Part 3 (2/2)

She was hardly aware of him coming to join her, until his weight disturbed the sand beside her, and she permitted herself the knowledge that he was standing beside her.

'I'm sorry if you were upset,' he said quietly, and ridiculously, his apology moved her to tears.

'It doesn't matter,' she mumbled into her knees, but he must have discerned the break in her voice, and he uttered an expletive before coming down on his haunches beside her.

He remained there silently for several seconds just looking at her, and eventually she felt compelled to look at him. He was very close, his skin still damp with sea water, smelling slightly of the salt. There was hair on his arms and legs, fine dark hair, the ends bleached golden by the sun. She knew the strongest impulse to put out her hand and stroke the taut muscles of his thigh, to feel that smooth brown skin beneath her fingers. She didn't seem capable of lifting her eyes, and with another exclamation he got to his feet.

'Do you want to swim?' he demanded roughly, and she dug her chin into her knees before replying.

Then, brus.h.i.+ng a careless hand across her cheeks, she got to her feet, shaking her head. 'No.' She bent to pick up her jeans. 'But don't let me stop you.'

'No, I won't do that,' he muttered bitterly, and without another word began to pull his pants on over his wet trunks.

- Catherine bit her lip. 'Oughtn't you to take those off?' she asked, and his eyes bored coldly into hers.

'I suppose you'd like to help me!' he remarked harshly, and although her colour deepened, she didn't flinch from the challenge.

'If you'd like me to,' she countered steadily, and he uttered a sound of disgust.

'It would be no novelty to you, I suppose!'

'It never was-a novelty, I mean,' she murmured, and then concluded by despising herself as he strode angrily away.

It was, amazingly, barely nine o'clock when they arrived back at the house. Jared parked the car on the sweep of drive before the now open front doors, and leaving Catherine to fend for herself, walked grimly indoors. But when she followed him a few moments later, she found he had encountered his stepmother in the hall, and she was gently reproving him for disappearing so early in the day. This morning Elizabeth Royal was dressed in a cream silk s.h.i.+rt and well-cut riding breeches, narrow black boots completing a picture of diminutive elegance. Jared had apparently not yet told her that he had not been alone, and when Catherine appeared, Elizabeth's eyes widened in arrant disbelief.

Catherine found herself waiting for the inevitable comment about her condition, but it didn't come. Instead, Elizabeth ignored her, turning to her stepson and saying: 'I don't understand, Jared. I thought you had been to the beach.'

'I have.' Jared's eyes had the coldness of marble in their depths when they encountered Catherine's. 'She-Miss Fulton, that is-came with me.'

It seemed ridiculous that he should go on calling her Miss Fulton when their exchanges were so much less than polite. Elizabeth seemed to think nothing of it, and yet she had addressed their guest as Catherine. But then perhaps she preferred that they remain formal with one another, thought Catherine, with a return of her cynicism of the afternoon before.

Now Elizabeth was forced to acknowledge the girl's presence, and again Catherine waited for the expected denunciation. But Elizabeth merely gave her the faintest of smiles, and said rather stiffly: 'How fortunate you were not to get your hair wet.' She looked at her stepson and stretched up her hand to touch the virile darkness of his. 'Yours is soaking, darling.'

Catherine found her nails were digging rather painfully into her palms. 'I-I didn't swim, Mrs Royal.' Impossible to call her Elizabeth at this moment. 'I just-watched Jared.'

Jared turned away to the stairs. 'Excuse me.'

'What about your breakfast?' His stepmother's voice followed him plaintively.

Jared paused and looked down. 'I'l get something later. Have Susie make me some coffee. I'm not particularly hungry.'

Elizabeth's lips tightened as he disappeared through a door off the gallery, and it was with an obvious effort that she forced herself to be civil to their guest.

'Are you hungry, Catherine? Of course, you must be.' Catherine stiffened, and then relaxed once more as her hostess went on: 'You didn't have any dinner last evening.'

Following Elizabeth across the hall, and into a small, sunlit morning room, where a circular table was laid with a white cloth, Catherine apologised. 'I must have been tireder than I imagined. I had a bath, and I don't remember much after that.'

Elizabeth's smile was a shade easier. 'No. Well, never mind. It's always best to get over jet lag at the earliest opportunity. And we quite understood. Jared sent one of the servants to make sure you were all right.'

'You're very kind.' But what else had Jared told her?

'Not at all. We want you to feel that this is your home-for the next six months anyway.' Catherine had to smile: at the way this was hastily tacked on, limiting their generosity. 'We-Jared and I, that is-want you to relax here.'

Catherine wasn't quite sure that she liked the coupling of their names. While it was physically obvious that Elizabeth could not be a lot older than her stepson, culturally speaking they should be poles apart. Elizabeth had been married for twelve years to a man at least twenty years her senior, while Jared had never experienced the total commitment of such a relations.h.i.+p. And yet Elizabeth spoke as if they were equals, sharing a common interest.

Susie appeared, and Elizabeth told Catherine to order whatever she liked. She had already eaten, she said, but she joined her guest for coffee, and remained with her while she ate fresh fruit and cereal, rolls and apricot conserve. Catherine would nave preferred to be alone. She needed time to a.s.similate her position here. But Elizabeth had evidently decided to apprise her of the normal running of the household.

'We breed racehorses,' she said. 'Did Jared mention it to you?'

Catherine shook her head. 'We have quite a successful record.'

She waved a careless hand towards the windows. 'You must have seen the horses in the paddock.'

Catherine put a slice of honey-sweet peach into her mouth and nodded, wiping her sticky fingers on her table napkin. 'I did see the horses, yes. But I didn't realise...' She shrugged. 'I thought Jared-painted.'

Elizabeth gave a light, patronising laugh. 'Oh, my dear, he does.

And very successfully, too. But the horses-they were his father's pride and joy.'

'I see.'

'When James-that was Jared's father's name'-Catherine noticed she did not say my husband, 'when James died, I took over the stables. We have a very efficient manager, an Irishman by the name of Patrick Donovan, and I like to think that we've continued to maintain the high standard Royal horses have always been noted for.'

Catherine smiled. There was little she could say which would not sound like a cliche. She liked horses. She had ridden frequently when she was a child. But it was some years now since she had mounted any animal. . .unless you could count a camel on a visit with her father to Saudi Arabia!

'Do you ride, Catherine?'

It was a reasonable question, but Catherine realised it had other implications. Was it the kind of question Elizabeth would ask a girl she thought to be pregnant? Or was it perhaps a catch question, intended to draw from her guest the information she had thrown so carelessly at her stepson?

Deciding there was no point in burning her bridges until she had crossed them, Catherine chose the easy way out. 'I have done,'

she conceded. 'But not for years,'

'Then we must find you a mount,' exclaimed Elizabeth, pouring herself more coffee. 'It's the only way to explore the island. We must find you an escort, too. I'm giving a little dinner party tomorrow evening, and I shall invite one or two young men I know who will be enchanted to meet you.'

'Really, that's not necessary.' Catherine made a deprecatory gesture. 'You don't have to entertain me, Mrs Royal.'

'Elizabeth. And I know that, my dear. But- well, I hope you won't take this amiss, but I don't want you making a'-the word nuisance hovered on the tip of her tongue, Catherine could almost see it!-'making things-difficult for Jared.' She hastened on before her guest could intervene. 'This morning, for instance.

Jared goes down to the beach most mornings. It's his--sabbatical time, do you know what I mean? The time when he- when he thinks'-she spread her hands extravagantly-'when he-recharges his batteries, as it were. His work is so demanding. You must appreciate that. He needs time to be alone. No one ever intrudes!'

'I'm sorry.' There didn't seem much else to say. And she could hardly deny being aware of his extreme reluctance to take her!

'I'm sure you meant no harm, my dear.' Elizabeth could afford to be generous now her point had been well and truly made. 'But you'll learn that in this household, we all make allowances for the-how shall I put it?-artistic temperament?'

Catherine finished her breakfast without enjoyment, but Elizabeth, having delivered her little speech, began to excuse herself to go about her own duties.

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