Castle In The Clouds, Chapters 22 and 23 (standard:drama, 6067 words) [11/21] show all parts
Author: Brian Cross	Added: Feb 03 2010	Views/Reads: 2539/1771	Part vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
In this continuation of my drama, Llewellyn's benefactors arrive, and Byron Rothman in particular, is intrigued by Veronica Day.

Click here to read the first 75 lines of the story

regarding each in turn, 'but please do not let me deter you from 
enjoying a ride in this fine vehicle – but perhaps before you leave, 
Mr. Rothman -' 

'Absolutely -' the disappointment on Rothman's face passed like a cloud
from the sun, as Veronica glanced up to see the hulking figure of 
Dawson descending the slope. 

'Ah, there you are, Dawson,' Llewellyn said flatly, and then turning to
his guests, 'Refreshments await you gentlemen, following which I will 
acquaint you with the castle – and then I look forward to our trip 
out.' 

Dawson gathered Rothman and Reynolds' suitcases, carrying one in each
hand with one tucked beneath each arm, while Llewellyn took a long look 
at Veronica. 'Are you certain you will not be joining us, my dear? If 
you like I can postpone our trip until -' 

'No Thomas, I do not wish to deny you the opportunity of a ride on a
fine morning such as this, please join your friends and do not think me 
unsociable.' 

'We surely do not,' Rothman stated readily while Llewellyn remained
silent. 'Come Llewellyn, let us enter this fine castle of yours.' 

Llewellyn looked back at Veronica uncertainly, but her eyes were cast
along the shoreline towards the harbour, from where the klaxon sounded 
urgently on the morning air. 

*                                     * 

Veronica, relaxing in a high -backed armchair by her room window, opened
her eyes at the sound of voices below and heard Rothman's smooth, 
light-hearted banter and the more sober tones of his companion, 
Reynolds. There followed the sound of an automobile being started up. 

Rising and stretching she looked out to see Llewellyn and his two guests
sitting in the open top vehicle, which was pulling out onto the rough 
road to the village. 

Leaving her room she climbed out onto the roof garden, watching the
motor car proceeding along the road at a sedate speed, before turning 
her attention to the sparkling sea, slightly choppy in the strong, warm 
southerly breeze. 

On the horizon a boat appeared, its shape gradually becoming more
distinct, and then she heard steps behind her, recognising their 
familiar rhythm. 

Veronica stiffened, her eyes remaining on the vessel as she felt
Dorothea's whisky laced breath on her neck. 'So our hero returns, the 
true object of your desire,' she said, her voice falling to a whisper. 

'He is not the object of my desire.' Veronica crossed her arms, turning
to face Dorothea, staring down into her eyes. 

'Some might believe you but I am not so naïve. I would have thought the
gentleman with the nice automobile affords a better proposition than 
the wretched Gibbings.' 

'You continue to misjudge my intentions, or indeed affections,' Veronica
said coolly. 'I am becoming rather tired of your wit. I can see what 
induced Thomas into a rage.' Veronica sighed, was about to apologise 
for her impetuous remark, but Dorothea's hand, suddenly clenched on her 
shoulder was about to banish the gesture from her mind. 

'Just the slightest push my dear, would send you plummeting below. I
have always thought that having three foot railings around this garden 
was insufficient. You just toppled over, who would know otherwise?' 

Veronica had no time to assess whether Dorothea was serious; in an
instant she grabbed the woman's arms, swinging her round; Dorothea 
lashed with her foot, her shoe catching Veronica's shin, but to no 
avail. Her arms subdued in an intensifying grip, her temper drained 
along with her energy. But Veronica did not let go, not until Dorothea, 
exhausted by her struggling, crumbled completely, and then hands on her 
shoulders, forcing the defeated woman to her knees,  she said, 'Be 
grateful my patience is stronger than Thomas'. 

*                                   * 

Veronica returned to her room, not so much shaken by her experience, but
by the question posed by Dorothea's actions – had that been a 
deliberate attempt to kill her? Had Dorothea been so angered by her 
remark that she would have carried through with a push? Dorothea could 
have pushed without warning and sent her plunging below, but she'd 
delayed and therein lay the problem. But the threat in itself had been 
enough to force her to use her strength if only to restrain the woman – 
at the very least it had been a disturbing development, making it 
easier to understand, if not endorse the action Thomas had taken. 

The lifeboat was preparing to moor now; Thomas and his friends would
likely be gone for some time, and Dorothea would either return to her 
bottle or sleep off its effects. 

If Veronica had been feeling tired before, she certainly wasn't now, she
had an hour or two to herself and she would spend it walking and 
talking with Gibbings if at all possible. Apart from getting to the 
source of his predicament it struck her that he was the only person she 
could discuss her experience with. 

*                                    * 

Gibbings looked tired as he clambered from the boat, a slight pallor
marring his normal tanned features, as, buttoning his white shirt, he 
trod across the pebbles to her. 

'You look tired John,' Veronica said, aware of stating the obvious. 

'Aye – you would if you'd just plucked three folks from rough water.' 

'What happened?' she asked, walking ahead of him, picking her way
through a hillock of tufted grass. 

'A ketch went over.' |He sighed, 'Sea's rough, but not that rough – poor
sailing if you ask me. What you doing here anyway?' he asked, now 
alongside her. 

She shrugged. 'I fancied a little company -' 

'Can't provide it now, Veronica – have to be getting back.' He strode
ahead, 'Mr. Llewellyn's been giving me queer looks lately. I've been 
seeing his face at the window – staring – like he's checking on me and 
letting me know it.' 

'It's alright John, he isn't there.' Veronica clasped his arm and drew
him back. 'He has two guests, Mr. Rothman and Mr. Reynolds; I think 
these are the two men who have provided the money that allows Mr. 
Llewellyn to buy the dark witch out.  They drove out in Mr. Llewellyn's 
auto mobile.' 

'Buy her out?' Gibbings squinted. 

'Yes, if all goes well she should be leaving, one less problem for you
to worry about -' Veronica gave him a long, expectant gaze. 

'How come you didn't join him in this - this auto mobile ride?' 

'I wasn't invited,' she lied. 'Walk with me a while.' 

'I shouldn't really -' 

'John, will you stop worrying – the afternoon is bright and warm, the
gardens are a wonderland of colour thanks to you – you can well afford 
a break. Mr. Llewellyn would be a fool to dismiss you and he certainly 
isn't that. And as for my part I do not think it at all a good idea 
that I encounter Dorothea again, this afternoon.' 

'Miss Llewellyn – what's happened?' 

Veronica exhaled, led Gibbings through a narrow sandy path between banks
of lengthy grass and gorse, and down to join a lane bordered by low 
stone walls. 

'There was an altercation out on the balcony – the roof garden.' 

'An altercation?' 

'A row, John -' 

'I know what an altercation is,' Gibbings said with an edge to his
voice. 

Veronica bit her lip, looked him in the eye. 'I'm sorry John – I didn't
mean to -' 

'I'm not as dumb as I look, however much -'  to Veronica's surprise
Gibbings stopped in mid-sentence, breaking into a smile, putting an end 
to her embarrassment. 

'John, what is causing you such amusement?' she asked through half-open
eyes. 

'The look on your face.' 

'Am I so abject?' 

'Abject?' Gibbings looked bemused, she saw him redden. 'No ' he said
looking down - 'so pretty.' 

Veronica's shoe found a pothole in the roughly surfaced lane, she
stumbled sideways, spontaneously Gibbings' arms clasped around her, 
just like they had when he'd raised her from the sea. 'Why John, I can 
manage,' she laughed. A gentle push in the chest and he'd freed his 
hold, though her eyes remained locked steadfastly on his. 

Gibbings swallowed, raked a hand through his dark hair. 'Tell me about
this – altercation,' he said, resuming their walk. 

Veronica folded her arms beneath her chest, eyes on the uneven road
beneath but not seeing, 'I was standing by the railings looking out to 
sea. I heard Dorothea's footsteps – we had words. I said something I 
probably shouldn't have and then she pressed her hand to my shoulder. 
She uttered a thinly veiled threat; just a push and I would have been 
down on the rocks. I couldn't take the chance and forced her round – my 
hands on her arms. She went into a frenzy and lashed at my skin.' 
Veronica paused, pulled up the hem of her light blue dress, 'There – a 
bruise nothing more, but I did what was necessary to contain her until 
her temper was exhausted.' Veronica lashed her foot at a large stone, 
sent it flying into the fields, 'Stupid woman, I could have tossed her 
into the sea.' 

She glanced at Gibbings, eyes moist with anger, teeth clenched – 'Now
the fury comes out – better now than then.' 

Veronica saw Gibbings' surprise, no shock – at the sudden change in her.
'You see John, I needed to be free of anger, to let it escape – I 
needed somebody to confide to – just as you do now. Tell me what's 
wrong with you John – I can help -' 

'No – I can't, you're a woman -' 

'How observant,' she said acidly. 

'Look I didn't mean to belittle you,' he clawed at his forehead, 'it's
not what I meant, a man should stand on his own feet, and shoulder his 
own burdens -' 

'So woman is not equal to man, in that I am not worthy to be aware of
your problems?' 

'No, no, no,'  Gibbings held a hand high, then let it fall, placing both
on his hips with a sigh – a look into his eyes told her he was 
defeated, she'd finally broken through his barrier. 

'You're impossible – okay – I' 

And then a drone, a sound unmistakable to Veronica's ears. Almost
certainly the only motor vehicle on the island advancing towards them 
somewhere along the winding lane. Veronica knew Gibbings' employment 
would be endangered if he was seen out here, and in her company, and 
she too would risk Llewellyn's displeasure. 

Their eyes met, they both had the same instinctive thought. Gibbings was
first over the wall, extending a hand for Veronica to join him and 
though she didn't require it, she took his hand anyway. And then both 
crouched behind the wall as the vehicle whined up the ascending lane 
and slowly passed them. 

'We need to get back,' Gibbings tone was urgent. 'If we cut across
country we can beat them – they'll find it slow, bumpy going along the 
road -' he glanced at her despairingly, 'only it'll mean running and 
I'll leave you behind.' 

'You speak nonsense, John.' Veronica's eyes flashed defiantly, she was
eager for the challenge. 

They ran the quarter mile flat out, occasionally needing to hurdle dry
stone walls, tramping down the long grass as they went. Gibbings was 
amazed she could keep up, amazed at the smooth way she dealt with the 
undulating ground, and where their ways split he saw her shoot an 
audacious smile. 

Back in her room, Veronica's breathing had returned to normal as she
heard the Rolls-Royce draw up. She sighed, flung her head on the pillow 
and gazed at the ceiling. So close, so close to breaking John Gibbings 
down. Soon now, she'd achieve it. 

Chapter Twenty Two 

'How clumsy of me.' Rothman glanced at Veronica and smiled as he mopped
drops of spilt tea from his jersey. 'So, Miss Day – I take it I may 
address you as “Veronica?”' and as Veronica nodded and returned his 
smile, 'you must be quite taken by this island to accept permanent 
accommodation here.' 

'I am indeed, Mr. Rothman, but then I do admit to a fondness for the
North East -' 

'Oh -' Rothman's brows rose fleetingly, 'call me Byron, please -' 

Rothman looked across at his portly companion, Reynolds, a quiet smile
crossing his smooth features. 'I must say, I would find spending any 
appreciable time here excruciatingly boring – wouldn't you Edward? 
Nothing to do all day but stare at the sea – which always looks the 
same to me.' 

Rothman placed his cup in the saucer, lowering the china to the table.
'But you obviously have a close friendship with Llewellyn which changes 
the picture somewhat.' 

'That aside, I find this to be a tranquil, pleasant island,' Veronica'
countered. 'A little experience of nature cannot but broaden our 
horizons, unlikely as it might seem to some.' Veronica had lowered her 
eyes, but now she raised them towards his companion, 'Isn't that so, 
Mr. Reynolds?' 

'Most certainly it is,' the man in the brown tweed suit answered
readily. 'Not everyone enjoys the hustle of the city.' 

Rothman raised an amused smile, apparently undaunted by the combined
rejection of his philosophy. 'Nevertheless, I would have thought that 
the beautiful lady here does have a preference for – shall we say – the 
brighter lights?' 

'Then you would have thought wrongly.' But Veronica's next intended
words were cut short by the appearance of Llewellyn. 'Ah Llewellyn, can 
we count on your sister's presence at dinner?' Rothman inquired, his 
brows raised. 

'I have no word from her; I would deem it unlikely.' 

Reynolds drew on his long pipe, smoke funnelling into the air. 'I feel
that might be a blessing. She seems somewhat cantankerous.' 

'I fear she is somewhat incapacitated.' The dryness of Veronica's remark
drew attention from all three. 'I only mean, she seemed unwell.' 

'Meaning she is heavily indulged in alcohol,' Llewellyn said with
undisguised bitterness. 'I take it you have had the misfortune to 
encounter her, my dear?' 

'Only briefly, Thomas,' Veronica bit her lip as a deterrent to
elaborate. Llewellyn seemed to sense her unease. 'Do not worry my dear, 
soon we will be free of the shadows she casts upon us, and then you and 
I can be content within the stout walls of this castle.' 

'How nice, how very cosy -' Rothman's eyes focused keenly on Veronica as
he spread out his hands. 'You make it seem, Llewellyn, as if your very 
existence revolves around this place. Surely your business necessitates 
a substantial amount of your time?' 

Veronica noticed the slight twist in Rothman's lips. She saw Thomas
stiffen and thought herself that Rothman had a point and he was 
obviously enjoying making it. 

Llewellyn coughed, put a fist to his mouth, then ran a forefinger across
his lips. 'My dear,' he began, his gaze on her becoming at once more 
earnest and intense, 'I had intended to announce my proposal over 
dinner but Rothman, I feel, has struck a chord.' 

Only a distant clatter of cutlery disturbed the silence as Llewellyn,
fingers trembling slightly, placed his hand inside his inner jacket 
pocket - 

Veronica frowned, awareness dawning before his words came:  'My life has
been transformed since we met - I wish to ask for your hand in 
marriage,' he said quietly, and unfastening the ring from its box, 
continued, 'I ask you to receive this ring, thereby confirming your 
acceptance of my proposal.' 

“I cannot accept and yet I dare not reject -” 

totally unexpected and unwanted, Veronica fought back the horror that
seemed to have created a gaping hole in her stomach, grasping the 
tender threads of her composure – aware both of Llewellyn's willing 
gaze and Rothman's almost mocking smile, she answered calmly, 'Why 
Thomas, what a wonderful gesture.' She hung her head, looking at him 
through raised eyes. 'But I feel it is too soon.' She watched his 
expression cloud, 'Though given time I feel it might be favourable.' 

'I see.' Llewellyn drew in breath, stiffened, examining the ring as if
its significance had diminished, the intensity in his eyes giving way 
to a bland mist – 'how much time do you consider reasonable, Veronica?' 


Veronica examined her interlocked fingers, finally regarding him
earnestly. 'Until I am able to return your feelings, Thomas; I need to 
be able to do that to honour your gracious proposal.' 

Rothman leaned forward, studying her with his blue eyes. 'I can see that
the lady cares for you very much,' he said, a goblet of champagne 
poised beneath his lower lip. 'I can read it in her eyes – it is a 
noble deliberation she makes, mark my words.' 

'Of course.' Llewellyn's eyes widened and regained some lustre. 

“Rothman you are enjoying my discomfort -” the words were on Veronica's
lips but she held them back – the stark fact was that he was 
compromising her and knew it. 

Llewellyn had been placated, chiefly by Rothman – but Veronica retired
that evening, disturbed because Rothman was turning out to be a 
complication she could well do without. 

*                            *                          * 

But Llewellyn had retained his faith and devotion to Veronica; he had
Rothman to thank for that. Now, as he stared out at another fine 
morning, he contemplated his second main proposal – his proposal to 
Dorothea. 

Dorothea would leave, and Veronica would accept given time - and his
dream would become reality. 

*                               *                            * 

‘Am I permitted a stroll in the garden, Mr -?' Rothman, already bored
inside the castle's austere walls and determining that the only spark 
of interest was the beautiful woman who had become Llewellyn's 
intended, (he allowed himself a smile at that) had wandered into the 
castle's walled gardens and had encountered the gardener hoeing between 
rhododendrons. 

'My name is Gibbings; aye – if you're a guest,' Gibbings added
dubiously, not recognising the newcomer. 

'I am indeed.' Rothman gazed around, taking in the colourful plants; he
wasn't a great lover of horticulture but to his untrained eye the beds 
seemed well enough tended. 'Your master invited me along to be witness, 
it seems, to his marriage proposal,' Rothman said airily. 'I cannot 
think of another reason why he should invite me along to this 
godforsaken place, but well done er – Gibbings; a myriad of colour, 
quite glorious.' 

'Marriage proposal?' Gibbings' mouth fell open as he cocked his head; he
rammed the hoe into the ground. 'Did she accept?' 

'Not as yet.' Rothman had been surprised by the question. He'd been
speaking almost to himself, but as he continued his stroll through the 
gardens and considered it, he found himself doubting that she ever 
would. Then what was her association with this place? Somehow the 
pieces didn't seem to fit – and she'd been embarrassed by his inkling 
of that – he knew it. 

*                                   *                                * 

Dorothea's approaching footsteps echoed along the corridor, filling
Llewellyn with eager anticipation – the moment had arrived, the moment 
he'd bestow upon her the offer she couldn't refuse. 

Soon he'd be free of her meddling, her interference, and her infernal
drink - ridden, smoke - infested breath. 

'Well Thomas, what is it?' she asked, pushing open the door, regarding
him with quick moving pupils – 'my but you're looking pleased with 
yourself this morning – has the pretty violinist been pleasuring you?' 

Llewellyn glared up at his sister from behind his walnut desk, attired
today in a full-length peach shaded, frilled frock, which emphasised 
her slightly rotund figure rather than enhancing it. 

'Sit down, sister.' Llewellyn stretched out a hand, indicating the high,
wing backed Queen Anne chair which stood to the right of his desk. 
Steepling his fingers beneath his chin he watched her slowly oblige, 
her eyes narrowing. 

'I have for some time suspected that you have been unhappy here – quite
apart from your normal hysteria – I therefore have a proposal for you 
to consider -' 

'A proposal, Thomas?' Dorothea inhaled on her cigarette, blew smoke into
the air. 'What proposals could you possibly make that would -' 'A 
proposal that will free you from the confines of this castle and this 
island,' Llewellyn said enthusiastically, leaning forward, elbows on 
his desk. 'Dorothea, I will return your outlay in this castle, together 
with twenty per cent interest, in appreciation of your time and 
trouble-' 

'Time and trouble?' You mock me brother.' Llewellyn watched Dorothea's
eyes darken, saw her face harden further, her jaw set tight – felt his 
own stomach knot as he waited for her reply – realising by the very set 
of her features that she would reject and not knowing why – at least 
until she spoke. 

'You think your meagre offer will rid you of my presence?' Dorothea
raised her chin, looked down at him through her hooded eyes, giving a 
dismissive sweep of her arm. 'Do you take me for a fool? I have no 
intention of leaving. Your offer is derisory, I refuse it.' 

Llewellyn began to burn. He could scarcely control his indignation, his
anger, his disbelief. 

'Damn you Dorothea,' he stormed, pounding a fist on his desk. 'You do
this to spite me, I demand that you accept.' 

'I will not accept,' Dorothea said through gritted teeth, veins taut in
her neck. 'I will cherish the memory of your humiliation at that 
woman's hands. I will remain and revel in your torment.' 

'You continue to poor scorn on Veronica's good name.' Llewellyn thrust
his hands against the desk, levered himself up and began pacing the 
floor. 'I have proposed marriage to Veronica,' he began, clasping his 
hands behind his back. 'There is no longer a place for you here, you 
must see reason.' 

'And has she accepted?' Dorothea asked, her eyes narrowing to slits. 

'Not yet, she merely requested time to prepare her way towards accepting
my proposal,' Llewellyn snapped impatiently, his irritation reaching 
fever pitch at her outright refusal of his offer. 

'Huh, we shall see which way the goose flies.' She gave him a lop sided,
mocking smile, rose from her chair and then sauntered to the door. 

'Be warned, Dorothea, I will no longer tolerate your presence in this
castle,' Llewellyn had moved hurriedly towards Dorothea, within 
striking distance of her.  She turned about swiftly, a defiant smile 
lingering on her face, her chin thrust high towards him. 'Go on Thomas; 
strike me if it relieves your frustration. But the marks will be there 
for your friends to witness and they will hear my screams – and still,' 
she said, her index finger pointing towards him,  'it will not free you 
from my presence.' 

Llewellyn flung his hand out, but merely to slam the door in her face,
and with such force it resounded throughout the castle. 

*                                   * 

Veronica glanced at the skies, the early blue had given way to cumulus,
and the wind was rising. She could hear its dull pounding on the thick, 
sea facing walls of her room, seemingly in competition with the 
crashing waves below. 

Sighing, she slipped out of her room. Apart from the muffled roar of the
elements, the castle was so quiet it might have been deserted, except 
that was from one bone – jarring door slam some ten minutes past; 
though she supposed Thomas, his new butler Dawson, Dorothea, his guests 
Rothman and Reynolds, and presumably Mrs. Simms the cook to be inside 
its walls. 

As far as Rothman was concerned she had been wrong, and the sight of the
flamboyant figure with short ginger hair unlatching the garden gate 
caused her a certain unease. 

She'd embarked on an early morning walk which wasn't altogether routine;
the delicate situation she had so unexpectedly found herself in could 
not remain unresolved for long – now was the time for John Gibbings to 
speak out and declare his problems. In her heart of hearts she couldn't 
marry Thomas Llewellyn, he was a good man but her feelings would never 
ascend to the heights required to allow her to accept his proposal – 
and in fairness to Thomas, she'd need to make that plain sooner than 
later. 

'Why Mr. Rothman,' Veronica forced a brief smile, 'you surprise me with
your interest in the great outside. I would have imagined you to be far 
too disinterested in this island to want to take a closer look at it.' 

'Ah, a breath of fresh air never did anyone any harm.' Rothman raised
his nostrils high and took a deep breath, letting it out only slowly. 
'Ah, how refreshing.' He looked across at Veronica, she could feel his 
eyes examining her. 'What I wonder, dear lady, is your purpose on this 
island – what I wonder is your real purpose?' 

'I do not feel I know you at all well, Mr. Rothman, to be revealing my
innermost feelings.' Veronica hitched her long violet dress and 
unnecessarily unlatched the gate to the garden intending their brief 
conversation to be terminated, but Rothman caught it as it swung back 
and followed her through. 

'It is unnatural, Veronica - this romantic association between yourself
and Llewellyn – you are as different as – forgive me for using the old 
adage – how would you say, chalk and cheese? Something else takes your 
fancy does it not? I wonder what it can be?' 

Over by the far wall Veronica caught sight of Gibbings hoeing. The
gardener turned to meet her eye and even from a distance she could tell 
his face was sullen. 

Rothman was quick to notice the eye contact between them. 'Ah, surely
not,' he said, his lips creasing into a smile. 

Just as rapidly Veronica transferred her gaze to the inquisitor. 'He is
the gardener, I know little of him. He keeps a low profile. I find the 
peace here fills my lungs, clears my head. There is nothing more to it 
than that.' 

'There is something dear lady.' Rothman touched the side of a nostril,
'I have a nose for this type of thing. Nevertheless I shall leave you 
to your own devices.'  Rothman sighed as he turned towards the castle. 
'You have summed me up as well as I have you. I feel I grow tired 
already of this island. I look forward to returning to London 
tomorrow.' 

'And I will wish you good riddance,' Veronica whispered beneath her
breath, watching Rothman in his red jersey and faun trousers, track 
back towards the castle. 

She waited until he'd disappeared from view, quickly casting her eyes
over the castle windows – and satisfied nobody watched, swung back to 
face Gibbings and then began heading towards him. 

*                                * 

Llewellyn remained in a state of high agitation. Things weren't going
the way he'd planned, not at all. Dorothea had rejected his offer 
outright and now she had the nerve to sit opposite him in the drawing 
room, a gloating expression on her heavily made-up face, that made him 
want to leap up and knock the smugness from her. With Reynolds deeply 
engrossed in his morning paper, Llewellyn had been about to seize the 
chance to seek out Veronica's company, when Rothman slipped through the 
open door, his eyes maintaining their seemingly perpetual twinkling 
brightness. 

'Dorothea.' He greeted her with a cheerful smile, receiving merely a
brief nod and lowering of her lashes in return, then glancing at 
Reynolds, 'Oh, my good man, as studious of politics as ever.' He 
selected a high-backed chair close to Llewellyn and leaned across 
confidentially, 'I fear you have competition Llewellyn, in the very 
unlikely form of the gardener chap – Gibbings, is it?' 

'What?' Llewellyn's eyes widened in astonishment and then his forehead
creased into a frown as he tried to comprehend his friend's words. 

'Precisely what I have been trying to tell him all along,' Dorothea cut
in, hooded eyes half open, 'but my foolish brother is so besotted he 
refutes as preposterous what clearly lies before his eyes.' 

Llewellyn tapped the arm of his chair impatiently, red blotches
blemishing his complexion he questioned in a slightly higher tone than 
usual, 'And how, my dear Rothman, do you draw this conclusion?' 

'Merely from my own perceptions, dear fellow, though they are seldom
wrong.' He waved the palm of his hand airily, ' She chooses to deny it 
of course, but -' 

'You have interrogated her on the subject?' Llewellyn said crossly, both
hands gripping the arms of his chair as he arced forward. 

'She was bound for him, I merely observed what passed between their eyes
– cross to the window, see what you will see -' 

Llewellyn wanted to appear nonchalant, but his anxiety and irritation
let him down. Quickly on his feet, he marched across to the window. 
Veronica's hand was on Gibbings' arm. He saw Gibbings shrug it off and 
from his vantage point in the castle watched Veronica turn, cast her 
eyes in his direction and hands clasping elbows, walk swiftly away. 

*                             *                          * 

'John, we must talk – urgently.' 

Gibbings shrugged, glared. 'What for? You have what you came for,
Veronica – a share in the castle, a wealthy man to support you – rich 
friends like the man with the posh new motor car I saw you walking with 
– what can you want with the likes of me? I saw the way he looked at 
me, and how you wouldn't meet my eyes.' 

Veronica tossed her head vehemently. 'It is not what you think, John -' 

She saw the downturn of his lips. 'You are marrying Mr. Llewellyn. Don't
try to deny it. Your only interest in me was to make him jealous – to 
hurry him into making a proposal.' 

'John, that's nonsense – I' 

Veronica stretched a hand to Gibbings' shoulder but he shrugged her off.
'Go back to your friends, I won't be seen talking to you.' Gibbings 
abruptly turned his back on her, resumed hoeing with a vengeance. 
Veronica gritted her teeth, fighting back the urge to force him to face 
her. 

Suddenly the clouds shrouding the sun seemed much darker than they were.
Veronica hunched her shoulders and folded her arms as she felt a sudden 
chill, and then raising her eyes towards the castle saw Thomas 
Llewellyn, face almost against its Gothic windows; his expression at 
that distance was unreadable but she could almost feel the portent. 

She tried – she'd tried to assist the man who'd saved her life but he
hadn't let her and now fed with the news of Thomas' proposal, she 
suspected by Rothman, he'd misinterpreted utterly, shutting her out. 

But faced with a marriage proposal she knew she'd ultimately reject and
an alienated John Gibbings she seemed powerless to help, the prospect 
of a return to her concert routine didn't seem as uninviting as it had 
so recently. Moreover, Thomas' fluctuating mood swings of late were 
causing concern, and yet despite that a new resolve fuelled her. She 
would not give up on her quest. She needed to ponder, to get things 
straight with Gibbings. She didn't blame him for misinterpreting the 
situation just as she was gaining his trust. 

A few days longer, she determined, and then if she hadn't succeeded,
Veronica would leave the island for good. 

* 

Llewellyn made an immense effort to restrain himself, recalling the
previous occasion, when following Veronica's chance encounter with 
Gibbings he'd almost snapped. This time he would be more reserved, more 
in control of his emotions. 

Too many coincidental meetings – he'd been loathe to listen to Dorothea,
even Hambleton, but now following Rothman's similar comments – a man 
who had proved to be so astute – he could no longer deny that Gibbings 
wielded an adverse influence over her. It had to be eradicated – she 
had to be protected. He would see to it. 

He was conscious of Dorothea's scornful gaze following his every step as
with an overly casual stride he left the drawing room bound for the 
hall. There he busied himself, carrying out a needless inspection of 
its ornaments and walnut furniture, examining them for the slightest 
layer of dust, even though he'd observed Dawson polishing some two 
hours previously, expecting at any moment to hear Veronica's light 
tread on the flagstone tiles. 

By her direction, Llewellyn was certain she'd been returning to the
castle. Now as apprehension grew he re-ran the scene he'd witnessed 
through the drawing room window. 

Veronica's hand on Gibbings' shoulder, Gibbings shrugging her off. But
it wasn't what it seemed. They were all wrong in that respect. Gibbings 
was a malign influence, a decent gardener perhaps, but a rogue behind 
his gypsy-like good looks. He had obviously plagued Veronica ever since 
he'd returned from the sea – played upon it, pursued her whenever she'd 
taken a stroll. She'd obviously been trying to pacify him when he'd 
watched them, but he'd resented her efforts; what if he'd followed his 
show of petulance by pursuing her? 


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