Spell of the Island Read Online Free PDF Page A
Author: Anne Hampson
was nowhere in the house, so she surmised he was in the garden, as his car was on the forecourt.
The night was balmy, the sky, spangled with stars.The lagoon, lazy in the moonlight, shimmered away to where the reef rose like a miniature waterfall, making music, creating light and shade that lent an air of romance even without the swaying palms that lined the backshore. The swimming must be glorious, she mused as she wandered along one winding path and another, the dry wind rustling through a belt of tamarind trees and the spidery fronds of the palms. Her eyes searched; she was determined to talk with Paul Fanchette, and yet the thought of the encounter was causing her nerves to tense, her heart to beat a little overrate. As she continued to wander and search, she thought of the wealth and splendour of the chateau with its French furniture, its exquisite decor, its Persian carpets and rugs. Gold-plated fittings even in the guest bathroom, and she wondered what
his
was like. She had asked Louise about his line of business, learnt that he owned tea and sugarcane factories—was in fact the largest exporter on the island. Wealth as well as the supreme beneficence of Nature! And all it had done to him was inflate his ego and self-esteem, create vanity out of all proportion, unbelievable conceit and arrogance.
How on earth Louise could have fallen in love with him Emma would never understand!—for a more detestable man she had never met.
And as Emma decided this, the man under review came strolling along on the other side of a low hedge of hibiscus vines. His footsteps had been light; she was angered at being taken by surprise but managed to keep her voice steady as she said without hesitation, ‘Ah, Monsieur Fanchette—I’d like a few words with you.’
‘Yes.’ He stopped, head and shoulders above the neatly trimmed hedge. Emma was at an immediate disadvantage since she had to tilt her head, a circumstance that only served to increase her anger. ‘What about, might I ask?’
She set her teeth at the arrogance and amusement in his voice.
‘We can’t talk over a hedge,’ was her stiff rejoinder.
‘There isn’t much at all one can do with a hedge between them.’ Mockery in his voice, and Emma’s teeth gritted together. She very much feared she would again attempt to hit out at the pompous creature!
‘The talk is serious.’ Quivered tones but the hope that he would not notice. ‘I have something important to request of you, Monsieur. Please afford me a few moments of your time and attention. . . .’ Her voice trailed to silence as he laughed.
‘So stiff,’ he commented. ‘An armour of self-defence which some women assume, yet invariably it’s a thin, ineffective cloak—’
‘Would you mind keeping your observations on women for another time and audience?’ broke in Emma frigidly. ‘What I have to say won’t take long, and then I can go to my room. I’m tired after the long flight.’
He looked at her with an odd expression . . . almost as if he were intrigued by her manner.
‘Perhaps we can talk over a drink,’ he suggested and with long graceful strides made for the end of the dividing foliage and was soon coming towards her. She waited, legs weak, boneless. This place waslonely . . . and only minutes ago she had decided to keep her distance. His assurance, the sensuous twist of his mouth, the dark embers that seemed to glow in his eyes . . .
Wanting to run, Emma half turned, then remembered what she had come out here for and remained where she was until he reached her side. ‘You look troubled,’ he observed, glancing down at her in the moonlight. ‘Are you not enjoying your holiday?’
‘I’ve only been here a few hours,’ she returned shortly.
‘A temper,’ he remarked with unexpected off-handedness. ‘Most women are similarly endowed, though they don’t always practice your control. In what way have I annoyed you?’ he ended and as she could scarcely say that his
The night was balmy, the sky, spangled with stars.The lagoon, lazy in the moonlight, shimmered away to where the reef rose like a miniature waterfall, making music, creating light and shade that lent an air of romance even without the swaying palms that lined the backshore. The swimming must be glorious, she mused as she wandered along one winding path and another, the dry wind rustling through a belt of tamarind trees and the spidery fronds of the palms. Her eyes searched; she was determined to talk with Paul Fanchette, and yet the thought of the encounter was causing her nerves to tense, her heart to beat a little overrate. As she continued to wander and search, she thought of the wealth and splendour of the chateau with its French furniture, its exquisite decor, its Persian carpets and rugs. Gold-plated fittings even in the guest bathroom, and she wondered what
his
was like. She had asked Louise about his line of business, learnt that he owned tea and sugarcane factories—was in fact the largest exporter on the island. Wealth as well as the supreme beneficence of Nature! And all it had done to him was inflate his ego and self-esteem, create vanity out of all proportion, unbelievable conceit and arrogance.
How on earth Louise could have fallen in love with him Emma would never understand!—for a more detestable man she had never met.
And as Emma decided this, the man under review came strolling along on the other side of a low hedge of hibiscus vines. His footsteps had been light; she was angered at being taken by surprise but managed to keep her voice steady as she said without hesitation, ‘Ah, Monsieur Fanchette—I’d like a few words with you.’
‘Yes.’ He stopped, head and shoulders above the neatly trimmed hedge. Emma was at an immediate disadvantage since she had to tilt her head, a circumstance that only served to increase her anger. ‘What about, might I ask?’
She set her teeth at the arrogance and amusement in his voice.
‘We can’t talk over a hedge,’ was her stiff rejoinder.
‘There isn’t much at all one can do with a hedge between them.’ Mockery in his voice, and Emma’s teeth gritted together. She very much feared she would again attempt to hit out at the pompous creature!
‘The talk is serious.’ Quivered tones but the hope that he would not notice. ‘I have something important to request of you, Monsieur. Please afford me a few moments of your time and attention. . . .’ Her voice trailed to silence as he laughed.
‘So stiff,’ he commented. ‘An armour of self-defence which some women assume, yet invariably it’s a thin, ineffective cloak—’
‘Would you mind keeping your observations on women for another time and audience?’ broke in Emma frigidly. ‘What I have to say won’t take long, and then I can go to my room. I’m tired after the long flight.’
He looked at her with an odd expression . . . almost as if he were intrigued by her manner.
‘Perhaps we can talk over a drink,’ he suggested and with long graceful strides made for the end of the dividing foliage and was soon coming towards her. She waited, legs weak, boneless. This place waslonely . . . and only minutes ago she had decided to keep her distance. His assurance, the sensuous twist of his mouth, the dark embers that seemed to glow in his eyes . . .
Wanting to run, Emma half turned, then remembered what she had come out here for and remained where she was until he reached her side. ‘You look troubled,’ he observed, glancing down at her in the moonlight. ‘Are you not enjoying your holiday?’
‘I’ve only been here a few hours,’ she returned shortly.
‘A temper,’ he remarked with unexpected off-handedness. ‘Most women are similarly endowed, though they don’t always practice your control. In what way have I annoyed you?’ he ended and as she could scarcely say that his