beside her. Containing her annoyance, she said: ‘Are you following me?’ in rather a tight little voice.
‘Yes,’ he said, almost negligently, and leaned against the car’s bonnet, his arms folded.
Today, in navy shorts, that drew attention to the brown muscular length of his legs, and a cream silk sweater that was unbuttoned almost to his waist, he looked somehow dark and alien, yet infinitely attractive. His thick dark hair was smooth against his head, and long sideburns darkened his cheekbones, while dark eyes surveyed her with enigmatic arrogance.
Rebecca, conscious of the formality of her uniform, was glad she had worn it. Somehow it added to the composure that seemed to be deserting her as it always did when he was around. Why did he persist in disturbing her in this way? Did it amuse him to make fun of her? Or was she a novelty to a man satiated by women of his own set? Whatever his reasons it could only spell disaster for her. Now she turned to him and said:
‘Exactly why are you following me, Monsieur St. Clair?’
He shrugged indolently. ‘To give you this,’ he said, offering her a parcel wrapped in coloured paper.
Rebecca did not take the parcel, but after putting her shopping bag into the car, put her hands behind her back. ‘Thank you, but I don’t want anything from you,’ she asserted jerkily. ‘Now—if you’ll excuse me—–’
Piers St. Clair regarded her coolly. ‘What do you suppose is in the parcel?’ he queried sharply.
Rebecca coloured. ‘I’d rather not say.’
‘You think it is the flagon of sandalwood oil, don’t you?’ he demanded.
Rebecca felt terrible. ‘Well? What if I do?’
He toyed with the wrapping on the parcel. ‘And what if I tell you you dropped something in the market—something I found and re-wrapped in this rather—well—colourful paper?’
Rebecca’s eyes went immediately to her shopping bag. Without taking it out and checking over the contents she could not be certain she had everything she had bought. Pressing her lips together for a moment, she said: ‘I’m sure I didn’t drop anything, monsieur.’ She ran a hand over her hair, checking that the chignon was secure with nervous fingers. ‘I think you are deliberately baiting me, for some twisted reason of your own.’
He raised his dark eyebrows, and with a deft movement he allowed the parcel to unwind in his fingers until a container of talcum powder fell into his palm, free of the wrapping. Rebecca stared at the talcum powder with disbelieving eyes. It was the cologne-scented talc she had bought for Adele. Her eyes lifted to his, but still his were guarded, revealing nothing.
Rebecca swallowed hard, and then said: ‘That is mine?’
‘If you say so,’ he remarked lightly.
Rebecca took a deep breath. ‘I couldn’t have dropped it without hearing it fall.’
‘What? In the noise of the market area? Don’t you think so, mademoiselle?’
Rebecca sighed. ‘I’m not sure.’ She ran her tongue over her upper lip. ‘Perhaps you took it from my bag.’
He shook his head impatiently. ‘What have I done that you have such a low opinion of me?’ he questioned. ‘What has my inestimable sister-in-law been telling you?’
Rebecca opened the car door wider. ‘She has told me nothing, monsieur. Now, if you’ll excuse me—–’
‘Don’t you want your talcum powder, mademoiselle?’
‘Oh—oh, yes, I suppose so.’ Rebecca almost snatched the container from his hands and thrust it into the back of the car with the rest of her shopping. ‘Now I must go. Adele—I mean Miss St. Cloud—will wonder why I’ve been so long.’
He gave a negligent lift of his shoulders and straightened from the car’s bonnet. ‘Very well, mademoiselle. If you insist.’
Rebecca got behind the steering wheel and then looked up at him almost appealingly. ‘I—I don’t understand you, monsieur.’
‘Non! I would agree with you there.’
Rebecca hesitated, biting her lip. ‘Are you—I mean—will you be coming to dinner before—before you leave?’
He regarded her with intense dark eyes. ‘Do you want me to?’ he asked softly.
Rebecca’s stomach contracted. ‘I—I—it’s nothing to do with me,’ she stammered.
‘Is it not?’ He shrugged. ‘Yes, I will come. I will ring Adele and arrange a time.’ His expression grew brooding. ‘And afterwards? Will you go for a drive with me?’
Rebecca’s eyes were wide and startled. ‘I—I—I am Adele’s employee. I cannot make arrangements like that. Besides,’ she fumbled for the ignition, ‘Adele would never agree.’
‘Adele need not know—need she?’ His eyes held hers.
Rebecca took a rather shaky breath. ‘I—I really think you—you are wasting your time, monsieur,’ she murmured unsteadily. ‘I—I am not like the—the women you know …’
‘I recognise that,’ he replied coolly. ‘I do have some perception.’
Rebecca shook her head helplessly. ‘I—I must go,’ she said. ‘Good—goodbye.’
‘Au revoir,’ he answered, and stepped back as she put the small saloon into gear, and drove rather erratically away.
Outside the city limits the road stretched straight for some distance, cutting between the blue waters of the Bay of Islands. It was unbelievably beautiful, but this morning Rebecca had no heart to appreciate it. She was sick and shaken, terrified at the knowledge that Piers St. Clair could exercise so much power over her. In his presence her antagonism just melted away and so might her resistance.
Even so, it was exhilarating to know that he found her attractive, and that awful traitorous part of her that responded to flattery wanted to take what he offered with both hands. But the sane part of her knew that anything he might offer would be dangerous to accept and in consequence she was torn both ways.
When she got back to the villa, Adele was resting on a lounger in the garden, shaded by a huge striped umbrella. She gave Rebecca a speculative stare, and then said: ‘You’ve been long enough. What have you been buying?’
Rebecca managed not to blush. ‘Just what you asked me to buy,’ she replied, kneeling down on the warm mosaic tiles and beginning to unpack her straw shopping bag. The talc which Piers had given her was on the top and she handed this first to Adele. Then she went on through her purchases, handing out stockings and make-up, hair rollers and hairnets, toilet articles and toothpaste. At the bottom of her bag was a container of cologne-scented talc, identical to the first she had given Adele.
Taking it out, she stared at it incredulously, and Adele, seeing her consternation, exclaimed: ‘For heaven’s sake, girl, what have you been thinking of? Buying two tins of talc!’
Rebecca coloured
