Handful of stardust Page 7

  'When you're ready, come down to the dining-room, child. It's the first door to your right at the bottom of the stairs.'

  Without giving Samantha the opportunity to thank her, she turned and closed the door behind her.

  Samantha endeavoured to shrug off the uneasiness which had settled upon her and went through to the bathroom. This suite had obviously belonged to a woman, she guessed, glancing about her. Brett's sister? she wondered curiously as she washed her face and

  hands and made use of the hand towel placed at her disposal. Judging by the array of powders, bath oils and perfumes, the occupant of this room had had a truly feminine weakness for such luxuries.

  She found her comb in her handbag and pulled it through her hair before touching up her make-up. On the dressing-table in the bedroom she discovered a brush and comb set with the initials N.C. engraved on them. So she had been right, she thought, in thinking that this had been his sister's room. What had she been like? she wondered curiously. And what had the initial N stood for? Nancy; Natalie? Norma, perhaps?

  Samantha closed her handbag with a decisive snap. She had better not keep Brett and his aunt waiting or she might bring more than disapproval down upon her own head, she decided as she closed the bedroom door softly behind her and found her way down to the hall. As she hovered at the entrance to the dining-room, the sound of raised voices from the opposite direction drew her attention. Brett and his aunt were obviously disagreeing on some major issue, because the argument was heated. Samantha quelled the sudden desire to eavesdrop and entered the dining-room instead to admire the priceless silverware and the solid teak furniture.

  The minutes ticked by on the clock above the dresser and she turned idly towards the window. What could they be arguing about? she wondered curiously before losing herself in the beauty of the garden. So engrossed was she in this sunlit paradise that she jumped violently when Brett spoke beside her.

  'My apologies for keeping you waiting, Samantha,' he said brusquely, sending a glance in his aunt's direction that conveyed a clear warning. 'There was an urgent matter we had to discuss.'

  `That's quite all right,' Samantha assured him un-

  comfortably. 'I've been admiring your lovely view of the garden.'

  'All the rooms, except those on the south side, have a view of the garden,' Emma Bryce told her, making her statement sound like a rebuke. 'Shall we have lunch?'

  The air of hostility which prevailed made lunch an uncomfortable necessity. Samantha ate very little under the close scrutiny of Emma Bryce. What thoughts lay behind those curious grey eyes? she wondered. Was the fact that Brett had brought a female guest to Carrington's Post so unusual, or had their violent argument before lunch not concerned her at all? Whatever the reason, Samantha decided eventually, it had put neither of them in a sociable mood. Brett maintained an angry silence throughout the meal, and his aunt's complexion was a shade paler than on their arrival.

  Tea was served in the living-room with its massive stone fireplace and deep, comfortable armchairs with their padded arm-rests and crocheted lace coverings. Expensive porcelain vases adorned the carved tables against the walls as well as a colourful vase of flowers on the low table in the centre of the room. It was a homely room, but the austere atmosphere caused by its occupants brought a chill to it which it did not deserve.

  'Do you like my home, Samantha?' Brett asked unexpectedly, arresting her glance.

  'The little I've seen of it I find very beautiful,' she admitted readily, her back muscles tense from perching nervously on the edge of her chair, almost as if she were ready for flight.

  let me show you the ornamental garden,' he suggested, drawing her to her feet. 'It's Aunt Emma's pride and joy.'

  It was obvious that he was making an effort to break the ice between them, but Emma Bryce maintained a stony silence and Brett merely shrugged carelessly as he steered Samantha through the double glass doors on to the stoep.

  'It's like an oasis in the desert,' she echoed her original thoughts as she stood beside Brett, allowing her gaze to wander in among the carefully tended shrubs and flowering succulents.

  He took her arm as they walked through the garden and she found herself strolling beneath shady trees, crossing sturdy ornamental bridges beneath which a carefully contrived stream flowed, and finally hovering ecstatically beside a lily pond in which the goldfish swam lazily beneath the circular flat leaves in search of food.

  'It's beautiful!' she exclaimed with sincerity, glancing up to find Brett observing her with tolerant amusement, an unlit cigarette between his fingers. Embarrassed, she rose from her kneeling position and lowered her glance. 'You must find my enthusiasm boring. I'm sorry.'

  'Sincere enthusiasm is never boring, Samantha, it's enchanting.' He gestured towards the bench beneath the oak tree. 'Let's sit down.'

  Seated beside him on the wooden bench, Samantha recalled the incidents leading up to this enforced visit to his home, and the beauty of the garden was temporarily forgotten.

  'All right, Brett, you've had your fun,' she reminded him calmly. Will you take me back to Port Elizabeth now that I've seen your home?'

  Brett took his time lighting his cigarette before turning to face her, and there was a firmness about his jaw that unnerved her. 'I'm afraid, Samantha, I neglected to

  tell you that you'll be staying here for a while.'

  For several labouring seconds Samantha was conscious only of the heavy beat of her heart as she stared at him incredulously, every vestige of colour draining from her face and leaving her chilled to the marrow.

  'You're joking, naturally,' she heard herself say in a choked voice.

  'I've never been more serious.'

  'But I can't stay here!'

  'Why not?'

  'My father—'

  'You're here with your father's knowledge and complete approval.'

  The world tilted crazily about her as she struggled to grasp his unbelievable statement. She clutched at the bench beneath her for support and blinked rapidly in an effort to bring his face into focus. 'You mean you planned this ... abduction ... between the two of you?'

  'Exactly. I telephoned him this morning to tell him that everything had been arranged.'

  'B-but w-why?'

  Brett drew hard on his cigarette and then crushed the remainder beneath the heel of his expensive shoe. 'Your father and I both felt it would be in your own interest if you didn't see Clive Wilmot again ... at least, not until you've ridded yourself of the ridiculous notion that you're in love with him.'

  Anger came to her rescue and sent her blood racing vibrantly through her veins. 'I don't suppose it occurred to either of you that I might not want to rid myself of the idea that I love Clive?'

  His eyebrows rose mockingly. 'I'm afraid, Samantha, that until you do you'll remain here at Carrington's Post.'

  Samantha felt like slapping that smug, self-satisfied

  look off his face, but her fear of the consequences kept her trembling hands tightly locked in her lap. 'You and my father must have been crazy to think that you could keep me here against my will I ' she said furiously, grasping hopefully at the final straw available to her. 'There's my job, for instance. I can't just stay away like this.'

  Brett's lips twisted cynically. 'You no longer have a job, because I took the liberty of having you replaced. I had to take your friend Gillian into my confidence, and she assisted me to find someone appropriate.'

  It was like a stunning blow between the eyes, but it also explained Gillian's peculiar behaviour during the past week. Samantha sagged weakly against the back of the bench and lowered her lashes swiftly to veil the tears of helplessness which stung her eyes.

  'You've thought of everything, haven't you?' she said dully, the shrill sound of the cicades in the afternoon heat scraping along her sensitive nerves.

  'I don't believe in half measures,' he replied mercilessly. 'Your clothes and personal possessions are being packed for you at this moment, but they won't arrive bef
ore tomorrow. Until then you'll have to make do with what remains of my sister's wardrobe.' His glance swept over her momentarily. 'She was considerably taller than you, although just as slight, but I dare say you won't mind the unavoidable inconvenience until your own things arrive.'

  CHAPTER FIVE

  A PROFOUND silence followed Brett's remark—a silence during which Samantha assimilated the shocking realisation that he was in deadly earnest about keeping her there for an unspecified period. Her trembling hands fluttered nervously in a pleading gesture, only to fall back limply into her lap. She seldom smoked except in moments of dire stress and this, she decided, was one of them.

  'May I have a cigarette, please?'

  Brett's expression was unfathomable as he calmly opened his cigarette case and extended it towards her. She selected one and rolled the cigarette nervously between her fingers until he held the lighter towards her, his hand cupped about the flame. She coughed slightly at the first draw, but soon experienced its soothing effect on her shattered nerves.

  'Was asking me to marry you part of this diabolical plan?' she asked finally when she was in complete control of her voice.

  'Not exactly,' he smiled briefly, 'but it would have been simpler if you had accepted. There would have been no need then to abduct you.'

  'It amazes me to think that you would have gone to the extent of giving up your freedom to wreck my relationship with Clive,' she remarked with a touch of sarcasm.

  'No, my dear, you're wrong,' he said with quiet determination. 'I asked you to marry me because I wanted

  you for my wife. I still aim to persuade you to accept my proposal.'

  'Why?'

  Brett shrugged carelessly. 'Let's say you're the only woman I've ever met who I feel sure would suit me admirably as a wife.'

  Samantha felt curiously hurt. 'You make it all sound so cold-blooded!'

  'Perhaps it is,' he admitted icily, removing the unsmoked cigarette from her passive fingers with a distasteful expression on his face and promptly disposing of it. 'There's something else I have to tell you. Your father has accepted that transfer to Cape Town, and he leaves on Monday.'

  'How very convenient,' she remarked, trembling with renewed anger. 'I feel like a cumbersome, erring child, shuttled from one parent to the other when the burden has become too uncomfortable to bear.'

  'You're not a child, Samantha, you're a woman.' His voice sent a chill up her spine. 'Likewise, I'm not your parent, but the man who hopes to marry you some day

  when you've acknowledged your infatuation and real-

  lised that you're as yet unawakened.'

  'I'll never marry you, and I'll get away from here somehow! '

  Brett leaned closer to her, his manner threatening. 'I must warn you, my dear, that you will not be allowed to escape. My staff have been instructed to keep an eye on you and, as there is no necessity for me to return to the city within the next month, I intend keeping an eye on you personally as an added precaution.'

  'A month! A whole month! ' she cried in disbelief. 'You can't keep me here that long?'

  For seemingly endless seconds his dark eyes pinned her ruthlessly to her seat and not for the first time did

  HANDFUL OF STARDUST

  she notice the peculiar colouring of his eyes. The dark brown eyes with the flecks of gold gave one that impression of leaping flames as the sunlight caught them. Beautiful eyes, she thought irrationally even as he spoke harshly. 'I'll keep you here much longer if you persist with your ridiculous notions.'

  'I hate you, Brett Carrington,' she said with feeling, 'and I think both you and my father have behaved despicably '

  'We've acted in your interest alone.'

  'My interest and my happiness lies with Clive, and nothing will alter that,' she argued hotly.

  'A bold statement, Samantha, but a foolish one,' he claimed mockingly, drawing her to her feet. 'Come, you're overwrought and distressed. I suggest you lie down for a while until I send someone to call you down for tea.'

  'I don't want to lie down, thank you.'

  'Don't be childish, Samantha.' His rebuke was like a whiplash. 'Allow me to know what's best for you.'

  'If you think I'm going to sit back meekly and allow you to carry out this disgusting plan of yours, then you're mistaken,' she informed him, lifting her chin defiantly. 'I shall fight you all the way.'

  'I've always admired spirit, Samantha,' he laughed softly, 'and I would have been extremely disappointed if you'd merely accepted everything without a murmur.'

  'You're insufferable ! ' she fumed and, turning, fled light-footed along the path, her eyes blinded once more by helpless tears of rage.

  There was not a soul in sight when she entered the homestead. The tea cups had been removed from the living-room and a silence had descended upon the house as though everything had ceased to function after the midday heat. It was obviously the general practice

  for everyone to have a rest when the lunch was over, but it was a habit Samantha had never been able to cultivate.

  She found her room without much difficulty and discovered that someone had drawn the curtains against the afternoon sun, leaving it pleasurably cool. The old-fashioned bed with its feather mattress looked inviting and Samantha finally succumbed to the invitation, slipping off her shoes and lying fully clothed on the bed after removing the exquisite lace bedspread.

  'Oh, Clive!' she thought in anguish, 'How are we going to endure this unnecessary parting? How am I ever going to convince Brett that what we feel for each other is sincere?'

  She turned her face to bury it in the pillow and, to her surprise, saw something she had not noticed before. Beside her bed, on a small table, stood a telephone. Clive would be at his flat and she could telephone him there. He would come and fetch her at once, and there would be nothing the mighty Mr Brett Carrington could do about it. She lifted the receiver, her heart racing with excitement, but the next instant the dialling tone was interrupted by a sharp click, to be followed by an ominous silence.

  'Samantha,' Brett's voice came clearly over the line and she felt her nerves vibrating, 'your telephone is connected with mine here in the study, and also with the one in the hall. If you're thinking of telephoning Wilmot and asking for his assistance—forget it. I left a note at his flat informing him that you're here and he should have received it by now. He won't do a thing to help you.'

  Samantha found her voice with difficulty. 'What makes you think that Clive won't come to my aid if I should ask him?'

  'I know Clive Wilmot, but if you would like proof, then go ahead and phone him,' Brett remarked in a bored-sounding voice, replacing the receiver and leaving her for several seconds with nothing but the sound of the dialling tone in her ear.

  Clive would come. Of course he would come! She argued mentally with herself, but the annoying fear that Brett's supposition might be confirmed made her replace the receiver as though it had suddenly burnt her fingers.

  She supposed Brett must have heard her replacing the receiver without dialling and she could imagine that infuriating look of self-satisfaction on his usually immobile face. He had won this round. He had succeeded very cleverly in sowing a seed of doubt in her mind, and she hated him with an intensity that shook her slender frame.

  She fell back against the pillows and closed her eyes, her hands clenched tightly against her sides. Without intending to, she saw again Brett's peculiar eyes and the way he had looked at her in the garden. He had succeeded in penetrating her defences, his eyes searching deeply and disturbingly into her soul, leaving her curiously defenceless and vaguely aware of something she could not put a name to.

  Samantha literally shook herself free of these thoughts and wondered instead exactly how she had been such a fool to allow herself to be trapped into this slightly mediaeval situation. It was unheard-of in this modern century that a girl could be carried off in this way by a knight on a white charger to his castle in some secluded spot in the country. She giggled with rising hysteria as
she thought of Brett as the knight in question, his small aircraft representing the white charger, and his home, Carrington's Post, as the castle. It was

  ludicrous! But the romance of the situation did not escape her, and her hammering heart told her that she was a fraud.

  Brett Carrington had a forceful, magnetic personality; he was not the kind of man to be overlooked or underestimated, she realised again. He made his presence felt by those around him and he was decisive in his actions. However distasteful she found these thoughts she was forced to admit that Clive could not compare with Brett in this respect. Clive was handsome, suave and charming. He was passionate and petulant, but he was fun. He was, at times, like a tiresome child, but he was—romance. Brett, to the contrary, was mature in his approach to life, and there had been nothing peevish about him when she had struggled free of his embrace that evening he had proposed marriage so unexpectedly. Neither had there been anything immature about the way he had held and kissed her. He had been masterful and overpowering in his method, and it had taken all her will-power not to give way completely.

  Her cheeks flamed suddenly as she remembered those moments. Brett had said that he had every intention of persuading her to accept his proposal of marriage. Would he use the same method of persuasion? she wondered irrationally, burying her face in the pillow as her skin tingled with the mere thought of those firm lips against her own.

  No, it would be so easy to forget Clive; to give up the struggle against emotions that were becoming too powerful for her to control. She had to fight! she decided firmly. Brett had warned her against Clive, but she was in more imminent danger with Brett. With Clive she had been strong in mind and heart, but with Brett she was continually overcome by an inexplicable weakness, and awe-inspiring awareness that he could

  bend her to his will as easily as bending a sapling between his fingers.

  Brett was not in the living-room that afternoon when Samantha went down for tea. She found Emma Bryce alone, seated in an upright chair with the tea trolley beside her.