Images Of Love. Anne Mather

that how you see it?’ Robert enquired with a grimace. ‘It’s a lonely life, Tobie. Lonely, and—unfulfilled.’

      Tobie bent her head, feeling the heat of the sun burning her shoulders. ‘I should have thought your work was—fulfilling,’ she commented, feeling obliged to say something, as he made a sound of exasperation.

      ‘I’m sure my mother thinks so, too,’ he essayed wryly, reaching for the almost empty bottle of champagne, residing in the melted ice cubes. ‘Will you join me?’ and when she shook her head, he poured the remainder into his glass and surveyed it with a crooked smile. ‘She doesn’t understand, I was a man first and painter second. I think she expects those roles to be reversed.’

      Tobie darted a look up at him. ‘And they’re not?’ she asked involuntarily, almost immediately realising the antagonism she had provoked.

      ‘What do you think that crash did to me, Tobie?’ he demanded harshly. ‘It didn’t paralyse my feelings—my emotions! They still function as they always did.’

      ‘I—I’m sorry.’ Tobie was horrified at her blunder. ‘I didn’t—I didn’t mean—’

      The sound of footsteps ringing across the stone tiles stilled her fumbling apology, and she sat there in mortified silence as Mark threw his towel down on to a lounger and stretched with evident self-satisfaction.

      ‘Magic,’ he remarked, half to himself, and then turned to his half-brother and Tobie. ‘So—how goes it? You two seemed deep in conversation when I came out of the house. What have you been telling her about me, Rob? Do I detect a certain aloofness in the air?’

      ‘Don’t be silly, Mark.’

      Tobie got hastily to her feet, and as she did so Robert said indolently: ‘Don’t be so conceited, little brother. Your name hasn’t even been mentioned.’

      ‘No?’ Mark pretended to be put out. ‘Hey, Tobie, what’s been going on? Has he been taking liberties behind my back?’

      ‘I—no, of course not.’ Tobie found she couldn’t joke about it, and it was left to Robert to make light of their conversation.

      ‘We’ve been discussing my work, actually,’ he admitted at last. ‘You know what an egoist I am. I can’t resist extolling my talents to a willing listener.’

      Mark grimaced. ‘I’ll believe you,’ he conceded good-naturedly. ‘But only because I know it’s true.’ He turned to Tobie. ‘So come on. I’ll race you round the pool, and if you win I’ll let you duck me, so long as I’m given the same privilege.’

      Tobie hesitated. ‘It’s nearly lunchtime,’ she demurred, in no mood to act the fool with him, but Mark was adamant.

      ‘Lunch can wait,’ he said, advancing on her with menacing steps. ‘Now do you go quietly, or do I have to use force?’

      Tobie backed away from him helplessly, realising she had to go through with this. But as she dropped her skirt and turned to dive smoothly into the water, it was Robert’s expression she remembered.

       CHAPTER THREE

      TO her relief, Robert made no further mention of the conversation they had had. The things she had admitted to him and the embarrassing remark she had made were all forgotten, and the rest of the day passed without incident. During the afternoon, while Robert rested, Mark took her on a tour of the island in a multi-coloured beach buggy, which he said Henri used to bring supplies up from the harbour, and after dinner she was much too tired to want to linger long on the terrace. She said goodnight, and made her way to her room, falling asleep almost as soon as her head touched the pillow.

      The following morning, however, she awakened extremely early. With her body still attuned to European time, she was out of bed before six o’clock, stepping on to her balcony, shivering in the unexpected coolness of the salt-laden breeze. But it was deliciously refreshing, and she wondered if Mark was awake, and as eager to explore as she was.

      On impulse, she shrugged off the shred of cambric she had worn to sleep in, and after sluicing her face and cleaning her teeth, she got dressed. She wore her bathing suit, because she had every intention of using the pool, but she pulled on a pair of baggy cotton pants over the black and white bikini, amazed to see that already her day in the sun had left the faint marks of her bra straps over her shoulders. With her hair confined by a black velvet hair ribbon, she left her room, threading her way along the corridors on impatient feet.

      No one seemed to be about, and she wondered what time Monique served breakfast. Dinner had been served by candlelight the night before. They had eaten at the long dining table, overlooking the floodlit waters of the pool, and Tobie had found the effect quite intoxicating. The men had worn dinner jackets, or at least Mark had, his brother’s wine-coloured velvet jacket serving him equally elegantly. Robert had presided at the head of the table, with his mother on his right and Tobie on his left, but as Mark had monopolised the conversation, she had had little chance to amend the opinion he must now have of her. Perhaps today she would be able to repair her image, although why it was so important that she should do so, she didn’t care to analyse.

      Mark had given her a short tour of the downstairs rooms before dinner, and now she knew where the living and eating rooms were, and the ways to get in and out of the villa. Most of the downstairs rooms had French doors anyway, but as well as these, there was a front and a back entrance through elegantly arched portals.

      Now, realising that the villa was probably still locked for the night, Tobie made her way to the garden room, deciding it would be easier to open the windows than the doors. But to her surprise, the windows of the garden room stood wide, their wild silk curtains fluttering in the errant breeze, and from the pool came the distinct sound of splashing water.

      So Mark was up after all. With lightening spirits, Tobie stepped out on to the patio, sauntering across the mosaic tiling that surrounded the pool. She could see a dark head under the water, swimming strongly across the pool, and kicking off her sandals, she rolled up the legs of her pants and squatted down on the rim of the basin, dipping her toes into the water.

      The swimmer surfaced just below where she was sitting, but her anticipated words of teasing admiration died on her tongue. It was not Mark’s square-cut shoulders that emerged from the water, but Robert’s lean dark features, one hand raised to push back the dripping wetness of his hair. She didn’t know which of them was the most surprised, but one thing was certain, Robert was the first to recover.

      ‘Tobie,’ he greeted her politely, keeping himself afloat without apparent effort. ‘Did you sleep well?’

      ‘Oh—yes, thank you.’ Tobie caught her lower lip between her teeth. ‘The—er—the water feels cold.’

      ‘Not to me,’ he remarked tautly. ‘Did you come to swim?’

      Tobie shrugged. ‘I thought I might.’ She sighed. ‘But if I’m intruding—’

      ‘Not at all.’ He granted her a faint smile. ‘If you’ll give me a few minutes to get out—’

      ‘Is that necessary?’ Tobie broke into his speech. ‘I mean—’ she made an awkward gesture, ‘I won’t get in your way.’

      ‘But I might get in yours,’ he retorted flatly. ‘Do you mind? I am rather sensitive about being observed. If you’ll just hand me that robe …’ He gestured to a navy towelling gown that was draped over the nearby lounger. ‘I’ll only be a few minutes.’

      Tobie drew her knees up to her chin, preparatory to getting to her feet, and then allowed them to drop down again. ‘Robert, really …’ she began, using his name without really thinking about it. ‘Please don’t leave on my account. I—I’ll go, if you want. I—I didn’t intend to interrupt your swim. Please—just go on as if I wasn’t here.’

      Robert’s firm mouth twisted. ‘Do you