Read Online Spell of the Island by Anne Hampson - Free Book Online

She looked from one to the other, bewildered in some way she could not understand.
    ‘What is it?’ demanded Paul shortly. ‘Jeremy?’
    She shook her head.
    ‘I expect he’s asleep. He never wakes once he does go to sleep.’
    ‘Then what brings you back here?’
    Emma moved uncomfortably, wondering if her sister guessed anything. She, Emma, had managed somehow to appear cool and collected—a miracle considering the tumult that was raging within her!
    ‘I wanted to come back. I knew I’d not sleep, and as Emma was here I thought you wouldn’t mind?’ She looked up at him, lashes damp and stiff. ‘You don’t mind, do you?’
    Paul was furious; Emma could see that and she said at once, ‘As a matter of fact, Louise, I was just leaving. I’m very tired and am going to bed.’ Rising from the couch, she turned, at the same time avoiding Paul’s eyes. Nor did she look at him when she said, on reaching the door, ‘Good night, Monsieur Fanchette.’ She met her sister’s gaze. ‘You had better come with me,’ she advised and deliberately took hold of her arm.
    Paul said nothing, and Emma did wonder just what his thoughts were. Was he as frustrated as she? Of course, he must be. Yet even as she mounted the lovely balustraded staircase, Emma was owning to being relieved that she had been prevented from an act which she would almost immediately have regretted.
    Once in Louise’s bedroom she asked her why she had been crying.
    ‘You know very well why. Oh, Emma, I’m so down I could kill myself!’
    ‘Don’t say such things, Louise!’ Emma moved to put her arms about her shoulders. ‘Think of Mother if nothing else. She’s unhappy enough already. Look, you must leave—we both must! I insist—’
    ‘Leave, and never see him again? I’d die—my heart’s broken anyway—’ Louise burst into a paroxysm of weeping, and try as she may Emma could not console her. She found herself cursing the man to whom she herself had almost surrendered. Yet was this misery which Louise was suffering entirely his fault? He could have been kinder, yes; but Emma rather thought that might have made things worse, as then Louise would naturally have surmised that there was some real hope for her.
    ‘Try to compose yourself,’ begged Emma, leading Louise to the bed and sitting her down. ‘I can’t leave you like this.’
    ‘Go to bed, Emma. I shan’t sleep anyway, so you won’t do any good by staying. Oh, wasn’t he horrid with me this evening? And why should he call you Emma and me—me b-by my surname? If he should get to like you, I really would kill myself, for I’d not be able to bear it!’ She turned to bury her head in the pillow, and Emma found
herself
in tears. ‘Please leave me,’ beseeched Louise. ‘I’m no fit company for anyone! Besides, I want to be on my own!’
    ‘But you didn’t want that just now when you came down to the salon,’ Emma reminded her.
    Louise sat up again and made some attempt to dry her eyes.
    ‘If you must know, I hated the thought of your being alone with Paul.’
    Silence reigned for a space, with Emma reliving that passionate interlude and thanking God thatLouise had thought to knock on the door and had not just walked in.
    And in any case, what if she had come a minute sooner? it didn’t bear thinking about, for the result would have been an irreparable rift between her and Louise, and perhaps between Emma and her mother.
    ‘I do wish you could forget him—’
    ‘That’s a stupid thing to say and you know it! If you’d ever been in love, you’d know just how I feel! I’ve nothing to live for, Emma, nothing!’
    Trying to comfort her was a futile and thankless task, and at last Emma listened to her sister’s repeated pleas and left her alone.
    But she did not go immediately to her room. She went down again to the salon. Paul was listening to classical music, played in low notes from a tape recorder. He glanced up, and she gave him a chill look in return.
    ‘Louise