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Authors: Rosalind Brett

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But it wouldn

t be wise for you to go,

said Elfrida.

You were out late last night, and you

re dark under the eyes. I think you should have a light dinner in your room and go to bed early. Don

t you, Stephen?


Maybe. Don

t look so dashed, Melanie. There

ll be other nights.

Elfrida inhaled and tapped away ash. Having reversed the order of things for tonight as compared with last night, she was disposed to be expansive. But apparently Melanie was definitely in the way.

If you

ve been sightseeing you

ll need to tidy up, my dear,

she murmured casually.

Melanie left the lounge with her head averted. She knew that neither her cousin nor Stephen had any inkling of the hurt they had inflicted. She thought of Stephen

s taunting gray eyes and felt her heart move uncannily. She was plunged into a desperate unhappiness that seemed as unreasonable as it was sudden. All because Elfrida wouldn

t let her go with them to see the dancers, she told herself. How utterly absurd.

That evening she went to bed early, and being young and exhausted she slept soundly. It wasn

t too easy to listen docilely to Elfrida

s languid description of the dancing and feats of Eastern magic next morning, but the hours passed and Ramon turned up as if by accident to lunch. He bore an invitation to the Perez villa that Elfrida, upon learning that there would be other guests from the upper ranks of Port Fernando society, accepted.

A
couple of days passed before she referred again to the plantation.


I

ll go over alone on Saturday,

she said in hard tones.

I

ll take some time because I shall have to examine the accounts. In my opinion a plantation on Mindoa should do splendidly—anything grows here. If I discover that Jameson has been underhand I

ll take him to the civil court.

Before Saturday came around, however, something happened. On Thursday evening Elfrida was dusting specks of powder from her green cocktail suit and Melanie was rearranging the pots and jars on the dressing table, when one of the messenger boys knocked at the door.


Memsahib
.

He jerked a bow at Elfrida.

There is a
sahib
to see you. He waits in the small private room at the end of the lounge.


A man? Did he give a name?


His name is Mr. Jameson.

Elfrida stared at him, then abruptly told him to go. She twisted, and Melanie saw that her whole face had tightened with an icy rage.


Jameson!

She swept up a lace handkerchief from the bedside table, walked purposefully and regally to the door.

So he has the nerve to come here. He

s heard of my arrival and decided to ingratiate himself. Well, we

ll see!

The door thudded. Melanie, rooted in the center of the room, gave a shiver of foreboding.

 

CHAPTER SIX

When Elfrida sailed
into
madame

s private sitting room, Henry Jameson had his back to her. He was studying a Mogul miniature on the wall. The glass door, heavily veiled with lace curtaining, snapped shut behind her, and he turned to survey her with the same speculative appraisal that
h
e had given the miniature. Had she been less angry she would have recognized his calm as something threatening, almost deadly.


Good evening, Mrs. Paget,

he said, and gestured toward an armchair.

Won

t you sit down?


This isn

t a social call, Mr. Jameson. In fact, I resent your coming here unasked. I intended to drive out to the plantation on Saturday.


I

ve saved you the trouble.

Uncompromising and even, his voice went on,

You

d better sit down. What I have to say may take a little time.


What
you
have to say! No doubt you

ve concocted a string of glib excuses, but I want facts.


You

re going to get them. Sit down.

She let out a short, furious breath, dragged one of the straight-backed chairs from its place against the wall and sank onto it. He hitched his trousers and lowered himself to the center of a long sofa. There was no air of command about him, none of the dominance that was characteristic of Stephen; only a quiet doggedness of purpose.


You know why I

ve come to Mindoa?

she asked.


I have a pretty good notion. Your income has dwindled; I might say it

s petered right out.


You dare to speak to me like that!


I always think that frankness pays dividends.


So you

ve decided to be insolent!

Her teeth snapped and she whitened.

Brazenness won

t pay dividends, Mr. Jameson. My husband created the plantation, worked at it till it produced wonderful results
.
Even after his death the profits were good

the profits from his endeavors, not yours.
I
dread to imagine what has happened to the ground he cleared and planted.


You needn

t. The whole estate is in excellent shape—quite as good as the best on the island.

This pulled her up for a second.

If that

s true, what have you been doing with the money. For the past two years you

ve ignored my demands for a statement and details of crops and sales. I have actually had to go to the expense of a trip from England to find out just what your game is.


I

m sorry about that, but I

ll see it

s put right
financially.
That

s the part that stings, isn

t it?

Elfrida sprang up. In the molded green suit she had a feline beauty. Her eyes glittered at him, her mouth worked. Henry Jameson remained seated, watching her.


John told me you were beautiful,

he said.

Beautiful and without a heart.


Get out,

she flung at him.

I

ll instruct a lawyer to deal with you.

Unmoved, he replied
,

If you

ve finished I

ll give you the story—the bit of it that you

ve never known.

The tip of a pink tongue stole out to moisten her lips. She was shaken by his immobility but kept her outward composure. Slowly, she settled again in the chair. He bent forward with his arms along his thighs; his features jutted, all angles.


I was John

s friend for many years—long before he knew you.
I
managed a plantation at Carimari on the other side of the island, and when he bought land he and I planned it together. I

m not taking credit that

s due to him—there never was a worker like John. The plantation prospered amazingly and prices were so good that he eventually took a vacation to England and left me to run things. As soon as he had met you he wrote that his return to Mindoa was improbable, and that he would like me to manage the estate permanently.

Well,

he took an interest in the toes of his shoes,

I was newly married myself and circumstances prevented my accepting his proposition.


What has this to do with me?


John was your husband, wasn

t he? That makes it your business. Besides, it has a bearing on what came after.

He was looking at her again from under straight, shaggy brows.

I found a young man who knew a little about planting and was forced to leave him to it. My wife was ailing and I had to take her to a European specialist. We were away for eighteen months, and when I got back John

s land was in a sorry condition. I let him know at once, and some while after that he came back. And here

s an item he should have told you, but wouldn

t; he arrived here incurably ill.

Elfrida took a long and rather unsteady breath.

I don

t believe it.


It

s true enough. There

s a doctor here who will prove it.


Why didn

t you write to me about it?


John wouldn

t have it. He said that you and he were estranged, that you wouldn

t care a damn if he did die.


That wasn

t so. I

d have come to him.


Would you?

The query was put softly and needed no answer.

You don

t enjoy this raking up of the past, do you, Mrs. Paget? I

m afraid you

ll care even les
s
for what

s to come. You see, John was in no state of health to work, so I gave up my job, and my wife and I went to live with him on the estate. I offered to go into partnership with him, but he knew he hadn

t long. He was still in love with you and fretted about leaving you penniless. At last he consented to sell out to me.


To sell out?

she echoed stupidly. This was incredible. Jameson the owner of the plantation! Jameson in the position of power and herself
a ...
a
pauper? It wasn

t possible.

Are you implying that John was fool enough—


I

m not implying anything.

From his pocket he extracted a bulky envelope that he placed on the table between them.

In there are sworn copies of all the documents. We engaged an independent valuer and abided by his statistics. It was agreed that the purchase price be paid in four installments, half-yearly, and sent to you as
n
ormal income. That idea was John

s. I didn

t really agree with it, but he thought that within two years you wou
l
d have married again.

Elfrida sat aghast. It must be true. This man couldn

t lie; he was another like John, plodding, transparently honest, sincere to the point of fanaticism. For years she had lived in a lunatic heaven, boasted of possessions that did not exist, wasted money on people who would have no use for her
without it. She had chanced her last few hundreds on a final throw, but the well-endowed men of the Riviera already had wives, and the rich of Mindoa were transients, on their way elsewhere. Except Stephen. He wasn

t overloaded with wealth, but he had plenty, more than John had ever had. He was handsome, too, and in his thirties. Sometime, surely, she would pierce his impregnability. But meanwhile
...
what?


Four installments,

she said mechanically.

But John has been dead for more than three years. What about the last payments you made—one of five hundred pounds, and two of three hundred?


You were John

s wife and you hadn

t remarried. I could afford those.

Elfrida choked.

You were being charitable—
h
ad the audacity to send me your own money.


I did it for John,

he told her flatly.

I promised him that with the final installments of those four I would send you a letter setting out how matters stood and enclose these documents. Well, by then I had a few things to be grateful for in my own domestic life and I put off giving you ill news. Apparently I put it off too long.

She jumped to her feet, ranged to the window and back again.

I won

t be in your debt. You can keep your virtuous sentiments and your donations. According to you, I owe you eleven hundred pounds. I

ll pay it back!


Now, look—

he, too, was standing

—I didn

t come here to argue with you but to clear up this business. In my opinion the plantation was worth every pound
I’
ve sent you. Let

s leave it there.

Her lip curled.

Saintly sort of creature, aren

t you, but I

m not ripe for conversion. I had enough of John

s priggishness.
I want nothing more to do with you or your type. Now go!

It seemed as if he had more to say; obviously he loathed to quarrel with a woman. But she stood aloof from him with her teeth tight and nostrils dilated, as bitter-looking a woman as he had ever seen. So he shrugged, inclined his head in farewell, and went out.

Melanie saw him before he saw her. She was leaning against a pillar, her hands behind her on its cool plinth, and with some apprehension she was wondering what would be the outcome of Elfrida

s interview with Henry Jameson.
When he came out she instinctively pressed back in an attempt to merge into the whiteness of the pillar. But his head turned sharply her way and the next instant he had diverted his footsteps.


Hello,

he said.

I hoped I

d see you again. Are you distressed about your cousin?


A little. Where is she?

He nodded back over his shoulder.

In there somewhere and not too chirpy. I brought her bad tidings.


I

d rather you didn

t tell me,

she said quickly.

Elfrida might not wish me to know.

A smile lessened his gauntness.

You

re a Paget all right, which is more than she is. It beats me how you ever came to join up with her.


She

s been kind to me—given me a home, brought me here.


That sort of business is easy when the money flows in from nowhere. Besides,

his eyes were knowledgeable,

I

ll bet she gets good measure from you in practical gratitude. But I

m rather afraid she won

t be so kind to you from now on. Will you come out one day to meet my wife?


Without Elfrida?


Can

t you manage it? We

ve a baby daughter just over a year old. A grand kid. My wife was fond of John and I

m sure she

d like to meet you.


I

ll try.


If you

re ever in a fix,

he said, and allowed her to gather the rest. Briefly he clasped her hand.

Goodbye, then.

Melanie watched him slip into an unostentatious two-seater and glide away into the night. She thought,
if Elfrida gets nervous again
I’ll g
o crazy and walk right out.
Right out to where? She was completely stuck, without even sufficient money to cover her fare home. Entirely at Elfrida

s mercy, for on Mindoa no white woman worked. But she didn

t want to go back to England for months yet. Port Fernando was still new and exciting and the rest of the island unexplored. Something frightening and lovely had begun and she had to see it through, find out just what it was.

Torn by conflicting emotions, she crossed to the vestibule and made her way along the lounge to
madame

s
sitting room. The glass door was ajar, the room empty. She turned toward the stone staircase and went up to Elfrida

s room. It was as neat and untenanted as she had left it.
She came down again to sit in a chair that commanded a view of the several doors. Guests were taking sherry and cocktails, talking over the day

s events in French and English.

Then Elfrida was crossing the lounge with a long, elegant stride, standing before Melanie and smiling gently and with charm.


So here you are, my dear. Are
you
ready?

Startled and relieved, Melanie answered,

Yes, I

ve been looking for you.


I was in the writing room, got started on a letter but hadn

t time to finish it.

As Melanie moved beside her, she examined her approvingly.


You

re pretty tonight.


How nice,

murmured Melanie inadequately.

Out on the terrace they paused. A long, cherry-colored car was parked at the steps and a dark, well-shaped head glistened under the hanging lamps.


Well, Ramon!

cried Elfrida gaily.

As usual, you are absolutely on time. You don

t know how much we have been looking forward to spending this evening with you and your father.

Ramon scintillated. He bent over a hand of each and with extravag
a
nt courtesy saw them seated. He drove with his usual abandon, cast laughing remarks at the two ladies in the back of the car.

Frankly bewildered, Melanie was silent. For all the camaraderie and goodwill with which the car was bursting she had a premonition of calamity, a prescience of disaster.

BOOK: Stormy Haven
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