A Distant Sound Of Thunder. Anne Mather

not paralysed now, Miss St. Cloud,’ Rebecca contradicted her gently.

      ‘Not actually, perhaps. But in every way that matters, I am. Tied to a wheelchair, unable to walk, or dance, or swim!’ Her face twisted bitterly, and Rebecca felt distressed. It was at times like this when she felt an immense sense of compassion for Adele.

      ‘Now then,’ she said, smiling a little. ‘You’re not tied to the villa. We have the car. We could drive to Navua tomorrow if you like. Dr. Manson says the trip up river from there is quite beautiful. Forests and waterfalls—and it would be refreshing on the water.’

      Adele turned to her impatiently. ‘I don’t want to go on a river trip,’ she snapped. ‘Don’t humour me, Rebecca. I don’t want that. Just because you’re young and healthy, don’t try to fool me! I’m useless! A wreck of a woman, not even fit to be called a woman.’

      ‘That’s nonsense!’

      ‘What is nonsense?’ Adele clenched her fists. ‘Do you think I don’t notice the way men look at you? The way Dr. Manson looks at you. The way Piers looked at you!’

      Rebecca’s cheeks were scarlet. ‘Please, Miss St. Cloud—–’ she began.

      ‘Why? Why shouldn’t I say it? It’s true, isn’t it?’ Adele’s eyes narrowed. ‘And you can’t fool me about that, either, Rebecca! Piers was the reason you didn’t want to lunch with me. Piers! I wonder why? What did he say to you last evening to cause you such anxiety?’

      Rebecca began to wheel the chair into the corridor and from there to Adele’s room, but Adele was not finished yet. Twisting in her seat, she watched her nurse’s mobile face, and her own grew contemptuous. Turning round again, she went silent, and Rebecca was relieved. But as they reached Adele’s bedroom, Adele spoke again, this time in an entirely different voice.

      ‘Tell me, Rebecca, now you’ve had the chance to speak to him again, what do you think of Piers?’

      Rebecca bit her lip. What did Adele want of her now? Searching for a suitable reply, she said: ‘He seems—quite nice.’ She helped Adele on to the bed and began to loosen the buttons of her dress. ‘Have you known him long?’

      ‘Most of my life,’ answered Adele, sliding her arms out of the dress. ‘‘His family and mine were always very close.’

      ‘I see.’ Rebecca bent to unfasten Adele’s shoes and Adele’s eyes narrowed.

      ‘At one time—it was thought that he and I—might marry,’ she said.

      Rebecca looked up, hiding her surprise. But then, of course, Piers St. Clair would be about Adele’s own age. Something he had said came back to her: he had called her his sister-in-law! A strange feeling twisted her stomach. He was married, then. Married to Adele’s sister.

      Adele watched Rebecca closely. ‘Why are you frowning?’ she asked. ‘Are you so shocked by that knowledge?’

      ‘Why, no!’ Rebecca answered quickly. ‘But—it was something Monsieur St. Clair said.’

      ‘Which was?’ Adele prompted.

      Rebecca shrugged. ‘Only that he was your brother-in-law.’

      Adele nodded, and lay back against the pillows. ‘That’s right.’ Her mouth twisted again. ‘He married one of my four sisters.’

      Rebecca straightened, lifting Adele’s legs on to the bed. ‘So he’s married,’ she said, rather flatly.

      Adele regarded her intently, and then a strange smile curved her thin lips. ‘My sister died,’ she said, closing her eyes.

      Rebecca pressed a hand to her stomach. ‘I’ll get the sedative,’ she said.

      Adele’s eyes flickered. ‘That won’t be necessary, Rebecca. I feel—very tired.’

      Rebecca hesitated. Adele’s cheeks were still flushed with hectic colour, but she could not force her to take the capsule.

      ‘Very well,’ she said now, ‘I’ll leave you. But if you want anything, just call.’

      ‘I will.’ Adele closed her eyes again. ‘By the way, Piers is coming for dinner tomorrow evening. Do you think you could ask Rosa to use a little more imagination with the food than she usually does?’

      Rebecca walked to the door. ‘I’ll speak to her,’ she agreed, and went quickly out of the room.

       CHAPTER TWO

      THE next morning Rebecca went down to the beach as usual to take her early morning swim. A faint mist cast gauzy nets across the horizon heralding another perfect day. Spiders’ webs among the palms were hung with dew which sparkled like diamonds, and the sand underfoot was cool and soft between her toes. Shedding her towelling jacket, she stood for a moment, poised on the shoreline, stretching her arms to the rays of the rising sun.

      And so it was, silhouetted against the golden skyline, that the man saw her as he emerged from the trees and came walking panther-like along the sand towards her. As though suddenly conscious of the approach of an intruder, Rebecca swung round and gasped, as much with annoyance as with surprise, as she recognised the interloper.

      ‘Bonjour, mademoiselle,’ Piers St. Clair said casually, reaching her side. ‘Do you usually swim at this hour?’

      Rebecca managed to control her colour. This man always seemed to put her at a disadvantage, and dressed only in a bikini, her feet bare, she felt somehow aware and vulnerable.

      ‘This is the only time of day I can call my own,’ she replied, rather pointedly. ‘Miss St. Cloud does not rise until nine—or thereabouts.’

      ‘Ah, I see,’ Piers nodded.

      Rebecca hesitated, and then said: ‘I understood you were invited for dinner—not for breakfast.’

      He smiled. ‘What a sharp little tongue you have, mademoiselle. It may surprise you to know that I did not intend calling at the villa. My hotel room was hot and I was not tired. I decided to drive for a while and as I passed Adele’s villa I saw you crossing the lawns towards the beach. I apologise if my arrival is something of an intrusion.’

      Rebecca coloured now. He had successfully reduced her small attempt at sarcasm to mere pettiness. With an inconsequent shrug of her shoulders, she said: ‘As you are a friend—a relative, almost—of my employer, your presence on the beach could hardly be termed an intrusion when I am merely Adele’s employee.’ She bit her lip. She had not meant to say Adele, it had just slipped out, but she was just as sure that he had noticed it.

      Piers St. Clair frowned. ‘I care less and less for your explanations, mademoiselle,’ he commented dryly. ‘As I have said, I did not intend coming here. I should not have.’

      With a flick of his fingers against his dark trousers, he turned and walked away along the beach, and Rebecca pressed her lips together unhappily. For all she was sure he would not mention this incident to Adele, nevertheless she felt a sense of shame that she should have behaved so rudely. After all, it was not his fault that she found him disturbingly attractive. No doubt he was used to women finding him so. It was just that some inner sense warned her about becoming involved with him, without taking into account the fact that he might not feel attracted to her. Sighing indecisively, she stepped forward into the water, allowing the small waves to ripple round her ankles. She would not allow thoughts of him to mar these moments of the day. This was the time when she shed all the petty restrictions Adele imposed and became a sun-worshipper.

      The water was delicious, and it creamed over her shoulders delightfully. There was a sensuousness about warm water that compared with nothing she had ever known back in England. Occasionally, late in the evening, when Adele was fast asleep, she came and swam without her bikini, but although