The Vision of Desire
her face as he held her in his arms. "Are you depressed or worried about
anything, sweetheart?"
She roused herself to a smile.
"Worried? Why, what have I to be worried about--now we're together again?"
His face cleared.
"I suppose you're just feeling a bit lonely without that 'best brother' of
yours. Is that it?"
"Yes. That's it," she said, nodding emphatically. "I miss Robin. You--you
won't have to send him away again, Eliot."
"I don't think I shall," he returned, smiling, "if it reduces you to such a
wan-looking little person. You're quite pale, Ann mine."
At parting, she clung to him as though she could never let him go.
"Why, what's this, child?" he asked, genuinely perturbed. "Are you really
nervous at being left in the Cottage alone--even with the doughty Maria for
company? If you are, I'll ride over to White Windows and ask Lady Susan to
put you up there until Robin comes back."
"Oh, no, no!" she exclaimed hastily. "I'm perfectly all right. I am,
really, Eliot. I didn't sleep very well last night, that's all."
"Well, then, take a rest after lunch. I shan't be able to come over this
afternoon--I have to go to Ferribridge. So"--pinching her cheek--"your
slumbers will be undisturbed. And go to bed early to-night," he added
authoritatively.
He went away, and later Ann made a pretence at eating lunch. The idea of
"taking a rest" almost brought a smile to her pale lips. There was nothing
further from her than sleep. Her brain felt on fire, and the time seemed to
race along, each minute bringing nearer the dreaded ordeal of the evening.
At seven Maria brought in dinner, and once again Ann had to make a pretence
at eating. Every mouthful felt as though it would choke her. Then, just as
she was wondering how on earth she was to dispose of what still remained on
her plate without incurring Maria's displeasure, there came a ring at the
bell, and a minute later Maria herself reappeared, carrying a telegram on a
salver.
"From Master Robin, maybe, sayin' when he'll be home again," she suggested
conversationally, while Ann tore open the envelope and withdrew the flimsy
sheet.
"_Don't come to-night_,--FORRESTER."
Ann looked up from the single line of writing and spoke mechanically.
"No, it's not from Robin," she said. And tearing the telegram across she
tossed the pieces into the fire, where a swift tongue of flame shot up and
consumed them.
She was conscious of an immense surge of relief. She could not imagine what
had happened. Possibly Cara had seen Brett and interceded with him. Or
perhaps it was merely that some unexpected happening had made the projected
supper an impossibility for that particular night.
But whatever it was, it meant a reprieve. A reprieve! She could hold her
happiness unharmed a little longer....
CHAPTER XXXII
ON BOARD THE "SPHINX"
Brett glanced over the supper-table, laid for two, with an experienced
eye. The lights, shining down upon dainty silver and crystal, added a more
lustrous sheen to the crimson petals, like fringed velvet, of a bowl of
exquisite deep-red carnations, and flickered gaily on the bright neck of a
gold-foiled bottle which twinkled in the midst of the cool greyness of a
pail of ice.
Satisfied with his inspection, Brett gave a little nod of approval. His
manservant, Achille Dupont, who accompanied him wherever he went, had all
a Frenchman's quick grasp of a situation, he reflected. Moreover, the man
possessed the invaluable faculty of getting on well with the members of the
yacht's company, so that his coming on board with his master and waiting on
him exclusively failed to create any resentment. In addition to this, he
was dowered with the golden gift of discretion. Achille never suffered from
a misplaced curiosity concerning his master's doings. He accepted them
blandly, and although Brett supposed there would be a certain amount of
gossip on board the yacht concerning this night's doings, he felt serenely
sure that Achille himself would preserve a strict reticence concerning
anything that he might chance to observe or overhear in the performance of
his duty of serving the supper.
The clock had struck nine some few minutes ago, and Brett pictured the
dinghy slipping over the smooth water with Ann, hooded and cloaked, sitting
in the stern. He could almost visualise her young, tense-lipped face with
its courageous eyes gazing ahead into the darkness. She would have need
of all her courage before the evening was over. That he admitted. But he
comforted himself with the reflection, that, whatever happened, she had
brought it on herself. She had refused to marry him, while he was fully
determined that she should be his wife. In a way, he felt distinctly
resentful that her obstinacy had driven him into employing such methods
as he proposed to use to-night.
The door opened, and to the accompaniment of a respectful murmur of
"_Mademoiselle est arrivée_" from Achille, a woman's figure, shrouded in
furs and with a scarf twisted round her head, slipped past the Frenchman,
and stood poised just inside the threshold as though uncertain whether to
stay or go. Achille retired and closed the door noiselessly behind him,
thus deciding the matter.
"Ann!" cried Brett triumphantly. "I wondered--I half doubted whether you
would come, after all! Let me help you," he added quickly, as the woman
threw back the fur wrap she was wearing, and with a deft movement,
untwisted the scarf from her hair.
"It's not Ann," said a cool feminine voice, and with a swift turn of her
wrist the visitor drew the swathing scarf aside and revealed the small dark
head and pansy-purple eyes of the lady from the Priory.
Brett fell back a pace, his face wearing an expression of such blank
amazement that for a moment Cara could hardly refrain from laughing out
loud. But he recovered himself with surprising quickness, and looked her
up and down with characteristic coolness.
"I don't think I remember inviting you for to-night," he said slowly.
"No," she replied. "I've come instead of Ann. Brett, you had no right to
ask her here."
His eyes flashed wickedly, but he preserved his coolness.
"That, I think, is my business," he responded.
"It's not." A note of deep feeling came into her voice. "It's the
business of every one who cares for Ann to protect her from her own rash
unselfishness. Just to please yourself, you asked her to come here, without
a thought as to how it would affect her reputation--how people might talk.
And you used those bills of Tony's as a lever."
"Really, your perspicacity does you credit," he returned ironically. "I
saw no other way of getting her here, so, as you truthfully remark, I used
those bits of paper as a lever."
"Well"--quickly. "I've come for those bits of paper, as you call them."
Brett shook his head regretfully.
"I never made any bargain to give them to--you, even though you have
condescended to honour the _Sphinx_ with your presence to-night," he said.
Cara approached the table.
"No. I didn't expect them in return for that," she replied. "I'm proposing
to give you the usual return for notes of hand--payment of the amount
owing."
To make this proposal had been her intention when she had first suggested
to Ann that she should take her place as Forrester's guest. She had not
dared to offer the necessary money as an outright loan, realising that
the girl would have refused it on Tony's behalf peremptorily, so she had
inwardly resolved to redeem the bills Brett held without consulting her.
She opened a small, ivory-mounted wrist-bag she carried, and withdrew a
bundle of crisp Bank of England notes.
"I think the sum owing is twelve hundred," she said composedly. "There's
the money. Will you count it, please, and let me have the bills Tony has
given you."
Brett stood quietly looking down at the small heap of notes, but he made no
effort to pick them up.
"I'd forgotten you were a wealthy woman," he remarked contemplatively.
Cara laughed rather bitterly.
"Heaven knows I've not found my wealth of much value to me before," she
said. "But I shall think more of it in the future if it can get a friend
out of trouble. Come, take the money, Brett, and give me the bills," she
added, with a touch of impatience.
He picked up one of the notes and fingered it thoughtfully, then replaced
it on the pile once more.
"I'm sorry," he said mildly. "But it isn't you who owe me this money. It's
Brabazon. So I can't accept repayment from you."
Cara glanced at him swiftly. Her lips felt suddenly dry.
"What do you mean?" she asked nervously.
"Just what I say. Brabazon is my debtor--you haven't authority to act for
him, by any chance, have you?"
"Authority? No. But I'm willing--I'm only too glad to be able to do this
for him."
Brett pushed the bundle of notes across the table towards her.
"I'm sorry," he repeated pensively. "It's very good of you, of course.
But I couldn't possibly take your money. I happen to be the holder of the
bills, and I only give them back to Brabazon for the amount owing--or to
Ann on the terms I suggested. Otherwise"--a sudden flame leapt up in his
eyes--"I keep them."
Cara stood as though turned to stone. The whole thing became perfectly
clear to her on the instant. It had not been just a carelessly selfish
proposal--that bargain he had made with Ann--but a deliberately thought-out
scheme. Slowly she replaced the useless notes in the little silken bag
which had held them.
"Ah! I see you understand," he observed, watching her with some amusement.
She looked at him with a desperate demand in her eyes.
"Brett, what did you mean to do? What was your plan--if Ann had come?" she
asked in a low, shaken voice.
He laughed.
"Can't you guess? Really, Cara, I think I complimented you on your
perspicacity too soon! It seems to be--halting a little, shall we
say?--now."
"You didn't ask her here just for the pleasure it would give you--there was
something else--"
"It was partly for that. I at least made sure of a few hours alone with
her!" A note of passion roughened his voice for a moment. Then he forced
it back and his blue eyes laughed at her again, audaciously. "But it was
partly for the _dis_pleasure which I thought it might give to some one
else."
"_Eliot!_"
"Even so. He's not got precisely what you'd call an equable temperament,
has he?"
"And you knew"--slowly--"that if he discovered Ann had been here--"
"Exactly"--with a mocking bow. "You've guessed it. 'The marriage
arranged'--would not take place."
Cara stared at him in frank horror.
"Then it was a trap!" she exclaimed, and beneath the utter scorn and
contempt which rang in her voice any other man would have winced. But it
affected Brett not one jot.
"Yes. And would have succeeded admirably, but for your interference. Tell
me, how did you persuade Ann not to come? It isn't like her to back out of
a bargain."
"No, it isn't," agreed Cara warmly. "Ann would always keep her word--even
if the keeping of it half killed her."
"Then how?"
There was a suspicion of veiled triumph in her smile.
"It was quite simple," she said. "I sent her a wire, saying, 'Don't come
to-night'--and signed it 'Forrester.'"
Brett burst out laughing.
"My felicitations! That was quite a stroke after my own heart! But still,
you'll agree, it was rather a liberty to take with my name, wasn't it?"
"A liberty? Perhaps. But you were trying to _ruin_ Ann's name--and her
happiness. Won't you change your mind, Brett, and sell me those notes of
hand?" she added, with a sudden entreaty.
"I hate refusing you," he smiled back.
She realised the futility of pleading with him further, and drew her furs
round her shoulders preparatory to leaving him.