The Shrouded Web

‘But you don’t like that fragrance,’ said Adele impatiently. ‘There’s no need to pretend, Rebecca. I don’t mind having two tins. They’ll both get used in time.’ She bent and lifted the second container from where Rebecca had put it.

Rebecca bit her lip tightly. ‘Oh, but really…’ she began.

Adele sniffed. ‘But nothing, my girl. Go and put these things away, and then ask Rosa for some coffee.’

It was the following day before Piers St. Clair telephoned, and Rebecca spent the period between meeting him at the market and his eventual arrival for dinner in a strangely unreal sense of expectancy. She had pondered the riddle of the talc until she had realised that as her bag was made of interlaced straw it would have been quite easy for him to see what was in it. Even so, she speculated upon his perception which had instantly jumped to the conclusion she might place upon the parcel in his hand, and the subsequent trick he had played upon her. He must know her sex extremely well, she thought with a sinking heart, the incident adding to her awareness of him as a potentially dangerous man. He arranged with Adele that he should join her for dinner the following evening, and the next morning Adele insisted upon making one of her very infrequent excursions into Suva to visit her hairdresser. Rebecca was doubtful of the advisability of such an excursion on a day when Adele was bound to become over-stimulated anyway, but there was little she could do to prevent it. When Adele made up her mind, there was little anyone could do.

In the afternoon, while Adele rested, Rebecca pressed the gown she had chosen to wear that evening. Adele had been loath to allow Rosa to do it, so Rebecca had offered in order to avoid any further upheavals.

Rebecca herself was absorbed with her own thoughts, aware that she was mentally searching for reasons for being absent from the villa this evening. Not that Adele expected her to join them for dinner, indeed the question had never arisen, but somehow she wanted to put some distance between herself and her employer’s brother-in-law.

She helped Adele to change after her bath, and Adele preened herself for a few moments in front of her dressing-table mirror.

‘Quite nice,’ she conceded at last. ‘Don’t you think so, Rebecca?’

Rebecca managed a smile. ‘Very nice, Miss St. Cloud,’ she agreed, nodding. Then she bit her lip. ‘You will promise not to over-excite yourself this evening, won’t you, Miss St. Cloud? This—well—this has been quite an exhausting day for you, and naturally—–’

Adele stared at her. ‘What are you talking about, girl? You’ll be here to keep an eye on me yourself, won’t you? Surely you know I expect you to join us?’

Rebecca’s cheeks burned. ‘Oh, no! No, Miss St. Cloud. I—I have—made other arrangements.’

‘What other arrangements?’ Adele’s voice was sharp.

Rebecca swallowed hard, searching her mind for excuses. ‘I—I thought I might go out. I—I—haven’t had many evenings off—–’

‘And where would you go alone?’ snapped Adele. ‘You may have freedom of the island during the day, but after dark—that’s a different matter.’

‘You—you did say—I might use the car.’

‘I know that. But it just so happens that I require your services this evening. Now, snap out of that awkward mood and go and get yourself changed. I don’t expect you to eat dinner in your uniform.’

Rebecca stared at her employer unhappily. ‘I’d prefer to eat dinner in my room, Miss St. Cloud,’ she asserted clearly.

Adele’s eyes flickered. ‘Why? Because of Piers?’

‘What? No! No.’ Rebecca turned away, and in consequence did not see the narrowing of Adele’s eyes.

‘Well, it can’t be me,’ remarked the older woman mockingly. ‘You’ve had dinner with me plenty of times.’

Rebecca gathered her composure and turned back to her. ‘I would feel the same, no matter who your guest might be,’ she said tautly. ‘Besides, I can’t recall you showing such a desire for my company before.’ She frowned. ‘Why do you want me to join you for dinner?’

If Adele was surprised by this sudden show of confidence, she hid it admirably, and smiling slightly said: ‘Perhaps, as your days here are so uneventful, I felt sorry for you. And after all, it isn’t every day you get the chance to break bread with a millionaire!’

Rebecca’s nails dug into the palms of her hands. ‘Do I have a choice?’

Adele’s expression hardened. ‘No, miss, you do not! Now go and prepare yourself, or do you want to be responsible for my over-stimulation?’

Rebecca heaved a sigh, and with a helpless gesture left the room. In her own room she surveyed the contents of her wardrobe critically. What on earth was she going to wear? Short dresses were cooler, but somehow unsuitable in the islands when so many oriental styles were much more feminine. She drew out an all-white gown, trimmed with gold braid, its classic lines cut to ankle length. The bodice was swathed under her breasts, but otherwise it fell without fullness to her feet. With her colouring, and the tan she had acquired, it would look attractive, but did she want to look attractive? Surely she would be more sensible to wear a less arresting garment. She had no desire to arouse any further interest.

Thrusting the white gown aside, she pulled out a jungle-printed caftan. It, too, was long, but its lines were all-concealing, and the wide long sleeves hid the rounded contours of her arms.

Throwing it on the bed, she went to take a shower, and later, after she was dressed, she surveyed her appearance with approval. Certainly the colour did nothing for her, although she could wear almost anything really.

She joined Adele in the lounge just as the sound of a car could be heard drawing up outside the villa. Rosa went to answer the door and a few moments later came into the lounge and said:

‘Monsieur Piers St. Clair, madam, and his companion, Mademoiselle Yvonne Dupuis!’

Rebecca could feel the colour drain out of her face as Piers came into the room, looking tall, and lean, and dark, in a white dinner jacket, a maroon handkerchief in his pocket showing a splash of colour. With him was one of the most beautiful women Rebecca had ever seen, although she was by no means young. Rebecca judged her age to be anywhere between thirty-five and forty-five, and there were strands of grey in her lustrous dark hair. Even so, she was immaculately elegant, and the slenderness of her figure owed nothing to clever upholstering. In a gown of silver grey crepe that moulded her body lovingly, a darker grey cape across her shoulders, she looked magnificent, and Rebecca glanced swiftly at Adele to note her reactions.

But to her surprise, Adele seemed not at all perturbed, and her greeting left Rebecca in no doubt that she had expected this second guest. Rebecca herself felt confused. Exactly why had Adele made such a thing about her joining them when she had known that Piers St. Clair was bringing a guest? And why hadn’t she warned Rebecca that her brother-in-law would not be alone? Rebecca compressed her lips, wondering what distorted enjoyment Adele expected to get out of this situation. Had she sensed her nurse’s interest in Piers and chosen this way to show her how hopeless were any aspirations in that direction? Surely she must know that Rebecca was aware of that herself. Or did she? Either way, tonight was going to be infinitely more difficult to endure.

While Adele chattered to Yvonne Dupuis, leaving Rebecca to realise that the two women had known one another for many years, Piers, after a smiling greeting to his sister-in-law, made his way to Rebecca’s side.

‘Bonsoir, mademoiselle,’ he murmured, regarding her with his intensely dark eyes. ‘I wondered whether you would be permitted to join us.’

Rebecca’s first instinct was to make some excuse and move away from him, but to do so would be tantamount to admitting her nervousness of him, so instead she said: ‘Miss St. Cloud insisted. Unfortunately, I am not in a position to choose.’

His eyes narrowed slightly. ‘Why do you persist in behaving so childishly?’ he enquired, in a low tone. ‘It is not becoming.’

Rebecca looked across at Adele who looked up at that moment and said: ‘Shall we have a drink? Rebecca, will you get them? By the way, Yvonne, this is my nurse, Rebecca Lindsay. Rebecca, Mademoiselle Dupuis and I were at school together.’

Adele’s tone was so light and pleasant, that Rebecca had no choice but to go and shake hands with the French woman and then ask her what she would like to drink. At the cocktail cabinet, her fingers were all thumbs, and after she had dropped a small bottle of dry ginger with a disturbing clatter on the glass surface, she felt Piers join her, and take the offending bottle out of her hands.

Deftly, and without spilling a drop, Piers dealt with their individual requests, and after handing Rebecca the bitter lemon she had insisted upon having, he poured himself rather a stiff measure of brandy.

‘Cognac, mademoiselle,’ he remarked, as Rebecca watched him swirling the amber-coloured liquid round in its balloon glass. ‘If ever I need it, it restores my—what would you say—equilibre?’

‘Equilibrium,’ said Rebecca, rather flatly, looking down into her own glass.

‘Ah, oui, equilibrium!’ He half smiled. ‘You understand?’

Rebecca compressed her lips. ‘I would not have thought anything would disturb your—equilibrium,’ she replied. ‘You seem superbly confident to me.’

His eyes searched her face, lingering disturbingly on her mouth for a long moment. ‘But then—you do not know me very well—yet,’ he commented softly.

Rebecca turned away. She would not listen to him, and as luck would have it Rosa came in at that moment to announce that dinner was served. Piers took charge of Adele’s chair, making her laugh as they walked ahead of Rebecca and the French woman into the dining room.

The meal was silent for Rebecca. Round a table it was so much easier for Adele to talk equally to both her guests and in consequence Rebecca was left to herself. She didn’t mind. Indeed, it was easier that way, but she longed to escape from all of them.

Coffee was served in the lounge, and the windows were thrust wide to let in the cool evening air. Mesh screens prevented the hundreds of moths and insects from penetrating to the attraction of the lamplight, and it was very pleasant to relax there. But after drinking her coffee, Rebecca rose and said:

‘If you don’t mind, I’ll leave you now. I—I have some reports to attend to. And I have rather a headache, too.’

Adele frowned. ‘Now, Rebecca,’ she said impatiently, ‘no report is that urgent. And as for your headache, I should think a walk round the garden would cure that. I’m sure Monsieur St. Clair would accompany you.’ Her gaze rested momentarily on Piers who had risen too.

Rebecca coloured brilliantly. What was Adele trying to do? Why should she suggest that Piers St. Clair should accompany her on a walk round the garden? She had never shown any interest in her nurse’s welfare before.

‘Thank you, but—–’ she began, when Piers said: ‘Adele is right. The night air would do you more good than sitting in your room. I’m sure Yvonne and Adele can find plenty to talk about.’