised his head, his eyes almost black with undisguised passion as he held hers captive. With hammering heart she saw him lower his head once more, and it was then that a spark of sanity flared within her.

  'No! Please don't ' she begged hoarsely, but his arms merely tightened about her while his warm lips sought the hollow in her throat where a pulse throbbed frantically.

  'Be truthful, Samantha, and admit that Clive's kisses have never aroused you the way mine have just done.' She could not argue against such a blatant truth, for

  not even during their most passionate embrace had Clive ever succeeded in stirring more than the surface of her emotions.

  'Brett, stop it ! You have no right—'

  'I have as much right as Clive Wilmot,' he insisted, his hands warm and exciting against her back.

  'No, no ! she whispered weakly.

  'Yes, Samantha.' He raised his head then and she felt her defences slipping as she met the passionate ferocity of his gaze. 'Don't shut your mind to the truth.'

  'I'm in love with Clive,' she insisted, but her voice sounded unconvincing to her own ears. 'Why won't you accept that fact and leave me alone?'

  'You're trying very hard to convince yourself, aren't you?' Brett mocked her mercilessly.

  'I don't have to convince myself. I know!'

  'Do you, Samantha?' he asked with dangerous softness, lowering his dark head once more and creating havoc with her emotions as his lips claimed her in a devastating kiss that left no room for coherent thought. 'Are you very sure?'

  How could she think clearly when his lips against her throat produced such tantalising sensations? She had to resist! She had to think of Clive!

  Samantha struggled against him in an effort to avoid his lips. 'Don't, Brett. Oh, don't! '

  'You're as innocent as a baby, my dear. You've never been more vitally alive than at this moment, and still you refuse to recognise it.' He released her with an abruptness that caused her to sway backwards against a chair, collapsing into it as her legs gave way. 'There's a difference, you know, between being in love ... and loving.'

  Free of him now, Samantha found her pulse rate subsiding and she found her anger returning as she

  remarked with unaccustomed sarcasm, 'I had no idea that you were an authority on the subject!'

  For one brief moment she feared that she might have gone too far, for flames of anger flickered momentarily in his dark eyes before he laughed harshly. 'All right, Samantha, you win. Please accept my apologies, although I can't say that I regret what I did. I enjoyed kissing you very much and I was absolutely serious when I asked you to marry me.'

  Samantha gripped the edge of her seat as she stared up at him, her knuckles showing white through the skin as she made an effort to regain her composure. `Why should someone like you want to marry a girl like me when there are plenty of eligible women from wealthy and influential families in the city from whom you could choose a wife who would suit you far more admirably than I would?'

  `They would bore me to tears,' he announced mockingly as he bent down and imprisoned her in her chair. `I would prefer to marry a small package of dynamite labelled Samantha-Little.'

  The ticking of the clock against the wall seemed to become louder, scraping along her already sensitive nerves, while his nearness disturbed her pulse rate and quickened her breath. `I—I don't know what to say.'

  `Say ... yes, Brett, I'll marry you.'

  It would be so easy to say 'yes' to a man like Brett Carrington, she realised all at once. He was attractive, in a rugged sort of way, and he was wealthy, two factors which could turn any girl's head if she desired a marriage that would bring her wealth and prestige. If it was not for the fact that she was so unfalteringly sure of her love for Clive, it would have been very easy to say 'yes' to Brett, but she had to make herself believe that the emotions he had evoked within her had been purely physical, and nothing more.

  `I can't, Brett. You know I can't.'

  The firm mouth twisted slightly into a semblance of a smile. 'There's really nothing to stop you from marrying me.'

  `Brett ... I'm sorry, but ... I don't love you,' she ended miserably, avoiding his eyes and the look of disbelief that glimmered through.

  'We won't discuss the subject further at the moment,' she heard him say, much to her relief. 'Friends?'

  'Yes, Brett,' she laughed self-consciously, 'as long as you don't expect more of me than friendship.'

  'I don't give up that easily, Samantha,' he warned ominously. 'I usually get what I want, but for the time being I'm prepared to place the subject on ice.'

  James Little arrived home late that evening to find Samantha waiting up for him in the darkened lounge.

  'This makes a welcome change to find you waiting up for me,' he chuckled, switching on the reading lamp. He gestured towards the cigarette stub in the ashtray. 'I see you've had company. Brett Carrington?'

  `Yes.' Samantha bit her lip nervously. 'Daddy, I have to talk to you.'

  `Hm ... yes?'

  `Brett asked me to marry him.'

  `And?' her father asked with his back to her as he poured himself a whisky and splashed some soda into it.

  'You don't seem surprised. Did you know he would propose?'

  'No, but I suspected something like that.' He turned then, drink in his hand, and seated himself beside her on the couch. 'Did you accept?'

  'No.'

  `Because of the way you feel about Clive?'

  'Yes.'

  Hm ...' James Little sipped thoughtfully at his drink before turning to face her. 'If it hadn't been for Clive—would you have accepted?'

  `Daddy, that's not a fair question,' she rebuked him gently.

  `Isn't it? Have I been mistaken in thinking you liked Brett ?'

  `I ... yes,' she admitted, surprising even herself. 'I can't help liking him, but I'm also afraid of him.'

  Bushy eyebrows ascended above incredulous grey eyes. 'Afraid? Good heavens, why?'

  `I've never met anyone like him before,' she explained tensely, recalling those moments in Brett's arms and how easily she had responded. 'Daddy, why should a man like Brett Carrington want to marry someone like myself? Why should he have bothered with me at all? It doesn't make sense. We met quite by chance, and all of a sudden my life is no longer my own. I had no particular wis
h to see him again, but I've been unable to shake him off,' she concluded, gesturing helplessly with her hands. 'Why, Daddy?'

  James drank deeply on his whisky and stretched out his legs before venturing a reply. 'You don't suppose it might be because he's in love with you?'

  `In love with me?' Samantha repeated, laughing cynically. 'Oh, no, Daddy. A man doesn't build up a reputation for being a confirmed bachelor only to be caught by someone as insignificant as myself.'

  `You could be mistaken.'

  `No, there has to be some other reason, I'm sure.'

  'I was a confirmed bachelor until I met your mother.' `But you're different, Daddy,' she insisted. 'You

  weren't arrogant, dictatorial and self-sufficient.'

  `How do you know I wasn't all those things you just

  mentioned?' he chuckled suddenly, clearly amused by

  her remarks. 'I was thirty-six when I married your mother, and I was set in my ways as well as accustomed to doing just as I pleased. Age loses its significance when you love someone.'

  Samantha pressed her fingers against her closed eyelids in an effort to relieve the tired ache behind them. 'Oh, don't know what to think. I'm confused and just too tired to try to understand Brett Carrington's motives.'

  `Samantha,' her father began tentatively, breaking the troubled silence that lingered in the air, 'would you consider a move to Cape Town?'

  Samantha removed her fingers from her eyes and blinked rapidly at her father to clear her vision. 'Cape Town?'

  `The firm has offered me a transfer to our new Cape Town branch. It will be a challenge for me, but not an absolute necessity, so ...'

  His voice trailed off into silence as the world began to rock beneath her. 'Would you like to go very much?'

  James gestured self-consciously. My dear, at my age I'm perhaps too old to accept challenge and changes.'

  `Will have to go with you?' she asked the dreaded question.

  'I would prefer it,' he replied instantly, lowering her hopes to a level of desperation. 'It will, of course, mean a separation from Clive.'

  `Yes ...' Torn between her devotion for her father and her love for Clive, she hesitated briefly before continuing: 'Daddy, you could go without me. I ...'

  James shook his head firmly. 'You're only twenty and I would be shirking my responsibilities if I left you behind here in Port Elizabeth.'

  `Daddy, there are plenty of girls my age who live alone,' she argued hopefully.

  `That may be so, but while I'm still alive, and until you're married, you will remain my responsibility,' he informed her adamantly. 'Is it so important that you stay here to be with Wilmot?'

  'Daddy, I'm sorry, but I'm ... in love with Clive.' She was furious with herself for her slight hesitation when she saw her father's curious glance.

  `You're sure of this?'

  'I've never doubted it.'

  A peculiar smile appeared about her father's mouth that sent her scurrying to her room after a hasty 'goodnight' peck on his cheek. Was she still so very sure of her love for Clive, she finally asked herself as she slid between the sheets and lay staring into the darkness, or was she stubbornly clinging to something which no longer existed? She had to admit, however reluctantly, that during those moment's in Brett's arms she had not been at all sure of her love for Clive! Her insistence had merely assumed a form of defence at the time. Now, away from Brett's disturbing influence, she told herself that she was absolutely sure of her feelings. Loving was trusting, and she had to believe in Clive despite all the ridiculous accusations made against him.

  She turned her face into the pillow and her thoughts turned inexplicably to Brett. She had to forget him; forget that he ever aroused emotions she had not dreamed that she possessed, but her hammering heart mocked her childish determination.

  Samantha and her father were having breakfast in the kitchen when the telephone rang on that Saturday morning Clive was due to arrive.

  'I'll get it,' her father said hastily, excusing himself from the table and leaving her to wonder why he had appeared so agitated. Without intending to, she found

  herself listening curiously to the disjointed and intriguing conversation.

  'Yes ... no ... she won't agree to that ... yes, of course. I'm not very happy about shifting my job on to someone else ... yes, I know I can trust you implicitly, and that's why ... yes, thank you.'

  The strangely guarded conversation ended abruptly and Samantha was instantly alert. What did it all mean? she wondered, frowning down at the omelette she had allowed to become cold in her plate.

  'Sorry about that,' her father apologised distractedly as he resumed his seat. He was clearly agitated and deep in thought, but he made no effort to explain as he poured himself a fresh cup of coffee.

  'Something wrong at the office?' she asked.

  'What? Oh ... yes. Something to do with work,' he muttered, avoiding her eyes.

  'Are you accepting the transfer to Cape Town?' she probed tentatively, not particularly wanting to renew the subject.

  'I haven't decided yet, but I have until Monday to reach a final decision.'

  'If you do accept, how soon do you have to leave?' 'Immediately.'

  Samantha's eyes widened considerably, but she remained silent as she piled the breakfast dishes into the sink and started washing up.

  'I'll help you,' James offered, but Samantha shook her head firmly.

  'It's your day off, Daddy, so make yourself comfortable in the lounge with the morning paper while I get on with it.'

  She had to think and decide what to do about this new development. To accompany her father would mean parting from Clive for long periods, and to insist

  on remaining would merely jeopardise her father's opportunities, because he would refuse to go without her. She was trapped; cornered by circumstances and unable to find the way out. Everything was against her and Clive, but it merely made her more determined that they would succeed in proving everyone wrong. Clive was kind and gentle as well as passionate, and she would not exchange him for someone with a fiery temperament like Brett Carrington who could sweep her emotions into a turmoil with the merest glance.

  Samantha was eventually vacuum-cleaning the lounge carpet when the doorbell chimed shortly after ten that morning. She switched off the cleaner and finally flung open the door with a sigh of irritation.

  'Good morning, Samantha.'

  It was only the man who had the power to unnerve her completely—Brett Carrington!

  CHAPTER FOUR

  THE heavy thudding of her heart almost choked her as she stared up at Brett. Immaculate as always in a beige lightweight suit and matching tie, he looked tanned and virile, and arrogantly self-assured as he stepped past her.

  `What do you want?' Samantha demanded rudely, closing the door to keep out the draught coming up from the stairs.

  He ignored her lack of courtesy with a touch of mockery in his glance. It's a lovely morning and I've come to take you for a drive out into the country.'

  Just like that! Samantha thought angrily. She had not seen him since the evening he had asked her to marry him, and now he just arrived and calmly stated that he would be taking her for a drive. The arrogance of the man!

  'I'm afraid it's out of the question,' Samantha told him, avoiding his glance as she returned the vacuum cleaner to its place in the passage cupboard. 'I'm meeting Clive at the airport and his plane arrives at noon.'

  'In that case I'll drive you there.'

  She stared at him open-mouthed, but she was prevented from telling him exactly what she thought of him as her father emerged from the lounge.

  `Good morning, Brett. I couldn't help overhearing that last remark, and I think it would be an excellent idea if you drove Samantha to the airport. My car's been giving me quite a bit of trouble these past few days.'

  How dared they stand there and calmly organise her life as if she was of no significance? she fumed, mentally stamping her foot as her glance went from one to the other. Besid
es, there had been nothing wrong with her father's car when she had used it the previous evening to call on Gillian at her home.

  'I would prefer—' she began.

  `Go and powder your nose, then we can drive out there now,' Brett interrupted smoothly. 'I have something to show you that might interest you.'

  Samantha glanced helplessly at her father, but he gestured firmly that she should do as she was told, and with an infuriated shrug she swept past them. She could hear their subdued voices in the lounge, but at that moment she was too angry to be particularly interested in their conversation. Perhaps, if she had been a little more observant, the pattern of her immediate future might have been drastically altered by the knowledge she would have gained if she had listened in on their conversation.

  'Take good care of her,' James instructed as they were about to leave, and Samantha stared at her father in surprise as she felt the pressure of his arm about her shoulders and his lips against her cheek. What on earth was the matter with him? Could he be ill?

  'You have my word on that,' Brett promised gravely, and this was even more disturbing.

  'Brett's only driving me to the airport to meet Clive, you know,' Samantha remarked with forced amusement, endeavouring to ease the tension which hovered vibrantly in the air. 'I'm not going to the ends of the earth.' -

  James smiled at her with unaccustomed tenderness. 'It's my privilege to be concerned about my daughter.' Samantha could not prevent the smile that curved

  her lovely mouth as she reached up and planted a kiss on his rough cheek. 'I'm a big girl now, Daddy. To siens.'

  `Goodbye, Samantha.'

  Brett hustled her from the flat and, to her surprise, it was not his silver Jaguar that stood at the entrance, but a sleek black Mercedes. A white-coated, peak-capped chauffeur jumped to attention as they approached and opened the rear door with a flourish. Sitting in the cushioned luxury of the back seat beside Brett, she sent him a questioning glance.

  'I occasionally employ the services of my chauffeur,' he explained offhandedly. It makes a welcome change to relax and enjoy the scenery.'