The Vision of Desire
"Then I'll go back. I'm sorry I've failed. But thank God I at least
prevented Ann from coming here herself."
She moved towards the door, but Brett was before her, and planted himself
with his back against it.
"Let me pass, Brett," she said quietly, though her heart beat a shade
faster in her breast.
"Again I'm sorry to refuse you," he returned mockingly.
"You can't--keep me here!"
"Can't I? If you interfere with other people's love affairs, you must be
prepared to take the consequences. In this case the consequence is supper
with me."
Cara hesitated. She could not struggle with him, and in his present mood
she thought it quite possible he might oppose with actual physical force
any attempt on her part to leave the yacht. If he did, of course, she would
be perfectly helpless. Forcing herself to a composure she was far from
feeling, she turned away from the door he was guarding with a slight shrug
of her shoulders.
"I've no wish to have supper with you," she said.
"No? Yet, after all, it's you who've despoiled me of my rightful guest," he
returned, with bland mockery in eyes and voice. "It's certainly up to you
to provide a substitute. Perhaps"--banteringly--"we might even discuss the
question of those notes of hand again--later on! A man's obstinacy
sometimes melts as the evening advances, you know."
A faint hope stirred in Cara's heart. Perhaps, if she yielded to his wishes
now, without further argument, she might be able, later on, to induce him
to reconsider his decision--to persuade him to be merciful. He seemed to
read her thoughts with an uncanny insight.
"You'll stay?" he said.
She nodded, and he helped off the heavy fur wrap she was wearing. Then he
pressed the bell-push and, when Achille appeared, gave a curt order for
supper to be served. As the Frenchman departed his quick eyes flickered a
moment over Cara's beautiful face and milk-white shoulders. Decidedly, he
reflected, his master had good taste.
The supper, as might have been expected, was a very perfectly chosen
repast, and as the meal progressed Cara was fain to acknowledge that Brett
knew how to act the part of host most charmingly. On her side she played up
pluckily, hoping that by falling in with his humour she might yet win the
odd trick of the game.
It was not until they had reached the coffee and cigarette stage that he
reverted to the avowed object of her visit to the yacht.
"It was really rather a sporting attempt on your part," he remarked, "even
though foredoomed to failure. Will you tell me"--curiously--"what induced
you to do it?"
"I'm very fond of Ann," returned Cara evasively.
He shook his head.
"I don't think that can have been all. You were running"--he regarded her
through narrowed lids--"a pretty big risk, and you're woman of the world
enough to know it. You are quite at my mercy, you see. A woman doesn't run
that kind of risk--for another woman." He leaned across the little table,
his compelling blue eyes concentrated on her face. "Do tell me why you did
it?"
For a moment she was silent. Then, lifting her eyes to meet his, she said
simply:
"I did it because once--years ago--I robbed Eliot Coventry of his
happiness. I wanted to give it back to him."
"And you were prepared to risk your reputation over the job?"--swiftly.
"Yes," she answered quietly. "I was prepared."
"Then you must have felt quite convinced he was in danger of losing his
happiness--to me?"--with lightning triumph.
"Not _to_ you--through you," she corrected quietly.
"Ann would have promised to marry me to-night."
"I'm sure she would not. But it was almost inevitable that Eliot would
misunderstand--distrust her, if he learned that she had been here with
you--this evening."
Brett nodded composedly.
"Yes. And I don't think the only explanation she could have offered would
have helped her much--that it was done for the sake of Tony Brabazon! It
was a big thing for any woman to do for a man--_unless she cared for him_!
And"--he uttered a light laugh--"I fancy Coventry's jealousy of Brabazon
would have wakened up again quite quickly in the circumstances. Oh!"--with
an impatient gesture--"it was a lovely scheme--absolutely watertight, if
only you hadn't meddled!"
He looked across at her with an expression that held a droll mixture of
anger and mortification, not unlike the expression, of a child who, having
banged a new toy too ecstatically upon the floor, sees it suddenly drop to
pieces.
"Not altogether watertight," observed Cara calmly. "There was a
chance--quite a good chance, too--that Eliot might not have heard a single
word about the matter--might never have known that Ann had been here."
"Bah!"--arrogantly. "I don't leave things like that--to chance. I wasn't
taking any chances. I arranged that Coventry should know all right."
Cara started.
"What do you mean?" she demanded.
"What do I mean?" He smiled derisively. "Why, that old chap who lives at
the lodge at Heronsmere, old chap with a face like a gargoyle--Brady,
what's his name?"
"Bradley," supplied Cara.
"Yes, that's it. Bradley. A cunning old rascal, if ever there was one--he'd
sell his immortal soul for the price of a drink. I told him"--watching her
keenly while he spoke--"that his master would probably like to know that a
certain young lady in whom he was interested would be found on board the
_Sphinx_ this evening if he wanted to see her."
"You told him _that_?" gasped Cara, stricken with dismay.
"Certainly I did"--triumphantly. "And I gave him a five-pound note to jog
his memory. I don't think he'll omit to hand on the information as desired.
I should say"--glancing at the clock--"that we might expect Coventry along
at any moment now."
Cara half rose from the table. Her face was very white, her eyes dilated
with horror.
"Perhaps--perhaps he won't come--won't believe it," she stammered faintly,
with a desperate hope that she might be speaking the truth.
Brett smiled unpleasantly.
"I think he'll believe it all right. I gave Bradley very clear
instructions. But, in any case," he added easily, "I'd prepared for the
possible contingency that the old fool might bungle matters."
"How?" Her voice was almost inaudible.
"Why, then, I should simply have steamed away with my honoured guest on
board. After a day or two's trip at sea, I think there'd be no question Ann
would accept me as her husband. The position would be an even more awkward
one than her predicament at the Dents de Loup. Her presence on the yacht
could hardly be explained away as an--accident"--significantly. "But I
preferred my first plan--it entailed less publicity"--with a short laugh.
Cara sprang up, her eyes blazing. In the torrent of scorn and anger which
swept over her at his duplicity--at the nonchalant recital of it all--the
embarrassment of her own situation was temporarily lost sight of.
"Brett, I think you must be absolutely devoid of any sense of right or
wrong! I never heard of anything more utterly fiendish and heartless in the
whole of my life. Have you _no_ conscience, _no_ decent feeling, that you
could plot and plan to ruin a woman's happiness as you would have ruined
Ann's? Oh! It's unbelievable! I think you must be a devil incarnate!"
He rose too, his eyes smouldering dangerously. The veneer of polished
mockery had dropped from him suddenly.
"I'm not. I'm a man in love," he said thickly. "I wanted her--God, how I
wanted her! And, but for you, I'd have succeeded. You've robbed me--robbed
me of my mate!..." His lips drew back over his teeth in a kind of snarl. "I
think you deserve to be punished," he went on slowly and significantly.
"What's to prevent my putting out to sea--now--this minute--and taking you
with me?"
"Brett--" She shrank back, suddenly terrified. His eyes were blazing with a
reckless fury--mad eyes. She made a dart for the door, but before she could
reach it he had caught her by the arm, his strong fingers crushing deep
into her white flesh.
"Well, why not?" he jeered savagely. "You came here in Ann's place of your
own free will! Supposing you _take_ her place--altogether--"
A tap sounded on the door. Brett's hand fell away from her arm, and she
stood quiveringly waiting for what might come. After a discreet pause
Achille entered, advancing with soft, cat-like tread.
"For mademoiselle," he said, tendering a note to Cara on a salver.
As she took the note she vaguely noticed that it bore no superscription.
With trembling fingers she tore it open.
_"I hear you are on the_ Sphinx. _I'm quite sure you must have a
good reason for being there, if you are there of your own free
will. But in case you are not, and need help, I wanted you to know
I've come on board and will take you home whenever you wish,--E."_
Cara glanced across at Brett, who was watching her curiously. She slipped
the note, intended for Ann, into the bosom of her gown and turned to
Achille.
"Tell Mr. Coventry Miss Lovell is not on board the _Sphinx_," she said
quietly.
"Coventry!" broke violently from Brett. "Where is he, Achille?"
"He come in a boat from the shore, monsieur. Just now. He wait only an
answer to zis lettaire." The man bowed and retired, leaving Brett and Cara
staring at each other.
"You would not have come between Eliot and Ann, after all," she said
proudly. "Your trick would have misfired. He trusts her--absolutely."
She had hardly finished speaking when the sound of a scuffle came from the
companion-way, accompanied by a stream of voluble French. Then: "Get out
of my way!" came in good, robust English, and an instant later Eliot's big
frame appeared in the doorway.
"I want an explanation, Forrester--" he began sternly. Then fell silent,
while his senses quietly absorbed the whole scene before him--the man and
woman in evening dress, the flower-decked table with its half-emptied
coffee-cups and evidences of a recent gay little supper, the mingled scent
of cigarette smoke and carnations. Last of all, his glance, cold and
contemptuous, swept over Cara's white face.
He gave a short laugh.
"Bradley misled me," he observed coolly. "There's no one here in whom I'm
interested." For a moment his eyes--accusing, utterly scornful--met and
held Cara's. Then he looked across at Brett. "I understood you were alone,
Forrester. I regret my intrusion." With a curt bow he was gone.
As the door closed behind him Cara sank down mutely into her chair. She
gazed wearily in front of her. There was no need to ask herself what Eliot
thought. It had been written plainly in his eyes.
Presently she turned her head and looked across at Brett.
"Well?" she said tonelessly. "I hope you're satisfied. I don't think you
need bother any more about--punishing me."
The savage anger had died out of his face. He was regarding her with an odd
look of surprise. There had been no mistaking the anguish of her expression
as she had grasped Eliot's swift and cruel interpretation of the scene. She
had looked like a woman on the rack.
"So ... Coventry was the man ... before you married that bounder, Dene."
Brett spoke very quietly, like a man communing with himself, fitting
together the pieces of a puzzle.
She nodded.
"Yes," was all she said.
He sat down on the opposite side of the table and leaned forward, still
with that half-surprised curiosity on his face.
"Then why didn't you clear yourself just now? You could have done. Why on
earth didn't you explain?"
A twisted little smile tilted her mouth.
"Because--because I wanted to keep Ann out of it. Don't you see--he thinks
Bradley made a mistake. He need never know--now--that Ann even thought of
coming. I've ... made sure ... of his happiness. I took it away once. Now
I've given it back."