Island-in-Waiting by Anthea Fraser Read Free Book Online Page B

turned into the driveway, thick dark trees closed overhead and our headlamps made only a token tunnel of light. I half expected to find a Gothic castle at the end of it, but in fact the house which came into view was plain and uninteresting, four-square Victorian with not so much as a turret to satisfy the aroused imagination.
    Vivian Quayle answered our ring. “I’m so glad to meet you,” she greeted me as Hugo performed the introductions. “Lord knows, we don’t often see a new face round here. Let me take your coats and come and get warm. I’ve invited Neil to make up the numbers.”
    I was aware of a little spurt of gladness as I followed Martha into the large, comfortably furnished room. This time, presumably, there would be neither Pam nor Ray to interrupt our conversation.
    Neil and Nicholas turned from the fireplace to greet us. To my highly attuned senses there seemed a slight reservation in Neil’s greeting, due, no doubt, to Ray’s proprietorial air yesterday. It was strange how each of them seemed to cancel out the other, so that when I was with one I felt drawn to him alone. The bond with Neil I now knew tied in with my dreams, but I could not gauge how deeply, nor if he was also responsible for the voice. Though I must obviously find out, this was not the time to try and I turned my attention to our host.
    In his own home, Nicholas seemed slightly more relaxed than when I had last seen him, a quietly courteous man anxious only for the welfare of his guests. Perhaps the enigmatic Ray had been responsible for his previous agitation, playing one of the cat-and-mouse games which Hugo had warned me about.
    Vivian came bustling back. “Now, what’s everybody drinking?” I watched her as she moved about the room, straightening a cushion, fractionally altering the position of an ornament. At first glance she had struck me simply as attractive and smartly dressed, but I was now conscious of a nervous energy about her which made relaxing difficult in her company. In this clearer light, I saw too that the pale, finely chiselled face was criss-crossed by a network of fine lines, though at a guess she was no more than forty. She spoke quickly in staccato sentences, giving the impression that she wasn’t prepared to wait for a considered reply.
    â€œAnd what do you think of Elian Vannin, Chloe?” she asked, handing me a glass and perching like a bird of passage on the tapestry chair beside me.
    â€œThe Isle of Man!” Hugo translated, with a smile for my blankness.
    â€œI haven’t seen much of it yet but it seems fascinating.”
    â€œTo visit, perhaps,” she said crisply. “Believe me, it palls surprisingly quickly.”
    â€œIt depends what you want from it,” Neil put in. “There’s a gentler pace of living, certainly, but I find the local philosophy ‘There’s another boat tomorrow’ rather soothing.”
    â€œWell, I’m afraid I don’t. I feel buried alive out here. Oh for department stores, art galleries, concerts, a choice of theatre!” She snapped open her cigarette case, offered it round and selected one for herself with fingers that shook slightly, bending her head to the flame which Neil held out for her.
    â€œLest Chloe should think she has inadvertently landed on a desert island,” Nicholas observed dryly, “let me assure her that there are theatres, concert halls and art galleries here. There’s even a casino, for heaven’s sake, if that’s your idea of entertainment. And of course the outdoor facilities can’t be bettered: fishing, golf, riding, sailing –”
    â€œYou’re beginning to sound like a holiday brochure, darling,” Vivian remarked tartly. “Anyway, it’s in your blood, we know that. All I’m saying is that it’s not my idea of the bright lights, but I’m well aware that I’m stuck with it. We all are,” she