The Way of a Tyrant Read online

  'It was rumoured that you hadn't kept your father's business on,' she ventured when at length her curiosity could no longer be held in check. 'Are you in some other kind of business?'

  A glimmer of amusement entered his eyes.

  'Yes,' he told her, 'I am in some other kind of business.'

  A non-committal reply, and she was no more know­ledgeable now than before putting her question. There had been a sort of dry mockery in his tones that quelled her and she remained silent until the music stopped and Scott accompanied her to her table.

  'Thank you,' he said, 'I enjoyed our dance together.'

  'So did I.' Her smile was a forced attempt which seemed to afford him amusement, for that glimmer appeared in his eyes again.

  'We'll probably meet again later,' he said, and left her.

  She became inexplicably tensed and it was a relief when she was able to leave the restaurant and go to her room, where she remained for a short while, trying to relax. Why should she be feeling like this—actually afraid of Scott and yet without any valid reason? He was only a guest, and would be gone shortly, and it was most unlikely she and he would ever meet again—unless he came to the hotel on a future occasion, which she sincerely hoped would not be the case.

  At last she went down to the lounge and then out to the terrace where a steel band played beneath a brightly-coloured canopy. All around grew the luxurious tropical vegetation which formed part of the ex­tensive gardens of the hotel. The guests, women in evening gowns and men in white jackets, sat at glass tables on which candles burned in coloured jars. Native waiters, white-coated and erect, moved silently between the tables, their teeth flashing in the dim light as they smilingly served the drinks. Below, the palm-fringed shore curved away towards a small rocky outcrop; the dark translucent waters were gently lapping the beach. From somewhere in the grounds of the hotel there drifted the heavy scent of the frangipani tree, blown by the cooling trade wind breeze coming in from the north-east.

  As was her duty Jane moved around, sitting for a few minutes at one table or another, chatting and smil­ing and answering questions. She had automatically looked for Scott, but as he was nowhere to be seen she assumed he was either in one of the smaller lounges or in the bar. His room was directly above her as she strolled back through the grounds; she glanced up, but there was no light. She avoided the bar and the lounges and was just congratulating herself that she had man­aged to escape contact with Scott when, having gone outside again in order to enjoy a few quiet minutes before going to bed, she quite literally bumped into him on turning into one of the lonely tree-shaded paths that wound about in the grounds.

  'Oh… I'm sorry…' Her words died unfinished as her arms were caught in his hands. The contact evoked memories as emotions sprang to the alert and she realized with a shock that it was not only his face that had remained clearly with her during those four years but the memory of his touch as well. The secret admission brought rosy tints to her cheeks, and a slow smile curved Scott's lips as he contemplated her for a long moment before saying,

  'Where are you off to at this time of the night?'

  'I was just taking a stroll.' Jane twisted away as his grip on her arms slackened. Confused by her feelings, she averted her head, but not before she had noticed the searching glance he directed at her.

  'All alone? Why isn't your husband with you? After all, you're still on your honeymoon—or should be.' The softly-spoken words drifted out on a wave of satirical amusement and her colour deepened.

  'He's busy with the guests,' she said shortly, and would have moved on, but Scott's body swerved, bar­ring her way.

  'A stickler for duty, eh?' An undertone of sarcasm now, and Jane's chin lifted.

  'It's his job to look to the guests,' she snapped. 'My—husband's always put his job before anything else!' She had almost made a slip and said 'brother's', but on looking up into Scott's dark countenance she was re­lieved to note that the hesitation had escaped him… or had it? Nerves tingled as she remembered his delib­erate avoidance of her eyes on two previous occasions. She had gained the impression that he had wished to allay any fears she might have. Was it possible that he had guessed at the deception but was not intending to make his knowledge known to her? She shook her head in a gesture of bewilderment and dismissed the idea as being too absurd to be true.

  Scott was saying in some amusement,

  'So your husband puts duty before anything else? What an accommodating wife you turned out to be.'

  Bright spots of colour portrayed her rising anger; it tinted her cheeks and even in the dim light it was dis­cernible to Scott's contemplative eyes.

  'I find your remarks insulting,' she flashed. 'My affairs are private, and therefore I'll request you not to comment on them!'

  His eyes sharpened; the amusement faded as his manner changed.

  'Is this the way you usually speak to the guests?' he inquired softly.

  'The guests don't usually insult me!'

  A long silence followed as Scott looked at her, his forehead creased as if he were in a state of indecision.

  'Perhaps,' he said at last, 'I'd better tell you who I am. I meant to inform your husband at the first oppor­tunity, but as he appeared to be very busy I decided that tomorrow would do.' Scott paused a moment and a faint smile touched his lips as he noted the sudden pallor that crept into her cheeks. 'It appears that you've already guessed who I am?' But Jane shook her head vigorously, as if she would repel the staggering revelation before it assumed any clear form. 'I'm your boss, Jane,' he then said quietly. 'I thought it best to tell you before you treated me with further disrespect.'

  'My… our… employer?' Jane's mouth was dry all at once, and speech was difficult. 'You own this hotel?'

  'We're a company.'

  Bewilderedly she shook her head.

  'It isn't possible,' she stammered. 'No, it—it can't be.'

  'I admit the coincidence is a little incredible, but these things do happen. I couldn't see myself spending the rest of my life in the shoe business, so I looked round for something a little more interesting.' Al­though he proffered this information his manner was by no means friendly; on the contrary, he was now the employer—cool, aloof and rather superior. Jane looked up at him, seeing—through the confusion of her mind—a man totally different from the one she had previously known. It seemed impossible that he had ever pan­dered to the whims of a woman, or unhesitatingly given in whenever she had chosen to argue with him or assert her own will upon him.

  'I—don't know what to say.' The murmured words came automatically, for her mind was occupied with that previous idea that Scott might have guessed at the deception being practised by her brother and herself. But surely he would have mentioned it if he had, she thought, looking into those smoky blue eyes, seeking for the expression that would reassure her completely. No, she decided, he had not guessed. A deep sigh of thank­fulness and relief escaped her. At least Les's job was safe. 'You said you were on holiday,' she reminded him as the thought occurred to her. 'You're not, are you? You've come to find out for yourself whether or not we're suitable to have the management of the hotel?'

  He regarded her with sudden arrogance.

  'I didn't come here to snoop, if that's what you're insinuating,' he returned coldly.

  She averted her head. From across the night-scented gardens the steel band music drifted, but for Jane the magic all around was no longer appreciated. She was endeavouring, through her tangled thoughts, to visual­ize the future and it did seem at this moment that she would be unable to remain on the island.

  'You're really on holiday, then?' she managed at last.

  'Partly. I came here to look for a place in which to live.'

  'You're buying a house?' She naturally thought of the lovely villas she had seen since coming to Barbados, magnificent homes, many of which had once been plantation houses owned by those who had made their fortunes by the sweat of the slaves who worked on the estates.

  Sco
tt nodded. He now lived on the island of St. Vin­cent, he told Jane casually, but he had recently de­cided to settle in Barbados. His tones remained coolly distant; his expression being one of complete indifference. Jane wanted nothing more than to escape, so that she could consider this new situation, dwell upon it and decide what she must do. Yet what could she do? she was immediately asking herself. Les had been eager to obtain a post abroad for years; at all costs she must avoid making things awkward for him. Perhaps Scott would not trouble them once he had his house on the island. After all, it wouldn't be the thing for a man in his position to keep popping in, as it were, just to see how the place was being run. Someone else would be paid to do that, surely. She would have liked to ask how long he proposed remaining at the hotel, but held back the inquiry, convinced that he would respond by making some remark that would put her well and truly in her place.

  He was moving with slight impatience and she re­alized he was ready to leave her. Awkwardly she said good night and, turning swiftly, she went one way and Scott the other.

  It was Susan who told Jane of the house which Scott was anxious to buy. Susan had telephoned the morning after Scott's arrival at the hotel and invited Jane over to Bathsheba for the afternoon. As Les made no demur Jane went eagerly, relieved to be away from Coral Gables, and the danger of meeting up with Scott again.

  'Mr. Kingsley's negotiating for Driftwood House, which stands in beautiful grounds close to Paradise Beach—'

  'Paradise Beach?' interrupted Jane in some dismay. 'That's only about a mile from where we are.'

  'Does it matter?' Susan looked questioningly at her and Jane glanced away, avoiding her eyes. She had told Susan that Scott Kingsley was staying at Coral Gables, but that was all. She saw no reason for mentioning the fact that she and Scott had once gone about together for a short while, and certainly she would never mention that he had asked her to be his wife.

  'Not really. It's just that one doesn't want one's em­ployer living quite so close.'

  'Mr. Kingsley wouldn't ever interfere. He's a charm­ing man. We've met him only twice, but we like him enormously.' She paused, eyeing her friend curiously. 'You don't like him?' she added presently.

  'I'm just indifferent,' carelessly and with the hope that Susan would leave it at that.

  'We heard he was coming over and rather hoped he'd stay with us. However, he's chosen an hotel close to where the house is, which is quite understandable.' They were sitting on the balcony of the Shores' private sitting-room and down below was the swimming-pool, its blue waters stirred to a miniature storm by the play­ful divers and swimmers. Above, tiny wisps of cloud scudded like silver lace being gently stirred in the breeze. 'How are you liking the island?' Susan smiled as she put the question, just as if she already knew the answer.

  'It's idyllic—but all these islands are, apparently.'

  'That's right,' agreed Susan. 'David and I had a holiday on St. Lucia last year as you know. We loved it, but we like Barbados better, of course.' She looked towards the door and smiled as her husband entered the room behind.

  'Hello, Jane,' he greeted her, coming on to the bal­cony. 'How's it going?'

  'We love it. Les keeps on saying he has you to thank for getting him the post.'

  'Nonsense.' David sat down and stretched his legs. 'I merely put forward his name when I knew the vacancy was occurring. Les did the rest himself.'

  'Mr. Kingsley's staying at Coral Gables,' put in Susan. 'He arrived yesterday.'

  'We'd heard he was coming. He's buying a house here,' he began to inform Jane, when Susan inter­rupted to say she had already mentioned this. 'It's a magnificent place,' David then continued. 'I was in it once when the owner asked us to cater for a party for him.'

  'Is it an older house, or modern?' Jane looked interestedly at him and he went on to explain that Driftwood House was one of the island's most beautiful examples of the early Barbadian mansion, a typical well-cared-for plantation house with a sugar-mill in the grounds.

  'It's approached by a long drive shaded by trees, and the actual gardens themselves are a dream. You see, it's been the home of an American millionaire for about twenty years and he's done wonders with it both inside and out.'

  'He will have—when money was no object,' sub­mitted Susan, while Jane, eyes pensive, tried to visual­ize the mansion, gaining her picture from other similar houses she had noticed when on her various rambles or when she had taken the car and gone for a drive. She knew just about were the house would be; it would have a panoramic view of the lovely coastline below and the pale gold beaches for which Barbados was famous. These beaches had been planted with coconut palms, which added majesty in addition to the exotic flavour always imparted by these particular trees.

  'How does it feel being a wife?' David asked the question jocularly and only just in time did Jane prevent the frown that threatened to form on her brow.

  'I'm getting used to it,' she said.

  'I don't expect you cared for the idea?' from Susan, but with a hint of laughter in her voice.

  'I hate deceit. But it was the only way Les could have the post. I hope there won't ever be any un­pleasant repercussions.' She was thinking of Scott and wondering if she would ever approach the moment of dread when he would confront her and Les with the information that he knew they were living a lie. In such circumstances the employment must inevitably be ter­minated and she and her brother would return to Eng­land. It would then be most difficult for Les to get another post as hotel manager, since undoubtedly Scott would refuse to give him a testimonial.

  'If you should meet someone and fall in love it would then be rather awkward.' Susan's pretty face was creased in a frown. 'It could very well happen, you know.'

  David was nodding his head in agreement. Jane shock hers.

  'I don't suppose I shall meet anyone here. All the people we've met up till now are married already.'

  'But you haven't met many. There are several eli­gible bachelors in the Yacht Club,' David told her.

  'I shan't be having anything to do with that,' re­turned Jane with conviction. 'No, I don't think I've anything to worry about in that particular direction. It's other things that trouble me.'

  'Other things?' Susan was idly drawing her fingers through her dark hair, and twisting the ends, a man­nerism Jane had noticed on their very first meeting. 'What things?'

  'It would be dreadful if Mr. Kingsley should dis­cover what we'd done.'

  Susan merely shrugged her shoulders and said,

  'I can't see how he can.'

  'I wish he wasn't settling on the island—' She stopped abruptly, not having intended to voice her thoughts aloud. 'However,' she went on resignedly, 'he is settling here, so we'll just have to hope for the best.'

  'It was a pity Carolyn threw Les over. What exactly happened?' David looked interrogatingly at Jane. 'When I mentioned Les for the post at Coral Gables I was under the impression that he and Carolyn were shortly to be married. Les seemed to be settled with her, judging by his letters.'

  'He admits he took too much for granted. He was serious, but Carolyn wasn't, apparently.'

  'It must have been a blow to him?'

  'It was, but he never really gave up the idea of the post. I think that at first he believed he'd persuade Carolyn to marry him, so he just went ahead and at­tended for the interview.'

  'And, later, he persuaded you to be his—er—bride.' David ended on a laughing note, but Jane's face re­tained its gravity. She wondered if David had con­sidered his own position should Scott, or any other member of his company for that matter, discover the truth. He, David, had recommended Les for the post and he could never deny knowing that Jane was his sister and not his wife. It was to be hoped, for the comfort of all concerned, that the secret could be kept.

  On her return to Coral Gables Jane was drawn into conversation with Mrs. Tolson, a rich South African widow who had taken a liking to Jane the moment she arrived five days previously for a three-week stay. Mrs. Tolso
n was small and dark with large front teeth and full, purplish lips. She wore diamonds and sapphires on her fingers and at throat; her clothes were expensive but in bad taste and on her arrival she had on a puce-coloured suit with black stripes and what Les grinningly described later as a 'distressing hat'. She walked like a man—a ponderous man, Les had said, and she always carried a gigantic bag richly embroidered with flowers. Jane's heart sank when on entering the hotel she was hailed from a chair in the lounge and had no alternative than to approach Mrs. Tolson and occupy the seat she was masterfully tapping.

  'Sit down, dear child! I was just beginning to feel lonely. Where have you been all the afternoon?'

  'I went over to the other side of the island to see my friends. They manage the Carib Palm Hotel at Bathsheba.'

  'Bathsheba? Ah, it is a beautiful part of the island. I believe I shall have a week there before I leave, but we shall see. Now, what entertainment do we have on to­night?'

  'The usual, Mrs. Tolson—limbo dancing and the steel band.'

  'I thought I heard your receptionist talking to one of the porters about a fashion show?'

  That's not until Friday evening.'

  'Will you have anything to fit me? It's always the silly matchstick figures you cater for in these shows!'

  'I believe there are to be some clothes for the—er—fuller figure.'

  'I sincerely hope so. I do need some clothes and that's for sure. And what about a barbecue? Aren't you arranging one of those for your guests?'

  'I don't know, Mrs. Tolson. Perhaps we shall have one, later.'

  The woman nodded.

  'You haven't been here very long, I'm told?'

  'Just over a week, as a matter of fact.'

  'No time at all. Have you worked in hotels before?'

  Jane frowned inwardly at the question.

  'My br—' Appalled, she broke off, her anxious eyes darting to her companion's face. To Jane's immense relief she saw that the woman had not caught the near-mistake. 'My husband has worked in hotels all his fife since leaving the training college.'