A Distant Sound Of Thunder

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.’

Yvonne leaned forward and put her hand on his arm, attracting his attention. ‘Let Nurse Lindsay decide for herself, chéri,’ she murmured insinuatively. ‘She may be tired.’

Rebecca watched that interchange with reluctance. Exactly what relationship did Yvonne Dupuis have with him? From the intimacy of her expression, Rebecca could only think the worst. Seizing upon Yvonne’s words, she nodded vigorously.

‘Yes, that’s it,’ she asserted. ‘I—I am tired. I’d like to go to bed.’

Adele’s expression was hard. ‘And what about me, young woman? You forget—your duties are not yet over for the evening.’

Rebecca hesitated. ‘I’m sure Rosa wouldn’t mind helping you—as she has done on those evenings when I have been out.’ Only twice had she been out in the evening, and that was when Dr. Manson’s wife had invited her for dinner.

Short of appearing a fractious employer, there was nothing Adele could do, and ignoring Piers’ contemptuous gaze, Rebecca wished them all goodnight, and sought the comparative sanctuary of her room. She knew Adele would make her pay for thwarting her in this manner, but right now she couldn’t have cared less …

CHAPTER THREE (#ulink_a5a37cb8-a67d-5cc1-b314-53a6a9676ab6)

THE following morning Rebecca did not go down to swim as usual. In the early hours she was awakened by Adele calling weakly for her and throwing on her dressing gown she hurried to her employer’s room.

Adele was lying across the bed. She had obviously been to the bathroom but had collapsed on her way back and was now panting for breath, pressing a hand to her chest as though to break the pain which seemed to be tearing her apart.

Rebecca helped her on to the bed properly, and then hurried to the bathroom cabinet. A few minutes later, with the aid of a drug, and Rebecca’s soothing presence, Adele began to look more normal, and Rebecca ran to telephone for Dr. Manson.

When the elderly doctor arrived he endorsed everything Rebecca had done and chided Adele for behaving so recklessly the day before. ‘You should know by now that you cannot spend the whole day in a state of excitement, my dear,’ he told her, shaking his head reprovingly. ‘And then to eat the kind of rich food Rebecca tells me you have eaten …’ He sighed. ‘It’s lucky you have Rebecca here. I don’t know what might have happened …’

Adele, gradually recovering from the paralysing attack, gave her nurse an impatient look. ‘I’m all right,’ she said ungraciously. ‘There was no need to call you at all. Rebecca coped with everything that was needed. She only wanted to let you know that I’d been disobedient. God! I wish I was free of this—this—dependence!’

Dr. Manson looked at her compassionately. ‘Now you know as well as I do that you’ll never be free,’ he said quietly, ‘and it’s something you’ve got to live with, it’s something you’ve got to accept and take into account at all times. You’ve lived with it long enough to know that.’

Adele’s expression was bitter. ‘I’ve lived with it all my life!’ she exclaimed, in a tortured voice.

Dr. Manson turned away, looking helplessly at Rebecca, and Rebecca gave an imperceptible nod of her head. They were both aware of the dangers of the depression Adele was sinking into now that the attack was over.

After the doctor had gone, Rebecca gave Adele a sedative. The older woman objected, but Rebecca used the hypodermic and presently Adele closed her eyes and gave in to the inertia that was creeping over her. After she was asleep, Rebecca cleared the room, tidying away the garments which Rosa had left about the floor. In all honesty, she felt a terrible sense of guilt about the whole affair. Maybe she should have stayed up. Maybe she should have seen Adele into bed herself. Maybe she would have noticed the tell-tale signs that heralded an attack.

So many maybes, and none of them certain. Adele had seemed perfectly all right all evening, and might have been perfectly all right all night, too, if she had not got up to go to the bathroom. No doubt the rich food and the small quantity of drink she had consumed had been responsible for that little journey.

Sighing, she left the bedroom and went to her own room to get dressed. It was already after seven and there was no point in going back to bed. Adele might need her.

When she was dressed she went to the kitchen and begged some coffee from Rosa. The dark-skinned housekeeper looked anxious and asked troubled questions about her employer. Rebecca reassured her, and then said:

‘Did she seem all right when you put her to bed last night?’

Rosa considered. ‘I think so, miss. She wasn’t flushed or anything. Just tired, that’s all. I saw that she took her tablet like you told me, miss, and she seemed fine!’

Rebecca smiled. ‘That’s okay, Rosa. Don’t worry any more. She’s going to be as awkward as usual in a day or two. But she’ll have to stay in bed for today and possibly tomorrow, too. Dr. Manson said so.’

‘Yes, miss.’ Rosa handed her a mug of steamingly aromatic coffee. ‘Are you recovered this morning? Monsieur St. Clair told me you had a headache and had gone to bed.’

Rebecca coloured. ‘Monsieur St. Clair? When did you see him?’

‘He helped me to put Adele to bed before they left, miss.’

‘Oh! Oh, I see.’ Rebecca bit her lip. ‘Were they late in leaving?’ She had not heard the car, but possibly that was because her room was away from the drive.

‘Not very, miss. Soon after you went to bed really.’

Rebecca nodded, and taking the coffee she walked to the wide kitchen windows which looked out on the tropical plantation-like growth which encroached almost to the lawn at the back of the house. There was a bitter-sweet ache inside her which could not be denied. Why did Piers St. Clair affect her like this? Why couldn’t she just put him out of her mind altogether?

Adele’s unexpected illness at least prevented her from exerting too much effort in her condemnation of Rebecca’s actions on the night of the dinner party. When she was fit enough to talk normally towards the end of the following day she merely contented herself with some sneering comments about Rebecca’s inadequacy, and Piers St. Clair’s name was not mentioned. Even so, Rebecca had the distinct impression that Adele chose not to bring his name into it for some devious reasons of her own, and she wished she knew a little more of what her employer was thinking.

Adele objected strongly to having to stay in bed, but perhaps the attack had served a purpose in that it had made her a little more chary of disobeying her doctor’s instructions, and she remained where she was. Rebecca’s job was a little harder in consequence, as she had to do everything for her, including giving her a blanket bath, and although Adele was thin her bones were heavy and required all Rebecca’s strength to lift her.

By the evening of the second day after the attack, Adele seemed almost normal, and Rebecca took the opportunity to go down for a swim after she had settled her employer down for the night. It was the first opportunity she had had to leave the villa, for the previous evening she had been too conscious of the possible dangers of a second attack.

It was a beautiful evening, and Rebecca put on her white bikini and her beach jacket, and ran eagerly across the grass and down the slope to the beach. The air was soft and velvety, and the sky above was a dome of midnight blue studded with diamonds.

Shedding the beach jacket, she allowed the wavelets to ripple round her toes, their chill wholly welcoming after the heat of the day. Then she plunged into the water, and swam strongly out to where she could no longer reach the bottom with her toes. Her limbs felt revitalised as the damp heat of the day was washed away, and she spread her legs and floated, staring up into the arc of sky above.

When she swam back to the shore, she felt cool and refreshed, and shedding her wet bikini she put on the beach jacket, wrapping it closely about her. But even as she did so, she heard the sound of a twig being trampled underfoot, and she swung round in startled expectation. The figure of a man emerged from the shadows of the palms, and her first instinct was to run, but although she was trembling, she stood her ground.

‘Are you aware that you are trespassing?’ she enquired, summoning all her confidence. ‘This is a private beach!’

‘And you are crazy bathing here alone!’ snapped a husky voice, with an unmistakable accent. ‘Mon Dieu, Rebecca, have you no sense?’

Rebecca stared up at Piers St. Clair with mutinous eyes. ‘Have—have you been spying on me?’ she asked tremulously.

Piers uttered an exclamation in his own language. ‘Of course I have not been ‘‘spying’’ on you. I admit I came here in the hope that I might see you, but the sight of the naked female frame is no novelty to me!’ His tone was hard and angry. ‘God in heaven, Rebecca, what would you have done if I had been an intruder? Do you imagine you could offer any defence, dressed like that?’

‘This—this is a private beach,’ she said again, shakily.

‘But it is not sealed off, is it?’ Piers raised his eyes skyward. ‘You constantly enrage me! When I speak to you—when I attempt to be friendly with you, you turn on me like a—a—she-cat! Yet you come here, alone, without taking any precautions for your own safety!’ He snapped his fingers angrily. ‘I—I lose patience with you!’

‘I don’t—recall asking for your indulgence!’ said Rebecca shortly. ‘Now, if you’ll stand out of my way—–’

Piers stood still, staring down at her, and when she moved to walk round him, he moved also, blocking her path. Rebecca looked up at him angrily, using her anger as a shield against his undoubted attraction.

‘Please!’ she said tightly. ‘Get out of my way!’

Piers stared at her for a long moment, and then without a word, stepped out of her path. The relief was such that Rebecca found it incredibly difficult to move at all. But at last, on rather stiff legs, she walked up the beach and crossed the grass to the villa. She didn’t look back, but she was aware of his eyes upon her the whole of the way.

The next few days passed uneventfully. Adele improved considerably and was able to get up and about again. Rebecca knew she had had a telephone call from Piers, but what he had said she was not to know. Later in the week, Adele deemed it necessary to inform her that her brother-in-law had gone to Lautoka, but if she expected some reaction from Rebecca she was disappointed. Rebecca had schooled herself not to show any emotion, and consequently Adele soon grew tired of baiting her.

At the end of the week, Rebecca surprised Adele making a telephone call herself; surprised because Adele always had Rebecca get her calls for her. However, as Adele obviously wanted privacy, Rebecca left her, but she could not help wondering who she had been calling so secretly.

Two afternoons later, after Rebecca had settled Adele down for her nap, Piers St. Clair made another appearance. He came walking into the wide tiled hall, just as Rebecca was gathering the dead flowers from their vases preparatory to adding new ones. In cream pants and a navy silk shirt that hung open, he looked cool and dark, while Rebecca, in her high collared uniform dress, was feeling the heat of the day.

‘Oh,’ she said, when she saw him. ‘I—I didn’t hear the car.’