House of Storms by Violet Winspear Page B

self-defence Pauline would turn to another man to whom her blonde charms would appeal. A man, perhaps, who was less intellectual than her husband.
    Debra couldn't pretend to be experienced in such matters, but she could see how the attraction of opposites could lead to unhappiness. Feelings of mutual attraction couldn't always be controlled, and the mere glimpse of someone could set the pulse racing.
    That morning in the nursery it had happened to her when Rodare Salvador walked in. Her knees had gone curiously unstable and again he made her feel vulnerable even though he gave no sign that previously in his presence she had not been wearing a sedate blouse and skirt.
    Without effort he made her aware of his forcefulness, to such an extent that she felt almost a sense of threat ... as if her instincts were sending warning signals through her body.
    There was no telling how long he meant to remain at Abbeywitch, and perhaps had they met in a less unconventional manner, then she might not be so sensitive to his presence in the house. At least, that was what she told herself.
    Determinedly she pushed him from her thoughts and carried on typing, taken by surprise when a maid tapped on the door and carried in a glass of wine and biscuits on a silver tray.
    The master said to bring you these refreshments, miss.'
    'Oh—thank you—!' Debra felt flustered by the unexpected attention and when the maid had gone she slowly raised the tawny wine to her lips and tasted it. It was utterly delicious and the first time she had been offered wine from the Salvador cellar which was deep beneath the house in the cool old cloisters which had been part of the ancient abbey.
    Giving in to a sense of luxury, she sat in the windowseat drinking her wine and nibbling her biscuits, thinking to herself that along with more subtle and disturbing ways, Rodare Salvador had his share of Spanish courtesy. He knew to the hilt how to play the hidalgo .
    Having savoured the wine, she held the empty glass up to the sunlight and watched the myriad fine colours sparkling in the crystal. How long, she wondered, did the hidalgo stay when he came home to this fascinating old mansion on Lovelis Island? This house whose motto declared: Let honour reside within.
    Could there possibly be a more romantic setting for an island than this most evocative of regions—the Land of Merlin, whose legends and stories still haunted the very air? Cornwall itself was almost an island, surrounded as it was by the sea and the River Tamar. Though its old Celtic language was seldom spoken now, there was in the voices of its people a sound like no other; a kind of depth and mystery.
    Debra sat there with the taste of wine on her lips, and her mouth wore a small, almost poignant smile. In the city she had felt alone, but here she felt akin to the sea as it tore itself on the teeth of the rocks; she breathed honey when the wind blew through the grasses of the cliffs, great ledges of granite where the chough had its nesting place.
    She even loved the beach at low water, when it was desolate and the sands were lit strangely by the dying sun. Across the water she would hear the bells of the Chapel of Sacred Sorrows and combined with the duskfall and the lapping sea they would create an indelible impression.
    A little voice in the mind warned her not to become too attached to Lovelis Island, but with the optimism of youth she told herself that perhaps when Jack Salvador came home he would decide to employ her as his full-time secretary.
    It would be so much more rewarding for her than working in the city where the rush and roar of the traffic had eliminated any sense of enjoyment for most people. It was part of Debra's nature to like natural things and she found the ambience of this island more exhilarating than anything she had ever known before.
    With each passing day there seemed to be something expectant in the very air she breathed and with all her heart she longed to stay. She returned