Brittle Bondage by Rosalind Brett Read Free Book Online Page B

ignored him.
    Reluctantly she roused and turned towards the house, and the dog demonstrated his disgust at her lack of sportsmanship by spraying her legs and dashing ahead to find the prostrate and panting bull terriers. Not even the juiciest hunk of meat thrown into the pool would have persuaded them to get wet.
    In the hall, Venetia was seized with a spasm of vertigo. It passed, but left a raging ache behind her brow and needle-points in her eyes. All the way down the corridor she clung to the wall, and somehow she opened her bedroom door. Room and furniture wavered. She groped to the bed and slumped across it, eyes closed, her head a furnace of agony.
    Sickness rose in her throat, and again a climax of jabbing pains in her eyes and the burning somewhere inside her head. She thought she was going to die, and was glad.
    “Venetia!”
    She tried to answer, but the mere muscle movement in her neck sent fresh knives to her skull. All she desired was to pass out of the world quietly, and alone.
    “Venetia!” A tap on the door. “Are you in there?”
    Her riding-boot made a sound on the floor, and the door burst wide. In a couple of strides Blake was bending over her, pushing away the tumbled hair and feeling round her dry, fiery forehead with the back of his hand. He slipped undone the top button of her shirt.
    “Mosi saw you staggering as you came in, and called me. Try and tell me what you feel.”
    “Horribly ... sick,” she managed, “and my head ...”
    Blake barked at the hovering boy. “Mosi, take the car and go to Dr. Rivers. Tell him the missus is sick, and to come at once. Tyetya !”
    The boy vanished. Blake drew off her boots, loosened her belt and lifted her to lie flat on the bed. He pressed one hand over her heart and with the other felt her wrist. Fumana brought iced water and a cloth which Blake squeezed out and spread across her eyes and brow. Below it her face was drawn into u nfamiliar lines, and a pathetic little pulse beat visibly in the delicate hollow of her throat. She looked like a child suddenly stricken by one of the more serious fevers.
    Presently he inserted an arm under her and made her drink a bitter, milky draught.
    “This will ward off sickness,” he said. “Is that the worst part of it?”
    “I don’t know.” From under dark, heavy lids she looked at him. “What have I done? Have I ... caught something?”
    “Sunstroke,” he said briefly.
    “Is that all?”
    “It’s plenty. Makes you feel ill as the devil.”
    “It was my fault. You said I must ... always wear a hat in the sun.”
    “Don’t talk. I’ve sent for Paul. He’ll know how bad it is and give you the correct sedative. I’ll pull the curtains and stay in the room with you.”
    Venetia lay motionless. She was vaguely aware of Blake’s presence and infinitely grateful for the constant renewing of the icy wetness of the cloth. Once she felt his touch inside her collar, as if he were gauging her temperature, and through her pain sensed his caged impatience. When Paul came she heard Blake meet him outside the door.
    “You’ve taken the hell of a time, Paul. It’s half an hour since I sent the boy.”
    “I call that good going. What’s wrong with Venetia ?”
    “ A severe touch of sun. She’s in pain. Give her something to put her to sleep for a few hours. I was on the point of giving her some luminal myself.”
    “Leave me alone with her, will you, Blake? ”
    Twenty minutes later Paul came into the lounge. “She’ll sleep,” he said, “but I’m afraid she’ll be seedy for several days. She seems strung up about it, too. I’ll send you some tablets to relieve the symptoms, but don’t let her get up till Tuesday; that will give her nerves time to settle. Thanks,” as Blake handed him a brandy-and-soda. “I wonder what possessed her to sit in the sun for so long? Women do the strangest things.”
    “Will she be asleep already?”
    “Probably. I gave her a strong shot. Why?’
    “It can wait,”