Folly's Child Page 25

  They walked in silence, the tension growing between them until it was an almost tangible thing. When it became too much to bear he pulled her into the shadow of a doorway, kissing her, running his hands the length of her back, and the tension exploded to a fury of desire. Without a word they turned back towards the hotel. She stood back, waiting, while he got the keys, and her whole body was on fire with longing.

  ‘Your room or mine?’ he asked roughly.

  ‘Mine.’ She rumbled her key into his hand.

  He unlocked the door and the moment it closed after them they were in each other’s arms. He began unfastening her blouse and simultaneously her fingers were busy with the buttons of his shirt.

  Her breasts were bare, nipples thrusting at the thin silk. He freed them, burying his face in them, sliding her skin down over her hips. Her body arched towards his, aching with wanting him. Earlier she had dumped her wet clothes unceremoniously on the bed, now he swept them to the floor and turned back the covers, lifting her bodily and laying her down on the cool cotton sheet. She lay in an ecstasy of total abandon watching him undress and loving every line of his muscular body. She held out her arms and he came to her without preamble for they were already past the point where they could sustain the waiting a moment longer. For a brief agonising moment the suspense mounted to unbearable proportions, then he was in her and nothing in the world existed beyond the united movement of their charged bodies.

  Too soon it was over. They lay entwined, skin damp with perspiration, Tom’s hand still cupping her breast. She ran a hand down his long hard thigh muscle, enjoying the delicious languour of passion satisfied, glowing with an inner happiness she had never before experienced in the aftermath of love making.

  I believe I love him! she thought and suddenly longed to say so, to whisper it into his shoulder and shout it to the world. But something held her back, some echo of her former self. The emotion was new and so was the desire to share it and she felt shy suddenly and oddly defensive. Better to cherish this moment and hug it to herself. Later there would be plenty of time to tell him how she felt.

  The languour crept up her limbs; her eyelids felt heavy. She was almost, but not quite, asleep, when the telephone rang.

  Startled she reached for it and heard the receptionist’s voice, energetic Darwin as opposed to laid-back Sydney, with each sentence ending on a raised note.

  ‘Would Mr O’Neill be with you by any chance? There’s a call for him from London and I’ve been ringing his room but there’s no reply.’

  ‘Yes, he’s here.’ Harriet transferred the telephone to her other hand, holding it towards him. ‘Tom – it’s for you.’

  Instead of relieving her of the receiver he got up and reached for his slacks.

  ‘I’ll take it in my own room.’

  His businesslike manner was in such contrast to the intimacy of a few minutes before that she felt ridiculously hurt at the sudden exclusion. She watched him go out the door and lifted the receiver to her ear again to check that the call had been transferred. As she did so she heard the click of his extension being picked up but instead of her own line going dead she heard a girl’s voice with a broad Cockney accent say: ‘Boss? It’s Karen. Sorry if I interrupted something but you did say ring any time.’

  ‘That’s right, I did. And you didn’t really interrupt anything.’

  ‘Whew, thank goodness for that! When I realised you were in her room I thought I might have caught you at just the moment when she was going to spill the beans. After all, you did say you were going to try and catch her when her guard was down, didn’t you? Is that what you were up to?’

  ‘Something like that.’

  ‘Hmm, trust you, boss, to manage to mix business with pleasure. Perhaps you don’t need my info any more. Perhaps you’ve already found out everything you need to know from her …’

  ‘Karen,’ Tom said sharply. ‘This is a long-distance call, very long distance, and it is charged by the minute. If you don’t want your wages docked just get on and tell me what you’ve found out, OK?’

  ‘OK.’ She sounded disgruntled. ‘ I’ve been checking on the movements of the Varna family at the time of the accident.’ Her voice was eager; instinctively he knew she had unearthed something and the sixth sense that made him a good investigator began to jangle like the trip wire of a booby trap.

  ‘And?’

  ‘All very much as you’d expect. Except that …’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘A couple of months after it was all over Sally, Paula’s sister, went to Italy. She’d gone haring off to the States from her home in London when the news broke, taking her son with her, and moved in with the family. Then quite suddenly she buzzed off on her own. To Italy.’

  ‘Perhaps she wanted to see for herself the place her sister sailed from on that last fateful cruise.’

  ‘Perhaps. But Hugo didn’t go – and she didn’t take her son either. And she didn’t go to Positano. From my investigations it appears she went to the Aeolie Islands. They’re a group of small islands off the toe of Italy, north of Sicily.’

  ‘I know where they are,’ Tom said a trifle impatiently. ‘They are where Aeolus, King of the Islands, gave Odysseus the bag of wind to speed him back across the sea to Ithaca.’

  ‘Pardon?’ Karen said blankly.

  ‘Homer’s Odyssey. Didn’t you do it at school? Anyway, never mind your classical ignorance. It’s Sally Varna I’m interested in, not Odysseus. Which island did she go to?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ Karen confessed. ‘I haven’t been able to find out. But if she intended to have a holiday there she didn’t stay long. A couple of days later she was on her way back to New York and a week or so later she was flying to London.’

  ‘Going home?’

  ‘Again, she didn’t take her child, and again she was gone only a few days. In the six months following she went to London three times – all short visits.’

  ‘But she didn’t go back to Italy, again?’

  ‘No, not as far as I can make out. I don’t know if it means anything, boss, but I thought you ought to know.’

  ‘Thanks, Karen. Stick with it,’ Tom said. There was a click and the line went dead.

  Harriet sat with the telephone still at her ear, shocked into total immobility. She should not have listened to the conversation, of course. She should have replaced the receiver the moment he’d picked his up. But she was only glad she hadn’t. No wonder he hadn’t wanted to take the call here, lying in bed beside her! He had been using her and she had been too stupid to realise it. How could she have allowed herself to be taken in so completely? She’d thought, she’d really thought, that he had felt the way she did and there was something special between them, when all the time … What was the expression that dreadful girl had used? ‘Catch her with her guard down.’ Well he was a convincing worker, not a doubt of it. And she had fallen for it like a naive school girl.

  Suddenly Harriet was furiously angry. What a heel! She slammed down the receiver, pulled on her kimono and picked up Tom’s shirt which was still lying on the floor where he had discarded it. She slammed out of her room and down the corridor to his, throwing the door open without knocking.

  Tom had his back to the door, the fingers of one hand were splayed through his hair as if he were deep in thought. As she threw the door open he spun round, surprised. ‘ Harriet!’

  ‘Yes, Harriet,’ she grated. ‘I’ve brought your shirt.’

  ‘What did you do that for? I was coming back …’

  ‘Oh you were, were you? To see if I could tell you where my aunt went just after the accident and why, I suppose. Well you needn’t bother. I know nothing, Tom – nothing. From the start I’ve levelled with you. And fool that I was I thought you were levelling with me. But you weren’t, were you? You were using me.’

  ‘Did you listen in to my phone call?’ he accused.

  ‘Yes – and thank goodness I did! I never have realised that anyone could stoop so low …’r />
  ‘Harriet, for heaven’s sake, it wasn’t like that!’

  ‘No? Don’t try to pretend, Tom. I’d heard what that girl said. You were trying to catch me when my guard was down. And you didn’t contradict her. God, what a fool you must take me for! I’m only sorry your plan didn’t work. It must have been a great disappointment to you after all the hard work you put in …’ She broke off, trembling with fury and hurt.

  ‘Harriet, listen to me!’

  ‘I think I’ve listened enough, don’t you?’

  ‘No!’ He crossed the room to take her by the forearms. ‘You’ve got it all wrong.’

  She shook herself free. ‘Tell that to your assistant. It seems she’s got it wrong too.’ She flung the shirt at him ‘I’m going to bed now. I suppose I’ll see you in the morning. I still want to get to the bottom of this business whether you believe that or not. And in any case I suppose I’m still dependent on you to get back to Darwin. But don’t ever – ever – try to make a fool of me again, Tom. Because I promise you, it won’t work.’

  She slammed out of the room. But it was only when her own door closed after her that the tears began – hot, angry tears that quickly became tears of hurt and regret for what might have been.

  Tom swore as the door slammed shut after her, crossed to the small refrigerator equipped with miniatures of spirits and mineral water, and poured himself a whisky.

  What a foul-up! Why the hell had he been careless enough to carry on a conversation with Karen without making sure he was not being listened to? An elementary mistake and one he’d made, no doubt, because his mind had not been on the job. Instead he had been thinking about Harriet and the way he felt about her.

  It was a mistake he had never made before, letting personal considerations interfere with professionalism, and it was a measure of the way she had affected him that he had allowed it to happen now.

  Well, thanks to his laxness she had heard the lot and understandably she was mad as hell. Not only did she know her aunt had been involved in some very suspicious comings and goings, she also believed his only motive in making love to her had been trying to trick her into revealing family secrets. He could hardly make up his mind which mattered most.

  He tossed back the whisky thinking what supreme irony it was. A few short days ago he had been quite ready to exploit Harriet for the good of the job, now, with the memory of her warmth and passion fresh in his senses, the very idea that she should believe him capable of such a thing appalled him. What the hell had happened to him that he should have undergone such a complete change of heart? In love? He’d have laughed in the face of anyone who had suggested it could happen so suddenly, so unexpectedly, and most of all to him, and yet …

  ‘Damn it to hell!’ Tom exploded.

  He returned to the refrigerator and took out another small bottle. He had a feeling it was going to be a long night.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Next morning Harriet failed to appear for breakfast. Tom, who had made a valiant effort to be there (in spite of a thumping hangover) in order to try and make amends, drank three cups of very black coffee and went in search of her.

  ‘Harriet, can we talk?’ he asked when she opened her door to him.

  ‘We have nothing to say, have we?’ She was pale, unsmiling, with dark weals beneath her eyes that suggested she might have been crying.

  ‘Yes – we have. You’ve got it all wrong. I know how it must have sounded, but …’

  ‘Exactly. It could hardly have been clearer. In spite of everything you still believe that I and my family have somehow cheated your clients and you were quite prepared to seduce me to try and find out what you wanted to know – just as you seduced that poor girl at Darwest Construction, no doubt. I’m sorry I wasn’t as forthcoming as she was and this time your efforts were in vain. But the simple truth is I don’t know anything.’

  ‘Listen – I believe you.’

  ‘It’s a bit late for that kind of protestation, don’t you think? Now that you have made a complete fool of me? You must be feeling very pleased with yourself. Do you always manage to mix business with pleasure? A regular James Bond, aren’t you, though come to think of it he usually manages to bed at least three women during the course of a mission.’

  ‘Harriet …’

  ‘And what’s more he could take his drink better than you. You look absolutely dreadful.’

  ‘For Christ’s sake, Harriet, will you believe I did not make love to you in order to gain information?’

  She looked at him standing there pale, dull-eyed, heavy-lidded, and almost believed him. She wanted to, for heaven’s sake – oh how she wanted to! But she had heard that conversation with her own ears – it had not been something passed on and exaggerated or misrepresented in the telling. It had been perfectly obvious that Tom had already discussed her with his assistant and told her what he planned to do – boasting, probably, and maybe laughing too. Bitterness rose like gall in Harriet’s throat.

  ‘Let’s just leave it, Tom, shall we?’ she said tightly.

  And Tom, his head thundering as if someone was tightening a steel vice around his skull, decided to do as she said for the time being. There would be another time, another place. She would be around until they located Greg Martin, at least. When he felt better he would talk to her again and somehow, one way or the other, he’d make her understand he was telling the truth. But for the moment all he longed for was peace, quiet and dark!

  ‘When are we leaving?’ Harriet asked. ‘Shouldn’t it be very soon if we are to be in Darwin by lunchtime?’

  ‘Yes, I suppose so,’ Tom said wretchedly.

  It was quite plain he was not going to get any of them.

  They drove back to Darwin in virtual silence. The rain that had begun early today on the coast came out to meet them rolling down The Track in a thick mist. Tom, whose head was still thudding, swore softly to himself. It was easy to see why the Wet was known as Suicide Season. Everything seemed that much worse when one was slowly suffocating in a steam bath and he could imagine even small everyday problems could easily assume gigantic proportions under such conditions.

  He turned into Telford Top End and pulled up outside the reception office.

  ‘Do you want to get out here?’ he asked Harriet. ‘There’s no point in two of us getting wet.’

  She nodded, grateful to him in spite of herself, and dived for the shelter of the office.

  The receptionist was the same girl who had checked them in when they first arrived.

  ‘Did you have a good time?’ she asked.

  ‘Yes. Fine,’ Harriet said flatly.

  ‘Right. You’re in a different room today, let’s see …’ The girl burrowed in her paperwork, then her face changed. ‘Oh, I almost forgot – there’s a message for you, love. Can you ring home right away? A Mrs Sally Varna was trying to reach you. It’s urgent, she said.’

  ‘When was this?’ Harriet asked.

  ‘The day you left for your trip. I told her we didn’t have an address for you but I’d pass the message on as soon as you got back.’

  Harriet checked her watch, frowning. Why on earth should Sally be trying to contact her?

  ‘It’ll be a bit late to ring now, won’t it? It must be the early hours in New York.’

  ‘You may be right,’ the girl said, unsmiling, ‘but the message was for you to ring as soon as you returned, whatever the time.’

  A nerve pulsed in Harriet’s throat.

  ‘Can you give me a line?’

  ‘Pick up your phone when you get to your room and I’ll have it for you.’

  In her room Harriet reached for the receiver and stood tapping it impatiently as she waited for the international numbers to connect. Then the telephone was ringing and moments later she heard Mark’s voice on the line. Immediately her anxiety increased – Mark was rarely at his mother’s house and certainly not at this time of night. Even when he was in New York he usually stayed with friends.

  His fi
rst words did nothing to reassure her.

  ‘Harriet? Thank goodness! We’d almost given up trying to get hold of you.’

  ‘What is it, Mark? What’s wrong?’ Her anxiety spilled over into her voice.

  ‘Bad news, I’m afraid. It’s your Dad. He’s had a heart attack.’ Her own heart lurched; her mouth was dry. ‘Dad? Dad has had a heart attack? Oh Mark, you don’t mean …?’

  ‘It’s all right, Skeeter, he’s not dead, but I’m afraid he’s not very well either. It was touch and go and at this stage there is always the risk of another one, like aftershocks with an earthquake, you know what I mean?’

  ‘When – where – did it happen?’

  ‘Two days ago. At the showroom. Skeeter, I really think you should come home.’

  ‘Don’t worry, I’ll be there. On the first available plane.’

  ‘Good girl.’

  ‘Yes. And Mark … give him my love.’

  She replaced the receiver, her head whirling. Ring the airport – book a flight – at least I’m already packed, I can just… go. Oh Dad, poor Dad, you will be all right, won’t you? You must be all right!

  ‘Is something wrong, Harriet?’

  It was Tom, standing in the doorway. Clearly the receptionist had told him about the emergency phone call.

  She looked at him, so comfortingly solid somehow, and experienced a sharp wave of longing. Oh, to have his arms around her again, as they had been last night! Oh, to lay her head against his shoulder, share her fears and take comfort from the sharing. But the hurt was still there, a barrier that could not be so easily hurdled.

  ‘It’s my father,’ she said. ‘ He’s had a heart attack.’

  ‘Oh – I’m sorry. You’ll want to get home as soon as possible.’

  ‘Yes. I shall fly out as soon as there’s a plane to take me.’

  ‘Would you like me to ring the airport for you and check?’