revealing the brown strength of his throat, the point of dark hair dead centre above his forehead, turned him into the handsomest of buccaneers. Who could help being fired by him!
But in Lindsey’s eyes lurked a shadow that was not there yesterday.
CHAPTER FOUR
THREE days later Lindsey accidentally attended her first veranda luncheon. Stuart, who had to keep an appointment in town, had driven her to “Komana” just after noon, and left her there, promising to telephone if he were likely to be back later than four o’clock. Mrs. Conlowe was at the hairdressers, but due home for lunch, so Lindsey took a magazine into the sun lounge and made herself comfortable in one of the divans. But the journal remained unopened on her lap.
The sun lounge was raised higher than the rest of the veranda in order to command, not only a sweep of the Esplanade, but a stretch of ivory sand washed by rollers and the mighty reef of rocks far to the right, where Port Acland ended and Paynters Ridge began to thrust its jagged headlands into the incredible blue of the Indian Ocean.
Sunlight glittered over the heaving waters, glared white on the low ornamental beach wall on the other side of the road. Some children played on the sand with their dark, buxom nannies, but few people promenaded, for this was not quite the holiday season. Lindsey could not read while so much loveliness lay within her field of vision.
Presen tl y the door thudded softly behind her.
“Oh, I beg your pardon.”
Lindsey turned her head. “Please don’t go. Julius should have told you I was here. You’re Adrienne Cadell, aren’t you?”
The other came forward and slid into a chair opposite, her back to the garden and the sea. Her smooth dark cap of hair was drawn into a neat loop on her neck—a lovely neck. Her features, spectacularly regular, were rendered even more attractive by the creaminess of her skin. Not the sun bathing type, Lindsey catalogued. Yet her figure was nearly perfect, and her sheer silk legs and dainty gabardine sandals showed expensive good taste.
From Mrs. Conlowe’s remarks, Lindsey had pictured Adrienne Cadell as past her best, an unlucky young woman who had missed the marriage bus and, at nearly thirty, was left destitute by a wicked old father. This soignee person in well-cut yellow linen reversed her estimate. If Adrienne was unmarried, it was not for lack of suitors, thought Lindsey. More likely, the woman had never met a man to her taste who also possessed the right sized bank balance. Destitute, in Mrs. Conlowe’s dictionary, might mean anything up to five hundred a year.
Lindsey pulled herself up. Such antagonism towards a woman she had never met before!
“I missed you on my two previous visits,” she said. “I expect you know already that I’m Stuart’s wife?”
An inclination of the dark head. “I saw Stuart yesterday in the car outside Rickerman’s. You’d gone in to buy some things and we had a chat about old times in Kimberley. Perhaps he told you?”
“No, he didn’t ... ”
“How extraordinary.”
“It isn’t really. I came out of the store loaded and a little excited at being able to buy so much without restriction. Possibly it slipped his mind.”
“Perhaps.” A shrug of the neat shoulders. “I’m afraid Mrs. Conlowe isn’t expecting you today. An hour or two at the hairdressers tires her considerably, and she has ordered only a very light lunch to be sent to her room when she returns.”
“In that case,” said Lindsey, carefully modulating her tones, “I’ll wait to say hello and run into town for lunch.”
A brief, uneasy pause.
“Why not come with me?” Adrienne suggested casually. “My cousin is giving a buffet lunch at his flat. You know the sort of thin g—a veranda scramble. I often take friends, sometimes as many as three or four.”
“It’s kind of you, but I think ... ”
“Tony’s lunches are fun and very popular. His flat isn’t far—in one of the avenues off
But in Lindsey’s eyes lurked a shadow that was not there yesterday.
CHAPTER FOUR
THREE days later Lindsey accidentally attended her first veranda luncheon. Stuart, who had to keep an appointment in town, had driven her to “Komana” just after noon, and left her there, promising to telephone if he were likely to be back later than four o’clock. Mrs. Conlowe was at the hairdressers, but due home for lunch, so Lindsey took a magazine into the sun lounge and made herself comfortable in one of the divans. But the journal remained unopened on her lap.
The sun lounge was raised higher than the rest of the veranda in order to command, not only a sweep of the Esplanade, but a stretch of ivory sand washed by rollers and the mighty reef of rocks far to the right, where Port Acland ended and Paynters Ridge began to thrust its jagged headlands into the incredible blue of the Indian Ocean.
Sunlight glittered over the heaving waters, glared white on the low ornamental beach wall on the other side of the road. Some children played on the sand with their dark, buxom nannies, but few people promenaded, for this was not quite the holiday season. Lindsey could not read while so much loveliness lay within her field of vision.
Presen tl y the door thudded softly behind her.
“Oh, I beg your pardon.”
Lindsey turned her head. “Please don’t go. Julius should have told you I was here. You’re Adrienne Cadell, aren’t you?”
The other came forward and slid into a chair opposite, her back to the garden and the sea. Her smooth dark cap of hair was drawn into a neat loop on her neck—a lovely neck. Her features, spectacularly regular, were rendered even more attractive by the creaminess of her skin. Not the sun bathing type, Lindsey catalogued. Yet her figure was nearly perfect, and her sheer silk legs and dainty gabardine sandals showed expensive good taste.
From Mrs. Conlowe’s remarks, Lindsey had pictured Adrienne Cadell as past her best, an unlucky young woman who had missed the marriage bus and, at nearly thirty, was left destitute by a wicked old father. This soignee person in well-cut yellow linen reversed her estimate. If Adrienne was unmarried, it was not for lack of suitors, thought Lindsey. More likely, the woman had never met a man to her taste who also possessed the right sized bank balance. Destitute, in Mrs. Conlowe’s dictionary, might mean anything up to five hundred a year.
Lindsey pulled herself up. Such antagonism towards a woman she had never met before!
“I missed you on my two previous visits,” she said. “I expect you know already that I’m Stuart’s wife?”
An inclination of the dark head. “I saw Stuart yesterday in the car outside Rickerman’s. You’d gone in to buy some things and we had a chat about old times in Kimberley. Perhaps he told you?”
“No, he didn’t ... ”
“How extraordinary.”
“It isn’t really. I came out of the store loaded and a little excited at being able to buy so much without restriction. Possibly it slipped his mind.”
“Perhaps.” A shrug of the neat shoulders. “I’m afraid Mrs. Conlowe isn’t expecting you today. An hour or two at the hairdressers tires her considerably, and she has ordered only a very light lunch to be sent to her room when she returns.”
“In that case,” said Lindsey, carefully modulating her tones, “I’ll wait to say hello and run into town for lunch.”
A brief, uneasy pause.
“Why not come with me?” Adrienne suggested casually. “My cousin is giving a buffet lunch at his flat. You know the sort of thin g—a veranda scramble. I often take friends, sometimes as many as three or four.”
“It’s kind of you, but I think ... ”
“Tony’s lunches are fun and very popular. His flat isn’t far—in one of the avenues off
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