AllFreeNovel
Share Us
She shrugged. 'I have no gift for small talk with strangers.'
His mouth curved in a hard smile. 'You mean you share Argon's arrogant disregard of the conventions. And you're proud of it.'
The comparison did not please her. She frowned. 'Not at all. I meant precisely what I said. When I have nothing to say I say nothing. It saves a great deal of wasted time.'
He threw back his head and laughed. His skin had a go/den tan which intensified the blond of his smooth hair and gave to his blue eyes an almost dazzling brilliance.
'My God, but you're a Caprel all right! A pity you weren't a boy—Argon would have been delighted with you.'
She finished her drink and leaned back again, lowering her lids against the brightness of the sun flooding through the window. They were flying lower now. Were they coming in to land? she wondered.
Paul spoke again, close beside her ear. 'Do you know what to expect when we reach Comus? You know about the villa?'
She shook her head. 'I know nothing about my mother's family except what I read in the newspapers.' On the last words she gave him a cool, measuring glance.
He met it thoughtfully. 'Ah, the newspapers! That's a shot at me, I take it? You've heard about my scandalous goings-on and you disapprove, in that cold English fashion?' He leaned closer, lowering his voice intimately. 'Does the prospect of spending a few weeks at Comus with such a wild young man terrify you?'
'Don't be ludicrous,' she said calmly. Her golden- brown eyes gazed at him with unflattering contempt. 'I'm not a child to be frightened of bogeymen. Your private life is your own affair. It doesn't interest me.' She felt a slight qualm of conscience, remembering her long-forgotten schooldays and her nights of romantic contemplation of Paul's photographs in the newspaper. When she was fourteen the twenty-one- year-old playboy had seemed a man of the world. Seven years later the gap between them had considerably diminished, although she had to admit that she had spent her first twenty-one years in a far more circumspect fashion.
Their eyes clashed. Unknowingly, her brown eyes offered him a defiant challenge. His blue ones narrowed, reading the expression, and a curious look came into his handsome face.
At thirty Paul Caprel was hopelessly spoilt; born with a silver spoon in his mouth and a flotilla of adoring young women to pursue him ceaselessly. Pleasure had occupied his leisure time and spilt over into his working hours. He had a good mind, quick and clever, but had never acquired the habit of concentration which accompanies money-making. The constant company of beautiful and available young women had left him a low opinion of the opposite sex. From them he expected nothing but amusement.
The thought of marriage had never entered his head; there was no need to bother.
At times, in the intervals of a life devoted to restless pleasure, he had felt vaguely discontented with his world. Surely there ought to be something more than this? he had sometimes asked himself. But these moments of melancholy reflection had never lasted long. Another lovely girl would swim over the horizon and he would settle down to the pursuit, only to find his rapid victory dull once achieved. His looks, his charm, his glamour and above all his money ensured swift conquest, but Paul always found the affair boring after a time.
For some time now he had felt restlessly discontented, but he did not know what it was he wanted, only that nothing his money could buy him could satisfy his hunger for permanence, for stability, for happiness.
The plane was definitely circling an island now. Leonie gazed down eagerly at rough-hewn hills covered with a green haze of bushes and scrub, beaches of silver and curling white-topped waves of a blue which reminded her of Paul's eyes.
'Fasten your seat belt,' Paul reminded her.
She glanced at him, her eyes dazed, and he sighed and leaned over to fasten the belt for her. At that moment she moved, too, and their hands touched. Leonie felt a queer shiver run down her spine and her breathing tightened. Paul clipped the belt with a metallic snap, withdrew his hands and leaned back.
The plane came into land. Leonie watched the blue waters skim past. They were landing on the beach, she realised. There was a slight bump and they were stationary. Paul stood up with leisurely grace, bending his head to avoid banging it on the rack above. Leonie stood up, too, dropping her magazines, and Paul knelt to pick them up. She took them from him nervously, feeling oddly awkward and ungainly.
Something had happened when his hands touched hers, though she was not sure what. She only knew that something had flashed between them, in silent semaphore; an emotion, a challenge, a change in their attitudes. She felt a heightened awareness of him as she left the plane. He went first and helped her down the steps. As she stood beside him, her head reached his shoulder, although she had always thought of herself as quite a tall girl. He must be just over six foot, she decided. His lean build was deceptive. In photographs he looked shorter.
A silvery limousine waited to drive them to the villa. Argon owned the whole island, Paul explained. He had built himself a palace of a house in a remote fastness in the hills. All the other houses on the island were occupied either by people who worked for him at the villa, or by farmers and shepherds who worked on the land. Argon never left Comus now. He was not happy away from his home. His companies were run by employees who reported to him daily on the telephone and by le
tter. He still kept a finger in every pie, but he did it from his remote island kingdom.
'He's very frail,' Paul added gently.
Leonie glanced at his golden profile. 'You're fond of him,' she stated.
He looked at her with faint hauteur. 'Of course.'
She saw that he disliked such private emotions being discussed. So something, at least, was sacred to him!
'Who else will be there?' she asked. 'Tell me about the family.'
He frowned. 'The family? There's no one else, just Argon. And myself, of course.' The blue eyes slid over her. 'And now you, my dear cousin.'
She was taken aback. 'I had imagined there would be several of my aunts ...'
He lifted a careless shoulder in an elegant shrug. 'Aunt Alexa never leaves her village on Capri and Aunt Athene died last year. Neither of them had children, as you probably know. We're not a very productive lot, we Caprels.'
