No Time For Love (Bantam Series No. 40) (11 page)

Then she would imagine she was flying away into the blue of the sky and into the arms of Apollo who would hold her dose. When there was no longer any life, there would be no fear either.

“What are you thinking about?” Wynstan asked suddenly, breaking in on her thoughts.

They were sitting outside the Villa on the terrace where the servants had brought them cool drinks and the fragrance of the flowers was almost overwhelming.

“I was thinking ... of death!” Larina said without choosing her words.

“Pompeii has upset you,” he said. “Forget about it. Tomorrow you will see the loveliness of Ischia. It too has a volcanic mountain, but it has never been known to erupt. Instead it has luxuriant vineyards, olive groves, pine forests and the chestnut trees are very beautiful. We will sit and drink the island’s delicious wine and talk about life.”

“That would be
...
lovely!” Larina said.

But he felt there was still a shadow in her grey eyes. Bending towards her he said in a voice which women always found irresistible:

“Will you not tell me what worries you?”

Larina shook her head.

“I am waiting for
...
Elvin.”

“Supposing, after all, Elvin cannot come?”

He saw that she was startled and went on choosing his words with care:

“He may have been taken ill on the journey. He may have found it too much for him. It is a long way for him to travel.”

“Yes, of course, I thought of that. But Mr. Donaldson said he had had a cable from him saying he would definitely meet me here.”

“And the idea pleased you?”

“It was what I wanted more than anything else in the world—to be with Elvin at this moment.”

“Why particularly at this moment?”

Larina did not answer and after a moment Wynstan said: “I asked you a question, Larina. Why particularly at this moment?”

There was a pause, then she said:

“Did I say that? I was thinking of his being here ... of our being together. That is what I meant.”

Wynstan had the feeling she was not telling him the truth.

Suddenly Larina said in a voice that was tense and agitated:

“He must come! If anything had prevented him he would have sent a cable! We should have heard by now! Surely he will arrive tomorrow?”

There was a note of tension, of despair in her voice and Wynstan looked at her in a puzzled manner.

Even if she were having Elvin’s child, why should there be so much urgency for her to see him?

If she meant him to marry her, there was plenty of time before there was any chance of the child being born.

And if it was not a baby which was troubling her, then what could it be?

Because he could see she was not far from tears he said soothingly:

“Perhaps we shall have news of Elvin tomorrow, but there is nothing we can do just now.”

“No, of course not,” Larina said with an effort. “I am being foolish! It is just that I was ... so looking forward to seeing him ... I felt you would understand.”

Wynstan told himself he did not understand, but there was no point at the moment in saying so.

He felt he was being rather dilatory in not pressing Larina further, in not finding out about Elvin’s letters, and most of all about what she wished to tell his brother.

But he found it difficult deliberately to sweep away the happiness in her face and to see it replaced by an expression to which he could not put a name, but which seemed to him to be something near terror.

As he talked quietly to her of other things, gradually he realised that Larina had recovered her composure, and when they both went to change for dinner she was laughing.

Dinner was once again a superb meal. They had finished it and moved into the Drawing-Room where Wynstan began to look for some photographs to show Larina of what the Villa had looked like before his grandfather started to rebuild it.

As he was searching for them there was suddenly the sound outside of a carriage and horses.

Wynstan went to the window which overlooked the front of the house and saw a large, private brougham had drawn up at the front door. Out of it were getting several people, among them a woman in an evening-gown.

“Who is it?” Larina asked. “Could it be Elvin?”

“No,” Wynstan replied. “It is visitors. I do not think they should find you here. It would be difficult to explain why you have no Chaperon.”

Larina looked at him and said quickly:

“Yes, you are right! I will go upstairs.”

As she spoke Wynstan realised that the guests, whoever they might be, had already been let into the house by the servants.

He had given no instructions to turn callers away and the Italians, who were always hospitable, would show anyone who arrived into the Drawing-Room.

“You will be seen,” he said to Larina. “Go by the garden—I will get rid of them quickly!”

Without a word Larina ran across the room and out of the open window into the garden.

The stars had come out while they were talking, the moon was climbing up the sky, and it was not dark.

She had only to walk along the terrace to find another door into the Villa, but she stopped and hesitated.

Then she started up the path which climbed to the Temple.

When she was free of the lights of the house she stopped again to move from the steps, to amongst the azaleas. She sat down on the ground so that the shrubs reached above her head.

Through the flowers she could see the lights pouring from the windows of the Drawing-Room onto the terrace and she wondered if she would catch a glimpse of Wynstan’s guests.

She was curious—very curious!

Wynstan waiting in the Drawing-Room heard voices coming down the corridor. Then the first person to enter the room was the Contessa Spinello whom he had known in Rome and had also met in Monte Carlo the previous year.

She was dark, vivacious, very lovely, and with diamonds glittering round her neck and in her ears she seemed to sparkle as she ran across the room towards him and raised her face to his.

“Wynstan—it is true!” she cried in her fascinating broken English. “I heard you had arrived, but I did not believe it!”

“It is delightful to see you Nicole,” Wynstan answered, “but who told you I was here?”

“Do you not suppose that the whole of Sorrento is talking about the Vanderfelds having opened their Villa again after so many years? And that a Vanderfeld
‘
molto bello
’
had arrived. Who could that be but you?”

“Who indeed?” Wynstan replied with an amused smile. He held out his hand to her brother who with two other men had followed the Contessa into the room.

“How are you, Antonio?” he asked. “It is nice to see you again.”

“I did not believe it, but I hoped you were here,” Antonio answered. “When we bought a Villa on the other side of Sorrento three years ago, we were told that the Vanderfelds never visited such an unfashionable neighbourhood!”

“It must be fashionable if you are living here!” Wynstan said.

“Did I not tell you that he always says the right thing?” the Contessa enquired of the two other men who were waiting to be introduced, and who were both Italians.

Wynstan shook hands with them, then the Contessa said: “You must come and visit us immediately, Wynstan. What about dinner tomorrow? Chuck is arriving from Rome—you remember Chuck? You were at college with him.”

“Chuck Kennedy? Of course I remember,” Wynstan agreed. “But I will have to let you know about dinner.”

“If not tomorrow—the next night,” the Contessa insisted. “I will not take no for an answer! I want you to see our delightful Villa, although naturally it does not compare with yours!”

“How is your motor-boat, Antonio?” Wynstan enquired. “I have just had my new ‘Napier Minor’ delivered.”

“What is it like?” Antonio enquired.

“I tried it out today and it seemed excellent!” Wynstan replied.

“Now stop talking about motor-boats, both of you,” the Contessa ordered, “and talk about me! Wynstan is the love of my life and I cannot bear his predilection for mechanical objects!”

“Shall I tell you you are looking more beautiful than ever?” Wynstan enquired. “I expect that is what you really want to hear.”

“But of course I do!” she smiled at him. “No-one can say such nice things as you, and even though they are insincere one believes them.”

“Why should you doubt my sincerity?” Wynstan asked.

“Because there is a little twist to your lips, a look in your eyes, that belies everything you say,” the Contessa replied. “Nevertheless I believe what I want to believe—it makes me happy!”

“That is a very good philosophy,” one of the Italians remarked. “I wish I could do the same.”

“Try it,” the Contessa replied.

She flashed a flirtatious glance over her shoulder and walked through the open window out onto the terrace.

“Oh—your garden!” she exclaimed. “We have a dozen gardeners struggling to create one for our Villa, but it will never look like this!”

Wynstan followed her out and now Larina could see them standing in the light from the room behind them.

She could see the fashionable outline of the woman’s gown, the jewels sparkling round her neck and on her wrists and it was impossible not to notice the way she turned her face enticingly towards Wynstan’s.

Then the Contessa glanced back to see that her brother and his friends had not followed her, and slipping her arm through Wynstan’s she drew him away from the open window along the terrace and nearer to where Larina was hiding.

“I have missed you, Wynstan,” she said in a soft tone. “I had thought you might have come to Rome this winter. As you did not, I have been praying we would meet in Monte Carlo, but again you disappointed me!”

“You must forgive me,” Wynstan said, “’but I have been on a visit to India and actually arrived back in America only a week or so ago.”

“Then you came here. Why?”

“I had a reason,” Wynstan replied evasively, “and now the Villa has been opened up again I am sorry I have not been here before.”

“But you will come again—and anyway, you are here now!” the Contessa answered. “We must see a lot of each other.”

“Your husband is with you?” Wynstan enquired.

“He is in Florence,” the Contessa replied. “That is what makes it so perfect!”

She lifted her face to Wynstan’s and Larina watching knew that she expected him to kiss her.

She was sitting amongst the azaleas spellbound by what was happening below her.

She had not imagined that two people could look so attractive, Wynstan with his broad shoulders and narrow hips like the god she thought he resembled, and the Contessa with her raven-black hair which grew in a widow’s-peak on her oval forehead.

Her dark eyes seemed to flash in the darkness and Larina saw she had long, pointed fingers as she placed them on Wynstan’s shoulder and pressed herself against him.

He glanced towards the Drawing-Room window.

“We must go back.”

“Why?” the Contessa asked. “Antonio knows I want to be with you. I love you, Wynstan—I have never forgotten the happiness we found together! Have you?”

“No, of course not.”

“You are tired of me,” the Contessa said. “Is there someone else? But that is a stupid question!”

She made a sound of exasperation and went on:

“There is always somebody else where you are concerned. Always, always! And yet I believed you could come back to me because our love must have meant as much to you as it did to me.”

“You are very beautiful and very attractive,” Wynstan
said, “but, Nicole, you cannot expect me to believe there have not been a dozen men to take my place.”

“Dozens!” the Contessa said lightly, “but none of them were you—none of them had that power to excite me in the way you did.”

“You flatter me!” Wynstan said and there was a note of laughter in his voice.

Then as if she was tired of talking the Contessa put her arms round his neck and drew his head down to hers.

He kissed her. It was a long kiss.

Then firmly, with his arm around her shoulders, Wynstan drew her back towards the Drawing-Room and in through the lighted window.

Larina realised she was holding her breath.

She had never before seen two people kissing each other passionately. She had never seen a man holding a woman so that they were locked together by love.

It gave her a strange feeling within her breast—a feeling she did not understand.

Yet there had been something in the angle of Wynstan’s head, the manner his lips had met the Contessa’s, the closeness of their bodies against each other, which made her feel she watched something momentous taking place.

But the Contessa was married!

Then Larina told herself this was the way fashionable people behaved. She had read about it, she had heard people talk of the King’s flirtations and the behaviour of the ‘Marlborough House Set’.

But reading and listening were very different from seeing, and in particular from watching Wynstan, with whom she had spent the day, kiss somebody so lovely and attractive as the woman who had been with him on the terrace.

It was no concern of hers!

“No-one will ever kiss me like that!” Larina whispered and it was a cry of despair.