A Distant Sound Of Thunder. Anne MatherЧитать онлайн книгу.
night that the doctor usually called.
The bell rang again, and Rebecca pressed her lips together in annoyance. She would have to answer the door. There was nothing else for it. Thrusting the towel aside, she reached for her housecoat, a silky garment in rather an attractive shade of apricot. Her hair was a tangled mass of curls, and she had no time to comb it now. Smoothing it with a careless hand, she left the bathroom and walked impatiently along the corridor to the front door. In daylight a mesh screen was all that covered the entrance, but tonight the doors were closed and secured and she was loath to open them to admit … who?
She slid back the bolt, turned the key and opened the door a few inches. In the faint light emanating from the hall she could see a tall man waiting outside and for a moment her heart flipped a beat.
‘Yes?’ she murmured tentatively, but to her surprise the man stepped forward, gently but firmly propelling the door back so that he could step into the hall. ‘Just a moment—–’ began Rebecca indignantly, and the man inclined his head with frowning speculation.
‘Your pardon, mademoiselle,’ he exclaimed, his accent unmistakably French. ‘For the moment I mistook you for Adele’s maidservant. My apologies for startling you.’
Rebecca was trying to control the hot flush that was running up her body and engulfing her at the realisation that she was wearing only the clinging apricot gown and this man was standing, regarding her indolently with dark eyes which were nevertheless intense. He was one of the most attractive men Rebecca had ever seen, but this knowledge only added to her confusion.
‘Miss—Miss St. Cloud has retired for the night,’ she informed him uncomfortably. ‘I—I am her nurse.’
The man glanced round the wide hall with inscrutable eyes and then returned his gaze to Rebecca. ‘Ah, so. I should have realised perhaps, but my plane was delayed …’ He lifted his shoulders in a careless gesture. ‘No matter, I will not disturb her now. Will you tell her in the morning that I called?’
Rebecca swallowed hard. ‘Who—who shall I say has called, monsieur?’
The man raised his dark eyebrows for a moment, and then shrugged. ‘Just tell her it was St. Clair, mademoiselle. She will know who that is.’ He studied her flushed cheeks with faint amusement. ‘And you, mademoiselle? Do you have a name?’
‘Er—Lindsay—Nurse Lindsay,’ replied Rebecca jerkily.
He regarded her intently for a moment. ‘Nurse Lindsay,’ he repeated slowly. ‘You have been with Adele long?’
‘Two—two years, monsieur,’ responded Rebecca reluctantly, wishing he would go.
He frowned again. ‘Two years. A long time, mademoiselle. I should imagine my sister-in-law is not the most understanding of patients. And working here—in Fiji—do you not find it lonely? Or have you friends?’
Rebecca objected to this intent questioning, but as she had no idea what his involvement with Adele might be she could hardly be rude to him. ‘I—I am quite happy, thank you, monsieur.’
His dark eyes narrowed with mockery. ‘So formal, mademoiselle. I am embarrassing you, I can see it. I am sorry. You must put my curiosity down to a mere male’s insensitivity. I must apologise again.’
‘That’s not necessary, monsieur.’ Rebecca shivered involuntarily.
At once he was contrite. ‘You are cold, mademoiselle. I will go and contain my curiosity until another day. Au revoir.’
Rebecca’s cheeks burned. She could have said she was far from cold. She could have said that the shiver she had experienced was stimulated by entirely different sensations. But she said nothing, and with a faint smile he stepped outside again.
Rebecca waited until he had taken several steps and then she closed the door behind him, thrusting home the bolt with trembling fingers and leaning back against the cool panels. As she pressed herself against the wood she heard the sound of a powerful engine roar to life, and a few moments later the sound died away along the private track that led to the main road. Only then did she allow herself to relax completely, but the legs on which she walked back to her bedroom were uncomfortably unsteady …
Adele St. Cloud was a woman in her late thirties who looked years older. Born with a heart complaint that had crippled her life and to some extent her mind, she had left England more than ten years ago to make her home in the warmer climate of the south Pacific, taking with her an elderly servant who had served her as both nanny and nurse. Adele’s family were wealthy cloth manufacturers of French descent, living in Somerset, but apart from accepting an allowance as her due she had never got on with them. Maybe her congenital weakness was to blame, or maybe she was just naturally averse to her sisters, in any event when her only remaining parent died she lost no time in making a new life for herself in Fiji. Unfortunately her elderly nurse died some eight years later and in consequence Adele had to advertise for a replacement. And that was how Rebecca came to apply. Looking back on it now, Rebecca wondered whether she would ever have had the courage to travel so far alone if she herself had not wanted to escape from an unhappy situation.
The morning following the visit of the stranger, Rebecca was very thoughtful as she went for her early morning swim. This was the time of day she liked best when she could cast herself into the creaming waters of the lagoon and pretend the day ahead of her would not be filled with the constant demands of a fractious, unhappy woman.
As usual the water was still warm from the heat of the previous day but refreshing at this early hour. Rebecca shed her towelling jacket and ran into the water. In a white bikini, her skin tanned an even brown, she looked young and healthy, and she knew she had a lot to be thankful for. She swam strongly out to where the water deepened to dappled green and turning on to her back floated for a while, her hair spread like seaweed around her. Her eyes surveyed the shoreline, the darkness of the palms casting patches of shade in an oasis of gold. This was her particular sanctuary, for no one ever came here. The beach belonged to the villa, and as Adele never used it Rebecca had come to regard it as her own. The only sounds were the cries of the seabirds wheeling overhead and the distant thunder of the breakers over the coral reef.
When she returned to the villa she felt completely relaxed and ready to face the day and after breakfasting in the kitchen with Rosa, the Fijian housekeeper, she collected Adele’s tray and went to wake her.
Adele was already awake when Rebecca went into her room. Lounging back against the silk-covered pillows she looked pale and languid. Her naturally fair colouring was given an artificial brittleness by the coarse brilliance of her hair which she persisted in bleaching and without make-up her skin was unhealthily white. Rebecca, seeing her like this, could not help but feel pity for her even though she knew that Adele would not appreciate such sentiments.
‘Good morning, Miss St. Cloud,’ Rebecca said now, crossing cheerfully to the bed and placing the tray across Adele’s knees. ‘Did you have a good night?’
Adele sniffed, regarding her nurse contemptuously. ‘No, I slept badly,’ she said, lifting the lid of the coffee pot and peering inside. ‘Those new tablets Dr. Manson gave me are not as good as the others. It took me hours to get to sleep and then I tossed and turned—–’
‘You tossed and turned for hours?’ Rebecca frowned rather resignedly. ‘You surprise me, Miss St. Cloud. I thought you must have gone straight to sleep. After all, you didn’t hear the bell, did you?’
‘Bell? What bell? The telephone bell?’
Rebecca shook her head. ‘The door bell.’
Adele’s brows drew together. ‘We had a visitor last evening?’
‘Yes. Just after you had gone to—bed.’
Adele snapped her fingers. ‘Stop baiting me, miss! If I didn’t hear the door bell it must have been because I happened to be dozing at the moment it rang. Go on! Go on! Who was the caller? Dr. Manson? Or old Blackwell?’
‘No,