White Lies (20 page)

'I'm not sure,' she said demurely. 'I'm only ten days late and—'

'Mandy!' He crushed her in a bear-hug and then jerked away. 'Hell! I mustn't do that!' he cried, and she laughed at him. 'OK. You're not that delicate. I know—don't laugh at me! I'm only a man! But...Mandy, this is wonderful! I couldn't be any happier,' he said gruffly. 'When? How do you feel? Is the heat too much?'

'I'm fine,' she said blissfully. 'If I
am
pregnant, then it'll be
ages
yet. November-Decemberish. I haven't even risked fate by looking at dates. You must tell your father we're married,' she added in gentle reproach. 'And maybe, when we're sure I'm pregnant and he knows he's going to be a grandfather, you and he can be reconciled. That would be lovely, wouldn't it? People change, Pascal.'

'I wonder,' he muttered, sounding reluctant. 'I wonder. All right. I'll tell him. He won't be pleased, though.'

'Why?' she asked, puzzled. 'I've never understood why you've kept our marriage a secret. You insist that you're not ashamed of me and yet—'

'Of course I'm not!' he retorted. 'It's just that Father was furious when he knew Caroline was pregnant. I don't know what his problem is. It's as if he doesn't want me to inherit or to have an heir. And that hurts.'

'But.. .you're his lawful son!' she cried.

'I might as well not be,' Pascal said bleakly. 'He's never treated me with an ounce of affection or shown any pride in what I've achieved. I told you he's threatened several times to leave his money and the land elsewhere. God knows why. It's a personal affront to him that I've made a success of my plantation.'

'He must be a very lonely, unhappy man,' mused Mandy.

Pascal scowled. 'It's all his own doing.' Then he brightened. 'When we get back,' he said fondly, 'we'll get Anseydit—the carpenter—to come with us into the jungle and choose a tree for the baby's cradle—'

'Hey!' laughed Mandy. 'I'm not
sure
yet, Pascal!'

He smiled at her and held her close.

And after a little while she had confirmation. She carried his child.

It was nearly three weeks before Pascal left to visit his father. There had been trouble with the engine on the motor yacht and it was laid up in Marigot Bay for repairs. A section of the road was blocked again, and because several of his men were sick with a virus that was sweeping the local villages Pascal had been working feverishly with his reduced staff, trying to clear it to make it easier for the packers to bring the hands of bananas down from the upper valley.

But Mandy was deliriously happy and so was Pascal. She and Susannah discussed babies with a remarkable enthusiasm on Susannah's part, and Mandy felt touched that Pascal's aunt should take such an interest.

By dinnertime Pascal hadn't returned. She imagined that he'd met someone and her mood was so calm that she didn't worry, even when she went to bed at one o'clock in the morning and he still hadn't come back. But when the next day dawned her heart missed a beat as she woke to find that he wasn't beside her.

'Susannah!' she yelled, racing recklessly over the polished mahogany floor of the sitting room to where Susannah sat on the deck of her apartment eating breakfast. 'Have you seen Pascal? He didn't come home last night!'

'No.' Susannah was busy packing mango jam into her pancake. Her hands seemed shaky and she dropped a dollop of jam on the tablecloth, laboriously concentrating on scraping it up and not meeting Mandy's eyes.

Mandy felt a little foolish since Pascal's aunt didn't find his absence worrying. Frowning, she fiddled with the ribbon on her lace peignoir. 'Where will he have stayed? Why didn't he ring?'

'He rang this morning,' said Susannah casually. 'Said he'd be delayed a while. Don't worry,' she added. 'Nothing unusual.'

'Oh!' Mandy sat down, the wind taken out of her sails. She smiled. 'That's all right, then.'

Except that she waited all day without a word from Pascal. And the next day. And the next. Mandy's heart leapt at every sound till her nerves made her emotional and jumpy. His aunt, unusually irritable and snappy, protested her ignorance of his whereabouts and said that she didn't know the names or addresses of any of his friends or business acquaintances.

Something was wrong. She was sure that Susannah knew something.

On -the fourth day Mandy stood on the cliff, watching for a sign of the little dugout, hoping to see it speeding over the waves at that perilous angle it adopted whenever it changed direction.

And she became afraid. Pascal knew the coast like the back of his hand but it was dangerous. Sudden gusts of wind could cause trouble, vicious currents could suck a boat towards the rock cliffs.. .engines could fail. Even the one on the well-maintained yacht had gone wrong. If the pirogue outboard motor had failed, especially during the night, Pascal would be in trouble.

Frantic with worry; she decided to ring the police. Walking back to the house through the lush garden, she thought that if anything had happened to him all this beauty would be as nothing to her. She'd trade all of that and the wealth in exchange for Pascal. Sobs of terror shook her body. If he never came back she would have so much, but so little. Her child, yes, but she would have lost her friend, her lover, her beloved husband.

In a miraculously short time they had become bonded together so closely that a part of her would be torn away if he.. .if he... 'Oh, Pascal!' she groaned, stumbling blindly.

A hand caught her and she gasped in hope but knew even before she saw Anseydit that it wasn't Pascal's— she knew his hand too well, had kissed it and held it and loved it.

'I nearly done the cradle,' said Anseydit in his musical voice. 'I was talkin' to my sister in Anse La Verdure Hotel this mornin' and I saw Mr Pascal. He said—'

'What? Wait a minute!' Mandy said urgently. 'You saw him in the hotel? This morning?'

'Yes, he-'

'How did you get there?' she demanded excitedly. 'We haven't any boats—'

'My cousin, Chardonnay,' said the puzzled Anseydit. 'He's come to see the cradle. We went to visit my sister and-'

'Anseydit,' broke in Mandy hastily, 'is he still here? Can he take me to Anse La Verdure beach?'

'Sure he can, Miss Mandy!' beamed the carpenter. 'Maybe you can cheer Mr Pascal up. He bit my head off and that surprised me, I can tell you.'

She bit her lip. Something
was
wrong. But he was alive! Of course he was. How stupid she'd been! She beamed.

'Thank you,' she said warmly. 'And when we get back we'd love to see the cradle. Thank you, Anseydit. I'm very grateful.'

'No problem, no problem.'

And he introduced Mandy to his cousin who cheerfully helped her into the boat then set off for the beach to the south.

'Mr Pascal said he was going up to Reception,' said Anseydit's cousin helpfully, when he'd driven the boat up onto the beach.

Mandy thanked him and asked him to wait, and the man good-naturedly nodded and drew his hat over his face, settling down to a sleep in the sun. She splashed through the shallows and made her way to Reception.

'Hello, Bertha! Hello, Dianne,' she cried brightly. 'Isn't it...?' She paused and frowned. The two women looked horrified. 'What is it?' she asked in agitation. 'What's the matter? Pascal? Tell me! Tell me!' she cried.

'I—I don't know...' Bertha goggled at Dianne. 'I'll get someone to fetch him,' she said hastily.

'No.' Mandy felt a chill run through her. The women were behaving furtively. A brief and terrifying fear of possible infidelity sped through her mind but she crushed it. Pascal loved her. But the women were panic-stricken. They had that
look
about them. And she trembled. 'He's... all right?' she asked tentatively.

'Yes, yes, fine!' nodded Bertha with too much fervour. 'One of the lads will fetch him from—' Her mouth shut like a steel trap.

'Where is he?' she said nervously.
'Where is he?'

'He's had to see someone—'

'Who?' she snapped.

'Simon will take you,' said Bertha quietly.

Mandy whirled around. Simon was standing behind her, his mouth working with distress. 'Show me,' she breathed.

Without a word Simon walked up the hill to the highest, most luxurious villas, built with open sides so that the light breezes could drift through the rooms. Built so that she could hear voices as she came up the path- one of them Pascal's, the other a woman's.

'Leave me,' she whispered to Simon. The young man scampered down the hill as if glad to go. She walked to the panelled door and found that it was ajar. Her heart was thudding violently, her nerves at screaming point. He couldn't. He wouldn't. He loved her. She
knew
he loved her.

Inside was a flight of steps. She climbed up them like an old woman, the life ebbing from her body. A huge room was ahead, the paddle fans whirring overhead. Clothes lay strewn on the floor in a trail as if they'd been shed piece by piece by a lover. Cold shivers chased down her spine.

On her right she could see the unmade bed and a satin nightdress. She could hardly breathe. The voices were low, urgent and came from the deck, which was half- hidden by a huge jalousie screen.

She pressed one hand to her heart, the other to her stomach where her baby lay. Their baby. Instinct told her to flee, to remain in ignorance and to pretend that she believed him when he told her where he'd been. The need to know the truth forced her forward, slowly, over the cool, tiled floor.

A woman came into view—a blonde woman, frightened, pressed flat against a pillar. Mandy froze. The woman was more beautiful than any woman she'd ever seen, with a kind of Grace Kelly beauty of regal purity. Her face was strangely familiar, the stunning bone-structure so perfect that men would be unable to take their eyes off her. She wore a towelling robe and nothing else.

That was obvious because a half-naked Pascal was holding the woman's bare shoulders where her robe had been wrenched away.. .in passion? Mandy gulped. His eyes were blazing and intent. The woman was gasping as if short of breath, and one long, tanned leg was exposed to the upper thigh where the robe had parted.

She saw nothing more. The room spun dizzyingly. 'Pascal!' she rasped in blind horror. 'Pascal!'

His head whipped around and she saw the blur as he rushed forward and the room began to grow dim...

When she came around from her faint she found herself lying on the ground outside in the shade of a nutmeg tree, being gently fanned by Pascal.

'Mandy,' he growled. 'Are you all right?'

'No!' she yelled, sitting up too quickly and swaying alarmingly. He steadied her but she pushed him away. 'Don't touch me!' she raged. 'Look at you! Naked to the waist! Where have you been all this time? Don't you know I was half-crazy with worry? How could you do this to me? How could you?'

He drew back and stood up. She saw that he looked terrible, as if he hadn't shaved since he'd left home. No, it was more than that. As if he had been locked in a dark hell and they'd thrown away the key. She gave a strangled sob. Maybe he knew that she'd leave him if he'd been unfaithful. And that she would take their child.

'I'm sorry,' he said harshly. 'Mandy—'

'That woman!' she said hoarsely. 'Were you and she...?' Her eyes closed. Sickness soured her stomach. 'Were you...?'

His eyes, bleak and glacial, flicked up to hers and then he looked away as if he was too ashamed of his guilt. 'I—' His white teeth clenched savagely when she began to sob quietly. 'Yes. Yes, we were. I was with her. Don't play the wronged wife,' he muttered. 'I had to. I—I had to get away. I needed variety.'

He turned his back on her, his hand gripping a branch of the tree. It snapped and he looked at it as if puzzled that he'd exerted so much strength on it. 'I'll do this from time to time,' he said, as if it cost him a great deal to admit his weakness. 'I've been... doing it ever since…'

He swung around and it seemed to her appalled eyes that it was a cold, emotionless statue telling her these awful things. 'I need women,' he said jerkily. 'Plenty of women. All kinds, all shapes, all sizes,' he growled. 'Get used to it. Or go.'

S
LOWLY
, and with great difficulty, Mandy stood up. Pride kept her from falling; dignity and shock held her rigid. Pascal had betrayed her—and he wasn't at all repentant. There would be many other women in his life and Susannah had known this; everyone had known and only she had been blindly trusting.

She wanted to scream and tear his clothes, to score her nails down his stony face. But she knew that if she did that she would go mad. And so she held in the horror, closed her heart to anyone but her unborn child, and made herself a silent promise never to trust anyone for the rest of her life.

The light was falling in shafts through the foliage above him and she remembered their first meeting, where he'd lain like a basking tiger, waiting for his prey. Her first impressions had been right. He was dangerous and he could bite. Like his amoral father.

'Blood will out,' she husked, holding her chin high.

He winced as if she'd whipped him. 'Yes,' he muttered.

'You rat!'

'Mandy-'

'No!' She waved him away with a jerk of her hand.

She felt a roaring in her ears and she dug her nails into her palms so that she might keep from showing any weakness. Somehow she managed to walk away from him, every step an immense effort, every beat of her heart taking her from the man she'd loved and trusted.

He'd opened a wound and it would never be healed. She remembered that he'd half warned her when he'd said that he couldn't love another woman in the way he'd loved his first wife. The rest, the protestations of love when she'd told him about their baby, had been empty lies.

When she was several yards from him she swivelled around, her face pale beneath her golden tan. 'For the second time, your wife won't be saying goodbye,' she called in clear, ringing tones. 'You're not worth the courtesy.'

He didn't move a muscle and it almost broke her to see the man she'd loved so stonily indifferent to her misery. A spasm of pure pain seared her body with the viciousness of a slicing knife and she gave an involuntary moan. Pascal and she turned away from one another sharply.