Island Of The Heart

‘You look—very fetching.’ The smile that did not reach his eyes was exactly the insult he intended it to be. ‘You were no doubt hoping for company. What a pity your only visitor turned out to be myself!’

She said chokingly, ‘Please don’t expect a polite contradiction, Mr Killane. What I can’t comprehend is how someone as kind and—and charming as Crispin can possibly be related to someone like you. Perhaps you really are some kind of changeling.’

She saw the lean face darken, and was aware of him taking one threatening step towards her. His hand closed on her arm, anchoring her, making retreat impossible.

He said softly, through his teeth, ‘Now if you really want to make comparisons …’

He pulled her against the hard length of his body and kissed her on the mouth.

After Crispin’s beguiling gentleness, Flynn Killane’s cold-blooded, deliberately sensual exploration of her lips had the shock of an assault. For a moment Sandie was frozen, unable to credit what was happening, then she began to struggle wildly, her body twisting against his as she tried to free herself, and heard him laugh, deep in his throat. His hands slid down her body, moulding her slender contours through the thin fabric of housecoat and nightgown, and her whole being seemed to burn with shame at his touch.

For a long moment he held her, then, totally unhurriedly, he lifted his head and released her, stepping back.

‘Take that to bed with you, darling,’ he said silkily. ‘And while you’re lying there, remember they’re my sheets you’re wrapped in.’ He paused. ‘Sweet dreams!’

She lifted her hand and slapped him as hard as she could across his tanned cheek, then she ducked her head, picked up the trailing skirts of her housecoat, and ran like a hare for the stairs and safety.

CHAPTER THREE

WHEN SANDIE OPENED her eyes the next morning, the sun was shining into her room from a clear sky.

She sat up, aware of a faint throbbing in her temples, and pushed her hair back from her face. For a moment she felt totally disorientated, then, as the events of the previous twenty-four hours rushed back to confront her in their entirety, she sank back against the pillows with a little moan of dismay.

She glanced towards the window and the untrammelled blue of the skies, and winced. ‘Hypocrite!’ she muttered.

She knew an ignominious urge to stay where she was, with the covers pulled over her head, rather than have to get up and face the inevitable repercussions of Flynn Killane’s unexpected return.

No wonder everyone had reacted as they had to her arrival if he was always as hostile and intolerant to people who were not there at his personal invitation! Yet surely someone of Crispin’s eminence in the world of music did not have to go cap in hand to ask his half-brother’s permission before inviting anyone to Killane.

Helpless colour flooded her face as she remembered the way Flynn Killane had spoken to her—the unequivocal inferences that he’d drawn from her presence. That had been quite bad enough without the appalling humiliation of that odious kiss.

It mortified her now to recall her own wistful fantasies about Crispin. It was as if a trail of slime had been laid across them, she thought, shuddering.

By this time, of course, everyone at Killane would know the owner of the house had returned. Flynn Killane was undoubtedly someone who could make his presence felt.

Sandie groaned and got reluctantly out of bed. Well, there was little point in delaying the inevitable.

Half an hour later, dressed casually but comfortably in her usual jeans and T-shirt, her hair twisted into one long braid, she went downstairs. It was essential, she thought, standing in the hall rather irresolutely, to find Crispin, and tell him what had happened.

As she paused, Steffie, followed by James, emerged from the dining room.

‘Hello there,’ Steffie was eating a thick slice of bread and marmalade. ‘Do you want some breakfast?’

‘I’m not very hungry,’ Sandie excused herself hastily. The way her stomach was churning, it would be a miracle if she ever ate anything again.

James gave her a speculative look, then glanced at his twin. ‘We’re away down to the paddock,’ he said. ‘Why don’t you come with us?’

Sandie hesitated. ‘I think I’d better stay here.’

‘I wouldn’t,’ Steffie said candidly. ‘Flynn and Crispin are having a terrible row in the study, shouting their heads off. You’re best out of it.’

‘Crispin’s doing all the shouting,’ James supplied. ‘Flynn’s talking in that quiet, cold voice that I don’t like.’ He turned to Sandie. ‘He wants you packed off back to England,’ he informed her.

Sandie’s heart sank. ‘Oh, no! But why?’

Steffie giggled. ‘Because he thinks you’re Crispin’s bit on the side,’ she said airily.

By rights, Sandie should have administered some well-chosen reproof, but she was too angry.

‘Well, he couldn’t be more wrong,’ she said curtly. ‘And what business is it of his, anyway?’

‘Oh, everything that happens at Killane is Flynn’s business,’ Steffie said sunnily. ‘After all, it’s his house, and Bridie says we’re only here on—on suffrage,’ she added doubtfully.

‘Sufferance,’ Sandie corrected automatically. But the twins were already heading for the front door, and after a moment’s hesitation, she followed.

What an autocrat! she thought, smouldering. What a petty tryant—king of his rundown castle, and determined to let everyone know it!

She had hoped that by now Crispin would have explained the situation to him, and got him to see some kind of reason. She’d even imagined some kind of apology coming her way, and had planned how she would accept it with icy dignity. But it seemed she had totally underestimated the depth of animosity between the brothers. And because of it, there would be no second chance for her. She was going to be shipped back to England as if she was in some kind of disgrace, when she was innocent of everything but wanting to be a professional pianist—and a little wistful thinking about Crispin. And what was really so shameful about that? she asked herself defensively.

Flynn Killane was probably just jealous, she thought, her nails curling into the palms of her hands. He might be a top man in his field, but he had none of the fame enjoyed by the rest of his family. Nor had he anything like Crispin’s good looks or charisma, she thought. In fact, he looked as if he knew more about street brawling than high finance.

The horses were already waiting at the paddock fence for their visitors. Sandie joined in the apportioning of carrot and apple, and other titbits, and patted the velvet noses which came snuffling inquisitively towards her.

‘Do you want to come for a ride?’ James asked.

Sandie shook her head. ‘I don’t think so. I’ve come here to work—and to learn.’

‘Well, don’t expect a lesson from Crispin today. He’ll be slamming off somewhere in a temper like he always does.’ Steffie giggled. ‘I love it when Flynn comes home. There’s always hell to pay!’ She swung herself athletically on to the fence, and on to the back of the nearest horse, twisting her hand in its mane.

‘You’re not going like that. Aren’t you going to use a proper saddle—and a helmet?’ Sandie watched in alarm, as James also mounted bareback.

‘Oh, we have them somewhere,’ Steffie called back over her shoulder as she trotted off. ‘But Flynn says we were born to break our bloody necks.’

For such a critic of other people’s morals and behaviour, Flynn Killane’s own remarks in the hearing of his younger siblings could take some censoring, Sandie thought with disapproval.

She turned back towards the house, and saw, her heart sinking, that O’Flaherty was striding briskly across the grass towards her.

‘Himself wants to see you in the study,’ he announced brusquely, adding, ‘And at once will be just grand.’

Sandie toyed with the idea of sending back an equally curt message that Flynn Killane could go and jump in his own lake, but decided against it. Thrusting her hands in her pockets, she sauntered back to the house, with O’Flaherty in close attendance. Like some prison warder! she thought, seething.

The study was a pleasant room, its walls lined with books, and with a large, old-fashioned desk occupying pride of place. Flynn Killane was standing, looking out of the window. Without turning, he said, ‘Sit down, Miss Beaumont.’

‘I prefer to stand,’ Sandie said, adding sarcastically, ‘Isn’t that what you’re supposed to do when the headmaster sends for you?’

‘Well, I’m no teacher of yours, thank God.’ Flynn Killane walked to the desk and sat down casually on its corner. He was wearing close-fitting dark slacks today, and a white shirt, open at the neck, and with the sleeves turned casually back to reveal tanned forearms. ‘I understand that’s Crispin’s role, and you’re the eager pupil seeking enlightenment at the feet of the master.’

Sandie’s lips tightened at the overt sneer. ‘I don’t know why you should find that so extraordinary. I can’t be the first …’

‘You’re the first so-called student he’s had the damnable nerve to bring here,’ he returned tersely. He looked her over. ‘I see last night’s half-naked houri has been replaced by the well-scrubbed, youthful look,’ he commented. ‘Just who do you think you’re fooling, Miss Beaumont?’

‘This happens to be my usual appearance,’ Sandie said icily. ‘As for last night—’ in spite of herself a faint flush rose in her face, ‘—I was not half-naked. I was perfectly decent.’

‘I doubt if you know the meaning of the word.’ The blue eyes were implacable. He leaned forward slightly, and Sandie found herself taking a hasty and involuntary step backwards—a move that she saw with chagrin was not lost on him. ‘Let me give you some advice, Miss Beaumont. Get back where you came from, before any more harm is done.’

‘Give me one good reason why I should.’

‘Because no possible good can come of your remaining a day longer.’

‘But I disagree, Mr Killane.’ Sandie lifted her chin defiantly. ‘Under Cris—Mr Sinclair’s guidance, I intend to fulfil my potential as a pianist, and justify the faith he’s shown in me.’

There was a silence, and Flynn Killane gave a meditative nod. ‘Tell me,’ he said softly, ‘just how do you assess this—potential of yours?’

Sandie swallowed. ‘I hope, one day, to be good enough to take my place on the concert platform.’

He laughed. ‘And also, no doubt, to find gold at the end of some convenient rainbow.’ He shook his head. ‘That’s so much moonshine, my girl. You’re deceiving yourself.’

‘What do you mean?’ Sandie flung her head back. ‘And what do you know about it anyway?’ she added hotly.

He shrugged. ‘In case you’ve forgotten, I heard you play last night.’

‘And you think from that you can judge—you have the presumption—the gall to pass an opinion?’ She was shaking with anger.

He looked faintly amused. ‘I see that you’ve already been told about Flynn the Philistine,’ he commented drily. ‘Come on now, Miss Beaumont, I admit I don’t play any kind of instrument myself. Neither do I lay eggs, but as someone once said, I know a bad one when I come across it.’

Sandie’s lips parted in a gasp of pure fury, and Flynn Killane threw up a hand to stem the indignant torrent of words before she could give them voice.

‘Not that I’d put you quite in that class,’ he added. ‘You play quite well—but you’re not good enough to be a soloist in a million years, and both you, and certainly Crispin, must know that, so let’s forget the cover story of burgeoning genius just waiting to be brought to fruition and get down to brass tacks.’

Sandie drew a quivering breath. ‘You,’ she said, slowly and distinctly, ‘are the most hateful, obnoxious man I’ve ever had the misfortune to meet. You’re utterly wrong about me, and everything about me. But I don’t care about the kind of vile conclusions you’ve drawn. I know I’ve got what it takes, and with Crispin’s help, I’m going to prove it.’ Her voice shook, and she paused to steady it. ‘I’ve come here to work,’ she went on. ‘Work—do you understand? Not—not to flirt with your brother. I have talent and I believe in myself. And nothing you say or do is going to make the slightest difference,’ she added with a little sob.

He looked at her for a long moment, the blue eyes narrowed, then shrugged again. ‘In that case,’ he said, ‘I’m sincerely sorry for you.’

‘And I don’t want your bloody sympathy either!’ she snapped angrily. ‘Oh, why did you have to come back—and spoil everything?’

‘Put it down to natural perversity,’ he said. ‘You fight well, Miss Beaumont, although I enjoyed your struggles last night even more,’ he added with an elliptical grin. ‘But appearances, your own in particular, are against you. It’s best you go back to England without delay, and I intend to make the necessary arrangements. You may not believe it now, but it’s for your own good.’

The door behind them burst open and Magda Sinclair surged into the room. She was wearing a scarlet silk caftan this morning, lavishly embroidered with dragons, but the tartan scarf still protected her throat.

‘Flynn darling,’ she exclaimed, ‘Crispin tells me you’re planning to send this charming child away. But you can’t—you simply can’t!’

Flynn’s expression suggested he was counting to ten very slowly. He said quietly, ‘And why is that, precisely?’

‘Because there’s been some terrible misunderstanding,’ Magda said earnestly. ‘Sandie’s come here for me—to take poor Janet’s place—although why on earth she had to marry that man—but what’s the use?’ She paused. ‘And this dear girl has given up her summer to help me instead. Isn’t that sweet of her?’

‘Sweet,’ drawled Flynn, ‘is not the word. There seems no end to Miss Beaumont’s versatility. But I’m afraid you’ll have to look elsewhere for your accompanist, Mother. The young lady is leaving us shortly.’

‘Oh, but that’s quite impossible,’ Magda said swiftly. ‘Why, it might take me weeks—months even—to find someone suitable. And darling Sandie’s right here on the spot, and ideal for the job. I won’t let you take her away from me.’

‘That’s nonsense, and we both know it.’ Flynn was tight-lipped. ‘Miss Beaumont is far from irreplaceable. Whatever Crispin may have claimed, there are better pianists around too.’

‘But I like her.’ Magda spread her hands dramatically. ‘Oh, Flynn darling, sometimes you can be so—unkind—unthinking even. When I remember your beloved father—so sensitive to my every need.’ Her eyes filled with sudden tears. ‘How can I explain to you? I need someone who is sympathique. Someone I can get on with. Rapport between us is essential.’ Her shoulders slumped dejectedly. ‘But what’s the use? You’ve never understood the artistic temperament.’

‘Perhaps not, but sheer bloody-mindedness doesn’t cause me too many problems,’ Flynn said with a kind of weary anger. ‘I don’t need to ask who’s prompted this little outburst.’ He shrugged. ‘Let Crispin have his way, then, as he usually does.’ He went round and sat down behind his desk. ‘And now, as we all have so much work to do, maybe we should get on with some of it.’

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