looked her way, and she was chilled by the coldness of his eyes. Amber should be warm, burnished, not pale and icily penetrating. ‘It's my home,’ he said expressionlessly.
‘But not mine,’ she burst out fiercely. ‘Is that what you're really saying?'
He shrugged, returning his attention to swinging the convertible round in an arc, bringing it to a halt beside doors which stood wide to the afternoon air. ‘I invited you to Amaryllis, Miss Fulton. I haven't forgotten that.'
The car had scarcely stopped before a woman appeared in the open doorway. Catherine, thrusting open her door and getting out of the car without waiting for his assistance, wondered if this could be Jared's stepmother. But as the woman moved further out of the shadows, she saw that she was dark-skinned, and wearing a cotton smock patterned all over with yellow sunflowers on a green background. Her hair was turning grey in places, but was still as thick as ever, and there were laughter creases beside her mouth and eyes. Catherine thought she was going to like her, and judging by the way she was being summed up, the other woman would not forget her face in a hurry.
Jared hefted Catherine's cases out of the car and then turned to the woman with a smile which left Catherine wishing he had used his charm on her. ‘Lily, this is Miss Fulton who's coming to stay with us for a while. Will you have Henry take her luggage up to her room?'
‘Yes, Mr Royal.’ Lily's dark eyes shifted to the girl. ‘Welcome to Barbados, Miz Fulton.'
‘Thank you, Lily.’ Catherine cast a slightly ironic glance in Jared's direction. It had taken a servant to say the words he should have used. ‘I'm sure I'm going to love it here.’ This last, just to show him that he could not intimidate her.
‘Where is my stepmother, Lily?'
Not by the flicker of an eyelid did Jared reveal any reaction to his guest's apparent enthusiasm, and Lily led the way into the cool, white-panelled hall of the building, indicating an archway to their right.
‘She's in the parlour, Mr Royal. She said to serve tea directly you get back from the airport. Shall I do it now?'
Jared hesitated, while Catherine admired the single crystal chandelier suspended overhead. Then he nodded, adding; ‘But bring me a beer, will you, Lily? I need a drink.'
It was his only concession to the tension between them, but Catherine felt unreasonably triumphant as she accompanied him along a cool corridor and into a high-ceilinged sitting room. Her first impressions were of veined marble tiles which reflected the turquoise silk curtains moving gently at the open windows, and deep coral-coloured sofas, bright with cushions in shades of blue, green and turquoise. A woman was reclining on one of the sofas, but at their entrance, she swung her legs to the floor and got to her feet. She was small and slender, elegant in an ankle-length hostess gown made of some chiffon-like material, its burnished autumn shades toning with the reddish lights in her hair. Was this Jared's stepmother? Catherine guessed it was, but she must surely have been years younger than his father.
Jared performed the introductions, calling his stepmother Mrs Royal, and Catherine Miss Fulton. The older woman was weighing her up very thoroughly, and Catherine wondered at that slightly speculative look in her eyes. Then she said, with more warmth than her stepson had shown:
‘I think we can dispose of the formalities, don't you, Catherine? That is your name, isn't it? And mine is Elizabeth.'
Catherine couldn't resist darting a glance at Jared's face to see how he was taking this, but he had turned away, ostensibly glancing through several letters laid on a silver salver set on a lacquered cabinet.
‘Oh, please do,’ she answered now, her nerves tightening a little when she contemplated what this woman's reaction might be if Jared turned round and told her their guest was apparently pregnant. But no, he wouldn't do that. If he did choose to tell his stepmother, it would be at some time when she was not present, when the revelation would not embarrass him.
‘Did you have a good journey?'
Elizabeth seated herself on the sofa again and patted the seat beside her, indicating that Catherine should join her. Catherine went to do so, the heat beginning to cause her some discomfort as little trickles of sweat ran down her breasts on to her flat stomach.
‘I don't really like flying,’ she confessed, aware as she did so that Elizabeth wasn't really paying her a lot of attention. She continually glanced over her shoulder at Jared, and although he continued to ignore them both, Catherine felt the undercurrents in the air. ‘Do you?’ she finished, and Elizabeth was forced to reply.
‘I—why, I don't mind.’ She glanced round at Jared again. ‘Darling, did you order tea? I told Lily—'
Jared half turned and looked up. ‘Yes.’ His gaze flicked to Catherine. ‘Perhaps—perhaps our guest might prefer to take tea in her room.'
Catherine put her shoulder bag firmly down on the floor at her feet. ‘I'm fine,’ she said, aware of his antipathy. ‘I'm in no hurry to—wash my hands.’ She paused, looking about her. ‘What a beautiful house this is.'
‘Do you like it?’ Elizabeth successfully hid any feelings she had regarding her stepson's behaviour. ‘It was built almost a hundred years ago.'
‘I adore old houses.’ Catherine smiled. ‘I live in a very functional flat, and—and when Daddy was alive, I was always trying to persuade him to buy a house.'
‘Well, in six months you'll be able to buy one for yourself,’ remarked Jared offensively, but she chose to ignore him.
‘Have you lived here long, Mrs—er—Elizabeth?'
‘Twelve years.’ Was there the faintest hesitation before her reply? ‘I married Jared's father twelve years ago. Unfortunately, two years ago he died.'
‘I'm sorry.'
‘Yes.’ Elizabeth looked suitably nostalgic for a moment. Then she shook her head. ‘Of course, he was a lot older than I am.'
‘Of course.'
Catherine caught the inner side of her lower lip between her teeth. There was something about Elizabeth Royal which she didn't altogether like. She didn't know what it was exactly. The woman had been perfectly civil to her. But somehow she felt she preferred Jared's open antagonism to his stepmother's restrained politeness. She was relieved when the squeal of trolley wheels heralded the arrival of tea, but she couldn't suppress the depressing realisation of how long six months could seem.
The tea service was Crown Derby, and between bite-sized sandwiches and several cups of the strong, heavily sweetened beverage she seemed to prefer, Elizabeth kept up a steady inquisition: Did Catherine live in London? Had she always done so? Did she have her own flat? Had she many boy-friends?
This latter question was delivered with a coy glance at Jared, who was standing with his back to the open french windows, feet slightly apart, drinking beer from the can despite his stepmother's protests. Catherine was tempted to make some outrageous reply, but a glimpse of his brooding malevolence changed her mind.
‘I have—boy-friends,’ she conceded slowly. ‘I have girl friends, too.'
‘But isn't there someone, some particular boy…'
Elizabeth's voice trailed away and she sat regarding
